Apologies for the spotty updates so far this 2010 - I'm hella busy with lots of pseudo-exciting stuff that may or may not come to fruition, and some of that will involve my posting sporadically worthwhile things on this here blog for your perusal. I do enjoy having a meagre platform for my first drafts and half-formed opinions like terrible irradiated embryos hacked from their dead mothers' swollen bellies.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that last week I went to see the latest solo shows by my dear chums Luke Wright and Ross Sutherland, during their run at the Old Red Lion Theatre (nearest tube Angel), which continues until the end of this month. Luke's is called The Petty Concerns Of Luke Wright and Ross's is called The Three Stigmata Of Pac-Man.
Obviously I'm not a very credible advocate of their work, because, as I've made clear, they're good mates of mine. HOWEVER, if I'd thought the shows were crap I simply wouldn't have mentioned them. I actually reckon that they're brilliant. You should go and watch them and see two experienced young poets operating at the height of their powers. They've had several splendid reviews, and a bit in The Independent, and, you know, if you're in London you should do something different and interesting with one of your weeknights and take a friend along who's never seen performance poetry before. The shows are funny and witty and not so long you'll get bumache, and you'll have a new thing to have an opinion about and you'll feel all cultured and arty when you talk to friends for the next couple of weeks.
Anyway, look, you can make your own mind up by watching these clips from their shows. I hope you enjoy:
Showing posts with label aisle16. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aisle16. Show all posts
Sunday 24 January 2010
Monday 4 January 2010
Hello 2010!
Hey you. Nice to see you again. You're looking well. Have you had a haircut? Sure? Well your hair looks great today, then. You're welcome.
I had a pretty Kinder Bueno 2009, all told. My first (maybe only!) book came out, I got to do gigs with Vic Reeves, Jon Ronson and Tim Key, I tried my hand at stand-up, and I made some new friends. So come on 2010, how are you going to beat that?
Well, it looks like I'm going to be taking my first ever solo show to the Edinburgh Fringe in August. I'm working on it at the moment, and my main goal is to make it not crap. Having written material for four live shows in the past two years, I know only too well that I'm capable of lurching between rather entertaining and drab sniper bait, so I'm kind of counting on lots of trial runs and useful feedback between now and then. If you were to ask me what kind of show I'd like to go see at the Fringe (well, clearly even if you weren't I'd still volunteer the information unsolicited) I'd say something funny and interesting that made me think. That's the kind of show I'm trying to write.
It's weird though - the moment you start putting stuff down on paper, all these possibilities start closing themselves off to you. I think, as a writer, my biggest enemy is lack of focus. My ideas fly about like shiny bits of paper in the Crystal Dome at the end of the Crystal Maze, and I get sort of dazzled and mesmerised by them and can't decide which to grab for. I think probably the piece of live writing I'm most pleased with so far is my 'How To Save Your Girlfriend' bit for Infinite Lives. Although, in the linked video, it was my first run-through and so my performance is not the greatest, once I had it down I really enjoyed delivering it. It allows me to talk about some obscure shit that I secretly care about, like the opening part of Wardner, or Dynamite Dux on the Master System, but by making relationships the nominal subject of the talk, it's accessible to people who are usually bored to within a merry inch of their lives by banter about video games. I love video games, and getting people to laugh at random stuff I'd privately laughed at before felt really good.
It's very unlikely my first show will use a screen. Though I'm a fan of the Aisle16 comedy microlecture format, and it's hugely useful to be able to illustrate a point or chuck in cool, colourful pictures, unless you need it for every section, it splits attention across a whole extra medium. Plus, I'm a bit concerned that I'll end up writing in that ironic faux-lecturer voice, whereas I'm trying to work towards the 'Hey, I'm just a regular folksy dude telling you the story of what happened to me' voice (though just as grounded in artifice) that typifies things like The Moth. Also, it's just much easier to find places to practise bits of a screenless show in front of a live audience, whereas if I use a screen I've pretty much got a coupla previews, then I'm doing it.
I don't know. Like I say, as soon as you start chowing down on one meadow, the grass o'er yonder starts to look increasingly verdant. Like ectoplasmically so. We're talking Slimer or some shit. That's why it's good I've left myself with plenty of time to pull a 180 if I decide I need to try a different route, like 'git with clicker'.
Anyway, onwards with scriptwriting. In the meantime, you should really go check out Cat And Girl. It's so witty it annoys and depresses me. The internet is renowned as a world-trumping cretin nexus, yet it's full of people much smarter than me.
I had a pretty Kinder Bueno 2009, all told. My first (maybe only!) book came out, I got to do gigs with Vic Reeves, Jon Ronson and Tim Key, I tried my hand at stand-up, and I made some new friends. So come on 2010, how are you going to beat that?
Well, it looks like I'm going to be taking my first ever solo show to the Edinburgh Fringe in August. I'm working on it at the moment, and my main goal is to make it not crap. Having written material for four live shows in the past two years, I know only too well that I'm capable of lurching between rather entertaining and drab sniper bait, so I'm kind of counting on lots of trial runs and useful feedback between now and then. If you were to ask me what kind of show I'd like to go see at the Fringe (well, clearly even if you weren't I'd still volunteer the information unsolicited) I'd say something funny and interesting that made me think. That's the kind of show I'm trying to write.
It's weird though - the moment you start putting stuff down on paper, all these possibilities start closing themselves off to you. I think, as a writer, my biggest enemy is lack of focus. My ideas fly about like shiny bits of paper in the Crystal Dome at the end of the Crystal Maze, and I get sort of dazzled and mesmerised by them and can't decide which to grab for. I think probably the piece of live writing I'm most pleased with so far is my 'How To Save Your Girlfriend' bit for Infinite Lives. Although, in the linked video, it was my first run-through and so my performance is not the greatest, once I had it down I really enjoyed delivering it. It allows me to talk about some obscure shit that I secretly care about, like the opening part of Wardner, or Dynamite Dux on the Master System, but by making relationships the nominal subject of the talk, it's accessible to people who are usually bored to within a merry inch of their lives by banter about video games. I love video games, and getting people to laugh at random stuff I'd privately laughed at before felt really good.
It's very unlikely my first show will use a screen. Though I'm a fan of the Aisle16 comedy microlecture format, and it's hugely useful to be able to illustrate a point or chuck in cool, colourful pictures, unless you need it for every section, it splits attention across a whole extra medium. Plus, I'm a bit concerned that I'll end up writing in that ironic faux-lecturer voice, whereas I'm trying to work towards the 'Hey, I'm just a regular folksy dude telling you the story of what happened to me' voice (though just as grounded in artifice) that typifies things like The Moth. Also, it's just much easier to find places to practise bits of a screenless show in front of a live audience, whereas if I use a screen I've pretty much got a coupla previews, then I'm doing it.
I don't know. Like I say, as soon as you start chowing down on one meadow, the grass o'er yonder starts to look increasingly verdant. Like ectoplasmically so. We're talking Slimer or some shit. That's why it's good I've left myself with plenty of time to pull a 180 if I decide I need to try a different route, like 'git with clicker'.
Anyway, onwards with scriptwriting. In the meantime, you should really go check out Cat And Girl. It's so witty it annoys and depresses me. The internet is renowned as a world-trumping cretin nexus, yet it's full of people much smarter than me.
