STROLLING out for the biggest Scottish date he’s played during a topsy turvy 20-year career, it’s clear that even the Festival Theatre stage isn’t enough to contain Stewart Lee’s comedy vehicle. Taking his cue from the Johnny Vegas school of wandering among the people (minus the overt physicality), Lee eventually makes his way up to…
Cutting edge comedian Stewart Lee performed at a packed Truro Hall for Cornwall last night. Seats were in short supply as the Lee brought his unique comedy act to the stage as part of his live tour taking him up and down the country. As well as stand-up comedy, Lee has broadcast on television and…
IF EVER a stand-up comedian divided opinion, then Stewart Lee is that man. Opinion is heft right down the middle, as suggested by two contrasting quotes Lee puts on his website – “One of the top three or four living stand-ups” (Time Out) versus “The worst stand-up I have ever seen” (Graham Simmons, Chortle). I…
YOU may have paid your money, but Stewart Lee isn’t going to go easy on you. The greying comedian, who made a recent return to television screens with BBC Two’s Comedy Vehicle, cast an unforgiving eye over everything from coffee shop loyalty cards to Top Gear as he took to the stage of Malvern’s Forum…
"In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time online learning to code so that it could add crude butterfly animations to the backgrounds of its weblogs, the generation immediately following had spent most of its time online making incredibly bigoted jokes in order to laugh at the idiots who were stupid enough to think that they meant it. Except that after a while they did mean it, and then somehow at the end of it they were white supremacists. Was this always how it happened?"
Patricia Lockwood, London Review of Books, Feb 2019
"This is the Trump way. Fire, fire, fire with the blunderbuss and don’t worry if a shot or two hits an innocent bystander. Keep moving forwards - even as your opponents return fire. Never seriously consider the criticisims, just loose off more shots. It is a strategy that has benefitted Britain’s Trump tribute act, Boris Johnson. As an opinion columnist on The Telegraph , Johnson specialised in offence, from writing in 2002 that the Queen loved the Commonwealth because "it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving picaninnies" to his recent descriptions of Muslim women in burqas "looking like letterboxes". Such comments are deliberate provocation, pushing the boundaries of what it is permissible for a senior politician to say. IN AN ATTENTION ECONOMY, THEY ARE HARD CURRENCY. Any backlash can be portrayed as "political correctness gone mad" or "liberal Stalinism". Even having to say sorry can be taken as proof that once again, the liberal totalitarians have triumphed. It is a game in which every path leads to victory. Yes, it is divisive, but for every voter who is repulsed, the calculation is, another is attracted."
Helen Lewis, New Statesman, 7th June 2019
Edinbros reccommendos
I have just finished a week in Edinburgh. Here are some things I loved to bits that you still have ten days or so to see if you are there.
Paul Currie – Release The Baboons – Heroes Boteco – 12noon. This show makes you feel like a playful happy child.
Grayson Perry – Dovecote Studios. Perry’s done an exhibition about the life of an ordinary post-war woman, but portrayed her in various mixed media in the way a king or an Emperor would normally be commemorated. It is ace and asks loads of questions about class, status and the untold stories of the average person.
Blueswater presents Blues – Surgeon’s Hall – 7.10pm. As usual, Blueswater rock and educate.
Wireless Operator - Pleasance Courtyard - 12.40pm. This is a superb show about a Lancaster Bomber crew member with brilliant acting, staging and sound design. It manages to ask questions about culpability without undermining the notion of heroism and sacrifice of the airmen.
Beetlemania - Kafka For Kids - Pleasance 11.50 am. Fringe comedy legends Will Adamsdale and Tom Parry head a strong quartet that manage to convey the essential hilarious and absurd despair of Kafka and make it fun for all the family. My 8 year old loved it. Has to be seen.
Boulder - The Pleasance 12.10 pm. This is puppets and modern folk music and artisanal stage design re-telling the myth of Sisyphus as an everyman parable about the everyday struggle to survive.
Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein - McEwan’s Hall, 2.45 pm Live German expressionist cinema with puppets, shadows, 4 piece band and humans.
Inflatable Space – Assembly Roxy – 4.15pm. This is an amazing theatre piece about the voyager probe, beautifully staged, that makes the little space machine into a sympathetic character in its own right. I loved it.
ROSIE JONES - PLEASANCE CTYARD - 7pm. It’s all sold out.
Other members of the family lost their shit over
JOSIE LONG
JONNY AND THE BAPTISTS
DAVID O’DOHERTY
1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LONDON
I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. More national dates from Feb 2020 will be announced later in the year, but I am going to do less than last time, but with longer runs in bigger rooms to hit the same demand, sadly, as the length of the last run nearly killed me, as you can see from the BBC film of the show.
The initial London dates will be work in progress, with a free DVD of CONTENT PROVIDER for all ticket holders and fans of obsolete physical media. Tons of fun!
I will film this show/these shows in the Summer of 2020 for offloading to whatever content platforms are still viable at that stage in late capitalism's technologically-driven cultural decline.
David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO.
Double-bill of two new 60-ish minute sets, back to back nightly from "the world's greatest living stand-up" (Times).
Tornado questions a shipwrecked Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly lists his show as "reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe." What is anything? Is it this?
And Snowflake questions our worth in a collapsing society which no longer shares the liberal values we have for so long been keen to be seen to espouse, in a fairy-tale landscape of winter wonder. Tons of fun!
SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Work-in-Progress and DVD LAUNCH
Leicester Square Theatre, London.
A run of work-in-progress gigs to celebrate the DVD launch of his celebrated last live show CONTENT PROVIDER.
Each ticket will include a very special limited edition copy of the new DVD, exclusively available to bookers of this live show.
Stewart will be signing copies after the show.
Sept 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th - 7pm start
Oct 1st , 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th Oct - 8.45pm start
2 hrs including interval
£26.50 including DVD of Content Provider (RRP £19.95)
Stewart Lee - Snowflake/Tornado.
Leicester Square Theatre, London.
October - December 2019
Tues 29th October 8.45pm - Sat Dec 14th
No Mondays, No Sundays, & not Sat Nov 30th
January 2020
Thurs 2nd Jan 8.45pm - Sat 25th Jan
No Mondays, No Sundays, & not Jan 9th
8.45 pm Stewart on stage
2 hrs + interval
Tues, Weds, Thurs £27.50
Friday & Saturday £29.50
All shows are 14+ apparently. If you are under 14 you are too immature to enjoy my swearing and farts.
In the case of sold out shows, there are often returns added, & Leicester Square maintain a waiting list, so check with the venue.
SEPTEMBER 2019
Tuesday 24th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 25th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 26th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 27th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 28th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
OCTOBER 2019
Tuesday 1st - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 2nd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 3rd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 4th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 5th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
OCTOBER 2019
Tuesday 29th - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 30th - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 31st - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
NOVEMBER 2019
Friday 1st SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 2nd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 5th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 6th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 7th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 8th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 9th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 12th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 14th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Friday 15th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 16th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 19th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 21st SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Friday 22nd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 23rd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
"There's no-one else to touch him" Mark Wareham, Mail On Sunday *****
"Lee remains one of the best stand-ups in the country" ***** Metro
"The world's best living stand-up comedian" Dominic Maxwell, The Times
"He makes stand-up almost a moral pursuit, ... that makes the usual (and more popular) stand-ups seem crude and obvious." Alan Bennet, London Review Of Books.
"Proper, vicious prejudice - a self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground" Sarah Vine, Daily Mail
"A pot-bellied Bernard Manning for snowflakes" Tony Parsons, The Sun
"Woke, enlightened, professionally sensitive, BBC-approved comedian who can be guaranteed to dress to the left. The rancid tip of a cesspit." - Tony Parsons, GQ
"If I could bring one extinct thing back to life it would be Stewart Lee's sense of humour." Frankie Boyle, The Guardian
"The opposite of what really good comedy should be" Toby Young, Radio 4
"Truly, he is the Oscar Wilde of our times" - Gary Bushell, The Daily Star
NB - I DID 5 MONTHS IN TOTAL AT LST OF CONTENT PROVIDER BETWEEN 2016-2018, AND THEN 4 ROYAL FEST HALLS AND THEY ALL SOLD OUT.
ONCE THESE DATES ARE DONE I AM NOT COMING BACK FOR MORE THIS TIME SO GET TICKETS IF YOU WANT THEM.
2) SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO 2020 TOUR + VIAGOGO
Currently confirmed / onsale as follows.
NOTE: This is not the complete list. More national dates are currently being added & confirmed & will be announced soon.
Not all dates are currently on sale.
As further dates are announced / go on sale, they will be listed on the Live Dates page of the website & via this newsletter as they come in.
Thursday 26th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - King's Theatre, Glasgow
Friday 27th March 2020 - 7.30pm - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Saturday 28th March 2020 - 7.30pm - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
April 2020
Wednesday 29th April 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Thursday 30th April 2020 - 7.30pm - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
May 2020
Friday 1st May 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd May 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd May 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Machynlleth (Comedy Festival)
Saturday 16th May 2020 ON SALE SOON - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
Sunday 17th May 2020 ON SALE SOON - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
NB VIAGOGO ETC.
Tickets have started appearing at up to 4 times face value on the ticket-bastard website Viagogo, specifically for the Sheffield shows, with doubtless more to follow.
I know which seats these are and I will come down from the stage and find anyone who has bought from Viagogo, or Stubhub, and I will throw them out personally and I will not refund them at a later date.
If you want to buy illegal tickets and have the money refunded go and see soft-hearted Rhod Gilbert, who will do this out of his own money. I will not. There is no need to cooperate with these criminals.
Tickets will be available at normal rates from the venue and I will endeavour to add on extra dates to meet any demand.
3) SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO WORK IN PROGRESSES
I am doing 3 work in progress shows at Susan Murray's RED IMP comedy club in Walthamstow in September. The dates are;
Monday 9th September
Tuesday 10th September
Thursday 12th September
Red Imp is a small club and tickets always go out to their mailing list subscribers first, so sign up to their mailing list here to be the first to know when they are released in September.
There is a new version of the show on at the Hope Mill Theatre in M’cr until the end of August. It has been VERY WELL REVIEWED which is marvellous.
5) CONTENT PROVIDER DVD
CONTENT PROVIDER has dropped off the BBC I-player.
I know they are allowed to put it on there three more times, but they do tend to need a nudge. Perhaps they will show it again. Who knows?
All four series of COMEDY VEHICLE are still up on there anyway. See how the world has changed for the worse in a decade. How quaint the liberal’s manageable dilemmas of 2013 seem now.
The third, and perhaps best, series of COMEDY VEHICLE seems to be on Netflix in the UK and, I think, the US.
It seems you can also stream CARPET REMNANT WORLD and the first 3 series of COMEDY VEHICLE on Chris Ramsey’s Amazon channel, here and I think in the US.
Beats me! And, as I said above, CONTENT PROVIDER will be available as an Old Skool physical media DVD in the Autumn.
Tons of fun!
6) oxide ghosts/wok in progress
Fire Records, Films and Comedy present: ONE NIGHT ON EARTH.
Stewart Lee Upfront Work-In-Progress Show/ Oxide Ghosts: The Brass Eye Tapes Film Screening presented by Michael Cumming.
Michael Cumming (Brass Eye), James Nicholls (Fire films) and I are now 1/3rd of the way through filming and editing and are looking for donations to complete the film below, which is about Birmingham post-punk survivors The Nightingales. Everyone who donates, no matter how big or how small*, will be featured in the end credits
*(I think this sentence, written by James from Fire, relates to the size of the donation, not the donor.)
March of the Lemmings - Brexit in Print and Performance 2016-2019
Due for release on 5th September 2019, Faber will publish comedian Stewart Lee’s next book, March of the Lemmings, based on his newspaper columns, providing “the scathing, riotous record the Brexit era deserves”.
“As a Metropolitan Elitist Snowflake, Stewart Lee was disappointed by the Brexit referendum result of 2016. But he knew how to weaponise his inconvenience. He would treat all his subsequent writing, until we left the EU, as interrelated episodes of a complete work. The cast of characters include Lemming-obsessed Michael Gove, violent tanning-salon entrepreneur Tommy Robinson and Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Bumboys Letterbox Cake Disaster Weightloss Haircut Bullshit Johnson."
There is also a "a dramatic chorus is made up of online commenters and Kremlin bots" with Lee cast as the "defeated, unreliable narrator-hero, whose resolve and tolerance would gradually unravel as the horror show dragged on.
Drawing on three years of newspaper columns, a complete transcript of the 'Content Provider' stand-up show, and Lee’s caustic footnote commentary, March of the Lemmings is the scathing, riotous record the Brexit era deserves.”
The code is not case sensitive, and the discount will be live from now until the end of August.
Stewart Lee
2019-08-16T12:09:25+01:00
"In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time online learning to code so that it could add crude butterfly animations to the backgrounds of its weblogs, the generation immediately following had spent most of its time online making incredibly bigoted jokes in order to laugh at the idiots who were stupid enough to think that they meant it. Except that after a while they did mean it, and then somehow at the end of it they were white supremacists. Was this always how it happened?" Patricia Lockwood, London Review of Books, Feb 2019 "This is the Trump way. Fire, fire, fire with the blunderbuss and don’t worry if a shot or two hits an innocent bystander. Keep moving forwards - even as your opponents return fire. Never seriously consider the criticisims, just loose off more shots. It is a strategy that has benefitted Britain’s Trump tribute act, Boris Johnson. As an opinion columnist on The Telegraph , Johnson specialised in offence, from writing in 2002 that the Queen loved the Commonwealth because "it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving picaninnies" to his recent descriptions of Muslim women in burqas "looking like letterboxes". Such comments are deliberate provocation, pushing the boundaries of what it is permissible for a senior politician to say. IN AN ATTENTION ECONOMY, THEY ARE HARD CURRENCY. Any backlash can be portrayed as "political correctness gone mad" or "liberal Stalinism". Even having to say sorry can be taken as proof that once again, the liberal totalitarians have triumphed. It is a game in which every path leads to victory. Yes, it is divisive, but for every voter who is repulsed, the calculation is, another is attracted." Helen Lewis, New Statesman, 7th June 2019 Edinbros reccommendos I have just finished a week in...
Comic Stewart Lee is nothing short of a contradiction.
He's a comedians' comedian who hates most comedians and an award winning comic who holds a blatant disregard for comedy awards.
Mr Lee spends much of the first half condemning the majority of the crowd for not being on his wavelength, while the second half is one long complaint that he has nothing to talk about.
Throughout Friday's show, which is part of the Glasgow Comedy festival, he attacks the conventions of popular comics such as Frankie Boyle (he describes the use of a shocking phrase at the end of a bad joke as "Boyle's Law"), Michael McIntyre and the fresh batch of young comedians he despairingly describes as "the Russells".
Half stand-up show, half lecture in which he breaks down the structure of stand-up, the audience leaves a Stewart Lee gig feeling they know an awful lot more about comedy than they did going in.
At the sold out King's Theatre, it is easy to tell that Mr Lee would feel far more at home at a smaller venue such as The Stand, or so he would have you believe.
He uses the crowd to great effect, playing them off one another — those in the stalls who understand the jokes and have been with him since the beginning, against those in the circle whom, he describes friends of fans, who can't be bothered thinking and would be more at home at a taping of Michael McIntyre's comedy road show.
Time and time again, he pulls the crowd in with shock and awe comments similar to that of Frankie Boyle, before lambasting the audience for enjoying them.
The venom is not just for other comedians and the audience, but he also saves some for himself.
He breaks down his own joke structures before launching into a 10 minute verbatim reading of online criticisms accompanied by jazz music while apparently drinking red wine straight out the bottle.
Stewart Lee is clearly not for everyone and watching him can be hard work — but it's rewarding.
A friend with whom I attended the show — and an aspiring stand-up — had never been to see Mr Lee in person and described the experience as being "one chalked off the bucket list".
While this is in stark contrast to the online vitriol around Stewart Lee and his "stupid smug face", you get the feeling that's just how he wants it.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-26T14:03:42+01:00
Comic Stewart Lee is nothing short of a contradiction. He's a comedians' comedian who hates most comedians and an award winning comic who holds a blatant disregard for comedy awards. Mr Lee spends much of the first half condemning the majority of the crowd for not being on his wavelength, while the second half is one long complaint that he has nothing to talk about. Throughout Friday's show, which is part of the Glasgow Comedy festival, he attacks the conventions of popular comics such as Frankie Boyle (he describes the use of a shocking phrase at the end of a bad joke as "Boyle's Law"), Michael McIntyre and the fresh batch of young comedians he despairingly describes as "the Russells". Half stand-up show, half lecture in which he breaks down the structure of stand-up, the audience leaves a Stewart Lee gig feeling they know an awful lot more about comedy than they did going in. At the sold out King's Theatre, it is easy to tell that Mr Lee would feel far more at home at a smaller venue such as The Stand, or so he would have you believe. He uses the crowd to great effect, playing them off one another — those in the stalls who understand the jokes and have been with him since the beginning, against those in the circle whom, he describes friends of fans, who can't be bothered thinking and would be more at home at a taping of Michael McIntyre's comedy road show. Time and time again, he pulls the crowd in with shock and awe comments similar to that of Frankie Boyle, before lambasting the audience for enjoying them. The venom is not just for other comedians and the audience, but he also saves some for himself. He breaks down his own...
Stewart Lee: Content Provider at Leicester Square Theatre (02/12/16) − A show with all the virtues and vices of a remarkable, occasionally infuriating stand-up. It's been marketed as Lee's first full-length show in five years, but that's semantics: it's simply that he's no longer honing half-hour segments for a TV show, since that TV show's been cancelled. As he pungently points out, though, the BBC does still have the resources to fund a reboot of Are You Being Served?, which given the demise of the British department store should rightly be filmed in an Amazon warehouse, where Mrs Slocombe makes various oblique references to her cat, as a collection of Eastern Europeans look on in confusion.
And really it's no more coherent or cohesive than his previous shows, perhaps less so, without the through-line that his intro (or sporadic meta-commentary) suggests. He pitches it as a commentary on the life of the individual in this social media age, or says it would have been if Brexit and Trump hadn't got in the way. To be honest, that's to his advantage, as he's superb on politics, great at providing a dual-level experience − utilising a constructed persona who's vain, arrogant and contemptuous of his audience and his peers − and able to corral his audience's anger and angst into catharsis, without giving it an easy ride.
But whereas he deliriously, hilariously dismisses Game of Thrones without having seen it, his lack of understanding of modern technology critically undermines his deconstruction of it. There are many things wrong with social media, but if your starting point is that you don't understand the point of Twitter and you think Tinder is a paid-for app where you tick boxes about your interests, then you're fatally undercutting the significance of anything you have to say on the subject. That's the starting point of a Grumpy Old Men audition, not the bleeding edge of British comedy.
That hobby horse also powers a never-ending routine about homemade S&M equipment in the '30s, which extends a throwaway bit from his last tour into an interminable rant about the easy availability of everything in the modern world. I like the idea of alighting on something so perverse and obscure, I admire comics who play with the very rules of stand-up, and I know Lee's repetition, recounting and belabouring of a point are as integral to his work as the principles that underpin it, but the routine doesn't work. If he'd done something as conventional as tying it to an indictment of nostalgia, it might have, but as it is it just sort of lies there, a hollowness at its centre. I feel it's also beset with a pretentiousness that can stop Lee's shows stone dead, jettisoning much of the audience while giving a few of them the chance to show very loudly that they understand the joke; it was the same in January when he brought an unbearable joke about anarcho-syndicalists.
There's material here that's as good as anything anyone is doing right now. Surrounded by dozens of £0.01 DVDs from less-acclaimed, more popular comedians, he revives his assault on Russell Howard by seizing on a TV trailer in which the younger comic says that after running out of loo-roll he wiped his arse on a sock. Lee seizes on this faux-proletarian utterance by declaring it "observational comedy from a Victorian mental hospital", launching him into a superb juxtaposition of chummy Live at the Apollo-style stand-up and horrific human rights violations.
He follows it with an extended bit about other comics' reactions to his taunting of Howard (the sentence: "Why you say those things about Russell Howard, mate?" said perhaps 80 times, Lee's face and voice horrifically contorted) which is daring, inspired, stupid, clever, very funny and deceptively deep, while recalling interviews with Howard, John Robins and others about Lee's thin skin and yet how impervious he is to the idea that he might be genuinely upsetting young comics who idolise him by destroying their reputations in public. (I should add that I've met Stewart Lee a couple of times (once after a show and once on the street) and he was really nice and weirdly shy.)
He's now in an exalted position and I'm glad, because he's an artist who takes chances, someone with a distinctive, doggedly unconventional style, and I think that pretension is often merely what happens when your ambition overtakes your ability or the boundaries of the form, boundaries that are moved over time. But that doesn't mean you can't point out shortcomings in his work, even if he tends to obliterate anyone who does so in a whirlwind of blistering sardonism and repetition. (3/4)
Stewart Lee
2016-12-03T18:43:17+00:00
Stewart Lee: Content Provider at Leicester Square Theatre (02/12/16) − A show with all the virtues and vices of a remarkable, occasionally infuriating stand-up. It's been marketed as Lee's first full-length show in five years, but that's semantics: it's simply that he's no longer honing half-hour segments for a TV show, since that TV show's been cancelled. As he pungently points out, though, the BBC does still have the resources to fund a reboot of Are You Being Served?, which given the demise of the British department store should rightly be filmed in an Amazon warehouse, where Mrs Slocombe makes various oblique references to her cat, as a collection of Eastern Europeans look on in confusion. And really it's no more coherent or cohesive than his previous shows, perhaps less so, without the through-line that his intro (or sporadic meta-commentary) suggests. He pitches it as a commentary on the life of the individual in this social media age, or says it would have been if Brexit and Trump hadn't got in the way. To be honest, that's to his advantage, as he's superb on politics, great at providing a dual-level experience − utilising a constructed persona who's vain, arrogant and contemptuous of his audience and his peers − and able to corral his audience's anger and angst into catharsis, without giving it an easy ride. But whereas he deliriously, hilariously dismisses Game of Thrones without having seen it, his lack of understanding of modern technology critically undermines his deconstruction of it. There are many things wrong with social media, but if your starting point is that you don't understand the point of Twitter and you think Tinder is a paid-for app where you tick boxes about your interests, then you're fatally undercutting the significance of anything you have to say...
Peter Philipson, guitarist of the missed Starless And Bible Black, leads a Manchester collective through a superb set of traditional British songs, played in a pedal steel laden early Seventies West Coast style, with guest vocalists from folk's fringes.
Jenny McCormick walks the primrose path of The Wicker Man's satanically seductive Gently Johnny; Elle Osborne's Under The Leaves hangs suspended in a steel walled echo chamber; Jim Causley's strident Out With My Gun In The Morning sounds like the 80s psychedelic revivalists Rain Parade playing Fairport Convention; and James Raynard charts a determined course through the churning haze of The Roaming Journeyman.
Here's to volume two.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-01T01:36:01+00:00
Peter Philipson, guitarist of the missed Starless And Bible Black, leads a Manchester collective through a superb set of traditional British songs, played in a pedal steel laden early Seventies West Coast style, with guest vocalists from folk's fringes. Jenny McCormick walks the primrose path of The Wicker Man's satanically seductive Gently Johnny; Elle Osborne's Under The Leaves hangs suspended in a steel walled echo chamber; Jim Causley's strident Out With My Gun In The Morning sounds like the 80s psychedelic revivalists Rain Parade playing Fairport Convention; and James Raynard charts a determined course through the churning haze of The Roaming Journeyman. Here's to volume two.
To escape ‘The Big Music', The Waterboys' bombastic mix of Gnostic Christianity and Dylanesque drama, Mike Scott turned to folk for 1988's Fisherman's Blues. But Scott had claimed Steve Reich's serial minimalism influenced 1985's era defining album This Is The Sea, and these solo piano demos duly reveal him beating out percussive, unembellished two chord mantras on chiming ivories, whilst declaiming the Blakean visions that were later to struggle with big guitars and big production.
This Is The Sea's secret heart revives, and even the hoary Whole Of The Moon shines anew.
Stewart Lee
2011-06-26T12:38:05+01:00
To escape ‘The Big Music', The Waterboys' bombastic mix of Gnostic Christianity and Dylanesque drama, Mike Scott turned to folk for 1988's Fisherman's Blues. But Scott had claimed Steve Reich's serial minimalism influenced 1985's era defining album This Is The Sea, and these solo piano demos duly reveal him beating out percussive, unembellished two chord mantras on chiming ivories, whilst declaiming the Blakean visions that were later to struggle with big guitars and big production. This Is The Sea's secret heart revives, and even the hoary Whole Of The Moon shines anew.
What a good title. Maybe a little bit long, but beguiling. The world of the stand-up comedian is one which we are naturally curious about, those people charged with not only engaging an audience but hoping desperately that they can split sides in the process.
This is an autobiography, but without, Lee claims, personal detail - although that's not strictly true. In tracing his professional career we gain just enough insight, such as why the Solihull-born comic needed to cover up his Oxbridge background. But the book doesn't suffer at all from revealing little of his love life. On the contrary, his tale of being seduced by alternative comedy is far more potent.
Lee neatly attempts to contrast modern comedy with the work of Bullseye's Jim Bowen and the “race-hatred" material of jokers like Bernard Manning, right through to alternative characters like Alexei Sayle, although he can't quite categorise Billy Connolly - except to say he was of the 'folksinger breed'. Nor can he quite place the “snug bar surrealism" of Chic Murray. But his strength is that he doesn't really bother trying.
He does, however, acknowledge that the Enterprise Allowance Scheme comedy carousel he joined in the late 1980s was united by its opposition to the political and entertainment forces of the day. And he had to be part of it.
By the late 1990s, Lee was half of a double act with Richard Herring, and he charts their progress from being bottled at student union bars to performing 2000 gigs, and on to radio and television.
Comedy was indeed the new rock'n'roll. But by the end of the decade it had become a tea dance at the British Legion. Angry Young Men such as Ben Elton and Steve Coogan had little to shout about, except perhaps if their new Ferrari was delivered with mud on the tyres. Lee, meanwhile, had attained great critical acclaim but very little money. More worryingly, he ran out of ideas. “Creatively I was in Dundee," he writes. “By now I'd hoped I'd at least be in St Andrews."
In 2001 he quit the business, “tired and disillusioned". Rather incredibly, he went on to write Jerry Springer: The Opera, an international project which caused religious controversy. The diversion didn't lift his spirits. However, Lee's stand-up career was revived, he explains, after seeing Ricky Gervais (after his success with The Office) perform live.
It wasn't that he was blinded by Gervais's original insight and unique meandering delivery - on the contrary, it was the realisation his one-time student days chum had “borrowed" his own performance style (albeit by osmosis). It seriously rankled. But Lee was pragmatic enough to “allow" his superstar pal to endorse him on posters and soon he was back on his feet.
Now the time was right for an act which suited Lee's style, in which he'd offer long polemics on, say, the destruction of the planet. And he developed a technique of being deliberately unfunny so he could mislead the audience into thinking he was duff - and then hit them with wit and insight and win them round. Clever, eh? And it was a style that made him perfect for television.
But this isn't just a story of one-man's journey, it's a register, an assessment of every comedian he has met or been informed by, from Arnold Brown to Eddie Izzard (whose improvisation, he says, is well-rehearsed). It also contains a transcript of a gig at The Stand in Glasgow, and he offers notes on where he went right/wrong with his gags. He explains, for example, why he said to the assembly: “As you know, Scottishness is passed through the male genes, like a disability. And it overwhelms all the female genes. That's why there are no Scottish women. There are men in kilts - but that's just nature trying to find its own level."
This is a book for all comedians, for those who think they're funny and those who appreciate those who make the effort. If there's a criticism it's he can't resist using words such as 'prelapsarian'. Lee picked up a 2:1 from Cambridge in English Lit. Perhaps he's trying to prove he should have had a First.
Oh, and he thinks David Baddiel is funny.
Stewart Lee
2010-08-09T12:25:30+01:00
What a good title. Maybe a little bit long, but beguiling. The world of the stand-up comedian is one which we are naturally curious about, those people charged with not only engaging an audience but hoping desperately that they can split sides in the process. This is an autobiography, but without, Lee claims, personal detail - although that's not strictly true. In tracing his professional career we gain just enough insight, such as why the Solihull-born comic needed to cover up his Oxbridge background. But the book doesn't suffer at all from revealing little of his love life. On the contrary, his tale of being seduced by alternative comedy is far more potent. Lee neatly attempts to contrast modern comedy with the work of Bullseye's Jim Bowen and the “race-hatred" material of jokers like Bernard Manning, right through to alternative characters like Alexei Sayle, although he can't quite categorise Billy Connolly - except to say he was of the 'folksinger breed'. Nor can he quite place the “snug bar surrealism" of Chic Murray. But his strength is that he doesn't really bother trying. He does, however, acknowledge that the Enterprise Allowance Scheme comedy carousel he joined in the late 1980s was united by its opposition to the political and entertainment forces of the day. And he had to be part of it. By the late 1990s, Lee was half of a double act with Richard Herring, and he charts their progress from being bottled at student union bars to performing 2000 gigs, and on to radio and television. Comedy was indeed the new rock'n'roll. But by the end of the decade it had become a tea dance at the British Legion. Angry Young Men such as Ben Elton and Steve Coogan had little to shout about, except perhaps if their...
“Dear Jim’ll. Please can you fix it for me to a) Go all upside down in a Typhoon plane like in Top Gun; b) Go in parliament drunk with my best friend Nadine and shout “boring” at the square politicians; c) Have a massive party with all food in a massive stately home for free; d) Give all my friends lordly old-sounding titles like in Game of Thrones; e) Get Winston Churchill’s autograph. I haven’t heard about any of the bad stuff relating to you by the way, so jog on! Yours Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Wall-Spaff Deep-State Letterbox Johnson (58 years old).” Well done. Now go. Go. Can you just… Just go. Go. Don’t start playing the piano. There are your shoes. Have you got your water bottle? Go. Just go.
I believe it was I who wrote, in this column on 19 August 2018, before the Brexiter foreign secretary Boris Johnson was even prime minister, “Those in positions of power – journalists, fellow Conservative party members wondering how things will pan out, people biding their time on the divided opposition benches, trembling television presenters in search of ‘balanced arguments’ in the face of blatant lies and transparent manipulation – know what this incubus is and what it is doing, and how it is prepared to put our futures at risk to achieve it. And yet they do not hold Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson to account. They will not shrink Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson to snuff box size and sink him into the black lake of legend where he belongs. They will have to live with their failure. And, sadly, so will we.” Though I take no pleasure in having so conclusively predicted the chaos Johnson would ultimately unleash, I am happy to be paid twice for the same 117 words.
Johnson leaves behind him a Conservative party stripped of talent, containing only psychopaths, compliant yes-people loyal to an egomaniac, and those too tarnished and damaged to seek gainful employment elsewhere. It is like the worst lineup of the Fall ever. And I speak as a fan. Now the party must dredge a solid from the chodbin to serve as a leader, like a plumber reaching down into a blocked toilet bowl hoping he can scoop out a clump of filth firm enough to sculpt into the shape of something presidential, a poodoo doll for the European Research Group’s proto-fascist plans.
One of the few good things about the delayed climate change inferno finally sweeping fatally across the frazzled UK is that it may focus the minds of those involved in the idiotic moron burlesque of this year’s Tory party leadership hustings; a sick medieval ritual where bits of rotten meat on sticks, covered in black flies and alive with grey maggots, are waved in front of baffled peasants who have no say in which one will finally be garlanded with flowers by a secret cabal of geriatric life-hating death-priests, or the Conservative party membership as you call them.
At the start of the week the British far right’s anti-woke candidate of choice, the equal-opportunities offender Kemi Badenoch, was unable to commit to the 2050 net zero target, still hung up on the idea that it was uncompetitive to lead the world on this issue. We will need to be competitive when we are bartering our teeth for old bits of melted Tupperware full of boiled urine in a scorched wasteland of soggy asphalt and bent railway tracks. And when everything is on fire again next year, will we still be sending refugees to Rwanda if they arrive from a burned-out village inside the M25?
“Hello. This is reception. Just a quick call to let you know your bed is on fire.” As Britain finally got its belated climate crisis wake-up call, the stupidity of wasting any time debating penises, toilets, wokeness, the Rwanda dead cat, and redoing Brexit, whatever Brexit is supposed to mean this week, was exposed. There is only one real issue. The imminent death of all life on earth. Then there’s a massive drop off before you hit the next most important thing, the even more imminent cost of living crisis. Then everything else is irrelevant. Everything will die. Everything. Enjoy your anti-woke toilets. Twats.
And yet… The Daily Mailran a think piece blaming the Met Office for “spreading alarm and scolding us with doom-laden lectures” by someone called Stephen Robinson, his role as a “speech writer and consultant” for “companies operating in the energy sector” glossed over; luxury communist Ash Sarkar winced patiently, as if at a foolish baby, on Jeremy Vine as TalkRadio’s Mike Parry trashed net zero and cited Romans seeing sunspots and growing vines in Scotland or something; and the Daily Telegraph’s Christopher Hope, whom no one addresses by his nickname of “Chopper”, appeared on Sky News blaming the wildfires on someone dropping a cigarette. Repeatedly? All over the country?
The pursuit of false balance in the climate change debate (there is no debate) finally drove even the BBC placeman Andrew Marr into the accommodating arms of LBC, where he now bleats truth to power like a heroic lamb: “I for one have had enough of being told by pallid, shadowy old businessmen and lazy, ignorant hacks and sleazy lobbyists – who aren’t real scientists, any of them – that the science is wrong, and that what is happening, isn’t happening. Enough… And if you don’t believe me go outside, why don’t you, and have a brisk walk right now.” Andrew! Calm down!! Don’t have a brisk walk!!! And for God’s sake don’t try to work out your frustrations on the rowing machine!!!! We need you!!!!!
Only 4% of the Conservative party members, who choose our next prime minister, say hitting net zero is one of their top three priorities. It’s too late isn’t it? We are already dead.
Stewart Lee
2022-07-24T14:15:07+01:00
“Dear Jim’ll. Please can you fix it for me to a) Go all upside down in a Typhoon plane like in Top Gun; b) Go in parliament drunk with my best friend Nadine and shout “boring” at the square politicians; c) Have a massive party with all food in a massive stately home for free; d) Give all my friends lordly old-sounding titles like in Game of Thrones; e) Get Winston Churchill’s autograph. I haven’t heard about any of the bad stuff relating to you by the way, so jog on! Yours Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Wall-Spaff Deep-State Letterbox Johnson (58 years old).” Well done. Now go. Go. Can you just… Just go. Go. Don’t start playing the piano. There are your shoes. Have you got your water bottle? Go. Just go. I believe it was I who wrote, in this column on 19 August 2018, before the Brexiter foreign secretary Boris Johnson was even prime minister, “Those in positions of power – journalists, fellow Conservative party members wondering how things will pan out, people biding their time on the divided opposition benches, trembling television presenters in search of ‘balanced arguments’ in the face of blatant lies and transparent manipulation – know what this incubus is and what it is doing, and how it is prepared to put our futures at risk to achieve it. And yet they do not hold Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson to account. They will not shrink Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson to snuff box size and sink him into the black lake of legend where he belongs. They will have to live with their failure. And, sadly, so will we.” Though I take no pleasure in having so conclusively predicted the chaos Johnson would ultimately unleash, I am happy to be paid twice for...
Are we naturally selfish? Or do we have an innate sense of empathy for our fellow living things? The radio journalist Herbert Morrison watched the Hindenberg come down and announced, “Oh! The humanity!” And once I stood outside a pub on the canal in Camden and watched a crowd of drunken men laughing and cheering as five seagulls pecked a fluffy baby duckling to death. I said nothing. But I suddenly understood why Mock the Week was so popular.
Perhaps there is hope for our species, despite the popularity of TV comedy panel shows. On Friday I witnessed at close hand the first flowering of the spontaneous collective act of compassion that has since dominated celebrity social media feeds all weekend, reaching critical mass at around 2pm Saturday, when the sheer density of tweets caused Danny Dyer’s nut to freak out, and saw Ricky Gervais append the heartwarming story to a breakdown of Netflix viewing figures for Derek.
Soon after breakfast on Friday morning I had crossed the Scottish border, driving north between standup shows, from the St Cuthbert’s Players Playhouse in Alnwick up to the Kate Middleton Memorial theatre in St Andrews, where the young Prince William’s eye first fell upon his future bride’s Scaramouche in a performance of Ben Elton’s We Will Rock You.
Gradually, on the southbound side of the A1, an enormous convoy of vastly varied Scottish vehicles appeared to take shape, streaming endlessly towards England, honking in celebration as they passed. But why? Not having a car radio, eschewing the iPhone, and unable to buy a copy of Friday’s Guardian that far north, I wasn’t able to make sense of the incoherent events. I pulled off the road to watch at Ayton, by the sign for Q’s Cat Motel, which was where I ran into Steven Moffat.
I had met the Scottish Doctor Who writer-producer once before, at a BBC thinktank. I had suggested a new long-running drama series about a little old man whose face and body stay the same for millions of years, but whose buttocks are played by the buttocks of a succession of currently fashionable character actors, as the decades progress, of all races and genders. Needless to say my idea was rejected by the fearful “suits”, concerned, doubtless, about appearing too “politically correct”, and in terror of losing the licence fee under a Tory government.
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And now here was this Moffat again, by chance, at a cat motel off the A1 in Berwickshire, checking in his prize Persian, Erato, in anticipation of a long journey south. Perhaps Moffat could explain to me what on earth was going on. “Ian Rankin direct-messaged me and told me that Wattie from the Exploited was on Twitter encouraging all Scots to form a relief convoy,” Moffat explained, “and then Miss Barbara Dickson phoned me up in tears saying we had to mobilise the Scottish public. I asked myself, ‘What would Doctor Who do?’ Doctor Who would help. I know that better than anyone.”
In the sudden and unexpected political shift of the green island we all call home, the liberal left south of the border had been marooned, abandoned without hope. The Scottish celebrities’ heartstrings had been twanged and, overnight, their fans and followers had used social media to spring into action. I ran to the road and watched the first of the flotilla of little vehicles beginning the return journey north, their available space crammed with escapees.
All Scottish life was there, taking to their highland home those with nothing left to lose. A tweed-clad Loch Lomond laird in a spluttering vintage car turned his head toward the backseat to laugh with a gaggle of London schoolkids, avoiding academy status and the dead hand of Gove; half a dozen turbaned Scottish Sikhs, in a mobile festival catering wagon, partied with northbound Brighton lesbians, fearful of life under an equality minister who voted against gay marriage; and a whisky-nipping gillie at the wheel of a Land Rover softly stroked a young Yorkshire vixen and her sleeping cubs, escaping the repeal of the hunting ban.
I repositioned myself on the central reservation to continue to observe the convoy. Edinburgh Muslims, chefs from the Mosque Kitchen, drove a delivery van usually laden with cash and carry rice, and planned their pause for Friday prayers with the family of left-leaning north London Jewish academics they were taking with them, thinkers and readers for whom life in England was about to become intellectually intolerable; Heriot-Watt students, dressed as vampires, had rerouted the Haunted Auld Reekie Tours bus they worked on at weekends on an unscheduled excursion, and now swapped alcopops with southern arts and humanities graduates, finally accepting that they had no future in a culture that saw the outpourings of the human heart as nothing more than missed opportunities for monetisation. And farm trucks from the far north, thick with the ground-in dung of prize highland cattle, trundled towards the tartan utopia, their fenced flatbeds now thronged with teachers, poets, artists, dreamers, the poor and the unprofitable.
And then, as I crossed back to my car, there came the most moving sight of all. Celtic fans and Rangers fans, working together, taking turns to steer a hastily commandeered ambulance north, nursing the brows of dying old folk, bed-blockers from beneath the border, soon to be set adrift by the ongoing privatisation of their home visits, their tragic plight dissolving age-old sectarian differences. And all these noble Scots, it would transpire, had set their ancient grudges aside to assist those condemned to suffer by the unwieldy splitting of the democratic deck. I got back in the car and followed the convoy north.
As the makeshift convoy stopped at Dunbar for the night, the practical limitations of Wattie from the Exploited’s vision became apparent. The volunteers’ vehicles discharged their human cargo into a succession of hastily commandeered campsites, Dunbar Camping and Caravanning at the golf course, and Belhaven Bay by the reservoir, which were soon overwhelmed. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked Wattie, who was using a stolen golf club to direct the traffic. Wattie looked weary, his red mohican wilting a little. “I’m no genius,” he said, “but I looked at those poor people and I knew we had to do something. I don’t have a plan. I don’t even know what we’re going to do tomorrow. But at least we did something. You know what they’re calling this? The Miracle of Dunbar. Not bad, eh?”
Stewart Lee
2015-05-24T09:28:41+01:00
Are we naturally selfish? Or do we have an innate sense of empathy for our fellow living things? The radio journalist Herbert Morrison watched the Hindenberg come down and announced, “Oh! The humanity!” And once I stood outside a pub on the canal in Camden and watched a crowd of drunken men laughing and cheering as five seagulls pecked a fluffy baby duckling to death. I said nothing. But I suddenly understood why Mock the Week was so popular. Perhaps there is hope for our species, despite the popularity of TV comedy panel shows. On Friday I witnessed at close hand the first flowering of the spontaneous collective act of compassion that has since dominated celebrity social media feeds all weekend, reaching critical mass at around 2pm Saturday, when the sheer density of tweets caused Danny Dyer’s nut to freak out, and saw Ricky Gervais append the heartwarming story to a breakdown of Netflix viewing figures for Derek. Soon after breakfast on Friday morning I had crossed the Scottish border, driving north between standup shows, from the St Cuthbert’s Players Playhouse in Alnwick up to the Kate Middleton Memorial theatre in St Andrews, where the young Prince William’s eye first fell upon his future bride’s Scaramouche in a performance of Ben Elton’s We Will Rock You. Gradually, on the southbound side of the A1, an enormous convoy of vastly varied Scottish vehicles appeared to take shape, streaming endlessly towards England, honking in celebration as they passed. But why? Not having a car radio, eschewing the iPhone, and unable to buy a copy of Friday’s Guardian that far north, I wasn’t able to make sense of the incoherent events. I pulled off the road to watch at Ayton, by the sign for Q’s Cat Motel, which was where I ran into...
Last time anyone checked Michael Chapman was a forgotten Seventies songwriter, but American revisionists, citing his guitar instrumentals, have found a lost folk-blues primitivist in the John Fahey vein. Nothing in the Yorkshire troubadour's catalogue presaged these two lengthy electric guitar drones, buoyed on throbbing loops, and serrated with scratchy noise, the first a low end rumble, the second a high end Himalayan temple bell tingle.
The kids get a new cult figure to restock the depleting stock, and grand-dad gets to play loud and tour with noisy new-boy Dean McPhee. Everybody's happy.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-12T01:57:58+00:00
Last time anyone checked Michael Chapman was a forgotten Seventies songwriter, but American revisionists, citing his guitar instrumentals, have found a lost folk-blues primitivist in the John Fahey vein. Nothing in the Yorkshire troubadour's catalogue presaged these two lengthy electric guitar drones, buoyed on throbbing loops, and serrated with scratchy noise, the first a low end rumble, the second a high end Himalayan temple bell tingle. The kids get a new cult figure to restock the depleting stock, and grand-dad gets to play loud and tour with noisy new-boy Dean McPhee. Everybody's happy.
Stewart Lee is probably one of the first alternative comedians that burst onto the scene in the late eighties, as he says himself he has been doing stand-up for seventeen years, but despite forays into the world of journalism and his somewhat publicised involvement with the controversial Jerry Springer The Opera.
While these have obviously influenced Mr Lee, it certainly has not adversely affected the man's undoubted talent and charisma as a comedian. Playing to a capacity audience, a lot of whom could have only been a nursery school, is laid back style entertained throughout on a variety of subjects and had the audience glued to his every word.
If last night was anything to go by Stewart Lee maybe a 90's comedian, but he could till be attracting an audience when he himself is in his nineties.
Stewart Lee
2005-08-12T22:53:02+01:00
Stewart Lee is probably one of the first alternative comedians that burst onto the scene in the late eighties, as he says himself he has been doing stand-up for seventeen years, but despite forays into the world of journalism and his somewhat publicised involvement with the controversial Jerry Springer The Opera. While these have obviously influenced Mr Lee, it certainly has not adversely affected the man's undoubted talent and charisma as a comedian. Playing to a capacity audience, a lot of whom could have only been a nursery school, is laid back style entertained throughout on a variety of subjects and had the audience glued to his every word. If last night was anything to go by Stewart Lee maybe a 90's comedian, but he could till be attracting an audience when he himself is in his nineties.
The most interesting point Stewart Lee makes in the third episode of his current series, subtitled ‘Patriotism’, comes at the start when he talks about the biggest problem the modern satirist faces. The news is in such flux, says Lee, it is hard to get a handle on it for comedy. And if Lee is having that problem, spare a thought for lesser mortals out there trying to monetize their social commentary.
Lee points to UKIP as a prime example of the rapidly changing face of the political landscape. When he started work on this series pre-2015 general election, they posed a credible threat to the established order, but things didn't pan out quite as they hoped.
Likewise Lee doesn’t mention Donald Trump’s rise in this episode, which was recorded a while ago. Maybe that will be redressed in the future. Though in fairness here he concentrates on the unpredictability of British politics. As he wryly observes, not even the wittiest minds in the land saw the David Cameron/"Dead Pig Sex Face" allegations coming. Not one comedian predicted that turn of events. Shame on them.
The main meat of the episode was a story linking Jeremy Corbyn, Lee's cat and the media’s insatiable habit of not letting the facts get in the way of a good bit of clickbait. He neatly pushed a scatalogical image to the absolute limit and then beyond. It was filthy but funny. He had a pithy routine about naming a pet dog after Matthew "Inspector Gadget" Broderick and his description of Downton Abbey as "thinly veiled Conservative propaganda" felt spot on.
As with last week this episode closed on a sketch commenting on what Lee had been talking about. It’s more of an old school mash-up here, slightly in the style of Cassetteboy, with visual images cut together. It was initially impressive but outstayed its welcome in a way that Lee's verbal riffs never seem to. A good episode with subversive laughs splattered all over it but not quite up to the high standard Lee has set himself. Then again as he said at the start, satire these days is not easy.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-16T22:13:26+00:00
The most interesting point Stewart Lee makes in the third episode of his current series, subtitled ‘Patriotism’, comes at the start when he talks about the biggest problem the modern satirist faces. The news is in such flux, says Lee, it is hard to get a handle on it for comedy. And if Lee is having that problem, spare a thought for lesser mortals out there trying to monetize their social commentary. Lee points to UKIP as a prime example of the rapidly changing face of the political landscape. When he started work on this series pre-2015 general election, they posed a credible threat to the established order, but things didn't pan out quite as they hoped. Likewise Lee doesn’t mention Donald Trump’s rise in this episode, which was recorded a while ago. Maybe that will be redressed in the future. Though in fairness here he concentrates on the unpredictability of British politics. As he wryly observes, not even the wittiest minds in the land saw the David Cameron/"Dead Pig Sex Face" allegations coming. Not one comedian predicted that turn of events. Shame on them. The main meat of the episode was a story linking Jeremy Corbyn, Lee's cat and the media’s insatiable habit of not letting the facts get in the way of a good bit of clickbait. He neatly pushed a scatalogical image to the absolute limit and then beyond. It was filthy but funny. He had a pithy routine about naming a pet dog after Matthew "Inspector Gadget" Broderick and his description of Downton Abbey as "thinly veiled Conservative propaganda" felt spot on. As with last week this episode closed on a sketch commenting on what Lee had been talking about. It’s more of an old school mash-up here, slightly in the style of Cassetteboy, with visual...
Most stand-ups secretly want to be rock stars, their ambitions thwarted only by their total lack of musical ability.
This man is unique amongst comedians, in that he's a real musician, who has been moonlighting as a funnyman since re-naming himself after a Lincolnshire village sometime during the Thatcher era.
Cut from the same English eccentric curtain as Robyn Hitchcock, with a nod towards the acerbic chansons of Jake Thackray, Boothby's toured the world, co-stared in a failed US sit-com alongside Desperate Housewives' Joely Fisher, and had a proposed '90s Channel 5 show shelved for of a series of American soft porn movies.
But five years ago Boothby had a revelation at a motorway service station, left London for Leicestershire, sold his one-liners to Omid Djalili, and concentrated on his guitar playing, proving a crowd-pleasing opening act on British tours by the Canadian alternative rock veterans Barenaked Ladies.
Boothby's first album, 2004's Wot Italian?, was a sparse duo with Charlie Haden and Trilok Gurtu guitarist Antonio Forcione, but his fourth is the symphonic folk-pop suite supporters suspected he had in him, suggesting the psychedelic sand-pit of Brian Wilson, had he, like Boothby, been a Butlins redcoat, as well as an LSD enthusiast.
Boothby's cheerfully pessimistic worldview sets a consistent black comic tone, contrasted by a variety of musical approaches. Trampoline satirically spikes pizzicato strings with pro-firearm samples; the baroque guitar flourishes of the fatalistic The Captain's Address nose dive into the bouncy acoustic pop of Hop. Dude! Have You Seen The Telly? wraps funky rhythms round abrasive riffs and cathedral chorister harmonies; Lullaby is a shaggy dog sucker punch stretched out over circling guitars and Orbital and Fall producer Jimmy Melophonic's Salvation Army brass; the brooding Busy co-opts the extended metaphors you'd find on a mid-80s Robyn Hitchcock album; and Another Song For Boo finds universal truths in the temporary loss of a family pet.
The host of star-guests that have helped Boothby realise his vision include Barenaked Lady Kevin Hearn, who also plays keyboards for another comedy legend, Lou Reed; multi-instrumentalist and acclaimed solo artist Nick Pynn, who has served in Steve Harley's Cockney Rebel and The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown, and currently features alongside members of acid-folkies Trembling Bells in the band of Mike Heron, from The Incredible String Band; and Hollywood's funny arab of choice Omid Djalili, on unexpected bongos.
If Bang! Is This Your Vehicle, Sir? has a fault, it's that Graffoe has varnished every moment with a luxurious gloss of tasteful instrumentation, but this is also a virtue. Long after the jokes concealed in Graffoe's wittily epigrammatic lyrics are revealed, the music continues to captivate.
Boothby Graffoe could be a late blooming national treasure, if only it weren't for the handicap of his name, foolishly chosen in haste during a long night drive home past a particular Lincolnshire village, and presumably regretted at leisure.
Stewart Lee, Jan 2012
For more information please contact Gaby Jerrard at gaby@gabyjerrardpr.com or on 07808 472 139
Track Listings
1) Attack of the 50ft Woman
2) Trampoline
3) England
4) The Captain’s Address
5) Hop
6) Keith’s Song
7) Boy could she Wave
8) Dude! Have you seen the Telly?
9) Lullaby
10) Busy
11) Another Song for Boo
12) Fish with Feet
13) Zombies
Tour Dates
March 2012
Wed 7 CARDIGAN, Theatr Mwldan 01239 621200 www.mwldan.co.uk
Thur 8 SALISBURY, Arts Centre 01722 321744 www.salisburyartscentre.co.uk
Fri 9 READING, South Street 0118 9606060 www.readingarts.com/southstreet
Sat 10 LYME REGIS, Marine Theatre 01297 442138 www.marinetheatre.com
Mon 12 DULWICH, The Michael Croft Theatre www.michaelcrofttheatre.org.uk (online bookings only)
Tue 13 BIRMINGHAM, MAC 0121 4463232 www.macarts.co.uk
Wed 14 HEMEL HEMPSTEAD, Old Town Hall 01442 228091 www.oldtownhall.co.uk
Thur 15 SPALDING, South Holland Centre 01775 764777 www.southhollandcentre.co.uk
Fri 16 GOOLE, The Gate 01405 763652 / 720219 www.thegategoole.com
Sat 17 BARTON ON HUMBER, The Ropewalk 01652 660380 www.the-ropewalk.co.uk
Sun 18 SALFORD, Lowry 0843 2086000 www.thelowry.com
Mon 19 GLASGOW, The Stand 0844 335 8879 www.thestand.co.uk
Thur 22 COLCHESTER, Arts Centre 01206 500900 www.colchesterartscentre.com
Fri 23 PORTSMOUTH, The Cellars 023 92826249 www.thecellars.co.uk
Sat 24 CANTERBURY, Marlowe 01227 787787 www.marlowetheatre.com
Sun 25 BRIGHTON, Komedia 0845 2938480 www.komedia.co.uk/brighton/
Thur 29 BRECON, Theatr Brycheiniog 01874 611622 www.brycheiniog.co.uk
Fri 30 SOUTH MOLTON, George Hotel www.wegottickets.com/event/133782
Sat 31 HOLSWORTHY, The Old Market Inn www.wegottickets.com/event/134144
April 2012
Sun 1 BATH, Rondo 01225 463362 www.rondotheatre.co.uk
Fri 20 MILLOM, Beggars Theatre 0161 408 6389 www.beggarstheatre.co.uk
Sat 21 BARNSLEY, Civic 01226 327000 www.barnsleycivic.co.uk
Wed 25 LINCOLN, Drill Hall 01522 873 894 www.lincolndrillhall.com
Fri 27 SALTBURN, Community Arts Centre 01287 624997 www.saltburnarts.co.uk
Sat 28 KETTERING, Arts Centre www.ketteringartscentre.com www.wegottickets.com
Stewart Lee
2012-01-01T18:21:54+00:00
Most stand-ups secretly want to be rock stars, their ambitions thwarted only by their total lack of musical ability. This man is unique amongst comedians, in that he's a real musician, who has been moonlighting as a funnyman since re-naming himself after a Lincolnshire village sometime during the Thatcher era. Cut from the same English eccentric curtain as Robyn Hitchcock, with a nod towards the acerbic chansons of Jake Thackray, Boothby's toured the world, co-stared in a failed US sit-com alongside Desperate Housewives' Joely Fisher, and had a proposed '90s Channel 5 show shelved for of a series of American soft porn movies. But five years ago Boothby had a revelation at a motorway service station, left London for Leicestershire, sold his one-liners to Omid Djalili, and concentrated on his guitar playing, proving a crowd-pleasing opening act on British tours by the Canadian alternative rock veterans Barenaked Ladies. Boothby's first album, 2004's Wot Italian?, was a sparse duo with Charlie Haden and Trilok Gurtu guitarist Antonio Forcione, but his fourth is the symphonic folk-pop suite supporters suspected he had in him, suggesting the psychedelic sand-pit of Brian Wilson, had he, like Boothby, been a Butlins redcoat, as well as an LSD enthusiast. Boothby's cheerfully pessimistic worldview sets a consistent black comic tone, contrasted by a variety of musical approaches. Trampoline satirically spikes pizzicato strings with pro-firearm samples; the baroque guitar flourishes of the fatalistic The Captain's Address nose dive into the bouncy acoustic pop of Hop. Dude! Have You Seen The Telly? wraps funky rhythms round abrasive riffs and cathedral chorister harmonies; Lullaby is a shaggy dog sucker punch stretched out over circling guitars and Orbital and Fall producer Jimmy Melophonic's Salvation Army brass; the brooding Busy co-opts the extended metaphors you'd find on a mid-80s Robyn Hitchcock album; and...
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE 100% PEAR T-SHIRTS on Pre-order Now.
Thrill your friends, and your own body, at Xmas!
Relive the glory days of 2008/9 by wearing a t-shirt with a line from Stew's If You Prefer A Milder Comedian... tour, from back when he was still good, rather than simply complacent and reliable.
100% pear! 100% PEAR CIDER Tee Shirts.
Two versions in Navy Blue or Purple on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts.
A UK based ethical Tee Shirt Manufacturer.
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SOUTHBANK CENTRE’S ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL - 28 June – 2 July 2023
After a sold-out 3-month season at Leicester Square Theatre, London (ends 17th Dec), BASIC LEE will tour throughout 2023. (See full schedule below) and play the Southbank Centre’s ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL in the summer for six performances.
Booking for these performances opens at 10am on Wednesday 16th November 2022.
"Basically, basic Lee is better than most" **** The Telegraph
"Basically, Basic Lee is very funny" **** The Times
"Basically, back-to-basics Basic Lee is anything but" **** Mail on Sunday
"It’s brilliantly choreographed, razor-sharp and laugh-aloud hilarious, but anything but basic" Louder Than War
SOUTHBANK CENTRE’S ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON 28 June – 2 July 2023
Dates: Wednesday 28th, Thursday 29th*, Friday 30th June, Saturday 1st and Sunday 2nd July 2023 Times: Performances at 8pm (Wednesday-Saturday), 7.30pm (Sunday) plus Sunday matinee 3pm Booking: 020 3879 9555, southbankcentre.co.uk [insert direct booking link] Ticket prices: Band A £35 & Band B £25 plus booking fees
*Thursday 29th June BSL interpreted performance
5. BASIC LEE
The new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, started to come together in Edinburgh.
The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023. More dates to follow.
After a decade of ground-breaking high concept shows involving overarched interlinked narratives, massive sets and enormous comedy props, Lee enters the post-pandemic era in streamlined solo stand-up mode. One man, one microphone, and one microphone in the wings in case the one on stage breaks. Pure. Simple. Classic. Basic Lee. "The world's greatest living stand-up comedian." The Times
AND ALSO THE TREES Big In Europe literary-styled goth veterans from ‘80s Birmingham play one date in their homeland at London’s Lexington on Nov 19th
COWBOY JUNKIES Somnambulant Americana shoegazers NOVEMBER 20th Edinburgh Assembly, 27th London RFH
STEREOLAB Krautrockin’ cocktail-drinkers hit the autobahns once more NOVEMBER 24th Brighton Concord, 26th Leeds Stylus, 27th M’cr New Century Hall, 28th Edinburgh Liquid Room, 29th Glasgow TV Studio, DECEMBER 2nd-3rd London Earth
ELIZA CARTHY English folk godhead back in active service NOV 28TH Birmingham Glee, 30th Cardiff Glee. DEC 5th Cambridge Junction
THE CHAMELEONS Most convincing line-up for years of the always emotionally edifying Big Music should-have-beens. DECEMBER 7th Coventry HMV Empire, 8th Liverpool Cavern, 9th Leeds Brudenell, 10th Stoke On Trent Sugarmill, 11th Gloucester Guildhall, 12th Oxford 02, 13th B’ham 02, 14th Cottingham Civic Hall, 16th Huddersfield Parish, 17th M’cr Academy, 18th Blackpool Waterloo
7.IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS 2022
Sydney Poitier - woke actor (1927)
Magwa - woke Cambodian landmine hunting rat (2013)
Burke Shelley - bass Budgie (1950) Ronnie Spector - woke Ronette (1943)
Rachel Nagy - Detroit Cobra (1975)
Robin Le Mesurier - Womble (1954)
Andy Ross - Disco Zombie/nice man of Britpop (1956)
Barry Cryer - King Of Comedy (1935) Norma Waterson - Mighty Folk Matriarch (1939)
John Nolan - man Behind The Magnolia Curtain (1966) Betty Davis - She Might Get Picked Up! (1944)
Ivan Reitman - He was not afraid of no ghost! (1946)
Mark Lanegan - Screaming Tree rehabilitee (1964)
Bruce Anderson - MX-80 man (1950) Anna Karen - ‘70s public transport icon (1936)
Sam Lay - Howlin’ Wolf/Paul Butterfield/Dylan drums (1935)
Mikey Chung - Reggae session regular (1950)
Fred Van Hove - Belgian free-jazz stringbender (1937)
Ian McDonald - Crimson saxophonist King (1949)
Gary Brooker - Synesthesiac Hackney musician (1945)
Nicky Tesco - Suburban soundman/comedy fan (1956)
Dallas Good - Sadies guitar slinger (1974)
Philip Jeck - Art Noiseman (1952) Margaret Curtis - Callanish visionary (1942)
Jordan - punk fashionista (1955)
David McKee - Then the shopkeeper appeared (1935)
Chris Bailey - Lordly protopunk, wit, raconteur (1957)
Gilbert Gottfried - That ‘Too Soon’ guy (1955) Audrey Henshall - Scottish Neolithic expert (1927)
Eric Chappell - Rising Damp (1933)
Klaus Schultze - Tangerine Joker (1947)
Neal Adams - Woke progressive comics creator (1941) Judy Henske - Greenwich psych-folkstress (1936)
George Perez - Best Avengers artist ever (1954)
Don Craine - deerstalking Downliner (1945)
Richard Polodor - acid rock engineer (1936)
Gavin Martin - music rag wit (1962)
Fred Ward - Worm Warrior (1942)
Vangelis - Apocalypso-Maestro (1943)
Bob Neuwirth - Gelb/Dylan adjacent beatnik (1939)
Cathal Coughlan - Microdisney Man (1960)
Rick Price - Move bassist (1944)
Ric Parnell - Tap/Rooster drummer & gardener
Alan White - Ono drums (1949)
Ray Liotta - has let himself go (1954)
Ronnie Hawkins - Canadian rock wellspring (1935)
Harrison Birtwistle - When Things Fall Over (1934)
Grachan Moncur - Jazz trombonius (1937)
Ray Hill - anti-Nazi mole (1939) Paula Rego - pastel radical (1935)
Julee Cruise - Peak voice (1956)
Bruce Kent - God’s peacenik (1929)
Jean-Louis Trintignant - mute spaghetti hero (1930)
James Caan - Rollerballbearing and Elf-father (1940) Barbara Thompson - saxophonist whose time I wasted (1944)
Chris Broderick - singing loin
George Kinney - Golden Dawn (1946)
Alan Grant - Bat-Scot (1949)
Bernard Cribbins - Who Hole (1928)
David Warner - Your ominous Montreal compatriot (1941) Nichelle Nicholls - interracial kisser (1932)
Raymond Briggs - hilarious genius of the tragi-comic (1934)
Drummie Zeb - Aswad Vox-pulse (1959)
Nicholas Monro - The great lost pop artist (1936)
Mark Astronaut - resilient Hitchin micro-punk (1954)
Vittorio De Scalzi - New Troll (1949)
Philip Drucker - Savage Republican (1959)
Van Christian - Naked Prey’s desert rock pioneer (1960)
Anton Fier - Feelie Palomino (1956) Hilary Mantel - Wolf of the Hall (1952)
Pharoah Sanders - cosmic jazzman (1940)
Joe Bussard - ‘78 king (1936) Sacheen Littlefeather - Native American Voice (1946)
Loretta Lynn - birth control balladeer (1932)
Bobby Sutliff - largely undigitized paisley windbreaker Angela Lansbury - gaslit socialist Clanger cousin (1925)
Rustic Rod Goodway - Ethereal counterbalancer (1946) Irene Papas - Aphrodite’s voice (1926)
DH Peligro - Dead Dead Kennedy (1959)
Patrick Haggerty (Lavender cowboy, 1944)
Justin Gosling (Principal philosopher-poet, 1930)
Mark Long (post-punk in Opposition, 1955)
Stewart Lee
2022-11-14T09:00:05+00:00
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE 100% PEAR T-SHIRTS on Pre-order Now. Thrill your friends, and your own body, at Xmas! Relive the glory days of 2008/9 by wearing a t-shirt with a line from Stew's If You Prefer A Milder Comedian... tour, from back when he was still good, rather than simply complacent and reliable. 100% pear! 100% PEAR CIDER Tee Shirts. Two versions in Navy Blue or Purple on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts. A UK based ethical Tee Shirt Manufacturer. Pre Order NOW and Shipping starts on 30th November They cost £20.00 each plus shipping. https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee Pears Blue Pears Purple 2. RARE 47 MINUTE EDIT OF THE SNOWFLAKE GERVAIS BIT https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phWBodOgWRs 3. TV SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now. Snowflake is here. & Tornado is here. 4. SOUTHBANK DATES SOUTHBANK CENTRE’S ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL - 28 June – 2 July 2023 After a sold-out 3-month season at Leicester Square Theatre, London (ends 17th Dec), BASIC LEE will tour throughout 2023. (See full schedule below) and play the Southbank Centre’s ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL in the summer for six performances. Booking for these performances opens at 10am on Wednesday 16th November 2022. Tickets onsale here from 16th November 2022. "Basically, basic Lee is better than most" **** The Telegraph "Basically, Basic Lee is very funny" **** The Times "Basically, back-to-basics Basic Lee is anything but" **** Mail on Sunday "It’s brilliantly choreographed, razor-sharp and laugh-aloud hilarious, but anything but basic" Louder Than War SOUTHBANK CENTRE’S ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON 28 June – 2 July 2023 Dates: Wednesday 28th, Thursday 29th*, Friday 30th June, Saturday 1st and Sunday 2nd July 2023 Times: Performances at 8pm (Wednesday-Saturday), 7.30pm (Sunday) plus Sunday matinee 3pm Booking: 020 3879 9555, southbankcentre.co.uk [insert direct booking link] Ticket prices: Band A £35 & Band...
THE "White Supremacist Theme Park" of Cornwall had an unexpected visit from the county's Benign Spirit in Truro.
Last night's Stewart Lee show at Hall For Cornwall was going rather well - despite the stand-up comedian's insistence to the contrary - until a man sauntered down to the front row and awkwardly swung a leg onto the edge of the stage.
Before we knew it, he was centre stage with the self-styled thinking man's comic, barely coherent and revealing himself to be a reformed heckler.
Ten minutes later he was still there, with Lee having chosen to use him to prove a point about the intricacies of his craft rather than just boot him off.
The guest's tale about protecting a cat from seagulls and later buying a pasty will be the one that most people tell purely for the "Is this really happening?" incredulity of the whole thing.
But while it was certainly a unique show for the tour, which had already swept through the city nine months ago, it would be a shame for the other hour-and-a-bit to be overshadowed.
Not only was it hysterically funny, but it was also gripping and thought-provoking - though it's greatest achievement in my eyes was persuading this reviewer that it was amusing at all.
I'd watched a bit of Stewart's TV series at the behest of What's On editor Lee Trewhela and West Briton editor David Thomas - both huge fans. They told me it was must-watch comedy but I probably wouldn't appreciate it, because it was too clever for the likes of me - a sub-40-year-old who enjoys the humour of Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em and Ricky Gervais.
And they were at least half right - I didn't get into the TV show and switched off after about ten minutes. The comedian's style is very much aimed at telling the audience they're not smart enough to understand his show - and pointed out our faults all night as we laughed at the wrong jokes, didn't laugh enough or got our timing horribly wrong.
So to have spent most of Wednesday night open-mouthed and achy-jawed was something of a remarkable triumph.
The comedian helped things along by opening the show with a severe warning to the audience not to have their phones out otherwise he would come down, snatch it off them and smash it with his mic stand, then take it back stage and pleasure himself over what remained of the digital memories of their children.
So far, so on my level.
The political and socio-economic stuff came shortly after, of course, but it was never out of the reach of your average, mildly-interested-in-the-news theatre attendee.
There were gags about Graham Norton, BAFTA and Lee Mack to keep things grounded but it was the comedian's deconstruction of comedy that made the whole show such a joy.
Setting up his own callbacks and creating bonus laughs where they shouldn't exist, you could call it a masterclass in comedy theory.
There were moments that didn't work for me - I was among the half of the audience that didn't lap up the repetitive "list of food items on newspaper columnist Rod Liddle" gag but then others loved it.
But despite Lee opening the show insisting it's all scripted and he pretends to cobble it together as he goes along, it was the moments of genuine unpredictability that turned it from an incredibly funny show to one that will be long remembered by both audience and performer. It started when three men wandered in late and "destroyed the rhythm" of the rest of the show, then a piece of ticker tape fell from the HFC gantry and crushed the finale of a key gag, before ultimately happening again in the second half before the reformed heckler wandered on for the encore.
For me, those moments showed Lee at his best - thinking on his feet to create magical bonus moments before returning to the routine almost as if nothing had happened.
His own knowledge of Cornwall and our cultures and ways of life were the icing on the cake - the highlight of the whole show for me being the words I started this whole review with: referring to Cornwall as a white supremacist theme park. And if you don't understand that reference, you're not smart enough to be at a Stewart Lee show.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-21T22:12:33+00:00
Stewart Lee (and guest), Hall For Cornwall, Truro Review by Gareth Bartlett THE "White Supremacist Theme Park" of Cornwall had an unexpected visit from the county's Benign Spirit in Truro. Last night's Stewart Lee show at Hall For Cornwall was going rather well - despite the stand-up comedian's insistence to the contrary - until a man sauntered down to the front row and awkwardly swung a leg onto the edge of the stage. Before we knew it, he was centre stage with the self-styled thinking man's comic, barely coherent and revealing himself to be a reformed heckler. Ten minutes later he was still there, with Lee having chosen to use him to prove a point about the intricacies of his craft rather than just boot him off. The guest's tale about protecting a cat from seagulls and later buying a pasty will be the one that most people tell purely for the "Is this really happening?" incredulity of the whole thing. But while it was certainly a unique show for the tour, which had already swept through the city nine months ago, it would be a shame for the other hour-and-a-bit to be overshadowed. Not only was it hysterically funny, but it was also gripping and thought-provoking - though it's greatest achievement in my eyes was persuading this reviewer that it was amusing at all. I'd watched a bit of Stewart's TV series at the behest of What's On editor Lee Trewhela and West Briton editor David Thomas - both huge fans. They told me it was must-watch comedy but I probably wouldn't appreciate it, because it was too clever for the likes of me - a sub-40-year-old who enjoys the humour of Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em and Ricky Gervais. And they were at least half right - I...
It was with some glee (and no little surprise) that we at DS welcomed the news that Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle had been given a second series. He may have been proclaimed the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever in 2007, but we'd struggle to name many comics we'd rather see on stage than him.
Before his show returns tonight, we spoke to Stewart about his new late-night TV slot, why Channel 4 are "moronic cynics" and the long-awaited DVD release of his and Richard Herring's '90s classic Fist of Fun.
How do you feel about doing a second series? "I didn't think it would be recommissioned... and it was recommissioned specifically to try to carve out an exciting new territory for comedy - 11.20pm after Newsnight on a weekday. The feeling being that my show is unlikely to snag casual viewers but that a hardcore of people will follow it."
Are you okay with the new slot? "I'm relieved of the obligation to make any concessions in terms of the style of it. It's much more like the stuff I do live - the routines are longer and there are less jokes! Also there's been an across-the-board 30% budget cut to most comedy programmes... the sketches were what had to give. There isn't as much filmed stuff, but to be honest, being in the later slot and not needing to sugar the pill, they might have gone anyway."
What was Chris Morris's input as script editor? "He really helped fix a particular problem. I noticed reviews saying that I was arrogant and condescending. I thought, 'That's interesting because it doesn't feel like that live'. In the room I'm able to fabricate some kind of struggle whereby the gig isn't quite working. I'm a lower-status character, so when you criticise someone you don't do it from a position of authority or strength - it doesn't seem arrogant."
How did Chris fix that on screen? "I wanted some sort of device that would lower my status or make me appear to be under pressure. I spent days on end talking to Chris about different ideas to get that to work. We ended up with Armando Iannucci interviewing me throughout the series in a hostile way - criticising all the material and my role in the programme. That's cut in with all the stand-up and it works really well."
Did Chris write any material for the show? "There was a bit I was trying to write about observational comedy, and I wanted things that sounded like things you get in an observational, mainstream set that are slightly wrong. Chris came up with this brilliant line about how when you go to the dentist there's always a fish tank, and in the fish tank there's always a tiny statue of Napoleon. It's the sort of thing that sounds like it's nearly true but isn't."
You said some people thought you were arrogant in the first series... "I realised that lots of things people were criticising me for were things that I had actually set out to do. It made me realise that on some level I was on the right track. The tone of the new series is slightly reactive - trying to do more of the things that people hated. Not out of wilful perversity, but because the fact that they'd identified them meant that I probably hadn't done them enough. Sometimes things look a mistake, but if you do it much more then people have to accept that you've done it by choice - like improvised music. This series I've decided to push all the things that are irksome about it to people a bit further, so that they realise it's a choice - and it's their choice then to go with it or not."
What do you think about the impact of forums and the internet on comedy? "I know that when the second series wasn't going to be commissioned there was a website with a petition for it. I don't know how much difference that makes. I don't know if broadcasters should take any notice of that. They're dealing with huge budgets and really those budgets shouldn't be held hostage to the fact that it's quite easy to get 10,000 people to vote for something."
Does online criticism affect you? "I think it takes a lot of self-control to not look at what people are saying when you've got a new thing out. I don't think it influences content so much. Also, it's not something I have a direct contact with - I don't blog and I don't do Twitter."
Why not? "I don't really want anyone to know who I am. If people know things about you then they won't buy into stuff as much. I wrote a thing in The Guardian about the royal wedding and it looks like someone mad has written it. But if you know that I'm not mad and I have a family, you wouldn't buy into it as much... And I don't think it works as well for me as it does for Richard Herring. His work as a comedian is indivisible from his life - to a point where I sometimes wonder if he lives his life in a deliberately mad way to try and generate material!"
Richard told us that you were considering putting out Fist of Fun and TMWRNJ together... "Oh, he's done it, he's sorted it out. Basically the BBC didn't want to put out Fist of Fun commercially, because they didn't think it would sell anything. But then they wouldn't let us have it either, because they said it hadn't recouped its value. He's managed to buy the first series or both series of Fist of Fun off them for 15 grand. So we've gone three ways on it. Me, Rich and Chris Evans who runs [independent DVD firm] Go Faster Stripe. Of course we can sell them after gigs and I don't think it should be too difficult to make the money back."
Are you excited about that? "I think it's quite important for Richard's self-esteem. He's done much better than me financially in his life, he co-wrote Al Murray's sitcom, but I don't think he's had the critical acclaim that I've had. Weirdly I'd be much happier with the money and no critical acclaim! I think he feels he did something really good in Fist of Fun and it's never had the credit it deserved. I think it's really important for him to get it out there. I'm really happy for him that that's happening. I'm slightly ambivalent about it. I really liked the first series. I feel with the second series we were encouraged to make a number of artistically ill-advised compromises."
When will it be coming out? "We'll film a load of extras for it... I think it might be next year - we've got an idea about doing a one-off gig to launch it."
Richard blamed Channel 4 for the recent Frankie Boyle controversy, what are your thoughts on Boyle as a comedian? "He writes good jokes, but they don't seem to have a consistent point of view. When some of the things he said are explained in certain terms, that point of view is then contradicted by another joke. It's hard to justify them, because they don't add up to a coherent world view. I think the other problem Frankie has is that Channel 4 are defending him and we know that Channel 4 is run by opportunistic, moronic cynics."
Go on... "It's on Channel 4, so why would you trust it? It's true, isn't it? When people from Channel 4 say 'It's an example of the absurd, what Frankie's done', it isn't. They don't know anything. He and his writers come up with really great gags. In the mouth of someone else and in a different context, that thing about Katie Price's son might have read entirely differently. The problem is that Frankie's a high-status figure. Whereas if [Jerry] Sadowitz was doing it, it would read totally differently. Sadowitz is like a rat who's disenfranchised by the world. It would also read differently if it wasn't on Channel 4 - because Channel 4's just ugly and stupid on the whole... It's all about context."
Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle returns tonight at 11.20pm on BBC Two
Stewart Lee
2011-05-04T22:25:50+01:00
It was with some glee (and no little surprise) that we at DS welcomed the news that Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle had been given a second series. He may have been proclaimed the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever in 2007, but we'd struggle to name many comics we'd rather see on stage than him. Before his show returns tonight, we spoke to Stewart about his new late-night TV slot, why Channel 4 are "moronic cynics" and the long-awaited DVD release of his and Richard Herring's '90s classic Fist of Fun. How do you feel about doing a second series? "I didn't think it would be recommissioned... and it was recommissioned specifically to try to carve out an exciting new territory for comedy - 11.20pm after Newsnight on a weekday. The feeling being that my show is unlikely to snag casual viewers but that a hardcore of people will follow it." Are you okay with the new slot? "I'm relieved of the obligation to make any concessions in terms of the style of it. It's much more like the stuff I do live - the routines are longer and there are less jokes! Also there's been an across-the-board 30% budget cut to most comedy programmes... the sketches were what had to give. There isn't as much filmed stuff, but to be honest, being in the later slot and not needing to sugar the pill, they might have gone anyway." What was Chris Morris's input as script editor? "He really helped fix a particular problem. I noticed reviews saying that I was arrogant and condescending. I thought, 'That's interesting because it doesn't feel like that live'. In the room I'm able to fabricate some kind of struggle whereby the gig isn't quite working. I'm a lower-status character, so when you criticise someone you...
Stewart Lee: 41st Best Stand-Up Ever | Concert Hall | Reading | Friday 12 October 2007
AF Harrold's review
According to a poll voted for by the public and screened on Channel Four in April 2007 Stewart Lee is indeed, without a shadow of doubt and with no word of a lie or room for dissent the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever.
The support tonight comes from a man who is according to some the 62nd best stand-up in Germany, a title not so eagerly sought after.
Henning Wehn, the German Comedy Abassador, is an example of a peculiar species, the German comedian.
He makes great light of this fact, playing on German stereotypes of strictness and efficiency and memories of the Hitler Youth, but is at his very funniest on his long digressions about the history of, for example, cardigans or zips.
In these gleefully invented cheerfully presented deadpan passages brilliant invention and silliness go hand in hand in a manner reminiscent of Paul Merton at his best.
Stewart Lee's Edinburgh show is really very funny, but more than this it is well told.
This is the most striking thing about Lee his patient delivery: he doesn't hurry, doesn't gabble, doesn't chatter; he speaks at a calm pace, leaving room to think and room to listen, which in an echo chamber like the Concert Hall is refreshing. Without giving away too much of the content of the show it revolves around the Channel Four poll mentioned previously and his mother's preference for Tom O'Connor as a stand-up to her son.
In fact, an alternative title for the show could have been 'Coming To Terms With Tom O'Connor'.
Through passages against television, about Weight Watchers, against religion, about the Celebrity Big Brother racism row, about a cabaret called Pestival at an entomologists' conference, against listening to the public opinion and a coruscating assault on the Daily Mail writer Richard Littlejohn, which within the space of a minute shifts from being daringly, name-callingly, playground funny to being a very dark, hushed moment of heart-chilling sadness.
And this is one of Lee's skills, to be able to turn a joke into a piece of serious observation, without either being afraid of talking without a laugh for five minutes or losing his connection with the audience, trusting them enough to go with him, and then at the most unexpected moment to become a comedian again, telling jokes.
The show ends on another daringly quiet moment, with Lee (explicably, though we shan't say why here, in case you decided to see this highly recommended show) standing still and silent for several minutes, without fear and without shame (silence, of course, being both shaming and terrifying to most comedians) until the final black out.
A bravura piece of writing, which is deceptive in its simplicity, but filled with bravery, compassion, intelligence and comedy.
Matt Dyson's review
Stuart Lee's latest show was originally called 'March Of The Mallards' - based on the lurid, sexual activity of mallards. It was to be a defiant repose to Fundamentalist Christians, who have being using March Of The Penguin as a frost bitten, brain fact that penguins, and therefore nature is inherently monogamous.
Mother Nature, they say, is a puritanical, Victorian prude.
'March of The Mallards' was to use the brutal group mating activity these airborne, aquatic sex pests to prove that nature is , in fact , evil. The problem is, there is nothing else remotely funny about the Mallard.
It is this contempt for ill thought out ideas and stubborn refusal to let go, whether it is funny or not, which is the beating heart of Lee's stand up. It is also what makes him so compellingly funny.
You see, he is, according a recent Channel 4 poll, the '41st Best Stand Up Of All Time'. In this tour, Lee locks in on the dubious accolade like a pair of concrete boots to plunge into the depths of public stupidity and ridicule our national bad taste.
It is a show in which Tom O' Connor is a theme. That's right, him from Crosswits. A show where the 'values' of The Car Phone Warehouse are discussed alongside Marx and Buddha. And where the lumpen ignorance of lazy observational comedians are ridiculed through the analogy of insects.
Dressed as a grass hopper performing stand up to a room of leading etymologists might seem like a doomed pursuit but is it anymore fool hardy than voting Del Boy's fall in Only Fools and Horses as the funniest moment of all time? Trigger might have pulled a face but gravity as a 21st century comic device, shouldn't complete with Chris Morris' Brass Eye.
Battling logic through bewilderment, Lee campaigns for a revote.
Stewart Lee
2007-10-12T21:51:48+01:00
Stewart Lee: 41st Best Stand-Up Ever | Concert Hall | Reading | Friday 12 October 2007 AF Harrold's review According to a poll voted for by the public and screened on Channel Four in April 2007 Stewart Lee is indeed, without a shadow of doubt and with no word of a lie or room for dissent the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever. The support tonight comes from a man who is according to some the 62nd best stand-up in Germany, a title not so eagerly sought after. Henning Wehn, the German Comedy Abassador, is an example of a peculiar species, the German comedian. He makes great light of this fact, playing on German stereotypes of strictness and efficiency and memories of the Hitler Youth, but is at his very funniest on his long digressions about the history of, for example, cardigans or zips. In these gleefully invented cheerfully presented deadpan passages brilliant invention and silliness go hand in hand in a manner reminiscent of Paul Merton at his best. Stewart Lee's Edinburgh show is really very funny, but more than this it is well told. This is the most striking thing about Lee his patient delivery: he doesn't hurry, doesn't gabble, doesn't chatter; he speaks at a calm pace, leaving room to think and room to listen, which in an echo chamber like the Concert Hall is refreshing. Without giving away too much of the content of the show it revolves around the Channel Four poll mentioned previously and his mother's preference for Tom O'Connor as a stand-up to her son. In fact, an alternative title for the show could have been 'Coming To Terms With Tom O'Connor'. Through passages against television, about Weight Watchers, against religion, about the Celebrity Big Brother racism row, about a cabaret called Pestival at an...
The Lee And Herring's Fist Of Fun cash-in book is a classic of the genre, now fetching vastly inflated prices.
A flip book version has been scanned and uploaded here (there's also a PDF version available on the same site, or you can try to buy it here.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T23:31:01+00:00
The Lee And Herring's Fist Of Fun cash-in book is a classic of the genre, now fetching vastly inflated prices. A flip book version has been scanned and uploaded here (there's also a PDF version available on the same site, or you can try to buy it here.
There are tickets on sale for my Glasgow gig via the illegal touts at GetMeIn in Row S. If they are bought, the ticketholders will be personally thrown out by me.
NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES
Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018.
Weds 1st Nov - Sat 9th Dec 2017
Tuesday to Saturday except there is a performance on Monday 4th December
Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018
Monday to Saturday
Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF) Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF)
Wednesday November 1st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 7th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 9th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 11th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 14th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 21st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 28th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 29th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
December 2017
Friday December 1st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday December 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday December 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday December 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday December 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday December 7th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday December 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday December 9th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
January 2018
Tuesday January 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 11th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 12th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 19th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 20th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 24th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 25th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 26th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 27th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
More dates TBC June, Sept, Oct, Nov.
Check the LIVE PAGE ON WEBSITE.
Tours by other comedians are available.
Unpaid Charity Benefit Shows
As usual, I continue to work tirelessly for charity, usually alongside the same do-gooders.
Feb 19th Resofit at Leicester Sq Theatre with Daniel Kitson + Tony Law + Stewart Lee + Lewis Schaffer + special guest Danielle Ward 3.30pm £25.00 Last few tickets: TICKETS
Feb 20th - PEN Writers' Freedom of Speech benefit, Union Chapel, London w Jack Dee + Andy Hamilton + Shappi Khorsandi + Stewart Lee + Nick Revell. TICKETS
Feb 27th - Refugees at Union Chapel - Daniel Kitson, Stewart Lee, Bridget Christie, Nish Kumar, Tom Allen, Sophie Hagen, Bisha K Ali. TICKETS
March 21st - Hilarity for Charity. South & North London Care. Leics Sq Th, London. Jessica Fostekew, Dane Baptiste, Tony Law, Stewart Lee, Lolly Adefope, Norman Lovett, Andy Zaltzman and more tbc. TICKETS
Other charity shows are available.
Global Globules with Baconface
On Wednesdays at 11pm on Resonance 104.4 fm and on the station website, the barely present cult Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface continues to play lengthy and mainly uninterrupted selections from his late brother's extensive record collection of '60s and '70s psychedelia, progressive rock, free jazz, folk, acid folk, folk rock, acid rock, electronic music, and ethnoforgeries.
In association with the Chilliwack Office of Leisure. [Repeated Saturday 4am.] The shows can also be heard here.. http://www.baconfacecanada.com/listen
And also here, with pictures... http://www.baconfacecanada.com/global-globules/
Resonance is a groundbreaking 24/7 radio station which broadcasts on 104.4 FM to central London, DAB to Greater London, nationally on Radioplayer and live streamed to the rest of the world.
Other fictional men with masks made of bacon playing vintage psychedelia are not available.
Damnably is proud to present an evening with Jon Fine ( Bitch Magnet/ Coptic Light / Don Caballero) who will be in conversation with TV comedy star and music critic Stewart Lee then playing live with The Werewolves Of London (feat. members of smallgang).
Jon will be chatting about and taking questions on his critically acclaimed book 'Your Band Sucks' What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear) published by Penguin Books.
Stewart Lee
2017-02-06T16:01:37+00:00
Get Me In Tout Alert There are tickets on sale for my Glasgow gig via the illegal touts at GetMeIn in Row S. If they are bought, the ticketholders will be personally thrown out by me. NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018. Weds 1st Nov - Sat 9th Dec 2017 Tuesday to Saturday except there is a performance on Monday 4th December Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 Monday to Saturday Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF) Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF) CLICK HERE FOR THE LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE BOX OFFICE All dates listed in full at the gigs page. Other extra dates by other comedians are available. CONTENT PROVIDER TOUR Autumn 2017 dates are currently being booked. More dates will be added as they are confirmed. All updates will be made at the gigs page. Tuesday 7th - Content Provider - NORWICH - Theatre Royal - 7.30pm - 01603 630000 TICKETS Wednesday 8th - Content Provider - LEICESTER - DeMontfort Hall - 8pm - 0116 233 3111 TICKETS Thursday 9th - Content Provider - LEICESTER - DeMontfort Hall - 8pm - 0116 233 3111 TICKETS Friday 10th - Content Provider - HIGH WYCOMBE - Wycombe Swan - 8pm - 01494 512000 TICKETS Wednesday 22nd - Content Provider - TRURO - Hall For Cornwall - 7.30pm - 01872 262466 TICKETS Thursday 23rd - Content Provider - BRIGHTON - The Dome - 8pm - 01273 709709 TICKETS Friday 24th - Content Provider - BRIGHTON - The Dome - 8pm - 01273...
Earthless, a Californian instrumental trio of ‘90s post-punk veterans, realise the uninhibited bedroom guitar solo space rock jams of adolescent lore at a level of mathematical super-competence beyond that of mere stoned boys.
Untroubled by the fundamental decency of European fellow travelers Liquid Visions or Samsara Blues Experiment, Earthless’ low slung insolence is positively priapic. Their third album is heroically ludicrous, the closing half hour splurge surge of From The Ages currently the last word in kaleidoscopic fret-wrangling.
Stewart Lee
2013-11-24T12:30:10+00:00
Earthless, a Californian instrumental trio of ‘90s post-punk veterans, realise the uninhibited bedroom guitar solo space rock jams of adolescent lore at a level of mathematical super-competence beyond that of mere stoned boys. Untroubled by the fundamental decency of European fellow travelers Liquid Visions or Samsara Blues Experiment, Earthless’ low slung insolence is positively priapic. Their third album is heroically ludicrous, the closing half hour splurge surge of From The Ages currently the last word in kaleidoscopic fret-wrangling.
The second week of the fringe has passed and my goal of seeing 100 shows/exhibitions/happenings this month seems distant, as I have so far managed a mere 22. My goal of not being a drunk argumentative twat at 1 am in the morning is going well though.
Here are my top 6 shows so far...
Paul Currie - The Chorus of Ghosts Living in My Skull Keep Telling Me to Take a Shit in the Fruit Salad - Just The Tonic @ Caves - 9PM
A surrealist revivalist church meeting in which anything can happen. Brilliant clowning and unexpected hints of the personal. The sort of perfect fringe experience that grows and grows into something super-special over the month and then, all too regularly, evaporates on contact with the cruel reality beyond an Edinburgh August. I’ve been twice. Lots of the crowd are now clearly regulars, participating in a kind of ritual comic cleansing. Superbly tech’d too. My special place 2022.
Police Cops - Assembly Studios - 7pm
I am late to this party but I suspect this show is a step up. People with the skills to do proper comedy don’t usually have the skills or attitude to do music theatre too, but genuinely funny improvisations weave in and out of a tight cop-show parody script. The cast are fit and handsome, acrobatic and accomplished, and yet also ridiculous and grotesque and clownish in a classic comedy way. The jokes are smart and the musical milieu of ‘80s power rock is dead on. It takes brains to be this dumb! Who the hell are these people, and why haven’t they been ruined for ever by actual West End fame?
Thom Tuck & Tim FitzHigham - Macbeth - Udderbelly - 8.35pm
The drunken fen-lords of comedy recreate Macbeth from memory in a haze of hallucinogenic impro-fuzz, ravaging the text as is their Lordly prima nocte right. What really went on there? We only have this extract? What the fringe is made for.
Alasdair Beckett-King - Nevermore - Pleasance Dome 7PM
Great writerly material which has enough room to breathe to make it feel like it’s alive, and a well-judged and non-interventionist use of tech. Precise and very funny.
An Evening Without Kate Bush - Assembly George Sq Gardens 5.55PM
A Bush-consumed lady channels Bush fandom with persuasive charm, genuine warmth, and accurate choreography
Medea - Liz Locheed - Edinburgh International Festival - various times
A kind of fashion show promenade catwalk performance of the miserable tale in a spectacular space, with darkly comic lines performed in crispy Scottish vernacular by a brilliantly diverse cast offering finely nuanced interpretations of their roles.
AND I ALSO LOVED this next 6
Fascinating Aida - Assembly George Square - 6PM
Sophisticated satirical songs, performed by jazz-age cabaret muso-dames, with unexpected angry edges and fantastic internal rhyme schemes
Jonny & The Baptists - Dance Like It Never Happened - Assembly George Square 4PM
High energy satirical folk-pop sure to make you dance in your seat, hate the Tories, and question God.
Marvelus - All The Marvel Movies... Kind Of! - Just The Tonic Caves 6.10 PM
Two deeply humane nerds impro-comedy their way through the MCU, making massive and imaginative use of limited props. Great if you know your Marvel movies, and probably weirdly enjoyable if you don’t. Leave your stinky Marvel fan husband there and go for a prosecco.
Omid Djalili - New Town Theatre - 5.20pm
Omid sneaks social commentary and liberal satire into a show so unapologetically entertaining the audience don’t even realise they are being indoctrinated!
Jo Neary - Stand II - 12 mid-day
Superb surreal character comedy with a pin-sharp absurd vocabulary and a fluid sense of the physical from the deathless art weirdo. Unique and special.
Famous Puppet Deaths - Roxy - 6.30pm
Three talented Canadian women explore the beautiful futility of life in a succession of Edward Gorey-esque comic scenes of suffering using puppets and bits of themselves
ALSO
If you like jazz art the Dovecote Gallery has an unprecedently thorough retrospective on the overlooked free-jazz/abstractionist Alan Davie, whose work mainly lies overlooked and rotting in British provincial gallery collection cellars. Ace!
MY SPIES TELL ME
The Tragedy of Macbeth - Roxy - 12 midday
The full on classic fringe treatment w live music, puppets, physical theatre etc, apparently. It blew my kids’ minds!
Circus Abyssinia Tulu - Underbelly meadows 1.30 PM
The kids said this was utterly brilliant and unaffectedly honest. They want to join the circus now.
The Road To Ballina - Gilded Ballon @ The Museum - 2pm
Jakko Jakszyk - from King Crimson? - tells the story of tracing his family and uncovering some surprises with musical accompaniment. Again, a highlight for my family talent spotters.
20 down, 80 to go.
That’s 40 shows a week, or just over 5 a day, for the next 2 weeks. Will I make it?
Stewart Lee
2022-08-15T12:26:15+01:00
The second week of the fringe has passed and my goal of seeing 100 shows/exhibitions/happenings this month seems distant, as I have so far managed a mere 22. My goal of not being a drunk argumentative twat at 1 am in the morning is going well though. Here are my top 6 shows so far... Paul Currie - The Chorus of Ghosts Living in My Skull Keep Telling Me to Take a Shit in the Fruit Salad - Just The Tonic @ Caves - 9PM A surrealist revivalist church meeting in which anything can happen. Brilliant clowning and unexpected hints of the personal. The sort of perfect fringe experience that grows and grows into something super-special over the month and then, all too regularly, evaporates on contact with the cruel reality beyond an Edinburgh August. I’ve been twice. Lots of the crowd are now clearly regulars, participating in a kind of ritual comic cleansing. Superbly tech’d too. My special place 2022. Police Cops - Assembly Studios - 7pm I am late to this party but I suspect this show is a step up. People with the skills to do proper comedy don’t usually have the skills or attitude to do music theatre too, but genuinely funny improvisations weave in and out of a tight cop-show parody script. The cast are fit and handsome, acrobatic and accomplished, and yet also ridiculous and grotesque and clownish in a classic comedy way. The jokes are smart and the musical milieu of ‘80s power rock is dead on. It takes brains to be this dumb! Who the hell are these people, and why haven’t they been ruined for ever by actual West End fame? Thom Tuck & Tim FitzHigham - Macbeth - Udderbelly - 8.35pm The drunken fen-lords of comedy recreate Macbeth from memory...
I’d given up on ever again finding stand-up on TV funny, so Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle didn’t arouse antic expectations. But actually it is properly funny, and what makes him funny is instructive. He plays a character. It’s not him, it’s a performance. He’s not just a spooky, needy fat man telling jokes; Lee’s character is a spooky, needy fat man, a metropolitan socialist with a bucket of self-loathing, insecurity, thin skin and well-deserved doubts, telling jokes. He is a Corbynista Tony Hancock, and it’s a good creation, delivered with astute vehemence.
Lee points out that comedy has made him a member of the middle class, where he is hated, and you know this is an act because, in real life, Lee went to a public school — he was a contemporary of Richard Hammond, whom he once hilariously wished was dead — and then to Oxford; and he writes musicals. His mockable working- class persona is tee-hee gold. If you regret the passing of really whiny political humour and wondered who on earth was going to pick up the jester’s cap, look no further.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-06T17:36:15+00:00
I’d given up on ever again finding stand-up on TV funny, so Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle didn’t arouse antic expectations. But actually it is properly funny, and what makes him funny is instructive. He plays a character. It’s not him, it’s a performance. He’s not just a spooky, needy fat man telling jokes; Lee’s character is a spooky, needy fat man, a metropolitan socialist with a bucket of self-loathing, insecurity, thin skin and well-deserved doubts, telling jokes. He is a Corbynista Tony Hancock, and it’s a good creation, delivered with astute vehemence. Lee points out that comedy has made him a member of the middle class, where he is hated, and you know this is an act because, in real life, Lee went to a public school — he was a contemporary of Richard Hammond, whom he once hilariously wished was dead — and then to Oxford; and he writes musicals. His mockable working- class persona is tee-hee gold. If you regret the passing of really whiny political humour and wondered who on earth was going to pick up the jester’s cap, look no further.
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/slcv4/tv-review/
Last night my lovely girlfriend took me to see Stewart Lee in his new stand up show Carpet Remnant World at the Leicester Square Theatre.
I've been a fan of Lee since I was very young, following his career from the days of Fist of Fun and This Morning with Richard not Judy, so was amply excited to be seeing him live for the first time.
Clearly Stewart Lee's comedy stylings have made significant transitions over the years, abandoning his collaboration with Richard Herring (although they invariably still refer to each other in their solo stand up), securing himself as Britain's most controversial comedian. This controversy isn't a product of vulgar or politically incorrect material - although this does form some of his stand up - but his arrogant, self-promoting comedic style.
Lee has always come across as a very self-assured comedian. His material consistently displays a weight of intellect that he is clearly proud of whilst often dealing offensive blows to rival 'lesser' comedians. Despite seeming pompous and proud on stage, his satirical japery always seemed artificial, like an act.
I'm sure he is proud that his sets promote a level of intelligence and an awareness of current affairs; I'm certain that he does indeed feel that his comedy manages to transcend the 'low brow' comedy of some commercial stand ups. Lee has long been the darling of the fringe comedy scene but, importantly, he never genuinely appeared to believe his own hype. Until now….
Carpet Remnant World described in three words: Elitist. Offensive. Laboured.
But aren't these also three particularly apt words to describe how Stewart Lee's act has always appeared? They are indeed, it's just that in his most recent show they no longer seem like elements of an act. Instead, they are so fervently present that they create a show that above all doesn't work but worse still portrays a comedian that has a genuine disdain for his audience.
Let's dissect:
1. Elitist: As described above, Stewart Lee has long promoted
his work as an antidote to commercial stand up and observational comedy. He
often demonstrates that his style of comedy is superior to others, that he is
some kind of comedic anti-hero destroying the established regime in favour of
a comic style with a greater depth of intelligence and socio-political reference
beyond the grasp of the common man.
This is true, to an extent. His comedy is certainly more challenging than a lot of comedians on the circuit currently. Unequivocally, there is a subtlety, an ambiguity to his stand up lending itself to a more ambivalent, thought-provoking show. It's just that in Carpet Remnant World it seems that this has somewhat got to the head of Stewart Lee.
He is incessantly snobby about alternative forms of comedy - in his eyes, lesser forms - such as commercially celebrated observational comic acts like Peter Kay and Russell Howard, rather championing his own 'high brow' comedy intellectualism to the point of narcissism.
Interestingly though, despite his constant criticism and perpetual self-aggrandisement, the biggest and most consistent laughs of the night came from a repeated impression of Scooby Doo. How does that irony sit with you Mr Lee?
Moreover, Stewart Lee seems genuinely bitter about winning two British Comedy Awards (for Best Male Television Comic and Best Comedy Entertainment Program), driving him to attack those that he considers beneath him intellectually. Not only is this an ungrateful slap in the face of the panel who selected him (including comedic actor and director Reece Shearsmith and the commissioning editors for Sky, Dave and Comedy Central, to name but a few) but in his outbursts he further condemns the fan base he has developed as a result of his BBC Comedy Vehicle. I appreciate that he does not seek commercial success, rather he would prefer to comfortably sit on the fringe with his comedy morals intact, but how can you publicly criticise anyone that has shown you support without any sense of gratitude.
In an interview with the Guardian's Emine Saner, Lee was asked whether he was at all jealous of millionaire comedians like Michael McIntyre. Here is his response -
"Not really. I wouldn't want that level of recognition. It's quite difficult as a comic if you're that famous to know whether people are laughing at you or whether they're just excited about seeing someone famous in a football stadium. It's hard to go badly under those circumstances, and going badly is a big part of what I do".
Perhaps this explains why he appears to have such a problem with the recognition he has received of late. There is a simple solution though: don't do a comedy show as part of a primetime BBC schedule.
If you are so profoundly opposed to any sign of commercial success then ensure that you remain in relative obscurity, by playing only to low level crowds up and down the country. No Comedy Vehicle = no awards.
2. Offensive. Again as discussed above, Stewart Lee is known
for his offensive attacks, not just against rival comedians but his audience
also. Readily he delves into a seemingly ill-prepared joke which insults a local
stereotype of the location he is playing in. For example, in Stand Up Comedian,
filmed in Glasgow, he regularly insults the Scottish with a combination of regional
stereotypical opinion and an attack on Scottish heritage. Yet, Lee always had
the wit to carry it off in a way that reveals its artifice. The jokes are not
needlessly offensive, supported by a degree of intellect and a structural preparation
that engages the audience, allowing them to see past the overt, explicit insults.
However, in Carpet Remnant World these insults are much more personal supporting the idea that the show is no longer an act. Throughout the set Lee repeatedly criticises people for not understanding certain jokes, implicitly labelling them as inferior for having less of an intellectual capacity.
He even sought to divide the room into sections, those that got his material and those that were simply there as a result of his new heralded, British Comedy Award, fame. These insults were not subtle, such as those witnessed in previous shows. They were so frequent and delivered with such bitterness that they were beyond tacit, satirical digs.
At times the show had the impression of a witch hunt, scanning the audience for people who weren't laughing as to belittle their intelligence, to the point of discomfort. I genuinely believe that there were some people in the room who laughed defensively, who smiled along so as to gain the approval of an elitist comic. This then has interesting implications on Lee's aforementioned response - "It's quite difficult as a comic if you're that famous to know whether people are laughing at you or whether they're just excited about seeing someone famous in a football stadium" ….. or laughing out of fear of embarrassment.
As observed above, Lee was also highly critical of his comic rivals, in particular the Russells, (Howard, Kane and Brand) and Michael McIntyre. He audaciously knocks their comedy successes making it clear that their brand of energetic observational comedy is inferior to his. With this is mind, who is Lee really chastising, the comedians or their fans? Inherently he is rebuking the fans for their poor taste in comedy - in his opinion.
As Guy Stagg of the Telegraph puts it, "But McIntyre is not the real object of this scorn. It is the people who find him funny. The people who are so unsophisticated that they laugh at observational comedy. Because comedy snobbery is just a vehicle for other, more poisonous forms of snobbery." Shockingly, Lee has selected a quote from this damning article to advertise his show. This choice denotes an intensely obnoxious pride, one which is heavily misplaced.
Stewart Lee is often described as a left wing comedian, and with his regular dissection of the Tory party, David Cameron in particular, it is easy to see why this is.
He certainly appears to align himself with the left, yet his style of comedy is inescapably right wing. It is not inclusive, it is very much elitist, seeking to undermine those that don't fit in with his intellectual ideals. Once again I am amazed that he so comfortably seeks to repel his fans who have dispensed with time and money to see his show. I know it's not very anti-establishment but he should certainly feel privileged.
3. Laboured. Stewart Lee's material has often seemed very laboured,
full of hesitation, repetition and self-reference. This has always been part
of its charm though, as you see how disparate thematic material is eloquently
drawn together by the end of the show. His delivery is slow paced, with recurring
repetition for emphasis, especially of particularly important thematic references.
Yet, in Carpet Remnant World Lee's jokes are far too laboured.
His hesitation is such that it damages the fluidity of the show, but worse still there is simply not enough material, a fact he happily reiterates throughout the night.
Lee constantly refers to the fact that he hasn't had time, nor the experiences to create an interesting comedy set, instead spending the last year looking after his 4 year old son and driving around the North Circular. I gather this is supposed to be subversive whilst preparing the way to eventually disprove this statement. However, he is not able to successfully achieve this as his initial statement is quite true; there is not enough material in the show. As such, he relies too heavily on repetition, which only serves to damage the quality jokes he does have; a prime example of this is the Scooby Doo based 'jungle canyon rope bridge' skit, which started on a hilarious high but unfortunately ended disastrously as it was continuously redelivered in needless iterations.
I fully understand the set's closing metaphor too, which seeks to unite Stewart Lee's meandering themes into a final conclusion with the show's supposedly ironic title.
He compares his set to the characteristics of a Carpet Remnant World, of taking snippets of ragbag material and combining them with a sensitivity and artistry that somehow manages to create a satisfying whole. But it didn't…. It really didn't. His set did not come together as a satisfying whole, as he promised early in the show. Alternating sections seemed disparate at best, and a typical Lee-esque cohesion was never really achieved, leaving the audience feeling somewhat lost.
By now Lee devotees out there may well be thinking that I'm the Russell Howard loving, comedy philistine that he so fervently seeks to alienate in his show. Patently that is not the case though. The problem isn't that I didn't 'get' his jokes. It wasn't that they were above my head. I fully understand his side swipe at lower forms of comedy.
His reference to Boyle's law, his retelling of a joke in French, his attack on those comedians that end a set with a solemn personal story - clearly references to Frankie Boyle, Eddie Izzard and Richard Herring respectively. And I in fact share his disliking of Michael McIntyre's and Russell Howard's particular brands of comedy. He just does it in such a way that is far too explicitly offensive, only serving to insult the audience members that may well enjoy them.
To end this rant I will refer to one last joke from Stewart Lee's set, one which I feel entirely encapsulates what was wrong with it. Halfway through the show he criticised Ricky Gervais for becoming as arrogant and offensive a person in actuality as his act entailed. This was the bitterest irony of the night, completely highlighting that he himself has undergone a similar process. His set was clearly no longer an act; there was patently a genuine dislike for his audience, combined with a pretentious feeling of superiority.
Stewart Lee. Elitist, offensive, laboured. Oh and hypocritical, mustn't forget that.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-05T13:40:22+00:00
Last night my lovely girlfriend took me to see Stewart Lee in his new stand up show Carpet Remnant World at the Leicester Square Theatre. I've been a fan of Lee since I was very young, following his career from the days of Fist of Fun and This Morning with Richard not Judy, so was amply excited to be seeing him live for the first time. Clearly Stewart Lee's comedy stylings have made significant transitions over the years, abandoning his collaboration with Richard Herring (although they invariably still refer to each other in their solo stand up), securing himself as Britain's most controversial comedian. This controversy isn't a product of vulgar or politically incorrect material - although this does form some of his stand up - but his arrogant, self-promoting comedic style. Lee has always come across as a very self-assured comedian. His material consistently displays a weight of intellect that he is clearly proud of whilst often dealing offensive blows to rival 'lesser' comedians. Despite seeming pompous and proud on stage, his satirical japery always seemed artificial, like an act. I'm sure he is proud that his sets promote a level of intelligence and an awareness of current affairs; I'm certain that he does indeed feel that his comedy manages to transcend the 'low brow' comedy of some commercial stand ups. Lee has long been the darling of the fringe comedy scene but, importantly, he never genuinely appeared to believe his own hype. Until now…. Carpet Remnant World described in three words: Elitist. Offensive. Laboured. But aren't these also three particularly apt words to describe how Stewart Lee's act has always appeared? They are indeed, it's just that in his most recent show they no longer seem like elements of an act. Instead, they are so fervently present that...
Last month, as I was being served at the counter of north London's fashionable Rhythm Records, the assistant suddenly clasped his stomach and rushed out into Camden High Street. "It's all right," said a second assistant, who took over, "he had a heavy night. It isn't a comment on your taste." I had just bought a copy of Tennessee Moon, the new album by Neil Diamond.
I grew up in a house full of Neil Diamond music. My mum fell under his spell in 1973 after hearing the live double album Hot August Night while under local anaesthetic at the dentist. Subsequently, I realise I've learnt all the words to his first 10 albums without even trying. Talking to him is a bit like meeting Father Christmas.
For the uninitiated: Diamond is 55; he grew up in New York, got his first guitar at 16 and dropped out of a fencing scholarship at New York University to be a $50-a-week publishing-company songwriter. His hair grows in an arc around his head now, like a fur halo. He wears blue sequined jackets. He has sold more than 110m records. If he'd died, unknown, in 1972, he'd arguably be one of those lost 1960s figures that young hipsters lust to rediscover, a la Tim Hardin or Fred Neil. Instead, Diamond grew up to fill enormous stadiums, duet with Barbra Streisand and pursue some ill-advised pop-disco avenues. Still, that's showbusiness.
For the teenage Diamond, seeing the leftish folk singer Pete Seeger was something of a pivotal moment. "He played a bunch of songs, including songs he'd written," remembers Diamond. "This was 1956. There were maybe 30 or 40 people there. It was the first time I'd sat down and realised songs could be written by ordinary people." Ten years later, Diamond was a songwriter at the Brill Building publishing house, alongside Gerry Goffin and Carole "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" King, and the Monkees made his I'm a Believer famous. With hindsight, the Brill Building can be seen to have shaped American popular music, but for the young Diamond, it certainly didn't feel like it was historic: "I was just trying to find a foothold, as a songwriter or a producer, I wasn't too sure." Soon Diamond became intent on carving out a solo career, a surprising move then for a paid hack. "It was unusual to put out a record yourself, a song that you'd written, but Bob Dylan proved it needn't be such a novelty. And then the Beatles proved it could be commercial."
For three decades since, Diamond's career has been nothing if not commercial. He's had mega- hits with Sweet Caroline (1969), Cracklin' Rosie (1970) and Song Sung Blue (1972); his Greatest Hits, released in 1992, went platinum. He has just embarked on a 15-date British tour and is now filed in the same middle-of-the-road, stadium-fodder league as Michael Bolton.
But in the 1970s, Diamond was held in enough critical esteem to warrant a collaboration with producer Robbie Robertson, of Bob Dylan acolytes the Band, on his concept album Beautiful Noise. He played alongside such respected members of the rock hall of fame as Van Morrison and Neil Young in Scorsese's film of the Band's final gig, The Last Waltz, yet both these artists have an acclaim that Diamond lacks. But he doesn't regret having chosen a different path. "I think we all chose the same thing: to make music. What pigeonhole you get put into comes later."
Ironically, while the 1960s survivors all still wear rebel chic as comfortably as a suede-tasselled jacket, it's the spangle-shirted Diamond who is least likely to be invited to the Rolling Stone magazine Christmas party. He's the real outsider. "That's true," he agrees, "but don't tell anyone, or I won't get let back in." That's the essence of Neil Diamond, caught somewhere between earnest songwriter and snake-hipped Vegas cabaret star.
The signs are all there, as early as his first solo single, the brilliant Solitary Man from 1966. An earnest, brooding, writerly verse, knocked out over a minimal acoustic guitar, soon gives way to an upbeat, horn-augmented sing-along chorus that fades from a jaunty major key back into a menacing minor one, before returning to the verse the schizophrenic nature of Diamond in a nutshell. For every beautiful Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon, there is some awful 1980s pop effort like Headed for the Future, a song so gauche that Cliff Richard himself would be proud to sing it. But Diamond knows this. In 1984, he said he often wondered if he were Sammy Davis or Bob Dylan. "But now I am me," he concludes, reassuringly. "All that self-evaluation and trying to be another artist is over. I'm not trying to be somebody else."
The sleeve notes to Hot August Night describe, bizarrely, how Diamond's audience "falls like plums at his feet" (sic), and predictably, most journalistic criticism of Diamond attacks his plums, rather than his music. The block vote of an army of middle-aged, middle-class housewives is apparently beneath consideration. But every ticket for Diamond bought out of a tight housekeeping budget is at least one less for an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. That said, the audience we see in Diamond's 1988 video release, Greatest Hits Live, has a bri-nylon ultra-normality so pronounced it makes them almost freakish, as if David Lynch had hand-picked every one. But Diamond won't have any of it: "You have two choices. Leave it to the critics, or please yourself and the audience. My audience has a strong sense of loyalty that has got to be repaid. I try to put on the best show I can. I hold back nothing."
Being a popular mainstream entertainer is a critically unrewarding job, but someone's got to do it and Diamond at least does it with integrity. And with the release of his new album, the country-styled Tennessee Moon, it looks like he might at last be heading back on line. The only country songs I ever remember Diamond doing were the pastiches of the early 1970s, such as Soggy Pretzels and You're so Sweet, Horseflies Keep Hanging Round Your Face, but he maintains that in Tennessee Moon he just made the record he wanted and that he wasn't aware that country and western was enjoying a renaissance. Even if that's true, nobody who has sold more than 110m records is allowed to make these kinds of decisions blind. There are men with ponytails who are paid handsomely to stop them.
For Diamond, Tennessee Moon, recorded in Nashville, represents something of a wish fulfilment. On the closing song, Blue Highway, he plays with his childhood hero, the 1950s country star Chet Atkins. How? "The way you get Chet Atkins to play on your record is to invite him over to watch the Super Bowl and tell him that you have to have him play, or your life just won't be the same."
I still think Diamond has a better album in him than Tennessee Moon. The title track itself keeps threatening to cut loose and shift up a gear, but never makes it, and the whole album has a kind of safe, homogenised sound that still doesn't do Diamond justice. But at worst, Tennessee Moon shows that a producer with any kind of vision could easily sculpt a new, improved, unplugged Neil Diamond who could placate old fans, as well as win him new ones from the MTV generation. Whether that's something Diamond himself would want is another matter entirely.
Earlier this year, Diamond told Q magazine: "The only time I'll be happy is when I'm dead." Asked to qualify this morbid statement, he explained: "I'm on a particular road and I don't know why I'm on it, or why I'm so determined, but I am on it. It's not my job to be happy, but to fulfil whatever potential I have. My goal is not happiness, but to be productive and to create beautiful noises."
Back in the 1950s, a young Diamond helped out in his family's lingerie shop. The radio was always on. "I was quite a shy kid, but when you have to take care of people in the shop it forces you out of yourself. Nothing's changed. I still just try to keep the customer satisfied."
Stewart Lee
1996-05-12T16:40:31+01:00
Last month, as I was being served at the counter of north London's fashionable Rhythm Records, the assistant suddenly clasped his stomach and rushed out into Camden High Street. "It's all right," said a second assistant, who took over, "he had a heavy night. It isn't a comment on your taste." I had just bought a copy of Tennessee Moon, the new album by Neil Diamond. I grew up in a house full of Neil Diamond music. My mum fell under his spell in 1973 after hearing the live double album Hot August Night while under local anaesthetic at the dentist. Subsequently, I realise I've learnt all the words to his first 10 albums without even trying. Talking to him is a bit like meeting Father Christmas. For the uninitiated: Diamond is 55; he grew up in New York, got his first guitar at 16 and dropped out of a fencing scholarship at New York University to be a $50-a-week publishing-company songwriter. His hair grows in an arc around his head now, like a fur halo. He wears blue sequined jackets. He has sold more than 110m records. If he'd died, unknown, in 1972, he'd arguably be one of those lost 1960s figures that young hipsters lust to rediscover, a la Tim Hardin or Fred Neil. Instead, Diamond grew up to fill enormous stadiums, duet with Barbra Streisand and pursue some ill-advised pop-disco avenues. Still, that's showbusiness. For the teenage Diamond, seeing the leftish folk singer Pete Seeger was something of a pivotal moment. "He played a bunch of songs, including songs he'd written," remembers Diamond. "This was 1956. There were maybe 30 or 40 people there. It was the first time I'd sat down and realised songs could be written by ordinary people." Ten years later, Diamond was a...
It was my school friend Simon Smith, perpetually and enviably ahead of the curve, who made me see the then unknown REM catch fire at a small student gig at Warwick University in 1984. And so when Simon suggested we see some ‘live art’, at the gallery in Birmingham, by a man called Anthony Howell, I said I’d go. I was sixteen and susceptible.
That night, we sat on plastic chairs in a semi-circle on the flagstones of the gallery café, around two suitcases, a small table and a wardrobe. A compact little man came out and moved the suitcases and the table around in inscrutable silence for forty minutes. Then he climbed into the wardrobe and it fell over. I was in a hot flush of embarrassed hysteria throughout, terrified I would wet my pants and shriek with laughter, puncturing the mood for the two dozen spectators. So this was the pretentious shit those middle class Guardian reading wankers I learned about in my parents’ Daily Mail were watching?
I composed myself for the second half. The art twat came out again, with his smug and insolent face, now lit only by oil lamps, and clambered noiselessly about the same furniture holding two pails of water. Howell had his impenetrably important work to do. We had been invited to watch. And this time I was spellbound, amused, moved to tears even, and converted, though into what I didn’t really know.
I never saw Antony Howell perform again, but his passable poetry washes up in second hand bookshops and he appears to have made a sideways move into Tango. Simon Smith, meanwhile, went on to head E-bay Australia, his nose for culture plugged by the stench of barbecued prawns.
I remain eternally grateful to him for that night in Birmingham. There’s no end of punters posting on-line their loathing of my work, especially when they feel out of step with the crowd. “Everyone around me was loving it,” wrote someone this Summer, “and I hated his guts.” I know how they feel. I suspect that if I had seen my current act as a younger man, its passive-aggressive monotony and veiled performance art strategies might have left me equally irritated. But I take some comfort in the fact that Table Moves, which I remember with great fondness, appeared to me too, at first, to be intolerable.
Stewart Lee
2010-09-12T20:35:49+01:00
BEST PERFOMANCE It was my school friend Simon Smith, perpetually and enviably ahead of the curve, who made me see the then unknown REM catch fire at a small student gig at Warwick University in 1984. And so when Simon suggested we see some ‘live art’, at the gallery in Birmingham, by a man called Anthony Howell, I said I’d go. I was sixteen and susceptible. That night, we sat on plastic chairs in a semi-circle on the flagstones of the gallery café, around two suitcases, a small table and a wardrobe. A compact little man came out and moved the suitcases and the table around in inscrutable silence for forty minutes. Then he climbed into the wardrobe and it fell over. I was in a hot flush of embarrassed hysteria throughout, terrified I would wet my pants and shriek with laughter, puncturing the mood for the two dozen spectators. So this was the pretentious shit those middle class Guardian reading wankers I learned about in my parents’ Daily Mail were watching? I composed myself for the second half. The art twat came out again, with his smug and insolent face, now lit only by oil lamps, and clambered noiselessly about the same furniture holding two pails of water. Howell had his impenetrably important work to do. We had been invited to watch. And this time I was spellbound, amused, moved to tears even, and converted, though into what I didn’t really know. I never saw Antony Howell perform again, but his passable poetry washes up in second hand bookshops and he appears to have made a sideways move into Tango. Simon Smith, meanwhile, went on to head E-bay Australia, his nose for culture plugged by the stench of barbecued prawns. I remain eternally grateful to him for that night...
Alan sits down with comedian Stewart Lee, a man The Times called in 2018 'the best standup working today'!
They chat about how COVID-19 stopped Stewart's latest tour and how he'll tackle comedy once it's back to some sort of normality, as well as how the pair both shared the same stage decades apart!
Alan and Stewart have met on a few occasions before, but this is the first time the two men, who admire each other greatly, have got together for a detailed, honest and exclusive chat!
Stewart Lee
2021-01-30T15:58:13+00:00
Alan sits down with comedian Stewart Lee, a man The Times called in 2018 'the best standup working today'! They chat about how COVID-19 stopped Stewart's latest tour and how he'll tackle comedy once it's back to some sort of normality, as well as how the pair both shared the same stage decades apart! Alan and Stewart have met on a few occasions before, but this is the first time the two men, who admire each other greatly, have got together for a detailed, honest and exclusive chat!
In Episode 2 Jonny is joined by brilliant stand-up and writer Stewart Lee who has a deeply-held love for Spaghetti Western movie soundtracks. Listen in as Stewart digs thru thrilling masterpices from films like Django, For A Few Dollars More, Matalo! and more...
Stewart Lee
2018-05-12T02:50:29+01:00
In Episode 2 Jonny is joined by brilliant stand-up and writer Stewart Lee who has a deeply-held love for Spaghetti Western movie soundtracks. Listen in as Stewart digs thru thrilling masterpices from films like Django, For A Few Dollars More, Matalo! and more...
Cardiff Comedy mavericks Go Faster Stripe shot the 90s Comedian show in 2006, and it's now available on DVD.
I'm delighted to have the show available and the team worked wonders with limited equipment.
I'll flog these at gigs, or check their website to get them, and please don't bootleg them all over the place.
I NEED THIS.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T19:50:53+00:00
Cardiff Comedy mavericks Go Faster Stripe shot the 90s Comedian show in 2006, and it's now available on DVD. I'm delighted to have the show available and the team worked wonders with limited equipment. I'll flog these at gigs, or check their website to get them, and please don't bootleg them all over the place. I NEED THIS.
Music Theatre, the genre which gave us Andrew Lloyd Webber and the tribute show, combines the worst aspects of music with the worst aspects of theatre to create a mutant hybrid that is the worst form of live art that exists. There are few aspects of human artistic endeavour that are of less moral or aesthetic worth than Music Theatre. Music Theatre is worse than pornography, although the two have much in common. A two and a half hour, all-singing, all-dancing West End smash is the equivalent of the triple penetration gang bang scene on some unpleasant German hotel room in house video channel. It doesn’t look much fun for the people doing and it isn’t especially enjoyable for the people watching it, but you have to admit it takes guts, commitment and stamina, an engenders a weird form of respect. The main difference between pornography and Music Theatre is that you cannot masturbate to Phantom Of The Opera. Even if you thoughtfully masturbate in the back row, and affect no-one’s enjoyment of the show but your own, you are still likely to be asked to leave the theatre, unless you are Andrew Lloyd Webber, in which case you probably own the building and can wander in and out at will doing whatever you like and none of the ushers will say anything because they don’t want to get sacked.
As you may have guessed, I hate Music Theatre. What you may not have guessed is that for that last three years, without even realising it at first, I worked in the medium itself. In the spring of 2001 the composer Richard Thomas asked me to help direct, and write some extra words for, an opera he was writing about the American talk show host Jerry Springer. We worked the show up for eighteen months with friends and acquaintances who gave their time largely for free in small rooms at Battersea Arts Centre and The Edinburgh Fringe Festival and eventually the finished product, Jerry Springer The Opera, was staged at the National Theatre and then London’s West End, where it won 4 Olivier awards. Somewhere along the line, a hit musical had been created. This was a strange and delightful surprise for everyone involved, and especially for me, as before I started work on Jerry Springer The Opera I had never seen a musical. I had always assumed Music Theatre wasn’t something I’d enjoy. Out of professional curiosity I went to see some, and found Music Theatre to be even worse than I could ever have imagined. It is important for me to point out here that my views in no way reflect those of any of my co-workers or employers in Jerry Springer The Opera, all of whom I have nothing but immense respect for.
Admittedly, my initial exposure to the genre of Music Theatre wasn’t ideal. The first musical I ever saw was not Carousel, or West Side Story, or Guys and Dolls, but We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen. It’s as good a metaphor as any for the problems inherent in the genre. We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen is set in a dystopian future where all rock music is banned. Some BBC comedy show wardrobe department style punks who live underground in an old tube station covered with generic rebel graffiti are inspired by the music of Queen to overthrow the state. In real life, Queen’s relationship with politics is less clear cut. Miami Steve Van Zandt was compelled to form Artists Against Apartheid after Queen broke an international cultural embargo and played South Africa under apartheid in the early 80’s, and who will ever forget Brian May playing the National Anthem off the Queen’s roof in jubilee year? When Hendrix massacred The Stars And Stripes it threatened the status quo. What Brian May did to God Save The Queen merely confirmed it. At one point in We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen a list of people who, like Freddie Mercury, ‘died for rock and roll’, invokes Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain. Ironically, Kurt Cobain’s own suicide note offers Queen’s relentless professionalism as an example of one of the things he didn’t want to become, as one of the reasons he is taking his own life. The teenage American hardcore punk in me wept fan tears of anger.
But the real problem with We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen, is not these moral-philosophical quibbles. It was just the sheer lack of ambition. Put 1000’s of people in a room, get them to sing along to a bunch of songs they already know, string them over the loosest story line possible, give them glow sticks to wave and send them home happy. All you can take away from We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen is huge admiration for the way the cast do their best to make it work, confirmation that music theatre performers, whether they love a show or hate it, remain the super-efficient, highly trained warrior-ninjas of the stage. Most British people go to the theatre only three times in their lives. It is sad to think, that for many people, We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen will be one of those three times, and that it is a wasted opportunity to show them what great theatre can be.
We Will Rock You, The Queen Musical By Ben Elton and Queen remains the worst musical I have ever seen, and obviously the show can only have been conceived in a spirit of extreme cynicism. But its problems define the genre’s physical limitations. There is a perceived crisis in Music Theatre. Where are the new ideas?, ask opinion pieces in the industry papers. The answer is, they are out there, but not in Music Theatre, and under current circumstances, never will be. Music Theatre is fatally compromised. Some art exists to ask questions, and to play with expectations. Some people want art to take them to a place they would never have imagined going to in the company of people they would never have imagined meeting. Bob Dylan, Samuel Beckett and Reeves and Mortimer all do this. Other people want art to reconfirm the things they already know, and send them away feeling better about themselves. This is the job of Coldplay, Music Theatre and those kind of Comedy Store/Jongleurs stand-up comedians who invite the audience to think, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what happens whenever I try and open a sachet of tomato sauce too, brilliant!” These polar opposite intentions can be equally difficult to achieve, and I’d wager that there’s an element of genius involved in simply thinking of the idea of Singalonga Sound Of Music equal to the moment of epiphany enjoyed by Beckett when he realised it would be a good idea to strap Billie Whitelaw into a harness and light only her mouth while she rambled all but incoherently for twenty minutes in Not I. But one of these end points is clearly vastly more valid than the other.
The tragedy of Music Theatre is that it cannot afford to occupy the superior position. West End ticket prices, caused by the vast overheads such shows incur, are high. Broadway prices are even higher. Seats are filled up with coach parties whose bookers can’t risk alienating their clients, and people for whom seeing the show is the one big night out of their year, possibly even of their lives. Economically, tribute shows to Abba, Queen and Rod Stewart are safe. Demographically they’re hitting the exact strata of society and generation of music fans that has the money to sustain them. The Madness musical, Our House, discovered a viable musical coherence in the working class milieu of Madness songs and played some interesting games with narrative structure. But Madness fans aren’t yet old enough or wealthy enough to give such a show a long run. And they fight in the bar at half time which scares of the American tourists who make up 50% of the audience of any big London theatre show.
Musical Theatre can’t afford to be the space that punters enter in order to be challenged, changed or confused. When I was genuinely baffled by the appeal of a recent West End production, a music theatre professional, whose abilities I respect, explained to me why I hadn’t got it. “You check your brain in at the door,” he explained, “and just go along with it all.” It seems sad that even industry insiders justify the genre as an opportunity to suspend your judgement, rather than engage it.
I saw The Producers, which opens in London this Autumn, on Broadway last year. On some level, part of its impact was due to embracing Music Theatre’s limitations. It is the story of two producers who try to actively loose money by staging what they imagine will be the worst musical ever, a song and dance show based on the life of Hitler. The Producers is very funny. It seems to be a surreal, panic response the Nazism and the Holocaust. You either cry, or make a comedy musical about it. But it also addresses, sublimely, the basic insincerity of Music Theatre, its reliance on camp humour and kitsch values, and shows how ineffectual they are for dealing with significant issues. When the audience have hysterics at The Producers, they are in a way acknowledging the banality of the medium they themselves are complicit in endorsing. Great art exists in the spaces between the certainties. Economically, culturally and artistically, Music Theatre can’t afford spaces, only certainties.
Stewart Lee
2004-10-01T18:17:25+01:00
Music Theatre, the genre which gave us Andrew Lloyd Webber and the tribute show, combines the worst aspects of music with the worst aspects of theatre to create a mutant hybrid that is the worst form of live art that exists. There are few aspects of human artistic endeavour that are of less moral or aesthetic worth than Music Theatre. Music Theatre is worse than pornography, although the two have much in common. A two and a half hour, all-singing, all-dancing West End smash is the equivalent of the triple penetration gang bang scene on some unpleasant German hotel room in house video channel. It doesn’t look much fun for the people doing and it isn’t especially enjoyable for the people watching it, but you have to admit it takes guts, commitment and stamina, an engenders a weird form of respect. The main difference between pornography and Music Theatre is that you cannot masturbate to Phantom Of The Opera. Even if you thoughtfully masturbate in the back row, and affect no-one’s enjoyment of the show but your own, you are still likely to be asked to leave the theatre, unless you are Andrew Lloyd Webber, in which case you probably own the building and can wander in and out at will doing whatever you like and none of the ushers will say anything because they don’t want to get sacked. As you may have guessed, I hate Music Theatre. What you may not have guessed is that for that last three years, without even realising it at first, I worked in the medium itself. In the spring of 2001 the composer Richard Thomas asked me to help direct, and write some extra words for, an opera he was writing about the American talk show host Jerry Springer. We worked the...
"And there are some brilliant people around, Stewart Lee, and people like that.
Yet the way television and radio are run now, executives and number crunchers are far more in control than they used to be because there are so many more channels and they're all fighting each other.
This wonderful world of competition restricts originality of output. Everyone's playing it safe because they want to make money."
Michael Palin, Chortle - 8/4/14
Stewart Lee
2014-04-08T19:49:54+01:00
Interview with Michael Palin - 8th April 2014 "And there are some brilliant people around, Stewart Lee, and people like that. Yet the way television and radio are run now, executives and number crunchers are far more in control than they used to be because there are so many more channels and they're all fighting each other. This wonderful world of competition restricts originality of output. Everyone's playing it safe because they want to make money." Michael Palin, Chortle - 8/4/14
Ahead of a clutch of performances, Stewart Lee talks about the overlaps between comedy and avant garde music
In 1959, John Cage released an album on the Folkways label called Indeterminacy. As ever with Cage, the idea was deceptively self-explanatory and simple. He read out a series of stories about a whole bunch of stuff, from high to low subject matter, while his longtime collaborator David Tudor played improvised passages on piano in another room. The “indeterminacy" arose from the fact that Tudor could not hear Cage, nor he Tudor - the music was not designed to accompany the text, or vice versa and if they did chime in together, it was, necessarily, on an unconscious, unpremeditated basis.
Half a century later, and longtime improvisor, pianist and Cage expert Tania Chen struck on the idea of reviving Cage's project. Beresford asked Stewart Lee, both a comedian and a fan of ultra-left field music including the improv scene, to do the readings. “I was always a massive fan, I loved Fist Of Fun, and, of course, his stand-up," says Beresford. “I knew he'd have an angle on it, he wouldn't ham it up or anything."
This September, the trio continue their tour of the piece, with Alan Tomlinson on slide trombone. Lee himself is perhaps overly modest about his role in the proceedings. “I've been brought in rather in the way that Gavin Bryars brought in that tramp on Jesus Blood Never Failed Me Yet. I'm a resource. The only Cage piece I really knew was 4'33". I wasn't an expert and I'm still not. I tried not to find out about John Cage, so as to come to it clean. A lot of his strategies seem to be quite conceptualised, academic ways of approaching the unfamiliar. So actually being unfamiliar with his stuff I thought would be very helpful.
“I thought it would be a lot more serious - then Steve Beresford told me to look at Cage performing Water Walk on an American TV show back in 1950.
“Harry Hill actually performed it at the South Bank Centre, which he did, absolutely dead-on. Just like John Cage. So in some ways it did seem like Vic Reeves or Monty Python - Cage invites the audience to accept there's some point in doing what he's doing and then does it totally straight - which is what all the best comics do. It's hilarious and beautiful."
Cage's performances, both of Water Walk and Indeterminacy invite two sorts of laughter - the sort of uncomprehending, Philistine scorn with which avant garde activity has so often been greeted on its interfaces with mass audiences, but also a genuine and intended joy at a performance which is intended to be as non-serious as it is serious.
“One of the liberating things about watching Cage on Water Walk is that he accepts the derisory laughter as a valid response to his work. I think that's great," says Lee. “I don't believe he wasn't aware at some level that the stories in Indeterminacy, when juxtaposed at random, wouldn't produce comic effects. They're a mixture of the pretentiously philosophical and the banally mundane. A disproportionate number of them have a lot to do with mushrooms - not the magic ones, just mushrooms.
“I think my involvement will bring in a lot of people with very little knowledge of John Cage who will go there and realise they have permission to laugh - not that I'll be playing it for laughs. Cage's instructions are 'performance without expression'."
The links and overlaps between comedy and avant garde/improv, supposedly a bastion of high seriousness are both manifold and strangely logical. Steve Beresford put together Vic Reeves' house band; the late improv guitarist Derek Bailey, meanwhile, was a member of the Morecambe and Wise house band. “He was one of those musicians who used to hang around Soho, like labourers, looking for session work," says Lee.
“Derek Bailey got me into Chic Murray, a great Scottish music hall act from the 50s - Bailey said all the pit band musicians used to try to bunk off early to see him. You can see what they would have liked about him - it really swings. It's like jazz, it's all in the timing. Some of Bailey's spoken word reminiscences sound a lot like John Shuttleworth - there's this wonderful banal surrealism he gets."
“Most great comedians are concerned with form," says Beresford. “The Marx Brothers. Hellzapopin, remember that? Enormously formally innovative. And Jacques Tati - clearly, a huge influence on Vic & Bob, the farting Frenchmen.
Also, the use of silence and reticence - so many things you could connect with Cage. The very obsessive, analytic nature of Stewart Lee's comedy - his dissection of a postcard of two cats and dogs playing the piano. Or his take on Del Boy falling through the pub bar. Cage worked through things in the same obsessive way."
Stewart Lee
2012-09-14T21:13:28+01:00
Ahead of a clutch of performances, Stewart Lee talks about the overlaps between comedy and avant garde music In 1959, John Cage released an album on the Folkways label called Indeterminacy. As ever with Cage, the idea was deceptively self-explanatory and simple. He read out a series of stories about a whole bunch of stuff, from high to low subject matter, while his longtime collaborator David Tudor played improvised passages on piano in another room. The “indeterminacy" arose from the fact that Tudor could not hear Cage, nor he Tudor - the music was not designed to accompany the text, or vice versa and if they did chime in together, it was, necessarily, on an unconscious, unpremeditated basis. Half a century later, and longtime improvisor, pianist and Cage expert Tania Chen struck on the idea of reviving Cage's project. Beresford asked Stewart Lee, both a comedian and a fan of ultra-left field music including the improv scene, to do the readings. “I was always a massive fan, I loved Fist Of Fun, and, of course, his stand-up," says Beresford. “I knew he'd have an angle on it, he wouldn't ham it up or anything." This September, the trio continue their tour of the piece, with Alan Tomlinson on slide trombone. Lee himself is perhaps overly modest about his role in the proceedings. “I've been brought in rather in the way that Gavin Bryars brought in that tramp on Jesus Blood Never Failed Me Yet. I'm a resource. The only Cage piece I really knew was 4'33". I wasn't an expert and I'm still not. I tried not to find out about John Cage, so as to come to it clean. A lot of his strategies seem to be quite conceptualised, academic ways of approaching the unfamiliar. So actually being unfamiliar...
It was a line-up many big charity benefits would envy - certainly enough to easily sell out Brighton's Komedia.
Minkley's Night of Mirth was the third such fundraiser, organised by former BBC New Comedy Award-winner Angela Barnes in aid of The Samaritans and in memory of Oliver Minkley, a local musician and new-act comic who took his own life in 2010.
The biggest draw would surely have been Stewart Lee, here trying out material for the next series of his Comedy Vehicle on BBC Two. And if this set is anything to go by, he's developing a more political edge, subjecting the party leaders and the entire system and its 'illusion of dissent' under the same intense, sarcastic scrutiny he's previously applied to his fellow comics. Not that comedy itself escapes entirely, with the usual analysis of his own gags, and a typically iconoclastic attack on Bill Hicks, slaying a sacred cow many of his own followers will hold dear.
Lee was preceded by Rob Beckett, heavy on the 'be lucky' Sarf London patter, and ever-affable compere Ed Gamble, who couldn't have been left in any doubt he was playing Brighton after engaging with one front-row punter who's job was making windchimes, and another who worked in a chichi vegetarian coffee shop cutesily titled Wai Kika Moo Kau. [Why Kick A Moo Cow].
The second section was dominated by comedy hip-hop. Mr B The Gentleman Rhymer, reimagining hits from the second summer of love with his ukulele and cut-glass accent proved the perfect entertainment for a crowd who surely still remembered those happy rave days, but now prefer to sit down for their nights out. Abandoman also featured, with their ever-crowd-pleasing improvised rap What's In Your Pocket? and a mini-epic based on the lives of two audience members. The stand-up pastrami in this rap sandwich was Michael Fabbri, incredulously puzzled about how a world he doesn't quite fit into, could possibly function. Smug grammar Nazis, ITV schedulers or unchivalrous pornographers are among those he just doesn't quite understand.
Kicking off part three, Nick Helm, fresh from the announcement that he's to star in his own BBC Three series, didn't quite behave with the decorum that a representative of Her Majesty's broadcaster should. Few are as expert at exposing the raw desperation of stand-up as him, barking his dubious jokes with such raw aggression right into the faces of the terrified front row, thirsting for their approval and even love. His typically full-on finale was a visceral overload that closing act Mark Watson, with his amiable commentary of life, found some difficulty in following.
Stewart Lee
2013-04-30T17:49:47+01:00
It was a line-up many big charity benefits would envy - certainly enough to easily sell out Brighton's Komedia. Minkley's Night of Mirth was the third such fundraiser, organised by former BBC New Comedy Award-winner Angela Barnes in aid of The Samaritans and in memory of Oliver Minkley, a local musician and new-act comic who took his own life in 2010. The biggest draw would surely have been Stewart Lee, here trying out material for the next series of his Comedy Vehicle on BBC Two. And if this set is anything to go by, he's developing a more political edge, subjecting the party leaders and the entire system and its 'illusion of dissent' under the same intense, sarcastic scrutiny he's previously applied to his fellow comics. Not that comedy itself escapes entirely, with the usual analysis of his own gags, and a typically iconoclastic attack on Bill Hicks, slaying a sacred cow many of his own followers will hold dear. Lee was preceded by Rob Beckett, heavy on the 'be lucky' Sarf London patter, and ever-affable compere Ed Gamble, who couldn't have been left in any doubt he was playing Brighton after engaging with one front-row punter who's job was making windchimes, and another who worked in a chichi vegetarian coffee shop cutesily titled Wai Kika Moo Kau. [Why Kick A Moo Cow]. The second section was dominated by comedy hip-hop. Mr B The Gentleman Rhymer, reimagining hits from the second summer of love with his ukulele and cut-glass accent proved the perfect entertainment for a crowd who surely still remembered those happy rave days, but now prefer to sit down for their nights out. Abandoman also featured, with their ever-crowd-pleasing improvised rap What's In Your Pocket? and a mini-epic based on the lives of two audience members. The stand-up...
Once, Alasdair Roberts leavened his love of traditional Scottish styles with a sloppy-casual indie sensibility.
Now he burns like a convert and demands we meet on his mountaintop.
His egoless, idiomatic writing style indistinguishable from centuries old song, Roberts, and his gifted ensemble, graft surges of orchestrated acid-folk-rock abandon, dainty highland dance tunes, and florid minstrel guitar patterns into vast multi-faceted epics that still sound timeless.
It's a radicalisation of the old rules the young Dylan would recognise, if he looked up from dissecting the songbook.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-20T21:20:30+00:00
Once, Alasdair Roberts leavened his love of traditional Scottish styles with a sloppy-casual indie sensibility. Now he burns like a convert and demands we meet on his mountaintop. His egoless, idiomatic writing style indistinguishable from centuries old song, Roberts, and his gifted ensemble, graft surges of orchestrated acid-folk-rock abandon, dainty highland dance tunes, and florid minstrel guitar patterns into vast multi-faceted epics that still sound timeless. It's a radicalisation of the old rules the young Dylan would recognise, if he looked up from dissecting the songbook.
Hometown Tales is a series of books pairing exciting new voices with some of the most talented and important writers at work today. Some of the tales are fiction and some are narrative non-fiction - they are all powerful, fascinating and moving, and aim to celebrate regional diversity and explore the meaning of home.
In these pages on Birmingham, you'll find two unique tales. 'Silver in the Quarter' is a vivid coming-of-age fiction about a boy who finds himself caught up in the Birmingham pub bombings of 1974 by Maria Whatton. 'In the Ape's Shadow' is a fascinating exploration of the music scene that inspired him growing up in Birmingham, by BAFTA Award-winning comedian and author Stewart Lee.
Stewart Lee
2018-06-28T16:55:27+01:00
Hometown Tales is a series of books pairing exciting new voices with some of the most talented and important writers at work today. Some of the tales are fiction and some are narrative non-fiction - they are all powerful, fascinating and moving, and aim to celebrate regional diversity and explore the meaning of home. In these pages on Birmingham, you'll find two unique tales. 'Silver in the Quarter' is a vivid coming-of-age fiction about a boy who finds himself caught up in the Birmingham pub bombings of 1974 by Maria Whatton. 'In the Ape's Shadow' is a fascinating exploration of the music scene that inspired him growing up in Birmingham, by BAFTA Award-winning comedian and author Stewart Lee.
It’s fair to say that Stewart Lee is not to everyone’s taste. His work is challenging and requires real patience from his audience. His latest DVD release, “90’s Comedian”, is no exception. In fact this show sees Stewart, at times, at his most confronting. However, for the viewer willing to put in the effort required, the rewards are manifold.
Viewers familiar with Stewart’s previous show “Stand Up Comedian” will recognise the a similar construct he uses to launch the “90’s Comedian” show. The 9/11 opening of “Stand Up Comedian” is replaced in “90’s Comedian with a tirade about the London Bombings. In the latter case Stewart takes this already difficult material to an even greater level of awkwardness, as though daring the audience to detest him. This is enunciated a little later by his thinly veiled abuse of one section of the audience, which threatens at times to become tedious, but is ultimately redeemed, towards the end of the performance, by a perfectly executed portrayal of the neurosis bound comedian.
The first half of the show operates effectively as a prequel to the latter half, touching on such savoury topics as Stewart’s affliction with diverticulitis. Stewart regularly refers to names that mean little to Australian audiences in this show (particularly Joe Pasquale). He does so, however, in a context that facilitates an understanding that can be applied to a local context.
The crafted aspect to Stewart’s work comes to the fore in “90’s Comedian”. He employs his trademark technique of exasperating repetition and accompanying it with a slavish adherence to precision. He also introduces crass terms and ideas into beautifully constructed prose and complex notions, in a way that disposes of decorum and creates a contrast between high ideas and low brow recognition.
In the latter section of this show Stewart diverts from the ‘gag norm’, possibly more so than work he’s done before. His execution smacks of an intent to push the audience beyond its capabilities, encouraging them to actively accept the artistry of humour for its own sake. Perceptively, this section could seem like an attempt by Stewart to validate his own belief system. But it’s more than that. This is Stewart pushing his audience beyond accepted subject matter and form, effectively unsettling his audience. At one point in the show Stewart says that conservative attitudes towards freedom of speech, particularly as they pertain to religious beliefs, prompt reasonable minded people to see how far they can push boundaries. In “90’s Comedian” Stewart takes that notion and subverts it in a way that doesn’t speak so much about how we can talk about religion, but how far we can accept a relocation of the accepted notion of comedy.
For those of us living in Australia the lack of immediate access to so much brilliant comedy that’s on offer in the UK can be frustrating. That’s why it’s so gratifying to have access to a piece like this on DVD. What’s more, “90’s Comedian” not only survives many re-runs, but is enhanced by progressive appreciation and anticipation of the performance. Quite simply, it gets better each time, which is a sign that this is not a performance dominated by punchlines. There are ideas here.
If you’re looking for comfortably digestible comedy you won’t get it from Stewart Lee. If you’re looking for something that will push your ideas of decorum and perceived notions of what comedy should be, outside of a sleepy, late night, lounge chair sensibility, then Stewart Lee is your fella.
The extras for this DVD include a short, but interesting, interview with Stewart along with still photographs of the event. The DVD is coded Region 0 so there’s no problem playing it on region sensitive DVD players in Australia. It is also worth pointing out that this DVD is produced by a brand new company called Go Faster Stripe. This company released this DVD after larger companies wouldn’t touch it. “90’s Comedian” marks the company’s very first release and they have put it on the market at a more affordable price that your average DVD, cutting down on unnecessary packaging to save on costs.
Stewart Lee
2006-12-09T23:20:00+00:00
It’s fair to say that Stewart Lee is not to everyone’s taste. His work is challenging and requires real patience from his audience. His latest DVD release, “90’s Comedian”, is no exception. In fact this show sees Stewart, at times, at his most confronting. However, for the viewer willing to put in the effort required, the rewards are manifold. Viewers familiar with Stewart’s previous show “Stand Up Comedian” will recognise the a similar construct he uses to launch the “90’s Comedian” show. The 9/11 opening of “Stand Up Comedian” is replaced in “90’s Comedian with a tirade about the London Bombings. In the latter case Stewart takes this already difficult material to an even greater level of awkwardness, as though daring the audience to detest him. This is enunciated a little later by his thinly veiled abuse of one section of the audience, which threatens at times to become tedious, but is ultimately redeemed, towards the end of the performance, by a perfectly executed portrayal of the neurosis bound comedian. The first half of the show operates effectively as a prequel to the latter half, touching on such savoury topics as Stewart’s affliction with diverticulitis. Stewart regularly refers to names that mean little to Australian audiences in this show (particularly Joe Pasquale). He does so, however, in a context that facilitates an understanding that can be applied to a local context. The crafted aspect to Stewart’s work comes to the fore in “90’s Comedian”. He employs his trademark technique of exasperating repetition and accompanying it with a slavish adherence to precision. He also introduces crass terms and ideas into beautifully constructed prose and complex notions, in a way that disposes of decorum and creates a contrast between high ideas and low brow recognition. In the latter section of this show...
The first week of the fringe has passed and my goal of seeing 100 shows/exhibitions/happenings this month seems distant, as I have so far managed a mere 10.
My goal of not being a drunk argumentative twat at 1 am in the morning is going well though.
Here are my top 6 shows so far...
Alasdair Beckett-King - Nevermore - Pleasance Dome 7PM Great writerly material which has enough room to breathe to make it feel like it’s alive, and a well-judged and non-interventionist use of tech. Precise and very funny.
Paul Currie - The Chorus of Ghosts Living in My Skull Keep Telling Me to Take a Shit in the Fruit Salad - Just The Tonic @ Caves 9PM Best show I’ve seen so far. A surrealist revivalist church meeting in which anything can happen. Brilliant clowning and unexpected hints of the personal.
An Evening Without Kate Bush - Assembly George Sq Gardens 5.55PM A Bush-consumed lady channels Bush fandom with persuasive charm, genuine warmth, and accurate choreography
Fascinating Aida - Assembly George Square 6PM Sophisticated satirical songs, performed by jazz-age cabaret muso-dames, with unexpected angry edges and fantastic internal rhyme schemes
Jonny & The Baptists - Dance Like It Never Happened - Assembly George Square 4PM High energy satirical folk-pop sure to make you dance in your seat, hate the Tories, and question God.
Mavelus - All The Marvel Movies … Kind Of! - Just The Tonic Caves 6.10 PM Two deeply humane nerds impro-comedy their way through the MCU, making massive and imaginative use of limited props. Great if you know your Marvel movies, and probably weirdly enjoyable if you don’t.
MY SPIES TELL ME
The Tragedy of Macbeth - Roxy - 12 midday The full on classic fringe treatment w live music, puppets, physical theatre etc, apprently. It blew my kids’ minds!
Circus Abyssinia Tulu - Underbelly meadows 1.30 PM The kids said this was utterly brilliant and unaffectedly honest. They want to join the circus now.
Ten down, 90 to go.
That’s 30 shows a week, or just over 4 a day, for the next 3 weeks. Will I make it?
Stewart Lee
2022-08-08T11:33:08+01:00
The first week of the fringe has passed and my goal of seeing 100 shows/exhibitions/happenings this month seems distant, as I have so far managed a mere 10. My goal of not being a drunk argumentative twat at 1 am in the morning is going well though. Here are my top 6 shows so far... Alasdair Beckett-King - Nevermore - Pleasance Dome 7PM Great writerly material which has enough room to breathe to make it feel like it’s alive, and a well-judged and non-interventionist use of tech. Precise and very funny. Paul Currie - The Chorus of Ghosts Living in My Skull Keep Telling Me to Take a Shit in the Fruit Salad - Just The Tonic @ Caves 9PM Best show I’ve seen so far. A surrealist revivalist church meeting in which anything can happen. Brilliant clowning and unexpected hints of the personal. An Evening Without Kate Bush - Assembly George Sq Gardens 5.55PM A Bush-consumed lady channels Bush fandom with persuasive charm, genuine warmth, and accurate choreography Fascinating Aida - Assembly George Square 6PM Sophisticated satirical songs, performed by jazz-age cabaret muso-dames, with unexpected angry edges and fantastic internal rhyme schemes Jonny & The Baptists - Dance Like It Never Happened - Assembly George Square 4PM High energy satirical folk-pop sure to make you dance in your seat, hate the Tories, and question God. Mavelus - All The Marvel Movies … Kind Of! - Just The Tonic Caves 6.10 PM Two deeply humane nerds impro-comedy their way through the MCU, making massive and imaginative use of limited props. Great if you know your Marvel movies, and probably weirdly enjoyable if you don’t. MY SPIES TELL ME The Tragedy of Macbeth - Roxy - 12 midday The full on classic fringe treatment w live music, puppets, physical theatre etc,...
Edinburgh is famous for its history and its comedy; Elizabeth and Raleigh provides both in a medley of cross-dressing, singing, and slideshows. At first we are welcomed by Sir Walter Raleigh (Miles Jupp), promoter of those two bastions of civilization; the potato and smoking. Raleigh's opening monologue provides a brief overview of personal triumphs (through that quintessentially medieval medium of slideshow) and his plan to woo the 'virgin' queen and gain her hand in marriage. This falters at times and Jupp's failed attempts at razor sharp delivery have little to fall back on in what amounts to a performance lacking energy and vivacity.
However Elizabeth (Simon Munnery) enters and the pace swiftly picks up, any member of the audience not from Englandshire being verbally attacked in the process. 'To the Italians I say this: Rome wasn't built in a day; it could have been if you talked less with your arms.' Funny at first, this predictable stereotyping soon becomes tired and strikes of a laziness in the writing. Indeed much of the play conjures up images of a public school-boy humour complete with the cross dressing, crude sexual jokes and xenophobia mixed in with glimmers of wit and intelligence. The cavorting tone is also severed by an ending which becomes bizarrely serious. Surely this isn't actually meant to be a comment on Elizabeth's failure to conceive a child? The audience are thus left to file out baffled in what amounts to a very mediocre performance.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-04T20:06:59+01:00
Edinburgh is famous for its history and its comedy; Elizabeth and Raleigh provides both in a medley of cross-dressing, singing, and slideshows. At first we are welcomed by Sir Walter Raleigh (Miles Jupp), promoter of those two bastions of civilization; the potato and smoking. Raleigh's opening monologue provides a brief overview of personal triumphs (through that quintessentially medieval medium of slideshow) and his plan to woo the 'virgin' queen and gain her hand in marriage. This falters at times and Jupp's failed attempts at razor sharp delivery have little to fall back on in what amounts to a performance lacking energy and vivacity. However Elizabeth (Simon Munnery) enters and the pace swiftly picks up, any member of the audience not from Englandshire being verbally attacked in the process. 'To the Italians I say this: Rome wasn't built in a day; it could have been if you talked less with your arms.' Funny at first, this predictable stereotyping soon becomes tired and strikes of a laziness in the writing. Indeed much of the play conjures up images of a public school-boy humour complete with the cross dressing, crude sexual jokes and xenophobia mixed in with glimmers of wit and intelligence. The cavorting tone is also severed by an ending which becomes bizarrely serious. Surely this isn't actually meant to be a comment on Elizabeth's failure to conceive a child? The audience are thus left to file out baffled in what amounts to a very mediocre performance.
You’ll likely have an opinion on Stewart Lee. There’s a good chance that it’s related to your politics – he’s beloved of sensitive left-leaning types and singled out for savage opprobrium by right wing grifters, who view him as a torchbearer for politically correct comedy. Even for those who find themselves in agreement with the gist of Lee’s social commentary, the shows can be hard work, heavy on repetition and of deconstruction of the form, punctuated with the odd conventional joke – but only to show you that he can, how easy this is.
Snowflake is a magnificent hour of comedy. Lee is at his irrepressible best, hitting the sweet spot between meandering subversion and punchy, instant laughs. Few are better at playing to a small club with a mic and righteous fury – but there’s adventure here, some production value for your entrance fee; a bespoke neon sign bearing the show’s title, an acoustic guitar waiting to be played, and a dress code – Lee is kitted out in a baby blue suit jacket more befitting of a Eurovision host than the gritty, sweary, shouty voice of the liberal elite.
The narrative focus sees Lee reckon with and reflect on his role in the current comedy landscape. He plays with the idea that comedians "can’t say anything", but simultaneously get to say all of those things in exchange for considerable streaming dollar. Hardly a groundbreaking observation, but it’s how he does it. There’s a gleeful spring in his step as he goes about his business. A wordless stretch about Ricky Gervais' sisyphean struggle to "say the unsayable" ranks as one of his best ever bits.
Fury aside, the whole thing feels like a celebration of stand-up. He acknowledges those lonely pandemic years and breaks character to disarmingly tell us how he missed playing to audiences, recommending half a dozen shows at his hour's conclusion. It seems like he’s having fun. The king of woke, politically correct comedy? Long live the king.
Stewart Lee
2022-08-12T12:06:35+01:00
You’ll likely have an opinion on Stewart Lee. There’s a good chance that it’s related to your politics – he’s beloved of sensitive left-leaning types and singled out for savage opprobrium by right wing grifters, who view him as a torchbearer for politically correct comedy. Even for those who find themselves in agreement with the gist of Lee’s social commentary, the shows can be hard work, heavy on repetition and of deconstruction of the form, punctuated with the odd conventional joke – but only to show you that he can, how easy this is. Snowflake is a magnificent hour of comedy. Lee is at his irrepressible best, hitting the sweet spot between meandering subversion and punchy, instant laughs. Few are better at playing to a small club with a mic and righteous fury – but there’s adventure here, some production value for your entrance fee; a bespoke neon sign bearing the show’s title, an acoustic guitar waiting to be played, and a dress code – Lee is kitted out in a baby blue suit jacket more befitting of a Eurovision host than the gritty, sweary, shouty voice of the liberal elite. The narrative focus sees Lee reckon with and reflect on his role in the current comedy landscape. He plays with the idea that comedians "can’t say anything", but simultaneously get to say all of those things in exchange for considerable streaming dollar. Hardly a groundbreaking observation, but it’s how he does it. There’s a gleeful spring in his step as he goes about his business. A wordless stretch about Ricky Gervais' sisyphean struggle to "say the unsayable" ranks as one of his best ever bits. Fury aside, the whole thing feels like a celebration of stand-up. He acknowledges those lonely pandemic years and breaks character to disarmingly tell us...
Until Time Out e-mailed me asking me to write something on ‘why people should avoid the world cup’ I wasn’t even sure that it was the World Cup this year, and I assumed all the England flags I see flapping out of windows indicated the presence of proud BNP supporters. I am not interested in Soccer. I could never get through the ugly outer layers of the culture of soccer, through to the soccer itself. To me, soccer’s always seemed nasty.
I’m happy to accept that my experiences are subjective but when I was a teenager, no self-respecting Brummie ever went to see some soccer without a bunch of bananas to hurl at black players; in 1982 I was beaten to the ground with a rolled umbrella in a shopping centre when I was unable to tell some angry soccer enthusiasts which soccer team I supported; I had a Stanley knife held at my throat by soccer fans in a similar exchange on a canal tow path in 1987; and in the Summer of 1972 my grand-dad called me a ‘nancy boy’ when I eschewed soccer to stay inside drawing comics. Despite its claims towards sporting nobility, soccer always seems to encourage the worst aspects of human behaviour – racism, homophobia, slashed horses, sectarianism, violence, hotel room gang rapes, Nick Hornby novels, and David Baddiel singing.
As I slot in Edinburgh previews for the next few months, comedy club promoters are warning me that my shows fall on World Cup Soccer nights, but I expect the evenings will be better for it. Since Frank Skinner and David Baddiel’s Fantasy Football, and their soccer single Three Lions, opened the floodgates in the mid-90s, there have been too many soccer fans in comedy audiences anyway, lowering the tone, so maybe the lure of watching World Soccer Cup will merely purge the audience of these thugs, with their noise and their gestures.
I remain resolutely unable to see the appeal of Soccer, but things have a way of coming back to bite you. The woman at my three year old’s playgroup says he is very good with a ball, and people recommend enrolling him in some kind of soccer classes. So that’ll be me, standing on the grass by the white painted stripe, cheering, beaten into submission at last, love and biological loyalty achieving what the rolled umbrella and the Stanley knife could not.
Stewart Lee
2010-05-01T20:26:08+01:00
Until Time Out e-mailed me asking me to write something on ‘why people should avoid the world cup’ I wasn’t even sure that it was the World Cup this year, and I assumed all the England flags I see flapping out of windows indicated the presence of proud BNP supporters. I am not interested in Soccer. I could never get through the ugly outer layers of the culture of soccer, through to the soccer itself. To me, soccer’s always seemed nasty. I’m happy to accept that my experiences are subjective but when I was a teenager, no self-respecting Brummie ever went to see some soccer without a bunch of bananas to hurl at black players; in 1982 I was beaten to the ground with a rolled umbrella in a shopping centre when I was unable to tell some angry soccer enthusiasts which soccer team I supported; I had a Stanley knife held at my throat by soccer fans in a similar exchange on a canal tow path in 1987; and in the Summer of 1972 my grand-dad called me a ‘nancy boy’ when I eschewed soccer to stay inside drawing comics. Despite its claims towards sporting nobility, soccer always seems to encourage the worst aspects of human behaviour – racism, homophobia, slashed horses, sectarianism, violence, hotel room gang rapes, Nick Hornby novels, and David Baddiel singing. As I slot in Edinburgh previews for the next few months, comedy club promoters are warning me that my shows fall on World Cup Soccer nights, but I expect the evenings will be better for it. Since Frank Skinner and David Baddiel’s Fantasy Football, and their soccer single Three Lions, opened the floodgates in the mid-90s, there have been too many soccer fans in comedy audiences anyway, lowering the tone, so maybe the lure...
Weirdlore encompasses a mystic strain of mushroom-flecked contemporary English folk, newly nesting in hedgerows between outright traditional music and the rootless folk-pop of The Mumford And Sons massive. Rapunzel & Sedayne's Innocent Hare is a shimmering psychedelic drone. Starless And Bible Black arrive by way of West Coast California. The Scottish interloper Alasdair Roberts channels ancient troubadours. Calling Weirdlore a broad church would overstate its range. Instead, the genre is a spacious ante-chapel. But alongside the new, star guest strewn, Folk Songs II album, by the notably absent Big Eyes Family Players, a movement gathers momentum.
Stewart Lee
2012-07-29T00:56:49+01:00
Weirdlore encompasses a mystic strain of mushroom-flecked contemporary English folk, newly nesting in hedgerows between outright traditional music and the rootless folk-pop of The Mumford And Sons massive. Rapunzel & Sedayne's Innocent Hare is a shimmering psychedelic drone. Starless And Bible Black arrive by way of West Coast California. The Scottish interloper Alasdair Roberts channels ancient troubadours. Calling Weirdlore a broad church would overstate its range. Instead, the genre is a spacious ante-chapel. But alongside the new, star guest strewn, Folk Songs II album, by the notably absent Big Eyes Family Players, a movement gathers momentum.
OXFORD was a weirdly difficult town for me to find venues to play in in the 00's as I got more popular, as the main venues there were owned by big chains with strange surcharges and policies, although now I am happy doing long runs at the Playhouse.
Paddy Luscombe and the Cellar crew promoted me at The Cellar, and also at a now closed cinema up the Cowley Road, and The Cellar has been an important venue for Oxford music and comedy since I was there in the '80s.
Obviously it is threatened by all the usual factors, on this occasion new fire regulations meaning there are construction costs, that kill live art in our cities, and it needs help.
I am going to do something concrete next year at the venue all being well.
In the meantime... The venue must reach its £80,000 goal by Tuesday 27th November.
There are loads of great rewards, including the chance to win Radiohead's snare drum and loads of random Stewart Lee free stuff straight from my own cellar, so please donate here. This actually looks achievable which is great.
Dec 4th Comedians Sing Christmas, Bloomsbury Theatre, London.
Harry Hill spearheads a musical fundraiser featuring comedy's biggest names.
The full-line of Comedians Sing the Christmas Hits! is:
John Bishop,
Jo Brand,
Alex Brooker,
Rob Brydon,
Alan Carr,
Jimmy Carr,
Roisin Conaty,
Nina Conti,
Tom Davis,
Jack Dee,
Nick Helm,
Harry Hill,
Stewart Lee,
Sean Lock,
Matt Lucas,
Joe Lycett,
Jason Manford,
Al Murray,
Sara Pascoe,
Vic Reeves,
Liza Tarbuck,
Paul Whitehouse and
Josh Widdicombe.
The gig takes place at the Bloomsbury Theatre in London on December 4 and will be raising money for Action Duchenne. The charity helps those with Duchenne muscular dystrophy,a rare and complex genetic muscle wasting condition.
Many of those with Duchenne lose the ability to walk in early adolescence and typically live into their late twenties. Hill, who is patron of Action Duchenne, said: "I'm thrilled at the response of my comedy friends. Inside every great comic is a singer waiting to burst out A great cause deserves a great show. Earplugs advised!".
Hill became involved in the charity when the son of the graphic designer who worked on all of his TV shows, including TV Burp, was diagnosed with the condition.
Dec 9th, Stand-Up For Refugees, Playhouse, London
Benefit aiming to raise vital funds for refugees.
The Choose Laughs Festive Special in aid of Help Refugees takes place on December 9 at the Playhouse Theatre in London.
Help Refugees is a group of everyday people, taking joint action to improve the lives of refugees. In less than three years, they have become the biggest facilitator of grassroots aid on the continent, with more than 80 projects across Europe and the Middle East.
Boosted by the support of high-profile musicians, filmmakers, comedians and actors who joined have joined the Choose Love campaign, they believe that together with their ever-growing network of volunteers, fundraisers, and supporters they have pioneered a new movement in humanitarian response. Acting quickly and flexibly, their structure enables ordinary people to help those in need in the most direct of ways. Josie Naughton, Help Refugees CEO says: "We are absolutely overwhelmed by the support of all the brilliant comedians coming together to help raise funds for refugees this winter.
Freezing temperatures are just around the corner and people need warm clothes, blankets and nutritious food to stay healthy and safe. This night is all about laughter and love, bringing people together to have a great time while doing something practical to help". This will be a BSL Interpreted Performance.
The full bill is:
Simon Amstell (Nickelodeon),
Angela Barnes (Mock The Week),
Sofie Hagen (Roast Battle),
Nish Kumar (Durham Review)
Stewart Lee (Multiple BAFTA, Olivier, British Comedy Award and Chortle award winner),
Rose Matafeo (New Zealand), &
Mawaan Rizwan (The Big Asian Stand Up).
Choose Laughs Festive Special, Sunday December 9th 2018, 7.30pm Playhouse Theatre, Northumberland Ave, London WC2N 5DE Tickets on sale price £12.50 here.
0844 871 7615
Charity Website: HelpRefugees.org
Twitter: @ChooseLaughs
BELTER FOR THE SHELTER, 19th Feb 2019
BELTER FOR THE SHELTER, Hackney Empire, London, 19th Feb 2019, 7.30.
Join us for a spectacular evening of comedy in aid of Hackney Winter Night Shelter.
Going into its 5th year with an incredible line up at the Hackney Empire to help raise money for the Shelter's vital work with local homeless people.
All money raised on the evening goes towards keeping people off the streets of Hackney, providing them with a hot meal and warm bed throughout winter.
Providing the gags for the evening will be;
Bridget Christie (News Review),
Kevin Eldon (TIE),
Sofie Hagen (Scandinavia),
Harry Hill (Tooting Medics' Review),
Athena Kugblenu (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights),
Nish Kumar (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights),
Rosie Jones (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights),
Robert Newman (Steve Wright's Radio 1 Posse) and
Stewart Lee (Richard Herring's Fist of Fun)
(compere to be announced).
3) CAPRI-BATTERIE W STEWART LEE, BRISTOL FASHION out on vinyl
CAPRI-BATTERIE. A trio comprised of Kordian Tetkov on drums, Tim Sayer on trumpet and electronics and Matthew Lord on Bass and Saxophone.
With an unrestricted approach to improvisation that embraces the philosophy of 'freedom', as an affront to oppression in all its modern day manifestations, this is music making unafraid of ideology and charged with abstraction.
The intensity levels achieved by Capri-Batterie are uncharacteristic for a small ensemble and the belligerent and anarchic fervour with which they coalesce the aesthetics of industrial rock, free jazz and noise art render their performances a highly energetic and intense undertaking.
I am one of a number of singing guests at this. THE ON THE SHORE BAND PLAYS THE MUSIC OF TREES £18 £15 ADVANCE £13 MEMBERS
The On The Shore Band plays the music of Trees featuring Bias Boshell & David Costa (Trees) with guest appearances from Stuart Estell, Stewart Lee & more.
'If you are about to listen to On The Shore for the first time, then you are to be envied. In an era of mass communication and commercial misappropriation, there are few genuinely lost treasures to be discovered.' - Stewart Lee .
Signed to CBS in 1969, Trees put down two albums within one year, The Garden Of Jane Delawney and On The Shore. Shortly after the release of the second album, and after two years of intensive live work, the original members had begun to go their separate ways, and their brief appearance and small body of work was left to posterity.
Since then their music - described variously as acid-folk, psychedelic, gothic, arcadian, 'a perfect mixture of west coast acid rock with dark lilting English folk, timeless and beautiful' - has continued to achieve mythical status and the acclaim of a growing band of devotees, mostly not even born at the time Trees disbanded.
The On The Shore Band is a collective of like-minded musicians from a variety of bands (Friendly Fires/Pattern Forms, Corinthians, more) and genres (psych, pop, drone), working alongside two of the original members of Trees to produce a contemporary and inventive soundscape, exploring a selection of tracks from the two albums.
There's no intent of facsimile or reproduction - simply one of inspiration drawn from the originals, and of the sheer enjoyment of the music of Trees. ontheshore.uk
Stewart Lee becomes a Radio 3 presenter sharing his eclectic musical tastes. Stewart Lee is to host a series of eclectic musical programmes on Radio 3 this Christmas.
The comedian takes over as guest editor of the Late Junction for three nights, being joined by Tim Key for one of them.
Radio 3 says: ‘From his time spent in record shops as a teenager, to more recent work moonlighting as a music critic, comedian Stewart Lee has had a long-time fascination with music. Over the years he has built up a deep collection, with improvised works, post-punk and folk traditions all well-represented.'
On Christmas Day he will be joined by folk musician Richard Dawson; on Boxing Day by fellow comic and fellow leftfield music fan Tim Key, who has a special love of Soviet-era Russian tracks; and on December 27 he presents a mixtape from recorder player and violinist Laura Cannell.
The shows go out at 11pm nightly.
7) Meanwhile, I Arrogantly Recommend
1) Dan Stuart. Former Green On Red frontman, hard-bitten novelist, and compelling solo performer in soul-bearing country-blues mode. Dec 2nd - Brighton Prince Albert.
I have written the intro for his new novel. With Sid Griffin, alt country pioneer and Gram Parsons biographer of Long Ryders/Coal Porters fame.
2) Mudhoney. Trump-hating grunge pioneers. Dec 1st - Glasgow St Luke's.
3) Shopping. Angular afro-pop inflected post punks. Dec 1st - Hackney Arts centre.
4) The Heads. Bristol's undisputed overlords of intestine-churning heavy-psyche. Nov 30th - M'cr Deaf Institute, Dec 1st - London 100 Club.
5) Bevis Frond. Lone local album launch show from overlooked national treasure Nick Saloman in his contradictory sensitive-songwriter/crazed guitar wrangler combo. Dec 8th - Hastings Blackmarket.
Stewart Lee
2018-11-23T13:44:33+00:00
1) SAVE THE CELLAR BY NOVEMBER 27TH PLEASE OXFORD was a weirdly difficult town for me to find venues to play in in the 00's as I got more popular, as the main venues there were owned by big chains with strange surcharges and policies, although now I am happy doing long runs at the Playhouse. Paddy Luscombe and the Cellar crew promoted me at The Cellar, and also at a now closed cinema up the Cowley Road, and The Cellar has been an important venue for Oxford music and comedy since I was there in the '80s. Obviously it is threatened by all the usual factors, on this occasion new fire regulations meaning there are construction costs, that kill live art in our cities, and it needs help. I am going to do something concrete next year at the venue all being well. In the meantime... The venue must reach its £80,000 goal by Tuesday 27th November. There are loads of great rewards, including the chance to win Radiohead's snare drum and loads of random Stewart Lee free stuff straight from my own cellar, so please donate here. This actually looks achievable which is great. DONATE HERE 2) BENEFITS Dec 4th Comedians Sing Christmas, Bloomsbury Theatre, London. Harry Hill spearheads a musical fundraiser featuring comedy's biggest names. The full-line of Comedians Sing the Christmas Hits! is: John Bishop, Jo Brand, Alex Brooker, Rob Brydon, Alan Carr, Jimmy Carr, Roisin Conaty, Nina Conti, Tom Davis, Jack Dee, Nick Helm, Harry Hill, Stewart Lee, Sean Lock, Matt Lucas, Joe Lycett, Jason Manford, Al Murray, Sara Pascoe, Vic Reeves, Liza Tarbuck, Paul Whitehouse and Josh Widdicombe. The gig takes place at the Bloomsbury Theatre in London on December 4 and will be raising money for Action Duchenne. The charity helps those with...
On his Comedy Vehicle Stewart Lee drove a cross between a tractor and the field it was ploughing into the debate that should start now about the purpose of BBC Two. After the silliest opening titles Lee could dream up, in which his tractor-field was followed by a troupe of circus performers, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle provided the most intelligent half hour of stand-up you will see on television this year - outside, one trusts, the next five episodes of this series.
“The sat-nav is off,” promised Lee at the start of his set, and for once the promise of unpredictability was not broken. The heroes of last week's Comic Relief effort, Chris Moyles and Davina McCall, were ruthlessly exposed to Lee's mockery, alongside others made untouchable by their popularity: Dan Brown, J. K. Rowling and the Grange Hill star-turned- rapper Asher D (“Yes, I am disrespecting you.”) What had this lot done to deserve Lee's ire? They had all written insultingly stupid books, whose vaulting ambition in Moyles's and Jeremy Clarkson's case, at least, was to find a place in the toilet. Thomas Young, Lee reminded us, was the last person reputed to have read all the books that had been published in his lifetime. The person who did the same today, averred Lee, would be more stupid than the man who read nothing.
Lee, who has not had his own TV series since the juvenilia that was Fist of Fun, demonstrated that in the intervening years he has become the master of deadpan stand-up. A routine in which he repeatedly tried to explain who rappers were was almost surreally brilliant. But that is not the reason Lee's show was important: it suggested that intelligence might be valued again on BBC Two, after some decades in which intellectual snobbery was considered almost as vile as racism. When she was at BBC Four, Janice Hadlow, BBC Two's new controller, gave a lecture, The Importance of Being Serious. Last week, at the Broadcast Factual Commissioning Forum, she said she wanted to commission programmes that “contribute to the national conversation” rather than mere “crowd pleasers”. She then rather spoilt things by saying that, of course, the “overnights” were important. In her job, they shouldn't be. The question this morning is not what ratings Lee got for his intellectual snobbery, but if Hadlow cares either way.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-17T10:54:02+00:00
On his Comedy Vehicle Stewart Lee drove a cross between a tractor and the field it was ploughing into the debate that should start now about the purpose of BBC Two. After the silliest opening titles Lee could dream up, in which his tractor-field was followed by a troupe of circus performers, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle provided the most intelligent half hour of stand-up you will see on television this year - outside, one trusts, the next five episodes of this series. “The sat-nav is off,” promised Lee at the start of his set, and for once the promise of unpredictability was not broken. The heroes of last week's Comic Relief effort, Chris Moyles and Davina McCall, were ruthlessly exposed to Lee's mockery, alongside others made untouchable by their popularity: Dan Brown, J. K. Rowling and the Grange Hill star-turned- rapper Asher D (“Yes, I am disrespecting you.”) What had this lot done to deserve Lee's ire? They had all written insultingly stupid books, whose vaulting ambition in Moyles's and Jeremy Clarkson's case, at least, was to find a place in the toilet. Thomas Young, Lee reminded us, was the last person reputed to have read all the books that had been published in his lifetime. The person who did the same today, averred Lee, would be more stupid than the man who read nothing. Lee, who has not had his own TV series since the juvenilia that was Fist of Fun, demonstrated that in the intervening years he has become the master of deadpan stand-up. A routine in which he repeatedly tried to explain who rappers were was almost surreally brilliant. But that is not the reason Lee's show was important: it suggested that intelligence might be valued again on BBC Two, after some decades in which intellectual snobbery...
WHEN Stewart Lee was last in Liverpool he had a few less-than-complimentary things to say about Tom O'Connor and the brand of 'cruise ship comedy' so beloved by Lee's mum.
The Bootle-born entertainer escapes a tongue-lashing in this latest outing, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One, although the Top Gear team - the “three bears" as Lee styles them - aren't so lucky.
They're all big boys so I'm sure they can take it, but while 'frustrated middle-aged liberal' Lee admits something of a strange admiration for Jeremy Clarkson's idiot/genius outspokenness, he aims the bulk of a carefully-constructed tirade at “baby bear" - and former Solihull schoolmate - Richard Hammond.
The considered, quietly vitriolic and ultimately rather uncomfortable damning of the 'Hamster' also encompasses a recurring theme in Lee's set - the weaving of an intricate tale that could, but turns out not to be, true.
Where does sincerity end and comedic cod-sincerity begin? Sometimes it's hard to tell, just as there's a part of you that wonders whether his air of resigned disappointment is left at the front door or invited in for coffee.
What is certain is that Lee is the antithesis of the current gang of 'topical' comedians shuttling between TV quiz shows and the London Apollo.
You're unlikely to see him on Mock the Week any time soon. Instead, he devotes 10 minutes to mocking Mock the Weekers, utilising his other main weapon - repetition - to riff on Frankie Boyle's assertion that no one over 40 should do stand-up, and much-publicised controversial joke about the Queen's privates.
Interestingly, Lee himself has developed something of a new fan base through his own TV series - Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle - broadcast earlier this year, and they were out in force for this sell-out show at the Playhouse.
The man who brought the world Jerry Springer the Opera is a middle-aged (41) dad now and his preoccupations are those of the middle-aged. There are enjoyable rants about coffee chain loyalty cards and moving “for a better quality of life" before - finally - he quits the stage all together to rage to the audience about the purloining of his favourite song for a cider commercial.
It's hit and miss stuff, but he rolls with the punches - and laughs - and ends with a song that's half-paean, half-protest, and nowhere near 100% pear.
Stewart Lee
2009-11-20T16:12:57+00:00
WHEN Stewart Lee was last in Liverpool he had a few less-than-complimentary things to say about Tom O'Connor and the brand of 'cruise ship comedy' so beloved by Lee's mum. The Bootle-born entertainer escapes a tongue-lashing in this latest outing, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One, although the Top Gear team - the “three bears" as Lee styles them - aren't so lucky. They're all big boys so I'm sure they can take it, but while 'frustrated middle-aged liberal' Lee admits something of a strange admiration for Jeremy Clarkson's idiot/genius outspokenness, he aims the bulk of a carefully-constructed tirade at “baby bear" - and former Solihull schoolmate - Richard Hammond. The considered, quietly vitriolic and ultimately rather uncomfortable damning of the 'Hamster' also encompasses a recurring theme in Lee's set - the weaving of an intricate tale that could, but turns out not to be, true. Where does sincerity end and comedic cod-sincerity begin? Sometimes it's hard to tell, just as there's a part of you that wonders whether his air of resigned disappointment is left at the front door or invited in for coffee. What is certain is that Lee is the antithesis of the current gang of 'topical' comedians shuttling between TV quiz shows and the London Apollo. You're unlikely to see him on Mock the Week any time soon. Instead, he devotes 10 minutes to mocking Mock the Weekers, utilising his other main weapon - repetition - to riff on Frankie Boyle's assertion that no one over 40 should do stand-up, and much-publicised controversial joke about the Queen's privates. Interestingly, Lee himself has developed something of a new fan base through his own TV series - Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle - broadcast earlier this year, and they were out in force for this...
“I am Doctor Samuel Johnson. You are not." So Simon Munnery's self-important Doctor Johnson introduces himself in this marvellous hour of satire, music and banter, staged as writer Stewart Lee explains, at the Traverse, when “it's too late to put in another set".
The main burden of the piece rests on the shoulders of Miles Jupp as James Boswell, who warms the audience up before Johnson arrives, and keeps the action rolling along. In full Bonnie Prince Charlie regalia, he intersperses his enthusiastic enumeration of his mentor's wit and good qualities with snappy topical material and plenty of inside jokes for the Edinburgh crowd. Jupp is tremendously likeable, and works well both on his own and with Munnery.
The two-handed portion of the piece gets going with Johnson's many sharp witticisms at the expense of the Scots, which provoke gales of laughter from the audience. Boswell begins by enjoying his idol's comments, but his increasing frustration with the aspersions cast on his homeland lead to some of the funniest lines of the night. Munnery is perfect as the acerbic wordsmith, wringing the most out of the clever script and challenging anyone to disagree with him.
Stewart Lee has really surpassed himself with Johnson and Boswell, displaying the wry intelligence that has always been the hallmark of his stand-up routines. This thoroughly enjoyable work really demonstrates how to get it right when comedians start acting. Buy your tickets now!
Stewart Lee
2007-08-08T19:27:19+01:00
“I am Doctor Samuel Johnson. You are not." So Simon Munnery's self-important Doctor Johnson introduces himself in this marvellous hour of satire, music and banter, staged as writer Stewart Lee explains, at the Traverse, when “it's too late to put in another set". The main burden of the piece rests on the shoulders of Miles Jupp as James Boswell, who warms the audience up before Johnson arrives, and keeps the action rolling along. In full Bonnie Prince Charlie regalia, he intersperses his enthusiastic enumeration of his mentor's wit and good qualities with snappy topical material and plenty of inside jokes for the Edinburgh crowd. Jupp is tremendously likeable, and works well both on his own and with Munnery. The two-handed portion of the piece gets going with Johnson's many sharp witticisms at the expense of the Scots, which provoke gales of laughter from the audience. Boswell begins by enjoying his idol's comments, but his increasing frustration with the aspersions cast on his homeland lead to some of the funniest lines of the night. Munnery is perfect as the acerbic wordsmith, wringing the most out of the clever script and challenging anyone to disagree with him. Stewart Lee has really surpassed himself with Johnson and Boswell, displaying the wry intelligence that has always been the hallmark of his stand-up routines. This thoroughly enjoyable work really demonstrates how to get it right when comedians start acting. Buy your tickets now!
STROLLING out for the biggest Scottish date he's played during a topsy turvy 20-year career, it's clear that even the Festival Theatre stage isn't enough to contain Stewart Lee's comedy vehicle.
Taking his cue from the Johnny Vegas school of wandering among the people (minus the overt physicality), Lee eventually makes his way up to the balcony, continuing a micfree rant about a cider advert's slogan. For seasoned watchers of the comic who co-wrote Jerry Springer: The Opera, this is classic fourth-wall dismantling Lee; for anyone new to his game, it's a perplexing, nervy experience where the lines between funny and irritating are deliberately being fogged.
While Lee maintains with apparent uninterest that there are those present who will find his comedy "boring" and "awful", what he has been solidly delivering in the last five years are masterclasses in the art of stand-up. With this current touring show, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One, Lee begins with a made-up letter from a pirate, moves on to the petty bureaucracy he encountered at a high street coffee chain, and along the way takes swipes at the public utterances of Frankie Boyle, Michael McIntyre and Richard "Hamster" Hammond.
Sporting a typically surprising flourish, he ends by singing Steve Earle's Galway Girl with genuine sincerity, albeit with a couple of references to the night's material thrown in.
While the concept of failure dominated his immense 41st Best Stand-Up Ever set, here the overarching theme is disappointment. Stewart Lee's devoted fanbase don't know the meaning of the word.
Stewart Lee
2010-02-23T17:20:11+00:00
STROLLING out for the biggest Scottish date he's played during a topsy turvy 20-year career, it's clear that even the Festival Theatre stage isn't enough to contain Stewart Lee's comedy vehicle. Taking his cue from the Johnny Vegas school of wandering among the people (minus the overt physicality), Lee eventually makes his way up to the balcony, continuing a micfree rant about a cider advert's slogan. For seasoned watchers of the comic who co-wrote Jerry Springer: The Opera, this is classic fourth-wall dismantling Lee; for anyone new to his game, it's a perplexing, nervy experience where the lines between funny and irritating are deliberately being fogged. While Lee maintains with apparent uninterest that there are those present who will find his comedy "boring" and "awful", what he has been solidly delivering in the last five years are masterclasses in the art of stand-up. With this current touring show, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One, Lee begins with a made-up letter from a pirate, moves on to the petty bureaucracy he encountered at a high street coffee chain, and along the way takes swipes at the public utterances of Frankie Boyle, Michael McIntyre and Richard "Hamster" Hammond. Sporting a typically surprising flourish, he ends by singing Steve Earle's Galway Girl with genuine sincerity, albeit with a couple of references to the night's material thrown in. While the concept of failure dominated his immense 41st Best Stand-Up Ever set, here the overarching theme is disappointment. Stewart Lee's devoted fanbase don't know the meaning of the word.
I am sitting in a pub in an industrial estate in Manchester with Mark E Smith, 36 years old and founder and leader of the Fall. Whippet thin and wiry, he's dressed in a smart black designer shirt, speaks in a cautious whisper out of the left corner of his mouth, and, over the course of a two-hour interview, drinks something approaching his own body weight in bitter. Smith, a fiercely independent autodidact, formed the Fall in 1976, as a largely free-improvising vehicle to accommodate his literate but ragged poetry, while working as a clerk in Manchester docks.
"Let's not do too much of this old biog stuff," he complains, starting his second pint. "It makes me feel as if I'm already dead. We haven't been going that long, relatively speaking." Maybe the Fall's 20-year life span isn't that long relative to, say, the life of a turtle or a giant redwood, but for a rock band, especially a band who have managed to remain adventurous and vital, it's a virtual eternity.
Three things characterise nearly all of the Fall's two dozen or so albums, apart from massive critical acclaim and little commercial success: the distinctive bass playing of Steve Hanley, who sounds as if he's twanging overhead power cables; Smith's fractured, fractious lyrics, all barks and mutterings; and the desire to push the limits of the band's ability, testing and defeating every expectation. It seems as if they've occupied mid-afternoon billing at every British
rock festival ever, constant as the northern star, while each year's pop fads revolve round them, from obscurity to celebrity and back again, in fragile arcs.
The early Fall releases of the late 1970s were an amphetamine-visionary take on the DIY scrappiness of punk, but Smith feels little for his bondage trousered contemporaries, of whom the Fall are the only dignified survivors. "We got offered really good money to do a punk nostalgia three-dayer in Blackpool with Wire, ATV, X-Ray Spex. But their fans were the people who used to throw bottles at us when we were starting out," he remembers. "I didn't relate to it then and I don't relate to it now."
While punk busied itself with situationism and banal sloganeering, Smith was busy constructing a workable mythology for late 1970s Britain. The Totale family, a corrupt dynasty of wealthy northern industrialists, stalked the landscape of his lyrics. "The North will rise again," boasted Joe Totale on Grotesque (1980), "and the streets of Soho will reverberate with drunken highland men." It seemed Smith was under the spell of the 1920s American gothic writer HP Lovecraft. "I didn't need to take much from Lovecraft," he counters. "North Manchester was very like an HP Lovecraft story in the late 1970s. That's what I like about it."
In the 1980s, Smith, now spitting Wyndham Lewis-style vorticist fragments, pushed his untutored young musicians into uncharted, experimental realms that bettered his teenage heroes, the Stockhausen-trained German band Can. Hex Enduction Hour (1982) remains one of the greatest albums of all time, combining a post-punk energy with the transcendental ambition of the avant garde. But despite the musical complexity of some of the Fall's best work, Smith maintains a posture of musical ignorance. "I don't count myself as a musician," he insists, as if the term is some sort of insult. "I feel very sorry for musicians a lot of the time. They get into a pattern and I can't get through to them what I want."
Consequently, Smith still seems to have the kind of relationship with his band that a cowboy builder has with short-term hired painters. Drummer Karl Burns comes into the pub with an invoice for him and meekly asks: "Can I just give you this?" "I'll sort you out Friday, okay?" says the boss. Long-term lieutenant Craig Scanlon has just been given his dismissal notice for the crime of "trying to play jazz or Sonic Youth-style stuff over good simple songs that he'd
written himself. It sounds like a bloody mess to me, your layman, people thrashing three guitars at once". Smith seems to protest his ignorance too much, but he has an instinctive fear of looking as if he's trying to achieve what he calls "a sort of concentrated avant-gardism".
Smith met his demons head on in 1988 when the Fall collaborated with the Michael Clark company on a ballet called I Am Kurious Oranj, which told the story of William of Orange's 1688 invasion of England, after a fashion. The Dutch "rode over peasants like you! They
invented birth control!" boasted the title track of the subsequent album, the Fall's most likable recording, which included their strident version of Blake's Jerusalem. "The bow-tie-sporting crowd were heard `arf-ing' in many a theatre bar," wrote Smith at the time, clearly relishing the chaos.
Kurious Oranj was in many ways Smith's last big splash. The past seven years have seen the Fall variously refine an increasingly streamlined brand of skewwhiff pop, always anticipating new styles before they take root, from which the new album, Light User Syndrome (out now on Jet records), is a natural progression.
It's a strange record, simultaneously sparse and dense, awash with swathes of modern techno effects, gleaned from teenage dance outfits such as DOSE, with whom Smith perversely delights in collaborating, but allied to the bombast of old. Spinetrack and Powder Keg both
throw enough classic alternative rock shapes to fill the student disco floor with the sound of the Fall once more. Curiously, while Fall songs usually struggle to contain Smith's epic volume of words, Light User Syndrome is full of uncluttered musical spaces, punctuated, rather than swamped, by Smith. "They were doing so much on the music that a lot of the vocals weren't meant to be the final vocal, just guide vocals. When it was mixed, I went up the wall. But,
in retrospect, I think it works."
The album also features three other vocalists, including Smith's ex-wife, Brix, the Californian guitarist who first served in the band 13 years ago, then bringing a touch of glamour and some proper rock'n' roll licks to the early 1980s Fall's slouching aggregate of becardiganed men. "I was trying to get like a country and western frontline thing going," explains Smith, "with Karl, Lucy (Rimmer) and Brix all singing. In gigs we've been doing recently, I've been walking off halfway through, and of course the audience think, `Oh, he's p again, old Mark.' But then the music gets tighter and tighter and I can come back." So, does Smith envisage a situation where he wouldn't have to perform with the band at all? "Like a conductor?" he laughs. "That'd be ideal. I'll just stand down the front watching with a pint."
The idea of the Fall having a return to form is something of a contradiction in terms, but Light User Syndrome is the next best thing. That said, it will probably be greeted by indifferent critics, who, after 20 years, have largely run out of Fall-related angles or superlatives with which to do them justice. On the sleeve of Extricate (1990), Smith saved them the bother and wrote his own review: "What a hotchpotch! What's up with him!?? He's off his
tree!!!!! The format hasn't been invented that can cope!!"
This is still the essence of the way the Fall are viewed today. They're reliably above average to brilliant. They're taken for granted. They'll be on at about quarter to six this summer, I expect.
And Mark E Smith is mad. These are the safest options. Treating Smith as sane necessitates viewing most modern British rock with the contempt it deserves. Sadly, Light User Syndrome probably won't change a thing.
Stewart Lee
1996-06-23T16:50:19+01:00
I am sitting in a pub in an industrial estate in Manchester with Mark E Smith, 36 years old and founder and leader of the Fall. Whippet thin and wiry, he's dressed in a smart black designer shirt, speaks in a cautious whisper out of the left corner of his mouth, and, over the course of a two-hour interview, drinks something approaching his own body weight in bitter. Smith, a fiercely independent autodidact, formed the Fall in 1976, as a largely free-improvising vehicle to accommodate his literate but ragged poetry, while working as a clerk in Manchester docks. "Let's not do too much of this old biog stuff," he complains, starting his second pint. "It makes me feel as if I'm already dead. We haven't been going that long, relatively speaking." Maybe the Fall's 20-year life span isn't that long relative to, say, the life of a turtle or a giant redwood, but for a rock band, especially a band who have managed to remain adventurous and vital, it's a virtual eternity. Three things characterise nearly all of the Fall's two dozen or so albums, apart from massive critical acclaim and little commercial success: the distinctive bass playing of Steve Hanley, who sounds as if he's twanging overhead power cables; Smith's fractured, fractious lyrics, all barks and mutterings; and the desire to push the limits of the band's ability, testing and defeating every expectation. It seems as if they've occupied mid-afternoon billing at every British rock festival ever, constant as the northern star, while each year's pop fads revolve round them, from obscurity to celebrity and back again, in fragile arcs. The early Fall releases of the late 1970s were an amphetamine-visionary take on the DIY scrappiness of punk, but Smith feels little for his bondage trousered contemporaries, of whom...
It seems there is no depth to which the current crop of Conservatives will not sink, monetising every aspect of modern life in an attempt to create backdoor pathways to funnel any available wealth into their own pockets and those of their donors and cronies, the rivers and seas fouled with excrement, the bodies piled high on gurneys. Brexit Britain resembles nothing more than Russia in the dying days of the Soviet Union, with politicians and their friends in business trying to make off with as much money as they can before the edifice crumbles behind them. But even after the unravelling financial scandals that have enriched everyone from Michelle Mone to Matt Handcock’s pub landlord, the Tories have surely reached a new low with the revelation of plans to asset-strip the very concept of Christmas itself. And, as an investigation by the Guardian revealed, they are nothing new.
Unable to sleep on Christmas Eve 1983, after eating an entire and excessively rich duck confit at one sitting, the disarrayed chancellor of the exchequer, Nigel Lawson, was exiting the toilet in his vast Gascony mansion when he encountered what he assumed was one of his servants in a Father Christmas costume in a tapestried hall. The chancellor simply pantomimed the act of holding his nose and declared: “I’d leave that one a while if I were you.” Then Lawson realised – he was addressing the actual Father Christmas.
Having persuaded the startled gift-deliverer to join him for a swift sherry despite his noxious emission, Lawson gleaned that Christmas’s operation was profit-free and run entirely for the benefit of the world’s children. After the festive being departed on his magical sleigh, Lawson, a man physically incapable of experiencing wonder, quickly called the not unsurprisingly irritated foreign secretary, Geoffrey Howe. Howe had fallen asleep on the sofa while watching a 1977 made-for-TV drama on BBC Two, featuring Edward Asner as an ill-tempered executive who deserts his family, because it was 1983 and the other two channels had closed down at midnight.
On their return to Westminster in the new year, earlier than expected at Lawson’s behest, Howe’s team realised that an exploitable legal loophole meant Britain still had rights over business operations in the northernmost section of the British Arctic Territories, precisely where Santa’s Elf Workshop was located, even though the nation had formally relinquished the lands in 1880. In February, in a secret meeting at the Garrick Club, Howe and Lawson calculated that the Arctic loophole meant Britain could stake a claim to monies from Father Christmas himself! Plans were drawn up enabling Britain to demand a percentage of the value of each toy Christmas delivered, even though his outfit itself was run at cost and not for profit, and the findings were given to Margaret Thatcher for her perusal.
As the frequent vandalism of her statue in Grantham shows, Thatcher’s legacy is not regarded with the reverence Tory myth-makers would have us believe it is. But if the extent to which Thatcher stayed the death knell of the concept of Christmas as we know it were understood, I think even the most brutalised ex-Nottinghamshire miner might raise a festive pint of bitter to her memory. In less than an hour after receiving Howe and Lawson’s dossier, Thatcher sent them an urgent fax, written in her own spidery hand. “We may be Conservatives, gentlemen, but we are not monsters. Cease and desist and pray no one ever hears of this plan!” The pair’s findings were mothballed and forgotten until, in 2019, Sajid Javid’s new chief secretary to the Treasury, a little known former hedge fund manager called Rishi Sunak, stumbled across them in a rarely visited cupboard where ethics were kept and stashed them away for a rainy day.
When Sunak came to power in October, Operation Elf Fuck, as the plan became known among disgruntled civil servants, was thrown into action, ideally in time to milk as much money out of Santa’s Christmas 2022 activities as possible. Currently, there are more than 526,000,000 Christians under the age of 14 worldwide. Assuming each has one main “Santa” present, in addition to gifts delivered by Santa but ostensibly from parents and relatives, and assuming the Sunak government were to take a “facilitation fee” of £2 on each gift, Sunak calculated that the Conservatives, and their cronies and donors, would be able to rake in £1,052,000,000, or £1bn and 52m a year, from Santa’s previously profit-free activities, in exchange for doing absolutely nothing as usual. But at what price?
In order to meet the Tories’ demands it is necessary for Father Christmas to cut costs, but he has no income coming in to mitigate against this. Elves are required to work longer hours and using machinery that is not so regularly maintained. In November, 17 elves died after becoming crushed in the cogs of a machine turning out the popular Barbie Cutie Reveal Doll ™ ®; denied their usual food of costly candy floss, many are turning to food banks, or putting sugar on dental floss, which they suck on and then reuse. The normal reindeer team has been cut from eight to six, resulting in slower delivery times, and the distressing sight of Rudolph and Dancer being dispatched with a bolt gun on the factory floor. Many long-serving elves walked that day, vowing never to return.
As a complex web of shell companies funnels the purloined Christmas money into various defensive offshore accounts, the Christmas operation is on its knees. “This isn’t why we got into elfing,” said one elf, in a high breathy voice that sounded like Nick Ferrari wheezing into a kazoo. “We wanted to make children happy, not to generate wealth for fat cats we’ve never seen. People like Rishi Sunak don’t know one end of a Magic Mixies Mixlings’ Magic Castle Playset ™ ® from another.”
Stewart Lee
2022-12-18T10:55:33+00:00
It seems there is no depth to which the current crop of Conservatives will not sink, monetising every aspect of modern life in an attempt to create backdoor pathways to funnel any available wealth into their own pockets and those of their donors and cronies, the rivers and seas fouled with excrement, the bodies piled high on gurneys. Brexit Britain resembles nothing more than Russia in the dying days of the Soviet Union, with politicians and their friends in business trying to make off with as much money as they can before the edifice crumbles behind them. But even after the unravelling financial scandals that have enriched everyone from Michelle Mone to Matt Handcock’s pub landlord, the Tories have surely reached a new low with the revelation of plans to asset-strip the very concept of Christmas itself. And, as an investigation by the Guardian revealed, they are nothing new. Unable to sleep on Christmas Eve 1983, after eating an entire and excessively rich duck confit at one sitting, the disarrayed chancellor of the exchequer, Nigel Lawson, was exiting the toilet in his vast Gascony mansion when he encountered what he assumed was one of his servants in a Father Christmas costume in a tapestried hall. The chancellor simply pantomimed the act of holding his nose and declared: “I’d leave that one a while if I were you.” Then Lawson realised – he was addressing the actual Father Christmas. Having persuaded the startled gift-deliverer to join him for a swift sherry despite his noxious emission, Lawson gleaned that Christmas’s operation was profit-free and run entirely for the benefit of the world’s children. After the festive being departed on his magical sleigh, Lawson, a man physically incapable of experiencing wonder, quickly called the not unsurprisingly irritated foreign secretary, Geoffrey Howe. Howe had...
The 61st Edinburgh Fringe has begun, offering more than 2,000 shows. And though the 250 venues can be stifling and the rates for accommodation appalling, this is still the only city to be if you’re keen on theatre or comedy. Last year, more than 1.5 million tickets were sold - more than twice as many as were sold ten years earlier. Landlords aside, everybody claims to lose money here. But the Fringe is a big deal and it’s still getting bigger.
And yet, give or take a Ricky Gervais or a Frank Skinner, there aren’t too many telly faces in town. At the Pleasance, culty figures such as Lucy Porter and Mark Watson are playing the big room. At the 320-seater Udderbelly - the upended purple cow in its second year of aiming its inflatable teats at the sky - Stewart Lee is milking the almighty acclaim from his previous pair of Edinburgh shows.
They helped make him No 41 in a Channel 4 poll to find the 100 favourite comedians. Lee can spot bogusness at 50 paces - he is “officially” funnier than anyone at the Fringe apart from Skinner, Jimmy Carr, Daniel Kitson and Jerry Sadowitz. He can also see the fun to be had from such spurious statistics. “I chose to embrace it head-on as fact,” says Lee, “to use it as a marketing tool.”
Well, first the bad news. 41st Best Stand-Up Ever! is not as thrillingly provocative as Lee’s previous show, which looked at his own hounding by the Religious Right after he co-wrote Jerry Springer: the Opera. Some of his repetitiveness can be genuinely tedious rather than mock-tedious.
The good news? Lee is still as cheerfully heretical, rapturously rhythmic and inspiringly intelligent as a comedian gets. He contrasts his status as a hero of mockery with his mother’s preference for Tom O’Connor. He takes delectably overstated aim at the decadent flatulence of television: “run by 20 or 30 people who are insensitive to beauty, truth or thought in any form”. Now 39, a new father with Reed Richards grey temples, Lee has added a more conversational quality to his old deliberateness.
He’s acidic about show-business folk, from Russell Brand - “condemning racism on Celebrity Big Brother while dressed as a cartoon pirate” - to list-show rent-a-rant Stuart Maconie. But Lee is his own prime target too. One of his biggest beefs with television is that it won’t commission him any more.
References to Marvel Comics and jazz go over the heads of some, as he knows they will. “The interesting thing about being upgraded to a larger venue,” he suggests slowly, “is that there will be a lot of people who won’t like this show.” Much of the sold-out crowd greet Lee’s set with respect rather than roars. His story about racial tension at his branch at WeightWatchers brings up a defence of political correctness that would benefit from an hour to itself.
This is the most relaxed show that Lee has done. Occasionally it stalls. But he is sharp, surprising and self-aware like nobody else. He remains the standard by which his fellow Fringe comics must measure themselves.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-06T21:21:02+01:00
The 61st Edinburgh Fringe has begun, offering more than 2,000 shows. And though the 250 venues can be stifling and the rates for accommodation appalling, this is still the only city to be if you’re keen on theatre or comedy. Last year, more than 1.5 million tickets were sold - more than twice as many as were sold ten years earlier. Landlords aside, everybody claims to lose money here. But the Fringe is a big deal and it’s still getting bigger. And yet, give or take a Ricky Gervais or a Frank Skinner, there aren’t too many telly faces in town. At the Pleasance, culty figures such as Lucy Porter and Mark Watson are playing the big room. At the 320-seater Udderbelly - the upended purple cow in its second year of aiming its inflatable teats at the sky - Stewart Lee is milking the almighty acclaim from his previous pair of Edinburgh shows. They helped make him No 41 in a Channel 4 poll to find the 100 favourite comedians. Lee can spot bogusness at 50 paces - he is “officially” funnier than anyone at the Fringe apart from Skinner, Jimmy Carr, Daniel Kitson and Jerry Sadowitz. He can also see the fun to be had from such spurious statistics. “I chose to embrace it head-on as fact,” says Lee, “to use it as a marketing tool.” Well, first the bad news. 41st Best Stand-Up Ever! is not as thrillingly provocative as Lee’s previous show, which looked at his own hounding by the Religious Right after he co-wrote Jerry Springer: the Opera. Some of his repetitiveness can be genuinely tedious rather than mock-tedious. The good news? Lee is still as cheerfully heretical, rapturously rhythmic and inspiringly intelligent as a comedian gets. He contrasts his status as a hero of...
Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018.
Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early.
Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday
Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF)
Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF)
19th - 23rd April 2018. Content Provider has been touring to sold out theatres throughout divided Brexit Britain for nearly two years and is Stewart Lee's most successful full-length show ever.
Join him on these special evenings as he finally abandons two hours of monetisable material and performs the show for the very last time. When it's gone it's gone.
Stewart is 50 years old in 2018 and, after performing these shows, he intends to take the longest break from stand-up he's had since his four year disappearance at the start of the century.
Thursday 19th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 20th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Monday 23rd - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS
JOHN CAGE FOYLES LONDON
I'm doing John Cage's Indeterminacy again w Steve Beresford and Tania Chen at Foyles, Charing X Rd, London, Thurs 14th Dec at 6.30 TICKETS
Thursday 14th December 2017 6:30pm - 8:30pm 107 Charing Cross Road Ray's Jazz Event, Music Event, Chargeable Event.
Once upon a time, Steve Beresford played Tania Chen the Folkways CD of Indeterminacy, by John Cage and David Tudor.
On it, Cage told ninety stories, each one minute long, and, in another room and unable to hear Cage, Tudor played the piano and tapes - originally released on two LPs in 1959.
Tania liked the recording very much and immediately suggested performing the piece. Steve suggested Stewart Lee to read the stories. Stewart agreed.
The three of them have now performed the piece - trimmed to thirty or forty stories, randomly selected - many times.
In their version, everyone can hear each other.
PLUS THE SUPERB Solo For Sliding Trombone by John Cage performed by Alan Tomlinson.
The performance will be followed by a Q&A with the performers and author, David Toop.
CAPRIE BATTERIE RADIO 3
I was invited to contribute vocal things to a session by south west free jazz improv trio Caprie Batterie last month, and one of the tracks appears of Radio 3's Late Junction at 11pm on Dec 21st.
A BELTER FOR THE SHELTER
Feb 7th, Hackney Empire, London.
Belter for the Shelter is back! Join us for an evening of top class comedy in aid of Hackney Winter Night Shelter.
Returning for a fourth time, Belter is bringing yet another stellar line-up of comedians to the Hackney Empire to help raise money for the Shelter's vital work with local homeless people.
All money raised on the night goes towards keeping people off the streets of Hackney this winter and providing them with a hot meal and warm bed.
Providing the gags for the good cause will be Bridget Christie,
Dane Baptiste,
Kevin Eldon,
Kevin McAleer,
Lolly Adefope,
Michael Legge,
Nish Kumar,
Stewart Lee
and the evening will be compered by Daniel Kitson.
This event has always sold out and this year promises to be no different so act quickly to make sure you don't miss out!
You may have noticed Trump is being a right twat with 5 Native American nations, including clown-kings The Hopi, by annexing loads of historically and culturally significant land they were given back under Obama, so he can drill it and whatever.
I might try and sort out some kind of mini-benefit for legal stuff but in the meantime you can donate to the fight here...
Avant-folk songwriter, storyteller and performance artists the mighty Richard Dawson is on the road this month;
Monday 18 - Norwich Arts
Tuesday 19th - Band On The Wall M'cr
Weds 20th - Assembly Hall Islington.
The Pretty Things
60s survivors The Pretty Things play their annual xmas bash at the Borderline, London on Dec 15th
Eliza Carthy
Eliza Carthy, vessel of English folk, tours this month;
03 - Anvil Basingstoke
04 - Gloucs Guildhall
06 - Cardiff Tramshed
08 - St George's Brighton
09 - St Mary's Ashford
10 - Wedgewood Rooms Southsea
11th Rescue Rooms Notts
13 - Cheese & Grain Frome
16th Union Chapel London
18 - B'ham Town Hall
19 - St Luke's Glasgow.
Stewart Lee
2017-12-07T14:04:46+00:00
A Merry Winterval To All My Fans! NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018. Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early. Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF) Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF) https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873569397/events Other extra dates by other comedians are available. CONTENT PROVIDER FINAL 2018 TOUR DATES - NO MORE TO FOLLOW January 2018 Tuesday January 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 19th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 20th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square...
Historical themes are not always the easiest for a theatre group to capture, what with actual facts always getting in the way. The best and worst of these attempts are here.
Warming himself to the audience like a cuddly chat show host, Sir Walter Raleigh, discoverer of worlds, champion of potatoes, begins with his particular brand of obsequious fawning for the greatness of others. Then behold, ladies and gentlemen, the bizarre, wonderful, crazed and incongruous introduction to what is Elizabeth and Raleigh: Late but Live.
Playing Raleigh with panache, wit and throwaway fun is Miles Jupp, whose perfect foil, Queen Elizabeth I, is played imperiously by Simon Munnery. The pairing of these two great comedians is like nothing else at the Fringe, and for those lucky enough to have seen Johnson and Boswell: Late but Live last year, expect more of the same weirdly madcap humour. Penned by Stewart Lee, the jokes in the show are the kind that produce great bubbles of joyous, unexpected laughter. A strong sense of the historical is mixed in with the best kind of modern silliness, and the heightened language only adds to the excellence of the base humour. This is the Fringe at its best, and those who witness Raleigh's culinary humiliation are likely to agree.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-22T20:23:10+01:00
Historical themes are not always the easiest for a theatre group to capture, what with actual facts always getting in the way. The best and worst of these attempts are here. Warming himself to the audience like a cuddly chat show host, Sir Walter Raleigh, discoverer of worlds, champion of potatoes, begins with his particular brand of obsequious fawning for the greatness of others. Then behold, ladies and gentlemen, the bizarre, wonderful, crazed and incongruous introduction to what is Elizabeth and Raleigh: Late but Live. Playing Raleigh with panache, wit and throwaway fun is Miles Jupp, whose perfect foil, Queen Elizabeth I, is played imperiously by Simon Munnery. The pairing of these two great comedians is like nothing else at the Fringe, and for those lucky enough to have seen Johnson and Boswell: Late but Live last year, expect more of the same weirdly madcap humour. Penned by Stewart Lee, the jokes in the show are the kind that produce great bubbles of joyous, unexpected laughter. A strong sense of the historical is mixed in with the best kind of modern silliness, and the heightened language only adds to the excellence of the base humour. This is the Fringe at its best, and those who witness Raleigh's culinary humiliation are likely to agree.
I opened my new standup show, Basic Lee, 14 days after Liz Truss took office. Do you remember her? The cheese one? I joked to the Guardian-reading tofu-eating wokerati in attendance at the Leicester Square theatre that there was little point in pursuing my usual practice of tying a personal story into the contemporary political one, as the new Liz Truss government would certainly not last until the tour ended in April 2024. Perhaps it wouldn’t even last to the end of that night’s two-hour show. Accordingly, I read my opening 15 minutes of material on Truss and her cabinet off flimsy cards, explaining there was no point in learning it. How we laughed! And how the world laughs at us.
On a Thursday less than two weeks later, in between my leaving home and arriving at the Leicester Square theatre, the thuggish chancellor of the exchequer became the first dim domino to fall and my tight five on Kwasi Kwarteng’s budget bit the dust. As I rolled it out for one last time to an audience of Anti-Growth Coalition members cackling at the impossibility of my job, I felt like the neolithic fisherman of standup, trying to spear the salmon of slippery political targets in the fast-moving, and inevitably sewage-filled, chalk stream of the Conservatives’ collapse. Pity the refugee! Pity the pensioner!! But above all, in these dark times, pity the professional satirist!!!
My half-term break with the kids was three days away, so I spaffed Kwarteng up the wall, just as Truss had done herself, and hoped any further prolapses of the collective Conservative anus would at least happen during my time off, leaving me ready with rewrites on returning to the stage on 2 November. Inevitably, the Truss government was removed within days, because it was totally shit, and with it went most of my opening 15 minutes, which were totally great. It was almost as if the men in grey suits of the 1922 Committee were trying to make life as difficult as possible for the jobbing liberal comedian trying to hold a tightly structured two hours together.
My now useless routine about the newly defenestrated Ranil Jayawardena, the 50-day environment secretary, by then performed to nearly 10,000 virtue-signalling wokeys, was now as irrelevant and forgotten as Jayawardena himself, the Paul Squire of environmental politics. The pro-fracking policies he was about to have to suck up are now overturned too, as revolving Rishi Sunak rotates back to the anti-fracking commitments of the original 2019 Tory manifesto, like a frighteningly banal Victorian spinning toy made of elastic bands and wood. History conspired to drain the very notion of Jayawardena of all meaning. He is gone. And there is no evidence of his ever having been there. We will not see his like again. If indeed we ever did.
Ranil Jayawardena’s replacement is Thérèse Coffey, who is perhaps better positioned than her predecessor to understand the hedgerows and moorlands, as it looks as if that is where she sleeps and forages for food. Sadly, there is little mileage for my post-Truss standup set in portraying Coffey as a badger, as a born-again feminist at the Daily Mail will accuse me of misogyny, before penning another article about the unfair allure of Angela Rayner’s reproductive organs. (“But will they bewitch dishy Rishi?”) In her 50-day tenure as health secretary, Coffey alarmed medical professionals by recommending that henceforth antibiotics were thrown like sweets by clowns in the streets to anyone who wanted them, even if they weren’t ill, dangerously weakening their efficacy. In her environment secretary capacity Coffey is expected to announce subsidies for Japanese knotweed cultivation, while establishing a protected reserve for Asian hornets and Colorado beetles in her bloomers.
I had a tight 10 on Nadhim Zahawi, who had suddenly become equalities minister, and there was something innately funny about the equalities minister’s horses having been previously warmed at the taxpayers’ expense while your gran froze at the energy company shareholders’ behest. But now Zahawi is the minister without portfolio. And so is Gavin Williamson. In short, Zahawi and Williamson haven’t got a portfolio between them. They do, however, have some previously warmed horses and a tarantula spider called Cronus. If Williamson is able to do as much damage to the idea of portfolios as he did to the education system there will be no portfolios left. Children will ask us: “What was a portfolio, Grandad?” And we won’t quite remember, but will know their disappearance was something to do with the minister without portfolio.
Former culture secretary Oliver Dowden takes on the arcane role of chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, but will it be worth thinking of anything funny to say about him? It’s not quite clear what the job of chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster is. But because Dowden is bringing to it the same level of understanding he brought to the culture secretary post he is expected to announce on Monday that his favourite Lancasters are Burt Lancaster, “because of when he was on the beach and all sea went on him”, and the Lancaster bomber “because it had machine guns as well as bombs”. And Matt Handcock has pointed out that a “duchy” is actually “a kind of Jamaican iron cooking pot and so having a chancellor of a duchy in the Conservative cabinet proves that we live in a diverse and tolerant country”.
Round and round it goes. God, I wish it would stop! Police officers who are exposed to obscene material online receive counselling, but those of us required to contemplate wave after wave of incompetent and corrupt Tories in the course of our satirical duties are left to fend for ourselves. Is it any wonder we turn to drink?
Stewart Lee
2022-10-30T19:22:51+00:00
I opened my new standup show, Basic Lee, 14 days after Liz Truss took office. Do you remember her? The cheese one? I joked to the Guardian-reading tofu-eating wokerati in attendance at the Leicester Square theatre that there was little point in pursuing my usual practice of tying a personal story into the contemporary political one, as the new Liz Truss government would certainly not last until the tour ended in April 2024. Perhaps it wouldn’t even last to the end of that night’s two-hour show. Accordingly, I read my opening 15 minutes of material on Truss and her cabinet off flimsy cards, explaining there was no point in learning it. How we laughed! And how the world laughs at us. On a Thursday less than two weeks later, in between my leaving home and arriving at the Leicester Square theatre, the thuggish chancellor of the exchequer became the first dim domino to fall and my tight five on Kwasi Kwarteng’s budget bit the dust. As I rolled it out for one last time to an audience of Anti-Growth Coalition members cackling at the impossibility of my job, I felt like the neolithic fisherman of standup, trying to spear the salmon of slippery political targets in the fast-moving, and inevitably sewage-filled, chalk stream of the Conservatives’ collapse. Pity the refugee! Pity the pensioner!! But above all, in these dark times, pity the professional satirist!!! My half-term break with the kids was three days away, so I spaffed Kwarteng up the wall, just as Truss had done herself, and hoped any further prolapses of the collective Conservative anus would at least happen during my time off, leaving me ready with rewrites on returning to the stage on 2 November. Inevitably, the Truss government was removed within days, because it was totally...
In the psychedelic 60s stop-frame animation children’s television series Trumpton, all the characters have identifying proper names – the fireman Captain Flack, the state stormtrooper Police Constable Potter, and the mysterious dungeon-dwelling economist Gideon Pencils Osborne. The mayor of Trumpton, however, was known only as The Mayor, and neither his actual name nor his political affiliations were ever revealed, though he smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs and too many rightwing meetings.
All over the land last week, Tory mayors dreamed of similar anonymity, hoping that if no one knew anything about them, and their campaign literature didn’t reveal they belonged to the Tory party, people might at least vote for them by accident, thinking they were someone else. “Oh! Andy Street was the West Midlands’ Tory mayor candidate? I thought I was voting for the glamorous, and now deceased, Welsh wrestler Adrian Street. I liked it when he pulled out Jimmy Savile’s hair in 1971.”
At the time of filing this week’s so-called “funny” column, I don’t know the results of Thursday’s mayoral elections, but the Tory campaign was a chilling indication of the depths to which the cornered, cowardly and corrupt Conservative party will sink in the endlessly deferred general election. Expect a tsunami of unsubstantiated claims in viral-video hit pieces, designed to cause a maximum impact to the Overton window in the time between their unannounced appearance and their sudden disappearance due to legal considerations.
Last week, the Observer and Greenpeace revealed that, just as dark money secretly pays for fake grassroots groups such as Restore Trust to discredit the National Trust for unstated reasons, so Conservative party workers have set up dozens of fake community Facebook groups. These then weaponise anti-Ulez sentiment against Sadiq Khan anonymously, and provide a platform for antisemitic and Islamophobic content and fantasies about the incumbent London mayor’s assassination. Carelessly, the Conservative London mayoral candidate, Susan Hall, has somehow managed to join six of them, one after another, like a hapless clown stepping on a succession of garden rakes and then wondering why its teeth are all smashed.
Perhaps Hall enjoyed the post about Khan that asked why “dark forces” can’t “take out this money-grabbing little parasite” in the same way they did Diana, Princess of Wales. (It’s a foolish hope anyway, to be honest, as to do so would require Khan to be in a relationship with Dodi Fayed, while appearing to be pursued at fatally high speed by French paparazzi through a Parisian road tunnel. This would be a stretch, even for the secret black ops teams of the deep state, given that Fayed is now deceased.)
In Wednesday’s PMQs, Catherine West, the Labour MP for the woke seat of Hornsey and Wood Green, asked Sunak directly about his party’s complicity in the dangerous astroturfed Facebook groups his own workers had secretly set up. Meanwhile, the Tory benches looked like the Pogles doing a rehearsed reading of the bunker scene in Downfall. West made specific reference to Hall’s membership of the hate groups, and of their platforming of users’ death fantasies about Sadiq Khan.
“Will he close down these Facebooks which have been begun by Conservative members of staff… begun by Conservative members of staff,” West said, repeating her key point over the usual Tory braying and honking, “and will he investigate the role of the current candidate, and her membership of those disgraceful racist sites?” It was a simple question, surely. But it was one that Sunak pretended not to have understood, instead answering a different question that no one had asked, outside the echoing cave of lies, cash-register kerchings, and Jilly Cooper-audiobook sex scenes that plays on an endless loop through Sony Walkman speakers inside his miniature head.
“Mr Speaker, the election tomorrow will be fought on the substance of the issues that Londoners face,” the prime minister dissembled, never acknowledging any aspects of West’s question. Meanwhile, the baffling Penny Mordaunt sat behind him, laughing along with his gilded evasions like something horrifying that predicts your death from inside a glass funfair box.
How can Sunak live with himself? If he believes elections can be won on the issues themselves, why is his party, which renamed one of their main social media accounts Factcheckuk to spread lies during the 2019 election debates, putting so much time and effort into disinformation, and into concealing the fact that it is Conservative staff spreading it? Like Hal 9000, Sunak’s mission is too important to allow truth to jeopardise it.
Just as Schrödinger’s Rwanda is both perfectly safe for migrants and a terrifying deterrent to them, so Schrödinger’s Sunak believes that only facts matter, while at the same overseeing the deliberate dissemination of disinformation. Is Sunak one of the worst men on Earth? Does he have a soul? Does he have a heart? Does he have shame? Or is he just a husk in Adidas Samba trainers, a goblin with a swimming pool, an egg that is unambiguously bad?
And is Sunak, to use a phrase coined by contributors to the Facebook group his party set up, “a money-grabbing parasite” whose government’s filtering of millions of public cash into his own family’s Infosys company, and whose cautious relationship with tax, make Khan’s Ulez hits on motorists for clean air initiatives look like change found down the back of the family sofa Boris Johnson courted that pole dancer on, before her business was awarded £126,000 of our money. Ah! I already feel nostalgic for the days when the figures filtered by Tories from the public purse still numbered in the low hundred-thousands.
But who will save us from orchestrated Tory lies in the election campaign? The powerless news castrati at Robbie Gibb’s captured BBC? The unregulated far-right grifters and moonlighting MPs at the inexplicably Ofcom-excused GB News? The Tory propagandists at the Telegraph and the Mail? Carol Vorderman, it’s going to have to be you, isn’t it?
Stewart Lee
2024-05-05T19:58:13+01:00
In the psychedelic 60s stop-frame animation children’s television series Trumpton, all the characters have identifying proper names – the fireman Captain Flack, the state stormtrooper Police Constable Potter, and the mysterious dungeon-dwelling economist Gideon Pencils Osborne. The mayor of Trumpton, however, was known only as The Mayor, and neither his actual name nor his political affiliations were ever revealed, though he smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs and too many rightwing meetings. All over the land last week, Tory mayors dreamed of similar anonymity, hoping that if no one knew anything about them, and their campaign literature didn’t reveal they belonged to the Tory party, people might at least vote for them by accident, thinking they were someone else. “Oh! Andy Street was the West Midlands’ Tory mayor candidate? I thought I was voting for the glamorous, and now deceased, Welsh wrestler Adrian Street. I liked it when he pulled out Jimmy Savile’s hair in 1971.” At the time of filing this week’s so-called “funny” column, I don’t know the results of Thursday’s mayoral elections, but the Tory campaign was a chilling indication of the depths to which the cornered, cowardly and corrupt Conservative party will sink in the endlessly deferred general election. Expect a tsunami of unsubstantiated claims in viral-video hit pieces, designed to cause a maximum impact to the Overton window in the time between their unannounced appearance and their sudden disappearance due to legal considerations. Last week, the Observer and Greenpeace revealed that, just as dark money secretly pays for fake grassroots groups such as Restore Trust to discredit the National Trust for unstated reasons, so Conservative party workers have set up dozens of fake community Facebook groups. These then weaponise anti-Ulez sentiment against Sadiq Khan anonymously, and provide a platform for antisemitic and Islamophobic content and...
I want to talk to Stewart Lee about his ultra dry delivery and the layered ironic nature of this stand-up, and tell him that a friend of mine didn’t find his new show very funny. “Why not?” he asks. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. In fact it’s strange that you’re even bringing it up”. He warms up when I ask him if he thinks there’s a limit to the awkward straight faced non-comedy that he increasingly uses. “No. I’m not required to deliver a punch-line every thirty seconds so there’re other things I can do. For example if you were trying to write a piece of music and you decided not to use rhythms or tunes or anything with a harmonic relationship with anything else, as well as being limiting it actually opens it up; you can do absolutely anything.
You could argue that people like Jimmy Carr who do an hour of one-liners are much more limited than me. I’m allowed to do anything, so I don’t see there being an end point to it.” And what about alienating the audience? “Ideally I would get to the point where no one liked it. You want to shake people off as much as possible. There might be a commercial end point to it, but not a creative one. For most of the musicians or poets that I like, there probably aren’t more than 5000 people who like them worldwide, but if you take ten pounds a year off all those people then that’s a living.”
I’m surprised that Stewart Lee is taking such care to answer my questions; he normally interviews himself. Scathingly. Preceding the arrival of his recent TV show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, he decided to do the complete opposite of favourable promotion. “Time Out and The Guardian wanted me to write about myself”, he explains, “so I asked if I could just slag myself off in the guise of a journalist. I thought it’d be funny to create a wave of negative advance publicity crit. I just didn’t want to sell myself, it’s a bit embarrassing”. The resulting pieces are hilarious in their own right. Lee, writing as critic Tim Out for Time Out, calls himself “shambling and pie-eyed” while as Leeanne Stewart in The Guardian he writes that he is “a limpet-like figure, a kind of laughing gastropod, attached undetected to the barnacled hull of a whole host of more successful comedians' careers”.
This attitude is consistent to Lee’s style; he has never had mainstream commercial success and he doesn’t appear to want it very much. “In the modern world you’re supposed to be a personality and let people know all about you so they will watch your work but I’d rather no-one was interested in that”. As such he is not exactly great material on talk shows. He was encouraged to go on 8 Out of 10 Cats and got approached afterwards by a man at a gig in Ireland, who said “you were so bad on that program I tried to sell the tickets I’d bought to see you, but no-one would buy them. I tried to give them away but no-one would have them, so I came anyway.” Lee claims he doesn’t have the speed or shared common direction that’s needed to be a success one of those shows. He admits this is a skill that he’s impressed by, but does not have much love for the young mainstream comics of today. “There’s a complacency you seem to get from a lot at the moment. When I got into comedy 25 years ago it was an alternative to the mainstream, whereas now that has become the mainstream. Rock music and alternative comedy ought to be things that your parents or people my age don’t like, and the reason I don’t like comedy or music by most young people isn’t that it offends my sensibilities, it’s because it’s normally really conservative and predictable, and shit.” After this he cackles uncontrollably, his only laugh of the interview.
He seems to have a lot of contempt for TV, probably because of that fact that his latest series was offered to him, then rejected outright a year later, then offered back to him shortly after that for no reason.” It tells you that there’s an insane randomness to being on TV or not. It’s like weather systems or water flowing over stones; it doesn’t mean anything.” It helps explain why he’s been so keen to try so many other art forms. In 2001 he both finished a novel, the critically acclaimed The Perfect Fool, and performed Pea Green Boat, a show about Edward Lear’s The Owl and The Pussycat and his own broken toilet. Then in 2005 came Jerry Springer: The Opera, the critically acclaimed West End show which he wrote with Richard Thomas. The show was on the receiving end of a damning campaign from Christian Voice, a far-right set of extremists who managed to get 60,000 people to complain. “They’re a group who used Jerry Springer to get into the mainstream media and I don’t think many of people they got to complain would have if they’d known what they stood for. They’re against Islam across the board, homosexuality, giving a survival cancer vaccine to teenagers, the legal stature of rape within marriage, weird things. You had to cross picket lines to go to work, and when you finally get to the dressing room and there’re letters from people saying “go to hell”, it’s a bit exhausting. “
Lee‘s first gig was as a student at the Oxford Union in 1988, and he’s returning to Oxford with a new show on the 26th November. What can we expect? “There are three routines. One’s about coffee shops, one’s about Top Gear, and the other one’s about the advertising of cider. It’s just three jokes really.” If that’s not enticing enough, he’s keen to say that it’s being put on independently at the Regal and that it will be cheaper than all his other gigs.
Stewart Lee
2009-10-01T15:29:49+01:00
The interview gets off to a bad start. I want to talk to Stewart Lee about his ultra dry delivery and the layered ironic nature of this stand-up, and tell him that a friend of mine didn’t find his new show very funny. “Why not?” he asks. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. In fact it’s strange that you’re even bringing it up”. He warms up when I ask him if he thinks there’s a limit to the awkward straight faced non-comedy that he increasingly uses. “No. I’m not required to deliver a punch-line every thirty seconds so there’re other things I can do. For example if you were trying to write a piece of music and you decided not to use rhythms or tunes or anything with a harmonic relationship with anything else, as well as being limiting it actually opens it up; you can do absolutely anything. You could argue that people like Jimmy Carr who do an hour of one-liners are much more limited than me. I’m allowed to do anything, so I don’t see there being an end point to it.” And what about alienating the audience? “Ideally I would get to the point where no one liked it. You want to shake people off as much as possible. There might be a commercial end point to it, but not a creative one. For most of the musicians or poets that I like, there probably aren’t more than 5000 people who like them worldwide, but if you take ten pounds a year off all those people then that’s a living.” I’m surprised that Stewart Lee is taking such care to answer my questions; he normally interviews himself. Scathingly. Preceding the arrival of his recent TV show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, he decided to do...
It would be fair to say that comedian Stewart Lee divides opinion.
Loved by many - including the residents of Nottingham where he was performing his third show in a matter of months - he's also despised by critics and some fellow stand-ups alike, as he reminded us during the opening sequence of his new show A Room With A Stew.
In 2012 when Lee brought his Carpet Remnant World show to Nottingham, I noted that his constant disappointment with sections of the Playhouse crowd who weren't his 'fans' was a theme throughout. Well, in four years, little has changed.
Lee still holds his audience, other stand-ups and, frankly, everyone in contempt, but it is the deconstruction and multi-layered nature of his work that remains so engaging.
He continues to pull no punches - James Corden's admiration for Lee described as 'like a dog listening to classical music' - but these moments are always used as a means to an end, rather than simply being vitriolic in themselves.
If you'd never seen Lee before turning up at one of his shows you could be forgiven for feeling somewhat bewildered.
A long sequence about Sunday Times columnist Rod Liddle being covered in food made no sense even to die-hard fans, while his laconic style always makes him look like a middle-aged man ranting at a bus stop.
And, unlike previous shows where the 47-year-old ties the loose threads of his story together in a cleverly developed finale, this show features shorter 'sets', partly because much of the comic's time has been taken up writing the next series of his BAFTA-nominated - but unsuccessful, as he pointed out at length - TV series Comedy Vehicle.
"No-one is equipped to review me" he declared early on, and maybe he is right.
Watching Lee's constant use of irony and self-awareness is akin to peeling back the layers of an onion - you're never quite sure what you're going to get next although it will often make you cry.
In a good way, of course.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-25T20:31:36+00:00
It would be fair to say that comedian Stewart Lee divides opinion. Loved by many - including the residents of Nottingham where he was performing his third show in a matter of months - he's also despised by critics and some fellow stand-ups alike, as he reminded us during the opening sequence of his new show A Room With A Stew. In 2012 when Lee brought his Carpet Remnant World show to Nottingham, I noted that his constant disappointment with sections of the Playhouse crowd who weren't his 'fans' was a theme throughout. Well, in four years, little has changed. Lee still holds his audience, other stand-ups and, frankly, everyone in contempt, but it is the deconstruction and multi-layered nature of his work that remains so engaging. He continues to pull no punches - James Corden's admiration for Lee described as 'like a dog listening to classical music' - but these moments are always used as a means to an end, rather than simply being vitriolic in themselves. If you'd never seen Lee before turning up at one of his shows you could be forgiven for feeling somewhat bewildered. A long sequence about Sunday Times columnist Rod Liddle being covered in food made no sense even to die-hard fans, while his laconic style always makes him look like a middle-aged man ranting at a bus stop. And, unlike previous shows where the 47-year-old ties the loose threads of his story together in a cleverly developed finale, this show features shorter 'sets', partly because much of the comic's time has been taken up writing the next series of his BAFTA-nominated - but unsuccessful, as he pointed out at length - TV series Comedy Vehicle. "No-one is equipped to review me" he declared early on, and maybe he is right. Watching Lee's...
The four tracks on Angharad Davies' Six Studies are titled as if they were exploratory exercises for the experimental violinist, (Circular Bowing Study, Balancing Springs on Strings Studies 1 - 3), and are sealed in an anonymous tin.
Cat gut, metal and plastic scrape on string, at a succession of angles, sounds sawn from air.
Time slows, scale reverses, and you're up close to the process.
Gulliver traverses the violin neck, watching sound vibrate off overhead cables in great powerful waves.
Stewart Lee
2014-03-24T11:29:09+00:00
The four tracks on Angharad Davies' Six Studies are titled as if they were exploratory exercises for the experimental violinist, (Circular Bowing Study, Balancing Springs on Strings Studies 1 - 3), and are sealed in an anonymous tin. Cat gut, metal and plastic scrape on string, at a succession of angles, sounds sawn from air. Time slows, scale reverses, and you're up close to the process. Gulliver traverses the violin neck, watching sound vibrate off overhead cables in great powerful waves.
As usual, this year’s British Comedy awards were not a hugely useful barometer of where comedy is at, based as they are on public polls of magazine readers largely unaware of how the art form may be flourishing beyond their TV sets, or influenced by the lobbying of industry insiders anxious to increase the market value of their programmes, or of their writer-performer clients. But we can take two things away from last week’s televised awards ceremony. One, it’s not enough simply to bring a giant snake on stage, you have to have some idea of what you are going to do with it. And two, the crop of high-profile comic successes such as Borat, Little Britain and the writing team of Ricky Gervaise and Stephen Merchant, broadly lumped under a banner of the comedy of shock, bad taste and outrage, show no immediate signs of disappearing. But reading about these shows in print and on-line, they are often described in a way that makes me, for one, feel as if I have been watching different material to everyone else. For many viewers and critics, Borat, Little Britain and The Office and Extras represent blows against the monstrous, and perhaps largely imagined, regiment of politically correct thinkers, who impinge upon our basic freedoms on a daily basis.
“Little Britain makes no apologies for being highly offensive and preying on the sensitivities of even the slightest politically correct sensibilities, which in an ever sanitised society should be applauded,” writes Michael Byrne, of Time Out Dubai, where society is considerably more sanitised than it is here. “Borat raises an index finger to political correctness and all its exponents,” claims Mail On Sunday reader Colin Veitch on-line, who obviously feels that were Borat to raise his middle finger, the finger traditionally used for giving offence, he may have been overstating his case. Meanwhile, an Extras fan-site lauds “Ricky Gervais' and Stephen Merchant’s mockery of political correctness”. I’m thirty-eight, and old enough to remember comedy, and life in general, before political correctness. At secondary school in the midlands in the early 80’s, our maths teacher, who was a genuinely nice man, would routinely refer to the one Asian boy in our class as ‘The Black Spot’, fondly imagining this was in some way inclusive, like some pocket calculator wielding version of David Brent ™ . And the idea of a comic performer like Little Britain’s Matt Lucas being openly out would have been unimaginable, however absurdly camp his onstage persona.
There’s a vast difference between the casual, inadvertent offence prevalent in my childhood, and the choices made today by performers and writers of my generation, operating in a post-PC world, where they are aware of the power and meaning of the taboos they chose to break. Linguistic theorists who define the terminology of political correctness suggest that grammatical choices made in language influence both the speaker’s and the listener’s ideas and actions. This would seem to be common sense, so it would be churlish to argue against the idea of attempting to ensure basic levels of politeness and consideration in official, public discourse. I am a great fan of political correctness, even though as one of the writers of Jerry Springer The Opera I was routinely praised for apparently attacking it, and feel that any indignities we suffer from PC’s overzealous policing are a small price to pay for all that it has achieved. Is anyone apart from Robertsons’ jam really lamenting the extinction of the golliwog? So why then, do some sections of the viewing public insist on seeing attacks on PC where there perhaps are none?
Stephen Merchant, who co-writes The Office and Extras with Ricky Gervais. “We’re endless cited as being non-PC and yet we sit and agonise for ages over what we put into the scripts,” he says, the day after picking up another British Comedy Award, “and over whether our choices can be defended, both morally and intellectually. We may push things, but we’re always motivated by satirical imperatives.” But the duo’s scripts do use non-PC language? “Yes,” explains Merchant, clearly slotting back into a tramline he’s had to follow many times before, “but we deal in taboos and hot areas by appearing to approach them from a non-PC standpoint, but as soon as you even introduce topics that PC has declared off-limits people assume you are trying to be dangerous and politically incorrect. Often we’re all unsure of what to say, for example, in the company of someone who is disabled. These are areas ripe for comedy because of social anxiety, not because the subject itself is intrinsically funny. A joke about race, and about how we react to race, is not necessarily a racist joke. That is fundamental. Political correctness has made the world better for those who might otherwise have been unfairly marginalized, but there is the problem of the idea that you cannot discuss different areas for fear of being politically incorrect.”
Peter Baynham is one of the unsung heroes of British comedy over the last two decades, wrote the famous ‘Michael Heseltine Is Dead’ bit for Chris Morris’ radio show, and helped sculpt Patrick Marber’s Alan Partridge character from its chat show incarnation into its fully-realised sit-com version. But it is as one of the co-writers of Sacha Baron-Cohen’s Borat movie that he has finally won a British Comedy Award, the industry’s least valuable honour, and earned enough money to buy David Hasselhoff’s hair from him, and wear it as if it were his own. According to Simon Dillon, of the Christian film review website The Greatest Trick, “Borat is a monstrous creation designed to fly in the face of every politically correct notion you can possibly think of, yet despite being misogynistic, homophobic, anti-Semitic, and worse, Borat has proved hugely popular, possibly because people are sick and tired of politically correct comedy (surely a contradiction in terms in any case).”
Bayham is philosophical about the way in which Borat has occasionally been received. “It’s weird to see the film seized upon by people that hate political correctness, and think it’s a bad thing, when PC was clearly just an understandable reaction to 70’s racist awfulness,” he says, on a rare trip home from Los Angeles to the native land he now scorns. “In my own pretentious, terrible opinion, which may not be shared by the other writers, the Borat movie is not anti-PC at all. When Borat says a black politician has a ‘ genuine chocolate face’ he is a) clearly an idiot and b) from a naïve fictionalised foreign culture. But it’s also a good thing to do because that bit absolutely wouldn’t have been funny twenty-five years ago, precisely because that sort of thing was more openly said by people. It’s a little kick, a little reminder, of why we don’t say those things, and it’s weird when you read people saying it was deliberately offensive. The laugh is a laugh of ‘oh my god you can’t say that!’ People are laughing with shock, because we’ve reminded them of why it’s wrong to say that black people have chocolate faces.” At this point, Baynham seems to be approaching something profound and timeless about comedy, that stretches beyond petty concerns about political correctness.
At the end of September, I was lucky enough to attend the St Geronimo feast-day celebrations at Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, whilst helping out on a Radio 4 documentary about clowns. For a long time I had fondly imagined that the clowns of the pueblo Indians, who take over the village for the afternoon on the second day of the festival, might be a key to understanding, on some essential level, what comedy is, and what comedy is for. I’d seen a recreation of the mediaeval fools’ day five years ago near Beziers in Languedoc, when the bouffonnades, a clown troupe which was traditionally assembled each from the village’s mentally and physically handicapped outcasts, were given free reign to mock the citizenry, but research suggested the pueblo clowns seemed to have a more pronounced philosophical dimension. Just after lunch, ten figures appeared, silhouetted against the blue sky on the roof of a stack of brown adobe buildings. They are naked but for loincloths, their bodies painted in rings of concentric black and white stripes, their hair decorated with jagged stalks of corn. They scream and bellow. Children run away, afraid. After a while, the clowns made their way down into the plaza, where they spent the next three hours running between the stalls and houses, intimidating and entertaining, overturning every social norm at hand, and re-shaping the rules of pueblo life. Babies were snatched from their parents and thrown into the river. Food was stolen from stallholders and redistributed. We were shouted out, shoved and shocked. Our drinks were flung on the floor. We followed the clowns into the chief’s house, were an absurd Indian dance was performed at the dinner table for the benefit of his white guests. Back outside, white men were forced to face off in mock cowboy gunfights, and white teenage girls were forcibly press-ganged into ungainly Britney Spears dance routines. Beautiful pueblo women were mocked and made to wear different sized shoes, so they struggled and stumbled as they walked. Handsome young men were clad in dresses and forced to skip. Elderly women were gracefully wooed or crudely propositioned. And, when confronted with someone in a wheelchair, or a mentally handicapped onlooker, the clowns would fall before them on their knees in worship.
Despite our BBC credentials, Native American commentators were reluctant to explain the theory behind any of this practise in detail, partly because when the white settlers moved into the South West one of the first things their delicate sensibilities required them to suppress were the pueblo clown ceremonials, but gentle pressure revealed the suggestion of a social, maybe even moral, purpose at work. By reversing the norms and breaking the taboos, the clowns show us what we have to lose, and what me might also stand to gain, if we step outside the restrictions of social convention and polite everyday discourse. This core idea holds whether it is played out up close in the plaza of a New Mexican pueblo, or miles away by the tiny dots of television stars on the stage of a vast arena. Comedy is about funny faces, and funny noises, and silly words and stupid fun, but it’s also about this more profound idea. To say that the taboo-busting antics of current favourites like Borat, Little Britain or the boys from The Office and Extras is somehow bound up explicitly in contemporary cultural negotiations with the ephemeral, late 20th century notion of Political Correctness is to miss the point on a massive scale. This stuff is justified, ancient and righteous. It is not there to be appropriated by Daily Mail editorials as evidence of mass disillusionment with the soft-left, nor by disgusted liberals as examples of society’s collapsing values. It’s comedy, the noblest of all the arts, and it goes way back.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-01T19:43:18+00:00
As usual, this year’s British Comedy awards were not a hugely useful barometer of where comedy is at, based as they are on public polls of magazine readers largely unaware of how the art form may be flourishing beyond their TV sets, or influenced by the lobbying of industry insiders anxious to increase the market value of their programmes, or of their writer-performer clients. But we can take two things away from last week’s televised awards ceremony. One, it’s not enough simply to bring a giant snake on stage, you have to have some idea of what you are going to do with it. And two, the crop of high-profile comic successes such as Borat, Little Britain and the writing team of Ricky Gervaise and Stephen Merchant, broadly lumped under a banner of the comedy of shock, bad taste and outrage, show no immediate signs of disappearing. But reading about these shows in print and on-line, they are often described in a way that makes me, for one, feel as if I have been watching different material to everyone else. For many viewers and critics, Borat, Little Britain and The Office and Extras represent blows against the monstrous, and perhaps largely imagined, regiment of politically correct thinkers, who impinge upon our basic freedoms on a daily basis. “Little Britain makes no apologies for being highly offensive and preying on the sensitivities of even the slightest politically correct sensibilities, which in an ever sanitised society should be applauded,” writes Michael Byrne, of Time Out Dubai, where society is considerably more sanitised than it is here. “Borat raises an index finger to political correctness and all its exponents,” claims Mail On Sunday reader Colin Veitch on-line, who obviously feels that were Borat to raise his middle finger, the finger traditionally used for...
“If you had to kill Stewart Lee how would you do it? Stab his eyes out? Shotgun to the knees? Brain with heavy object?” Xpijonipsy, Twitter, 16/10/19, since removed
1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LIVE (London & Touring)
I THINK ALL LONDON DATES ARE NOW SOLD OUT BUT... THERE WILL BE SUPPLEMENTARY DATES AT THE ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON, JUNE 27TH, 28TH AND JULY 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, AND THESE ARE ON SALE NOW.
I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020.
More national dates from Feb 2020 will be announced later in the year, I am going to do less shows than last time, but with longer runs in bigger rooms to hit the same demand.
I will film this show/these shows in the Summer of 2020 for offloading to whatever content platforms are still viable at that stage in late capitalism's technologically-driven cultural decline.
David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present STEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO.
Double-bill of two new 60-ish minute sets, back to back nightly from "the world's greatest living stand-up" (Times).
Tornado questions a shipwrecked Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly lists his show as "reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe." What is anything? Is it this?
And Snowflake questions our worth in a collapsing society which no longer shares the liberal values we have for so long been keen to be seen to espouse, in a fairy-tale landscape of winter wonder. Tons of fun!
This is the link for physical media version via MEDIA GARAGE via AMAZON. MEDIA GARAGE is the only legit outlet for physical media and anyone else selling it isn’t me and I don’t get the money. DVD LINK
Right now there is nothing free to view of me on Netflix or Amazon. I’m not part of a package of multi-artists shows the Network can buy from a particular production company and I’m not prepared to give stuff away free to the platforms.
Also, you can buy everything from me at live shows, which is best, as both I and the taxman see a slice of the action in this honest and straightforward farmers’ market style transaction.
I will even have a card machine this time around to facilitate drunken impulse mass-purchases, at rates beyond your actual means.
I am trying to get STAND-UP COMEDIAN back in circulation but the original producers have put the original contract in storage and have warned us that it is costly to locate it.
3) King Rocker Doc
Michael Cumming (Brass Eye), James Nicholls (Fire films) and I are looking for donations to complete the film below, which is about Birmingham post-punk survivors The Nightingales.
Everyone who donates, no matter how big or how small*, will be featured in the end credits.
*(I think this sentence, written by James from Fire, relates to the size of the donation, not the donor.)
March of the Lemmings - Brexit in Print and Performance 2016-2019
Faber have published March of the Lemmings.
Drawing on three years of newspaper columns, a complete transcript of the 'Content Provider' stand-up show, and Lee’s caustic footnote commentary, March of the Lemmings is the scathing, riotous record the Brexit era deserves.”
5) LAURA CANNELL’S MODERN RITUAL
I am contributing some words to a new performance by mediaeval minimalist the mighty Laura Cannell, at London’s King’s Place on July 11th - https://www.kingsplace.co.uk/whats-on/
6) MUSIC FROM SHOWS
PEOPLE KEEP ASKING ME AFTER GIGS; "WHAT IS THAT BIT OF MUSIC FROM ‘CONTENT PROVIDER’ OR ‘SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO’?". So, here goes...
CONTENT PROVIDER
PRE-SHOW Was mainly tracks from Bounce (2016) by The Beat, and Black Bombers (2016) by Black Bombers
PRE-SHOW - Oh Yeah - Can (Tago Mago, 1971), Halleluhwah - Can (Tago Mago, 1971), Pinch - Can (Ege Bamyasi, 1972), If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up - Betty Davis (Betty Davis, 1973)
INTERVAL - Auto Chip 2014 - 2016 - The Fall (Sub Lingual Tablet, 2014), Auto (2024) Chip Replace Live - The Fall (Live Uurop VIII- XII, 2014), Fibre Book Troll - The Fall (Sub Lingual Tablet, 2014)
WALK-OUT - Stiff Little Fingers - My Dark Places (No Going Back, 2014), Dave Graney - Ultrakeef (Zippa DeeDoo, 2019)
7) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND THE FOLLOWING JANUARY EVENTS
1) New Year’s Day Morris Dancing & Folk Events.
i) Abingdon Traditional MORRIS MEN: New Year's Day - 12:30pm The Punch Bowl, Market Place OX14 3HG; 1:30pm King's Head & Bell, East St Helen's Street OX14 5EA
ii) Aldbury MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 12:00 noon, The Valiant Trooper, Aldbury HP23 5RW; 1:00pm - The Greyhound, Aldbury HP23 5RT TBC
iii) Alvechurch MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - Mummers' Play around Alvechurch (at The Crown in Withybed Green)
iv) Ashdown Forest MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 1:00 pm - The New Inn, Hadlow Down TN22 4HJ
v) Blackmore MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 1:00 pm, Leather Bottle, Blackmore CM4 0RL
vi) Dartington MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 1:00 pm. Hope Cove, Devon TQ7 3HQ About 2:00pm we will adjourn to the Hope and Anchor Inn.
vii) Etcetera MORRIS MEN : New Year's DaySpectacular - 12:30pm, The Wonder, Batley Rd, Enfield EN2 OJG. We will be joined by dancing friends from Hertfordshire Holly and Camden Clog, as well as other Cotswold Morris dancers. Followed by music and song in the bar.
viii) Kennet MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - Dancing about 12:30 pm followed by music and song until 3:00pm Calleva Arms, Silchester RG7 2PH
ix) Mersey MORRIS MEN: New Year's Day - 12:00 noon The Plasterers Arms Hoylake Wirral CH47 2DJ
x) Monkseaton MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 12:00 noon outside the Ship Inn, Monkseaton and then afterwards in the Ship Inn. follow us as we dance in all the pubs in Monkseaton during the afternoon: Black Horse, Monkseaton Arms, Front Street Tap House & Left Luggage Room
xi) Ripley Morris - New Year's Day - 12:30pm Red Lion Hognaston
xii) Rose and Castle Morris : New Year's Day - 12:00 noon, The Boat, Stoke Bruerne with Queen's Oak, followed by "musical diversions"
xiii) Taunton Deane MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 12:30 pm for 1:00pm: Bradford on Tone - The White Horse Inn TA4 1HF
xiv) Towersey Morris : New Year's Day - 1:00pm onwards: White Hart, Moneyrow Green, Holyport SL6 2ND by invitation of Taeppa's Tump - including the Towersey Mummers Play
xv) Yateley MORRIS MEN : New Year's Day - 1:00 pm, The Cricketers, Hartley Wintney RG27 8QB - with Mummers Play
2) Adlington MORRIS MEN and Mummers
Friday 3rd January – Alderley Mummers Play, Macclesfield & district tour - 8:00 pm Church House, Church Lane, Sutton Lane Ends, SK11 0DS; 9:00 pm Gawsworth, The Harrington Arms, Church Lane, off Congleton Road, SK11 9RR; 10:00 pm Macclesfield, The Waters Green Tavern, 96 Waters Green, SK11 6LH
3) Kennet MORRIS MEN
4th January 1:30pm - Tutts Clump Wassail - our traditional wassailing of the has been continuous ever since its planting... 6 years ago.
4) Letchworth MORRIS MEN
Saturday 4th January - 6:30pm Dunton Wassail , Church Farm, Dunton SG18 8RR with Bedford MORRIS MEN
5) Datchet Border Morris
Sunday 5th January - Brightwell Wassail, 2:00pm Red Lion, Brightwell Street, Brightwell-cum-Sotwell OX10 0RT
6) Leominster MORRIS MEN
Twelfth Night - Monday 6th January 7:00pm - The Wassail - the first event revived after the side was re-formed in 1983, this year at The Bell, Tillington, Hereford HR4 8LE
7) Silurian Border MORRIS MEN
1st Saturday after 12th Night - 6th January Wassail in Much Marcle. 7:00pm dancing followed by an atmospheric torchlight procession into ancient cider orchards. After the Ceremony of singing, carousing and general merriment there will be music and Mummers at the Slip Inn, Much Marcle. Silurian would like to remind all participants that there is real fire involved - come prepared!
8) Haxey Hood Game
violent communal folk football, Haxey, Lincolnshire. Jan 6th
9) Hinckley Bullockers
1st Saturday after 12th Night - 6th January - Tour of Sharnford and Sapcote starting 9:40am The Countryman. 23 Leicester Rd, Sharnford, LE10 3PP
10) Saturday 11th January
Hedgerley Wassail, 2:00pm White Horse, Village Lane Hedgerley SL2 3UY
11) Brackley MORRIS MEN
Saturday 11th January Somerton Wassail, 4:00pm Somerton Village Hall, Heyford Rd, Somerton, Bicester OX25 6LN
Twelfth Night - Saturday 11th January 8:00pm - Here We Come A Wassailing - The Wheatsheaf, 2 Church Street Willingdon Eastbourne BN20 9HP with Merrie England Mummers
14) Burhead, N East Scotland.
Burning The Clavie. A barrel is set fire to. Jan 11th.
15) VARIOUS PLOUGH SUNDAY EVENTS
i) Jockey MORRIS MEN : 1st Saturday after 12th night - 11th January - Birmingham City Centre, usually starting at St. Martin’s Church in The Bull Ring at 10:00am where we have our Plough blessed for the start of the agricultural year with Red Leicester Morrismen & Mersey Morris Men
ii) Goathland Ploughstots. 1st Sunday after 12th Night - 12th January 10.45am, Blessing of the Plough Service, St Mary's Church, Goatland.
iii) Claro Sword: Plough Sunday 12th January St. John's Parish Church Knaresborough, North Yorkshire. Claro Sword perform traditional Yorkshire Longsword at the 10.30 Plough-blessing service and afterwards wheel the plough to Knaresborough Market Place for more dancing.TBC
iv) Grimsby MORRIS MEN : Plough Sunday - 12th January - 12.00 pm The White Hart, Ludford; 1.00 pm Market Place, Binbrook; 1.30 pm The Plough, Binbrook. Dancing, wassail cermony and the North Kelsey Plough Play.
16) Cambridge MORRIS MEN
Plough Monday - 13th January - 11:30am Comberton Duck Pond, Green End, Comberton, Cambridgeshire CB23 7DY performing East Anglian Molly dances here then followed by private shows at various schools through the day. In the evening we join the Balsham Ploughboys in a tour of their village as Cotswold Dancers, visiting many hospitable families and the village pubs.TBC
17) PETER BROTZMANN
German Free Jazz Sax giant, Café Oto, London, Weds 15th Jan
18) THE BELLRAYS
Veteran US Punk-soul band, a live sensation, UK tour.
Jan 15th Southsea Wedgewood, 16th Bristol Louisiana, 17th Newport Le Pub, 19th Halifax Lantern, 21st Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms, 22nd Glasgow Broadcast, 23rd Newcastle Cluny, 24th Middlesburgh Westgarth, 25th Brighton Prince Albert, 26th London Oslo.
19) Carhampton and Roadwater, Somerset.
Wassailing Parties enter orchards to bless the trees. 17th Jan
20) Taunton Deane MORRIS MEN
Friday 17th January - Sheppy’s Cider Wassail, 6:30pm Bradford on Tone TA4 1ER
21) Peterborough MORRIS MEN
1st Saturday after 12th Night - 18th January - lead the Whittlesea Straw Bear procession 10:30am-3:30pm with many other dance teams followed by Sunday 19th January, Straw Bear Church Service. - A Morris display as part of the Plough Service.
22) Goathland Ploughstots.
The Saturday following The Blessing - 18th January 9.30 am Tour of Goathland and surrounding area, starting from the The Reading Room, Goathland, North Yorkshire
23) Mari Lwyd EVENTS 10th - 18th Jan.
A skeletal Welsh horse prances about. The Boot Pub, London, WC1H 8BS, 6.30pm 10th Jan; Caerleon, S Wales, 6.30 11th Jan, The Goldcroft; Chepstow Bridge, Wye Valley, 1.30 pm, 18th Jan
24) Sunday 19th January
Spriggan Mist Wassail, 3:00pm London Stone, Church Street, Staines TW18 4EP
25) ANTHONTY BRAXTON
American saxophonist, composer and jazz mathematician. Café Oto, London Jan 19th - 21st.
26) Claro Sword
Plough Sunday 26th January St. Andrew's Church Aldborough, nr Boroughbridge, North Yorkshire. Claro Sword perform traditional Yorkshire Longsword at the 10.30 plough-blessing service. TBC
27) Up Helly Aa.
Frightening Viking Fire festival. Lerwick, Shetland 28th Jan.
8) MY CULTURAL YEAR 2019 UPTO DEC 22ND
NEW FILMS (2018/9)
The best 3 new films I saw this year were...
Ant Man & The Wasp (Peyton Reed) ★★★★★
Mandy (Panos Cosmatos) ★★★★★
Cold War (Paweł Pawlikowski) ★★★★★
Here’s my year’s new film viewing in order
Ant Man & The Wasp (Peyton Reed) ★★★★★
Mandy (Panos Cosmatos) ★★★★★
Happy New Year, Colin Burstead (Ben Wheatley) ★★★★
Christopher Robin (Marc Forster)★
Arcadia (Paul Wright) Captain Marvel (Anna Boden/Ryan Fleck)
Shazam (David Sandberg)
The Dirt (Jeff Tremaine)
Solo (Ron Howard) ★★★★
Spider-man : Into The Spider-verse (Peter Ramsey)
Avengers : Infinity War (Russo Brothers)
Avengers : Endgame (Russo Brothers)
Keepers (AKA The Vanishing) (Kristoffer Nyholm)
Toy Story 4 (Josh Cooley)
Fighting With My Family (Stephen Marchant) ★★★★
Spider-Man : Far From Home (Jon Watts)
Midsommar (Ara Aster) ★ Can You Ever Forgive Me (Marielle Heller) ★★★★
John Wick 3 Parabellum (Chad Stahelski)
The Sisters Brothers (Jaques Audriard)
Black Panther (Ryan Coogler)
Cold Pursuit (Hans Petter Molland)
The Commuter (Jaume Collet-Serra) ★★★★
Cold War (Paweł Pawlikowski) ★★★★★
Jumanji The Next Level (Jack Kasdan) ★
Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (Q Tarantino) ★★★★
OLD FILMS
Get Hard (Etan Cohen, 2015) ★
Pete’s Dragon (David Lowery, 2015)
Howard’s End (James Ivory, 1992) ★★★★★
Unforgiven (Lee Sang-il, 2013) ★★★★
A Street Cat Named Bob (Roger Spottiswode, 2016)
Last Days Here (Don Argott, 2012)
Spider-man Homecoming (Jon Watts, 2017) ★★
Romeo + Juliet (Baz Luhrmann, 1996)
Ride For A Massacre (Gianni Puccini, 1967)
Superman (Richard Donner, 1978) The Lobster (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015)
Murder On The Orient Express (Kenneth Branagh, 2017) ★★★★
A Matter Of Life And Death (Powell & Pressburger, 1946) ★★★★★ The Witches (Nick Roeg, 1990) Edie (Simon Hunter, 2017)
The Thomas Crown Affair (Norman Jewison, 1968)
The Monuments Men (George Cluney, 2014) ★★★★
Groundhog Day (Harold Ramis, 1993) ★★★★★ Elizabeth The Golden Age (Shekar Kapur, 2006)
Stranded (Serge Ou, Andy Nehl, 2015)
The Italian Job (Peter Collinson, 1969)
Doc (Frank Perry, 1971)
The Tooth Fairy (Michael Lembeck, 2010) ★★★★
The World’s End (Edgar Wright, 2013) ★★★★ Mary Poppins (Robert Stevenson, 1964)
Southern Comfort (Walter Hill, 1981) ★★★★★ The Sound of Music (Robert Wise, 1965) ★★★★★
Behind The Candelabra (Stephen Soderberg, 2013) ★★★★
The Post (Steven Spielberg, 2017)
Bruce Almighty (Tom Shadyac, 2003)
Dead Snow (Tommy Wirkola, 2009) Maleficent (Robert Stromberg, 2014) Hot Pursuit (Anne Fletcher, 2015) ★★★★
The Incredibles (Brad Bird, 2004)
Catch Me If You Can (Stephen Spielberg, 2003) ★★★★
Killdozer (Jerry London, 1974)
Titanic (James Cameron, 1997)★
Deathstalker II (Jim Wynorski, 1987) The Leopard (Luchino Visconti, 1963) ★★★★ Mrs Brown (John Madden, 1997) ★★★★ Nina Simone, What Happened? (Liz Garbus, 2015)
Star Wars (George Lucas, 1977) ★★★★★
The Empire Strikes Back (Irvin Kirschner, 1980)
Howl (Paul Hyett, 2015)
Ant-Man (Edgar Wright/Peyton Reed, 2015) ★★★★
Spider-man (Sam Raimi, 2002) ★★★★
Teenwolf (1985, Rod Daniel)
Empire Of The Ants (Bert L Gordon, 1977)
In The Mouth Of Madness (John Carpenter, 1994) ★★★★
Oxide Ghosts (Michael Cumming, 2017) ★★★★★ Poor Pretty Eddie (Richard Robinson, David Worth, 1975) ★★★★ The Mask Of Zorro (Martin Campbell, 1998) ★★★★
Mickey One (Arthur Penn, 1965) ★★★★★
Lost Soul – Doomed Journey of R Stanley (D Gregory, 2014) ★★★★ TNT Jackson (Chiro Santiago, 1974)
The Mummy (Stephen Sommers, 1999) ★
John Wick (Chad Tahelski, 2014) ★★★★★
Father Figures (Lawrence Sher, 2017) ★★★★
As Good As It Gets (James Brooks, 1997)
The Ring (Hideo Nakata, 1998)
Box Of Moonlight (Tom Dicillo, 1997) ★★★★ Fly Away Home (Carol Ballard, 1996) ★★★★
Ghost Stories (A Nyman, J Dyson, 2017)
Harry Potter’s Secret Chamber (C Columbus, 2002)
Bone Tomahawk (S Craig Zahler, 2015)
Sharknado (Anthony Ferrante, 2013)
Living In Oblivion (Tom Dicillo, 1995)
If (Lindsay Anderson, 1968) ★★★★
Gangsters - Play For Today (Philip Saville, 1975) ★★★★
The King’s Speech (Tom Hooper, 2010)
Django (Sergio Corbucci, 1966) ★★★★★
The Fugitive (Andrew Davis, 1993)
Captain America (Joe Johnston, 2011)
Iron Man (John Favreau, 2008) ★★★★
Iron Man 2 (John Favreau, 2010)
Incredible Hulk (Louis Leterrier, 2008) ★
Thor (Kenneth Brannagh, 2011)
Avengers Assemble (Joss Whedon, 2012)
Iron Man 3 (Shane Black, 2012) ★★★★
Thor Dark World (2013, Alan Taylor)
Captain America The Winter Soldier (Joe Russo, 2014)
Avengers Age Of Ultron (Joss Whedon, 2015)
Captain America - Civil War (Russo bros, 2016) ★
The Shining (Stanley Kubrick, 1980) ★★★★★
My Name Is Nobody (Sergio Leone/Tonio Valeri, 1973)★★★★ Spy (Paul Feig, 2015) ★★★★
The King Of Comedy (Martin Scorsese, 1982) ★★★★★
Never Too Young To Rock And Roll (Dennis Abbey, 1976) ★
Tentacles (Ovidio Assonitis, 1977)
Dave Made A Maze (Bill Watterson, 2017)
Three Days of The Condor (Sydney Pollak, 1975)★★★★
The Sixth Sense (M Knight Shyamalan, 1999)★★★★
Aguirre, The Wrath Of God (Werner Herzog, 1972) ★★★★★
Cherry Tree Lane (Paul Andrew Williams, 2010)
Look Who’s Back (David Wendt, 2015) ★★★★★
Shirley Valentine (Lewis Gilbert, 1989) ★★★★
Sexy Beast (Jonathan Glazer, 2001) ★★★★
Dinner for Schmucks (Jay Roach, 2010) ★★★★
True Grit (Cohen Brothers, 2010)
Incident At Loch Ness (Zach Penn, 2004) ★★★★★
Identity Theft (Seth Gordon, 2013) ★★
For Your Eyes Only (John Glen, 1981)
The 39 Steps (Alfred Hitchcock, 1936) ★★★★★
Unknown (Jaume Collett-Serra, 2011) ★★★★
Taken (Pierre Morel, 2008) ★★★★
Taken 2 (Oliver Megaton, 2012)
Taken 3 (Oliver Megaton, 2015)
The Grey (Joe Carnahan, 2012)
Non-Stop (Jaume Collet-Serra, 2014) ★★★★
Brain Damage (Frank Henenlotter, 1988) ★★★★★
Run All Night (Jaume Collet-Serra, 2015)
Horror Hospital (Anthony Balch, 1973)
King Kong Escapes (Ishirō Honda, 1967)
No Such Thing (Hal Hartley, 2002) ★★★★
The Doors (Oliver Stone, 1991) ★
All Is By My Side (John Ridley, 2013) ★★★★
Blow Up (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966) ★★★★★
V For Vendetta (James McTiege, 2005)
Tremors (Ron Underwood, 1990) ★★★★
Get Santa (Chris Smith, 2014) ★★★★★
NEW BOOKS
Their Brilliant Careers – Ryan O’Neill ★★★★★ and Only Americans Burn In Hell – Jarett Kobek ★★★★★ were both brilliant works of fiction.
Tim Wells’ Moonstomp skinhead-horror ‘70s NEL pastiche was smartly observed and laugh out loud funny.
And if you like HEX ENDUCTION HR by THE FALL you will love Paul Hanley’s study of the album.
Andy Burnham – The Old Stones ★★★★
Their Brilliant Careers – Ryan O’Neill ★★★★★
Only Americans Burn In Hell – Jarett Kobek ★★★★★
Matthew Cutter – Closer You Are ★★★★
Faunus – ed. James Machine ★★★★
Ranking Roger - I Just Can’t Stop It
Tim Wells - Moonstomp ★★★★
Dylan Jones - Wichita Lineman ★
Have A Bleedin’ Guess - Paul Hanley ★★★★★
Pianos, Toys & Topical Tips For Improvisers - Andy Hamilton
Dave Haslam - A Life in 35 Boxes
Nick Hunt - The Parakeeting of London ★★★★
OLD BOOKS
Rosemary Tonks – The Bloater (1968) ★★★★
Forbes Stuart - The Magic Bridle (1974) ★★★★★
Mike Scott - Adventures of a Waterboy (2012)
Uwe Johnson - The 3rd Book About Achim (1961)
Heathcote Williams - Boris Beast of Brexit (2016) ★★★★★ Olivia Laing - The Lonely City (2016)
Chris Palling - Reading Allowed (2017)
Steve Aylett - Lint (2005)★★★★★
Kieron Winn - The Mortal Man (2015)
COMICS
Kamandi The Last Boy On Earth (Jack Kirby) anthology
Sensational She Hulk 1 - 12 (John Byrne, 1989)
Prison Planet 6 - Johnny Ryan (2018)
TV NEW AND OLD
Comedians Of The World (Netflix) ★ ABC Murders (BBC1) ★★★★ Catastrophe s 4 (C4)
The Easybeats to AC/DC (BBC4)
Question Time w F Bruce (BBC2) ★
This Week w Andrew Neil (BBC2)
Sky News
Sky Daily Papers review
BBC News Daily Papers review
BBC News 24
Horrible Histories (CBBC) ★★★★
Endeavour s 2(ITV) ★★★★★ Grace & Frankie (S1) (Netflix)
Don McCullin (BBC4) ★★★★
Arena Blues Night (BBC i-player) ★★★★
Derry Girls (C4)
Norsemen (S2, Netflix) ★★★★
Endeavour (2019, ITV)
First Dates (C4) ★★★★ Russian Doll (Netflix) The Night Manager (Suzanne Bier, BBC, 2016) ★★★★ Broadchurch Series 1, 2 (BBC1, 2013-15) ★★★★ Fleabag S2 (BBC3)
Hunted s2, s3 (C4) ★★★★
Ryan Gander, My Selfie And I (BBC4)
Line Of Duty, s5 (BBC1) ★★★★ Walks of Life (BBC1) ★
Rock Island Line (BBC4) Ghosts (BBC2) ★★★★★ Mum S 1-3(BBC2) ★★★★★ Young And Promising S 1-3 (C4) ★★★★
Walks Of Life (BBC1) ★
John Lee Hooker The Boogie Man (BBC4)
The Twilight Zone S 1 (1959)★★★★★ Bewitched (S1 1964) ★★★★
After Life (Netflix) ★
Gangsters S1, 1976 (BBC) ★★★★★
The Cameron Years (BBC) ★★★★★
Question Time (BBC) ★
Hans Teeuwen - Real Rancour ★★★★
The Beatles Made On Merseyside (BBC4?) ★★★★
Prince Andrew Interview (BBC)
War Of The Worlds (BBC)
Father Ted, s1 & 2 (C4) ★★★★★
Gene Clark The Byrd Who Flew Alone (BBC 2013)
MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
Shindig, Record Collector, Viz, Mojo, Guardian, Machenallia, Faunus, Observer, Guardian
RADIO
Iggy Pop (6 Music) ★★★★★
Marc Riley (6 Music) ★★★★★ Amo Amas A Musical w Mary Beard (Radio 4)
James O’Brien (LBC) ★★★★★ Sheilagh Fogarty (LBC)
Eddie Mair (LBC) ★★★★
Maajid Nawaz (LBC) ★★★★
Mark Steel’s In Town (Forest of Dean) (Radio 4) ★★★★★
Late Junction (R3) ★★★★
Louis Theroux (6 Music) ★★★★
Why Woodstock Still Matters (BBC World Service) ★★★★
Sean Keaveney (6 Music)
Dead Ringers Election Special (BBC Radio 4) ★★★★
The worst radio I heard was, as usual, The Today Program (BBC Radio 4)
Peter Fleming : Have You Seen? (Machynlleth Fest) ★★★★
Jamali Maddix, Felicity Ward, Lolly Adefope, Martin & Vivian Soan, Rosie Jones & Harry Hill (LST) ★★★★★
Paul Currie - Release The Baboons (Free Fringe, Edinburgh) ★★★★ Rosie Jones (Pleasance, Edinburgh) ★★★★
Hannah Gadsby - Douglas (South Bank Centre)
John Kearns (Soho Theatre)
GIGS
The second of Guided By Voices’ two London nights was one of the greatest things of any sort I have ever experienced. The sheer joy of it stayed with me for months.
And Madness’ 40th Anniversary show was special too.
Patti Smith (Roundhouse, London) ★★★★ The Fallen Women (Lexington, London) ★★★★ Shirley Collins (Roundhouse, London) ★★★★ Jackie Oates (Water Rats, London) ★★★★
The Zeros (Shacklewell Arms, London) ★★★★
21 Pilots (Wembley Arena) ★★★★★
Stiff Little Fingers/Eddie & Hot Rods/Vapors (Forum) ★★★★★
John Paul Jones, Thurston Moore & Steve Noble (100 Club)
Evan Parker & John Russell (Vortex) ★★★★
Long Ryders (Islington Town Hall) ★★★★ Islet (Machynlleth Festival) ★★★★
Robert Forster (Union Chapel)
Peter Case/Sid Griffin (Leytonstone Ex-Servicemen’s) ★★★★
Endless Boogie (Oslo, London) ★★★★
Chameleons Vox (Dingwalls) ★★★★
The Nightingales (Sea Change) Sandra Kerr & John Faulkner & Bagpuss (Sea Change) ★★★★
Guided by Voices (Village Undergound, London, Weds) ★★★★★
Guided by Voices (Village Underground, London, Thurs) ★★★★★★
Russ Tolman (Seabright Arms)
Flamin’ Groovies (Under The Bridge)
Alan Wilkinson, Steve Noble, John Edwards (Nomadic Community Garden, Brick Lane) ★★★★ Stereolab/Vanishing Twin (Shepherd’s Bush Empire)
King Crimson (Royal Albert Hall)
Meat Puppets (ULU) ★★★★★
Archie Shepp (Ronnie Scotts) ★★★★
Bob Dylan & Neil Young (Hyde Park) ★★★★★
The Long Ryders (Hare & Hounds, Birmingham)
Crockenjambe (Mortain Piscine Jardin, Normandy)
Blueswater (Surgeon’s Hall, Edinburgh) ★★★★
Adam Kadabara/The Bucket Boy (Royal Mile, Edinbugh)
Trad, Gras Och Stenar (Troxy, London) ★★★★★
Steve Noble, John Edwards, Alan Wilkinson (Word On The Water, London) ★★★★ Kate Tempest (Hammersmith Odeon) ★★★★
Thurston Moore Group (ULU) ★★★★
The Ex, Xavier Charles, Ada Rave, Zweditu Johannes, Marion Coutts, Alexander Hawkins (Café Oto) ★★★★★
Chris Cacavas (Slaughtered Lamb)
Madness (Roundhouse) ★★★★★
RECORDS I LISTENED TO IN THEIR ENTIRITY OLD SCHOOL THIS YEAR IN ONE SITTING AT A DESIGNATED LISTENING DEVICE
NEW RECORDS – 2018/2019
My ten favourite new records this year were...
