You can see Arthur’s Seat from the window of my student accommodation. Boom, it’s right there, looking in all the time. At night you can see the torches and lamps of people climbing up it, which is kind of eerie. Lost souls, perhaps. And during the weeks of the fringe, Edinburgh has a lot of lost souls.
This is the longest that I’ve ever stayed in Edinburgh with a show, which means that this show is the one I’ve performed more times than any other. I know every inch of it, now. To think that I started work on this almost a year ago, almost as soon as I came home from last year’s fringe. No wonder I know the thing back to front.
And so does my technician, bless him. There are a couple of songs during the show, and I looked over to his booth during one of them and I could see his head bobbing away. He knew the words. He knew what was coming next. That poor chap could probably write a thesis about my show.
But I still hate the flyering. I still hate it with a passion. Today is my penultimate day, so that means I’ve only got two more flyering sessions left. Perhaps I wont even flyer at all on my last day, because immediately after the show, I’ll be off to the airport to get the plane home to Exeter. I might have luggage with me during the usual flyering session. To be honest, I think I’m just talking myself out of doing some flyering.
The shows have been going well. I’ve been very pleased with my performances. In two weeks, I’ve only ever stumbled over the words of a poem once, which isn’t bad, for me. The weird thing is that the audiences differ so much. You can have a small audience, but they can be very loud and appreciative. Or you can have a larger audience and everyone just sits there quietly and you think you’re going down like a lead balloon.
Of course, it’s the camaraderie and the connections you make, which makes a fringe all the more enjoyable. Not only my technician, but also my flyerer, Tash, who took two days off to get married. She has a very Scottish accent but we got talking the other day and it turns out that she grew up in the same part of the world as myself. And she’s very good at flyering. She’s even convinced people to come and see my show!
And then there are the other performers. People like Jonathan Kinsman, Tom Juniper, Elizabeth McGeown. There’s a great community here among the spoken word artists. It makes you think that you’re not alone.
So tomorrow I’ll be performing and then flying home. I have a taxi booked to pick me up from the airport and drive me the thirty miles to Paignton, which means that I’ll hopefully be home by around nine in the evening. And I’ll probably still be wearing the same clothes that I perform in. Obviously, not the sparkly sequin jacket or the top hat. And everything will start to feel like a dream.
In fact, it already does. I’m proud of this show and the fact that I’ve managed to stick at it for a year. I love the way that it flows and tells a story. It’s going to be weird not performing it every day.
And I’ll miss the routine, too. I won’t miss the flyering, (I usually start around 10.30, carry on till 12.30, then linger around outside my venue). Once the show is done I head up to the Plains and the Circus Hub, where there’s a bar that most people haven’t discovered yet, where I can find a table and relax and drink a cola and eat a sausage roll. There’s a van on the Plains which sells the most amazing sausage rolls. I think I’ll miss those sausage rolls.
There’s a divine madness about the fringe. It’s so big that it brings out the despair in us all. How can one possibly compete with all of the other shows that are on at the same time? At the last reckoning, possibly six hundred going on at any one moment. Or was it six thousand? It couldn’t have been six million, though at times it seems it.
The venues are tucked anywhere throughout the city. If you stand still for long enough, you become a venue yourself. Underbelly have already contacted me about using space inside my backpack. It’s a new stage which they want to add to their roster, and advertise as The Cow Bag, and then rent it out to theatre companies. But then I moved, and they lost all interest.
There’s a piece of wasteland outside my student accommodation. It’s overgrown with vegetation and bushes and I stopped and looked at it and I thought, yes, there it is. The last place in Edinburgh which hasn’t been turned into a venue or a bar or a festival village. And just as I was standing there looking at it, someone tried to flyer me.
Because that’s what Edinburgh is all about. The flyering. You can have the best show ever written, and you can perform the best anyone has ever performed, but it’s the flyering which ensures people get in to see it, and it’s the flyering that ensures that the show is a success. Which is great if you have a passion for flyering, or if you have a theatre troupe filled with sixteen incredibly enthusiastic and young performers from middle class universities, with floppy hair and high cheekbones and winning smiles, but when you’re a lone operator doing it all yourself, from a seaside town in Devon, then the odds are already stacked against you.
