#247: Saul Williams, Dizraeli, Joe Driscoll @ Thekla, Bristol - 23rd June 2016

       Rapper-poet legend Saul Williams’ presence in Bristol proved to be a cathartic, nigh-on-spiritual affair. Onboard Bristol’s Thekla as part of a UK tour, he was joined by fellow US artist Joe Driscoll and UK multi-instrumentalist-rapper Dizraeli - three massively talented artists, all rooted in hip-hop but with their own twists and takes on the genre.

       Joe Driscoll's rap-laden roots-rock provided bottled sunshine in its purest form to set the night off, utilising live recorded loops and superb beatboxing coupled with Frusciante-esque guitar licks. ‘Mixtape Champs’ – a paean to the creating of a mixtape for a new flame was neat and breezy:  ‘Back in the days of a girlfriend mixtape/Perfect prose to hit with a sick break’. There was much in his chilled, evocative music and raps that recalled sunnier climes and good times.

       Second support act was Bristol-born, London-based Dizraeli. His forthright, passionate spoken-word and hip-hop, with catchy musical refrains went down well with the audience, all too aware that in the outside world a referendum deciding the future fate of the UK just happened. Socially aware, Dizraeli made reference in his performance and musings to this political climate. Fittingly, his songs like ‘Engurland’ touch on such issues. Massively engaging, he got the crowd clapping and singing along with gusto.  Mid-set he produced what appeared to be a thumb-piano type instrument, adding an eclectic twang to his performance. His pieces also confronted issues of prejudice and identity with a mixture of indignation and dark humour, remarkably candid and soul-bearing throughout.

       Saul Williams arrived on stage with a bizarre and absolute majesty, approaching the mic initially with a funerary amble. Sporting a crow mask – reminiscent of those of 17th century plague doctors – he was flanked by hacktivism-illuminati visuals, which name-checked and portrayed as countercultural symbols the Kutis, Teslas and Nietzsches of this world. Thus his live show, as on his records, welded arty, literate rap to politics. Dramatically building tension with ‘Down for Some Ignorance’, he then launched straight into a fast-paced set, at times getting straight into the pit, face-to-face with the audience – even collapsing on the floor of the pit to deliver his lines lying-down, enclosed by euphorically astounded fans. In this sense, Williams has all the energy and grit of a one-man punk act. As those who are familiar with his output to date would expect he does not flinch in the face of dark, deathly issues: the re-fashioned At The Drive-In refrain of "dancing on the corpses’ ashes" of ‘Ashes’ and its consideration of political violence. Laden with chaotic energy, the set encompassed the rock-tinged industrial hip-hop of his material of a decade ago and the electroclash of more recent records. He gave a taste of new material, like ‘Burundi’, adopting a global perspective: "Factories in China, coltan from the Congo/Smuggled to Burundi, hidden in a bongo"– asserting that anywhere is Burundi, the interconnectedness of systems of exploitations in today’s globe.

       Sonically the set was immense, with searing synths and industrial beats bolstering Williams’ words. At times, like a rave, at others almost sermon-like, it was enough to ignite even the sometimes poseur Thekla crowd, with many punters breaking forward to see what the commotion was all about. Diehard Williams fans were clearly ecstatic, particularly at those instances of his lurching off-stage to perform amongst the room. As much as he's a towering figure in alternative hip-hop circles, a precursor to groups like Flatbush Zombies and Death Grips, Williams is aware of his musical lineage – going so far as to recognise music from Bristol as a heavy influence and seemingly savouring the opportunity to perform in the city. Slinking off-stage towards the end of the set, Williams returned to serve up a powerful encore that included the classic ‘Black Stacey’.

       Simultaneously unhinged and fully controlled, combative and soothing, he was at all times otherworldly. Full of tension and catharsis, Williams is an engaging, exhilarating act to see live: politically-conscious and art-driven while managing to create an off-the-hook, thundering show.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

Saul Williams / Dizraeli / Joe Driscoll

#220: 'Blahblahblah' w. Inua Ellams, Toby Campion, Rebecca Tantony + Solomon O.B @ Bristol Old Vic, 21st March 2016

       Blahblahblah steamed ahead with its second outing of 2016, providing yet another night of pit-of-stomach laughs, cerebral musings and captivating verse, as lean and punch-packing as ever. If one were still coming down from Blah's Christmas anti-slam and last month's hilarious and insightful love-themed poetry battle, Blah was primed, ready to deliver its monthly hit of the best spoken-word around both Bristol, and indeed, the world.