Sunday 13 December 2009
Purple Ronnie Stand-Up Poetry Club
This Thursday 17th December, I'll be performing with all seven members of Aisle16 at The Monto Water Rats Theatre, on Grays Inn Road. It's exceptionally rare that all of us are in the same place to do a gig, aside from the late night 'Aisle16 and Friends' sessions at Latitude festival.A good portion of the show will be given over to our two- and three-man poems, which are always roistering fun. I know you'd expect me to say that - I'm hardly credible as a neutral advocate of Aisle16's live oeuvre - so, if you disbelieve me, check out Spoonfed's review of our appearance at Wave If You're Really There #5 with Wave Machines: 'fast-paced, cuttingly clever and ferociously funny performance poetry... performed with such vigour, to a crowd so completely engaged, that it is a joy to behold (and, yes, very clever too).' That's nice!
So yeah, doors are at 7:30pm, the nearest tube is Kings X - come down, and we'll do our best to give you a show to remember!
Wednesday 21 October 2009
Local Boys Done Vid
So yeah, those of you who came to the Local Boys Done Good edition of HOMEWORK will remember we did a show all about our hometowns. Well, guess what? If you missed it or just forgot it or loved it so much that you want to be locked in a cell with it projected onto your clammy delighted face 24-7 then fortune has shined upon you, friend, because it's up on Youtube. BOOM:The more eagle-eyed, beagle-nosed and smeagle-fingered amongst you may have noticed a distinct absence of Tim-ness in this video collection. Well, that's cos when it came to doing my bit I heinously overran, plinking and a-plonking on my uke and waffling, and ended up going to about 23 mins or something insano. I think we all agreed it didn't really work as a conclusion, well-intentioned though it was, so rather than cram it in there, I'm rewriting my section for when we continue to develop the show next year. It'll be all polished up with a brand spanking new ending, extra bits, slicker delivery, and a slightly more aged, paunchier cast. On the plus side, this means we haven't given everything away online, so if you come to see us, you'll find out how it all ends, what it all meant, and hear me playing the ukulele. We're performing it at Norwich Arts Centre on Monday 8th February, so pen that monster in your diaries, yo. Hope you enjoy these flicks. If you do, commenting on them and posting them somewheres else like your blog or your Facebook wall would be a super-helpful indulgence. Gotta spread the word. Peace out.
Homework Is Due
So yeah, had a faboo weekend over in Liverpool at the Bluecoat, doing some challenging and fun gigs and getting to soak up some culture. I really enjoyed doing the Revolutions In Form gig on the Sunday, which featured live doodles, a poem passed Chinese Whispers style through the whole audience, performance art, music and film. I realise I'm not a very credible advocate for a gig I was part of, and I don't usually like bigging up gigs I liked anyway, because it makes me sound like an awful fawning luvvie, but I thought it was a really interesting show. 'Performance art' especially gets a bad rap as a blanket term, but at its best it just means someone doing something cool and fascinating live.
Um, so next Wednesday, the 28th of October, you should come to the final Homework of the season. Aisle16 will be performing The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16. Okay, here's the pitch:
'When the British Council approached stand-up poetry collective Aisle16 wanting to commission a brand new live literature show for a "live, appreciative audience", they jumped at the chance. After doing a poetry tour of Britain’s motorway service stations and becoming the world’s first poetry boyband, as well as their regular appearances at festivals such as Glastonbury and Latitude, they were used to taking verse to new audiences. But there was a catch.
The show would be at the 2nd Annual Children’s Book Festival in Athens – and the "live, appreciative audience" would be composed entirely of Greek 7-year-olds, who hardly spoke any English at all. Never ones to shy away from a challenge – or money – Aisle16 set about trying to write a new poetry show that could be understood by people who barely speak the language.
The result is The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16 – a stand-up poetry show featuring fat bullies, God’s rejected fish prototypes, and a portrait of the yeti as a young man."
So that'll be Chris Hicks, Luke Wright (interviewed here), Ross Sutherland (interviewed here), and Joel Stickley (interviewed here). There'll also be supporting performances of new material from me, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne. Which means it's going to be that hella rare equinox where all seven members of Aisle16 are in the same place, at the same time, performing at the same gig. I know. You're correct to water your underpants in entrancement and terror. It will doubtless be a dead good finale to a super-successful season of Homework. Come, imbibe heartily with us as we say adios to our darling literary cabaret night for another year. And gawd bless the Arts Council for supporting our efforts. We've done our best to make it memorable, and give our audiences something more interesting than just blokes chuntering on in a vaguely artsy way.
Oh, and hey - you ought to check out the new online ventures from two of our members. Joel Stickley has started a blog called How To Write Badly Well. Partly based on his experience as a creative writing tutor, each short lesson builds up into a step-by-step guide on how to excel in composing dreadful prose. He claims he's going to update every Friday. Even though this seems a modest schedule, from experience I expect it will prove to be a SORDID LIE. Still, you should read it because it is well-wrought and funny. As someone who does a bit of the old creative writing tutoring from time to time, I enjoyed a few recognition laughs, along with a few twinges at stylistic gaffes I'd committed myself.
Also, Ross Sutherland has a new website up, here. Lots of poems, vids, links, gig dates, etc. I reckon 'The End Of Our Marriage' is particularly good.
In other news, after a weekend of appalling eating habits in Liverpool, including two takeaway pizzas and two meals at McDonalds culminating in a McGangbang (a double cheeseburger with a chicken mayo shoved in-between them... I KNOW) I am in the midst of a week of detox. No alcohol, no nicotine, no caffeine, no meat, no dairy, no sweets, no crisps. Steering away from unrefined carbs and stuff that's high on the glycemic index as much as possible. Losing Diet Coke feels like the cruellest blow thus far, which I suppose only goes to prove how much of an addle-pated addict I am. Yesterday I spent the whole day feeling like absolute crap, with a pounding headache. Today, I feel a bit better, albeit enfeebled. It's only until Saturday morning, anyhow, then I get to go right back to stuffing hot hogsflesh into my slavering unclean craw.
Um, so next Wednesday, the 28th of October, you should come to the final Homework of the season. Aisle16 will be performing The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16. Okay, here's the pitch:
'When the British Council approached stand-up poetry collective Aisle16 wanting to commission a brand new live literature show for a "live, appreciative audience", they jumped at the chance. After doing a poetry tour of Britain’s motorway service stations and becoming the world’s first poetry boyband, as well as their regular appearances at festivals such as Glastonbury and Latitude, they were used to taking verse to new audiences. But there was a catch.
The show would be at the 2nd Annual Children’s Book Festival in Athens – and the "live, appreciative audience" would be composed entirely of Greek 7-year-olds, who hardly spoke any English at all. Never ones to shy away from a challenge – or money – Aisle16 set about trying to write a new poetry show that could be understood by people who barely speak the language.
The result is The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16 – a stand-up poetry show featuring fat bullies, God’s rejected fish prototypes, and a portrait of the yeti as a young man."
So that'll be Chris Hicks, Luke Wright (interviewed here), Ross Sutherland (interviewed here), and Joel Stickley (interviewed here). There'll also be supporting performances of new material from me, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne. Which means it's going to be that hella rare equinox where all seven members of Aisle16 are in the same place, at the same time, performing at the same gig. I know. You're correct to water your underpants in entrancement and terror. It will doubtless be a dead good finale to a super-successful season of Homework. Come, imbibe heartily with us as we say adios to our darling literary cabaret night for another year. And gawd bless the Arts Council for supporting our efforts. We've done our best to make it memorable, and give our audiences something more interesting than just blokes chuntering on in a vaguely artsy way.
Oh, and hey - you ought to check out the new online ventures from two of our members. Joel Stickley has started a blog called How To Write Badly Well. Partly based on his experience as a creative writing tutor, each short lesson builds up into a step-by-step guide on how to excel in composing dreadful prose. He claims he's going to update every Friday. Even though this seems a modest schedule, from experience I expect it will prove to be a SORDID LIE. Still, you should read it because it is well-wrought and funny. As someone who does a bit of the old creative writing tutoring from time to time, I enjoyed a few recognition laughs, along with a few twinges at stylistic gaffes I'd committed myself.
