Friday, 31 October 2014

This is not the lobby of the Plaza Hotel?



It's been a long, dreary week, folks - but salvation is just a few hours away.

As befits our building anticipation of a weekend that also serves to celebrate all things wicked, demonic and downright scary (and that's just me after a few pints of Magners), here's Miss Alicia Bridges' fabulously camp classic I Love The Nightlife as she probably never envisaged it when it was first released - a dance number featuring Count Dracula and the former Mrs McMillan...

Thank Disco It's (Hallowe'en) Friday!



Have a spooky weekend, peeps!

Love At First Bite on IMDB

Thursday, 30 October 2014

Sodom and Gomorrah, I see you're back in town



Now here's a blast-from-the-past, alright!

Miss Grace Slick - erstwhile lead singer of Jeffersons Airplane and Starship, and all-round "oddball" - nicknamed "The Acid Queen" or "The Chrome Nun" in her day, celebrates her 75th birthday today.

To mark this milestone in the life of the lady who, at the height of her success was legendary for her alcohol and chemical consumption (she famously had to be dragged off stage on more than one occasion; once on live TV), it is to her milestone late 70s solo single - one of my personal faves - Dreams [nothing to do with Fleetwood Mac] we turn (again) for today's jolly. Miss Slick was obviously a huge influence on a generation of female artists yet to come...



Oh I, I believe in magic and I believe in dreams
Until I heard the thunder rumble
I saw the mountains crumble
Then came the circus so I followed its parade
With all the fancy lion-tamers, high-wire fiery flamers
Ravers of every kind
I saw those high-stepping sexy witches
Sons of satin, son-of-bitches
All were there, in my dreams
All in my dreams

Sodom and Gomorrah, I see you're back in town
And though you build a wall around you
The multitude still found you
Just like the circus to start with a parade
Oh but a parade of the fancy lion-tamers, high-wire fiery flamers
Ravers of every kind
With all those high-stepping sexy witches
Sons of satin, son-of-bitches
All were there, in my dreams
All in my dreams

I can see the whole world is just a circus
And I can tell that the circus
Why, it's just hell
And then I heard a drummer rolling
I found my seats been stolen
Then a spotlight hit me going wild in centre ring
For all you fancy lion-tamers, high-wire fiery flamers
Ravers of every kind
For all you high-stepping sexy witches
Sons of satin, son-of-bitches
All were there, in my dreams
All in my dreams
My dreams ooh my dreams

Said I, I believe in magic and I believe in dreams
I said I, I believe in magic and I, I believe in dreams
I believe in dreams
I said I, I believe in magic and I, I believe in dreams
Oh I believe in dreams
And magic, magical dreams
The better to sing that I believe in dreams
Magical dreams
I believe in dreams

Well I, I believe in magic and I still believe in dreams


Three words: "Fab. U. Lous!"

Grace Slick (née Wing, born 30th October 1939)

Wednesday, 29 October 2014

Yékéké nimo yé ké yé ké



I've been rather disappointed by the lack of any kind of acknowledgement of many of my blog efforts of late; my "hit" rate is at an all-time low. Of the last ten blogs over at the Museum of Camp, I have had only three people comment; two of those on one post. Over here, it's more a ratio of one comment every three or four blogs.

I wonder sometimes:
  • Is it Blogger that is dying? [It doesn't have a "Like" button, so you have to - um - actually write stuff...]
  • Am I considered "irrelevant" because I do not "do" F***book or Tw*tter? [I actually write stuff...]
  • Is everyone just too busy doing other things? [After all, Strictly Come Dancing is sooo demanding. And if not watching Strictly, everyone's face is in their phone; so they're doing something-or-other.]
  • Should I just Learn to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb?
  • Is she or isn't she using Harmony hairspray?
Oh what the the hell, who gives a fish's tit when I can rely upon Mr Mory Kanté to cheer me up with a good old shout-along song?

Lord alone know what it means, but Yé ké yé ké, anyway!



Bi sounkouroun lou la donkégna ah ah
Bi kamberen lou la donkegna ah ah
I madji I ma yélé
I kanan n'bila nara ro
N'bo n'bolo bila
Kanfalani yana sara le ila
Gnin kisse gbela serra le ils
Yékéké nimo yé ké yé ké
Ké woyé boli lalé
N'na doni kassi kan
Woyé boli lalé
Eh eh
Nyé n'ta soron akono mi ma ta I yonfé
Wo dén té soron lonkéléna
Sini Mory la diyandé
Timba bara wouloukounta
Souba ma kata I yala
Ah sara lila
Yékéké nimo yé ké yé ké
Djely mousso ni kédjou to wara bo
M'ba mofila téma yan féou


Indeed.

Mory Kanté

Tuesday, 28 October 2014

Touch all your dreams way down insi-i-ide



Timeslip moment..!

Let's take a little trip back twenty years (gulp) to another life, another world; a world of House, Garage, Lean-to, Outhouse and Shed [only joking!} - when we were still cool enough to go clubbing - to bask in a largely-un-R'nB-tainted musical scene when British dance acts had taken the "Chicago sound", mixed it with the innovations coming out of Europe, and batted it back across the pond.

Leading the way was former "Galaxy" singer Phil Fearon's pet project, Baby D, and their all-time classic - Number 1 in the chart in this week in 1994. Let Me Be Your Fantasy, indeed!



