Poles Apart at Rich Mix

Poles Apart was an excellent theatrical experience on Saturday evening.

Our little group arrived at Rich Mix with just enough time to round up a few drinks and settle into seats before Polish tunes heralded the start of the show.

It was Hardgraft's presentation of Mark Whiteley and Daniel Hoffmann-Gill describing their reverse immigration experiences as two Brits seeking work in Poland. A 2000 or so mile job hunt adventure from Oldham to Warsaw mirrored the journey that thousands of Polish people have made to the United Kingdom.

And what a trip! Dan's defective car stranded him somewhere in France calling upon Wizzair (Yup, its real) to get them to what proved to be an almost job-free zone.

The action was cleverly constructed and whilst engaging and downright funny, there was a strong back story and narrative throughout. Amongst the humour was much poignant description of the European relationship to Poland, through terrible war years and including the horrors of Nazi and Russian occupation. War, Genocide, Poverty, Expatriation. All topics were handled and in a way that fully and sometimes literally engaged the audience.

What also came through was a genuine delight and positivity about the Polish people that Mark and Dan had met. They may have found it tough to get work with their badly written letters of introduction and stuttery speech, but they commented positively on the people they had met, their kindness and sense of humour.

They also described the feelings they found as two people isolated as non-workers outside of a community and the inevitable arguments and stress between them that this created.

Both players were strong performers and able to move into improvisation, whether with volunteers on stage or handling unexpected questions from the audience during some of the interactions. The set was minimal but effective and the two actors filled the stage with a confident presence and a wealth of moves that also ensured no slowing of pace throughout the entire show.

There were some additional scenes woven in to this performance, which reminded me of the cut-aways sometimes in Lorca or Brecht, to add side bar commentary. Recent UK immigration developments with election of MEPs from the BNP drove the points being made, involving a variety of denial scenes with musical accompaniment. Funny, but in that bitter sweet way reminiscent of 1930s German burlesque.

I was impressed with this show. Two fellahs on stage dressed in suits and white trackies, wouldn't always work, but here the performance skills, the foundation storyline and agenda as well as a willingness to go 'off-sausage' during the performance kept us all entertained throughout.

Well done and thank you.

Poles Apart from Hard Graft Theatre on Vimeo.

the eyes have it

As if I'm really posting this at 23:59. I'm not even home yet.

After a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and evening, the sideways rain arrived like bullet shafts of water mingling with the electric lighting from the Cinema in the Kings Road. We'd already run from this apparent shelter to an adjacent bus stop after seeing a Number 22 disappear in the opposite direction with one of our number.

Meanwhile we'd entered the Twilight Zone of Night Buses and the thought of water mixed with electricity for a second time was more than any of us could bear.

But let's wind back a bit.

Art
Brick Lane, late afternoon. A quiet errand to pick up a copy of Glitter and Doom from Rough Trade, and to drop into the Hidden Arts Fair in Truman's Brewery. All to plan and a chance to catch up on gossip from artydesignerfriend Linda.

Linda makes vibrant joyful designs on fabrics which I think should be placed in frames as proper artworks.

Drink
Then, via the salsa dancing in Spitalfields to the Commercial Tavern for the next stage.

I'd arranged to meet a small gang there ahead of a visit to show in the neighbourhood. The slight trouble was I wouldn't recognize one of our group.

I was first to arrive, listening to slide guitar blues, watching for an empty table or for any of our group to arrive. I knew train works meant the whole area was a total exclusion zone for tube connections so everyone was likely to be late.
Meet
Then she arrived, alone, eyes scanning the room, looking for someone.

I began to think I should have chosen a pub that wasn't famous for always being completely dark and candle lit. I paused and introduced myself, except something was wrong. It was the eyes. They didn't look quite right.

"No, thats not me", she politely replied, before going to stand at the darkest corner of the dark bar fiddling with her phone. I glanced a few minutes later as her companion joined her and thought their shadows moved upstairs.

A few minutes passed and I noticed her arrive again through the front door. Alone. Except something was different - it was the eyes - they looked recognisable.

