Acoustic Night

Andi, resplendent in a white knitted top and a pair of leg coverings was in a funny mood, into a species of randomness as the faithful gathered in the Corvaggian half-light of the performance area for the 39^th time. She announced that our special Californian guest had been intercepted by a jobsworth at the airport and found to be short of a work permit, and was therefore not permitted to work. Since when has poetry been work? What is the world coming to? It is clearly going to the dogs.

A mysterious stranger dressed all in black, one Ian Kognita, kicked off. And what a kick! There was a palpable sense of threat as he powered through an episode of French events and glory days.

Gina Brigante reminded us that sex without love is just like…well…sex without love, before taking us to the great hole in the ground that is the New Broadmead, and universalising the construction that she saw taking place. Building works peel the skin off our superficial reality, revealing the claggy clayey planetary substance that lies beneath, hungrily waiting to receive our bodies back into itself once we have finished with them. In this she anticipated Wilf and his memories of cyclistic transport arrangements.

August 10^th, said Andi: slam poets Disraeli and Dreadlocks. September 10^th Instant Anthology, bring 75 copies of one poem, before introducing

David Sollors , who continued the theme of oppression and threat with a tour de force of an oppressor bearing down on a helpless child “your Wendy house a tin hut piled with skulls”.

Phil Baber shone a ray of Spanish sun into the rain-bedraggled Halo with his flamenco “Dance me ‘til I die” which argues most convincingly that dance is what it is all about, and without it life is nothing, or practically nothing. Then he refreshed us with his well-known and loved “Guitarra” which was impeccable but for the sudden case of wilt affecting the mike stand. Andi explained that it was purchased in Lidl, entirely the fault of the audience because we are too skimpy with our voluntary doughnations. To me, it looked like a case of brewers droop. Never mind, what the mike lacked in stand-upness, it made up for by being VERY LOUD INDEED.

The inimitable Bristol poet John Terry made the long walk to the drooping mike stand and told us a tale of magic and science, leading up to the thesis that the Eve’s Yang was yet to be balanced with a male Yin (or was it the other way round? It is so easy to mix the two up, and so difficult to disYinYangle them). His next learned exposition was of silences, and the exhortation to ignore the words that lay between the silences.

James Bunting had a Bouzouki named Sue (how do you do?) and sang first of memories of forgetfulness … the soul that loves to swim… none of me… every day, all drugstores and canapés, before launching into Country Life, the sorrow of silent fields, empty lanes drifting smoke, cattle burning in funeral pyres, the bitterness of a country boy watching his world being torn apart by the insanity of a bureaucratic (MAF/DEFRA) response to a minor cattle affliction that was foot and mouth UK 2001.

Rosemary Dun (www.rosemarydun.co.uk,) brought with her rained-out refugees from Ashton Court, and told her tragic tale of how she was not only unable to do drugs, but now finds that drinking makes her drunk. Never mind R. Try chocolate. Next we find that Rosemary loves to make passes at men who wear glasses, Xray-ted 4 eyes, horny rims, the clash of specs as the kiss is neared. We know what you mean.

Talking Tekla the Narrata on next. What a guy! Impeccable dress sense, a face that lights up the room, 180 word-a-minute delivery, yet intelligible and intelligent with it. He launches into Greed, we think yes, do them for being greedy b*stards, then it turns out that “I am you and you are me and we are Greed” and this is true, we are greedy. It is us doing the harm, not them. Which is good, because now we know that we can do something about it. Then he refreshed our memory of his run-in with the AA man – a classic that will one day be taught in schools. A morality tale of the days when dogs shat on the pavements, men had girlfriends and AA men were allowed to carry spanners.

After the break Andi sang of four and twenty virgins come from Inverness, before setting before us a tale of the gig manager earning her just reward for her labours, going on to challenge the morality, attractiveness or indeed the very existence of gods who backed barbaric acts of communal murder by having rocks thrown at your head.

Rosemary returned with a song of her life, in all its different phases – pony, mermaid &c - all filled with longing.

Gordon Graft new on the poetry scene, but speaking with a fluidity suggesting a lifetime of experience, giving voice to that lifetime in a poetic vernacular, told of gang warfare in the days when a shaven head was an existential statement not a lifestyle choice, and what that meant in terms of getting into fights in fairgrounds.