Also, Ross Sutherland has a new website up, here. Lots of poems, vids, links, gig dates, etc. I reckon 'The End Of Our Marriage' is particularly good.
In other news, after a weekend of appalling eating habits in Liverpool, including two takeaway pizzas and two meals at McDonalds culminating in a McGangbang (a double cheeseburger with a chicken mayo shoved in-between them... I KNOW) I am in the midst of a week of detox. No alcohol, no nicotine, no caffeine, no meat, no dairy, no sweets, no crisps. Steering away from unrefined carbs and stuff that's high on the glycemic index as much as possible. Losing Diet Coke feels like the cruellest blow thus far, which I suppose only goes to prove how much of an addle-pated addict I am. Yesterday I spent the whole day feeling like absolute crap, with a pounding headache. Today, I feel a bit better, albeit enfeebled. It's only until Saturday morning, anyhow, then I get to go right back to stuffing hot hogsflesh into my slavering unclean craw.
Tuesday 29 September 2009
We Can't All Be Astronauts - at HOMEWORK, tomorrow!
So yes, hooray, tomorrow, Wednesday 30th September, I'll be reading from my first book, We Can't All Be Astronauts, at the Bethnal Green Working Men's Club. But wait! Not only will my esteemed Aisle16 brothers in arms Luke Wright, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne be providing support with new work, but we have a very special guest in the form of journalist and broadcaster Jon Ronson!Basically, we think he's brilliant. You might suspect me of being sycophantic just to big him up for the gig, but one, you're much too clever to fall for obsequious propaganda, so I simply wouldn't bother, and two, I've posted very prominently before now - on this very blog - what a massive fan I am of This American Life, a show which he has contributed some of the best stories to. Check out Them, Habeas Schmabeas, Pro Se, and It's Never Over. In fact, while we're talking about superb radio, why not check out an episode of Jon Ronson On? May I humbly suggest The Wrong Kind Of Madness and The Worst Internet Date as two good places to start?
So yes. Come. The Timeout listing is here. Doors at 7:30pm, and we usually get started some time after 8:00pm. We'll all have books to sell and sign too, if you fancy one. I suspect it's going to be funtimes.
Wednesday 24 June 2009
Ukulele Record Breakers, Glastonbury and Horrific Torture
So here's a video of our attempt to break the world record for most ukuleles playing together at the London Ukulele Festival. I'd been there to open the Grass Ukes Stage, and also because they had an open mic, but I think the world record attempt was pretty much the biggest open mic I've ever been too! You can see me right in the middle of the shot with Tim Junior; I'm wearing a khaki shirt:
It was hella fun.
So today is Homework, the Aisle16 scratch night in Bethnal Green. Doors are at 7:30pm and it only costs three spondools, so you should come. Me, Chris Hicks and John Osborne are providing suppport with new material, then Luke's doing a full preview of his new Edinburgh show, The Petty Concerns Of Luke Wright, where he asks 'How does the desire to be loved by millions turn into an ego trip?'. It will be dead spesh.
I'm feeling pretty down at the moment. I suspect the reasons are threefold. One, publicity for We Can't All Be Astronauts is just about over now, so that's kind of it. Now, we just wait and see whether people buy it, and whether the people who read it like it and tell other people. I guess I'm feeling the post-party crash, and hoping I've done enough to not make it a pricey disappointment for my publishers. Having now been through the process of getting published, it's terrifying to see how much of a book's success or failure hinges on a handful of decisions by just a few people. Having someone pick it to review or decide to use it in a feature can mean the difference between a book reaching its target audience or sinking into obscurity. I'm not sure which of those categories Astronauts will fall into, yet.
Secondly, my grandma phoned and casually gave me the weather report for Glastonbury - torrential thunderstorms. People laugh about these things but constant rain ruins Glastonbury. Despite its history, as an outdoor event it doesn't deal well with bad weather and as a punter, five days of clammy, shivery vagrancy without anywhere to properly sit down is a dismal trial that saps your will to live. Last year was only good because, on Saturday afternoon, the rain relented, and, on Sunday, it was sunny. Sunday was glorious, and I had a great time. The rest of the festival was miserable. Not only that, but last year, we had the awning of Luke's caravan to shelter in, with camping chairs and a cooker and a kettle for tea. This year, we've got none of that - just little canvas cocoons to wriggle into, all sodden and wretched.
So yeah, I'm not looking forward to that. I feel very lucky that, as part of Aisle16, I've been able to perform at Glastonbury three years on the trot, to generally large and appreciative audiences in the big Cabaret Tent. Weather be damned, I love performing there and that's why I'm prepared to stick it out through all the grimness. I've got a grudging admiration for the kinds of people who seem able to shrug off the bad weather and enjoy themselves anyway - that takes a level of resilience I haven't developed yet - but, for me, the sight of a night time downpour blasting thousands of tiny tents just fills me with dread.
Finally, I think I feel bad because I woke up from a nightmare where I was being horribly tortured by a man who had discovered that I was a spy. I was pinned down, and he had a long, thin needle and he was moving it about fast, threatening to jab it into different parts of my body like the soft inside part of my elbow or the corner of my eye, and I was hysterically telling him that I'd confess everything, that I'd tell him what he wanted to know, he just had to stop because I couldn't concentrate if he kept punishing me, but he wouldn't, there was nothing I could do to stop him torturing me, but I knew that it'd be worse if I didn't talk and he wouldn't stop until I'd told him everything he wanted to know. I was hysterical and frantic and the worst thing was feeling like I had no control, like all the usual socialised mechanisms of getting a response out of someone weren't working, and there was nothing I could do to prevent my suffering - my options were 'bad' or 'worse'. I woke up gasping for air, my heart crashing in my chest.
I expect it was my fault for watching the videos from this post on Metafilter about the terrible human rights abuses that still go on today in the North Korean gulags. They're extremely disturbing, but I'm glad I watched them - it's obscene and outrageous that such atrocities continue to happen, although what the international community might be able to do about them is another, far thornier question. Certainly anyone thinking of going on a kooky North Korean government mandated 'sightseeing tour' of NK should think twice about pouring their tourist dollars into a grotesque totalitarian regime.
It's rare that something I've watched translates so quickly and so obviously into a dream. My sleep patterns have been all out of whack for the past week or so. I've had a couple of late night writing sessions that have turned into all-nighters, but also my hayfever was making being up in the day a pretty rubbish, wheezy experience, so I preferred to do my work at night, when the pollen count is lower. One of the effects of messing up your sleep patterns is your dreams become a lot more vivid and memorable. Irritating that they've become memorable-horrific rather than memorable-porny, but I'd rather have horror in my dreams and technicolour carnal theatre in my waking hours than the other way round.
Anyway, if you see me at Glastonbury, give me a hug, eh?
It was hella fun.
So today is Homework, the Aisle16 scratch night in Bethnal Green. Doors are at 7:30pm and it only costs three spondools, so you should come. Me, Chris Hicks and John Osborne are providing suppport with new material, then Luke's doing a full preview of his new Edinburgh show, The Petty Concerns Of Luke Wright, where he asks 'How does the desire to be loved by millions turn into an ego trip?'. It will be dead spesh.
I'm feeling pretty down at the moment. I suspect the reasons are threefold. One, publicity for We Can't All Be Astronauts is just about over now, so that's kind of it. Now, we just wait and see whether people buy it, and whether the people who read it like it and tell other people. I guess I'm feeling the post-party crash, and hoping I've done enough to not make it a pricey disappointment for my publishers. Having now been through the process of getting published, it's terrifying to see how much of a book's success or failure hinges on a handful of decisions by just a few people. Having someone pick it to review or decide to use it in a feature can mean the difference between a book reaching its target audience or sinking into obscurity. I'm not sure which of those categories Astronauts will fall into, yet.