       Not only were the audience treated to the stellar Inua Ellams but there was also the fresh talent of Solomon O.B, local writer Rebecca Tantony and the award-winning Toby Campion. Setting it off, Blah’s programmer and poet Anna Freeman was at hand with an ode to her Mum, quite apt with Mother's Day having popped up in the intervening period since Blah’s Valentine's special.

       Laying down a theme revisited throughout the evening - one of identity - Solomon O.B delivered taut, dexterous verse ruminating on family and origin. O.B has only been performing spoken-word properly for about eighteen months yet his delivery belies this fact; purposeful was his use of the medium as a vehicle for understanding his identity and roots. His second poem looked at family, drawing on his experience of fostering by way of a literary analogy: ‘awesome novels with unorthodox beginnings’, his heartfelt and soul-bearing words leaving the house gripped. 

       Bristol-based Rebecca Tantony was next, launching into the challenging subject of death with warmth and humour. Her thoughtful and often enthralling style observes the human condition, most notably so in one poem which recalled her mentoring of young people in the United States. Through this piece Tantony celebrated the innate eloquence and strength – ‘king royally crowned’ – of a young person who is rarely listened to, or has never been given the platform to speak. Superbly agile, Tantony’s verse flowed forth, reaching crescendos, holding the audience close.

       Toby Campion has earned many plaudits, being first runner-up at the BBC Poetry Slam Grand Finals for two years now. To boot, he has represented the UK at an international level. His set at Blah demonstrated the reason for this - intelligent, forthright and at every turn hilarious, he also injected an element of the political into his witty, vibrant poetry. His poem ‘Make Leicester British’ explored the disconnect between the tabloid-borne image of the Midlands city as culturally fractured, segregated and troubled versus the street-level, real-life experience of a vibrant, exciting community. He comically reimagined the dialogue between government and citizen as that of a potentially toxic relationship. In between the two, he also treated the audience to a piece written whilst drunk – hysterics ensuing.

       Everything provided by international touring poet and playwright Inua Ellams points to genius; the accessibility and ease of his demeanour, the melding of his skillful poetry into his wider views of life and his effortless precision. His plays have been performed at the National Theatre, amongst many others and have gained him a Fringe First award at Edinburgh. Rooted in Nigerian storytelling, Ellams explored his origins in Nigeria as well as his adolescence in the UK and Ireland. Wonderfully giddy after a mild case of jet-lag – an hour’s time difference – he was as mellifluous as promised, meandering through territory including love and the meaning behind ‘doing’ poetry.

       To see a performer marry his art with more general musings on life and the human condition was indeed gratifying. His verse feels crafted, weaving alliterative phrases like ‘thin feather fractals falling like angel zest’. Experiencing his set as an audience member it almost feels as though Ellams is painting a picture before you with his gesticulations, building textures and layers, making for a masterful performance.

       With the motif of identity loosely twining the night’s performers together, once again Blah had assembled some amazing artists, executing as it does so uniquely well – with all its delectable twists and turns. As always, one would be hard pressed to find a space that allows such a plethora of human emotions and subject matter to be experienced in such an accessible, engaging way.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

Blahblahblah: Website / Facebook / Bristol Old Vic

#218: 'Word of Mouth' presents 'Attila the Stockbroker' @ The Thunderbolt, 18th February 2016

       In their opening event of 2016, Bristol's spoken-word platform 'Word of Mouth' introduced a packed crowd at Totterdown's arts pub, The Thunderbolt, to the crowd-pleasing, old-skool punk-poet Attila the Stockbroker.

       Taking to the stage after a collection of shorter stints from other wordsmiths and musicians, 'Attila' grabbed the room by the scruff of the neck and performed a series of fire-bellied poems, stories, songs and readings (with nods to 'Arguments Yard', his recently-released autobiography).

www.AttilatheStockbroker.com

#217: Blahblahblah presents ‘Love: What’s the Point?’ @ Bristol Old Vic, 16th February 2016

       It seems far too long since Blahblahblahs’s last outing, December’s jaw-droppingly good anti-Christmas anti-slam. With Valentine’s Day having just passed and no doubt the soon-to-be-seen spring lambs bringing all things procreative to mind, it was Blah’s turn to take on romance with ‘Love: What's the Point?’. Again with a competitive aspect, two teams – eight poets in total – were invited to make the case for or against love. What would happen? Would we see a bunch of lovelorn poets, earnestly pining? Would those tasked with arguing against love be brutally cynical?

