iamhyperlexic

Contemporary short fiction, poetry and more

Monthly Archives: April 2017

Review: Unity Words, 26 April 2017

The show started with The Gudrun Sisters, Seonaid Matheson on violin, and Jacqui Wicks on ukulele and vocals.  This is not just turning up and playing: this is serious musicianship.  Jacqui introduced the set by saying, ‘For people who have not seen us before, we sing songs about harlotry, heartbreak, alcoholism, drug addiction, the devil, despair, and death.’  I responded with my accustomed ‘underwhelmed yay’.  

The set featured a song in which the narrator has murdered her lover by cutting his throat, and who is trying to persuade the judge to send her to the electric chair.  This was followed by ‘the one cheery one’, Frim Fram Sauce.  The violin, ukulele and vocals combined to produce maximum filth.  This is truly the devil’s music: you can feel yourself morally degenerating as you listen.  

Seonaid plays the violin just as well pizzicato as she does with the bow, which starts to look like taking the piss.  

The stage in the Café Bar at Unity Works is in a room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, which means that the visual backdrop is a view of the Theatre Royal, and the traffic on Westgate, the main street.  A bus went past.  It was the 232 to Waterloo Garage, which seemed somehow evocative of the bluesy nature of the performance. 

A change of mood was introduced by the old trade union song, ‘Which Side Are You On?’ The chorus was also the evening’s first piece of audience participation.  This produced a fervently presented, Arthur Scargill-style pointing finger from Gav Roberts (who was there as a member of the audience, not a performer). 

The last number in the set was ‘La Vie En Rose’, another cheery one: shome mishtake, shurely.  The coda sounded like the closing theme music to a film, the kind of film that makes you sad that it’s over.

We had ten minutes to recover before Mark Connors came on.  He was wearing a very fetching black shirt with little white squares all over it, which I had to resist the urge to try to count.  He introduced a piece called ‘How To Avoid Being Sectioned’ (as in the Mental Health Act) but had to pause as an ambulance went past with its siren on.  There was more audience participation with a piece with a chorus that went ’96. 96. 96. 96’.  There was a piece about an inauspicious start to a stepfather-stepson relationship, a subject also dear to me.  I have written poems about bereavement, but not about an undertaker.  Mark’s piece, ‘One Step Beyond’ (partly a reference to the ska track) is about an undertaker, called Hadrian.

This is my kind of contemporary, confessional poetry.  It is what Kirsten Luckins once told me off for calling “urban” poetry.  I mean “urban” in the sense of being understood most by people who live in towns and cities, not as synonym for rap. 

 You can buy Mark’s debut poetry collection, ‘Nothing Is Meant To Be Broken’ from Stairwell Books.  (Other debut poetry collections are available from the same publisher.)

http://www.stairwellbooks.co.uk/html/collections.html#NothingisMeanttobeBroken

In keeping with a quaint custom of Unity Words, the compere had to introduce another compere.  Joe Kriss introduced Geneviève Walsh, in her capacity as the latest mentor for the Pandemonium Poets.  This evening’s line-up featured three female poets.  Susan (surname not given) appropriately continued the Satanic theme with a rhymed poem called, ‘I Met Him’.  Darinka Radovanovic, who had appeared before as a Pandemonium Poet, did an unrhymed piece called ‘Invisible Innocence’, about domestic violence.  She wore a strikingly enormous yellow scarf.  Malika, who had travelled from Manchester, wore a broad-brimmed black hat.  Her piece was called ‘Manchester Calling’, a personification of the city which evoked a combination of craziness, sleaze, and constancy. 

Next up was Matt Nicholson.  I already knew a poet called Matt Nicholson, but this was a different one.  He had his set list written in block capitals, on a piece of paper, on the floor in front of him, which was considerate, because I was sitting in the front row, and it meant that I could read it, upside down.  His first piece was called ‘How Long Have I Been Asleep?’  It was an anti-establishment, political rant.  Next was ‘This Pub’, followed by, ‘Ambition Is A Quiet Moment’.  He introduced a piece called ‘3D Printer’ by saying, ‘Confession time.  My weird addiction is to awful, American sitcoms.’  The title of the piece is opaque: it is actually about cynicism and lack of regard for one’s fellow beings.  He did another piece about pubs, another favourite subject of mine.  This was called ‘Beneath This Old Sod, Lies Another’.  ‘Memento From The Sea’ is a poem about feelings associated with a single instant in time.  I was intrigued by the line, ‘It was a fried moment’.  He finished his set with ‘The Straw House’, the title of which summed up the transient character of much of the set’s subject matter.   Matt’s performance was entirely in keeping with the emerging themes of the passing of time; trying, and not always succeeding, to do the best with what we have, and mortality.

This was further reinforced by the fact that the evening’s headliner, David Jay, had had to disembark from his train, and catch a Megabus, because someone had committed suicide by jumping onto the line.  Nevertheless, he did arrive on time and seemingly in a composed state of mind. 

David Jay wore a rather remarkable, black jacket, which had epaulettes: not fascist dictator-style, gold epaulettes, but epaulettes, nonetheless. 

David Jay’s performance was one of those which require the reviewer to put down the notebook and give his undivided attention, for fear of missing something.  He recites from memory, and, indeed, some of the last part of his set was improvised, seamlessly.  He uses multiple speech registers, and sophisticated breath techniques, some of which reminded me of Zena Edwards, who had headlined here in February.  He uses the movement of, not just his hands, but his whole body, to reinforce was he is saying.  There was a post-modern moment when he took out of his inside pocket a plastic water bottle, which I noticed had no water in it. 

