Capitale NY/Interview: Shelly Bomb
CAPITALE: 130 Bowery New York NY 10013
If Capitale were a woman, she would be very high maintenance: requiring plenty of attention, 4 star French restaurants, 5 star hotels and gifts of diamond jewelry on top of a hot bod and major brains to keep her interest.
Doing a show in a place like Capitale makes even the worst aerialist look incredibly glamorous just by hanging from the sixty-eight foot ceiling, in the center of such beauty. The main room itself, eighty foot square with 20 Corinthian columns lining the walls and marble spread throughout, is so incredibly stunning, that it makes one forget all the problems of the day and the grime of the streets outside. I love doing aerial shows at Capitale.
Every aerial job starts with packing. Packing the silk to climb. Packing the hardware and span set to hang it from. Packing the costumes. Packing make-up, curling irons, steamers, whatever styling gear is needed (unless a budget was included for hair and makeup artists). It takes a lot to make a face and hair noticeable 20 feet up and upside down - not something you can just walk out your door ready for. I prefer working for a larger aerial company like Antigravity because they hire other people to pack. When I work independently, I usually only have the budget for a small production crew if any.
After the packing comes the lugging: On a typical job, I arrive in the morning to talk with riggers and hang my silk or hammock. Each 30-foot silk with the hardware weighs around 20 pounds. If I’m carrying two sets, that makes forty pounds - costumes (and spare costumes just-in-case) add another ten or fifteen pounds - it fits in a rolling suitcase. Lugging a heavy bag up and down stairs and through crowds of people in the subway is the last thing I want my shoulders to go through before climbing thirty feet. Barnum and Bailey have their own private train; Cirque du Soleil’s traveling show Delirium has a couple RV’s for their talent; personally, I take a lot of cabs. I tip a dollar extra for every bag that goes in the trunk. If the driver doesn’t help me get my bags out of the trunk when arriving, in a small act of rebellion I leave the passenger door and the trunk open. I encourage others to do the same. My arms spend enough time holding myself up – I hate to lift or carry things and will go out of my way to avoid lifting and carrying: I love fresh direct – the grocery delivery service, I get all cat food, litter, and office supplies delivered. My laundry is picked up and delivered. I always rent regular rehearsal space where my gear can remain hanging in the air so I don’t have to drag it over. I am on a first name basis with all my UPS guys, mailmen, FedEx and DHL people and they get special cards at Christmas. With all the care and expense I take to save my shoulders, somehow I am still always carrying a heavy bag full of gear somewhere. Over the years I've come to wonder if somehow the heavy bags are connected to my aerial success: once the sandbags are dropped my balloon can float weightlessly upward.
After the lugging, a rigger usually hangs my silk for me. Riggers are a different breed: visually a little rough around the edges, proud of the number of tools they carry, intelligent but socially a bit off, and often these days, excellent mountain climbers. A rigger always has something to say to you: your hardware should be steel; you don’t have the latest-model swivel; the “beaners” should be self-locking; your beaner shouldn’t be self-locking. This particular time – at the NAS “Hip Hop is Dead” release party – it was that my spans looked a little worn. “It’s just a tiny snag on the sleeve” I told my long-haired, Greek rigger K__, “I promise to retire it soon – for now it’s all I’ve got with me.” I dismissed the warning - It’s a rigger’s job to be overly cautious. With my dangerous profession, I’m fairly certain my death will come in the form of a car running me down, or something stupid like slipping in the tub or falling down stairs. K__ frowned, and continued to rig my silks. I always double-check a rigger’s job when it’s done – besides the obvious safety reasons, they like it when someone appreciates their work.
The rehearsal is next. Following rehearsal comes the back and forth: back home to rest, eat and prepare – and again back to the venue for the show. Most event planners forget that an aerialist also needs to return for the strike of the equipment. For liability and aesthetic reasons, more often than not, silks cannot be taken down while the party is still going on. Even if the riggers can do it – I still need to pick up the gear the next day. More lugging. Every job usually takes three trips and probably a fourth for the initial site inspection if it’s my first time there. Depending on the venue, the house production staff will be on point or not. I don’t care how good your event planner is – if you don’t have a great production company behind a party, the night will be complete chaos. My job is only to do the physical part of the show. I can’t control the lights, the sound, or the video behind me, I don’t have a headset to make stage calls; but I need all of these to be exact or my small part of the show will look really bad. Every big event space has to have a house production company: Some, like the Javitz or Madison Square Garden, are Local 1 Union Houses; Cipriani’s is Stargroup; Gotham Hall and The Plaza is Bently Meeker territory. Capitale’s house is run by BML Stage lighting and Production; their crew knows what they’re doing, and truly care about their job.