Which is to say that I hate flyering. People scare me. The general public are frightening. I want to be polite at all times, but the moment I steel myself to smile and say hello, some young buck with an improvised opera jumps in and flyers the person that I’m just about to flyer. It’s a dog eat dog world. And also, my brain doesn’t move as quickly as some. I see someone coming and the words kind of tumble out in a nonsensical jumble. You wouldn’t think that I’m a performance poet! ‘Hello there. Yes, what it is, you see, I’ve written this show, and . . .’, by which time they’ve already walked away.
Consequently, I didn’t have much of an audience for the first couple of shows. One person turned up for each, and I knew each person. They were friends. I think my show is good, but they probably would have come even if it was just an hour of me on the stage doing armpit squelch farts. But there’s a guy from Cambridge University who’s already doing that, and he’s winning rave reviews.
I decided I needed a flyerer. I had no idea that you could just hire a flyerer. I thought only the good shows had a flyerer, because why would a flyerer want to flyer for something that nobody had heard of? But I went online and I made contact with a couple of flyerers. The first two didn’t turn up, on consecutive days. But the third did. And she’s wonderful.
I’ve had an audience ever since. She really knows how to bring in the people. I don’t know how she does it and I don’t really want to ask. Naturally, I was worried that she would take my leaflets and walk off and dump them in a recycling skip, but I actually saw her at work several times, and it really did fill me with glee.
We got chatting one day, my flyerer and I. She’s actually getting married in a couple of days. She’s getting married right on the Royal Mile. I even thought about popping along, or at least exit flyering the service. That’s how grateful I am at all of the flyering that she’s been doing.
The show is going well. In fact, the show is going really well. The last three shows have been absolutely wonderful. Great audiences, and I’m so comfortable with my performances. I know it inside out and I’m very happy with it. I think it’s the most accessible show I’ve done at Edinburgh, (which is code for the fact that this is my first show which doesn’t have an LGBTQ theme or gratuitous references to sex). It has: three costume changes, some choreography, a song, a high note which I try to sustain for twenty seconds, and I get to do a lot of acting, too. So yes, I’m very happy with it. From an artistic point of view.
I have a little post-show routine, now. If it’s a good show, I go to my favourite place at the fringe, which is the bar of the Circus Hub on the Plains, and I sit and have a cola and just relax. It’s a great place, because it doesn’t get as busy as the rest of Edinburgh and I can just take in the sunshine and listen to whatever’s going on inside the Big Top. There’s also a stall nearby which sells, quite frankly, the best sausage rolls I’ve ever seen.
So that’s how things are going, as I enter week number two. What will this week bring? Will audience numbers go down a bit, now that the weekend is out the way? Who will I get to do the flyering when my flyerer gets married? How does my show stack up against the six hundred that are also on at the same time? (Someone the other day called it ‘light and lovely’, which I kind of like). And at the end of the day, does any of this mean anything?
They always say that you should ask yourself why you’re coming to the fringe. Is it to get noticed? Is it to refine a piece of work? Is it to meet new fans? To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here. I think it’s just the challenge of putting on a show, and writing it, and memorising it, and all of those other things. Or perhaps I’m just here to join in this merry dance, to at least say I gave it a bash.
The key to mindfulness, he said. Imagine you’re floating on a lilo. Feeling the waves undulating Underneath because you’re on a lilo. The key to mindfulness, he said. Floating on the sea on a lilo. All your worries drift away And takes your mind away from that which harms you. They key to mindfulness he said Floating so free upon a lilo. But it made me so very very scared, Imagining that I was on a lilo. What if I float out to sea? What if I don’t come back? What if I end up in the busy international shipping lanes? What if they have to call the lifeboat? What if I’m never seen again? It makes me so very very stressed.
So I’ve performed my new show five times now. And I’m performing it again tomorrow in Paignton, to an invited audience at a secret location. I’m starting to get to know it now, because these sorts of things only seem to come alive once they’ve been seen by an audience.
In a sense, I only really discovered what the show was about once audiences had seen it. It’s far darker than I thought, with themes touching on fame, ambition, truth, disappointment, even mental health.
There are poems which always seem to get good reactions from the audience. Two of these, ‘Who Wants Fame?’, and ‘Fabaranza’, are real fast-paced silly poems. ‘Zach’ always seems to go down well, too. As does ‘You Should Write A Poem About That’. In the latter poem, I decided to employ a puppet so that it appeared that I was having an actual conversation with someone, and I think this part of the show really works.
