Cabaret

Is cock-rock burlesque for boys?

When I was nine I fell in love with Adam Ant. By 11 I become acquainted with Ziggy Stardust and transferred my attentions to David Bowie. Then I found Motley Crue and Hanoi Rocks. Running an eye over this roster of talent one notices a pattern emerging; to wit, there is nothing sexier than a hot guy in make up with a guitar. More specifically, if burlesque is a theatrical performance of female sexuality and gender, however camp and archly performed, is cock rock burlesque for boys?

Certainly there is nothing understated about the sexuality apparent in the music and image of the Sunset Strips finest; it is as over blown a statement on the business of male identity as my frolicking near naked in an 8ft crystal shoe is on femininity. What could be more masculine than being knee deep in Jack Daniels and strippers to the accompaniment of thunderous rock music, Harleys and more pyrotechnics than the 4th of July?

Of course this only really works if the male in question is offensively good looking and has the balls to dress the part. In nature the male always seems to be at the top of the queue when it comes to finery. Peacocks look great. Peahens wear a dowdy brown. In terms of the human animal we were pretty much neck and neck for centuries until the male threw in the towel in the early part of the last century and opted for grey suits and scrubbed faces. Since then any male flamboyance has been pretty much the preserve of the rock star who invariably picks up on the swashbuckling elements of bygone rakes and reprobates. Far from diminishing masculinity, ripped leather and eyeliner speaks to the depths of the female populace, just as (though am no Bill Oddy) I would imagine the peacock with the biggest brightest plumage rarely finds himself stuck for a date.

And after all in the movie theatre it has long been established that we like our heroes to be good looking rather battle-stained adventurers, pirates and dandies. From Indiana Jones to Jack Sparrow we like them dressed up and dangerous. Even Bruce Willis’ somewhat prosaic vest is seldom clean and free from enhancing tears. Colin Firth bought the country to a standstill as Mr Darcy and when Sean Bean donned his green jacket for Sharp the flower of English developed a passionate interest in the Peninsular War and husbands nationwide were pestered to join historical re enactment societies.


There seems to have been something of a dropping of the baton in this area of late, especially in England where the male is looking more like a peahen by the day. So if you want a theatrical, dangerous, sexy and above all gloriously male experience support your local cock rockers! After all, as Motley’s Nixxi Sixx so neatly put it;

“Just because we wear lipstick doesn’t mean we can’t kick your ass."