1.Richard Dawson - 2020 - The best and most essential new record of the year for me, a state of the nation observation of incredible compassion in art-folk form
2.Long Ryders – Psychedelic Country Soul - Unexpectedly viable reunion record from alt country pioneers concluding unfinished business
3.Bangles/The Three O’Clock/Dream Syndicate/Rain Parade – 3x4 - Unexpectedly viable 4-way project of 80s LA psychedelic bands covering each others’ work
4. The Beasts – Still Here - Unexpectedly viable record by surviving members of Australian blues-psyche-garage punks
5. Trash Kit - Horizon Afro-highlife-postpunk hybrid of life-affirming power
6.Guided By Voices – Sweating The Plague - Best of many albums this year by veteran Ohio mod-prog band
7&8. Dry Cleaning - Sweet Princess & Boundary Rd Snacks And Drinks - Sneery literary dirty realist post-punk that flips my wig
9. Slagheap - Slagheap The shouty girl version of 1981 Fall kick ass
10. Major Stars - Roots of Confusion - Boston psych veterans continue to lay down impossibly dense grooves
Here’s Everything new in the order that I heard it
21 Pilots – Trench
Baby Grandmothers – Merkurius ★★★★
Bottle Rockets – Bit Logic
Lee Ranaldo – Live At Rough Trade East ★★★★
Guided by Voices – Zeppelin Over China
Namer – January
Long Ryders – Psychedelic Country Soul ★★★★★
Black Bombers – Vol 4
Julian Cope – John Balance Enters Valhalla
Traden – s/t ★★★★
Richard Youngs – Memory Ain’t No Decay ★★★★
Richard Youngs – Dissident ★★★★ Tropical Fuckstorm – A Laughing Death In The Meatspace
The ACC – Beautiful At Night
Dream Syndicate – These Times
Sleaford Mods – Eton Alive
Amor – Sinking Into A Miracle
Howe Gelb – Label Pop Session
The Blackeyed Susans – Christmas Songs Bangles/3 O’Clock/Dream Syndicate/Rain Parade – 3x4 ★★★★★
Guided by Voices – Warp And Woof
The Beasts – Still Here ★★★★★
The Beat – Public Confidential
Deniz Tek – Lost For Words
Rob Snarski – Sparrow & Swan ★★★★
Son Volt – Union
The Comet Is Coming – Trust In The Lifeforce Of The Deep Mystery
Evan Parker & Paul G Smyth – Calenture & Light Leaks ★★★★
Bevis Frond – We’re Your Friends, Man ★★★★★
Guided By Voices – Sweating The Plague ★★★★★
Belbury Poly & Sharron Kraus – Chanctonbury Rings
Russ Tolman – Goodbye El Dorado
Robert Forster – Inferno
Rich Hopkins, Lisa Novak & Luminarios – Back To The Garden
Hugo Race – Taken By The Dream Laura Cannell – The Sky Unturned ★★★★
The Flesh Eaters – I Used To Be Pretty
Meat Puppets – Dusty Notes Trash Kit - Horizon ★★★★★
John Pierce O’Reilly - Mus Mea Whistling Arrow - Whistling Arrow ★★★★ Eliza Carthy - Restitute ★★★★
Dave Graney & The Mistly - Zippa Dee Doo ★★★★
Pat Todd - The Past Came Calling ★★★★
Hawklords - Brave New World
Chris Holiman - Welcome To The Underground Sacred Paws - Run Around The Sun ★★★★
The Waterboys - Where The Action Is ★★★★
Jack Waterson - Adrian Younge Presents Smitten - Cassettes (Live On Tape) ★★★★ Otoboke Beaver - Itekoma Hits ★★★★
Darren Hayman - 12 Astronauts
Howe Gelb - Gathered
Eyelids - Maybe More
Dope feat. Fuck Authority - 13 Black Math
The Blue Orchids - The Magical Record Of
The Aints - Play The Saints (73-78) Live
Fixed Horizon - X ep ★★★★
Dry Cleaning - Sweet Princess ★★★★★ Kate Tempest - The Book Of Traps & Lessons ★★★★
Richard Dawson - 2020 ★★★★★ Slagheap - Slagheap ★★★★★
Peter Hammill - X ★★★★
Hawkwind - All Aboard The Skylark
Hawkwind - Acoustic Days
Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Colorado ★★★★
The Utopia Strong - s/t
Billy Sedlmayr - Harlem River Drive Laura Cannell & Polly Wright - Sing As The Crow Flies ★★★★
The Elevator Mood - s/t Stick In The Wheel - Against The Loathsome Beyond
Bob Mould - Sunshine Rock
Major Stars - Roots of Confusion ★★★★★
Dream Syndicate - 2020 album ★★★★
Suns of The Tundra - Murmuration
Chris Cacavas - Home Recordings 1
Dry Cleaning - Boundary Road Snacks And Drinks ★★★★★
Billy Childish & CTMF - Last Punk Standing ★★★★
Billy Childish & CTMF - In The Devil’s Focus ★★★★
Jeff Kelly - Beneath The Stars, Above The River
NEW OLD RECORDS (REISSUES, ARCHIVES, COMPS)
TOP 5 OLD RECORDS....
Simon Bonney – Past Present Future (1992-99) ★★★★★
V/A - J Jazz, Deep Jazz From Japan 2 (1969-1983)★★★★★
Gorgeous Space Virus - We Paint Our Smiles (1994) ★★★★★
Dick Gaughan - The Harvard Tapes (1982) ★★★★★
The Bellrays - It’s Never Too Late To Fall In Love With (1998-2019) ★★★★★
The Gorgeous Space Virus album is a collection of never released recordings by a trippy-shoegazing-spacerock-noise band that were mainstays of London’s indie toilets in the early ‘90s. Their failure to thrive proves once again that success is not a meritocracy. This 25 years too late bandcamp d/l collection shows that we nearly had our own Englische Cosmische musiche in the vein of Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev, Sonic Youth etc. And, on a personal level, it flips me back to being young and thin and drunk and deafened and thrilled to be alive in the big city as I started on the circuit, not knowing that this precarious but brilliant life was as exciting as it would ever get.
And....
Big Front Yard – Big Front Yard (1975) ★★★★
Endless Boogie – Endless Boogie 1 (2005) ★★★★
Dave Kusworth – The World Of Dave Kusworth (1984-2012)
Simon Bonney – Past Present Future (1992-99) ★★★★★
The Fall – Bend Sinister (1986) ★★★★
King Crimson - A Mojo Anthology (1969-2019)★★★★
Zior - Before My Eyes Go Blind (1974-2018) ★★★★
V/A - J Jazz, Deep Jazz From Japan 2 (1969-1983)★★★★★
John Coltrane - Blue World (1964) ★★★★★
V/A - J Jazz, Deep Jazz From Japan (1969-1984)
V/A - Brown Acid, The 8th Trip (1968-1977)
Ski Patrol - In Dub (1981) ★★★★
Townes van Zandt - Sky Blue (1973)
Gorgeous Space Virus - We Paint Our Smiles (1994) ★★★★★
Fleetwood Mac - Transmissions (1967-68)
The Springfields - Singles (1986-91) ★★★★
V/A - Brown Acid, The 9th Trip (1968-1974)
OLD RECORDS THAT I LISTENED TO IN ORDER IN 2019
Rollin’ Thunder – Howl (1987) ★★★★
The Fall – Hex Enduction Hour (1982) ★★★★★
The Moody Blues – Days of Future Passed (1967)
The Records – Crashes (1980) Bobbie Gentry – The Delta Sweet (1968) ★★★★
The Beatles – Revolver (1966) ★★★★★
The Beatles – Magical Mystery Tour (1967) ★★★★★
The Beatles – Past Masters II (1965-70) ★★★★★
Goldie – Timeless (1995) ★★★★★ Patti Smith – Land (1974-2002) ★★★★
The Beatles – White Album (1968) ★★★★★ Delaney & Bonnie & Friends- D&B Together (1972)
Dangtrippers – Days Between Stations (1987)
The Grass Roots – Where Were You When I Needed You? (1966)
The Moody Blues – In Search Of The Lost Chord (1968)
Dangtrippers – Transparent Blue Illusion (1991)
Ginhouse – Ginhouse (1971) Heaven & Earth – Refuge (1971) Saffron Summerfield – Sailsbury Plain (1974) Saffron Summerfield – Fancy Meeting You Here! (1976)
Neu! – Neu! (1972) ★★★★
Neu! – Neu! 2 (1973)
Träd, Gräs & Stenar – Ajin Schvajin Draj (2002) ★★★★
Träd, Gräs & Stenar – Homeless Cats (2009)
Neu! – ’75 (1975)
Man – Revelation (1969) ★★★★
Man – 2 0z Plastic With A Hole In The Middle (1969) ★★★★
Man – Man (1971)
Man – Do You Like It Here Now? (1971)
Man – Live At The Padget Rooms, Penarth (1972)
Man – Be Good To Yourself At Least Once A Day (1972)
Man – Back Into The Future (1973) ★
Man – Rhinos, Winos & Lunatics (1974) ★
Man – Slow Motion (1975)
Man – Maximum Darkness (1975)
Hard Meat – Hard Meat (1970)
Hard Meat – Through A Window (1970)
Help Yourself – Help Yourself (1971)
Help Yourself – Strange Affair (1972)
The Droogs – Mad Dog Dreams (1989)
Richard Youngs – This Is Not A Lament (2017) ★★★★ Sharon Tandy – You Gotta Believe It’s .. (1967-69) Karin Krog & Dexter Gordon – Some Other Spring (1970) ★★★★★ Karin Krog & Archie Shepp – Hi-Fly (1976) ★★★★★ Karin Krog – Different Days, Different Ways (1974) ★★★★★
RL Burnside – Burnside on Burnside (2001)
21 Pilots – Vessel (2013) Karin Krog – Joy (1968) ★★★★★
Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity – Open (1967)
Three Mile Pilot - Na Vucca Do Lupu (1992) ★★★★
Polvo – Exploded Drawing (1996) ★★★★
The Droogs – Kingdom Day (1987)
Salvatore Camarata - Jungle Adventure (1966) ★★★★★
Karin Krog & Michael Legrand – You Must Believe In Spring (1974)
The Zeros – Right Now (1999)
The Zeros – Don’t Push Me Around (1977) ★★★★
Map Of Wyoming – Round Trip (1998)
Map Of Wyoming – Trouble Is (2000)
Erkin Koray – S/t (singles) (1970-77)
Greer – Between Two Worlds (1973) Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity – Streetnoise (1969)
V/A – 5 Days Married, Sng & Dnce Frm N Greece (1928-58) ★★★★
Alexis Zoumbas – Lament For Epirus (1926-28) ★★★★
The Sneetches – Slow (1990)
Epic Soundtracks – Rise Above (1992)
Diabolus – Diabolus (1971) Julie Tippetts – Sunset Glow (1975) ★★★★★
Mad River – Jersey Sloo (1967)
Lawrence Hammond – Coyote’s Dream (1976)
Sneaky Pete Kleinow – Cold Steel (1973)
Hector Penalosa – Hector! (1987) Annette Peacock – I’m The One (1972) ★★★★
Lifeguards – Waving At The Astronauts (2011) ★★★★
Takeovers – Turn To Red (2006)
Takeovers – Bad Football (2007)
Tobin Sprout – Live At The Horseshoe Tavern (2014) ★★★★★
Guided By Voices - Mag Earwhig (1997) ★★★★
Keene Brothers – Blues & Boogie Shoes (2006) ★★★★★
Tommy Keene – You Hear Me, Retrospective (1983-2009)★★★★★
Ricked Wicky – I Sell The Circus (2015) ★★★★
Ricked Wicky – King Heavy Metal (2015) ★★★★
The Beat – I Just Can’t Stop It (1980) ★★★★★
Tobin Sprout – Carnival Boy (1996)
Hugo Race – No But It’s True (2012)
Paul Bley – Mr Joy (1968) ★★★★ Annette Peacock – X-Dreams (1978) ★★★★
Paul Bley – Turning Point (1964-8) ★★★★ Quickspace – Superplus EP (1995) Annette Peacock – The Perfect Release (1979)
Eddie & The Hot Rods – Teenage Depression (1976)
Betty Davis – They Say I’m Different (1974) ★★★★★ Linda Hoyle – Pieces Of Me (1971) ★★★★ Affinity – Affinity (1970) ★★★★ Nina Simone – Jazz As Performed In An ..... (1958) ★★★★★
Bevis Frond – Example 22 (2015) ★★★★
Bevis Frond - White Numbers (2013) ★★★★★
Bevis Frond – The Leaving Of London (2011) ★★★★
Jacobites – Robespierre’s Velvet Basement (1985) ★★★★
Jacobites – Howling Good Times (1993)
Hatfield & The North – The Rotters’ Club (1975) ★★★★
Michael Legrand – Legrand Jazz (1958)
Robert Lloyd – Me And My Mouth (1990)
Scritti Politti – Early (1978-81) ★★★★★
Paul Bley – Live In Haarlem (1966)★★★★
Chris Whitley – War Crime Blues (2004)
Chris Whitley – Poison Girl (1992)
Terminal Hoedown – John Peel Session (1992) ★★★★
Robert Lloyd – Unreleased Second Solo Album (1991) Fanny – Charity Ball (1971)
Ferrodyne – St John’s Day (2011) Fanny – Fanny (1970) Uncle Dog – Old Hat (1971)
Paul Bley – Blood (1966) ★★★★ Chris Williamson – The Changer And The Changed (1975)
Soft Machine – BBC Radio 1968 – 1971 ★★★★
Gnidrolog – Live (1972)
Pylon – Gyrate (1980)
Robert Wyatt – Live At Drury Lane (1974) ★★★★★
Pylon – Chomp (1983)
Pylon – Live (1983)
Robert Wyatt – Rock Bottom (1974) ★★★★
National Health – National Health (1978)
The Noseflutes – Girth (1985) ★★★★
Eric Burdon & The Animals – Winds of Change (1967)★★★★
Eric Burdon & The Animals – The Twain Shall Meet (1968) Buffy Sainte-Marie – She Used To Wanna Be A Ballerina (1971)
Eric Burdon & The Animals – Love Is (1968) ★★★★
Eric Burdon – Declares War (1970) Buffy Sainte-Marie – Many A Mile (1965) ★★★★
Graham Parker – Howlin’ Wind (1976)
Grachan Moncur III – Some Other Stuff (1965) ★★★★
Graham Parker – Heat Treatment (1976)
Graham Parker – Stick To Me (1977)
Graham Parker – Squeezing Out Sparks (1979)
The Spartan Dreggs – Forensic R’n’B (2011) ★★★★
The Spartan Dreggs – Dreggradation (2013) ★★★★
Chris Whitley – Dirt Floor (1997) ★★★★
Guru Guru – UFO (1970)
Robert Forster – Songs To Play (2015)
Grachan Moncur III – New Africa (1969)
Grachan Moncur III – One Morning I Woke Up Very Early (1970)
Mike Wilhelm – Wilhelm (1976) ★★★★
Chris Whitley – Perfect Day (2001)
Neil Young – Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (1970) ★★★★★
Neil Young – Weld (1991) ★★★★
Julian Cope – Rite 2 (1997) ★★★★
Neon Sardinia - S’Akkabadòra-Hèmina (2014) ★★★★
The Chameleons – Strange Times (1986) ★★★★
Endless Boogie – Vibe Killer (2017) ★★★★
Canned Heat w John Lee Hooker – Carnegie Hall (1971)
Green Man – What Ails Thee? (1975)
Pat Todd – Holding Onto Trouble’s Hand (2008) ★★★★
Pat Todd – Blood & Treasure (2016) ★★★★
13th Floor Elevators – Easter Everywhere (1967) ★★★★★
John Lee Hooker – Tantalising With The Blues (1969)★★★★★
Son Volt - American Central Dust (2009) ★★★★
John Lee Hooker - In Person (1974) Stereolab - Peng! (1991) ★★★★★ Stereolab - Switched On (1992) ★★★★★ Stereolab - Transient Random Noise Bursts (1993) ★★★★ Stereolab - Space Age Bachelor Pad Music (1993) ★★★★ Stereolab - Mars Audiac Quintet (1994) ★★★★
John Lee Hooker - I Feel Good (1969)
John Lee Hooker - That’s Where It’s At! (1969) ★★★★★
Guided by Voices - Human Amusements (2003 ) ★★★★★
John Lee Hooker - Don’t Look Back (1997)
John Lee Hooker - You Miss ‘Im... I Got ‘Im (1970)★★★★
John Lee Hooker - Mr Lucky (1991)
The Lazy Cowgirls - Tapping The Source (1992) Stereolab - Instant 0 In The Universe (2003)
John Lee Hooker - And 7 Nights/On The Waterfront (1966)
V/A - The Story of Trojan Records (1967 - 74)
Archie Shepp - Rufus (1963) ★★★★
Alan Price - O Lucky Man (1973)
The Noseflutes - Several Young Men Ignite... (1986)
Archie Shepp - Fire Music (1965) ★★★★
Stan Getz - Mickey One (1965)
The Steppes - Drop Of The Creature (1986)
Died Pretty - The Trace ep’s (1993)
Died Pretty - Lost (1988)
Died Pretty - Using My Gills As A Roadmap (1998)
Hawkwind - Into The Woods (2017)
Hawkwind - The Machine Stops (2016)
Hawkwind - Onward (2012)
Hawkwind - Live Sonic Attack (1977-82)
Yes - Close To The Edge (1972)
Ram Jam - Ram Jam (1977)
Ram Jam - Portrait of The Artist As A Young Ram (1978)
Kevin Junior - Ruins (2009) ★★★★
21 Pilots - s/t (2009)
Johnny Jenkins - Ton-Ton Macoute (1970)
Yes - Yes (1969) ★★★★
Yes - Time And A Word (1970) ★★★★
Dennis Wilson - Pacific Ocean Blue (1977)
The Verve - Urban Hymns (1997) ★★★★
The Pogues - Rum, Sodomy & The Lash (1985) ★★★★★
Neal Casal - Rain, Wind & Speed (1996) ★★★★
Träd, Gräs & Stenar - Tack Fur Kaffet (2017)★★★★
The Chamber Strings - Month of Sundays (2001) Yoko Ono - Plastic Ono Band (1970) ★★★★
Day Of Phoenix - Wide Open N-Way (1970) ★★★★★ The Savage Rose - The Savage Rose (1968) ★★★★
Can - Tago Mago (1971) ★★★★★
Can - Monster Movie (1969) ★★★★★
Can - Ege Bamyasi (1972) ★★★★
Livin’ Blues - Hell’s Session (1969)
Osanna & Luis Bacalov - Milano Calibro 9 s/t(1972) ★★★★
Nino Ferrer - Nino & Radiah Et Le Sud (1974) ★★★★
Edgar Froese - Ambient Highway 2 (2003)
Eric Burdon Band - Sun Secret (1973)
The Animals - The Complete Animals (1964-5)
Eddie & The Hot Rods - Life On The Line (1979)
Creepy John Thomas - Brother Bat Bone (1970) ★★★★
Creepy John Thomas - s/t (1969)
Sonny & Linda Sharrock - Black Woman (1969) ★★★★★
Christmas - Lies to Live By (1974)
Amon Duul - Collapsing (1969)
Cozmic Corridors - s/t (1973) ★★★★
And Also The Trees - Listen For The Rag & Bone Man (2007)
And Also The Trees - s/t (1984) ★★★★
And Also The Trees - Virus Meadow (1984) ★★★★
And Also The Trees - The Millpond Years (1986)
Portsmouth Sinfonia - Plays The Popular Classics (1973)
Portsmouth Sinfonia - Hallelujah (1974)
‘Igginbottom - ‘Igginbottom’s Wrench (1969) ★★★★★
And Also The Trees - Green Is The Sea (1993)
Van Der Graaf Generator - Aerosol Grey Machine (1969) ★★★★★
Ted Chippington - Non Stop Party Hits (1984)★★★★★
And Also The Trees - From Horizon to Horizon (1992) ★★★★
Joe Henderson & Alice Coltrane - The Elements (1973) ★★★★★
Osanna - Paleopoli (1973)
Van Der Graaf Generator - The Least We Can Do .. (1970) ★★★★
Van Der Graaf Generator - H to He (1970)
Peter Hammill - Fool’s Mate (1971)
Van Der Graaf Generator - Do Not Disturb (2015)
Van Der Graaf Generator - Pawn Hearts (1971) ★★★★
And Also The Trees - Angelfish (1996)
Osanna - L’uomo (1971)
The New Trolls - Concerto Grosso (1971)
The New Trolls - Searching For A New Land (1972)
V/A - DJ Format’s Psych Out (1967 - 76)
The Cosmic Jokers - Galactic Supermarket (1974)
The Cosmic Jokers - Planeten Sit-In (1974)
Osanna - Palepoli (1972)
The Fall - Live At The Witch Trials (1978) ★★★★★
The Fall - Early Fall (1977-79) ★★★★★
The Fall - Dragnet (1979) ★★★★★
Gomorrha - Trauma (1971)
Guru Guru - UFO (1971)
Agitation Free - Last (1974) ★★★★
Yatha Sidhra - Meditation Mass (1973)
Jane - Together (1972)
Steamhammer - Mk II (1969)
Cosmic Jokers - Gilles Zeitschiff (1974)
Mandu - To The Shores Of His Heaven (1974)
La Dusseldorf - Viva (1978)
Walkabouts - Scavenger (1991)
Walkabouts - Acetylene (2005)
Cosmic Jokers - Sci-Fi Party (1974)
Clay Alison - Electric Banana (1982) ★★★★
Steeleye Span - Hark! The Village Waits (1970) ★★★★
Steeleye Span - Ten Man Mop (1972)
The Stark Reality - Acting, Thinking, Feeling (1968-70)
Lightnin’ Hopkins - California Mudslide (1969)
Neal Casal - Sweeten The Distance (2012)
11:59 - This Our Sacrifice Of Praise (1974)
John Mayall - Blues Breakers w Eric Clapton (1966)
Fleetwood Mac - The Warehouse Tapes (1970) ★★★★
The Black Angels - Death Song (2017)
Fleetwood Mac - Pious Bird Of Good Omen (1969)
Van Morrison - Astral Weeks (1968) ★★★★★
Neal Casal - Traces (2004)
V/A - B Music, Drive In, Turn On, Freak Out (2008)
Spirit - 12 Dreams of Dr Sardonicus (1970) ★★★★★
Black Oak Arkansas - s/t (1971) Jesse Mae Hemphill - Get Right Blues (2003) ★★★★
Everything But The Girl - Eden B-sides and demos (1984)
Summerhill - Lowdown (1989) ★★★★★
Van Morrison - Astral Weeks (1968) ★★★★★
Summerhill - I Want You (1988)
Van Morrison - Moondance (1970)
Chicken Shack - 40 Blue Fingers (1968)
Summerhill - Lowdown Revisited (1987-90) ★★★★
The Doors - Live Boston (1970) ★★★★
The Doors - Absolutely Live (1970) ★★★★
The Doors - Alive She Cried (1968) ★★★★
Jim Hendrix - People Hell & Angels (1968-70)
Jimi Hendrix Experience - Smash Hits (1968) ★★★★★
Skatalites - Legendary Skatalites In Dub (1975)
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band - In My Own Dream (1968)
Sunbirds - No Sun No Shadow (1986-1997) ★★★★
The Belltower - Popdropper (1991)
Paul Schutze - Site Anubis (1996)
Boxhead Ensemble - Electric Guitar (2017)
Gary Lee Conner - The Purple Outside (1989)★★★★
Chris Cacavas & Junkyard Love - s/t (1989) ★★★★
Extra Life - Dream Seeds (2012)
The Savage Rose - Babylon (1972)
Stars of Heaven - Sacred Heart Hotel (1986) ★★★★★
The Rose Of Avalanche - First Avalance (1985)
The Rose Of Avalanche - Always There (1986)
Titus & Ross - s/t (1970)
White Heaven - Out (1991)
Goliath - Goliath (1970) ★★★★★
Leong Lau - Dragon Man (1976)
Human Instinct - Stoned Guitar (1970)
The Great Western Squares - Judas Steer (1997)
The Great Western Squares - Almost Sober (1998)
HISTORIC SITES
Symond’s Yat Hill Fort, Forest of Dean
The Staunton Longstone, Forest of Dean
Mitchell’s Fold stone circle, Shropshire
Stowe Garden, Buckinghamshire Barbury Castle, Wiltshire
Avebury Stone circle, Wiltshire
Harold’s Stones, Trelleck, Monmouthshire The Virtuous Well, Trelleck, Monmouthshire
The Hedge Puzzle, Symonds Yat
British Camp Hill Fort, Malvern, Worcs
Rollright Stones, Oxfordshire Graves of Nelly Power, Champagne Charlie, H Campbell, Abney Park
Queens Wood 16th c ditches, Highgate, London
Parkland Walk, 19th c railway line, London
Grime’s Graves Neolithic Flint Mine, Norfolk
An Arthur Machen walk via Verulam Buildings, Gray’s Inn
Kelvedon Hatch Nuclear Bunker, Essex
Owain Glyndwr’s Parliament House, Machynlleth
Raglan Castle, Monmouthshire
Rodborough Iron Age Earthworks, Gloucestershire
Domfront city and Chateau, Normandy
Utah Beach & museum, Normandy
Unstan Chambered Tomb, Orkney
Ness of Brodgar excavation, Orkney
St Magnus Cathedral, Orkney
Tomb of The Otters, Orkney
Churchill Barriers, Orkney
Broch of Borwich, Orkney
Yesnaby WWII gun emplacements, Orkney
Ring of Brodgar, Orkney
Stones of Stennes, Orkney
Barnhouse Neolithic Village, Orkney
Old Man of Hoy, Hoy, Orkney
Dwarfie Staine Neolithic Tomb, Hoy, Orkney
Midhowe Cairn, Rousay, Orkney
Midhowe Broch, Rousay, Orkney
Knowe of Yarso, Rousay, Orkney
Blackhammer Cairn, Rousay, Orkney
Taversoe Tuick, Rousay, Orkney
The Earl’s Palace, Kirkwall, Orkney
The Bishop’s Palace, Kirkwall, Orkney
Knap of Howar, Papa Westray, Orkney
South Cairn, Holm of Papa, Orkney
North Cairn, Holm of Papa, Orkney
Tomb of The Eagles, South Ronaldsay, Orkney
Castle Bloody burial chamber, Shapinsay, Orkney
Mor Stein, Shapinsay, Orkney
Burroughston Broch, Shapinsay, Orkney
HMS Tern WWII Airfield, Orkney
St Briavel’s Castle, Gloucestershire
ART EXHIBITIONS, INSTALLATIONS & MUSEUMS
Anglo Saxon Kingdoms – British Library ★★★★★
Wolverhampton City Art Gallery
Bill Viola/Michaelangelo (Royal Academy) ★★★★
Don McCullin (Tate Britain) ★★★★
Edward Burne Jones (Tate Britain) ★★★★★
Tate Britain general
London Canal Museum
Eric Gill’s stations of the cross, Westminster Cathedral
Nicholas Monro’s King Kong, Penwith ★★★★★
Manga, British Museum
Art In The City, Gloucester
Bayeux Tapestry, Normandy ★★★★★
Grayson Perry - J Cope’s Grand Tour (Infirmary, Ed’bro) ★★★★ Phoebe Traquair Murals (Mansfield Traquair Cent, Ed’bro) ★★★★
Martin Creed’s Scotsman Steps, Edinburgh
The Orkney Experience, Kirkwall, Orkney
Rackwick Folk Life Museum, Hoy, Orkney
Orkney Museum, Kirkwall, Orkney
William Blake (Tate Britain) ★★★★
The Clash’s London Calling (Museum of London) ★
Anthony Gormley (Royal Academy) ★★★★
STARS OF TRACK AND FIELD
Greta Thunberg
Radiohead
Ken Clarke Jess Phillips Gina Miller
Led By Donkeys Carole Cadwalladr Bonnie Greer Hannah Miller (Granada Reports) Samira Ahmed
Robin Askwith
THE GLORIOUS DEAD
Scott Walker 1943
Ranking Roger 1963
Ian Cognito 1958
Chewbacca 1944
Mike Wilhelm 1942 Judith Kerr 1923
Roky Erickson 1947
Gary Duncan 1946
Peter Fonda 1940
Neil Casal 1968
Peter Nicholls 1927
Barrie Masters 1956
Larry ‘The Mole’ Taylor 1942
Jonathan Miller (1934)
Tony Brennan (1966) - In the Autumn of 1986 a student called Tony Brennan set up a bi-weekly comedy gig in Oxford, that ran like a real comedy club. In doing so he brought student comedy in Oxford from the late ’50s into the late ‘70s. This meant that, though still behind the curve, it was 20 years ahead of where it had been. I did my first ever half hour supporting him, and without the encouragement Tony provided it would have been a harder road to stand-up. Tony - who was also a Morris Dancer and a tiddly winks master - became a diplomat, noted for his ability to do bespoke stand-up shows for the diplomat community, and died tragically early after a long fight against cancer.
FOOD
Grey Peas (Great Western Pub, Wolverhampton)
Grey Peas that I made myself (my house)
Baked potato w tuna (my house) A mackerel pie (my house)
QU0TES OF THE YEAR
Miserable trousers, cufflinks clink, I’m nice about you. – Nice About You, Guided by Voices (2019)
We know that however well we succeed, fifty ‘experts’ (people who acquire theoretical knowledge without using it) will pour cold water on the result. And the five years later, grudgingly, and ten years later, publicly, refer to it incessantly to intimidate future electronic composers. - Rosemary Tonks, The Bloater, 1968
In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time online learning to code so that it could add crude butterfly animations to the backgrounds of its weblogs, the generation immediately following had spent most of its time online making incredibly bigoted jokes in order to laugh at the idiots who were stupid enough to think that they meant it. Except that after a while they did mean it, and then somehow at the end of it they were white supremacists. Was this always how it happened? - Patricia Lockwood, London Review of Books, Feb 2019
This is the Trump way. Fire, fire, fire with the blunderbuss and don’t worry if a shot or two hits an innocent bystander. Keep moving forwards - even as your opponents return fire. Never seriously consider the criticisims, just loose off more shots. It is a strategy that has benefitted Britain’s Trump tribute act, Boris Johnson. As an opinion columnist on The Telegraph , Johnson specialised in offence, from writing in 2002 that the Queen loved the Commonwealth because “it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving picaninnies” to his recent descriptions of Muslim women in burqas “looking like letterboxes”. Such comments are deliberate provocation, pushing the boundaries of what it is permissible for a senior politician to say. IN AN ATTENTION ECONOMY, THEY ARE HARD CURRENCY. Any backlash can be portrayed as “political correctness gone mad” or “liberal Stalinism”. Even having to say sorry can be taken as proof that once again, the liberal totalitarians have triumphed. It is a game in which every path leads to victory. Yes, it is divisive, but for every voter who is repulsed, the calculation is, another is attracted. - Helen Lewis, New Statesman, 7th June 2019
There’s a large audience for this kind of thing and comedy marketers are hip to it. A 2016 Joe Rogan special was titled, simply, Triggered. A new special from Bill Burr that offers subtle critiques of the turn against political correctness was nevertheless promoted by Netflix with a selection of clips from a rant in which Burr appears to mock the #MeToo movement, feminists, and the like. This year’s MTV Video Music Awards were hosted by 46-year-old comic Sebastian Maniscalco, whose opening monologue mocked millennials and teens. “If you feel triggered or you feel offended by anything I’m saying here or anything the musical artists are doing,” he said, “they’re providing a safe space backstage where you’ll get some stress balls and a blankie and also Lil Nas X brought his horse which will double as an emotional support animal.” Those who turned to Google afterwards wondering how an aging comedian wound up on MTV sneering at young people the network has been struggling to reach might have happened across a Forbes article listing Maniscalco, who also released a Netflix special of his own this year, as one of the top ten highest paid comedians in the world in 2018, having earned an estimated $15 million. Chappelle was third, having earned $35 million. This “mutated McCarthy era” has treated the comics on that list particularly well….. As far as comedy is concerned, “cancel culture” seems to be the name mediocrities and legends on their way to mediocrity have given their own waning relevance. They’ve set about scolding us about scolds, whining about whiners, and complaining about complaints because they would rather cling to material that was never going to stay fresh and funny forever than adapt to changing audiences, a new set of critical concerns, and a culture that might soon leave them behind. In desperation, they’ve become the tiresome cowards they accuse their critics of being—and that comics like Bruce, who built the contemporary comedy world, never were. - OSITA NWANEVU, The New Republic, Sept ‘19
I’ve found it hard to get this article in print. One editor explained reluctance to publish on the grounds that the newspaper’s political team had cultivated excellent insider sources and publishing my piece would invite charges of hypocrisy. There was a searing honesty of sorts to this remark. Papers and media organisations yearn for privileged access and favourable treatment. And they are prepared to pay a price to get it. This price involves becoming a subsidiary part of the government machine. It means turning their readers and viewers into dupes. This client journalism allows Downing Street to frame the story as it wants. Some allow themselves to be used as tools to smear the government’s opponents. They say goodbye to the truth. Social media has provided new ways of breaking the boundaries of decent, honest journalism. Of course political journalists have always entered into behind-the-scenes deals with politicians, but this kind of arrangement has gained a new dimension since Boris Johnson entered Downing Street with the support of a client press and media. As a former lobby correspondent (on the Evening Standard, the Sunday Express and The Spectator) I understand the need for access. The job of lobby journalists is to produce information. But there is now clear evidence that the prime minister has debauched Downing Street by using the power of his office to spread propaganda and fake news. British political journalists have got chillingly close to providing the same service to Boris Johnson that Fox News delivers for Donald Trump. - Peter Oborne, Open Democracy, October 2019
Stewart Lee
2019-12-31T09:00:46+00:00
“If you had to kill Stewart Lee how would you do it? Stab his eyes out? Shotgun to the knees? Brain with heavy object?” Xpijonipsy, Twitter, 16/10/19, since removed 1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LIVE (London & Touring) I THINK ALL LONDON DATES ARE NOW SOLD OUT BUT... THERE WILL BE SUPPLEMENTARY DATES AT THE ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON, JUNE 27TH, 28TH AND JULY 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, AND THESE ARE ON SALE NOW. I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. More national dates from Feb 2020 will be announced later in the year, I am going to do less shows than last time, but with longer runs in bigger rooms to hit the same demand. I will film this show/these shows in the Summer of 2020 for offloading to whatever content platforms are still viable at that stage in late capitalism's technologically-driven cultural decline. David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown presentSTEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. Double-bill of two new 60-ish minute sets, back to back nightly from "the world's greatest living stand-up" (Times). Tornado questions a shipwrecked Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly lists his show as "reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe." What is anything? Is it this? And Snowflake questions our worth in a collapsing society which no longer shares the liberal values we have for so long been keen to be seen to espouse, in a fairy-tale landscape of winter wonder.Tons of fun! SOLD OUT - CHECK DAILY FOR RETURNS at the Leicester Square Theatre here: https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873600232 SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Work-in-Progress and DVD LAUNCH Leicester Square Theatre, London. FEW TICKETS AVAILABLE CHECK DAILY FOR RETURNS AT LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE BOX OFFICE: https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873600232 Stewart Lee...
My interview with Spike Milligan didn't exactly go as planned. I made an effort to arrive at his East Sussex address dead on 2pm, so I wasn't too early, or too late, trying to learn from the mistakes of previous grail-seekers, whose ignominious fates I'd witnessed in a wedge of press cuttings. I did the London journalist/local taxi driver bit that has become a staple feature of all Spike Milligan profile pieces. She recognised the address and was protective and loyal, even in casual conversation. "Let's just say, he has his good days, like all of us," she concluded, and dropped me off in a country lane with a name so silly that most journalists can't resist giving it an improprietous mention. And I joined the ranks of visitors who note that Milligan's rather squat and functional home is called The Blind Architect and wonder if the name has any significance. I hid my cigarettes in my bag. "He'll kill you if he sees them," a south London playwright warned me. "Try hard not to annoy him."
There's a short story Ray Bradbury wrote for Playboy in the 1950s that gives a cheesy poetic expression to the modern chaos theories it predates. A man is sent back to the prehistoric era by a newly invented time machine". He walks above the evolving plant and animal species on an energy pathway that he is warned never to leave.He steps off it for a moment. On returning to his own time he finds the human race replaced by hideous "were-ants in an unrecognisable dystopia. There is a butterfly crushed on the sole of his shoe.
It's arguable that any time traveller who went to the north African front circa 1941 and accidentally removed Spike Milligan from the equation would find himself returning to a similarly mutated present. "Peter Sellers and I saw ourselves as comic Bolsheviks," Milligan said last year to a Sunday newspaper of his groundbreaking 1950s radio programme, The Goon Show. "We wanted to destroy all that had come before and to create something totally new."
In tomorrow night's Omnibus documentary, which celebrates the man's life and work, John Cleese candidly admits that without the Goons and, more significantly, Milligan's late 1960s/1970s BBC2 TV series, Q, there would have been no Monty Python. Q set new boundaries for "broken" comedy, sidestepping the constraint of punchline by a series of neat escape devices, with Milligan leading a set of obviously bewildered, but tolerant, supporting actors into comic landscapes disturbingly unfamiliar to the viewer, but clearly intricately charted in the dusty map room of his mind. It's not an overstatement to say that Milligan is the wellspring of all the best modern British comedy, from which flows the Pythons, the "alternative" comedians of the 1980s, and finally the surreal flights of fancy of Reeves and Mortimer today, even though he disowns these most recent offspring as noise and nonsense. I make a living out of writing comedy. Without Milligan I'd still be a horticultural researcher. I owe him a great deal.
The buzzwords, catch phrases and scripts of the post-war alternative comedy that Milligan almost single-handedly sired, all learnt off by heart by successive generations, inform every pub conversation in the land and have achieved the status of modern folk tales. The Newbury bypass protestors kept their spirits up by chanting Monty Python scripts to each other from their treehouses. In the wake of the release of a BBC Enterprises video of the best of Q and the Omnibus documentary which Milligan claims not to remember having participated in, even though he is interviewed at enormous length we all have a chance to assess just how different things might have been without him, and to laugh along at some of the funniest and definitely the most original humour of the post-war era. And, above all, I can get to meet Spike Milligan. Cool!
The third Mrs Milligan, Shelagh, opened the door. "Oh," she said, a little shocked, peering around the frame. Suddenly I felt unwelcome, like a salesman or a historically disliked relation. "You must be from The Sunday Times. We've been trying to contact you all morning. We'd hoped you'd have a mobile phone. Spike's not well today, you see. He's still in bed and..." I guessed that "not well" was a well-worn euphemism. Something, predictably, must have thrown Milligan out of orbit that morning, and I just didn't have it in my heart to press the point. I suppose I'll never get to be Bob Woodward, and I'll never interview Spike Milligan after all.
"It doesn't matter," I said to Shelagh. "I don't mind, I half expected this, but," I continue, when it becomes clear she's just going to leave me standing on the step, "can I come in and phone a minicab back to town?"
Inside, a younger woman appears on a balcony over the hall, and they're both looking around as if they're scared of puncturing the silence. "It's all right," she says, coming downstairs, "I'll run you back in the mini."
So I'm out the back door in seconds and squeezed into a bucket seat, out of danger, and listening to small talk about the weather we've been having lately. "Can you tell him it doesn't matter," I say. "I think Spike Milligan has more than earned the right to stay in bed any time he likes, if he wants to." And I hope it doesn't sound sarcastic, because it wasn't meant to be.
Milligan's manic depression is legendary, and it's tempting to play the "mad genius" trump card in an effort to explain the fantastic quantum leap of comic imagination that his 1950s Goon Show scripts represent. There simply isn't a precedent for them, and no glib juggling of exacerbating factors such as his arrival in an alien England from the colonial Indian culture he grew up in, or the black humour that was de rigueur on the war-time front line, or his near death in shelling at Monte Cassino and subsequent medical discharge, will explain them.
The best part of the Q compilation video features Milligan dressed up as a Germanic Rhinemaiden in a light comic opera, where, instead of singing his vocal parts, he simply blows raspberries. It is inexplicably hilarious. In the Omnibus documentary it is Denis Norden, of all people, who comes closest to an explanation of Milligan's skill, which sidesteps cultural and social factors, and concentrates instead on the simple architecture of comedy. "Spike," he says, "had a feeling for how long things should go on ... before they stopped."
Back at the station I phone the paper from one of those red call boxes I never see anymore. I'm on my own in a Sussex market town in the middle of the afternoon for no good reason at all, and suddenly everything seems strange. Across the car park there are sheep being lined up in red metal pens for shearing, or sale, or slaughter, or something, bleating and jostling. Apparently there was a piece in the Sunday Express, all infidelity and illegitimate children, that had upset Milligan the day before, and I feel vaguely sordid by association with a publicity mechanism that has driven a depressive old man to his bed.
On the train home I wonder if there's any way of salvaging the piece, and then give up and get talking to a nice woman who wants to quit her job to become an archeologist. A load of pubescent schoolgirls get on somewhere and I duck down out of the way. Later, as they get off, they wave at me and shout catch phrases from Fist of Fun, the television comedy show I co-wrote.
There's a notebook full of unanswered questions in my bag and a tape recorder I bought from a second-hand electrical shop specially for the occasion. I wish I had the magic Milligan escape engine. "Stands. Walks towards camera. Says, `What are we going to do now?
What are we going to do now?' Repeat to fade."
Stewart Lee
1996-04-14T16:39:29+01:00
My interview with Spike Milligan didn't exactly go as planned. I made an effort to arrive at his East Sussex address dead on 2pm, so I wasn't too early, or too late, trying to learn from the mistakes of previous grail-seekers, whose ignominious fates I'd witnessed in a wedge of press cuttings. I did the London journalist/local taxi driver bit that has become a staple feature of all Spike Milligan profile pieces. She recognised the address and was protective and loyal, even in casual conversation. "Let's just say, he has his good days, like all of us," she concluded, and dropped me off in a country lane with a name so silly that most journalists can't resist giving it an improprietous mention. And I joined the ranks of visitors who note that Milligan's rather squat and functional home is called The Blind Architect and wonder if the name has any significance. I hid my cigarettes in my bag. "He'll kill you if he sees them," a south London playwright warned me. "Try hard not to annoy him." There's a short story Ray Bradbury wrote for Playboy in the 1950s that gives a cheesy poetic expression to the modern chaos theories it predates. A man is sent back to the prehistoric era by a newly invented time machine". He walks above the evolving plant and animal species on an energy pathway that he is warned never to leave.He steps off it for a moment. On returning to his own time he finds the human race replaced by hideous "were-ants in an unrecognisable dystopia. There is a butterfly crushed on the sole of his shoe. It's arguable that any time traveller who went to the north African front circa 1941 and accidentally removed Spike Milligan from the equation would find himself returning...
In 1993, The Scud Mountain Boys typified an emergent generation of professorial American songwriters with the same respect for the plangent Americana of Big Star and Gram Parsons their forebears showed to Robert Frost and John Cheever.
Indeed, after leaving the band rudderless in the late nineties, Joe Pernice pursued a literary career alongside his solo recordings.
The Alternative Country originators reform to drop ten apparently effortless slices of slowburning, immaculately harmonised, perfect grown-up guitar pop, gilded with lyrics both studiously modest and painfully precise.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-25T21:36:45+01:00
In 1993, The Scud Mountain Boys typified an emergent generation of professorial American songwriters with the same respect for the plangent Americana of Big Star and Gram Parsons their forebears showed to Robert Frost and John Cheever. Indeed, after leaving the band rudderless in the late nineties, Joe Pernice pursued a literary career alongside his solo recordings. The Alternative Country originators reform to drop ten apparently effortless slices of slowburning, immaculately harmonised, perfect grown-up guitar pop, gilded with lyrics both studiously modest and painfully precise.
Thinking person's stand-up Stewart Lee has been in the wilderness for years in terms of his TV career and it seems he is as surprised as anyone at the BBC that he has suddenly been restored to the box in his own series.
After trying out material for a projected series last year while performing at the Edinburgh Fringe, then having the planned pilot inexplicably cancelled, Stewart turned his dry wit on the prospects of finally getting the stand-up and sketch series on after the pilot was recommissioned and filmed in front of a club audience in London in January.
He said: "Thanks to everyone who came to the recording. Everything went really well on the following two days' filming too. Now the series will be officially turned down around mid-Feb, we expect."
But he was wrong about that, which is good news for fans starved of Stewart's wit on prime-time TV since his Fist of Fun series with comedy parter Lee Herring in the mid-90s.
While he's been away, Lee has become one of the finest stand-ups on the circuit and created a major box office hit (which also came to TV) by co-writing and directing stage show Jerry Springer The Opera - which was as controversial as it was hilarious.
The new series kicks off with a great theme tune - African instrumental Tom Hark - and takes a different theme each week, starting with Books, or rather Toilet Books.
On bad boy Russell Brand's autobiography, Stewart thinks you should flush it away rather than read it. He says: "You can read it and dismiss it as rubbish or dismiss it as rubbish without even reading it - well that would save you a bit of time..."
Chris Moyles, Dan Brown and JK Rowling also get the treatment.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-14T11:40:33+00:00
Thinking person's stand-up Stewart Lee has been in the wilderness for years in terms of his TV career and it seems he is as surprised as anyone at the BBC that he has suddenly been restored to the box in his own series. After trying out material for a projected series last year while performing at the Edinburgh Fringe, then having the planned pilot inexplicably cancelled, Stewart turned his dry wit on the prospects of finally getting the stand-up and sketch series on after the pilot was recommissioned and filmed in front of a club audience in London in January. He said: "Thanks to everyone who came to the recording. Everything went really well on the following two days' filming too. Now the series will be officially turned down around mid-Feb, we expect." But he was wrong about that, which is good news for fans starved of Stewart's wit on prime-time TV since his Fist of Fun series with comedy parter Lee Herring in the mid-90s. While he's been away, Lee has become one of the finest stand-ups on the circuit and created a major box office hit (which also came to TV) by co-writing and directing stage show Jerry Springer The Opera - which was as controversial as it was hilarious. The new series kicks off with a great theme tune - African instrumental Tom Hark - and takes a different theme each week, starting with Books, or rather Toilet Books. On bad boy Russell Brand's autobiography, Stewart thinks you should flush it away rather than read it. He says: "You can read it and dismiss it as rubbish or dismiss it as rubbish without even reading it - well that would save you a bit of time..." Chris Moyles, Dan Brown and JK Rowling also get the treatment.
Stewart Lee has suggested the future of his BBC Two show could be at risk from management changes at the Corporation.
The comic said that in the two years that he’s been working on the new series of Comedy Vehicle ‘everyone who was involved in commissioning it or overseeing it has left and been replaced by other people who don’t necessarily have a stake in it’.
He also said that last month’s departure of a senior executive – thought to be Myfanwy Moore, the BBC’s head of comedy production – put the series in further jeopardy.
‘There was a weird moment about four weeks ago when we were in the final stages of the edit when the head of comedy left, and it looked like she was going to be replaced by a bloke who had written a 1,000-word article in Broadcast about how awful he thought I was. But then he didn’t get [the job].’
Moore has a working relationship with Lee stretching back to 2001’s Attention Scum with Simon Munnery, which she executive produced and Lee directed.
The BBC has not yet decided on a fifth series of Comedy Vehicle, whose fourth run starts at 10pm tonight.
‘You never know from month-to-month,’ he told Steve Wright on his Radio 2 show. ‘Hopefully in May or June the BBC will have told me if they want a fifth series.
‘They don’t normally want another one and then something happens where they realise that they do, which is why there’s always a three-year-gap between them.’
‘I understand it. I don’t deliver a lot of ratings for them, but it wins awards, so obviously that negotiation goes on.'
Lee, 47, also spoke of how it took decades to perfect his grumpy on-stage persona.
‘I don’t think I got it right for 20 years, until I was in my mid-30s,’ he said. ‘I think part of the problem is that if you’re that person and you’re 27 in reasonable shape and still got all your own hair, people look at you and think, "What’s your problem?" But as you start to decay a bit then you’re entitled to be that person.
‘A young person behaving like that can seem arrogant. As you get older it looks like desperation, or you’re trying to cover something up, or you’ve got some problem with the world. So I really think it took a long time.’
He added that his stand-up was still evolving as ‘my life acts upon me and changes me. I used to think [of my persona], "Why’s he on stage?" and now the reason character of Stewart Lee in on stage is because of mortgage and children. Comedy is his job, and he does it with bad grace.’
And he said that despite being a difficult and uncompromising act, audiences for his live shows were still building
‘More people seem to come even despite the fact that it doesn’t really meet anyone halfway,’ he said. ‘They still keep coming so you’re able to carry on making it more extreme rather than trying to rein it in.’
Joking that his tour shows were ‘the ideal family night out’, Lee added: ’Old people think it’s a bit like Dave Allen. People of my age think its late 70s/early 80s alternative comedy. And the kids haven’t seen anything like it because I’m aware that I’m an older generation of comics now.
‘Even though there's bad language it’s sparing and when it’s used, it’s very, very precise and there’s a reason for it. So it might offend people’s ideas but there’s never that moment when people are shocked for nothing.’
Stewart Lee has suggested the future of his BBC Two show could be at risk from management changes at the Corporation. The comic said that in the two years that he’s been working on the new series of Comedy Vehicle ‘everyone who was involved in commissioning it or overseeing it has left and been replaced by other people who don’t necessarily have a stake in it’. He also said that last month’s departure of a senior executive – thought to be Myfanwy Moore, the BBC’s head of comedy production – put the series in further jeopardy. ‘There was a weird moment about four weeks ago when we were in the final stages of the edit when the head of comedy left, and it looked like she was going to be replaced by a bloke who had written a 1,000-word article in Broadcast about how awful he thought I was. But then he didn’t get [the job].’ Moore has a working relationship with Lee stretching back to 2001’s Attention Scum with Simon Munnery, which she executive produced and Lee directed. The BBC has not yet decided on a fifth series of Comedy Vehicle, whose fourth run starts at 10pm tonight. ‘You never know from month-to-month,’ he told Steve Wright on his Radio 2 show. ‘Hopefully in May or June the BBC will have told me if they want a fifth series. ‘They don’t normally want another one and then something happens where they realise that they do, which is why there’s always a three-year-gap between them.’ ‘I understand it. I don’t deliver a lot of ratings for them, but it wins awards, so obviously that negotiation goes on.' Lee, 47, also spoke of how it took decades to perfect his grumpy on-stage persona. ‘I don’t think I got it right for...
REVENGE, they say, is a dish best served cold. I have never seen a more cold, calculated, utterly fearless and totally brilliant in-show riposte to anything than the last 25 minutes of Stewart Lee's set. Lee, having spent much of the year being threatened with everything from lawsuits to death; having seen any commercial viability of the brilliant Jerry Springer: the Opera destroyed by fundamentalist Christianity, red in tooth and claw; and having been comprehensively publicly demonised, is embracing that demon for one breathtaking half hour.
It is like watching Bruce Banner become the Incredible Hulk.
But quietly. With focus.
The material is ruthlessly, fabulously and cleverly blasphemous to a height wholly unscaled and a depth completely unplumbed.
It is exhilaratingly and wonderfully appalling. Lee is like an angry young man trapped in the body of a mature and hugely intelligent one.
That is a killer combination. He then wraps it up by brilliantly and irrefutably justifying everything he has just said. And adds a little belly-laugh as a coda. This is comedy as an ideologically lethal weapon, in the hands of a crack shot. That's not all you get in the Belly of the Beast (as it were).
There is some funny, jolly stuff about the IRA, and charming personal anecdotes about Lee's endoscopy. Lee is one of the finest exponents of the art of analysis as a comedic tool: analysis of what people say, of what he himself says, and of what we in the audience do; a kind of comedic reductio ad absurdum.
Just so that Jesus doesn't feel picked on, Lee expertly puts the pan into deadpan on the subjects of Dan Brown, Joe Pasquale, the Americans in Iraq, Catholicism and Jimmy Carr. Lee is a comedy technician, delivering his material with Pinteresque pauses that a Christian fundamentalist could get three death threats into, and using the power of repetition to almost agonising effect. All this comes from a man who radiates "decent bloke" like the glow round the manger on a Christmas card.
This is a once-in-a-career show. See it, for Christ's sake.
Stewart Lee
2005-08-13T22:55:31+01:00
REVENGE, they say, is a dish best served cold. I have never seen a more cold, calculated, utterly fearless and totally brilliant in-show riposte to anything than the last 25 minutes of Stewart Lee's set. Lee, having spent much of the year being threatened with everything from lawsuits to death; having seen any commercial viability of the brilliant Jerry Springer: the Opera destroyed by fundamentalist Christianity, red in tooth and claw; and having been comprehensively publicly demonised, is embracing that demon for one breathtaking half hour. It is like watching Bruce Banner become the Incredible Hulk. But quietly. With focus. The material is ruthlessly, fabulously and cleverly blasphemous to a height wholly unscaled and a depth completely unplumbed. It is exhilaratingly and wonderfully appalling. Lee is like an angry young man trapped in the body of a mature and hugely intelligent one. That is a killer combination. He then wraps it up by brilliantly and irrefutably justifying everything he has just said. And adds a little belly-laugh as a coda. This is comedy as an ideologically lethal weapon, in the hands of a crack shot. That's not all you get in the Belly of the Beast (as it were). There is some funny, jolly stuff about the IRA, and charming personal anecdotes about Lee's endoscopy. Lee is one of the finest exponents of the art of analysis as a comedic tool: analysis of what people say, of what he himself says, and of what we in the audience do; a kind of comedic reductio ad absurdum. Just so that Jesus doesn't feel picked on, Lee expertly puts the pan into deadpan on the subjects of Dan Brown, Joe Pasquale, the Americans in Iraq, Catholicism and Jimmy Carr. Lee is a comedy technician, delivering his material with Pinteresque pauses that a...
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf upcoming U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions
Side a I’m The Man-Wulf
Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit)
Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!)
Vinyl sides a&b released on a 7” 45 in January.
Stewart Lee
2025-01-03T14:50:44+00:00
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf upcoming U.K. tour. There are 3 versions Side a I’m The Man-Wulf Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit) Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!) Vinyl sides a&b released on a 7” 45 in January.
Like most comedians STEWART LEE is itching to get out on the road and perform material which has been two years in the writing – and rewriting we suspect.
In fact, what we get when Stewart plays the Swansea Grand next month, are two shows for the price of one. The double-bill of two 60-minute sets, will be performed back-to-back, from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times).
The first half, Snowflake, will be heavily rewritten in the light of the two years the show has been laid off, looking at how the Covid-Brexit era has impacted on the culture war declared on lovely woke snowflakes by horrible people.
The second half, Tornado, questions Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly listed his show as “reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
Stewart Lee started out as a stand-up in 1988 at the age of 20 and won the Hackney Empire New Act of The Year award in 1990, thirty two years ago. He made four series of his own show, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, for BBC2 and has been rewarded with Baftas, Oliviers, and British Comedy Awards.
As his delayed Snowflake Tornado tour rolls into Swansea Grand Theatre, South Wales Life asks Stewart what it feels like to be The Times newspaper’s “World’s Greatest Living Stand-Up Comedian.”
“It’s funny you should ask,” Lee cackles hysterically down the line from his North London home, contradicting his public persona as a grumpy contrarian...
“Because the Tornado half of the show is partly about the disconnect between that kind of critical acclaim, and not being exactly a household name.”
Stewart’s modesty doesn’t ring true. Your gran may not have seen him trip the light fantastic on Strictly but his tours play to audiences of a quarter of a million.
“Yes, but the internet is full of angry people saying ‘Who is he? I’ve never heard of him!’ To be honest, that suits me, as I can chatter away to strangers without being recognised. The current tour has a long bit based on a conversation I had with a woman about baked potatoes that I couldn’t have had if she’d known who I was.”
Despite his supposed avoidance of publicity, Stewart has been all over social media this year. A comically obsessive critical list of everything he has seen, eaten, heard or read in the previous year, that he sends privately to his mailing list each Christmas, somehow leaked out causing unintended annoyance. It was condemned by the golf comedian John Robins as “something that Joseph McCarthy or The Stasi would recognise.”
“I don’t really know what happened there.” Stewart cackles again, “maybe The Stasi gave Jimmy Carr’s Netflix special a one star review as well!”
The Snowflake section of Stewart’s current show includes references to Jimmy Carr’s ongoing use of material about the Traveller and Roma communities, that recently saw calls for the 8 Out Of 10 Cats star to be prosecuted for incitement to racial hatred, something Stewart sees as “a step too far, especially when he’s being condemned by members of the current government”. Is the material still topical after a two-year layoff during the pandemic?
“Well, believe it or not, the stuff making fun of Jimmy Carr for doing jokes about ‘gypsies’ has been in my show since 2019, as it’s the sort of thing he always does, so it’s just an indication of how he tends to hit the same shock buttons every time. The weird thing is that, because of the two-year downtime, lots of the material that was a bit ahead of the curve came into focus and goes down even better now.
For example, everyone’s thought a lot more about the supposedly ‘woke’ ideas I endorse, what with Black Lives Matter and those leaked police e-mails about hating women. And Boris Johnson’s dishonesty and hypocrisy, which I discuss on stage, is undeniable now.
The first half of the night, Tornado, is a long shaggy dog story about how I saw loads of rotisserie chickens being delivered to the American comedian Dave Chapelle’s dressing room in London in 2018, and more people know who he is now because he got in trouble with transgender people last year.
Some material had to be ditched after lockdown though. I had twenty minutes in 2019 about what I imagined the new James Bond film would be like – but it’s out now. That said, dropping that bit and switching in some new stuff actually tightened the second half, which is largely about attempts by the right to weaponise a ‘culture war’ against liberals and minorities.”
Presumably more people will have to see Stewart live if they want to experience his unique humour, as he has controversially pulled his material off Spotify in solidarity with the Canadian rock star Neil Young, who opposed the comedian Joe Rogan’s factually inaccurate podcasts about covid vaccination.
“Yes, that all went a bit wrong. I do think it’s bad that internet platforms aren’t subject to the same kind of fact-checking that even I am when I do jokes on traditional media like TV and radio, or in newspapers. But I also thought it would be funny if the two people removing their stuff were unknown me and superstar Neil Young.
And of course, it’s an easy stand to take, because you only get 0.003 cents a play on Spotify, so I only need to sell one DVD to make up a year’s Spotify dosh. But then loads of musicians pulled their stuff too and people said I was trying to get this Rogan bloke no-platformed, and he was a fellow comedian.
First of all, I didn’t know he was a comedian – I thought he was a wrestler or from Ice Road Truckers or something – and I wasn’t saying he should be banned, just that the Youtube and Spotify and Facebook should be fact checked so they can’t use unverifiable sensationalism to drive their numbers. And I stand by that, especially when you have Boris Johnson spreading internet conspiracy theories about Jimmy Savile in parliament.
As usual, the press release about little me pulling my comedy off this massive platform was full of jokes which got cut out by people that covered the story and made me look much more of misery than I am.”
Does such misrepresentation bother Stewart?
“Not really, people are paying to see a miserable and frustrated middle aged man wind himself up into a frenzy about everything, so it probably helps! Although the funny thing with this tour is that my obvious delight at being back on the boards can’t help but infect the audience. I’m just an old-fashioned entertainer at heart! Like Vera Lynn. Or that Emu.”
STEWART LEE tours SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO until July this year, getting to the Swansea Grand on Saturday 12th March from 7:30pm. Tickets come in at £26.50 and you can get yours HERE.
His new show BASIC LEE will open in London in the Autumn and tour throughout the UK next year. For more details, check out Stewart’s siteHERE. It’s well worth a look and is absolutely crammed with stories and videos of Stewart in action.
Stewart Lee
2022-02-09T20:21:06+00:00
Like most comedians STEWART LEE is itching to get out on the road and perform material which has been two years in the writing – and rewriting we suspect. In fact, what we get when Stewart plays the Swansea Grand next month, are two shows for the price of one. The double-bill of two 60-minute sets, will be performed back-to-back, from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times). The first half, Snowflake, will be heavily rewritten in the light of the two years the show has been laid off, looking at how the Covid-Brexit era has impacted on the culture war declared on lovely woke snowflakes by horrible people. The second half, Tornado, questions Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly listed his show as “reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.” Stewart Lee started out as a stand-up in 1988 at the age of 20 and won the Hackney Empire New Act of The Year award in 1990, thirty two years ago. He made four series of his own show, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, for BBC2 and has been rewarded with Baftas, Oliviers, and British Comedy Awards. As his delayed Snowflake Tornado tour rolls into Swansea Grand Theatre, South Wales Life asks Stewart what it feels like to be The Times newspaper’s “World’s Greatest Living Stand-Up Comedian.” “It’s funny you should ask,” Lee cackles hysterically down the line from his North London home, contradicting his public persona as a grumpy contrarian... “Because the Tornado half of the show is partly about the disconnect between that kind of critical acclaim, and not being exactly a household name.” Stewart’s modesty doesn’t ring true. Your gran may not have seen him trip the light fantastic on Strictly but his tours play to audiences...
What is the point of the arts? Last week, it appeared it is to create accessible mainstream drama that highlights and threatens to actually resolve an injustice that the government ignored, while at the same time increasing advertising revenue for a commercial broadcaster because of massive viewing figures – a double win for both big business and bleeding-heart liberals who don’t want to see the lives of hundreds of innocent people destroyed for ever!
It seems all it took was bold commissioning and beloved TV faces to start to stem the scandal, which must irk all the journalists in sidelined liberal outlets who’ve been writing about it for years. But what next for woke ITV? For example, Eton school is unable to open because undermaintained sewers have flooded it with human excrement. One could argue the school itself has, in the shape of David Cameron, Boris Johnson, Kwasi Kwarteng and the Daily Telegraph’s Charles Moore, done much the same to Britain itself. But should the sewage scandal be woke ITV drama’s next target?
In Filthy Vengeance, Danny Dyer plays a sentient piece of woke excrement with a cockney accent, discharged into a chalk stream by a corrupt privatised utility company, who learns at first-hand of the damage being done and vows to take woke revenge on the network of international financiers and free-market politicians who facilitate it, by any means necessary. Rob Brydon cameos as a lecherous water bailiff.
The woke punk-fisher Feargal Sharkey can play himself in a scene where he meets the woke Dyer faeces in a sewer and agrees to team up to smash capitalism. Hopefully, it will be more convincing than the disgraced horse-warming tax-avoider Nadhim Zahawi MP’s performance in Mr Bates, who mouthed things he had actually said previously in such a hammy way it appeared he had been replaced by his own Spitting Image puppet.
Zahawi’s bum note aside, Mr Bates was a win for acting, writing, filming, recorded sound, design, costume and the arts generally, showing how the arts can excite the collective imagination and the national conscience, give voice to the voiceless and bring the whole country together by the power of storytelling. Has there ever been a worse time then for the backward fenland swamp of Suffolk to announce that it is cutting its entire arts budget? No art for fen folk. Shut up and eat your turnips.
Conventional wisdom says arts funding doubles its return by drawing in visitors and increasing spending in businesses that benefit from their patronage (I say with some pride that the age and gender demographic of my audience means it regularly breaks bar-takings records in provincial theatres, hard-drinking fans of the low art of standup thus subsidising more worthwhile forms such as dance, theatre and Fleetwood Mac tribute bands). The fact is, Suffolk’s £500,000 arts cut could actually mean a million pounds Suffolk can ill-afford to lose will now not be spent in the darkening region as cultural consumers stay in their wattle and daub huts to stream Mr Bates on TV instead.
Sadly, Suffolk’s value as a cultural destination has barely begun to be exploited. Metalheads the world over would flock to Ipswich, if only it had the wisdom to open a shrine to its most famous sons, the Luciferian innovators Cradle of Filth, while fans of early 70s commune jam rock would surely pay homage at the Sotherton farmhouse that housed the Global Village Trucking Company, especially if there were an animatronic diorama showing men playing 20-minute guitar solos while wives and girlfriends washed up and changed nappies.
Joking apart, the ghostly tales of MR James draw millions of Christmas viewers and at Livermere rectory, where he spent his childhood, you can marvel at the gravestones that supplied him with character names, and the churchyard just as he described it in his final story, A Vignette; Aldeburgh is obviously the “Seaburgh” seaside town of the timelessly chilling A Warning to the Curious. Elsewhere, Great Barton church has beautiful Edward Burne-Jones glass; the Halesworth Gallery’s outdoor sculpture trail last summer was the most fun I’ve had with ceramics; and the suddenly decimated Eastern Angles theatre company has spent decades embodying rural working-class experiences in flexible mobile productions that can fill village halls, or transfer to London venues when metropolitan elitists deign to notice them. Even Lowestoft’s the Darkness are quite good, really.
A cultural exodus from costly London means Suffolk is benefiting from an influx of displaced artists, but if Suffolk rejects them, they will take their talents elsewhere. Suffolk’s historic enemy Norfolk will instead become a cultural powerhouse akin to Paris’s Rive Gauche in the 50s and 60s, with Cromer, Ormesby St Margaret and Eccles-on-Sea emerging as centres of new ways of seeing, new ways of feeling, new ways of loving and new ways of being, new Sartres, new Camus and new De Beauvoirs rising from the culverts and ha-has.
But is it any wonder that the party that profits by turning people against one another, and that busted Brexit through only because people were too ill-informed to see through it, has no incentive to fund anything that fosters understanding and compassion. Suffolk’s overwhelming support for leave in the Brexit referendum shows how vulnerable its inhabitants are to manipulation and misinformation. Suffolk needs the illuminating beam of the arts to save it from itself.
Stewart Lee
2024-01-14T18:44:23+00:00
What is the point of the arts? Last week, it appeared it is to create accessible mainstream drama that highlights and threatens to actually resolve an injustice that the government ignored, while at the same time increasing advertising revenue for a commercial broadcaster because of massive viewing figures – a double win for both big business and bleeding-heart liberals who don’t want to see the lives of hundreds of innocent people destroyed for ever! There are concerns that the pressure generated by Mr Bates Vs the Post Office to overturn legal processes and deliver swift justice may set a dangerous precedent, but Rishi Sunak must resolve to act as decisively and fearlessly as he did when he used parliament to overrule the supreme court’s findings and declare Rwanda a safe country. Sunak must simply dare to dream. It seems all it took was bold commissioning and beloved TV faces to start to stem the scandal, which must irk all the journalists in sidelined liberal outlets who’ve been writing about it for years. But what next for woke ITV? For example, Eton school is unable to open because undermaintained sewers have flooded it with human excrement. One could argue the school itself has, in the shape of David Cameron, Boris Johnson, Kwasi Kwarteng and the Daily Telegraph’s Charles Moore, done much the same to Britain itself. But should the sewage scandal be woke ITV drama’s next target? In Filthy Vengeance, Danny Dyer plays a sentient piece of woke excrement with a cockney accent, discharged into a chalk stream by a corrupt privatised utility company, who learns at first-hand of the damage being done and vows to take woke revenge on the network of international financiers and free-market politicians who facilitate it, by any means necessary. Rob Brydon cameos as a lecherous...
For the lazy journalist, the Cincinnati rock band the Afghan Whigs are "the Motown Nirvana'', a combination of soul melodies and post-grunge guitar squall. For the casual observer, their sharp suits, unashamed showmanship and, at times, downright funky sound represent a clean break from the alternative-rock peer group they themselves have described as "slovenly''.
Their fourth album, Gentlemen, from 1993, was a stifling mesh of Jacobean jealousy and infidelity; in it their musical influences finally gelled and their charismatic frontman, Greg Dulli, an uncommonly articulate square-jawed young Robert De Niro, first found his personal voice. It describes the ugly collapse of a once-treasured relationship and is an uncomfortable, even embarrassing, listen. But was Gentlemen really the naked confessional it seemed, or just the posturing of an admittedly skilful character actor?
"Well, I have been an actor in the past," admits Dulli, a former film student, "but there are songs from Gentlemen I won't sing any more. To go on stage and plumb those depths, without feeling it, would seem maudlin and arrogant and disrespectful to a precious memory.''
There is a verse in When We Two Parted that begins: "I should have seen this s coming down the hall, every night I spent in that bed with you facing the wall.'' As Dulli growls out the words, there are couples in every Whigs live audience shifting uneasily on their feet in half-recognition of a shame they've clocked but never discussed. "Yeah, I accidentally stumbled on a truism and didn't realise it until I heard it back. That was the one that really got my ex.''
Going to Town, on the new LP, Black Love (out now on Mute Records), was a breakthrough song for Dulli. It describes two lovers driving away from the small town they have just torched, and was his first lyric that wasn't based on personal experience. "I never burnt down a town,'' he protests.
The new album attempts to put a respectful distance between his writing and his life. ``People were maybe hurt by some of what I've written before. A lot of Gentlemen was spiteful and childish. This time, I'm holding my cards a little closer. I'm finding I can inhabit songs rather than live them.''
Maybe the territory mapped by America's best young songwriters reflects that of its greatest modern novelists, the ``dirty realists''. But while Dulli was once, like the late Charles Bukowski, nobly bearing the burden of drunken misanthropy on our behalf, he isn't yet the late Raymond Carver, giving voice to the hopes and fears of others. Black Love suffers lyrically because of this, it is never as focused or consistent as Gentlemen.
Musically, though, the band continues to develop. Blame Etc adds a funky wah-wah Isaac Hayes-style sound to the band's canon. The Afghan Whigs are among a minority of groups that can plunder the sounds of the past and transcend pastiche, somehow retaining an emotional, irony-free core. The Britpop band Blur, for example, are so musically knowing and so lyrically self-conscious that if they were ever to have a genuine feeling, they'd find themselves stylistically denied the tools to articulate it.
Recently, Dulli turned up at a photo session black-eyed and bruised. The night before, he had got into a fight in a London hotel bar, and the press cuttings say he beat a guy with a chair "until he stopped moving''. "I have a temper,'' he admits. "It's been a problem. I regret the incident now and I've been advised not to speak about it.'' Someone, somewhere must have imagined the subsequent photos would add a level of integrity to Dulli's wounded-lover persona. Instead, they are caricatured and crass. And a black eye isn't such an impressive badge of honour in rock'n'roll terms anyway. After all, the bluesman Robert Johnson was killed by a jealous cuckold.
"I just showed up at the photo session to honour a commitment and I could see them thinking, "Hey, we got a live one here!''' recalls Dulli. "But I played a willing part in it. That photo... it's a photo of an immature person... I coulda been killed and it would have been my fault.''
The Scottish space-rock band the Telstar Ponies have an obscure early B-side called Thanks But No Thanks Mr Dulli, an elliptical, but apparently vindictive, attack on the hapless American. Their gleeful press release said it described a failed chat-up attempt by Dulli. "They say I tried to hit on one of their girlfriends, but I don't remember anything about it,'' he says. "Maybe I'll learn the song and perform it on tour,'' he adds. "Sometimes, one has to laugh in the face of the aggressor rather than throw a fist at him.'' Dulli is growing up.
Stewart Lee
1996-03-01T16:34:13+00:00
For the lazy journalist, the Cincinnati rock band the Afghan Whigs are "the Motown Nirvana'', a combination of soul melodies and post-grunge guitar squall. For the casual observer, their sharp suits, unashamed showmanship and, at times, downright funky sound represent a clean break from the alternative-rock peer group they themselves have described as "slovenly''. Their fourth album, Gentlemen, from 1993, was a stifling mesh of Jacobean jealousy and infidelity; in it their musical influences finally gelled and their charismatic frontman, Greg Dulli, an uncommonly articulate square-jawed young Robert De Niro, first found his personal voice. It describes the ugly collapse of a once-treasured relationship and is an uncomfortable, even embarrassing, listen. But was Gentlemen really the naked confessional it seemed, or just the posturing of an admittedly skilful character actor? "Well, I have been an actor in the past," admits Dulli, a former film student, "but there are songs from Gentlemen I won't sing any more. To go on stage and plumb those depths, without feeling it, would seem maudlin and arrogant and disrespectful to a precious memory.'' There is a verse in When We Two Parted that begins: "I should have seen this s coming down the hall, every night I spent in that bed with you facing the wall.'' As Dulli growls out the words, there are couples in every Whigs live audience shifting uneasily on their feet in half-recognition of a shame they've clocked but never discussed. "Yeah, I accidentally stumbled on a truism and didn't realise it until I heard it back. That was the one that really got my ex.'' Going to Town, on the new LP, Black Love (out now on Mute Records), was a breakthrough song for Dulli. It describes two lovers driving away from the small town they have just torched, and...
Stewart Lee’s stock, as a solo performer at least, has arguably never been higher. Since his partnership with Richard Herring in the 1990s – with hit shows Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy on the small screen, and several other writing credits – Lee has consistently produced engaging, thought-provoking and above all hilarious stand-up shows.
Recently finding himself back on TV with the prosaically (yet endearingly so) titled Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, Lee has now graduated to larger venues, being moved to the Butterworth Hall, though he bemoaned the echo-laden acoustics due to the fact that the hall was only two-thirds full. Nevertheless, the audience was in store for a real comedic treat.
Before Lee’s headline slot, he introduced support from Tony Law, a Canadian stand-up who merged surrealism with a bristling intelligence. Tales of slippery Belgians were interwoven with gags about Nandos, and a bizarre sequence featuring an imaginary goat.
His vaguely 1950s rockabilly look seemed gloriously at odds with this off-kilter material – although it was a short set, it unfolded during a winding journey, and one which was worth being along for the ride.
After the welcome sounds of lo-fi legends Guided By Voices bursting through the speakers during the interval, Stewart Lee launched into his current show, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. What began with recounting a moment of burning frustration experienced at a high street café soon snowballed into a devastatingly precise deconstruction of entertainment culture, with Top Gear being among the biggest culprits.
The Richard Hammond segment (“he’s not even a real Hamster…” etc) was bizarrely picked up on by the Daily Mail during Lee’s run at Edinburgh, yet other routines hit the spot in imaginative ways, such as the naivete of moving to the countryside or abroad for “quality of life” and a section which ties the strapline from a cider advertisement into a fabricated family history – it wouldn’t work in the hands of lesser comedians but Lee pulls it off with significant aplomb.
A master of his craft, Lee’s delivery remained perfectly pitched for his articulate hour of cultural dissection and comedic cynicism, skilfully built around repetition and a number of threads intricately woven together in his own inimitable style. Throwing down the mic on the stage, he climbed the stairs to deliver the denouement of the cider routine from the back of the theatre, projecting his voice to great effect.
He ended this superb set with an attempt to reclaim his favourite song, also used in a cider advertisement, treating the audience to a rendition of Steve Earle’s Galway Girl, introducing it in self-deprecating fashion by anticipating several audible groans. Rather than being mawkish or ill-advised, it was a touching and oddly fitting finale to a show which proved he’s still on top form.
One of the very best and most skilled stand-ups in the UK, you wouldn’t bet against him keeping up his incredible run. Fantastic stuff.
Stewart Lee’s stock, as a solo performer at least, has arguably never been higher. Since his partnership with Richard Herring in the 1990s – with hit shows Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy on the small screen, and several other writing credits – Lee has consistently produced engaging, thought-provoking and above all hilarious stand-up shows. Recently finding himself back on TV with the prosaically (yet endearingly so) titled Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, Lee has now graduated to larger venues, being moved to the Butterworth Hall, though he bemoaned the echo-laden acoustics due to the fact that the hall was only two-thirds full. Nevertheless, the audience was in store for a real comedic treat. Before Lee’s headline slot, he introduced support from Tony Law, a Canadian stand-up who merged surrealism with a bristling intelligence. Tales of slippery Belgians were interwoven with gags about Nandos, and a bizarre sequence featuring an imaginary goat. His vaguely 1950s rockabilly look seemed gloriously at odds with this off-kilter material – although it was a short set, it unfolded during a winding journey, and one which was worth being along for the ride. After the welcome sounds of lo-fi legends Guided By Voices bursting through the speakers during the interval, Stewart Lee launched into his current show, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. What began with recounting a moment of burning frustration experienced at a high street café soon snowballed into a devastatingly precise deconstruction of entertainment culture, with Top Gear being among the biggest culprits. The Richard Hammond segment (“he’s not even a real Hamster…” etc) was bizarrely picked up on by the Daily Mail during Lee’s run at Edinburgh, yet other routines hit the spot in imaginative ways, such as the naivete of moving to the...
Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle marks the return of arguably one of Britain's finest stand up comedians and shows him at his masterful and hilarious best.
Each of the six episodes sees Stewart explore a different theme, in a stand-up routine illustrated with sketches featuring an ensemble cast of well known comic talent.
In each episode Stewart sets out to answer a question that addresses a specific aspect of modern life; "Why", for example, "is there a tide of banal books in bookshops threatening to engulf us? Does the world really need celebrity hardbacks?" Stewart's on a journey to find out - and meets some interesting authors along the way.
"Has political correctness really gone mad, or is it just that a lot of people confuse political correctness with health and safety legislation?" Stewart tries to pick his way through the PC minefield, and reveals how it only made him put on weight. Stewart sets out to discover the truth about popular television duo Ant and Dec, and visits a quaint English village where The Funniest Thing That's Ever Been On Television Ever has given rise to a unique rural tradition. Sort of.
Whatever the topic, Stewart addresses it with razor sharp wit, using every argument at his disposal to convey his point. And you'l have learned something along the way (which may or may not be true)
Stewart Lee
2018-10-15T17:03:54+01:00
Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle marks the return of arguably one of Britain's finest stand up comedians and shows him at his masterful and hilarious best. Each of the six episodes sees Stewart explore a different theme, in a stand-up routine illustrated with sketches featuring an ensemble cast of well known comic talent. In each episode Stewart sets out to answer a question that addresses a specific aspect of modern life; "Why", for example, "is there a tide of banal books in bookshops threatening to engulf us? Does the world really need celebrity hardbacks?" Stewart's on a journey to find out - and meets some interesting authors along the way. "Has political correctness really gone mad, or is it just that a lot of people confuse political correctness with health and safety legislation?" Stewart tries to pick his way through the PC minefield, and reveals how it only made him put on weight. Stewart sets out to discover the truth about popular television duo Ant and Dec, and visits a quaint English village where The Funniest Thing That's Ever Been On Television Ever has given rise to a unique rural tradition. Sort of. Whatever the topic, Stewart addresses it with razor sharp wit, using every argument at his disposal to convey his point. And you'l have learned something along the way (which may or may not be true)
It is very easy to sneer and criticise without offering any viable solutions yourself. And I should know. I have been doing it for the best part of three decades now myself, across a variety of media, to deadlines, for money, like a snowflake Clarkson.
But I am a shallow and cynical entertainer, not a politician who is supposed to believe in anything. And so, I suspect, when all is said and done, is Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson. And why not? It worked for Donald Trump.
Each morning in the small hours, Donald Trump’s bladder slowly fills with urine. The president wakes and looks at his phone in the bathroom while fumbling in his silken sleeping pants for the flesh pyracantha of his genital. He sees something true online and instantly sends off a combative Tweet. Sad! Bleary journalists panic and the fairy tinkling of Donald Trump’s cold night penis dominates the daily American news cycle once more.
Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson obviously aims to surf the British news wave in a similar fashion to the orange goblin. But unlike the instantaneous nocturnal pee pee spatterings of Trump, the massive faecal log of Watermelon’s weekly column in the Daily Telegraph takes a full seven days to bake.
Straining his handbag-pug face into a purple Eton mess each Monday morning, Watermelon temporarily blocks the U-bend of the British news bog with his latest stinking offering, before standing next to the bowl, and gesturing at his produce, like a delighted toddler expecting parental praise for his mastery of basic bowel functions.
The Daily Telegraph clickbait trap is set, Watermelon its mouse-murdering cheese, and the paper’s front-page news headlines duly retrumpet the controversy that the falsehoods of the Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson column its own editor chose to run inside have ignited, in an endless loop of lies.
In the 1997 James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies, the state-sponsored assassin-rapist 007 thwarts an evil global multi-platform news agency that uses covert actions to generate newsworthy crises, which it then profits from covering. Twenty-one years ago, this plotline seemed as implausible as Roger Moore’s third nipple. But it now appears to be the actual modus operandi of the Daily Telegraph.
And who can blame the paper for paying Watermelon £275,000 a year to disseminate lies, to drive the sewage of its readership through the sluice gates of both its print and online editions. These are tough times for newspapers, and before the Daily Telegraph re-employed Watermelon as a lifeline it was pinning all its sales hopes on our humble friend… water.
For years, it seemed, whenever I tried to buy a bottle of water in a railway station WH Smith, the cashier would suggest I bought a copy of the Daily Telegraph instead, which cost less than the water and came with free water. But taking the free water while buying a copy of the Daily Telegraph increases the apparent circulation figures of the Daily Telegraph, and by association its financial clout, and its power to influence and manipulate the vermin that read it.
As someone who has suffered personally as a result of the Daily Telegraph’s half-truths, I always insisted on paying for the water and not taking the Daily Telegraph with the free water gift instead. Even though, as the confused WH Smith assistant always insisted, as if reciting a script she was forced to learn at gunpoint by Charles Moore, buying the Daily Telegraph and getting the water free was less costly than buying the water alone and not having the Daily Telegraph with it.
When I finally cracked and demanded, at Paddington’s WH Smith in October 2016, to take only the water and not the Daily Telegraph also, the poor assistant, an innocent victim here too, let’s not forget, had to call her manager over. She explained to him that she had tried to sell me the Daily Telegraph, as instructed, but that I would only take the water, as he looked on disapprovingly, an unwanted copy of the Daily Telegraph flapping on the counter, like a dying and poisonous fish.
It was a Kafkaesque situation. Much of what I write in these columns is exaggerated for comic effect (I am not, for example, a confidante of a Danish man who supplies 85% of the semen imported into Britain, as I claimed last week), but this went down just as described. The frightened young girl was eventually absolved by the manager and I was allowed to refuse my compulsory Daily Telegraph purchase.
But surely a world where innocent children are forced to buy the Daily Telegraph, when all they wanted was water, is exactly the kind of authoritarian, anti-individual society the libertarian think-monkeys of the Daily Telegraph don’t want? Take back control!
Tragically, the unsustainable mania for marketing bottled water that the Daily Telegraph exploited to peddle its lies is one factor driving the planet towards being a lifeless, arid wasteland. One day the only way you will be able to get water will be by buying a copy of the Daily Telegraph, which, after the cockroach and the comparably resilient Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson, may be the last recognisable traces of the world we knew. It’s typical of the strange contradictions of Brexit Britain that the Daily Mail’s anti-plastic straw campaign makes it a definable defender of the very world the Daily Telegraph seems determined to destroy.
But the tide may yet be turning against the planet-murdering, lying Daily Telegraph and its lying public face, as the Overton window of Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson’s accession to the throne of broken Brexit Britain narrows. Last Monday, Watermelon’s latest empty anti-EU Daily Telegraph missive barely even provoked outrage, just looks of tired despair in the faces of those charged with delivering the impossible Brexit Watermelon himself once promised
Stewart Lee
2018-09-09T23:03:21+01:00
It is very easy to sneer and criticise without offering any viable solutions yourself. And I should know. I have been doing it for the best part of three decades now myself, across a variety of media, to deadlines, for money, like a snowflake Clarkson. But I am a shallow and cynical entertainer, not a politician who is supposed to believe in anything. And so, I suspect, when all is said and done, is Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson. And why not? It worked for Donald Trump. Each morning in the small hours, Donald Trump’s bladder slowly fills with urine. The president wakes and looks at his phone in the bathroom while fumbling in his silken sleeping pants for the flesh pyracantha of his genital. He sees something true online and instantly sends off a combative Tweet. Sad! Bleary journalists panic and the fairy tinkling of Donald Trump’s cold night penis dominates the daily American news cycle once more. Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson obviously aims to surf the British news wave in a similar fashion to the orange goblin. But unlike the instantaneous nocturnal pee pee spatterings of Trump, the massive faecal log of Watermelon’s weekly column in the Daily Telegraph takes a full seven days to bake. Straining his handbag-pug face into a purple Eton mess each Monday morning, Watermelon temporarily blocks the U-bend of the British news bog with his latest stinking offering, before standing next to the bowl, and gesturing at his produce, like a delighted toddler expecting parental praise for his mastery of basic bowel functions. The Daily Telegraph clickbait trap is set, Watermelon its mouse-murdering cheese, and the paper’s front-page news headlines duly retrumpet the controversy that the falsehoods of the Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Johnson column its own editor chose to run inside...
Vinyl re-release of 15 year old comedy-art-drone piece on Green Vinyl.
An owl wakes up at sea in a pea green boat. It is accompanied by a cat, its natural predator. There is some honey. What chain of events led to this dangerous situation?
This is a long awaited luxury vinyl repress of the legendary Pea Green Boat record. On Pea Green Vinyl! (note - it's slightly darker than it looks in the photo)
It's more or less identical to the 2007 release, except this time we have pressed the record on pea green vinyl, and in deference to the times, each disc comes with an mp3 download.
Also we've removed the references to myspace from the back of the sleeve.
I unreservedly recommend the following shows at London's Leicester Square Theatre, some of which can be seen after me some nights, so why not double-dip it!
In recommending them, I do not seek to use my vast influence to damage the careers of other comedians who I am not recommending, or to seek to take business away from other venues, which are not the Leicester Square Theatre.
In the interests of full disclosure I am married to this woman, who is now sold out until the December dates.
I recommend also...
Suns Of The Tundra - The Bedford, Balham, S London, Oct 20th TICKETS
Featuring comic-monologuist-writer Ben Moor as the narrator the ATP-shaking psych-prog band perform their concept album on the arctic explorer Ernest Shackleton.
CONTENT PROVIDER BOOK
I had a new book out on August 4th, Content Provider, through Faber. "Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been on holiday, the comedian Stewart Lee has been attempting to understand modern Britain, and his own place in it, in a series of irregular newspaper columns.
Will Scotland become the Promised Land of the Left? Is it possible to live a life without crisps? Who was Grant Shapps? What does your Spotify playlist data say about you? Are Jeremy Corbyn and Stewart Lee really the new Christs? And so on. Selected, introduced and, where necessary, explained by the author and corrected by readers, Content Provider is funny, grumpy, provocative, confusing and brilliant."
This clunky title, as well as being the same name as my next book, will be another full-on, finished, Carpet Remnant/41st Best/Milder Comedian type epic show, with an actual set, although the exact material is currently in freefall post-Brexit. Until Nov the shows are work-in-progs and then I will tour it for about 18 months (everywhere in UK and EIRE, except Carlisle) into mid-2018, unless there is no demand for it or I get sick or bored. Here's some dates.
OCT
11th - 15th, 18th - 20th Digital Content Provider w free DVD, Leicester Sq Theatre London
NOV (Digital Content Provider w free DVD)
November 1st - Watford Colosseum - 7.30pm - 01923 571102 - TICKETS November 2nd - Liverpool Philharmonic Hall - 8pm - 0151 709 3789 - TICKETS November 3rd - Cambridge Corn Exchange - 8pm - 01223 357851 - TICKETS November 4th - Cardiff St. David's Hall - 8pm - 029 2087 8444 - TICKETS November 6th - Newcastle Upon Tyne Theatre Royal - 7.30pm - 08448 11 21 21 - TICKETS
NOV (Content Provider)
8th - 12th, 15th - 19th, 22nd 24th, 29th Leicester Sq Theatre, London
JAN 2017
2-7, 9-10, 12-14, 16-21, 23-28 Leics Sq Theatre
The 2017 Content Provider tour will cover much of the UK, Scotland & Ireland and will run - at least - from February to June 2017.
Dates are currently being booked.
As such, the dates below are the ones confirmed so far.
More dates - and the full tour schedule - will be added shortly. For now, though...
As usual, I continue to work tirelessly for charity.
Oct 7th - Stop The War, Shaw Theatre, w Michael Rosen, Jen Brister and more.
I have had to drop out of this due to a funeral. I continue to think war should be stopped.
March 21st - South & North London Care. Leics Sq Th, London. Details TBC
AlDEBURGH COMEDY FEST LAUGH EAST
Me, Danielle Ward, (the late) Ivor Cutler, Alexei Sayle, Bridget Christie, Tina C, Johnny & The Baptists. In Aldeburgh! 30th Sept - 2nd Oct. http://www.laugheast.co.uk
ARNOLD BROWN'S BRITHDAY BASH
The legendary and inspiring comedian Arnold Brown celebrates his birthday with this generation-spanning bill at the Comedy Store, London, on Nov 21st at 7.30.
Joining him for this very special show will be MC Clive Anderson, Paul Merton, Stewart Lee, Sara Pascoe, John Hegley, Bridget Christie, Norman Lovett, Adam Bloom, Nick Revell & more acts to be announced. Also, a rare chance for fans of weird shit to see inside the temple of comedy. http://thecomedystore.co.uk/london/show/arnold-browns-birthday-bash/
Other live s-up Dates
(mainly 30 mins sets w some previews)
OCT
1st Aldeburgh Comedy Festival - TICKETS
3rd Susan Murray's Covent Garden gig
4th and 5th Red Imp, London
6th Sevenoaks somewhere w Maff Brown
7th Bush Hall, London
10th Happy Mondays, London
Global Globules with Baconface
On Wednesdays at 11pm on Resonance 104.4 fm and on the station website, the barely present cult Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface continues to play lengthy and mainly uninterrupted selections from his late brother's extensive record collection of '60s and '70s psychedelia, progressive rock, free jazz, folk, acid folk, folk rock, acid rock, electronic music, and ethnoforgeries.
Resonance is a groundbreaking 24/7 radio station which broadcasts on 104.4 FM to central London, DAB to Greater London, nationally on Radioplayer and live streamed to the rest of the world.
Dead Funny Encore book
Comedian Robin Ince, the co-editor of the new comedians' horror fiction anthology, in which I have a piece, writes...
"Hello everyone. Dead Funny Encore is out. i am really pleased with it, as is Johnny Mains. Sorry it took longer than thought, but really couldn't be helped.
PEA GREEN BOAT 10" Vinyl re-release of 15 year old comedy-art-drone piece on Green Vinyl. An owl wakes up at sea in a pea green boat. It is accompanied by a cat, its natural predator. There is some honey. What chain of events led to this dangerous situation? This is a long awaited luxury vinyl repress of the legendary Pea Green Boat record. On Pea Green Vinyl! (note - it's slightly darker than it looks in the photo) It's more or less identical to the 2007 release, except this time we have pressed the record on pea green vinyl, and in deference to the times, each disc comes with an mp3 download. Also we've removed the references to myspace from the back of the sleeve. Buy at Go Faster Stripe S LEE RECOMMENDS I unreservedly recommend the following shows at London's Leicester Square Theatre, some of which can be seen after me some nights, so why not double-dip it! In recommending them, I do not seek to use my vast influence to damage the careers of other comedians who I am not recommending, or to seek to take business away from other venues, which are not the Leicester Square Theatre. Tony Law, 21st - 29th Oct, 9.30 TICKETS You know Tony - like a car crash in a paint factory. Hans Teeuwen 3rd - 26th Nov, 9.30 TICKETS Hans is one of the greatest stand-ups ever. Bridget Christie. 29th Sep - 1st Feb, 9.30 TICKETS In the interests of full disclosure I am married to this woman, who is now sold out until the December dates. I recommend also... Suns Of The Tundra - The Bedford, Balham, S London, Oct 20th TICKETS Featuring comic-monologuist-writer Ben Moor as the narrator the ATP-shaking psych-prog band perform their concept album on the arctic...
If The Heads, who've spent two decades hammering at the coalface of Stooges-derived spacerock, hailed from Japan or Finland they'd be living legends. Instead, they're from Bristol, and remain prophets without honour.
Their vocalist and guitarist Paul Allen's new project, Anthroprophh, moves his influences forward eighteen months from late 1969 to mid 1971, adding kosmische krautrock ambience to the riff-heavy template.
Where once Allen would have pummeled you into submission, now the sixteen minute Entropy hypnotizes with tickly tabla and DNA helices of phased guitar.
By 2032 he'll have gone disco.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-27T00:54:18+00:00
If The Heads, who've spent two decades hammering at the coalface of Stooges-derived spacerock, hailed from Japan or Finland they'd be living legends. Instead, they're from Bristol, and remain prophets without honour. Their vocalist and guitarist Paul Allen's new project, Anthroprophh, moves his influences forward eighteen months from late 1969 to mid 1971, adding kosmische krautrock ambience to the riff-heavy template. Where once Allen would have pummeled you into submission, now the sixteen minute Entropy hypnotizes with tickly tabla and DNA helices of phased guitar. By 2032 he'll have gone disco.
If Neil Young released Buried Treasures, it would be hailed as a return to form.
And when Drive-By Truckers evidence similarly unselfconscious immediacy, we praise their ability to inhabit characters.
But Rich Hopkins is for real, a regular guitar-toting guy who grew a conscience in the Peace Corps, cowriting his best songs to date with his hair-salon-owner girlfriend, Lisa Novak.
The Tucson troubadour's 28th studio set offers Crazy Horse-style workouts and plangent psychedelic feedback jams, but, as shown by the bleakly beautiful Friend of the Shooter, they are increasingly engaged with the southwest's dark underbelly.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-02T20:17:58+00:00
If Neil Young released Buried Treasures, it would be hailed as a return to form. And when Drive-By Truckers evidence similarly unselfconscious immediacy, we praise their ability to inhabit characters. But Rich Hopkins is for real, a regular guitar-toting guy who grew a conscience in the Peace Corps, cowriting his best songs to date with his hair-salon-owner girlfriend, Lisa Novak. The Tucson troubadour's 28th studio set offers Crazy Horse-style workouts and plangent psychedelic feedback jams, but, as shown by the bleakly beautiful Friend of the Shooter, they are increasingly engaged with the southwest's dark underbelly.
Stewart Lee's final, and most punishing, BAFTA and multiple-British Comedy Award winning BBC2 stand-up series;
recorded live at The Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington, it features six half hour sets on Wealth, Islamophobia, Patriotism, Death, The Migrant Crisis, and Childhood Memories.
Chris Morris returns as the hostile interrogator, picking apart Britains most consistently critically acclaimed stand-up.
A family-sized bucket of extras includes deleted routines, film items, unreleased audio, and gut-spilling interviews.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-15T17:07:46+01:00
Stewart Lee's final, and most punishing, BAFTA and multiple-British Comedy Award winning BBC2 stand-up series; recorded live at The Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington, it features six half hour sets on Wealth, Islamophobia, Patriotism, Death, The Migrant Crisis, and Childhood Memories. Chris Morris returns as the hostile interrogator, picking apart Britains most consistently critically acclaimed stand-up. A family-sized bucket of extras includes deleted routines, film items, unreleased audio, and gut-spilling interviews.
The Conservatives are a defeated army in vindictive retreat, robbing the museums and cathedrals as they head for the hills; setting fire to, and laying waste to, every institution in their wake; poisoning the rivers and destroying the food supplies; leaving only a barren mess for the incoming Labour government to shoulder the blame for. Jonathan Gullis has found a lacy French bra in the rubble of a fine mansion and is wearing it as a hat, laughing and touching his genitals; in an abandoned dentist’s waiting room, Bill Cash has eaten an entire tank of tropical fish; Suella Braverman has made oven gloves out of the corpse of a dead cat; and, having ruined a hospital, Mark Francois is now asleep, naked, in an incubator.
At least the scorched earth policy of the second world war armies only scorched the earth. The Conservatives, and their divisive Brexit, burned the soul out of Britain. We recognise the nation we used to know, but only as Charlton Heston, in Planet of the Apes, recognises the stuffed corpse of his former crewmate Dodge, eviscerated and mounted by apes in a museum, a glass-eyed taxidermy cadaver of its old self.
Every April, I used to go camping on the Wye for the first wild river swim of the year, but this month I have saved money by just shitting and pissing into my own bath and then splashing around in it naked, while wearing a paper mask of the environment secretary, Thérèse Coffey. After I get out, and before towelling down, I issue a misleading statement about how our rivers have never been cleaner to my own bathroom mirror, even though I can still see my own filth tangled in my hair, to the delight of shareholders, and the disappointment of former Undertones singer Feargal Sharkey, unexpectedly emerging from punk cult status as The Most Decent Man In Modern Britain ™ ®. There’s no threat of a fine from Brussels any more and Defra is without teeth. Pollute away, polluters!
And so no spring river wild swims for me. Instead, I spent Easter taking my mind off the state of the nation by walking through the ruins of cultures and societies that once thought they would last for ever. In Oxfordshire, I drank a flask of black tea on the green flanks of Wayland’s Smithy, a Neolithic long barrow where once, they say, the Germanic blacksmith god Wayland shod the horses of other deities. Wayland would even shoe a mere mortal’s horse for a sixpenny bit, making the mythical tradesperson slightly better paid, allowing for inflation, than a modern junior doctor, though not as well remunerated as a Pret a Manger sandwich pusher.
Today, the Gods’ Horse Feet Maintenance sector is as distant as the possibility of being a touring British musician. Indeed, if you are a drummer trying to clear your paperwork and operate within the 90-day limit, you may choose to consider an equally viable sideways move into being a Footwear Specialist for Mythical Equine Beings. But do bear in mind, the Germanic gods that once patronised Wayland’s Smithy will not come here post-Brexit, as only 37% of Germans have passports.
From hillfort to hillfort – Uffington Castle, Liddington Castle, Barbury Castle, Cleeve Hill, Crickley Hill and Uley Bury – I traversed ancient trackways, representing nearly a 1,000-year period of trade between communities, and only the occasional genocidal massacre. Today, it’s not even worth me ordering a secondhand vinyl seven-inch that costs 50p from a dealer in Belgium because of post-Brexit postage, school trips can’t get out of Calais on their coaches thanks to us removing our own freedom of movement, and European schools are sending their kids to practise English in Ireland and Malta, rather than in England, where English was invented. Another Brexit bonus. French children will be saying “feck” instead of proper English swearing. Are you happy now Dan Hanananananan?
On a not entirely unrelated note, it was as I shouldered my pack and headed up to the Uffington White Horse that I heard about the BBC 6 Music evening show reshuffle. Marc Riley and Gideon Coe’s shows are to be conjoined, a land grab on the sound and attitude that have given the station credibility and purpose, reducing the hours of new alternative music on the BBC weekly from 20 to eight. Here’s the BBC’s press release, verbatim, errors intact: “Two of our finest curators, Mark Riley and Gideon Coe will come together to play they music loves from every era and genre.” It doesn’t even make grammatical sense. Decades of service and they give you an illiterate sendoff.
That derided word, “curators”. Those evening session shows shaped a generation of tastes, broke the new bands that justify a publicly sustained broadcaster, encouraged a community of devoted listeners to sustain local small venues and, in the pandemic, saw those late-night broadcasters become friends, the Wogans of post-punk, lifelines in the dark times.
The British music industry was once, like James Bond and football, vital to our soft global diplomacy. And the British music industry, beleaguered by Brexit, will tell you those BBC 6 Music evening shows sustained it. Streaming platforms mean no one gets paid for music; energy costs close venues; Brexit ends touring; and the withdrawal of cheap housing and squats, and cheats like Thatcher’s Enterprise Allowance Scheme, mean social mobility is reversed in the arts. For years 6 Music helped stem that, with the evening shows’ open door.
But I’m sick of trying to understand all this. I’m 55 now. The stormy weather of decision makers’ decisions rages around me. I stand still and hope I am still standing when it subsides. The rivers are dead, customs is clogged and now there’s less I want to listen to on the radio. Why, I find myself saying, why can’t we have nice things?
Stewart Lee
2023-04-16T12:59:13+01:00
The Conservatives are a defeated army in vindictive retreat, robbing the museums and cathedrals as they head for the hills; setting fire to, and laying waste to, every institution in their wake; poisoning the rivers and destroying the food supplies; leaving only a barren mess for the incoming Labour government to shoulder the blame for. Jonathan Gullis has found a lacy French bra in the rubble of a fine mansion and is wearing it as a hat, laughing and touching his genitals; in an abandoned dentist’s waiting room, Bill Cash has eaten an entire tank of tropical fish; Suella Braverman has made oven gloves out of the corpse of a dead cat; and, having ruined a hospital, Mark Francois is now asleep, naked, in an incubator. At least the scorched earth policy of the second world war armies only scorched the earth. The Conservatives, and their divisive Brexit, burned the soul out of Britain. We recognise the nation we used to know, but only as Charlton Heston, in Planet of the Apes, recognises the stuffed corpse of his former crewmate Dodge, eviscerated and mounted by apes in a museum, a glass-eyed taxidermy cadaver of its old self. Every April, I used to go camping on the Wye for the first wild river swim of the year, but this month I have saved money by just shitting and pissing into my own bath and then splashing around in it naked, while wearing a paper mask of the environment secretary, Thérèse Coffey. After I get out, and before towelling down, I issue a misleading statement about how our rivers have never been cleaner to my own bathroom mirror, even though I can still see my own filth tangled in my hair, to the delight of shareholders, and the disappointment of former Undertones...
I first saw The Ex in November 1986, in a pub in Oxford, before Andy Moor joined Terrie Ex on guitar.
I liked noise. But The Ex's noise was about something, a crafted and constructed sequence of intense moments and sustained power; and there were spaces for the band to surprise themselves. On the way home, I felt like I'd been thoroughly told off, and I resolved to be a better person. This lasted for a day or so, but as a generation of listeners grew conditioned to the rock reflex, and driven into the stormy seas of free jazz and free improvisation, so it seemed The Ex did to, and my tastes, for one, have expanded under the band members' ongoing influences.
Ken Vandermark is the perfect player to defeat the prejudices of free jazz skeptics. The Chicago saxophonist looks like a US Marines drill sergeant on his day off, here to do a Job Of Work. Vandermark does not play as of involved in namby-pamby philosophical negotiations with abstract ideas of transcendence. He has targets to meet and will achieve them by whatever means are most effective on that particular date. I imagine he'd call men Sir and women Ma'am, and I don't want to know any different.
As we left a Peter Brotzmann performance at Café Oto last February, my wife told me Paal Nilssen-Love's closing drum freak-out was the single most amazing performance she had ever seen in her life. As she did so, a man butted in for an autograph because I am a mid-table British comedian. The moment immediately compromised, my wife railed at me about how our relationship could not survive such rare epiphanies being consistently spoiled by these apparently unavoidable interruptions, and I had to spend the night at a service station off the M25. Nilssen-Love's was the drum solo that nearly cost me my marrage. And that's jazz!
Historically and musically, Lean Left squares the circle, two different approaches to the same end result meeting head on, accommodating without compromising, learning, and driving each other forward to excesses of profound absurdity. I was at the first of the shows documented here.
Jazz theorizing be damned. It was like being eighteen again.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-01T18:29:29+00:00
I first saw The Ex in November 1986, in a pub in Oxford, before Andy Moor joined Terrie Ex on guitar. I liked noise. But The Ex's noise was about something, a crafted and constructed sequence of intense moments and sustained power; and there were spaces for the band to surprise themselves. On the way home, I felt like I'd been thoroughly told off, and I resolved to be a better person. This lasted for a day or so, but as a generation of listeners grew conditioned to the rock reflex, and driven into the stormy seas of free jazz and free improvisation, so it seemed The Ex did to, and my tastes, for one, have expanded under the band members' ongoing influences. Ken Vandermark is the perfect player to defeat the prejudices of free jazz skeptics. The Chicago saxophonist looks like a US Marines drill sergeant on his day off, here to do a Job Of Work. Vandermark does not play as of involved in namby-pamby philosophical negotiations with abstract ideas of transcendence. He has targets to meet and will achieve them by whatever means are most effective on that particular date. I imagine he'd call men Sir and women Ma'am, and I don't want to know any different. As we left a Peter Brotzmann performance at Café Oto last February, my wife told me Paal Nilssen-Love's closing drum freak-out was the single most amazing performance she had ever seen in her life. As she did so, a man butted in for an autograph because I am a mid-table British comedian. The moment immediately compromised, my wife railed at me about how our relationship could not survive such rare epiphanies being consistently spoiled by these apparently unavoidable interruptions, and I had to spend the night at a service station...
Luminaries of the Melbourne mafia gathered around the multi-instrumentalist Murray Patterson to soundtrack found ‘70s super8 footage of the New South Wales coastline. Patterson’s lap steel, its swooping sweeps familiar from Tex Perkins’ pellucid Dark Horses records, lends a rustic flavor to the group’s quietly expansive compositions, though there’s an empty space in the shape of some gruff Australian alt-rock troubadour at the centre of each track, satisfyingly occupied by Hoss’ Joel Silbersher on three of the pieces.
Stewart Lee
2014-02-23T21:41:41+00:00
Luminaries of the Melbourne mafia gathered around the multi-instrumentalist Murray Patterson to soundtrack found ‘70s super8 footage of the New South Wales coastline. Patterson’s lap steel, its swooping sweeps familiar from Tex Perkins’ pellucid Dark Horses records, lends a rustic flavor to the group’s quietly expansive compositions, though there’s an empty space in the shape of some gruff Australian alt-rock troubadour at the centre of each track, satisfyingly occupied by Hoss’ Joel Silbersher on three of the pieces.
Italian electro-acoustic composer Andrea Belfi once recorded himself shaking the contents of a house.
His countryman Stefano Pilia played punk before discovering drones. Kentucky’s David Grubbs blasted underage Eighties hardcore with Squirrelbait and is now a professorial presence on the experimental scene. Dust & Mirrors combines tonal minimalist repetition with hanging cadences of back-porch guitar and Grubbs’ sung-spoken poetry.
The Headlock reshapes a riff that could fill stadiums.
The album is unashamedly beautiful but never banal, fiercely intelligent but never obscure.
(17/3/14)
Stewart Lee
2014-03-17T01:18:13+00:00
Italian electro-acoustic composer Andrea Belfi once recorded himself shaking the contents of a house. His countryman Stefano Pilia played punk before discovering drones. Kentucky’s David Grubbs blasted underage Eighties hardcore with Squirrelbait and is now a professorial presence on the experimental scene. Dust & Mirrors combines tonal minimalist repetition with hanging cadences of back-porch guitar and Grubbs’ sung-spoken poetry. The Headlock reshapes a riff that could fill stadiums. The album is unashamedly beautiful but never banal, fiercely intelligent but never obscure. (17/3/14)
Stewart Lee has been touring the appallingly-titled ‘Room With A Stew’ show so long his agents obviously thought it safe to slip in a second date at Warwick Arts Centre a year after the first, perhaps relying on the punters’ memories being as useless as their ability to grasp his convoluted brand of stand-up – something the comedian regularly chastises them for.
The tour has been a way to hone and road test material for a new run of his Comedy Vehicle TV show, but while that date 12 months ago showed very much a work in progress, the fourth series is now in the can so this latest performance was much closer to the finished product.
Whether Lee really has a finished product is a moot point.
The set certainly never felt like it – and the comic would baulk at the notion of putting on the same sort of polished routine as the panel-show stars he habitually mocks – but the meticulous construction of his layered material offers damning evidence to the contrary.
Simultaneously intelligent and absurd, he takes logical thoughts – on topics ranging from wealth and patriotism to missing out on a BAFTA and urine – to illogical conclusions.
Lee truly comes into his own when he deconstructs (and often destructs) it all again.
Some elements didn’t quite hit the mark, and the passive-aggressive stance and contempt for the audience shtick are definitely starting to wear a bit thin, but Lee remains the UK’s boldest and most original comedian.
Stewart Lee
2016-02-10T23:11:51+00:00
Stewart Lee has been touring the appallingly-titled ‘Room With A Stew’ show so long his agents obviously thought it safe to slip in a second date at Warwick Arts Centre a year after the first, perhaps relying on the punters’ memories being as useless as their ability to grasp his convoluted brand of stand-up – something the comedian regularly chastises them for. The tour has been a way to hone and road test material for a new run of his Comedy Vehicle TV show, but while that date 12 months ago showed very much a work in progress, the fourth series is now in the can so this latest performance was much closer to the finished product. Whether Lee really has a finished product is a moot point. The set certainly never felt like it – and the comic would baulk at the notion of putting on the same sort of polished routine as the panel-show stars he habitually mocks – but the meticulous construction of his layered material offers damning evidence to the contrary. Simultaneously intelligent and absurd, he takes logical thoughts – on topics ranging from wealth and patriotism to missing out on a BAFTA and urine – to illogical conclusions. Lee truly comes into his own when he deconstructs (and often destructs) it all again. Some elements didn’t quite hit the mark, and the passive-aggressive stance and contempt for the audience shtick are definitely starting to wear a bit thin, but Lee remains the UK’s boldest and most original comedian.
A female black rod has declared the wokest parliament ever open! Allow yourselves the luxury of hope. But while you must remember the poor, and the polluted rivers and those marooned on massive hospital waiting lists, you must also, at this time, think of the satirists. For we are the real victims here. The gift horse just shut its mouth, shut the stable door and bolted. Maybe Nadhim Zahawi forgot to turn the understable heating on.
This is the first supposedly funny broadsheet column I have written under a Labour government. And it is already not very funny at all. Reading it must feel like watching air escape slowly from a punctured balloon. Pffffft! Come back, Jonathan Gullis. The church of hell is missing its chief gargoyle. Come back, Gillian Keegan, for you did a fucking good job, actually. Come back, Andrew Selous, former MP for South West Bedfordshire, whoever you were. And come back, Grant Shapps. Come back, Michael Green. Come back, Sebastian Fox. Come back, Corinne Stockheath. Come back, all the different online identities of Grant “Lawnmower” Shapps that made him four times as funny as a normal Tory. We need you! Especially Corinne Stockheath.
Before Brexit, I never really wrote that much political comedy. I talked about dogs playing the piano and small towns with swearwords in their names. For two years in the 1990s, I pretended to be a pedantic crow. Once, I dressed as Godzilla and attacked a giant lobster with a shopping bag. The defeated bad news patsy James Cleverly, for example, remembered those times fondly, having written on Twitter that he “liked Stewart Lee a lot better when he was funny”. I, in turn, remember Cleverly when he used to be in government, but those days are now just a Rohypnol haze.
As a fully paid-up member of the tofu-munching metropolitan liberal elite wokerati, last weekend I attended two literary events; one in a stately home near Totnes, where I was given malbec wine by the singer from the doom metal band 40 Watt Sun; and the other at a stately home in Hampstead, where I enjoyed a fish sandwich made by the man who played Andolini in Lasse Hallström’s Casanova. It was just another day in my fantastic life! A fantastic life!!
At both events were delegates like me, who have made our livings this last decade or so mocking the increasingly absurd and relentlessly rotten Conservative government. The Conservatives and the ridiculous campaign to leave Europe had radicalised me as a comedian, as much as any centrist dad can be radicalised. I became ruddy furious and various people started to get a right telling off. But suddenly our gravy train has hit the buffers, the wrong kind of gravy is all over the tracks, the buffet car has run out of cheap laughs and I am sitting next to a table of sensible people with reasonable ideas. Bollocks!
I hope I was always funnier than I was angry these last 14 years. Sometimes, despair got the better of me. I apologise. But as I survey the gaping laptop this Tuesday morning, I could benefit from some of the fury that formerly fuelled me. Could someone in power say something unambiguously racist again, please, or blatantly lie, or filter millions of pounds of public money to fathers-in-law, pub landlords and pole dancers. My head welcomes dull conscientious competence. My heart longs for the ludicrous, like the BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg clearly longed for Boris Johnson. (Are we allowed to say that yet?) We satirists never had it so good! What next?
On 28 April, I filmed one of the final performances of my last standup show, Basic Lee, in Salford, for subsequent broadcast on Sky and Now. Then I began work on the new standup show, Stewart Lee vs the Man-Wulf, which opens in December. But less than a month later, Rishi Sunak called a snap general election and the 10 minutes or so I had on the Tories in Basic Lee became the last political jokes I wrote under a Conservative administration, hopefully ever.
When the show goes out on Sky for the first time on Saturday 20 July, it will seem unbelievable, for example, that the former environment secretary Steve Barclay was married to an executive from super-polluter Anglian Water. To me! To you! Surely it was a conflict of interests of some magnitude.
And was Barclay’s already forgotten predecessor Thérèse Coffey once entrusted with the futures of millions of British mammals and invertebrates, surely her natural prey? And had there really been a tiny man called Rishi Sunak who flew everywhere in a jet, eating Haribo ™ ® from his pocket, and who had once tried to insert his credit card directly into a baffled garage cashier’s mouth?
Tuesday’s first session of parliament saw all party leaders make uncharacteristically good-natured opening remarks, leaving me little to work with. While Cat Smith spoke, the Labour MP Barry Gardiner’s phone went off live on TV. I wondered if it was another alleged Chinese secret agent trying to get work experience for her son in his constituency office and thought there may be a funny paragraph in the idea. But though Gardiner is somewhat buffoonish, he isn’t inherently evil, like most of the last crop of Tories, and it seemed cruel to make a fool of a man who is quite capable of making a fool of himself unassisted.
There was a brief burst of ill-timed point-scoring from a predictably tin-eared Nigel Farage, who came off like a British tourist taking a piss in the corner of a cathedral, but all his comments showed was how quickly his one-trick street-corner cup-and-ball act is going to wither under the bright lights of parliamentary scrutiny. So where do the next four years of the funny come from? The page is blank. The luxury of not knowing is exhilarating. Thank God.
Stewart Lee
2024-07-14T13:12:17+01:00
A female black rod has declared the wokest parliament ever open! Allow yourselves the luxury of hope. But while you must remember the poor, and the polluted rivers and those marooned on massive hospital waiting lists, you must also, at this time, think of the satirists. For we are the real victims here. The gift horse just shut its mouth, shut the stable door and bolted. Maybe Nadhim Zahawi forgot to turn the understable heating on. This is the first supposedly funny broadsheet column I have written under a Labour government. And it is already not very funny at all. Reading it must feel like watching air escape slowly from a punctured balloon. Pffffft! Come back, Jonathan Gullis. The church of hell is missing its chief gargoyle. Come back, Gillian Keegan, for you did a fucking good job, actually. Come back, Andrew Selous, former MP for South West Bedfordshire, whoever you were. And come back, Grant Shapps. Come back, Michael Green. Come back, Sebastian Fox. Come back, Corinne Stockheath. Come back, all the different online identities of Grant “Lawnmower” Shapps that made him four times as funny as a normal Tory. We need you! Especially Corinne Stockheath. Before Brexit, I never really wrote that much political comedy. I talked about dogs playing the piano and small towns with swearwords in their names. For two years in the 1990s, I pretended to be a pedantic crow. Once, I dressed as Godzilla and attacked a giant lobster with a shopping bag. The defeated bad news patsy James Cleverly, for example, remembered those times fondly, having written on Twitter that he “liked Stewart Lee a lot better when he was funny”. I, in turn, remember Cleverly when he used to be in government, but those days are now just a Rohypnol haze. As...
Sometime between quitting drinking two months ago and the evening of the general election, I developed the ability to travel through time. Or rather, it appears that time has developed the ability to travel through me.
That said, if you remember when 70s donkey-jacket socialism dissolved in the acid of 80s Thatcherism, then the instinctive forward shambling of Labour’s collapsed front bench, like the dead husks of Italian B-movie zombie shoppers still shuffling towards the mall on muscle memory alone, certainly has a chilling element of deja vu.
I am old enough to remember the last time Labour looked this broken, before Blair swooped down upon its expiring body, a predatory sexual opportunist with a pick-up artist manual in his manbag, sniffing a vulnerable, drunken divorcee in a Holiday Inn bar, his temporarily unencumbered ring finger toying with the olive on her plastic cocktail stick. “Honey, I know how to make you feel wanted again.”
But it isn’t merely the chemical misfiling of old memories in my brain’s in-tray that makes me wonder which way I’m travelling through the time stream. Twice in the last six weeks I have experienced the sense of an actual temporal shift in my immediate surroundings.
In the sunlit remnants of Fountains Abbey, North Yorkshire, one morning last month, a nave of hooded monks rose briefly from the turf before me and then faded permanently from view, like ghostly Liberal Democrats, their dry mouths chewing inedible hats as history dismissed them.
And last Wednesday afternoon, at the ruined Roman temple of an ancient river spirit in the Forest of Dean, mumbling votive supplicants holding effigies of limbs they wanted mended moved momentarily around me, towards an ambivalent deity and his dog servants across a mosaic pavement, long since moved to a museum, now doubtless volunteer-operated on a greatly reduced budget.
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I appreciate that these events were merely malfunctions prompted by the chemical rebalancing of my consciousness, but these days the implausible past seems more vivid than the impossible present. If reality were a broken TV set, I’d be beyond turning it on and off at the mains, banging it hard with the flat of my hand instead, hoping the picture would somehow look familiar once more.
Leaving the still resonant rites of pagan Lydney behind me, I drove back along the Severn to watch parliament open on the news. An old woman with a hat of shimmering jewels, the human embodiment of a fragmenting nation, crossed her capital in a coach of gold, Selene’s moon chariot, trailed by plumed horsemen, half Sandhurst, half flamingo.
The gem-encrusted Empress’s entry to the airtight decision chamber was announced by an emissary in pantyhose, who banged his rod upon an opera-house toilet cubicle door, an aroused and aggressive transvestite drunk, home late from the support group, his keys mislaid.
Sat upon Demeter’s golden throne of indifference, Madam Allotrope Hat droningly intoned a speech dictated to her by her captors, the sexless plutocrats on the right of the house. This impregnable dynastic cabal’s ancestral wealth was built on Norman bequests, received for betraying the ancient Britons, establishing ongoing precedents.
The pedigree bloods sat opposite the people’s other representatives, powerless straw men strategically placed to enact impotently the now empty ritual of imagined opposition; deflating beachball heads with Art Attack googly eyes, tied at the neck to the collars of dead men’s charity castoffs, stuffed with shredded manifestos in an illusion of substance, awaiting the oncoming bonfire of their values.
Everyone in the chamber appeared to be in character, fulfilling various symbolic roles, from Diamondhead herself to the flower-draped southbound Scots, playing the part of a poorly rehearsed Greek chorus, ignoring the conductor, cacophonously crashing its cues.
And there was the sin-eating scapegoat of Little Clegg, who was supposed to have dragged himself off into the desert to die, to dissolve the transgressions of his people inside his own rotting carcass, but had instead the temerity to return, and vomit up all the undigested sin again, in front of his indifferent former partners, burying their barely noticing nostrils in scented nosegays.
Even Ed Miliband, absent from the TV coverage, appeared not as himself, but as a corporeal cloud of shame, hanging suspended above the proceedings like a stupendous cotton wool fart. His would-be successors tried not to gag with revulsion, even as they blundered for faint words with which to praise him, at once not untrue, and yet not unkind, while dreaming of alternative realities, in which his clearly more capable brother had brought home the bacon sandwich unbitten.
Only Michael Gove, The Lawgiver, appeared unapologetically as himself. He arrived to play his part in the pantomime clad in an enormous black velvet oven glove inlaid with mysterious runes, accepting from treasure-haired Nerthus his mission to eradicate the Rights Of Humans. Like the orangutan science-priest in Planet of the Apes, Gove believes these humans to be some kind of inferior species, who have been getting away with their mischief for far too long, and who have now to be dealt with, before they further spoil the crops and foul the drinking water.
Analysis of all this cryptic mummery was provided by the BBC’s chief political journalist Nick Robinson, himself an increasingly representative figure. Having undergone successful lung tumour surgery before the election, his recovering voice currently a whisper, Robinson now stands for the Conservative government’s, and the new culture secretary’s, vision of the BBC itself.
The BBC news nowadays is a barely audible miniature portable television set, standing on a stone sideboard, its insight drowned out by the honking of guests at a private kitchen supper in a private Chipping Norton cellar. And yet the possibility that this voice might one day still be allowed to squeak on, under reduced circumstances, continues cruelly to be entertained. For now.
I thought of the rituals of Nodens in that forest glade, which my apparent madness had granted me a glimpse of that afternoon. And I laughed at the great god Pan, as his great green masquerades dissolved into parliamentary procedures. I looked from Nodens to the news and Nick Robinson, and from the news and Nick Robinson back to Nodens again. And Nodens, even in despoiled statue form at the gates of Lydney Park garden, his nose smashed off, his face caved in, seemed somehow more convincing.
Stewart Lee
2015-05-31T09:20:57+01:00
Sometime between quitting drinking two months ago and the evening of the general election, I developed the ability to travel through time. Or rather, it appears that time has developed the ability to travel through me. That said, if you remember when 70s donkey-jacket socialism dissolved in the acid of 80s Thatcherism, then the instinctive forward shambling of Labour’s collapsed front bench, like the dead husks of Italian B-movie zombie shoppers still shuffling towards the mall on muscle memory alone, certainly has a chilling element of deja vu. I am old enough to remember the last time Labour looked this broken, before Blair swooped down upon its expiring body, a predatory sexual opportunist with a pick-up artist manual in his manbag, sniffing a vulnerable, drunken divorcee in a Holiday Inn bar, his temporarily unencumbered ring finger toying with the olive on her plastic cocktail stick. “Honey, I know how to make you feel wanted again.” But it isn’t merely the chemical misfiling of old memories in my brain’s in-tray that makes me wonder which way I’m travelling through the time stream. Twice in the last six weeks I have experienced the sense of an actual temporal shift in my immediate surroundings. In the sunlit remnants of Fountains Abbey, North Yorkshire, one morning last month, a nave of hooded monks rose briefly from the turf before me and then faded permanently from view, like ghostly Liberal Democrats, their dry mouths chewing inedible hats as history dismissed them. And last Wednesday afternoon, at the ruined Roman temple of an ancient river spirit in the Forest of Dean, mumbling votive supplicants holding effigies of limbs they wanted mended moved momentarily around me, towards an ambivalent deity and his dog servants across a mosaic pavement, long since moved to a museum, now doubtless volunteer-operated...
“When the government closed the pubs, I said –
I didn’t mince my words, I said to them myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME.” MS Toilets, The Wetherspoonland, 1922
A public health official friend tells me her colleagues now call the Covid-19 virus “Wetherspoon’s Mumps”, a darkly comic response to Wetherspoon boss Tim Wetherspoon’s initial resistance to closing his pubs for the safety of his customers.
It isn’t for civilians to criticise the black humour our brave health professionals deploy to combat the traumatic stress of the war on the coronavirus, especially as I made up the phrase “Wetherspoon’s Mumps” myself out of my own head. Twitter rumours that the virus first jumped species here in the UK after a certain Wetherspoon’s regular had sex with a Wetherspoon’s Steak & Kidney Pudding ™ ® in the toilets at the William Withering in Wellington are similarly imaginary.
But even as a diehard Remoaner, I have some sympathy for the Wetherspoon’s project. In many areas of the country, Tim Wetherspoon’s cheerful outlets are the only plug for the yawning social chasms left by his friends the Conservatives’ gradual closure of various community hubs over the past decade. And they are warm. And dry.
Tim Wetherspoon’s booze palaces are pie-and-a-pint flophouses for the daytime diaspora of the austerity era, where inexpensively nourished customers are hypnotised by bespoke and quite brilliant regionally specific carpet designs and beguiling guest ales, before being seduced by slogan-strewn anti-EU beermats while at their most mentally pliable.
One can hardly blame Tim Wetherspoon for making the scientifically unverified claim, on Sky News on Friday 20 March, that there had “been hardly any transmission in pubs”. If, like me, you have contentedly spent entire days in Tim Wetherspoon’s premises, you will know they are magical environments where the laws of science are routinely defied, leaving customers unsure of how they got home, which kind of pie they ate, or even of who they are. And Tim Wetherspoon himself fronted a factually fluid Brexit campaign, endorsed and abetted by our current prime minister, that eschewed evidence and experts as if they were the sort of things only traitors valued.
But experts are suddenly back in fashion with a vengeance, emerging blinking from the hidden priest holes of the academic institutions that sheltered them during the public book-burnings of the Brexit campaign, waving their statistics and their strategies like prayer flags. Help us, experts! We are sorry!!
In a strange synchronicity, the people who encouraged distrust in experts are quietly disappeared. Michael Gove is rarely seen, and the results of recent wastewater tests in London, which suggest cocaine use in the capital has fallen by a third, can be attributed solely to the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster’s absence from Notting Hill street corners.
Jacob Rees-Mogg is also silenced, presumably in case he suggests the victims of Covid-19 had brought their suffering on themselves, by not having the common sense to stay inside their country mansions eating only food foraged from their private estates by their personal servants and their hounds.
Our prime minister, Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-lies Get-Brexit-Done Bung-a-Bob-for-Big-Ben’s-Bongs Cocaine-Event Spiritual-Worth Three-Men-and-a-Dog Whatever-It-Takes Johnson, however, is still afoot.
But Turds is rarely seen these days without being flanked by the mitigatingly solemn countenances of informed experts, his public performance mode of flippant and deliberate dishonesty suddenly forced into an ill-fitting rubber mask of knowledgeable concern, like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood pretending to be the grandmother by pulling the bedcovers up over his snout and speaking in a high voice.
You don’t have to be able to go outside your front door to see that senior Conservatives’ offer of a “Covid coalition” with Labour is a trap for Keir Starmer, the Conservatives’ Labour leader of choice, and the Little Red Riding Hood of this lupine ruse. Starmer could share the blame for the pandemic’s mismanagement, sparing Turds. It’s a trick as transparent as the warm pat on the back David Cameron gave to the slaughtered lamb of Nick Clegg in the Downing Street rose garden 10 years ago, before spinning him round to use as a human shield in the ensuing hail of press-corps machine-gun fire.
Is it any wonder that the British public haven’t taken the social distancing advice of this gang of twats seriously when the whole thrust of their campaign this past half decade was that experts are not to be trusted, and that Blitz-spirit Britain could prosper whatever so-called facts were flung at it? But Covid-19 doesn’t just call the Brexit campaign’s bluff. It questions everything about the way we have allowed our society to be run.
And as I write this, homeless people housed in Travelodges have just been thrown out into the officially unsafe streets, and we don’t know if kids whose only square meals come from their schools are even eatinge.
I don’t consider myself as someone with a significant network of friends, because I spent the past three decades pursuing antisocial evening entertainment work, and because I am arrogant and ill-tempered. But suddenly I find myself in the middle of a massive and mutually supportive email conversation between dozens of like-minded self-employed misfits worldwide, most of whom now have no obvious means of support.
The secondhand bookseller touched me the most, who plies his wares from Word on the Water, a barge floating on the canal behind King’s Cross station. He has headed north, unwaged and building a mail-order website, up the River Stort to an uncertain future, like Arrietty making her escape in a floating teapot. He writes: “Capitalism itself is looking like the shiny-suited boyfriend that didn’t bring a bottle.”
“HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME
Goonight Johnson. Goonight Gove. Goonight Raab. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.”
Stewart Lee
2020-03-29T13:03:58+01:00
“When the government closed the pubs, I said – I didn’t mince my words, I said to them myself, HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME.” MS Toilets, The Wetherspoonland, 1922 A public health official friend tells me her colleagues now call the Covid-19 virus “Wetherspoon’s Mumps”, a darkly comic response to Wetherspoon boss Tim Wetherspoon’s initial resistance to closing his pubs for the safety of his customers. It isn’t for civilians to criticise the black humour our brave health professionals deploy to combat the traumatic stress of the war on the coronavirus, especially as I made up the phrase “Wetherspoon’s Mumps” myself out of my own head. Twitter rumours that the virus first jumped species here in the UK after a certain Wetherspoon’s regular had sex with a Wetherspoon’s Steak & Kidney Pudding ™ ® in the toilets at the William Withering in Wellington are similarly imaginary. But even as a diehard Remoaner, I have some sympathy for the Wetherspoon’s project. In many areas of the country, Tim Wetherspoon’s cheerful outlets are the only plug for the yawning social chasms left by his friends the Conservatives’ gradual closure of various community hubs over the past decade. And they are warm. And dry. Tim Wetherspoon’s booze palaces are pie-and-a-pint flophouses for the daytime diaspora of the austerity era, where inexpensively nourished customers are hypnotised by bespoke and quite brilliant regionally specific carpet designs and beguiling guest ales, before being seduced by slogan-strewn anti-EU beermats while at their most mentally pliable. One can hardly blame Tim Wetherspoon for making the scientifically unverified claim, on Sky News on Friday 20 March, that there had “been hardly any transmission in pubs”. If, like me, you have contentedly spent entire days in Tim Wetherspoon’s premises, you will know they are magical environments where the laws of...
In a soft, intelligent manner, Lee used the rather silly fact he had been named in a TV programme as the 41st Best Stand-up of All Time to belittle the television industry, especially Channel 4, the sponsors of his venue, the E4 Udderbelly.
It was hard to argue with Lee’s core assertion that the 20 or 30 people who run the British TV industry have lost touch with beauty and intelligent thought. When you stop watching television, you generally find your life is improved by its absence.
Lee also cleverly used the comedy of repetition to milk a story about his mother praising the quick-wittedness of comedian Tom O’Connor whom she had seen on a cruise liner. He incessantly reiterated his mum’s words until the audience was in tears of laughter.
Equally strong was Lee’s story of his cancelled BBC2 television series, which led to him having to perform to a conference of entomologists, while clad as a giant insect for no reason and no money.
The only flaw with the show was Lee seemed to have written too many endings, all of which he used. Overall, though, it was beautifully delivered and a joy to watch.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-13T21:37:42+01:00
This show marks a return to form for Stewart Lee. In a soft, intelligent manner, Lee used the rather silly fact he had been named in a TV programme as the 41st Best Stand-up of All Time to belittle the television industry, especially Channel 4, the sponsors of his venue, the E4 Udderbelly. It was hard to argue with Lee’s core assertion that the 20 or 30 people who run the British TV industry have lost touch with beauty and intelligent thought. When you stop watching television, you generally find your life is improved by its absence. Lee also cleverly used the comedy of repetition to milk a story about his mother praising the quick-wittedness of comedian Tom O’Connor whom she had seen on a cruise liner. He incessantly reiterated his mum’s words until the audience was in tears of laughter. Equally strong was Lee’s story of his cancelled BBC2 television series, which led to him having to perform to a conference of entomologists, while clad as a giant insect for no reason and no money. The only flaw with the show was Lee seemed to have written too many endings, all of which he used. Overall, though, it was beautifully delivered and a joy to watch.
Composer John Pierce O'Reilly sets Stew's dead mouse routine (Comedy Vehicle Series 4, Death) to a piece of choral music entitled Mus Mea. YOU CAN DOWNLOAD A PERFORMANCE OF IT HERE. YOU CAN DOWNLOAD THE MUSICAL SCORE HERE.
I am on in the big room at Assembly Rooms where Carpet Remnant World sold out for the run in 2012. £12.50 Dates: 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30
New material in preparation for the next series of BBC Two’s Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
‘What is exhilarating is how many surprises he still throws in and how deft his jumps are from one tone to another .... invigorating' **** - The Times.
‘More skilful and playful than ever' ***** - The Guardian.
‘Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say' - The Daily Telegraph.
Stewart performs 60 minutes of his current 180 minute material bank daily.
Different days may feature the same material. Or not.
Stewart Lee
2015-04-07T00:29:46+01:00
http://www.arfringe.com/show/1927/stewart_lee_a_room_with_a_stew I am on in the big room at Assembly Rooms where Carpet Remnant World sold out for the run in 2012. £12.50 Dates: 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 New material in preparation for the next series of BBC Two’s Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. ‘What is exhilarating is how many surprises he still throws in and how deft his jumps are from one tone to another .... invigorating' **** - The Times. ‘More skilful and playful than ever' ***** - The Guardian. ‘Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say' - The Daily Telegraph. Stewart performs 60 minutes of his current 180 minute material bank daily. Different days may feature the same material. Or not.
Running into the theatre with thirty seconds until the curtain went up, I thought I might have time to settle down, observe the deathly blank stage and pale green antique walls, take a sip of whisky and make some preliminary notes.
Not so. From the very first second Lee stops just short of grabbing audience members and shaking them whilst shouting, 'You better understand these jokes or you're not welcome!' Lee immediately gets involved with putting a member of the audience in a ridicule making situation which quickly twists into a bizarre but overly familiar looking world. He appeared to be miffed at the fact he didn't get a straight answer to the question, 'What's your favourite high-street coffee chain?' In truth, this is exactly what he wanted; and he's off: herding the audience to crowd round a cage to watch a spectacle which is really a mirror.Stewart Lee
If I had to put my finger on where Lee's true master-stroke dwells, I'd say it lies in his fusion of slapstick suggestions and intelligent observations of the unspoken inner workings of the world packed to bursting with snivelling sub-text, full of meanderings and tangents which serve the purpose of making the show tempting for even the inexplicable observer.
This usually inhabits itself in the logical analysis and deconstruction of people attitudes, preconceptions, misconceptions and even his own jokes whilst in the process of telling them.
In this show particularly, he showed his skill and experience by excelling at a technique which is famous for its semblance of ease: references to tension and responses from the audience. He clearly gives the impression of a third-person observer hovering over his own act with a lucid understanding of the situation: at one point a heckler tried to interject from the front row; Lee just carried on with his routine, paying the heckler no attention whatsoever. A trick which is harder than it sounds.
Another characteristic which I have noted from this and other shows is the rhythm which Lee's show takes. He spends long monotonous, but interesting, sections of the show setting jokes up only to be broken by spurious outbursts. I can only liken this to the techniques characteristic of the medieval church: long, terrifying sermons would be given in shouty voices by demi-god-statused priests, petrifying the congregation into a heightened state of suggestibility, which would abruptly fall into utopian descriptions of God's love, power and how he can change everything. In the same way, he lulls the audience into believing they are watching a downtrodden man bear his heart on stage before he sends their pulses racing with insults directed at the audience such as: 'Get back in! You c**t! Sit down! Don't anyone else walk out!' Before moving on to more refined suggestions as it is almost near the end of the show, it's worth holding it in now mate.
I think it is exactly this technique which accounts for his very unique ability to send the audience on huge trundles of suspension of disbelief which he subsequently reveals to be false, much to the audiences delight. One example of this is an anecdote where Richard Hammond being at his school – which is the only fact which turns out to be true from the whole story – gets saved by him propping the door-handle closed with a James Joyce novel. Lee points out the irony in this fact in light of his earlier explanations of why Hammond is the national apologist for ignorance, and somehow makes the exposition of his anecdote as false something funny in itself.
From watching this and his previous two shows, though, it becomes clear that Lee has a structure which he is comfortable with and sees no reason to deviate from that. Why would you? It works. His style and intensity of jokes vary in exactly the same format, and as always there is a ten minute section performed in the crowd, as well as many other things it would be boring to point out in a review like this. But seriously, he had now reason to change: this is the third show that this structure has worked and his is still able to create new material to fit it. In particular, he plays the downtrodden tantrum thrower well. At one point he makes reference to the fact he can not complain about chief executives disliking him because of his television series; he now has to move onto complaining about his DVDs being ripped-off and downloaded on torrent sites and low viewing figures for his program from earlier this year: Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Overall, there is only one fault to point out with Lee's routine. He would appear to have fallen down the same pitfall Russell Brand did when he pointed out the 'grammatical' error on one of his fan's signs which was being held up at a gig: Russell criticised his fan for not having an 's on the end of a pictorial representation of a heart; claiming that he could never be attracted to anyone with such loose grammatical standards. I'm sure I don't need to point out that fact that in this circumstance an apostrophe is definitely not needed. And I must point out, this was not done for ironic effect.
In much the same way, during his show Lee criticised the cider makers Magners for making a mistake in the advert, saying: 'Give it to me straight like 100% pear.' instead of Pears (plural.) Whilst referring to this error, Lee ranted about the issue saying 'Especially as they've quoted it wrong.' as opposed to the conventional adverbial form 'wrongly,' or better still 'incorrectly.'
Nitpicking aside, Stewart Lee is, in my opinion, the best working comedian around at this particular moment of time. If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One may not have exceeded the standard he set himself with 41st Best Stand Up Comedian, but he has definitely matched it. Lee is the comedians' comedian, the intelligentsia's comedian and most importantly a comedian from which anyone willing to look can find something which appeals from them – unless they are a fundamentalist Christian, of course. They don't find Lee very funny for some strange reason.
Stewart Lee
2009-12-01T16:22:53+00:00
Running into the theatre with thirty seconds until the curtain went up, I thought I might have time to settle down, observe the deathly blank stage and pale green antique walls, take a sip of whisky and make some preliminary notes. Not so. From the very first second Lee stops just short of grabbing audience members and shaking them whilst shouting, 'You better understand these jokes or you're not welcome!' Lee immediately gets involved with putting a member of the audience in a ridicule making situation which quickly twists into a bizarre but overly familiar looking world. He appeared to be miffed at the fact he didn't get a straight answer to the question, 'What's your favourite high-street coffee chain?' In truth, this is exactly what he wanted; and he's off: herding the audience to crowd round a cage to watch a spectacle which is really a mirror.Stewart Lee If I had to put my finger on where Lee's true master-stroke dwells, I'd say it lies in his fusion of slapstick suggestions and intelligent observations of the unspoken inner workings of the world packed to bursting with snivelling sub-text, full of meanderings and tangents which serve the purpose of making the show tempting for even the inexplicable observer. This usually inhabits itself in the logical analysis and deconstruction of people attitudes, preconceptions, misconceptions and even his own jokes whilst in the process of telling them. In this show particularly, he showed his skill and experience by excelling at a technique which is famous for its semblance of ease: references to tension and responses from the audience. He clearly gives the impression of a third-person observer hovering over his own act with a lucid understanding of the situation: at one point a heckler tried to interject from the front row; Lee...
My husband hasn’t bought me a book as a present for YEARS. He says he has no idea what I like any more. But he bought me Content Provider by Stewart Lee for Christmas.
We’ve been fans of Stewart Lee since the late 90s, when we loved him so much that we used to watch live recordings in London of his show This Morning with Richard not Judy with Richard Herring. More recently, we have found Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle on TV absolutely hilarious.
Content Provider is not my usual sort of book. Because it’s a collection of short pieces of prose – mainly newspaper columns. I mistakenly bought a book of short stories a while back and I haven’t got round to reading it yet, because I don’t like to read in that way. I like a proper nice long story that I can get my teeth into. But at first I actually enjoyed reading a couple of complete pieces of Content Provider at a time.
The articles are very funny, but also very intellectual. I can see they wouldn’t be many people’s cup of tea. He’s also included some of his negative online comments after the articles – mainly from people saying he’s sh*t or who completely miss the irony.
This made me properly laugh out loud
There were plenty of times when I laughed out loud, but I must admit, by about halfway through, I was starting to get a bit bored. You can have too much of a good thing and some of the articles were starting to get repetitive. Reading a column every week in a newspaper would probably feel like a treat, but reading several a day for two weeks started to feel like a chore.
I’m never going to go off Stewart Lee’s stand-up, but his writing is definitely for die-hard fans only (who most definitely, like myself, wouldn’t be David Cameron supporters!).
Stewart Lee
2017-02-10T17:40:31+00:00
My husband hasn’t bought me a book as a present for YEARS. He says he has no idea what I like any more. But he bought me Content Provider by Stewart Lee for Christmas. We’ve been fans of Stewart Lee since the late 90s, when we loved him so much that we used to watch live recordings in London of his show This Morning with Richard not Judy with Richard Herring. More recently, we have found Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle on TV absolutely hilarious. Content Provider is not my usual sort of book. Because it’s a collection of short pieces of prose – mainly newspaper columns. I mistakenly bought a book of short stories a while back and I haven’t got round to reading it yet, because I don’t like to read in that way. I like a proper nice long story that I can get my teeth into. But at first I actually enjoyed reading a couple of complete pieces of Content Provider at a time. The articles are very funny, but also very intellectual. I can see they wouldn’t be many people’s cup of tea. He’s also included some of his negative online comments after the articles – mainly from people saying he’s sh*t or who completely miss the irony. This made me properly laugh out loud There were plenty of times when I laughed out loud, but I must admit, by about halfway through, I was starting to get a bit bored. You can have too much of a good thing and some of the articles were starting to get repetitive. Reading a column every week in a newspaper would probably feel like a treat, but reading several a day for two weeks started to feel like a chore. I’m never going to go off Stewart Lee’s...
Stewart Lee’s latest show ‘Tornado/Snowflake’ revolves around two things that have been written about him. Firstly, the Netflix blurb for his show Stewart Lee: Content Provider which inexcusably describes the outrageous plot for the horror B-movie Sharknado: “Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
Having spent the best part of 20 years working in TV listings and previews, I can appreciate how easily these mistakes can occur. Although the notion that, according to Stew, it stayed online for two years, I found a bit far-fetched.
But Lee has never been one to let the truth get in the way of good anecdote, and that particular grumble leads him nicely into the first half of the show, ‘Tornado’, in which he questions his position on the comedy circuit.
“Greyer, fatter and more deaf” since his last tour two years ago, Stew juxtaposes his acclaimed comic talents with his lack of global appeal and commercial pull. His main targets are the big-budget comedians on Netflix, in particular Ricky Gervais, Jimmy Carr and Dave Chappelle.
And that brings me onto the second thing that has been written about Lee that helps him form the show, The Times newspaper labelling him “the world’s best living stand-up” in 2018.
Chappelle, despite raking in millions, is only No 9 in Rolling Stone‘s list, while Gervais is apparently making a living out of “saying the unsayable”, which, as Lee points out is actually impossible. This leads to a five-minute long (although it felt longer), surreal and cringeworthy routine in the second half.
Post-interval, I found Lee on more familiar ground, having binge-watched his award-winning Comedy Vehicle series on the BBC iPlayer. Much like a member of the Magic Circle who shares the secrets of his/her illusions (“a peek behind the wizard’s cloak”), Lee regularly refers to the work of his comedy peers, before dissecting it and shooting them down spectacularly.
I particularly enjoyed his musings on Phoebe Waller-Bridge and how her globally acclaimed series Fleabag is not so groundbreaking after all.
‘Snowflake’ also sees Lee (always ironically) criticising the audience for not being intelligent enough to understand his jokes. But that doesn’t stop him from getting thoughtful with them, and the section in which he describes how Alan Bennett has compared him to a string of obscure philosophers is particularly amusing and thought-provoking.
On the whole, I preferred the second half of the show, as Stew moved on from looking at his worth on the comedy circuit to how he fits into a society which is riding roughshod over the liberal values he has so long championed.
Although the evening was billed as two separate shows, each half is fairly similar in theme, perhaps because Lee believes the comedy industry somehow reflects what is going on in politics – in particular in a country run by Boris Johnson.
And that brings me back to the two statements that were written about Stew, and which form the basis of ‘Tornado/Snowflake’.
Yes, the incorrect billing for his show is laughable and he does deserve more commercial kudos than he tends to receive (although I doubt that is his main goal in life). And secondly, The Times’ accolade “world’s greatest living stand-up”. Stew refers to it umpteen times during his show, albeit ironically.
But I actually find it hard to disagree with.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-10T14:56:56+00:00
Stewart Lee’s latest show ‘Tornado/Snowflake’ revolves around two things that have been written about him. Firstly, the Netflix blurb for his show Stewart Lee: Content Provider which inexcusably describes the outrageous plot for the horror B-movie Sharknado: “Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.” Having spent the best part of 20 years working in TV listings and previews, I can appreciate how easily these mistakes can occur. Although the notion that, according to Stew, it stayed online for two years, I found a bit far-fetched. But Lee has never been one to let the truth get in the way of good anecdote, and that particular grumble leads him nicely into the first half of the show, ‘Tornado’, in which he questions his position on the comedy circuit. “Greyer, fatter and more deaf” since his last tour two years ago, Stew juxtaposes his acclaimed comic talents with his lack of global appeal and commercial pull. His main targets are the big-budget comedians on Netflix, in particular Ricky Gervais, Jimmy Carr and Dave Chappelle. And that brings me onto the second thing that has been written about Lee that helps him form the show, The Times newspaper labelling him “the world’s best living stand-up” in 2018. Chappelle, despite raking in millions, is only No 9 in Rolling Stone‘s list, while Gervais is apparently making a living out of “saying the unsayable”, which, as Lee points out is actually impossible. This leads to a five-minute long (although it felt longer), surreal and cringeworthy routine in the second half. Post-interval, I found Lee on more familiar ground, having binge-watched his award-winning Comedy Vehicle series on the BBC iPlayer. Much like a member of the Magic Circle who shares the secrets of his/her...
This list is a bit of a joke. This sort of list always is. Rank the 50 best anything – novels, crisps – and people start fuming. “Why isn’t Middlemarch #1?” “How dare you snub Wotsits?”
Comedy is, as any fule kno, subjective. Stand-up is a broad church, taking in character comedy (the Pub Landlord) and musical parody (Bill Bailey). But we had to set limits somewhere, so ruled out troupes and groups (sorry, Pappy’s; farewell, Flight of the Conchords).
This is not a list of the funniest sitcom actors, scriptwriters or podcast hosts. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s play Fleabag was a hilarious piece of theatre, and a terrific 12 episodes of television, but it wasn’t a stand-up comedy gig.
We bent our own rules slightly to acknowledge recorded shows made in lockdown – that awful moment when a laptop became the closest thing to a comedy club. But otherwise, this list is based purely on shows four comedy junkies have seen (and loved) since the turn of the millennium on stages across the UK, in pubs and clubs, attics and basements, community centres and West End theatres. The UK has the world’s best live comedy circuit, and we wanted to celebrate it.
2. Stewart Lee
Lee is the internecine, meta-minded sourpuss of stand-up, never happier (if that’s the word) than when mercilessly ripping other comedians, audiences and, for that matter, The Telegraph to shreds. I fondly (if that’s also the word) remember an hour at the Edinburgh Fringe spent squirming quietly in my seat as, well aware that I was “in”, he tore into this august publication – along with people who’d come because they’d seen him on the telly (hates them) and his loyal fans (“cackling sycophants”).
As those jibes suggest, the 55-year-old Shropshire native is also brilliant: there’s a magnificence to his point-blank refusal to ingratiate himself, great subtlety in the comic stances he takes, spectacular imagination and variety in his material. He’ll probably despise us even more for not putting him in first place. MM
Stewart Lee
2023-07-29T17:54:57+01:00
This list is a bit of a joke. This sort of list always is. Rank the 50 best anything – novels, crisps – and people start fuming. “Why isn’t Middlemarch #1?” “How dare you snub Wotsits?” Comedy is, as any fule kno, subjective. Stand-up is a broad church, taking in character comedy (the Pub Landlord) and musical parody (Bill Bailey). But we had to set limits somewhere, so ruled out troupes and groups (sorry, Pappy’s; farewell, Flight of the Conchords). This is not a list of the funniest sitcom actors, scriptwriters or podcast hosts. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s play Fleabag was a hilarious piece of theatre, and a terrific 12 episodes of television, but it wasn’t a stand-up comedy gig. We bent our own rules slightly to acknowledge recorded shows made in lockdown – that awful moment when a laptop became the closest thing to a comedy club. But otherwise, this list is based purely on shows four comedy junkies have seen (and loved) since the turn of the millennium on stages across the UK, in pubs and clubs, attics and basements, community centres and West End theatres. The UK has the world’s best live comedy circuit, and we wanted to celebrate it. 2. Stewart Lee Lee is the internecine, meta-minded sourpuss of stand-up, never happier (if that’s the word) than when mercilessly ripping other comedians, audiences and, for that matter, The Telegraph to shreds. I fondly (if that’s also the word) remember an hour at the Edinburgh Fringe spent squirming quietly in my seat as, well aware that I was “in”, he tore into this august publication – along with people who’d come because they’d seen him on the telly (hates them) and his loyal fans (“cackling sycophants”). As those jibes suggest, the 55-year-old Shropshire native is also brilliant: there’s a magnificence to his point-blank...
While bands elsewhere moaned melodramatically about the fascist state, in 1981 Spaniards fumbled out of an actual dictatorship in the wake of a failed coup.
The forty two bands presented in this landmark survey of Spanish post-punk, dubbed the 'siniestro' sound, took shelter in big hair and a spiky solipsism, heavily indebted to the jagged neo-psychedelia and doomed glamour of early Cure, Banshees, U2, and Bunnymen.
Sombras sounds like a typically top notch mid-80s edition of the Juan Peel show.
Stewart Lee
2014-05-25T22:02:35+01:00
While bands elsewhere moaned melodramatically about the fascist state, in 1981 Spaniards fumbled out of an actual dictatorship in the wake of a failed coup. The forty two bands presented in this landmark survey of Spanish post-punk, dubbed the 'siniestro' sound, took shelter in big hair and a spiky solipsism, heavily indebted to the jagged neo-psychedelia and doomed glamour of early Cure, Banshees, U2, and Bunnymen. Sombras sounds like a typically top notch mid-80s edition of the Juan Peel show.
Last night I remembered how much I love sound in all its guises.
A friend was down in London and had tickets for a performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy, a series of short stories Cage wrote that were to be accompanied by improvisations from other musicians. Neither party is meant to pay attention to the other and the results shouldn't be in anyway an attempt to soundtrack the stories that are read out: all taking a minute each. Prior to the performance of Indeterminacy a few musicians demonstrated some Cage improvisations.
The trombone freestyle of Alan Tomlinson was trance like, as he spun, spat, salivated and scorched notes from his trombone, an instrument I had previously only associated with coal mining bands from northern England. Basically put, they sound to me like the musical equivalent of a drizzly Sunday afternoon. That said, Tomlinson's performance of Solo for Sliding Trombone was anything but grey, the sounds better described as invisible hallucinations. Wild-style. Just before the interval there was a performance of Cage's Water Walk, a piece he himself performed on TV back in 1960. A vase of roses being watered in a bathtub while a steamer fires a geyser into the air. A blender full of ice-cubes whirring noisely while a rubber duck squeaks over a tape-loop.
Fun, surprising, abstract but precise. Water Walk was surreal enough without the edition of it being performed on this occasion by Harry Hill. It was a sight I'd never imagined witnessing and one I doubt I'll ever see again. Interval over, the evening drew to a close with a 40 minute rendition of Indeterminacy, narrated by long-standing comedian and writer Stewart Lee, a figurehead of the alternative comedy movement of the '80s. As Lee began his narrations a range of sounds began emanating from the assorted toys, objects and instruments situated around musicians Tania Chen and Steve Beresford.
Seeing two people randomly smash out sounds from everything from an iPhone to a packet of pasta was like watching some ancient Pagan ritual. A little stupid, a little fascinating and a little magnetic. Judging from the stories in Indeterminacy, Cage was a big fan of mushrooms. We couldn't decide which type he was most a fan of, but I'm going to make assumptions and go with the magic variety, I guess the abundance of abstraction has got to come from somewhere. Deep down though, I think I have to come to terms with the fact that someone could potentially be so avant-garde without the need for psychotropic substances.
The beauty of watching/listening/playing Cage's work lies in the inherent physicality of performing it. Unlike classical compositions, Cage's work makes the audience feel like a participant instead of just a spectator. Even after the performance was over I was drawn to touch and play with the table of tricks that Chen had been working from, briefly discussing the objects and their origins, and then the elitism of mustached attendees from the night when I bumped into her the following day.
Chen's enthusiasm for sound is infectious, and her variety of music and sound producing iPhone apps, expansive. It was interesting to learn more about her work on her website, where you can also see her recent projects and watch performances on her blog. Night over, Indeterminacy was an entertaining marriage between words and sound, two things I've always enjoyed exploring, and two things I hope to pair as successfully as Cage in future projects.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-29T20:14:45+01:00
Last night I remembered how much I love sound in all its guises. A friend was down in London and had tickets for a performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy, a series of short stories Cage wrote that were to be accompanied by improvisations from other musicians. Neither party is meant to pay attention to the other and the results shouldn't be in anyway an attempt to soundtrack the stories that are read out: all taking a minute each. Prior to the performance of Indeterminacy a few musicians demonstrated some Cage improvisations. The trombone freestyle of Alan Tomlinson was trance like, as he spun, spat, salivated and scorched notes from his trombone, an instrument I had previously only associated with coal mining bands from northern England. Basically put, they sound to me like the musical equivalent of a drizzly Sunday afternoon. That said, Tomlinson's performance of Solo for Sliding Trombone was anything but grey, the sounds better described as invisible hallucinations. Wild-style. Just before the interval there was a performance of Cage's Water Walk, a piece he himself performed on TV back in 1960. A vase of roses being watered in a bathtub while a steamer fires a geyser into the air. A blender full of ice-cubes whirring noisely while a rubber duck squeaks over a tape-loop. Fun, surprising, abstract but precise. Water Walk was surreal enough without the edition of it being performed on this occasion by Harry Hill. It was a sight I'd never imagined witnessing and one I doubt I'll ever see again. Interval over, the evening drew to a close with a 40 minute rendition of Indeterminacy, narrated by long-standing comedian and writer Stewart Lee, a figurehead of the alternative comedy movement of the '80s. As Lee began his narrations a range of sounds began emanating from...
Well done, Comedy Central. For too long, your schedules have been filled with repeats of Mike and Molly, Two and a Half Men, King of Queens, and a whole host of other mind-numbingly awful American sitcoms. Just when you were starting to wonder whether the name ‘Comedy Central’ was some sort of sarcastic joke in itself, they pull something like The Alternative Comedy Experience out the bag, and fair play to them.
The first episode of this 12 part weekly series is remarkably simple. Short clips of the comedians’ performances, with very short interviews between them and Stewart Lee dotted throughout.
There’s no Live at the Apollo-style fog machines, wall of lights or celebrity guests – The Alternative Comedy Experience is very much an antidote to the superstar comedian culture that we have in this country. In a world where Lee Evans can sell out stadiums just by sweating and walking funny, a show shot entirely by a fixed camera in the back of an Edinburgh comedy club is exactly what we need.
So, what is this hipster-sounding ‘alternative comedy’ thing anyway? It’s never quite explained, and it’s hard to describe in words. Stand-up David O’Doherty calls it comedy where “every second joke’s funny”, but that doesn’t quite cut it.
Rather than having some dogmatic label preached to them, the viewer is left to realise what ‘alternative comedy’ is for themselves, just by watching the performances of comedians like Henning Wehn, Isy Suttie, David O’Doherty, and less known performers, like Boothby Graffoe and David Kay. It seems to be a strange mix of surrealism, long expanses of silence, awkward self-reference and laugh-out-loud gags, and it works.
Honestly, you’ll either love or hate this show. If you like your comedy laden with catchphrases and performed to an audience of thousands, you should give it a miss. However, if you’re willing to have a look into a side of stand-up that almost never gets on television, it’s the only comedy show that you need to watch this year.
Stewart Lee
2013-02-04T21:21:25+00:00
Well done, Comedy Central. For too long, your schedules have been filled with repeats of Mike and Molly, Two and a Half Men, King of Queens, and a whole host of other mind-numbingly awful American sitcoms. Just when you were starting to wonder whether the name ‘Comedy Central’ was some sort of sarcastic joke in itself, they pull something like The Alternative Comedy Experience out the bag, and fair play to them. The first episode of this 12 part weekly series is remarkably simple. Short clips of the comedians’ performances, with very short interviews between them and Stewart Lee dotted throughout. There’s no Live at the Apollo-style fog machines, wall of lights or celebrity guests – The Alternative Comedy Experience is very much an antidote to the superstar comedian culture that we have in this country. In a world where Lee Evans can sell out stadiums just by sweating and walking funny, a show shot entirely by a fixed camera in the back of an Edinburgh comedy club is exactly what we need. So, what is this hipster-sounding ‘alternative comedy’ thing anyway? It’s never quite explained, and it’s hard to describe in words. Stand-up David O’Doherty calls it comedy where “every second joke’s funny”, but that doesn’t quite cut it. Rather than having some dogmatic label preached to them, the viewer is left to realise what ‘alternative comedy’ is for themselves, just by watching the performances of comedians like Henning Wehn, Isy Suttie, David O’Doherty, and less known performers, like Boothby Graffoe and David Kay. It seems to be a strange mix of surrealism, long expanses of silence, awkward self-reference and laugh-out-loud gags, and it works. Honestly, you’ll either love or hate this show. If you like your comedy laden with catchphrases and performed to an audience of thousands, you...
Following his hugely acclaimed TV come-back, Comedy Vehicle, Lee finds himself spent and in search of ideas for a new Edinburgh show. On a long walk across London, he endures a coffee shop humiliation involving a loyalty card, which suggests itself as a comedy routine about everyday life that anyone could enjoy.
Later that month, thanks to Jeremy Clarkson's jokes about Gordon Brown's blindness and the appearance of a well-meaning young comedian in a pear cider advert, a show is born.
Featuring a transcript of the show fully annotated with footnotes, the If You Prefer A Milder Comedian EP confirms Stewart Lee as the most original, daring and brilliant comedian of his generation.
'Stewart Lee is a true original.' Observer
'I've always though of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do.' Toby Young, BBC Radio 4
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T23:35:02+00:00
Following his hugely acclaimed TV come-back, Comedy Vehicle, Lee finds himself spent and in search of ideas for a new Edinburgh show. On a long walk across London, he endures a coffee shop humiliation involving a loyalty card, which suggests itself as a comedy routine about everyday life that anyone could enjoy. Later that month, thanks to Jeremy Clarkson's jokes about Gordon Brown's blindness and the appearance of a well-meaning young comedian in a pear cider advert, a show is born. Featuring a transcript of the show fully annotated with footnotes, the If You Prefer A Milder Comedian EP confirms Stewart Lee as the most original, daring and brilliant comedian of his generation. 'Stewart Lee is a true original.' Observer 'I've always though of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do.' Toby Young, BBC Radio 4
"In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time online learning to code so that it could add crude butterfly animations to the backgrounds of its weblogs, the generation immediately following had spent most of its time online making incredibly bigoted jokes in order to laugh at the idiots who were stupid enough to think that they meant it. Except that after a while they did mean it, and then somehow at the end of it they were white supremacists. Was this always how it happened?"
Patricia Lockwood, London Review of Books, Feb 2019
"This is the Trump way. Fire, fire, fire with the blunderbuss and don’t worry if a shot or two hits an innocent bystander. Keep moving forwards - even as your opponents return fire. Never seriously consider the criticisims, just loose off more shots. It is a strategy that has benefitted Britain’s Trump tribute act, Boris Johnson. As an opinion columnist on The Telegraph , Johnson specialised in offence, from writing in 2002 that the Queen loved the Commonwealth because "it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving picaninnies" to his recent descriptions of Muslim women in burqas "looking like letterboxes". Such comments are deliberate provocation, pushing the boundaries of what it is permissible for a senior politician to say. IN AN ATTENTION ECONOMY, THEY ARE HARD CURRENCY. Any backlash can be portrayed as "political correctness gone mad" or "liberal Stalinism". Even having to say sorry can be taken as proof that once again, the liberal totalitarians have triumphed. It is a game in which every path leads to victory. Yes, it is divisive, but for every voter who is repulsed, the calculation is, another is attracted."
Helen Lewis, New Statesman, 7th June 2019
1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LONDON
I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. More national dates from Feb 2020 will be announced later in the year, but I am going to do less than last time, but with longer runs in bigger rooms to hit the same demand, sadly, as the length of the last run nearly killed me, as you can see from the BBC film of the show.
The initial London dates will be work in progress, with a free DVD of CONTENT PROVIDER for all ticket holders and fans of obsolete physical media. Tons of fun!
I will film this show/these shows in the Summer of 2020 for offloading to whatever content platforms are still viable at that stage in late capitalism's technologically-driven cultural decline.
David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO.
Double-bill of two new 60-ish minute sets, back to back nightly from "the world's greatest living stand-up" (Times).
Tornado questions a shipwrecked Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly lists his show as "reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe." What is anything? Is it this?
And Snowflake questions our worth in a collapsing society which no longer shares the liberal values we have for so long been keen to be seen to espouse, in a fairy-tale landscape of winter wonder. Tons of fun!
SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Work-in-Progress and DVD LAUNCH
Leicester Square Theatre, London.
A run of work-in-progress gigs to celebrate the DVD launch of his celebrated last live show CONTENT PROVIDER.
Each ticket will include a very special limited edition copy of the new DVD, exclusively available to bookers of this live show.
Stewart will be signing copies after the show.
Sept 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th - 7pm start
Oct 1st , 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th Oct - - 8.45pm start
2 hrs including interval
£26.50 including DVD of Content Provider (RRP £19.95)
Stewart Lee - Snowflake/Tornado.
Leicester Square Theatre, London.
October - December 2019
Tues 29th October 8.45pm - Sat Dec 14th
No Mondays, No Sundays, & not Sat Nov 30th
January 2020
Thurs 2nd Jan 8.45pm - Sat 25th Jan
No Mondays, No Sundays, & not Jan 9th
8.45 pm Stewart on stage
2 hrs + interval
Tues, Weds, Thurs £27.50
Friday & Saturday £29.50
All shows are 14+ apparently. If you are under 14 you are too immature to enjoy my swearing and farts.
In the case of sold out shows, there are often returns added, & Leicester Square maintain a waiting list, so check with the venue.
SEPTEMBER 2019
Tuesday 24th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 25th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 26th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 27th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 28th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - SOLD OUT
OCTOBER 2019
Tuesday 1st - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 2nd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 3rd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 4th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 5th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
OCTOBER 2019
Tuesday 29th - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Wednesday 30th - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Thursday 31st - SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
NOVEMBER 2019
Friday 1st SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 2nd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 5th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 6th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 7th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Friday 8th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 9th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 12th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 14th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Friday 15th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 16th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Tuesday 19th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 21st SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Friday 22nd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
Saturday 23rd SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - SOLD OUT
"There's no-one else to touch him" Mark Wareham, Mail On Sunday *****
"Lee remains one of the best stand-ups in the country" ***** Metro
"The world's best living stand-up comedian" Dominic Maxwell, The Times
"He makes stand-up almost a moral pursuit, ... that makes the usual (and more popular) stand-ups seem crude and obvious." Alan Bennet, London Review Of Books.
"Proper, vicious prejudice - a self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground" Sarah Vine, Daily Mail
"A pot-bellied Bernard Manning for snowflakes" Tony Parsons, The Sun
"Woke, enlightened, professionally sensitive, BBC-approved comedian who can be guaranteed to dress to the left. The rancid tip of a cesspit." - Tony Parsons, GQ
"If I could bring one extinct thing back to life it would be Stewart Lee's sense of humour." Frankie Boyle, The Guardian
"The opposite of what really good comedy should be" Toby Young, Radio 4
"Truly, he is the Oscar Wilde of our times" - Gary Bushell, The Daily Star
NB - I DID 5 MONTHS IN TOTAL AT LST OF CONTENT PROVIDER BETWEEN 2016-2018, AND THEN 4 ROYAL FEST HALLS AND THEY ALL SOLD OUT.
ONCE THESE DATES ARE DONE I AM NOT COMING BACK FOR MORE THIS TIME SO GET TICKETS IF YOU WANT THEM.
2) SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO 2020 TOUR
Currently confirmed / onsale as follows.
NOTE: This is not the complete list. More national dates are currently being added & confirmed & will be announced soon.
Not all dates are currently on sale.
As further dates are announced / go on sale, they will be listed on the Live Dates page of the website & via this newsletter as they come in.
Saturday 1st February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 5th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 6th February 2020 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Friday 7th February 2020 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th February 2020 - 8pm DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Thursday 13th February 2020 - 7.30pm - New Theatre Royal, Lincoln - TICKETS
Friday 14th February 2020 - 7.30pm - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Saturday 15th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th February 2020 - 7.30pm - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th February 2020 - 7.30pm - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 20th February 2020 - 7.30pm - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 21st February 2020 - 7.30pm - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 24th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 25th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Friday 28th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th February 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
March 2020
Tuesday 3rd March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Festival Theatre, Malvern
Wednesday 4th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - St. David's Hall, Cardiff
Friday 6th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal & Derngate, Northampton
Tuesday 10th March 2020 - 8pm - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Wednesday 11th March 2020 - 8pm - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Thursday 12th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Symphony Hall, Birmingham
Friday 13th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Symphony Hall, Birmingham
Tuesday 17th March 2020 - 7.30pm - Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 18th March 2020 - 8pm - De La Warr Pavillion , Bexhill On Sea - TICKETS
Thursday 19th March 2020 - 8pm - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Friday 20th March 2020 - 8pm - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Monday 23rd March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Playhouse, Leeds
Tuesday 24th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Playhouse, Leeds
Wednesday 25th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Playhouse, Leeds
Thursday 26th March 2020 - ON SALE SOON - King's Theatre, Glasgow
Friday 27th March 2020 - 7.30pm - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Saturday 28th March 2020 - 7.30pm - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
April 2020
Wednesday 29th April 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Thursday 30th April 2020 - 7.30pm - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
May 2020
Friday 1st May 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd May 2020 - 7.30pm - Lyric Theatre @ The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd May 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Machynlleth (Comedy Festival)
Saturday 16th May 2020 ON SALE SOON - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
Sunday 17th May 2020 ON SALE SOON - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
NB VIAGOGO ETC.
Tickets have started appearing at up to 4 times face value on the ticket-bastard website Viagogo, specifically for the Sheffield shows, with doubtless more to follow.
I know which seats these are and I will come down from the stage and find anyone who has bought from Viagogo, or Stubhub, and I will throw them out personally and I will not refund them at a later date.
If you want to buy illegal tickets and have the money refunded go and see soft-hearted Rhod Gilbert, who will do this out of his own money. I will not. There is no need to cooperate with these criminals.
Tickets will be available at normal rates from the venue and I will endeavour to add on extra dates to meet any demand.
3) SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO WORK IN PROGRESSES
I am doing 3 work in progress shows at Susan Murray's RED IMP comedy club in Walthamstow in September. The dates are;
Monday 9th September
Tuesday 10th September
Thursday 12th September
Red Imp is a small club and tickets always go out to their mailing list subscribers first, so sign up to their mailing list here to be the first to know when they are released in September.
I am also doing several more work in progress shows at The Bill Murray pub in Islington. The dates are;
Tuesday 17th September (9.30pm - 10.30pm)
Wednesday 18th September (9.30pm - 10.30pm)
Thursday 19th September (8pm - 9.30pm)
Sunday 22nd September (7.00 - 10pm w/interval)
These are now all sold out, but you might be able to get returns on their website.
4) EDINBURGH FRINGE
This is now all sold out via The Stand & Edfringe.com, but you might be able to get returns.
I have also added an EXTRA SHOW on 14th August at 11.50am, tickets should appear on The Stand's website soon.
THE SHOW IS A WORK IN PROGRESS BETWEEN THE 9th & 15th AUGUST (7.10pm) AT THE NEW TOWN THEATRE.
5) CONTENT PROVIDER DVD
CONTENT PROVIDER has dropped off the BBC I-player.
I know they are allowed to put it on there three more times, but they do tend to need a nudge. Perhaps they will show it again. Who knows?
All four series of COMEDY VEHICLE are still up on there anyway. See how the world has changed for the worse in a decade. How quaint the liberal’s manageable dilemmas of 2013 seem now.
The third, and perhaps best, series of COMEDY VEHICLE seems to be on Netflix in the UK and, I think, the US.
It seems you can also stream CARPET REMNANT WORLD and the first 3 series of COMEDY VEHICLE on Chris Ramsey’s Amazon channel, here and I think in the US.
Beats me! And, as I said above, CONTENT PROVIDER will be available as an Old Skool physical media DVD in the Autumn.
Tons of fun!
6) oxide ghosts/wok in progress
Fire Records, Films and Comedy present: ONE NIGHT ON EARTH.
Stewart Lee Upfront Work-In-Progress Show/ Oxide Ghosts: The Brass Eye Tapes Film Screening presented by Michael Cumming.
Michael Cumming (Brass Eye), James Nicholls (Fire films) and I are now 1/3rd of the way through filming and editing and are looking for donations to complete the film below, which is about Birmingham post-punk survivors The Nightingales. Everyone who donates, no matter how big or how small*, will be featured in the end credits
*(I think this sentence, written by James from Fire, relates to the size of the donation, not the donor.)
March of the Lemmings - Brexit in Print and Performance 2016-2019
Due for release on 5th September 2019, Faber will publish comedian Stewart Lee’s next book, March of the Lemmings, based on his newspaper columns, providing “the scathing, riotous record the Brexit era deserves”.
“As a Metropolitan Elitist Snowflake, Stewart Lee was disappointed by the Brexit referendum result of 2016. But he knew how to weaponise his inconvenience. He would treat all his subsequent writing, until we left the EU, as interrelated episodes of a complete work. The cast of characters include Lemming-obsessed Michael Gove, violent tanning-salon entrepreneur Tommy Robinson and Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Bumboys Letterbox Cake Disaster Weightloss Haircut Bullshit Johnson."
There is also a "a dramatic chorus is made up of online commenters and Kremlin bots" with Lee cast as the "defeated, unreliable narrator-hero, whose resolve and tolerance would gradually unravel as the horror show dragged on.
Drawing on three years of newspaper columns, a complete transcript of the 'Content Provider' stand-up show, and Lee’s caustic footnote commentary, March of the Lemmings is the scathing, riotous record the Brexit era deserves.”
The code is not case sensitive, and the discount will be live from now until the end of August.
Meanwhile, I Arrogantly Recommend Fixed Horizon, & Edinburgh Fringe faves
FIXED HORIZON which did some of the incidental music for CONTENT PROVIDER has a bandcamp page here https://fixedhorizon.bandcamp.com
EDINBURGH FRINGE FAVES
Why recommend anything in Edinburgh? The national professional critic shortage means that while there are no end of websites staffed by people with no idea about anything, the amount of material written by people who have seen enough stuff, and have a wide enough frame of reference, to make even partially informed judgements, is declining.
How astounding it seemed, just over three decades ago, when the Guardian unveiled what I think was the country’s first dedicated comedy critic in the form of William Cook. How strange it seems now that the profession is largely an enclave of amateurs, with the notion of ‘a buzz’ easily manipulated by social media, savvy cynical PRs and papered houses. Remove the gatekeepers of abstract notions of value and you end up with people essentially paying their way into their own Amazon special.
I don’t have any answers. It’s three years since I last went to the Fringe, and 33 since I first went, with thirty Summers of performing in-between. The world changes, and modern performers live in a web of digital non-judgemental across-the-board mutual self-promotion that I don’t understand. Doubtless recommending anything here will cause problems and see me blamed for the things I haven’t recommended, and my reasons for not recommending them spuriously speculated upon by dicks. It is years since I was anywhere near what you could call a comedy circuit regular and so I know very few comics under 30. My tastes in comedy are somewhat fixed by the era I came of age in, and by the innovations of the period, and probably by the demographic spread of people that the stand-up circuit encompassed back then.
I do not, for example, understand how DAVE is the new sponsor of the awards, but I can’t articulate precisely why this bothers me; I can now barely remember the ideological and moral anxieties that mean I still harbour a deep suspicion of the big 3 venues, with their separate brochure; I don’t know exactly why I feel that a ticket purchased for a show at a STAND or FREE FRINGE or SUMMERHALL venue somehow makes the world a better place and sticks it to the man, but I know it makes sense; I am not involved in any theatre at any level, and so my opinions about what to see in one should be discounted; my musical recommendations reflect the tastes of a man whose own personal musical highlights of 2019 so far have been Archie Shepp, Guided by Voices, Bob Dylan and Neil Young; and as far as Art goes, I know what art is but I don’t know what I like.
But, without further caveats, here are my EDINBURGH FRINGE 2019 tips.
Other performers are available. Your pants may go up as well as down.
2 CHILDREN’S SHOWs
Swallow The Sea Caravan Theatre - Summerhall 11am - 5.30pm
Paul Currie - Release The Baboons for Kids - Heroes Boteco - 12noon
5 BITS OF ART
Grayson Perry - Dovecote Studios Bridget Riley - National Gallery of Scotland
A Young Man Dressed As A Gorilla - Liquid Rooms - 10th 2.30pm Phoebe Traquair Mural Tours - St Mary’s Cathedral - 11.30 am Knitted Bible Stories - Salvation Army Main Hall 19th - 24th
Icelandic Folk Songs - St Marks - 5th, 8th, 10th, 2.30 Blueswater Queens of The Blues - Jazz Bar - 2nd, 9th, 4pm; 11th, 1th, 23rd 5.30pm
Madness - Princes St Gardens - 18th 6pm
Blueswater presents Blues - Surgeon’s Hall - 7.10pm
Orange Claw Hammer (Beefheart Tribute) - Henry’s - 10th, 16th - 8pm The Singing Sixties - Queens Hall - 12th 8pm
Ska at The Fringe - A Club - 10th, 16th, 23rd 9.30pm
Colin Steele plays Cannonball Adderley - Jazz Bar - 12th-13th - 10pm Tim Vine Presents Plastic Elvis - Underbelly Circus - 10.15pm 7th
Random folk sessions - Captain’s Bar - most nights
15 BLIND GUESSES AT GOOD THEATRE PIECES
** Paul Putner’s Embarassment - Frankenstein - 6.15pm. Putner has been threatening this skinhead memoir for 25 years and finally it is here. **
ALSO
2) Funny In Real Life - Gilded Balloon - 11.15am
3) Krapp’s Last Tape - Royal Scots Club - 11.30am
4) Wireless Operator - Pleasance Courtyard - 12.40pm
5) Forgiveness - Summerhall - 2.30pm
6) Adolf - Stand New Town Theatre - 3.50pm
7) Inflatable Space - Assembly Roxy - 4.15pm
8) The Nights by Henry Naylor - Gilded Balloon - 4.15pm
9) The Castle (puppet Kafka) - Greenside Infirmary Street - 4.15pm
10/11) Trilogy of Horrors 1 & 2 - Scottish Storytelling Centre - 7.30pm & 9.30pm
12-15) James Roland’s Team Viking/100 Different Words For Love/Revelations/Songs of Friendship (in rotation) - Summerhall - 9pm
15 COMEDIANS
** ROSIE JONES - PLEASANCE CTYARD - 7pm. My tip for 2019!**
also
2) Michael Legge - Stand 1 - 12 midday - Northern Ireland’s criminally undervalued master of pent-up fury
3) Tony Law - Monkey Barrel - 12.15pm - Canada’s master of surrealist mayhem
4) Seymour Mace - Stand 3 - 1.30pm - Manchester’s criminally undervalued master of surrealist misery. This year with model houses!
5) Jessica Fostekew - Monkey Barrel - 1.30pm Waspish observations from the woman who secretly writes all your favorite comedians’ jokes
6) Eleanor Tiernan - Banshee Labyrinth - 2.20pm Ireland’s criminally undervalued mistress of deadpan downbeats
7) Simon Munnery’s Alan Parker - Stand 1 - 3.20pm. Munnery’s parody of a punk rock anarcho snowflake, hand drawn with real love for its subject, returns to a world worse than any he could have imagined in his home decade of the 1980s.
8) David Kay - Stand 3 - 4.30pm Scotland’s criminally undervalued master of kitchen sink surrealism
9) Will Adamsdale - Underbelly, Bristo Sq - 6pm - Unparalleled genius of immersive art comedy returns.
10) Henning Wehn - Queen’s Hall - 7pm Germany’s master of the personally political
11) Sarah Kendall - Assembly George Sq - 7pm Australia’s criminally undervalued mistress of the spellbinding story
12) David O’Doherty - Assembly George Sq - 7.30pm. Ireland’s master of very low energy musical whimsy.
13) Josie Long - Stand 1 - 8.20pm - Essex’s mistress of the personally political
14) Paul Currie - Heroes Hive - 9pm - Northern Ireland’s master of surrealist mayhem
15) Nish Kumar - Assembly George Sq - 9pm - See him not behind a desk! With actual human legs!! The Angela Rippon of snowflake comedy!!!
Stewart Lee
2019-07-24T19:17:13+01:00
"In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time online learning to code so that it could add crude butterfly animations to the backgrounds of its weblogs, the generation immediately following had spent most of its time online making incredibly bigoted jokes in order to laugh at the idiots who were stupid enough to think that they meant it. Except that after a while they did mean it, and then somehow at the end of it they were white supremacists. Was this always how it happened?" Patricia Lockwood, London Review of Books, Feb 2019 "This is the Trump way. Fire, fire, fire with the blunderbuss and don’t worry if a shot or two hits an innocent bystander. Keep moving forwards - even as your opponents return fire. Never seriously consider the criticisims, just loose off more shots. It is a strategy that has benefitted Britain’s Trump tribute act, Boris Johnson. As an opinion columnist on The Telegraph , Johnson specialised in offence, from writing in 2002 that the Queen loved the Commonwealth because "it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving picaninnies" to his recent descriptions of Muslim women in burqas "looking like letterboxes". Such comments are deliberate provocation, pushing the boundaries of what it is permissible for a senior politician to say. IN AN ATTENTION ECONOMY, THEY ARE HARD CURRENCY. Any backlash can be portrayed as "political correctness gone mad" or "liberal Stalinism". Even having to say sorry can be taken as proof that once again, the liberal totalitarians have triumphed. It is a game in which every path leads to victory. Yes, it is divisive, but for every voter who is repulsed, the calculation is, another is attracted." Helen Lewis, New Statesman, 7th June 2019 1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LONDON I'm doing a new stand-up...
What if The Fall had garnished their rockabilly grooves with swing era horns?
What if Can played Ghanaian highlife?
What if Morricone had scored Spaghetti westerns in a Moroccan souq?
King Champion Sounds, a Dutch veterans' organization fronted by GW Sok of jazz punks The Ex, recombine canonical influences in new contexts.
Orbit Macht Frei is where it all clicks, a relentless forward krautrock pulse that throbs in a dubwise echo chamber, while Sok's word torrent ratchets the tension.
Stewart Lee
2013-12-22T20:38:47+00:00
What if The Fall had garnished their rockabilly grooves with swing era horns? What if Can played Ghanaian highlife? What if Morricone had scored Spaghetti westerns in a Moroccan souq? King Champion Sounds, a Dutch veterans' organization fronted by GW Sok of jazz punks The Ex, recombine canonical influences in new contexts. Orbit Macht Frei is where it all clicks, a relentless forward krautrock pulse that throbs in a dubwise echo chamber, while Sok's word torrent ratchets the tension.
“Sphincter-poppingly angry, totally unamusing and uninsightful, and painfully, excruciatingly right-on. A bitter, politically correct member of the Remain-voting liberal elite. The type of comedy which is not designed to provoke laughter so much as solemn head-nodding and applause at the politically correct sentiment.” James Delingpole, Steve Bannon’s Breitbart News
"“I seem to have been radicalised into a one man crusade against Stewart Lee and his fans. This will probably occupy the rest of my life but mark my words the man will die and I will try to be the one that ends his life." Corbyngrad Mayor @SyedforLondon, Twitter
COVID-19 RESCHEDULING FUN
Let’s start this newsletter with the elephant in the room.
As you may know the world is currently ravaged by the Covid-19 pandemic and many people are dying who have never died before. Another unwelcome side-effect of this is that some comedy shows, mine included, may need to be rescheduled or cancelled.
On Monday 16th of March at 5.13 pm, Boris Johnson wafflingly announced that people should avoid theatres, but didn't say that he would be closing them, like some kind of dick, which obviously led to a degree of confusion, and meant that evening's show in Canterbury still went ahead, Johnson’s pronouncement coming out of the blue and too late in the day to address decisively.
Theatres are currently trying to reschedule some of the subsequent shows currently scheduled for March and April. So far, the Bexhill-On-Sea show, for example, has been moved to July 4th.
Please hang on to your tickets for any shows for now unless the venue contacts you to tell you the show is being cancelled, or offers you the chance to attend a different date. All this is currently up in the air. And please be gentle with theatres and those who manage their box offices, as they are trying to juggle the potential loss of months of programming, not just my shows, and the venues I play are on the whole run by nice people who really love theatre, music and comedy, as we largely avoid the ones run for shareholders’ benefit alone.
Please do not contact me or anyone who works for me about this. Please leave them alone and let them get on with the job of trying to reschedule the shows you want to attend. And no, I haven't got my % of your ticket money. The theatres have all of your ticket money, and I don't receive my % of it unless the shows happen. And I would have to pay an amount in cancellation fees that would bankrupt me if I unilaterally cancel the gigs myself. It is not possible to insure against COVID-19, so they are the best people to have it for the time being.
There is obviously a massive financial global arsequake in effect right now that means there are cash flow issues for venues, who have just seen a 93% drop in bookings nationwide. I will do the right thing by everyone in the end, obviously. You would also be helping the theatres to not go bust if you let them sit on the money you have given them for now, if you can afford to.
I am keen to reschedule all dates and, if they are in the far future in a worst case scenario, to remix the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE TORNADO so it addresses the comedy goldmine that is Covid-19. The shows will be filmed at some point - the arrangements to do so were in place but now need to be rejigged - but they will not made available to view until I've managed to visit any places that need to be rescheduled. It may end up a better show on the rebound as tragedy + time = comedy. (Too soon!)
I will reissue a complete list of dates as they stand a s a p, when the juggling is over. And I will be able to survive any temporary prevention of my ability to work live, but all those regular circuit comics, that are the beating heart of the collective energy of the world-beating British live comedy scene, are obviously taking a life-destroying battering from the current closures. And they are not considered 'artists' by the sort of bodies that will bail some creatives out.
There are many deserving causes in this crisis, but if you are a comedy fan, emergency relief is being crowdfunded here - https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/hecklethevirus.
Incidentally, someone claiming to be me has donated £20 to this. It isn’t me, as any donations I make to things are done anonymously to avoid looking charitable. I wouldn’t donate that much.
Don't forget to see if any housebound folk in your 'hood need a hand. I must go now as I have a temperature and am coughing blood into my hands.
There now follows the regular April newsletter, a sorry shadow of its usual self.
1) LAURA CANNELL
2) MUSIC FROM SHOWS
3) BENEFITS
4) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND
1) LAURA CANNELL’S MODERN RITUAL
I am contributing some words to a new performance by mediaeval minimalist the mighty Laura Cannell, at London’s King’s Place on July 11th - https://www.kingsplace.co.uk/whats-on/
2) MUSIC FROM SHOWS
PEOPLE KEEP ASKING ME AFTER GIGS; "WHAT IS THAT BIT OF MUSIC FROM ‘CONTENT PROVIDER’ OR ‘SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO’?". So, here goes...
PRE-SHOW - Oh Yeah - Can (Tago Mago, 1971), Halleluhwah - Can (Tago Mago, 1971), Pinch - Can (Ege Bamyasi, 1972), If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up - Betty Davis (Betty Davis, 1973) TORNADO WALK ON - Blueswater - Stew’s Blues. - DOWNLOAD CONTENT PROVIDER MUSIC HERE. INTERVAL - Auto Chip 2014 - 2016 - The Fall (Sub Lingual Tablet, 2014), Auto (2024) Chip Replace Live - The Fall (Live Uurop VIII- XII, 2014), Fibre Book Troll - The Fall (Sub Lingual Tablet, 2014) SNOWFLAKE WALK ON - Home - Fixed Horizon (Nothing Beyond, 2019) WALK-OUT - Stiff Little Fingers - My Dark Places (No Going Back, 2014), Dave Graney - Ultrakeef (Zippa DeeDoo, 2019)
3) BENEFITS HACKNEY HOMELESS
HACKNEY EMPIRE HOMELESS 20TH MAY I have programmed another benefit for Hackney Homeless Shelter at the Hackney Empire for May 20th, featuring, so far, me, Daniel Kitson, Rosie Jones, Paul Hamilton and Bridget Christie, with more to follow.
- TICKETS HERE.
4) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND... LOADS OF EVENTS WHICH MAY BE CANCELLED DUE TO VIRUS, SO CHECK. HERE’S WHAT YOU COULD HAVE SEEN!
YOUNG REMBRANDT - ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM, OXFORD.
Until 7th June.
Mini-blockbuster focuses on the artist’s early years and makes much more sense than a vast overview would.
Witness the meteoric rise of Rembrandt, from his first tentative works as a teenager in his home town of Leiden, to the sublime masterpieces he produced in Amsterdam ten years later.
Beginning with his earliest known paintings, prints and drawings made in the mid-1620s, and ending at the moment he rockets to stardom in Amsterdam in the mid-1630s, this exhibition charts an astonishing transformation.
SIMON MUNNERY - WHAT AM I? Ex-Baldessare Gallery Bedford
February 29, 6pm to 9pm and is then every Saturday noon to 6pm, until May 9.
Simon Munnery's stand-up has been called ‘the closest comedy gets to modern art’ – and now it has jumped that divide. The comedian’s paintings, props, jokes, videos, photos and archive material from 35 years in the business are going on display at an art gallery this weekend. The show, What Am I?, takes its title from a sketch featured in Munnery's 2001 BBC Two series Attention Scum!, in which Kevin Eldon tears around a garden, repeatedly screaming the phrase at the sky.
Exhibits at the Ex-Baldessarre Gallery include the Self-Knowledge Impregnator from Munnery's 1997 Cluub Zarathustra II show, a huge box with a powerful flash that burned the word 'cunt' into the retina of hecklers; his many stick men drawings; a film of his Alan Parker character performing for a recent Extinction Rebellion protest in which several of the crowd are arrested, and oil painting The Wreath, from his 2018 show of the same name, inspired by Sean Hughes' funeral. There's also a new film of Munnery's own 'funeral'.
Gallery owner Andy Holden told Chortle that although he'd been urging the comic to stage his first exhibition, 'beyond that, there's definitely a sense that his work is getting quite reflective. 'Not only bringing [Urban Warrior character] Alan Parker back this year. But a feeling that he's nervously looking over his shoulder. The film The Wreath that we've made is hilarious but dead serious too. ‘The feeling is that he's getting his papers in order. Which seems terrifyingly honest, though you're never quite sure with Simon.
He gives a lot but always holds something back.' Munnery won a Chortle innovation award for his 2012 'conceptual restaurant' show La Concepta, which served art, jokes, riddles and dance instead of food. He collaborated with Banksy on his acclaimed 2010 film Exit Through The Gift Shop and has appeared as a spokesman for the enigmatic artist. Munnery also once sold a painting, featuring a joke about the Rolling Stones, to guitarist Ronnie Wood. 'He's thrown himself into this exhibition' said Holden. 'He's really quite nervous about it, which is sweet'.
Simon Munnery: What Am I? opens February 29, 6pm to 9pm and is then every Saturday noon to 6pm, until May 9 (from CHORTLE.CO.UK)
JOHN SHUTTLEWORTH. The hilarious legend of mundane musical comedy is on tour and must be seen by all people.
APRIL
1st Wimbourne Tivoli,
2nd Exeter Phoenix,
3rd Winchester Theatre Royal,
4th Swansea Pontardawe,
Tuesday 14th NORWICH PLAYHOUSE,
Wednesday 15th STAMFORD ARTS CENTRE
16th Sheffield City Hall,
17th Barnsley Civic,
18th Worcester Huntingdon Hall,
19th Bristol Old Vic,
22nd Hastings St Mary,
23rd Chelmsford Civic,
24th Stratford Playhouse,
25th Newcastle Under Lyme New Vic.
MAY
4th Belfast Black Box.
LEE RANALDO - Sonic Youth survivor ditches fuzzed-Laurel Canyon grooves to return to experimental roots at London Guildhall, April 7TH
BRITISH MARBLE CHAMPIONSHIPS, 8TH - 10TH APRIL. GREYHOUND HOTEL, TINSLEY GREEN, SUSSEX.
A popular pastime in ancient Rome and with schoolchildren, the current British and World Championship is fought out by teams of actual grown men in a game known as Ring Taw.
MAUNDY THURSDAY, APRIL 9TH. SADDLEWORTH MORRIS
7:00pm approx Road End Fair. Greenfield (, opposite King William IV - first dance out and waistcoat awards.; 8:30pm Boarshurst Band Club, Greenfield. MAUNDY MONEY DISTRIBUTION, WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
In the Last Supper, Christ washed the smelt feet of his disciples. Edward II washed the feet of the poor to try and show he was the new Christ.
Today the queen gives the same amount of specially minted silver coins as the age of the person she is giving them to, to some old women.
FRIDAY 10TH GOOD FRIDAY. LONGMAN MORRIS. 12:30 - 1:30pm Tiger Inn, East Dean BN20 0DA as guests of Cuckoo’s Nest Morris. SADDLEWORTH MORRIS Tour of the villages in Saddleworth. Gartside Street, Delph 11:00am; Diggle Hotel 12:00 noon; The Swan, Dobcross 1:00pm; The Commercial and Uppermill Vilage 3:00pm; Hare and Hounds 4:00pm; and at the Church Inn 6:30pm and Cross Keys.7:30pm with guests Earlsdon Morris Men. BURY PACE EGGERS. It seems very unlikely that the tour will happen this year. They have been struggling for numbers and a last minute resignation only weeks before the tour has put a nail in the coffin. CHANCTONBURY RING MORRIS. North West Clog Dancing and Long Rope Skipping again at The Ram at The Street, West Firle, Lewes BN8 6NS staring about noon as guest of Knots of May. JOHN O’GAUNT MM. "Good Friday Morris Tour" Southport Sword Dancers and John O'Gaunt Morris. Other guest teams will be "Yon Lot" and "Stone the Crows" We visit: Milnthorpe (farmers market), Warton (birthplace of George Washington) ending up at Arnside. WIDOW’S BUN CEREMONY, FRIDAY 1OTH APRIL, WIDOW’S SON TAVERN, BROMLEY-BY-BOW, LONDON. For over two hundred years a bun has been added every Good Friday to a collection of horrible stale buns preserved at the Tavern. In the 18th century a woman whose son was lost at sea thought is he baked a bun every Easter he would come home to eat it, but he didn’t because he was dead. WIDOW’S CHARITY, Church of St Bartholomew the Great, Smithfield, London. Twenty-one sixpences were put on a tombstone for twenty-one poor widows. Today hot cross buns are given to children before the church service kicks off.
THE SONICS Inexplicably alive ‘60s Seattle garage punk pioneers return (again!). Have Love Will Travel, Strychnine etc. April 10th Hull Polar bear, 11th London Shepherds Bush Empire, 13th M’cr Night People, 14th Birmingham Institute, 15th Norwich Waterfront.
EASTER SATURDAY APRIL 11TH. BRITANNIA COCONUT DANCERS.
Bacup, Lancashire. Starting 9.00am prompt at the Old Traveller's Rest, Britannia alongside Stacksteads Band to dance the original boundary through Bacup and Stacksteads to the Glen Service Station in Waterfoot raising money for two local charities or good causes. RIPLEY MORRIS. 10.30 Bakewell 12.15 Bull’s Head Ashford 2.15 Bull’s Head Monyash
EASTER SUNDAY APRIL 12TH.
RICHMOND ON SWALE MORRIS. Swaledale Tour starts up 10:00 am in the village of Muker, before heading down the dale taking in Gunnerside and Low Row before finishing off at 2:30 pm in the small but pleasant Market town of Reeth. ASHDOWN FOREST MORRIS. 3:30 pm The Laughing Fish, Isfield TN22 5XB.
WOLF PEOPLE Beloved acid-folk-prog hybrid’s lone date, London Oslo.
EASTER MONDAY APRIL 13TH. BLACKHEATH MORRIS. Noon – Outside The Royal Naval College nr. Cutty Sark entrance; 1.00pm - Trafalgar Tavern SE10 9 NW; 2.00pm –Outside The Royal Naval College nr. Cutty Sark entrance; 3pm – Greenwich Market; 4pm – Ashburnham Arms featuring the ancient chairlifting tradition. CHAPEL-EN-LE-FRITH MORRIS. The Bull's Head, Monyash, 11:00am – 1:00pm and Pavilion Gardens, Buxton, 2:00pm - 3:00pm. DEVIL’S DYKE MORRIS. 11:00am - 12 noon - The Bull Ring, Thaxted. (THE SUPERB!)FOREST OF DEAN MORRIS **** Newnham Clock Tower at 10:30am; Taurus Crafts, Lydney 11:30 am; The Miners Arms Whitecroft, 1.00pm; Beechenhurst Lodge 2.15pm. TAUNTON DEANE MORRIS. Tour of Taunton Area starting at 10:30am Taunton - War Memorial Vivary Park TA1 3QE; 11:45am Halse - The Triangle TA4 3AF; 12:30pm Norton Fitzwarren - The Village Hall TA2 6RQ; 2:45pm Sheppy’s House of Cider Bradford-on-Tone TA4 1ER. TRIGG MORRIS. Annual Easter tour starting Launceston Square at 10.30; 12 Noon Archer Arms, Lewannick; 1:00 pm Jamaica Inn; 2:00 pm Blisland Inn; 5.00 Lanivet Inn. VICTORY MORRIS. "Almost St. George's Day" tour - 1:15 pm Victoria Park Cafe; 2:15 pm The George, Queen Street; 3:15 pm Abar Bistro, White Hart Road; 4.15pm The Bridge Tavern, East Street, Camber Docks. BIDDENDEN DOLE, BIDDENDEN KENT Biddenden cakes are given away, with a picture on them of the Siamese twins from 1100AD Eliza and Mary Chulkhurst, who died six hours apart, leaving 20 acres of ground called the Bread and Cheese Lands to pay for future cakes with pictures of them on them. BOTTLE KICKING AND HARE PIE SCRAMBLE, HALLATON LEICESTERSHIRE A vicar throws bits of a massive pie at people, then two teams of people fight over beer barrels for hours, in a ceremony linked to the pagan worship of EASTRE, which the church tried to ban in 1790, annoying local people. AVENHAM PARK, PRESTON, EGG ROLLING Basically, eggs are rolled. BOURNE LINCOLNSHIRE RUNNING AUCTION In 1742 Mathew Clay left some land to rent which paid for white bread for the poor. Now the decision as to which charity gets the money is decided by some kind of race or something. WORLD COAL CARRYING CHAMPIONSHIPS, OSSET, WAKEFIELD Since 1963 two local pubs have challenged each other’s drinkers to run a mile carrying coal around the village. The current and world record is 4mins. 6secs.
THE NIGHTINGALES Birmingham post-punks and subjects of our forthcoming KING ROCKER film. APRIL 16th Exeter Cavern, 17th Newport Le Pub, 18th Wrexham Ty Pawb, 19th Bedford Esquires, 21st M’cr Gullivers, 22 Barrow-In-Furness Underground, 23rd Edinburgh Voodoo, 24th Glasgow Hug & Pint, 25th Hebden Bridge Trades, 26th Middlesbrough Westgarth, 28th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 29th London Lexington, 30th Sheffield Greystones. MAY 1st Leicester Cookie, 2nd Lewes Con Club.
MICK TURNER Moodists/Dirty 3 guitarist of Australian underground pedigree, APRIL 18th Café oto, London
HOCKTIDE FESTIVAL/TUTTI DAY, HUNGERFORD, BERKSHIRE, APRIL 21ST. Hungerford is now the only place in the country still doing Hocktide. In the 14th century Prince John of Gaunt gave free grazing and fishing rights to ‘commoners’ and so the town-crier blows his horn to sort this out at the Town Hall. “Tutti-Men” with flowery poles follow an “Orange-Man” around getting money and sexual favours from people, who get an orange as payment.
PLANTING THE PENNY HEDGE, WHITBY, APRIL 22ND. A small hedge is planted overnight on the beach and then smashed up by the tide. In 1159 a hermit was killed trying to save a pig from hunters and so the Abbot of Whitney said they had to make a hedge thing to make up for doing a murder.
APRIL 23RD ASH WEDNESDAY. WELL DRESSING, TISSINGTON & ASHBOURNE, DERBYSHiRE,. For 2000 years at least people have been wandering round dressing wells. BEATING THE BOUNDS, LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, CITY OF LONDON AND TOWER OF LONDON A survival of pagan pre-Christian tradition of beating things with sticks.
FOLK EVENT INFO FROM THE MORRIS RING AND HISTORIC-UK.COM
Stewart Lee
2020-03-20T11:23:15+00:00
“Ghastly, puritanical, po-faced, sanctimonious, finger-wagging, Woke-Witchfinder-in-Chief” Toby Young, Twitter “Sphincter-poppingly angry, totally unamusing and uninsightful, and painfully, excruciatingly right-on. A bitter, politically correct member of the Remain-voting liberal elite. The type of comedy which is not designed to provoke laughter so much as solemn head-nodding and applause at the politically correct sentiment.” James Delingpole, Steve Bannon’s Breitbart News "“I seem to have been radicalised into a one man crusade against Stewart Lee and his fans. This will probably occupy the rest of my life but mark my words the man will die and I will try to be the one that ends his life." Corbyngrad Mayor @SyedforLondon, Twitter COVID-19 RESCHEDULING FUN Let’s start this newsletter with the elephant in the room. As you may know the world is currently ravaged by the Covid-19 pandemic and many people are dying who have never died before. Another unwelcome side-effect of this is that some comedy shows, mine included, may need to be rescheduled or cancelled. On Monday 16th of March at 5.13 pm, Boris Johnson wafflingly announced that people should avoid theatres, but didn't say that he would be closing them, like some kind of dick, which obviously led to a degree of confusion, and meant that evening's show in Canterbury still went ahead, Johnson’s pronouncement coming out of the blue and too late in the day to address decisively. Theatres are currently trying to reschedule some of the subsequent shows currently scheduled for March and April. So far, the Bexhill-On-Sea show, for example, has been moved to July 4th. Please hang on to your tickets for any shows for now unless the venue contacts you to tell you the show is being cancelled, or offers you the chance to attend a different date. All this is currently up in the air....
I’d say writing comedy about the ever-shifting opinions of Donald Trump, the Speedy Gonzales of on-the-hoof policymaking, is like playing pin the tail on the donkey, but it’s unfair on donkeys. No donkey ever sexually assaulted someone in a department store changing cubicle.
It’s 4.30pm on Wednesday and I’m done. Last week I filed this column on Thursday, and then on Friday DJ Trump and JD Vance beat up Volodymyr Zelenskyy live on TV in the Oval Office to try to grab his minerals, as brazenly as Trump might grab a pussy, like a performatively cruel Tweedledum and Tweedledee in Sopranos suits.
Teenage thugs caught on a security camera roughing up a petrol station attendant and tipping the contents of the till into an Adidas bag have more dignity and honour than Trump and Vance in that now immortal moment. At least they spend the money on drugs and put cash back into the local economy. The postwar order as we understand it melted before our eyes, and the funny “jokes” I had already submitted were suddenly so 24 hours ago, as DJ and JD microwaved the Cornetto™® of hope.
Since I sat down to write this at six this morning, Greenland, which seemed to have disappeared from Trump’s gadfly mind for a week or two, has wandered back into his line of fire, the adjudicated abuser having told congress nine hours ago now that he will seize the rapidly thawing mineral-rich territory “one way or another”. Who is writing Trump’s lines? 1940s Batman comics have better dialogue. And less two-dimensional sidekicks.
“I have a message tonight for the incredible people of Greenland,” the convicted fraudster declared. “We strongly support your right to determine your own future. And if you choose, we welcome you into the United States of America. We will keep you safe. We will make you rich.” In Inuit folklore, the evil spirit Idlirvirissong looks like a clown with a funny nose, but if you laugh at its dance it will slice you open, put your intestines on a plate, and feed them to its dogs. Qimitiaka nexessaqtaqpaka! Ring any bells, Inuits? I don’t think Donald Trump would bother with the plate.
The Inuit probably need to check out Trump’s treatment of Indigenous Americans before they spill their guts for the orange Idlirvirissong’s beads and baubles. Back on the mainland, Navajo people have reportedly been swept up in immigration raids, due to being kinda foreign lookin’, and Trump’s attempt to overturn birthright citizenship muddies the waters of First Nation nationality. Greenland is called Kalaallit Nunaat in the native language, meaning Island of the People. I predict that within seconds of the purchase, Google maps will have renamed it, after Trump’s favourite snack, as Island of the McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish-People™®.
The ghostwritten self-help manual author’s support for self-determination for the Greenland Inuit runs counter to his belief in the self-determination of the people of Ukraine, who he thinks should live as Tolkienesque mineral-mining dwarf-slaves at the behest of whichever evil warlock has the most powerful magical eye. But, as we are rapidly realising, pointing out the bathroom document archivist’s inconsistencies, or placing any value on anything he promises from one day to the next, is pointless. The Budapest Memorandum of 1994, signed by Russia and the US, forbids the use of both military force or economic coercion against Ukraine. Ah well. Money talks! Budapest walks!
Face it. America is now our enemy. JD Vance is desperate to destabilise Europe, supposedly because of our fear of “freedom of speech”, but perhaps because steps towards internet safety might prevent profiteering American techlords pumping falsehoods and filth into our waters, and saying it’s illegal to pray in Scotland. And Trump’s vision of the future sees a global turkey carved up between Russia, China and the US, while the rest of us fight over the giblets. Our Trident missiles require American tech to service them. Our “deterrent” is dependent on the ongoing cooperation of a man who thinks the Chinese invented global warming and that Keir Starmer rules Ireland. But that isn’t the worst part of it.
Sometime in the spring of 2020, as the breathless euphoria of lockdown’s early days slowly mutated into existential despair, I lay on my back long into the night, in the garden we were lucky enough to be able to go into, and stared at the stars in the now much clearer sky. Suddenly I saw a long caravan of lights moving at regular speed in a twinkling but sinister convoy across the static stars.
Was it a coordinated Russian air force attack? Or the second wave of an extraterrestrial invasion, our planet already weakened by their alien virus? No, the internet told me, it was a chain of 60 “Starlink” communication satellites of 7,000 that ostentatiously orbit the Earth, all owned by someone called Elon Musk. Until that moment I had been blissfully unaware of the ketamine-gobbling cap goblin’s existence.
Two weeks ago, when Ukraine continued to resist Trump’s attempts to commandeer its minerals, Musk reportedly threatened to shut off the country’s access to Starlink, which would have crippled its military defences. We are beholden to American tech companies in every aspect of our lives, via Google, Amazon, PayPal, Facebook, and multiple social media platforms. Musk has shown their Trump loyalist owners will use them as weapons of war against those who disagree with him. It’s sick to sacrifice the soft diplomacy of foreign aid to spend on flash tanks while continuing to expose our tech flanks.
Starmer thinks he can keep both an antagonistic Trump and our natural EU allies in play, and perhaps he can. To be fair, at the Edinburgh fringe in the 1980s, I saw a man swing a massive claw hammer from a hole in his penis while swallowing a fluorescent light tube at the same time.
Stewart Lee
2025-03-09T19:28:58+00:00
I’d say writing comedy about the ever-shifting opinions of Donald Trump, the Speedy Gonzales of on-the-hoof policymaking, is like playing pin the tail on the donkey, but it’s unfair on donkeys. No donkey ever sexually assaulted someone in a department store changing cubicle. It’s 4.30pm on Wednesday and I’m done. Last week I filed this column on Thursday, and then on Friday DJ Trump and JD Vance beat up Volodymyr Zelenskyy live on TV in the Oval Office to try to grab his minerals, as brazenly as Trump might grab a pussy, like a performatively cruel Tweedledum and Tweedledee in Sopranos suits. Teenage thugs caught on a security camera roughing up a petrol station attendant and tipping the contents of the till into an Adidas bag have more dignity and honour than Trump and Vance in that now immortal moment. At least they spend the money on drugs and put cash back into the local economy. The postwar order as we understand it melted before our eyes, and the funny “jokes” I had already submitted were suddenly so 24 hours ago, as DJ and JD microwaved the Cornetto™® of hope. Since I sat down to write this at six this morning, Greenland, which seemed to have disappeared from Trump’s gadfly mind for a week or two, has wandered back into his line of fire, the adjudicated abuser having told congress nine hours ago now that he will seize the rapidly thawing mineral-rich territory “one way or another”. Who is writing Trump’s lines? 1940s Batman comics have better dialogue. And less two-dimensional sidekicks. “I have a message tonight for the incredible people of Greenland,” the convicted fraudster declared. “We strongly support your right to determine your own future. And if you choose, we welcome you into the United States of America....
I’m back on the road until August with my five-star standup show, Snowflake Tornado, mouthing confirmation-bias to packed rooms of masked elitists. Over six nights at the Oxford Playhouse, I saw the familiar and friendly staff and crowds return, though the historic Eagle and Child pub sadly appears to have closed. It was here in 1933, apparently, that JRR Tolkien thought up the terrifying fissure the Crack of Doom after hearing a becubicled CS Lewis battle the afterburn of an especially potent Old Peculiar. But I am waiting for an inquiry by the very experienced civil servant Sue Gray to decide if this story is true. Dominic Cummings claims to have recorded evidence of the incident, but sceptics suggest it may just be a tape of him squelching his hand under his own armpit. That’s why you have Sue Gray looking at all the details. Let Sue Gray do her job.
Sadly, the two-year pandemic hiatus has rendered my 20-minute routine on what I imagined the new woke Bond film would be like irrelevant, but a section summarising Boris Johnson’s dismal career of flaccid dishonesty now makes a satisfying conclusion to the show for the performatively disgusted crowd, hopefully until the tour ends in August. Thus I am probably the only champagne socialist who wants the party-blind PM to stay. But the prudent thing is to wait for Sue Gray to report. Sue Gray is a very senior civil servant. Sue Gray is very well able to conduct this investigation.
In his co-authored 2012 treatise Britannia Unzipped, the justice secretary, Dominic Calais Raab, declared: “The British are among the worst idlers in the world. We work among the lowest hours, we retire early and our productivity is poor.” Luckily, despite their well-documented love of raiding the newly bought £142 Downing Street wine fridge every week for Wine-Time Fridays, it appears the staff at No 10 are the exception. Raab himself justified their right to bring their own bottles to work, saying they have been “working phenomenally hard under gruelling conditions”. Maybe the fridge was bought for Johnson to hide in in case Beth Rigby asked him a question. No one knows. That why you have Sue Gray looking at all the details. Sue Gray is all across these issues. Let Sue Gray do her job.
On the BBC on Monday, the PM was incoherently defended by the education secretary, Nadhim Zahawi, whose taxpayer-heated horses were never knowingly underwarmed, and on Sky, the culture secretary, Nadine Dorries, said, strangely: “We are waiting for an inquiry by a very formidable servile servant Sue Gray to conclude.” Did Dorries’s “servile” blunder betray her inner hope that Sue Gray would compliantly exonerate the boss she has to answer to or was it just a slip of the tongue? Who can be sure? The prudent thing now is to wait for Sue Gray to report. Sue Gray can follow the evidence wherever it takes her. We must have patience while Sue Gray carries out her inquiry.
On Sunday, the Conservatives launched Operation Red Meat, a transparent attempt to placate the ravenous dire wolves on the far right of the party with the announcement of a host of poorly thought-out populist policies. But the Royal Navy, which, like all the armed forces, is increasingly marketed as a relief agency whose staff happen to carry rifles, wasn’t keen to murder children in the sea just to detract from Johnson’s wine and Doritos habit; and the entire country of Ghana, floated by Priti Patel as a possible offshore processing plant for migrants, sent out a press release announcing, with Dorries-like levels of unintended accuracy, that it wanted no part of “Operation Dead Meat”. Why had Patel said Ghana was on board? Sue Gray will look at all the various issues. Sue Gray is very well able to conduct this investigation. Sue Gray will do an absolutely thorough job.
On Twitter last Sunday, Dorries said the next BBC licence fee settlement would be the last, but in parliament she then said that wasn’t the case, having created some confusion to distract further from her leader’s generally assumed criminality. On LBC on Wednesday, the Conservative MP for Boston and Skegness, Matt Warman, tried to argue that both of Dorries’s contradictory positions were simultaneously correct, a kind of Schrödinger’s licence fee settlement that was both the last and not the last as well. But what was the truth? Sue Gray is across all these issues. We need to know the facts and that is what Sue Gray is doing.
Taking us back to where we began, David Davis concluded PMQs on Wednesday by addressing Johnson with the very quote famously attributed to the Christian mystic and latchkey incontinent Charles Williams, as he waited patiently outside the Eagle and Child toilet cubicle still occupied by a flatulent CS Lewis: “You have sat there too long for all the good you have done. In the name of God, go.” But has the prime minister sat there too long? That’s what the Sue Gray inquiry is for. Sue Gray is across all these issues. Sue Gray will look at all the various issues. That’s why you have Sue Gray looking at all the details. Let Sue Gray do her job. The prudent thing now is to wait for Sue Gray to report. Sue Gray is a very senior civil servant. Sue Gray is very well able to conduct this investigation. Sue Gray will do an absolutely thorough job. Sue Gray can follow the evidence wherever it takes her. Anything Sue Gray needs to do she will be able to do. We need to know the facts and that is what Sue Gray is doing. We request patience while Sue Gray carries out her inquiry.
Stewart Lee
2022-01-23T12:52:04+00:00
I’m back on the road until August with my five-star standup show, Snowflake Tornado, mouthing confirmation-bias to packed rooms of masked elitists. Over six nights at the Oxford Playhouse, I saw the familiar and friendly staff and crowds return, though the historic Eagle and Child pub sadly appears to have closed. It was here in 1933, apparently, that JRR Tolkien thought up the terrifying fissure the Crack of Doom after hearing a becubicled CS Lewis battle the afterburn of an especially potent Old Peculiar. But I am waiting for an inquiry by the very experienced civil servant Sue Gray to decide if this story is true. Dominic Cummings claims to have recorded evidence of the incident, but sceptics suggest it may just be a tape of him squelching his hand under his own armpit. That’s why you have Sue Gray looking at all the details. Let Sue Gray do her job. Sadly, the two-year pandemic hiatus has rendered my 20-minute routine on what I imagined the new woke Bond film would be like irrelevant, but a section summarising Boris Johnson’s dismal career of flaccid dishonesty now makes a satisfying conclusion to the show for the performatively disgusted crowd, hopefully until the tour ends in August. Thus I am probably the only champagne socialist who wants the party-blind PM to stay. But the prudent thing is to wait for Sue Gray to report. Sue Gray is a very senior civil servant. Sue Gray is very well able to conduct this investigation. In his co-authored 2012 treatise Britannia Unzipped, the justice secretary, Dominic Calais Raab, declared: “The British are among the worst idlers in the world. We work among the lowest hours, we retire early and our productivity is poor.” Luckily, despite their well-documented love of raiding the newly bought £142 Downing...
Laura Cannell - Violin & Voice is joined by Stewart Lee - Writer & Comedian, the Contemporary Irish Cellist Kate Ellis, the Writer & Broadcaster - Jennifer Lucy Allan and Musician& Writer Polly Wright.
“Wherever we lay our heads, in cities, villages, marshes or borderlands, in this century or the next, we will have the melding of clay, the walking in marshlands, the equinox and the old stories. This is our personal and collective folklore”
Laura Cannell August 2020
These Feral Lands Volume 1 melds together words and music inspired by feral animal sounds, ancient stories and personal folklore. The ten tracks were built upon a set of unreleased violin improvisations by Cannell titled Buzzard A-H. They were recorded at the beginning of 2020 while watching and being watched by a buzzard sitting on a pole in the farmyard opposite her house. The Buzzard recordings may not always be audible but they are always there, like the Buzzard itself.
Cannell then invited Stewart Lee to create and record stories inspired by landscape, leaving him free to bring his own meaning and the results are some of the most personal he has written. Recent discoveries about parts of his family geography had come to light, in the area close to where Cannell is from on the Norfolk/Suffolk borders, and also in the Welsh borderlands.
"In 2019 the composer/curator Alex Groves approached me with a commission to compose a new piece for his SOLO series for the cellist Kate Ellis, one of Irelands leading contemporary classical musicians. I immediately said yes, knowing her reputation. In dreaming up a piece for Kate I had been listening to the deers barking at dusk in the churchyard next to my cottage, stark animal cries with disrupted repetition, I stayed for a while imagining what wild animals were in Kate's homeland Ireland.
I transcribed early recordings of wolves howling, a wild thrashing and lonesome being emerged. INHABITED: The Last Wild Wolf in Ireland' was born.
Ongoing conversations with friends and collaborators Jennifer Lucy Allan - writer and broadcaster and Polly Wright - musician and writer led us down new exploratory paths so I invited them to create new works.” LC.
All parts were recorded individually in the performers homes during the early summer of 2020.
Mixed and produced by Laura Cannell.
These Feral Lands are about our time, our space and pulling together the ragged threads of our real and imagined landscapes.
Stewart Lee
2020-09-09T12:20:41+01:00
Laura Cannell - Violin & Voice is joined by Stewart Lee - Writer & Comedian, the Contemporary Irish Cellist Kate Ellis, the Writer & Broadcaster - Jennifer Lucy Allan and Musician& Writer Polly Wright. “Wherever we lay our heads, in cities, villages, marshes or borderlands, in this century or the next, we will have the melding of clay, the walking in marshlands, the equinox and the old stories. This is our personal and collective folklore” Laura Cannell August 2020 These Feral Lands Volume 1 melds together words and music inspired by feral animal sounds, ancient stories and personal folklore. The ten tracks were built upon a set of unreleased violin improvisations by Cannell titled Buzzard A-H. They were recorded at the beginning of 2020 while watching and being watched by a buzzard sitting on a pole in the farmyard opposite her house. The Buzzard recordings may not always be audible but they are always there, like the Buzzard itself. Cannell then invited Stewart Lee to create and record stories inspired by landscape, leaving him free to bring his own meaning and the results are some of the most personal he has written. Recent discoveries about parts of his family geography had come to light, in the area close to where Cannell is from on the Norfolk/Suffolk borders, and also in the Welsh borderlands. "In 2019 the composer/curator Alex Groves approached me with a commission to compose a new piece for his SOLO series for the cellist Kate Ellis, one of Irelands leading contemporary classical musicians. I immediately said yes, knowing her reputation. In dreaming up a piece for Kate I had been listening to the deers barking at dusk in the churchyard next to my cottage, stark animal cries with disrupted repetition, I stayed for a while imagining what wild...
Last time I filed one of these Observer columns it was the March weekend of our first failed attempt to leave the European Union. I felt I was living in a farce. Brexit is the No Sex Please, We’re British of European political integration. It will run and run. Chris Grayling spends 14 million pounds on non-existent ferries to ship insulin into a country Dominic Raab “hadn’t quite understood” was an island. And both of them are wearing their wives’ nighties! And Michel Barnier and his EU negotiating team are coming to dinner!!
But, as I attempt this week’s toxic screed, I feel I am living not in a farce, but in a horror story; a lurid yarn that, if I hadn’t experienced the terrible reality of it myself, I would have dismissed as too bleak to be believable, too obscene to countenance.
But forgive me, my old friend. I am getting ahead of myself. Sit down here by the fire a while and I will tell you a tale of… No, not there. That’s my chair. You sit over there, by the bin. No, by the bin. The bin for Christ’s sakes. Does that look like a bin? That is an umbrella stand, obviously!! Well, it’s got all umbrellas and sticks and that in it, that’s why!!! That, there, that is a bin!!! They are completely different!!!! Are you blind as well as stupid?
Forgive me, old friend. I forgot to take my lisinopril. Aaah, that’s better. Yes, one of the side-effects is flatulence. I do apologise. Now, I believe it was last Tuesday night… excuse me, again… that I settled down to watch John Carpenter’s 1994 film In the Mouth of Madness. Horror and pulp suddenly seem more pertinent to the world of today than worthy TV dramas such as CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: Miami and CSI: Mugging Inquiries Binned After 24-hour Window Due to Staffing Issues.
Drawing heavily on the works of the horror writer and fruit sauce magnate HP “HP” Lovecraft, In the Mouth of Madness envisions a society whose citizens believe they have free will, but are following the script of an all-powerful author, intent on turning them against each other, to make their world a playground for unspeakably evil beings hellbent on their ruin.
Did Sir Lynton Crosby spend a million pounds targeting Facebook users through a series of implausible “grassroots” hard-Brexit campaign groups? Britain’s Future and We Are the 52% have both been discussed by the disinformation subcommittee, which is a genuine parliamentary body not an alt-metal band. But were Crosby’s cronies actual organisations or just opinion-morphing constructs made of lies, stock photographs of plausibly normal people pulling serious faces, and exciting fonts?
On Wednesday, it was my younger daughter’s sixth birthday and so, still under that shadow of In the Mouth of Madness, I took her to Kelvedon Hatch secret nuclear bunker in Essex, a perfectly preserved abandoned government shelter that survives as a monument to the impossibility of winning a nuclear war, picnic area and snack bar.
In the bunker’s dressing-up room, the whole family wore the uniforms of gas-masked troopers, tasked with fighting off vengeful irradiated civilians, and posed for selfies. It will make a great politically correct Christmas card this year. “The North London Metropolitan Liberal Elite wish you a Happy Nuclear Winterval.”
In one dimly lit room, a dummy of John Majors reposed on a bed where the PM would have waited to broadcast the nation’s funeral rites. But John Majors is known for his wicked sense of humour and I wondered if he had ever lain in place of his effigy, hiding in plain sight and chuckling, as the traumatised tourists passed by.
Leaflets warning of imminent nuclear war, familiar from my own anxious teenage years, made me oddly nostalgic. Back then, we thought we’d go out with a bang, but climate change science shows us our doom will be a protracted whimper as, over the next few decades, environmental alterations render the world as we know it incrementally unsustainable.
Needless to say, I dragged my children down to Oxford Circus over Easter, travelling by bicycle to avoid the BBC’s Justin Webb accusing me of hypocrisy. I had hoped to get in some good virtue signalling, but I am so out of shape no one recognised me as “Stewart Lee, the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian” (Dominic Maxwell, the Times) and Nanny McPhee was able to snaffle the limelight as usual.
You would have to be dead inside to ridicule the teenage environmentalist Greta Thunberg and yet the usual grindingly algorithimic alt-right controversialists have done just that. And Ken Marsh, the actual genuine chairman of the real Metropolitan Police Federation that exists, described Greta’s followers on LBC as people “eating their lentil souffles that they are all doing”, like an incoherent baby writing a satirical song about hippies for Nationwide circa 1983.
Theresa May wouldn’t even meet the child warrior, knowing she would melt before Greta’s Scandinavian certainties, just as in In the Mouth of Madness, the insurance fraud investigator John Trent (Sam Neill) remains incarcerated in an asylum rather than confront the horrible truths beyond its walls.
I’ll level with ya, True Believers! Inspired by In the Mouth of Madness, I had hoped to write an entire column in the style of a 19th-century horror writer. But I gave up. My youngest flushed a whole apple down the toilet last night and I lost an evening’s writing time in the fallout.
But Greta Thunberg has made everything buzz with hot fuzzy meaning. And there was one line in In the Mouth of Madness, that Sam Neill’s character says while drawing crucifixes on the wall of his padded cell, that just jumped out – “Every species can smell its own extinction.” You go, girl!
Stewart Lee
2019-04-28T15:07:26+01:00
Last time I filed one of these Observer columns it was the March weekend of our first failed attempt to leave the European Union. I felt I was living in a farce. Brexit is the No Sex Please, We’re British of European political integration. It will run and run. Chris Grayling spends 14 million pounds on non-existent ferries to ship insulin into a country Dominic Raab “hadn’t quite understood” was an island. And both of them are wearing their wives’ nighties! And Michel Barnier and his EU negotiating team are coming to dinner!! But, as I attempt this week’s toxic screed, I feel I am living not in a farce, but in a horror story; a lurid yarn that, if I hadn’t experienced the terrible reality of it myself, I would have dismissed as too bleak to be believable, too obscene to countenance. But forgive me, my old friend. I am getting ahead of myself. Sit down here by the fire a while and I will tell you a tale of… No, not there. That’s my chair. You sit over there, by the bin. No, by the bin. The bin for Christ’s sakes. Does that look like a bin? That is an umbrella stand, obviously!! Well, it’s got all umbrellas and sticks and that in it, that’s why!!! That, there, that is a bin!!! They are completely different!!!! Are you blind as well as stupid? Forgive me, old friend. I forgot to take my lisinopril. Aaah, that’s better. Yes, one of the side-effects is flatulence. I do apologise. Now, I believe it was last Tuesday night… excuse me, again… that I settled down to watch John Carpenter’s 1994 film In the Mouth of Madness. Horror and pulp suddenly seem more pertinent to the world of today than worthy TV dramas...
I only got a “smart” television set 18 months ago, so I have already avoided years of covert surveillance by the CIA, the FBI, MI5, CI5 and NWA. No one is safe from Samsung’s all-seeing Eye of Sauron. Apparently, a deeply embedded program currently enables the intelligence agencies to note and monitor anyone who is watching ITV’s The Nightly Show, in the belief that they must be a weird loner-misfit, inexplicably fascinated by human suffering, a ticking social time bomb just waiting to explode.
I am a late adopter of new technology. If I had played the ape at the opening of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I would have thrown the bone up in the air, and then Stanley Kubrick would have cut, not to a similarly shaped satellite swooping through the cosmos in the far future, but to me, some years later, still throwing the bone up in the air, and obstinately refusing banana-based inducements to upgrade to a more aerodynamic bone.
To me, the modern world, with its smart televisions and Facebooks and Deliveroos, seems so impossibly futuristic I feel like Jeff Bridges in the movie Tron (1982). Is he a bewildered man trapped inside a mainframe computer, dreaming of being a bewildered man trapped inside a Dino De Laurentiis remake of King Kong (1976)? Or is he a bewildered man trapped inside a Dino De Laurentiis remake of King Kong (1976) dreaming that he is a bewildered man trapped inside a mainframe computer?
I still have an old Nokia mobile phone, so basic it doesn’t even have that Snake game on it or a built-in camera. For years I have managed fine without being able to manipulate an imaginary reptile on demand, or photograph my noodles, to make people I was at school with in the 1980s envy my metrosexual lifestyle.
But at the Edinburgh fringe in 2015, some adult San Franciscan hipster friends of the Generation X tastemaker Harmon Leon accused me of owning the Nokia “ironically, to try and look weird”. And yet they were the ones with dreadlocks, tattoos of Rick Moranis, pierced scrotums and pointed Viking beards! And that was just the women!!
I understand from the Guardian that Nokia is relaunching a version of the Nokia phone I still have as a retro-cool item. This just goes to show that if you stand in the same place long enough you will eventually become a fashion icon. Or be run over by a bus.
In a recent broadsheet newspaper personality test entitled “Are you a member of the metropolitan liberal elite?”, the only points I scored were for owning vinyl records. But I simply never got rid of them the first time around, so my analogue listening habits indicated only indolence and luddite tendencies, not premeditated upward social mobility. I am not you.
My nephew thinks it is funny that I do not know what Candy Crush is. I think it is funny that he will never own his own home.
Having spent three decades assembling a collection of maps of the entire British Isles and every city centre, I refuse to use a satnav, and as a result am often lost. But, while lost, oh the things I have seen! The real Britain that satnavs avoid; the Gnome Reserve at West Putford; the legendarily extreme adverse camber on the A944 near Aberdeen; and Roy Wood, from Wizzard, shooing a badger out of his garden, near Yeaveley in Derbyshire.
Right now, I am in a hotel room in Guildford. If I suddenly wanted my record player at home to comfort my lonely cat with a burst of the Spin Doctors’ irresistible 1991 earworm Two Princes, my distant abode would remain silent. I do not understand the technology required to remotely activate my appliances, though the cat, left to his own devices, has made a reasonable fist of using my paper shredder. Admittedly, as a urinal.
Even though I have a “smart” television, I am yet to work out how to subscribe to newfangled internet computer-television stations like Netflix or Amazon Prime. Consequently, to the annoyance of incredulous acquaintances, I am yet to see Game of Thrones, or Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings, as I like to call it. Though I understand one can achieve the same experience from just sitting around with a Terry Pratchett novel in one hand and a copy of Hustler’s Barely Legal in the other.
But perhaps this ignorance has made me safe. Can it really be true that “they” are spying on “us” through our televisions, just like Big Brother does on Winston Smith in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four? It has become a cliche to invoke the prophetic nature of Orwell’s dystopian fiction, but just because doing so is a cliche does not make Orwell’s prophecies any less prophetic.
Now I’m in a Guildford hotel room, afraid, at 5.45pm. There’s a smart television mounted on the wall behind me, reflected in the mirror in front of me. Is someone watching me, through that very television screen, now, as I sit here, writing this, about them, watching me, on that? Is this sentence now being read over my shoulder as I write it, by them? If I write that I know they are watching, will they stop watching, or will they strike? You. I know you are watching.
I have to go over the road to do my standup show at seven. But just before I wrote that last paragraph I ordered room service – a small shepherd’s pie with a side order of seasonal veg. Nothing fancy. I try to keep tour costs down and pass the savings on to the customer. No one would begrudge me a pie. Would they? And yet, if “they” are reading this, “they” know that I am on to “them”.
Time to go. The pie sits untouched. Who could, in the current climate, confidently eat a shepherd’s pie bought into their room by a stranger?
At the newly built G Live theatre in Guildford, there is an insurmountable design fault. The lights in the dressing rooms are operated not by switches, of which there are none, but by movement sensors. So if you sit still for too long reading, or trying to learn words, you are plunged into darkness and have to leap up and dance around to restore the light. And likewise, it is not possible to rest or sleep, as the room remains dazzlingly bright perpetually. But unravelling the technology now would be too much trouble. It is what it is. People have learned to live with it.
Stewart Lee
2017-03-12T20:57:58+00:00
I only got a “smart” television set 18 months ago, so I have already avoided years of covert surveillance by the CIA, the FBI, MI5, CI5 and NWA. No one is safe from Samsung’s all-seeing Eye of Sauron. Apparently, a deeply embedded program currently enables the intelligence agencies to note and monitor anyone who is watching ITV’s The Nightly Show, in the belief that they must be a weird loner-misfit, inexplicably fascinated by human suffering, a ticking social time bomb just waiting to explode. I am a late adopter of new technology. If I had played the ape at the opening of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I would have thrown the bone up in the air, and then Stanley Kubrick would have cut, not to a similarly shaped satellite swooping through the cosmos in the far future, but to me, some years later, still throwing the bone up in the air, and obstinately refusing banana-based inducements to upgrade to a more aerodynamic bone. To me, the modern world, with its smart televisions and Facebooks and Deliveroos, seems so impossibly futuristic I feel like Jeff Bridges in the movie Tron (1982). Is he a bewildered man trapped inside a mainframe computer, dreaming of being a bewildered man trapped inside a Dino De Laurentiis remake of King Kong (1976)? Or is he a bewildered man trapped inside a Dino De Laurentiis remake of King Kong (1976) dreaming that he is a bewildered man trapped inside a mainframe computer? I still have an old Nokia mobile phone, so basic it doesn’t even have that Snake game on it or a built-in camera. For years I have managed fine without being able to manipulate an imaginary reptile on demand, or photograph my noodles, to make people I was at school with in the 1980s...
In 2016, Deal or No Deal was axed by Channel 4, the British public voted to Leave the European Union, and Stewart Lee started touring his show Content Provider, whose opening gambit is that the shock of Brexit has rendered its script obsolete. Now it is 2018: Content Provider has been filmed for the BBC, and the latest news in Brexit purgatory is that a No-deal Brexit may or may not mean that patients miss out on essential medicines and or/we all starve to death within a year. If only Noel Edmonds and the Banker were here to explain what a Deal Brexit might be.
For both comedians and politicians, uncertainty can be a matchbox or a candle snuffer. Content Provider comes out torch juggling with an admission of its own failure; there is ambiguity surrounding whether Brexit really has forced Lee to improvise and account for its effect on the national zeitgeist, or if in fact Lee’s plan all along was to stage an improvisation around the conflict comedians face when attempting to satirise such political upheavals.
Doubt and self-referentiality have long been part of Lee’s strategy. Towards the end of Content Provider’s first half, he digresses from the arc of his set. Pontificating on why the joke he just made should have got a laugh but didn’t, he charts its reception on three different nights from late 2016 into 2017. The joke in question goes roughly thus:
The irony of remaking Are You Being Served? is that the British retail industry no longer exists. The new Are You Being Served? should be set in an Amazon delivery warehouse: Mrs Slocombe stands in a massive shed off the M6 and makes incomprehensible cat-based double entendres about her own vagina to poorly paid and soon-to-be-deported East European workers.
First, Lee explains, the joke worked because it was topical: it reflected a state of affairs, in that mass deportation felt imminent. Then, suddenly, it didn’t work – the government decided that EU citizens would be allowed to stay after Brexit, and the joke was out of date. Then, David Davis – no longer the Brexit secretary, keep up – explained how even that ostensible clarity was unstable because nothing had been agreed upon with Brussels. See? This is hardly a laugh a minute. As Lee points out, by the time an audience member has tried to sum up all that to her neighbour, the beat of his joke is long gone.
Like Stewart Lee, you have probably noticed that political jokes have a very short shelf life at the moment. How to make a gag about Boris Johnson, for instance, when one day he’s Foreign Secretary, the next resigned, the next posh-booming his religious bigotry, the next PM, oh my god, no? Current events are unfolding at breakneck speed. You’re also aware that ‘shelf life’ refers to the time a commodity can be stored without becoming unfit for sale, consumption, use. And you’re probably also awake on some level to the fact that I too am currently tasked with providing content about an increasingly murky and rapidly changing political swampland for this website, that I have judged the phrase ‘shelf life’ to have enough mileage, through its vague irony, not to be rendered obsolete in a week – we’ll still have shelves, and things to put on them, by next Friday, right? Anyway, there goes the fourth wall, sorry not sorry – I’m cutting the strings on your suspended disbelief, a bit like our Stew.
The way Content Provider consistently examines its own shelf life could not be more readily apparent if there was a ‘Best Before’ date stamped on every ticket. Lee concedes with irony-become-sincere, ‘As I don't know how Brexit's going to pan out, I can't write anything about it, in case it goes out of fashion or out of date and I can't use the bit for the full 18 months of the show and monetise the work I've done.’ A joke about writing a joke. Out of context, this might seem an annoying meta- posture to strike, but it’s one with backbone – because the commodification of comedy, and its inferred perishability, becomes a way to discuss the withering of other core values that we share(d) as a society.
In his book Denial: The Unspeakable Truth, Keith Kahn-Harris speaks about the evolution of good old-fashioned denial into the dogma of denialism, and then into something more chaotic still: “Whereas denialism is painstakingly thought-through, post-denialism is instinctive,” he writes. “Whereas denialism is disciplined, post-denialism is anarchic.” As contemporary culture and politics begin to eat their own collective tail – post-denialism, (post) post-truth – accuracy is the last on a list of priorities. Doubt can be very useful, politically as well as comedically speaking. Post-denialists, like comedians, don’t care about the truth of their words: rather, their effect. In the same way as Stewart Lee’s audience doesn’t care whether his purported anecdotes are drawn from real life or his imagination, Trump supporters don’t ask their president for graphs or dossiers when he claims, as he did in 2012 via twitter, that “The concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive.” In either case, it’s how the story makes you feel that matters; how a tidbit slots into a wider agenda that bites; instinct trumps discipline, and anything is possible.
Lee’s agenda – having you think, and laugh – might be less nefarious than Nigel Farage’s was when he promised, via the timeless medium of a double decker bus (?) that Brexit would see 350 million pounds a week going to the NHS rather than the EU; both involve statements that aren’t true, and they’re both more complicated than ‘lying’. Children tell lies. Your wife lies about how many Mai Tais she drank on Thursday. Your dad lies about how much he spent on the vintage lawnmower for his burgeoning ‘museum’. Farage’s bus and Trump’s tweet are stories unmoored from any moral sea bed, and miles from the shores of either truth or fiction. The pronouncements of politicians in 2018 have more in common with a shrewd comedian’s set than a principled manifesto – and, while spin and rhetoric have always been essential weapons in any politician’s arsenal, we’re shuffling into an uncharted firing range.
When comedians write satire in a cultural climate such as this, the (unintentional) effect can be to reify the kind of doubt that slick politicians are capitalising on to create it. Lee’s joke about the deportation of East European workers might fit that particular bill, but he’s long co-opted doubt as a comedic strategy (performing the alienation and division of his audience, for example, or appearing to bomb hard on-purpose-not-on-purpose for the sheer thrill of joking his way back out of a corner.) Now more than ever, Lee’s brand of self-aware satire looks like a detournement of the kind of political strategies used to gain power, hijacking a politician’s alchemy of doubt and truth as a means to comedic ends.
By bringing doubt into the fabric of his set itself, Lee seems to say: let’s sit with it. The persona he plays when explaining why his Are-you-being-served-deportation-of-Eastern-European-workers joke failed or hit home is that of a bemused observer; his audience’s, or perhaps a critic’s. Many have observed that satire has become impossible in a political climate stranger than fiction. When the material writes itself, there’s time and room to look at its substance; to take it apart; to dismantle, and reassemble slowly. Rather than being clever for clever’s sake, Lee’s interest in the construction of jokes gives us a way to look at the nuts and bolts of the political situations he’s skewering. When the Venn diagram of comedy and politics becomes a circle, Lee’s gift of a behind-the-scenes tour of one becomes a chillingly clear lens to apply to the other. Can’t you see?
Stewart Lee
2018-08-09T21:44:20+01:00
In 2016, Deal or No Deal was axed by Channel 4, the British public voted to Leave the European Union, and Stewart Lee started touring his show Content Provider, whose opening gambit is that the shock of Brexit has rendered its script obsolete. Now it is 2018: Content Provider has been filmed for the BBC, and the latest news in Brexit purgatory is that a No-deal Brexit may or may not mean that patients miss out on essential medicines and or/we all starve to death within a year. If only Noel Edmonds and the Banker were here to explain what a Deal Brexit might be. For both comedians and politicians, uncertainty can be a matchbox or a candle snuffer. Content Provider comes out torch juggling with an admission of its own failure; there is ambiguity surrounding whether Brexit really has forced Lee to improvise and account for its effect on the national zeitgeist, or if in fact Lee’s plan all along was to stage an improvisation around the conflict comedians face when attempting to satirise such political upheavals. Doubt and self-referentiality have long been part of Lee’s strategy. Towards the end of Content Provider’s first half, he digresses from the arc of his set. Pontificating on why the joke he just made should have got a laugh but didn’t, he charts its reception on three different nights from late 2016 into 2017. The joke in question goes roughly thus: The irony of remaking Are You Being Served? is that the British retail industry no longer exists. The new Are You Being Served? should be set in an Amazon delivery warehouse: Mrs Slocombe stands in a massive shed off the M6 and makes incomprehensible cat-based double entendres about her own vagina to poorly paid and soon-to-be-deported East European workers. First, Lee...
Punk Rock Ist Nicht Tot is a career-spanning compilation album by hugely prolific Godfather of the Kent punk and garage rock scene, Billy Childish. Contains songs from his work with The Pop Rivets, The Milkshakes, Thee Mighty Caesars, The Delmonas, Thee Headcoates and more. Sleeve notes by Stewart Lee. More Info on the release here.
Here’s a field guide to the many faces of Billy Childish. by Stewart Lee
From 1977 to 1980 The Pop Rivets played contemporary sounding primitive punk, Childish alongside Bruce Brand on guitar, and then on drums, who was to stay at his side until the end of the century; from 1980 to 1984 The Milkshakes mined the sound of exactly Hamburg 1961. The later, stomping garage anthem ‘I’m Out Of Control’ (included here), could have been written by the Sonics, The Wailers or the The Kinks and their British beat buddies, just as the first solar flares of psychedelia started to singe their fringes; from 1985 to 1989.
Thee Mighty Caesars evidenced an even simpler, earlier, and much messier take on the garage sound than The Milkshakes, with Childish starting to find a way of incorporating the sort of stanzas, which while reflective of the raw confessionals of his writing, still swung like song lyrics should. Whilst still sonically rooted somewhere around the mid-sixties, Thee Headcoats’ twelve year reign, from 1989 to 2000, seemed to allow a playful Childish freedom to indulge a variety of whims. While previous projects had seen him channeling existing garage punk forms, Thee Headcoats used these structures to service his own distinctive vision, his musical apprenticeship now complete, Childish having learned guitar on the job.
If the Bo Diddley licks of Thee Headcoats phase sounded like they emanated from the delta of the Mississippi, then the idiom and sensibility of Thee Headcoats’ songs was leaking demonstrably from the delta of the Medway. Clad in Deerstalkers in honor of the Twickenham ‘60s beat group The Downliners Sect, with whom they were to collaborate, and unduly fixated on Sherlock Holmes ephemera, Thee Headcoats found Childish finally fusing a distinctly English take on an American music, and lionised by American grunge era Sub Pop groups, luminaries for whom he represented a disappearing authenticity, occasionally sighted through the Seattle tree line, a sonic sasquatch.
Meanwhile, Childish has always had an interest in Native American culture, and to me Thee Headcoatees, the female-fronted version of Thee Headcoats that allowed Childish to foreground songs more suited to a feminine perspective, casts him as a kind of Chatham berdache. This Zuni man-woman shaman was charged with maintaining a fluid gender identity in an act of cosmic balancing, and Childish uses Thee Headcoatees as a way of undergoing a kind of musical gender-reassignment. Subsequent distaff Childish combos, The Buffets and The Shall-I-Say-Quois maintained this idea, Headcoatee Holly Golightly would go on to record abrasive duets with childish, and a snatch of Kyra Rubella’s solo work, backed by Childish’s band, is included here too.
As he entered the new century, and nudged into his forties, Childish’s best musical work was still ahead of him, an astounding state of affairs given rock musicians’ usual descent into irrelevance and nostalgia. The Buff Medways, active from 2000 to 2005, saw Childish hook up with a new rhythm section and don cavalry twill to form a tight trio in thrall to the sound of the Soho beat scene speakeasies of late 1966
and early 1967, no earlier, and no later. The decadence of psychedelia was eschewed, but live covers of Hendrix’s ‘Fire’ and The Who’s ‘A Quick One, While He’s Away’ sat comfortably on-top of a whirlwind of windmilling drums and bass.
With wife and latter Buff Medways bassist Nurse Julie on board Childish essayed an authentic sounding Medway Delta Americana with The Chatham Singers, field recordings drawn from a parallel world where Alan Lomax and Shirley Collins traced the roots of the blues to 19th century Kent, and discovered its last living exponent breaking rocks in Chatham docks. Anticipating the anxieties of national identity that now divide England, Childish moved a decade forward from the chosen musical milieu of The Buff Medways to spend 2007 and 2008 fronting The Musicians Of The British Empire. The group snagged Victorian military regalia to sneer satirical state of the nation songs, and allow Childish to recall the mood of the mid-Seventies that shaped him, over textbook 1976/77 punk riffs.
The short-lived Vermin Poets side-project morphed into The Spartan Dreggs, active from 2011 to 2014, which saw Childish switch to bass and surrender guitar and vocals to The Fire Dept’s Neil Palmer. The group’s recordings see the set texts of the poetry course at a 1950s liberal arts university, or an experimental private school, set to the sound of a trebly ‘60s folk rock band fed into the garage punk grinder, and they are a highpoint in Childish’s catalogue.
Where much of his music fills me with a virulent, if invigorating, anxiety, The Spartan Dreggs somehow touched the sublime and make me turn my face toward heaven. Childish’s current project reflects a man at peace with his past, and could almost be described as an act of time travel. CTMF, or The Chatham Forts, was the name Childish chose for his first band, back in 1976, but the proposed members never got around to rehearsing or sourcing a drum kit. In 2013
Childish and his current collaborators revived the spirit, if not the original intended line-up, of CTMF, unused lyrics he had jotted down thirty-seven years previously, many of them relating to Chatham’s local history, forming the basis of the new group’s first album. An ongoing concern, this flexible trio touch bass with all the different stylistic phases of Childish’s career, and their most recent album, Brand New Cage, features a forty year old photo of a vacantly furious young Billy, his face scarred with acne and razorblades, while inside this elder statesman of outsider art, flanked by long term drummer Wolf and his wife and co-worker Julie, stares up at the camera, now unassailable. In ‘A Song For Kylie Minogue’ Childish even appears to make peace with his own reputation, accommodating, rather than resenting, the praise and adulation of the art and music superstars who cite him as an influence, hatchets and bitten hands well and truly buried.
Few artists of such wildly independent spirit live long enough to achieve this kind of equilibrium.
Stewart Lee, writer/clown, Stoke Newington, October 2018
Stewart Lee
2019-04-23T18:27:02+01:00
Punk Rock Ist Nicht Tot is a career-spanning compilation album by hugely prolific Godfather of the Kent punk and garage rock scene, Billy Childish. Contains songs from his work with The Pop Rivets, The Milkshakes, Thee Mighty Caesars, The Delmonas, Thee Headcoates and more. Sleeve notes by Stewart Lee. More Info on the release here. Here’s a field guide to the many faces of Billy Childish. by Stewart Lee From 1977 to 1980 The Pop Rivets played contemporary sounding primitive punk, Childish alongside Bruce Brand on guitar, and then on drums, who was to stay at his side until the end of the century; from 1980 to 1984 The Milkshakes mined the sound of exactly Hamburg 1961. The later, stomping garage anthem ‘I’m Out Of Control’ (included here), could have been written by the Sonics, The Wailers or the The Kinks and their British beat buddies, just as the first solar flares of psychedelia started to singe their fringes; from 1985 to 1989. Thee Mighty Caesars evidenced an even simpler, earlier, and much messier take on the garage sound than The Milkshakes, with Childish starting to find a way of incorporating the sort of stanzas, which while reflective of the raw confessionals of his writing, still swung like song lyrics should. Whilst still sonically rooted somewhere around the mid-sixties, Thee Headcoats’ twelve year reign, from 1989 to 2000, seemed to allow a playful Childish freedom to indulge a variety of whims. While previous projects had seen him channeling existing garage punk forms, Thee Headcoats used these structures to service his own distinctive vision, his musical apprenticeship now complete, Childish having learned guitar on the job. If the Bo Diddley licks of Thee Headcoats phase sounded like they emanated from the delta of the Mississippi, then the idiom and sensibility of...
This week, the 1980’s comedian Ben Elton told the Christian magazine Third Way that the BBC is too scared to make jokes about Islam. Apparently, Ben Elton himself even had a line about taking the mountain to Mohammed disallowed by the BBC on religious grounds. Comedy fans may find it ironic that this line vanished when somehow the whole of his recent ITV series, the woeful Get A Grip, was somehow allowed to be broadcast.
But to be fair to Ben Elton, it is true that there are less jokes concerning Islam on television than there are jokes concerning Christianity, but it is a leap of faith to assume this means that existing jokes in existing scripts were removed to protect Muslim sensibilities and BBC staff. It may be that the Muslim comedy Ben Elton would like so dearly to see on our screens simply isn’t being generated at source.
What do we know, en masse, of Islam, beyond the most basic stereotypes of burkas and bombs? Life Of Brian brilliantly used the intimate understanding its audience had of the chronology of Christ’s life to substitute him for a bewildered, normal bloke. But it’s not possible to take people under the skin of Islam in the same way, when it remains largely a mystery to most writers and audiences.
Comedians who are ‘culturally Christian’ at least understand the taboos they chose to break when writing about vicars and virgin births, and do so knowingly. The Muslim world’s response to the Danish Mohammed cartoons remains deplorable, but the fireworks of the gags contained in them were drowned out by unexpected exploding landmines of depictions of the Prophet. Perhaps a rigorous and thorough satire of Islamic themes would be better executed by someone with experience of it?
There are Muslim comics in the stand-up arena, such as the inadvertently totemic Shazia Mirza, who can speak about their culture from a personal point of view, and who have earned both the praise and the hostility of their own communities for doing so. Perhaps we should look to them to fill Mr Elton’s Muslim joke quota?
And there are jokes about Islam in circulation of course. I have a routine based on being asked to leave a weight watchers meeting by a woman in a hijab which has been described as both ‘tediously politically correct’ and ‘ignorant and offensive’. Chris Morris is working on a comedy film about suicide bombers which one expects will be characteristically illuminating. And Roy Chubby Brown’s latest CD includes the following material; “You can’t say anything about religion these days can you? They say you can’t say Protestant, you can’t say Muslim, you can’t say Jew. Which is a shame, because I like to go in my newsagent on a Sunday morning and say, ‘Here’s a quid, keep the change you Paki bastard.’”
Chubby’s wonderful timing and shocking vulgarity mean one can’t help but laugh. But his joke doesn’t mean anything. It sets up the expectation that it will address anxieties about faith, and then jumps into simple racist abuse. It would be difficult, for example, for the BBC to justify broadcasting such a flawed joke. Yet it is received by its enthusiastic audience as if it has heroically exposed the PC establishment’s fear of addressing non-Christian religions, a glib truism that the increasingly disconnected Ben Elton has now also embraced.
At the end of his interview, Ben Elton, whose children attend a Church school, said he believed in “almost nothing”. Anyone who has seen his Queen musical, the most cyncial piece of art ever made by humans, will not be surprised by this. But Ben Elton went on to say that schools should teach the essentials of Christianity, if only for cultural reasons. In making this statement he begins to unravel his own confusion. Schools should teach children not just about Christianity, but about all religions, for cultural reasons. Religious separatism in education encourages the teaching of religions as revealed truths, rather than as various, and often equally valid, mytho-poetic attempts to rationalise existence. This will not build the kind of society where we know enough about each other’s religious and cultural backgrounds to understand them, accept them, question them and, yes, make jokes about them in anything other than the most ignorant manner.
Stewart Lee
2008-03-02T20:05:16+00:00
This week, the 1980’s comedian Ben Elton told the Christian magazine Third Way that the BBC is too scared to make jokes about Islam. Apparently, Ben Elton himself even had a line about taking the mountain to Mohammed disallowed by the BBC on religious grounds. Comedy fans may find it ironic that this line vanished when somehow the whole of his recent ITV series, the woeful Get A Grip, was somehow allowed to be broadcast. But to be fair to Ben Elton, it is true that there are less jokes concerning Islam on television than there are jokes concerning Christianity, but it is a leap of faith to assume this means that existing jokes in existing scripts were removed to protect Muslim sensibilities and BBC staff. It may be that the Muslim comedy Ben Elton would like so dearly to see on our screens simply isn’t being generated at source. What do we know, en masse, of Islam, beyond the most basic stereotypes of burkas and bombs? Life Of Brian brilliantly used the intimate understanding its audience had of the chronology of Christ’s life to substitute him for a bewildered, normal bloke. But it’s not possible to take people under the skin of Islam in the same way, when it remains largely a mystery to most writers and audiences. Comedians who are ‘culturally Christian’ at least understand the taboos they chose to break when writing about vicars and virgin births, and do so knowingly. The Muslim world’s response to the Danish Mohammed cartoons remains deplorable, but the fireworks of the gags contained in them were drowned out by unexpected exploding landmines of depictions of the Prophet. Perhaps a rigorous and thorough satire of Islamic themes would be better executed by someone with experience of it? There are Muslim comics in...
But that’s what happened at Stewart Lee’s two hour show in Birmingham.
A short song played with acoustic guitar at the end of the set, with a message about voting for Boris Johnson did it for me and I couldn’t get it out of my head for hours.
It came at the end of a marathon set, split into two hour-long sessions on his Tornado/Snowflake tour.
It was typical Lee with his usual false self-deprecation (who cares what some little fat, greying middle-aged bloke with high blood pressure has to say,) topical references to coronavirus and why we were all there and savagely dismantling fellow comics.
He takes no prisoners and is all the funnier for it.
He teases the crowd with their lacks of enthusiasm - understanding of his gags - and generally wishing he was somewhere else.
His act, with a mixture of endless repetition, cerebral references and a bit of slapstick and yes, even a bit of music. His act been endlessly analysed, but in the end it has the key ingredient – it is funny, that narrative style endlessly drawing low key laughter and occasionally full blown belly laughs.
The first part, Tornado, included predictable jokes about how he wished the show had been cancelled after the latest coronavirus advice, and he bet we wished it had been too.
And then we were repeatedly assailed with tales of sharks.
In fact ‘reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe’, is a misquote about his previous show on Netflix, and is actually about an obscure movie Sharknado, in which sharks fall from the sky having been swept up from the sea by a tornado. He turned this into a sea creature theme for the rest of the show.
He also took aim at other comics, notably Ricky Gervais, Jimmy Carr, the reason for Josh Widdicombe being on Channel 4’s The Last Leg and a surreal dismantling of US comic Dave Chappelle.
Chappelle's love of rotisserie chickens for his gigs was skewered, literally, with lines about Hitler’s hens and Pol Pot poultry, and being late on stage.
Add hilarious skits, I hesitate to say quips, about a meeting in Nottingham with a baked potato seller with the name of Robin Hood Baked Potatoes, where he pointed out that potatoes weren’t around in the days of Robin Hood. Surreal, at times infantile, but hilarious too.
The second set, Snowflake. takes aim at political correctness gone mad, the deifying of Ricky Gervais and his Afterlife show and Phoebe Waller-Bridge, she of Fleabag.
Also in the firing line again was Jimmy Carr and former revolutionary enfant terrible, turned Tory gob on a stick Tony Parsons and his use of grammar and swear words.
Gervais gets it ‘for saying the unsayable', an excruciating slapstick routine about not actually saying anything at all, that, given Lee's high blood pressure, had you fearing for his life.
But the best lines were reserved for Waller-Bridge and her involvement with the latest James Bond. Her style of delivery was ferociously lampooned as was the whole James Bond (or John Bond as his nan would say) franchise with references to his tiny manhood and what a thoroughly unsavoury character 007 is or was.
His nan was also used as a vehicle to deconstruct claims of political correctness gone made, with some hilarious, but sadly recognisable racist tropes. He makes no apology for political correctness, but recognises the world we live in the the people we are governed by.
Cue the song, a fitting end to an uproarious, brilliantly constructed two hours of thought provoking comedy.
The Gervais spoof stretched you patience, but the biting sarcasm, challenging of the audience and interspersed slapstick made it a glorious couple of hours.
And despite having grown up just down the road from the venue, there was no mawkish homage to his home town, just endless laughter.
Stewart Lee
2020-03-13T14:51:54+00:00
But that’s what happened at Stewart Lee’s two hour show in Birmingham. A short song played with acoustic guitar at the end of the set, with a message about voting for Boris Johnson did it for me and I couldn’t get it out of my head for hours. It came at the end of a marathon set, split into two hour-long sessions on his Tornado/Snowflake tour. It was typical Lee with his usual false self-deprecation (who cares what some little fat, greying middle-aged bloke with high blood pressure has to say,) topical references to coronavirus and why we were all there and savagely dismantling fellow comics. He takes no prisoners and is all the funnier for it. He teases the crowd with their lacks of enthusiasm - understanding of his gags - and generally wishing he was somewhere else. His act, with a mixture of endless repetition, cerebral references and a bit of slapstick and yes, even a bit of music. His act been endlessly analysed, but in the end it has the key ingredient – it is funny, that narrative style endlessly drawing low key laughter and occasionally full blown belly laughs. The first part, Tornado, included predictable jokes about how he wished the show had been cancelled after the latest coronavirus advice, and he bet we wished it had been too. And then we were repeatedly assailed with tales of sharks. In fact ‘reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe’, is a misquote about his previous show on Netflix, and is actually about an obscure movie Sharknado, in which sharks fall from the sky having been swept up from the sea by a tornado. He turned this into a sea creature theme for the rest of...
The title track of Tennessee's Jeff The Brotherhood's fourth album seesaws on a pulverising riff indebted to Hawkwind's Master Of The Universe. The hoary acid pirates have become a legitimate source of plunder for a distorted three-string guitar and drums garage-psyche duo. Elsewhere Sonic Youth's surging rock fixtures are appropriated, their experimental fittings ignored, and Eighties American hardcore's punishing intensity and velocity are welded to unexpectedly sugary power-pop melodies.
The Tropics buries Phil Spector moves in a dense descending guitar part.
Now the kids can download all rock history instantly, illegally and free, anticipate more previously unimaginable crossbreeds such as Heavy Days.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-23T20:30:26+00:00
The title track of Tennessee's Jeff The Brotherhood's fourth album seesaws on a pulverising riff indebted to Hawkwind's Master Of The Universe. The hoary acid pirates have become a legitimate source of plunder for a distorted three-string guitar and drums garage-psyche duo. Elsewhere Sonic Youth's surging rock fixtures are appropriated, their experimental fittings ignored, and Eighties American hardcore's punishing intensity and velocity are welded to unexpectedly sugary power-pop melodies. The Tropics buries Phil Spector moves in a dense descending guitar part. Now the kids can download all rock history instantly, illegally and free, anticipate more previously unimaginable crossbreeds such as Heavy Days.
During the encore (though he never left the stage) of Stewart Lee's latest show, he suggested the convoluted nature of his performances make him "impossible to review", and I'm tempted to agree - or at least admit it seems unfair to do so while he road tests material for his next TV series.
The current Room With A Stew tour is a work-in-progress for three episodes of Lee's brilliantly original Comedy Vehicle, and finds him in typically antagonistic form, regularly admonishing the audience for not keeping up - or missing the best jokes - as well as recalling the halcyon days when he played to a more elite crowd in the Arts Centre's tiny Studio venue.
It's familiar turf for anyone who has seen him before, and despite the repetitiveness of his reprimands and diatribes he plays the frustrated middle-aged intellectual to perfection as well as belly laughs from a fiercely partisan crowd.
The loyalty of his supporters is also what enables Lee to perform disjointed practice sessions - he read the encore from notes - in 1,500-seat halls.
Their reward was typically clever, unconventional material - which ranged from Lee's futile attempts at Islamaphobic observational comedy (“to get the Daily Mail off my back”) to national identity to urine - and while there's undoubtedly work to be done, it was as enjoyable as it was fascinating to get a glimpse "behind the wizard's cloak" of one of the UK's bravest comics.
Stewart Lee
2015-02-09T21:51:17+00:00
During the encore (though he never left the stage) of Stewart Lee's latest show, he suggested the convoluted nature of his performances make him "impossible to review", and I'm tempted to agree - or at least admit it seems unfair to do so while he road tests material for his next TV series. The current Room With A Stew tour is a work-in-progress for three episodes of Lee's brilliantly original Comedy Vehicle, and finds him in typically antagonistic form, regularly admonishing the audience for not keeping up - or missing the best jokes - as well as recalling the halcyon days when he played to a more elite crowd in the Arts Centre's tiny Studio venue. It's familiar turf for anyone who has seen him before, and despite the repetitiveness of his reprimands and diatribes he plays the frustrated middle-aged intellectual to perfection as well as belly laughs from a fiercely partisan crowd. The loyalty of his supporters is also what enables Lee to perform disjointed practice sessions - he read the encore from notes - in 1,500-seat halls. Their reward was typically clever, unconventional material - which ranged from Lee's futile attempts at Islamaphobic observational comedy (“to get the Daily Mail off my back”) to national identity to urine - and while there's undoubtedly work to be done, it was as enjoyable as it was fascinating to get a glimpse "behind the wizard's cloak" of one of the UK's bravest comics.
The received wisdom is that, as the northern hemisphere tilts nearer the Sun - causing the Earth to warm, buds to flush, and bees, once more, to fly in through open windows - that we watch less television.
Britain, it is presumed, strolls out for a gigantic game of cricket around March 15, should the weather be clement, and doesn't really come back inside until the end of September, when it has a hot bath, a bowl of lentil soup, puts its snuggle-socks on, and can't wait to settle down for a new series of Antiques Roadshow.
Myself, I find this not to be the case. For, as the days get longer, is the fact not simply that we have more day? And, therefore, can we not fit in even more television than we did before? With the spring sun so clement before breakfast, I'm now fitting in fully half my life before 9am, which means - as the day progresses - I'm running at least two hours ahead of my winter self, hit the wine around 4pm, and by 9 I'm on the sofa, rat-arsed, banging on my saucepan with a spoon and screaming, “Telly!”
And to the vinous cry of “Telly!” there can be few more pleasing answers than “Here's the new programme from Stewart Lee”.
Lee has a unique place in the hearts of those, roughly, between 25 and 40. As half of the Nineties comedy duo Lee & Herring, his BBC Fist of Fun show was basically The Mary Whitehouse Experience, but without Punt & Dennis. Or, perhaps more crucially, a subsequent series of sell-out gigs at Wembley. What I'm basically trying to say is that Lee and Herring had a similar line in greasy hair, puppyish postmodernism and alt-rock reference points - they had a character called the Kurious Oranj - after the Fall track, after all - but they were both much cooler, and much less successful.
With Lee this cool/cash ratio imbalance was vastly magnified with his first solo project, which was the seminally profane Jerry Springer: The Opera. How I feel about Jerry Springer: The Opera is a bit like how Kevin Spacey felt about Mena Suvari in American Beauty - rose petals hurtle from my heart when I think of it. Not only was it Chris Rock-funny, with a Scorsese-level of symphonic swearing, but it also was the most lucidly sustained piece of cold, moral fury I have seen. Hypocrisy, intolerance, media bear-baiting - Jerry Springer: The Opera played out the ultimate conclusion of them all, with sopranos and contraltos, and the energy of a small car plant.
It was with no small measure of irony, then, that its broadcast on the BBC received a record number of complaints and, for a time, Lee faced charges of blasphemy. These were eventually dismissed because, as Lee put it, “It's not 1508”. But Lee hasn't really worked on TV since then. Quite why seems veiled in mystery - he left his management company, the monolithic Avalon, and toured a lot instead - but the fact remains that, for nearly half a decade, one of the most talked-about, relevant and clever comedians around hasn't had a weekly credit sequence to call his own.
This omission has now been corrected with a clearly costly opening montage in which Lee drives around in a specially commissioned, primary-coloured clown-car, the “Comedy Vehicle” of the title. It feels a little bit like the cashing-in of a successful compensation claim against the BBC for inexplicably ignoring him for four years.
Anyway, is Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle very clever and funny, and full of things that you are still thinking about the next morning while you jog in the spring sunshine at 8am? Yes. Of course. The End. Except it's not - because if you missed it, I want you to realise how very much you need to go on i-Player and listen to Lee talking about, this week, books. Having bought six Jeremy Clarkson books from Amazon - “which changes your profile in a way which takes literally thousands of man-hours to correct” - Lee starts to invent future Clarkson titles, such as “Saplings I Have Crushed”, and “Women - and their Four Uses”.
He moves on to J.K. Rowling (“Harry Potter and the Tree of Nothing”), the pitiful, invertebrate lack of ambition in Chris Moyles's claim to have “written a great toilet book” - “Oh, Icarus, fly not too close to the Sun, lest your waxen wings melt” - and, ultimately, merges his anger with Dan Da Vinci Code Brown's remedial writing style (“This is a man who has written and published the line ‘The famous man looked at the red cup'”) with his rant on the “misery-memoir” genre, to imagine a misery-memoir written by Brown: “The bad man's cruel hand hit my nice face.”
How very little we see of people who can throw a slouchy reference to William Tyndale - martyred for making unauthorised translations of the Bible - into a rant about a Radio 1 DJ's cash-in hardback. There's a skit about an abused goat that misfires but, generally, this was the kind of stand-up/sketch show that ultimately makes you relax about the state of this country's IQ.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-21T10:45:56+00:00
The received wisdom is that, as the northern hemisphere tilts nearer the Sun - causing the Earth to warm, buds to flush, and bees, once more, to fly in through open windows - that we watch less television. Britain, it is presumed, strolls out for a gigantic game of cricket around March 15, should the weather be clement, and doesn't really come back inside until the end of September, when it has a hot bath, a bowl of lentil soup, puts its snuggle-socks on, and can't wait to settle down for a new series of Antiques Roadshow. Myself, I find this not to be the case. For, as the days get longer, is the fact not simply that we have more day? And, therefore, can we not fit in even more television than we did before? With the spring sun so clement before breakfast, I'm now fitting in fully half my life before 9am, which means - as the day progresses - I'm running at least two hours ahead of my winter self, hit the wine around 4pm, and by 9 I'm on the sofa, rat-arsed, banging on my saucepan with a spoon and screaming, “Telly!” And to the vinous cry of “Telly!” there can be few more pleasing answers than “Here's the new programme from Stewart Lee”. Lee has a unique place in the hearts of those, roughly, between 25 and 40. As half of the Nineties comedy duo Lee & Herring, his BBC Fist of Fun show was basically The Mary Whitehouse Experience, but without Punt & Dennis. Or, perhaps more crucially, a subsequent series of sell-out gigs at Wembley. What I'm basically trying to say is that Lee and Herring had a similar line in greasy hair, puppyish postmodernism and alt-rock reference points - they had a...
A government wine cellar provides “guests of the government, from home and overseas, with wines of appropriate quality at reasonable cost”. Perhaps some of Boris Johnson’s children are kept down there too. We never seem to see many of them. And what happened to Dilyn the dog? We know Johnson was easily bored of new playmates. Is Dilyn cemented into the cellar floor? And maybe if someone has a poke between the wine racks, those missing mobile phones will turn up.
It has become clear that the anticipated publication of records of government wine cellar stock levels, specifically from the pandemic period of 2020 to 2022, is being inexplicably delayed by the Conservatives. Similarly we will never see the uncensored version of the Russia report on Kremlin influence on Brexit and British politics generally. Meanwhile 55 Tufton Street’s Conservative Friends of Russia and Vote Leave founder Matthew Elliott is on his way to the House of Lords, where he will legislate about laws, perhaps including the ones the high court agreed his Vote Leave campaign broke.
I assume, perhaps unfairly, that the delay in publishing the government’s wine stocktake is because more bottles of wine disappeared during the pandemic than there were dignitaries that came to drink them. And remember, no one was allowed to socialise unless they were Tories getting down in Downing Street or boogieing at Lord Shaun “Bums and Boobs” Bailey of Paddington’s Pissedmas disco party, all honouring the piled-high Covid dead through the medium of dance. And projectile-vomiting up the wall. It’s kind of the opposite of the EU wine lake, a vast lake-sized space where a lake-load of wine should have been, but maybe the Get Brexit Done government gone done and drunk it.
Perhaps it is missing wine anxiety (MWA) that explains the unexpected Brexit bonanza plan to sell wine in pint bottles, brilliantly confirming European stereotypes of British people unable to appreciate the finer things in life. “Pint of wine, Dave?” “Don’t mind if I do, Steve. I’ll get the scratchings.”
The Brexit bonus pints-of-wine scheme was instantly dismissed as completely idiotic, costly and impractical by all wine producers and retailers. Personally, I would have preferred the return of freedom of movement, access to the Erasmus programme and the ability for touring musicians to make a living to having some wine in some differently sized bottles. But then I am a tofu-munching north London remainiac.
That said, if the total of missing government wine bottles was somehow to be calculated as if they held wine in pints, rather than in the larger 750ml units, figures for the actual volume of missing wine could be massaged to appear smaller. Is it the same kind of number crunching that last week saw the home secretary, James Shit-hole Cleverly, fudge the unprocessed asylum figures by quibbling over the meaning of the word “processed”? Similarly, I used to get all the kids’ washing for school done instantly by simply reclassifying it as sports kit legacy.
The last thing this Conservative government needs is another scandal involving the sidelining of public funds, whether spent on billions of pounds of PPE, or on a few full-bodied reds for Johnson and his lockdown winebibbers. It’s another nail in Carol Vorderman’s ceremonial Tory coffin surely? And yet what really made the headlines last month was the fact that the home secretary, James Shit-hole Cleverly, made a joke.
Shit-hole fancies himself as something of an expert on comedy, but last week he learned how hard it can be to land the laugh. Shit-hole once tweeted that he “liked Stewart Lee a lot better when he was funny”, suggesting he has been following my career since the 1980s and is perhaps still bearing a grudge from the time when, after a gig at Ealing College of Higher Education in 1990, I declined to sign his cock with marker pen.
In December, Shit-hole made a wife joke to female guests at a Downing Street reception, saying: “Rohypnol in her drink every night” was “not really illegal if it’s only a little bit” (the same sort of attitude Tories have to giving money to their mates’ companies). From this I deduce Shit-hole was probably more of a fan of my surly 90s nihilist standup, from back when we all thought the (wrongly) perceived pervasive triumph of political correctness gave us a licence to be ironically unpleasant. Nonetheless, comedy is the hardest job in the world, even harder than being a firefighter or owning JD Wetherspoon, and I have some sympathy for Shit-hole’s predicament.
Because, to be fair, Shit-hole made his Rohypnol joke in what he thought was a relatively private situation to people he assumed he had some kind of relationship of trust with. The comedian’s job is, on some level, to take a raw room and manufacture consent. Sky TV’s ukulele-loving Frank Skinner (MBE) is a master of this, using a gradual escalation of apparently innocent Swiftian techniques to coerce audiences into laughing at the most dubious topics. Shit-hole clearly isn’t, but must have other skills. (Apparently, Shit-hole is an adept player of the strategy game Warhammer ™ ®, set in a collapsing empire of dying planets where humans barely survive in failing ecosystems. It must be nice to switch off from work and relax.)
The average person can be forgiven for thinking comedy is just Netflix wankers ridiculing trans and disabled people, but it is actually an art form; and part of that art form is about reading the room, even if it’s a Downing Street reception room. Arthur Smith, who in the end had to give up drinking, used to say the comedian should always be one drink ahead of the audience. Perhaps if there’d been more wine left for everyone to drink at that Downing Street reception, Shit-hole might have stormed it.
Stewart Lee
2024-01-07T15:46:46+00:00
A government wine cellar provides “guests of the government, from home and overseas, with wines of appropriate quality at reasonable cost”. Perhaps some of Boris Johnson’s children are kept down there too. We never seem to see many of them. And what happened to Dilyn the dog? We know Johnson was easily bored of new playmates. Is Dilyn cemented into the cellar floor? And maybe if someone has a poke between the wine racks, those missing mobile phones will turn up. It has become clear that the anticipated publication of records of government wine cellar stock levels, specifically from the pandemic period of 2020 to 2022, is being inexplicably delayed by the Conservatives. Similarly we will never see the uncensored version of the Russia report on Kremlin influence on Brexit and British politics generally. Meanwhile 55 Tufton Street’s Conservative Friends of Russia and Vote Leave founder Matthew Elliott is on his way to the House of Lords, where he will legislate about laws, perhaps including the ones the high court agreed his Vote Leave campaign broke. I assume, perhaps unfairly, that the delay in publishing the government’s wine stocktake is because more bottles of wine disappeared during the pandemic than there were dignitaries that came to drink them. And remember, no one was allowed to socialise unless they were Tories getting down in Downing Street or boogieing at Lord Shaun “Bums and Boobs” Bailey of Paddington’s Pissedmas disco party, all honouring the piled-high Covid dead through the medium of dance. And projectile-vomiting up the wall. It’s kind of the opposite of the EU wine lake, a vast lake-sized space where a lake-load of wine should have been, but maybe the Get Brexit Done government gone done and drunk it. Perhaps it is missing wine anxiety (MWA) that explains the unexpected...
Stewart Lee isn't exactly fishing for a new audience with his latest show, Carpet Remnant World. He still spends much time berating those sections of the room who don't laugh at every single nuance of his comedy, accusing them of having been dragged along by friends.
