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  Blue Angel Burlesque
Blue Angel Burlesque
Cutting Room, NYC, 3/2/02
Photo by Glyn Emmerson, © 2002 NY Rock


Falling In Lust Again: The Blue Angel Burlesque Exotic Cabaret Review by Spyder Darling

Tired of silicone-grown, fat-free strippers with their platinum hair, scarlet nails and snow-blind smiles? Sick to death of g-string divas with diamond-hard abs, pelvises gyrating like a '57 Harley Davidson on five miles of dirt road? No? Well, neither am I. Showgirls might not make the world go 'round, but they certainly make it go 'round better.

The playful perverts behind the Blue Angel Burlesque – a dysfunctional family circus held every Saturday night in the back room of New York City's Cutting Room – have a more than slightly askew view of erotic entertainment.

At the Blue Angel, for $20, curious connoisseurs of kinky carnal knowledge can experience the farthest thing from the usual parade of perfect 10's, who hustle expensive three-minute table dances. Instead, your entry fee gets you an hour-and-a-half long feline freak show of topless tattooed tarts, who strip tease, fire eat, and sword swallow the night away as they vie for your tip dollar.

Blue Angel Burlesque
Blue Angel Burlesque
Cutting Room, NYC, 3/2/02
Photo by Glyn Emmerson, © 2002 NY Rock

  
The Blue Angel is appropriately named after Josef von Sternberg's tragic 1930s film about a dance-hall girl (played by Marlene Dietrich), who matter-of-factly ruins the life of a lonely professor. The tragedy, however, in the current version is in watching as each girl has to work the crowd with a tip bucket after risking broiling herself medium rare with a fire-eating show or piercing a small intestine with an assortment of Ginsu-style cutlery.

The lovely and loony ladies range in age from Miss Remmy, a sexy redhead, young enough to be working her way through dominatrix college, to Tanya, the Mistress of Magic, allegedly a veteran of the Moscow Circus, presumably during the Josef Stalin administration. Young and otherwise, they're working hard for your buck.

One performer tears not be shed for is Velocity Chyladd, an overly voluptuous vixen whose knife-wielding stage antics included spitting fake blood and stabbing herself in her most private of parts. Ouch! Velocity, lead singer in her spare time for local Goth band Vulgaris, should have spent the time after her act giving bucks back to the dumbfounded crowd. "You don't have to like everything, but you're sure going to see everything," the Mistress of Ceremonies said of Velocity's act – the most disturbing part of an already off-kilter night.

  Blue Angel Burlesque
Blue Angel Burlesque
Cutting Room, NYC, 3/2/02
Photo by Glyn Emmerson, © 2002 NY Rock

One less traumatizing and strangely tantalizing show was put on by Twisted Sister Anne. Introduced as a catholic cutie who has chosen to make up for her repressive education, Anne dances a blasphemous bump and grind to the tune of Nightranger's "Sister Christian." Dressed in a nun's robe, she eventually strips down to her head piece and knee-high white socks and sneakers. If you've ever wondered what nuns wear underneath their vestal vestments, the answer according to Sister Anne anyway, is not much.

The jewel in Blue Angel's Nile of nefarious naughtiness is in the form of Andrea, a bewitching belly dancer whose intoxicating undulations are accompanied by a gracious gaze and the provocative percussion from the chiming of her finger cymbals. Be sure to drop a couple extra bucks in Andrea's bucket when she comes your way. And if you'd like your fair lady to learn the secrets of Andrea's ancient moves, talk to her after the show, as she also teaches belly dancing when not otherwise disengaged at Blue Angel.

So, if you just can't wait til next year's Exotic Erotic Ball, or are curious to see a chubby topless chick hammer nails into her nose, by all means make Blue Angel your first stop for an over-the-top night on the town. Be warned: the not-quite heavenly bodies and their bawdy ballet are not for the feint of heart, weak of stomach, or politically correct crowd. Check your halo and good taste at the door.

April 2002

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