The Decision to Crowdfund A Burlesque Show

Everyone has to decide their own standards. You have to decide what your art is worth, who you're willing and unwilling to work with, and what subject matter you won't touch. I'm generally pretty fluid about what I'll allow and do, but there's something in particular that I've seen a lot of in the last year in the burlesque community in particular, and I feel very strongly about my stance on it.

I will never ask people to crowdfund my burlesque.

I know this is going to be a divisive point, so I'm going to be dramatic and start a new paragraph. The cornerstone of my argument is that I don't feel that my audience or society in general owes me anything to see what I'll create next. Self-promotion is one thing, and fans can certainly chose to follow you if they are a fan of yours. I don't object to that, as it's voluntary and doesn't cost anything. You can certainly argue that contributing to an artist's GoFundMe or Kickstarter is voluntary, but the principles differ; Once you take their money, you have a responsibility to give them a good art/performance/product, and I firmly believe that people should only pay once to have to do that.

Of course, many people disagree with me.

I can understand the need reach out to financial supporters. If artists didn't do that, we wouldn't have had The Renaissance. When I say that I wouldn't ask for anything I produce to be crowdfunded, you might interpret that as "his opinion of his own work isn't strong." You would be right, to an extent. As far as burlesque goes, I see it as a low-cost, low-risk art form. Much like my journalism degree, I don't feel that expanding on my burlesque performance via an influx of dubiously-sourced cash is something that will yield any appreciable outcome. Besides, I feel that the gritty, approachable, sometimes rude demeanor that typifies many of my favorite burlesque performances is so far removed from high-budget spectacle that a budget boost would only serve to alienate my audience.

Still, I wanted to know where the other side sits. I spoke with Jade Sylvan, who is one of the producers of "Spider Cult: The Musical," slated to launch in 2016. This show is a spin-off of one of the shows I enjoyed being a part of for three years, "Revenge of the Robot Battle Nuns." They recently did a Kickstarter to get funding for Spider Cult, so Jade's perspective is local to the issue.

Photo credit: Caleb Cole

Dale Stones: "Okay. How do you feel about crowd funding in general?"

Jade Sylvan: "It used to gross me out when I was younger, but honestly I wouldn't have been able to do many of the projects I've done over the last five years without it. I had to get over my ego of thinking I was "too good" for crowdfunding and put the project first."

DS: "What changed your mind? Anything specific?"

JS: "Literally, not having the money to bring what I loved into creation. For instance, with Spider Cult, we knew we wanted to bring it up to the next level production-wise from what people in our community are used to doing. To do that, we needed money that we literally didn't have, because shows performed at a certain level will only generate income to sustain that level, even if they're very successful. You need a boost to grow. Businesses have bank loans. We have crowdfunding."

DS: "So how do you justify what projects should ask for prefunding?"

JS: "It's sort of an intersection of (1.) how much I (and others) believe in the project, and (2.) necessity. If there is any other way other than crowdfunding, I will generally take that route to get something made. On the other side, if it's a project that is strictly a vanity project that I don't expect or see others having any interest in, I will not crowdfund for that. That's where the responsibility comes in. When you involve others, you are responsible to them to some degree."

DS: "Do you feel that the effort is sullied a bit by other artist or people who ask for money who maybe don't have the same discretion or standards you had? Like the potato salad fund guy?"

JS: "With Spider Cult it was part of the discussion from the beginning, when we realized how big we wanted this to be. Basically, we decided we could do it on a shoe string and have a shoe string show, or we could see if enough people cared about it to bring it up a level and get involved."

DS: "What's the goal, once you have the money? I mean, having funding is all well and good, but what's the expectation that people should have for what they purchased?"

JS: "In this case, it's a show that looks and feels like it had a budget. {wink emoticon} More than that, though, a big goal is to give the members of our community a chance to showcase their abilities at the production level I think they deserve."

DS: "Like, more marketing, vocal coaching, paying them more, what are the interim goals? If that's not classified information, of course."

JS: "All of the above. More budget to spend on training, costumes, special effects, original music, payment for actors, marketing etc"

DS: "Maybe even a bigger venue?"

JS: "Possibly in the future, but we wrote the play for Oberon."

DS: "Thank you!"

I believe that Spider Cult: The Musical has only the noblest of intentions. I loved being a part of the original production that this project has spun off of, and I enjoy supporting the arts as an attendee when I'm not the one performing. Community support is incredibly valuable, after all. For many people, acquiring the funding to put on a show is the most humbling part of the process, and is something that is made easier through anonymity, or at the very least, from behind the internet curtain.

But I also believe that a big part of being a burlesque artist is taking risks, especially financial ones. If a faceless crowd is assuming that initial risk for you, your performance-based risk-taking and creativity aren't going to be at their highest. You're safe, after all. If people pay for your venture (which is different than an investment, because that money is owed back) and have to settle for whatever you decide to provide them to tide them over before (or indeed, IF) the show is produced, you are inevitably going to interpret that as "free money" on some level, as the debt has already been settled in your mind. And since the audiences in the burlesque scene are often overwhelmingly supporting, the whole situation might appear lavish and superfluous.

Nothing lavish nor superfluous to see here.

