REVIEW: THE PUMPS PIN-UPS present LADIES OF THE DEAD

"Last Caress" by Aubrey Roemer. Intentional or not, I love Misfits references.

No contest, Halloween is the best holiday of the year, if not for the actual day-of celebration, for the multiple weeks of Halloween-related events we can all enjoy. Apart from Zombiecon, Ladies of the Dead, featuring the Pumps Pin-Ups performing spooky burlesque, has been my favorite event this season.

With Pumps (a casually awesome Brooklyn strip joint) decorated with gnarly cobwebs and macabre artwork, the Pinups performed a variety of songs, skits, and dance numbers, ranging from campy to genuinely creepy. Before detailing the performances I have to mention Aubrey Roemer’s amazing art, with photography of undead Pinups printed on old quilts. There’s a gentle, quiet eroticism in her print series, combining the calm of a midnight cemetery with the carnality of an old Jean Rollin film.

Once the show began, it was time for co-hosts Joey Nova, playing a Vincent Price-esque millionaire, and Heidi Glum (recently voted Washington DC’s top drag queen), playing his devilish wife, to really shine. Recreating the plot of House on Haunted Hill, picture Nova and Glum as Gomez and Morticia Addams, then remove the undying love. The plot: Survive the night in Pumps, receive a massive sum of money.

The performances that followed allowed the Pumps Pin-Ups to share their talents, assets, and eventually, exquisite deaths. It played like a Russian Roulette talent show, where fates are determined randomly, with tragically low chances of survival as the performers are poisoned, shot, stabbed, strangled, and harmed in numerous other ways that arouse creeps like me. Little by little, each performer closed in on the fortune promised by Nova, but the suspense was largely due to the crowd’s anticipation of clothing removal. Honestly, it took the crowd a little while to loosen up and it was sepulcher-silent for the first few numbers, so instead of a chronological review like usual, I’m going to focus on each performer that left a bloody handprint on my memory.

Sunny de la Vega, apart from warming the crowd up with graceful pole-dancing, also took part in the most unsettling song of the night, as one half of a wind-up toy dancing team with Alyssa Calypso. She seemed to levitate as she danced, and makes everything seem deceptively easy. She had a smile for everyone, and anyone who appreciates the pleasure of watching exceptional dancing and form had a smile for her too.

Speaking of Alyssa Calypso, she had the performance of the night with a werewolf-themed striptease and dance routine to a Lon Chaney-sampling dubstep song. The crowd howled as she revealed her werewolf-hair pasties and tail beneath her Red Riding Hood costume. It was funny, unfairly sexy, and received a huge ovation from my fellow lycanthrope lovers in the audience. Nova quipped at the song’s close, “Well, I guess someone got some tail.”

Spanx Sinatra, whose vocal talents light up every event, shared some impressive improvisational skills to match her pipes. Playing characters ranging from a gal mourning “her broke as fuck unemployed musician boyfriend” to a pouty deceased child to a lounge superstar, she showed dynamic range and a gift for tongue-in-cheek self-aware humor. She also nailed singing “The Truth,” giving it Prohibition-era class. You ever see mug shots of criminals back in the 20s? They look snazzy as fuck.

Scarlett la Rosa, apart from being the director of the show and the captain of the Pinups, also delivers memorable music performances at every event. Unfortunately her customized version of “Mack the Knife” occurred while the crowd was still sleepwalking in the beginning. Shame too, because that song is the one of my favorites and ranks as one of the coolest songs ever written. Still, her show design was fantastic and filled with old-Hollywood glamor and kitsch, along with doses of Rocky Horror mischief and sleaze.

Three other dancers that totally owned the stage were the lovely Sophie Von Z (performing a really fun marionette-inspired routine with supporting help from tattooed beauty Rose), Sinister Shabzz (who looks like nothing, including a zombie outbreak, could rattle her as she dances with focus and confidence), the awesome Ariel Wolf (dancing to Redbone’s “The Witch Queen of New Orleans” as a white-clad voodoo priestess torturing an anatomically-correct doll’s genitals), and Sandra, who is hands-down one of the most seductive dancers I’ve seen, and could inspire the dead to rise, in every meaning of the word.

I can’t forget Rocket Shippes, also a great MC, who spent the night playing Boris, a drunken, bearded Soviet sailor who sees the homicidal plot unfolding. One of my favorite moments of the night belonged to Boris, unsoberly bellowing/death metal growling “Only Fools Russian” to woo Heidi Glum. It was a demented, no-holds-barred performance that may have been fueled by vodka, but anyone who has seen Rocket perform before knows that a drunken bearded sailor is pretty much her spirit animal.