Secondly, my grandma phoned and casually gave me the weather report for Glastonbury - torrential thunderstorms. People laugh about these things but constant rain ruins Glastonbury. Despite its history, as an outdoor event it doesn't deal well with bad weather and as a punter, five days of clammy, shivery vagrancy without anywhere to properly sit down is a dismal trial that saps your will to live. Last year was only good because, on Saturday afternoon, the rain relented, and, on Sunday, it was sunny. Sunday was glorious, and I had a great time. The rest of the festival was miserable. Not only that, but last year, we had the awning of Luke's caravan to shelter in, with camping chairs and a cooker and a kettle for tea. This year, we've got none of that - just little canvas cocoons to wriggle into, all sodden and wretched.
So yeah, I'm not looking forward to that. I feel very lucky that, as part of Aisle16, I've been able to perform at Glastonbury three years on the trot, to generally large and appreciative audiences in the big Cabaret Tent. Weather be damned, I love performing there and that's why I'm prepared to stick it out through all the grimness. I've got a grudging admiration for the kinds of people who seem able to shrug off the bad weather and enjoy themselves anyway - that takes a level of resilience I haven't developed yet - but, for me, the sight of a night time downpour blasting thousands of tiny tents just fills me with dread.
Finally, I think I feel bad because I woke up from a nightmare where I was being horribly tortured by a man who had discovered that I was a spy. I was pinned down, and he had a long, thin needle and he was moving it about fast, threatening to jab it into different parts of my body like the soft inside part of my elbow or the corner of my eye, and I was hysterically telling him that I'd confess everything, that I'd tell him what he wanted to know, he just had to stop because I couldn't concentrate if he kept punishing me, but he wouldn't, there was nothing I could do to stop him torturing me, but I knew that it'd be worse if I didn't talk and he wouldn't stop until I'd told him everything he wanted to know. I was hysterical and frantic and the worst thing was feeling like I had no control, like all the usual socialised mechanisms of getting a response out of someone weren't working, and there was nothing I could do to prevent my suffering - my options were 'bad' or 'worse'. I woke up gasping for air, my heart crashing in my chest.
I expect it was my fault for watching the videos from this post on Metafilter about the terrible human rights abuses that still go on today in the North Korean gulags. They're extremely disturbing, but I'm glad I watched them - it's obscene and outrageous that such atrocities continue to happen, although what the international community might be able to do about them is another, far thornier question. Certainly anyone thinking of going on a kooky North Korean government mandated 'sightseeing tour' of NK should think twice about pouring their tourist dollars into a grotesque totalitarian regime.
It's rare that something I've watched translates so quickly and so obviously into a dream. My sleep patterns have been all out of whack for the past week or so. I've had a couple of late night writing sessions that have turned into all-nighters, but also my hayfever was making being up in the day a pretty rubbish, wheezy experience, so I preferred to do my work at night, when the pollen count is lower. One of the effects of messing up your sleep patterns is your dreams become a lot more vivid and memorable. Irritating that they've become memorable-horrific rather than memorable-porny, but I'd rather have horror in my dreams and technicolour carnal theatre in my waking hours than the other way round.
Anyway, if you see me at Glastonbury, give me a hug, eh?
Friday 19 June 2009
Aisle16 at Glastonbury Festival
It's appropriate that Glastonbury is organised by a farmer, because the ancient and fundamental principle of the yearly harvest also applies to the festival - if the weather's shit, it'll be shit. I hope that the weather isn't shit at Glastonbury 2009, because firstly, have you seen the line up? WHAT. It's actually mental. Blur, Crosby, Stills & Nash, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Art Brut, Nick Cave, Roots Manuva, our chums Wave Machines, our chum John Smith opening the Acoustic Stage on Friday, ROLF HARRIS. I repeat - WHAT. You should read through the line-up, because I guarantee there will be someone who I haven't mentioned who will make you exclaim: 'Tim - how could you leave out x? x are amazing!' where x is the name of an artist or band you admire.I know your AwesomeScanner currently reads: critical density reached, HOWEVER get ready for it to overheat then short out in a blast of sparks, because I'm going to be performing too, as part of performance poetry collective Aisle16. We're doing half an hour on Friday, Saturday and Sunday in the Cabaret Tent (that massive yellow and blue one in the Circus Field) from 11:40am to 12.10pm. We're also doing a slightly longer set in the Poetry & Words Tent on Saturday afternoon, 5:15pm-5:55pm. That's over two hours of Aisle16 - longer than most of the headliners get. I know, I know. We're incredibly chill.
Come and see us one of those times! It's poetry but the twist is it's not shit. If you're not familiar with Aisle16 allow me to break down the Glastonbury roster into a quintet of crude archetypes: Joe is the sardonic scholar. John Osborne is the kindly uncle. Chris is Michael Douglas in Falling Down. Ross is Charles Bukowski, if instead of being drunk he was just a bit tired. And I'm the sex-pest who takes onlookers' embarrassed laughter as encouragement.
So yes. Aisle16 at Glastonbury - 11:40am every day in the Cabaret Tent, and 5:15pm on Saturday in the Poetry & Words Tent. Set a reminder on your mobile. You'll only forget otherwise - you know what you're like. I'll also be making a number of solo appearances - catch me wandering dead-eyed across the festival site at 7:30 every morning, clutching a bundle of soiled rags to my chest and howling something about needing medicine for my baby.
In other news, while browsing the Ebury Twitter feed I found a link to this review of We Can't All Be Astronauts on a blog called The Slammer. It's a really positive review and I feel chuffed: 'A less safe pair of hands would make certain passages sound whiny and irritating, but Clare’s passion for the subject matter lifts these moments into a real-life triumph of the underdog tale. His self-deprecating humour is also a major virtue - particularly when it comes to briefly being "Jeffrey Archer’s bitch" on national TV.' Ha - that first sentence becomes unintentionally damning when you remember that the 'subject matter' is me.
Lots of people who've read Astronauts have got in touch to let me know what they thought of it. I try to make a point of replying to everyone, but thanks anyway to all the folks who've taken the time to write to me. I'm surprised at how many people have said that certain sections resonated with them - it's obviously struck a chord with a few frustrated artists out there, and it's been nice to hear that it helped some readers feel slightly less alone in their futile struggle for recognition. Other people just wrote to let me know that they'd laughed at what a twat I am. That's nice too! I can be a bit of a twat - I'm glad that at least I'm a twat who uses his twattery for the forces of good. Too many twats squander their talent. Stupid twats.
Wednesday 1 April 2009
The Performance Poet Interviews - #7: Ross Sutherland
It's that time of week again. While I lie, sleepless, in my sickbed, clutching at the thick air and phasing in and out of languid fever dreams, you get to enjoy the erudite opining of Ross Sutherland.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I’ve written poetry since I was five. My gran and I used to write together. She would use rhymes to help me remember shopping lists, stuff like that. When I moved to England, we kept in touch through poetry. That was the sole medium of our relationship.
When I was about thirteen, I inherited a copy of John Cooper Clarke’s collection, 'Ten Years in an Open-Necked Shirt'. Two years later I went to see him at the Music Box in Edinburgh. Hearing those poems live was so dramatically different to the audiobook version I’d been running through in my head. Everything was transformed by his personality: his delivery, his accent, his banter with the crowd... it made that book seem so much more vital. It gave it a pulse.