That, in turn, creates another set of problems. In this list of "14 Potential Issues with Corwdfunding," item #11 on the list  cites what I think is the most important issue; Accountability. Crowdfunding simply doesn't allow visibility into how that money is spent. You could theoretically pocket every dollar once you hit your goal and churn something out with the same rate of spend as "The Blair Witch Project" and you've essentially defrauded your backers. I say "defrauded" because if you did create a low-cost show relative to what you asked for, then you didn't need to ask for the money in the first place.

If I'm going to create a show, I want to assume the financial risk involved in that show's failure. Asking people to pay twice to see something is unfair, unless they're actually seeing it twice. If they contribute more than the cost of admission, they may even be paying three, four, or five times to see a show with no guaranteed standard of quality. I believe that decision should only be made one time, and it's when you're telling people what the price of the ticket is.

Although there isn't time to get into the issue of who should be producing a show and why, I feel that a series of shows should be able to snowball cash as a way of building up the coffers within a business. In Sirlesque, we budget based on what we can pay and save up money so that we can afford to put on bigger and better shows in the future, and that's also a way to insure ourselves in case we have a bad turnout and still need to pay people. On top of that, if people are going to see a show that you've put on repeatedly, you can use that to gauge whether or not a similarly-themed, larger-budget show would be palatable for your audience.

Sometimes, the tech required to look at your own butt on a screen is expensive.

A great example of a show that did this is the Slutcracker. Over 7 years ago, Sugar Dish put together a show that is now a mainstream Boston institution. She has a lot of pride when she talks about how the first run of the show used found costuming, and that now the Slutcracker sells out over a dozen shows a year. It's the classic bootstraps story, and it shows us that anything can be produced to greatness with enough patience and perseverance.

I believe that being transparent with every transaction surrounding burlesque performance is not only important, but crucial if burlesque is to succeed. Sure, if people are willing to give you advance money over and over again, you and those people may feel comfortable with what is essentially an enabling relationship. But such is the plight of the artist--getting rich doing art is nigh impossible. The audience needs to be entertained, and the full time artists needs to not starve.

So I suppose the only difference is the variance of each artist's guidelines.

Sirlesque: The Sexy Origin Story

Since I often refer to Sirlesque's beginnings and occasionally get asked about how my merry band formed, I thought I'd do a blog just about Sirlesque's origin story. It's also my own origin story, and my first real crack at performance since leaving college. I'll give you some background on who Dale Stones was before burlesque, as it's all very much a part of the picture.

Hint - I was a very different person with very different habits.

Father Stones frequently encouraged me to become a rock musician. He was a die-hard Beatles fan, and occasionally listened to odd, eclectic music like Billy Idol, Kate Bush, and The Birthday Massacre. Since I had an aptitude for music which I discovered around middle school-age, I picked up guitar and learned songs that played in my home by hearing and repetition. As many astute fans have pointed out, these kinds of songs frequent my burlesque repertoire.

For placeholding purposes, let's assume this is my dad.

My dad frequently encouraged me to start a rock band, spend time with other musicians, and to do anything I could to use my evident musical talents to perform. I had a few opportunities to play and sing in front of crowds (most uniquely in co-founding my university's Irish Student Union and mc'ing two Irish Heritage social nights. I played and sang Irish folk songs between sets for other performers, told Irish jokes and proverbs, and generally attempted to make the events fun for attendees). I didn't really know where or how to attack my performance compulsions aside from opportunistically, and frequently let my introversion get the best of me.

While I decided not to pursue music as a career, I did go to a school with an active theater guild, and ended up landing the lead guitar part in "Tommy" in my sophomore year, which ended up being awarded to me when the original guitarist quit the production with one week until show time. Despite the obvious time crunch of learning a 30-song musical score in 7 days, I still remember how exhilarating that whole show felt. I knew that if I got the chance, I'd do the next possible thing I could to replicate that feeling.

For place holding purposes, let's pretend I actually got to be Pete Townshend that one time.

A great friend of mine and an equally talented performer extended me a helping hand two years after college. He was about to move to a place in Watertown (a suburb of Boston) and was looking for roommates. I was first on his list of people to ask, and without considering other options, I immediately said yes. As Ricky Lime would come to find out, this haphazard approach to large life decisions would ultimately contribute to Sirlesque's formation.

Shortly after getting my first job in Boston as a waiter, I met Jenny Jewels. She was a fellow server, and often showed up at the terrace bar we both worked at after performing, usually wearing fun-colored wigs and outrageous outfits. She always encouraged her coworkers (me included) to come out and see her perform, and one Thursday, I made the firm decision to go.

I was a bit terrified of what I might discover, so I invited the man who would become Ricky Lime to come with me. Neither of us had performed or even seen burlesque before, but I needed someone to come with me to help keep my shy little self on the level. While I continued to be nervously observant, he fit right in and was eager to participate in the role of an active burlesque patron. After the show, he wanted to meet all the performers. He wanted to get involved in a show. So they let him--he debuted as an extra in Rogue Burlesque's show "The Quest for the Golden Pasties." He was a litigator in a courtroom scene, and Dixie Douya suffocated him between her breasts. I was in the crowd, and I was impressed at what a good show the whole thing was. I was proud of him.

Terribly, terribly proud. Way to run a stage, buddy.

After the show, Ricky asked the ladies if he could be in their next theatrical production. He was eager and ready to take any role they had. Instead, the resounding response was that he should start his own burlesque troop and have it be just dudes. It could even be a brother troop! Naturally, he burst from the back of the Oberon, came up to me immediately and said;

"Hey dude. Do you want to start an all-male burlesque troop?"