       Always on-hand to set the agenda for the evening, Blah’s Anna Freeman started with an uproarious poem that asked a new flame: ‘Can you see yourself with me… in ten years… in therapy?’. As if to underscore the romantic theme of the evening, Freeman accosted members of the audience to choose cut-up cutesy pet names for the performers – listed below in square brackets – the outcomes of which ensured irreverence from the get-go.

       Bohdan Piasecki [Big Chief Creamy-Wobble] first took the podium on the side of love. Offering two poems from different stages of a relationship, he treated the audience with the first poem, which dealt with love through the lens of an urban landscape - ‘I will give you the city as a gift’ – to the same verse in his native Polish, a language that often trumps English in its inherent musicality and in its poetic tradition (witness the towering Adam Mickiewicz). Nothing at all was lost in translation. The aforementioned poem blended seamlessly and spellbindingly, while his second dealt with love of family and was equally captivating, leftfield and abundant with imagery.

       Our first advocate from the anti-love camp was the inimitable Jonny Fluffypunk [Silly Little Cuddle-Pants]. Jonny also gave us a poem set in time – from the beginning of a relationship. Exquisitely cynical about new love: ‘ignite some vile aromatherapy candle’, there was however a discernible undercurrent of yearning. The second piece revelled in seedy loneliness – describing a bachelor neighbouring an amorous couple. Jonny treated the audience later to a bit of autobiography – being moved away from London to the gentile surroundings of Buckinghamshire, a longing for the excitement and edginess of the city with him ever since. It seems for him, it wasn’t so much that love is innately bad, just that there are so many absurdities and unsavory things along the way.

       Malaika Kegode [Admiral Licky-Bear] was the next poet in favour of love. Warm and ethereal, her graceful tones have been showcased at Blah before. Unashamed longing was in her first poem. Her second, meanwhile, talked about love in the broader sense, reminiscing about a friend who has passed. Whether or not jazz-poetry technically, the openness and tenderness, tinged with the slight wistfulness of her delivery and coupled with precise rhythm is at least reminiscent of that strand within said genre.

       Rosy Carrick [Doctor Sticky-Monkey] lent a sardonically witty and often surreal delivery, clever role-play abounding. Carrick is the person you wanted to hang around with at school. Wry, cool, erudite and a bit ribald, here is someone – with respect to the matter at hand – who is wise to the fallacies love sells us; less anti-love, more ‘anti the sort that makes you want to vom’. She offered her kind of love stories – weaving in kooky quotes from politicians about trainspotting, incarceration devices and ankles, suggestive of society’s somewhat niche romantic desires.

       Buddy Carson [Inspector Fumble-Knickers] unapologetically defended love, speaking with authority without fawning over it: ‘even shit love is good’, making a compelling argument.  His first piece with flawless and energetic meter talked about different types of love, indeed different sized hearts. His second was altogether more visceral, indeed biological, providing evidence that the concept is not static, and certainly not one-size-fits-all.

       Furthering the cause of the love-cynics, Danny Pandolfi [Captain Smoochy-Bum] delved into poetic rap, imbued with a spiritualised, redemptive cadence, presumably on the pitfalls of love: ‘nobody wants to see a face on a trainline’; with entreaties from someone who has been there ‘take my advice’, almost as a note-to-self. Gesticulating poetically and animatedly about the frustrations of all things romantic, he ruminated on the interface between love and perfection.

       Poet Curious [Silky-Bunny Old-Beast] again and rightly turned the focus away from romantic love towards familial love and as a riposte to the cynics, that strength of love that develops over time. He offered a musical metaphor as an ode to his daughter which was heartfelt and meticulous – incidentally the first poem he wrote for either of his children. Music analogies peppered poem number two which recounted a romantic affair: ‘hard vibes like bashment’ but also did those of science, with him talking of ‘neurons’ and ‘universes’ alluding to the physicality and totality of love.

       With the only gendered, instantly-generated stage name of the night, anti-romantic Laurie Bolger [Princess Tasty-Bits] gave a brilliantly every(wo)man account of love in her two poems; the first, equally touching as it was unromantic. Her pieces, in terms of content, describing the space and environment of a morning-after and the jaded, single twentysomething experience, typified a common thread amongst many of the performers – an acerbic nostalgia, that if not full of quixotic love, is nevertheless tender and earthy.