The first place I performed the show was at the St. Anne’s Centre in Barnstaple, a wonderful ex-chapel with very creaky floorboards and Gothic architecture. It’s so old that the new extension on the side was built during Tudor times! I performed the show four times here and had some lovely audiences. Last week I performed the show in Guildford, upstairs at The Keep pub, to another lovely audience. I made a slight change for this gig, adding a poem at the start of the show, ‘Coffee Shop’, which I’d written in an attempt to emulate the style of Dame Edith Sitwell.
On the way home from Guildford, I pondered on the script and how there are several moments where it seems that the tension needs popping. To relax I listened to one of my favourite comedians, John Mulaney, but instead of relaxing, I listened to how he would do this during his own monologues. I’ve since added three ‘tags’, as the Americans call them, moments where I comment on what I’ve just said, hopefully for some audience reaction. I’ll be using these ‘tags’ during the Paignton performance this week.
The thing about a new show is that one is always comparing it with the show that came before. The previous show, ‘Yay!’, accompanied the Burning Eye book of the same name, and I performed it over two years. I’d also written and rehearsed the show during lockdown, so I knew the thing inside out. But there was always the sense that the scope of the show was limited because it had to use poems from the book.
With ‘Bouncer’, the sky was the limit, and while I was free to choose the subject matter, I then had to write bespoke poems to fit in. So it felt with ‘Bouncer’ that the poems were not as well established as those in ‘Yay!’, particularly because the poems in ‘Yay!’, had been written over a period of five years, not a few weeks! Consequently, I rehearsed much, much more because I wasn’t sure myself whether they should have been in the show at all.
But I’m now much more relaxed about the show. I know it inside out, more than I probably ever did with ‘Yay!’, and because of this I can have fun with my voice and delivery and movement and all of the other things that a performance poet has to think about, rather than just trying to remember what comes next.
So, basically, I’m very happy with how the show is going. The next stop is the Edinburgh Fringe in August, and who knows what that will bring?
Below is a list of the poems in the show, as well as a video of ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’.
Coffee Shop Zach You Should Write a Poem About That Who Wants Fame? Beard Envy London is Mine for the Taking The Contestants Await Fabaranza Your City Never Seemed So Cruel Woodlouse Boy
I arrived in Barnstaple yesterday lunchtime. I’d spent the train journey listening to an audio recording of my show and going over the finer details in my mind, so the journey didn’t seem so long. Went immediately to one of the cafes on the riverside, ostensibly just for a cup of tea, but because I’d taken up one of their outside tables (for four), I felt obliged to order a sandwich. When it arrived, I didn’t know whether to ask for a knife and fork or a stepladder. I don’t know how people were meant to get their jaws around it. Perhaps that’s the motto of Barnstaple, that it always gives you more than you asked for. In previous year’s I’ve spoken about the wonderful community ethos which comes with being a part of the Theatrefest. I went from the cafe to a bar / nightclub called Junction 27, where the taster session was scheduled, and I had a part in it. Within seconds of coming in through the door, I met two people I’ve known for quite some time, and quite a few people who chatted and showed an interest in my show, and whose shows looked genuinely interesting to me. I performed the ‘Who Wants Fame?’, song from my show, and it seemed to go down well. I was glad about this, because it was only the second time that I’d performed it at an actual gig. It was the dance that goes with the song that they seemed to like the best. I saw lots of other snippets from shows which I made a mental note to try and get to see. The chap dressed as a tiger who did some mime / clown work, which immediately spoke to the clown part of me. The comedian with a show called ‘A Wank In Progress’. (‘Difficult to flyer for that one’, he said. ‘You’ve got to choose who you give a leaflet to very carefully. Also, be careful when you’re doing a Google search’). And a show based around Moby Dick, the odd thing about this being that Moby Dick was one of the subjects I’d thought of doing a show about. I’m quite glad that I didn’t, now! During the afternoon the thought occurred that a part of the show in which I have a conversation with someone would work much better if I had a puppet. I went out around Barnstaple with the intention of looking for a puppet, only to discover that, in a bizarre freak of circumstances, I’d already packed