As was and always had been customary, I gave it the typical amount of thought and pragmatism.

"Sure! When do we start?" I responded immediately.

Now, we never had to endure a formal tryout process, as we were the forerunners of our niche in the community. Everyone makes rookie mistakes, and ours were on full display in front of crowds who had never seen male burlesque before--it's probably why we flew under the radar for a couple years. We certainly didn't have that experiential edge granted by dutifully assisting and volunteering before we took the stage ourselves--though we all brought a variety of performance experience to the medium from a variety of places.

But we got to enjoy a quick month of preparations involving a two-hour-long burlesque fundamentals class taught by the Rogues, which resulted in Ricky, myself, and fellow co-founder Dexter Dix attaining some degree of stage-readiness. We set up a photo shoot with "Stuff" magazine, and got a full-page write-up complete with a glorious photo of all three of us in our matching boyshorts. At the end of March, we had our debut as a part of the Rogue's "Winter Sextacular" and each did our first solo act on stage.

There was no turning back.

...unless the choreography told us to, that is.

Although we had done a professional photo shoot in a studio prior to this, the resulting photos remained the property of Stuff Magazine, and we weren't allowed to use them for our own professional promotion. Not having any alternative at this point, we all set up a self-run group photo shoot in a borrowed hotel room and spent a lot of time learning about posing, camera-appropriate faces, and the nuances of the iPhone's camera countdown timer. While the photos were serviceable on a base level, Ricky did have to Photoshop out the occasional awkwardly-placed electrical outlet.

You'll notice this photo is suspiciously devoid of wall outlets, among other things.

There's one in this photo that didn't get the treatment. Man, these photos....

Our name was an unexpected happenstance. Polly Surely's husband had mentioned to Ricky Lime at a party that we should have a pun-based name, and thought that "Sir" was a good spin to put on the word "Burlesque." Further than that, individual members could call themselves "Sirs." The idea was so good that we incorporated it into every aspect of our business, from our email addresses (I'm sir.dale.stones@gmail.com, in case you wanted to send me electronic mail), to our welcoming of new members (knighting them as "Sirs"), and even our meeting-appropriate pronouns.

For the longest time, the only work we had was given to us by Rogue Burlesque, who continued to help us workshop our dancing and presentation. We even based our production process and business practices off of theirs. I'll never forget two notable quotes from about the 3-year mark of us performing in Boston, the first being from Fem Bones of the Slaughterhouse Sweethearts.

Fem had been brought in to Rogue's "Film Strip" show to do an act where all of the ladies dressed as popcorn kernels, a chance meeting that I had talked about on the blog before. After working with her for a few shows, she told me; "For years you guys were Boston's best-kept secret, like toys that only the Rogues got to play with."

Lilly Bordeaux told me while preparing for a show at Club Cafe that we "used to be the adorable little brothers that were always around, but at some point, [we] suddenly became...hot."

These were quotes that stuck in my mind about how Sirlesque has leveled up over the years. I firmly believe that Fem was referring to us as an undiscovered group because until that point, we weren't quite show-ready. I'm certainly a far cry from who I used to be, even from only 2 years ago, and the confidence and body changes that resulted from that self-reflection and the hours of performing experience were principally what changed me and my guys from "dorky" to "smoldering." I'm happy with my progress and the progress of my group--and I like that we keep learning and improving.

I can't wait to see what's next.

The Group Dynamic

One of the things I noticed that Boston does differently with burlesque than most other cities is the way it presents its performers. With the exception of two other groups at NYC Boylesque Fest, Sirlesque was represented as a group as opposed to its individual participants. This is an issue that comes up time and again, with a few schools of thought on what is more effective as a marketing device, and who stands to gain the most.

While I believe this was to my own benefit (and the benefit of Sirlesque), I can't help but wonder how effectively a group's individuals retain their own performer identities in these scenarios. While in NYC with Sirlesque, it was simply easier to identify myself as "one of the Sirs" or "a Sirlesque member" because my individual performer identity wasn't on the radar of people outside of my four-hour performance radius.

It doesn't bother me at all, considering Boston is pretty unique in that way. Most of the burlesque and circus performers here are unionized in a sense, and are typically booked within their group's respective productions (e.g. all of Sirlesque's members perform in Masculinitease and Geek Peek, all of the Slaughterhouse Sweethearts perform in A Dark Knight and Revenge of the Robot Battle Nuns).

And sometimes, everyone you've ever performed with happens to be in the same show.

Other groups in Boston are the Lipstick Criminals, Sparkletown Productions, The Bloodstains, All the Rest Burlesque, The Boston Babydolls, and of course, our sister troop Rogue Burlesque. Sure, there are individual performers going at it their way, but most of the performers within the city limits are a part of one or more of these individual groups. In Boston, there are rarely exceptions to this.

So in the interests of how to burlesque better going forward, should I pursue more individual bookings, or do I focus more on the Sirlesque brand and building more quality productions?

Some folks will try to drag you away from your group to be in other things. Trust me.

While each group has enough pull to draw its own crowd by simply being listed on a flyer, there are consequences to involving other troops and individual performers from outside the group. If I'm listed as a guest performer, does that mean my fans will come to a show that they might not have been to otherwise? If Sirlesque is given credit and billing on someone else's show, does that mean that all six of us should assume we have a degree of creative say on the content that gets produced?

