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POETRY REVIEW: Hello Glastonbury – I mean, Brighton

Ray A-J reviews the Poetry Competition and Festival 2017 featuring The Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy at the Old Market in Hove on Saturday, November 18.

Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy

Electric – The atmosphere alive with the buzz and hum of a festival. Undeniably, contagious. If all the literary gigs of the world were a pool, this would be the deep end.

“Where am i?” You ask. Well, I’m a fan in the sea of enthusiasts currently drowning the Old Market in our passion for the first poetry festival.

Lights down. Pitch black. Immediately the packed sardine can, complete with wriggling audience roared. Each of my nerves shooting through me, hairs standing to attention, pumped with anticipation.

Breaking the sudden silence that fell, a deep voice boomed with charm “we have an amazing show!”. Coming out of the shadows the face of a business man, complete with suit and tie, took to the stage. This face belonged to the host of tonight’s event – the Dermot Oleary as it were, Mr Michael Parker. An eruption of whoops and cheers from the eager sardines met Parker’s statement – this was going to be an amazing show. In true Glastonbury fashion, the host called upon the audience; he sounded a round of what he called “pass the clap”. “You’ve got the clap!” he joked as the audience laughed back, engaging in his unusual idea of a Mexican wave – except with clapping.

Positively filling the room right to the brim with anticipation and beaming faces, Parker jumped into his own poem: “trickle down”. Humorous at the very least, the politically charged performance piece swam round the room in waves of laughter and cheers. It was very funny. He himself was crazily charismatic, channeling the likes of Jack Dee in his dry humour. With room successfully warmed, the Jack Dee of slam poetry surrendered the stage to a different kind of poetry performer…

… The next in the so-called “strange pantomime of poetry” (in Parker’s own words) was the supporting act: Hammer and Tongue, a crew of slam poets. Slam, the perfect name for the odd mismatch patched crew of budding poets. Each were a hand slammed onto a table – some with great impact. Others swung too quickly, completely avoiding the table altogether – a hit or miss. First, the Sam Smith of the group, young Connor Byrne took to the stage like a mouse to a cat – terrified. Undeniably the young lad of the slam crew had beautiful words, but like Sam Smith in his early days,  was frail and written off. Poor lad. Although it shows the range of performers on show that night. Deemed the “sacrificial poet”, Bryne left the stage, urging the next hopeful to take to the stand.

One by one fresh faces, young and older, flocked to the stage to perform their art. Liverpudlian Liam Gallagher of poets AP Staunton, as one of the latter, took to the mic like a fish to water. Described as a “champion” by the host, the brit rock poet approached the stage to a round of applause. Through lines of his piece he built up an image of himself as a salt of the earth Liverpool lad; it felt like more of a conversation between him and a close friend then a poem. He was undoubtedly engaging and warm.

The larger than life bloke disappeared into the audience as a small thin lad took his place. The miniature incarnation of rap god Eminem, wriggled as he spat his bars of rhyme and disgust at politics and the digital age. It was as though the words were fighting their way out of him was passion and fury. He is one to watch.

A few Slam poets later, and a literary singer in the form of Shell Huggett graced the stage with her deep poem. The description so delicate as she painted the picture of addiction and mental health. I was moved. The topic was dark and sharp to the touch. At times it dug out memories of the late Amy Whinehouse, the poor singer – another victim of the world’s poisons. Of course the audience erupted in greatful applause when she finished, quite the contrast from the perfect silence we all sat in when listening intently to her heart wrenching story. To me, that performance in particular was the one to break my heart and pull at its strings. It was gorgeous.

After a few more, the three remaining slam poets to finish this stage (literally and figuratively) of the evening were well worth the wait. These took the form of the dry and old-fashioned Robin Lawley, the fierce feminist Emma Robdale, and the charmingly quirky Daniel Searle. Andy Parsons sprung to mind when Lawley took to the stage. Equally as funny and bold, the poet encapsulated the satirical dryness poetry sometimes lacks. It was a refreshing palette cleanser from the deep, dark or outrageously hilarious pieces before. Following his bold nature, the Katy Perry of poems, Emma Robdale performed her commendable and empowering piece on feminism in 2017. The topic of which was so simple (yes, it was about leg hair), but so evoking. Her descriptions, and sharp similes sliced through social convention. It was funny. Like the previous poets, she was funny. But her bold commanding of the stage and control over her words was so much more powerful. It made me think. And, isn’t that what poetry is meant to do?