She headed purposefully to the same corner of the bar and continued chatting to the man, who somehow looked different in the dim light. But I noticed her disengage as my phone scuttled across the table. I stood, turned as she turned towards me. It was Ellie. We'd met, but both intercepted other people first.

The complicated wonders of blog-world.

Gang
Of course, we needed a full gang to make the trip to the next venue work - plenty of whooping and hollering would be required. So a few minutes later, John and Melanie appear and then a little later our last team member, Beth. With an umbrella.

Curry
We left Hoxditch and headed back into Brick Lane. Choice of food...Why, curry of course, complete with street corner negotiations and a somewhat compressed time to chase down Cobra beer, poppadoms, curry and rice.

Then the speedy stroll through the length of the area once wandered by Jack the Ripper, before arriving at the evening's venue.

More of that tomorrow...

over 50k words on nanowrimo

Bleary-eyed, surrounded by reference books and unwashed coffee cups, Thursday blipped over 50,000 words on the NaNoWriMo project. To be truthful, it surprised me. To be even more truthful, the coffee cups were clean and I use the internet for reference. But I was bleary-eyed.

It surprised me to be at that point before the last weekend in November. When I tried using the 'official' word counter instead of the one in my software, my word count actually went down again. I probably needed to add some more weather descriptions to bulk out the word count.

But I'd written a couple of sections separately on another computer, so when I finally combined everything it suddenly jumped to just over 51,000 words. I ran it twice because I didn't believe the numbers the first time. I was sure I'd need a few more evenings to get to the number.

There's a couple of big things to do though. Firstly, although I think I know how to wrap things up in the story, I will need to write another 10-20,000 to get to that point. Secondly, there's a plot change that I thought of part way through and I need to re-apply to all of the front part of the story.

I don't think there is any danger of getting this finished in the next few weeks and I suppose it would be wise to create a gap before re-assessing for an edit.

quiet day at the office

I can still remember when $60bn was a lot of money. Today, the interest on it would only buy a couple of new Formula 1 circuits.

So when the news about Dubai defaulting on interest payments popped up today, most of America was on holiday. And the middle east is getting ready for their long weekend celebrating Eid.

I know the London Stock Exchange ground to a halt. I know it was explained to be for 'technical reasons'. But its probably nothing to worry about.

wrong kind of shopping

I'll admit that the first of my seasonal shopping has started, although this year there are some quite noticeable High Street changes. One is the narrowing of stock from certain retailers.

Its okay for generic items, but some specific items are not in the stores. There's a difference between, for example, 'a book' or 'a CD' and one with a specific title. I suppose that is an internet impact.

I tried to obtain at least three different items using traditionalist "walking into shops" methods, but was unsuccessful. I also walked into a shop which then asked all of the customers to leave because their computer systems had crashed and would take twenty minutes to re-instate.

Inevitably I'm moving my searching across to the internet, but if my experiences are commonplace, then it does sound a warning bell for further high street stores.

Update Since I wrote this, I see one high street book chain is having some trouble.

glitter and doom

Tom Waits only did his last tour to the towns where people owed him money, so most of us have to put up with the album.

Form a disorderly and sprawling line at your record store after you've listened to the rare gift of a seven track Tom Waits preview of glitter and doom via the link below.

We sail tonight for Singapore,
We're all as mad as hatters here
I've fallen for a tawny Moor,
Took off to the land of Nod
Drank with all the Chinamen,
Walked the sewers of Paris
I danced along a colored wind,
Dangled from a rope of sand
You must say goodbye to me

We sail tonight for Singapore,
Don't fall asleep while you're ashore
Cross your heart and hope to die
When you hear the children cry
Let marrow bone and cleaver choose
While making feet for children shoes
Through the alley, back from hell,
When you hear that steeple bell
You must say goodbye to me

Wipe him down with gasoline
'til his arms are hard and mean
From now on boys this iron boat's your home
So heave away, boys

We sail tonight for Singapore,
Take your blankets from the floor
Wash your mouth out by the door,
The whole town's made of iron ore
Every witness turns to steam,
They all become Italian dreams
Fill your pockets up with earth,
Get yourself a dollar's worth
Away boys, away boys, heave away

twink

Twinkly Sloane Square rendezvous, then downstairs to the bar, before early supper and onwards to a concert in West London.