I'll take you up to the highest heights
Let's spread our wings and fly away-ay
Surround you with love that's pure delight
Release your spirit, set you free
Come and feel my energy-y-y
Let's be as one in soul and mind
I'll fill your world with ecstacy
Touch all your dreams way down insi-i-ide

Let me be your fantasy
Let me be your fantasy, yeah-eah-eah-eah
Let me be your fantasy
Let me be your fantasy

Let me be your fantasy
Let me touch your dreams
Just spread your wings and fly away


...which would be nice.

Baby D

Monday, 27 October 2014

We are not wholly bad or good, who live our lives under Milk Wood


It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.
Speaking of Dylan Thomas...

The BBC, in all its magnificence, really pulled all the stops out for its "official tribute" to The Great Man's greatest work Under Milk Wood (that we watched on catch-up tonight). It was breath-taking.

Auntie Beeb managed to gather an impressive cornucopia of Welsh stars (filmed in New York, Los Angeles, London, Cardiff and Laugharne) each taking a part in this marvellous "play for voices":

VoiceMichael Sheen
Captain CatTom Jones
New York VoiceMatthew Rhys
Laugharne VoiceAimee-Ffion Edwards
Drowned and Willy NillyTom Rhys Harries
Drowned and VoiceKarl Johnson
Drowned and Evans the DeathIwan Rheon
Drowned and VoiceAneurin Barnard
Rosie ProbertNia Roberts
Mog EdwardsIoan Gruffudd
Myfanwy PriceKimberley Nixon
Mr WaldoSteffan Rhodri
NeighbourMark Lewis Jones
NeighbourRichard Harrington
NeighbourSophie Evans
NeighbourMelanie Walters
VoiceGriff Rhys Jones
VoiceJohn Rhys-Davies
VoiceAndrew Howard
VoiceRakie Ayola
Mr PughJonathan Pryce
Mrs PughSian Phillips
Rev Eli JenkinsBryn Terfel
Polly GarterKatherine Jenkins
Mrs Ogmore PritchardCharlotte Church
Mr OgmoreTom Ellis
Mr PritchardAneirin Hughes
Butcher BeynonRobert Pugh
Mrs BeynonSuzanne Packer
Lily SmallsEve Myles
Mae Rose CottageAlexandra Roach
Nogood BoyoCraig Roberts
Mary Ann SailorsSharon Morgan
Dai BreadOwen Teale
Mrs Dai Bread OneDi Botcher
Mrs Dai Bread TwoSian Thomas
Sinbad SailorsJon Tregenna

Whew! a tour-de-force of acting, indeed - we were exhausted by the time it was over.

As someone wisely said on the occasion of their recent star-studded God Only Knows video: "Only the BBC could make this happen".

And here, for your delectation - catch it while you can before the "powers-that-be" take action to remove it from the interwebs - it is, in its entirety (well, I say entirety; this is Auntie's slightly abridged version of Mr Thomas' work, condensed to an hour's viewing):



Read more about this brilliant programme

Dylan Thomas Centenary

How I wish I had a gun; a wittle gun



As I feel more miserable than usual heading back to work in this ever-closing-in Autumnal gloom after a fab week on leave (with a video shoot, a trip to Essex, a visit to the RHS Autumn flower show - and a burning-candles-at-both-ends party to finish off), it is of great solace to discover that another of "our ladies of Hollywood" is still with us (contrary to my previous belief that she had died years ago).

For none other than Miss Nanette Fabray blows out 94 candles on her cake today - and here she to brighten this Tacky Music Monday in perhaps her best-known appearance, as one of the "Triplets" (the others being Fred Astaire and Jack Buchanan) in The Band Wagon...



We do everything alike
We look alike
We dress alike, we walk alike
We talk alike
And what is more
We hate each other very much
We hate our folks
We're sick of jokes on what an art it is
To tell us apart!

If one of us gets the measles
Another one gets the measles
Then all of us gets the measles
And mumps and croup.
How I wish I had a gun
A wittle gun
It would be fun to shoot the other two
And be only one.


Have a good week, folks!

I am not looking forward to mine.

Sunday, 26 October 2014

I'm rich, I'm famous, I vanish, I'm glitz



Speaking of plastic surgery...

Here's the magnificent Felix da Housecat and the ever-wonderful Miss Kittin Madame Hollywood, with possibly the creepiest video imaginable - featuring, among other surgically-enhanced grandes dames, the bizarre Duchess of Alba (Full name: María del Rosario Cayetana Paloma Alfonsa Victoria Eugenia Fernanda Teresa Francisca de Paula Lourdes Antonia Josefa Fausta Rita Castor Dorotea Santa Esperanza Fitz-James Stuart, Silva, Falcó y Gurtubay)!



Everybody wants to be Hollywood
The fame, the vanity, the glitz, the stories
One day, I'll become a great big star

You know like the big dipper
And maybe one day you can visit my condo
On the big hill you know like 9-0-2-1-0

Just imagine my face in the magazine
People analysing my look, my body or
Any plastic surgery

You know like the big dipper
And maybe one day you can shake
My hand on the planet Hollywood

You say, I'm not underground
I'm rich, I'm famous, I vanish, I'm glitz
I am the story, I am the star
You know like the big dipper

Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll
It's over
It's over
I decide, it's over

Everybody wants to be Hollywood
And maybe one day you can visit my condo
On the big hill you know like 9-0-2-1-0, oh yeah


If that doesn't put you off "having a little work done", nothing will.