In the tiny upstairs room of a lovely bar, Sofi’s, we are
introduced to Andy Quirk and his partner in crime, Anna J. Dressed in what
could be described as street/ ‘chav’ gear, the two entertain us through comedy
in the form of songs addressing some of the 99 problems of the World.
These musical interludes tap into different genres of music –
rap, house, punk pop, 80’s and are all entertaining, addressing Bags for Life,
waiting in a queue and the meal deal; and while funny, they are also true to
life, making our interaction easy and the connection to the narratives true to
life.
The relationship of Andy Quirk and Anna J is on point – they
interact well with us and with each other, making the show flow and with room
to add ad libs, going with the flow and making the show catered to us.
The music is fun, recognisable and also clever in how they
in put the lyrics to the beat. For every song, we have a chance to be involved
so rather than being sung / rapped at, we have the chance to join in and sing
our hearts out to relatable content.
99 First World Problems is fun, funny and quite a nice break out of the main hustle and bustle of busy Royal Mile. If you want a laid back, enjoyable show you can get involved with, then this is it.
Whether this is a Ed Fringe common occurrence, my naive first
time attendee is unsure, but this year there is a ‘Death Season’. Many
productions have taken this theme and created theatre in response to the
stimulus. And also for some great causes.
Glass Half Full Theatre’s How To Save A Life is no
different. It sees the story of Melissa –
a young 20’s female, seemingly with her life all ready and raring to go, suddenly
finding out she has cancer. What follows is her journey, and those of her
boyfriend and best friend in wake of the news.
Melissa is such a loveable character. I kind of what to be
her. She loves glitter. She’s confident, fun, with amazing hair and a lovely
personality. It is no wonder she catches the eye of a handsome man who wants to
be with her forever and becomes best friends with a girl who is wild but
equally as loveable.
We get to know Melissa; we laugh and joke with her. We
associate ourselves with her, with her ideals and her life, and if we do not
have this already, we want it. We want to funny, beautiful personality of
Melissa, a caring and adorning partner, a best friend who is mad but would do
anything for you. So when we reach crisis point and the C word is issued, we
feel even more for Melissa; we feel her pain, her disbelief and her struggle.
Melissa was our constant character, and rightly so – this was
her story. And when we soon became her friends, privileged to live her life
with her, she makes you begin to think about your own life, your own loved ones
and your health and how important all of these are. Who would have thought such
a beautiful soul would lead such a tragic life!?
How To Save A Life is hilarious, but heart wrenching. Not many a production would reduce me to tears but as the lights come up, I find myself in a snotty, painful and wet mess, wishing this had not happened to Melissa. This is one of the best productions at this year’s Fringe – A Must See!
Most of us know the story of Jesus of Nazareth and his disciples.
But have you ever seen a nautical depiction of this tale?
Fisherman’s Tail combines essentially all of Jesus’s life
story into one hour, filled with fun, music and plenty of fish.
While normally, as an agnostic, I would not necessarily pick
a show linked to religion, I was pleasantly surprised and came out feeling
pretty entertained and uplifted.
It may be based on religious stories, but it ultimately is a
story of friendship, forgiveness and definitely enough fishing jokes and antics
for all the children in the audience.
The live music, played on string instruments and percussion
is joyful, folk-like and catchy. It has a tiny twist to make the story fun and
not like the stuffy bible speeches we had in British primary schools. It feels
like a new story and it feels exclusive to us.
The performers all work in harmony, with little dances,
great interaction and with fully formed character’s. The only criticism I would
give is when doubling up, for me there needed to be more distinction – a change
of hat, a different stance, just something over the top to bring that new
character to the forefront for us.
Fisherman’s Tail is for everyone, religious or not. It is good fun, interactive, and a heart warming production.
Hi Neil. It’s great to meet you. Can you give our readers some
background information on yourself please?
I’m a writer. It’s taken me a while to be comfortable saying that. Because I’m not from an academic background. My dad was a carpenter and I spent my formative years being led to believe that “the arts” were created by posh people, for posh people. I knew I had something to say, though. And so, after having been overlooked yet again, in favour of the tremendously talented, doe-eyed Derek Allen for the lead role in the school drama, I decided that, unless I wanted to be “chorus” for the remainder of my life, it was time to take things into my own hands. As a parting “gift” to my school, I produced, wrote and directed the inaugural end of year School Revue, a chaotic sketch show, interspersed with bands and Spike Milligan poetry renditions.