one. I’d hoped to incorporate it into my act the week before in Brighton, but I’d scratched it due to time, and just left it in my luggage. I did my first performance of the show at 5pm at St. Anne’s arts centre. I was worried that there wouldn’t be anyone coming along. It was a baking hot day, and I thought, well, who’s going to want to watch a show at 5pm on a Thursday afternoon? As it was, I had quite a respectable figure. Indeed, if this had been Edinburgh, then I’d have been over the moon with the ten people who turned up! And the show went well. They all laughed at the bits that I’d hoped they’d laugh at. And I only stumbled over my words once. And that was during the Who Wants Fame?, song, the very same song I’d sung that afternoon at the taster session! I was particularly glad with how the other fast-paced banger, Fabaranza, went. Indeed, this got one of the biggest audience responses of the show. And the bit with the puppet? It went down very well indeed. I went back to my hotel for a bit and got changed, as I was drenched in sweat. Three costume changes is probably a bit too much for an hour fringe show, and wearing a sequin jacket, feather boa and top hat on a very hot day, and dancing around a stage, is probably not a good idea! In the evening I went out to the Queen’s Theatre and I watched a wonderful performance of the David Mamet play ‘Duck Variations’. The last time I’d seen a David Mamet play had been on Broadway with Nathan Lane starring. But Nathan Lane wasn’t at the Barnstaple Fringe. It was a wonderful show in any case, and on the way home I bumped into five people that I know. A photographer, a comedian, a magician, and two actors. That’s the kind of great community there is here. There was due to be a social event at 10pm but I was too tired. I go to bed most nights around 9, and I knew I’d be dead to the world if I’d gone along. As it was, I was probably asleep by half nine. And now here we are, Day Two. I’m going to have fun, see as much as I can, and try to get people to come along to the second showing of Bouncer at 7pm tonight!
My father passed away in 2017. In the days immediately following, I wrote a long poem based on the stories he would tell of his time working in the Australian outback. He was based in a township called Mary Kathleen, which is no longer there. Although the township was there to accommodate workers at a nearby uranium mine, my dad was there helping test armoured vehicles in the heat of the Australian desert. (He would next be posted to the jungles around Cairns, and then the frozen north of Canada).
I wrote this long poem remembering the stories he would tell and the characters he worked with. It’s set in 1969.
In 2018, the Artizan Gallery in Torquay were kind enough to let me perform this piece, and I asked a friend, Sharon Hubbocks, to accompany it on her violin. I also asked my friend Becky Nuttall to perform on the night. We had a lovely evening. We were later invited to perform it again at the Teignmouth Poetry Festival in Spring 2020, but we all know what happened in Spring 2020!
This recording has been on my phone ever since. Apologies for the sound quality, but it’s a nice little reminder of the night. This would be the only time I’d ever perform this piece.
The poster below was painted by my father, David Garnham, some time during the 2010s, and shows the accommodation huts where he and his colleagues lived.
This is a poem from my new show, ‘Bouncer’. It’s about something that people say to me every time they discover that I’m a comedy performance poet. I’m sure lots of other people also get told this especially if that’s the sort of thing they do.
I hope you like it!
My new show will be coming to various places in 2023 and 2024. At the moment it is booked in for the Barnstaple TheatreFest Fringe, the Guildford Fringe, and for two weeks at the Edinburgh Fringe. I’m also hoping to do it at other places, too.
Here’s the new poem:
You Should Write a Poem About That, from ‘Bouncer’, 2023
As I did with my last show, I’ve been keeping a diary charting my progress from the very first day I started work on my new show, to the present moment. Obviously, as the show has not yet been performed before an audience, there may be spoilers here. But not many people read this blog, so that should be OK!
Bouncer diary
23.8.22
Decide on theme of show to be based around appearance on BGT
25.8.22
Write some linking material about poetry, and start work on opening poem ‘Welcome to my Show’
26.8.22
Work on ‘Welcome to my Show’ and an autobiographical poem called ‘Orange Juice’, which may or may not be used to add background character.
28.8.22
Sat in the sun in the back garden in Brixham. Worked on a new poem, provisionally titled ‘This City Never Seemed so Cruel’, the obligatory downbeat poem for near the end of the show. Also worked on some linking material about my Great Uncle, and a bit about Thundercats.