If I were to really roll up my sleeves and get into it, I'd tell you that groups can quickly become petri dishes of unkempt drama. Once you get on stage enough times and begin to see the  kind of attention you can get fairly regularly, you tend to think more highly of yourself. Where this gets problematic is when the sliding scale moves away from gratitude and more towards entitlement. You might recognize this as the "I should have at least 3 straight strips in our upcoming show" type, or the "I'm going to cast myself in every role" kind of attitude, with a rapid estrangement from "guys, I still can't believe that people pay to come see me take my clothes off in public."

Inevitably, egos will clash. It may not resemble a spectacle like Oasis or The Who getting into an on-stage fistfight, but it can easily devolve into passive-aggressive bullshit behind the scenes. Casting snubs, over-heading someone else on an issue, performers refusing to work specifically with other performers, people blowing off rehearsals or commitments, dissent on act plot points, over-sensitivity to criticism, being overly critical towards others, and gossiping are all things I've played host to both inside and outside of my group. Because of my own tendency to be self-sacrificing and introspective as a person, I've often had to moderate these issues. I've had some success and learned a few things about drama management. But then, I've also failed miserably.

...which often results in the sexiest argument you can imagine being a part of.

In different cities and countries (and NYC especially), it seems like individual performers are the most successful in cultivating their own recurring business. With over 500 individual contractors who are burlesque performers in that area (thanks to Anja Keister for providing that stat), there seems to be plenty of work to bounce around to. Since Sirlesque is an LLC, the finances have to be regarded as a group endeavor, with those of us who book more than the others ultimately contributing more to the fund that keeps the group going. With that said, Sirlesque is a brand name and a powerful enough one that people come out in droves to see a show with our name on it--we're pretty fortunate in that regard, and are financial self-sustaining through two major shows every year. A question I often ask myself is "If I were to produce a show with just my name on it, would it still get that kind of attention?"

Would the kind of drama that might be involved in that undertaking be worth the effort?

What I've found is that group-produced shows give performers a chance to show their expertise and performance ability, and eventually get them bookings on an individual basis. Looking back at my own history, this is something that used to only happen sporadically, but is now happening often enough that scheduling skills have become a necessity. While it's a great benefit to both my ego and my performance resume, I have to constantly remind myself that people book other people who they like working with, and not necessarily the best performer.

"I'm great, and you're a nerd! Ha ha! Seriously, can I be in your show?"

One of my best friends in the world recently told me he didn't want to do burlesque performance anymore, and the primary reason was because it's not something he still has fun doing. Sadly, the drama that comes from other people taking themselves too seriously, from engaging in relationships with other people in the same performance circle, and frequently butting heads with other performers who end up becoming creative rivals are all things that muddy the waters in the pool. Sometimes, the only way to take control of your life in any meaningful way is to decide where to draw the line and then disengage completely. While I'm sad to see him leave, I respect his decision.

I have to thank Ricky Lime for helping me to get myself on stage in a burlesque capacity five years ago. It led to all of this nonsense you see under the Dale Stones umbrella, and being minus one on the Sirlesque roster (especially being one of the most creative and talented performers I've ever met) is going to mean a tough road ahead. This all keeps me thinking about what the future of Sirlesque has in store.

So I think that at some point, we'll be having open auditions. I'd like to have a couple extra dancers and a full-time MC, so keep your ears to the ground about that. Of course, there are a couple other concerns I have about filling a group lineup with more staff(s), but I would be curious as to what you see the advantages and disadvantages are. Is it "The more the merrier" with group numbers, or is it just an additional risk of added drama and schedule synchronization? Is it best to have guest performers on a permanent basis and not give insider responsibilities to solo performers?

Leave me a comment and help me make that decision. Group wisdom, activate!

Embracing "Full-Time Artistry"

Due in large part to my having a month's worth of down time between jobs, I've been spending a lot of time I'd normally be spending in an office with other performers. Naturally, the topic of working as a full-time burlesquer has come up, usually when I've mentioned suddenly being available to rehearse during mid-day. I've noticed many of my fellow burlesque performers express the intent to move towards performing as their full-time occupation, and I'd be remiss if I didn't express some kind of curiosity as to how that decision comes to fruition. On top of that, I was also curious as to how that functions as an autonomous lifestyle--especially since there really isn't a "top tier" of burlesque performance.

Let me clarify what I mean. If you're a great singer, actor, writer, musician, shock jock, athlete, flea circus ringleader, lightning juggler, painter, or comedian, there's an industry and an infrastructure there to make sure you have the opportunity to get famous and rich using your particular skill set. Burlesque doesn't really have that. The highest tier in the business is pretty readily accessible if you know how to network. Add to that, making a solid career out of performance where your bread and butter gigs will never be in 45,000 seat arenas inevitably means that it's destined to be a long, financially mediocre struggle, though not without its merits. When one of my fellow performers makes the decision that he or she wants to make a career out of burlesque, I reckon there is a lot of thought that has to be involved in the decision, since most high-level gigs are rarely more than 3-digit paychecks.

