Popination Lactation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Milk Bar. Also: Repent! for the Goth is nigh…
I almost called this one Popination FashioNation, because FashioNation is a very well known boutique here in Denver, that specializes in goth style clothing and accessories. The connection here is that Milk Bar is the place for goth nights in Denver. It’s more of a nightclub than a bar (or especially pub), and as such, I don’t really popinate there too often. I am old and tired; my nightclub days are far behind me. But then, I was there this past Friday and as I sat down to write up a thing about it, it struck me that I’ve actually been to Milk Bar relatively frequently in the past few months. Why? Repent, that’s why.
Repent Night
Friday night, way past my bedtime, I was scheduled to haul out my rarely-before-danced burlesque act centered around Vikings and Valkyries and performed with sword and shield and corset. I refurbished the choreography to include only the shield and not the sword, since Milk Bar is a nightclub and as such, has strict no-weapons rules. The act is very fun—a slower one for me (I usually choreograph almost frantically, to each song lyric)—it involves only removing a skirt and a buckled corset, with lots of strong posing and getting the audience to thump their chests with me in a Vikinglike manner. I use the shield similarly to a classic burlesque feather fan, in that I coyly cover my body as I strip, and reveal in stages. But with a steel shield instead of a fluffy fan. Very me, don’t you think?
Repent is another variety show in town, headed by a burlesquer who frequents Blue Dime Cabaret stages, and so I often show up for theirs. This past show was their 9th anniversary (!) and so they had acts that reflected the themes of all their monthly shows from this past 9th year. I was assigned Dark Winter, and so I thought my Viking piece was perfect—the last time I performed it was for something called Valhalla Winter Ball, after all.
Lacked Aid at Milk Bar
Milk Bar is actually all underground (literally as well as culturally), located underneath another more mainstream nightclub called Bar Standard. The entrance is a shady looking door in the middle of a crunchy back alley behind a Circle K and yet another club, called Vybe. Once inside, you find yourself navigating a warren of corners and darkly lit nooks, with one room actually called the Dark Room, and another adjacent area that’s a bit more glowing. Both sections take a bunch of twists and turns to get to, and both have their own separate bar and DJ. The Dark Room is where Repent displays its monthly bit-jiggling, on its tiny stage.
I don’t know if it was a full moon, or if Mercury was in Gatorade or whatever, but a laundry list of disasters, in the spectrum from irksome to annoying to maybe I can’t perform after all? one after the other, occurred. First, I got hit with my period just that afternoon. Which isn’t a huge deal but it is a little irksome to be in period mode when trying to strip to skivvies and be all sexy. But that’s happened to me many times before—it wasn’t a harbinger of doom or anything. Or so I thought.
The next disaster was one of the wardrobe malfunction type, but this happened even before I was onstage. My corset, a lovely faux leather thing with a quick-remove zipper as well as a row of buckles, decided it had served me for the last time. It was a gift from my partner, and was a lovely thing I wore to my second ever Goth Prom. I had tried on my whole costume earlier that day, to make sure everything looked good together, that I could easily remove my skirt over my boots without awkward shuffling, etc. But. By the time I was getting the corset on in preparation for my act, in Milk’s dressing room, the zipper broke, completely, splitting from top to bottom. So. I had to keep the thing on using the buckles only, which meant that it would take at least three times as long to remove. The song is a short one, too. Ah well, I thought, the show must go on. I’ll have to wing it.
But then! Speaking of my song: there I was, ‘woo’-ing my lungs out for the other acts (one of which included a gloriously neon green front-less chaps and alien head pastie combo), when the DJ called me over and told me that my song track wasn’t working. Uh oh. So I ran to get my phone charger cord, to see if maybe they could play it from my phone directly (as I had done several times as I braided my hair and got into makeup at home). I ran around the back edge of the crowd to go fetch it from the green room, and…
Crash!
I wasn’t seeing clearly in the dim purple clubbing light, and a low seat in the back stopped me, shins first. I fell in a perfect zenpo ukemi (front breakfall) onto the cushion of the seat, more embarrassed than hurt. I fetched my cord, brought it back (more carefully this time) and found that it wasn’t going to work with the DJ’s setup. So I tried emailing him the track again, to no avail again. They switched the last act of this set with mine, so they could have one more act to try and fix it, and…
Well I’m not sure how he managed it—maybe he literally did a YouTube search, found it, and converted it right there? I dunno—all I know is, he got it to work. So I got in place ready to go, when I had to corner the kitten and remind her to place my shield on the stage. My whole piece centers on and around the shield; I kind of need it.
Whew.
My performance, when it finally happened, was spectacular. I used the three buckles as more suspense before that corset reveal, and it wasn’t until after I got back into the dressing room that I noticed both my shins were barked and bleeding.
Early to Bed (like 1am early)
This whole thing exhausted me, as you can imagine. Repent shows have two sets, one at 11 and one at midnight, and as I ended up last in that first set, I took a moment during the break to blow off steam and sit for a spell. I popped a can of Dale’s Pale Ale and sat with a deep contented (and slightly relieved) sigh. My steel shield just fit into my costume bag, and I laid it at my feet with a clank. Immediately, a lovely young artistically scruffed human approached me and told me I was amazing—this was his first time ever seeing burlesque and he was obviously seeing stars. A beautiful cross dresser I’ve known since college theatre land came up and hugged me farewell. They do this amazing Victorian gown and mask thing (we’ve actually had them kitten for us at Blue Dime), and tonight was no different: sporting a beautifully bustled dress and colorful wig, they made an unusual and beautiful addition to a gothy scene. It was past their bedtime as well, though, so they were there to enjoy me & the first half of Repent and then get home at a reasonable hour. Which, fair.
Then, a few fans along with an upcoming performer came and sat with me for a bit. The performer is a tall, willowy beauty, inked from chin to toes, who does eccentric burlesque acts, including one that includes removing various snacks from out of her discarded clothing and eating them while she dances. Her partner is a stoner dude of Asian descent with a heart of pure gold. And with them was a big fan of mine and of Blue Dime as well as Repent. A bearded gentle gentleman, he has aspirations of becoming a burlesquer himself. And, judging from his antics during our audience participation shenanigans, I think he’ll do well.
It was so very past my bedtime, though, at this point, so I went ahead and called up an uber before the second half began. I wasn’t even able to have my customary post-show beer at home, I was so tired. Usually I need a beer to temper the performance high, but my shins were throbbing and I was covered in glitter and Viking eyeshadow over most of my upper face like a raccoon’s markings. I was done. I washed off as much of it as I possibly could, ripped the black electrical tape off my nipples, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed.
Repent, for the end of the night is at hand.
You don’t get a pic of my act, sorry—too ribald for this platform. So here’s the song instead. See that chest thumping bit? Yep. Super fun. Audiences love doing it.