I left that all-boys grammar school, a hellish hotbed of bullying, conformity and privilege, with 6 average O Levels, to join a Youth Training Scheme in Print and Design (having turned down a potentially lucrative, but ultimately soul destroying, banking career). But that Print and Design Training Scheme was good to me, exposing me to a previously unknown world of words and images and allowing me to quickly learn a balance between creativity and commercial viability. But, as ungrateful as it seems now, it was never overtly creative. Expressive. Risky. At school, I remember my English teacher complaining that my stories were too long and that he didn’t have time to read them. Having pointed out, with typical teenage cockiness that it was his job, he reminded me, as others often did, that I’d never amount to anything. But I’ve always found the need to prove doubters wrong a powerful motivation.
I joined poetry groups. And naively welded words together, as a form of primitive catharsis. Short poems, laden with unconscious subtext, created to accommodate my own limited attention span. But these poetry groups so often consisted of the spurned and disenfranchised of the world. Society’s sensitive rejects, confined to the sad, back rooms of usually celebratory places. So I wrote a screenplay. About a man in his late 20s, who leaves a mundane and unfulfilling life, to go travelling. It was rubbish. But I finished it. And then I wrote another. A time travel love story. About a widower who travels back in time to change his wife’s fate, so that she lives. But while he’s there, he falls for someone else. It wasn’t as rubbish as the first one, but, having received polite letters (and they were letters back then), I decided to put my aspirations on hold.
Years later, after wearing a hole in where I was from, it was time to move on. To the medium-sized smoke of Cardiff. Five months, in a city where I knew next to no one, living in the attic room of a shared house, in a sweltering room, with nothing but the sobs of the duped pensioner in the room below to remind me I wasn’t alone. Motivation enough to get out and start throwing myself into the posh life. Seeing posh art, created by posh people, for posh people. And posh theatre, written by posh people, for posh people. And nobody stared. Or looked at me like I didn’t belong. And before I knew it, I was talking to people. About art. And theatre. And they weren’t posh at all. Most of them, anyway.
One night, at the Sherman Theatre, I saw Script Slam. Five plays, by previously un-produced writers. Directed by and featuring proper professionals.
And I thought, I could do this. Seven People, seven monologues delivered by seven people with undisclosed secrets, and my first ever play, not only won the Script Slam heats, it also won the Grand Final. And soon, there I was, on stage, receiving a prize in front of my parents for writing and I thought, this is it…
Ten years later, with
a London-based agent, two Guardian reviews, and countless performances of my
work in Wales, London and throughout the UK, this still isn’t it. Writing the
play is just the start. Then comes the re-writing, the rejections and the
resolve to start all over again. But, like an addiction, you just can’t stop
doing it. Because you know, that the highs of simply completing a new work are
nothing compared to the incapacitating elation created by that elusive moment
of acceptance.
Since making my first short film, BETWEEN, last year, I’ve discovered new ways of telling stories for the screen (big and small), too. Having had a meeting with a TV production company about my play RABBIT, I’m currently working on a treatment with a view to developing it into a six-part comedy drama. I’m also in the process of applying for development funding for my first feature. Like I said, it’s an addiction. You just can’t stop doing it. And every compelling addiction story has a killer soundtrack…
This chat is specifically about music and the role it has played
in your personal and professional life. Firstly to start off what are you
currently listening to?
Music’s always been there. My mum and dad were jivers, rockers and rollers, lucky enough to hear Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis the first time round. They saw The Beatles in Gloucester in the 60s, in a building which is now a slowly fermenting, beer-sticky Wetherspoons. At every opportunity, they’d jive, perfectly sychronised, at smoke-fogged dinner dances, then play the tunes from the night before, whilst peeling carrots to add to the other overcooked ingredients for Sunday lunch. And, slowly, every one of those anti-establishment lyrics and rhythms started to sink in. So, at the age of ten, I fell for punk. A lamb, in parent-approved, respectable gingham check, demanding 3 minutes of anarchy from the DJ at the family disco at Croyde Bay Caravan Park, so I could pogo, solo, starting with The Undertones’ Teenage Kicks, in 1978. And, though there have been giant deviations in my musical mores, there’s always been something about the energy and attitude of punk-influenced music that energises me and makes me smile.