It’s not by chance that Capitale is one of the most popular places to hold a party in the city. A New York landmark converted to event space in 2002 by Seth Greenberg, the festive spirit here carries back to the very origins of the building and soul of her architect.
I plead for patience now, because in order to adequately describe Capitale it is necessary not only to tell about her eccentric designer – Stanford White, but also to describe the remarkable street where she sits and give a brief history of banking in America. Because Capitale, when originally built back in 1893, was the very first Bowery Savings bank to open in the city of New York.
The idea of Mutual Savings emerged in the late 17C thanks to the man who wrote Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe. Defoe pointed out in a document called “Essays on Projects” that if workmen could be persuaded to pay a percentage of their wages into a pension office, a surplus might be created sufficient to provide against “pauperism”. By 1820 there were ten savings banks in America, although there was still no one form of currency in the country: a person traveling from New Orleans to New York would have to change money repeatedly.
The Bowery Savings Bank started as an altruistic effort of 40 men who considered themselves philanthropists. Many were Quakers with reputations for being extremely frugal, had made their own fortunes, and wanted to help other laborers to earn for their future with Mutual Savings accounts. The Bowery Savings Bank originally opened its doors in 1834. Actually it wasn’t their doors they opened – they had been given space for free by the Butchers and Drovers Bank who happened to be located on Bowery and Grand. The founders donated their time – hours were 5 to 8pm on Monday and Saturday (this was long before Commerce Bank). The only expense was for two leather chests in which they kept documents and currency.
By January 1836 the trustees purchased the building from the Butchers and Drovers Bank at 128 Bowery. The next forty years saw vast changes and growth in the US and New York City: The invention of the sewing machine in 1856; the Civil War in 1861; the establishment of a national currency in 1863. The elevated railroad came to the Bowery in 1878 and brought even more business to the growing savings bank.
By 1891 increased business made it necessary for the Bowery savings Bank to make its sixth enlargement – which is where Stanford White finally entered the picture. The bank purchased three additional lots located at the rear of the bank building, and asked five architectural firms to submit designs. The committee seemed mainly concerned that the bank should be fireproof and possess “fortress-like strength” on account of the Bank’s questionable location. The competition was basically between George B. Post and McKim, Mead, & White. According to a list of attributions in the McKim, Mead, & White Archives, the partner in charge of design and construction of the Bowery Savings Bank was Stanford White. Stanford and his family were on a trip to Europe in February 1893 when the building committee decided on the design submitted by his firm. The Whites continued on to Egypt for a tour of the Nile and its pyramids and work was begun on the structure after he returned that May. The new building opened for business in June of 1894, however the waiting room, with its decoration was still incomplete in December 1895.
The neoclassical Bowery Savings bank in its Roman Temple style was to set the standard for all banks at the turn of the century to follow.
The beginning of the 1890s was a crucial time for the architectural style of New York, which had become gradually eclectic. White and McKim’s first employer, Richardson, had been the one who originally attempted to bring order to the architectural gumbo of the city at the earlier part of the century, when New York had a mix of “sham Gothic castles, Egyptian Revival Churches, Moresque Pavilions and Italianate villas”. The Chicago World Fair for which McKim had decided on the overall design style, opened the same year the Bowery Savings bank began construction – 1893. The World Fair had a huge impact on building in New York; together with White, McKim worked to implement the spread of Beaux Arts through the city in an effort to create harmony among New York’s commercial and public buildings.
Stanford was born November 9, 1853 – the second son of Richard Grant White – a music and drama critic for various newspapers. Richard Grant White was a very respected and prolific author but had very little money. In fact, Stanford couldn’t even afford to go to college. With his father’s connections combined with his innate artistic ability, Stanford landed a job with H. H. Richardson at the age of sixteen. Richardson was the third American to study architecture at the Beaux Arts in Paris. He had a very successful firm in the city, and was responsible for educating a number of young architects who worked for him. Later in life, (1881) Stanford did finally receive an honorary degree in music from the University of the city of New York (now known as NYU) thanks again to his father’s influence.
