I SAW SIX ACTS IN EDINBURGH AND I ENJOYED THEM ALL OH SORRY SPOILER

OK so first of all let me address the absence of The Chart Project.

i. I am still doing it. It's a good idea and I would like to see it through.
ii. I don't have a desk or speakers so typing and listening to music is an act of contortion that makes the project less fun.
iii. I had this run of about 25 songs that I hated and began to question my sanity.

There you go. It will return.

SO

I can't begin this with anything original or insightful about Edinburgh or the state of the festival. If you've never been, any available space in which a comedy/theatrical/cabaret performance is subpoenaed to what appears to be a collective enterprise toward a month of 18-hour days of performance: every venue employs multiple wranglers to silently usher audiences in and out with maximal efficiency so barely an hour is lost to changeovers in a day in some venues. It's crazy busy out on the streets, even in mid-week. Flyers will appear in your hands. The concept of 'five stars' will become meaningless.

People with more familiarity and nouse know there to be rival factions, indeed multiple concurrent festivals with differing interpretations of what the Fringe/Festival is and should be. It isn't necessary to familiarise yourself with the politics to have a good time: turn up, grab one of the phonebook-thick guides, pull out a red pen, find a bar, and start circling things that sound good to you. That is what we did. Observe.

Simon Munnery

SIMON MUNNERY - 'FYLM MAKKER'
The Stand 1
Munnery's doing two shows this year - 'La Concepta', of which I saw a preview of a couple of years ago, which is now a full-length and polished piece about a restaurant that serves art, and this one - an experimental piece in which Munnery occupies the physical space ordinarily reserved for a soundman (about 10 yards away from the stage, but facing it), festooned with sound and visual gizmos enabling his face to be broadcast on an on-stage screen. With musical accompaniment, live editing, and crude animations, Munnery spews forth a dizzying stream of tyrannical aphorisms and brilliantly carved-open deconstructions. I've always felt that Munnery was somebody who really enjoys pulling apart the inconsistencies of language, especially those sentences and moments in lyric that appear to pass by the mass ear without much of a challenge. It isn't pedantic or cynical, either: comedians who have garnered this level of respect and admiration don't need to do a second, experimental show each day crammed full of ideas. It feels like the performance of someone 20 years younger attempting to prove something.

STEWART LEE - 'CARPET REMNANT WORLD'
Assembly Rooms
I reviewed this show a few months back in its tour-length format, admittedly in a somewhat obscure style. The Edinburgh run sees Lee abridge the act into 75 minutes: from the top of my head I can only think of one section that was removed. Though that section was indeed funny, its omission doesn't undo the complex structuring of the set, nor does it reduce the punch. I'm going to use a proper reviewer-type word here, the kind of word that were I to use for one of the many university revue shows, would be grafted onto their promotional materials in 12 hours time: 'masterful'. That was the overwhelming feeling, aside from being helpless with laughter: that Lee was so adept at putting his audience into the correct position to receive even the most tortured of set-ups (the second-language callback, I admit, I missed first time, but anticipated second time and found myself laughing as the gears cranked mercilessly to a calculated poor pay-off, leading to a lengthy (comedic) diatribe and recap of the entire act so far). I'm sure there will be a backlash against the man in around 2014 but I don't want to anticpate the curve: he is funny.

HENNING WEHN - 'HENNING KNOWS BEST'
The Caves
I think it's generally bogus to comment upon the audience at a show but I was fairly surprised that Wehn's audience was much older than the average 'contemporary non-BBC3 comedian' audience. Presumably this is a matter of Wehn finding traction on BBC Radio 4, the staple radio station of educated middle-class over 40s England. Me? I know him because of Stewart Lee. Wehn made his mark as a notional 'German comic' trading upon the English superiority complex regarding Europe's inability to 'be funny'; now Wehn's material is much more of a hybrid as a result of British cultural saturation, it allows for a more complex character (not that he is a 'character' comedian, per se, we are just working on the assumption that most comedians play a version of themselves) to emerge that can name-drop specifically British references and then hide behind a stereotype of affable German logic and efficiency. Wehn works best in his accelerating anger toward both sides in an argument: upon discovering the British pastime of WW2 weekends, in which English townspeople will parade as leading Nazi officers, both the English complacency and the German history receive excoriation in equal measure. Fortunately he does this often.