Miles Chambers set out the peculiar stress of falling between two identities, being accepted neither in England or Jamaica, in fluent language that gained immediate 100% acceptance with the population of the Halo. Followed by a classic poem of great emotional and human intensity, the message of a son to a father. Followed by another poem of power, the desire to be seen as just a person, the desire to be “normal”. No chance of that Miles: as a poet you are outstanding.

Polly Moyer gave two poems for Ali, impregnated with philosophical wisdom: “A pigeonhole is the only safe place for a narrow mind… Singing in the dark is reasonably harmless… Resistance is agile”.

Marco’s guitar gave us a song of hot dust that carries death upon its kiss, and an angry howl of personal and political politics, a song of pain and frustration, with only the plucked strings of the guitar somehow able to hold it all together, expressing a deep underlying harmony in the universe so badly distorted by human self seeking and foolishness that would make a chimpanzee hold its head and rock slowly bak and forth, wondering where it all went wrong…. It ended “Enjoy your lives…we’ll disappear into the forest”, which presupposes that someone has got it together to re-plant it – boring and backbreaking work though that may be.

Richard Lawson came forward to read a tiny fragment of his 6^th century Cornish Celtic epic, the story of Tristan and Yseult, told from the standpoint of the half-mad hermit Ogrin. The rest of it is up here: http://www.greenhealth.org.uk/Ogrin.htm

Continuing the reach back into history, Phil Baber led up a clutch or possibly clinch of musicians and singers called Laienda who put on John Barleycorn and Matty Groves, taking us back to countless places in history where the English gather in dimly lit rooms to hear stories and songs of conviviality, love and passion.

Guy Herbert kept the theme of love and threat going with a kiss poem worthy of Salvador Dali, a Knife Named Moses, and a romance that laid the motive for romance more than bare.

Wilf created a man then blew him up into a cloud of semi-toxic confetti, just to prove that “you can write about anything. Anything”. Which is true. Even more true, if such a thing is possible, was his memory of being on his dad’s bike seat as a child. From such a simple thing, a stream of consciousness flows, the “substance of my headspace”.

Then stepped forward the mighty Julian Ramsey Wade with a beautifully crafted plea for his friend to realise that he was drinking more than is good for him. A poem that could and indeed should be given to every alcoholic in the country. Put the liver transplant surgeons out of a job. He followed it up with an epic journey to work, where slowly the humdrum turns into the humdinger, as he addresses his fellow passengers on the bus on the subject of the pointlessness of their economic endeavours, with the result that he finds himself walking the last section of the journey. This man Julian is a fine fine poet, his language and his themes are worthy of national recognition, and we are lucky to have him in our Bristol midst.

In fact, the whole Bristol poetry scene is fizzing and jumping with talent, and in days to come people may look back at ACOUSTIC NIGHT at HALO and say, “God, that was good, there was so much talent there, I wonder what it was like actually to be there, soaking up the atmosphere, drinking it all in.” Well, you can find out. ACOUSTIC NIGHT 30^th July. HALO, Gloucester Road. 7.45 if you want to stand before the wilting mike . £2 or whatever you can afford in the jug. Be there or be a four-sided figure.

Thanks to Richard Lawson for the review

ACOUSTIC NIGHT STATS
VIRGINS                   4
AUDIENCE                 52
SAUCED MCs             1
DEAD MIC STANDS     1

Helen Gregory introduced the evening and made reference to the large number of virgins present (in an Acoustic Night sense only, of course!) and then performed a witty and affectionate poem in honour of her brother to get things started,

Misty Blue said she had “just popped in for lunch” – fortunately her music is far better than her timekeeping and blew us away with some gutsy acoustic guitar and a powerful voice. Is it so shameful to admit to visiting Halo specifically for Acoustic Night? She was followed by the “wonderful and captivating” (as described on our flyers for his guest spot on July 30^th) John Terry. His contrasting pieces were “Venus in Opposition”: wry, tender and as elegant as we have come to expect; and “Dirty Weekend” (subject matter needs no expansion!) Short but sweet (the poem , not John)

Our first virgin was Alex, who was accompanied by a mystery brunette (later revealed to be Shireea). Alex apologised for his songs being “a bit dark” but this mattered less than the intriguing lyrics and strong, confident performance.