29.8.22
Back in Paignton. Heard the Squeeze song Hour Glass on the radio, and then some show tunes, and the idea for a call and response poem came, with a similar structure as the chorus of the Squeeze song. Called ‘Everyone Wants Fame!’ Jotted it down on a ticket, then home, worked on the poem. It’s the bare bones of something fun, but it really needs to be 30% funnier.
30.8.22
Worked on ‘Everyone Wants Fame!’, added two jokes.
31.8.22
Worked on ‘This City Never Seemed so Cruel’, ‘Orange Juice’ and ‘Welcome to my Show’.
1.9.22
Wrote new poem ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, plotted the storyline and poem list for the show, then worked on a new version of ‘Fabaranza’ written from the point of view of the BGT producers.
4.9.22
In Brixham, worked on linking material. Wrote the goose joke, and then one other joke, and then thought, ahh, that’s two jokes, a good days work, let’s relax for the rest of the day.
5.9.22
Back in Paignton, more work on linking material.
6.9.22
Paignton, worked on linking material, then started to put the show together so far, right up to the Covid section.
7.9.22
Worked on ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, then typed up all of the show so far before working on more linking material. Worried that the version of my portrayed in the show is negative, whiny, too much like a victim, and generally unlikeable.
8.9.22
Worked on rewriting linking material, added a few more jokes and funny lines. Worked on ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, took out the line about all other poets being bastards!
9.9.22
Unexpected day off due to yesterday’s death of HM The Queen. Started work on the BGT phone call linking material.
11.9.22
In Brixham. Worked on new poem, ‘The Contestants Await’.
12.9.22
Worked on linking material and ‘The Contestants Await’.
14.9.22
Worked on the start of the BGT section. Worked also on the ‘Everyone Wants Fame’ poem.
16.9.22
Worked on the BGT hotel section. Went to a coffee shop and thought of two jokes about the contestants which made their way into the show script.
18.9.22
(In Brixham). Worked on the BGT section. Almost finished the first draft of the script, just need to write a kind of summing up section. Current word count is over 7000 so it may need editing down.
19.9.22
First draft completed!
24.11.22
Had a read through of the linking material having worked on the Cold Callers project in the intervening months. Pleasantly surprised at the cohesiveness and tone of the show.
27.11.22
Had a complete table read run through of the show at Brixham’s Sunrise Rehearsal Studio. 52 minutes, happy with that. Had a couple of rewrites to ponder: Fabaranza as a poem instead of a song, and tightening up the lyrics of the opening song Welcome to my Show. Also, does the show need the Covid section? Seems put in just to get on the one liner list! Later on, back in the Rehearsal room, rewrote the opening song ‘Welcome to my Show’.
28.11.22
Paignton. Ran through ‘Welcome to my Show’ a few times, then rewrote the song ‘Fabaranza’ as a fast-paced poem.
30.11.22
Began line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
1.12.22
Line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
2.12.22
Line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
3.12.22
Line learning first batch of linking material.
5.12.22
In Brixham. Ran through ‘Welcome to my Show’ several times and videoed it so see how it looked. Worked on linking material.
6.12.22
Paignton. Line learning linking material.
7.12.22
Line learning linking material and began line learning ‘Zach’. First five minutes of the show memorised.
8.12.22
Line learning ‘Zach’.
9.12.22
Line learning ‘Zach’.
26.12.22
Been ill for two weeks so unable to line learn or rehearse without erupting into coughing fits. Staying in Brixham for Christmas. Had a great line learning session in the Sunrise Rehearsal Studio, memorised the whole Zach poem and videoed it too.
27.12.22
Brixham. Worked on the Zach poem and the subsequent linking material. Started a video diary.
29.12.22
Paignton. Linking material and You Should Write a Poem, which I also rewrote.
30.12.22
Learning You Should Write a Poem
31.12.22
Learning You Should Write a Poem.
1.1.23
Brixham. Learning You Should Write a Poem, plus ran through whole show so far, about 12 minutes.
4.1.23
Paignton. Line learning You Should Write a Poem.
5.1.23
Line learning You Should Write a Poem.
6.1.23
Line learning You Should Write a Poem. Managed the whole poem with no mistakes, 3m30. Then performed the first 12 minutes of the show with no mistakes.
7.1.23
Line learning linking material.
8.1.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material (producer phone call section), then started work on a possible backing track for Welcome to my Show. Very camp.