Which is hard to believe. Most people will have seen his BAFTA award-winning television show, read his contributions to The Guardian, or listened to him speak on Radio 4. He is no longer the archetypal 'comedian's comedian' he once was. Which is why there is something strange about his recent injunction to would-be comedy-seekers (to be found in his latest Guardian column) to avoid the area around Bristo Square and instead increase their "off-piste grazing", without admitting that a show by one of the most lauded comics of our day in an opulent George Street venue is still firmly on-piste.
This doesn't mean that Lee has somehow been rendered bourgeois or passé by association. He just seems unwilling to acknowledge and address his own commercial success, although it would be interesting to hear his take on it.
Instead he has chosen as the central theme for his new show a mid-life crisis of sorts. But it's difficult to believe, as he claims, that he has spent the past year or so driving from gig to gig and watching Scooby Doo with his children. One of the things that Lee does well as a performer is conceit and Carpet Remnant World is his most conceited show yet.
Although the aforementioned session of audience-berating seemed to add relatively little to the proceedings, in retrospect those moments take their place amongst other more varied routines, through which the portrait of the artist as an ageing man is realised. The show itself seems bitty, but all of its seemingly disparate parts—from his opening material about the news, to his long account of a literal drive in search of lost comedic inspiration—eventually unite to make something far more cohesive than any of his previous shows.
On the basic criterion of humour, he remains very reliable. He is often attacked for being verbose or overly-intellectual, which isn't exactly true. His most puerile jokes are often his funniest, and there is no dearth of them here.
It is true that he often labours the point.
Those who have stuck with Lee for the past four or five years will certainly find this aspect of his performance a little tiresome by now; there certainly have been times where I have found him wearying.
Thankfully, the difference between this show and previous ones became clear by the end. The entire thing is tied together by one big, rambling routine - a trademark of Lee's - but here it serves a more unifying role than it has previously. Deceptively, Lee still manages to utilise the full contents of his comedy toolbox, while creating something which still feels fresh, even to someone well versed in his material.
Even though Lee seems determined not to fully acknowledge his reputation and position within the world of comedy—which still remains equal to, if not greater than, some of the young, fresh-faced 'T-shirt wearing' comics that he pillories with his usual gusto — this is forgiveable, because his focus is exactly where it should be: on his comedy.
This show should cement his reputation as the foremost purveyor of comedy-as-art. Hats off to him for that.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-06T14:38:14+01:00
Stewart Lee isn't exactly fishing for a new audience with his latest show, Carpet Remnant World. He still spends much time berating those sections of the room who don't laugh at every single nuance of his comedy, accusing them of having been dragged along by friends. Which is hard to believe. Most people will have seen his BAFTA award-winning television show, read his contributions to The Guardian, or listened to him speak on Radio 4. He is no longer the archetypal 'comedian's comedian' he once was. Which is why there is something strange about his recent injunction to would-be comedy-seekers (to be found in his latest Guardian column) to avoid the area around Bristo Square and instead increase their "off-piste grazing", without admitting that a show by one of the most lauded comics of our day in an opulent George Street venue is still firmly on-piste. This doesn't mean that Lee has somehow been rendered bourgeois or passé by association. He just seems unwilling to acknowledge and address his own commercial success, although it would be interesting to hear his take on it. Instead he has chosen as the central theme for his new show a mid-life crisis of sorts. But it's difficult to believe, as he claims, that he has spent the past year or so driving from gig to gig and watching Scooby Doo with his children. One of the things that Lee does well as a performer is conceit and Carpet Remnant World is his most conceited show yet. Although the aforementioned session of audience-berating seemed to add relatively little to the proceedings, in retrospect those moments take their place amongst other more varied routines, through which the portrait of the artist as an ageing man is realised. The show itself seems bitty, but all of its...
With a comedian as political as Stewart Lee, fans could have guessed Brexit and Trump would feature in his latest show, a rolling tour he admitted would evolve between now and next April. In fact, he complained, today's fast changing world makes comedy somewhat difficult to pin down.
So, although both these topics were covered neatly at the beginning of each half in Lee's usual deconstructive s tyle, it was the more offhand material that got the biggest laughs.
A segment that destroyed Russell Howard had many weeping, while continued references to 80s forgotten rockers Deacon Blue were repeatedly hilarious (if archly signposted).
Lee continually joked that four nights at the Dome - especially following the same feat in 2016 - might be too much for some but the love in the room always bubbled under the surface. The show also focused on the disconnected, narcissistic society we live in as a result of technology. At the close, Lee provided an amazing visual 'reveal' that elicited gasps, tying what was at times a ragbag evening together beautifully.
Stewart Lee
2017-02-27T23:31:17+00:00
With a comedian as political as Stewart Lee, fans could have guessed Brexit and Trump would feature in his latest show, a rolling tour he admitted would evolve between now and next April. In fact, he complained, today's fast changing world makes comedy somewhat difficult to pin down. So, although both these topics were covered neatly at the beginning of each half in Lee's usual deconstructive s tyle, it was the more offhand material that got the biggest laughs. A segment that destroyed Russell Howard had many weeping, while continued references to 80s forgotten rockers Deacon Blue were repeatedly hilarious (if archly signposted). Lee continually joked that four nights at the Dome - especially following the same feat in 2016 - might be too much for some but the love in the room always bubbled under the surface. The show also focused on the disconnected, narcissistic society we live in as a result of technology. At the close, Lee provided an amazing visual 'reveal' that elicited gasps, tying what was at times a ragbag evening together beautifully.
"I’d forgotten this was a radical town,” says Stewart Lee during one of this evening’s many semi-improvised asides.
Touching on everything from losing out on a Bafta to Graham Norton, to hating yoghurt-drinking under-40s and orienteering with Napalm Death, Lee’s self-styled passive-aggressive approach may be very familiar, but it certainly hasn’t worn thin.
His esoteric trails of thought, introspective dissections of comedy and faux jibes at the crowd may still occasionally rile some critical opinion; in particular, Lee references a recent zero-star Telegraph review. But the laughs certainly come thick and fast tonight, typically often at our expense in the audience.
When one poor chap in the front row dares to scurry out at the inopportune moment of a routine’s conclusion, the resulting rant segues into an impromptu extended first half. In fact, Lee performs for almost three hours this evening in a set that proves he’s lost none of his idiosyncratic charm with age or his notable successes of recent years.
So although Lee laments that “it’s taken three decades to half-fill a room in Bournemouth” while scoping out how long it’ll take him to pay off his mortgage, from where we’re sitting his Comedy Vehicle seems to be pootling along nicely.
Even if he does suggest its appeal is limited to vegetarian Guardian readers.
Stewart Lee
2016-02-05T21:34:30+00:00
"I’d forgotten this was a radical town,” says Stewart Lee during one of this evening’s many semi-improvised asides. Touching on everything from losing out on a Bafta to Graham Norton, to hating yoghurt-drinking under-40s and orienteering with Napalm Death, Lee’s self-styled passive-aggressive approach may be very familiar, but it certainly hasn’t worn thin. His esoteric trails of thought, introspective dissections of comedy and faux jibes at the crowd may still occasionally rile some critical opinion; in particular, Lee references a recent zero-star Telegraph review. But the laughs certainly come thick and fast tonight, typically often at our expense in the audience. When one poor chap in the front row dares to scurry out at the inopportune moment of a routine’s conclusion, the resulting rant segues into an impromptu extended first half. In fact, Lee performs for almost three hours this evening in a set that proves he’s lost none of his idiosyncratic charm with age or his notable successes of recent years. So although Lee laments that “it’s taken three decades to half-fill a room in Bournemouth” while scoping out how long it’ll take him to pay off his mortgage, from where we’re sitting his Comedy Vehicle seems to be pootling along nicely. Even if he does suggest its appeal is limited to vegetarian Guardian readers.
Often regarded as The Drive-By Truckers' most talented member, only to leave and find his belatedly acclaimed colleagues surpass him, Jason Isbell might appear to be Alt Country's Robbie Williams.
The eleven tracks on his perfectly paced third solo collection politely play out just as one might expect, from dainty fiddle driven numbers to lightly gnarled roots rockers, each domestic vignette as clearly drawn as the last, but with few surprises.
Perhaps Isbell benefitted as much from the Truckers' melodrama and mess as they did from his cool head and professional precision.
Stewart Lee
2011-04-24T20:28:31+01:00
Often regarded as The Drive-By Truckers' most talented member, only to leave and find his belatedly acclaimed colleagues surpass him, Jason Isbell might appear to be Alt Country's Robbie Williams. The eleven tracks on his perfectly paced third solo collection politely play out just as one might expect, from dainty fiddle driven numbers to lightly gnarled roots rockers, each domestic vignette as clearly drawn as the last, but with few surprises. Perhaps Isbell benefitted as much from the Truckers' melodrama and mess as they did from his cool head and professional precision.
Laura Cannell invites Stewart Lee, foghorn fetishist Jennifer Lucy Allen, Irish cellist Kate Ellis, and musician/writer Polly Wright to the table for a suite of haunting, real and imagined musical lanndscapes
Laura’s follow-up to her superb ‘Sing As The Crow Flies’ album with Polly Wright, and unexpected synth-pops as Hunteress for our Documenting Sound series, ‘These Feral Lands, Vol.1’ tells tales recorded in the respective isolation during lockdown. It notably features Lee finding his voice as a folk story teller and possessed scarecrow, nervily set to bleeding raw string dissonance and black country blues, and wickedly contrasting with the more dreamlike and lamenting works, all brought to life by Cannell, Ellis, and Wright’s remarkably descriptive instrumentals.
Writer and researcher Jennifer Lucy Allen recites a poem to Laura’s swirling fiddle on a highlight, ‘Vessel’, and we’re rapt by the two solo instrumental pieces, Kate Ellis’ keening elegy ‘Inhabited: The Last Wild Wolf In Ireland’, and the A Field In England-esque doom to Polly’s ‘Gather The Villagers’. But it’s really all held together by Stewart Lee’s turns with Cannell & Ellis, shapeshifting from Wyatt-like, to spoken word, and Worzel-ish across the album, reflecting on his roots in the Welsh marshes and the Norfolk/Suffolk borders, with equally were-like backing.
When Brexit kicks in and we’re down to 2 hours of leccie a day, we can only hope people start making more music like this.
Stewart Lee
2020-11-13T13:22:38+00:00
Laura Cannell invites Stewart Lee, foghorn fetishist Jennifer Lucy Allen, Irish cellist Kate Ellis, and musician/writer Polly Wright to the table for a suite of haunting, real and imagined musical lanndscapes Laura’s follow-up to her superb ‘Sing As The Crow Flies’ album with Polly Wright, and unexpected synth-pops as Hunteress for our Documenting Sound series, ‘These Feral Lands, Vol.1’ tells tales recorded in the respective isolation during lockdown. It notably features Lee finding his voice as a folk story teller and possessed scarecrow, nervily set to bleeding raw string dissonance and black country blues, and wickedly contrasting with the more dreamlike and lamenting works, all brought to life by Cannell, Ellis, and Wright’s remarkably descriptive instrumentals. Writer and researcher Jennifer Lucy Allen recites a poem to Laura’s swirling fiddle on a highlight, ‘Vessel’, and we’re rapt by the two solo instrumental pieces, Kate Ellis’ keening elegy ‘Inhabited: The Last Wild Wolf In Ireland’, and the A Field In England-esque doom to Polly’s ‘Gather The Villagers’. But it’s really all held together by Stewart Lee’s turns with Cannell & Ellis, shapeshifting from Wyatt-like, to spoken word, and Worzel-ish across the album, reflecting on his roots in the Welsh marshes and the Norfolk/Suffolk borders, with equally were-like backing. When Brexit kicks in and we’re down to 2 hours of leccie a day, we can only hope people start making more music like this.
Since 1993, Asian Dub Foundation have burned up the airwaves, fusing genres and engaging in ferocious political commentary. Unafraid to engage with challenging issues, the band built Comin’ Over Here around a Stewart Lee sketch skewering UKIP’s Paul Nuttall, an odious and divisive figure in the UK’s political undergrowth. If anyone deserves to be relentlessly mocked in song form, then it is that particular [ahem] gentlemen, and Stewart Lee is vicious as he parodies the knuckle-dragging rhetoric of the anti-immigration brigade. A point that needs to be made, what’s truly shocking about this release is how alone Asian Dub Foundation appear to be in challenging the status quo. Perhaps, in this era of social media, bands are afraid of alienating a portion of their fan base, but music has always been about maintaining one’s beliefs in the face of adversity, and Asian Dub Foundation continue to proudly stand up to injustice and intolerance when others seem content to keep their eyes lowered for fear of inciting conflict.
Pressed on 12” vinyl, Comin’ Over Here features four versions of the title track (which managed to hit number 1 in the UK singles chart) – three with alternate takes of the Stewart Lee sketch and the fourth billed as a singalong version. A traditional 45, Comin’ Over Here is housed in a full colour sleeve, with the lyrics handily written on the back and, in keeping with the subject matter, the record is being sold is in support of the Kent Refugee Action Network.
Given the inflammatory subject matter, it’s hardly surprising that Asian Dub Foundation have crafted a ferocious musical backdrop for Stewart’s scathing monologue. Bordering on the industrial, the two tracks on side one are very similar, with only the lyrical content offering any sort of significant shift. Based around a skittering synth line, the band have woven Lee’s fiery rhetoric into the whole, slicing and repeating lines with deft skill, creating a brutally minimalist assault on the senses that recalls the crazed mash up of Chris Morris’ My Wrongs #8245–8249 & 117. As you’ll see from the video above, there’s an energy to the performance that is as punk as fuck, and Asian Dub Foundation absolutely thrive, delivering a vital performance that combines eerie flute and fiery riffs with glorious abandon.
Side two offers a more ambient take on things, a relaxed beat underpinned by foundation-shaking levels of bass, leaving a touch more space for Lee’s increasingly abstract and furious rants. It makes for a powerful counterpoint to the first side and, as Lee ruminates on “the old times of nothing”, so he starts to sound like Syd Barrett recalling a particularly dark trip. It all serves to wrongfoot the listener perfectly, and just as you think things are winding up, the track explodes into a full-on punk finale that brings it all to a juddering head. It leaves the “singalong version” (which sees the monologue stripped back to just the refrain) to close out the single, and while it’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to try their hand at Stewart’s deft delivery, it’s good to be able to experience the music in isolation.
Billed as an anti-Brexit anthem, there’s no question that Asian Dub Foundation are out for blood with this release and there’s equally no question that someone needs to be. A savage swipe at nationalism, Comin’ Over Here is a pointed riposte to all those who would bury their hands in the sand as refugees continue to be treated with a contempt that can only be described as a criminal indifference. A sweet package, in support of a great cause, this is an essential purchase. 10
Stewart Lee
2021-04-25T19:06:48+01:00
Since 1993, Asian Dub Foundation have burned up the airwaves, fusing genres and engaging in ferocious political commentary. Unafraid to engage with challenging issues, the band built Comin’ Over Here around a Stewart Lee sketch skewering UKIP’s Paul Nuttall, an odious and divisive figure in the UK’s political undergrowth. If anyone deserves to be relentlessly mocked in song form, then it is that particular [ahem] gentlemen, and Stewart Lee is vicious as he parodies the knuckle-dragging rhetoric of the anti-immigration brigade. A point that needs to be made, what’s truly shocking about this release is how alone Asian Dub Foundation appear to be in challenging the status quo. Perhaps, in this era of social media, bands are afraid of alienating a portion of their fan base, but music has always been about maintaining one’s beliefs in the face of adversity, and Asian Dub Foundation continue to proudly stand up to injustice and intolerance when others seem content to keep their eyes lowered for fear of inciting conflict. Pressed on 12” vinyl, Comin’ Over Here features four versions of the title track (which managed to hit number 1 in the UK singles chart) – three with alternate takes of the Stewart Lee sketch and the fourth billed as a singalong version. A traditional 45, Comin’ Over Here is housed in a full colour sleeve, with the lyrics handily written on the back and, in keeping with the subject matter, the record is being sold is in support of the Kent Refugee Action Network. Given the inflammatory subject matter, it’s hardly surprising that Asian Dub Foundation have crafted a ferocious musical backdrop for Stewart’s scathing monologue. Bordering on the industrial, the two tracks on side one are very similar, with only the lyrical content offering any sort of significant shift. Based around...
STEWART LEE is a master of challenging, and at times hilarious, rambling satires. And he starts off his Snowflake/Tornado show as he means to go on with an oblique punning quip about Julian Assange — ironic, as Lee is a columnist for Assange’s nemesis, the Guardian/Observer.
Unsurprising, though, because Lee is one of most talented ironists around, with every utterance and gesture imbued with multiple meanings.
He doesn’t spare himself in the irony stakes either, as he begins a repetitive motif of being the “world’s number one stand-up comedian,” according to the Times, before immediately locking horns with the audience.
Spotting someone on a mobile phone, he marches up the aisle and confiscates it. Back on the stage, he secretes it down the back of his trousers between his bum cheeks.
I’d previously assumed that these confrontations with the audience are pre-arranged set-pieces but on this occasion I know it’s spontaneous — the hapless victim is a friend of mine.
Observing the reaction, Lee engages in a mocking divide and rule as he plays off one part of the audience against another as no-one else can.
At times, in his ability to will the audience to follow him on the most surreal ramblings, his mastery is complete.
The cumulative repetition and his ability to balance different strands of narrative like a performer spinning plates on sticks is breathtaking.
Yet it doesn’t always come off — sometimes Lee’s wilful extension of his line of thought fails, leading to awkward silences and some of the routines outstay their welcome.
His Ricky Gervais parody, initially hilarious, loses power by the end.
But in turning his fire on different British towns and cities, the class structure, comedians in general and US comedians in particular, stand-up comedy as a genre and the bullshit mediascape that has us all narcotised, Lee is a bracing tonic in a world turned upside down.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-28T11:55:43+00:00
STEWART LEE is a master of challenging, and at times hilarious, rambling satires. And he starts off his Snowflake/Tornado show as he means to go on with an oblique punning quip about Julian Assange — ironic, as Lee is a columnist for Assange’s nemesis, the Guardian/Observer. Unsurprising, though, because Lee is one of most talented ironists around, with every utterance and gesture imbued with multiple meanings. He doesn’t spare himself in the irony stakes either, as he begins a repetitive motif of being the “world’s number one stand-up comedian,” according to the Times, before immediately locking horns with the audience. Spotting someone on a mobile phone, he marches up the aisle and confiscates it. Back on the stage, he secretes it down the back of his trousers between his bum cheeks. I’d previously assumed that these confrontations with the audience are pre-arranged set-pieces but on this occasion I know it’s spontaneous — the hapless victim is a friend of mine. Observing the reaction, Lee engages in a mocking divide and rule as he plays off one part of the audience against another as no-one else can. At times, in his ability to will the audience to follow him on the most surreal ramblings, his mastery is complete. The cumulative repetition and his ability to balance different strands of narrative like a performer spinning plates on sticks is breathtaking. Yet it doesn’t always come off — sometimes Lee’s wilful extension of his line of thought fails, leading to awkward silences and some of the routines outstay their welcome. His Ricky Gervais parody, initially hilarious, loses power by the end. But in turning his fire on different British towns and cities, the class structure, comedians in general and US comedians in particular, stand-up comedy as a genre and the bullshit mediascape that...
In among all the post-match analysis of MES’s genius way with words and his theatrical gift for apparently effortless vocal dramatics, amid all these sociological meditations upon what the Fall told us about the world, let it not be forgotten what fun it was to be a Fall fan! Our great big brilliant secret. And my phone is filled with shared condolences, many from friends I made because of the Fall.
The places Mark would make us go in his pursuit of minimal venue overheads – vast forgotten Irish clubs in Cricklewood, derelict discotheques in Croydon, five-night runs in rooms above pubs, packed beyond capacity. And the nerveracking thrill of not knowing which side of the thin line between transcendental and terrible tonight’s show might fall. Two nights in a row, in the same room, with the same set list, utterly unrecognisable from one another. And who was still going to be in the band? And what hilarious half-heard fragment would you snatch from the muffled lyrical mix tonight? My favourite from the last album? “All salute at the altar of filo pastry.”
Tributes to artists often end up being more about the person writing them, but MES provided me with an alternative education, looping me into Camus, and Arthur Machen, and William Blake, and Can, and dub and old garage punk and rock’n’roll. I saw the Fall 52 times and without MES my life would have been utterly different and nowhere near as much fun. What on earth are we all going to do with ourselves now?
Stewart Lee
2018-01-28T16:10:16+00:00
In among all the post-match analysis of MES’s genius way with words and his theatrical gift for apparently effortless vocal dramatics, amid all these sociological meditations upon what the Fall told us about the world, let it not be forgotten what fun it was to be a Fall fan! Our great big brilliant secret. And my phone is filled with shared condolences, many from friends I made because of the Fall. The places Mark would make us go in his pursuit of minimal venue overheads – vast forgotten Irish clubs in Cricklewood, derelict discotheques in Croydon, five-night runs in rooms above pubs, packed beyond capacity. And the nerveracking thrill of not knowing which side of the thin line between transcendental and terrible tonight’s show might fall. Two nights in a row, in the same room, with the same set list, utterly unrecognisable from one another. And who was still going to be in the band? And what hilarious half-heard fragment would you snatch from the muffled lyrical mix tonight? My favourite from the last album? “All salute at the altar of filo pastry.” Tributes to artists often end up being more about the person writing them, but MES provided me with an alternative education, looping me into Camus, and Arthur Machen, and William Blake, and Can, and dub and old garage punk and rock’n’roll. I saw the Fall 52 times and without MES my life would have been utterly different and nowhere near as much fun. What on earth are we all going to do with ourselves now?
Now you don't have to wait for David Mitchell to go on holiday to read Stewart Lee's musings. For the comedian and stand-in Observer columnist has assembled five years' worth of his articles for the Sunday broadsheet, and a handful of other outlets, in one anthology of over-extended satirical metaphors.
But why buy a book when all the pieces are still online? Well, apart from being able to display it on your bookshelf as a permanent plaque to your smartness and liberalism, columns once meant as ephemeral, topical commentary take on a new perspective after the event. Lee is fond of saying context is not a myth, so as the context changes, so too does the tone of these pieces.
Given the recent political upheaval, some topics seem like historical curios. Whither Grant Shapps now? The man once so much satirical fun for his pyramid marketing schemes, alter-egos and bullying allegations was much higher on the agenda just over a year ago, with Lee telling a tall tale of his own about once serving in a maggot-vending business alongside the ambitious young capitalist.
Yet for insight you can't beat Lee's description of Boris Johnson as 'Britain's first self-satirising politician', or his serious appraisal of Michael Gove – like Lee, both an adoptee and part of the team behind long-forgotten 1992 satirical TV show A Stab In The Dark – as a man who's devoted his whole career to salve the insecurities of his state school education. 'To get accepted by the posh sporty cunts – Cameron, Boris, George "Pencils" Osborne, etc,' Lee opines of Gove's entire career motiviation. 'And them secondly, as an attempt to get revenge on them somehow'. How prescient those words, written shortly before the EU referendum, look now.
Like his stand-up, Lee's columns often meld the big issues with his personal place in commenting upon them. He starts parodying and undermining the conventions of 'clockwork opinion monkey' columnists, expected to exploit their real lives (or heightened versions of them) for the weekly entertainment of readers, anathema to his usual aloof, intellectual approach. This dilemma comes to a fore when Mitchell takes a six-month sabbatical and Lee must turn out a column every week. In this case, Lee adopted the persona of a 'pragmatic deadlines freak [who] got on with the job in hand that I, a perfectionist finessing every word, could never have done in the time allowed.' Nonetheless, the pieces still hold up as commentary on the genre as much as they are on the right-wing government agenda.
We know Lee's thinking as most of the articles are given a preface. These either simply remind us of some of the now-lapsed headlines which are twisted and parodied, or, more interestingly, they offer an extra critique or explanation to his own work, months or years down the line. For example, acknowledging that he misjudged the public mood on what now seems a particularly mean response to the Olympic spirit that didn't permeate his grouchy detachment in summer 2012. Yes, sometimes he gets things wrong.
Better than his own justifications (or otherwise), Lee as also included some of the most choice bottom-half-of-the-internet reactions to his pieces – often from readers who hilariously miss the point and take Lee's exaggerated, intense satires at face value. 'Your whole story about the youths on the bus sounds like something you invented,' sniffed one John Doe, after Lee imagined 'corbyn' to have entered the lexicon of street slang. 'So pathetic'.
Lee's pantechnicons full of sarcasm, especially that aimed at the smug liberal elitism he's well aware of possessing, so often pass the clickbait skim-readers and kneejerk commentators by.
Still, if you, too, are a smug, liberal elitist, there are few better voices to echo and amplify your own impotent disillusionment than Lee's. Dry, ironic satire at its finest.
Stewart Lee
2016-08-03T23:28:49+01:00
Now you don't have to wait for David Mitchell to go on holiday to read Stewart Lee's musings. For the comedian and stand-in Observer columnist has assembled five years' worth of his articles for the Sunday broadsheet, and a handful of other outlets, in one anthology of over-extended satirical metaphors. But why buy a book when all the pieces are still online? Well, apart from being able to display it on your bookshelf as a permanent plaque to your smartness and liberalism, columns once meant as ephemeral, topical commentary take on a new perspective after the event. Lee is fond of saying context is not a myth, so as the context changes, so too does the tone of these pieces. Given the recent political upheaval, some topics seem like historical curios. Whither Grant Shapps now? The man once so much satirical fun for his pyramid marketing schemes, alter-egos and bullying allegations was much higher on the agenda just over a year ago, with Lee telling a tall tale of his own about once serving in a maggot-vending business alongside the ambitious young capitalist. Yet for insight you can't beat Lee's description of Boris Johnson as 'Britain's first self-satirising politician', or his serious appraisal of Michael Gove – like Lee, both an adoptee and part of the team behind long-forgotten 1992 satirical TV show A Stab In The Dark – as a man who's devoted his whole career to salve the insecurities of his state school education. 'To get accepted by the posh sporty cunts – Cameron, Boris, George "Pencils" Osborne, etc,' Lee opines of Gove's entire career motiviation. 'And them secondly, as an attempt to get revenge on them somehow'. How prescient those words, written shortly before the EU referendum, look now. Like his stand-up, Lee's columns often meld the big issues...
Jeremy Corbyn appeared at the Glastonbury CND festival, as part of an ongoing comeback more surprising than Dylan’s 1997 Time Out of Mind turnaround. Like Dylan, a contrary Corbyn refused to give his enthusiastic new fans what they wanted. A last-minute set amendment pledging to block Brexit would have displaced even the Wombles from all-time Glastonbury CND festival top fives. But Corbyn didn’t deliver. Once he had mountains in the palm of his hand, and rivers that ran through every day. He must have been mad. He never knew what he had, until he threw it all away.
Nonetheless, Nigel Farage, a stateless Twitter golem, its task complete but still rampaging around the internet with a torn-up Daily Express between its teeth, was instantly furious about the BBC coverage of Corbyn’s set. And rightly so. It is wrong of the BBC to use the licence fee to give airtime to politicians, and Farage has proven this more convincingly than anyone.
Suddenly cross Conservative commentators nationwide all knew what the Glastonbury CND festival was supposed to be, and who should be allowed to be on there, despite never having expressed any interest in attending it ever, because it obviously isn’t for Daily Telegraph readers, bastards, and people who hate humanity.
It would probably have been better, apparently, if the Saturday mid-afternoon slot had seen Dan “Dan” Hannananananan, dressed as a pound note, introducing Mike Read singing a racist calypso in a Jamaican accent over footage of migrants being beaten back into the sea with umbrellas. I am sure the audience reaction would have been memorable.
Personally, I think the Henley Regatta, instead of having loads of boats in it and being by a river, would be better if it featured Napalm Death, Kunt & the Gang, Yoko Ono, and some Grayson Perry plates that mocked sailing, and took place in a landlocked desert full of ferocious wolves. I suppose it’s not aimed at me.
Know this! There is a genuine photo online of Jeremy Clarkson and David Cameron shooting the breeze at the cheese bloke from Blur’s cheese and music festival in Oxfordshire in 2011. This image, more than any other, which should never have happened, told us that the 60s were finally over. Did Free Festival founder Wally Hope die so Jeremy Clarkson could eat a Groucho club cheesemaker’s pop cheese?
Tories like Cameron and Clarkson should not be at rock festivals. If two such turds had turned up at Glastonbury in the 80s they would both have been fatally stuffed face-first into a deep trench latrine by hordes of psilocybe-crazed convoy dwellers, the sound of Black Uhuru’s Youth of Eglington growing ever more faint as their fat pink ears filled with festival-goer faeces.
Ironically, Clarkson would have then escaped the far more ignominious fate of spending his twilight years manufacturing bespoke controversy to an ever-diminishing audience of impotent Level 42 fans who think ice cream is gay, like a failed dictator awaiting arrest, yet still making futile proclamations, in his supermarket denim-lined Amazon firestick bunker.
You! You awful people! You cannot have our festivals! You have taken everything else! Our health service! Our libraries! Our very air! Even our future! Leave us our filthy fields! We will always have Glastonbury! No pop music for you!
But what do I know? I attended the Glastonbury CND festival a dozen times or so, usually as a performer, from the mid-80s to the mid-00s. Every year the late Malcolm Hardee would host the comedy tent and open by observing, “I remember when this was all fields.” It never got old.
In 1992, still awake, I saw the sun rise over a misty morning meadow, profoundly empty, except for Jimmy Pursey from Sham 69, sitting high on an upturned wheelie bin, heroically topless, dragging on a cigarette and staring blurry-eyed into the distance, as if searching for an answer that had always eluded him. Either that or he’d forgotten where his tent was.
But, eventually, rather than being a cut and paste Shangri-La of freak rock and folkies and topless hippy chicks, the Glastonbury CND festival came to feel to me like it was full of music I didn’t like any more, squares taking ironic pictures of themselves in front of Lionel Richie, and privileged young people wandering around eating expensive street food while looking at their phones and saying how funny they thought Hayseed Dixie were.
The crusties were cleared out and the hipsters had moved in to gentrify their abandoned haunts. To be fair to the Glastonbury CND festival, I now feel the same about much of London, which I once loved beyond all reason, the city redeemed in comparison to the festival only by the quality of its toilet facilities.
The Glastonbury CND festival was changing. And I was changing too. At least we parted as friends.
Maybe I’m romanticising things. The festival movement was always, if not middle class, then at least more bohemian than Bolshevik. After my Glastonbury CND festival sets I was paid in food vouchers by the festival’s co-founder, an ex-debutante philanthropist called Arabella Churchill, granddaughter of our national icon, who still oversaw the circus and cabaret tents on what was now the site’s fringes, her death in 2007 severing a seam that ran back to the sensibility that first shaped the event in 1970.
Each year as I signed my chit I amused myself by trying to sneak Churchillian rhetoric into our perfunctory conversation. “How was your show?” “We’ve all been finding it hard, Arabella, with the flooding this year, but you know what it’s like. We will never surrender.”
Arabella Churchill just smiled wryly, stubbing out her massive cigar as she petted her poodle.
In the London Evening Standard, a weak anti-Corbyn humour piece by a man called Nick Curtis mocked the Glastonbury CND festival’s “perfect spread for ordinary, young, working-class music fans who can afford £238 for a ticket plus the cost of transport, organic falafel, and reiki sessions”. In the same awful paper, there are restaurant reviews for dinners for two that cost more than that, and they don’t come with thousands of different acts over hundreds of different stages. They come with some bread. And the tip doesn’t go to Greenpeace.
This year, Jeremy Corbyn’s logical appearance at the Glastonbury CND festival seems to have reminded people that 60s and 70s festivals emerged from an actual un-co-opted counterculture. Maybe they, and their attendees, will now re-embrace the radical spirit that spawned them, alongside the apparently unavoidable 21st-century follies of glamping, Goan seafoods and selfies with Jack Whitehall.
Oh, the times they are a-changing. Jang jangy jangy jang jangy jangy jang jangy jangy jang!
Stewart Lee
2017-07-02T22:35:58+01:00
Jeremy Corbyn appeared at the Glastonbury CND festival, as part of an ongoing comeback more surprising than Dylan’s 1997 Time Out of Mind turnaround. Like Dylan, a contrary Corbyn refused to give his enthusiastic new fans what they wanted. A last-minute set amendment pledging to block Brexit would have displaced even the Wombles from all-time Glastonbury CND festival top fives. But Corbyn didn’t deliver. Once he had mountains in the palm of his hand, and rivers that ran through every day. He must have been mad. He never knew what he had, until he threw it all away. Nonetheless, Nigel Farage, a stateless Twitter golem, its task complete but still rampaging around the internet with a torn-up Daily Express between its teeth, was instantly furious about the BBC coverage of Corbyn’s set. And rightly so. It is wrong of the BBC to use the licence fee to give airtime to politicians, and Farage has proven this more convincingly than anyone. Suddenly cross Conservative commentators nationwide all knew what the Glastonbury CND festival was supposed to be, and who should be allowed to be on there, despite never having expressed any interest in attending it ever, because it obviously isn’t for Daily Telegraph readers, bastards, and people who hate humanity. It would probably have been better, apparently, if the Saturday mid-afternoon slot had seen Dan “Dan” Hannananananan, dressed as a pound note, introducing Mike Read singing a racist calypso in a Jamaican accent over footage of migrants being beaten back into the sea with umbrellas. I am sure the audience reaction would have been memorable. Personally, I think the Henley Regatta, instead of having loads of boats in it and being by a river, would be better if it featured Napalm Death, Kunt & the Gang, Yoko Ono, and some Grayson Perry...
Multi-award-winning comedy nights Always Be Comedy is finally exploiting those sweet, sweet contacts… WITH A GIG-THEMED PODCAST!
Guests curate their ideal comedy gig: who would they have open? Close? What dream moment from their gigging days would they love re-enact at this gig? And what live comedy nightmare from their past must not happen again under any circumstances? There’s this and so much more.
And we kick off with Always Be Comedy first-ballot hall of famer and “friend” of the night: Stewart Lee
About us:Host James Gill launched Always Be Comedy in 2011; since then the cream of the comedy world have called ABC their second home. James is a comedian and former journalist, with more than two decades of experience interviewing some of the biggest film, TV and sports stars on the planet… this has got a bit self-aggrandising but we want you to know it’s not ABC’s first rodeo.ABC’s Tim Lewis has worked at the biggest and best comedy and entertainment shows in Britain and is invariably tech-ing half the shows at the Edinburgh Festival each year (these aren’t his words, so please don’t accuse him of bragging).Always Be Comedy won Best Pro Comedy Night at the 2023 Chortle awards, having previously won Best Comedy Show at the Joe.co.uk Awards.
Stewart Lee
2023-03-28T23:27:55+01:00
Always Be Comedy - S1 EP3 - Stewart Lee Multi-award-winning comedy nights Always Be Comedy is finally exploiting those sweet, sweet contacts… WITH A GIG-THEMED PODCAST! Guests curate their ideal comedy gig: who would they have open? Close? What dream moment from their gigging days would they love re-enact at this gig? And what live comedy nightmare from their past must not happen again under any circumstances? There’s this and so much more. And we kick off with Always Be Comedy first-ballot hall of famer and “friend” of the night: Stewart Lee About us:Host James Gill launched Always Be Comedy in 2011; since then the cream of the comedy world have called ABC their second home. James is a comedian and former journalist, with more than two decades of experience interviewing some of the biggest film, TV and sports stars on the planet… this has got a bit self-aggrandising but we want you to know it’s not ABC’s first rodeo.ABC’s Tim Lewis has worked at the biggest and best comedy and entertainment shows in Britain and is invariably tech-ing half the shows at the Edinburgh Festival each year (these aren’t his words, so please don’t accuse him of bragging).Always Be Comedy won Best Pro Comedy Night at the 2023 Chortle awards, having previously won Best Comedy Show at the Joe.co.uk Awards.
A crowd who may, as Stewart surmised, be largely new to him and his different brand of material.
Stewart is a clever man. An angrier Charlie Brooker he deals less in tricky riddles and more in brutal honesty. So yes, while there is a lot of thinking to be done when listening, he isn’t afraid to drop it all and pull off a crass laugh with a profanity or sexual reference.
So the crowd at first seemed slow to warm to him - perhaps the stretched and less-than-comfy arena hampered our ability to unite as one and enjoy the collective humorous experience.
But as he went on his honest approach to what he saw around him, his keen eye for a decent visual punchline after decades in the business and his sheer warmer-than-you-would-think personality slowly won everyone around.
By the time the second half of his set drew to a close there was more laughter and more shaking of seats on their secure rails as shoulders involuntarily rocked to the vibrations of humour.
Stewart was looking at how technology has changed the way we get our enjoyment. How the internet has taken our wider view of existence and clipped it down to 20-second clips of cats falling over on endless loops.
He derided the under-40s, the computer generation. And perhaps what made me laugh so hard was, as a 29-year-old, I completely agreed with the majority of what he was saying. The downfalls of my own generation were hard to deny, and there was plenty I fell foul of myself.
The routine on fads and how stupid they make us was excellent, especially when delving into how our grandparents may have sought to spice up their sex life in the 1930s countryside.
He bemoaned Brexit, lambasted the decision for America to vote Trump in. And there was also time to take a swipe at the all-encompassing TV phenomenon that is Game of Thrones.
His stage was a collection of his rivals’ live DVDs all ‘picked up for 1p online’. As he stamped across their faces with mock venom and anger, the message of his set was really hammered home. Comedians come and go in fads, as has technology such as the DVD itself.
Yet the one thing that has endured is laughter. And we all left with it ringing in our ears (and a reminder to learn about the triangles of jokes).
Stewart Lee
2017-09-23T20:48:52+01:00
A crowd who may, as Stewart surmised, be largely new to him and his different brand of material. Stewart is a clever man. An angrier Charlie Brooker he deals less in tricky riddles and more in brutal honesty. So yes, while there is a lot of thinking to be done when listening, he isn’t afraid to drop it all and pull off a crass laugh with a profanity or sexual reference. So the crowd at first seemed slow to warm to him - perhaps the stretched and less-than-comfy arena hampered our ability to unite as one and enjoy the collective humorous experience. But as he went on his honest approach to what he saw around him, his keen eye for a decent visual punchline after decades in the business and his sheer warmer-than-you-would-think personality slowly won everyone around. By the time the second half of his set drew to a close there was more laughter and more shaking of seats on their secure rails as shoulders involuntarily rocked to the vibrations of humour. Stewart was looking at how technology has changed the way we get our enjoyment. How the internet has taken our wider view of existence and clipped it down to 20-second clips of cats falling over on endless loops. He derided the under-40s, the computer generation. And perhaps what made me laugh so hard was, as a 29-year-old, I completely agreed with the majority of what he was saying. The downfalls of my own generation were hard to deny, and there was plenty I fell foul of myself. The routine on fads and how stupid they make us was excellent, especially when delving into how our grandparents may have sought to spice up their sex life in the 1930s countryside. He bemoaned Brexit, lambasted the decision for America...
Politics, 80s music and the history of bondage all featured in the Wellington-born comic's Content Provider show at Theatre Severn last night.
After nearly three decades in comedy, Lee has built a strong regular following and almost all of the Shrewsbury crowd were laughing throughout.
Despite being sold out the theatre was not quite full - 'big enough for touts to snap up the tickets, but not big enough for anyone to buy them', Lee quipped. But then if he had it his own way he'd be playing to an empty room and not one where spare seats are filled by punters who don't 'get' his hypocrisy-hating style of humour.
Brexit and Trump are the bread and butter of stand-up routines at the moment, but as ever Lee tackled the topics with his unique blend of well-crafted anecdotes, four-letter expletives and slap-stick visual comedy.
Labelling people who voted Brexit as selfish ****s is always a risk, but Lee's Brexit barrage brought the first applause of the night from at least 48 per cent of the audience.
And, guided by the tattoo-like notes scrawled on his hand, he still found time for his staple mick-taking of the 'liberal metropolitan elite' and anti-PC brigade.
Never one to miss out on mocking observational comedians, Russell Howard and Peter Kay bore the brunt as the 49-year-old revelled in prancing across the stage imitating his younger peers' formulaic routines.
The irony, of course, is that Lee's routines also follow a formula - but one packed with rants, tangents, and step-by-step explanations of when and why you should laugh.
Although he's been on the road for more than 15 months, the jokes still seemed fresh and Lee looked like he was loving it - crunching over the stand-up DVDs that decorated the stage next to Caspar David Friedrich’s painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog.
Lee is a master of making a well-honed set seem like improv and, despite the show coming late in the UK tour, the audience were constantly unsure of which jokes were scripted and which were ad-libbed.
Oswestry, the Wrekin and Church Stretton all featured and each local line was well received - even by the couple at the front who were regularly used as an illustration of why Lee hates the under-40s.
At times the momentum waned and no joke had the entire audience laughing as one - 'that's right Shrewsbury, clap when you agree' - but no more than a few seconds went by without at least one section of the eclectic crowd guffawing with glee (or horror).
What were perhaps the two stand-out moments book-ended the gig. The opening warning about the risks of being caught with a phone hilariously made clear the performance wasn't one for the kids, while the arty finale poetically wrapped up the performance.
His BBC2 Comedy Vehicle show may have been cancelled, but here Lee showed why his ability to critique modern society in a powerful and hilarious way continues to sell out theatres across the country.
Stewart Lee
2018-02-22T16:59:04+00:00
Politics, 80s music and the history of bondage all featured in the Wellington-born comic's Content Provider show at Theatre Severn last night. After nearly three decades in comedy, Lee has built a strong regular following and almost all of the Shrewsbury crowd were laughing throughout. Despite being sold out the theatre was not quite full - 'big enough for touts to snap up the tickets, but not big enough for anyone to buy them', Lee quipped. But then if he had it his own way he'd be playing to an empty room and not one where spare seats are filled by punters who don't 'get' his hypocrisy-hating style of humour. Brexit and Trump are the bread and butter of stand-up routines at the moment, but as ever Lee tackled the topics with his unique blend of well-crafted anecdotes, four-letter expletives and slap-stick visual comedy. Labelling people who voted Brexit as selfish ****s is always a risk, but Lee's Brexit barrage brought the first applause of the night from at least 48 per cent of the audience. And, guided by the tattoo-like notes scrawled on his hand, he still found time for his staple mick-taking of the 'liberal metropolitan elite' and anti-PC brigade. Never one to miss out on mocking observational comedians, Russell Howard and Peter Kay bore the brunt as the 49-year-old revelled in prancing across the stage imitating his younger peers' formulaic routines. The irony, of course, is that Lee's routines also follow a formula - but one packed with rants, tangents, and step-by-step explanations of when and why you should laugh. Although he's been on the road for more than 15 months, the jokes still seemed fresh and Lee looked like he was loving it - crunching over the stand-up DVDs that decorated the stage next to Caspar...
The American businessperson Jennifer Arcuri was a beneficiary of more than £126,000 in public money, £11,500 of which came from a City Hall-funded agency during Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug French-Turds Johnson’s tenure as mayor of London.
On 24 September, a friend of Arcuri vouchsafed to the Daily Mail that Turds had visited the webmistress’s pole-encrusted flat in the afternoons, appointments that remain pointedly undeclared in Turds’s diplomatically redacted mayoral diary, but only for “technology lessons”. Ah! I remember my first technology lesson as if it were yesterday. I had saved up to visit the Paris rep cinema that had been screening, for the previous 17 years, the full-length cut of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West. Otherwise unviewable in those pre-digital days, it was venerated rightly by spaghetti cineastes as a holy relic and I thought I needed, more than anything on Earth, to see it.
I made my way south from the Gare du Nord along the Rue St-Denis, where, a revelation to my innocent eyes, freelance technological instruction was openly available everywhere. The tutors draped themselves over elegantly distressed ironwork balconies, taunting potential customers with Commodore Amiga 1000 manuals and disconnected Hewlett-Packard Vectra keyboards. It was, in 1985, the most decadent sight I had ever seen. My technological ignorance weighed heavily upon my adolescent mind and, I do declare, I pooled my summer savings and took some lessons there. Lie la lie! Lie la lie lie lie la lie!
It was not my finest technological experience, but it was my first. And a huge and terrible weight was lifted from me. In the end, I had to wait a further two decades to see that definitive Leone cut. And the delay, as I learned in the intervening years on my own terms, only made the experience sweeter.
As many have pointed out, whether our prime minister had a sexual relationship with a woman he then recommended for public funding isn’t the story here. Neither is the fact that Arcuri’s alleged “best friend”, the former Steve Bannon protege and disgraced alt-right agitator Milo Yiannopoulos, maintained to the Daily Mail last week that he had seen bruised evidence of the couple’s encounters. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Milo is $2m in debt and likes attention.
Neither is the story Arcuri’s claim, on 5 October, to the Daily Mirror, that she could “make men trip over their dicks”, and the attendant mystery of who these clumsy men might be, with their freakishly long, and yet hazardously flaccid, penises? The real story, and I say this as someone who is by no means Turds’s greatest fan, is that in abandoning his purported relationship with Arcuri, our obviously emotionally tortured prime minister may be throwing away his one true chance for happiness. Like the doorstepped passersby provoked by Turds’s name into uncharacteristic profanities – “That filthy piece of toerag!” – Turds’s uniformly betrayed ex-wives and unspecified child-rearing former mistresses can now barely mention him without vomiting into empty cradles.
And any moments of supposed tenderness we are encouraged to witness between Turds and his current partner are crudely stage-managed. The notorious garden furniture long-lens tableaux vivant, released the day after Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop-gate, saw Turds’s blond bob became mysteriously much longer overnight, like a magic cress tub sown with human hair.
But compare these dreary images to footage of joint public appearances by Turds and Arcuri, at various technology events. Observe the barely suppressed giggly hysteria and infatuated eye contact of two young people totally and undeniably head over heels in love. No footage of Turds with any other woman matches these stolen moments for pure untrammelled emotion. Even as a rampant Remainiac, would you allow your political prejudices to deny the restless Turds perhaps his only chance at such obvious and incalculable joy?
Love is like lightning. It burns everything it touches and it rarely strikes twice. What gnawing need is there in the void of Turds’s soul that drives his corrosive ambition, immolating his family, his friends and even the nation he purports to represent?
Satan, in Milton’s Paradise Lost, acknowledges “only in destroying I find ease” and releases Sin and Death into the world out of spite, just as Turds has unleased the forces of Brexit. Could the love of Arcuri plug the black hole in Turds’s heart that is sucking us all to our doom, and making our nation the most hated, and pitied, on Earth? Unless Turds steps back from the void he himself has opened, he will grow old to be remembered as the worst prime minister Britain ever had, a competition in which, at last, he will finally triumph over his old Etonian rival David Cameron, who is merely the second worst prime minister we ever had.
Like the lonely audio-diarist of Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape, will a defeated Turds, still in tragic denial, continue to resist the truth that Arcuri could, maybe, have been the one that saved him? “Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.”
Like Edward VIII, another famous lover and sometime friend of fascists, Turds could walk away from the ambition that will never fulfil him, and may consume us all, and take instead eternal comfort in the arms of love. In time, the axe wounds of Brexit can and must heal. In the meantime, Turds would do well to reflect on the wise words of that undying romantic Philip Larkin: “What will survive of us is love.”
Stewart Lee
2019-10-13T14:42:47+01:00
The American businessperson Jennifer Arcuri was a beneficiary of more than £126,000 in public money, £11,500 of which came from a City Hall-funded agency during Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug French-Turds Johnson’s tenure as mayor of London. On 24 September, a friend of Arcuri vouchsafed to the Daily Mail that Turds had visited the webmistress’s pole-encrusted flat in the afternoons, appointments that remain pointedly undeclared in Turds’s diplomatically redacted mayoral diary, but only for “technology lessons”. Ah! I remember my first technology lesson as if it were yesterday. I had saved up to visit the Paris rep cinema that had been screening, for the previous 17 years, the full-length cut of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West. Otherwise unviewable in those pre-digital days, it was venerated rightly by spaghetti cineastes as a holy relic and I thought I needed, more than anything on Earth, to see it. I made my way south from the Gare du Nord along the Rue St-Denis, where, a revelation to my innocent eyes, freelance technological instruction was openly available everywhere. The tutors draped themselves over elegantly distressed ironwork balconies, taunting potential customers with Commodore Amiga 1000 manuals and disconnected Hewlett-Packard Vectra keyboards. It was, in 1985, the most decadent sight I had ever seen. My technological ignorance weighed heavily upon my adolescent mind and, I do declare, I pooled my summer savings and took some lessons there. Lie la lie! Lie la lie lie lie la lie! It was not my finest technological experience, but it was my first. And a huge and terrible weight was lifted from me. In the end, I had to wait a further two decades to see that definitive Leone cut. And the...
It might not turn up as often as we'd like - this is only the fourth series in seven years, and the last run was back in 2014 - but it's always good to see Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle back on the road.
It seems the cult stand-up hasn't been slacking off during his years away either, as this new run sees him airing new material on some very thought-provoking (and potentially controversial) themes, including patriotism, Islamophobia, the migrant crisis, death, and childhood memories.
However, he begins by sharing his thoughts on wealth in front of a live audience at the Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington.
Script editor Chris Morris, who as the creator of Brass Eye is no stranger to provocative comedy, reprises his role as the 'hostile interrogator', quizzing Lee on his attitude to stand-up.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-02T15:18:29+00:00
It might not turn up as often as we'd like - this is only the fourth series in seven years, and the last run was back in 2014 - but it's always good to see Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle back on the road. It seems the cult stand-up hasn't been slacking off during his years away either, as this new run sees him airing new material on some very thought-provoking (and potentially controversial) themes, including patriotism, Islamophobia, the migrant crisis, death, and childhood memories. However, he begins by sharing his thoughts on wealth in front of a live audience at the Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington. Script editor Chris Morris, who as the creator of Brass Eye is no stranger to provocative comedy, reprises his role as the 'hostile interrogator', quizzing Lee on his attitude to stand-up.
This article has since been removed from the Daily Mail's own website. Download a PDF of the article here. View Stewart's riposte to the article, here.
The Walthamstow guitar guru Nick Saloman is sixty this year and his 21st Bevis Frond album is an undimmed double cd set.
Fusing classic sixties rock and plangent pounding post-punk neo-psychedelia in a string of plaintive and psycho-geographically specific guitar-pop nuggets, it’s capped monumentally by an exemplary 45 minute modal jam.
File The Bevis Frond alongside Robyn Hitchcock and Julian Cope in the English acid-pop survivor nook and wonder how Saloman slipped the mass-acknowledgment net. Buy this, and then 1991’s New River Head, and begin a late-blooming love affair.
Stewart Lee
2013-05-19T01:25:13+01:00
The Walthamstow guitar guru Nick Saloman is sixty this year and his 21st Bevis Frond album is an undimmed double cd set. Fusing classic sixties rock and plangent pounding post-punk neo-psychedelia in a string of plaintive and psycho-geographically specific guitar-pop nuggets, it’s capped monumentally by an exemplary 45 minute modal jam. File The Bevis Frond alongside Robyn Hitchcock and Julian Cope in the English acid-pop survivor nook and wonder how Saloman slipped the mass-acknowledgment net. Buy this, and then 1991’s New River Head, and begin a late-blooming love affair.
The title comes from one of the schedule-filling Best 100 Anythings Ever knocked out by Channel 4, allegedly voted for by the public, which has surpassed the achievements of previous shows in the series by providing Stew with a substitute title for his show. Originally, and it was billed at the Glasgow Comedy Festival as such, it was called March of the Mallards. Then Lee realised it was a one-gag concept, albeit a good one, and siezed upon his new-found rating. Which is also, he presumes, why last year he played in a cave and this year stages his show in a tent. An upside-down purple cow sponsored by his least favourite television channel - allowing E4 into your home is akin to having sewage sprayed in your face in his considered opinion - but a lovely billowing 323 capacity tent.
For the uninitiated, Stew's style is immaculately measured and delivered, honed over the 20 years he has been exposing himself in Edinburgh, so to speak.
Despite his contempt for E4, currently most of his bile is reserved for the BBC, having received an unsolicited commission to produce six half hours of stand up. It was taken away as unexpectedly as it was offered, and with a baby on the way, he was forced to do panel shows such as 8 Out Of 10 Cats, which would make anyone resentful.
This year there's more Stew on stage, and he has joined his local WeightWatchers in Stamford Hill, an experience he likens to a United Nations day out to a Hall Of Mirrors.
Clearly he is heading for the Top 10, but it is all so subjective isn't it?
Stewart Lee
2007-08-13T21:34:26+01:00
The title comes from one of the schedule-filling Best 100 Anythings Ever knocked out by Channel 4, allegedly voted for by the public, which has surpassed the achievements of previous shows in the series by providing Stew with a substitute title for his show. Originally, and it was billed at the Glasgow Comedy Festival as such, it was called March of the Mallards. Then Lee realised it was a one-gag concept, albeit a good one, and siezed upon his new-found rating. Which is also, he presumes, why last year he played in a cave and this year stages his show in a tent. An upside-down purple cow sponsored by his least favourite television channel - allowing E4 into your home is akin to having sewage sprayed in your face in his considered opinion - but a lovely billowing 323 capacity tent. For the uninitiated, Stew's style is immaculately measured and delivered, honed over the 20 years he has been exposing himself in Edinburgh, so to speak. Despite his contempt for E4, currently most of his bile is reserved for the BBC, having received an unsolicited commission to produce six half hours of stand up. It was taken away as unexpectedly as it was offered, and with a baby on the way, he was forced to do panel shows such as 8 Out Of 10 Cats, which would make anyone resentful. This year there's more Stew on stage, and he has joined his local WeightWatchers in Stamford Hill, an experience he likens to a United Nations day out to a Hall Of Mirrors. Clearly he is heading for the Top 10, but it is all so subjective isn't it?
ARTS EMERGENCY is a charity I have done stuff for in the past. Its work is more important than ever and the situation for the people it helps has worsened considerably since it was set up. Please help fund them.
Neil Art says, “Arts Emergency is a charity and national movement providing an emergency response to the entrenchment of privilege in UK arts and culture. Our free, year-long mentoring programme matches underrepresented teenagers with a volunteer mentor in their dream career (from journalism to gaming to comedy) - providing real, practical knowledge and connections. And then we support them for another nine years as they take their onward steps in the creative & cultural industries. Arts Emergency is people-powered and we rely heavily on monthly donations. Please consider donating £2 a month to help us grow our ‘alternative old boys network’ and change culture for the better.”
2. A GLITCH WITH THE SEARCH FUNCTIONALITY
“A glitch with the search functionality” meant that none of my six dates to the Royal Festival Hall have been showing up on the South Bank Centre website if you search for me.
We had 12000+ tickets to sell. 95% seem to have gone, though there might be some left for the matinees. If you were puzzled as to whether I am on there in July, I am, but you may have to just go to the calendar page and scroll to find me. I try to play there if they will have me as, unlike other big venues, they can keep prices down and don’t offer an obvious and deliberate back door to touts and secondary markets.
3. NEW MERCH
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions
Side a I’m The Man-Wulf
Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit)
Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!)
Vinyl sides a&b were released on a 7” 45 in January.
See The Primevals live JUNE 27th London Hope & Anchor, 28th Preston Ferret.
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF
BRAND NEW SHOW
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up.
The show will tour the UK throughout 2025 and 2026.
Saturday 5th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 (Matinee)- Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - (Matinee) Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
September 2025
Monday 8th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Tuesday 9th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th September 2025 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 11th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 12th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 13th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Sunday 14th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 18th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Friday 19th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Saturday 20th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th September 2025 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Thursday 25th September 2025 - Gala, Durham - TICKETS
Friday 26th September 2025 - Theatre Royal, Glasgow - TICKETS
Saturday 27th September 2025 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 28th September 2025 - His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
October 2025
Friday 3rd October 2025 - Aberystwyth Arts Centre – Great Hall, Aberystwyth - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Thursday 9th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 10th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 24th October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 25th October 2025 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Friday 31st October 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
November 2025
Saturday 1st November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Monday 3rd November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 7th November 2025 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 8th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Sunday 9th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 13th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 14th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 15th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 17th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
7. Snowflake/Tornado
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
8. BENEFITS / FESTIVAL STAND-UP SETS 2025
(the usual 30 mins greatest hits shit)
18TH – 20TH JULY Toldpuddle Martyrs’ Festival, Tolpuddle, Dorset. I will be doing 20 mins on a mixed bill here one night. Looks great. https://www.tolpuddlemartyrs.org.uk/festival
14th – 17th AUGUST Green Man, Bannau Brycheiniog. Alan Sparkhawk, Big Special, Boss Morris, Bridget Hayden, Broadside Hacks, Daisy Rickman,Gwenno, Asha Puthli, Kneecap, Richard Dawson, Wet Leg, Yard Act
22nd – 24th August Krankenhaus, Muncaster Castle, Lake District Sea Power, Arab Strap, the legendary Throwing Muses, Jane Weaver, The Lovely Lovely Lovely Eggs, the awesome Richard Dawson, the amazing Nightingales who are currently ON FIRE!, that King Rocker film, the quirky Personal Trainer, the mesmerising Ex-Easter Island Head, the hypnotic Alison Cotton. I will also be being interviewed with Michael Cumming and The Nightingales by Jude Rogers. www.krankenhausfestival.com
28th – 31st August End Of The Road, Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset. Black Country New Road, Goat, Lisa O’Neill, Throwing Muses, Vieux Farka Toure, The Bug Club, Ex-Easter Island Head, Broadside Hacks celebrate The Incredible String Band, Jackie-O Motherfucker, Six Organs Of Admittance, The New Eves, Jim Ghedi, Bridget Hayden, Daisy Rickman, Tropical Fuck Storm, Adam Buxton, Celya AB, Gina Birch, I will also be interviewing Black Country New Road on stage.
9. IDLER FEST 11-13 JULY, HAMPSTEAD HEATH, LONDON
I will be amongst the knobheads being grilled at the Idler magazine’s annual 3 day garden party. It’s a lovely event. “FENTON HOUSE & GARDEN, HAMPSTEAD, LONDON. The Idler Festival is a weekend of philosophy and merriment, comedy, talks, music, workshops and salons in the bucolic surroundings of Fenton House and gardens near Hampstead Heath.
You’ll be entertained and enlightened by the Idler’s favourite thinkers, comedians, writers, and musicians. There’ll be walks, ukulele, bibliotherapy, agony aunts, beekeeping and plenty of time to loaf under the apple trees. There’ll be dancing lessons on the lawn, loafing to DJs in the orchard and salons in the house. Join us for our dream garden party.
Headlining a stellar line up will be comedians Michael Palin and Stewart Lee and former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Plus Daisy Dunn, Miranda Sawyer, a mini pilgrimage with Guy Hayward, evensong on Sunday and much more to be announced. “Britain’s best arts and literary festival,” Spectator”
The *Untsiad at The Cockpit Theatre, London on 20th July. In the 1720s, Alexander Pope, one of Britain's greatest ever poets, commenced work on "THE DUNCIAD", his blisteringly satirical attack on all the contemporary hacks he hated, those hopeless literary dunces who prospered at his expense in the service of the Great Goddess Dulness.
300 years later, Andy Croft Esq., of SMOKESTACK BOOKS, North-East England's premier Marxist-Leninist Poetry Imprint, commissioned Master Martin Rowson, caricaturist, scribbler, collagist, ranter & SMOKESTACK POET, to reimagine Pope's MASTERPIECE, widening his remit to traduce the Legion Dunces of all kinds that infest the MODERN AGE.
This Master Rowson duly did in 2050 lines of furious heroic couplets, published in Dec. MMXXIV A.D. as "THE "UNTSIAD", perforce to sell the thing through the Rascal Bezos's foul AMAZON.
FOR YOUR DELIGHT. "THE *UNTSIAD" has been adapted by Mister Nicholas Revell & The Author into A PERFORMANCE PIECE FOR 12 VOICES, with Nicholas REVELL & Rosie HOLT, Mr Jack KLAFF, Miss Clare FERGUSON-WALKER, Mr Mark Steel, Mr Stewart LEE, Mr Arthur SMITH, Commissar Andy CROFT, Dame Eliza CARTHY MBE, Mr Tim MCINNERNY, Master Matt COPSON, Martin Rowson
Derek Bailey formed COMPANY in 1976. The premise was an effectively simple one; invite a group of musicians to improvise together, in various ad-hoc formations, with as little pre-planning as possible. COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) celebrates this endeavour, and also marks the twentieth anniversary of Derek’s passing.
Khabat Abas (cello)
Julia Brüssel (violin)
John Butcher (saxophones)
Teresa Hackel (recorders)
Charles Hayward (drums)
Petra Heller (tap dance)
Pat Thomas (piano, electronics)
Matt Wand (electronics)
Alex Ward (electric guitar, clarinet)
Mark Wastell (percussion)
Compered by Stewart Lee
COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) includes musicians that participated in original COMPANY events organised by Derek; John Butcher (1990/91/92/95), Pat Thomas (1990/91), Alex Ward (1988/90/94, 2002), Mark Wastell (1999, 2000/01) and Matt Wand (1992/93), alongside performers new to the form; Khabat Abas, Charle Hayward, Teresa Heckel, Petra Heller and Julia Brüssel. Over two evenings, these ten musicians will combine in various group formations, chosen by a particular individual just moments before going on stage. The whole event will be compered by Derek Bailey devotee, Stewart Lee. COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) curated by John Butcher, Tim Fletcher, Ian Greaves and Mark Wastell.
ITHELL COLQUHOUN/THE NIGHT SIDE OF NATURE. Two Colquhoun canvasses are the clever hook to see works by a number of new female mystic artists, on sale at Purdy Hicks Gallery, 25 Thurloe St, London SW72LQ, June 12th-August 9th.
ITHELL COLQUHOUN – BETWEEN TWO WORLDS. This vast, timely, majestic, bewitching and unmissable career retrospective moves from Cornwall to Tate Britain from June 13th – October 19th and you can hear me waffling on on the accompanying audio app too. https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/burra-and-colquhoun
BEN MOOR – THREE THING DAY. The wry wordsmith has another linguistically lush meta-fiction in progress at London’s Hen & Chickens theatre in Islington. July 8th & 14th (7.30) and 20th (3.00).
SKEP WAX WEEKENDER July 17th – 20th, Islington, London
Four nights of radical indiepop - Thursday and Friday evening at the Lexington, Saturday evening at Islington Town Hall, Sunday (4pm) back at The Lexington: see full line-up below. The 'Weekender' ticket will admit you to all four nights. Day tickets are available for each of the four shows. Thursday (The Lexington) Jeanines, Sassyhiya, Panic Pocket Friday (The Lexington) The Would-Be-Goods, The Orchids, Swansea Sound Saturday (Islington Assembly Room) Heavenly, Lightheaded, Crumbs Sunday (The Lexington), Marlody, The Gentle Spring, Special Friend
Venue addresses: The Lexington, 96-98 Pentonville Rd, London, N1 9JB.
Islington Assembly Hall, Upper St, London, N1 2UD. (The venues are less than a mile apart.)
Heavenly's new 7" single will go on sale at this event.
Ticket prices include £1.50 Venue Levy for Islington Town Hall.
The Lexington is 18+ admission, The Islington Assembly Hall is 16+
MARTIN SIMPSON Folk guitarist who mines the hidden connections between British and American traditional musics with taste and virtuosity. JULY 21st Croydon Ruskin House. SEPT 6th Howden Shire Hall
DAVID LANCE CALLAHAN The acoustic minimalist troubadour and chronicler of crumbling Albion continues his sacred trek. AUGUST: 1st EDINBURGH Leith Depot; 3rd THE CHILTERNS Awamu Together festival; 9th PRESTON POPFEST; 10th NEWCASTLE Cumberland Arms
SEPTEMBER: 19th NOTTINGHAM JT Soar; 20th SWANSEA Tangled Parrot; 21st BRISTOL Knowle Constitutional Club; 28th LONDON Lexington Resonance FM benefit with Jowe Head and Luke Haines etc.
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS / MDC American hardcore heroes of NO KKK NO FASCIST USA chant fame. AUG 4th – New Cross Inn, London
THE NEW CHRISTS!!!!! The audaciously named Australian Detroit-style punk legends reform and tour the UK. AUG 13th M’cr Night & Day, 14th Glasgow Stereo, 15th London Oslo.
MISTY AT FIFTY! Misty in Roots, one of Britain’s greatest home-grown radical roots rockers hit their half century. If you don’t go YOU ARE LIKE A CABBAGE IN THIS SOCIETY! SEPT 13th Bristol Lantern, OCT 3rd Reading Sub89, 24TH London Electric Ballroom, 30th Brighton Concorde
EDWYN COLLINS Orange Juice’s indiepop originator SEPT 27th Glasgow Theatre Royal, 29th Buxton Opera House, 30th Bath Komedia. OCT 2nd S’hampton Central Hall, 3rd Brighton St Georges, 4th London RFH, 6th Norwich Epic, 7th Manchester Albert Hall, 8th Newcastle Boiler Shop
14 ICE BEARS Unexpected re-emergence of Rob Secula’s lysergic proto-shoegazers. OCT 2nd The Victoria, Hackney, London.
THE EX 3 DAY RESIDENCY. Holland’s amazing anarcho-jazzers The Ex have a 3 day residency at London’s Café Oto OCT 2ND -4TH. All nights have sold out, except the first one, which I am compering, so make of that what you will. https://www.cafeoto.co.uk/events/the-ex-three-day-residency-25/
THE MAGPIE ARC Country-folk-indie conglomerate. OCT 17th Cast Doncaster, 18th Indoor Festival of Folk (North), Victoria Hall, Settle (with Edgelarks, Frankie Archer, The Bookshop Band, The Magpie Arc and Ashley Hutchings in conversation with Matthew Bannister), 19th Cluny 2 Newcastle, 23rd South Street Reading, 24th Water Rats London, 25th Ragged Bear Festival, Nuneaton (with The Men They Couldn’t Hang, Greenman Rising, Gaz Brookfield), 26th Acapela Studio Cardiff, 30th Gloucester Guildhall, NOV 1st Met Bury, 2nd Robin 2 Bilston
THE LOVELY EGGS’ 20TH ANNIVERSARY TOUR Durable art-punk DIY duo continue to dazzle into their third decade. OCT 22nd Edinburgh Belle Angele, 23rd Glasgow Oran Moor, 24th Newcastle Uni, 25th Leeds Brudenell, 26th Brighton Concorde 2, 27th London Garage, 28th Cardiff Globe, 29th B’ham Castle & Falcon, 30th M’cr Academy 2, 31st Nottingham Metronome, NOV 1st Bristol Trinity. I will open for them at the Brighton show.
BOB MOULD Hardcore punk pioneer of Husker Du/Sugar lineage. NOV 18th Glasgow Oran Mor, 19th Leeds Brudenell, 20th London Dome
SAINTS 73-79 Superb! The original line-up of the Australian Punk progenitors, but with Mudhoney's Howlin’ Mark Arm deputising for the departed Chris Bailey (a gentleman and a scholar who once came to one of my shows and told me his tales afterwards!). His original co-writer and co-guitarist Ed Kuepper remains undimmed and the authentic ‘70s rhythm section will rattle your bones. NOVEMBER 21ST Bristol Trinity, 22nd Leeds Project, 23rd Glasgow Garage, 24th M’cr Academy 2, 26th London Camden Electric
DREAM SYNDICATE You must see this enduring American rock institution who impossibly combine free-jazz styled freakouts with classic solid literary songwriting. JAN 30TH London Garage, FEB 1st M’cr Band On The Wall.
KIKI AND HERB Superficially they may look like the kind of standard kitsch camp cabaret act designed for Hen Nights and weekend bohemians that is Soho Theatre's bread and butter, but Kiki and Herb have a dangerous damaged manic downtown punk edge that is more '70s New York No Wave than Las Vegas Lounge. They don't make them like this anymore. Maybe they never did. Soho Theatre Walthamstow JULY 3rd-5th. https://sohotheatre.com/events/kiki-and-herb-are-trying/
12. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2025
Barre Phillips (Jazz bassman, 1934)
Bob Grover (Brighton Piranha, 1956)
Riro (Japanese sea otter, 2007) Nora Orlandi (Spaghetti symphonist, 1933)
Ed Askew (Acid folkie, 1940)
Tony Slattery (The vile blows of the world made him reckless, 1959)
David Lynch (He erased our heads, 1946) Landy Randerson (Museum access pioneer, 1949)
Garth Hudson (Bandolier, 1937)
Brian Murphy (Instantly aged actor, 1932)
Rab MacWilliam (Hackney historian, 1951)
Barry Goldberg (His flag was electric, 1941)
Peter Yarrow (He left on a jetplane, 1938)
Snowy Fleet (Easybeater, 1939)
Jamie Muir (Absolute fucking rhythmical genius, 1942)
Mike Ratledge (Moon in June Soft Machine man, 1943)
Gabriel Yacoub (Malicorne muso of French folk, 1952)
Bill Fay (Christian mystic songwriter seer, 1943) Roberta Flack (Made Ewan MacColl sexy, 1937)
Gene Hackman (an actor who knew when not to,1930)
Jay Rayner’s Observer restaurant column (1999)
David Johansen (New York Doll, 1950)
Bill Dare (Even his socks were funny, 1959)
Johnny Green (A gentleman, a dandy, and always a pleasure,)
Ken Parker (The Blue Bender, 1943) Edweena Banger (Her nose bled, 1959)
John Cassady (Planetary penman, 1971)
Joey Molland (His finger was bad, 1947)
Peter Farrelly (Fruuppster, 1949)
Jesse Colin Young (He got it together, 1941)
Brian James (Lord of The Damned, 1955)
Roy Ayers (Good vibes, 1940)
Bob Rupe (Brilliant Gutterball and Silos bottom end) Nadia Cassini (Starcrash starlet, 1949) Nike Arrighi (The Devil Rides Out, 1944)
Bill Smith (Original Corrie, 1936)
DG Hessayon (Garden expert who answered my questions, 1928)
Elliot Ingber (Winged Eel Fingerling, 1941) Leanne Cowie (Scientific drummer, 1964?)
George Foreman (Meat griller, 1949)
Michael Hurley (He’s gone back to Capistrano, 1941)
Dave Allen (At Home He’s A Bassist, 1955)
Alastair MacKinven (Country teaser and artist, 1971)
Clem Burke (Magic Christian Plimsoul & Elvis Ramone, 1954)
Larry Tamblyn (He loved that dirty water, 1943)
Clive Revill (The Emperor strikes back, 1930)
Amadou Bagayoko (blind bluesman, 1955)
Max Romeo (Wet-dreaming devil chaser, 1944) Clodagh Rogers (Northern Irish Spider-Woman, 1947)
Pope Francis (Relatively inoffensive pope, 1936) Eleonora Giorgi (Young, violent and dangerous, 1953)
David Thomas (Ube Pere, 1953)
Mike Peters (He alarmed Wales, 1959)
James Baker (Hoodoo victim of beastly scientists, 1954)
Larry Lee (Ozark Mountain Devil, 1947)
Wizz Jones (The Lazy Farmer, 1939)
David Briggs (He signalled the test of our whistles, 1943)
Kimble Rendall (Hoodoo Guru from year zero, 1957)
Jack Katz (First Kingdom comics guy, 1927)
Ed Smylie (Saved Apollo 13 with sellotape, 1914)
George Wendt (Barfly Freak Fan, 1948)
Peter David (He turned Hulk grey for peanuts, 1956) Loretta Switt (Hilarious dish of MASH, 1937)
Louis Moholo (S African freedom-drummer, 1940)
Hunt Powers (Spaghetti star, 1929)
Stewart Lee
2025-06-26T09:00:48+01:00
1. ARTS EMERGENCY IN AN EMERGENCY ARTS EMERGENCY is a charity I have done stuff for in the past. Its work is more important than ever and the situation for the people it helps has worsened considerably since it was set up. Please help fund them. Neil Art says, “Arts Emergency is a charity and national movement providing an emergency response to the entrenchment of privilege in UK arts and culture. Our free, year-long mentoring programme matches underrepresented teenagers with a volunteer mentor in their dream career (from journalism to gaming to comedy) - providing real, practical knowledge and connections. And then we support them for another nine years as they take their onward steps in the creative & cultural industries. Arts Emergency is people-powered and we rely heavily on monthly donations. Please consider donating £2 a month to help us grow our ‘alternative old boys network’ and change culture for the better.” 2. A GLITCH WITH THE SEARCH FUNCTIONALITY “A glitch with the search functionality” meant that none of my six dates to the Royal Festival Hall have been showing up on the South Bank Centre website if you search for me. We had 12000+ tickets to sell. 95% seem to have gone, though there might be some left for the matinees. If you were puzzled as to whether I am on there in July, I am, but you may have to just go to the calendar page and scroll to find me. I try to play there if they will have me as, unlike other big venues, they can keep prices down and don’t offer an obvious and deliberate back door to touts and secondary markets. 3. NEW MERCH Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the...
In the last few years critics have 'come round' to Athens Georgia's Drive-By Truckers, accepting the band's apparently incompatible stew of rousing redneck roots rock and Modern American Poetry professor wordplay as a deliberate artistic choice, rather than a naïve accident.
The highlight of their 12th album is Primer Coat, where propulsive Byrdlike arpeggios sharpen a contemplative portrait of middle-aged lives unraveling.
The extended closer, Grand Canyon, represents an uncharacteristically experimental push into a peyote-fizzing cloud of reflective home-brewed back-porch psychedelia.
Stewart Lee
2014-03-10T12:27:47+00:00
In the last few years critics have 'come round' to Athens Georgia's Drive-By Truckers, accepting the band's apparently incompatible stew of rousing redneck roots rock and Modern American Poetry professor wordplay as a deliberate artistic choice, rather than a naïve accident. The highlight of their 12th album is Primer Coat, where propulsive Byrdlike arpeggios sharpen a contemplative portrait of middle-aged lives unraveling. The extended closer, Grand Canyon, represents an uncharacteristically experimental push into a peyote-fizzing cloud of reflective home-brewed back-porch psychedelia.
Peter Fleurdelys is employed by Hackney Council as a Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer.
I’m the Hackney Council Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer. If you’ve ever attended an ante-natal class maybe you’ve already seen me. I come in late at the end of the official class wearing a cycling helmet, and hand out leaflets about my own classes to disinterested men, while mumbling, as the trained mid-wife sits on a table and rolls her eyes. But all that is about to change. Respect me, fathers of Hackney, and I will respect you. You need me. I am the Hackney Council Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer.
My aim in life is to make fathers in the Hackney area feel more supported in their role as fathers. In Hackney, many role models for fathers are often negative and involve guns, drugs and garishly coloured sportswear. But don’t get me wrong. I too like the odd toke on a spliff, I own a pair of pink jogging bottoms, and I’ve been known to threaten any other Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officers that stray on to my patch with a starting pistol! Not really! I don’t own a pair of pink jogging bottoms! Anyway. What about me? Who am I? What do I do? Where did I come from? What is all this Men’s Birthing Awareness mallarkey anyhow?
I’ve lived in Hackney since graduating from Warwick University in the mid-90’s with a degree in Theoretical Applications. I’m not a father myself, and have no training in any areas relating to child rearing, but I suggested the idea of a Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer to some Hackney Council councillors that I met at a birthday party a couple of years back, and then put forward myself for the post when it was advertised. Each month, I run a series of four sessions in the backroom of various Hackney pubs, where expectant fathers can come and ask questions like... “What is a baby?”, “Where does a baby come from?” and “What is approproiate touching?” A lot of the men ask when it is right to start having sex again, and why are their wives being such bitches, and so I try and introduce a bit of levity into the room by doing a role play. One of the guys is a horny husband and another is a pregnant wife who just isn’t in the mood, for example. Sometimes it works, but often my ideas are greeted with resistance, hostility and fists flying into my tiny face, and I have to cycle home through a haze of blood and mucous.
One night, as he was patching me up, my flatmate Robin, who works in a bakery designing new kinds of loaves, said, “What are you doing Peter? Why put yourself through this, week after week? It’s not worth it.” And I said, “There’ll always be babies Robin. And there’ll always be fathers. And those fathers will always need someone to tell them how to be better fathers. How else are they going to do it? By instinct?” And Robin said maybe they would. And I said, “There won’t always be bread Robin. The bread will run out. The babies won’t. And then where will you be? Eh? Standing in an empty shop with bread dust all over your apron, dough in your hair, and no future. And me? I’ll be the National Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer. And all men will do as I say!” And then Robin went to the pub and I lay down on the bathroom floor in a little ball. The foetal position, I think they call it.
Peter Fleurdelys was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-03-06T16:55:14+00:00
Peter Fleurdelys is employed by Hackney Council as a Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer. I’m the Hackney Council Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer. If you’ve ever attended an ante-natal class maybe you’ve already seen me. I come in late at the end of the official class wearing a cycling helmet, and hand out leaflets about my own classes to disinterested men, while mumbling, as the trained mid-wife sits on a table and rolls her eyes. But all that is about to change. Respect me, fathers of Hackney, and I will respect you. You need me. I am the Hackney Council Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer. My aim in life is to make fathers in the Hackney area feel more supported in their role as fathers. In Hackney, many role models for fathers are often negative and involve guns, drugs and garishly coloured sportswear. But don’t get me wrong. I too like the odd toke on a spliff, I own a pair of pink jogging bottoms, and I’ve been known to threaten any other Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officers that stray on to my patch with a starting pistol! Not really! I don’t own a pair of pink jogging bottoms! Anyway. What about me? Who am I? What do I do? Where did I come from? What is all this Men’s Birthing Awareness mallarkey anyhow? I’ve lived in Hackney since graduating from Warwick University in the mid-90’s with a degree in Theoretical Applications. I’m not a father myself, and have no training in any areas relating to child rearing, but I suggested the idea of a Men’s Birthing Awareness Generation Officer to some Hackney Council councillors that I met at a birthday party a couple of years back, and then put forward myself for the post when it was advertised. Each...
During my mandated morning meanderings my mind returns to one of my favourite books, Arthur Machen’s 1924 non-novel, The London Adventure. Alternatively titled The Art of Wandering, the absurd work is 96 years old but has never felt more contemporary. The haughty writer-narrator, newly bound by the responsibility of fatherhood, must now write for money rather than art, “a prostitution of the soul compared with which the prostitution of the body is a little thing”.
Once again Machen mentors me down the tin-can telephone of time. The gaily lit theatres where I plied my trade are darkened. Like the author of The London Adventure, accepting a contracted word count from an unspecified “young man in spectacles” in a Fleet Street tavern on a January afternoon in 1921, with no idea how to fill it, I am now driven to flood this newspaper sewer for money. Though it is “a degradation somewhat below those experienced by the procurers of Soho”, nonetheless, like Machen, I walk my daily allowance, waiting to glimpse the great god Nodens in his great green masquerade.
I spent the first month of lockdown refusing to participate in the daily outdoor exercise hour, as a protest against the Brexiters and their incompetence. Has Matt Handcock looked behind the bins for the Turkish PPE? Or maybe it has been left with a neighbour, or just on the doorstep, by a fleeing Amazon delivery person wrapped up in bin bags. Perhaps Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s “while you were out” note blew away.
(Note to self. Conspiracy theorists think China invented the virus to secure economic dominance. By this logic Amazon’s Jeff Bezos must have grown it, like an evil dill, in the soft ring of moist skin surrounding his tax-avoiding anus, and then smeared it on every parcel his slaves service, full spectrum delivery dominance within his grasp, the Fu Manchu of superfluous packaging materials.)
But now I am doing my daily 10,000 steps. My exercise strike was as ineffective a gesture against Handcock as the dirty protest that has annoyed my nauseated family so thoroughly, though the cats enjoy stalking the attendant flies, and the manure is good for growing indoor edibles, like dill for example. Thankfully, the world of my walks is one of wonder. I nibble my dill, and Danny Dyer’s face scowls out from a plastic box of ponies and fairies. But wait, old friend. I am getting ahead of myself.
Every morning, not five minutes from the place I have called home for a quarter of a century, I find myself Bermuda-triangulated into square miles of unknown side-streets. On page 11 of The London Adventure Machen, still unsure what to write, wanders unvisited London byways “that might have been behind the scenes of the universe … shapeless, unmeaning, dreary, dismal beyond words; as if one were journeying past the back wall of an everlasting backyard”. Then, suddenly, an urban fig tree appears, “as blessed as any well in an African desert … This was to be the kind of adventure out of which I had agreed to make this book”.
At around 11am I took a random right turn at the shut-up chip shop, noting how the timeless patterns of nature were disrupted. Squawking seagull hordes, which have flown in from the Thames to scavenge at school break times on the doorstep of Pizza-Fish 2000 for centuries, realise there’s no fast food to be found. Instead, the street is silent, and they stay at home, relearning their traditional trade from grey-winged gulls old enough to remember the ancestral fish-catching ways.
I found myself walking empty pavements past rows of mid-sized semis, and placed out front of one is a green plastic box of books, presumably free to take, arranged spines upwards. Chiefly they are children’s stories, the My Magical Pony novels of Jenny Oldfield, Renee Russell’s Dork Diaries, and Meg Cabot’s Allie Finkel series. But staring up between these jolly volumes is the angry face of Danny Dyer, whose The World According to Danny Dyer: Life Lessons from the East End is their inexplicable and unexpected bedfellow, my Machen’s fig-tree moment.
Had a little girl, who normally read about ponies and dorks, somehow misused her birthday book voucher to buy The World According to Danny Dyer: Life Lessons from the East End? Had she been horrified by the questions Dyer answers, such as “Where have all the old school boozers gone?”, “Are there such things as ghosts?” and “Am I middle class?”? Did the book include the suggestion, given in Dyer’s 2010 Zoo magazine agony column, that you should cut your ex’s face, “so that no one will want her”?
Had the shock of a child’s encounter with Dyer, and the young reader’s realisation that, yes, she probably was middle class, resulted in the sudden rejection of not only The World According to Danny Dyer: Life Lessons from the East End, but of all books? Or did some belatedly resentful father, far from his own cockney roots, displaced to the environs of the liberal elite, inflict Dyer’s thoughts, on ghosts and on pub, on his innocent daughter, to burst her out of “The Bubble”?
I dropped my dill laughing. I could feel an interminable 20 minute standup bit, hell maybe even a whole two-hour show, forming, and took a photo of the box as notes towards my post-Covid comeback. And then I realised. Random perambulations had given me the gift of this private epiphany, a secret tryst between the Dork Diaries, Danny Dyer and me. I would never mention it for money, like the whorish writers Machen despised.
But what to write about instead? On page 137 of The London Adventure, five pages from the end, Machen begins to “reflect very seriously” that he still does not have any idea what to write about. Then someone sent me a link to the video for the new single from Oozing Wound, Surrounded By Fucking Idiots, and I thought maybe I should write about that instead. But it was too late.
Stewart Lee
2020-04-26T12:11:35+01:00
During my mandated morning meanderings my mind returns to one of my favourite books, Arthur Machen’s 1924 non-novel, The London Adventure. Alternatively titled The Art of Wandering, the absurd work is 96 years old but has never felt more contemporary. The haughty writer-narrator, newly bound by the responsibility of fatherhood, must now write for money rather than art, “a prostitution of the soul compared with which the prostitution of the body is a little thing”. Once again Machen mentors me down the tin-can telephone of time. The gaily lit theatres where I plied my trade are darkened. Like the author of The London Adventure, accepting a contracted word count from an unspecified “young man in spectacles” in a Fleet Street tavern on a January afternoon in 1921, with no idea how to fill it, I am now driven to flood this newspaper sewer for money. Though it is “a degradation somewhat below those experienced by the procurers of Soho”, nonetheless, like Machen, I walk my daily allowance, waiting to glimpse the great god Nodens in his great green masquerade. I spent the first month of lockdown refusing to participate in the daily outdoor exercise hour, as a protest against the Brexiters and their incompetence. Has Matt Handcock looked behind the bins for the Turkish PPE? Or maybe it has been left with a neighbour, or just on the doorstep, by a fleeing Amazon delivery person wrapped up in bin bags. Perhaps Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s “while you were out” note blew away. (Note to self. Conspiracy theorists think China invented the virus to secure economic dominance. By this logic Amazon’s Jeff Bezos must have grown it, like an evil dill, in the soft ring of moist skin surrounding his tax-avoiding anus, and then smeared it on every parcel his slaves service,...
HAVE you heard the one about the comedian who became a patron of a theatre to make sure he has somewhere to perform his routines?
Top stand-up comic Stewart Lee has revealed he has now joined a team of patrons to promote Oxford Playhouse in Beaumont Street.
In August, six weeks of building work was completed on an £800,000 refurbishment to the theatre's auditorium.
New and improved seating was provided, with a powerful sound system and spotlights.
Mr Lee said he was doing a show at the Playhouse when chief executive Louise Chantal asked him to be a a patron.
He added: "I used to go and see things there when I was a student in the 1980s, and I wrote and directed student shows in the Burton Taylor rooms, so I know what a valuable resource it is.
"In my own interest I want to support the Playhouse just so I have somewhere to play in a city I love.
"And it's run by a woman who I have known for years and has always cared about theatre, not just as a commodity in a business.
"I don't know what this involves - I have to meet some Playhouse patrons one night for a drink before a show, which will probably be nice anyway.
"I can't really drink before a show so I will probably get some glasses of the wine and hide them somewhere and drink them afterwards on my own quickly in the toilet."
Ms Chantal said she was thrilled the comedian has become a patron.
She added: "This demonstrates the breadth of our programme and the wide-range of artists who want to perform in Oxford with Stewart supporting us in this way.
"I first met Stewart on The Oxford Revue when he was a student at St Edmund Hall, and so I'm delighted that he's marking his patronage with a whole week of performances of his brand new show - a comedy first for the Playhouse."
Oxford Playhouse was built as a repertory theatre in 1938 - the last new theatre to be constructed before the war.
The repertory years featured a resident company of actors performing a play in the evenings while rehearsing the next during the daytime.
Audiences have had the opportunity to see actors such as John Gielgud, Judi Dench, Ian McKellen, Ronnie Barker and Dirk Bogarde perform many roles.
Perhaps the most famous production in the theatre’s history was an Oxford University Dramatic Society production of Dr Faustus in 1966.
Student performers shared the stage with film stars Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.
Other student actors over the years have included Rowan Atkinson, Michael Palin and Dudley Moore, and more recently Emily Mortimer and Emilia Fox.
The theatre closed due in 1987 due to a lack of funding but directors Hedda Beeby and Tish Francis were appointed to re-open the theatre.
They achieved this in 1991 after a long fundraising campaign and major refurbishment.
Other patrons include Judi Dench, Michael Palin, Maggie Smith, Rowan Atkinson and Sinead Cusack.
Stewart Lee will be bringing his Content Provider tour to the Playhouse from January 30 to February 4.
Stewart Lee
2016-12-21T21:57:30+00:00
HAVE you heard the one about the comedian who became a patron of a theatre to make sure he has somewhere to perform his routines? Top stand-up comic Stewart Lee has revealed he has now joined a team of patrons to promote Oxford Playhouse in Beaumont Street. In August, six weeks of building work was completed on an £800,000 refurbishment to the theatre's auditorium. New and improved seating was provided, with a powerful sound system and spotlights. Mr Lee said he was doing a show at the Playhouse when chief executive Louise Chantal asked him to be a a patron. He added: "I used to go and see things there when I was a student in the 1980s, and I wrote and directed student shows in the Burton Taylor rooms, so I know what a valuable resource it is. "In my own interest I want to support the Playhouse just so I have somewhere to play in a city I love. "And it's run by a woman who I have known for years and has always cared about theatre, not just as a commodity in a business. "I don't know what this involves - I have to meet some Playhouse patrons one night for a drink before a show, which will probably be nice anyway. "I can't really drink before a show so I will probably get some glasses of the wine and hide them somewhere and drink them afterwards on my own quickly in the toilet." Ms Chantal said she was thrilled the comedian has become a patron. She added: "This demonstrates the breadth of our programme and the wide-range of artists who want to perform in Oxford with Stewart supporting us in this way. "I first met Stewart on The Oxford Revue when he was a student at...
If the dead could vote, who would they vote for? And what would the deceased community make of the Britain they have left behind? For example, in ye olden times Britain, before there were privatised water companies to keep us clean and hydrated, a famous warning cry went out when people threw their urine and faeces into the uplifted faces of those below. Gardyloo! The word, it transpires, is derived from the French for: “Look out! I am throwing my excrement into your eyes because Anglian Water doesn’t exist. Sorry.”
People who think everything was better in the past must be thrilled that we are returning to similarly simple times. Our assiduously asset-stripped privately owned water companies cut out the middleman of actual waste treatment and dumped raw sewage directly into our rivers and seas 300,000 times in 2022 alone, often in the spawning grounds of endangered salmon during breeding season. How would the typical Conservative MP like it if someone came and tipped a load of human excrement over him while he was having sex? We could always ask Conservative Friends of Russia founding member Matthew Elliott, as the KGB is bound to have some compromising photos.
As raw sewage saturates the ground of post-Brexit Britain, free from Brussels’s tedious environmental red tape, our nation is turning into a giant sponge of excrement. Should the group Madness perform any outdoor greatest hits concerts this summer, it’s suggested the downward pressure of 10,000 hefty ex-skinheads jumping up and down at the same time could cause massive geysers of human excrement to shoot up from the filth-sodden earth and overwhelm the emergency services. A Cobra committee has met to decide which of the group’s eminently danceable, yet simultaneously erudite, hits are literally too dangerous to perform, the instrumental moon-stomp of One Step Beyond singled out as being of special concern.
Everything is, literally, turning to shit. The Brexit checks on imports from the EU, which we have incompetently delayed for three years, finally landed last week, predictably threatening to ruin thousands of small businesses and further drive up the costs of both staple “red wall” remain voter foods such as raw liver and crispy pig fat, and things like serrano ham and olives that rich leave-voting Tories love to eat.
Jacob Rees-Mogg, the Tippi Hedren of this particular ideological bird strike, must recall with terrible woe how he himself described enacting the import checks as a colossal “act of self-harm”. Presumably, it’s a risk Mogg was prepared to take to get cheaper footwear for his inadequately shod North East Somerset constituents. Many of them had been reduced to crimping their loyal feet into stale pasty casings, in which to caper a celebratory West Country morris for their lord’s multimillion-pound Somerset Capital dividend payouts.
In 2020, the now disgraced then PM Boris Johnson told us there would be no non-tariff barriers to trade. And four years earlier, the European Research Group MP Dananiel “Bendy” Hannana, who still gets lucrative writing gigs at national newspapers, declared: “Absolutely nobody is talking about threatening our place in the single market.” And a year before that the lobbying-loving, windmill-hating MP Owen Paterson said: “Only a madman would actually leave the market.” And a quick Google will find a 2016 clip of the wicked sorceress Andrea Leadsom telling GB News’s foolish former chairman Andrew Shredded Wheat Hair Neil that we will not incur any costs by leaving the single market.
But on Wednesday, Leadsom was wandering around in the wilderness between morning news studios bleating, like Vote Leave’s sacrificial Leviticus goat, that we all knew what we were voting for, that businesses should have prepared and that florists need to start getting all their flowers from Britain. It’s Valentine’s Day soon. When it’s spring again, I’ll bring again, cowslips from Rotherham. And some Bovril! Drink it!! And shut up!!!
On Wednesday, Johnson triumphantly announced six benefits of Brexit, five of which even a lowly comedian like me was able to immediately identify as lies, the sixth being a “don’t know”. The Brexit lies finally bite, Rwanda runs aground and simmering scandals such as the Post Office, and the Teesside freeport funding funnel Michael Gove doesn’t want us to talk about, show how we are regarded essentially as barely sentient meat parcels to be farmed for liquifiable tax cash, serf labour and marketable data. Those future Tory votes are drifting away. But how to halt the haemorrhaging?
The Conservatives’ immediate plan is, of course, to cheat. But alarm bells ring at their attempts to loosen electoral spending limits, allow rich expats to vote and suppress unsympathetic voters with voter ID rules. But more worrying are plans that have come to light, floated on a leaked document, by the defence secretary, Grant Shapps; plans to extend voters’ right to vote even beyond the actual point of their death.
Surveys show that the Conservatives appeal to older voters and that the leave voters who secured victory by a narrow margin are now all dead. “And yet,” Shapps argues, “it is their will that has shaped the country we now live in, and their lifetime of taxes that paid for it. Would it be so very wrong to use AI technology to extrapolate the voting preferences of the dead and enact them? Rather than ‘wrong’, I would argue,” he concludes, “that it is in fact the moral thing to do.”
His shilly-shallying about a Gaza ceasefire may cost Keir Starmer the Muslim and traditional Labour peacenik vote. The numbers may yet stack up. But independent polling shows the majority of the decomposed would vote Conservative and if Shapps is able to mobilise the electoral power of the no longer living, then his zombie government may yet stumble on through one more term.
Stewart Lee
2024-02-04T20:38:33+00:00
If the dead could vote, who would they vote for? And what would the deceased community make of the Britain they have left behind? For example, in ye olden times Britain, before there were privatised water companies to keep us clean and hydrated, a famous warning cry went out when people threw their urine and faeces into the uplifted faces of those below. Gardyloo! The word, it transpires, is derived from the French for: “Look out! I am throwing my excrement into your eyes because Anglian Water doesn’t exist. Sorry.” People who think everything was better in the past must be thrilled that we are returning to similarly simple times. Our assiduously asset-stripped privately owned water companies cut out the middleman of actual waste treatment and dumped raw sewage directly into our rivers and seas 300,000 times in 2022 alone, often in the spawning grounds of endangered salmon during breeding season. How would the typical Conservative MP like it if someone came and tipped a load of human excrement over him while he was having sex? We could always ask Conservative Friends of Russia founding member Matthew Elliott, as the KGB is bound to have some compromising photos. As raw sewage saturates the ground of post-Brexit Britain, free from Brussels’s tedious environmental red tape, our nation is turning into a giant sponge of excrement. Should the group Madness perform any outdoor greatest hits concerts this summer, it’s suggested the downward pressure of 10,000 hefty ex-skinheads jumping up and down at the same time could cause massive geysers of human excrement to shoot up from the filth-sodden earth and overwhelm the emergency services. A Cobra committee has met to decide which of the group’s eminently danceable, yet simultaneously erudite, hits are literally too dangerous to perform, the instrumental moon-stomp of One...
It’s 8.29am on Friday now and I have to file this column in two hours 31 minutes. I awoke at 6am, to watch the bloody election results coagulate, in a hotel room in Tunbridge Wells, a town so solidly middling it has been twinned with a branch of Carluccio’s.
But last Sunday, I had seen Chris Martin from Coldplay cavort before a global TV audience of more than 90 nations with a visible urine stain to the right of his fly. Evidently, a poorly self-milked penis, presumably his own, had made damp contact with the inner side of his trouser.
In the runup to the election, commentators used polls to predict the future. But I felt I had divined something of the unexpected flavour of our forthcoming fate from my own little set of signs and wonders. On Friday of last week, I found a mummified newt beneath a Frisbee in the nook where I store rakes, betokening woe. The following day, I saw Tom Stoppard staring hungrily at soup in Norfolk, prefiguring a light lunch. And on Sunday, I saw Chris Martin from Coldplay, with a urine stain on his trousers.
Mark E Smith of the Fall appeared at Glastonbury in 2015 in apparently urine-soaked slacks, but I believe this was a deliberate piece of stagecraft, designed to provide fans with a comical anecdote, and detractors with confirmation of their prejudices. Such is Smith’s commitment to his shaman-clown persona.
Chris Martin from Coldplay’s urine stain, however, was all too real, and indeed it was hard to imagine how a liquid so base as urine could mark the garments of a man who seems almost angelic, as if woven from lamb’s wool and light.
The stain was an omen, certainly, but what did it mean? Was the urine stain of the Tories going to remain on the Chris Martin from Coldplay’s trouser of British politics for some time yet? Or did Chris Martin from Coldplay’s spreading urine stain portend a spread of hope and sunshine? Either way, it was all yellow.
Tunbridge Wells. What a strange place to be on this strange morning. The BBC Today programme’s editor, Sarah Sands, former editor of the lying Sunday Telegraph and the horrible London Evening Standard, former deputy editor of the lying Daily Telegraph (Britain’s worst newspaper), and consultant editor of the often actionably appalling Daily Mail, was born here, and carries its stain with her, the mark of Cain, invalidating her eternally.
Sands’s childhood home is visible from my hotel room window, identified by the vast pulsating eye that sits atop its bat-encircled gothic tower, radiating waves of psychic evil out across Middle England. And yet, at 8.29am, it suddenly seems Britain may yet have deflected these very rays. How did Corbyn achieve his miraculous traction in the face of the concentrated bias of British news media?
Yesterday morning, Thursday, I took a massive diversion from a Wednesday night standup show in Colchester (Leave) via my North London Metropolitan Liberal Elite home to vote in my Labour safe seat, a typically British odyssey involving multiple cancelled trains and a bomb scare in Trafalgar Square, where I understand there are now plans to fill the fourth plinth with an uplifting effigy of Chris Martin from Coldplay in urine-stained trousers.
I arrived at my Tunbridge Wells (Remain) hotel at 5pm. The young woman on reception said she wasn’t voting at all as “they” were “all as bad as each other”. But they aren’t. Boris Johnson, for example, himself a lying columnist for the lying Daily Telegraph, is the worst one of “them” all by some distance.
At 6pm on Thursday night, a world away now, I ate soggy salad and found myself thinking about The Medusa Touch (1978), arguably Richard Burton’s finest movie, in which he plays a tortured writer of fiction whose ability to imagine terrible disasters convinces him he may actually be willing them into being. Lee Remick plays his psychiatrist. And the newsreader Gordon Honeycombe is, cruelly, cast as an actual piece of honeycomb named Gordon.
For the last nine months, like Burton’s paranoid novelist, I have been selling the same standup routine nightly to audiences, advancing the idea that the secret Tory steering committee always intended Boris Johnson to be leader of the party, and that Theresa May had only been put in place as a kind of palate cleanser, a nasty-tasting mouthwash that you swill around your gums before being forced to eat actual human shit.
While he himself is doubtless clean as a whistle, Johnson’s renewed public appearances these last few weeks have displayed the violently belligerent and incoherent sweatiness that people with cocaine problems take as a sign that it’s time to stop partying and seek help.
And at 7pm on Thursday, remembering Boris rampant and evidently ambitious once more, a frothing jackal circling the expiring wildebeest that is Theresa May, I found myself fearing my own Medusa Touch. Do my jokes make these awful things happen? Who am I? Should I take this minibar corkscrew and trepan my own brain to stop my worst fears becoming reality?
Alone in my Tunbridge Wells hotel room at midnight, snorting a snow drift of uncut Dimbleby in my post-show adrenaline high, a storm raging over the multistorey car park, I wondered what kind of fudge of an Observer column I could concoct to file on Friday morning, when everything was uncertain and it now looked like a hung parliament was in the offing. Luckily I had seen a urine stain on Chris Martin from Coldplay’s trousers the previous Sunday and imagined writing about that might fill a few hundred words near the start.
Long after midnight, I ate my Marks & Spencer Harissa Spiced Roasted Almonds and weighed up a half-bottle of champagne in the minibar, that I eventually chose to ignore. I was, literally, if not a Champagne Socialist, then at least a Harissa Spiced Almond Anarchist, alone and on the loose in a hotel room in Royal Tunbridge Wells as the arrogant presumptions of the Conservatives turned to tatters. And it felt good.
I have a show tonight in Basingstoke (Leave) and I’m mentally ticking off lines that are invalidated or changed by the shock result, but I expect the audience will be in a state of hysteria. And look at this joyful chaos! Laura Kuenssberg looks like her cat just died. It’s 11am on Friday and there’s apples all over the road. Emily Maitlis is scrabbling around to pick them up. And in a red dress, of all things.
Stewart Lee is touring his new show, Content Provider, throughout 2017
Stewart Lee
2017-06-11T16:00:15+01:00
It’s 8.29am on Friday now and I have to file this column in two hours 31 minutes. I awoke at 6am, to watch the bloody election results coagulate, in a hotel room in Tunbridge Wells, a town so solidly middling it has been twinned with a branch of Carluccio’s. But last Sunday, I had seen Chris Martin from Coldplay cavort before a global TV audience of more than 90 nations with a visible urine stain to the right of his fly. Evidently, a poorly self-milked penis, presumably his own, had made damp contact with the inner side of his trouser. In the runup to the election, commentators used polls to predict the future. But I felt I had divined something of the unexpected flavour of our forthcoming fate from my own little set of signs and wonders. On Friday of last week, I found a mummified newt beneath a Frisbee in the nook where I store rakes, betokening woe. The following day, I saw Tom Stoppard staring hungrily at soup in Norfolk, prefiguring a light lunch. And on Sunday, I saw Chris Martin from Coldplay, with a urine stain on his trousers. Mark E Smith of the Fall appeared at Glastonbury in 2015 in apparently urine-soaked slacks, but I believe this was a deliberate piece of stagecraft, designed to provide fans with a comical anecdote, and detractors with confirmation of their prejudices. Such is Smith’s commitment to his shaman-clown persona. Chris Martin from Coldplay’s urine stain, however, was all too real, and indeed it was hard to imagine how a liquid so base as urine could mark the garments of a man who seems almost angelic, as if woven from lamb’s wool and light. The stain was an omen, certainly, but what did it mean? Was the urine stain of...
YOU’D have to be as drunk as Phil Mitchell to find Celebrity Juice funny. It’s like a tenth rate Shooting Stars.
People titter because Keith Lemon leers at breasts and says “milk, milk”. What are we, six? Ooh, he said fanny, he said poo...
On his live show, Lemon got his first laughs with “Oh f***, we’re live”, followed by “I whacked her in the face with me c**k”.
Oscar Wilde eat yer heart out. This is lobotomised comedy aimed at the Club 18-30 crowd after a night on Jägerbombs – the comic equivalent of a tanked-up footballer at Cheltenham.
It’s lazy toilet humour bereft of wit or insight but it’s still arguably preferable to Stewart Lee’s smart-arse ramblings. Lee caters for the smug, right-on, middle class Guardian-reading crowd – the people who share his elitist prejudices.
He despises Only Fools & Horses, arguably the greatest British sitcom ever made, and only last week said Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album made him “physically sick”.
On Thursday he turned his fire on the English flag, linking it falsely to the 1970s National Front (who actually marched behind the Union Jack).
He then spent two thirds of a dull, self-indulgent show talking about his cat, allegedly called Jeremy Corbyn, and its diarrhoea – blowing a raspberry for three minutes while it defecated on the cross of St George.
Looking for laughs in this garbage is like searching for the meaning of life in a Joey Essex documentary. Ah, but clever people tell me I’m missing the joke.
Stewart Lee is just as much a character as Keith Lemon, they say, but brighter. His rambling, repetitive shtick is an act.
He’s actually subverting comedy. Maybe so, but 1) it’s very hard to tell where the fake Lee stops and the real Lee starts, and 2) this is the fourth series ploughing the same shallow furrow.
Like a herpes sore, there is no getting rid of him. Comedy is a matter of taste, of course, but it’s a matter of fact that Oxbridge comedians – which Lee is – get most TV bookings because Oxbridge educated commissioners control the process. The same kind of cretins who sacked Les Dawson...
Stewart Lee
2016-03-20T21:52:17+00:00
YOU’D have to be as drunk as Phil Mitchell to find Celebrity Juice funny. It’s like a tenth rate Shooting Stars. People titter because Keith Lemon leers at breasts and says “milk, milk”. What are we, six? Ooh, he said fanny, he said poo... On his live show, Lemon got his first laughs with “Oh f***, we’re live”, followed by “I whacked her in the face with me c**k”. Oscar Wilde eat yer heart out. This is lobotomised comedy aimed at the Club 18-30 crowd after a night on Jägerbombs – the comic equivalent of a tanked-up footballer at Cheltenham. It’s lazy toilet humour bereft of wit or insight but it’s still arguably preferable to Stewart Lee’s smart-arse ramblings. Lee caters for the smug, right-on, middle class Guardian-reading crowd – the people who share his elitist prejudices. He despises Only Fools & Horses, arguably the greatest British sitcom ever made, and only last week said Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album made him “physically sick”. On Thursday he turned his fire on the English flag, linking it falsely to the 1970s National Front (who actually marched behind the Union Jack). He then spent two thirds of a dull, self-indulgent show talking about his cat, allegedly called Jeremy Corbyn, and its diarrhoea – blowing a raspberry for three minutes while it defecated on the cross of St George. Looking for laughs in this garbage is like searching for the meaning of life in a Joey Essex documentary. Ah, but clever people tell me I’m missing the joke. Stewart Lee is just as much a character as Keith Lemon, they say, but brighter. His rambling, repetitive shtick is an act. He’s actually subverting comedy. Maybe so, but 1) it’s very hard to tell where the fake Lee stops and the real Lee starts, and...
Now that comedy is part of the Establishment it is good to be reminded that there was a time when stand-ups were angry young men (and the occasional woman) banging on the window, demanding to be heard. Part of Stewart Lee's Austerity Binge mini-festival, this gathering from the lost era of alternative comedy produced a suitably anarchic jumble of old punchlines.
Too long an evening? Of course it was. Events like this always are. We could have done without a second interval, and you really had to be a dauntless connoisseur of eccentric pop to stay for the climactic set by the ultra-kitsch, ninja-loving Frank Chickens. The street poet John Cooper Clarke rambled on and on as well. Yes, it was funny to see the manic Chris Lynam strip naked and dance with a firework stuck up his bottom, but by that stage some of us were too tired to work out why we were laughing.
The majority of the gems were crammed into the first two hours. Arthur Smith, the co-host, set the tone early on with his self-mocking cry of “Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!", the audience responding with a lusty “Out! Out! Out!" Most of the political content, though, was surprisingly low-key. Pauline Melville came closest to evoking the streetfighting spirit of the age, although her portrayal of Eydie the Radical Housewife was laced with an awareness that the trusty old slogans failed to bring down the lady with the handbag.
Whimsy held centre-stage earlier. The Oblivion Boys bounced harmless jokes off each other, while Norman Lovett's set was a masterclass in how to hold an audience's attention with the lightest of gestures. Arnold Brown's genial self-deprecation seemed more laboured this time, but it was a delight to see The Greatest Show on Legs — no longer blessed with the presence of the late Malcolm Hardee — turning on the music hall charm with their balloons and bare bums.
Nigel Planer, who had opened proceedings with a memorably smug monologue from the great thespian Nicholas Craig, returned later with a couple of off-key folk ditties. Alexei Sayle compèred the second part of the show, winning maximum applause for his line “A lot has changed since I invented alternative comedy . . ." Stewart Lee himself took over for the final third, mischievously riffing on how the liberal-minded “Cameroons" are, in some ways, a trickier satirical target than the Thatcherites.
While Lee is an admirer of Kevin McAleer, the Irishman's laconic running commentary on a surreal slide show eventually outstayed its welcome. Andrew Bailey was more economical with his impersonation of Lenin wandering through the wreckage of the Soviet Empire. Mrs T would have been amused.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-30T20:35:03+01:00
Now that comedy is part of the Establishment it is good to be reminded that there was a time when stand-ups were angry young men (and the occasional woman) banging on the window, demanding to be heard. Part of Stewart Lee's Austerity Binge mini-festival, this gathering from the lost era of alternative comedy produced a suitably anarchic jumble of old punchlines. Too long an evening? Of course it was. Events like this always are. We could have done without a second interval, and you really had to be a dauntless connoisseur of eccentric pop to stay for the climactic set by the ultra-kitsch, ninja-loving Frank Chickens. The street poet John Cooper Clarke rambled on and on as well. Yes, it was funny to see the manic Chris Lynam strip naked and dance with a firework stuck up his bottom, but by that stage some of us were too tired to work out why we were laughing. The majority of the gems were crammed into the first two hours. Arthur Smith, the co-host, set the tone early on with his self-mocking cry of “Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!", the audience responding with a lusty “Out! Out! Out!" Most of the political content, though, was surprisingly low-key. Pauline Melville came closest to evoking the streetfighting spirit of the age, although her portrayal of Eydie the Radical Housewife was laced with an awareness that the trusty old slogans failed to bring down the lady with the handbag. Whimsy held centre-stage earlier. The Oblivion Boys bounced harmless jokes off each other, while Norman Lovett's set was a masterclass in how to hold an audience's attention with the lightest of gestures. Arnold Brown's genial self-deprecation seemed more laboured this time, but it was a delight to see The Greatest Show on Legs — no longer blessed with...
Mark Jorgensen visits the Lowry for an alternative comedy experience
IF comedians were films – which granted, they aren't - Stewart Lee is the type you'd watch at the Cornerhouse rather than the Odeon.
He is the only comedian in the world who can tell you the exact time, content and rationale of a 'joke' well in advance, yet still make it funny.
The cover of his book, How I Escaped My Certain Fate – The Life and Deaths of a Stand-Up Comedian, proudly features two quotes; one from The Sun referring to him as the worst comedian in Britain, while the other from The Guardian dubs him the best.
While my opinion is more than firmly pitched with the latter, there is a distinct divide with Stewart Lee that either you 'get him' or you don't.
It's worth noting, of course, this is very much intentional on Lee's part.
His act is meticulously and brilliantly crafted with an intentionally anti-comedy steer, leaving him often (over)dubbed a 'comedian's comedian'.
Much A-Stew About Nothing is Lee's latest tour and his introduction at the Lowry explained that this show will comprise of three main segments which will go on to form the new series of his excellent BBC3 show Comedy Vehicle, along with "seven minutes of optional encore", written on a piece of paper.
The suggestion of an 'optional encore' underpins how Lee approaches the audience. For an act to introduce at the start that he has an encore lazily prepared "if you want it", illustrates Lee's intentionally sneery-yet-almost-sneakily-affectionate approach to his show. It's a monologue that you are there to observe, rather than participate.
With this in mind, he explained that the last time he played at the Lowry, the show was ruined by a "crazy Maltese gentleman" in the crowd, resulting in Lee having to personally pay back the audience ticket fees. Whether this is true was unclear, but it gave the perfect base to craft his inimitably tongue-in-cheek contempt for the audience and his surroundings.
Although perhaps an unlikely yet earnest slip of the tongue, 'accidentally' referring to being in Manchester as opposed to Salford (which he later referred to as being "Just a couple of museums and a dock – not even a book shop"), he used both qualms brilliantly as sarcastic reference points throughout the show, casually and almost sympathetically, later referring to Greater Manchester as a 'racially-divided EDL heartland'.
The subject matter for the show included politics, Thatcher's death, artisan alcohol 'connoisseurs', a wildlife piece about Johnny Morris, but undoubtedly the stand-out part of the show was a section on UKIP deputy leader Paul Nuttall's comments on skilled and educated Bulgarian migrants who come to the UK for low paid manual labour work.
Lee recalled Nuttall (or 'Nuttalls' as he perpetually and intentionally mispronounced) suggesting they should stay at home for the benefit of their own country ("as we all know, one of UKIP's fundamental objectives is a commitment to the development of the Bulgarian economy").
Using the old 'they come over here taking our jobs...' adage, he expertly ridiculed the comments using gradually increasing and repetitive fervour; from the Huguenots of medieval France, to the Anglo-Saxons, Neolithics, to the first fish to ever set fin onto land before finishing wonderfully on grey matter.
"Before there was nothing, a void, and we liked that. Then you come over here, with your big bang, forming the basis for everything that has ever existed, ever." He concluded that with his level of insight, perhaps Nuttall(s) should have stayed in Liverpool for the better of the city, much to the approval of the Manchester, sorry Salford, crowd.
The second half of the show in particular was Stewart Lee at his very best.
The ability to take a relatively innocuous statement or notion, pick a standpoint (usually the opposite to what he actually thinks), lead the audience on a bizarre journey of repetition - with the odd nugget of intelligent detail or insight casually dropped in just to confirm if you weren't already aware that he knows exactly what he's talking about – almost past the point of being funny and back again, is what makes him arguably the finest stand up in the country.
On the strength of the material in Much A-Stew About Nothing, the next series of Comedy Vehicle promises to be as good as I hoped it would be, and I really can't recommend enough you getting tickets next time he's in Manchester.
Sorry, Salford.
Whatever.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-08T18:22:48+01:00
Mark Jorgensen visits the Lowry for an alternative comedy experience IF comedians were films – which granted, they aren't - Stewart Lee is the type you'd watch at the Cornerhouse rather than the Odeon. He is the only comedian in the world who can tell you the exact time, content and rationale of a 'joke' well in advance, yet still make it funny. The cover of his book, How I Escaped My Certain Fate – The Life and Deaths of a Stand-Up Comedian, proudly features two quotes; one from The Sun referring to him as the worst comedian in Britain, while the other from The Guardian dubs him the best. While my opinion is more than firmly pitched with the latter, there is a distinct divide with Stewart Lee that either you 'get him' or you don't. It's worth noting, of course, this is very much intentional on Lee's part. His act is meticulously and brilliantly crafted with an intentionally anti-comedy steer, leaving him often (over)dubbed a 'comedian's comedian'. Much A-Stew About Nothing is Lee's latest tour and his introduction at the Lowry explained that this show will comprise of three main segments which will go on to form the new series of his excellent BBC3 show Comedy Vehicle, along with "seven minutes of optional encore", written on a piece of paper. The suggestion of an 'optional encore' underpins how Lee approaches the audience. For an act to introduce at the start that he has an encore lazily prepared "if you want it", illustrates Lee's intentionally sneery-yet-almost-sneakily-affectionate approach to his show. It's a monologue that you are there to observe, rather than participate. With this in mind, he explained that the last time he played at the Lowry, the show was ruined by a "crazy Maltese gentleman" in the crowd,...
For a few seconds, I genuinely thought he was having a breakdown.
After two decades of lapping up his edgy, rant-filled routines, I thought I knew just how far Stewart Lee would go to make his audience feel uncomfortable.
But he had managed to suck me in once more.
Seemingly frustrated his new material wasn’t going down well, he suddenly blamed audiences like us for the high suicide rate among comedians, snarling as he told us how hard it was to write good routines and we just did not appreciate hard-working performers like himself.
When an audience member had the temerity to go for a comfort break during one of the darker moments – he was listing comedians he’d known who’d killed themselves – he launched a host of four-letter insults at the hapless fan and told him not to come back. And he didn’t – like many of us, unclear whether Lee was joking or genuinely offended.
Things had started off in a much more familiar way. After getting sick of being told by the Daily Mail comedians were too scared of telling anti-Islamic jokes, he informed us he’d decided to take up the challenge. What followed was a witty, well engineered piece which expertly balanced his liberal misgivings with his irreverence towards religion.
Unfortunately, the second half was nowhere near as edgy, taking in the far safer ground of UKIP-bashing and ridiculing more commercially successful comedians.
Lee Mack has apparently called him "an intellectual snob", cue Lee undercutting his rival by name-dropping Bertolt Brecht. That was always going to go down well with this audience – who filled all but a handful of the 2,000 seats – but it’s the kind of material he was doing 15 years ago.
Indeed, the edgiest bit of the second half saw the audience member who he’d insulted before the break (the chap had crept back in at the start of the second half) getting his own back through a spot of heckling. But even he was on his feet applauding at the end.
Stewart Lee
2015-02-16T21:59:04+00:00
For a few seconds, I genuinely thought he was having a breakdown. After two decades of lapping up his edgy, rant-filled routines, I thought I knew just how far Stewart Lee would go to make his audience feel uncomfortable. But he had managed to suck me in once more. Seemingly frustrated his new material wasn’t going down well, he suddenly blamed audiences like us for the high suicide rate among comedians, snarling as he told us how hard it was to write good routines and we just did not appreciate hard-working performers like himself. When an audience member had the temerity to go for a comfort break during one of the darker moments – he was listing comedians he’d known who’d killed themselves – he launched a host of four-letter insults at the hapless fan and told him not to come back. And he didn’t – like many of us, unclear whether Lee was joking or genuinely offended. Things had started off in a much more familiar way. After getting sick of being told by the Daily Mail comedians were too scared of telling anti-Islamic jokes, he informed us he’d decided to take up the challenge. What followed was a witty, well engineered piece which expertly balanced his liberal misgivings with his irreverence towards religion. Unfortunately, the second half was nowhere near as edgy, taking in the far safer ground of UKIP-bashing and ridiculing more commercially successful comedians. Lee Mack has apparently called him "an intellectual snob", cue Lee undercutting his rival by name-dropping Bertolt Brecht. That was always going to go down well with this audience – who filled all but a handful of the 2,000 seats – but it’s the kind of material he was doing 15 years ago. Indeed, the edgiest bit of the second half saw...
The 18th century polymath Thomas Young, the last man to hear every Fall album, died denied the delight of this pinnacle of the ‘70s survivors’ catalogue.
Gauleiter Mark E Smith disparages individuality, but his krautrockabilly template is bevelled by Peter Greenway's retro-futuristic twanging. Kinder Of Spine uses shards of 60s pop 7"s as scaffolding for Smith’s guttural and unhinged recitations, Dracula's psychic slave Renfield gobbling arachnids.
And the refining of No Respects Rev’s pile-driving progress with trebly strumming three minutes in finds Philip Glass steering Hawkwind's spaceship.
Britain’s best band again.
Stewart Lee
2013-05-12T19:26:00+01:00
The 18th century polymath Thomas Young, the last man to hear every Fall album, died denied the delight of this pinnacle of the ‘70s survivors’ catalogue. Gauleiter Mark E Smith disparages individuality, but his krautrockabilly template is bevelled by Peter Greenway's retro-futuristic twanging. Kinder Of Spine uses shards of 60s pop 7"s as scaffolding for Smith’s guttural and unhinged recitations, Dracula's psychic slave Renfield gobbling arachnids. And the refining of No Respects Rev’s pile-driving progress with trebly strumming three minutes in finds Philip Glass steering Hawkwind's spaceship. Britain’s best band again.
When so-called Islamic State destroyed historic sites in Iraq, I was wary of making judgments of other cultures, and gave these exuberant young men the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps shattering the statues was mere high spirits, like when Greeks trample wedding crockery? Or perhaps it was the fault of MI5?
Of course, we also sacrifice our heritage to ideology. Say goodbye to Paolozzi’s Tottenham Court Road murals, trashed by terrorists of Transport for London; to Oxford’s ancient Port Meadow horizon, occluded by death-cult developers; and perhaps to the BBC, the greatest cultural achievement of any 20th-century democracy, soon to be poleaxed by free-market fundamentalists as pernicious as the statue-smashers of so-called Islamic State.
Admittedly, the BBC has not been good at preserving its history. In 1990, when I first visited White City’s iconic doughnut, since sold off to a “Luxembourg-based consortium”, I saw Hamble from Play School abandoned in a skip, Del Boy’s van rusting under an awning, and the decomposing body of Lord Reith propped up in a mobile toilet.
The BBC mislaid much of its finest footage: the moon landings; the Beatles on Top of the Pops; and the Troughton-era Doctor Who serial, “Embarrassment of the Inseminoids”, where Doctor Who lands on Mars with a sign on his Tardis saying “Martian Benders” and punches Jamie in the sporran when his tea arrrives cold.
In the wake of the licence freeze, the BBC plans to move the youth channel BBC3 online and halve its budget. As a middle-aged, middle-class man, I hate pretty much everything on BBC3. Snog Marry Avoid is just one of many BBC3 show titles that resist parody. The channel has the creepy vibe of a sleazy art teacher trying to coax sixth-form girls into the pub. But BBC3 isn’t aimed at me. And it shouldn’t be.
That said, it has its evangelical supporters, prepared to do anything to preserve it. In January, my 90s manager, Jon Thoday of Avalon, maker of Russell Howard’s Good News, and Jimmy Mulville of Hat Trick Productions, which has an impressive record of critical hits, floated a philanthropic proposal to buy the channel for the nation, a bit like when those nice Greeks sent those Trojans that lovely wooden horse which worked out so well for everyone.
In a piece authored for public broadcasting enthusiasts the Sunday Times, the sages described as “talented” the BBC3 controller who contracted Avalon to make Live at the Electric, for which the channel intended to “assemble the hottest acts on the brink of breaking through to the public consciousness”. A demonstrable majority of these hot acts were managed by the management wing (Avalon Management) of the production company (Avalon Productions) making the show, their journey into public consciousness smoothed by their management’s control of the BBC3’s public consciousness gateway. It’s like a pig farmer being paid to make a publicly funded prize pig programme featuring his own pigs, when he owns the podiums on which the prize pigs are appraised. And it’s a fabulous taster of how the Avalon-Hat Trick BBC3 might work.
A crucial part of this jörmungandrian cycle is that companies that manage acts need to persuade TV execs to pay them to make shows featuring these acts. But if you could buy your own ready-made channel, you could broadcast your own acts whenever you liked, ramping up profiles, and coining in your percentage of subsequent live work. In its client Al Murray, who has now formed a genuine political party, Avalon might even have parliamentary presence as well as its own TV channel. Perhaps one day our political and media scene will be as respected as Italy’s.
Outlining his hopes on Radio 4 last month, Mulville, anxious to emphasise the importance of a BBC3 that he “happens to believe in”, skirted the fact that BBC1 was enjoyed by 10 times more young people than BBC3, saying, “I happen to have young children in that demographic”, and dismissed BBC4 as “basically BBC2 for Oxbridge people”. But I happen to have an immediate family who never experienced the privileges of further education, and they love BBC4. As an Oxbridge snob myself, I find the channel a bit lowbrow, but it calms me after reading Old Norse and playing chess against cyborgs of my former professors.
Mulville, who happens to have attended Cambridge, is typical of a certain kind of media magnate who, despite enjoying the benefits of a liberal education himself, sees the proletariat as pigs to be farmed, leaning over the balcony like some Groucho Club Marie Antoinette, dismissing the peasants’ demands for more Lucy Worsley with a cry of “Let them watch Hotter Than My Daughter.”
The main obstacle to the duo’s buying a bargain-priced BBC3 appears to be acquiring the frequency it is broadcast on. The easily accessible channel 7 of the EPG spectrum is reserved for public broadcasters. “We would need the help of the BBC to convince the government to allow that,” they conceded on Radio 4. I thought of the emergent oligarchs of collapsing communist Russia, snaffling the ideologically dismantled infrastructure, the BBC an ailing hog, drawing out marks on its own back for butchers, who maintain they only wanted to preserve its meat for the nation. “We happen to love bacon.” The 300,000 signatories wanting to save BBC3 weren’t necessarily signing up for the carve-up.
Lawyers love loopholes, and prey on a precedent. If the BBC3 frequency is, unprecedentedly, reallocated, then public broadcasting is holed below the waterline, the whole thing is up for grabs and we’ll lose the very idea of public broadcasting to the free-market fundamentalists within a decade, as surely and shoddily as we lost the Post Office. Maybe BBC3’s would-be buyers and the BBC Trust don’t realise this. Maybe they realise this all too well. Maybe, fundamentalists of the free market, that’s what they want?
And if I went to talk to someone at the BBC Trust about this, would I find myself faced with another government-friendly, west London billionaire, and end up floating face down in a £5m sub-basement swimming pool?
We need a BBC Trust that comprises communicators who have pursued ideas for their own sake, not necessarily for gain. Grayson Perry, Lenny Henry, Mary Beard, Brian Cox, Caitlin Moran, Jarvis Cocker, Meera Syal, Victoria Wood, Rowan Williams and Tinky Winky. And yes, this is my proposed shortlist for the next Doctor Who, that curious, questing, idealistic creature who embodies everything we so want to believe should also define the BBC.
Stewart Lee
2015-03-15T09:30:05+00:00
When so-called Islamic State destroyed historic sites in Iraq, I was wary of making judgments of other cultures, and gave these exuberant young men the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps shattering the statues was mere high spirits, like when Greeks trample wedding crockery? Or perhaps it was the fault of MI5? Of course, we also sacrifice our heritage to ideology. Say goodbye to Paolozzi’s Tottenham Court Road murals, trashed by terrorists of Transport for London; to Oxford’s ancient Port Meadow horizon, occluded by death-cult developers; and perhaps to the BBC, the greatest cultural achievement of any 20th-century democracy, soon to be poleaxed by free-market fundamentalists as pernicious as the statue-smashers of so-called Islamic State. Admittedly, the BBC has not been good at preserving its history. In 1990, when I first visited White City’s iconic doughnut, since sold off to a “Luxembourg-based consortium”, I saw Hamble from Play School abandoned in a skip, Del Boy’s van rusting under an awning, and the decomposing body of Lord Reith propped up in a mobile toilet. The BBC mislaid much of its finest footage: the moon landings; the Beatles on Top of the Pops; and the Troughton-era Doctor Who serial, “Embarrassment of the Inseminoids”, where Doctor Who lands on Mars with a sign on his Tardis saying “Martian Benders” and punches Jamie in the sporran when his tea arrrives cold. In the wake of the licence freeze, the BBC plans to move the youth channel BBC3 online and halve its budget. As a middle-aged, middle-class man, I hate pretty much everything on BBC3. Snog Marry Avoid is just one of many BBC3 show titles that resist parody. The channel has the creepy vibe of a sleazy art teacher trying to coax sixth-form girls into the pub. But BBC3 isn’t aimed at me. And it...
Stewart Lee is a stand-up comedian known for his anti-populist, deconstructive approach to stand-up, his nonchalant delivery and his undulating repetition. He is also an author, director and columnist. He has a BBC Two stand-up series called Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
Stewart Lee loves Leicester. He says that, as a child, he ‘used to look at the picture of the fattest man who ever lived, Daniel Lambert, who was from Leicester, in the Guinness Book of Records and dream of Leicester.’ He tells me that, in the ‘90s, he was fond of the German Psychedelic Progressive rock record shop ‘Ultima Thule’ which was near the station. I can’t contain my jealousy for those studying at DMU at the time as Lee says he ‘always seemed to be doing gigs at the Poly and then eating lovely curries after.’ Particular praise goes to the night porter in the bar at the Mercure Hotel, Lee looks forward to ‘his deadpan sense of humour’ every time he stays there.
He also thinks that Leicester is ‘an example of multiculturalism working, on the whole, that disproves a lot of the stuff we hear at the moment, though I appreciate a lot of effort goes in to making this work.’
Most importantly though, in 2004 he met fellow comedian Bridget Christie at a party above an Indian restaurant while they were both appearing at the comedy festival. He is now married to Bridget and they have two children. Lee says that, as a result of having stand-up comedians for parents, their children ‘meet all kinds of people when we do Edinburgh and in our lives generally because the spread of people that do comedy is so vast - all races, religions, social classes etc - which has already had a really good effect on them I think.’
This, in my opinion, must have been very different to how Lee grew up. This is based on the fact that he grew up in Solihull, the same place that I grew up. It’s very different from the vibrant multicultural society of Leicester. When I tell Lee that Solihull now has its own comedy festival called ‘Lolihull’ it becomes clear that he will never perform at it. I get the feeling that he’s been constantly eluding me for years as he tells me that, not only did he perform at my university many times in the ‘90s, but in 2005, he performed in a pub in Knowle. If only eleven year old me had taken the ten minute walk from my house to the highstreet of Knowle, I could have been turned away from the pub for being eleven. Lee’s vowed never to return after ‘all the sisters of people I used to vaguely know turned up to gawp at me and prove that I was wrong to have left small town England for London. Then some weirdo who was now a born again Christian tried to convert me afterwards. It was awful.’
Lee isn’t a stranger to criticism, The Daily Telegraph say that ‘Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing interesting to say.’ The Sun says that he’s ‘the worst comedian in Britain. As funny as Bubonic Plague. The Birmingham Sunday Mercury says that ‘"His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension.“
Lee’ comedy isn’t for everyone, and that’s just the way he seems to like it. I haven’t been trawling through reams of reviews to find these quotes. I’ve simply lazily copy and pasted these quotes from Lee’s website, the covers of his DVDs, the back of his books, and his tour posters. He prints the above criticisms in an attempt to dissuade people who wouldn’t enjoy his work from watching, reading or attending it. Engaging with the criticism in such an unabashed manner suggests that he is immune to their insults. He says that the criticism does strengthen you, but agrees that it can make you unhappy and bitter.
When I asked him about the next series of Alternative Comedy Experience, the stand-up TV show he created and curated, I was told that there wouldn’t be one because Comedy Central don’t want one. ‘It got good figures but with the wrong age group’ Lee says. Perhaps one of the executives at Comedy Central will soon find themselves on one of Lee’s posters, as they were quoted in the Guardian as saying that "Cynical clever comedy like Stewart Lee is all very well but we don’t find it being shared on line by our target demographic.” Lee calls this ‘a real shame. As it was the only worthwhile piece of original programming on the channel.’
On the subject of criticism, he says that “What is annoying is to be criticised for things you haven’t done or said, or to be criticised by people making wrong assumptions about why or how you have done the things you have done, or to be criticised by people who don’t know anything about what you do, based on their own prejudices.”
Unfortunately this is exactly what happened to Lee when he visited Leicester back in 2005. There was a particularly strong opposition to Jerry Springer The Opera, co-ordinated by an ‘especially unpleasant Tory councillor’. Lee directed and co-wrote the script for the musical about the eponymous talk show host which features depictions of Jesus, God and Satan amongst other biblical characters. As Lee documents in his book How I Escaped My Certain Fate and in his 2005 stand-up show 90’s Comedian, there was a vicious campaign to get the show banned. Christian pressure group ‘Christian Voice’ rallied the forces of ignorance to protest against the show, which won four Laurence Olivier Awards, claiming it was blasphemous. Lee says that ‘the bishop of Leicester invited me to a debate in the Cathedral which he assured me would be reasonable and I fell for it.’ Lee debated with Resham Singh Sandhu, who has since served a stint as ‘High Sherriff of Leicester’ which is actually a thing. A primarily ceremonial, archaic thing which involves wearing silly clothes, but a thing none the less.
Lee says that the former High Sherriff ‘didn’t seem to think not knowing anything about the subject in hand was any reason not to have a violent opinion about it’ and that, in the spirit of open minded debate, the Sherriff used his opening remarks to pray that the show would be banned. Lee relives this moment again and again in his mind, realising that this was the point he should have walked out and left them to thrash it out amongst themselves.
‘They say you only regret the things you didn’t do, and not walking out at that point will haunt me for the rest of my life. In a slurry of unpleasant experiences associated with trying to tour the show, Leicester was probably the point at which my patience ran out and my spirit was finally broken, so I always associate that with Leicester too sadly.’
Lee’s bittersweet feelings towards Leicester are perfectly summed up by the 2005 Valentines’ edition of the Leicester Mercury. Lee and his wife were stopped in the street by the local paper and asked if they had romantic memories of Leicester. Lee says that ‘In the next day’s Leicester Mercury page 5 was a picture of us in a heart shaped border captioned 'romance in Leicester’, and page 3 was a picture of me arguing with Resham Singh Sandhu, captioned “face of hatred” or something like that.’
Understandably, Lee can’t see himself venturing into the world of musical theatre again anytime soon. He says that his Jerry Springer collaborator Richard Thomas has an idea he’d like the two to work on, and Harry Hill’s X-Factor musical was a reminder how great big shows can be, but the thought of the stress of it is off putting. ‘I never want to do anything so well known that I have to meet people like Resham Singh Sandu again, and if you’re spending money to make a big show sadly you are obliged to promote it and raise its profile.’
Despite having many other talents, he mainly seems interested in continuing with stand-up. In my continued efforts to badger someone into opening a new comedy club in Leicester, I asked if he’d be interested in opening a comedy venue with the same ethos as Alternative Comedy Experience. Lee says that it would be too much effort and that he doesn’t know how people do it. ‘I might do it when I leave London when I am old, and book all my mates, and force them to bring me newspapers from the big city.’
Lee wrote for On the Hour with comedy giants such as Steve Coogan, Armando Ianucci and Chris Morris, and has continued to work with them on other projects. He’s no longer interested in experimenting with film as they all have with Alpha Papa, In the Loop and Four Lions. He tells me that he spent 1997 – 2005 almost getting a script made: ‘I had Peter Fonda, Daryll Hannah, Alan Rickman all lined up but it kept falling apart around changing Hollywood fashions. I went backwards and forwards to New York and LA losing money. Never again.’
Neither would he entertain the idea of being given his own panel show, saying that he’d just use the time to write more stand-up ‘which would pay more than a panel show, and wouldn’t mean I was seen by 4 million people, who would then hassle me in the street and try and secretly take pictures of me with my kids on their camera phones.’
Lee has previously talked about success and critical acclaim making it harder to write. I asked him if it was getting any easier, he said that ‘It gets harder. My brain is slowing. My knees hurt.’ Despite this, he still hopes to be performing when he reaches the age of 75. In fact, he’s looking forward to it ‘It’s a reason to live. It will be hilarious to be an old grumpy man’ and if he makes it to 90 then he might even reunite with former double act partner Richard Herring. I hope that the 65 year old me finally catches up with Lee and is there to see it. But what will he talk about? What will the issues of the future be? ‘I expect I’ll be talking about the same things as I am now. Farts and UKIP.’
You can see Stewart Lee discussing both farts and UKIP in A Room With A Stew on the 12th of February at De Montfort Hall.
Stewart Lee
2015-02-01T00:37:32+00:00
Stewart Lee is a stand-up comedian known for his anti-populist, deconstructive approach to stand-up, his nonchalant delivery and his undulating repetition. He is also an author, director and columnist. He has a BBC Two stand-up series called Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. Stewart Lee loves Leicester. He says that, as a child, he ‘used to look at the picture of the fattest man who ever lived, Daniel Lambert, who was from Leicester, in the Guinness Book of Records and dream of Leicester.’ He tells me that, in the ‘90s, he was fond of the German Psychedelic Progressive rock record shop ‘Ultima Thule’ which was near the station. I can’t contain my jealousy for those studying at DMU at the time as Lee says he ‘always seemed to be doing gigs at the Poly and then eating lovely curries after.’ Particular praise goes to the night porter in the bar at the Mercure Hotel, Lee looks forward to ‘his deadpan sense of humour’ every time he stays there. He also thinks that Leicester is ‘an example of multiculturalism working, on the whole, that disproves a lot of the stuff we hear at the moment, though I appreciate a lot of effort goes in to making this work.’ Most importantly though, in 2004 he met fellow comedian Bridget Christie at a party above an Indian restaurant while they were both appearing at the comedy festival. He is now married to Bridget and they have two children. Lee says that, as a result of having stand-up comedians for parents, their children ‘meet all kinds of people when we do Edinburgh and in our lives generally because the spread of people that do comedy is so vast - all races, religions, social classes etc - which has already had a really good effect on them...
Once a self-confessed "street bum, a complete drunk", and wheelchair-bound since a car accident in 1983, Vic Chesnutt was first coerced into recording in 1988 by Michael Stipe, REM's vocalist. Since then the 32-year-old songwriter from Athens, Georgia, has delivered five critically acclaimed, low-key and wryly humorous albums, and his big-label debut for Capitol Records, About to Choke, is out tomorrow. Earlier this year, Chesnutt was the beneficiary of the Sweet Relief Musicians' Fund's second album, Sweet Relief II. Acts as diverse as country diva Nanci Griffith, stadium rockers Garbage and the Smashing Pumpkins, and even pop siren Madonna, queued up to cover his songs. "It's quite odd, I suppose," he reflects. "But I've always been a songwriters' songwriter. That's my curse."
The first evidence of Chesnutt's "curse" was his 1990 debut, Little. With Stipe at the controls, his broken Southern-twanged whine and battered nylon-string guitar forged a distinctive collection of acoustic short stories. Its highlight was Speed Racer, an inspiring hymn to non-belief. "I'm not a victim, I'm an atheist," he sang, "so don't try to spray me with your archaic rites of soul/I can dodge the thunderbolts and scratch out an existence on this glorious but simple plane." Chesnutt's ability to find beauty in the everyday, in the "simple plane", is what makes him so special. He has a childlike apprehension of joy and sorrow. Ever the Sad Peter Pan of his song of the same name, Chesnutt is a boy who grew up, but without the attendant adult superstitions and bitterness.
Recent years, however, have seen a mellowing. For Sweet Relief II, Chesnutt presented a song called God is Good to his friend, the unashamedly Christian singer Victoria Williams, herself a precious Sweet Relief beneficiary, on account of her multiple sclerosis. "It's funny that we get along so well. In my younger days, I wouldn't have been able to tolerate it all," he explains. "I'd written God is Good a long time ago after reading a Wallace Stevens poem. I kind of paraphrased it and set it to music. We were sitting around in the desert in Joshua Tree, where Victoria lives, and all of a sudden I said: 'Victoria, I gotta tell you, I really would like you to sing this song or I'm gonna regret it for the rest of my life.' She said: 'Let's do it!', and that was that."
God is Good isn't the only contribution to Sweet Relief II that's laced with irony. Chesnutt's association with Stipe led to innumerable run-ins with probing Stipe obsessives, and in turn to the writing of Guilty by Association, a description of a friendship compromised by the albatross of celebrity. On Chesnutt's version, Stipe himself sang of being "canonised" and "terrorised" and questioned by "all the little loonies with their salient obsessions". On country-rock songwriter Joe Henry's cover, Stipe's part is taken by Henry's somewhat more famous sister-in-law, Madonna. "It couldn't have been a more perfect pairing," says Chesnutt with pride. "The song deals with obsessed fans and Madonna, at the time, had come to LA for the trial of a stalker. It was really ironic. I couldn't be happier with it."
Putting Chesnutt's songs into the hands of other artists also goes some way to reducing the red herring of "Vic Chesnutt - disabled songwriter". It's tempting to see the lyrics of Sleeping Man, from 1993's Drunk, as a description of Chesnutt's own condition - "You're a freak of nature/you are Siamese/you are in a pickle jar/for all the world to see" - but the song turns out to have been inspired by a memory of his sister laughing at their sleeping father. However,
Chesnutt is predictably tolerant of pigeonholing. "I understand it," he says. "My wish is that they'd talk about my songwriting but, hey, if there was a songwriter with two mouths they'd talk about that. If you're any different, they talk about it."
The new album, About to Choke, is a sudden step forward from last year's finely wrought and stylistically consistent masterpiece, Is the Actor Happy?, where Chesnutt finally learned to write for a band, brushed drums and ringing lead-guitar lines tumbling over his simple strumming. About to Choke, by constrast, is demanding, diverse and erratic to a degree that might intimidate newcomers, though it grows more intimate with every hearing.
Giant Sand and Myrtle respectively scale the alternately robust or fragile heights of Chesnutt's back catalogue, and Swelters might be one of his finest songs to date, a string of resonant, fatalistic epigrams, sung over a timeless classical-guitar figure. Hopefully, Chesnutt's new paymasters will have the courage to stick with him, to indulge him, even. His is a voice that deserves to be heard.
Stewart Lee
1996-11-10T16:52:50+00:00
Once a self-confessed "street bum, a complete drunk", and wheelchair-bound since a car accident in 1983, Vic Chesnutt was first coerced into recording in 1988 by Michael Stipe, REM's vocalist. Since then the 32-year-old songwriter from Athens, Georgia, has delivered five critically acclaimed, low-key and wryly humorous albums, and his big-label debut for Capitol Records, About to Choke, is out tomorrow. Earlier this year, Chesnutt was the beneficiary of the Sweet Relief Musicians' Fund's second album, Sweet Relief II. Acts as diverse as country diva Nanci Griffith, stadium rockers Garbage and the Smashing Pumpkins, and even pop siren Madonna, queued up to cover his songs. "It's quite odd, I suppose," he reflects. "But I've always been a songwriters' songwriter. That's my curse." The first evidence of Chesnutt's "curse" was his 1990 debut, Little. With Stipe at the controls, his broken Southern-twanged whine and battered nylon-string guitar forged a distinctive collection of acoustic short stories. Its highlight was Speed Racer, an inspiring hymn to non-belief. "I'm not a victim, I'm an atheist," he sang, "so don't try to spray me with your archaic rites of soul/I can dodge the thunderbolts and scratch out an existence on this glorious but simple plane." Chesnutt's ability to find beauty in the everyday, in the "simple plane", is what makes him so special. He has a childlike apprehension of joy and sorrow. Ever the Sad Peter Pan of his song of the same name, Chesnutt is a boy who grew up, but without the attendant adult superstitions and bitterness. Recent years, however, have seen a mellowing. For Sweet Relief II, Chesnutt presented a song called God is Good to his friend, the unashamedly Christian singer Victoria Williams, herself a precious Sweet Relief beneficiary, on account of her multiple sclerosis. "It's funny that we get along...
What is Stewart Lee’s position in the comedy marketplace? And whither his “metropolitan liberal elite” sensitivities in the post-PC age? These are the questions Lee considers in his first new live material for three years, divvied up into two sets: Tornado and Snowflake. Tonight, he tells us with his trademark mix of disdain and high self-regard, they add up to “a four-star show with a three-star audience”. He may be underselling himself: several of tonight’s joyously funny and bloody-minded routines find Lee on scintillating form.
He has been around so long, delivering such consistently strong and adventurous standup, that it’s easy to take Lee for granted. Without him these last few years, his liberal crowd has been “starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement”, he crows – quick as ever to incorporate other people’s criticism into his act. But there’s more to Lee’s shows than progressive love-ins. Yes, the sarcasm and abuse to which he subjects metropolitan betes noires is often fortifying and funny. But his work is most intriguing when it complicates our thinking, when his intentions – ideologically and comedically – are tricky to trace, and when he turns his fire on lefty shibboleths.
Witness Snowflake’s giddiest routine, which spoofs the cult of Phoebe Waller-Bridge. It’s a thrill to attend to this thought crime against bien pensant opinion, as Lee celebrates PWB’s discovery – for the first time in entertainment history – of direct audience address. He then segues into a section on the futility of laundering James Bond for the woke era, imagining the character transformed under Waller-Bridge’s influence into a genitally diminished spy who rapes aphids.
This, in a show posing as a defence of the snowflake sensibility! The trick Snowflake pulls off is to succeed as an elegy to political correctness, replete with acoustic guitar ballad on the subject, while being far more confrontational than snowflakes are meant to be. There’s a choice routine about Tony Parsons and cesspits, and a set piece about Ricky Gervais “saying the unsayable” that expresses rage and ridicule at that idea without articulating a single word. Like much of Lee’s comedy, it is infantile and cerebral at the same time.
Next to these routines, his material on health and safety and “political correctness gone mad” – a litany of bizarre perils to which his gran’s generation cheerfully exposed themselves – feels uncharacteristically straightforward, but no less funny for it.
The opening hour, Tornado, is just as rich, and derives from a misleading listing about sharks falling from the sky that Lee’s standup show was given on Netflix. This prompts reflection on Lee’s place in the comedy firmament, as Alan Bennett damns him with scholarly praise in the London Review of Books, and Dave Chappelle’s security team chase him through Chinatown.
The latter is one of those dreamlike anecdotes, slipping their moorings from fact to fantasy, in which Lee specialises. Is he, it obliquely asks, “the world’s best living standup” or an impotent scourge of the world’s best living standups? There is certainly evidence for the former in tonight’s material, including the unlikely Bennett pastiche with which he closes Act One. That routine and others find Lee trying new things, putting on voices and jumping around, like a standup enjoying himself in a looser, less beady way than in the past. One of these shows alone would mark a triumphant return for the liberal not-so-elite’s favourite standup. Two is a real treat.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-07T16:40:19+00:00
What is Stewart Lee’s position in the comedy marketplace? And whither his “metropolitan liberal elite” sensitivities in the post-PC age? These are the questions Lee considers in his first new live material for three years, divvied up into two sets: Tornado and Snowflake. Tonight, he tells us with his trademark mix of disdain and high self-regard, they add up to “a four-star show with a three-star audience”. He may be underselling himself: several of tonight’s joyously funny and bloody-minded routines find Lee on scintillating form. He has been around so long, delivering such consistently strong and adventurous standup, that it’s easy to take Lee for granted. Without him these last few years, his liberal crowd has been “starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement”, he crows – quick as ever to incorporate other people’s criticism into his act. But there’s more to Lee’s shows than progressive love-ins. Yes, the sarcasm and abuse to which he subjects metropolitan betes noires is often fortifying and funny. But his work is most intriguing when it complicates our thinking, when his intentions – ideologically and comedically – are tricky to trace, and when he turns his fire on lefty shibboleths. Witness Snowflake’s giddiest routine, which spoofs the cult of Phoebe Waller-Bridge. It’s a thrill to attend to this thought crime against bien pensant opinion, as Lee celebrates PWB’s discovery – for the first time in entertainment history – of direct audience address. He then segues into a section on the futility of laundering James Bond for the woke era, imagining the character transformed under Waller-Bridge’s influence into a genitally diminished spy who rapes aphids. This, in a show posing as a defence of the snowflake sensibility! The trick Snowflake pulls off is to succeed as an elegy to political correctness, replete with...
The availability of everything dissolves the presumed linear progression of popular culture. Thirty years ago, pop music scorched away its immediate past, and no legal reissues or illegal weblogs enabled the immediate reformatting of forgotten forms.
The Trypes, New Jersey practitioners of the 'Hoboken Sound', alongside The Feelies and The Willies, were amongst the first post-punks to glance backwards, sticking a neat new wave skinny black tie on the fuzzy Sixties New York grooves of The Velvet Underground and the chiming minimalism of various Seventies downtown droners. Enjoy their previously disparate eleven track output, finally fixed in time and space.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-27T22:00:26+01:00
The availability of everything dissolves the presumed linear progression of popular culture. Thirty years ago, pop music scorched away its immediate past, and no legal reissues or illegal weblogs enabled the immediate reformatting of forgotten forms. The Trypes, New Jersey practitioners of the 'Hoboken Sound', alongside The Feelies and The Willies, were amongst the first post-punks to glance backwards, sticking a neat new wave skinny black tie on the fuzzy Sixties New York grooves of The Velvet Underground and the chiming minimalism of various Seventies downtown droners. Enjoy their previously disparate eleven track output, finally fixed in time and space.
Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018.
Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early.
Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday
Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF)
Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF)
Thursday 19th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 20th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Monday 23rd - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS
CONTENT PROVIDER RFH LONDON
19th - 23rd April 2018. Content Provider has been touring to sold out theatres throughout divided Brexit Britain for nearly two years and is Stewart Lee's most successful full-length show ever.
Join him on these special evenings as he finally abandons two hours of monetisable material and performs the show for the very last time. When it's gone it's gone.
Stewart is 50 years old in 2018 and, after performing these shows, he intends to take the longest break from stand-up he's had since his four year disappearance at the start of the century.
April 2018
Thursday 19th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 20th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Monday 23rd - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS
JOHN STEVENS TEXT @ CAFE OTO
WEDS 3RD JAN CAFE OTO, LONDON CONFRONT RECORDINGS PRESENT:
OLIE BRICE (SOLO) + JOHN BUTCHER / GIACOMO SALIS (DUO) + THE SEEN
Confront Recordings stage their first presentation at OTO for 2018.
A rare Olie Brice solo performance, a first time collaboration between John Butcher and visiting Italian percussionist Giacomo Salis and Mark Wastell host his latest version of THE SEEN.
I am doing the spoken word bit - a text by the late percussionist John Stevens - in The Seen piece.
Chris Burn / piano
Stewart Lee / text
Jennifer Allum / violin
Henry Bowers-Broadbent / electric piano
Dominic Lash / double bass
Bertrand Denzler / tenor saxophone
Mark Wastell / tam tam, harmonium
THE SEEN
Mark Wastell has been organising larger formations of musicians, collectively known as THE SEEN, since the early 2000's. Using predominantly improvised material with occasional instructions or themes distributed to individual musicians just prior to performance.
No formation has ever been repeated, THE SEEN never stays static.
Register of previous participants include Tetuzi Akiyama, Mattin, Michael Duch, Graham Halliwell, Andrea Neumann, Rhodri Davies, Paul Hood, Takehiro Nishide, Annette Krebs, Lee Gamble, Matt Davis, Joe Williamson, Wolfgang Fuchs, Burkhard Beins, Tomas Korber, Paul Abbott, Ben Owen, Jonathan McHugh, Jane Dickson, Olie Brice, Dimitra Lazaridou-Chatzigoga, Bertrand Denzler, Angharad Davies, David Toop, Chris Burn, Richard Sanderson, Dominic Lash, Yoni Silver, Graham MacKeachan, John Butcher and Jason Kahn.
"With The Seen, everything is up for grabs. Even the act of listening - so sacrosanct in the world of improvisation - becomes problematized, for in such a tapestry of sound and silence how can one process what's happening at any one moment? Yet this impossibility of total response provides opportunities to form clusters within the whole, that break apart and reform in different configurations as things develop. For listeners, too, there are possibilities for moments of both detailed focus and wider-scale immersion." (Paul Margree)
Feb 7th, Hackney Empire, London.
Belter for the Shelter is back! Join us for an evening of top class comedy in aid of Hackney Winter Night Shelter.
Returning for a fourth time, Belter is bringing yet another stellar line-up of comedians to the Hackney Empire to help raise money for the Shelter's vital work with local homeless people.
All money raised on the night goes towards keeping people off the streets of Hackney this winter and providing them with a hot meal and warm bed.
Providing the gags for the good cause will be Bridget Christie,
Dane Baptiste,
Kevin Eldon,
Kevin McAleer,
Lolly Adefope,
Michael Legge,
Nish Kumar,
Stewart Lee
and the evening will be compered by Daniel Kitson.
This event has always sold out and this year promises to be no different so act quickly to make sure you don't miss out!
Here is an unedited list of all the culture I consumed in 2017. I didn't listen to enough jazz or read enough comics. I saw more great TV and read more great books than I have done for years. I spent a lot of time in a van listening to Classic Rock with tour manager James Hingley, basically.
NEW FILMS
I saw 19 new films in 2017. The best eight were...
Hell Or High Water (David Mackenzie) ★★★★★
The Ballad of Shirley Collins (Rob Curry/Tim Plester) ★★★★★
The Hunt For The Wilkderpeople (Taika Waititi) ★★★★★
A Street Cat Named Bob (Roger Spottiswode) ★★★★★
Sing!(Garth Jennings) ★★★★
Guardians of The Galaxy Volume 2 (James Gunn) ★★★★
The Red Turtle (Michael Dudok De Witt) ★★★★
Holy Terrors (Julian Butler & Mark Goodall) ★★★★
The worst new film I saw was The Limehouse Golem (Juan Carlos Medina) ★
These weren't very good either...
Logan (James Mangold) ★★
Dunkirk (Christopher Nolan) ★
Lego Ninjago (Charlie Bean) ★
Nine Lives (Barry Sonenfeld) ★
The Secret Life Of Pets (Chris Renaud) ★
The other new films I saw were...
Bone Tomahawk (S Craig Zahler)
Lego Batman (Chris Mackay)
Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them (David Yates)
A Monster Calls (J A Bayona)
Jim And Andy (Chris Smith)
OLD FILMS
I saw 105 old films this year, in this order.
The Bourne Identity (Doug Liman, 2002)
The Bourne Supremacy (Paul Greengrass, 2004)
The Bourne Ultimatum (Paul Greengrass 2007)
Ocean's Eleven (Steven Soderbergh, 2001)
El Topo (Alejandro Jodrowsky 1970) Duel (Steven Spielberg, 1971) ★★★★★
I Am Legend (Francis Lawrence, 2007)
Pokerface (Joe D'Amato 1973) The Bicycle Thieves (Vittorio de Sica, 1948) ★★★★★
Roma (Fredereco Felinni, 1972) ★★★★
Don't Turn The Other Cheek (Duccio Tessari, 1971)
Sonny & Jed (Sergio Corbucci, 1971) Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953) ★★★★★
Garringo (The Dead Are Countless) (Rafael Romero Marchent, 1969)
Why Go On Killing? (Jose Antonio de la Loma, Edoardo Mulargia, 1965)
Reverend Colt (Marino Girolami, 1970)
Some Dollars For Django (Enzo Castllari, 1966)
3:10 To Yuma (James Mangold, 2007)
Cleopatra Jones (Jack Starrett, 1973) ★
Escape From New York (John Carpenter, 1981)
Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979) ★★★★
Mannaja, A Man Called Blade (Sergio Martino, 1977)
Deaf Smith & Johnny Ears (Paolo Cavara, 1973)
Fistful Of Dynamite/Duck You Sucker! (Sergio Leone, 1971) ★★★★
Ben & Charlie (Michele Lupo, 1972)
Robin Hood Prince Of Thieves (Kevin Reynolds, 1991) ★
Robin Hood (Wolfgang Reithermann, 1973) ★★★★ The Unbelievable Truth (Hal Hartley, 1988) ★★★★★
Blood At Sundown (Alberto Cardone, 1966)
The Man Called Noon (Peter Collinson, 1973)
Jungle Book (Wolfgang Reithermann, 1967) ★★★★
Rubber (Quentin Dupliex, 2010)
Coffin For The Sheriff (Mario Caiano, 1965)
California (Michele Lupo, 1977)
Home Alone (Christopher Columbus, 1990)
Zach Galifanakiss At The Purple Onion (Michael Blieden, 2007) ★★★★
There's A Noose Waiting For You Trinity (George Martin, 1972)
Fort Yuma Gold (Giorgio Ferroni, 1966)
Arriva Sabata (Tulio Demichell, 1970)
The Law Of Violence (Giorgio Cerioni, 1969) ★
Dead Men Don't Make Shadows (Demofilo Fidani, 1970)
They Call Him Holy Ghost (Giuliano Carnimeo, 1972)
Sartana's Here, Trade Your Pistol For A Coffin (G Carnimeo, 1970)
Have A Good Funeral My Friend, Sartana Will Pay (G Carnimeo, 1970)
Sartana In The Valley Of Death (Roberto Mauri, 1970)
Train For Durango (Mario Caino, 1968) ★★★★
Oliver! (Carol Reed, 1968) ★★★★
Silver Streak (Arthur Hiller, 1976)
A Stranger In Paso Bravo (Salvatore Rosso, 1968)
A Man Called Sledge (Vic Morrow, 1970)
North By Northwest (Alfred Hitchcock, 1959) ★★★★
Trading Places (John Landis, 1983) ★★★★
Misery (Rob Reiner, 1990) ★★★★
Straight Story (David Lynch, 1999) ★★★★
Brazil (Terry Gilliam, 1985)
Run Man Run (Sergio Sollima, 1968) ★★★★
The Golem (Paul Wegener, 1915)
Wings Of Desire (Wim Wenders, 1987)
Hans Christian Andersen (Charles Vidor, 1952) West Side Story (Robert Wise/Jerome Robins, 1961) ★★★★★
Princess Mononoke (Hayao Miyazaki, 1997) ★★★★
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (Cohen Brothers, 2000) ★★★★
Ghostbusters (Ivan Reitman, 1984) ★★★★
Home Alone 3 (John Hughes, 1997)
Marathon Man (John Schlesinger, 1977) ★★★★
Pinocchio (Ben Sharpsteen, Hamilton Luske, 1940) ★★★★
Cinderella (Clyde Geronimi, Hamilton Luske1950) ★★★★
A Bridge Too Far (Richard Attenborough, 1977) ★★★★ The Dam Busters (Michael Anderson, 1955) ★★★★★
Starman (John Carpenter, 1984) ★★★★
Inside Llewyn Davis (Cohen Brothers, 2013) ★★★★
Paris Texas (Wim Wenders, 1983) ★★★★ Once Upon A Time In The West (Sergio Leone, 1968) ★★★★★
The Big Gundown (Sergio Selima, 1966) ★★★★
An American Werewolf In London (John Landis, 1981) ★★★★
Shrek 2 (Andrew Adamson, 2004)
Breakfast At Tiffany's (Blake Edwards, 1961) ★★★★
Serpico (Sydney Lumet, 1973) ★★★★
Dirty Harry (Don Siegel, 1972) ★★★★
Magnum Force (Ted Post, 1973)
The Homesman (Tommy Lee Jones, 2014)
Backbeat (Iain Softley, 1994)
Crocodile Dundee (Peter Fairman, 1986)
Airplane (Zucker Brothers, 1980) ★★★★
Terminator (James Cameron, 1984)
Predator (John McTiernan, 1988)
Matalo (Cesare Canevari, 1971) ★★★★
Zacharia A Head Of His Time (1971)
101 Dalmatians (Clyde Geronimi, 1961) ★★★★
Whale Rider (Niki Caro, 2003) ★★★★
Thompson 1880 (Guido Zurli, 1966)
The Longest Hunt/Shoot Gringo Shoot (Bruno Corbucci, 1966)
The Jazz Baroness (Hannah Rothschild, 2009)
Robocop (Paul Verhoeven, 1987)
It's A Wonderful Life (Frank Capra, 1946) ★★★★
The Stone Tape (Peter Sasdy, 1972) ★★★★
Big Star : Nothing Can Hurt Me (Drew Denicola, 2012)
Attack The Block (Joe Cornish, 2011) ★★★★
Grizzly (William Girdler, 1976)
Total Recall (Paul Verhoeven, 1990) The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963) ★★★★★ Penda's Fen (Alan Clarke, 1973) ★★★★★
The Dead Pool (Buddy Van Horn, 1988) Dr Zhivago (David Lean, 1964) ★★★★★
NEW BOOKS
I read 24 new books this year. The best dozen were the following, three of which aren't out yet.
I had a great reading year, and felt re-engaged. Iain Sinclair and Jarrett Kobek articulated things I'd been trying to understand but couldn't find the words for, Dave Graney as usual nailed the contradictions of the life of a performer hilariously and brilliantly, and Rob Sears made me laugh out loud on a train.
Iain Sinclair - The Last Of London ★★★★★
Jarett Kobek - I Hate The Internet ★★★★★
Jarett Kobek - The Future Won't Be Long ★★★★★
Rob Sears - The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump ★★★★★
Dave Graney - Workshy, My Life As A Bludge ★★★★★
Heathcote Williams - Boris Johnson, The Blond Beast of Brexit ★★★★★
Dan Stuart - The Unfortunate Demise of Marlowe Billings ★★★★★
Jon Fine - Your Band Sucks (2015) ★★★★
Lucy Newlyn - Diary Of A Bi-Polar Explorer ★★★★
Dave Dictor - Memoir From A Damaged Civilisation (2015) ★★★★
Adam Thorpe - On Silbury Hill ★★★★
Nikesh Shukkla - The Good Immigrant ★★★★
John Dowie - The Freewheelin' John Dowie ★★★★
I also read..
Alex Cox - I Am Not A Number
Brett Milano - Don't Thank Me All At Once, Lost Pop Genius Scott Miller
Kristin Hersch - Don't Suck Don't Die
John Doe - Under The Big Black Sun
Will Ashon - Strange Labyrinth
Roger Shepherd - In Love With These Times
Robert Forster - Grant And I
Tim Winton - Boy Behind The Curtain
Adam Scovell - Folk Horror
Grayson Perry - The Descent Of Man
Douglas Murray - Nincompoopolis, The Follies Of Boris Johnson
OLD BOOKS
I read twelve old books this year, in the following order, some aloud to a child. I never read Durrell's Justine before, which was amazing.
Arthur Machen - Far Off Things (1915)
Arthur Machen - Things Near And Far (1923)
Kes Gray - Daisy And The Trouble With Kittens (2009)
Rosemary Tonks - Bedouin Of The London Evening (1963-67) ★★★★
Franz Kafka - Metamorphosis And Other Stories (1915-24) ★★★★★
Anthony Beevor - Berlin (2002) ★★★★
Greg Fleet - These Things Happen (2015)
Walter Miller Jnr - A Canticle For Leibowitz (1960) ★★★★
Samuel Beckett - Murphy (1938)
Lawrence Durrell - Justine (1957) ★★★★★
Roald Dahl - James & The Giant Peach (1961)
Enid Blyton - The Enchanted Wood (1939)
COMICS
Here's some comics I remember reading this year.
The Vision 1-12 (Tom King/Gabriel Hernandez Walta)★★★★
Scalped 1, 2, 3, 4 (★★★★)
Loads of old Atlas comics from 1975
Injection 1, 2 (Warren Ellis) ★★★★
Wonder Woman 203, Women's Lib issue
The Unquotable Trump - R Sikoryak
Black Panther - 1975/6 - Don McGreggor/Billy Graham
TV NEW AND OLD
The best three things I saw on TV were.. Godless (Netflix) ★★★★★
Grayson Perry - Divided Britain (C4)★★★★★
This Country (BBC3) ★★★★★
And...
This Week (BBC1) ★★★★★
Line Of Duty 4 (BBC1) ★★★★★
Over The Garden Wall (Cartoon Network) ★★★★★
Curb Your Enthusiasm season 9 (HB0) ★★★★★
Better Call Saul 3 (Netflix) ★★★★★
Line Of Duty series 1 (BBC2) ★★★★★
Happy Valley Series 1 (BBC1) ★★★★★
Chewing Gum (C4) ★★★★
Gogglebox (C4)★★★★
First Dates (C4) ★★★★
Ambulance (BBC) ★★★★
Question Time (BBC1) ★★★★
Detectorists series 3 (BBC2) ★★★★
Inside No 9 (BBC2) ★★★★
Horrible Histories (CBBC) ★★★★
Stranger Things S 1 (Netflix) ★★★★
Bear Grylls' Celebrity Island Series 2 (C4) ★★★★
Strictly Come Dancing (BBC1) ★★★★
Luke Cage (Netflix) ★★★★
Stranger Things S 2 (Netflix)★★★★
Blue Planet (BBC1) ★★★★
Ghost Stories For Christmas (BBC) ★★★★
I also saw
The Crown (Netflix)
Motherland (BBC2)
James and Jupp (BBC2)
and
Josh (BBC3)
MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
Guardian, Observer, Independent, Mojo, Record Collector, Shindig, Wire, Viz, London Review Of Books, Faunus, Machenalia.
RADIO
James O'Brien (LBC)
Elkie Brooks singing Lilac Wine on Loose Ends (BBC Radio 4) ★★★★★
Radio Ballade 101.8 Mhz (Languedoc, France) generally
Resonance 104.4 fm generally
Sean Keaveny (6 Music)
The worst radio I heard was The Today Program (BBC Radio 4)
THEATRE
I didn't see much theatre. The best of five was...
White Fang - Jethro Compton (Park Theatre, London) ★★★★
And I enjoyed ...
Tempest/Midsummer Night's Dream - Fisher Youth Thtr, Bungay ★★★★
It was great to see...
Gloucestershire Morris Men's Mummers' Play (Gloucester Cathedral)
I also saw
Cinderella (Hackney Empire)
And
Young Frankenstein (Garrick)
... which was as baffling as all music theatre tends to be.
COMEDY
I didn't see much this year. I have no frame of reference but Kitson was the best of 3.
Daniel Kitson - Something Other Than Everything (Roundhouse)
Bill Bailey - Work In Progress (Leics Sq Theatre)
Natalie Palamides - Laid (Soho Theatre)
GIGS
I saw 31 gigs this year, back up to pre-children rates, despite being on tour a lot. Here they are in order.
Alan Wilkinson/Steve Noble/Benedict Taylor/Loz Speyer (Ryan's Bar)
Jon Fine & Smallgang (Windmill, Brixton) Shirley Collins (Barbican) ★★★★★
Chuck Prophet & The Mission Express (Garage, Islington)
Sun Ra Arkestra (Union Chapel, Islington)
Pierre Favre, Sylvie Courvoisier, Mark Feldman, Evan Parker (Vortex)
Y Niwl (Machynlleth Comedy Festival)
Coal Porters (Union Chapel, London) Hagar The Womb/Nightingales (The Islington) ★★★★★
Cult Figures /Fallen Leaves (Hope & Anchor) ★★★★★
Dan Stuart (Aces & Eights)
Brix & The Extricated/The Wedding Present (Roundhouse)
Richard Dawson (St John's Church, Bethnal Green)
Kraftwerk (Royal Albert Hall)
Alasdair Roberts, Mike Heron & Trembling Bells (Café Oto)
Han Bennink, Mary Oliver, S Noble, A Hawkins, Terrie Ex (Café Oto)
Some power poppy covers band (Esperaza, France)
California (Quillan, France)
Juliette (Quillan, France)
Newzik (Limoux, France)
Lucinda Williams/Buick 6 (Shepherd's Bush Empire)
Ed Alleyne-Johnson (Chester Shopping Centre) Dave Graney, C Moore, G Valentino, M Ross (Betsey Trotwood) ★★★★★
The Norfolk Broads (Curzon Cinema)
The Primevals (Hope & Anchor)
Dream Syndicate (Mon) (Lexington) Dream Syndicate (Tues) (Lexington) ★★★★★
Ut (Lexington) Howe Gelb (Pizza Express) ★★★★★ Richard Dawson (Islington Assembly Hall) ★★★★★
Gloucestershire Morris Men (Gloucester Cathedral)
ALBUMS I LISTENED TO IN THEIR ENTIRITY OLD SCHOOL THIS YEAR IN ONE SITTING AT A DESIGNATED DEVICE
NEW RECORDS - 2016/2017
I heard 79 new albums this year.
I bought or was kindly given loads that I never got round to as I spent all year travelling. I will catch up. My favorite ten were...
Lee Ranaldo - Electric Trim ★★★★★
Heyman Kupa Band - s/t ★★★★★
Son Volt - Notes Of Blue ★★★★★
Endless Boogie - Vibe Killer ★★★★★
Thurston Moore - Rock n Roll Consciousness ★★★★★
Pentangle - Finale★★★★★
Richard Dawson - Peasant ★★★★★
Gord Downie - Introduce Yourself ★★★★★
Dream Syndicate - How Did I Find Myself Here? ★★★★
Nick Hempton - Trio Stonk Live At Smalls ★★★★
But could also have been...
The Fall - New Facts Emerge ★★★★
Howe Gelb & Lonna Kelly - Further Standards ★★★★
Trembling Bells - Dungerness ★★★★
Glowering Figs - ★★★★
Guided By Voices - August By Cake ★★★★
Guided By Voices - How Do You Spell Heaven? ★★★★
Physics House Band - Mercury Fountain ★★★★
Tinariwen - Elwan ★★★★
Kate Tempest - Let Them Eat Chaos ★★★★
The Blue Aeroplanes - Welcome Stranger! ★★★★
Sleaford Mods - Key Markets ★★★★★
Sleaford Mods - English Tapas ★★★★★
Handsome Family - Unseen ★★★★
Sacred Paws - Strike A Match ★★★★
Paul Rooney - Futile Exorcise ★★★★
David Grubbs - Creep Mission ★★★★
Brix & The Extricated - Part 2 ★★★★
Survive - RR7349 ★★★★
Jakub - Sines ★★★★
Birthmarks - Yawn/Sigh ★★★★
Chuck Prophet - Bobby Fuller Died For Your Sins
Bardo Pond - Under The Pines
And most of these were great too...
Lady Leshur - Mode
Mark Mulcahy - The Possum In The Driveway
Mark Eitzel - Hey Mr Ferryman
Songhoy Blues - Resistance
Major Stars - Motion Set
Waterboys - Out Of All This
Michael Tanner - Suite For Psaltery & Dulcimer
Deniz Tek - Mean Old Twister
Bob Mould - Patch The Sky
Echolocation - Empire Blood & Bones
Rich Hopkins & Luminarios - My Way Or The Highway
Alasdair Roberts - Pangs
The Nightingales - Become Not Becoming
Julian Cope - Drunken Songs
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Hitchcock
Fazerdaze - Morning Side
Otoboke Beaver - Bakuro Book
Darren Hayman - Thankful Villages 2
Dr John Cooper Clarke & Hugh Cornwell - This Time It's Personal
Blackeyed Susans - Lover Or The Loved EP
Headland - True Flowers From The Painted World
Headland - Cosy EP
Matthew Sweet - Tomorrow Forever
Hawkwind - Into The Woods ★
The Primevals - Dislocation
Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit - The Nashville Sound
Julian Cope - Dope
Offa Rex - The Queen Of Hearts
Mark Olson - Spokeswoman of the Bright Sun
Hugo Race & Michelangelo Russo - John Lee Hooker's World Today
Hugo Race & Catherine Graindorge - Long Distance Operators
Cosgrave & Banks - Warp And Weft
Andy Partridge - Powers
Bleached - Welcome The Worms
Billy Childish & CTMF - Brand New Cage
The Selecter - Daylight
LCD Soundsystem - American Dream
Chris Hillman - Bidin' My Time
Iva Bittova & Cikori - At Home
The Blackeyed Susans - Close Your Eyes And See
Wolves In The Throne Room - Thrice Woven
Electric Wizard - Wizard Bloody Wizard
Hugo Race Fatalists - 24 Hours To Nowhere
Spain - Carolina
Nick Cave & Warren Ellis - Wind River
Stephen Evans - Bonjour Poulet
NEW OLD RECORDS
I listened to 36 reissues this year. My favorite 15 were..
Lal & Mike Waterson - Bright Phoebus (Domino, 1973)
V/A - Lysergic Saviours (Particle 1968-74) ★★★★★
V/A - Follow The Sun, '70s Australian Folk Rock ★★★★★
Palace Of Light - Beginning Here & Travelling Outwards (1987) ★★★★★v
Game Theory - Big Shot Chronicles (1986) ★★★★
TV Eye - s/t (1977/8) ★★★★
Ut - ep/12" (1981?) ★★★★
The Wild Poppies - Heroine (1986-89) for reasons of nostalgia
Dave Kusworth & Bounty Hunters - Monkey's Choice/Kitchen Sink
Dr John The Night Tripper - Gris Gris ★★★★
V/AA - One Way Glass (rpm) ★★★★
Lynn Castle - Rose Coloured Corner (1967, Light In The Attic) ★★★★
V/A - A Life In The Sun, Australian Surf Film S'tracks (1964-77) ★★★★
German Oak - Down In The Bunker + unreleased (1972) ★★★★
V/A - Running The Voodoo Down, Psychrockfunksouljazz (1967-80) ★★★★
I also heard...
V/A - C87 (1987)
Terry Dolan - s/t (1972)
Bob Brown w The Conqueroo - The Shoebox Tapes 72-77
Tales Of Justine - Petals From A Sunflower 67-69
Spontaneous Music Ensemble - Frameworks (1968-73)
Hawkwind - Astounding Sounds, Amazing Music (1976)
Hawkwind - Quark, Strangeness & Charm (1977)
Hawklords - 25 Years On (1978)
Meal Ticket - Code Of The Road (1977)
Meal Ticket - Three Times A Day (1977)
Meal Ticket - Take Away (1978)
Milkshakes - Talking 'Bout/After School Session (1981/83)
Rico - Wareika Dub (1977)
Black Sabbath - The Ultimate Collection (1970-2013)
Russ Tolman - Compass & Map (1986-2013)
V/A - Svenska Shakers, Swedish Psych-Pop 1964-1968
V/A Back On The Street Again, Australian Funk Rock 1967-1977
V/A Sing It High, Sing It Low : Tumbleweed Records 1971-73
Religious Overdose - Glass Hymnbook 1980-1982
Laura Cantrell - At The BBC 2000-2005
Phil Seymour - Prince of Power Pop (1980-83)
OLD RECORDS
I listened to 211 old records in 2017 in this order
Tom Robinson Band - Power In The Darkness (1978)
The Icicle Works - s/t (1984)
The Icicle Works - The Small Price Of A Bicycle (1985)
v/a - Borderlands, The Best Of Scottish Folk
Bitch Magnet - Ben Hur (1990)
Bitch Magnet - Umber (1989)
Bitch Magnet - Star Booty (1988)
Millions of Dead Cops - Millions Of Dead Cops (1981)
Millions of Dead Cops - More Dead Cops (1988)
Happy Flowers - Singles etc (1983-1991)
The Beatles - Please Please Me (1963)
The Beatles - With the Beatles (1963)
The Beatles - A Hard Day's Night (1964)
The Beatles - Beatles for Sale (1964)
The Beatles - Help! (1965)
The Beatles - Rubber Soul (1965)
The Beatles - Revolver (1966)
The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)
Storyteller - More Pages (1971)
The Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour (1967)
The Beatles - The Beatles ("The White Album", 1968)
The Beatles - Yellow Submarine (1969)
The Beatles - Abbey Road (1969)
The Beatles - Let It Be (1970)
The Beatles - Let It Be Naked (1970)
The Beatles - 1 (2005)
Big Mama Thornton - Hound Dog collection (1965-75)
Fischer-Z - Highlights (1979-2005)
JB Lenoir - Alabama Blues (1965)
JB Lenoir - Down Is Mississippi (1965)
Kirk Swan - It's Only Me (2009)
Pink Floyd - Piper At The Gates Of Dawn (1967)
Pink Floyd - A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968)
Pink Floyd- More (1969)
John Bassman Group - Filthy Sky (1970)
Ludus - Nue Au Soleil (1979-83)
Pink Floyd - Ummagumma (1969)
Raik's Progress - Raik's Progress (1967)
Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother (1970)
Pink Floyd - Meddle (1971)
Pink Floyd - Obscured by Clouds (1972)
Pink Floyd - The Dark Side of the Moon (1973)
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (1975)
Long Ryders - Best Of The Long Ryders (2004)
Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend (1991)
Dinosaur Jr - Where You Been? (1993)
Spinal Tap - This Is Spinal Tap (1984)
21 Pilots - Blurryface (2015)
Pink Floyd - Animals (1977)
Pink Floyd - The Wall (1979)
Pink Floyd - The Final Cut (1983)
Pink Floyd - A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987) ★
Pink Floyd - The Division Bell (1994) ★
Pink Floyd - The Endless River (2014) ★
The Photos - s/t (1980)
Billy Bragg - Life's A Riot With Spy Vs Spy (1983)
Billy Bragg - Brewing Up With (1984)
Led Zeppellin - Remasters (1968-78)
The Vapours - New Clear Days (1979)
Siouxsie & The Banshees - Kaleidoscope (1980)
Bert Jansch - The Black Swan (2006)
U2 - Boy (1980)
Scott Walker - The Moviegoer (1972)
Scott Walker - Any Day Now (1973)
Psychedelic Furs - s/t (1980)
The Whitlams - Introducing (1993)
Wooden Horse - s/t (1972)
West - s/t (1968)
Penelope Houston - Crazy Baby (1994)
Sacred Miracle Cave- s/t (1990)
Neon Hearts - Popular Music (1978)
Scott Walker - Boy Child (1967-70)
Psychedelic Furs - Talk Talk Talk (1981)
Specials - Best Of (1979-84)
Hawkwind - Epoch Eclipse (1971-95)
Twenty-one Pilots - Vessel (2013)
Bob Dylan - s/t (1962)
Bob Dylan - The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (1963)
Endless Boogie - Tout S'arrange Mais Mal (2015)
Bob Dylan - The Times They Are A-Changing (1964)
Bob Dylan - Another Side Of Bob Dylan (1964)
Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home (1965)
Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
Bob Dylan - Blonde On Blonde (1966)
Crowbar Salvation - Crowbar Salvation (1988)
Shalini - Metal Corner (2004)
Bob Dylan - John Wesley Harding (1969)
Hawkwind- Stonehenge Live This Is Hawkwind (1984)
Nikki Sudden, Roland S Howard, Epic Soundtracks - Venue Live (1987)
Refried Ice Cream - Cosmic Comic Book (2015)
Bob Dylan - Basement Tapes Complete (1967/75)
Bob Dylan - Self Portrait (1969)
Kraftwerk - Autobahn (1974)
Kraftwerk - Trans Europe Express (1977)
Kraftwerk - The Man Machine (1978)
Kraftwerk - Computer World (1981)
Aretha Franklin - The Very Best Of (1967-70)
John Lee Hooker - Burning Hell (1958)
John Lee Hooker - I'm John Lee Hooker (1959)
Bob Dylan - Another Self Portrait (1969-71)
John Lee Hooker - Sings And Plays The Blues (1961)
John Lee Hooker - The Big Soul Of... (1962)
Simple Minds - Sparkle In The Rain (1983)
The Whitlams - Little Cloud (2005)
Bob Dylan - New Morning (1971)
Bob Dylan - Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid (1973)
The Wedding Present - Tommy (1985-87)
Loud Family - Slouching Towards Liverpool (1990)
Bob Dylan - Blood On The Tracks (1974)
Bob Dylan - Desire (1976)
Bob Dylan - Street Legal (1978)
Kate Tempest - Everybody Down (2014)
Nikki Sudden - The Truth Doesn't Matter (2006)
v/a - Dub (Metro Select, 1970-79)
Steppeulvene - Hip (1967)
Savage Rose - s/t (1968)
Savage Rose - In The Plain (1968)
Neol Davies - Future Swamp (2002)
La Dusseldorf - La Dusseldorf (1976)
Incredible String Band - Hangman's Beautiful Daughters (1968)
Nick Cave - The Boatman's Call (1997)
Extrabreit - Ruckkehr Der Phantastischer 5! (1982)
Ed Kuepper - Lost Cities (2015)
Ed Kuepper - Electrical Storm (1985)
Ed Kuepper - Rooms Of The Magnificent (1987)
Ed Kuepper - Second Winter (2012)
Porcelain Bus - Talking To God (1988)
The Gun Club - Miami (1982)
The Room - In Evil Hour (1984)
Denim - Back In Denim (1992)
The Black Crowes - Shake Your Moneymaker (1990)
The Black Crowes - The Southern Harmony & Musical Companion (92)
The Black Crowes - Amorica (1994)
The Black Crowes - Three Snakes And One Charm (1996)
Area - Agate Lines (1990)
The Fall - Live In Clitheroe (2013)
The Black Crowes - By Your Side (1999)
The Black Crowes - The Lost Crowes (2006)
The Black Crowes - Lions (2001)
The Black Crowes - Warpaint (2008)
The Black Crowes - Before The Frost/Until The Freeze (2009)
Bob Dylan - Slow Train Coming (1979)
Bob Dylan - Saved (1980)
Starry Eyed And Laughing - Forever Young (1973)
Bob Dylan - Shot of Love (1981)
Bob Dylan - Infidels (1983)
Bob Dylan - Knocked Out Reloaded (1986)
9:30 Fly - s/t (1972)
Blue Beard - s/t (1970)
Screaming Trees - Buzz Factory (1989)
Bob Dylan - Down In The Groove (1988)
Bob Dylan - Oh Mercy (1989)
The Selecter - Made In Britain (2011)
The Selecter - String Theory (2013)
The Selecter - Reel To Reel (2003)
Bob Dylan - Under the Red Sky (1990)
Bob Dylan - Good as I Been to You (1992)
Bob Dylan - World Gone Wrong (1993)
Bob Dylan - Time Out of Mind (1997)
Bob Dylan - Love and Theft (2001)
REM - Murmur (1983)
Bob Dylan - Modern Times (2006)
Bob Dylan - Together Through Life (2009)
Bob Dylan - Christmas in the Heart (2009)
Bailterspace - Thermos (1990)
Bob Dylan - Tempest (2012)
Bob Dylan - Shadows In The Night (2015)
Bob Dylan - Fallen Angels (2016)
Bob Dylan - Triplicate (2017)
Echo & The Bunnymen - Crocodiles (1980)
Echo & The Bunnymen - Heaven Up Here (1981)
Echo & The Bunnymen - Porcupien (1983)
Echo & The Bunnymen - Ocean Rain (1984)
Echo & The Bunnymen - s/t (1986)
Electrafixation - Burned (1995)
Echo & The Bunnymen - Evergreen (1997)
Jimi Hendrix Experience - Are You Experienced? (1967)
Jimi Hendrix Experience - Axis : Bold As Love (1967)
The Shop Assistants - Will Anything Happen? (1986)
The Primevals - On The Red Eye (1984-7)
Radiohead - The Bends (1995)
V/A - Dub 40 Deep And Heavy Hits
V/A - Foundation Dub
Gun - Gunsight (1969)
Deerfield - Nil Desperandum (1971)
Charlie Parker - Bird's Nest
Julian Cope - An Audience With The Cope (2000)
The Ruts - The Crack (1979)
Gary Le Strange - Polaroid Suitcase (2004)
Human League - Dare (1981)
The Maytones - Best Of The Maytones
Felt - Stains On A Decade (1979-1989)
Felt - The Strange Idol's Pattern & Other Stories (1984)
Felt - Forever Breathes The Lonely World (1986)
Ice T - Original Gangster (1991)
v/a Trojan Dub Rarities Vol 1
Ice T - The Iceberg/Freedom Of Speech (1989)
Thelonious Monk - Straight No Chaser (1967)
The Byrds - Long Way Back (1973)
The Byrds - Finsbury Park Rainbow (1972)
Ed Kuepper - Lost Cities (2015)
Black Uhuru - Sinsimillia (1980)
Black Uhuru - Black Uhuru/Showcase (1979)
Nina Simone - Jazz As Played In An Exclusive Side-Street Club (1958)
Nino Ferrer - Nino & Radiah & Le Sud (1974)
The Waterboys - Fisherman's Blues (1988)
The Waterboys - This Is The Sea (1985)
Phil Spector - A Christmas Gift To You (1963)
V/A - Christmas On The Country Side
Low - Christmas ep (1999)
Mark Kozelek - Sings Christmas Carols (2014)
McKisko - Eximo (2013)
Arvo Part - Tabula Rasa (1984)
Tommy Keene - You Hear Me, A Retrospective 1983-2009
HISTORIC SITES
I visited 46 historic sites
Forum, Rome
Colosseum, Rome
Temple of Hercules, Rome
Pantheon, Rome
Vatican, Rome
Painswick Rococo Garden, Gloucestershire
The Bar Convent, York
Lincoln Cathedral, Lincoln
The Major Oak, Nottinghamshire
Puzzle Wood, Gloucestershire
Cooper's Hill Cheese Roll, Gloucestershire
Madresfield Court Garden, Worcestershire
Rollright Stones, Oxfordshire
Houghton Hall, Norfolk
Varberg Castle, Sweden
Rundetran, Copenhagen
Tivoli Gardens, Copenhagen
Kastellet, Copenhagen
Tivoli Gardens, Copenhagen
Brandenberg Gate, Berlin
Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin
Marienkirche, Berlin
Dom, Berlin
Berlin Wall Memorial, Berlin
Treptow Soviet War Memorial, Berlin
Prague Castle, Prague
Charles Bridge, Prague,
Old Town Square with the Prague astronomical clock, Prague
The Jewish Quarter, Prague
Kafka's homes, Prague
Cadbury's Factory, Birmingham
British Camp, Malvern
Chavenage House, Gloucestershire
Hetty Pegler's Tump, Gloucestershire
Perypeteuse Castle, France
Queribus Castle, France
Puilaurens Castle, France
The Hermitage of St Antoine, Galaums Gorge, France
H Block Memorial/Bloody Sunday Memorial/Free Derry Museum, Derry
Great Whitcombe Roman Villa, Gloucestershire
John Wesley's chapel and Victorian toilet, Old Street
Bunhill Fields, London
Hampton Court Palace, London
Gloucester Cathedral
Avebury Stone Circle
Kenwood House, London
ART
I saw ten lots of art...
Vanessa Bell (Dulwich Picture Gallery)
Claude Cahun/Gillian Wearing (National Portrait Gallery) Richard Long - Heaven & Earth (Houghton Hall) ★★★★★
Grayson Perry - Most Popular Art Exhibition (Serpentine) ★★★★★
Billy Childish (Billy Childish's studio, Kent)
Bob Dylan (Prague)
Gerhard Richter (Czech National Gallery, Prague)
Into The Unknown (Barbican)
Dali/Duchamp (Royal Academy, London) Rose Wylie (Rose Wylie's studio, Kent)
Stewart Lee
2018-01-02T12:25:16+00:00
LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018. Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early. Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF) Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF) https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873569397/events Other extra dates by other comedians are available. January 2018 Tuesday January 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 19th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 20th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday...
If there is anyone I see on TV who makes me laugh on a panel show, I can probably snap up a cheap DVD (maybe for 1p?) of them. But there are two comedians I have always wanted to see live. One was Richard Herring and the other Stewart Lee. They were a great comedy pairing, but arguably funnier apart. And 18 months ago I was due to see Herring at the Hawth Theatre, Crawley. But due to a late invite to a wedding the tickets had to go to a grateful recipient.
If there is anyone I see on TV who makes me laugh on a panel show, I can probably snap up a cheap DVD (maybe for 1p?) of them. But there are two comedians I have always wanted to see live. One was Richard Herring and the other Stewart Lee. They were a great comedy pairing, but arguably funnier apart. And 18 months ago I was due to see Herring at the Hawth Theatre, Crawley. But due to a late invite to a wedding the tickets had to go to a grateful recipient.
But luckily no such invite came my way for Friday, October 13 so I did not have to resent anyone and I got to enjoy Lee - one of Britain's most critically-acclaimed stand-ups. Lee originally wanted his show Content Provider to be based around a 19th-century painting - Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above The Sea of Fog - but 'then Brexit happened'. The first half of the show at the Hawth - which Lee was keen to point out was the venue with the most unsold tickets - is mainly about Brexit and Lee enjoys directing his comedy at 'the metropolitan liberal elite' in Crawley - we voted Leave remember.
The second half starts in a very clever way (same syntax, different proper nouns) and Lee's views on David Cameron, Nigel Farage, Gary Lineker, Russell Howard, Donald Trump, East Grinstead, bendy bananas, vegetable spiralisers and the under-40s had the audience in roars of laughter.
But the real joy came when the audience did not get a joke - watching Lee point out the audiences' inadequacies is a wonderful thing. Lee mentioned the death of Tommy Cooper and said he wouldn't mind dying like that - but not in Crawley.
And he certainly didn't die on stage tonight - he left the crowd, even the Friends of the Hawth, buzzing.
See this show if you can.
Stewart Lee
2017-10-13T18:20:06+01:00
If there is anyone I see on TV who makes me laugh on a panel show, I can probably snap up a cheap DVD (maybe for 1p?) of them. But there are two comedians I have always wanted to see live. One was Richard Herring and the other Stewart Lee. They were a great comedy pairing, but arguably funnier apart. And 18 months ago I was due to see Herring at the Hawth Theatre, Crawley. But due to a late invite to a wedding the tickets had to go to a grateful recipient. If there is anyone I see on TV who makes me laugh on a panel show, I can probably snap up a cheap DVD (maybe for 1p?) of them. But there are two comedians I have always wanted to see live. One was Richard Herring and the other Stewart Lee. They were a great comedy pairing, but arguably funnier apart. And 18 months ago I was due to see Herring at the Hawth Theatre, Crawley. But due to a late invite to a wedding the tickets had to go to a grateful recipient. But luckily no such invite came my way for Friday, October 13 so I did not have to resent anyone and I got to enjoy Lee - one of Britain's most critically-acclaimed stand-ups. Lee originally wanted his show Content Provider to be based around a 19th-century painting - Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above The Sea of Fog - but 'then Brexit happened'. The first half of the show at the Hawth - which Lee was keen to point out was the venue with the most unsold tickets - is mainly about Brexit and Lee enjoys directing his comedy at 'the metropolitan liberal elite' in Crawley - we voted Leave remember. The second half starts...
"Went to see Stewart Lee with my friend (who assured me he was funny) but had to leave halfway through after tolerating an hour long rant about sharks. Never again. It was painful. But ironically we laughed about it after. Literally no idea why the man is so obsessed with sharks. Complete gibberish." - Nicola Keaney, Deputy Director of Newsgathering CGTN, Forbes 30 Under 30, Senior Fellow John Schofield Trust
1) WOKE SO-CALLED ‘COMEDIAN’ T-SHIRT
There has never been a wokier time to own a wokely fabricated Stewart Lee ‘Woke so-called ‘comedian’’ leisure garment.
Woke so-called' 'comedian' 'Stewart Lee' says - "As all alt right journalists know, the best way to invalidate a word is to put it in inverted commas.
But if I was Vladimir Putin I'd want my money back! Celebrate the paucity of traditional alt right arguments against woke comedy with this irksome 'so-called' comedian shirt, manufactured in the wokest way possible with the wokest materials available."
Made on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20,00 each and will start shipping from 2022. Content Provider facemasks cost £15 each and are in stock and shipping now! Hoodies of Content Provider and All The Cheeses are also in stock and shipping now. They cost £35 each.
I will be launching a new Stand-up tour, BASIC LEE, in the Summer/Autumn of 2022, next year.
The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023, and Edinburgh Aug 22 work-in-prog, dates to follow
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE
Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec 17th 2022
(EXCEPT Oct 18th - 29th and Nov 11th)
7pm (4pm performance Saturday 12th November
After a decade of ground-breaking high concept shows involving overarched interlinked narratives, massive sets and enormous comedy props, Lee enters the post-pandemic era in streamlined solo stand-up mode. One man, one microphone, and one microphone in the wings in case the one on stage breaks. Pure. Simple. Classic. Basic Lee. "The world's greatest living stand-up comedian." The Times
I will be co-hosting screenings of the film in Edinbue with dir Michael Cumming at the Cameo on the 24th and 26th at 4pm TICKETS
Michael is also hosting screenings of his Brass Eye doc Oxide Ghosts at the same venue, same time, 25th and 27th TICKETS
6. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2022 HAPPENINGS/THINGS
Daniel Kitson. The elusive comedy wunderkind AUGUST 21st –Regents Park Open Air Theatre - London
THE FALLEN LEAVES Top punk-mod gentlemen entertainers. AUGUST 21st London Putney Half Moon, SEPT 10TH London Camden Dublin Castle, 17th Lewes Con Club
ALASDAIR ROBERTS Scottish troubadour SEPT 3rd Cardiff Chapter.
ELIZA CARTHY English folk godhead back in active service NOV 28TH Birmingham Glee, 30th Cardiff Glee. DEC 5th Cambridge Junction
EARL OKIN The mouth trumpeteer runs amok. SEPTEMBER 2022 11th - Charity Jazz/Cabaret Show, Norwich Playhouse, 42 - 58 St George's Street, Norwich, Norfolk, NR3 1AB, Booking line: 01603.63000
ACID MOTHERS’ TEMPLE Japanese acid all-fathers OCTOBER 9th Birmingham Norton’s, 10th York Crescent, 11th Glasgow Hug & Pint, 12th Newcastle Star and Shadow, 13th Salford White Hotel, 16th Preston Continental, 19th Bristol Lanes, 20th Brighton Komedia, 21st London Studio 9294
DREAM SYNDICATE Blue collar paisley underground psychedelic explorers in imperial career phase. OCTOBER 18TH London Lafayette
RECC’D INTERNETS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rosie Holt’s Youtube characters *****
Ogmios School of Zen Motoring *****
Limmy’s review of After Life *****
The Exploding Heads Alasdair Beckett-King’s various things ***** Sooz Kempner as Nadine Dorries on Twitter
12. IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS 2022
Sydney Poitier - woke actor (1927)
Magwa - woke Cambodian landmine hunting rat (2013)
Burke Shelley - bass Budgie (1950) Ronnie Spector - woke Ronette (1943)
Rachel Nagy - Detroit Cobra (1975)
Robin Le Mesurier - Womble (1954)
Andy Ross - Disco Zombie/nice man of Britpop (1956)
Barry Cryer - King Of Comedy (1935) Norma Waterson - Mighty Folk Matriarch (1939)
John Nolan - man Behind The Magnolia Curtain (1966) Betty Davis - She Might Get Picked Up! (1944)
Ivan Reitman - He was not afraid of no ghost! (1946)
Mark Lanegan - Screaming Tree rehabilitee (1964)
Bruce Anderson - MX-80 man (1950) Anna Karen - ‘70s public transport icon (1936)
Sam Lay - Howlin’ Wolf/Butterfield/Dylan drums (1935)
Mikey Chung - Reggae session regular (1950)
Fred Van Hove - Belgian free-jazz stringbender (1937)
Ian McDonald - Crimson saxophonist King (1949)
Gary Brooker - Synesthesiac Hackney musician (1945)
Nicky Tesco - Suburban soundman/comedy fan (1956)
Dallas Good - Sadies guitar slinger (1974)
Philip Jeck - Art Noiseman (1952) Margaret Curtis - Callanish visionary (1942) Jordan - punk fashionista (1955)
David McKee - Then the shopkeeper appeared (1935)
Chris Bailey - Lordly protopunk, wit, raconteur (1957)
Gilbert Gottfried - That ‘Too Soon’ guy (1955) Audrey Henshall - Scottish Neolithic expert (1927)
Eric Chappell - Rising Damp (1933)
Klaus Schultze - Tangerine Joker (1947)
Neal Adams - Woke progressive comics creator (1941) Judy Henske - Greenwich psych-folkstress (1936)
George Perez - Best Avengers artist ever (1954)
Don Craine - deerstalking Downliner (1945)
Richard Polodor - acid rock engineer (1936)
Gavin Martin - music rag wit (1962)
Fred Ward - Worm Warrior (1942)
Vangelis - Apocalypso-Maestro (1943)
Bob Neuwirth - Gelb/Dylan adjacent beatnik (1939)
Cathal Coughlan - Microdisney Man (1960)
Rick Price - Move bassist (1944)
Ric Parnell - Tap/Rooster drummer & gardener
Alan White - Ono drums (1949)
Ray Liotta - has let himself go (1954)
Ronnie Hawkins - Canadian rock wellspring (1935)
Harrison Birtwistle - When Things Fall Over (1934)
Grachan Moncur - Jazz trombonius (1937)
Ray Hill - anti-Nazi mole (1939) Paula Rego - pastel radical (1935)
Julee Cruise - Peak voice (1956)
Bruce Kent - God’s peacenik (1929)
Jean-Louis Trintignant - mute spaghetti hero (1930)
James Caan - Rollerballbearing and Elf-father (1940) Barbara Thompson - saxophonist whose time I wasted (1944)
8) EDINBRECOMMENDATIONS AUGUST 22
Here are my tips for August in Edinburgh. Bear in mind, although I did 34 Fringes between 1987 and this year, appearing in over 50 different shows, it’s ten years since I knew who the hot new people were in comedy, and fifteen since I had a handle on Fringe theatre. My choices below are based on nostalgia for the old, curiosity the new, and a desire to see again people who have been brilliant before. Or they’re things people told me to see for various random reasons.
I always say it’s better to support smaller venues and Free Fringe if you can, but this is often deliberately misconstrued as an attempt to disenfranchise other acts, rather than to level the playing field for people who can’t afford the losses incurred at larger venues through well known comedy promoters. Social access to the arts based on class and wealth is in the worse state it’s been in my lifetime, with some attempts to disbar diverse voices from having a platform seeming to me like evidence of a deliberate political agenda to consolidate the power and profile or The Rich and The Right. Edinburgh landlords in 2022 are guilty of consolidating this imbalance through ignorance and greed, The Fringe Society through neglect. So, buying a ticket to see Kunt and The Gang at the Free Fringe is actually political act akin to manning an ‘80s miners’ strike picket line or setting fire to a massive ‘70s bra. I expect the Monkey Barrel will be where comedy coalesces into something new this year, but only a fool, or a Sunday supplement Arts Journalist, makes firm pre-Fringe predictions. Before I had kids I used to aim to see 100 shows a year, and this year I reckon I may make that target again. And the beauty of the Fringe is you always find something superb that you never heard of before, and never would have imagined. So ignore this list of recommendations as a matter of principle. And remember, official coverage of the fringe by informed critics on an accommodation budget is at an all-time low due to the collapse of ‘legacy’ media, so do your best to spread the word of genuine finds by whatever means necessary.
SOME CAVEATS
1) PHIL MCINTYRE.
Before lockdown Phil McIntyre promotions were promoting live dates by Neo-conservative author Douglas Murray, so if you see any of their shows, in order to balance his promoters’ role in Murray’s creeping normalization, you must see two shows by black or Asian comedians, or four by people of mixed-race in which one of the races is Caucasian. Or one by a fully black or Asian comedian, and two by comedians of mixed race, in which, in each case, one of the races is Caucasian.
2) AVALON.
Avalon spearheaded the pay-to-play ethos of the Fringe in the ‘90s and ‘00s, ruining many young people’s lives for ever and stamping their dreams into the dirt, though the Free Fringe has helped to offset this issue. Due to their historical guilt, if you see anyone promoted by Avalon you must see two Free Fringe shows and put twice what you paid for your Avalon show ticket into the bucket. Unless the Free Fringe show is being performed by an Avalon act, in which case you must take money from the bucket and give it to a waif in the lane outside.
COMEDY
Aboriginal Comedy All Stars - Assembly George Sq I don’t know anything about this but it’s sort of the point of what the Fringe is actually for, isn’t it? The Coloured Stone of comedy! 5.20PM
Rob Auton - The Crowd Show - Assembly George Sq Auton is a great alternative comedian/poet/artist in the lineage of John Hegley, Daniel Kitson, Bruce Lacey and Simon Munnery. The Nestene Consciousness of Stand-Up. WARNING - AVALON SHOW - REPARATIONS RULES APPLY. 2.50PM
Alasdair Beckett-King - Nevermore - Pleasance Dome ABK is one of the comedians who, during lockdown, made me reassess whether it was possible to generate really good comedy for the internet, by meeting the limitations of the form head-on. 7PM
Jason Byrne - The Paddy Lama - Underbelly Bristo Sq, Jersey (8th - 28th) & Unblocked - Underbelly, Bristo Sq, McEwan Hall (3rd-28th) Neo-conservative author Douglas Murray’s live promoters, Phil MacIntyre, bring us two helpings of high-octane in-the-moment madness from the reliably nuts Irish funnyman and heart condition sufferer, currently entering the ‘Legend’ phase of his career. The Caoimhín Breathnach of comedy. 2.30PM/7.30PM
Jo Caulfield - Here Comes Trouble - Stand 1 - Ageless and effortless, Caulfield is the act you send Fringe-bewildered visiting relatives to to prove to them that loads of the comedians that aren’t on the TV all the time are much better at the business of stand-up than all the ones they have heard of. Once upon a time, I sent them to John Bishop. I wonder what happened to him? Jo Cauldfield is the Stevie Nicks of stand-up. A young Deborah Vance if she was real. 8.20PM
John Cooper Clarke - I Wanna Be Yours - Playhouse (24th only) The poet laureate of punk celebrates himself w special guests including me. 7.30PM
Paul Currie - The Chorus of Ghosts Living in My Skull Keep Telling Me to Take a Shit in the Fruit Salad - Just The Tonic @ Caves - Properly joyously deranged surrealist clown comedy in the tradition of Phil Kay, pre-ayahuasca Jim Carrey, and prime Paul Currie. Let Paul Currie curry your f(l)avour today! With garlic naan!! The Reverend Joseph Garvan Digges of comedy! 9PM
Omid Djalili - The Good Times - Stand’s New Town Theatre (4th-20th) reliably hilarious stand-up with a political edge from the Wellesley Tudor Pole of comedy. 5.20PM
An Evening Without Kate Bush - Assembly George Sq Gardens Lots of people tell me this is great, and it was written before Bush resurfaced via Strange Things. 5.55PM
Fascinating Aida - Assembly George Square Three glamorous dames of a certain age swear with unexpected foulness through musical parodies that despite their apparent gentility often take extreme leftist political positions. Knocks young stand-up boys in t-shirts into the piss-filled urinal where they belong. Hips! Lips! Tits! Power! The Pigface of middle class liberal musical comedy. 6PM
Peter Fleming’s Woefully Inaccurate History of The BBC - Laughing Horse at Counting House (22nd only!) I saw this character at Machfest and it was a comic love letter to a lost world of Reithian values. 7PM
Paul Foot - Swan Power - Underbelly Cowgate Sinister, surreal and lascivious, like Christopher Lee’s Dracula or a strange fly, Foot handed a generation the keys to a door he himself then bricked up, walling himself into an airless tomb of hermetic hermit hilarity. Paul Foot is the Eustache Dauger of comedy! 7.20PM
Janeane Garofolo - Pardon My Tangent - Gilded Balloon - Former enfant terrible now grande dame of US Alt Com. The Alice Bag of stand-up. You owe her so much, kids. 7.15PM
Will Hodgson - Barbicidal Tendancies - Just The Tonic @ The Caves Hodgson is an unaffected raconteur fascinated by the intricacies of life in the small market town of Chippenham. I always assumed one day they would be massively famous, but they ain’t, which is our gain really, as they are able to continue to give us a barber’s eye view of Chippenham uncompromised by being a celebrity. The Thomas ‘Mensi’ Mensforth of comedy. 2.10PM
Rosie Holt - The Woman’s Hour - Pleasance Courtyard Rosie Holt is one of the comedians who, during lockdown, made me reassess whether it was possible to generate really good comedy for the internet, by meeting the limitations of the form head-on. 6PM
David Johnson Emerging Talent Award - Assembly George Sq (28th Aug only) My late promoter is commemorated with a show and awards evening that is sure to be as memorable as it is worthwhile as it is hilarious. Cuntage a-plenty! Your trousers may go up as well as down. The Alan Wise of comedy! 6PM
Jonny & The Baptists - Dance Like It Never Happened - Assembly George Square Political musical satire that rocks like a rock and is as funny as the funniest thing there is. My go-to show. The most fun it’s possible to have on the Fringe. The Ian and Sylvia of politico-musical-satire. 4PM
David Kay - Garden Office Legend - Stand’s New Town Theatre (8th-14th) D Kay is a proper alternative comedian of the old deadpan-surreal school and MUST BE SEEN BY ALL!!!! The Old Man of Hoy of comedy. 2.50PM
Phil Kay - Quantity Street - Laughing Horse at Counting House To my generation the ever unpredictable P Kay was a legend, but his commitment to chaos baffles the gatekeepers of contemporary comedy, even as it inspired a phalanx of followers in the ‘90s. The Paul Rutherford (trombonist) of jazz stand-up. 10PM
John Kearns & Pat Cahill - Monkey Barrell 22nd/23rd only. See these two odd men’s special late night shows. Also, a good way to see Kearns without incurring the Avalon tax, although if you were to see Kearns’ Avalon promoted show you could also see this one as part of your reparations. 11.20PM
Kunt & The Gang - Shannon Matthews The Musical - Just The Tonic At The Caves. The Shannon Matthews story was made for Essex electro-punk-popster Kunt’s distinctive kitchen sink realist sensibility. I can’t wait. The Alecky Blythe & Adam Cork of Comedy! MIDNIGHT
Lloyd Langford - DILF - Free Fringe At Legends (6th - 18th) Lloyd was another one of my annual solo Fringe nights out. I liked being at the back of The White Horse on Cannongate, Guinessed up with a whisky chaser ready, and knowing I was in for a solid hour of low-status Welsh laughs. The Meic Stephens of stand-up. 6.05PM
Trevor Lock’s New Show - Bannerman’s South American hallucinogen-casualty Lock is the shamanic Syd Barret of stand-up, the death of his ego the only thing that ever stood between him and superstardom. 2.45PM
Josie Long - Re-enchantment - Monkey Barrel Former teenage wunderkind of stand-up returns, presumably as inspiring as ever. The Manda Rin of stand-up. 2.50PM
Mavelus - All The Marvel Movies … Kind Of! - Just The Tonic Caves - I have no idea what this will be like, but I expect I will enjoy it if I go with the right person (Ben Moor or some small children) The Mighty World of Icarus of comedy. 6.10PM
Ben Moor & Joanna Neary - Booktalkbooktalkbook - Pleasance Courtyard (26th & 27th ONLY!!!) I have seen this and it is brilliant. I don’t know why they are only doing it twice, the twats. It’s as if Jorge Luis Borges has written a parody of book festival events, a Russian Doll of a show that kaleidoscopes psychedelically into itself and then evaporates. The Max Ernst and Leonora Carrington of surrealist literary parody. 2.45PM
Eleanor Morton Has Peaked - Monkey Barrel (3rd - 28th)& Craig On Tour - - Stand (15th) Morton is one of the comedians who, during lockdown, made me reassess whether it was possible to generate really good comedy for the internet, by meeting the limitations of the form head-on. 12.40PM/10.20PM
Simon Munnery - Trials and Tribulations - Stand 1. Those of us that came of age as comedians in the 80s/90s know Simon is one of the all time great British stand-ups, the Peter Cook of his generation, but without the early massive success and subsequent squandered wealth. A must see!!! The Søren Kierkegaard of comedy. 3.15PM
Joanna Neary - Wasp In A Cardigan - Stand 2 More surgically precise strangeness from the Exene Cervenka of quirky character comedy. MIDDAY
David O’Doherty - Whoa Is Me! - Assembly George Sq Always brilliant practitioner of Very Low Energy Musical Whimsy. The Jandek of comedy. 7.30PM
Jerry Sadowitz - Not For Anyone! - Pleasance @ EICC (12th/13th) Sadowitz’s schtick made conceptual sense when we all lived in a supposed liberal consensus, but now we are in the foothills of Phil MacIntyre-promoted fascism-lite will it read differently? He is one of the great stand-ups but we are in a different world to the one that gave us the classic ‘80s opening line, “Nelson Mandela! What a cunt!” I wish I could see it nonetheless, but he won’t let me. The Gilles de Rais of comedy/magic. 9PM
Paul Sinha - One Sinha Lifetime - Stand’s New Town Theatre. Paul is a brilliant, measured, writerly, satirical, compassionate stand-up, and I was worried his success in his favoured field of TV trivia quizzing would steal him away from the art form, much as talking to Ed Gamble about food threatens to steer J Acaster from the path The Norns have chosen for him. But here he is, back. Brilliant. The Captain Scarlet of comedy. 4.40PM
Eleanor Tiernan - Away With The Faeries - Gilded Balloon Teviot Tiernan has been quietly and unassumingly brilliant for ages now and every Fringe her show is my treat to myself. This is promoted by evil comedy agents Avalon though, so if you do see this, carbon-balance your guilt by going to see a free Fringe type show or some worthwhile loss-making art. The Sister Anselme O'Ceallaigh of stand-up. WARNING - AVALON ACT - REPARATION RULES APPLY 6.15PM
Thom Tuck & Tim Fitzhigham - Macbeth - Underbelly Cowgate (until 20th) Two funny posh men, who have squandered their birthrights, fuck about with Macbeth, probably while drunk on the finest wines known to humanity. Pointless but, I assume, brilliant. The First And Second Murderers of Comedy 8.35PM
Tim Vine - Breeep! - Pleasance Courtyard. One man. Millions of tiny jokes. The Willard Wigan of comedy. 6pm
War Of The Worlds (On A Budget) - Space @ Surgeons’ Hall I have no idea what this will be like, but I expect I will enjoy it if I see it with the right person (Ben Moor, who did this same idea in 1989 with Dave Green & Danny O’Brien, who went on to coin the phrase ‘life hack’) VARIOUS TIMES
THEATRE
Afghanistan Is Not Funny - Henry Naylor - Gilded Ballon 1990 Barclays advert star on his true experiences of the Afghan War Zone. Our ‘Enry has had an amazing second wind as a respected political playwright. 4PM
Fata Morgana - Pleasance at EICC I saw Nico at the Fringe in 1987, stentorian as ever. And now 35 years later I can see a play about her life. If I want. 5.30PM
Grid Iron - Muster Station - Leith Academy 15th - 26th Always amazing immersive theatre company tackle societal breakdown. TIMES VARY
Macbeth - Assembly, Roxy For all your children’s 2023 GCSE syllabus needs. MIDDAY
Medea - Liz Locheed - Hub (10th-28th) A standing-around re-write of Euripides’ Greek tragedy by the great Scottish poet. TIMES VARY
The Sneeze - Gilded Balloon (13th - 28th) Comedy titan Michael Frayn’s Chekov translation co-dir’d by Amanda Redman and David Threlfall (who gets decapitated in Hot Fuzz). 1.30PM
This Is Memorial Device - Lyceum (13th - 29th) David Keenan’s novel of the same name is a 21st c masterpiece, each chapter being a different character’s version of life in the same small late 70s town, that becomes totally 3 dimensional by the end, leaving you bereft and missing the place when the book ends. To me, it seems unadaptable because it is utterly entwined with the notion of its own novelistic nature. I love the book so much normally I’d swerve an adaptation in case it disappointed but I really want to see this. TIMES VARY
Thunderstruck - Scottish Storytelling Centre Play about life of radical Pitlochry bagpiper and binman Gordon Duncan, The Gordon Duncan of bagpipes. TIMES VARY
The Trial - Pleasance Courtyard (5th-14th) 90 min adaptation of Kafkaesque novel, a favorite of mine. How will it fare? 3PM
Who Here’s Lost? - Ben Moor - Pleasance Courtyard For thorty years, Ben’s work has helped carve out an ad-hoc genre including Kitson’s story shows and James Rowland’s rough and ready raconteur efforts. Ben is more writerly than them, more faithful to his own text, and every moment is precisely choreographed. His shows portray oddly discombobulated men, adrift in worlds superficially similar to ours, but with key details tweaked, and leave you spellbound. 11.35AM
MUSIC
Beefheart New Beef Dreams - Bannermans Tues Weds 16th/17th. Orange Claw Hammer channel the Captain.
Blue Note Jazz Nights - The Jazz Bar (6th,8th,17th) 8.30pm Jazzmain play Blue Note era jazz, £50 cheaper than my Herbie Hancock ticket. Never seen them. Who knows?
Blueswater The reliably brilliant blues interpreters manifest themselves in 3 different iterations on the delayed occasion of their 10th anniversary. 5th 7th 11th 12th 14th 28th - Queens of The Blues Live At The Jazzbar (Nicole Smit is brilliant!); 11th -14th, 18th - Live At The Jazzbar (staff party time for the blues professors); 15th - 27th Blues! - Surgeon’s Hall (the classic story of the blues type show that made them Fringe favorites. A must!) TIMES VARY
Philip Glass at 85 I & II - St Andrew’s & St George’s West (10th & 24th) A bloke plays lots of Philip Glass on the piano at 12.30PM
Herbie Hancock, Playhouse. Sun 7th 82 year old jazz legend currently operating in a happy herbie hinterland between his superb ‘60s and ‘70s sounds and his cheesy ‘80s.
Martin Hayes - Leith Theatre Tues 16th. The Miles Davis of traditional Irish fiddle.
Kuniko Plays Reich - C Cubed (14th - 18th) Two shows daily, a woman does Steve Reich’s Counterpoint and Drumming on her own. 3.O5PM
Dean Owens - Pleasance EICC Fri Sat 12th & 13th Ersatz Arizonan troubadour, actually from Edinburgh, also w The Sinners, same venue Aug 18th
Sacred Paws, Summerhall - Sat 6th distaff highlife-tinged post-punk duo and Trash Kit spin-off
The Sons of Kemet - Leith Theatre - Sun 14th. East London afro-futurist jazzers
ART
Alan Davie - Dovecot Studios Times vary. Erratic access to see the works of the abstract artist/free jazz improvisor whose star seems to be in the ascendant, eight years since his death, even though all the provincial galleries of Britain keep his stuff in the cellar. The Phil Kay or Art.
Barbara Hepworth - Scottish National Gallery
Phoebe Traquair Murals - the Mansfield Traquair Centre Annual daily expose of these hard to see classic of 20th c arts and crafts holy art. Superb. There are talks about Traquair’s work at 1pm on 16th and 18th. The Daniel Kitson of murals.
BOOK FEST EVENTS
David Keenan - Talks about/reads from new novel. Sat 13th 8.30PM Geoff Dyer - Fri 19th 7.30PM Beyond The Swelkie - Tribute to George Mackay Brown - Sun 21st 7PM Amy Liptrot - Orkney novelist - Mon 22nd 7PM Janina Ramirez Goth ancient historian Sun 27th 4.15PM
SPOKEN WORD
The Church of The Fall - The Space @ Surgeons’ Hall Times vary. A man talks about how much he likes The Fall and why. Ace! TIMES VARY
Iain Dale - Pleasance at EICC The easily enraged egghead talks to Rory Stewart (6th), Angela Rayner (8th), Jess Phillips (14th) and others, many of them twats. 1.30PM
Jakko Jakszyk - The Road To Ballina - Gilded Balloon I saw Jakko in my first Fringe, in 1987, when he was the funny Greek guitarist in Roland Rivron and Simon Brint’s comedy band, Raw Sex. Today he is the frontman of Robert Fripp’s current King Crimson line-up. Like me he is adopted, but seems troubled by it, and this show is about his attempt to understand it. I am unable to attend but if I could I would stand up all the way through it demanding he play ‘20th Century Schizoid Man’ and stop wanking on about being an orphan like a loser. 2PM
FOLK RITUAL
12th The Burryman - Queensferry. Follow the drunk thistle-encrusted sacrificial figure around the town all day as he becomes hotter and more drunk. The Arthur Smith’s Late Night Tour Of The Royal Mile of folk ritual. ALL DAY
MY SISTERS’ FRIENDS
Both of my sisters have friends doing theatre shows in the festival, which is as good a reason as any for me to go and see them.
Plague - The Space The year is 1348 and the small Yorkshire village of Bogsfield is about to be hit by the Black Death. How to approach the looming threat causes a rift between the village inhabitants, and as the villagers squabble over what they think is the best approach, the plague threatens everything! Full of twists and turns, heart and humour (with a wealth of colourful characters and historical inaccuracies), Plague is a medieval, fun-filled musical tale of hope, community... and root vegetables. 4.50PM
Finding Magic - C Venues, Lawnmarket Do you believe in magic? Bev does, but after the death of her son Jess she thought she’d never find her magic again. This remarkably uplifting true story of personal survival and triumph shows how she survived her grief and found new hope. Beverley uses storytelling, film, clowning and magic to introduce and demonstrate her new reality of unpredictable triggers, clichés and flashbacks. The audience are invited to share the new-found surreal humour she deploys to find peace after bereavement. Equal parts moving and magical, Finding Magic is a captivating story of loss, longing, love, laughter and solace. 2PM
Stewart Lee
2022-07-20T14:55:29+01:00
"Went to see Stewart Lee with my friend (who assured me he was funny) but had to leave halfway through after tolerating an hour long rant about sharks. Never again. It was painful. But ironically we laughed about it after. Literally no idea why the man is so obsessed with sharks. Complete gibberish." - Nicola Keaney, Deputy Director of Newsgathering CGTN, Forbes 30 Under 30, Senior Fellow John Schofield Trust 1) WOKE SO-CALLED ‘COMEDIAN’ T-SHIRT There has never been a wokier time to own a wokely fabricated Stewart Lee ‘Woke so-called ‘comedian’’ leisure garment. Woke so-called' 'comedian' 'Stewart Lee' says - "As all alt right journalists know, the best way to invalidate a word is to put it in inverted commas. But if I was Vladimir Putin I'd want my money back! Celebrate the paucity of traditional alt right arguments against woke comedy with this irksome 'so-called' comedian shirt, manufactured in the wokest way possible with the wokest materials available." Available from this link... https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee Made on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20,00 each and will start shipping from 2022. Content Provider facemasks cost £15 each and are in stock and shipping now! Hoodies of Content Provider and All The Cheeses are also in stock and shipping now. They cost £35 each. 'Woke' Burgundy Front 'Woke' Charcoal Front 'Woke' Navy / Mustard Front 'Woke' Burgundy Back 'Woke' Charcoal Back 'Woke' Navy / Mustard Back 2. BASIC LEE I will be launching a new Stand-up tour, BASIC LEE, in the Summer/Autumn of 2022, next year. The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023, and Edinburgh Aug 22 work-in-prog, dates to follow LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec 17th 2022 (EXCEPT Oct 18th -...
This thirteen disc, memorabilia crammed, out-take and live show enhanced, fortieth anniversary big box refit of Larks' Tongues in Aspic scrutinizes King Crimson's fusion of Dionysian ecstasies and progressive rock's Apollonian aspirations. Jamie Muir, a veteran of sixties sessions with free improvisers Evan Parker and Derek Bailey, plays chains, saws and junk, alongside the core band's fiddly time signatures, string drones, and proto-post punk guitar noise.
The orchestrated chaos evidently softened for the album proper, German TV footage finds Robert Fripp and co foraging frenziedly at rock's fringes.
Stewart Lee
2012-11-04T20:39:42+00:00
This thirteen disc, memorabilia crammed, out-take and live show enhanced, fortieth anniversary big box refit of Larks' Tongues in Aspic scrutinizes King Crimson's fusion of Dionysian ecstasies and progressive rock's Apollonian aspirations. Jamie Muir, a veteran of sixties sessions with free improvisers Evan Parker and Derek Bailey, plays chains, saws and junk, alongside the core band's fiddly time signatures, string drones, and proto-post punk guitar noise. The orchestrated chaos evidently softened for the album proper, German TV footage finds Robert Fripp and co foraging frenziedly at rock's fringes.
Britons from Scotland are the butt of many jokes. They are, apparently, financially cautious, fond of liquor and mistrustful of fruit. They delight in sexualised invertebrate torment and underestimate in their provision for female public toilets. And they over-indulge in recreational drug abuse. In fact, one of the few insults witty enough to be forgivable is Samuel Johnson's playful 1755 dictionary definition of the drug ketamine as "A tranquilliser, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland appears to support the people". But I don't think jokes such as this have spurred Scotland to sever England's apron strings.
Before I go any further, let me explain that, like all English broadsheet columnists, I absolutely love Scotland. I spent most of my 30s thinking I was Scottish, before realising I had misread my adoption papers. But would I have been Scottish had I been made of Scottish sperms but raised as English? Or is national identity the result of cultural conditioning? Wee Jimmy Krankie, winner of the Most Scottish Person in the World 2003, aside, who is Scottish anyway?
Curiously, as a teenager, I enjoyed all the Scottish indie bands – the Cateran, the Primevals, and del Amitri (first album only); in my 20s, I was inspired by quintessentially Scottish writers – Neil M Gunn, George MacKay Brown and Ossian the bard; cheap Scottish shortbread sustained me in the lean years of my 30s; and, more recently, it was that treacly Scottish heroin that finally freed my imagination to make me the important artist I am today. I even spent my honeymoon, admittedly in error, in Shetland in December 2006. And when I first crossed the border, to the Edinburgh fringe in 1987, I felt I was coming home.
Realising I wasn't Scottish left me bereft. I no longer had any genetic claims to the heathery Highlands or the literary high grounds. Alex Salmond's self-satisfaction with imminent Scottish independence is understandable, but he reminds me of the mayor of a small provincial town, who has got ideas above his station, because his brother in law has a cow that defecates ice-cream; the sort of cocky provincial mayor who then topples off a stepladder while unveiling a statue of the cow, which has made the town rich, and falls into a trough of its frozen anal produce. I would love to put the case for non-independence to Alex Salmond but I doubt he would speak to me again.
I first met Alex Salmond at a reception for young English playwrights at the new Scottish Parliament during the Edinburgh fringe festival in 2004. The event celebrated a scheme whereby we collaborated with Scottish translators to make our work saleable north of the border, a process that involved the painstaking insertion into our texts of thousands of swearwords, such as cunt and fuck. I attended the event with Mark Ravenhill, whose 1996 play, Shopping, had been retitled Shopping and Fucking for its hit 1997 Edinburgh run. This Scottish On Stage Swearing Initiative had led to the massive popularity with Edinburgh fringe theatre audiences of a newly sworn-up version of Richard Thomas's Jerry Springer: The Opera, to which I had helped contribute a further 6,000 new obscenities specifically for the Scottish market.
At the event, Alex Salmond and I were standing next to a buffet overflowing with Scottish produce, – venison, Baxters soup, Highland Toffee, shortbread, heroin and salmon. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't catch your name." "Alex Salmond," Alex Salmond said, but because we were standing near the salmon at the time, and because he had a Scottish accent, I assumed Alex Salmond had said: "I like salmon." So I said: "Yes. I like salmon too, but what is your name?" Again, he said: "Alex Salmond." And I said: "Yes. I like salmon too, as I said, I like all the Scottish foods. What did you say your name was?" After a further 15 minutes of this, and in a prophesy of future national relations, I Like Salmon walked quietly away with his financial backer, Brian Souter, the bus magnate accused of homophobia whose fleet of vehicles may yet ship undesirables south.
As someone who once thought he was Scottish, I understand more than anyone Scotland's anger at the English. Directives from Westminster seem more irrelevant to we Scots than ever, now that the cabinet is essentially an elitist cabal run by former members of the exclusive, window-smashing dining society, the Bullingdon Club. And none of them is Scottish either, apart from the bad-news patsy Danny Alexander and the eel-faced Trot fantasist and yacht fancier Michael Gove, who is adopted anyway, and could have ended up being raised anywhere in the UK, and so cannot make any especial claims for being anything but an orphan with a grudge.
But what the Scots must understand is that the Bullingdon Club cabinet has as little in common with the average English person as it does with the average Scot. If 5.5 million largely non-Conservative-voting Scots sever their links with us, there are 5.5 million fewer of us to say no to Bullingdon Club rule.
Mel Gibson's 1995 film Braveheart, while an admittedly appalling and historically inaccurate confection of gay-hating fascist propaganda, did inspire the desire for Scottish independence at grass roots. But the abysmal film is not without a certain nobility. Its closing reel takes place at the battle of Bannockburn, the garden of Eden of modern Scotland's Genesis myth. Robert the Bruce, who betrayed Braveheart at Falkirk and is now a puppet king loyal to the English, turns on his masters, liberating the Scottish people. At its simplest, this scene is about the Scots defeating the English. But it is also about doing the right thing, about a powerful figure going to the aid of those in need.
In turning his back on us, the English, in our hour of need against the common enemy of the Bullingdon Club government, Alex Salmon is not the Robert the Bruce of the battle of Bannockburn, noble and brave. He is the Robert the Bruce of the battle of Falkirk, a self-interested turncoat, piercing the heart of the everyman Wallace with the lance of his own vanity and pride and leaving the body, like the body politic of the nation of England, to be castrated by David Cameron and have its once erect British penis flung into the air to be snatched by pigeons and ducks. In short, Salmon is something no son of Wallace would ever want to be. A coward, fleeing the good fight, and leaving those who fight on to suffer their fates alone. I never thought I'd say it. But today Alex Salmon makes me glad I am not Scottish after all.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-05T14:56:03+00:00
Britons from Scotland are the butt of many jokes. They are, apparently, financially cautious, fond of liquor and mistrustful of fruit. They delight in sexualised invertebrate torment and underestimate in their provision for female public toilets. And they over-indulge in recreational drug abuse. In fact, one of the few insults witty enough to be forgivable is Samuel Johnson's playful 1755 dictionary definition of the drug ketamine as "A tranquilliser, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland appears to support the people". But I don't think jokes such as this have spurred Scotland to sever England's apron strings. Before I go any further, let me explain that, like all English broadsheet columnists, I absolutely love Scotland. I spent most of my 30s thinking I was Scottish, before realising I had misread my adoption papers. But would I have been Scottish had I been made of Scottish sperms but raised as English? Or is national identity the result of cultural conditioning? Wee Jimmy Krankie, winner of the Most Scottish Person in the World 2003, aside, who is Scottish anyway? Curiously, as a teenager, I enjoyed all the Scottish indie bands – the Cateran, the Primevals, and del Amitri (first album only); in my 20s, I was inspired by quintessentially Scottish writers – Neil M Gunn, George MacKay Brown and Ossian the bard; cheap Scottish shortbread sustained me in the lean years of my 30s; and, more recently, it was that treacly Scottish heroin that finally freed my imagination to make me the important artist I am today. I even spent my honeymoon, admittedly in error, in Shetland in December 2006. And when I first crossed the border, to the Edinburgh fringe in 1987, I felt I was coming home. Realising I wasn't Scottish left me bereft. I no...
Stan Andrews stands on Oxford Street holding a placard saying Golf Sale, and has done since 1989.
‘Golf Sale’. That’s me. Perhaps you’ve seen me. My pitch is at the corner of Oxford Street and Rathbone place, just by the Waterstone’s. I’ve stood there for the best part of two decades now, from ten till six, fifty weeks of the year, six days a week, holding my massive, hand held, Golf Sale sign. I estimate that over this time I have directed over half a million people to the Golf Sale and that my Golf Sale sign has been seen by a number of passers by roughly equivalent to the population of China. As a kid I always liked holding up signs, so holding up a sign all day has been the perfect job for me. I don’t even really think of it as work. But ironically, I know nothing about Golf itself at all. I understand it’s some kind of sport, but beyond that it remains a mystery to me.
I have never even been to the Golf Sale shop itself. This means I can point people in its direction with a clear conscience. I imagine Golf is a fast and exciting game involving motorcycles and roller skates and vigorous contemporary dance and hilarious puppetry, in which people of all ages and races and sexes are encouraged to compete as equals, in a noble test of skill and fortitude and imagination. In the Golf Sale shop there are perhaps signed photographs of Golf Players, gleefully purchased by Golf Fans for whom they have provided a selfless example, changing lives and bringing about real political change for oppressed people as a result of the inspiration Golf provides, whatever it is. Golf songs play on the in-house sound system, filling people with righteous pride, and people dressed in the costumes of famous Golfers meet the Golf fans that I have sent with them and sweep them up into an uplifiting Golf dance.
In about 1999, ten years after I first started holding the Golf Sale sign, a documentary came on Channel 5 about Golf and I thought maybe I should watch it and find out, once and for all, what Golf was. But as soon as the opening credits began I started shaking with fear and realised that this was a bad idea. How would I be able to stand there every day, relentlessly promoting Golf and the Golf Sale if Golf turned out to be a sport that I would hate. What if it involved rabbits being smashed over the head with sticks, or kittens being flung at a target made of fire and spikes? How would I feel then? What if Golf involved anti-Semitic gestures or had a complex system of rules somehow designed to parody the basic tenets of major world religions? I need my Golf Sale sign job. I love my Golf Sale sign job. How could I continue to do it with a clear conscience if Golf was evil? Or worse still, what if it was just boring, perhaps involving men wandering slowly around a big empty field quietly hitting tiny balls towards tiny holes, for example? I know it sounds absurd, but imagine? Imagine how foolish I would feel if that was what Golf was, knowing that millions of Londoners and millions and millions of foreign visitors were walking past me on Oxford Street every day going ‘Ha ha! Look at him! He likes Golf! The twat!” What? It is? That’s what Golf is? You’re joking? No? Nooooooooooo! Why? Why? Merciless God why must you punish me in this way?
Stan Andrews was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-02-07T16:52:03+00:00
Stan Andrews stands on Oxford Street holding a placard saying Golf Sale, and has done since 1989. ‘Golf Sale’. That’s me. Perhaps you’ve seen me. My pitch is at the corner of Oxford Street and Rathbone place, just by the Waterstone’s. I’ve stood there for the best part of two decades now, from ten till six, fifty weeks of the year, six days a week, holding my massive, hand held, Golf Sale sign. I estimate that over this time I have directed over half a million people to the Golf Sale and that my Golf Sale sign has been seen by a number of passers by roughly equivalent to the population of China. As a kid I always liked holding up signs, so holding up a sign all day has been the perfect job for me. I don’t even really think of it as work. But ironically, I know nothing about Golf itself at all. I understand it’s some kind of sport, but beyond that it remains a mystery to me. I have never even been to the Golf Sale shop itself. This means I can point people in its direction with a clear conscience. I imagine Golf is a fast and exciting game involving motorcycles and roller skates and vigorous contemporary dance and hilarious puppetry, in which people of all ages and races and sexes are encouraged to compete as equals, in a noble test of skill and fortitude and imagination. In the Golf Sale shop there are perhaps signed photographs of Golf Players, gleefully purchased by Golf Fans for whom they have provided a selfless example, changing lives and bringing about real political change for oppressed people as a result of the inspiration Golf provides, whatever it is. Golf songs play on the in-house sound system, filling people...
The American saxophonist David S Ware died last month, at the age of 62. His final album, here leading a quartet including the ubiquitous William Parker on bass, offers three ecstatically elongated workouts typical of his approach. Ware's sound was forged in the slipstream of John Coltrane's explosive and expansive late sixties experiments, and he viewed his own cosmic free-jazz in spiritual and spatial terms. His contemporary Steve Lacy's final recordings seemed valedictory. Here, Ware is still aiming his horn at the stars.
Stewart Lee
2012-11-04T12:36:37+00:00
The American saxophonist David S Ware died last month, at the age of 62. His final album, here leading a quartet including the ubiquitous William Parker on bass, offers three ecstatically elongated workouts typical of his approach. Ware's sound was forged in the slipstream of John Coltrane's explosive and expansive late sixties experiments, and he viewed his own cosmic free-jazz in spiritual and spatial terms. His contemporary Steve Lacy's final recordings seemed valedictory. Here, Ware is still aiming his horn at the stars.
In show 42 (recorded a couple of weeks ago), Tara is in London talking to Stewart Lee about comedy and whether PC really has GONE MAD. Stewart has lots of thoughts on Brexit. They talk about the role of satire, and whether comedians have a responsibility when you can, in reality, ‘say anything (anymore)’. There’s also mic-swapping, background birdsong, Truro, comedy in the olden days, voting, an upcoming film project (see link below), and the alt-right’s forays into humour.
This leads to a cracker of a Taranoia-style conspiracy theory, and honestly, Tara is here for it.
In show 42 (recorded a couple of weeks ago), Tara is in London talking to Stewart Lee about comedy and whether PC really has GONE MAD. Stewart has lots of thoughts on Brexit. They talk about the role of satire, and whether comedians have a responsibility when you can, in reality, ‘say anything (anymore)’. There’s also mic-swapping, background birdsong, Truro, comedy in the olden days, voting, an upcoming film project (see link below), and the alt-right’s forays into humour. This leads to a cracker of a Taranoia-style conspiracy theory, and honestly, Tara is here for it. For info on King Rocker or to donate to help get it made: https://kingrockerfilm.com
Stewart Lee is getting old. He’s never been a particularly lively fellow or offered up much of a cheery persona, but these days his style is even further absorbed by a sense of weariness and disappointment. Perhaps its fatherhood that’s done this, although more than anything else that seems to bring him contentment. It’s difficult to put your finger on frankly.
There has been much said about the sadness of clowns and despite being the 41st best stand-up of all time, Stewart Lee seems at face value to be one of the more glum performers on the circuit today. He seems to be bothered by something. Admittedly he’s always suffered from a variety of itching issues prodding away at his inner psyche, but this latest one is about comedy and naturally with humour playing such an important role in his life it’s getting to him a fair old bit.
Lee is nagged by the public’s perception of what is funny, he’s annoyed by the latest breed of popular comedians, and he’s exasperated by modern television culture. He is also nagged by his mother on the subject of why he fails to be as funny as Tom O’Connor, a subject which, in the tradition of bothersome antagonism he chooses to pass on to us, persistently harassing the audience with one single Tom O’Connor witticism throughout the show. This particular behaviour displays Lee’s confidence, skill and power as an established stalwart of the comedy circuit.
Recounting the joke for many minutes he repeats himself again and again; it starts off funny, then becomes dull, next tiresome, then irritating, then through sheer dogged persistence it manages to circumnavigate the patience and humour of the audience returning back to its home city of funny, but with added celebrity status its welcome has doubled. But still Lee continues, knowingly repeating the same line again and again as he tests the audience’s willingness to indulge him.
A daring feat, and one that proves his place as the 41st best stand-up ever. In fact I’ll go so far as to suggest he was robbed… he should be at least number 39.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-01T21:49:33+01:00
Stewart Lee is getting old. He’s never been a particularly lively fellow or offered up much of a cheery persona, but these days his style is even further absorbed by a sense of weariness and disappointment. Perhaps its fatherhood that’s done this, although more than anything else that seems to bring him contentment. It’s difficult to put your finger on frankly. There has been much said about the sadness of clowns and despite being the 41st best stand-up of all time, Stewart Lee seems at face value to be one of the more glum performers on the circuit today. He seems to be bothered by something. Admittedly he’s always suffered from a variety of itching issues prodding away at his inner psyche, but this latest one is about comedy and naturally with humour playing such an important role in his life it’s getting to him a fair old bit. Lee is nagged by the public’s perception of what is funny, he’s annoyed by the latest breed of popular comedians, and he’s exasperated by modern television culture. He is also nagged by his mother on the subject of why he fails to be as funny as Tom O’Connor, a subject which, in the tradition of bothersome antagonism he chooses to pass on to us, persistently harassing the audience with one single Tom O’Connor witticism throughout the show. This particular behaviour displays Lee’s confidence, skill and power as an established stalwart of the comedy circuit. Recounting the joke for many minutes he repeats himself again and again; it starts off funny, then becomes dull, next tiresome, then irritating, then through sheer dogged persistence it manages to circumnavigate the patience and humour of the audience returning back to its home city of funny, but with added celebrity status its welcome has doubled. But...
Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times.
“I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times
★★★★ Financial Times
★★★★ Chortle
“One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus
“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman
I just did this piece of KRS1-style edu-tainment for BBCR4 with Resonance 104.4FM alumney Michael Umney, called Stewart Lee - Unreliable Narrator. Lots of comedians in it.
The record store day dbl vinyl of Asian Dub Foundation’s Access Denied album includes a ‘neolithic’ remix of the no 1 single Comin’ Over Here (feat. Stewart Lee) Facebook Link
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album, which didn’t happen after something got spilt on the laptop that had all the tracks on it.
Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
It looks like all the SNOWFLAKE TORNADO tour dates outstanding from 2020 will be shifted into 2022, starting in Jan, and below are the ones we know about so far.
Local venues will contact you if they haven’t already.
All the warm-up club dates you may have bought tickets for have been slotted in to Nov and Dec, covid willing, and venues will contact ticket holders.
Please do not hassle venues about all this. They will contact you. We will get there!
I am planning on re-writing the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE TORNADO to reflect our drastically altered world and will make as good a recording as possible of the abandoned original SNOWFLAKE available at some point.
It’s all bacon!
After the abrupt end of the covid-cancelled sell-out tour of Snowflake/Tornado in March 2020, Stewart Lee, “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times), returns to Leicester Square Theatre in January 2022 and then to more than 60 towns and cities in the UK.
The tour, a double bill of two 60-minute sets, back-to-back nightly, will include new material for 2022.
The first half, Snowflake, will be heavily rewritten in the light of the two years the show has been laid off, looking at how the Covid-Brexit era has impacted on the culture war declared on lovely woke snowflakes by horrible people.
The second half, Tornado, questions Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly listed his show as “reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
January 2022
Tuesday 4th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 5th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 6th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 7th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 8th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 10th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 13th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 15th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Monday 17th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 18th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Wednesday 19th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Thursday 20th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Friday 21st January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Saturday 22nd January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 25th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 28th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Sunday 30th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
February 2022
Wednesday 2nd February 2022 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd February 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Friday 4th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 5th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 10th February 2022 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 11th February 2022 - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 12th February 2022 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Sunday 13th February 2022 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 26th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 27th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 28th February 2022 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
March 2022
Wednesday 2nd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 4th March 2022 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Saturday 5th March 2022 - Playhouse, Salisbury
Sunday 6th March 2022 - De La Warr Pavillion, Bexhill On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th March 2022 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield - TICKETS
Thursday 10th March 2022 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 11th March 2022 - The Courtyard, Hereford - TICKETS
Saturday 12th March 2022 - Grand Theatre, Swansea
Monday 14th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 15th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th March 2022 - The Sands Centre, Carlisle - TICKETS
Thursday 17th March 2022 - Royal Hall, Harrogate
Tuesday 22nd March 2022 - Churchill Theatre, Bromley - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 26th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 27th March 2022 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th March 2022 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 31st March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
April 2022
Friday 1st April 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd April 2022 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th April 2022 - Wyvern Theatre, Swindon - TICKETS
Thursday 21st April 2022 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Friday 22nd April 2022 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Sunday 24th April 2022 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 26th April 2022 - Cliffs Pavilion, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th April 2022 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Thursday 28th April 2022 - Derby Theatre, Derby - TICKETS
Friday 29th April 2022 - Lyceum Theatre, Crewe - TICKETS
Saturday 30th April 2022 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
May 2022
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 4th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 5th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 6th May 2022 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 7th May 2022 - Gala Theatre, Durham - TICKETS
Sunday 8th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford
Wednesday 11th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford
Thursday 12th May 2022 - Assembly Hall Theatre, Tunbridge Wells
Friday 13th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 14th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Sunday 15th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
Tuesday 17th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Wednesday 18th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 19th May 2022 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Saturday 21st May 2022 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Sunday 22nd May 2022 - The Grand, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 23rd May 2022 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 24th May 2022 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 25th May 2022 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Friday 27th May 2022 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Saturday 28th May 2022 - Winding Wheel, Chesterfield - TICKETS
June 2022
Tuesday 7th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Friday 10th June 2022 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro
Saturday 11th June 2022 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro
Friday 17th June 2022 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 18th June 2022 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 19th June 2022 - Festival Theatre, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 26th June 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
Wednesday 29th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 30th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
July 2022
Friday 1st July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
I would be delighted if, if you are coming to see me, you could do your best to get vaccinated, irrespective of what the gvt or the venue insist upon.
I doubt that my snowflake audience will contain many people who deny the existence of Covid or believe the vaccine is George Soros or Bill Gates trying to put tiny Transformer robots into your blood.
But I and my team will be interacting with over 150 000 people on the next leg of the tour, and I would like to minimise our risk, and the risk to my audience, so meet me half way.
I will be selling and signing stuff as usual, I hope, but I won’t be shaking hands to thank you all this time around, and will probably be positioned behind some kind of screen like William Shatner in Airplane 2. Sad.
7) MEDIA GARAGE SALE
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the utter bastards.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about like Priss Fotheringham on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind.
I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available..
A rambling chat in which I fail to promote King Rocker at the expense of a Marxist analysis of culture and history from the inventor of Alternative Comedy ™ ®
Dir Michael Cumming and I discuss King Rocker with Britain’s top film guru and skiffle enthusiast, who has been very supportive of the no-budget project.
Andy Miller and John Michinson’s long running and much loved books podcast. I discuss the waspish poet and novelist Rosemary Tonks with them, Nicky Birch and Jennifer Hodgson.
This is a marvellous ongoing Podcast which is unashamedly civilised in an unenlightened era, and this episode is full of great writing, batshit radiophonic music and clever women.
North London echo chamber fun sure to irk people of all political persuasions with the forensically-minded folk devil for the far right and snowflake do-gooder Owen Jones, and me, talking about King Rocker and more general stuff. His current run of ‘casts has some great guests.
Informed Wolverhampton-based comedy and music enthusiast of uncommon warmth and knowledge talks to me about KING ROCKER and what the Gray Pays ‘n’ Bacon are like at the Great Western pub.
I asked Adam if I could go on this massively popular podcast and he said yes which was very kind of him. It was fun hearing his Mark E Smith story from the horse’s mouth and he asked me hard questions of the type I usually avoid.
I answer questions from various utterly delightful members of the Idler’s thoughtful middle class readership from their wine and book filled homes.
They are the real stars here! You will emerge from watching this in love with at least one of them.
In this episode of The Last Line, James talks to comedian Stewart Lee about his new film King Rocker, a documentary about Robert Lloyd, lead singer of 70’s post-punk band The Nightingales.
During their conversation they discuss the new film, its central protagonist Robert Lloyd, stand up comedy, Stewart’s propensity to defend stand up comedians against the views of the general public and his reluctance to participate in podcast interviews.
There’s an interview with Michael Cumming on this podcast too, link below.
Sometime in March you will be able to hear me eat a really lovely Sri Lankan mutton curry from the Kolama restaurant, Soho, with bon viveur jazz pianist Jay Rayner. (I see how this works now!)
This is the most showbiz thing I have ever done, and I am glad it was with jazzy Jay Rayner.
This is a new series of docu-chats on different esoteric subjects.
You have to pay for them because they are finished pieces of work not just some fuckers talking or wandering about.
I have appeared on three of them - on Hawkwind, Penda’s Fen and John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy.
The first comedian my kids ever saw live was Paul Currie, so they think everything else is boring unless it ends with a massive breadfight.
He is ace, a deceptively clever surrealist clown who generates a genuine sense of comedy panic, and is best seen on his own terms in a fringe vibe.
Paul Currie says - “I AM PLAYING EDINBURGH this August on the Fringes of the fringe. I’ll be performing my new show TEET from 9th-29th August in the HIVE on Niddry Street @thehivenightclub.
Strict Covid rules must be followed by all punters before, during and after the show. Social distancing will be in place. NOTE: I’m doing this independently of the fringe festival on my own, a “fringe of the fringe” if you will.
As myself and many artists have been hit so badly with zero furlough over the past 17 months I truly can’t afford the admin fees to be part of the corporate fringe so I’m doing this completely DIY. There will be no physical tickets & No box office.
It will be £5 cash on the door entry fee. Pay What you Want donation on exit of the show. Minimum of 50 socially distanced seats so get there early. 6pm doors open. 7pm SHOW STARTS .late comers not permitted. 8pm SHOW ENDS.
TEET merchandise available to all who attend.
As I’m not using the fringe website or their online program this can only work as word of mouth and people sharing the show through social media and telling friends about it. So please if you could share the details and this advert as much as you can I’d really appreciate it, so we can try fill the venue each night. Thank you for taking time to read this and I hope to see you at the Hive in August.”
Henry Lowther’s Birthday show
British jazz veteran celebrates at London Vortex JULY 31st
Shirley Collins
Folk legend in sonic installation JULY 31ST/AUGUST 1ST Charleston, Lewes.
The Nightingales
Birmingham post punk veterans and KING ROCKER stars.
AUGUST 6th Preston New Continental.
SEPTEMBER 3rd Birmingham Moseley Folk Festival.
OCTOBER 28TH M’cr Gullivers, 29th Newport Le Pub, 30th Exeter Cavern, 31st Lewes Con.
NOVEMBER 1st Sheffield Greystones, 3rd London Lexington, 4th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 5th Bristol Rough Trade, 6th Southsea Wedgewood, 7th Bedford Esquires, 8th London Lexington W BLUE ORCHIDS & TED CHIPPINGTON, 9th Barrow-in-Furness Underground, 10th Glasgow Hugh & Pint, 11th Edinburgh Caves, 12th Middlesbrough Westgarth, 13th Hebden Bridge Trades, 14th Leicester Cookie
Blue Orchids
6th Aug Bristol Thunderbolt, 7th Aug Dublin Castle London, 8th Aug Brighton Prince Albert.
Post-punk dishwater psychedelia.
Ruts
DC Dub punks AUGUST 7th London Jazz café.
SEPTEMBER 10TH Liverpool Positive Vibrations, 25th Newcastle Northumbria Uni
Sleaford Mods
Angry loud man and quiet man. AUGUST 7TH Bromley South Facing.
SEPTEMBER 2ND End of The Road fest.
NOVEMBER 26TH Oxford Academy.
DECEMBER 2ND London Printworks, 3rd Brighton Dome
The Shadracks
Youthful garage punk AUGUST 13TH London Moth
MDC 14th Aug Edinburgh Sneaky Pete’s.
Veteran angry American hardcore innovators. Can this be true?
The Rebel
The Jerry Sadowitz of garage country.
AUGUST 14TH London Lexington
Lucinda Williams
19th Aug Cambridge Junction.
Is this on? Odd one-off date by the Queen of Alt Country?
Hawkwind
Psychedelic survivors. AUGUST 20TH Devon Beautiful Days Fest.
SEPTEMBER 11th Cambridge Corn Exchange, 12th Leamington Spa Assembly, 17th Swindon Mecca, 27th M’cr Ritz.
OCTOBER 28TH London Palladium.
The Wolfhounds
Cheesewire realists
AUGUST 20TH Preston Popfest.
NOVEMBER 5TH London 229, 19th Middlesbrough Westgarth, 20th Preston Ferret
Bo Ningen
Lots of dates from Japanese noise-niks.
AUGUST 27TH Preston Ferret,
SEPTEMBER 4th M’cr Pscyh Fest,
OCTOBER 1st Bristol Fleece, 2nd Ramsgate Music Hall, 3rd S’hampton Loft, 6th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 7th Sheffield Record Junkee, 8th L’pool District, 9th Glasgow Stereo, 10th Bristol Fleece, 12th Oxford Bullingdon, 13th London Village U’ground, 14th Brighton Chalk
The Primevals
Glasgow garage rockers.
SEPTEMBER 3rd Middlesbrough Westgarth.
NOVEMBER 27TH London Hope & Anchor.
The Catenary Wires
Overqualified popticians
SEPTEMBER 4TH London Amersham Arms, 10th Rainham Oast, 12th Brighton Prince Albert, 24th Oxford Fusion, 25th Coventry Coal Vaults.
The Chameleons
M’cr post punk visionaries on another victory lap.
SEPTEMBER 8th Bedford Esquires, 25th Holmfrith Picture Dome.
NOVEMBER 12TH Minehead Shine On.
DECEMBER 14TH Huddersfield Parish, 16th Blackpool Waterloo, 17th/18th M’cr Ritz.
JANUARY 14TH Leicester Academy, 15th Birmingham Institute.
FEBRUARY 1ST Nottingham Rescue Rooms.
The Fallen Leaves
Gentlemen mod punks.
SEPTEMBER 11TH London Camden Fiddler’s Elbow.
OCTOBER 30TH London 100 Club.
NOVEMBER 20TH Brighton Prince Albert.
The Scientists
16th SEPTEMBER Spicejazz Soho London. Can this one off by Australian garage gurus be for real?
The Meat Puppets
We are lead to believe that the amazing Meat Puppets, who you must see before you or they die, are doing four UK dates. Grateful Dead crossed w Husker Du. Desert punk psyche.
SEPTEMBER 23rd London Islington Academy, 24th M’cr Bread Shed, 25th Newcastle Cluny, 26th Dover Booking Hall
Fossil Fools
24th Sept Swindon Victoria. Tentative return by top XTC tribute band.
Alison Cotton
Psychedelic folk OCTOBER 27TH London Café Oto
The Fallen Women
Female Fall tribute band w guest vocalists incl me.
DECEMBER 5th London Lexington.
Nina Hamnett
Exhibition of the art of the underrated bohemian Fitzrovian, Charleston, East Sussex.
NEW FILMS
Ronnie’s, Ronnie Scott & His World Famous Jazz Club (Oliver Murray)
The Dig (Simon Stone) ★★★★★ Little Joe (Jessica Hausner) ★★★★ The News Of The World (Paul Greengrass) ★★★★ Nomadland (Chloe Zhao) ★★★★ County Lines (Henry Blake) ★★★★★
Animal Antics (Patrick Goddard) ★★★★★
OLD FILMS
Box Of Moonlight (Tom DeCillo, 1996) ★★★★★
Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983) ★★★★★
Where Eagles Dare (Brian G Hutton, 1968) ★★★★★
The Big Gundown (Sergio Sollima, 1967) ★★★★★
The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973) ★★★★★
Star Wars (George Lucas, 1977) ★★★★★
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)★★★★★
Good Vibrations (Lisa Barros D’sa/Glen Leyburn, 2013)★★★★★
Caliber 9 (Fernado di Leon, 1972) ★★★★★
‘71 (Yann Demange, 2014) ★★★★★
Big Night (Campbell Scott/Stanley Tucci, 1996) ★★★★★
Jason & The Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) ★★★★★
Goldstone (Ivan Sen, 2016) ★★★★★
Witness (Peter Weir, 1985) ★★★★★
Avengers Infinity War (Russo Brothers, 2018) ★★★★
Avengers Endgame (Russo Brothers, 2019) ★★★★
In Order of Disappearance (Hans Peter Molland, 2014)★★★★★
Iron Man III (Shane Black, 2013)★★★★★
Pauline A La Plage (Eric Rohmer, 1983) ★★★★★
Gone To Earth (Powell/Pressburger, 1950) ★★★★
The Odd Couple (Neil Simon, 1968) ★★★★★
Excalibur (John Boorman, 1981) ★★★★
Samurai 1 : Mushashi Miyamoto (Hiroshi Inagaki, 1954) ★★★★
Cache / Hidden (Michaek Haneke, 2005) ★★★★★ Babylon (Franco Rosso, 1980) ★★★★★
Summer In February (Christopher Menaul, 2013) ★★★★ Guardians of The Galaxy (James Gunn, 2014) ★★★★★
All Tomorrow’s Parties (Jonathan Caouette, 2009) ★★★★ Medea (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969) ★★★★★
Force Majeure (Ruben Ostlund, 2015) ★★★★
Lift To The Scaffold (Louise Malle, 1958)★★★★★
Macbeth (Roman Polanski, 1971)★★★★★
OLD BOOKS
Rosemary Tonks - Emir (1963)★★★★★
Rosemary Tonks - The Bloater (1968) ★★★★★
John Berger/Jean Mohr - A Fortunate Man (1967) ★★★★★ Ann Quin - Berg (1964) ★★★★
Sir John Mandeville - The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (1357)★★★★ Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018)
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) Virginia Nicholson - Amongst The Bohemians (2003)
Joanna Moorhead - The Surreal Life of Leonora Carrington (2017)
Betty May - Tiger Woman (1929)
Val Doonican - My Story, My Life (2009) Dave Graney - Workshy (2017)
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde - R L Stevenson (1985)
Hide & Seek - Dennis Potter (1973)
NEW BOOKS
Tessa Norton/Bob Stanley - Excavate!
Alan Stafford - Wilson, Keppel & Betty, Too Naked For The Nazis Peter Oborne - The Assault On Truth Nesrine Malik - We Need New Stories ★★★★★ Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018) ★★★★★
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) ★★★★★ Alicia Foster - Nina Hamnett Charlie Hill - I Don’t Want To Go To The Taj Mahjal
Hill’s economic autobiography is a simplistic list of addresses, dead end jobs, cultural ephemera, and brief assignations, garnished with two or three short paragraphs of barely formed reflection. And yet, in reducing his life to these most basic elements, it manages to be a more profound comment on existence then many more self-consciously analytical efforts. As if to confound Wittgenstein, it appears the unexamined life was worth living after all.
NEW COMICS
Joe Sacco - Paying The Land (2020)
NEW TV
Ghosts S2 (BBC, 2020)
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020) The Mandalorian S2 (Disney, 2020) ★★★★★ Call My Agent S3 (France 2, 2018)★★★★★
Call My Agent S4 (France 2, 2021) ★★★★★
The Trump Show (BBC, 2020-1)★★★★★
Lupin S1 (Netflix, 2021)★★★★★ Wandavision (Marvel, 2021)★★★★★
Stonehenge The Lost Circle Revealed (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★
Adam Curtis’ Can’t Get You Out Of My Head (BBC, 2021)★★★★★ Raiders Of The Lost Past With Janina Ramirez (BBC2, 2021) ★★★★
Mortimer & Whitehouse Gone Fishing S3 (BBC, 2020) ★★★★★
The Falcon & The Winter Soldier (Marvel, 2021) ★★★★★
Homeland s8 (Netflix, 2020)★★★★★
Into The Night S1 (Between a Dog & A Wolf, 2020) ★★★★
Unforgotten S4 (ITV, 2021) ★★★★
Inside No 9 S6 (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★ Great British Bake Off S11 (C4, 2020) ★★★★★
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) Time (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★ Loki (Kate Herron, Marvel, 2021)
INTERNETS, RADIOS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rob Auton’s Daily Podcast
Alastair Beckett-King on Youtube
Shawn Woods’ Mouse Trap Monday on Youtube
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) ★★★★ Bridget Christie - Mortal (BBCR4)
Rosie Holt’s Youtube characters
THEATRE
Under Milk Wood - Dylan Thomas (National) ★★★★★
The Pin’s The Comeback (Noel Coward Theatre) ★★★★
This felt like it was from the 1870s, the 1950s and now all at the same time.
It was of a tradition at the same time as exploding it. It reminded me of THE RIGHT Size and it would be great if The Pin could hold the partnership together in the way they didn't as there's probably lots to find out about how elastic it can be, and what you can subsume into it.
A Victorian audience would have recognised it as Music Hall and a ‘50s audience would have recognised it as Absurdism, which Beckett knew was music hall anyway. Were they even in a theatre, really, them blokes? I hope it tours.
NEW RECORDS
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
Cult Figures - Deritend Vapour Trails - Celestial Scuzz ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - Before Computers (demos)
Kevin March - Last Night
Doug Gillard - Douglas Scott Gillard II
Guided by Voices - Earth Man Blues Gwenifer Raymond - Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain Ustad Saami - Pakistan Is For The Peaceful ★★★★★ The Blue Orchids - Speed The Day Dave Graney & The Mistly - Live At Byrds ★★★★★
Mainliner - Dual Myths ★★★★★
Hawkwind - 50th Anniversary Live
The Amorphous Androgynous w Peter Hammill - We Persuade Ourselves We Are Immortal
Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The London Symphony Orcestrea - s/t
Major Murphy - Access
Eleventh Dream Day - Since Grazed Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg
Guided By Voices - Earth Man Blues
Fixed Horizon - Grenouille Lucinda Williams - Runnin’ Down A Dream
Krallice - Demonic Wealth
Catenary Wires - Birling Gap
Cub Scout Bowling Pins - Heaven Beats Iowa ★★★★
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There’s Pretty Things in Palookaville ★★★★
Robyn Hitchcock - The Man Upstairs ★★★★
Chris Forsyth - First Flight
Chris Eckerman - Where The Spirit Rests ★★★★
The Scientists - Negativity
David Grubbs & Ryley Walker - Husky Pants ★★★★ Shirley Collins - Heart’s Ease ★★★★★ Gary Louris - Jump For Joy ★★★★★
Fixed Horizon - Full Circle ★★★★
Trees Speak - Post Human ★★★★ William Loveday Intention - People Think They Know Me ★★★★★
Hawkwind - Somnia The Bevis Frond - Little Eden ★★★★★
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There’s Pretty Things In Palookaville ★★★★★
Goat - Headsoup Adele & The Chandeliers - First Date
Trees Speak - Post Human
Sun Ra Arkestra - Swirling ★★★★★
Phil Minton - Woke Up At 8 ★★★★★
Rudimentary Peni - The Great War Lucinda Williams - Southern Soul
NEW OLD RECORDS
V/A - Rough Guide To Avant-Garde Japan
Guided by Voices - Live At Irving Plaza (1996)
Damo Suzuki & Echo Ensemble - Live @ Green Door (2013) Heavenly - A Bout De Heavenly (1989-1996)
Martin Stone - Down But Not Out In Paris and London (1992-2013)
John Russell & Terry Day - Russell & Day (1979?)
Derek Bailey, Trevor Watts & Terry Day - At LTC (1972?) Sonny Rollins - Rollins In Holland (1967) ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - I Sell The Circus (demos) (2015) The Fall - St Helen’s Technical College (1981) ★★★★★
Charles Gayle, John Edwards, Mark Sanders - Seasons Changing (2017) ★★★★★
The Misunderstood - Children of The Sun(1965-66) ★★★★★
Dexter Gordon - Live In Chateauvallon (1978) ★★★★★
The Loft - Ghost Trains & Country Lanes (1984-2015)
And Also The Trees - s/t (1984)
Neil Young - Young Shakespeare (1971)
T2 - It’ll All Work Out In Boomland (1970)
The Outsiders - Count For Something (1976-78)
The Selecter - Too Much Pressure box (1980)
Brown Acid 11 - v/a (1969-73)
Fleur de Lys - Circles (1964-1969)
J Jazz Deep Jazz From Modern Japan vol 3 - V/A (1962-1985)
The Black Keys Present Hill Country Blues - v/a
Brown Acid 12 - v/a (1968-80)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Open Road - Windy Day (1971)
Dave Graney, Clare Moore, Georgie Valentino & Malcolm Ross - s/t (2017) ★★★★
Hangman’s Beautiful Daughters - Smashed Full Of Wonder (1987)
The Lipstick Killers - Strange Flash (1976-81)
The Hawks - Obviously 5 Believers (1979-81) ★★★★
v/a - Goitse A Thaisce (1960-2020) ★★★★★
v/a - Fire Draw Near (1940-2020) ★★★★★
OLD RECORDS
Cocteau Twins - Treasure (1984) ★★★★ Billy Bragg - Life’s A Riot (1983) ★★★★★
Billy Bragg - Brewing Up with (1984) ★★★★★
The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional (1986) ★★★★
Siouxsie & The Banshees - A Kiss In The Dreamhouse (1982) ★★★★
Bunny Striker Lee - The Bunny Striker Lee Story (1967-80) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, A Journey Into Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, Original Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, More Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
Tomorrow’s Gift - Goodbye Future (1973) ★★★★
Jackson C Frank - s/t (1965) ★★★★
V/A - Down Home Blues, Chicago Fine Boogie (1947-1958)★★★★ Maggie Bjorklund - Shaken (2014)★★★★ June Tabor - Airs & Graces (1976) ★★★★★
John Martyn - The Very Best Of (1967-1996) ★★★★★ The Owl Service - The Garland Sessions (2007) ★★★★★
John Lee Hooker - Tantalising With The Blues (1965-70)★★★★★
Furry Lewis, Memphis Willie B, Memphis Slim - Bluesville 3 (1963?) ★★★★ Lightnin’ Hopkins - Prestige Profiles (1960-4) ★★★★★
Magic Slim - Live @ Ma Bea’s (1976) ★★★★
Jimmy Dawkins - Come Back Baby (1977) ★★★★
Allman Brothers - At Filmore East (1971) ★★★★ John Fahey - The Yellow Princess (1968) ★★★★★
Freedy Johnston - Can You Fly? (1992)★★★★ Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (2009) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - Man Machine Poem (2016) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - We Are The Same (2009) ★★★★ Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) ★★★★★
Grant Lee Buffalo - Storm Hymnal (1993-98) ★★★★
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues (1990) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - President (1989) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Fakebook (1990) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - That Is You La Tengo (1991) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - May I Sing With Me? (1992) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Painful (3 cds) (1993) ★★★★ Tim Buckley - Dream Letter (1968) ★★★★★
Those Bastard Souls - Debt & Departure (1999) ★★★★★
Wanderlust - Prize (1995) ★★★★
Chain - Towards The Blues (1971) ★★★★
The Schramms - Omnidirectional (2019) ★★★★
Cannonball Adderley - Soul Zodiac (1972)
Fred Anderson - Quintessential Birthday Trio Vol II (2015)
Greg Bendian’s Interzone - Requiem For Jack Kirby (2001)
Nels Cline & Greg Bendian - Interstellar Space Revisited (1999)
The Beat - Bounce (2016) Nina Simone - To Be Free (1959-1993)
Swervedriver - 99th Dream (1998)
Road - s/t (1972)
Mudhoney - Morning In America (2019)
Necromandus - Orexis of Death (1973)
Julian Cope - Peggy Suicide (1991)
Ultravox - Rage In Eden (1981)
Siouxsie & The Banshees - Tinderbox (1986)
Blues Pills - Live In Paris (2017)
Gram Parsons - Alternate Takes (1973-4)
Mike Westbrook - Mama Chicago (1976)
The Fall - Grotesque (1980)
Truly - Fast Stories From Kid Coma (1995)
Echo & the Bunnymen - Evergreen (1997)
Echo & The Bunnymen - What Are You Going To Do With Your Life? (1999)
Blues Pills - Lady In Gold (2016)
Leo Bud Welch - The Angels In Heaven Done Signed My Name (2019)
The Black Keys - Chulahoma (2006) Nanci Griffith - One Fair Summer Evening (1988)
The Soft Boys - Invisible Hits (1983)
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2003)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Don Carlos & Gold - Them Never Know Natty Dread Have Him Credentials (1982)
Henry Junjo Lawes - Volcano Erruption (70s-80s)
Don Carlos - Day To Day Living (1982)
Bunny ‘Striker’ Lee - Full Up (1968-72)
Bunny Lee & Friends - Tape Rolling (1971-4) ★★★★
v/a - Trojan Roots Dancehall Box (‘70s, ‘80s)
Charlie Chaplin & Papa San - Respect Due (1986?)
Robert Forster - The Evangelist (2008) ★★★★★
John Stewart - California Bloodlines (1969) ★★★★
v/a - Trojan Dancehall Box (‘70s, ‘80s)
Don Carlos - In Dub (1980)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots (‘70s, ‘80s)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots Part 2 (‘70s, ‘80s)
Norma Winstone - Edge Of Time (1972) ★★★★
Atlas - Just Playin’ Rhythm & Blues (1967-71)
V/A - Alan Lomax Songbook (1939-76) ★★★★
Shirley Collins - Lodestar (2016) ★★★★★
The Go-betweens - Loving Shocks (1989) ★★★★
Red House Painters - Songs For A Blue Guitar (1996) ★★★★
Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats - Mind Control (2013)
The Damned - Music For Pleasure (1977) ★★★★
Skids - Days In Europa (1977)
Big Country - The Crossing (1983) ★★★★
Big Country - Steel Town (1984)
Jon Dee Graham - Escape From Monster Island (1997) ★★★★
The Fall - Live At The Witch Trials (1979) ★★★★★
10) WOKE CAUSES - THIS MONTH, GOOD LAW PROJECT, GET OFF MY MED RECORDS, GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
GOOD LAW PROJECT
LINK
It’s evident that the corrupt kleptocracy of Boris Johnson isn’t going to dislodged by Kier Starmer’s PMQ’s however forensic, or by the biased media, or by legal investigations in which the gvt essentially investigate themselves.
However, despite the threats to judiciary in the Queen’s speech, at present the gvt are required to obey the law.
Champagne socialist fox-whacking lawyer Jolyon Maugham’s donation funded Good Law Project seems to be better than the opposition currently at holding the gvt to account, and proving where they have broken the law, so if you can spare a pound crowd fund them, as they do seem to be making an impact.
MEDICAL RECORDS OPT OUT
LINK
Did you know that the gvt are about to sell all your medical records off to the highest bidder? Thought not. We weren’t consulted.
I don’t care about the privacy aspect, but I do object to my life being monetised to give leverage to some horrible massive info-tech company.
You can withdraw the gvt’s right to farm your medical history as if you were some kind of data-pig at the link above. THIS IS NOW DELAYED TO SEPTEMBER DUE TO OPPOSITION BUT STILL WORTH DOING
GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
Stop Funding Hate say - Advertising sales for GB News are reportedly handled by Sky Media.
We’re aware of at least one company who say they were unaware that they were going to appear on GB News and suspended those ads when they found out. If you work for a company that buys programmatic advertising from Sky, it may be worth checking with them to ensure that your ads aren’t placed on GB News.
A huge thanks to the Stop Funding Hate volunteers who have come together to help identify GB News advertisers.
Brands that we’ve seen so far include: Vodafone, Octopus Energy, Ovo Energy, Co-op, Ikea, LV, Virgin Media, Kelloggs, Deliveroo, Nivea, Kenco coffee, AA, Premier Inn, American Express, Benadryl (Johnson and Johnson), Wickes, Starbucks, Weetabix, Listerine (Pfizer), National Lottery, Boomin, Cadbury, Taylors coffee, Amazon, Cazoo, Microsoft, Google, Alpen (Weetabix), Beko Harvestfresh, Pinterest, Ladbrokes, Rana pasta, Burger King, Warburtons, The UK Government (EU resettlement scheme), Bosch, Specsavers, TalkTalk, trivagoWeekend, itchpet.com, MSC Cruises, Grolsch, Indeed recruitment, Motability, Feel Multivitamins, Green Flag, Clean G non alcoholic gin, Facebook,Volvo, Bazuka, fiverr, Motability, Ibuleve Gel, Toyota, Appeal home shading / blinds, People’s Postcode Lottery, Just Eat, Petit Filous, Direct Bullion, Compare the Market, Kardia Mobile, Bupa, Verisure, The Open University.
There’s more information here about Stop Funding Hate, and the impact of our campaign so far. If you’re able to help build our movement tackling toxic media in the UK and internationally, please consider becoming a committed supporter and making a regular donation.
11) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955) Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942) Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944) The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930) Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006) Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929) Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942) Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950) Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938) Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man’s-laughter maker) (1964)
Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960)
Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935)
Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?)
Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939)
Bunny Lee (dubmaster) (1940) The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770)
Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979) Jill Paton Walsh (humanist novelist) (1937)
Val Warner (poet) (1946)
Guy N Smith (Lord of The Crabs) (1939)
Richard Corben (decadent cartoonist) (1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho) (1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man) (1945)
- 2021 - Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Celia Drummond Ford (voice of Trees) (1950)
The Happy Man Tree (Stoke Newington Tree) (1870)
John Russell (guitar guru) (1954)
Marcel Uderzo (Asterisk artist) (1933)
Tom Stevens (Long Ryder and Magus) (1956)
Dougie Anderson (Coda’s Edinburgh record dealer (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920) Rynagh O’Grady (Ted’s Mary) (1954)
Mary Wilson (Supreme) (1944)
Chick Corea (Miles’ tinkler) (1941)
Iain Pattinson (You wanted to see me Prime Minister?) (1951)
U-Roy (Toastmaster) (1942)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (bookstore beat) (1921)
Wink O’Bannon (Eleventh Dream Day) (1956)
Bunny Wailer (Wailer) (1947)
Doug Parkinson (Oz vocal celeb) (1946)
Milford Graves (temporal explorer) (1941)
Johnny Rogan (Byrds’ Boswell) (1953) Jessica Walter (Play Misty For Me) (1941)
Bertrand Tavernier (Round Midnight) (1941) Anita Lane (Oz punk chanteuse) (1958)
Barbara Ess (Theoretical Girl) (1944)
Michael Collins (Apollo 11) (1930)
Mohammed Ag Itale (Tinariwen) (1960)
Monte Hellman (Two Lane Blacktop) (1929)
Sonny Simmons (jazz hobo) (1933)
Charles Grodin (The American Tim Key) (1935)
Franco Battiato (Italian Fetus) (1945)
Yoshi Wada (bagpipe minimalist) (1943)
Ned Beatty (squealing piggy) (1937)
Davey Datblygu (Davey Datblygu) (1964)
S Clay Wilson (Captain Pissgums) (1941)
Peter Zinovieff (sonic pioneer) (1933)
Richard Donner (kebab pioneer) (1930) Alix Dobkin (feminist folksinger) (1940)
Patrick Sky (native American folksinger) (1940)
Tom O’Connor (raconteur) (1939)
Stewart Lee
2021-07-29T15:55:26+01:00
1) KING ROCKER NOW TV Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times ★★★★ Financial Times ★★★★ Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus “The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman All Press is collecting here. You can also watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that; NOW TV LINK 2) UNRELIABLE NARRATOR DOC BBCR4 I just did this piece of KRS1-style edu-tainment for BBCR4 with Resonance 104.4FM alumney Michael Umney, called Stewart Lee - Unreliable Narrator. Lots of comedians in it. You can listen here. 3) ASIAN DUB FOUNDATION The record store day dbl vinyl of Asian Dub Foundation’s Access Denied album includes a ‘neolithic’ remix of the no 1 single Comin’ Over Here (feat. Stewart Lee) Facebook Link The original 12” remains available... Bandcamp X Ray Production 4) TEN BOB / USE YOUR LOAF 7” ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album. B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album, which didn’t happen after something got spilt on the laptop that had all the tracks on it. Fire Records/King Rocker Records. Order 7” here: https://fire-records.lnk.to/TenBobUseYourLoaf 5) LIVE DATES NEWS It looks like all the SNOWFLAKE TORNADO tour dates outstanding from 2020 will be shifted into 2022, starting in Jan, and below are the ones we know about so far. Local venues will contact you if they haven’t already. All the warm-up club...
