Incredible Singing Dolls

One of the many E-mails I sent to my friend Jo during my first Round The World In Drag Tour in 2001,- Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo, Sorry, sorry, sorry, I haven’t been in touch for a while. The last time was probably Mardi Gras and the Parade. I never said but the Party afterwards was a bit of an anti-climax, lots of queueing for no reason, crowds of hazy queens and my feet killing me from those silver boots – I actually sat out the Frankie Knuckles set, believe it or not. But I met some lovely people and the Parade was worth it on its own. Since then – no, I remember I’ve told you about the Taxi Club, my brain’s going soft – anyway before we came away from Sydney we went to see the Priscilla Show at the Imperial Hotel (which is where the film starts) which was great – they do songs, costumes and sound-clips from the film and have a little spot afterwards for birthday kids, all in this proper cabaret theatre. I think by now I’ve seen more real Priscilla than I have the film (and that’s a few times) because….oh, sorry, we’re in Adelaide now, and we came here by train – Roger’s insistence, for the landscape, which is interesting in a waiting-for-your-nail-polish-to-dry sort of way, but for 24 hours, no way, - we stopped off at somewhere called Broken Hill which has a big slag-heap hanging over the station but it’s where they stop off in the film and we stayed where they stayed at this place called Mario’s Palace. Next time you see the film look out for it, the entire walls are covered in paintings, mainly of The Great Outback but the ceiling of the hallway, two floors up, has the “Birth of Venus” on it and you can put 2 dollars in a slot in the hallway and it lights up just like in that church I went to in Italy. And we stayed in the “Priscilla Suite” which is where they filmed and you wake up in the morning to The Great Outback on the wall in front of you. The Hotel balcony is a good place to while away some time and I left the Great Outback to Roger – Broken Hill is not Drag Central, you understand, but we knew that from “Priscilla”, didn’t we dear? Anyway, roll on Adelaide, and here we are, and it’s’ a strange place altogether. Not that I’m not glad to be in a city again, but this is like no other city, - a city, but not as we know it, Jim. Think Toytown. It’s all very flat and has straight streets with lots of parky-bits, and every so often there will be “Cake Decorating Centre” or an “Indoor Rifle Range” and the main pedestrian street is busy with people “having a good time’ or “living in the city” and there are people called spruikers who are there with mikes trying to talk and talk and talk you into shops, and you’ll find a fashion festival or a basketball demonstration or a huge inflatable rabbit, or what I saw the other day, this guy with a sort of box on wheels filled with dolls, - Barbie, Ken , Kewpie, you know – and he plays it like some sort of piano and the dolls all mime to music or kick their legs and some of the Kens seem to have frocks on and some of the Barbies seem to be in overalls, and it’s called “The Incredible Singing Dolls Hit Parade” and people stand and stare at it for ages. Ages. They know how to enjoy themselves in Adelaide. Oh, I’m a sarky bitch, aren’t I? No, actually we’ve had a good time, because we’ve been staying with friends, and there are things to do. And, since you’re no doubt wondering, (I was, anyway) there is a drag scene here. What a little nest it is! There are shows on Wednesday to Sunday in different places, and the same queens turn up all over the place. Such a small world. On Sundays at the Edinburgh Castle you get a special show (all proceeds to charity) which changes every five weeks and the one on now is a Sixties Show, with Roxy and Co doing everything from “River Deep Mountain High” to “Bobby’s Girl” in lots of funny frocks. It’s a lot of fun and they work hard. I asked them if it took a lot of getting together and they said, “No, not really” but I suspect they’ve been working hard really. Then you move on to Wednesday and it all goes mad – in a stupid sort of way. A guy called Chris has been running drag nights at the Enigma Club on Hindley Street and now Max’s Karaoke Bar, - Exactly Next Door! – is having them on the same night, and the customers go from bar to bar and show to show, upstairs and down, for two hours to catch them all. At least it’s free to get in but I guess they sell a few more drinks that way. Well, it must be for somebody’s benefit. The Max’s show is good but a bit trad (and the audience was quiet, and I’ve never watched drag alongside dwarfs before…) with Roxy again and Selina and a sassy queen called Malt Biscuit with a lot of style. At the Enigma they have Penny-tration and her crew doing more outrageous things. Penny is a big girl and sweats through a gym-number while a skinny minx in silver does all the gymnastics (and that girl can high-kick!) but by the end she’s sucking off ice-creams and burgers and throwing bread and generally doing the funnies. The boys at the Enigma all roll up in fur-coats and act camp and I found the whole thing a treat, so I think the Enigma wins the Drag Wars Adelaide-style. Then on Thursday, – are you still with me, Jo? – and for the next three nights, it’s the Mars Bar on Gouger Street. And I went on the Thursday after we arrived when they have the “Gong Show” hosted by, yes, Malt Biscuit. And what this is is a talent spot for aspiring drag with sort-of prizes and sort-of judges