While the show certainly felt disjointed at times, with some delays and occasional screeches of feedback, there was a charming sense of lunacy abound, with great quips from Nova and Glum keeping the action moving, and silliness permeating the sensual, gothic proceedings. It was a night of surprises and clashing imagery, from the dangerous crypt setting contrasting with the warm, welcoming smiles of the bodice-wearing bartending tandem of Kat and Vanessa, to the soundtrack of screams and chainsaws melting into the soothing blues of a graveyard lounge club. Simply, and homicidally said: Aubrey Roemer and the Pumps Pin-Ups killed it again.

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And check out more of Aubrey Roemer’s amazing work here:  http://www.aubreyroemer.com/wp/

REVIEW: THE PUMPS PIN-UPS - DAMN EVERYTHING BUT THE CIRCUS

“…damn everything that is grim, dull, motionless, unrisking, inward turning, damn everything that won’t get into the circle, that won’t enjoy, that won’t throw its heart into the tension, surprise, fear and delight of the circus, the round world, the full existence…” - e.e. cummings

Sunday evening in Bushwick, with the hospital halogen glow of a gas station illuminating the Pumps Exotic Dancing banner on the side of the building, I enter the third show from The Pumps Pin-Ups, entitled “Damn Everything But the Circus.” The casual bar has been transformed into a neon graffiti palace, with grotesque, macabre, inspired creatures and profane scrawlings adorning every centimeter of mirror on both sides of the stage. The artwork ranges from psychedelic foliage and casually satanic symbolism to characters that look like Robert Crumb portraits drawn for a Butthole Surfers album cover. Wise words above urge the audience to “Iggy Pop Til You Drop.” The show’s art curator, Aubrey Roemer, glides through the crowd and applies glow-in-the-dark ink to their faces with glee. She adds a few decorations to my forehead and cheeks and they feel like inverted crosses, which makes me feel like she’s seen deep into my evil soul and understands exactly who I am. When I examine the symbols they’re more like addition signs (+ + +), but what the hell, close enough. Sunny de la Vega entertains the crowd before the show officially starts and every person who came early rejoices in their decision to arrive before showtime. She seems effortless as she displays grace and impressive and strength while pole-dancing, seemingly defying gravity while the red flower in her hair impossibly stays in place. But this is the brilliance of The Pumps Pin-Ups: They make everything difficult and challenging and anxiety-inducing seems calculatedly cool and easy.

The show’s MCs, the wise-cracking Rocket Ships (rocking neon green/black lingerie and teased pigtails) and new team member Evan Von Doomstein, looking slick in a suit and combed mustache, welcome the audience to feast their eyes on Sinister Shabzzz, Harley Quin, and Foxy Highroller, each posing in their own spotlight while Scarlett la Rosa, the troup’s fearless leader and director, circled them with a whip as the evening’s Ringmistress.

The first half of the show was full of inspired performances, including: Ariel Wolf’s inventive routine in a white gown of balloons, popped one by one by a peacock-feathered quill; Scarlett la Rosa’s sultry rendition of Peggy Lee’s “Fever” concluding with a triumphant drag of a cigarette; Bella Boop transporting us all to Burning Man with an impressive display of neon hula-hooping in her awesome horned demon outfit.

Around this point Von Doomstein appropriately asked the crowd if anyone was willing to share their drugs, and received one whistle. Selfish bastards.

Sinister Shabzzz took the stage in a black corset and pink heart pasties as a spellbinding black metal siren looking for her “pussy,” who subsequently returned in the form of Harley Quin wearing a cat costume and purring. I have friends whose first crushes were anthropomorphic animated bunnies and cats who would replay their heart-warming exchange over and over, with even less clothing in mind. Shanlita Bandita then  sizzled in a pink onesie, guiding Von Doomstein to a chair and giving him a private dance, if you ignore the bar full of ogling people. My friend leaned in and whispered, “The irony of paying to watch another guy get a lapdance.” Shanlita stole a flask from her mark’s pocket and proceeded to rob him at gunpoint, requesting he strip to a leopard-print thong, to the delight of the scowling guys stationed in front of him. Come on guys, you could do worse, and you probably have. If anything, this routine, apart from being incredible fun and slyly humorous, should also inspire some guys to come open their wallets when lapdances are available.

Spanx Sinatra then sang a song possibly titled “Creep,” which was not a Radiohead cover, but a brutal and totally deserved skewering of cheap, shady, disrespectful tools that occasionally wander into Pumps. She has natural ability that just dazzles and transforms any space she inhabits into a high-class speakeasy. Sasha Berkowitz danced to Marilyn Manson’s “Dope Show” (guessing her name was inspired by Daisy Berkowitz a bit) with makeup that invoked either a seductive clown or the sidekick we all wish The Crow had. With chains draped from her black collar to her negligee bracelets, she had my favorite outfit of the night. Heidi Glum, dubbed “Supermodel of the Underworld” and dressed like a 60s pin-up homemaker, steered the show to its intermission, where Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica had me drumming on the bar top while Kat and Vanessa, the establishment’s amazing bartenders, served up cold drinks with corsets and a smile.