Malusi then shared two poems with us on his Halo debut: “NostalJah” and “Corrupt Bird” were swiftly and confidently performed, containing uncompromising and impassioned words, some of which eluded your correspondent’s ears.

Trevor George was a third virgin, but is already heavily involved in the acoustic scene in Bristol. Not only did he perform two songs – “I’m no expert” (written by Dino Dini, former and hopefully future Acoustic Night performer) and “I can see clearly now” with the skill and confidence to turn down the pace and volume of the evening to a gentle flow – but he took a number of photographs which he has placed onto the internet for anyone to view (see www.open-mic.me.uk).

Talkin Tekla Tha Narrata, a comparative veteran and just past his 40^th birthday (or so he told us) provided a rapid, amusing and wholly unnecessary excuse for performing old pieces and the gave us “The Would Be Poet” and “Spanner”, both of which showcase his writing and performance skills. Even though we had heard them before, they were worth hearing!

One poor rendition of Happy Birthday later, and David Johnson closed the first half with “Danny and the Dishwasher”: a poem for which the word Dahlesque has been or should be invented. The final piece of the half – “The Frustration of Campaigners” was an ecology-driven poem including witty references and a canny sense of form.

BREAK

Hazel Hammond took over MC duties for the second half and introduced the guest performer. Ian Sills then unashamedly performed a bunch of older pieces: the often heard “Overhang” and “Ever Fallen…?”; “Exile on Main Street” (particularly apt in the week of the smoking ban); “Back to Front Blues” which got the crowd going and then the introduction of MC Joocee Fruit (Pete Hunter) to join DJ Chee-zee Quava (Ian) for the Sweet Rap which was extremely well-received.

Phil Baber followed, overcoming microphone stand frailties to perform two “covers of his own songs”. The second, “Let’s not fall in love” is likely to become something of a favourite in weeks to come. Pete Hunter then returned to the stage and performed “the School of Embryonic Thought”: a poem full of terrifying imagery; and a piece which wittily explored the parent/child relationship in Franglais. As usual, the evening definitely benefits from his inimitable contribution.

Tanya Rice performed two songs next. Another performer new to Halo, she sang “Rain and Snow” (a traditional song) followed by the self-written “Strange Birds”. She is another distinctive talent who will hopefully return soon.

Polly Moyer, a more familiar face, performed “Familiar”, a slightly older piece but a charming ode to summer (what summer?). “Nothing shadows the moon”, her second piece, is a celebration of friendship,

Jack Bird came to Halo after making contact with Andi at Eldon House – all the way from Glastonbury, he is another newcomer to Halo but no newcomer to performance. King of Blues, his first song, was written on the death of his mother-in-law and thus though (understandably) sad, was beautifully written and skilfully performed. Joined by Tanya for his second song, they transformed into Dylan and Baez for a protest song about the helplessness of people caught up in the Iraq war.

Claudio is another irregular visitor: he gave us a version of “If” which contained words Rudyard Kipling may not have know but took the mickey out of capitalism something rotten. “Life is a soup of sorrows” was about self-improvement and whether worrying about it meant you missed out on life itself.

Vid Warren (another newcomer) gave us “Hedgehog and Butterfly” – the meeting of night and day; the meeting of two minds. He then produced a most unusual conglomeration of beatboxing, mouth organ and recorder playing to produce a unique sort of sea shanty – you really had to be there! See you again, Vid!

To follow that, if possible, Guy Herbert performed “Rubbish Blueprint Written in Pencil” which was laughing at helpful and unhelpful advice as well as itself; and “My Mountain” an entirely different piece in the 18^th century style of Coleridge or Shelley.

Cathy Keal then rounded the evening off with a poem about depression and then her tale about her Oxfam Shoes which roams from Mike Leander to Sir Paul McCartney and saunters around the world and the last 40 years in a saga of epic proportions. Why are my shoes never so exciting?

ACOUSTIC NIGHT STATS
VIRGINS 6
AUDIENCE ooh we lost count!!
NICE TO SEE YOU AGAINS CLAUDIO, MISTY BLUE
MISSING YOU ANDI, WILLS, OUR NEW CAMERA!!!!