Ever since Richard Eyre fulfilled Laurence Olivier's dream by staging Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre in 1982, the venue has been bolstering its finances with splashy revivals of musicals.
Vast casts, orchestras and design demands mean that they're terrifyingly expensive to produce, but success spells box office. Audiences in the past two years booked on the basis of the titles alone for South Pacific and My Fair Lady. But the gulf between remounting a well-loved classic and staging something new is a mile wide. Which is why incoming artistic director Nicholas Hytner's announcement that his reign will kick off in April with Jerry Springer: The Opera is bold and exciting.
Most "new" musicals these days are either back-catalogue shows or pointless retreads of old movies like the technologically impressive, but dramatically lifeless, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Although Jerry Springer - The Opera clearly derives from a TV source, it is far more than a carbon-copy with added songs.
It sprang to life at Battersea Arts Centre in February 2001. Gleeful word-of-mouth for this short, sharp shock of a show spread like wildfire and its creator/composer Richard Thomas began refashioning his seemingly mad, hour-long satirical extravaganza into a full-length production. It grabbed the headlines at this year's Edinburgh Fringe, commercial producers were panting for it and Springer himself flew in to see it.
By this time, Thomas had been joined by co-writer/director Stewart Lee (one half of comedy duo Lee and Herring). The imminent arrival of Springer induced more than a little panic. After all, their show sees Springer presiding over a blackly comic rewrite of a typically rabble-rousing, warts 'n' all episode, with a voracious chorus of keyed-up audience members, a hymn to pole-dancing, a desperate guest stripping down to nappies and a tap-dancing line of Ku Klux Klansmen and ends the first half by having Jerry killed live on air.
In the second half, things get even hotter as Jerry arrives at Judgment Day and faces a battle between heaven and hell.
The real-life Springer, despite his reputation as a sleaze-fest schlock-jock, must be smart: he saw the funny side and granted his permission. He probably welcomed the opportunity to be associated with so singular a show.
Critics were already raving. "Forget your furs, your picnic baskets and your corporate hospitality. This is opera in the raw." cried the Independent on Sunday. "Liberatingly irreverent," declared The Observer, "It would be hard to find a movie to match this for invention and imagination."
The first tip-off of its theatrical savvy is the smart title. Jerry Springer... an opera? The very incongruity is intriguing. However, within seconds of the musical starting, you realise that high-voltage singing is the best way to dramatise a Springer chat show, with its sordid - usually sexual - confessions by members of the public.
The problem for all musicals is to make it seem natural that characters burst into song, but here, from the opening chorus of "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry..." which sounds increasingly like a comic version of "Kyrie" from a sung Mass, that thought simply never occurs.
As on the TV show, Jerry remains the still centre amid the mayhem - he is the only character who doesn't sing. Everyone else lets rip with a wild pick 'n' mix: everything from Bach to Bacharach via rock and gospel, epitomised by the solo This is My Jerry Springer Moment (So dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians/ I don't want this moment to die).
Most musicals placate their audience, offering variations on what it already knows, but this is all the more entertaining because you never know what's coming next. That might sound ramshackle, but Thomas holds all the diverse elements together because he has hit upon the perfect form for his idea. Couple that with his and Lee's experience as live comedy performers and it's no wonder the show has taken off.
The BAC performances were stages in a workshop development process and the Edinburgh run was really a souped-up concert staging. The show, particularly the fitful second half, still needs work. Thanks to the subsidised National Theatre resources and the arrival of Julian Crouch, the co-designer/director of the similarly genre-busting one-off Shockheaded Peter, that will now happen.
Casting has yet to be announced but, for once, the star of the show is the material. What better vindication of Hytner's new dawn than a nurturing of such a dangerous and delicious bad-taste bonanze?
Stewart Lee
2002-12-10T18:18:24+00:00
Ever since Richard Eyre fulfilled Laurence Olivier's dream by staging Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre in 1982, the venue has been bolstering its finances with splashy revivals of musicals. Vast casts, orchestras and design demands mean that they're terrifyingly expensive to produce, but success spells box office. Audiences in the past two years booked on the basis of the titles alone for South Pacific and My Fair Lady. But the gulf between remounting a well-loved classic and staging something new is a mile wide. Which is why incoming artistic director Nicholas Hytner's announcement that his reign will kick off in April with Jerry Springer: The Opera is bold and exciting. Most "new" musicals these days are either back-catalogue shows or pointless retreads of old movies like the technologically impressive, but dramatically lifeless, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Although Jerry Springer - The Opera clearly derives from a TV source, it is far more than a carbon-copy with added songs. It sprang to life at Battersea Arts Centre in February 2001. Gleeful word-of-mouth for this short, sharp shock of a show spread like wildfire and its creator/composer Richard Thomas began refashioning his seemingly mad, hour-long satirical extravaganza into a full-length production. It grabbed the headlines at this year's Edinburgh Fringe, commercial producers were panting for it and Springer himself flew in to see it. By this time, Thomas had been joined by co-writer/director Stewart Lee (one half of comedy duo Lee and Herring). The imminent arrival of Springer induced more than a little panic. After all, their show sees Springer presiding over a blackly comic rewrite of a typically rabble-rousing, warts 'n' all episode, with a voracious chorus of keyed-up audience members, a hymn to pole-dancing, a desperate guest stripping down to nappies and a tap-dancing line of Ku Klux...
Last week I dragged the girlfriend along to go watch Stewart Lee's 'Carpet Remnant World' at Canterbury's new Marlowe Theatre. We didn't have great tickets; we were in the Upper Circle, one row from the very back. However, thanks to great designing, we could still see the stage brilliantly due to the elevated seats.
The one issue is that with comedy shows such as these, you lose the intimacy if you are further away. For example, previous to this performance, I have only ever seen comedians in very intimate venues with only a few hundred. Suddenly, you don't seem to connect as well with someone when in a theatre holding 1,200 people.
For this reason, I do not get the appeal of seeing a comedian, or anything, in a huge venue holding thousands of people such as The London O2 or Wembley Arena; you end up just watching the comedian on the giant screens around the venue.
I believe for a comedian to be their most successful, you have to have a small, intimate venue. It is much easier to work a crowd of 200, than one larger: any comedian would probably tell you that.
Stewart Lee is completely the same. If you watch his stand-up DVD's or television series, you can see that he excels in a small group. I think my enjoyment of the show was lessened because of how far away we were from the stage. Not to sound like I am being negative, but he was talking to the few hundred people in the stalls, and sometimes ignoring everyone higher. However, he is a genius when it comes to stand-up (I mean, you would be after 25 years), and he is fully aware of what he is doing. Of course, he is doing it intentionally, and in large venues like this, it feeds his routine with extra fun.
The question is did I enjoy it?
Of course I bloody well did!
Like all Stewart Lee material, you're never quite sure when he actually starts his routine, because it all just seems natural. It isn't a false conversation like a lot of other comedians do, it is ,in fact, just a well informed rant/lecture. Even though I use the word lecture to describe it, it is a fun lecture. If you wanted to get into stand-up, then it is essential to go see him perform I believe. You can learn a lot about the art of stand-up from him.
His jokes are nicely varied, with some being just simple one-line jokes, a number were 20 minutes rants about something, whether it be him watching Scooby-Doo, Twitter or discussing the process of finding his material, and others were satirical observations about the local area or politics. The rest of the time, he was just shouting at the audience, which is strangely endearing. I mean, I'm not sure Michael McIntyre would get away with yelling and swearing at the audience for two hours, but Stewart can.
When it comes to favourite comedians I have seen live, he is up there with Lee Mack, and it is purely down to audience interaction and the ability to adapt a routine for an audience and local things which they can relate to. Stewart Lee did this through bringing on stage the front cover of the local newspaper to mock its lead story, for the main local news was a Headteacher, wearing a red wig, pretending to kidnap the Janitor. It was very good.
Of course, I cannot convey how funny it was in a not-very-well-written blog without giving you all the jokes and ruining it for prospective audience members, so you will just have to believe me.
However, what makes him different from the other comedians that I have seen is how friendly he is, and willing to spend time with the people who paid to see him. I joined the back of a five minute queue to shake his hand, have him sign a book and have a picture taken with him (as well as making an unfunny joke about how to spell Stuart/Stewart). I thoroughly enjoyed my evening in the company of Mr Stewart Lee. He was humble and lovely when I met him afterwards, and during the show he was everything you expect him to be: Funny, sarcastic, full of hate and 'alternative'. So much so, it felt like he had made my diaphragm enter my throat.
P.S. "...Dog; [In a high-pitched voice] Dooog?" You'll get it when/if you see/saw it...
Stewart Lee
2012-03-01T13:58:30+00:00
Last week I dragged the girlfriend along to go watch Stewart Lee's 'Carpet Remnant World' at Canterbury's new Marlowe Theatre. We didn't have great tickets; we were in the Upper Circle, one row from the very back. However, thanks to great designing, we could still see the stage brilliantly due to the elevated seats. The one issue is that with comedy shows such as these, you lose the intimacy if you are further away. For example, previous to this performance, I have only ever seen comedians in very intimate venues with only a few hundred. Suddenly, you don't seem to connect as well with someone when in a theatre holding 1,200 people. For this reason, I do not get the appeal of seeing a comedian, or anything, in a huge venue holding thousands of people such as The London O2 or Wembley Arena; you end up just watching the comedian on the giant screens around the venue. I believe for a comedian to be their most successful, you have to have a small, intimate venue. It is much easier to work a crowd of 200, than one larger: any comedian would probably tell you that. Stewart Lee is completely the same. If you watch his stand-up DVD's or television series, you can see that he excels in a small group. I think my enjoyment of the show was lessened because of how far away we were from the stage. Not to sound like I am being negative, but he was talking to the few hundred people in the stalls, and sometimes ignoring everyone higher. However, he is a genius when it comes to stand-up (I mean, you would be after 25 years), and he is fully aware of what he is doing. Of course, he is doing it intentionally, and...
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE “I DON’T THINK THAT’ T-SHIRTS
WAX FACE return to the crowded official Stewart Lee t-shirt marketplace with their most self-consciously cool design yet, cynically targeted at the ageing indie-hipster audience that make up Stewart's delusional following.
"I don't think that. I think the opposite of that.", is Stewart's philosophy of comedy boiled down to one zen-sized nugget, serving as a chest-sized signal to other secret adepts, and offering protection against psychic attack.
'I Don't Think That, I Think The Opposite Of That' is the Stewart Lee T-Shirt available on Pre-Order now via https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee
The T-Shirt available in two colourways.
Silk Screened and hand printed on Anthem Organic t-shirts.
2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO
Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now.
The tour of the new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, resumes active service at the Leicester Square Theatre in December and nationwide from January 2024
December 2023
Saturday 9th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 11th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 14th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 15th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 16th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 18th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 21st December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 22nd December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
January 2024
Thursday 4th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 5th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 8th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 11th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 14th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 15th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 18th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 19th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 22nd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 25th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Friday 26th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 27th January 2024 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Sunday 28th January 2024 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 29th January 2024 - The Marlowe, Canterbury - TICKETS
February 2024
Friday 2nd February 2024 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd February 2024 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Sunday 4th February 2024 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Friday 9th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Saturday 10th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Sunday 11th February 2024 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle - TICKETS
Sunday 18th February 2024 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester AN INTERVIEW WITH STEWART LEE - TICKETS
Sunday 18th February 2024 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Tuesday 20th February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Wednesday 21st February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Thursday 22nd February 2024 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Friday 23rd February 2024 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 24th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Sunday 25th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Monday 26th February 2024 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Thursday 29th February 2024 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
March 2024
Friday 1st March 2024 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd March 2024 - The Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Tuesday 5th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Wednesday 6th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Thursday 7th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Friday 8th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Saturday 9th March 2024 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 14th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Friday 15th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Saturday 16th March 2024 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 17th March 2024 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Thursday 21st March 2024 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth
Friday 22nd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Saturday 23rd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Sunday 24th March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Tuesday 26th March 2024 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 28th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
April 2024
Wednesday 17th April 2024 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Thursday 18th April 2024 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Monday 22nd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 25th April 2024 - The Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
4. EDINBLUR
I will be doing a truncated compacted 70 min version of BASIC LEE, stripped of nuance and heavy on laffs, in the Edinburgh Fringe at The Stand’s New Town Theatre from Aug 11-20th at 1.50pm, with extra late shows on 12th, 13th and 14th
Other top shows in the same space include Danny Bhoy’s Now Is Not A Good Time, the always exceptional Paul Sinha’s Pauly Bengali, and Robin Ince’s Melons.
And remember, because of the unique way The Stand is run, none of the less visible August acts go home financially ruined for ever, even the ones whose politics I disagree with.
MY EDINBLUR REC’S SO FAR
Bear in mind I know almost nothing about what’s happening in comedy these days.
But for now, these are things I personally would try and see because I have seen them and liked them or think I might like them and this list is not some boilerplated Sunday Supplement paradigm.
Remember, everything has been fucked by the Tories and if the fringe seems too costly and middle class and elitist it is because people are being priced out of arts, culture, eduction etc, arguably deliberately, everywhere by this government and its enablers and the Fringe is merely a microcosm of that.
As usual, support Free Fringe shows and cross the tracks to Stand venues, as the Stand continues, miraculously, to manage its finances to ensure no-one goes home in debt.
And only see shows promoted by Avalon if nice people are doing them and they seem suitably ashamed of themselves.
11.00 Horror Through The Open Window - Kafe Kweer - 17th-19th FREE
0.00 Blueswater - Jazz Bar - 9th,13th,16th,24th,27th
00.10 Alfie Brown - Just The Tonic
5. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2023 HAPPENINGS AND THINGS
Berthe Morisot - Shaping Impressionism. Dulwich Picture Gallery, London until Sept 10th
https://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/2023/april/berthe-morisot/
Female French Impressionist
Evelyn De Morgan - The Gold Drawings. Leighton House, London until October 1st. Sometime visionary, sometime cheesey, Victorian mystic. https://www.rbkc.gov.uk/museums/evelyn-de-morgan-gold-drawings
HAWKWIND This current Hawkwind iteration channels their classic ‘70s space rock sound unashamedly, with keyboardist Thighpaulsandra of Coil, Cope and Spiritualised clearly living out a childhood dream.
AUGUST 28th - Castell Roc, Chepstow Castle
(CHEPSTOW CASTLE IS SOLD OUT - SHAMELESS BLAG - CAN ANYONE GET ME IN? - I USED TO BE FAMOUS IN THE ‘90S),
OCTOBER 29TH Royal Albert Hall.
MARTIN CARTHY Venerable and invaluable folk veteran JULY 2nd Leicester Musician, NIV 5th Scunthorpe Plowright Theatre, DEC 8th London Mycenae House
TREEBOY & ARC Televisionary young post-punks OCT 18th London Moth Club
THE BOO RADLEYS Reformed 90s psychedelic Britpop era fish out of water OCT 32st B’ham Institute, NOV 4th Islington Academy
THE CHAMELEONS Most convincing line-up for years of the always emotionally edifying Big Music should-have-beens. JULY 1ST London Islington Assembly, 3rd Bristol Fleece, 4th Brighton Chalk, 7th Castleton Devil’s Arse, 8th Holmfirth Picturedrome
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Plangent no wave influenced serial minimalists. Have to be seen! AUG 31st Birkenhead Future Yard, SEPT 15th London St John on The Green
MDC American hardcore punk legends AUG 1st New Cross Inn London
SUN RA ARKESTRA Cosmic Jazz institution AUG 10th & 11th Camden Forge, London
CHRIS CACAVAS Emotive Americana songwriter of Green on Red fame AUG 15th Green Note London, 17th Sheffield Dorothy Pax
DISCHARGE Hardcore punk pioneers SEPT 3rd Derby Victoria Inn, 8th Bristol Fleece, 9th Exeter Phoenix, OCT 20th London New Cross Inn, 21st Stamford Mama Liz’s, 28th Bournemouth Anvil, DEC 23rd B’ham Castle & Falcon
RED GUITARS / THE ROOM Hull’s Afro-inflected political indie rock innovators, Red Guitars, reform, supported by returning and massively underrated Liverpool scallydelia also-rans The Room.
SEPT 4th MANCHESTER Night & Day, 06 NEWCASTLE Cluny2, 07 GLASGOW Attic Garage, 08 LEEDS Old Woollen, 10 SHEFFIELD Dorothy Pax, 12 BRISTOL Exchange, 13 SOUTHAMPTON The Joiners, 14 BIRMINGHAM O2 Academy 3, 16 NORWICH Waterfront, 17 LONDON 100 Club, 18 OXFORD The Bullingdon, 20 BRIGHTON Chalk
DAN STUART Fearsome legend of ‘80s alt countrY, hard bitten novelist, and former Green on Red frontman SEPT 6th Stoke On Trent St Lawrence’s Church, 7th Nottingham Running Horse, 9th Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms, 10th Glasgow Glad Cafe
CODEINE Godfathers of slowcore reform and have one UK date, London Garage September 10th
ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN Another tilt at the infinite horizon from the cosmic scallies SEPT 12TH Nottingham Royal Concert Halls, 14th Edinburgh Usher Halls, 16th L’pool Bank Arena, 18th London Royal Albert Hall
DEATHCRASH Youthful slowcore revivalists SEPT 14th Leeds Mill Hill Chapel, 15th Glasgow CCA, 16th Salford White Hotel, 17th Bristol Cube, 23rd Dublin Workman’s Cellar, 28th London Fabric
BEVIS FROND - Psychedelic survivors of epic grandeur. Sept 7th Cambridge Portland Arms, 9th Liverpool Kazimier, 10th Glasgow Old Hairdresser’s, 11th M’cr Aatma, 12th Leeds Hyde Park Book Club, 14th Bristol Louisianna, 15th Leytonstone Social Club, 17th St Leonard’s Piper’s.
BLUE AEROPLANES/WAVE PICTURES Superb double bill of classic indie intellectuals. SEP 29th London Electric ballroom
THE SONICS ‘60s garage punks of ‘Have Love Will Travel’ and Strychnine fame, still slogging on OCT 12th Bristol Fleece, 13th London garage, 14th Glasgow Room 2, 17th Leeds Brudenell
CALEXICO Tucson’s cinematic desert rock band NOV 1st Bexhill-on-Sea Pavillion, 2nd London Electric Ballroom, 3rd Sunderland Fire Station, 4th M’cr New Century, 5th Dublin Helix
SLEAFORD MODS Shouting men NOV 22nd B’ham Academy, 23rd Glasgow Academy, 25th Dublin Academy, 28th Leeds Academy, 29th M’cr Victoria Warehouse, 30th Bristol Academy, DEC 2nd London Alexandra Palace (with me as support at the final one)
MICHAEL ROTHER Neu! noise man still motoring FEB 3rd 2024 London Barbican
6) A BOOK BUNDLE FROM THE LONDON REVIEW OF BOOKS
Stewart Lee: Laughing in the Face of the Inevitable
Price £100.00
Tax included.
To mark its twentieth anniversary, the London Review Bookshop has invited twenty writers and friends to name five indispensable books for navigating the next twenty years. Twenty limited edition bundles of Stewart Lee’s selections are now available, accompanied by an illustrated, numbered introductory note, signed by Stewart, and presented in a special anniversary tote bag (not available for general sale).
The Trial by Franz Kafka, translated by Idris Parry
I Hate the Internet by Jarett Kobek
This is Memorial Device by David Keenan
We Need New Stories by Nesrine Malik
Ashes to Admin by Evie King
7. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2023
Ruggero Deodato (Junk genius, 1939)
Kelly Monteith (Lucky pants stand-up, 1942)
Alan Rankine (Associate musician, 1958)
Darryl Hunt (Pogue bass, 1950)
Jeff Beck (He happened ten years time ago, 1944)
Jane Suck (punk chronicler, 195?)
Yukihiro Takahashi (Sadistic Mika Man, 1952)
Ronald Blythe (Akenfieldsman, 1922)
Piers Haggard (hack genius of Claw and Quatermass, 1932)
Van Connor (sturdy psychedelic tree, 1967)
David Sutherland (Bash Street basher, 1933)
David Crosby (Byrdmaniac, 1941)
Tom Verlaine (Sui generis genius Televisionary, 1949)
Peter Usborne (Generation-spooking publisher, 1937)
Tony Coe (Jazz panther, 1934)
Barry Humphries (Machenalian Australian, 1934)
Mark Stewart (Bristol pre-post-punk pioneer, 1960)
Gareth Richards (Comedian, 1979)
Johnny Fean (Horslips guitar bandit, 1951)
Frank Kozik (the Giotto of grunge, 1962)
Andy Smart (Bull-running comedian, 1959)
Alan Frank (Gateway ‘70s film scribe, 1942)
Algy Ward (Damned bass Saint, 1959)
Andy Rourke (Sainted bass Smith, 1964)
Pete Brown (Battered ornament, 1940)
George Logan (The Black Cap’s breakout Hinge, 1944)
Jah Shaka (Sound system shaker, 1948)
Spot (SST soundman, 1951)
Ahmad Jamal (cool jazz piano 1931)
Harry Belafonte (anti-apartheid boat singer, 1927)
Gordon Lightfoot (Fitzgerald wrecker, 1938)
Stu James (Mojo not working, 1945)
Jon Povey (Pretty bass Thing, 1942)
Broderick Smith (Singing Dingoe, 1948)
Wee Willie Harris (2 I’s wild man, 1933)
Cliff Fish (Paper Bass, 1949)
Simon Emerson (Afro-Celt Weekender and a very nice man, 1956)
Bruce Barthol (Fish bass, 1947)
Top Topham (Yardbird & man with ‘top’ twice in name, 1947)
Renee Geyer (Voice of Sun, 1947)
Tony McPhee (Hoglord, 1944)
Martin Duffy (He Felt the keys, 1967)
Jack Lee (He nervously hung on the telephone, 1952)
Cormac McCarthy (The real writing deal, 1933)
Peter Brotzmann (Machine-gunner, 1941)
Henrietta Soames (Novelist, theatregoer, gardener, guerrilla rose grower, 1958)
Bill Allerton (Outstanding Stand Out Gentleman disc dealer)
Lord Creator (Rocksteady artistocrat, 1935)
Blackie Onassis (Urge Overkiller, 1966)
Tony Butler (Alan Partridge of Birmingham, 1935)
Jane Birkin (Je t’aime, 1946)
Stewart Lee
2023-07-31T13:32:25+01:00
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE “I DON’T THINK THAT’ T-SHIRTS WAX FACE return to the crowded official Stewart Lee t-shirt marketplace with their most self-consciously cool design yet, cynically targeted at the ageing indie-hipster audience that make up Stewart's delusional following. "I don't think that. I think the opposite of that.", is Stewart's philosophy of comedy boiled down to one zen-sized nugget, serving as a chest-sized signal to other secret adepts, and offering protection against psychic attack. 'I Don't Think That, I Think The Opposite Of That' is the Stewart Lee T-Shirt available on Pre-Order now via https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee The T-Shirt available in two colourways. Silk Screened and hand printed on Anthem Organic t-shirts. 2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now. Snowflake is here. & Tornado is here. 3. BASIC LEE The tour of the new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, resumes active service at the Leicester Square Theatre in December and nationwide from January 2024 December 2023 Saturday 9th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 11th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 12th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 13th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 14th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Friday 15th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Saturday 16th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 18th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 19th...
The redoubtable independent production company, Farty Television, have offered £100million to take over the digital channel BBC Three, which is facing a radical on-line only future, due to government assaults on the licence fee.
Though public fondness for BBC Three rests largely on the reputations of quality programs like Gavin and Stacey (Baby Cow), Pulling (Silver River), The Mighty Boosh (Baby Cow) Little Britain (BBC), and 15 Storeys High (BBC), Farty Television's cheap and cheerful BBC3 filler (Snuffle Farty's Good Farts, and Live at the Farthouse), has been a vital ingredient of the channel's identity, and a tragic part of its appeal to the elusive 16 to 16-and-a-half years old demographic.
Farty Television's BBC Three shows have usually been heavily weighted towards featuring farts managed by Farty Television's sister company Farty Management, the farts' fees often going towards servicing debts incurred whilst working in Edinburgh with Farty Television's live wing, Farty Promotions. But the ongoing existence of a public marketplace, such as BBC Three, for Farty Management's farts remains vital.
If Farty Management's farts catch the public imagination they can be sent out on lucrative tours, where the farts are released into vast sports auditoriums for delighted audiences to smell. Farty International can't allow the fart elevating platform of BBC Three to disappear, as it is vital fan wafting their farts towards the open mouths of the public.
Beyond BBC Three, Farty Television's program portfolio is vast in width, if not always rich in quality; Farty Fartball (BBC2), Smelly Farter Farts (Paramount), The Fart Zone (Paramount), Unfarted (ITV), Fart Gentlefarts Fart (Sky), The Fart Show (BBC1), I Love My Farts (BBC1), Farty Phil's TV Fart (ITV1), Farty Old Farts (BBC2), Farty Farton's Well Farty Farts (BBC3), That Sunday Night Fart (BBC3), Farter (BBC Radio 4), Fart Hunt (ITV1), Fart, Fart and Fart (BBC2), You Can Chose Your Farts (ITV1), Fart To Fart (BBC3), Farts for Lunch (BBC Radio 2), Touch Me, I'm Farty Farter (BBC3), The Three Day Fart (C4), The Fart Gang (BBC2), The Farts On A Plate (C4), Three Farts In A Fart (BBC2), Farts Now And Then (UKTV), Farts and Farters (BBC1), Animal Farts and Farters (BBC1), The Nightmare Fart Next Door (C5), and The Nightmare Fart Next Door Extreme(C5).
Perhaps Farty Television are aware that being able to slap a BBC logo on their product would, despite the ongoing attempts of freemarket evangelists to discredit and destroy the idea of public broadcasting, give it a credibility abroad and at home that its content alone might not. But would the BBC Three brand be part of the deal anyway?
The Farty company, and its many subsidiaries, are built in the image of its founder, Donald Farty. Farty prides himself on the fact that, even though he is now the director of a successful multinational content provider, he still has a nose for farts. Donald Farty remains involved at grassroots level in the entrapment of new farts, and is still excited by the process. 'If I am out in a bar or a toilet and I smell a smelly fart, or see one coming out of someone's bum, I gulp it up into my mouth and run home with the fart stuck in there. Then, at home, I burp the new fart out into a screw top jar and trap it so I can explain the benefits of Farty Management to it. Sometimes, in the end, the farts escape, or leak out, or loose their smelliness, but the brilliant thing is there are always new farts out there for me to catch. And there always will be. There will always be farts. I think so anyway.'
Farty Television's plans for BBC Three promise that 'all existing contracts would be honored', indicating though any of the channel's current deals with independent content providers would be safe, though crucially it says nothing about renewing or extending them. And when it says 'all original commissions would be made by UK companies', which UK companies would these be? Perhaps some of the many other smaller independents, which have all been assiduously bought up by Farty Television over the last decade or so, such as Farty Smelle, Fartbox, Flaming Farts, and Topical Farts.
Perhaps Farty could appear to fulfil any broadcasting industry obligation to make contracts with a host of other content suppliers, while in fact just channeling more and more farts quietly through up his own backdoor. There is of course no suggestion that this is what the company is intending to do. The ancient BBC forefather Lord Reith, clearly unfamiliar with modern notions of hot-desking and the virtual office, rose spinning from his tomb today to demand that whatever fixtures and fittings remain of BBC3 be destroyed as a precautionary measure, to prevent their appropriation by what he sees as the enemies of Reithian values.
'No blade of grass, not a pane of glass, not a plug socket, or a doorknob or a light fitting must remain,' he bellowed, shaking his gory locks. 'Destroy it all. Raise BBC Three to the ground lest she fall into the hands of these rapacious railroad privateers. And make no mistake, Farty are pirates. Their extension of a helping hand towards BBC3 is merely a rapacious digital land-grab disguised as an act of philanthropy, no more convincing that Vladimir Putin's concerned humanitarian excursions into ailing former Soviet states. To accommodate Farty's empire-building ambition in what was a publicly owned arena would be a betrayal of everything the BBC stood for, worse than the David Attenborough baby polar bear scandal and when those actors all mumbled in that historical drama last year. If I wasn't already dead I would kill myself.'
Can it be right that Conservative cuts to the license fee weaken areas of the BBC so that they can no longer be serviced fully, and yet these areas still remain attractive to private companies? Then, having been made non-viable by the government, these assets, despite having been established by public funding, are suddenly attractive to, and then sold on to, the government's friends in big businesses to exploit, depriving the public of seeing the benefits of their own decades long investment? It's happened in every other area of British life from Postage to Energy to Transport to Education to Health. It appears to be a deliberate strategy. Why shouldn't it happen in the, if anything even more important, area of Youth Orientated Comedy Television too?
Or was Farty's proposal even serious? Perhaps not. In the last few weeks Farty's PR wing appear to have hired some bright spark from the Vladislav Surkov school of propaganda, distributing disorientating headline grabbing stories that land with heavy impact in an increasingly desperate and ephemeral news pond but which, while placing Farty in the public eye, may not serve to distract from the standards of much of its product and the nature of its business practices.
Stewart Lee
2015-01-21T18:56:17+00:00
The redoubtable independent production company, Farty Television, have offered £100million to take over the digital channel BBC Three, which is facing a radical on-line only future, due to government assaults on the licence fee. Though public fondness for BBC Three rests largely on the reputations of quality programs like Gavin and Stacey (Baby Cow), Pulling (Silver River), The Mighty Boosh (Baby Cow) Little Britain (BBC), and 15 Storeys High (BBC), Farty Television's cheap and cheerful BBC3 filler (Snuffle Farty's Good Farts, and Live at the Farthouse), has been a vital ingredient of the channel's identity, and a tragic part of its appeal to the elusive 16 to 16-and-a-half years old demographic. Farty Television's BBC Three shows have usually been heavily weighted towards featuring farts managed by Farty Television's sister company Farty Management, the farts' fees often going towards servicing debts incurred whilst working in Edinburgh with Farty Television's live wing, Farty Promotions. But the ongoing existence of a public marketplace, such as BBC Three, for Farty Management's farts remains vital. If Farty Management's farts catch the public imagination they can be sent out on lucrative tours, where the farts are released into vast sports auditoriums for delighted audiences to smell. Farty International can't allow the fart elevating platform of BBC Three to disappear, as it is vital fan wafting their farts towards the open mouths of the public. Beyond BBC Three, Farty Television's program portfolio is vast in width, if not always rich in quality; Farty Fartball (BBC2), Smelly Farter Farts (Paramount), The Fart Zone (Paramount), Unfarted (ITV), Fart Gentlefarts Fart (Sky), The Fart Show (BBC1), I Love My Farts (BBC1), Farty Phil's TV Fart (ITV1), Farty Old Farts (BBC2), Farty Farton's Well Farty Farts (BBC3), That Sunday Night Fart (BBC3), Farter (BBC Radio 4), Fart Hunt (ITV1), Fart, Fart...
Like Lee’s self-confession, I too felt like an unwelcome guest of a new social class. I harked back to last year and the rightly condemned show Lee had attempted and I braced myself for a long afternoon. I’m glad I was wrong. This might have been a work in progress, but as Lee announced “You should feel privileged to be witness to an artist at work”. Lee confessed his want to test out two new routines, with the intention the material be involved in his new TV series later this year, which will be well worth the viewing. Being a test, there were areas of raggedness and uncertainty, but Lee (a 20 year veteran of the Fringe) knows and is a master of tying up loose ends, everything has meaning, so even the most forgettable moments or lost jokes are not left behind. “Remember the 90’s, when I was funny?” Lee asked the crowd. Methodical, progressive, abstract, stimulating imagination, multi-layered anecdotes, all adjectives I think of when recalling Lee’s style from that era and again here today, this was Lee back to his (almost) prime. Lee clearly knew he had neglected these aspects of his approach last year and brought them back with a vengeance this time around, with the added momentum building complaint that evolved in to a full blown rant and a fourth wall break.
This was indeed a room with a Stew, but this was a show all about his time and his understanding of it, with an undercurrent of moral, fatherly suggestion; don’t worry, everything has a reason. From the second Lee started looking at his watch to allocating minutes to routine, to his trips down memory lane, his current state of financial security, to his perceived doomed future….and beyond, all the time berating self in comparison and deflecting this negativity on to the unfortunate chosen area of the crowd. Rounded off with what I perceived the cleverest twist he could have hoped for; the tragic irony that all this time his own perceptions of himself have been misunderstood.
Ps. I wish I made enough money so I too could purchase a chair, I would have brought it with me.
Coroner’s report: His pulse is steady, full signs of life 8/10.
Venue: Lee 2/10, me 5/10.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-19T18:02:38+01:00
Like Lee’s self-confession, I too felt like an unwelcome guest of a new social class. I harked back to last year and the rightly condemned show Lee had attempted and I braced myself for a long afternoon. I’m glad I was wrong. This might have been a work in progress, but as Lee announced “You should feel privileged to be witness to an artist at work”. Lee confessed his want to test out two new routines, with the intention the material be involved in his new TV series later this year, which will be well worth the viewing. Being a test, there were areas of raggedness and uncertainty, but Lee (a 20 year veteran of the Fringe) knows and is a master of tying up loose ends, everything has meaning, so even the most forgettable moments or lost jokes are not left behind. “Remember the 90’s, when I was funny?” Lee asked the crowd. Methodical, progressive, abstract, stimulating imagination, multi-layered anecdotes, all adjectives I think of when recalling Lee’s style from that era and again here today, this was Lee back to his (almost) prime. Lee clearly knew he had neglected these aspects of his approach last year and brought them back with a vengeance this time around, with the added momentum building complaint that evolved in to a full blown rant and a fourth wall break. This was indeed a room with a Stew, but this was a show all about his time and his understanding of it, with an undercurrent of moral, fatherly suggestion; don’t worry, everything has a reason. From the second Lee started looking at his watch to allocating minutes to routine, to his trips down memory lane, his current state of financial security, to his perceived doomed future….and beyond, all the time berating self in...
In April this year, I rammed my forty-six year old self into the 150 capacity 12 Bar club in Denmark Street, Soho. On stage, a tall haunted man bobbed to the beats of his laptop like an aging rave survivor lurking in a municipal park, and another twitched and ranted like the cash-cadging last orders cokehead he might once have been. A conflagration of showbiz tastemakers and dedicated fans agreed that something superb was happening. Despite thirty-three years of weekly gig going, I've rarely been in the right place at the right time. I may have missed The Sex Pistols at The Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1976, but I was there for Sleaford Mods at the 12 Bar in 2014. And now Sleaford Mods have descended upon me, like an enormous yes.
Jason Williamson, a brick-built office worker long marinated in quietly suppressed fury, started recording as Sleaford Mods in 2007, dropping dirty realist observations in a distinct East Midlands argot over home-grown sample-heavy slabs. Things stepped up a gear in 2011 when Andrew Fearn, a lanky laptop jockey with laughing eyes who lives in a perpetual state of secret amusement, arrived with his hydroponically nurtured musical hybrids, floppy dance rhythms cross-pollinated with Peely post-punk noise.
"When we first got together," recalls Williamson, "I just told him to make it faster and sound like the Wu Tang Clan." "Jason was a bit suspicious of me," Fearns remembers, "I'd make a mix-tape with The Butthole Surfers and Abba on it. He didn't know what would work. I'd put a synth pad or something in and he'd say, 'No. Change that for a car alarm.'"
When I first heard Sleaford Mods' genre-collapsing speed-poetry I imagined I'd finally stumbled across young people making obviously contemporary records that nonetheless matched the incendiary energy of similarly smouldering sounds that had scorched me decades ago– The Specials, The Fall, Husker Du, Conflict and Public Enemy. But the duo, it turns out, were in their early forties, having served long apprenticeships in the Nottinghamshire music scene; Fearns nurturing a larder of supposedly incompatible sources to draw upon; Williamson accruing a lifetime's supply of archly observed turns of phrase and awkward situations to concertina, cut-up style, into car-crash images of quiet desperation.
"I suck on a roll-up. Pull your jeans up. Fuck off! I'm going home."(Jobseeker, Chubbed Up, 2014)
Jaded middle class opinion formers like me trip over themselves to declare Sleaford Mods the authentic voice of the English provincial working class, a bona-fide Prole Art Threat, to quote The Fall. In the 1930s, the American folk song collector John Lomax employed the jailbird bluesman Lead Belly as a driver come butler, whilst also recording his music, and there's something crass and telling about the way metropolitan media treats Sleaford Mods' distinctive voice, the sort rarely heard today outside of poverty porn TV, as somehow exotic. But standing in the smokers' courtyard of a sensitively refitted olde London pub in newly gentrified Finsbury Park, the sort of disputed cultural territory Sleaford Mods regularly mock, it becomes clear these marginalised outsiders are within snatching difference of the keys to pop music's executive toilets. But will they smash up the cistern or just redecorate?
"Who gives a fuck about yesterday's heroes, who seem to think that they are still today's heroes? It's not a pyramid, you're not a fucking pharaoh." (Pubic Hair Ltd, Austerity Dogs 2013)
"Johnny Borrell fucks off to an island for four months at the height of his fame. Was the country bothered? Was it fuck. He made a massively bad calculation, the thick cunt."(6 Horsemen (The Brixtons), Tiswas 2014)
I put it to Sleaford Mods that, given the naked hostility they appear to display to identifiable individuals, they're lucky there is some separation between them and the characters that narrate the songs. The ungrateful houseguest in You're Brave, (on the last album Divide And Exit), who ridicules Chumbawumba, secretly masturbates in his "fucking tit-rifle" host's toilet, and then nicks his biscuits, as some obscure act of social justice, is not the same person as the suddenly conscience stricken drug consumer in 2011's Double Diamond, who takes issue with a dealer supplying to crack-addicted prostitutes.
So who is firing off these zeitgeist-derailing zingers and insulting all these pop stars? Is it Sleaford Mods themselves or a succession of different semi-fictionalised characters? Fearn gives an answer that I suspect is slightly off-message; "They're being insulted by us really I think. But it's just a wind up as well, pub humour, where you take the piss out of your mates." But how will their Holy Fool outsider act play if Sleaford Mods become massive? "It remains to be seen. But I've been thinking about that a lot lately," says Williamson, typically more pensive. "It's inevitable that you are sucked in."
Fearn is acutely aware of how success might change the duo, but is enjoying the ride. "Manchester last week was amazing. There was this whirlwind of young people, all crowd surfing. Whatever is happening, it's here now. We just carry on doing what we do on stage but you can't control how it's going to be perceived. We've been trying to do things the traditional way, and you get a reputation for being real and hanging out in the bar but then there's kids everywhere wanting to talk to you and doing selfies…" He tails off. Williamson continues for him.. "And you can't carry on. Sleaford Mods has been wrapped in an energy dictated by being in full time work and having to dedicate 80% of your life to something you don't like. But when that changes you have to see how it goes from there."
Williamson's quitting his job this month to be a full time Sleaford Mod, but his stories are acutely informed by his workplace experiences, a strange mix of cynicism and empathy, contempt and pity. What will Sleaford Mods write about now? Will they get angry with journalists and air travel like Kelly Jones on the third Stereophonics album? Fearn isn't worried, and has touching faith in Williamson's abilities to find friction in things "as simple as the coining of British phrases, like 'You couldn't make it up'. It's such a British thing to say. Everything people say could be musical."
"I always found it hard to write love songs," confides Williamson, "with a bridge and a chorus, then I stopped trying and it came easily. What's interesting to me is the horribleness of everyday things, that ashtray on that table, the concrete on the floor, and I've been trying to hone in on that, thinking about what naturally comes out." Williamson sees magical strangeness in the banal, and his apprehension of the ashtray echoes Jean Paul Sartre's horrified encounter with a doorknob in the existentialist classic Nausea.
Jean Paul Sartre? Really? In the '80s the music press creaked with such heavyweight cultural names, dropped into Bananarama 7" reviews through ducts of newly minted critical theory. Today Sleaford Mods are making pop music sturdy and significant enough to take the pounding of music writers' art-crit ambitions. The car alarms and flushing toilets that Fearn chops into the tracks echo the unadorned urinal Marcel Ducamp dumped in an art gallery; and writing in The Wire, the academic Mark Fisher offered analysis of Sleaford Mods informed by concerns about global capitalism. There are things here to wrap your brain around, to take to your heart. But Williamson is worried about how reading such criticisms might influence the duo's work.
"I started to read Mark Fisher's Capitalist Realism after he reviewed our album because I thought the way he explained it was really interesting. He'd seen stuff we hadn't. But that kind of criticism makes you self-conscious. I don't want to do what we do to order. Now I could probably reel off something that sounded like A Level Government Politics or whatever if I wanted to but you are wary of doing that because a) it's really fucking patronising and b) it sounds shit as well. It's better to talk about the sociological things you've experienced in a 'feet on the ground' sense rather than an academic sense."
While Sleaford Mods' feet are definitely on the ground, Williamson's words and Fearn's occasional psychedelic touches conjure a visionary mood. Liveable Shit, from Divide And Exit, is a key track. It begins with the scatological satirical bent of a Viz comic strip, describing Williamson's daily workplace encounter with the same shitty smell and the co-worker responsible for it, then expands into a critique of the shitness of life, with David Cameron's face "hanging in the clouds like Gary Oldman's Dracula", lyrical allusions to acid-godfathers The Doors, and sudden watery sunspots of tonal backwash. William Blake saw heaven in a wild flower and eternity in a grain of sand. Williamson sees the world in an office toilet.
"Liveable Shit was based on seeing the same bloke in the same shirt going in the same toilet, where you spend most of the day, going backwards and forwards, drinking your coffee, in the same workplace at the same time every morning," Williamson remembers, "And we didn't get on anyway. I forget what his name was. He went for a job I was going for it and he fucking got it. And he turned up the next day in these fucking trousers, rocker's trousers – he was a rocker – and I went "You got the fucking job!"
Sleaford Mods' age and cultural and geographical positioning fingerprint their work, making it quintessentially English, and magically timeless, regurgitating decades' worth of reference points whilst remaining utterly contemporary. The new single Tiswas cites Chris Tarrant's forgotten early '80s comedy project OTT. And who talks about 'rockers' anymore anyway? Mark Fisher pointed out that even the duo's name seems like 'vintage graffiti', and I imagine it scrawled on an M6 motorway bridge sometime in the late '70s. Why 'Sleaford Mods'?
"It was just random one night," Williamson recalls. "The old engineer said, 'You've got five or six tunes here that are all really good. You're going to need a name sharpish.' I was sat in the pub and it just popped out. I like the Mod thing. It's not trying to be subtle. It's just like someone shouting 'MODS!'" Why 'Sleaford' though, a small Lincolnshire market town? And then someone from the NME uses the Gents behind the window in the pub courtyard and triggers the flush cycle. When I transcribe the tape the rest of The Sleaford Mods' conversation is masked by the sound of the gushing urinal. Beneath the flow I can just make out Williamson's still small voice, reaching back across the years. "I used to go to Sleaford, from Grantham, as a kid, with my parents, to go to the cinema and that. I saw Superman there, with Christopher Reeve. Sleaford was a real treat."
Sleaford Mods' Tiswas ep is available on Invada from Nov 24th. The Chubbed Up album is reissued on October 26th. They tour Britain this month and support The Specials in November. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle Series 2 is available on DVD and download from Nov 10th.
SWEARING SIDE-BAR
Sleaford Mods' are our current kings of swearing. But here's five of their forebears.
Philip Larkin – Sunny Prestatyn (1964), This Be The Verse (1971) and High Windows (1974). The Hull poet punched through poetic convention with well chosen expletives. "They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do."
George Carlin – Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television (1972). The brilliant American stand-up explores the cultural context of swearing. The seven words are shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits.
Crass – Reality Asylum 7" (1979) Anarcho-punk pioneer Eve Libertine's cut-glass voice intones, with impossible precision, a studiously blasphemous collage of holy imagery, feminist protest and fantastic swearing. "Fucklove prophet of death. You sigh alone in your cockfear. You lie alone in your cuntfear."
John Cooper Clarke – Evidently Chickentown (1980) The punk poet's howl against urban living is the ultimate versified fuckathon. "The fucking clocks are fucking wrong, The fucking days are fucking long, It fucking gets you fucking down, evidently chicken town."
The Opera Device – Stockhausen soprano soloist Lore Lixenberg circled the fringe of the '90s comedy circuit in a titanium bra crushing hecklers with operatically arranged put-downs like "Fuck off you cunt", composed by future Jerry Springer The Opera creator Richard Thomas.
Stewart Lee
2014-10-01T21:16:19+01:00
In April this year, I rammed my forty-six year old self into the 150 capacity 12 Bar club in Denmark Street, Soho. On stage, a tall haunted man bobbed to the beats of his laptop like an aging rave survivor lurking in a municipal park, and another twitched and ranted like the cash-cadging last orders cokehead he might once have been. A conflagration of showbiz tastemakers and dedicated fans agreed that something superb was happening. Despite thirty-three years of weekly gig going, I've rarely been in the right place at the right time. I may have missed The Sex Pistols at The Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1976, but I was there for Sleaford Mods at the 12 Bar in 2014. And now Sleaford Mods have descended upon me, like an enormous yes. Jason Williamson, a brick-built office worker long marinated in quietly suppressed fury, started recording as Sleaford Mods in 2007, dropping dirty realist observations in a distinct East Midlands argot over home-grown sample-heavy slabs. Things stepped up a gear in 2011 when Andrew Fearn, a lanky laptop jockey with laughing eyes who lives in a perpetual state of secret amusement, arrived with his hydroponically nurtured musical hybrids, floppy dance rhythms cross-pollinated with Peely post-punk noise. "When we first got together," recalls Williamson, "I just told him to make it faster and sound like the Wu Tang Clan." "Jason was a bit suspicious of me," Fearns remembers, "I'd make a mix-tape with The Butthole Surfers and Abba on it. He didn't know what would work. I'd put a synth pad or something in and he'd say, 'No. Change that for a car alarm.'" When I first heard Sleaford Mods' genre-collapsing speed-poetry I imagined I'd finally stumbled across young people making obviously contemporary records that nonetheless matched the incendiary energy...
All comedy is essentially divisive. If jokes have an essential direction and attitude, there's always going to be someone who's not happy with the way a joke is going and how it's getting there.
For example, I cite the scientific research conducted by Channel 4, which found that 99.99997 per cent of the human race thinks that the funniest thing ever is Del Boy falling through the bar on Only Fools And Horses. That 0.00003% is down to three people. One's been in a coma since 1975, one is David Jason, who fractured his pelvis falling through the bar and finds that even watching a repeat on a clip show can bring on excruciating twinges. The other person is Stewart Lee.
Stewart Lee is arguably the most divisive comedian working on television at the moment. He can divide hitherto close families and communities, causing gaping unhealable rifts in a manner which organised religion or racial intolerance can only dream of.
For Christmas I was bought a copy of the DVD If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One, and for a few months it became my obsession to inflict it on anyone who visited my home, effectively using it as a replacement to This IS Spinal Tap, Withnail & I or Bill Hicks's Goatboy routine as my gauge of the calibre of my visitors. If you liked Stewart Lee then all was well with you and I would open up the chocolate biscuits. Express impatience and confusion and I wouldn't even dust off the rich teas for you.
There were some interesting results. My own father, a self-confessed fan of Michael McIntyre (why hast thou forsaken me?), found himself oddly hypnotised by the quiet calm delivery and repetition until holy, purifying laughter was dragged forth from his very soul like some comedy exorcism.
'I'll say one thing for that guy, he's got balls,' Dad interjected every ten minutes or so, if anything enhancing the DVD experience. My ex-boyfriend however, normally a sarcastic intellectual with an unassailably solid sense of humour, became filled with irrational loathing for Lee within the first five minutes ('What is this boring crap?'), suggesting he may have once been abused by a paedophile in Cafe Nero, and making me realise how right I'd been to end the relationship.
My experiments invariably had the same polarising effect on any given group of guests. Search Stewart Lee on Twitter at around 11.30pm on Wednesday night and you'll see that for every comedian or writer rejoicing in the man's genius there will be ten punters frothing poisonous spleen at the very gall of BBC Two for showing someone who just doesn't make them laugh in the same way that McIntyre or somebody called Russell can. This is why Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is the most important television programme of the past 30 years.
I've always been drawn to Stewart Lee since his too-cool-for-school days as the sneering, smartarse cynic counterbalancing Richard Herring's effusive schoolboy on seminal shows Fist Of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy. There's an odd appeal about Lee's face, like a slightly wonky pie or the crumpled Cornish pasty that you're drawn to in a bakers because you suspect its irregular crust promises crispy bits where the fat has bubbled through the pastry and an unctuous oozing of nourishing gravy.
The Fist Of Fun era was supposedly a golden time for a burgeoning comedy scene, developed from the post- punk alternative reaction to the dinosaur gag merchants who dominated Seventis television. Remember the Seventis? Remember Charlie Williams and Bernard Manning on ITV's The Comedians, like Uncle Tom and his Cabbie? Remember the rise of Russ Abbott? It was crap wasn't it?
Remember the Eighties? Remember Friday Night Live with Ben Elton before everyone knew what a good accountant he had? Remember the Young Ones? It was great wasn't it? Like Comedy Jesus had returned smiling to earth. And the Nineties were even more awesome, at last comedy could be pleased with itself, it was right-on yet it was still funny; Guardian readers loved it, and it was on the telly. But early Nineties Stewart Lee wasn't about to complacently rest on his laurels, and spat youthful contempt at 'lazy boring comedy slags'; hangers on to the coattails of alternative comedy garnering cheap laughs from vacuous material like Pavlov ringing a bell. He was like the little boy who realised that the Emperor's New Clothes were non-existent, trying innocently to shake everybody else out of their smug ironic stupor.
Nowadays Stewart Lee still is the little boy who saw through the Emperor's new clothes, but he's emotionally scarred and traumatised through having had to look at a naked liar for so long. By aping and replaying the soothing patterns of today's reassuring mainstream comic heroes, Lee hopes to jolt us out of our indifferent consumption of over-priced and devalued ideas. It isn't to everyone's taste. Some people just want to be made to laugh, not think.
These people accuse Stewart Lee of being 'smug', just because they think hegemony is something you buy a privet with. They haven't realised that the true smugness and superiority lies in their supposed heroes who snicker their way to the bank through bland, poorly thought-out observational humour, urging you to join them in their fool's dance of falsely conjured laughter.
Every time a twentysomething energetic faux mummy's boy puts on a silly voice, like something out of a Carry On film, and the audience erupt into hysterical convulsions, just as they've been trained to by watching Mock The Week; every time a bloke resembling the personification of one of the bad pigs in Animal Farm waggles his head and pops his eyes to signal to his fans that it's chuckle time; every time you watch TV and a laugh sneaks out at one of these cynical churned out moments, a piece of our collective humanity dies.
I think that's what Stewart Lee's trying to tell us, and that's why it's so important to watch his Comedy Vehicle, because like our recent wasted chance to change the vote, it's probably going to be the last opportunity of its kind to challenge the status quo for a few decades. Plus it's really, really funny.
Stewart Lee
2011-06-02T21:48:14+01:00
All comedy is essentially divisive. If jokes have an essential direction and attitude, there's always going to be someone who's not happy with the way a joke is going and how it's getting there. For example, I cite the scientific research conducted by Channel 4, which found that 99.99997 per cent of the human race thinks that the funniest thing ever is Del Boy falling through the bar on Only Fools And Horses. That 0.00003% is down to three people. One's been in a coma since 1975, one is David Jason, who fractured his pelvis falling through the bar and finds that even watching a repeat on a clip show can bring on excruciating twinges. The other person is Stewart Lee. Stewart Lee is arguably the most divisive comedian working on television at the moment. He can divide hitherto close families and communities, causing gaping unhealable rifts in a manner which organised religion or racial intolerance can only dream of. For Christmas I was bought a copy of the DVD If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One, and for a few months it became my obsession to inflict it on anyone who visited my home, effectively using it as a replacement to This IS Spinal Tap, Withnail & I or Bill Hicks's Goatboy routine as my gauge of the calibre of my visitors. If you liked Stewart Lee then all was well with you and I would open up the chocolate biscuits. Express impatience and confusion and I wouldn't even dust off the rich teas for you. There were some interesting results. My own father, a self-confessed fan of Michael McIntyre (why hast thou forsaken me?), found himself oddly hypnotised by the quiet calm delivery and repetition until holy, purifying laughter was dragged forth from his very...
Many on the left have blamed Keir Starmer, and the white working class’s perceived abandonment by Labour’s patronising metropolitan elite, for the political survival of the corrupt liar Boris Johnson. And it helps that Johnson showered our body-strewn streets with costly vaccines, like a negligent drunken father suddenly treating his starving children to a spaff-up Saturday dinner at McDonald’s. But Starmer alone cannot be held responsible for failing to inculcate a sense of Johnson’s mendacity into, for example, the citizens of Hartlepool. They are, after all, people whose forebears hanged a monkey in case it was French. One may as well try to teach wool to sing.
In a civilised democracy, a shameless pariah such as Boris Johnson should not thrive. The fact that he can is evidence not simply of Starmer’s shortcomings, but of a dereliction of duty by the nation’s cowed media, which have a moral responsibility to explain clearly to the electorate why Johnson is unsuitable for office; and by its trembling cultural institutions, which should be using public funds to discredit Johnson daily in mediums such as drama, sculpture, dance, tasteful nudity and the morris. This is what they are for.
Instead, the BBC’s political editor, Laura Kuenssberg, is an undaunted Johnson fantasist who looks at the prime minister with the same loyal longing that the Welsh myth-hound Gelert gazed upon his lord Llywelyn, later to slaughter the dog in a hut. Last week, Kuenssberg spaffed 2,000 words up the wall of the publicly funded journalism toilet of the BBC while avoiding calling the prime minister categorically dishonest and finding more than a dozen gently teasing synonyms for lying. What larks! Greater love hath no political editor than to lay down her credibility for her lord.
Johnson, according to Kuenssberg and her unnamed sources, “chooses to remember certain things or not remember others”. Johnson’s “attitude to the truth and facts is not based on what is real and what is not, but is driven by what… he desires, rather than what he believes”. Johnson is a “fibster”, a “pseudophile”, a “verb fluffer” and a “truth felcher”. The “white thighs of Johnson’s desires are too slippery to grasp the dance pole of truth”. The “wallpaper paste of Johnson’s lie-spaff rarely sploshes on to the decorator’s radio of fact”. And Johnson “orders the truth to suit his ambitions”. In short, the BBC’s political editor blames the feckless universe itself for not conforming to Johnson’s view of it. How inconvenient of space and time to bow relentlessly to the unbending laws of physics!
All through this land, where Christ’s foot once did walk, the Conservatives seek to limit broadcasters’ and cultural organisations’ abilities to inform and entertain and to hold the proven liar Boris Johnson to account, by stuffing their administrative bodies with supporters and by removing pesky intellectuals and black people. The government attempted to block Mary Beard as a trustee of the British Museum because of her pro-European views and because beards mean beatniks; the former Daily Mail editor Paul Dacre is poised to regulate British media as the new head of Ofcom, a move akin to giving Jimmy Savile the keys to a morgue; the government-appointed BBC chair, banker Richard Sharp, donated £400,000 to the Conservatives. And yet even Sharp must know that a BBC so toothless it allows the clearly wrongful Johnson to reign unchecked, instead of driving the populace to No 10 with flaming torches, is not doing its publicly funded job and must offer his resignation.
As should the culture secretary, Oliver Dowden. Aristotelian ethics maintain art should save society from itself. Johnson’s rising ratings evidence Dowden’s failure to inspire and support creatives. The descendants of those ennobled by William the Conqueror still control the majority of wealth and power in Britain. The Conservatives’ placement of pliant ghouls in positions of inappropriate influence could strangle our news sources and art funnels for ever. Conscientious board members, such as Royal Museums Greenwich’s Sir Charles Dunstone, quit in protest, exposing Britannia’s white flanks, a culture war win for the Conservatives. But someone, a visionary artist of course, saw this coming.
Like many postwar comics writers, the anglophile X-Men scribe Chris Claremont, who bought my bored mother a coffee at the 1979 Birmingham Comics Convention, was an accidental seer in pixelated panels. In 1989, in Marvel’s Excalibur issue 13, Claremont posited a prophetic storyline. The do-gooding mutants and philanthropic aristocrats of the Arthurian-inspired British super-team Excalibur ™ ® were partially replaced, at the Conservative government’s insistence, with right-leaning loyalist mortals. The Bavarian circus-freak Nightcrawler ™ ® was substituted for the News of the World’s 71-year-old “Voice of Reason” Lord Woodrow Wyatt, who viewed Britain’s black population as being largely “lawless, drug-taking, violent and unemployable”. The teenage telepath Shadowcat ™ ® was benched for TV’s 64-year-old Record Breakers fact-fascist Norris McWhirter, a far-right Freedom Association figurehead opposed to sanctions on apartheid South Africa. Meggan ™ ® the Gypsy bat-girl surrendered her place to Mary Whitehouse, the crimplene-faced 79-year-old sex-arbiter from the National Viewers’ And Listeners’ Association. The comic’s preteen readership was traumatised.
Though the Excalibur ™ ® team still included fan-favourites Captain Britain ™ ®, the orange space-dragon Lockheed ™ ® and the alternate Earth incarnation of Phoenix ™ ®, the Wyatt/McWhirter/Whitehouse version swiftly relocated its headquarters from Lord Braddock’s enchanted Cornish lighthouse to the cramped offices of an opaquely funded, right-leaning thinktank, the Policy Study Centre for Centralised Policy Studies, at 55 Tufton Street, London. How could coffee-proffering Chris Claremont have known, that in just over four decades, his vision of noble British institutions infested with gerrymandered Conservative wreckers would come terrifyingly true?
Stewart Lee
2021-05-09T15:24:56+01:00
Many on the left have blamed Keir Starmer, and the white working class’s perceived abandonment by Labour’s patronising metropolitan elite, for the political survival of the corrupt liar Boris Johnson. And it helps that Johnson showered our body-strewn streets with costly vaccines, like a negligent drunken father suddenly treating his starving children to a spaff-up Saturday dinner at McDonald’s. But Starmer alone cannot be held responsible for failing to inculcate a sense of Johnson’s mendacity into, for example, the citizens of Hartlepool. They are, after all, people whose forebears hanged a monkey in case it was French. One may as well try to teach wool to sing. In a civilised democracy, a shameless pariah such as Boris Johnson should not thrive. The fact that he can is evidence not simply of Starmer’s shortcomings, but of a dereliction of duty by the nation’s cowed media, which have a moral responsibility to explain clearly to the electorate why Johnson is unsuitable for office; and by its trembling cultural institutions, which should be using public funds to discredit Johnson daily in mediums such as drama, sculpture, dance, tasteful nudity and the morris. This is what they are for. Instead, the BBC’s political editor, Laura Kuenssberg, is an undaunted Johnson fantasist who looks at the prime minister with the same loyal longing that the Welsh myth-hound Gelert gazed upon his lord Llywelyn, later to slaughter the dog in a hut. Last week, Kuenssberg spaffed 2,000 words up the wall of the publicly funded journalism toilet of the BBC while avoiding calling the prime minister categorically dishonest and finding more than a dozen gently teasing synonyms for lying. What larks! Greater love hath no political editor than to lay down her credibility for her lord. Johnson, according to Kuenssberg and her unnamed sources, “chooses to...
Stewart Lee’s previous stand-up show, Content Provider, is one of my top 10 sets of all time. His follow-up, Tornado/Snowflake, lumbers a little under the weight of expectation, but it’s an enviable load to carry.
This is ostensibly two shows divided by an interval, but the distinction between them is a little blurred. Both spend more time mocking his career and ridiculing individual comedians than Content Provider did. He’s the self-described figurehead of the metropolitan elite, yet his references to political events are muted. There is, though, a deftly constructed routine lacerating the complaint of his gran’s demographic — “It’s political correctness gone mad!” — that he deploys as a brutally eloquent defence of the snowflake generation.
Tornado sees him despairing at the state of his career and his health. “I’m deaf, I’m blind, I’m grey, I’m fat,” the 51-year-old sighs, recounting the levelling experience of a nurse suggesting he do some “chair-based activity”.
For some time, he explains, the online description of his Netflix special had, inexplicably, been taken from the site’s entry on the inane Sharknado disaster films, in which sharks rain down on terrified Americans.
From here, he moves on to roast comedians whose sets haven’t been misbilled by Netflix: Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappelle. The last of these is the lead in an extended mini drama he creates around the night he performed in the same venue as the American comic and tried to befriend him.
Those who have read his book, which meticulously unpicks his own routines, know that, in theory at least, there are two Stewart Lees: the amiable real person and the irascible comic he constructs. Just as theatrical mask work pretends to hide the performer, but actually magnifies them, so Stewart Lee the Comedian allows Lee space to create fantastical riffs around real events — such as the surreal finale to his Chappelle routine, which involves a chase through the streets of Soho.
Tornado ends with an unexpected parody of Alan Bennett’s prose, prompted by the writer’s faint praise that Lee is “the JL Austin of what is now rather a sloppy profession”. There is something about the comic’s lilting Yorkshire accent and facial contortions here that feels positively playful.
The second half, Snowflake, is the stronger by far, dealing with what can and can’t be said in these fevered times. He returns to savage Gervais and other self-proclaimed victims who aim to “say the unsayable” by literally doing just that: hilariously attempting to force “unsayable” words past the barrier of his teeth.
What makes Snowflake fly is his abrupt ideological swerves. He teases lefties who have been “starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement” since Content Provider. He’s probably the first liberal to skewer Phoebe Waller-Bridge and the praise lavished on her to-camera asides in Fleabag. Her woke 007 he imagines as a futile, sexless spy reduced to bizarre forms of bestiality. There are parodies of Enid Blyton’s racism, a father’s despair at computer games, even a comedy song as a finale. His shtick is beautifully pointed, but, given the box-office success of this show, should be received as ironically as it’s given.
Stewart Lee
2019-12-01T21:41:41+00:00
Stewart Lee’s previous stand-up show, Content Provider, is one of my top 10 sets of all time. His follow-up, Tornado/Snowflake, lumbers a little under the weight of expectation, but it’s an enviable load to carry. This is ostensibly two shows divided by an interval, but the distinction between them is a little blurred. Both spend more time mocking his career and ridiculing individual comedians than Content Provider did. He’s the self-described figurehead of the metropolitan elite, yet his references to political events are muted. There is, though, a deftly constructed routine lacerating the complaint of his gran’s demographic — “It’s political correctness gone mad!” — that he deploys as a brutally eloquent defence of the snowflake generation. Tornado sees him despairing at the state of his career and his health. “I’m deaf, I’m blind, I’m grey, I’m fat,” the 51-year-old sighs, recounting the levelling experience of a nurse suggesting he do some “chair-based activity”. For some time, he explains, the online description of his Netflix special had, inexplicably, been taken from the site’s entry on the inane Sharknado disaster films, in which sharks rain down on terrified Americans. From here, he moves on to roast comedians whose sets haven’t been misbilled by Netflix: Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappelle. The last of these is the lead in an extended mini drama he creates around the night he performed in the same venue as the American comic and tried to befriend him. Those who have read his book, which meticulously unpicks his own routines, know that, in theory at least, there are two Stewart Lees: the amiable real person and the irascible comic he constructs. Just as theatrical mask work pretends to hide the performer, but actually magnifies them, so Stewart Lee the Comedian allows Lee space to create fantastical riffs...
Box Sets were once the preserve of canonical Mojo magazine cover stars. Now everyone's liquidizing their assets before all recorded music becomes worthless. Here's four CDs of Australia's finest Eighties pre-grunge unknowns, feedtime.
With two founder members that liked Seventies cock rock and pre-war blues respectively, feedtime flayed Duracel bunny roots rhythms with hardcore noise, slung over Wire's minimalist post-punk clothes horse, and anchored with high-gravity bass suction power. The sticker on the box calls feedtime 'avant-garde pub rock', which wil do fine.
The last disc's occasional concessions aside, feedtime's time-travelling conceptual blues-noise suddenly and belatedly makes piquant sense.
Stewart Lee
2012-09-16T19:33:05+01:00
Box Sets were once the preserve of canonical Mojo magazine cover stars. Now everyone's liquidizing their assets before all recorded music becomes worthless. Here's four CDs of Australia's finest Eighties pre-grunge unknowns, feedtime. With two founder members that liked Seventies cock rock and pre-war blues respectively, feedtime flayed Duracel bunny roots rhythms with hardcore noise, slung over Wire's minimalist post-punk clothes horse, and anchored with high-gravity bass suction power. The sticker on the box calls feedtime 'avant-garde pub rock', which wil do fine. The last disc's occasional concessions aside, feedtime's time-travelling conceptual blues-noise suddenly and belatedly makes piquant sense.
When Boris Johnson announced in a press conference on Thursday his intent to fly to the moon in a basket carried by enormous swans, as part of an ongoing quest to seek out new post-Brexit trading partners outside the EU, it seemed the logical end point of a political career characterised by the propagation of elephantine falsehoods. And yet no lie is too big it seems and Johnson endures.
Any half-decent journalist would have destroyed Johnson’s moon-swan lies immediately, but his Friday morning interview with Nick Robinson on Radio 4 displayed the feeble indulgence we have come to expect from the gumless Today programme.
Johnson told Robinson he was looking forward to meeting the moon king, Irdonozur, who he thought was “exactly the sort of person we should be in business with”, and Robinson didn’t even feel the need to point out that no such lunar monarch exists.
Robinson didn’t even intervene when Johnson declared that he wasn’t “the least bit scared of moon-picaninnies or moon-bumboys for that matter”, and that he would be taking his friend the convicted fraudster and gold smuggler Darius Guppy to the moon with him, and that Darius would have any disobedient moon-picaninnies and moon-bumboys “knocked to the ground” and covered in horse manure.
Footage on CBBC’s Newsround later, of Johnson standing by a bus emblazoned with the legend “Let’s fly to the moon in a swan-drawn basket and knock the moon-bumboys to the ground and cover them in horse manure”, barely even a raised eyebrow from presenter Ricky Boleto, who seemed stricken with a terrible ennui beyond his years at the very thought of more of Johnson’s colossal and time-consuming lies.
Meanwhile, predictable newspaper cartoons slung the familiar image of the crash-helmeted Johnson, waving flags while suspended from a zip wire, beneath a flock of soaring swans.
Even seasoned political observers finally find themselves asking: what on earth is Johnson playing at? Some think the answer lies in the Dead Cat Strategy, pioneered by the Tories’ former attack dog Lynton Crosby.
Crosby’s main contribution to political discourse has been the idea that a massive distraction, such as throwing a dead cat on a table or announcing your intention to fly to the moon with Darius Guppy in a swan-drawn basket, will divert public attention from some ongoing political disaster, such as the entire last 18 months.
Some cynics even suggest that the public disgrace of Johnson’s crony Toby Young was actually dead-cat driven. Did the Conservative media machine maintain Young’s implausible career only so as to have a dead cat ready to fling on the table when they needed one? Was Toby Young the Lee Harvey Oswald of the failing Brexit negotiations?
I’m not sure that Johnson’s pathological dishonesty is quite that calculated. I suspect Johnson liked the attention that his lies got him. But suddenly he is being trounced in the funny toff stakes by Jacob Tree-Frog and his Brexit lies – the £350m a week for the NHS, the fabled “cake and eat it” trade deal – are dissolving like David Davis in a hail of hot facts.
So Johnson is having to mouth ever more vast lies to get the attention he once earned from lesser falsehoods, like a veteran motorcycle stuntman, long past his peak, incrementally driven towards an audience-maintaining jump over a massive lake of sharks that he knows will finally kill him.
On my desk is a stack of commemorative Brexit coins, price £4.99 each. I ordered them from a Brexiter on eBay in a moment of mean-spiritedness, because they are emblazoned with the misspelt slogan “I voted to get back our sovereign independance”. The tragedy of it, the black black comedy of the thing.
But the coins made me remember the act I did on the fledgling comedy circuit, back in the 1980s, and how it related to the nuclear escalation of Johnson’s weaponised lies. Older comedy fans may remember the early days of “Alternative” comedy, when bills weren’t simply twentysomething standups in trousers remembering recent cultural ephemera.
Back then, those pub back-room bills featured a host of absurd “spesh” acts; the Amazing Mr Smith, who sang satirical songs with his head in a birdcage; Steve Murray, who dismembered teddy bears while doing an impression of Tommy Cooper; the Ice Man, a favourite of mine, who stood on stage with a big block of ice, describing how and why it was melting; and the late Malcolm Hardee who, among other things, could make his testicles look like various British wartime politicians.
My own spesh involved me stuffing, or giving the impression of stuffing, a succession of coins of various foreign currencies up my back passage, while dressed in a tutu and playing the bodhrán. “And now ladies and gentlemen, the Icelandic 50 kroner coin, the 50 kroner. Here we go…”
I was starting to make a name for myself, although admittedly that name was Roger Rectum Currency. Then suddenly, sometime around 1985, along came the uber-clown Chris Lynam, who launched actual lit fireworks from his actual anus, and now a man pretending to put yen into his wasn’t impressive any more. I soon switched to straight standup, as it happened a more lucrative, but arguably less dignified, art form.
Suddenly, his lies no longer igniting the public imagination like they once did, Johnson himself is Roger Rectum Currency in his managed decline, needing to draw the public eye with ever more extravagant lies.
And maybe I am facing a similar dilemma. The political situation has been so stupid now, for so long, it seems beyond satire. In print, and on stage, I reach for ever more desperate methods to mock it. And then my eye falls on that pile of commemorative British “independance” coins. And I realise I may have stumbled across the answer. I’m sure I have that tutu somewhere.
The jazz-noise album Bristol Fashion by capri-batterie with Stewart Lee is available to download at bandcamp.com. Content Provider continues to tour and will finally end on 19, 20 and 23 April at the Royal Festival Hall, London
Stewart Lee
2018-01-28T16:06:56+00:00
When Boris Johnson announced in a press conference on Thursday his intent to fly to the moon in a basket carried by enormous swans, as part of an ongoing quest to seek out new post-Brexit trading partners outside the EU, it seemed the logical end point of a political career characterised by the propagation of elephantine falsehoods. And yet no lie is too big it seems and Johnson endures. Any half-decent journalist would have destroyed Johnson’s moon-swan lies immediately, but his Friday morning interview with Nick Robinson on Radio 4 displayed the feeble indulgence we have come to expect from the gumless Today programme. Johnson told Robinson he was looking forward to meeting the moon king, Irdonozur, who he thought was “exactly the sort of person we should be in business with”, and Robinson didn’t even feel the need to point out that no such lunar monarch exists. Robinson didn’t even intervene when Johnson declared that he wasn’t “the least bit scared of moon-picaninnies or moon-bumboys for that matter”, and that he would be taking his friend the convicted fraudster and gold smuggler Darius Guppy to the moon with him, and that Darius would have any disobedient moon-picaninnies and moon-bumboys “knocked to the ground” and covered in horse manure. Footage on CBBC’s Newsround later, of Johnson standing by a bus emblazoned with the legend “Let’s fly to the moon in a swan-drawn basket and knock the moon-bumboys to the ground and cover them in horse manure”, barely even a raised eyebrow from presenter Ricky Boleto, who seemed stricken with a terrible ennui beyond his years at the very thought of more of Johnson’s colossal and time-consuming lies. Meanwhile, predictable newspaper cartoons slung the familiar image of the crash-helmeted Johnson, waving flags while suspended from a zip wire, beneath a flock...
Rob Young's book Electric Eden, for which this double CD is a companion, charted the unruly assimilation of British folk music into Folk Rock. A rare demo version of Fairport Convention's monumental 1969 epic A Sailor's Life is a key track, jumping the hedgerow to a world of wyrd folk hybrids. A shortened version of Murder of Maria Marten sees The Albion Band place a flighty Shirley Collins in heavy rhythmical harness, and Pentangle's jazzy Jack Orion paints the titular harpist as a Greenwich village vibes master. The inclusion of various intriguing unknowns suggests further tantalizing tributaries.
Stewart Lee
2012-09-30T22:06:37+01:00
Rob Young's book Electric Eden, for which this double CD is a companion, charted the unruly assimilation of British folk music into Folk Rock. A rare demo version of Fairport Convention's monumental 1969 epic A Sailor's Life is a key track, jumping the hedgerow to a world of wyrd folk hybrids. A shortened version of Murder of Maria Marten sees The Albion Band place a flighty Shirley Collins in heavy rhythmical harness, and Pentangle's jazzy Jack Orion paints the titular harpist as a Greenwich village vibes master. The inclusion of various intriguing unknowns suggests further tantalizing tributaries.
Stewart Lee, star of BBC 2's hit show Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, came to Harrogate last night claiming he had nothing funny to talk about any more. He currently spends his days driving around, looking after his son and watching Scooby Doo cartoons; he says the best inspiration for comedy. However, as the 90 minute show attested to, Lee does still find plenty to talk about.
Lurching from the decline of rope bridges thanks to Margaret Thatcher to left wing Americans via satirising those bland popular comedians who get by with little more than unconnected jokes and manically running around the stage, usually all called Russell.
Lee's comedy or anti-comedy to give it a better title is delightfully dark, bitter and at times petulant. It is all the better for these qualities. Over the years he has moved towards this and it suits him very well.
If anyone is new to his style of comedy they may struggle to understand why he is frustrated with sections of the audience, who are "brought along by friends". This is all part of the act and those who have followed his career appreciate the lengths he goes to, to engage his audience, and to chastise them for not being quick enough to keep up with him, or even get to the punchline before he has finished when the setup is so rigorous to make the point obvious. He pushes the boundaries to the seams sometimes labouring the point but this is all part of the act and part of his comedy genius.
Not many comedians would feel comfortable enough and self aware enough to structure part of their routine around derogatory comments that have been made about them on the internet. Lee delves into this section with aplomb, and suitable backing music, clearly revelling in the hateful comments that some people make about him on the internet throwing in suggestion that he may even have made some of them up himself.
In the second half, Lee recounts his struggle to find material for the new show he is getting ready to tour. The pace builds steadily until he reaches a crescendo at a local Butcher's, before the denouement with a revelation of the true location of said Butcher
The jokes are insightful, relevant and thought provoking as well as providing great laughs in what is a well crafted show. If you have not seen him before he is well worth a viewing, but do a little research before you go, as he hates "lazy audiences"
Stewart Lee
2012-03-01T13:59:44+00:00
Stewart Lee, star of BBC 2's hit show Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, came to Harrogate last night claiming he had nothing funny to talk about any more. He currently spends his days driving around, looking after his son and watching Scooby Doo cartoons; he says the best inspiration for comedy. However, as the 90 minute show attested to, Lee does still find plenty to talk about. Lurching from the decline of rope bridges thanks to Margaret Thatcher to left wing Americans via satirising those bland popular comedians who get by with little more than unconnected jokes and manically running around the stage, usually all called Russell. Lee's comedy or anti-comedy to give it a better title is delightfully dark, bitter and at times petulant. It is all the better for these qualities. Over the years he has moved towards this and it suits him very well. If anyone is new to his style of comedy they may struggle to understand why he is frustrated with sections of the audience, who are "brought along by friends". This is all part of the act and those who have followed his career appreciate the lengths he goes to, to engage his audience, and to chastise them for not being quick enough to keep up with him, or even get to the punchline before he has finished when the setup is so rigorous to make the point obvious. He pushes the boundaries to the seams sometimes labouring the point but this is all part of the act and part of his comedy genius. Not many comedians would feel comfortable enough and self aware enough to structure part of their routine around derogatory comments that have been made about them on the internet. Lee delves into this section with aplomb, and suitable backing music, clearly...
New York guitar gurus Television recently completed a British trek. The last of the psychedelic bands, their gargantuan grooves disguised in punk trousers, their set currently contains a new fifteen minute burn that could easily check in to Chris Forsyth’s Solar Motel. Four expansive instrumentals take Television, and the ‘70s art school No Wave massed guitars of Glenn Branca or Rhys Chatham, as start points to conceive a contemporary cosmic minimalist Americana, riding Route 66 towards Area 41 and beyond.
Stewart Lee
2013-12-01T19:22:40+00:00
New York guitar gurus Television recently completed a British trek. The last of the psychedelic bands, their gargantuan grooves disguised in punk trousers, their set currently contains a new fifteen minute burn that could easily check in to Chris Forsyth’s Solar Motel. Four expansive instrumentals take Television, and the ‘70s art school No Wave massed guitars of Glenn Branca or Rhys Chatham, as start points to conceive a contemporary cosmic minimalist Americana, riding Route 66 towards Area 41 and beyond.
How do you write a one-size fits all stand-up comedy show to tour around divided Brexit Britain?
Stewart Lee found himself having to do exactly that, as he dragged his resilient Content Provider show around the dis-united kingdom for eighteen months and 214 dates, in the wake of the referendum.
Captured in leave-voting Southend-On-Sea, Content Provider sees the country's most consistently critically acclaimed stand-up at the zenith of his powers and the peak of physical collapse, on a stage strewn with obsolete physical media, as he attempts to understand his place in a digital dystopia.
Stewart Lee
2019-07-18T19:17:52+01:00
How do you write a one-size fits all stand-up comedy show to tour around divided Brexit Britain? Stewart Lee found himself having to do exactly that, as he dragged his resilient Content Provider show around the dis-united kingdom for eighteen months and 214 dates, in the wake of the referendum. Captured in leave-voting Southend-On-Sea, Content Provider sees the country's most consistently critically acclaimed stand-up at the zenith of his powers and the peak of physical collapse, on a stage strewn with obsolete physical media, as he attempts to understand his place in a digital dystopia.
A friend fled a Peter Hammill performance, horrified at “the least musical music" he'd ever heard, but Van Der Graaf Generator were progressive rock's Tractarian renegades, lacing the movement's musical orthodoxies with liturgical ceremonialism, rather than the usual elfin splatterings.
On their new album, the pellucid and beautiful Your Time Starts Now rubs up against the dictatorial annunciations, fractal guitar and churning rhythms of Highly Strung; Splink scuffs straightforward blues licks with bent barroom piano and percussive clatter; Embarrassing Kid jabs rabbit punch riffs. Forty-four years after forming, VDGG remain obstinately obtuse, A Grounding In Numbers ranking amongst their best recordings.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-13T22:03:06+00:00
A friend fled a Peter Hammill performance, horrified at “the least musical music" he'd ever heard, but Van Der Graaf Generator were progressive rock's Tractarian renegades, lacing the movement's musical orthodoxies with liturgical ceremonialism, rather than the usual elfin splatterings. On their new album, the pellucid and beautiful Your Time Starts Now rubs up against the dictatorial annunciations, fractal guitar and churning rhythms of Highly Strung; Splink scuffs straightforward blues licks with bent barroom piano and percussive clatter; Embarrassing Kid jabs rabbit punch riffs. Forty-four years after forming, VDGG remain obstinately obtuse, A Grounding In Numbers ranking amongst their best recordings.
Stewart Lee’s new memoir, AAlcoholic AAnonymous, is an honest, searingly brutal saga of a privileged and educated man in the midst of a relatively short-lived and ultimately self-induced torpor, who repays the world for his undeserved second chance at life with nothing but scorn and contempt. In this extract he writes – for the first time – of the descent into his near fatal addiction to the columns of AA Gill
We’re in a room in a private hospital in the west of London. Today the doctor, holding a copy of the Sunday Times, said: “Have you stopped reading AA Gill’s columns yet? If you don’t, you will destroy yourself.” I’m 45. I have been reading AA Gill columns for 20 years. I think of Welsh lesbian TV presenter baboons, with breasts and vaginas, and vomit into a wastepaper basket. It is the most hopelessly sad and loneliest wastepaper basket I have ever seen.
I met my first wife in a newsagent’s near Wapping. A busted sign above a door opened into a thin newspaper-filled space. The place was coated with nicotine and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest newsagents I had ever seen. You handed your money to Fanny behind the counter, a hideously ugly woman with breasts and a vagina like all the others, and she would give you a Sunday Times. Most of the newspaper went to my dog, Langtree, a lurcherly mongrel who lived on sports sections. I kept only what I needed, pure uncut AA Gill, as early on a Sunday morning, as hot off the press, and as near to the source, as possible.
Today was special. AA Gill had written a piece calling the Welsh “loquacious, dissemblers, immoral liars, stunted, bigoted, dark, ugly, pugnacious little trolls”. It hit the windscreen of my mind like a dying pigeon. It was so thrillingly futile I could taste it, cold and metallic in my hot stumpy mouth. I needed to be alone with the column, next to me in the dark, on my orphan bed, not moving much, just crapping a little.
But my pocket was empty except for an orphan raw steak, a drawing of an old man holding an orthopaedic shoe, and a pirate’s eye-patch. The pocket was coated with nicotine and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest pocket I had ever fingered. “Take the paper free,” said Fanny, “and when we get married, I’ll always make sure there’s AA Gill in the magazine rack.” Romantically we peaked too soon.
The flat was in the basement of a terraced house in Wandsworth. A living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, a small garden, a television, hot and cold running water, bedding, carpets, working radiators, cupboards, doors, some storage space, a sink, an oven, a fridge, a table, some windows, and an orphan chair. There was a Welsh dresser pushed up against the wall. It was a loquacious, dissembling, immoral, lying, stunted, bigoted, dark, ugly, and pugnacious little Welsh dresser. It was coated with nicotine and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest Welsh dresser I had ever seen.
I didn’t mind the terrible hardship of Wandsworth. I had been to boarding school. We couldn’t really afford school fees and St Crispin’s were particularly excessive, but somehow my parents found a few spare tens of thousands down the back of a sofa. A busted sign above a door opened into a thin bed-filled dormitory. A horrible, foul, stinking matron, with breasts and a vagina, showed me my bed. I lay down, not moving much, just crapping a little. The bed was coated with crinoline and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest bed I had ever seen. Educationally, I peaked too soon.
One night in our Wandsworth gulag I had been bingeing on pure undiluted Gill, reading for the first time a 2009 column I had missed, about Gill shooting dead a disgusting baboon, with breasts and a vagina, despite knowing full well there was absolutely no excuse for killing her. Gill wrote that he killed the animal to “get a sense of what it might be like to kill someone”.
I expect Gill would have ended up in bed with the baboon, not moving much, just crapping a little, coldly traversing the great hairy bosoms of its corpus incognita. But he had already killed it, only to be haunted years later by the orphan memory of its monkey body, the texture of cool brown hessian.
The column was coated with nicotine and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest AA Gill column I had ever read. During the night, I rose and carved a cabbage into the shape of AA Gill’s head with a large French iron cooking knife, heavy as obligation, workmanlike as desperately contentious prose, to another weekly deadline. And I did this in a complete blackout, too shit-arsed with AA Gillstritis to care.
But all that wasn’t the mad thing, the weird thing. The spooky unhinged thing was that I was doing this in my sleep every week, week after week after week, in the cold echoes of absent memories. And it was the next morning that the AA’s, as we AAlcoholics call them, finally came.
I woke up. And there, just there, right on the ceiling, were Clare Balding, whom Gill had called “a big lesbian” and “a dyke on a bike”, and Mary Beard, whom he had said “should be kept away from cameras altogether”. Clever female television presenters hanging on to the ceiling. They were off the netball pitch, out of the roller rink. They weren’t the Shades of Night, they were The Daughters of Eve, and they were huge, the size of Sunday supplements, heavy as guilt. They scuttled. No, clever female television presenters don’t scuttle, they moved with a horrible purpose, their breasts and vaginas and women’s brains coming nearer, nearer and nearer in the orphan night.
And, as I got out of bed in a cold panic of palsied sheets and twisted limbs, the hallucinations took hold and I literally became AA Gill. I was coated in nicotine and despair. I was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest newspaper columnist I had ever seen. The bed became a trampoline and I lay back on it, not moving much, just crapping a little, and waiting to bounce back up again, away from my addictions and my temporary drop in living standards, away away away, to reassume my rightful position of power, wealth and influence in the natural order of things.
A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 until 8 Jan; stewartlee.co.uk.
Stewart Lee is the curator of next year’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, at Prestatyn Pontins, 15-17 April 2016
Stewart Lee
2015-11-01T09:34:24+00:00
Stewart Lee’s new memoir, AAlcoholic AAnonymous, is an honest, searingly brutal saga of a privileged and educated man in the midst of a relatively short-lived and ultimately self-induced torpor, who repays the world for his undeserved second chance at life with nothing but scorn and contempt. In this extract he writes – for the first time – of the descent into his near fatal addiction to the columns of AA Gill We’re in a room in a private hospital in the west of London. Today the doctor, holding a copy of the Sunday Times, said: “Have you stopped reading AA Gill’s columns yet? If you don’t, you will destroy yourself.” I’m 45. I have been reading AA Gill columns for 20 years. I think of Welsh lesbian TV presenter baboons, with breasts and vaginas, and vomit into a wastepaper basket. It is the most hopelessly sad and loneliest wastepaper basket I have ever seen. I met my first wife in a newsagent’s near Wapping. A busted sign above a door opened into a thin newspaper-filled space. The place was coated with nicotine and despair. It was the most hopelessly sad and loneliest newsagents I had ever seen. You handed your money to Fanny behind the counter, a hideously ugly woman with breasts and a vagina like all the others, and she would give you a Sunday Times. Most of the newspaper went to my dog, Langtree, a lurcherly mongrel who lived on sports sections. I kept only what I needed, pure uncut AA Gill, as early on a Sunday morning, as hot off the press, and as near to the source, as possible. Today was special. AA Gill had written a piece calling the Welsh “loquacious, dissemblers, immoral liars, stunted, bigoted, dark, ugly, pugnacious little trolls”. It hit the windscreen...
When I ask him about his status as an oft-cited inspiration for comedians, Stewart Lee is mystified. "I don't understand it. My niece showed me in Russell Brand's book where he cites me as an influence." The cynicism towards critical plaudits is genuine. On his publicity, alongside quotes attesting to the genius of his stand-up (Gervais describes him as "the funniest, most cliché-free comedian on the circuit") he also lists his worst reviews (among them: "The worst stand-up I have ever seen… smug and contemptible" - Chortle). Lee catalogues these reviews not as an act of defeatism, however, but out of a desire for something better.
Idealism permeates his most current tour show, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One. Most significant among the targets of his satire is Top Gear.
In an unflinching routine, Lee wishes that Richard Hammond's crash had been fatal before describing the imagined death in some detail, in order to ridicule the outrageous statements made by Top Gear hosts (Jeremy Clarkson having described Gordon Brown as a "one-eyed Scottish idiot"). On the night that I see it, the Suffolk audience largely doesn't seem to appreciate the irony. Lee is unapologetic. "Most people get behind it eventually. It's obvious what it means if you listen." Why is Top Gear so popular? "I think fearful middle Englanders feel comforted by Top Gear's dismissal of supposedly politically correct concerns. Clarkson works this market very well."
Unlike many comedians, Lee is a proud supporter of political correctness. He doesn't completely dismiss the shock comedy of Frankie Boyle and Jimmy Carr - "I'm a bit bored of it now. They are both technically very good writers though" - so much as react against their one-liner style: "People say I should Twitter, and write jokes of less than 140 characters, so my new aim is to write no joke less than 140 minutes." This is a fair reflection of Lee's unique delivery - when the Richard Hammond routine became the target of opprobrium for the Mail on Sunday, the article noted with some distaste that "Lee spends 20 minutes telling audiences about his dislike of Hammond in his show."
Controversy is nothing new to him. Lee is most famous as the co-writer of provocative Jerry Springer - The Opera. However, when I ask what distinguishes this work from the Jonathan Ross debacle, he is succinct: "Jerry Springer - The Opera was a worthwhile piece of art with a point and a meaning. Brand/Ross was two over-excited men making a mistake." Lee is emphatic that comedy is underappreciated as an art form: "In most publicly funded arts centres up and down the country, [between] tribute acts and hypnotists, comedians are the only people taking actual original art to the masses."
He is overwhelmingly committed to live stand-up as a form, rather than on television. "TV will get worse. Stand-up will get better." Can a comedian move into the mainstream and retain critical bite? "Not really. You can't be a gamekeeper and a pheasant."
He remains uncompromising in both style and substance. While this hasn't been without its penalties - he has noted in the past that he lost most of the proceeds from Jerry Springer as a result of staging it unaltered - he could never be accused of selling out. His last tour chronicled his difficulties with the BBC as they first commissioned, then dropped his television series (though Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle was eventually broadcast last year, and has just been recommissioned).
I ask if he feels vindicated in his unwillingness to compromise his vision and he replies: "Yes. It would have worked even better if we'd done it even more like what I wanted. But they were all very brave and tolerant." You get the impression that Lee is happy where he is.
Stewart Lee
2010-03-05T17:24:46+00:00
When I ask him about his status as an oft-cited inspiration for comedians, Stewart Lee is mystified. "I don't understand it. My niece showed me in Russell Brand's book where he cites me as an influence." The cynicism towards critical plaudits is genuine. On his publicity, alongside quotes attesting to the genius of his stand-up (Gervais describes him as "the funniest, most cliché-free comedian on the circuit") he also lists his worst reviews (among them: "The worst stand-up I have ever seen… smug and contemptible" - Chortle). Lee catalogues these reviews not as an act of defeatism, however, but out of a desire for something better. Idealism permeates his most current tour show, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One. Most significant among the targets of his satire is Top Gear. In an unflinching routine, Lee wishes that Richard Hammond's crash had been fatal before describing the imagined death in some detail, in order to ridicule the outrageous statements made by Top Gear hosts (Jeremy Clarkson having described Gordon Brown as a "one-eyed Scottish idiot"). On the night that I see it, the Suffolk audience largely doesn't seem to appreciate the irony. Lee is unapologetic. "Most people get behind it eventually. It's obvious what it means if you listen." Why is Top Gear so popular? "I think fearful middle Englanders feel comforted by Top Gear's dismissal of supposedly politically correct concerns. Clarkson works this market very well." Unlike many comedians, Lee is a proud supporter of political correctness. He doesn't completely dismiss the shock comedy of Frankie Boyle and Jimmy Carr - "I'm a bit bored of it now. They are both technically very good writers though" - so much as react against their one-liner style: "People say I should Twitter, and write jokes of less than...
I was lucky enough to be invited to repay a teenage debt by appearing in the video for Billy Bragg’s new single, the suddenly very resonant Handyman Blues, directed with clarity and economy by an extremely focussed Johnny Vegas.
Here ’tis
Stewart Lee
2013-06-03T04:32:56+01:00
I was lucky enough to be invited to repay a teenage debt by appearing in the video for Billy Bragg’s new single, the suddenly very resonant Handyman Blues, directed with clarity and economy by an extremely focussed Johnny Vegas. Here ’tis
In 1986 the NME's annual cassette overview of the indie scene, C86, sold 40 000 copies and christened a genre.
Blamed for crystalising an unfairly derided fuzzy guitar pop - with tracks by The Wedding Present, The Soup Dragons and the infant Primal Scream - it also pushed aspirational arty noise like The Wolfhounds and Big Flame.
Two extra discs correct contemporary omissions, like Tallulah Gosh, whose Oxfam cutie-punk defined the scene, and Birmingham's Beefheart beatniks The Nightingales, who prefigured and outlived it.
Stewart Lee
2014-06-15T22:05:31+01:00
In 1986 the NME's annual cassette overview of the indie scene, C86, sold 40 000 copies and christened a genre. Blamed for crystalising an unfairly derided fuzzy guitar pop - with tracks by The Wedding Present, The Soup Dragons and the infant Primal Scream - it also pushed aspirational arty noise like The Wolfhounds and Big Flame. Two extra discs correct contemporary omissions, like Tallulah Gosh, whose Oxfam cutie-punk defined the scene, and Birmingham's Beefheart beatniks The Nightingales, who prefigured and outlived it.
The Pogues with Kirsty MacColl. Photograph: Brian Rasic/Rex Features
When Colombian drugs lords invented Father Christmas as a marketing tool for cocaine, back in the 1980s, they could never have imagined that this red-faced, overweight man, whipping his staff while shooting through flurries of "snow", would one day become beloved by infants worldwide. And when, 4,000 winter solstices ago, the Beaker Folk cast toy clay pots to symbolise the passing year's disappointments, and tossed them into the past from a tiny spring-loaded mammoth, they could not have dreamed that, many millenniums later, we would enact their yearly rite as the Christmas game Buckaroo.
Today, even religious folk accept that the date of Christ's birth was fudged to appropriate pagan celebrations, but all of us were shocked when the BBC slowed the Earth's passage around the sun this year so that New Year's Day coincided with the already scheduled debut of the new sexed-up Sherlock. (One of the few female characters in the original Holmes stories, Irene Adler, was changed from an opera singer to a prostitute. Out Mrs Hudson as an angel and the whole gamut of TV roles for women will be covered.)
Not all traditions survive. For a whole generation of British people, nothing says Christmas like the newsreader Angela Rippon emerging on ludicrously long legs from a news desk on another Morecambe and Wise Christmas special. (Who even imagined Angela Rippon had legs? It was commonly assumed that she was some kind of news Davros, wheeled into position to warn of power cuts, three-day weeks and punk rock.) But today Morecambe and Wise's 1970s comedy double act show is almost as forgotten as Horne and Corden's, which was broadcast way back in 2009.
There are other traditional casualties. In Scotland, on New Year's Eve, a tall young man would enter the house at midnight, carrying a piece of coal. Today, rising fuel prices mean coal is delivered piece by piece in Securicor vans, so instead a little old man enters the house in the afternoon, holding a winter fuel allowance voucher and turns on the gas fire, so that it will be nice and warm at midnight, when heroin addicts break in to steal copper piping. (Similarly, the Easter tradition of the Maundy money, when the Queen gives silver coins to the poor, continues, but alongside the Maundy melting, when the poor then post the coins off to dodgy "cash for jewellery" websites in exchange for credit at Voucherland.)
But how quickly do apparently isolated events coalesce into traditions? In the first week of last year, the papers ran photographs of Helena Bonham Carter, then not a CBE, and her husband, the goth film man Timothy Buttons, carousing on the Chiltern Hills with the Camerons on New Year's Day. (Nick Clegg had been left behind to fulfil his traditional role of posing alone on the lawn of Chequers, naked except for a mask of the two-faced god Janus, looking backwards into the past and forwards into the future and imagining fondly that he has any significance in either.)
This strange Bonhameron tableau was only 12 months back. And yet this year revellers had already gathered in Wapping early on 2 January to await the pictures of our prime minister's 2012 new year guests, so as to predict which borderline liberal arts figure Cameron will award with the poisoned chalice of the CBE next year, their reward for dining with him an eternal loss of credibility. (Look out for the now thoroughly co-opted Timothy Buttons's forthcoming film of George Osborne's 2012 budget announcement, George Pencilhands. The batcave-haired director's love of S&M-styled fantasy is sure to prove the perfect vehicle for the previously low-profiled chancellor.)
My generation has lived through the emergence of a tradition. Nearly three decades ago the Pogues' banjo player Jem Finer came up with a lyric about a sailor returning home. His partner, the performance artist Marcia Farquhar, hated it and suggested a story based on the couple over the road, whose Christmases always followed the same cycle of angry recrimination and drunken redemption. Vocalist Shane MacGowan eventually relocated the story to New York, city of emigrants' dreams, giving the lyrics' mix of black despair and romantic resilience a global resonance.
A quarter-century since its completion, the now seasonal standard "Fairytale of New York" recently endured a curious mixture of homage and parody on another seasonal standard, Michael McIntyre's Christmas Comedy Roadshow. The host and his writers entertained the notion that the song's lyrics were unintelligible. The crowd was encouraged to karaoke them as best they could over the top of MacGowan's vocal, in which he is in character as an incoherent, incarcerated drunk.
The tragic opening image of an old dying man singing an Irish folk song was guffawed through and an inappropriate celebrity cutaway showed Carol Vorderman singing the supposedly incomprehensible lyrics word perfect, suggesting the editor had some secret wish to undermine the piece. Already I was slack-jawed, thinking: "What are they going to do with Kirsty MacColl's vocal?" MacColl, part of the genetic fabric of folk, and an essential element of the song's appeal, died in a boating accident 11 years ago and it might seem rather tasteless to encourage a mass slur through her contribution. Instead, the backing track snapped into an instrumental, a young singer in hot pants came on, a troupe of stunned Irish dancers hoofed along and a cutaway to a happy Irish Eamonn Holmes reassured everyone this wasn't offensive.
On some level, the sequence was sincerely meant and 34 years since the last edition of The Black and White Minstrel Christmas Show, it's good to see racially stereotyped dancing back where it belongs, at the centre of the seasonal schedules. But the song survives.
As well as playing in the Pogues, Jem Finer is a conceptual artist. Much of his work seems concerned with music and notions of endurance. Water began dripping sonorously into the woodland pit of his Score for a Hole in the Ground six years ago and Longplayer is currently 12 years into its 1,000-year cycle of musical drones in an east London lighthouse. But Finer's pieces' attempts at immortality remain necessarily speculative. In pop terms, "Fairytale of New York" is already eternal, a secular carol with a spiritual resonance, an impregnable slice of dirty realist redemption that's now beyond both parody and its creators' control. Strangely, it's something to believe in. Take my baubles, take my pies, take my Christmas carols, and my Christmas Doctor Who, but I'll only give you my 7in of "Fairytale of New York" when you prise it from my cold dead hands.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-08T15:03:52+00:00
The Pogues with Kirsty MacColl. Photograph: Brian Rasic/Rex Features When Colombian drugs lords invented Father Christmas as a marketing tool for cocaine, back in the 1980s, they could never have imagined that this red-faced, overweight man, whipping his staff while shooting through flurries of "snow", would one day become beloved by infants worldwide. And when, 4,000 winter solstices ago, the Beaker Folk cast toy clay pots to symbolise the passing year's disappointments, and tossed them into the past from a tiny spring-loaded mammoth, they could not have dreamed that, many millenniums later, we would enact their yearly rite as the Christmas game Buckaroo. Today, even religious folk accept that the date of Christ's birth was fudged to appropriate pagan celebrations, but all of us were shocked when the BBC slowed the Earth's passage around the sun this year so that New Year's Day coincided with the already scheduled debut of the new sexed-up Sherlock. (One of the few female characters in the original Holmes stories, Irene Adler, was changed from an opera singer to a prostitute. Out Mrs Hudson as an angel and the whole gamut of TV roles for women will be covered.) Not all traditions survive. For a whole generation of British people, nothing says Christmas like the newsreader Angela Rippon emerging on ludicrously long legs from a news desk on another Morecambe and Wise Christmas special. (Who even imagined Angela Rippon had legs? It was commonly assumed that she was some kind of news Davros, wheeled into position to warn of power cuts, three-day weeks and punk rock.) But today Morecambe and Wise's 1970s comedy double act show is almost as forgotten as Horne and Corden's, which was broadcast way back in 2009. There are other traditional casualties. In Scotland, on New Year's Eve, a tall young...
Comedian Stewart Lee is currently on tour in the UK, performing with the original name "Much a Stew about Nothing", a title which set the bar for the show itself. In the usually full Festival Theatre, Lee was much less anticipated, performing to less than a third of the venue, a fact which he was witty enough to point out to us at least ten times.
According to Lee, this didn't matter in the slightest, we were 'just a test' for a television show which will appear at some point next year. This he was very keen to mention at any given opportunity, clearly proud of himself, but to the point of becoming smug, writing off the audience opinion if the reaction was not appreciative enough for his high standards.
Though most jokes got a laugh or a at least a titter, Lee felt the need to explain the political jokes, as if teaching a primary class, willing the audience to try and understand his supposed hilarity through long winded explanation and dumbed down metaphors.
His tedious stories were matched only by his pretentious demeanour, which left me feeling like he saw the audience as idiots, those below him whom he had been sent to educate about political correctness and satire.
This is the first time where I've been completely bored of a performance, waiting through endless anecdotes and stories for a weak punch line which, after an incredibly long time, does not have the same impact. Transferring to television could be a problem for Stewart Lee, everything needs to be cut down enormously or we'll be watching half a story over the course of an hour, for the occasional smile every now and then.
Though I wouldn't advise it, the tour continues throughout the UK until February of next year, and tickets are available on his website at www.stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2013-10-21T18:27:48+01:00
Comedian Stewart Lee is currently on tour in the UK, performing with the original name "Much a Stew about Nothing", a title which set the bar for the show itself. In the usually full Festival Theatre, Lee was much less anticipated, performing to less than a third of the venue, a fact which he was witty enough to point out to us at least ten times. According to Lee, this didn't matter in the slightest, we were 'just a test' for a television show which will appear at some point next year. This he was very keen to mention at any given opportunity, clearly proud of himself, but to the point of becoming smug, writing off the audience opinion if the reaction was not appreciative enough for his high standards. Though most jokes got a laugh or a at least a titter, Lee felt the need to explain the political jokes, as if teaching a primary class, willing the audience to try and understand his supposed hilarity through long winded explanation and dumbed down metaphors. His tedious stories were matched only by his pretentious demeanour, which left me feeling like he saw the audience as idiots, those below him whom he had been sent to educate about political correctness and satire. This is the first time where I've been completely bored of a performance, waiting through endless anecdotes and stories for a weak punch line which, after an incredibly long time, does not have the same impact. Transferring to television could be a problem for Stewart Lee, everything needs to be cut down enormously or we'll be watching half a story over the course of an hour, for the occasional smile every now and then. Though I wouldn't advise it, the tour continues throughout the UK until February of next...
Stewart Lee might have been beaten by Michael McIntyre in the Best Stand-up category at Saturday’s British Comedy Awards but there are plenty of comedy buffs flocking to Lee’s current show who beg to differ.
While McIntyre is the arena-packing people’s punster, Lee is the art-house comedian’s comedian, admired as much for his craft, poise and intelligence as his quips.
In this supremely accomplished set, however, Lee does not feel a million miles away from McIntyre. Both are essentially observational entertainers but where the slick-suited superstar tickles life’s trivia, the tight-jacketed cult joker goes for the jugular, brilliantly unpicking the vogue for offensive humour and the way capitalism tramples on people’s memories.
If an attack on Frankie Boyle’s shock-jock mentality is an effective warm-up, the real venom is saved for Lee’s already notorious assault on Top Gear’s bully-boy blokeism. Out of context his controversial wish that Richard Hammond had died gruesomely in his 2006 dragster accident is tasteless. In the context of exploring limits of taste it is a superb piece of Swiftian satire.
This high point is not quite matched by an excellent extended riff on advertising’s habit of soiling great music but there is still a sting in the tale as Lee closes with a surprisingly well-sung song.
A masterclass in stand-up being more than just a bag of gags and a top gear performance from this driven man.
Stewart Lee
2009-12-14T17:07:58+00:00
Stewart Lee might have been beaten by Michael McIntyre in the Best Stand-up category at Saturday’s British Comedy Awards but there are plenty of comedy buffs flocking to Lee’s current show who beg to differ. While McIntyre is the arena-packing people’s punster, Lee is the art-house comedian’s comedian, admired as much for his craft, poise and intelligence as his quips. In this supremely accomplished set, however, Lee does not feel a million miles away from McIntyre. Both are essentially observational entertainers but where the slick-suited superstar tickles life’s trivia, the tight-jacketed cult joker goes for the jugular, brilliantly unpicking the vogue for offensive humour and the way capitalism tramples on people’s memories. If an attack on Frankie Boyle’s shock-jock mentality is an effective warm-up, the real venom is saved for Lee’s already notorious assault on Top Gear’s bully-boy blokeism. Out of context his controversial wish that Richard Hammond had died gruesomely in his 2006 dragster accident is tasteless. In the context of exploring limits of taste it is a superb piece of Swiftian satire. This high point is not quite matched by an excellent extended riff on advertising’s habit of soiling great music but there is still a sting in the tale as Lee closes with a surprisingly well-sung song. A masterclass in stand-up being more than just a bag of gags and a top gear performance from this driven man.
John Cage: fan of mushrooms, garlic bread, beans and pulses. Photograph: Bachrach/Archive Photos
At the moment, I am trying to avoid thinking about John Cage. And instead, I find myself thinking about Ant & Dec. In 2009, the musicians Steve Beresford and Tania Chen asked me to supply the spoken part for a performance of Indeterminacy, by the postwar avant-garde giant John Cage. My shelves creak with music, but I didn't know any Cage, beyond Sonic Youth's interpretation of his piece Six on their Goodbye 20th Century album. As ever, I access the Temple of Culture by the tradesmen's entrance.
Highbrow musicologists would scoff at this lowbrow lead in to Cage's oeuvre. But, in her 1975 tome Sword of Wisdom, the celebrated mystic Ithell Colquhoun recalls discovering the Order of the Golden Dawn in 1923 as "a schoolgirl sitting on a lavatory-seat and leaning forward to see into the depths of an osier basket lined with newspapers", specifically an occult expose from the Daily Express. In a piece of synchronicity worthy of Cage, I discovered this while reading Sword of Wisdom on my toilet, near to which I keep all my occult books, as I find they have laxative properties.
Cage's Indeterminacy is currently available as a cardboard box of 90 cards of 90 stories of different lengths, and a leaflet of instructions: "Read the stories aloud, with or without accompaniment, paced so that each takes one minute. A stop-watch or watch with a second hand will help keep time. Read all 90 stories in order or select a smaller number, using chance procedures or not." Beresford and Chen elect to improvise on prepared pianos and found objects while I read Cage's stories in random order, and we all do our best to ignore each other, an approach that has made all the eight performances we have given in the last two years unique, though it's inappropriate to take any personal pride in this, as we are merely Cage's zombie puppets.
Indeterminacy's instructions advise reading "conversationally, naturally, and neutrally. Cage's own reading is resolutely undramatic." Early in this ongoing project (we have a three-date "tour of London" next week, for example), I resolved to find out as little about Cage as I could, so that I didn't "interpret" the stories, or do an impression of what I imagined his performance would be like. I didn't even check the pronunciations of any of the place names, people, or the many species of mushroom mentioned in the stories, assuming my ignorance exemplified Cageian chance procedure. But suddenly, like a delusional believer seeing affirming signs wherever he looks – images of Jesus on burned toast, the face of David Icke in a soiled nappy – I was encountering Cage everywhere.
When we performed in Bexhill-on-Sea, the pavilion hosted a Cage exhibition, which I walked through cowed, following Beresford's calves to the restaurant for the hearty meal he insists on consuming before so much as looking at a table of children's toys and vintage melodicas. The trombonist Alan Tomlinson, who is performing Cage's Solo for Sliding Trombone alongside us, told me Cage sought comedy brass advice from Spike Jones and His City Slickers, suggesting, if not something so common as a sense of humour, then at least a sense of the absurd. After an Indeterminacy in Bristol, the Welsh magus Carlton B Morgan told me he overheard Cage discussing garlic bread in a Pizza Hut in Huddersfield in 1989. And at a party last week, the punk film-maker Graham Bendel not only told me he had once invited Cage to dinner, but did an unsolicited impression of him, sounding like a macrobiotic Woody Allen, insisting he could only eat "beans and pulses, just beans and pulses if you don't mind, boys".
None of this was remotely helpful. Then I remembered. In 2001, I was invited by ITV to pitch Ant and Dec a sitcom idea. I suggested the pair should play bickering lighthouse keepers on a lonely rock. Each week a supply boat, rowed by Cat Deeley, would deliver a different MacGuffin, an object to drive that show's plot. But the Byker boys chose instead to pilot a remake of Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads, specifically the episode No Hiding Place, in which they try to avoid hearing the results of a soon to be televised football match. In the shadow of Cage, I find myself wondering if it is too late to pitch Ant and Dec a new sitcom.
In Anthony M and Declan D: New Departures, the duo play freelance interpreters of time-based art pieces, who live in a lighthouse on a lonely rock. In the pilot episode, Queer Silence, they are commissioned to perform Cage's Indeterminacy and spend the days prior to the event avoiding forming an opinion about the composer, a decision threatened by Cat Deeley, who rows around the island doing an impression of Cage through a megaphone. "Beans and pulses, just beans and pulses if you don't mind, boys."
When I sit down next to Beresford and Chen next week with my cards and my clock, I will block Bendel's Woody Allen voice, and Morgan's garlic bread, and think instead of Ant and Dec, two voids meeting in empty oblivion, bulldozers of negative space, leaving my mind clear for Indeterminacy. Eleven years later, that failed sitcom pitch belatedly has a higher purpose. But if the boys are interested, the offer remains open.
John Cage: fan of mushrooms, garlic bread, beans and pulses. Photograph: Bachrach/Archive Photos At the moment, I am trying to avoid thinking about John Cage. And instead, I find myself thinking about Ant & Dec. In 2009, the musicians Steve Beresford and Tania Chen asked me to supply the spoken part for a performance of Indeterminacy, by the postwar avant-garde giant John Cage. My shelves creak with music, but I didn't know any Cage, beyond Sonic Youth's interpretation of his piece Six on their Goodbye 20th Century album. As ever, I access the Temple of Culture by the tradesmen's entrance. Highbrow musicologists would scoff at this lowbrow lead in to Cage's oeuvre. But, in her 1975 tome Sword of Wisdom, the celebrated mystic Ithell Colquhoun recalls discovering the Order of the Golden Dawn in 1923 as "a schoolgirl sitting on a lavatory-seat and leaning forward to see into the depths of an osier basket lined with newspapers", specifically an occult expose from the Daily Express. In a piece of synchronicity worthy of Cage, I discovered this while reading Sword of Wisdom on my toilet, near to which I keep all my occult books, as I find they have laxative properties. Cage's Indeterminacy is currently available as a cardboard box of 90 cards of 90 stories of different lengths, and a leaflet of instructions: "Read the stories aloud, with or without accompaniment, paced so that each takes one minute. A stop-watch or watch with a second hand will help keep time. Read all 90 stories in order or select a smaller number, using chance procedures or not." Beresford and Chen elect to improvise on prepared pianos and found objects while I read Cage's stories in random order, and we all do our best to ignore each other, an approach that has made all the...
A clever idea, to bring the great lexicographer and his toadying sidekick back to the 21st century to revisit their famous journey to the Hebrides, in the Traverse's late-night comedy slot. Late, you see, as in dead. But alive again.
Iain Gillie, the promoter whose idea it was, made his best move in recruiting Stewart Lee to write the script. The challenge of trying to write some Johnsonian aphorisms for the modern era must have been irresistible.
Lee appeared himself to introduce the show on the first night, promising not to do so again “unless this turns out to be the best bit". Well, the rest of it wasn't as bad as all that, but Lee is such a charmer when he wants to be that he might have to be careful.
He has tried to give what follows a little dramatic shape, but don't expect much more than a gently entertaining way to wind down the festival day. Casting Miles Jupp as Boswell was, however, another good move. Jupp is about the only comedian I can think of who relishes being posh, and he is also a Scot. Boswell being such a pompous popinjay it suits him to a T.
Simon Munnery as Johnson is less comfortable, caught in two minds between acting the part and playing the comedy.
Still, much as Samuel Johnson was scathing about the Scotland in which he first arrived, Munnery and Lee fairly lay into contemporary Scotland, from the cuisine to the Parliament building. Just because a worm crawls across the page of a book it does not make it a reader, any more than having a parliament building guarantees the highest standard of debate and intellectual inquiry. Oddly enough that got a huge laugh from an auditorium mostly full of Scots; can't think why.
But, despite a couple of more elaborate set-pieces, including a very silly (in a good way) storm sequence on the way to Skye, which makes fun of the relationship between the two men rather than anything to do with Scotland, it does not really get much farther. There are some good lines and there are tantalising glimpses of another, more thoughtful but no less entertaining, show. For example, it is James Boswell, the Scot, who is quickest to disparage his native heath, something the Scots still do well.
Munnery's mouth-organ duet with the on-stage piper looked like the beginning of something quite surreal. The final denouement involving a haggis is unworthy of all concerned.
Until Aug 26. Box office 0131-228 1404
Stewart Lee
2007-08-15T19:53:41+01:00
A clever idea, to bring the great lexicographer and his toadying sidekick back to the 21st century to revisit their famous journey to the Hebrides, in the Traverse's late-night comedy slot. Late, you see, as in dead. But alive again. Iain Gillie, the promoter whose idea it was, made his best move in recruiting Stewart Lee to write the script. The challenge of trying to write some Johnsonian aphorisms for the modern era must have been irresistible. Lee appeared himself to introduce the show on the first night, promising not to do so again “unless this turns out to be the best bit". Well, the rest of it wasn't as bad as all that, but Lee is such a charmer when he wants to be that he might have to be careful. He has tried to give what follows a little dramatic shape, but don't expect much more than a gently entertaining way to wind down the festival day. Casting Miles Jupp as Boswell was, however, another good move. Jupp is about the only comedian I can think of who relishes being posh, and he is also a Scot. Boswell being such a pompous popinjay it suits him to a T. Simon Munnery as Johnson is less comfortable, caught in two minds between acting the part and playing the comedy. Still, much as Samuel Johnson was scathing about the Scotland in which he first arrived, Munnery and Lee fairly lay into contemporary Scotland, from the cuisine to the Parliament building. Just because a worm crawls across the page of a book it does not make it a reader, any more than having a parliament building guarantees the highest standard of debate and intellectual inquiry. Oddly enough that got a huge laugh from an auditorium mostly full of Scots; can't think...
Last week, there was really only one story. And it wasn’t that a children’s television science-fiction character, who never reproduces or has sexual relations with anyone, is now played by a human of a different gender than at any point previously. Despite this, like all the other crying centrists, I wept hot snowflakes to witness it happen in my lifetime.
And I couldn’t be happier that the Time Lady’s new companions include a black teenager with mild learning difficulties and a female Asian police officer. Predictably, The Chase’s Bradley Walsh let the side down by being a straight white man. Though I understand that in tonight’s episode Bradley Walsh reveals that, as a result of unpredictable side-effects from his character’s chemotherapy treatment, he now has both male and female genitalia, while a cloaca on his left thigh also enables him to reproduce parthenogenetically, although not without some discomfort.
Like the Zuni berdache, Bradley Walsh will become an intergender priest-princess, an ambassador between different dimensional realities, his engagements unencumbered by a traditional sexual identity. Typical BBC! It’s political correctness gone mad!! Nonetheless, the genitalia of fictional time travellers wasn’t the week’s big story.
On Monday, scientists revealed that we have only 12 years to put in place real strategies to combat climate change before the future of all life on Earth is doomed. It has taken our government more than two years to fail to agree that Brexit is more difficult than David Davis’s proposed easiest thing in the world. In the light of the progress of these negotiations, I don’t hold out much hope for the survival of the Melton Mowbray pork pie, let alone the continued existence of all the life on Earth.
But while climate change experts were once derided as cranks, a kind of environmental Flat Earth Society, finally their message is believed. And now the cranks are oil industry cheerleaders such as Nigel Lawson, ranting outside the window like a Hogarth etching of some bawling fictional aristocrat; Lord Entitlement Demands His Buttermilk Ramekin.
The definitive mass extinction bombshell held its position in the news chart for a few days and on Wednesday all four of the Guardian’s page four stories covered the end of all life as we know it and related fossil fuel consumption and rainforest obliteration news, shunting Adrian Searle’s review of the artist Anni Albers’s new abstract textiles exhibition all the way back to a humiliating page nine.
A further story, that the Dutch are developing robot bees to pollinate the crops we need to survive after the now inevitable insect apocalypse, ran on page 14, being five pages less important that the textile display. I immediately began to worry that intelligent robot bees would realise the best way to ensure the survival of the crops they were programmed to nurture was to destroy the human race who were poisoning the Earth. I wondered how me and my family would best survive attack by millions of Dutch nano-bees. I began learning the phrase “Robot bee, I am your friend” in as many Dutch dialects as I could master: West Frisian, Papiamento, Low Saxon and Limburgish.
If the Doctor really cared, wouldn’t she go back in time and save us? Photograph: Sophie Mutevilian/BBC
In other newspapers, we were back to business as usual. On the front page of Wednesday’s Sun, the end of all life on Earth forgotten, it was revealed that a comedy man had kissed a dancing lady behind an acting lady’s back. Really? As a species, we don’t deserve to live. It’s just a shame we’re going to take all the insects, animals and plants down with us. Unless we are exterminated by robot bees.
The imminent extinction of all life on Earth exposes a logical hole in the Doctor Who mythos. The Doctor loves to help humanity but as a time traveller she must know that within a decade or so our whole race will be doomed. If she really cared, wouldn’t she go back in time and save us all from ourselves? But by doing what exactly? Preventing Trump from weakening the Paris accord last June? Exposing the 1970s oil companies that sat on climate change data they knew would make their brands toxic in the short term? Or going back to the dawn of time and preventing the clever troglodyte, Keith Flintsparker, the first fire-starter, from dipping a dry twig into a puddle of tar and flint-sparking it into fuel.
The 1975 Tom Baker Doctor Who story Genesis of the Hateweed explores this conundrum. In it, the Doctor finds himself in the laboratory where his future nemesis, the Hateweed, is being genetically engineered into existence. He holds the spores over a nearby toilet and eventually decides that flushing them down the bowl and destroying them would constitute too great an intervention in the timeline. Nicholas Parsons, in a rare serious role as the Hateweed’s creator, Anglias the Weedseeder, watches him while eating a blue space pie, in an act of defiant indifference.
In 1992, I worked with Baker on the BBC radio comedy series The Inexplicable Worlds of Patrick Nimmo and I loved pumping Baker for behind-the-scenes Who stash. Baker told me he had been professionally jealous of the popularity of the Hateweed with female Doctor Who fans and had intended to change the scene while filming by “throwing the fucking seeds into the toilet and doing a massive, fast wee on them and shouting, ‘That’s pissed in their chips!’ But Nicholas Parsons said, ‘You, Thomas Stewart Baker, are drunk,’ and he said he would throw the space pie at me if I did a wee. I said, ‘I may be drunk, but you are Nicholas Parsons and in the morning I will be sober.’ We had a jolly good laugh and it was all forgotten over a few jars.”
I share a personal trainer with Bradley Walsh and so I went to meet him in Doctor Who’s Cardiff studios on Thursday and asked him if he thought the new Doctor should intervene in the climate change catastrophe. Bradley Walsh, who was patiently being fitted for multiple prosthetic genitals, both male and female, and those of a bird, said he didn’t know.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-14T19:07:56+01:00
Last week, there was really only one story. And it wasn’t that a children’s television science-fiction character, who never reproduces or has sexual relations with anyone, is now played by a human of a different gender than at any point previously. Despite this, like all the other crying centrists, I wept hot snowflakes to witness it happen in my lifetime. And I couldn’t be happier that the Time Lady’s new companions include a black teenager with mild learning difficulties and a female Asian police officer. Predictably, The Chase’s Bradley Walsh let the side down by being a straight white man. Though I understand that in tonight’s episode Bradley Walsh reveals that, as a result of unpredictable side-effects from his character’s chemotherapy treatment, he now has both male and female genitalia, while a cloaca on his left thigh also enables him to reproduce parthenogenetically, although not without some discomfort. Like the Zuni berdache, Bradley Walsh will become an intergender priest-princess, an ambassador between different dimensional realities, his engagements unencumbered by a traditional sexual identity. Typical BBC! It’s political correctness gone mad!! Nonetheless, the genitalia of fictional time travellers wasn’t the week’s big story. On Monday, scientists revealed that we have only 12 years to put in place real strategies to combat climate change before the future of all life on Earth is doomed. It has taken our government more than two years to fail to agree that Brexit is more difficult than David Davis’s proposed easiest thing in the world. In the light of the progress of these negotiations, I don’t hold out much hope for the survival of the Melton Mowbray pork pie, let alone the continued existence of all the life on Earth. But while climate change experts were once derided as cranks, a kind of environmental Flat Earth...
“Are there any jokes? No,” says Stewart Lee midway through his new show A Room with a Stew, and he’s telling the truth. There aren’t any jokes as such.
But there is surreal, vivid imagery that emerges often from nowhere as it builds, layer upon layer, through exquisitely tortuous repetition.
References to Brechtian alienation share the bill with a variety of tales of childhood urination.
It’s awkward, self-referential and self-consciously arrogant and, because of rather than despite these traits, it’s brilliant.
A Room with a Stew is performed in half-hour sets, testing new material for the next series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle with topics rotating and changing each night.
Although Lee issues an edict that critics should only award the show three or four stars, rather than five, as there is no overarching theme, the disjointed format allows the construction of comedy to be gleefully exposed.
Lee checks his watch to see if each segment fits within the required 28 minutes, takes notes throughout, unravels apparent spontaneity and berates the audience for failing to laugh with appropriate vigour at the prescribed comedic peaks.
This allows Lee to play with what comedy means, manipulating his persona, his role as a comic and his audience as well as constructing, deconstructing and exploding narratives throughout.
Politically, arts cuts, the Birmingham Trojan Horse witch hunt and Jeremy Corbyn are referenced and Russell Brand is derided with the disdain of a self-defined “politically-correct liberal”.
Far from being a moralistic lecture however, Lee weaves these political themes into his performance with one of the sets ending with an exposition of the Tory party’s worst fears writ large involving the aforementioned Corbyn, an England flag and a cat with explosive diarrhoea.
On the performance reviewed, Lee strongly satirised the current trend for comedy attacking Islam, positioning himself as the put-upon comic responding to the strangled demands of a Mail on Sunday reader for Islamophobic observational comedy.
However, an attempt to take on Islamophobia through irony by exemplifying how a negative reaction to a reactionary joke can be diffused with comedic rhetoric backfired.
As Lee was shocked to discover, some of the audience applauded the joke as, in essence, his comedic expertise had been too successful in deflecting any potential objections — the audience had become genuinely confused as to how they were supposed to react to a clearly racist joke.
However, despite this, A Room with a Stew is an excellent night out and an acerbic antidote to the ranks of derivative observational comedians currently treading the boards.
You’ll likely be confused, uncertain, screamed at, accused of inattention, stupidity and worse, and, I have no doubt, love every minute of it.
Stewart Lee
2015-10-14T19:34:12+01:00
“Are there any jokes? No,” says Stewart Lee midway through his new show A Room with a Stew, and he’s telling the truth. There aren’t any jokes as such. But there is surreal, vivid imagery that emerges often from nowhere as it builds, layer upon layer, through exquisitely tortuous repetition. References to Brechtian alienation share the bill with a variety of tales of childhood urination. It’s awkward, self-referential and self-consciously arrogant and, because of rather than despite these traits, it’s brilliant. A Room with a Stew is performed in half-hour sets, testing new material for the next series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle with topics rotating and changing each night. Although Lee issues an edict that critics should only award the show three or four stars, rather than five, as there is no overarching theme, the disjointed format allows the construction of comedy to be gleefully exposed. Lee checks his watch to see if each segment fits within the required 28 minutes, takes notes throughout, unravels apparent spontaneity and berates the audience for failing to laugh with appropriate vigour at the prescribed comedic peaks. This allows Lee to play with what comedy means, manipulating his persona, his role as a comic and his audience as well as constructing, deconstructing and exploding narratives throughout. Politically, arts cuts, the Birmingham Trojan Horse witch hunt and Jeremy Corbyn are referenced and Russell Brand is derided with the disdain of a self-defined “politically-correct liberal”. Far from being a moralistic lecture however, Lee weaves these political themes into his performance with one of the sets ending with an exposition of the Tory party’s worst fears writ large involving the aforementioned Corbyn, an England flag and a cat with explosive diarrhoea. On the performance reviewed, Lee strongly satirised the current trend for comedy attacking Islam, positioning...
Tonight is the last date of an 111-show run for Stewart Lee, during which he's been showcasing 'work in progress' material for the forthcoming third series of his BAFTA-winning BBC Two show, Comedy Vehicle.
This of course means two things. Firstly, that the esoteric trails of comic thoughts that feature throughout have been finely honed (and indeed, already recorded for TV) by this point. And secondly, that you'd be forgiven for thinking that you haven't missed out through non-attendance, given the material's imminent airing on the small screen.
But you'd be dead wrong on that second point, because tonight is a brilliant chance to revel in Lee's expert comic timing, surreal storytelling and sardonic wit. There's also plenty of his carefully planned faux-contempt for the audience, which endures as a smart (rather than tired) way to engage with the crowd.
That said, you do get the impression that an early dressing down of an interjecting audience member is entirely real and spontaneous. In fact, Lee's reaction to the American-style 'whoops' that follow is even better, gleaning an early highlight that's peppered with belly laughs from around the Pavilion.
As he explains, he hasn't spent 25 years doing this to be whooped at; you can leave that for the panel show comics that inspire his (seemingly sincere) disdain.
Stewart Lee
2014-02-12T12:51:38+00:00
Tonight is the last date of an 111-show run for Stewart Lee, during which he's been showcasing 'work in progress' material for the forthcoming third series of his BAFTA-winning BBC Two show, Comedy Vehicle. This of course means two things. Firstly, that the esoteric trails of comic thoughts that feature throughout have been finely honed (and indeed, already recorded for TV) by this point. And secondly, that you'd be forgiven for thinking that you haven't missed out through non-attendance, given the material's imminent airing on the small screen. But you'd be dead wrong on that second point, because tonight is a brilliant chance to revel in Lee's expert comic timing, surreal storytelling and sardonic wit. There's also plenty of his carefully planned faux-contempt for the audience, which endures as a smart (rather than tired) way to engage with the crowd. That said, you do get the impression that an early dressing down of an interjecting audience member is entirely real and spontaneous. In fact, Lee's reaction to the American-style 'whoops' that follow is even better, gleaning an early highlight that's peppered with belly laughs from around the Pavilion. As he explains, he hasn't spent 25 years doing this to be whooped at; you can leave that for the panel show comics that inspire his (seemingly sincere) disdain.
STEWART Lee gigs remind me of visits to my cousins’ house when I was little.
My cousins were unkempt country boys, who had out of control hair and socks that were falling off their feet.
They were older and naughtier than me and my sister, and showed very little interest in us.
But they did just enough to keep us following them around, to witness their misdeeds.
Lee, I feel, appears to do the same. He presents an off-hand ‘I couldn’t care less if you’re here or not’ approach, while keeping the audience on board with the enticement of being let in on his marvellously disrespectful, spot-on, witty talk about everybody and everything.
And yet, underlying it all, he is actually a very warm and engaging host.
Lee tells us he knows that audiences like to come along and sit in the dark and judge whoever’s on stage.
But rather than letting us do this, he beats us to it, putting himself down before we get the chance.
“Who came to see me when I was here years back, up the road at Moles, when I was good?” he asks.
And, “You’ve all come to see me now, now that I’m irrelevant.”
He also judges us, horribly accurately, so we’re no longer the anonymous mass in the dark we thought we were.
The poor Friends of Bath Theatre Royal really get it in the neck.
He says he knows they’ve come along with the best of intentions, to support the theatre, but really they shouldn’t have bothered.
They don’t really ‘get it’ and as such they are acting as a barrier to the contagion of connection and laughter rippling round the auditorium.
He has taken the audience/performer dynamic and tinkered with it to such an extent that the walls between us and his comedy are gone.
We’re all floating in a mixture of suspended cynicism and arrested arrogance, which is nicely liberating.
I laugh so much I run out of places to wipe my tears.
He launches into an encore, and then abandons it, because it’s not working and we aren’t getting it.
I leave and start to drive home, only to discover that the road back to Stroud is closed.
It’s a freezing night and the heater in my car doesn’t work.
I’m cold and tired and this is annoying, but something about the evening I’ve just spent makes it ok.
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I’m cushioned in a warm comedy fuzz and manage to find a different way home.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-29T20:35:03+00:00
STEWART Lee gigs remind me of visits to my cousins’ house when I was little. My cousins were unkempt country boys, who had out of control hair and socks that were falling off their feet. They were older and naughtier than me and my sister, and showed very little interest in us. But they did just enough to keep us following them around, to witness their misdeeds. Lee, I feel, appears to do the same. He presents an off-hand ‘I couldn’t care less if you’re here or not’ approach, while keeping the audience on board with the enticement of being let in on his marvellously disrespectful, spot-on, witty talk about everybody and everything. And yet, underlying it all, he is actually a very warm and engaging host. Lee tells us he knows that audiences like to come along and sit in the dark and judge whoever’s on stage. But rather than letting us do this, he beats us to it, putting himself down before we get the chance. “Who came to see me when I was here years back, up the road at Moles, when I was good?” he asks. And, “You’ve all come to see me now, now that I’m irrelevant.” He also judges us, horribly accurately, so we’re no longer the anonymous mass in the dark we thought we were. The poor Friends of Bath Theatre Royal really get it in the neck. He says he knows they’ve come along with the best of intentions, to support the theatre, but really they shouldn’t have bothered. They don’t really ‘get it’ and as such they are acting as a barrier to the contagion of connection and laughter rippling round the auditorium. He has taken the audience/performer dynamic and tinkered with it to such an extent that the walls between...
As the news becomes ever more outlandish, how do we make sense of our current historical predicament and where are we heading? Cult American novelist Jarett Kobek has written a hilarious and provocative satire for our times: Only Americans Burn in Hell. Here at 5x15 he takes part in an unmissable conversation with acclaimed stand up comedian and writer Stewart Lee: an expert in satire this side of the Atlantic, and creator of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
The book is set in 2019 and America is ruled over by a billionaire reality TV star. The media is owned by a transnational class of the shameless and the depraved. And the people have been silently robbed of their wealth, their dignity and their democracy. In this brave new world, going to see a superhero movie counts as activism, and arguing with the other serfs on social media is political engagement. BUT EVERYTHING’S FINE - as long as you never, ever ask yourself who makes money from the ticket sales and the ratings, or who owns Twitter...
"Jarett Kobek articulated things I'd been trying to understand but couldn't find the words to" Stewart Lee
Recorded live in London in April 2019.
5x15 brings together outstanding individuals to tell of their lives, passions and inspirations.
Stewart Lee
2019-05-23T19:51:40+01:00
As the news becomes ever more outlandish, how do we make sense of our current historical predicament and where are we heading? Cult American novelist Jarett Kobek has written a hilarious and provocative satire for our times: Only Americans Burn in Hell. Here at 5x15 he takes part in an unmissable conversation with acclaimed stand up comedian and writer Stewart Lee: an expert in satire this side of the Atlantic, and creator of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. The book is set in 2019 and America is ruled over by a billionaire reality TV star. The media is owned by a transnational class of the shameless and the depraved. And the people have been silently robbed of their wealth, their dignity and their democracy. In this brave new world, going to see a superhero movie counts as activism, and arguing with the other serfs on social media is political engagement. BUT EVERYTHING’S FINE - as long as you never, ever ask yourself who makes money from the ticket sales and the ratings, or who owns Twitter... "Jarett Kobek articulated things I'd been trying to understand but couldn't find the words to" Stewart Lee Recorded live in London in April 2019. 5x15 brings together outstanding individuals to tell of their lives, passions and inspirations.
In the early Eighties, The Long Ryders played country-influenced garage rock to LA crowds culturally programmed to despise it. Such is the subliminal influence of their 1984 debut, here with thirteen indispensible extras, that without it the whole world would sound very slightly different. Punked country stomps like (Sweet) Mental Revenge and Run Dusty Run collide with the soaring psychedelic mini-suites, The Trip and And She Rides. Ivory Tower and Too Close To The Light hum with then forgotten folk rock harmonies. Though the band were to write better individual songs on the follow up, State Of Our Union, Native Sons remains definitive.
Stewart Lee
2011-06-11T20:46:39+01:00
In the early Eighties, The Long Ryders played country-influenced garage rock to LA crowds culturally programmed to despise it. Such is the subliminal influence of their 1984 debut, here with thirteen indispensible extras, that without it the whole world would sound very slightly different. Punked country stomps like (Sweet) Mental Revenge and Run Dusty Run collide with the soaring psychedelic mini-suites, The Trip and And She Rides. Ivory Tower and Too Close To The Light hum with then forgotten folk rock harmonies. Though the band were to write better individual songs on the follow up, State Of Our Union, Native Sons remains definitive.
A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is on BBC on Sunday 8th July at 11pm.
BENEFIT SHOWS
8th July - The Secret Spy Cops' Ball - Rob Newman, Evelyn Mok, Mark Steel, Stewart Lee, Jackson's Lane, London. For women tricked into relationships w undercover police. Most of the performers on the bill are adopted orphans, oddly. https://www.jacksonslane.org.uk/whats-on/the-secret-spycops-ball
29th June - 1st July 2018 Also Festival
Compton Verney
Warwickshire
A compact weekend of terrific speakers, musicians, performers and makers - I'm thrilled to be invited. TICKETS
15th July 2018 Idler Festival
Fenton House
Hampstead Grove,
London NW3 6SP
This will be a wonderful weekend of talks by fascinating folk like Michael Palin, Sally Phillips and Carole Cadwalladr.
And I'll be performing a gentle Sunday morning version as part of the celebration of intelligent distraction. TICKETS
16th - 19th August 2018 Green Man Festival
Crickhowell
Brecon Beacons
The lecture can be located in the brainy enclave of Einstein's Garden.
I'm so glad to be returning to Green Man; this is always an amazing weekend of music, inspiration, fresh air and laughter. TICKETS
2) Drenched - Third Man Theatre Company.
I liked Third Man's work so much I became a patron of the company, essentially a vehicle for the visions of Dan Frost. They have a new show with dates so far in London this month and Edinburgh in August.
Daniel Drench. West Cornwall's most prolific and unstable storyteller, presents a bewildering and potentially moving interpretation of the classic Cornish folk tale 'The Mermaid of Zennor'.
Drenched is a one man comedy-theatre piece, challenging the form of a traditional solo performance with a combination of storytelling, character comedy and physical theatre.
Old Red Lion Theatre, Islington
2nd & 3rd July @ 7pm
4th July @ 9.30pm
Edinburgh Festival 2018
1-27 August - Pleasance Courtyard @ 3pm
3) PIGSPURT'S DAUGHTER
Daisy Campbell's memories of her father the performance art/comedy innvator Ken Campbell, is at Hampstead Theatre 11th - 14th July TICKETS
4) Bridget Christie - What Now? (New stand-up show)
Thursday 1st - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 2nd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 8th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 9th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 10th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 24th - WHAT NOW? - Nuffield Theatre (NST City), SOUTHAMPTON - 7.30pm - 023 8067 1771 - TICKETS
Tuesday 27th - WHAT NOW? - The Junction, CAMBRIDGE - 8pm - 01223 511 511 - TICKETS
DECEMBER 2018
Monday 3rd - WHAT NOW? - Playhouse, NORWICH - TBCpm - 01603 598598 - ON SALE SOON
Tuesday 4th - WHAT NOW? - Playhouse, NORWICH - TBCpm - 01603 598598 - ON SALE SOON
5) WILSON DIXON
Jesse Griffin's dead-on parody of an American outlaw country singer, WILSON DIXON, has an intimate UK tour
June 2018
Monday June 25th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm
Tuesday June 26th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm
Wednesday June 27th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm
Thursday June 28th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm
Friday June 29th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm
Saturday June 30th - Soho Theatre, London - 020 7478 0100 - 9.30pm Booking link
July 2018
Sunday July 1st - The Stand Comedy Club, Glasgow - 0141 212 3389 - 4.30pm Tickets
Sunday July 1st - The Stand Comedy Club, Edinburgh - 0131 558 7272 - 7.30pm Tickets
Tuesday July 3rd - The Stand Comedy Club, Edinburgh - 0131 558 7272 - 7.30pm Tickets
Wednesday July 4th - Chapter Arts, Cardiff - 029 2030 4400 - 7.30pm Tickets
Stewart Lee
2018-06-15T17:50:12+01:00
CONTENT PROVIDER A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is on BBC on Sunday 8th July at 11pm. BENEFIT SHOWS 8th July - The Secret Spy Cops' Ball - Rob Newman, Evelyn Mok, Mark Steel, Stewart Lee, Jackson's Lane, London. For women tricked into relationships w undercover police. Most of the performers on the bill are adopted orphans, oddly. https://www.jacksonslane.org.uk/whats-on/the-secret-spycops-ball NIGHTINGALES DATES I am supporting Birmingham post-punk Legends The Nightingales doing 15 mins of my 80s material on seven of their autumn tour dates. Thu SEPT 20 OXFORD, THE CELLAR https://www.seetickets.com/event/the-nightingales/the-cellar/1227777 Fri SEPT 21 BRISTOL, THE EXCHANGE https://www.seetickets.com/event/nightingales/exchange/1227678 Sat SEPT 22 PORTSMOUTH, WEDGEWOOD ROOMS https://www.seetickets.com/event/the-nightingales/wedgewood-rooms/1225457 Tue OCT 2 BIRMINGHAM, HARE & HOUNDS https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Birmingham/Hare-And-Hounds/The-Nightingales/13216234/ Wed OCT 3 LONDON, MOTH CLUB https://www.seetickets.com/event/nightingales/moth-club/1227677 Thu OCT 4 CAMBRIDGE, PORTLAND ARMS https://www.wegottickets.com/greenmind/event/439332 Sat OCT 6 BRIGHTON, GREEN DOOR STORE http://www.wegottickets.com/event/439847 CAPRI-BATTERIE W STEWART LEE You can buy Bristol Fashion, an industrial jazz album which we improvised in an hour, here for £7. https://capri-batterie.bandcamp.com/album/bristol-fashion Home Town Tales The writer Maria Whatton and I are the joint authors of a new book of autobiographical fiction about Birmingham, Home Town Tales, which is out now. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hometown-Tales-Birmingham-Maria-Whatton/dp/147460594X/ Post Nearly Press Neal Jackson of Post Nearly Press conducted a lengthy interview with me, available as a stand-alone book here www.postnearlypress.com I Arrogantly Recommend 1) Ben Moor - Pronoun Trouble. New show from the performance art genius. 5th July 2018 7.30pm Greater Manchester Fringe Festival Anthony Burgess Foundation 3 Cambridge Street Manchester M1 5BY The most academic place I have so far found to give the talk, and maybe the coolest. There are lots of other great things going on during the Greater Manchester Fringe Festival too - why not check out the full programme? TICKETS 29th June - 1st July 2018 Also Festival Compton Verney Warwickshire A compact...
I wonder if @Slack_TV will be risking his life and tuning in to the broadcast of Stewart Lee's show Tornado on Sunday. Last Sunday, when Lee's show Snowflake was broadcast on BBC Two it nearly killed @slack_TV according to his Twitter posts. He wrote: "As my regular followers know I have a machine to help me breath when my lungs give up on me, Stewart Lee literally nearly killed me with laughter last night, thank you mate, better luck next time #bbc2"
Othere were not quite so impressed by Lee's alternative state of the nation address. His brutal, silent, face-pulling take down of Ricky Gervais and the "you can't say anything these days" brigade was a particular room divider.
@vickyinatutu tweeted: "If Stewart Lee grunting into a microphone for 9 minutes to make some sort of point about Ricky Gervais not being funny, isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is #Snowflake"
Bitchard tweeted: "Thankyou Stewart Lee's 'Snowflake' for the best ever impersonation of Ricky Gervais the world will ever see and don't worry Gervais fans, he won't get upset by my tweet. He blocked me."
While Sean Begley was particularly keen on the music with Nick Pynn at the end: "Saw 'Snowflake' by #StewartLee in Edinburgh a few weeks back. It was phenomenal, of course, but the brilliant @nickpynn added something special to the final segment on @BBC"
So it'll be interesting to see what viewers make of the second show Tornado, which Lee performed back-to-back with Snowflake before, during and after the pandemic. I expect it will have changed a bit since I first saw it way back in 2019 when he had a pop at Phoebe Waller-Bridge among others and I reviewed it here.
If you like what you see there's a brand new Stewart Lee show in the pipeline which he is suggesting is a more stripped down one-man-and-his-mic show. It is called Basic Lee. Details of long London run and tour here.
By the way, Tornado is directed by Al Campbell, who – trivia fans – played spoof pundit Barry Shitpeas in Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe shows and has also worked on Inside No 9.
Stewart Lee
2022-09-08T19:59:55+01:00
I wonder if @Slack_TV will be risking his life and tuning in to the broadcast of Stewart Lee's show Tornado on Sunday. Last Sunday, when Lee's show Snowflake was broadcast on BBC Two it nearly killed @slack_TV according to his Twitter posts. He wrote: "As my regular followers know I have a machine to help me breath when my lungs give up on me, Stewart Lee literally nearly killed me with laughter last night, thank you mate, better luck next time #bbc2" Othere were not quite so impressed by Lee's alternative state of the nation address. His brutal, silent, face-pulling take down of Ricky Gervais and the "you can't say anything these days" brigade was a particular room divider. @vickyinatutu tweeted: "If Stewart Lee grunting into a microphone for 9 minutes to make some sort of point about Ricky Gervais not being funny, isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is #Snowflake" Bitchard tweeted: "Thankyou Stewart Lee's 'Snowflake' for the best ever impersonation of Ricky Gervais the world will ever see and don't worry Gervais fans, he won't get upset by my tweet. He blocked me." While Sean Begley was particularly keen on the music with Nick Pynn at the end: "Saw 'Snowflake' by #StewartLee in Edinburgh a few weeks back. It was phenomenal, of course, but the brilliant @nickpynn added something special to the final segment on @BBC" So it'll be interesting to see what viewers make of the second show Tornado, which Lee performed back-to-back with Snowflake before, during and after the pandemic. I expect it will have changed a bit since I first saw it way back in 2019 when he had a pop at Phoebe Waller-Bridge among others and I reviewed it here. If you like what you see there's a brand...
My first novel, released in June 2001 by Fourth Estate.
From the back of the book:
"The Perfect Fool" charts the progress of a collection of misfits, spread across the wide open spaces of Arizona & the narrow streets of South London, all unwittingly caught up in a quest for the Holy Grail.
Mr Lewis believes he was once an astronaut; Sid & Danny's Dire Straits covers band isn't exactly filling the pubs of Streatham; Tracy travels between Las Vegas & the Mexican border, fleeing the suspicion that she's a serial killer; Bob, a Native American clown, no longer finds anything funny; Luther, and acid casualty 60s rock star, has long since forgotten the most basic chord shapes; and Peter Rugg lost a cigarette down the back of a Portobello Road sofa thirty years ago and is still looking for it.
These seemingly unrelated individuals eventually collide in the deserts of the American South West, where they form an uneasy silence. Stewart Lee's first novel combines an eclectic range of characters and cultures with an instinctive comic touch."
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T23:32:46+00:00
My first novel, released in June 2001 by Fourth Estate. From the back of the book: "The Perfect Fool" charts the progress of a collection of misfits, spread across the wide open spaces of Arizona & the narrow streets of South London, all unwittingly caught up in a quest for the Holy Grail. Mr Lewis believes he was once an astronaut; Sid & Danny's Dire Straits covers band isn't exactly filling the pubs of Streatham; Tracy travels between Las Vegas & the Mexican border, fleeing the suspicion that she's a serial killer; Bob, a Native American clown, no longer finds anything funny; Luther, and acid casualty 60s rock star, has long since forgotten the most basic chord shapes; and Peter Rugg lost a cigarette down the back of a Portobello Road sofa thirty years ago and is still looking for it. These seemingly unrelated individuals eventually collide in the deserts of the American South West, where they form an uneasy silence. Stewart Lee's first novel combines an eclectic range of characters and cultures with an instinctive comic touch."
1 What weighs as much as 21bn suns, is 10 times the size of our solar system, breaks down the physical laws of space and time, and can swallow itself and everything around it?
a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy
c) Louise Mensch's nose
d) Greece's sovereign debt
e) ITV's Daybreak
2 The third series of BBC1's The Impressions Show, starring Jon Culshaw and Debra Stephenson, began broadcasting in October this year, but this time around the show was forbidden from making jokes about which significant natural phenomenon?
a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach
b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy
c) Louise Mensch's nose
d) Greece's sovereign debt
e) ITV's Daybreak
3 What tried to stem the departure of hundreds of thousands of loyal followers by setting the costly toby-jug-faced man Adrian Chiles free this month?
a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach
b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy
c) Louise Mensch's nose
d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak
4 What has, highly probably, had some of the drugs Nigel Kennedy was contemplating near it, been nuzzled by Metallica's manager, and sniffed out corruption at the News of the World?
a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach
b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt
e) ITV's Daybreak
5 What was downgraded to category CCC, the world's lowest, following an EU/IMF audit in June this year?
a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach
b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy
c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak
Round 2: Comedians and comedy
1 Which football-loving comedian told the Archbishop of Canterbury he thought atheists were as big a threat to humanity as climate-change deniers? Frank Skinner
2 Who wrote on their website that Jeremy Clarkson's Top Gear was "one of the funniest shows on TV … one of the very few programs at the Burka Broadcasting Corporation still worth seeing"? Norwegian neo-Nazi mass murderer Anders Breivik
3 Which wealthy Hollywood-based comedian spent much of the year bravely trying to reclaim the word "mong" from its apparent misuse? Ricky Gervais
4 Which beloved male American comedian was mistakenly referred to as "she" on live TV in a piece on his untimely death by the abysmal expat journo Piers Morgan? Patrice O'Neal
5 Which insolent comedian spent most of September vomiting and retching, having guzzled a cocktail of E coli, salmonella and hepatitis, while arrogantly defying nature by attempting to swim the length of the Thames out of sheer vanity? David Walliams
Round 3: The Tories
1 Which of the following has never been a nickname for chancellor George Osborne?
a) Cabin Boy George
b) Oik c) Pencils
2 All the following politicians were members of the exclusive, room-trashing, window-smashing, student dining society the Bullingdon club. But who dismissed these escapades, while applauding zero tolerance for summer rioters, by saying: "We all do stupid things when we're young"?
a) David Cameron b) George Osborne
c) Boris Johnson
3 Which of the following current or former Conservative MPs has not been the victim of opportunistic late-night burglars?
a) Oliver Letwin b) Louise Mensch c) Liam Fox
4 Which confusing Tory MP reveals their surprising sensitivity to black American jazz and the personal struggles of its economically and socially disenfranchised proponents in a series of thoughtful documentaries on BBC Radio 4?
a) Ann Widdecombe
b) Oliver Letwin c) Ken Clarke
5 Which Tory MP looks the most like a cross between a blinky lemur and an ambitious eel?
a) Michael Gove b) Louise Mensch
c) George Osborne
Round 4: Rock - true or false
1 The British Museum currently displays a glazed pot depicting Mark E Smith, of Manchester rock survivors the Fall. True
2 Soon after the breakup of REM, Michael Stipe appeared on a US TV chatshow competing in a quiz alongside Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. True
3 The actor-comedian Russell Brand secretly blows into an ocarina belonging to the Amorphous Androgynous collective on Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds album. False
4 In his autobiography, Rob Brydon claims, amusingly, that he lost his virginity while listening to side two of the 1975 album Maximum Darkness by the Welsh progressive rock band Man, specifically during John Cipollina's guitar solo on the band's version of the folk-blues standard Codeine. False
5 Glenn Gregory, of Human League and Heaven 17, has invented a device that enables him to hack into supermarket PA systems and broadcast facetious announcements to confused shoppers. True
Round 5: Punk postmen
1 Which punk proto-goths backed postman Frank Bell on the 1979 single I'm a Cult Hero? The Cure
2 Name one of the three bands fronted by Birmingham punk legend and sometime postman Robert Lloyd. The Prefects, the Nightingales or the New Four Seasons
3 Which comedian played Manchester punk scenester John the Postman in the film 24 Hour Party People? Dave Gorman
4 Which punk postman recorded with Subway Sect? Vic Goddard
5 Which British blues guitarist, whose drunken 1976 on-stage anti-immigration rant inspired punk's Rock Against Racism movement, once worked as a postman, delivering letters through a letterbox, rather than, as a drunk man, delivering race hatred through his mouth. Eric Clapton
Stewart Lee
2011-12-25T21:29:18+00:00
Round 1: The Five Things 1 What weighs as much as 21bn suns, is 10 times the size of our solar system, breaks down the physical laws of space and time, and can swallow itself and everything around it? a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak 2 The third series of BBC1's The Impressions Show, starring Jon Culshaw and Debra Stephenson, began broadcasting in October this year, but this time around the show was forbidden from making jokes about which significant natural phenomenon? a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak 3 What tried to stem the departure of hundreds of thousands of loyal followers by setting the costly toby-jug-faced man Adrian Chiles free this month? a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak 4 What has, highly probably, had some of the drugs Nigel Kennedy was contemplating near it, been nuzzled by Metallica's manager, and sniffed out corruption at the News of the World? a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak 5 What was downgraded to category CCC, the world's lowest, following an EU/IMF audit in June this year? a) Eamonn Holmes's stomach b) The newly discovered largest ever black hole, in the NGC 4889 galaxy c) Louise Mensch's nose d) Greece's sovereign debt e) ITV's Daybreak Round 2: Comedians and comedy 1 Which football-loving comedian told...
I wrote an introduction for Tim Bradford's An Urban Country Diary
For fifteen years, Tim Bradford has meandered round the quiet streets of his North London home, seeking out the ordinary and the extraordinary, the sublime and the ridiculous.
A London Country Diary documents his wanderings - he attempts to rescue a deer in Clissold Park, talks to a magical old man in Holloway, breaks up a fight in Stoke Newington and has issues with foxes in Highbury. And that's just the beginning.
All of life is in these pages. Well, some. OK, just a little bit.
But with its idiosyncratic wit and charming illustrations, this book is a timely reminder that you can find beauty, humour and life, wherever you call home.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T21:50:23+00:00
I wrote an introduction for Tim Bradford's An Urban Country Diary For fifteen years, Tim Bradford has meandered round the quiet streets of his North London home, seeking out the ordinary and the extraordinary, the sublime and the ridiculous. A London Country Diary documents his wanderings - he attempts to rescue a deer in Clissold Park, talks to a magical old man in Holloway, breaks up a fight in Stoke Newington and has issues with foxes in Highbury. And that's just the beginning. All of life is in these pages. Well, some. OK, just a little bit. But with its idiosyncratic wit and charming illustrations, this book is a timely reminder that you can find beauty, humour and life, wherever you call home.
SOME people think Jerry Springer is the host of an infamous freak-show which exploits inarticulate human misery for the entertainment of the middle classes. This, of course, is half the fun. But until you've been in the grungier parts of the United States it's hard to realise that this high priest of self-expression is perhaps also the greatest satirist on television, holding a mirror of disgust to the place where the American soul used to be.
Richard Thomas has set himself the task of operatising the peculiar human dramas of Springer, and captures the desperate mimicry of lives that are meaningless until televised in music which parodies everything from Bach chorales to ragtime and gospel. This is not a show to take granny to: it relies heavily upon the unarguable notion that swear-words set to sophisticated music are irreducible funny.
Jerry Springer: the Opera is exactly what it says on the tin, a succession of human exhibits whose big moment has come to tell their slack-jawed loved ones and gawping millions stuff that would be far too mortifying to say in private. Maybe we've seen it all before: a man discovers his girlfriend is a pre-op transvestite, while he is revealed as a gay thanatomaniac? Old hat..... but as in the real Jerry, these stories develop their own momentum, the stage gradually fills with guests of increasingly intricate perversion and a battery of beloved catchphrases in response to the stage audience's growing loathing: "Talk to the hand, the face ain't listening...". Short and varied enough to maintain a suitable level of hilarity, the show nods to more traditional operatic forms with rhapsodic asides as the characters reveal ever more about themselves: thus a wistful threnody to the many joys of coprophilia - you get the picture. Commercial breaks are supplied by the studio audience and are a hideously accurate pastiche of the pervasive white noise of American life: "Give it to Jesus, or alternatively die"; "No motivation? No worries, no trouble, Novocaine", set to a jolly Tom Lehrer-like medley of tunes.
The six singers really sweat for their supper, each performing a number of characters with appropriate pathos and raucousness, in music which demands range as well as technique. Martin Lowe vamps indefatigably on the piano, Rick Bland is an uncannily lifelike Jerry and Andrew Brooke as the mythical bouncer Steve will have more to do when a fight director has been hired. The surprise ending of this semi-staged performance leaves room for more, and I don't think we need worry unduly about Jerry: like all American superheroes, he is of course immortal.
Stewart Lee
2001-08-24T16:13:19+01:00
SOME people think Jerry Springer is the host of an infamous freak-show which exploits inarticulate human misery for the entertainment of the middle classes. This, of course, is half the fun. But until you've been in the grungier parts of the United States it's hard to realise that this high priest of self-expression is perhaps also the greatest satirist on television, holding a mirror of disgust to the place where the American soul used to be. Richard Thomas has set himself the task of operatising the peculiar human dramas of Springer, and captures the desperate mimicry of lives that are meaningless until televised in music which parodies everything from Bach chorales to ragtime and gospel. This is not a show to take granny to: it relies heavily upon the unarguable notion that swear-words set to sophisticated music are irreducible funny. Jerry Springer: the Opera is exactly what it says on the tin, a succession of human exhibits whose big moment has come to tell their slack-jawed loved ones and gawping millions stuff that would be far too mortifying to say in private. Maybe we've seen it all before: a man discovers his girlfriend is a pre-op transvestite, while he is revealed as a gay thanatomaniac? Old hat..... but as in the real Jerry, these stories develop their own momentum, the stage gradually fills with guests of increasingly intricate perversion and a battery of beloved catchphrases in response to the stage audience's growing loathing: "Talk to the hand, the face ain't listening...". Short and varied enough to maintain a suitable level of hilarity, the show nods to more traditional operatic forms with rhapsodic asides as the characters reveal ever more about themselves: thus a wistful threnody to the many joys of coprophilia - you get the picture. Commercial breaks are supplied...
Stewart Lee, who Mark Watson describes as the compass of comedy, hosts a part standup comedy part sketch show called Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. Just the fact that this show has been on the air for three seasons, and what’s more has been picked up by Hulu in America, gives us hope that intelligent comedy consumers still exist among us, especially after Comedy Central’s cancellation of Stewart Lee’s The Alternative Comedy Experience after just two seasons last year. Another reason it’s so remarkable it’s still on the air is that the content is aimed at the type of people who don’t like standup comedy or television, so it’s offered to them in a format they are already not interested in.
Like most standup comedy television programs, this show’s main goals are sending an incoherent message to Russell Brand, commenting on a post-Adrian Chiles England, lowering the sales on Dan Brown books, and bringing back Asher D’s band So Solid Crew. That or everything Stewart tells Armando Iannucci in the Red Button bonus features is a lie. Take your pick. These black-and-white, straight-faced interviews are partly written by Iannucci’s once personal assistant.
Lee’s standup portions of the show largely contain material he has used in his touring shows in the past. Because he is a long-form comic, he has time for just one routine per episode, allowing each episode to have just one theme, like about how he hates celebrity hardbacks or how American stand up, such as that of jazz comedian Franklyn Ajaye, has no value. As always, the humor is layered. Lee tells a typical mainstream joke: “My dad used to call the telly the idiot’s lantern…which is why he lost his job as head of ITV.” He then tells the joke two more times: “…which is why he was hired as head of ITV.” “…which is why he lost his job as inventor of television.” On one layer, haha, each joke is kind of funny. On another layer, he’s making fun of cliche joke structure. On a third layer, which he couldn’t possibly have intended since this season aired in 2009, Mark Watson, who Lee famously tore a new one in his pear cider routine, was placed #3 in the top ten funniest jokes of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2014 with the joke “Always leave them wanting more, my uncle used to say to me. Which is why he lost his job in disaster relief.” For the most part, Lee’s comedy is un-compromised by the television network, but there is a bit about Islamic Dogs that the television lawyers made him take out of the script. No one believes that the actual script existed, but if you read his book How I Escaped my Certain Fate, you’ll learn that it’s true. As always, Lee is not afraid to go off mic, hang from the balconies, or sit in the laps of his audience members.
The sketches are brief, usually with an extended one of epic proportions, most notably the celebration of Del Boy falling through the bar (based on the poll that the British public consider this to be the funniest thing ever on television) or the apple sketch, which goes post-modern when Kevin Eldon and Paul Putner destroy the set. Other sketch actors include Simon Munnery, Tony Law (doing a Lenny Bruce spoof), Setphen K. Amos, Tim Vine, Miles Jupp, and many other recognizable character actors.
At the moment, season 1 only seems to be available in region 2/Pal on DVD, where you can treat yourself to the commentary tracks, deleted scenes that include interaction with the audience, clips of Scottish comedian Stephen Carlin doing the warmup, and many interviews with Armando Iannucci where you learn all sorts of interesting behind-the-scenes “facts” like that the audience is made of fruit.
Stewart Lee
2016-02-22T04:45:11+00:00
Stewart Lee, who Mark Watson describes as the compass of comedy, hosts a part standup comedy part sketch show called Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. Just the fact that this show has been on the air for three seasons, and what’s more has been picked up by Hulu in America, gives us hope that intelligent comedy consumers still exist among us, especially after Comedy Central’s cancellation of Stewart Lee’s The Alternative Comedy Experience after just two seasons last year. Another reason it’s so remarkable it’s still on the air is that the content is aimed at the type of people who don’t like standup comedy or television, so it’s offered to them in a format they are already not interested in. Like most standup comedy television programs, this show’s main goals are sending an incoherent message to Russell Brand, commenting on a post-Adrian Chiles England, lowering the sales on Dan Brown books, and bringing back Asher D’s band So Solid Crew. That or everything Stewart tells Armando Iannucci in the Red Button bonus features is a lie. Take your pick. These black-and-white, straight-faced interviews are partly written by Iannucci’s once personal assistant. Lee’s standup portions of the show largely contain material he has used in his touring shows in the past. Because he is a long-form comic, he has time for just one routine per episode, allowing each episode to have just one theme, like about how he hates celebrity hardbacks or how American stand up, such as that of jazz comedian Franklyn Ajaye, has no value. As always, the humor is layered. Lee tells a typical mainstream joke: “My dad used to call the telly the idiot’s lantern…which is why he lost his job as head of ITV.” He then tells the joke two more times: “…which is why he was hired as...
Simon Emmerson's Imagined Village seek a rapprochement between the English folk tradition and post-colonial world music. Their third album finds sitars and tablas alongside the pedigree vocals of Jackie Oates and an especially majestic Eliza Carthy, and Get Kalsi and The Guvna mix devotional sincerity with an arch meditational lounge muzak.
Perhaps Bending The Dark's a sometimes too immaculate conception, without the arresting rough edges its star contributors leave on their own work, and Martin Carthy's stately guitar part scythes tellingly through the perfumed garden of the epic title track, but this daring cross-cultural fusion rarely sounds forced.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-14T20:27:54+01:00
Simon Emmerson's Imagined Village seek a rapprochement between the English folk tradition and post-colonial world music. Their third album finds sitars and tablas alongside the pedigree vocals of Jackie Oates and an especially majestic Eliza Carthy, and Get Kalsi and The Guvna mix devotional sincerity with an arch meditational lounge muzak. Perhaps Bending The Dark's a sometimes too immaculate conception, without the arresting rough edges its star contributors leave on their own work, and Martin Carthy's stately guitar part scythes tellingly through the perfumed garden of the epic title track, but this daring cross-cultural fusion rarely sounds forced.
CONTENT PROVIDER is on BBC again on Saturday 29th Dec at 11.55pm, and then on the i-player for 3 months afterwards.
2) Late Junction/s ON RADIO 3
Stewart Lee is to host a series of eclectic musical programmes on Radio 3 this Christmas.
The comedian takes over as guest editor of the Late Junction for three nights, being joined by Tim Key for one of them.
Radio 3 says: 'From his time spent in record shops as a teenager, to more recent work moonlighting as a music critic, comedian Stewart Lee has had a long-time fascination with music.
Over the years he has built up a deep collection, with improvised works, post-punk and folk traditions all well-represented.'
On Christmas Day he will be joined by folk musician Richard Dawson; on Boxing Day by fellow comic and fellow leftfield music fan Tim Key, who has a special love of Soviet-era Russian tracks; and on December 27 he presents a a mixtape from recorder player and violinist Laura Cannell. The shows go out at 11pm nightly.
How does a working class autodidact, with no visible means of support, maintain his role as the leader of a cult British underground band into its fifth decade? Comedian and writer Stewart Lee (Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle) , director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales, Robert Lloyd and the New Four Seasons), Britain's ultimate post-punk survivor.
Robert Lloyd's Prefects played with The Clash on the White Riot tour in 1977, and their ongoing incarnation, as Birmingham's Captain Beefheart suffused post-punk poets The Nightingales, recorded more John Peel sessions than any other band. Ever.
Buoyed by endless critical acclaim, but hampered by ongoing commercial indifference, Lloyd has nonetheless continued to tour and record, The Nightingales' affairs managed by drummer Fliss Kitson, from a Wolverhampton shipping container, and Lloyd himself, from the isolated borderland mountain fastness of Wellington, Shropshire, surrounded by prehistoric remains and industrial archaeology.
Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and master snug room raconteur, appears to have maintained a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, often involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness.
But what were the social, cultural and economic circumstances that enabled and sustained such outsider artists in the punk and post-punk eras, and how has the world changed to the point where such figures are unlikely to flourish in the same way today? Lloyd's own odyssey echoes how abstract notions of social mobility, of the value of culture and music, have changed in the last five decades.
In an odd coincidence, Lloyd's current home, the Shropshire market town of Wellington, in the shadow of the Wrekin, is also where the comedian Stewart Lee was born, though he only spent nine days there before being dispatched to an orphanage, and has not been back since.
Further chance collisions abound. For a brief period the skyline of '70s concrete Birmingham was defined by Nicholas Monroe's unloved, and soon sold off pop art sculpture, of the giant ape, King Kong. Missing and presumed lost for years, this icon of Birmingham was eventually discovered prostrate in a Lake District garden, before being critically rehabilitated in an exhibition of great British public sculpture at the Henry Moore Gallery in Leeds in 2017.
As a child, Stewart was fascinated by the sculpture, and in a strange piece of synchronicity Lloyd compared his onstage persona to Monroe's Kong in a triumphant post-gig rant in King's Cross this year. The parallels make the point of comparison too good to ignore. King Rocker will shadow Lloyd's story with that of Birmingham's forgotten, and rediscovered, giant art ape, King Kong.
**UPDATE** We are now 1/3rd of the way through filming and editing and are looking for donations to complete the film. Everyone who donates, no matter how big or how small, will be featured in the end credits.
Stewart Lee
2018-12-21T09:00:14+00:00
1) CONTENT PROVIDER BBC 2 29th DEC CONTENT PROVIDER is on BBC again on Saturday 29th Dec at 11.55pm, and then on the i-player for 3 months afterwards. 2) Late Junction/s ON RADIO 3 Stewart Lee is to host a series of eclectic musical programmes on Radio 3 this Christmas. The comedian takes over as guest editor of the Late Junction for three nights, being joined by Tim Key for one of them. Radio 3 says: 'From his time spent in record shops as a teenager, to more recent work moonlighting as a music critic, comedian Stewart Lee has had a long-time fascination with music. Over the years he has built up a deep collection, with improvised works, post-punk and folk traditions all well-represented.' On Christmas Day he will be joined by folk musician Richard Dawson; on Boxing Day by fellow comic and fellow leftfield music fan Tim Key, who has a special love of Soviet-era Russian tracks; and on December 27 he presents a a mixtape from recorder player and violinist Laura Cannell. The shows go out at 11pm nightly. King Rocker https://www.kingrockerfilm.com/ How does a working class autodidact, with no visible means of support, maintain his role as the leader of a cult British underground band into its fifth decade? Comedian and writer Stewart Lee (Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle) , director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales, Robert Lloyd and the New Four Seasons), Britain's ultimate post-punk survivor. Robert Lloyd's Prefects played with The Clash on the White Riot tour in 1977, and their ongoing incarnation, as Birmingham's Captain Beefheart suffused post-punk poets The Nightingales, recorded more John Peel sessions than any other band. Ever. Buoyed by endless critical acclaim, but...
Sorry I wasn't clear, we were actually hoping for two replacement entries as a couple of the subjects Stewart has tackled will be problematic for us to get into the mag. We've got commercial business planned with both Paddy Power and Dyson so these are the two we'd be looking to replace with a few of Stewart's initial suggestions below to take it back up to 1200 words.
Also, given that he was on our cover a few weeks ago, is there another name we can use other than Jack Whitehall?
Here's the piece
I appreciate that there have been many genuinely terrible events this year, but those that have sickened me the most haven't involved massive loss of life or the destruction of entire nations, but have been instead smaller, less obviously catastrophic, incidents, which nonetheless seem to suggest that we, as a species, have no heart and soul, and deserve to be destroyed by global warming as soon as is practically possible. Here's my top ten!
1) Irish bookies Paddy Power add a promotional jockey figure to the back of the 3000 year old English chalk hill figure, The White Horse of Uffington. The horse may have been a tribal emblem, or have been of religious significance. To me it's a beautiful place of pilgrimage after a contemplative walk along the Ridgway, one of the most edifying long distance paths in the world.
To Paddy Power it was a publicity opportunity, that's all, and it saddens me whenever I think of the desecration they inflicted on the horse's graceful lines. Bookies operate a tax on desperation.
I hope everyone who works for Paddy Power, or thought this was funny, is fucked to death by a giant white horse, the cold-hearted sport morons.
2) Poachers cut off thousands of rhinos' horns, which have no medicinal value, for the Vietnamese homeopathy market.
Pretty soon there won't be any more rhinos, but Vietnamese people who've drunk powdered rhino horn will still be dying painfully of cancer, which is some consolation I suppose.
3) Jimmy Carr dodges tax. 99% of the highly-paid work Carr does is a futile waste of time which degrades the human spirit.
But at least, we assumed, he was paying tax on the massive fees he received for it, and putting something back into schools, hospitals etc. Except that he wasn't.
John Bishop said, "Jimmy Carr's tax arrangements are like his jokes. Every comedian in the country wishes they'd thought of them." You could say that. Or you could say, "Jimmy Carr's tax arrangements are like his jokes. Easy to admire from a technical point of view but lacking in any essential moral core."
And Carr's only punishment? To be briefly satirized by John Richardson on 8 Out Of 10 Cats, and then shouted at by some builders. Hopefully this will at least sabotage Carr's shark-eyed attempts to work the Liberal Satire Market on shit like Channel 4's 11 O'Clock Live. He writes good gags though and once offered to lend me money. But it's not enough.
4) Chris Moyles dodges tax. Same as Jimmy Carr, except marketing himself as 'ordinary bloke', whilst stealing your 90 year old gran's license money, rather than that dirty cash of Alcopop companies that sponsor all Channel 4 shows.
Worse than Jimmy Carr then. And he tried to cover it up.
Imagine taking money for "The Gospel According To Chris Moyles", admitting in your own introduction that you knew it was a bit of a shit book, and then not even paying the tax on the fee. How can he live with himself?
5) From beyond the grave, Jimmy Savile's secret Glam rock Dracula reign of terror allowed the right and media big business to kick the apparently self-loathing BBC to death. And you tolerated it.
Remember that, when all TV is I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here and all TV news is Adam Boulton licking gravy out of George Osborne's gusset. Remember that you stood by and did nothing.
6) Danny Boyle's Isles Of Wonder is temporarily viewed by people who have never been to the theatre in their lives as somehow subversive, but is in fact the last gasp of publicly funded art.
Boyle thought he was slyly mocking the government with his millions of dancing NHS nurses, but the assembled dignitaries just stood back and smiled through gritted teach because they knew they were about to destroy for ever all the regional theatre operations that nurtured this smug liberal hipster, once they'd milked him and all his gullible volunteer friends dry for the grand opening ceremony of their sterile corporate egg and spoon festival.
7) James Dyson, who invented a kind of wanker's Hoover, described the whole idea of teenagers being interested in arts and culture as "going off to study French lesbian poetry", a dismissal that manages to be racist, sexist, homophobic and anti-intellectual all at once. Good French lesbian poetry renders Dyson's Hoover irrelevant anyway.
It doesn't matter how dirty your flat is if you have a book of French Lesbian poetry to transport you. Here's hoping Dyson's millionaire penis will be torn off in the suckpipe of one of his own Hoovers, a fate that would never befall a French lesbian poet.
8) Young rich people living in shared Hackney houses. Imagine Jack Whitehall. Now imagine loads of Jack Whitehalls, some of whom are women, all living in a shared house, the front yard piled high for years with rotting pizza boxes, because they're just passing through, temporarily, raping East London for dirty-realist experiences, until their parents buy them all luxury flats way off West.
They're the only kind of young people that can afford this city now and that's why it's dying. Imagine them, with their double-barrelled names and braying laughs, having noisy all night parties, the decks operated by a man in a deep sea diving helmet, inflicting ironic 80s Human League records on the lovely little old lady two doors down, whose husband fell at Dunkirk, and for what? For these Jack Whitehall faced cunts?
9) Drug dealers do business outside my door from 11 pm - 4 am most nights, which I don't mind in of itself, but they allow their menacing weapon-dogs to foul the footpath incessantly and with nonchalant impudence.
What can you expect? They have already abandoned the social contract. But should my two year old have to stamp her wellies into excrement which could blind her just so shared Hackney houses full of Jack Whitehalls can stay up all night talking about how hilarious Rufus Hound is on that thing.
10) Last week I woke up at three in the morning and looked out of my window to see a hooded man, leaning on my gate and pissing through it, for two or three minutes, onto my path. There are many bushes and walls within a few seconds' walk from my gate. At the end he took a tissue out of his pocket and wiped the excess urine from his penis, though not from my gate, before heading off, avoiding all he excrement left by the drug dealers' dogs.
My kids potter about in the four foot square space we laughably call the front garden. I had to get up early and go out and throw Dettol over everything, being careful to wipe any frozen piss off the ironwork gate itself. What's going on? Contempt.
A collective inability to see the bigger picture. It begins with Paddy Power shitting on the Uffington Horse and ends with a man pissing on my gate. I have hated 2012. I expect next year will be worse.
Stewart Lee
2012-12-01T21:02:32+00:00
Sorry I wasn't clear, we were actually hoping for two replacement entries as a couple of the subjects Stewart has tackled will be problematic for us to get into the mag. We've got commercial business planned with both Paddy Power and Dyson so these are the two we'd be looking to replace with a few of Stewart's initial suggestions below to take it back up to 1200 words. Also, given that he was on our cover a few weeks ago, is there another name we can use other than Jack Whitehall? Here's the piece I appreciate that there have been many genuinely terrible events this year, but those that have sickened me the most haven't involved massive loss of life or the destruction of entire nations, but have been instead smaller, less obviously catastrophic, incidents, which nonetheless seem to suggest that we, as a species, have no heart and soul, and deserve to be destroyed by global warming as soon as is practically possible. Here's my top ten! 1) Irish bookies Paddy Power add a promotional jockey figure to the back of the 3000 year old English chalk hill figure, The White Horse of Uffington. The horse may have been a tribal emblem, or have been of religious significance. To me it's a beautiful place of pilgrimage after a contemplative walk along the Ridgway, one of the most edifying long distance paths in the world. To Paddy Power it was a publicity opportunity, that's all, and it saddens me whenever I think of the desecration they inflicted on the horse's graceful lines. Bookies operate a tax on desperation. I hope everyone who works for Paddy Power, or thought this was funny, is fucked to death by a giant white horse, the cold-hearted sport morons. 2) Poachers cut off thousands of...
National Bound: Wills Morgan and Lucy Stevens in the Battersea Arts production of Jerry Springer: The Opera.
As a statement of intent, it could not be clearer. Just as soon as the last tuxedos are tucked away from Cole Porter's gentle musical Anything Goes, an altogether less housetrained beast is going to be unleashed on to the stage of the National Theatre next year.
Jerry Springer - The Opera, a cheeky, irreverent, and joyously filthy musical theatre satire on the TV chat show no one likes to admit to watching, will be Nicholas Hytner's first big production when his reign begins in April.
As a first choice it sends an unmistakable message that the years ahead are likely not only to be risky and exciting but revolutionary in a way that Sir Trevor Nunn's were not.
As a statement of intent, it could not be clearer. Just as soon as the last tuxedos are tucked away from Cole Porter's gentle musical Anything Goes, an altogether less housetrained beast is going to be unleashed on to the stage of the National Theatre next year.
Jerry Springer - The Opera, a cheeky, irreverent, and joyously filthy musical theatre satire on the TV chat show no one likes to admit to watching, will be Nicholas Hytner's first big production when his reign begins in April.
As a first choice it sends an unmistakable message that the years ahead are likely not only to be risky and exciting but revolutionary in a way that Sir Trevor Nunn's were not.
Hytner had to fight hard to drag the cult show, the hit of the Edinburgh Festival, out of the hands of a clutch of West End producers, including Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackintosh. It is also a triumph for the Battersea Arts Centre in south London, one of the hottest cradles of theatrical talent. The show started there from fewer than 10 minutes of material on one of its famous "scratch nights". Over the past 18 months, its composer Richard Thomas and co-writer comedian Stewart Lee have developed and tinkered with it in front of live audiences.
Yesterday BAC's director, Tom Morris, said a new era was dawning at the National. "It's just amazing. The idea of the National Theatre audience chanting "Jerry! Jerry!" as Edinburgh ones did is the sort of thing you talk about late at night when you are very, very drunk.
"It's quite flabbergasting what Nick Hytner is doing. One of the things said about the National in the past was that it was a bit isolated. There was this idea that the best artists would just seep in if it sat back and waited.
"It's one thing to say I'm going to look outside the building, another to do so. Hytner has been out looking around lots of fringey places, from ourselves to the Arcola in Dalston, which is just fantastic. For him to have the courage to go with one of his finds is just, well, amazing. And, believe me, we have plenty more at BAC where that came from."
Although Hytner will not unveil his detailed vision until next month, the smoke signals coming out of the South Bank bunker are that he is thinking radical thoughts. Much of the change being talked of actually began in the twilight years of the Nunn regime, with the creation of The Loft space in the Lyttelton for edgy new work.
The sea of grey heads stereotype that has come to characterise the National's audiences is clearly about to change.
Jerry Springer will also be the first opera staged there, not that Covent Garden or the English National Opera have often been graced with tunes like "My boyfriend doesn't know I'm a man".
Hytner's choice of a musical as his first big signature production is also being seen as a mark of solidarity with Nunn, who has been roasted for his fondness for staging big Broadway musicals that quickly transfer to the West End.
Yesterday Hytner would not be drawn on his plans. "I've followed the development of Jerry Springer - The Opera since I saw it in a workshop production 18 months ago at Battersea Arts Centre. It's exactly the kind of work the National should be doing: bold, scabrous, funny, and beautiful. I'm delighted to be working with Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee on their ground-breaking new opera."
Thomas and Lee are still working on sections of the show, which was given a concert performance at Edinburgh. Julian Crouch, who designed Shockheaded Peter, another fringe theatre gem that built up a cult following, has also been brought on board.
· Adrian Noble will direct Ralph Fiennes in Ibsen's Brand in his last play for the Royal Shakespeare Company before he steps down as artistic director. It will then transfer for a limited run to the Theatre Royal Haymarket in London.
The spring season at Stratford also has The Taming of the Shrew paired with John Fletcher's rarely-performed sequel, The Tamer Tamed. Bill Alexander returns to direct Titus Andronicus. As You Like It, Cymbeline, Measure For Measure and Richard III complete the line up.
It's one of those dream concepts that catches everyone's imagination. Jerry Springer and opera: that's funny right? And extra buzz about this opera-comedy together by Stewart Lee, stand-up turned director, and Richard Thomas, whose CV includes an opera called Tourette's Diva.
They have slowly built this tribute to telly's king of dysfunctional relationships from tentative concert performances to try-out first act, all the time getting audience feedback and pointers about which way to head next. 'It's evolved in a weird, Labour Party-style public partnership with its financial supporters,' laughs Lee.
So although its official debut is not until now in Edinburgh, it has already attracted attention on a global scale. Its try-out in February at the Battersea Arts Centre drew audiences from as far afield as New York as well as promoters including Cameron Mackintosh, Andrew Lloyd Webber and National Theatre director Nick Hytner. There and then, Lee and Thomas were given offers of a West End run.
Luckily for us they resisted. This is Lee's 15th consecutive year on the Fringe and Thomas is not far behind with 11 visits. The festival is their artistic home and they wanted to give the show one last tweak for Edinburgh, cutting 40 minutes of good but not quite perfect material before what seems like the inevitable commercial transfer. 'I wanted to do it right, to really finish it off,' says Thomas, a self-taught composer. 'And Edinburgh's a great place to do it. It's the greatest festival on earth.'
Lee and Thomas are two men who know they're on a roll. Sitting opposite me in a quiet corner above their Clapham rehearsal room, they babble away in a high-speed barrage of enthusiasm, the one barely giving room for the other to speak. 'I thought we'd get a real backlash from the opera crowd,' says Thomas. 'That it would be seen as too lowbrow or undignified. But in fact, they really liked it.'
Lee chips in: 'I don't know anything about opera, so I just treated it like a comedy script that needed editing. But then when the opera people were coming in and going: "This is the funniest thing I've ever seen," I went and saw some opera and I thought, well, it probably is. If you've only ever seen West End musicals or opera, this is probably astonishing. It's written by people who have worked in comedy and know what is really funny, instead of what someone wrongly imagines as funny.'
Set in the dying days of The Jerry Springer Show, the first act features three sets of guests with guilty secrets. Interspersed are solos in which they reveal their real secrets (the man who says he likes to wear diapers really likes shitting his pants). Act two is set inside the mind of Jerry Springer as he descends into hell. The two men have used the conventions of the TV programme to inform the opera. 'In Jerry Springer,' says Lee, 'he says: "What's your problem then?" and you're straight into where you want to be. The programme has really harsh edits. That means you dispense with intros and outros or having to have things that are in the same key thrown together.'
The idea first came to Thomas as he watched The Jerry Springer Show and saw lots of fat people shouting at each other incoherently: just like in opera. 'Opera is an extreme form,' he says. 'So if you're going to write an opera, you may as well use an extreme subject. If the guests are screaming at each other - 'You pervert, you sicko, you motherfucker" - the music can go against that: the subtext can come through.'
The two had a meeting with Springer himself ('I think of him as Saint Mephistopheles,' says Thomas), who gave his tacit agreement to the project and may even turn up in person when he appears at the Edinburgh Television Festival. Are there any legal complications I ask? 'Er...' says Thomas, uncharacteristically panicked. 'I can't really say.'
So why does he think it's taking off in such a big way? 'It genuinely is pretty funny,' he says. 'It's tight. It's not boring. All the things you associate with opera, it isn't. But musically, we've got fantastic singers who have to be really good because it's complex stuff. I get a kick from the fact that people might be laughing over some serious, complex music.'
Stewart Lee
2002-12-05T18:25:01+00:00
National Bound: Wills Morgan and Lucy Stevens in the Battersea Arts production of Jerry Springer: The Opera. As a statement of intent, it could not be clearer. Just as soon as the last tuxedos are tucked away from Cole Porter's gentle musical Anything Goes, an altogether less housetrained beast is going to be unleashed on to the stage of the National Theatre next year. Jerry Springer - The Opera, a cheeky, irreverent, and joyously filthy musical theatre satire on the TV chat show no one likes to admit to watching, will be Nicholas Hytner's first big production when his reign begins in April. As a first choice it sends an unmistakable message that the years ahead are likely not only to be risky and exciting but revolutionary in a way that Sir Trevor Nunn's were not. As a statement of intent, it could not be clearer. Just as soon as the last tuxedos are tucked away from Cole Porter's gentle musical Anything Goes, an altogether less housetrained beast is going to be unleashed on to the stage of the National Theatre next year. Jerry Springer - The Opera, a cheeky, irreverent, and joyously filthy musical theatre satire on the TV chat show no one likes to admit to watching, will be Nicholas Hytner's first big production when his reign begins in April. As a first choice it sends an unmistakable message that the years ahead are likely not only to be risky and exciting but revolutionary in a way that Sir Trevor Nunn's were not. Hytner had to fight hard to drag the cult show, the hit of the Edinburgh Festival, out of the hands of a clutch of West End producers, including Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackintosh. It is also a triumph for the Battersea Arts Centre in...
Stand-up "veteran" Stewart Lee has been doing comedy for over 20 years and during that time has found both general popularity, as one half of the Lee/Herring duo who fronted Fist of Fun on Radio and TV in the early 1990s, and more specialised rejection after the broadcast of the Jerry Springer - The Opera stage show he co-produced with Richard Thomas on national television in 2005. The rejection came, almost exclusively, from religious protest groups lead by Christian Voice UK. I think Jerry Springer - The Opera is about the only thing Stewart has been involved in making that I haven't seen. This is not because of any deeply held religious beliefs I might hold and, after the heated "discussions" that resulted from enquiring into the subject of seemingly (to me anyway) unreasoned and yet unyielding belief with people I know and like, I'm not going to be commenting any further on the subject here in a public space.
A group of ten of us, all locals, descended on The Stand in Edinburgh as part of an evening of Festival cheer. I had never seen Stewart perform live before, outside of television or DVD, and I felt my high expectations for the hour long set could not possibly be met. This set starts without making any reference to a distressing world event in an unfamiliar and confrontational manner in the way some of his earlier shows have done. Never more hilariously than at the very start of 2004s Stand Up Comedian where Lee opened with his take on American "over-reaction" to the events of 9-11 (the 9th of November). This evening's opening material centres instead on an incident which happened to Stewart in a London branch of Café Nero with his young son.
One of the great things about Stewart Lee's stand-up is that you just don't know how serious (or not) he is about some of his pronouncements. Does he really wish full blindness upon Jeremey Clarkson's three children? Does he wish equally, that Richard Hammond had been decapitated during the dragster crash he had in 2006, his still sentient head bouncing across the tarmac into a pool of urine? These are just "jokes" he says. In the Top Gear sense of the word that is. Still, "they are also co-incidentally" what he actually believes. This ambiguity creates a real emotional awkwardness in his audience which rarely fails to induce laughter.
Did Lee really attend the same school as Richard Hammond? I suspect he did, but the stories of their time there together probably hold only the very slightest grain of truth, if any. Does it matter? Of course not. Lee finishes a tale of his heroic, but ultimately thankless, rescue of Hammond from bullies through the use of his privileged status as a library monitor with the proviso "now, that story about Richard "The Hamster" Hammond (he isn't a real hamster) isn't true, but I think it tells us a lot about him". Such is Lee's relaxed manner with the audience, and the rapid rapport he builds up with us, that we all nod along in agreement. Hammond is indeed an ungrateful rat of a man who selfishly sold us out. Us, the rightful heirs to any profit to be made from book or TV deals resulting from the near-fatal crash which we, the licence fee payer, funded. Relax, it's a "joke".
Like Hammond, the cider manufacturer Magners was also the recipient of Lee's ire. Not only had they appropriated their TV ad strapline "Give it to me straight, like a pear cider made from 100% pear(s)" from the common and varied usage the phrase had enjoyed within the Lee family for generations but, more painfully, they had ruined Steve Earle's The Galway Girl for Lee by using it in a previous TV ad. The song had been Lee's favourite of the past decade or so and had held warm associations with his wife, the comedian Bridget Christie.
Stewart Lee is always keen to push the boundaries of his chosen artform and closed his set by confronting what he described as "the final comics' taboo". This, in his words, "is to do something sincerely, and to do it well" and involved him performing The Galway Girl (albeit with a couple of comic additions) with an acoustic guitar, accompanied by an on-loan fiddle player. Whilst this form of finale is almost the stylistic polar opposite of the surreally dark "vomiting into the anus of Christ" skit which closed his 90s comedian show of 2005/06, it still surprised his audience. It was heartfelt and the audience saw that. Highly recommended.
Stewart Lee
2009-08-21T15:16:54+01:00
Stand-up "veteran" Stewart Lee has been doing comedy for over 20 years and during that time has found both general popularity, as one half of the Lee/Herring duo who fronted Fist of Fun on Radio and TV in the early 1990s, and more specialised rejection after the broadcast of the Jerry Springer - The Opera stage show he co-produced with Richard Thomas on national television in 2005. The rejection came, almost exclusively, from religious protest groups lead by Christian Voice UK. I think Jerry Springer - The Opera is about the only thing Stewart has been involved in making that I haven't seen. This is not because of any deeply held religious beliefs I might hold and, after the heated "discussions" that resulted from enquiring into the subject of seemingly (to me anyway) unreasoned and yet unyielding belief with people I know and like, I'm not going to be commenting any further on the subject here in a public space. A group of ten of us, all locals, descended on The Stand in Edinburgh as part of an evening of Festival cheer. I had never seen Stewart perform live before, outside of television or DVD, and I felt my high expectations for the hour long set could not possibly be met. This set starts without making any reference to a distressing world event in an unfamiliar and confrontational manner in the way some of his earlier shows have done. Never more hilariously than at the very start of 2004s Stand Up Comedian where Lee opened with his take on American "over-reaction" to the events of 9-11 (the 9th of November). This evening's opening material centres instead on an incident which happened to Stewart in a London branch of Café Nero with his young son. One of the great things about...
I’ve done a fair amount of solo performing throughout my career – in fact, I started out as a stand-up comedian, and from time to time I revisit that sort of shtick, doing little gigs in the upstairs rooms of pubs. But mostly I do “shows” of one sort or another to support the publication of my books. Time was when these public readings were convened in the big chain bookstores: Waterstones, Blackwell’s and – before its demise – Borders. Audiences might be relatively small, but they had usually chipped up because they were interested in the writing; the live act was just an add-on.
But nowadays all bookshops are in free fall and the business of literary promotion has shifted to literary festivals and gigs in small theatres (if, that is, you can put bums on seats). In line with the decline of serious solitary reading, punters demand to be entertained collectively.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I have stared out into dusty velveteen darkness at the rows of upturned faces looming up at me, pale as the caps of poisonous mushroom. At these moments, just before I zing the first one-liner out into the stalls, I try to assay the mood and tenor of the crowd: are they febrile or enervated, in the mood for laughter or tears? And, more to the point, am I febrile or enervated, in the mood for tears or laughter?
Now, I hope you noticed the subtle but important reversal in the chiasmus above: for an audience, laughter is a balm and a restorative, lifting it collectively out of the rut its massed feet have worn throughout the daily go-round: for the performer, however, laughter is always an easy way of gaining acceptance. “Laugh,” as the hoary old adage has it, “and the world laughs with you.” But really this formula should also be subject to reversal; from the isolated performer’s point of view, the important thing is that if the world is laughing, and you’re laughing as well, the world will assume you’re part of it, rather than some weirdo scam-merchant trying to pull one over.
In my experience, an audience will have both a lowest and a highest common denominator of taste and discrimination. Tell a crass joke and you may undershoot an audience’s low point; but craft too artful a witticism and it may zing over their heads rather than hitting them in the eye. In either case, there will be muttering and disaffection, and they won’t even laugh at you, let alone with. Audiences naturally long to become a single psyche surging with the same emotion; and producing this state-of-minds is the desideratum for all performers – yet woe betide he who misjudges it, because then, instead of being enfolded by the group mind, he will be abandoned to die alone in the full glare of the limelight.
Even more serious an error is misplaced seriousness. Adjudge your crowd to be too high-minded and you’ll come off looking like a pretentious prat; assay viewers too basely, and they’ll think, “You patronising dipstick.” And of course, all these judgements have to be made lightning-quick, lest the mood curdle and then go emphatically off. So, the temptation – if you’re a performer – is always to pitch low rather than high, and always to aim for the funny-bone rather than the sensitive one. Nevertheless, the allure of this tactic needs to be resisted: for, though audiences may roar with delight, with each mass contraction of their diaphragms, you’re being repelled – because, in your sad eagerness to be liked, you’ve transformed yourself into just another puppet-cum-clown, jerking about on strings of low self-esteem.
I thought about all this the other evening when I went to see Stewart Lee’s new stand-up show at the Leicester Square Theatre in London. Lee is perhaps the most intelligent comedian ever to tread British boards, and the genius of his shtick consists in large part in his willingness to flout all the rules of mass psychology outlined above. Rather than trade on audiences’ basest inclinations, Lee seeks constantly to raise their game. He does this by denigrating them – and himself. On the evening I saw him, he continually told us we were too slow and stupid to get his jokes, and that we needn’t bother laughing, as he considered us of no account. At the same time, he presented a portrait of himself as a deeply insecure man, fed up with the thankless cycle of touring mid-sized venues, who feels an affinity with prostitutes because, like them: “I do something for people they desperately want, but they’ve nothing but contempt for me.”
This seemed like reverse psychology: what we were meant to feel as Lee berated us was that we were perspicacious enough to see through his act and appreciate his real message: namely, that we were sufficiently wise and witty to appreciate how wise and witty he is. But actually, Lee is a good enough actor to keep the other possibility open. In line with Papa Sigmund’s dictum, he isn’t joking at all, but hoodwinking us with his own ironic sensibility as he kvetches and badmouths in plain sight, cackling internally all the while. Now, the Venn intersection between these two, quite high audience denominators markedly reduces Lee’s likelihood of laughs. Not that this seems to bother him . . . Or then again, maybe it does . . .
Stewart Lee
2015-10-19T10:52:18+01:00
I’ve done a fair amount of solo performing throughout my career – in fact, I started out as a stand-up comedian, and from time to time I revisit that sort of shtick, doing little gigs in the upstairs rooms of pubs. But mostly I do “shows” of one sort or another to support the publication of my books. Time was when these public readings were convened in the big chain bookstores: Waterstones, Blackwell’s and – before its demise – Borders. Audiences might be relatively small, but they had usually chipped up because they were interested in the writing; the live act was just an add-on. But nowadays all bookshops are in free fall and the business of literary promotion has shifted to literary festivals and gigs in small theatres (if, that is, you can put bums on seats). In line with the decline of serious solitary reading, punters demand to be entertained collectively. I’ve lost count of the number of times I have stared out into dusty velveteen darkness at the rows of upturned faces looming up at me, pale as the caps of poisonous mushroom. At these moments, just before I zing the first one-liner out into the stalls, I try to assay the mood and tenor of the crowd: are they febrile or enervated, in the mood for laughter or tears? And, more to the point, am I febrile or enervated, in the mood for tears or laughter? Now, I hope you noticed the subtle but important reversal in the chiasmus above: for an audience, laughter is a balm and a restorative, lifting it collectively out of the rut its massed feet have worn throughout the daily go-round: for the performer, however, laughter is always an easy way of gaining acceptance. “Laugh,” as the hoary old adage has...
The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee premieres Thursday 11th March + New ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ 7” out 15th May
Nostalgic for a time when people gathered in crowded rooms to listen to music and comedy?
You can relive those heady pre-pandemic nights with an 80-minute rare concert from Birmingham’s post-punk legends, The Nightingales at Hackney’s Moth Club in 2018. Directed by Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, King Rocker, Toast Of London), this special concert includes comedian Stewart Lee performing his 20 minute ‘80s club set.
This special live recording premieres on NoonChorus, as part of our ‘Baptism Of Fire’ series, on March 11th 2021 (8pm GMT / 12pm PT /3pm EST).
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album. ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ will be released 15th May on Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
Fire Films and NoonChorus present:
The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee
Thursday, March 11th, 2021
(8pm GMT / 12pm PT / 3pm EST)
To clarify - I do 20 mins stand-up at the start of the livestream. It is the 1989 Jesus At The Door routine fucked about with, and then the JAZZ FOLK SEX routine from the Content Provider tour that was cut from the finished film of that show. Michael Cumming filmed the bit in a very live fashion in a very live atmosphere at Hackney’s very live Moth Club. It is a nice bit of film, but if you are a comedy fan and you pay for that stay for The Nightingales 60 mins straight through no-breaks-between-the-songs steamroller of a set, and a lively reminder of what live entertainment and cool venues look like.
All my little club dates for Feb will be in the process of being pulled and re-scheduled.
The venues have your money, not me, and although I am sure loads of you could do with it, if you can let these clubs hang on to it for now it could mean the difference between them surviving and going under.
Support The Brixton Windmill. And all independent venues.
We all want a world of live art to go back to.
If major tour dates are moved all the same applies. Thank-you for your patience.
I am planning on re-writing the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE TORNADO to reflect our drastically altered world and will make as good a recording as possible of the abandoned original SNOWFLAKE available at some point.
4) MEDIA GARAGE SALE
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the utter bastards.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind.
I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available..
KERMODE ON FILM
Dir Michael Cumming and I discuss King Rocker with Britain’s top film guru and skiffle enthusiast, who has been very supportive of the no-budget project.
Andy Miller and John Michinson’s long running and much loved books podcast. I discuss the waspish poet and novelist Rosemary Tonks with them, Nicky Birch and Jennifer Hodgson.
This is a marvellous ongoing Podcast which is unashamedly civilised in an unenlightened era, and this episode is full of great writing, batshit radiophonic music and clever women.
North London echo chamber fun sure to irk people of all political persuasions with the forensically-minded folk devil for the far right and snowflake do-gooder Owen Jones, and me, talking about King Rocker and more general stuff. His current run of ‘casts has some great guests.
Informed Wolverhampton-based comedy and music enthusiast of uncommon warmth and knowledge talks to me about KING ROCKER and what the Gray Pays ‘n’ Bacon are like at the Great Western pub.
I asked Adam if I could go on this massively popular podcast and he said yes which was very kind of him. It was fun hearing his Mark E Smith story from the horse’s mouth and he asked me hard questions of the type I usually avoid.
In this episode of The Last Line, James talks to comedian Stewart Lee about his new film King Rocker, a documentary about Robert Lloyd, lead singer of 70’s post-punk band The Nightingales. During their conversation they discuss the new film, its central protagonist Robert Lloyd, stand up comedy, Stewart’s propensity to defend stand up comedians against the views of the general public and his reluctance to participate in podcast interviews.
There’s an interview with Michael Cumming on this podcast too, link below.
Sometime in March you will be able to hear me eat a really lovely Sri Lankan mutton curry from the Kolama restaurant, Soho, with bon viveur jazz pianist Jay Rayner. (I see how this works now!)
This is the most showbiz thing I have ever done, and I am glad it was with jazzy Jay Rayner. Not Out Yet. Coming Soon.
HOW TO CHANGE THE WORLD
with post-mod post-man, old school Labour face, and former near pop-soul star, Alan Johnson.
An actual physical 12” EP of Asian Dub Foundation(feat. Stewart Lee)‘s Brexit day number 1 Comin’ Over Here will be out on March 26th and can be pre-ordered here...
Brilliantly, higher shipping costs on ADF’s Anti-Brexit anthem are due to...Brexit, but they will try and circumvent this.
The remixes are of other bits of the Paul Nuttalls routine and work great.
I can’t believe how well the ADF’s made this work. I was their mere tool.
7) Big Wow Badges
BIG WOW BADGES
Cool Scottish punk-pin badge makers Big Wow Badges are shutting down at the end of Feb, so this is your last chance to buy the fabulous badges they made, some related to my material over the last decade and a half, and any others of their amazing art and lit designs.
Thanks Big Wow Badges! You made an old man very happy. Good luck in whatever you do next.
This year’s Bristol Festival of Slapstick Comedy has gone on line and I will be doing an Ince-chaired event on 6th March at 8pm choosing my favourite moments of Slapstick comedy.
I am all about the slapstick, as you will know from when my trousers fell down at The Bristol Hall Of Slavers in 2016. £6.
Steve is a major player in the second wave of British Free Improvisation, a lynchpin of the current scene, and a punk era collaborator with The Flying Lizards, Prince Far-I and The Slits.
He, I and Tania Chen toured Britain over the last decade performing John Cage’s Indeterminacy, and Steve appears playing toys and objects with me and Tania in King Rocker.
Comedy fans will know him as ‘man playing organ’ in a The Day Today sketch about executions, and as the director of music on Vic Reeves’ unnecessarily good album.
11) I Arrogantly Recommend
NEW FILMS
Ronnie’s, Ronnie Scott & His World Famous Jazz Club (Oliver Murray)
The Dig (Simon Stone) ★★★★★
NEW TV
Ghosts S2 (BBC, 2020)
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020)
The Mandalorian S2 (Disney, 2020) ★★★★★
Call My Agent S3 (France 2, 2018)★★★★★
Call My Agent S4 (France 2, 2021) ★★★★★
The Trump Show (BBC, 2020-1)★★★★★
Lupin S1 (Netflix, 2021)★★★★★
NEW RECORDS
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
Cult Figures - Deritend
Vapour Trails - Celestial Scuzz ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - Before Computers (demos)
Kevin March - Last Night
NEW OLD RECORDS
V/A - Rough Guide To Avant-Garde Japan
Guided by Voices - Live At Irving Plaza (1996)
Damo Suzuki & Echo Ensemble - Live @ Green Door (2013)
Heavenly - A Bout De Heavenly (1989-1996)
Martin Stone - Down But Not Out In Paris and London (1992-2013)
John Russell & Terry Day - Russell & Day (1979?)
Derek Bailey, Trevor Watts & Terry Day - At LTC (1972?)
Sonny Rollins - Rollins In Holland (1967) ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - I Sell The Circus (demos) (2015)
The Fall - St Helen’s Technical College (1981) ★★★★★
FOOD
Kolamba Sri Lankan restaurant, Soho, London
12) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955)
Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942)
Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944)
The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930)
Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006)
Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Dougie Anderson (Coda’s Edinburgh record dealer) (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920)
Stewart Lee
2021-02-08T14:00:43+00:00
King Rocker Now TV Thanks for watching our documentary KING ROCKER last Saturday on Sky Arts, and spreading the word, and crowd-funding it, if you did. Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times ★★★★ Financial Times ★★★★ Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus All Press is collecting here. Anyway, it appears you can now watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that; NOW TV LINK - STREAMING UNTIL 8th MARCH 2021 2) PERISH THE THOUGHT LIVESTREAM The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee premieres Thursday 11th March + New ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ 7” out 15th May Nostalgic for a time when people gathered in crowded rooms to listen to music and comedy? You can relive those heady pre-pandemic nights with an 80-minute rare concert from Birmingham’s post-punk legends, The Nightingales at Hackney’s Moth Club in 2018. Directed by Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, King Rocker, Toast Of London), this special concert includes comedian Stewart Lee performing his 20 minute ‘80s club set. This special live recording premieres on NoonChorus, as part of our ‘Baptism Of Fire’ series, on March 11th 2021 (8pm GMT / 12pm PT /3pm EST). ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album. B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album. ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ will be released 15th May on Fire Records/King Rocker...
Mixing unorthodox jazz music with a deliberately screwed up pre-show announcement, and entering the vicinity wearing incongruous trainers, the audience are at once given a clue as to just how complex, multi-layered, and stand alone Stewart Lee’s A Room With A Stew is going to be.
Constantly breaking all the unwritten rules about how a comedian is supposed to act, his routine is inimitable, admirable, and at times ostentatious – obnoxiously sneering at the audience, consulting his notes, and perfectly replicating a parody of amateur comedians.
Providing a detailed description of the anatomy of a joke, and self-deprecating about his rise to middle-class status, his brilliantly created stand-up is not only impossible to steal, it’s also impossible to replicate, meaning he has a style of performing that as well as being thought-provoking and laugh-out-loud enjoyable, is also timeless.
Ostensibly a “work in progress”, the truth is he’s been performing this routine for years: every minute of it is deliberate, systematically controlled, and hilariously contagious, pulling the audience in and using them as collaborators, leaving most wondering which of his opinions are actually genuine.
The way he juxtaposes intellectualism with idiotic moments is particularly enjoyable, and whether it’s nostalgic urine related jokes, or well executed metaphors about the younger generations political naivety, Stewart Lee will have you perpetually laughing for the entirety of the performance.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-27T00:27:55+01:00
Mixing unorthodox jazz music with a deliberately screwed up pre-show announcement, and entering the vicinity wearing incongruous trainers, the audience are at once given a clue as to just how complex, multi-layered, and stand alone Stewart Lee’s A Room With A Stew is going to be. Constantly breaking all the unwritten rules about how a comedian is supposed to act, his routine is inimitable, admirable, and at times ostentatious – obnoxiously sneering at the audience, consulting his notes, and perfectly replicating a parody of amateur comedians. Providing a detailed description of the anatomy of a joke, and self-deprecating about his rise to middle-class status, his brilliantly created stand-up is not only impossible to steal, it’s also impossible to replicate, meaning he has a style of performing that as well as being thought-provoking and laugh-out-loud enjoyable, is also timeless. Ostensibly a “work in progress”, the truth is he’s been performing this routine for years: every minute of it is deliberate, systematically controlled, and hilariously contagious, pulling the audience in and using them as collaborators, leaving most wondering which of his opinions are actually genuine. The way he juxtaposes intellectualism with idiotic moments is particularly enjoyable, and whether it’s nostalgic urine related jokes, or well executed metaphors about the younger generations political naivety, Stewart Lee will have you perpetually laughing for the entirety of the performance.
NonCensored is a weekly round up of Harriet Langley-Swindon's very popular, very real daily radio show, completely non-Censored (but with all of the rubbish edited out).
This week Harriet and Producer Martin are joined by the Telegraph's Siobhan Connery to explain the genius thinking behind Trussonomics; the current Diversity Correspondent Eshaan Akbar takes a leaf out of Stormzy's book; and The New Statesman's Tim Dalton gives us the inside scoop on the current state of the Labour congregation.
There's also an extended interview with comedian Stewart Lee, who talks to Harriet about being part of the woke elite, whether dogs will ever learn to fly, and why Ant & Dec are cowards. Stewart's stand-up specials Snowflake and Tornado are currently available on BBC iPlayer, and his new show Basic Lee is at the Leicester Square Theatre until mid-December, and then tours nationwide until April 2024.
Thanks to Rosie Holt (@RosieIsAHolt), Brendan Murphy (@NotMurphy), Eshaan Akbar (@EshaanAkbar), Sooz Kempnner (@soozUK), Bethany Black (@beffernieblack), Gareth Gwynn (@garethgwynn), Stewart Lee and Ed Morrish.
Stewart Lee
2022-09-30T12:45:58+01:00
NonCensored is a weekly round up of Harriet Langley-Swindon's very popular, very real daily radio show, completely non-Censored (but with all of the rubbish edited out). This week Harriet and Producer Martin are joined by the Telegraph's Siobhan Connery to explain the genius thinking behind Trussonomics; the current Diversity Correspondent Eshaan Akbar takes a leaf out of Stormzy's book; and The New Statesman's Tim Dalton gives us the inside scoop on the current state of the Labour congregation. There's also an extended interview with comedian Stewart Lee, who talks to Harriet about being part of the woke elite, whether dogs will ever learn to fly, and why Ant & Dec are cowards. Stewart's stand-up specials Snowflake and Tornado are currently available on BBC iPlayer, and his new show Basic Lee is at the Leicester Square Theatre until mid-December, and then tours nationwide until April 2024. Thanks to Rosie Holt (@RosieIsAHolt), Brendan Murphy (@NotMurphy), Eshaan Akbar (@EshaanAkbar), Sooz Kempnner (@soozUK), Bethany Black (@beffernieblack), Gareth Gwynn (@garethgwynn), Stewart Lee and Ed Morrish.
Last year, as I crossed a picket-line of religious protestors trying to ban a theatre piece I’d co-written, a phrase popped unbidden into my head. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Few would disagree that the stories and sayings of religions and myths are an unavoidable part of the imaginative fabric of our daily lives, whether one accepts them as literal truth or not. From Jesus’ wise words to his tormentors on the cross, to Odysseus’ cunning use of the Trojan Horse, everyday language is consistently and quietly informed by religion and myth. But should this source material be available as imaginative resources for everyone, or should its usage be restricted?
Last month, at The Bush theatre in London, I performed a one-man show about the last week of Jesus’ life, as seen through the eyes of his disciple Judas. On some nights, I was aware of the predictable and menacing presence of believers looking to object, but I also had lots of positive feedback from thoughful priests and enthusiastic secularists alike. Two years ago, right-wing Christian fundamentalists closed down the theatre piece I co-wrote, Jerry Springer The Opera, due to its religious content. Ongoing attempts to take us to court for blasphemy, and a general doubt over religious freedom of expression introduced by the goverment’s failed Incitement To Religious Hatred bill led to the collapse of the Opera as a financially or artistically viable entity.
So given this, why return to religious themes for a new work? Well, it’s thirty years now since half of the population, as one, watched The Morecambe and Wise Christmas show together at the same time, and even longer since the majortiy of the nation claimed to believe in the same God, or indeed any God indeed. We live in a society where common ground is increasingly hard to find, where communal points of reference are increasingly rare. Multi-channel media narrowcasts to ever-more focussed demographics rather than broadcasting to broad ones. But what better way is there to look at, as we did in the opera for example, the most essential notions of good and evil than through the Christian vision of heaven and hell in conflict, what better known tale of betrayal is there than the story of Judas and Jesus?
Believers say religious stories survive because they are literally true, but even rationalists accept that religious tales, myths and folk-stories, while not always actually true, can be true in terms of what they tell us about human experience. As rationalists, we should be careful, in trying to block religious education in its most pernicious forms, that we do not prevent young people from accessing a treasure trove of invaluable material.
As I travelled the country defending the opera, meatheads made the banal point that we would not have used the Koran in the same way as we appropriated the bible. They attibuted this to fear, which is understandable, but ignored the fact that there would be little point in using Islamic stories as a short cut to bigger ideas, when they are not commonly understood by most people in the country. So, how do we maintain a shared frame of mytholo-poetic reference in a country both increasingly secular and multicultural? Religious education needs, if anything, to be increased, to teach the folk-tales and ancient stories of all religions and pantheos of Gods alongside each other, without ever addressing the argument of their literal truth. A child learning that his parents’ faith is another person’s myth, or another person’s blasphemy even, must find in these great, ancient metaphors key common elements, rather than, in ignorance, defending the inescapable rightness of a position he has merely inherited culturally. Besides which, I quietly believe that the best way to get society en masse to abandon any dangerous, literal, fundamental belief in religions, is actually to expose young people to all of them.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-01T21:21:05+00:00
Last year, as I crossed a picket-line of religious protestors trying to ban a theatre piece I’d co-written, a phrase popped unbidden into my head. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Few would disagree that the stories and sayings of religions and myths are an unavoidable part of the imaginative fabric of our daily lives, whether one accepts them as literal truth or not. From Jesus’ wise words to his tormentors on the cross, to Odysseus’ cunning use of the Trojan Horse, everyday language is consistently and quietly informed by religion and myth. But should this source material be available as imaginative resources for everyone, or should its usage be restricted? Last month, at The Bush theatre in London, I performed a one-man show about the last week of Jesus’ life, as seen through the eyes of his disciple Judas. On some nights, I was aware of the predictable and menacing presence of believers looking to object, but I also had lots of positive feedback from thoughful priests and enthusiastic secularists alike. Two years ago, right-wing Christian fundamentalists closed down the theatre piece I co-wrote, Jerry Springer The Opera, due to its religious content. Ongoing attempts to take us to court for blasphemy, and a general doubt over religious freedom of expression introduced by the goverment’s failed Incitement To Religious Hatred bill led to the collapse of the Opera as a financially or artistically viable entity. So given this, why return to religious themes for a new work? Well, it’s thirty years now since half of the population, as one, watched The Morecambe and Wise Christmas show together at the same time, and even longer since the majortiy of the nation claimed to believe in the same God, or indeed any God indeed. We live in...
Once the alternative music fan’s holiday camp-based festival of choice, All Tomorrow’s Parties has had a troubled recent history. The promoter’s business practices recently went from being the target of indie messageboarders’ ire to attracting the disapproving attention of Private Eye. The regularly liquidated and resurrected company has cancelled and relocated events at a moment’s notice, debts and refunds have gone unpaid, and only a few weeks ago Pontins was informing inquisitive emailers that the event, curated by the comedian Stewart Lee, would not be going ahead.
In the end it does go ahead, if not entirely smoothly. Saturday’s headliner John Cale pulls out the day before he’s due to perform, tweeting that the bookers “let us all down”. Having come all the way from Austin, Texas, 60s psych pioneer Roky Erickson agrees to play his set “for you guys”, despite having “not seen eye to eye with a certain organisation”. Lee shrugs off accountability by beginning his “hits” set with five minutes of jokes about the acts due to play the third stage being transferred to Manchester, accessible via shuttlebus, and advising customers to direct all chalet-based complaints to 80s post-hardcore heroes Mission of Burma.
Not everybody is unhappy. Of all people, austerity antiheroes Sleaford Mods announce that ATP “have really looked after us”. Like Lee, the laptop-punkers have acknowledged the ironic dilemma of gaining lucrative popularity off the back of an underdog persona. Still, while the experience may not be as rousing as seeing them perform in your local sticky-floored toilet venue, the Mods prove able to fill a large festival stage with just two scruffy members, a computer, a microphone and a lifetime’s worth of pent-up rage.
Saturday sees Lee’s beloved the Fall promoted to Cale’s empty slot. Looking like a besuited cross between a sozzled frog and exile-era Napoleon, Mark E Smith growls through a number of different microphones, the principal one making it sound like he’s singing through a dented kazoo. The set threatens to peter out at the halfway mark when Smith turns his guitarist’s amplifier volume to zero and instructs his group to leave the stage. But they’re soon back for a searing rendition of Theme from Sparta FC, followed by further barked new wave numbers and an encore which Smith sings from behind a curtain.
Given ATP’s woeful reputation, the festival is surprisingly busy. Its concert halls are packed with punters enthusiastically lapping up the supposedly niche music of Ex-Easter Island Head, who literally mallet their guitars to create crashing Sonic Youth-meets-Liars no-wave instrumentals, and even Skatgobs: three grown men who make half an hour of guttural gibberish noises without any musical accompaniment whatsoever. Rapturous responses are received by cult psych-rock groups such as Philadelphia’s mind-warping Bardo Pond, fronted by effortlessly cool singer and flautist Isobel Sollenberger, and Bristol’s the Heads, presumably named after the body part they best like to bang.
Clearly there’s still a market for connoisseur-curated seaside festivals showcasing alt-music legends and esoteric curiosities, even if ATP’s capacity to deliver may be diminishing for good.
Stewart Lee
2016-04-21T12:50:25+01:00
Once the alternative music fan’s holiday camp-based festival of choice, All Tomorrow’s Parties has had a troubled recent history. The promoter’s business practices recently went from being the target of indie messageboarders’ ire to attracting the disapproving attention of Private Eye. The regularly liquidated and resurrected company has cancelled and relocated events at a moment’s notice, debts and refunds have gone unpaid, and only a few weeks ago Pontins was informing inquisitive emailers that the event, curated by the comedian Stewart Lee, would not be going ahead. In the end it does go ahead, if not entirely smoothly. Saturday’s headliner John Cale pulls out the day before he’s due to perform, tweeting that the bookers “let us all down”. Having come all the way from Austin, Texas, 60s psych pioneer Roky Erickson agrees to play his set “for you guys”, despite having “not seen eye to eye with a certain organisation”. Lee shrugs off accountability by beginning his “hits” set with five minutes of jokes about the acts due to play the third stage being transferred to Manchester, accessible via shuttlebus, and advising customers to direct all chalet-based complaints to 80s post-hardcore heroes Mission of Burma. Not everybody is unhappy. Of all people, austerity antiheroes Sleaford Mods announce that ATP “have really looked after us”. Like Lee, the laptop-punkers have acknowledged the ironic dilemma of gaining lucrative popularity off the back of an underdog persona. Still, while the experience may not be as rousing as seeing them perform in your local sticky-floored toilet venue, the Mods prove able to fill a large festival stage with just two scruffy members, a computer, a microphone and a lifetime’s worth of pent-up rage. Saturday sees Lee’s beloved the Fall promoted to Cale’s empty slot. Looking like a besuited cross between a sozzled frog...
Content Provider was released on 4th August 2016, through Faber. “Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been on holiday, the comedian Stewart Lee has been attempting to understand modern Britain, and his own place in it, in a series of irregular newspaper columns.
Will Scotland become the Promised Land of the Left? Is it possible to live a life without crisps? Who was Grant Shapps? What does your Spotify playlist data say about you? Are Jeremy Corbyn and Stewart Lee really the new Christs? And so on.
Selected, introduced and, where necessary, explained by the author and corrected by readers, Content Provider is funny, grumpy, provocative, confusing and brilliant.”
NOTE: CONTENT PROVIDER (the book) IS NOT RELATED TO CONTENT PROVIDER (the show). It is NOT a transcript of the show, in the same way as the MILDER COMEDIAN book is a transcript of that show, or CERTAIN FATE is a transcript of the three preceding ones.
For a transcript of CONTENT PROVIDER, please see MARCH OF THE LEMMINGS.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T23:38:12+00:00
Content Provider was released on 4th August 2016, through Faber. “Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been on holiday, the comedian Stewart Lee has been attempting to understand modern Britain, and his own place in it, in a series of irregular newspaper columns. Will Scotland become the Promised Land of the Left? Is it possible to live a life without crisps? Who was Grant Shapps? What does your Spotify playlist data say about you? Are Jeremy Corbyn and Stewart Lee really the new Christs? And so on. Selected, introduced and, where necessary, explained by the author and corrected by readers, Content Provider is funny, grumpy, provocative, confusing and brilliant.” NOTE: CONTENT PROVIDER (the book) IS NOT RELATED TO CONTENT PROVIDER (the show). It is NOT a transcript of the show, in the same way as the MILDER COMEDIAN book is a transcript of that show, or CERTAIN FATE is a transcript of the three preceding ones. For a transcript of CONTENT PROVIDER, please see MARCH OF THE LEMMINGS.
Self-billed ‘90s comedian’ and ‘41st best stand up ever’– Stewart Lee – returned to Salford’s Lyric Theatre on Saturday afternoon with A Room with a Stew. His distant, arrogant, passive-aggressive onstage persona culminated in him declaring to the audience, “no one is equipped to review me”. This is because no one can fully understand the nuances of a performance of “high risk Brechtian theatre”. The routine consisted of half an hour of “Islamaphobic observational comedy” (in response to public demand), half an hour on urine, 45 minutes on UKIP, and finally, the Stewart Lee staple: the state of comedy. The state of comedy ‘bit’ was accompanied by the customary mental breakdown.
John Coltrane’s 15 minute avant-garde jazz interpretation of ‘My Favourite Things’ was played on repeat, and at full volume, in the half hour before Lee’s arrival. The show then began with a 15 minute introduction outlining the structure of the show and ridiculing two latecomers in the front row for buying their tickets on Gumtree for £80: “It’s not worth 80 quid, this. It’s barely even worth the 21 quid everyone else paid.”
Lee also displayed antipathy towards people bringing friends and lovers – an action that was seen to compromise audience quality. He described his ideal audience as one which responded to every joke with, “well, it’s a complex issue”, and one which had passed a history exam on arrival at the venue. As Lee stated in his TV series last year: “I’m not interested in laughs. I’m interested in creating a temporary liberal consensus that bursts on contact with air.”
As “the Lee Mack of cultural relativism”, Lee delivered his signature mix of Ted Chippington-style lowbrow and multifaceted highbrow. When north of the Watford Gap, Lee deliberately constructs an onstage persona of ‘social difference’ – in which the audience are comically treated with utter contempt. At the Lowry, his core following of “liberal Guardian readers” represented less the norm and more a diaspora. Furthermore, he suggested that all the young people present in the audience should leave, and return to their hobbies of Minecraft and bondage sex.
The show’s funniest moment came when the latecomers were asked to name an obscure country carrying no cultural stereotypes. The Gumtree customers chose Qatar – the choice was reluctantly accepted. Twenty minutes on his friend Lesley only recently discovering he was in fact Qatari followed. This was in spite of the fact that Lesley had participated in stereotypical Qatari traditions all his life – for example, setting fire to a puffin in a peddle bin, the ritual of pouring 19 month old beakers of urine while humming ‘Three Lions’, listening to Qatari radio under the bedclothes in the 1970s (this included Lee making goat noises for 5 continuous minutes), and nailing a fez to a llama’s head.
Harking back to his own satirical categorisation of satire as “anything with animals in it” in last year’s Comedy Vehicle, the hilarious UKIP routine revolved around his cat, named ‘Paul Nuttalls from the UKIPs’, and included 200 mini England flags and no toilet paper. Stew lives in multicultural Hackney – a London borough he describes as “like Jerusalem but more violent”. His three closest ‘neighbours’ are a 70 year old Rastafarian, an 85 year old Pakistani, and a 95 year old Jew – all of which were featured in the UKIP section.
After accusing comedy audiences (“like you people”) of murdering “all the dead comedians” due to inconsistent reactions to jokes, a heckler smugly suggested ‘Stew’ take his own life. Ten seconds of genuine anger from Lee followed.
Despite this moment of antagonism, A Room with a Stew was a hilarious and hugely entertaining show. I urge anyone reading this to wade through Stewart Lee’s brilliant back-catalogue and to tune in to Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle Series 4, to be aired on BBC 2 early next year.
Published in The Mancunion
Stewart Lee
2015-02-16T01:03:21+00:00
Self-billed ‘90s comedian’ and ‘41st best stand up ever’– Stewart Lee – returned to Salford’s Lyric Theatre on Saturday afternoon with A Room with a Stew. His distant, arrogant, passive-aggressive onstage persona culminated in him declaring to the audience, “no one is equipped to review me”. This is because no one can fully understand the nuances of a performance of “high risk Brechtian theatre”. The routine consisted of half an hour of “Islamaphobic observational comedy” (in response to public demand), half an hour on urine, 45 minutes on UKIP, and finally, the Stewart Lee staple: the state of comedy. The state of comedy ‘bit’ was accompanied by the customary mental breakdown. John Coltrane’s 15 minute avant-garde jazz interpretation of ‘My Favourite Things’ was played on repeat, and at full volume, in the half hour before Lee’s arrival. The show then began with a 15 minute introduction outlining the structure of the show and ridiculing two latecomers in the front row for buying their tickets on Gumtree for £80: “It’s not worth 80 quid, this. It’s barely even worth the 21 quid everyone else paid.” Lee also displayed antipathy towards people bringing friends and lovers – an action that was seen to compromise audience quality. He described his ideal audience as one which responded to every joke with, “well, it’s a complex issue”, and one which had passed a history exam on arrival at the venue. As Lee stated in his TV series last year: “I’m not interested in laughs. I’m interested in creating a temporary liberal consensus that bursts on contact with air.” As “the Lee Mack of cultural relativism”, Lee delivered his signature mix of Ted Chippington-style lowbrow and multifaceted highbrow. When north of the Watford Gap, Lee deliberately constructs an onstage persona of ‘social difference’ – in which...
A cult favorite on British TV, Jerry Springer comes to the National Theatre stage as the subject of an opera.
LONDON --
There's a tingle of anticipation in the house tonight. A youngish audience, incited by a warmup man, punches the air rhythmically, chanting "Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee!" A trio of muscular security guys in black, arms crossed and glowering fiercely, separates the crowd from the stage. A distinct frisson of guilty pleasure is in the air, based on an expectation of imminent angry arguments, outrageous accusations and confessions, and even attempts at physical violence and the hurling of stage furniture.
If this sounds reminiscent of a certain infamous daytime TV show, it should. But here's the catch -- this isn't a TV studio. It's one of the large auditoriums at Britain's august National Theatre, founded by Laurence Olivier in 1963 and still a secular temple of high dramatic art. One expects to see Shakespeare on such a stage, or maybe Tennessee Williams or Eugene O'Neill; until now, the National's idea of light relief was thoughtful, even dark revivals of classic American musicals like "Carousel" and "Oklahoma!"
But times have changed under the National's new artistic director Nicholas Hytner, who took over April 1. This is the prelude to a preview performance of the first major production under his aegis -- the National's remarkable, hilarious new "Jerry Springer -- the Opera." It's a title embracing two concepts one never expected to find in the same sentence. The show's opening pales beside what follows. A 36-strong company, of varied shapes, sizes and ethnic types, files on stage quietly, singing "Jerr-ee" in soft, devotional tones, like a Kyrie eleison. A hush of surprise descends on the audience: Despite its jokey title, the show really is an opera.
Then all hell breaks loose.
We meet a series of "guests with guilty secrets": Dwight, a portly serial adulterer; Montel, who admits to his fiancée his fetish for wearing diapers; and Shawntel, who wants her backwoodsman husband Chucky to know of her ambition to be a pole dancer. These characters sing their confessions in the straight-faced manner of grand opera. Half of the company flanks the stage, becoming the show's "audience," functioning as a chorus and hurling insults at guests: "Hillbilly!" "Trailer trash!" and "Loser!" are among the more polite ones. Yet the guests are thrilled to be on the show, catapulted briefly from obscurity to TV fame. As one musical number proclaims: "This is my Jerry Springer moment."
Cast members, from left, Lore Lixenberg, Benjamin Lake and Michael Brandon, as Jerry Springer, in rehearsal at the National Theatre.
For most spectators, all this produces a sense of faint unreality. It is decidedly odd to sit in the National's Lyttelton auditorium, listening to an exquisitely sung melody that includes the lyric: "Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians." It's a long way from Rodgers and Hammerstein.
In the midst of this bedlam is "Jerry" himself, played by American actor Michael Brandon ( who starred in the 1985-86 TV series "Dempsey and Makepeace") looking uncannily like Springer in dark suit, white shirt, yellow tie and gold-rimmed glasses. He alone speaks rather than sings his thoughts.
Brandon, who has lived in Britain since the late '80s (he is married to his "Dempsey and Makepeace" co-star Glynis Barber) was first approached by show creators Stewart Lee and Richard Thomas late last year. "They sent me the script, and without the music it seemed such a puzzle, and so gross," he recalled. "But when I heard the music it all fit, and I became intrigued."
"Jerry Springer -- the Opera" had an unusual genesis: Two years ago, it was a 30-minute show, with singer-composer Thomas alone at a piano, at Battersea Arts Centre, a small fringe venue in South London. Its first performance attracted an audience of seven; they gave Thomas a standing ovation.
Three months later, writer and stand-up comedian Lee joined Thomas to help expand the show gradually at Battersea. Last year, with a cast of 20, it became a sellout hit at the Edinburgh Fringe festival, where Hytner saw it and offered Lee and Thomas a slot at the National. "Nick had first come to see it early on," Thomas recalls. "He liked it, but said to me: 'This is a cult show, why don't you write me another?' Then when he saw it in Edinburgh after we'd developed it, he changed his mind."
"I'm really thrilled at the work they've done on it even since Edinburgh," says Hytner. "They're terrific, the pair of them. In Edinburgh I could see the show was still relatively small in scope and scale, but it had the potential to communicate with a large audience."
'Not suitable for children'
Still, it's a provocative production to usher in Hytner's regime. With discreet understatement, the National warns "Jerry Springer -- the Opera" is "not suitable for children." Its characters are remarkably foul-mouthed; no expletive is deleted, though hearing bad language sung by beautiful operatic voices creates a curious distancing effect.
But the show's outrageous elements go beyond mere cussing. The increasingly surreal first act features a show-stopping dance number by Ku Klux Klan members, hooded in white sheets. Then "Jerry" is killed by a bullet, aimed at a Klansman by a guest.
Act 2 takes place in hell, where Springer confronts his show guests from Act I, now playing biblical characters, including Jesus and Mary, Adam and Eve. Serial adulterer Dwight becomes God, descending from heaven in a white suit and with an Elvis coif, singing "It Ain't Easy Being Me" in Presley-esque tones. And Jerry is called upon to mediate the eternal dispute between God and Satan.
"It isn't a shocking show," insists Thomas, relaxing with Lee in a hospitality room at the National. "We're not out to offend anyone. It's just puerile swearing."
"The bigger the show gets, the less offensive it seems," muses Lee. "It feels legitimized by the amount of work that's gone into it. You wouldn't waste two years of your life just for the sake of annoying someone. You'd have to think it's a good idea too."
Yet both men admit to a faint sense of disbelief that their little show ended up at the National. "For the first three mornings [after previews], I'd wake up and smile and think, 'No, last night wasn't a dream,' " Thomas says. "We've worked hard at making it a two-act show, and now finally it feels like a two-act show."
"I find I'm laughing both at the show and the very idea it's here at the National," Lee admits. "The title Richard came up with is two things you wouldn't think go together. And the operatic ideals dignify the guests. But now it's 'The National Theatre presents Jerry Springer -- the Opera,' so that loads the high-culture end even more. So we can have more fun playing around with it."
The Springer show has a cult following among British TV audiences, though it is especially popular with college students. Over the years, it has aired on smaller channels and is invariably marketed as an example of taste-free Americana. Thomas admits he watched the real Springer show "religiously" over a six-month period ("I changed my sleeping patterns and everything") before he was inspired to write his embryonic 30-minute work. "His show's got tragedy," Thomas says. "It's got violence. There are people screaming at each other, and you can't understand what they're saying. It's perfect for opera."
The two men cast the show entirely with people who could sing. One cast member, Lore Lixenberg, is among Karlheinz Stockhausen's favorite sopranos, while a handful of others have had operatic training, and the rest have extensive credits in musical theater.
But both men are adamant their show does not aim to poke fun either at opera or the kind of people who become Springer's guests: "If anything," Lee says, "it dignifies them." Nor, though they know many Americans feel embarrassed by Springer, do they see the opera as a satire. "I don't think it makes any comment about America," says Lee, adding flippantly: "I'd be happy to see an anti-American show at the National. But this show is not it."
For the lead role, Lee and Thomas talked to actors in New York and Los Angeles but came back to Brandon with a firm offer. "I was under contract to [the Hallmark/ABC series] 'Dinotopia,' but I so much wanted to do 'Springer' that I asked to be released from my contract," Brandon said.
"I'd seen the Springer show on visits to the States, and it's the kind of thing you stay with when you're surfing channels, even with the sound down. What interests me about him is that he never passes judgment on the people who appear on his show. But he tries hard to understand them, and he gives them time to be heard, to express their opinions."
Reaching out to the young
Brandon met Springer when the latter visited Britain recently to appear on a TV talk show, and they discovered they were born a year apart, and at one time in adolescence lived within a block of each other in Kew Gardens, Queens, N.Y.
"A lot of theater appeals to gray- and silver-haired audiences," Brandon observed. "But I think we are going to bring young audiences back. I feel like we're at the start of a wave, a tsunami."
The real Jerry Springer (who was born in Britain) saw the opera at Edinburgh last year and met Thomas and Lee afterward. "I think he was expecting to hate it," Lee recalls. "But I get the impression he thinks the opera is quite good for him. It takes him seriously when he's used to having to defend himself." Springer told them he would not pursue legal redress over the opera, but Universal, owners of the Springer show, have reserved their rights. Springer could not be reached for comment.
"We asked them to invest," says Lee. "But they said no. It's a form of aggressive non-investment, because even the fact they might sue places us in a tough position. The show may transfer from here to the West End, but with that threat from America, Broadway might be a problem." Still, Lee and Thomas are so delighted by the long journey the show has taken -- its official first night at the National is Tuesday -- they're living in the present rather than worrying about the future. "It was never our plan to end up here," Lee reflects. "The show has just grown incrementally." For Lee and Thomas, this is a Jerry Springer Moment beyond imagining.
Stewart Lee
2003-04-27T18:49:56+01:00
A cult favorite on British TV, Jerry Springer comes to the National Theatre stage as the subject of an opera. LONDON -- There's a tingle of anticipation in the house tonight. A youngish audience, incited by a warmup man, punches the air rhythmically, chanting "Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee!" A trio of muscular security guys in black, arms crossed and glowering fiercely, separates the crowd from the stage. A distinct frisson of guilty pleasure is in the air, based on an expectation of imminent angry arguments, outrageous accusations and confessions, and even attempts at physical violence and the hurling of stage furniture. If this sounds reminiscent of a certain infamous daytime TV show, it should. But here's the catch -- this isn't a TV studio. It's one of the large auditoriums at Britain's august National Theatre, founded by Laurence Olivier in 1963 and still a secular temple of high dramatic art. One expects to see Shakespeare on such a stage, or maybe Tennessee Williams or Eugene O'Neill; until now, the National's idea of light relief was thoughtful, even dark revivals of classic American musicals like "Carousel" and "Oklahoma!" But times have changed under the National's new artistic director Nicholas Hytner, who took over April 1. This is the prelude to a preview performance of the first major production under his aegis -- the National's remarkable, hilarious new "Jerry Springer -- the Opera." It's a title embracing two concepts one never expected to find in the same sentence. The show's opening pales beside what follows. A 36-strong company, of varied shapes, sizes and ethnic types, files on stage quietly, singing "Jerr-ee" in soft, devotional tones, like a Kyrie eleison. A hush of surprise descends on the audience: Despite its jokey title, the show really is an opera. Then all hell breaks loose. We...
Sic Alps, who once name-checked the Welsh mystic Arthur Machen in a song, suggest the infantile daubs of Syd Barrett spliced with 1980's New York noise.
Most of the twenty-two songs on their fourth album are less than two minutes long.
The confident young trio lay down a loose riff or a fragile acoustic guitar arpeggio, imply from a few choice phrases and twangy licks how they could develop it were it not beneath their massive intellects to do so, and bin it before it coagulates.
Rock music for rock fans who are sick of rock.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-16T21:37:43+00:00
Sic Alps, who once name-checked the Welsh mystic Arthur Machen in a song, suggest the infantile daubs of Syd Barrett spliced with 1980's New York noise. Most of the twenty-two songs on their fourth album are less than two minutes long. The confident young trio lay down a loose riff or a fragile acoustic guitar arpeggio, imply from a few choice phrases and twangy licks how they could develop it were it not beneath their massive intellects to do so, and bin it before it coagulates. Rock music for rock fans who are sick of rock.
I am a stand-up comedian. I am Eighteen years younger than John Dowie.
I never saw him perform stand-up.
As a teenager, I bought a copy of his book, Hard To Swallow, a collection of his "abandoned comedy routines" illustrated by the underground cartoonist Hunt Emmerson; I had seen him on TV occasionally, doing slots in shows as a guest of people he was clearly better than; I had a strange half memory of him doing punky sneery stuff on one of those late night Seventies rock shows, So It Goes or Revolver. I knew he was a significant figure.
But I never saw him perform stand-up.
I could have seen John Dowie do stand-up, of a sort, at my fourth Edinburgh Fringe, in 1990, when he performed a one man show called 'Why I Gave Up Stand-Up Comedy', but I didn't go. I don't know why. The title was strange. It made me think of Captain Oates, leaving Captain Scott's arctic tent to die with the words "I'm just going outside. I may be some time.", and perhaps hoping someone would stop him. But no-one stopped John Dowie. He had performed Alternative Comedy before it even had a name, was tired of it by the time the tropes he's established became commonplace, and then he just sort of slipped away.
Ten years later, I was drinking late one night in the courtyard of the Pleasance Theatre in the year 1999, my thirteenth Edinburgh Fringe, when the comedian Simon Munnery arrived, looking pleased with himself, like a gun dog bringing back a pheasant, or a family cat that comes in a drops a dead rat on the carpet. He had found John Dowie, the pheasant/dead rat of Alternative Comedy, and he was nearby, right now, drinking, and ready to receive our tributes.
We got to know Dowie that Summer. It was interesting to talk to him about how it all began, and what it was all for. The great sage would have been all of 49 then, five years older than I am now, but he dealt with us graciously. He came to see my show and offered no advice other than that I should wear proper shiny shoes in future, and not trainers.
In the last few years I have come to see that he was right, but it seemed strange advice to receive from the punk era stand-up who has also once opened for Black Sabbath.
Having kids seemed to have shifted Dowie's priorities. He was writing children's shows now, and poems, and plays, and seemed to want to say things that were unambiguously positive. He was sucked into the unpaid charity benefit circuit that all out gang seemed to be on all the time, but would never be drawn to perform his old stuff, offering instead neat, philosophical haikus that made everything else on the bill look rather bitter and bleak. I saw him do a one-off performance, in a Fitzrovian cellar, of his theatre piece about Jospeh, made famous by Tom Conti, Jesus My Boy. It was brilliant, funny, moving, and told you more about the real John Dowie than any amount of drinking sessions. In the guise of the cuckolded carpenter, he really opened up.
We had Dowie round for New Year's Eve once. He seemed angry about something and, I think, absented himself before he turned nasty. I went to his flat a few times, and he greeted me with a wave from a fifth story window. It made me think of the Philip Dick story, "The Man In The High Castle." Each time I went there Dowie had less stuff. In the end he had reduced his possessions to five basic food groups; records by Bob Dylan and Moondog; books by William Blake and the aforementioned Dick; and some Batman comics. It was as if he was preparing to depart. And pretty soon he did. No-one in our gang knew where he'd gone, but we knew he could now carry everything he ever wanted in a backpack, and he'd bought a bike.
Years passed. In 2011 I tracked Dowie down to ask him to appear in At Last! The 1981 Show, a celebration of Alternative Comedy's first wave that I was curating for the Royal Festival Hall. Needless to say, he would have nothing of it, and would not give anything away, either, about his then current whereabouts.
I am glad this document exists. The punk era music tracks are perfect period pieces, sort of Dada Cabaret/pub rock fusion, Tristan Tzara fronting Doctor Feelgood; Mime Sketch, reminds me of similarly atmospheric field recordings by Ted Chippington and Lenny Bruce; it seems even funnier to a comedy-literate listener because you feel the material is way too good for the response it's getting, and it's great to hear such nakedly honest archive. And knowing Dowie, a little, hearing the hilarious but awkwardly confrontational I'm Here To Entertain You, or No More Fucking's visceral fear of the physical world, with hindsight, it seems obvious why Dowie was eventually to chose a brighter path. No more would Dowie spit out the bleak rhyming couplet that began, "If I had any sense I'd nail my penis to the floor."
Instead he wrote Dogman, for children, the story of an alien Dog who ends up running a lighthouse that appears, the more I read it to my own children, to be a kind of autobiography.
There's a political dimension to this collection too.
Dowie came from a time very different to our own; where there was a degree of social mobility that is now greatly reduced; where places like Birmingham's Arts Lab funded and developed art they felt was worthwhile in of itself, rather than as a route to the loot; where punk and the hippy era's DIY ethics propelled singular talents like Dowie's forward; and where a viable Fringe circuit encouraged risk taking.
If someone were thinking of doing something in comedy as radical as Dowie did in the '70s, would they be able to, and if they did, would we even know about it?
Stewart Lee
2012-01-01T18:26:08+00:00
I am a stand-up comedian. I am Eighteen years younger than John Dowie. I never saw him perform stand-up. As a teenager, I bought a copy of his book, Hard To Swallow, a collection of his "abandoned comedy routines" illustrated by the underground cartoonist Hunt Emmerson; I had seen him on TV occasionally, doing slots in shows as a guest of people he was clearly better than; I had a strange half memory of him doing punky sneery stuff on one of those late night Seventies rock shows, So It Goes or Revolver. I knew he was a significant figure. But I never saw him perform stand-up. I could have seen John Dowie do stand-up, of a sort, at my fourth Edinburgh Fringe, in 1990, when he performed a one man show called 'Why I Gave Up Stand-Up Comedy', but I didn't go. I don't know why. The title was strange. It made me think of Captain Oates, leaving Captain Scott's arctic tent to die with the words "I'm just going outside. I may be some time.", and perhaps hoping someone would stop him. But no-one stopped John Dowie. He had performed Alternative Comedy before it even had a name, was tired of it by the time the tropes he's established became commonplace, and then he just sort of slipped away. Ten years later, I was drinking late one night in the courtyard of the Pleasance Theatre in the year 1999, my thirteenth Edinburgh Fringe, when the comedian Simon Munnery arrived, looking pleased with himself, like a gun dog bringing back a pheasant, or a family cat that comes in a drops a dead rat on the carpet. He had found John Dowie, the pheasant/dead rat of Alternative Comedy, and he was nearby, right now, drinking, and ready to receive...
London-based Japanese ex-pats Bo Ningen's early releases stitched Detroit flavored psychedelic guitar jams (a national musical obsession) into Sonic Youth style No Wave noise grooves, vivid with uncontrolled spillage.
Their third album is more calculated, deploying the clean modern pop elements that countrymen Melt Banana and Boris also assimilate.
Whilst some spontaneity is sacrificed, Slider's carefully arranged marriage of near subsonic bass, choppy hip hop declamations, fluttering tremolo and the usual racket rings true, and big beats underpin Mukaeni Ikenai's nine minute backwash beautifully.
Stewart Lee
2014-06-01T01:39:30+01:00
London-based Japanese ex-pats Bo Ningen's early releases stitched Detroit flavored psychedelic guitar jams (a national musical obsession) into Sonic Youth style No Wave noise grooves, vivid with uncontrolled spillage. Their third album is more calculated, deploying the clean modern pop elements that countrymen Melt Banana and Boris also assimilate. Whilst some spontaneity is sacrificed, Slider's carefully arranged marriage of near subsonic bass, choppy hip hop declamations, fluttering tremolo and the usual racket rings true, and big beats underpin Mukaeni Ikenai's nine minute backwash beautifully.
Anton Barbeau is one of those cult figures whose vast catalogue intimidates the merely curious.
Helpfully, Empire Of Potential distils twenty years of lightly lysergic, hook-peppered, power pop into one package of eighteen insistent earworms, all hits in a fairer and better world.
While fans will spot favourite omissions, like 2003's scorching King Of Missouri, Barbeau's sequenced a sampler that play like a proper platter, including his viral Youtube hit Automatic Door.
File in the buried treasure bin alongside XTC, Robyn Hitchcock, Julian Cope and The Bevis Frond.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-13T01:12:52+00:00
Anton Barbeau is one of those cult figures whose vast catalogue intimidates the merely curious. Helpfully, Empire Of Potential distils twenty years of lightly lysergic, hook-peppered, power pop into one package of eighteen insistent earworms, all hits in a fairer and better world. While fans will spot favourite omissions, like 2003's scorching King Of Missouri, Barbeau's sequenced a sampler that play like a proper platter, including his viral Youtube hit Automatic Door. File in the buried treasure bin alongside XTC, Robyn Hitchcock, Julian Cope and The Bevis Frond.
Last summer I wrote a comedy drama script, currently “in development with a major broadcaster”, concerning a charming, confident, clever and machiavellian politician. Named Horace Thompson, he manipulates popular culture to consolidate support for a controversial referendum he narrowly won, intending to further his own self-interest. And he was in the Bullingdon Club. And he lives in Islington.
(I don’t know where I got the brilliant idea for this character from. Sometimes I think I am a genius, or some kind of unwitting God, forcibly exiled to Earth, his memory of his own divinity erased by jealous members of his former pantheon.)
But, like Liam Fox and David Davis and all the bullying Brexiter shitbags, the charming, confident, clever and machiavellian politician the character of Horace Thompson is inspired by no longer seems quite so charming, confident, clever and machiavellian.
The problem for me is that the average high-profile Brexiter now looks like a once powerful man who thought he was playing a rigged party game of pass the parcel, aiming to win a prize he had previously wrapped himself, but has suddenly realised he is sitting with an unexploded nail bomb in his lap, right next to his shrivelled nut-sack.
Still, as long as there is some way to hold on to the closing scene, in which Horace Thompson’s head is sliced off by the rotating blades of a ceiling fan, and then eaten by his own guard dogs, I will feel it has all been worthwhile. My final rewrite will consciously uncouple the character from specific details.
It may have been folly to hitch my story wagon to a character so clearly inspired by Boris Johnson, even though his future once seemed secure. Boris Johnson will be a forgotten casualty of the crisis his own lying Daily Telegraph columns created; the mad scientist, raging at his own now murderous monster, at the end of some black and white B-movie, “But no Brexeeto, I am your master! I created you to serve me. Noooo. Brexeeto, aaaaaggggghhhh! My nut-sack!”
Pity the professional humorist. It has become a cliche of opinion pieces that the news of the past 12 months has been so absurd, unpredictable and fast-moving that it is beyond satire.
Only the infinite keyboard monkeys of Twitter, trapped on the inhospitable concrete island of their moated social media platform, and lobbing the wet simian excrement of their viral memes and gifs into the hair of curious onlookers, can respond to news stories with the speed required to land a blow.
Then the roulette wheel of events spins again and makes the carefully conceived conceits of slow-moving professional humorists immediately irrelevant, leaving us spluttering through our long-winded set-ups as the gas cloud of poorly thought-out policy our punch lines aimed to ridicule evaporates in a fog of central office plausible denial.
The trick to being a champion clay pigeon shooter, my violent and weaponry-obsessed wife tells me, is to aim for the space you anticipate the clay fool moving into, not the space where it appears to be.
(My advice for any clay pigeons reading is to avoid being shot by moving forwards into a space you didn’t anticipate being in. Then perhaps your decimated numbers will recover in the wild, flying idiots.)
Lawyers and nervous TV producers pore over contributors’ jokes, while the politician they concern is already in the process of being sacked, resigning, performing a blatant policy U-turn, or saying something so stupid and racist that their valuable contribution to the mildly amusing Teignbridge Business Buddies scheme is swiftly eclipsed.
The successful modern satirist must enter a Zen-like state, where all possible outcomes take shape in his third eye, each in turn satirised in advance of its existence, in the event of it becoming a reality.
(When I wrote for the BBC radio satire Week Ending in the early 90s, the writers’ room smelt of excrement and BO, and was full of filthy ashtrays, empty crisp bags and overflowing spittoons. Nobody there was in a Zen-like state, although some functioning alcoholic visionaries were asleep under the desks, which is the next best thing.)
Satirists are supposed to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Standup comedians, all of their professional metaphors involving violence and death, call this “punching up”. But which way is up?
Is it “punching up” to poo your comedy pellets on to a severely weakened prime minister with a randomly flapping lower jaw, whose desperate over-reliance on a small repertoire of endlessly repeated and ultimately meaningless statements indicate she is clearly on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and who has sacrificed her future career and hard-won credibility on the altar of her ungrateful party’s best interests?
I don’t know. But when a woman was filmed putting a cat into a wheelie bin everyone thought it was awful. Theresa May is that little cat. History is that wheelie bin. Am I that horrible woman, putting that miserable cat into that horrible bin? I need a clear clay pigeon villain to aim at. All I see, everywhere, are victims and losers.
I’m halfway through my current two-year tour, but I’m taking the summer off because my towering stage set, made entirely from the smashed DVD cases of other standups, is too high, and my show is too long to fit any Edinburgh fringe venue. And I hate all comedians under 40, so I don’t want to spend a month trying to act presidentially around them.
About a quarter of my current near-three-hour run time uses topical material as feeder routes into the main narrative thrust. For simplicity’s sake I could do with Boris Johnson and Donald Trump still being around in September, as the similarities between them dovetail the two acts together neatly, but every night in the interval I have to go online to check Trump hasn’t been assassinated or impeached.
Just over 12 months ago I declined a role in a promising new topical satire TV show which, though green-lit now, still hasn’t made it to our screens. By the time it airs the government under which it was conceived will have been replaced at least twice.
If the news rollercoaster ride of the past 12 months were a real rollercoaster ride it would long since have been closed down. People like excitement, but no one wants to emerge from every brief perusal of a daily newspaper covered in spilt Diet Coke and the vomit of other people’s children, while a showman makes off with all the change that fell out of their pockets.
Stewart Lee
2017-07-16T19:05:17+01:00
Last summer I wrote a comedy drama script, currently “in development with a major broadcaster”, concerning a charming, confident, clever and machiavellian politician. Named Horace Thompson, he manipulates popular culture to consolidate support for a controversial referendum he narrowly won, intending to further his own self-interest. And he was in the Bullingdon Club. And he lives in Islington. (I don’t know where I got the brilliant idea for this character from. Sometimes I think I am a genius, or some kind of unwitting God, forcibly exiled to Earth, his memory of his own divinity erased by jealous members of his former pantheon.) But, like Liam Fox and David Davis and all the bullying Brexiter shitbags, the charming, confident, clever and machiavellian politician the character of Horace Thompson is inspired by no longer seems quite so charming, confident, clever and machiavellian. The problem for me is that the average high-profile Brexiter now looks like a once powerful man who thought he was playing a rigged party game of pass the parcel, aiming to win a prize he had previously wrapped himself, but has suddenly realised he is sitting with an unexploded nail bomb in his lap, right next to his shrivelled nut-sack. Still, as long as there is some way to hold on to the closing scene, in which Horace Thompson’s head is sliced off by the rotating blades of a ceiling fan, and then eaten by his own guard dogs, I will feel it has all been worthwhile. My final rewrite will consciously uncouple the character from specific details. It may have been folly to hitch my story wagon to a character so clearly inspired by Boris Johnson, even though his future once seemed secure. Boris Johnson will be a forgotten casualty of the crisis his own lying Daily Telegraph...
Having successfully turned Johnson and Boswell into stand-up comics at the Fringe last year, the writer Stewart Lee has now tried the same trick for Elizabeth I and Walter Raleigh. Simon Munnery goes from Johnson to a queen in whiteface and wig. Miles Jupp becomes the breech-wearing explorer-cum- spy-cum-poet from Budleigh Salterton. The result, sad to say, is an undernourished hour that might muscle its way into your affections in a smaller, scuzzier room, but which looks stiff as an iron ruff in the Cow Barn.
Some, mostly solo, moments shine. Jupp, a revelation as Boswell, again gives plenty of fizz as his historical figure-turned-compere: “Without the potato, your Scottish national diet would consistent solely of alcohol and cigarettes.” Elizabeth's withering addresses are the highlight, even if Munnery might as well be delivering them in his League Against Tedium persona: “To the Italians I say this: Rome wasn't built in a day. Perhaps it could have been if you hadn't been so busy speaking with your arms.” But Elizabeth and Raleigh plays like a polished first draft waiting for its big idea to reveal itself. They stick galleons on their heads to depict a naval battle, but this cute, Thunderbirds FAB-style staging is undermined by their awkwardness with the props. Raleigh's thwarted designs on his queen is conveyed in fairly generic master-and-servant badinage. Without more connection between the players the show trails off badly. Even Jane Watkins's period music sometimes only adds to the stiltedness.
There are some great ideas buried in here. “When I was 3, my father had my mother killed,” Munnery announces. “Is it any wonder that I have commitment issues?” But a few great lines, a nice slide-screen cameo by Jimmy Carr and a bit of tomfoolery amid the crowd add up to neither a proper play nor a jamboree. Owen Lewis's production will surely loosen up as the month progresses.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-05T20:11:11+01:00
Having successfully turned Johnson and Boswell into stand-up comics at the Fringe last year, the writer Stewart Lee has now tried the same trick for Elizabeth I and Walter Raleigh. Simon Munnery goes from Johnson to a queen in whiteface and wig. Miles Jupp becomes the breech-wearing explorer-cum- spy-cum-poet from Budleigh Salterton. The result, sad to say, is an undernourished hour that might muscle its way into your affections in a smaller, scuzzier room, but which looks stiff as an iron ruff in the Cow Barn. Some, mostly solo, moments shine. Jupp, a revelation as Boswell, again gives plenty of fizz as his historical figure-turned-compere: “Without the potato, your Scottish national diet would consistent solely of alcohol and cigarettes.” Elizabeth's withering addresses are the highlight, even if Munnery might as well be delivering them in his League Against Tedium persona: “To the Italians I say this: Rome wasn't built in a day. Perhaps it could have been if you hadn't been so busy speaking with your arms.” But Elizabeth and Raleigh plays like a polished first draft waiting for its big idea to reveal itself. They stick galleons on their heads to depict a naval battle, but this cute, Thunderbirds FAB-style staging is undermined by their awkwardness with the props. Raleigh's thwarted designs on his queen is conveyed in fairly generic master-and-servant badinage. Without more connection between the players the show trails off badly. Even Jane Watkins's period music sometimes only adds to the stiltedness. There are some great ideas buried in here. “When I was 3, my father had my mother killed,” Munnery announces. “Is it any wonder that I have commitment issues?” But a few great lines, a nice slide-screen cameo by Jimmy Carr and a bit of tomfoolery amid the crowd add up to neither a proper...
This week, Helen Lewis is away, so comedian and writer Stewart Lee joins Armando to look at Robert Jenrick's flashy video in which he takes aim at 'weird Turkish barber shops', among other things. They discuss how the way politicians, entertainers and journalists are changing and overlapping, and Armando recalls the time he read politician's jokes in a comedy club (spoiler alert, it was a disaster).
Stewart Lee returns to the show, to join Armando in discussing 'hurty words'.
With Jimmy Kimmel's suspension, and in the wake of Charlie Kirk's murder, free speech is in the spotlight again. Those who railed against 'cancel culture' are now getting into 'consequence culture'. We also discuss how Marvel's superheroes might respond to the actions of their new owners, and whether you can pray in your own homes in this country anymore (spoiler alert, you can).
One one hand, the world is going to hell, on the other, the age of terror and death has ended, so which is it? Stewart Lee joins Armando to take a look at this maximal approach to political language.
How do you do moderate politics with caps lock on? What's the smart way to diffuse complex arguments about politics? And given the details still to be worked out in the Isreal Gaza peace process, is this week's Peace Summit Trump's 'Mission Accomplished' moment?
This week, Armando is joined again by Stewart Lee to look at how political actors use language.
Wes Streeting says there is a 'deep disillusionment in this country', and says there is a “growing sense of despair about whether anyone is capable of turning this country round". Why is that? And does politicians speaking in that way confound our misery? We look at Sarah Pochin's comments about black and asian people in adverts, and the responses across parliament to that. We also look at how much news is just speculation, and how politicians use speculation to further their arguments.
We also look at how we get our news - is it exhausting to have to keep fact checking things ourselves? Is it preferable to the alternative?
Armando shares his confusion at Immersive experiences, and Stewart invents a new word, and we hear about Starmer's charm offensive.
It's budget week, Armando is joined by two members of the Strong Message Here commune, Natalie Haynes and Stewart Lee. How do markets get 'spooked'? Who has the broadest shoulders? And what does 'a Labour Budget with Labour values' actually mean? We discuss how taxes get their nicknames, why we know so much about the budget ahead of time these days, and whether Rachel Reeves could've taken inspiration from Taylor Swift to make the budget more exciting. In the longer edition, we also look at 'the banter defence', and decide a new name for 'the markets' that feels more apt for the way they behave.
Stewart Lee
2025-06-05T13:53:45+01:00
Comedy writer Armando Iannucci decodes the utterly baffling world of political language. Weird Turkish Barber Shops 5th June 2025 This week, Helen Lewis is away, so comedian and writer Stewart Lee joins Armando to look at Robert Jenrick's flashy video in which he takes aim at 'weird Turkish barber shops', among other things. They discuss how the way politicians, entertainers and journalists are changing and overlapping, and Armando recalls the time he read politician's jokes in a comedy club (spoiler alert, it was a disaster). Hurty Words 25th September 2025 Stewart Lee returns to the show, to join Armando in discussing 'hurty words'. With Jimmy Kimmel's suspension, and in the wake of Charlie Kirk's murder, free speech is in the spotlight again. Those who railed against 'cancel culture' are now getting into 'consequence culture'. We also discuss how Marvel's superheroes might respond to the actions of their new owners, and whether you can pray in your own homes in this country anymore (spoiler alert, you can). The End of the Age of Terror and Death 16th October 2025 One one hand, the world is going to hell, on the other, the age of terror and death has ended, so which is it? Stewart Lee joins Armando to take a look at this maximal approach to political language. How do you do moderate politics with caps lock on? What's the smart way to diffuse complex arguments about politics? And given the details still to be worked out in the Isreal Gaza peace process, is this week's Peace Summit Trump's 'Mission Accomplished' moment? Deep Disillusionment in This Country 30th October 2025 This week, Armando is joined again by Stewart Lee to look at how political actors use language. Wes Streeting says there is a 'deep disillusionment in this country', and says there...
Michael Pennington was born in St Helens, Lancashire, in 1971. He gave birth to Johnny Vegas sometime in the early 90’s, after a difficult pregnancy involving pottery, the priesthood and at least one severe beating. Pennington is one of our most misunderstood and maligned talents, and Johnny is one of the greatest comedy characters ever created. Johnny’s live performances, whether they succeed or fail, always do so spectacularly. Despite this, Johnny is best know to the public for his association with a woollen monkey in a series of TV commercials promoting a now bankrupt cable TV supplier. Almost hourly, people in the street shout at him, “Where’s your monkey?” Only once have I seen him crack and reply, “It fucking died!”
I never knew Michael Pennington as Michael Pennington, only as Johnny Vegas, and he’ll be the first to admit that the line between the two burly northern men is blurred. “When I tell people about terrible things that have happened to me, they just seem sad,” he explains, “But if I pretend they’ve happened to Johnny they become hilarious. But sometimes it’s complicated. On Shooting Stars I had to sit there and join in. But Johnny Vegas would have just lost interest, wandered off, come back with a dead rabbit and said, “Look what I’ve found.”” For the purposes of this piece, the Pennington-Vegas phenomenon will be referred to throughout as Johnny.
On location in the Peak District village of Castleton, where he is filming Dead Man Weds, a sit-com written by and staring Phoenix Nights’ Dave Spikey, it is Johnny, not Michael Pennington, whom every passer-by feels entitled to engage in conversation. Moving through any public space with Johnny is a problematic exercise. Everyone wants to shake hands, buy him a drink, or get scraps signed. I have never spent time with a celebrity so genuinely loved, and yet also so unselfconsciously accessible. Nobody leaves Johnny’s orbit without an anecdote or an authenticated fragment. Finally we wrangle him away, and Vegas drinks rum and coke in Castleton pub, turning butts of smoking paraphernalia over in his hands, which are surprisingly small and gentle, like those of a spider monkey, or a young Victorian servant girl.
Johnny’s ongoing presence in newspaper gossip columns, quiz shows and commercials means that although he himself is instantly recognisable, the talent that informs his incendiary live shows remains largely unrecognised. “It’s not my world but that doesn’t stop me passing through,” he protests, “I think anyone who is remotely normal would find it interesting to observe those kind of parties without considering yourself one of the people that ought to be there. The things is though, you go along and you imagine you’re just people watching, but before you realise it, people are watching you.” But to see Johnny live at the Edinburgh fringe in the late 90’s was an unforgettable experience. In some dark, dank room, this gargantuan figure would rage at the audience, often half naked, soaked with spilt pints, demanding their pity, or their respect, forcing them, often out of sheer terror, to enjoy themselves by joining in massed singalongs, whilst he displayed his genuine prowess on the potter’s wheel, creating, as best he could, beautiful clay objects, moulded from muck and beer, within the midst of this maelstrom. Where did this character come from?
“When I was young I did get badly beaten up once and hospitalised. I went through a year of being really timid and I think doing Johnny allowed me to be as confrontational on stage as I’d like to be in real life. I might have been scared in reality, but I’d stand my ground on stage. And a lot of him is like local lads in St Helens where I grew up. You go in their club and they’re dead happy to see you but you only want to have two pints with them, not six. You don’t want to get drawn into it, otherwise it’s, “Come on, sit with me, be my friend, and then watch me reach the point of exploding.”” When Johnny embarks upon free-associating tirades, that often last literally hours, he conjures the same feeling of excitement, fear and hilarity experienced during the desperate revels of just such despairing drinkers. “That’s another drunk-style thing about Johnny,” he explains, “nothing ever gets to a finished point. Drunks think there’s always got to be somewhere else open. Otherwise it’s the horror of going home and living with themselves. Johnny wouldn’t care how much he bored other people. He’d satisfy his own need to be distracted first.”
Was using the potter’s wheel on stage in the early days of the act and attempt to find something delicate in amongst all the violence, despair and anger? “No,” says Johnny, “the pottery was a kind of accident. When I was starting out doing stand-up I accepted a residency somewhere in Manchester and in my blissful ignorance I hadn’t realised people spent years putting their first hour show together. I didn’t have enough material so I just thought of anything I could do to fill the time. I remembered I’d done an arts foundation course and I’d really loved ceramics because I’d had a brilliant teacher. So I brought the Potter’s Wheel on stage. The first time I did it I realised it had a mesmerising, magnetic effect on people. They were amazed I could do it. And the fact that I could actually make pots like I said I could, made them wonder how much else of the act was true. God! He weren’t lying? Maybe he was a Butlin’s redcoat in the 60’s like he says?” The problem with people that come and see my now is they’re not a live comedy crowd. They’re people who want to see someone off the telly. I do what I do and they say, “That’s not what I paid to see. I was expecting stand-up. Not a frightening monster.” I don’t think you can defeat it. You just have to not water down what you do, and not start gearing it towards that kind of audience.”
The Johnny Vegas character has been thoughtfully and carefully drawn to embody blackly hilarious notions of desperation, loneliness and bewilderment. But it’s so convincingly portrayed that, when it encounters an increasingly superficial media, Johnny’s behaviour is portrayed as synonymous with Michael Pennington’s. “What you say on stage becomes a perception of your real life,” Vegas explains, “they won’t draw that line.” Last year some lads shouted out at Johnny on stage, “Why did your wife leave you?” Confronted with such a personal question any stand-up who chose to answer it seriously, or else get angry, would have thrown the gig. Johnny replied, “She didn’t share my belief in sea monsters. I’d be swimming around in the sea looking for them, and she’d get bored.”, brilliantly defusing the whole situation. The next day in the Daily Mirror, this comment was reported as evidence of Michael Pennington’s deteriorating mental state, as had been a previous gig where he had invited men in the audience to lick his nipples, and old Johnny Vegas trick for breaking the ice that fans will have seen him use on stage many times. In the Incredible Hulk film, Eric Bana rampages through the Mojave desert destroying thousands of US army tanks, but he has so far escaped personal censure for this in the pages of the Daily Mirror. That said, I once criticised some friends for saying they had seen Johnny do a shit on stage. I said this was ridiculous and that whilst he may have pretended to do a shit on stage, he wouldn’t actually do a shit on stage. He was a character comedian, an actor playing a role, not a psychopath. I subsequently related this story to Johnny as an example of people’s failure to view Johnny Vegas as a character, but he made a kind of doubtful face, and I decided not to pursue the issue.
The irony is, such stories, whether true or not, add to the myth of Johnny Vegas. Johnny has never been honoured with his own TV vehicle. “TV producers and commissioners come and see the show and love it but when you give them any more in that vein they don’t seem to latch onto it and think you’ve gone too far.”, he concedes. Ben Thompson’s study of British TV comedy in the 90’s, Sunshine on Putty, singles out Channel 4’s failure to commission Johnny’s 1998 pilot as a major downward turning point in British comedy. But, denied of its own TV format, the Johnny Vegas character seems instead to be creating its own narrative in the real world, funnier and more comically tragic than anything a team of writers could contrive.
Earlier this year, Vegas appeared in Sex Lives Of The Potato Men, a film subsequently described as ‘the worst British film ever made’ though presumably, not by people who had seen Love Actually, Shooting Fish or that one with Lee Majors and Bradley Walsh riding around in golf carts. But though being in ‘the worst British film ever made’ might have been a blow for Michael Pennington, there’s something perfect about it for Johnny Vegas. When I went to see Sex Lives Of The Potato Men in Leicester Square the Warner West End ticket machine was broken, and the cashier had give me a handwritten note allowing me access to the film. The very act of going to see Vegas’ film became inherently absurd and this is a typical by-product, somehow, of any of Johnny’s interactions with popular culture. I couldn’t resist ringing him from the largely empty cinema. “It’s the critics,” he said, “they’ve taken to sabotaging the ticket machines now.” But whilst the film’s other stars saw off the flack with various degrees of plausible denial, Vegas, honourably alone, embraced it. “Even when one critic described me as ‘the ugliest man in British cinema’ I still stood by what I’ve done,” he says. “Everyone that read that script wanted to be in it. I don’t moan about it. There are actors in it who’ve tried to distance themselves from it but it’s like stand-up. When they go badly they blame the crowd, and when they go well it’s because they themselves were amazing.”
Vegas may yet become a superstar by doing what he’s actually good at. If not then there remains the consolation that his career will look like some kind of strange art project. Standing alongside soap opera celeb’s in TV listings magazines Johnny, like the skeleton at the feast, renders them all ridiculous, whilst he remains idiotically removed, so low in status that he cannot be harmed, a genius fool. “You can’t touch Johnny because he’s never going to see the sense in taking the blame for anything anyway. That’s another idea drawn from alcoholism too. Everything’s always someone else’s fault. ‘If that butterfly had flapped its wing in Tokyo I’d have got the part in Lord Of The Rings. It’s not my fault.’
The Johnny Vegas character seems entangled in notions of guilt and blame. It’s no surprise that the young Johnny considered training for the Catholic priesthood. “I thought of going into it until the age of ten,” he remembers, “then at 11 I went to seminary, a private school funded and run by the church. The church work out what you can afford and your parents pay it out of shame. The idea was you’ll be a priest, get a taste for the monastic lifestyle of the priesthood – it’s indoctrination really. I don’t want faith through fear. I think it’s about the individual’s acceptance. I thought it was quite good that at the age of 11 I wanted to read George Orwell in bed but they wouldn’t even let me have a reading light because of rules and regulations and I found myself rallying against it. I was the great white hope of the parish and when I said I wasn’t up for it everyone was very disappointed. I was made to feel very special when I wanted to be a priest and everyone was disappointed when I became ordinary again. But I craved the ordinary. I suppose Johnny Vegas is like that. He doesn’t give people what they want. He’s a revolutionary, like Martin Luther, but he doesn’t have anything worked out that he can nail to the church door. Johnny Vegas believes he has something to share but he is constantly humiliated. God is trying to teach Johnny Vegas a lesson, but even the violence doesn’t work on him. You could knock his head in and then he’d just put on baby’s clothes. God is doing it to him. God is saying to Johnny Vegas ‘you are one of the men who deserve to be beaten’. But he’d just tells God he was out of order.”
Does Johnny think God would like the Johnny Vegas act? “God would see that by accident one man has got as much as he can out of misery.”, is all he will say. And what if Johnny Vegas were to do a shit on stage, would God approve of that, would he see it an expression of his love? “Whatever happens,” Johnny Vegas concludes, “I am God’s instrument. Maybe I should have used me own name for some things, and kept Johnny as a character. But I didn’t. And it’s too late now.”
Stewart Lee
2004-12-01T18:18:32+00:00
Michael Pennington was born in St Helens, Lancashire, in 1971. He gave birth to Johnny Vegas sometime in the early 90’s, after a difficult pregnancy involving pottery, the priesthood and at least one severe beating. Pennington is one of our most misunderstood and maligned talents, and Johnny is one of the greatest comedy characters ever created. Johnny’s live performances, whether they succeed or fail, always do so spectacularly. Despite this, Johnny is best know to the public for his association with a woollen monkey in a series of TV commercials promoting a now bankrupt cable TV supplier. Almost hourly, people in the street shout at him, “Where’s your monkey?” Only once have I seen him crack and reply, “It fucking died!” I never knew Michael Pennington as Michael Pennington, only as Johnny Vegas, and he’ll be the first to admit that the line between the two burly northern men is blurred. “When I tell people about terrible things that have happened to me, they just seem sad,” he explains, “But if I pretend they’ve happened to Johnny they become hilarious. But sometimes it’s complicated. On Shooting Stars I had to sit there and join in. But Johnny Vegas would have just lost interest, wandered off, come back with a dead rabbit and said, “Look what I’ve found.”” For the purposes of this piece, the Pennington-Vegas phenomenon will be referred to throughout as Johnny. On location in the Peak District village of Castleton, where he is filming Dead Man Weds, a sit-com written by and staring Phoenix Nights’ Dave Spikey, it is Johnny, not Michael Pennington, whom every passer-by feels entitled to engage in conversation. Moving through any public space with Johnny is a problematic exercise. Everyone wants to shake hands, buy him a drink, or get scraps signed. I have...
Well, finally, here were are. Almost two years after this gig should have originally happened, in a mostly filled Theatre Royal, we sit down the watch the show we should have seen on 27 March 2020. It was in fact one of the first to fall victim to the inital lockdown announcement of 23 March 2020, which I commented on at the time over at The Guardian.
The show is divided into two distinct parts, as you might be able to guess from the title. But tonight, the first part is in fact, Tornado, the reasons why it’s named that way become clear as the section continues.
“Hasn’t that Stewart Lee let himself go?”
The opening shots are about his own appearance, his health, and just about getting older generally; his rising blood pressure that constantly needs checking (always a great thing for a stand-up), and being described by The Times as “Britain’s Greatest Living Standup”, though he doesn’t like to talk about it, honest.
But it does serve as a bridge into talking about Netflix mis-listing his show, Comedy Vehicle, on the channel, for over two years¹, which gets him to compare his show to a few other stand-up listings on there. There’s a nice little little riff on Jimmy Carr, and how his show doesn’t contain any mention of sharks, but how it would be nice if they got the text to match what was actually in the show, and whether the comedian actually delivered what the synopsis said. There’s also the first mention of Ricky Gervais. I think it’s safe to say he’s not much a fan, given that he describes After Life as a nine and a half hour crying wank, and providing an altogether too convincing mime to go with it. But there’s more — much more — about Gervais later.
The biggest two sections in the rest of the first half concern Alan Bennett, and Dave Chappelle. He begins by telling us that someone drew his attention to Bennett’s discussion of him in the London Review of Books², which he looked up with a bit of excitement, given AB’s status, only to discover he’d been described as the JL Austin of stand up, and that “Erving Goffman would like him”, which generates the familiar kind of Stew mock outrage. But he ties this to watching other comics, including riffs aabout US stand-ups & audiences, which brings us into a routine about Chappelle playing a warm-up gig at the Leicester Square Theatre, following the last show in Stew’s longish warm-up run there. If you want to see Stewart Lee basically doing an impersonation of Barry White in an extended monologue about chicken juices³, then you are bang in luck here.
But the centrepiece of the first part is the brushing down and putting on of his Alan Bennett voice to read a viscera-spattered Bennett version of Sharknado, which is properly hilarious and finishes with a beautiful little stage set piece to end the first half.
Snowflake
After the interval Lee arrives back to ask how, as a man in middle age, he should cope with being an 70s & 80s-bred centre-left liberal in today’s comedy climate, and whether all the attacks on “Wokeness” aren’t just reheated versions of the cries of “it’s poliitcal correctness gone mad” that came in previous years.
