The Devil’s Jukebox – Final Show!
The Devil’s Jukebox – Final Show!
The Puzzle Hall Inn, Hollins Mill Lane, Sowerby Bridge
12/07/25
Review by Dark Juan
A disclaimer for you all, if you’ll permit me. This is not a review about a Metal band, but I wanted to write about it because this band have been a staple of my life for over a decade, and now they are no more, so it behoves me to commit some words to posterity to record their peculiar genius, their tongue in cheek humour, and their egregious talents.
The Devil’s Jukebox were a band composed of misfits and miscreants, pimps, hustlers, priests, and elegance. They were a throwback to 1920s, art-deco glamour, telling tales of grimy back alleys in New Orleans as well as overseas adventures that may or may not have involved people losing ears and catching sexually transmitted diseases by sticking their bits into places I wouldn’t put the ferrule of my umbrella. They were seedy yet sophisticated, gin-soaked but painfully lucid, playful yet with a dangerous side that was just as capable of giving you a friendly hug as sliding a razor-sharp stiletto between your ribs and gleefully making off with your wallet. They were an anachronism that somehow survived into the 21st Century. I shall not be troubling the Platter of Splatter ™ for this review, so you can be assured that it will be well rested before I subject it to more aural torture.
Fronted by the enigmatic, yet worryingly active Dr. Ezekiel Bordello (absolutely not a medical doctor), sharply attired in a wool blazer, zoot suit trousers and a fine line in sock suspenders, they told tales of debauchery and pimping, love and loss, and did this with panache and a lot of stripping (more on that later – it’s not as thrilling as you might have thought it is. Well, unless you like that sort of thing. All will become clear shortly).
The Devils Jukebox played Viper Jazz and red-hot Ragtime, aided by the superb clarinet and sax (both tenor and soprano) work of the Reverend Jim Lodge, a gentleman beyond compare, and loved by all. The harmonium and suitcase percussion (literally a suitcase with a microphone in it with a biscuit tin lid gaffa taped to it!) were ably handled by the finest of Austro-Hungarian automatons, Scarlett Bonansea, resonator and banjo ukuleles by Professor Lotus Dubois, and the upright bass and banjo bass by Sir Pinky Camber-Sands.
These are possibly not their real names, seeing as most of them come from Leeds. However, when Mrs Dark Juan and I were in the throes of passion when we first went to see them, we had decided they were going to be our wedding band, and The Devil’s Jukebox were surprisingly amenable to this concept; we have now sadly left it too late. Still, good times and fine memories have been made. Including the time we took my daughter to see them, and Ezekiel Bordello played most of that gig sat on her knee, bawling into her face at a distance of about three inches. She moved back home to live with her mother shortly after.
Anyway, the gig was a joyous occasion. It was The Devil’s Jukebox going out in one last untrammelled, unfettered blaze of glory, all charlestons, swing and hooterphones on ‘King of The Kazoo’, raunch and debauchery on ‘Everyone’s Drinking’ (the next lines of that song are “Everyone’s drinking and fucking, sucking that liquor and fucking…” which gives you an indication of just where Bordello and the rest of the band’s priorities laid, with possibly the exception of Scarlett Bonansea whose gaze occupied a middle point somewhere in the distance and she weaved her ethereal spell over all, when she wasn’t trying to keep the elaborate headpiece she was wearing, which was a large galleon, to fucking stay on her head and not list alarmingly to starboard) and tales about using a 12-inch pianist (PIANIST!!!) as a spade, and casually leaving an ‘Old Tin Box’ containing a severed human ear on a table in the pub for some unsuspecting punter to find. The Devil’s Jukebox were chaos and insanity personified until it came to a shuddering, utterly spent climax with crowd favourite ‘Let’s Get Drunk and Fuck’.
It is during this song where we were treated, one last time, to the good doctor Ezekiel Bordello stripping out of his accoutrements, all the way down to gold lamé nipple pasties (of which one failed, leading to much hilarity as it went pinwheeling wildly into the raucous punters) a posing pouch in which multiple budgies could be smuggled, also with nipple pasties protruding from it rather worryingly) and sock suspenders and some frankly fucking amazing patent leather shoes. Ladies, gentlemen, and people of all genders and identifications, it was a sight to behold, and one that may well haunt Dark Juan for many years to come.