9..1.23
Line learning linking material. Chatted to film maker John Tomkins about filming the show with an audience.
10.1.23
Line learning linking material.
11.1.23
Line learning linking material. Chatted to photographer Jim Elton about taking photos for the publicity pictures. That evening, performed two minutes of linking material at the online Woking Write out Loud gig. People laughed at the funny bits!
12.1.23
Rewrote ‘Who Wants Fame?’
13.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame?
14.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame? Chatted to photographer Emily Appleton about taking publicity photos.
15.1.23
Brixham. Line learning Who Wants Fame? Then to Paignton, to Emily Appleton’s studio, had head shots taken in various poses for possible poster designs.
16.1.23
Paignton. Line learning Who Wants Fame?
17.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame?, and adding some choreography.
18.1.23
Went through all the material I’d learned so far. Then line learning linking material. To Exeter, performed five minutes of material and the Zach poem at Taking the Mic. On the train home I started rewriting Fabaranza.
19.1.23
Rewriting Fabaranza.
21.1.23
Rehearsing the show so far and experimenting with different tones of voice.
22.1.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material.
23.1.23
Line learning linking material.
26.1.23
Bristol. Line learning linking material. Back to Paignton. Started learning ‘London’.
27.1.23
Line learning London.
28.1.23
Early morning session, line learning London.
29.1.23
Brixham. Didn’t get into regular Barnstaple Theatrefest so applied for an ‘alternative space’, pledging to do four shows.
30.1.23
Line learning London.
31.1.23
Line learning London. Barnstaple Theatrefest alternative space application successful!
1.2.23
Ran through all the learned show so far. Experimented with using song or different tones of voice on Who Wants Fame. Line learning linking material. Then in the evening, completely rewrote Who Wants Fame, now based on the music to Three Little Fishes, with an incredibly stupid chorus.
2.2.23
Continued rewrites of Who Wants Fame. Line learning linking material.
3.2.23
Line learning new version of Who Wants Fame.
4.2.23
Line leaning Who Wants Fame.
5.2.23
Brixham. Line learning Who Wants Fame and linking material. Also worked on the poster after Emily’s photo arrived.
6.2.23
Paignton. Line learning The Contestants Await.
7.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await and Who Wants Fame. Then worked on the show poster.
10.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
11.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
12.2.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material and rewrites of Fabaranza.
13.2.23
Paignton. Line learning linking material and rewrites of Fabaranza.
14.2.23
Line learning Fabaranza.
15.2.23
Practising random bits of the memorised material so far, then line learning Fabaranza. Evening, went to Exeter and performed five minutes and Who Wants Fame?, at Taking the Mic. Fluffed one line but generally it went well and people laughed at the jokes.
19.2.23
Brixham. Line learning and practicing Fabaranza. Afternoon, went to Totnes and performed at Word Stir, tried out some linking material in front of an audience.
20.2.23
Paignton. Fabaranza more light rewrites.
21.2.23
Line learning Fabaranza.
22.2.23
Ran through all of the show so far and was very pleased at how much I remembered. Then line learning the section after Fabaranza. Good progress.
23.2.23
Line learning linking material. Also, ordered a game show style buzzer as the only prop for the show.
24.2.23
Line learning linking material at the shop before work. The buzzer arrived. Evening, performed a little of the new linking material at an event at the Little Theatre, Torquay.
26.2.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material incorporating the buzzer.
27.2.23
Paignton, Line learning.
28.2.23
Line learning linking material.
1.3.23
Line learning linking material.
2.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
3.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
5.3.23
Brixham. Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel and linking material. Made decision to read the final poem from a piece of paper during performance to accentuate the fact that it was a piece written, so therefore the line learning phase is completed. On to actual rehearsing, now.
6.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
8.3.23
Ran through the whole show so far. 58 mins so will have to prune maybe the last poem. Also decided that the back of the piece of paper uses for the last poem will have David Walliams written on it in big letters. Email from Guildford Fringe offering a date which I accepted.
9.3.23
Rewrote ‘To the Celebrity’.
10.3.23
Rehearsing ‘You Should Write a Poem . .’.
12.3.23
Brixham. Writing the show blurb and publicity material.