Elizabeth Lehr described Stanford in his youth as the “cream of fashionable Bohemia” and described him on one occasion at Sherry’s, as being “outrageously badly dressed”. A very tall man with long legs, fiery red hair, and a bushy handlebar mustache, he was always enthusiastically dashing around, from his office, to his buildings, to his parties and his women – with seemingly unbounded energy.
Stanford joined Charles McKim and William Rutherford Mead to form McKim Mead and White in 1879. Together they changed the face of New York. Although his partner McKim is not the star of this story, I have to mention that while McKim was studying architecture at the Academie of Beaux Arts in Paris, he took up gymnastics and became “proficient in the flying trapeze”. A man after my own heart.
Other surviving examples of Stanford’s work you might be familiar with include the Washington Memorial Arch at Washington Square Park, the Century Club, and the Post Office on 34th and 8th Avenue. In addition to his building design, Stanford was also called upon to design many interiors – such as the Players club, the Metropolitan Club and the socialite Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish’s home on seventy-eighth street. For his clients he planned, or helped to plan events – the most notorious being the “Pie Girl Dinner” which included a “bevy of canaries” and sixteen year old Susie Johnson jumping out of a giant pie; and he was also a theatre buff – where he directed a few shows and helped to put together some vaudeville nights and helped to further certain careers. Ruth St. Dennis was greatly assisted by Stanford, who helped her to secure some of her earlier roles. Stanford had friends from all walks of life: scientist Nicola Tesla, artist Charles Dana Gibson, inventor Cooper Hewitt, millionaire William Whitney are just a sampling of the variety of people he spent his time with.
He also had many bachelor pads (then called studios) around the city. The most famous was the one above the original FAO Swartz Company on 24th Street. The entrance room was described as being something out of the fairy tale “Arabian Nights”; and by climbing a dark staircase, a hidden room could be reached. Decorated in forest green – its main attraction was a red velvet swing hanging in the center, from a very tall ceiling. Stanford would rig a paper parasol on the wall and entice girls to try and kick it – in doing so they would swing higher and higher, revealing legs under skirts. (American aerial fans haven’t changed much over the years.)
Stanford White became the first scandal of the 20th century when on June 25, 1906 he was shot in Madison Square’s roof garden that he himself designed – by the husband of a former lover, Evelyn Nesbit. I believe it was in Japan that I first heard someone say “it’s not a crime unless you are caught”. During the murder trials Stanford’s life was laid out for all to see. His penchant for young showgirls; the date-rape of Evelyn – who later fell head over heels in love with Stanford; his hidden debts; his secret clubs. All the eccentricities that originally endeared him to society – things being done by many other men in a less charming way - now turned against him as he was condemned by many of his former friends and all of America. To this day there are still books being written about the scandal.
“Stanford, are you with me? Do you enjoy girls overhead more or less without the long skirts? Your skylight has been covered but it’s a nice room you have here – they throw some great parties, although not so great as yours were (Golden Era event budgets were not so cheap)….” Peacefully laying in my hammock at Capitale, slowly circling 25 feet up while waiting over an hour for the doors to finally open and the guests to enter the room for the wedding dinner; I tried to occupy myself with thoughts other than the distance to the floor. I was working for Antigravity with another woman named Kim. The event production manager nervously jumped the gun and had us go up way too early, because it was in the contract that we would be overhead when the guests were being seated.
It was a typical wedding dinner – nothing out of the ordinary. Weddings are a large source of income for the freelance performers of the city. Antigravity is most famous for their use of fabric hammocks and their jumping boot acrobatics. This wedding had both. Antigravity was the first large aerial company in the city – started by two former gymnasts: Chris Harrison and Andreas Pacho. Although it began as a gymnastic company in 1990, Antigravity soon set the standard for great aerial performance in the city. This was largely due to the foresight of its founders in always hiring a production crew in addition to their gymnasts, and a talented creative director – Shelly Bomb.
