SHAKESPEARE’S TWISTED SISTERS!

PROSPERO’S TAVERN

There’s a line in Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest’ that’s shocked by a sea of unsuspected possibilities: ‘O brave new world/That has such creatures in it’. Too right, Shaky! Masterminded by impresario Bioux Boom – who’s best describeåd as an ultra-louche, New Orleans riverboat gambler for the 21st Century, Prospero’s Tavern is a themed, cabaret extravaganza directed by Dusty Limits.

Like a flasher’s wet dream, the show’s crammed with whores, depraved urchins, dishevelled showgirls and creatures that simply defy belief. The atmosphere? Oh, hot, sexual and predatory, darlings, as if Terry Gilliam’s Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus movie ran screaming into real life on an absinthe and crack bender!

Overseen by a ratty, tatty, hoarse-voiced and street savvy Prospero, we’re as maddeningly teased by sweet and unobtainable delights as a chained, S&M queen frantic for pain! Credit to Bioux Boom, then; his elegant, Doc Holliday, last-chance saloon pizzazz fuels every second of this Edge City excursion.

But even in a mass, opium-dream wonderland, two performers stand head, shoulders and sweetly-powdered bosoms out; the beautifully dark jazz queen legend Holly Penfield and her spiritual daughter, rising metaphysical minx Miss Apple Tart.

Always intoxicatingly unpredictable, Holly courageously – and dangerously – abandons her usual, killer glamour for a fairy-tale scratch-mix of witchy widow and Disney-on-mescaline royalty! More beguiling still, she exposes her rarely-staged, actorial chops, delivering a monologue thick with innuendoes in clipped, faux-British tones eerily reminiscent of Hollywood idol Rosalind Russell’s Auntie Mame.

For such an acclaimed singer, it’s the equivalent of standing still on stage with no microphone, but magically, Holly rivets the crowds for long, breathless seconds with her superb, serene vulnerability and self-belief. Finally – brilliantly timed – she pops the unbearable tension with a frenzied assault on the Kink’s Demon Alcohol, complete with a willing boy plucked from the audience. Now that, honey-bunnies, is jazz with pizzazz!

And last, but certainly not least, there’s rising starlet Miss Apple Tart, a potent brew of Lily Cole whimsy, deadpan clown ambience and holographic performance artist. Like a living, pre-Raphaelite portrait re-imagined in 1960s, neon Day-Glo tones, she’s atmosphere and expectation personified.

Taking a stylistic cue from Dada art-master Marcel Duchamp, her mere presence and choice instantly transforms the most unprepossessing slum into an exquisite work of art, just as Duchamp’s infamous urinal assumed iconic status by his placing it in a gallery. Believe me, Miss Apple Tart – best enjoyed with the holographic cream of her creations – is a talent to watch, just like M’sieur Bioux Boom’s future, unmissable endeavours!

• Wonderland, Southbank, 5/5

 

JOEY ARIAS  

Get this straight- trans chanteuses are the ultimate homage to female song sirens! As Jayne/Wayne County, the punk rock sex-change superstar discovered, it takes balls to be a self-made pussy(cat)! And Joey Arias, stunningly, manifests that ambisexual mystique in his/her simply shattering evocation of Billy Holliday AKA Lady Day, the smack-besotted but sublime jazz siren.

First exposed to the general public via the 1988, sadly unavailable on DVD movie Mondo New York, Joey’s evolved from a Wigstock and Christopher Street fixture to a Cirque Du Soleil certified superstar. Though lacking Holliday’s razor–slim, heroin-chic physique, Joey’s devoted phenomenal performance chops to capturing her far more elusive panache.

Sure, the uninformed – and profoundly ignorant – might viciously dismiss Joey as some dumb, perfectly lip-synching drag tribute star, but – as with all genuine transsexual changes – the inner self becomes the reality. And make no mistake; this lady can sing like a melancholy motherfucker on heat, the majestic result of literally thousands of gruelling sets!

Uncannily channelling Holliday’s unique, vocal tones, Joey’s also mastered Madame’s scat-singing brilliance. Now, no cheap jokes, puh-leeze; scat-singing, in jazz parlance, is the ability to perfectly mimic instrumental sounds without words, stunningly evident in her/his show.

Though it’s clear Joey sleeps, lives and breathes Holliday, she/he’s no slouch at deploying that gorgeous, sonic palette to cotemporary songs; a breathily erotic cover of Dylan’s ‘Lay, Lady Lay’ quite properly provokes a standing ovation. Perfectly mimicking Lady Day’s detached, opiate body language throughout, Joey – in the space of one peerless show – exposes pop’s current, heavy-handed sleaze divas for the dignity-free trash they are!

• Queen Elizabeth Hall, 5/5

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