The live poetry club quickly became the sounding board for everything new that I wrote. As my confidence onstage grew, so did the confidence of my writing voice. I was being constantly exposed to new ideas and techniques that I felt I could incorporate into my own work.
I know you can do these things without getting up on stage. But what’s special about poetry clubs is that they reach beyond poetic tradition. People gravitate into poetry for lots of different reasons: rappers sick of getting drowned out by their beatmen, comics who want a break from counting laughs, actors developing monologues, and so on. It’s inclusive for artists and audiences alike.
As a result of this mongrel upbringing, you can take these poets out of their clubs, put them into a theatre space, a short film, a comedy club, in-between bands at a music festival, and they adapt and thrive. Like cockroaches. Very entertaining cockroaches.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
So there’s this impenetrable hermit-poet who typesets all his writing so it looks like he’s yanked it out of a printer jam. He submits anonymous articles to poetry journals, and openly asserts that any live performance of a poem (including performances of Shakespeare) is watering down its impact to a point where you might as well not call it poetry at all.
Then there’s this drama student who wasn’t breastfed as a kid, who has decided to write bad rhyming standup, despite the fact that the only poets they know are Wilfred Owen and Q-Tip.
These caricatures are definitely out there, but they’re the indulgent extremes of the fringe. The poetry scene likes to bring these guys up from time to time in order to sling mud at one another. In fact, I think most of us are somewhere in the middle of page and performance, trying to balance content and delivery equally.
A poet giving a straight reading from their book is still aware of the importance of giving the best possible oration. They’re still performing. At the same time, the poets who choose to incorporate comedic or dramatic techniques into their sets are still drawing heavily from the poetic tradition. Dividing poetry into page and performance seems unhelpful... it’s hard to imagine one existing without the other, and all the best poets are both.
So how would you describe your work?
Err. There’s not much useful lexicon in common circulation. It’s hard to identify concrete trends or scenes, or identify all the influences that go into a poet’s work, so we find it hard to describe what separates us from each other.
MAN 1: Would you like to come with me to watch the poet Ross Sutherland?
MAN 2: Dunno, what’s he like?
MAN 1: He’s a Comic Romantic. Roots in Projective Brutalism, filtered through Puzzler Magazine. Occasionally you wonder if he might be a parody of a poet and the joke is on us. Sounds like Shel Silverstein with a cold. Interested?
MAN 2: No.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Because they’ve watched some stuff online and they like the sound of it. Best way to do that is to check out the websites of the big poetry clubs. Nights such as Book Slam, OneTaste and Homework in London. Hammer and Tongue in Brighton, Big Word in Edinburgh. Surf around and see if anyone takes your fancy. For starters, I recommend David Jay, Excentral Tempest, Niall O’Sullivan, Nathan Filer, Byron Vincent, Francesca Beard, Polar Bear and my own collective Aisle16.
Whatever you do, don’t just pop along to your local poetry open mic. The grassroots scene can be amazing, but it can also feel like gatecrashing a therapy session. Do your research before you commit.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
Whatever I’ve written most recently. My repertoire is basically a conveyor belt. Favourites drop onto the front, get tired and increasingly hackneyed, then eventually drop off the back into embarrassment and regret.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
There’s be no point. I’d steal it, rinse it out every night on stage for six months, then start hating it and drop it from my set. People would be all like, “Ross, why don’t you do Prufrock anymore?” and I’d be like, “ah, that’s so cheesy.”
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Tom Cruise’s poem in Cocktail. It covers every major don’t in poetry in less than sixty seconds:
Also - people who use the stage as a soapbox for liberal causes that no one in the room could ever possibly disagree with. Racism is bad. Clubbing seals is bad. Totalitarian regimes are bad. Just once, I’d love a Nazi to stand up in the middle of one of those poems and shout “Nnnnoooo!”
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
I once compared a wrestling match in St Helens, reading poems in-between bouts. It was amazing. The wrestlers were very pleasant to me backstage. About halfway through the event, I read out a love poem called “Let’s Wrestle”. One of the heels, a wrestler called Heresy, jumped into the ring with me. He tore the hat off my head and bellowed, “I told you, I hate that hat!” Then he stuffed the poem into my mouth, beat me up and threw me out the ring. At that point, one of the goodie wrestlers had to run in and save me. We didn’t get to practice beforehand, so I’m not sure how realistic it looked. The kids went apeshit for it though.
Afterwards, Heresy congratulated me on my performance. “I’d glad you kept the poem in your mouth,” he said. “Usually, when I defeat a wrestler, I tear a page out of the bible and make them eat it, but they always spit it out straight away.” That’s what the poetry scene has taught me: stagecraft. Stagecraft and humility.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I’ve written poetry since I was five. My gran and I used to write together. She would use rhymes to help me remember shopping lists, stuff like that. When I moved to England, we kept in touch through poetry. That was the sole medium of our relationship.
When I was about thirteen, I inherited a copy of John Cooper Clarke’s collection, 'Ten Years in an Open-Necked Shirt'. Two years later I went to see him at the Music Box in Edinburgh. Hearing those poems live was so dramatically different to the audiobook version I’d been running through in my head. Everything was transformed by his personality: his delivery, his accent, his banter with the crowd... it made that book seem so much more vital. It gave it a pulse.
The live poetry club quickly became the sounding board for everything new that I wrote. As my confidence onstage grew, so did the confidence of my writing voice. I was being constantly exposed to new ideas and techniques that I felt I could incorporate into my own work.
I know you can do these things without getting up on stage. But what’s special about poetry clubs is that they reach beyond poetic tradition. People gravitate into poetry for lots of different reasons: rappers sick of getting drowned out by their beatmen, comics who want a break from counting laughs, actors developing monologues, and so on. It’s inclusive for artists and audiences alike.
As a result of this mongrel upbringing, you can take these poets out of their clubs, put them into a theatre space, a short film, a comedy club, in-between bands at a music festival, and they adapt and thrive. Like cockroaches. Very entertaining cockroaches.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
So there’s this impenetrable hermit-poet who typesets all his writing so it looks like he’s yanked it out of a printer jam. He submits anonymous articles to poetry journals, and openly asserts that any live performance of a poem (including performances of Shakespeare) is watering down its impact to a point where you might as well not call it poetry at all.
Then there’s this drama student who wasn’t breastfed as a kid, who has decided to write bad rhyming standup, despite the fact that the only poets they know are Wilfred Owen and Q-Tip.
These caricatures are definitely out there, but they’re the indulgent extremes of the fringe. The poetry scene likes to bring these guys up from time to time in order to sling mud at one another. In fact, I think most of us are somewhere in the middle of page and performance, trying to balance content and delivery equally.
A poet giving a straight reading from their book is still aware of the importance of giving the best possible oration. They’re still performing. At the same time, the poets who choose to incorporate comedic or dramatic techniques into their sets are still drawing heavily from the poetic tradition. Dividing poetry into page and performance seems unhelpful... it’s hard to imagine one existing without the other, and all the best poets are both.
So how would you describe your work?
Err. There’s not much useful lexicon in common circulation. It’s hard to identify concrete trends or scenes, or identify all the influences that go into a poet’s work, so we find it hard to describe what separates us from each other.
MAN 1: Would you like to come with me to watch the poet Ross Sutherland?
MAN 2: Dunno, what’s he like?
MAN 1: He’s a Comic Romantic. Roots in Projective Brutalism, filtered through Puzzler Magazine. Occasionally you wonder if he might be a parody of a poet and the joke is on us. Sounds like Shel Silverstein with a cold. Interested?