So, at the moment, I’m listening to Idles, Slaves and Rolo Tomassi. Quick-fix anger hits, to subconsciously energise scenes. Then there’s a bit of Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree, to help me reflect and introspect. And, though it’s not technically music, there’s the looped sound of the sea, coming in, and going out again, my substitute for the uninspiring sound of silence.
We are interviewing a range of people about their
own musical inspiration, can you list 5 records/albums which have a
personal resonance to you and why?
Narrowing it down to five is practically impossible. Like asking me to pick my top five artists. Or insects. But rules are rules, right? And, in spite of my urge to rebel against this seemingly arbitrary figure, here goes.
To help me prepare to write this article, I’ve been listening a lot to Desert Island Discs. They get to choose 8 songs. Single songs. I get 5 whole albums. As someone struggled to say once, would that it were so simple. Should I pick based on my short attention span, which would mean that I’d just choose a record by each of my “new favourite bands” for the last 5 years? Or do I consider those who might be reading this, and allow myself to be influenced by my barely latent artistic insecurities? Choosing obscure Krautrock, soundtracks from the Golden Age of Mexican Film Musicals, niche Austrian yodellers and ironic 90s pop, to offer some contrast and help portray a self-conscious sense of fun? Because I’m, like, an artist, but I literally don’t take myself too seriously.
This all seemed so
much easier when I agreed to it…
OK. In no particular order, there’s Number 1 Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia by The Dandy Warhols.
https://youtu.be/C5_QC16mWHE
I’m in Melbourne in a record shop, stopped in my travelling tracks, hearing it for the first time.I’m lying in a bath, in my tragic “bachelor” pad, on a midsummer’s night, windows open, staring at a bruised sky, dreading Friday’s “big night out”.
I’m at the Paradiso in Amsterdam, having cycled to the gig, the neon-bright colours from the stained glass window behind the stage fragmented by tears of joy, hearing it live and feeling so elated that, in that moment, nothing else mattered. This album has everything. It’s massive. It’s the soundscape of a parallel earth. A dream-like, soft-focus earth, with its ponds of pristine pop, scattered amongst its rolling hills of hypnotic rock, all floating on a sea of fuzzy psychedelia. And there’s chickens. And trumpets. It’s the friend I go to when I need reassurance about aeroplane turbulence or that the thing I’m writing is worth finishing.
2. Then there’s U2’s The Joshua Tree.
I know every word. I can hum every guitar solo. There’s a song for breaking up, fucking up and getting back up. I had that mullet. And I bought into Bono’s pain, until I was old enough to know better. But their extended performance of Bad (from The Unforgettable Fire), and Bono’s one to one with a bewildered audience member (and Wham fan) at Live Aid, will always stay with me. It’s all at once indulgent, exploitative, calculated, poetic, dramatic and beautiful.
U2 were my first serious band. The soundtrack to my later teenage years and the variety of experiences that came with them. I remember one of my first jobs, as an apprentice in a screen printing company, hunched over a lightbox, white vest, mullet and earphones playing the opening jangles of Where the Streets Have No Name (on my original Sony Walkman), goose-bumped and feeling that everything was going to be alright.
And then, much later, in the aftermath of the break up of a long relationship, wallowing in With or Without You. And, deep down, still believing the same.
3. There was a time, when the anticipation surrounding the launch of a new release was so great that you could queue outside HMV at midnight to buy the album in the first minute of its release. I’ve done this once in my life. Having pre-warned my neighbour, I returned home with my still warm, shiny, cellophane-wrapped Fat of the Land by Prodigy.
I’m in my early 30s, purple velvet suit, black silk shirt and Musketeer hair, losing it to Firestarter on the dancefloor. In my head, I’m alone. I am a wide-eyed Keith Flint, emerging from his tunnel, unpredictable and scary as hell.
Minutes later, I’m manhandled into a disabled toilet by two bouncers, insistent on performing a full body search for illicit substances. I mean, dancing with such manic intensity, in such heavy and impractical material, on a sweltering dancefloor, could only possibly be the behaviour of a drug-addled lunatic, couldn’t it?
I’ve never taken drugs (“Alcohol’s not a drug, it’s a drink”), but whatever happens to me when I hear certain tracks on this album, must produce similar chemicals. At the time, Firestarter and Breathe almost seemed to possess me. Something empathy-inducing, car-crash compelling, in that combination of primal beats and Keith Flint’s pained pantomime-punk yelps. I remember being out with friends at Clwb. Bored. So I left in search of a new adventure. Just across Womanby Street, at The Moon Club, the pied-piper bass of Diesel Power pulled me closer. Having convinced the bouncers that I was just here for that song, I soon merged into the heaving mass, all sweat and elbows, eyes closed, smiling and lost. Thanks Keith Flint. Rest in Peace.