I met Shelly in 1994 – the year she moved to the city - while I was still in school. Although I had performed with a couple circuses, it was Shelly who introduced me to NY stage and club performance by hiring me for her Vibrating Circus and other “stage-capades” she was responsible for at places like Club Expo, Cheetah, Las Vegas House of Blues, and many other venues around the US. At first I was hired as a trapeze artist, but she soon began including me regularly as part of her performance pieces in clubs. We were something in between dancers and drag-queens, usually opening up for hip hop or rap bands like Wu Tang Clan or DJ Red Alert. Go figure. Shelly would come up with costumes and an elaborate scenario for the evening that would include some sort of prop such as yards of colorful yarn, or bags of feathers. Together we would spend around 20 minutes on stage trying to entertain the dancing guests with our meaningless antics. It was a living stage science experiment – “what works and what doesn’t 101”. I learned a lot from Shelly’s expertise, but just the experience of being on stage in a safe environment (no theater critics came to the places we performed) was a great lesson. Occasionally Shelly would let me come up with the story for the night – like the time I saw Woody Allen’s “Sleeper” on TV and decided that Shelly would be the mad scientist and I her evil clone – entering the stage wrapped entirely in tin-foil. By the time Shelly got around to unwrapping me, I had been thoroughly cooked by the stage-lights and was dripping with sweat. Or when I was into Pink Floyd, and convinced Shelly to build a table on stage like Waters had done in ‘68. We dressed as carpenter-showgirls, complete with Vegas headdress and tool belt. The table was pretty shaky. I’m afraid people didn’t get that one. Nevertheless, my tomboy style complemented her girly-ness nicely so she hired me a lot in those days.
Shelly was styling the night of the wedding at Capitale, and I was very happy to be working with her again in a different context. I was in an extremely good mood because I had previously been to a hypnosis session. Hammock was not my usual aerial act and I was a little nervous about doing it 25 feet in the air. Being an aerialist doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid of heights – it just means you are able to work in spite of them. When performing with a group, any type of nervous energy is extremely contagious. I knew from experience that Shelly was intolerant of any sort of “negative vibe”. She always had an annoying trait of ignoring anyone speaking to her at a time she didn’t feel like being spoken to – even if the message was urgent. I had also heard of my aerial partner Kim complaining of a girl who freaked her out by voicing her doubts about the height they at which they were performing. Not wanting to spread anything, I went to hypnosis to help overcome my anxiety. It worked like a charm.
My first job at Capitale - with the exception of the added packing and lugging - had been easier. Just two sets of tissue with my partner Caroline. Kelis’ assistant Germaine called my manager and booked me about two weeks beforehand: It was a special-themed black and white party for the album release of “Hip Hop is Dead”. No one told me that it was a “black and white” party however, so I had costumes designed (rush order) to honor the Egyptian Falcon God of the Dead, Osirus. What could be more “dead” than Egyptian lore? And as Capitale always reminded me of New York’s version of a pyramid I thought it suited the place. The costumes were black with an Egyptian-styled cut out neckline, gold armbands and detachable sectioned falcon wings that reached from fingertip to fingertip across our backs. One side was black but the underside of the wings were gold, red, and blue. We climbed up the fabric with our wings, did a foot-lock, arched forward in our winged glory, then kneeled in our loop Japanese style and removed the cumbersome wings, letting them drop to the ground beneath as we continued with the choreography.
According to MTV news, “ the likes of Beyoncé and Jay-Z, Busta Rhymes, Spike Lee and Omarion chilled in the VIP area while Ja Rule, Irv Gotti, AZ and Big Daddy Kane mingled with the crowd. In the entranceway, wall-size photos of Nas adorned the walls, while a casket with roses on top rested against one of the sides. The DJ spun some hip-hop classics while a woman played the violin onstage and a man beat the drums on the dance floor. The partygoers actually shed their cool and danced…” I don’t remember a violinist or drummer, but there was an interesting mix of eighties rap giants with the occasional random celebrity like Justin Timberlake thrown in. I was stretching and warming up downstairs, and unfortunately didn’t get to hear NAS’s performance – the story of my life. At the party – but missing it at the same time.
I returned the next afternoon for my last round of lugging – I needed to pick up the two silks, hardware and span sets. K_____ the head rigger went to his office, came back with my two plastic zipper-bags of gear and apologized:
“I’m sorry but I couldn’t find one of your span sets.”
“I don’t understand - How could it happen? – is all my hardware there?” I asked.
“Yes. Everything else is here. It must have just gotten mixed up with some of the lighting company’s equipment.”
I’m sure the disappointment must have shown on my face. Replacing gear is such an expense.
“Would it be okay if I just gave you a couple of our spans to make up for it?” he said, and handed me two brand new span sets with steel running through the middle – better quality, and certainly in better shape, than the two I had originally brought to the gig.
It was a small gesture that meant a lot to me.