I had a lovely gig in Bristol the other week. The venue was a theatre on an old lightship in the harbour. It was moored to the quay almost totally static but even so I kept lurching sideways. The boat wasn’t even rocking, it was probably just something psychological going on deep within me. Boat = movement. What a nob, I expect people thought.
I’d fretted a lot over my set for the gig. I often get Set Fret but this was something else. I wanted to do some of my old bangers, of course, but I also know that I can’t keep hold of them forever, and that the new stuff has to be unleashed on the world at some point.
But there’s also another thing going on. Over the last couple of years I’ve begun to assess what it is that I like in a performance and I’ve been trying to translate that to what I do on stage. Humour and timing, of course, are things I’ve always had an eye on, and hopefully been got at, but lately there are one or two thinks that I’ve been tinkering with because, well people change over the years, don’t they?
One of these things is volume. I’ve begun to appreciate volume. Or rather, I’ve begun to appreciate it less.
Maybe I’ve been watching too many Ivor Cutler videos. Or Bob Newhart. Or, come to think of it, almost all the people I watch for enjoyment. Laurie Anderson. Edith Sitwell. Alan Bennett. They’re all quiet, somewhat reserved, and seldom loud. Yet they’re funny and they’re clever and I want to be both of those things. I’ve been to plenty of poetry gigs where the poet - and it’s usually a young man, though I don’t want to develop stereotypes- suddenly starts bellowing into the mic halfway through a poem. That sort of thing’s not for me. I’d feel I was bullying. If you’re going to shout, then at least stand back from the mic. I feel it also changes the dynamic of a performance from enjoyment to hostility. I know that some people may enjoy this, and may appreciate this in a performance, because a performance is what it is and what we’re all there for, but we’re all different, and hooray for that. For me, though as soon as a performer starts shouting, I feel that I want to Get Out Of There. So I come away from these performances hoping that I don’t annoy people in the same way.
So this means that I’ve been trying to adopt a more relaxed, conversational tone when delivering my linking material. And I’ve been working hard at this, because it’s hard, after a lifetime adopting something of a more performative tone. But I’ve been having a bash at it. Here’s my little secret as to how I’ve been conditioning myself to be slightly more conversational and less forced: I start my set with the words, ‘Hello, there’. It’s impossible to be loud or forced when the first thing you have said is, ‘Hello, there’. And if I feel myself getting more forced or desperate or less conversational, then I say to myself, ‘Hello, there’.
One of the other things I’ve been concentrating on is sex. No, not in that way. I mean, the sexual content of a set and the effect that this, too, has on an audience.
In the early years of my comedy poetry career, I relied quite a bit on content of a sexual nature. Naturally, this was a comedic version of sex, performed (the poem, I mean), by someone who you’d think was probably not very good at it, and therein lay the humour. Indeed, my first collection with Burning Eye, ‘Nice’, was about relationships and more specifically, sex, in the most part. I remember someone writing in a copy of it that had found its way into a poetry library in Manchester, ‘Not nearly enough mention of sex’.
The thing is, I was in my thirties when I wrote some of those poems, and possibly just about passable enough to seem naive and comfortable with such relationships. But now I’m very nearly fifty and the idea of me being on stage talking about sex seems, well, creepy. I’m aware that many in the audience will be thinking the same thing.
I’m not alone with this idea. I was chatting with an LGBT performance poet who’s much higher up the spoken word ladder than me, and he was saying that he is going through a similar process of removing the sexual content from his sets because, as he gets older, he feels it less and less appropriate. I felt that this vindicated the unease I also feel these days of standing at the mic and talking about orgasms and the such. It also maximises the humour when I might mention something vaguely sexual during a set.
So it feels that I’m becoming much more mature as a comedy poet, and gosh, that’s taken it’s damn time. I’m more aware of the audience and more aware of what it is which makes me feel, after a performance, that I’ve done something I can be proud of. This has come about through several years of studying what it is that people laugh along with (as well as laugh at). It also means, hopefully, that I’ll not be stereotyped, just like the words written in that copy of Nice.
We all change. In fact, that was the subject of my very first solo show, ‘Static’. But right now, I’ve never felt so relaxed as a performer, and so at one with my material. Another friend of mine, the American fringe performer Dandy Darkly, once said to me that you can be as silly and as weird as you want to be, so long as you do it with conviction, and that’s definitely what I’ve been aiming for of late.
Robert Garnham 