Happy Days are Here Again

Last week: I saw Kitty Daisy & Lewis

The 50s are back. It's official. And I ain't complaining. In fact, I am embracing it wholeheartedly. I've always had visions of myself in a full circle floral print skirt on the back of a Harley D with my arms clinging to Arthur Fonzarelli's snake hips and I've been wondering for some time where you can buy those longline bras and corsets that create that cinched-waist bombshell look so well portrayed by Mad Men's Christina Hendricks.

Musically speaking, the 50s have never been big on my radar. But thanks to a recent invitation to dj in a Rock 'n' Roll/ Blues bar, I have broadened my horizons somewhat. One of my current iPod favourites is Shindig magazine-endorsed: Keb Darge and Little Edith's Legendary Wild Rockers, a compilation of rare surf/rockabilly numbers from the late 50s/early 60s which will have you reaching for the Brylcreem before you can say ramalamadingdong. I urge you to get your hands on a copy and lend it your shell-like asap.

Retro revival has been done to death over the past few years with Amy Winehouse paving the way for (or creating a monster?) anybody with a radio mic and a twinset, so I was in no hurry to listen to Kentish Town's family combo Kitty, Daisy & Lewis when I first read about their back-to-roots/Apple Mac is devil philosophy. A recommendation by friends followed by an invitation to a live gig persuaded me otherwise and, with some of their music available on 78rpm vinyl format, the siblings would more than likely strongly disapprove of my hurriedly (illegally) downloaded MP3s. After just a few listens, I was hooked. Their latest full-length offering 'Smoking in Heaven' (perhaps if it wasn't so retro, a more appropriatle title would be 'Smoking on a Heated Terrace Just Outside the Gates of Heaven') covers a wide spectrum of 40s/50s rockabilly, ska and blues sounds with rich vocals and vintage production quality.

Last week, the gig itself was quite an event to behold. Far better attended than I anticipated, Brussels' classy venue the Ancienne Belgique opened its doors to a crowd dressed up to the nines in authentic 50s chic. We had rolled up straight from the office, so didn't quite look the part, although I was secretly pleased I had spent my lunch hour at Toni and Guy having a short, round fringe cut in (alas, a little more Dave Hill from Slade than Bettie Page, however).

In my world, either you have beautiful straight, thick hair that perfectly skims the top of your arse, OR, you can blow a mean harmonica. OR neither. Kitty and Daisy BOTH have locks to die for and the ability to play more instruments than you can shake a shitty stick at. Together with brother Lewis, they exchange guitars, harmonicas and drums as if they were on a production line with each sibling's vocals complimenting the other's. It's a real family affair: Mister Kitty, Daisy & Lewis strums away at an electric guitar slightly set back from his offspring. Meanwhile, Mum joins in on upright bass. The double bass is a favourite of mine; a kind of mysterious creature; it evokes an air of the smouldering hot guy that's way out of your league, skulking in the shadows of a smokey underground club looking effortlessly sultry. The music as a whole fires us all up; unsure whether to skank or dosey doe, we just can't keep those hips still. One highlight was when legendary trumpetist Eddie 'Tan Tan' Thornton took to the stage, a worthy replacement for Rico Rodriguez who plays on the album version of 'Tomorrow'.

In the post-gig frenzy, my friends managed to get their merchandise autographed by Kitty (or was it Daisy?) while I found Lewis so cheeky cockney charming that I agreed to have my photo taken with him (!). The Durham family siblings were definitely not at the back of the queue when swarthy good lucks were being handed out and their trademark toothy gap that you could drive a bus between is, well, just simply the ginchiest, baby.


Watch out for that Number 59 to Ixelles, Lewis



The evening was rounded off rather pleasantly with a final beer and a little more rug cutting to the sounds of Thierry Steady Go, Brussels finest in retro djs.


In case you don't look the part, learn to speak some classic 50s lingo and you'll fit in like a glove: http://www.daddy-o.us/slang.htm

Would I try it again?: Only in a more intimate venue where there's room for me to indulge in some more serious shape-making.

Just What I've Always Wanted

Last week, for the first time ever: I wore a Bumpit.
I am a sucker for novelty items and the first person to be drawn in by a new product claiming to be the answer to all health and beauty dilemmas. Only very recently I spent a ridiculous 8 Euros on a miracle cold sore cure which has now left me with a huge branflake in the corner of my mouth.

On a recent trip to my hometown of St Helens, my Mum caught me in the act of falling hook line and sinker for a video in Boots the Chemist promoting a revolutionary big hair product: the Bumpit. Before I squandered the £3.99 that was already half way into the hands of the cashier, my shrewd Mother informed me that the same item could be acquired from Poundland for, you guessed it, a cinch at just a quid.

Since my teenage years, I have not been very experimental with my hair. Maybe I have been scarred for life by the hideous orange spiky mushroom 'do that I had at the tender age of 14, leading me to abscond from school after enduring the
contemptuous shrieks of my fellow schoolies. I think I have also fallen into the trap of playing it safe; my hair doesn't look good long and it doesn't suit me short, so chin-length it is, with the occasional dramatic angle that keeps me from being too boring. However, in the back of my mind, I was born in the wrong era and I hanker after the days when women
painstainkingly teased their hair into fabulous beehives. I guess I have never been the same since I first saw the retro chic of Mari Wilson on Top of the Pops and will never fail to admire and envy the Bardot bouffant. On the occasion of my brother's wedding, I went the whole hog and spent the morning with my Mum's hairdresser as he coaxed my locks up into a beehive which has gone down in history at that particular establishment as being "fuckin' massive". The whole thing didn't budge for a matter of days and the CEO of Insette has now retired to the Bahamas from the proceeds of that appointment alone.

The Bumpit is a banana-shaped plastic article with teeth around the edges. The idea is to grab a section of hair, push it up with the Bumpit and then smooth it down over the top, spraying into place. Amazingly, with just a few trial runs, I managed to achieve the desired effect and it was eat your heart out Amy Winehouse. Surprisingly, the Bumpit manages to stay relatively secure and the style sleek. The amount of hairspray applied is key ("fuckin' massive") as is your planned evening activities: a night moshing on the dancefloor will have you rooting down the back of your frock for the Bumpit and would-be djettes should note that headphones are not the best accompaniment.

Mari Wilson: 80s retro icon and beekeeper...

....Massive.

Would I try it again?: Well I guess I need to get my money's worth from that quid...