I've asked some pointed questions of three of my favorite performers who are either contemplating making the transition to full-time, have recently done it and returned to part-time, or who have been doing it as their main gig with no end in sight, and they were each kind enough to give me some thoughtful commentary. I spoke with Fem Bones of the Slaughterhouse Sweethearts, Luminous Pariah of Mod Carousel, and Dangrrr Doll (of RAWR Burlesque), three performers I admire and respect.

...is this thing on?

First question; "Why? Also, how are you?"

Fem - "The frustration of not doing my best due to all my energy going into what I can only view as a gigantic time waster(day job). Whats the point of having a passion when you are too tired to chase it with all you got?"

Dangrrr - "I'm good! I went to college hoping I would become an editor at a publishing house or something, and then the recession hit. It made it impossible for me to use my degree. For a month I worked at a firm that designed museums, and all the employees wore t shirts and jeans but as the secretary, I had to wear a full suit every day, with my hair back in a bun. And if any of my hair was frizzy, I would get yelled at. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup. But during that job was when I started taking commissions, and I decided I could, and would quit for good!"

Luminous - "My goal was to become a theater actor, but I shortly after decided I wanted to be an environmental scientist. In a 'break" from school, I discovered burlesque and had to know more. I began attending shows obsessively; learning through watching, and of course meeting performers. Ultra took me under his wing and also sent me to Seattle's academy of Burlesque where I was "spotted" at my recital. After that, Waxie Moon gave me several large opportunities for artistic experimentation and exposure (pun intended). The more professional performers that I met, the more I began to wonder why I was slinging espresso at 6am when this tribe of people I so clearly belonged to was beckoning me to join the glittery side."

Luminous Pariah

Second question; "Did you have a short term or long term plan?"

Dangrrr - "Costuming wise: I want to stop taking commissions and I want to create an actual readywear high end lingerie line, with employees and all. In regards to burlesque. You just have to be willing to take that risk to potentially be very very poor or very very stressed for a while, as you get on your feet."

Luminous - "I made the leap of faith to give up my day job in 2011. I had a full business plan, that I had set in motion before letting go of my day-job."

Fem - "See what is possible when using the eight hours a day that would be wasted, and use it strictly for art purposes. See if having my natural sleep pattern(4am-12) would help my energy, and productivity levels. 20 years from now I expect to have evolved into a completely different creature."

Third question; "How's the lifestyle? Pros and cons?"

Dangrrr - "Well, I just have to be really careful about my expenditures. I can't afford as much in rent as other people maybe can, I have to limit my leisure spending. But I do pretty good actually, somehow I manage not to be starving even with crazy NYC expenses. I just keep really good track of my finances."

Fem - "I've been booking a few more gigs, but frankly, I don't find a TON of Boston burlesque work lately, and out of town is expensive. I'm still pushing, but the fact is producing is where I make the more income. With more time on my hands potentially equaling more events for me to produce..... That could POTENTIALLY actually work as a long term situation. I've also thought about teaching some classes..... But I'm juggling a lot right now as is."

Luminous - "The best part of self-employment was the pure autonomy. It was wonderful to move around the globe as I pleased. On the flip side; it was quite difficult to manage the number of micro duties and events that I needed to take part in to keep an income flow. Not being able to budget at all was very frustrating and at times terrifying."

Question for Luminous; "Why did you go back to non-performance for an income, and what would you tell other performers who are planning to go full-time?"

Luminous - "Performance is still my main focus, but I've relieved a lot of stress in my life by paying rent through a day-job. I find myself taking gigs because I'm interested in them, rather than because I need them to pay my bills. Less stress has actually freed my creativity a lot too. I think I'm actually being booked more now than I ever have been before - which is funny. I also love being able to recycle my income from performing directly back into costumes and production."

Question for Dangrrr; "What are the next big professional steps for you as a full time artist?"

Dangrrr - "I am honestly thinking of either going back to school, or getting another job, just because I need to stop taking commissions in order to get the line started- and I need startup capital, too."

Dangrrr Doll

Question for Fem; "You had mentioned to me at one point that your day job was 'a waste of time' but I am curious whether or not your non-performance work had any value to you prior to swearing it off for good. Did it?"

Fem - "It made me value the opportunity I have to make art versus a life without it, and community. It reminded me to respect others, and their unknown situations, even if my customers did not. It also gave me the bitterness, and spite to do what I can to never have to go back."

Fem Bones

My own thoughts;

Among all this, I like to think I know myself. I don't think I would ever want to take on performance as a full time engagement, specifically because I don't think my creative drive will ever overtake my desire to be financially consistent. I know that there were a few gigs that I've taken as a means of keeping money coming in that would not take again if I didn't have to--gigs that many of my full-time-performer friends depend on. I know that I don't have a supplementary way of earning consistent income, and I don't produce enough shows to give me a big enough regular paycheck.

I suppose my own loyalty is to having a good work-life balance. I figured that if I don't see any one obligation as too important, I might be able to keep myself well-rounded and attentive to the greatest needs I have as they arise. Yeah, that sounds profound. I'll go with that.

"In fact, I think I'll even get two friends to help me rub one out to
my own philosophizing."

But I salute my friends and fellow performers who do, because it's not easy. And I do think that in addition to the strong performance skills and required business acumen, there's a required level of self-awareness. I'd love to hear from you about your own pursuits into full-time artistry, feel free to comment or message--and thank you again for reading.

