The colonial fin de siècle, Roaring 20s & 30s and wartime Swinging 40s for Katoomba and the rest of the mountains saw a honeymooner’s paradise burgeon in the beauty of the altitudes, and became, there can be little denying, the liaison destination of choice for Sydneysiders, after nuptials or before, the spa-taker’s retreat flourished into a Deco dream of style and love within a world class wilderness. It is somewhat of a tradition in the high mountains that providing it doesn’t spook the horses, or better still involve livestock at all, the love can run paganly free.

The burlesque element, desirable or otherwise, returned to the hills this winter festival for a taster, recalling the glory days of those sensual and amusing times. Sugartime’s gypsy caravan of quick change delight rolled into town in the midst of solstice celebrations. During wintermagic pagans, fairies, and frivolity walk the street. Tonight Sugartime added Snowball Burlesque to the mix.

Burlesque is about play-up, it is the agitprop of the distasteful. So baroque it resists straightening into a church service sit down. If you’re going to sit; drink absinthe or be vivacious, burlesque is no place for the glum. The burlesque resurgence in Australia has the chance to reignite a tradition of ratbaggery and panache. This show was a sampling from the repertoire of some of the fine burlesque performers in Sydney. Fully fledged and talented performers are a rare and precious commodity in the antipodes. It has a growing circle of appreciative attendees but not the grand cabaret traditions of Paris and Berlin nor the glamourpuss following of New York, California or Nevada. Australian tent show vaudevilles once traversed this land; gritty bohemian slog in the unique Australian fashion made glamour shine in the wildernesses, and in this tradition Sugartime stepped up to explore the heights. The question was would the mountains be ready for the return. As Oscar Wilde said “ we will perform beautifully, the real question is will the audience”. The maxim stands. The vibe and anticipation in the club this night suggested that yes they would. They were ready for their sweets.

Before the show we were granted an audience behind the scenes. Russal the “bear” Beatie kept a keen eye on proceedings, a mysterious giant of the showhall, with his keen eye and keylights, he is the silent watcher. His mantra, “stay cool”. Mr Mai Tai held an elegant cane in one hand and darling Kaspia in the other.

Backstage things were cooking. Hosiery was being lifted to thigh and powder applied in the most delicious combinations, perfumes mingled with fire

I will not divulge the things we were witness to in those radiant confines. The burlesque performer is a glossy cherub from the church of theatre and ancient rites of makeup, the artist floats amongst us as a glamorous visitation and must be afforded the most stringent privacies like cult queens of old. Except to say, at the risk of initiating carnival gossip, that these fine practitioners of the glittering moment are the most graciously disgracious hosts at close quarters that any student of the glamclub aesthetic could wish for. Impeccably mannered and dressed, (some impeccably undressed) smooth operators and sharp stylists alike, preparing for the stage, found a moment to sip Champaign as they swung into action as a small libation to the winter, the magic, the mountains and the enthusiastic. No, I will not reveal what it was that transpired back there behind the curtains. Suffice it is to say that these divine creatures and proponents of the neon arts are the very best of professionals whose vivre boheme is, well, Ohh la la.

The pasties were ready in the kitchen. The show was about to start.

Gypsy Germaine

A powder blue ghost of a spotlight past graced the boards of the Triselis stage. The retrofantastic windmill of legs in a tulle sundress cavorted, pink and superb. A classic face of the big band burlesque, with a hair-do to wop any daddio, she danced with legs that should have a cult following of their own. We were privileged to see some of the graduation classics of the genre as the night beat on and Germaine’s fan dance was a treat. Her fans curled and splayed in deliberate radiance, she framed her form like a flamingo femme. Transfixing gestures finely parceled within her embrace, she is set to steal scenes wherever she delivers.

