Punk glamour

Burlesque Night
Melody Inn
Saturday, Oct. 15

The Rozz-Tox Manifesto, Item 15, still relevant 25 years after its inception: “If you want better media, go make it.” That was the purpose behind the city’s premier madam of all things naughty, Christiebelle, when she put together her burlesque troupe last year. There wasn’t anything like this going on; she wanted it; she went out and made it happen. (Full disclosure: This author had some small hand in all that, though he wasn’t involved this year.)

Performers at the burlesque show at the Melody Inn, during the final stage dance.

And on Oct. 15, for the second year in a row, the troupe performed to a sold-out wall-to-wall crowd at the Melody Inn for a charity event at Punk Rock Night. This time around the charity was the breast cancer awareness organization Y-Me.

The troupe kept the precarious balance between kitsch, peekaboo and traditional burlesque aspects. They trumped last year’s set in a big way, with an added layer of polish and high class, not to mention a layer of comedy. Who would have thought that Charlie Chaplin in female drag could be so damned sexy?

The occasion brought out the best fashion sense in many of the partygoers. Even people not remotely connected to the troupe showed up in tack-sharp stilettos, fishnets and three-piece suits to complete the atmosphere of a 1950s gentleman’s magazine.

And hell, this is Punk Rock Night, we can’t skimp on the music. The fine folks of Devil to Pay, Creepin’ Charley and Warner Gear provided their always-reliable brands of screaming punk in between sets. A particular high point was the surprise one-shot appearance of the defunct-but-no-less-awesome Dirty Little Secrets.

And it’s just not a PRN for the record books without things getting completely out of control in the last minutes, including the action spilling out into the audience and beyond, a Big Bad Wolf sketch that gave new meaning to “fractured fairy tales,” and some business involving Greg Brenner and a Mr. Stud male blowup doll. You’re better off not knowing. It was Glitterdammerung all right, an apocalypse of mayhem, shiny sparklies and high kicks. Common decency prevents me from revealing how things proceeded from there, but let’s just say that it’s a damn shame what became of Mr. Stud.

“The Mel needs a new rule: No getting drunk in high heels!” someone noted at the end of the night, and if someone’s even talking about a new rule at a place with only four lasting rules, that about says it all, I think.