NYC Boylesque Festival

I realize there isn't really a top-tier with burlesque performance, and that a good reputation is pretty much as close to fame as any of us are going to get. Lady Gaga did burlesque, but instead got famous for being a talented musician. Whether or not this is a symptom of an industry with no professional regulation or high-end market interest is a topic for another time. I'd like to instead talk about performing at NYC Boylesque Festival, as that's the highest level I've since performed at--and was able to finally meet boylesque performers on an international stage.

After submitting a video of Sirlesque performing our "OMG BSB" group number at Lucky Charming's show "Power Strip" last summer, we were pretty ecstatic to find out that we'd be performing it on the main stage at B.B. King's in midtown Manhattan. So far, it's the biggest-scale performance gig any of us have ever booked.

In case none of you believe me.

Understand that in Boston, Sirlesque is essentially the only game in town. As far as I know, there aren't any other male burlesque troops close enough to be competition, and we are usually able to put decently-selling shows together on a regular basis. Were it not for the opportunity, we might have just continued to perform in Boston as Rogue Burlesque's brother troop and best-kept-secret for all eternity.

In my mind, that's not a good thing. Not having other dudes to look at gives me little else to compare my performance style and skill level to. In a small pond, it's easy to feel like the biggest fish. I figured that if I got to spend a weekend with other dudes from around the globe who didn't necessarily have the same logo emblazoned on their clothing like Laverne DeFazio, I might get a chance to learn a few things and maybe get inspired to create and perform on a higher level.

Though she would absolutely approve of our personalized sweatshirts.

Putting a face and a pair of cheeks to a lot of the stage names of dudes I'd heard of in the grander burlesque scene was a surreal experience. In fact, at the opening night of the festival at The Knitting Factory in Brooklyn, one of the first performers to approach us was Luminous Pariah. He was the first performer whose name I had heard of before I met (besides the illustrious Lucky Charming, of course), and I was pretty excited to see what he would bring to the stage in person. I would have to wait until Saturday to find out what that was like. Spoiler alert -- I wasn't disappointed in the least. He can definitely move, and has a model's physique to boot.

On our way to New York, the Sirs were trying to solve an ongoing problem about what underwear we were all going to wear for our our performance on Saturday. Cue NYC-based Mr. Gorgeous, a 6-foot-5 marble sculpture of a man who not only performed on Friday, but was selling an entire rack of custom-made underwear. We pounced on him immediately, as it's not often a problem's solution appears out of nowhere and presents itself (and in a variety of colorful styles!). We all ended up wearing a pair of his expertly-crafted merchandise the next evening. I really dig the ones I got, they were zebra striped. Because obviously.

Just try to tell me that this doesn't get you hot under the collar.

Being backstage at B.B. King's was an experience that I'd never had anything like. Beverages, beer, wine, water, snacks, coffee, and most other nutritional needs were provided, photographers were on hand to photograph and document the backstage preparations and shenanigans, and guys from all over were just genuinely excited to see each other. It was a great atmosphere, and was as supportive as any burlesque community I'd ever been involved with.

I knew I recognized some of the faces backstage. I had a severe open-mouth-insert-balls moment when I casually approached Ray Gunn and asked if he'd ever performed at Burlesque Hall of Fame. Because I've evidently got the social competence of a beached tadpole, he chuckled a bit and informed me that he was crowned Boylesque King 2013--and I immediately realized that I had read an article about him last year in which he gave a ton of commonplace anecdotal advice.

Welp, guess I'll go hide in the corner while pretending I know how to put on eyeliner and hoping my tears of embarrassment don't make it run too badly.

It's okay, bro. It's not like we can't use it in an act we're planning.

The crowd was fantastic. It was the most mainstream audience I've ever been in front of. Don't get me wrong, Boston has a great burlesque fan-base. But I got the distinct impression that this was a more eclectic crowd, and that they weren't necessarily burlesque fans first and foremost. I further confirmed that by walking around at intermission and chatting with different folks, who told me about as much. On top of that, it was nice to run into a journalist with Next magazine, who I left a few interview sound bites with. It was fun to feel like a celebrity for a few days.

(PS - You can read the article here!)

The after party was pretty amazing as well--more performances from dudes like Seattle-based Waxie Moon, who did a whole act where he was handcuffed, stripped, and then un-handcuffed himself with a hidden key (guess where?) and then re-handcuffed himself after he was entirely stripped down. It was fun chatting with Toronto-based Dew Lily and James and the Giant Pasty, especially since it's been implied that they're our Canadian doppelgangers. I learned from them that most male burlesque is performed by gay performers or involves drag or gender-bending, neither of which accurately describes Sirlesque--confirming that we are as novel in our field as we can get.

Still, that status didn't feel all that unique after Tokyo-based Gilbert de Moccos told me that burlesque really isn't a thing in Japan. How would it feel to be the only one you know who does burlesque?

All in all, it was a fabulous weekend and I am definitely hoping to go back next year. It helped me to refocus on what goals I have as a performer and to learn what habits other successful male burlesquers have. And I made a lot of new friends in the process.

Small-scale fame? Check.

Too many fantastic people? Check.

Pancakes? I'm certain I left that restaurant with Type A diabetes.

Now. About coming back next weekend for another performance.....