4. Over the last ten years, there has been less and less music that has compelled me to learn every line. Maybe that’s more to do with how we consume music now. Attention spans increasingly suited to ready-meal playlists of popular hits, without the time or patience to lose ourselves in something more challenging.
And then, along came John Grant’s Pale Green Ghosts. It’s an album of absolute, awkward honesty, overtly biographical and overflowing with painful poetry. Playwrights have to create characters to hide their flaws in, but this is a balls-out confessional. A “forgive me father” you can dance to. And where does this fit into my ongoing, never a dull moment (but sometimes I wish there was) life?
Well, this particular weekend should have been a triumphant one for me. A new play, premiered at a major London venue, with a transfer to a prestigious arts-themed festival. But everything was about to fall apart and descend into one of the worst weekends of my life. Traversing the country, emotional and feeling utterly alone, I arrived at the festival, hoping to shake off the sense of overwhelming helplessness, only to find myself feeling further excluded at a time when I craved connection. Solitary and mentally and physically shattered, music was again on hand to prop me up, wrap its arms around me and send me on my way, with a sense of hope. And this time, it was John Grant who persuaded me that all was not yet lost.
From Queen of Denmark’s “I had it up to my hairline, which keeps receding like my self confidence”, to You Don’t Have To’s “you don’t deserve to have somebody think about you”, I was comforted by empathy before having everything put into perspective by the monumental Glacier, “don’t you become paralysed with fear, when things seem particularly rough…”
5. Seriously, this isn’t fair. Five albums isn’t enough. I feel that, not that they’ll ever read this, I need to use this opportunity to say thanks for the company and inspiration to all of the following, before I mention my final choice (which, as I write this, I’m still not sure of):
Carrie – Fear of Sound
The Teardrop Explodes – Wilder
Bauhaus – Burning From the Inside
Babybird – Ugly Beautiful/There’s Something Going On
The Walkmen – Lisbon/Pussy Cats
Lou Reed and John Cale – Songs For Drella
The Vaccines – What Did You Expect from The Vaccines
Jane’s Addiction – Nothing’s Shocking/Ritual De Lo Habitual
Oasis – Definitely Maybe
Radiohead – The Bends
Dogs – Turn Against This Land
Rolo Tomassi – Time Will Die and Love will Bury It
Die Antwoord – Donker Mag/Ten$ion
Rammstein – Mutter
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Fever to Tell
Pantera – A Vulgar Display of Power
Frank – Music and Song From the Film
The Mission Soundtrack – Ennio Morricone
O.K. my 5th and final album (I realise that my approach might suggest a sense of over-inflated self importance, but this is music and it means a lot to me, so be kind!) is…
Rufus Wainwright – Want One/Want Two
This could just have easily been Tom Waits or Nick Cave or
Babybird or Jane’s Addiction and I know, I know, this is technically two
albums, creating a Top 6, but they were repackaged as a double album in 2005,
so no rules broken. And what are rules, anyway, really?
Years before the drive-through ease of Spotify, Later with Jools Holland was my trusted introducer to “new” music. In May 2004, Rufus Wainwright performed Vibrate and, like the beneficiary of a free first crack rock, I was hooked. An incredibly beautiful song, saturated with longing and a barely dignified desperation to be loved, delivered in a voice that wavered between absolute self-assurance and disarming vulnerability. In my mid teens, I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe. I convinced myself that she might have survived, if she’d had a friend who hadn’t harboured some sinister ulterior motive. Though I was barely equipped at the time to deal with my own issues, I imagined going back in time and unconditionally offering her my smooth, skinny shoulder to cry on.
And now, here I was, in the waistcoat and cravat wardrobe of my mid 30s, listening to Vibrate and reminded of my noble teenage fantasies.I sought out his entire back catalogue, in typically obsessive fashion. I lapped up his earlier stuff, but the theatrical emotional rollercoaster of Want One and Two was breathtaking. From the triumphant optimism of Oh What a World, to the infectiously rousing Beautiful Child, from the unrequited love of The Art Teacher to the grand, sing-a-long heartbreak of 14th Street, these albums reminded me that songs didn’t have to be inspired by rage to make me feel something.