       It was great to see the diverse interpretations of love – sometimes obliquely referenced through science or biology, or its relations to and reflections in other media like music or film, always highlighting what an integral part of life it can be. One was in awe and indeed envious on how this talented troupe were able to philosophise in such an entertaining and accessible way. In the end, it was deemed by the audience that love won the day and accordingly the pro-love team were treated to chocolate roses as a token of their victory.

       If – to paraphrase Johnny Cash – you found yourself this February bound by wild desire, ready to fall into that fiery ring, you could have done much worse have some of the finest talent in spoken-word and poetry level with you on such matters of the heart. While Shakespeare implored that if music be its food then we should play on, other would rather the needle was solidly removed from the vinyl. With this in mind, Blahblahblah this month pitted some amazing poets and spoken-word artists against each other with stunning results.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

Blahblahblah: Website / Facebook / Bristol Old Vic

#214: 'Blahblahblah: Blah Humbug' @ Bristol Old Vic, 14th December 2015

       While there are multifarious ways in which to approach the festive season, broadly speaking there are two opposing ends of the spectrum. First is the shiny, cheery, entire house front-lit one, unflinchingly peddled to us through constant loops of Christmas music and every media source with which we come into contact; at the other there's those who see the bleak mid-winter for just what it is: bleak. For its December outing, Blahblahblah gave gleeful succour to those in the latter camp, indulging us with a bit of anti-Crimbo camaraderie.

       A festively abundant crowd made their way in from the dank December evening, picked up a mulled cider (courtesy of Blah), and packed out the Old Vic's Studio Theatre ready for the popular series' final show of 2015. 'Blah Humbug' was billed as an anti-slam to get us as far away from the oppressive form of glad tidings and enforced jollity as its line-up of eight spoken-word artists from across the UK could possibly muster.

       Anna Freeman, Blah's director-cum-host was ready as ever to set the tone and everybody appeared to be on-page that Christmas can indeed be a bit shite. So as to set a benchmark from which all had to land as far away from as possible, Freeman (who had been trawling the internet for such an artefact) relayed suggestions from a Christmas blog. The writer of this blog implored readers to do festive activities which were so sickeningly earnest and devoid of humour, it had Blah’s audience simultaneously cracking up and recoiling in horror.

       With each artist having two shots at reaching that anti-Christmas high (or is it low?) this was always going to be a chock-full, exhilarating, Grinch-inspired ride from a stellar line-up.

       Lucy English initiated proceedings and got the audience instantly sputtering and chuckling, imagining a holiday season in which she really could for once be the 'Christmas Bitch' – suggesting that she probably is actually quite good at and acquiescent to the Christmas 'thing' really. Second time ‘round she dabbled in something she is usually a bit unimpressed by, with a Christmas-themed send-up of experimental poetry. Her audience participation in said piece elicited some often disturbingly frank responses of awful Christmases past from spectators.

       In its juxtaposition with the compulsory cheer of the holiday period, there is always the potential for any sadness in it to be accentuated. The superb Salena Godden offered us a taste of this with a biographical poem, having visited her father’s long-lost grave around Christmas some years ago, though the sorrowful content was combined with tenacity and light in tone. Godden is warm and engaging, her second piece was positively carpe diem – a droll rejoinder to the ‘can’ts’ (try to precede that with ‘what a bunch of…’) of this world. She even utilised the talents of the audience in a conductor-like fashion to brilliant effect, getting them to imitate the can’ts protests of ‘whatever’, ‘doesn’t matter’ and ‘can’t be bothered’.

       Chris Redmond highlighted the discrepancy between the habitual Noel frivolity and the reality of what is happening now, far away, with direct reference to the war currently unfolding in Syria. His impassioned polemic was genuinely affecting, delivered with finesse and sardonic indignation. It provoked thoughts and no doubt left at least some of the audience members similarly angry. Redmond then wittily pondered the transition in his life from one of hedonistic twentysomething artiste to the domesticity of fatherhood around the motif of finding Phil Collins songs having a ‘good beat’ – something that would have been unconscionably lame previously.

       Jonny Fluffypunk was aptly humbug in his own absurdist way. First of all, he mused on how celebrities crave anonymity - it's the one thing we have that they don't, or for that matter will ever have again. In this hilariously surreal tale, Mick Jagger for instance was sighted on a London bus - his lips ‘like two sausages’ nonchalantly thrown onto a bun by a ‘cocksure teenager’. Other celebrities in this alternate universe were completing similarly bleak tasks, eagerly pining for obscurity. Later on, in his slightly grizzled Cockney tone, he gave a piercingly amusing riposte to the injustices of the political system, deftly pointing that Ian Duncan Smith’s shorthand moniker is a lot like that of irritable bowel syndrome.