Overbooking vs. A Full Schedule

One of the dilemmas I'm constantly facing as a performer is balancing my time. Anybody who knows me can tell you how terrible I am at organizing my calendar and keeping tabs on my responsibilities. I'm overly grateful to be given enough opportunities to keep returning to the stage to perform, but each time I get an offer, I'm always plagued with this ominous feeling of "wait...what am I forgetting about?"

I don't usually expect nor do I get sympathy for this as often as I hear "go buy a calendar." I suspect that ironing out the kinks surrounding how I interact with the iPhone's calendar app isn't the only part of the problem, but rather that people who are less mindful have a hard time recalling everything they've agreed to be a part of. People who are naturally organized have this ability, and I am not one of these people.

The true complication of it isn't that I don't remember all the bookings I accepted--I can write those down, plug dates into my calendar, and casually discuss details about those performances in conversations with other performers involved in those projects. The problem comes when I book myself on top of things in my personal life that aren't business-y engagements. Like lunch with a friend, or a date with Chip.

And I don't always get to "two-birds-one-Stones" those engagements.

In one hand, I'll have an awesome opportunity to perform and accomplish something significant for myself, and in the other hand I might have the welfare of a personal relationship.

In this way, the art of burlesque--a hobby and community which brings me so much joy and fulfillment--sometimes becomes a painful dilemma. On a few such occasions, I've committed to a business deal where I'm exchanging a service for an agreed rate, and weighed that against having to cancel dinner plans with Chip for the third time this month. In these instances, neither choice feels entirely like the right one.

Further compounded by turning down taco pizza...has that ever been the correct choice?

I'm not really sure how to become more mindful in these circumstances. Either one carries with it the penalty of appearing unreliable. I know that as a producer, I'm far less likely to book someone who has a history of being flaky. I know I wouldn't invest a lot of time and effort into being friends with someone who routinely blows me off.

Often enough, a burlesque friend will say to me "you know, we really need to hang out more when we're not performing." This statement is kind of doubly confusing to me, because I sort of look at performing as a chance to hang out with people I love the company of. Even when I do get to hang out with burlesque friends offstage, the conversations routinely circle back to performing, performance concepts and ideas, and what substance will be poured over which of us during the next burlesque performance we'll both be in. The two circles merge pretty easily in my experience.

But in dwelling on that, I was able to identify another fault of mine that is currently in the triage phase.

I agreed to go on a relaxing vacation with my non-burlesque-involved girlfriend Chip in June, and we had a conversation about what day we were planning on leaving and coming back. She suggested there might be an overlap between that week and a show I had tentatively planned on being in, and without thinking about it or asking what would work better for both of our schedules, I said "I'll just meet up with you at the vacation spot the next day after doing the show."

It became a conflict in that moment because I have been booking a lot of shows, and they're more frequently starting to take me out of Boston. Being booked for the next several weekends in the coming months is something that has the potential to put a lot of strain on my relationship, especially since I'm dating someone who is not a burlesque performer.

In that conversation, my knee-jerk reaction was to make the show day work, and the attention from that weekend's crowd of burlesque fans and fellow performers trumped the attention I'd be getting and giving from someone I care a lot about, and I didn't even give it a moment's thought.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to be on stage 10 minutes ago?"

Some background here: where possible, Chip dutifully attends every show I'm in without hesitation. So it's not like she isn't otherwise above-and-beyond supportive of my art. In that regard, I would have been encroaching on plans she had made and inserting another "hey, look at me" moment into my calendar.

I realized then what the performance lifestyle taught me about myself. As performers, we all love the attention we get. Personally, I try to remain humble about stage stuff and make sure I'm keeping my performer's ego in check, but deep down, I really do love being recognized for my contributions to the discipline of burlesque. I love being recognized, and I love being told I did something well, or created something memorable. I try not to show it, but I get schoolboy-level giddy when I see the performance photos and comments buzzing all over Facebook about last night's amazing show. I feel like performing is a kind of free therapy that I'm stealing, and it's an absolutely self-centered motivation that makes me keep returning to it.

So naturally, I do want to get back on stage as often as possible. It's easy to get sucked into the performance world entirely, and it's a rush knowing that people are eating up what you're serving. But I have to remind myself that validation has many forms, and that it's important not to neglect every other source of it when one creative or professional outlet is doing well. Certainly, the temptation exists on Monday morning to half-ass my efforts at work because "Oh man, that show was so amazing and none of my clients would ever make me feel as personally fulfilled as my audience did AND HEY LOOK IT'S LUNCH TIME KTHXBAI."

"You know what? Just forward my emails to the trash folder and set my phone to 'detonate.'"

So really, I suppose I need to explore what makes me fulfilled in all its forms and find a balance in scheduling that translates into a well-rounded, meaningful life. Sounds easy enough.

The worst burlesque act I've ever done

While I always try to be positive about what I write, I thought it would be interesting to single out the worst burlesque act I ever did as a way to reflect. I wanted to write down everything I learned, and to remind myself about some basic fundamentals of act-writing all of which I completely overlooked that one embarrassing time. Then, I figure I can glance it over while I'm in the creative process the next time I'm wrestling with writer's block, and re-learn how to not suck. Seriously, it was a bad frigging act.