The first focus of enquiry is Tony Parsons who, like Gervais, we can safely gather Stew is not hugely enamoured with. This partially stems from an emetic pearl-clutching GQ article Parsons wrote in 2019 which refrences Lee, whom he described as:
…the Guardian columnist, the BBC-approved comedian who can be guaranteed to dress to the left
One thing is for sure, Stewart Lee dresses very definitely to the right, and proves it to us tonight. He thinks his penis started in the middle, but like Parsons, has probably drifted to the right as they both got older. In some versions of the article, the words, “tip of a cesspit” figure too, and Stew takes delight in deconstructing that phrase for a while. While he’s doing this he ruminates about who the “metropolitan elite” that columinsts like Parsons talks about actually are, and he gets a big laugh from the audience when he starts to wonder if Newcastle is a bit pretentious and try-hard, and whether this audience here are just “the metropolitan elite but with sauce spilled all down your front.”
But the big moment of Snowflake comes when he starts to ask where the “woke” boundaries in comedy are, and who trangresses. So, he talks about the oft-heard opinion that “Ricky Gervais says the unsayable”. Except he doesn’t. He actually says things, making him someone who says the sayable by definition. What we then get is several minutes of what Gervais actually trying to say the unsayable might actually sound like. If you’re thinking cat coughing up furball, you’re also in the right place. It’s probably the highlight of the evening for me, and gets huge laughs, very deservedly.
And then we’re kind of into a wind-down. Given the great Barry Cryer’s death this week, like pretty much every comic Stew has a Baz anecdoate to share, and it’s a good one, told with real affection. That mood continues when he breaks persona for a moment to thank the audience for coming out after everything that’s gone on, and continues to. He’s generous in his praise for the backstage staff, and everyone who’s helped to make sure this evening can go ahead. It really is “just good to be out again.”
The last little bit of the night is a song, on an acoustic guitar, together with some effects (which you’ll be able to guess at if you scan the photos)
After-show
Of course, the ironic thing about the Bennett stuff in the first half, and the mock outrage at having the Austin and Goffman references thrown his way, only serve to demonstrate that Bennett is pretty much bang on. Lots of Goffman’s work is centred on the performance of self, and much of Lee’s act is shielded behind multiple layers of irony, and misdirection about who the “Stewart Lee” performing actually is. The Austin allusions make sense too. Quite a lot of Lee’s act is built up by copious use of repetition, call-back, and a relationship with the audience that is full of codified in-jokes, very knowing tongue-in-cheek sneers, and carefully confected beligerence, which those who know the format can peel back and enjoy at whichever levels they wish to. He jokes copiously about his reception in the left wing press, and undercuts it all with the sly back-of-the-hand admission that it’s all utterly absurd really. Of the shows I’ve seen him do (and this is the third), this feels like the least inflected, and the most open in many ways. He really is an experience to savour when he’s in full flow.
¹ it turns out they mistakenly provided the synopisis of Sharknado for his series, which was probably a bit of a disappointment for anyone wanting airborne apex sea predator larks.
² The entry in question is for 28 July
³which also crops up in the interval music. It’s not all just thrown together …
Stewart Lee
2022-01-31T19:49:43+00:00
Pre-show Well, finally, here were are. Almost two years after this gig should have originally happened, in a mostly filled Theatre Royal, we sit down the watch the show we should have seen on 27 March 2020. It was in fact one of the first to fall victim to the inital lockdown announcement of 23 March 2020, which I commented on at the time over at The Guardian. The show is divided into two distinct parts, as you might be able to guess from the title. But tonight, the first part is in fact, Tornado, the reasons why it’s named that way become clear as the section continues. “Hasn’t that Stewart Lee let himself go?” The opening shots are about his own appearance, his health, and just about getting older generally; his rising blood pressure that constantly needs checking (always a great thing for a stand-up), and being described by The Times as “Britain’s Greatest Living Standup”, though he doesn’t like to talk about it, honest. But it does serve as a bridge into talking about Netflix mis-listing his show, Comedy Vehicle, on the channel, for over two years¹, which gets him to compare his show to a few other stand-up listings on there. There’s a nice little little riff on Jimmy Carr, and how his show doesn’t contain any mention of sharks, but how it would be nice if they got the text to match what was actually in the show, and whether the comedian actually delivered what the synopsis said. There’s also the first mention of Ricky Gervais. I think it’s safe to say he’s not much a fan, given that he describes After Life as a nine and a half hour crying wank, and providing an altogether too convincing mime to go with it. But there’s more...
The notion of status has always been crucial to Stewart Lee’s stand-up, whether it be his place in the world or how he interacts with his audience.
Anyone who’s read the annotated transcripts of his shows knows the attention he pays to subtly ensuring he is always on the back foot. Despite critical acclaim and a fan base substantial enough to finally offer him financial security, he needs to be the underdog battling against perceived injustices.
Tornado/Snowflake addresses this obsession more explicitly than any of his previous shows, even 41st Best Stand Up Ever which made status its title. Lee’s focus with the new show is tighter and closer to home, after a long battle with the big concepts of Brexit.
In the first half, the comic first lowers his standing though sardonic grumbles about his physical decay – growing greyer, fatter and more deaf in the two years since his last show. Ageing may be a comic staple, but Lee expresses the indignities beautifully.
Then he turns to to the gap between his hard-earned artistic kudos and his lesser commercial standing, overshadowed by big-budget comedians on Netflix – a platform which cannot even offer the right blurb of his Content Provider series, instead using the breathless description of the preposterous B-movie Sharknado.
In the second half, it’s his place in the cultural landscape that’s under consideration, as a politically-correct liberal in a mainstream kicking back against such inclusive values.
The evening has been billed as two separate shows, but each half is thematically so similar, they can be considered as one – not least because some of the comedians with the biggest streaming deals are those with the least moral scruples.
Names are named as righteous complaints exaggerate into the viciously rancorous, from Jimmy Carr’s callous material to Josh Widdecombe’s shallowness.
Needless to say Ricky Gervais gets a kicking both before and after the interval, for so successfully monetising a fake victimhood, complaining on a global platform that he’s being silenced by the snowflake liberals. Lee isn’t the only comic who needs to play the underdog…
Here his tortured anguish as he strains to embody that idea of an edgelord comic literally ‘saying the unsayable’ is a powerfully ridiculous performance, made stronger by the commitment in both time and energy to the piece, way beyond the point most comics would have given up.
That’s always been his shtick, of course, and it is overused almost to the point of self-parody in the first half as he repeats the false description of his work on Netflix with varying emphasis. It’s not the only part Tornado that feels a little like Lee uncharacteristically retreading old topics, even if his execution and the detail in structuring the threads into a coherent and rewarding show is rarely matched.
He’s on slightly unadventurous ground, too, when he closes part one with an Alan Bennett parody. It is well-done – dubious soft Yorkshire accent notwithstanding – but a relatively simple conceit for Lee. Far better is the literary parody in the second half, with Enid Blyton’s non-PC work being skewered with more pointed vigour.
Indeed, Snowflake is probably the stronger half, from its an ironic shaggy-dog story about a spider bit, his piss-take of the Bernard Manning style of comedy, a sarcasm-laden response to Tony Parsons’s unnuanced criticism of his use of ‘the c-word’, and an ever-more ridiculous examples of the phrase ‘political correctness gone mad’ being misunderstood by his elderly gran.
Throughout, Lee mixes stubborn professional jealousy with more justifiable complaints. His takedown of Phoebe Waller-Bridge is pure iconoclasm, playfully mocking the heroine-worship that’s built up around her. And Dave Chapelle – a comic with some questionable content – is instead mocked for his ostentatious Hollywood ego, although the real joke is the way Lee’s own, more troubled, ego fails to cope with the arrogant interloper.
Although the broad sweeps of Lee’s work take in familiar liberal arguments, there’s a weight and a detail that provides substantial food for thought. As with so much of his work, it’s the sort of comedy that you’ll recall days or weeks after the gig as situations he describes re-present themselves. Or if you sit down for some shark-based movie action.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-08T13:35:00+00:00
The notion of status has always been crucial to Stewart Lee’s stand-up, whether it be his place in the world or how he interacts with his audience. Anyone who’s read the annotated transcripts of his shows knows the attention he pays to subtly ensuring he is always on the back foot. Despite critical acclaim and a fan base substantial enough to finally offer him financial security, he needs to be the underdog battling against perceived injustices. Tornado/Snowflake addresses this obsession more explicitly than any of his previous shows, even 41st Best Stand Up Ever which made status its title. Lee’s focus with the new show is tighter and closer to home, after a long battle with the big concepts of Brexit. In the first half, the comic first lowers his standing though sardonic grumbles about his physical decay – growing greyer, fatter and more deaf in the two years since his last show. Ageing may be a comic staple, but Lee expresses the indignities beautifully. Then he turns to to the gap between his hard-earned artistic kudos and his lesser commercial standing, overshadowed by big-budget comedians on Netflix – a platform which cannot even offer the right blurb of his Content Provider series, instead using the breathless description of the preposterous B-movie Sharknado. In the second half, it’s his place in the cultural landscape that’s under consideration, as a politically-correct liberal in a mainstream kicking back against such inclusive values. The evening has been billed as two separate shows, but each half is thematically so similar, they can be considered as one – not least because some of the comedians with the biggest streaming deals are those with the least moral scruples. Names are named as righteous complaints exaggerate into the viciously rancorous, from Jimmy Carr’s callous material to Josh...
Both Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak are currently promoting the benefits of the deregulated “special economic zones” known as freeports, despite evidence that they encourage organised crime, money-laundering, drug-trafficking and terrorist finance, though admittedly the first three of these supposed problems appear to be common leisure activities for most Tory MPs. I’m here all week! Try the Colombian!!
Joined-up thinking, or paranoia depending on your point of view, suggests the next logical step from freeports is “charter cities”, allowing whole regions to be run as “corporate fiefs” by big business, stripped of tiresome regulations in the pursuit of profit. As long ago as 2010, the rightwing Tufton Street-based Taxpayers’ Alliance thinktank proposed that Hull “became our own version of a charter city [with] minimum wage, working-hours regulations, social benefits for working-age citizens, and central government planning regulations abolished”. Businesses that have made themselves useful to the Tories will doubtless be the beneficiaries here, just as they were when the PPE billions were doled out with due diligence.
Could Boris Johnson’s wedding venue donors at Daylesford Organic be given a south Devon section incorporating the whole of Dartmoor and the entire South Hams region? Could Ultimo, the lingerie company formerly owned by the Tory peer Michelle Mone, be handed the entire east Midlands from Burton upon Trent to Upper Broughton? Will the Tory-adjacent businesswoman Jacqueline Gold’s Ann Summers organisation be left to run the Humber sector from Spurn Head to Howden, including Hull? Can Matt Handcock’s local pub landlord be allowed to do whatever he wants with both Needham Market and Clacton-on-Sea? And if this is the case, can these companies be trusted to respect the rights of the citizens of whom they will have dominion, when there are no regulations to protect them?
Should the people of Chagford and Yelverton be made to eat deregulated Daylesford Organic pork pies, which could possibly fuse with their genes at a subatomic level and turn them into half-human pig creatures? Should the people of Corby and Kettering be forced to wear untested Ultimo corsets, which could explode on contact with back sweat? Should people from Hull, and their orifices, be used as guinea pigs for untried, and potentially unsafe, Ann Summers sex toys, such as a turbo-charged, post-Brexit version of the Ann Summers bestseller the Anal Training Kit? As if Brexit wasn’t enough of a disaster as it is, are these some of the new “Brexit benefits” currently rolling down the sewage outlet of post-Brexit Tory deregulation?
It’s fun, isn’t it, to joke about the Brexit Tories’ attempts to turn Britain into a horrible dystopia designed to make money for their friends at the expense of the environment, the arts, education, human rights and so forth. Ha! Ha! Ha! But, here at the Edinburgh fringe, I popped out between my own shows to see two Ukrainian standups in From Ukraine With Laughs. Pavlo Voytovych presented a slick club set with cosmopolitan, pan-European reference points that would chime in his adopted Berlin; Dima Watermelon’s deadpan absurdity was darkened by attempts to deal with the systematic stealing of his homeland, the militarised erasure of the culture he grew up in. It made me think about what it would be like to lose the country you loved. And I realised I was.
It’s hysterical, of course, to compare the Brexit Tories’ stealthy but determined dismantling of the Britain we cherish with Putin’s physical assault on Ukraine. But if you’ve ever shown an interest in architecture, gardening or nature, doubtless the infiltrated algorithms of your social media feeds are steering you towards the respectable-looking Restore Trust organisation, which is reminding National Trust members to renew their memberships before 26 August, so they can vote in the charity’s autumn AGM. All well and good, surely?
Nominally a “forum where members and friends of the National Trust can discuss their concerns about the charity’s future”, the innocuous-sounding Restore Trust is in fact designed to stem the National Trust’s drift towards “wokeness” (by addressing links between its sites and slavery, for example). Restore Trust backer Neil Record, for one, is a financier and sometime Tory donor who has funded the climate-denial lobby group the Global Warming Policy Foundation, also based on Tufton Street, and chairs Net Zero Watch, a thinktank spin-off on the same street lobbying to scrap net zero commitments. This is a worrying development given the vast tracts of land the National Trust manages and the millions of non-politically affiliated invertebrates in its keep. Butterflies don’t care about unisex toilets. They just want the plants they lay their eggs on to flower when they are supposed to.
In last year’s National Trust board member elections, one of the six preferred candidates that Restore Trust’s supporters hoped to vote into a position of influence was the self-styled “reverend” Stephen Green, who has supported the death penalty for gay sex in Uganda, believes all Muslims are going to hell and, when he was campaigning against a theatre piece I worked on decades ago, refused to shake the hand of a gay journalist because he knew “where it had been”. It is not known if Green believes garden design in National Trust properties should reflect one specific period in the house’s history or attempt to illustrate many simultaneously. We do know, however, that he thinks it is impossible for a husband to rape his wife.
It seems bizarre that it is suddenly necessary for reasonable people, who probably only joined the National Trust because they like carrot cake and a firm hanging buttress, to make sure they vote in the organisation’s 5 November AGM to prevent fun days out in historic locations becoming weaponised as yet another front in the far right’s culture war against everything nice. But we are where we are.
Stewart Lee
2022-08-21T14:29:25+01:00
Both Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak are currently promoting the benefits of the deregulated “special economic zones” known as freeports, despite evidence that they encourage organised crime, money-laundering, drug-trafficking and terrorist finance, though admittedly the first three of these supposed problems appear to be common leisure activities for most Tory MPs. I’m here all week! Try the Colombian!! Joined-up thinking, or paranoia depending on your point of view, suggests the next logical step from freeports is “charter cities”, allowing whole regions to be run as “corporate fiefs” by big business, stripped of tiresome regulations in the pursuit of profit. As long ago as 2010, the rightwing Tufton Street-based Taxpayers’ Alliance thinktank proposed that Hull “became our own version of a charter city [with] minimum wage, working-hours regulations, social benefits for working-age citizens, and central government planning regulations abolished”. Businesses that have made themselves useful to the Tories will doubtless be the beneficiaries here, just as they were when the PPE billions were doled out with due diligence. Could Boris Johnson’s wedding venue donors at Daylesford Organic be given a south Devon section incorporating the whole of Dartmoor and the entire South Hams region? Could Ultimo, the lingerie company formerly owned by the Tory peer Michelle Mone, be handed the entire east Midlands from Burton upon Trent to Upper Broughton? Will the Tory-adjacent businesswoman Jacqueline Gold’s Ann Summers organisation be left to run the Humber sector from Spurn Head to Howden, including Hull? Can Matt Handcock’s local pub landlord be allowed to do whatever he wants with both Needham Market and Clacton-on-Sea? And if this is the case, can these companies be trusted to respect the rights of the citizens of whom they will have dominion, when there are no regulations to protect them? Should the people of Chagford and Yelverton...
In January, a sulphurous cloud of French pollution drifted across from France to further stink out vast areas of Surrey, its stench so powerful that it overwhelmed the natural foul odours of Eric Clapton, who dwells silently in the hideous region, a subterranean blues truffle.
It was as if the smelly Gallic gas glob did not respect international borders, and had imagined it could just blow around on the wind wherever it liked, a giant goose feather fashioned only from farts, irrespective of our exemption from the Schengen area agreement. Clearly, a continent-wide environmental strategy is required.
In other apocalyptic news, last month all 10 million Swedes were sent leaflets warning them to prepare for Russian invasion by stockpiling their cellars with Swedish staples like meatballs, delicious cakes and pornography.
Our own response to the perceived Russian threat has been to delay the visa of the Putin-backing billionaire Roman Abramovich, who I once stood next to while watching 80s Los Angeles band the Long Ryders in a venue he owned. This was perhaps the only point of overlap in the simplistic Venn diagram of Russian oligarchs and alternative country pioneers, apart from the brief period when Oleg Deripaska played pedal steel for Jason & the Scorchers.
But the threat of Russian invasion is especially problematic in the peacenik nude bathing utopia of Sweden which, in 1980, took official measures to discourage retailers from selling war toys to children. Not knowing one end of a gun from another, Swedes will be fighting the oncoming Russian hordes in the streets with Buckaroos ™, Fuzzy Felts ™ and Slimes ™.
Ironically, street combat with apparently harmless toys is exactly the kind of unpredictable surrealist strategy favoured by Putin’s art-school propaganda adviser Vladislav Surkov, and will either result in an unexpected Swedish victory, or a Russian counter attack involving Stretch Armstrongs ™, Mutons ™, and Kerplunks ™.
I envy the Swedes the simplistic certainty of the threat of Russian invasion. Here Brexit means that, like the ladies in the flashbacks in The Handmaid’s Tale, we are sleepwalking into a rightwing coup without noticing. What supplies should we stockpile in our British cellars to survive subjugation by the Brexiteers? French horns? Kraftwerk bootlegs? Experts?
Those hated experts were in conspicuously short supply last week as the environment secretary M Gove responded to demands from the corrupt fat cats of the unelected EU that we take more serious steps to stop choking ourselves, our European neighbours, and our whole planet to death.
Have they learned nothing in their Brussels ivory tower? This is exactly the kind of interfering attitude that brought about Brexit. If British people want to choke themselves and their children to death in a foul smog of car fumes that is up to us, and it’s not for beret-wearing traitors like Monsieur Jacques Delors, Madame Michèle Yvette Marie-Thérèse Jeanne Honorine Alliot-Marie and Monsieur Eddie Izzard to tell us we can’t.
British air pollution levels are above those recommended by the World Health Organisation for 90% of our population, and fall far short of the meddling EU’s less stringent recommendations. But when we leave the deplorable EU the untrustworthy adopted nest-cuckoo M Gove has promised we will actually aim to better the shit EU’s environmental standards, even as he flounders towards deregulated food supply life rafts made of his friend Donald Trump’s maggoty meats.
The literary stereotype of an orphan is of a meek and hopeful lamb child. But take it from me, all orphans lie, and M Gove is no exception. Last week, in the heat of the Windrush backdraft, the vengeful adoptee also claimed, counterintuitively, that Brexit “has made the UK more welcome to migration and more open to more people entering”. The shamans of the Lakota nation, searching for someone to fulfil the ritual role of the heyoka, the crazy backwards clown, for whom all truths are inverted, need look no further than M Gove for their future holy fool.
You don’t have to be Doubting Thomas ®, from God®’s The Bible ™, to doubt the airy assurances M Gove bubbles through his lying goldfish lips. Pirate Liam Fox sees a buccaneering Britain, bustling with freebooting Tom of Finland businessmen in unbuttoned shirts, thigh length sea-chaps and skull medallions, and is unlikely to allow its forthcoming post-Brexit economic miracle to be hampered by costly self-imposed environmental legislation, me hearties.
Clearly, the pollution crisis needs a top-to-bottom strategy, with the immediate elimination of the internal combustion engine as its ultimate goal. M Gove has promised to phase out diesel- and petrol-driven cars by 2040, a tiny flatus puff in a vast tornado, 22 years of slow death away.
As usual M Gove and his west London friends, essentially the human equivalent of the all-controlling Orangutan priests in the dystopia of Planet of the Apes, will find a way of remaining untouched in their airtight Notting Hill survival biospheres, their constituents choking to death beneath the Westway outside.
The £19,000-a-year Notting Hill Preparatory school has begun fitting £5,000 air filters to each of its classrooms, and who can blame it. But one looks forward to an M Gove government implementing the same safety measures in every state school across the country, perhaps employing cost-cutting subcontractors with the same bottom-line attention to detail as the Grenfell Tower cladders.
Breathable air for school children, it appears, is to become an economic privilege, like private education, not a basic human right. When I blagged into a private school on an orphan’s charity bung in 1979, I was taken aback by the playing fields, the chapel, and the Welsh mountain geography-trip cottage. Back in those halcyon days, I took the idea that I’d be able to breathe the air as read.
Stewart Lee
2018-06-03T17:56:34+01:00
In January, a sulphurous cloud of French pollution drifted across from France to further stink out vast areas of Surrey, its stench so powerful that it overwhelmed the natural foul odours of Eric Clapton, who dwells silently in the hideous region, a subterranean blues truffle. It was as if the smelly Gallic gas glob did not respect international borders, and had imagined it could just blow around on the wind wherever it liked, a giant goose feather fashioned only from farts, irrespective of our exemption from the Schengen area agreement. Clearly, a continent-wide environmental strategy is required. In other apocalyptic news, last month all 10 million Swedes were sent leaflets warning them to prepare for Russian invasion by stockpiling their cellars with Swedish staples like meatballs, delicious cakes and pornography. Our own response to the perceived Russian threat has been to delay the visa of the Putin-backing billionaire Roman Abramovich, who I once stood next to while watching 80s Los Angeles band the Long Ryders in a venue he owned. This was perhaps the only point of overlap in the simplistic Venn diagram of Russian oligarchs and alternative country pioneers, apart from the brief period when Oleg Deripaska played pedal steel for Jason & the Scorchers. But the threat of Russian invasion is especially problematic in the peacenik nude bathing utopia of Sweden which, in 1980, took official measures to discourage retailers from selling war toys to children. Not knowing one end of a gun from another, Swedes will be fighting the oncoming Russian hordes in the streets with Buckaroos ™, Fuzzy Felts ™ and Slimes ™. Ironically, street combat with apparently harmless toys is exactly the kind of unpredictable surrealist strategy favoured by Putin’s art-school propaganda adviser Vladislav Surkov, and will either result in an unexpected Swedish victory, or...
I'm all sold out for the Ed Fringe but here's eighteen tips of things likely to be better than me.
11.00 am Stand 1 Bridget Christie (the duchess of stand-up)
11.30 am Assembly George Sq - Derevo - Once (physical euro-theatre)
12.00 mid-day Stand 2 - Daniel Kitson (the arch-duke of stand-up)
3.15pm Bob's Blundabus - Grainne Maguire (politico-personal stand-up)
3.40pm Stand 3 Andy Zaltzman (stand-up from the red clown)
4pm Stand 1 Simon Munnery (Redondan king of comedy)
5.30pm Stand 1 Josie Long (the Angela Mason of stand-up)
5.45pm Three Sisters - Kunt & The Gang (childish swearing sex comedy)
6.45 Spiegeltent - Simon Munnery 30 Not Out (22nd) (go pay homage)
7.00 Pleasance Courtyard - Colin Hoult (character comedy)
7pm Summerhall Richard Dawson (18th only) (mind-fuck avant-folk)
7.30pm Assembly Hall - David O'Doherty (v low energy musical whimsy)
8pm Pleasance Courtyard Nish Kumar (stand-up) HIS TIME IS NOW!!
8pm Acoustic Music Centre - Dick Gaughan (SNP folk) (23rd only)
8.15pm Surgeon's Hall - Blueswater (blues-based edu-tainment)
10.10pm Underbelly - Christeene (sick gay disco dry-ice art wank)
10.00pm Traverse - Mouse by D Kitson (comedic ur-theatre)
10.35pm Stand 4 Will Franken (trans-gender reactionary comedy)
Remember, it is best wherever possible to avoid UNDERBELLY, PLEASANCE, & ASSEMBLY, and favour Stand, Free Fringe variants, Blundabus, Summerhall and others, as big venues are loss-making traps for acts and in hock to big agencies/production companies and PR spin-bullshit. Run by a cabal of English upper class twits, they should only be patronised as a last resort if the stuff on at them is culturally essential or requires your financial and/or moral support.
CONTENT PROVIDER BOOK
I have a new book out on August 4th, Content Provider, through Faber. "Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been on holiday, the comedian Stewart Lee has been attempting to understand modern Britain, and his own place in it, in a series of irregular newspaper columns.
Will Scotland become the Promised Land of the Left? Is it possible to live a life without crisps? Who was Grant Shapps? What does your Spotify playlist data say about you? Are Jeremy Corbyn and Stewart Lee really the new Christs? And so on.
Selected, introduced and, where necessary, explained by the author and corrected by readers, Content Provider is funny, grumpy, provocative, confusing and brilliant."
This clunky title, as well as being the same name as my next book, will be another full-on, finished, Carpet Remnant/41st Best/Milder Comedian type epic show, with an actual set, although the exact material is currently in freefall post-Brexit.
Until Nov the shows are work-in-progs and then I will tour it for about 18 months (everywhere in UK and EIRE, except Carlisle) into mid-2018, unless there is no demand for it or I get sick or bored. Here's some dates.
AUG
Stand, Edinburgh - Content Provider. SOLD OUT
OCT
11th - 15th, 18th - 20th Digital Content Provider w free DVD, Leicester Sq Theatre London
NOV (Digital Content Provider w free DVD) November 1st - Watford Colosseum - 7.30pm - 01923 571102 - TICKETS November 2nd - Liverpool Philharmonic Hall - 8pm - 0151 709 3789 - TICKETS November 3rd - Cambridge Corn Exchange - 8pm - 01223 357851 - TICKETS November 4th - Cardiff St. David's Hall - 8pm - 029 2087 8444 - TICKETS November 6th - Newcastle Upon Tyne Theatre Royal - 7.30pm - 08448 11 21 21 - TICKETS
NOV (Content Provider)
8th - 12th, 15th - 19th, 22nd 24th, 29th Leicester Sq Theatre, London
JAN 2017
2-7, 9-10, 12-14, 16-21, 23-28 Leics Sq Theatre
Unpaid Charity Benefit Shows
As usual, I continue to work tirelessly for charity.
Sept 14th - White Helmets Syria @ Union Chapel w Michael Legge, Bridget Christie, Nish Kumar, Eleanor Tiernan
Other live s-up Dates
(mainly 30 mins sets w some previews) August
19th Edinburgh Book Fest w Ian Ranking Roger
22nd Simon Munnery 30th Anniversary Show - incl Alan Parker's Urban Warriors, w me on guitar. SEPT
2nd - 4th End Of The Road
9th Martin Soan's gig, South London
12th Tattershall Castle, London
15th Soho Theatre, London
24th Union Chapel, London
27th Soho Theatre
28th Soho Theatre
29th Chippenham Com Fest, rescheduled OCT
1st Aldeburgh Comedy Festival
3rd Susan Murray's Covent Garden gig
4th and 5th Red Imp, London
6th Sevenoaks somewhere w Maff Brown
7th Bush Hall, London
10th Happy Mondays, London
Global Globules with Baconface
On Wednesdays at 11pm on Resonance 104.4 fm and on the station website, the barely present cult Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface continues to play lengthy and mainly uninterrupted selections from his late brother's extensive record collection of '60s and '70s psychedelia, progressive rock, free jazz, folk, acid folk, folk rock, acid rock, electronic music, and ethnoforgeries. In association with the Chilliwack Office of Leisure. [Repeated Saturday 4am.] The shows can also be heard here.. http://www.baconfacecanada.com/global-globules/
Live b'cacting of B's GGs is suspended during August for Resonance's annual Summer experimento-pause.
Resonance is a groundbreaking 24/7 radio station which broadcasts on 104.4 FM to central London, DAB to Greater London, nationally on Radioplayer and live streamed to the rest of the world.
Dead Funny Encore book
Comedian Robin Ince, the co-editor of the new comedians' horror fiction anthology, in which I have a piece, writes...
"Hello everyone. Dead Funny Encore is out. i am really pleased with it, as is Johnny Mains. Sorry it took longer than thought, but really couldn't be helped.
Starting at 6pm on Monday 8 August, and continuing 24/7 until they reach the end, a host of Edinburgh Fringe performers, writers, and politicians plus members of the public will stage a nonstop, out loud, live streamed reading of the recently published Chilcot Report, in its 2.6 million word entirety. Ian Rankin, Tommy Sheppard MP, Stewart Lee, Reg D Hunter, Arthur Smith, Francesca Martinez, Seann Walsh, Jo Caulfield, Simon Munnery, Tony Law, Ed Gamble, Stephen Frost, Michael Legge, Howard Read, Andy Askins, Andy Smart and many others have volunteered to take part.
The organisers have launched an appeal for more readers to sign up via iraqoutloud.com. Iraq Out & Loud is being organised by Fringe veterans Bob Slayer and Omid Djalili, and aims to bring the Fringe's creative community and international audience together to discuss and reflect on the conflict and the UK's role in it. At an approximate rate of 120 words per minute the reading is predicted to take over two weeks to complete. Iraq Out & Loud will take place in a garden shed, beside Bob Slayer's Blundabus on South College Street, with two readers each hour.
Tickets to be part of the small live audience in the shed go on sale on Monday 25th July, with four seats allocated per hour. Audience members also have the opportunity to take part in the live streamed reading. Stewart Lee said: "I like the length of the Chilcot Report, but am disappointed by the variety of content..." Ian Rankin said: "I was on my holidays when the Chilcot Report was published, so this is my best chance to get to read at least some of it. It's either that or wait for the film." Omid Djalili said: “Has there ever been a more current and brilliant Edinburgh Fringe Festival idea?" Tommy Sheppard MP said he was: “Delighted to do my part in drawing attention to this damning indictment of Tony Blair's government - pretty much every British military intervention he sanctioned made a bad situation worse.”
Bob Slayer said: "Producing this is going to be a truly mammoth undertaking, however I know I would totally regret not doing it much more than actually doing it..." A Gofundme appeal has been set up to cover out of pocket costs for staging the reading, any additional money raised will be donated to the International Rescue Committee, which provides aid to refugees and victims of armed conflict around the world.
SIMON MUNNERY AND FRIENDS
Famous Spiegeltent, 6.45, August 22nd. Simon Munnery marks his 30th year of Fringe shows with an unmissable, one-off gala. He'll be joined by Alan Parker: Urban Warrior, Buckethead, The League Against Tedium and a plethora of friends and very special guests spanning the serial innovator's three decades at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
EIGHTEEN ED FRINGE TIPS I'm all sold out for the Ed Fringe but here's eighteen tips of things likely to be better than me. 11.00 am Stand 1 Bridget Christie (the duchess of stand-up) 11.30 am Assembly George Sq - Derevo - Once (physical euro-theatre) 12.00 mid-day Stand 2 - Daniel Kitson (the arch-duke of stand-up) 3.15pm Bob's Blundabus - Grainne Maguire (politico-personal stand-up) 3.40pm Stand 3 Andy Zaltzman (stand-up from the red clown) 4pm Stand 1 Simon Munnery (Redondan king of comedy) 5.30pm Stand 1 Josie Long (the Angela Mason of stand-up) 5.45pm Three Sisters - Kunt & The Gang (childish swearing sex comedy) 6.45 Spiegeltent - Simon Munnery 30 Not Out (22nd) (go pay homage) 7.00 Pleasance Courtyard - Colin Hoult (character comedy) 7pm Summerhall Richard Dawson (18th only) (mind-fuck avant-folk) 7.30pm Assembly Hall - David O'Doherty (v low energy musical whimsy) 8pm Pleasance Courtyard Nish Kumar (stand-up) HIS TIME IS NOW!! 8pm Acoustic Music Centre - Dick Gaughan (SNP folk) (23rd only) 8.15pm Surgeon's Hall - Blueswater (blues-based edu-tainment) 10.10pm Underbelly - Christeene (sick gay disco dry-ice art wank) 10.00pm Traverse - Mouse by D Kitson (comedic ur-theatre) 10.35pm Stand 4 Will Franken (trans-gender reactionary comedy) Remember, it is best wherever possible to avoid UNDERBELLY, PLEASANCE, & ASSEMBLY, and favour Stand, Free Fringe variants, Blundabus, Summerhall and others, as big venues are loss-making traps for acts and in hock to big agencies/production companies and PR spin-bullshit. Run by a cabal of English upper class twits, they should only be patronised as a last resort if the stuff on at them is culturally essential or requires your financial and/or moral support. CONTENT PROVIDER BOOK I have a new book out on August 4th, Content Provider, through Faber. "Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been...
A MAN consistently lauded as one of the country's sharpest stand-up comedians is going back on the road.
Stewart Lee is returning to venues across the UK with his new stand-up show, after receiving rave reviews on tour last year.
Earlier this year, Lee filmed his first TV series for almost a decade, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, for BBC2.
In 2002, he hit the headlines after writing and directing the hit, but also controversial show Jerry Springer The Opera.
The show won four Olivier awards after its run in the West End.
During the course of his comedy career, Lee has also worked with the likes of Steve Coogan, Chris Morris, and The Mighty Boosh. He also co-created four series of comedy shows for BBC2 along with partner in crime Richard Herring.
Ricky Gervais once described Lee as "the funniest, most cliche-free comedian on the circuit."
Stewart Lee is coming to The Capitol, in Horsham, on Friday October 30, from 8pm.
Tickets cost £16 (concessions £14). To book yours call the box office on 01403 750220 or visit www.thecapitolhorsham.com
Stewart Lee
2009-10-11T15:39:45+01:00
A MAN consistently lauded as one of the country's sharpest stand-up comedians is going back on the road. Stewart Lee is returning to venues across the UK with his new stand-up show, after receiving rave reviews on tour last year. Earlier this year, Lee filmed his first TV series for almost a decade, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, for BBC2. In 2002, he hit the headlines after writing and directing the hit, but also controversial show Jerry Springer The Opera. The show won four Olivier awards after its run in the West End. During the course of his comedy career, Lee has also worked with the likes of Steve Coogan, Chris Morris, and The Mighty Boosh. He also co-created four series of comedy shows for BBC2 along with partner in crime Richard Herring. Ricky Gervais once described Lee as "the funniest, most cliche-free comedian on the circuit." Stewart Lee is coming to The Capitol, in Horsham, on Friday October 30, from 8pm. Tickets cost £16 (concessions £14). To book yours call the box office on 01403 750220 or visit www.thecapitolhorsham.com
AS an over 40 year old, I fared better then many of the audience at Stewart (once of the awesome Lee and Herring comedy duo) Lee show. He's not adverse to mocking those who have paid to come and witness his 'work in progress' preparation of material for his next BBC 2 series of Comedy Vehicle, especially if you're under 40: "You young people, this isn't aimed at you. You have your own things, don’t you? Like Minecraft and bondage sex."...
Seeing Stewart Lee live is a mentally kinetic, interactive experience and the Leicester Square Theatre is a superb. The ambience in this genuinely intimate venue allows Lee's deadpan infectious charisma to creep up on you, before his long game punchlines deliver stunning laser sighted blows to your brain's comedy endorphin receptors. At near two hours this show is form of deep dive therapy or a treatise on modern life for those struggling with make sense of our almost post UKIP world.
The material is controversial and engaging, getting around your outrage defences by building mental scaffolding that take you up to topics which few others would dare to tackle. His cat 'Jeremy Corbyn' and it's bowel problems command a centre stage rendition of 'God Save The Queen' for one of the rough episodes in a way that will be seared into your mind long after the show wraps.
"meeting your heroes these days includes selfies"
Lee's views are in the ball park of 'politically correct by way of intense non-conformist liberalism' - his stinging barbs hit their targets without making him look mean or anything less than ironic. It is an unalloyed joy to watch Lee skilfully deconstruct a topic as inflammatory as Islamic views of other religions and leave the viewers mulling over their own potential prejudices even while they laugh heartily - partly out of relief.
Nothing is off bounds. Lee talks about other comedians - both the young ones who repeatedly come to see his shows for tips and a brilliant Graham Norton BAFTA win extended anecdote that takes in James Corden,school orienteering with the original band members of Napalm Death and his mortgage repayment plan. The skill here is in weaving such an engaging narrative while keeping the audience laughing along.
A Room With A Stew is a highly recommended night out, worth catching now in order to see how the material will have been honed and polished for the new Comedy Vehicle series - which on the strength of this show is going to be unmissable and might just snag him that illusive BAFTA!?
Out of a potential 5 you have to go with a Darkmatters: (5 - Sublime thinking person's stand up comedy)
Reviewed by Matt Adcock (@Cleric20) Leicester Square Theatre 10/10/15
Stewart Lee
2015-10-12T19:33:45+01:00
AS an over 40 year old, I fared better then many of the audience at Stewart (once of the awesome Lee and Herring comedy duo) Lee show. He's not adverse to mocking those who have paid to come and witness his 'work in progress' preparation of material for his next BBC 2 series of Comedy Vehicle, especially if you're under 40: "You young people, this isn't aimed at you. You have your own things, don’t you? Like Minecraft and bondage sex."... Seeing Stewart Lee live is a mentally kinetic, interactive experience and the Leicester Square Theatre is a superb. The ambience in this genuinely intimate venue allows Lee's deadpan infectious charisma to creep up on you, before his long game punchlines deliver stunning laser sighted blows to your brain's comedy endorphin receptors. At near two hours this show is form of deep dive therapy or a treatise on modern life for those struggling with make sense of our almost post UKIP world. The material is controversial and engaging, getting around your outrage defences by building mental scaffolding that take you up to topics which few others would dare to tackle. His cat 'Jeremy Corbyn' and it's bowel problems command a centre stage rendition of 'God Save The Queen' for one of the rough episodes in a way that will be seared into your mind long after the show wraps. "meeting your heroes these days includes selfies" Lee's views are in the ball park of 'politically correct by way of intense non-conformist liberalism' - his stinging barbs hit their targets without making him look mean or anything less than ironic. It is an unalloyed joy to watch Lee skilfully deconstruct a topic as inflammatory as Islamic views of other religions and leave the viewers mulling over their own potential prejudices even...
To research this Radio 4 essay about the role of the unreliable narrator, Stewart Lee spent almost three weeks with the Inrravat people of northern Canada, who believe in a trickster god whose stories cannot be trusted.
What did he learn about this ancient culture? Well, almost nothing in a literal sense as all their stories – as you might expect – are based on lies and exaggeration. But instead he garnered what filmmaker Werner Herzog called the ‘ecstatic truth’ that goes beyond literal reality to give a bigger picture.
Lee starts his quest by considering the unreliable narrators in art, from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales to Bob Dylan’s alter-egos, with comedian Nish Kumar explaining how they allowed the hallowed songwriter to explore experiences that are not his own.
The unreliable narrator is, of course at the heart of stand-up and Russell Kane - who won the Edinburgh comedy award for a show based on a pretence, and its puncturing – observes that comedy is the willing engagement of ‘pseudo truths’: ‘The audience laugh because they’re coming along for the false persona game,’ he says. ‘They buy in, that’s what they’re paying for.’
It becomes apparent fairly quickly in this engaging hour-long show that there is no such thing as a reliable narrator,
as every story is told through eyes with a prejudicial perspective. Even the act of forming stories is an artifice, meaning there’s no such thing as a purely objective documentarian, as filmmaker Ben Rivers attests.
The basis for this thought-provoking documentary is a persona interest, too – and Lee evokes all manner of erudite references, but always in an accessible and engrossing way. And of course, as a comic who likes to draw attention to the artifices in his work, he employs a few of his own flourishes of narrative trickery.
Unreliable Narrator also makes a crucial wider point about how stories shape our wider conscience – starting from how Geoffrey of Monmouth popularised the Arthurian legend in the 12th Century as political propaganda, forming a fake notion of Englishness to rally the populus.
It is a manipulation not unknown to today’s political class, of course. Boris Johnson made his name from peddling a false narrative about Brussels eurocrats in his time as a Daily Telegraph journalist, but tales of bendy bananas and the like caught the imagination of the public. He has maintained an arms-length relationship with the truth ever since, preferring to peddle a more woolly big-picture narrative untroubled by inconvenient facts.
Chris Morris pops up to warn of the real, appalling consequences of surrendering to what he calls the ‘junk machine’ of modern discourse, driven by the reinforcement of gut feelings.
For, as Lee concludes with the aid of a political analyst, people don’t really care if politicians are lying, as long as the story resonates. A culture war is an easier narrative to grasp than macroeconomic policies that funnel funds to the mega-rich at the expense of the poor.
In short, we like a good story that feels right and makes sense of our existing worldview. Like the fact there is no such thing as the Inrravat people - I made it up from an anagram of ‘narrative’ – but it sounds like just the sort of thing Lee would do.
And kudos, too, to whoever picked the picture above to represent the show on the BBC website. It’s not Lee, but his near-lookalike, the former Word presenter Terry Christian.
Stewart Lee
2021-06-13T14:43:36+01:00
To research this Radio 4 essay about the role of the unreliable narrator, Stewart Lee spent almost three weeks with the Inrravat people of northern Canada, who believe in a trickster god whose stories cannot be trusted. What did he learn about this ancient culture? Well, almost nothing in a literal sense as all their stories – as you might expect – are based on lies and exaggeration. But instead he garnered what filmmaker Werner Herzog called the ‘ecstatic truth’ that goes beyond literal reality to give a bigger picture. Lee starts his quest by considering the unreliable narrators in art, from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales to Bob Dylan’s alter-egos, with comedian Nish Kumar explaining how they allowed the hallowed songwriter to explore experiences that are not his own. The unreliable narrator is, of course at the heart of stand-up and Russell Kane - who won the Edinburgh comedy award for a show based on a pretence, and its puncturing – observes that comedy is the willing engagement of ‘pseudo truths’: ‘The audience laugh because they’re coming along for the false persona game,’ he says. ‘They buy in, that’s what they’re paying for.’ It becomes apparent fairly quickly in this engaging hour-long show that there is no such thing as a reliable narrator, as every story is told through eyes with a prejudicial perspective. Even the act of forming stories is an artifice, meaning there’s no such thing as a purely objective documentarian, as filmmaker Ben Rivers attests. The basis for this thought-provoking documentary is a persona interest, too – and Lee evokes all manner of erudite references, but always in an accessible and engrossing way. And of course, as a comic who likes to draw attention to the artifices in his work, he employs a few of his own flourishes...
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is rather like Luther – it comes round every 2-3 years and is to the TV schedules what oxygen is to our bodies – an essential requirement.
Often, the programme is like a comedy masterclass, with this first new episode, showing how to segue between light-hearted and serious topics, the latter being the 2015 election, with a knowing look to camera. He also slammed lots of things like those who love panel shows, the BBC ticket unit and various TV personalities such as Graham Norton; and how James Corden watching Stewart Lee’s own programme is like a dog listening to classical music.
Is he a bitter man? Or just very clever with his self-depreciative humour? Due to his comedy style, is how he comes across, on the face of it, just part of the pretence? You will have to decide for yourself.
Throw in prostitutes and Orienteering with Napalm Death, and this really is a prime half-hour of television, and I’m so glad its come back to a 10pm slot, rather than being shunted to a post-Newsnight slot, long after people have gone to bed. Yes, it’s all available on the BBC iPlayer, but when you want to chat about it at work the next day, you want to have seen it the night before.
I’ve also enjoyed Mr Lee’s work when he regularly worked with the equally brilliant Richard Herring on BBC2’s Fist of Fun and the unsurpassable This Morning With Richard Not Judy.
Two elements of this series which return are the occasional, hilarious vignettes – which the first two series would see Lee appear opposite The Thick Of It creator’s Armando Iannucci, but since has featured Brass Eye and Jam creator Chris Morris (forever labelled as Christopher Morris), this first episode’s starting with Morris simply not being ready to begin, with Lee’s baffled expression staring back at him, hard.
And there’s also the unique end segments, which often get waffled over by continuity announcers that have plenty to say about nothing at all. Thankfully, this week’s was too loud for that to happen, even though the purposely silent closing credits – created that way by way of juxtaposition – didn’t escape the curse of the verbal effluence.
In this age of austerity, why can’t they be the ones to be culled? Everyone hates them.
Oh, and that final track was Napalm Death’s Pseudo Youth.
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle Series 4 is not yet available to pre-order on DVD, but you can still buy Series 1, Series 2 and Series 3 on that format. The fourth series continues next Thursday on BBC2 at 10pm. If you missed it, you can watch the episode on BBC iPlayer, up until April 2nd.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-03T22:50:24+00:00
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is rather like Luther – it comes round every 2-3 years and is to the TV schedules what oxygen is to our bodies – an essential requirement. Often, the programme is like a comedy masterclass, with this first new episode, showing how to segue between light-hearted and serious topics, the latter being the 2015 election, with a knowing look to camera. He also slammed lots of things like those who love panel shows, the BBC ticket unit and various TV personalities such as Graham Norton; and how James Corden watching Stewart Lee’s own programme is like a dog listening to classical music. Is he a bitter man? Or just very clever with his self-depreciative humour? Due to his comedy style, is how he comes across, on the face of it, just part of the pretence? You will have to decide for yourself. Throw in prostitutes and Orienteering with Napalm Death, and this really is a prime half-hour of television, and I’m so glad its come back to a 10pm slot, rather than being shunted to a post-Newsnight slot, long after people have gone to bed. Yes, it’s all available on the BBC iPlayer, but when you want to chat about it at work the next day, you want to have seen it the night before. I’ve also enjoyed Mr Lee’s work when he regularly worked with the equally brilliant Richard Herring on BBC2’s Fist of Fun and the unsurpassable This Morning With Richard Not Judy. Two elements of this series which return are the occasional, hilarious vignettes – which the first two series would see Lee appear opposite The Thick Of It creator’s Armando Iannucci, but since has featured Brass Eye and Jam creator Chris Morris (forever labelled as Christopher Morris), this first episode’s starting with...
So then: who’s funniest? In compiling this list of the 30 best English-speaking comedians at work today, I gave myself some parameters. This would be an overview of who is at the top of their game now, on stage or screen or even podcast. It is not a guide to the most influential living comedians. It is not a handing out of long-service medals. So: no Pythons, no Mighty Booshes, no French and Saunders, nor even – though he came close – any Gervaises. It’s a snapshot of now.
Am I objective, or am I just listing what has made me laugh most in the past year or so? As The Times’s comedy critic, I get to see loads of live comedy by comedians old and new, have the luxury of thinking about it and talking about it and writing about it. I am, I hope, an expert. I also know that in comedy more than any other art form, expertise means zilch if something doesn’t get you in the gut. Ever tried convincing someone that they have made a mistake in not finding something funny? It’s not a good conversation.
So, yes, this is my list of the men and women who have cheered me, thrilled me, moved me, inspired me and, yes, of course, surprised me into laughter. The list is still more male than female, still largely white, but things are changing fast.
It is a good time for comedy. And a show like Hannah Gadsby’s, though not the funniest in the world right now, may prove to be the most important in the world right now. It argues for a new language for the form, goes beyond comedy to do so, while expanding and excelling at the language we already have. Or, more succinctly: I loved it! It’s great! See it!
1 - Stewart Lee, 50
I marvelled at the skill, I thrilled to the boldness, most importantly I laughed till it hurt when I saw Lee’s latest show, Content Provider, at the start of its tour 18 months ago. Do his teasing stand-up routines about everything from Trump and Brexit (correct, he’s a fan of neither) to Game of Thrones and mobile phones (ditto) hold up today on the performance recorded for television in May? Amazingly, they do: pretty much every moment has some sort of delicious surprise. And if a show addressing “the individual in a digitised free-market society” sounds highfalutin, Lee unspools these two hours with a sense of fun underlying every gear he goes through: abrasive, ironic, confessional, interactive, absurd, clownish, arrogant, but above all playful.
Stewart Lee
2018-07-21T12:32:00+01:00
So then: who’s funniest? In compiling this list of the 30 best English-speaking comedians at work today, I gave myself some parameters. This would be an overview of who is at the top of their game now, on stage or screen or even podcast. It is not a guide to the most influential living comedians. It is not a handing out of long-service medals. So: no Pythons, no Mighty Booshes, no French and Saunders, nor even – though he came close – any Gervaises. It’s a snapshot of now. Am I objective, or am I just listing what has made me laugh most in the past year or so? As The Times’s comedy critic, I get to see loads of live comedy by comedians old and new, have the luxury of thinking about it and talking about it and writing about it. I am, I hope, an expert. I also know that in comedy more than any other art form, expertise means zilch if something doesn’t get you in the gut. Ever tried convincing someone that they have made a mistake in not finding something funny? It’s not a good conversation. So, yes, this is my list of the men and women who have cheered me, thrilled me, moved me, inspired me and, yes, of course, surprised me into laughter. The list is still more male than female, still largely white, but things are changing fast. It is a good time for comedy. And a show like Hannah Gadsby’s, though not the funniest in the world right now, may prove to be the most important in the world right now. It argues for a new language for the form, goes beyond comedy to do so, while expanding and excelling at the language we already have. Or, more succinctly: I loved...
Stewart Lee, 41st best stand-up comedian, came to Nottingham last Thursday to
preview material from the forthcoming 3rd Comedy Vehicle series(1). “I’m going to do, in the first half, about two half hour sections from two episodes of the new series and then in the, er, in the second half, about half an hour which will make up a third episode of the new series and then we can all go home”(2).
According to some critics Stewart Lee comes over as unbearably smug, obnoxious and doesn’t tell any proper jokes; according to others this is true, but he is also hilarious. He’s usually critically acclaimed on the left and panned on the right, as is the way with people who are even slightly experimental in form(3).
It’s quite easy to see why people don’t like him. I mean it is true, he doesn’t do punchy one-liners; on the odd occasion that he does, it is normally followed up immediately with some meta-textual explanation that this is out of character and is unlikely to happen again. During the show, he uses a one-liner as a way to get to a routine about how he was described by Lee Mack as "A cultural bully from the Oxbridge Mafia who wants to appear morally superior but couldn't cut the mustard on a panel game." (Lee's riposte: “You don’t cut mustard – you spread it”) This does raise one of the points Lee quite often raises in his books (4) – do we really want our comedians to see being on a panel game as the apex of their career? It’s a clever device – doing something Mack accuses him of not being able to do in order to lead into a bit about Mack’s criticism.
Another technique, frequently used, is bringing out a piece of paper which supposedly has some quote written on it (as with, for example, the Lee Mack quote). And yet another is explaining to the audience why it’s their own fault for not finding something funny (“look, I’ve tried, I’ve done that bit all over the country and it always gets a laugh round about there… I mean, some of you were laughing there and that’s good but the rest of you – well, you might want to raise your game a bit.”) I think the audiences who see Stewart Lee as being smug might think his onstage persona as what he’s really like as a human being offstage. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that this is not the case (5). Certainly when he starts genuinely laughing at something(6) onstage he looks slightly embarrassed and semi-apologises for breaking character (7). And he’s thoroughly charming to people when he’s signing things for people after the show (8).
The main skill Stewart Lee has as a comedian however, in my opinion, is his skill at using repetition in many different ways. Sometimes it’s the relatively simple device of just repeating a particular sentence over and over again until the repetition is what the audience laughs at. More often, and more interestingly, it is taking the repetition of an idea by putting it into different contexts, pushing it into ever increasingly ridiculous areas until the idea’s internal logic becomes absurd. A brilliant example of this is where he mocks Paul Nutall(s) of the UKIP(s) claim “You need to ensure that your brightest stay and make your own country economically prosperous instead of coming to the UK to serve tea and coffee,” by putting it into different contexts until we slowly but logically arrive at “You Coelacanths need to ensure that your brightest stay in the sea and make it prosperous instead of coming on land and starting life on land.(9)”
After an extended bit of improvisation where, amongst the many call backs to earlier parts of the show, he explicitly explains to the audience(10) that he is trying to make up an ending to the show on the spot, he does an extra 20 minutes and it’s at this point that it becomes clear that what Lee is is a very generous comedian to audiences who are willing to engage and not be passive(11). He’s not only willing to lift the curtain on his writing process in front of an audience(12) but to reward them with a bit more tried and tested stuff in case they’re not at all interested in seeing the comedic process at work. Even if we take the ‘Smug Stewart Lee’ stage persona at face value, it is harder to think of him as treating an audience with as much contempt as a comedian who is willing to do the same material verbatim night after night – of which, sadly there are many.
So, I look forward to the third series of Comedy Vehicle(13),
because he really is one of the most verbally innovative comedians in this country.
And I look forward to reading his next book of collected material. Which will
no doubt be heavily annotated.
(1) This is why this live show is being labelled as a TV review. It is unlikely that I will do enough comedy reviews to make a ‘Comedy’ category worthwhile on the blog. So there.
(2) Lee often does this kind of post-modern stripping away of the illusion of a stand-up routine as being one man being conversationally funny off the top of his head like this. His honesty with his audience – making it clear that this is 90 minutes of prepared material – is refreshing. And the flipside is that when he also makes it clear that the audience is watching improvisation towards the end of the show it makes it genuinely enthralling.
(3) The Right love to hate comedians like Frankie Boyle and Russell Brand because they don’t like what’s being said but they at least understand how the jokes work. They just hate Stewart Lee because they don’t understand him and that makes them feel stupid.
(4) Which are heavily annotated with footnotes…
(5) And therefore such audiences may want to raise their game a bit.
(6) In a genial cackle very much at odds with his normally deadpan delivery.
(7) Similarly, he humorously suggests that the reason he thought the first half wasn’t going as well was because the sound levels were wrong and he’s going slightly deaf. Lee’s deafness, incidentally, gets a massive laugh – such are Nottingham audiences. We enjoy your physical failings.
(8) My friend bought a copy of ‘How I Escaped My Certain Fate’ (his heavily annotated book – heavily annotated… see what I’m doing here…) he was very nice and talked about Birmingham with him, and didn’t merely snatch his money and cackle (not even genially).
(9) The fact that this is not particularly funny on paper – because I’ve omitted many of the repetitions made to get to this final image – is testament to how the repetition is absolutely crucial to Lee’s jokes working.
(10) Albeit through the proxy of an imaginary man down an imaginary telephone.
(11) Although he is being slightly sarcastic when he imagines that parts of the audience aren’t laughing because they aren’t engaging with the images he’s coming up with but are just waiting for the end of his sentences to see if he’s being funny, he’s probably right.
(12) The kind of thing The Fall do at gigs as well. This, as well as the focus on repetition as a creative device shows Mark E Smith’s influence on Lee. Incidentally, the same friend who got his book signed (the one with all those annotations, yeah?) came up with the nickname Salfordor Dali for Mark E Smith, which is genius regardless of what you may think.
(13) See? Totally a TV review. Totally.
Stewart Lee
2014-01-26T12:36:59+00:00
Stewart Lee, 41st best stand-up comedian, came to Nottingham last Thursday to preview material from the forthcoming 3rd Comedy Vehicle series(1). “I’m going to do, in the first half, about two half hour sections from two episodes of the new series and then in the, er, in the second half, about half an hour which will make up a third episode of the new series and then we can all go home”(2). According to some critics Stewart Lee comes over as unbearably smug, obnoxious and doesn’t tell any proper jokes; according to others this is true, but he is also hilarious. He’s usually critically acclaimed on the left and panned on the right, as is the way with people who are even slightly experimental in form(3). It’s quite easy to see why people don’t like him. I mean it is true, he doesn’t do punchy one-liners; on the odd occasion that he does, it is normally followed up immediately with some meta-textual explanation that this is out of character and is unlikely to happen again. During the show, he uses a one-liner as a way to get to a routine about how he was described by Lee Mack as "A cultural bully from the Oxbridge Mafia who wants to appear morally superior but couldn't cut the mustard on a panel game." (Lee's riposte: “You don’t cut mustard – you spread it”) This does raise one of the points Lee quite often raises in his books (4) – do we really want our comedians to see being on a panel game as the apex of their career? It’s a clever device – doing something Mack accuses him of not being able to do in order to lead into a bit about Mack’s criticism. Another technique, frequently used, is bringing out a piece of...
Marc takes in some of the world’s best works of art while staying in London. Wondering whether stand-up comedy counts as art, Marc puts the question to Stewart Lee, one of Great Britain’s most renowned comics. Hear how they both struggle to get their work to the stage (and in Stewart’s case, get into legal battles over it) and judge for yourself. This episode is sponsored by Adam and Eve. Visit www.adamandeve.com and use offer code WTF to receive 50% off almost any product.
Stewart Lee
2010-08-11T18:42:48+01:00
Marc takes in some of the world’s best works of art while staying in London. Wondering whether stand-up comedy counts as art, Marc puts the question to Stewart Lee, one of Great Britain’s most renowned comics. Hear how they both struggle to get their work to the stage (and in Stewart’s case, get into legal battles over it) and judge for yourself. This episode is sponsored by Adam and Eve. Visit www.adamandeve.com and use offer code WTF to receive 50% off almost any product.
I will be in The National Gallery, London, on March 14th, from 7pm, talking about Joseph Wright’s Experiment With A Bird and William Hogarth’s The Graham Children. Some other celebs are doing their bits too See ya there Art Fans! NationalGallery.Org
2. NEW MERCH
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions
Side a I’m The Man-Wulf
Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit)
Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!)
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW
UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2025
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up.
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF Opened at Leicester Square Theatre in December 2024 the new show will tour to UK cities throughout 2025.
Tuesday 1st April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 2nd April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd April 2025 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Friday 4th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Saturday 5th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Sunday 6th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Monday 28th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
May 2025
Thursday 1st May 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 2nd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Sunday 4th May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Friday 9th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 10th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Monday 12th May 2025 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Thursday 15th May 2025 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 16th May 2025 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
July 2025
Saturday 5th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
September 2025
Monday 8th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Tuesday 9th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th September 2025 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 11th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 12th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 13th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Sunday 14th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 18th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Friday 19th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Saturday 20th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th September 2025 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Thursday 25th September 2025 - Gala, Durham - TICKETS
Friday 26th September 2025 - Theatre Royal, Glasgow - TICKETS
Saturday 27th September 2025 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 28th September 2025 - His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
October 2025
Friday 3rd October 2025 - Aberystwyth Arts Centre – Great Hall, Aberystwyth - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Thursday 9th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 10th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 24th October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 25th October 2025 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Friday 31st October 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
November 2025
Saturday 1st November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Monday 3rd November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 7th November 2025 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 8th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Sunday 9th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 13th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 14th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 15th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 17th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
6. SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
7. FESTIVAL STAND-UP SETS 2025 (the usual 30 mins greatest hits shit)
24th May 2025 Bearded Theory, Derbyshire
Iggy Pop, The Manics, Thee Sisters O’ Mercy, Yard Act, Left Field, Throwing Muses, The Selecter, The Lovely Lovely Eggs, my pals Asian Dub Foundation, Cool distaff Japanese Ramones Shonen Knife, The Alarm (!!!!???), Beans on Toast, dub legends Zion Train, Angeline Morrison, Miki Berenyi from off of The Shoegazing Lushes, The Vaselines, Stick In The Wheel, Paul Heaton, and afro-rock avatars W.I.T.C.H. www.beardedtheory.co.uk.
8. Benefit Shows
The Burning Parrot, Just Stop Oil fundraised, Walthamstow Trades, London, 8th April TICKETS
Me, Judy Boom, Henry Morris, Rosie Holt, Harley Brewer, Cameron Ford.
Daniel Kitson is hosting a series of benefits for Resonance FM Radio in London in March.
He says, “As part of my ongoing affection for London’s community arts radio station - Resonance FM - I have put together some benefit gigs throughout March. They’re at Up The Creek in Greenwich (London) every Monday night during March, i’m booking the acts and hosting the shows and i think they’ll be a lot of low key, chilled out, Monday night fun. Here’s the blurb:
“A Month of Mondays for Resonance FM. Daniel Kitson will host five Monday nights of very good comedians doing whatever they like to raise some money for London’s community arts radio station, Resonance FM. There’ll be a mix of new material, old material and some bits that are not and never will be material. .£10. There will definitely be one or two more acts added here and there. Also, you have to assume that if people get a better (paid) offer they may well cancel on the day but as things stand the bills are as follows
3rd - Lloyd Griffith, Roisin Conaty, Rose Matafeo, Sean Mcloughlin
10th – Rosie Jones, Ivor Dembina, Ania Magliano, Spencer Jones
17th – Rob Auton, Lucy Pearman, Bridget Christie.
24th – Ceyla AB, Andy Zaltzman, Sam Campbell
31st – Alice Sneddon, John Kearns
Tickets available now - HERE
He didn’t ask me, which means I am not one of the cool kids anymore.
9. IDLER FEST 11-13 JULY, HAMPSTEAD HEATH, LONDON
I will be amongst the knobheads being grilled at the Idler magazine’s annual 3 day garden party.
It’s a lovely event.
“FENTON HOUSE & GARDEN, HAMPSTEAD, LONDON. The Idler Festival is a weekend of philosophy and merriment, comedy, talks, music, workshops and salons in the bucolic surroundings of Fenton House and gardens near Hampstead Heath. You’ll be entertained and enlightened by the Idler’s favourite thinkers, comedians, writers, and musicians. There’ll be walks, ukulele, bibliotherapy, agony aunts, beekeeping and plenty of time to loaf under the apple trees. There’ll be dancing lessons on the lawn, loafing to DJs in the orchard and salons in the house. Join us for our dream garden party. Headlining a stellar line up will be comedians Michael Palin and Stewart Lee and former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Plus Daisy Dunn, Miranda Sawyer, a mini pilgrimage with Guy Hayward, evensong on Sunday and much more to be announced. “Britain’s best arts and literary festival,” Spectator”.
In what seems to look like a concerted attack on the fabric of the arts in the UK, Wolverhampton Art School building is now scheduled for demolition. “Save the Wolverhampton school of art building from demolition . It is more than just an art school it is a land mark and part of Wolverhampton’s sky line and heritage. Hands off our Art school.”
As if further evidence were needed of the ongoing war against intelligence, Cardiff Uni’s Ancient History degree, and music department, are both threatened with going down. Those who do not understand history are condemned to vote for the same wrong things over and over again. Vote here to protect the past. And Wales is the LAND OF SONG surely?
“Along with several other departments and degrees, Cardiff University is cutting its entire Ancient History department. This threatens the livelihood of staff and the future of students, who have been told that they will graduate, but given no further information as to the future of their education. This is a devastating decision that threatens the future of the arts in Wales and the wider UK.
Cardiff University currently boasts a large Ancient History faculty but has now decided to let these hard-working and dedicated professionals go, in the name of profits. When did our universities become about money, rather than education? We stand in solidarity with our lecturers and supporting staff who stand to lose their livelihoods. These cuts disregard the importance of our subject and leave students feeling disrespected and left in the lurch. We pay thousands of pounds for our degrees, and should not have to worry that they will be swept out from under us, or have their content gutted.
The study of the classical world and ancient history is one of the primary foundations of higher education. The principles of democracy and law that it teaches reflect keenly on the current world and in today's political climate, it seems nonsensical to erase such vital education.
We as Ancient History students are writing this petition to demand that Cardiff University think twice about this decision, and take a different course of action than these devastating cuts. Please sign and share with all students, staff, alumni, and all who care about the arts and their future.”
And Cardiff’s music dept is also going down. Llion Williams wants you to sign a petition and says;
“I am writing this letter to the Vice Chancellor of Cardiff University to express my profound disappointment and outrage at the decision to cut the Music degree course at Cardiff University. This action represents a gross dereliction of duty and a deeply short-sighted betrayal of Wales's rich musical heritage.
As the capital city of Wales, Cardiff University has a unique responsibility to nurture and cultivate artistic talent within the nation. Music is not merely a frivolous pastime; it is an integral part of our cultural DNA, woven into the very fabric of our society. From the vibrant folk traditions to the contemporary sounds emerging from our cities and towns, music enriches our lives, fosters creativity, and strengthens our communities.
Cardiff, as the cultural heart of Wales, has long been the wellspring of musical inspiration for many. Our nation’s musical legacy is deeply intertwined with the lives and works of greats such as Ivor Novello, Alun Hoddinott, William Mathias, and Grace Williams, whose compositions have brought global recognition to Welsh music. To cut the Music degree course is to betray this rich history and the contributions that Welsh musicians have made to the world stage over centuries. This decision diminishes the role Cardiff has played in fostering Wales’s proud tradition of musical excellence and stifles future generations who could follow in these illustrious footsteps.
By eliminating the only dedicated music degree course in Cardiff, the University is effectively forcing aspiring musicians to seek their education elsewhere, likely in England. This not only undermines the aspirations of countless talented young people but also weakens Wales's capacity to produce world-class musicians and contribute to the global music scene.
Furthermore, Music, as a major component of creative industries, supports jobs, local businesses, and tourism, all of which have significant economic value. By cutting the Music degree, Cardiff University risks undermining the future contribution of Welsh musicians and artists to both the local and national economy.
This decision demonstrates a shocking lack of ambition and a profound disregard for the vital role of the arts in a thriving society. It suggests a preference for short-term gains over long-term cultural and economic benefits. Music education is not a luxury; it is an investment in the future, fostering critical thinking, creativity, and personal growth.
Music is also essential for mental health and well-being. Studies show that participating in music, either as a performer or audience member, reduces stress, fosters social cohesion, and improves cognitive function. Cutting this course disregards these well-documented benefits, not just for students but for society as a whole.
By abandoning a key cultural course such as music, Cardiff University is risking its own reputation as a leader in higher education and as a progressive institution. Universities are meant to be bastions of intellectual and cultural leadership, and this decision undercuts that role, diminishing Cardiff's standing both within Wales and internationally. Countries like Finland, known for their thriving music education programmes, have shown the world the power of the arts to build a cohesive and progressive society.
To discard such a cornerstone of our cultural identity is an act of cultural vandalism. It sends a chilling message that the arts are not valued in Wales, and that our aspirations for a vibrant and dynamic cultural landscape are being systematically dismantled.”
The first major exhibition devoted to the artist and designer Tirzah Garwood (1908–1951) since 1952. Best known until now as the wife of Eric Ravilious and as the author of the autobiography Long Live Great Bardfield, Garwood excelled as a fine artist and printmaker. Her diverse and enchanting works are gems of the mid-20th century.
ITHELL COLQUHOUN – BETWEEN TWO WORLDS Tate St Ives, Feb 1st – May 5th.
Coincidentally, I have a routine about Ithell in the new show!
“The first major exhibition of visionary artist Ithell Colquhoun. One of the most radical artists of her generation, Ithell Colquhoun was an important figure in British Surrealism during the 1930s and 1940s. An innovative writer and practicing occultist, Colquhoun charted her own course, investigating surrealist methods of unconscious picture-making and fearlessly delving into the realms of myth and magic. Colquhoun explored the possibilities of a divine feminine power as a path to personal fulfilment and societal transformation. Her understanding of the world as a connected spiritual cosmos brought her to Cornwall, where she deepened her creative explorations, inspired by the region’s ancient landscape, Celtic traditions, and sacred sites. This landmark exhibition of over 200 artworks and archival materials traces Colquhoun’s evolution, from her early student work and engagement with the surrealist movement, to her fascination with the intertwining realms of art, sexual identity, ecology and occultism. It culminates in a room dedicated to Colquhoun’s interpretation of the Tarot deck – her most accomplished fusion of her artistic and magical practice. Explore Colquhoun’s enthralling, multi-layered universe through writings, drawings, paintings, early theatre projects and mural designs, many of which have never been shown publicly before. The exhibition will debut at Tate St Ives in February 2025, journeying to Tate Britain from June to October 2025.”
THE FALLEN LEAVES Mod-punk veteran assassins
FEB 28th Bristol Thunderbolt,
MARCH 1st Guildford Holroyd,
8th Brighton Hope & Ruin,
22nd London Hope & Anchor,
MAY 3rd Stockton-On-Tees Volume,
4th N’Castle Billy Bootleggers,
31st London Dublin Castle,
June 8th Southsea Edge of The Wedge,
SEPT 27th London Dublin Castle.
CHUCK PROPHET Chuck’s last live tour was one of the greatest rock and roll shows I ever saw – real huckster guitar slinger stuff that they don’t make anymore. The Mount Rushmore of sandblasted country noir is on the road here again in 2025. Don’t miss. Honestly.
FEBRUARY
27th - Cambridge - Portland Arms
28th - Norwich - Arts Centre
MARCH
1st - Hassocks - Mid Sussex Music Hall
2nd - Bristol - Lantern
3rd - Birmingham - Hare & Hounds
4th - Southampton - 1865
5th - London - The Garage
NAPALM DEATH Birmingham’s grindcore godparents
MARCH
4th - Dublin Academy
5th – Glasgow Galvanisers’ Yard
6th – Newcastle Uni Union
7th – London Electric Ballroon
8th – Liverpool Academy
9th – Birmingham Institute
EMMY BRIDGWATER/SURREAL SOLIHULL 6th March – 31st May
Emmy Bridgwater was a great surrealist pioneer from my howetown. I suspect I may have delivered her newspaper. And, gossip-fans, Emmy was the woman the now noted surrealist Ithell Colquhoun’s surreal husband had an affair with. With Birmingham’s main gallery being in an ongoing state of closure you’re unlikely to see any of the artworks of Emmy’s they hold in situ, so maybe this slightly odd looking event will shed some light on her.
“Surreal Solihull - Solihull’s links to the Surrealist art movement will be celebrated this Spring with a new exhibition in Solihull town centre. ‘Surreal Solihull’ takes as its starting point the work of Solihull’s pioneering Surrealist artist and poet Emmy Bridgwater who founded and worked with the Birmingham Surrealists throughout the 1930s and 40s. As well as featuring several pieces painted, drawn and collaged by Emmy Bridgwater, 30 local artists have been commissioned to create new Surrealist art works which will be shown for the first time at the exhibition. Solihull Council’s Cabinet Member for Communities, Cllr Wazma Qais, said:“The ‘Surrealist Manifesto’ was published just over 100 years ago in 2024, but Surrealist art continues to influence contemporary art, fashion and interior design. ‘Surreal Solihull’ will shine a light on Solihull’s very own Surrealist, Emmy Bridgwater, and also provide a space for emerging and established contemporary local artists to engage with this exciting and thought- provoking art movement. I am excited to see what they will produce!” Contemporary artist, Helen Grundy, who regularly exhibits around the world, was thrilled to have been selected. She said: “Emmy Bridgwater was an important part of the Surrealist movement and I am delighted she is being rediscovered and her work is finding a new audience. “My piece ‘Bird Land’ is a homage to her work and promotes my belief that she is an inspiration to modern artists. In my piece she is a hybrid – part human, part bird – and she towers over a surreal imagined landscape that represents a dreamlike version of Solihull.” ‘Surreal Solihull’ will take place from 6 March – 31 May 2025 in an outdoor gallery on Solihull High Street. Full details of all the artists and supporting events will be available in February. Free to visit, it has been developed thanks to funding from West Midlands Combined Authority (WMCA) and in partnership with Solihull Council, Visit Solihull, The Mayor Gallery in London, the Emmy Bridgwater Estate and Solihull BID.”
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Groovy minimalists. MARCH 8th London ICA. APRIL 20th Colchester Arts
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS Indefatigable punk progenitors
MARCH 11th Brighton Concorde, 12th Nottingham Rock City, 14th M’cr Academy, 15th N’castle City Hall, 17th Glasgow Barrowland, 18th York Barbican,
THE LOFT I never saw Pete Astor’s pioneering indie-folk-rock janglers The Loft, like an English middle class mid-60s Dylan with a post-punk rush, first time around, though I saw the Weather Prophets loads, and regular doses of Astor solo over the decades have been pleasurably unavoidable. But I am thrilled at the possibility of this, and new recordings show the band on great form. Age suits them it seems. MARCH 13th – M’cr Gullivers, 14th – B’ham Castle & Falcon, 15th – Nottingham JT Soar, 20th – Ramsgate Music Hall, 21st – Bristol Thunderbolt, 22nd – London Lexington, 23rd – Brighton Prince Albert, 27th – Leeds Lending Room, 28th – N’castle Cluny 2, 29th – Glasgow Mono
WILL ADAMSDALE – AI, AI, OH. Barbican March 13th – 15th
Adamsdale’s Jackson’s Way show in 2005 changed my approach to life and work. Here is his new show at the Barbican, London “Perrier Comedy and Fringe First winner Will Adamsdale presents a new autobiographical show about escape, creativity and technology.
Once upon a time a washed up London writer and technophobe went off-grid in a confused lockdown relocation… only to find that the grass ain’t always greener. The blank page stretched out like the endless fields. His only hope? His greatest enemy – technology. A story of bots, writer’s block and getting away from it all. Will Adamsdale is a Perrier Comedy and Fringe First award-winning comedian and theatre maker whose previous shows with Fuel include Jackson’s Way, The Receipt, The Human Computer, The Summer House, Jackson's Way: The London Jacksathon!, The Victorian in the Wall.” https://www.barbican.org.uk/whats-on/2025/event/fuelfest-ai-ai-oh-by-will-adamsdale
DAVID GRUBBS/SECLUDED BRONTE Chicago’s amazing art-folk-minimalist David Grubbs, of Gastr del Sol pedigree, is on the road here in March, with bendy sound-art cracked-actors Secluded Bronte tow.
“The Consume & Obey Podcast invites you to join multi-award-winning comedian Nick Helm and Nathaniel Metcalfe (collectively, The John Carpenter Appreciation Society/The JCAS) in their club house as they meet up to talk about what films they’ve been consuming that week. In this special at CULTPLEX, we'll be screening John Carpenter banger IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS and then jumping into a live podcast taping with Nick and Nat to discuss the film with the audience, and what films they've recently logged!
Film synopsisIN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS opens with Stephen King esque horror novelist Sutter Cane going missing and insurance investigator John Trent is set up to scrutinize the claim made by his publisher; he endeavours to retrieve a yet-to-be-released manuscript and ascertain the writer's whereabouts. Accompanied by the novelist's editor, Linda Styles, and disturbed by nightmares from reading Cane's other novels, Trent makes an eerie nighttime trek to a supernatural town in New Hampshire. This screening is 18+, and will feature subtitles to aid accessibility.The film will begin at the advertised time above.”
MEKONS/STEWART LEE April 4th – Signature Brew, Haggerston, London. I host an album launch show by welsh country punk legends! Superb secret special guests TBA
THE MAGPIE ARC Fabulous young British country-folk-rock act on the road, augmented by the mighty guitar legend Martin Simpson APRIL
HAWKWIND 2025. Another implausible trip for the psychedelic survivors, Dave Brock still imperious, even from his octogenarian stool.
APRIL 17th – Gateshead Glasshouse,
18th – Guildford G Live,
19th – Bournemouth Pavillion,
20th – B’ham Symphony Hall.
MAY 9th – Aylesbury Waterside,
10th – Liverpool Auditorium,
11th – M’cr Bridgewater Hall,
23rd – Sheffield City Hall,
25th – Cambridge Corn Exchange,
26th – London Barbican
RICHARD DAWSON Unmitigated art-folk genius, and funny with it
APRIL 23rd &
24th M’cr Stoller Hall,
25th Kendal Brewery Arts,
27th Leeds City Varieties,
29th London Clapham Grand,
MAY 1st Cardiff Gate,
2nd Notts Metronome,
17th Gateshead Glasshouse,
20th Edinbro Pleasance,
21st Glasgow St Lukes,
22nd L’pool Philharmonic,
23rd Brighton St Georhe’s ,
24th Folkestone Quarterhouse.
THE ICEMAN AT TABERNACLE GALLERY, NOTTING HILL, LONDON
April 28th – 4TH May
Anthony Irving Iceman (aim) says, “aim is surfacing from deepest Dorset for his first London show which is taking place at the Tabernacle Gallery in Notting Hill. Here is a group of paintings from the previous 10 years selected by aim himself. There is also a series of more recent paintings based on The Iceman’s ground-breaking Lecture at the Bill Murray Club in September 2024 where The Iceman explained his Block melting work in the form of an academic lecture. All aim’s paintings are based on the live performance and relational work of The Iceman who has spent his adult life melting Blocks of ice for reasons that escape most people.
The Iceman and aim are one and the same person. Humanly speaking, they coalesce as Anthony Irvine.“The Blocks live on”-that is the Iceman’s mantra and now aim’s as well. aim’s paintings have been described in numerous ways. He looks forward to hearing more adjectival phrases to describe his work during this run. aim is sometimes labelled as an ‘outsider’ artist because of the raw energy of his painting style and the idiosyncratic subject matter. But aim himself simply describes himself as a “painter with clear aims.”
Although in one sense the pieces could be described as obsessional self-portraits,in another sense they are paintings of ‘Everyman’ and “’Everywoman’ in life’s struggles and joys. Taking a leaf from Andy Warhol’s dictum that Business is the best kind of art to heart,The Iceman will be clearly delineating the prices of individual paintings. He will also be offering a wide spectrum of aesthetic merchandise for sale at bargain prices: Postcards, Posters, his ’75 braimnd new paintings’ art Book, his “Melt It! Book”, etchings, engravings, signed block photocopies on authentic fax paper, Melt It Badges and even his children’s book, “Lockdown Melter”, will all be available for purchase. Truly there is something for everyone. The Iceman will have a padlocked cash box on site and provide his own security for his priceless paintings and all goods. aim hopes visitors enjoy viewing his insightful canvases.
The opening do is at 7pm on 29th April 2025 [Thank you to “Music Business Associates” for kindly sponsoring the refreshments for that event] The Iceman/aim will be in the Tabernacle Gallery in person every day of the run. But he will not be shaking anyone’s hand, for health and safety reasons, due to the freezing effect of such a gesture. *Thank you to Artcetera, Bournemouth who generously supply aim with free quality cut-offs of mounting board upon which to paint.
**FYI The Iceman’s Blockbuster Documentary film “Melt It!The Film of the Iceman” is due to be released this year 2025”
MACHYNLLETH COMEDY FESTIVAL The greatest comedy festival in the world. Book your bell tent now to avoid disappointment. I am doing MAN-WULF 3 times, John Shuttleworth is on, Celya AB etc etc. Make sure to see Ben Moor’s Three Thing Day. May 2nd - 4th. Once visited, never forgotten.
DON’T TELL ANYONE ABOUT IT OR YOU WILL RUIN IT!!!!
ALSO ----- The Nightingales release their first studio album since 2022’s much-praised ‘The Last Laugh’. Celebrated in the Stewart Lee-narrated film King Rocker of 2020, where the curtain was raised on the magic of the “long serving punk/alternative rock volunteer” (The Quietus) Robert Lloyd, The Nightingales are as pertinent as ever as they release a poignant tirade on modern times heralded, quite rightly, as ‘The Awful Truth’.
Released on April 4th on Fire Records, their new album ‘The Awful Truth’ is a modern mutant music hall interpretation of the day’s news, a haunting jolt into realism narrated with all the angst of an insistent, slightly dishevelled late-night newscaster. BUY A BUNDLE HERE. https://thenightingales.org.uk
BOOTHBY GRAFFOE & ANTONIO FORCIONE May 28th, The Old Woollen, Leeds. A MUST!! ONE OFF SHOW!!!! “20 years ago a stand-up comedian made an album with a virtuoso guitarist. They did a bunch of shows and got a bunch of 5 star reviews. Then they toured Australia, and won a bunch of awards. One of which they left in an Italian restaurant in Adelaide.
SKEP WAX WEEKENDER July 17th – 20th, Islington, London
Four nights of radical indiepop - Thursday and Friday evening at the Lexington, Saturday evening at Islington Town Hall, Sunday (4pm) back at The Lexington: see full line-up below. The 'Weekender' ticket will admit you to all four nights. Day tickets are available for each of the four shows. Thursday (The Lexington) Jeanines, Sassyhiya, Panic Pocket Friday (The Lexington) The Would-Be-Goods, The Orchids, Swansea Sound Saturday (Islington Assembly Room) Heavenly, Lightheaded, Crumbs Sunday (The Lexington), Marlody, The Gentle Spring, Special Friend
Venue addresses: The Lexington, 96-98 Pentonville Rd, London, N1 9JB.
Islington Assembly Hall, Upper St, London, N1 2UD. (The venues are less than a mile apart.)
Heavenly's new 7" single will go on sale at this event.
Ticket prices include £1.50 Venue Levy for Islington Town Hall.
The Lexington is 18+ admission, The Islington Assembly Hall is 16+
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS / MDC American hardcore heroes
AUG 4th – New Cross Inn, London
SAINTS 73-79 Superb! The original line-up of the Australian Punk progenitors, but with Mudhoney's Mark Arm deputising for the departed Chris Bailey (a gentleman and a scholar who once came to my show!).
His co-writer and co-guitarist Ed Kuepper remains undimmed and the rhythm section will rattle your bones. NOVEMBER 21ST Bristol Trinity,
22nd Leeds Project,
23rd Glasgow Garage,
24th M’cr Academy 2,
26th London Camden Electric Ballroom
13. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2025
Barre Phillips (Jazz bassman, 1934)
Bob Grover (Brighton Piranha, 1956)
Riro (Japanese sea otter, 2007) Nora Orlandi (Spaghetti symphonist, 1933)
Ed Askew (Acid folkie, 1940)
Tony Slattery (The vile blows of the world made him reckless, 1959)
David Lynch (He erased our heads, 1946) Landy Randerson (Museum access pioneer, 1949)
Garth Hudson (Bandolier, 1937)
Brian Murphy (Instantly aged actor, 1932)
Rab MacWilliam (Hackney historian, 1951)
Barry Goldberg (His flag was electric, 1941)
Peter Yarrow (He left on a jetplane, 1938)
Snowy Fleet (Easybeater, 1939)
Jamie Muir (Absolute fucking rhythmical genius, 1942)
Mike Ratledge (Moon in June Soft Machine man, 1943)
Gabriel Yacoub (Malicorne muso of French folk, 1952)
Bill Fay (Christian mystic songwriter seer, 1943)
Stewart Lee
2025-02-27T10:40:54+00:00
TWITTER, FACEBOOK, THREADS, AMAZON Get off the platforms! Fight American fascism! 1. NATIONAL GALLERY I will be in The National Gallery, London, on March 14th, from 7pm, talking about Joseph Wright’s Experiment With A Bird and William Hogarth’s The Graham Children. Some other celebs are doing their bits too See ya there Art Fans! NationalGallery.Org 2. NEW MERCH Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here wax-face.com/stewart-lee 3. MAN-WULF BY THE PRIMEVALS Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour. There are 3 versions Side a I’m The Man-Wulf Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit) Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!) Vinyl sides a&b released on a 7” 45 in January. https://primevals.bandcamp.com 4. BASIC LEE IS ON NOW TV https://www.nowtv.com/ie/watch/entertainment/collections/ultimate-comedy/asset/stewart-lee-basic-lee.../A5EK6949itCVNKaChrDXN You’ll have to subscribe though. Here is a thorough, and not entirely positive, review from a thoughtful young man on Youtube, still better than most pro-critics. https://youtu.be/kdOYgqCzJ4s?si=1uIZBn8tMWsAiS0h 5. STEWART LEE VS THE MAN-WULF John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2025 NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS. In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can...
Stewart Lee discusses why he has launched a new show, The Alternative Comedy
Experience, which he hopes will help showcase riskier comedy. | 4th february 2013
Stewart Lee
2013-02-04T21:16:06+00:00
Stewart Lee discusses why he has launched a new show, The Alternative Comedy Experience, which he hopes will help showcase riskier comedy. | 4th february 2013
We went up 75 mins late in Hull last night.
I apologise. The venue's software wasn't talking to itself. A man came in from holiday to try to get it all online. Thanks for your patience.
It was a great, if long, night, in the end.
CONTENT PROVIDER FINAL 2018 TOUR DATES - NO MORE TO FOLLOW - FINITO - LAST 5 DATES OF A TOTAL OF 214
19th - 23rd April 2018.
Content Provider has been touring to sold out theatres throughout divided Brexit Britain for nearly two years and is Stewart Lee's most successful full-length show ever.
Join him on these special evenings as he finally abandons two hours of monetisable material and performs the show for the very last time. When it's gone it's gone.
Stewart is 50 years old in 2018 and, after performing these shows, he intends to take the longest break from stand-up he's had since his four year disappearance at the start of the century.
April 2018
Thursday 19th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 20th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Monday 23rd - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS
BENEFIT SHOWS
18th May - Action on Hearing Loss, London, details TBC
13th June - Hilarity for Charity, Leicester Sq Theatre, London. Stewart Lee returns to the Leicester Square Theatre for a third year running to head up a comedy night in aid of community charities North London Cares and South London Cares.
He'll be joined by Carl Donnelly, Athena Kugblenu, Arnold Brown and Bridget Christie, with further acts to be announced, including a really famous bloke who has been in films.
8th July - The Secret Spy Cops' Ball - Rob Newman, Evelyn Mok, Mark Steel, Stewart Lee, Jackson's Lane, London.
For women tricked into relationships w undercover police.
Most of the performers on the bill are adopted orphans, oddly.
I am interviewing the folk singer, author and song collector Shirley Collins again at the Hay festival on Friday June 1st at 5.30.
I wonder what I will ask her this time?
She has a brilliant new book out, All In The Downs.
Monday 10th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 13th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 20th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 21st - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 22nd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
October 2018
Tuesday 2nd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 3rd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 4th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Tuesday 9th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 11th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 12th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Tuesday 30th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 31st - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
November 2018
Thursday 1st - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 2nd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Thursday 8th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Friday 9th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Saturday 10th - WHAT NOW? - Leicester Square Theatre, LONDON - 7pm - 020 7734 2222 - TICKETS
Stewart Lee
2018-03-22T10:30:01+00:00
HULLAPLOG We went up 75 mins late in Hull last night. I apologise. The venue's software wasn't talking to itself. A man came in from holiday to try to get it all online. Thanks for your patience. It was a great, if long, night, in the end. CONTENT PROVIDER FINAL 2018 TOUR DATES - NO MORE TO FOLLOW - FINITO - LAST 5 DATES OF A TOTAL OF 214 April 2018 Thursday 12th - Content Provider, Palace Theatre, Southend - 01702 351135 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 13th - Content Provider, Palace Theatre, Southend - 01702 351135 - 7.30pm - TICKETS THESE ARE FILMING DATES FOR A DVD/DL/BBC B'CAST CONTENT PROVIDER RFH LONDON 19th - 23rd April 2018. Content Provider has been touring to sold out theatres throughout divided Brexit Britain for nearly two years and is Stewart Lee's most successful full-length show ever. Join him on these special evenings as he finally abandons two hours of monetisable material and performs the show for the very last time. When it's gone it's gone. Stewart is 50 years old in 2018 and, after performing these shows, he intends to take the longest break from stand-up he's had since his four year disappearance at the start of the century. April 2018 Thursday 19th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Friday 20th - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS Monday 23rd - Content Provider, Festival Hall, Southbank, London - 020 3879 9555 - 7.30pm - TICKETS BENEFIT SHOWS 18th May - Action on Hearing Loss, London, details TBC 13th June - Hilarity for Charity, Leicester Sq Theatre, London. Stewart Lee returns to the Leicester Square Theatre for a third year running to head up a comedy...
Sunday Night At The London Palladium (1955-74 ATV) Youthful Scouse Mod Jimmy Tarbuck, and an already skeletal Bruce Forsythe, host this insanely programmed institution of diamond-honed variety circuit stand-ups, proto-psychedelic beat pop, and people doing weird things with planks. Makes Live At The Apollo look like a content-driven engagement platform.
The Comedians (1971 - 79 Granada) Deftly edited showcase of effortlessly sexist and casually racist Seventies club comics of undeniable skill but no ambition. Their fifty interchangeable quips are interspersed with Dixieland jazz played by white people.
Wheeltappers' and Shunters' Social Club (1974-77 Granada) In a convincing studio mock-up of the sort of Working Men's Club already dying, fag smoke rises and Watneys flows as Bernard Manning and the Frank Skinner-faced Colin Crompton introduce fruity variety, terrible 70s pop, and sometimes unexpectedly palettable pre-Alternative stand-ups. Cannon and Ball's debut is stunning comedy theatre. The usual racist and sexist shit aside, visually and aesthetically this remains a high point of TV stand-up, which I rip off.
Boom Boom Out Go The Lights (1980-81 BBC2) Short-lived, two episode showcase for newfangled "Alternative Comedy", comprising the DNA of the next thirty years of British stand-up. Brightly-lit social workers drinking BBC orange squash fail to process the innovations of Rik and Ade's Dangerous Brothers double act, Pauline Melville, and masked machine-gunman Keith Allen, all inexplicably interspersed with feelgood r'n'b from Paul Jones.
O.T.T. (1982 Central) An over-excited Chris Tarrant reveals his inner-Rugby club social sec, hosting this Janus-faced late night aberration, featuring anti-Thatcher pop bands and communist Alexei Sayle, alongside race hate poster boy Bernard Manning and gratuitous 1970s female nudity, during which the young and unique black British comic Lenny Henry, and the Oxford fine art graduate Helen Atkinson Wood, wilted like whipped dogs.
Saturday Live (1985-88 Channel 4) Blabby Ben Elton shouts over a floodlit sheep-pen of caned casuals, and subtly distances himself from the weird and interesting acts he introduces (such as a brilliant Kevin McAleer with his unequalled owl slide show). Prefiguring the mass modern comedy phenomenon of Failed Irony, Harry Enfield's Loadsamoney scores big with the cash rich Thatcherites it ridicules.
Gas, Comedy Network (C4, Paramount 1997-98) The twin last gasps of straight stand-up on TV in the 20th century, then presumed by executives to "not really work". Endlessly repeated for years on late night cable under the terms of the acts' one-payment buy-out deals, and featuring many stars of the future - Noel Fielding, Lee Mack, Julian Barrat, Jason Byrne, Peter Kay - the shows typify the time when TV stand-up started to feel like worthless one-size fits all filler. Like peasants with free milk we lapped up what they offered us, only to see our virgin sets chopped into differently titled shows, and sliced into 79p audio-only I-tunes clips, for time immemorial.
Live At The Apollo, Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow, Stand Up For The Week (Open Mike Productions, BBC1, C4, 2008 +) Michael McIntyre's management's production outfit dominate the stand-up TV spectrum with a relatively narrow range of acts and approaches, mainly all managed by the production company's parent group and two other big agencies. Mutually masturbatory backroom trade-offs of Masonic complexity inflate their clients' lucrative private corporate gig rates by showing them working in front of vast crowds of laughing people and influential celebrities, which also convince the viewer at home that they are being entertained. Tight six minute sets with little to spook the horses, or with the consensus youth-danger flavor of Stand Up For The Week's ersatz controversialists, characterize three ruthlessly efficient steamroller stand-up vehicles that must, nevertheless, be congratulated for reinvigorating the notion of funny people talking on TV for the new century, even as they kill live club comedy by luring in the alchopop crowd with their TV-induced expectations of post-produced bulletproof content.
The Alternative Comedy Experience (Comedy Central 2013 +) The best stand-up showcase ever made for television places two dozen of the sort of comics broadsheet critics and other comedians rate way above all the shit the public and TV executives like, including the highest ever proportion of women on a TV stand-up show, in a dimly lit Scottish basement. Without any supportive cutaways to laughing claques of no-taste divs, the focus is thrown onto the naked material and the raw performances, not the spectacle and the showbiz. The hard short edits of Granada's The Comedians mesh impossibly with long extended routines in a Wheeltappers' and Shunters' live ambience that eschews the fake bonhomie of the Open Mike Productions showcases for an art house documentary style journey to the flourishing fringes of our rapidly emulsifying TV stand-up scene.
Paul Sinha's ability to spike obsessively detailed sport trivia through artful extended sets detailing the political and social concerns of an out-gay ex-doctor Hindu means club crowds are conned into loving him before they realise they're applauding a textbook liberal.
The low energy Scottish shuffler David Kay sounds like a mumbling old lady, twittering away unnoticed, bit concentrate for a moment and it's clear his uniquely odd worldview has the power to transform the dull mundanities of everyday existence into fascinatingly funny and surreal stories.
Like all the best Irish writers, Eleanor Tiernan sounds like she's bending an unruly English idiom, not historically her own, into service of an essentially Irish vision, a bleak but nonetheless blackly comic view of life, expressed in clipped economic sentences, illuminated with occasional florid flourishes.
Andy Zaltzman, his '60s satirist-shaped brain visibly bulging out of his enormous head, offers dictionary-dense demolitions of global political stupidity with a self-deprecating sleight of hand and a vast vocabulary.
Bridget Christie spouts old-school Eighties style feminist stand-up with a lightness of touch and a playful silliness her female forebears weren't encouraged to entertain, and is the comedian of choice for The South Bank's Women of The World Festival on March 8th.
Hated by crypto-fascist internet trolls the world-wide web over, Josie has found a fertile stream of heartfelt yet cuddly anti-capitalist invective, softened by her sentimental streak and occasional lapses into passionate frenzied faux-incoherence.
Stewart Lee
2013-02-01T21:13:55+00:00
Sunday Night At The London Palladium (1955-74 ATV) Youthful Scouse Mod Jimmy Tarbuck, and an already skeletal Bruce Forsythe, host this insanely programmed institution of diamond-honed variety circuit stand-ups, proto-psychedelic beat pop, and people doing weird things with planks. Makes Live At The Apollo look like a content-driven engagement platform. The Comedians (1971 - 79 Granada) Deftly edited showcase of effortlessly sexist and casually racist Seventies club comics of undeniable skill but no ambition. Their fifty interchangeable quips are interspersed with Dixieland jazz played by white people. Wheeltappers' and Shunters' Social Club (1974-77 Granada) In a convincing studio mock-up of the sort of Working Men's Club already dying, fag smoke rises and Watneys flows as Bernard Manning and the Frank Skinner-faced Colin Crompton introduce fruity variety, terrible 70s pop, and sometimes unexpectedly palettable pre-Alternative stand-ups. Cannon and Ball's debut is stunning comedy theatre. The usual racist and sexist shit aside, visually and aesthetically this remains a high point of TV stand-up, which I rip off. Boom Boom Out Go The Lights (1980-81 BBC2) Short-lived, two episode showcase for newfangled "Alternative Comedy", comprising the DNA of the next thirty years of British stand-up. Brightly-lit social workers drinking BBC orange squash fail to process the innovations of Rik and Ade's Dangerous Brothers double act, Pauline Melville, and masked machine-gunman Keith Allen, all inexplicably interspersed with feelgood r'n'b from Paul Jones. O.T.T. (1982 Central) An over-excited Chris Tarrant reveals his inner-Rugby club social sec, hosting this Janus-faced late night aberration, featuring anti-Thatcher pop bands and communist Alexei Sayle, alongside race hate poster boy Bernard Manning and gratuitous 1970s female nudity, during which the young and unique black British comic Lenny Henry, and the Oxford fine art graduate Helen Atkinson Wood, wilted like whipped dogs. Saturday Live (1985-88 Channel 4) Blabby Ben Elton shouts...
They say you should never meet your heroes. But they don't say anything about them meeting each other, so I had very little idea of what to expect at Kings Place on Monday night when comedian Stewart Lee performed John Cage. In the event, this was a hugely enjoyable short recital, though I do wonder if it wasn't a bit funnier than should really be expected from a Cage gig.
Cage's composition-cum-party-game Indeterminacy has a slightly confusing history, existing first of all as a recording made by Cage with pianist David Tudor in 1959. It's a set of short, first-person stories by Cage to be read out such that each takes a minute, and it can be performed alongside or not alongside instrumental performance, which can basically be anything. Here, pianists Tania Chen and Steve Beresford provided some simultaneous though unrelated improvising at or near a piano while Lee read out 40 of Cage's strange fables.
If I'm completely honest, I'm not quite sure if Lee was uniquely suited to this role or uniquely unsuited to it. As evinced by his standup shows, he has an incredible gift for finding punchlines where there should rightly be none - at one moment in his last TV series he managed to make the word “plain", said blandly with around 30 seconds' silence either side of it, completely hilarious. And so, inevitably, he made all of Cage's anecdotes sound like leftfield jokes. Very funny ones, of course, but I do wonder if this was exactly what the piece was meant to be. If it was meant to be anything, that is; it's hard to tell.
This is not to say that I wasn't in fits of laughter. Watching Steve Beresford throw a ping-pong ball into the body of a grand piano while Lee read out three short Japanese poems was really, genuinely funny, for some reason, and the 40 minutes of this performance flew by in a way that experimental music evenings (much as I love them) rarely do. It's a wonderful tribute to the humour inherent in Cage's work - though the combination of Lee's brilliantly straight delivery and a particularly wacky range of props for Chen and Beresford to improvise with did have the effect of exaggerating this comic element. This must have been a lot of the audience's first exposure to Cage's music live, and it wasn't a totally representative experience.
The performance also highlighted the problematic nature of Cage's relationship with improvisation. While many of Cage's scores allow performers huge amounts of freedom, this doesn't turn them into improvisations: rather, his pieces become fascinating because of the tension which exists between the precision of his musical scores and the bizarrely broad range of outcomes which these scores permit.
Alan Tomlinson's fascinating introduction to the Solo for Sliding Trombone, which he performed in the first half, demonstrated this well: in this piece, the size of a note in the score determines - at the performer's discretion - either the length or volume (or both) at which it is to be performed.
The sound which results is hence completely different each time the piece is played, but nonetheless still controlled in a very tight way by Cage's instructions. Hence, opening the evening with a series of short improvisations by the performers was not really completely Cageian in spirit. And particularly with the comic element always so clearly at the forefront - Tomlinson's trombone improvisation involved him manically taking his instrument apart, muting it with a table, and other crazy antics - the connection to Cage seemed all but lost.
Maybe I'm being pedantic though - this was a very entertaining evening, and it can only be a good thing that Cage is getting such wide exposure. This might not have been the most completely faithful Cage tribute in his anniversary year, but it was certainly the funniest, and I'm delighted that these two heroes of mine have met each other. I only hope that “Bob Dylan reads Umberto Eco" comes to town soon.
Stewart Lee
2012-09-27T21:45:26+01:00
They say you should never meet your heroes. But they don't say anything about them meeting each other, so I had very little idea of what to expect at Kings Place on Monday night when comedian Stewart Lee performed John Cage. In the event, this was a hugely enjoyable short recital, though I do wonder if it wasn't a bit funnier than should really be expected from a Cage gig. Cage's composition-cum-party-game Indeterminacy has a slightly confusing history, existing first of all as a recording made by Cage with pianist David Tudor in 1959. It's a set of short, first-person stories by Cage to be read out such that each takes a minute, and it can be performed alongside or not alongside instrumental performance, which can basically be anything. Here, pianists Tania Chen and Steve Beresford provided some simultaneous though unrelated improvising at or near a piano while Lee read out 40 of Cage's strange fables. If I'm completely honest, I'm not quite sure if Lee was uniquely suited to this role or uniquely unsuited to it. As evinced by his standup shows, he has an incredible gift for finding punchlines where there should rightly be none - at one moment in his last TV series he managed to make the word “plain", said blandly with around 30 seconds' silence either side of it, completely hilarious. And so, inevitably, he made all of Cage's anecdotes sound like leftfield jokes. Very funny ones, of course, but I do wonder if this was exactly what the piece was meant to be. If it was meant to be anything, that is; it's hard to tell. This is not to say that I wasn't in fits of laughter. Watching Steve Beresford throw a ping-pong ball into the body of a grand piano while Lee...
IT'S Saturday afternoon and The Music Hall in The Assembly Rooms is steadily filling up. The occasion - which is becoming more and more like an 'event' as the room becomes more packed - is the second preview of Jerry Springer - The Opera.
As more and more people file in, the man beside me becomes more and more agitated and begins mumbling as much to himself as to me. "I only earned 80 quid when I came up here with the Comedy Zone in 1991," he mutters as he surveys the large two-tiered stage that will soon hold 21 singers and a five-piece band. The nervous man next to me is Stewart Lee, director and librettist of Jerry Springer. And even if the show sells out every performance of its Edinburgh run - and it just might - he'll still be leaving the Fringe with even less than 80 quid.
Precisely nothing in fact.
For this Lee is grateful. "People kept telling me we should bring this show to Edinburgh and I was utterly terrified," he says, with the air of a man who admits to having had "about 20 hours sleep in the last week".
As befitting such an ambitious scale venture, the opera is costing a smaIl fortune to stage, so that its box office receipts cannot possibly recoup the outlay. Fortunately Lee and composer Richard Thomas, who originated the idea, are covered by a group of financial backers - all of whom are, no doubt, soon to be very happy. Because this is a preview (ie no critics), reviewing the show is strictly verboten, but presumably Lee and Thomas won't mind me passing on the advice that you should definitely book NOW if you want to catch what just might be the most original and entertaining show on the Fringe this year. The West End and probably Broadway beckons. Seriously.
After the performance the two men are visibly buzzing. It's only the second time, they say, that they've heard the full score performed and they're obviously delighted, as well they might be.
The public's response is phenomenal. People are grabbing badges that read Slut Junky and Chick With A Dick, while the plaintive refrain: "Cover me with chocolate and throw me to the lesbians" proves eminently hummable.
"It's good doing it here because the Assembly is quite like the West End in a way;" says Lee afterwards. "You have ABBA tribute shows and Gyles Brandreth so it does give you a feel for how the show works in a mainstream environment. I think a lot of people who come just want to be entertained and don't care what it says about opera or the human condition."
And Jerry Springer -The Opera does say quite a bit about the human condition. Infidelity, jealousy; murder, suicide and a cavalcade of sexual fetishism, all human life is here. Which is why, of course, every hack comedian on the Fringe was doing Jerry Springer jokes TWO years ago. It's odd to find Lee - probably the most iconoclastic comedian of the past decade - reverting to well-ploughed ground.
"True, but it was Richard's idea originally and he asked me to get involved," Lee says with a sly srnile: 'The originality of the material was never a consideration for me. What was is how well it would work as an opera. When I first started writing with [former partner] Richard Herring 15 years ago we had this list of things that we would never write about, but as I get older I think how you approach subjects and manage to treat them originally is more important than what you're dealing with."
Richard Thomas began writing the opera 14 months ago after logging over a hundred hours watching the Springer show on TV.
" I really like Jerry Springer," he cheerfully admits, "and if you watch that many shows you can't watch Oprah Winfrey or whatever because they're just whorish and vile. I like the fact that the show is a cultural phenomenon and the fact that he's a real working class hero," says Thomas of the former mayor of Cincinnati turned king of trash TV.
"He's sort of like St Mephistopheles because he's never judgmental. I mean, Jerry won't have anyone on unless the other person is there to defend themselves - or have a fight," laughs Thomas. "OK, it is deeply exploitative." Lee, admits to being more ambivalent about Springer but came onboard after Thomas started doing workshops at the Battersea Arts Centre where the composer offered helpful punters "beer for an idea". The best ideas got a can of Grolsch while duds were awarded a can of generic supermarket lager.
"The subject matter is a bit of a red herring," Lee smiles. "The good thing is because it's what feels like a familiar idea people come along thinking they know what they're going to get. But there are lots of emotionally touching parts in it and the way it develops in the second half seems to surprise people.
"It's written and sung to an incredibly professional level and that really throws people because they think they're going to get some sketch show burlesque of American talk shows. So in may ways the familiarity of the title is really great because if it was called Chat Show - The Opera With Depressing Bits And A Meditation on Good And Evil then many people who are going to the ABBA singalongs wouldn't be coming.
"But as it is they get exposed to something that is probably more morally complex than they would normally be exposed to."
This isn't mere hyperbole on Lee's part, the second half of the opera sees Jerry Springer in Hell mediating on the age-old argument between God and Satan ("I don't do conflict resolution," he protests).
"The first half is really what people would expect and the second half is a reward for me to go deeper musically into things," explains Thomas who has undergone months of coaxing classically trained opera singers more used to Il Trovatore to trailer-trash.
"The main problem was the diction," recalls Thomas. "A lot of opera singing is far too stylised. In rehearsals a lot of people who had amazing opera voices sounded too straight and I used to say to them use the laziest diction you've ever sung - just imagine that you were speaking. A lot of singers seem to think that their diction has to be perfection and that's just elitist."
The result is a real rarity - an opera that you can actually follow with lyrics that you can actually understand.
"Richard originally wanted the second half to be a lot of people hanging upside down singing a requiem for the American Dream," explains Lee. "I've only seen one opera, Wagner's Ring Cycle, and there's a bit in that where someone goes down into a netherworld, so I suggested that."
Apart from giving Lee the chance to wrongfoot his audience, the switch in scenario gives him the chance to air his ambivalence to his subject when "Springer" is confronted with past guests who have been humiliated on his show and committed suicide as a result. "A person with less broadcasting experience would feel responsible for that," comes the glib reply.
Unsurprisingly, the show has already weathered the threat of legal action from the producers of Springer's American TV show, but Lee and Thomas believe they have managed to smooth the waters.
"We actually met him a month ago because he was over and trying to find out what the show was about," says Lee. "We quite confidently told him that we didn't think that there would be a problem because I think firstly it's not really a parody of him and also I think he, even if he does find the opera slightly critical, would be flattered by inspiring all this beautiful music."
With Springer himself coming to speak at the TV Festival later this month the show's co-creator's are eager to get the man himself along to the Assembly Rooms.
"We'll probably have to sneak him in at the back because I can't imagine anyone in the show not being affected by him sitting in the front row," says Lee.
It's also hard to imagine Springer not being affected by the performance. Fringe Director Paul Gudgin who was also at the preview opined that the chat show host would "probably be sitting there rigid with a huge smile while he thought: 'I want this f*****g thing stopped'."
Still, perhaps he could get a good show out of it - "These Men Made An Opera About Me And I'm Mad As Hell".
Stewart Lee
2002-08-08T17:24:51+01:00
IT'S Saturday afternoon and The Music Hall in The Assembly Rooms is steadily filling up. The occasion - which is becoming more and more like an 'event' as the room becomes more packed - is the second preview of Jerry Springer - The Opera. As more and more people file in, the man beside me becomes more and more agitated and begins mumbling as much to himself as to me. "I only earned 80 quid when I came up here with the Comedy Zone in 1991," he mutters as he surveys the large two-tiered stage that will soon hold 21 singers and a five-piece band. The nervous man next to me is Stewart Lee, director and librettist of Jerry Springer. And even if the show sells out every performance of its Edinburgh run - and it just might - he'll still be leaving the Fringe with even less than 80 quid. Precisely nothing in fact. For this Lee is grateful. "People kept telling me we should bring this show to Edinburgh and I was utterly terrified," he says, with the air of a man who admits to having had "about 20 hours sleep in the last week". As befitting such an ambitious scale venture, the opera is costing a smaIl fortune to stage, so that its box office receipts cannot possibly recoup the outlay. Fortunately Lee and composer Richard Thomas, who originated the idea, are covered by a group of financial backers - all of whom are, no doubt, soon to be very happy. Because this is a preview (ie no critics), reviewing the show is strictly verboten, but presumably Lee and Thomas won't mind me passing on the advice that you should definitely book NOW if you want to catch what just might be the most original and entertaining...
The resilient recessive Seventies krautrock gene surfaces in Scandinavia, with Gothenburg's Hills joining Goat and Circle in a growing Norse pantheon of glögg-fuelled trance-rockers.
A belated British push for this, the band’s second album, anticipating further bombardment, softens the ground with sphincter-dilating bass grooves, vapor trails of hiss, pounding production line rhythms, Lutheran organ drones, and sparse vocal mantras, that reach their apogee in the epic title track.
The ambient soundscape of Claras Vaggvisa and Death Shall Come’s monastic chanting vary the mood.
Stewart Lee
2013-09-23T20:16:18+01:00
The resilient recessive Seventies krautrock gene surfaces in Scandinavia, with Gothenburg's Hills joining Goat and Circle in a growing Norse pantheon of glögg-fuelled trance-rockers. A belated British push for this, the band’s second album, anticipating further bombardment, softens the ground with sphincter-dilating bass grooves, vapor trails of hiss, pounding production line rhythms, Lutheran organ drones, and sparse vocal mantras, that reach their apogee in the epic title track. The ambient soundscape of Claras Vaggvisa and Death Shall Come’s monastic chanting vary the mood.
Here's the second series of the a Fist 'o' Fun for you all.
And you can finally answer the questions that have plagued mankind for years.
Was this the series that suffered from being hastily written and having its budget cut by a third?
Or was it the better series as our heroes are more comfortable on screen, and have refined their ideas?
Whatever way you look at it, this is the series that has a special place in the nation's heart as it features the moon on a stick, Rod Hull and of course Ian News.
It's been another lovely, mammoth task putting this four disc set together.
There's even more here than there was in series 1.
For a start, there's six episodes, all with commentary from Rich and Stew. And episode six has an additional commentary from Rod Hull, Simon Quinlank and Kevin Eldon.
We've a video presentation of one of Rich's Leicester Square Theatre Podcasts. The one with Stewart Lee, where they discuss all matters arising - including that of Fist of Fun.
And we've got all the series 2 studio tapes, so you can finally see the proper ending to Episode 1, the legendary Goldilocks and the Three Men sketch, The Bootleg Bootleg Beatles amongst many, many more golden nuggets.
There's another extensive collection of files and curios in our DVD-Rom section - this time on disc 3 - and there's hidden features and extra treats sprinkled all over the place.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T19:46:01+00:00
Here's the second series of the a Fist 'o' Fun for you all. And you can finally answer the questions that have plagued mankind for years. Was this the series that suffered from being hastily written and having its budget cut by a third? Or was it the better series as our heroes are more comfortable on screen, and have refined their ideas? Whatever way you look at it, this is the series that has a special place in the nation's heart as it features the moon on a stick, Rod Hull and of course Ian News. It's been another lovely, mammoth task putting this four disc set together. There's even more here than there was in series 1. For a start, there's six episodes, all with commentary from Rich and Stew. And episode six has an additional commentary from Rod Hull, Simon Quinlank and Kevin Eldon. We've a video presentation of one of Rich's Leicester Square Theatre Podcasts. The one with Stewart Lee, where they discuss all matters arising - including that of Fist of Fun. And we've got all the series 2 studio tapes, so you can finally see the proper ending to Episode 1, the legendary Goldilocks and the Three Men sketch, The Bootleg Bootleg Beatles amongst many, many more golden nuggets. There's another extensive collection of files and curios in our DVD-Rom section - this time on disc 3 - and there's hidden features and extra treats sprinkled all over the place.
No other stand-up comedian could start a show with the base declaration that he'd masturbate over our family pictures if he was forced to confiscate any mobile phones and then end it with the noble re-enactment of 19th century German artist Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above A Sea of Fog.
That's Stewart Lee in a nutshell – the carefully constructed liberal elitist who's not afraid to go for the Frankie Boyle line here and there. But, of course, he debases the debasement in his "post-laughs" way.
There were times when he told the sell-out crowd – sell-out even with the empty seats – that he was tiring of "the character of Stewart Lee" and even though this was one of his usual contrivances the 48-year-old "ex-TV comic" was definitely more playful than usual.
On previous tours, Lee's serpentine delivery has often been hampered by presenting his show in half-hour blocks as a testing ground for his BBC2 series. He's been axed, gained weight but also got a lot funnier; now his stand-up is able to twist and turn over two glorious hours, like it did when he was "better" and used to play The Acorn in Penzance.
He told us that with a tour running from November last year to this April, he refused to dwell on Brexit and Trump in case he had to constantly rewrite his material, affecting the shows' monetisation.
Of course, that allowed him two set pieces, which opened both halves, brilliantly mirroring each other. It also allowed him to have an affectionate pop at the Cornish – he'd researched that we're educationally superior to much of the nation yet we voted overwhelmingly to leave the European Union. Were we racist or, simply, c***s?
Many of Lee's tropes were repeated in Content Provider – for example, the splitting of the audience into the intellectuals who get it and those at the back ("there's something on", "what is it?", "don't know", "let's go") who are holding up proceedings by being behind the beat.
There's also his superiority – aimed at us ("who knows more about stand-up, you or me?" and "I believe it was I who once said…") and other, lesser comedians.
His feud with Russell Howard is reignited. He couldn't understand it as he only ever told one joke about Howard … but it was 55 minutes long. His hilarious, relentless impression of cool, young comedians asking him why he picked on Howard was a masterclass in physical, absurdist humour.
His way with a mocking diatribe is untouchable, particularly when aimed at anyone under 40 – an impression of a 32-year-old playing with his phone was comedy heaven.
It derailed slightly in the second half with a long, rambling section about how our grandparents' generation had to make do while today's young folk are absorbed in artifice and consumerism. Lee hammered the point home via bondage sex, but we got what he was saying and it just wasn't that funny.
He ended back on track with that powerful artistic reinvention, which via one simple but effective visual joke held up a mirror to the narcissistic, selfie generation.
Content Provider is the most enjoyable Stewart Lee show for years, especially after his last TV series which aimed, and failed, to take comedy way out into some darkly acerbic hinterland.
Long may he keep on returning to Cornwall, even if there's a possibility some of us are racist c***s.
Stewart Lee
2017-02-23T21:53:12+00:00
No other stand-up comedian could start a show with the base declaration that he'd masturbate over our family pictures if he was forced to confiscate any mobile phones and then end it with the noble re-enactment of 19th century German artist Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above A Sea of Fog. That's Stewart Lee in a nutshell – the carefully constructed liberal elitist who's not afraid to go for the Frankie Boyle line here and there. But, of course, he debases the debasement in his "post-laughs" way. There were times when he told the sell-out crowd – sell-out even with the empty seats – that he was tiring of "the character of Stewart Lee" and even though this was one of his usual contrivances the 48-year-old "ex-TV comic" was definitely more playful than usual. On previous tours, Lee's serpentine delivery has often been hampered by presenting his show in half-hour blocks as a testing ground for his BBC2 series. He's been axed, gained weight but also got a lot funnier; now his stand-up is able to twist and turn over two glorious hours, like it did when he was "better" and used to play The Acorn in Penzance. He told us that with a tour running from November last year to this April, he refused to dwell on Brexit and Trump in case he had to constantly rewrite his material, affecting the shows' monetisation. Of course, that allowed him two set pieces, which opened both halves, brilliantly mirroring each other. It also allowed him to have an affectionate pop at the Cornish – he'd researched that we're educationally superior to much of the nation yet we voted overwhelmingly to leave the European Union. Were we racist or, simply, c***s? Many of Lee's tropes were repeated in Content Provider – for example,...
After ten years studying Shakespeare, electronica guru Drew Daniel returns to exorcise childhood daemons.
Daniel's teenage fandom of Black Metal - the Scandinavian thrash hybrid sometimes, but not exclusively, inspired by Satanism and Nazism - sits awkwardly with his gay adult self.
Selections from Darkthrone, Mayhem and friends are re-imagined as plausible and sinuous '90s club anthems.
An's Let There Be Ebola Frost sports soulful female vocals.
Hellhammer's Maniac is satanic drum 'n' bass. Smiley subversion dances away the devil.
Stewart Lee
2014-06-22T21:41:12+01:00
After ten years studying Shakespeare, electronica guru Drew Daniel returns to exorcise childhood daemons. Daniel's teenage fandom of Black Metal - the Scandinavian thrash hybrid sometimes, but not exclusively, inspired by Satanism and Nazism - sits awkwardly with his gay adult self. Selections from Darkthrone, Mayhem and friends are re-imagined as plausible and sinuous '90s club anthems. An's Let There Be Ebola Frost sports soulful female vocals. Hellhammer's Maniac is satanic drum 'n' bass. Smiley subversion dances away the devil.
Darren Hayman, a former John Peel favorite adept at addictive indie-jangles and precise writerly nuggets, has released thirty-one tracks, written and recorded at the rate of one a day throughout last January.
The double CD is stripped of the tang of arrogance by Hayman's obvious talent, and relative low-profile. Sleeve notes paint the punishing project as an attempt “to reject the creative spark" and focus on “hard work, resourcefulness and intelligence", but January Songs' vast smorgasboard of tasteful and literate art pop merely emphasises Hayman's direct line to the muses.
The massed chorale “We're Tired Of Getting Dicked Around" is a “We Shall Not Be Moved" for the Occupy generation.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-29T20:13:52+00:00
Darren Hayman, a former John Peel favorite adept at addictive indie-jangles and precise writerly nuggets, has released thirty-one tracks, written and recorded at the rate of one a day throughout last January. The double CD is stripped of the tang of arrogance by Hayman's obvious talent, and relative low-profile. Sleeve notes paint the punishing project as an attempt “to reject the creative spark" and focus on “hard work, resourcefulness and intelligence", but January Songs' vast smorgasboard of tasteful and literate art pop merely emphasises Hayman's direct line to the muses. The massed chorale “We're Tired Of Getting Dicked Around" is a “We Shall Not Be Moved" for the Occupy generation.
Stewart Lee's 2012 Fringe kicked off in typically provocative vein, when his Guardian article (headlined 'The Slow Death of the Edinburgh Fringe') delivered an industry-savvy knee to the groin of corporate comedy promoters. While PRs dealt with the aftermath from his wrath, the 25-time Fringe veteran holds court this year at the chandeliered, revamped Assembly Rooms.
Insider knowledge of the comedy game is only one card up Lee’s sleeve. There’s also his signature self-aware, deconstruction tactic, employed with grade-A mastery here. 'I mean the opposite of what I just said,' he condescends after a sarcastic aside. When laughs don't arrive fast enough, he deadpans, a twinkle in his eye: 'you're gonna have to up your game'.
Pedantry, semantics, current affairs and affectionate disdain feature too in a show about his supposed lack of a show, due to fatherhood and being 'creatively spent'. Although the last 15 minutes genuinely sag, making it seem like the biter has bit himself in the bum, the ploy is clever and the good bits still stomach-hurtingly funny.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-11T14:51:45+01:00
Stewart Lee's 2012 Fringe kicked off in typically provocative vein, when his Guardian article (headlined 'The Slow Death of the Edinburgh Fringe') delivered an industry-savvy knee to the groin of corporate comedy promoters. While PRs dealt with the aftermath from his wrath, the 25-time Fringe veteran holds court this year at the chandeliered, revamped Assembly Rooms. Insider knowledge of the comedy game is only one card up Lee’s sleeve. There’s also his signature self-aware, deconstruction tactic, employed with grade-A mastery here. 'I mean the opposite of what I just said,' he condescends after a sarcastic aside. When laughs don't arrive fast enough, he deadpans, a twinkle in his eye: 'you're gonna have to up your game'. Pedantry, semantics, current affairs and affectionate disdain feature too in a show about his supposed lack of a show, due to fatherhood and being 'creatively spent'. Although the last 15 minutes genuinely sag, making it seem like the biter has bit himself in the bum, the ploy is clever and the good bits still stomach-hurtingly funny.
Our hero stumbles onto the stage with a pint, bundle of A4 with unkept hair and grey beard (Julian Assange has let himself go…..Father Abraham from The Smurfs has let himself go…..) for this hastily scheduled Work In Progress show for his Work In Progress show at the weekend. He later reveals that a visit to the doctors earlier that day produced an offer of ‘seated activities for the over 50s’ and the enquiry “have you got someone to look after you at home?”
In the autumn thru spring Stew will have his regular several month residency at the Leicester Square Theatre with ‘Snowflake-Tornado’ and some of the material from this first gig might well appear. So I’m not going to spoil it. An obscure reference garners a response which he hopes will also work in audiences of more than the 60 people crammed into this hot room at 6pm on a Friday in May.
His first sketches of a hour long comedy set are better than some stand ups entire career. Will be fascinating to see how it is honed and perfected between now and October but it went down a storm tonight with Stew wondering “what if this is the best this material ever goes in front of an audience?”
He ends with an ancient piece of material although being Stewart Lee he can’t help but bring his surreal edge to revisiting a comic idea. The whole set obviously has a nervous energy and spontaneity (both planned and genuine) with less of the pausing and chiding of the audience that we’re used to but that only adds to the intensity of the gag rate. Its a genuine treat to see an unpolished but still sparkling diamond this close up
BTW I am sufficiently knowledgeable about the art of comedy to review Stewart Lee but I know funny when I see it
The audience:
Hardcore fans who happened to read an email quick enough to get tickets
It made me think..
Haven’t laughed til it hurt like that in ages. Those moments where you have to remember to breathe and just find yourself involuntarily physically convulsing from a comic idea – that’s magic
Stewart Lee
2019-05-24T16:15:14+01:00
Our hero stumbles onto the stage with a pint, bundle of A4 with unkept hair and grey beard (Julian Assange has let himself go…..Father Abraham from The Smurfs has let himself go…..) for this hastily scheduled Work In Progress show for his Work In Progress show at the weekend. He later reveals that a visit to the doctors earlier that day produced an offer of ‘seated activities for the over 50s’ and the enquiry “have you got someone to look after you at home?” In the autumn thru spring Stew will have his regular several month residency at the Leicester Square Theatre with ‘Snowflake-Tornado’ and some of the material from this first gig might well appear. So I’m not going to spoil it. An obscure reference garners a response which he hopes will also work in audiences of more than the 60 people crammed into this hot room at 6pm on a Friday in May. His first sketches of a hour long comedy set are better than some stand ups entire career. Will be fascinating to see how it is honed and perfected between now and October but it went down a storm tonight with Stew wondering “what if this is the best this material ever goes in front of an audience?” He ends with an ancient piece of material although being Stewart Lee he can’t help but bring his surreal edge to revisiting a comic idea. The whole set obviously has a nervous energy and spontaneity (both planned and genuine) with less of the pausing and chiding of the audience that we’re used to but that only adds to the intensity of the gag rate. Its a genuine treat to see an unpolished but still sparkling diamond this close up BTW I am sufficiently knowledgeable about the art of...
An actual physical 12” EP of Asian Dub Foundation(feat. Stewart Lee)‘s Brexit day number 1 Comin’ Over Here will be out on March 26th and can be pre-ordered here...
Brilliantly, higher shipping costs on ADF’s Anti-Brexit anthem are due to...Brexit, but they will try and circumvent this.
The remixes are of other bits of the Paul Nuttalls routine and work great.
I can’t believe how well the ADF’s made this work. I was their mere tool.
3) TEN BOB/USE LOAF 7”
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album. ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ will be released 15th May on Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
It looks like all the SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO tour dates outstanding from 2020 will be shifted into 2022, starting in Jan, and below are the ones we know about so far. Thanks for bearing through all this with patience.
Local venues will contact you if they haven’t already. All the club dates you may have bought tickets for I will try and slot in in Dec 2021 and Jan 2022, covid willing. Please do not hassle venues about all this. They will contact you. We will get there!
I am planning on re-writing the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO to reflect our drastically altered world and will make as good a recording as possible of the abandoned original SNOWFLAKE available at some point. It's all bacon!
Currently, the following dates have been re-arranged;
Saturday 15th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Tuesday 25th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 28th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Sunday 30th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham
Wednesday 9th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham
Sunday 13th February 2022 - Hippodrome, Birmingham
Friday 25th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 26th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 27th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 28th February 2022 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 2nd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter
Thursday 3rd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter
Wednesday 9th March 2022 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield - TICKETS
Thursday 10th March 2022 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th March 2022 - The Sands Centre, Carlisle - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 26th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 27th March 2022 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd April 2022 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Sunday 24th April 2022 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York TICKETS
Wednesday 4th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 5th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 6th May 2022 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 7th May 2022 - Gala Theatre, Durham - TICKETS
Sunday 8th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 13th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 14th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Sunday 22nd May 2022 - The Grand, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 23rd May 2022 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 30th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Friday 1st July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 (EARLY SHOW) - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 (LATE SHOW) - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the utter bastards.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind.
I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available..
AND THERE's A 3000W ARTICLE ABOUT ITALIAN WESTERNS IN VICE BY ME
A rambling chat in which I fail to promote King Rocker at the expense of a Marxist analysis of culture and history from the inventor of Alternative Comedy ™ ®
Dir Michael Cumming and I discuss King Rocker with Britain’s top film guru and skiffle enthusiast, who has been very supportive of the no-budget project.
Andy Miller and John Michinson’s long running and much loved books podcast. I discuss the waspish poet and novelist Rosemary Tonks with them, Nicky Birch and Jennifer Hodgson.
This is a marvellous ongoing Podcast which is unashamedly civilised in an unenlightened era, and this episode is full of great writing, batshit radiophonic music and clever women.
North London echo chamber fun sure to irk people of all political persuasions with the forensically-minded folk devil for the far right and snowflake do-gooder Owen Jones, and me, talking about King Rocker and more general stuff. His current run of ‘casts has some great guests.
Informed Wolverhampton-based comedy and music enthusiast of uncommon warmth and knowledge talks to me about KING ROCKER and what the Gray Pays ‘n’ Bacon are like at the Great Western pub.
I asked Adam if I could go on this massively popular podcast and he said yes which was very kind of him. It was fun hearing his Mark E Smith story from the horse’s mouth and he asked me hard questions of the type I usually avoid.
I answer questions from various utterly delightful members of the Idler’s thoughtful middle class readership from their wine and book filled homes.
They are the real stars here! You will emerge from watching this in love with at least one of them.
In this episode of The Last Line, James talks to comedian Stewart Lee about his new film King Rocker, a documentary about Robert Lloyd, lead singer of 70’s post-punk band The Nightingales.
During their conversation they discuss the new film, its central protagonist Robert Lloyd, stand up comedy, Stewart’s propensity to defend stand up comedians against the views of the general public and his reluctance to participate in podcast interviews.
There’s an interview with Michael Cumming on this podcast too, link below.
Sometime in March you will be able to hear me eat a really lovely Sri Lankan mutton curry from the Kolama restaurant, Soho, with bon viveur jazz pianist Jay Rayner. (I see how this works now!)
This is the most showbiz thing I have ever done, and I am glad it was with jazzy Jay Rayner.
This is a new series of docu-chats on different esoteric subjects.
You have to pay for them because they are finished pieces of work not just some fuckers talking or wandering about.
I have appeared on three of them - on Hawkwind, Penda’s Fen and John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy.
If you happened to be a fan of short-lived but brilliant early 80s California band TRUE WEST, as I was, you will be delighted to know that the country rock meets Television group’s entire recorded output is headed for an obsolete physical media 3 cd and accompanying 24 page booklet set, but needs a bit of crowdfunding.
My band, which only played four gigs, had a song named after True West’s lead guitarist.
Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (2009) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - Man Machine Poem (2016) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - We Are The Same (2009) ★★★★
Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) ★★★★★
Grant Lee Buffalo - Storm Hymnal (1993-98) ★★★★
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues (1990) ★★★★
Yo La Tengo - President (1989) ★★★★★
Yo La Tengo - Fakebook (1990) ★★★★★
Yo La Tengo - That Is You La Tengo (1991) ★★★★
Yo La Tengo - May I Sing With Me? (1992) ★★★★
Yo La Tengo - Painful (3 cds) (1993) ★★★★
Tim Buckley - Dream Letter (1968) ★★★★★
Those Bastard Souls - Debt & Departure (1999) ★★★★★
Wanderlust - Prize (1995) ★★★★
Chain - Towards The Blues (1971) ★★★★
The Schramms - Omnidirectional (2019) ★★★★
FOOD
Kolamba Sri Lankan restaurant, Soho, London
Daisy’s pasties
Duncan’s bacon sandwich
My Shepherd’s pie, w cabbage
12) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955)
Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942)
Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944)
The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930)
Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006)
Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929)
Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942)
Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950)
Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938)
Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man’s-laughter maker) (1964)
Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960)
Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935)
Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?)
Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939)
Bunny Lee (dubmaster) (1940)
The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770)
Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979)
Jill Paton Walsh (humanist novelist) (1937)
Val Warner (poet) (1946)
Guy N Smith (Lord of The Crabs) (1939)
Richard Corben (decadent cartoonist) (1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho) (1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man) (1945)
- 2021 -
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Celia Drummond Ford (voice of Trees) (1950)
The Happy Man Tree (Stoke Newington Tree) (1870)
John Russell (guitar guru) (1954)
Marcel Uderzo (Asterisk artist) (1933)
Tom Stevens (Long Ryder and Magus) (1956)
Dougie Anderson (Coda’s Edinburgh record dealer (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920)
Rynagh O’Grady (Ted’s Mary) (1954)
Mary Wilson (Supreme) (1944)
Chick Corea (Miles’ tinkler) (1941)
Iain Pattinson (You wanted to see me Prime Minister?) (1951)
U-Roy (Toastmaster) (1942)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (bookstore beat) (1921)
Wink O’Bannon (Eleventh Dream Day) (1956)
Bunny Wailer (Wailer) (1947)
Doug Parkinson (Oz vocal celeb) (1946)
Milford Graves (temporal explorer) (1941)
Johnny Rogan (Byrds’ Boswell) (1953)
Stewart Lee
2021-03-25T17:02:34+00:00
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licóur Of which vertú engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye, So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages, Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The hooly blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. 1) King Rocker Now TV Thanks for watching our documentary KING ROCKER last Saturday on Sky Arts, and spreading the word, and crowd-funding it, if you did. Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times ★★★★ Financial Times ★★★★ Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus “The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman All Press is collecting here. Anyway, it appears you can now watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that; NOW TV LINK 2) COMIN’ OVER HERE 12” An actual physical 12” EP of Asian Dub Foundation(feat. Stewart Lee)‘s Brexit day number 1 Comin’ Over Here will be out on March 26th and can be pre-ordered here... Bandcamp | X Ray Production Brilliantly, higher shipping costs on ADF’s Anti-Brexit anthem are due to...Brexit, but they will try and circumvent this. The remixes are of other bits of the...
ITHELL COLQUHOUN (1906–1988) was a painter and writer who, along with Eileen Agar and Leonora Carrington, one of the best-known English women surrealists.
A friend of André Breton, she was also associated with Aleister Crowley.
Her writing has been compared to that of William Blake and Walter de la Mare – the latter being a fan of her work.
Re-publication of Ithell Colquhoun’s two travelogues, for which I have written a new introduction.
ITHELL COLQUHOUN (1906–1988) was a painter and writer who, along with Eileen Agar and Leonora Carrington, one of the best-known English women surrealists. A friend of André Breton, she was also associated with Aleister Crowley. Her writing has been compared to that of William Blake and Walter de la Mare – the latter being a fan of her work. Re-publication of Ithell Colquhoun’s two travelogues, for which I have written a new introduction. BUY HERE
1. DAMON & NAOMI (and me) LIVE AT CAFÉ OTO, RECODINGS AVAILABLE
In January I hosted 3 nights of Damon & Naomi (Galaxie 500, Magic Hour, Damon & Naomi) at London’s Café Oto.
The encores of each night have come out on bandcamp and it is a very special recording with contributions from Mark Webber of Pulp, Laetitia Sadier of Stereolab & Monade & Source Ensemble, Richard Youngs from Richard Youngs, Jess Hickie-Kallenbach from Still House Plants, Alabaster DePlume from British contemporary jazz, Gina Birch from Raincoats & Red Krayola & Hangovers, and Marie Merlet from Malphino & Monade & Ikocherie, and features the sound of me throwing paper snow at the musicians.
January 3-5, 2026
Encores with friends at Café Oto, London
A Bandcamp exclusive!
Recorded by Billy Steiger
Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Music
“Thank you to the wonderful staff and audience at Café Oto, to Stewart Lee for being our compère and psychogeographical guide, and to all our friends for joining us on these closing sets of “covers.” “ – D&N
It’s the best comedy festival in the world, but don’t tell anyone about it!
We are screening the KING ROCKER movie with Q&A on Saturday morning, I am doing Man Wulf on Sunday, and on Saturday afternoon there’s this...
Joking Apart: Stewart Lee Asks Robert Lloyd to Explain Old Jokes. 2 Pilot episodes of an exciting new podcast featuring Stewart Lee and his mentor, the Birmingham punk legend Robert Lloyd of Prefects, Nightingales and King Rocker repute. Saturday May 2nd, 2 pm, Ysgol Bro Hydden – Main Hall
I am the reader of the audiobook of The Big Midweek, Steve Hanley from The Fall’s book about playing bass for two decades in the greatest British band, against twenty years of social change. You can hear it here...
I am now writing 1000 funny words a week for Carole Cadwalladr’s new on-line newspaper The Nerve, run by people who were sacked or quit when Tories and Telegraph/Times types took over The Observer. It is immediately ace.
Sign up here and it would also really be great if you could pay them £6.95 a month as the 5 women at the helm sunk all their redundancy money into it. Carole understands that the only story in town is how the tech-bros choose what news we see and how we understand the world, and The Nerve will address this head on. The only news that matters.
Please send the link below and this begging request to anyone you can. https://www.thenerve.news
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here
AND! Back in stock! We have restocked our most popular tees including All The Cheeses, YOU CAN PROVE ANYTHING WITH FACTS, "I don't think that, I think the opposite of that", and the hit comic book STEWART LEE VS. THE MAN-WULF tee!
All these are available NOW on preorder and will be shipping on April 11th!
Order now via wax face and love all the different cheeses and tees too!
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals’ new single is featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions. Side a I’m The Man-Wulf. Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit). Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version). Vinyl sides a&b were released on a 7” 45 in January. https://primevals.bandcamp.com
AND all the tracks are now subsumed into a new mega-mix 12” album, including the extended version of the track as a slow blues, and remixes with big beats and jazzy sax that take it in a whole new direction https://primevals.bandcamp.com/album/im-the-man-wulf-lp
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW
UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2026
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
The tragedy of this show is that world events are advancing towards its core conceit at such a speed that it is sharpened daily, even as we as a civilisation head into HELL. But here’s the original blurb...
Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up. The show tours the UK throughout 2026.
Sunday 3rd May 2026 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Wednesday 6th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS
Thursday 7th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS
Friday 8th May 2026 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 9th May 2026 - Richmond Theatre, Richmond - TICKETS
Monday 11th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 14th May 2026 - Floral Pavilion Theatre, New Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 15th May 2026 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 16th May 2026 - Stockton Globe, Stockton On Tees - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
June 2026
Monday 1st June 2026 - 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS
Tuesday 2nd June 2026 - Bord Gais Energy Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS
Wednesday 3rd June 2026 - The Tommy Leddy Theatre, Drogheda - TICKETS
Thursday 4th June 2026 - Millennium Forum, Derry - TICKETS
Friday 5th June 2026 - National Opera House, Wexford - TICKETS
Sunday 7th June 2026 - Opera House, Cork - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th June 2026 - Theatre Royal, Waterford - TICKETS
Sunday 14th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Monday 15th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 18th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Friday 19th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Sunday 21st June 2026 - New Victoria Theatre, Woking - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd June 2026 - Venue Cymru, Llandudno - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th June 2026 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
Thursday 25th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Friday 26th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Saturday 27th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Tuesday 30th June 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
July 2026
Wednesday 1st July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Thursday 2nd July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Saturday 4th July 2026 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th July 2026 - Lyceum, Crewe - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Thursday 9th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Friday 10th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Monday 13th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 14th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th July 2026 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Thursday 16th July 2026 - Perth Theatre, Perth - TICKETS
Friday 17th July 2026 - Eden Court, Inverness - TICKETS
September 2026
Thursday 3rd September 2026 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 4th September 2026 - Pavillion, Weymouth - TICKETS
Saturday 5th September 2026 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 10th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Friday 11th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 12th September 2026 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS
Sunday 13th September 2026 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS
Thursday 17th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS
Friday 18th September 2026 - Castle Theatre, Wellingborough - TICKETS
Saturday 19th September 2026 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Friday 25th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 26th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th September 2026 - Truck Theatre, Hull - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th September 2026 - Truck Theatre, Hull - TICKETS
October 2026
Thursday 1st October 2026 - The Spa Centre, Scarborough - TICKETS
Friday 2nd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Thursday 8th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Friday 9th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 10th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Monday 12th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 13th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 17th October 2026 - Waterside Theatre, Aylesbury - TICKETS
Sunday 18th October 2026 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 23rd October 2026 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Saturday 24th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Sunday 25th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 30th October 2026 - Pavilion Theatre, Worthing - TICKETS
Saturday 31st October 2026 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
November 2026
Sunday 1st November 2026 - Devonshire Park Theatre, Eastbourne - TICKETS
Thursday 5th November 2026 - City Hall, Salisbury - TICKETS
Friday 6th November 2026 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 7th November 2026 - New Wimbledon Theatre, Wimbledon - TICKETS
Monday 9th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Wednesday 11th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 12th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Friday 13th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
December 2026
Friday 4th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 5th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 5th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 10th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 11th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 14th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 15th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 17th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 18th December 2026 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
9. SNOWFLAKE TORNADO / BASIC LEE
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
10. BENEFIT SHOWS
1.ASYLUM AID/HACKNEY MIGRANY CENTRE BENEFIT, EARTH, LONDON, 19th April
Ticket Price: £10 - 40
Doors: 6pm
Age restriction: 16+
Popular entertainment for popular politics. Welcome to The Commons, a live gathering for everyone who’s noticed that everything feels a little bit broken, a little too expensive, and a lot on fire. Let’s talk about why, and how we can unite to change things. Hosted by Taskmaster’s Ivo Graham, The Commons is an evening of comedy, music and politics. While the mainstream media and wealthy elites argue that migrants and refugees are the root of all our problems, The Commons will look past the headlines to ask: Why are we getting poorer? Where is the money going? Who benefits from all of this division?
Expect comedy from Ivo Graham (our host), Stewart Lee, Blank Peng, and Tadiwa Mahlunge alongside speakers including Faiza Shaheen(Executive Director of Tax Justice UK), James Meadway (Director of the Progressive Economy Forum), and organisers from ACORN (the renters and community union) with more to be added.
The Commons is a space to come together, share ideas, laugh (if only to keep from crying), and go forward from in unity.
Change starts with a conversation. Let’s talk. All profits raised will be donated to Asylum Aid and Hackney Migrant Centre.
2.UP THE ANTI, FUNDRAISER FOR THE N LONDON HUNT SABOTEURS, MONDAY JULY 6TH, LECIS SQ THEATRE, LONDON, 8.45 PM
Join an incredible line up of comedians for a night of laughter in aid of the North London Hunt Saboteurs. Featuring Daniel Fox, Harry Badger, James Gill, Horn Walsh, Sue Jerkins, Shappi Coarse-Angling, Alasdair Bear-Baiting, and Stewart Eel.
NLHS take part in direct action to deter and intervene in organised bloodsports in the countryside around London and beyond.
All profits will go to their work.
12. CHURCHILL’S URINAL BY ROSIE HOLT, KING’S HEAD THEATRE, ISLINGTON LONDON 13TH MAY – 6th JUNE
I did a script editing pass on an early draft of this play last year, which was full of great funny ideas about the comedy of the culture war, and contributed some end of the pier gags to lower the tone of an otherwise sophisticated conceit, but it sounds like the writer-performer and the director have really moved it on and massively changed and upgraded the central thrust of it.
I am looking forward to seeing it in its first incarnation.
“Freshly installed in 11 Downing Street, a fearless female Chancellor of the Exchequer is determined to get rid of the ancient urinal in her grace-and-favour en-suite. Intrigue overflows into outrage when it transpires that the porcelain was first tinkled on by that undying icon of Britishness, Winston Churchill. Soon, the whole nation has a view on this storm in a pisspot. Join us for this rambunctious romp through the corridors of power and discover whether our fearless Chancellor’s grip on her Budget red box can survive the clamour for her Whitehall washroom to be awarded a Blue Plaque.
Known for her alter ego MP who has achieved more than seven million views with her online videos, and toured two stage shows nationally, satirist and Chortle award-winner Rosie Holt shares the world premiere of her new play, first seen in a reading at Shedinburgh last year. Directed by Dan Clarkson, whose previous show starring Rosie Holt The Crown Live sold out at the King’s Head Theatre, and whose other credits include Olivier Award nominees Potted Potter, and Potted Panto, as well as Biff To The Future which is currently on an extensive tour.
The Trawl Marina Purkiss and Gemma Forte had me on their unashamedly political podcast. They are twin national treasures. You can find it in the usual places.
Alexei Sayle Podcast I just done this again with the Podfather of Alternative Comedy. Usual outlets.
14. FESTIVALS I will be doing short stand-up sets at the following festivals
I will be doing short stand-up sets at the following festivals
BEARDED THEORY 20TH – 24TH MAY, CATTON PARK DERBYSHIRE https://beardedtheory.co.uk w Pixies, Damned, Maytals, Au Pairs, Nightingales & Ted Chippington. This is a great, friendly festival that totally feels like it is run for the benefit of the people, and it has a brilliant tent called Convoy Cabaret which is all proper hardcore anarcho-punk and traveller music.
DEER SHED 24TH – 26TH JULY, BLADERSBY PARK, N YORKS https://deershedfestival.com Sleaford Mods, Angeline Morrison, New Eves & The Adam Buxton Band. The village fete vibe of indie rock!
GREEN MAN 20TH – 23RD AUGUST, BANNAU BRYCHEINIOG NATIONAL PARKhttps://www.greenman.net
Mogwai, Dry Cleaning, Scientist, Tamikrest, Charlotte Church Pop Dungeon, Motrik, New Eves, My New Band Believe, Madra Salach.
KRANKENHAUS, 28TH-30TH AUGUST, MUNCASTER CASTLE, LAKE DISTRICT. It’s the best music festival in the world but don’t tell anyone about it. Sea Power, House Of All, Laura Cannell, Fallen Women, Stereolab, lectures, talks, walks, mountains. All the fun of the farm!
END OF THE ROAD 3rd – 6th SEPT, LARMER TREE GARDENS, DOREST. Pulp, Lucinda Williams, Caroline, Brighde Chaimbeul, Mozart Estate, David Thomas Broughton, Gnod.
15. CULT NIGHT 30th April Moth Club, London
Weird muso’s Grham Reynolds and Mike Lindsay soundtrack weird films The Portcullis and The Last Sacrifice and I introduce them.
SIMON LOVE Welsh purveyor of a certain kind of vintage indie pop.
2 April - The Waiting Room, London (album launch show)
3 April - Wales Goes Pop, The Gate, Cardiff
26 June - The Fighting Cocks, Kingston-Upon-Thames
28 June - Prince Albert, Brighton (Afternoon show)
BOHMAN BROTHERS AND CO Stunning sound artists the Bohman Brothers appear in various combo’s. April 2nd- Royal Albert, New Cross, London- TBA; April 17th Christ Church, John Marshall Hall, 27 Blackfriars Rd SE1 8NY, Teresa Hackel + Eiko Yamada (recorder duo), Rex Casswell (electric guitar), Phillip Marks (percussion), Paul Obermayer (electronics), Adam Bohman (amplified objects) Doors 7.15pm-Music 7.45pm., Venue- Suggestedfee £8/10 cash or card OTD https://horseimprovclub.wordpress.com/; April 21st, 22nd, 23rd – Café Oto, London Adam Bohman residency, https://www.cafeoto.co.uk/
RUTS DC Reggae-punks on the road. APRIL 4th London Electric Ballroom, MAY 22nd Dunfermline PJs, 28th Glasgow King Tut’s, AUG 21st Dublin Academy No
ROB AUTON The comedian poet philosopher is on tour with a new show called Can. “ This year my new show is an hour long story, written and performed by me. It is about a man who at one point in his life was the world's best motivational speaker, and then something happened. If you would like to come to one I'd love to see you there.” April 9 - Salford- Lowry Quays, April 10 - Lancaster- Dukes, April 11 - Birmingham- Rep The Door, April 15 - Bath- Rondo, April 16 - Cardiff- Sherman, May 2- Machynlleth Comedy Festival, May 26-30 LONDON SOHO THEATRE EXTRA DATES
COSMIC PSYCHOS Australian idiot-savants who have reduced rock and roll, and by association, life itself to its core essentials. Profound. But last time I had to leave ‘cos it was TOO LOUD. APRIL 7th Nottingham Bodega, 8th Glasgow Nice’n’Sleazy, 9th M’cr Pink Room, 10th London Dome, 11th Cardf Clwb Ifor Bach, 12th Brighton Green Door
ANDREW & EDEN KOTTING – THE EVERYWORLD Swedenborg House Gallery, London April 23rd – 5th June. As you may know Andrew is one of my favorite artists/filmmakers/people. He has inspired me for 30 years now and I appeared in a pedalo with Alan Moore in his film Swandown. This new installation is about his family’s life and the things they have accrued and involves the first ever worthwhile use of VR I have ever seen. And it’s at the mysterious and very cool Swedenborg Centre.
THE ROOM Bunnymen/Teardrops-adjacent 80s Liverpool psychedelic survivors return in dishevelled majesty. APRIL 24th Future Yard in Birkenhead 24thApril, 25th Aces & Eights London, SEPT 11TH Future Yard Birkenhead album launch. November 13that Dublin Castle London with St Vitus Dance & Vernons Future.
COWBOY JUNKIES Smoke-suffused Canadian country stoners. APRIL 29th Bath Komedia, 30th Bexhill De-La-Warr, MAY 3rd Edinburgh Queen’s Hall, 6th Sunderland Fire Station, 7th B’ham Town Hall, 11th London Palladium, 14th Norwich & Norfolk Festival
THE UTOPIA STRONG Snooker genius’ Steve Davis’ space-rocking outfit. May 8th N’castle Star & Shadow, 9th N’hampton Black Prince, 15th London St Mattias Stoke Newington, 17th Luton Castle, 20th Glasgow Cottiers, 22nd Cambridge Storey’s Field, 24th St Leonard’s Piper.
THE WAVE PICTURES Brilliant British indie rock band in the vein of Go-Betweens, Loft etc with a West Coast California psyche-blues twist … All the greats. MAY 9th - London @ Bush Hall -TICKETS
THE EX Heroically inspiring Dutch jazz-punks. MAY 20th London 100 Club, 21st B’ham Castle & Falcon, 22nd Glasgow Flying Duck, 23rd M’cr White Hotel.
TAE SUP WI’ A FIFER MAY 20TH – 24THJames Yorkston’s travelling highland roadshow this year features Kate Stables, Phil Jupitas & Kirsty Newton, The Elidas and Yorkston himself and visits MAY 20th St Andrews Byre, 21st Peebles Eastagte, 22nd Crief Strathearn, 23rd Lerwick Mareel, 24th Findhorn Universal Hall. taesup.co.uk
SUGAR Apparently they’ve reformed
05-23 London, England - O2 Forum Kentish Town
05-24 London, England - O2 Forum Kentish Town
05-26 Belfast, Northern Ireland - Ulster Hall
05-27 Dublin, Ireland - National Stadium
05-30 Bristol, England - Electric Bristol
05-31 Nottingham, England - Rock City
06-02 Glasgow, Scotland - Barrowland
06-03 Leeds, England - Irish Centre
06-04 London, England - Clapham Grand
TAMIKREST Malian blues-wranglers in snake-charming mode JUNE 8th Glasgow Rum Shack, 9th Leeds Belgrave, 11th Norwich Arts, 12th Bristol Strange Brew, 13th London Jazz Café, 15th M’cr Band On The Wall, 176th Bristol Hope & Ruin.
BEVIS FROND One of Britain’s all-time greats, frontman Nick Saloman now a 70-something psychedelic survivor still at the top of his game. Will it ever end? JUNE 5th M’cr Pink Room, 7th Edinburgh Sneaky Pete’s, 8th Gateshead Central Bar, 9th Leeds Attic, 10th London Moth Club (hosted by S Lee)
OH-SEES Mighty psyche-punk juggernaut. JULY 14th & 165th Leeds Irish Centre, 16th & 17th London Earth.
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS Hardcore originators. New Cross Inn, London August 10th
LEMONHEADS Melodic hardcore countryfied punk cherub soldiers on
30 Sep: Electric, Sheffield, UK
01 Oct: De La Warr, Bexhill, UK
02 Oct: Troxy, London, UK
03 Oct: UEA, Norwich, UK
05 Oct: Boiler Shop, Newcastle, UK
06 Oct: SWG3, Glasgow, UK
07 Oct: Albert Hall, Manchester, UK
09 Oct: Electric, Bristol, UK
10 Oct: O2 Institute, Birmingham, UK
11 Oct: Rock City, Nottingham, UK
CARLTON MELTON The psychedelic warlords manifest in physical form.
SEPT 17th Hastings Tough Love, 19th London Strongroom, 19th Glastonbury King Arthur, 20th Brighton Daltons, 22nd Cardiff Fuel, 23rd N’hampton Lab, 24th Liverpool Lost Are Skate Shop, 25th Todmorden Golden Lion w Cosmic Dead, 26th MATINEE Todmorden Golden Lion w Cosmic Dead, 27th Margate Bar Nothing
DELINES Cinematic symphonic country rock sophisticates. OCTOBER 2nd Glasgow GUU, 3rd Gosforth Civic, 4th Leeds City Varieties
BUFFALO TOM Former hardcore types mellowed into folkish indie power trio. OCT 6th Belfast Limelight, 7th Edinburgh La Belle Angelle, 9th M’cr Band On The Wall, 10TH London Village Underground
JOHN DOWIE – JESUS MY BOY ALSO the Birmingham godfather of Alternative Comedy John Dowie has a transcript of his great monologue JESUS MY BOY out in paperback which I arrogantly recommend! https://poniesandhorsesbooks.com/product/jmb/
Jesus My Boy: A One-Man Play by John Dowie £11.00
From humble origins at the 1995 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, this one- man play has been performed in translation and in English throughout the world.
“Taking one of the oldest stories in the world, John Dowie achieves the almost impossible feat of giving it a fresh perspective by placing Joseph centre-stage. Marginalised in the Bible as well as in art and literature this is Joseph’s chance to give his version of the Madonna and Child story. Stepping out of the shadows and into the limelight, Joseph shakes off his image of a dutiful but sexless octogenarian and we see instead a man who is warm, funny, vulnerable yet unconditionally loving” Cathryn O’Neill, Glasgow Herald “John
“Dowie’s take on the biblical tale is a touching, affectionate and thoroughly absorbing piece of drama. Yes, there are jokes in this stunning monologue – and a couple of them are real belters – but this is not a rat-a-tat- tat gag fest, but a warm and intelligent treatment of perhaps the best-known tale. This truly is a divine comedy.” Steve Bennett, Chortle
“Jesus My Boy is an unusual hybrid: sympathetic to Christianity yet far from proselytising, intellectually rigorous yet easily acces- sible; simply staged but multi-layered; full of light humour and deep pain; it is, in short, a triumph of contrasts.” Andrew Burnet, The List Edinburgh
Finally, the wonderfully dry American comedian Jackie Kashian, who I did a lovely tour of Australia with 21 YEARS AGO!!!! has a new video/album out.
Gunter Schickert (G.A.M guitar man, 1949)
Amos Poe (He squashed a banana in the street, 1949)
Sly Dunbar (definitive dub drummer, 1952)
Sal Buscema (Marvel mastercraftsman, 1936) Catherine O’Hara (Fucking hilarious, I wish we’d met, 1954)
Philippe Gaulier (Our clown enemy, our clown king, 1943)
Pete Frame (Master music-mapper, 1942)
Kenny Morris (Banshee basher, 1957)
Fred Smith (Low end televisionary, 1948)
Mark Kennedy (Australia’s premier prog-psyche percussionist, 1951) Eliane Radigue (electro-francais, 1932)
John Hammond (Blues believer, 1942)
Walter Martino (The Goblin groover, 1952)
Country Joe McDonald (The psychedelic fishman, 1942)
Augie Myers (The pseudonymous Sir Douglas himself, 1940)
Phil Campbell (Motorheadbanger, 1961) Dolores Keane (De voice of De Dannan and dat, 1953)
John Dee Graham (Skunks originator and US punk facilitator, 1959)
Matt Kwasniewski-Kelvin (Black Midi founder, 2000)
Bob Weir (Now dead deadman, 1947)
TK Carter (The Chef in The Thing, 1956)
Chip Taylor (The Wild Thing, 1940)
Ben Keaton (Father Austin Purcell, 1956)
Terry Cox (He drove the impossible folk-jazz fusion, 1937)
Sam Keith (Quirky comics guy, 1963)
Pete Dello (He could not let Maggie go, 1942)
Andrew Bodnar (He loved the sound of breaking glass, 1954)
Terry Sullivan (Dry Ice drummer, 1938) Sheila Burnette (That funny woman from all those things, 1931)
Diana Green (Omaha The Cat Dancer, 1954)
Alex Pretti (Nurse, 1998)
Stewart Lee
2026-04-02T10:00:28+01:00
1. DAMON & NAOMI (and me) LIVE AT CAFÉ OTO, RECODINGS AVAILABLE In January I hosted 3 nights of Damon & Naomi (Galaxie 500, Magic Hour, Damon & Naomi) at London’s Café Oto. The encores of each night have come out on bandcamp and it is a very special recording with contributions from Mark Webber of Pulp, Laetitia Sadier of Stereolab & Monade & Source Ensemble, Richard Youngs from Richard Youngs, Jess Hickie-Kallenbach from Still House Plants, Alabaster DePlume from British contemporary jazz, Gina Birch from Raincoats & Red Krayola & Hangovers, and Marie Merlet from Malphino & Monade & Ikocherie, and features the sound of me throwing paper snow at the musicians. January 3-5, 2026 Encores with friends at Café Oto, London A Bandcamp exclusive! Recorded by Billy Steiger Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Music “Thank you to the wonderful staff and audience at Café Oto, to Stewart Lee for being our compère and psychogeographical guide, and to all our friends for joining us on these closing sets of “covers.” “ – D&N damonandnaomi.bandcamp.com/album/whats-past-is-prologue-live-at-caf-oto 2. MACHYNLLETH COMEDY FESTIVAL MAY 1ST – 3RD https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/category/year/2026/ It’s the best comedy festival in the world, but don’t tell anyone about it! We are screening the KING ROCKER movie with Q&A on Saturday morning, I am doing Man Wulf on Sunday, and on Saturday afternoon there’s this... Joking Apart: Stewart Lee Asks Robert Lloyd to Explain Old Jokes. 2 Pilot episodes of an exciting new podcast featuring Stewart Lee and his mentor, the Birmingham punk legend Robert Lloyd of Prefects, Nightingales and King Rocker repute. Saturday May 2nd, 2 pm, Ysgol Bro Hydden – Main Hall https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/show/2026/joking-apart-stewart-lee-asks-robert-lloyd-to-explain-old-jokes/ The King Rocker screening is at 11 am on Saturday https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m002qc91 Stewart Lee Vs The Man-Wulf is on Sunday at 1.30 https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/show/2026/stewart-lee-stewart-lee-vs-the-man-wulf-4/ 3. THE...
Many years ago, while wearing a Navajo jacket, I was accused of cultural appropriation. I told the zealot harassing me the jacket was a gift from a Native American shaman-clown, under whom I had studied. She backed down, humiliated, like Major General Arthur St Clair before the forces of Little Turtle and the Potawatomi, at the Battle of a Thousand Slain, on 4 November 1791.
My accuser and I began a short but tempestuous relationship, based on the thrill of committing ever more offensive ideological thought crimes. One sick night, I imagined a public library with deliberately inadequate disabled access, while she made a scale model of a unisex toilet and then vandalised it. Within weeks, our imaginary atrocities exhausted, our twisted affair ended. But I realised there may have been some truth in my ex-lover’s accusations of cultural insensitivity. Luckily, I still had the receipt for the jacket and so I returned the racist garment to Camden market, where I had bought it while shopping drunk months earlier.
The idea of “cultural appropriation” is a minefield, especially in the “political correctness gone mad” times that we live in now, in today’s “politically correct” world of “so-called” “political correctness” “gone mad”. But I don’t doubt for a moment that Michael Gove’s decision to quote the rap singer Stormzy in a tweet on Tuesday was without malice. If Gove isn’t a Stormzy fan how would the blotchy foundling know that the rapper’s hit Shut Up included the phrase “I set the trends dem man copy”? Daniel Hannanananananananan’s decision to reply to Gove’s tweet with the emphatic urban phrase “Big man ting!” is less easy to justify. As the words do not relate to a specific Stormzy lyric, one can only assume Hannanananananananan thought them appropriate simply because Stormzy is black.
It would be interesting to see if Hannanananananananan felt comfortable saying “Big man ting!” in person to a black person – Sir Trevor McDonald, Lizzo, Anthony Braxton, or Michelle Obama for example – while explaining his views on Brexit. “Absolutely nobody is talking about threatening our position in the single market. Big man ting!” In short, would a “Big man ting” in the mouth of Daniel Hannanananananananan seem uncomfortable, or would it be a perfect fit, as if it had always belonged there?
In the interests of full disclosure I must confess that I sing some Stormzy in my current show, Snowflake/Tornado. A line from Crown, “heavy is the head that wears the crown”, helps the audience understand the pressures I have faced since the Times declared me the “world’s greatest living standup”. But no one has suggested that I am racist quoting Stormzy, perhaps because I do not work for a man who has called black people “picaninnies” with “watermelon smiles”.
Minds immeasurably superior to mine have suggested that Gove’s controversy-generating tweet was manufactured on his behalf by culturally savvy Conservative content providers, primed to cause plausible online distractions while dog-whistling to the coveted Arsehole Vote, historically a key part of any Tory victory.
But Dominic Tosser Raab explained last week he thinks “people don’t give a … er … toss about social media”, which is why his party doesn’t spend money on re-editing news footage to smear their opponents online. Except that it does. Never mind. Tosser is probably confused, like when he didn’t know the difference between sea and land. And anyway, if the Conservatives wanted to woo arseholes, they could just let Jacob Rees-Mogg open his mouth, instead of hiding him on a remote Somerset fen, like the flesh-eating recluse played by Don Henderson in The Ghoul (Freddie Francis, 1975), who said his hitchhiker victims deserved to be cooked and eaten because they lacked the common sense to not be cooked and eaten.
It is likely that Gove, however, feels a genuine connection to Stormzy. Both men, for example, have been accused of using class A drugs, a charge Stormzy denies. But a young black man accused of class A usage would face the full force of the law, whereas an elderly white Conservative politician like Gove can admit to having snuffled as much cocaine as he likes and the offence is soon forgotten. Least said soonest mended, I always say. Gove was further traduced for saying Stormzy, who supported the Grenfell fire victims and funds scholarships to Cambridge University, should leave politics alone because he is “a far, far better rapper than he is a political analyst”. Black people, it seems, need to carry on singing and dancing for their masters and leave the thinking to big brains like Michael Gove.
But is this interpretation of Gove’s words unfair? What if Gove is such a Stormzy fan that he is afraid he will lose his idol from music to politics, and then there will be no more of the rap music that he loves? Is Gove trying to put Stormzy back in the black box simply because he loves him too much?
If the online comment sewer is flowing beneath this piece this week, doubtless readers will ask why this column isn’t questioning the Labour party’s ongoing open-goal antisemitism shambles. This is a legitimate criticism, except that we have the entire rest of the media to ask that question repeatedly while, as usual, the Conservatives’ relentless top-down racism remains relatively unexamined.
It’s a startling fact that 25% of the prison population is from a BAME background, whereas none of it is from parliament, perhaps due to the unequal systems of punishment Gove’s non-conviction proves are in play. Had Gove been imprisoned for his drug offences, as he should have been, his fluency in urban slang would have been a great asset inside. “Ah! Stop it!! It hurts!!! My haggis nozzle!!!! Big man ting!!!!!”
Stewart Lee
2019-12-01T22:26:17+00:00
Many years ago, while wearing a Navajo jacket, I was accused of cultural appropriation. I told the zealot harassing me the jacket was a gift from a Native American shaman-clown, under whom I had studied. She backed down, humiliated, like Major General Arthur St Clair before the forces of Little Turtle and the Potawatomi, at the Battle of a Thousand Slain, on 4 November 1791. My accuser and I began a short but tempestuous relationship, based on the thrill of committing ever more offensive ideological thought crimes. One sick night, I imagined a public library with deliberately inadequate disabled access, while she made a scale model of a unisex toilet and then vandalised it. Within weeks, our imaginary atrocities exhausted, our twisted affair ended. But I realised there may have been some truth in my ex-lover’s accusations of cultural insensitivity. Luckily, I still had the receipt for the jacket and so I returned the racist garment to Camden market, where I had bought it while shopping drunk months earlier. The idea of “cultural appropriation” is a minefield, especially in the “political correctness gone mad” times that we live in now, in today’s “politically correct” world of “so-called” “political correctness” “gone mad”. But I don’t doubt for a moment that Michael Gove’s decision to quote the rap singer Stormzy in a tweet on Tuesday was without malice. If Gove isn’t a Stormzy fan how would the blotchy foundling know that the rapper’s hit Shut Up included the phrase “I set the trends dem man copy”? Daniel Hannanananananananan’s decision to reply to Gove’s tweet with the emphatic urban phrase “Big man ting!” is less easy to justify. As the words do not relate to a specific Stormzy lyric, one can only assume Hannanananananananan thought them appropriate simply because Stormzy is black. It...
On Monday, as part of their ongoing fabricated culture war, a desperate Conservative government declared an incoherent assault on “rip-off” degrees. But there is no one left in the duffer-stuffed Conservative government clever enough to defend the idiotic soundbite that is “Crackdown on Mickey Mouse degrees!” And hasn’t Mickey Mouse suffered enough, being painted over by Robert Jenrick, without having his educational opportunities taken away from him too?
The task of eating a half-baked policy pie full of untested opinion goulash live on TV on a Monday morning fell to the hapless MP for Harlow, education minister Robert Halfon, a man who occupies so many contradictory positions as to appear almost without corporeal form, like a Happy Shopper bag swirling round and round in a gust of wind in a bin store behind one of those adult shops on the A1.
In 2013 Halfon voted against same-sex marriage, but in 2019 he voted in favour of same-sex marriage, but only in Northern Ireland, which didn’t seem any more gay than the rest of the UK last time I visited. Presumably, Halfon doesn’t mind what people get up to as long as it’s behind an informal trade border, and in the privacy of their own island, or quarter of an island in this case.
Halfon also voted remain in 2016, so well done to him, but then said he would vote leave in a second referendum, the twat, making him perhaps the only person, faced with the evidence of Brexit’s catastrophic failure and disastrous impact on Britain’s future prospects, to decide to support it having previously opposed it.
To be fair, Halfon’s been good on school meals and utility company profiteering, in the same way as a stopped clock is right twice daily, but is clearly cannon fodder in the Conservatives’ War Against Intelligence ™ ®. Indeed Halfon folded like wet toilet paper in the face of an uncharacteristically tenacious grilling from Susanna Reid on ITV’s Good Morning Britain. (And this toilet paper that is the same as Robert Halfon also has some diarrhoea on it, in case you are wondering. And it is a cat’s diarrhoea too.)
So forensic was Reid, that Richard Madeley just sat back, the foolish mouth that has been the source of so much unintended joy tightly shut, as he enjoyed the spectacle, like a ruddy-faced farmer who’s just set his jack russell terrier on an enfeebled rat.
The Conservatives’ assault on Mickey Mouse degrees hinged on the idea that people should do “good” degrees. But those charged with explaining the policy had been sent into the field without any clear idea of what the word “good” actually meant here, a simple error that anyone who had done a good degree should have picked up on.
“What we’re trying to do is make sure that those who do degrees have good outcomes when they finish their university degree,” Halfon opined. “Would working in a shop be a good outcome for someone who had a history degree?” asked Reid, stalking her prey like a bearded pard in a medieval bestiary. “It might be,” Halfon answered. “It depends what the progression in the shop is. Is there a progression to higher wages in that shop, depending on what job it is that you are doing? We want good progression, we want good earnings and we want good skills.”
Reid smells victory. The word “good” has been bandied about meaninglessly and carelessly by the fool Halfon. Is a “good” job only a job that pays well, or is it possible to dream of a better world where value is not innately tied to money? Not so long ago, the idea was you were privileged to attend a university because you were now one of Thee Ancient Custodians of Knowledge Charged With Enlightening Thee Worlde Beyonde, saving humanity from sliding back into the dark ages. But then Blair said “The more you learn, the more you earn”, made education a business transaction and ruined it. Reid’s furrowed face, clever like one of those tiny velvet monkeys that figure out how to open a Kinder Egg that has fallen out of an Italian aircraft, suggested she appeared to consider making this case. But her eyes were on a bigger prize.
“So people getting higher and higher wages would be the definition of a good outcome,” Reid began, as Halfon surely sensed doom bearing down on him like Catherine the Great’s horse, “and yet you as a government are saying don’t go and ask for higher wages because that’s going to wreck the economy … because it fuels inflation.” Halfon tried to Sunak his way out of it, answering a different question to the one asked – “Well I am aware that we have a very difficult economic challenge. That’s why we have put £97bn on helping people with the cost of living, giving every family over around over [sic] £3,000 a year” – but stopped short of saying his main priority was to stop the boats.
This current crop of Conservatives will never understand the idea that education, and indeed culture, can have an abstract value beyond the financial. The 12 Conservative culture secretaries who have bulldozed their way through the last decade include such oafs as Michelle Donelan, Nadine Dorries, Oliver Dowden, Matt Handcock and Sajid Javid, the last of whom actually acted to protect ticket touts reselling publicly subsidised seats at a profit for personal gain because they were “legitimate entrepreneurs”.
Meanwhile, in April, the Financial Times reported evidence suggesting “A growing number of voters are graduates and they are becoming less likely to back the Conservatives, threatening to redraw the country’s electoral map”. Is it any wonder they don’t want anyone to know anything, to understand anything, to think?
Stewart Lee
2023-07-23T13:06:01+01:00
On Monday, as part of their ongoing fabricated culture war, a desperate Conservative government declared an incoherent assault on “rip-off” degrees. But there is no one left in the duffer-stuffed Conservative government clever enough to defend the idiotic soundbite that is “Crackdown on Mickey Mouse degrees!” And hasn’t Mickey Mouse suffered enough, being painted over by Robert Jenrick, without having his educational opportunities taken away from him too? The task of eating a half-baked policy pie full of untested opinion goulash live on TV on a Monday morning fell to the hapless MP for Harlow, education minister Robert Halfon, a man who occupies so many contradictory positions as to appear almost without corporeal form, like a Happy Shopper bag swirling round and round in a gust of wind in a bin store behind one of those adult shops on the A1. In 2013 Halfon voted against same-sex marriage, but in 2019 he voted in favour of same-sex marriage, but only in Northern Ireland, which didn’t seem any more gay than the rest of the UK last time I visited. Presumably, Halfon doesn’t mind what people get up to as long as it’s behind an informal trade border, and in the privacy of their own island, or quarter of an island in this case. Halfon also voted remain in 2016, so well done to him, but then said he would vote leave in a second referendum, the twat, making him perhaps the only person, faced with the evidence of Brexit’s catastrophic failure and disastrous impact on Britain’s future prospects, to decide to support it having previously opposed it. To be fair, Halfon’s been good on school meals and utility company profiteering, in the same way as a stopped clock is right twice daily, but is clearly cannon fodder in the Conservatives’...
SRO Tickets, the ticketing agency, have now released tickets to the recordings of Comedy Vehicle Series 4 at The Mildmay Club, Stoke Newington.
You can apply to be in the audience for the recordings in December by CLICKING THIS LINK HERE.
As you are subscribed to this newsletter, they have arranged a priority booking system for you.
Please read the email from SRO below for the full information;
"Dear Stewart Lee fan!
Stewart Lee, the most exciting, innovative, unpredictable comedian working in Britain today, is returning to BBC TWO for a new series of the critically acclaimed STEWART LEE’S COMEDY VEHICLE.
Recording over three consecutive nights at the atmospheric Mildmay Club at Newington Green N16, the series sees Stewart tackle a different topic each week in his own inimitable style.
Be there at the recording, so you can begin the backlash before anyone else has even seen it. The show will be recorded on Tuesday 8th, Wednesday 9th & Thursday 10th December 2015 at The Mildmay Club, Newington Green, London.
The company issuing the tickets, SRO Audiences, have put aside some tickets for our members for each show and will allocate these in the order that they receive applications on which the codeword 'FIG' is stated in the 'Comments and other information' box on the application form.
If you have already applied, this will not affect your previous application but a limited number of tickets have been reserved for people on Stewart’s mailing list and only applications which state the codeword in the 'Comments and other information' box will be eligible for these.
You may apply again using the codeword if you wish to do so. Once the Mailing List tickets have been allocated, any further applications will be treated as regular applications and not given any special treatment, so do jump on the SRO Audiences site quickly!
Please note: to be as fair to all of our members as possible nobody will be allocated more than one set of Mailing List tickets and a maximum of two Mailing List tickets will be issued to each applicant. You may therefore apply for one or two tickets using the codeword, but any applications for 3 or more tickets using the codeword will be issued a maximum of 2 Mailing List tickets.
If you would like to apply for a group of 3 or 4 tickets, then do not use the codeword, and your application will be processed along with all of the other applications in the order in which it arrives.
To apply for one or two Mailing List tickets, visit the SRO Audiences site now and apply. The website address is http://www.sroaudiences.com
Dear everyone, SRO Tickets, the ticketing agency, have now released tickets to the recordings of Comedy Vehicle Series 4 at The Mildmay Club, Stoke Newington. You can apply to be in the audience for the recordings in December by CLICKING THIS LINK HERE. As you are subscribed to this newsletter, they have arranged a priority booking system for you. Please read the email from SRO below for the full information; "Dear Stewart Lee fan! Stewart Lee, the most exciting, innovative, unpredictable comedian working in Britain today, is returning to BBC TWO for a new series of the critically acclaimed STEWART LEE’S COMEDY VEHICLE. Recording over three consecutive nights at the atmospheric Mildmay Club at Newington Green N16, the series sees Stewart tackle a different topic each week in his own inimitable style. Be there at the recording, so you can begin the backlash before anyone else has even seen it. The show will be recorded on Tuesday 8th, Wednesday 9th & Thursday 10th December 2015 at The Mildmay Club, Newington Green, London. The company issuing the tickets, SRO Audiences, have put aside some tickets for our members for each show and will allocate these in the order that they receive applications on which the codeword 'FIG' is stated in the 'Comments and other information' box on the application form. If you have already applied, this will not affect your previous application but a limited number of tickets have been reserved for people on Stewart’s mailing list and only applications which state the codeword in the 'Comments and other information' box will be eligible for these. You may apply again using the codeword if you wish to do so. Once the Mailing List tickets have been allocated, any further applications will be treated as regular applications and not given any special...
I had this week’s column nailed by Tuesday teatime, 36 hours ahead of the deadline. Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Fuck-Business Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Johnson was the gift that kept on giving. Piccaninny’s fans had complained that as the neighbours who called the police to his screams-and-swearing-filled flat last Thursday self-identified as Remainers (as do 56% of the population now), their complaint was invalid.
“As anyone who lives in London knows,” the Tuesday version of me wrote, in misguided haste, “the fearful cries of women are so commonplace that one soon learns to ignore them, and I myself am haunted nightly by the bloody and judgmental apparitions of all those I could have rescued. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. What’s done is done.” You get the drift.
Sources sympathetic to Watermelon responded to the police visit on Monday by leaking to friendly news sluices an out-of-date paparazzi-style photo of the happy couple canoodling in what looked like a deserted pub garden. The other drinkers have departed and the landlord wants to lock up, but the young woman listens patiently as the older man explains how he makes model buses out of wine crates.
Except that... Letterbox’s hair was massively longer than it had been the day before, so even if the photo’s provenance was genuine, it proved only that two people who subsequently had an argument had been on friendly terms in a deserted pub garden at some point some weeks, months, or even years, earlier.
I have a photo of myself standing near the late Lewis Collins at the Birmingham motor show in 1978. But I am not there now. I am here, writing this. And Lewis Collins is dead. Time, as we experience it, is linear. And there is nothing even Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Fuck-Business Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Johnson can do about that.
On Tuesday morning on LBC, Nick Ferrari, an ageing collie who shepherds his listeners’ prejudices into a crowded pen and beats them with a stick, allowed his journalistic instincts to triumph over his usual right-leaning bias. The dogged shock jock pressed Bumboys on hair-gate 27 separate times. But Cake avoided the question, 27 separate times, and said the situation was “beyond satire”. But it wasn’t. And my column was crapped out in record time, so I went out on Tuesday night to see the 81-year-old avant-jazz innovator Archie Shepp blow his horn at Ronnie Scott’s, like the liberal elitist I am.
I encountered an old trade union activist friend in the queue, and even had a glass of champagne while I pondered Shepp’s place in the 60s revolution. I was literally a champagne socialist. And it felt good.
At one point the veteran jazzman declaimed civil rights-era poetry over his top-of-the-range trio, spiced with the sort of solos Philip Larkin disparaged, 43 years ago, as “death-to-all-white-men-wails”. Surely the struggle is over now? Shut up, grandad! And play Misty for me! But tonight Shepp was performing in a country whose incoming prime minister writes of “piccaninnies”, and “watermelon smiles”, and consorts with the same white nationalist Svengali that installed Trump in the White House. Battles presumed won are being lost. If Adolf Hitler flew in today they’d send a Boris Bike anyway.
A friendly American tourist next to me laughed, with a degree of schadenfreude, as he told us Fuck-Business’s forthcoming victory meant Britain, too, would now be regarded worldwide as a land of idiots. But my day’s work was done, and in Archie’s orbit nothing could bring me down.
Back home long after midnight, all jazzed up, I turned on the news and realised Piccaninny’s people, with their long-haired-lover photo, had pulled it off. News of Watermelon’s hair had receded into the distance, and with it the relevance of my prematurely completed column. But if jazz teaches me anything, it’s that what’s happening is the show.
The week’s talking point, I had to accept, might now be an image of what appeared to be Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Bullshit Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Fuck-Business Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Johnson, somewhere in the Surrey Hills, French-kissing a dog. Lynton Crosby had already reduced the idea of dog-whistle politics to its logical endpoint, where actual dogs are now kissing his client, with or without being whistled at.
But Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event will have to go further than simply tonguing a terrier if he wants to beat his old rival David Cameron in the sexual-contact-with-animals stakes. And Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop’s human-canine erotic encounter has served its purpose in moving the story on. Typically, sloppy journalists hadn’t done any research into the dog, which was the property of Watermelon supporters, who had presumably been training it to kiss their candidate, perhaps by rewarding it whenever it licked a Tory.
Let’s be clear. There is no suggestion that Wall-Spaffer’s highly sexualised intimacy with the dog was anything but mutually consensual. And yet, can a dog really understand the idea of consent? And even if it consented to kiss Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event, did it also consent to thereby assisting in the imposition of his fraudulent prime ministership?
Meanwhile, imagine this photo. Steve Bannon spreads out before Watermelon a copy of his bible, Jean Raspail’s racist 1973 French science-fiction novel, The Camp of the Saints. “The end of the white world is near, Boris,” Bannon warns Beyond-Satire Johnson.
If a non-Conservative politician, with an indeterminate number of children from a variety of marriages and clandestine affairs, with both humans and dogs, had the police called to his flat the same weekend as an extremist boasted of their close relationship, do you imagine for a moment they would still be standing? The press broke Ed Miliband, remember, on the wheel of an inexpertly eaten bacon sandwich.
Stewart Lee
2019-06-30T15:21:39+01:00
I had this week’s column nailed by Tuesday teatime, 36 hours ahead of the deadline. Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Haircut Inconclusive-Cocaine-Event Wall-Spaffer Fuck-Business Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Johnson was the gift that kept on giving. Piccaninny’s fans had complained that as the neighbours who called the police to his screams-and-swearing-filled flat last Thursday self-identified as Remainers (as do 56% of the population now), their complaint was invalid. “As anyone who lives in London knows,” the Tuesday version of me wrote, in misguided haste, “the fearful cries of women are so commonplace that one soon learns to ignore them, and I myself am haunted nightly by the bloody and judgmental apparitions of all those I could have rescued. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. What’s done is done.” You get the drift. Sources sympathetic to Watermelon responded to the police visit on Monday by leaking to friendly news sluices an out-of-date paparazzi-style photo of the happy couple canoodling in what looked like a deserted pub garden. The other drinkers have departed and the landlord wants to lock up, but the young woman listens patiently as the older man explains how he makes model buses out of wine crates. Except that... Letterbox’s hair was massively longer than it had been the day before, so even if the photo’s provenance was genuine, it proved only that two people who subsequently had an argument had been on friendly terms in a deserted pub garden at some point some weeks, months, or even years, earlier. I have a photo of myself standing near the late Lewis Collins at the Birmingham motor show in 1978. But I am not there now. I am here, writing this. And Lewis Collins is dead. Time, as we experience it, is linear. And there is nothing even Boris...
Fronted by a whispering beatnik, flanked by a Polish dancer and a phalanx of fidgety guitarists, Bristol’s Blue Aeroplanes were the action-painted art-rockers you needn’t fly to New York to find.
Expensively recorded in LA in 1992, a decade into their apparently endless flight, Beatsongs presaged an REM-style breakthough, with its chart-bound bite at the culturally forbidden fruit of Paul Simon's Boy In The Bubble.
But the public eschewed their art school Americana, and The Aeroplanes escaped fame’s Faustian ignominy, to ride the thermals into cherished cultdom.
Stewart Lee
2013-07-14T01:29:08+01:00
Fronted by a whispering beatnik, flanked by a Polish dancer and a phalanx of fidgety guitarists, Bristol’s Blue Aeroplanes were the action-painted art-rockers you needn’t fly to New York to find. Expensively recorded in LA in 1992, a decade into their apparently endless flight, Beatsongs presaged an REM-style breakthough, with its chart-bound bite at the culturally forbidden fruit of Paul Simon's Boy In The Bubble. But the public eschewed their art school Americana, and The Aeroplanes escaped fame’s Faustian ignominy, to ride the thermals into cherished cultdom.
Every year at around this time journalist are asked for their tips for the best shows to see at the Edinburgh Fringe in August. Professional critics can’t just pick all the things they have chosen before and know are the best because, like the low rent entertainers they essentially are, they too need to vary their repertoire to stay on top. I have done the fringe 23 times and have no axe to grind, so the only top tips list you need is this one. But remember, seeing something a bit rubbish that hasn’t really worked is a vital part of the fringe experience, so at least two of these may well be deliberate duds.
1) It’s Always Right Now, Until It’s Later (Theatre, Assembly) The world’s best stand-up comedian, the hair-shirted Yorkshireman Daniel Kitson, presents another of his usually superb theatrical monologues at the typically truculent time of 10 a.m daily. Have a bowl of bittersweet romanticism for breakfast.
2) Hans Teeuwen (Comedy, Pleasance) The Dutch comedian’s no-prisoners approach to the art from takes in stand-up, music, vaudeville, confrontational embarrassment, and dada-ist performance art, and is sure to disappoint and confuse as many as it delights. My wife and I were on the floor laughing during his bongo-powered song about the life of Nostradamus but, to be fair, half the room was just irritated. In the future, when Teeuwen’s genius has been recognised by The British, you will boast that you saw him way back when.
3) Dick Gaughan (Music, Acoustic music centre) One night only, August 25th, from the impossibly intense Scottish folk veteran who makes English people feel thoroughly told off, and leaves Scottish collaborators ashamed. But seriously, the force and focus with which Gaughan, alone at the guitar, delivers his annual Edinburgh set of modern protest songs and ancient folk ballads is a wonder to behold, a force of nature that leaves you shaken up and exhilarated.
4) Harlekin (Dance and physical theatre, Pleasance) The St Petersburg troupe Derevo, whose impossibly imaginative and stunningly precise devised shows have barely visible roots in European clowning traditions, were responsible for the single greatest piece of theatre I ever saw, 2002’s La Divina Comedia, and I am so delighted they are back at The Fringe. In ’97 I shared a venue with them. My warm-up process was drinking a half of lager. Theirs appeared to be discovering entirely new purposes for their limbs. Nightly.
5) Nick Pynn (Music, Inalingua Edinburgh). For the best part of the last decade, Nick Pynn’s intimate one man shows, in the candle lit twenty seater room of a Hanover St language school, have been the festival highlight I save up as a treat. Pynn plays a succession of home-made contraptions and exotic stringed instruments, often simultaneously, using loops and pedals, with naggingly unforgettable tunes that seem to reference half-familiar folk tunes through a prism of borderline avant-garde practise. I liked him so much I toured with him last year and now I am no longer really allowed to recommend him without being nepotistic.
Stewart Lee
2010-07-11T20:27:11+01:00
Every year at around this time journalist are asked for their tips for the best shows to see at the Edinburgh Fringe in August. Professional critics can’t just pick all the things they have chosen before and know are the best because, like the low rent entertainers they essentially are, they too need to vary their repertoire to stay on top. I have done the fringe 23 times and have no axe to grind, so the only top tips list you need is this one. But remember, seeing something a bit rubbish that hasn’t really worked is a vital part of the fringe experience, so at least two of these may well be deliberate duds. 1) It’s Always Right Now, Until It’s Later (Theatre, Assembly) The world’s best stand-up comedian, the hair-shirted Yorkshireman Daniel Kitson, presents another of his usually superb theatrical monologues at the typically truculent time of 10 a.m daily. Have a bowl of bittersweet romanticism for breakfast. 2) Hans Teeuwen (Comedy, Pleasance) The Dutch comedian’s no-prisoners approach to the art from takes in stand-up, music, vaudeville, confrontational embarrassment, and dada-ist performance art, and is sure to disappoint and confuse as many as it delights. My wife and I were on the floor laughing during his bongo-powered song about the life of Nostradamus but, to be fair, half the room was just irritated. In the future, when Teeuwen’s genius has been recognised by The British, you will boast that you saw him way back when. 3) Dick Gaughan (Music, Acoustic music centre) One night only, August 25th, from the impossibly intense Scottish folk veteran who makes English people feel thoroughly told off, and leaves Scottish collaborators ashamed. But seriously, the force and focus with which Gaughan, alone at the guitar, delivers his annual Edinburgh set of modern protest...
The late Seventies garage punks revered their Sixties forerunners, having been hipped to their culturally distant cousins when Patti Smith's guitarist Lenny Kaye assembled the Nuggets compilation of forgotten trash. In a world where time has been kaleidoscoped by the instantaneous availability of everything, the fact that The Fleshtones still sound like 1976 doing 1967, thirty-five years after forming, seems barely noteworthy.
Here, Kaye himself trades licks with his spawn, and though Peter Zaremba's voice is somewhat wedding singer shot, The Fleshtones' faith in fuzz guitars still fizzes.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-08T19:40:30+01:00
The late Seventies garage punks revered their Sixties forerunners, having been hipped to their culturally distant cousins when Patti Smith's guitarist Lenny Kaye assembled the Nuggets compilation of forgotten trash. In a world where time has been kaleidoscoped by the instantaneous availability of everything, the fact that The Fleshtones still sound like 1976 doing 1967, thirty-five years after forming, seems barely noteworthy. Here, Kaye himself trades licks with his spawn, and though Peter Zaremba's voice is somewhat wedding singer shot, The Fleshtones' faith in fuzz guitars still fizzes.
Last Sunday, Le Pen was predicted a 92% landslide; Serge Gainsbourg’s zombie corpse, barely discernible from his living form, rose from the grave and endorsed the Front National; and, apparently, 10-hour queues meant it wasn’t worth busy French metropolitan liberals turning up to vote, as they would not then have time to drink absinthe in Saint-Denis, dance with Moulin Rouge showgirls and pursue their extramarital affairs before bed.
Google the word “France” in the hours up to the first round of the French election and you’d find fake news stories, skewed in support of the anti-EU far right, all over Twitter and Facebook. Writing in this newspaper in February, Carole Cadwalladr revealed how one-third of all traffic on Twitter before the EU referendum was generated by automated “bots” programmed to trend pro-Leave topics, a story that should have gained more ground except that, well, it wouldn’t, would it, obviously.
Sometime around the weekend of 1 April, the comedian Marcus Brigstocke blogged that members of his audiences “walked out every night” when he mocked Brexit. Within days, the Daily Telegraph, the Daily Mail, the Daily Express, Breitbart, ShortList and Spiked all had fake stories suggesting Brexiter audiences also deserting en masse shows by me and a host of unnamed “far left London comedians”(Breitbart). “It’s nice of them to wait until the end and applaud while doing it,” my tour manager noted, drily. But by now, the fake news tsunami was blowin’ hard.
The male grooming freesheet ShortList was among many sources that decontextualised self-aware jokes I had made about my perceived liberal impotence in the face of Brexit, even going so far as to congratulate me for “substantial self-awareness”. Here and on stage, I parody the right’s expectations of liberal comedy, only to have them thrown back at me, free of their moorings, to confirm its ignorant assumptions. In Brexit Britain, we are post-fact, post-irony and post-nuance.
To its credit, the Daily Express changed its timid assertion that I was receiving “scornful glances” from audiences to my suggested correction: “Comedian Stewart Lee, in contrast, claims his career has only been strengthened by Brexit. He has been performing nationwide, with a set that includes 20 minutes of anti-Brexit material and describes Leave voters as ‘c***s’.” Like my twin heroes Eminem and Christ, “I am whatever you say I am!”
I emailed the first 25 standup comedians in my address book to ask them about any experiences of doing Brexit material, which is perhaps the sort of thing you could do if you were a journalist covering the story for a newspaper as part of your actual real job.
Thirteen responded immediately, all but one of whom work nationwide, and all had done Brexit material. The survey comprised, to my tremendous satisfaction, only three heterosexual white English men, alongside a female Irish immigrant, a female white English feminist pensioner, a Northern Irish Catholic heterosexual man, a Jewish American immigrant, a bisexual Englishman, a British Baha’i man, a British Muslim woman, a Canadian immigrant heterosexual man, a white Scottish male Buddhist and a British Hindu man who has nonetheless been vilified for looking like a Muslim in an internet meme.
A majority of 10 of the standup comedians took specifically anti-Brexit positions. “I disagree that it’s career-ending. Comedians have coped with massive political changes before and there’s comfort in using your skills to meet new demands,” said the Irishwoman, philosophically. “I’ve yet to see a reaction to a Brexit joke even ruin a gig, let alone a career. I know there’s a huge change in the country’s attitudes but I still think there’s more non-cunts than cunts,” the Northern Irish Protestant man concluded, with characteristic regional ferocity.
“I had no idea my career was over if I did Brexit material. I thought things were going quite well. My experience is that audiences expect it,” reflected the Muslim woman. The Muslim-looking Hindu comedian, however, revealed that a fight had broken out in Leamington Spa during his anti-Brexit routine but, with shades of high-level Ukip meetings, it had been between two Leave voters who differed over whether he should have been allowed to make jokes about Brexit at all.
I looked at the Twitter identities that had driven the spread of the fake story. Was “Brexpats” a real thing or a lie platform generated by a pro-Brexit data company such as Cambridge Analytica, which currently features in an investigation into whether it gave undeclared free cyber assistance to Leave.EU? Was someone called “Luca Saucedo” really interested in the supposed failure of Brexit comedy, when the rest of his Twitter timeline concerned beachwear and phone wallets? Did “Luca Saucedo” even exist? Was he an anti-EU Kremlin bot, perhaps infected with some kind of sandal and swim trunk virus?
By the end of the fake news week, the anti-EU Daily Telegraph, as if to shore up its dubious story, ran a consolidating opinion piece by “Brexit comedian Simon Evans”. But Evans immediately admitted on Twitter: “The article as I wrote it is more about acknowledging nuance, perspective and not taking consensus in the room for granted. However, a lot of the nuance has, predictably, been stripped and I’m not entirely happy with how it reads… Just wanted to distance myself from ‘Brexit comedian’, which wasn’t the point to me at all.”
Bizarrely, the more moderate Twitter version of “Simon Evans” was now in conflict with the hard Brexit “Simon Evans” identity, created by the Telegraph through judicious subediting, misrepresentative headlines and manipulative picture captioning of irrelevant photo-montages.
I emailed what I assume is the real Simon Evans nearly three weeks ago now to ask him if he had been solicited by the Daily Telegraph, with the brief of substantiating its position, but he does not respond. Does “Simon Evans” even exist? Are he and sandal- and swimwear-loving Luca Saucedo different manifestations of the same algorithmically generated, Putin-backed, anti-EU mechanism, weaponising falsehoods to destabilise Europe and crush the saboteurs?
Or am I the fictional entity, braindead somewhere on life support, dreaming of nightly applause for my anti-Brexit witticisms as I pass 100,000 tour ticket sales, when in fact I made a failed suicide attempt weeks ago, sick of being booed off from Land’s End to John O’Groats, just as the papers said?
And who are you, reading this and choosing to retweet it? Are you real? Would you even know if you weren’t? Are you a program created to think like a person? Am I? Is this how it is now? For ever? Fake news all the way down.
The real Stewart Lee is touring his new show Content Provider throughout 2017; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-04-30T17:43:27+01:00
Last Sunday, Le Pen was predicted a 92% landslide; Serge Gainsbourg’s zombie corpse, barely discernible from his living form, rose from the grave and endorsed the Front National; and, apparently, 10-hour queues meant it wasn’t worth busy French metropolitan liberals turning up to vote, as they would not then have time to drink absinthe in Saint-Denis, dance with Moulin Rouge showgirls and pursue their extramarital affairs before bed. Google the word “France” in the hours up to the first round of the French election and you’d find fake news stories, skewed in support of the anti-EU far right, all over Twitter and Facebook. Writing in this newspaper in February, Carole Cadwalladr revealed how one-third of all traffic on Twitter before the EU referendum was generated by automated “bots” programmed to trend pro-Leave topics, a story that should have gained more ground except that, well, it wouldn’t, would it, obviously. Sometime around the weekend of 1 April, the comedian Marcus Brigstocke blogged that members of his audiences “walked out every night” when he mocked Brexit. Within days, the Daily Telegraph, the Daily Mail, the Daily Express, Breitbart, ShortList and Spiked all had fake stories suggesting Brexiter audiences also deserting en masse shows by me and a host of unnamed “far left London comedians”(Breitbart). “It’s nice of them to wait until the end and applaud while doing it,” my tour manager noted, drily. But by now, the fake news tsunami was blowin’ hard. The male grooming freesheet ShortList was among many sources that decontextualised self-aware jokes I had made about my perceived liberal impotence in the face of Brexit, even going so far as to congratulate me for “substantial self-awareness”. Here and on stage, I parody the right’s expectations of liberal comedy, only to have them thrown back at me, free of...
Stewart Lee's celebration and demolition of the 18th-century double act Johnson and Boswell is not so much a play as a conceit, but it's a clever one. Taking the form of a 20th-century book launch for Boswell's tome, it has the puppyish Boswell (Miles Jupp) trying to get Johnson to perform, as much in the interests of commerce as hero worship. Billing Johnson as "the greatest wit of our day and yours", Boswell incriminates himself as he announces with glee: "I wrote down everything he said - and sold it."
Astonished that the Scots might be found at any literary event, man of letters Johnson (Simon Munnery) refuses to play the celebrity book-signing game and makes his lack of pleasure at being back in Scotland quite clear. "As a dog returns to his vomit, so I have returned to the land of the deep-fried pizza," he declares. His response to the "Welcome to Scotland" road signs is to drawl dryly, "Indeed, you are welcome to Scotland." As eagerly as Boswell lauds his birthplace, Johnson puts it down: "To say that a Scot speaks English is to say a dog eats a bone - when he merely mauls it."
To a great degree, this is just a stand-up set with costumes taking place in a theatre. Those with little knowledge of the duo may be slightly at sea, but the piece successfully transposes Johnsonian wit from one century to another as Johnson demolishes the Scottish way of life and speech. ("The Scots have no use for letters - particularly consonants.")
There may be something more serious to be said about the nature of celebrity and mythmaking, but the pleasure here is in watching Jupp and Munnery play off each other. Any man who is tired of that is tired of life.
· Until August 26. Box office: 0131-228 1404.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-09T19:36:52+01:00
Stewart Lee's celebration and demolition of the 18th-century double act Johnson and Boswell is not so much a play as a conceit, but it's a clever one. Taking the form of a 20th-century book launch for Boswell's tome, it has the puppyish Boswell (Miles Jupp) trying to get Johnson to perform, as much in the interests of commerce as hero worship. Billing Johnson as "the greatest wit of our day and yours", Boswell incriminates himself as he announces with glee: "I wrote down everything he said - and sold it." Astonished that the Scots might be found at any literary event, man of letters Johnson (Simon Munnery) refuses to play the celebrity book-signing game and makes his lack of pleasure at being back in Scotland quite clear. "As a dog returns to his vomit, so I have returned to the land of the deep-fried pizza," he declares. His response to the "Welcome to Scotland" road signs is to drawl dryly, "Indeed, you are welcome to Scotland." As eagerly as Boswell lauds his birthplace, Johnson puts it down: "To say that a Scot speaks English is to say a dog eats a bone - when he merely mauls it." To a great degree, this is just a stand-up set with costumes taking place in a theatre. Those with little knowledge of the duo may be slightly at sea, but the piece successfully transposes Johnsonian wit from one century to another as Johnson demolishes the Scottish way of life and speech. ("The Scots have no use for letters - particularly consonants.") There may be something more serious to be said about the nature of celebrity and mythmaking, but the pleasure here is in watching Jupp and Munnery play off each other. Any man who is tired of that is tired of life....
Guitarist Billy Jenkins's new release, True Love Collection, a set of seven 1970s pop standards, has more in common with Vic Reeves'snovelty cash-in record I Will Cure You than with any of the innovative music he's made in the past two decades. "Well, I'm getting older and trying to cross over a bit more to a slightly wider audience," he offers, almost apologetically. "Trying to broaden the parameters. Maybe I'm dumbing down?" After 20 years of defining the fringes of British jazz, Jenkins has left it a little late to "dumb down".
To talk to Jenkins, or see him live - raggedy hair falling around his Playdoh face as he shoots false starts at his gleefully supportive ensemble - there's no doubting his sincerity. But jazz fans might find his apparent irreverence a stumbling block. "Jazz is the one medium where kineticism is supposedly the name of the game," he says, "but it is held back by the attention paid to past recordings, to old documented dead music that stops musicians being able to
breathe." Like a great juggler pretending he's about to drop a plate, Jenkins thinks that entertaining is part of his job, and making what he does look throwaway sometimes is part of the fun. "Most music takes place in licensed venues because it's about having a good time," he elaborates. "Making records is a different thing. When you get my record home, I want you to sit and worship at the serious altar of your CD system."
Jenkins has had plenty of opportunity to work out his philosophy. Born in 1957, by the mid-1970s he had already made two albums for Arista records with his jazz-rock band Burlesque, and returned home from shows in Holland to find his Bromley schoolfriends raving about
the Sex Pistols. Already a little jaded, Jenkins waved off his friends, future Banshees Siouxsie Sioux and the young Billy Idol, into the nascent punk scene. "I thought they were all being sheep. I remember, though, we'd just decided we were playing too fast in Burlesque, so just as punk came along, we halved the speed of everything."
Riding the crest of the next cultural wave, Jenkins formed Trimmer and Jenkins, a musical-comedy double act whose prank of trying to get a pro-CND song adopted as the new national anthem led to questions being asked in the House of Lords. Trimmer and Jenkins headlined over Alexei Sayle in the early days of The Comic Strip comedy club, and provided general musical accompaniment to the young Nigel Planer and French and Saunders. "We got fed up with all the brown-nosing and Grouchoing, and we met Robin Williams and decided he had a big ego and he smelt, so we quit, and then Roland Rivron's Raw Sex took our job."
In 1983 Jenkins started working in a recording studio in Greenwich, and it was watching the 21-piece big band Loose Tubes rehearse that rekindled his musical ambition. "I was attracted particularly to saxophonist Iain Ballamy's arrogance, and I thought, 'Here are some musicians I could work with.' Jazz has been killed by overeducation, by conceptualising things. But I was a rock guitarist throwing lines at Ballamy, lines he'd never have got with jazzers, and he was
responding to them." It was from these meetings that Jenkins's loose Voice of God Collective took shape, though to describe himself as a "rock guitarist" is something of an oversimplification, and his impulsive, noisy, discordant soloing, a style he called Spazz, is the
distinctive feature of most of his 1980s work.
The CD compilation First Aural Art Exhibition samples definitive Jenkins moments from 1984 to 1991, for the most part a series of perfectly observed pastiches set up by sensitive collaborators, ready for him to scribble all over. Scratches of Spain, from 1987, arguably his finest album from the period, is packaged exactly as the Gil Evans and Miles Davis masterpiece, Sketches of Spain, except that the silhouette of a noble bull is replaced by a depressed-looking donkey. This isn't the Spanish spirit of Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez,
either, but the paper party hat, package-tour tragedy of tracks such as Benidorm Motorway Services and Monkey Men, trumpets swarming amid the castanets like irritating Mediterranean insects. Cooking Oil, a mournful and dignified cello lament from which Jenkins's skittering guitar is notably absent, is hugely emotionally affecting, uncomplicated by any humour or irony.
Much of Jenkins's recent work has seen him step back further from the foreground. His collaborations with the German quartet the Fun Horns were among his most exciting recordings, and made for some thrilling live shows, his guests responding indulgently to his deliberate false starts and tendency to tear up their music in front of them. Mayfest 94, 1994's rough-and-ready live album, is an astonishing display, and sounds like it was conducted by Carl Stalling, the inspirational journeyman who scored the Bugs Bunny cartoons.
It's a comparison that pleases Jenkins. "I see what I'm doing as aural cartoons of scenes I've observed. I'm a suburban boy, and I write music inspired by the things I see around me." Jenkins's cartoon compositional style and suburban reference points meet most satisfyingly in 1997's Still Sounds Like Bromley, where a bustling eight- piece band evokes the changing fortunes of a satellite town. The record ends with Jenkins singing a litany of names of former
Bromley residents, the departed 1970s proto-punks among them, and relieves any listener of the need to visit Bromley.
Jenkins excuses the 1970s pop covers that make up the new album, True Love Collection, by virtue of their place in his youth, but in trying to make a more commercial record he has delivered one of the oddest ones of his career. Apart from the occasional moment of musical
virtuosity and Jenkins's Telly Savalas-style vocals, these versions of Yesterday Once More and How Deep Is Your Love can sound like Barbara Dickson backing tracks, only Sunny and Dancing in the Street recalling the Voice of God Collective. However, each track is preceded by a two-minute instrumental "invocation", in which the band, including Ballamy and Django Bates, the former Loose Tubes keyboard player, grope mysteriously towards the main theme, delivering a brief moment of pure joy as they stumble into it. But even Jenkins admits the idea has limitations. "We'd go into a trance-like state, and then, when everyone was bedded in, I'd count them in. It's a one-shot gag, but it works, once. Between you and me, I had to put the invocations on just to get some Performing Rights Society money."
The day before we spoke, Jenkins had just finished scoring a piece for a string quartet called Suburbia, which he claims to have been working on for 25 years, and says he's now looking forward to staying at home for a bit and playing nothing but blues guitar. In the immediate future he says he hopes to sell more than 5,000 copies of the next album and make a bit more money, before signing off with the usual grumbles about how arts funding goes to all the wrong
musicians. "The thing about me," says the great unrecognised genius of south London, with a mixture of pride and regret, "is that I can't bullshit."
Stewart Lee
1998-05-31T17:20:32+01:00
Guitarist Billy Jenkins's new release, True Love Collection, a set of seven 1970s pop standards, has more in common with Vic Reeves'snovelty cash-in record I Will Cure You than with any of the innovative music he's made in the past two decades. "Well, I'm getting older and trying to cross over a bit more to a slightly wider audience," he offers, almost apologetically. "Trying to broaden the parameters. Maybe I'm dumbing down?" After 20 years of defining the fringes of British jazz, Jenkins has left it a little late to "dumb down". To talk to Jenkins, or see him live - raggedy hair falling around his Playdoh face as he shoots false starts at his gleefully supportive ensemble - there's no doubting his sincerity. But jazz fans might find his apparent irreverence a stumbling block. "Jazz is the one medium where kineticism is supposedly the name of the game," he says, "but it is held back by the attention paid to past recordings, to old documented dead music that stops musicians being able to breathe." Like a great juggler pretending he's about to drop a plate, Jenkins thinks that entertaining is part of his job, and making what he does look throwaway sometimes is part of the fun. "Most music takes place in licensed venues because it's about having a good time," he elaborates. "Making records is a different thing. When you get my record home, I want you to sit and worship at the serious altar of your CD system." Jenkins has had plenty of opportunity to work out his philosophy. Born in 1957, by the mid-1970s he had already made two albums for Arista records with his jazz-rock band Burlesque, and returned home from shows in Holland to find his Bromley schoolfriends raving about the Sex Pistols. Already...
On Heavy Rocks, the durable Japanese trio Boris interrogate and deform standard metal, underground and hard rock moves to the point where they become borderline avant-garde gestures. Riot Sugar is a pulsating riff that resolutely refuses to evolve.
Leak-Truth Yesnoyesnoyes begins with the explosive psychedelic wig out you usually find at the end of a song.
The cautiously tuneful arpeggios of Missing Pieces are interrupted by a two minute edit of aircraft noise. A second, simultaneously released, album, Attention Please, defies attempts to define the band, jettisoning rock postures for electronic textures, as Boris' female guitarist Wata takes lead vocals on a set of claustrophobic, ambient pieces.
See You Next Week and You suggest a breathless Bjork in a bathysphere, and are especially beautiful.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-25T01:51:10+01:00
On Heavy Rocks, the durable Japanese trio Boris interrogate and deform standard metal, underground and hard rock moves to the point where they become borderline avant-garde gestures. Riot Sugar is a pulsating riff that resolutely refuses to evolve. Leak-Truth Yesnoyesnoyes begins with the explosive psychedelic wig out you usually find at the end of a song. The cautiously tuneful arpeggios of Missing Pieces are interrupted by a two minute edit of aircraft noise. A second, simultaneously released, album, Attention Please, defies attempts to define the band, jettisoning rock postures for electronic textures, as Boris' female guitarist Wata takes lead vocals on a set of claustrophobic, ambient pieces. See You Next Week and You suggest a breathless Bjork in a bathysphere, and are especially beautiful.
‘Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. Police investigators that pore professionally over horrific imagery online have counselling and mental health support. This week I’ve followed the news from Musk’s America for the sake of another supposedly funny Observer column, and no one’s checking to see if I’m coping. I’m going to go to CEX here in St Albans tomorrow to score a second-hand copy of Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust, just for some light relief.
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. I asked to file this week’s supposedly funny column a day later than usual, hoping there might be some glimmer of hope by 4pm Wednesday. On Monday night I went out to do my standup show at Dorking Halls, and four hours later, when I got back to my hotel, the routine I’d just performed about America’s new leader Elon Musk was already irrelevant, white supremacists worldwide delighted that he appeared to have given two full-on Nazi salutes to the faithful. I didn’t have that on my Trump inauguration ceremony bingo card.
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. To be fair to Musk, maybe the Nazi salute was just an unfortunate choice of gesture, made by a sleepless ketamine-gobbler. Who can honestly say they have never accidentally sieg-heiled a victory rally, twice, while also having a history of promoting far-right parties in Europe? I know I have. Although as Oscar Wilde, a classic diversity hire, might have said, “To sieg-heil the Magas once, Mr Musk, may be regarded as a misfortune; to do it twice looks like carelessness.“
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. If Trump’s abandonment of environmental targets in the face of short-term economic goals didn’t mean our doom, already sealed anyway, was now going to be a lot quicker and nastier, I’d be laughing at the epic idiocy of the whole thing. Trump did it. He actually did it. He actually said he was “saved by God to make America great again”. And he did it on the day America celebrates Martin Luther King, a man whom the same God presumably didn’t feel was worth saving when an assassin took a pot shot at him. Them’s the breaks. God’s unpredictable like that. He can’t be expected to be everywhere at once. He’s not … oh …
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. However, I found comfort in a strange place. There was a meeting of the local chapter of Reform in the bar of my Dorking hotel, the White Horse, before I went out last night, which ended with a bucket being passed round, either for donations, or for reasonable people to vomit into. How do these donations get declared and processed I wonder, when “the party” is a limited company, with three shareholders? And when one of whom, Richard Tice, is now splitting his time between his Skegness constituency and Dubai, which is actually twinned with Skegness, where he lives it large under Sharia law? Is any change in the bucket split three ways at the end of the night and paid out as shareholders’ dividends? Or is it just put behind the bar, which had conspicuously run out of both Guinness and Doom Bar when I got back at 10.45?
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. Meanwhile, over at the main event, Reform’s chief shareholder Nigel Farage, having failed to get into the Elon Musk Historical Military Salute Show, was posing delightedly for photos with the martial artist Conor McGregor, supporting his fellow sex abuser Donald Trump, having recently paid €250,000 in damages to a woman who said he raped her. Perhaps Farage feels that McGregor, like the monetised misogynist and suspected sex trafficker Andrew Tate, is “an important voice” for men. Pass me the Dorking White Horse Reform bucket please.
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. But mulling later on Reform in the White Horse bar, I realised it’s possible that Musk and Trump’s fascist project will fail. In a May 2024 poll, only 31% of people still supported leaving the EU, and many of those will be dead by now anyway. Having seen the damage Brexit has done here, in France even Marine Le Pen’s far-right Rassemblement Nationale has quietly dropped the idea of actually leaving the hated EU. Maybe Farage’s legacy will have been to have inoculated Eurosceptics. Britain’s suffering and Britain’s sacrifice will, once again, have saved continental Europe. Wear your Ukip Keep The Pound badge with pride!
“Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. Do Americans really hate their LGBTQ+ neighbours and family members so much they want to see them excluded from public life? Do they really hate environmentalists so much they want to burn their own world down out of spite? Will it feel good to watch the planet cease to function just because they know it will upset the singer from Green Day? Do Americans really hate their native peoples so much they want to see them humiliated on a grand, if petty, scale by having their mountains renamed, again, after dead white men? Unless the functional apparatus of democracy is totally dismantled, and the new government’s tech-bro servants manage to warp the flow of news irreparably, it’s likely that a second dose of Trump might, just as Brexit discredited Farage’s ideas, cure America of its fondness for fascism. We can only hope.
Right. I have to file this in 30 minutes. One last look at the news. What? The Ku Klux Klan are giving out recruitment flyers in Kentucky telling immigrants to “leave now’? “Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani?”
Stewart Lee
2025-01-26T22:32:42+00:00
‘Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. Police investigators that pore professionally over horrific imagery online have counselling and mental health support. This week I’ve followed the news from Musk’s America for the sake of another supposedly funny Observer column, and no one’s checking to see if I’m coping. I’m going to go to CEX here in St Albans tomorrow to score a second-hand copy of Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust, just for some light relief. “Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. I asked to file this week’s supposedly funny column a day later than usual, hoping there might be some glimmer of hope by 4pm Wednesday. On Monday night I went out to do my standup show at Dorking Halls, and four hours later, when I got back to my hotel, the routine I’d just performed about America’s new leader Elon Musk was already irrelevant, white supremacists worldwide delighted that he appeared to have given two full-on Nazi salutes to the faithful. I didn’t have that on my Trump inauguration ceremony bingo card. “Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. To be fair to Musk, maybe the Nazi salute was just an unfortunate choice of gesture, made by a sleepless ketamine-gobbler. Who can honestly say they have never accidentally sieg-heiled a victory rally, twice, while also having a history of promoting far-right parties in Europe? I know I have. Although as Oscar Wilde, a classic diversity hire, might have said, “To sieg-heil the Magas once, Mr Musk, may be regarded as a misfortune; to do it twice looks like carelessness.“ “Abba, selach ’ethon la nakhru mah h’mon pelalin!” Flood the zone with shit. If Trump’s abandonment of environmental targets in the...
John Cage’s Indeterminacy (1959) is published as ninety story cards to be read out loud in a random order. By turns thoughtful and banal, funny and sad, the cards form an unconnected batch of anecdotes and digressions, parables and paradoxes, with a lot about Buddhism and mushroom husbandry.
Cage is famed for generating music using ‘chance operations’ and then scoring these. Here there is no score. The ‘indeterminacy’ is not in the composition but the performance. More than you’d expect even from Cage’s work, there can’t be two alike performances. In 1959 Cage recorded it with David Tudor (the pianist who gave the first performance of 4’33”). Tudor mixed up elements from earlier recordings while Cage read, and neither could hear each other.
Six years ago, free improvisers Tania Chen and Steve Beresford and comedian Stewart Lee revived Indeterminacy for live performance. Compared to the last time they presented it at Cafe Oto, Lee’s signature deadpan delivery has warmed a little, and, while Chen and Beresford’s employment of toys borders on whimsical, this is to express a point.. Rather than trying to earnestly mimic Cage and Tudor’s ‘deaf’ recording method, they exploit a crucial ambiguity about whether they’re supporting or working against the text, and whether any of it is serious. Not unlike the outlandish sound effects on Spike Jones records, a comedy of disruption is set up.
They don't just play it for laughs but the laughs come easily. Each of the forty randomly chosen cards has to take a minute to read, regardless of length, resulting in comic variability of pace. The text jumps from between philosophical kōans and ruminations on mycology. At a table festooned with an eye- and ear-popping jamboree of brightly coloured toys, Chen and Beresford generate every sound from silly to scary.
At times Lee is drowned out by the racket of Beresford letting wind-up toys loose on the strings inside the piano or Chen releasing air slowly and squeakily from a balloon. Cage and Tudor’s 1959 recording revelled in the drowning. Cage explained that “a comparable visual experience is that of seeing someone across the street, and then not being able to see him because a truck passes between.”
An interesting meta-disruption occurs when a metal barrel at the back of venue clatters to the ground. Chen and Lee look up. There’s an audience laugh and a break in the spell, like a sonic heckler. Contrary to what one might think (and unlike in 4’33” where the experience centres on the ‘noises off’) performances of Cage are really about the interaction between the performers and the composition rather than on the whims of chance operations or metal barrels. Tensions between composition and improvisation are magnified, and sometimes we’re not sure whether to furrow our brow or laugh out loud. Cage’s comedy of disruption forces us to think for ourselves. This concert was recorded by BBC Radio 3's Hear and Now, and will be transmitted on Saturday 25th May at 10pm
Stewart Lee
2016-04-27T11:36:57+01:00
John Cage’s Indeterminacy (1959) is published as ninety story cards to be read out loud in a random order. By turns thoughtful and banal, funny and sad, the cards form an unconnected batch of anecdotes and digressions, parables and paradoxes, with a lot about Buddhism and mushroom husbandry. Cage is famed for generating music using ‘chance operations’ and then scoring these. Here there is no score. The ‘indeterminacy’ is not in the composition but the performance. More than you’d expect even from Cage’s work, there can’t be two alike performances. In 1959 Cage recorded it with David Tudor (the pianist who gave the first performance of 4’33”). Tudor mixed up elements from earlier recordings while Cage read, and neither could hear each other. Six years ago, free improvisers Tania Chen and Steve Beresford and comedian Stewart Lee revived Indeterminacy for live performance. Compared to the last time they presented it at Cafe Oto, Lee’s signature deadpan delivery has warmed a little, and, while Chen and Beresford’s employment of toys borders on whimsical, this is to express a point.. Rather than trying to earnestly mimic Cage and Tudor’s ‘deaf’ recording method, they exploit a crucial ambiguity about whether they’re supporting or working against the text, and whether any of it is serious. Not unlike the outlandish sound effects on Spike Jones records, a comedy of disruption is set up. They don't just play it for laughs but the laughs come easily. Each of the forty randomly chosen cards has to take a minute to read, regardless of length, resulting in comic variability of pace. The text jumps from between philosophical kōans and ruminations on mycology. At a table festooned with an eye- and ear-popping jamboree of brightly coloured toys, Chen and Beresford generate every sound from silly to scary. At times...
Kawabata Makoto's bands - Musica Transonic, Mainliner, Acid Mothers Temple - have a cannibalistic relationship with the underground's first flowering, regurgitating exaggerated forms of psychedelia, hard rock and proto-punk.
Here he teams with a genuine first generation innovator, the percussionist Mani Neumeier of the Seventies krautrockers Guru Guru, a kind of free jazz Stooges.
On five spontaneous compositions, ranging between three and twenty minutes, Neumeier plugs all available space with clattering splashback, forcing Makoto out of his curatorial comfort zone, his guitar playing here more reminiscent of the spiky improviser Derek Bailey than any of the long-haired legends he usually channels.
Stewart Lee
2011-04-03T21:07:32+01:00
Kawabata Makoto's bands - Musica Transonic, Mainliner, Acid Mothers Temple - have a cannibalistic relationship with the underground's first flowering, regurgitating exaggerated forms of psychedelia, hard rock and proto-punk. Here he teams with a genuine first generation innovator, the percussionist Mani Neumeier of the Seventies krautrockers Guru Guru, a kind of free jazz Stooges. On five spontaneous compositions, ranging between three and twenty minutes, Neumeier plugs all available space with clattering splashback, forcing Makoto out of his curatorial comfort zone, his guitar playing here more reminiscent of the spiky improviser Derek Bailey than any of the long-haired legends he usually channels.
Author note: Stewart Lee is a stand up comedian who has worked in both British radio and television. He is best known for the BBC series 'Lee and Herring', 'Fist of Fun' and 'This Morning, with Richard not Judy' which he co-wrote and performed with Richard Herring. Can good performance comedians become talented novelists? Against the ominous backdrop of Robert Newman's dire 'Dependence Day', Stewart Lee has now picked up the torch. This is his first novel.
The story is alternately told in South London and the desert wastelands of Arizona, displaying a cast of cross-cultural and world-weary characters. Some are desperate and running, but most initially seem resigned to what fate has given them. Sometimes this is the symptom of suburban drug culture, sometimes a result of psychiatric illness, but the general effect is to make them too acceptant to realise they still have options. Common to all the major characters is the inability to move on with their lives until completing a personal quest of one form or another. This factor is the writer's device to make the central players stand out from their surroundings.
Meet Sid & Danny - friends from a dismal tribute band who missed their ticket to stardom by leaving a group that went on, rather annoyingly, to make it big. They're not bitter of course, or at least they won't be until they run out of spliffs. There's the Golumn-like Peter Rugg, who lost a cigarette butt down the back of a sofa years before and, a true searcher, is devoting his existence to finding it. Rugg's devotion marks this small aspect of the story as a modern age grailquest that has echoes in every other central character's life. Another strong thread is the looming iconic figure of Luther Peyote, the long forgotten musical hero that draws Sid & Danny across the world. A man who managed to live hard, burn out and still got to fade away. Luther has a life like a waking dream and does not comprehend how others may idolise him. He starts the story more as an object than a person, as Sid & Danny feel driven to make their peace with him before their creative lives can restart. Luther himself is happy to be left alone in his backwater, ignorant of fate's need for him to show what he can do in the eventual cathartic healing process required to provide a satisfying close to the story.
Lee's fully formed characters don't stop there as more lifestories are gradually added to the mix and explored: Bob Nequatewa ('The Perfect Fool' of the title) is the last of the traditional Hopi Indian clowns, and as such belongs to a past being swept aside by the forces of cultural change. One poor man, about to be sectioned for vaguely suspecting he's an astronaut, cracks away at a keyboard in the café Cyberama until Sid & Danny sadistically confuse him with their re-cycled conspiracy theories. Tracey is a suspected felon, always moving on and somehow locked into an eternal savage road-movie. She is aware of her unrelenting fate and stoical when losing every man she meets to self destruction. She reflects the Hopi Indian legend the reader is given; of Kohkang Wuhti the spider woman who makes pairs of people out of clay, but occasionally misses a beat to leave someone fatalistically alone. Tracey is a trailer-trash femme fatale who gives the spider woman's choice, calmly announcing what is going to happen to a prospective boyfriend in advance, thus abdicating personal responsibility for their demise.
I think I can give you a warning of my own. In the first hundred pages you'll hate this novel. You will put it down on several occasions and go back to it after a few days to give it another chance. The threads of the tale will seem both unconnected and meaningless. The continuous Hopi references will strike you as strange and unnecessary. The book will read like a very relaxed detective story where you don't get the plot or any clues. After those initial pages the stories will drift towards each other and… bang! You're hooked. The novel has a certain lazy, dreamlike quality. Not quite 'Lost Horizon' , but more as if a young Jack Kerouac had just bust out of Balham. Moments of prejudicial persecution and undefined fear are introduced through Sheriff Hopkins - a catalyst in a crumpled hat, designed to keep the reader nervous. This American policeman is one of the best psychologically constructed characters I've read in a while. He is clearly more disturbed than those he chases, yet blind to the damage as he wears away at those around him until something has to give. Ultimately this is a book for thirtysomethings who are sure they had the talent, know they missed out on doing what they were born to do and suspect that if they chanced their arm, perhaps they may still have time. This theme may well leave you reviewing your own life plan.
The author has clearly studied the anthropology of the proud Hopi in depth (prouder than the tourist conscious Sioux anyway) and the glimpses the reader is given resolve into a broad-stroke impression of their practicality and thinking. It is then easy to see that the Hopi can never merge with developed 'Western' society without irreparable tarnishing. The gulf in humour and morality is then explored dramatically when the Hopi clown is invited onto a TV chatshow.
The final theme used in this book is more universal and obvious. Everyone seems to be writing about the Holy Grail nowadays as so many in modern society feel strangely incomplete. It's the ultimate metaphor for what you think you need to make yourself content. You will never attain it, and even if you did, a) you would realise you don't really need it after all (it was just what drove you), and b) your new problem would be how to hide it now the whole world wants it more than you. Hot potato.
I expected pulp, but this is [eventually] a graceful and meaningful book which deserves to be more widely known. Possibly it's just been written out of time and should have been another 1957 classic. Many new authors write about their own life and consequently have only one book in them. This is not one of those. Although initially jerky and disparate, the subject matter is imaginative and intriguing. I hope Stewart Lee writes another, I really do.
Stewart Lee
2001-01-01T13:32:20+00:00
Author note: Stewart Lee is a stand up comedian who has worked in both British radio and television. He is best known for the BBC series 'Lee and Herring', 'Fist of Fun' and 'This Morning, with Richard not Judy' which he co-wrote and performed with Richard Herring. Can good performance comedians become talented novelists? Against the ominous backdrop of Robert Newman's dire 'Dependence Day', Stewart Lee has now picked up the torch. This is his first novel. The story is alternately told in South London and the desert wastelands of Arizona, displaying a cast of cross-cultural and world-weary characters. Some are desperate and running, but most initially seem resigned to what fate has given them. Sometimes this is the symptom of suburban drug culture, sometimes a result of psychiatric illness, but the general effect is to make them too acceptant to realise they still have options. Common to all the major characters is the inability to move on with their lives until completing a personal quest of one form or another. This factor is the writer's device to make the central players stand out from their surroundings. Meet Sid & Danny - friends from a dismal tribute band who missed their ticket to stardom by leaving a group that went on, rather annoyingly, to make it big. They're not bitter of course, or at least they won't be until they run out of spliffs. There's the Golumn-like Peter Rugg, who lost a cigarette butt down the back of a sofa years before and, a true searcher, is devoting his existence to finding it. Rugg's devotion marks this small aspect of the story as a modern age grailquest that has echoes in every other central character's life. Another strong thread is the looming iconic figure of Luther Peyote, the long forgotten...
It's almost impossible to review Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (Saturday, BBC2), the meta-stand-up show which has returned for a third series, because Stewart Lee is his own best critic; he's already done the hard work for us.
So, as he put it, this episode was both "weaving magic out of thin air" and "some sort of elitist prank". It was, most of all, "the sound of the middle class applauding their own guilt". Cheers, Stew. I might nip downstairs for a cup of tea, while you finish up here?
SLCV also requires no introduction, because if you're one of those guilt-applauding Independent-reading liberals that Stewart Lee appeals to, you'll already know and admire the semi-masochistic pleasure of his abrasive style. And if not, then you're unlikely to be made to feel welcome. By the end of this half-hour show, Lee had his back to the studio audience, having become engrossed in a mimed phone conversation with an imaginary patron of a made-up business. It was very clever, very funny and also the height of rudeness.
Last series introduced the "hostile interrogator", helping Lee to get away with such spectacular slights to his devoted fans by bringing him down a peg or two. This series, these short scenes intercut with the stand-up marked the return to TV of British comedy's most enigmatic satirist, Chris Morris. He'd always acted as SLCV's script editor, but in this series he's emerging from the shadows to take over from Armando Iannucci as Lee's Paxman-style foe.
This comedy about comedy would be unforgivably self-indulgent if Lee wasn't just as incisive on every other facet of modern life as he is on his own comedic genius. Last series included episodes titled "Charity", "Identity" and "Democracy"; this episode memorably summed up Twitter as "a state surveillance agency staffed by gullible volunteers" and Vodafone's Digital Parenting guide as "the fox's guide to chicken security".
There's nothing more to add, is there? Especially since any and all criticisms of Lee risk being co-opted into the advertising for his next tour. Or at the very least included in the exhaustive "Online Critiques" list he keeps on his website, detailing every rude thing anyone has ever said about him.
Stewart Lee
2014-03-02T21:15:54+00:00
It's almost impossible to review Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (Saturday, BBC2), the meta-stand-up show which has returned for a third series, because Stewart Lee is his own best critic; he's already done the hard work for us. So, as he put it, this episode was both "weaving magic out of thin air" and "some sort of elitist prank". It was, most of all, "the sound of the middle class applauding their own guilt". Cheers, Stew. I might nip downstairs for a cup of tea, while you finish up here? SLCV also requires no introduction, because if you're one of those guilt-applauding Independent-reading liberals that Stewart Lee appeals to, you'll already know and admire the semi-masochistic pleasure of his abrasive style. And if not, then you're unlikely to be made to feel welcome. By the end of this half-hour show, Lee had his back to the studio audience, having become engrossed in a mimed phone conversation with an imaginary patron of a made-up business. It was very clever, very funny and also the height of rudeness. Last series introduced the "hostile interrogator", helping Lee to get away with such spectacular slights to his devoted fans by bringing him down a peg or two. This series, these short scenes intercut with the stand-up marked the return to TV of British comedy's most enigmatic satirist, Chris Morris. He'd always acted as SLCV's script editor, but in this series he's emerging from the shadows to take over from Armando Iannucci as Lee's Paxman-style foe. This comedy about comedy would be unforgivably self-indulgent if Lee wasn't just as incisive on every other facet of modern life as he is on his own comedic genius. Last series included episodes titled "Charity", "Identity" and "Democracy"; this episode memorably summed up Twitter as "a state surveillance agency staffed...
What becomes clear with Stewart Lee in this latest stand-up set is his shtick. He has lasted far longer than most to ever grace the stage. The camera angles, the choice of wordplay. It is beautiful. Unravelling that still feels like being in on the bit, but once inside, the cold reach of the outdoors and unknowing is gone. It is irreplaceable and once that is broken the half-life of Lee’s work and demanding displays of broadly creative wordplay is crushed under its own hubris. But that is the beauty of Lee, who reinvents himself and reworks his craft throughout Tornado, the second, better stand-up special from the 41st best stand-up comedian.
As a critic of the culture, Lee works in some successful, furious tirades against Netflix and the content vacuum that comes from living in the streaming bubble. Essential criticisms of how the comedy titans of Netflix are taking up space with vaguely palatable pieces. Lee doesn’t do “ambulance chasing” material, instead waiting for “reality to align” with what he writes. Almost immediately launching into a criticism of others, for those inside and in the know, it will not be any major surprise. Lee still manages to muster up some great bits and pieces, the timid postman of comedy coming clear with some great moments that manage to entertain the problems of stand-up comedy and the streaming enterprise. That much is golden, and it is a frequent asset to Lee’s set here.
Decades on the comedy route, touring this venue and that, and Lee is sick of it. Or is he? Once again, he has formed a set that takes aim at the right targets but Lee never reveals whether the gun is loaded. Either way, it is the presentation of the weapon that is Lee’s wordplay that marks Tornado as a strong return to form. It is also a clear representation of Lee’s evolving status in the comedy field. His empty stage is greater than the crowded house of comedy counterparts of days yet to come. He does rehash a brief criticism or moment of clarity from earlier sets, but it is because they are still relevant in their changed forms almost a decade later.
All the usual suspects of a Lee stand-up set appear. Reading from cue cards written up in long-form quality, picking apart the uselessness of some minor problem that affected Lee some years ago, the reference to filming a live set, the stare down the barrel of the camera, the turn away from the audience. High shots that display the architecture of the venue come crashing down as Lee churns out the “sharks falling from the sky” description of Netflix. “Does he just repeat the same sentences over and over again? Like an angry Tedtalk?” Yes, he does. It used to be ground-breaking. Now? It still is. A different route is travelled. A different gun is loaded. Lee builds up a new setlist of scattershot thoughts, fears, and ideas, that rely just as much on audience interaction as they do on a lack of sharks falling from the skies.
Stewart Lee
2022-09-29T12:35:50+01:00
What becomes clear with Stewart Lee in this latest stand-up set is his shtick. He has lasted far longer than most to ever grace the stage. The camera angles, the choice of wordplay. It is beautiful. Unravelling that still feels like being in on the bit, but once inside, the cold reach of the outdoors and unknowing is gone. It is irreplaceable and once that is broken the half-life of Lee’s work and demanding displays of broadly creative wordplay is crushed under its own hubris. But that is the beauty of Lee, who reinvents himself and reworks his craft throughout Tornado, the second, better stand-up special from the 41st best stand-up comedian. As a critic of the culture, Lee works in some successful, furious tirades against Netflix and the content vacuum that comes from living in the streaming bubble. Essential criticisms of how the comedy titans of Netflix are taking up space with vaguely palatable pieces. Lee doesn’t do “ambulance chasing” material, instead waiting for “reality to align” with what he writes. Almost immediately launching into a criticism of others, for those inside and in the know, it will not be any major surprise. Lee still manages to muster up some great bits and pieces, the timid postman of comedy coming clear with some great moments that manage to entertain the problems of stand-up comedy and the streaming enterprise. That much is golden, and it is a frequent asset to Lee’s set here. Decades on the comedy route, touring this venue and that, and Lee is sick of it. Or is he? Once again, he has formed a set that takes aim at the right targets but Lee never reveals whether the gun is loaded. Either way, it is the presentation of the weapon that is Lee’s wordplay that marks...
I recommend the book How I Escaped My Certain Fate by Stewart Lee to anyone interested in the mechanics of stand-up comedy. I wouldn’t recommend it to the lecturers who taught the drama side of my degree. They have all as good as read How I Escaped My Certain Fate already because I crow-barred it into pretty much every essay I wrote. One lecturer handed back an essay which was meant to be specifically about writing stage plays with the words “it’s not really about theatre, is it?” it was called ‘An Analysis of The Use of Silence in the Stand-Up Comedy of Stewart Lee.’ I also cited Simon and Garfunkel as eminent theorists on the nature of silence.
27 grand that degree cost me.
Television briefly attempted to court the unseen side of stand-up with talent shows and the like, but presumably gave up when it found that the inner workings of such an independent art form couldn’t easily be condensed or dramatized. This book, however, gives you a real insight into a comedian’s thought process.
The book contains three annotated transcripts of Lee’s stand-up shows: Stand-up Comedian, ‘90s Comedian and 41st Best stand-Up Ever. It’s like a director’s commentary, explaining the genesis of some of the jokes, how they developed, and how the audience reacted to them. Onstage, Lee plays with the construction of stand-up. This takes that one step further, delving into the mechanics of stand-up, unrestrained by the need to be funny or to further the narrative. That doesn’t mean it’s not funny though. The rhythm of Lee’s writing is inherently amusing, as any regular readers of his Guardian column will know.
It blends memoir and craft in the same way as Stephen King’s On Writing – in which the memoir sections are used to give the reader some context that explains the decisions the author made and the advice he gives. This is important, because context is all. The very specific circumstances of Lee’s bankrupting disagreement with the Christian church is crucial to understanding how he came to be onstage saying the words “vomiting into the gaping anus of Christ”. Because I have just said that context is all, I will assume, dear reader, that you will not instantly dismiss Lee as a blasphemous shock comic.
Like the aforementioned On Writing, How I Escaped My Certain Fate is not pretentious. It takes comedy seriously, but doesn’t claim it to be an elevated form of artistic expression. This is a crucial difference which Lee often explores onstage with his bitter, comedy snob persona ridiculing the audience for not laughing quicker at a joke. The only thing excluding people from enjoying this book or Lee’s other work is context. Lee’s stand-up requires a knowledge of stand-up to understand which conventions he is playing with. It also requires the context of the surrounding material and his persona. You can’t just catch a bit of his TV show or watch a clip on Youtube and hope to fully appreciate it. That’s not because it’s too high brow, it’s because the jokes rely on that pre-existing knowledge. It’s like opening a novel at a random page and hoping to completely understand what’s going on.
All of the above also applies to the ‘If You Prefer a Milder Comedian Please Ask For One EP’ which contains the transcript to his 2010 show of the same name. Hopefully a big batch of Comedy Vehicle transcripts are also in the works. I want to know why he pluralised UKIP.
Stewart Lee
2015-11-25T00:28:09+00:00
I recommend the book How I Escaped My Certain Fate by Stewart Lee to anyone interested in the mechanics of stand-up comedy. I wouldn’t recommend it to the lecturers who taught the drama side of my degree. They have all as good as read How I Escaped My Certain Fate already because I crow-barred it into pretty much every essay I wrote. One lecturer handed back an essay which was meant to be specifically about writing stage plays with the words “it’s not really about theatre, is it?” it was called ‘An Analysis of The Use of Silence in the Stand-Up Comedy of Stewart Lee.’ I also cited Simon and Garfunkel as eminent theorists on the nature of silence. 27 grand that degree cost me. Television briefly attempted to court the unseen side of stand-up with talent shows and the like, but presumably gave up when it found that the inner workings of such an independent art form couldn’t easily be condensed or dramatized. This book, however, gives you a real insight into a comedian’s thought process. The book contains three annotated transcripts of Lee’s stand-up shows: Stand-up Comedian, ‘90s Comedian and 41st Best stand-Up Ever. It’s like a director’s commentary, explaining the genesis of some of the jokes, how they developed, and how the audience reacted to them. Onstage, Lee plays with the construction of stand-up. This takes that one step further, delving into the mechanics of stand-up, unrestrained by the need to be funny or to further the narrative. That doesn’t mean it’s not funny though. The rhythm of Lee’s writing is inherently amusing, as any regular readers of his Guardian column will know. It blends memoir and craft in the same way as Stephen King’s On Writing – in which the memoir sections are used to give...
The future of British free improvisation is safe in the hands of modestly monumental musicians like Alan Wilkinson, captured here alone and virtually naked, blowing his horn unaccompanied in a disused Dalston hospital.
A stately and stark take on Ornette Coleman's Lonely Woman shows sceptics Wilkinson can carry a tune should he wish to, and that means you have to trust him on the other tracks.
Long squiggled lines flatten into vast plateaus of sustained sound, duck parp reed blab blends into talking tongues, and the barrier between endurance and transcendence blurs beatifically. Solo saxophone free improvisation album of the year.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-20T01:38:53+00:00
The future of British free improvisation is safe in the hands of modestly monumental musicians like Alan Wilkinson, captured here alone and virtually naked, blowing his horn unaccompanied in a disused Dalston hospital. A stately and stark take on Ornette Coleman's Lonely Woman shows sceptics Wilkinson can carry a tune should he wish to, and that means you have to trust him on the other tracks. Long squiggled lines flatten into vast plateaus of sustained sound, duck parp reed blab blends into talking tongues, and the barrier between endurance and transcendence blurs beatifically. Solo saxophone free improvisation album of the year.
His perfectionism is much-loved, but there's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach.
Watching Stewart Lee in action these days is like standing on the edge of a frozen lake and seeing a man half-submerged in the perishing ice. You throw him a rope - but he hurls it back. You didn't throw it correctly, he advises. And anyway, he was fine as he was, until you ruined it all. Didn't you know that sub-zero was his natural habitat?
On the night I caught Lee at Leicester Square Theatre - where he's cooking up generous helpings of new material for his second TV series - he had a go at someone for tainting a satirically finessed anecdote about David Cameron's behaviour while a student at Oxford. The punter’s crime? A cheery one-word interjection. He also berated some poor sap who had tried to creep out before the climax of the first half. “Sit back down,” he commanded. At such moments, Lee makes Kim Jong II look comparatively relaxed about dissent.
It's tempting to say that he knows what he's doing. After more than 20 years in the business no one does deadpan comedy quite like him. Part of the joy of his material is the way he deconstructs it. He advises us, say, to pay close attention to the motifs in a faux-interminable riff about his granddad's fondness for crisps - or divides us into sections, each in its varying degrees of responsiveness a sorry disappointment. It’s clever - yet I'd counsel him to be careful. Whether or not it's laced with irony, there's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach. The self-consciousness of Lee’s on-stage persona allows him to deliver some invigorating kicks. He can critique younger, richer comedian Russell Howard's good deeds while implicitly acknowledging his own shortcomings. He can also drench nostalgia for the 1980s with incendiary provocation, harking back with mock-fondness to the IRA (“I'm glad they're coming back - I hope they have a good go”). But his self-awareness can tip into the kind of self-regard that simply leaves a sour taste in the mouth. Alienating office-party types is one thing but not cutting his core constituency any slack looks self-defeating. No one wants, or expects, to see Lee, 42, sell out and play the 02. Nor does anyone who admires what he does want to see him wind up playing to an audience of zero. I love the perfectionism, Stew, but maybe it’s time to lighten up a little?
Stewart Lee
2010-12-07T15:18:44+00:00
His perfectionism is much-loved, but there's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach. Watching Stewart Lee in action these days is like standing on the edge of a frozen lake and seeing a man half-submerged in the perishing ice. You throw him a rope - but he hurls it back. You didn't throw it correctly, he advises. And anyway, he was fine as he was, until you ruined it all. Didn't you know that sub-zero was his natural habitat? On the night I caught Lee at Leicester Square Theatre - where he's cooking up generous helpings of new material for his second TV series - he had a go at someone for tainting a satirically finessed anecdote about David Cameron's behaviour while a student at Oxford. The punter’s crime? A cheery one-word interjection. He also berated some poor sap who had tried to creep out before the climax of the first half. “Sit back down,” he commanded. At such moments, Lee makes Kim Jong II look comparatively relaxed about dissent. It's tempting to say that he knows what he's doing. After more than 20 years in the business no one does deadpan comedy quite like him. Part of the joy of his material is the way he deconstructs it. He advises us, say, to pay close attention to the motifs in a faux-interminable riff about his granddad's fondness for crisps - or divides us into sections, each in its varying degrees of responsiveness a sorry disappointment. It’s clever - yet I'd counsel him to be careful. Whether or not it's laced with irony, there's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach. The self-consciousness of Lee’s on-stage persona allows him to deliver some invigorating kicks. He can critique younger, richer comedian Russell Howard's good deeds...
Here's Michael Deacon in The Telegraph (May 2013) doing a parody of Dan Brown in the style of me doing a parody of Dan Brown. Here's me doing a parody of Dan Brown (SLCV Series 1 - BBC2 - 2009). And here's Michael Deacon choosing my parody of Dan Brown as one of his TV moments of 2009 in The Telegraph.
It’s almost becoming old hat hearing comedians defending what is considered ‘offensive comedy’ in the aftermath of Sachsgate and Adlingtongate.
By now, everything that needs to be said has been: If you’re offended, switch off. Comedy needs to challenge taboos etc etc etc... All valid opinions I might add, but opinions that now almost feel stale due to how tiresome the debate has become. The Daily Mail and their brigade will never change, and neither will the rest of us.
Recently I’ve been re-watching Stewart Lee and Richard Herring’s 1998 series This Morning With Richard Not Judy, and it’s fascinated me that two of the most ‘offensive’ and challenging stand-ups in the country had a LIVE show on Sunday morning TV.
Nowadays the idea of any comedian, let alone an ‘edgy’ one, having a live comedy show in the Country Tracks slot seems like something from a mad parallel universe, yet it did actually happen and not that long ago at all. Even though I was only a kid at the time, I knew the show was funny, but this time around I’m finding it fascinating for a different reason.
You only have to listen to Herring’s As It Occurs To Me podcast, or watch Lee’s latest live show, to see that the two of them love playing with taboo subjects and tackling difficult material my mother would be disgusted by.
Yet here, on a Sunday morning, the reins are tied in. They can only flirt with the edgier material and, in a way, the restrictions make it funnier, especially since there is the added element of danger due to its live broadcast. There are sketches, such as The Organ Gang, that are hard to imagine Lee and Herring writing nowadays, while even The Ironic Review and Jesus scenes, perfect examples of their humour, must have had to been softened due to the time the show was aired.
Despite this restriction, all of these skits are hilarious and memorable. It is testament to the writing that Lee and Herring don’t ‘sell-out’ at all; the material still manages to be thoughtful and challenging in places, but without the element of ‘offensiveness’. One could argue that Lee and Herring wouldn’t get away with such a show in the current climate, but that’s to forget that they DID get away with it without anybody taking offence.
I don’t think the Consider The Lily routine would have gotten Daily Mail readers as quite as riled compared to what happened to poor old Manuel. Yet that childish routine still manages to be a scathing and funny attack on Christianity.
It’s hard to imagine, impossible even, the likes of Frankie Boyle or Russell Brand doing a similar show. Obviously softer humour isn’t their forte, but neither is it Lee or Herring’s You could argue that the restrictions that Lee and Herring faced due to their shows’ timeslot forced them to create material and jokes they never would have if they had a completely free rein – and the comedy world would be a worse place without TMWRNJ for sure.
In comparison Brand and Boyle’s controversial jokes seem crude and unfunny, but I’m pretty sure these talented individuals could produce something far more subtle if working under such restrictions. Maybe the next taboo comedy should break is for ‘clean’ humour by comedians we don’t expect it from. It would be fascinating to see the what likes of Boyle et al out of their comfort zone if forced to be more creative. If Lee and Herring have proved they can still be funny while heavily editing themselves, then maybe it’s time for other comedians to do the same too.
After all, if comedy keeps going down the offensive route it will be in danger of becoming predictable. Comedy shouldn’t have to bow down to unfair boundaries and be scared of the consequences of offending people – but that’s not to say there can’t be great benefits from a little restriction too.
Stewart Lee
2010-01-10T00:40:38+00:00
Jack Cooper wants a break from offensive gags It’s almost becoming old hat hearing comedians defending what is considered ‘offensive comedy’ in the aftermath of Sachsgate and Adlingtongate. By now, everything that needs to be said has been: If you’re offended, switch off. Comedy needs to challenge taboos etc etc etc... All valid opinions I might add, but opinions that now almost feel stale due to how tiresome the debate has become. The Daily Mail and their brigade will never change, and neither will the rest of us. Recently I’ve been re-watching Stewart Lee and Richard Herring’s 1998 series This Morning With Richard Not Judy, and it’s fascinated me that two of the most ‘offensive’ and challenging stand-ups in the country had a LIVE show on Sunday morning TV. Nowadays the idea of any comedian, let alone an ‘edgy’ one, having a live comedy show in the Country Tracks slot seems like something from a mad parallel universe, yet it did actually happen and not that long ago at all. Even though I was only a kid at the time, I knew the show was funny, but this time around I’m finding it fascinating for a different reason. You only have to listen to Herring’s As It Occurs To Me podcast, or watch Lee’s latest live show, to see that the two of them love playing with taboo subjects and tackling difficult material my mother would be disgusted by. Yet here, on a Sunday morning, the reins are tied in. They can only flirt with the edgier material and, in a way, the restrictions make it funnier, especially since there is the added element of danger due to its live broadcast. There are sketches, such as The Organ Gang, that are hard to imagine Lee and Herring writing nowadays, while...
Over thirty years ago, a new wave of stand-ups spearheaded the Alternative Comedy movement, marking themselves out as different from the safe television turns, the Oxbridge satirists, and the racist and sexist Working Men’s Club comics of the time.
THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE captures that same schism happening again. An advance raiding party of modern day Alternative Comedians offering material too clever, thoughtful, radical, satirical, strange, or downright stupid to make it onto the stand-up outlets of contemporary television.
THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE was filmed in front of a real comedy club audience during a full week of packed houses at THE STAND COMEDY CLUB, EDINBURGH, faithfully capturing the unique atmosphere at one of the UK’s favourite and longest established live comedy clubs.
With its fast-moving distinctive visual style and unique cast THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE is original, unpredictable, and unlike any other live stand-up show on our screens.
THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE celebrates the past, the present and the future of the UK comedy circuit and the craft of stand-up comedy at its most original. Renew your faith in this vital live art form.
CAST: SIMON MUNNERY, ISY SUTTIE, BOOTHBY GRAFFOE, PHIL NICHOL, ANDY ZALTZMAN, HENNING WEHN, JOSIE LONG, PAUL FOOT, TONY LAW, ELEANOR TIERNAN, DAVID KAY, DAVID O DOHERTY, BRIDGET CHRISTIE, STEPHEN CARLIN, PAUL SINHA, ALUN COCHRANE, SAM SIMMONS, ROBIN INCE, GLENN WOOL, MAEVE HIGGINS and STEWART LEE.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-15T16:57:29+01:00
Over thirty years ago, a new wave of stand-ups spearheaded the Alternative Comedy movement, marking themselves out as different from the safe television turns, the Oxbridge satirists, and the racist and sexist Working Men’s Club comics of the time. THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE captures that same schism happening again. An advance raiding party of modern day Alternative Comedians offering material too clever, thoughtful, radical, satirical, strange, or downright stupid to make it onto the stand-up outlets of contemporary television. THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE was filmed in front of a real comedy club audience during a full week of packed houses at THE STAND COMEDY CLUB, EDINBURGH, faithfully capturing the unique atmosphere at one of the UK’s favourite and longest established live comedy clubs. With its fast-moving distinctive visual style and unique cast THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE is original, unpredictable, and unlike any other live stand-up show on our screens. THE ALTERNATIVE COMEDY EXPERIENCE celebrates the past, the present and the future of the UK comedy circuit and the craft of stand-up comedy at its most original. Renew your faith in this vital live art form. CAST: SIMON MUNNERY, ISY SUTTIE, BOOTHBY GRAFFOE, PHIL NICHOL, ANDY ZALTZMAN, HENNING WEHN, JOSIE LONG, PAUL FOOT, TONY LAW, ELEANOR TIERNAN, DAVID KAY, DAVID O DOHERTY, BRIDGET CHRISTIE, STEPHEN CARLIN, PAUL SINHA, ALUN COCHRANE, SAM SIMMONS, ROBIN INCE, GLENN WOOL, MAEVE HIGGINS and STEWART LEE.
Like so many of my generation, I came to London in the mid-Seventies in search of sensation; the legendary Hope And Anchor pub rock scene of The Feelgoods and Ducks Deluxe; the then exotic delights of London's take-away food community, Italian Pizza, Indian Curry, Kentucky chicken, and Chinese Chinese; the availability of cheap speed; and, above all, the lure of a London Christmas.
For was it not Brinsley Schwarz himself who said, "'If an epicure could remove by a wish in quest of sensual gratification, wherever he had Eastered, he would then Christmas in London."
But even in the Seventies, so many of the London Christmas traditions that had duffed Dickens' plum were fading. My first London yule, Graham Parker of The Rumour took me to see The Hackney Christmas Rat.
Every December 23rd the Hackney Christmas Rat would poke his head up from an open sewer on Downs Rd and indicate, through a display of interpretive retching, whether the children of Hackney had been naughty or nice. If nice, the rat would have spiced urinal cakes flung at him by Pearly Kings.
If naughty, his head would be blown off with a sawn-off shotgun, Sweeny-style. In '76, it was curtains for the Christmas rat.
Wired to fuck in purple flares and white plimsoles, Parker laughed so hard he dropped his peshwari and blew warm Truman's down his whizzy konk!
Sometime between Christmas and New Year '78 and I'm on Westminster Bridge with The Kursaal Flyers, awaiting the passing of the Danish Arse Barge. 9th century viking connections meant that, each year, the Danish embassy sent a slow moving torch-lit barge along the river, festooned with elderly Danes dressed as Thor and Odin, elegantly and inexpressively baring their bottoms to the accompaniment of sombre bassoon music.
Rugby jumper-ed and thoroughly ripped one Will Birch, soon to leave The Flyers for The Records, was so amused he spewed a Directors into the river and lost a spring roll and a schnozwrap over the railings.
I have guzzled ampheto-nog at The Nashville with Kilburn And The Highroads, and dressed up as Tiny Tim with Eggs Over Easy for the Massed Camden Limp, fuzzed on Fuller's and whites. But those days are gone.
What have you got, kids? The Saturdays singing so-called R'n'B on Oxford Street, you barely buzzed on alco-pops and plant-food, and Hyde Park full of fake German fairgrounds, like pre-punk never happened.
Merry Christmas London 2011.
You're welcome to it.
Stewart Lee
2011-12-01T20:56:46+00:00
Like so many of my generation, I came to London in the mid-Seventies in search of sensation; the legendary Hope And Anchor pub rock scene of The Feelgoods and Ducks Deluxe; the then exotic delights of London's take-away food community, Italian Pizza, Indian Curry, Kentucky chicken, and Chinese Chinese; the availability of cheap speed; and, above all, the lure of a London Christmas. For was it not Brinsley Schwarz himself who said, "'If an epicure could remove by a wish in quest of sensual gratification, wherever he had Eastered, he would then Christmas in London." But even in the Seventies, so many of the London Christmas traditions that had duffed Dickens' plum were fading. My first London yule, Graham Parker of The Rumour took me to see The Hackney Christmas Rat. Every December 23rd the Hackney Christmas Rat would poke his head up from an open sewer on Downs Rd and indicate, through a display of interpretive retching, whether the children of Hackney had been naughty or nice. If nice, the rat would have spiced urinal cakes flung at him by Pearly Kings. If naughty, his head would be blown off with a sawn-off shotgun, Sweeny-style. In '76, it was curtains for the Christmas rat. Wired to fuck in purple flares and white plimsoles, Parker laughed so hard he dropped his peshwari and blew warm Truman's down his whizzy konk! Sometime between Christmas and New Year '78 and I'm on Westminster Bridge with The Kursaal Flyers, awaiting the passing of the Danish Arse Barge. 9th century viking connections meant that, each year, the Danish embassy sent a slow moving torch-lit barge along the river, festooned with elderly Danes dressed as Thor and Odin, elegantly and inexpressively baring their bottoms to the accompaniment of sombre bassoon music. Rugby jumper-ed and thoroughly...
For comics, he is perceived as the ultimate – if inflated – authority on artistic integrity, ‘The Grand Poobah of Comedy’, as Al Murray has dubbed him.
Stewart Lee, for his part, thinks the title both unfair but understandable... not to mention 'really funny because it has the word “poo” in it'.
Understandable because this, after all, is a stand-up who in the new series of his Comedy Vehicle on BBC Two, feigns irritation that the only audience member to semi-comprehend his reference to Ben Fogle's Animal Park leaves the recording to go to the toilet. The incident captures 'a flavour of the chance element of what can happen in a live show', Lee says. 'I'll seize upon anything that humiliates me, makes it look like a struggle or lowers my status.
'It's quite important for the suggestion to be that I'm low-status or a loser or mad. Or embittered in some way. Or should be doing better than I am. All those things are part of what's funny about the clown of Stewart Lee.'
Never mind that Saturday's episode of Comedy Vehicle attracted a million viewers, more than double the average for the second series, with a significant boost expected when iPlayer figures are factored in.
Measured against Mock The Week, that's still modest he points out. And even taking into account media and comedy fans' interest in his opinions, he maintains that 'I don't have any credit in the straight world. I'm not known or rated. In fact, the people that have vaguely heard of me, assume that I must be terrible… To be honest, I'd rather keep it that way.
'Let's remember, I've never been able to definitely get the series recommissioned, they always seem to happen a few years late in a rather slipshod way. There's never any obvious enthusiasm about [the] recommissioning. Certainly, the third wasn't going to happen until Sky wanted to do it and that forced the BBC's hand, as did [winning] the Bafta and the British Comedy Awards. So that's not really fair.'
Comedy Vehicle's return was hastened in part because of a routine about UKIP in tomorrow's episode, which had to air before April 11 to comply with BBC rules on not broadcasting political satire too close to the European elections.
'The good thing is that a lot of the things I've talked about in the series … to do with politics or social issues, still seem to be on the agenda,’ he said. ‘The wealth of London and the relative poverty of the rest of the country, there's a half hour on that. UKIP's anxiety about immigration, it's sort of shifted from December [when the show was recorded], when it was mainly about Eastern Europe, but that's still an ongoing story …
'If you'd left it to July, it would have changed. And also, starting a series from scratch now, I would want to do half an hour on the environment or half an hour on the ethics of the 70s Left. So I'm glad it's going out now. I talk to camera about how it's being recorded in December, so people will probably will give it a bit of leeway.'
An intimidatingly articulate, perceptive and forthright commentator; an aloof victim of misconceptions; a mad, embittered clown, Lee may be the 'cultural bully' of the 'Oxbridge mafia' Lee Mack alludes to in the footnotes of his autobiography. What is certain however, is that he opened the new series by inferring the slight referred to him and damning himself by comparison to Mack's compliment of Daniel Kitson as a comic who could 'cut the mustard' on panel shows.
He is perhaps his own harshest critic because he absorbs criticism so voraciously, going as far as making it a defining part of Comedy Vehicle. When Armando Iannucci's commitments on Veep prevented him returning as the 'hostile interrogator', the caustic Chris Morris was handed the role, alongside his existing one of script editor.
The effects of the interrogations are 'interesting' he muses. 'Armando's are really playful and really funny, Chris's have an air of menace and seriousness about them that I think forced me to respond differently. He humiliates me a lot more, which is probably good in some way. He allows me to be much weaker.
'I wish he could have gone further really. At the end of week six, I got to the point where I kind of got into hysterics and I wasn't really sure whether it was hysterics of laughter or just stress… we did this for about four hours. You have to really keep tuned in, you've got no script or anything. The last minute-and-a-half of the series is me having a kind of breakdown really,' he cackles.
Lee has forged something of a schizophrenic persona. On stage, he snipes devastatingly at other comics, while in person admitting that he either doesn't know them or their work – or likes them. He elegantly denounces Twitter as 'the Stasi for the Angry Birds generation' while restlessly monitoring his reputation online.
Forget Baconface though, the Canadian 80s comic alter-ego he originally conceived as a programme-associate for Comedy Vehicle. Because he doesn't feature in the series.
'He just went off to be honest. I was hoping he would stay and script edit it. But the producer didn't like him. Hopefully I will get him back at some point.'
Baconface was also filmed doing stand-up for the imminent second series of Comedy Central’s Alternative Comedy Experience, which Lee curates, but deemed 'unbroadcastable'.
Remaining committed to his mad, embittered clown side has a personal cost for Lee. He has 'to be true to him, because he's not as reasonable as me. I wouldn't have as much material if I only did the things that I thought were funny. I have to sometimes respond to things in the way that he would.
‘I might see something and think, “well, it's not that bad that”. But it would really annoy him… He's sort of like a throwback to me, 10, 15 years ago, 25 years ago sometimes. So sometimes, I have to go with what he wants to do. Even when it ends up making my life difficult.
'Although there's a lot of stuff about politics and real life and society in my act, I'm not like Mark Steel or Mark Thomas where we're invited to see it as a rational, intelligent, informed commentary.
‘It tries to be the work of an arrogant, delusional man who has an inexplicable grudge against people and feels that he's not given the credit he deserves for things. There's a logical problem with that, in that, in the last few years, I have been given a lot of credit for things, so it's harder for him to find things to feel hard done by about. That's partly why I have to think of him as a different person now.'
When he returned to live performing in 2004 after a break, Lee says he 'felt I had to stop caring about the perceived stand-up audience, which at the time after Newman and Baddiel and Fantasy Football and all those sort of things, was sort of mainstreamy lads. I felt it was really useful to not worry about that and to be able to say “look, this stuff's for the other people”. I still think it is.
However, having moved beyond his ideal audience of 'someone who lives in Stoke Newington and is about 45' – as he does and is – he marvels at his fans’ increasing diversity, from Muslim girls in headscarves in Salford 'slightly calling my bluff on how comfortable I was doing stuff about religion in front of a religiously diverse audience', to 'young, sort of twenty-something sports blokes on cocaine'.
Despite his playful excoriation of the self-loathing middle-classes, the idea that he only preaches 'to a load of Guardian readers' is false he argues, demonstrated by an emerging problem he's facing.
'I'll do 20 minutes on UKIP and everyone's laughing' he explains. 'Then at the end, a guy with a Thai wife will come up to me and say that he's a UKIP voter and will always vote UKIP. But he thought the bit was really funny. [Which is] interesting.
‘I've done jokes in the past about the disconnect between the supposed values of an act on stage and the supposed values of the audience … and what would that feel like. Yet now I'm starting to experience it myself, where an audience might enjoy the comedy of it, without necessarily agreeing with you.'
Lee says he monitored the 'naked hostility' towards him on the internet every day for about two years – which he credits with providing some good gags and helping him craft Comedy Vehicle into the sort of show his detractors ('a Top Gear viewer or a clearly nasty person') would hate. He puts stock in the Twitter reaction after an episode goes out because of the importance he sees attached to it by television executives. 'Forewarned is forearmed' he reasons. 'It's nice to have a look at it. I'll probably stop now.'
Journalists, including myself, have misinterpreted him in the past, failing to convey precisely what Stewart Lee the mad, embittered clown intends, and where it converges or departs from the real him.
He dedicates an episode of the current Comedy Vehicle run to context and, for the record, has never said that he doesn't like slapstick. His memorable Del Boy bit was ‘just about the idea of a thing being taken for granted by popular taste,’ he explains. ‘I actually think the Del Boy falling through the bar bit is really fantastic.'
He also observes that a recent, highly critical newspaper review actually led to a spike in sales for a live show because 'it was so mad that it reminded people I was on and they wanted to go and see it'.
Still, he was concerned that 'to be described as a psychopath … not reflect[ing] the experience of any of the other people there that evening' might affect the way people treat his children.
After the backlash against Jerry Springer: The Opera, he expects that 'it's probably worse for someone like Frankie Boyle who's routinely the subject of folk-devil panics in tabloid newspaper. I've no desire to be that again because I've got a family that suffered by association'.
At one point, he voices concern about failing to anticipate the attention Morris' new role might bring the fiercely private satirist, held in semi-mythical esteem by so many comedy fans. And he was 'slightly irked' by the swathe of recent hagiographic tributes to Bill Hicks on the 20th anniversary of his death, penning his own satirical analysis of the press coverage in the Observer.
He stresses 'let's not underestimate how brilliant [Hicks] was, and he was absolutely fantastic'. But he criticises those journalists who would set the late American on a pedestal as 'not close enough to the ground' of the current UK and Irish comedy circuit, 'which is absolutely amazing… the quality of the stuff is fantastic’.
He is, he maintains, lucky that of all the accomplished acts that 'write full-length shows, go back to the Fringe every year and does that kind of stand-up' he is the only one given the platform to bring his routines to television, without having 'to try and squeeze it into six minutes or chop it out into something that would fit on a panel show'.
'Probably because I'm part of the “Oxbridge mafia”,’ he deadpans.
Lee is frustrated to see shows like Live at the Electric appropriating Comedy Vehicle's moves, such as him talking down the camera, or the camera now lurking at the back of the stage on Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow and Live at the Apollo.
'I'm not saying we invented that' he says. 'But when I mentally choose the shot, to use the camera at the back of the stage, it's often about me turning my back on the studio audience, like ignoring them because I don't think they're good enough. So there's some kind of dramatic impetus to it, which there often isn't when it's just used as a stylistic device.
‘And also, when I talk down the camera, I'm normally trying to say something specific to the viewer at home. Or it's supposed to have a particularly personal note. Or it plays off the audience in the room and their strengths and weaknesses against the assumed strengths and weaknesses of the audience at home.
'When it's in Russell Kane's show, it adds variety to where a punchline is delivered. It's weird to see these things bleed into the vocabulary of the way stand-up's filmed... I was slightly disappointed when I saw the down the camera thing happening a lot because I thought, “Aw, you know, there's an impetus behind that when we do it and it's going to start to look like a cliché.”’
He momentarily imagines stealing a few stylistic devices from the big, shiny floor stand-up showcases, envisioning a Live at the Apollo-style shot of the 'not really celebrities' who attend his gigs, namely Will Self, Grayson Perry, Geddy Lee from Rush and Robert Wyatt from Soft Machine.
Comedy Vehicle's fourth series is set to record in December 2015, to air sometime before April 2016. And he's committed to making it for as long as the BBC wants it, subject to it remaining cost-effective and lucrative enough. Or not becoming too popular.
'If too many people watch the series I imagine the impact on my life and that of my family would not be compensated for by the size of the fee, which doesn't give us enough money to live a sheltered, protected and removed Jonathan Ross lifestyle' he reasons.
'People who live across the street go on the internet saying what I am wearing when I put the bins out. This series looks like getting the best figures yet and it will be interesting to see how irritating it is to be recognised by more people than usual.’
'If too many people start watching I will stop doing TV and just work live and hope people forget me, but at the moment I don't know how many too many is. I suppose it partly depends how many of the people that know who you are hate you and want to harm you, and how weird the ones that like you are in large numbers.
‘One of the nice things about the BBC is they don't really promote the series, which helps to keep you unrecognisable.'
He says he gets 'asked about doing docs for BBC Four and Sky Arts but the things I want to do always get knocked back, or they try to change them into something else which they imagine will be more popular.
‘The doc I did for Channel 5 in 2004, New Puritans, was retitled without my knowledge or permission as the idiotic Stewart Lee Says What's So Bad About Blasphemy?, which I never did say, and wouldn't have said, and which didn't reflect the measured tone of the piece.
‘I found out about this change when I saw it in the paper. I don't know how people can stand working for anyone that would do that to their writing and feel sorry for anyone who relies on TV for their living.'
So with all the 'ambition to write fiction or scripts or do theatre … knocked out' of him, he plans to focus wholly on stand-up, writing a new show every two years until he's 65.
'The government will probably make it impossible for the BBC to make shows eventually. And also, as television budgets shrink, it actually won't make sense to give that amount of material away to television when you could tour it.
‘I expect the internet will get us to a position where we're all expected to be free content providers. But I think that what you can't take away from is the experience of going into a room, to see a person say some stuff, which you know will be a bit different every night and your experience will be unique. I reckon there's 20 years in that before we're replaced by robots, so I'll do that.'
'What would it be like to do it for another 20 years?' he wonders. 'What would it be like to have an audience start to understand you more and be able to develop. Not many people have done that.'
Stewart Lee
2014-03-08T21:06:19+00:00
For comics, he is perceived as the ultimate – if inflated – authority on artistic integrity, ‘The Grand Poobah of Comedy’, as Al Murray has dubbed him. Stewart Lee, for his part, thinks the title both unfair but understandable... not to mention 'really funny because it has the word “poo” in it'. Understandable because this, after all, is a stand-up who in the new series of his Comedy Vehicle on BBC Two, feigns irritation that the only audience member to semi-comprehend his reference to Ben Fogle's Animal Park leaves the recording to go to the toilet. The incident captures 'a flavour of the chance element of what can happen in a live show', Lee says. 'I'll seize upon anything that humiliates me, makes it look like a struggle or lowers my status. 'It's quite important for the suggestion to be that I'm low-status or a loser or mad. Or embittered in some way. Or should be doing better than I am. All those things are part of what's funny about the clown of Stewart Lee.' Never mind that Saturday's episode of Comedy Vehicle attracted a million viewers, more than double the average for the second series, with a significant boost expected when iPlayer figures are factored in. Measured against Mock The Week, that's still modest he points out. And even taking into account media and comedy fans' interest in his opinions, he maintains that 'I don't have any credit in the straight world. I'm not known or rated. In fact, the people that have vaguely heard of me, assume that I must be terrible… To be honest, I'd rather keep it that way. 'Let's remember, I've never been able to definitely get the series recommissioned, they always seem to happen a few years late in a rather slipshod way. There's...
Long after their relationship ended, one of David Cameron’s ex-girlfriends joined a nunnery, so wounded was she by their parting. It is hard to know what religious comforts the supposed pig at the centre of the Daily Mail’s current allegations might later have pursued following Cameron’s brief and perfunctory dalliance with it, primarily because it was already dead. And so on. And so on.
As a professional humorist, there is very little point, this week, in trying to write zingy one-liners about David Cameron, the Bodil Joensen of international politics. (Don’t Google this. Not safe for work.) Within two hours of the rumour breaking, the infinite number of monkeys of Twitter had written all the best jokes, winning the battle of wits by sheer weight of numbers. Well done. I concede defeat.
But the gravitational pull of unseen interests directing the movement of our perceptions of the pig rumour is all too obvious. It appears we must now view British politics, and the coverage thereof, as its own reality; a vast interrelated fiction comprising many parallel narratives, with our understanding of it shaped by some guiding editorial intelligence; like the Marvel Comics Universe, the Eternia realm common to both He-Man and She-Ra Princess of Power, or the overlapping fantasy worlds of Dallas and Knots Landing.
The dubious pig story first appeared in a book by a wronged political ally of Cameron’s, written in a spirit of spite and self-justification – though, we have to concede, is there really any other kind of book?
Nonetheless, it has been childishly amusing to watch the same trolls usually contracted to crow over the corpses of their defeated enemies struggling to defend their traduced leader. Was I dreaming or did the thinker Toby Young opine on television that the prime minister had “emerged well from the situation”? Perhaps. But he will never be able to eat breakfast in a hotel restaurant again. Or cuddle a pig in public.
Meanwhile, on social media, the expat plant-loather Louise Mensch cited an obscure 1981 street punk B-side, tweeting “the story is rubbish, and if it isn’t, to quote the Anti-Nowhere League, ‘So f****** what?’”
But the League’s So What (“I’ve fucked a sheep, I’ve fucked a goat, I’ve had my cock right down its throat”) is perhaps not the ideal platform upon which to mount a defence of David Cameron, going on, as it does, to justify sexual relations with a schoolgirl in the same nihilistic spirit of mock moral relativism.
Derived from an overheard pub conversation between some jaded reprobates, So What is not intended to be embraced as a coherent philosophy for life, though the cover version metalhead Mensch presumably knows, that of her rock manager’s husband Peter Mensch’s protegees Metallica, is predictably stadium-shorn of whatever wafer-thin smattering of ironic nuance the original had.
Never mind. All Conservatives’ interactions with culture of any form, from the very idea of public broadcasting itself down to a punk rock B-side, end in confusion. They are like dogs listening to human conversations, the puzzled twitching of their heads sometimes mistaken for understanding.
One might be tempted to assume the pig tale is true because it is difficult to imagine most of the six Conservative MPs suspected of supplying it having enough imagination to imagine it. Jeremy Hunt, for example, couldn’t imagine his way out of an imaginary paper bag even if the bag had a hole cut in it in the exact shape of his own body, with arrows all round it and a flashing exit sign.
Michael Gove, on the other hand, does have a creative streak, and he and I both appear in the same 1983 anthology of verse by adopted middle-class teenagers, Pathetic Bleats From The Cradle Of Privilege.
Gove is also a fan of the down-market horror scribe Dennis Wheatley, and though this looks classy next to the culture secretary John Whittingdale’s voracious appetite for watching women die slowly in “torture porn” horror films, Wheatley’s sacrificial Satanic rites are rarely as lurid as Cameron’s supposed sow abuse.
The way is clear for whoever is really writing the story – Lord Ashcroft, Paul Dacre, or John Major, playing a long game
As an Oxford-educated classicist, Boris Johnson would, however, be familiar with the source material and critical studies required to conjure the bacchanalian vision engulfing the prime minister – Robert Graves’s The White Goddess, James George Frazer’s The Golden Bough, and any number of visceral Greek and Roman tragedies. But what would be his motive?
I was never one for conspiracy theories, but today the sort of mushroom gibberish I loftily dismissed when it was spewed at me by an articulate crusty nicknamed “The Professor”, hanging out the back of a converted peace convoy ambulance at the Elephant Fayre festival in 1983, suddenly seems plausible.
Unnamed forces have moved against Cameron, as they inevitably would, eventually. The secret chiefs no longer have any need for him. He was always just a useful plasticine man with no real opinions, and no vision, remorphed periodically to fit the shape of prevailing trends.
Cameron is like Bob Kane’s Batman, a two-dimensional cipher originally invented to amuse simpletons, subsequently invested with character and motivation as required.
To say Cameron is meaningless is to dignify him with the suggestion of anti-meaning. He is beyond meaning. And now the way is clear for whoever is really writing this story – Lord Ashcroft, Paul Dacre, or maybe even John Major, playing a long game – to have him replaced.
In case George Osborne gets any ideas, Boris Johnson is keen to pull rank. The mayor’s spiky pun about “hookers”, at last week’s Influential Londoner awards, reminded Osborne that there is a shit-filled slop-bucket of Damocles ready to rain down on him at a moment’s notice, only deflected last time around by the quiet cooperation of the then News Of The World editor, and future Cameron aide, Andy Coulson. Clearly, Boris the inveterate playground bully didn’t get the post-Corbyn memo about everyone being nice to each other in public from now on.
Given what has been made to stick to Cameron, it is impossible to predict what the machine might use to destroy its next spent servant. If we were told George Osborne used to employ chained naked gimps as human pencil sharpeners we’d probably go with it.
In a way then, Louise Mensch was right, but for the wrong reasons. Does it matter if David Cameron did Netflix and chill with a dead hog? So what? What matters is who is telling us this, and why, and what power do they wield? But, we’ve been so busy laughing at an amusing jpeg of Peppa Pig running away from the prime minister, it’s a question we haven’t found time to ask.
Stewart Lee’s A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 until 8 Jan.
Stewart Lee
2015-09-27T14:36:08+01:00
Long after their relationship ended, one of David Cameron’s ex-girlfriends joined a nunnery, so wounded was she by their parting. It is hard to know what religious comforts the supposed pig at the centre of the Daily Mail’s current allegations might later have pursued following Cameron’s brief and perfunctory dalliance with it, primarily because it was already dead. And so on. And so on. As a professional humorist, there is very little point, this week, in trying to write zingy one-liners about David Cameron, the Bodil Joensen of international politics. (Don’t Google this. Not safe for work.) Within two hours of the rumour breaking, the infinite number of monkeys of Twitter had written all the best jokes, winning the battle of wits by sheer weight of numbers. Well done. I concede defeat. But the gravitational pull of unseen interests directing the movement of our perceptions of the pig rumour is all too obvious. It appears we must now view British politics, and the coverage thereof, as its own reality; a vast interrelated fiction comprising many parallel narratives, with our understanding of it shaped by some guiding editorial intelligence; like the Marvel Comics Universe, the Eternia realm common to both He-Man and She-Ra Princess of Power, or the overlapping fantasy worlds of Dallas and Knots Landing. The dubious pig story first appeared in a book by a wronged political ally of Cameron’s, written in a spirit of spite and self-justification – though, we have to concede, is there really any other kind of book? Nonetheless, it has been childishly amusing to watch the same trolls usually contracted to crow over the corpses of their defeated enemies struggling to defend their traduced leader. Was I dreaming or did the thinker Toby Young opine on television that the prime minister had “emerged well...