       Wilf Merttens added a more experimental, softly-spoken tone into the mix. Extremely erudite with literary allusions, his pieces were also full of wit, flitting from beautiful and sometimes dark imagery to irreverence. Holding the audience well, his poems seemed to intertwine real-life experiences with the more fantastical, recalling other performers we have seen from the extremely high-calibre line-ups at Blah this year.

       Oozing gritty Mancunian swagger with a slightly nerdy edge, Thick Richard was instantly spellbinding. Accessibly angry, pint in hand and snarling down the mic, his world is one of the urban down-and-out but with a flash of absurdism in the vein of Jonny Fluffypunk, perhaps indeed in the tradition of fellow leftfield Manchester wordsmiths John Cooper Clarke or Mark E Smith. In one piece he adopted the voice of an individual branded ‘scum of the earth’ – powerless and disdained by those with agency, captive by his environment and threatened by those around him – all executed with a blackly humorous tone.

       Vanessa Kisuule appeared to a raucous reception adopting the persona of a slightly jaded Mrs Christmas. Dressed in a garb suggesting North Pole crossed with fetish club, in her first performance she cleverly and comically explored themes of feminism in the context of social media as her Mrs Christmas responded to diverse tweets – chauvinistic trolls included – following the apparently public demise of her relationship with Father Christmas. In both pieces she enthralled the Blah crowd, with a cool, inventive delivery.

       It was ultimately down to the audience to decide a 'winner' through an admittedly unscientific measure of cheering. While every artist received rapturous applause, it was ultimately Thick Richard with his gloriously grim and darkly comic representations of urban working-class life that proved the least festive of all. His prize: some ‘seasonal aromatised wine’ (mulled wine to you and me) and shop’s own-brand chocolates!

       Audience thoroughly entertained, the overall impression was that one could have easily stayed seated all night captivated by the superb acts, reveling in the anti-Yuletide bonhomie. All that might be left to do would be to crack out a bottle of whiskey, bitch about Christmas and play some poker. Blah has constantly impressed all year and with so many ludicrously good artists, what a delectably Scrooge-esque crescendo Blah Humbug turned out to be.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

#211: Blahblahblah: 'Some People Have Too Many Legs' by Jackie Hagan @ Bristol Old Vic, 16th November 2015

       Upgraded to the larger Studio Theatre from Blah’s usual cosy backdrop of Bristol Old Vic’s Basement Arena, Jackie Hagan’s one-woman show engaged, entertained and challenged the crowd amassed.

       Following a brief but impactful warm-up performance from her darkly-humoured collaborator Thick Richard, Jackie entered casually, sipping from a pint in front of the low-tech, glammed-up staging.

       The show charted Jackie’s reluctant transition to adulthood through personal stories on alternating timelines, interweaving tales of her youth in the North with her recent, unforeseen confrontation with disability after severe health complications resulted in the amputation of her right leg.

       Oft-described as a ‘disco dinner-lady’, Jackie very much embodied this juxtaposition; the gritty, resonant references of her warts n’ all, working-class story were relayed with a contrastingly boisterous flair evidenced in the explosions of colour in her hair, the unorthodoxy of her eye-catching clothes, and most of all, the larger-than-life persona she exuded so affably.

       Liberally peppering the narrative with crowd-pleasing nuggets such as her cultural analysis of the mid-2000’s, “I thought Jedward were a symptom of my psychosis” and smirk-inducing similes, “she looks like a threadbare tennis ball, with eyes”, the audience enjoyed the way the world looked through Jackie’s window.

       The subject matter itself though, was at times far from lightweight.

       Illness, amputation and, ultimately, our fragile mortality, can quickly grow heavy under even the most casual contemplation. That the experience Jackie created in Bristol could - whilst exploring the weighty topics above - remain so punctuated with laughter and optimism, is illustrative of her character.

       Character, and its role in our ability to overcome life’s obstacles, was the show’s takeaway message – or parting gift, even.

       No matter which cards we’re dealt, it’s how we choose to play them that’s most important.

       Through the highs and lows of the evening’s narrative, Jackie demonstrated indomitable spirit. This sentiment was compounded strongly in her forever-memorable finale which involved the downing of a pint she'd poured within the previously-unnoticed, chalice-shaped properties of her detached prosthetic leg. Rarely does such a comfort-zone-challenging spectacle present itself in life; not just inspiring to behold as the liberated action of an individual, it was perhaps more impressive for its broader normalisation of that which may often otherwise be considered sensitive, off-limits or taboo.