Throughout the first acts of the festival, I was flung between being an audience member there to view the work and applause, and being immersed in the words themselves; actually becoming the buzz of energy sparked from the poets. It truly was like being at a rock concert, but twice as powerful.

A short break later, a quick trumpet sounding, and, like nerve-wracked X factor hopefuls, the poetry competition contestants were welcomed to the glowing stage. Despite the first lull of the event being the less charming hosts, this section remains a focal point of the whole extravaganza. After all, we were all eagerly anticipating the results of the poetry competition that has been in play for the whole of summer and autumn this year.

Every one of the deserving hopefuls, complete with their own performances of their pieces, emulated solidarity for one-another. I recall one of the pieces, entitled Starling, even absorbed a bubble of unity to the extent of being centred on the poet’s love of Sussex. The harmony and love felt by the people of Brighton ran that deep. This encouraging exhibition of support leaked into the audience. It was as though each onlooker could feel the passion and fear exuding from the performers. Just like a band performing to their fans, the connection between the audience and poets was sparking camaraderie. We were all silent, awaiting the results. Then… (insert drumroll) the winner was finally announced – Lucy with her piece Brexit blues. And well deserved waves of cheers ensued.

Another short break and none other than the punk poet’s answer to Johnny Rotten appeared, in his chain and black skinny jeans. Donning a lute and on a mission, Atilla the stockbroker grabbed the mic with such gusto and passion the audience couldn’t help but erupt into cheers. Every fibre of his speech screamed anarchy, and the old forgotten punk ethos we all miss in this day and age. Atilla, so aptly named as his pieces were oozing with sarcastic quips and irony, ran out a few politically charged rants of rhyme. Some about his love for labour, likening Jeremy Corbyn to Jesus (which of course struck a nerve with me, being the Christian I am, but nonetheless I enjoyed his set greatly). Other songs of sarcasm he streamed seemed to take on a more solem tone. With poems dedicated to his late stepfather and mother, the boisterous bloke seemed to slowly break into a quieter, saddened state. It was interesting to see – these poems clearly meant alot to him, and he really had poured his heart and soul into each line, each word. Once again the love and camaraderie from the audience shone through, in their greatful applause.

Leg up on the monitor beside him, Atilla took on the role of the mighty Mick Jagger as he tried his hand at some freestyle slam. With digs and quips at himself and other “poison pensioners”, the punk poet received warm howls of laughter and footstompingly passionate applause. Although he hit topics we’re all sick to death of (Brexit, Trump’s election and gentrification), he seemed to breath new freshness and life into them; he was funny and thought-provoking. His poem, from the hyperbolic view of a UKIP member (you can imagine what that sounded like), took on the feelings of those who fought to remain in the Brexit vote in its satirical nature. Poking fun at the Conservatives and right parties, Atilla perfectly encapsulated the fear we all felt when leaving the European union – a topic that often surfaced throughout the night.

The punk veteran clambered off the stage like a true rockstar- unwilling to let go of his young rebellious lifestyle (an inspiring outlook we should all aspire to achieve).

Juxtoposing him in her regal fashion was the poet Laureate, the one and only Nina Simone, Carol King, Aretha Franklin of poets… Carol Ann Duffy. She graced the stage before her like it was the throne she deserved. The fangirl in me buzzed as she entered the stage. Taken aback by our fortune at seeing her in the flesh, the audience let out an applause fit for Kings and Queens. We were happy- no, elated  with her presence. Stoic and uncompromising, she returned to her old friend microphone to enlighten us with her knowledge. Accompanying her on his congregation of instruments, a Mr John Sampson (whom Duffy quipped she had “borrowed” from the Queen).

The last post, sounded by Sampson, gave way to Duffy’s commemoration of remembrance. Her poem of the same name, offered a sense of memorial for the war. It carried with it a weight of a thousand solemn goodbyes. It was the perfect poem to pay homage. As she opened her mouth to read, she transformed into the narrator of a great film.  Her words as she introduced her work, her stories, were droplets of water falling from a trembling tree; slow, powerful, her voice carrying the gravitas of their meaning. The impact of each word hit the audience like the splash of a waterfall in slow motion.

Duffy seemed to have a hold over the audience. We were frozen, in awe of what she would say next. One by one she guided us through her poems. Every piece – a picture of passion, a treasure trove of riches in rhyme.

