BODABIL, AUTHENTICITY, AND ALL THAT JAZZ
Skarlet Fever — a 1920s-style cabaret revue night — channels all our skewed Jazz Age fantasies.
originally published by Metakritiko, April 2010
I have a long-standing fascination with the Roaring ‘20s. Admittedly, it's a very Ameri-centric curiosity, for the most part. It's a mental hodgepodge cobbled together from images of masked vigilante pulp heroes and swanky Prohibition era speakeasies; young revelers in spiffy attire, dancing the Charleston to the sound of a riotous big band; and F. Scott Fitzgerald's vital milieu of bob-haired flappers and listless philosophers. It's a vicarious longing for a time and place that I have no direct access to, short of an Ouija board, a time machine, or psychotropic drugs.
But I also wonder how much of those Jazz Age influences spilled over into the Philippines during the Jones Law period of American rule. What parts of it took root in the genteel and cosmopolitan Manila lovingly memorialized in the childhood tales of writers like Carmen Guerrero Nakpil? After all, vaudeville was embraced and bastardized into bodabil, and once-glorious venues like the Manila Grand Opera House regularly blared with the heady torch-songs of Katy de la Cruz. Heck, Eartha Kitt made a signature anthem of "Waray-Waray", a feisty, upbeat number in the language of Samar and Leyte. Bottom line: the trappings of jazz culture inevitably have a valid if under-appreciated place in the shaping of the contemporary Philippine imagination.
So naturally, I was intrigued when I learned about Skarlet Fever, a faux 20s-style cabaret revue night, hosted by jazz singer Skarlet Brown (still known in her everyday life as Myra Ruaro, the erstwhile frontwoman of Pinoy ska icons Put3ska).
The invitation on Facebook promised "a night of true blue jazz & Broadway, dance, love & tragedy". And it boasted a diverse roster of performers to boot: live music by seasoned veterans the Jun Cadiz Jazz Trio; pole-dancing by pioneering duo GirlVsGirl, and their protégées The Polecats; neo-vaudeville dance troupe The Corsettes; and co-hosted by Marcus Rivera, who played The Engineer in the Australian production of Miss Saigon.
The event was held at Ten02, the bar along Sct. Ybardolaza in Quezon City that Skarlet co-owns with her husband Marben. Frankly, I couldn't have thought of a more apt venue, even beyond the obvious practical advantages. The cramped interior was dimly lit, except for the stage area, which was redesigned last year by Leeroy New (the same guy responsible for Sputnik's melting facade). Lush crimson drapes framed the stage, but for the most part, the proscenium was kept free of excessive decor, leaving the focus squarely on the performers.
The evening of Friday, April 9, was already sweltering to begin with. But that didn't stop Skarlet and company from turning up the proverbial heat. As far as classic variety nights like this go, the performances were a mixed bag. And yet they rarely ever failed to hold my interest, as both listener and viewer. The highlights were many: the eager co-hosts danced a fleet-footed Lindy Hop. Skarlet launched into a brief monolog about the differences in performance between 'raw' jazz and Broadway tunes, before segueing into an impressive display of traditional scatting. I was surprisingly impressed with Rivera’s outlandish rendition of “The American Dream” from Miss Saigon, considering my overall distaste for that particular musical. Later on, the duo GirlVsGirl (by day, a professional artist and a banker!) did a pole-dancing routine that looked at once sensual and incredibly athletic, set to a recording of Peggy Lee's sultry "Fever", reclaiming a form of human kinetics more often associated with strip clubs. It may have been anachronistic for the pseudo speakeasy vibe (the original rhythm and blues version by Little Willie John wasn't released until 1956) but really, I was too excited to notice this during the actual show.
It was all quite the spectacle, and the nascent jazz fan-boy in me was mighty entertained. However, my cultural critic side was experiencing a nagging sense that the whole affair was all surface. It’s not that the performers weren't giving it their best. Rivera carries himself like a consummate pro, ably improvising his way through a couple of flubbed lines. Likewise, Skarlet spent years perfecting her craft in the jazz lounge circuit, even while she was singing for Put3ska, and it's evident in her confident strut, full voice, and even her multiple wardrobe changes. (I noted at least four distinct outfits, each one loosely appropriate to the period setting.) Then why did I feel so bothered by the semblance of inauthenticity? After all, I decidedly lack both the experience and formal training to distinguish an original Blue Note recording from a convincing bootleg, let alone determine the 'purity' of a jazz event. So really, who was I to judge Skarlet's choice of production values?
And that's when it suddenly it hit me: it doesn't matter.
Ultimately, Skarlet Fever is an example of what social theorist Jean Baudrillard calls a simulacrum. It's a “copy without an original”, and thus it offers a new kind of truth in its own right: the hyperreal. Just like my own wild imaginings of the Roaring ‘20s, Skarlet and company have realized their patchwork vision of the era, with minimal
firsthand access to the primary sources about the epoch. On a modest budget, Skarlet Fever uses the ‘appropriate technologies’ of theatrics and showmanship to recreate a time period that exists only in our collective imagination. And maybe every now and then, the seams will come through, betraying the contemporary origins of this fabricated nostalgia trip. But really, so what? To hope for a faithful reconstruction of the cabaret experience is not only foolishly difficult, it would surely be uncomfortable, dirty, and quite possibly in violation of reasonable building codes. And besides, isn’t the spirit of jazz meant to be about improvisation and experimentation?
To their credit, Skarlet and Rivera have the benefit of decades worth of actual experience; precisely the kind of dedicated, hardscrabble work ethic that’s so absent in modern day showbiz. They represent the classic brand of hammy ringleaders who inspire by example. It’s quite telling that a number of audience members (including yours truly) opted to make an effort to dress the part. It reflects another quality I associate with jazz culture: a sense of communal experience. What good is streaming YouTube clips alone in your room? Come join Skarlet Fever’s cabaret!