MAN 2: No.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Because they’ve watched some stuff online and they like the sound of it. Best way to do that is to check out the websites of the big poetry clubs. Nights such as Book Slam, OneTaste and Homework in London. Hammer and Tongue in Brighton, Big Word in Edinburgh. Surf around and see if anyone takes your fancy. For starters, I recommend David Jay, Excentral Tempest, Niall O’Sullivan, Nathan Filer, Byron Vincent, Francesca Beard, Polar Bear and my own collective Aisle16.
Whatever you do, don’t just pop along to your local poetry open mic. The grassroots scene can be amazing, but it can also feel like gatecrashing a therapy session. Do your research before you commit.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
Whatever I’ve written most recently. My repertoire is basically a conveyor belt. Favourites drop onto the front, get tired and increasingly hackneyed, then eventually drop off the back into embarrassment and regret.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
There’s be no point. I’d steal it, rinse it out every night on stage for six months, then start hating it and drop it from my set. People would be all like, “Ross, why don’t you do Prufrock anymore?” and I’d be like, “ah, that’s so cheesy.”
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Tom Cruise’s poem in Cocktail. It covers every major don’t in poetry in less than sixty seconds:
Also - people who use the stage as a soapbox for liberal causes that no one in the room could ever possibly disagree with. Racism is bad. Clubbing seals is bad. Totalitarian regimes are bad. Just once, I’d love a Nazi to stand up in the middle of one of those poems and shout “Nnnnoooo!”
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
I once compared a wrestling match in St Helens, reading poems in-between bouts. It was amazing. The wrestlers were very pleasant to me backstage. About halfway through the event, I read out a love poem called “Let’s Wrestle”. One of the heels, a wrestler called Heresy, jumped into the ring with me. He tore the hat off my head and bellowed, “I told you, I hate that hat!” Then he stuffed the poem into my mouth, beat me up and threw me out the ring. At that point, one of the goodie wrestlers had to run in and save me. We didn’t get to practice beforehand, so I’m not sure how realistic it looked. The kids went apeshit for it though.
Afterwards, Heresy congratulated me on my performance. “I’d glad you kept the poem in your mouth,” he said. “Usually, when I defeat a wrestler, I tear a page out of the bible and make them eat it, but they always spit it out straight away.” That’s what the poetry scene has taught me: stagecraft. Stagecraft and humility.
Wednesday 25 March 2009
The Performance Poet Interviews - #6: Joel Stickley
Since you asked, Cone O' Tragedy's most popular feature is my weekly interviews with UK performance poets. We've heard from Dockers MC, Polarbear, Nathan Filer, Yanny Mac and Nathan Jones. This week, it's the turn of Joel Stickley.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I saw Luke Wright perform a few poems at a cabaret night when we were both at university. Immediately seeing that perfomance poetry was a formulaic and creatively bankrupt art form, I wrote a parody of him hilariously entitled 'Luke's Right.' When he heard it, he was so angry that he offered me a gig at a night that he and Ross were putting on. Rather than trying to make a two-minute poem fill a ten minute set, I wrote some more material. One thing led to another and, three months later, I found myself standing in the rain at the Edinburgh Fringe, handing out flyers for a perfomance poetry show. That was seven years ago.
I see this as a kind of cautionary tale.
How would you describe your work?
I'd pretend to be thinking about it for a while, cock my head to one side and make a kind of humming sound before asking the interviewer how he would describe my work. Then I'd agree with whatever he said.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes, definitely. I think performance poetry is closer to stand-up or music than it is to page poetry. If there's a performance poem that works on the page, it's probably only by chance, like having a computer that also works as a door-stop.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Well, there are two possible reasons. The first is that they should come to a perfomace poetry gig because they've been to one before and know that they'll like it. The second is that they haven't ever been to one before and have no idea what to expect. The second reason's better than the first, but you can only use it once.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
It really would depend when you asked me. I tend to like ones I've written more recently, whereas old ones I can see all the flaws in and am bored of. Given that, the only real measure I have of one of my poems is how long it manages to stay in circulation before I get too embarassed to perform it again. On that metric, the winner is probably one called 'The Rhyming Poem', which I've been wheeling out for a few years now.
But if you're asking for my current favourite, I'd have to say my poem about the evolution of fish, 'Playing God', which is only a few weeks old. I wrote it for the Athens Children's Book Fair and illustrated it myself in brown felt tip.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
I'd love to be able to pick something that made me sound well-read and intellectual, like saying that I'd nick something off John Donne or Pablo Neruda, but let's be honest - I'd sound like a right ninny reciting 'To His Coy Mistress'. If I was going to try and pass something off as my own, it'd probably have to be something written by one of my fellow Aisle16ers. Boring, I know, but plaigarism is all about being methodical.
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Ambition.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At Port Eliot Lit Fest a few years ago, I did a set which caused one member of the audience great offence. The first poem I did was called 'My Passport Photo Makes Me Look Like A Suicide Bomber'. She didn't have a problem with that one. The second poem was called 'The Tale Of Britain's First Paedophile Prime Minister'. She laughed along with everyone else. Then I did a poem called 'The Rise And Fall Of Lightning Jim', about a snail who throws away a promising career in snail racing after a doping scandal involving salt. It's a poem I tend to do when I go into primary schools. She glared at me throughout, then turned to her friend and, with barely concealed outrage, said, 'I don't think that's very funny, actually. My uncle was an alcoholic.'
I read the moral of the story as being this: you never know who's going to be offended by what, so you might as well tell jokes about terrorism and child abuse.
You say 'ambition' typifies bad performance poetry for you. I have no idea whether this is one of your clever meta-answers or an utterly straight response, and if either is the case I still wouldn't quite be sure what you meant. Would you mind clarifying?
I thought about how to answer that question for a while, and I actually think that's my real, considered and unflippant answer. Most of the really cringe-worthy poets I've seen had one thing in common - they took what they were doing incredibly seriously and thought that poetry was the most important thing in the world, a powerful tool to affect real change in society. And they're wrong. Poetry isn't the answer to anything - it's just an entertaining way to ask the questions. Sometimes not even that. Sometimes it's just a game you play with words. And you know what? That's fine. That's what poetry's for. Trying to use poetry to correct all society's ills is like trying to travel from London to Manchester on a space-hopper. By all means play with it, mess around and enjoy yourself, but if the journey's that important to you, buy a fucking train ticket.
You say your starting point as a performance poet was parody - I wonder if you feel that was the beginning of a long creative arc that finally culminated in Who Writes This Crap?, a book and show entirely fashioned from lampooning the form and content of different everyday texts. I say, 'I wonder if you feel' - what I mean is 'I personally believe and want you to agree'.
It's certainly been a common thread through the whole time I've been writing and performing. I think I just like writing things in character, inhabiting other people's voices, and parody is one of the most fun ways to do that. And by parody, I mean the whole range of ways to imitate: satire, pastiche, homage, parody, tribute. Taking the piss. Stepping into someone else's shoes. Taking a piss in someone else's shoes. It's all good.
With regards to poetry, you seem to have wound in the performing duties a bit. What are your plans? Are you hoping to produce and perform lots of new poems, or are you searching for pastures new? Or what?
I don't gig compulsively. I never have, really. I've always enjoyed impromptu, one-off shows more than huge, unwieldy tours. Luke and I did a very short tour of the Who Writes This Crap show earlier this year and it was an absolute joy. A handful of dates, then a bit of time at home to write. Once I rack up fifty or so performances of the same material, I start to get really sick of it. So the thing is to keep working on new projects. Luke and I are collaborating on a script for an animated film at the moment, as well as tentatively trying to work WWTC into a radio-friendly format. I've been doing a lot of work in schools, getting kids to write poetry. I teach on a creative writing course for adult learners. I write when I have the time. It's all great fun. I wouldn't have it any other way.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I saw Luke Wright perform a few poems at a cabaret night when we were both at university. Immediately seeing that perfomance poetry was a formulaic and creatively bankrupt art form, I wrote a parody of him hilariously entitled 'Luke's Right.' When he heard it, he was so angry that he offered me a gig at a night that he and Ross were putting on. Rather than trying to make a two-minute poem fill a ten minute set, I wrote some more material. One thing led to another and, three months later, I found myself standing in the rain at the Edinburgh Fringe, handing out flyers for a perfomance poetry show. That was seven years ago.