And live, he’s even better. Whether backed by an orchestra or
alone at a piano, these are songs to sing along to, about the collective human
experiences of life, love and loss. All this, and he’s proper laugh-out-loud
funny, too.
There’s also something inspiring about how he seems to have forgone what could potentially have been straightforward commercial success, to pursue his operatic aspirations. Maybe I see a parallel, however truly incomparable, with my shirking of a lucrative graphic design career, in favour of the dogged pursuit of my own creative writing dreams.If I ever meet him, I’ll be torn between the fake bravado of asking him to collaborate on a show and the awe-inspired verbal paralysis of unworthiness.
So, that’s my Top 5. Ask me tomorrow and it might be an
entirely different one.
Just to put you on the spot could you choose one track from
the five listed above and tell us why you have chosen this?
Why couldn’t this have been an article about my favourite,
most inspiring cheeses? Which would have proved considerably less traumatic.
Ideally, I’d like to say none of the above. So I could choose
Angela Surf City by The Walkmen or Perfume Genius’s Queen or Nick Cave’s People
Ain’t No Good or Yeah Yeah Yeah’s Maps or Bob Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice it’s
All Right or Idles’ Danny Nedelko. But, far be it from me to, yet again, turn
momentary article-based hellraiser…
The song being chosen…
As my favourite…
From the albums above…
Is…
Solid by the Dandy Warhols. There are so many incredible songs on Thirteen Tales, but the nonchalant, stoner-swagger of this song, conjures images of walking through sunset-lit, excitingly dangerous streets, without a care in the world.
https://youtu.be/-2POhuBLUow
“I feel cool as shit, cause I’ve got no thoughts keeping me down.” While I wait for writing success (and hope that I recognise it when it arrives) and/or untold riches, that’ll be the straightforward, spiritual mantra that I awkwardly (but resolutely) aspire to. Music will always be my empathetic friend, ready to tell me what I need to hear at exactly the right moment. It’s there to laugh with, to cry with and to dance with. It’s being inconsolable at gigs, snubbed by your idols (that’s you, Karen O, but not you, Henry Rollins), comforted after break-ups, reflective at funerals, losing it on dance floors and pushed to do one more press-up, cycle one more lap, write one more scene….
At half 9 at night, the last thing you would be expecting to
see is a sock puppet show. I love a good puppet, but I equally love an usual
concept. Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre (SFSPT) sure are the unusual.
Opened to the world of adult puppetry and it becoming more
familiar a concept, we have all heard of the adult themed ‘Avenue Q’ and a few
years ago, ‘Hand to God’. Even cartoons have become more adult friendly,
opening up a whole new world in performing arts.
And while I hesitate to compare SFSPT to such shows (a joke
in the performance itself reflecting this), it is agreeable that this concept
Is not as unusual as it may once were. Yet I was still pleasantly surprised and
excited.
Puppetry come comedy, the FSPT does not rely on humour alone
to get by. There is a theme, and it is ever changing (as we hear from its 15 or
so years of its presence). This round is Circus themed –with The Greatest
Showman being so prevalent in the last year, SFSPT draw upon this to create a
narrative, but feels free to go a little off course, ad lib where necessary and
it is all just as funny as the original plan. We are at times asked to use our
imagination, thinking of a sock puppet out of shot on a tightrope or completing
an another amazing feat.
They keep the information present – keeping to events and
news from the last year, even making jokes and making it clear that some of the
audience may find some too obscure, we cannot help but love it and definitely
feel included.
With only one man, two puppets, and maybe around 5
character’s, it is a feat of genius and skill at set and ‘costume’ changes with
one hand- a magical experience we all wish we knew the answer to. He manages to
give each character its own personality, even with their interaction with one
another being quick. Of course there are times when a Australian accent is
suddenly Scottish and he soon realises it. But this only adds to the humour –
there is no masking mistakes, only inclusion of them.
The narrative went a little off course and dark humoured,
but you know what, I was not mad at it. I was sufficiently entertained, laughed
my socks off (pardon the pun) and had a really interesting and splendid time.
Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre is not exactly breaking theatrical boundaries, but my gosh was it a lot of fun. If you fancy something unusual, ridiculous (is a good way) and a good laugh, then this show is a total must.
Let me tell you, if you like boundary breaking, the plain and simple truth and interesting physicality to name but a few, then you need Mr and Mrs Clark in your life.