       ‘Some People Have Too Many Legs’ was, and will for a long time remain to be, a memorably unique, thought-provoking and powerful experience.

Darren Paul Thompson

Jackie Hagan / Thick Richard / Anna Freeman

Blahblahblah: Website / Facebook / Bristol Old Vic

#208: 'Word of Mouth: Jamaica Rising' w. Raymond Antrobus @ The Thunderbolt, Bristol - 21st October 2015

       Chill Pill's Raymond Antrobus visited Bristol to headline the latest Word of Mouth event, where he was introduced by Asif Khan from Bristol Lit Fest, and preceded on-stage by South West-based performers Dr Edson Burton and Dareece James.

#207: 'Blahblahblah: Luminous Humans' @ Bristol Old Vic, 19th October 2015

       Never failing to provide nourishment for soul, mind and humour, Blahblahblah injected a shot of light into an autumnal October evening with ‘Luminous Humans’. Ever-ready to drum the Old Vic’s Basement into a rapturous frenzy was Blah’s own Anna Freeman. Diverging from her usual offering of new poetry she's been working on recently, creative writing lecturer Freeman took the audience of regulars and newcomers into the world of academia and its lecture-shirking students through a reading of ‘Did I Miss Anything?’ by Tom Wayman.

       Antosh Wojcik has to be one the more delightfully leftfield performers seen this year at Blah. Resident at The Roundhouse, his style of perspective-altering, almost stream-of-conscious poetry would not be out of place in a William S. Burroughs novel. Charmingly witty, sometimes lewdly hilarious anecdotes segued seamlessly into startling poetry – ‘we have a conjoined boyfriend who is sorry to have a harp’ and ‘this must be liquid Texas I’m drinking’ being just two examples. Wojcik’s performance is one of those which is adept at destabilising categories and rendering the line between reality and fantasy blurred – he asserted that everything was indeed true. The boundary between poem and the performance as a whole was also hazy, making it intensely engaging, achingly funny, and giving the impression that in many ways Wojcik sleeps, eats and breathes poetry.

       Blahblahblah has clearly been trying to sync diaries with Sabrina Mahfouz for a long time, such is the esteem held for her on the spoken-word scene. She has a plethora of awards under her belt and a number of roles she's currently undertaking, including, but not limited to, Sky Academy Arts Scholar for poetry. Second on stage, Mahfouz dived straight into her repertoire, the first of which was the result of poetry workshop with a group of sex workers, which appeared to be cathartic and emancipatory for the voices represented within. She offered various flavours of poetry, and snapshots from her poetic plays – including an extract from one entitled ‘Chef’.  While it would do such a versatile and talented poet a disservice to narrowly categorise their work, it’s clear that her brilliant, streetwise poetry is coupled with an ethically-conscious edge, casting light through her words on those who are often marginalised – whether those are women working on the street or individuals entangled in crime. Her poetry was superbly rhythmic, clipped and crisp. Her channelling of characters through accent also made the voices more real. All this was done in a very unpretentious manner by the erudite Mahfouz, who even recounted her experience of working in a strip club – introducing to all a colleague who prospers exploiting the 'mermaid stripper' niche. As previously, Blah had the good fortune to see a powerful artist exercise their talents so skilfully.

       Amy McAllister, UK Anti-Slam Champion (that is, the person who is best at being the worse in the poetry world, which is a sought-after accolade in itself) was, as billed, as hysterically funny as she was lively and irreverent. With many an audience member having perhaps seen her on-screen as an actor, there was certainly a warm familiarity about her, which grew with each effortlessly elicited belly-laugh she prompted from the room. As a performer of poetry she juxtaposes a wholesome, almost-bookish appearance with a boisterous, uproarious, even saucy delivery – even dropping a couple of c-bombs along the way; and how bawdily cool the poetry is. ‘Roleplay’ dealt with that urge to fill an awkward silence with, well, having sex, and was chockfull of marvellous innuendo. As a retort to a stage casting director (very deserving of her ire) who quipped that the very slight McAllister was too large for a production, she treated the audience to a remix of Jay Z’s 99 Problems – her version subtitled ‘Fat Bitch is One’. It demonstrated McAllister claiming the last laugh, simultaneously self-deprecating and triumphant. She is the archetype of a witty and playful poet – as an example, her latest collection is entitled ‘Are You As Single As That Cream?’. McAllister finished on a poignant poem addressed to a troubled comrade, showcasing the full breadth of her poetic prowess.

