The idea of a burlesque striptease class in Bethnal Green Working Men’s club had an alarmingly seedy ring to it. In fact, this tiny venue “party house, arts and culture venue, gallery, café and arts agency”is fast becoming the retro entertainment hub of East London.
Being not very down with the zeitgeist on these things, the first time I heard of it was when a friend persuaded me that we both needed some exercise and that one of the regular Wednesday night beginners Burlesque dance workshops might be more amusing than the gym.
Burlesque and “classy” erotica is enjoying a huge revival, with Dita Von Teese, Immodesty Blaize and Jo King leading the revival at clubs like the Whoopee Salon, and numerous classes across London focussing on fun and confidence building. Dressing up and wiggling your bottom. How hard can it be? I agreed to accompany her.
A pair of scantily clad buttocks glared from the screen on Jo King’s “London School of Striptease” website, leading to a flurry of anxiety about what to wear, and whether we might actually have to take something off. I managed a Wonderbra but my knicker drawer was looking very sad indeed. Lizzy established that a dress/skirt and heels was de rigeur. We arrived fabulously overdressed and feeling confident. Until we were asked to sign a consent form. “We’re filming a documentary for BBC 3…” Gulp. It was then we realised that most were in jeans. But fortunately, it looked like the clothes were staying on.
The Working Men’s Club doesn’t have the most welcoming exterior. Hidden down a back street off the main high street, with a yellow light to signify the entrance and a brown lino hall. No reception, just a man mopping the floor who pointed me up the stairs. The main hall is Hi-De-Hi rather than Moulin Rouge - a red pub carpet, fake flames flickering in brown lanterns around the wall, a small strip of dancefloor at the front and a stage with a 1970s tinsel back drop and a piano, straight out of Phoenix Nights.
The only nod to seedy glamour is some red lights arranged in a heart shape on the wall. The Tiger-Lilies, themes from the Muppet show and Broadway classics were playing as we slunk to the bar for a fortifying drink. However, no men are allowed in the room for the duration of the class and even the bar staff are strictly all-female.
Good Time Mama JoJo
Fashionably late, Jo King – aka Good Time Mama JoJo – sweeps into the room in a long black velvet coat, pale blond hair, and high heels to boost her diminuitive size, and all heads swivel. Once the coat comes off, and once you can shift your gaze past the magnificent bosom, squashed demurely into a peach lace-up corset, she is surprisingly ordinary looking, like a friendly art teacher or your best mate's mum – mid-forties, rounded tummy, stocky legs - but with a glint in her eye and a wicked sense of humour that instantly puts you at ease.
She clearly loves what she does and it’s contagious. We obediently amass to learn the first few moves. It’s a curious mix of people – a few enquiries unearth a legal secretary, a nurse, a UN agricultural developer and a former stripper – and two poor girls being filmed for the documentary. We start with the “grind” – a seductive figure of eight with the hips. “If in doubt, grind” purrs Jo. “Don’t look at the floor, you’ll look vulnerable. You’re not being paid. You’re enjoying yourself and you’re in control.” Stiffly and self consciously, we politely swerve from side to side. “Mmm, not bad!” laughs Jo. “Now I want to see you having fun.”
She slinks amongst us, putting hands on hips, adjusting, encouraging, eliciting embarassed giggles and generally creating the mood. Next was the “bump” – making twirly beckoning movements with the hands and then bumping your hips in that direction. The hand dance required a certain talent to avoid looking as of you were relieving arthiritis. The former stripper next to me has it sussed – her hands move like smoke. I try and copy her but my wrists start to ache.
A progression to the “front bump” – a not-so-glorified pelvic thrust – and the shimmies – a front shimmy, leaning forward and wobbling your breasts very fast – and the bottom shimmy “The fastest way I know to get a round of applause” says Jo, leaping onto the stage and vibrating her rear to huge effect by way of example. Not for yours truly, who has failed to master the drum of the heels necessary to isolate the rear, and who looks like she is in the grip of some nasty back convulsions. The camera pans unforgivingly across the line-up. But the room has warmed up and the inhibitions are cast aside. There’s a girly camaraderie and we gamely grind and wink at each other, twirl our arms and thrust our pelvises, walk, shimmy and pose. By the time Peggy Lee’s Fever comes on we are prancing around in feather boas, learning to draw them seductively across the cleavage, down the back (mine has more of a sawing effect, like a loofah) before releasing them. “Like a discarded lover” commands Jo, dropping hers to the floor with magnificent disdain.
The class ends with whoops and rounds of applause and it’s time for the Tease Tournament. Four amateur striptease acts, four judges, whisky gingers all round, and boyfriends and regulars allowed to join the girls. At our table, the curious mix of tales of Brighton strip-joints mingling with talk of Third World development projects.
A great compere for the night, the dry, boisterous wit of Miss Polly Cupcake, a performance artist of the “Roll-up roll-up!” variety, who commanded the night with a curl of the lip, the arch of a perfectly plucked black eyebrow , and a hitch of the men’s trews. The first act, a songstress wearing the most enormous tail feathers , a Japanese girl with a sombre expression twiddling lollipops rather uncomfortably across her body, a tall regal girl stretching long luxurious legs from behind a series of diminishing Union Jacks, (“that reminded me of the time I pulled a string of flags out of my vagina on VE day” sighed one of the judges, fondly), and the whiskies turn into doubles and the cheers get more raucous.
It’s the first time I’ve seen nipple tassles in action. It seems that despite the undulations and grace of the rest of your act, to give them maximum effect you have to lift your arms above your head and jump up and down on the spot like a demented pogo stick.
The judges choose their winners for the Final to be held in December, and introduce a hypnotic performance from a special guest who managed to breath, juggle and manipulate fire at the same time as undressing. Which is impressive under any standards.. By this time, the whole club, men and women, are roaring drunk, the applause is hearty and we stumble (but with a bit more poise) out into the night. No profession for a lady? This lady can’t wait to give it another go. Jo King: www.londonschoolofstriptease.co.uk Bethnal Green WMC: )