Shelly Bomb 2003
“Everyone else was being, you know, like NYC hard-core club kids, and I came in being a spiritual Goddess. I wore BROWN!”
"Every single step of the way, the next step has found me. That mysterious phone call out of nowhere – or that chance introduction, every single step of the way. It’s never been me going out and pursuing and finding the right person, place or time that would start my next phase of life."
NA: Describe your role in this industry.
SB: Currently I primarily work as a creative director and costume designer for Antigravity, which is a troupe of aerialists, doing high-end, very tightly produced performances. As creative director I oversee the look of the company, I always make sure that they’re on the cutting edge; that their fashionable, that they’re kick-ass. I’m in charge of the costuming, the makeup, the hair, the overall look, and as much as I can I try to influence music and branding and all of that stuff.
NA: What brought you to NYC?
SB: Well, it all started in 1994. I was living in San Diego producing my clothing line which catered to the dance music scene: club kids and ravers around the world. And after doing a fashion show in NYC, a few months later I got a phone call from Richie Rich, asking me if I wanted to participate in the Miss Club USA contest that was being put on by Michael Alig and the Club USA people. I said, “Why would I want to do that?” and I found out that the first prize was an all expenses paid “luxury” apartment in Manhattan for a year. I came out and did the contest and won; moved all my stuff out here to find out that the “luxury” apartment in Manhattan was a room - literally the size of my closet in San Diego - at the Hotel 17. Sharing a bathroom with tourists and junkies does not suit my lifestyle, So I found another apartment, and I started working three nights a week as a club kid.
NA: As a club kid you—performed?
SB: It was different on different nights. I always had to show up and be fabulous, in a completely different outfit head to toe, three nights a week. One night at the Limelight and two nights at Club USA, and then inside of that was Peter Geishun’s other clubs which were The Tunnel and The Palladium. On occasion I would be sent there as well.
NA: How much did they pay you to show up and be fabulous?
SB: Cab fare! No, um, it was $75 at the Limelight, which I lovingly refer to as the Slimelight; and $100 for Club USA. I met you, maybe inside of my first year in NYC, because I was doing my clothing line and I had a couple fashion shows, sponsored by Absolute. I was an Absolute Cover Girl for their campaign. I think that was around the time I met you, to interview you as a model for the fashion show.
NA: What was your clothing line called?
SB: Peace Bomb.
NA: When did you start performing?
SB: I always wanted to perform, but in Heston Kansas, there was no dance, and the drama programs they offered were not anything I was interested in, not edgy enough. I never had any training whatsoever. By the time I got to LA I was 22. One day a woman approached me and asked if I was a dancer, and for some reason I lied and said yes. And she said, “well, I send girls out on contract with dance troupes all over the world. I have a studio in Hermosa Beach.” For some reason I thought I would be able to do it. I thought I’d be able to go in and just take a dance class, like I had it in my soul! And I went in and took this dance class , it was like a jazz level 5, and it was my first class ever and I was terrible! I couldn’t even do the warm up! At the end of the class she said “you obviously lied, but if you study for 3 or 4 years I’m sure I could work with you…” I was like, forget it, 3 or 4 years – there’s no way. Well, about a month later I got a random phone call from her – she obviously had forgotten who I was or crossed my name with someone else—she said, “I know you’re really busy, I know you’re working tons, but I need a girl to fill a spot in Japan on Friday (it was Tuesday). Can you go?” I just said yes. And she said, “Good. My secretary will get all your paperwork done and your visa and everything, and my assistant will show you what the shows are. Isn’t it amazing? I took off to Japan. The first night I didn’t go on cause I was nauseous. I was terrified. I was sure I was going to be sold into white slavery. After I did go on all the girls in the troupe hated me because I just tripped everyone and bumped into everybody and didn’t know the choreography and couldn’t dance anyway! But then I started studying. I would dance like 12 hours a day and then I’d do shows at night and then after a while I was good enough. And then I begged them to let me go solo and do my own numbers so I didn’t have to worry about choreography with everybody else.
NA: From that you evolved to cyber club queen here in NY?