       The humans performing at October’s Blahblahblah were indeed luminous, radiant even. As always, those who attended were treated to tip-top performances and diverse, captivating bodies of work. From stolen sleeping bags to siren strippers to cheeky pickup lines, October’s line-up dispensed more than enough mirth and illumination.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

#204: 'Blahblahblah: You Saw It Here First’ @ Bristol Old Vic, 21st September 2015

     A Blahblahblah-shaped void filled Bristol's spoken-word scene this August but the series has hit the ground running this autumn with a supremely entertaining September line-up. As previously the case, a deftly executed amalgamation of Brizzle-based talent with that of elsewhere provided all the ingredients that we have come to expect from Blah.

     Never formulaic, however, September's instalment ‘You Saw It Here First’ included Malaika Kegode (who took time away from her own night – Bristol Tobacco Factory’s ‘Milk Poetry’ – to perform at Blahblahblah) plus comic writer-poets John Osborne and Molly Naylor, currently of Norwich. Naylor and Osborne in tandem comprise the grey matter behind Sky One's new comedy ‘After Hours’. Step-forth, then, Blah’s own Anna Freeman to initiate proceedings with her riotously funny and timely summary of social media comments on the ‘#PigGate’ episode, which has recently befallen Prime Minister David Cameron.

    Love and loss, yet coupled with optimism and light informed the performace from Malaika Kegode, who was first-up. Her thought-stirring poetry suggested emancipation and transcendence through the spoken word. A dedication to a now-departed friend who encouraged her to seize the day with her poetic endeavours conveyed celebration and gratitude as much as it did sadness. Kegode intimated to the audience that her stage presence, as likely the case for many a performer, is far removed from her quieter everyday self. With poetry being a vehicle for her, she crafts it expertly with clever use of words, pace, and unifying themes to create rounded, rhythmic, self-contained pieces. Cramming all this into a snappy, tight set, it served to underscore that for autobiography and confession, there are few stronger media than poetry.

     John Osborne - no relation, as he was careful to stress, to the John Osborne of the Angry Young Man literary movement - was the first of the Norwich-based comedy-writing duo to take to the stage. His poetry, however, demonstrated that there was more than enough lineage between him and his namesake. Less Angry Young Man, more boyishly innocent as he ingenuously strolled through such befuddling territory as workplace romances, Osborne also deals in the mirthfully surreal. Blah is truly tasty when the audience is treated to a glimpse of a writer's work-in-progress. As such, a sneak-peak into Osborne’s upcoming anthology was thoroughly tantalising. One piece, without wishing to give away the title too readily, handled that uncomfortable feeling borne of borrowing and wearing another person’s underwear. In this piece and the other poetry and stories he performed, Osborne was hilarious – his musings blurring the line between the absurd and commonsense everyday. Partly childlike, partly Dada, his demeanour does not at all seem like an affectation, which makes for a very warm, engaging performance.

     The final performance was from Osborne’s writing partner Molly Naylor. She combined poetry and storytelling to take the audience on a captivating jaunt through various life experiences, including a wry look at the ‘before-and-after’ of love and pieces inspired by her home county of Cornwall. Apparently having been a Cornish ex-pat for much of her adult life, it is clear that it hasn't left her. Misty-eyed nostalgia was supplanted by quirky observations and reminisces here though - including measuring shark mass in the metric unit that is the ‘dad’ (one childhood shark, for instance, was two dads). It was also fascinating to have an insight into life as a professional writer as she recounted an offbeat sojourn at a writers' retreat - incidentally also in Cornwall. Similarly as warm and approachable as her partner-in-crime, Naylor delivered a set that was full of fun and life, steadily imbibing a pint between pieces. Osborne had earlier let on that they both came to the resolution that they would tour together after a pow-wow in the pub a number of years ago. Good that they did - the two gave a cracking night’s entertainment, clearly having a great rapport (the occasional riff being shouted by one during the other’s set) and brilliant performers in their own right.