Gypsy Germaine

Very unplain

Reveals her fame

With legs insane

Tulsa

Tulsa’s torpedoes poised above Tasmania were threatening to detonate. She gave us our ABCs, in a fashion I don’t believe I recollect from my schooling days….. very instructive. Burlesque prospered in the confidence, calamity and changes of modernism and then the empty promise of the consumerist nuclear age, (a warlike and fearful time not that far removed from now), we are again in a swing age at war with human appetites, and this girl wouldn’t look out of place on the nose cone of a Lancaster bomber. Bringing beauty to the front. A bombshell delivering blonde, her propeller work was ace. Clockwise and counter watch them spin, those tasty party pies beneath the chin. Her balloons were bursting by the end of the night and a snow was falling with each bang. Winter had arrived.

Mai Tai

Mr Mai Tai, MC and DJ, a table turning troubadour, Svengali and hypnotist, gave his impromptu engaging elliptical introduction, enticing the audience with elaborate, enunciations of exotic entertainments, all aptly spruiklicious.

Kaspia

Your dutiful reporter can relate to you gentle reader, that at close quarters Kaspia can swoon and simper in a fashion unrivalled in the leviathan city. Her throws of shuddering sensation could pop a lens cap ! She is voluptuous, she is bountiful, she can swallow 19 inches of saber on stage, and that is all she needs to do to evoke awe in a humble audience. In short, she is ruby lipped and well equipped. The selection of goods that she sports are fanciable indeed.

Deluxe Belles in the mountains

Belladonnas deluxe double acting tonight tributed the weather conditions in transparent Macintoshes’. They appeared to be hot beneath their apparel, feeling the need of some air. Displaying some lovely ensemble work, they are sweethearts in the rain. As always with the true burlesque the girls are in control of the joint when it begins to swing. This is an inevitable rule. The illusory spaces of burlesque are filled with magnificent dresses, make up and pose. Each lady is a contender in the game of manners. Their turn is the thing. Their time, the creation.

At the burlesque you will find dancers who know how to dance, carnies who know carnal showmanship, talents who tease, vamps, crooners, cabaret and fire eaters, go-go girls who go, beauty, hacks and grotesquery side by side. It is vital to revel in the kitsch, the overplay, the retrocamp, swingtime goodigoodyness, the dirty carnival, and the conceit of the production. Subscribing to the Buddhismus of excess, at best it has no pretense to art and is therefore in some way deserving of our attentions. Wowstraya needs to recognize it’s burlesque self. Any spark of colour in a desert of beige deserves to be enthusiastically received and cherished before we all disappear up our collective career choices and daily grind. Wintermagic helps with sprinkles of sugar.

Tasia

The next dish. She has the vintage face of a Shanghi Jazz siren, Tasia’s kimono dark eyes shone full of promise above a dress of notable playfulness. Her dancing set the tone, her cheeky set of facial mouthings struck a chord, mimicking the lines of her song. Tass fingered the keys with crafty finesse. As more notes flew the score became imminently knowable. I believe many in the audience wished to tinkle the ivories after her turn. For a gaiety moment the crowd possessed a Betty Boop of their own. Tasie is a cheeky little number.

Mai tai’s dancefloor is, as the name suggests, a heady cocktail of blends. His collection something to behold as his rotations are swankier than Jean Arp’s wallpaper in Mancini’s bathroom. His swing jazz mix is dripping with finds.

Along with Mai Tai, Thomas Crown DJ and man about town, kept the pace of the dance floor burning hot through the night and knew what the snowbunnies in the winter ballroom liked. The whole Triselies club seemed set to blackout as the music grew hotter, sucking power from the grid.

The swingin’ craft they purvey can be savored, as tasty morsels or allowed free reign, like leopards in a parlour . And like wild doers of the good thing, they should be accommodated according to their talents in sensational surrounds to make the goodness last. Appreciation is that address. Fittingly the patrons enveloped in fur, the mountains shrouded in white, the night veiled in mist and sugary blur, winter magic danced on into the night. Burlesque reveals all and teasingly little at one and the same time. Get into it and partake of the fun. Sugartime in the Mountains equals Nightclub Beats and Burlesque Treats.