She explains how her second poem to be performed is about a previous that was banned by the examination board, on account of it being considered fuel to house the flame of would be teenage violence. The poem in question was about depression, ending with the teenage subject looking favourably at a knife. To this, the examination board took to believe Duffy meant to encourage violence. Of course it was a rushed assumption, based entirely of false accusation. They were wrong. Duffy made clear her humour on the situation, using the anecdote to map out the inspiration for her next poem. Entitled Mrs Scofield GCSE, her perfectly satirical look at the GCSE system laughed at the examination board’s decision. I nodded along with a smirk plastered on my face. Having been a student of the recent GCSE system change, her poem resonated with me. Apparently others in the audience too, as they let out the odd laugh here and there.

Other poems that followed assumed the tone of Mrs Scofield GCSE. One about the post office, another, equally as funny, spoke about the fictional wife of Charles Darwin and her input in his work. Many donned feminist narratives. Her poems are feminism: furious and fierce. Dissected – her words were gold.

However the humour was but one ingredient in her recipe of performance. The poem Liverpool took on a more dangerous topic; the Hillsborough disaster. It sought to carry the message of the clock that chimed a 99 or so times on the anniversary of the disaster. Like the bell her words chimed. They matched the poem perfectly; slow and pushing the audience to think about the severity of the incident.

In between the poems, Sampson would provide well needed light relief, with jokes and introductory performances on his jumble of instruments.

Sampson stepped back, pleased with the audiences positive response. Suddenly Duffy was  centre stage once more.

The running theme of the night seemed to be politics, and Duffy didn’t shy away from this. Finger out, saluting the one handed salute, She commended Trump for his perfect running of America. His wonderful  work. All of which the audience also commended.

Welling up, slightly cracking the stoic mask from earlier, Duffy introduced her final poem. Premonitions was written after the passing of her mother, and set out to honour her -mission complete. The poem was beautiful, the perfect homage. Chills shot down my spine as she spoke the first line: “we first met when your last breath, cooled in my palm like an egg”. The legato in her voice, soothing.

During all of this, I couldn’t help but think this was much better than sitting at home watching TV.  Better yet, way more engaging than any rock gig I’ve attended.

When she left the stage (all too soon in my opinion), the audience clapped our farewells and Parker returned to the mic to thank the arts council and all the poets involved. Slowly we got up, as if saddened by the eventual end of the festival. This sadness swiftly abandoned our heads, as the buzz from the beginning of the night returned – everybody was pumped with inspiration and energy once more.

In true Rock and roll fashion, I left with what felt like a hangover from the high of the poet’s addictive performances. And like the fangirl I am, managed to grab an autograph from Atilla the stockbroker, that I shall cherish in a frame hung on my wall for the rest of my life.

And sure enough I wasn’t the only one to come away feeling inspired; as I left I overhead an eager lady exclaim it was “thoroughly splendid – a good use of the day!”. Lady, you’re spot on.

If you too are a poetry addict, be sure score a fix of the Hammer and tongue crew for yourself at their next gig on January 7 at the Royal Albert Hall.

 

OPERA REVIEW: Marnie @ENO

Marnie

Nico Muhly at English National Opera

This is a new (world premiere) opera from composer Nico Muhly, with a libretto by Nicholas Wright. Marnie is based on the novel by Winston Graham although alludes to the Hitchcock film. It examines the cost of freedom, the limitations of forgiveness and the impossibility of escaping the past, with Muhly’s  direct and powerful music exploring these themes.

Marnie is a compelling psychological thriller set in England during the late 1950s. A young woman makes her way through life by embezzling from her employers, before she moves on and changes her identity. When her current boss Mark Rutland catches her red-handed, he blackmails her into a loveless marriage. Marnie is left with no choice but to confront the hidden trauma from her past.

Read the synopsis here

Following Two Boys in 2011, this is the composer Nico Muhly’s second world premiere for ENO,  director Michael Mayer makes his UK opera debut, collaborating with ENO Music Director Martyn Brabbins who’s smooth control of the orchestra gave us superb musical moments and an entire evening of perfect sheen and exactness of percussion and tone, the trumpets in particular shone, which made up for some slight narrative bumps in the story. Muhly’s pairing up of instrument and character worked well,  allowing us the insight into the emotional workings of the characters as they lie, deceived, manipulate and cheat each other on stage.  No one tells anyone the truth in the opera, the instrumental paring allows us to follow more closely the narrative impulse.