For one amongst us, there's a tour in full swing, and for the rest of us, there are varied mixes of folk who converge and provide support.

This time it was onward to Hammersmith, but instead of pre-gig Tex-Mex or Tapas, we'd made the most of the Sunday tradition of Oriel's before hitting the District line.

aspidistras, anyone?

What was I thinking yesterday? Staying in to watch shabbily constructed television? Writing an almost negative post? There must have been a temporary fault in my reality. Maybe its because I was abandoned yesterday evening whilst others took a sports car downtown for merriment.

Far more positively, alongside my lone rainy foot expedition to the Tandoori, through 90mph horizontal car-wash storms, I also completed a private project and have bundled it all off for its next stage in Germany. That's alongside the work project which is in its last stages too.

I also somehow clocked another couple of chapters for "The Square", although it seems to be accomplished in rather small units of time this year. Not quite Gordon Comstock, but parts of it have appeared whilst hanging around at bus-stops. The last piece I wrote featured the upper deck of a 137, so it is all getting a little weird.

I'll figure out how to knit it together. Once I've found a use for the secret underground elevator.

newsflash : trash television is unwatchable

I nearly watched some ordinary television this evening, at the same time that it was being broadcast. My first attempt was during the 'X Factor', which I watched for about 2-3 minutes. The Irish guy was arguing about the rules and the one with the centre parting was saying "You know what" and claiming credit for influencing a smiling but slightly hapless looking singer, who had apparently given one hundred and ten per cent. I think it might have been a repeat because I recognised all of the elements.

I couldn't stay tuned.

Later, I flicked onto another normal channel and found Jordan being asked to eat raw? blue offal, but quaintly refusing. The two little guys who used to be on X factor were quietly egging her on, but I decided even faster to leave this moribund selection. I think it was that show about celebrities marooned next to a five star hotel in Australia, but I actually thought that Katie Jordan had already done that show. Surely not twice?

I've decided that my normal technique of preselecting a few programmes on Sky+ is probably still best, although I might miss the joy of watching shows at the same time as everyone else.

In truth I'm saddened that we've managed to drive prime time weekend television to such a low level. So bad I couldn't even stay for the adverts to know which products to boycott.

Its a good excuse to be out somewhere although I think some more writing might be an option.

the hazard of missing keys

There was much confusion on the way to the Decemberist's gig. It could have been from their own lyrics:

And remember how you found the key
To the hide-out in the Pyrenees
But you wanted to keep the secret safe
So you threw the key away.

I'd arrived at the agreed meeting place early, with a key to let myself in to wait. Except it didn't work.

So I headed for the river for to wait a while for liberation
stars for a roof above my head shining

Except, when my liberator finally arrived on the 137 bus, she too was keyless. Much scuffling as we waited for others to appear from the public transport system. And finally, we were able to let ourselves in, to retrieve the tickets to the gig at the Coronet.

"Taxi"

Elephant and Castle. Tunnels. Fast moving line. Metal detectors. Corridor. Sharp Left. Bar. Murphy's.

And then to take position. We had plenty of time whilst Pink Floyd's albatross was hanging motionless upon the air. I seemed to be the only one that knew the track. Meddle. Echoes.

Then a shimmy to the side and we took position for the band.

Who opened with the entire Hazards of Love album, played non stop, as one piece, complete with multiple instrument changes and all manner of swapping around on the stage.

Amazing- a complete tour-de-force. Energetically played, a kind of modernist folk story. I've heard the album many times, but as a piece played live it seemed to really come together. We all thought the same; as we sipped drinks before the second half, we chatted about how much more defined the story was for seeing it in a live performance.