I see this as a kind of cautionary tale.
How would you describe your work?
I'd pretend to be thinking about it for a while, cock my head to one side and make a kind of humming sound before asking the interviewer how he would describe my work. Then I'd agree with whatever he said.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes, definitely. I think performance poetry is closer to stand-up or music than it is to page poetry. If there's a performance poem that works on the page, it's probably only by chance, like having a computer that also works as a door-stop.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Well, there are two possible reasons. The first is that they should come to a perfomace poetry gig because they've been to one before and know that they'll like it. The second is that they haven't ever been to one before and have no idea what to expect. The second reason's better than the first, but you can only use it once.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
It really would depend when you asked me. I tend to like ones I've written more recently, whereas old ones I can see all the flaws in and am bored of. Given that, the only real measure I have of one of my poems is how long it manages to stay in circulation before I get too embarassed to perform it again. On that metric, the winner is probably one called 'The Rhyming Poem', which I've been wheeling out for a few years now.
But if you're asking for my current favourite, I'd have to say my poem about the evolution of fish, 'Playing God', which is only a few weeks old. I wrote it for the Athens Children's Book Fair and illustrated it myself in brown felt tip.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
I'd love to be able to pick something that made me sound well-read and intellectual, like saying that I'd nick something off John Donne or Pablo Neruda, but let's be honest - I'd sound like a right ninny reciting 'To His Coy Mistress'. If I was going to try and pass something off as my own, it'd probably have to be something written by one of my fellow Aisle16ers. Boring, I know, but plaigarism is all about being methodical.
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Ambition.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At Port Eliot Lit Fest a few years ago, I did a set which caused one member of the audience great offence. The first poem I did was called 'My Passport Photo Makes Me Look Like A Suicide Bomber'. She didn't have a problem with that one. The second poem was called 'The Tale Of Britain's First Paedophile Prime Minister'. She laughed along with everyone else. Then I did a poem called 'The Rise And Fall Of Lightning Jim', about a snail who throws away a promising career in snail racing after a doping scandal involving salt. It's a poem I tend to do when I go into primary schools. She glared at me throughout, then turned to her friend and, with barely concealed outrage, said, 'I don't think that's very funny, actually. My uncle was an alcoholic.'
I read the moral of the story as being this: you never know who's going to be offended by what, so you might as well tell jokes about terrorism and child abuse.
You say 'ambition' typifies bad performance poetry for you. I have no idea whether this is one of your clever meta-answers or an utterly straight response, and if either is the case I still wouldn't quite be sure what you meant. Would you mind clarifying?
I thought about how to answer that question for a while, and I actually think that's my real, considered and unflippant answer. Most of the really cringe-worthy poets I've seen had one thing in common - they took what they were doing incredibly seriously and thought that poetry was the most important thing in the world, a powerful tool to affect real change in society. And they're wrong. Poetry isn't the answer to anything - it's just an entertaining way to ask the questions. Sometimes not even that. Sometimes it's just a game you play with words. And you know what? That's fine. That's what poetry's for. Trying to use poetry to correct all society's ills is like trying to travel from London to Manchester on a space-hopper. By all means play with it, mess around and enjoy yourself, but if the journey's that important to you, buy a fucking train ticket.
You say your starting point as a performance poet was parody - I wonder if you feel that was the beginning of a long creative arc that finally culminated in Who Writes This Crap?, a book and show entirely fashioned from lampooning the form and content of different everyday texts. I say, 'I wonder if you feel' - what I mean is 'I personally believe and want you to agree'.
It's certainly been a common thread through the whole time I've been writing and performing. I think I just like writing things in character, inhabiting other people's voices, and parody is one of the most fun ways to do that. And by parody, I mean the whole range of ways to imitate: satire, pastiche, homage, parody, tribute. Taking the piss. Stepping into someone else's shoes. Taking a piss in someone else's shoes. It's all good.
With regards to poetry, you seem to have wound in the performing duties a bit. What are your plans? Are you hoping to produce and perform lots of new poems, or are you searching for pastures new? Or what?
I don't gig compulsively. I never have, really. I've always enjoyed impromptu, one-off shows more than huge, unwieldy tours. Luke and I did a very short tour of the Who Writes This Crap show earlier this year and it was an absolute joy. A handful of dates, then a bit of time at home to write. Once I rack up fifty or so performances of the same material, I start to get really sick of it. So the thing is to keep working on new projects. Luke and I are collaborating on a script for an animated film at the moment, as well as tentatively trying to work WWTC into a radio-friendly format. I've been doing a lot of work in schools, getting kids to write poetry. I teach on a creative writing course for adult learners. I write when I have the time. It's all great fun. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Wednesday 11 March 2009
The Performance Poet Interviews - #4: Yanny Mac
Previously, we've heard from Dockers MC, Polarbear and Nathan Filer. This week, I spoke to gravelly-voiced raconteur Yanny Mac.
Yanny Mac has performed at Glastonbury, The Edinburgh Fringe, Latitude and the Port Eliot Lit Fest. He compered the Poetry Arena at Latitude in 2007, with his buddy Pikey Paddy, and until recently, they both hosted Norwich Birdcage’s 'Benefit Scams'.
An acrimonious split led to a minor nervous breakdown, and Yanny’s subsequent retirement to the Suffolk countryside, where he now writes self-help poetry for trainee Domestic Goddesses. Yanny draws inspiration from prescription anti-depressants, and the fact that his door-hinges are shinier than any of his contemporary poets. Yanny is married to Aussie chanteuse Sooz McKenzie-Close (Librarian Girls). Rob Da Bank thinks that Yanny’s name is funny.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I was Aisle16’s dealer. The early years were incredibly booze and drug-fuelled, whilst we were finding our own poetic voices, and I provided 'the band' with a fully-expensed company car AND the ability to get hold of class Bs & Cs. Luke Wright used to call me Super-Yans.
How would you describe your work?
'Complete'.
I’ve spent the past ten years developing performance-characters such as The Chav Poet and Domestic Goddess, but only really ever performed ranting monologues and a few issue-based poems. In that time, I’ve written over 200 page-poems, and this current period of enforced retirement is an opportunity to collate them into some sort of anthology. 'Suburban Myths & Misses' has been a work-in-progress for over a decade!
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes. I think the answer’s obvious. You only have to go to a ‘poetry-reading’ at somewhere like Aldeburgh and then follow up with a set from Dockers MC at say, Latitude Festival, to see that they are completely differing art forms, done by similar people (i.e. poets!).
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Because they like performance poetry?? I dunno the answer to that one. It’s not a trick question is it?
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
Ah! The million-dollar question!I’ve written so many now, it’s hard to have a favourite.I certainly regret writing one or two! I’ve always been proud of 'Searchin For Me Chav Princess' because it was my first attempt at ‘going it alone’ having left Aisle16. I had so much to say about prejudice, inequity, class snobbery and Great Yarmouth, but was sick of hearing preachy performance poems. It got me noticed, and I received some special reviews on the telly and in the broadsheets.
I think the poems that most people remember are 'Once We Were Chavscum', 'Prince Of Wales Road' and 'I Was A Teenage New Romantic'. Punters love simplicity!