Mezzo Sasha Cooke sang the title role with a clarity and  febrile vulnerability which was tangible and engaged fully with this complex character within a character, giving us both the vocal power and feminine helplessness / manipulative control  the role demands. Marnie is seriously f’ked up, by a wretched mother who is oddly underwritten considering her terrible actions echo down through the entire narrative up to the very end. Sung with beauty by Kathleen Wilkinson who gave us a lot from her small opportunities along with Diana Montague’s neighbour Lucy, both struggling working class women who do what they must to get by. It’s a lovely pairing and I enjoyed them on stage. Montague’s revelation at the ending funeral scene is beautifully scored and allows her one shining moment of righteousness & rebuking in her singing.

Bass-baritone Daniel Okulitch sings Mark Rutland, the complex husband of Marnie who traps her into marriage and then attempts to assist in dealing with her daemons, his voice wraps itself around the sadness, hurt and confusion of the role with a raw beauty. I felt for them both. They are joined by ENO favourite Lesley Garrett whose role as Mrs Rutland, society matriarch and overprotective mother is fun and James Laing as other Rutland brother Terry whose rejected advances and equally confused attention of Marnie ultimately leads to her exposure, he sang with a wonderful clarity and gave much-needed warmth to an unpleasant opaque character.

Oh the chorus! How many times have I raved about the ENO chorus and yet again I’m given an opportunity to listen to them delight with their overwhelming grace and power, there were some beautiful Brittenesque contrasts of tone and vocal clarity in this production, broad suggestions of space in blended choral song and an exquisite counterpoint as the choir sing a Methodist hymn at a funeral and Marnie finds out the awful truth of her awful early life. Sublime, astonishingly striking and utterly charming harmonic work from the chorus.

Marnie is followed, and shadowed by her four Shadow Marnie’s, all in perfectly exact versions of her own cloths, in primary colours, it reminded me of Disney’s ‘Inside Out’ , but these four Marniettes echo her possibilities, alter egos and emotions and change when she changes but also react when she’s unable to.   These five points of brilliant colour contrasted with the muted 1950’s palette of Arianne Philips costumes and Julian Crouch’s designs, they had a strange and haunting singing style when around her, choosing one note and keeping it, pure and long. It struck me, I adored it, and it felt very ancient and polyphonic in the midst of such modernism and gave Marnie’s confused, crushed psyche some simplicity and order.   Along with a group of silent all male dancers who paraded, peeped, sniffed around and generally vaguely menaced all five Marnie’s with suggestions of creepy male privilege and power.

It’s very beautiful to watch, projections cleverly muted and blend to coalesce into space and geography,  soft endlessly moving sliding panels of the set, the score rising and falling in hypnotic rhythmic John Adams like pacing, superb acting singing sliding in and out-of-place and time with a seriously elegant edge – I enjoyed looking at it as much as listening to it. My enthralled companion attending his first ever ‘modern opera’ was utterly seduced both by the music and singing and announced it his ‘favourite’ ENO production so far!

It’s missing the tension of Hitchcock’s film which is a good thing to those of us who dislike his constant jumps and starts and is firmly back in its British original book setting, which works better.  The chorus with their gossiping, judgmental sniping only adding to this 1950’s drama and its hyperreal feel.

This is a thoughtful production, timely with its focus on power, privilege, and the effect on women of toxic masculinity, sexual abusiveness, power and bad parenting. It’s a working class opera at its heart with an almost happy ending, almost unique in itself. Although perplexed by Marnie, I adored this ENO production and would encourage you to get along to witness this striking and sensitive production. With the current #metoo focus on men in power it’s an appropriate production.

There’s no clarity in the end for poor Marnie; captured she declares herself to ‘be free’ and we leave uncomfortable by the ambiguity of what we’ve witnessed of her life.

Recommended!

For more info or to book tickets see the ENO website here

Until December 3

PREVIEW: Ssshh! Something Trashy’s Happening in The Library

Transgender issues are noisily hitting the headlines left, right and centre at the moment, reflected by Something Underground theatre company re-launching their play      Large Print Trash, and bringing it to the heart of Brighton & Hove.

Jonathan Brown’s play was nominated for a Best Male performer Award in 2007’s  Brighton Fringe, and since then they’ve been racking up the awards.



Jonathan says: “I wrote the play in the wake of becoming a father. I say wake, as it was certainly a bow wave moving through my life, and I fell off the surf board and almost drowned many times.”

The play deals with not only transgender issues, but also fatherhood, and custody issues, has since been included in The Fatherhood Institute Website training resources, and Jonathan now writes regularly for MFFonline, what the BBC describes as the dad’s version of Mumsnet.

He continues: “Large Print Trash follows librarian Jenny, her battle with her identity as a woman and as a father, in the light of prejudice and a mother who wants to deny her access to her child.