Act Two, and Scarlett la Rosa is knocking ‘em dead again with her smooth voice and her white boa, draped over black & white bra top. Rocket insists that the audience is “Ten years younger and 20% more cancer free” after hearing Scarlett’s voice, and I have toa dmit it’s a pretty damn good tonic. Shanlita then downs half of a bottle of some anonymous liquid while donning a gol leopard-print dress. The audience thought it might be water, someone verified it’s not. My money’s on absinthe. Whatever it was, she sought escape near Dom, from Air of Ants, hiding in the shadow of his keyboard.

The performance of the evening may go to the tag-team rendition of “Don’t Tell Mama” that the lovely Ivy Nyx, Spanx Sinatra, and Scarlett la Rosa unleashed on the crowd. There was a huge reaction as each of them dared the other to sing louder and with unparalleled amounts of charisma and sass, and holy shit were each of them up to the challenge. I don’t have many notes written because I was applauding and throwing money in a nearby top hat, but in my notebook I have written down: HUGE. That could be describing the applause, their voices, their busts, or perhaps I glanced down at my own crotch.

Foxy Highroller made her Pumps Pin-Ups debut and was fantastic, pole-dancing to Radiohead’s “Talk Show Host.” With a rose-print dress, cigarette holder, and tattooed wings, she looked like she was floating and enjoying high society at the same time. Ivy Nyx was kind enough to grace us with another sing, belting out “Hit the Road, Jack” while Sinister Shabzzz brought howls and hollers from the crowd with her patented vertical split against the pole, which sounds less impressive than it looks. Seriously, watch that shit in person and tell me that pole dancing isn’t an art and a sport at once. The music wasn’t finished, as Spanx Sinatra sang one of my favorite songs ever, “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” with support from Jerry, an unfairly talented clarinetist who made that instrument sing and scat with impossible dexterity. I played the clarinet for years and it was one of my favorite moments of the night.

Before Rocket could round up a pack of “cats and small rodents to overpower her lifeless body,” Shanlita awoke from her alcoholic slumber in a sailor hat and polka dot bathing suit. With Gogol Bordello cranking out their unique brand of cabaret punk she spray-painted “see the spectacle” over the mirror artwork. The spray-paint leaked red all over her hands and chest like she was stuck in a crime scene from Dexter, which a creep like me finds very alluring. After her performance Evan Von Doomstein had his revenge, forcing her to strip with her own gun pointed at her, completing one of my darker fantasies in front of me. Who am I kidding, that’s kid stuff compared to what gets me off.

Spanx Sinatra sang a song while Sunny de la Vega, the Barcelonian dancer of undebatable skill, did a dramatic routine that was classy and captivating. I particularly liked the percussion of her opening and closing her fan as she slid pole to pole. I wasn’t sure of the song and just wrote down that it was “exotic,” a code word for “foreign” because I’m an ethnocentric douche. Rocket followed with her first solo dancing performance as a Pumps Pin-Up, entertaining the crowd in gold lingerie and headbnging like the black-souled metalhead we all know she is to “Minnie the Moocher.” At some point Evan Von Doomstein broke out the line “In Soviet Russia, Rocket fires you” and I laughed and raised my Bud in appreciation of his joke.

Heidi Glum brought hard rock and heavy metal back into the fray by dancing to “Living Dead Girl” by Rob Zombie while dressed like vintage Marilyn Manson with a Frankenstein’s monster twist. It was an inspired performance but mostly made me miss the days when Marilyn Manson wasn’t so chubby that he had to draw in a jaw line to try and convince people he was still thin. Ariel Wolf then illuminated the room with a fire-eating and breathing act to another song I love, Louis Armstrong’s “Kiss of Fire.” Damn everything but the circus indeed, and Ariel held the spirit of the evening in high regard with her two amazing sets.

The audience showed their appreciation with cat-calls and crumpled dollars as Scarlett la Rosa invited the performers back on stage while she sang “Calendar Girl.” Having seen the two prior shows, I had high expectations for the night and they exceeded every one. The admission was raised $5 (to $12 at the door), but that increase could be seen in the additional performers and artwork, the improved sound quality (especially in the show’s second half), steadier work from the new MC duo, and the lighting that seemed seamless. This is exactly the sort of event that people in New York/Brooklyn write home about to brag about the benefits of being in the city. I can’t recommend it enough.

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