'This Arthur's Seat Belongs To Lionel Richie' (comedian out of shot, photo by @jhindsight)

BARRY FERNS - 'THIS ARTHUR'S SEAT BELONGS TO LIONEL RICHIE'
Arthur's Seat
This show took place at 1pm on top of the extinct volcano that looms over Holyrood, the seat of the Scottish parliament. We had figured that it was a nice day and would be good for a walk and even if the show was shit then it was 'a something' and if it was good then that's a pretty good bonus. "Edinburgh's highest show" isn't so much a show as a feat of endurance, given that Ferns will climb the Seat every day of the Fringe to perform. On this day, there was a captive audience of hill-climbers and tourists, which offered a fairly interesting spectacle even though Ferns freely admits that it's fairly impossible to do a real show in the wind and - these are my guesses - with an audience mostly not interested in comedy, many of whom not speaking English as a first language. No matter though: Ferns is a thoroughly likeable chap who exudes a similar charisma to a friendly cult leader or fitness instructor. A few one-liners here and there and some short anecdotes set against the backdrop of the city glazed in the sun - in a way, it's pretty perfect.

AIDEN GOATLEY - '10 FILMS WITH MY DAD'
Voodoo Rooms
Goatley seems pretty happy and surprised to see a full room on a warm Thursday afternoon to see his Free Fringe show. Fortune had been in our favour once that weekend (Wehn was sold out, but then two tickets appeared at the box office and we got them for nothing as they were unrefundable but were not being used. Then, wanting to catch Daniel Kitson at midnight, knowing the venue had held back 14 tickets for on the night, walking past the venue at 10.30pm to see 12 people waiting patiently for those tickets. We could have joined them, but 90 minutes on a pavement was very much a 14 years ago thing) so we were in the lap of the Gods in choosing a show more-or-less at random. Fortunately, much as our host seems to feel, we also lucked out: Goatley was excellent. I know that some people don't like comedy mixed with powerpoint or bits of film or projections but I'm pretty sure some people were against the seed drill, the cotton gin, and the computer - they're here to stay, it's not a fad, and it's going to become more prevalent, so shut up, anything can be done right if you give it some thought and love and care and some ideas. Which is what has clearly occured here. It's a simple narrative about the strange bond between father and son, and the films that served as lightning rods for moments between them: there are anecdotes, film theories, blunders, growing pains, jokes too, yes there are jokes. If you're into edgy blood-and-thunder 'truth telling' then I'd suggest staying away, but I'm going to stick my neck out and say that anyone who doesn't at least find the man a warming presence is probably being a bit of a dick.

MARY BOURKE - 'HAIL MARY'
The Stand 4
And I'd also like to use the sentiment in the final sentence of the last paragraph as a run on sentence here: you'd have to be a dick to not at least warm to Mary Bourke. Furthermore, you should actively like Mary Bourke. Opting for the spiked bat in a velvet glove approach to a solid hour of joke-telling, there's a smile that emerges across her face when approaching the battle-hardened saltiness of the punchline similar to when a child offers a friend a sweet and gleefully looks onward in the knowledge that they purchased it from a prank shop hours earlier. When there's no overarching concept (and there's not and Bourke is at pains to underline this point and no the concept is not an anti-concept concept), it's harder to talk about the act without recourse to joke spoilerdom - and I won't do that here. What I will say from my (admittedly limited) perspective is that it was alongside Stewart Lee in terms of being technically admirable as well as actually funny. Munnery, Goatley, Ferns, and Wehn, though all structured and intelligent, incorporate and invite the potential for failure into their work by varying degrees. Bourke's set, though not without digression and interaction, 'feels the beat' a little more: these are jokes that bear scrutiny against the rhythm and cadences of The Great Jokes of Yore and for the more elusive concept of ethical rigour. I also bet she'd hate this review for that kind of poundstore analysis. Oh well. Recommended

Mary Bourke

LIVE! Stewart Lee.