which goes on late (they have their own drag shows the next two nights). Anyway, Jo, I thought, I’ve got to do this one, give it a go. So I did. Well, I’ve been drag-lite for this bit of the trip so I was a bit low on the old glam and the rainbow party-dress came out of the bag again with The Blonde and the black stillies but I managed a bit of style with gold lashes and sparkly lips and ivory stay-ups and friend Sally saved my bacon with a (very) fake-fur coat, so off I set by cab just before midnight to become a “contestant”. What, you ask, was I going to contest with? Good question. I slipped out to a shop and bought a C.D. so I could dust off that old party-piece “Girls Just want To Have Fun” – (Where are you, Cindi, when we need you?) – and it had taken - I’ll be honest – a bit of an effort to revive the old lip-synching, although I could sing the song in my sleep and frequently do. So I came with my C.D., signed on with Malt and waited around. I should tell you that the sight of the previous week’s “Gong Show” had been Jasmina, a mighty shrew-face of a queen with a determined manner and various big hairs and costumes who seems to roll up every week to do her thing. And there she was again strutting madly on an empty dance-floor while the place filled up. The club surely trembled to think what she would do this week. And that, on the “contestant front”, seemed to be it, particularly in the little nest of tables and seats where we girls seemed to stand, the exercise-paddock, if you like. So I sat and drank my Southern Comforts and waited until about one. In the meantime a girl turned up and I knew, one, that she was a “Contestant”, and, two, that she was going to win. She was young, sexy, dark, hair with long extentions, legs nearly as good as mine, and a cute face. We just eyed each other up but I knew. At one Malt came and rounded us all up and I found a shy boy to take some pictures with my camera (Shy boys are always the best, they’re not always carrying on with themselves, and remember to click the shutter). So backstage, - what’s the picture? There’s Jasmina, puffing away on her ciggie as she gets a big high-kicking number with huge shoulders and hair into place, there’s Chris, who’s a boy (and I guess there’s nothing in the rules about boys not being boys), and Clinton who’s a drag-queen being a boy for the night and doing live, and me, and Mowetia, who is the beauty I spotted. Mowetia says things like, “I’m doing “Body to Body” and I don’t even know the words to what I’m doing”. Actually I think she’s alright and, good luck to her, I’m only a visitor (“our international visitor” as Malt announces me, but then I heard Chris had told Malt I was “an accomplished drag artist”, and, God, what I have to live up to!), but the tension back-stage isn’t that high, I don’t think, or am I just such a trouper…? The silver-gold curtains are in place, and Malt sweeps in to change into her party-dress. Truthfully. Jo, I could have had the hots for Malt, even, or especially, not in drag, so I helped her a lot, but like the pro that she was she was too into bra-straps and lip-liner to notice my flutterings, and in three minutes flat the show was on. It rushed by, of course. I was on last so I could, through a slit in the curtain, catch Chris getting a hard time with “Hammer to the Heart” from a stony crowd, and Clinton giving it loads in girls’ boots and getting a lot of fans, but I missed the moment when - panic backstage! – somebody in the crowd tried to get Jasmina’s costume off and partly succeeded, and she finished in a flurry. I did catch Mowetia moving the crowd. She could have been lip-synching the words to “All Hail Australia Fair” for all the crowd would have noticed with those hip-movements, and I think “Body to Body” went down well – she had a few friends in the crowd too. Then it was “our international visitor” and my bit was over in a flash. All I remember was being unsteady on the old stillies, a lot of sway in the hips, and back through the curtain to not much applause. It’s a short song anyway. No time for a ciggie before the judging, which consists of us all lining up and Malt pulling a male out of the crowd to decide who gets the most applause. But the one she pulled out was objected to because he had slept with one of the contestants last week (it was Jasmina) so we ended up with a regular (and real) girl called Gloria who had probably slept with all of the contestants except me which wouldn’t have been a disqualification, I guess, and Gloria took over because when we took our applause-bows nobody got much (Mowetia the most) and she said something about each of us and chose the winners. Clinton came third (because he had girls boots on), I came second because of my stockings (such a good investment, and so cheap!), and Mowetia got first prize because, well, I can’t remember but it was because she moved the crowd. All over. The curtain rolled back again. Malt slips out of her dress backstage. “Well, that’s fucked up everything”, says Mowetia to me as we’re cashing in our prize-vouchers for drinks at the bar. “Why, Darling?” “I didn’t know I was going to win”. (Whereas I’m sure they usually tell you beforehand, - are you sure you weren’t listening?). Must do it again – and soon. It was such fun. No feed-back, so I’ll assume I was fabulous. And Malt was busy when I left. But it would never have worked out And second prize is second prize in anybody’s books. Isn’t it? Jo, are you still awake? Tell me I’m fabulous. Mandy