So, yes, Dark Juan laments the loss of one of the greatest, fun live bands it has ever been his pleasure (or terror, because you never knew what Bordello was going to do next, whether that be serenade some poor fucker using the lavatory or going to bother the smokers outside, or handing out kazoos for a bit of audience participation. I still have mine in the pocket of my tweed jacket) to enjoy. They were anarchic, amusing, surprisingly good at pathos, and utterly irreplaceable. Rev. Jim is now a clarinettist without portfolio, and also an excellent squawky sex horn operator and is looking for bands to collaborate with, and I promised him I’d put the word out there for him, despite only really knowing the scuzziest and grimiest Metal bands in the UK, so if you want to make your music sexy, get hole of Reverend Jim and he will sort it out for you in his own inimitable fashion.
The final gig was everything. It was triumph and tragedy, a joyous celebration as well as being deeply sad, because Dark Juan thought they would last forever despite Jim’s advancing years, and it was the most bittersweet experience I have ever had, watching this one-of-a-kind band play their final show. However, we shall not lament, we shall bask in the knowledge that I have witnessed one of the few singular, unique bands ever to tread the boards of the UK. I will leave you with the way they described themselves on their website. Good afternoon.
Lineup:
Doctor Ezekiel Bordello – Holler, hooterphone, and hokum. Bon vivant, raconteur, and man about town are just some of the words that have not been used to describe the good doctor in court. The sole inventor of ‘Old Peculiar’s Tiger Libation for the Sick and Licentious’ and chief physician of the highly visited ‘Dr. Bordello Home for Intoxication’ is as much admired for the height of his sock suspenders as he is for the sorry depths of his singular depravity.
Scarlett Bonansea – Harmonium and suitcase percussion. After being abandoned for several years in the basement of the British Museum, it took more than just voodoo and a working knowledge of Cartesian engineering to bring the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s finest automaton back from her rusty grave. Running on cherry brandy and Sachatorte, you would believe how sticky Scarlet’s gears were. But still, it was worth it. It’s almost as if she’s actually breathing.
Sir Pinky Camber-Sands – Upright and banjo bass. Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Fortunately, then, for Sir Pinky, his father was a Lithuanian gypsy and his mother an Antipodean Vaudeville performer famed for her frankly sickening ‘Dance of the Seven Viles’. Being born on an ocean liner far from these sceptered isles’ shores accounts then for his impeccable English and a lifelong distrust of herring.
Professor Lotus Dubois – Resonator and banjo ukuleles. Wing-walker, flea trainer and crack shot. The Professor has spent more hours escaping from Shanghai’s Tilanqiao Prison than I have learning how to spell it. A friend to all the winged and stepping creatures of the world, she would probably like you better if you were a cuttlefish. No offence. If you wish to learn about how to evolve into another species, please write to: The Professor Lotus Dubois, Moreau Island, South China Seas. And then wait. No, not yet, a little bit longer…
Reverend Jim Lodge – Clarinet, tenor and soprano saxophone. If you want to walk a mile in the Reverend’s shoes, then you had better get some feet, my friend. Not just any feet. Manly feet. Feet with style and durability. Jim has been a Jazz reed blower in Yorkshire since the 1950s. The 1950s, godammit! When he started, the rest of us were not even born. I know this. He has told me several times…
I’m not going to provide any links to socials or websites because the band is now defunct. I will, however, post this link to ‘Let’s Get Drunk and Fuck’ on YouTube because I am a child and it amuses me. And to this day, I wonder just how to perform the ‘Weaponised Rusty Trombone’ and the ‘Hampton Excuse Me’.
Disclaimer: This review is solely the property of Dark Juan and Ever Metal. It is strictly forbidden to copy any part of this review, unless you have the strict permission of both parties. Failure to adhere to this will be treated as plagiarism and will be reported to the relevant authorities.