Stewart Lee
The Lowry, 29th April 2012

The comedian Stewart Lee is a comedian that I like the comedy of TIMING IN COMEDY IS ESSENTIAL and I think that his comedy is an interesting mix of structure and timing and bitterness but he absolutely does not tell jokes TIMING. He will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians and will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians but do you see how when I did it (TIMING!) then it was really boring and you got annoyed? He does it and 95% of people will still get bored but the other 5% will laugh. All of that 5% are in the house tonight and repetition is another thing his comedy uses.

As a quasi-Marxist who will probably look like the collapsed remnant of several pop stars of my era I will not mention that Stewart Lee looks like Gene Vincent on crisps that is ardently political as well. Stewart Lee is subtly arguing a leftist point of view and I fully expect or even demand given a certain level of beer that his next show be called STEWART LEE'S COLLECTIVISED FARMING CO-OPERATIVE or STEWART LEE'S FIVE YEAR PLAN or perhaps even STEWART LEE WILL DEFEND THE MOTHERLAND WITH RECOURSE TO DIDACTIC AND EXPLOSIVE CINEMATIC TECHNIQUES THAT ACTUALLY MOST REGULAR CITIZENS WILL FAIL TO UNDERSTAND. The last would work best because it is truer. Reptition! Timing!

What does he hate? He says: other comedians named Russell, the dilapidation and homegeneity of the UK high street, Twitter, you, some people who insult him on the internet, the audience he has accrued in the wake of being a more famous comedian of comedy in the last 10 years where his comedic comedy-style comic parody with words as well has been on the television. In reality and according to the fundamental(ist???????) logic of the comedy stylings of the comedian Stewart Lee he does not hate anyone, even the business man in his suit and tie (a reference bordering on oblique very much in keeping with the Stewart Lee phenomenon sweeping up and down UK pubs and clubs) because he wants society to be made of carpet remnants. Hence his show title: CARPET REMNANT WORLD. Timing?

Where are the jokes asks the 95%? Stewart Lee he no Bernard Manning of the racism. Bernard was timing in human form. Stewart eats up time like a hungry clock. Bernard would say 'jokes up your mother-in-law's bum'. Stewart would say 'no jokes'. Jokes are beneath him and beyond him. He cannot tell a joke to save his life. His body, sick from operations, will not allow him to tell a joke. That is why his crowd and I love him. He loves people and loves comedy by hating people and telling no jokes with timing. Timing. Timing. And repetition. And structure. And cadence. And repetition. And hate. And timing. And love. And love. And love. And love. And love. And a man with a mind made out of those hole reinforcers you can buy for ring-binding. And repetition.

LIVE! Doug Stanhope and Xiu Xiu

Two brief live reviews: when I say brief I mean 'I am trying to write them both during one play of 'Marquee Moon' (the song) by Television'.

DOUG STANHOPE + Henry Phillips
6th March 2012
Albert Halls, Bolton 
Doug Stanhope has been rightly resistant to playing too much in Britain. Britain treats comedy differently than the US. Britain intellectualises and demands more than mere clownishness and dick jokes. Her critics sting and barb and carp about stagecraft and insight and conceptual rigour, often without irony at their own situation. Comedy takes place as much in theatres and arenas with strict seating, where social rules about getting hammered kick in that bit harder.

Stanhope is fighting against that. He wants you sneak in your own booze: too late for this show, but if we take to Twitter we can aid his passage through the UK by generating some looser audiences. He also resists a narrative framework for his show, firing a shot across the bows of comedians who doggedly stick to a thematic concept, leaving them powerless when the news demands a comedic response and they're glued to their prepared act about being an imaginary ghost dog. Stanhope revels in playing the guttersnipe, bringing along an opening act that neatly fits the anti-concept concept.