SB: That transformation came later on in Japan – yeah – it came with my discovery of Japanimation. And scifi, superscience, Japanese style. I fell in love with Ultraman and Sailor Moon. Actually it goes back further than that, I have to admit, the very first time – it was in London; after my first time in Japan when I went to London, and it was ’88, ’89. It was what they dubbed the “Summer of Love” in the rave scene. It was the height of the rave scene. I had never seen this before. I went from the jazz dancing to becoming a rave hippie, like overnight. The entire city was on ecstasy. Business men and women! I would go to like parties with people still in their suits from the office! Women in panty hose and high heels! Everyone, and even their parents were doing ecstasy in London – it was crazy! There was this whole hippie flower scene reemerging. Music was house, and it was good, and every single weekend there were huge underground illegal rave parties. There was a pirate radio station and they would change their frequency every single week. You’d find out through the grapevine where it was and you’d tune in, and they’d give directions to these parties – there would be checkpoints along the way so the police couldn’t catch on as fast as the kids did. You had to be in the grapevine. There would be anywhere from five thousand to forty thousand people. The raves would be way out in the country. You had to drive for hours -- like one of them was outside in a flower field, and when the sun came up in the morning we were in the middle of rolling hills of purple and yellow and pink flowers!
NA: What happened to the flowers?! You were dancing on them?! ----There were purple and pink flowers and they were all squashed!!
SB: There were no flowers where we were set up. I guess we might of squashed a few of them because when the sun came up everybody saw them they went “AAAHHHH!!!” and ran out in em and – you know, you have to, especially when you’re on ecstasy.
NA: How did your act change once you moved to NY?
SB: Everything I was doing after London – it was the delight era in Japan, and everybody was wearing psychedelic, bright flowers and silly happy, all the time. And then everything in San Diego turned into the spiritual vibe. It all kind of had its base in Buddhism and Yoga. At the base of the entire rave scene was this huge yoga camp that everyone would go to on the weekends.
NA: The Loft cult!
SB: Yup. It was The Loft in San Diego, but they owned land in the Indian Reservations in the hills outside and they’d have yoga retreats all the time. When I won the Miss Club USA pageant it was on that vibe. Everyone else was being, you know, like NYC hard-core club kids, and I came in being a spiritual Goddess. I wore BROWN! In San Diego I was in nature everyday, I swam every night, I was outside all the time, we were out in the desert all the time and you grow these spiritual roots. Coming to New York City that was just so severely severed. The first time I stepped foot in the Limelight – you have to put that side of yourself away and protect yourself to walk into that kind of atmosphere. I mean that’s where all the really ugly stuff happened. The O.D.s the deaths, the murder! (Angel Orensantz) It was ugly. Thank God I had good people around me. I had a great roommate when I first moved here. So at that point, everything became more – cyber, more hard. And then after a while I found a happy medium. ------it was Kide, the club kid, who brought me in for Expo’s opening night. And I made a special, super-cyber, sexy lady – there was a page six picture of me and Julian Lennon from it! The club liked me and brought me back for Halloween so I did my giant devil (Shelly paints herself red, wears 2 foot horns on her head, and cloven, furry hoof boots she designed herself) and then Cornellis became infatuated with that and he decided he wanted me to do a circus. Shelly Bomb’s Vibrating Circus!! Cornellis got my Spiritual Tip, and he wanted to keep that. He was the one who came up with “Promiscuous Innocence”! And that’s where it went. Being as naughty and as raunchy and bawdy as you possibly can without ever giving it up. There was no nudity, there was no disgust. There was no blood, there was no piercing, no body fluids. It was innocent, but it was very very suggestive. And that’s when we all became – little girls in ruffle panties and uh—
NA: I recall one night when Stephanie Bindlestiff did fire wearing a saran wrap minidress—
SB: A roll of saran wrap with nothing underneath! -- It was a beaver show!
NA: I guess that bit of nudity was an accident.....
NA: Tell me about your experience as one of Ami Goodheart’s dancers.
SB: When I joined Ami Goodheart’s troupe it was Dutch Weissman’s Showgirls. Which for me was one of the most brilliant chunks of time I can remember in New York City. For maybe a 6 month period that show, Dutch Weissman’s Showgirls, produced and directed by Tony Merando. Norman Gosney – who was also a real key player in my whole story – became the producer. The whole show was run in a loft on 23rd street between 6 and 7th on the second story. It was a loft space where Tony Merando lived and he turned the entire front three quarters of the space into a cabaret. It only sat maybe 50 people tops, and they charged an astronomical amount to get in the door. They had a full bar, free joint smoking, and um the showgirls, you know, the feathers were in your face the entire show they were so close!! It was so opulent and rich! The costumes, the feathers, the rhinestones, the grease! Everything. It was so close to the audience. And it was so illegal! It finally got busted by the cops in a big prohibition-style raid. Just beautiful.