The gist of it was that I had created this Russian soldier who I think was supposed to be guarding the border of Siberia. I had a full, long coat, and one of those fuzzy Russian hats, and really just had a ton of gimmicks that I carried out, all while set to some up-tempo techno song pulled straight out of the discount bin that someone else picked out for me. I think what happened was I just executed a long list of offensive stereotypes in costume, and while I had plenty of enthusiasm behind the individual movements within, the act overall made everyone pointlessly uncomfortable.

I'm on the right. That is indeed shame on my face.

The act ended up getting cut out of the last two nights of a four-night engagement, and looking back, I'm truly glad that happened. In the act, I pantomimed heavy drinking as a way to propel the story along, I played Russian Roulette in my underwear, and finished the act getting caught with my pants down (literally) as invading forces ruined my moment of vulnerability while alarms and gunshots went off in the background. Because I didn't really have any sort of previous inspiration for creating this monstrosity, I took any and every idea offered and cobbled all of them together into a performance which really didn't feel polished or rehearsed. And I think I was going for funny when none of it was.

That, and a litany of other mistakes.

1 - I relied heavily on props and gimmicks.
As an early burlesquer, I learned that creating an act required there to be a reason for getting naked. This is not necessarily a requirement, as removing the reason creates a different kind of act, known as a "straight strip." Since my only other solo act until that point had been me in a sandwich board collecting signatures, I was determined to do something comedic and theatrical, but all I kept thinking was "what other items can I introduce to fill in the time?" This was a huge pitfall, as it would have been a much better act if I had simply allowed myself to do a sexy, simple, striptease.

2 - I let other people decide key parts of the routine.
I needed help creating this act, and I reached out to anyone who would help me. While not normally a bad thing to ask for help, I was entirely uninspired--I would have been better off declining to perform than to put up something I didn't feel was my own. A fellow performer picked out my song, a woman I was dating chose the theme, and suggestions about my costume came from all over. Since other performers are inspired by different things, there's no way of telling whether or not someone else could have taken this kind of act in a better direction. I'm betting anybody else could have, as I didn't even have the confidence to sell it.

3 - I didn't workshop it effectively, and I didn't allow it to be critiqued.
I ran the act for a few people, and they mostly reported confusion. This was certainly a red flag, and they had told me to omit a handful of things which didn't make sense. I cut out the part where I took a shoe off and banged it on the ground angrily at nobody in particular, and a segment featuring me doing I-don't-remember-what to a set of nesting dolls. I'm actually glad I cut those bits out, because the rest of the stuff I didn't do (such as pick a better song, cut over-utilized dance moves, and remember that it was supposed to be a striptease), and it was kind of like cutting moldy pieces off of a fruit that really should have been thrown out.

Seriously, I would have made better use of my stage time if I had just repeatedly punched myself in the face for 4 1/2 minutes.

...or had someone else do it.

But I'm glad I did the act. If it weren't for me hearing the reluctant applause, the feedback from the producers, and the decision to ultimately cut the act from the rest of the run, I wouldn't have gone back to the drawing board with such determination. I decided later that week that I needed to make an honest decision--I needed to figure out if burlesque was something I really wanted to continue with.

At the end of it, I decided that I was going to keep performing--but under a few conditions. First of all, I wanted to create acts that were truly mine, scenes that I could be inspired by. Secondly, I wanted to cut out anything superfluous that didn't fit with the acts I wanted to create. Last, I wanted to make sure I rehearsed as much as I could reasonably rehearse, and in front of a variety of fellow performers for the critiques they could offer me.

Also, I decided that I never wanted to get on a stage impaired.

No matter how spectacular the bender turns out.

Looking back through my first year of performance in burlesque, I realized that I had been coasting. I was passively making the decision to get on stage, and although it still scared the hell out of me each time, I had discarded that feeling time and time again because I was too uncertain of myself to have the courage to embrace it.

At a show the Sirs and I had done with Rogue Burlesque three or four years back, the adrenaline I had was cancelling out the alcohol I'd been drinking. So I drank past the point I should have. I got on stage for the finale, an although I believe it went well overall, I went straight to blackout when the show was over. I don't remember anything past being on stage, and a group viewing of the film the week after the show was pretty embarrassing. My fellow performers were nervously telling me in a half-serious tone that I needed to not be drinking when performing, and I knew they were right. So I never did again.

I took myself through the creative process from the pen-and-paper stage all the way to the nervous jitters before the next show, all the while following through on my new method. I brought that new solo act to the stage, one which allowed me to pay strict attention to the fundamentals of striptease. I kept it painfully simple, focused on what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. That act was called "Dapper Dale," and as of today, it's the most requested act in my repertoire.

"Dapper Dale"

When I debuted that act, I met another performer in the crowd who I hadn't had the chance to meet before. Belle Guns told me that was the first male burlesque straight strip she'd ever seen, and that she absolutely loved how sexy and dignified it was. She and I are still friends, and I look up to her as a performer and as a fellow blogger--I credit her and The Rambling Onesie as the biggest influence for me creating my own burlesque blog. I think you should check it out.

The big takeaway from all this for me was that I needed to experience the failure of what I created in order to eventually realize what it was I wanted from burlesque performance. I wanted to figure out what worked and what didn't and why. I still see myself as being on that journey, and I feel like I'm only getting better at creating enjoyable content for the people that buy tickets and support this crazy dream.

I've also learned to feel great about hearing critiques. You definitely don't get better without people telling you what just ain't working, and I'm very thankful for that.

Belle Guns and I.