The recurring theme of violence, and the poet’s opposition to it, was emphasised by bouts of shadow-boxing, done very convincingly.  The recurring line with encapsulated this was, ‘They misuse the metal’.  At one such utterance, he tapped the microphone (which his performance did not happen to use) as an example of metal which had been put to a peaceful use. 

The audience at the Theatre Royal lent a more dynamic character to the back-drop by coming out of the theatre.  I don’t think they got paid for this. 

David Jay also used beatbox drumming and imitation of a scratch turntable in his performance.  Some of what he was doing seemed like drama as much as poetry.  Seldom have I seen such a range of techniques used in a single set.  Only once did he consult a piece of paper, in the last part of his performance.  His pieces are generally much longer than mine.  He must practice constantly, or have a prodigious memory. 

As he finished, the fifth ambulance of the evening went past, but with no siren on.

Possibly the most memorable line of the whole evening was said by Malika, in conversation after the performances had finished.  ‘I went to my friend, Seb’s, house, and threw up in his mother’s cake-tin.’

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Rude manifesto

Basics

1.      Rude boys and rude girls are equal. 

2.      Rude boys and rude girls do not discriminate against rude people from the LGBTQ community.  If yah rude, yah in.  This manifesto uses the term ‘rudie’ to include every member of our movement.

3.      No racism.  Our music is based on black music.  Our movement is multi-racial.  We hate racism, because we hate hatred itself. 

4.      I said, No racism.  ‘If your friends are racist, don’t pretend to be my friend.’

 

Violence

5.      Rudies are generally opposed to violence.  Our movement is about love and understanding. 

6.      Rudies, if subjected to, or observing, violence in a relationship, will report it to the relevant authority.

7.      Rudies will under no circumstances take part in sport-related hooliganism, or any form of religious sectarianism. 

8.      Rudies will, before engaging in violence, demonstrate the principle that, if you look hard, you don’t have to do anything. 

9.      If rudies are up against racists or fascists, they will stand up for what they believe in, in whatever way they consider appropriate, bearing in mind the long-term interests of our movement. 

 

Rudies will, at such times, bear in mind the legacy of such people as Darcus Howe.  They will not engage in behaviour likely to besmirch such legacy. 

 

Hair

10.  Dreadlocks, or

11.  Short. 

12.  In the latter case, preferably with sideburns.

13.  Bobs, featherheads, and other styles are allowed for female rudies.

 

Clothes

14.  Keep it simple. 

15.  If in doubt: jeans, boots, braces, T-shirt, Harrington jacket.

 

Roots and Culture

16.  Rudies will do everything possible to strengthen and expand the reach of reggae and ska music. 

17.  When such music is played in a public place, rudies will skank, to the best of their ability. 

 

Politics

18.  Rudies believe in One Love and One I-nity.

19.  Rudies believe in No-one Left Behind. 

20.  Rudies pay their taxes. 

21.  Rudies campaign for political change. 

Review: Unity Words, 29 March 2017

Before we go any further, I will admit that this article is not a review of the whole event.  Two people performed, namely, Geneviève Walsh, and Steve Williams, whose performances were of particular interest to me.

The first act was Ric Neale, on electric piano and vocals.  What he does, he does very well.  What he did on the night, he did to the appreciation of the audience.  Not mi sart a riddim.  Not mi sart a lyric.

Steve Williams arrived on stage wearing a bow tie and 1970s shirt ruffles.  He was clearly going to make a statement.

He mentioned that his poem, ‘Swifts’ was about this relationship with his father.  He also said, “I had to come out to him, twice.”

‘Boy, Mid-flight’, is not a poem about the arbitrary murder of a young, gay man.  It is a poem about the emotional connection between the narrator, and a young, gay man who gets killed.

After delivering this tour de force, Steve seemed to gain confidence.  He took the microphone off the stand, in a Luke Wright stylee.  I think there might have even been a bit of flex-wrapping.  The audience was hooked.

Let’s get this clear: a predominantly straight man gave demonstrative fashion direction to a predominantly gay man.  In Wakefield, West Yorkshire.  That is my world.  That is the world that I will fight for.

I was in tears by the end of Steve’s performance.  This was a testament to Steve’s talent, and to his mentorship with Matt Abbott.  I understand that Matt contributed to the choice of shirt front.

The Impunity Words mentoring scheme goes from strength to strength.

The Pandemonium Poets began with Stan, from the Black Horse Poets.  He did, ‘Leaving Footprints in the Sand’, a poem about the terrorist attack in Tunisia, and, ‘Strangely Enough, McGough’, a pastiche of Roger McGough.

Stan was followed by Stewart from Featherstone.  His rhymed poem would have been more brilliant if he hadn’t forgotten the words, three-quarters of the way through.  I commend him for using sun-glasses in a way that actually was relevant to what he was reciting.

Geneviève Walsh arrived on stage, looking like a 32 year-old goth who was going to launch the hell out of a debut collection.  She has blurbs from Kate Fox, Louise Fazackerley, and Steve Nash, and an introduction from Henry Normal.

I don’t get a mention in the text, but I did get a mention in the intro to, ‘They Ain’t Heavy’.

The headliner was Jess Green, from Leicester.

I didn’t like her rap style.

I didn’t get her persona: who is speaking.

There were fast bits and slow bits.  The fast bits were too fast, and the slow bits were too slow.

My delivery style derives from W. H. Auden, Louis MacNeice, and Alan Bennett.  You may say it is antiquated, and that makes me out of touch with contemporary audiences.