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
Luke Wright’s 'Ode To Cigarettes' was once stolen by a twat from Peterborough, and caused the Big Gay Face much consternation, so I’d probably nick that one and do a slightly better job of performing it, than the little MySpace plagiarist did! 'Stenhousemuir' by John Osborne still has the ability to make me cry & wee at the same time. Byron Vincent’s 'Bob' is pure genius!
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Angry little white boys in baggy jeans & beanies, using rap & grime-slang to communicate their middle class angst.
What do you think of the state of the UK performance poetry scene at the moment? Is it okay to talk about a 'scene', or is that a bit unhelpful?
Yeah. There is a scene, but it’s created by the arts media, not the poets themselves. It’s very busy. There’s a lot of talent out there, but there’s also a lot of bandwagon jumpers. Look at Scroobius Pip ffs!?!
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
Had it not been pissing it down, the rapturous applause I received from nearly two thousand Glastonbury Cabaret Tent squatters, could be classed as memorable. I did however enjoy meeting Ralph Steadman at the first ever Port Eliot LitFest, and stealing from him the much used quote: 'They [Aisle16] do with words what I try to do with art.' At the time, I didn’t really know who he was!
As our token 'disabled poet' spokesperson, can you tell us a bit about how your disability has affected and/or informed your work as a poet?
Quite substantially really.
The fundamental reason for leaving Aisle16 was due to having increasingly more frequent flare-ups of my chronic disease (Psoriatic Arthritis), and therefore not being able to commit to being an integral part of a show, or going on tour. I felt that being my own boss, on my own terms, was preferential to constantly letting others down. A good lesson learnt.
I was inspired to learn that my TV lit hero Dennis Potter also suffered from psoriatic arthritis, which led to his characterisation of The Singing Detective. Debilitating disease leads one into a selfish desire to create art that serves as a living post-mortem & autopsy!
With your various stage personas, your taking on of zeitgeisty contemporary topics, and your Rolling Stones esque bimonthly cycle of retirement and comeback, you're something of a master when it comes to creating a buzz around yourself. Have you got any advice for aspiring performance poets on how to self-promote without being a wanker?
No. I always believed that I was that that self-seeking wanker! I’m rather disappointed to learn that I’m not.
And finally... got a good Yanny celeb anecdote you fancy sharing with us?
No anecdotes. Merely historical fact.
I once broke up a fight between the owner of the Pleasance Theatre and Simon Amstell. The latter was being chastised for flyering his new show, and I took the blame. In Aisle16’s first TV interview, Simon from Eastenders (Tiffany’s gay brother) suggested I replaced the then departing Beppe Di Marco. At the first ever Port Eliot LitFest, I went skinny-dipping with G.K Chesterton’s niece & the Earl of St.German’s god-daughter.
Yanny Mac has performed at Glastonbury, The Edinburgh Fringe, Latitude and the Port Eliot Lit Fest. He compered the Poetry Arena at Latitude in 2007, with his buddy Pikey Paddy, and until recently, they both hosted Norwich Birdcage’s 'Benefit Scams'.
An acrimonious split led to a minor nervous breakdown, and Yanny’s subsequent retirement to the Suffolk countryside, where he now writes self-help poetry for trainee Domestic Goddesses. Yanny draws inspiration from prescription anti-depressants, and the fact that his door-hinges are shinier than any of his contemporary poets. Yanny is married to Aussie chanteuse Sooz McKenzie-Close (Librarian Girls). Rob Da Bank thinks that Yanny’s name is funny.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I was Aisle16’s dealer. The early years were incredibly booze and drug-fuelled, whilst we were finding our own poetic voices, and I provided 'the band' with a fully-expensed company car AND the ability to get hold of class Bs & Cs. Luke Wright used to call me Super-Yans.
How would you describe your work?
'Complete'.
I’ve spent the past ten years developing performance-characters such as The Chav Poet and Domestic Goddess, but only really ever performed ranting monologues and a few issue-based poems. In that time, I’ve written over 200 page-poems, and this current period of enforced retirement is an opportunity to collate them into some sort of anthology. 'Suburban Myths & Misses' has been a work-in-progress for over a decade!
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes. I think the answer’s obvious. You only have to go to a ‘poetry-reading’ at somewhere like Aldeburgh and then follow up with a set from Dockers MC at say, Latitude Festival, to see that they are completely differing art forms, done by similar people (i.e. poets!).
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Because they like performance poetry?? I dunno the answer to that one. It’s not a trick question is it?
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
Ah! The million-dollar question!I’ve written so many now, it’s hard to have a favourite.I certainly regret writing one or two! I’ve always been proud of 'Searchin For Me Chav Princess' because it was my first attempt at ‘going it alone’ having left Aisle16. I had so much to say about prejudice, inequity, class snobbery and Great Yarmouth, but was sick of hearing preachy performance poems. It got me noticed, and I received some special reviews on the telly and in the broadsheets.
I think the poems that most people remember are 'Once We Were Chavscum', 'Prince Of Wales Road' and 'I Was A Teenage New Romantic'. Punters love simplicity!
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
Luke Wright’s 'Ode To Cigarettes' was once stolen by a twat from Peterborough, and caused the Big Gay Face much consternation, so I’d probably nick that one and do a slightly better job of performing it, than the little MySpace plagiarist did! 'Stenhousemuir' by John Osborne still has the ability to make me cry & wee at the same time. Byron Vincent’s 'Bob' is pure genius!
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Angry little white boys in baggy jeans & beanies, using rap & grime-slang to communicate their middle class angst.
What do you think of the state of the UK performance poetry scene at the moment? Is it okay to talk about a 'scene', or is that a bit unhelpful?
Yeah. There is a scene, but it’s created by the arts media, not the poets themselves. It’s very busy. There’s a lot of talent out there, but there’s also a lot of bandwagon jumpers. Look at Scroobius Pip ffs!?!
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
Had it not been pissing it down, the rapturous applause I received from nearly two thousand Glastonbury Cabaret Tent squatters, could be classed as memorable. I did however enjoy meeting Ralph Steadman at the first ever Port Eliot LitFest, and stealing from him the much used quote: 'They [Aisle16] do with words what I try to do with art.' At the time, I didn’t really know who he was!
As our token 'disabled poet' spokesperson, can you tell us a bit about how your disability has affected and/or informed your work as a poet?
Quite substantially really.
The fundamental reason for leaving Aisle16 was due to having increasingly more frequent flare-ups of my chronic disease (Psoriatic Arthritis), and therefore not being able to commit to being an integral part of a show, or going on tour. I felt that being my own boss, on my own terms, was preferential to constantly letting others down. A good lesson learnt.
I was inspired to learn that my TV lit hero Dennis Potter also suffered from psoriatic arthritis, which led to his characterisation of The Singing Detective. Debilitating disease leads one into a selfish desire to create art that serves as a living post-mortem & autopsy!
With your various stage personas, your taking on of zeitgeisty contemporary topics, and your Rolling Stones esque bimonthly cycle of retirement and comeback, you're something of a master when it comes to creating a buzz around yourself. Have you got any advice for aspiring performance poets on how to self-promote without being a wanker?
No. I always believed that I was that that self-seeking wanker! I’m rather disappointed to learn that I’m not.
And finally... got a good Yanny celeb anecdote you fancy sharing with us?
No anecdotes. Merely historical fact.
I once broke up a fight between the owner of the Pleasance Theatre and Simon Amstell. The latter was being chastised for flyering his new show, and I took the blame. In Aisle16’s first TV interview, Simon from Eastenders (Tiffany’s gay brother) suggested I replaced the then departing Beppe Di Marco. At the first ever Port Eliot LitFest, I went skinny-dipping with G.K Chesterton’s niece & the Earl of St.German’s god-daughter.
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