Henry Phillips exudes an easy, erudite charm that neatly veneers a couple of decades of road-weariness. He's funny too: a musical comedian keen to the vagaries and ridiculousness of musical performers, finding joy in a hurricane of hubris. It's a craftsman's performance. The obvious 'jokes' hit home and the song structures are convincing as pastiches, but it's the subtler gestures, such as the facial expressions and altered voice to mock the mode of the 'sincere rock performer' that stay in the mind. He playfully mocks Britain to his friend, the headline act, watching in the wings.

Relatively sober and recently off the plane, Stanhope seems less animated than his years of fiery recordings would have him be. Quick to self-criticise though he is, Stanhope works almost as well when forced into roles he capably plays but never sells himself as: the raconteur, the veteran of clownish showmanship, the contrary armchair politician. Some audience members seem ruffled when Stanhope goes to bat for Republican/libertarian weirdo Ron Paul, but it's all part of the shtick: I am not your Bill Hicks, you cannot easily box me.

The show finale seemed to ruffle more (online, I checked, take my word for it) feathers than any specific political endorsement could. Easy to read as 'flag-waving for the USA' if you ignore the bit where he says 'ignore the whole government, bombs, flag-waving, foreign policy, crazy stuff' and focus on where he says 'AMERICA IS GREAT'. And he's right. Britain is still snooty about the USA. It's a great bit of comedic sleight-of-hand; he appeals to everybody's baser desire to be somewhere warmer, freer, easier, sexier in a way that skilfully insults how Britain culturally romanticises ugliness, stale morality, coldness, and visual austerity as some kind of act of ascetic brilliance. It works because in this bit, as he dreams about cocktails on Floridian sand at sun-up, he's mentally there and we've not taken that journey with him. We're in the stuffy British theatre and he's in the dunes and he is the one laughing at us.


XIU XIU + Trumpets of Death
13th March 2012
Ruby Lounge, Manchester
Running into a friend at the bar, he asks what I think of Trumpets of Death. 'A bit passive-aggressive', I say. This was an imperceptive, first-glance read. The Leeds trio variously recall Windy & Carl, The Telescopes, and late-period Talk Talk in their swooping, elegant set. At worst you could accuse them of lacking identity (and indeed shunning it altogether), but at best they're immersive and hypnotic, working up a cerebral lather with mechanical rhythm and trance-inducing saxophone runs.

There are two Xiu Xius. Alike in dignity, one follows in the mope-rock pantheon of The Smiths, Joy Division, and The Cure. The other owes more to a crossroads between Eastern modes and modern composition, and as such can be easily characterised as 'difficult music'. When Xiu Xiu begin with an abrasive number with bowed electric bass, nerve-jangling percussion, and abstract guitar scribbles, an audience braces itself and checks for the exits.

Three songs later, Jamie Stewart (singer, effectively he IS Xiu Xiu) is politely asking permission to perform a New Order cover that ushers in a full hour of the accessible side of Xiu Xiu to everybody's secret relief. New single 'Hi' is among highlights: an impressive 3-minute stab containing the coiled-up energy and pop nouse of younger bands and their initial efforts. Stewart still wants this.

A curious cove of a performer, Stewart calmly sips tea between songs to preserve his hesitant yelp of a voice, largely refuses audience engagement, and there is no encore. What really surprises to this newcomer to the Xiu Xiu live experience is that the band on record, with its array of ethnic instruments and songs led by autoharp, is reducible to the classic four-piece guitar-band line up without trading any of their signature fragility or tonal idiosyncrasy. This allows for a more direct and familiar experience, comparable to many an outsider band that have insisted upon faithful live recreation of their multi-instrumental experience in a way that induces deep tedium (naming no names).

Historically, for me at least, seeing a band live often marks the end of a spurt of a period of time spent listening to their work and sees the band steadily acclimatise into a kind of rota alongside previous likes and loves. The days since Xiu Xiu's performance have been the reverse: a binge across the nooks and crannies of their output, finding previously unheard collaborations and split albums of consistently high merit. A genuine treat.