Rising suns: Vivacious Miss Audacious in Japan
AUDACIOUS DREAMS OF SUMIMASEN - Part 2
A Showgirl Travelogue by Vivacious Miss Audacious
Show Three: July 4, 2023
Back to Tokyo, solo, and just in time for my third performance at the legendary and long running After Party Tokyo. APT is on the sixth floor of an enormous building and perhaps the tiniest cabaret I have had the privilege of performing in, with shows Every. Single. Day. Of. The. Week.
APT is a gem of a club. Walls clad in velvet curtains, ceilings close to my towering bun, and cabaret tables clustered around a petite so-called-stage provide for an intimate and in your face entertainment experience. I had a joyous evening filled with fellow performers, an epic music malfunction and the hilarity of an ostrich boa meeting a sweltering neck. We chatted, we translated, we drank endless wine.
One of many cherished moments was when the headmistress of the establishment Lady Nana and new friend Violet Eva obliged me on my quest for oysters. We ventured out into the lively streets of Shinjuku once again, and traveled down a notorious side street lined with bored, babydoll attired ladies and a few grizzled men.
We walked through throngs of youth and past glowing arcades, around corners, more sidestreets, down an alley, into an unmarked building, up several staircases, through a hallway and into a cubby sized bar, accommodating a mere six barstools and featuring one Japanese man with a shoegaze vibe, shaggy hair and a Betty Boop T-Shirt.
My friends flanked me in disgust (oysters were out of season and I did not care). We drank tokkuri of sake after tokkuri of sake. They pierced curious side dishes of organ meats with chopsticks, and ordered me an abundance of the best raw oysters I’ve ever gulped, freshly shucked amidst swirls of chain smoking by everyone but me. We stumbled out into the gleaming neon and I was deposited into a taxi clutching handwritten directions to my flat.
July 5, 2023: Show Four
Still flying solo in Tokyo while my pals adventure elsewhere, I embark on my final booking of the tour, performing in, what I found out later would be, two shows. L&S is a showbar featuring a stage longer than it is deep, and ceilings not built for hula hooping showgirls who reach nearly 6 feet tall in ballroom heels. I am nothing if not a professional and eek out the perfect and only position to manage barely unhindered hula hooping.
To get on stage while swathed in yards of ruffles and a towering pineapple crown, I duck and squeeze through an impossible seeming crevice and wait behind curtains for my grand entrance kicking off the show. Backstage, in a once tiny kitchen and now green room complete with live bunnies and doves (for the magicians), drag gowns, burlesque ephemera and one single stool, I learn we are doing the show again for a fresh crowd.
I lean, I switch my weight between my feet, and I discover that there is Veuve Clicquot in the mini fridge. I had glimpsed nary a champagne bottle my entire trip and was delighted. Kily Shakley, the dazzling showgirl producer, offers to get me a glass. Confused, I accept. Much like taxi dancers of yore (look it up) the deal was high rollers would purchase bottles of the good stuff, encouraged by the showgirls, who would then enjoy the privilege of partaking.
I wait, I perform, I finally sip my bubbles and go out to mingle. The drag queens are clustered around the high rollers, drinking heartily. I sidle up, I smile, I wiggle, the stage kitten cum hostess pours me a fresh glass from their bottle. The young jack of all trades magician moseys over for a glass. We down them. I smile, I display my empty glass and the high rollers exclaim, “More!”
And this continues, with bottle after bottle popping until their companions look bored and exhausted, the men with the abundance of yen become increasingly boastful and near belligerent, and I keep smiling, sipping and relishing the fact that I don’t personally have to make small talk due to, in this instance, the beauty of the language barrier. Nine bottles later, and with the trains long on their nightly service shut off, we climb into a taxi and journey into the night once again.
READ PART ONE HERE
MORE FEATURES
MEET YOUR LOCAL PERFORMERS
A Showgirl Travelogue by Vivacious Miss Audacious
Show Three: July 4, 2023
Back to Tokyo, solo, and just in time for my third performance at the legendary and long running After Party Tokyo. APT is on the sixth floor of an enormous building and perhaps the tiniest cabaret I have had the privilege of performing in, with shows Every. Single. Day. Of. The. Week.
APT is a gem of a club. Walls clad in velvet curtains, ceilings close to my towering bun, and cabaret tables clustered around a petite so-called-stage provide for an intimate and in your face entertainment experience. I had a joyous evening filled with fellow performers, an epic music malfunction and the hilarity of an ostrich boa meeting a sweltering neck. We chatted, we translated, we drank endless wine.
One of many cherished moments was when the headmistress of the establishment Lady Nana and new friend Violet Eva obliged me on my quest for oysters. We ventured out into the lively streets of Shinjuku once again, and traveled down a notorious side street lined with bored, babydoll attired ladies and a few grizzled men.
We walked through throngs of youth and past glowing arcades, around corners, more sidestreets, down an alley, into an unmarked building, up several staircases, through a hallway and into a cubby sized bar, accommodating a mere six barstools and featuring one Japanese man with a shoegaze vibe, shaggy hair and a Betty Boop T-Shirt.
My friends flanked me in disgust (oysters were out of season and I did not care). We drank tokkuri of sake after tokkuri of sake. They pierced curious side dishes of organ meats with chopsticks, and ordered me an abundance of the best raw oysters I’ve ever gulped, freshly shucked amidst swirls of chain smoking by everyone but me. We stumbled out into the gleaming neon and I was deposited into a taxi clutching handwritten directions to my flat.
July 5, 2023: Show Four
Still flying solo in Tokyo while my pals adventure elsewhere, I embark on my final booking of the tour, performing in, what I found out later would be, two shows. L&S is a showbar featuring a stage longer than it is deep, and ceilings not built for hula hooping showgirls who reach nearly 6 feet tall in ballroom heels. I am nothing if not a professional and eek out the perfect and only position to manage barely unhindered hula hooping.
To get on stage while swathed in yards of ruffles and a towering pineapple crown, I duck and squeeze through an impossible seeming crevice and wait behind curtains for my grand entrance kicking off the show. Backstage, in a once tiny kitchen and now green room complete with live bunnies and doves (for the magicians), drag gowns, burlesque ephemera and one single stool, I learn we are doing the show again for a fresh crowd.
I lean, I switch my weight between my feet, and I discover that there is Veuve Clicquot in the mini fridge. I had glimpsed nary a champagne bottle my entire trip and was delighted. Kily Shakley, the dazzling showgirl producer, offers to get me a glass. Confused, I accept. Much like taxi dancers of yore (look it up) the deal was high rollers would purchase bottles of the good stuff, encouraged by the showgirls, who would then enjoy the privilege of partaking.
I wait, I perform, I finally sip my bubbles and go out to mingle. The drag queens are clustered around the high rollers, drinking heartily. I sidle up, I smile, I wiggle, the stage kitten cum hostess pours me a fresh glass from their bottle. The young jack of all trades magician moseys over for a glass. We down them. I smile, I display my empty glass and the high rollers exclaim, “More!”
And this continues, with bottle after bottle popping until their companions look bored and exhausted, the men with the abundance of yen become increasingly boastful and near belligerent, and I keep smiling, sipping and relishing the fact that I don’t personally have to make small talk due to, in this instance, the beauty of the language barrier. Nine bottles later, and with the trains long on their nightly service shut off, we climb into a taxi and journey into the night once again.
READ PART ONE HERE
MORE FEATURES
MEET YOUR LOCAL PERFORMERS