A long-time fan, I have always admired their work, their
concepts and how they bring these to the stage. They are never similar, never
the same but always ground breaking and perfectly formed.
Louder Is Not Always Clearer draws upon the performance artist Jonny Cotsen and his life as a deaf person. The show Is autobiographical to an extent, but also makes you really see yourself. Using a range of media, physical theatre techniques, theatrical techniques and fine art, Cotsen brings us into his world, his difficulties but poses it in a way to create slight difficulty for us. Almost acting as if we are those who may not be as open minded and accommodating, we feel similar to how Cotsen has felt during his life – wanting to participate but being discriminated for something he cannot control.
An example of this is with use of sign language. I can
imagine not every performance goes this way, depending on who is in the
audience, but he begins a conversation with someone who can sign, finding them
by openly asking through this communication who can indeed sign. And to this
day, I still have no idea the conversation. This made me feel isolated,
confused and this was very clever. As to an extent, this is what he himself has
experienced on the other end.
He, with use of props, physicality and vocalisation makes
fun of those who are ignorant. Those who are surprised by how he can drive a
car, have children, those who almost shout at him to ‘hear’ them, normal things
that everyone can do – and through these, they are comical, sometimes heart
warming, sometimes astonishing at the ignorance and completely understandable.
Cotsen commands the stage. Unlike some of Mr and Mrs Clark’s
pieces which are abundant with physical theatre, there are times of peace, of
silence, of contemplation, and even at these points you cannot take your eyes
off Cotsen – he is simply a fantastic performer.
Louder Not Always Clearer is honest, it has no fear, it has no bullsh*t. It is unashamed, unapologetic and something fully needed in the forefront of society. Feel seen, feel informed but ultimately, come away feeling Cotsen’s emotions and with anger at those who are ignorant.
Think back to the Agatha Christies. Miss Marple, Poirot.
Think even to the extent of Sherlock Holmes. These crime stories, full of
mystery and far fetched narratives. Number Please felt very reminiscent of these.
When a telephone operator hears a murder on the telephone,
she is dragged into a world of secrecy, double crossing and spies. Enter train
chases, over the top character’s, and London (because a murder always happens
in London and alien invasion, but that is Doctor Who and off topic).
This female lead company came to bring us fun, frivolities
and intrigue. And they execute some of this. I am glad that it was meant to be ‘hammed
up’ as the characters seemed quite one dimensional, and my worry was for the
stereotyping of women. Saving this, the 1950’s styled era saw a strong female
lead, solving the murder and uncovering the mystery.
While I had a lot of fun and enjoyed their performance, I
could not help but wonder whether it was meant to be unintentionally of an
amateur persuasion or whether this was the point; a metta/ironic take on the absurdity
and predictability of these genres.
What cannot be argued is that the performers put their all
into their performances. Every facial expression was executed, every pun and
the fact they high-kneed ran for a good 5 minutes non stop is something to be
admired.
Number Please is a fun, easy going, easy watching show. If you want to just sit back and have a little giggle, this is for you.
The last thing you would expect in a city like Edinburgh is
to be swept away to the ocean.
But swept away, we were.
Ned and the Whale is the story of a nervous boy, obsessed
with facts to keep him safe who gets taken into a magical and fanciful world
inside a book, meeting exciting and interesting characters, helping each of
them along the way, and in turn, they help him to overcome his fears.
Flossy and Boo bring this story to us in the form of
puppetry, recycled props and costumes, musical interludes and comedy. Now, anyone
who knows me, knows I am obsessed with puppets and Ned and The Whale are no
exception. They are little things of beauty, and Anja Conti, (Flossy) and Laura
Jeffs-White (Boo) manage to move them with ease and such perfection, that we
even forget that there are real humans behind them.
But do not take that as they forget where they are – their facial
expressions mimic the character’s and shows that they are really invested in
their work and the story.
When not handling puppets, they are either other interesting
and hilarious characters such as the twins in a cave obsessed with slime and
parties with rocks, or a stranded pirate, missing his disappeared crew. Each
character I fully formed, well thought out and with their own clever unique qualities.
This isn’t Flossy and Boo, this IS the pirate, this IS the twins.
And then added to this, another dimension as Laura and Anja –
those who know this group will know how well a relationship they have on and
off stage, and how they play on this; calling out each other’s silliness, being
other funny and likeable characters. Usually these are as Flossy and Boo as we
know it, but this time around we know them as Anja and Laura, and love them just
the same.
