BWW Reviews: CAROLE J. BUFFORD's New Show On the World's Oldest Profession Sizzles at 54 Below

Just when one thinks Carole J. Bufford has thoroughly plumbed the genre for which she has so much affinity, the artist comes up with an audacious new show whose distinct focus, original format, and unblushing presentation delivers a fresh take. Heart of Gold: A Portrait of the Oldest Profession (this past Saturday night at 54 Below) offers a cavalcade of women who get paid to provide "pleasure"--madams, streetwalkers, dancehall girls, and kept women from salty to sensuous, weary and bitter to a view from the catbird seat, enmeshed or looking back.

"There go the street lights bringin' on the night/Here come the men faces hidden from the light . . . " she sings from Bob Seger's "Fire Down Below." Striding onstage in a cheap, 1970s coat with faux fur collar, black corsetiere (about which there was nothing cheap), garters, and thigh high fishnets, Bufford's R & B opening is as hot as it is bothered. The coat is exchanged for a turquoise kimono hung from a rack of select costume permutations--a fedora, a mink . . .

The Madam: (Chapter titles simulating vaudeville show cards appear on screens at either side of the stage.) The first in a series of well-chosen quotes is attributed to Polly Adler, who ran a high profile, gangster protected bordello in Manhattan starting in the 1920s. We later hear from such as Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward and Steve Martin. "Little Bitty Ol' Pissant Country Place" from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (Carol Hall) quick-switches the mood from savvy to bawdy. This is Heehaw country. Bufford leans into the audience with a twinkle in her eyes, good naturedly lecturing her girls. Notes swing like hammocks.

"Ten Cents a Dance" (Richard Rodgers/Lorenz Hart) is one of perhaps four numbers Bufford has performed in other shows. From a purveyor of some of the most unique cabaret material out there, repetition is, despite excellence, a disappointment. Here, the song brackets Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean." What's louche and resolute turns sharp-edged and Fosse-rhythmic. Ian Herman's tandem arrangement makes the two songs seem married or at least friends with benefits.

The Reckless Youth includes a boop-boop-a-doop inflected "Get Out While the Getting is Good" (John Kander/Fred Ebb) delivered with an appealing backend trill, a sinewy "Love For Sale" (Cole Porter) whose come hither, Kit Kat Club tone feels like fingernails drawn provocatively across the skin, and "Bye Bye Blackbird" which arrives as tough cookie acapella and ends with a startling gunshot.

The Happier Ending (wink) features a terrific roadhouse rendition of "A Guy What Takes His Time" (Ralph Rainger) during which Bufford's vocal slowly pulls off its opera gloves, drags a feather boa, and lets fall her spaghetti straps. She might just as well be dipping and stripping. A wised up, bone deep version of Cy Coleman/Ira Gasman's "Don't Take Much (to turn a girl into a woman)" from The Life, and the effective dichotomy of immodest lyrics against shimmering piano in "I'm Your Late Night Evening Prostitute" (Tom Waits) reflect the next chapters.

Three songs addressed to Sugar Daddies are sheer flirt. Here's where the mink comes in. Bufford drapes herself across the piano so that Musical Director Ian Herman can put "diamonds" on her wrist and finger and she later parades around the audience rubbing a baldhead here, a shoulder there, teasing riveted men. As striking a version of Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" as you'll ever hear closes the evening. This determined girl's going in the other direction--away from Oz. There's a catch in her voice and heady resonance to the song.

Carole J. Bufford has the intelligence, passion, taste, and ferocious technique of a legend in the making.

Bass--Tom Hubbard; Drums--Howie Gordon

Photos by Gio Molla

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