     In sum, another fantastic outing for Blahblahblah – doing what it does best: provoking thoughts and belly laughs with affability, irreverence and aplomb, all in equal measure.  One piece of writing advice imparted by John Osborne was that writers should end their articles, books or plays sooner than they had might have planned in first drafts; that poets may benefit from removing that final superfluous stanza which adds nothing to the poem. The rationale: that the story/poem/whatever actually ended before the author believed it did - everything necessary was contained in the preceding words. Good advice. Heeded.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson

Anna Freeman / Molly Naylor / John Osborne / Malaika Kegode

Blahblahblah: Website / Facebook / Bristol Old Vic

#203: ‘Blahblahblah’ presents ‘Shame’ by John Berkavitch @ Bristol Old Vic, 20th July 2015

       Not satisfied with showcasing some of the finest spoken-word around so far this year, Blahblahblah also bagsied the final performance of John Berkavitch’s ‘Shame’, before the Bristol-based series of events goes all French on us and takes a month-long summer break. For those uninitiated, Shame is a performance of spoken-word and dance constructed around Berkavitch’s delving into his most shameful experiences; and how to do it justice? Let’s start from the beginning...

       Switch from the cosiness of Blah’s habitual jaunt of the Old Vic’s Basement to its slightly more imposing but equally ‘in-the-thick-of-the-action’ Studio Theatre, add irreverent wordsmith Adam Kammerling to warm up those creaky boards with meditations on contemporary male sexuality versus yearning for nineties Disney characters and all were soon ready for the main act.

       Berkavitch - under full stage lighting - casually briefed the audience on the origins and purpose of his show before descending the room into darkness and immersing those amassed into the recesses of his subconscious. From hereon he provided a deliciously non-linear narrative, experienced largely as self-contained flashbacks within the wider saga of Berkavitch’s sexual encounter with a newlywed love interest. These constituted several scenes, accompanied by stunning visuals projected on to the entire performance. All this was accompanied by a soundtrack of many different flavours - though largely echoing the ‘street’ vibe of the show - provided by Jamie Woon and Royce Wood Junior.

       Credit is also due to his remarkably talented break-dancing dance crew, who were on-point at every stage of the performance. The power of their movement deserves special mention not only in that it had the perspiring energy of a quasar galaxy but also that it reflected the dynamism of the performance more generally. Incorporating contemporary and break elements, the performers – Berkavitch himself included – oscillated between breathtaking light-footedness and the more shockingly violent. At their most menacing, there was something distinctly reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange’s Droogs about Berkavitch’s troupe of dancers, only more belligerent and potentially on something as equally as hard as Vellocet or Synthmesc. Replace the canes with mean-looking umbrellas; the Beethoven with hip-hop, graffiti and urban decay, and you have an idea of the oppressive aura experienced by Berkavitch’s narrator.

       Angular, geometric projections of light harmonised with the dance. Comic-book stylisations and animations of suburban Britain provided a mise-en-scène with which to some extent we are all familiar. Other settings included a coffeehouse where Berkavitch’s narrator worked which was certainly no Pret-a-Manger. Here’s where he engaged the audience for their orders as a less than attentive and ever-so-slightly prurient barista. The four performers operated often as a unit – dancers and umbrellas morphing at one point into a moving bicycle traversing through an estate in one of the scenes from Berkavitch’s childhood – it was pure science.

       You have to be impressed with Berkavitch, who essentially performs an hour-long monologue – while also performing physically – that’s as continually fresh as it is raw. Poetry and spoken-word is rarely as good as when it melds so well with the rest of the performance that you barely notice it’s there and have to double-take to appreciate the genius of it, “she’s a damsel in distress in a damp, silk dress”. All boxes were ticked – rhymes that spat, alliteration, metaphor, wackiness and – without wanting to spoil the show completely – heartache.

       What also dazzles is the sheer scope and execution. When it comes to performance, the term three-sixty degrees is usually appropriated by aged, millionaire 'rockstars' that prance about on a circular arena stage. What Shame does, however, is a far truer and purer interpretation. Every medium is utilised - music, dance, performance, poetry, lights, visuals.

       Rich in diverse themes including coming-of-age, friendship, masculinity and family bonds, the show is as resonant as it gets. Although naturally built around Berkavitch’s own experiences and ruminations on shame and embarrassment, whether intended or not, the end result is that of a mirror. A mirror, in this specific case, to the audience – and Berkavitch opened the floor to any member wishing to share their own shameful experiences. While no takers from the reticent crowd made themselves known, it no doubt had many plumbing the depths of their memories and psyche.

       Though there are surely plenty who will be heading online to replay, it’s unfortunate that no future audience will get to see how brilliant this performance is in its live iteration. Nevertheless, those who have experienced ‘Shame’ in all its blush-inducing glory certainly won’t forget it, and those convened this month at the Old Vic were privileged to see it bow-out in such punch-packing form.

Thomas P. Caddick

Photography: Darren Paul Thompson