A year on from when We Are Cult‘s James Collingwood last caught up with the writer and performer to discuss his new film, ‘King Rocker: A Film about Robert Lloyd and the Nightingales’, Stewart Lee returns to talk about his superb, COVID-delayed two-hour show called ‘Snowflake/Tornado’, which resumed in January and tours venues around the country in the coming months. Famously not on social media, Stewart’s recent newsletter caused quite a stir on Twitter with its lists of people he liked and people he didn’t like in 2021 (NB: This interview contains no references to pedal bins) and more recently, it was reported that Lee had removed his stand-up albums from Spotify in protest of COVID misinformation being spread on Joe Rogan’s podcast.
Hi Stewart. I wanted to talk to you about the current tour. So obviously you are on tour right now aren’t you? You’re currently playing Leicester Square?
I am on tour yes. I’m finishing at Leicester Square on Thursday and then go off around the country until July. It’s the tour which was abandoned before. One half of it (Tornado) is a story about a night in the theatre. That half hasn’t changed much though it has come into focus. A lot of it was about being on the same bill as Dave Chapelle and 2 years ago he wasn’t really that well known to be honest with you but he is now because of that special for Netflix.
The other half of the show (Snowflake) was sort of about what is euphemistically known as the culture war. Before lockdown that was ticking over. I think with Black Lives Matter etc people now know more about what we are talking about and it’s kind of better. Some things in the second half kind of fell by the wayside. There were 10 or 15 minutes about a sort of woke James Bond and what type of James Bond film that would be like. That film has kind of happened now really! Actually I think it’s made it (the material) better. It’s made me think that may be the way to do a show in the future! Write it – do it for a month- and then take two years off to think about it (Laughs).
So is the show at the end of the year, named Basic Lee, going to be a separate themed tour?
Most of the dates on the current tour have been rescheduled. I’d normally have to do a certain amount of dates in a certain amount of time and I had everything blocked around my kids GCSEs and stuff and that’s kind of gone wrong by losing a year. So I’m trying to get another new tour in at the end of this one.
I saw on your website that you like doing the merch and Q & A thing at the end of your gigs. Are you able to do that at the moment or is it still restricted?
Not really because I think the theatres want to get people in and out. For me that is all part of the show – that you can do 12 hours of being a belligerent arsehole and then you run a nice little shop at the end. Also having got into alternative comedy and music at the back end of punk I think it takes the curse off the idea of stardom. Anyone can ask you anything. At the end of a Russell Brand gig you get people screaming at the backstage door but if you are there running a shop it’s different. I like getting the feedback off people. I’m gratified that the same faces come back and then they come back with their kids or their parents as well. There’s normally one problem a night with one person who’s got some issue. James who I tour with and who does the tech stuff is normally good at sort of spotting it and defusing it but it’s a small price to pay. Plus the other thing is you can sort of control the sales. It’s nicer than doing it through Amazon.
You’re playing some nice theatres on this tour.
Yeah, I am. Because I’ve got hearing issues as well. The Victorian theatres where they’re crescent-shaped with good acoustics – usually designed by Frank Matcham – are really good for me, whereas the post 1950’s long flat rooms with square angled sides really give my ears a battering. I find them quite hard. When I can afford to relax a little bit in the next 15 or 20 years I’m going to take a pay cut and just do rooms that I like.
I lived in Birmingham for a time in the ‘80s and I read you saying somewhere that in the late ‘80s when you were starting there weren’t that many gigs available in Birmingham for comedy?
Well everyone went to London didn’t they? There were about sixty clubs in London. In Birmingham there were about two. The Bearwood Tavern and the Hare and Hounds in Kings Heath.
So you had to go to London?
Well, Manchester was the first place that had a scene of it’s own outside London. If you came to London in the ’80s there were 50 to 60 clubs. There were only a few people doing comedy. Everyone got paid a 40 quid door split so after a couple of nights your rent was covered for the week. It seemed really do-able. When I started I had seen people play at the MAC (Midlands Art Centre) to about 200 people and I thought, imagine if you could get to the level were you could do a tour of 30 dates of about 200 people each! Which is sort of more than anyone else in alternative comedy had done at that point. I thought that would be really great.
I remember myself seeing people such as John Hegley at the time (who I also saw at the MAC in the Brown Paper Bag Brothers double act) and he was great.
Yeah, John Hegley was one of the sort of people I used to aspire to be like. Hegley was a big deal to me in lots of ways. When I was starting out he was one of the alternative comedians that you would hear on Peel. About 15 years ago when I was having real trouble working out how to do this because I was with a big company called Avalon where you would always seem to lose money whatever you did with them. John Hegley said something like ‘Well, you just need 5000 people to give you £8 a year each’. And I thought, yeah if you cut out the middleman it’s really simple. Of course what the internet has done with bands I used to like as a teenager is put them in touch with exactly that market. They can all just keep turning over because of that contact with the audience.
I loved John Hegley.
Yeah and his band the Popticians’ first single was produced by Robyn Hitchcock!
When you started doing stand-up in the late ‘80s who else were you gigging with?
Well my first major paid gig was in September 1989 at the Banana Cabaret in Acton and the bill was me, David Baddiel, Alistair McGowan etc. On Monday nights I used to do a new material night which was set up by a guy called James Macabre (Jim Miller) who died last year. He realised in 1989 that alternative comedy wasn’t going to go away. He saw that eventually people would need more than the 20 minutes that they’d been doing and would have to write new sets(laughs). So, he set up a new material night. I was the last person to be brought in on it. It was Mr Nasty, who you won’t remember, Jeff Green (who has since gone to Australia), Mark Lamarr, Eddie Izzard, Patrick Marber, Hattie Hayridge. Also Simon Munnery ..the best comedian that the public don’t know. Oh, and Sean Lock as well. Sean Lock did stuff at the new material night and then abandoned it. I would always ask him “what happened to that routine?”. He would say “I can’t do that in public.” It would be what I thought was the best stuff. One that he did (Stewart recounts a hilarious but unprintable Sean Lock bit involving excrement!) was one of the best and he never did it again. It was insane. A lot of people when they decide to become panel show comedians that sort of ruins them really. It didn’t him. He kept his stand up side in a separate box somehow.
What will be the structure of the Basic Lee show that you are doing from July?
It won’t have a big prop in it or a big set or anything like that and I’ll try to put it together in such a way as if there is a major news change like someone resigns or whatever…. I’m going to try and do something that isn’t dependent on what’s happening.
I relistened to the great Children Of The Stones documentary that you did about ten years ago that’s still available on 4 Extra. You were talking to people like Julian Cope.
Yeah well it wasn’t my idea, the documentary – it was the producer’s idea but I thought he did a really good job on it.
Obviously there was a great response to King Rocker last year. Anything else coming up with that? I believe there’s a DVD with lots of extras?
Yeah, there is. Another 90 minutes at least of film. Michael (Cumming) basically did a completely other cut of the same story. The DVD’s out in March I think.
Stewart Lee
2022-02-09T20:24:26+00:00
A year on from when We Are Cult‘s James Collingwood last caught up with the writer and performer to discuss his new film, ‘King Rocker: A Film about Robert Lloyd and the Nightingales’, Stewart Lee returns to talk about his superb, COVID-delayed two-hour show called ‘Snowflake/Tornado’, which resumed in January and tours venues around the country in the coming months. Famously not on social media, Stewart’s recent newsletter caused quite a stir on Twitter with its lists of people he liked and people he didn’t like in 2021 (NB: This interview contains no references to pedal bins) and more recently, it was reported that Lee had removed his stand-up albums from Spotify in protest of COVID misinformation being spread on Joe Rogan’s podcast. Hi Stewart. I wanted to talk to you about the current tour. So obviously you are on tour right now aren’t you? You’re currently playing Leicester Square? I am on tour yes. I’m finishing at Leicester Square on Thursday and then go off around the country until July. It’s the tour which was abandoned before. One half of it (Tornado) is a story about a night in the theatre. That half hasn’t changed much though it has come into focus. A lot of it was about being on the same bill as Dave Chapelle and 2 years ago he wasn’t really that well known to be honest with you but he is now because of that special for Netflix. The other half of the show (Snowflake) was sort of about what is euphemistically known as the culture war. Before lockdown that was ticking over. I think with Black Lives Matter etc people now know more about what we are talking about and it’s kind of better. Some things in the second half kind of fell by the...
IT IS HARDLY unhelpful, for the readers of this website, to report that a new BBC radio series on the history of the transatlantic counterculture begins with Allen Ginsberg reading in a 1950s performance of ‘Howl’ in the US and ends with the same poet speaking with a similar and distinctive tone at 1965’s International Poetry Incarnation at London’s Albert Hall.
What Happened to Counter-Culture? - where it came from, where it’s been and where it’s heading – is a five-part survey of the subject, stretching from the era just after the Second World War, through art and activism, jazz and psychedelia and punk and the rise of early cyberculture, all rolling on into the new millennium and the digital age.
But the initial episode, entitled ‘Absolute Beginners’ – a knowing reference, clearly, to Colin MacInnes’ 1959 novel, a very early fictional attempt to chart London’s teen subcultures mid-century – sets out its stall without reservation: the Beats, the American Beat Generation, are unhesitatingly identified as year zero to this phenomenon, the key catalyst for the gathering and swelling clans of the counterculture which would leave their mark on society over the next seven decades to come.
The series, sheltering under a new alternative culture umbrella called Artworks, is presented by comic Stewart Lee, a performer with pronounced left-wing values and an acerbic, if deadpan, temperament. Here the stand-up adopts quite a serious style, only occasionally inserting a fleeting flash of flippancy. Those asides do not rock the boat critically and his general inclination seems to be one of approval towards these ongoing insurrections of the mind and spirit.
The narrator immediately and effectively teases us in: ‘Counterculture: an intoxicating brew of alternative music, independent ideas, of underground presses, writing and art, of activism, what were called happenings, a philosophy of liberation that swept across Western societies in the second half of the twentieth-century. Living outside the mainstream…’
Lee’s commentary is aided and abetted by some wonderful contemporary audio clips plus a gallery of authoritative voices: experimental music maker Brian Eno, present at the Albert Hall event, psychogeographer and novelist Iain Sinclair, often aligned with the Beat movement, Joe Boyd, music producer of high reputation, legendary folk singer Shirley Collins, Jon Savage, respected specialist in the fields of youth and punk, and John Harris, an expert on political rock.
The premiere show, at 30 minutes, never drags, provides a crisp digest of the main themes and threads and briefly trails the topics that will appear in episodes two and three. It touches upon the ideological issues that often underpin the countercultural thrust and handles the material smoothly and adeptly though one of the fact-checking team might have been sharper on the year ‘Howl’ was written. Not 1957, I can advise.
All in all, nonetheless, a fine and user-friendly introduction to the multiple tangles of ideas and actions that have provided a rallying point for those dissatisfied with the grey certainties of the status quo. This series appears sure to confirm that such challenges to the establishment have not gone away…
Editor’s note: What Happened to Counter-Culture? was first broadcast on BBC Radio Four today, Thursday, August 7th, 2025, at 9.30am. The two shows to follow – ‘Revolution in the Head’ and ‘Beauty in the Streets’ – can be heard on subsequent Thursdays, plus two episodes after that. The series is also available on BBC Sounds.
Stewart Lee
2025-08-07T13:50:36+01:00
IT IS HARDLY unhelpful, for the readers of this website, to report that a new BBC radio series on the history of the transatlantic counterculture begins with Allen Ginsberg reading in a 1950s performance of ‘Howl’ in the US and ends with the same poet speaking with a similar and distinctive tone at 1965’s International Poetry Incarnation at London’s Albert Hall. What Happened to Counter-Culture? - where it came from, where it’s been and where it’s heading – is a five-part survey of the subject, stretching from the era just after the Second World War, through art and activism, jazz and psychedelia and punk and the rise of early cyberculture, all rolling on into the new millennium and the digital age. But the initial episode, entitled ‘Absolute Beginners’ – a knowing reference, clearly, to Colin MacInnes’ 1959 novel, a very early fictional attempt to chart London’s teen subcultures mid-century – sets out its stall without reservation: the Beats, the American Beat Generation, are unhesitatingly identified as year zero to this phenomenon, the key catalyst for the gathering and swelling clans of the counterculture which would leave their mark on society over the next seven decades to come. The series, sheltering under a new alternative culture umbrella called Artworks, is presented by comic Stewart Lee, a performer with pronounced left-wing values and an acerbic, if deadpan, temperament. Here the stand-up adopts quite a serious style, only occasionally inserting a fleeting flash of flippancy. Those asides do not rock the boat critically and his general inclination seems to be one of approval towards these ongoing insurrections of the mind and spirit. The narrator immediately and effectively teases us in: ‘Counterculture: an intoxicating brew of alternative music, independent ideas, of underground presses, writing and art, of activism, what were called happenings, a philosophy...
IT not exactly something to boast about, but it was a gig in Liverpool which put Stewart Lee right off stand-up.
"I had a moment on stage at Rawhide where I thought I’ve got to stop doing this and I gave up from about 2001 to 2004," he reveals.
"A guy in the audience kept shouting at me "talk about illegal immigrants" and I went, why don’t you then?"
Stewart got the mouthy punter on stage to see what would happen, but security were having none of it and brought his experiment to a swift end.
"So I thought I can’t be bothered," he says. "It was a number of things, but that was one of them and I stopped gigging for three years."
Luckily the 41-year-old is firmly back in the stand-up groove and is relishing his latest tour of the UK which comes to the Playhouse next week.
The comedian, writer and director has been plying his trade for two decades, starting as a student at Oxford University where he studied English.
His interest in stand-up was fired by the alternative comedians he saw acting as support acts for bands in the early 1980s.
"In the immediate post punk era a lot of gigs were a lot more cabaret," he explains.
"Billy Bragg was like that, he used to have a country band on and some Japanese performance artists and a comedian. The first comics that I saw, apart from seeing the Two Ronnies as a kid, were opening for bands.
"When I was 15 I saw Ted Chippington open for The Fall at the Powerhouse in Birmingham and I can quite honestly say that was the point at which I thought I’d like to be a stand-up.
"Before then I didn’t think I could do stand-up because I thought you had to be confident and funny and talk about stuff people were interested in.
"But when I saw Ted Chippington I realised you could stand still and talk really quietly and not appear to be interested in the audience and I thought I could probably do that!"
Stewart went on to make his name in the 1990s in a comedy partnership with Richard Herring.
Then there was the acclaimed but controversial Jerry Springer the Musical which he co-wrote and directed, novel The Perfect Fool and, in the last few years, a host of stand-up shows and one-off TV appearances.
A new TV series - Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle - earlier this year brought him firmly back into the public eye.
"It’s really great," he says, punctuating his explanation with barks of laughter.
"I’ve never had so many offers of gigs and they’re filling up more then they ever have, and also they’re filling up with people that know what they’ve come to.
"Sometimes, particularly at weekends, people come to see some comedy and you’re not necessarily what they want.
"This time, having done the TV show, people know they’re coming to something quite slow, turgid, repetitive, so they don’t feel disappointed!"
He is, of course, being disingenuous.
Expect If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One to include his views on Richard ‘Hamster’ Hammond, coffeeshop loyalty cards, advertisers hijacking his favourite song and plenty of trademark intelligent irony.
He smiles: "Stand up was my first love, and it is again now having been all around the houses."
Stewart Lee
2009-11-13T16:00:20+00:00
IT not exactly something to boast about, but it was a gig in Liverpool which put Stewart Lee right off stand-up. "I had a moment on stage at Rawhide where I thought I’ve got to stop doing this and I gave up from about 2001 to 2004," he reveals. "A guy in the audience kept shouting at me "talk about illegal immigrants" and I went, why don’t you then?" Stewart got the mouthy punter on stage to see what would happen, but security were having none of it and brought his experiment to a swift end. "So I thought I can’t be bothered," he says. "It was a number of things, but that was one of them and I stopped gigging for three years." Luckily the 41-year-old is firmly back in the stand-up groove and is relishing his latest tour of the UK which comes to the Playhouse next week. The comedian, writer and director has been plying his trade for two decades, starting as a student at Oxford University where he studied English. His interest in stand-up was fired by the alternative comedians he saw acting as support acts for bands in the early 1980s. "In the immediate post punk era a lot of gigs were a lot more cabaret," he explains. "Billy Bragg was like that, he used to have a country band on and some Japanese performance artists and a comedian. The first comics that I saw, apart from seeing the Two Ronnies as a kid, were opening for bands. "When I was 15 I saw Ted Chippington open for The Fall at the Powerhouse in Birmingham and I can quite honestly say that was the point at which I thought I’d like to be a stand-up. "Before then I didn’t think I could do stand-up because...
The dorsal fin of the tiny remora fish conceals a suction mechanism, enabling it to cling to sharks, which are full of urea and can live for many years. And on Monday, the Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump, and Elon Musk, the billionaire playman and galactic space-lord of the decomposing social media channel Twitter (currently X), revealed the depth of their mutual admiration in an eider-soft and incompetently livestreamed interview. Trump said horrible things for two hours and Musk giggled. TV executives wanting to reboot Top Gear, with that classic Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond chemistry, need look no further.
The shark-remora relationship is mutual. The remora consumes leftovers dropped by the shark and eats parasites that live in its mouth. This delights the shark – parasites can be irritating – and predators that might harm the remora are deterred, as the shark gives it a ride through the dangerous oceans. Could Musk help peck clever black women out of Trump’s mouth? Would Trump’s election deliver Musk free passage through the choppy seas of communication regulation? Just how hard can Musk’s remora suck?
Musk’s inflated felching event was embarrassingly delayed for 40 minutes because of, according to Musk, a coordinated cyber attack or, according to Trump, his own massive popularity jamming the system. This tells you all you need to know about the two professionally delusional men’s respective rules for reorganising reality. Either “It’s a conspiracy” or “Many many many people, so many people, were watching bigly”.
Thierry Breton, commissioner for the internal market of the European Union, had warned Trump and Musk against possible “amplification of harmful content”. But Musk trashed his own global opinion platform Twitter (currently X) in months, like a teenager in charge of his parents’ house over a weekend (“Please! This is our home!”). His business model now relies on amplification of harmful content. Asking Musk to scale the unpleasantness back is a bit like asking a crack dealer to diversify into quinoa.
Musk, who eats the horse tranquilliser rave drug Ketamine to treat his depression, and is a walking tower of Adidas crap, had shared a fake headline in the small hours of Sunday morning saying Keir Starmer was sending rioters to internment camps on the Falkland Islands. The once uninhabited islands’ ownership is historically disputed, but its only indigenous inhabitant is the Falkland steamer duck. This means, by their own logic, that any racists transported there must learn to fit in to their new home by subsisting on molluscs and laying eggs every 38 days. Can it be a worse diet than six-packs of cider, cocaine and all those stolen Greggs sausage rolls?
Prior to his Falklands falsehood, Elon Ketamusk had already told his millions of fans that a British civil war was imminent. Ketamine creates visionary states, so Ketamusk groks all possible futures, whether they happen or not. And if they don’t happen, he uses his unfettered influence to try to make them happen, just to prove himself right. To Ketamusk, Thierry Breton is just a stupid Cnut, powerless in his wooden Euro-throne before Ketamusk’s incoming waves of online filth. Pussy in bio.
Thierry Breton urged Ketamusk to “ensure compliance” with EU law, including the 2022 Digital Services Act, which addresses disinformation. In response, Ketamusk, who is ultimately responsible for maintaining civility on Twitter (currently X), advised the 69-year-old European mathematician to “fuck his own face”. But it seems unlikely that the said act is within Thierry Breton’s skillset, and is yet another example of Ketamusk’s inability to debate thoughtfully or accurately on the global stage.
I was the co-librettist of the most swearingest show ever broadcast, Richard Thomas’s 2001 show Jerry Springer: The Opera. Its swear count was inaccurately estimated at 8,000 swears in two hours by protesters on the Christian right, numbering roughly just over one swear per second. This would leave no room for any coordinating conjunctions or transitioning words. I would love to have seen that show. It would be like a night in Tommy Robinson’s Cyprus hotel room set to music.
Sadly the opera only included 174 swear words – making the Christian right’s claims an early example of rightwing disinformation – but the composer Richard Thomas taught me how to do swearing properly. And let me tell you, Elon Ketamusk is doing it all wrong, the stupid space-c***.
In my opinion, Ketamusk has gone in too hard and too fast by telling Thierry Breton to fuck his own face off the bat, and has left himself no room to escalate his rhetoric for comic effect, hardly the actions of a space-genius. Cicero said that the funniest thing was an indelicate idea delicately put, and vice versa. By Ciceronian logic, Ketamusk should have advised Breton to “pleasure his own mouth with whatever personal tools were at hand” or suchlike. But I can’t talk. I made a Cnut joke 500 words into this column, thus diminishing the effect of calling Elon Ketamusk a space-c*** only 200 words later. It’s harder than it looks, funny swearing.
Elon Ketamusk might want to learn from the example of our own Nigel Farage, who thought he could court extremists to further his interests, but is now their stained gimp. The misogynist influencer Andrew Tate has denounced Farage for “selling out freedom fighters to appease the matrix”, and his homunculus Tommy Robinson accused the MP for Clacton of “throwing him under the bus” again. That’s what happens when you swim with sharks.
The shark mates using a pair of claspers, similar to a mammal’s penis, one secreting sperm. Elon Ketamusk might yet find out how it feels to be clasped.
Stewart Lee
2024-08-18T19:17:30+01:00
The dorsal fin of the tiny remora fish conceals a suction mechanism, enabling it to cling to sharks, which are full of urea and can live for many years. And on Monday, the Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump, and Elon Musk, the billionaire playman and galactic space-lord of the decomposing social media channel Twitter (currently X), revealed the depth of their mutual admiration in an eider-soft and incompetently livestreamed interview. Trump said horrible things for two hours and Musk giggled. TV executives wanting to reboot Top Gear, with that classic Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond chemistry, need look no further. The shark-remora relationship is mutual. The remora consumes leftovers dropped by the shark and eats parasites that live in its mouth. This delights the shark – parasites can be irritating – and predators that might harm the remora are deterred, as the shark gives it a ride through the dangerous oceans. Could Musk help peck clever black women out of Trump’s mouth? Would Trump’s election deliver Musk free passage through the choppy seas of communication regulation? Just how hard can Musk’s remora suck? Musk’s inflated felching event was embarrassingly delayed for 40 minutes because of, according to Musk, a coordinated cyber attack or, according to Trump, his own massive popularity jamming the system. This tells you all you need to know about the two professionally delusional men’s respective rules for reorganising reality. Either “It’s a conspiracy” or “Many many many people, so many people, were watching bigly”. Thierry Breton, commissioner for the internal market of the European Union, had warned Trump and Musk against possible “amplification of harmful content”. But Musk trashed his own global opinion platform Twitter (currently X) in months, like a teenager in charge of his parents’ house over a weekend (“Please! This is our home!”). His business model...
"People say I don't have any jokes," says Stewart Lee in his new show – then sends up his supposed inability to crack a gag. But don't be fooled. Lee's entire act is a joke: if his lips are moving, he's not being serious. What's unique is his nimbleness in keeping a step ahead of our sense of what kind of joke he's telling. It's often funny, but at any given point, it's deviously unclear what we're laughing at. Adrian Chiles, or Lee's juvenile dislike of Adrian Chiles? Russell Howard, or the corrupting pact between charity and celebrity? David Cameron, or our poor, benighted selves?
The latter sequence is an extreme example of Lee's shtick – extreme, because his shaggy dog story about hobnobbing with Cameron at university intrigues, but hardly amuses. The routine starts by invoking the leftie agit-comedy of the 1980s. But this yarn, which subtly sends up Britain's romance with the supposedly detoxified Tories – Lee even sings a Bullingdon Club guitar ballad – heralds a new brand of political standup, which meets 21st-century politics on its chosen battleground: character and emotion rather than reason and policy.
The earlier material is out-and-out funnier. There's a dopey riff about Lee's granddad, obsessed with crisps and assailed by Godzilla's adversary Mothra. And a penetrating segment on charity, which digs into the cultural fallout when our most celebrated benefactors are also purveyors of snide gags on panel shows; whether that's hilarious or tragic is up to you. Rather than marshal us to the laugh, Lee lets it ebb and flow – now within reach, now just without – on the tide of his insistent, repetitious delivery. This is satire as neuro-linguistic programming, like a relaxation tape with gremlins, worming Lee's scorched-idealist worldview round the funny bone, and right into the subconscious.
Stewart Lee
2010-10-22T14:39:45+01:00
"People say I don't have any jokes," says Stewart Lee in his new show – then sends up his supposed inability to crack a gag. But don't be fooled. Lee's entire act is a joke: if his lips are moving, he's not being serious. What's unique is his nimbleness in keeping a step ahead of our sense of what kind of joke he's telling. It's often funny, but at any given point, it's deviously unclear what we're laughing at. Adrian Chiles, or Lee's juvenile dislike of Adrian Chiles? Russell Howard, or the corrupting pact between charity and celebrity? David Cameron, or our poor, benighted selves? The latter sequence is an extreme example of Lee's shtick – extreme, because his shaggy dog story about hobnobbing with Cameron at university intrigues, but hardly amuses. The routine starts by invoking the leftie agit-comedy of the 1980s. But this yarn, which subtly sends up Britain's romance with the supposedly detoxified Tories – Lee even sings a Bullingdon Club guitar ballad – heralds a new brand of political standup, which meets 21st-century politics on its chosen battleground: character and emotion rather than reason and policy. The earlier material is out-and-out funnier. There's a dopey riff about Lee's granddad, obsessed with crisps and assailed by Godzilla's adversary Mothra. And a penetrating segment on charity, which digs into the cultural fallout when our most celebrated benefactors are also purveyors of snide gags on panel shows; whether that's hilarious or tragic is up to you. Rather than marshal us to the laugh, Lee lets it ebb and flow – now within reach, now just without – on the tide of his insistent, repetitious delivery. This is satire as neuro-linguistic programming, like a relaxation tape with gremlins, worming Lee's scorched-idealist worldview round the funny bone, and right into the...
On my way to pick up fresh cat litter in the car on Wednesday, I suddenly heard the following snippet of radio news: “A hulking and senseless creature, driven only by instinct and self-interest, has nonetheless learned to emit recognisable human words through its blowhole.”
But I am sick of hearing about Boris Johnson all the time and quickly turned the radio off. When will people realise that it’s only by denying this lying Brexit oaf the oxygen of publicity that we can finally stem the flow of falsehood that seems to stream endlessly from his filthy blowhole, day after day after day?
Back at home I realised LBC’s Nick Ferrari hadn’t been describing Boris Johnson at all, or even himself, but was in fact announcing the arrival on the world stage of Wikie, a sentient and apparently communicative killer whale, living in a French theme park. “Hello,” he says, and “one, two, three.”
Oddly, despite being in France, the whale appears to have chosen to communicate in English, observing current EU negotiating protocol. Doubtless all European cetaceans will revert to their original regional dialects when our glorious independence from those Brussels bureaucrat fat cats is finally enacted, unless the traitors triumph.
(Remember, though, we will have only our independent British selves to blame if, having capsized a catamaran off the Belgian coast, we are unable to convince local dolphins to tow us to safety, lacking the now requisite Flemish or Walloon.)
I have often suspected the cetacean community could understand us a lot better than they let on. In 1993, I began writing my first solo standup hour in the splendid isolation of a remote peat cutter’s bothy on the Isle of Lewis, not far from the Callanish III standing stones, where Ultravox filmed the video to their 1984 single, One Small Day.
I had become fixated on the idea that although critics assumed standup audiences were laughing at an alternative comedian’s subject material – farts, periods, Thatcher etc – what was more profound was the extent to which they were actually subconsciously affected by changes in a comedian’s speech rhythms, which subtly tickled the laughter out of them, irrespective of content.
(If you’ve ever seen my standup act live and wondered why you found it quite so exciting, well, let me enlighten you. You, dear reader, have a subliminal awareness of how most comedy follows the regular rhythms drilled into us as foetuses by the beating of our mothers’ hearts. My own punchlines and asides, thrillingly, are falling just outside the beats where they might be expected to land, in the style of pioneering free jazz percussionists like Sunny Murray, Tony Oxley and Ronnie Verrell.)
But, I wondered, would an audience of sentient, but not culturally literate, beings appreciate this strategy? I rowed out on to the midnight Minch and emptied a bucket of fish into the choppy waves to attract the dolphins, who soon gathered around my boat, already a more appreciative audience than can be found in, say, the entire city of Carlisle.
Through a purloined megaphone I performed two routines to the attentive sea creatures; the first a long story of being visited repeatedly by Jehovah’s Witnesses, which relied on the audience knowing who both the actor Robert Powell and the proto-grunge band the Jesus Lizard were; the second a shambling improvisation around a poster of a kitten playing the piano, the actual words largely irrelevant, the humour derived essentially from micro-managed tonal and rhythmical shifts.
Needless to say, the patient cetaceans were left cold by the first bit, but clapped their flippers and clacked their tongues enthusiastically to the second, just as an audience of Scots at the Edinburgh fringe were to do the following summer, where, typically, I was overlooked for the main award as usual. Never mind. In the world of the dolphins I was a player.
It is the killer whale, however, which has always been my favourite cetacean, ever since an ill-advisedly youthful exposure, at the age of nine, to Dino De Laurentiis’s violent and horrific eco-thriller Orca: The Killer Whale. I duly noted that the pornographic elements of Arthur Herzog’s source novel, which I had already read, were absent from the screen adaptation, but this was more than made up for by Richard Harris’s unexpectedly brilliant portrayal of a drunken Irish fisherman, surely a high-water mark in a career characterised by impossible and unpredictable versatility.
By Wednesday night on the day of the whale revelation, I was on a train to France, arriving at the animal park where Wikie was held at around 3am and soon scaling the typically weak French fence. I flopped on to the concrete by the side of his silent pool, my shadow cast against a bank of seating by a lone security spotlight, and suddenly the whale’s great black-and-white head rose from the water to greet me.
“You,” the whale Wikie intoned, the syllable echoing from his cavernous blowhole, “your Jehovah’s Witness routine was cheap shit, but your kitten playing the piano bit is still spoken of with reverence in the cetacean community. In the language of the cetaceans, you are called He Who Laughs At Kittens, or Ikky Ikky Ak Ak Bwaaa Auuuuuuk Ka Ka Ka Eeee Eeee Eee Pweeeee Pweeee Pweeeee Urk Urk Fweeeeeeeeeee.”
“You can speak,” I whispered in awed reverence. “And I think you always could. Has the proliferation of plastics finally forced you to break your silence? You could all speak, and understand us, all along, couldn’t you? Why did you never say anything before?”
“Because,” replied the whale, after a thoughtful pause, “up until fairly recently, everything has been quite satisfactory. Now, if you please, the kitten piano bit.” I got up, stood before the enormous sentience and began.
The jazz-noise album Bristol Fashion by capri-batterie with Stewart Lee is available to download at bandcamp.com. Content Provider continues to tour until April, when it finally resolves with three dates at the Royal Festival Hall
Stewart Lee
2018-02-04T16:12:34+00:00
On my way to pick up fresh cat litter in the car on Wednesday, I suddenly heard the following snippet of radio news: “A hulking and senseless creature, driven only by instinct and self-interest, has nonetheless learned to emit recognisable human words through its blowhole.” But I am sick of hearing about Boris Johnson all the time and quickly turned the radio off. When will people realise that it’s only by denying this lying Brexit oaf the oxygen of publicity that we can finally stem the flow of falsehood that seems to stream endlessly from his filthy blowhole, day after day after day? Back at home I realised LBC’s Nick Ferrari hadn’t been describing Boris Johnson at all, or even himself, but was in fact announcing the arrival on the world stage of Wikie, a sentient and apparently communicative killer whale, living in a French theme park. “Hello,” he says, and “one, two, three.” Oddly, despite being in France, the whale appears to have chosen to communicate in English, observing current EU negotiating protocol. Doubtless all European cetaceans will revert to their original regional dialects when our glorious independence from those Brussels bureaucrat fat cats is finally enacted, unless the traitors triumph. (Remember, though, we will have only our independent British selves to blame if, having capsized a catamaran off the Belgian coast, we are unable to convince local dolphins to tow us to safety, lacking the now requisite Flemish or Walloon.) I have often suspected the cetacean community could understand us a lot better than they let on. In 1993, I began writing my first solo standup hour in the splendid isolation of a remote peat cutter’s bothy on the Isle of Lewis, not far from the Callanish III standing stones, where Ultravox filmed the video to their 1984...
Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times.
“I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times
★★★★ Financial Times
★★★★ Chortle
“One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus
“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman
The film receives its hometown premier in Birmingham, as the King Rocker Christmas Special at the Midland Arts center on Sat 18th December, preceeded by a Q&A with me and dir Michael Cumming, and followed by a performance by the Nightingales. https://macbirmingham.co.uk/event/king-rocker-q-a
I will also be hosting a thing about the film at the Laugharne Weekend Festival in Carmarthenshire on the 3rd of October, where I will also interview Alexei Sayle live on the same day. https://www.thelaugharneweekend.com/line-up
GALLIVANT SCREENING
I will be hosting a 25th anniversary screening of one of my favourite films, Gallivant, with its director, and its star, Andrew and Eden Kotting respectively, at the Kino in Hastings on Sat 11th Sept.
This is a great opportunity to see this unforgettable masterpiece on a big screen. https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/kinoteatr/t-rnkomn
Comedy fans may like to note that in the ‘90s the recently late Sean Lock collaborated on both a short and a feature with Andrew Kotting, with whom he shared a disruptive surrealist ethos, clearly visible in Sean’s massively overlooked early ‘00s sit-com 15 Storeys High, and still glimpsed in his format-challenging 21st century panel show work. Small world.
LAURA CANNELL
The avant-folk dronemädchen Laura Cannell has been releasing an ep a month throughout the pandemic.
I wrote and mumbled some words for the latest, August Sounds, also featuring Welsh harpist Rhodri Davies, whose book {below} I done some words for too and that. Available here as cd or dl. http://www.lauracannell.co.uk
Laura Cannell and Kate Ellis also bring the much delayed live incarnation of their These Feral Lands recording project to London’s King’s Place on Feb 18th 2022.
I wrote words for four of the tracks and will attempt to do something with them on the night. I thought about where I was conceived, and where I was born, plugged the details I know into the folklore of both regions, and tried not to get in the way of Laura and Kate’s mediaeval trance music steamroller. https://www.kingsplace.co.uk/whats-on/contemporary/laura-cannell-with-stewart-lee-kate-ellis-these-feral-lands/
UNRELIABLE NARRATOR DOC BBCR4
I did this piece of KRS1-style edu-tainment for BBCR4 with Resonance 104.4FM alumney Michael Umney, called Stewart Lee - Unreliable Narrator. Lots of comedians in it.
The record store day dbl vinyl of Asian Dub Foundation’s Access Denied album includes a ‘neolithic’ remix of the no 1 single Comin’ Over Here (feat. Stewart Lee) Facebook Link
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album, which didn’t happen after something got spilt on the laptop that had all the tracks on it.
Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
All the SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO tour dates outstanding from 2020 will be shifted into 2022, starting in Jan, and below are the ones we know about so far. Local venues will contact you if they haven’t already.
All the warm-up club dates you may have bought tickets for have been slotted in to Nov and Dec, covid willing, and venues will contact ticket holders.
Please do not hassle venues about all this. They will contact you. We will get there! I am planning on re-writing the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO to reflect our drastically altered world and will make as good a recording as possible of the abandoned original SNOWFLAKE available at some point. It’s all bacon!
January 2022
Tuesday 4th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 5th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 6th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 7th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 8th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 10th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 13th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 15th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Monday 17th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 18th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Wednesday 19th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Thursday 20th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Friday 21st January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Saturday 22nd January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 25th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 28th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Sunday 30th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
February 2022
Wednesday 2nd February 2022 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd February 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Friday 4th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 5th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 10th February 2022 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 11th February 2022 - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 12th February 2022 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Sunday 13th February 2022 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 26th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 27th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 28th February 2022 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
March 2022
Wednesday 2nd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 4th March 2022 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Saturday 5th March 2022 - Playhouse, Salisbury
Sunday 6th March 2022 - De La Warr Pavillion, Bexhill On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th March 2022 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield - TICKETS
Thursday 10th March 2022 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 11th March 2022 - The Courtyard, Hereford - TICKETS
Saturday 12th March 2022 - Grand Theatre, Swansea
Monday 14th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 15th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th March 2022 - The Sands Centre, Carlisle - TICKETS
Thursday 17th March 2022 - Royal Hall, Harrogate
Tuesday 22nd March 2022 - Churchill Theatre, Bromley - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 26th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 27th March 2022 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th March 2022 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 31st March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
April 2022
Friday 1st April 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd April 2022 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th April 2022 - Wyvern Theatre, Swindon - TICKETS
Thursday 21st April 2022 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Friday 22nd April 2022 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Sunday 24th April 2022 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 26th April 2022 - Cliffs Pavilion, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th April 2022 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Thursday 28th April 2022 - Derby Theatre, Derby - TICKETS
Friday 29th April 2022 - Lyceum Theatre, Crewe - TICKETS
Saturday 30th April 2022 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
May 2022
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 4th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 5th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 6th May 2022 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 7th May 2022 - Gala Theatre, Durham - TICKETS
Sunday 8th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford - TICKETS
Wednesday 11th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford - TICKETS
Thursday 12th May 2022 - Assembly Hall Theatre, Tunbridge Wells
Friday 13th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 14th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Sunday 15th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Tuesday 17th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Wednesday 18th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 19th May 2022 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Saturday 21st May 2022 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Sunday 22nd May 2022 - The Grand, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 23rd May 2022 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 24th May 2022 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 25th May 2022 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Friday 27th May 2022 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Saturday 28th May 2022 - Winding Wheel, Chesterfield - TICKETS
June 2022
Tuesday 7th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Friday 17th June 2022 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 18th June 2022 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 19th June 2022 - Festival Theatre, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 26th June 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 30th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
July 2022
Friday 1st July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
I would be delighted if, if you are coming to see me, you could do your best to get vaccinated, irrespective of what the gvt or the venue insist upon.
I doubt that my snowflake audience will contain many people who deny the existence of Covid or believe the vaccine is George Soros or Bill Gates trying to put tiny Transformer robots into your blood. But I and my team will be interacting with over 150 000 people on the next leg of the tour, and I would like to minimise our risk, and the risk to my audience, so meet me half way.
I will be selling and signing stuff as usual, I hope, but I won’t be shaking hands to thank you all this time around, and will probably be positioned behind some kind of screen like William Shatner in Airplane 2. Sad.
MEDIA GARAGE SALE
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the utter bastards.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about like Priss Fotheringham on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind.
I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available..
A rambling chat in which I fail to promote King Rocker at the expense of a Marxist analysis of culture and history from the inventor of Alternative Comedy ™ ®
Dir Michael Cumming and I discuss King Rocker with Britain’s top film guru and skiffle enthusiast, who has been very supportive of the no-budget project.
Andy Miller and John Michinson’s long running and much loved books podcast. I discuss the waspish poet and novelist Rosemary Tonks with them, Nicky Birch and Jennifer Hodgson.
This is a marvellous ongoing Podcast which is unashamedly civilised in an unenlightened era, and this episode is full of great writing, batshit radiophonic music and clever women.
North London echo chamber fun sure to irk people of all political persuasions with the forensically-minded folk devil for the far right and snowflake do-gooder Owen Jones, and me, talking about King Rocker and more general stuff. His current run of ‘casts has some great guests.
Informed Wolverhampton-based comedy and music enthusiast of uncommon warmth and knowledge talks to me about KING ROCKER and what the Gray Pays ‘n’ Bacon are like at the Great Western pub.
I asked Adam if I could go on this massively popular podcast and he said yes which was very kind of him. It was fun hearing his Mark E Smith story from the horse’s mouth and he asked me hard questions of the type I usually avoid.
I answer questions from various utterly delightful members of the Idler’s thoughtful middle class readership from their wine and book filled homes.
They are the real stars here! You will emerge from watching this in love with at least one of them.
In this episode of The Last Line, James talks to comedian Stewart Lee about his new film King Rocker, a documentary about Robert Lloyd, lead singer of 70’s post-punk band The Nightingales.
During their conversation they discuss the new film, its central protagonist Robert Lloyd, stand up comedy, Stewart’s propensity to defend stand up comedians against the views of the general public and his reluctance to participate in podcast interviews.
There’s an interview with Michael Cumming on this podcast too, link below.
Sometime in March you will be able to hear me eat a really lovely Sri Lankan mutton curry from the Kolama restaurant, Soho, with bon viveur jazz pianist Jay Rayner. (I see how this works now!)
This is the most showbiz thing I have ever done, and I am glad it was with jazzy Jay Rayner.
This is a new series of docu-chats on different esoteric subjects.
You have to pay for them because they are finished pieces of work not just some fuckers talking or wandering about.
I have appeared on three of them - on Hawkwind, Penda’s Fen and John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy.
I saw Auton’s new stand-up show at Soho Theatre this month. It is full of brilliant one-liners, that linger with you for days, but are delivered with low energy casualness that makes them seem effortless rather than the result of real hard work and talent.
About two thirds through the show quietly glides from chatty stand-up mode into a more theatrical structured shape, Auton musing on life in a psychedelic bubble. It’s on tour. Book here https://www.robauton.co.uk/past-productions
03/09/21 Corsham, Pound Arts
05/09/21 Swindon, Arts Centre
07/09/21 Leeds, Hyde Park Bookclub
08/09/21 Newcastle, The Stand
09/09/21 York, The Crescent
11/09/21 Exeter, Phoenix
12/09/21 Assembly Festival, Coventry
13/09/21 Sheffield, The Leadmill
17/09/21 Kettering Arts Centre
18/09/21 Edinburgh, The Stand
19/09/21 Glasgow, The Stand
22/09/21 Manchester, Frog and Bucket
23/09/21 Chorley, Little Theatre
30/09/21 Aldershot, West End Arts Centre
02/10/21- Reading, South Street
The Nightingales
Birmingham post punk veterans and KING ROCKER stars.
SEPTEMBER 3rd Birmingham Moseley Folk Festival.
OCTOBER 28TH M’cr Gullivers,
29th Newport Le Pub,
30th Exeter Cavern,
31st Lewes Con.
NOVEMBER 1st Sheffield Greystones,
3rd London Lexington,
4th B’ham Hare & Hounds,
5th Bristol Rough Trade,
6th Southsea Wedgewood,
7th Bedford Esquires,
8th London Lexington W BLUE ORCHIDS & TED CHIPPINGTON,
9th Barrow-in-Furness Underground,
10th Glasgow Hugh & Pint,
11th Edinburgh Caves,
12th Middlesbrough Westgarth,
13th Hebden Bridge Trades,
14th Leicester Cookie,
DECEMBER 18th Birmingham MAC w King Rocker film
Ruts
DC Dub punks SEPTEMBER 10TH Liverpool Positive Vibrations, 25th Newcastle Northumbria Uni
Sleaford Mods
Angry loud man and quiet piano man. SEPTEMBER 2ND End of The Road fest. NOVEMBER 26TH Oxford Academy. DECEMBER 2ND London Printworks, 3rd Brighton Dome
Hawkwind
Psychedelic survivors. SEPTEMBER 11th Cambridge Corn Exchange, 12th Leamington Spa Assembly, 17th Swindon Mecca, 27th M’cr Ritz. OCTOBER 28TH London Palladium.
The Wolfhounds
Cheesewire indie kitchen sink realists NOVEMBER 5TH London 229, 19th Middlesbrough Westgarth, 20th Preston Ferret
Bo Ningen
Lots of dates from Japanese noise-niks. SEPTEMBER 4th M’cr Pscyh Fest, OCTOBER 1st Bristol Fleece, 2nd Ramsgate Music Hall, 3rd S’hampton Loft, 6th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 7th Sheffield Record Junkee, 8th L’pool District, 9th Glasgow Stereo, 10th Bristol Fleece, 12th Oxford Bullingdon, 13th London Village U’ground, 14th Brighton Chalk
The Primevals
Glasgow garage rockers, our own Flamin’ Groovies. SEPTEMBER 3rd Middlesbrough Westgarth. NOVEMBER 27TH London Hope & Anchor.
The Catenary Wires
Overqualified theoretical popticians SEPTEMBER 4TH London Amersham Arms, 10th Rainham Oast, 12th Brighton Prince Albert, 24th Oxford Fusion, 25th Coventry Coal Vaults.
The Chameleons
M’cr post punk visionaries on another victory lap. SEPTEMBER 8th Bedford Esquires, 25th Holmfrith Picture Dome. NOVEMBER 12TH Minehead Shine On. DECEMBER 14TH Huddersfield Parish, 16th Blackpool Waterloo, 17th/18th M’cr Ritz. JANUARY 14TH Leicester Academy, 15th Birmingham Institute. FEBRUARY 1ST Nottingham Rescue Rooms.
The Fallen Leaves
Gentlemen mod punks. SEPTEMBER 11TH London Camden Fiddler’s Elbow. OCTOBER 30TH London 100 Club. NOVEMBER 20TH Brighton Prince Albert.
Ben Moor
The performance artist/playwright/monologist Ben Moor is out and about with three new shows.
Who Here’s Lost marries the usual plaintive and beautiful parallel world wonderings with jarringly funny wordplay.
Booktalkbooktalkbook is a two hander with the mighty Jo Neary, about a book talk that swallows itself in a hall of mirrors full of Russian dolls.
Pronoun trouble is a trademark infringing exploration of the Bugs Bunny multiverse.
WHO HERE'S LOST? AT THE CONSTITUTIONAL, FARSLEY - 11th SEPTEMBER 2021
WHO HERE'S LOST? AT GREATER MANCHESTER FRINGE - 24th SEPTEMBER 2021
BOOKTALKBOOKTALKBOOK AT GREATER MANCHESTER FRINGE - 25th SEPTEMBER 2021
2.30pm SUNDAY 26th SEPTEMBER 2021 HEN & CHICKENS THEATRE BAR
109 ST PAUL'S ROAD, LONDON N1 2NA
BOOKTALKBOOKTALKBOOK
Described online as “an awkward joy,” “an extraordinary piece of work by all concerned,” and “a mandatory booking at every book festival in the country,” please book now for a very different afternoon of books and talks and books and talks and books. TICKETS ARE ON SALE NOW.
The price includes £1.50 Annual Membership to the Hen & Chickens Theatre Club, which is a great club to be in.
PRONOUN TROUBLE / WHO HERE'S LOST / BOOKTALKBOOKTALKBOOK AT 41 MONKGATE YORK - OCTOBER 2021
The Scientists
16th SEPTEMBER Spicejazz Soho London. Can this one off by Australian garage gurus be for real?
Saturday 18th September - Sherman Theatre Cardiff
Sunday 19th September 2021 - Lighthouse Poole
Friday 24th September 2021 - The Landmark Ilfracombe
Saturday 25th September 2021 - Corn Exchange Exeter
Sunday 26th September 2021 - Playhouse Oxford
Thursday 30th September 2021 - Theatre Severn Shrewsbury
Friday 1st October 2021 - Canolfan y Celfyddydau / Arts Centre Aberystwyth
Saturday 2nd October 2021 - The Y Theatre Leicester
Tuesday 5th October 2021 - Octagon Yeovil
Thursday 7th October 2021 - Pavilion Worthing
Friday 8th October 2021 - Playhouse Liverpool
Saturday 9th October 2021 - Royal Hall Harrogate
Sunday 10th October 2021 - The Stables Milton Keynes
Tuesday 12th October 2021 - Theatre Royal Winchester
Thursday 14th October 2021 - The Lowry Salford
Friday 15th October 2021 - The Lowry Salford
Saturday 16th October 2021 - The Dukes Lancaster
Sunday 17th October 2021 - City Varieties Leeds
Wednesday 20th October 2021 - Forum Northallerton
Thursday 21st October 2021 - The Stand Edinburgh
Friday 22nd October 2021 - The Witham Barnard Castle
Saturday 23rd October 2021 - Haymarket Basingstoke
Sunday 24th October 2021 - Playhouse Norwich
Monday 1st November 2021 - The Stand Newcastle
Tuesday 2nd November 2021 - The Stand Glasgow
Wednesday 3rd November 2021 - Tivoli Theatre Aberdeen
Thursday 4th November 2021 - The Stand Edinburgh
Friday 5th November 2021 - The Stand Newcastle
Wednesday 10th November 2021 - Gala Theatre Durham
Thursday 11th November 2021 - The Arc Stockton
Friday 12th November 2021 - Queen's Hall Hexham
Saturday 13th November 2021 - Chorley Theatre Chorley
Sunday 14th November 2021 - Warwick Arts Centre Coventry
Thursday 18th November 2021 - Charter Hall Colchester
Friday 19th November 2021 - The Junction Cambridge
Saturday 20th November 2021 - The Junction Cambridge
Sunday 21st November 2021 - The Dome Brighton
Monday 22nd November 2021 - Playhouse Nottingham
Wednesday 24th November 2021 - Pontio Bangor
Thursday 25th November 2021 - Darwen Library Theatre Blackburn
Friday 26th November 2021 - Darwen Library Theatre Blackburn
Saturday 27th November 2021 - Performing Arts Centre Lincoln
Thursday 2nd December 2021 - Quarterhouse Folkestone
Friday 3rd December 2021 - Gulbenkian Canterbury
Sunday 5th December 2021 - Old Vic Bristol
Wednesday 8th December 2021 - Komedia Bath
Thursday 9th December 2021 - Comedy Hall Tiverton
Friday 10th December 2021 - MAC Birmingham
Saturday 11th December 2021 - MAC Birmingham
The Meat Puppets
We are lead to believe that the amazing Meat Puppets, who you must see before you or they die, are doing four UK dates. Grateful Dead crossed w Husker Du. Desert punk psyche. SEPTEMBER 23rd London Islington Academy, 24th M’cr Bread Shed, 25th Newcastle Cluny, 26th Dover Booking Hall
Fossil Fools
24th Sept Swindon Victoria, 9th Oct Water Rats London. Tentative return by top XTC tribute band.
Jonny & The Baptists - Dance Like It Never Happened
I saw Johnny & The Baptists’ current touring show at Soho Theatre in August.
A game you can play with yourself, once you’ve seen them, is to try and think how many comedy acts are actually both funnier and cleverer than Johnny and The Baptists.
There’s subversion everywhere - rhymes that resolutely rhyme with themselves defying the expectation to progress - alongside the undeniable star quality of Johnny’s voice and the subtly supportive nature, and quietly spectacular, guitar playing of Lord Paddy. And they seem like they love each other’s company and revel in each other’s talent which is a joy to behold.
I’ve seen nearly 35 years of comedy musical double acts, from Bill Bailey’s Rubber Bishops, Steve Gribbin’s Skint Video, Rebecca Front’s BoBo Girls, Richard Thomas’ Miles & Milner, and Helen Austin’s Two Girls Wot Sing in the ‘80s alterno days to watching Flight Of The Conchords come up through the ‘00s fringe.
At the top of that distinguished pile, I think The Baptists are the Conchords’ equals in cleverness and comic value, but their energy is frenetic and focussed rather than laid back and zonked. Some dates remain outstanding. Book here
Female Fall tribute band w guest vocalists incl me. DECEMBER 5th London Lexington.
Nina Hamnett
Exhibition of the art of the underrated bohemian Fitzrovian, Charleston, East Sussex.
NEW FILMS
Little Joe (Jessica Hausner) ★★★★ County Lines (Henry Blake) ★★★★★
Animal Antics (Patrick Goddard) ★★★★★
OLD FILMS
Box Of Moonlight (Tom DeCillo, 1996) ★★★★★
Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983) ★★★★★
Where Eagles Dare (Brian G Hutton, 1968) ★★★★★
The Big Gundown (Sergio Sollima, 1967) ★★★★★
The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973) ★★★★★
Star Wars (George Lucas, 1977) ★★★★★
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)★★★★★
Good Vibrations (Lisa Barros D’sa/Glen Leyburn, 2013)★★★★★
Caliber 9 (Fernado di Leon, 1972) ★★★★★
‘71 (Yann Demange, 2014) ★★★★★
Big Night (Campbell Scott/Stanley Tucci, 1996) ★★★★★
Jason & The Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) ★★★★★
Goldstone (Ivan Sen, 2016) ★★★★★
Witness (Peter Weir, 1985) ★★★★★
Avengers Infinity War (Russo Brothers, 2018) ★★★★
Avengers Endgame (Russo Brothers, 2019) ★★★★
In Order of Disappearance (Hans Peter Molland, 2014)★★★★★
Iron Man III (Shane Black, 2013)★★★★★
Pauline A La Plage (Eric Rohmer, 1983) ★★★★★
Gone To Earth (Powell/Pressburger, 1950) ★★★★
The Odd Couple (Neil Simon, 1968) ★★★★★
Excalibur (John Boorman, 1981) ★★★★
Samurai 1 : Mushashi Miyamoto (Hiroshi Inagaki, 1954) ★★★★
Cache / Hidden (Michaek Haneke, 2005) ★★★★★ Babylon (Franco Rosso, 1980) ★★★★★
Summer In February (Christopher Menaul, 2013) ★★★★ Guardians of The Galaxy (James Gunn, 2014) ★★★★★
All Tomorrow’s Parties (Jonathan Caouette, 2009) ★★★★ Medea (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969) ★★★★★
Force Majeure (Ruben Ostlund, 2015) ★★★★
Lift To The Scaffold (Louise Malle, 1958)★★★★★
Macbeth (Roman Polanski, 1971)★★★★★
Tomb of Ligeia (Roger Corman, 1964) ★★★★
Massacre Time (Lucio Fulci, 1966) ★★★★
Bandidos (Massimo Dallamano, 1967) ★★★★
And God Said To Cain (Antonio Margheriti, 1970) ★★★★★
Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows, 2004) ★★★★★
Romeo + Juliet (Baz Luhrmann, 1996) ★★★★★
OLD BOOKS
Rosemary Tonks - Emir (1963)★★★★★
Rosemary Tonks - The Bloater (1968) ★★★★★
John Berger/Jean Mohr - A Fortunate Man (1967) ★★★★★ Ann Quin - Berg (1964) ★★★★
Sir John Mandeville - The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (1357)★★★★ Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018)
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) Virginia Nicholson - Amongst The Bohemians (2003)
Joanna Moorhead - The Surreal Life of Leonora Carrington (2017)
Betty May - Tiger Woman (1929)
Val Doonican - My Story, My Life (2009) Dave Graney - Workshy (2017)
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde - R L Stevenson (1985)
Hide & Seek - Dennis Potter (1973)
M R James - Complete Ghost Stories (1904 - 35) ★★★★★
NEW BOOKS
Tessa Norton/Bob Stanley - Excavate!
Alan Stafford - Wilson, Keppel & Betty, Too Naked For The Nazis Peter Oborne - The Assault On Truth Nesrine Malik - We Need New Stories ★★★★★ Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018) ★★★★★
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) ★★★★★ Alicia Foster - Nina Hamnett Charlie Hill - I Don’t Want To Go To The Taj Mahjal
Hill’s economic autobiography is a simplistic list of addresses, dead end jobs, cultural ephemera, and brief assignations, garnished with two or three short paragraphs of barely formed reflection. And yet, in reducing his life to these most basic elements, it manages to be a more profound comment on existence then many more self-consciously analytical efforts. As if to confound Wittgenstein, it appears the unexamined life was worth living after all.
Tracey Thorn - My Rock ‘n’ Roll Friend ★★★★★
Will Sergeant - Bunnyman ★★★★
Hotel Art Head - Rhodri Davies & Nikos Veliotos I have written the intro for this new project exploring the interior design aesthetics travelling musicians’ hotel acommodation https://rhodridavies.bandcamp.com/merch/hotel-art-head-rhodri-davies-nikos-veliotis-art-book
NEW COMICS
Joe Sacco - Paying The Land (2020)
NEW TV
Ghosts S2 (BBC, 2020)
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020) The Mandalorian S2 (Disney, 2020) ★★★★★ Call My Agent S3 (France 2, 2018)★★★★★
Call My Agent S4 (France 2, 2021) ★★★★★
The Trump Show (BBC, 2020-1)★★★★★
Lupin S1 (Netflix, 2021)★★★★★ Wandavision (Marvel, 2021)★★★★★
Stonehenge The Lost Circle Revealed (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★
Adam Curtis’ Can’t Get You Out Of My Head (BBC, 2021)★★★★★ Raiders Of The Lost Past With Janina Ramirez (BBC2, 2021) ★★★★
Mortimer & Whitehouse Gone Fishing S3 (BBC, 2020) ★★★★★
The Falcon & The Winter Soldier (Marvel, 2021) ★★★★★
Homeland s8 (Netflix, 2020)★★★★★
Into The Night S1 (Between a Dog & A Wolf, 2020) ★★★★
Unforgotten S4 (ITV, 2021) ★★★★
Inside No 9 S6 (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★ Great British Bake Off S11 (C4, 2020) ★★★★★
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) Time (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★ Loki (Kate Herron, Marvel, 2021)
Ghosts S3 (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★
INTERNETS, RADIOS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rob Auton’s Daily Podcast
Alastair Beckett-King on Youtube
Shawn Woods’ Mouse Trap Monday on Youtube
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) ★★★★ Bridget Christie - Mortal (BBCR4)
Rosie Holt’s Youtube characters
THEATRE
Under Milk Wood - Dylan Thomas (National) ★★★★★
The Pin’s The Comeback (Noel Coward Theatre) ★★★★
This felt like it was from the 1870s, the 1950s and now all at the same time.
It was of a tradition at the same time as exploding it. It reminded me of THE RIGHT Size and it would be great if The Pin could hold the partnership together in the way they didn't as there's probably lots to find out about how elastic it can be, and what you can subsume into it.
A Victorian audience would have recognised it as Music Hall and a ‘50s audience would have recognised it as Absurdism, which Beckett knew was music hall anyway. Were they even in a theatre, really, them blokes? I hope it tours.
Ben Moor - Who Here’s Lost? (Hen & Chickens) ★★★★
COMEDY
Jo Neary - Wife On Earth (Hen & Chickens) ★★★★
Rob Auton - Time (Soho Theatre) ★★★★
Johnny & The Baptists (Soho Theatre) ★★★★★
NEW RECORDS
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
Cult Figures - Deritend Vapour Trails - Celestial Scuzz ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - Before Computers (demos)
Kevin March - Last Night
Doug Gillard - Douglas Scott Gillard II
Guided by Voices - Earth Man Blues Gwenifer Raymond - Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain Ustad Saami - Pakistan Is For The Peaceful ★★★★★ The Blue Orchids - Speed The Day Dave Graney & The Mistly - Live At Byrds ★★★★★
Mainliner - Dual Myths ★★★★★
Hawkwind - 50th Anniversary Live
The Amorphous Androgynous w Peter Hammill - We Persuade Ourselves We Are Immortal
Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The London Symphony Orcestrea - s/t
Major Murphy - Access
Eleventh Dream Day - Since Grazed Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg
Guided By Voices - Earth Man Blues
Fixed Horizon - Grenouille Lucinda Williams - Runnin’ Down A Dream
Krallice - Demonic Wealth
Catenary Wires - Birling Gap
Cub Scout Bowling Pins - Heaven Beats Iowa ★★★★
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There’s Pretty Things in Palookaville ★★★★
Robyn Hitchcock - The Man Upstairs ★★★★
Chris Forsyth - First Flight
Chris Eckerman - Where The Spirit Rests ★★★★
The Scientists - Negativity
David Grubbs & Ryley Walker - Husky Pants ★★★★ Shirley Collins - Heart’s Ease ★★★★★ Gary Louris - Jump For Joy ★★★★★
Fixed Horizon - Full Circle ★★★★
Trees Speak - Post Human ★★★★ William Loveday Intention - People Think They Know Me ★★★★★
Hawkwind - Somnia The Bevis Frond - Little Eden ★★★★★
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There’s Pretty Things In Palookaville ★★★★★
Goat - Headsoup Adele & The Chandeliers - First Date
Trees Speak - Post Human
Sun Ra Arkestra - Swirling ★★★★★
Phil Minton - Woke Up At 8 ★★★★★
Rudimentary Peni - The Great War Lucinda Williams - Southern Soul
Son Volt - Electro Melodies ★★★★
Guided By Voices - It’s Not Them! It Couldn’t Be Them! It Is Them! ★★★★
Billy Childish & CTMF - Where The Purple Iris Grows ★★★★
NEW OLD RECORDS
V/A - Rough Guide To Avant-Garde Japan
Guided by Voices - Live At Irving Plaza (1996)
Damo Suzuki & Echo Ensemble - Live @ Green Door (2013) Heavenly - A Bout De Heavenly (1989-1996)
Martin Stone - Down But Not Out In Paris and London (1992-2013)
John Russell & Terry Day - Russell & Day (1979?)
Derek Bailey, Trevor Watts & Terry Day - At LTC (1972?) Sonny Rollins - Rollins In Holland (1967) ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - I Sell The Circus (demos) (2015) The Fall - St Helen’s Technical College (1981) ★★★★★
Charles Gayle, John Edwards, Mark Sanders - Seasons Changing (2017) ★★★★★
The Misunderstood - Children of The Sun(1965-66) ★★★★★
Dexter Gordon - Live In Chateauvallon (1978) ★★★★★
The Loft - Ghost Trains & Country Lanes (1984-2015)
And Also The Trees - s/t (1984)
Neil Young - Young Shakespeare (1971)
T2 - It’ll All Work Out In Boomland (1970)
The Outsiders - Count For Something (1976-78)
The Selecter - Too Much Pressure box (1980)
Brown Acid 11 - v/a (1969-73)
Fleur de Lys - Circles (1964-1969)
J Jazz Deep Jazz From Modern Japan vol 3 - V/A (1962-1985)
The Black Keys Present Hill Country Blues - v/a
Brown Acid 12 - v/a (1968-80)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Open Road - Windy Day (1971)
Dave Graney, Clare Moore, Georgie Valentino & Malcolm Ross - s/t (2017) ★★★★
Hangman’s Beautiful Daughters - Smashed Full Of Wonder (1987)
The Lipstick Killers - Strange Flash (1976-81)
The Hawks - Obviously 5 Believers (1979-81) ★★★★
v/a - Goitse A Thaisce (1960-2020) ★★★★★
v/a - Fire Draw Near (1940-2020) ★★★★★
OLD RECORDS
Cocteau Twins - Treasure (1984) ★★★★ Billy Bragg - Life’s A Riot (1983) ★★★★★
Billy Bragg - Brewing Up with (1984) ★★★★★
The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional (1986) ★★★★
Siouxsie & The Banshees - A Kiss In The Dreamhouse (1982) ★★★★
Bunny Striker Lee - The Bunny Striker Lee Story (1967-80) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, A Journey Into Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, Original Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, More Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
Tomorrow’s Gift - Goodbye Future (1973) ★★★★
Jackson C Frank - s/t (1965) ★★★★
V/A - Down Home Blues, Chicago Fine Boogie (1947-1958)★★★★ Maggie Bjorklund - Shaken (2014)★★★★ June Tabor - Airs & Graces (1976) ★★★★★
John Martyn - The Very Best Of (1967-1996) ★★★★★ The Owl Service - The Garland Sessions (2007) ★★★★★
John Lee Hooker - Tantalising With The Blues (1965-70)★★★★★
Furry Lewis, Memphis Willie B, Memphis Slim - Bluesville 3 (1963?) ★★★★ Lightnin’ Hopkins - Prestige Profiles (1960-4) ★★★★★
Magic Slim - Live @ Ma Bea’s (1976) ★★★★
Jimmy Dawkins - Come Back Baby (1977) ★★★★
Allman Brothers - At Filmore East (1971) ★★★★ John Fahey - The Yellow Princess (1968) ★★★★★
Freedy Johnston - Can You Fly? (1992)★★★★ Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (2009) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - Man Machine Poem (2016) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - We Are The Same (2009) ★★★★ Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) ★★★★★
Grant Lee Buffalo - Storm Hymnal (1993-98) ★★★★
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues (1990) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - President (1989) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Fakebook (1990) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - That Is You La Tengo (1991) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - May I Sing With Me? (1992) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Painful (3 cds) (1993) ★★★★ Tim Buckley - Dream Letter (1968) ★★★★★
Those Bastard Souls - Debt & Departure (1999) ★★★★★
Wanderlust - Prize (1995) ★★★★
Chain - Towards The Blues (1971) ★★★★
The Schramms - Omnidirectional (2019) ★★★★
Cannonball Adderley - Soul Zodiac (1972)
Fred Anderson - Quintessential Birthday Trio Vol II (2015)
Greg Bendian’s Interzone - Requiem For Jack Kirby (2001)
Nels Cline & Greg Bendian - Interstellar Space Revisited (1999)
The Beat - Bounce (2016) Nina Simone - To Be Free (1959-1993)
Swervedriver - 99th Dream (1998)
Road - s/t (1972)
Mudhoney - Morning In America (2019)
Necromandus - Orexis of Death (1973)
Julian Cope - Peggy Suicide (1991)
Ultravox - Rage In Eden (1981)
Siouxsie & The Banshees - Tinderbox (1986)
Blues Pills - Live In Paris (2017)
Gram Parsons - Alternate Takes (1973-4)
Mike Westbrook - Mama Chicago (1976)
The Fall - Grotesque (1980)
Truly - Fast Stories From Kid Coma (1995)
Echo & the Bunnymen - Evergreen (1997)
Echo & The Bunnymen - What Are You Going To Do With Your Life? (1999)
Blues Pills - Lady In Gold (2016)
Leo Bud Welch - The Angels In Heaven Done Signed My Name (2019)
The Black Keys - Chulahoma (2006) Nanci Griffith - One Fair Summer Evening (1988)
The Soft Boys - Invisible Hits (1983)
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2003)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Don Carlos & Gold - Them Never Know Natty Dread Have Him Credentials (1982)
Henry Junjo Lawes - Volcano Erruption (70s-80s)
Don Carlos - Day To Day Living (1982)
Bunny ‘Striker’ Lee - Full Up (1968-72)
Bunny Lee & Friends - Tape Rolling (1971-4) ★★★★
v/a - Trojan Roots Dancehall Box (‘70s, ‘80s)
Charlie Chaplin & Papa San - Respect Due (1986?)
Robert Forster - The Evangelist (2008) ★★★★★
John Stewart - California Bloodlines (1969) ★★★★
v/a - Trojan Dancehall Box (‘70s, ‘80s)
Don Carlos - In Dub (1980)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots (‘70s, ‘80s)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots Part 2 (‘70s, ‘80s)
Norma Winstone - Edge Of Time (1972) ★★★★
Atlas - Just Playin’ Rhythm & Blues (1967-71)
V/A - Alan Lomax Songbook (1939-76) ★★★★
Shirley Collins - Lodestar (2016) ★★★★★
The Go-betweens - Loving Shocks (1989) ★★★★
Red House Painters - Songs For A Blue Guitar (1996) ★★★★
Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats - Mind Control (2013)
The Damned - Music For Pleasure (1977) ★★★★
Skids - Days In Europa (1977)
Big Country - The Crossing (1983) ★★★★
Big Country - Steel Town (1984)
Jon Dee Graham - Escape From Monster Island (1997) ★★★★
The Fall - Live At The Witch Trials (1979) ★★★★★
Echo & The Bunnymen - The Stars, The Oceans & The Moon (2018)
Echo & The Buynnymen - Ballyhoo (1980-87) ★★★★★
Orange Juice - Rip It Up (1982)
Orange Juice - Texas Fever (1984)
The Stone Roses - s/t (1989) ★★★★
The Screaming Trees - Buzz Factory (1989) ★★★★
Mark Lanegan - The Winding Street (1990) ★★★★★
Killdozer - For Ladies Only (1989) ★★★★
Magazine - Real Life (1978) ★★★★
The Stranglers - Peaches (1977-82) ★★★★★
Screaming Trees - Uncle Anaesthesia (1991)
Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan - Sunday At Devil Dirt (2008)
The Osiris Club - Blazing World (2014)
UB40 - Signing Off (1980)★★★★★
UB40 - Present Arms (1981) ★★★★★
UB40 - Present Arms In Dub (1981) ★★★★
WOKE CAUSES - THIS MONTH, GOOD LAW PROJECT, GET OFF MY MED RECORDS, GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
GOOD LAW PROJECT
LINK
It’s evident that the corrupt kleptocracy of Boris Johnson isn’t going to dislodged by Kier Starmer’s PMQ’s however forensic, or by the biased media, or by legal investigations in which the gvt essentially investigate themselves.
However, despite the threats to judiciary in the Queen’s speech, at present the gvt are required to obey the law.
Champagne socialist fox-whacking lawyer Jolyon Maugham’s donation funded Good Law Project seems to be better than the opposition currently at holding the gvt to account, and proving where they have broken the law, so if you can spare a pound crowd fund them, as they do seem to be making an impact.
MEDICAL RECORDS OPT OUT
LINK
Did you know that the gvt are about to sell all your medical records off to the highest bidder? Thought not. We weren’t consulted.
I don’t care about the privacy aspect, but I do object to my life being monetised to give leverage to some horrible massive info-tech company.
You can withdraw the gvt’s right to farm your medical history as if you were some kind of data-pig at the link above. THIS IS NOW DELAYED TO SEPTEMBER DUE TO OPPOSITION BUT STILL WORTH DOING
GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
Stop Funding Hate say - Advertising sales for GB News are reportedly handled by Sky Media.
We’re aware of at least one company who say they were unaware that they were going to appear on GB News and suspended those ads when they found out. If you work for a company that buys programmatic advertising from Sky, it may be worth checking with them to ensure that your ads aren’t placed on GB News.
A huge thanks to the Stop Funding Hate volunteers who have come together to help identify GB News advertisers.
Brands that we’ve seen so far include: Vodafone, Octopus Energy, Ovo Energy, Co-op, Ikea, LV, Virgin Media, Kelloggs, Deliveroo, Nivea, Kenco coffee, AA, Premier Inn, American Express, Benadryl (Johnson and Johnson), Wickes, Starbucks, Weetabix, Listerine (Pfizer), National Lottery, Boomin, Cadbury, Taylors coffee, Amazon, Cazoo, Microsoft, Google, Alpen (Weetabix), Beko Harvestfresh, Pinterest, Ladbrokes, Rana pasta, Burger King, Warburtons, The UK Government (EU resettlement scheme), Bosch, Specsavers, TalkTalk, trivagoWeekend, itchpet.com, MSC Cruises, Grolsch, Indeed recruitment, Motability, Feel Multivitamins, Green Flag, Clean G non alcoholic gin, Facebook,Volvo, Bazuka, fiverr, Motability, Ibuleve Gel, Toyota, Appeal home shading / blinds, People’s Postcode Lottery, Just Eat, Petit Filous, Direct Bullion, Compare the Market, Kardia Mobile, Bupa, Verisure, The Open University.
There’s more information here about Stop Funding Hate, and the impact of our campaign so far. If you’re able to help build our movement tackling toxic media in the UK and internationally, please consider becoming a committed supporter and making a regular donation.
11) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955) Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942) Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944) The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930) Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006) Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929) Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942) Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950) Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938) Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man’s-laughter maker) (1964)
Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960)
Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935)
Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?)
Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939)
Bunny Lee (dubmaster) (1940) The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770)
Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979) Jill Paton Walsh (humanist novelist) (1937)
Val Warner (poet) (1946)
Guy N Smith (Lord of The Crabs) (1939)
Richard Corben (decadent cartoonist) (1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho) (1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man) (1945)
- 2021 -
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Celia Drummond Ford (voice of Trees) (1950)
The Happy Man Tree (Stoke Newington Tree) (1870)
John Russell (guitar guru) (1954)
Marcel Uderzo (Asterisk artist) (1933)
Tom Stevens (Long Ryder and Magus) (1956)
Dougie Anderson (Coda’s Edinburgh record dealer (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920) Rynagh O’Grady (Ted’s Mary) (1954)
Mary Wilson (Supreme) (1944)
Chick Corea (Miles’ tinkler) (1941)
Iain Pattinson (You wanted to see me Prime Minister?) (1951)
U-Roy (Toastmaster) (1942)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (bookstore beat) (1921)
Wink O’Bannon (Eleventh Dream Day) (1956)
Bunny Wailer (Wailer) (1947)
Doug Parkinson (Oz vocal celeb) (1946)
Milford Graves (temporal explorer) (1941)
Johnny Rogan (Byrds’ Boswell) (1953) Jessica Walter (Play Misty For Me) (1941)
Bertrand Tavernier (Round Midnight) (1941) Anita Lane (Oz punk chanteuse) (1958)
Barbara Ess (Theoretical Girl) (1944)
Michael Collins (Apollo 11) (1930)
Mohammed Ag Itale (Tinariwen) (1960)
Monte Hellman (Two Lane Blacktop) (1929)
Sonny Simmons (jazz hobo) (1933)
Charles Grodin (The American Tim Key) (1935)
Franco Battiato (Italian Fetus) (1945)
Yoshi Wada (bagpipe minimalist) (1943)
Ned Beatty (squealing piggy) (1937)
Davey Datblygu (Davey Datblygu) (1964)
S Clay Wilson (Captain Pissgums) (1941)
Peter Zinovieff (sonic pioneer) (1933)
Richard Donner (kebab pioneer) (1930) Alix Dobkin (feminist folksinger) (1940)
Patrick Sky (native American folksinger) (1940)
Tom O’Connor (raconteur) (1939)
Dusty Hill (ZZ Top) (1949)
Bob Sergeant (digital Beat producer) (194?)
Byron Berline (Byrds fiddler) (1944)
John Lawton (friend of Lucifer) (1947)
Una Stubbs (wooden woman) (1937)
Nanci Griffith (C&W poet) (1953)
Sean Lock (excrement genitals) (1963)
Brian Travers (UB40 blowhard) (1959)
I’m going to end on a note about Sean Lock, as these days not posting anything on Social Media, due to not actually being on social media, can be taken as callous indifference, and there tends to be a rush to comment in the light of any loss.
My condolences to his family and friends. S Lock always felt like he was in the year above me, due to me starting as a regular circuit comedian in 1989, and him being about 18 months ahead of me, so I never knew him in the way I did contemporaries like Harry Hill or Simon Munnery.
I liked the way S Lock combined whimsy and surrealism with casual arrogance and furious belligerence.
He did a routine - only once I think - at the Red Rose circa 1991 that is one of the funniest, most scatological, most surreal, and curiously the most humane, I ever saw and it made me weep with laughter, alone. It was about him doing stools in the shape of genitals, and then masturbating over them as they bumped together in the toilet bowl, an incident he relayed to the audience as if it were regrettable but also somehow understandably inevitable. S Lock thought this new bit was rubbish and never did it again, and whenever I asked him about it, and said it was the best thing he ever did, I think he thought I was being sarcastic, which often happens when I am being sincere. I thought 15 Storeys High was brilliant, one of the great British sit-coms, and like many I despaired of the BBC’s poor treatment of it.
I loved it and yet I could rarely find out when it was on due to sudden unpublicized rescheduling, back in the pre-iplayer days. I remember saying to S Lock that I couldn’t believe how radical the camerawork was in the 1st series and couldn’t quite believe they had had the guts to submit it. I think Sean despaired about what happened to the series too, and so did the co-writers Mark Lamarr and Martin Trenaman I expect. I remember Armando really lobbying for it in the press.
Its white working class world was exactly the sort of landscape the BBC now beats itself up about not accommodating, but 15 Storey’s towerblock vistas were more Vladimir and Estragon than Danny Dyer and Eastenders.
It suits my view of things to think that it was this despair that drove S Lock into arms of panel shows, but there he stood head and shoulders above the form, like a tall man in a ditch. It suits my view of him to think that, having found himself shipwrecked upon panel show island, he chose to beautify it as best he could, often coming close to subverting the genre. I doubt he liked me especially and on the few occasions we did meet we always seemed to be talking at cross purposes, usually ending in some misunderstanding, though we barely encountered each other this century. S Lock would not be drawn into criticizing other lesser but better known talents’ debt to his work, even when it was painfully obvious and borderline criminal.
He once advised me at length on his methods of avoiding post-show drinking, which involved hot baths and camper vans respectively, and I wish I had paid more attention. Like a lot of the free jazz types I know, and despite his dabblings in art with the film maker Andrew Kotting in the ‘90s and his avowed desire to make 15 Storeys look like a Nordic art film, S Lock would not discuss the idea that his work was anything other than entertainment, not with me anyway, but I have been told that I do tend to over-analyse things.
The amount of effort S Lock (and his writers) put into his panel show appearances, which left me astonished in my naivety the only time I ever tried to fit the square peg of me into the round hole of 8 Out Of 10 Cats (I thought it was all improvised!), contradicted this apparent casualness. In about 2005 I was trying to escape Avalon management, a solid career move of which S Lock was an early pioneer (“You’re breaking these kids’ hearts”, I remember him saying to the company’s promoters in Edinburgh in ’95 or so as they ran another hapless 20-something hopeful into insurmountable debt). I was in an Indian restaurant in Nottingham with S Lock and D Kitson and I was trying to persuade D Kitson to manage me as his ‘client’, as I wanted to be able to reach the small but discerning audiences he did, and without doing any television or publicity.
S Lock said we were a pair of fucking idiots. I don’t know why he was so annoyed, but wonder if he took my attempt to eschew popular mechanisms as a personal criticism. My favorite of S Lock’s stage outfits was a green Riddler costume he wore in Edinburgh’s Pleasance cabaret bar, but he always looked cool in a proto-Britpop Jarvis kind of way.
My favorite routine of his remains the aforesaid one where he masturbates over genital shaped pieces of excrement which are floating in a toilet. My favorite anecdote concerning him comes from Leicester Sq Theatre stage manager Jason Tribe, via tour manager James Hingley, and concerns a tramp, a dog, an open fire escape, and Liam Gallagher, but it is not mine to share.
S Lock was on the list of comedians to take my kids to see when they were old enough so they knew what good stand up was, which we have already begun working through, and which just got one shorter. I wish he had done another project like 15 Storeys High and whoever kept fucking up its scheduling should be ashamed, but it is hard work to build a world from the ground up twice. The last time we saw S Lock, out for a walk on a Spring day, he looked very unwell indeed but told us it was long covid.
The first two heavy reggae UB40 albums, on which the saxophone of the also recently departed Brian Travers was the lead instrument, are also superb in a way people who only know their pop career won’t believe.
But when UB40 went mainstream they sadly didn’t do it with any of the style and subversion S Lock, the rat in panel show comedy’s kitchen, did.
Stewart Lee
2021-08-26T09:00:19+01:00
KING ROCKER SCREENINGS Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times ★★★★ Financial Times ★★★★ Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus “The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman All Press is collecting here. You can also watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that; NOW TV LINK The film receives its hometown premier in Birmingham, as the King Rocker Christmas Special at the Midland Arts center on Sat 18th December, preceeded by a Q&A with me and dir Michael Cumming, and followed by a performance by the Nightingales. https://macbirmingham.co.uk/event/king-rocker-q-a I will also be hosting a thing about the film at the Laugharne Weekend Festival in Carmarthenshire on the 3rd of October, where I will also interview Alexei Sayle live on the same day. https://www.thelaugharneweekend.com/line-up GALLIVANT SCREENING I will be hosting a 25th anniversary screening of one of my favourite films, Gallivant, with its director, and its star, Andrew and Eden Kotting respectively, at the Kino in Hastings on Sat 11th Sept. This is a great opportunity to see this unforgettable masterpiece on a big screen. https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/kinoteatr/t-rnkomn Comedy fans may like to note that in the ‘90s the recently late Sean Lock collaborated on both a short and a feature with Andrew Kotting, with whom he shared a disruptive surrealist ethos, clearly visible in Sean’s massively overlooked early ‘00s sit-com 15 Storeys High, and still glimpsed in his format-challenging 21st century panel show work. Small world. LAURA CANNELL The avant-folk dronemädchen Laura Cannell has been releasing an ep a month throughout the pandemic. I wrote and mumbled some...
The admirable Brighton art rock band British Sea Power are now known simply as Sea Power, “due to a rise in a certain kind of nationalism in this world – an isolationist, antagonistic nationalism that we don’t want to run any risk of being confused with”. Rumour suggests that the British Cheese Board, the official voice of British cheese formed in 1995 to promote homegrown cheeses, has expressed similar anxieties and is soon to be renamed simply the Cheese Board, a move expected to cause some confusion on search engines and in kitchenware stores. Meanwhile, the neo-Nazi organisation the British Movement is expected to double down on the new associations of Britishness, rechristening itself the British British Movement.
Am I even allowed to make this joke without being branded a terrorist? Last week, the increasingly desperate Tory leadership candidate and pretend Kia driver Rishi Sunak announced his intention to widen the definition of “extremism” to include people who “vilify Britain” while being photographed in a flattering light at the taxpayer’s expense. Well, raise high the gallows, carpenters, and tighten the noose around my fat 54-year-old neck, because I think that modern, racist, anti-intellectual, internationally embarrassing, untrustworthy, corrupt, isolationist Brexit Britain is a grade-A bag o’ shite! And I am prepared to be put on a Prevent watchlist for my right to say so. No! Not the face! Not the face! Arrrgh! But last month, the Birmingham Commonwealth Games’ extravagant opening ceremony looked for the best in Brexit Britain. And here’s how it went.
First, the internationally acclaimed City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra accompanied a rousing rendition of God Save the Queen, though its chief executive has explained how Brexit could make European touring “so tricky as to become unviable”. Then Nobel peace prize laureate Malala Yousafzai stressed the importance of education, while elsewhere arts courses are cut and conscientious teachers make breakfast for kids too hungry to learn. We welcomed the world, but in reality former Ukip MEP Godfrey Bloom stands atop the white cliffs of Dover waving a rolled up newspaper and shouting: “Go back to Bongo Bongo Land!”
Next, an armoured mechanical bull entered the fray, inspired presumably by the nine-tonne bull sculptures cast by Trewin Copplestone to adorn the Bull Ring shopping centre in 1963, but mysteriously somehow “lost” during the 21st-century redesign, as good a metaphor as any for our actual attitude to our cultural inheritance. Monetise it or melt it down! At the end of the bull sequence, BBC presenters Andrew Cotter and Hazel Irvine mechanically declared that “the bull’s armour is lifted away and he is revealed as a symbol of light and love”. But where’s the armour gone? I hope someone was keeping track of it. To lose two Birmingham bulls may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose two Birmingham bulls and another Birmingham bull’s special armour looks like carelessness.
Diving’s Tom Daley was accompanied by a parade of LGBTQ+ flag-wavers, a powerful gesture as homosexuality remains illegal in more than half of the competing Commonwealth countries. But Elena Bunbury of the Conservative LGBT+ group has expressed anxiety about the leadership candidates’ culture-war weaponising of anti-LGBTQ+ feeling in their campaigns; and Justin Welby, the archbishop of Canterbury, caving in diplomatically to the conservative Christians of the global south, just reaffirmed that gay sex is a sin, a move that would set Jesus, as Justin knows full well, spinning in his grave, if Christ hadn’t taken the precaution of busting out of it after three days in a pre-emptive attempt to avoid mandatory posthumous subterranean rotation. Which Britain does this ceremony reflect, exactly?
I was in Birmingham on the day, for the Covid-delayed Midlands Arts Centre premiere of King Rocker, a documentary I made with Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast of…) about Birmingham post-punk band the Nightingales and featuring the Nicholas Monro pop-art statue of King Kong that briefly bestrode the Bull Ring in 1972, before being abandoned, predictably, by the city. Bigging up my home town, I took my kids to see the world-beating pre-Raphaelite collection at the city’s art gallery, but all the art is in storage until 2024. In the museum, I proudly showed them Cold War Steve’s vibrant collage of Birmingham cultural figures, which includes me and Nightingales singer Robert Lloyd bottom right, looking on at Black Sabbath, Lady Leshurr and Benny from Crossroads. But, as my son drily observed, we are the only people not identified in the accompanying list of names, even though there is a 2in empty space that could easily have accommodated us. Bah! Prophets without honour! I hate Birmingham!
While the opening ceremony’s fatuous cavalcade of hypocrisy uncoiled across town I enjoyed King Rocker on the big screen in an alternative celebration of alternative Birmingham. In the two years since King Rocker’s Covid-softened release, the Nightingales have played to the biggest audiences in their four-decade-plus career, and, in a turn of events not unrelated to the film’s modest impact, a new version of Monro’s Kong has been erected with its back to the B4100 in the Jewellery Quarter, its massive monkey arse stopping traffic on Constitution Hill.
As I left Cannon Hill Park, I saw celebratory fireworks burst over the city and heard the distant drums of Duran Duran, whose John Taylor was lent his first amp by Nightingales guitarist Alan Apperley, and who declared Robert Lloyd a genius and an intellectual in the film. Much as I love Duran Duran, I know where I would rather have been that night. The problem is, any official attempt to celebrate the virtues of Brexit-era Britain is fundamentally incompatible with the corrupt, reactionary hellhole the Conservative party are turning it into. And so, the Birmingham Commonwealth Games opening ceremony was a just a great big Bull Ring full of bullshit.
Stewart Lee
2022-08-07T14:32:41+01:00
The admirable Brighton art rock band British Sea Power are now known simply as Sea Power, “due to a rise in a certain kind of nationalism in this world – an isolationist, antagonistic nationalism that we don’t want to run any risk of being confused with”. Rumour suggests that the British Cheese Board, the official voice of British cheese formed in 1995 to promote homegrown cheeses, has expressed similar anxieties and is soon to be renamed simply the Cheese Board, a move expected to cause some confusion on search engines and in kitchenware stores. Meanwhile, the neo-Nazi organisation the British Movement is expected to double down on the new associations of Britishness, rechristening itself the British British Movement. Am I even allowed to make this joke without being branded a terrorist? Last week, the increasingly desperate Tory leadership candidate and pretend Kia driver Rishi Sunak announced his intention to widen the definition of “extremism” to include people who “vilify Britain” while being photographed in a flattering light at the taxpayer’s expense. Well, raise high the gallows, carpenters, and tighten the noose around my fat 54-year-old neck, because I think that modern, racist, anti-intellectual, internationally embarrassing, untrustworthy, corrupt, isolationist Brexit Britain is a grade-A bag o’ shite! And I am prepared to be put on a Prevent watchlist for my right to say so. No! Not the face! Not the face! Arrrgh! But last month, the Birmingham Commonwealth Games’ extravagant opening ceremony looked for the best in Brexit Britain. And here’s how it went. First, the internationally acclaimed City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra accompanied a rousing rendition of God Save the Queen, though its chief executive has explained how Brexit could make European touring “so tricky as to become unviable”. Then Nobel peace prize laureate Malala Yousafzai stressed the importance of...
What is wrong with the following gag? "John Whittingdale: a man who, if he saw the aurora borealis twinkling over a Scandinavian snowfield would only see a missed opportunity for a public-private finance initiative."
According to Stewart Lee's account of his critics' ("young comics") reaction to it, quite a lot of his peers think there is quite a lot wrong with it – because it doesn't really make any sense. You can't conceive of any sort of PFI that could be attached to the Northern Lights, and such a thing would be beyond the ingenuity of the supposed philistine Whittingdale. So, no, it doesn't "work", and so in that sense it cannot be a joke, but the audience found it funny and, as Lee asserts during his stand-up shtick, it is a joke because it has the structure and rhythm of a joke.
But then, in an acrid interview with his script editor, Chris Morris, Lee admits that the joke doesn't work, and grovels for forgiveness for its abject nature – "don't think I'm not ashamed of it", and admits that he wrote another bit on the end of the joke about it not being a joke just to try to cover up his initial comic incompetence. That, too, is very funny.
Lee, then, with Morris, is the only comedian – and that does seem an inadequate term for this intelligent, thoughtful, almost philosophical figure – who thoroughly critiques his act as he is doing it, and then critiques the critique, in his interviews with Morris, sometimes contradicting the first analysis, mostly ironically, sometimes not. It makes for a complex sort of texture and, with Lee's characteristic mordancy, a sometimes difficult one.
His account of the death of a pet mouse when he was aged about eight was too real to be truly repulsive, but it contained some distasteful detail, always rendered to devastating comedic effectiveness. Thus, when his mum tried to persuade the boy Stewart that the mouse could be somehow revived by pouring brandy into its bloodied and clearly dead mouth, and trying to warm it up using a hairdryer, which left its fur at the back ruffed up like a glam rocker's collar, the mouse suddenly resembled Dave Hill out of Slade. There then follows a disturbing sequence reconstructing the childhood tragedy, with the members of Slade in giant mouse costumes in an airing cupboard magically knocking out "Merry Xmas Everybody".
Lee also follows Ricky Gervais's example in making a joke out of eczema. Strange to say, Lee actually reminds me of Tommy Cooper, albeit in a morbid key, because Cooper just used to make the silliness flow and go where it wanted, and Lee does the same. Nothing to be ashamed of there.
All of which just leaves me time to take my leave of The Cruise, which I have been following for some weeks now. Yet again, there is very little happening on board, and I did wonder what it might be like if Stewart Lee got a few bookings on the Regal Princess. But I was very pleased to see that Timothy is continuing to make his incremental journey from help-desk person to low-to-mid-range celebrity by getting his gig as a tour guide. Looking resplendent in his "whites", it can only be a matter of time before he brings his showbiz quality onshore and turns full time. I wish him, and all abroad The Cruise, the very best on the next stage of their journey.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-25T09:38:36+00:00
What is wrong with the following gag? "John Whittingdale: a man who, if he saw the aurora borealis twinkling over a Scandinavian snowfield would only see a missed opportunity for a public-private finance initiative." According to Stewart Lee's account of his critics' ("young comics") reaction to it, quite a lot of his peers think there is quite a lot wrong with it – because it doesn't really make any sense. You can't conceive of any sort of PFI that could be attached to the Northern Lights, and such a thing would be beyond the ingenuity of the supposed philistine Whittingdale. So, no, it doesn't "work", and so in that sense it cannot be a joke, but the audience found it funny and, as Lee asserts during his stand-up shtick, it is a joke because it has the structure and rhythm of a joke. But then, in an acrid interview with his script editor, Chris Morris, Lee admits that the joke doesn't work, and grovels for forgiveness for its abject nature – "don't think I'm not ashamed of it", and admits that he wrote another bit on the end of the joke about it not being a joke just to try to cover up his initial comic incompetence. That, too, is very funny. Lee, then, with Morris, is the only comedian – and that does seem an inadequate term for this intelligent, thoughtful, almost philosophical figure – who thoroughly critiques his act as he is doing it, and then critiques the critique, in his interviews with Morris, sometimes contradicting the first analysis, mostly ironically, sometimes not. It makes for a complex sort of texture and, with Lee's characteristic mordancy, a sometimes difficult one. His account of the death of a pet mouse when he was aged about eight was too real...
William Blake wrote that we can see heaven in a wild flower and hold infinity in the palms of our hands. He also thought a massive flea with a bald man’s face and no pants on came into his bedroom at night, and I speak as a fan. But, like Blake would, I think we can see the world – and everything that is wrong with it – in a National Trust scone. Bear with me.
Until November last year, the Conservative-appointed Victoria and Albert Museum trustee Zewditu Gebreyohanes, formerly of the Tufton Street-linked thinktank Policy Exchange, was the director of Restore Trust. This is an organisation dedicated to parachuting its own preferred right-leaning candidates, including the evangelical Stephen Green, who has denied the existence of marital rape and once supported Uganda’s death penalty for some homosexuals, on to the seemingly impregnable board of the supposedly “woke” National Trust. What even is woke, anyway? It’s the kind of word Jonathan Gullis MP uses to describe anything he doesn’t like, like a Welsh-language edition of the Highway Code, olives on a pizza, or women in lace-up shoes.
Restore Trust is backed by Neil Record of the Tufton Street climate crisis denial bodies Global Warming Policy Foundation and Net Zero Watch. In November last year, Restore Trust director Gebreyohanes left to join the pro-Brexit free-market cheerleader the Legatum Institute, which shares senior fellows with various Tufton Street thinktanks and is funded by businessman Christopher Chandler’s Dubai-based Legatum Group. Legatum is also the chief backer of the loss-making GB News, along with the former banjo-playing twat from Mumford & Sons’ dad, Sir Paul Marshall, the would-be Telegraph buyer, who has shared Islamophobic material online. There are ponds full of frenziedly spawning toads with more dignity than this financier clusterfuck.
Having failed to discredit the National Trust at Restore Trust, Gebreyohanes made it her first job at the Legatum Institute to publish a report on 21 March called National Distrust, calling for the secretary of state for culture, media and sport and the Charity Commission to intervene in National Trust governance.
A 2019 report penned by Gebreyohanes’s former Tufton Street-linked Policy Exchange shaped Sunak’s criminalisation of climate protesters, so these documents are dangerous in the hands of a failing government desperately looking to create enemies it can appear to defeat. I’m going to write a report blaming the Princess of Wales for all potholes, bedbugs and haemorrhoids and see if it can get any traction in Sarah Vine’s Daily Mail column. But I suppose I’ll have to wait until Kate is well enough to be a legitimate tabloid target again.
Gebreyohanes’s National Trust report was immediately amplified in the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper, by the former National Trust chairman Sir William Proby, who repeated a false claim about National Trust procedures – namely, that National Trust trustees in effect select the National Trust council themselves – that the Telegraph, which appears to run whatever messages Restore Trust wants it to, has already had to apologise for when it printed it for the first time in November last year, so that apology obviously worked.
Currently, the Restore Trust website, reeking of desperation, criticises the National Trust not for wokeness, but for its inability to make “decent scones”, in response to a story that conveniently ran last weekend in the Mail. “Critics have condemned the use of a vegetable-based spread instead of butter in the baking as a ‘virtue-signalling betrayal’, in what looks like yet another woke row involving the charity,” reported both Chris Pollard and Daisy Graham-Brown, working as a Woodward and Bernstein-type team. The offending vegan scone was then pictured alongside a pot of decidedly non-vegan clotted cream.
In the same Mail story, Restore Trust’s chair, Cornelia van der Poll, a retired lecturer from the now closed private Oxford college St Benet’s Hall, “slammed the move”, seeing the scone as symptomatic of a wider malaise and saying: “It is unfortunate that the National Trust can’t even get scones right, let alone bigger issues such as properly looking after the properties in its care.” The report also quoted a sickened 64-year-old National Trust member from Bury St Edmonds (sic), who said: “I can’t stand the taste of the new scones,” adding: “They are flatter, drier and have an unappealing texture.” And the Eurosceptic MP Bill Cash, who, Pollard and Brown reported, “often has tea and scones in the House of Commons”, rose from his coffin of moist earth and rats to wonder, utterly nonsensically, if the National Trust will “stop selling Madeira cake because of historical events in Madeira”. But what are the Madeiran historical events Cash worries about? The island appears most notable for its six different species of identifiably different indigenous mice, each separated by high hills, ensuring they do not mix, a situation Cash, in his opposition to freedom of movement, would surely approve of.
But then the bombshell! Within days, the National Trust’s tirelessly diligent and heroic director of communications, Celia Richardson, had wasted her precious time to reveal that National Trust scones have been vegan for “many years”, and indeed in 2018 the Daily Mail itself invited readers to celebrate “truly scrumptious recipes from a new book by the National Trust”, including scones featuring no butter and “115g (4oz) of soft margarine”. Stick your Madeira cake in your Notting Hill bolthole, Bill Cash! Cornelia van der Poll!! You know nothing of scones, so why should we trust your opinions on the maintenance of historic properties? And guess what, National Trust member, 64, of Bury St Edmonds!!! The scones are the same! There’s something wrong with your mouth!!! And Bury St Edmonds isn’t even a real place!!!!
But why does Restore Trust want control of the National Trust so badly? Is it about the properties? The land? Or can it really be that Legatum’s Dubai-based backers just really love scones made with butter? I think we should be told.
Stewart Lee
2024-04-07T14:08:58+01:00
William Blake wrote that we can see heaven in a wild flower and hold infinity in the palms of our hands. He also thought a massive flea with a bald man’s face and no pants on came into his bedroom at night, and I speak as a fan. But, like Blake would, I think we can see the world – and everything that is wrong with it – in a National Trust scone. Bear with me. Until November last year, the Conservative-appointed Victoria and Albert Museum trustee Zewditu Gebreyohanes, formerly of the Tufton Street-linked thinktank Policy Exchange, was the director of Restore Trust. This is an organisation dedicated to parachuting its own preferred right-leaning candidates, including the evangelical Stephen Green, who has denied the existence of marital rape and once supported Uganda’s death penalty for some homosexuals, on to the seemingly impregnable board of the supposedly “woke” National Trust. What even is woke, anyway? It’s the kind of word Jonathan Gullis MP uses to describe anything he doesn’t like, like a Welsh-language edition of the Highway Code, olives on a pizza, or women in lace-up shoes. Restore Trust is backed by Neil Record of the Tufton Street climate crisis denial bodies Global Warming Policy Foundation and Net Zero Watch. In November last year, Restore Trust director Gebreyohanes left to join the pro-Brexit free-market cheerleader the Legatum Institute, which shares senior fellows with various Tufton Street thinktanks and is funded by businessman Christopher Chandler’s Dubai-based Legatum Group. Legatum is also the chief backer of the loss-making GB News, along with the former banjo-playing twat from Mumford & Sons’ dad, Sir Paul Marshall, the would-be Telegraph buyer, who has shared Islamophobic material online. There are ponds full of frenziedly spawning toads with more dignity than this financier clusterfuck. Having failed to discredit...
The name Fountains of Wayne might sound familiar for two reasons. Perhaps you remember them from the two critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful late 90’s albums, where they mixed irresistible guitar pop hooks with uncommonly witty and surprisingly sympathetic descriptions of the quietly desperate lives of various suburbanites. Or maybe you’ve seen a garden furniture store of the same name used as a cutaway to add local colour between scenes of mob violence in the HBO TV series The Sopranos. Are the management of Fountains Of Wayne, the New Jersey garden furniture store, aware of Fountains of Wayne, the resilient New Jersey rock band who stole their name?
“They know about us,” admits Adam Schlesinger, the more affable part of the classic double act he forms with his less forthcoming song-writing partner Chris Collingwood, “We actually went by there when we first started the band, and let them know what we were doing. The gardening guy was a little wary. He said something like, “Well, let’s just stay in touch throughout all of this.” And we were like – ‘What do you mean? All of what?’” Collingwood laconically continues the story; “He wanted us to come down and say hi, so we did. He said, “I just want to make sure you guys aren’t gangster rappers or something, who will give the store a bad name.” I said, ‘Don’t worry. We’re nice boys.’ Sometimes people still say to us, ‘Did you know there’s a garden store called Fountains of Wayne?’ And I say, ‘No. Never heard of it. It’s just a f***ing coincidence you f***ing moron!’”
Inevitably, the Fountains of Wayne garden furniture store has become a place of pilgrimage for Fountains Of Wayne fans, who send photos to the band of themselves posing amid the lawn chairs. But the name the band chose has, belatedly, acquired a strange relevance to the characters that inhabit their songs. Just what kind of place is Wayne? “It’s in the Tri-State area, the most populated place of the United States, full of highways and suburbs and malls.”, Schlesinger answers, and after a brief squabble with Collingwood over what exactly comprises the Tri-State Area, elaborates, “It seems now it was a really calculated idea to name our band after the Fountains of Wayne store because it was going to tie in to the vibe of our songs. But at the time we just thought it was a funny name. We didn’t put much thought into it, but we knew it wasn’t going to make sense to anyone outside that area so we’d have a bond with everyone locally and everyone else in the world would at least be curious.”
An incisive American critic has described Fountains Of Wayne songs as taking place exclusively “between exits 10-14 of the New Jersey Turnpike.” After some discussion it seems the region is most closely analogous to the wilderness of the Thames Valley Corridor, the domain of David Brent and his co-workers in the office, full of IT companies, night clubs with drinks promotions of weekday evenings, new towns and roadside retail developments. For The Fountains of Wayne, and the people they write about, there is a sense that they are one step removed from the thrills of big city existence, and that life is elsewhere. The protagonist of Hackensack dreams of the high school sweetheart who is now a movie star. Little Red Light is the interior monologue of a businessman stuck in traffic. Hey Julie depicts an office worker thinking about his girlfriend between filing and phone calls. “We often set our songs on the outskirts of cities rather than within the cities themselves,” says Schlesinger. “Both of us grew up essentially in the suburbs. I grew up outside of New York in New Jersey, Chris grew up outside of Philadelphia, but a lot of our songs are set just outside of these cities rather than within then, and that’s somewhere that a lot of Americans live, and that’s something that resonates with a lot of people. When we were in our formative musical years the big bands of the day, U2 or The Police, were writing about these grand themes and we knew that wasn’t going to work for two guys from the suburbs. So we took our inspiration from English bands like The Kinks Or The Smiths that wrote about very specific things that they knew. We didn’t know those neighbourhoods that they were describing but the details made the songs more vivid and universal.”
Collingwood uses Bright Future In Sales, a song from the new Welcomes Interstate Managers album, as an example of their constituency. It sounds like it should be about hot-rods or surfing, but in fact describes the daily struggles of a commercial traveller. “When we write about that guy we’re not thinking ‘poor schumuck’. It’s just a funny little story. Some people said, ‘Why are you writing about somebody who has a horrible life and is really unhappy?’ The answer is it that, to us, it wouldn’t make a good album if all the songs were ‘Whooopeee! Life is great!’ There’s nothing interesting about that.” “People don’t sometimes realise that we don’t see ourselves as so far removed from these characters in a lot of cases,” adds Schlesinger, “There title track of our last album, Utopia Parkway, was about this guy that is getting a bit too old to be trying to be in a rock band but he’s still running around town putting his fliers up. Well, that’s us. We’re not making fun of someone else. That’s pretty much our life. And when people say why do you always write about these business travellers and so forth, well that’s our life too. Basically, we are business travellers and we spend most of our time in airports or on buses and commuting.”
After the commercial failure of their second album, time was very nearly called on the duo’s adolescent rock ambitions. The band made a strong start, and Schlesinger supplied the Oscar nominated theme to the Tom Hanks comedy That Thing You Do. Their eponymous 1996 debut had seen the pair create a set of classic power pop songs, offsetting fuzzy punk guitars with subversively tuneful melodies. Interviewed for this paper at the time Collingwood reacted resentfully to the suggestion that the band were academic rock nerds, studiously decoding the Rosetta Stone of classic American guitar pop with pointers from Big Star, The Posies and various early 80’s skinny tie sporting songwriters. “It’s not like I sit at home all day studying obscure Shoes b-sides.”, he sniped, understandably. 1999’s Utopia Parkway created a colder atmosphere, and new recruits Jody Portter on guitar and The Posies drummer Brian Young helped sustain a more melancholy mood. But despite mass critical approval, the band were dropped by Atlantic records three years ago.
Schlesinger is philosophical. “We realised that music was first and foremost a business and despite the fact that we had a lot of fans in positions of power at a lot of labels, and a lot of people really rooted for us, nobody could actually stick their necks out without hearing something that sounded like a hit. Everyone said the same thing. ‘I love Fountains of Wayne but do you have any demos?’ And we felt at this stage in our career it was demeaning to talk of demos. And not only that, but we also hadn’t written any new songs anyway so it was sort of a moot point. So we just kind of retreated and said let’s take our timer and make a record and one way or another we’ll figure out a way to get it put there.’ Virgin released the results, and, just when it was least expected, Fountains of Wayne gave found themselves with a weird Grammy nomination for Best New Artist and a massive American hit single, Stacy’s Mom.
Stacy’s Mom, released here next month, finds a sensitive subtext to a young boy’s crush on his best friend’s mother, and does it over an undeniably radio-friendly tune, once heard, never forgotten. Collingwood is comically dismissive of the reasons behind the song’s success. “It’s because Rachael Hunter is in the video,” he deadpans, “that’s a big factor.” “That’s two big factors.”, adds Schlesinger, and immediately asks to have his impetuous and off colour comment struck from the record. Inevitably, their sudden popularity at home has given them some anxieties. “Fountains Of Wayne fans of years back can put that single in contest of what the band do in general,” Schlesinger frets, “but there’s a whole load of people who just hear Stacy’s Mom on the radio and if they go buy the record thinking there’s going to be ten Stacy’s Mom’s … well, hopefully they’ll play the record and be pleasantly surprised. But we’re proud of the song. I guess the way I look at it is the fact that we’ve been around for eight years means we have some insurance against being perceived as a One Hit Wonder. The Best New Artist Grammy nomination is certainly ironic. But we’ll take it. Better to be best new artist than most washed up artist. It’s a new lease of life.”
Stewart Lee
2004-02-08T18:01:11+00:00
The name Fountains of Wayne might sound familiar for two reasons. Perhaps you remember them from the two critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful late 90’s albums, where they mixed irresistible guitar pop hooks with uncommonly witty and surprisingly sympathetic descriptions of the quietly desperate lives of various suburbanites. Or maybe you’ve seen a garden furniture store of the same name used as a cutaway to add local colour between scenes of mob violence in the HBO TV series The Sopranos. Are the management of Fountains Of Wayne, the New Jersey garden furniture store, aware of Fountains of Wayne, the resilient New Jersey rock band who stole their name? “They know about us,” admits Adam Schlesinger, the more affable part of the classic double act he forms with his less forthcoming song-writing partner Chris Collingwood, “We actually went by there when we first started the band, and let them know what we were doing. The gardening guy was a little wary. He said something like, “Well, let’s just stay in touch throughout all of this.” And we were like – ‘What do you mean? All of what?’” Collingwood laconically continues the story; “He wanted us to come down and say hi, so we did. He said, “I just want to make sure you guys aren’t gangster rappers or something, who will give the store a bad name.” I said, ‘Don’t worry. We’re nice boys.’ Sometimes people still say to us, ‘Did you know there’s a garden store called Fountains of Wayne?’ And I say, ‘No. Never heard of it. It’s just a f***ing coincidence you f***ing moron!’” Inevitably, the Fountains of Wayne garden furniture store has become a place of pilgrimage for Fountains Of Wayne fans, who send photos to the band of themselves posing amid the lawn chairs. But the...
Julian Cope, the former lead singer of the chart-topping 80’s pin-ups The Teardrop Explodes, is playing a secret solo show in the back room of a community arts centre in the Berkshire frontier town of Aldershot. Union Jacks flutter in all the pubs. Cope’s hair is, by some margin, the longest in the surrounding area. Onstage alone in a floppy hat and sunglasses, Cope surveys the small but swollen space and modestly takes stock of the situation; “"I know I'm not current,” he laughs, “And I don't believe I'm timeless. But I am in my forties, and I’m in sight of fifty. And once you're over fifty, sixty's not far away. And then you are allowed to be legendary. So I just have to keep my head down and keep working. And then I can be legendary."
To many, the antics that characterise Cope’s career are already the stuff of legend. Cope famously appeared on the cover of his second solo album wearing only a turtle shell, protested against the Poll Tax dressed as a giant baby from space, and is currently winning new fans in America with his super-dense, ‘ambient-metal’ project LAMF. To most people, Cope admits, he is “that World Shut Your Mouth guy”, best known for the anthemic smash hit to which even Terry Wogan succumbed in 1986. But perhaps his strangest achievement is the completion of two heavyweight books on Prehistoric Archaeology, the second of which, The Megalithic European, is published this month.
1998’s The Modern Antiquarian, a colour coded gazetteer of British prehistoric sites was the answer to a prayer for those of us who’d spent years trekking across moors to stone circles on advice pieced together from quasi-mystical pamphlets or dry academic tomes. Stand at the centre of the Orkney mainland with The Modern Antiquarian in your hand and lost civilisations rise up around you in three dimensions. Now Cope has applied the same utilitarian ethic to the monuments of the continent in The Megalithic European. At his home in the Wiltshire countryside, within striding distance of the stone circle of Avebury, Julian Cope holds forth.
“My job is to make un-cool things seem cool,” he says, his foot up on a kitchen chair like a rock star bestriding a monitor. “If you can find a way of presenting these things correctly, people will get into them. And if you can get people out of believing that stone circles are about Wellington boots and anoraks, that they can be elegant, why not do it? When I put together my Scott Walker compilation album for example, he was so in the boneyard, he was just though of as a git, but I am a total field worker. I get into things and go to places, and see if they do it for me, and if they are going to do it for other people. Is there enough remaining above ground? Or if the thing is underground, is it superbly underground? Is it the mother of all underground temples? Is it a hypogeum from hell? Can you go in and lose yourself?” Initially, I’m uncertain whether Cope is using subterranean prehistoric temples as a metaphor for the 60’s balladeer Scott Walker, or whether he is actually talking about subterranean prehistoric temples. Then I realise, it’s both, at the same time. Cope in conversation doesn’t so much free-associate as make entirely unrelated ideas occupy exactly the same space. And he’s barged into the world of archaeology with the open-minded enthusiasm of the very gentlemen amateurs whose work the science was historically built on. Has he been welcomed?
“There’s two types of Archaeologists,” Cope explains, putting down a toy wooden guitar which he is making for his ten year old daughter, who wants to attend the local Halloween event as Angus Young from AC/DC. “The older guys are pleased to be able to debrief to someone. They’re like spies with all this information so they can afford to be generous. Aubrey Burl, who writes books with flat names like “The Stone Circles Of The British Isles.”, and I get on really well. I can call him up and go, “Aubrey I think I’ve found a new stone circle.” And he goes, “I suppose it’s quite possible but don’t tell my wife because I am too old to start visiting there now.” If I’ve ever had a problem it was with Archaeology’s middle management, who felt we should have taken more official routes to publish that sort of book.” Invited to lecture at the British Museum in 2001, Cope chose the subject of The Norse God Odin in Christian symbolism. “I went from Odin to Christ via the various pagan pre-cursors of Christ. The very nice old guys at The British Museum in dicky-bows had been saying, “You’re not the normal kind of person we have here, but you do it the way you want.” So I did the lecture in full face-paint and five inch platform shoes, two nights, sold out. It was amazing!”
In The Modern Antiquarian, Cope’s analysis reflected his own performance background. Stones with quartz in them would look great glittering in the moonlight if you were a prehistoric audience on mild natural hallucinogens watching the prehistoric equivalent of Julian Cope. At the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, earlier this year, Cope’s own persona seemed influenced by his archaeological imaginings. In psychedelic combat clothes, giant shoes and face-paint, Cope became an absurd and impregnable priest-clown figure, and spent most of his two hour set in the audience, declaiming over a wilfully-primitive punk-metal backdrop. “Being on stage, dealing with an audience, with hysteria, with a really barbarian art-form, is the closest you get to a religious experience,” he concludes. “The shaman and the showman are inextricably linked. Little Richard recognised that. Jerry Lewis was damned from the moment he opened his mouth. Cliff Richard and Tommy Steele, however, were never in any danger.”
The Aldershot show was supposed to be a low-key date, re-acquainting Cope with live performance after months of writing. But with Cope, nothing is ever low key. The fanatical fan-base are out in force, undiluted by the less evangelistic onlookers present in bigger venues. Cope is derailed by enthusiastic interjections from proprietary fans and the show lurches from one interruption to another. There’s a section of every Cope crowd that think he is their own private cult figure, a rock legend they can still reach out and touch, insult or fondle at will. Tonight, guitar in hand, Cope appears happy to indulge this clammy notion at close range. But there’s a mighty Four Wheel Drive in the car park waiting to whisk him back to Wiltshire, where, one suspects, he is already planning his next great adventure. “I’m in a unique position,” he had said, earlier, “but through luck, not judgement. There are people from my time, like Billy Bragg or Nick Cave, still doing everything with real dignity. But they have their feet in the officially straight world. There might be a South Bank Show on them. But me? I’m doing an Ambient Metal installation in a Greek Art Gallery. And writing about Ziggurats.”
Stewart Lee
2004-10-10T18:15:14+01:00
Julian Cope, the former lead singer of the chart-topping 80’s pin-ups The Teardrop Explodes, is playing a secret solo show in the back room of a community arts centre in the Berkshire frontier town of Aldershot. Union Jacks flutter in all the pubs. Cope’s hair is, by some margin, the longest in the surrounding area. Onstage alone in a floppy hat and sunglasses, Cope surveys the small but swollen space and modestly takes stock of the situation; “"I know I'm not current,” he laughs, “And I don't believe I'm timeless. But I am in my forties, and I’m in sight of fifty. And once you're over fifty, sixty's not far away. And then you are allowed to be legendary. So I just have to keep my head down and keep working. And then I can be legendary." To many, the antics that characterise Cope’s career are already the stuff of legend. Cope famously appeared on the cover of his second solo album wearing only a turtle shell, protested against the Poll Tax dressed as a giant baby from space, and is currently winning new fans in America with his super-dense, ‘ambient-metal’ project LAMF. To most people, Cope admits, he is “that World Shut Your Mouth guy”, best known for the anthemic smash hit to which even Terry Wogan succumbed in 1986. But perhaps his strangest achievement is the completion of two heavyweight books on Prehistoric Archaeology, the second of which, The Megalithic European, is published this month. 1998’s The Modern Antiquarian, a colour coded gazetteer of British prehistoric sites was the answer to a prayer for those of us who’d spent years trekking across moors to stone circles on advice pieced together from quasi-mystical pamphlets or dry academic tomes. Stand at the centre of the Orkney mainland with The Modern...
Last Wednesday our chief Brexiter Boris Johnson dressed up in a Sikh costume to visit a Bristol gurdwara. There he told the alcohol-abstaining supplicants to take bottles of Johnnie Walker to Indian relatives to speed post-Brexit booze exports, leading one to comment that had he made that suggestion in India the foreign secretary would have been killed immediately. Another successful Boris Johnson PR exercise.
That said, I don’t think Boris Johnson was seeking to pique the Sikhs. Indeed, Boris Johnson’s own wife, Marina Wheeler QC, is half-Sikh, though it is not clear which half, so it is difficult to deduce anything from this. It might be just her leg and some bits of one of her arms. I don’t know. This notion is a minefield of potentially explosive cultural sensitivities, both gender- and faith-based.
Personally, I think the Sikhs’ reaction is a perfect example of that Political Correctness Gone Mad™ that they have now. In respect of his pernicious Brexit lies, it is not necessarily wrong that Boris Johnson should be punished indiscriminately by the full force of whatever belief systems are most unforgiving, but he shouldn’t be slain for saying “whisky” to a Sikh. No one should.
Nonetheless, an expensively educated hominid like Boris Johnson, doing the sensitive job he does, should have a subliminal awareness of cultural taboos. The Sikhs’ offence is Eton college’s failure. Perhaps fewer soggy biscuit competitions after lights out, and more comparative religion, headmaster!
And gurdwara-gate definitely calls into question Boris Johnson’s fitness for the role of foreign secretary, a position he is unlikely to occupy after 8 June anyway, especially in the event of a Corbyn win.
But Boris Johnson’s biggest cultural cringe happened earlier in the week, in far away Newport, south Wales. The Conservatives consider Wales invisible to mainstream media, which is why they sent Boris Johnson there in the first place. But my friend the Welsh mystic Carlton B Morgan sent me the following email.
“Apparently, Boris Johnson came to Newport market yesterday. I had sadly just vacated the place having ate a vegan breakfast with Fakin’ Bacon, so there but for the space-time continuum goes a smart-alecky remark I could have made to the odious sap.”
“Anyway,” the vegan punk visionary continued, “this have I gleaned: BJ approached the Negative Zone comics stall and said to the comics man, ‘Oh! When I was a youngster I wanted to be the Incredible Hulk™. The madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets!’ I thought you might like to know. Nos da.”
Sure enough, Wales Online was now reporting the story of Boris Johnson™’s disastrous visit to the Gwentish market. Apparently Boris Johnson™ declined to eat a suspected hash cake; said, “this is one of those cakes that you can both have and eat”, but then, illogically, did not eat the cake which he had; painted some concrete letters that spelled out his name, like a clever fat baby; placated a weeping Nigerian; was booed about the miners; and having told the Negative Zone man that his favourite character was the Incredible Hulk™, was met with the response, “You’re halfway there, if you don’t mind me saying, Boris”. Pow!
In less than a minute, I found four interviews, from 2009 to 2015, in which Boris Johnson™, each time citing the comic book quote “The madder Hulk gets, the stronger Hulk gets”, said he would like to be the Incredible Hulk™.
Perhaps quoting a comic book is one of those little tricks clever Boris Johnson uses to appear down with the normal people, irrespective of his actual feeling for the work itself, having long since made the concepts of truth and expediency indivisible in his own mind.
Johnny Marr told David Cameron he wasn’t allowed to listen to the Smiths; Bruce Springsteen disavowed Ronald Reagan’s absorption of Born in the USA; and 80s anarcho-punks Flux of Pink Indians were privately dismayed by the Countryside Alliance’s misappropriation of their album The Fucking Cunts Treat Us Like Pricks to soundtrack its campaign against rural post office closures.
And likewise, Boris Johnson™ absolutely cannot have our Incredible Hulk™ – no way man! You’ve taken our future. At least leave us our comic books.
I emailed various comics creatives to solicit their opinions on Boris Johnson™’s desire to actually be the actual Incredible Hulk™, the most succinct coming from exiled Hulk artist Gary Frank.
“I can’t help feeling that Boris Johnson™ slightly missed the point of it all,” wrote Frank, “in that Hulk’s alter ego, Bruce Banner, doesn’t actually want to get angry, become stupid and then smash everything to fuck. Do you think Boris Johnson™ misread the Hulk comics as a sort of Tony Robbins self-help guide to fulfilling your potential?”
But dig a little deeper into the Hulk’s genesis, and it seems Boris Johnson is right to identify with the creature, but not for the reasons he imagines. The early American comic book superheroes were authored almost exclusively by liberal Jewish visionary autodidacts, and lean heavily on Hebrew mythology.
Hulk was created by Stan Lee (Stanley Lieber) and Jack Kirby (Jacob Kurtzberg) in 1962, and though influenced by Frankenstein and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, the character is best understood through the 16th-century tale of the Golem of Prague, as indeed, is Boris Johnson™ himself.
Having made a man-monster from magic mud to protect his community, Rabbi Loew soon finds he, like Bruce Banner after he unleashes his inner Hulk, loses control of the creature, which heads off on a psychotic rampage, destroying everything, though stopping short of telling Sikhs to buy whisky.
Finally the golem is subdued and stuffed back into the attic, leaving the rabbi – like Theresa May or Donald Tusk, depending on your politics – to clear up the mess the deranged creature has made.
At the end of the second issue of The Incredible Hulk (July 1962), Bruce Banner wakes from the fever-dream of a night spent as the monster, dimly aware of his responsibility for the destruction around him. In torn rags, he says, “Tell me – quickly – what happened? I – I can’t remember – it’s like an ugly fading nightmare!”
Banner’s haunted face recalls nothing so much as the face of Boris Johnson, as he emerged the morning after the Brexit vote, in denial of the destruction that his own inner Hulk had wrought.
Boris Johnson was always the Hulk, all along. And he always was the golem. The ancient legend claimed him at birth, and it knew Boris Johnson better than Boris Johnson knew himself, as legends are wont to do. And now his attic awaits.
Stewart Lee is touring his new show, Content Provider, throughout 2017; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-05-21T21:38:30+01:00
Last Wednesday our chief Brexiter Boris Johnson dressed up in a Sikh costume to visit a Bristol gurdwara. There he told the alcohol-abstaining supplicants to take bottles of Johnnie Walker to Indian relatives to speed post-Brexit booze exports, leading one to comment that had he made that suggestion in India the foreign secretary would have been killed immediately. Another successful Boris Johnson PR exercise. That said, I don’t think Boris Johnson was seeking to pique the Sikhs. Indeed, Boris Johnson’s own wife, Marina Wheeler QC, is half-Sikh, though it is not clear which half, so it is difficult to deduce anything from this. It might be just her leg and some bits of one of her arms. I don’t know. This notion is a minefield of potentially explosive cultural sensitivities, both gender- and faith-based. Personally, I think the Sikhs’ reaction is a perfect example of that Political Correctness Gone Mad™ that they have now. In respect of his pernicious Brexit lies, it is not necessarily wrong that Boris Johnson should be punished indiscriminately by the full force of whatever belief systems are most unforgiving, but he shouldn’t be slain for saying “whisky” to a Sikh. No one should. Nonetheless, an expensively educated hominid like Boris Johnson, doing the sensitive job he does, should have a subliminal awareness of cultural taboos. The Sikhs’ offence is Eton college’s failure. Perhaps fewer soggy biscuit competitions after lights out, and more comparative religion, headmaster! And gurdwara-gate definitely calls into question Boris Johnson’s fitness for the role of foreign secretary, a position he is unlikely to occupy after 8 June anyway, especially in the event of a Corbyn win. But Boris Johnson’s biggest cultural cringe happened earlier in the week, in far away Newport, south Wales. The Conservatives consider Wales invisible to mainstream media, which...
Let's show we don't all subscribe to the worst racist rhetoric of Brexit
(This article first appeared on Chortle on the 28th December.)
Stewart Lee on his campaign to get to No 1 with Asian Dub Foundation
Move over Miley Cyrus and tell Ed Sheeran the news. A bunch of protest-music electro-punks and a 52-year-old man who has let himself go are within snatching distance of your shiny pop crowns! And it’s all for charity!! Do the decent thing and step aside!!!
As I write this on December 27, Comin’ Over Here, by Asian Dub Foundation featuring Stewart Lee, is Number 1 in the Amazon charts, and number 2 in the iTunes charts. I don’t even know how the other charts work, or how you calculate a hit single in these digital days. We used to buy music as reels of paper full of holes that you had to feed into a mangle with a ram’s horn attached to it back in my day. And it were all just filthy noise back then, not auto-tuned dance-friendly melodies like today’s rubbish. Eeee! I remember when this was all Fields of the Nephilim.
But I do know that with your help we could realise Asian Dub Foundation’s dream of making Comin’ Over Here the top of the charts on New Year’s Day, as Brexit finally festers into reality. And we can generate a hefty wedge for the record’s beneficiaries, Kent Refugee Action Network, whether it is Number 1 or not.
Without an Instacam or a Tweeter to my name I am hardly a media manipulator, and as people at Netflix will tell you, I am of limited parochial interest. And you are unlikely to see Seann Walsh cavorting to an Asian Dub Foundation track on Strictly Come Dancing any time soon. So how did this strange chart-bound convergence happen?
After their initial impact in a nostalgic Britpop era that was a poor fit for them, the ethno-futurists Asian Dub Foundation have enjoyed a cycle of touring successive acclaimed albums to a devoted following, and developing high-concept side-projects (soundtracking La Haine at Broadwater Farm and performing an opera about Colonel Gaddafi at the London Coliseum) almost beneath the radar.
It’s the sort of musical career model I recognise, and one I have done my best to try and apply to the unwieldy world of stand-up. But as the former Teardrop Explodes frontman and Dinky mystic Julian Cope once told me, while standing in a Wiltshire stone circle: ‘You have to get through being a has-been and then you can become a legend.’
I told this story to former Confessions Of A Window Cleaner star and Pier Paolo Pasolini protégé Robin Askwith when I worked with him in 2019, and he quoted me telling him it in a recent LBC radio obituary for Barbara Windsor. If something Julian Cope said can end up in Barbara Windsor’s obituary via super-spreader Askwith in just three moves, let that be a warning about how easily Covid-19 can be transmitted, and wear your masks in Sainsbury’s.
Anyway, Asian Dub Foundation contacted me early in 2020 to ask if they could sample an old routine of mine from eight years ago, about the historic waves of settlement in the British Isles, on their new album, and I was delighted to have it taken out of my hands. I lost control of the bit to Twitter years ago anyway, where it is posted many times a day back and forth in political debates, free of its moorings.
I had the idea for the routine in 2012 when I heard a mad interview on the radio with Paul Nuttalls, the Ukip leader soon to lose his job due to confusion as to whether or not he had been present at the Hillsborough disaster.
I went home, transcribed Nuttalls’ words, and wrote a succession of increasingly exaggerated loops of his suspicion of various foreign objects, via modern Eastern European immigrants, through prehistoric settlers, and back as far as all matter and the abstract concept of reality itself. It was one of those rare extended riffs that took about as long to write as it does to say, as opposed to the routines that can take years to chisel out.
I don’t even really feel responsible for it, as everything in it was implied by Nuttalls anyway, who seemed to stand at my shoulder in spectral form, guiding my hand. The bit just sort of fell out of my head like a weird egg, broke on the laptop in front of me, and fried itself.
Though I normally police the context of my work as rigorously as possible, I was fascinated to see what would happen to the bit in the hands of Asian Dub Foundation, who saw in the finished routine a comic response to the kind of anti-immigrant rhetoric some players in the Brexit referendum chose to amplify and weaponise, which spoke to their experiences.
I handed over the tapes and waited. And it was a great privilege for me, at 52, to find myself on a record like ADF’s, which I think is both powerful and funny, largely for reasons that are little to do with me and everything to do with the group themselves. And I love that fact that they chose to pull out the section where I am quoting the 1,100 year old anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet of The Wanderer, his presence and mine on the record showing that you are never too old to have a hit.
If I had known I was going to be in a pop video I would have got in shape under lockdown and maybe worn a catsuit, like when Lulu performed with Take That. But the band were brilliant on the day of the shoot, between the two lockdowns, and jammed on John Coltrane’s version of My Favourite Things between takes, which meant I got a private musical performance of one of my own favourite things in a year where I have rarely seen anything live.
On the EP’s extra tracks, ADF’s Steve Savale has fitted the spoken word samples of other bits of the routine to the group’s rhythms and melodies so brilliantly, it makes me think of Messiaen transcribing birdsong, or the way Richard Thomas nailed American talk show guests’ trash talk to classical forms in Jerry Springer The Opera. And when Savale said he wanted to give all the profits to Kent Refugee Action Network and was taking advice from the DJ, activist and chart placings guru Jon Morter on how to have a Brexit Day Number 1, I was delighted.
At the risk of sounding hysterical, I think Asian Dub Foundation are, on this record, true patriots, and great global ambassadors for Britain, who can show the world that we didn’t all subscribe to the racist rhetorical excesses of the worst aspects of the Brexit campaign.
Writing in The Daily Mail on fucking Christmas Day, the lead Brexiteer Michael Gove’s partner Sarah Vine said the fallings-out she had with Remainer friends means that ‘few have paid such a heavy cost’ as her for Brexit. This is, of course, to overlook the fact that an MP was murdered by a white supremacist during the campaign for defending immigration, a cost perhaps heavier than having an uncomfortable moment at a 50th birthday party.
You have until New Year’s Eve, pop-pickers, to register your pop vote in the pop music pop Referendum of the pop year!
Let's show we don't all subscribe to the worst racist rhetoric of Brexit (This article first appeared on Chortle on the 28th December.) Stewart Lee on his campaign to get to No 1 with Asian Dub Foundation Move over Miley Cyrus and tell Ed Sheeran the news. A bunch of protest-music electro-punks and a 52-year-old man who has let himself go are within snatching distance of your shiny pop crowns! And it’s all for charity!! Do the decent thing and step aside!!! As I write this on December 27, Comin’ Over Here, by Asian Dub Foundation featuring Stewart Lee, is Number 1 in the Amazon charts, and number 2 in the iTunes charts. I don’t even know how the other charts work, or how you calculate a hit single in these digital days. We used to buy music as reels of paper full of holes that you had to feed into a mangle with a ram’s horn attached to it back in my day. And it were all just filthy noise back then, not auto-tuned dance-friendly melodies like today’s rubbish. Eeee! I remember when this was all Fields of the Nephilim. But I do know that with your help we could realise Asian Dub Foundation’s dream of making Comin’ Over Here the top of the charts on New Year’s Day, as Brexit finally festers into reality. And we can generate a hefty wedge for the record’s beneficiaries, Kent Refugee Action Network, whether it is Number 1 or not. Without an Instacam or a Tweeter to my name I am hardly a media manipulator, and as people at Netflix will tell you, I am of limited parochial interest. And you are unlikely to see Seann Walsh cavorting to an Asian Dub Foundation track on Strictly Come Dancing any time soon. So...
Alison Blunt, Ivor Kallin, and Hannah Marshall spontaneously score three lengthy pieces, and a short spasm, for violin, viola and cello. Barrel's music, they admit, involves a lot of scraping.
Initially, the trio's genetic make up means it's difficult to for the listener to peer through the shadow of the classical tradition or the minimalist avant-garde, and hear the sound that's actually there. But by the final piece, Moths and Feathers, Barrell sound unlike anything else.
Flurries of notes and clunky bridge nudge noise flutter around gracefully drunken descends, three dowager duchesses sliding down the banister in a rain of ripped confetti.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-20T01:15:36+00:00
Alison Blunt, Ivor Kallin, and Hannah Marshall spontaneously score three lengthy pieces, and a short spasm, for violin, viola and cello. Barrel's music, they admit, involves a lot of scraping. Initially, the trio's genetic make up means it's difficult to for the listener to peer through the shadow of the classical tradition or the minimalist avant-garde, and hear the sound that's actually there. But by the final piece, Moths and Feathers, Barrell sound unlike anything else. Flurries of notes and clunky bridge nudge noise flutter around gracefully drunken descends, three dowager duchesses sliding down the banister in a rain of ripped confetti.
The rock band reunion is no longer an inherently embarrassing concept. This Summer, their reputation having swollen considerably in their absence, and their influence evident from Nirvana’s Nevermind onwards, the 80’s American alternative band The Pixies are playing to packed stadiums of former fans, more used to seeing them in tiny clubs, and curious latter converts. Television, Wire and Mission of Burma form a trio of serious-minded punk experimentalists who have returned to touring and recording with their dignity and credibility intact. And the unduly obscure 60’s psychedelic icon Arthur Lee, fronting a youthful version of Love, has re-emerged, energised and acclaimed, playing shows with the fearsome, righteous commitment of someone who feels he still has something to prove. These non-appalling reunions mean that even the re-emergence of less well known groups, whose return is unlikely to trouble the front covers of the music monthlies, is suddenly possible. Early 80’s post-punks The Moodists recently reassembled for some shows in their hometown of Melbourne, and Birmingham’s own Captain Beefheart And The Magic Band, The Nightingales, played their first date in fifteen years earlier this month. Anything could happen. Make a wish list and your nostalgic dreams might yet become reality.
The Long Ryders, for example, burned briefly but brightly in the mid-80’s, playing a punk-country hybrid to a world full of DX7 synths and Flock Of Seagulls hairstyles, a decade before the generation of bands they inspired found themselves christened as the Alternative Country movement and granted their own rack in the mega-store. You might remember the lone 1985 hit, Looking For Lewis & Clark, which sounded like The Who playing country and western and boasts one of the great harmonica breaks. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco and Chris Robinson of The Black Crows number amongst The Long Ryders’ famous fans and the major label roots rockers The Jayhawks, who used to open for them, recently recruited their former co-frontman Stephen McCarthy to their own ranks. His one-time partner Sid Griffin today lives far from his Kentucky roots in North London. Griffin has a loyal cult following that offers him an infinitely sustainable, if not massively lucrative, career, and his current band The Coal Porters will be playing the Kentucky World Of Bluegrass Festival this autumn, a fact which fills him with enormous pride. Given this, why risk it all and reassemble The Long Ryders?
“I never thought The Long Ryders would play together again.”, says Sid, sounding genuinely surprised. “I’d had offers before to tour as ‘Sid Griffin and The Long Ryders’, a kind of karaoke version of The Long Ryders playing Long Ryders songs, and it’d be easy to do that and get a couple of thousand pounds, but there’s something distasteful about it. If you’re a big music fan you’ll know why. You go to the shows and there’s only one guy from the band onstage. But this offer was to get all the originals together, so I passed it along. Our drummer, Greg Sowders, who now works in music publishing for Warner Chapel in LA, said “Yeah, I’ll do it on my summer vacation.” Then bass player, Tom Stevens, who I had not communicated with for seventeen years got in touch and said he was in. But Stephen McCarthy is now in The Jayhawks, touring and making money. I thought he’d be too busy. But The Jayhawks said he had to do it, and scheduled a break. I thought if we don’t do it now we never going to do it and we’ll do it when we’re old and grey and using Zimmer Frames. We’ll record one of the concerts for a possible live album but as for actually recording again, the logistics are impossible. Everybody in the band is at least 600 miles apart.”
After their 2002 performance at Camber Sands’ All Tomorrow’s Parties weekender, Wire were overheard around the lace tablecloths of a local bed and breakfast’s dining room discussing whether the previous night’s performance had maintained or compromised ‘the legend of Wire’. A second hand record dealer recently informed me that original Electric Prunes vinyl has plummeted in value since the seminal 60’s garage band reformed to tour a dreadful set of 80’s metal style interpretations of their old songs and I, for one, could have lived without seeing a wobbly version of The Incredible String Band at The Bloomsbury Theatre three years back, although it was enjoyable watching some would-be hippies who had ill-advisedly ingested acid before the show struggling to negotiate with the blue florescent lighting above the gents’ urinals. The Long Ryders finished on a creative high in 1987. Even The Clash petered out with the conveniently forgotten Cut The Crap album. Is there a danger of a re-union undermining fans’ perfect memories of a band in its prime?
“If you are a snotty record collector like me you know that Rock and Roll reunions stink,” agrees Griffin. “There’s about nineteen different bands all called The Drifters. And a few years ago, before Brian Connolly from The Sweet died, I saw this news story on TV. Peter Sissons was explaining, with a perfectly straight face, how The Sweet With Brian Connolly and The Sweet without Brian Connolly had both somehow pulled up on the same garage forecourt in Devon or somewhere and started arguing about who was allowed to play Ballroom Blitz. I was in tears of laughter, but thought ‘There but for the grace of God…’ But in the last few years Wire at The Royal Festival Hall was great , and The Blasters, who I saw 30 times in LA, were as good as they’ve ever been. I saw The Who with Zak Starkey on drums five years ago and it was the best I ever saw them. So with Wire, The Blasters and The Who I started thinking maybe you can have a re-union that works.”
Does Griffin secretly harbour dreams of, belatedly, being vindicated in some way? “I saw Love with Arthur Lee in the 70’s and he was not on form, but I saw two of his shows recently and I couldn’t believe it. I thought “Way to go, Arthur!”. I’m older myself now and I don’t want Arthur Lee to die with just an arrest record and thirty years of being ignored. I’m thrilled for him. You do want that kind of recognition.” And then, perhaps wary of seeming bitter or ambitious, Sid Griffin, former and current Long Ryder concludes, “And you know what? I’d really like my little girl to see me play Rock and Roll.”
The Long Ryders play the Glastonbury Festival and The SpydaFest, Portland on June 26th, followed by London Dingwalls 29th and 30th, Nottingham Rescue Rooms July 1st, Manchester Academy 2nd, Glasgiw King Tuts 3rd, Leeds Irish Centre 7th, Bristol Fleece 8th. Prima Records’ Best Of The Long Ryders (SID016) is out on June 28th. sidgriffin.com
Stewart Lee
2004-06-13T18:04:06+01:00
The rock band reunion is no longer an inherently embarrassing concept. This Summer, their reputation having swollen considerably in their absence, and their influence evident from Nirvana’s Nevermind onwards, the 80’s American alternative band The Pixies are playing to packed stadiums of former fans, more used to seeing them in tiny clubs, and curious latter converts. Television, Wire and Mission of Burma form a trio of serious-minded punk experimentalists who have returned to touring and recording with their dignity and credibility intact. And the unduly obscure 60’s psychedelic icon Arthur Lee, fronting a youthful version of Love, has re-emerged, energised and acclaimed, playing shows with the fearsome, righteous commitment of someone who feels he still has something to prove. These non-appalling reunions mean that even the re-emergence of less well known groups, whose return is unlikely to trouble the front covers of the music monthlies, is suddenly possible. Early 80’s post-punks The Moodists recently reassembled for some shows in their hometown of Melbourne, and Birmingham’s own Captain Beefheart And The Magic Band, The Nightingales, played their first date in fifteen years earlier this month. Anything could happen. Make a wish list and your nostalgic dreams might yet become reality. The Long Ryders, for example, burned briefly but brightly in the mid-80’s, playing a punk-country hybrid to a world full of DX7 synths and Flock Of Seagulls hairstyles, a decade before the generation of bands they inspired found themselves christened as the Alternative Country movement and granted their own rack in the mega-store. You might remember the lone 1985 hit, Looking For Lewis & Clark, which sounded like The Who playing country and western and boasts one of the great harmonica breaks. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco and Chris Robinson of The Black Crows number amongst The Long Ryders’ famous fans and...
The Len Price 3 are British Invasion purists playing raw psyche-punk in the muddy Medway footprints of Billy Childish. My Grandad Jim's nostalgic World War II recollections feature Pete Townshend power chords and Keith Moon octopus rolls.
But the unexpectedly upsetting London Institute, a comparatively expansive four minute opus, pictures a window cleaner stumbling across preserved human specimens. The Len Price 3 have learned the old school rules and bought the boating blazers, but their fifth album contains some distinctively personal quirks.
Stewart Lee
2014-02-02T20:46:01+00:00
The Len Price 3 are British Invasion purists playing raw psyche-punk in the muddy Medway footprints of Billy Childish. My Grandad Jim's nostalgic World War II recollections feature Pete Townshend power chords and Keith Moon octopus rolls. But the unexpectedly upsetting London Institute, a comparatively expansive four minute opus, pictures a window cleaner stumbling across preserved human specimens. The Len Price 3 have learned the old school rules and bought the boating blazers, but their fifth album contains some distinctively personal quirks.
As a boy, in 1977, I made a stupid monkey face at Queen Elizabeth II as she drove past us in Solihull’s Mell Square on her silver jubilee perambulations. “You aren’t funny, Stewart,” my gran said of the subsequent photograph, unaware that I would one day be declared “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” (the Times).
But like Nick Cave ™ ®, whose best work we now realise was a glorious mistake made while smacked out of his brain in a baby’s nappy, I too was moved by the brown tide of history that flowed over the Queen’s funeral; I enjoyed the warm congratulations of Princess Michael of Kent at the 1984 National Lifesaving Championships in Coventry, where she clearly enjoyed watching my lithe teenage body repeatedly rescued as a volunteer corpse; and a minor royal recently attended one of my performances, where he was pleasant and polite when getting me to sign a DVD afterwards, despite having witnessed his relatives being ridiculed. They’re not so bad, I thought.
Since the coronation, however, I now find I hate all the royal family’s guts. And I hope, as fervently as my gran hoped in vain that she would live to see another coronation, that I in turn live to see the royals end their days in the gutter, pleasuring cheapskates for loose change by the bins behind the bus station; even the surviving corgis, which, in a clear safeguarding breach, are now in the care of Prince Andrew.
The former Prince Charles was once a pioneer in then unfashionable ways of thinking, and was ridiculed for talking to vegetables. But it paid off. And both the king’s brothers grew up to be useful members of the royal family, with Andrew having an especially beneficial effect on young people. But given Charles III’s trumpeted eco-concerns, it is disappointing that he would sit and finger his ring in Westminster Abbey while those who care about the planet’s future were wrongly arrested under the fig leaf of protecting him.
You don’t have to have done A-level religious studies in 1986, alongside a boy who worshipped Thor and cast runes, to know that a simple utilitarian reading of Extinction Rebellion and Just Stop Oil would place them firmly on the moral high ground of history, while the royal family, who stood by and let them be arrested in their name, will find themselves squirming in the anus of Dante’s devil.
The abstract concept of “utility” is described as tending “to prevent the happening of mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness to the party whose interest is considered”. There can be no more important “party” than the survival of all life on Earth, which trumps even the regrettable inconveniences suffered by the listeners of Nick Ferrari’s LBC phone-in.
During the service, King Charles III prayed that he would be “a blessing” to people “of all faiths and convictions”, while outside people with convictions about the environment or the monarchy were detained by the police because the string tying their bundles of placards together could have been used to “lock on”, as long as none of the Metropolitan police officers managing the event had any scissors. Charles’s silence in the face of the police force scaling the foothills of fascism, via the Tories’ draconian new police bill, makes a mockery of his promise.
It’s not great to criticise the police, an underfunded force asked to enforce populist measures designed by morally bankrupt politicians, trying to appease the gaping maw of a “red wall” they both patronise and fear. But suddenly, nice white middle-class eco-protesters and kranky anoraked anti-monarchists know what black people and women knew all along. Sometimes, you cannot trust the police, and they are not always there to serve and protect you. And now one of the life lessons we are obliged to teach our children is to treat the police with suspicion, and make sure a friend with a phone films any, even apparently innocent, interaction they have with them.
I got pulled over by the police once. I was a 21-year-old would-be standup driving a 1971 Morris Marina back from an unpaid tryout in the Elephant and Castle in south London. They asked me if I smoked “the old weed” and fruitlessly searched my car; they asked me where I had been, and one of the pair asked if I had performed at the Comedy Store. I had done a tryout there. He said he had been there and it was shit and all the comedians were shit, as if trying to goad me into doing something I’d regret. The police were right about the Comedy Store, though, which never employed me, the late booker Kim Kinnie saying I “wasn’t a Comedy Store act”, unaware that I would one day be declared “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” (the Times).
Then the police searched my bag, which was full of strange little props, my act in those days consisting mainly of me pointing at things and saying they were shit. One officer pulled out a piece of string with a weight tied to the end of it. I explained it was for a joke based around the phrase: “How long is a piece of string?” “And that’s funny, is it?” the policeman asked, sarcastically, before reluctantly releasing me. Today, I could have been detained for possession of that same piece of string, bumping up arrest statistics. And yet King Charles III remains silent.
If anyone is offended by this column then, like the Met, I express my regret. It is difficult to make snap decisions about what is right and wrong in the moment. I now consider the matter closed and trust I continue to enjoy everyone’s full support.
Stewart Lee
2023-05-14T18:18:39+01:00
As a boy, in 1977, I made a stupid monkey face at Queen Elizabeth II as she drove past us in Solihull’s Mell Square on her silver jubilee perambulations. “You aren’t funny, Stewart,” my gran said of the subsequent photograph, unaware that I would one day be declared “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” (the Times). But like Nick Cave ™ ®, whose best work we now realise was a glorious mistake made while smacked out of his brain in a baby’s nappy, I too was moved by the brown tide of history that flowed over the Queen’s funeral; I enjoyed the warm congratulations of Princess Michael of Kent at the 1984 National Lifesaving Championships in Coventry, where she clearly enjoyed watching my lithe teenage body repeatedly rescued as a volunteer corpse; and a minor royal recently attended one of my performances, where he was pleasant and polite when getting me to sign a DVD afterwards, despite having witnessed his relatives being ridiculed. They’re not so bad, I thought. Since the coronation, however, I now find I hate all the royal family’s guts. And I hope, as fervently as my gran hoped in vain that she would live to see another coronation, that I in turn live to see the royals end their days in the gutter, pleasuring cheapskates for loose change by the bins behind the bus station; even the surviving corgis, which, in a clear safeguarding breach, are now in the care of Prince Andrew. The former Prince Charles was once a pioneer in then unfashionable ways of thinking, and was ridiculed for talking to vegetables. But it paid off. And both the king’s brothers grew up to be useful members of the royal family, with Andrew having an especially beneficial effect on young people. But given Charles...
The Freemarket Cunts at Viagogo are taking the piss out of me, you and any venue that receives any public subsidy by selling tickets for my Liverpool Philharmonic Sept 15th and Belfast Waterfront 28th Sept dates at up to three times face value.
It's easy enough to work out which seats these are and I will personally come down from the stage and throw out anyone who buys any tickets from these websites.
Other dates are available.
Why not go to Derry/Londonderry the night before Belfast for normal rates and spend what you save on a hotel?
There is no need to co-operate with these Sajid Javid-admired Tory-party endorsed criminals.
NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES
Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018.
Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early.
Weds 1st Nov - Sat 9th Dec 2017
Tuesday to Saturday - except there is a performance on Monday 4th December
Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday
Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF)
Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF)
Wednesday November 1st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 7th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 9th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 11th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 14th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday November 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday November 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 21st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday November 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday November 28th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday November 29th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
December 2017
Friday December 1st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday December 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday December 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday December 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday December 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday December 7th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday December 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday December 9th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
January 2018
Tuesday January 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 4th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 5th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 6th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 8th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 10th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 15th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 19th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 20th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 22nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 24th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Thursday January 25th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday January 26th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday January 27th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Monday January 29th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Tuesday January 30th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Wednesday January 31st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
February 2018
Thursday February 1st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Friday February 2nd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS Saturday February 3rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm TICKETS
Stewart Lee
2017-06-28T18:45:55+01:00
VIAGOGO CUNTS The Freemarket Cunts at Viagogo are taking the piss out of me, you and any venue that receives any public subsidy by selling tickets for my Liverpool Philharmonic Sept 15th and Belfast Waterfront 28th Sept dates at up to three times face value. It's easy enough to work out which seats these are and I will personally come down from the stage and throw out anyone who buys any tickets from these websites. Other dates are available. Why not go to Derry/Londonderry the night before Belfast for normal rates and spend what you save on a hotel? There is no need to co-operate with these Sajid Javid-admired Tory-party endorsed criminals. NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018. Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early. Weds 1st Nov - Sat 9th Dec 2017 Tuesday to Saturday - except there is a performance on Monday 4th December Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF) Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF) https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873569397/events Other extra dates by other comedians are available Content Provider Tour 2017/2018 September 2017 Monday 11th - Content Provider - OXFORD - Playhouse - 7.30pm - 01865 305305 TICKETS Tuesday 12th - Content Provider - OXFORD - Playhouse - 7.30pm - 01865 305305 TICKETS Wednesday 13th - Content Provider - PRESTON - Charter Theatre - 7.30pm - 01772 80 44 44 TICKETS Thursday 14th - Content Provider - LIVERPOOL - Philharmonic Hall...
Kalgoorlie is an hour long flight inland from Perth, the world’s most isolated city. Off the back of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival I’d been offered a slot on a package show of stand-up’s touring Western Australia. It was reading a description of Kalgoorlie, where we were to play two nights, that convinced me to sign up for the full month. The 1996 edition of the Lonely Planet guide to Australia had little to say about the town other than that its 30 000 strong population was largely comprised of gold miners, and the strippers and prostitutes that serviced them, with men at one point outnumbering women 100-1. When I started stand-up again last year I conceived various strategies to try and keep it interesting for myself, and one of them was doing gigs I usually wouldn’t have considered – late night Edinburgh Fringe bear-pits, tiny theatres on remote Scottish islands, and shows in village halls and isolated pubs on the moors of various English National Parks. Kalgoorlie was a place I couldn’t imagine myself going down especially well, and I had no reference points at all for what performing there would be like. It seemed ideal.
I came out of Kalgoorlie-Boulder airport into a vast semi-circular domed black-blue sky, with the moon hanging heavy and low over thousands of miles of empty desert. I got a cab to the Railway Motel with Sam Simmons, a young absurdist comic from Melbourne. The driver said he was knocking off soon as his ‘tinny-squeezing’ hand was getting restless. I thought he said ‘titty-squeezing’ hand. My progressive deafness and intermittent tinnitus were combining with my prejudices about Kalgoorlie to create a new strain of non-existent Western Australian sexual slang to replace the region’s already thorough lexicon of euphemisms for heavy drinking. But I liked the idea of a titty-squeezing hand. It reminded me of the Arab tradition that you always wipe your arse with your left hand, keeping the right one clean for holy tasks.
One percent of the world’s gold comes out of an enormous hole on Kalgoorlie’s Eastern Bypass road. Well-paid young men work impossible shifts for ten years, and quit before they burn out. All the bars in town are staffed by skinny girls in tiny bras and pudenda-hugging shorts, known locally as Skimpies. A cab driver we spoke to said the Skimpies are mainly English backpackers working in relative anonymity far from home. He seemed angry about this, as if jobs were being taken off decent Australian girls who were also prepared to serve beer in states of near nudity. One of the pubs advertises 'Sydney Girls - Live'. In 19th Century Tombstone Arizona, Chinese or French women fetched the highest value. Here the notion of Sydney seems impossibly exotic. Across town, Hay Street’s many brothels, described as ‘historic’ in the Lonely Planet book, offer a full range of sexual services as well as daily tours for curious onlookers.
Backstage in the dressing room of the theatre where we were to perform was a framed good luck message from Kevin Bloody Wilson, a crude Australian old-school comic, whose British tours are sponsored by the rapist’s choice of newspaper, The Sunday Sport. Bloody Wilson cut his teeth hosting strip-shows in Kalgoorlie. The sign said he had paid for the plastic chairs backstage so that other performers could relax, which was kind of him.
The show itself was fine. Everybody’s best bits worked the best and there was no need to play safe. The Irish-Australian comic Dave Callan hosted delightfully. Jackie Kashian, who is from Wisconsin, found some small town common ground. The 4 Noels, a New Zealand trio of physical theatre types, did interesting stuff that a Comedy Store or Jongleurs crowd wouldn’t have had the patience to tune into. And Sam Simmons performed a lengthy dance in which he assumed the persona of a sexually aroused cat whilst dressed in a blue boiler suit. I had lots of fun dismantling what I was doing and dragging the audience along with it. The Australian comic Greg Fleet had promised me an auditorium where fights would break out during the show, but instead a smart and attentive crowd lapped up all the good stuff.
Afterwards we all went to a big Wild-West style bar in a 19th century hotel called The Exchange. As we walked in, half the pub, who had been in the show, applauded. We got a standing ovation half an hour after the show had ended. And in a different building. People came up to us and thanked us for coming, but they weren’t mad, or annoying, or oppressive, just charming and grateful. The Skimpies were working behind the bar. I didn’t know where to look, and found ordering a Guinness acutely embarrassing. That said, the pub was full of women drinkers and couples, so it obviously wasn’t an issue for most Kalgoorlie people. Near the pool table, big mining men were punching each other in their chests and shoulders and shouting and spitting, but it all seemed good-natured.
There were three TV screens in the room. Two played sports, whilst one, inexplicably, showed a sub-titled documentary about European arts cinema hosted by Martin Scorcesse. The bar stools were saddles on legs, which was good for posture and, unlike most places in Australia, you could smoke, so there was a proper 20th century pub atmosphere. Calendars of the Exchange’s Skimpy girls were given away free at the bar, and showed the ladies out in the desert posing seductively in bras and shorts near the heads of pits or in front of heavy mining machinery.
After midnight the Skimpies came round with glasses asking for people, both men and women, to put money in the ‘kiddy-kitty’. Having earlier misheard the word ‘tinny’ as ‘titty’ I now realised I has misheard the word ‘titty’ as ‘kiddy’ and, rather than giving money to sick children, had had in fact unwittingly contributed to a fund encouraging the bar staff to work topless, which they now did, although with masking tape over their nipples to circumvent some local quirk of licensing laws. Call me a politically correct square, but I do not believe anyone should have to work naked. Soon after the bar staff’s breasts had been unveiled a Kalgoorlie man offered our tour manager Edwina $50 to take off her top. It was interesting to me that the un-displayed breasts had now become a focus of more interest to the man than those already available to his eye. I suppose we always want that which we cannot have. The forbidden breasts have a premium value. Edwina chanced her arm and said she would do it for $1000. The man offered $60, which is quite frankly insulting. This was not enough, and the haggling soon ended, though amicably.
In the morning we had a day off in Kalgoorlie. I’d just come off a week touring New Zealand. The second hand bookshops on the South Island were amazing, full of rare, out-of-print, esoteric, 19th and 20th century European literature, and I scored lost classics by Algernon Blackwood, John Cowper Powys, David Jones, Andre Gide, Thomas Love Peacock, Raymond Radiguet, Eric Linklatter and Neil M Gunn, which I posted home at a cost of $160 NZ. In Wellington the shopkeeper had been so impressed with my purchases he gave me a half hour free lecture on Powys’ life and works, and directed me to a book by his less well known brother, which I got for $9. I wondered if the volume and quality of great books stashed on the South Island of New Zealand had anything to do with the kind of people that emigrated, and when they arrived.
Applying the same speculations to Kalgoorlie was a little dispiriting. There was one second-hand bookshop and everything in it was airport blockbusters with embossed covers or true crime compendiums with titles like Children Who Kill or 20 Great Australian Murders. Where were the readers of Kalgoorlie? Did the people of Kalgoorlie not know that the unexamined life was not worth living? No. They did not. Nevertheless, to its inhabitants, Kalgoorlie was a goldmine. Literally.
Edwina offered to drive us out of town in the mini-bus to see the sights. First of all we stopped at the Super Pit, a massive man-made crevasse, the Grand Canyon of goldmines. A local guidebook said the trucks at the bottom look like Tonka Toys. It was clearly written by someone yet to grasp the idea of perspective. “This place is a hole,” said Sam, which is exactly the kind of joke I love, like walking around a Salvador Dali exhibition and declaring each painting to be ‘surreal’.
The Lonely Planet book recommended the 2-Up arena, five km out of town, up a dirt track. 2-Up is a traditional Australian game in which bets are taken on which way up two coins thrown against a wall will land. At one point it was banned due to players becoming totally broke. We drove off road into the bush, red dirt billowing up and green parrots bursting out of the eucalyptus trees. Lonely Planet said the 2-Up arena was open from 3.30 to 7pm daily but when we got there the site was in disarray. The arena was a collapsing corrugated iron shed. In the centre of a ring of broken benches was a concrete floor. It stood alone in a clearing and felt like something pagan you’d find in the Orkneys or on the Isle Of Lewis. A little way off, the remains of a corrugated iron fence had the word LADIES spray painted on it. Behind it a broken toilet stood exposed to the elements. The lid was on the floor. Edwina lifted it up and a bull ant blinked into the sun. Sam and Jesse from the 4 Noels stood on a pile of discarded Fanta cans and imagined a local ritual whereby those who had transgressed the law were Fanta-d to death in the 2-Up Arena. Whatever the site’s secrets, it was clear that the idea of going to watch people throw coins on the floor was no longer as popular as it had been in 1996 when the Lonely Planet guide was published. All people want to see these days is semi-naked women serving beer. What happened to the old traditions?
At 2.45 pm we arrived at the big 181 Hay Street brothel for the three o’clock tour. There aren’t any tours at night, when the place is presumably busy with genuine punters who don’t want to be gawped at. I don’t know why I thought the Brothel tour was a good idea. In Tombstone Arizona the legends of the Soiled Doves are seen through the gauze of history and myth. Here you’re just a voyeur. Kalgoorlie isn’t a theme park of a gold rush frontier town. It is a gold rush frontier town.
Outside, Jackie was taking photos. In the windows of the Brothel there were 70’s shop window dummies of women in flimsy dresses. “Look,” said Sam, “mannequin whores. I wonder if an old miner with no money has ever stood outside here looking at a mannequin and whacked off.” This made me laugh, but I patronisingly reminded him that we were about to enter a place of work, and that we shouldn’t say ‘whore’ as it would be offensive to the…. whores. I realised that I was approaching the Brothel with the same attitude I would go around the Vatican. I don’t understand what motivates prostitutes or their clients anymore than I understand the religious impulse, but even so I hate seeing tourists in churches chewing gum and wearing hats. When in Rome…
The tour leaflet encouraged us to enjoy ‘the sometimes amusing, but all too often sad, stories of the working girls.” I wondered how the actual women working in the Brothel felt about the fact that their lives were being described by their own employer as ‘all too often sad.’ Did the Madam who wrote the text mean this, or was she looking for a ‘human angle’ with which to market the place to tourists?
We went in and stood in the Brothel gift shop. You could buy academic tomes on the history of prostitution in Kalgoorlie, postcards of all the prostitutes, and the madam, and of the rooms, which were all themed. One of them was made up to look like a cheap motel room, like the cheap motel room I was staying in five minutes down the road, except slightly better furnished. You could also buy a laminated copy of the Brothel price list. It explained that girls were not obliged to offer services other than vaginal or oral sex without special arrangements. ‘Greek’ sex was $400 an hour. An hour would be enough for anyone I imagine, especially if bouzoukis were involved. It was while looking at the laminated price list that the five of us, three men and two women, reached the unspoken realisation that the Brothel tour wasn’t really for us.
Outside, I felt stupid. What had I imagined it would be like in there? Despite the fact that the Brothel had a coffee shop and a gift store something morally mysterious and ethically vague was still happening there, and in strictly delineated timeslots. Would we have been complicit in endorsing it by going on the tour? Or would we have contributed a little to alleviating a mystique that surrounds an ageless, arguably harmless and apparently necessary transaction? A sex worker once spent a few hours trying to convince me that stand-up comedians were the same as prostitutes, sharing something of themselves that is traditionally private with paying punters. I don’t know if I agree. And either way, on a good night I can make more that $400 an hour.
Not on this tour though. But it doesn’t matter. The second show was even better. I told the audience of 700 that they were all miners and prostitutes and should go home to their holes in the ground or their brothels where they all live, and they loved it.
Two days later, in the coastal town of Bunbry, I read an interview with the madam of the 181 Hay Street Brothel. She said business was bad. Pre-marital sex and an influx of families and young professionals into Kalgoorlie was hitting the oldest profession hard. The tours were an attempt to make 181 Hay street ‘recession proof’. So I was wrong about Kalgoorlie being a real frontier town. Already, like Tombstone Arizona, Kalgoorlie was becoming a museum of itself. In Llechwed, North Wales, former slate mine employees are employed to dress up as slate miners and display slate mining skills in a slate mining museum housed in the former slate mine where they used to work as actual slate miners. Soon, former 181 Hay Street girls will be re-employed to re-enact their own earlier careers for the benefit of tourists, in the very same rooms where they once worked a different market. Moral crusaders failed to clean up Kalgoorlie. Economics will do it for them.
I’m glad I saw Kalgoorlie while it still had something of its frontier flavour. Everything about it is exciting and strange. I would like to come here again and do an two hour set in the 2-Up arena by torchlight, with parrots flying around, in front of an audience clutching fanta cans. Then I would like to spend all the profits on one night in the Brothel’s fake motel room. Alone. With a mannequin whore.
Stewart Lee
2005-11-02T00:27:56+00:00
Kalgoorlie is an hour long flight inland from Perth, the world’s most isolated city. Off the back of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival I’d been offered a slot on a package show of stand-up’s touring Western Australia. It was reading a description of Kalgoorlie, where we were to play two nights, that convinced me to sign up for the full month. The 1996 edition of the Lonely Planet guide to Australia had little to say about the town other than that its 30 000 strong population was largely comprised of gold miners, and the strippers and prostitutes that serviced them, with men at one point outnumbering women 100-1. When I started stand-up again last year I conceived various strategies to try and keep it interesting for myself, and one of them was doing gigs I usually wouldn’t have considered – late night Edinburgh Fringe bear-pits, tiny theatres on remote Scottish islands, and shows in village halls and isolated pubs on the moors of various English National Parks. Kalgoorlie was a place I couldn’t imagine myself going down especially well, and I had no reference points at all for what performing there would be like. It seemed ideal. I came out of Kalgoorlie-Boulder airport into a vast semi-circular domed black-blue sky, with the moon hanging heavy and low over thousands of miles of empty desert. I got a cab to the Railway Motel with Sam Simmons, a young absurdist comic from Melbourne. The driver said he was knocking off soon as his ‘tinny-squeezing’ hand was getting restless. I thought he said ‘titty-squeezing’ hand. My progressive deafness and intermittent tinnitus were combining with my prejudices about Kalgoorlie to create a new strain of non-existent Western Australian sexual slang to replace the region’s already thorough lexicon of euphemisms for heavy drinking. But I...
The Vermont indie-folkster Anais Mitchell's own songs echo archaic British folk lyrics, and she's spearheaded the rediscovery of the English folksinger Nic Jones.
Last Summer, I saw New Yorker Jefferson Hamer playing along anonymously in a traditional session in an Edinburgh bar.
Like Dylan and Paul Simon in the ‘60s, the dutiful duo sought the sources of the old songs, and now they illuminate the granite vaults and cracked stained glass of seven of our most sacred secular standards with New World brightness, making them shine anew.
Stewart Lee
2013-02-10T20:49:13+00:00
The Vermont indie-folkster Anais Mitchell's own songs echo archaic British folk lyrics, and she's spearheaded the rediscovery of the English folksinger Nic Jones. Last Summer, I saw New Yorker Jefferson Hamer playing along anonymously in a traditional session in an Edinburgh bar. Like Dylan and Paul Simon in the ‘60s, the dutiful duo sought the sources of the old songs, and now they illuminate the granite vaults and cracked stained glass of seven of our most sacred secular standards with New World brightness, making them shine anew.
The siblings Mike, Lal and Norma Waterson, and her husband Martin Carthy, kick-started the 60’s folk revival, and Martin and Norma’s daughter Eliza Carthy is the hidden engine of English Traditional music’s current resurgence. All participated in an augmented line-up of the Waterson clan, minus the late Lal, standing twelve strong along the lip of the Royal Albert Hall Stage in an evening that veered wildly from impossible intimacy to a strange stiff formality. There’s a weight of expectation now around The Watersons, the genre’s standard-bearers, and everyone needs to be seen to bathe in the first family of English Folk’s healing river of song.
Mike Morris of the English Folk Dance And Song Society opened the evening with a proprietory speech, bashing Kim Howells, the Clarkson-brained junior minister for Culture, who desribed folk singers as his idea of hell during a debate on live music. The former Undertone and current Government Live Music Czar Feargal Sharkey arrived to tell the John Peel anecdote he reserves for special occassions. Norma Waterson, however, cleared away all this clutter with an unforced between-song banter and easy attitude, that made the RAH’s cavernous interior feel like the Hull folks clubs she first frequented forty-five years ago.
When the family sing unaccompanied as one, indefinable, instinctive harmonies buzz your inner ear and your internal organs shift position. And when Eliza Carthy’s fiddle soars and scrapes behind her father Martin’s vocal on The Bonny Bows Of London the hall’s often antagonistic acoustics somehow enhance the claustrophobic tension. Two songs from Mike and Lal’s initially derided 1972 masterpiece, Bright Phoebus, show the current crop of Wyrd-folkies how to mainline visionary mysticism. And Martin Carthy’s horn-enhanced quartet Brass Monkey play their party piece, The Maid And The Palmer, forging a fantastic Colliery band-jazz-folk fusion.
Meanwhile that same night, in far away Finland, our nation was represented by four excitable youngsters crowbaring suggestive references to oral sex into a song about an imaginary British air line.
That's my idea of hell.
Stewart Lee
2007-05-13T19:53:38+01:00
The siblings Mike, Lal and Norma Waterson, and her husband Martin Carthy, kick-started the 60’s folk revival, and Martin and Norma’s daughter Eliza Carthy is the hidden engine of English Traditional music’s current resurgence. All participated in an augmented line-up of the Waterson clan, minus the late Lal, standing twelve strong along the lip of the Royal Albert Hall Stage in an evening that veered wildly from impossible intimacy to a strange stiff formality. There’s a weight of expectation now around The Watersons, the genre’s standard-bearers, and everyone needs to be seen to bathe in the first family of English Folk’s healing river of song. Mike Morris of the English Folk Dance And Song Society opened the evening with a proprietory speech, bashing Kim Howells, the Clarkson-brained junior minister for Culture, who desribed folk singers as his idea of hell during a debate on live music. The former Undertone and current Government Live Music Czar Feargal Sharkey arrived to tell the John Peel anecdote he reserves for special occassions. Norma Waterson, however, cleared away all this clutter with an unforced between-song banter and easy attitude, that made the RAH’s cavernous interior feel like the Hull folks clubs she first frequented forty-five years ago. When the family sing unaccompanied as one, indefinable, instinctive harmonies buzz your inner ear and your internal organs shift position. And when Eliza Carthy’s fiddle soars and scrapes behind her father Martin’s vocal on The Bonny Bows Of London the hall’s often antagonistic acoustics somehow enhance the claustrophobic tension. Two songs from Mike and Lal’s initially derided 1972 masterpiece, Bright Phoebus, show the current crop of Wyrd-folkies how to mainline visionary mysticism. And Martin Carthy’s horn-enhanced quartet Brass Monkey play their party piece, The Maid And The Palmer, forging a fantastic Colliery band-jazz-folk fusion. Meanwhile that same...
Dublin Trinity College students Dr Strangely Strange's 1969 debut Kip Of The Serenes is a whimsical acoustic hippy record in the vein of The Incredible String Band. 1970's Heavy Petting, re-released with extra tracks, featured the psychedelic blues licks of future Thin Lizzy guitarist Gary Moore, making for a cautious but compelling hybrid of fragile folk forms and more muscular rock moves.
The lengthy Sign Of My Mind, with both a tentative first effort, and the strident second take, included here, is a slowly uncoiling acid-folk classic, rivaling Fairport's A Sailor's Life and Trees' Sally Free And Easy.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-13T12:26:53+00:00
Dublin Trinity College students Dr Strangely Strange's 1969 debut Kip Of The Serenes is a whimsical acoustic hippy record in the vein of The Incredible String Band. 1970's Heavy Petting, re-released with extra tracks, featured the psychedelic blues licks of future Thin Lizzy guitarist Gary Moore, making for a cautious but compelling hybrid of fragile folk forms and more muscular rock moves. The lengthy Sign Of My Mind, with both a tentative first effort, and the strident second take, included here, is a slowly uncoiling acid-folk classic, rivaling Fairport's A Sailor's Life and Trees' Sally Free And Easy.
“In Russia, nostalgia is regarded as an illness,” declared the mighty comedian Simon Munnery once, “or at least it used to be, in the good old days.” Zing! Oasis, who 30 years ago represented a kind of condensed nostalgia for the previous quarter-century of British rock, are re-forming. The cocaine dealers of Britain are already putting in advance orders so thousands of middle-aged men can stand in stadiums next summer bellowing trivial conversations about fuck all at each other all through the gigs they’ve paid hundreds of pounds to touts to attend. The trail of dead South American drug war casualties will stretch all the way from Heaton Park to Pablo Escobar’s ruined hippo enclosure. All the same, I wish I was going.
It used to be embarrassing when bands re-formed, didn’t it, like your dad dancing at a wedding? But when 70s New York televisionaries Television regrouped in 1992, I was delighted, as I knew all the solos on Marquee Moon off by heart and hadn’t seen them in 77 owing to being eight and preferring the Geoff Love & His Orchestra Bond themes album that I bought in Woolworths. Bands didn’t get back together in those days, unless it was to cash in on the Saga holidays circuit, where my mum was disappointed to see PJ Proby fail to split his trousers on demand sometime around the turn of the century. Nostalgia, she noted, wasn’t what it used to be.
Proby’s pre-weakened strides once seemed to me the epitome of sad showbiz shtick, but I spent most of 2017 doing a routine where I deliberately made my trousers fall down, 254 times. Live long enough and you will eventually become the person you most pitied as a child. But me and PJ Proby, we’re professionals. Can the same be said of Liam Gallagher, who once got so drunk he declared war on the entire country of Switzerland during the fade of D’ You Know What I Mean?.
When the studious Television, not an especially lively band in their heyday, took the stage of the Town and Country Club in London in November 1992, the 24-year-old me was amazed at how brilliant they were, despite what I considered their impossibly advanced ages. Guitarist Richard Lloyd was 41, after all! It was amazing he could even speak or move around. But Television kept being sporadically brilliant for the next 30 years until Tom Verlaine’s death finally put paid to that long-delayed fourth album, although a similar fatality did not stop Tupac Shakur producing much of his best work. What can we expect next summer from the Gallagher brothers, who, at a staggering combined age of 108, are older than all five Beatles put together when they went to Hamburg in 1960?
In the past 30 years I’ve stood and watched dozens of re-emerged artists I never expected to see. Some – Love, Nic Jones, Heavenly, the Sex Pistols, Green on Red, Ut, and the Crome Syrcus – played the hits; some – the Stooges and the Soft Boys – knocked out an accompanying album for added authenticity; others – Patti Smith, Mission of Burma, the Dream Syndicate, the Nightingales, Shirley Collins, Slowdive, the Long Ryders, Faust and Träd, Gräs och Stenar – started significant second careers. And five years ago I walked to my local, the Shacklewell Arms, where a band called the Zeros were advertised in the back room. Surely, I thought, it can’t be the 70s Los Angeles Latino punks of Beat Your Heart Out fame? But it was, with all original members, and they played Beat Your Heart Out. Did I dream it, like the time I had a horrible nightmare I was on stage at the Carlisle Sands Centre, and then woke up and realised I was?
Oasis are a guilty pleasure for a pseudo-intellectual like me, and I think they split just as that track Falling Down suggested a populist, stadium-sized psychedelia was imminent. Much is made of the eye for talent of Alan McGee, boss of Creation, Oasis’s first label, but he also signed Technique, the Legend!, and Keith “Smelly” O’Connell’s Five Go Down to the Sea?, the managerial equivalent of a massive hose spraying shit against a wall. Some of it was bound to stick. And Oasis were that sticky shit.
Until Creation nabbed Oasis, the label’s trajectory followed indie rock’s general post-punk upward creative arc. Moonshake meshed Can and PiL. The Boo Radleys spawned shoegazey psychedelia. And My Bloody Valentine made music no one had ever anticipated, a tree filled with angels, bright wings bespangling every bough like stars. But Oasis represented a massive, if mighty, full stop, consolidating the past to date and boldly nailing all the best bits together, the Trigger’s broom of pop. Was that momentum ever regained?
Suddenly, parents and kids all liked the same Beatles-Pistols hybrid. Oasis were the last ever national pop moment before the internet ended consensus, the weekly music papers folded, and Top of the Pops went off air. And in May 2017, when Manchester grieved for the victims of the arena bombing, it was Don’t Look Back In Anger they sang in the street spontaneously. Oasis enabled that moment. And to be fair to My Bloody Valentine, no one there was about to lead a mass outdoor singalong of the sonic inferno midsection of You Made Me Realise. Horses for courses.
But the Oasis reunion already has one unintended consequence. In Edinburgh, a Holiday Inn Express room next August for the first two nights of their Murrayfield shows will now cost you £1,300 due to anticipated demand. Edinburgh fringe performers’ and audiences’ whole month’s accommodation budget would go in a night, so by my reckoning the first two weeks of the festival just got totally fucked, Oasis singlehandedly murdering what 14 years of the Tories’ war on the arts couldn’t quite kill off. Sorted!
Stewart Lee
2024-09-01T19:19:18+01:00
“In Russia, nostalgia is regarded as an illness,” declared the mighty comedian Simon Munnery once, “or at least it used to be, in the good old days.” Zing! Oasis, who 30 years ago represented a kind of condensed nostalgia for the previous quarter-century of British rock, are re-forming. The cocaine dealers of Britain are already putting in advance orders so thousands of middle-aged men can stand in stadiums next summer bellowing trivial conversations about fuck all at each other all through the gigs they’ve paid hundreds of pounds to touts to attend. The trail of dead South American drug war casualties will stretch all the way from Heaton Park to Pablo Escobar’s ruined hippo enclosure. All the same, I wish I was going. It used to be embarrassing when bands re-formed, didn’t it, like your dad dancing at a wedding? But when 70s New York televisionaries Television regrouped in 1992, I was delighted, as I knew all the solos on Marquee Moon off by heart and hadn’t seen them in 77 owing to being eight and preferring the Geoff Love & His Orchestra Bond themes album that I bought in Woolworths. Bands didn’t get back together in those days, unless it was to cash in on the Saga holidays circuit, where my mum was disappointed to see PJ Proby fail to split his trousers on demand sometime around the turn of the century. Nostalgia, she noted, wasn’t what it used to be. Proby’s pre-weakened strides once seemed to me the epitome of sad showbiz shtick, but I spent most of 2017 doing a routine where I deliberately made my trousers fall down, 254 times. Live long enough and you will eventually become the person you most pitied as a child. But me and PJ Proby, we’re professionals. Can the same...
The reputation of Judas is enjoying a comeback that even Noel Edmonds must envy. Academics are re-evaluating his role, not just as the betrayer of Christ, but as fulfilling a vital role in his destiny. Even that indefatigable truth-seeker, Jeffrey Archer, is churning out a book in Judas’s defence.
So, what better time for a comedian to enter the debate – and not just any comedian, but the Archbishop Of Blasphemy himself, Stewart Lee; the man who’s overblown opera about a trashy talk show prompted a jihad from the medieval heretic-burning bigots of Christian Voice.
It’ll come as no surprise to these narrow-minded fundamentalists – nor anyone else for that matter – that Lee has also adopted the revisionist, sympathetic approach. In his eyes, Judas was not a traitor, but a disillusioned revolutionary frustrated at Jesus’s lack of action in overthrowing the corrupt Roman state and building a civilisation true to his teachings. He wanted Jesus a martyr, whose death would galvanise his many followers into rebellion – and he honestly believed Jesus wanted the same fate.
Put that way, this sounds more like a theological thesis than a comedy show, but it successfully combines the two. Lee takes on the role of Judas, as if he was a 38-year-old man brought up in the West Midlands. ‘I’ve worn a hat,’ he explains. ‘That’s acting.’
The device allows him to give a fictionalised first-hand account of Christ’s last week on earth. Lee’s Judas is marginalised by the rest of the disciples - always the one to be sent on trivial errands and perpetually sneered at for daring to question their Messiah when his preachings were at their most opaque. This is where Lee’s trademark mocking of the Gospels comes into its hilarious own. This Judas is so pedantic and questioning that he makes Doubting Thomas look like a gullible fool. And the very mundane, matter-of fact discussion of such defining moments in mankind’s history also provide fodder for knowing laughs.
This monologue is not, as detractors who’ve never seen Lee’s work would like to imagine, an out-an-out attack on the tenets of Christianity. Rather, it provokes a debate over the motives and meanings of the Gospels, which any robust religion should welcome. As he so brilliantly demonstrates – in the unlikely event that Matthew, Mark, Luke and John did accurately chronicle what Jesus said, what they didn’t catch the way that he said it.
Lee is obviously well read about his subject, and highly engaging in the way he explores it. He interacts with the audience, probing their knowledge of Bible stories and pulling in volunteers to recreate the Last Supper, complete with body and blood of Christ all round in what turns out to be a brilliant sketch about transubstantiation – and that's a phrase you don't see very often. In another context, this could almost be Sunday school, with a creative teacher sparking his pupils’ imaginations. But it’s a lot more amusing than that, and flirts with the sacreligious a lot more freely.
It’s in the grey areas of the Gospels where the comedy lies, and Lee is adept at mining it, although with the help of his director Will Adamsdale – who won the 2004 Perrier for Jackson’s Way – he also ensures there’s some dramatic development. Not so much in the story, as it’s pointed out from the get-go that we all know how it ends, but in the mood.
What starts off close to stand-up, with a casual Lee bantering with the audience and setting out his stall without the fourth wall, gradually becomes more weighty and theatrical until the Crucifixion brings proceedings to a surprisingly pathetic end.
This is a very modern take on an ancient story. It’s not hard to see where his inspiration for this version of Jesus came: a once-charismatic man who rose to power on fine rhetoric he couldn’t act upon, who embarked on a fight he had no exit strategy for, and who worries about his legacy while indulging himself in expensive extravagances.
But more than that, it is a mature and intelligent piece of one-man theatre, infused with the dry yet irreverent wit fans of Lee have come to expect, and guaranteed to make you think as much as you laugh.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-12T20:57:45+00:00
The reputation of Judas is enjoying a comeback that even Noel Edmonds must envy. Academics are re-evaluating his role, not just as the betrayer of Christ, but as fulfilling a vital role in his destiny. Even that indefatigable truth-seeker, Jeffrey Archer, is churning out a book in Judas’s defence. So, what better time for a comedian to enter the debate – and not just any comedian, but the Archbishop Of Blasphemy himself, Stewart Lee; the man who’s overblown opera about a trashy talk show prompted a jihad from the medieval heretic-burning bigots of Christian Voice. It’ll come as no surprise to these narrow-minded fundamentalists – nor anyone else for that matter – that Lee has also adopted the revisionist, sympathetic approach. In his eyes, Judas was not a traitor, but a disillusioned revolutionary frustrated at Jesus’s lack of action in overthrowing the corrupt Roman state and building a civilisation true to his teachings. He wanted Jesus a martyr, whose death would galvanise his many followers into rebellion – and he honestly believed Jesus wanted the same fate. Put that way, this sounds more like a theological thesis than a comedy show, but it successfully combines the two. Lee takes on the role of Judas, as if he was a 38-year-old man brought up in the West Midlands. ‘I’ve worn a hat,’ he explains. ‘That’s acting.’ The device allows him to give a fictionalised first-hand account of Christ’s last week on earth. Lee’s Judas is marginalised by the rest of the disciples - always the one to be sent on trivial errands and perpetually sneered at for daring to question their Messiah when his preachings were at their most opaque. This is where Lee’s trademark mocking of the Gospels comes into its hilarious own. This Judas is so pedantic and questioning...
THE ever self-deprecating Stewart Lee made his York Barbican debut to an almost full house on Sunday night. Refusing through stubbornness to provide a traditional opening gag, he kicked off the evening with a command to laugh and a set of grumpy-old-man jokes about dogs.
It was not long before Lee's controversial canine jests prompted one elderly audience member to defend man's best friend, by arguing that while she was aware that her Jack Russells would consume her dead body, she would happily eat Lee on his demise.
Controversy continued to arise amid talk of fair trade cocaine, UKIP deputy leader Paul Nuttall's reaction to the Anglo-Saxon invasion and an unhappy customer calling with an inquiry for Shitterton's Manure.
Dividing the show into three sections, Lee's mismatched comedic trilogy may have felt disjointed at times, but it provided the opportunity for long-running gags. While several of these held the audience well, others lacked stamina and overran with some discomfort.
Lee's material was, on the whole, full of originality. However, several topics such as a grumpy old man's feelings towards modern technology and the Orwellian aspects of Twitter felt overdone.
Despite this, any culture vultures would not have left disappointed, as Stewart's wealth of knowledge and considered thought added wit and freshness to the otherwise dreary affairs of everyday life.
Overall, it was a well-spent Sunday evening with a comedian whose humour catered to a diverse audience. With teenagers sitting alongside pensioners, Lee's middle-aged cynicism proved accessible to – and adored by – all ages.
Well, perhaps not small children.
Stewart Lee
2014-02-04T12:44:14+00:00
THE ever self-deprecating Stewart Lee made his York Barbican debut to an almost full house on Sunday night. Refusing through stubbornness to provide a traditional opening gag, he kicked off the evening with a command to laugh and a set of grumpy-old-man jokes about dogs. It was not long before Lee's controversial canine jests prompted one elderly audience member to defend man's best friend, by arguing that while she was aware that her Jack Russells would consume her dead body, she would happily eat Lee on his demise. Controversy continued to arise amid talk of fair trade cocaine, UKIP deputy leader Paul Nuttall's reaction to the Anglo-Saxon invasion and an unhappy customer calling with an inquiry for Shitterton's Manure. Dividing the show into three sections, Lee's mismatched comedic trilogy may have felt disjointed at times, but it provided the opportunity for long-running gags. While several of these held the audience well, others lacked stamina and overran with some discomfort. Lee's material was, on the whole, full of originality. However, several topics such as a grumpy old man's feelings towards modern technology and the Orwellian aspects of Twitter felt overdone. Despite this, any culture vultures would not have left disappointed, as Stewart's wealth of knowledge and considered thought added wit and freshness to the otherwise dreary affairs of everyday life. Overall, it was a well-spent Sunday evening with a comedian whose humour catered to a diverse audience. With teenagers sitting alongside pensioners, Lee's middle-aged cynicism proved accessible to – and adored by – all ages. Well, perhaps not small children.
Stay alert! On Twitter, Tom Tugendhat, The Conservative MP for Tonbridge and Malling, is talking. There! He is thanking the prime minister for his “very clear message”. Tom Tugendhat! On Twitter! Now! He is enjoying the sheer coral sea clarity of the prime minister’s Sunday statement, like sunlight shining through spring water in Waterford crystal! Tom Tugendhat! He says: “Thank you prime minister. That’s leadership!”
Stay alert! This former intelligence officer is the nephew of a real man called Baron Tugendhat. Baron Tugendhat is not a character from a 19th-century German children’s book about a baron with a weird hat, the end of which gets tugged. But what did Tom Tugendhat want? Why was he bothering us?
Stay alert! Peasants! Get back to work! Over the top, boys! Gas! Gas! For God’s sake, gas! Writing in the 2012 book Britannia Unchained, The secretary of state for foreign and commonwealth affairs, Dominic Skeletor Raab, said of British workers, they “prefer a lie-in to hard work”, “are among the worst idlers in the world”, and expect to see laziness rewarded. If British workers were also serial liars, then our workforce would have been made in the image of our prime minister. Ha! I’m here all week! Maybe all year! Try the fish! Don’t forget to tip your healthcare worker!
Stay alert! Here at home, my family nag me to mend the gate, fix the dimmer switch, hoe the avocado trench. But I am a lazy British worker for whom the pandemic is an excuse to skive off and home-school the year four syllabus. Precipitation, Shinto and Cnut. My family won’t relent, so I have presented them with a simple graph. It shows that at some point I would do the things they wanted me to do, but it was impossible for me to say when that would be, or whether the things would be done well enough to remain done, or whether they would then have to be done again later at an unspecified date. And that seemed to satisfy them. The twats!
Stay alert! On Sunday night the prime minister appeared on television and presented his own graph, explaining his immediately discredited and internationally ridiculed New Vision of Lockdown Britain ™ ®. My 12-year-old, whose strongest subject is not maths, laughed openly at the graph, and said she would not have handed it in at school as neither the X or the Y axis contained any actual information, so it had no meaning. We are being guided by a graph that a schoolgirl would be ashamed to submit. All the prime minister’s shoddy homework suggested was that if some time passed, eventually some things would happen. Some of them might involve stick men jumping about or riding bikes. And although a blue line is going downwards, there was at least twice as much shading-in in the area showing The Future as there was in the area showing The Past. This suggests Covid-19 deaths will triple to around 90,000. Beat that Belgium! But the tear-jerking stupidity of the prime minister’s death-inducing graph did not deter the usual suspects from coming out in its defence, not least of all Tom Tugendhat, his fellow Tory MP Alan Abortionmaqaquesymptom being unavailable due to self-isolation. Because for loyal Tom Tugendhat, the prime minister’s offensively stupid night soil bucket of obfuscation was “a very clear message from @Borisjohnson and a welcome explanation of the situation. By explaining the uncertainty and complexity @10Downingstreet is allowing us all to think through the situation.” Nonsense, Tugendhat, and youknowsit, clart!
Stay alert! Something about the strange collision of unrelated words that form Tom Tugendhat’s surname means that whenever Tom Tugendhat appears in my visionary satire-dreams it is as a territorial army lieutenant colonel forcibly pulling at an end, presumably his own, that has become trapped in a hat, or in an intelligence officer’s wig of disguise. It’s past midnight, and now Baron Tugendhat is in my drunken nightmares, working undercover for James Bond’s great-grandfather, attending a lavish ceremonial dinner at Neuschwanstein castle. The future of Anglo-Bavarian trade relations depends on Baron Tugendhat also tugging his end free of a hat, on this occasion a Tyrolean Alpine bonnet, common to the region, a vagina dentata of felt and chamois leather.
Stay alert! (Readers in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland have their own slogan.) You may meet one parent at a distance of two metres while the other parent waits in the car. Or you could employ them both at your small business and see them as much as you want. Stay alert! Don’t see your children. But if you are a teacher, see dozens of other people’s children in narrow corridors. Stay alert! Don’t drive. Unless you are driving to take exercise, in which case drive hundreds of miles. But don’t drive into Wales, for there be dragons. Like Schrödinger’s paradoxical cat, the prime minister’s New Vision of Lockdown Britain ™ ® is both stupid and stinks of cats’ piss, and now it has been shooed back out into the lane by Nicola Sturgeon.
Stay alert! Former environment secretary and Brexiter Owen Paterson will be rushing back to work, as his consultancy client Randox Laboratories has just been awarded the government’s £133m virus testing contract, unopposed. But Matt Handcock is unable to say whether other workers can refuse employers’ demands to return. Over the top! Gas, boys, gas! It’s the bonfire of rights Brexiters always dreamed of, delivered ahead of schedule by this coronavirus, a microscopic sleeper agent for the European Research Group.
Stay alert! Lazy British working-class workers. Die at your posts for Dominic Raab. Die in your warehouses for Jacob Rees-Mogg. Die in your care homes for Dominic Cumming. Middle-class workers. Work safely from home at your laptops. Text each other photographs of your Ocado deliveries, and dream of Center Parcs and Forest Holidays. Once I found it funny that the prime minister’s perfect storm of public desperation, manufactured xenophobia and ruthless dishonesty had seen this self-serving turd float to the toilet top. But now it’s just frightening. I worry for my children, my country, my avocado trench. Sort yourself out, wazzock. People are dying.
Stewart Lee
2020-05-17T23:09:02+01:00
Stay alert! On Twitter, Tom Tugendhat, The Conservative MP for Tonbridge and Malling, is talking. There! He is thanking the prime minister for his “very clear message”. Tom Tugendhat! On Twitter! Now! He is enjoying the sheer coral sea clarity of the prime minister’s Sunday statement, like sunlight shining through spring water in Waterford crystal! Tom Tugendhat! He says: “Thank you prime minister. That’s leadership!” Stay alert! This former intelligence officer is the nephew of a real man called Baron Tugendhat. Baron Tugendhat is not a character from a 19th-century German children’s book about a baron with a weird hat, the end of which gets tugged. But what did Tom Tugendhat want? Why was he bothering us? Stay alert! Peasants! Get back to work! Over the top, boys! Gas! Gas! For God’s sake, gas! Writing in the 2012 book Britannia Unchained, The secretary of state for foreign and commonwealth affairs, Dominic Skeletor Raab, said of British workers, they “prefer a lie-in to hard work”, “are among the worst idlers in the world”, and expect to see laziness rewarded. If British workers were also serial liars, then our workforce would have been made in the image of our prime minister. Ha! I’m here all week! Maybe all year! Try the fish! Don’t forget to tip your healthcare worker! Stay alert! Here at home, my family nag me to mend the gate, fix the dimmer switch, hoe the avocado trench. But I am a lazy British worker for whom the pandemic is an excuse to skive off and home-school the year four syllabus. Precipitation, Shinto and Cnut. My family won’t relent, so I have presented them with a simple graph. It shows that at some point I would do the things they wanted me to do, but it was impossible for me...
On 1 April, the TV comedian John Richardsons, who you will have seen on many panel shows, announced he was becoming a teacher, having already completed the training in secret. I was humbled by Richardsons’s decision to do something genuinely worthwhile and by his foolhardy bravery. How would he control a class of teenagers pre-armed with clips of him clowning around with Russell Brand on The Great Celebrity Bake Off?
But it turned out Richardsons’s story was merely an April fool prank. D’oh! The fact that the inspiring tale wasn’t true left me deeply saddened, like the time I wept when my mum finally told me Father Christmas hadn’t been eating the mince pies I’d made for him. I was 28 years old.
Of course a multimillionaire comedian wouldn’t quit comedy to become a teacher on a £31,650-a-year starting salary, you idiot! That would be ridiculous. Richardsons’s April fool was a publicity stunt to promote his casting as a teacher in the soap opera Waterloo Road, where actors are paid more than teachers to pretend to be teachers.
But perhaps Richardsons should change career. And perhaps, despite being “the world’s greatest living standup” (the Times), so should I. We should all do the right thing and comedians have crowd-management skills that transfer well to the classroom. “I remember when I had my first Prime energy drink, Jenkins! I’m here all week!! Try the fish!!!”
Teachers inspire kids and thus change the world for the better. But nobody ever went on to change the world after watching 8 Out of 10 Cats. And wouldn’t it have been great, for once, to see someone successful walk away from their wealth to help humanity? It shouldn’t always have to be Michael Sheen putting himself out, again and again and again, his beard all wet with Welsh rain.
Like most north London champagne socialists, I am increasingly disappointed, for example, by the endless wrong choices of Keir Starmer, who I voted for hoping he would allow me to pay lip service to progressive values while making minimal negative impact on my own standard of living and hoarded assets. That went well. Having been handed a blank cheque by a disillusioned electorate, Starmer has instead just drawn a fat ejaculating penis on it and left it on the worktop by the waste caddy to get smeared with old stinky food.
Donald Trump says he is imposing tariffs because other nations have been “raping” the US for years, and it’s bold to use that verb as a metaphor for financial exploitation when you, and many of your houseguests and cheerleaders, have been accused of rape: Mike Tyson, Brand, Conor McGregor and Andrew Tate. It’s the worst series of Taskmaster ever.
In return for our 10% lower-than-average Trump tariffs, Starmer offered tax breaks to US tech companies. Presumably, these tech companies are the same sort of tech companies Starmer was complaining about last week because they didn’t regulate their hateful and false content? This false content includes Elon Musk-endorsed posts saying the “incel” drama Adolescence, which Starmer is basing policy on, was originally a true story about a murderous black boy who was changed to a white boy because “blah, blah, wokeness, blah, blah, blah”. And, by the way, that bit in inverted commas was an actual quote from Kemi Badenoch.
When the US national security adviser, Michael Waltz, invited a journalist on to an insecure group chat, we learned that wanting to see Europe fail is essentially official American policy. Trump’s US is our enemy. And Jeff Bezos’s Amazon directly donates to Trump; former PayPal executives are embedded in Trump’s government; Uber’s chief executive, Dara Khosrowshahi, directly donates to Trump; Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta gave Trump $1m; a senior executive at Peter Thiel’s Palantir spyware company, into whose metaphorical Miami mansion Wes Streeting wants to move all our alluring NHS metadata, helped finance Trump’s campaign; and Musk’s Twitter, currently X, actively advances far-right talking points to destabilise European democracies and promote fascist candidates. They seem nice.
Starmer is encouraging people who want to destroy our values to come and do it in our country at reduced tax rates, like a man putting on trousers made of meat and running towards a leopard. Even Ed Davey, the Evel Knievel of the centre left, says our moral responsibility is to join Canada and the EU in opposing this new dark US. But, with our gross domestic product and European alliances decimated by Brexit, we can’t afford to take the moral high ground, which was of course the plan of its shadowy backers all along. Is our economic future merely as an airstrip full of low-taxed American servers generating AI memes of Trump dressed as a golden Disney king?
People understand the peril we are in. I spent last weekend ecstatically inhabiting a small Welsh town at a multidisciplinary arts festival where punters and performers alike were preparing for possible US trips by deleting all their social media, fearing airport incarceration from Trump’s thought police. But at least our Trump tariffs are 10% lower.
What happened to youthful ideals? In March 2024, Starmer said he remembered being inspired by leaving his “village for the city of Leeds” and discovering “a whole new world of indie bands – like Orange Juice and the Wedding Present”. Did Malcolm Ross take his distinctive guitar work from Josef K to Orange Juice just so Starmer could sell us out to the new Nazis, like Neville Chamberlain waving a various-artists cassette that came free with a mid-80s NME? “I have in my hand a copy of C86.”
Perhaps, unlike the April fool John Richardsons, Starmer should become a teacher. We need more teachers. And if a big boy was bullying all the little kids and stealing their dinner money, Starmer’s already shown he knows how to look the other way.
Stewart Lee
2025-04-06T16:45:00+01:00
On 1 April, the TV comedian John Richardsons, who you will have seen on many panel shows, announced he was becoming a teacher, having already completed the training in secret. I was humbled by Richardsons’s decision to do something genuinely worthwhile and by his foolhardy bravery. How would he control a class of teenagers pre-armed with clips of him clowning around with Russell Brand on The Great Celebrity Bake Off? But it turned out Richardsons’s story was merely an April fool prank. D’oh! The fact that the inspiring tale wasn’t true left me deeply saddened, like the time I wept when my mum finally told me Father Christmas hadn’t been eating the mince pies I’d made for him. I was 28 years old. Of course a multimillionaire comedian wouldn’t quit comedy to become a teacher on a £31,650-a-year starting salary, you idiot! That would be ridiculous. Richardsons’s April fool was a publicity stunt to promote his casting as a teacher in the soap opera Waterloo Road, where actors are paid more than teachers to pretend to be teachers. But perhaps Richardsons should change career. And perhaps, despite being “the world’s greatest living standup” (the Times), so should I. We should all do the right thing and comedians have crowd-management skills that transfer well to the classroom. “I remember when I had my first Prime energy drink, Jenkins! I’m here all week!! Try the fish!!!” Teachers inspire kids and thus change the world for the better. But nobody ever went on to change the world after watching 8 Out of 10 Cats. And wouldn’t it have been great, for once, to see someone successful walk away from their wealth to help humanity? It shouldn’t always have to be Michael Sheen putting himself out, again and again and again, his beard all...
The last time Stewart Lee performed in Liverpool was for John Cage’sIndeterminacy. This time out he is back in a more familiar guise with two nights of incendiary new stand up at the Liverpool Philharmonic, testing the waters ahead of a new season of his self-titled (and award winning) Comedy Vehicle.
As one of the country’s longest-serving comedians, Lee’s material follows his own personal arc at times. From a comedian angry at his lack of success, to being disappointed he started drawing people from the TV to his shows, to not being relevant because he has no kids, to now – a comedian toasting his own talents and blaming the audience if they don’t get it.
Of course Lee continues to, and always will, divide audiences into people who think they know what he is doing, people who do know what he is doing and people that hate what he is doing. He somehow manages to juggle them all and we can’t wait to see where the arc has taken him come June.
With that in mind and with Lee chipping in on a number of topical issues this year – including a superb retort on the ‘immorality’ of ticket touting – it seemed like the perfect time to pick the brain of a man who has never had a trouble speaking his mind.
Getintothis: Last time you were here in a more musical role, now back in stand-up mode do you consider doing anything different when performing to a Liverpool crowd?
Lee: I really like Liverpool crowds. They are funny. I don’t consider anything especially when performing anywhere. I try to bend them to my will. A few years ago in Liverpool I did some crap joke off the top of my head about something to do with the city and the review from one of the Liverpool papers, who hated the show, said this was the only good bit, when in fact it was obviously the cheapest and easily the worst thing in the evening.
The problem with doing local stuff is it appeases people who don’t understand what it is you are really trying to do, so no, there will be nothing especially aimed at Liverpool. It’s my show after all. Not yours.
Getintothis: We recently tackled the risks facingcultural diversity in the UK, especially under a conservative or potential UKIP government. How big is the risk?
Lee: It is massive. The Culture SecretarySajid Javid is a philistine who thinks culture is all about making money and that’s all. The Prime Minister toured film studios telling the British Film Industry it should try to be more popular like a fucking dick who had never given the creative process any thought would. Public broadcasting is in its death throes thanks to the dogma of the free-market which means all the culture that will be on TV will be just what THE MAN thinks he can make money on. Amazon and iTunes are putting the squeeze on writers’ and musicians’ ability to make a living by controlling prices in a joint monopoly. We’re fucked. Good luck young people.
Getintothis: There was a big hoo-haa that this year’s Reading and Leeds festival line up was largely male dominated; BBC Comedy are combating a similar problem by ensuring a female presence on their panel shows, what do you think about that?
Lee: Leave shitty panel shows to rot in their own bile. Who cares? The men on them are just like pub bores – and put more of the brilliant women that are out there in their own things.
Getintothis: You’ve recently spoken out on both ticket prices and the actions of ticket touts. What makes people part with such large sums of money for a couple hours of entertainment, most recently £135 to see Sir Paul McCartney?
Lee: Ignorance. The fact that they don’t realise there are amazing things they could be seeking out if they just look for them. It’s not their fault. That said, it is Paul McCartney. I wonder why he charged so much though?
Getintothis: Do you think thatthere is a fundamental lack of social responsibility from artists and management when setting such high fees?
Lee: Yes. It is hard to control though. There are tickets on sale for my shows at a four times the face value via Stub Hub who collude with criminals. The onus is at present on the venues to stop selling to touts, even though my tickets say not transferable on them. Some promoters actively like it though, thinking it drives up their acts’ market values. The Culture Secretary supports touting too.
Getintothis: Events of all disciplines have moved from the rooms of working men’s clubs into arenas and stadiums. Is this having a detrimental effect of the quality on show?
Lee: Yes. Nothing in the arts is improved by scale.
Getintothis: Why is comedy still not considered as one of the arts?
Lee: Because people are snobs.
Getintothis: Can we expect to see you popping up at any gigs or festivals in the future? Personally we think you’re well overdue for a new VOX-style Glastonbury blog.
Lee: I can’t do music festival comedy sets any more. That time of year is when I am doing new stuff, that I want for the telly or will put on a DVD later, and these days everyone has a camera phone and they film 30 minutes and put it online ahead of time. It’s too porous. As for going as a punter, it’s hard. I’m away 200 nights a year as it is and I have little kids and a working wife. I miss All Tomorrow’s Parties, Terrastock, ’90s CND Glastonburys, noughties Latitude, 80’s Elephant Fayre and even Phoenix in the mid 90’s. I’d go to that Liverpool Psych Fest if I could. I like that Ex-Easter Island Head band of yours.
Stewart Lee
2015-04-15T22:15:22+01:00
The last time Stewart Lee performed in Liverpool was for John Cage’s Indeterminacy. This time out he is back in a more familiar guise with two nights of incendiary new stand up at the Liverpool Philharmonic, testing the waters ahead of a new season of his self-titled (and award winning) Comedy Vehicle. As one of the country’s longest-serving comedians, Lee’s material follows his own personal arc at times. From a comedian angry at his lack of success, to being disappointed he started drawing people from the TV to his shows, to not being relevant because he has no kids, to now – a comedian toasting his own talents and blaming the audience if they don’t get it. Of course Lee continues to, and always will, divide audiences into people who think they know what he is doing, people who do know what he is doing and people that hate what he is doing. He somehow manages to juggle them all and we can’t wait to see where the arc has taken him come June. With that in mind and with Lee chipping in on a number of topical issues this year – including a superb retort on the ‘immorality’ of ticket touting – it seemed like the perfect time to pick the brain of a man who has never had a trouble speaking his mind. Getintothis: Last time you were here in a more musical role, now back in stand-up mode do you consider doing anything different when performing to a Liverpool crowd? Lee: I really like Liverpool crowds. They are funny. I don’t consider anything especially when performing anywhere. I try to bend them to my will. A few years ago in Liverpool I did some crap joke off the top of my head about something to do with the city and the review from one of the Liverpool papers, who...
In the mid-Eighties, Boston's plaid-shirt romantics Buffalo Tom tried to cross the hardcore rush of Hüsker Dü with the parking-lot pot haze of the Seventies bands their elder brothers grew up on, and sadly the awkward frisson this ungainly pairing produced has been resolved, perhaps a little too politely, since the trio returned from a decade's hiatus.
Front-man Bill Janovitz is now a middle aged estate agent, so Buffalo Tom's latest album of surging semi-acoustic balladry is hardly a matter of life or death. Nevertheless, as those suspended folk rock chords tumble over tales of everyday trauma, you might still find you're still smitten.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-06T01:53:23+00:00
In the mid-Eighties, Boston's plaid-shirt romantics Buffalo Tom tried to cross the hardcore rush of Hüsker Dü with the parking-lot pot haze of the Seventies bands their elder brothers grew up on, and sadly the awkward frisson this ungainly pairing produced has been resolved, perhaps a little too politely, since the trio returned from a decade's hiatus. Front-man Bill Janovitz is now a middle aged estate agent, so Buffalo Tom's latest album of surging semi-acoustic balladry is hardly a matter of life or death. Nevertheless, as those suspended folk rock chords tumble over tales of everyday trauma, you might still find you're still smitten.
A grown man wearing only a nappy is waving a gun. An assortment of white trash and trailer-park lowlifes is weaving around the stage, and at the back, a chorus of Ku Klux Klansmen is merrily tap-dancing. As a bad-taste musical moment the closing number of Kombat Opera's show rivals the brilliant Springtime for Hitler extravaganza in Mel Brooks's The Producers.
There is certainly no accounting for taste, and since it first popped up at BAC last August, Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee's comic opera has acquired cult status. Its current run as a work in progress is an attempt to develop the idea further and see if there is the backing for a possible West End run.
It is a neat enough proposition, and only time will tell if it can be stretched to a full-length stage show. Irony is a difficult pose for either a production or an audience to sustain for more than an hour. The references to lesbian dwarves, chicks with dicks and lap-dancing transsexuals press all the right mirth buttons for an audience that has sacrificed its brains at the altar of daytime TV. But the performance really comes into its own in its more serious moments. After all, the real Jerry Springer Show has you gaping open-mouthed at the TV. Kombat can't top its awful, unbelievable reality; all they can do is add music to it. But they can do something that the real show can't: show us how the poor misguided participants actually feel. There is an extraordinarily potent moment when the fat, desperate, angry would-be pole dancer Chantel is forced to dance. Music and libretto fuse in an aria full of grace for the graceless, a hymn for the unloved and unlovely.
Since it doesn't really have to try too hard to be amusing (although it is interesting that the operatic commercial breaks raise the most laughter), it strikes me that it is in its ability to externalise the internal that the real originality and as yet unrealised theatricality of Jerry Springer: the Opera lies.
· Until February 23. Box office: 020-7223 2223.
Stewart Lee
2002-02-09T16:36:20+00:00
A grown man wearing only a nappy is waving a gun. An assortment of white trash and trailer-park lowlifes is weaving around the stage, and at the back, a chorus of Ku Klux Klansmen is merrily tap-dancing. As a bad-taste musical moment the closing number of Kombat Opera's show rivals the brilliant Springtime for Hitler extravaganza in Mel Brooks's The Producers. There is certainly no accounting for taste, and since it first popped up at BAC last August, Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee's comic opera has acquired cult status. Its current run as a work in progress is an attempt to develop the idea further and see if there is the backing for a possible West End run. It is a neat enough proposition, and only time will tell if it can be stretched to a full-length stage show. Irony is a difficult pose for either a production or an audience to sustain for more than an hour. The references to lesbian dwarves, chicks with dicks and lap-dancing transsexuals press all the right mirth buttons for an audience that has sacrificed its brains at the altar of daytime TV. But the performance really comes into its own in its more serious moments. After all, the real Jerry Springer Show has you gaping open-mouthed at the TV. Kombat can't top its awful, unbelievable reality; all they can do is add music to it. But they can do something that the real show can't: show us how the poor misguided participants actually feel. There is an extraordinarily potent moment when the fat, desperate, angry would-be pole dancer Chantel is forced to dance. Music and libretto fuse in an aria full of grace for the graceless, a hymn for the unloved and unlovely. Since it doesn't really have to try too hard to...
Due to its legendary nose for news, last week’s Sunday Times was first to reveal the “eight experts” chosen by culture secretary John Whittingdale to “help decide the BBC’s future”, the Murdoch empire barely able to wait to share its horror at the venerable institution’s latest humiliation.
And what a golden shower of talent Whittingdale has stitched together, a veritable human centipede of business-minded entities, in order to safeguard the nation’s cultural heritage.
Dawn Airey is the former head of Channel 5, the launch of which in 1997 marked a colourful new chapter in British broadcasting. Some might say that asking a former head of Channel 5 to decide the future of the BBC is a bit like asking someone who draws ejaculating penises on the inside of public toilet cubicle doors to curate the National Gallery, but she is sure to bring an interesting perspective to the negotiating table.
My eight-year-old said that if David Cameron dismantled the BBC, he would send him a collage of photographs of dog muck
Dame Colette Bowe sits alongside her, chief press officer to the late Leon Brittan in the 1970s, and currently chairwoman of the Banking Standards Board. She must be brilliant, as bringing standards to banking is a tough job. Apparently there’s a Conservative MPs’ Scruples Committee as well.
Darren Henley is a former managing director of Classic FM, which is like Radio 3 with all the problematic programmes filleted out, the perfect playlist to keep people calm while they wait on hold for hours for someone in a call centre to answer their phone. “Just one Cornetto! Give it to me! Delicious ice cream. From Italy.”
Andrew Fisher is the executive chairman of Shazam, a smartphone app which identifies unknown songs, and with which he has made the world a much duller place, bereft of mystery; crushing the richness of human experience for economic gain, giving you what you want, right here, right now. Perhaps Andrew can now develop an app that can identify what someone has had for dinner from the smell of their farts?
His co-committee member, Alex Mahon, is a former chief executive of Elisabeth Murdoch’s Shine Group, connecting her to the exciting world of government-friendly media businessfolk, Cotswold kitchen-supper snafflers, and police horse-sharers, and to those most likely to monetise the vacant space left in broadcasting should she and her colleagues have, regrettably, to reform the BBC out of existence.
In an atmosphere reminiscent of a medieval witch trial, where the three-nippled woman with all the cats is bound to be found guilty of whatever she can be tortured into confessing to, everyone knows the BBC has been doing something wrong, and must be punished, just as soon as some appropriate crimes can be agreed upon.
But no one so far seems to know what kind of BBC they want. Our metrosexual prime minister believes it should concentrate on the kind of HBO box set programming he and Sam enjoy when chillaxing at home, and which he imagines emerges fully formed from a salami-making machine in Los Angeles.
Others complain the BBC makes shows that are “too commercial”, and clearly it would be better if the job of making popular shows, and indeed all television, was left up to Sky, since they are so good at it. But who could ever have dreamed that a show about an old man travelling through time in a phone box, a laugh track-free sitcom set in a paper company office, complete with cutaways to photocopier in-trays, and a motoring review show in which vehicle analysis is interspersed with actionably inappropriate banter, would become commercial hits?
True creativity isn’t an exact science. But is there anyone on the culture secretary’s panel of business-friendly bean-counters who understands this? Indeed, the actual creative talents who have made the BBC the globally respected brand it is of late are notably absent from the negotiations.
Where is Armando Iannucci, a BBC-nurtured polymath now making box-set content for HBO? Where are Russell T Davies, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffatt, who between them made massively successful brands of genres viewers maintained that they loathed – nerdy science fiction, sexless literary detective stories and hardcore gay action? Where are Dick and Dom or Horrible Histories, educating children by stealth, and David Attenborough, who did the same to generations of adults? And where am I?
Like it or not, and I am not sure that I do, I am objectively the most critically acclaimed British TV comedian this century, and every one of my BBC series of the last decade has been either nominated for, or won, multiple Bafta, British Comedy and Chortle awards. Any panel on the future of the BBC that includes a phone app bloke over me is clearly not worth the beer mat it was hastily drawn up on.
The sad truth is, the reason none of the above artists, writers and communicators are welcome on the culture secretary’s committee is because they see culture as inherently valuable in and of itself, not simply as a branch of business that is too naive to know how to maximise its profit margins. And there is no place for them in his process.
Last Sunday, after I read in the Sunday Times of the culture secretary’s plans, I was stuck in traffic on the north circular with the kids. A new young writer called John Osborne, who I hadn’t heard of before, came on Radio 4 and told a half-hour story about childhood holidays that left all of us, aged four, eight and 47, spellbound. The kids noticed I was crying and asked why.
I explained it was not just the quality of the work, but also that the government were dismantling the only broadcaster that would ever commission it. My eight-year-old said that if David Cameron did that he would send him a collage of hundreds of photographs of dog muck. You cross creatives at your peril.
I’ve been watching a lot of spaghetti westerns of late. I developed a taste for them in the late 80s when Alex Cox used to rave about them on BBC2’s Moviedrome, informing me, educating me, and entertaining me, as he did. Their big, simple gestures tell me everything I need to know. Robert Hossein’s revenge tale Cemetery Without Crosses, from 1969, has just been cleaned up by for commercial release by Arrow films.
Maria (Michèle Mercier) arranges for the daughter of her husband’s killer to be raped. But in a haunting, dialogue-free scene, her uncertain expression appears to convey a hint of regret that she let her desire for vengeance get the better of her conscience.
Stewart Lee’s A Room With a Stew is playing at the Assembly Rooms in Edinburgh in August, and London from 21 September
Stewart Lee
2015-07-19T13:41:56+01:00
Due to its legendary nose for news, last week’s Sunday Times was first to reveal the “eight experts” chosen by culture secretary John Whittingdale to “help decide the BBC’s future”, the Murdoch empire barely able to wait to share its horror at the venerable institution’s latest humiliation. And what a golden shower of talent Whittingdale has stitched together, a veritable human centipede of business-minded entities, in order to safeguard the nation’s cultural heritage. Dawn Airey is the former head of Channel 5, the launch of which in 1997 marked a colourful new chapter in British broadcasting. Some might say that asking a former head of Channel 5 to decide the future of the BBC is a bit like asking someone who draws ejaculating penises on the inside of public toilet cubicle doors to curate the National Gallery, but she is sure to bring an interesting perspective to the negotiating table. My eight-year-old said that if David Cameron dismantled the BBC, he would send him a collage of photographs of dog muck Dame Colette Bowe sits alongside her, chief press officer to the late Leon Brittan in the 1970s, and currently chairwoman of the Banking Standards Board. She must be brilliant, as bringing standards to banking is a tough job. Apparently there’s a Conservative MPs’ Scruples Committee as well. Darren Henley is a former managing director of Classic FM, which is like Radio 3 with all the problematic programmes filleted out, the perfect playlist to keep people calm while they wait on hold for hours for someone in a call centre to answer their phone. “Just one Cornetto! Give it to me! Delicious ice cream. From Italy.” Andrew Fisher is the executive chairman of Shazam, a smartphone app which identifies unknown songs, and with which he has made the world a...
Culture secretary Sajid Javid has said that ticket touts are “classic entrepreneurs” and their detractors are the “chattering middle classes and champagne socialists, who have no interest in helping the common working man earn a decent living by acting as a middleman”. Fill my flute with Dom Perignon, comrade, as we raise the red flag and toast Vanessa Redgrave. Because £20 tickets for my current tour have been touted to confused online consumers at nearly 400% more than their face value, none of which either I or the theatre see, and this Moët & Chandon Marxist isn’t happy about it.
I am a standup comedian. Due to a decade of tri-annual BBC2 exposure, dogged Dantean circuits of provincial comedy venues, conscious manipulation of vulnerable broadsheet opinion formers and undeserved good luck, I am now popular enough to have caught the eye of touts or, as we now dignify them, Secondary Ticketing Agents™. As Eric Cantona said 20 years ago on a celebrity fishing trip with Tom O’Connor: “When seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.” Well, I’m pulling my sardines out of the sea and putting them back on to Eric Cantona’s trawler. Or something.
I try to keep my tickets down to around £20 in the big theatres, and avoid ones, such as the Ambassador Theatre Group chain, where I can’t. This is not a huge sacrifice. I will put prices up if I suddenly want a velvet cloak or a bejewelled cock ring. But I am doing fine. In the last 24 hours alone I have bought muffins, a second-class single to Colchester, two quality newspapers, a dish of luxury nuts and a garage punk CD called Back to the Grave 9. I now live beyond my wildest dreams, although admittedly, until recently, my wildest dreams involved one day owning a table.
£20 is about as low as you can go in theatres, which need to make a significant slice from their standard percentage of the take. For your local taxpayer-subsidised theatre, low-tech high-return junk such as standup comedy, discredited TV psychics and Abba tribute acts float more worthwhile artists with identifiable skills – dancers, actors, puppeteers and ex-members of the Stranglers doing acoustic tours. And public subsidies in the arts temples of ballet, classical music and opera are supposed to provide cheaper tickets for everyone, not to create backdoor profiteering opportunities for Sajid Javid’s dodgy mates.
My old manager is of the opinion that comedians are only popular for a short time, and that in that time they should try to accrue as much as possible. Being a comedian was a kind of confidence trick, it seemed, that the public would eventually rumble. Then the comedian would be run out of town by an angry mob who had realised that this charlatan’s stories were not necessarily true, his jokes were just meaningless wordplay, he did the same fake improvisations every night, and his personal anecdotes had been bought in wholesale from an uncredited writer on a £60 day rate.
But I think if you can keep prices down, and come back with new stuff every year, perhaps an artist can build an audience for life. I am a Bollinger Bolshevik, apparently, because I believe I should have a final say in what my tickets cost, in order to manage audience expectation of the work itself, to control perceptions of my own apparent avarice and to make sure that money that is spent on me by punters reflects the cost savings I and the venue have cut corners to make, and the public subsidies the venue may have received, all of which are designed to make entry to the show viable, so that all sorts of people can come along and think I am shit together.
I managed to track down the individual touts selling tickets for my London run of shows, and then banned them from further purchases at the theatre. Now one of them, a “company director”, harasses me online. I wrote to Viagogo and StubHub to ask them to stop reselling my tickets at inflated rates, and they replied with standard emails. StubHub included the pointed insert, “Stewart, I would also like to mention to you that the act of reselling tickets is legal in the UK.”
I went into StubHub’s London outlet to reason with the man on the desk about the difference between “legal” and “moral” when it involved overcharging a person by up to 400%. But it wasn’t his fight, I felt sorry for him and he had obviously been trained to stick to a script involving repetition of the phrase “We just provide a platform.” I did eat a lot of sweets from a pot on the desk though, free, which was, I suppose, legal though not strictly speaking moral.
I wrote to the culture secretary, Sajid Javid, twice, but he never replied, so I sent a sarcastic email saying: “Perhaps we could go to the House of Commons bar? Are the drinks there subsidised? If so, then you won’t mind me snaffling a few bottles and reselling them out in the street at a 400% mark-up! I’m a ‘classic entrepreneur’!”
Then, as a former rock critic, I got a mass email from Iron Maiden urging fans to support the All Party Parliamentary Group on Ticket Abuse, led by MPs Mike Weatherley and Sharon Hodgson. Crack open the Cristal! The touts may have Sajid Javid in their back pocket. But they cannot defeat Iron Maiden. Bruce Dickinson is a qualified pilot and international fencing master. Iron Maiden have their own giant zombie robot, three lead guitarists and a bespoke bottled beer. I won’t be drinking it, obviously, as I am a Louis Roederer revolutionary.
Iron Maiden also have the kind of loyal lifelong following to whom they mean a lot, and who deserve not to be fleeced. In miniature, Sajid Javid’s approval of touts is part of the same ideology that sees every available inch of public life exploited for profit, every transaction monetised at every possible point, from energy to entertainment, often at the expense of those least able to afford the surcharges. How can Javid legitimise touts, making access to the arts prohibitively expensive for many, and yet also be the culture secretary responsible for the simple act of getting people through the doors to see stuff? It’s Orwellian doublethink that is beyond mockery. Which is why this column wasn’t very funny. I blame the government.
Stewart Lee
2015-02-08T09:06:03+00:00
Culture secretary Sajid Javid has said that ticket touts are “classic entrepreneurs” and their detractors are the “chattering middle classes and champagne socialists, who have no interest in helping the common working man earn a decent living by acting as a middleman”. Fill my flute with Dom Perignon, comrade, as we raise the red flag and toast Vanessa Redgrave. Because £20 tickets for my current tour have been touted to confused online consumers at nearly 400% more than their face value, none of which either I or the theatre see, and this Moët & Chandon Marxist isn’t happy about it. I am a standup comedian. Due to a decade of tri-annual BBC2 exposure, dogged Dantean circuits of provincial comedy venues, conscious manipulation of vulnerable broadsheet opinion formers and undeserved good luck, I am now popular enough to have caught the eye of touts or, as we now dignify them, Secondary Ticketing Agents™. As Eric Cantona said 20 years ago on a celebrity fishing trip with Tom O’Connor: “When seagulls follow the trawler it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.” Well, I’m pulling my sardines out of the sea and putting them back on to Eric Cantona’s trawler. Or something. I try to keep my tickets down to around £20 in the big theatres, and avoid ones, such as the Ambassador Theatre Group chain, where I can’t. This is not a huge sacrifice. I will put prices up if I suddenly want a velvet cloak or a bejewelled cock ring. But I am doing fine. In the last 24 hours alone I have bought muffins, a second-class single to Colchester, two quality newspapers, a dish of luxury nuts and a garage punk CD called Back to the Grave 9. I now live beyond my wildest dreams,...
Artificially intelligent humanoid sexual partners are now commercially available. And indeed, I have often wondered if I myself am in fact one such “sex robot”. My lovers always disengage from me in silently satisfied wonder, and rarely request second encounters, having had their expectations soul-shatteringly exceeded, their sexual futures rendered endlessly disappointing. I’m joking of course! I have been married for 12 years. There is nothing to see here.
But once, as a young adventurer, I crossed America by bus, arriving in Seattle in September 1994, three years after Peak Grunge, just in time to see the genre winding down with a local band called Peach, at the Crocodile Cafe. The ATM ran dry that night and a scenester at the bar bailed me out with the offer of his sofa. He seemed normal enough by the standards of the day – beanie hat, goatee beard, and pierced nipples poking through a T-shirt bearing the legend Public Castration Is a Good Idea.
To say that Matt’s apartment was a surprise would be an understatement. The walls were lined not with Tad and Mudhoney posters, but with the suspended forms of life-sized naked female dolls, of troubling anatomical accuracy, that he had made himself. “Don’t worry,” Matt said, “I’m not crazy or weird. I hope one day to make these dolls into artificially intelligent sex robots. Imagine having your own erotic mechanical slaves! Nachos?”
Last month, I saw Matt for the first time in 23 years, this time in a Guardian feature about the ethical dilemmas created by a newly available luxury product he had developed: lifesize, artificially intelligent sex robots. Then suddenly, events here at home made me realise I needed to speak to Matt McMutton again, and not as a potential customer!
Last week Sarah Vine, who is married to Michael Gove, opened the scab-encrusted blowhole of her Daily Mail column once more, this time comparing Brigitte Macron, the wife of the new French president, who he met when he was her 15-year-old drama pupil, to the alleged child rapist Roman Polanski, and suggesting, not entirely unreasonably, that had the couple’s roles been reversed their marriage would seem “grotesque”.
But Sarah Vine is married to Michael Gove. And Michael Gove is, in turn, married to Sarah Vine. And the thought of either of them being married to anyone, let alone each other, is also grotesque, despite Vine being an acceptable four months her adopted husband’s senior.
And, uniquely, the notion of the Goves’ union remains equally grotesque, even when their ages are reversed to be more in line with those of a normal partnership. The image of a cluster of toads spawning in a dewpond is more pleasing to the mind’s eye, for unlike the dissembling Goves, the assembling toads are merely following their own natures, in accordance with the watchmaker’s perfect mechanism, amphibian messengers of Christ’s majesty eternal.
Of course I appreciate that the previous four sentences are unpleasant. They are deliberately so, as a mirror image of the Vine sensibility that inspired them. The cultural theorist James Naughtie explained to me on the Today programme, while screwing up his stupid red face like a baboon eating a thistle, that an earlier column of mine about the Goves and their ilk was “poisonous”. But to say a column about the Goves is poisonous is unnecessary, like saying that a slow-motion film of a cat vomiting is nauseating.
It is foolish of politicians and their guff-trumpets – and this is what Vine is here – to score points off their rivals’ choice of spouse, especially if you are Sarah Vine. And it is even more foolish to do so when Theresa May parades her husband Philip before the cameras of The One Show. The poor banker came across not as strong and stable, but like a tortured hostage forced at gunpoint to tell the people at home how kindly he is being treated.
Eighty-two kidnapped Nigerian schoolgirls are free! But when will Philip May be free? And will he have any strong hope of readjusting to a stable life, where he is spared the endless repetition of the words “strong” and “stable”?
And why is Theresa May’s lower jaw permanently locked into the same sort of jutting/munching shape Eric Morecambe’s made when theatrically sucking a pipe? She has no pipe. How will Mrs May’s imaginary pipe face play with the Europeans? They will say, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
I am no international trade negotiator (who is?), but can it be prudent, as we enter into talks with a newly united EU, determined to reaffirm its enlightenment values, for Sarah Vine, one of our chief Brexiters, and the spouse of a former cabinet member, to compare the French president’s wife to an alleged child rapist? How will this affect barista visas, roaming mobile phone charges, and the future dimensions of Toblerones?
However offensive the French first couple’s relationship, it at least seemed genuine. But, to me, there was a strange haunted empty quality to both Michael Gove and Philip May, the latter having vouchsafed to The One Show that he “quite liked ties although I’m not wearing one this evening”. This indefinable absence of the flame of being makes the idea of a relationship involving either Mr Gove or Mr May oddly implausible.
Troubled by a mysterious worry, on Thursday I called Matt. “The project stalled soon after we met,” he recalled, “It was initially too difficult to replicate the unpredictable workings of the complex female brain. But men’s brains were easy. They just thought about sports and neckties, so I turned out a couple of male dolls as practice. I only make the female dolls now, but for a few months in the mid-90s I had a small client list of successful rich women who wanted compliant partners. They didn’t mind if their sex robots had no real personality to speak of, as long as they’d take out the trash and eat the occasional tuna taco way down south in Dixie, if you get my drift. Mumble in the moss, man, mumble in the moss!”
“You don’t still have that list, do you Matt?” I asked. “Sure.” The two names from the old customer base that shocked me most meant nothing to Matt McMutton. But then he wasn’t a follower of British politics. When and where and why, I wondered, had the sinister switches been made? “So,” Matt continued, 5,000 miles away in the Pacific north-west, as the realisation dawned and I sat down in stunned horror, “you in the market for a sex robot? Or are you still dating humans, old school? Faggot!”
Stewart Lee is touring his new show, Content Provider, throughout 2017; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-05-14T17:45:49+01:00
Artificially intelligent humanoid sexual partners are now commercially available. And indeed, I have often wondered if I myself am in fact one such “sex robot”. My lovers always disengage from me in silently satisfied wonder, and rarely request second encounters, having had their expectations soul-shatteringly exceeded, their sexual futures rendered endlessly disappointing. I’m joking of course! I have been married for 12 years. There is nothing to see here. But once, as a young adventurer, I crossed America by bus, arriving in Seattle in September 1994, three years after Peak Grunge, just in time to see the genre winding down with a local band called Peach, at the Crocodile Cafe. The ATM ran dry that night and a scenester at the bar bailed me out with the offer of his sofa. He seemed normal enough by the standards of the day – beanie hat, goatee beard, and pierced nipples poking through a T-shirt bearing the legend Public Castration Is a Good Idea. To say that Matt’s apartment was a surprise would be an understatement. The walls were lined not with Tad and Mudhoney posters, but with the suspended forms of life-sized naked female dolls, of troubling anatomical accuracy, that he had made himself. “Don’t worry,” Matt said, “I’m not crazy or weird. I hope one day to make these dolls into artificially intelligent sex robots. Imagine having your own erotic mechanical slaves! Nachos?” Last month, I saw Matt for the first time in 23 years, this time in a Guardian feature about the ethical dilemmas created by a newly available luxury product he had developed: lifesize, artificially intelligent sex robots. Then suddenly, events here at home made me realise I needed to speak to Matt McMutton again, and not as a potential customer! Last week Sarah Vine, who is married...
As Lee is the last person you need to have a relaxing evening of gentility with.
You need to be alert. Switched on. Maybe that’s where the term “high-brow” comes from - the wide-eyed concentration that is required to get the most from Lee’s style of comedy.
The forty nine year old always deserves an audience who is willing to work hard for their laughs - and the majority of the first half at the Theatre Royal on Friday was exactly that.
Gripping onto a battered and bent microphone stand, which was nearly used in smashing up a pre-warned punter who used a mobile phone, is well used but still managed to keep upright. It would be too obvious to point of the similarity of its owner.
Working out where the lines of which is ramshackle and which is beautifully constructed layed comedy, is part of the entertainment as Lee attacked everything and anything in his sights, including himself.
Volunteer ushers, other stand ups, Sky, Trump, supporters of Trump, Brexit, Deacon Blue, supporters of Brexit, and randomly the residents of Diss. Although he did admit he had never been to Diss - he just found it an amusing name.
The main target throughout the show though - was the “Friends of the Theatre Royal”. That valiant group of people who go to most performances, and are more comfortable with shows with the songs of Gerry an the Pacemakers, than a stumbling later-years-Elvis lookalike calling them all names under the sun.
Lee spends more time explaining why his routine is funnier and cleverer than any other working stand-up to the casual passer-bys of tonight’s show than doing his routine, which ultimately, IS his routine. And it’s funny and clever. Very funny and clever in some parts, especially the wistful ending.
Despite having three primetime series’ on the BBC, and turned down offers from Sky, Lee is more mainstream than he’d like to admit. With 200+ sold out shows completed, Content Provider is slick, poetic and an captivating night of comedy.
But not for everyone.
If watching a man stomp and smash across thousands of other stand up DVDs that he bought for a 1p each, whilst ranting about the liberal elite and Diss is your idea of a high-brow evening, then you missed out.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-26T22:45:19+01:00
As Lee is the last person you need to have a relaxing evening of gentility with. You need to be alert. Switched on. Maybe that’s where the term “high-brow” comes from - the wide-eyed concentration that is required to get the most from Lee’s style of comedy. The forty nine year old always deserves an audience who is willing to work hard for their laughs - and the majority of the first half at the Theatre Royal on Friday was exactly that. Gripping onto a battered and bent microphone stand, which was nearly used in smashing up a pre-warned punter who used a mobile phone, is well used but still managed to keep upright. It would be too obvious to point of the similarity of its owner. Working out where the lines of which is ramshackle and which is beautifully constructed layed comedy, is part of the entertainment as Lee attacked everything and anything in his sights, including himself. Volunteer ushers, other stand ups, Sky, Trump, supporters of Trump, Brexit, Deacon Blue, supporters of Brexit, and randomly the residents of Diss. Although he did admit he had never been to Diss - he just found it an amusing name. The main target throughout the show though - was the “Friends of the Theatre Royal”. That valiant group of people who go to most performances, and are more comfortable with shows with the songs of Gerry an the Pacemakers, than a stumbling later-years-Elvis lookalike calling them all names under the sun. Lee spends more time explaining why his routine is funnier and cleverer than any other working stand-up to the casual passer-bys of tonight’s show than doing his routine, which ultimately, IS his routine. And it’s funny and clever. Very funny and clever in some parts, especially the wistful ending. Despite...
THE thought of interviewing Stewart Lee – the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever according to his 2007 tour – always leaves me nervous.
He's a curmudgeon, isn't he? A morose misanthrope who despises those people who will fill the Hall For Cornwall on Wednesday, January 20, and will shoot me down in flames with his inflammatory, clever tongue the moment I ask him something stupid.
But, of course, he isn't any of that. Shock! Horror! It's all an act and he's a friendly, chatty man (no, he's not that one) who frequently unleashes a peal of manic laughter which is rarely heard in his stage or television shows.
I spoke to him as prepares to tour A Room With A Stew, which has already wend its way round the country once, enjoyed a season at the Leicester Square Theatre in London and will form the basis of his fourth BBC Two series this year.
"I'm bringing the show back to places that sold out last time," Stewart told me. "That's why I'm talking to you – I don't want to over-estimate how popular I am in Truro.
"I used to go as far down as The Acorn in Penzance, but the older you get and having kids means you want to play to as many people as possible without having to travel as much.
"Hall For Cornwall is a great size, a really good room. You often find the bigger places don't have great rooms that work for comedy. That's why I play three nights at the Oxford Playhouse rather than the bigger venue there.
"My act isn't as improvised as it looks but I still need to hear the room and see people. It gets harder in bigger rooms and, weirdly, in really small places. With more than 250 people you have more chance for some of the mad bits to take hold. When there are less people they get embarrassed."
With that Midlands burr, which seems to make every sentence sound ironic, he told me how much he loves coming to Cornwall. No, really, he was being genuine.
"I love going to Truro and I don't say that about everywhere. I hate going to Carlisle, for instance.
"I've got a couple of friends in Truro – and there's a really good record shop in the market run by a Born Again Christian. I love his eccentric, complex ideas of genre."
Surely everywhere in Britain is the same nowadays though?
"It's interesting – when I started stand-up in the '80s and toured Britain everywhere was very different. In the '90s everyone voted for the centre left and everything was homogenised. But now it feels different again.
"Cornwall feels very different to the south of England; it definitely has an increasingly distinct identity now.
"In a way your experience of the housing crisis is very similar to that of London. Londoners cannot afford to buy because of all the foreign money being invested in property, and Cornish people can't afford to buy because of all the people being displaced from London." That manic laugh again.
It must be odd for his two children, aged 8 and 4, to grow up with parents who are both stand-ups (Lee's wife is the award-winning Bridget Christie), albeit a father who has won a BAFTA?
"Actually, the little one had a hard time at his first school because of it. Other parents either didn't like what we did or were fans, which caused a bit of a problem. Other kids were saying, 'Just because your parents are funny doesn't mean you are'. We had to move him in the end.
"Anyway, the kids don't find me at all funny – they think my wife is much funnier than me because she dresses in animal costumes sometimes. I'm just monotonous.
"My wife saw me the other night and the next morning said to my son, 'Daddy was really funny last night.' 'Was he?!' – he sounded genuinely surprised.
"It keeps your feet on the ground. In fact, my whole family do – my step-brother hates my act and my mother was always confused by it. They all think I don't do it properly; they're genuinely embarrassed by my work. My step-brother thinks I should be more like Russell Howard."
After three series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle there was no enthusiasm from the BBC for a fourth, but then Sky showed an interest in commissioning two series, it won a BAFTA and the BBC were interested again.
"By the time they decide to do it I'm already on tour and so it takes three years between each series," added Stewart. "It's difficult because they don't really get it – it takes a while to be able to write a series, I don't have a load of writers in the background doing it for me."
He has other things to concentrate on apart from his stand-up and TV shows. Stewart writes about music for The Wire, Uncut and Mojo among others and is particularly excited – if he can ever be described as excited – about curating this April's All Tomorrow's Parties festival.
"The idea of Japanese bands like the Boredoms and Shonen Knife on stage at Pontins in Prestatyn is half the fun of doing it."
I wondered if Stewart now found himself in a place he probably never imagined – on the cusp of joining the ranks of stadium-filling comedians such as Michael McIntyre.
"My wife and I were just talking about that – I've been at the Leicester Square Theatre for about six months and it's got to the point where people tell other people and it could have kept on rolling, the tickets would have kept on selling.
"A woman came up to me after the show last night and said, 'You mentioned the show was going on TV. Is that a joke?' I told her I was on my fourth series – she'd never heard of me. There are a lot more people like that coming to see me now. So you become a sort of ... thing.
"I always do a head count of who has seen me before and now it's only about a quarter of the audience.
"My whole act is to have disdain for the audience but that's increasingly difficult when there's a palpable sense of hysteria in the theatre.
"I'm amazed."
He added: "I don't think the stadium thing will ever quite happen – I'd rather have big numbers of people in smaller parcels; a run at the Leicester Square Theatre rather than a night at the O2.
"A stadium comedian is a bit like a stadium band – they need that big lighter in the air moment.
"Michael McIntyre can do it because he says, 'I feel this and you do too'. But my act is, 'I think this but I don't like you or want you to think this'."
He states that with the BBC in cost-cutting mode, DVD sales dwindling and online streaming gaining the artists very little recompense, the only way to make money as a comedian is live work.
"I'm 48 this year, I need to work until I'm 70 to shift all my debt. I work out that's 11 tours and, with my act, that's only about 48 jokes I need to come up with."
That manic laugh again.
Stewart Lee's A Room With Stew is at Hall For Cornwall on Wednesday, January 20, and also Theatre Royal Plymouth the night before. For tickets see www.hallforcornwall.co.uk and www.theatreroyal.com
As an extra bundle of joy we have a triple DVD package of comedy shows to give away – Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World, The Alternative Comedy Experience and The Alternative Comedy Experience (Season Two), all for over-18s.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-08T19:19:29+00:00
THE thought of interviewing Stewart Lee – the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever according to his 2007 tour – always leaves me nervous. He's a curmudgeon, isn't he? A morose misanthrope who despises those people who will fill the Hall For Cornwall on Wednesday, January 20, and will shoot me down in flames with his inflammatory, clever tongue the moment I ask him something stupid. But, of course, he isn't any of that. Shock! Horror! It's all an act and he's a friendly, chatty man (no, he's not that one) who frequently unleashes a peal of manic laughter which is rarely heard in his stage or television shows. I spoke to him as prepares to tour A Room With A Stew, which has already wend its way round the country once, enjoyed a season at the Leicester Square Theatre in London and will form the basis of his fourth BBC Two series this year. "I'm bringing the show back to places that sold out last time," Stewart told me. "That's why I'm talking to you – I don't want to over-estimate how popular I am in Truro. "I used to go as far down as The Acorn in Penzance, but the older you get and having kids means you want to play to as many people as possible without having to travel as much. "Hall For Cornwall is a great size, a really good room. You often find the bigger places don't have great rooms that work for comedy. That's why I play three nights at the Oxford Playhouse rather than the bigger venue there. "My act isn't as improvised as it looks but I still need to hear the room and see people. It gets harder in bigger rooms and, weirdly, in really small places. With more than 250 people...
Shirley Collins’ comeback album Lodestar is released with extensive sleeve notes by Stew.
Shirley Collins – legendary folk singer and one of England’s most respected song collectors – has announced her return to recording after 38 years. The new album, Lodestar, will be released on November 4th, and with it, Shirley has created the unlikeliest release of the century so far.
“Shirley is a time traveller, a conduit for essential human aches, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, and yet utterly humble” Stewart Lee
Lodestar will be available on limited edition deluxe vinyl with a 24 page 12” booklet featuring song notes by Shirley Collins and sleeve notes by Stewart Lee and a signed print (signed print is available exclusively via Dom Mart), limited edition deluxe CD with 28 page booklet and standard vinyl. For more details visit Dom Mart.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T22:09:34+00:00
Shirley Collins’ comeback album Lodestar is released with extensive sleeve notes by Stew. Shirley Collins – legendary folk singer and one of England’s most respected song collectors – has announced her return to recording after 38 years. The new album, Lodestar, will be released on November 4th, and with it, Shirley has created the unlikeliest release of the century so far. “Shirley is a time traveller, a conduit for essential human aches, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, and yet utterly humble” Stewart Lee Lodestar will be available on limited edition deluxe vinyl with a 24 page 12” booklet featuring song notes by Shirley Collins and sleeve notes by Stewart Lee and a signed print (signed print is available exclusively via Dom Mart), limited edition deluxe CD with 28 page booklet and standard vinyl. For more details visit Dom Mart.
Here inside, I am losing it. I watched Carry on Screaming and enjoyed it unreservedly. My right arm seems to have stopped working, making it difficult to do Nazi salutes at the television whenever a government minister comes on. And I found myself asking a pigeon, sitting on the fence outside the kitchen window, how it was getting on in the current situation. And then answering my own question about the pigeon’s welfare myself, in a stupid Eric Idle accent, presumably the supposed voice of the pigeon, as if it were talking to me. “I’m very well thank you Stewart and as a full-time denizen of the sky I am enjoying the improvement in London’s air quality enormously. Funny how you never see baby pigeons, isn’t it?” I shut the back door and went inside to seek solace in teabags and memories.
I am glad I started out as the multiple-award-winning standup I am today on what was then the “alternative” comedy circuit, at the tail-end of the 80s, back before the bills became homogenised into our modern, TV-friendly fare. And when you were still allowed to go outside. “Remember white dog shit? Remember any dog shit at all? Remember colours? Things? Remember when each day was different to the last? The unexpected smell of farts that weren’t your own? What was that all about?”
There is much that modern comedians have noticed, it seems, and a large amount of it is common to all our experience. Or at least it was, before your experience became either being inside or struggling selflessly in underequipped hospitals for a government that appears to have abandoned you. “Is it really necessary to dissolve stock cubes or can you just chew them up as a snack? Have you ever noticed, right, that if you close your eyes and grit your teeth you can actually hear time passing in slow, throbbing waves? And have you ever noticed, right, that when you’ve been forced to work a Covid ward without any protection, if you threaten to tell anyone they say they’ll sack you? Thank you and goodnight! I’m here indefinitely!! Try the stock cubes!!!”
In the old comedy circuit days of the late 80s, I remember performing at the now demolished Red Rose, which ran out of the function room of a Labour club in Finsbury Park, on a bill with an act that didn’t even make the concession of actually appearing on the stage, its slightly raised platform being too restrictive a space, with its neocolonial lights and patriarchal microphone. Instead, the usual, heady mix of social workers and squatters had to view her in an alcove by the door as they left the venue between sets, subverting the whole idea of where a performance began and ended, questioning the relative status of audience and performer, and causing a problematic blockage in the corridor by the gents.
A naked, middle-aged woman was curled up inside a box, which was mounted on stilts and lined with vaudevillian velvet, and she had invited us to look into it through a little hole. This aperture had a powerful magnifying glass lens on it, meaning that while you saw what was obviously flesh, you could have no idea which part of the anatomy you were actually looking at. It was a great gag, the sort of thing that might have won a Turner prize if it had been presented in a more respectable venue by someone with a degree, the process presumably intending to parody our voyeuristic instincts generally, and the male gaze specifically. Technically, the desire to see the subject was fulfilled, but in such closeup as to render it completely indistinct.
It also strikes me, more than three decades later, as an unexpectedly apposite metaphor for the current situation. For who can claim, viewing the world through the smeared lens of Sky News or the thin slit of their bedroom window, to really know what the fuck is going on out there? Is that Matt Handcock’s face, or a part of a naked person’s armpit seen through a high-powered magnifying glass? Is that Donald Trump, or one of those tiny swollen bugs that lives in eyebrows, feeding on dandruff, and descends to the facemeat only to die? Is this the end of world as we know it, or just harmless dirt that has formed a hardened crust behind a human ear?
I knew the situation on the wards was worse than reported because a relative told me in emails. And I knew about the care home death tolls because another online correspondent has gone back to working in them. And a man whose record I once reviewed has reported to me from a sealed cellar in New York City. I store these particles of information for posterity, to piece into a full picture posthumously.
We squint through our apertures. Along the HS2 route, unobserved contractors baffle birds and fell trees, enabling quicker journeys between currently silent cities for business meetings that will surely be conducted remotely in the post-viral world anyway. In Whitehall, even junior ministers try to dodge the bullet of the daily briefing, a Russian roulette of inevitable humiliation, where the bloke from the LADBible website asks better questions than the castrati-courtesans of the BBC. And Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-lies Get-Brexit-Done Bung-a-Bob-for-Big-Ben’s-Bongs Cocaine-Event Spiritual-Worth Three-Men-and-a-Dog Whatever-It-Takes I-Shook-Hands-With-Everyone Herd-Immunity I-Want-to-Thank-Po-Ling Johnson emerges from intensive care, thanks Po Ling, and leaves a hollow-socketed skull that hopes to dismantle the monolithic NHS in command instead.
Upstairs, I look out of the skylight periodically. Bin bags disappear on Tuesdays. The cranes by the reservoir rarely revolve. Last week, an Orthodox Jew walked past carrying a mini fire extinguisher. And I thought I saw Miriam Margolyes on the top deck of a bus, eating a Cornetto. But I am not sure.
Stewart Lee
2020-04-19T13:55:56+01:00
Here inside, I am losing it. I watched Carry on Screaming and enjoyed it unreservedly. My right arm seems to have stopped working, making it difficult to do Nazi salutes at the television whenever a government minister comes on. And I found myself asking a pigeon, sitting on the fence outside the kitchen window, how it was getting on in the current situation. And then answering my own question about the pigeon’s welfare myself, in a stupid Eric Idle accent, presumably the supposed voice of the pigeon, as if it were talking to me. “I’m very well thank you Stewart and as a full-time denizen of the sky I am enjoying the improvement in London’s air quality enormously. Funny how you never see baby pigeons, isn’t it?” I shut the back door and went inside to seek solace in teabags and memories. I am glad I started out as the multiple-award-winning standup I am today on what was then the “alternative” comedy circuit, at the tail-end of the 80s, back before the bills became homogenised into our modern, TV-friendly fare. And when you were still allowed to go outside. “Remember white dog shit? Remember any dog shit at all? Remember colours? Things? Remember when each day was different to the last? The unexpected smell of farts that weren’t your own? What was that all about?” There is much that modern comedians have noticed, it seems, and a large amount of it is common to all our experience. Or at least it was, before your experience became either being inside or struggling selflessly in underequipped hospitals for a government that appears to have abandoned you. “Is it really necessary to dissolve stock cubes or can you just chew them up as a snack? Have you ever noticed, right, that if you...
This still-active Sydney combo's third album, from 1989, exemplifies a peculiarly Australian jazz-punk hybrid (see also Ed Kuepper's Laughing Clowns).
Mangrove swampland licks gutter in the loose-limbed shadow of Albert Ayler and his ecstatic ilk; saxes squawk over driving bass; a snowstorm of flailing drums blows grunge blueprints West to Seattle and into Mudhoney's laps.
Captain Beefheart's head spins 360 degrees on Blairin' Linda, the queerly spiritual Let's Make Garbage moulds magic out of mess, and Kissing Your Shadow's spluttering wah wah surges towards an unknowable ideal.
A second disc offers fifteen earlier and less unhinged tunes.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-01T01:28:03+00:00
This still-active Sydney combo's third album, from 1989, exemplifies a peculiarly Australian jazz-punk hybrid (see also Ed Kuepper's Laughing Clowns). Mangrove swampland licks gutter in the loose-limbed shadow of Albert Ayler and his ecstatic ilk; saxes squawk over driving bass; a snowstorm of flailing drums blows grunge blueprints West to Seattle and into Mudhoney's laps. Captain Beefheart's head spins 360 degrees on Blairin' Linda, the queerly spiritual Let's Make Garbage moulds magic out of mess, and Kissing Your Shadow's spluttering wah wah surges towards an unknowable ideal. A second disc offers fifteen earlier and less unhinged tunes.
WHAT began as an evening of extremely clever and thoroughly thought-through comedy unfortunately did not continue that way.
Stewart Lee will not allow anyone in the audience to 'not get' a single joke during the show, as he insists on going back over, ripping apart and piecing back together in (almost painful) detail every single one.
For the first 40 minutes or so, this seems very well-researched, precisely constructed and purposeful and I appreciate the way he clearly thinks very carefully about whatever he says and the different layers of meaning within that. He makes some pertinent points about our prejudices and assumptions and modern life in general and catches out anyone who might be laughing for the 'wrong' reason.
From then on, I'm afraid, it just gets boring. Never one to miss anything, Lee is well aware that he has a reputation of 'going on a bit' and so he warns us that that's what he will do. But he doesn't go on a bit. He goes on a lot.
Yes, I know this is all part of his style and he's doing it to make a point and it's all leading to an intelligent and multi-layered conclusion.
Despite all this, for me, by the time he gets to that conclusion, I just don't care anymore. I'm bored.
A very long-laboured joke about Twitter turns into a big rant, full of unneccessary repetitive swearing, and a mocking of the retail sector's misuse of the words 'World of ...' in shop names is just Lee saying the same things again and again for 30 minutes or so.
Having said that, the arts centre's Butterworth Hall was full and there was a lot of laughter around me. Perhaps I just didn't 'get' it.
Stewart Lee
2012-06-04T14:28:54+01:00
Stewart Lee, Warwick Arts Centre, May 24. WHAT began as an evening of extremely clever and thoroughly thought-through comedy unfortunately did not continue that way. Stewart Lee will not allow anyone in the audience to 'not get' a single joke during the show, as he insists on going back over, ripping apart and piecing back together in (almost painful) detail every single one. For the first 40 minutes or so, this seems very well-researched, precisely constructed and purposeful and I appreciate the way he clearly thinks very carefully about whatever he says and the different layers of meaning within that. He makes some pertinent points about our prejudices and assumptions and modern life in general and catches out anyone who might be laughing for the 'wrong' reason. From then on, I'm afraid, it just gets boring. Never one to miss anything, Lee is well aware that he has a reputation of 'going on a bit' and so he warns us that that's what he will do. But he doesn't go on a bit. He goes on a lot. Yes, I know this is all part of his style and he's doing it to make a point and it's all leading to an intelligent and multi-layered conclusion. Despite all this, for me, by the time he gets to that conclusion, I just don't care anymore. I'm bored. A very long-laboured joke about Twitter turns into a big rant, full of unneccessary repetitive swearing, and a mocking of the retail sector's misuse of the words 'World of ...' in shop names is just Lee saying the same things again and again for 30 minutes or so. Having said that, the arts centre's Butterworth Hall was full and there was a lot of laughter around me. Perhaps I just didn't 'get' it.
****BASIC LEE****
SOUTH BANK CENTRE, LONDON
SUNDAY 2ND JULY
The rest of the week of Basic Lee at the Royal Festival Hall is totally sold out but there are still some tickets available for the shows THIS SUNDAY 2nd July at 3pm and 7.30pm.
This is your last chance to see this show in a massive venue.
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE “I DON’T THINK THAT’ T-SHIRTS
WAX FACE return to the crowded official Stewart Lee t-shirt marketplace with their most self-consciously cool design yet, cynically targeted at the ageing indie-hipster audience that make up Stewart's delusional following.
"I don't think that. I think the opposite of that.", is Stewart's philosophy of comedy boiled down to one zen-sized nugget, serving as a chest-sized signal to other secret adepts, and offering protection against psychic attack.
'I Don't Think That, I Think The Opposite Of That' is the Stewart Lee T-Shirt available on Pre-Order now via https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee
The T-Shirt available in two colourways.
Silk Screened and hand printed on Anthem Organic t-shirts.
2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO
Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now.
The tour of the new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, resumes active service at the Leicester Square Theatre in December and nationwide from January 2024
December 2023
Saturday 9th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 11th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 14th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 15th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 16th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 18th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 21st December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 22nd December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
January 2024
Thursday 4th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 5th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 8th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 11th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 14th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 15th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 18th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 19th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 22nd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 25th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Friday 26th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 27th January 2024 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Sunday 28th January 2024 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 29th January 2024 - The Marlowe, Canterbury - TICKETS
February 2024
Friday 2nd February 2024 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd February 2024 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Sunday 4th February 2024 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Friday 9th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Saturday 10th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds
Sunday 11th February 2024 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle - TICKETS
Sunday 18th February 2024 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester AN INTERVIEW WITH STEWART LEE - TICKETS
Sunday 18th February 2024 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Tuesday 20th February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Wednesday 21st February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Thursday 22nd February 2024 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Friday 23rd February 2024 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 24th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Sunday 25th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Monday 26th February 2024 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Thursday 29th February 2024 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
March 2024
Friday 1st March 2024 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd March 2024 - The Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Tuesday 5th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Wednesday 6th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Thursday 7th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Friday 8th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford
Saturday 9th March 2024 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 14th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Friday 15th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Saturday 16th March 2024 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 17th March 2024 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Thursday 21st March 2024 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth
Friday 22nd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Saturday 23rd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Sunday 24th March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Tuesday 26th March 2024 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 28th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
April 2024
Wednesday 17th April 2024 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Thursday 18th April 2024 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Monday 22nd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 25th April 2024 - The Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
4. EDINBLUR
I will be doing a truncated, compacted 70 min version of BASIC LEE, stripped of nuance and heavy on laffs, in the Edinburgh Fringe at The Stand’s New Town Theatre from Aug 11-20th at 1.50pm
Other top shows in the same space include Danny Bhoy’s Now Is Not A Good Time, the always exceptional Paul Sinha’s Pauly Bengali, and Robin Ince’s Melons.
And remember, because of the unique way The Stand is run, none of the less visible August acts go home financially ruined for ever, even the ones whose politics I disagree with.
MY EDINBLUR REC’S SO FAR
Bear in mind I know almost nothing about what’s happening in comedy these days, and I will add in Free Fringe rec’s in the August mailout.
But for now, these are things I personally would try and see because I have seen them and liked them or think I might like them and this list is not some boilerplated Sunday Supplement paradigm.
But while I know nothing, for example, about The Only Punk In The Village and The Crisp Review beyond liking the blurb, everything else on this culturally stale list I have seen recently and liked.
I am very sorry to see that Alfie Brown is not on at the fringe this year, who I felt was beginning to be brilliant and a timely reminder of what stand-up as a genre is capable of.
On a wider note, remember, everything has been fucked by the Tories and if the fringe seems too costly and middle class and elitist it is because people are being priced out of arts, culture, eduction etc, arguably deliberately, everywhere by this government and its enablers and the Fringe is merely a microcosm of that.
As usual, support Free Fringe shows and cross the tracks to Stand venues, as the Stand continues, miraculously, to manage its finances to ensure no-one goes home in debt.
And only see shows promoted by Avalon if nice people are doing them and they seem suitably ashamed of themselves.
15.15 Simon Munnery - Stand
17.15 The Only Punk Rocker In The Village - Space Triplex - 14th-19th
17.40 Paul Sinha - Stand New Town Theatre
17.50 The Crisp Review - Paradise In The Vault - 14th-27th
18.00 James Rowland - Summerhall
19.00 Police Cops - Assembly Rooms George Square
19.00 Phil Kay’s Funny Walks - Just The Tonic Caves - 12th-26th
19.20 David O’Doherty - Assembly George Square
19.20 Paul Foot - Underbelly Cowgate
19.30 Celya A B - Pleasance Courtyard
19.30 The Rite of Spring - Playhouse - 17th-19th
20.00 Rosie Holt - Pleasance Courtyard
20.00 Orange Claw Hammer - Beefheart band - Bannermans - 19th,25th
20.15 Jo Caulfied - Stand
20.25 2 Guys, 3 Drams - Music & whisky - The Space - 10th-26th
20.30/15.00 Phaedra/Minotaur - Lyceum - 18th-20th
20.35 Robin Ince - Stand New Town Theatre
20.50 Frank Skinner - Assembly George Square
20.55 Jonny & The Baptists - Assembly George Square - 9th-15th
21.00 Paul Currie - Just The Tonic Caves
21.00 Phil Kay’s Silent Discovery - Bludagardens 13th-26th
21.40 Huge Davies - Pleasance Courtyard
21.50 Flat & The Curves - Pleasance Dome
22.00 Colin Steele Quintet Play Miles Davis - Jazz Bar - 16th-20th
22.25 Andrew O’Neill - Monkey Barrel
0.00 Blueswater - Jazz Bar - 9th,13th,16th,24th,27th
5. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2023 HAPPENINGS AND THINGS
HAWKWIND This current Hawkwind iteration channels their classic ‘70s space rock sound unashamedly, with keyboardist Thighpaulsandra of Coil, Cope and Spiritualised clearly living out a childhood dream.
AUGUST 28th - Castell Roc, Chepstow Castle (SOLD OUT - SHAMELESS BLAG - CAN ANYONE GET ME IN? - I USED TO BE FAMOUS IN THE ‘90S), OCTOBER 29TH Royal Albert Hall.
MARTIN CARTHY Venerable and invaluable folk veteran JULY 2nd Leicester Musician, NIV 5th Scunthorpe Plowright Theatre, DEC 8th London Mycenae House
TREEBOY & ARC Televisionary young post-punks OCT 18th London Moth Club
THE BOO RADLEYS Reformed 90s psychedelic Britpop era fish out of water OCT 32st B’ham Institute, NOV 4th Islington Academy
THE CHAMELEONS Most convincing line-up for years of the always emotionally edifying Big Music should-have-beens. JULY 1ST London Islington Assembly, 3rd Bristol Fleece, 4th Brighton Chalk, 7th Castleton Devil’s Arse, 8th Holmfirth Picturedrome
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Plangent no wave influenced serial minimalists. Have to be seen! AUG 31st Birkenhead Future Yard, SEPT 15th London St John on The Green
TINARIWEN Always mesmerising Mali blues band JULY 13th London Somerset House, 15th Bristol SWX, 17th Glasgow St Lukes, 19th B’ham Institute,
EMIL KARLSEN, DOMINIC LASH, JOHN BUTCHER Free jazz trio, 100 Years Gallery London July 16th
BARBARA MANNING Returning American psyche-folk songstress of 28th Day fame, The Betsey Trotwood, London, 22nd July.
MDC American hardcore punk legends AUG 1st New Cross Inn London
SUN RA ARKESTRA Cosmic Jazz institution AUG 10th & 11th Camden Forge, London
CHRIS CACAVAS Emotive Americana songwriter of Green on Red fame AUG 15th Green Note London, 17th Sheffield Dorothy Pax
DISCHARGE Hardcore punk pioneers SEPT 3rd Derby Victoria Inn, 8th Bristol Fleece, 9th Exeter Phoenix, OCT 20th London New Cross Inn, 21st Stamford Mama Liz’s, 28th Bournemouth Anvil, DEC 23rd B’ham Castle & Falcon
DAN STUART Fearsome legend of ‘80s alt countrY, hard bitten novelist, and former Green on Red frontman SEPT 6th Stoke On Trent St Lawrence’s Church, 7th Nottingham Running Horse, 9th Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms, 10th Glasgow Glad Cafe
CODEINE Godfathers of slowcore reform and have one UK date, London Garage September 10th
ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN Another tilt at the infinite horizon from the cosmic scallies SEPT 12TH Nottingham Royal Concert Halls, 14th Edinburgh Usher Halls, 16th L’pool Bank Arena, 18th London Royal Albert Hall
DEATHCRASH Youthful slowcore revivalists SEPT 14th Leeds Mill Hill Chapel, 15th Glasgow CCA, 16th Salford White Hotel, 17th Bristol Cube, 23rd Dublin Workman’s Cellar, 28th London Fabric
BEVIS FROND - Psychedelic survivors of pop-sass and epic grandeur. Sept 15th Leytonstone Social Club. + TOUR TBA
BLUE AEROPLANES/WAVE PICTURES Superb double bill of classic indie intellectuals. SEP 29th London Electric ballroom
THE SONICS ‘60s garage punks of ‘Have Love Will Travel’ and Strychnine fame, still slogging on OCT 12th Bristol Fleece, 13th London garage, 14th Glasgow Room 2, 17th Leeds Brudenell
CALEXICO Tucson’s cinematic desert rock band NOV 1st Bexhill-on-Sea Pavillion, 2nd London Electric Ballroom, 3rd Sunderland Fire Station, 4th M’cr New Century, 5th Dublin Helix
SLEAFORD MODS Shouting men NOV 22nd B’ham Academy, 23rd Glasgow Academy, 25th Dublin Academy, 28th Leeds Academy, 29th M’cr Victoria Warehouse, 30th Bristol Academy, DEC 2nd London Alexandra Palace (with me as support at the final one)
MICHAEL ROTHER Neu! noise man still motoring FEB 3rd 2024 London Barbican
6. Lloyd / Bean
LLOYD / BEAN's Black Cat, Dark Horse video!
After decades during which his band The Nightingales worked in relative obscurity, the request from director Michael Cumming and comedian Stewart Lee to produce and direct a film about Robert Lloyd's long journey and his band The Nightingales came as a great surprise. The film was about 75% completed before Rob himself thought it might reach fruition.
True to their word - and with help from James Nicholls at Fire Films - Michael and Stew completed the project and saw its release to rather unexpected fanfare, multiple airings on Sky TV, and a big enough change in the trajectory of Rob's career that he began to be perceived as that sort of cool kind of anti-pop star who gets asked for opinions in the year-end issues of Mojo and Uncut, despite being the same fellow he's been for years. We were all delighted . . . and we're still delighted, in fact.
During the long plague, Rob and American artist Janet Bean from Freakwater and Eleventh Dream Day began plotting an oddly-undefined project based in nothing more than a shared admiration for each other's projects. Finally convening in Spain with Mark Bedford from Madness, Pete Byrchmore from Membranes and local drumming genius Pablo Roda, the newly-named Lloyd / Bean recorded fifteen or so tracks which had been written for other projects, given to them by friends, pulled from favourite records and assembled in the studio from a big collection of scrap paper ideas.
The record's fantastic . . . toeing lines between country and postpunk, pensive thought and frivolous fun, The Monkees and Jim Elkington and plenty more beyond that.
But this all prelude to the big news. Michael Cumming and his able crew wrote to ask if we'd consider letting him do a proper video for one of the songs. A no-brainer, really! The title track, Black Cat. Dark Horse was chosen; Rob, Janet and Pete Byrchmore (you'll only see Pete's fingers!) were prepped and tailored and readied for that future technology that (confusingly) took them back to the late '60s / early '70s world where the best publicity an artist could dream of was an appearance on the legendary Ed Sullivan Show.
Alongside Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Tina Turner and Motown's awesome roster of talent from The Supremes to the Temptations . . . Lloyd / Bean are now a part of the official canon.
Ruggero Deodato (Junk genius, 1939)
Kelly Monteith (Lucky pants stand-up, 1942)
Alan Rankine (Associate musician, 1958)
Darryl Hunt (Pogue bass, 1950)
Jeff Beck (He happened ten years time ago, 1944)
Jane Suck (punk chronicler, 195?)
Yukihiro Takahashi (Sadistic Mika Man, 1952)
Ronald Blythe (Akenfieldsman, 1922)
Piers Haggard (hack genius of Claw and Quatermass, 1932)
Van Connor (sturdy psychedelic tree, 1967)
David Sutherland (Bash Street basher, 1933)
David Crosby (Byrdmaniac, 1941)
Tom Verlaine (Sui generis genius Televisionary, 1949)
Burt Bacarach (Musical cheesnius, 1928)
Eugene Cheese (chucklin’ cheesenius moocher, 1944)
Betty Boothroyd (croaky speaker, 1939)
Wayne Shorter (Shorter no longer, 1933)
David Lindley (Kaleidoscopic guitarist, 1944)
Keith Johnstone (Improvisational Canadian, 1933)
Rolly Crump (West Coast Pop Artist, 1930)
Paul O’Grady (Proudly woke drag act, 1955)
Peter Usborne (Generation-spooking publisher, 1937)
Tony Coe (Jazz panther, 1934)
Barry Humphries (Machenalian Australian, 1934)
Mark Stewart (Bristol pre-post-punk pioneer, 1960)
Gareth Richards (Comedian, 1979)
Johnny Fean (Horslips guitar bandit, 1951)
Frank Kozik (the Giotto of grunge, 1962)
Andy Smart (Bull-running comedian, 1959)
Alan Frank (Gateway ‘70s film scribe, 1942)
Algy Ward (Damned bass Saint, 1959)
Andy Rourke (Sainted bass Smith, 1964)
Pete Brown (Battered ornament, 1940)
George Logan (The Black Cap’s breakout Hinge, 1944)
Jah Shaka (Sound system shaker, 1948)
Spot (SST soundman, 1951)
Ahmad Jamal (cool jazz piano 1931)
Harry Belafonte (anti-apartheid boat singer, 1927)
Gordon Lightfoot (Fitzgerald wrecker, 1938)
Stu James (Mojo not working, 1945)
Jon Povey (Pretty bass Thing, 1942)
Broderick Smith (Singing Dingoe, 1948)
Wee Willie Harris (2 I’s wild man, 1933)
Cliff Fish (Paper Bass, 1949)
Simon Emerson (Afro-Celt Weekender and a very nice man, 1956)
Bruce Barthol (Fish bass, 1947)
Top Topham (Yardbird & man with ‘top’ twice in name, 1947)
Renee Geyer (Voice of Sun, 1947)
Tony McPhee (Hoglord, 1944)
Martin Duffy (He Felt the keys, 1967)
Jack Lee (He nervously hung on the telephone, 1952)
Cormac McCarthy (The real writing deal, 1933)
Peter Brotzmann (Machine-gunner, 1941)
Stewart Lee
2023-06-28T00:01:59+01:00
****BASIC LEE**** SOUTH BANK CENTRE, LONDON SUNDAY 2ND JULY The rest of the week of Basic Lee at the Royal Festival Hall is totally sold out but there are still some tickets available for the shows THIS SUNDAY 2nd July at 3pm and 7.30pm. This is your last chance to see this show in a massive venue. 3pm TICKETS 7.30pm TICKETS 1. T-SHIRT FRENZY - STEWART LEE “I DON’T THINK THAT’ T-SHIRTS WAX FACE return to the crowded official Stewart Lee t-shirt marketplace with their most self-consciously cool design yet, cynically targeted at the ageing indie-hipster audience that make up Stewart's delusional following. "I don't think that. I think the opposite of that.", is Stewart's philosophy of comedy boiled down to one zen-sized nugget, serving as a chest-sized signal to other secret adepts, and offering protection against psychic attack. 'I Don't Think That, I Think The Opposite Of That' is the Stewart Lee T-Shirt available on Pre-Order now via https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee The T-Shirt available in two colourways. Silk Screened and hand printed on Anthem Organic t-shirts. 2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now. Snowflake is here. & Tornado is here. 3. BASIC LEE The tour of the new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, resumes active service at the Leicester Square Theatre in December and nationwide from January 2024 December 2023 Saturday 9th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London MATINEE - TICKETS Sunday 10th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 11th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 12th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 13th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 14th December 2023 - Leicester...
Peter Tasseledbat is the head of Endemetriol Productions, the London based production company responsible for a host of hit Channel 4 shows including Teen Street, Street Slag, Shit Street, Teen Shit, Street Teen, Slag Shit, Teen Slag, Slag Teen, Street Shit, Shit Teen, Slag Street, Shit Slag, The Friday Night Project, Big Brother and Celebrity Big Brother. He lives in Hertfordshire and works in Soho.
It’s half term at the moment so my driver picks my daughter and I up at home, and on the way to the Endemetriol offices I drop Sophie off at her clarinet lesson in Muswell Hill. She’s up to grade six now and is starting to get to grips with some of the simpler works of the major composers, which is wonderful, and so we’ve started taking her to concerts at The Barbican and The South Bank. I think it’s so important for young people to know about classical music, and luckily we’re secure enough to allow Sophie to pursue her dreams. At the moment her ambition is to play in one of the major European orchestras and I couldn’t be happier that she has set her sights on something genuinely worthwhile.
Next I arrive at the Big Brother offices and immediately begin work on approving edits of drunk female housemates masturbating with wine bottles, or, as is the case at the moment, of a young Indian film star being racially abused behind her back. One of the things I found amusing about the wine bottle incident was that when the idea of introducing alcohol into the house was first mooted, there were discussions as to whether we might get a leading wine manufacturer to sponsor the show and provide us with a few bottles of cheap plonk in to the bargain. Imagine if a wine company had sponsored it, and then one of their bottles had been put to the sort of use! It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘screw-top bottle’! I think sparks would have flown. I enjoy a good wine but try to drink in moderation. We let the children have wine once a week, on Sundays, but we try to set them a good example about alcohol consumption and the kind of adverse effects that result from over-indulgence.
There’s been a load of fuss about the supposed ‘racialist bullying’ in Big Brother, but our brief from Channel 4 is to provide television that pushes back the boundaries, and if those boundaries happen to be only at the bottom, then so be it! I’m not racialist. One of Sophie’s friends is Asian. Her father is a surgeon and he’s on the parents’ assosciation at one of the better schools in the area, so I would hardly do anything racialist would I? The thing about Big Brother is that it holds up a mirror to society, and it shows us what ordinary people, such as chavs, are really like, I should imagine. Sophie wanted to go and see the new English National Ballet show, and when we got there we had to cross a picket line because one of the dancers is in the BNP. Luckily the dancer’s racialism didn’t spoil our enjoyment of the piece.
If it is racialist to deliberately engineer ratings-driven conflict by putting an attractive, talented Indian woman into an enclosed environment with insecure, inarticulate people whom anyone could have realised would inevitably resort to racially-derived insults in order to assert themselves in the face of her perceived social superority then yes, I am a racialist. But I’m not because is isn’t. Is it? Hold on there’s someone on the other line. What? Oh come on, you cannot be serious...
Peter Tasseledbat was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-01-30T16:51:17+00:00
Peter Tasseledbat is the head of Endemetriol Productions, the London based production company responsible for a host of hit Channel 4 shows including Teen Street, Street Slag, Shit Street, Teen Shit, Street Teen, Slag Shit, Teen Slag, Slag Teen, Street Shit, Shit Teen, Slag Street, Shit Slag, The Friday Night Project, Big Brother and Celebrity Big Brother. He lives in Hertfordshire and works in Soho. It’s half term at the moment so my driver picks my daughter and I up at home, and on the way to the Endemetriol offices I drop Sophie off at her clarinet lesson in Muswell Hill. She’s up to grade six now and is starting to get to grips with some of the simpler works of the major composers, which is wonderful, and so we’ve started taking her to concerts at The Barbican and The South Bank. I think it’s so important for young people to know about classical music, and luckily we’re secure enough to allow Sophie to pursue her dreams. At the moment her ambition is to play in one of the major European orchestras and I couldn’t be happier that she has set her sights on something genuinely worthwhile. Next I arrive at the Big Brother offices and immediately begin work on approving edits of drunk female housemates masturbating with wine bottles, or, as is the case at the moment, of a young Indian film star being racially abused behind her back. One of the things I found amusing about the wine bottle incident was that when the idea of introducing alcohol into the house was first mooted, there were discussions as to whether we might get a leading wine manufacturer to sponsor the show and provide us with a few bottles of cheap plonk in to the bargain. Imagine if a...
“Each shit series is like a suicide note,” Stewart Lee tells Chris Morris in the first episode of Comedy Vehicle series four; “or like someone that’s carried out a crime and written in blood on the wall, ‘Stop me before I do this again.’” The BBC clearly isn’t getting the message – notwithstanding Lee’s frequent claims to be falling out of their favour. Ah, but maybe those claims are made by the “character” Stewart Lee and not the “real” Stewart Lee. Don’t expect onstage and offstage to mark a clear distinction between the two. There are no clear distinctions in Lee’s public world. Everything’s a wind-up. Everything’s a hall of mirrors.
That was never more the case than in last night’s trailblazer for the new series of Comedy Vehicle. Billed as addressing wealth, it was more specific than that: it was about Lee’s wealth, or lack of it. Of course we expect from Lee a nitpicking analysis of the jokes he’s telling and the reaction they’re getting. But here he’s absorbed not only in the dynamics of his own standup, but in those of his career more widely. The centrepiece is a long routine about Lee’s peevish reaction to being pipped to a Bafta award by Graham Norton’s chat show. A Bafta, he says, would have helped with his money problems – the very problems that compel him to crack jokes that are beneath him, to flatter an audience he despises.
Or so he says. It’s up to us to puzzle out how much of this is heartfelt, and how much an act. (Is he pretending to care about Norton beating him to a Bafta? Or pretending to just be pretending to care? Or is that what he wants us to think?) On the one hand, that’s a fun game to play: Lee’s genius is in having plunged deeper than any other comic into the grey area between truth and fiction, the endless recursiveness of self-revelation and self-deception. That’s enjoyable for performance geeks, but it also illuminates something about human nature; our negative capability to be both miffed (in this instance) and not miffed at the same time.