“Jenny turns to her ability to take on any personality she chooses to engineer an innocent encounter with her son, to tell him what lies in her heart.

“The ingenious plan that requires even more wit than even she had expected to employ, enables a veritable host of new and surprising relationships to open up for her. Not least… with herself.


Event: Large Print Trash

Where: DukeBox Theatre, Iron Duke Pub, 3 Waterloo Street, Hove

When: December 8

Time: 8pm

Cost: £10.£8

To book tickets online, click here:

 

More gay and bisexual men able to donate blood from today

New blood donation rules for gay and bisexual men come into effect in Scotland and Wales today, and will come into effect in England tomorrow, meaning more gay and bisexual men will be eligible to give blood.

Gay and bisexual men in Britain will be able to donate blood from three months after having sex with another man. The new rules replace a twelve-month deferment period which has been in place since the lifetime ban was lifted in 2011.

Scottish LGBTI equality charity, the Equality Network, has welcomed the new blood donation rules which they say will reduce, but not eliminate, the discrimination faced by gay and bisexual men.

Scott Cuthbertson
Scott Cuthbertson

Scott Cuthbertson, Development Manager, said: “We welcome that more gay and bisexual men will be eligible to donate blood from today.

“We hope many gay and bisexual men who are now able to donate, do so with their peers. These new rules are a welcome and significant step forward, we remain concerned, however, that for too many low risk gay and bisexual men these new rules are, in effect, a continued ban.”

He continued: “The blood service has committed to explore ways in which a more personalised risk assessment could be introduced. We look forward to continuing to work with both the blood service and the Advisory Committee on the Safety of Blood, Tissues and Organs (SaBTO) to eliminate all unwarranted discrimination from the UKs blood donation rules.”

The blood donation rules were changed after the UK, Scottish and Welsh Governments instructed their respective blood services to implement the recommendations of a recent review of blood donor criteria and risk assessment by the Advisory Committee on the Safety of Blood, Tissues and Organs (SaBTO), which advises health ministers and departments for health across the UK.

Northern Ireland has only recently removed the lifetime ban on MSM blood donations, but with the Stormont Assembly suspended is unlikely to implement the new rule changes any time soon.

The rule change also affects people who have sex with partners who are classed as high risk.

‘Bona Balls Up Bingo’ fundraising total passes £1,000 for THT

Mrs Moore receives a certificate from Terrence Higgins Trust (THT) acknowledging the £1,000 raised during Mrs Moore’s Bona Balls Up Bingo at Charles Street.

£1 from every ticket sold for the wacky bingo sessions which take place in a plastic swimming pool is donated to THT. The £440 raised during the present season brings the total raised over the last three seasons by Charles Street for THT to over £1,000.

PREVIEW: Chinese Burn on BBC3 iPlayer

New BBC Three sitcom smashes all Chinese stereotypes with a round-house kick, bursting open the door to the messy yet hilarious realities of the western world, with an eastern twist.

Elizabeth (Shin-Fei Chen) Jackie (Yennis Cheung) FuFu (Yuyu Rau)
Elizabeth (Shin-Fei Chen) Jackie (Yennis Cheung) FuFu (Yuyu Rau)

The programme follows the escapades of three ‘normal’ Chinese girls: Elizabeth the failed Chinese daughter, Jackie the feisty struggling actress, and Fufu the Buddhist princess, fresh off the plane and set to negotiate the trials of modern life in the capital.

The pilot episode sees Elizabeth’s crazy-rich friend Fufu visiting London for the first time – but there’s a problem: Elizabeth has lied about her job to her friends and family back home. She deals with the situation as she always does – by telling more lies and getting drunk.

Meanwhile, Jackie has a big casting for the role of a lifetime – and it’s not the usual ‘Chinese prostitute, DVD seller or takeaway girl’. This is the worst time to be babysitting a kooky new arrival.

Chinese Burn is one of BBC Three’s new Comedy Slices launching this autumn and written by new writing talent, Yennis Cheung and Shin-Fei Chen.

They lead the cast alongside Yuyu Rau and a guest performance from Felicity Montagu (Alan Partridge).

The Producer is Alex Smith (Trollied, Adolf the Artist); Executive Producer, Ash Atalla (The Office, People Just Do Nothing) and the Director is Chris Cottam (Carter’s Get Rich, Sunny D).

Chinese Burn is a Roughcut production for BBC Three and is available on BBC iPlayer on Monday, November 27 from 10am on BBC THREE.

 

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