This was originally written for the currently inactive Brighton Gig Scene web-site:
OK.
So... Tuesday is the New Black, because Engine Room Club's 'Burlesque
Rock and Roll' evening takes place on a tuesday. And let's face it,
there is no place more tuesday than Engine Room Club, on a tuesday.
How
many people must walk past this place every night looking for something
seedily rockin' and have no idea that there's even a club here? I've
regularly spotted hordes of Eastern-Block-Rock looking foreign exchange
students, presumably staying in the hotel next door, loitering outside
with no idea that just a few feet and a spiral staircase away lies the
heartland of all things... Rawk. At least in Brighton, after hours.
Engine
Room could be so much more if they just broadened their horizons a
little and started booking some real alternative bands and DJ's rather
than the same mainstream metal / quasi-punk that everywhere else
supplies. Apparently Burlesque means Nu Metal with dancers?
Take
the stairs down and take a look at the entrance hall: it's crying out
to be tarted up a little bit somehow. But it all just sits there
gathering dust and blown speaker cabs. Imagine those alcoves with some
suitably sleazy drape curtains, some dodgy bohemian lighting, hell
maybe even a cheap chandelier or two.
The Burlesque dancers,
diminutive Betty Page punkers in top-hats and feathers, shake their
tiny booties to the likes of The Cramps and Sinatra, but the rest of
the night is devoted to the same Old Nu Metal / Rawk stuff, with bands
seemingly chosen at random. Last week it was a bemused French ambient
post-rock band.
At least tonight they've got the live act right.
With a subtle undertone of sleaze, The Dirty Cakes do a nice line in
trans-rock-cabaret. We are talking real-life Dickensian Punk here. Oh
yes.
Curiously ageless singer Mr Flynn looks like the aborted
child of Mick Hucknal and Vivienne Westwood. Fortunately for the rest
of the band, he survived the abortion. He has one of those raspy,
gin-soaked, Nasal-Shirley-Bassey-Gay-Cabaret voices. Instantly
authoritative. Like a posh, alcoholic aunt. Like a hot screwdriver
cooling off in a glass of whisky. Surprisingly powerful in a non-rock
way. And therefore something of a refreshing change.
With his
vast main of frizzy blonde hair and chizzled visage, drummer Evan would
have looked perfectly at home behind the vast stadium drum kit of some
late 80's Glam Metal outfit. Revolving drum-riser, tubular bells, a
couple of gongs, three kick drums, the works. But there's a whole lot
more going on in his beats than your average tub-thumping scag-whore.
Max,
the Horrors-u-like bassist / piano player is equally fresh-faced and
lantern-jawed. Imagine if Tim Burton redesigned Action Man. And he can
play. His bass is a wall of razor-wire-topped filth, with enough power
to render any guitarist redundant. Which is probably why they don't
have a guitarist. These people were clearly BORN to be in a band.
The
Cakes describe themselves as "a voluptuous, vociferous rock-cabaret."
They are perhaps more consumptive than voluptuous. Rock-cabaret sounds
about right. But it's also a soulful sound. And very, very entertaining
to boot!
Check them out for yourselves @ www.myspace.com/thedirtycakes