Audience interaction is key for children’s shows, and this
is no exception. Child or adult, we all are given eye contact, smiles, no one
is excluded; we all get ‘slime’ put on our heads, we are all asked for
suggestions and we all love the whimsy and comedy.
Musical interludes are delightful, simple with acoustic guitars
or banjos, with beautiful harmonies and funny concepts. Personally, I could
happily sit with an album of just their music and walk away happy.
Ned and The Whale is a triumph of a production; fun, comical and magical, it still manages to teach us vital lessons of life and we leave the tent they are in, smiling and elated.
A review by Ann Davies from RCT Creative Writers Group on the topic of topic of Taste
What’s on the Menu?
What music do you like? Tastes can vary; they can be mood
shakers; a melody can bring a seemingly lost memory to mind. Emotions can be
laid bare. This was the night of Yeah Yeah.
Were we ready for this high octane enhancing performance?
I guess it all depended on your taste and the performing artists certainly lived
up to a life of their own. What was on the Menu? as the theatre group “Yeah,
Yeah” showcased their act in the lounge of the Park and Dare Theatre in
Treorchy recently.
“Are you ready, Treorchy?”The Haka cry came amidst the burst
of strobe lighting and the throb of music every sound resounding off the
glistening disco ball overhead. Two people strode out, one male one female;
they each had a story to tell. They looked like trapeze artists one with an
enlarged Rod Stewart wig that looked as though it was plugged into an electric
socket. With a fitted costume, accentuating her nubile body, his female partner
embraced the music. Acrobatically and gymnastically the music and story was
revealed as the opposing tastes for musical theatre and rock music battled it
out.
Adult humour laced with music and dance. Changes of
costumes – some more titillating than others were the ingredients for the
night. Their interpretation of known
songs from the musicals and rock classics were exemplary. It awakened deep
seated memories that you would never see or hear a song that you loved in the
same way ever again. It was an experience of tasting selections of melodies
like a club sandwich combining the savoury with the sweet.
During the interval, the duo presented their own adverts
over the lounge speakers.
There was Swan Lake on points overwhelmed with feathers
(now you know where the feathers have gone from your bed linen). The lady’s limbs
were used as an air guitar; the drum set lost its setting the motorbike that
raced to the music of Meatloaf. OMG was the revelation a Smorgasbord special. A
spicy concoction of a recipe, boiled but scrambled, culminating in a Crockpot
of creative juices that would have put Nigella to shame.
Morgan Thomas and Tori Johns were engaging in their tale.
It was colourful; it was crazy, different and an entire work out for your
laughter muscles. Many of the audience would still be laughing at their first
encounter with the company called “Yeah, Yeah”
A tasty dish to savour long after the evening was over.
‘Soviet’ and ‘Musical’ are two words you would not necessarily
put together. So imagine my intrigue of being invited to this show.
Space Junk is the biographical and musical-styled hammed up
story of the first man into space. Once he reaches his fame, he faces a harder
life back on earth and faces losing his love for space, his love for his family
and his love for himself.
The production itself has a full band on stage – I love
this. I personally think that live music really adds an extra tier to
performances and it was nice to have this option in this production. The music
was all based on David Bowie – another tick in the box, another great way to
interact with the audience (who doesn’t know Star Man? Space Oddity?) and well
themed – a great choice for Slipshod.
Now whether it was the room, the heat therefore the need for
a fan make noise or a tweak the company need to make, a lot of the speech was
missed. Projection was excellent from our main man, but the rest seemed to get
lost to the space, and this was a shame to miss some of the narrative.
However, the main character is played by a brilliant actor.
His projection is on point, he executes the right emotions and the right time,
and really makes his presence known on stage. He somehow salvages where the
sound goes missing and brings you back to date. But also makes you feel
heartbreak when needed and really throws his all into this production.
The production itself is full of humour, typical musical theatre over the top nature and some kick-ass music to boot. Space Junk is a lot of fun, and something recommended to see if you fancy sitting back, having a sing a long and not needing to decipher too much of a storyline.
Creating opportunities for a diverse range of people to experience and respond to sport, arts, culture and live events. / Lleisiau amrywiol o Gymru yn ymateb i'r celfyddydau a digwyddiadau byw
(3 / 5)
(5 / 5)
(2 / 5)