Similarly the textures, from quiet mandolins and acoustic guitars, to all out whammy bar chunks of air power chords. And a great mixture of front man Colin Meloy and the rest of the band including the extra singers providing a yin and yang of styles.

Part 2.
We decided to be right at the front for part 2, which meant getting a wriggle on. We abandoned middling and used the old RHS technique to get to the very front and struck suitable seafaring poses in preparation for a second half. Which turned out to be a sort of greatest hits section, complete with good crowd conducting and the appearance and disappearance at various stages of an inflatable whale brought by some of the onlookers.

I managed to catch a small video snippet from the guitar and hurdy-gurdy of Eli the Barrow Boy

It worked though, because the band decided to play Mariner's Revenge in this section, which is seldom heard live on these fair shores.

We all screamed in the right place and could have become plankton, although fortunately we'd all prepared suitable gig names in advance so I think I became an idler roustabout.

So what do I think? They are excellent fun as a band- I'm not sure they quite knew where they were....East London seemed to be the stage consensus, but we all know it was down sarf.

I've listened to them for years and love their lyrics which create entire often edgy novel plots in a few sentences. Their front man Colin keeps a sparkle in his eyes as they perform and their whole band energy and counterpoints are quite infectious.

Tonight they are on Jools Holland performing a small piece from The Hazards of Love - during which they all beat drums. Just remember they all play dozens of instruments. Demand a full showing of a concert on our television.

And they played sixteen military wives.

related posts:
we both go down together
the hazards of love video

hazards of love - decemberists video trailer

Will post about the excellent gig when I get my voice back from the second half special effects at the Coronet, with the Decemberists.

Meantime, here's the trippy advert for the film of the album, if you know what I mean.

Oh, and that St Martin's video of the Rake's song.

blue is the colour of four knocks

I've been chained to my desk again today and I'm just about to start my evening shift. I did take a short break for food and watched the Bowie base on Mars being attacked in Doctor Who.

But not by spiders. The Waters of Mars.

There were water based organisms that made people into smiling cracked faced Zombies.

The Thing meets Shaun of the Dead.

It was quite an enjoyable episode, with plenty of references to other movies. Silent Running's hydroponic garden, a rather cranky Meccano robot that could have been from Short Circuit or Wall-E. A joke about dog robots.

A colony with a chain of modules that looked like the main space ship from 2001 dug into the dirt.

Some blippiness in the soundtrack from 2001. Come to think of it, an 'open the pod bay door' kind of moment.

Some pulled back scenes that could have come from Thunderbirds.

Running through lots of empty hangers whilst talking about the cost of shipping bicycles to the planet. I was wondering how much metal there was in the apparently wasted space they had to run through. It would have made a lot of bikes. And shorter corridors.

There was also some good ensemble wobbliness in the first part. Kind of ancient Doctor Who acting. Wooden handshakes and a few long pauses. Like a live show where someone has almost forgotten their lines. I'm sure it was some kind of homage.
And the really cool ray guns and walky talkies, like something from Mars Attacks. Water pistols that fire death rays.

Of course, it turned into a proper story about moments in time. Fortunately, the Doctor has a perfect memory and could recall the exact web pages describing the doomed fate of the fledgling space colony.

Boom.

And he knew it was one of those moments, like Pompeii, that you are not supposed to change. Not even as a Time Lord.

So we moved from 'base under attack' to 'fatalistic ending - it has to explode'.

The Doctor should leave. But he hesitated in his special crash helmet and came back.

Maybe he could be a god and change everything? Even when he wasn't supposed to. Could he rule time?

Then we saw the countdown of the space station's inbuilt bomb. And how cool were those graphics? Someone had a lot of time on their hands to make the numbers look so interesting for people about to be blown up.

Of course, with a single leap, they escaped.

Kind of. We see a blue flash as the base captain kills herself (we assume!?) to reset time. The Doctor is clearly on the edge of going dark.

What finer than a snow bedecked setting for a few ghosts to appear and four knocks to sound the end of this particular Doctor?

We shall see.

At Christmas.