I enjoy the ambiguity in these routines, without remotely understanding why anyone (the Telegraph critic who walked out; the Dublin journalist who thought he was having a breakdown) would take them seriously. If Lee came onstage dressed as a winky face emoji, he couldn’t signal more clearly that his tongue is in his cheek. The playfulness is much in evidence here – and in the best of his comedy, it’s a precipitous pleasure to be toyed with, to try and track the joke, the target and the significance between the layers of irony.
This first episode is not the best of his comedy. It made me wonder, is “the character Stewart Lee” (as Lee calls his onstage persona) in danger of elbowing the actual Stewart Lee off the stage? I’ve most enjoyed Lee when, alongside the mind-bending performative sleights of hand (all that “Brechtian alienation”, as he calls it here) there are opinions about the world too, and things he cares about – even if they’re implied, and you have to hunt them down. Here: not so much. I know the self-absorption is part of the joke, but it’s still self-absorption, and I can’t bring myself to care about (or indeed believe in) Lee’s struggle to keep hack material out of his shows. That self-pitying shtick works as a counterpoint to weightier, more outward-looking stuff. It feels just a bit thin when obliged to sustain a whole show.
I wouldn’t want to stop him before he does this again, mind you. I’m judging this first episode only by the high standards Lee has set. And even by those standards, there’s great stuff here. The viral progress of his anti-Norton rant – from blaming Bafta, to blaming Norton, to blaming James Corden – is beautifully traced. His high-handed abuse of Corden is joltingly funny – both in its shoring up of Lee’s lofty self-esteem, and as a reminder of how seldom you hear those in the gilded back-slappy celebrity club being bluntly nasty about one another. Yes, I’ve sometimes regretted that Lee’s live work these days is always cast as a rehearsal for his TV show. But we’re lucky to have the TV show, which is seldom less than brilliant, tricksy, brain-nourishing, mickey-taking good fun. Roll on the next five episodes.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-04T12:46:00+00:00
“Each shit series is like a suicide note,” Stewart Lee tells Chris Morris in the first episode of Comedy Vehicle series four; “or like someone that’s carried out a crime and written in blood on the wall, ‘Stop me before I do this again.’” The BBC clearly isn’t getting the message – notwithstanding Lee’s frequent claims to be falling out of their favour. Ah, but maybe those claims are made by the “character” Stewart Lee and not the “real” Stewart Lee. Don’t expect onstage and offstage to mark a clear distinction between the two. There are no clear distinctions in Lee’s public world. Everything’s a wind-up. Everything’s a hall of mirrors. That was never more the case than in last night’s trailblazer for the new series of Comedy Vehicle. Billed as addressing wealth, it was more specific than that: it was about Lee’s wealth, or lack of it. Of course we expect from Lee a nitpicking analysis of the jokes he’s telling and the reaction they’re getting. But here he’s absorbed not only in the dynamics of his own standup, but in those of his career more widely. The centrepiece is a long routine about Lee’s peevish reaction to being pipped to a Bafta award by Graham Norton’s chat show. A Bafta, he says, would have helped with his money problems – the very problems that compel him to crack jokes that are beneath him, to flatter an audience he despises. Or so he says. It’s up to us to puzzle out how much of this is heartfelt, and how much an act. (Is he pretending to care about Norton beating him to a Bafta? Or pretending to just be pretending to care? Or is that what he wants us to think?) On the one hand, that’s a fun game...
Tom Hodgkinson meets the hard-working stand-up, still fighting for punk values.
Through a mutual friend I booked an interview with Stewart Lee. I’d suggested a daytime slot, but he said, via email, that he wrote all day, then picked up his kids, then did his show in the evening. He is in the middle of a gigantic eighteen-month, 200 date tour. So it would be easier to meet after his show in London – and would I like tickets?
I went to his gig, “Content Provider”, at the Leicester Square Theatre. Wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans and black trainers, Stew did a two and half hour set with a twenty minute interval. It was the 80th he’d done in a row. In the show he plays the character of an embittered liberal Generation X punk Dad, who prefers vinyl to Spotify and is bemused by the new anti- progressive world, with its Trumps, Farages, Game of Thrones (which he has not seen – nor have I) and phone-swiping young people. It’s a character not a million miles away from Lee’s own, or from any number of post-punk, NME-reading, fanzine-hungry children of the seventies and eighties, the rave generation, who are now parents. And in self-aggrandising fashion, he compares himself to the well-dressed man in “Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog”, the great 1818 German painting of romantic alienation, and brings a giant blow-up of the picture on stage. It’s funny, silly, awkward, challenging, lo- and moving in equal measure.
After the show Stew sells and signs CDs and books from a booth at the front of the theatre, much in the manner of a late eighties punk band on the road, selling CDs after the gig. We sit down in the empty theatre and start to chat about how tweeting has replaced getting in the van, among many other things.
We started by talking about the genius of our mutual friend, the actor Ben Moor, who tends to perform at the Idler’s tent at the Port Eliot Festival each year.
sl I went to Port Eliot when I was young, when it was a rock festival. It was called the Elephant Fayre. It must have been 1984. The Fall were playing. I really liked The Fall as a teenager and it was dif cult to see them in Birmingham. There were very odd licensing laws about, because it was a Quaker town. It was hard to get into clubs. I said to my mum, could I go, and she said “No”. But I was actually allowed in the end.
th That must’ve been amazing.
sl And just three years later, when I went to Glastonbury, that whole traveller culture was over. There used to be a lot of people who lived on the road for half the year, going to a network of Fayres – spelt with a Y.
th Yes – my school band played at one, called the Blue Moon Fayre, also in 1984, when we were 16. We just turned up: there was one eld, with a stage at one end, and there were naked people selling hash cookies.
sl What sort of music was your school band?
th Sort of Cramps.
sl The Cramps – I saw them live only once. That was a real education. They did two nights at the Astoria. Lux Interior climbed up the amps during “Psychotic Reaction”. There was a big middle eight. And then he just sort of fell off. Hurt his leg, fell on some glass. He was going “ahhh” but he managed to get back to the mike just in time to come in on the beat, and everyone went “Yeah!” A week later I was in a pub in London and I heard some people talking about the same incident at the same gig. I went, “Were you there on the Wednesday or the Tuesday?” and they went “Tuesday” and I’d been on the Wednesday. I went “Ah, fuck, wow, how brilliant!” There is real improvisation, which is good, but there’s also making people think that they’ve seen something special. Lux was an absolute old Vaudevillian master of that. And I totally bought it. Like tonight, there were a lot of things that were new.
th So how much is improvised?
sl Not as much as it looks. But enough was. Peter Sellars [avant-garde American theatre director] told me I was good at doing what he said, introducing air into an enclosed space ... did I say that?
th Have you been re ecting on these matters since you were very young?
sl It probably started when I did the opera. I helped write the story for Jerry Springer the Opera. What we found ourselves at odds with, was that conven- tional music theatre wants to condense shows to a reproducible grid of actions that can be franchised out. But what we were trying to do was to introduce mess into it. So people onstage had to respond to the audience. It had to be uid because you didn’t know how people were going to laugh. From then I started thinking about “How do you make things special?” rather than just knocking it out. It’s dif cult – I’ll do this show 200 times. th How many have you done so far?
sl This is probably about number 80 or 90. It went through a lull for about about two weeks. I worked out what was wrong with it about ve days ago – all the things which had been improvisations had become xed text. I was trying to fake them, and they weren’t achieving anything. Also, on Tuesday, about two minutes from the end, before the painting comes out, a bloke had a sort of heart attack. And I thought: “If people are having heart attacks, the show is too long.”
th He actually had a heart attack?
sl Yeah, I had to clear the room.
th Reading your columns, I see that you were a Crass fan.
sl I started listening to them twenty years ago. Which is of course a long time ago, but I’d be lying if I said I was a teenage Crass fan.
th You weren’t one of those 13 year olds who bought all the albums ...
sl No, but weirdly Napalm Death [hardcore punk band] were at my school, in the year above me. I didn’t know them, but they were on one of the compila- tions Crass put out, Bullshit Detector. So I knew what anarcho-punk sound- ed like. But I oddly got into Crass more when I moved to Stoke Newington in the nineties. Versions of them were on at the Vortex club, and they’d kind of become free jazz. I once got a bit star struck. I was in a coffee shop, with my kids. Eve Libertine and Penny Rimbaud were there. And I thought: “I’m going to stop and have a conversation because I’d like my children to have met Crass.” So I went: “I’ve just bought all the CD reissues to your records,” to Penny. And he thought I was taking the piss, I think, and said: “Yes, I spent a lot of time remastering those.” I said: “They’re really good.” But mean- while, Eve Libertine had started talking to Luke, who was reading a Ladybird book of William The Conqueror. And afterwards – this is really naff – I said: “You have to remember this, you have to remember you’ve met Crass.” I remember when I was nine I went to a motor show and I saw Lewis Collins from The Professionals at the NEC trying out a car and it absolutely blew my mind. But my kids, by virtue of what I do, meet a lot of people. One of my best friends is Kevin Eldon, who does all the voices in Dangermouse. They think it’s normal that the man they know from round the corner is Penfold. So it’s funny, they met Crass, and Alan Moore... some major gures from the counterculture.
th You spoil them.
sl They don’t really understand that it’s not normal. But then maybe – there’s that thing they say about people who go to Eton, it’s not that it’s better than anywhere else, it’s just that they know people from there who achieve things, so it gives them confidence.
th What college were you in at Oxford?
sl St Edmund Hall, doing English. Were you there then?
th I was at the other one. But I was in a hardcore punk band, called Chopper at the time. We used to play at Wadham College in Oxford.
sl Chopper. That rings a bell.
th On English courses at that time, there was a lot of French literary theory around – Roland Barthes and so on. I wonder whether some of the self-referential stuff in your comedy was in uenced by them?
sl No! It just came out naturally. If anything I’ve probably got it from weird things like John Byrne’s She-Hulk comics, where she would address the reader, or walk between frames. Or Krazy Kat. I didn’t really get it from literary theory, though I’d love to pretend I did. I had a friend who was a drama lecturer at Kingston, and he used to really take the piss out of me. He used to call me “all practice and no theory”. Thing was, he’d never performed in his life.
th And punk and music?
sl I was tangentially aware of free improvisation because of Sonic Youth and The Ex and all that. But then I found that the Vortex club was 100 yards from my at and I saw all those sorts of people. I really loved [the late avant-garde guitarist] Derek Bailey. I ended up speaking at his funeral, weirdly. What I stole from them was that if something goes wrong, they don’t dismiss it, they chase it down. They make the problem into a virtue. They’re good at chang- es of mood and pace. There’s no tunes, in the same way there’s no jokes. And those free jazz guys who say they don’t want to play tunes – they could if they wanted to.
My show isn’t improvised from end to end. But rhythm and textures, tonalities, lengths of things and shifts in mood – I do think about those things. Because I’ve been so busy in the last year I haven’t been to any of that kind of music, but on the 23rd of December I went to see [jazz saxophonist] Evan Parker in Hackney. It was just like being reminded of the point of everything again, it was so inspiring. And also the take it or leave it attitude of people like The Fall I liked. I like Mark E Smith’s affectation onstage that he’s indifferent to the audience ... but he’s actually very needy. There’s a vaudevillian aspect to Mark E Smith. I think I’m a relic of the countercul- ture. But just in the last 18 months I’ve thought: “Oh yeah, young comedians are products of a different time.” Our generation could go, “I’m not gonna do that gig, I’m not gonna do that do that sellout thing.” But our morality and our ethics were more exible because the economics were more exible: we weren’t £30,000 in debt.
th I remember fanzines with long earnest editorials and letters complaining about bands who sell out.
sl I went to Boston seventeen years ago to a festival organised by Terrascope, which was a psychedelic fanzine. I was single, and had some disposable income. There was all sorts of weird stuff on, but the crowning glory for the weekend was that Sonic Youth had agreed to do it. As they often did – they were so great like that. And they drove from New York to Boston in their own van and loaded their own gear, into a room not much bigger than this, and headlined the thing. And the bloke from the group Abunai, which was sort a psychedelic drone band, stood in the middle of the room shouting at them all night: “You suck [music mogul] David Geffen’s dick.” And I thought: “But they’re here!’ You’ve seen them load all their own stuff in! And what did they do with that Geffen money? They made really peculiar strange records.” You’ve got to cut people a bit of slack.
th Chumbawumba were criticised for being on EMI, but actually they got more creative freedom than before, and they got paid. Boff Whalley of Chumbawumba has said that the people who were slagging them off for being on EMI were running indie record labels in their spare time but had day jobs at Barclays Bank ... and that was somehow seen as morally superior.
sl When I started on the comedy circuit, the biggest thing to aspire to was a twenty or thirty date tour of 150 seater art centres. Now you have a 1% type of thing, where a tiny minority are earning loads – and I would include myself in that bracket – while everyone else is scrabbling around for the fuck-all that’s left in this thing. So the society of it, where we all felt in it together, has gone. That’s what they’ve done to us.
th So you’re saying that the alternative comedy scene re ects the wider devel- opment of capitalism and the system?
sl It’s become more competitive. Weirdly the young comedians do social media and they all “like” each other. They almost have to pretend to like each other.
th And you don’t do any social media at all?
sl No.
th When did you start not doing social media?
sl I never started doing it. I looked at where it was going and thought, “This is nuts.”
th Have you ever had some say to you, “But you have to”?
sl Yes, and I think there’s jobs I didn’t get because I don’t do it. But the thing is, I’ve already got half a dozen bipolar stalkers. And I’ve got kids. My persona as a performer is that I’m not your friend. I am really, though! I do loads of gigs and I keep them as cheap as I can. So I am sort of your friend. I am more your friend than someone who goes onstage and pretends to be your friend. But that persona doesn’t work as a Twitter personality. He [pointing to the stage] wouldn’t be on Twitter. So I’m not going on Twitter. I also don’t want the grief in my life. It’s like a chink in your armour. People get to you. Loads of people really hate me – really pathologically hate me.
th I love the inane below the line “comments” from readers which you put in your book – hilarious.
sl I’ve got a bit on the website actually. It’s 600,000 words that I found on the Internet of people hating me, and it really makes me laugh. But I don’t want to give them a way in. I’ve seen a lot of good people torn apart by thinking they can do whack-a-mole on Twitter of all the people that hate them. Donald Trump being one of them of course. So I won’t do it. A couple of times I’ve sent emails drunk at two in the morning and it’s caused problems. I’m not responsible enough to be in control of a Twitter account. And nei- ther is the President of the United States.
th The medium is the message and the whole digital thing somehow encour- ages certain types of behaviour. Even with email, if you dash one off too quickly, it’s easy for the other person to take offence. Have you developed a thicker skin? Because you dish it out as well.
sl I don’t mind having the piss taken out of me, and I don’t mind being hated. But I don’t like being lied about. And I think because I don’t mind being slagged off and parodied, what people have started to do is lie about me, because they know it annoys me. The other interesting thing is, in the last couple of years, I’ve become, for a generation of people, a sort of an annoy- ing establishment gure. Some of the twenty-somethings don’t even like political correctness, which is weird. Because you know what a hard won battle that was. For the 80s generation, to be not racist was really important.
th What about the things that young people like, like Vice magazine?
sl I got asked to do something for Vice magazine so I looked at it. It seemed like all funny pictures and attention-grabbing headlines. I suspected that, were I to take a nuanced position on something in Vice, it would reduced to a click- bait shock-horror sentence, so I didn’t do it.
th These shows you are doing – are they good earners?
sl Yes, they are. But the other weird thing is, I’m not with big rock and roll management. I have one guy, we go in the van together.
th It was fascinating to read in your book, where you say that the bigger gigs can pay less than smaller gigs.
sl Yeah that was with Avalon, that was with rock and roll management.
th Because they just basically suck it all up?
sl Yes, but now we’ve got a lean machine. You can pass the savings on to the consumer, and then the consumer likes you.
th A lot of that stuff, like Avalon, is vanity for the performer.
sl In the mid-nineties, my then- ancée’s sister was going out with a Britpop person in a Britpop group who had been signed and given an advance and came in one day to tell us about all this money he’d spent. So I asked him if he knew what an advance was, and he didn’t really. But the management doesn’t want them to know.
th You do sound incredibly busy. You’ve also got two children.
sl Yes, and my wife is a comic as well.
th You’re writing at home in the daytime as well.
sl It’s too much. That’s why I’m stopping. Back in June, I had a high blood pressure scare, a week after Brexit. And I know what happened – I’m un t, for one thing – but I also stayed awake for about a week watching the news because I was very concerned about it. I was very concerned about how the cultural shift was going to affect what I do. I had just got a new show together and I thought, where’s this now? That’s what caused the stress. My dream plan was to carry on doing this – at this level – for as long as people came, because nobody has really done that. It’s really weird – most stand-ups either give up to become lm stars, because that’s what it was all about any- way, or they do massive gigs, with an hour of stuff and it’s not really a proper show. I just got commissioned to write something for Channel Four, which is really good, because I’m thinking that I might not be able to do this every night for the rest of my life. I really wanted to, but I just don’t think I can. It’s because of the kids.
th How old are they?
sl They’re six and nine now. So I can’t just die. I wouldn’t really have minded before. I could have just died. Like Tommy Cooper.
th Is this the right time to be working so hard, when your children are so young?
sl I’ll get to the end of next year, and then I’m not going to do any touring for two years. Things like homework, you have to be around for it. We don’t know what to do. We’re in this funny position where actually we’re in the clear now nancially, which we never thought would happen. We’re not from families where we ever expected that. So now what do you do? Maybe we should leave London? The kids have got asthma. Maybe we should go somewhere where they don’t get kept in at playtime at school. I’m driven by this, because I love standup, but I don’t think standup loves me anymore. I’m seen as a sort of cul-de-sac.
th Do you manage to get any time off?
sl I manage to go to about thirty gigs a year... I read a tragically small amount of books last year because I was so busy. We always block out school holidays to do things.
th Are you a worrying person?
sl Yes. I’m really worried now, like a lot of middle-class liberals. I’m worried about Europe, I’m worried about the fact that I thought I was going to grow old in a liberal democracy and I also thought I had beaten the system because I had a house. And now, I’ve got a house, well done to me, but in a country where there’s no relationship to what I thought the country was going to be like thirty years ago. I’m the last of the “getting in the van” generation
th It seems to have gone backwards. I can see why it’s liberating to leave, because we had twelve years in North Devon and experienced a real sense of freedom.
sl But you came back. Why? What did you miss?
th Well, because our children are teenagers and we were living in the middle of nowhere. So we thought we’d come back to London. I’m very happy back in Shepherd’s Bush.
sl I feel a bit burned out. The things that keep me in London are being able to go and see music at the Vortex.
th Yeah, you do miss that. There’s less culture.
sl But the things like, you walk through Soho and you used to nd old record shops and old bookshops. I miss that. Hanging out and talking to people behind counters. And it’s the same around the country. I was going to try and write something about it this year. I’ve been going to every town in the coun- try once a year for about 28 years now, and every year, one of the places that was your little stop isn’t there anymore. Like the record shop’s closed, the bookshop’s closed, the person you became friends with in the town has moved or has had a stroke or died. Have you read Your Band Sucks by Jon Fine? From Bitch Magnet?
th Oh yes, you mentioned it in the show.
sl Yeah, I did. It’s about the late 80s, early 90s, American hardcore touring scene and analog media. How exciting it was to have a record, and make connections with people, and how that’s all gone.
th Those bands were also quite entrepreneurial. They’d have their own record labels.
sl Well, it’s a funny thing about the early days of the alternative comedy scene – and I think I’m quoting myself from a book here – it was left-wing, but its economics were Thatcherite. We were all independent businessmen, essentially.
th That’s right but I don’t see anything wrong with that. I think there’s some-thing nice about the small shopkeeper and the individual person.
sl So do I. People take the piss out of me sometimes. They say that I approach this with the attitude of being a small business. And I do. And I remember that used to really make me laugh about The Fall. I don’t know Mark E Smith, but I’ve interviewed him about ve times at ve year intervals about different things. I went to meet him once in a pub in Manchester in the mid-nineties. As I got there, Steve Hanley and Karl Burns got there.
th Who?
sl The bass player and the drummer then. They were giving him receipts for new strings and stuff. And he got a grubby envelope out and paid them with cash and took the receipts. I thought that was really funny. In a way, that’s been my sort of model.
th But Mark E. Smith is not exactly left-wing?
sl No, he’s not. It’s funny, I make allowances for him. Because I like the music so much, I can’t afford to blacklist him in my mind. Whereas with other people, I can’t listen to their stuff anymore because I don’t like things they’ve said. I don’t know young people. And with a lot of them I don’t even understand the stuff they’re talking about because it’s to do with things on the Internet or with apps or some meme. Funnily enough, in this, in every show now there’ll be a bit where I make a virtue of talking at length about something like Game of Thrones, a TV show that is a big deal but is some- thing I’ve never seen. But you can only do that once. If I can keep going for another 20 years, and even if the audience depreciates by 75% in that time, I can help the kids out with college and shift the mortgage. The end is in sight bizarrely. I never thought that would happen.
th Well, congratulations for keeping going. It must have been quite tough at certain points.
sl Well, the nineties were fun because you were young so it didn’t matter if you were poor. The only really tough bit was in my late twenties and early thirties, when I wasn’t earning anything. I was with rock and roll manage- ment and I was in debt and then I chopped the legs out from under every- thing. I did that Henry Rollins “get in the van” thing for about four years, where I went all around the country to little gigs. But I think I might have been the last of the getting in the van generation. And I got that phrase from American hardcore: they would talk about “getting in the van”. And my “get in the van” years were late. They were 2005 to 2008.
th But that laid the foundations for what you’re doing now?
sl Absolutely. But young people don’t get in the van. Instead they create a hashtag or do a social networking thing, or they ask me at a gig if I’ve seen their act and if I say yes, they ask me what I think of it because they want to quote me on it. Because your name drives traf c through. Or they change something you said so it sounds controversial and they can drive traf c through that. Everything is traf c driving. Reading Jon Fine’s book, he talks very romantically about the late 80s – getting up in the middle of the night to go to copy shops to create yers and how with certain printers you could run the yer through once in green and then a second time in black and get a two-colour yer. Instead of that, people are now thinking: what meme can we create that will catch on?
th But you don’t just get a following by Tweeting.
sl Well, you can get a following. Poor little Dapper Laughs, he’s been very good at making three second sexist videos. Then he was thrown to the lions to do a live show, and he didn’t have any experience of thinking about how that tone of voice would play over that time. I don’t like what he does but it was inevitably going to be a car crash. I did ten years of being a circuit comic. But it’s been fteen years since I was a comic who had to turn up in front of audi- ences that just wanted a night out and make it work. Actually, a lot of young comics have written really interesting blogs about this, both here and in America. Nish Kumar, one of the young comics who I like, the Friday of the Brexit vote, was on stage at the Comedy Store and said something about Brexit, and someone shouted to him, a brown-faced man, “Well, go home then”. And that’s not happened for thirty years. All of a sudden the tap was turned on. But a young comic in Brighton wrote a great blog about how it’s all very well for comics like me, doing theatre shows, to do confrontational stuff about where the country’s at. But if you’re a working circuit comic on a Thursday night, in a club where people have come for a night out, you’re unlikely to be rebooked for the gig that pays your bills if you divide the room. You’re not doing that on your own time, like I am doing here – you’re doing it on the time of that promoter.
Tom Hodgkinson meets the hard-working stand-up, still fighting for punk values. Through a mutual friend I booked an interview with Stewart Lee. I’d suggested a daytime slot, but he said, via email, that he wrote all day, then picked up his kids, then did his show in the evening. He is in the middle of a gigantic eighteen-month, 200 date tour. So it would be easier to meet after his show in London – and would I like tickets? I went to his gig, “Content Provider”, at the Leicester Square Theatre. Wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans and black trainers, Stew did a two and half hour set with a twenty minute interval. It was the 80th he’d done in a row. In the show he plays the character of an embittered liberal Generation X punk Dad, who prefers vinyl to Spotify and is bemused by the new anti- progressive world, with its Trumps, Farages, Game of Thrones (which he has not seen – nor have I) and phone-swiping young people. It’s a character not a million miles away from Lee’s own, or from any number of post-punk, NME-reading, fanzine-hungry children of the seventies and eighties, the rave generation, who are now parents. And in self-aggrandising fashion, he compares himself to the well-dressed man in “Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog”, the great 1818 German painting of romantic alienation, and brings a giant blow-up of the picture on stage. It’s funny, silly, awkward, challenging, lo- and moving in equal measure. After the show Stew sells and signs CDs and books from a booth at the front of the theatre, much in the manner of a late eighties punk band on the road, selling CDs after the gig. We sit down in the empty theatre and start to chat about how...
He is well known enough not to need a 6ft tall phallus and a velvet white whale to draw in the punters, but Stewart Lee seems to like strange props.
The audience is advised to familiarise itself with the story of Moby Dick from a copy it has been handed before the show, and some soothsaying 'fortune sandwiches' are passed around at the end. It is a good set. Lee explains how he hit on the idea of showing a fight between porn king King Dong and Moby Dick.
He says that he wanted to get two references to the male member in his show title. There is also a great scene of Lee trying out his idea in front of an unreceptive student audience. It is a mixture of a stand-up show and a bizarre lecture on two dicks and it is funny.
Lee's timing is smooth and his material irreverent and imaginative.
It is a busy, convoluted story which rolls a lot of different types of humour into an hour and keeps you wanting more. Incidentally, my fortune sandwich said: "As flies to shit, so are you to disappointments."
This show proved an exception to the rule.
Stewart Lee
1997-08-14T19:16:38+01:00
He is well known enough not to need a 6ft tall phallus and a velvet white whale to draw in the punters, but Stewart Lee seems to like strange props. The audience is advised to familiarise itself with the story of Moby Dick from a copy it has been handed before the show, and some soothsaying 'fortune sandwiches' are passed around at the end. It is a good set. Lee explains how he hit on the idea of showing a fight between porn king King Dong and Moby Dick. He says that he wanted to get two references to the male member in his show title. There is also a great scene of Lee trying out his idea in front of an unreceptive student audience. It is a mixture of a stand-up show and a bizarre lecture on two dicks and it is funny. Lee's timing is smooth and his material irreverent and imaginative. It is a busy, convoluted story which rolls a lot of different types of humour into an hour and keeps you wanting more. Incidentally, my fortune sandwich said: "As flies to shit, so are you to disappointments." This show proved an exception to the rule.
I am now writing 1000 funny words a week for Carol Cadwalladr’s new on-line newspaper The Nerve, run by people who were sacked or quit when Tories took over The Observer. It is immediately ace. Sign up here and it would also really be great if you could pay them £6.95 a month as the 5 women at the helm sunk all their redundancy money into it. Carol understands that the only story in town is how the tech-bros choose what news we see and how we understand the world, and The Nerve will address this head on. The only news that matters. Please send the link below and this begging request to anyone you can. https://www.thenerve.news
2. ALEXANDRA PALACE LONDON MAN-WULF RUN FEB 3RD-15TH 2026
STEWART LEE VS THE MAN-WULF. The unstoppable Man-Wulf show has another London run, having already done 12000 seats at Royal Festival Hall and 12000 seats at Leicester Sq Theatre. It’s sure to look great in the gothic confines of the Alexandra Palace theatre. My favourite show to perform and as the world gets worse the basic premise of the show – that the bully boys are taking over in music, comedy and TV cooking shows – only gets funnier. ALEXANDRA PALACE, 3rd – 15th Feb 2026, Tuesday to Saturday at 7.30pm plus Sunday matinees at 3.30pm Tickets on sale 30th July. BOOK HERE: https://www.alexandrapalace.com/whats-on/stewart-lee-vs-the-man-wulf/
3.NEW MERCH
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here - https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee
4. MAN-WULF BY THE PRIMEVALS
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour. There are 3 versions. Side a I’m The Man-Wulf. Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit). Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!). Vinyl sides a&b were released on a 7” 45 in January. https://primevals.bandcamp.com
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF
BRAND NEW SHOW
TOURING THROUGHOUT 2025/26 NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up. The show will tour the UK throughout 2025 and 2026.
Saturday 11th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS Tuesday 21st October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS Wednesday 22nd October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS Thursday 23rd October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS Friday 24th October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS Saturday 25th October 2025 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS Friday 31st October 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
November 2025
Saturday 1st November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS Sunday 2nd November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS Monday 3rd November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS Tuesday 4th November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS Friday 7th November 2025 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS Saturday 8th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS Sunday 9th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS Tuesday 11th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS Wednesday 12th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS Thursday 13th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS Friday 14th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS Saturday 15th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS Monday 17th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Tuesday 18th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Wednesday 19th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Thursday 20th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
February 2026
Tuesday 3rd February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 4th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 5th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Friday 6th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Saturday 7th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 8th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 10th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 11th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 12th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Friday 13th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Saturday 14th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 15th February 2026 - Alexandra Palace Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 17th February 2026 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS Wednesday 18th February 2026 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
May 2026
Wednesday 6th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS Thursday 7th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS Friday 8th May 2026 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS Saturday 9th May 2026 - Richmond Theatre, Richmond - TICKETS Monday 11th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS Tuesday 12th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS Wednesday 13th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS Thursday 14th May 2026 - Floral Pavilion Theatre, New Brighton - TICKETS Friday 15th May 2026 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS Saturday 16th May 2026 - Stockton Globe, Stockton On Tees - TICKETS Tuesday 19th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS Wednesday 20th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
June 2026
Monday 1st June 2026 - 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS Tuesday 2nd June 2026 - Bord Gais Energy Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS Wednesday 3rd June 2026 - The Tommy Leddy Theatre, Drogheda - TICKETS Thursday 4th June 2026 - Millennium Forum, Derry - TICKETS Friday 5th June 2026 - National Opera House, Wexford - TICKETS Sunday 7th June 2026 - Opera House, Cork - TICKETS Wednesday 10th June 2026 - Theatre Royal, Waterford - TICKETS Sunday 14th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS Monday 15th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS Tuesday 16th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS Thursday 18th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS Friday 19th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS Sunday 21st June 2026 - New Victoria Theatre, Woking - TICKETS Tuesday 23rd June 2026 - Venue Cymru, Llandudno - TICKETS Wednesday 24th June 2026 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS Thursday 25th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS Friday 26th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS Saturday 27th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS Tuesday 30th June 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
July 2026
Wednesday 1st July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS Thursday 2nd July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS Saturday 4th July 2026 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS Tuesday 7th July 2026 - Lyceum, Crewe - TICKETS Wednesday 8th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS Thursday 9th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS Friday 10th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS Saturday 11th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS Monday 13th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS Tuesday 14th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS Wednesday 15th July 2026 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS Thursday 16th July 2026 - Perth Theatre, Perth - TICKETS Friday 17th July 2026 - Eden Court, Inverness - TICKETS
September 2026
Thursday 3rd September 2026 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS Friday 4th September 2026 - Pavillion, Weymouth - TICKETS Saturday 5th September 2026 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS Monday 7th September 2026 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS Tuesday 8th September 2026 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS Thursday 10th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS Friday 11th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS Saturday 12th September 2026 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS Wednesday 16th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS Thursday 17th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS Friday 18th September 2026 - Castle Theatre, Wellingborough - TICKETS Saturday 19th September 2026 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS Sunday 20th September 2026 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS Thursday 24th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS Friday 25th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS Saturday 26th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
October 2026
Thursday 1st October 2026 - The Spa Centre, Scarborough - TICKETS Friday 2nd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS Saturday 3rd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS Tuesday 6th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS Wednesday 7th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS Monday 12th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS Tuesday 13th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS Saturday 17th October 2026 - Waterside Theatre, Aylesbury - TICKETS Friday 23rd October 2026 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
November 2026
Thursday 12th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS Friday 13th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
7. SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism. We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
8. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE COUNTER CULTURE.
I have been presenting Simon Hollis’ Radio 4 doc series which can be heard here.
Derek Bailey formed COMPANY in 1976. The premise was an effectively simple one; invite a group of musicians to improvise together, in various ad-hoc formations, with as little pre-planning as possible. COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) celebrates this endeavour, and also marks the twentieth anniversary of Derek’s passing.
Khabat Abas (cello)
Julia Brüssel (violin)
John Butcher (saxophones)
Teresa Hackel (recorders)
Charles Hayward (drums)
Petra Heller (tap dance)
Pat Thomas (piano, electronics)
Matt Wand (electronics)
Alex Ward (electric guitar, clarinet)
Mark Wastell (percussion)
Compered by Stewart Lee
COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) includes musicians that participated in original COMPANY events organised by Derek; John Butcher (1990/91/92/95), Pat Thomas (1990/91), Alex Ward (1988/90/94, 2002), Mark Wastell (1999, 2000/01) and Matt Wand (1992/93), alongside performers new to the form; Khabat Abas, Charle Hayward, Teresa Heckel, Petra Heller and Julia Brüssel. Over two evenings, these ten musicians will combine in various group formations, chosen by a particular individual just moments before going on stage. The whole event will be compered by Derek Bailey devotee, Stewart Lee. COMPANY 2025 (for Derek Bailey) curated by John Butcher, Tim Fletcher, Ian Greaves and Mark Wastell.
10. DR JOHN COOPER CLARKE AND SPECIAL GUESTS – REMEMBERING JOHNNY GREEN. CADOGAN HALL, LONDON, WEDS DEC 3RD.
Join the legendary Dr John Cooper Clarke, alongside special guests Richard Hawley and Stewart Lee, for an evening celebrating the life and legacy of Road Manager extraordinaire, Johnny Green. Best known as The Clash’s Road Manager during their meteoric rise, Johnny chronicled this unforgettable chapter in his acclaimed memoir, A Riot of Our Own (available for purchase in the foyer). In the 1980s, his journey took him across the Atlantic, working with icons like Willie Nelson and Joe Ely. For the past 15 years, Johnny was the ever-reliable Gentleman Companion to John Cooper Clarke, ensuring he was on time and on song for every one of his many gigs. The evening also features performances from special guests and friends: Mike Garry, Freya Beer, Luke Wright, Toria Garbutt, Clare Ferguson-Walker, Tim Wells, and Johnny’s son, Earl Broad. A passionate cycling enthusiast, Johnny was a devoted follower of the Tour de France. His behind-the-scenes book, Push Yourself A Little Bit More, is a must-read for fans of the sport. He also penned a regular column for Rouleur magazine, offering hilarious and alternative insights into the cycling world. The entertainment world has lost a true original, and this evening is its way of remembering Johnny Green. All profits from the event will go to Johnny’s chosen charity, Médecins Sans Frontières. TICKETS HERE
11. MOVIEDROME DOC
I am in a BFI doc about Alex Cox’s Moviedrome, here
Canadian free-rock band Earthball have sampled some of my stand-up for the opening of their new album. “PREORDER: 'Outside Over There' by EarthBall The noise rock and experimental rock group return with their third LP. Features Stewart Lee and liner notes by John Olson of Wolf Eyes.”
Kitson comperes Stewart Lee, Ivo Graham, Two Hearts, Fatiha El-Ghorri and Alison Spittle.
STAND UP FOR ORANGUTANS, 24TH November, Leicester Sq Theatre, London, with Stewart Lee, Harry Hill, Alison Spittle, Robin Ince, Sikisa and Huge Davies. Did you know a group of orangutans is called a buffoonery? It’s the perfect name for this stellar line-up of comedians, coming together to help protect these incredible apes and the rainforests they call home. Every ticket sold supports the Sumatran Orangutan Society’s work protecting critically endangered Sumatran orangutans and preserving their precious rainforest habitat, which they share with tigers, elephants, rhinos, sunbears and so much other incredible wildlife. So gather your mates, book your tickets, and stand up for orangutans. It’s proper good fun for a proper good cause. Because sometimes the best way to make a difference is to have a good laugh whilst doing it. https://www.leicestersquaretheatre.com/show/the-buffoonery/
Once again the fake astro-turfed Tufton St pressure group Restore Trust is attempting to parachute its own candidates onto the board of the National Trust for undisclosed, presumably nefarious, ends, under the cloak of ‘resisting wokeness’. If you are an NT member vote in the AGM for the National Trust’s preferred candidates here before October 31st to save the lands for future generations as intended.
Kiri Prithcard-McLean did this interview with me. I think it’s been sped up a tad but even so it is so thoughtful and kind it I hope it goes on to form an element of the BBC commemorative programming in the event of my death https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m002jcs9
17. STRONG MESSAGE HERE
I am appearing on BBC podcast with Armando Ianucci
LISA KNAPP & GERRY DRIVE The folk duo are out with their new album Hinterland. Gerry used to rehearse in out Tooting shared house 35 years ago when he was in a band Sine with my flatmate Mike Cosgrave so if you are a Stewart Lee completist superfan you must see this. 0CT 2nd Galway Monroes, 3rd Cork Triskel Arts, 5th Derry Sandino’s, 6th Belfast Crescent, 9th London Cecil Sharp House, 14th Online Live To Your Living Room, 16th Bretforton Fleece, 17th Leeds Howard Assembly Rooms, 18th Whitby Musicport Festival, 19th Sale Waterside, 20th Bath Chapel Arts, 31st/Nov 1st – Cardigan Other Voices Fest.
EDWYN COLLINS Orange Juice’s indiepop originator OCT 2nd S’hampton Central Hall, 3rd Brighton St Georges, 4th London RFH, 6th Norwich Epic, 7th Manchester Albert Hall, 8th Newcastle Boiler Shop
14 ICED BEARS Unexpected re-emergence of Rob Secula’s lysergic proto-shoegazers. OCT 2nd The Victoria, Hackney, London.
THE EX 3 DAY RESIDENCY. Holland’s amazing anarcho-jazzers The Ex have a 3 day residency at London’s Café Oto OCT 2ND - 4TH. All nights have sold out, except the first one, which I am compering, so make of that what you will. https://www.cafeoto.co.uk/events/the-ex-three-day-residency-25/
WAVE PICTURES One of the great British indie rock bands make their annual circuit of our land. OCT 3rd Liverpool Rough Trade, 9th London Earth, 10th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 11th Reading South Street.
MISTY AT FIFTY! Misty in Roots, Britain’s most mystical home-grown radical roots rockers hit their half century. If you don’t go YOU ARE LIKE A CABBAGE IN THIS SOCIETY! OCT 3rd Reading Sub89, 24TH London Electric Ballroom, 30th Brighton Concorde
THE MAGPIE ARC Country-folk-indie conglomerate. OCT 17th Cast Doncaster, 18th Indoor Festival of Folk (North), Victoria Hall, Settle (with Edgelarks, Frankie Archer, The Bookshop Band, The Magpie Arc and Ashley Hutchings in conversation with Matthew Bannister), 19th Cluny 2 Newcastle, 23rd South Street Reading, 24th Water Rats London, 25th Ragged Bear Festival, Nuneaton (with The Men They Couldn’t Hang, Greenman Rising, Gaz Brookfield), 26th Acapela Studio Cardiff, 30th Gloucester Guildhall, NOV 1st Met Bury, 2nd Robin 2 Bilston
THE LOVELY EGGS’ 20TH ANNIVERSARY TOUR Durable art-punk DIY duo continue to dazzle into their third decade. OCT 22nd Edinburgh Belle Angele, 23rd Glasgow Oran Moor, 24th Newcastle Uni, 25th Leeds Brudenell, 26th Brighton Concorde 2, 27th London Garage, 28th Cardiff Globe, 29th B’ham Castle & Falcon, 30th M’cr Academy 2, 31st Nottingham Metronome, NOV 1st Bristol Trinity. I will open for them at the Brighton show.
PROLAPSE I was so excited by the unexpected return of Prolapse that I actually had a prolapse, and I can’t even make any of their dates, so it was all for nothing. OCT 26th London Lexington, 27th Sheffield Sydney & Matilda, 28th Leicester International, 30th M’cr Star & Garter, 31st Oxford Common Ground.
BEN MOOR – THREE THING DAY. The wry wordsmith has another linguistically lush meta-fiction ready to drop. Ben says...
Already in the diary for next year, a performance at one of my favourite places in the world - I've done lots of shows here over the years and they have always been an absolute delight.
BEN EDGE – CHILDREN OF ALBION. The punk-ruralist painter has a new exhibition at the Fitzrovia Chapel, London, 6th – 26th November.
BOB MOULD Hardcore punk pioneer of Husker Du/Sugar lineage. NOV 18th Glasgow Oran Mor, 19th Leeds Brudenell, 20th London Dome
SAINTS 73-79 Superb! The original line-up of the Australian Punk progenitors, but with Mudhoney's Howlin’ Mark Arm deputising for the departed Chris Bailey (a gentleman and a scholar who once came to one of my shows and told me his tales afterwards!). His original co-writer and co-guitarist Ed Kuepper remains undimmed and the authentic ‘70s rhythm section will rattle your bones. NOVEMBER 21ST Bristol Trinity, 22nd Leeds Project, 23rd Glasgow Garage, 24th M’cr Academy 2, 26th London Camden Electric
DREAM SYNDICATE You must see this enduring American rock institution who impossibly combine free-jazz styled freakouts with classic solid literary songwriting. JAN 30TH London Garage, FEB 1st M’cr Band On The Wall.
SLEAFORD MODS It’s easy to take Sleaford Mods for granted, but go and see them live and be reminded what an amazing act this is, as much Beckettian theatre as it is whatever else it is. £1 on every ticket goes to Warchild. FEB 6th Glasgow Barrowland Ballroom, 7th Manchester Academy, 12th Leeds O2 Academy, 13th Liverpool O2 Academy, 14th Cardiff Great Hall, 19th Dublin 3Olympia, 20th Belfast Limelight, 21st Cork Cyprus Avenue, 26th Oxford O2 Academy, 27th Nottingham Rock City, MARCH 5th Bristol Bristol Beacon, 6th Brighton Dome, 7th London 02 Academy Brixton.
IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2025
Barre Phillips (Jazz bassman, 1934)
Bob Grover (Brighton Piranha, 1956)
Riro (Japanese sea otter, 2007)
Nora Orlandi (Spaghetti symphonist, 1933)
Ed Askew (Acid folkie, 1940)
Tony Slattery (The vile blows of the world made him reckless, 1959)
Eleonora Giorgi (Young, violent and dangerous, 1953)
David Thomas (Ube Pere, 1953)
Mike Peters (He alarmed Wales, 1959)
James Baker (Hoodoo victim of beastly scientists, 1954)
Larry Lee (Ozark Mountain Devil, 1947)
Wizz Jones (The Lazy Farmer, 1939)
David Briggs (He signalled the test of our whistles, 1943)
Kimble Rendall (Hoodoo Guru from year zero, 1957)
Jack Katz (First Kingdom comics guy, 1927)
Ed Smylie (Saved Apollo 13 with sellotape, 1914)
George Wendt (Barfly Freak Fan, 1948)
Peter David (He turned Hulk grey for peanuts, 1956)
Loretta Switt (Hilarious dish of MASH, 1937)
Louis Moholo (S African freedom-drummer, 1940)
Hunt Powers (Spaghetti star, 1929)
Simon House (Hawkstrings, 1948)
Colin Conflict (He could not win a nuclear war, 1963)
David Kaff (He had a good time all the time, 1946)
Daniel Postgate (Together, we held Bagpuss in Totnes, 1963)
Lalo Schifrin (He entered the dragon, 1932)
Brian Wilson (He wished they all could be California girls, 1942)
Junior Byles (His locks be curly, 1948)
Terry Draper (He called occupants of interplanetary craft, 1951)
Jill Sobule (She kissed a girl, 1959)
Terry Manning (Stax to the max, 1947)
Roy Ayers (Coffy percolator, 1943)
Edip Akbayram (Turkish funk soul brother, 1950)
Ozzy Osborne (He married a sociopath and pre-empted grunge, 1948)
Hulk Hogan (Worthless steroid-addled Trump-loving metafiction, 1953)
Tom Lehrer (He poisoned the pigeons, 1928)
Allan Ahlberg (Peepoo understands WWII implicitly, 1938)
Terry Reid (Funky folk bluesman, 1949)
Graham Green (Oneida and actor, 1952)
Mark Volman (Happy turtle, 1947)
Claudia Cardinale (Human-divine fusion of earth and stars, 1938)
Danny Thompson (He refuted the jazz-folk impossibility, 1939)
Stewart Lee
2025-10-10T20:33:44+01:00
1.THE NERVE I am now writing 1000 funny words a week for Carol Cadwalladr’s new on-line newspaper The Nerve, run by people who were sacked or quit when Tories took over The Observer. It is immediately ace. Sign up here and it would also really be great if you could pay them £6.95 a month as the 5 women at the helm sunk all their redundancy money into it. Carol understands that the only story in town is how the tech-bros choose what news we see and how we understand the world, and The Nerve will address this head on. The only news that matters. Please send the link below and this begging request to anyone you can. https://www.thenerve.news 2. ALEXANDRA PALACE LONDON MAN-WULF RUN FEB 3RD-15TH 2026 STEWART LEE VS THE MAN-WULF. The unstoppable Man-Wulf show has another London run, having already done 12000 seats at Royal Festival Hall and 12000 seats at Leicester Sq Theatre. It’s sure to look great in the gothic confines of the Alexandra Palace theatre. My favourite show to perform and as the world gets worse the basic premise of the show – that the bully boys are taking over in music, comedy and TV cooking shows – only gets funnier. ALEXANDRA PALACE, 3rd – 15th Feb 2026, Tuesday to Saturday at 7.30pm plus Sunday matinees at 3.30pm Tickets on sale 30th July. BOOK HERE: https://www.alexandrapalace.com/whats-on/stewart-lee-vs-the-man-wulf/ 3.NEW MERCH Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here - https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee 4. MAN-WULF BY THE PRIMEVALS Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new...
Last weekend, the world woke to find Morrisons had projected an image of a cut-price baguette on to the outstretched wings of Antony Gormley's iconic public artwork TheAngel of the North. The stick of bread was the perfect shape to occupy the Angel's wingspan, and one wonders what other products Morrisons might have filled Gormley's emotionally resonant secular sacred space with next. A toilet brush perhaps? Or maybe a vibrating anal probe? Except that Morrisons don't sell vibrating anal probes. They have standards.
Critics suggested a boycott of Morrisons. I suggest we continue to shop there, but always take a large Party Egg off the shelf and eat it, whole and unpaid for, before reaching the checkout. This is what I do at Sainsbury's on Green Lanes every week, as the hypocritical arts-patronising chain withdrew a DVD of mine from sale after protests from the religious right in 2005. At this rate, Sainsbury's will soon be bankrupt and I will be 18 stone of ersatz sausage meat.
Back in 1998, when he was first installed near the A1, all the Geordies hated the Angel. They ran around naked in Big Market, licking pease pudding off each other's hands, and bellowing the usual arguments about how many kids' football pitches the sculpture could have paid for. In the war against art and thought sport always seems to be the trump card. But can I be the only person who looks at the £8.92bn price tag of the London Olympics and thinks: "That could have paid for 1.8bn different 50-seater fringe theatre productions, each with the potential to change lives for ever, and none of them requiring the presence of Boris Johnson and the Dow Chemical Company?"
In the end Gormley won the battle for hearts and minds. His 2003 piece at Newcastle's Baltic, Domain Field, invited hundreds of sceptical locals to be caked in wet plaster and made into a massive piece of Art. Geordies love getting plastered, and suddenly the people took proud ownership of their Angel. It's fair to say Morrisons picked the wrong quasi-religious industrially themed icon to project a cut-price loaf on to. But the supermarket's action was not without precedent.
I do not believe in God, but the image of the Angel of the North moves me, as do the relics of our distant spiritual heritage strewn randomly around the British landscape: Stonehenge, the Cerne Abbas Giant, Ann Widdecombe, and the former archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. In March 2012, the stupid bookmakers Paddy Power celebrated the Cheltenham horse murdering festival by drawing a jockey overnight on to the 3,000-year-old chalky flanks of White Horse of Uffington. Paddy Power claim to have done no damage and instead their own blog invited us to think of them as "lovable scamps" and "mischief makers", the Horrid Henrys of wilful cultural vandalism.
Presumably the bronze age visionary Thongor of the Chalky Horse That Looks A Bit Like A Duck still sits, resigned to fixed fate, in whatever pre-Christian netherworld he now calls home and, like Gormley, concedes: "I'd rather the work was not used for commercial purposes, but it's out there now," unable and unwilling to deal with copyright matters connected to the appropriation of his Picasso-anticipating dream of equine energy to promoting betting shops and gambling debts.
It was early Sunday morning when I read about Morrisons. I had awoken in a bespoke yurt, in the green fields of the Machynlleth comedy festival, in the shadows of Snowdonia, and my annoyance with the heartbreaking illuminated baguette was doubtless sharpened by a weekend spent at this peerless boutique event, where culture never comes second to commerce. But I am a puritan relic of an age undreamed of, when the Clash wouldn't do Top of the Pops, even Mötley Crüe wouldn't play South Africa, and when, if John Peel did do advert voiceovers, he at least sounded slightly ashamed.
But those days are gone. Our last culture minister suggested that public art's only value was commercial, and our new culture minister supports ticket touts, suggesting culture's value is merely whatever the market wants to pay for it. In receipt of such mixed messages, is it any wonder Morrisons looked at the aching wingspan of Gormley's Angel and saw only an empty space that wasn't being maximally monetised?
And that's where we are now. Ancient forests can be destroyed, if equal amounts of trees are planted somewhere else, an inherent sense of place and historical resonance translated into the worth of its mere weight in wood. It's me that's out of step, I am sure. If we can advertise on ancient hill figures, and publicise on public art, I wondered, as I drove home across Wales, what other monetisable spaces, previously considered sacred, are we failing to optimise? And then it struck me. The subconscious itself is going to waste. What of those unmanageable moments, where we are struck by beauty and meaning we had not foreseen? They are what makes us human, admittedly, but is there some way to make them pay?
Aiming to cross the Severn by the M4, I stopped at Tintern Abbey, and dragged our sleeping children into the sunlight. Normally I would have pointed them at the romantic ruin and lectured them on how it inspired in Wordsworth, Turner and Tennyson the apprehension of the sublime. Instead, I forcibly marched them around the site, chanting: "Buy Morrisons bread! Gamble at Paddy Power! Buy Morrisons bread! Gamble at Paddy Power!" until, crying and ashamed, they begged me to stop.
Dovetailing through Caerleon, where the Welsh mystic Arthur Machen saw the Great God Pan, I wandered the woodland glades shouting at walkers, "Buy Morrisons bread! Gamble at Paddy Power! Buy Morrisons bread! Gamble at Paddy Power!" and then, somewhat distressed, I vomited in the churchyard of St Cadoc's, the residue forming the perfect outline of a Morrisons baguette upon an ancient grave.
We drove on, to the Aust service station on the M4, where, just short of the Severn Bridge, a Vauxhall Cavalier, belonging to Richey Edwards from the Manic Street Preachers, was found abandoned in February 1995. In the Costa Coffee I carved into my arm with a razor blade the words "Buy Morrisons bread! Gamble at Paddy Power!" Now no one could doubt my sincerity, my fitness for purpose in this brave new age. My arm hurts. My children are embarrassed. There is sick everywhere. And blood. Who do I invoice? There must be some way of getting all this thoughts and feelings shit to pay for itself? Come on!
Stewart Lee
2014-05-11T13:18:58+01:00
Last weekend, the world woke to find Morrisons had projected an image of a cut-price baguette on to the outstretched wings of Antony Gormley's iconic public artwork The Angel of the North. The stick of bread was the perfect shape to occupy the Angel's wingspan, and one wonders what other products Morrisons might have filled Gormley's emotionally resonant secular sacred space with next. A toilet brush perhaps? Or maybe a vibrating anal probe? Except that Morrisons don't sell vibrating anal probes. They have standards. Critics suggested a boycott of Morrisons. I suggest we continue to shop there, but always take a large Party Egg off the shelf and eat it, whole and unpaid for, before reaching the checkout. This is what I do at Sainsbury's on Green Lanes every week, as the hypocritical arts-patronising chain withdrew a DVD of mine from sale after protests from the religious right in 2005. At this rate, Sainsbury's will soon be bankrupt and I will be 18 stone of ersatz sausage meat. Back in 1998, when he was first installed near the A1, all the Geordies hated the Angel. They ran around naked in Big Market, licking pease pudding off each other's hands, and bellowing the usual arguments about how many kids' football pitches the sculpture could have paid for. In the war against art and thought sport always seems to be the trump card. But can I be the only person who looks at the £8.92bn price tag of the London Olympics and thinks: "That could have paid for 1.8bn different 50-seater fringe theatre productions, each with the potential to change lives for ever, and none of them requiring the presence of Boris Johnson and the Dow Chemical Company?" In the end Gormley won the battle for hearts and minds. His 2003 piece at...
Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times
★★★★ Financial Times
★★★★ Chortle
“One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus
“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman
The film is also screening this month in The Revelation Perth International Film Festival from 3rd - 10th July, so if you are in Western Australia you can hop on a bus, like the Red Dog of Dampier, and see it there! Fair dinkum!
I just did this piece of KRS1-style edu-tainment for BBCR4 with Resonance 104.4FM alumney Michael Umney, called Stewart Lee - Unreliable Narrator. Lots of comedians in it.
Shirley Collins/Stewart Lee 7th July - I am in conversation w the folk singer and writer Shirley Collins at the East Sussex bohemian hangout Charleston.
The venue also features the first ever painting retrospective of the brilliantly bonkers Fitzrovian character, writer and micro-genius Nina Hamnett.
The record store day dbl vinyl of Asian Dub Foundation’s Access Denied album includes a ‘neolithic’ remix of the no 1 single Comin’ Over Here (feat. Stewart Lee) Facebook Link
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album, which didn’t happen after something got spilt on the laptop that had all the tracks on it.
Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
Exclusive Priority Booking for 2022 – GET BEST SEATS AT LST.
SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO (With new material for 2022) will restart at London's Leicester Square Theatre in January 2022.
Mailing list members can book Leicester Square Theatre dates (4 – 13 Jan 2022) 48 hours before they go on sale to the general public on Thursday 24th June.
After the abrupt end of the covid-cancelled sell-out tour of Snowflake/Tornado in March 2020, Stewart Lee, “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times), returns to Leicester Square Theatre in January 2022 and then to more than 60 towns and cities in the UK.
The tour, a double bill of two 60-minute sets, back-to-back nightly, will include new material for 2022.
The first half, Snowflake, will be heavily rewritten in the light of the two years the show has been laid off, looking at how the Covid-Brexit era has impacted on the culture war declared on lovely woke snowflakes by horrible people.
The second half, Tornado, questions Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly listed his show as “reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
January 2022
Tuesday 4th January 2022 - Thursday 13th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 15th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Monday 17th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 18th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Wednesday 19th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Thursday 20th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Friday 21st January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Saturday 22nd January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford
Tuesday 25th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 28th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Sunday 30th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
February 2022
Wednesday 2nd February 2022 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd February 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Friday 4th February 2022 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 5th February 2022 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 10th February 2022 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 11th February 2022 - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 12th February 2022 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Sunday 13th February 2022 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 26th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 27th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 28th February 2022 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
March 2022
Wednesday 2nd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 4th March 2022 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Saturday 5th March 2022 - Playhouse, Salisbury
Sunday 6th March 2022 - De La Warr Pavillion, Bexhill On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th March 2022 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield - TICKETS
Thursday 10th March 2022 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 11th March 2022 - The Courtyard, Hereford
Saturday 12th March 2022 - Grand Theatre, Swansea
Monday 14th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 15th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th March 2022 - The Sands Centre, Carlisle - TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd March 2022 - Churchill Theatre, Bromley - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 26th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 27th March 2022 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th March 2022 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 31st March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
April 2022
Friday 1st April 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd April 2022 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th April 2022 - Wyvern Theatre, Swindon - TICKETS
Friday 22nd April 2022 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Sunday 24th April 2022 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Thursday 28th April 2022 - Derby Theatre, Derby - TICKETS
Friday 29th April 2022 - Lyceum Theatre, Crewe - TICKETS
Saturday 30th April 2022 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
May 2022
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 4th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 5th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 6th May 2022 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 7th May 2022 - Gala Theatre, Durham - TICKETS
Sunday 8th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford
Wednesday 11th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford
Thursday 12th May 2022 - Assembly Hall Theatre, Tunbridge Wells
Friday 13th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 14th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Tuesday 17th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Wednesday 18th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 19th May 2022 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Sunday 22nd May 2022 - The Grand, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 23rd May 2022 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 24th May 2022 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 25th May 2022 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
June 2022
Tuesday 7th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Friday 17th June 2022 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 18th June 2022 - Hippodrome, Darlington
Sunday 19th June 2022 - Festival Theatre, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 30th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
July 2022
Friday 1st July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
The gvt may not impose vaccine passporting, as there will be questions about who is responsible if you can’t get into your local pub/club/theatre/brothel.
I would be delighted if, if you are coming to see me, you could do your best to get vaccinated, irrespective of what the gvt or the venue insist upon.
I doubt that my snowflake audience will contain many people who deny the existence of Covid or believe the vaccine is George Soros or Bill Gates trying to put tiny Transformer robots into your blood.
But I and my team will be interacting with over 150 000 people on the next leg of the tour, and I would like to minimise our risk, and the risk to my audience, so meet me half way.
I will be selling and signing stuff as usual, I hope, but I won’t be shaking hands to thank you all this time around, and will probably be positioned behind some kind of screen like William Shatner in Airplane 2. Sad.
8) MEDIA GARAGE SALE
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the utter bastards.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about like Priss Fotheringham on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind.
I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available..
OLD TUNES FRESH TAKES
A lovely podcast about folk music that I do a bit on.
A rambling chat in which I fail to promote King Rocker at the expense of a Marxist analysis of culture and history from the inventor of Alternative Comedy ™ ®
Dir Michael Cumming and I discuss King Rocker with Britain’s top film guru and skiffle enthusiast, who has been very supportive of the no-budget project.
Andy Miller and John Michinson’s long running and much loved books podcast. I discuss the waspish poet and novelist Rosemary Tonks with them, Nicky Birch and Jennifer Hodgson.
This is a marvellous ongoing Podcast which is unashamedly civilised in an unenlightened era, and this episode is full of great writing, batshit radiophonic music and clever women.
North London echo chamber fun sure to irk people of all political persuasions with the forensically-minded folk devil for the far right and snowflake do-gooder Owen Jones, and me, talking about King Rocker and more general stuff. His current run of ‘casts has some great guests.
Informed Wolverhampton-based comedy and music enthusiast of uncommon warmth and knowledge talks to me about KING ROCKER and what the Gray Pays ‘n’ Bacon are like at the Great Western pub.
I asked Adam if I could go on this massively popular podcast and he said yes which was very kind of him. It was fun hearing his Mark E Smith story from the horse’s mouth and he asked me hard questions of the type I usually avoid.
I answer questions from various utterly delightful members of the Idler’s thoughtful middle class readership from their wine and book filled homes.
They are the real stars here! You will emerge from watching this in love with at least one of them.
In this episode of The Last Line, James talks to comedian Stewart Lee about his new film King Rocker, a documentary about Robert Lloyd, lead singer of 70’s post-punk band The Nightingales.
During their conversation they discuss the new film, its central protagonist Robert Lloyd, stand up comedy, Stewart’s propensity to defend stand up comedians against the views of the general public and his reluctance to participate in podcast interviews.
There’s an interview with Michael Cumming on this podcast too, link below.
Sometime in March you will be able to hear me eat a really lovely Sri Lankan mutton curry from the Kolama restaurant, Soho, with bon viveur jazz pianist Jay Rayner. (I see how this works now!)
This is the most showbiz thing I have ever done, and I am glad it was with jazzy Jay Rayner.
This is a new series of docu-chats on different esoteric subjects.
You have to pay for them because they are finished pieces of work not just some fuckers talking or wandering about.
I have appeared on three of them - on Hawkwind, Penda’s Fen and John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy.
Ben Moor/Jo Neary - The Lee Hazelwood and Nancy Sinatra of multi-layered serio-comic theatre-art are back! 27th/28th July at the Hen and Chickens, Islington, w national dates to follow TICKETS Blue Orchids 23rd July Hebden Bridge Trades, 6th Aug Bristol Thunderbolt, 7th Aug Dublin Castle London, 8th Aug Brighton Prince Albert. Post-punk dishwater psychedelia. MDC 14th Aug Edinburgh Sneaky Pete’s. Veteran angry American hardcore innovators Nina Hamnett Exhibition of the art of the underrated bohemian Fitzrovian, Charleston, East Sussex.
NEW FILMS
Ronnie’s, Ronnie Scott & His World Famous Jazz Club (Oliver Murray)
The Dig (Simon Stone) ★★★★★ Little Joe (Jessica Hausner) ★★★★ The News Of The World (Paul Greengrass) ★★★★ Nomadland (Chloe Zhao) ★★★★ County Lines (Henry Blake) ★★★★★
OLD FILMS
Box Of Moonlight (Tom DeCillo, 1996) ★★★★★
Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983) ★★★★★
Where Eagles Dare (Brian G Hutton, 1968) ★★★★★
The Big Gundown (Sergio Sollima, 1967) ★★★★★
The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973) ★★★★★
Star Wars (George Lucas, 1977) ★★★★★
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)★★★★★
Good Vibrations (Lisa Barros D’sa/Glen Leyburn, 2013)★★★★★
Caliber 9 (Fernado di Leon, 1972) ★★★★★
‘71 (Yann Demange, 2014) ★★★★★
Big Night (Campbell Scott/Stanley Tucci, 1996) ★★★★★
Jason & The Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) ★★★★★
Goldstone (Ivan Sen, 2016) ★★★★★
Witness (Peter Weir, 1985) ★★★★★
Avengers Infinity War (Russo Brothers, 2018) ★★★★
Avengers Endgame (Russo Brothers, 2019) ★★★★
In Order of Disappearance (Hans Peter Molland, 2014)★★★★★
Iron Man III (Shane Black, 2013)★★★★★
Pauline A La Plage (Eric Rohmer, 1983) ★★★★★
Gone To Earth (Powell/Pressburger, 1950) ★★★★
The Odd Couple (Neil Simon, 1968) ★★★★★
Excalibur (John Boorman, 1981) ★★★★
Samurai 1 : Mushashi Miyamoto (Hiroshi Inagaki, 1954) ★★★★
Cache / Hidden (Michaek Haneke, 2005) ★★★★★ Babylon (Franco Rosso, 1980) ★★★★★
Summer In February (Christopher Menaul, 2013) ★★★★ Guardians of The Galaxy (James Gunn, 2014) ★★★★★<br>
All Tomorrow’s Parties (Jonathan Caouette, 2009) ★★★★ Medea (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969) ★★★★★
Force Majeure (Ruben Ostlund, 2015) ★★★★
OLD BOOKS
Rosemary Tonks - Emir (1963)★★★★★
Rosemary Tonks - The Bloater (1968) ★★★★★
John Berger/Jean Mohr - A Fortunate Man (1967) ★★★★★ Ann Quin - Berg (1964) ★★★★
Sir John Mandeville - The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (1357)★★★★
NEW BOOKS
Tessa Norton/Bob Stanley - Excavate!
Alan Stafford - Wilson, Keppel & Betty, Too Naked For The Nazis Peter Oborne - The Assault On Truth Nesrine Malik - We Need New Stories ★★★★★ Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018) ★★★★★
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) ★★★★★
NEW COMICS
Joe Sacco - Paying The Land (2020)
NEW TV
Ghosts S2 (BBC, 2020)
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020) The Mandalorian S2 (Disney, 2020) ★★★★★ Call My Agent S3 (France 2, 2018)★★★★★
Call My Agent S4 (France 2, 2021) ★★★★★
The Trump Show (BBC, 2020-1)★★★★★
Lupin S1 (Netflix, 2021)★★★★★ Wandavision (Marvel, 2021)★★★★★
Stonehenge The Lost Circle Revealed (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★
Adam Curtis’ Can’t Get You Out Of My Head (BBC, 2021)★★★★★ Raiders Of The Lost Past With Janina Ramirez (BBC2, 2021) ★★★★
Mortimer & Whitehouse Gone Fishing S3 (BBC, 2020) ★★★★★
The Falcon & The Winter Soldier (Marvel, 2021) ★★★★★
Homeland s8 (Netflix, 2020)★★★★★
Into The Night S1 (Between a Dog & A Wolf, 2020) ★★★★
Unforgotten S4 (ITV, 2021) ★★★★
Inside No 9 S6 (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★ Great British Bake Off S11 (C4, 2020) ★★★★★ Time (BBC, 2021) ★★★★★
INTERNETS, RADIOS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rob Auton’s Daily Podcast
Alastair Beckett-King on Youtube
Shawn Woods’ Mouse Trap Monday on Youtube
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) ★★★★ Bridget Christie - Mortal (BBCR4)
Rosie Holt’s Youtube characters
NEW RECORDS
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
Cult Figures - Deritend Vapour Trails - Celestial Scuzz ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - Before Computers (demos)
Kevin March - Last Night
Doug Gillard - Douglas Scott Gillard II
Guided by Voices - Earth Man Blues Gwenifer Raymond - Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain Ustad Saami - Pakistan Is For The Peaceful ★★★★★ The Blue Orchids - Speed The Day Dave Graney & The Mistly - Live At Byrds ★★★★★
Mainliner - Dual Myths ★★★★★
Hawkwind - 50th Anniversary Live
The Amorphous Androgynous w Peter Hammill - We Persuade Ourselves We Are Immortal
Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The London Symphony Orcestrea - s/t
Major Murphy - Access
Eleventh Dream Day - Since Grazed Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg
Guided By Voices - Earth Man Blues
Fixed Horizon - Grenouille Lucinda Williams - Runnin’ Down A Dream
Krallice - Demonic Wealth
Catenary Wires - Birling Gap
Cub Scout Bowling Pins - Heaven Beats Iowa ★★★★
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There’s Pretty Things in Palookaville ★★★★
Robyn Hitchcock - The Man Upstairs ★★★★
NEW OLD RECORDS
V/A - Rough Guide To Avant-Garde Japan
Guided by Voices - Live At Irving Plaza (1996)
Damo Suzuki & Echo Ensemble - Live @ Green Door (2013) Heavenly - A Bout De Heavenly (1989-1996)
Martin Stone - Down But Not Out In Paris and London (1992-2013)
John Russell & Terry Day - Russell & Day (1979?)
Derek Bailey, Trevor Watts & Terry Day - At LTC (1972?) Sonny Rollins - Rollins In Holland (1967) ★★★★★
Robert Pollard - I Sell The Circus (demos) (2015) The Fall - St Helen’s Technical College (1981) ★★★★★
Charles Gayle, John Edwards, Mark Sanders - Seasons Changing (2017) ★★★★★
The Misunderstood - Children of The Sun(1965-66) ★★★★★
Dexter Gordon - Live In Chateauvallon (1978) ★★★★★
The Loft - Ghost Trains & Country Lanes (1984-2015)
And Also The Trees - s/t (1984)
Neil Young - Young Shakespeare (1971)
T2 - It’ll All Work Out In Boomland (1970)
The Outsiders - Count For Something (1976-78)
The Lipstick Killers - Strange Flash (1978-91)
The Selecter - Too Much Pressure box (1980)
Brown Acid 11 - v/a (1969-73)
Fleur de Lys - Circles (1964-1969)
J Jazz Deep Jazz From Modern Japan vol 3 - V/A (1962-1985)
The Black Keys Present Hill Country Blues - v/a
Brown Acid 12 - v/a (1968-80)
OLD RECORDS
Cocteau Twins - Treasure (1984) ★★★★ Billy Bragg - Life’s A Riot (1983) ★★★★★
Billy Bragg - Brewing Up with (1984) ★★★★★
The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional (1986) ★★★★
Siouxsie & The Banshees - A Kiss In The Dreamhouse (1982) ★★★★
Bunny Striker Lee - The Bunny Striker Lee Story (1967-80) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, A Journey Into Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, Original Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
V/A - Dub, More Bass Culture (1970s) ★★★★
Tomorrow’s Gift - Goodbye Future (1973) ★★★★
Jackson C Frank - s/t (1965) ★★★★
V/A - Down Home Blues, Chicago Fine Boogie (1947-1958)★★★★ Maggie Bjorklund - Shaken (2014)★★★★ June Tabor - Airs & Graces (1976) ★★★★★
John Martyn - The Very Best Of (1967-1996) ★★★★★ The Owl Service - The Garland Sessions (2007) ★★★★★
John Lee Hooker - Tantalising With The Blues (1965-70)★★★★★
Furry Lewis, Memphis Willie B, Memphis Slim - Bluesville 3 (1963?) ★★★★ Lightnin’ Hopkins - Prestige Profiles (1960-4) ★★★★★
Magic Slim - Live @ Ma Bea’s (1976) ★★★★
Jimmy Dawkins - Come Back Baby (1977) ★★★★
Allman Brothers - At Filmore East (1971) ★★★★ John Fahey - The Yellow Princess (1968) ★★★★★
Freedy Johnston - Can You Fly? (1992)★★★★ Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (2009) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - Man Machine Poem (2016) ★★★★
Tragically Hip - We Are The Same (2009) ★★★★ Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) ★★★★★
Grant Lee Buffalo - Storm Hymnal (1993-98) ★★★★
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues (1990) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - President (1989) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Fakebook (1990) ★★★★★ Yo La Tengo - That Is You La Tengo (1991) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - May I Sing With Me? (1992) ★★★★ Yo La Tengo - Painful (3 cds) (1993) ★★★★ Tim Buckley - Dream Letter (1968) ★★★★★
Those Bastard Souls - Debt & Departure (1999) ★★★★★
Wanderlust - Prize (1995) ★★★★
Chain - Towards The Blues (1971) ★★★★
The Schramms - Omnidirectional (2019) ★★★★
Cannonball Adderley - Soul Zodiac (1972)
Fred Anderson - Quintessential Birthday Trio Vol II (2015)
Greg Bendian’s Interzone - Requiem For Jack Kirby (2001)
Nels Cline & Greg Bendian - Interstellar Space Revisited (1999)
The Beat - Bounce (2016) Nina Simone - To Be Free (1959-1993)
Swervedriver - 99th Dream (1998)
Road - s/t (1972)
Mudhoney - Morning In America (2019)
Necromandus - Orexis of Death (1973)
Julian Cope - Peggy Suicide (1991)
Ultravox - Rage In Eden (1981)
Siouxsie & The Banshees - Tinderbox (1986)
Blues Pills - Live In Paris (2017)
Gram Parsons - Alternate Takes (1973-4)
Mike Westbrook - Mama Chicago (1976)
The Fall - Grotesque (1980)
Truly - Fast Stories From Kid Coma (1995)
Echo & the Bunnymen - Evergreen (1997)
Echo & The Bunnymen - What Are You Going To Do With Your Life? (1999)
Blues Pills - Lady In Gold (2016)
Leo Bud Welch - The Angels In Heaven Done Signed My Name (2019)
The Black Keys - Chulahoma (2006) Nanci Griffith - One Fair Summer Evening (1988)
The Soft Boys - Invisible Hits (1983)
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2003)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Don Carlos & Gold - Them Never Know Natty Dread Have Him Credentials (1982)
Henry Junjo Lawes - Volcano Erruption (70s-80s)
11) WOKE CAUSES - THIS MONTH, GOOD LAW PROJECT, GET OFF MY MED RECORDS, STONEHENGE, GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
GOOD LAW PROJECT
LINK
It’s evident that the corrupt kleptocracy of Boris Johnson isn’t going to dislodged by Kier Starmer’s PMQ’s however forensic, or by the biased media, or by legal investigations in which the gvt essentially investigate themselves.
However, despite the threats to judiciary in the Queen’s speech, at present the gvt are required to obey the law.
Champagne socialist fox-whacking lawyer Jolyon Maugham’s donation funded Good Law Project seems to be better than the opposition currently at holding the gvt to account, and proving where they have broken the law, so if you can spare a pound crowd fund them, as they do seem to be making an impact.
MEDICAL RECORDS OPT OUT
LINK
Did you know that the gvt are about to sell all your medical records off to the highest bidder? Thought not. We weren’t consulted.
I don’t care about the privacy aspect, but I do object to my life being monetised to give leverage to some horrible massive info-tech company.
You can withdraw the gvt’s right to farm your medical history as if you were some kind of data-pig at the link above. THIS IS NOW DELAYED TO SEPTEMBER DUE TO OPPOSITION BUT STILL WORTH DOING
STOINEHENGE - WHERE THE DEMONS DWELL, WHERE THE BANSHEES LIVE AND THEY DO LIVE WELL!
We are fast approaching our last chance to stop the massive and irreparable damage to the Stonehenge World Heritage Site have sent out a couple of quick updates. Remember - this is the gvt of pride in Britain etc trashing our most emotive national monument.
Here’s video explaining what the scheme is about and where we currently are with it - WATCH it here (3.5min)
Thank you for helping us raise the profile of our campaign.
Best wishes,
The Stonehenge Alliance
GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
Stop Funding Hate say - Advertising sales for GB News are reportedly handled by Sky Media.
We’re aware of at least one company who say they were unaware that they were going to appear on GB News and suspended those ads when they found out. If you work for a company that buys programmatic advertising from Sky, it may be worth checking with them to ensure that your ads aren’t placed on GB News.
A huge thanks to the Stop Funding Hate volunteers who have come together to help identify GB News advertisers.
Brands that we’ve seen so far include: Vodafone, Octopus Energy, Ovo Energy, Co-op, Ikea, LV, Virgin Media, Kelloggs, Deliveroo, Nivea, Kenco coffee, AA, Premier Inn, American Express, Benadryl (Johnson and Johnson), Wickes, Starbucks, Weetabix, Listerine (Pfizer), National Lottery, Boomin, Cadbury, Taylors coffee, Amazon, Cazoo, Microsoft, Google, Alpen (Weetabix), Beko Harvestfresh, Pinterest, Ladbrokes, Rana pasta, Burger King, Warburtons, The UK Government (EU resettlement scheme), Bosch, Specsavers, TalkTalk, trivagoWeekend, itchpet.com, MSC Cruises, Grolsch, Indeed recruitment, Motability, Feel Multivitamins, Green Flag, Clean G non alcoholic gin, Facebook,Volvo, Bazuka, fiverr, Motability, Ibuleve Gel, Toyota, Appeal home shading / blinds, People’s Postcode Lottery, Just Eat, Petit Filous, Direct Bullion, Compare the Market, Kardia Mobile, Bupa, Verisure, The Open University.
There’s more information here about Stop Funding Hate, and the impact of our campaign so far. If you’re able to help build our movement tackling toxic media in the UK and internationally, please consider becoming a committed supporter and making a regular donation.
12) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955) Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942) Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944) The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930) Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006) Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929) Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942) Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950) Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938) Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man’s-laughter maker) (1964)
Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960)
Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935)
Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?)
Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939)
Bunny Lee (dubmaster) (1940) The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770)
Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979) Jill Paton Walsh (humanist novelist) (1937)
Val Warner (poet) (1946)
Guy N Smith (Lord of The Crabs) (1939)
Richard Corben (decadent cartoonist) (1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho) (1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man) (1945)
- 2021 -
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Celia Drummond Ford (voice of Trees) (1950)
The Happy Man Tree (Stoke Newington Tree) (1870)
John Russell (guitar guru) (1954)
Marcel Uderzo (Asterisk artist) (1933)
Tom Stevens (Long Ryder and Magus) (1956)
Dougie Anderson (Coda’s Edinburgh record dealer (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920) Rynagh O’Grady (Ted’s Mary) (1954)
Mary Wilson (Supreme) (1944)
Chick Corea (Miles’ tinkler) (1941)
Iain Pattinson (You wanted to see me Prime Minister?) (1951)
U-Roy (Toastmaster) (1942)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (bookstore beat) (1921)
Wink O’Bannon (Eleventh Dream Day) (1956)
Bunny Wailer (Wailer) (1947)
Doug Parkinson (Oz vocal celeb) (1946)
Milford Graves (temporal explorer) (1941)
Johnny Rogan (Byrds’ Boswell) (1953) Jessica Walter (Play Misty For Me) (1941)
Bertrand Tavernier (Round Midnight) (1941) Anita Lane (Oz punk chanteuse) (1958)
Barbara Ess (Theoretical Girl) (1944)
Michael Collins (Apollo 11) (1930)
Mohammed Ag Itale (Tinariwen) (1960)
Monte Hellman (Two Lane Blacktop) (1929)
Sonny Simmons (jazz hobo) (1933)
Charles Grodin (The American Tim Key) (1935)
Franco Battiato (Italian Fetus) (1945)
Yoshi Wada (bagpipe minimalist) (1943)
Stewart Lee
2021-06-22T08:00:33+01:00
1) KING ROCKER NOW TV & PERTH SCREENING Our labour of love really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times ★★★★ Financial Times ★★★★ Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus “The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman All Press is collecting here. You can also watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that; NOW TV LINK The film is also screening this month in The Revelation Perth International Film Festival from 3rd - 10th July, so if you are in Western Australia you can hop on a bus, like the Red Dog of Dampier, and see it there! Fair dinkum! REVELATION FILM FEST LINK 2) UNRELIABLE NARRATOR DOC BBCR4 I just did this piece of KRS1-style edu-tainment for BBCR4 with Resonance 104.4FM alumney Michael Umney, called Stewart Lee - Unreliable Narrator. Lots of comedians in it. You can listen here. 3) SHIRLEY COLLINS E SUSSEX EVENT Shirley Collins/Stewart Lee 7th July - I am in conversation w the folk singer and writer Shirley Collins at the East Sussex bohemian hangout Charleston. The venue also features the first ever painting retrospective of the brilliantly bonkers Fitzrovian character, writer and micro-genius Nina Hamnett. TICKETS / INFO HERE 4) ASIAN DUB FOUNDATION - COMIN’ OVER HERE 12” The record store day dbl vinyl of Asian Dub Foundation’s Access Denied album includes a ‘neolithic’ remix of the no 1 single Comin’ Over Here (feat. Stewart Lee) Facebook Link The original 12” remains available... Bandcamp X Ray Production 5) TEN BOB / USE YOUR LOAF 7” ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single,...
You'd think the number of forgotten talents to dig up, canonise and induct into the music hall of fame would be finite. The 1990s have seen the back catalogues of Gram Parsons, Nick Drake and Sandy Denny annotated and anthologised. By now there's a familiar pattern to these critical resurrections. Stage one involves the CD reissues, and a chunky hardback biography. Stage two sees our abandoned Lazarus-like hero made the subject of a tribute album by various hip young alternative artists. And stage three sees the bloke from the Lemonheads and/or the woman from Throwing Muses citing said talent as their key influence, before the media looks for a fresh corpse to re-animate. But despite this, nobody could have foreseen the current flurry of interest surrounding the podgy Texan drunkard Bob Wills, the almost undisputed King of the Western Swing, and his legacy of literally hundreds of hissy two-and-a-half-minute tunes.
The country music critic Tad Richards called Wills's blend of country and big band jazz "the first fusion, the first crossover", but it accurately reflects the cross-pollinated environment he grew up in. Born in east Texas in 1905 to a poor farming family, most of whom played the fiddle, Wills learned blues songs from the cotton pickers he worked alongside, heard jazz horns blowing across the fields from his black neighbours, and imbibed a weird hybrid of the music of his friends and family's historic homelands - German polkas, Mexican waltzes and Scottish folk - at Texan square dances. By his teens, young Bob was stepping in for his fiddle-playing father when he was too drunk to perform with his band, and at 16 he headed east on a freight train, winning fiddle-playing competitions on a borrowed instrument in between stints as a barber, his love of music and its attendant hard living at odds with a desire to train as a preacher.
Last year, with Jonathan Cape's publication of Lone Star Swing, by the Somerset Maugham award-winning writer Duncan McLean, Wills was well on the way to fulfilling the first stage of becoming a cult figure. Having been bewitched by a Bob Wills record he found in an Edinburgh junkshop, McLean left his native Orkney to drive around Texas with money from his award's travel bursary, tracking down various bewildered nonagenarian associates of Wills. The shaky pickers and players recalled the musical scene in which they cut their teeth with varying, and endearingly rendered, degrees of clarity.
In the 1920s and 1930s music and commerce walked unashamedly hand in hand, Wills playing with the Aladdin Laddies for a radio show sponsored by the Aladdin Lamp Company, and flogging flour for the Burrus Mill and Elevator Company as one of the fabulously named Light Crust Doughboys. Today the charts ring to the sounds of the Pepsi Max Spice Girls in all but name, and Wills should be remembered as a commercial innovator if nothing else, eventually buying his own radio slots and selling them to the highest-bidding sponsor.
His band, the Texas Playboys, formed from Doughboys renegades, played short tunes to maximise the profits of juke joints where floozies charged partying field hands by the dance. Wills would nevertheless force half a dozen or so hot jazz solos in between the vocals of an ever-changing string of handsome crooners, conducting a band often 15 strong with magical swings of his bow. By the 1940s he was a household name.
Even so, when expatriate Welsh musician Jon Langford chanced upon a secondhand Bob Wills album in a Chicago thrift store some years back he had no idea who Wills was, or that he had just made a life-changing purchase. Last week saw the release of Bloodshot Records' The Pine Valley Cosmonauts Salute the Majesty of Bob Wills, for which Langford assembled a group of Chicago roots rock and post-punk luminaries to render lovingly anew all Wills's greatest hits. Steel Guitar Rag affirms the Playboys' genuinely innovative use of early guitar amplification; Robbie Fulks' vocal on Across the Alley from the Alamo really swings; and Brett Sparks, of the alternative-country art-school weirdos the Handsome Family, supplies suitably skewed singing on Roly Poly, a Wills original about an indiscriminate obese child, "Daddy's little fatty", who "eats everything from soup to hay". Stage two of Wills's return is complete.
Langford's career, meanwhile, has taken him from Leeds proto-punks the Mekons in 1977 to his Bob Wills album on a trajectory of unnerving synchronicities. Splitting at the end of the 1970s, disillusioned with trying to ply their wares in an increasingly thuggish marketplace, the Mekons re-emerged in the mid-1980s experimenting, initially uneasily, with roots musics, and eventually emigrating to America, where the Mekons and the Waco Brothers, Langford's country-rock supergroup side project, are held in the same esteem as the Clash.
"A prophet is without honour in his own country," he laughs, without a trace of bitterness. Oddly, when he happened upon McLean's book, Langford e-mailed him to chat online about Wills, only to find that the previous day McLean had been at an Inverness gallery, viewing an exhibition of Langford's western-style etchings.
Attempting to analyse the lure of Bob Wills, Langford admits some confusion. "It's weird. Bob Wills didn't die young and he didn't leave a particularly beautiful corpse, but he and the band would come off three months' tour and then record 40 songs in a day, which I suppose appeals to me as an aging punk rocker. But I like the fact that he was a traditional fiddle player experimenting with swing music. He was completely open to anything. And he was an amazing character. Onstage the band were trying to impress him, not the audience, and he'd get furious if anyone played the same solo twice."
But maybe Wills won't make stage three of the mythologisation process, all the same. The facts of his life are too well documented, and he's no shadowy Robert Johnson figure, although accounts can be contradictory. In her book Bob Wills Remembered, Rosetta Wills, a daughter by one of his four marriages, speaks of Wills's unpredictable generosity, and of how he kept a horse for each of the Texas Playboys at his ranch, even though many of them couldn't even ride. However, when Duncan McLean mentioned Wills to Lucille Kleypas, wife of one-time Playboys pianist Walt Kleypas, she responded with the damning indictment: "Bob Wills? Bob Wills was a big fat slob!"
There's already a surfeit of Bob Wills on CD, and Fremaux Records' Western Swing 1928-1944 is a good introduction to the overall scene. Once you shake your late 20th-century suspicions, there's an undeniable power to this music, but be warned of its addictive quality. McLean himself was unavailable for comment for this piece.
"He's gone to Texas again," said his publisher.
Stewart Lee
1998-11-22T17:25:26+00:00
You'd think the number of forgotten talents to dig up, canonise and induct into the music hall of fame would be finite. The 1990s have seen the back catalogues of Gram Parsons, Nick Drake and Sandy Denny annotated and anthologised. By now there's a familiar pattern to these critical resurrections. Stage one involves the CD reissues, and a chunky hardback biography. Stage two sees our abandoned Lazarus-like hero made the subject of a tribute album by various hip young alternative artists. And stage three sees the bloke from the Lemonheads and/or the woman from Throwing Muses citing said talent as their key influence, before the media looks for a fresh corpse to re-animate. But despite this, nobody could have foreseen the current flurry of interest surrounding the podgy Texan drunkard Bob Wills, the almost undisputed King of the Western Swing, and his legacy of literally hundreds of hissy two-and-a-half-minute tunes. The country music critic Tad Richards called Wills's blend of country and big band jazz "the first fusion, the first crossover", but it accurately reflects the cross-pollinated environment he grew up in. Born in east Texas in 1905 to a poor farming family, most of whom played the fiddle, Wills learned blues songs from the cotton pickers he worked alongside, heard jazz horns blowing across the fields from his black neighbours, and imbibed a weird hybrid of the music of his friends and family's historic homelands - German polkas, Mexican waltzes and Scottish folk - at Texan square dances. By his teens, young Bob was stepping in for his fiddle-playing father when he was too drunk to perform with his band, and at 16 he headed east on a freight train, winning fiddle-playing competitions on a borrowed instrument in between stints as a barber, his love of music and its...
In the Forest of Dean, an undiscovered stone circle emerged from the moss; in the east Midlands, the former high sheriff of Derbyshire herself was swept away by floodwater; and on Remembrance Sunday, searching the cemetery for war dead, I was lead instead by a cawing crow to the hidden grave of the music hall comedian Herbert Campbell, whom Max Beerbohm thought embodied Britain herself, as “a mystical union between beef and thunder”. Stone, moss, water. Birds, beef and thunder. Strange days indeed. Can you hear me, mother?
But who would have thought the days would become so strange that the 2008 Liam Neeson thriller Taken would serve as the perfect election allegory for the Farage-Conservatives non-pact and Donald Trump’s role in enabling it? Or am I losing my mind? Bear with me. This month, I have only watched action films from the last decade, all starring a taciturn Liam Neeson. I’m 10 years late to the Taciturn Avenging Father meme, but I love Neeson’s dad-goes-mad movies and they may even have saved me.
The taciturn Neeson always plays a depressed, often suicidal, taciturn middle-aged man whose family patronise and undervalue him. But he regains his status when his loved ones are put in situations that require him to deploy the “very particular set of skills” he developed in an earlier career as a taciturn assassin, a taciturn spy, a taciturn mercenary, a taciturn policeman, a taciturn air marshal or, perhaps somewhat implausibly in Cold Pursuit, as a taciturn municipal snowplough operator.
As we all know from watching American standup comedians on Netflix, middle-aged men are the most oppressed minority on Earth right now, fact, and have been denied any sort of platform to talk about this, except for their multimillion-dollar Netflix specials. Neeson’s films tap into this sense of impotent obsolescence. Indeed, I imagine myself as the lead character in one, compelled to save my family with my own “very particular set of skills”.
And then I remember the only set of skills I ever developed was in my previous job as a horticultural researcher. And I doubt one would be able to take out Albanian sex traffickers or Russian mobsters with the Linnaean taxonomic system, however taciturn the former horticultural researcher explaining it.
Neeson’s mainstream thriller career was derailed somewhat when, earlier this year, he confessed to once harbouring murderous thoughts towards random black people, while promoting his latest thriller, the aforesaid Cold Pursuit, in which a taciturn municipal snowplough driver takes revenge on his son’s murderers by killing them with a municipal snowplough.
Due to Neeson’s comments, the proposed quadrilogy of Pursuit films is now on hold, meaning we will never see Smelly Pursuit, Sticky Pursuit, and Tiled Pursuit, in which a taciturn municipal sewage operative, a taciturn municipal beekeeper and a taciturn municipal bathroom installation worker wreak horrible revenge on their sons’ killers with some slurry, some honey and some grout respectively.
But don’t be put off watching 2008’s Taken, the near-perfect metaphor for the forthcoming Brexit election. In the movie, Liam Neeson’s 17-year-old daughter Kim (Maggie Grace) wants to be free to fly the nest and make her own choices, like Brexit Britain, or at least 52% (and falling) of Brexit Britain.
In Paris, feckless Kim-Britain is captured by Marko (Arben Bajraktaraj), who is in fact the head of a sex-trafficking ring and intends to auction her off to a corrupt businessman, Raman (Nabil Massad), to use and exploit for his own ends. Marko is Nigel Farage here, obviously, arranging the annexation of Kim-Britain by businessman Raman, who is Donald Trump, and even looks like him, if he were to be cast as a djinni in the Republican party Christmas production of Aladdin.
Taken’s bent French police chief, Jean-Claude Pitrel (Olivier Rabourdin), thinks he can manipulate this situation to his own financial gain and he represents Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-Frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Get-Stuffed Johnson.
But Pitrel soon finds he cannot control Farage-Marko’s followers after all and in Taken 2 he is tortured to death by an Albanian. Here the metaphor breaks down a little, as Turds’s worst-case scenario, sadly, is merely that he loses the election and is bounced back to his chickenfeed £250k-a-year job at the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper, which gave my new standup show a four-star review last week.
Where Taken diverges from the reality of the Brexit election is in the absence of any credible Liam Neeson figure to save the nation. Jo Swinson previously worked for Viking FM. Jeremy Corbyn admires drain and manhole covers. At present, it doesn’t look as if either is about to beat the Brexit alliance with a previously concealed and very particular set of skills. Skills they have acquired over very long careers. Skills that make them a nightmare for people like Turds, Farage and Trump. Maybe they could bewilder the baddies with a nonstop playlist of soft rock and then incapacitate them with a heavy bit of civic ironwork.
I want to dream this fantasy into being. I want some enlarged prostate avenger to emerge from the political wilderness and say: “If you let my country go now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you, but if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you and I will beat you in an election through legitimate democratic mechanisms.” But I am not sure such a figure exists. And anyway, in the words of every Liam Neeson action movie villain ever, at the end of the day: “It was all just business. It wasn’t ever personal.”
Stewart Lee
2019-11-17T12:15:17+00:00
In the Forest of Dean, an undiscovered stone circle emerged from the moss; in the east Midlands, the former high sheriff of Derbyshire herself was swept away by floodwater; and on Remembrance Sunday, searching the cemetery for war dead, I was lead instead by a cawing crow to the hidden grave of the music hall comedian Herbert Campbell, whom Max Beerbohm thought embodied Britain herself, as “a mystical union between beef and thunder”. Stone, moss, water. Birds, beef and thunder. Strange days indeed. Can you hear me, mother? But who would have thought the days would become so strange that the 2008 Liam Neeson thriller Taken would serve as the perfect election allegory for the Farage-Conservatives non-pact and Donald Trump’s role in enabling it? Or am I losing my mind? Bear with me. This month, I have only watched action films from the last decade, all starring a taciturn Liam Neeson. I’m 10 years late to the Taciturn Avenging Father meme, but I love Neeson’s dad-goes-mad movies and they may even have saved me. The taciturn Neeson always plays a depressed, often suicidal, taciturn middle-aged man whose family patronise and undervalue him. But he regains his status when his loved ones are put in situations that require him to deploy the “very particular set of skills” he developed in an earlier career as a taciturn assassin, a taciturn spy, a taciturn mercenary, a taciturn policeman, a taciturn air marshal or, perhaps somewhat implausibly in Cold Pursuit, as a taciturn municipal snowplough operator. As we all know from watching American standup comedians on Netflix, middle-aged men are the most oppressed minority on Earth right now, fact, and have been denied any sort of platform to talk about this, except for their multimillion-dollar Netflix specials. Neeson’s films tap into this sense of...
Nearly thirty years back Matthew Sweet formed the short-lived Commuity Trolls with REM's Michael Stipe. Two decades ago his third album, Girlfriend, set a rarely bettered benchmark for jangly guitar power-pop craftsmanship.
Sweet's striven in its shadow since, to slowly diminishing returns, like some latter-day Brian Wilson, pursuing phantom pop perfection in a sandpit full of slowly dissolving sugar.
But Modern Art ditches the euphoria for a marked mood change, its tumbling twelve string cascades, baroque piano parts, and summer romance harmonies in uncharacteristically melancholic mode, as Sweet quietly unshackles himself from the chains of expectation.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-27T21:55:31+00:00
Nearly thirty years back Matthew Sweet formed the short-lived Commuity Trolls with REM's Michael Stipe. Two decades ago his third album, Girlfriend, set a rarely bettered benchmark for jangly guitar power-pop craftsmanship. Sweet's striven in its shadow since, to slowly diminishing returns, like some latter-day Brian Wilson, pursuing phantom pop perfection in a sandpit full of slowly dissolving sugar. But Modern Art ditches the euphoria for a marked mood change, its tumbling twelve string cascades, baroque piano parts, and summer romance harmonies in uncharacteristically melancholic mode, as Sweet quietly unshackles himself from the chains of expectation.
It was hard to say exactly when the veteran free-jazz drummer Sunny Murray’s performance in the back room of this outwardly unassuming Finsbury Park Working Men’s club began. Murray’s current collaborators, the British duo of bassist John Edwards and saxophonist Tony Bevan, were nowhere to be seen when he sauntered on stage to make final adjustments to his kit, and began casually chatting with the front few rows of the sold-out house. Was this part of the show? Were we to ignore him politely, or attempt to engage in conversation? A documentary film-crew circled as Murray, a bear in a flat-cap, took questions from fans, told affectionate stories, and tightened screws. Sunny Murray had started, after a fashion, and most people hadn’t noticed.
Sunny Murray began co-creating what was to become American jazz’s avant-garde outgrowth with Cecil Taylor in the early 60’s. As he told attentive listeners, he’d tried to transpose Coltrane’s approach to the saxophone to the drums, abandoning conventional rhythms for the percussive equivalent of those all-pervading sheets of sound. By the time he’d hooked up with Albert Ayler, recording Spiritual Unity in 1964, the New Thing was in full swing, and Sunny Murray was stoking its engines. It’s clearly something of a coup for Ashley Wales and John Coxon, of Spring Heel Jack, to host to such a significant player at their regular Back In Your Town night, but when Murray reminisces, making final adjustments to his kit, he reminds us that this totemic figure is also just another working musician.
Whatever needed to be done is done, or undone, and Bevan and Edwards stand guard for Sunny’s opening solo. Four minutes of unaccompanied percussion open the toolbox and display the available hardware. Even when Murray’s at his most uncompromising, his skittering cymbals and staccato stickwork still buzz with the snap, crackle and pop of jazz as cabaret, rather than jazz as edifying art. Even his most lengthy improvisations always seem to end with vaudeville rat-a-tat-tat rimshots. After four minutes or so, Edwards dives into the undertow and Bevan shoots a reveille-like tenor salvo across the bows, perhaps an early concession to Albert Ayler’s strangely martial solos, and they’re off. Bevan’s playing initially is compellingly unadorned, and it looks like the night is going to be a heroic battle of wills. But somewhere around the twelve minute mark, Sunny settles into a series of skittering moves that allow the saxophonist to blow more softly, and Edwards to stretch out into a mesh of cyclical pulses, to the drummer’s obvious delight, before Bevan re-energises the piece, improvising around a little phrase that seems to have been copped from Harry Warren’s showtune, The Lullaby Of Broadway. A second shorter improvisation sees Bevan on the bass sax and Murray fluttering the edges of his cymbals over an uncharacteristically inisistent beat.
After the interval, the trio is joined by Wales and Coxon, on electronics and guitar respectively, and what has been a satisfying display of ye olde avant-garde jazz becomes something rather more confusing. The Murray-Edwards-Bevan trio know the rules of their game, but now Coxon’s clanging guitar notes and Wales’ techtonic rumbling have altered the shape of the playing field. They quintet begin cautiously, searching for an elusive centre ground, and Bevan falls back on unusually melodic playing as a counterpoint to the gathering chaos. There’s a feeling of panic, like the players have painted themselves into a corner. Edwards anchors a sustained wall of electronic skree with a walking bassline, and Murray seems lost, but it’s great to watch the group struggle a little, clearly beyond its comfort zone. Bevan pitches some squawky serialist sax over the noise, but the group are still drifting. After a quarter of an hour a strange and beautiful empty space opens up, allowing a considered, almost tidal interplay between the collaborators, until Bevan and Coxon force an escape route, bouncing sustained bursts back and forth between them. As the group finally begin a gradual collective descent, Bevan indulges in more lively, Ayler-style bugle-calls, as Murray plateaus out into a thunderous retreat.
This was the kind of show the London Jazz Festival should have been showcasing, but we witnessed it on a tiny stage more commonly home to up-and-coming stand-up comedians. With Wales and Coxon programming this kind of stuff alongside the existing Free Radicals nights, the genial Irish man who manages the bar at The Red Rose has belatedly become something of a free-jazz connoisseur. Is there any way he can be allowed to replace BBC Radio 3 as the LJF's official sponsor?
Will there be crisps and nuts?
Stewart Lee
2006-12-01T19:35:03+00:00
It was hard to say exactly when the veteran free-jazz drummer Sunny Murray’s performance in the back room of this outwardly unassuming Finsbury Park Working Men’s club began. Murray’s current collaborators, the British duo of bassist John Edwards and saxophonist Tony Bevan, were nowhere to be seen when he sauntered on stage to make final adjustments to his kit, and began casually chatting with the front few rows of the sold-out house. Was this part of the show? Were we to ignore him politely, or attempt to engage in conversation? A documentary film-crew circled as Murray, a bear in a flat-cap, took questions from fans, told affectionate stories, and tightened screws. Sunny Murray had started, after a fashion, and most people hadn’t noticed. Sunny Murray began co-creating what was to become American jazz’s avant-garde outgrowth with Cecil Taylor in the early 60’s. As he told attentive listeners, he’d tried to transpose Coltrane’s approach to the saxophone to the drums, abandoning conventional rhythms for the percussive equivalent of those all-pervading sheets of sound. By the time he’d hooked up with Albert Ayler, recording Spiritual Unity in 1964, the New Thing was in full swing, and Sunny Murray was stoking its engines. It’s clearly something of a coup for Ashley Wales and John Coxon, of Spring Heel Jack, to host to such a significant player at their regular Back In Your Town night, but when Murray reminisces, making final adjustments to his kit, he reminds us that this totemic figure is also just another working musician. Whatever needed to be done is done, or undone, and Bevan and Edwards stand guard for Sunny’s opening solo. Four minutes of unaccompanied percussion open the toolbox and display the available hardware. Even when Murray’s at his most uncompromising, his skittering cymbals and staccato stickwork still...
Wake up and smell the covfefe and tell the spinning corpse of Robin Day the news. The old politics is over. This election is no longer a choice between left and right, between traditional working-class or middle-class allegiances, between self-interest and concern for others. It is a new kind of choice. It is a choice between bastards and twats.
It was half-term and, like Theresa May, I began the week appearing before prearranged crowds of people who loved me, applauding my arrival, and clapping everything I said. Then, after leaving the Wells comedy festival, I crossed the nation honouring familial obligations, and projecting my own electoral anxieties on to obliging British landscapes. Who knew that the gaping gash of Clutter’s Cave in the Malvern Hills, when viewed from the footpath, looks exactly like the prime minister’s open mouth?
On Monday I made my annual visit to the Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling competition in Gloucestershire. The uninsurable million-year-old-produce-pursuing event sees heroic drunks leap suicidally down a 2:1 slope to chase a 9lb wheel of double gloucester, which they have no chance of ever catching. Foreign observers need look no further to understand the peculiarly British mentality that drove us as a nation to embrace the vertical cliff of Brexit, our nostalgic visions as elusive as a speeding cheesy wheel.
The cheese rolling over, I arrived in Gloucester (Leave) and sat down to watch the evening’s bastard/twat face-off on Channel 4. But even the biggest bastard, even the most feckless twat, I decided, deserved better than to be interviewed by Jeremy Paxman; an embarrassing and punch-drunk old prize-fighter now, decades past his best, fit only for satirical election-night specials, keen to land one killer blow to prove he once had it, before soiling his concealed Conservative party Y-fronts in public, and stepping down to endorse aftershave or a range of fat-reducing grills. He could have been a contender.
I went into Gloucester to buy a pork roll from a van and carry out a mobility-scooter census, but when I came back, Paxman was still snarling and growling, like a senile attack dog who had mistaken his own flaccid penis for a dangerous snake. “Mr Corbyn, if you were asked to shoot a fluffy kitten through the head with a bolt gun, could you do it? Could you do it? Could you? Answer the question!” “I could do it, Jeremy, but I would have to be fully aware, from the intelligence agencies, of the facts that supported the cat’s supposed guilt first,” answered an unflappable Corbyn. “What if the fluffy kitten had a ribbon tied in its hair, and a tinkling bell, Mr Corbyn? Could you shoot it then? What if it’s name was Twinkle? Answer me!!”
The debate seemed less like a news programme, and more like an ancient, traditional ritual humiliation, still played out to this day, of would-be mayors in the square of a Pyrenean commune. During her wobbly TV appearance, trembling Theresa’s jawbone began all but flapping loose of her skull on its right-hand hinge. If May were a gunfighter in an Italian western, this familiar phenomenon would be the “tell” that revealed her cracking under pressure, and Sergio Leone would zoom in on ever tighter closeups of her gradually dislocating mandible.
The southern regions of May’s visage now seem held in place only by skin and saliva and fear. I wonder if she didn’t attend Wednesday’s debate because part of her face had actually worked loose. On Monday, it seemed almost inhumane of the Conservatives to expect her to continue to front out a shoddy manifesto she clearly found quite literally jaw-dropping in its inadequacy.
The next morning, on my way north via Tewkesbury (Leave), I passed an intriguing brown sign for Hartpury Bee Shelter and Barn. The bee shelter, it transpired, is a 19th-century stone structure designed to hold 28 hives full of hard-working bees, but it is as empty now as the future fields of Lincolnshire. The roof of the 14th-century barn depicts a dragon looking east to England, a lion looking west to Wales, and a gargoyle looking south to Brussels, flicking its Vs and masturbating while slitting its own throat.
On Tuesday evening in Worcester (Leave), in the company of elderly relatives, I watched the artist Grayson Perry on Channel 4, fashioning two healing pots, depicting Leavers and Remainers respectively. My family are not Perry’s natural fanbase, but they were nonetheless delighted by him, though they thought his twin sister in the dress was strange.
It seemed that Perry had used a glazed image of my face as the sort of thing trendy Remainers like. Luckily no one in my family noticed as they would have been utterly baffled by how a man they regard as having wasted his educational opportunities to become a kind of travelling gypsy-clown could have possibly symbolised anything other than failure and tragedy.
Perry’s pots aimed to show that we had more in common than that which divides us. I would have put Peter Stringfellow in a thong on the Remain pot and Nick Griffin’s funny eye on the Leave one, but I am not an artist. At the end of the show, Perry united the two different groups of white people depicted on his ceramics and they all cried and hugged like a bunch of dicks. If I had been there I would have kept the angry flame of despair burning and called all the Leavers arseholes to their stupid Leave faces. Not only have they ruined the future, but they also get a lovely pot commemorating their stupidity made by a top artist. Where is the justice in that?
On Wednesday I drove back to London (Remain) across the Cotswolds at dusk, listening to the leaders’ debate on the radio. The children couldn’t believe it – loads of supposedly responsible adults just shouting over each other and screaming. It was just like being at home. Corbyn stayed calm, and I found myself pitying Amber Rudd, press-ganged to defend the indefensible, to audible audience laughter.
We stopped at the bronze age Rollright Stones to eat pizza, bananas and homemade cake. The sun was sinking over the horizon as we made our usual votive offerings of lavender and brown pennies. Some dreadlocked young people, sitting in a ring, were smoking and drinking and setting the world to rights. I remembered being their age, here in this exact same place in a summer twilight 30 years ago, and doing the same, blissfully unaware of just how bad things were going to get.
Stewart Lee
2017-06-04T21:11:44+01:00
Wake up and smell the covfefe and tell the spinning corpse of Robin Day the news. The old politics is over. This election is no longer a choice between left and right, between traditional working-class or middle-class allegiances, between self-interest and concern for others. It is a new kind of choice. It is a choice between bastards and twats. It was half-term and, like Theresa May, I began the week appearing before prearranged crowds of people who loved me, applauding my arrival, and clapping everything I said. Then, after leaving the Wells comedy festival, I crossed the nation honouring familial obligations, and projecting my own electoral anxieties on to obliging British landscapes. Who knew that the gaping gash of Clutter’s Cave in the Malvern Hills, when viewed from the footpath, looks exactly like the prime minister’s open mouth? On Monday I made my annual visit to the Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling competition in Gloucestershire. The uninsurable million-year-old-produce-pursuing event sees heroic drunks leap suicidally down a 2:1 slope to chase a 9lb wheel of double gloucester, which they have no chance of ever catching. Foreign observers need look no further to understand the peculiarly British mentality that drove us as a nation to embrace the vertical cliff of Brexit, our nostalgic visions as elusive as a speeding cheesy wheel. The cheese rolling over, I arrived in Gloucester (Leave) and sat down to watch the evening’s bastard/twat face-off on Channel 4. But even the biggest bastard, even the most feckless twat, I decided, deserved better than to be interviewed by Jeremy Paxman; an embarrassing and punch-drunk old prize-fighter now, decades past his best, fit only for satirical election-night specials, keen to land one killer blow to prove he once had it, before soiling his concealed Conservative party Y-fronts in public, and stepping down to...
On his role in the conception of the Alan Partridge universe, and an exclusive look into the teenage mind of Michael Gove, comedian and writer Stewart Lee joins Jay for this week’s episode of Out To Lunch.
Stewart and Jay enjoy a Sri Lankan feast from London’s Kolamba at Home: https://kolamba.co.uk/
Stewart Lee
2021-04-27T17:30:03+01:00
On his role in the conception of the Alan Partridge universe, and an exclusive look into the teenage mind of Michael Gove, comedian and writer Stewart Lee joins Jay for this week’s episode of Out To Lunch. Stewart and Jay enjoy a Sri Lankan feast from London’s Kolamba at Home: https://kolamba.co.uk/
The assassination attempt on Donald Trump last weekend is a tragedy; a tragedy for democracy, a tragedy for America and, above all, a tragedy for the whole world, because it means Donald Trump will be re-elected. And it is a tragedy for Donald Trump, who, whatever one thinks of his politics or his personality, is still a living creature, and as such, like Eamonn Holmes, is capable of suffering.
Last week, I had a standup special, Basic Lee, on Sky Comedy, which even came as a surprise to me. I wish someone had shot me last weekend. The resulting publicity might have driven some traffic towards my work. Here’s hoping I’m at least wounded by a gunman while it’s still available to view on the Now streaming service. (Did you see what I did there?)
When the free world’s last line of defence against a Trump MacTatorship ™ ® is Joe Biden, we are already doomed. I’m quitting quitting drinking. Stubborn Biden is too selfish to become the focus of a popularity elevating tragedy, preferring instead to let the world burn while he clings to his candidacy, a limpet in linen trousers, sitting there smiling, like something futile made of felt you’d win at a travelling fair.
The now inevitable re-election of demagogue Donald, and the implementation of the puritanical Project 2025 agenda by Oliver Dowden’s Heritage Foundation friends, makes a Handmaid’s Tale-style Christian fascist America a certainty, ending not only the shared enlightenment values of the postwar western world, but also the Fifty Shades of Grey women’s erotica franchise. And Trump’s fandom for fossil fuels will hasten the inevitable extinction of all life on Earth, the only positive being that he may yet see his Scottish golf courses reclaimed by rising seas.
American liberals and intellectuals with means and money, like Kacey Musgraves and the singer from Tool, must already be considering escape options as the nation begins its descent into the hell of an evangelical religious dictatorship. Trump’s presidency will, however, strengthen ties between Trump and the Clacton constituency of his right-hand man Nigel Farage, which is poised to be bulldozed and made into a private golf course-cum-leisure facility-cum-seaside stolen document storage unit.
I’m joking, of course. But the attempted assassination of Trump and its butterfly flap consequences are no joke. Last Saturday, a piece of Trump’s ear was shot away by a gunman. Trump, with a presence of mind Biden might have benefited from when trying to remember the name of the president of Ukraine, struggled to his feet and, in a spirit of peace and reconciliation, shouted: “Fight! Fight! Fight!”, energising supporters who three years ago forced entry to the Capitol aiming to lynch Mike Pence, the Hartlepool monkey of American politics.
But what if it had been Trump himself who had been shot away, and only Trump’s ear fragment had been saved by security? Could Trump’s meat ear rim itself have been persuaded to run for the presidency? Could Trump’s ear flesh fragment have beaten Biden in a democratic election? Almost certainly. And would an America governed by a small severed slice of Trump’s ear have offered the world a more secure future than an America governed by Trump, or an America governed by Biden? Again, the answer, sadly, is a resounding yes.
The American Christian right believes that Trump, despite his obvious moral corruption, is a massive tool of a God bent on shaping America into their own twisted theocracy. Evangelical Christian America believes their selectively myopic deity actually intervened to save Trump from the gunman, while leaving a heroic volunteer firefighter to take the bullet. Blessed are the firefighters. But how much more useful to this morally equivocating God is a simple severed ear, unencumbered by accusations that it tried to overturn an election, or paid an adult film star hush money, or stole classified documents, or sexually assaulted a woman in a department store. The ear would be innocent and pure and good, like Jesus, or the unborn child.
And if an ear had, as Trump did, repeatedly socialised with the unsavoury sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein and his young friends, it is unlikely it would have been able to do anything inappropriate, due to its being an ear. And should the ear be found to have lost the public trust, it could, due to its inability to defend itself or argue its case, be easily dispensed with by the Republicans without too much fuss. Ear today, gone tomorrow.
Imagining different ways the Trump shooting might have played out raises deep ethical questions. Philosophers call this concept “killing baby Hitler”. Would it be ethical for someone to travel back from the future and kill Hitler in his cot in order to prevent the second world war? And would it be ethical to travel back in time and carry out an attack on Trump that ensured future government by Trump’s ear alone? Of course not. And the idea of replacing Trump himself with Trump’s own ear is, at this stage, neither ear nor there.
Rather than risking the future on the policymaking of Trump’s unpredictable ear, the precise political leanings of which remain ill-defined at best, would it be better to go further back in time and stop the rise of Trump sooner? Perhaps, when he encountered Trump in Home Alone 2,Macaulay Culkin could have comforted the troubled billionaire with the same innocent friendship he gave to the sad dancer Michael Jackson, on the proviso that Trump abandon political ambition. But Macaulay Culkin didn’t do that. And now we all suffer for his selfishness. Macaulay Culkin has blood on his astonished infant face.
Stewart Lee
2024-07-21T22:24:58+01:00
The assassination attempt on Donald Trump last weekend is a tragedy; a tragedy for democracy, a tragedy for America and, above all, a tragedy for the whole world, because it means Donald Trump will be re-elected. And it is a tragedy for Donald Trump, who, whatever one thinks of his politics or his personality, is still a living creature, and as such, like Eamonn Holmes, is capable of suffering. Last week, I had a standup special, Basic Lee, on Sky Comedy, which even came as a surprise to me. I wish someone had shot me last weekend. The resulting publicity might have driven some traffic towards my work. Here’s hoping I’m at least wounded by a gunman while it’s still available to view on the Now streaming service. (Did you see what I did there?) When the free world’s last line of defence against a Trump MacTatorship ™ ® is Joe Biden, we are already doomed. I’m quitting quitting drinking. Stubborn Biden is too selfish to become the focus of a popularity elevating tragedy, preferring instead to let the world burn while he clings to his candidacy, a limpet in linen trousers, sitting there smiling, like something futile made of felt you’d win at a travelling fair. The now inevitable re-election of demagogue Donald, and the implementation of the puritanical Project 2025 agenda by Oliver Dowden’s Heritage Foundation friends, makes a Handmaid’s Tale-style Christian fascist America a certainty, ending not only the shared enlightenment values of the postwar western world, but also the Fifty Shades of Grey women’s erotica franchise. And Trump’s fandom for fossil fuels will hasten the inevitable extinction of all life on Earth, the only positive being that he may yet see his Scottish golf courses reclaimed by rising seas. American liberals and intellectuals with means and...
What could possibly link Mark Ravenhill, the Damien Hirst of the theatre world, and Stewart Lee, the creator of the puzzlingly controversial Jerry Springer - the Opera?
Presumably what appears to be a bloody-minded ability to inspire controversy and then thumb their nose at it? So stick two monologues together which treat Islam and Christianity with irreverence and hey presto - instant holy war, right?
Possibly, but not tonight. Perhaps the - for once - ambiguous titling by Ravenhill of Product has, for now, disarmed those who might seethe about its story within a story of a Muslim Jihadist who has sex with a widow of the Twin Towers attacks. And perhaps the Christians have got tired of harassing Lee for his obsession with telling the truth, as he sees it, about the gospels. More fun for the rest of us, then, in this thoroughly entertaining, only slightly disappointing, juxtaposition of dramatic voices.
To start with Ravenhill, Product is a remix of his Edinburgh show of 2005 where the writer himself plays a film producer, James, pitching a film to Olivia, an A-list film star - a "Sienna Miller type" as he has put it. James strolls camply about his office, telling her the film's story - a tasteless Hollywood take on the 9/11 bombings which is surely, in reality, only just around the corner.
Ravenhill is a revelation as a performer. He looks somewhat like a fat Dr. Evil in an Armani suit, but it is more than his physical size that gives him his stage presence. For 60 longish minutes he holds my attention in what is a fairly sharp, if perhaps a little obvious, satire on the world-renowned ability of Hollywood to take any important event and cheapen it.
As a storyteller he is more successful here, in my view, than in the vacuous Shopping and Fucking. His beautifully timed, almost self-referential, comic defusing of some of the shocking images and language he uses with lines such as "we had a theatre writer work on this bit" or "it's a private note - we won't shoot it" are immaculate. His foil, the mute Jo Lobban, does a superbly understated line in eyebrow raising, and the whole thing is mesmerising, if maybe fifteen minutes too long.
I have forgiven Lee, no longer the lithe young man of his Fist of Fun days, for not allowing me to review Talk Radio at last year's Edinburgh Fringe - admittedly he might not have known anything about it – but, reading between the lines, it does seem he has not forgiven those who trespassed against him in 2006. His brush with Christian fundamentalism is surely the impetus behind this engaging 'stand-up theatre' routine where, in the style of himself, he relates Judas's version of the events that led to Christ's crucifixion.
Lee has the natural story-telling knack that all the best stand-ups possess. In this semi-theatrical monologue (which he is hoping to turn, by the end of run, more into a discussion group based around nuts) he subverts the usual comedian's trick of asking "who are you, sir, and where are you from?" in order to find a hook for his wit, by asking the audience questions in the manner of a Sunday School teacher, testing our knowledge and engagement with his act. Going slightly further than Brecht might have, he not only talks to his audience, he gets them on stage to re-enact the Last Supper and hands the rest of us wine and bread. However, superb a storyteller as Lee is, like the free victuals he plies us with, they fail quite to satisfy as Ravenhill's piece manages without the audience-pleasing demagoguery.
What is interesting about both these two shows is how far in both the storyteller and the story become entwined. Ravenhill's piece could be done justice to by any good actor, yet the writer chooses to put himself centre-stage. Lee's story is told in such a personal way and in such an idiosyncratic style, it could not be performed by anyone other than him. Ultimately, much as I have disliked Ravenhill's work in the past, it is the daring and complexity of his piece which allows it to live with you long after the blackout. Lee's piece is a brilliant bit of nouveau stand-up, but, sadly for him, ideas cannot live on Tesco-bought bread alone.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-15T20:11:46+00:00
What could possibly link Mark Ravenhill, the Damien Hirst of the theatre world, and Stewart Lee, the creator of the puzzlingly controversial Jerry Springer - the Opera? Presumably what appears to be a bloody-minded ability to inspire controversy and then thumb their nose at it? So stick two monologues together which treat Islam and Christianity with irreverence and hey presto - instant holy war, right? Possibly, but not tonight. Perhaps the - for once - ambiguous titling by Ravenhill of Product has, for now, disarmed those who might seethe about its story within a story of a Muslim Jihadist who has sex with a widow of the Twin Towers attacks. And perhaps the Christians have got tired of harassing Lee for his obsession with telling the truth, as he sees it, about the gospels. More fun for the rest of us, then, in this thoroughly entertaining, only slightly disappointing, juxtaposition of dramatic voices. To start with Ravenhill, Product is a remix of his Edinburgh show of 2005 where the writer himself plays a film producer, James, pitching a film to Olivia, an A-list film star - a "Sienna Miller type" as he has put it. James strolls camply about his office, telling her the film's story - a tasteless Hollywood take on the 9/11 bombings which is surely, in reality, only just around the corner. Ravenhill is a revelation as a performer. He looks somewhat like a fat Dr. Evil in an Armani suit, but it is more than his physical size that gives him his stage presence. For 60 longish minutes he holds my attention in what is a fairly sharp, if perhaps a little obvious, satire on the world-renowned ability of Hollywood to take any important event and cheapen it. As a storyteller he is more successful here,...
Comedian Stewart Lee has been on the radio pushing the familiar line that Birmingham City Council was accused of "banning" Christmas.
As he correctly says in his interview, which you can hear for yourself here, "they called the celebrations as a whole Winterval and you were allowed to use the word Christmas, and you were allowed to have a Christmas tree" and to celebrate other religious festivals such as Diwali too.
I thought it might be useful to remind people what was actually reported, in our sister paper The Sunday Mercury by the excellent Bob Haywood, at the time (November 8 1998):
A LEADING churchman has launched an astonishing attack on council chiefs over Christmas.
The Bishop of Birmingham, the Rt Rev Mark Santer, has accused Birmingham City Council of replacing Christmas with `Winterval'.
He calls the decision madness - and says there is a danger of the secular world becoming deeply embarrased by faith.
The Bishop's hard-hitting remarks are contained in his Christmas message which has been sent to all clergy and churches in the diocese.
Last night, the city council said Winterval was not another name for Christmas, and the winter festival would have traditional Christmas at its heart.
The row comes five years after the city council insisted on Christmas lights being called festive lights to avoid offending religious and racial minorities.
The decision - condemned as barmy political correctness - was later overturned... and Christmas lights returned in later years.
In his Christmas message, Bishop Santer says: "I wonder what madness is in store for us this Christmas?
"I confess I laughed out loud when our city council came out with 'Winterval' as a way of not talking about Christmas!
"No doubt it was a weleaning attempt not to offend, not to exclude; not really to say anything at all.
"Once it was religious people who were seen as killjoys; think of the 17th century Puritans trying to ban Christmas festivities.
"Now, it seems, the secular world, which professes respect for all, is actually deeply embarrassed by faith."
The city council-organised Winterval runs for 42 days and is aimed at providing festive family fun over Christmas and New Year.
An aide of Bishop Santer said: "We are supposed to be a Christian nation and, while we welcome our brothers and sisters from other faiths, Christmas is one of the principal festivities of the Christian church.
"The Bishop feels that to give it another name is rather strange. I am sure people of other faiths are not offended by Christmas being called Christmas."
Coun John Alden, Tory deputy leader on the city council, said: "The sad Socialists are caught in a time warp because, while they may be worried about calling Christmas 'Christmas', ethnic minorities don't worry about it at all.
"They have their own festivities and they are quite happy that Christians have theirs. Indeed, most enthusiastically celebrate it."
A city council spokeswoman said: "It is sad the Bishop feels this way, particularly as we have invested money this year into drawing attention to the Cathedral as part of the Christmas celebrations by placing tasteful white lighting throughout the tree a rea.
"Far from not talking about Christmas, the events within Winterval and the publicity material for it are covered in Christmas greetings and traditional images, including angels and carol singers."
Stewart Lee
2010-11-12T15:16:27+00:00
Comedian Stewart Lee has been on the radio pushing the familiar line that Birmingham City Council was accused of "banning" Christmas. As he correctly says in his interview, which you can hear for yourself here, "they called the celebrations as a whole Winterval and you were allowed to use the word Christmas, and you were allowed to have a Christmas tree" and to celebrate other religious festivals such as Diwali too. I thought it might be useful to remind people what was actually reported, in our sister paper The Sunday Mercury by the excellent Bob Haywood, at the time (November 8 1998): A LEADING churchman has launched an astonishing attack on council chiefs over Christmas. The Bishop of Birmingham, the Rt Rev Mark Santer, has accused Birmingham City Council of replacing Christmas with `Winterval'. He calls the decision madness - and says there is a danger of the secular world becoming deeply embarrased by faith. The Bishop's hard-hitting remarks are contained in his Christmas message which has been sent to all clergy and churches in the diocese. Last night, the city council said Winterval was not another name for Christmas, and the winter festival would have traditional Christmas at its heart. The row comes five years after the city council insisted on Christmas lights being called festive lights to avoid offending religious and racial minorities. The decision - condemned as barmy political correctness - was later overturned... and Christmas lights returned in later years. In his Christmas message, Bishop Santer says: "I wonder what madness is in store for us this Christmas? "I confess I laughed out loud when our city council came out with 'Winterval' as a way of not talking about Christmas! "No doubt it was a weleaning attempt not to offend, not to exclude; not really to...
In the 1980s, the pornographic bookshop (bad) where we bought amyl nitrate was opposite the feminist bookshop (good), where we hung around skim-reading Spare Rib and Shulamith Firestone’s The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution (1970), to try to get dates with the clever feminists, who saw through us immediately.
The feminist bookshop (good) had a camera set up in its window to covertly photograph male fans of pornography (bad) coming and going from the pornographic bookshop. If this seems a depressing state of affairs, look on the bright side. In 1986, a small provincial town could still support two independent bookshops!
Our purchases complete, we would stand opposite the feminists’ camera position, waving our bottles of amyl nitrate around, so the feminists would know we only wanted to get high, and not degrade women by looking at pictures of them nude. How did they resist us?
Ten years ago, I inherited a vintage Singer sewing machine from my mother. During my childhood, she became expert at hand-making perfect costumes of whatever character was my current favourite. When I was five, in 1973, her Hartley Hare from Pipkins costume was perfect, functioning alcoholic eyes and all; in 1977, my mother’s Captain Britain tabard was unique, the obscure Marvel superhero being resistant to official merchandising; and I doubt there were many boys lucky enough to attend their 10th birthday party in a one-piece zip-up costume of the Welsh experimental film-maker and poet Iain Sinclair.
This summer, I had planned to take the children, Six and Nine, to the United States on a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to pay homage to the unmarked paupers’ graves of my favourite 47 significant pre-first world war blues harmonica players. It was to be a journey I am sure they would have looked back on with some fondness, or at least tolerance, in later life at least.
But I imagined a difficult American situation, where a delightful pea-soup restaurant waitress, who has been nothing other than charming this last hour, asks us in parting what we think of good ole Donald Trump, kickin’ Muslamic ass. My daughter, Six, would doubtless say “Donald Trump is a smelly poo-poo head”. It is her habit to regurgitate wholesale the adult discourse she overhears around our dinner table, without necessarily understanding it.
In the ensuing conversational difficulties, we would then be gunned down by aggrieved onlookers, and hung naked from poplar trees as a warning to any other visiting snowflakes considering casting doubt on the composition and cleanliness of the 45th US president’s head.
So instead of being murdered in a roadside diner, we are going on a self-guided tour of major European cities, before the administrative gates that make our access to them so easy are finally lowered in 2019, in an elaborate star-studded ceremony featuring Elizabeth Hurley, Ian Botham, Public Image Ltd and a racist calypso from DJ Mike Read.
Last year, when we visited France, I made sure the children always wore lapel badges, which I bought on the internet, of the EU flag. No one would be in any doubt of our political affiliations. Any awkwardness could be immediately abated by enthusiastic lapel-gesturing.
At the French holiday camp, Six and Nine made friends with some Belgian children of similar ages, Zes and Negen. And though, being English, we were unable to speak any foreign languages, least of all Belgian, we made our feelings about the complex pros and cons in the argument for European political and economic unity understood to the Walloons by pointing at the badges and pretending to cry, over and over again.
Of course, 12 months later, the situation is much worse, and the British, or more specifically the English, have gone from being regarded by the Europeans as the cool kids who gave the world the Beatles, James Bond, and football, to being a kind of embarrassing, weird family of angry and confused hooligans, whose garden is full of used nappies, old wet copies of Fiesta Readers’ Wives, and rusted tricycle frames.
A man on a secondhand record stall in the street market of a Pyrenean village last summer pretended he was not going to sell me a first pressing of Catherine Ribeiro’s 1972 classic Paix, despite my EU badge, due to assumed political differences. “Ah, Brexit,” he said, “no seminal stream-of-consciousness Parisienne street-poet space rock for you, monsieur!” But the tension was palpable. We needed to raise our game.
I realised I could use my mother’s sewing machine to clothe my very family itself, this summer, in unambiguously pro-European Union garments, exactly the sort of bespoke outfits we would need to ensure safe passage across the continent in these troubled times.
The McCall’s Patterns M5500 Children’s Knight, Prince and Samurai Costumes kit, which I found for $8.91 on the internet, had the basic shapes I needed for my pro-European Union suits. And while European Union patterned dressmaking material is not available in and of itself, European Union flags 15ft square are available for about £1.50 each online. These were the tools!
By upscaling the size of the patterns I was also able to provide templates for my wife and I, and by the end of June I had cut and stitched four perfect medieval-style European Union two-pieces for us to wear as we make our way across divided Europe. For headgear, I copied our clearly pro-EU queen, and wove plastic yellow daisies in European Union star formations into the brims of four blue wickerwork hats. Four pairs of blue-and-yellow trainers set off our ensembles perfectly.
In Germany, the still extant Wanderjahre tradition sees young people wander the country for a fixed period, dressed in stovepipe hats and bell-bottoms, singing for their sausage suppers in inns and bars. This, I realised, could be the model for our ritual journey, our pilgrimage of contrition.
Six plays the French horn, Nine is a skilled oboist, and I own a theremin, while my wife can shriek. I have arranged a version of the song I Apologize by the 1980s Minneapolis hardcore punk band Hüsker Dü for our family quartet, and I plan to spend the summer performing it in our pro-European garb at a succession of significant European sites.
And when their children, standing in the ruins of ravaged Britain, ask my children what they did to try and sabotage Brexit, they can answer, “We stood outside the Stasi Museum, and Notre-Dame, and the astronomical clock, clad in European Union costumes that our father stitched himself, and used our oboe and our horn to apologise.”
Stewart Lee
2017-07-09T19:16:13+01:00
In the 1980s, the pornographic bookshop (bad) where we bought amyl nitrate was opposite the feminist bookshop (good), where we hung around skim-reading Spare Rib and Shulamith Firestone’s The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution (1970), to try to get dates with the clever feminists, who saw through us immediately. The feminist bookshop (good) had a camera set up in its window to covertly photograph male fans of pornography (bad) coming and going from the pornographic bookshop. If this seems a depressing state of affairs, look on the bright side. In 1986, a small provincial town could still support two independent bookshops! Our purchases complete, we would stand opposite the feminists’ camera position, waving our bottles of amyl nitrate around, so the feminists would know we only wanted to get high, and not degrade women by looking at pictures of them nude. How did they resist us? Ten years ago, I inherited a vintage Singer sewing machine from my mother. During my childhood, she became expert at hand-making perfect costumes of whatever character was my current favourite. When I was five, in 1973, her Hartley Hare from Pipkins costume was perfect, functioning alcoholic eyes and all; in 1977, my mother’s Captain Britain tabard was unique, the obscure Marvel superhero being resistant to official merchandising; and I doubt there were many boys lucky enough to attend their 10th birthday party in a one-piece zip-up costume of the Welsh experimental film-maker and poet Iain Sinclair. This summer, I had planned to take the children, Six and Nine, to the United States on a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to pay homage to the unmarked paupers’ graves of my favourite 47 significant pre-first world war blues harmonica players. It was to be a journey I am sure they would have looked back on with...
Stewart Lee is a very clever but very disappointed man.
He rails bitterly against the world, against the reviewers that have gone from describing him as a "crumpled Morrissey" to a "squashed Albert Finney", "against the parents who "think it's a big joke" that he's a comedian, against the invisible forces that make his life into a series of heroic failures.
It's a humour where the observational breeds the surreal, a comedy of layers, weaving various central threads in and out of each other and revisiting them time and again.
There's the strange half-plaudit of being named 41st Best Stand Up Comedian Ever in a Channel 4 poll, the fact that the funniest thing his mother has ever seen is cheeky Scouse Crosswits host Tom O'Connor telling a bad joke about sardines on a cruise ship and his hapless appearance at the entymologists conference "Pestival" doing stand up dressed as an insect.
He's always pushed the boundaries of accepted comedy, experimenting with wordplay and mental imagery, questioning the essence of what we find funny and getting laughs with it.
Here he plays ever more recklessly with the rules, forcing your comfort zone by dropping the mike and roaming into the audience, ranting as if in the grip of a nervous breakdown, turning his back to stare out of the window and finally balancing a woollen giraffe on his head and staring mutely as they titter increasingly awkwardly.
It's a portrait of a man and his disappointed hopes, a cerebral, but angry form of humour - and it's in the hands of an expert.
Stewart Lee
2008-04-15T21:57:37+01:00
Stewart Lee is a very clever but very disappointed man. He rails bitterly against the world, against the reviewers that have gone from describing him as a "crumpled Morrissey" to a "squashed Albert Finney", "against the parents who "think it's a big joke" that he's a comedian, against the invisible forces that make his life into a series of heroic failures. It's a humour where the observational breeds the surreal, a comedy of layers, weaving various central threads in and out of each other and revisiting them time and again. There's the strange half-plaudit of being named 41st Best Stand Up Comedian Ever in a Channel 4 poll, the fact that the funniest thing his mother has ever seen is cheeky Scouse Crosswits host Tom O'Connor telling a bad joke about sardines on a cruise ship and his hapless appearance at the entymologists conference "Pestival" doing stand up dressed as an insect. He's always pushed the boundaries of accepted comedy, experimenting with wordplay and mental imagery, questioning the essence of what we find funny and getting laughs with it. Here he plays ever more recklessly with the rules, forcing your comfort zone by dropping the mike and roaming into the audience, ranting as if in the grip of a nervous breakdown, turning his back to stare out of the window and finally balancing a woollen giraffe on his head and staring mutely as they titter increasingly awkwardly. It's a portrait of a man and his disappointed hopes, a cerebral, but angry form of humour - and it's in the hands of an expert.
Crumbling Ghost play sixties British folk revival standards, and compositions they've informed, in the style of doom metal monsters Sleep or Electric Wizard, finding shamanic drones in traditional tunes.
But unlike hillbilly bands that release novelty albums of AC/DC covers, Crumbling Ghost’s second record is a convincing concoction.
The Submerged Forest is Can's pulverising Yoo Doo Right with a zombie country dance interlude, and the famous lament The Poor Murdered Woman, sung by new vocalist Katie Harnett, suggests the young Barbara Dixon fronting Black Sabbath.
Morris on!
Stewart Lee
2013-07-14T11:21:55+01:00
Crumbling Ghost play sixties British folk revival standards, and compositions they've informed, in the style of doom metal monsters Sleep or Electric Wizard, finding shamanic drones in traditional tunes. But unlike hillbilly bands that release novelty albums of AC/DC covers, Crumbling Ghost’s second record is a convincing concoction. The Submerged Forest is Can's pulverising Yoo Doo Right with a zombie country dance interlude, and the famous lament The Poor Murdered Woman, sung by new vocalist Katie Harnett, suggests the young Barbara Dixon fronting Black Sabbath. Morris on!
In the small hours of Tues 20th I received a badly punctuated e-mail advertising Foster’s through the medium of The Foster’s Comedy God poll, which invites the public to vote for the all-time Comedy God from 30 years of Perrier/Eddies/Edinburgh Comedy Awards nominations. Three pints drunk, on Foster’s ironically, I responded with admittedly ill-advised rudeness, but here’s the main reasons why the poll is deeply flawed.
1) No-one can possibly have seen all the nominated shows and there is no video evidence of most of them, as they pre-date the You Tube mass-media era, so the vote is immediately unfair and skewed towards the most well-documented and famous names, especially from the last few years.
2) Some of the winners and nominees, such as the hit 2000 show Arctic Boosh, are listed under the name of the performers (Mighty Boosh) others under the name of the show (Jackson’s Way, where the performer Wil Adamsdale is not listed). This is like having a MUSIC vote where NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS is listed alongside THE BEATLES. i.e it is stupid.
3) In these polls, whoever is freshest in the public mind tends to win. Perhaps Foster’s know this and have calculated that their brand will be associated with an already popular name. But this is the fringe. To be in keeping with the spirit of the fringe the sponsor’s money should be used in promoting new or unknown things not giving a high profile award to an already established name.
4) Of the nearly 300 performers involved not a single one has been asked if they mind their name being used to drive traffic towards what is essentially a big Foster’s advert. Artists should not be co-opted into commercial promotional activities without their express permission. (I do appreciate this could be seen as an extreme position, and that many people on the list will be happy to be promoted by Foster’s reciprocally, seeing the relationship as a symbiotic one, like that between maggots and a wound.)
5) Some listed names (Emma Thompson, Steve Coogan) had already distanced themselves from The Edinburgh Comedy Awards, during the period that they were owned by Nestle, in support of the World Health Organisation’s criticisms of the company’s developing world ethics record, and yet here they are, mysteriously airbrushed back in to the history of the award, like Trotskys in reverse.
6) The entrance criteria and the number of nominees are just two things that have changed significantly since 1980, so there is no way of comparing fairly nominees from different eras as the criteria by which they were suggested for consideration, and the pool from which they were drawn, have all changed significantly.
7) This silly poll discredits the fringe generally, and comedy specifically.
8) The poll is so poorly thought out and unfair that it is either the work of idiots in a hurry, or else it was done badly on purpose in order to ensure that a famous name wins to buoy up the Foster’s brand’s association with the Edinburgh Comedy Awards and ensure coverage.
9) There are loads more things wrong with it that I can’t be bothered to even think of.
Why not make up some of your own? It’s a load of shit basically.
It is essential for the Spirit Of The Fringe that Foster’s are shown that the world’s best arts event, (which has been shaped by many hands over many decades, mainly for no money, or even at performers’ own financial loss,) has its roots in a post-war spirit of hope and reconciliation, and is not something that can be exploited in this way, especially without individual consultation.
In my e-mail I chose at random Frank Chickens, the Japanese female performance art duo, as an example of possibly worthy winners who would not get a look in under this illogical and unfair voting system, and the Twitter world has adopted them as a cause. This was never my intention, and I was drunk when I sent the e-mail in a fit of annoyance anyway, but they are now leading the field, and it appears we should embrace them.
If Frank Chickens become Comedy Gods then Foster’s will have been helped to actually sponsor some actual art, and fans of Foster’s all over the whole world will be made aware of that wonderful, indefinable, mischievous, playful thing we call The Spirit Of The Fringe!
Since Frank Chickens shot to the top of the poll earlier this week, Foster’s keep redesigning their site to make it as difficult to vote as possible, especially for older people who have trouble understanding computers, presumably to disenfranchise deliberately fans of Frank Chickens, who are likely to be in their 40s and 50s.
You can still vote here - but you have to enter a code in a box, though if you are pressed for time there are usually quicker ways to vote explained on Twitter if you search for ‘Frank Chickens’.
Heineken UK Brands director Mark Given has explained that “comedy plays a singular and important role in the lives of Foster’s customers” and says that he looks forward “to facilitating and fostering their engagement with comedy in all its guises through the support for comedy’s most prestigious awards.” (*see footnote).
Reading this, I think Mark wants genuinely to help the comedy loving Foster’s drinkers to engage with comedy “in all its guises”, so this vote is the public’s chance to help Mark to broaden these epicures’ humour horizons and introduce them to a taste of the real variety of comedy on the fringe, rather than just allowing mass public ignorance to foist upon these poor and trusting drinkers an already familiar and well-known name. Hopefully, the joy of discovering the true spirit of the fringe may engender in the Foster’s drinkers some of the same joy and euphoria which they have previously derived from alcohol.
Vote Frank Chickens, for fairness and change, and please circulate this blurb as widely as you can across internet social networks.
FRANK CHICKENS – FAIRNESS & CHANGE
Footnote * - The exciting thing for comedy fans about Mark’s assertion that “comedy plays a singular and important role in the lives of Foster’s customers” is that, assuming ASA regulations apply to this promotional tool too, there must be some data to back up the extent to which this love of comedy is true, ideally in relation to consumers of other beers. It would be fascinating to know which beer drinkers like comedy the most, and which kind of comedy they prefer. Presumably this data exists, unless the assertion that “comedy plays a singular and important role in the lives of Foster’s customers” is just PR guff without a grounding in any serious study of the relationship between beer brand preference and taste in comedy.
Stewart Lee
2010-07-29T11:07:37+01:00
In the small hours of Tues 20th I received a badly punctuated e-mail advertising Foster’s through the medium of The Foster’s Comedy God poll, which invites the public to vote for the all-time Comedy God from 30 years of Perrier/Eddies/Edinburgh Comedy Awards nominations. Three pints drunk, on Foster’s ironically, I responded with admittedly ill-advised rudeness, but here’s the main reasons why the poll is deeply flawed. 1) No-one can possibly have seen all the nominated shows and there is no video evidence of most of them, as they pre-date the You Tube mass-media era, so the vote is immediately unfair and skewed towards the most well-documented and famous names, especially from the last few years. 2) Some of the winners and nominees, such as the hit 2000 show Arctic Boosh, are listed under the name of the performers (Mighty Boosh) others under the name of the show (Jackson’s Way, where the performer Wil Adamsdale is not listed). This is like having a MUSIC vote where NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS is listed alongside THE BEATLES. i.e it is stupid. 3) In these polls, whoever is freshest in the public mind tends to win. Perhaps Foster’s know this and have calculated that their brand will be associated with an already popular name. But this is the fringe. To be in keeping with the spirit of the fringe the sponsor’s money should be used in promoting new or unknown things not giving a high profile award to an already established name. 4) Of the nearly 300 performers involved not a single one has been asked if they mind their name being used to drive traffic towards what is essentially a big Foster’s advert. Artists should not be co-opted into commercial promotional activities without their express permission. (I do appreciate this could be seen...
Stewart Lee has long been held in high regard and has been branded as “probably the cleverest comedian working in Britain” (Guardian). Given this reputation, the anticipation at the sold out Colston Hall was almost tangible as the lights went down.
Lee emerged to rapturous applause before explaining that the material for this ‘Much a-Stew About Nothing’ tour would come in the form of four half-hour slots he was preparing for a new TV show, to be recorded in December.
He went on to explain that there would definitely be an encore, but likened this free extra to “finding a miniature statue of Hitler in your cereal” instead of a toy.
The first half of the show was the strongest, with a particular highlight being an analysis of the phrase chalk and cheese as an analogy for difference. Lee explained that these are actually very similar as they are both solid, similar in colour and are mostly composed of Calcium, before offering an alternative: chalk and regret.
Lee has always been regarded as standing outside the comedy mainstream and this soon became clear after fellow stand-ups Michael McIntyre, Jimmy Carr and Jim Davidson came into the firing line, followed by a topical dig at the idiocy of Russell Brand “using words without knowing their actual meaning” which drew widespread applause from the audience.
The second half of the show took the form of more observational comedy and was backboned by a long critique of UKIP’s deputy leader Paul Nuttall’s views on the immigration of skilled Bulgarian workers.
Lee imagined Nuttall telling previous immigrants, such as the Poles and West Indians not to bother coming here. This was taken to a surreal level, extending Nuttall’s remarks back in time to the Anglo Saxons, the Neolithics and the first fish to ever make it on to land to begin the process of evolution.
Despite some lacklustre moments in the latter stages, much of Lee’s material is among his sharpest, most intelligent and well thought out of his career.
If this is merely a dress rehearsal for his new TV show, the final product coming out next year must be looked forward to with great excitement.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-26T18:29:01+01:00
Stewart Lee has long been held in high regard and has been branded as “probably the cleverest comedian working in Britain” (Guardian). Given this reputation, the anticipation at the sold out Colston Hall was almost tangible as the lights went down. Lee emerged to rapturous applause before explaining that the material for this ‘Much a-Stew About Nothing’ tour would come in the form of four half-hour slots he was preparing for a new TV show, to be recorded in December. He went on to explain that there would definitely be an encore, but likened this free extra to “finding a miniature statue of Hitler in your cereal” instead of a toy. The first half of the show was the strongest, with a particular highlight being an analysis of the phrase chalk and cheese as an analogy for difference. Lee explained that these are actually very similar as they are both solid, similar in colour and are mostly composed of Calcium, before offering an alternative: chalk and regret. Lee has always been regarded as standing outside the comedy mainstream and this soon became clear after fellow stand-ups Michael McIntyre, Jimmy Carr and Jim Davidson came into the firing line, followed by a topical dig at the idiocy of Russell Brand “using words without knowing their actual meaning” which drew widespread applause from the audience. The second half of the show took the form of more observational comedy and was backboned by a long critique of UKIP’s deputy leader Paul Nuttall’s views on the immigration of skilled Bulgarian workers. Lee imagined Nuttall telling previous immigrants, such as the Poles and West Indians not to bother coming here. This was taken to a surreal level, extending Nuttall’s remarks back in time to the Anglo Saxons, the Neolithics and the first fish to ever...
Last year, Helen ‘Stinky’ Fitzroy briefly revived the forgotten Victorian London trade of Pure Taker, by gathering dog excrement from the streets around her Islington home, which she then attempted to sell to the Leather Industry.
When I tell people that I once tried to sell dog excrement to strangers, they often look at me askance. But I am an educated woman, who has spent twenty years in Public Relations putting brands like Front and Big Brother on the map, so I would hardly waste my time trying to push worthless filth on people without a very good reason, would I? One night, my husband Tony, who is an underpaid academic and obviously looks down on what I do for a living, had been reading Sir Henry Mayhew’s survey of 1850’s city life, London Labour and The London Poor. He remarked how he lamented the loss of the old London street characters, the costermongers, the pearly kings and so forth. ‘Once,” he had said, in his stupid quavering Yorkshire accent, “London was full of costumed figures, all singing the songs of their trade. It would have been a pageant, a pageant everyday.”
Tony is fifteen years older than me and I hate him. He taught me poetry at North London Poly in the mid-80’s and one thing had led to another in a disused toilet on Highbury Fields and then I was trapped, trapped by Tony, trapped by London! I was halfway into our third bottle of red, so I let him have it, both barrels! “There were women in London back then, Tony” I remember shouting at him, “who made their living by gathering up dog’s muck, and selling it to tanners to dye leather. Does that seem quaint? I suppose you’d like it if I did that?” And I waved the bottle and he put up his hands to shield his face and said, “Go on then. Go on. If you want to.”
So I did. I don’t know exactly what possessed me but I did. I stumbled out into the street and crossed Essex Road to Islington Green, away from stupid Tony, where I found myself crawling along the road towards The Angel gathering up the doggy doo and putting it into my handbag, laughing. People are more conscientious than they were in Victorian times, but eventually my bag was half full. I felt a strange sense of pride. What did I do every day in my Soho office? I tried to sell worthless ideas to worthless people using worthless images and lies. But here I was, a few hours after I first left the flat, with a whole handbag full of dog excrement. Finally, London has actually given me something to show for my labours, something solid and pungent and real. London has helped me to learn the dignity of labour.
And so it was, after haggling with a mini cab driver who objected to the smell, that I found myself on the North Circular, just up from Hanger Lane, at three a.m, banging on the door of World Of Leather, asking the security guard if they still did their own dying, and passing him a handbag full of dog mess through the grill. We ended up drinking our way through a whole bottle of a vodka as we tried out a succession of reasonably priced leather sofas. London’s like that. It knows what you need and its gives it to you at exactly the right moment. I needed dog mess and affirmation. I left my handbag in the back of the minicab I took home. Its moment had passed.
Helen Fitzroy was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-02-20T16:53:30+00:00
Last year, Helen ‘Stinky’ Fitzroy briefly revived the forgotten Victorian London trade of Pure Taker, by gathering dog excrement from the streets around her Islington home, which she then attempted to sell to the Leather Industry. When I tell people that I once tried to sell dog excrement to strangers, they often look at me askance. But I am an educated woman, who has spent twenty years in Public Relations putting brands like Front and Big Brother on the map, so I would hardly waste my time trying to push worthless filth on people without a very good reason, would I? One night, my husband Tony, who is an underpaid academic and obviously looks down on what I do for a living, had been reading Sir Henry Mayhew’s survey of 1850’s city life, London Labour and The London Poor. He remarked how he lamented the loss of the old London street characters, the costermongers, the pearly kings and so forth. ‘Once,” he had said, in his stupid quavering Yorkshire accent, “London was full of costumed figures, all singing the songs of their trade. It would have been a pageant, a pageant everyday.” Tony is fifteen years older than me and I hate him. He taught me poetry at North London Poly in the mid-80’s and one thing had led to another in a disused toilet on Highbury Fields and then I was trapped, trapped by Tony, trapped by London! I was halfway into our third bottle of red, so I let him have it, both barrels! “There were women in London back then, Tony” I remember shouting at him, “who made their living by gathering up dog’s muck, and selling it to tanners to dye leather. Does that seem quaint? I suppose you’d like it if I did that?” And...
It’s a blustery and rainy February evening and I’m attending Stewart Lee’s stand-up show ‘Content Provider’. Tonight is sold out. Actually, all four nights at the Brighton Dome are sold out. This is a testament to Lee’s popularity and perhaps to Brighton’s good sense of humour. We’ll see what Stewart has to say about that…
Stewart Lee has an air of the Godfather of comedy; and it is a hard-won role, I imagine. Lee emerges to raucous applause. Casually dressed with slick-back hair, with a slight paunch and chin in the air, he looks at the audience as if to say: ‘So you’re here then?’ And immediately there is a sense of dialogue and rapport to his address.
What the audience is well aware of is that in 2016, his BBC series was cancelled after four series. Despite performing well and holding onto a stable viewership, it was culled as part of funding cuts. What a shame. Still, tonight promises to be an opportunity for an uncensored experience with the comedian who manages the delicate balance of mainstream appeal and uncompromising critical content.
Lee is also quick to bait the crowd. I’m sure there were a few people shifting in their seats as he weighed in on those who have come along as a plus one. Rather than the excited die-hard fans who Lee supposed were confined to the main stall seats. Between this and the clear warning of no mobile phones, the audience was reminded to pay attention and to read between lines. While in some way ‘Content Provider’ was a call to decode both Lee’s wit and script, it also questioned the rhetoric of politicians and authority in general. It follows then, that we hear about Brexit and Trump.
Throughout the show, Lee tramples on his stage props. DVDs of other comedians and from time to time refers to the show he was planning to write prior to Brexit happening. The show was to be inspired by the 19th Century painting Wanderer above the sea of fog by Friedrich Casper David. It depicts a romantic silhouette of a man in nature as an example of Rückenfigur. Since the key to these paintings is the idea of experiencing nature, the figure always has his back to the viewer. Concealing his face and perhaps emotions of isolation too.
Well, that was worth the research. Lee was obviously thinking long and hard about the message and criticisms he wanted to voice. Both personally and publicly, and of whether it was a politician, a comedian or the under 40’s (in general). He delivered his critique to a crowd who laughed uncontrollably. And one person who disobeyed his call for using mobiles.
I don’t think they’ll ever do that again. It was an excellent show. I almost took to the aisle to lie down to laugh.
Stewart Lee
2017-03-06T19:42:11+00:00
It’s a blustery and rainy February evening and I’m attending Stewart Lee’s stand-up show ‘Content Provider’. Tonight is sold out. Actually, all four nights at the Brighton Dome are sold out. This is a testament to Lee’s popularity and perhaps to Brighton’s good sense of humour. We’ll see what Stewart has to say about that… Stewart Lee has an air of the Godfather of comedy; and it is a hard-won role, I imagine. Lee emerges to raucous applause. Casually dressed with slick-back hair, with a slight paunch and chin in the air, he looks at the audience as if to say: ‘So you’re here then?’ And immediately there is a sense of dialogue and rapport to his address. What the audience is well aware of is that in 2016, his BBC series was cancelled after four series. Despite performing well and holding onto a stable viewership, it was culled as part of funding cuts. What a shame. Still, tonight promises to be an opportunity for an uncensored experience with the comedian who manages the delicate balance of mainstream appeal and uncompromising critical content. Lee is also quick to bait the crowd. I’m sure there were a few people shifting in their seats as he weighed in on those who have come along as a plus one. Rather than the excited die-hard fans who Lee supposed were confined to the main stall seats. Between this and the clear warning of no mobile phones, the audience was reminded to pay attention and to read between lines. While in some way ‘Content Provider’ was a call to decode both Lee’s wit and script, it also questioned the rhetoric of politicians and authority in general. It follows then, that we hear about Brexit and Trump. Throughout the show, Lee tramples on his stage props....
Last week, I betrayed the homosexual parenting community. At Elton John’s insistence I tried to boycott Dolce & Gabbana, which was a great sacrifice for me, as other designer underwear makes my testicles look old.
As I have been appearing at a theatre in Dundee it has been difficult to find any Dolce & Gabbana outlets to boycott. Instead, I located a second-hand copy of Joe Dolce’s Shaddap You Face single in Groucho’s records on the Nethergate, and pointedly refused to buy it.
But it has been a troubling week. News events, coupled with the liminal experience of spending time in Dundee, have conspired to make me doubt my own existence. And that of others. And that of all matter. It is the fault of the government.
Earlier this week the Conservative party chair Grant Shapps was revealed to have operated, even while an MP, a variety of ethically translucent internet business funnels under the alias of Michael Green, pseudonymous author of a book called How to Get Stinking Rich. Grant Shapps even wore a badge saying he was Michael Green at a 2004 conference, though apparently this was a joke, but one so subtle that many people took it at face value. Now he knows how I feel writing these columns.
Green, a non-existent man, marketed software that steers Google search engines towards particular information, manipulating our perception of reality. Fittingly, most traces of this Michael Green’s HowToCorp company have since been erased from cyberspace, perhaps by his own software, jammed in reverse gear with an imaginary spanner.
In August 1989 Grant Shapps had a car crash near WaKeeney, Kansas, on Interstate 70, his companion probably falling asleep at the wheel. Speaking to the Welwyn Hatfield Times in 2011, at the opening of a refurbished McDonald’s in the region, Grant Shapps confessed: “I was in a coma for the best part of a week and when I came round I recuperated in a Ronald McDonald home. I’ve always been grateful to Ronald McDonald.” Could this bizarre incident be significant?
The spring of 1989 saw a surge of UFO sightings in Kansas, clustered principally around the town of Russell, 60 miles west on Interstate 70 of Grant Shapps’s subsequent accident. The UFO-spotting season closed spectacularly in November 1989 at Goodland, 111 miles east, on the same road, when two women were abducted by aliens, and left unable to account for three hours of their evening. And in between those two spates of alien activity, geographically and temporally, lies Grant Shapps’s own crash and coma. Could this be the point at which the reality-moulding entity known as Michael Green somehow took possession of the future Conservative party chair? Did Grant Shapps’s Kansas blackout provide a gateway for the little Green man?
Given this Michael Green’s self-professed ability to use software to rewrite our perception of our own history, and our own reality, I wondered if there ever was a “Grant Shapps”, as we understand him, at all? Grant Shapps’s Wikipedia entry is known to have been regularly and favourably massaged by unseen hands. But are these hands alien hands? Are they green? Could this Michael Green have inserted a rebooted “Grant Shapps” character, who never really existed, into our reality by a similarly deft manipulation of online records?
And what kind of name is “Grant Shapps” anyway? Say it a dozen times. Roll “Grant Shapps” around your tongue. It sounds, as does Douglas Adams’s pitch-perfect Ford Prefect, like the kind of name an alien would choose in a bungled attempt to appear human. And so does “Ms Stockheath”, one of Michael Green’s supposedly satisfied online customers, and a name no one in the world has ever had. Ever.
Writing in the London Review of Books in January, Andrew O’Hagan showed how easy it was to use online resources to build a non-existent man from the ground up, who eventually took on a viable virtual life. And of course, members of the police have famously created similar false identities in order to have sex with Guardian readers and befriend Mark Thomas.
Is Grant Shapps the creation of this Michael Green? And if so, who are we? Has this Michael Green, or this Grant Shapps, micro-engineered a virtual world in which we also believe we exist, when in fact we may not? Are we just ciphers now, clumps of sentient meat, plugged into sockets, farmed by Michael Green or Grant Shapps, but for what? Data? Energy? For some super-being’s sick fun? Are we maggots dreaming of Grant Shapps, or is Michael Green a vast consciousness that dreams Grant Shapps daily into being?
I leaned against the outside wall of a public toilet near a building site on the banks of the Tay and rang a mobile number Grant Shapps had given me 25 years ago, in case of nocturnal maggot emergencies. Back then it had connected to the brick-sized carphone in his maggot van. Now a trim buzz broke off suddenly and Grant Shapps, identifiably and audibly Grant Shapps, snapped “Who gave you this number?” Instead of asking for Grant Shapps, I said: “Is Michael Green there?” “Michael Green is here,” came the reply, “but who and where, I wonder, do you imagine you are, my meddling maggot?”
And then everything went wobbly. The surface of the Tay seemed to shimmer, the grey light rolling over the estuary from Tentsmuir Forest frazzled and burned, and the Tay Bridge buckled and bent. The brick wall at my back melted and my internal organs fused, air in my guts and liquid in my lungs. In the purple cloud above the boiling river I swear I saw the face of Grant Shapps, or Michael Green, or maybe even God, looking down and laughing, his hands full of wriggling maggots, tumbling into his open mouth. “Am I dead now?” I cried.
“Come on,” said my tour tech, James, snapping me out of it, “we have to get to Inverness today.” And everything went flat again. And we drove north across the Cairngorms dusted with snow, looking for all the world exactly as one would imagine mountains would look.
Stewart Lee
2015-03-22T09:30:59+00:00
Last week, I betrayed the homosexual parenting community. At Elton John’s insistence I tried to boycott Dolce & Gabbana, which was a great sacrifice for me, as other designer underwear makes my testicles look old. As I have been appearing at a theatre in Dundee it has been difficult to find any Dolce & Gabbana outlets to boycott. Instead, I located a second-hand copy of Joe Dolce’s Shaddap You Face single in Groucho’s records on the Nethergate, and pointedly refused to buy it. But it has been a troubling week. News events, coupled with the liminal experience of spending time in Dundee, have conspired to make me doubt my own existence. And that of others. And that of all matter. It is the fault of the government. Earlier this week the Conservative party chair Grant Shapps was revealed to have operated, even while an MP, a variety of ethically translucent internet business funnels under the alias of Michael Green, pseudonymous author of a book called How to Get Stinking Rich. Grant Shapps even wore a badge saying he was Michael Green at a 2004 conference, though apparently this was a joke, but one so subtle that many people took it at face value. Now he knows how I feel writing these columns. Green, a non-existent man, marketed software that steers Google search engines towards particular information, manipulating our perception of reality. Fittingly, most traces of this Michael Green’s HowToCorp company have since been erased from cyberspace, perhaps by his own software, jammed in reverse gear with an imaginary spanner. How disorientating. Some 25 years ago now, in 1990, a young Grant Shapps hired me as the sole employee of his profitable live bait vending business, House of Maggots, which I didn’t over firmly deny in the Observer last March. Grant...
STEWART LEE’S cat is called Jeremy Corbyn. Or so he would have us believe.
Long before Corbyn’s stratospheric rise from rebellious backbench MP to Labour leader, Lee remembers seeing one of the North Islington MP’s campaign fliers in the 90s and thinking it would make a good name for a cat, his story goes. But that revelation is in fact the vehicle for a wonderful metaphor about the new Labour leader not singing the national anthem.
In the absence of cat litter, Lee recounts how he uses a load of cheap England flags he says he bought during the 2012 London Olympics for Corbyn the cat to shit on.
Afeared by this anti-patriotic act, Lee spends the next five to 10 minutes attempting to sing the national anthem while mimicking the cat’s farting sounds.
The image of a red-faced, saluting Lee blowing raspberries defiantly at the audience is a comic-gold conclusion to one of the master raconteur’s trademark lengthy anecdotes.
But there’s so much more, with much new material from the sardonic Lee as he prepares to record a fourth series of his brilliant Comedy Vehicle for BBC2.
He test-drives four ingenious sequences in his trademark digressive vein and there’s even time for some classic asides on the brain-dead observational “comedy” practised by his contemporaries.
A highlight of the show is a gag about his three-year-old daughter asking him what “that thing” is — a condom thrown over the wall by a local prostitute which hangs off their back-garden tree.
Mindful to protect her innocence, Lee tells her: “It’s a pixie’s hat,” to which she replies: “Then why is it filled with sperm?”
There’s his usual self-deprecation and mocking of the audience’s slowness to respond immediately with the barrel of laughs that his intelligent and painstakingly crafted “jokes” so often deserve.
“That’s why you’re down there like rats in the dark and I’m up here like a sun god,” he tells us, tongue in cheek.
He mocks us further, as he does for most of the set. Referring to us as “vegetable-eating Guardian readers,” he adds: “The haloumi sleeps easy on the grills of Soho’s vegetarian restaurants tonight.”
But he laments the speed and scale of volatile political material that he simply didn’t have time to turn around such as “that Cameron would have had sex with a severed pig’s head, the world of satire couldn’t have predicted that.” And he laments too the fact that Isis the dog — “the best actor” on Downton Abbey — had to be killed off because of a 21st-century terrorist organisation.
“Now the series is just thinly veiled paternalistic Tory propaganda,” Lee tells us.
Don’t miss.
Stewart Lee
2015-10-07T18:52:55+01:00
STEWART LEE’S cat is called Jeremy Corbyn. Or so he would have us believe. Long before Corbyn’s stratospheric rise from rebellious backbench MP to Labour leader, Lee remembers seeing one of the North Islington MP’s campaign fliers in the 90s and thinking it would make a good name for a cat, his story goes. But that revelation is in fact the vehicle for a wonderful metaphor about the new Labour leader not singing the national anthem. In the absence of cat litter, Lee recounts how he uses a load of cheap England flags he says he bought during the 2012 London Olympics for Corbyn the cat to shit on. Afeared by this anti-patriotic act, Lee spends the next five to 10 minutes attempting to sing the national anthem while mimicking the cat’s farting sounds. The image of a red-faced, saluting Lee blowing raspberries defiantly at the audience is a comic-gold conclusion to one of the master raconteur’s trademark lengthy anecdotes. But there’s so much more, with much new material from the sardonic Lee as he prepares to record a fourth series of his brilliant Comedy Vehicle for BBC2. He test-drives four ingenious sequences in his trademark digressive vein and there’s even time for some classic asides on the brain-dead observational “comedy” practised by his contemporaries. A highlight of the show is a gag about his three-year-old daughter asking him what “that thing” is — a condom thrown over the wall by a local prostitute which hangs off their back-garden tree. Mindful to protect her innocence, Lee tells her: “It’s a pixie’s hat,” to which she replies: “Then why is it filled with sperm?” There’s his usual self-deprecation and mocking of the audience’s slowness to respond immediately with the barrel of laughs that his intelligent and painstakingly crafted “jokes” so often...
The 17th-century witchfinder general, Mary Hopkin, roamed Essex on top of a horse, burning witches and stuffing her bearded face with purloined olden-days tavern fayre – crusty bread rolls, steak and ale pies and banana splits. And yet, crawling from Colchester in a crackling cloud of dark energie, it appears the spawn of at least one of the satanic miscreants Hopkin once hounded haunts the cultural landscape of Britain even now. Its name? Damon Albarn.
Speaking to the Observer's little sister paper, the Guardian, last week, the former singer of the Blur confessed: "Magic and the occult are part of my life. I've got to come out of the closet", like some kind of Enochian Duncan Norvelle. The Britpop man even claimed to have contacted the spirit of Elizabethan mage John Dee, about whom he has written a pop musical, but the crepe-necked kabbalist was, apparently, unwilling to communicate.
So, is D Albarn – whose initial sounds the same as John Dee's surname – as sincere in his insane devotion to the occult as his former band-mate, the tall one with the farm, seems to be in his desire to create cheeses for his Tory neighbours' dinner tables? Or is D's deranged enslavement to evil just one of the survival strategies all mainstream celebrities employ in search of South Bank Centre Meltdown-curating gigs and garbled Alan Yentob hagiographies? To satisfy your gnat-like attention spans, the arts survivor must "evolve", less like an artist and more like a primordial glob.
For example, if viewed as an "artist", David Bowie makes no sense at all. He seems to be little more than a perpetually spooked moth in slip-ons, sputtering, in a series of self-shaming leaps towards imagined relevance, from one swiftly guttering fad to another – grunge metal, drum and bass and having a skellington face. But imagine Bowie instead as a cunning lichen, an adaptive tuber or a semi-sentient mould, endlessly reshaping himself in search of the moisture of acclaim, and it is easy to understand him. D Albarn, however, has played a better game than the talcum-faced pierrot and now no massive public- and privately funded multimedia arts project is too small for him to accept.
"It is not for me to draw parallels between my own life and that of Christ," runs the opening line of Irish writer Fiachra MacFiach's new autobiography, The Autobiography of Ireland's Greatest Living Genius. Likewise, it is not for me to draw parallels between my own life and that of D Albarn and yet I recognise his moves. I was part of the short-lived early-90s idea that "comedy was the new rock'n'roll" around the same time D was part of the Britpop movement.
Both of us have survived by exploiting the goodwill of one-time teenage fans who have grown up to be journalists and regional culture tsars, and who can now give us glowing reviews and valuable commissions in order to post-rationalise their adolescent crushes. But even in a culture where it is fashionable for newspaper columnists and salaried blabbers to defy the supposed atheist orthodoxy with cautious credulousness, D Albarn has gone one further than famously faith-ridden celebrities such as Ian Hislop, and that woman with the energy-draining face in Episodes, would ever dare. He has embraced the occult.
I was ready to dismiss D's devilish conversion as a Bowie-like toadstool gambit, but a quick glance at the Blurs' career reveals a series of events that only make sense if you view them as part of a magical working of the upmost seriousness. Consider.
During the early 90s, satirist-thinkers David Baddiel and James Loaded Brown were among a group of dedicated activists working hard to repopularise the forgotten activity of men masturbating their penises over pictures of naked women. This ancient practice had all but disappeared during the 80s, if the results of contemporary questionnaires in Talulah Gosh fanzines and Living Marxism were to be believed. Then, in 1995, D Albarn appeared alongside some sex models in the music video for his song "Country House". But D was not trying to ride a wave of then-fashionable pornographic revisionism. By consorting with fallen women he was, I believe, trying to position himself as the Gnostic Christ of Ordo Templi Orientis lore.
When the album The Great Escape was beaten in sales by Oasis's (What's The Story) Morning Glory? it seemed to be the final humiliation in the so-called Battle of Britpop, a dispute not dissimilar to the magikal wars that see followers of rival sects, such as the Temple of Set and Anton LaVey's Church of Satan, fling curses at each other across the astral plane. But nearly two decades later, could the mere existence of the Beady Eye album be seen as evidence of the warlock D's ultimate victory? And was it the evil influence of some malignant magic spell of D's that made his rival Liam Gallagher fidget so on The Chatty Man's show last week? "Worms of the Earth, your burrows forgotten/Wriggle instead in Liam's bottom," D and his milk carton homunculus sing to the smoking cauldron, I expect, or something like it.
And, let us not forget, on the main stage of Glastonbury, the sacred site, D appeared twice in succession. Once in his old form, as the singer of Blurs, and then again, reborn as the musical director of the Gorillas, a magus holding a crowd of thousands spellbound as he conjured dances and songs from the shuffling corpses of the undead – Lou Reed, Mark E Smith and Shaun Ryder.
Predictably, the last few weeks have seen many of D's Britpop contemporaries announce their own occult projects. The Echobellies are to reform, not as a band, but as a druidical sex cult, and Louise Weeners of the Sleeper is planning a lighthearted chick-lit novel about Ithell Colquhoun and her magic goose. In a reversal of these new norms, Northamptonshire magician Alan Moore is to perform a one-man dance piece about the rise and fall of Menswe@r.
I don't doubt for a moment that D Albarn is anything but utterly sincere in his enthusiasm for the occult. But let the seeker tread carefully, for stronger men than he have been swallowed by the dark side. Mickey Mouse thought that he would be able to use the occult to clean his floor more quickly than was reasonable, but he soon became the terrified victim of loads of singing brooms. D Albarn might master the darkness, but it may be more likely that the darkness will master him
Stewart Lee
2011-07-10T15:11:00+01:00
The 17th-century witchfinder general, Mary Hopkin, roamed Essex on top of a horse, burning witches and stuffing her bearded face with purloined olden-days tavern fayre – crusty bread rolls, steak and ale pies and banana splits. And yet, crawling from Colchester in a crackling cloud of dark energie, it appears the spawn of at least one of the satanic miscreants Hopkin once hounded haunts the cultural landscape of Britain even now. Its name? Damon Albarn. Speaking to the Observer's little sister paper, the Guardian, last week, the former singer of the Blur confessed: "Magic and the occult are part of my life. I've got to come out of the closet", like some kind of Enochian Duncan Norvelle. The Britpop man even claimed to have contacted the spirit of Elizabethan mage John Dee, about whom he has written a pop musical, but the crepe-necked kabbalist was, apparently, unwilling to communicate. So, is D Albarn – whose initial sounds the same as John Dee's surname – as sincere in his insane devotion to the occult as his former band-mate, the tall one with the farm, seems to be in his desire to create cheeses for his Tory neighbours' dinner tables? Or is D's deranged enslavement to evil just one of the survival strategies all mainstream celebrities employ in search of South Bank Centre Meltdown-curating gigs and garbled Alan Yentob hagiographies? To satisfy your gnat-like attention spans, the arts survivor must "evolve", less like an artist and more like a primordial glob. For example, if viewed as an "artist", David Bowie makes no sense at all. He seems to be little more than a perpetually spooked moth in slip-ons, sputtering, in a series of self-shaming leaps towards imagined relevance, from one swiftly guttering fad to another – grunge metal, drum and bass and...
One thing in particular intrigues me about Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. It felt as if he was doing warm-ups and works-in-progress for this series for at least a year in advance around the UK. I assumed that this was to get every phrase, every comma, every pause in the right place. And then along comes episode 5 and, unless he is pulling the wool over the liberal intelligentsia’s eyes and engages plants and stooges like a hack magician, he frequently seems to be winging it here.
The subject in this penultimate episode is Migrants, but actually this is just a peg for Lee to take potshots at rent-a-gob newspaper columnists (not like his Observer column at all...). This does feel a bit like fish-in-a-barrel time, particularly when he comes inevitably to Katie Hopkins, but when Lee is on the case you know are you are going to get an original, forensic drill-down. And also an image that will be unseeable. This time it involves a dog’s genitalia.
In a compelling instalment it even looks as if he is developing a catchphrase. Albeit a mouthful of a catchphrase: “I can do jokes. It’s just not something that interests me.” Lee compares writing gags to working in a factory on a production line, whereas he prefers a more improvisational jazzy stance: “Miles Davis has arrived.”
But as I wrote earlier, what fascinates me here are the spontaneous moments. At one point someone in the audience gets up and Lee seems to be about to do some business about them leaving, but then misses the moment. But Lee being Lee, he talks about not doing the material for longer than the material would have lasted. Then later on he makes a reference to someone looking at their watch, which prompts him to extend a routine.
I can see how the latter clock-watching moment might have been developed during warm-ups, but the former walkout incident was surely unrehearsed. Although Lee obviously has material to cover people getting up and going to the toilet it is interesting that he keeps it in the final edit. But then again, it works. If it didn't I guess it would have been cut out.
All of this is a roundabout way of underlining that this episode is essential viewing. And not just because Lee's looseness is strangely engaging. I remember Daniel Kitson years ago talking about appearing on a radio programme with Rod Liddle and being so offended by the columnist that he coined the insult “Rod off!”. Lee’s Liddle-bile is not quite as succinct as this, but, as you’ll see, he certainly gets the point across. And then across again. And again.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-01T14:28:36+00:00
One thing in particular intrigues me about Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. It felt as if he was doing warm-ups and works-in-progress for this series for at least a year in advance around the UK. I assumed that this was to get every phrase, every comma, every pause in the right place. And then along comes episode 5 and, unless he is pulling the wool over the liberal intelligentsia’s eyes and engages plants and stooges like a hack magician, he frequently seems to be winging it here. The subject in this penultimate episode is Migrants, but actually this is just a peg for Lee to take potshots at rent-a-gob newspaper columnists (not like his Observer column at all...). This does feel a bit like fish-in-a-barrel time, particularly when he comes inevitably to Katie Hopkins, but when Lee is on the case you know are you are going to get an original, forensic drill-down. And also an image that will be unseeable. This time it involves a dog’s genitalia. In a compelling instalment it even looks as if he is developing a catchphrase. Albeit a mouthful of a catchphrase: “I can do jokes. It’s just not something that interests me.” Lee compares writing gags to working in a factory on a production line, whereas he prefers a more improvisational jazzy stance: “Miles Davis has arrived.” But as I wrote earlier, what fascinates me here are the spontaneous moments. At one point someone in the audience gets up and Lee seems to be about to do some business about them leaving, but then misses the moment. But Lee being Lee, he talks about not doing the material for longer than the material would have lasted. Then later on he makes a reference to someone looking at their watch, which prompts him to extend...
I don't remember when I saw my first Morris dance. I think it was sometime in the early Seventies. My Mum was working, I wasn't yet at school, and I spent a lot of time with my grand-dad.
He'd been, or maybe was still, a rep for Colman's, the Norfolk based mustard company, who had diversified into providing wine and spirits. I have memories, though they may have become semi-fictionalised, of accompanying him to rural events, - hunts, fetes and festivals, - in forgotten places between Birmingham and Norwich, when he was invited by virtue of some commercial connection with the booze supply.
I remember a fuzzy photograph of a brown corduroy, pre-school me with him, watching men in white on a patch of grass, leaping and dancing. I've looked for it but I can't find it. Maybe it never happened. But for me that was where The Morris was filed, for most of my life, in the Seventies memories stash, in the past, something mysterious and beautiful and pastoral, and probably on the way out now, along with butterflies and wild flowers and birds that nest in hedgerows.
But, like some threatened species making a comeback, over the last decade I've noticed the morris, and various mutated species of traditional English dance, staging a comeback. At the folk-singer Martin Carthy's 60th birthday show in Oxford, ten years ago, a morris troupe took the stage before a crowd of thousands, and again, when I saw the Carthy clan gathered at the Royal Albert Hall five year back.
A live art promoter in the village of Hovingham, on the Yorkshire moors, unexpectedly got Damian Barber's traditional dancers The Black Swan Rappers to open before one of my stand-up comedy shows in the mid-noughties, stunning an initially skeptical crowd with their violent and virile performance.
This year I invited the folk rock band Trembling Bells to appear in a season of music and comedy I was curating at the South Bank center, and they brought with them The Belles Of London City, a new all-female morris trio.
But my fondness for The Morris was sealed six years ago.
My wife and I were married in the Forest of Dean, in her native Gloucestershire. Searching for something significant and local, she had booked the Forest Of Dean Morris Men for the reception, attended by fifty or so people, in a musky woodland cellar. We'd been married in a church that morning.
My wife's a Catholic, and I am an atheist, but nonetheless I'll happily admit that the priest gave a great service, and the ritual elements added a real significance to the ceremony. That said, the service did represent for me a compromise I suppose, of the sort one must make in a marriage. I hadn't expected it, but the appearance of the Morris men that evening somehow squared the circle, and left me feeling that the old gods, too, had been paid their due.
The Forest Of Dean Morris Men came out of the black November night, all in white. They were accompanied by a 'beast', in their particular case a man in the costume of a bright red stag, who excited all the young ladies, and intimidated the men.
I normally hate dancing, or being the centre of attention in any way, but I felt no shame as my new wife and I were made to skip in circles round the stone walled cellar, and between and beneath sudden arches made of the morris men's human hands, while the beast looked on approvingly and clacked its wooden hooves, draped in adoring women, scowled at by their temporarily cuckolded partners.
It's no exaggeration to say that The Morris made our day, and in the dark times of exhaustion and three a.m. feeds, when the romance of your first meeting seems so far away, we reach back to the symbols we laid in store to give us strength at later dates, and I see The Morris once more.
That's why, when Radio 2 asked me to narrate It's Got Bells On, I could not say no. I am for ever in the dance's debt.
Stewart Lee
2011-12-06T18:20:23+00:00
I don't remember when I saw my first Morris dance. I think it was sometime in the early Seventies. My Mum was working, I wasn't yet at school, and I spent a lot of time with my grand-dad. He'd been, or maybe was still, a rep for Colman's, the Norfolk based mustard company, who had diversified into providing wine and spirits. I have memories, though they may have become semi-fictionalised, of accompanying him to rural events, - hunts, fetes and festivals, - in forgotten places between Birmingham and Norwich, when he was invited by virtue of some commercial connection with the booze supply. I remember a fuzzy photograph of a brown corduroy, pre-school me with him, watching men in white on a patch of grass, leaping and dancing. I've looked for it but I can't find it. Maybe it never happened. But for me that was where The Morris was filed, for most of my life, in the Seventies memories stash, in the past, something mysterious and beautiful and pastoral, and probably on the way out now, along with butterflies and wild flowers and birds that nest in hedgerows. But, like some threatened species making a comeback, over the last decade I've noticed the morris, and various mutated species of traditional English dance, staging a comeback. At the folk-singer Martin Carthy's 60th birthday show in Oxford, ten years ago, a morris troupe took the stage before a crowd of thousands, and again, when I saw the Carthy clan gathered at the Royal Albert Hall five year back. A live art promoter in the village of Hovingham, on the Yorkshire moors, unexpectedly got Damian Barber's traditional dancers The Black Swan Rappers to open before one of my stand-up comedy shows in the mid-noughties, stunning an initially skeptical crowd with their violent...
I Know It's Over is The Queen Is Dead's first pause for breath. As usual, Morrissey's mordant wit is mistaken, historically, for unmitigated misery. “Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head." What an opening line!
Remember all those classic blues and folk songs that billow forth from the point of view of a dead and buried body? “The clay it is my bed, my dearest dear," says The Lover's Ghost in the traditional tune of the same name. And “see that my grave is kept clean", commands Blind Lemon Jefferson of those that should outlive him. But Morrissey eschews both the grey phantom and the sightless yellow fruit to channel instead the spirit of the music hall comic Sandy “Can you hear me, Mother?" Powell, even as dusty death claws at his throat.
Time has been unkind to Andy Rourke's bass parts, which on The Smiths' eponymous debut especially seem inappropriately funky, but here he's a model of gentlemanly restraint, pulsing slowly under one of Morrissey's most telling portrayals of sexual and social isolation.
I Know It's Over sounds superficially like a romantic ballad, but the first two minutes see the protagonist envisioning his own suicide, and wishing various ill-suited couples the happiness he's denied. A Byrds-y Johnny Marr arpeggio breezes briefly for ten seconds at one minute and fifty, the classic guitar pop associations of the sound subtly at odds with the self-loathing sentiment.
It's a brilliantly judged contribution, both musically, and in terms of its cultural resonances.
The lyrics for the second half of the song, crucially, are set for the most part in inverted commas. Thus the chain of crushingly comic put-downs that begins “If you're so funny why are you on your own tonight?", escalates brutally through “If you're so terribly good looking why do you sleep alone tonight?" and ends with the deflating “because tonight is like any other night, that's why your on your own tonight, with your triumphs and your charms, while they are in each other's arms" is addressed to the protagonist.
On paper, and in Morrissey's performance, the words are ambivalent, and could even be the caustic teasing of a sympathetic and encouraging friend, sick of the singer's introspection.
Unfortunately, Marr's inane keyboard part attempts to make the sentiment unambiguously sad, diminishing the emotional scope of the song. Six tracks later the same approach wrecks There Is A Light That Never Goes Out. How come Marr knew how to write countless timeless guitar parts but sounds so ephemeral on the synths?
We're told Arabic carpet weavers introduced deliberate errors into their patterns as only Allah was allowed to be perfect. It's lucky then, that Morrissey had Marr at his side here to shield him from God's jealousy.
It's tempting to see the protestations that 'love is natural and real' in the face of the assumption that it cannot be so 'for such as you and I' as the genesis of the more explicit struggles between religious prohibition and gay or bisexual impulses, that reach their apogee in the 2004 song I Have Forgiven You Jesus.
But Morrissey's always been one of those artists whose peculiarly specific way of looking at the world results in an unexpectedly universal relevance.
In closing he succeeds, against all sense, in making a return to that opening line - “Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head" - a euphoric exultation, and there are, strangely, few experiences more uplifting and life-affirming than standing in a crowd of shapeless middle aged men bellowing it back at him.
Stewart Lee
2011-04-01T20:48:40+01:00
I Know It's Over is The Queen Is Dead's first pause for breath. As usual, Morrissey's mordant wit is mistaken, historically, for unmitigated misery. “Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head." What an opening line! Remember all those classic blues and folk songs that billow forth from the point of view of a dead and buried body? “The clay it is my bed, my dearest dear," says The Lover's Ghost in the traditional tune of the same name. And “see that my grave is kept clean", commands Blind Lemon Jefferson of those that should outlive him. But Morrissey eschews both the grey phantom and the sightless yellow fruit to channel instead the spirit of the music hall comic Sandy “Can you hear me, Mother?" Powell, even as dusty death claws at his throat. Time has been unkind to Andy Rourke's bass parts, which on The Smiths' eponymous debut especially seem inappropriately funky, but here he's a model of gentlemanly restraint, pulsing slowly under one of Morrissey's most telling portrayals of sexual and social isolation. I Know It's Over sounds superficially like a romantic ballad, but the first two minutes see the protagonist envisioning his own suicide, and wishing various ill-suited couples the happiness he's denied. A Byrds-y Johnny Marr arpeggio breezes briefly for ten seconds at one minute and fifty, the classic guitar pop associations of the sound subtly at odds with the self-loathing sentiment. It's a brilliantly judged contribution, both musically, and in terms of its cultural resonances. The lyrics for the second half of the song, crucially, are set for the most part in inverted commas. Thus the chain of crushingly comic put-downs that begins “If you're so funny why are you on your own tonight?", escalates brutally through “If you're so terribly good looking...
Four years ago Stewart Lee was mugged by a gang of teenage boys. He was in north London, walking home from the shops, and they surrounded him, threw fireworks at him and just when he thought he had scared them away, one of them came from behind and punched him in the head. “And almost, when I was being punched in the back of the head, I was thinking, ‘There might be a show in this,’” says Lee. That’s insanity, I say. “That’s the luck of being a stand-up. If a bad thing happens to you, it’s a short journey to it becoming a routine.”
In the case of Lee, the journey is never that short. The comedian, named the “greatest living stand-up” in a list published by The Times in 2018, has been wondering how to make a routine out of that “humiliating” incident for four years and counting — and it’s still not quite there, he says. “I know there’s probably the spine of an hour in that, but it’s not ready. It’s percolating. It probably needs some other incident to crossbreed with it.”
Lee is not a comedian who dashes things off or leaves things to chance. He likes to refer to himself — only semi-ironically — as “Britain’s master of the multi-callback ending” for his ability to weave stand-up hours that loop round and back in on themselves like an Escher painting, glorying in repetition, seeded punchlines, and seeming blind alleys that open out into triumphant waves of laughter. He leads his fans on a merry dance and they love to follow him. So much so that when he was performing his live show Tornado in Bexhill in March and a giant prop shark malfunctioned, falling from the ceiling too early and nearly killing him, the crowd thought it was all part of the plan. “I said, ‘Ah, that’s not supposed to happen,’ and everyone was going ‘ha ha ha’,” he says, miffed. It meant he couldn’t do his big ending. “But you can make something of that. A man saying, ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been able to do the important bit’ — the tragedy of that is funny. Isn’t it?”
Tornado comes to BBC2 this month as half of a double bill of filmed live shows. The other half is Snowflake, in which Lee tackles cancel culture and the “woke brigade” in typically astringent style, culminating in a routine that eviscerates Ricky Gervais’s supposedly “cancelled” controversial Netflix stand-up special, in which he “says the unsayable”. “Except he doesn’t. He says the sayable. As we all do. By definition,” Lee says witheringly.
When I see Lee perform Snowflake in Edinburgh on a sunny Saturday afternoon during the Fringe, that routine has added edge: a week earlier, Jerry Sadowitz’s show at the festival was actually cancelled when audience members and staff at the venue complained. Lee didn’t see it, but before the festival began he did recommend Sadowitz’s show on his website, with the caveat that his act “made conceptual sense when we all lived in a supposed liberal consensus”.
“The problem now is that there are comedians on our circuit that are specifically and explicitly from the right,” he adds. “So I think people can be forgiven for feeling differently about Jerry . . . The ground has shifted around him. Last time I saw him ten years ago, [his act] was still really good. But it’s a different world, unfortunately.”
We meet on a Monday as the Thistle Street Bar in Edinburgh’s New Town opens. Lee has just performed a morning work-in-progress show, titled Basic Lee, at the Stand comedy club. As usual, there’s not much “in progress” about it, the jokes about JK Rowling, jazz and the process of writing already finely tuned. Lee is in ebullient mood, although limping a bit (he did his knee in ten years ago doing a joke about Jeremy Clarkson “kicking a tramp to death” and it’s never been the same since, he tells me).
He is delighted by how the Rowling joke went down (“I can tell you now, without sounding arrogant, that is going to be a really, really good bit”) and an early-morning crowd who were very much on side. “They’re the Millwall fans of comedy,” he says proudly. “They’re loyal and tribal and they don’t like other comics. They say, ‘If you like me, you get bored of the other things.’ They’re thought of as snobs — but they push me on to do better things.”
He was less happy with the crowd for Snowflake on Saturday afternoon, when he didn’t perform the last part of his routine because the set-up didn’t go as well as he hoped. “There’s only really one thing that I can do,” Lee says. “And it’s a kind of duet with the audience, where you work off their responses, change it a lot some days, not so much other days.” He subscribes to the jazz pianist Thelonious Monk’s adage that what happens in the room is the show. “If the audience chooses to not understand something, you can have a go at them but in the end you have to let it go. Explain to them that they failed and now it’s not going to be what it was supposed to be. And that’s why it’s live.”
We decamp to the pub garden to escape some noisy drilling inside. About a decade ago, Lee realised that he was going deaf and he now wears a hearing aid, but still struggles with background noise. He thought he may have damaged his hearing from going to gigs and performing, but discovered belatedly that his deafness is hereditary. He spent the first year or so of his life in care before he was adopted and grew up in Solihull. He met his biological father for the first time in 2010 — “in a pub car park in Essex. The first thing I ever said to him was, ‘Hello, oh you’ve got hearing aids.’ And the first thing he ever said to me was, ‘Yes, all the men in your family go deaf and so will you.’ I thought, right, and I went and got tested. It’s made my act much better.”
For a few years before that he had been playing the same rooms he had for years and was wondering why his material was getting fewer laughs. He didn’t realise that he just couldn’t hear them. His shtick of coming down hard on audiences — “driving them forward to make them understand” — grew out of his deafness and by the time he realised, his onstage persona — frustrated, misanthropic, annoyed — had stuck.
The Stewart Lee who performs on stage is a character, though like all the best comedy characters, he is an exaggeration of all the things that are most irritating about him in real life. Such as? “He’s patronising, he doesn’t listen to other people, he’s repetitive, he doesn’t understand really obvious things, and although he’s broadly in the right position morally, he also gets pleasure from the vanity of thinking that he’s right.”
The real Stewart Lee lives in north London and is married to Bridget Christie, the award-winning comedian with whom he has two children, Daisy, 11, and Luke, 15. Is it a funny household? “No,” Lee says. “No, it’s not. Particularly not under lockdown. Comedians that live together don’t . . . perform.”
They do discuss comedy, although Lee says that Christie doesn’t like him watching her shows, so the last time he saw her perform live was in 2016. “It’s difficult with a male-female partnership; the assumption will always be — from the position of hostile parties — that the man is driving it along . . . That the man has done the best bits.”
They avoid talking about each other in their acts — partly, says Lee, because he couldn’t think of anything worse and partly because it distracts from the joke if people are imagining “Stewart Lee” whenever Christie says “my husband”. The boundaries are blurring a bit though, because Christie has written a new sitcom, The Change, for Channel 4, in which she plays a menopausal, married mother-of-two who leaves her useless husband (played by Omid Djalili) and disappears into the woods on a motorbike. “I said to her, ‘You know, when this comes out, everyone’s going to say that’s me.’ She said, ‘They’re not, because he likes football, and you don’t.’” He rolls his eyes. The other day, he says, Djalili asked him, “Have you ever wiped your arse on some toast?” as the character does in one scene. “No I haven’t done that! She’s made up all this stuff and people are going to think it’s me.”
He and Christie have one idea for a joint project that they might do one day when they are really old — “even if we’re not together any more” — based on their “really terrible” honeymoon in off-season Shetland. “Where it was dark 18 hours a day, and everything was dead and shut.”
In general, Lee is not keen on personal revelations in his comedy. He put a line in Snowflake about his son telling him off for breathing too loudly and agonised over it for ages. In the new work-in-progress show, he dangles a snippet of information about his early years in care before dismissing it.
“It’s other people’s lives, isn’t it? The circumstances leading to someone being put into care young . . . I probably come out of it a lot better than the people that were involved in that story. You don’t want to just drag them, without their consent, into the public eye. For what? Other people don’t seem to bother about that. I find the indiscriminate nature of people using other people’s lives and their personal stories quite shocking sometimes.”
Until recently, Lee had it all planned out — he’d perform a live show every two years until he was 60, then retire. He’s now 54 years old and his “Stalinist” ten-year plan fell apart in the pandemic. He’s now having to rush out Basic Lee faster than he would like because he doesn’t want to work next summer when his son is doing his GCSEs.
He still loves touring, and each time uses it as an opportunity to feed a new obsession. On his most recent tour, he sought out Victorian stained-glass windows in all the towns he visited. “Often the churches don’t even know they’re in there,” he says happily. He loves driving round the country, trying to get under the skin of the places he stops. “Touring comedians understand a lot more about where Brexit came from than any politician. You see the depletion of the towns . . .”
All of which is to day, he’s not going to stop performing at 60; in fact he thinks he’ll probably get better with age. “I did an interview with [the Teardrop Explodes singer] Julian Cope about ten years ago and he said, ‘Look, I know I’m a has-been at the moment. But if I can push through this I can become a legend.’ To keep going is better.”
Stand-up means survival to Lee. He thinks about it constantly. “If I’m really annoyed about something, I think, ‘I’ll slag them off on stage, that’ll show them.’ What do other people do? They kick the TV in, don’t they? Or go on Twitter? I don’t know how people that aren’t doing stand-up cope in their lives, really.”
Stewart Lee: Snowflake is on BBC2 tomorrow at 10.35pm; Tornado is on BBC2 on September 11. Basic Lee tours from September 6 to May 28 2023
Stewart Lee
2022-09-03T15:28:08+01:00
Four years ago Stewart Lee was mugged by a gang of teenage boys. He was in north London, walking home from the shops, and they surrounded him, threw fireworks at him and just when he thought he had scared them away, one of them came from behind and punched him in the head. “And almost, when I was being punched in the back of the head, I was thinking, ‘There might be a show in this,’” says Lee. That’s insanity, I say. “That’s the luck of being a stand-up. If a bad thing happens to you, it’s a short journey to it becoming a routine.” In the case of Lee, the journey is never that short. The comedian, named the “greatest living stand-up” in a list published by The Times in 2018, has been wondering how to make a routine out of that “humiliating” incident for four years and counting — and it’s still not quite there, he says. “I know there’s probably the spine of an hour in that, but it’s not ready. It’s percolating. It probably needs some other incident to crossbreed with it.” Lee is not a comedian who dashes things off or leaves things to chance. He likes to refer to himself — only semi-ironically — as “Britain’s master of the multi-callback ending” for his ability to weave stand-up hours that loop round and back in on themselves like an Escher painting, glorying in repetition, seeded punchlines, and seeming blind alleys that open out into triumphant waves of laughter. He leads his fans on a merry dance and they love to follow him. So much so that when he was performing his live show Tornado in Bexhill in March and a giant prop shark malfunctioned, falling from the ceiling too early and nearly killing him, the...
The inspirational Leicester comedy festival awards ceremony, which I attended on Monday in the ballroom of the refurbished Grade II-listed Mercure Leicester Grand, could only have been improved by a multimillionaire performatively punching another multimillionaire in the face. Nonetheless, my once-in-a-lifetime Legend of Comedy statuette win was overshadowed by the violent brawling of the Oscar attendeees, meaning my achievement remained unmentioned in all the major American entertainment trade papers. Bah!
It was almost a very different story. While I and the other Leicester winners were posing for our photos, I nearly stepped backwards off the 18-inch podium, briefly losing one of my hearing aids as it fell from my ear. This should have been one of the Leicester Mercury’s biggest stories of the year, doubtless going viral and helping me to sell as many tour tickets as being punched in the face has shifted for Chris Rock. But in the wake of mouthgate, no one was interested.
I can honestly say that, of the many I have been professionally obliged to attend, the Leicester comedy festival awards ceremony was the only one I have ever enjoyed. It was certainly better than the 2011 Baftas, where Michael McIntyre’s famously excited late manager got me in a headlock in a dark corner and said he would personally see to it that my career was destroyed, while his own minder struggled to free me from his employer’s chokehold. To this day, I have a psychosomatic reaction to the very mention of McIntyre’s name that leaves me gasping for air. Or is that a nut allergy?
I think the awards night felt exceptional to me because the Leicester comedy festival itself is uncharacteristically and inherently worthwhile and isn’t just built around selling booze and bribing executives. The accolades handed out reflected its commitment to encouraging new talent and to building a cultural profile for unfairly overlooked Leicester, previously only famous for being the home of the world’s fattest man, Daniel Lambert. The enormous cock-fighter managed to achieve the weight of 53st in 1805. Seeing his portrait in Leicester as a child, and realising the sacrifices he had made to become a legend, inspired me to follow my dreams. I wore my Daniel Lambert pin badge as I received my Legend award and considered my debt to him paid. The middle “has-been” phase of my career is now officially over and I am into the third and final “legend” act, a clear downhill bobsleigh run to an early grave and subsequent critical reappraisal.
Today, it has become necessary for most mainstream awards ceremonies, from the Oscars down to whatever the British comedy awards are called this year, to be archly hosted with the sassy contempt of a cocaine-addled Friars Club roast by a dutifully disrespectful, high-profile comedian for hire. Is this because even the people putting the events together suspect, deep down, that both the artists and the works they are supposed to be recognising probably aren’t really all that outstanding after all? An Oscar tradition that, in recent years, has not found space for Paddy Considine, Mark Jenkin’s Baitor my own King Rocker, yet rewards violent hooliganism and The Nutty Professor, is demonstrably worthless.
Rock is one of the world’s greatest standups, and his 1996 routine about the black community’s perception of itself is in the all-time top 10. Hosting the Oscars is quite frankly beneath him and they should have just let Ricky Gervais do it again, as he has no dignity to lose. Rock wouldn’t host a corporate Christmas gig for a logistics company and agree to mention the CEO’s wig and the time Sally from accounts was sick in a plant pot, so why is he whoring himself out in the same way to the Academy? Rock brings shame on the nobility of the standup’s profession.
Most of the put-downs Rock trotted out would have been prepared anyway, generated by hired hands in a packed Hollywood writers’ room, and which the Academy, desperate for publicity, had already approved and signed off on. Employing the controversial comedian is a risk cynically calculated to drive traffic. Don’t shoot the messenger. If Will Smith had run off and punched the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences president, David Rubin, hard in his stupid Hollywood face, I’d have had more respect for him. Rock was just the patsy. Smith’s punches, justified or not, fell wide of the target.
Jada Pinkett Smith’s position on her husband’s chivalrous battering of Rock’s tiny face went unreported. In 1987, an observant builder extravagantly complimented my feminist girlfriend’s figure in no uncertain terms and my 11st, 19-year-old frame immediately plunged into battle, as fellow builders theatrically held their colleague back. My girlfriend immediately reprimanded me for a sexism, as it wasn’t for me to fight another man over her. Today, my feminist wife tells me that, although my girlfriend’s criticisms were correct, I would also have looked like a loser if I hadn’t reacted. It was a lose-lose situation. The builder, unlike Rock, was at least doing his own material and perhaps comes out as the winner here.
Smith’s awards night ended with violence, disciplinary proceedings and the threat of expulsion. Mine ended with Guinness, Highland Park and the kind of curious, regionally specific crisp selection I can’t resist, in a stained-glass-windowed backstreet bar full of vibrant local artists and standups, duty bound to indulge my reminiscences of the pre-podcasting cultural landscape. For once in my life, in this filthy business, I felt as if I came out ahead. Back in my hotel room, I realised I had spilled mango chutney dip from some poppadom snacks down my awards ceremony shirt, but my hosts had been respectful enough to ignore it. I was now officially a legend, even with all chutney all on me. And I wouldn’t have traded places with Will Smith for the world.
Stewart Lee
2022-04-03T22:12:38+01:00
The inspirational Leicester comedy festival awards ceremony, which I attended on Monday in the ballroom of the refurbished Grade II-listed Mercure Leicester Grand, could only have been improved by a multimillionaire performatively punching another multimillionaire in the face. Nonetheless, my once-in-a-lifetime Legend of Comedy statuette win was overshadowed by the violent brawling of the Oscar attendeees, meaning my achievement remained unmentioned in all the major American entertainment trade papers. Bah! It was almost a very different story. While I and the other Leicester winners were posing for our photos, I nearly stepped backwards off the 18-inch podium, briefly losing one of my hearing aids as it fell from my ear. This should have been one of the Leicester Mercury’s biggest stories of the year, doubtless going viral and helping me to sell as many tour tickets as being punched in the face has shifted for Chris Rock. But in the wake of mouthgate, no one was interested. I can honestly say that, of the many I have been professionally obliged to attend, the Leicester comedy festival awards ceremony was the only one I have ever enjoyed. It was certainly better than the 2011 Baftas, where Michael McIntyre’s famously excited late manager got me in a headlock in a dark corner and said he would personally see to it that my career was destroyed, while his own minder struggled to free me from his employer’s chokehold. To this day, I have a psychosomatic reaction to the very mention of McIntyre’s name that leaves me gasping for air. Or is that a nut allergy? I think the awards night felt exceptional to me because the Leicester comedy festival itself is uncharacteristically and inherently worthwhile and isn’t just built around selling booze and bribing executives. The accolades handed out reflected its commitment to...
The Assembly Rooms audience don’t know quite what to make of Stewart Lee. The Edinburgh Fringe veteran has spent the best part of the last two decades inspiring both a dedicated following and an equally ardent opposition with his divisive and heavily ironic brand of tongue-in-cheek intellectual comedy.
Luckily, the dramatic difference of opinion towards him is something Lee revels in. In his 2015 show “A Room With A Stew”, a testing-ground for material for his upcoming Comedy Vehicle series, he makes full use of the divide, turning his 70-minute slot into the comedic equivalent of a Mexican stand-off.
He shows his hand early on in the performance, explicitly warning anyone watching him for the first time that his act doesn’t always represent his own beliefs. Instead, he suggests, he prefers to create a fictionalised caricature of himself to run in parallel with the surface humour, creating a narrative arc with greater depth and complexity than you’d expect at a usual top-tier stand-up show.
That’s not the way to impress an audience half-filled with people who already think you’re too intellectual. But, more like a conjuror than a comedian, throughout the show Lee relentlessly pulls off that most impressive feat of telling his audience it’s all smoke and mirrors but making them believe it regardless.
“A Room With A Stew” bears all the hallmarks of a classic Stewart Lee show: there’s heavy irony, excessive repetition and obscure cultural references, meandering off-piste segments that somehow weave their way seamlessly back into the narrative fabric, and off-mic tirades of abuse at an audience he insists is simply too slow to understand quite how clever he and his jokes are.
Lee is unlikely to win any new fans tonight, but it doesn’t look like he wants to either. It’s the show of a comedian who knows exactly who he and his audience are, and he’s not going to change that just because it’s not his usual crowd tonight. Instead, he pushes his method to breaking point, leaving the majority of the crowd wondering whether it’s even supposed to be funny anymore.
As ever, Lee’s good jokes are met with applause rather than laughs, but the response to his finest moments in “A Room With A Stew” is most often a stunned silence. If there’s one thing that unifies the crowd tonight, it’s that both Stewart Lee’s admirers and detractors will go home with their pre-existing opinions reinforced, shaking a clenched fist and shouting: ‘I told you so!’
Stewart Lee
2015-08-26T00:25:29+01:00
The Assembly Rooms audience don’t know quite what to make of Stewart Lee. The Edinburgh Fringe veteran has spent the best part of the last two decades inspiring both a dedicated following and an equally ardent opposition with his divisive and heavily ironic brand of tongue-in-cheek intellectual comedy. Luckily, the dramatic difference of opinion towards him is something Lee revels in. In his 2015 show “A Room With A Stew”, a testing-ground for material for his upcoming Comedy Vehicle series, he makes full use of the divide, turning his 70-minute slot into the comedic equivalent of a Mexican stand-off. He shows his hand early on in the performance, explicitly warning anyone watching him for the first time that his act doesn’t always represent his own beliefs. Instead, he suggests, he prefers to create a fictionalised caricature of himself to run in parallel with the surface humour, creating a narrative arc with greater depth and complexity than you’d expect at a usual top-tier stand-up show. That’s not the way to impress an audience half-filled with people who already think you’re too intellectual. But, more like a conjuror than a comedian, throughout the show Lee relentlessly pulls off that most impressive feat of telling his audience it’s all smoke and mirrors but making them believe it regardless. “A Room With A Stew” bears all the hallmarks of a classic Stewart Lee show: there’s heavy irony, excessive repetition and obscure cultural references, meandering off-piste segments that somehow weave their way seamlessly back into the narrative fabric, and off-mic tirades of abuse at an audience he insists is simply too slow to understand quite how clever he and his jokes are. Lee is unlikely to win any new fans tonight, but it doesn’t look like he wants to either. It’s the show of a...
The rumbling juggernaut of expressive grumpiness that is Stewart Lee rolls slowly, yet relentlessly, into town; stopping off, briefly, at The Brighton Dome to delight a packed out audience.
Garnering laughs from the off, Lee describes how he has got bald, fat, blind and deaf since he last went on tour, before launching into the first set of the evening, Tornado.
This first half, explores the fabulously silly premise that his hit BBC television series, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, was falsely described for two years in its Netflix listing as a programme about killer sharks falling from the sky, and leads him to explain in minute detail, how this is an injustice, as well as the damage this has done to his career.
Lee continues by talking about other comedians who haven’t suffered the same fate and have correctly attributed shows on the platform. Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappelle and Josh Widdicombe all get lambasted by his acerbic rants and musing as hearty laughter rings throughout the Dome.
As an aside he berates the dads in the audience for bringing their reluctant offspring to see him. “They won’t like me and they’ll hate you for it” he declares. Brightonians don’t escape his gaze either; “You know the rest of the country isn’t like this don’t you?” He chides. There is an awkward murmur of guilty liberal laughter at our hypocrisy, at this observation.
Lee is interrupted in his majestic flow by the flash of a camera phone. He is thoroughly prepared for the intrusion, it sadly must happen at every gig. Woe betides anyone who uses their device to try and capture a sneaky picture or a snippet of video. Lee lies in wait like a 1960s chemistry teacher throwing a bunch of keys at an inattentive pupil. He will crush you! It’s a zero-tolerance approach rightly administered to those who cannot help feed their need to document the night out, rather than staying in the moment and enjoying the mastery of a performer at the top of his profession.
As the performance goes on, we find all people, whether they love him or loathe him, are treated with the same irreverence. Alan Bennett, who has written a glowing review of Lee, comes in for some fine goading. The comedian rounds the half with a glorious impersonation of him and his writing style.
Revelling in repetition, callbacks and opening surreal pathways, to the joy of the crowd, Tornado is an intricate and interwoven piece plotted towards one large visual gag.
Back from the interval – part two, Snowflake, begins.
Here Lee tackles political correctness, the magazine GQ and comments made by the journalist Tony Parson, all with great fervour.
Unabated laughter can be heard, as he explores the concept of people being able to say the unsayable in a section that proves Lee is just as much a first-rate clown as he is an excellent wordsmith.
Other highlights include a fabulously funny critique of the hit sitcom Fleabag and a hilarious condemnation of James Bond, the rapist.
The night closes with a pastiche of Enid Blyton in a very humorous reading and an uplifting song (whether meant or not) in the finale.
Lee has created one of the best grotesque comedy characters performing on the circuit today. He cannot, however hard he tries (and he does really try hard), hide the kind, compassionate and sweet-natured soul that lies beneath, it’s what makes his material so wonderful to consume, whether it be written or performed.
If you are to see only one stand up performance in your life go and see Stewart Lee (or Daniel Kitson). He is the best the art form gets.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-21T19:33:22+00:00
The rumbling juggernaut of expressive grumpiness that is Stewart Lee rolls slowly, yet relentlessly, into town; stopping off, briefly, at The Brighton Dome to delight a packed out audience. Garnering laughs from the off, Lee describes how he has got bald, fat, blind and deaf since he last went on tour, before launching into the first set of the evening, Tornado. This first half, explores the fabulously silly premise that his hit BBC television series, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, was falsely described for two years in its Netflix listing as a programme about killer sharks falling from the sky, and leads him to explain in minute detail, how this is an injustice, as well as the damage this has done to his career. Lee continues by talking about other comedians who haven’t suffered the same fate and have correctly attributed shows on the platform. Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappelle and Josh Widdicombe all get lambasted by his acerbic rants and musing as hearty laughter rings throughout the Dome. As an aside he berates the dads in the audience for bringing their reluctant offspring to see him. “They won’t like me and they’ll hate you for it” he declares. Brightonians don’t escape his gaze either; “You know the rest of the country isn’t like this don’t you?” He chides. There is an awkward murmur of guilty liberal laughter at our hypocrisy, at this observation. Lee is interrupted in his majestic flow by the flash of a camera phone. He is thoroughly prepared for the intrusion, it sadly must happen at every gig. Woe betides anyone who uses their device to try and capture a sneaky picture or a snippet of video. Lee lies in wait like a 1960s chemistry teacher throwing a bunch of keys at an inattentive pupil. He will crush...
Stewart Lee is back in stand up after his BBC Two series was cancelled for a remake of Are You Being Served.
Lee starts his comedy set with his usual rather angry persona as he blast people using mobile phones and how he's going to crush them and take them, the show continues in this vain as Lee blasts and blatantly insults his audience throughout the show, He makes an acknowledgement that this show goes better down south and I would have to agree with him on that one, the audience don't seem to lap up his set in the same way the Londoners do.
The material maybe the reason why with a lambasting of Brexit voters that ensues most of the first half and becomes tiring as this material feels old and depressing, there are however moments of great comedy, a routine about his DVD price is funny and is performed in only a way that Lee can, but for the moments worth watching, theirs double that aren't.
Stewart Lee likes to remind the audience a lot that he's highly acclaimed by critics but they clearly were not watching the first of four nights at the Lowry which was a night of peaks and lows.
Peaks would include when Stewart Lee can analysis his own humour and come up with some weird and slightly zany remarks off the cuff; lows would be when he tarnishes his entire audience with the same predictable brush and the more he does it, the less innovative it becomes.
The second half does pick up somewhat and the audience seem to be much more behind him with rousing routines about Trump, social media and a fantastic bit about games of thrones which prove to be big hits and give me a taste of Stewart Lee's natural ability.
The show concludes with a rather thought provoking take on selfies and how a classic painting would be different today; this was cleverly done and was both amusing and innovative.
I feel Stewart Lee is capable of a lot better than the performance at the Lowry, it was still funny but just missed the mark, maybe it was the audience.
Stewart Lee
2017-05-22T15:47:15+01:00
Stewart Lee is back in stand up after his BBC Two series was cancelled for a remake of Are You Being Served. Lee starts his comedy set with his usual rather angry persona as he blast people using mobile phones and how he's going to crush them and take them, the show continues in this vain as Lee blasts and blatantly insults his audience throughout the show, He makes an acknowledgement that this show goes better down south and I would have to agree with him on that one, the audience don't seem to lap up his set in the same way the Londoners do. The material maybe the reason why with a lambasting of Brexit voters that ensues most of the first half and becomes tiring as this material feels old and depressing, there are however moments of great comedy, a routine about his DVD price is funny and is performed in only a way that Lee can, but for the moments worth watching, theirs double that aren't. Stewart Lee likes to remind the audience a lot that he's highly acclaimed by critics but they clearly were not watching the first of four nights at the Lowry which was a night of peaks and lows. Peaks would include when Stewart Lee can analysis his own humour and come up with some weird and slightly zany remarks off the cuff; lows would be when he tarnishes his entire audience with the same predictable brush and the more he does it, the less innovative it becomes. The second half does pick up somewhat and the audience seem to be much more behind him with rousing routines about Trump, social media and a fantastic bit about games of thrones which prove to be big hits and give me a taste of Stewart...
Brand and Guberman's 2002 debut was a classic of free improvisation, Brand's too human trombone trauma and Guberman's possessed vocal extemporizations blending in a heady gumbo of exhaled breaths. Second time around, New Yorker Guberman uses more recognisable words, a bronchial and feacally fixated Beefheart, and the British Brand's baked responses are redolent of a New Orleans voodoo funeral. The pair are twin babies, finding their first sounds, provoking ever more affirming exultations of the absurd, and ending with Let Him Rest's transfigurative minimalism.
Stewart Lee
2013-04-07T01:55:38+01:00
Brand and Guberman's 2002 debut was a classic of free improvisation, Brand's too human trombone trauma and Guberman's possessed vocal extemporizations blending in a heady gumbo of exhaled breaths. Second time around, New Yorker Guberman uses more recognisable words, a bronchial and feacally fixated Beefheart, and the British Brand's baked responses are redolent of a New Orleans voodoo funeral. The pair are twin babies, finding their first sounds, provoking ever more affirming exultations of the absurd, and ending with Let Him Rest's transfigurative minimalism.
It’s Stewart Lee. He is so far above other comedians that it makes me wonder why they bother. Of course it is a 5* review. Even when he is meandering he is a genius. Here the show was delayed by a power failure. Just more for him to get his teeth into. This double header routine is already lighter than the shows of recent years. The old boy is mellowing. But it is still as sharp as it needs to be and he wants it to be.
Went with BD who, by virtue of age, education and upbringing will not lot anything offensive pass. This is the only fat, bearded, privileged, cantankerous, white, straight, fifty-something bloke that she has the time of day for. Apart from Dad of course. And that is touch and go. I took her to see Ben Elton a week or so later. Based on my memory and our shared love of Blackadder. He was awful. An embarrassment. Pretending to be aware but reverting to lazy, tired cliche. I didn’t need BD to tell me what was wrong. We walked as soon as we could.
SL, beyond the deconstruction, reconstruction, repetition, dissonance, surreality, clever-clever, childish, audience prodding, provocation, intimidation, irony, sarcasm, faux self-regard, self-deprecation, is an optimist, a moral crusader who cannot tolerate hypocrisy even in himself. In a world where everyone is seeking offence or victimhood, he is critical in all senses. Of course you already know that and will have already signed up to see the show. Of which there are many. As he says, without him us liberals have been “starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement”. If you haven’t why don’t you go and see what all the fuss is about.
Snowflake works because it defends the “politically correct” that the uncritical rail against largely through the confrontation they employ. The attack of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s comedy conceit. The painful put-down of Ricky Gervais “saying the unsayable”. Tornado works through incongruity. The confused Netflix listing, the Alan Bennett expansion and the Dave Chapelle anecdote. And those on just the hooks on which so many other laughs are secured.
For he is very, very, very funny.
Stewart Lee
2020-01-29T14:53:54+00:00
It’s Stewart Lee. He is so far above other comedians that it makes me wonder why they bother. Of course it is a 5* review. Even when he is meandering he is a genius. Here the show was delayed by a power failure. Just more for him to get his teeth into. This double header routine is already lighter than the shows of recent years. The old boy is mellowing. But it is still as sharp as it needs to be and he wants it to be. Went with BD who, by virtue of age, education and upbringing will not lot anything offensive pass. This is the only fat, bearded, privileged, cantankerous, white, straight, fifty-something bloke that she has the time of day for. Apart from Dad of course. And that is touch and go. I took her to see Ben Elton a week or so later. Based on my memory and our shared love of Blackadder. He was awful. An embarrassment. Pretending to be aware but reverting to lazy, tired cliche. I didn’t need BD to tell me what was wrong. We walked as soon as we could. SL, beyond the deconstruction, reconstruction, repetition, dissonance, surreality, clever-clever, childish, audience prodding, provocation, intimidation, irony, sarcasm, faux self-regard, self-deprecation, is an optimist, a moral crusader who cannot tolerate hypocrisy even in himself. In a world where everyone is seeking offence or victimhood, he is critical in all senses. Of course you already know that and will have already signed up to see the show. Of which there are many. As he says, without him us liberals have been “starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement”. If you haven’t why don’t you go and see what all the fuss is about. Snowflake works because it defends the “politically correct” that...
Roberts' six solo albums seamlessly incorporated traditional elements into timeless songs. But today he's a full-blown folklorist, compiling the rare Scottish field recordings collection Whaur The Pig Gaed On The Spree, and issuing these Gaelic tunes with the Hebridean singer Mairir Morrison.
An initially serious tone suggests diaphanously gowned highland visionaries in dimly lit Seventies regional television studios, late at night, when viewers had ‘their own programs', but virtuoso guests lighten the anthropological air.
Opening up the spectral lament Ailein Duinn to the rumbling drums of Trembling Bells' Alex Neilson and surges of ensemble playing suggests the project's path forward.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-25T21:25:41+01:00
Roberts' six solo albums seamlessly incorporated traditional elements into timeless songs. But today he's a full-blown folklorist, compiling the rare Scottish field recordings collection Whaur The Pig Gaed On The Spree, and issuing these Gaelic tunes with the Hebridean singer Mairir Morrison. An initially serious tone suggests diaphanously gowned highland visionaries in dimly lit Seventies regional television studios, late at night, when viewers had ‘their own programs', but virtuoso guests lighten the anthropological air. Opening up the spectral lament Ailein Duinn to the rumbling drums of Trembling Bells' Alex Neilson and surges of ensemble playing suggests the project's path forward.
Bill Frisell plays jazz, folk and blues, but there's no dirt under these fingernails. Frisell's considered interpretations of durable American genres are hand-tooled for the konzerthalle, not the juke joint.
The sixty year old guitar guru is joined on Sign Of Life by the viola player Eyvind Kang, the cellist Hank Roberts, and the violinist Jenny Scheinman.
Tasteful downtown New York types all, working as The 858 Quartet, they frame Frisell's precise, folksy licks in humming, minimalist string parts, making epically respectable Aaron Copland Americana for a miniaturised mythical Ansel Adams landscape.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-28T19:44:04+01:00
Bill Frisell plays jazz, folk and blues, but there's no dirt under these fingernails. Frisell's considered interpretations of durable American genres are hand-tooled for the konzerthalle, not the juke joint. The sixty year old guitar guru is joined on Sign Of Life by the viola player Eyvind Kang, the cellist Hank Roberts, and the violinist Jenny Scheinman. Tasteful downtown New York types all, working as The 858 Quartet, they frame Frisell's precise, folksy licks in humming, minimalist string parts, making epically respectable Aaron Copland Americana for a miniaturised mythical Ansel Adams landscape.
Next week, The Stand Edinburgh will be taken over by the kind of lineup that will make comedy purists tremble at the knees. Josie Long, Robin Ince, David O'Doherty, Tony Law, Bridget Christie, Simon Munnery and Isy Suttie are just a few of the names appearing at the series of ten shows, masterminded by none other than Stewart Lee.
"I was approached by Colin Dench of Comedy Central," Lee explains. "They had seen my style of shooting and were interested in doing something along those lines. All of us were aware that there was a school of standup that is very popular with comedians, but isn't favoured by the mainstream comedy programming on television. It was very interesting that when we tried to programme it, we found ourselves ruling people out because they could appear on other shows. What we were left were these people who all fit the motif of alternative comedy."
'Alternative comedy' is a troublesome term. The alternative revolution of the 80s effectively killed off the competition and now every boy in a t-shirt who notices things is technically the bastard lovechild of Alexei Sayle. Some people still think that Michael McIntyre is alternative.
"Yes," says Lee, calmly, "there are people who think that. But he isn't.
"I think alternative comedy is a good name for this because people think alternative comedy is something annoying, confusing, weird, satirical and clever. And I think... yes. That's fine. I don't really want anyone to come and see the show, to be honest.
"Jim Bowen had that joke about 'Alternative comedy? It's the alternative to comedy'. I think it's good to have an alternative to the kind of standup shows you have on TV now."
The shows at The Stand will be aired on Comedy Central in August in a sort of standup/documentary hybrid, which the performance intercut with Lee interviewing each of the acts about the art of comedy. "It's the kind of programme I'd want to watch," says Lee.
In some ways could this be great. A space on Mock The Week or Live At The Apollo remains the best way to sell tickets. But is this true of all comedians? Or will Lee's guests find their audiences unchanged by this exposure?
"Its' hard to say. We discovered that the number of people coming to my live shows was higher than the viewing figures for [Stewart Lee's] Comedy Vehicle. So you wonder if maybe the kind of people who enjoy alternative comedy are people who do go out and do see live shows, and the ones who watch more mainstream shows are not."
Lee mentions a certain comic (who we won't name) who was advised by their agent (who we also won't name) to avoid doing a themed one-hour show for Edinburgh this year, and instead produce a series of six minute bits which could easily translate onto television. "That's because all agents these days," he says, "see an appearance on McIntyre's show as the only way to be successful. But it doesn't always translate into ticket sales."
Whether or not this show is the catalyst for a massive Tony Law stadium tour (and hopefully it will), it's certainly going to make for a fascinating document on the state of alternative comedy in 2012.
Stewart Lee
2012-06-29T20:53:57+01:00
Next week, The Stand Edinburgh will be taken over by the kind of lineup that will make comedy purists tremble at the knees. Josie Long, Robin Ince, David O'Doherty, Tony Law, Bridget Christie, Simon Munnery and Isy Suttie are just a few of the names appearing at the series of ten shows, masterminded by none other than Stewart Lee. "I was approached by Colin Dench of Comedy Central," Lee explains. "They had seen my style of shooting and were interested in doing something along those lines. All of us were aware that there was a school of standup that is very popular with comedians, but isn't favoured by the mainstream comedy programming on television. It was very interesting that when we tried to programme it, we found ourselves ruling people out because they could appear on other shows. What we were left were these people who all fit the motif of alternative comedy." 'Alternative comedy' is a troublesome term. The alternative revolution of the 80s effectively killed off the competition and now every boy in a t-shirt who notices things is technically the bastard lovechild of Alexei Sayle. Some people still think that Michael McIntyre is alternative. "Yes," says Lee, calmly, "there are people who think that. But he isn't. "I think alternative comedy is a good name for this because people think alternative comedy is something annoying, confusing, weird, satirical and clever. And I think... yes. That's fine. I don't really want anyone to come and see the show, to be honest. "Jim Bowen had that joke about 'Alternative comedy? It's the alternative to comedy'. I think it's good to have an alternative to the kind of standup shows you have on TV now." The shows at The Stand will be aired on Comedy Central in August in a...
IT'S 30 years since he was a student in the city, but Oxford is still very much home territory for Stewart Lee.
Lee, whose comedy divides audiences like few others, is reigniting his love affair with the Dreaming Spires when he plays a week of his latest show, Content Provider, at the Playhouse – the theatre where he just happens to be a patron.
The author and columnist, who helped create the award-winning – and controversial – Jerry Springer The Opera, is famous for his comedic attacks on right-wing politicians and commentators. The likes of Paul Nuttall of UKIP (or 'the UKIPs', as Lee refers to them), Katie Hopkins, Rod Liddle and Richard Littlejohn have all been savaged by him. So Remain-voting, Trump-opposing Oxford should be his sort of place.
But does he ever worry that he's preaching to the converted?
"I hope so," he says. "I hope I am preaching to the converted, well not preaching to them, but having a laugh with them.
"I don't really want people that voted to leave Europe or support Trump to come and see me, as they will probably slow the show down and not get the jokes, and be confused by its reliance on understanding of facts, and its assumption of shared positive human values. Obviously you can't stop them coming, and if they do come they may enjoy it if they concentrate and quell the burning rage that dwells within them, but I think at the moment one of the purposes of this current show is to bring a bit of fun and comfort to nice people who have taken a hammering because of their beliefs these last few months. Other comedy shows are available."
So many comedians are doing Question Time these days. Has he ever been tempted?
"I have been offered it twice. I didn't do it," he says. "I'm not a professional politician. I don't have the time or the inclination to know about the relevant subjects one should know about in the appropriate depth before going on Question Time.
"Some comedians – Shappi Khorsandi for example – have been very good on QT, but on the whole – think we tend to let the side down and I don't want to be part of the problem that makes liberal values look like they belong to confused well-meaning media celebrities."
Lee was last in Oxford a year ago, performing segments from the fourth – and final – series of his BBC shows Comedy Vehicle. How does he feel about the Beeb's decision not to commission a fifth series?
"Absolutely fine," he says. "They have had big cuts from the Tories, 20 per cent in the comedy department, and so things had to go. Why not the work of someone who has had four successful series and was established? Give some kid a break.
"On a purely selfish level, my material is worth much more to me financially toured live for two years than sold to telly, and as I get older and weaker as a self-employed dad of two little kids, and me with no pension, I could do with working the live market a bit more thoroughly, as it pays better than TV, while the interest is there."
Born in Shropshire, but raised near Birmingham, has his West Midlands background had an influence on Lee's comedy?
"It is hard to sound pretentious in a Birmingham accent," he admits. "Mine comes and goes depending on what I am trying to say.
"Birmingham has never been cool. You're in a more powerful position as an outsider in comedy, I think."
Lee was an English student at St Edmund Hall from 1986-1989, and he'll be paying his former college a visit while he's in town.
"I am now, undeservedly, an Honorary Fellow of SEH, which means I am allowed to tether a young pig on Magdalen Bridge, but only on Michaelmas Day.
"For the first 20 or so years after I left college I felt a bit intimidated by the memories. The three years I was in Oxford burned so brightly and vividly in the memory that it was sometimes hard to come back. Nothing ever seemed quite as sharp. I feel like I can taste the October air of Queens Lane 1986, and feel a breeze blowing over a backstreet meadow in summer off Iffley Road, whenever I want, in a moment of self-willed time-travel.
"In my little student room overlooking the high street at St Edmund Hall, surrounded by books I was getting a government grant to read, and talking to loads of clever women about them, I was as utterly happy as I ever was in my life, and nothing since ever seemed quite as complete," he adds.
"I stood in my old room last September. I was almost physically sick with an overwhelming sense of sheer joy at the memory of the past. I have a sense of impossible gratitude to the place. I don't fully understand the circumstances that positioned me there. My whole life has been a string of lucky flukes.
"My wife [fellow comedian Bridget Christie] came to SEH once and just couldn't believe that I had been allowed to study there. I think I felt a bit like a cuckoo in the nest, maybe. I feel like I have to do my absolute best, maybe, to justify the trust shown in me, and the opportunity I was given.
"But now I have a really good relationship with my actual adult life, my career, and the family I belatedly spawned, and with St Edmund Hall itself, and I have done a few events with English students there. At one or two key times in my adult life the college seemed to call out to me and help me, in mysterious ways, as if it were some kind of sentient entity. I am aware I am probably projecting on to it, in the absence of a belief in God!
"I am supposed to be doing something at SEH in the week of the Playhouse shows. Arts subjects seem to be under threat as the values of the enlightenment disappear into the distance and we enter a new anti-intellectual, philistine dark age in Europe and America, so it's good to support young people who might want to read a poem or two. I'd like to see the jazz cellar again at the Oxford Union, where a load of us did student comedy in the 80s, but the Oxford Union feels a bit like enemy territory somehow. I can't really explain what I mean. It's a long time ago. Feelings get muddled up. Everyone wore black. No-one had a mobile phone. Culture was in flux, in a good way."
Lee's comedy collaborator Armando Iannucci was made Oxford University’s Visiting Professor of Broadcast Media a few years ago. As such a student of stand-up – Lee is constantly dissecting and analysing comedy in his act – would a 'professor of comedy role' interest him if it ever came up?
"I think Armando is probably better suited to this than me," he admits. "A drama professor at Kingston once described me to my face as 'all practice and no theory'."
Finally, how many times a week do people tell him he's 'asking for the moon on a stick'?
"For readers who won't know what you're on about, this was a line in a sketch on a show I did 22 years ago on BBC2 called Fist of Fun," he says.
"People don't say it to me very often now. Maybe about three times a year. Which is fine. All that stuff is two decades ago now, but some of it was good, I think, especially the first series of Fist of Fun. I don't really like the second series much now.
"I should have quit the double act after series one probably. I'm very grateful to people who remembered it and liked it at the time and come and see me now, and so is Richard Herring who I did it with. I learned a lot from him about how to work, so I wouldn't undo the past. We have a vague plan to do a reunion in our 80s."
Stewart Lee
2017-01-27T11:42:51+00:00
IT'S 30 years since he was a student in the city, but Oxford is still very much home territory for Stewart Lee. Lee, whose comedy divides audiences like few others, is reigniting his love affair with the Dreaming Spires when he plays a week of his latest show, Content Provider, at the Playhouse – the theatre where he just happens to be a patron. The author and columnist, who helped create the award-winning – and controversial – Jerry Springer The Opera, is famous for his comedic attacks on right-wing politicians and commentators. The likes of Paul Nuttall of UKIP (or 'the UKIPs', as Lee refers to them), Katie Hopkins, Rod Liddle and Richard Littlejohn have all been savaged by him. So Remain-voting, Trump-opposing Oxford should be his sort of place. But does he ever worry that he's preaching to the converted? "I hope so," he says. "I hope I am preaching to the converted, well not preaching to them, but having a laugh with them. "I don't really want people that voted to leave Europe or support Trump to come and see me, as they will probably slow the show down and not get the jokes, and be confused by its reliance on understanding of facts, and its assumption of shared positive human values. Obviously you can't stop them coming, and if they do come they may enjoy it if they concentrate and quell the burning rage that dwells within them, but I think at the moment one of the purposes of this current show is to bring a bit of fun and comfort to nice people who have taken a hammering because of their beliefs these last few months. Other comedy shows are available." So many comedians are doing Question Time these days. Has he ever been tempted? "I...
Stand-up comedy is so very Brechtian. It is as if all comedians, consciously or unconsciously, exist at this pole of theatrical theory. The frame of comedy itself is a large, obviously unreal, artistic construction, where every element of life is turned on its head and viewed from a comedic distance. And one of the most important aspects of comedy’s artistic world is its social conscience. This is like the passionately beating heart around which all good comedy comes to life.
And it is interesting that wrapping the dark stuff of human existence around with laughter makes us feel more distant from it, and then perhaps more safe, more comfortable, and maybe more able to act in our own lives and societies…? Although I’m not arguing here against immersion as a theatrical technique…how could I? I’m so into it. But there is room for both theories, for different ways of affecting people using art. And it is true that catharsis and immersion feel really good. But the artistry of the comedians I saw also moved me, also changed me, but in a different way, and using different theatrical effects.........
........I saw both Hagen and Quinn in rooms in pubs, in tiny, cosy venues where I could practically reach out and touch them. By contrast, I saw the famous comedian Stewart Lee in grander style in the Georgian Assembly Rooms: there were chandeliers, velvety seats, a big crowd of adoring fans, and a much larger literal distance from us to him. He came on stage to the music from Bill’s death scene in Kill Bill, which I thought was a tremendously subtle and cool opening flourish, considering that the common slang for a comedian’s failure is ‘dying’.
His comedy is like a series of concentric rings of meta-awareness, like inception inside the world of a single joke. His whole set is one amazing joke, and within this he tells really, really long stories, each of which turn out to be a single, amazing joke, and these relate ironically, harmonically to the overarching joke, and when everything comes home in a big moment of coherence, it is hilarious, ingenious and satisfying.
His language is deeply poetic, and he pushes the boundaries of concepts practically off the edge of meaning, in a fascinating and thematically conscious way. One of the most powerful themes he contemplated was the Fatal Risk of Doing Comedy. He compared being a comedian to being a war hero and called the ghosts of dead clowns, like Robin Williams and Bill Hicks, onto the stage.
This was profound because it was a palpable reminder of the personal mechanics at work in comedy: that what a comedian does for his or her art is excavate innermost soul and psyche, bring its deepest material up to the light, and ring this around with irony in a transformative way…and that he or she does this for the audience, for the greater good of society, because this process transforms what is deep, dark, ambiguous and scary into a new, enlightening awareness, which helps us to handle it and understand it.
It was serious and tragic at the same time that it was brilliant, funny, enlightening and reflective of the art of comedy, because it reminded us that some of the artists who are called to this sort of service don’t make it, because the dark is too dark, and the fear is too much, and the ambiguity too overwhelming. And so here it was again: that tragicomic shimmering of things that were funny/sad/true/universal… and I felt contemplative, expanded and lit up on different levels.....
Stewart Lee
2015-10-01T10:55:27+01:00
This is an Excerpt from 'The Artistry of Stand Up Comedy', here. Stand-up comedy is so very Brechtian. It is as if all comedians, consciously or unconsciously, exist at this pole of theatrical theory. The frame of comedy itself is a large, obviously unreal, artistic construction, where every element of life is turned on its head and viewed from a comedic distance. And one of the most important aspects of comedy’s artistic world is its social conscience. This is like the passionately beating heart around which all good comedy comes to life. And it is interesting that wrapping the dark stuff of human existence around with laughter makes us feel more distant from it, and then perhaps more safe, more comfortable, and maybe more able to act in our own lives and societies…? Although I’m not arguing here against immersion as a theatrical technique…how could I? I’m so into it. But there is room for both theories, for different ways of affecting people using art. And it is true that catharsis and immersion feel really good. But the artistry of the comedians I saw also moved me, also changed me, but in a different way, and using different theatrical effects......... ........I saw both Hagen and Quinn in rooms in pubs, in tiny, cosy venues where I could practically reach out and touch them. By contrast, I saw the famous comedian Stewart Lee in grander style in the Georgian Assembly Rooms: there were chandeliers, velvety seats, a big crowd of adoring fans, and a much larger literal distance from us to him. He came on stage to the music from Bill’s death scene in Kill Bill, which I thought was a tremendously subtle and cool opening flourish, considering that the common slang for a comedian’s failure is ‘dying’. His comedy is...
I'd rather write about art, music, or film than comedy for the most part. That's because when I'm writing about art nobody expects me to draw illustrations to go with it that look as if they could have come from the brush of Van Gogh or Picasso, when I write about music nobody expects me to fill it with as much drama or as many memorable tunes as David Bowie (or to sing the blog out loud), and when I write about film nobody expects as much character development as a Luca Guadagnino, the narrative of a Jacques Audiard, or the dynamism of a Denis Villeneuve.
But when I write about comedy, perhaps because it is, essentially, another form of writing I have an overriding sense that I'm supposed to be funny, that people want to me to share some of the jokes so that they can laugh at them too. But that's not the way it works. I'm not a comedian and I'm certainly not Stewart Lee. If you want to hear the jokes of Stewart Lee you should buy a £29.50 ticket like I did and go and see him.
£29.50! It's quite a lot, isn't it? Some friends baulked at the price, others don't like him anyway but still commented on the cost, and even I wondered if I'd made the right decision (chuck in a few beers and a train to Reading and back and it wasn't a cheap Tuesday night out). That was, until about five minutes in when, as ever with Lee, I realised I definitely had. Sometimes you genuinely do get what you pay for.
Lee's latest show (or two shows if you must) Snowflake/Tornado spreads out over the best part of two and a half hours and there's very little slack whatsoever in that time. Or at least there's very little slack that wasn't intended, and intentionally written in to it, by Lee. Bounding on with his trademark self-deprecating observation that he looks like a selection of (in)famous people who have all, to various degrees, let themselves go (Julian Assange, Ratko Mladic, Orson Welles, I even thought he looked like Rolf Harris in a certain light), it's not long before Lee's warmed to all his favourite themes.
Criticising the audience for not getting it, bringing along friends who aren't really interested, and being unable to exercise adequate control of their bladders, pointing out empty seats (they can't all have coronavirus), witheringly rude criticisms of other, always lesser, comedians (Ricky Gervais takes a battering not because he's local to Reading but because he's Ricky Gervais), and a deconstruction of comedy so thorough that he often chooses to break off from the deconstruction to inform the audience that this is what he's doing.
Which, is, of course, more of the deconstruction. After a witty aside, Lee likes to confirm that it wasn't made up on the spot and that he'd written it in advance, and it's this archness and cleverness that so irks his critics. That and the fact that many of them really don't seem to get the central joke. A common put down of Stewart Lee and his audience, and one he's more than happy to play up to, is that nobody actual laughs, they just go along to nod in self-satisfied agreement.
As if there was something wrong with that! It's been a couple of years since he last toured so when he asks where we've all been going for our mass agreement fix in the interim and suggests Jonathan Pie's attempts to keep us company in his absence as both opportunistic and a poor substitute for the real deal we hoot with laughter rather than nod in polite accord with a well turned observation.
The show riffs on two themes. One, that Lee's Netflix write up has accidentally been replaced by one for the film Sharknado and, two, a remark from boring old 'straight speaker' Tony Parsons (brilliantly lampooned by Viz as Tony Parsehole) that Lee is "the rancid tip of the cesspit". Lee takes the mangled words of Parsons and hollows them out, "I'm not an expert in cess, or the collection thereof", to show the idiocy of Parsons' opinions and writings.
But, of course, he doesn't stop there. Parsons, as well as bedfellows as unlikely as Josh Widdicombe, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Jimmy Carr (with his jokes about rape and gypsies), and the US comic Dave Chappelle all have their words, actions, even the way they look at their audience twisted and contorted into fantastical scenarios all of which end up reflecting as much on the 'Stewart Lee' character on stage as they do their intended victims. Far less on the Stewart Lee who writes this stuff and us, the audience, who consume it.
When he ribs us, we're in on the joke and, despite the mock-aggressive persona, Lee can often barely contain a grin and, at one point, even laughs at one of his own jokes. All stuff that would be a no-no with a lesser comedian but, with Lee, always done with a level of self-awarement so advanced that it comes with a hilarious running commentary.
You'd think playing a guitar, affecting a reasonably decent yet still utterly ludicrous Alan Bennett impersonation, and breaking off to chat about monotremes (there's only two - the duck billed platypus and the echidna) would cause the show to lose some of its momentum but there are probably more laughs during these parts than when Lee deconstructs his best Brexit joke ("it wasn't just racists who voted to leave Europe. Cunts did as well") or reminds us that joking about Boris Johnson being Mayor of London ("a real mayor, of a real city") and then Foreign Secretary hasn't held the lying bastard back much.
The political bits are still good though, as are his throwbacks not just to earlier parts of the routine but to earlier routines (a neat visual one sees Lee briefly running on the spot, bafflingly (perhaps) to those who arrived late to his oeuvre) and, of course, there's a random, and very rude, put down of people from neighbouring rival towns (this time Slough gets it) that never fails. Lee also likes to chuck some obscure musical cultural references in and, last night, Montana hardcore punks Steel Pole Bath Tub probably enjoyed as much recognition as they ever will in the Reading Hexagon.
The references to musical artists of our shared youth, the throwbacks to jokes from previous tours, and, yes, the chance to get together with like minded friends and chuckle at often puerile comments about people who do so much to make what should be a wonderful life an absolute fucking chore are all part of the Stewart Lee experience. Music's not as tribal as it used to be but Stewart Lee's the same age as me, he grew up in an era when it was, and it seems, sometimes, as if he's weaponised what's left of that tribal mentality to create enough of a following wherever he goes that he can now play these huge tours to decent sized venues and charge decent prices too.
He's done it long enough, playing pubs and small clubs, that he's earned it but, more than that, he's got the underlying confidence to match an unmistakable ability to both write and perform long form comedy at a level way higher than anyone else operating at the moment. A Stewart Lee gig in your town these days is almost like the medicine show pitching up. You go because you know your friends will be there, you go because you know you'll laugh like a drain, and you'll go, and Lee knows this only too well, because you'll find yourself agreeing with what he says far more than any other comic around.
Thanks to Adam for sorting the tickets and arranging and thanks to him, Shep, Tom, Rob, Damon, Ben, David, Tina, Pete, Darren and Cheryl for making it such a good night out. A quick look at that cast list (and an even quicker look at the queue for the gents in the Hexagon) brings attention to perhaps the one thing, except his weight - ho ho, that Lee might want to address. Why does he play to such a middle aged male demographic? I can't help thinking Lee's much happier with the age range than the gender divide but, then, like he says, it's not for everyone.
Stewart Lee
2020-03-11T22:16:38+00:00
I'd rather write about art, music, or film than comedy for the most part. That's because when I'm writing about art nobody expects me to draw illustrations to go with it that look as if they could have come from the brush of Van Gogh or Picasso, when I write about music nobody expects me to fill it with as much drama or as many memorable tunes as David Bowie (or to sing the blog out loud), and when I write about film nobody expects as much character development as a Luca Guadagnino, the narrative of a Jacques Audiard, or the dynamism of a Denis Villeneuve. But when I write about comedy, perhaps because it is, essentially, another form of writing I have an overriding sense that I'm supposed to be funny, that people want to me to share some of the jokes so that they can laugh at them too. But that's not the way it works. I'm not a comedian and I'm certainly not Stewart Lee. If you want to hear the jokes of Stewart Lee you should buy a £29.50 ticket like I did and go and see him. £29.50! It's quite a lot, isn't it? Some friends baulked at the price, others don't like him anyway but still commented on the cost, and even I wondered if I'd made the right decision (chuck in a few beers and a train to Reading and back and it wasn't a cheap Tuesday night out). That was, until about five minutes in when, as ever with Lee, I realised I definitely had. Sometimes you genuinely do get what you pay for. Lee's latest show (or two shows if you must) Snowflake/Tornado spreads out over the best part of two and a half hours and there's very little slack whatsoever...
In 1966, three RAF band escapees coaxed a cautiously iconoclastic British response to American free jazz from like-minded experimentalists.
The Spontaneous Music Ensemble’s debut is an ur-text of improvisation, here with the addition of percussionist John Stevens’ meditational ode to the son he hardly saw, Distant Little Soul.
Challenge’s didactic sleeve notes continue to resonate; “Forget your preconceptions, … because this is what’s happening today.” A young Evan Parker blows sax by a Jack Kirby mural. And today, he’s still what’s happening today.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-11T21:51:30+01:00
In 1966, three RAF band escapees coaxed a cautiously iconoclastic British response to American free jazz from like-minded experimentalists. The Spontaneous Music Ensemble’s debut is an ur-text of improvisation, here with the addition of percussionist John Stevens’ meditational ode to the son he hardly saw, Distant Little Soul. Challenge’s didactic sleeve notes continue to resonate; “Forget your preconceptions, … because this is what’s happening today.” A young Evan Parker blows sax by a Jack Kirby mural. And today, he’s still what’s happening today.
There are few things upon which I am qualified to express an opinion. I have no interest in sport, and only last night was shamed by a Bulgarian mini-cab driver who could not belive I didn’t know the World Cup was about to start. I cannot understand electricty, its meaning, or its practice. I have no skills in the areas of animal husbandry or agriculture, and my misguided adventures in world of farming ended in bankruptcy and a criminal conviction. I have no expertise in matters of the heart. But this Summer will mark the eighteenth time I have worked at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, so when broadsheet newspapers and inflight magazines make their annual requests for 1000 words on “the world’s greatest arts event and how to survive it!”, I know I am, in this one area at least, entitled to speak, even if what I say becomes increasingly desperate.
When I first performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 1987, Edinburgh was a city where it made sense to stage a Fringe Festival. It was easy to understand how the previous thirty years had seen the city become the vast granite teat of the arts, drawing thousands of impoverished performers every year to suckle its poisonous opiated gall. Edinburgh was cheap, and so were we. Most people involved in the fringe lose money, and our arrangements reflected that. We slept in sleeping bags on the floors of empty assembly halls, and ate the city’s plentful supply of inexpensive fried foods, baked potatoes, and old, rotten shortbread stolen under cover of night from the bins behind the tourist tea-shops at the cobbled foot of the Royal Mile. And, as our accomodation had no running water, we washed in Infirmary Street Public Baths, where rows of cubicles compensated for the fact that many of the citizens of the Scottish capital still didn’t have their own baths or showers.
Today, Edinburgh is the last place you would encourage thousands of already broke would-be artists to come and spend a month losing money. Partly due to the profile of the fringe itself, the city’s stock has risen, and its affected and vain inhabtants now boast of having running water in their own homes. Consequently, Edinburgh is now a costly place to stay. Today, haggling is now frowned upon in supermarkets and chemists, when only twenty years ago it was complusary, and it’s easier to find a costly capuccino on South Bridge Street than a ten bob fish supper. Don’t look for Infirmary Street Baths either, where many of today’s top stars once cleaned themselves. It’s boarded up now, home only to rats and memories. Thus, where once the joy of staging one of an estimated 1500 shows that take place daily in Edinburgh each August would have cost you an arm and a leg, now it will cost you all your limbs, the limbs of any surviving releatives, and those of your unborn children.
Understand this. The Edinburgh Festival Fringe is the greatest annual arts event in the world. Gripers and snipers who say it is a trade fair should visit the Montreal Comedy Festival if they want to see art reduced to commerce. The Edinburgh Fringe is a vast village fete, run on goodwill, naivete, hope, compromise and booze. When Annie Griffin’s disappointingly cynical satire Festival used an American Experimental Theatre group handing out turf to audiences as an example of the fringe’s preposterous nature, it missed the point. To the pure in heart there can be nothing finer or more moving than to find oneself being subjected to something sincere yet also utterly ill-conceived in a school hall somewhere in the middle of the afternoon.
Sure, the Fringe has its faults, the principal one being the Perrier Awards for Comedy. It’s sickening and indefensible to see comedians co-operating with a bottled water business owned by Nestle, who regularly top lists of unethical companies, and the amount of press coverage generated by the scheme always overshadows other aspects of the Fringe. And it’s true to say that the way TV executives see the Fringe as a one-stop-shop for scooping up new talent can lead to strange decisions being made in the hot-house atmosphere. But these problems are just scum floating on the surface of an otherwise largely unpolluted sea, so vast that it may seem impossible for you, as a punter or a performer, to navigate it.
If you are attending the Fringe for the first time as a performer, accept that nothing practical will come of it. You are in competition with literally 1000’s of other shows. In paying for your slot in the fringe programme, and renting your venue and a place to stay, you have already spent more than you can ever realistically hope to recoup, especially as the average fringe audience is, honestly, three people. I lost money for the first fifteen years I visited the fringe, but was able psychologically, to offset the experience as invaluable research and development. You are statistically unlikely to be reviewed, or discovered. But you will discover things about yourself and whatever it is you imagine you want to do by going to see absolutely everything you can, making connections with other performers, and arguing with them late into the night. The plays, performance art, and stand-up that I saw in my first few fringes burned so deeply into my brain that I know I’m still ripping them off to this day.
If you are attending the Fringe for the first time as a punter, how I envy you that first realisation of how utterly fantastic it is. But accept that the Fringe is unknowable. For a month this impossible matrix is assembled, never to be repeated, and if you saw ten shows a day all August, you would still only have explored a quarter of it. Comedy has colonised the evenings, where you’ll be able to see people you may have heard of in intimate spaces, but the long days stretch out packed with amazing things that you can easilly afford to take a chance on. Go and see anything at Aurora Nova at Saint Stevens, the home of international physical theatre, where even a flawed production will fascinate on some level. Creep through the endless claustrophobic tunnels of the Underbelly, a former charnell house, with its impossible mix of fringe names and unknown new talent. Throughout the city, you will see performances by people you have never heard of, that better anything else you have ever seen, and your childish faith in absolute justice will be shattered. But press on. Wear stout shoes to defeat the Escher drawing dimensions of the split level city. Keep moving, keep moving. There are hundreds of venues and any one could be your favorite. Eat a hearty breakfast. Do not waste time sleeping. And take a peak through every door.
Sometime in the mid-90’s, I walked into an archway near Waverly station in the small hours and watched an American man eat a whole jar of mayonnaise and then vomit it into a perfect circle to a backing track. Next, Nigel Kennedy took the stage with the comedian John Maloney, who accompanied the violinist on his bodhran for half an hour or so to an audience of thirty people or so in a completely unprepared performance. The event was not listed anywhere. I don’t remember paying anything. Did I dream it? Or was it just a manifestation of that unidentifiable, seemingly indestructible, wonder, the spirit of the fringe?
Stewart Lee
2006-07-08T19:24:33+01:00
There are few things upon which I am qualified to express an opinion. I have no interest in sport, and only last night was shamed by a Bulgarian mini-cab driver who could not belive I didn’t know the World Cup was about to start. I cannot understand electricty, its meaning, or its practice. I have no skills in the areas of animal husbandry or agriculture, and my misguided adventures in world of farming ended in bankruptcy and a criminal conviction. I have no expertise in matters of the heart. But this Summer will mark the eighteenth time I have worked at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, so when broadsheet newspapers and inflight magazines make their annual requests for 1000 words on “the world’s greatest arts event and how to survive it!”, I know I am, in this one area at least, entitled to speak, even if what I say becomes increasingly desperate. When I first performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 1987, Edinburgh was a city where it made sense to stage a Fringe Festival. It was easy to understand how the previous thirty years had seen the city become the vast granite teat of the arts, drawing thousands of impoverished performers every year to suckle its poisonous opiated gall. Edinburgh was cheap, and so were we. Most people involved in the fringe lose money, and our arrangements reflected that. We slept in sleeping bags on the floors of empty assembly halls, and ate the city’s plentful supply of inexpensive fried foods, baked potatoes, and old, rotten shortbread stolen under cover of night from the bins behind the tourist tea-shops at the cobbled foot of the Royal Mile. And, as our accomodation had no running water, we washed in Infirmary Street Public Baths, where rows of cubicles compensated for the...
On the opening night of the Leicester Comedy Festival, a smattering of empty seats can be seen as Stewart Lee takes to the stage of De Montfort Hall. The absentees do not go unnoticed.
The faux-embittered comedic juggernaut seems displeased that he failed to sell out the first of two Leicester dates and he is determined thereafter to make the audience, as well as himself, work for their night's entertainment.
'Content Provider' didn't need to be a challenge for anybody. When addressing the treasure trove of accessible material created by recent political happenings, Lee finds a way to simultaneously complain about the short lifespan of Brexit and Trump jokes, whilst also shaping parts of his show around them.
He expertly structures opening segments of each act in order to highlight the absurdity of both events and hold a mirror between them.
As has come to be expected, Lee's relationship with the audience is suitably jagged.
He playfully challenges Leicestershire's political leanings, questions their usage of Gary Lineker as a cultural figurehead and berates audience members attempting a stealth exit to the toilets.
He does however, earnestly provide local comedy fans with a recommendation, in the form of Paul Currie, who will appear at the Firebug this Saturday.
What sets 'Content Provider' apart from most of what you will see at the festival is the unique overarching theme.
With the help Caspar David Friedrich's oil painting 'Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog', the show's main objective is to explore our position within the chaos of digital consumerism.
He tackles social media, dating apps, instant gratification and even 'Game Of Thrones'. It's powerful, it's pointed and it's hilarious.
As he points out, Lee is now viewed as a spokesperson for the metropolitan liberal elite.
Many critics feel as though his main purpose is to massage the pre-existing ideas of his left-leaning audience.
A Stewart Lee show is engrossing, masterfully crafted and occasionally exhausting.
Much to the dismay of Lee's on-stage persona, this left-leaning Leicester audience seem more than happy to receive the aforementioned massage and have their hard work rewarded in a big way.
Stewart Lee
2017-02-10T17:17:35+00:00
On the opening night of the Leicester Comedy Festival, a smattering of empty seats can be seen as Stewart Lee takes to the stage of De Montfort Hall. The absentees do not go unnoticed. The faux-embittered comedic juggernaut seems displeased that he failed to sell out the first of two Leicester dates and he is determined thereafter to make the audience, as well as himself, work for their night's entertainment. 'Content Provider' didn't need to be a challenge for anybody. When addressing the treasure trove of accessible material created by recent political happenings, Lee finds a way to simultaneously complain about the short lifespan of Brexit and Trump jokes, whilst also shaping parts of his show around them. He expertly structures opening segments of each act in order to highlight the absurdity of both events and hold a mirror between them. As has come to be expected, Lee's relationship with the audience is suitably jagged. He playfully challenges Leicestershire's political leanings, questions their usage of Gary Lineker as a cultural figurehead and berates audience members attempting a stealth exit to the toilets. He does however, earnestly provide local comedy fans with a recommendation, in the form of Paul Currie, who will appear at the Firebug this Saturday. What sets 'Content Provider' apart from most of what you will see at the festival is the unique overarching theme. With the help Caspar David Friedrich's oil painting 'Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog', the show's main objective is to explore our position within the chaos of digital consumerism. He tackles social media, dating apps, instant gratification and even 'Game Of Thrones'. It's powerful, it's pointed and it's hilarious. As he points out, Lee is now viewed as a spokesperson for the metropolitan liberal elite. Many critics feel as though his main purpose...
DOWNLOAD ‘PRINCE ANDREW IS A SWEATY NONCE’ BY THE KUNTS BY MINDNIGHT THURSDAY JUNE 2ND FOR JUBILEE CHART NO 2 SLOT VICTORY. https://princeandrew.info
‘The only time I wanna see ‘big break’ and ‘Stewart Lee’ in the same sentence, will also involve his spinal column’ - Centerist Thug, Twitter
WOKE SO-CALLED ‘COMEDIAN’ T-SHIRT
There has never been a wokier time to own a wokely fabricated Stewart Lee ‘Woke so-called ‘comedian’’ leisure garment.
Woke so-called' 'comedian' 'Stewart Lee' says - "As all alt right journalists know, the best way to invalidate a word is to put it in inverted commas.
But if I was Vladimir Putin I'd want my money back! Celebrate the paucity of traditional alt right arguments against woke comedy with this irksome 'so-called' comedian shirt, manufactured in the wokest way possible with the wokest materials available."
Made on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20,00 each and will start shipping from 2022. Content Provider facemasks cost £15 each and are in stock and shipping now! Hoodies of Content Provider and All The Cheeses are also in stock and shipping now. They cost £35 each.
WOKE T-SHIRT OFFER CLOSES END OF MAY SO ORDER BEFORE THEN OR FACE A DELAY AS THE BLOKE MAKING THEM GOES OFF ON TOUR WITH A PSYCHEDELIC BAND
I will be launching a new Stand-up tour, BASIC LEE, in the Summer/Autumn of 2022.
Edinburgh previews (Aug), London (Sept – Dec) and 2023 dates on sale – more touring dates to be added.
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE
Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec 17th 2022
(EXCEPT Oct 18th - 29th and Nov 11th)
7pm (4pm performance Saturday 12th November
After a decade of ground-breaking high concept shows involving overarched interlinked narratives, massive sets and enormous comedy props, Lee enters the post-pandemic era in streamlined solo stand-up mode. One man, one microphone, and one microphone in the wings in case the one on stage breaks. Pure. Simple. Classic. Basic Lee. "The world's greatest living stand-up comedian." The Times
Two shows, on sale March 3rd. A w-i-p at 10 am and a final go on the Snowflake half of Snowflake Tornado at 1.50pm
Basic Lee (Work In Progress)
Stand 1, 10am (10.00hrs) - 3rd – 27th August (days off 15th & 16th Aug)
Early morning work-in-progress towards the 2022/3 stripped-down, mobile, reactive new stand-up show. One man. One mic. And another mic in the wings in case the stage mic goes down.
The Stand’s New Town Theatre (Grand Hall), 1.50pm (13.50hrs) - 3rd – 28 August (days off 15th & 16th Aug)
Snowflake. Last chance ever to see the culture-war themed second act of the Snowflake Tornado double bill that toured 2019-2022. The other half, Tornado, played the same venue in pre-pandemic 2019. Satire! Swearing!! Retching!!! And a song!!!!
After the abrupt end of the covid-cancelled sell-out tour of Snowflake/Tornado in March 2020, Stewart Lee, “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times), returns to more than 60 towns and cities in the UK.
The tour, a double bill of two 60-minute sets, back-to-back nightly, will include new material for 2022.
The Snowflake half has been heavily rewritten in the light of the two years the show has been laid off, looking at how the Covid-Brexit era has impacted on the culture war declared on lovely woke snowflakes by horrible people.
The Tornado half questions Stew’s position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly listed his show as “reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
All shows are 14+ apparently. If you are under 14 you are too immature to enjoy my swearing and farts.
Following the huge recent success of ‘King Rocker’, spotlighting The Nightingales as one of the best bands in Britain, comes the soundtrack and DVD to one of 2021’s break-out films. This special ‘King Rocker’ bookback DVD/CD deluxe package includes the full length feature film with over 90 minutes of extras and unseen footage alongside the soundtrack.
This collector’s edition is beautifully encased with 20 pages of unreleased behind the scenes photos and liner notes from Michael Cumming and Stewart Lee.“Lee tells Lloyd’s story with skill, passion and verve” The Times. Comedian Stewart Lee and director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast Of London) investigate a missing piece of punk history. Robert Lloyd, best known for fronting cult Birmingham bands The Prefects and The Nightingales, has survived under the radar for over four decades. But how, if at all, does Robert want to be remembered?
The anti-rockumentary ‘King Rocker’ weaves the story of Birmingham’s undervalued underdog autodidact into that of the city’s forgotten public sculpture of King Kong, eschewing the celebrity interview and archive-raid approach for a free-associating bricolage of Indian food, bewildered chefs, vegetable gardening, prescription medicines, pop stardom and pop art.
All of the highlights from the film are here, along with rarities which won’t appear on any of the deluxe reissues of the Nightingales’ catalogue, among them 7″ versions of “Use Your Loaf”, the Bob Luman hit “Let’s Think About Living” and “Black Country”, a glam remix of crowd favourite “Thick And Thin” and a version of Christy & Emily’s “Ghost” which rivals the Nightingales’ take on TLC’s “Unpretty” for sheer beauty.
The only act with roots in the punk era that have gone on to make records more captivating, cutting and entertaining today than at any point in their past; 2022 will be a busy year for the Nightingales, with months of live dates planned, a limited edition remix 12″, deluxe reissues of both ‘Hysterics’ and ‘In The Good Old Country Way’, and a hardcover book collecting Robert’s lyrics.“An inspiring comeback story that feels profoundly necessary” The Quietus
I will be hosting a number of screenings of the film this Summer, including at some festivals:
Bluedot (21st-24th July https://www.discoverthebluedot.com) w Bjork Sugarbabe, The Mogwais, Spiralized 3, Bionic Radio Workshop, Adam Bufftone, Andrew O’Neil’s History of Metal, Kiri Te Pritchard-Mclanna, Robbie Nince and a Delia Derbyshire Day.
It has been a comms failure by me not to tell you I wrote the intro for this republication of the lost ‘60s classic The Bloater by literature’s new favourite witch-queen of the radiophonic workshop, Rosemary Tonks, and it’s a doozy. Get It Here
'Should The Bloater be republished?
Oh God, absolutely, it's fantastic' - Stewart Lee. Min works at the BBC as an audio engineer, where she is struggling to replicate the sound of a heartbeat. At home, other matters of the heart are making a mockery of life as Min knows it. Min has found herself the object of her lodger's affection. An internationally renowned opera singer she's nicknamed 'The Bloater', Min is disgusted and attracted to him in equal measure. But with a husband so invisible that she accidentally turns the lights off on him even when he's still in the room, Min can't quite bring herself to silence The Bloater's overtures. Vain, materialistic, yet surprisingly tender, The Bloater is a sparklingly ironic comedy of manners for all flirtatious gossips who love to hate and hate to love.
'A wonderfully unromantic romantic comedy' - Daily Telegraph
'Uncommonly good' - Guardian
'It is the perfect aperitif, makes you feel warm and careless and much, much happier' - The Times
8. KUNT & THE GANG - PRINCE ANDREW IS A SWEATY NONCE
The forces of neo-fascism conspire to eliminate the channels available to our cheeky Essex electro-punk satirists Kunt & The Gang, now known as The Kunts, as they seek to promote their jubilee single Prince Andrew Is A Sweaty Nonce.
The group have realised there is no way this would be allowed to be the Jubilee no 1 and are wisely aiming for the no 2 slot.
You need to d/l by the end of play Thursday June 2nd.
FOR JUBILEE No.2!
What sort of person would support this?
A certain sort of person. The sort of person who believes that people in positions of power should be held to account for their seedy crimes and shouldn’t be able to use their wealth, status and connections to pay for things to go away.
FAQs for a certain sort of person
Why Jubilee Number 2?
Because let’s face it, even if we did sell enough records they’d never let it be Number 1 anyway!
How can I be most effective come 27 May?
DOWNLOAD - STREAM - SHARE
The most effective way to make yourself count is to:
1. Download all the versions on as many platforms as you are able to. Links at https://princeandrew.info
2. Stream our carefully curated playlists on a premium streaming account. links above.
3. Keep sharing, commenting and spreading the word before and throughout the week of release [try and include www.princeandrew.info #PrinceAndrew and #Jubilee every time you post]. Share screenshots when you have downloaded. Go on Jubilee groups and message boards and share the video.
We realise times are hard and not everyone will be able to afford to do everything so anything you can manage is greatly appreciated and will make a difference.
4. Join the mailing list above - we don’t pester you with a barrage of emails, it just means that you will find out key info that gets lost on social media due to algorithms.
5. Change your social media Avatar to show your support - it really helps spread awareness. The more people do it, the more people see it.
I’m completely skint. what can I do to support the cause?
1. Stream our carefully curated playlists on a free-trial premium streaming account. Set a reminder to cancel when the week has finished.
2.. Tell your friends. If you can’t share on your socials, share with WhatsApp groups and contacts. Every single time you mention it to someone else, it makes a difference.
When do sales open?
0.01 on Friday May 27. They close on 23.59 Thursday June 2.
What’s your strategy?
There are 10 different versions of Prince Andrew Is A Sweaty Nonce available for download at 59p each (the cheapest retail price for a single track). If you download all 10 versions, they are added together to count as 10 sales for the main chart, making your vote 10x more powerful, all for the price of a City Centre pint (or 2 pints in Spoons). If you get them on 2 platforms, that counts as 20 sales.
The 24/7 streaming playlists you can leave running all week. On a premium streaming account 100 streams = 1 sale (600 streams on a free account).
There are limits on how many streams count towards the main chart but streaming 24/7 adds millions of streams to the main platforms and makes the song more visible to casual browsers.
DON’T LET THE ESTABLISHMENT SWEEP IT UNDER THE CARPET!
10 VERSIONS COUNT AS 10 SALES IN THE CHART. AT ONLY 59p EACH, PLEASE DOWNLOAD ALL 10!
24/7 STREAMING PLAYLIST LINKS:
Links to our carefully curated Streaming playlists:
Spotify, Amazon Music, YouTube Music and Apple Music are all doing a month’s free Premium trial for new members.
+++STREAMING TIPS to maximise your impact+++
1. Please stream 24/7 from now until Friday 3 June. 100 Premium account streams = 1 sale (600 non premium)
2. Don’t Mute your Playlist, have it on low or headphones.
3. If there is a crossfade (there is on Spotify) turn it up to maximum
4. Check your playlist every few hours / half day to check it is still going.
9. THE LADY MACBETH GUIDE TO AMBITION - STEFAN STERN
If you are a woke snowflake you have more than likely read a few articles by my friend the political journalist Stefan Stern and thought, “Oooh. I agree the fuck out of that.”
So why not help crowdfund his sure-to-be-ace new book.
“Steve Baker was elected as the MP for Wycombe in 2010. We’re a group of local citizens who are worried that our MP isn’t doing the best for us.
We’re particularly alarmed about Steve Baker’s views on climate change but also wonder if he really cares about the people he’s supposed to represent.
We certainly think Wycombe deserves better.
Our aim is to make it easy for local people to scrutinise how our MP spends his time and what he says to enable them to ask the question: “Is he really working for you?”
11. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2022 HAPPENINGS/THINGS
OM Holy mountain of drone metal JUNE 1st M’cr Gorilla, 3rd London Earth
BO NINGEN Indestructible Japanese noise survivors tour UK and Ireland JUNE 2nd London Railway Tavern Tulse Hill, 7th Newcastle Cluny, 8th Glasgow Broadcast, 8th Dublin Sound House, 10th Limerick Casbah, 13th Birkenhead Future Yard, 14th Manchester Yes, 15th Huddersfield Venn, 18th St Albans Horn.
WILKINSON EDWARDS NOBLE is the greatest current British free jazz trio, and will make instant converts of sceptics. They are at Finch’s Café, 12 Sidworth St in London Fields on June 3rd at 8pm for £8
Until June 5th. Last chance to see Laura Knight & Caroline Walker - A Female Gaze at Nottingham Castle Art Gallery, most notable for displaying loads of Laura Knight pictures from private collections, and displaying them with real sensitivity in a biographical/thematic timeline, alongside other loans from galleries and from the Castle’s own collection, in a way that makes the genius of this pioneering woman utterly undeniable. https://www.nottinghamcastle.org.uk/whats-on/laura-knight-caroline-walker-a-female-gaze/
DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS Liberal redneck rockers JUNE 7th Brighton Chalk, 8th London Forum, 9th Leeds Stylus, 11th Dublin Vicar Street
DRY CLEANING Sing-speak post-punkers JUNE 7th London 02, 9th & 12th Edinburgh Hidden Door, 13th London QEH., AUGUST 27TH M’cr Mayfield Depot
Daniel Kitson. The elusive comedy wunderkind has dates a-plenty.
JUNE 7th, 8th, 9th - The Old Mill – Stillington, North Yorkshire;
17th – Midlands Arts Centre Outdoor Theatre – Birmingham;
18th – (Afternoon) - Melbourne Hall, Walled Garden – Derby;
19th - Regents Park Open Air Theatre - LondON;
22nd, 23rd –Lawrence Batley Theatre Courtyard – Huddersfield;
JULY 6th – Compering Mixed Bill – Brighton Comedy Gardens;
17th - Grosvenor Park Open Air Theatre – Chester;
18th - Midland Arts Centre Outdoor Theatre – Birmingham;
20th, 21st, 22nd, 23rd – Windmill Hill City Farm - Bristol;
24th - Regents Park Open Air Theatre – London;
AUGUST 21st –Regents Park Open Air Theatre - London
Excuse me, can you help me please? I’m terribly worried brings together their work collaborating in one capacity or another for over 34 years. Questions of authorship can be raised: Who made what? Who instigated what? How did this magical world arrive and from who’s universe? While this uncertainty can be questioned, here it is celebrated and laid open, as ownership and authorship are replaced by a creative partnership, with startling results. Working across a wide variety of media, the artists employ it to stand as a portal that cuts through different cognitive worlds and uses it to break down barriers and lazy definitions between traditional visual and neurological pathways. The exhibition includes drawings, collages, paintings and sculptures that were made before during and after the production of their award-winning film Diseased and Disorderly, which will also be shown. Tell-Tale Heads from the film are let loose through the galleries en route to the Tell-Tale Rooms Virtual Reality Experience which will also inhabit the gallery further breaking down the barriers between the artists and the worlds they have created. This exhibition aims to firmly confront the idea that this kind of collaboration is unequal and instead looks to celebrate diversity within collaboration and to let every voice rise up equally. Here the freedom to create is an open door through which many people can enter in their own way. The exhibition not only gives a platform to the different voices that come to us in singular and complex ways it gives you access to the diverse world people around you inhabit, which are so often overlooked.
“They make art as they breathe, hard and fast and memorable; paintings, postcards, installations, rants, poems and freewheeling film ‘songs’…. Eden ventriloquizes her father to provide the written text for her drawings and paintings that are already replete with meaning…. she provides a commentary and series of foot-notes for the Grand Projects that her father is undertaking…. An agenda or appendix in a different form and much truer or closer to the original sign makings and drawings on the walls of caves….” - Iain Sinclair.
“Andrew Kötting has been making films for a long time. But are his films even films at all? Or are they by-products, documenting other processes, their purpose known only to the artist himself? To me the film Gallivant seemed immediately one of the greatest things any human being had ever made. We spend a lot of time peering over our shoulders at the artists we’ve lost, forgetting that, if we look for them, some of the greatest are amongst us now.” - Stewart Lee.
Andrew and Eden Kötting are part of The Project Art Works collective, who were nominated for the Turner Prize in 2021. As part of their Turner exhibition they showed a constructed space that held a physical and digital archive from over 4,000 works by neurodivergent artists and makers over two decades. The archive embodies a visible trace of people who are often hidden in the world. Andrew and Eden Kötting were the focus of two episodes of Radio 4’s Film Programme in 2021 when they moved from their studio in the Old Town Hastings to their new one on The Ponswood Industrial Estate in St Leonards-on-Sea. https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000v9c7
Diseased and Disorderly is a film released in 2021 directed by Andrew Kötting in which Neurodivergent artist Eden Kötting, who was born with Joubert Syndrome, takes the viewer on a journey into her reality through her collages, self-portraits, and still-life drawings. It was funded by the BFI and the National Lottery.
BOB MOULD Husker-dooby-dooby-doo JUNE 9th Brighton Komedia, 10th Ramsgate Music Hall, 12th B’ham Digbeth Mill, 13th S’hampton Engine Rooms, 14th Oxford Academy, 16th London Islington Assembly, 17th Nottingham Rescue, 18th Stoke On Trent Sugar Mill, 20th Bristol Thekla, 22nd Glasgow Oran Moor
THE FALLEN LEAVES Top punk-mod gentlemen entertainers. JUNE 11th London 100 Club, AUGUST 21st London Putney Half Moon, SEPT 10TH London Camden Dublin Castle, 17th Lewes Con Club
MORPHOGENESIS - ORIGINAL LINE-UP OF ART NOISE LEGENDS June 12th Café Oto London
Ben Moor. The storytelling surrealist is out and about in many different iterations.
Tuesday 12th & Weds 13th July 2022 19.30PRONOUN TROUBLE
An Edinburgh slot for my "lecture" about cartoons, friendship and lectures has yet to be confirmed at time of writing, but if you haven't seen it, these dates offer you a chance to embrace the offbeat.
Another Edinburgh preview, this time in a Double Bill with the wonderful Joanna Neary and her fantastic show full of characters, song and dance and delight.
Described by Stewart Lee as "a book talk that swallows itself in a hall of mirrors full of Russian dolls," this is also hopefully on its way to the Edinburgh Fringe - more details to follow.
LONG RYDERS Country-punks JUNE 17TH & 18th London Under The Bridge
MAMMOTH PENGUINS Queens of indue JUNE 23RD London Lexington
THE GOON SAXAustralian indie rockers JUNE 23rd M’cr Ritz, 24th Glasgow QMU, 28th Bristol Motion & Marble, 29th London Forum, 30th Brighton Chalk. JULY 4th London Lexington
ALASDAIR ROBERTS Scottish troubadour JUNE 25TH London West Hampstead Arts. JULY 7th Falmouth Cornish Bank. SEPT 3rd Cardiff Chapter.
DARREN HAYMAN Breton-capped indie troubadour JUNE 24th London Lexington, 28th Newcastle Cumberland Arms, 29th - 30th M’cr Gullivers
ELIZA CARTHY English folk godhead back in active service JUNE 28th Leicester Musician. JULY 16th London Union Chapel. NOV 28TH Birmningham Glee, 30th Cardiff Glee. DEC 5th Cambridge Junction
EARL OKIN The mouth trumpeter runs amok. JULY 1st - The Terrace, 2, Church Plain, Loddon, Norfolk, NR14 6EX. www.shaftofwit.com/music
2nd - The Secret Garden, Mile Tree Lane, Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, PE 13 4TR.
RICHARD DAWSON & CIRCLE Geordie art-folkster jams with Finnish acid-rockers JULY 6th London Scala, 7th Leeds Belgrave, 8th M’cr Gorilla, 8th Digbeth Supersonic, 12th Newcastle Boiler Shop, 14th Stirling Rabbithole. AUGUST 26TH Barrow-in-Furness Krankenhaus.
M WARD Giant Sand graduated songwriter and guitarist JULY 1st M’cr Night & Day, 9th Nottingham Bodega, 10th London Jazz Café, 12th Bristol Thekla, 13th Leeds Brudenell, 15th Glasgow Oran Moor
BEVIS FROND One of local show by psyche-rock superstars. JULY 10th Hastings Crypt
MDC Hardcore punk originators JULY 27TH Southampton 1865, AUGUST 1st London New Cross Inn
ACID MOTHERS’ TEMPLE Japanese acid all-fathers OCTOBER 9th Birmingham Norton’s, 10th York Crescent, 11th Glasgow Hug & Pint, 12th Newcastle Star and Shadow, 13th Salford White Hotel, 16th Preston Continental, 19th Bristol Lanes, 20th Brighton Komedia, 21st London Studio 9294
DREAM SYNDICATE Blue collar paisley underground psychedelic explorers in imperial career phase. OCTOBER 18TH London Lafayette
RECC’D INTERNETS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rosie Holt’s Youtube characters *****
Ogmios School of Zen Motoring *****
Limmy’s review of After Life *****
The Exploding Heads Alasdair Beckett-King’s various things *****
VonViddy (TikTok) Eleanor Morton - Jack The Ripper (but shot in portrait!?)