NA: Ami choreographed all the numbers?
SB: She choreographed all the numbers and she changed my style drastically.
NA: Weren’t you into Haitian style dance as well?
SB: I’ve taken every kind of dance class that there is, but I’ve never applied myself hard-core to studying. I guess, It was never my goal to become a choreographed dancer because they’re a dime a dozen in the city. They work really hard and they don’t get paid very much. All I really wanted was the fun of being on stage. The Juice that you get from being on stage, that’s all I wanted. So, I was getting enough of that, and I still do.
NA: Did you ever rehearse?
SB: Yes. When I was doing a show with Antigravity – and that’s one of the things I forgot to mention that’s probably very important. My biggest accomplishment in New York City was co-writing “An American Band”, co-creating that with Christopher Harrison which then we performed as a full – It was off Broadway, we performed it during the Olympics and the Sundance Film Festival in Park City Utah. Then we performed it once here on the year anniversary of Sept 11. When we’re in rehearsals for something like that we’re in 8 hour rehearsals 6 days a week for two months.
NA: What about the Vibrating Circus at Expo?
SB: (laughs) It would usually be the day of, and about 5:00 pm I would start calling people to see if they wanted to work that night, and then I would have an idea and I would call them back at about 8:00 to give them the ideas and I’d start pulling everything out of my prop closet and maybe buy a couple more things on the way in, and then we’d throw the rest of the show together in the dressing room! That was so much fun. What I learned from doing that – the spontaneity of it and the “theater of panic” was priceless later on when I started working with Antigravity. The way that they worked which was full on rigid –I’m working with gymnasts who have trained their entire lives. These people are 25 going on 14 because they missed their entire childhood. They’re rigid and their timelines and their structure is so strong that for them to be real on stage and have emotion and give the audience something, well some of them had to be broken down. I brought Kiva in as a makeup artist on my very first job with Antigravity. It completely changed the face of who they were. Completely.
NA: What idea or act are you most proud of? Would it be The American Band? The Scissors? The French Maid? – I personally will always love the flashlight dance.
SB: It has to be An American Band. It touches people. It made people cry. And it made people feel joy, and elation, and hope – and it was a very ballsy and profound thing to even try to pull off. And we pulled it off. All my cabaret acts I’m the only one at risk out there. W/ an American band there was a cast and crew of 50 people all working for the same thing, it was a much bigger risk.
NA: How do you come up with ideas?
SB: I channel them.
NA: Describe your most unusual gig.
SB: My most unusual gig was not done for money, it was done for a barter. It was at Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert. We got in Michael Gump’s Bug Van and drove out through the desert to Barter Town. There was only one thing that I really, really wanted. Even though I am a huge animal rights activist, there was a beautiful pelt – a sheepskin pelt, and I felt strongly about it. Even as an activist I felt like I should have it to honor the life of that sheep! And I wanted it, but all I had was this stupid plastic pail full of plastic mardi-gras beads. It was the only thing I had to barter. And I went in, you go into this huge big tent, and there’s all these people lying around and they’re like, “What do you have to barter?!” And I’m like, “I have this pail of magic beads!” and they’re like “Fuck off!”. And I was all dejected and sad and Michael came over and said, “Shelly, what’s wrong?” and I said, “I really want the pelt, but I don’t know what to barter.” And he looked me in the eye and took me by the shoulders and he said, “Shelly, you have so much to give! You figure out what it is, and you make them an offer.” I sat there. It was 120 degrees out – I was fainting from the heat – I was practically naked, I had a piece of fabric wrapped around my waist and that was it. So I stood there with nothing, I was naked with this pail of beads. And then I had an inspiration and I went back into the tent and said, “I WANT THE PELT” and they said, “What do you have to offer? And I said, “my talent”. And they said, “What is your talent?” I told them what I do in New York City, and that I would trade them a performance for their enjoyment. They said to come back tonight after midnight, and they threw me the pelt and trusted me to come back. It was the last night of Burning Man. It was the night SRL – Scientific Research Labs blew up the entire place – a couple guys lost their arms, but nobody died, that was good. There was the “Soul’s Journey to Hell” opera by this group from San Francisco, which was the most amazing live performance I’ve ever seen.