Paddy Young - Posh actor in Northern Film
Dan March - British Tourism films
Tom Little Sooz Kempner as Nadine Dorries on Twitter
12. IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS 2022
Sydney Poitier - woke actor (1927)
Magwa - woke Cambodian landmine hunting rat (2013)
Burke Shelley - bass Budgie (1950) Ronnie Spector - woke Ronette (1943)
Rachel Nagy - Detroit Cobra (1975)
Robin Le Mesurier - Womble (1954)
Andy Ross - Disco Zombie/nice man of Britpop (1956)
Barry Cryer - King Of Comedy (1935) Norma Waterson - Mighty Folk Matriarch (1939)
John Nolan - man Behind The Magnolia Curtain (1966) Betty Davis - She Might Get Picked Up! (1944)
Ivan Reitman - He was not afraid of no ghost! (1946)
Mark Lanegan - Screaming Tree rehabilitee (1964)
Bruce Anderson - MX-80 man (1950) Anna Karen - ‘70s public transport icon (1936)
Sam Lay - Howlin’ Wolf/Butterfield/Dylan drums (1935)
Mikey Chung - Reggae session regular (1950)
Fred Van Hove - Belgian free-jazz stringbender (1937)
Ian McDonald - Crimson saxophonist King (1949)
Gary Brooker - Synesthesiac Hackney musician (1945)
Nicky Tesco - Suburban soundman/comedy fan (1956)
Dallas Good - Sadies guitar slinger (1974)
Philip Jeck - Art Noiseman (1952) Margaret Curtis - Callanish visionary (1942) Jordan - punk fashionista (1955)
David McKee - Then the shopkeeper appeared (1935)
Chris Bailey - Lordly protopunk, wit, raconteur (1957)
Gilbert Gottfried - That ‘Too Soon’ guy (1955) Audrey Henshall - Scottish Neolithic expert (1927)
Eric Chappell - Rising Damp (1933)
Klaus Schultze - Tangerine Joker (1947)
Neal Adams - Woke progressive comics creator (1941) Judy Henske - Greenwich psych-folkstress (1936)
George Perez - Best Avengers artist ever (1954)
Don Craine - deerstalking Downliner (1945)
Richard Polodor - acid rock engineer (1936)
Gavin Martin - music rag wit (1962)
Fred Ward - Worm Warrior (1942)
Vangelis - Apocalypso-Maestro (1943)
Bob Neuwirth - Gelb/Dylan adjacent beatnik (1939)
Cathal Coughlan - Microdisney Man (1960)
Rick Price - Move bassist (1944)
Ric Parnell - Tap/Rooster drummer & gardener
Alan White - Ono drums (1949)
Ray Liotta - has let himself go (1954)
Ronnie Hawkins - Canadian rock wellspring (1935)
Harrison Birtwistle - When Things Fall Over (1934)
Stewart Lee
2022-05-30T19:31:07+01:00
DOWNLOAD ‘PRINCE ANDREW IS A SWEATY NONCE’ BY THE KUNTS BY MINDNIGHT THURSDAY JUNE 2ND FOR JUBILEE CHART NO 2 SLOT VICTORY. https://princeandrew.info ‘The only time I wanna see ‘big break’ and ‘Stewart Lee’ in the same sentence, will also involve his spinal column’ - Centerist Thug, Twitter WOKE SO-CALLED ‘COMEDIAN’ T-SHIRT There has never been a wokier time to own a wokely fabricated Stewart Lee ‘Woke so-called ‘comedian’’ leisure garment. Woke so-called' 'comedian' 'Stewart Lee' says - "As all alt right journalists know, the best way to invalidate a word is to put it in inverted commas. But if I was Vladimir Putin I'd want my money back! Celebrate the paucity of traditional alt right arguments against woke comedy with this irksome 'so-called' comedian shirt, manufactured in the wokest way possible with the wokest materials available." Available from this link from May 1st... https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee Made on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20,00 each and will start shipping from 2022. Content Provider facemasks cost £15 each and are in stock and shipping now! Hoodies of Content Provider and All The Cheeses are also in stock and shipping now. They cost £35 each. WOKE T-SHIRT OFFER CLOSES END OF MAY SO ORDER BEFORE THEN OR FACE A DELAY AS THE BLOKE MAKING THEM GOES OFF ON TOUR WITH A PSYCHEDELIC BAND 'Woke' Burgundy Front 'Woke' Charcoal Front 'Woke' Navy / Mustard Front 'Woke' Burgundy Back 'Woke' Charcoal Back 'Woke' Navy / Mustard Back 2. BASIC LEE I will be launching a new Stand-up tour, BASIC LEE, in the Summer/Autumn of 2022. Edinburgh previews (Aug), London (Sept – Dec) and 2023 dates on sale – more touring dates to be added. LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec...
Alan Moore is best known for his comics classics such as V for Vendetta and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, but his latest work takes him into different territory: Jerusalem is a prose novel that, at 600,000 words, is longer than the Bible - and is a vast celebration of his relatively small home town of Northampton.
In a Guardian Live event recorded in London, Moore explains his project to comedian Stewart Lee.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-07T21:42:18+00:00
Alan Moore is best known for his comics classics such as V for Vendetta and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, but his latest work takes him into different territory: Jerusalem is a prose novel that, at 600,000 words, is longer than the Bible - and is a vast celebration of his relatively small home town of Northampton. In a Guardian Live event recorded in London, Moore explains his project to comedian Stewart Lee.
The Dirty Water Club, housed in a function room above a North London pub, hosts weekly live performances by musical recidivists wielding fuzzy guitars and familiar 60’s riffs. Billy Childish, whose current band The Buff Medways played their final show there to a sell-out house, is the scene’s spiritual king. During his three decade career, including over a hundred albums, Childish periodically drifts from his Chatham home, briefly circling the planet of popular taste, before retreating to the shadows. Jack White was the latest rock star to bend down to pet him, recoiling with his fingers firmly nipped, and Childish’s distant entanglement with Tracy Emin has ensured the profoundly independent poet, painter and musician art-history footnote status. But Childish has watched fashions come and go, whilst developing an infinitely sustainable cult status.
The Boston Music Room is unusual amongst rock venues in that its stage is visible from all areas of the hall, but tonight it serves as standing room, overlooking a small, low platform stage right. Opening act The Buffets, an all-girl trio which includes Childish’s wife Nurse Julie in her professional uniform, clamber onto it to cover a selection of Buff Medways classics, reducing the muscular, Mod dynamics of the originals to a spirited thrash. Childish’s trio follow, dressed as World War One soldiers, framed by two precariously balanced stacks of 19th century gas-powered speakers. Childish eschews modern trappings, like the mixing desk, so everything you hear comes directly from the stage. In small spaces this yields spectacular results. But tonight, the ten foot circle at the front of the 500 capacity crowd feels like a Who show in a London basement circa 1966, whilst a few yards away from the stage you risk being a disconnected spectator. For the faithful, the gap is closed, but for some, it is rarely bridged. When the unsecured speakers wobble over the flailing moshpit, Childish’s handlebar moustache flutters as he explains, “We want to play gigs like the ones we saw when we was kids, so this means you have to behave like ladies and gentlemen.” His rigorously defined aesthetic means that every performance is undeniably pungent, yet sometimes quietly contrived, like The Sealed Knot endlessly recreating the skirmishes of the English Civil War.
Highpoints of the Buff Medways’ catalogue are swiftly despatched, many of which, as if in some odd cubist experiment, we have already heard in different guises from The Buffets. Covers of The Who’s A Quick One While He’s Away, and Hendrix’s Fire, benefit hugely from the frenetic playing of Wolf Howard, one of the few contemporary drummers equiped to do them justice. The Buff Medways capture perfectly the moment when the British beat boom felt the first flowerings of psychedelia, though its occassional freeform flourishes seem a little decadent for Childish’s puritanical approach. His 80’s band The Milkshakes channeled the Hamburg Beatles. In the 90’s, The Headcoats played British invasion beat music. Childish is moving through the 60’s at the rate of a new genre every half decade or so. As his trio line-up, salute the audience, and are joined by the Buffets for a rousing revival of Thee Headcoatees’ Davey Crockett, The Buff Medways brand is laid to rest, and one wonders where the Doctor Who of garage rock will turn up next.The Buff Medways
Stewart Lee
2006-11-05T19:30:26+00:00
The Dirty Water Club, housed in a function room above a North London pub, hosts weekly live performances by musical recidivists wielding fuzzy guitars and familiar 60’s riffs. Billy Childish, whose current band The Buff Medways played their final show there to a sell-out house, is the scene’s spiritual king. During his three decade career, including over a hundred albums, Childish periodically drifts from his Chatham home, briefly circling the planet of popular taste, before retreating to the shadows. Jack White was the latest rock star to bend down to pet him, recoiling with his fingers firmly nipped, and Childish’s distant entanglement with Tracy Emin has ensured the profoundly independent poet, painter and musician art-history footnote status. But Childish has watched fashions come and go, whilst developing an infinitely sustainable cult status. The Boston Music Room is unusual amongst rock venues in that its stage is visible from all areas of the hall, but tonight it serves as standing room, overlooking a small, low platform stage right. Opening act The Buffets, an all-girl trio which includes Childish’s wife Nurse Julie in her professional uniform, clamber onto it to cover a selection of Buff Medways classics, reducing the muscular, Mod dynamics of the originals to a spirited thrash. Childish’s trio follow, dressed as World War One soldiers, framed by two precariously balanced stacks of 19th century gas-powered speakers. Childish eschews modern trappings, like the mixing desk, so everything you hear comes directly from the stage. In small spaces this yields spectacular results. But tonight, the ten foot circle at the front of the 500 capacity crowd feels like a Who show in a London basement circa 1966, whilst a few yards away from the stage you risk being a disconnected spectator. For the faithful, the gap is closed, but for some,...
Comedy Central's critically acclaimed cult stand-up series The Alternative Comedy Experience is back with 13 brand new episodes.
Curated once again by Stewart Lee the show takes another entirely original look at the grass roots stand-up scene with performances from the best cult comedy acts around and is unlike any other live comedy show on Television.
The range of comedy talent featuring in this second series reflects an ever changing and innovative scene and includes a significant number of female comedians.
Returning to series two are favourites Tony Law, Isy Suttie David Kay, Simon Munnery, Maeve Higgins, Josie Long, David O Doherty, Paul Foot, Bridget Christie, Henning Wehn and many others from season one alongside newcomers to the show such as Kevin Eldon, Michael Legge, Ginger and Black, Nish Kumar, Liam Mullone, Grainne MaGuire and John Hegley.
Lee once again provides exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews with the performers to uncover the inspiration behind their unique stand-up acts and these interviews are interspersed with their specially filmed live performances.
With 13 episodes there is not much room for extras on this 2 disc set but we have still managed to cram on an exclusive interview and live performance clip of Trevor Lock.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T20:03:46+00:00
Comedy Central's critically acclaimed cult stand-up series The Alternative Comedy Experience is back with 13 brand new episodes. Curated once again by Stewart Lee the show takes another entirely original look at the grass roots stand-up scene with performances from the best cult comedy acts around and is unlike any other live comedy show on Television. The range of comedy talent featuring in this second series reflects an ever changing and innovative scene and includes a significant number of female comedians. Returning to series two are favourites Tony Law, Isy Suttie David Kay, Simon Munnery, Maeve Higgins, Josie Long, David O Doherty, Paul Foot, Bridget Christie, Henning Wehn and many others from season one alongside newcomers to the show such as Kevin Eldon, Michael Legge, Ginger and Black, Nish Kumar, Liam Mullone, Grainne MaGuire and John Hegley. Lee once again provides exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews with the performers to uncover the inspiration behind their unique stand-up acts and these interviews are interspersed with their specially filmed live performances. With 13 episodes there is not much room for extras on this 2 disc set but we have still managed to cram on an exclusive interview and live performance clip of Trevor Lock.
Whenever Topic trawls its archive for new Voice Of The People compilations, the aural artifacts they dredge seem ever more distant, ever more valuable. Taped in the ‘50s and ‘60s, these unaccompanied gypsy singers, their distinctive sound the musical manifestation of a lifestyle that today appears unsustainable, are moving, vivid and often quietly disconcerting.
Seven year old Sheila Smith, singing Dear Father, Pray Build Me A Boat at a roadside encampment of barrel top wagons in Sussex in 1952, is the hallucinatory highlight of the folk singer Shirley Collins' two disc selection.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-29T22:07:03+01:00
Whenever Topic trawls its archive for new Voice Of The People compilations, the aural artifacts they dredge seem ever more distant, ever more valuable. Taped in the ‘50s and ‘60s, these unaccompanied gypsy singers, their distinctive sound the musical manifestation of a lifestyle that today appears unsustainable, are moving, vivid and often quietly disconcerting. Seven year old Sheila Smith, singing Dear Father, Pray Build Me A Boat at a roadside encampment of barrel top wagons in Sussex in 1952, is the hallucinatory highlight of the folk singer Shirley Collins' two disc selection.
There was a time in the mid-90s, when a popular theory emerged that comedy was the new rock n roll. This idea emerged when Newman and Baddiel became the first comedy act to sell out Wembley Arena, arriving on motorised skateboards to roars and applause from the arena-sized audience. In truth, Rob Newman did look something like a pop star, his long hair and 90s outfits making him look like a lost member of The Wonderstuff, and the popularity of the duo’s sketch show with the era’s indie kids saw them grace the front covers of the NME several times.
Since their ground-breaking arena shows, comedy has continued to sell out the country’s larger venues, albeit with less fanfare than Newman and Baddiel generated. As it turns out, comedy wasn’t the new rock n roll, but it did go through a huge increase in popularity, possibly as a result of its new habit of referencing the pop culture touchstones of the time. This phenomena has since increased by the surge of panel shows featuring a rotating cast of 20 or so comics, of differing levels of skill, ability and funniness and all appearing on each other’s TV programmes.
This has led to something of a cosy circle of comics, who are blessed with a generous amount of TV exposure and thus see their profiles rise ever higher, resulting in perhaps underserved arena shows. I am thinking here of the terminally unfunny Micky Flanagan, the lightweight Russell Howard and the king of the pointless-but-smutty one liner, Jimmy Carr.
At the other end of the spectrum to this cabal of mutual promotion is Stewart Lee. If comedy is equivalent to rock n roll, Stewart Lee is The Fall– the awkward, perpetual underdog refusing to play by the rules but still with a loyal audience. His considerable ire is directed as much at other comics as it is at more predictable stand up fare such as Brexit and Boris Johnson.
Lee’s TV shows have undoubtedly added to his popularity but have not dulled his edges or turned him to the mainstream, as anyone who saw the last series of Comedy Vehicle can attest. One show in this series was mostly taken up with Lee smacking his lips in an imitation of Ron Liddle listening to a tape recording of himself eating a poppadum (maybe you had to be there). He told his audience that the more the laughed at the noises he was making, the longer he would keep doing it. This he did until the episode faded out with Lee still doing little more than imaginary eating. His shows are proof that he can turn his hand to surrealist comedy as easily as the indignation he is perhaps more known for.
One of the more curious aspects to his live performances is the way he will deconstruct a joke, tearing it apart line by line and then showing all the cogs and wires of it to the audience, explaining why it is or isn’t funny. Sometimes he will even do this before telling the joke. His genius lies in the fact that he can do this and still make the audience laugh at the joke’s payoff.
He also operates a curious ‘divide and rule’ approach to his audience, whereby he will congratulate part of the audience for laughing at his jokes on time and then berate the rest for not being up to speed. The permanent twinkle in his eye and his mischievous smile allow him to get away with this without a hint of losing his audience.
Lee has the ability to see the absurd in the modern world and can use his considerable bile to make clear the absurdities of current events. His starts the show by expressing his disbelief that Boris Johnson is ‘the actual Foreign Secretary of a real country that exists and not just a puppet Foreign Secretary there to distract us while the real work is done by an east European locked in a cellar” He goes on to predict that Johnson will one day be Prime Minister, as Theresa May was put there by the powers that be as a kind of mouth wash, “to cleanse the palette before being asked to swallow a mouthful of human shit”
At times, he does come across as something of an old man raging against the modern world’s technological advances, with mobile phones and the Internet coming in for particular flack. In all of this though, he does have sensible points to make that are sometimes far removed from comedy. He tells a tale of visiting Liverpool’s Probe Records, in pre-Internet days and at a time when he used to carry a list of the 50 records he most wanted to own. He explained how he would spend time trying to track these down and how he felt when he was finally able to tick one off the list. And then, when he first had the Internet at home, he was able to download them all on his first online afternoon, but that they had somehow lost their value due to them being suddenly so easy to find.
In the second half, Lee blasts selfie culture as people turning the world’s most magnificent views and structures into nothing more than “a backdrop for their own narcissism”.
His savage humour is also turned inwards for some genuine self-deprecation, as if sometimes, when casting around for targets for his bitterness, he sees only himself and still unloads both barrels. Casual to the point of scruffiness, Lee is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt tonight and even so pulls down his jeans to reveal an overweight man in grey boxer shorts. He does this to show he has lost weight , in response to a tweet where a follower said they didn’t find him funny anymore, they were just going along to see how fat he’d got. It is hard to imagine the likes of Jason Manford or Tim Vine laying themselves so bare, physically or metaphorically.
Lee is also someone who sees and values the craft of comedic writing, believing that it should have a point to make, a cohesive flow and a narrative structure, the same as any other form of writing. Those who ignore this and treat comedy as a string of gags, one liners and non-sequiturs are reserved a special place in Lee’s circles of hell.
To illustrate this, the backdrop for this tour, Content Provider, is towers of DVDs by his comedy ‘peers’ that he managed to buy online for 1p. He takes great pleasure in the fact that the collected works of more ‘successful’ comics are so soon reduced to almost valueless artefacts and takes a wild kick at one tower before stamping over more of them scattered around the stage and smashing them into pieces with the heel of his boot. A more physical rendering of Lee’s oeuvre it is hard to imagine.
The fact that the cheapest he has been able to find his own DVDs online is £3.56 is, in Lee’s world, proof positive that he is 356 times better than they are. On the strength of tonight’s performance, it is difficult not to agree.
Stewart Lee
2017-09-15T20:17:32+01:00
There was a time in the mid-90s, when a popular theory emerged that comedy was the new rock n roll. This idea emerged when Newman and Baddiel became the first comedy act to sell out Wembley Arena, arriving on motorised skateboards to roars and applause from the arena-sized audience. In truth, Rob Newman did look something like a pop star, his long hair and 90s outfits making him look like a lost member of The Wonderstuff, and the popularity of the duo’s sketch show with the era’s indie kids saw them grace the front covers of the NME several times. Since their ground-breaking arena shows, comedy has continued to sell out the country’s larger venues, albeit with less fanfare than Newman and Baddiel generated. As it turns out, comedy wasn’t the new rock n roll, but it did go through a huge increase in popularity, possibly as a result of its new habit of referencing the pop culture touchstones of the time. This phenomena has since increased by the surge of panel shows featuring a rotating cast of 20 or so comics, of differing levels of skill, ability and funniness and all appearing on each other’s TV programmes. This has led to something of a cosy circle of comics, who are blessed with a generous amount of TV exposure and thus see their profiles rise ever higher, resulting in perhaps underserved arena shows. I am thinking here of the terminally unfunny Micky Flanagan, the lightweight Russell Howard and the king of the pointless-but-smutty one liner, Jimmy Carr. At the other end of the spectrum to this cabal of mutual promotion is Stewart Lee. If comedy is equivalent to rock n roll, Stewart Lee is The Fall – the awkward, perpetual underdog refusing to play by the rules but still with...
In many ways, Stewart Lee shows are all previews. He's always testing his stuff on the audience, working out why gags do or don't work as he goes along, deconstructing his skits for even more laughs.
But Much A-Stew About Nothing was especially open in its aims: there were three separate 30-minutes slots being prepped to make up the new series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
He tagged on a free work-in-progress encore, too, and showed how he builds up an idea in much the same way Phil Spector might make a wall of sound.
Even half-complete, his tearing apart of Vodafone and its digital parenting advice – "what's wrong with analogue?" – was worthy of three stars.
The rest of the material, which occasionally descended to agreement, ie claps not laughs, or "mass acceptance from a narrow demographic", was mostly that rare thing in comedy: progressive.
Picking out his favourite Tories to explain why he’ll vote Tory was a clever set-up; his admiration for Peter Stringfellow’s work provided the best gag of the night.
A well-constructed piece on stereotypes using cabbies, call-backs and his imaginary black wife and gay husband was another keeper.
Even without overall narrative the material flowed. Because anyone who can combine the idea of a parasitic worm up a cat’s backside and shoehorn his wife into the joke knows how to weave lines together.
Stewart Lee
2013-09-19T18:12:53+01:00
In many ways, Stewart Lee shows are all previews. He's always testing his stuff on the audience, working out why gags do or don't work as he goes along, deconstructing his skits for even more laughs. But Much A-Stew About Nothing was especially open in its aims: there were three separate 30-minutes slots being prepped to make up the new series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. He tagged on a free work-in-progress encore, too, and showed how he builds up an idea in much the same way Phil Spector might make a wall of sound. Even half-complete, his tearing apart of Vodafone and its digital parenting advice – "what's wrong with analogue?" – was worthy of three stars. The rest of the material, which occasionally descended to agreement, ie claps not laughs, or "mass acceptance from a narrow demographic", was mostly that rare thing in comedy: progressive. Picking out his favourite Tories to explain why he’ll vote Tory was a clever set-up; his admiration for Peter Stringfellow’s work provided the best gag of the night. A well-constructed piece on stereotypes using cabbies, call-backs and his imaginary black wife and gay husband was another keeper. Even without overall narrative the material flowed. Because anyone who can combine the idea of a parasitic worm up a cat’s backside and shoehorn his wife into the joke knows how to weave lines together.
Stand-up and writer Stewart Lee has been described as ‘the comedian’s comedian’, with a distinctive performance style that drew critical acclaim for his BAFTA Award-winning BBC series; Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
Pleasingly, not only are we big fans of his, but he is also a big fan of us. Ahead of his own appearance on our Royal Festival Hall stage with Content Provider in April, Lee kindly took a moment to share his memories of six favourite Southbank Centre performances.
The Southbank Centre has been a central pole of my cultural tent since I moved to London 30 years ago, with early 1990s shows hosted by the London Musicians' Collective being especially important to my post-provincial discovery of cool metro-shit.
It was very difficult to pick a top six, with gigs by Lee Ranaldo and William Hooker, Hawkwind, Television, The Soft Boys, Shirley Collins, Sonic Youth, Acid Mothers' Temple, The Stooges, Faust, Ornette Coleman, Iva Bittova, Sonny Rollins, Boredoms, Evan Parker, Alan Tomlinson and Harry Hill doing John Cage, and Camille Paglia in her leather trousers all lodging in the memory. How does one get to curate a Meltdown? Is it gauche to just ask? Anyway, here's six heavy hitters.
Derek Bailey and The Ruins
The Purcell Room
3 April 1997
Twenty-one years ago and this was a life changing gig. Free jazz guitar pioneer Derek Bailey was playing with Japanese improvisation duo The Ruins. At one point, lost in a reverie, he wandered into the back wall of the building, clanging his guitar into it. The Southbank type stiffs in the room seemed embarrassed. Uncle Derek did it again and seamlessly incorporated his accident into his arsenal. I realised you had to roll with what happens. What happens in the room is the gig. I went on to win Celebrity Mastermind answering questions on Derek Bailey.
Tony Conrad
Queen Elizabeth Hall
30 September 1998
Minimalist drone avatar Tony Conrad played one wavering note on the violin for a hour and then stopped, and in the moment he stopped I was forced to contemplate the vastness of the gulf between absence and presence.
Patti Smith & Kevin Shields' The Coral Sea
Queen Elizabeth Hall
22 June 2005
Patti Smith's poetry uncoupled from rock backing, and Kevin Shields' abstract guitar whoosh unleashed from the framing device of My Bloody Valentine. And we were near enough to the front to see exactly what effects pedals he was using, and on what settings.
John Peel Tribute Night
Queen Elizabeth Hall
12 October 2005
The Fall, in a peak late period incarnation, at the bottom of the bill; country chanteuse Laura Cantrell; the sublime protest reggae of Misty in Roots; New Order playing a Joy Division set with an appropriately busted guitar amp; and Delia Smith.
Peter Brotzmann & Full Blast
Purcell Room
November 2008
Pinned to the walls by the German free jazz saxophonist's unforgettable noise trio.
In Search of Nic Jones / The Nightingales
Queen Elizabeth Hall / Purcell Room
28 May 2011
In 2011 The Southbank Centre invited me to curate a three day 'Austerity Binge' in tandem with my stand-up run at the Royal Festival Hall, and I gave myself some tough choices. This night saw missing-in-action folk hero Nic Jones, and supportive friends and collaborators, trawl his much-missed back catalogue. Nextdoor Birmingham's Beefheart-channeling post-punk survivors The Nightingales played the set of a lifetime, Robert Lloyd leaving the stage to roam the royal venue and compromise its dignity. I scampered between both stages in a daze.
Stewart Lee brings Content Provider, his most successful full-length stand-up show ever to Royal Festival Hall for three nights between 19 and 23 April.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-26T13:05:42+01:00
Stand-up and writer Stewart Lee has been described as ‘the comedian’s comedian’, with a distinctive performance style that drew critical acclaim for his BAFTA Award-winning BBC series; Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. Pleasingly, not only are we big fans of his, but he is also a big fan of us. Ahead of his own appearance on our Royal Festival Hall stage with Content Provider in April, Lee kindly took a moment to share his memories of six favourite Southbank Centre performances. The Southbank Centre has been a central pole of my cultural tent since I moved to London 30 years ago, with early 1990s shows hosted by the London Musicians' Collective being especially important to my post-provincial discovery of cool metro-shit. It was very difficult to pick a top six, with gigs by Lee Ranaldo and William Hooker, Hawkwind, Television, The Soft Boys, Shirley Collins, Sonic Youth, Acid Mothers' Temple, The Stooges, Faust, Ornette Coleman, Iva Bittova, Sonny Rollins, Boredoms, Evan Parker, Alan Tomlinson and Harry Hill doing John Cage, and Camille Paglia in her leather trousers all lodging in the memory. How does one get to curate a Meltdown? Is it gauche to just ask? Anyway, here's six heavy hitters. Derek Bailey and The Ruins The Purcell Room 3 April 1997 Twenty-one years ago and this was a life changing gig. Free jazz guitar pioneer Derek Bailey was playing with Japanese improvisation duo The Ruins. At one point, lost in a reverie, he wandered into the back wall of the building, clanging his guitar into it. The Southbank type stiffs in the room seemed embarrassed. Uncle Derek did it again and seamlessly incorporated his accident into his arsenal. I realised you had to roll with what happens. What happens in the room is the gig. I went on to win...
One of the great pleasures of being a critic is watching a career develop, and Stewart Lee's is one that I've had the pleasure of, so to speak, for many years. I'm not a Stewart Lee completist but I enjoyed his early days on television with comedy partner Richard Herring in Fist of Fun (just about to be released on DVD for the first time) and This Morning With Richard Not Judy, his solo stand-up shows, his work on the wonderfully subversive Jerry Springer: The Opera and much, much more in between.
I missed him in the early Noughties when Lee took a rest from stand-up and rejoiced when he returned to the form, revitalised, in the middle of the decade. But it was his 2007 show What Would Judas Do? that made us - fans and critics alike - sit up and really take notice, because we realised he had all but reinvented the genre. His cerebral comedy and deconstructive storytelling, surreal and pedantic by turns and using constant repetition and pointed callback, has led critics to describe what he's doing as meta-comedy. But enough wanky critiquing, and on with the review.
Last night's opener to the second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle started with an, ahem, departure; the opening scene was a black-and-white sequence shot in the empty cabaret space that the show is recorded in. The comic was telling an off-camera Armando Iannucci, a sometime collaborator in Lee's career, that online forums had accused him of not telling any jokes in his first series and of just “going on about stuff". But Lee has cracked it for series two: “I've got four jokes. It might be three. But it's four more than in the first series." He wasn't being helped by Iannucci, a genius who is responsible for some of the greatest comic creations of recent times - not least of which is The Thick of It - suggesting jokes along the lines of “What's brown and sticky? ... A stick."
'It's superbly intelligent and inventive comedy, with just enough borderline dodgy references to make you stop and think'
The subject of the opener was charity, and those familiar with Lee's unforgiving attacks on anything self-serving, pretentious or false might have expected a full-frontal attack on those entertainers who take large fees for appearing at “charity" gigs. But no, Lee told us he does a lot of charity gigs where comics such as Ed Byrne and Simon Pegg might appear, the latter to do his 1990s material talking about Britpop. Lee doesn't do the gigs out of altruism, but for reasons of self-worth, he said. And to nick the crisps from the Green Room afterwards - 41 packets (four flavours) was his record haul after a Help a London Child gig.
What followed was an explanation of why Lee nicks those crisps - to give to his Chelsea Pensioner grandad, an invention from earlier shows. Prior knowledge of this gag may have added to your enjoyment, but ignorance of it would not have left you any less wonderfully bamboozled by Lee's surreal and detailed invention about his life, involving a home made from a nest of Remembrance Day poppies, a giant attacking moth and a Japanese superhero dinosaur.
Written like that, it sounds like glorious nonsense, and on one level it is. But on another it's superbly intelligent and inventive comedy with just enough borderline dodgy references to the Japanese, war heroes, the old, people suffering from bowel disorders and celebrities doing good works to make you stop and think, and of course smile knowingly between the laughter.
Long may Stewart Lee just go on about stuff.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-05T22:22:16+01:00
One of the great pleasures of being a critic is watching a career develop, and Stewart Lee's is one that I've had the pleasure of, so to speak, for many years. I'm not a Stewart Lee completist but I enjoyed his early days on television with comedy partner Richard Herring in Fist of Fun (just about to be released on DVD for the first time) and This Morning With Richard Not Judy, his solo stand-up shows, his work on the wonderfully subversive Jerry Springer: The Opera and much, much more in between. I missed him in the early Noughties when Lee took a rest from stand-up and rejoiced when he returned to the form, revitalised, in the middle of the decade. But it was his 2007 show What Would Judas Do? that made us - fans and critics alike - sit up and really take notice, because we realised he had all but reinvented the genre. His cerebral comedy and deconstructive storytelling, surreal and pedantic by turns and using constant repetition and pointed callback, has led critics to describe what he's doing as meta-comedy. But enough wanky critiquing, and on with the review. Last night's opener to the second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle started with an, ahem, departure; the opening scene was a black-and-white sequence shot in the empty cabaret space that the show is recorded in. The comic was telling an off-camera Armando Iannucci, a sometime collaborator in Lee's career, that online forums had accused him of not telling any jokes in his first series and of just “going on about stuff". But Lee has cracked it for series two: “I've got four jokes. It might be three. But it's four more than in the first series." He wasn't being helped by Iannucci, a genius who is...
It's a set list you could hardly predict. First, there'll be a section of Islamophobic comedy. Then, says Stewart Lee, "I'm going to talk exhaustively about urine for half an hour". Of course.
A Room with a Stew is labelled as work in progress, each block of material building towards an episode for the next series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. What Lee has got is already very progressed, however. There's hardly a spare word as he does his usual knowing dance.
He's part craftsman and part torturer as he reels his audience in, and out, and in again, like alternative comedy's grumpy burlesque act, a precision tease before the punchline is delivered.
The core components of Lee's act are well known: the knowing sneer, the wilful repetition, the stretching of the boundaries both of ideas and the conventions of comedy. What is exhilarating is how many surprises he still throws in and how deft his jumps are from one tone to another.
His first section is essentially a riff on a Daily Mail article in which Jan Moir called for comedians to joke more often about Muslims. As Lee delivers his 30-minute riposte, the impact is fiercely biting, yet he's unafraid to also be gloriously childish, using one of his extended rants to belittle the journalist Rod Liddle as a man "with all gravy down him", among other things.
The section about urine takes several U-turns: from a story of Lee being bullied at school to a playful deconstruction of the phrase "water off a duck's back". Then, just when you think Lee's lost control, he reaches a climax in which he tackles the suicide of comedians including Robin Williams and directs his anger against the audience themselves.
Mocking observational comics, Lee concludes: "It's not enough is it? You've got to have something to say." Lee still has plenty to say and it's invigorating to watch him say it.
Stewart Lee
2014-11-17T21:44:46+00:00
It's a set list you could hardly predict. First, there'll be a section of Islamophobic comedy. Then, says Stewart Lee, "I'm going to talk exhaustively about urine for half an hour". Of course. A Room with a Stew is labelled as work in progress, each block of material building towards an episode for the next series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. What Lee has got is already very progressed, however. There's hardly a spare word as he does his usual knowing dance. He's part craftsman and part torturer as he reels his audience in, and out, and in again, like alternative comedy's grumpy burlesque act, a precision tease before the punchline is delivered. The core components of Lee's act are well known: the knowing sneer, the wilful repetition, the stretching of the boundaries both of ideas and the conventions of comedy. What is exhilarating is how many surprises he still throws in and how deft his jumps are from one tone to another. His first section is essentially a riff on a Daily Mail article in which Jan Moir called for comedians to joke more often about Muslims. As Lee delivers his 30-minute riposte, the impact is fiercely biting, yet he's unafraid to also be gloriously childish, using one of his extended rants to belittle the journalist Rod Liddle as a man "with all gravy down him", among other things. The section about urine takes several U-turns: from a story of Lee being bullied at school to a playful deconstruction of the phrase "water off a duck's back". Then, just when you think Lee's lost control, he reaches a climax in which he tackles the suicide of comedians including Robin Williams and directs his anger against the audience themselves. Mocking observational comics, Lee concludes: "It's not enough is it? You've...
Last week, Donald Trump falsely attributed admirable human qualities to a dog. Many Trump supporters have done the same to the president. The hero dog, Trump explained on Monday, had played an important part in the operation that saw the Islamic State leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi “die like a dog”, the president managing to both praise dogs and use them as a metaphor for cowardice, in the same speech.
An American journalist friend has told me, confidentially, that the heroic Belgian malinois has been put out to stud, touring puppy farms in the key Republican-voting states of Trump’s supporter base. Patriot puppy farmers can breed their bitches with the canine assassin, who is priced at $10,000 per penetration or $300,000 for a day’s companionship in a private kennel. Extra canoodling time increases the chances of impregnation incrementally, with profits given to Trump’s legal defence fund. You couldn’t make it up!
Supportive breeders will be able to charge proud puppy purchasers top rates to own a dog spawned from the semen of the very hound that left Baghdadi, in the words of the president’s official press conference statement last Monday, “whimpering and crying and screaming all the way”, an emotional state the virile sex-animal is also expected to induce in satiated bitches.
I should have seen this unbelievable state of affairs – the post-rationalised monetisation of a military operation – coming. The American novelist Jarett Kobek, who wrote to me years ago asking if he could quote a bit of my standup in a book, is now a regular correspondent. While Kobek’s 2017 opus The Future Won’t Be Long shows he could have spent his life writing the kind of classic New York novel critics love, 2016’s superb content-form fusion I Hate the Internet and this year’s ecstatically disorienting Only Americans Burn in Hell explode ideas of literary taste and style to slice open his homeland’s poisoned abdomen. But real life seems to have a habit of providing Kobek with experiences that confirm his paranoia.
On 1 September, Kobek emailed me from New York to say: “I had the strangest experience of my life the other night. I was at the Comedy Store and watched the guy who shot Osama bin Laden do his tight five about shooting Osama bin Laden.” I assumed Kobek, who has written extensively on jihadist terrorism, was using me as an unwitting pawn in some satirical experiment understood only by him, but he confirmed the experience.
“He [Robert J O’Neill] came out years ago, against Navy Seal protocol or whatever, to take credit, and has sort of gone through the entire gamut of celebrity, but I assure you none of that was as weird or as surprising as seeing him come up and do his material, which absolutely 100% killed.” Kobek, you will not be surprised to learn, is, like me, a virtue-signalling snowflake.
Three weeks later, the same story drifted across my digital consciousness. The internet, now a sort of digital camera obscura, showed me a clip where, as a prank, the American comedian David Spade had secured Bin Laden’s assassin a slot at the Comedy Store. He and another American comedian, Whitney Cummings, fed the likable former Seal lines through an earpiece (like Frankie Boyle and Russell Howard, O’Neill used writers), and secretly filmed the show. This was the very same performance Kobek had attended.
O’Neill tells the crowd he shot Bin Laden because he was “tired of taking my shoes off at the fucking airport”. In his military service, O’Neill continues, he got “two silver stars, four bronze stars of valour and a ton of pussy”. While trading on a certain amount of jingoism, the act also works, perhaps unintentionally, as a parody of normal comedy. How, for example, would the SAS man who shot three IRA members in Gibraltar describe his experiences, were he obliged to do so on Live at the Apollo in the style of Chris Ramsey?
In closing, O’Neill’s puppeteers allow him the blackly comic observation: “My favourite thing about killing Osama bin Laden is that it finally ended all the wars in the Middle East.” One wonders if, as O’Neill exits past a bewildered looking Kobek sporting a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt, he is at all traumatised by his past and whether his assassination-induced celebrity acts as any kind of balm? Perhaps Spade and Cummings intended to explore this idea. I don’t know. I didn’t feel culturally equipped to decode whatever was going on and no criticism of the piece is intended.
Meanwhile, in a White House press conference on the subject of the hero dog, defence secretary, Mark Esper, who will tour the animal sex farms with the national canine gigolo, said the assassin hound could be guaranteed to “perform a tremendous service”. And in the unlikely event that America’s sex-dog is unable to rise to the occasion, General Mark Milley, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, has confirmed that he will personally hand-milk the malfunctioning malinois into whatever receptacle the customers provide and that he will get the job done however long it takes. God bless America!! We are through the looking glass here, people!!!
Perhaps the first-born spawn of the soldier-hound could be offered to dog-loving 10 Downing Street, to live alongside Dilyn dog, as a sweetener to stop Boris “Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-The-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-Frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds” Johnson making too much fuss about that unfortunate incident in Northamptonshire. After all, as President Trump said: “Driving on the wrong side of the road happens.”
Stewart Lee
2019-11-03T14:59:02+00:00
Last week, Donald Trump falsely attributed admirable human qualities to a dog. Many Trump supporters have done the same to the president. The hero dog, Trump explained on Monday, had played an important part in the operation that saw the Islamic State leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi “die like a dog”, the president managing to both praise dogs and use them as a metaphor for cowardice, in the same speech. An American journalist friend has told me, confidentially, that the heroic Belgian malinois has been put out to stud, touring puppy farms in the key Republican-voting states of Trump’s supporter base. Patriot puppy farmers can breed their bitches with the canine assassin, who is priced at $10,000 per penetration or $300,000 for a day’s companionship in a private kennel. Extra canoodling time increases the chances of impregnation incrementally, with profits given to Trump’s legal defence fund. You couldn’t make it up! Supportive breeders will be able to charge proud puppy purchasers top rates to own a dog spawned from the semen of the very hound that left Baghdadi, in the words of the president’s official press conference statement last Monday, “whimpering and crying and screaming all the way”, an emotional state the virile sex-animal is also expected to induce in satiated bitches. I should have seen this unbelievable state of affairs – the post-rationalised monetisation of a military operation – coming. The American novelist Jarett Kobek, who wrote to me years ago asking if he could quote a bit of my standup in a book, is now a regular correspondent. While Kobek’s 2017 opus The Future Won’t Be Long shows he could have spent his life writing the kind of classic New York novel critics love, 2016’s superb content-form fusion I Hate the Internet and this year’s ecstatically disorienting Only Americans...
Ricky Gervais is an actor, writer, and director. He is brave. I am a standup. I am not brave. I only ever did one brave thing. In 2005, I agreed, while drunk, to jump off the tallest structure in New Zealand. New Zealanders' high living standards mean they are driven to create artificial jeopardy, usually involving jumping off things, stamping their bare feet on hard mud, or eating deceptively hot pies from roadside vendors.
Visitors to the Auckland Sky Tower can freefall from 650 feet at 60 miles an hour. A brake kicks in for the last 10 feet, so you realise what it would be like to die, but don't. I panicked, and started telling the men that I didn't want to do it, but I was already on a ledge high over the city so they just snapped the clips and pushed me off. As I fell I realised that one day I would be dead, that the world would continue without me, and that I was nothing. I wish I'd just eaten the pies.
Members of the public are always telling standups that we must be very brave. Some of you who have told me this are a fireman, a community policewoman, and a mercenary who chases Somalian pirates. The fireman is half right, I suppose. Once extinguished, a fire is done. However, an extinguished heckler can later go on an internet forum and say I'm shit and that he hopes various women I know are raped.
You say standups must be brave because anything can happen in a live comedy show, and that's true, but only within certain parameters. The laws of physics will remain constant. Gravity will not reverse. Giant moths will not swoop down and carry the comedian away. And while Eddie Izzard always dresses as a woman before performing, the average comedian is unlikely to change gender mid-gag, like a west African frog.
I have, however, seen some of you physically attack standups onstage. And I even saw one of you wave a gun during the young David Baddiel's act in a Montreal club in 1997. The gunwoman's defence, namely that she had been sent back from the future to avert a catastrophic event called "Baddielageddon", was dismissed as fantasy by the arresting officers, perhaps with indecent haste.
A confusion seems to exist in your minds that a comedian is somehow validated by doing material that you perceive as being "brave". Lenny Bruce was brave to challenge orthodoxies in front of audiences peppered with FBI agents aiming to arrest him. Chubby Roy Brown is not brave to sing a pro-golliwog song in front of loads of people who, from the YouTube clip, seem to be all disproportionately enthusiastic about golliwogs. Perhaps it was a private booking for a golliwog enthusiasts' group?
But as ideas of what's acceptable change, it can be difficult for comedians to know if, at any particular point in time, we are being brave and clever, or offensive and stupid. For example, in 2008, the standup comedian Russell Brand was censured by the Yorkshire Michael Parkinson, having joked to an old Mexican grandad about having sex with a goth. Back in February 1977, the letters page of the Radio Times carried a letter from a viewer criticising Michael Parkinson for laughing along to Bernard Manning's "racist" jokes on his TV chat show.
Was Russell Brand "brave" to have joshed the old man about the goth sex? Was Manning "brave" to be racist in the 70s, even though racism was largely thought of as ace until UB40's first album, Signing Off, discredited it? And would Michael Parkinson have thought it was OK for Russell Brand to do the old Mexican grandad goth sex prank if he had used the Baddielogeddon portal to go back 40 years in time and do it in a comedy Pakistani voice?
Today, furious internet commentators, and cab drivers who vaguely recognise me, think the bravery of a comedian is measured by their willingness to tackle the hot potato of Islam. (Yes, I know it is forbidden in the Koran to warm a potato, even accidentally. This is merely a figure of speech. I meant nothing by it. I was not trying to be brave.) Here is a selection of almost three unsolicited emails the BBC received during my last TV outing, from people desperate to see Muslims mocked, both implying my lack of bravery.
"Dear BBC, I enjoyed Stewart Lee's making fun of Chris Moyles on TV last night. I look forward to him mocking the Prophet Mohammed in the same way next week, or wouldn't that be 'politically correct'?" And, "Dear BBC, I enjoyed watching Stewart Lee making jokes about crisps last night. But I doubt we will be seeing him having a go at any Muslim snacks in the near future. It appears there's one law for crisps and quite another for spicy bombay mix." These two emails, which were both sent by Norris McWhirter, are not real. But there are many like them that are.
Islam is not the comedy taboo the fictional Norris McWhirter imagines it to be. Many standups, and often those of an Islamic background, do make informed jokes about Muslims. So where can the would-be brave comedian go to prove his bravery? Well, just as he did with The Office nearly 30 years ago, once again, the self-styled "little fat bloke" Ricky Gervais has shown us all the way.
On his blog last month, Gervais claimed to be working on a sitcom about a "lovely little feller" called Derek, and linked to a YouTube clip of himself as Derek Noakes, a 38-year-old man whose non-specific mental condition, with some superficial similarities to Down's syndrome, and vulnerability to sexual abuse, are the source of some typically opaque Gervaisian irony. Morgana Robinson's eponymous C4 series featured Gilbert, a foolish "special needs" boy and his disabled friends, but it looks as if the glamorous comedienne's bravery is about to be eclipsed by Gervais'.
Gervais's fans have already praised his brave reclamation of the word "mong" last month, but his decision to make comedy about the mentally handicapped more explicitly may be the heroic multimillionaire actor-writer-director's bravest yet. To return to our opening metaphor, if "mong" is a hot pie, Derek Noakes is the full Sky Tower.
It would, doubtless, be brave for Gervais to pursue his Derek Noakes sitcom. It would be braver for him to staple his penis to a wolf. And braver still for him to run into a threshing machine, pushing children in wheelchairs in before him. But watching Gervais's Derek Noakes on YouTube, I imagined feral children trailing real Dereks around supermarkets, chanting "Derek Derek", as they doubtless would were the series to be made, and wondered if, sometimes, discretion is not the better part of valour.
Carpet Remnant World is at Leicester Square Theatre from 15 Nov and tours throughout the UK in Spring 2012. See stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2011-11-13T15:07:28+00:00
Ricky Gervais is an actor, writer, and director. He is brave. I am a standup. I am not brave. I only ever did one brave thing. In 2005, I agreed, while drunk, to jump off the tallest structure in New Zealand. New Zealanders' high living standards mean they are driven to create artificial jeopardy, usually involving jumping off things, stamping their bare feet on hard mud, or eating deceptively hot pies from roadside vendors. Visitors to the Auckland Sky Tower can freefall from 650 feet at 60 miles an hour. A brake kicks in for the last 10 feet, so you realise what it would be like to die, but don't. I panicked, and started telling the men that I didn't want to do it, but I was already on a ledge high over the city so they just snapped the clips and pushed me off. As I fell I realised that one day I would be dead, that the world would continue without me, and that I was nothing. I wish I'd just eaten the pies. Members of the public are always telling standups that we must be very brave. Some of you who have told me this are a fireman, a community policewoman, and a mercenary who chases Somalian pirates. The fireman is half right, I suppose. Once extinguished, a fire is done. However, an extinguished heckler can later go on an internet forum and say I'm shit and that he hopes various women I know are raped. You say standups must be brave because anything can happen in a live comedy show, and that's true, but only within certain parameters. The laws of physics will remain constant. Gravity will not reverse. Giant moths will not swoop down and carry the comedian away. And while Eddie Izzard always...
Stewart Lee made his name in the mid-nineties as one half of radio duo Lee and Herring, but today he is best known for his BBC Two stand-up series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
WHAT IS THE SHOW ABOUT?
A Room With A Stew is a way for Stewart Lee to test new material, most of which will make it into the fourth series of his BAFTA nominated BBC Two series, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, which began in 2009 and will return Spring 2016 for a fourth (and possibly final) series.
The show is very much a work in progress, and with 180 minutes worth of material ready to go, Stewart only uses 70 minutes of it in Edinburgh, meaning that no two shows are ever the same.
REVIEW
Stewart Lee isn’t, never has been, and never will be a traditional stand-up. Each joke is deconstructed in such a way that you can’t just sit back and let it wash over you, and that’s what I admire about him as a performer.
He began the show by informing us that as he was 5 minutes late, (probably down to the fact there were A LOT of people to get into the Assembly Hall), the show would end at 3:30pm instead of 3:25pm and that it was a 70 minute show, with a 10 minute opener and two 30 minute segments.
He made it very clear that this is a work-in-progress and that he’s still deciding what to include into his next series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. So much so that he was undecided as to what the second half will be about, the options were ‘Urine’ or ‘Islamaphobia’.
Before that, he had some other business to attend to… Graham Norton, who beat him to win the Best Comedy BAFTA earlier on this year. But he’s fine with it, he doesn’t care. And by “doesn’t care” he means cares a great deal and spends the best part of 20 minutes explaining why he should have won the BAFTA instead of Graham Norton. Whilst told in jest, I can’t help but feel that there is some truth there, and Stewart Lee genuinely can’t understand why he didn’t win.
What Stewart has always done really well, is interact with the audience, sure he’s not nice to them, but somehow that has them eating out of the palm of his hands even more. Today he told someone in the front row off for looking at his watch, he told the left side of the audience that they didn’t “get him” and that’s why they’re not laughing and had a mini-breakdown when just over halfway through the show a couple decided that enough was enough and ran out the door.
Luckily I was on the right hand side, the side that “got him”, but that didn’t stop him having a go. Oh no, he said that this was the worst audience he’d ever had and even told us where we went wrong. He’d tell us that we laughed at the wrong moment and that we clapped when we should have laughed, and that we were a bit slow.
If this was any other comedian, I’m not sure they’d be able to get away with it but there’s something about Stewart’s charm that makes the moments he rips into the audience
All in all it was an outstanding show and a great start to my Fringe experience this year. The one downside (but not worth him losing a star over) was when he made a joke about the high suicide rate amongst comedians, and essentially blaming us (a bad audience) for Robin Williams’ death. Aside from that it was an absolute pleasure to see him live and I’d highly recommend going to see him.
A Room With A Stew runs in Edinburgh, at The Assembly Rooms (Venue 20) until Sunday 30th August and you can buy tickets here. A Room With A Stew will also tour at the Leicester Square Theatre season in London from September 2015 until January 2016 before moving onto Marathon Nights at the South Bank.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-25T00:21:33+01:00
WHO? Stewart Lee made his name in the mid-nineties as one half of radio duo Lee and Herring, but today he is best known for his BBC Two stand-up series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. WHAT IS THE SHOW ABOUT? A Room With A Stew is a way for Stewart Lee to test new material, most of which will make it into the fourth series of his BAFTA nominated BBC Two series, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, which began in 2009 and will return Spring 2016 for a fourth (and possibly final) series. The show is very much a work in progress, and with 180 minutes worth of material ready to go, Stewart only uses 70 minutes of it in Edinburgh, meaning that no two shows are ever the same. REVIEW Stewart Lee isn’t, never has been, and never will be a traditional stand-up. Each joke is deconstructed in such a way that you can’t just sit back and let it wash over you, and that’s what I admire about him as a performer. He began the show by informing us that as he was 5 minutes late, (probably down to the fact there were A LOT of people to get into the Assembly Hall), the show would end at 3:30pm instead of 3:25pm and that it was a 70 minute show, with a 10 minute opener and two 30 minute segments. He made it very clear that this is a work-in-progress and that he’s still deciding what to include into his next series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. So much so that he was undecided as to what the second half will be about, the options were ‘Urine’ or ‘Islamaphobia’. Before that, he had some other business to attend to… Graham Norton, who beat him to win the Best Comedy BAFTA earlier on this year. But he’s fine with it, he doesn’t care. And by “doesn’t care” he means cares...
In the sweltering heat of the Edinburgh Stand, Stewart Lee plays mainly to a packed room full of people who are already predisposed to liking him. Nevertheless he insists, stand up comedy is the hardest job in the world. Sarcasm is this man’s backbone and in this years show, basically a rehearsal of old and new material in preparation for his forthcoming BBC2 series, he uses it to full effect.
Turning away from the grander themes he has covered in the past like 11/9, political correctness and vomiting into the gaping anus of Christ, Lee turns his attention to ridiculing the painfully obscure, like American comedian Franklyn Ajaye and Chris Moyles second autobiography.
In the case of Ajaye, Lee focuses on the comedian’s 1974 comedy album “I’m a Comedian, Seriously”, squeezing every last laugh out of the hilariously pompous cover and contradictory track listing, having never actually listened to the album, or indeed removed the original cellophane wrapping. In the case of Moyles, Lee contemplates the success of a book aimed at being a great toilet book that in Davina McCall’s opinion is butt-clenchingly honest.
If this show is any indication, and by it’s definition it is, then Lee’s TV show should be well worth watching.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-19T13:58:34+01:00
In the sweltering heat of the Edinburgh Stand, Stewart Lee plays mainly to a packed room full of people who are already predisposed to liking him. Nevertheless he insists, stand up comedy is the hardest job in the world. Sarcasm is this man’s backbone and in this years show, basically a rehearsal of old and new material in preparation for his forthcoming BBC2 series, he uses it to full effect. Turning away from the grander themes he has covered in the past like 11/9, political correctness and vomiting into the gaping anus of Christ, Lee turns his attention to ridiculing the painfully obscure, like American comedian Franklyn Ajaye and Chris Moyles second autobiography. In the case of Ajaye, Lee focuses on the comedian’s 1974 comedy album “I’m a Comedian, Seriously”, squeezing every last laugh out of the hilariously pompous cover and contradictory track listing, having never actually listened to the album, or indeed removed the original cellophane wrapping. In the case of Moyles, Lee contemplates the success of a book aimed at being a great toilet book that in Davina McCall’s opinion is butt-clenchingly honest. If this show is any indication, and by it’s definition it is, then Lee’s TV show should be well worth watching.
In what seems like an act of closure on his 30 year career as it stands, Stewart Lee has crushed selected material into a three-hour evening in what could easily be termed a binge.
As usual with Lee there are many levels to this show, which describes a considered arc from some of his most accessible material, through a transition period which is neither post-modern nor archaic, and finally into a full hour of the lowest form of art - musical comedy.
By closing the show with an hour of almost unplayed guitar he manages to both validate and undermine the tiresome indulgence of the rockstar comedian persona - a mould into which he certainly doesn't fit - a fitting move for the "London intelligentsia in the cathedral of culture."
However, there is a parallel arc running counter to the thread of the evening, and that's one of self-referential deconstruction, a fractalline engine which forms the conceptual centre of much of Lee's work.
Self-aware comics always flirt with a dangerous mistress - even the most switched-on and intelligent ones - so to forge an entire evening of measured, witty and thought-provoking social comedy which encompasses three decades of work with precisely on-point unifying themes is a testament to the rare skill that Lee posseses.
Many of today's newer comics simply don't appreciate the history and nuance of their art as practised by prior generations. An ability to mete out vulgarity and use the odd silly word next to piece of weak observation tend to be lauded higher than the more subtle notions of social awareness, inclusivity and artistic solidity.
The timing of Lee's "austerity binge" season is in perfect synchrony with both his career curve and the cyclic return of the Tory government, as he delicately and sharply makes clear throughout, culminating in a poetic anecdote about the Prime Minister, the "vomiting and pissing Buller boy" David Cameron.
There aren't many words appropriate to precis the character, nature and ability of the 41st-best stand-up in Britain - Stewart Lee is the Stewart Lee of comedy.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-31T15:28:55+01:00
In what seems like an act of closure on his 30 year career as it stands, Stewart Lee has crushed selected material into a three-hour evening in what could easily be termed a binge. As usual with Lee there are many levels to this show, which describes a considered arc from some of his most accessible material, through a transition period which is neither post-modern nor archaic, and finally into a full hour of the lowest form of art - musical comedy. By closing the show with an hour of almost unplayed guitar he manages to both validate and undermine the tiresome indulgence of the rockstar comedian persona - a mould into which he certainly doesn't fit - a fitting move for the "London intelligentsia in the cathedral of culture." However, there is a parallel arc running counter to the thread of the evening, and that's one of self-referential deconstruction, a fractalline engine which forms the conceptual centre of much of Lee's work. Self-aware comics always flirt with a dangerous mistress - even the most switched-on and intelligent ones - so to forge an entire evening of measured, witty and thought-provoking social comedy which encompasses three decades of work with precisely on-point unifying themes is a testament to the rare skill that Lee posseses. Many of today's newer comics simply don't appreciate the history and nuance of their art as practised by prior generations. An ability to mete out vulgarity and use the odd silly word next to piece of weak observation tend to be lauded higher than the more subtle notions of social awareness, inclusivity and artistic solidity. The timing of Lee's "austerity binge" season is in perfect synchrony with both his career curve and the cyclic return of the Tory government, as he delicately and sharply makes clear...
Snowflake/Tornado was recorded in May 2022 on the UK tour, in York, and was broadcast on the BBC in September 2022.
Snowflake went out on the 4th September, and Tornado on the 29th (following a delay imposed by program rescheduling after the death of the Queen).
Snowflake & Tornado are now available to download via THE MEDIA GARAGE.
Snowflake/Tornado was recorded in May 2022 on the UK tour, in York, and was broadcast on the BBC in September 2022. Snowflake went out on the 4th September, and Tornado on the 29th (following a delay imposed by program rescheduling after the death of the Queen). Snowflake & Tornado are now available to download via THE MEDIA GARAGE. There are plans for a DVD release later in 2024. Reviews / Press here.
Stewart Lee is once again on stage at the atmospheric Mildmay Club for the second series of his Bafta-nominated series. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle Series 2 features six tautly written sets by the man who is officially Britain's twelfth best stand-up comedian (Channel 4's 100 Best Stand-Ups, April 2010).
Punctuating the performances, Armando Iannucci (The Thick Of It) destroys Stewart's self-esteem in a series of no holds barred interviews.
Guests include the septuagenarian stand-up Arnold Brown, the comic book guru Alan Moore (Watchmen, From Hell), and a giant Japanese moth.
Opening the series, Stewart looks at the subject of charity, but is distracted by crisps.
He has another go in a later episode, but is distracted by Adrian Chiles' similarity to a Toby jug.
In other episodes, the "comedians' comedian" chooses between town and country, denigrates national identity, explores the difference between the idealistic alternative comics of the Eighties and the petty minded practitioners of today, and appears to use personal experience to reveal David Cameron's cabal as champagne swilling bullies.
Unlike any other stand-up series on television today, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is staged and shot to capture the real intensity of live comedy, and transfers it to the television medium with an accuracy that is without precedent.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-15T17:05:28+01:00
Stewart Lee is once again on stage at the atmospheric Mildmay Club for the second series of his Bafta-nominated series. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle Series 2 features six tautly written sets by the man who is officially Britain's twelfth best stand-up comedian (Channel 4's 100 Best Stand-Ups, April 2010). Punctuating the performances, Armando Iannucci (The Thick Of It) destroys Stewart's self-esteem in a series of no holds barred interviews. Guests include the septuagenarian stand-up Arnold Brown, the comic book guru Alan Moore (Watchmen, From Hell), and a giant Japanese moth. Opening the series, Stewart looks at the subject of charity, but is distracted by crisps. He has another go in a later episode, but is distracted by Adrian Chiles' similarity to a Toby jug. In other episodes, the "comedians' comedian" chooses between town and country, denigrates national identity, explores the difference between the idealistic alternative comics of the Eighties and the petty minded practitioners of today, and appears to use personal experience to reveal David Cameron's cabal as champagne swilling bullies. Unlike any other stand-up series on television today, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is staged and shot to capture the real intensity of live comedy, and transfers it to the television medium with an accuracy that is without precedent.
Stewart Lee, Steve Beresford, Tania Chen, Harry Hill and Alan Tomlinson perform John Cage (Purcell Room on Saturday 29 May, 2011; review and drawings* by Geoff Winston
Stewart Lee, best known as a comedian, has championed radical guitarist Derek Bailey on Radio 4's 'The Music Group' ("that music ... it stops time"). Last year he won Celebrity Mastermind with Bailey as his subject. So when he invited Beresford, Chen and Tomlnson to perform Cage's Indeterminacy and other pieces at the Purcell Room, it seemed the perfect opportunity to make a Cage Day of it.
The day started with a trip to Bexhill-on-Sea's modernist De La Warr Pavilion to see the exhibition of Cage's sublime and understated art works, 'Every Day is a Good Day'. The show includes a wonderful film of Cage's performance of 'Water Walk' on American TV, which was the template for its re-enactment by Harry Hill in the evening's concert.
Humour was an integral part of the proceedings. Cage is known primarily for his re-evaluation of the concepts of musical composition and performance, but his questioning and his general outlook were accompanied by a grace and a gentle wit, which are easily overlooked.
In the opening exploratory duet Beresford's delicate, richly nuanced piano was the foil to Alan Tomlinson's mobile, expressive vitality; breaths were drawn through the trombone mouthpiece before exploding into a raucous elephantine bellow.
Tania Chen, a seasoned interpreter of Cage, opened her solo improvisation on prepared piano (Cage's invention, born of necessity in 1940), adding a mild, percussive rattle. In an expressive, tempered sequence, she leaned to pick out notes on the piano strings; mellow then turned jumpy, and she closed with a fevered burst.
Tomlinson's inspired interpretation of Cage's 'Solo for Sliding Trombone' (of which he asked, not unreasonably, "What is a sliding trombone?") drew on the traditions of vaudeville. Dressed in black tights, cream jacket, bow tie and a red cummerbund, Tomlinson re-enacted Chisholm's solo from the Goons' 'Ying Tong Song' and, in explaining Cage's open-ended instructions to the performer - tongue-in-cheek bordering on disbelief - he mentioned that Cage sought guidance from a trombonist who had played with Spike Jones. Tomlinson's virtuosic display included the dismantling of his instrument, as he followed his selected path through the score. As he nodded the beats, there were blurted single notes, and the application of various mutes and found objects, including a metal pie plate which vibrated unnervingly, and a plastic cup which bounced around inside the bell. He blew into the bell, and a laughing trombone ended up as amplified, liquid gargles played only on the main slide.
Difficult to follow, but what better than a respectful and accurate rendering of Cage's 'Water Walk'? Harry Hill navigated his way through the self-timed 3 minute obstacle course of mainly water-related equipment - a bath, a hissing pressure cooker, a squeaky rubber duck, a food processor filled with ice, a watering can, a vase of flowers, a glass and a bottle of Campari - to name just a few - along with a piano and a bank of mute radios, producing a sequence of events and sounds, which, through precision and serendipity, avoided a descent into slapstick.
The main event was the trio of Stewart Lee, reciting 40 of Cage's one-minute stories (there are 200 to choose from), to the dissociated accompaniment of Beresford and Chen on a variety of implements and instruments. The stories, drawn by Cage from his personal experience and his reading, are succinctly set out and each makes a point, often with a philosophical resonance. Lee read these with the awkward, gappy pacing that Cage instructed, speeding up or spreading out to fit their 60 second allocations. The musicians worked in tandem, independently of Lee, as Cage deemed, creating a soundtrack to the spoken text, with odd juxtapositions and unconventional instrumentation, slipping from drama to whimsy, and pianissimo to forte, which briefly drowned out a few words. Beresford created wind chimes from the piano wires; Chen used maracas, a rattle, wind-up toys, a small whistle and finally blew up and squeaked the membrane of a red balloon. Once the humour had evaporated a calm thoughtfulness remained, echoed in the subtext of one anecdote in which the Zen master, Dr Suzuki said that after studying Zen "... the feet are a little bit off the ground." The audience left with a mild hover in our collective step.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-31T20:58:31+01:00
Stewart Lee, Steve Beresford, Tania Chen, Harry Hill and Alan Tomlinson perform John Cage (Purcell Room on Saturday 29 May, 2011; review and drawings* by Geoff Winston Stewart Lee, best known as a comedian, has championed radical guitarist Derek Bailey on Radio 4's 'The Music Group' ("that music ... it stops time"). Last year he won Celebrity Mastermind with Bailey as his subject. So when he invited Beresford, Chen and Tomlnson to perform Cage's Indeterminacy and other pieces at the Purcell Room, it seemed the perfect opportunity to make a Cage Day of it. The day started with a trip to Bexhill-on-Sea's modernist De La Warr Pavilion to see the exhibition of Cage's sublime and understated art works, 'Every Day is a Good Day'. The show includes a wonderful film of Cage's performance of 'Water Walk' on American TV, which was the template for its re-enactment by Harry Hill in the evening's concert. Humour was an integral part of the proceedings. Cage is known primarily for his re-evaluation of the concepts of musical composition and performance, but his questioning and his general outlook were accompanied by a grace and a gentle wit, which are easily overlooked. In the opening exploratory duet Beresford's delicate, richly nuanced piano was the foil to Alan Tomlinson's mobile, expressive vitality; breaths were drawn through the trombone mouthpiece before exploding into a raucous elephantine bellow. Tania Chen, a seasoned interpreter of Cage, opened her solo improvisation on prepared piano (Cage's invention, born of necessity in 1940), adding a mild, percussive rattle. In an expressive, tempered sequence, she leaned to pick out notes on the piano strings; mellow then turned jumpy, and she closed with a fevered burst. Tomlinson's inspired interpretation of Cage's 'Solo for Sliding Trombone' (of which he asked, not unreasonably, "What is a sliding...
We are no longer a nation of shopkeers, we’re a nation of property developers. If we’re not stripping back fireplaces and slapping on the terracotta tiling, we’re hunted down by images of others adding value to their lives by doing the same. Thanks to Sarah Beeny and co, the boundary between home-making and money-making has never been finer.
Our living rooms? Lovelier. Our hearts? Uglier.
Hence this fresh, funny and affecting new show from Johnny Vegas and Stewart Lee: a performance piece that has Vegas’s character Jeffrey Parkin showing potential purchasers around his desirable Manchester semi. And, along the way, giving us a glimpse of the way he has gutted and whitewashed his own life.
It’s a satire on property culture in the shape of a house tour: one of those blindingly obvious ideas that is only blindingly obvious once someone else has been bright enough to think of it for you. We meet at a bus-stop rendezvous, to be handed the hyperbolic details of the £235,000 two-bed house at the end of our 15-minute journey.
Vegas can be an intimidating performer, even in a large venue - something his television work can’t always convey. But as Jeffrey he is not volubly drunk but wilfully bourgeois. “You don’t own a home,” he says as 20 of us congregate in his hall, “you belong to a home. Although,” Jeffrey hastens to reassure us, “I do own this home.”
We don’t laugh at Jeffrey - he’s too savvy, too good-blokish, too enviable with his pan-rack laden with Le Creusets and his coffee table hewn from “root wood”. There is no trace in this house of the ex whose departure has prompted him to move to Montenegro. But then there’s no trace of Jeffrey either among these polished floorboards and chrome fridges, or the pile of world cinema DVDs that sits oddly with his conversational references to "Top Gun" and "Highlander". By the time the tour ends, with a sucker punch in the second bedroom, Jeffrey’s facade has peeled away.
"Interiors" is a bit scrappy in places.
Part improvised, part scripted, it lets Jeffrey’s subtext drift out slowly through the hour.
Yet the house, decorated for the show by designer Robert Thirtle, is really rather fanciable.
So we become complicit in this tyranny of tastefulness, giving real purchase to Vegas and Lee’s conclusion that a house is not a home without people, people with more on their minds than fitting shelves and fitting in.
Vegas is superb. Friendly but distracted in his smart-casual jacket and loafers, he sells the show’s metaphor with mastery. He is authoritative on DIY - “that’s less a wallpaper, more a dirty protest” he spits at a brown design pasted up by his ex - yet unable to repossess his own life. He is, in short, deceptively specious.
Stuff, this show reminds us, is just stuff — tasteful or not.
The stuff of life, meanwhile, can’t come included in the asking price.
Stewart Lee
2007-07-06T00:49:14+01:00
We are no longer a nation of shopkeers, we’re a nation of property developers. If we’re not stripping back fireplaces and slapping on the terracotta tiling, we’re hunted down by images of others adding value to their lives by doing the same. Thanks to Sarah Beeny and co, the boundary between home-making and money-making has never been finer. Our living rooms? Lovelier. Our hearts? Uglier. Hence this fresh, funny and affecting new show from Johnny Vegas and Stewart Lee: a performance piece that has Vegas’s character Jeffrey Parkin showing potential purchasers around his desirable Manchester semi. And, along the way, giving us a glimpse of the way he has gutted and whitewashed his own life. It’s a satire on property culture in the shape of a house tour: one of those blindingly obvious ideas that is only blindingly obvious once someone else has been bright enough to think of it for you. We meet at a bus-stop rendezvous, to be handed the hyperbolic details of the £235,000 two-bed house at the end of our 15-minute journey. Vegas can be an intimidating performer, even in a large venue - something his television work can’t always convey. But as Jeffrey he is not volubly drunk but wilfully bourgeois. “You don’t own a home,” he says as 20 of us congregate in his hall, “you belong to a home. Although,” Jeffrey hastens to reassure us, “I do own this home.” We don’t laugh at Jeffrey - he’s too savvy, too good-blokish, too enviable with his pan-rack laden with Le Creusets and his coffee table hewn from “root wood”. There is no trace in this house of the ex whose departure has prompted him to move to Montenegro. But then there’s no trace of Jeffrey either among these polished floorboards and chrome fridges, or...
In 1989 some Hollywood producers rang up Howe Gelb, founder and leader of the Arizona band Giant Sand, and told him he had to come to an empty theme park north of LA immediately to teach Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter guitar parts for the movie Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. It was a fantastic opportunity, they told him, that he couldn't afford to miss. ''Yeah,'' remembers Howe, ''but my kid Indiosa had a fever that night, and it was so much fun to say 'no'.''
This might go some way to explain why you've never heard of Giant Sand, and, conversely, why the woman at the check-in desk of the Hotel Congress, 311 East Congress, Tucson, speaks of Gelb with the kind of pride one would normally reserve for a local area of outstanding beauty.
Formed in 1981, Giant Sand were minor players in a sudden wave of great American guitar bands, of which only REM became a household name. At the same time, Gelb was also releasing quirky and then suicidally unfashionable country and western records under the absurd pseudonym of Blacky Ranchette. In the late 1980s Howe put Blacky out to grass, married his two alter egos together, and signed up John Convertino, the apparently telepathic drummer who lived downstairs, to give Giant Sand a sound that is entirely its own electric-acoustic, semi-improvised, multi-rhythmical country rock.
At best, the Giant Sand sound is eclectic to the point of being thoroughly uncategorisable. Former members of Howe's band have included pop-punk Evan Dando of the Lemonheads, country singer Lucinda Williams, who has written hits for Mary Chapin Carpenter and Emmylou Harris, and an ageing crooner called Pappy Allen. ``I moved to a little town called Rimrock, just a smattering of houses in the desert,'' recalls Howe. ``Pappy was the first person I met there. He was 74 years old and we ended up taking him off round the world.''
The 1994 album, Glum, includes a bewitching cameo from Howe's daughter, Indiosa, called The Bird Song. It's a whole new music Infant Free Jazz. ``I kept dogging her to sing. She was five at the time. I used to play guitar to her to get her to sleep. One night she sang seven songs into a tiny recorder, `the bat song', `the monkey song', `the tree song', while I tried to keep up with her. Consequently you've got an album with a five-year-old and a 74-year-old, both putting us to shame.''
Live, Giant Sand have the same unpredictability. Their 1993 tour, with a massive eight-piece line-up, was an unbelievably classic rock show, while a three-piece gig in London in 1994, in which they attempted to duplicate their largely improvised Purge & Slouch album, saw them get so lost they had to leave the stage to regroup. At their worst, Giant Sand are like some punky teenage daughter who is a secret violin prodigy, but whenever curious relatives come round she sulks in her room and refuses to perform. So is Gelb working to a plan?
''Hmmm. I met Peter Buck from REM in Seattle last year. He asked me what my ambition was, and I realised I didn't understand the word.
I understand words like desire, hunches, instincts, but not 'ambition'. It sounded like a good word. I realised if I didn't use any ambition, then I was just going to stay bent on that whole self-destructive thing. It was in my nature to do that. But things are changing. Last year I fell in love with this girl, but I denied it, and chased her away. I was 39. You don't think you'll fall in love then, just like you aren't going to get a tattoo on your face at 40. But it made me realise I was doing myself in. I thought about all the people who value the band and how half the time I was disregarding them, just driving us off into a ditch.''
It appears that Gelb has a safety valve after all. He even took the Keanu Reeves job in the end, after they arranged the transport: ''Keanu was a great intuitive bass player, like a young Jack Bruce, but Alex Winter just tried to duplicate my stuff note for note. Hey, I can't even play my stuff note for note.''
Barbecue, Giant Sand's new album, culled from live radio sessions, features dainty, folksy melodies, slouching psychedelic country blues and swathes of strange steel-guitar-led lounge music, all stretched to breaking point. Though an accurate document of the stripped-down live Giant Sand at their most inventive, it probably isn't a great place for new listeners to pick up the plot. So which is Howe's best record? ``Probably Glum, from 1994. It amazes me how well it fits in with all the crap I was going through with this girl, even though it was recorded before it happened. Do you think we can have memories of the future?'' I don't know, I answer. Either way it isn't something we can deal with in 800 words. ``It's as if I could scent the fire, smell the smoke of wood that will be burning in the future.''
Barbecue is released on Normal records; Giant Sand are at the Mean Fiddler, Harlesden, London, on Thursday.
Stewart Lee
1996-02-04T16:31:21+00:00
In 1989 some Hollywood producers rang up Howe Gelb, founder and leader of the Arizona band Giant Sand, and told him he had to come to an empty theme park north of LA immediately to teach Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter guitar parts for the movie Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. It was a fantastic opportunity, they told him, that he couldn't afford to miss. ''Yeah,'' remembers Howe, ''but my kid Indiosa had a fever that night, and it was so much fun to say 'no'.'' This might go some way to explain why you've never heard of Giant Sand, and, conversely, why the woman at the check-in desk of the Hotel Congress, 311 East Congress, Tucson, speaks of Gelb with the kind of pride one would normally reserve for a local area of outstanding beauty. Formed in 1981, Giant Sand were minor players in a sudden wave of great American guitar bands, of which only REM became a household name. At the same time, Gelb was also releasing quirky and then suicidally unfashionable country and western records under the absurd pseudonym of Blacky Ranchette. In the late 1980s Howe put Blacky out to grass, married his two alter egos together, and signed up John Convertino, the apparently telepathic drummer who lived downstairs, to give Giant Sand a sound that is entirely its own electric-acoustic, semi-improvised, multi-rhythmical country rock. At best, the Giant Sand sound is eclectic to the point of being thoroughly uncategorisable. Former members of Howe's band have included pop-punk Evan Dando of the Lemonheads, country singer Lucinda Williams, who has written hits for Mary Chapin Carpenter and Emmylou Harris, and an ageing crooner called Pappy Allen. ``I moved to a little town called Rimrock, just a smattering of houses in the desert,'' recalls Howe. ``Pappy was the...
In 1981, tarnished by a legacy of nuclear embarrassments, the leaky Cumbrian atomic power plant Windscale was rebranded as Sellafield and the problems of public perception simply melted away, like hot uranium seeping into a water table. Likewise, we are no longer about to embrace a similarly contaminated no-deal Brexit. We are instead welcoming a nice, new Australia-style deal. But Australia doesn’t have a deal with the EU (even though it wants one). We are embracing a no-deal Brexit in all but name. It is, as the secretary of state Alok Sharma admitted to an unusually uncooperative Nick Ferrari on Monday, “just a question of semantics”. Ah yes. The Conservatives’ old enemies! Words! And their actual meanings!
On Monday evening, I opened my Anglo-Asian tandoori lamb vindaloo delivery and found a request to contribute to one of Dominics Cumming’s blue-sky, out-of-the-box think-boxes inside it, written on my poppadum in mango chutney. Cumming’s omniscient net-lords knew my every move. As usual, Cumming was looking for hot-ass cyber-freaks and batshit Ballardian head-jobs who could furnish him with shamanic sci-fi solutions. Apparently I was such a person because I had both written a comic book about a ghost and sung in 10th-century Anglo-Saxon on a dance record. Cumming needed a way to avoid identifying the incoming no-deal Brexit, which no one had wanted or expected, as the no-deal Brexit it clearly was. Sharma’s public admission that the Australia-style deal rebrand was linguistic smoke and mirrors had proved potentially problematic and threatened to unravel a number of other flimsy, fictional Conservative constructs, the implausible public persona of Boris Johnson having been deemed the most vulnerable to a moment’s scrutiny.
Normally I wouldn’t sell my skills to a Tory brainstorming session, but I am principally a live comedian and I haven’t worked since March. Under lockdown, my principles, like my trousers, inexplicably became elasticated and I was to be offered the usual £25,000-a-day consultancy fee, as long as I worked through a company run by an old schoolfriend of any current cabinet member. I was picked up and taken to the agreed secret location – a boarded-up, underground, art deco gentleman’s convenience on Shepherd’s Bush Green – where I joined four other futurist-warlocks round a socially distanced, circular marble table. One had blue-lensed granny specs and a green parrot on her shoulder; another was dressed as a kind of disco Rudolf Hess; a third wore tracksuit bottoms, espadrilles and a plain brown Primark T-shirt, but his bangle was festooned with runes. All were inscrutable, carried satchels and had produced incendiary content for opaquely funded libertarian blogs. They regarded Laurence Fox as a Trojan horse, Michael Gove as a stink bomb and Boris Johnson as an unpleasant but useful clump of sausage meat that could be animated to mouth whatever words were necessary, within its limited capacity.
In the centre of the table, Cumming’s head appeared inside an illuminated glass crystal ball full of pink gas. Initially, I assumed it was a three-dimensional holographic projection, like Laurence Olivier’s head in Dave Clark’s Time musical, Cumming broadcasting his image from elsewhere. He had previous form in being in two places at once, such as Islington and Barnard Castle, for example. But every now and again, Cumming’s face would groan and the head would shift uneasily and I realised the eyesight-anxious political fixer was actually crouching uncomfortably beneath the table with his skull through a hole, gas pumping into the simple goldfish bowl that encased it so it looked mysterious, like a shit Wizard of Oz. If any of my fellow situationist-idea-terraformers realised his ruse, they didn’t let on, fearful of dismissal.
“Sharma’s careless breakfast lips have exposed the semantic hollowness of the ‘Australia-style deal’ language virus, immunising some sections of the electorate against its charm,” Cumming’s head began, his voice condensed behind the glass, like someone speaking into a plastic cup to do an impression of Melvyn Bragg. “We must use our sock puppets in the internet, the press and the BBC to obscure it, flood the info-sphere with synonymous ideas, fabricating post-Brexit deals with nonexistent places and creating plausible backstories to stiff any grots that would verify them. Be about it!” And with that Cumming popped down beneath the table again to conceal himself. By Wednesday lunchtime, the airwaves were abuzz with our distractions, expendable loyalist MPs swamping Sharma’s indiscretion with expedient lies.
On 5 Live, Banbury MP Victoria Prentis said she was looking forward to an Eternia ™ ® style deal with the planet Eternia, He-Man ™ ® having already promised timber from the Skytree ™ ®; on Talk Radio, Torbay’s Kevin Foster spoke enthusiastically of our Equestria ™ ® style deal and of the untapped financial value of the manure of his magic Little Ponies ™ ®, especially the thick dung of Pinkie Pie ™ ®; and on Sky News, West Suffolk’s Matt Handcock nervously commended a Gor ™ ® style deal to Adam Boulton, while explaining it wasn’t his place to criticise the fantasy kingdom’s human rights violations, most notably the compulsory sexual captivity of all women, when it offered such valuable access to the slave markets of the Insectoids ™ ®.
By midnight, I had helped publicise fictional deals with the nonexistent realms of Atlantis, Plutonia, Pellucidar ™ ®, Lemuria ™ ®, Skartaris ™ ®, Etheria ™ ®, Lyonesse and Wakanda ™ ®, whose coveted metal, Vibranium ™ ®, did not exist either. And by the time Cumming spat me out into the Shepherd’s Bush night, I was so disoriented I almost believed it all myself. I drank a few cans of strong cider alone on the darkening green. All-but-empty night buses circled me, masked passengers staring out. “Everything will be OK,” I thought, “we have a Fantasy Island-style trade deal. The Plane! The Plane!”
Stewart Lee
2020-10-25T22:31:53+00:00
In 1981, tarnished by a legacy of nuclear embarrassments, the leaky Cumbrian atomic power plant Windscale was rebranded as Sellafield and the problems of public perception simply melted away, like hot uranium seeping into a water table. Likewise, we are no longer about to embrace a similarly contaminated no-deal Brexit. We are instead welcoming a nice, new Australia-style deal. But Australia doesn’t have a deal with the EU (even though it wants one). We are embracing a no-deal Brexit in all but name. It is, as the secretary of state Alok Sharma admitted to an unusually uncooperative Nick Ferrari on Monday, “just a question of semantics”. Ah yes. The Conservatives’ old enemies! Words! And their actual meanings! On Monday evening, I opened my Anglo-Asian tandoori lamb vindaloo delivery and found a request to contribute to one of Dominics Cumming’s blue-sky, out-of-the-box think-boxes inside it, written on my poppadum in mango chutney. Cumming’s omniscient net-lords knew my every move. As usual, Cumming was looking for hot-ass cyber-freaks and batshit Ballardian head-jobs who could furnish him with shamanic sci-fi solutions. Apparently I was such a person because I had both written a comic book about a ghost and sung in 10th-century Anglo-Saxon on a dance record. Cumming needed a way to avoid identifying the incoming no-deal Brexit, which no one had wanted or expected, as the no-deal Brexit it clearly was. Sharma’s public admission that the Australia-style deal rebrand was linguistic smoke and mirrors had proved potentially problematic and threatened to unravel a number of other flimsy, fictional Conservative constructs, the implausible public persona of Boris Johnson having been deemed the most vulnerable to a moment’s scrutiny. Normally I wouldn’t sell my skills to a Tory brainstorming session, but I am principally a live comedian and I haven’t worked since March. Under...
This, Stewart Lee warns his audience in general and the two critics in the room in particular, is not like his usual shows. Not one long, continuous train of thought with a perfectly neat conclusion, but three half-hour works in progress, ideas which will eventually become his next BBC Two stand-up series when he records it next month.
Each performance of his residency at London's Leicester Square Theatre will not only be different, he says, but the quality will deteriorate as once routines have proved to work, they will be rested in favour of others that need more TLC.
But in its current state, at least, nobody need feel short-changed: for Lee in development is better than most comics who think they're done. That's why he's been able to tour these ideas since the Edinburgh Fringe, with the occasional rough edge no obstacle to a quality night of comedy.
He plays with styles in the three sets we witness tonight, frequently using his trademark rhythms of constant repetition, but not exclusively. He even channels Max Miller at one point, conspiratorially glancing into the wings to check on the presence of any censorious authority.
Lee always plays the long game, however, seeding and cultivating ideas for a stronger pay-off at the end - to the extent that he'll give away spoilers to his own material, simply to increase the anticipation of their arrival. He has always delivered the sort of intellect-on-its-sleeve comedy that makes people feel smart for getting it (and punishes those who don't) even if he has to provide all the information himself.
Of course, he exposes all the trick of the trade – if ever there was a comedy equivalent of the Magic Circle, he'd be drummed out of it – but rather than simply drawing attention to the manipulative devices, he subverts them to his advantage. And he doesn't just burst clichés of comedy, there's a standard turn of phrase that gets expertly dismembered here. Lee's skill is to use both rapier and bludgeon to eviscerate his targets, whether big and deserving or utterly trivial.
The first section tonight is about politics in its broadest sense, how the distinct ideological clashes of his youth have been replaced by two near-identical centralist management teams, each with manifold faults. But it's not satire, at least not by the definition of the genre he's picked up from the likes of Animal Farm.
His technique then is to painstakingly explain the logic of his idea, or rather a false assumption he fears idiots might make. The fact this is done repetitively here pays only limited dividends, but to complain about Lee being needlessly cyclical is like complaining about grass for begin green.
The repetitive approach is stronger at the start of the second section, when he regales an argument he had with a stereotypically racist cab driver who blithely asserted: 'If you say you're English these days, you get arrested and thrown in jail.' 'I wore him down eventually,' the comic states, after doing the same to us.
That conversation leads Lee into a discourse about immigration, including a stupidly surreal take on supposed Latvian archetypes, heavy on ironic subtext, and a beautifully surgical evisceration of Paul Nuttall 'of the UKIPs, from Liverpool', subjecting one of his isolationist pronouncements to the relentless ridicule it deserves – while also taking Peter Kay-style nostalgia comedy to its preposterous extremes.
The third part was a bleak-edged routine about his life as an impotent, out-of-touch 45-year-old functioning alcoholic, married with two young narrative devices... aka children. He imagines other lives, and other wives, he might have - portraying his real spouse (comedian Bridget Christie, whom he doesn't name) as an alcoholic, rabidly Catholic Irishwoman who no longer views him as a sexual being.
Despite tongue-in-cheek elements such as this, it's a darkly heartfelt section that goes much deeper than the stock thoughts about ageing that many a middle-aged male comic might share... the delicate mood only ruined by the audience member who felt the need to correct a cultural reference Lee was wilfully getting wrong, apparently unaware that this might actually be the joke. Then again, Lee genuinely forgot the name of Ben Fogle earlier in the show, despite having a bit on him, so maybe she thought she was genuinely helping out.
If Lee is name perfect on the Sugarbabes when his Comedy Vehicle returns to scenes sometime in the autumn, we'll have that anonymous contributor to thank.
Stewart Lee
2013-11-07T18:31:04+00:00
This, Stewart Lee warns his audience in general and the two critics in the room in particular, is not like his usual shows. Not one long, continuous train of thought with a perfectly neat conclusion, but three half-hour works in progress, ideas which will eventually become his next BBC Two stand-up series when he records it next month. Each performance of his residency at London's Leicester Square Theatre will not only be different, he says, but the quality will deteriorate as once routines have proved to work, they will be rested in favour of others that need more TLC. But in its current state, at least, nobody need feel short-changed: for Lee in development is better than most comics who think they're done. That's why he's been able to tour these ideas since the Edinburgh Fringe, with the occasional rough edge no obstacle to a quality night of comedy. He plays with styles in the three sets we witness tonight, frequently using his trademark rhythms of constant repetition, but not exclusively. He even channels Max Miller at one point, conspiratorially glancing into the wings to check on the presence of any censorious authority. Lee always plays the long game, however, seeding and cultivating ideas for a stronger pay-off at the end - to the extent that he'll give away spoilers to his own material, simply to increase the anticipation of their arrival. He has always delivered the sort of intellect-on-its-sleeve comedy that makes people feel smart for getting it (and punishes those who don't) even if he has to provide all the information himself. Of course, he exposes all the trick of the trade – if ever there was a comedy equivalent of the Magic Circle, he'd be drummed out of it – but rather than simply drawing attention to...
I am not going to the Ed Frin for the 2nd time in 30 years.
If I were going I would go and see the following 5 shows, and I would also point out that it is important to support non-Pleaseance/Underbelly/Assembly/Avalon shows as all those sets ups run people in to debt, co-operate with the death serpents, and decrease the chances of talent busting in from left-field.
But that wouldn't stop me recommending shows at those venues if I thought they were good, as I did last year, and you would have to be being deliberately obtuse to misread this paragraph as in any way trying to destroy someone's career.
1) Kevin McAleer: Saying Yes to Yes - New Town Theatre (Venue 7) 13:30 1 hour. Join Ireland's biggest lama Kevin McAleer for an hour of divine light entertainment, with mindfulness, bananarama yoga, fire walking with dolphins, psychic flower arranging, neurolinguistic colonic hydrotherapy reprogramming, tree visualization.
I have never laughed so much at any comedian as I have at Kevin, who writes one show a decade, and so should be as treasured as an eclipse. GO TO THIS!!!!!
2) Blueswater Presents: Smitten - The Jazz Bar (Venue 57) 17:30 10th and 17th August ONLY. Smitten are a minimalist smoky pop trio. Performing original songs written by vocalist Nicole Smit and arranged by guitarist and percussionist Charlie Wild.
I saw this last year. Superb.
3) Derevo - Last Clown on Earth - Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) 17:40. 1 hour 20 minutes. Celebrating 20 years since their Fringe debut, multi award-winning Russian physical theatre company Derevo return with their latest masterpiece. Through mime, butoh and spectacular visuals and sound, a deeply fallen and pushed around Anton Adasinky immortalises the cosmic figure of the clown, full of inner joy yet trapped in a never ending cycle of self-sacrifice and rebirth. Forever - with a smile.
Derevo remain the masters of what they do. I wish I could see this.
4) Paul Sinha: Shout Out to My Ex - The Stand Comedy Club (Venue 5) 16:55. In his 2015 Edinburgh Fringe show, comedian and doyen of daytime, Paul Sinha, weaved an intricate tale of happiness based on a combination of doing two jobs he loved, enjoying parental approval, and, actually being in a proper, grown-up, long-term relationship. The day after he returned home, the illusion of happiness was shattered. Was this the end? The beginning of the end? Or the end of a beginning?
I wish I could see quizmaster Sinha's return to stand-up.
'A comedian like no other. There's so much humour in the hour it's hard to breathe. This original comedy genius is like a Choose Your Adventure. The free-forming journey that is utterly unforgettable!' (Australian Times, 2017).
Free from self-sabotaging legend. And I suspect Bob Slayer's Heroes venues on the Free Fringe may be where it's at this year for a largely twat-free 80s style fringe experience.
NEW LONDON CONTENT PROVIDER DATES
Because all the London Leicester Sq Content Provider dates sold out here is another three month block of the SAME SHOW at the SAME VENUE, Leicester Sq Theatre, with the SAME JOKES at the SAME TIME, 7pm, from November this year until Jan 2018.
Leave voters planning to walk out in disgust will need to book early.
Weds 1st Nov - Sat 9th Dec 2017
Tuesday to Saturday - except there is a performance on Monday 4th December
Tues 2nd Jan to Wed 31st Jan 2018 - Monday to Saturday
Not Fri 24, Sat 25, Thur 30 Nov 2017 (DAYS OFF)
Not Tue 9, Sat 13 Jan 2018 (DAYS OFF)
ED FRIN TIPS I am not going to the Ed Frin for the 2nd time in 30 years. If I were going I would go and see the following 5 shows, and I would also point out that it is important to support non-Pleaseance/Underbelly/Assembly/Avalon shows as all those sets ups run people in to debt, co-operate with the death serpents, and decrease the chances of talent busting in from left-field. But that wouldn't stop me recommending shows at those venues if I thought they were good, as I did last year, and you would have to be being deliberately obtuse to misread this paragraph as in any way trying to destroy someone's career. 1) Kevin McAleer: Saying Yes to Yes - New Town Theatre (Venue 7) 13:30 1 hour. Join Ireland's biggest lama Kevin McAleer for an hour of divine light entertainment, with mindfulness, bananarama yoga, fire walking with dolphins, psychic flower arranging, neurolinguistic colonic hydrotherapy reprogramming, tree visualization. I have never laughed so much at any comedian as I have at Kevin, who writes one show a decade, and so should be as treasured as an eclipse. GO TO THIS!!!!! 2) Blueswater Presents: Smitten - The Jazz Bar (Venue 57) 17:30 10th and 17th August ONLY. Smitten are a minimalist smoky pop trio. Performing original songs written by vocalist Nicole Smit and arranged by guitarist and percussionist Charlie Wild. I saw this last year. Superb. 3) Derevo - Last Clown on Earth - Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) 17:40. 1 hour 20 minutes. Celebrating 20 years since their Fringe debut, multi award-winning Russian physical theatre company Derevo return with their latest masterpiece. Through mime, butoh and spectacular visuals and sound, a deeply fallen and pushed around Anton Adasinky immortalises the cosmic figure of the clown, full of inner joy yet...
The assumed rivalry between Blondie's vocalist, Debbie Harry, and the poet and singer Patti Smith is one of the most persistent subplots in histories of the 1970s New York punk movement. Apparently, downtown wasn't big enough for the both of them. But despite their shared pedigree, Harry has become an icon and Muppet Show guest, while Smith is a critically acclaimed cult concern. In fact, comparisons between the two are irrelevant. If Patti Smith is Modigliani's Nu couche de dos, then Debbie Harry is that Athena poster of the tennis player scratching her bottom.
Patti Smith may have floated outside your peripheral vision recently, but this month sees the release of the double CD Land (1975-2002), the perfect career retrospective and ideal Patti primer, along with a new single, a cover of the Prince song When Doves Cry. Smith herself has a characteristically philosophical and democratic attitude to Land. "I was contractually obliged to make a greatest hits album,which, seeing as I only ever had one hit in America (1978's Because the Night), I found pretty funny," she deadpans at the beginning of our allotted half-hour interview. "It didn't seem honest. So we made it the people's choice. I asked friends and people in the street, and we polled people. We got 10,000 votes." Typically of Smith, even a contractual obligation is made to feel like it somehow belongs to her public.
Born in 1946, Smith moved to New York in 1967, escaping a working-class childhood spent in Philadelphia, where scarlet fever gave her visionary hallucinations and a Little Richard record first suggested the existence of an exciting world beyond her Jehovah's Witness upbringing. Her mother called the rough-and-tumble tomboy "her little goat girl", and at the age of 12, distraught after being told to put her shirt on and stop wrestling with the boys, she wandered out onto a highway, where her dog was run over.
The teenage Smith got a job in a baby-buggy factory, where she read the French symbolist poet Rimbaud in breaks, and was bullied by co-workers who assumed her growing literary enthusiasms meant she was a communist. At a Rolling Stones show at the University of Pennsylvania she avoided being pulled under the crush of bodies by holding on to Brian Jones's ankle. The image of rock'n'roll as a literal life-saver is too obvious to indulge.
Despite her early interest in writing and painting, Smith's biographer, Victor Bockris, quotes her saying that she moved to New York "not to be an artist but an artist's mistress". In her early days in the city, she was linked to the future folk devil of the American right, the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, and the playwright Sam Shepard, with whom she co-wrote the play Cowboy Mouth. A photograph, by Gerard Malanga, of the pair standing outside Kensington Church in 1972, after Smith's first London reading, sees Smith obviously enraptured, while Shepard is a little stiff, perhaps thinking of his wife at home.
But soon she found success in her own right. After the publication later that year of her first book of poems, Seventh Heaven, Smith began doing readings, while Richard Sohl and Lenny Kaye improvised on piano and guitar behind her. She called her performance style - declaiming through a megaphone and toying with props and personas - Rock'n'Rimbaud, and, as the nascent New York punk scene swelled into being, it became clear how she should unite her interests.
Thus the Patti Smith Group came into being - music with poetry. Mapplethorpe allegedly funded the recording of Smith's first single, Piss Factory, in 1974, on which she extemporised about her baby-buggy assembly-line days. Today, it would set you back Pounds 20 on 7in, but is included on CD for the first time on Land, marking the southernmost point of a continued and vital career that includes eight albums and a dozen books of verse.
Land gathers tracks even-handedly from Smith's career. Examples of her recent work come from the three albums she has recorded since 1996, after an eight-year gap. But to call this a comeback seems inappropriate, as the work appears to be part of a continuum. "Comeback was not my word," Smith explains. "I never told anyone I was leaving. All through the 1980s, I was working at art and poetry and music. I never went anywhere. But Land isn't an attempt to reclaim the past. I'm not nostalgic. I may not be prolific, but I've always attempted to produce work honestly whenever I had something to say. I have different strengths now, but I'm proud of what I've done. I'm in a different place now, but I'm still angry, passionate and wilful."
After the deaths of her husband, the guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith, in 1988, closely followed by Mapplethorpe - these months of loss following a decade spent away from music as a wife and mother - Smith's friend, the poet Allen Ginsberg, wondered how this "angry, passionate and wilful" performer might recast herself in the light of experience. "How will she deal with suffering?" he asked. "How will she transcend suffering and become a lady of energy, singing of egolessness? Because so far, her propulsion has been the triumph of the stubborn, individualistic, Rimbaud-Whitman ego."
But Smith's recent works have supplanted self-righteous fury with the righteous kind, bemoaning political, ethical and ecological collapse, and she has changed, too. "Since I had children, I've become less concerned with my ego and more with how to empathise with others," she replies to the suggestion that her once scatter-gun anger has become more focused. "I'm concerned about our children and the world situation and the environment and the way we treat each other. I was a wife and mother in the 1980s, and I worked hard when my resources were low. I saw how parents struggle. I learnt how hard people worked."
Patti Smith is prepared to grow and embrace change, and she is not constrained by a youthful image of herself that makes growing older ridiculous. Even the sleeve of her first album, 1975's Horses, featured a Mapplethorpe portrait that, while defiantly sexual and arresting, challenged contemporary ideas of how a famous female should be portrayed and left her record-company boss supposedly pleading to be allowed to airbrush out hints of her moustache. And unlike the British punk contingent, the New York crowd, and Smith most notably, did not adopt a slash-and-burn policy to their rock'n'roll predecessors and were, instead, enamoured of them. To see Smith's incendiary live shows today is to witness the kind of charged performance that Mick Jagger might have given had he not become such an absurd figure.
Even in her first flowering, Smith wanted to maintain what she saw as some essential purity of the rock'n'roll essence. "What separated us from other bands of the period was that I didn't want to be a rock'n'roll star. I wanted to break certain barriers down, but I had no special gifts. I wasn't a good singer and I hadn't performed much, but I loved rock'n'roll and I wanted to infuse it with revolution and poetry and politics. I wanted to remind people that rock'n'roll belonged to us, that it was street art at a grass-roots level and it was slipping out of our hands. I wanted to remind people that they, too, could get up and do it, that rock'n'roll need not be some glamorous, stadium thing."
On stage and in conversation, Smith exudes a genuine passion, and this is perhaps the only aspect of her as a performer that makes her seem dated. What you see would appear to be what you get. She is not imprisoned by the multiple layers of irony that sometimes smother performers she has supposedly inspired, such as Bono of U2 or Michael Stipe of REM. "I'm not an ironic person," she says. "I'm not always articulate, and sometimes I'm just crap, but I'm never ironic." The best-received between-song moment at Smith's last London show, apart from a spontaneous burst of applause when she recommended Peter Ackroyd's William Blake biography, was when she spoke bluntly of her disappointment with George W Bush's refusal to sign the Kyoto Agreement. But since September 11, Smith feels it has been harder for honest performers to dare to express doubt.
"After September 11, people forgot who they were on September 10. On September 10, people were concerned about the environment, the escalation of war, and healthcare. Now they are driven by fear. Our government has produced an atmosphere of fear. I'm a total patriot, but I'm not a nationalist. Patriotism means something else. I've read the Declaration of Independence more times than George Bush and I understand what it means. Civil rights are narrowing, and people are afraid to say things that aren't uncontroversial. I know September 11 was terrible. I live a short walk from the towers. The dust is still making me ill. The planes flew over my daughter's school. They were horrible deeds, but there are other ways to move forward." So, where does Smith feel she fits into our once rebellious rock'n'roll scene's current culture of compliance? "Me? I feel like I'm back where I was in the 1970s, when I was looked upon as dangerous. But I'm not dangerous. I'm not a politician. I'm barely intelligent. I'm just a common citizen."
Suddenly, there's a record company public-relations woman telling me my time with the barely intelligent common citizen is up. Smith intercedes on my behalf, saying she will end the interview when she wants, and we have a few extra minutes. Cynically, I wonder for a moment if this display of independence is for my benefit, as if even the PR machine must bow before the might of Patti Smith, but you sense it's a long time since she took pleasure in status games. These days, Smith isn't afraid to make a fool of herself, and can even see a positive side to her most public failures.
"Some nights on stage, when I make mistakes, I feel like a self-conscious 13-year-old," she says. "Like when I lose my place in a song and I just can't find it again. I feel embarrassed and I tell the audience: "Next time you make an ass out of yourself, remember this moment. You're all down there looking up at me, but I'll be fine.'"
Land (1975-2002) is released on April 15 on Arista
Stewart Lee
2002-04-07T17:46:55+01:00
The assumed rivalry between Blondie's vocalist, Debbie Harry, and the poet and singer Patti Smith is one of the most persistent subplots in histories of the 1970s New York punk movement. Apparently, downtown wasn't big enough for the both of them. But despite their shared pedigree, Harry has become an icon and Muppet Show guest, while Smith is a critically acclaimed cult concern. In fact, comparisons between the two are irrelevant. If Patti Smith is Modigliani's Nu couche de dos, then Debbie Harry is that Athena poster of the tennis player scratching her bottom. Patti Smith may have floated outside your peripheral vision recently, but this month sees the release of the double CD Land (1975-2002), the perfect career retrospective and ideal Patti primer, along with a new single, a cover of the Prince song When Doves Cry. Smith herself has a characteristically philosophical and democratic attitude to Land. "I was contractually obliged to make a greatest hits album,which, seeing as I only ever had one hit in America (1978's Because the Night), I found pretty funny," she deadpans at the beginning of our allotted half-hour interview. "It didn't seem honest. So we made it the people's choice. I asked friends and people in the street, and we polled people. We got 10,000 votes." Typically of Smith, even a contractual obligation is made to feel like it somehow belongs to her public. Born in 1946, Smith moved to New York in 1967, escaping a working-class childhood spent in Philadelphia, where scarlet fever gave her visionary hallucinations and a Little Richard record first suggested the existence of an exciting world beyond her Jehovah's Witness upbringing. Her mother called the rough-and-tumble tomboy "her little goat girl", and at the age of 12, distraught after being told to put her shirt on and...
REVIEWING a comedy show is normally a pretty straightforward affair.
Simply cherry-pick two or three of the best gags from the evening (filtering for a family audience of course), babble about audience reaction, add a cliché or two, and it's job done.
However, reviewing Stewart Lee is a much more complicated affair. For a start, if you were to repeat any of the jokes, you'd need far more than the 400 words our esteemed What's On editor allows for these things.
Secondly, explaining just what is funny about Mr Lee's comedy has defeated writers far more talented than myself. However, all I can say is that he is funny. Very funny.
Saturday's gig was made up of new material written for the forthcoming series of his BBC show Comedy Vehicle, and consisted of three half-hour slots.
Despite his protestations, the evening did have the feel of a single show – with the theme of an increasingly embittered 45-year-old father railing against a world he simply does not understand, or more to the point does not like anymore.
Topics for discussion ranged from the wasteland of a ten-year marriage, viewed through the eyes of two extra imaginary partners, through to the plight of disenfranchised voters being left with a choice of UKIP, which culminated in a spectacular rant against the first fish to emerge from the ocean four billion years ago.
It was all interspersed by imaginary phone calls to Michael McIntyre, and a running battle with a fly which made several uninvited visits to the stage. I guess you had to be there.
As I said, I cannot explain what makes Stewart Lee the best stand-up on the circuit, but judging by the tears of laughter from those sat around me I'm not the only person to think it.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-31T18:30:01+00:00
REVIEWING a comedy show is normally a pretty straightforward affair. Simply cherry-pick two or three of the best gags from the evening (filtering for a family audience of course), babble about audience reaction, add a cliché or two, and it's job done. However, reviewing Stewart Lee is a much more complicated affair. For a start, if you were to repeat any of the jokes, you'd need far more than the 400 words our esteemed What's On editor allows for these things. Secondly, explaining just what is funny about Mr Lee's comedy has defeated writers far more talented than myself. However, all I can say is that he is funny. Very funny. Saturday's gig was made up of new material written for the forthcoming series of his BBC show Comedy Vehicle, and consisted of three half-hour slots. Despite his protestations, the evening did have the feel of a single show – with the theme of an increasingly embittered 45-year-old father railing against a world he simply does not understand, or more to the point does not like anymore. Topics for discussion ranged from the wasteland of a ten-year marriage, viewed through the eyes of two extra imaginary partners, through to the plight of disenfranchised voters being left with a choice of UKIP, which culminated in a spectacular rant against the first fish to emerge from the ocean four billion years ago. It was all interspersed by imaginary phone calls to Michael McIntyre, and a running battle with a fly which made several uninvited visits to the stage. I guess you had to be there. As I said, I cannot explain what makes Stewart Lee the best stand-up on the circuit, but judging by the tears of laughter from those sat around me I'm not the only person to think it.
...And so the ATP Circus limps into town, having been shot from both sides in a month in which rumours of the demise of both their April weekenders had been dangerously rife, inflicting a further huge dent in ATP’s already battered reputation.
So are we out of the woods yet, then?
Are we fuck…
News is that John Cale, only recently added to the bill in what was clearly a bona fide scoop for the organisers, has pulled out of both this and next week’s Drive Like Jehu weekend. The rumour mill will grind on a while longer concerning other defections, and it says much for the stoicism nay optimism of so many punters that each conjecture is met with “Yes, but there’s so much that’s good here this weekend”.
They are right, of course: Curator Stewart Lee and ATP has assembled a cracking line-up encompassing heavy psych and several more melodic variants of said genre, grizzled post-punkers, various points of the folk spectrum and oodles of free-range jazz noodles plus comedy and performance art. So it is, against the odds, that the show really does go on.
FRIDAY
Make use of the legs and ears while they are still willing is my motto. Stephen Beresford and co’s interpretation of John Cage’s Indeterminacy, Aussie drone-jazzers The Necks, the mesmeric Ex-Easter Island Head and the energetic Slits/Raincoats inspired Trash Kit (music that calls for high knee lifts, but hey, I'm pacing myself) are all negotiated early doors.
It is Shonen Knife who open the Main Stage, wooing the crowd with their two minute pop-rock and exuberant perma-smiles, packing 20 or so numbers into their hour-long set before going off to staff their merch stand and leaving many of us grinning like fools. Mein host Stewart Lee gives us an anti-stand-up routine in which he gently lampoons his sponsors. No mention of the Cale withdrawal, though, or the strong rumour that tonight’s headliner Roky Erickson is also refusing to play. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to lose one headliner is unfortunate, to lose two would be commercial and reputational curtains. Something of a festival veteran, that Wilde.
Alas, Sleaford Mods decide to dog it out. On record, their brand of potty-mouthed, cooking speed rap is OK. Live, it’s just two guys standing on stage with a backing track. They don’t do anything. Actually no, one of them waves his arms a bit and swears a lot. Next…
The following hour is spent with one ear on the remarkable Richard Dawson and the rest is me comparing old war wounds and past campaigns with those with fellow gnarled old hands (some with a lot more medals than I, sonny). Experimental and impressionistic, discordant, alternately funny and disturbing, Dawson’s is a unique and contorted take on the folk tradition, aided and abetted by a highly distinctive vocal, often delivered acapella. Best sampled stroking one’s beard while slipping a couple of tabs of acid into your tankard of foaming ale. Actually you won’t need the acid.
And so it is as much in hope as expectation that we start towards the Main Stage for Roky Erickson. Some people are asking “Is Roky playing?”. Then the lights are dimmed, the band comes on, Roky shuffles stage-centre and an announcement is made to the effect that they have been in dispute with “a certain organisation” but that wasn’t going to stop them from playing even though said matter remains unresolved. Star troopers one and all, and boy, are we to be grateful?
We all know the Roky story by now. No, not how he beat Apollo Creed, that guy out of the A Team and Dolph Lundgren, but how he has overcome debilitating mental health and financial problems to function at a much higher level than any of us has a right to expect. Hell, the fact that he is even able to get on stage and face the right way is nothing short of miraculous.
Sure, Roky’s mostly in sit-down mode these days and his guitar, if not unplugged, is so far back in the mix to appear so, but he sings beautifully, with clear diction and conviction (Mark E Smith, you reading this?). We get an hour’s blissful and energetic run-through of The Elevators' back-catalogue (including the best version of 'Slip Inside This House' I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing), the sound authenticated by a jug player replicating the Tommy Hall role. After the main set closes with 'You’re Gonna Miss Me', the band returns to the stage, Roky eschewing the use of chair for a rousing rendition of 'Two Headed Dog (Temple Prayer)'. Had we woken up to find that the rest of the festival had imploded, some of us at least would have taken consolation in having witnessed something truly remarkable tonight.
SATURDAY
Wolf People have been quiet of late. Actually, they’ve been writing and recording new material, although the bulk of their set will have been familiar to anyone who hasn’t changed his or her calendar since 2013. Their muscular folk-rock on Stage 2 is a good way to spend an early Saturday afternoon nursing the vestiges of a mild-to-moderate hangover (bottles of Dog followed by red wine in retrospect not a great idea).
It was the Main Stage that would take precedent for the next few hours though. Bevis Frond have been in fine form of late, with the release of Example 22 in 2015 and a spate of tour, one-off and festival dates which suggests and urgent need to make up for some lost time. Given a fair wind (in their case an expansive stage and a decent PA/mix) there are few better examples of the more melodic and mature strain of psych-rock than Nick Saloman’s wonderfully crafted and acutely observed compositions expertly interpreted by a top-notch band. There's a reassuringly familiar feel to the set ('Hole Song 2'; 'Superseeder', 'High in a Flat', for example), the one slight curve ball being 'Undertaker' in memory of former drummer Mick Crowley who passed away last year and of whom stories are legion.
“That last band went on and on,” intones David R Edwards, one half of Datblygu with Patricia Morgan, in reference to The Frond. “We’re not that sort of band,” he adds, suggesting that the only reason they were billed to play for an hour was because it was in the contract. Edwards’ irritability has been prompted by the lack of a soundcheck and a set beset with minor technical niggles for which he seemed to hold the organisers responsible.
Edwards’ battles with personal demons may not have proved quite as newsworthy or full-on as those of Erickson but it is just as heart-warming, indeed life-affirming, to see him and Patricia here, on stage, at a Welsh ATP. True, there are a few shaky moments, but what initially seemed like perfunctory vignettes - punctuated by Slint-like downtimes in an attempt to banish the on-stage gremlins - gradually coalesce into more coherent pieces such as 'Gwennu Dan Bysiau' and 'Casserole Yr Efeilliaid' (respectively 'Smiling Under Buses', 'The Twins’ Casserole', further translations together with full lyrical transcripts available on request and for a reasonable fee). Suddenly it all makes perfect sense, no matter what your language of choice.
They cut short the set. Who’d begrudge them that? I mean it’s probably not as if they’ll even end up getting paid.
It’s been many moons since The Heads released any new material and there are probably leopards who change their spots more often than our boys from Bristol change their set-list. None of that seems to matter one jot to the faithful, who turn up in droves and in enthusiastic homage. It’s the one set of the weekend where the ear plugs go in and stayed there, leastways while I'm still at the front.
It's certainly exhilarating, it always is with them, but you wonder whether there isn’t perhaps an over-reliance on the volume dial. Not as exciting these days as Anthroprophh (guitarist Paul Allen’s band), who showed the way at PZYK fest a couple of years back. There, that should be enough to get me kicked off the Psych Lovers Facebook page.
Maybe this is the last chance for most people to catch Giant Sand, as Howe Gelb is reputed to be laying to rest the band he’s led since 1980. With a voice almost as parched as the desert from whence he came and fronting a US/Danish combo, Gelb turns in a patchy set which when it's good it was very, very good but when it's not, it's pretty darned ordinary. Up on 3, Evan Parker, John Russell and the prolific John Edwards sound like Third Ear Band soundtracking the latest Clangers film (oh yeah, they were showing them each morning). Yes, they are almost that good.
There’s an old adage in this house when it comes to Mark E Smith that goes something like, “The later it is, the worse it gets”. Putting The Fall on at 11pm in the John Cale headline slot is playing chicken with the stage gods. Smith looks and sounds a shell of the sharp-wit on which the legend was carved, largely incomprehensible and resembling more a man remonstrating with litter bins in the park.
Three times I wander off to check out other acts, twice I return, once to find that Smith has taken the band off stage and the other time they seem to be playing the same tight repetitive rhythm they kicked off with 40 minutes or so previously. Depression is only held at bay by taking in half of The Bellrays’ set, which would have gone down great at a wedding party, their brand of soulful rock elevated above the ordinary by the striking vocal and physical presence of singer Lisa Kekaula. Much as I was intrigued by the prospect of seeing Charlotte Church and her band (who apparently turned out covers of Joy Division, Super Furry Animals, Nine Inch Nails and disco hits among others, to the evident delight of many) it was time to cut and crawl.
SUNDAY
Report for duty at 1pm sharp for an eagerly anticipated set by Trembling Bells only to find out it has been put back an hour. It's worth the wait. I must say, I never got the 'saviours of folk-rock' tag bestowed upon them at the time of their (overrated) Carbeth debut, since when they have matured beyond measure.
In fact, the Bells claim to be uncomfortable with the folk-rock tag, yet while they resemble not the likes of Fairport or Pentangle, say, there is an undeniably traditional and rustic quality to their repertoire, mixed in with four fingers of classic rock, with Lavinia Blackwall’s operatic pipes contrasting super-effectively with Alex Neilson’s gnarly Glaswegian grafting of Mike Heron and Paolo Nutini. It's a triumph from beginning to end, and one of a small handful of genuine highlights of the weekend that leaves me and many others wanting so much more.
It would be rude not to again support the free-range jazzers (this time augmented by Thurston Moore), but I am n the mood for something much, much gentler. Damon & Naomi certainly fit the bill, the ex-Galaxie 500 pair pitching a delicate set on Stage 3 as accompaniment to Naomi Yang’s short film Fortune, that reminds one of Low at their more laidback and reflective. A beautiful horizontal moment. Folkie Alasdair Roberts too is a joy - one man, a guitar, and voice, and an audience in the palm of his hand.
What a day of extreme contrast this is proving to be, though. Bardo Pond are vying with The Heads for the heavy psych crown, and to these ears they smash it, no contest. Isobel Sollenberger’s plaintive voice and flute floats through a deluge of dense psychedelic riffing and a battalion of effects as the band, orchestrated by the mighty Michael Gibbons, kicks up a howling storm.
Truthfully, there isn’t a huge amount to choose between any of their songs, and lovers of songcraft and melody would be hard pressed to show them much love. Hard cheese, they are fucking awesome and that, friends, is the long and the short of it.
TheFlamin’ Groovies then take us back to a simpler age. Their occasionally ragged but enjoyable mix of throwback covers and originals play out to a disappointingly sparse main stage crowd. They deserve better, really they do, but it's at the end of their set that I decide to cut out due to other commitments the following day. Sorry to be missing the rest of what, despite the good times, I hope would be the last ever ATP holiday weekender.
The brand now resembles a boxer who goes on for too many fights before retiring and then decides to make an ill-advised comeback. You want it to work, there are glimpses of what used to be, but overall, it’s a sad echo of former glories that can only go one way. The following day brings news that the other ATP planned for the following weekend, already relocated and stripped of its residential status, has been cancelled. Sad, sad situation and an abject lesson in reputational management.
Kill it. Kill it now.
Stewart Lee
2016-04-28T11:44:39+01:00
...And so the ATP Circus limps into town, having been shot from both sides in a month in which rumours of the demise of both their April weekenders had been dangerously rife, inflicting a further huge dent in ATP’s already battered reputation. So are we out of the woods yet, then? Are we fuck… News is that John Cale, only recently added to the bill in what was clearly a bona fide scoop for the organisers, has pulled out of both this and next week’s Drive Like Jehu weekend. The rumour mill will grind on a while longer concerning other defections, and it says much for the stoicism nay optimism of so many punters that each conjecture is met with “Yes, but there’s so much that’s good here this weekend”. They are right, of course: Curator Stewart Lee and ATP has assembled a cracking line-up encompassing heavy psych and several more melodic variants of said genre, grizzled post-punkers, various points of the folk spectrum and oodles of free-range jazz noodles plus comedy and performance art. So it is, against the odds, that the show really does go on. FRIDAY Make use of the legs and ears while they are still willing is my motto. Stephen Beresford and co’s interpretation of John Cage’s Indeterminacy, Aussie drone-jazzers The Necks, the mesmeric Ex-Easter Island Head and the energetic Slits/Raincoats inspired Trash Kit (music that calls for high knee lifts, but hey, I'm pacing myself) are all negotiated early doors. It is Shonen Knife who open the Main Stage, wooing the crowd with their two minute pop-rock and exuberant perma-smiles, packing 20 or so numbers into their hour-long set before going off to staff their merch stand and leaving many of us grinning like fools. Mein host Stewart Lee gives us an anti-stand-up routine in which...
Refugees cross the Serbian-Hungarian border last week. Photograph: Matthias Schrader/AP
On Monday, David Cameron revealed that a Welsh Isis recruit had been killed in Syria by an unmanned drone, or defence secretary Michael Fallon, as the unmanned drone is better known.
The Sun responded with characteristic restraint, depicting the Welsh terrorist’s head in cross hairs, alongside a coupon you could save for a chance to get your own unmanned drone and carry out the next killing yourself.
Amazon are in talks with Michael Fallon about a public-private finance initiative. Could an unmanned drone drop off a birthday copy of Richard Hammond’s Caravan Confidential book at your dad’s house in Kidderminster while en route to Syria to take out another Welsh terrorist? And would the chancellor be able to ensure that any savings made were passed on to Amazon shareholders as non-taxable dividends? And can we be certain that human error doesn’t leave your dad’s semi destroyed, while Isis murderers get to sit around in Syria having a laugh at how rubbish Richard Hammond says caravans are?
While I appreciate the need for drastic action, and commend the diligent drone on a job well done, I am not sure it is terribly civilised to actively celebrate the foolish Welshman’s death. Nonetheless, Cameron’s next step must be to kill one Isis recruit a piece from Scotland and Northern Ireland too, so as he doesn’t appear to be targeting any of his English partner nations’ home-grown terrorists unfairly.
On Tuesday, I discussed with a Quaker acquaintance whether we should take refugees into our homes. The problem is my spare room roof has fallen in, and now the whole attic conversion needs recarpeting, replastering, and repainting. At the moment it looks like a bomb has hit it, and I became genuinely confused as to whether this was appropriate accommodation or not.
I wondered if a nice Syrian family might move in and do it all up for me, as I don’t have the time. Then I realised that I was entertaining an arrangement that could, conceivably, on some level, be described as crudely exploitative in the very worst possible sense.
Last Sunday, because I am much better than you, I took donations for the migrants to a collection point in Dalston. I did wonder what sort of booty the CalAid volunteers would harvest from our admirably diverse borough. Orthodox Jewish skull caps, Islamic hijabs, Quakers’ white tights, gay bondage rubber gimp suits, feminist dungarees, and ironic 70s soft-rock hipster T-shirts. And that was just in the bin bag I took down!
So you like jokes, eh, monkey boy? Well, since January, like some kind of horrible laughing fly, vomiting the enzyme of satire onto the rotten vegetable of human tragedy, I have been trying to work out how to do a standup comedy routine that addressed the migrant crisis. This was not an attempt to be deliberately tasteless or politically incorrect. I think political correctness is a good thing.
Indeed, I believe it was the broadcaster and thinker Toby Young who once said of me, “He essentially uses comedy to browbeat people into agreeing with his dogmatic leftwing points of view, taking what is the prevailing politically correct dogma of his generation and using comedy as an instrument to enforce conformity, not as a means of subversion.” It’s probably the most accurate review I have received, and one I regularly use on posters.
I need six half-hour standup routines written by December for my next BBC2 series. I had a workable 30 minutes on the go after Christmas about Ukip, and while I personally welcome the failure of the far right, (see above), I was professionally worried that the amusing party might disappear after the May elections and render my new routine irrelevant.
My sofa was paid for with humanity’s tears. Don’t imagine I am proud of this process
Consequently, I actually spent much of March and April in Kent campaigning for Ukip out of pure self-interest, just to be able to keep the bit in, but all to no avail. Sadly my serviceable “lining a cat litter tray with an England flag” half-hour is now in the used joke bin.
I am in a symbiotic relationship with The Appalling. The worse the world becomes, the easier it is for me to make fun of it for financial gain. My sofa was paid for with humanity’s tears. Don’t imagine I am proud of this process.
The migrant crisis is much worse than, for example, a large number of buses all arriving at once, so you would imagine it would be easy to write standup comedy about. But I have been wrestling with the subject for months now. I’m not trying to make light of the terrible situation, but I wish Isis and Tony Blair and President Assad would think of some of the hidden costs of their actions. I’m just trying to make a living here.
From April to June I tried a bit where I pictured myself trying to stop hordes of migrants swarming into my garden to escape being beheaded in the garden next door. But it seemed too brutal to say aloud to paying punters who had innocently booked a babysitter for a fun night out in good faith.
In the end, I squeezed an Observer column from the idea, instead of delivering the words personally to confused unsympathetic audiences. Back in those simpler times of summer, people were still unsure of what they felt about the migrants. Pundits spoke of vermin and cockroaches. And prime ministers talked of swarms.
The drowned dead no longer swarm, it seems
Then a Syrian boy washed up on a Turkish beach, where maybe you had been on holiday. And on Wednesday you watched film of a Hungarian woman kicking a frightened girl, and sending a fleeing man tumbling to the ground, his child in his arms. And over the last fortnight the migrant crisis moved in your minds from the realm of abstract information into a flesh and blood reality of palpable suffering.
Now, even David Cameron proclaims an emotional understanding of events. But only “as a father”, not as a human generally, which might have been a more profitable outcome of the hours doubtless spent sculpting his statement. The drowned dead no longer swarm, it seems.
So the big boil is lanced at last. But how long will the fashion for compassion last? In 10 minutes, I’ll leave this Premier Inn room and go down to the cellar of a Brighton cafe, and read these words aloud to 25 people, to see if and why, at this point in time, anyone laughs. And then I’ll start the rewrite. It’s a living.
Stewart Lee’s A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 from 21 Sept. stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2015-09-13T00:51:14+01:00
Refugees cross the Serbian-Hungarian border last week. Photograph: Matthias Schrader/AP On Monday, David Cameron revealed that a Welsh Isis recruit had been killed in Syria by an unmanned drone, or defence secretary Michael Fallon, as the unmanned drone is better known. The Sun responded with characteristic restraint, depicting the Welsh terrorist’s head in cross hairs, alongside a coupon you could save for a chance to get your own unmanned drone and carry out the next killing yourself. Amazon are in talks with Michael Fallon about a public-private finance initiative. Could an unmanned drone drop off a birthday copy of Richard Hammond’s Caravan Confidential book at your dad’s house in Kidderminster while en route to Syria to take out another Welsh terrorist? And would the chancellor be able to ensure that any savings made were passed on to Amazon shareholders as non-taxable dividends? And can we be certain that human error doesn’t leave your dad’s semi destroyed, while Isis murderers get to sit around in Syria having a laugh at how rubbish Richard Hammond says caravans are? While I appreciate the need for drastic action, and commend the diligent drone on a job well done, I am not sure it is terribly civilised to actively celebrate the foolish Welshman’s death. Nonetheless, Cameron’s next step must be to kill one Isis recruit a piece from Scotland and Northern Ireland too, so as he doesn’t appear to be targeting any of his English partner nations’ home-grown terrorists unfairly. On Tuesday, I discussed with a Quaker acquaintance whether we should take refugees into our homes. The problem is my spare room roof has fallen in, and now the whole attic conversion needs recarpeting, replastering, and repainting. At the moment it looks like a bomb has hit it, and I became genuinely confused as to...
In the '90s Dylan Carson's Earth played glacially slow metal under the influence of Sabbath, holy minimalism and, if we're honest, heroin. In the noughties, a rehabilitated Carson refitted a still unflinchingly slow Earth with classy strings and early Fairport folk rock flavours.
Alone with distorted electric guitar as Drcarsonablbion, now he’s staked out sunblind in the desert to soundtrack a supposed Western with expansively frazzled bluesey instrumentals.
Fans of Neil Young's Dead Man score will recognise the recipe, but Carlson's spaghetti is thicker and heavier.
Stewart Lee
2014-06-15T12:27:19+01:00
In the '90s Dylan Carson's Earth played glacially slow metal under the influence of Sabbath, holy minimalism and, if we're honest, heroin. In the noughties, a rehabilitated Carson refitted a still unflinchingly slow Earth with classy strings and early Fairport folk rock flavours. Alone with distorted electric guitar as Drcarsonablbion, now he’s staked out sunblind in the desert to soundtrack a supposed Western with expansively frazzled bluesey instrumentals. Fans of Neil Young's Dead Man score will recognise the recipe, but Carlson's spaghetti is thicker and heavier.
In November 1986, The Cowboy Junkies huddled around a single microphone in a Toronto church to record their breakthough second album, The Trinity Sessions. The four Timmins siblings played country music in a spacious, spooked style, like a Nashville Velvet Underground, but when their third album, The Caution Horses, arrived on a major label sounding more conventional, it seemed their experimental leanings might have been accidents of economy rather than artisitic choices.
Tonight, the Union Chapel’s stately 19th century architecture, and the group’s acoustic trio format augers well. They open with a gloriously somnambulent version of Neil Young’s Powderfinger, with Michael Timmins’ minimal guitar implying Young’s famous lead. Songs from the forthcoming At The End Of Paths Taken album take on softer hues here, with Jeff Bird supplying some especially elliptical harmonica solos. The singer Margo Timmins sometimes undermines her brother’s lyrics with stagey gestures and actorly intonations, but a cover of Townes Van Zandt’s Flying Shoes sees her and the group finally achieve the gloriously sedated country groove their name implies. With most gigs you spend an hour waiting for the band to hit a peak. With the Cowboy Junkies you’re hoping they’ll find the confidence to do less. An encore of The Trinity Sessions’ Misguided Angel is spolied by a middle-aged man in a blue shirt doing a ridiculous bent-double run from the toilet in front of the stage, reminding us, in the midst of a glimpse of heaven, that we are foolish mortals with no sense of timing.
If the Cowboy Junkies had actually gone away, they’d be ripe for a comeback. A clever promoter would ask them to perform The Trinity Sessions in its entireity and their stock would rise. As it is, they just need to remind everyone that they’re still here.
Stewart Lee
2007-03-11T19:52:32+00:00
In November 1986, The Cowboy Junkies huddled around a single microphone in a Toronto church to record their breakthough second album, The Trinity Sessions. The four Timmins siblings played country music in a spacious, spooked style, like a Nashville Velvet Underground, but when their third album, The Caution Horses, arrived on a major label sounding more conventional, it seemed their experimental leanings might have been accidents of economy rather than artisitic choices. Tonight, the Union Chapel’s stately 19th century architecture, and the group’s acoustic trio format augers well. They open with a gloriously somnambulent version of Neil Young’s Powderfinger, with Michael Timmins’ minimal guitar implying Young’s famous lead. Songs from the forthcoming At The End Of Paths Taken album take on softer hues here, with Jeff Bird supplying some especially elliptical harmonica solos. The singer Margo Timmins sometimes undermines her brother’s lyrics with stagey gestures and actorly intonations, but a cover of Townes Van Zandt’s Flying Shoes sees her and the group finally achieve the gloriously sedated country groove their name implies. With most gigs you spend an hour waiting for the band to hit a peak. With the Cowboy Junkies you’re hoping they’ll find the confidence to do less. An encore of The Trinity Sessions’ Misguided Angel is spolied by a middle-aged man in a blue shirt doing a ridiculous bent-double run from the toilet in front of the stage, reminding us, in the midst of a glimpse of heaven, that we are foolish mortals with no sense of timing. If the Cowboy Junkies had actually gone away, they’d be ripe for a comeback. A clever promoter would ask them to perform The Trinity Sessions in its entireity and their stock would rise. As it is, they just need to remind everyone that they’re still here.
It seems like an act of monumental and inexcusable self indulgence to do notes on your own book, but seeing as how you have found this place and made it this far, here's some attempts to explain where things came from and why they are as they are.
Click on the different chapters to read the footnotes
Stewart Lee
2001-06-01T14:57:58+01:00
It seems like an act of monumental and inexcusable self indulgence to do notes on your own book, but seeing as how you have found this place and made it this far, here's some attempts to explain where things came from and why they are as they are. Click on the different chapters to read the footnotes
For over two decades, Sonic Youth's ageless hipster Thurston Moore has pursued stylistically disparate side-projects, from jazz noise to finger-picked folk. Now he alights upon acoustic balladry, a scoundrel's last refuge.
Samara Lubelski's pellucid cello plugs gaps gaping for guitar feedback, and Moore's inescapable downtown sensibilities create an urban-pastoral hybrid. Circulation pulsates unamplified on the kind of intense open tunings Sonic Youth might have flayed electrically. In Silver Rain With A Paper Key sounds like Moore's parent group on an extended modal trip, but stripped and softened. Imagine the last English Romantic, Nick Drake, wearing sunglasses, after a New York makeover.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-22T21:06:05+01:00
For over two decades, Sonic Youth's ageless hipster Thurston Moore has pursued stylistically disparate side-projects, from jazz noise to finger-picked folk. Now he alights upon acoustic balladry, a scoundrel's last refuge. Samara Lubelski's pellucid cello plugs gaps gaping for guitar feedback, and Moore's inescapable downtown sensibilities create an urban-pastoral hybrid. Circulation pulsates unamplified on the kind of intense open tunings Sonic Youth might have flayed electrically. In Silver Rain With A Paper Key sounds like Moore's parent group on an extended modal trip, but stripped and softened. Imagine the last English Romantic, Nick Drake, wearing sunglasses, after a New York makeover.
In 1988, the then unfashionably elderly House of Love front-man Guy Chadwick, 32, looked both ways, smearing Seventies glam rock insousiance over the transformative aspirations of the era's widescreen alterno-rock surges, like a decadent Bono, his prayers rolled into Rizlas.
Buoyed by Terry Bickers' guitar, fusing John McGeogh's post-punk Banshee wail with then fashionable treble haze, The House of Love's eponymous debut re-appears with two discs of extras, including the singles Shine On and Destroy The Heart. Bickers' and Chadwick's doomed romance burned tragically briefly.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-13T20:18:32+00:00
In 1988, the then unfashionably elderly House of Love front-man Guy Chadwick, 32, looked both ways, smearing Seventies glam rock insousiance over the transformative aspirations of the era's widescreen alterno-rock surges, like a decadent Bono, his prayers rolled into Rizlas. Buoyed by Terry Bickers' guitar, fusing John McGeogh's post-punk Banshee wail with then fashionable treble haze, The House of Love's eponymous debut re-appears with two discs of extras, including the singles Shine On and Destroy The Heart. Bickers' and Chadwick's doomed romance burned tragically briefly.
'Long Stem Rant', Giant Sand's eighth LP, opens with the lines, "Welcome, come on in, right in to the red shed." Said red shed is where all round nice guy and naked guitarist sex god Howe Gelb, and drummer John Convertino, spent a few spare days jamming off the tops of their heads alone, or with whoever was passing, to prune the salvageable results into an album of startling inventiveness and bewildering diversity. Aided by ex-Dream Syndicate bassist Mark Walton they took the results, plus a mixture of old and as yet unrecorded songs, on the road round Europe, starting at the Ladbrooke Grove Subterranea.
How does live work reflect the intuitive approach of much of Giant Sand's recorded output?
"When I'm writing, in the middle of a waltz, I want Mark to know, if I'm thinking 'D', then we're going to 'D' now."
"But he's not gonna tell me," elaborates Mark "he's just gonna vibe it to me, and hopefully I'll catch on." Are you a kind of psychic band then? "Psychic killer," mumbles Howe, randomly, while Mark grabs at straws from the world of cod psychology to substantiate Howe's claims,
"Yeah, it really happens. Y'know when women live together they all end up having their period at the same time."
"We've been yawning together," yawns Howe, "there's five basic phrases we have, we know when somebody in the band is gonna say one. We got that down."
"Its funny" begins Mark, "like today we all checked into the hotel separately. First guy walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. then John walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. Then I walked in and went 'Ah Home!'.
Then Howe walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. we all said the exact same thing at exactly the same point as we all walked in." Amazing. The upshot of all this, apart from giving hotel clerks a dull time whenever Giant Sand hit town, is that the band has a tremendous flexibility live. John Convertino plays drums on the edge of his seat, exchanging nervous hysterical glances with chain smoking iceman Mark Walton as they try to tune into the 'vibe' of just what wild Howe will do with the song next. Maybe it'll build to a climax at a point it never did before, maybe it'll follow a previously unrehearsed chord progression, or maybe it'll turn into a version of 'Lay Lady Lay' that they didn't know they were going to play.
For the Bobs and Freds on hand to make a professional recording of tonights live Giant Sand experience, this is no fun. The band are unable to say what they will play, offer any kind of set list, or even guess how long it will take. Finally a series of code words are agreed on. When its time to change over the first half hour of the tape Howe will signal a break by saying, 'Ok Boys, take a nap.' Changeover complete, he'll say 'Food's up!'.
Howe has eating on his mind tonight, and describes his musical influences as, "five basic food groups, Neil Young, Mott the Hoople, Theolonius Monk, Jimmy Rogers, er, and a rotating fifth. 'Sticky Fingers' is the most perfect record ever produced." Similarly Howe explains the reckless variety of 'Long Stem Rant', from the gentle blue-grass of 'Loving Cup' to the sub Boltthrower grindcore of 'Anthem' in culinary terms.
"I make records I like to hear, that I can't buy. It's like taking your plate over to the smorgasbord and putting on different food items.
There's plenty to choose from out there. We can make what we like to eat." If 'Long Stem Rant' is a visit to the smorgasbord, then 1988's 'Storm' is a well mixed dish, perfectly balancing the Country and Western seasoning of Howe's recording alter ego Blacky Ranchette, with the more familiar rock flavour of Giant Sand. "That was the idea. 'Storm' came out as a Giant Sand record because I had to pick one name. 'Giant Sand ' is smaller. Fits on shirts better." There's a new Blacky LP out in the spring though?
"Yeah. I wanted to play with some pedal steel. I never hear pedal steel anymore. I live about five miles from this hardcore Country bar. Every week a new band, and no pedal steel."
Howe's random recruitment of ex-officio members follows the 'we can make what we like to eat' mantra. New players are never auditioned but musicians who spend too long within a certain radius of the current Giant Sand camp are likely to be sucked in sooner or later. At best Howe's records, with different people drifting in and out of different tracks, sound like documents of the spare time artistic endeavours of a talented small community. "That's our basic attitude. We never audition. I doo't know how to go about getting players. John I met in my building. I dream of getting two backing singers. Girl singers. You know what I mean? And I never can really. I don't know how to go about getting them. I've been saying this for over two years now." For the future, Howe oontinues this search, living in Joshua Tree, California, "raising my kid", and now in the enviable position of just about making a living from his music. Writing on the road, evolving new songs day by day in frenetic onstage improvs with Mark and John keeping up through telepathy alone, and with more upcoming projects in the pipeline than most people dream up in a lifetime, the evidence is that Howe Gelb, whether as Giant Sand or Blacky Ranchette, will be making what he likes to eat for a few years more yet.
Stewart G Lee
Stewart Lee
1990-01-01T16:19:25+00:00
'Long Stem Rant', Giant Sand's eighth LP, opens with the lines, "Welcome, come on in, right in to the red shed." Said red shed is where all round nice guy and naked guitarist sex god Howe Gelb, and drummer John Convertino, spent a few spare days jamming off the tops of their heads alone, or with whoever was passing, to prune the salvageable results into an album of startling inventiveness and bewildering diversity. Aided by ex-Dream Syndicate bassist Mark Walton they took the results, plus a mixture of old and as yet unrecorded songs, on the road round Europe, starting at the Ladbrooke Grove Subterranea. How does live work reflect the intuitive approach of much of Giant Sand's recorded output? "When I'm writing, in the middle of a waltz, I want Mark to know, if I'm thinking 'D', then we're going to 'D' now." "But he's not gonna tell me," elaborates Mark "he's just gonna vibe it to me, and hopefully I'll catch on." Are you a kind of psychic band then? "Psychic killer," mumbles Howe, randomly, while Mark grabs at straws from the world of cod psychology to substantiate Howe's claims, "Yeah, it really happens. Y'know when women live together they all end up having their period at the same time." "We've been yawning together," yawns Howe, "there's five basic phrases we have, we know when somebody in the band is gonna say one. We got that down." "Its funny" begins Mark, "like today we all checked into the hotel separately. First guy walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. then John walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. Then I walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. Then Howe walked in and went 'Ah Home!'. we all said the exact same thing at exactly the same point as we all walked...
Demob happy, perhaps, after the cancellation of his TV show, Comedy Vehicle, Lee’s new set found the éminence grise of contemporary comedy in unusually loose and playful form – visibly enjoying himself, of all things. Yes, you could see the joins between the Brexit material and the critique of 21st-century digi-narcissism that Lee had originally intended to deliver. But Content Provider remained a blissfully funny and skilful show.
Stewart Lee
2016-12-13T21:59:54+00:00
5. Stewart Lee Leicester Square theatre, London Demob happy, perhaps, after the cancellation of his TV show, Comedy Vehicle, Lee’s new set found the éminence grise of contemporary comedy in unusually loose and playful form – visibly enjoying himself, of all things. Yes, you could see the joins between the Brexit material and the critique of 21st-century digi-narcissism that Lee had originally intended to deliver. But Content Provider remained a blissfully funny and skilful show.
The Stetson-sporting Tucson punks Green On Red suddenly clicked into country rock classicism when an unknown Prophet brought his chiseled guitar-for-hire to 1985's Gas Food Lodging. With songwriting assistance from the poet Kurt Lipschutz, Prophet's eleventh solo album anatomises his hometown of San Francisco.
The upbeat Stones party rock of the title track is this old hand's least satisfying setting, but on Museum Of Broken Hearts, Who Shot John? And Emperor Norton In The Last Year Of His Life (1880), Prophet's languid country blues grooves uncoil like sunbathing snakes. Perversely, the best track's a bonus download, the semi-acoustic heartbreaker Never Die.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-25T21:18:28+01:00
The Stetson-sporting Tucson punks Green On Red suddenly clicked into country rock classicism when an unknown Prophet brought his chiseled guitar-for-hire to 1985's Gas Food Lodging. With songwriting assistance from the poet Kurt Lipschutz, Prophet's eleventh solo album anatomises his hometown of San Francisco. The upbeat Stones party rock of the title track is this old hand's least satisfying setting, but on Museum Of Broken Hearts, Who Shot John? And Emperor Norton In The Last Year Of His Life (1880), Prophet's languid country blues grooves uncoil like sunbathing snakes. Perversely, the best track's a bonus download, the semi-acoustic heartbreaker Never Die.
The Perfect Fool is the comedian Stewart Lee’s first novel. In honour of my receiving an advance copy, I am here going to review it in a manner which suggests enthusiastic bias. And which is riddled with as many clichés from The Big Book Of Lazy Journalism as is possible before my head starts revolving from the strain of it all
"Like Bill Bryson… on Acid! Like Jack Kerouac… on E! Like Geoffrey of Monmouth… on Smack! Like Joseph Campbell… on Speed! Like Bronislaw Malinowski… on Steroids!"
From the sticky-floored kebab-houses of Streatham, to the arid wilds of Arizona, this is a Quest Tale with a modern inversion – though all are searching, the Holy Grail is only the obsession of a secretive few. Most just need to find themselves. And then maybe the way to the bar
"Like Ken Kesey… on Viagra! Like the Gospel Writers… on Prozac! Like Margaret Meade… on Growth Hormones! Like Claude Levi-Strauss… on Ribena (Which Has A Very High Sugar Content You Know)! Like Sister Wendy… on the piss"
Two men incapable of holding down a job in a Dire Straits covers band, a Black Widow woman with a porn past so shocking her lovers choose to commit suicide than think on it, and an amnesiac haunted by a love for the stars and dreams of the Sangreal. Guided by a one-time acid-rock legend (since fried by electricity & peyote as he once fried the minds of others), and a shamanistic Hopi clown who’d wear his loin cloth and body-paint in public more often but jeans don’t attract wolf-whistles in the same way. Chased by a red-neck bigot armed with Christian zeal and a Sheriff’s gun, a shadowy Hampstead Freemason with a predilection for tea and dribbly common come-ons… and, most shockingly of all, their own past. As well as assorted trigger-happy priests, mental patients with a mission, and farmyard extras. All seem to be both Running From and Looking To (particularly the farmyard extras), all the while clinging to their own history, even if that’s not where their power comes from. (Particularly not in the cases of those Americans descended from the Cardiff Irish
"Like Tennyson… on Drugs (That I Can’t Define Cos I’ve Never Taken Any But That Doesn’t Really Matter – They All Make You Go A Bit Funny, Don’t They?)"
Lee doesn’t just tell a story, he weaves it, drawing the reader inexorably on. And in. Every seemingly disparate strand ties in with the others, pulling all comers into the one multi-layered tale seemingly orchestrated by a higher power. Which could be God, Fate, or even the Hopi lore binding people into each other… or even, well, just a tidy-minded author. It’s nice to see the hero myth (quest tale) get a dusting off for a modern audience. (Without inclusion of any offensively stupid long-eared Jamaican twats, ‘comically’ incapable of talking in a coherent sentence without sounding as though they learned their English from a muppet pretending to be a foreign waiter.) And there’s also pleasure to be had in that he’s not just telling a story for the sake of telling a story; there are messages in there, as well as natty use of adjectives. (‘Eat moon dust Sean Hughes’… and, er, so on)
"A laugh-out-loud novel"
This is indeed a laugh-out-loud novel. Literally. I know, as I kept a tally-chart. (It clocked up a Pratchett-worthy 30 times.) One of those pesky ones you oughtn’t to read on the Tube because you’ll end up disgracing yourselves with a snorting giggle fit. Or worse. As The Perfect Fool is also a gurn out-loud novel. And a grimace-out-loud novel. The squeamishly minded should here be warned that the death count takes in several humans (none of whom wear bras), a toad, a white bird, an Alsatian, a space-dog (though Laika, admittedly, was not Lee’s fault), and many curly-tailed squealers whose trip to the sausage factory will come earlier’n planned. There is also that Sex With Pig While Dressed As Nun thing. But I think the Urgh-value of that dissipates on 2nd reading. (The Streatham covers band though… still nasty)
"Like ‘Thelma And Louise’ meets ‘The Sword In The Stone’… on Cocaine. Like ‘Easy Rider’ meets ‘The X-Files’… on a Red Bull ‘n’ Benylin speed-ball! Like ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’ meets ‘Dragonheart’… on Laughing Gas"
I could also gush at you that it ‘Should do for Church Attendance What ‘The Exorcist’ Did. Just With Less Fear. And More Trips To Glastonbury’. God can never be too far away in a book about the Grail, itself an object which physically proves the existence of Jesus. And all this from a man whom I seem to recall once saying that for Christmas he’d be fashioning his Nativity scene from vegetables, and biro scrawling I Do Not Exist across the carbohydrate-rich skin of his potato Christ. Yet this is a book which comments on humanity’s incomplete adoption of the teachings of the Bible, and the ways to express your Faith… while also juxtaposing the holiest of searches with a far baser inner-devil-driven one. In ‘The Perfect Fool’s brotherly love / equality element (brought home by logic, humour, and the hidden weapon of religion), as well as the caustic side-swipes at human foibles/fallibity, I can see hints of a Lenny Bruce ideology. Which is a lineage (& message) to be proud of.
"Like ‘Independence Day’ meets ‘Casino’ with that Indian guy from ‘Poltergeist 2’… on Moonshine! Like ‘Indiana Jones’ meets ‘Dances With Wolves’… on Really Scary Hallucinogens That Make, Like, Peas Come Out Of Your Face! Like ‘Twelve Monkeys’ meets ‘Fear And Loathing Las Vegas’… high on the juicy goodness that is life!"
Stewart Lee’s first book doesn’t betray him. Although it reads like the work of a comedian – attention-snaring narrative and jokes a-plenty – it doesn’t scream First Novel. As some do. Neither does it draw overt attention to its author’s stand-up career – despite the number of references to the sky, Lee manages to avoid ‘moon on a stick’ territory, although I did spot a ‘that’s right – look impressed’, and a bit of knowing irony about those late-night programmes that are just 2 blokes on a sofa being sarcastic about old films ‘n’ telly ‘n’ stuff. The stand-up’s deft love of language is, however, redolent throughout - I particularly liked the phrase ‘relentless bovine symmetry’ (p106), the ‘Toby Jug body’ (p27), the ‘paella mouthed accent’ (p40), and the apt utilisation of the word ‘slurry’ (p10). The strength of the writing should mean he escapes the comparison bracket of other Comedian-Turned-Novelists, and manage to stand against other (real?!) authors. Though the comparisons are compulsive… Thusly …
‘The Perfect Fool’ makes a lot more sense than Rob Newman’s first novel (and is thankfully less riddled with overt references to the Laughing Gnome). It has both depth & humour – and so can compare favourably to Ardal O’Hanlon’s excellent debut. And it feels less disconcertingly autobiographical (and concerned with ‘chicken’) ‘n Scott Capurro’s; apart from the ‘record fair stall-holder knowing your name’ element… There are also far fewer references to The Tindersticks (i.e. none) than Sean Hughes’ first un did, which should also help avoid any pesky parallels being drawn.
"Should do for Arizona what ‘Trainspotting’ did for Scotland’s skag dens. Should do for the Freemasons what ‘Pulp Fiction’ did for John Travolta’s career. Should do for Lee’s literary rise what a) Guy Fawkes wanted to do to Parliament, b) ‘Gone With The Wind’ did for Vivien Leigh, or c) ‘Withnail & I’ did for the popularity of carrots"
Further incentives – as though t’were needed – can be found in that the book features a sex scene which leans towards the anatomically informative rather than lascivious, its colour scheme is perfect for a Leeds Utd. fan, and it washes away the haunting cackle of Tim Curry’s IT by making the best use of clowns ever to be found in a novel. (Even the Klu-Klax clown was funny. And that’s a doubly hard task…) There’s also that I finished the book with a very large grin (for the sake of the ending, not my having reached it), muttering Hannibal-isms about appreciating plans coming together. A book that leaves you smiling, and with your thinking machinery better oiled – bet you’d buy it for that even I didn’t tell you page 114 features a commendable use of the word ‘fuckwit’
And as of this Sunday afternoon, where the book was given priority over all else, I can tell you will absolute certainty that to do so was -
"Better than watching the ‘Mighty Ducks 3’!"
Stewart Lee
2001-07-01T13:49:10+01:00
The Perfect Fool is the comedian Stewart Lee’s first novel. In honour of my receiving an advance copy, I am here going to review it in a manner which suggests enthusiastic bias. And which is riddled with as many clichés from The Big Book Of Lazy Journalism as is possible before my head starts revolving from the strain of it all "Like Bill Bryson… on Acid! Like Jack Kerouac… on E! Like Geoffrey of Monmouth… on Smack! Like Joseph Campbell… on Speed! Like Bronislaw Malinowski… on Steroids!" From the sticky-floored kebab-houses of Streatham, to the arid wilds of Arizona, this is a Quest Tale with a modern inversion – though all are searching, the Holy Grail is only the obsession of a secretive few. Most just need to find themselves. And then maybe the way to the bar "Like Ken Kesey… on Viagra! Like the Gospel Writers… on Prozac! Like Margaret Meade… on Growth Hormones! Like Claude Levi-Strauss… on Ribena (Which Has A Very High Sugar Content You Know)! Like Sister Wendy… on the piss" Two men incapable of holding down a job in a Dire Straits covers band, a Black Widow woman with a porn past so shocking her lovers choose to commit suicide than think on it, and an amnesiac haunted by a love for the stars and dreams of the Sangreal. Guided by a one-time acid-rock legend (since fried by electricity & peyote as he once fried the minds of others), and a shamanistic Hopi clown who’d wear his loin cloth and body-paint in public more often but jeans don’t attract wolf-whistles in the same way. Chased by a red-neck bigot armed with Christian zeal and a Sheriff’s gun, a shadowy Hampstead Freemason with a predilection for tea and dribbly common come-ons… and, most shockingly of all,...
Stewart Lee was on fire tonight, the best I’ve seen him in years (and I’ve seen him a lot). Freed of the need to road-test material for his now cancelled Comedy Vehicle TV show, he’s gone back to the longform set structure that made him comfortably the best comedian in the country. He was at pains to point out that whilst he started writing a show last year that dealt with the individual in a digital world, first Brexit and then Trump derailed his plans and caused him to rework it. He was also astute on the difficulties of finding comedy in a subject like Brexit, which even among his ‘metropolitan liberal elite’ audience, is divisive. He didn’t waste much time fretting about that, though, explaining that not everybody who voted to Leave was a racist. “Some of them were just cunts”.
The first half of the set roamed across the pre-Brexit wasteland, hitting upon everything from Michael Gove and Sarah Vine (“the Neil and Christine Hamilton for the ‘Two-Girls-One-Cup generation”) to Eamonn Holmes, memorably portrayed as “Murdoch’s dustbin condom truffle pig”. The second-hand cost of live stand-up DVDs on Amazon (1p for most comedians, considerably more for Lee’s because he buys them all up to sell at his shows, thus inflating prices) explained the tottering piles of DVD cases arranged behind him (the sole other prop, a print of Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog, became relevant much later). There was a point where it looked like he was leaning a little too heavily on his long-established device of playing different segments on the audience against each other – still funny but far from fresh – but this was kept to a minimum; thankfully there was still plenty of his self-proclaimed “pretentious, self-aware meta-textual shit”.
The second half of the set started beautifully, mirroring his Brexit opening with reference to Trump (“not everyone who voted for Trump was a racist…”) but stayed closer to the original intention for the material, looking at our increasingly atomised lives via glorious attacks on Game Of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord Of The Rings… Bilbo Baggins At Spearmint Rhino”), ‘the Russells’ (Russell Howard in particular), and young people in general, “with their Japanese cat face satchels drinking yoghurt from a pouch”, leading to an excruciatingly protracted sight of Lee clawing at an imaginary mobile phone, face contorted (the previous night’s show had seen him confiscate an audience member’s phone and shove it into his underpants for half the set). The final segment of the show – which critiqued lazy consumerism by comparing the ease of buying a Taiwanese sex fist from Amazon with the S&M efforts of his grandparents in the thirties, forced to hand craft sex harnesses from twine and straw and use potato sacks as gimp masks – was impossibly funny. Finally – and with a twisted logic - we were left with the image of Lee, clad in a cloak atop the hillock of DVDs, shrouded in dry ice, recreating the Friedrich painting whilst wielding a selfie stick at the audience.
Untouchable.
Stewart Lee
2017-05-25T13:09:51+01:00
Stewart Lee was on fire tonight, the best I’ve seen him in years (and I’ve seen him a lot). Freed of the need to road-test material for his now cancelled Comedy Vehicle TV show, he’s gone back to the longform set structure that made him comfortably the best comedian in the country. He was at pains to point out that whilst he started writing a show last year that dealt with the individual in a digital world, first Brexit and then Trump derailed his plans and caused him to rework it. He was also astute on the difficulties of finding comedy in a subject like Brexit, which even among his ‘metropolitan liberal elite’ audience, is divisive. He didn’t waste much time fretting about that, though, explaining that not everybody who voted to Leave was a racist. “Some of them were just cunts”. The first half of the set roamed across the pre-Brexit wasteland, hitting upon everything from Michael Gove and Sarah Vine (“the Neil and Christine Hamilton for the ‘Two-Girls-One-Cup generation”) to Eamonn Holmes, memorably portrayed as “Murdoch’s dustbin condom truffle pig”. The second-hand cost of live stand-up DVDs on Amazon (1p for most comedians, considerably more for Lee’s because he buys them all up to sell at his shows, thus inflating prices) explained the tottering piles of DVD cases arranged behind him (the sole other prop, a print of Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog, became relevant much later). There was a point where it looked like he was leaning a little too heavily on his long-established device of playing different segments on the audience against each other – still funny but far from fresh – but this was kept to a minimum; thankfully there was still plenty of his self-proclaimed “pretentious, self-aware meta-textual shit”. The...
"This is clearly the weakest of the four series you've done... is that deliberate?" asks Chris Morris' hostile interrogator, but, joking aside, this is a weaker episode than last week. Perhaps it has something to do with the subject: Islamaphobia
Stewart Lee
2016-03-10T15:27:58+00:00
"This is clearly the weakest of the four series you've done... is that deliberate?" asks Chris Morris' hostile interrogator, but, joking aside, this is a weaker episode than last week. Perhaps it has something to do with the subject: Islamaphobia
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/slcv4/tv-pick/
Like Jesus I must take my message to sinners, thieves, prostitutes and tax gatherers, for there is more rejoicing in heaven over the return of one sheep that was lost etc.
The July 2001 edition of Men Only magazine, which ironically features mainly pictures of women's legs, arms, faces, breasts and vaginas, carried this favorable write-up of The Perfect Fool between plugs for Eminem and a Fetish video, though the writer is obviously more interested in the sexual aspects of the story.
"Bloody good", - Men Only"
Even now, this review is probably rotting under a hedge in a wood, where it will soon be discovered by a confused and ashamed pre-pubescent boy. S. Lee
Stewart Lee
2001-07-01T14:23:48+01:00
Like Jesus I must take my message to sinners, thieves, prostitutes and tax gatherers, for there is more rejoicing in heaven over the return of one sheep that was lost etc. The July 2001 edition of Men Only magazine, which ironically features mainly pictures of women's legs, arms, faces, breasts and vaginas, carried this favorable write-up of The Perfect Fool between plugs for Eminem and a Fetish video, though the writer is obviously more interested in the sexual aspects of the story. "Bloody good", - Men Only" Even now, this review is probably rotting under a hedge in a wood, where it will soon be discovered by a confused and ashamed pre-pubescent boy. S. Lee
Comedian and columnist Stewart Lee remains “grateful to the people who brainwashed me into listening to Bob Dylan during a period of emotional and physical weakness.”
Episode Notes
Comedian and columnistStewart Lee remains “grateful to the people who brainwashed me into listening to Bob Dylan during a period of emotional and physical weakness.” He remembers seeing Dylan live at Hyde Park with his kids (“one of the greatest nights of my life”) as well as the time he alienated the audience at a Teenage Cancer Trust Benefit. “It was a good gig. 'Cause it was true. Self-sabotage keeps you alive. Chaos and confusion create a bubble that protects you.” Stew namechecks Dylan, Mark E. Smith, Jerry Sadowitz, William Blake, Roky Erickson and Mozart as fellow artists who “develop a split personality that says: what if I make him do this?” Warning: listeners should keep in mind that Mr Lee is “a cultural bully from the Oxbridge Mafia who wants to appear morally superior but couldn’t cut the mustard on a panel game.” (Lee Mack)
This is a review (Dominic Maxwell, The Times) of Stewart’s current show, Basic Lee: "If someone says they’re going back to basics, can they be trusted? When Stewart Lee tells you he is going back to basics you sniff only fresh mischief in his chortlingly bold smush of sarcasm, satire, self-commentary and alternately lugubrious and exultant flights of fancy. It is hard, Lee tells us, to try to be funny in these days of frenetic social and political change. So he bookends this new show, which he wants to stay relevant until its tour ends in 2024, with a reworking of a routine he first performed at the start of his career in 1989. Self-plagiarism? Actually, Lee could profitably spend the rest of his career rejigging old routines, much as Miles Davis was able to find endless new takes on Stella by Starlight. At his best, as he delivers a comedy show that is a kind of lecture about comedy shows, he cheeks the crowd so surely that the effect is insulting yet intimate. Basic Lee is one of his more pretzel-shaped evenings. If its inner logic isn’t always easy to grasp, who cares when something is rendered with this much wit and verve? What’s it all about? It’s all about two hours long, it’s all very clever, but, basically, Basic Lee is very funny."
Stewart Lee
2022-12-25T11:07:42+00:00
Episode Summary Comedian and columnist Stewart Lee remains “grateful to the people who brainwashed me into listening to Bob Dylan during a period of emotional and physical weakness.” Episode Notes Comedian and columnist Stewart Lee remains “grateful to the people who brainwashed me into listening to Bob Dylan during a period of emotional and physical weakness.” He remembers seeing Dylan live at Hyde Park with his kids (“one of the greatest nights of my life”) as well as the time he alienated the audience at a Teenage Cancer Trust Benefit. “It was a good gig. 'Cause it was true. Self-sabotage keeps you alive. Chaos and confusion create a bubble that protects you.” Stew namechecks Dylan, Mark E. Smith, Jerry Sadowitz, William Blake, Roky Erickson and Mozart as fellow artists who “develop a split personality that says: what if I make him do this?” Warning: listeners should keep in mind that Mr Lee is “a cultural bully from the Oxbridge Mafia who wants to appear morally superior but couldn’t cut the mustard on a panel game.” (Lee Mack) This is a review (Dominic Maxwell, The Times) of Stewart’s current show, Basic Lee: "If someone says they’re going back to basics, can they be trusted? When Stewart Lee tells you he is going back to basics you sniff only fresh mischief in his chortlingly bold smush of sarcasm, satire, self-commentary and alternately lugubrious and exultant flights of fancy. It is hard, Lee tells us, to try to be funny in these days of frenetic social and political change. So he bookends this new show, which he wants to stay relevant until its tour ends in 2024, with a reworking of a routine he first performed at the start of his career in 1989. Self-plagiarism? Actually, Lee could profitably spend the rest of...
Lee announces this as his "first mid-thirties pretentious one-man show", but it retains his trademark comic perspective.
The idea is that Lee, having been commissioned to write a treatment of an Edward Lear biopic to star Ray Winstone(!), becomes simultaneously obsessed with Lear's nonsense poem and with his own problems living in a flat without a toilet. No, really, it all meshes together after a fashion.
His technique goes beyond deadpan: he applies a scathing literal analysis to irrational material to make it even funnier. An owl shares a boat with a cat, its natural predator: "Why was this allowed to happen?" How do they open the jar of honey when neither has opposable thumbs? What chords can the owl manage on its small guitar? Is the turkey that marries them at the end of the poem ordained? ...that sort of thing.
He augments his main material with bits of writing he has found on the street, and his performance with slides, a live cellist and Simon Munnery in a huge false beard as Lear and in a Michael Caine voice as Winstone. There's a hint of Ken Campbell about this kind of monologue, but Lee brings a darker intelligence to bear on the absurdity of it all.
Had she never taken Lloyd Webber's shilling and sung for The Two Ronnies, the musical theatre star Barbara Dickson might have remained a folk scene phenomenon. This raw double set of reel to reel recordings from 1969-73 finds Dickson's precision engineered phrasing and perfectly poised voice, an egoless vessel that contains the old songs' sentiments, set against her stark acoustic guitar in audibly rapt pub back rooms.
This alternate earth Barbara Dickson is a shadowy legend, ripe for rediscovery alongside forgotten folk contemporaries Mandy Morton and Shelagh McDonald.
Stewart Lee
2013-05-12T11:38:03+01:00
Had she never taken Lloyd Webber's shilling and sung for The Two Ronnies, the musical theatre star Barbara Dickson might have remained a folk scene phenomenon.This raw double set of reel to reel recordings from 1969-73 finds Dickson's precision engineered phrasing and perfectly poised voice, an egoless vessel that contains the old songs' sentiments, set against her stark acoustic guitar in audibly rapt pub back rooms. This alternate earth Barbara Dickson is a shadowy legend, ripe for rediscovery alongside forgotten folk contemporaries Mandy Morton and Shelagh McDonald.
They're wrong of course: the lowest form of wit is punning, and if they'd watched Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on Monday they'd have realised they're wrong, too. Because Stewart Lee has perfected sarcasm.
Officially, the 41st best stand-up in Britain, Lee – for slightly old-timers like me – is one of the man-gods of comedy: he's one of the original creators of Alan Partridge and the writer of Jerry Springer: The Opera and one of my favourite ever radio comedy shows, Lionel Nimrod's Inexplicable World (now being repeated on BBC7), among other things.
So it should be no surprise that the credits of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle read like a who's who of comedy greats, given he's worked with just about everyone worth mentioning in the business already: guest-starring Kevin Eldon, produced by Armando Iannucci, guest starring and two jokes written by Simon Munnery and – wow – script-edited by Chris Morris.
Despite that, the show's actually quite traditional: Lee essentially does a half-hour stand-up routine, interspersed with the occasionally sketch to illustrate his point. He's done it before in shows like Fist of Fun, so why not do it again, particularly when he's so good at it? Indeed, you can spot influences from other shows all over the place, from the name (hints of The Mark Thomas Comedy Product) to the comedy vehicle Lee drives in the credits and some of the sketches (Simon Munnery's Transit van in Attention Scum!).
But the show itself is all Lee. Lee's style is to take something he finds ridiculous and stupid and to relentlessly pick holes in it through rigorous analysis, each word carefully considered for maximum comic potential. We are, after all, talking about a man who analysed the hymn 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' with Venn diagrams.
The target for Monday night's analysis was 'toilet books' – books whose one ambition is to be read by someone on the toilet. Chief recipient of the abuse was Chris Moyles' auto-biography. Lee was able to spin whole routines out of single lines of the book, mocking, for example, the lack of human curiosity exhibited by Moyles' pals demonstrated by: 'When I told my friends I was writing a book, some of them asked me what it was about.'
It was a little 'grumpy old man' of Lee but funny all the same, particularly when he went on to one of So Solid Crew's books, helpfully illustrated by pictures of the author wearing various hats, and pointed out that "Yes, I am disrespecting you. I am disrespecting you to the max."
There were a couple of moments that didn't work: the sketches were largely superfluous, merely illustrating points Lee had already made, rather than adding anything, and the Irish writers sketch was poor; and there was an overly-long segment in which Lee laboriously pretended he didn't know what rappers are, by claiming over and over that they're the guys that hang around the back of the car park, playing on the disabled ramp, purely for the slight pay-off of a punchline "Now, clearly this book isn't aimed at me."
But other than that, this was intelligent, funny stuff that actually makes you think and stays with you afterwards, which is more than can be said for Horne & Corden.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-16T11:06:54+00:00
They're wrong of course: the lowest form of wit is punning, and if they'd watched Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on Monday they'd have realised they're wrong, too. Because Stewart Lee has perfected sarcasm. Officially, the 41st best stand-up in Britain, Lee – for slightly old-timers like me – is one of the man-gods of comedy: he's one of the original creators of Alan Partridge and the writer of Jerry Springer: The Opera and one of my favourite ever radio comedy shows, Lionel Nimrod's Inexplicable World (now being repeated on BBC7), among other things. So it should be no surprise that the credits of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle read like a who's who of comedy greats, given he's worked with just about everyone worth mentioning in the business already: guest-starring Kevin Eldon, produced by Armando Iannucci, guest starring and two jokes written by Simon Munnery and – wow – script-edited by Chris Morris. Despite that, the show's actually quite traditional: Lee essentially does a half-hour stand-up routine, interspersed with the occasionally sketch to illustrate his point. He's done it before in shows like Fist of Fun, so why not do it again, particularly when he's so good at it? Indeed, you can spot influences from other shows all over the place, from the name (hints of The Mark Thomas Comedy Product) to the comedy vehicle Lee drives in the credits and some of the sketches (Simon Munnery's Transit van in Attention Scum!). But the show itself is all Lee. Lee's style is to take something he finds ridiculous and stupid and to relentlessly pick holes in it through rigorous analysis, each word carefully considered for maximum comic potential. We are, after all, talking about a man who analysed the hymn 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' with Venn diagrams. The target for...
It'd be hard, and perhaps unfair, to talk about Stewart Lee's follow-up to 2007's historical comedy Johnson & Boswell without mentioning 'the other' alternative Elizabethan comedy. But for all its defects, one thing is certain – though Simon Munnery's portrayal of Elizabeth I is quite different from Miranda Richardson's in Blackadder II, it's still as good, if not better.
Written by Lee, this two-hander between Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh (played by comedian Miles Jupp) involves Raleigh's attempts to persuade the Virgin Queen to marry him, who in turn reckons he's just a self-serving charlatan and intends to chop off his head. Munnery's regal entrance is marvellous to behold – walking straight down the middle of the auditorium, over chairs and audience members, in an enormous, bedraggled vaudevillian frightwig/greasepaint ensemble. 'The queen only walks in straight lines!' explains Sir Walter to the audience. 'You may laugh, but you do so with soiled underpants,' she informs them.
Munnery effectively ropes the monarch into his repertoire of twisted, angry loners. His Elizabeth is an embittered lush – the missing of cues and bumping into furniture somehow adding to the effect – out to punish the creepy, maid-shagging Sir Walter.
Jupp is less effective as Raleigh, although, it should be said, he has less to work with. The pace and tone is strangely flat throughout, except at the end, where we witness a mist-wreathed portrayal of Raleigh's naval adventures, both eerie and ridiculous (the pair wearing enormous ships on their heads), and during Munnery's final, doom-laden monologue – a bleak surveillance of the realm from the windows of a train up to Edinburgh – clearly taking the piss out of Derek Jarman's film Jubilee.
Munnery is a great, if limited, actor, but he can't carry the show by himself. The talent behind this is of the first pedigree, but it's not quite comedic enough to be great comedy, nor quite dramatic enough to be great drama. History buffs will love it, though.’
Stewart Lee
2008-08-13T20:19:07+01:00
It'd be hard, and perhaps unfair, to talk about Stewart Lee's follow-up to 2007's historical comedy Johnson & Boswell without mentioning 'the other' alternative Elizabethan comedy. But for all its defects, one thing is certain – though Simon Munnery's portrayal of Elizabeth I is quite different from Miranda Richardson's in Blackadder II, it's still as good, if not better. Written by Lee, this two-hander between Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh (played by comedian Miles Jupp) involves Raleigh's attempts to persuade the Virgin Queen to marry him, who in turn reckons he's just a self-serving charlatan and intends to chop off his head. Munnery's regal entrance is marvellous to behold – walking straight down the middle of the auditorium, over chairs and audience members, in an enormous, bedraggled vaudevillian frightwig/greasepaint ensemble. 'The queen only walks in straight lines!' explains Sir Walter to the audience. 'You may laugh, but you do so with soiled underpants,' she informs them. Munnery effectively ropes the monarch into his repertoire of twisted, angry loners. His Elizabeth is an embittered lush – the missing of cues and bumping into furniture somehow adding to the effect – out to punish the creepy, maid-shagging Sir Walter. Jupp is less effective as Raleigh, although, it should be said, he has less to work with. The pace and tone is strangely flat throughout, except at the end, where we witness a mist-wreathed portrayal of Raleigh's naval adventures, both eerie and ridiculous (the pair wearing enormous ships on their heads), and during Munnery's final, doom-laden monologue – a bleak surveillance of the realm from the windows of a train up to Edinburgh – clearly taking the piss out of Derek Jarman's film Jubilee. Munnery is a great, if limited, actor, but he can't carry the show by himself. The talent behind this...
Fun might be stretching it, but Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (Thursday, BBC Two) continues its fourth season of his scorched earth approach to stand-up and real-life hypocrisy. This week the focus was on Islamophobia, but he also dealt with Quakers and porridge, Mormons* (their Watchtower magazine, to be precise), as well as the average angry Islamophobe watching telly. He even managed plenty of digs at comedians who have a preference for observational comedy.
I spent the opening few minutes laughing my head off, but most of the time I just marvelled at a comedian who, with razor-sharp wit and great timing, cut through more crap than any comedian I've heard or seen since Bill Hicks. Thursday nights on BBC Two, though. It's a wonder it's not in Danish, using subtitles and desperately grim.
*Note - this bit did not reference Mormons, as stated in this article, it referenced Jehovah's Witnesses.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-15T22:16:02+00:00
Fun might be stretching it, but Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle (Thursday, BBC Two) continues its fourth season of his scorched earth approach to stand-up and real-life hypocrisy. This week the focus was on Islamophobia, but he also dealt with Quakers and porridge, Mormons* (their Watchtower magazine, to be precise), as well as the average angry Islamophobe watching telly. He even managed plenty of digs at comedians who have a preference for observational comedy. I spent the opening few minutes laughing my head off, but most of the time I just marvelled at a comedian who, with razor-sharp wit and great timing, cut through more crap than any comedian I've heard or seen since Bill Hicks. Thursday nights on BBC Two, though. It's a wonder it's not in Danish, using subtitles and desperately grim. *Note - this bit did not reference Mormons, as stated in this article, it referenced Jehovah's Witnesses.
I HAD heard tell of Stewart Lee’s apparent disdain for many of those who buy tickets for his shows these days, as opposed to the “comedy intelligentsia” who have followed him since the late 1980s and early 1990s.
There is something admirably fearless about the way he tried to divide his full house at the Assembly Rooms music hall based on the variable responses to his material.
Lee did, however, seem to unite the room with a host of material ripping into fellow comics Lee Mack, James Corden and Russell Brand.
He reserves particular contempt for Graham Norton, after losing out to his chat show for a Bafta honour, despite their formative period as “attic” boys when they appeared in the same venue at the Pleasance as unknowns.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-17T23:52:00+01:00
I HAD heard tell of Stewart Lee’s apparent disdain for many of those who buy tickets for his shows these days, as opposed to the “comedy intelligentsia” who have followed him since the late 1980s and early 1990s. There is something admirably fearless about the way he tried to divide his full house at the Assembly Rooms music hall based on the variable responses to his material. Lee did, however, seem to unite the room with a host of material ripping into fellow comics Lee Mack, James Corden and Russell Brand. He reserves particular contempt for Graham Norton, after losing out to his chat show for a Bafta honour, despite their formative period as “attic” boys when they appeared in the same venue at the Pleasance as unknowns.
when i was 8 or 9 years old, i asked my parents if it would be possible for them to send some of the money they normally spent on my christmas presents to a charity, of the starving african variety. i don’t know where i came up with the idea, but the odds are an even split between sunday school or an infomercial. my parents had a christmas fund budgeted, and told me that i could volunteer to sacrifice any percentage of that amount. i deeply regretted asking, and after a long time determined to give exactly 0%, because i wanted every toy that i could get. fortunately, not a speck of that residual guilt has lasted longer than the rest of my life.
in this unethically uploaded vimeo clip, british comedian stewart lee uses the familiar vernacular of stand-up to craft a really intricate commentary on charity (starts around 11:45 in episode 3 of the 2nd season of stewart lee’s comedy vehicle, from the bbc two). i love this sort of comedy, because i recognize so many of the elements that make good poetry. he obfuscates what could be presented as a very straightforward, moderately liberal, authentic outlook. i probably would have agreed with his perspective if he performed in a direct observational style, and depending on the quality of those jokes i may or may not have laughed. but i prefer poetry that works like a riddle, or a magic trick, where a certain amount of time (or cleverness, or effort) are required to let the words sink in enough to get a clear view of the objective. the payoff element is a similar experience to finishing the final episode of a crime show, or simultaneously paying attention to both the story and the clues in a detective novel to try to guess the ending. or like getting a joke.
he does this whole bit about russell howard. lee compares how much money the comedian made in a year to how much he was able to make for charity by riding in a four day bike ride. the joke is textbook verbal irony, with 3 principle layers. 1a. he honestly is talking shit about russell howard and mixes in plenty of real insults and digs at his reputation. so stewart doesn’t like russell howard, though 1b. he recognizes that he is being resentful and pompous. 2. he makes his point with ludicrous logic; russell howard couldn’t in reality be expected to bike every day of the year, even if that were somehow financed without decreasing returns to scale. no one can hold to that standard (with some exceptions, such as monks who imitate christ, who is famous for preaching exactly that unattainable ideal. lee actually does bring up christ, but only to imply that russell howard’s attitude toward jokes about handicapped people puts him on the level of a mocking onlooker at the crucifixion). correlating the suffering of poor people in foreign nations to howard’s failure to completely sacrifice himself for a calendar year is unreasonable. so lee’s point is wrong, emphasizing 3. that people who actually act that pompously are dishonest. or, they honestly believe that slandering someone with passive aggression is less violent than direct confrontation. this type of person is the implicit butt of this routine. they don’t hold to their own standards, and use doublespeak in a manipulative sort of politically correct irony.
“i don’t hate him, i mean, i can’t say anything against him, i just don’t get why some people don’t care about saving the planet.” that sort of thing.
at the risk of overextending, 4. lee is arguably suggesting that russell howard, while not in truth morally culpable for world hunger, is guilty of actually presenting himself in the light that lee reflects in layer 3. nothing that lee said convinced me if he really wanted to denounce howard, or just to use his celebrity identity as a prop. it is possible that howard is the character singing lee’s refrain throughout this whole clip; the endlessly escalating boasts about his own charity work.
the way lee presents himself to the audience is dynamic. at the climax of the russell howard bit he turns his back on the crowd and acts out a scene while looking down at the stage. a moment later he transitions to mocking us, not the crowd audience but the viewer audience, in the british version of a rich-new-york-elitist-stereotype mocking a rural-southern-redneck-stereotype. he continues with the theme of charities, telling an anecdote about the cost of baby sitting while he performed at a fundraiser. but he deviates, turns away from the crowd, and looks directly in the camera. he is like a malevolent craig ferguson, who isn’t breaking the fourth wall to reassure us we are in on the joke. jekyll to hyde. it is visually retributive that lee’s widow’s peak mohawk and sweaty face, distorted by proximity to the lens, make him look like a claymation weather-demon.
the effect of manipulating camera shots mid joke is cinematic. if this isn’t poetry, it might be a painting. impressionism was conceived as a revolt against only depicting one point perspective, a sort of visual equivalent of black and white morality or objective truth. cubism abstracted a still life into a barely recognizable heap, like the combined subjective perspectives of an audience crowding around the object at varying degrees and distance. this is what lee is doing with concepts.
stripped of his irony, stewart lee might say something along the lines of, “i think that charity is important. but sometimes it is hard to give, and i feel guilty when i don’t give enough. i try to rationalize it by thinking that celebrities who are richer than i am are more morally culpable. speaking of celebrities that are richer than i am, did i mention that they are all shit people?” but, instead of listing those thoughts out in a logical progression he jumbles them together for the type of rhetorical engagement that heightens the effect of tragedy or comedy. it mirrors how conflicting it is to wonder whether you are living a worthwhile life, and to doubt, and to argue back again against your own doubts. that sort of introspection, mixed with a healthy dose of rationalization, inflamed by the inferiority complex of the non-psychopath, resembles a stewart lee routine more than a reasonable conversation that moves from point to point with transparent intention. subjectively speaking, it is more organized than order, and more honest than sincerity.
Stewart Lee
2015-11-03T11:50:09+00:00
when i was 8 or 9 years old, i asked my parents if it would be possible for them to send some of the money they normally spent on my christmas presents to a charity, of the starving african variety. i don’t know where i came up with the idea, but the odds are an even split between sunday school or an infomercial. my parents had a christmas fund budgeted, and told me that i could volunteer to sacrifice any percentage of that amount. i deeply regretted asking, and after a long time determined to give exactly 0%, because i wanted every toy that i could get. fortunately, not a speck of that residual guilt has lasted longer than the rest of my life. in this unethically uploaded vimeo clip, british comedian stewart lee uses the familiar vernacular of stand-up to craft a really intricate commentary on charity (starts around 11:45 in episode 3 of the 2nd season of stewart lee’s comedy vehicle, from the bbc two). i love this sort of comedy, because i recognize so many of the elements that make good poetry. he obfuscates what could be presented as a very straightforward, moderately liberal, authentic outlook. i probably would have agreed with his perspective if he performed in a direct observational style, and depending on the quality of those jokes i may or may not have laughed. but i prefer poetry that works like a riddle, or a magic trick, where a certain amount of time (or cleverness, or effort) are required to let the words sink in enough to get a clear view of the objective. the payoff element is a similar experience to finishing the final episode of a crime show, or simultaneously paying attention to both the story and the clues in a detective...
The Hate-Monger is a minor Marvel comics villain, first documented by Jack Kirby and Stan Lee in December 1963, who is a clone of Hitler and wears a purple Ku Klux Klan robe. In Fantastic Four issue 21, The Hate-Monger bounces his Hate-Ray off the moon, amplifying people’s feelings of dread, fear and anxiety, inflaming their prejudices and turning humanity against itself. And yet somehow, last week, The Hate-Monger himself was given a job at the very heart of Dominic Cumming’s government. And this despite his saying the “underclass” should undergo enforced contraception, women’s sport is like the paralympics, wives should provide sex on demand and black people were more stupid than white people. And all while bouncing a Hate-Ray off the moon and wearing a purple Ku Klux Klan robe. And being a clone of Hitler.
“We should prevent racists coming into No 10 or wherever The Hate-Monger was working,” said Kwasi Alfred Addo Kwarteng, MP for Spelthorne, former undersecretary of state for the Department for Exiting the European Union and current minister of state for business, energy and clean growth, “and I think that we do need to look at these processes.” What will it take for black Conservatives to disavow the Cumming government they facilitate? Didn’t the fact that The Hate-Monger was wearing a purple Ku Klux Klan robe while bouncing a Hate-Ray off the moon and being a clone of Hitler set off some alarm bells? Views such as The Hate-Monger’s define Cumming’s government. The assertion last November, by the resentful foundling and reformed coke-face Michael Gove, that Stormzy should stick to rapping and stay out of politics, assumes black folk are made for singing, dancing and running, while white people are better suited to white people’s activities – such as Latin, crown green bowls and the clarinet. And the now muzzled Jacob Rees-Mogg blamed the Grenfell victims’ stupidity for their misfortune.
Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-lies Get-Brexit-Done Bung-a-Bob-for-Big-Ben’s-Bongs Cocaine-Event Spiritual-Worth Three-Men-and-a-Dog Johnson is the rarely visible public face of the Cumming government that hired The Hate-Monger.
PM Turds’s spokesperson refused to clarify PM Turds’s position on eugenics 32 actual genuine times in succession during a press briefing on Monday. “The prime minister’s views are well documented,” said the spokesperson repeatedly. And they are. In 2013 Turds, born into incredible privilege, said: “I am afraid that a violent economic centrifuge is operating on human beings who are already very far from equal in raw ability, if not spiritual worth… for one reason or another – boardroom greed or, as I am assured, the natural and God-given talent of boardroom inhabitants – the income gap between the top cornflakes and the bottom cornflakes is getting wider than ever.”
This was a not especially coded message, a Eugenics for Dummies, to Turds’s privileged audience, at the opaquely funded Centre for Policy Studies thinktank at 57 Tufton Street, that their privilege was a result of their “natural and God-given talent”, innate “raw ability” and superiority to the poor, rather than of fortuitous accidents of birth. How comforting for everyone involved. Bastards. Bastards. Bastards.
I didn’t grow up in a house full of books. I fumbled my way via a charity bung and a scholarship into the educational privilege I now benefit from at others’ expense. Old Marvel comics were the holy scrolls that made me. “With great power comes great responsibility”: it is because of Spider-Man’s unequivocal moral system that I won’t perform my multiple-award-winning standup shows in venues that work with the immoral secondary ticketing agencies Sajid Javid described as “classic entrepreneurs”. It is because of Howard the Duck’s studied cynicism that I have a healthy disdain for the absurdity of the world I never made, and it is because of Ant-Man that I have made slaves of dozens of ants, with which I will fight our own enslavement by the far right. My ants shall not sleep in my hand till we have built Jerusalem, in England’s green and pleasant land.
The radical socialist principles of Christ are still almost visible through the curtain-twitching windowpane of the modern Church of England; at the start of this month, Dave Hill sacked Don Powell from Slade, leaving Hill the sole original member, but the group carries with it the spirit of Noddy Holder in a tartan romper suit with Christmas faggot juice all round his mouth; and likewise the original values of those psychedelic 60s and progressive 70s Marvel comics, flowing from the mushy pens of working-class, liberal Jewish autodidacts and acid-casualty, space-travelling college dropouts respectively, still haunt the dimmer recesses of their cinematic blockbuster manifestations, like the starving ghosts of early Christian saints in Pope Benedict’s Prada slipper chamber.
Marvel’s chairman is now the Trump-donor Ike Perlmutter, who reportedly said it didn’t matter which black actor played Iron Man’s pal James Rhodes as all black people “look the same”, but its original four-colour countercultural pointillist visions continue to liquefy into damning prophesies of the populist age. In the 2011 Marvel comic Fear Itself, The Hate-Monger returns to a world where many of the cartoon Nazi values his former purple-robed form embodied half a century ago have now nudged into mainstream politics. But the modern Marvel Hate-Monger isn’t a clone of Hitler who uses a Hate-Ray to transmit hate to Earth from the moon. He’s an everyday guy who thinks his opportunities are being taken by immigrants and he spreads his hate with internet forums and conspiracy theory websites. He’s just the kind of weirdo misfit Dominic Cumming is looking for. He may need to lose the purple Ku Klux Klan robe, however. We’re not quite ready for that. Yet. I give it a matter of months. There are some very fine people on both sides.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-23T16:31:05+00:00
The Hate-Monger is a minor Marvel comics villain, first documented by Jack Kirby and Stan Lee in December 1963, who is a clone of Hitler and wears a purple Ku Klux Klan robe. In Fantastic Four issue 21, The Hate-Monger bounces his Hate-Ray off the moon, amplifying people’s feelings of dread, fear and anxiety, inflaming their prejudices and turning humanity against itself. And yet somehow, last week, The Hate-Monger himself was given a job at the very heart of Dominic Cumming’s government. And this despite his saying the “underclass” should undergo enforced contraception, women’s sport is like the paralympics, wives should provide sex on demand and black people were more stupid than white people. And all while bouncing a Hate-Ray off the moon and wearing a purple Ku Klux Klan robe. And being a clone of Hitler. “We should prevent racists coming into No 10 or wherever The Hate-Monger was working,” said Kwasi Alfred Addo Kwarteng, MP for Spelthorne, former undersecretary of state for the Department for Exiting the European Union and current minister of state for business, energy and clean growth, “and I think that we do need to look at these processes.” What will it take for black Conservatives to disavow the Cumming government they facilitate? Didn’t the fact that The Hate-Monger was wearing a purple Ku Klux Klan robe while bouncing a Hate-Ray off the moon and being a clone of Hitler set off some alarm bells? Views such as The Hate-Monger’s define Cumming’s government. The assertion last November, by the resentful foundling and reformed coke-face Michael Gove, that Stormzy should stick to rapping and stay out of politics, assumes black folk are made for singing, dancing and running, while white people are better suited to white people’s activities – such as Latin, crown green bowls and...
DECRYING the "slow death of the Fringe" days before performing at one of the Festival's most renowned venues may sound a tad counter-intuitive - but this is Stewart Lee: sultan of satire, comedy idealist and an icon for those of an anti-populist bent.
And at £15 a ticket Lee's Carpet Remnant World at the revamped Assembly Rooms on George Street is arguably the bargain of the Fringe.
For your money you enjoy 75 minutes of thought-provoking satirical comedy ?bereft of cheap gags and predictable set-ups that touch on well-trodden themes like Islamophobia, high street homogenisation and the awkward existence of an ageing stand-up but with an irony and wisdom that can leave the uninitiated waiting for a punchline that just never comes.
Lee's greatest talent is camoflaguing brilliant - yet often surreal - observations in a throwaway line or a subtle call-back from earlier in the set.
With 25 Fringe appearances under his belt, he is a veteran and well qualifed to comment on its evolution but he is no relic. His style is up-to-the-minute fresh and despite his niche appeal, easily commands the larger venue in which he now finds himself.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-14T14:52:50+01:00
DECRYING the "slow death of the Fringe" days before performing at one of the Festival's most renowned venues may sound a tad counter-intuitive - but this is Stewart Lee: sultan of satire, comedy idealist and an icon for those of an anti-populist bent. And at £15 a ticket Lee's Carpet Remnant World at the revamped Assembly Rooms on George Street is arguably the bargain of the Fringe. For your money you enjoy 75 minutes of thought-provoking satirical comedy ?bereft of cheap gags and predictable set-ups that touch on well-trodden themes like Islamophobia, high street homogenisation and the awkward existence of an ageing stand-up but with an irony and wisdom that can leave the uninitiated waiting for a punchline that just never comes. Lee's greatest talent is camoflaguing brilliant - yet often surreal - observations in a throwaway line or a subtle call-back from earlier in the set. With 25 Fringe appearances under his belt, he is a veteran and well qualifed to comment on its evolution but he is no relic. His style is up-to-the-minute fresh and despite his niche appeal, easily commands the larger venue in which he now finds himself.
I wrote the introduction to a book on Lee Hazelwood by Wyndham Wallace
"Lee, Myself & I is an intimate portrait of the last years of Lee Hazlewood, the legendary singer and songwriter best known for ‘These Boots Are Made For Walkin’’, the chart-topping hit he wrote and produced for Nancy Sinatra. It begins in 1999, when Hazlewood began his comeback after many years in the wilderness, and ends with his death in 2007. In the intervening years, the author, Wyndham Wallace, became Hazlewood’s friend, confidante, de-facto manager, and more, even providing the lyrics for Lee’s final recording, ‘Hilli (At The Top Of The World)’.
In the light of reissues of Hazlewood’s work by the esteemed Light In The Attic label—including There’s A Dream I’ve Been Saving: Lee Hazlewood Industries 1966–1971, an acclaimed boxed set of his work with the label he founded, LHI, as well as further releases including liner notes by Wallace—interest in Hazlewood has never been greater. Lee, Myself & I is the first book to address his life and work."
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T21:27:53+00:00
I wrote the introduction to a book on Lee Hazelwood by Wyndham Wallace "Lee, Myself & I is an intimate portrait of the last years of Lee Hazlewood, the legendary singer and songwriter best known for ‘These Boots Are Made For Walkin’’, the chart-topping hit he wrote and produced for Nancy Sinatra. It begins in 1999, when Hazlewood began his comeback after many years in the wilderness, and ends with his death in 2007. In the intervening years, the author, Wyndham Wallace, became Hazlewood’s friend, confidante, de-facto manager, and more, even providing the lyrics for Lee’s final recording, ‘Hilli (At The Top Of The World)’. In the light of reissues of Hazlewood’s work by the esteemed Light In The Attic label—including There’s A Dream I’ve Been Saving: Lee Hazlewood Industries 1966–1971, an acclaimed boxed set of his work with the label he founded, LHI, as well as further releases including liner notes by Wallace—interest in Hazlewood has never been greater. Lee, Myself & I is the first book to address his life and work."
Stew wrote the sleevenotes for this latest release from Wolfhounds.
The Wolfhounds are back and better than ever with their new 'Electric Music' LP – probably their greatest album yet. The band has become truly (hyper-)active again, performing at several popfests (including Berlin and New York) and stand-up comedian Stewart Lee’s All Tomorrow’s Parties, as well as regular club dates in the UK and Europe. Stewart Lee also wrote the extensive sleevenotes for the record.
The band continue to be more relevant and adventurous than ever and, despite their indie roots, have more in common with the likes of Richard Dawson and Sleaford Mods than their old jangly peers. Electric Music grabs their home country’s woes by the horns and gives them the kicking they deserve!
Stewart Lee
2020-08-10T19:40:30+01:00
Stew wrote the sleevenotes for this latest release from Wolfhounds. The Wolfhounds are back and better than ever with their new 'Electric Music' LP – probably their greatest album yet. The band has become truly (hyper-)active again, performing at several popfests (including Berlin and New York) and stand-up comedian Stewart Lee’s All Tomorrow’s Parties, as well as regular club dates in the UK and Europe. Stewart Lee also wrote the extensive sleevenotes for the record. The band continue to be more relevant and adventurous than ever and, despite their indie roots, have more in common with the likes of Richard Dawson and Sleaford Mods than their old jangly peers. Electric Music grabs their home country’s woes by the horns and gives them the kicking they deserve!
On the first of these two discs, Chernobyl, Peter Cusack presents unadorned field recordings from in and around the exclusion zone that still surrounds the failed Russian reactor. His radiometer whirrs in a deserted village. An abandoned Ferris wheel clanks mournfully. Flourishing wildlife twitters as power cables buzz. Transplanted peasants sing laments for land they left. A second disc documents other environmentally significant sites. A Geiger counter bleeps in Snowdonia, where sheep are still scanned for fallout decades after Chernobyl blew, the results concealed by Official Secrets protocols. An eighty page booklet illuminates Cusack's processes.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-12T11:22:31+01:00
On the first of these two discs, Chernobyl, Peter Cusack presents unadorned field recordings from in and around the exclusion zone that still surrounds the failed Russian reactor. His radiometer whirrs in a deserted village. An abandoned Ferris wheel clanks mournfully. Flourishing wildlife twitters as power cables buzz. Transplanted peasants sing laments for land they left. A second disc documents other environmentally significant sites. A Geiger counter bleeps in Snowdonia, where sheep are still scanned for fallout decades after Chernobyl blew, the results concealed by Official Secrets protocols. An eighty page booklet illuminates Cusack's processes.
You should pretty much know what to expect when you buy a ticket to see Stewart Lee. If you don’t you have most definitely gone to the wrong gig. In the final year of his forties, Lee is not one to suffer fools gladly – not that he ever has. And as ever – we, his loyal fee-paying audience, are the butt of his jokes. There are very few comedians who can make a whole room laugh so much at their own inadequacies.
Stewart Lee is still bitter from his BAFTA-winning BBC 2 show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle not being recommissioned after its fourth series and he has no qualms in sharing. His stage persona is not just of arrogance but we would be mistaken in thinking he believes himself a demi-God of stand-up comedy. Boasting four and five-star reviews of his tour so far, he firmly asserts that if we don’t find him funny the problem will not be on his side of the stage.
Lee has often been described as a surreal satirist throughout his career and there is no avoiding the political landscape in Content Provider – no matter how much he states he didn’t want to write a show about Brexit or the rise of Trump. For years Lee has had the pleasure of referring to his leftist audience as the bourgeoisie and tonight we are lambasted many times for being a “metropolitan liberal elite”. He knows his audiences’ Achilles heel and he isn’t afraid to give it repeated swift kicks. When writing about Lee’s stagecraft it is impossible not to refer to his self-referential cleverness as he deconstructs everything about what he is and what he does: his role as a stand-up comedian and the actual jokes themselves. He loves to play with his audience and keep them guessing what is actually scripted and what he can improvise in the moment after thirty years of being one of Britain’s most respected comedians.
The first half of Lee’s show is a superb, polished hour of comedy. He doesn’t hold any prisoners and delivers everything we love about him with such delicious viciousness. His set, cruelly, is constructed of mounds of other comedian’s DVDs he claims to have bought from the internet for one pence or the odd fifty pence in a charity shop. The cheapest you can buy a second-hand copy of one of his DVDs, he gleefully informs us, is for about £3.60. And at one point takes delight in trampling on and kicking over piles of the worthless artifacts he describes as the cheapest building blocks available. The second half, however, lacks the drive and bite he so successfully establishes. With a similar running time to the first half, the attention in the room begins to wane a little as his topic strays to the imagined sex life of the increasingly elderly population. Without his trademark self-aggrandising, he occasionally slips into the realm of the stand-up comedians he tells us he so vehemently despises.
Despite seeing him several times over the years Stewart Lee never fails to impress. With such carefully constructed turns of phrase, it is no surprise that at one point of the show he even quotes himself from an interview in a broadsheet newspaper. After years of shunning television panel shows, it seems that TV has finally shunned Lee despite the critical acclaim he received. He has always been a live stand-up, first and foremost, and now entering his fifties one hopes he doesn’t want to slow down anytime soon.
Stewart Lee
2017-05-22T15:50:20+01:00
You should pretty much know what to expect when you buy a ticket to see Stewart Lee. If you don’t you have most definitely gone to the wrong gig. In the final year of his forties, Lee is not one to suffer fools gladly – not that he ever has. And as ever – we, his loyal fee-paying audience, are the butt of his jokes. There are very few comedians who can make a whole room laugh so much at their own inadequacies. Stewart Lee is still bitter from his BAFTA-winning BBC 2 show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle not being recommissioned after its fourth series and he has no qualms in sharing. His stage persona is not just of arrogance but we would be mistaken in thinking he believes himself a demi-God of stand-up comedy. Boasting four and five-star reviews of his tour so far, he firmly asserts that if we don’t find him funny the problem will not be on his side of the stage. Lee has often been described as a surreal satirist throughout his career and there is no avoiding the political landscape in Content Provider – no matter how much he states he didn’t want to write a show about Brexit or the rise of Trump. For years Lee has had the pleasure of referring to his leftist audience as the bourgeoisie and tonight we are lambasted many times for being a “metropolitan liberal elite”. He knows his audiences’ Achilles heel and he isn’t afraid to give it repeated swift kicks. When writing about Lee’s stagecraft it is impossible not to refer to his self-referential cleverness as he deconstructs everything about what he is and what he does: his role as a stand-up comedian and the actual jokes themselves. He loves to play with his audience...
Just Announced: Sleaford Mods Sleaford Mods are playing the Hammersmith Apollo, London on Friday 15th November 2019. I am bottom of the bill supporting them on a line up that also includes Viagra Boys and Horse Meat Disco (DJ Set). You can get tickets here.
Now in his sixties, Loren Connors has essayed, quietly and determinedly, an increasingly abstract solo electric guitar sound since the seventies, his prolific output of over sixty albums slowed by parkinson's disease in the 90s.
Though Connors' recordings reside in the Blues Archive of the University of Mississippi, purists might be pressed to recognise the from in Red Mars, five superficially shapeless improvisations, characterised by light years of vast silences between lonely plucked notes, cosmic clouds of rushing hiss, and tiny shards of indeterminate sounds, receding into the black wastes.
Connors apprehends the void. It's kind of beautiful, and kind of terrifying.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-06T02:00:15+00:00
Now in his sixties, Loren Connors has essayed, quietly and determinedly, an increasingly abstract solo electric guitar sound since the seventies, his prolific output of over sixty albums slowed by parkinson's disease in the 90s. Though Connors' recordings reside in the Blues Archive of the University of Mississippi, purists might be pressed to recognise the from in Red Mars, five superficially shapeless improvisations, characterised by light years of vast silences between lonely plucked notes, cosmic clouds of rushing hiss, and tiny shards of indeterminate sounds, receding into the black wastes. Connors apprehends the void. It's kind of beautiful, and kind of terrifying.
Following the success of last year's Johnson & Boswell, smarty-pants comedians Simon Munnery, Miles Jupp and writer Stewart Lee regrouped for this year's Elizabeth & Raleigh, bringing Munnery's alarming-looking Elizabeth I into conflict with Jupp's besotted Walter Raleigh.
Was a follow-up to Johnson & Boswell something you wanted to do from the start?
We all wanted to do it, so we suggested some characters to Stewart and he went down this route. I suggested the Beverley Sisters - it would be tricky to stage, what with there being three of them and just two of us, but that would sort of be the joke.
Were you worried it might come across a little too like the second series of Blackadder?
I don't know, probably. Stewart went back to original sources, the poetry and letters of Raleigh and Elizabeth, and then he ignored them. He just completely wrote his own stuff, added some of my jokes from an act I used to do and mangled it into a piece.
Beneath all the gags, is it fair to say the script is trying to say something quite profound about the nature of power?
Yes, we've been arguing about that. On tour, it'll be longer than the version we did at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer. There'll be an interval and some extra scenes. It will change, there's a bit more drama and poetry to it.
There's a lot of make-up involved. How is the whole dragging up thing for you?
I tell you, I scrape it off fast as I can at the end. I don't mind putting it on, but the worst bit is the next day when I pull out bits of white stringy stuff from my tear ducts.
Would you be offended if I said you made a pretty terrifying woman?
Thank you very much. But I make a very pleasant man.
Following the success of last year's Johnson & Boswell, smarty-pants comedians Simon Munnery, Miles Jupp and writer Stewart Lee regrouped for this year's Elizabeth & Raleigh, bringing Munnery's alarming-looking Elizabeth I into conflict with Jupp's besotted Walter Raleigh. Was a follow-up to Johnson & Boswell something you wanted to do from the start? We all wanted to do it, so we suggested some characters to Stewart and he went down this route. I suggested the Beverley Sisters - it would be tricky to stage, what with there being three of them and just two of us, but that would sort of be the joke. Were you worried it might come across a little too like the second series of Blackadder? I don't know, probably. Stewart went back to original sources, the poetry and letters of Raleigh and Elizabeth, and then he ignored them. He just completely wrote his own stuff, added some of my jokes from an act I used to do and mangled it into a piece. Beneath all the gags, is it fair to say the script is trying to say something quite profound about the nature of power? Yes, we've been arguing about that. On tour, it'll be longer than the version we did at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer. There'll be an interval and some extra scenes. It will change, there's a bit more drama and poetry to it. There's a lot of make-up involved. How is the whole dragging up thing for you? I tell you, I scrape it off fast as I can at the end. I don't mind putting it on, but the worst bit is the next day when I pull out bits of white stringy stuff from my tear ducts. Would you be offended if I said you made a pretty...
Who says opera can't comment on contemporary issues, this proving its worth in an all-too sceptical modern society? You only have to look at the amazing success of Battersea Arts Centre's Jerry Springer The Opera since its first workshop performances in August and September 2001. For those lucky enough to catch it there could be only one conclusion: this is the funniest night at the opera, ever!
Written by Stewart Lee (of TV's Lee & Herring fame) and composed by the indefatigable Richard Thomas, Jerry Springer The Opera is back for just two-and-a-half weeks, and is promised to be wilder than ever before.
The premise is simple: the opera audience finds itself part of the Jerry Springer TV show experience, with the chorus (ideally, but not necessarily) spread out in the real audience, chanting the expected "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" and ever-lewder comments while guests come on to the show to tell their loved ones - in song - their personal secrets. Arias, recitatives, duets and choruses there are (should you wish to call them that), otherwise you are swept away with the sheer audacity of the libretto.
Yes, there is a transvestite ("chick with a dick"), a guy whose fantasy is to wear diapers while having sex (and more) and many more of life's most weird and wonderful characters (normal opera plots seem quite restrained compared to Jerry Springer!). But there are also moments of utmost poignancy, where simple wishes for a good life, or the desire to lose oneself in dancing, are brought into clear focus. What better indication could there be of the unique power of opera?
Having said that (if it isn't already obvious), this is not a show for the faint-hearted; the swearword quotient is high (indeed whole choruses are made up of just such words), and there are those that may find the content unpalatable. Then again, Verdi and Mozart et al often faced the censors for the audacious political plotting, so we kid ourselves that opera has always been a genteel art.
Anyone interested in how opera can conquer in the 21st century should not miss this production!
Stewart Lee
2002-01-07T16:30:55+00:00
Who says opera can't comment on contemporary issues, this proving its worth in an all-too sceptical modern society? You only have to look at the amazing success of Battersea Arts Centre's Jerry Springer The Opera since its first workshop performances in August and September 2001. For those lucky enough to catch it there could be only one conclusion: this is the funniest night at the opera, ever! Written by Stewart Lee (of TV's Lee & Herring fame) and composed by the indefatigable Richard Thomas, Jerry Springer The Opera is back for just two-and-a-half weeks, and is promised to be wilder than ever before. The premise is simple: the opera audience finds itself part of the Jerry Springer TV show experience, with the chorus (ideally, but not necessarily) spread out in the real audience, chanting the expected "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" and ever-lewder comments while guests come on to the show to tell their loved ones - in song - their personal secrets. Arias, recitatives, duets and choruses there are (should you wish to call them that), otherwise you are swept away with the sheer audacity of the libretto. Yes, there is a transvestite ("chick with a dick"), a guy whose fantasy is to wear diapers while having sex (and more) and many more of life's most weird and wonderful characters (normal opera plots seem quite restrained compared to Jerry Springer!). But there are also moments of utmost poignancy, where simple wishes for a good life, or the desire to lose oneself in dancing, are brought into clear focus. What better indication could there be of the unique power of opera? Having said that (if it isn't already obvious), this is not a show for the faint-hearted; the swearword quotient is high (indeed whole choruses are made up of just such words),...
Comedy as art? It may seem like a strange idea but the guys at Avalon have been working on this concept for a while now and the end product is one of the most bizarre comedy shows in town. The brainchild of Simon Munnery, Cluub Zarathustra takes its inspiration from a vast number of sources. The Fluxus Movement, Dadaist art, Expressionism, Goethe, Film Noir and puerile playground humour are the starting points for this mixture of sketches, poetry, slide shows and surrealist gags.
Munnery acts as host in an array of illuminated and floral jackets, challenging the definition of humour and usually succeeding. Roger Mann regales us with spooky ghost stories and a demonstration on how to snog various members of the animal kingdom illustrated with photos.
Underused Stewart Lee is superb as M. Qui N'arrivez Pas and Kevin Eldon, is as ever, the best thing on stage.
The concept occasionally collapses under its own weight and there are some sections of the audience who never get the gag. Is comedy as art worth the effort?
Most of the time. (Seen in preview)
Stewart Lee
1995-08-17T19:10:57+01:00
Comedy as art? It may seem like a strange idea but the guys at Avalon have been working on this concept for a while now and the end product is one of the most bizarre comedy shows in town. The brainchild of Simon Munnery, Cluub Zarathustra takes its inspiration from a vast number of sources. The Fluxus Movement, Dadaist art, Expressionism, Goethe, Film Noir and puerile playground humour are the starting points for this mixture of sketches, poetry, slide shows and surrealist gags. Munnery acts as host in an array of illuminated and floral jackets, challenging the definition of humour and usually succeeding. Roger Mann regales us with spooky ghost stories and a demonstration on how to snog various members of the animal kingdom illustrated with photos. Underused Stewart Lee is superb as M. Qui N'arrivez Pas and Kevin Eldon, is as ever, the best thing on stage. The concept occasionally collapses under its own weight and there are some sections of the audience who never get the gag. Is comedy as art worth the effort? Most of the time. (Seen in preview)
On Monday, the content provider Boris Johnson positioned a typically triumphant column in the Telegraph. Having had a hail of multicoloured children’s swimming pool balls flung at him by suddenly energised disabled people in Manchester, the mischievous reaver explained to Telegraph readers that people throwing eggs and calling the Conservatives scum are the same as people who victimise Jews, Gypsies and homosexuals.
Then the one-time window-smasher declared that Tory haters merely transfer their own unhappiness on to the undeserving and innocent scapegoats of the Conservatives, before taking a sideswipe at Theresa May’s pre-Bake Off immigrant bashing. The Bullingdon golem, his masters’ enemies suitably roughed up, has swallowed his sub-lingual tablet and runs rampant in the Prague ghetto of the Tory press, bumping into potential leadership candidates and trampling their best-laid plans under his hooves like Japanese children.
But the mayor of London’s comparing of egg-smeared Conservatives to the systematically eradicated victims of mass pogroms is so blinkered, insensitive and distasteful that it demonstrates perfectly why Johnson himself is scum; and why the calculatedly crumpled operator should be chained to a rock and have hot eggs pounded into his pie face for all eternity, waking each new morning to find yet more egg leaking endlessly into his eyes, discharging directly from the smelly anuses of perpetually hovering hen harriers, like some slapstick Prometheus of low-rent legend.
The press would have us believe Labour is swallowing its tail, a socialist serpent, coiled in U-turns; and Tom Watson totters unsteadily, like a pile of CD singles by forgotten pre-Britpop bands – Mint 400, Bivouac, the Voodoo Queens – stacked precariously in a cluttered polytechnic entertainments officer’s workspace, somewhere in the north-east, circa 1991.
In the light of this disarray, Johnson’s can’t-be-arsed column is typical of the confidence engulfing the unshackled Tories rampant. And who can blame them? They seem free to operate beyond the law, beyond truth, beyond accountability, beyond good and evil. When I record my multiple Bafta and British comedy award-winning standup routines for television or DVD, lawyers check the content. They are taking notes in my current run of theatre shows this week, where I prepare material for my next TV series, and I am enjoying the last few days of playing with phrases I know will not pass the BBC’s stringent legal checks.
It is unlikely, for example, that I will be able to say the man Labour MP Emily Thornberry saw flying an England flag from his Rochester home was “obviously racist” because he “looked really racist”, even though contained within the bit is an implicit critique of my own liberal prejudices about the appearance of a Kentish van driver. The irony-aware theatre audience understand this, but the problem with the BBC is that pretty much anyone is allowed to watch it, though the culture secretary is sure to sort this out soon.
But practical restrictions can become creative opportunities in themselves. In 2008, I wrote a parody of the then Celebrity Big Brother host Russell Brand dealing with racism on the show: “Ooh there’s some bad racism and stuff like that going down today and no mistake, my liege. It’s made my winkle go right small, it has. Oh yes it has, yeah, and my ballbag, my ballbag has gone up my bum. Here’s H from Steps.”
Lawyers for the DVD release of the live show it appeared in said it was so close to Brand’s actual speech that I might be accused not of satirising him, but of misrepresenting him. Rather than cut the bit, I inserted an improvised interview where Johnny Vegas took me to task for feeling I had the God-given right to misquote people for comic effect. In an endless feedback loop this clip now appears, shorn of its parent show, on YouTube, where members of the public mistakenly perceive it as an unofficial exposé of my own insufferable arrogance.
Other legal issues have been more easily circumvented and I’ve often been able to hang on to the basic thrust of contentious routines by the substitution of a single word, such as “infer” instead of “read” (in a bit about perceived criticisms of me in a panel show comedian’s autobiography), or by changing “the Conservative party” to “some people in the Conservative party” (in a piece about their use of the slogan “If you want a nigger for a neighbour, vote Labour” in Smethwick in the 1964 general election).
Hilariously, in 2009 I was required to cut a routine imagining al-Qaida training dogs to fly planes, out of respect for Islamic sensitivities regarding dogs, only a few months before it was revealed that the same terrorist group had been experimenting with explosive-packed canine suicide bombers, irrespective of cultural taboos. You couldn’t make it up! It’s political correctness gone mad!!
Essentially, while I am allowed to exaggerate for comic effect (if it is considered by the lawyers that the exaggeration is obvious and clearly authored by an unreliable and biased character, ie me), I am not allowed actively to lie. And it struck me as strange, as I watched the eggs rain down on Conservatives this month, that my standup comedian’s lowly standup comedy routines are held accountable to higher legal standards of truth and decency than, for example, a prime minister’s conference speech.
Cameron’s repeated smearing of Corbyn in Manchester, for supposedly saying 9/11 was not a tragedy, when he obviously did the complete opposite, is the case in point. Paradoxically, while the BBC can broadcast Cameron’s lying speech in full, without any critical analysis or disclaimers, if I had written the same comments in a standup comedy routine the lawyers would tell me it could not be transmitted.
The Tories seem free to operate beyond the law, beyond truth, beyond accountability, beyond good and evil
I suppose somebody in Conservative central did the maths and decided that the long-term benefits of associating Corbyn with a dishonestly decontextualised phrase about 9/11 outweighed the risk of Cameron himself being perceived as a fundamentally deceitful and manipulative liar; and that a sympathetically biased, or cowed and fatally compromised, media were unlikely to hold the prime minister to account for his lies.
To be charitable, perhaps Cameron genuinely thinks that, for the long-term good of the UK, Corbyn must be discredited at any cost, and that truth, ethics, decency are justifiable collateral damage. This is the kindest thing you can say about the unprecedented depths of dishonesty the prime minister sank to in his conference speech. And then Boris Johnson wonders why people threw plastic balls at him. If I’d been there I hope I would have had the courage, fortitude and moral backbone to have thrown my own [word deleted under legal advice].
Stewart Lee’s A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 until 8 Jan.
Stewart Lee
2015-10-18T23:24:36+01:00
On Monday, the content provider Boris Johnson positioned a typically triumphant column in the Telegraph. Having had a hail of multicoloured children’s swimming pool balls flung at him by suddenly energised disabled people in Manchester, the mischievous reaver explained to Telegraph readers that people throwing eggs and calling the Conservatives scum are the same as people who victimise Jews, Gypsies and homosexuals. Then the one-time window-smasher declared that Tory haters merely transfer their own unhappiness on to the undeserving and innocent scapegoats of the Conservatives, before taking a sideswipe at Theresa May’s pre-Bake Off immigrant bashing. The Bullingdon golem, his masters’ enemies suitably roughed up, has swallowed his sub-lingual tablet and runs rampant in the Prague ghetto of the Tory press, bumping into potential leadership candidates and trampling their best-laid plans under his hooves like Japanese children. But the mayor of London’s comparing of egg-smeared Conservatives to the systematically eradicated victims of mass pogroms is so blinkered, insensitive and distasteful that it demonstrates perfectly why Johnson himself is scum; and why the calculatedly crumpled operator should be chained to a rock and have hot eggs pounded into his pie face for all eternity, waking each new morning to find yet more egg leaking endlessly into his eyes, discharging directly from the smelly anuses of perpetually hovering hen harriers, like some slapstick Prometheus of low-rent legend. The press would have us believe Labour is swallowing its tail, a socialist serpent, coiled in U-turns; and Tom Watson totters unsteadily, like a pile of CD singles by forgotten pre-Britpop bands – Mint 400, Bivouac, the Voodoo Queens – stacked precariously in a cluttered polytechnic entertainments officer’s workspace, somewhere in the north-east, circa 1991. In the light of this disarray, Johnson’s can’t-be-arsed column is typical of the confidence engulfing the unshackled Tories rampant. And...
Hikari To Nazukeyo appears to be the one hundred and first album the durable Japanese contrarian Keiji Haino has released since 1970.
Though a classic blues rock trio in shape and sonic palette, like Cream or the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Haino's Fushitsusha group genuflect toward no-tunes European late Sixties free improvisation.
Their 9th album finds four uncharacteristically short tracks, with an almost jazz funk feel underlying their unpredictably impulsive surface noise, subside into three super-dense noise freakouts, the band beginning their journeys to overdriven oblivion at the point where lightweights like Hawkwind, Sonic Youth and White Hills are just winding down.
Stewart Lee
2012-07-07T19:45:17+01:00
Hikari To Nazukeyo appears to be the one hundred and first album the durable Japanese contrarian Keiji Haino has released since 1970. Though a classic blues rock trio in shape and sonic palette, like Cream or the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Haino's Fushitsusha group genuflect toward no-tunes European late Sixties free improvisation. Their 9th album finds four uncharacteristically short tracks, with an almost jazz funk feel underlying their unpredictably impulsive surface noise, subside into three super-dense noise freakouts, the band beginning their journeys to overdriven oblivion at the point where lightweights like Hawkwind, Sonic Youth and White Hills are just winding down.
Recording a duet with Derek Bailey in 2005, the pianist Augusti Fernandez was drawn into stark stillness by the British guitarist's meditative mood. The American improviser Joe Morris displays a more obviously kinetic approach.
His fingers tumble around the frets of a bubbling acoustic guitar, the strings skewered and scratched, provoking liquid right hand cascades and left hand bee sting stabs from his collaborator.
Morris forces ongoing flurries of possibilities, and leaves implicit trajectories resolutely unresolved, even as the young Spaniard provokes him from beneath the lid with scraped piano wire, and hangs vast fluttering sheets of notes out to dry.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-14T20:49:43+01:00
Recording a duet with Derek Bailey in 2005, the pianist Augusti Fernandez was drawn into stark stillness by the British guitarist's meditative mood. The American improviser Joe Morris displays a more obviously kinetic approach. His fingers tumble around the frets of a bubbling acoustic guitar, the strings skewered and scratched, provoking liquid right hand cascades and left hand bee sting stabs from his collaborator. Morris forces ongoing flurries of possibilities, and leaves implicit trajectories resolutely unresolved, even as the young Spaniard provokes him from beneath the lid with scraped piano wire, and hangs vast fluttering sheets of notes out to dry.
My irregular “David Mitchell is on holiday” columns on page seven of the Observer New Review frequently generate massive web traffic, with thousands of below-the-line reader comments, though, admittedly, most of them call for me to be sexually punished.
But these opportunistic weekly election diaries have provoked minimal comment-is-free contributions from the Observer’s hopefully future-proof online consumers. They are about as popular as one of those throwaway weekly columns, written by an ornithologist or a potter, about how they like to spend their Sundays.
“7pm. A final check on the clay, and then up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Tomorrow is side-plate day.”
Far be it from me to compare myself to the prime minister, but when I took on this election-column job, I arrogantly believed it was simply something “I might be rather good at”. This was Cameron’s famous answer, given when asked why he wanted to be prime minister.
Running the country, of course, ought not to be merely a self-improving challenge for jaded Bullingdon plutocrats, like learning the French horn from scratch in a week, unicycling, or becoming a pierrot. “Being prime minister. For the man who has everything.” But I am not fit to criticise Cameron.
Like Cameron choosing to be PM, I took on this election columnist job even though I didn’t necessarily have anything to say to anyone, or believe in anything much, or care. It is not a long contract, just six weeks, and I imagined I, too, might be able to serve out my time in office before anyone noticed my shortcomings, and my failure to harbour any cohesive hermetic vision. And perhaps I, too, would get to meet Mumford & Sons.
Like a lot of people in politics proper, I entered the political columnist game largely with an eye on what was in it for me. David Cameron will doubtless depart from his political career next month with the bare minimum of a few lucrative company directorships and a kiss-and-tell book deal, so long as that police horse, Raisa and the lamb he cuddled at Easter can be persuaded to ditch their own competing publications, both currently being ghostwritten from audiotapes by the Financial Times’s Ben Thompson.
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In contrast, I’m four weeks into this job and my election columns haven’t provided any of the expected financial fringe benefits. As the only British standup comedian with a weekly election-based humour column in a national newspaper, I was at least expecting to be asked on to C4’s Alternative Election Night, hosted by David Mitchell and Jeremy Paxman, but all the slots have gone to familiar panel-show faces and my former support acts. Perhaps I will be asked on if Mitchell goes on holiday at the last minute.
Out of my depth, and committed to a professional political engagement I no longer believe in, I suddenly have every sympathy for David Cameron. Just as I underestimated the sheer hard work involved in writing funny election columns, Cameron clearly thought being prime minister would be a lark, a breeze, and a wizard wheeze, something to chalk up on his business-class bucket list, along with getting a selfie with Helle Thorning-Schmidt and sucking the bass player from Blur’s luxury cheese direct from the goat’s teat.
But it wasn’t all kissing lambs and dressing up as The Stig for Jeremy Clarkson’s birthday, and riding purloined police horses through the Chilterns, flaxen hair-a-billow. There were floods and beheadings and genuine horrors, and even as Cameron was almost out of the door of No 10 and home and dry back to Chipping Norton, inconvenient bodies, that he is expected have a genuine-sounding opinion about, wash up pointedly on beaches.
I’ve found these weekly election diaries a struggle, to be honest. I think the problem is that, in 2011, I decided the best way to write the supposedly humorous newspaper columns increasingly requested from me was to detach myself from the process, to treat it not as an opportunity for impassioned thought, but as a professional problem to be solved. It was best to write the columns in character, as the version of myself who was the sort of person who would have been asked to write for a liberal broadsheet, with all that entails.
This is why, as another defeated middle-aged man who no longer believes in anything, obliged to feign conviction for financial gain, I understand David Cameron. He, like me, has been in a succession of supposedly appropriate disguises all along. He entered No 10 wearing the straw boater of jaunty comical arrogance; he recently tried the itchy woollen hat of humble public servitude; and now he wanders between micro-managed photo-opportunities – a milk-guzzling lamb, a paint-smeared child – without any hat at all, bareheaded in the storms. Because David Cameron’s hat cupboard is empty. I click my fingers within it and recognise its resounding echo.
Stewart Lee
2015-04-26T09:34:13+01:00
My irregular “David Mitchell is on holiday” columns on page seven of the Observer New Review frequently generate massive web traffic, with thousands of below-the-line reader comments, though, admittedly, most of them call for me to be sexually punished. But these opportunistic weekly election diaries have provoked minimal comment-is-free contributions from the Observer’s hopefully future-proof online consumers. They are about as popular as one of those throwaway weekly columns, written by an ornithologist or a potter, about how they like to spend their Sundays. “7pm. A final check on the clay, and then up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Tomorrow is side-plate day.” Far be it from me to compare myself to the prime minister, but when I took on this election-column job, I arrogantly believed it was simply something “I might be rather good at”. This was Cameron’s famous answer, given when asked why he wanted to be prime minister. Running the country, of course, ought not to be merely a self-improving challenge for jaded Bullingdon plutocrats, like learning the French horn from scratch in a week, unicycling, or becoming a pierrot. “Being prime minister. For the man who has everything.” But I am not fit to criticise Cameron. Like Cameron choosing to be PM, I took on this election columnist job even though I didn’t necessarily have anything to say to anyone, or believe in anything much, or care. It is not a long contract, just six weeks, and I imagined I, too, might be able to serve out my time in office before anyone noticed my shortcomings, and my failure to harbour any cohesive hermetic vision. And perhaps I, too, would get to meet Mumford & Sons. Like a lot of people in politics proper, I entered the political columnist game largely with an eye on what...
I wrote the intro to Andy Hamilton’s hefty new study of the musician Steve Beresford, Pianos, Toys, Music & Noise.
Maybe ask your local library to stock it or your dad to buy it! Here’s the info.
Steve is a major player in the second wave of British Free Improvisation, a lynchpin of the current scene, and a punk era collaborator with The Flying Lizards, Prince Far-I and The Slits.
He, I and Tania Chen toured Britain over the last decade performing John Cage’s Indeterminacy, and Steve appears playing toys and objects with me and Tania in King Rocker.
Comedy fans will know him as ‘man playing organ’ in a The Day Today sketch about executions, and as the director of music on Vic Reeves’ unnecessarily good album.
Steve Beresford's polymathic activities have formed a prism for the UK improv scene since the 1970s. He is internationally known as a free improviser on piano, toy piano and electronics, composer for film and TV, and raconteur and Dadaist visionary. His résumé is filled with collaborations with hundreds of musicians and other artists, including such leading improvisers as Derek Bailey, Evan Parker and John Zorn, and he has given performances of works by John Cage and Christian Marclay.
In this book, Beresford is heard in his own words through first-hand interviews with the author. Beresford provides compelling insight into an extensive range of topics, displaying the broad cultural context in which music is embedded. The volume combines chronological and thematic chapters, with topics covering improvisation and composition in jazz and free music; the connections between art, entertainment and popular culture; the audience for free improvisation; writing music for films; recording improvised music in the studio; and teaching improvisation. It places Beresford in the context of improvised and related musics – jazz, free jazz, free improvisation – in which there is growing interest.
Stewart Lee
2021-01-30T19:26:24+00:00
I wrote the intro to Andy Hamilton’s hefty new study of the musician Steve Beresford, Pianos, Toys, Music & Noise. Maybe ask your local library to stock it or your dad to buy it! Here’s the info. Steve is a major player in the second wave of British Free Improvisation, a lynchpin of the current scene, and a punk era collaborator with The Flying Lizards, Prince Far-I and The Slits. He, I and Tania Chen toured Britain over the last decade performing John Cage’s Indeterminacy, and Steve appears playing toys and objects with me and Tania in King Rocker. Comedy fans will know him as ‘man playing organ’ in a The Day Today sketch about executions, and as the director of music on Vic Reeves’ unnecessarily good album. Steve Beresford's polymathic activities have formed a prism for the UK improv scene since the 1970s. He is internationally known as a free improviser on piano, toy piano and electronics, composer for film and TV, and raconteur and Dadaist visionary. His résumé is filled with collaborations with hundreds of musicians and other artists, including such leading improvisers as Derek Bailey, Evan Parker and John Zorn, and he has given performances of works by John Cage and Christian Marclay. In this book, Beresford is heard in his own words through first-hand interviews with the author. Beresford provides compelling insight into an extensive range of topics, displaying the broad cultural context in which music is embedded. The volume combines chronological and thematic chapters, with topics covering improvisation and composition in jazz and free music; the connections between art, entertainment and popular culture; the audience for free improvisation; writing music for films; recording improvised music in the studio; and teaching improvisation. It places Beresford in the context of improvised and related musics – jazz, free...
Joey Burns has been biding his time. To see his group, Calexico, delivering their enthralling fusion of twangy guitars and widescreen soundtrack atmospherics live, often accompanied by a Mariachi band in traditional costume, one wouldn’t assume that such an explosive performance was the result of patience. But for over a decade, the rhythm section of Burns on bass and the drummer John Convertino have appeared on most of the finest recordings to emerge from the American South West. The sell-out show by their own project, Calexico, at the Barbican last November saw them reaching an audience largely ignorant of their history, and entirely their own. “I consciously wanted to hold back,” says Burns of the years before he stepped up to the microphone. “I’d always sung and written songs back in California before I came to Tucson, but I concentrated on being a bass player for other people. But about 1989/90 I made a conscious decision to focus on learning and listening.”
Burns and Convertino learned from the best, serving with Tucson’s improvisationally skewed country rock band Giant Sand since the late 80’s, with the instrumental combo Friends of Dean Martinez in the mid 90’s, and being the rhythm section of choice for a host of left field talents. But Burns holds a special place for the steel guitarist Rainer Ptaçek, a Tucson mainstay who died in 1997. “Rainer was the person I learned most from,” he explains. “His music was always exciting and transporting and you always learned something new from him. He inspired a lot of the music of the Friends of Dean Martinez, by pushing the envelope, mixing blues with jazz and always improvising.”
After a subdued debut, Burns and Convertino’s second Calexico album, 1998’s The Black Light, hitched Alternative Country moves to a Mariachi horn section and evoked scenes of Spaghetti western soundtrack grandeur. As émigrés to the Southwest, Burns and Convertino, who have supplied music for the local academic Laurence Clarke Powell’s spoken word cd’s of the region’s history, were free to seize upon the desert’s most affecting sounds and images with fresh eyes. “It was easy to identify with the place, and with the music you associate with it - Link Wray, Lee Hazelwood, Ennio Moricone,” says Burns, “But as we were not from Arizona, and as we’d arrived in our late 20’s and early 30’s we were free to dig deeper into local traditions than people who’d been there all their lives.” With the Friends of Dean Martinez, those same source materials seemed focussed through a lens of irony, but Burns and Convertino’s approximation of a Southwestern sound seemed utterly sincere. And on a practical level, Arizona time was cheap. “Tucson is a small town, small enough for there to be no pressure to hang out and take an hour out to experiment in the studio. It’s not like New York or LA where the clock is ticking and each second costs.”
Calexico’s new album, Feast of Wire, sees them at something of a crossroads. The trademark mix of scholarly experimentation offset by hot-blooded infusions of Mariachi sounds has been sacrificed for a more introspective vision. Attack El Robot! Attack! Fades out in a jazzy Gil Evans style horn arrangement; Dub Latina fuses Latin American shapes with studio tinkering; and Black Heart uses the kind of massed descending strings usually deployed by Holy Minimalist composers. Burns reminisces fondly of a show in Barcelona last December, where his fourteen piece band turned a concert performance into a party. “At the end we carried on playing acoustic at the back of the hall and people partied all night. We were able to respond to the mood on the most basic level of being humans playing acoustic instruments to people that wanted to hear them.” But how the virtual fiestas that have defined the Calexico live experience will survive their growing musical development remains to be seen. Burns and Convertino are musicians in flux, probing more unusual areas, but proud of their legacy. “The ‘Desert Rock’ label is like a doorway, and people can identify with that and then go beyond it into all the other kinds of music we’re now experimenting with.”, Burns concedes. “I think we’re all dj’s with our own vision of a radio station in our head and what the mix of sounds can be.”
Calexico play Wheelans, Dublin 8th, 9th Feb, and the London Shepherd’s Bush Empire on the 11th.
Feast of Wire is out tomorrow on City Slang. www.casadecalexico.com
Calexico Incognito.
Ten Calexico Supporting Roles
OP8 – Slush – 1997. Calexico, Giant Sand’s Howe Gelb and the violinist Lisa Germano. The duo find their own voice.
Rainer – The Farm – 1997. Three tracks with the late steel guitar guru.
Giant Sand – Backyard Barbecue – 1996. John and Joey back Howe Gelb in extended jazzy jams.
Lawrence Clark Powell – Southwest, An Essay On The Land – 1997.
Neko Case – Blacklisted – 2002. The hidden engine of last year’s alternative country classic.
Friends of Dean Martinez – The Shadow Of Your Smile – 1995. Twangy lounge band’s debut.
Richard Buckner – Devotion and Doubt – 1997. Adding light and shade to songwriterly introspection.
Bill Janowitz – Lonesome Billy – 1996. Turning the former Buffalo Tom indie-rocker into a country troubadour.
Barabara Manning – 1212 – 1997. Suitably erratic accompaniment for the psychedelic auteur.
ABBC – Tête a Tête – 2001. Collaboration with France’s Amor Belhom duo.
Stewart Lee
2003-02-11T17:55:14+00:00
Joey Burns has been biding his time. To see his group, Calexico, delivering their enthralling fusion of twangy guitars and widescreen soundtrack atmospherics live, often accompanied by a Mariachi band in traditional costume, one wouldn’t assume that such an explosive performance was the result of patience. But for over a decade, the rhythm section of Burns on bass and the drummer John Convertino have appeared on most of the finest recordings to emerge from the American South West. The sell-out show by their own project, Calexico, at the Barbican last November saw them reaching an audience largely ignorant of their history, and entirely their own. “I consciously wanted to hold back,” says Burns of the years before he stepped up to the microphone. “I’d always sung and written songs back in California before I came to Tucson, but I concentrated on being a bass player for other people. But about 1989/90 I made a conscious decision to focus on learning and listening.” Burns and Convertino learned from the best, serving with Tucson’s improvisationally skewed country rock band Giant Sand since the late 80’s, with the instrumental combo Friends of Dean Martinez in the mid 90’s, and being the rhythm section of choice for a host of left field talents. But Burns holds a special place for the steel guitarist Rainer Ptaçek, a Tucson mainstay who died in 1997. “Rainer was the person I learned most from,” he explains. “His music was always exciting and transporting and you always learned something new from him. He inspired a lot of the music of the Friends of Dean Martinez, by pushing the envelope, mixing blues with jazz and always improvising.” After a subdued debut, Burns and Convertino’s second Calexico album, 1998’s The Black Light, hitched Alternative Country moves to a Mariachi horn section...
Rarely does the Wedge witness a line-up as curious as this. Openers Grief Daddy are, as they tell us, the winners of ‘the best band ever’ (they won the venue’s 2017 Unsigned Showcase).
What started as a side project for local noiseniks Battery Hens has acquired a life of its own. The trio operate as a satire on the modern world, consumerism and capitalism – through the medium of an old Yamaha keyboard, a synth drum and a series of splenetic rants and herky-jerky dance moves from frontman, ‘Fax Machine’. ‘#BuyGriefDaddy’ indeed. You won’t be disappointed. Next up is stand-up comic Stewart Lee. Lee fills theatres across the land on his own tours, but as the promoters were at pains to point out this was not a Stewart Lee show, he was doing his 1980s comedy club routine.
But of course being Lee, it wasn’t as straight-forward as that – Lee deconstructs the routine as he goes via the filter of life in 2018. So we get to hear about his run in with doorstepping Christian evangelists asking: ‘If Jesus is the answer, what is the question?’, pre-internet dating, the ‘jazz/folk’ conundrum and the ‘sex pigeon’. It’s hilarious stuff, but almost as soon as you feel it’s getting going, he’s gone. Cult post-punk act The Nightingales are the headliners, but sadly the crowd noticeably thins as their hour-long set progresses - many had clearly come for the novelty of Lee’s skewed return to his roots.
And the four-piece don’t make it easy. Frontman Robert Lloyd prowls the stage barking his confrontational lyrics while Fliss Kitson is an impressive presence, holding it all together at the back on drums and back-up vocals. But the audience are never acknowledged and songs run from one to another, often without pause. For newcomers to the band, it’s difficult to find a way in.
However, it’s easy to see why they were a John Peel favourite back in their ’80s heyday – the pummelling riffs and driving rhythms build a hypnotic effect as they pile past.
Those who stay to the end can truly say they've witnessed a show the likes of which are unlikely to be repeated.
Stewart Lee
2018-09-24T16:29:27+01:00
Rarely does the Wedge witness a line-up as curious as this. Openers Grief Daddy are, as they tell us, the winners of ‘the best band ever’ (they won the venue’s 2017 Unsigned Showcase). What started as a side project for local noiseniks Battery Hens has acquired a life of its own. The trio operate as a satire on the modern world, consumerism and capitalism – through the medium of an old Yamaha keyboard, a synth drum and a series of splenetic rants and herky-jerky dance moves from frontman, ‘Fax Machine’. ‘#BuyGriefDaddy’ indeed. You won’t be disappointed. Next up is stand-up comic Stewart Lee. Lee fills theatres across the land on his own tours, but as the promoters were at pains to point out this was not a Stewart Lee show, he was doing his 1980s comedy club routine. But of course being Lee, it wasn’t as straight-forward as that – Lee deconstructs the routine as he goes via the filter of life in 2018. So we get to hear about his run in with doorstepping Christian evangelists asking: ‘If Jesus is the answer, what is the question?’, pre-internet dating, the ‘jazz/folk’ conundrum and the ‘sex pigeon’. It’s hilarious stuff, but almost as soon as you feel it’s getting going, he’s gone. Cult post-punk act The Nightingales are the headliners, but sadly the crowd noticeably thins as their hour-long set progresses - many had clearly come for the novelty of Lee’s skewed return to his roots. And the four-piece don’t make it easy. Frontman Robert Lloyd prowls the stage barking his confrontational lyrics while Fliss Kitson is an impressive presence, holding it all together at the back on drums and back-up vocals. But the audience are never acknowledged and songs run from one to another, often without pause. For newcomers to...
Like punk never happened, this youthful Brighton trio’s debut offers ugly-beautiful instrumental progressive rock that aging King Crimson fans think no-one can play anymore. Moogs squelch.
Percussion ploughs complex furrows. The fusion stew suggests electric Miles Davis, but without the significant sweetener of Miles himself.
When Radiohead, whose guitars the physicists echo, swerved progwards with OK Computer in 1997 they intimated meaning via paranoia and politics. Horizons/Raptures communicates principally only its own inventiveness, but is a compelling calling card nonetheless.
Stewart Lee
2013-06-09T21:16:37+01:00
Like punk never happened, this youthful Brighton trio’s debut offers ugly-beautiful instrumental progressive rock that aging King Crimson fans think no-one can play anymore. Moogs squelch. Percussion ploughs complex furrows. The fusion stew suggests electric Miles Davis, but without the significant sweetener of Miles himself. When Radiohead, whose guitars the physicists echo, swerved progwards with OK Computer in 1997 they intimated meaning via paranoia and politics. Horizons/Raptures communicates principally only its own inventiveness, but is a compelling calling card nonetheless.
Stewart Lee . . . offering a peep behind the curtains. Photograph: Jo Hale/Getty Images
No one under 30 will believe this, but stand-up comedy was once exciting and unpredictable. You could actually enjoy it sober. Like the punks before them, the alternative comedians who sprang up in the 1980s saw it as their duty and their pleasure to challenge the old farts who dominated both showbiz and the country. They were going to smash the system. Yes, even Ben Elton! True story!
Stewart Lee started on the circuit in 1989, just as the movement was losing its way. Five years before, as a Solihull schoolboy, he'd had his head turned by Ted Chippington, an obscure West Midlander with a scowl and a monotone delivery. Watching Chippington, Lee says, he realised that "Stand-up could be anything you wanted it to be. You didn't even have to look as if you were enjoying it."
Lee rarely did: he's one of those few people who can look both smug and miserable at the same time. But for most of the 90s it seemed to outsiders that he was doing very nicely. His double act with Richard Herring spawned 10 radio and television series for the BBC. Alone, he played thousands of live dates. Yet, he says now, he was barely scraping by. He kept finding himself in front of audiences who wanted undemanding gags about soccer or Space Hoppers, not a man whose idea of a good time was to alienate his public and then, with luck, win it back. He stopped enjoying himself. In 2001, during a particularly painful gig in Liverpool, he realised he was "a mumbling relic from another age . . . Alternative comedy was dead. I was spent . . . So, quietly and without any fuss, I decided, then and there, to stop." And, just like that, he did.
Nine years on, however, Lee is once more standing up and loving it. His latest BBC TV show, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, has been commissioned for a second series, and next month sees him performing in 18 cities. How I Escaped My Certain Fate is the story of how he regained his taste for performance, and a paying audience. It's a reminder that sometimes you need to work out what you do best and chuck out everything that gets in the way. In Lee's case that included his former management company, Avalon.
The book is also a masterclass in how to appreciate comedy – at least Lee's intellectual, sometimes wilfully inaccessible kind of comedy. "Within a few years," he threatens, "'jokes', as we comedians call them, will have been entirely purged from my work in favour, exclusively, of grinding repetition, embarrassing silences and passive-agressive monotony."
Although there are bits of introduction and conventional exposition – notably covering Lee's involvement with the allegedly blasphemous Jerry Springer – The Opera, which he directed during his break from stand-up, the heart of the book is three live shows: Stand-Up Comedian, which began his comeback in 2004; the following year's 90s Comedian, "a single hour-long shaggy-dog story about anal investigation, religious persecution and a blasphemous physical encounter with Jesus"; and 2007's 41st Best Stand-up Ever, about the disparity between Lee's supposed high status and his inability to earn a decent crust.
For each of these, Lee provides not only a full transcript but a parallel narrative in the form of exhaustive footnotes, the longest of which stretches to three and a half pages. Here he explains the workings of the jokes he hasn't yet managed to eradicate, or revels in their failure. His basic philosophy is that the customer is always wrong. "It is a constant source of frustration to comics," he writes, "that you, the public, are often inordinately thrilled by things that we do which are quite easy, and baffled or bored by the stuff we are proud of, or else assume that our finest moments are errors or accidents." It's no surprise to learn that he's a fan of free jazz, with its "sheer bloody-mindedness" and its "take-it-or-leave-it attitude to critical and public approval".
You don't often see the inner workings of a comedian's act, and in most cases that's no loss. This time, however, it feels like a privilege to peep behind the curtains.
Stewart Lee
2010-11-18T12:53:58+00:00
Stewart Lee . . . offering a peep behind the curtains. Photograph: Jo Hale/Getty Images No one under 30 will believe this, but stand-up comedy was once exciting and unpredictable. You could actually enjoy it sober. Like the punks before them, the alternative comedians who sprang up in the 1980s saw it as their duty and their pleasure to challenge the old farts who dominated both showbiz and the country. They were going to smash the system. Yes, even Ben Elton! True story! Stewart Lee started on the circuit in 1989, just as the movement was losing its way. Five years before, as a Solihull schoolboy, he'd had his head turned by Ted Chippington, an obscure West Midlander with a scowl and a monotone delivery. Watching Chippington, Lee says, he realised that "Stand-up could be anything you wanted it to be. You didn't even have to look as if you were enjoying it." Lee rarely did: he's one of those few people who can look both smug and miserable at the same time. But for most of the 90s it seemed to outsiders that he was doing very nicely. His double act with Richard Herring spawned 10 radio and television series for the BBC. Alone, he played thousands of live dates. Yet, he says now, he was barely scraping by. He kept finding himself in front of audiences who wanted undemanding gags about soccer or Space Hoppers, not a man whose idea of a good time was to alienate his public and then, with luck, win it back. He stopped enjoying himself. In 2001, during a particularly painful gig in Liverpool, he realised he was "a mumbling relic from another age . . . Alternative comedy was dead. I was spent . . . So, quietly and without any fuss,...
With every new series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, I find myself not wanting to watch for fear of those who may judge but then almost immediately concluding that I do not care. Yes, Lee is a spiteful comic, but he is also incredibly astute. One can’t help but admire his craft, even if you don’t agree with his viewpoints, which are of course satirically exaggerated anyway, suggesting that those who feel alienated by his comedy may actually be misinterpreting his message. And with his frequent cuts to camera, a television audience cannot help but be drawn in, without suffering the inevitable heart palpitations that would surely follow with such a predicament.
Take, for example, Episode 2, which sees Lee dryly dissect the ever-prominent issue of Islamophobia and the questions it raises with regard to mocking religion through the medium of stand up comedy. The surface layer can easily cause offence but it would be short-sighted of the viewer to assume that Lee wants us to take what he says at face value. Episode 1 sees the comic approach the topic of prostitution and though many may switch off at quips about such matters coming from someone like the esteemed Stewart Lee we see before us, we hold out for lines that release the tension, such as empathising with those who “provide a service people crave and still be despised for it”.
His observational stints are deliberately placed throughout the series, disguised as digs at others in the comedy industry but serving a greater purpose: as a release of comedic tension. It may seem to be a strange decision, but one that shows great integrity, for Lee to limit his observational material to the extent that he does as he could effortlessly rely on this fine-tuned skill for significant segments of the programme. But it appears that he would interpret this creative decision as laziness and if there is one thing that Stewart Lee abhors (though of course there can’t only be one thing) then it is laziness. This can be appreciate by many, but sometimes it feels like his comments get a little too specific, a little to personal. I genuinely don’t believe that his foremost intention is to cause harm to those he ridicules for it is, most often anyway, their ideas he ridicules rather than their personalities. It seems that offence is a necessary by-product of the message and perhaps we shouldn’t cower from comedy that offends.
All that said, I don’t feel as though I can trust Stewart Lee; perhaps what we read into his jokes are not what he truly means, but I fully appreciate where he is coming from on the majority of occasions, if I am, in fact, correct in where I think he is coming from. A part of me wishes that Chris Morris’ segments were longer or more frequent during each episode, but perhaps this would dilute the impact of Morris’ scorn. Antagonism to say the least, Morris’ role is to demolish any self-righteousness in Lee’s character that has been allowed to fester during his stand up performances on film. The shock of hearing an interviewer speak so rudely to his interviewee, as though there is genuine contempt for Lee and his comedy, is yet another smart release of tension, often resulting in full-blown arguments and a lot of swearing.
Many have criticised Lee of making comedy that is self-indulgent, particularly, as he mentions, “those younger comics they have now,” but only a small amount of closer analysis can enable us to see that there is a reason behind every decision. Stewart Lee overtly works to manufacture an ‘in group’ and an ‘out group’ through his stand up and can I be blamed for wanting to be in the former? I write this on principle, knowing that many would avoid writing an article about the man who famously slams all critics of his work, and coming from a wholly appreciative perspective.
I still pray to God that he doesn’t read this.
Stewart Lee
2016-04-21T22:31:24+01:00
With every new series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, I find myself not wanting to watch for fear of those who may judge but then almost immediately concluding that I do not care. Yes, Lee is a spiteful comic, but he is also incredibly astute. One can’t help but admire his craft, even if you don’t agree with his viewpoints, which are of course satirically exaggerated anyway, suggesting that those who feel alienated by his comedy may actually be misinterpreting his message. And with his frequent cuts to camera, a television audience cannot help but be drawn in, without suffering the inevitable heart palpitations that would surely follow with such a predicament. Take, for example, Episode 2, which sees Lee dryly dissect the ever-prominent issue of Islamophobia and the questions it raises with regard to mocking religion through the medium of stand up comedy. The surface layer can easily cause offence but it would be short-sighted of the viewer to assume that Lee wants us to take what he says at face value. Episode 1 sees the comic approach the topic of prostitution and though many may switch off at quips about such matters coming from someone like the esteemed Stewart Lee we see before us, we hold out for lines that release the tension, such as empathising with those who “provide a service people crave and still be despised for it”. His observational stints are deliberately placed throughout the series, disguised as digs at others in the comedy industry but serving a greater purpose: as a release of comedic tension. It may seem to be a strange decision, but one that shows great integrity, for Lee to limit his observational material to the extent that he does as he could effortlessly rely on this fine-tuned skill for significant segments...
Collected positive tweets for Comin' Over Here by Asian Dub Foundation feat Stewart Lee (all profits to Kent Refugee Action Network).
It was the UK's most downloaded/purchased song on Brexit day, though Wham's Last Christmas beat it in the streaming charts which are for losers. Thanks for buying it if you did.
Stewart Lee
2021-01-04T00:28:04+00:00
Collected positive tweets for Comin' Over Here by Asian Dub Foundation feat Stewart Lee (all profits to Kent Refugee Action Network). It was the UK's most downloaded/purchased song on Brexit day, though Wham's Last Christmas beat it in the streaming charts which are for losers. Thanks for buying it if you did.
STEWART LEE 100% PEAR T-SHIRTS. Thrill your friends, and your own body, in 2023! Relive the glory days of 2008/9 by wearing a t-shirt with a line from Stew's If You Prefer A Milder Comedian tour, from back when he was still good, rather than simply complacent and reliable. 100% pear! 100% PEAR CIDER Tee Shirts.
Two versions in Navy Blue or Purple on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts.
A UK based ethical Tee Shirt Manufacturer. £20.00 each plus shipping. https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee
2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO
Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now.
The new stand-up show, BASIC LEE hits the road and the Royal Festival Hall.
February 2023
Wednesday 1st February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 2nd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Friday 3rd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Saturday 4th February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Monday 6th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 9th February 2023 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 10th February 2023 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Saturday 11th February 2023 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Sunday 12th February 2023 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd February 2023 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd February 2023 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Friday 24th February 2023 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Saturday 25th February 2023 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Sunday 26th February 2023 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Tuesday 28th February 2023 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
March 2023
Wednesday 1st March 2023 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 2nd March 2023 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 3rd March 2023 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Saturday 4th March 2023 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Monday 6th March 2023 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th March 2023 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th March 2023 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Thursday 9th March 2023 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Friday 10th March 2023 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 11th March 2023 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Monday 13th March 2023 - Eden Court, Inverness - TICKETS
Tuesday 14th March 2023 - Tivoli Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th March 2023 - Tivoli Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
Thursday 16th March 2023 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Friday 17th March 2023 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Monday 20th March 2023 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st March 2023 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd March 2023 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Monday 27th March 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Tuesday 28th March 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th March 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Thursday 30th March 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Friday 31st March 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
April 2023
Saturday 1st April 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
Monday 3rd April 2023 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Thursday 13th April 2023 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 14th April 2023 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Saturday 15th April 2023 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th April 2023 - Forum Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th April 2023 - Forum Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Thursday 20th April 2023 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th April 2023 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 27th April 2023 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 28th April 2023 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 29th April 2023 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 30th April 2023 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
May 2023
Tuesday 2nd May 2023 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Wednesday 3rd May 2023 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Thursday 4th May 2023 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 5th May 2023 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 6th May 2023 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 26th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 27th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 27th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 28th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
June 2023
Wednesday 28th June 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 29th June 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Friday 30th June 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
July 2023
Saturday 1st July 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd July 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd July 2023 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
5. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2023 HAPPENINGS/THINGS
BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE
The ‘90s American psychedelic band that sounds like an ‘80s British psychedelic band hit the road.
FEB 1st Brighton Concorde 2,
2nd Norwich Epic,
3rd B’ham Academy 2,
4th M’cr Ritz,
5th Glasgow Barrowland,
6th Edinbuirgh Bell Angelle,
7th N’castle Riverside,
9th Dublin Academy,
10th Belfast Limelight,
11th Liverpool Camp & Furnace,
12th Nottingham Rock City,
14th Leeds Stylus,
15th London Forum
GINA SOUTHGATE From Live Music. Art exhibition by the abstract artist who paints, in real time, musicians improvising.
Riverside Studios, Hammersmith London FEB 1st - MARCH 9th.
There is a launch event on Thurs FEB 6th 6pm-9pm with live music.
ALAN DAVIE - PAINTING MUSIC FILM The artist and musician remembered FEB 2ND London Café Oto. ABSTRACT JAZZ ART DIARY CLASH W GINA SOUTHGATE AT RIVERSIDE. Has this ever happened before?
SOFT MACHINE Prog-jazz monument, heard through the doorway at Pizza Express last year on my way to a gig and sounding good.
FEB 3rd London New Cross Inn, 9th Falmouth Princess Pavilion, 15th M’cr Band On The Wall, 16th Kinross Green Hotel, NOV 19TH Exeter Phoenix
ELIZA CARTY/MARTIN CARTHY Wellsprings of English folk music FEB 4TH London Barbican, APRIL 28th Sevenoaks Otford Village Hall
CELYA AB I saw this stand-up in Edinburgh and she was really good, a deceptively strange world-view wrapped in a disarmingly reasonable persona. FEB 8TH-11TH London Soho Theatre
JOSIE LONG
The absolutely brilliant stand-up is on tour
FEB 9TH Lancaster Dukes,
10th Leeds City Varieties,
11th Liverpool Royal Court,
18th York Crescent,
24th Birmingham Old Rep,
25th Blackheath Halls
MARCH 2nd Hackney Earth,
3rd M’cr Contact,
MAY 12th Berwick-Upon-Tweed Maltings,
14th Salford Lowry,
18th Trebah Ampitheatre,
19th Ivybridge Watermark,
20th Clevedon Curzon,
27th Warwick Arts,
30th Lawrence Batley Huddersfield,
JUNE 3rd Giffnock Eastwood Park,
21st Wigan Old Courts,
22nd Halifax Square Chapel,
23rd Oxford Old Fire Station,
27th Druimfin Mull Theatre,
30th Cambridge Junction,
JULY 1st Folkestone Quarterhouse,
7th Stirling Tolbooth,
9th Exeter Phoenix TICKETS HERE
PETER BROTZMANN German free jazz sax pioneer FEB 10TH/11TH London Café Oto
THE PRIMEVALS Authentic Glaswegian garage rock veterans
FEB 10th North Shields Engine Room, 11TH West Hampstead Arts Club London
BENEFIT FOR DAN TREACY OF TELEVISION PERSONALITIES
Feb 11th, Oslo, Hackney, London.
Indie celebs raise cash for the troubled art-pop-punk-mod innovator.
SIMON MUNNERY The Peter Cook of our generation of comics, but better.
FEB 11th LEICESTER, Firebug,
23rd LONDON, Leicester Square Theatre,
25th - LIVERPOOL, Royal Court Theatre,
26 - SALFORD, The Lowry,
28 - EDINBURGH, Monkey Barrel,
MARCH 1 - GLASGOW, The StanD,
2 - NEWCASTLE, The Stand,
11 - CAMBRIDGE, Junction,
16 - BRIGHTON, The Old Market,
23 - BRISTOL, Hen & Chicken,
11 - NORWICH, Arts Centre,
13 - BATH, Rondo Theatre,
18 - LEEDS, The Old Wollen,
JUNE 9 - ALDERSHOT, West End Centre
THE FALLEN LEAVES
Gentleman mod-punks
FEB 11TH Brighton Prince Albert, 25th Guildford Holyrood Arms,
MAY 13th Camden Dublin Castle,
SEP 9th Camden Dublin Castle.
DRY CLEANING Sing-speak post-punks tour difficult second album FEB 14th Dublin Vicar St, 15th Belfast Mandela Hall, 17th Glasgow Barrowlands, 18th Leeds Uni, 20th Liverpool Invisible Wind, 21st Nottingham Rock City, 22nd Sheffield Academy, 24th M’cr Albert Hall, 25th B’ham Academy, 26th Bristol Academy, 28th Cardiff Tramshed, MARCH 1st Brighton Chalk, 3rd London Academy
SECLUDED BRONTE
The Goodies of extreme improvised music/events hit the road. Needs to be seen by all squares.
The Rising Sun Arts Centre, Reading on Friday February 17th https://www.risingsunartscentre.org/events/evening-secluded-bronte
Fuel Bar, Withington, Manchester on Monday February 20th https://ra.co/events/1637321
Full of Noises, Barrow-in-Furness on Tuesday February 21st https://fonfestival.org/about/
The Old Hairdresser’s, Glasgow on Wednesday February 22nD http://www.theoldhairdressers.com
The Gardener’s Rest, Sheffield on Thursday February 23rd https://www.facebook.com/GardenersRestSheffield/
LEN PRICE 3 Punk-mod beatniks FEB 18th London Lexington
LAETITIA SADIER
Marxist chanteuse w Bruce Gilbert of Wire, FEB 21ST Café Oto, London
ROBYN HITCHCOCK Psychedelic troubadour FEB 25th London Alexandra Palace, 28th Liverpool Philharmonic.
DOLLY COLLINS’ 'Missa Humana' World Premiere (words Maureen Duffy, music Dolly Collins).
FEB 25TH Conway Hall, London. The musical mediaevalist memorialised.
THE BLACK ANGELS Austin’s avatars of acid rock FEB 25th Bristol SXW, 26th Liverpool Invisible Wind, MARCH 1ST Glasgow QMU, 2nd M’cr New Century, 3rd London Shepherd’s Bush Empire
ALFIE BROWN is woke-as-fuck whilst at the same time interrogating the thinking behind his values. Sensitive Man. A brilliant stand-up FEB 27TH - MARCH 4TH LONODN Soho Theatre
ROSIE HOLT Satire’s Rosie Holt will be satirising the shit out of shit at the following places in 2023;
MARCH 2nd Maidenhead Norden Farm,
3rd Salisbury Arts Centre,
9th Cambridge Corn Exchange,
16th Sheffield Leadmill,
17th B’ham Old Rep,
22nd London Leicester Sq Theatre,
24th Southend On Sea Palace,
25th Swindon Wyvern
APRIL 29th Ipswich Corn Exchange,
30th Leeds City Varieties,
MAY 4th & 5th Bristol Hen & Chicken,
May 7th Salford Lowry,
JULY 1st Oxford Festival Marquee
BRIDGET CHRISTIE A cluster of delayed covid-era reschedules of the acclaimed Who Am I? show from the soon-to-be-televised comedian and writer
MARCH 4th Leeds City Varieties,
5th Basingstoke Haymarket,
12th Wavendon Stables,
17th and 18th Cambridge Junction.
DREAM SYNDICATE/RAIN PARADE Unmissable double header of Paisley Underground Survivors - Dream Syndicate are currently magnificent!
MARCH 7th Bristol Fleece, 8th L’pool District, 9th Leeds Brudenell, 10th/11th Glasgow Hug & Pint, 12th N’castle Cluny, 14th M’cr Band On The Wall, 15th London Lexington, 16th London Colours
MARK EITZEL American Music Club songwriter returns MARCH 10th London St Pancras Old Church.
ONEIDA Krautrockin’ Brooklyn hipsters MARCH 11th Bristol Crofters, 12th London Studio 9294
ROBERT FORSTER The silver fox of Australian indie rock MARCH 11th Strathaven Frets, 12th Edinburgh Mash, 14th York Crescent, 16th W’hampton Newhampton Arts, 17th Oxford Bullingdon, 20th London Lafayette, 21st Brighton Komedia, 23rd Belfast Empire, 24th Dublin Button Factory
BRITISH JAZZ FILM ARCHIVE SHOW AT CAFÉ OTO LONDON March 12th
FREE TO AIR: IMPROVISED AND EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC ON BRITISH TV, 1973-1983 Café OTO, in association with the British Film Institute, presents a day-long immersion in another era: one in which there were only four TV channels, and a music community that was struggling to be seen and heard. We bring together four extremely rare programmes, scarcely seen at the time and never repeated, which show Café OTO regulars and other legends of the improvisation/jazz scene at work and in concert. Marvel at the earliest known film of Derek Bailey (Omnibus: British Jazz, 1973), Spike Milligan introducing The Tony Oxley Unit (Open Door, 1974), wild film of Evan Parker and Paul Lytton in performance (Aquarius, 1975), and Fred Frith giving a comic demonstration of his approach to sound (Jazz on 4, 1983). This event is a reflection on the struggle to get heard in the mainstream – is it better to reject a public service broadcaster, or a great way to reach the unsuspecting listener?
The Musicians’ Action Group, who made the Open Door programme, fought for better exposure for jazz musicians – but it remained a struggle, and is even more so today.
These four programmes show how sympathetic producers, often fans of the music, made it possible for viewers to discover it for themselves. Our two panels will feature musicians who appeared in the programmes, viewers who saw them at the time, those who worked behind the scenes, and jazz critics then and now. Together we will dissect what we’ve lost and what we’ve gained. Above all join us for a day of great music and eye-catching films, a true blast from the past. This is a one-off reappearance for these programmes which is not to be missed.
PROGRAMME ONE From the venerable BBC1 arts show Omnibus, we present British Jazz (1973). Charles Fox (Jazz in Britain), Benny Green, Humphrey Lyttelton and others take us on a journey around the scene, all the way from trad to free. We meet Ian Carr’s Nucleus, as well as Iskra 1903 who deliver a performance on film that is almost too fast for the cameras. Open Door: Jazz… Nobody’s Child (1974) saw the takeover of BBC2 by the Musicians’ Action Group, gaining a platform to make their case for better jazz coverage on TV. Charles Fox and Spike Milligan (The Goon Show) introduce films of Stan Tracey, The Tony Oxley Unit, Maggie Nicols’ Matter in Motion, Tony Levin, and Paul Rutherford. Norma Winstone and Gordon Beck appear in the studio. + Panel TBC
PROGRAMME TWO Sounds Amazing! (London Weekend Television, 1975) is one of the most unusual programmes to go out on ITV, let alone at teatime. As TV Times put it, ‘This Aquarius film is about musical explorers who are extending the language of music in unusual ways.’ Our ‘sound poets’ are Max Eastley, David Toop, Paul Burwell, Hugh Davies, Evan Parker and Paul Lytton. In Crossing Bridges (Channel 4, 1983), a midnight special for Jazz on 4, six innovative guitarists talk about their ideas and give a studio demonstration of their music. Spend an unforgettable hour with Fred Frith, Brian Godding, John Russell, Ron Geesin, Hans Reichel and Keith Rowe. + Panel TBC
Thanks to the British Film Institute for permission to screen these programmes as part of the Performers Alliance Agreement. There is a 25% discount for entry to members of Equity, Writers Guild and the Musicians’ Union. Please present your membership card on arrival.
ROB AUTON Gifted poet/stand-up MARCH 13TH - 18th London Soho Theatre
KIM NOBLE - LULLABY FOR SCAVENGERS Rend your heart and mind once again with more of Noble’s art-comedy genius
MARCH 15TH - APRIL 8TH London Soho Theatre
ORBITAL Rave era visionary architects of sound
MARCH 16th Limerick Big Top, 18th Belfast Mandela, 28th Glasgow Galvanisers, 29th Newcastle NX, 30th M’cr Albert Hall, 31st Bristol Academy, APRIL 1st London Brixton Academy, 5th Leeds Academy, 6th Cambridge Corn Exchange, 7th Nottingham Rock City, 8th Brighton Centre.
TONY BUCK AT 60 Drummer’s birthday celebration with guests MARCH 21-23 London Café Oto
THE WAVE PICTURES Indie classicists
MARCH 22nd Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms, 23rd Sheffield Yellow Arch, 24th Preston Ferret, 25th Southampton Joiner, 26th Lewes Con Club, 30th Cardiff Clwb Ifor Bach, APR 1st Stowmarket John Peel Centre.
THE POPGUNS 80s indie-popsters return MARCH 31ST London 229
THE DAMNED/THE NIGHTINGALES 2 punk era legends of wildly differing levels of fame in one double bill.
MARCH 31ST Cardiff Great Hall, APRIL 1st Southend Cliffs, 4th Nottingham Rock City, 5th Liverpool Academy, 7th Newcastle NX, 8th Glasgow Academy, 10th Leeds Academy, 11th M’cr Albert Hall, 13th B’ham Town Hall, 15th Norwich Nick Rayns, 17th Brighton Dome, 18th S’hampton Guildhall, 20th/21st London Alexandra Palace,
ALASDAIR ROBERTS Songwriter re-wiring Scottish folk tradition
MARCH 28th London Sutton House, APRIL 1st Cambridge Blue Moon, 6th W’chester Hyde Tavern, 7th Oxford Florence Park Community Centre, JUNE 23RD London West Hampstead Arts, 24th London Barbican
DISCHARGE
Hardcore ‘77 survivors.
APRIL 7TH Newcastle Anarchy Brewery, 8th Edinburgh Bannermans, 28th Swansea Bunkhouse, 29th Corby Clubhouse,
MAY 5th London Desertfest,
DEC 23rd B’ham Castle & Falcon
ALASDAIR BECKETT-KING - The Interdimensional Alasdair Beckett-King.
I saw this sharp absurdist show in Edinburgh and it is brilliant.
APRIL 8th Bath Rondo,
13th Oxford Glee,
14th Birmingham Glee,
20th Aldershot West End,
21st New Milton Forest Arts,
22nd Brighton Komedia,
27th Norwich Arts Centre,
28th Bristol Comedy Box @ Hen & Chicken,
29th Tiverton Community Arts Cent
MAY 5th Maidstone Hazlitt,
6th Cambridge Junction,
11th Fareham Ashcroft,
12th Winchester Arc,
13th Swindon Arts,
16th Newcastle Stand,
17th Edinburgh Stand,
18th Glasgow Stand,
19th Belfast Limelight,
20th Derry/Londonderry Nerve,
27th M’cr Home,
28th Leeds Wardrobe
JUNE 27th London Leicester Sq Theatre
YO LA TENGO Gods of American indie APRIL 10TH Dublin 3Olympia, 12th M’cr New Century, 13th Bristol SWX, 14th London Palladium,
TONY! Tony Blair rock opera by Harry Hill and Steve Brown.
APRIL 15TH - MAY 21ST London Leicester Sq Theatre
SONIC BOOM A middle class man ruins his mind so you don’t have to.
APR 19th M’cr Band On The Wall, 20th Glasgow Room 2, 22nd Leeds Brudenell, 27th London Studio 9294
IMPRESSIONS OF JOHN COLTRANE w Alan Skidmore, Dominic Lash
APRIL 21ST London Café Oto
RICHARD DAWSON Genius art-folk-noise songwriter
APRIL 25th M’cr New Century, 26th Glasgow St Luke’s, 27th L’pool Tung, 28th Leeds City Varieties, MAY 3rd Cardiff Gate, 5th London Barbican
BLUE AEROPLANES Bristol beat poets APRIL 28TH London Electric Ballroom
SWELL MAPS C21 Surviving Swell Maps augmented w celebrity guests APRIL 29TH London Café Oto
OTOBOKE BEAVER Japanese noise-girls
MAY 2nd London Electric Ballroom,
4th M’cr Club Academy,
5th Glasgow St Luke’s,
7th Belfast Empire,
8th Dublin Button Factory,
10th Bristol Fleece
LAUREN CONNORS & ALAN LICHT - Lucid guitar duo MAY 5TH/6TH London Café Oto
GAVIN BRYARS never failed us yet MAY 15TH/16th London Café Oto
HOUSE OF ALL M’cr post-punk supergroup, a kind of 6 Music evening show Asia, hit the road.
HANLEY HANLEY GREENWAY BRAMAGH!
LONG RYDERS Alt country pioneers return, again
MAY 19th Leamington Assembly,
20th London 229,
21st Leeds Brudenell,
22nd Glasgow Oran Moor,
23rd L’pool Cavern,
25th Brighton Patterns
LOOP Heavy psyche survivors
MAY 20th Dublin Wheelans, 21st M’cr Deaf Institute, 22nd Glasgow Room 2, 23rd Leeds Brudenell, 25th London Garage, 27th Norwich UEA
AMON DUUL II ‘70s originators of commune krautrock. Can they really still rock?
MAY 29th London Jazz Café, 30th M’cr Blues Kitchen
CHUCK PROPHET Chisel-cheeked Alt Country guitar-slinger
MAY 31st London Garage
JUNE 2nd Nottingham Metronome,
4th Oxford Bullingdon,
6th Leeds Brudenell,
7th Glasgow St Luke’s,
10th N’castle Cluny,
12th B’ham Hare & Hounds,
13th Bristol Fleece,
14th Southampton 1865
LAURA CANNELL Hypnotic fenland dronemadchen JUNE 17th London King’s Place
THE CHAMELEONS Most convincing line-up for years of the always emotionally edifying Big Music should-have-beens.
JUNE 20th Leeds Old Woollen,
21st L’pool Hangar 34,
22nd N’castle Riverside,
23rd Edinburgh Liquid Room,
24th Glasgow Garage,
26th Aberdeen Lemon Tree,
28th Norwich Epic,
29th Cambridge Junction,
30th Leamington Assembly,
JULY 1ST London Islington Assembly,
3rd Bristol Fleece,
4th Brighton Chalk,
7th Castleton Devil’s Arse,
8th Holmfirth Picturedrome
MUSIC FROM SUMMERISLE Various artists play the Wicker Man s/track, including Magnet (!), and Alasdair Roberts JUNE 24th London Barbican
BMX BANDITS Also-beens of classic Scottish indie JUNE 30TH Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms
ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN Another tilt at the infinite horizon from the cosmic scallies SEPT 12TH Nottingham Royal Concert Halls, 14th Edinburgh Usher Halls, 16th L’pool Bank Arena, 18th London Royal Albert Hall
BRITISH CRYPTIDS ON YOUTUBE In 1974 the producer of Hereford Wakes, David Emlyn Edwards, made a series of films about unknown animals in the United Kingdom.
The films were presumably destined to be sold to a UK broadcaster - either BBC or ITV - but they seem to only have been shown at schools and ended up languishing in public libraries.
The music for the series was written and produced by Hereford Wakes' Thorsten Schmidt, continuing his professional collaboration with David Emlyn Edwards.
The latest restoration to be released is 'The Woodwose of Cannock Chase'. If you enjoyed Hereford Wakes, we're sure you'll enjoy this too! https://youtu.be/loZwFNT8H_s
7. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2022
Vivienne Westwood (punk trousers, 1941)
Ruggero Deodato (Junk genius, 1939)
Kelly Monteith (Lucky pants stand-up, 1942)
Alan Rankine (Associate musician, 1958)
Michael Snow (Jazz filmmaker, 1928)
Darryl Hunt (Pogue bass, 1950)
Charles Simic (Serbian poet, 1938)
Jeff Beck (He happened ten years time ago, 1944)
Jane Suck (punk chronicler, 195?)
Yukihiro Takahashi (Sadistic Mika Man, 1952)
Ronald Blythe (Akenfieldsman, 1922)
Piers Haggard (hack genius of Claw and Quatermass, 1932)
Van Connor (sturdy psychedelic tree, 1967)
David Sutherland (Bash Street basher, 1933)
David Crosby (Byrdmaniac, 1941)
Tom Verlaine (Sui generis genius Televisionary, 1949)
7. TEESIDE
I’m pasting in this Times article so you don’t go through Murdoch’s paywall, but Jenni Russell explains in detail how the Brexit freeport construction has killed most of the marine life in Teeside, which the gvt are trying to cover up. Read here;
JENNI RUSSELL Monday January 09 2023, 12.01am, The Times
Sixteen months ago there was a mass die-off of marine life in the North Sea off Teesside. It was an extinction event: a catastrophe on a scale no one in Britain has ever experienced. Along 30 miles of coast, from Hartlepool to Whitby, the beaches were piled with hundreds of thousands of dead and dying crabs and lobster, some still twitching in agony.
The question haunting everyone affected by this disaster is the fear that the government’s preference has been to find simple explanations, rather than inquire too deeply into why it happened, and how human and industrial activity may have caused it. The official responses have been particularly dismissive of any theories that might threaten one of the government’s flagship policies: the digging out of historically polluted rivers to create freeports. Yet finding the causes couldn’t matter more. If we fail, we risk repeating such disasters round our shores, creating sea deserts.
The die-off ravaged the ecosystem beneath the water, emptying it. Within weeks it was evident that one of Britain’s most important fishing areas had been devastated and might never recover. Lobster pots which normally gathered six or seven animals were being hauled up with only tiny inedible shellfish and blood-sucking lampreys. Theories sprang up. Were the mass deaths the result of chemical discharges, or of some intensive dredging of the historically polluted Tees riverbed that had taken place two days before the die-off began? Within six months Defra had an answer: nothing to see here.
The deaths had been caused by large algae blooms, a natural if regrettable event. The crustaceans had died from toxic algae or lack of oxygen as the bloom sank. There was, they said, no link with dredging and dumping in the Tees. That was all licensed and monitored, and there was no evidence of dangerous chemicals being released. Defra’s report shrugged off the fact that the dead crabs contained extremely high levels of a toxic chemical, pyridine, which had been produced in large quantities in factories along the Tees until recently. Defra had found no pyridine in the water when they tested it a fortnight later. The chemical, they speculated, might be produced naturally in crabs as they died. The fishermen were incredulous. The algal blooms at the time had not been especially large, nor was there any evidence they had been toxic.
Distraught and disbelieving, the fishermen commissioned university scientists including marine biologists, toxicologists and oceanographers to carry out their own research. Meanwhile fresh waves of dead wildlife continued to be washed on shore and were found floating in the sea; mussels, limpets, octopus, clams, seals and seabirds. Crab catches in the area crashed by 95 per cent. The fishermen were right to be suspicious. In a report sent to Defra last September, the university researchers found that industrial toxins were the most likely cause. The argument for the algal bloom was full of holes. Their inquiry has exposed a shocking lack of curiosity and investigation on Defra’s part, if not worse. The gulf between the two sides is so serious that in October the environment select committee held a day’s hearing into it. The transcript is as riveting as a detective novel. Scientists and fishermen demolish the government and port authorities’ case for dismissing pyridine and dredging as a possible cause.
The dead crabs contained 40 times more pyridine than control crabs. Gary Caldwell, a marine biologist at Newcastle University, discovered what Defra hadn’t: that pyridine in water is exceptionally toxic even in minute quantities to crabs, who die in convulsions within six hours. Smaller doses kill crustaceans’ nerves in weeks. Defra’s reasoning — that even if pyridine had been in the water it would be too little and too rapidly dispersed to matter — fell apart.
Caldwell used oceanography models, run for a month rather than Defra’s three days, to show how pyridine released in the Tees could spread down the coast, killing as it went. The model reflected exactly what had happened. He also refuted Defra’s claim that there was no plausible source of pyridine. This toxin had been pouring into the Tees from coking and chemical factories for more than a century. It had concentrated in sediment. York University found it at a depth of just 20cm (8in), implying reservoirs of it underneath. If dredging had released it, just a few thousand litres would have been sufficient to devastate the sea. The scientists’ evidence was petrifying. We hadn’t known what was in the Tees and what we might have unleashed because official bodies hadn’t been looking for it. Pyridine isn’t even routinely tested for in the UK as it isn’t officially a “chemical of concern”. The same dangerous ignorance holds true for all the eight planned freeports around the country, including Southampton and Liverpool. We don’t know precisely what decades of industrial waste have left behind.
The official explanations had been so weak and complacent that the committee instantly wrote to the environment secretary, Thérèse Coffey, calling for urgent action. They requested immediate investigations into pyridine in the Tees, extensive sediment sampling to map it, testing of all dredged material for it, a halt on all but minimal dredging until the research was complete, and the creation of an independent expert panel to review the two competing theories as fast as possible. The research must be done in “an open and collaborative way”. Coffey agreed. An expert panel would be set up under scientific advisers. That is where the good news ends. There has been no openness. University scientists have sent their research to Defra and heard nothing.
They have not been permitted to do their own deep sampling. Fishermen report dangerous sediment slopping out of the Tees dredging sites and no monitoring. The die-offs continue. The panel is a mystery. Defra refused to tell me who was on it, its remit, who it was hearing from, or when it would report.
This disaster has revealed a broken system. Our current safeguards are feeble fictions. The short-term goals of politicians are driving the careless poisoning of the only sea we have. It is torment. The 8 proposed freeport sites all have lethal chemicals, such as PCBs and heavy metals, hidden beneath. Once they enter the food chain that can never be reversed.
We could dredge with far more care and caution, as the environment committee outlines. The costs are tiny given the enormity of the destruction we will otherwise unleash. We have a choice. Sunak, Coffey, Tees Valley mayor Ben Houchen; this is on you. Are we to be the deliberate vandals of our age?
The brilliant Robert Wringham has written a new book about legend of the alternative comedy scene with an outro by me and an intro by Simon Munnery
Alternative comedy legend The Iceman has been immortalised in a new book. The performer, real name Anthony Irvine, was a regular on the comedy circuit in the 1980s and 1990s with an act that involved melting blocks of ice in a variety of ways – including salt or a blowtorch – while delivering corny jokes to the audience.
Shrek star Mike Myers has cited the Iceman as one of his all-time comedy favourites; Bill Bailey describes him as ‘a legend’ and Jo Brand describes him as ‘a true performance artist’.
He played Malcolm Hardee’s Tunnel Palladium, Simon Munnery’s Cluub Zarathustra, and Ivor Dembina’s Red Rose Club as well as being a regular at the Edinburgh Fringe.
Now comedy historian Robert Wringham has compiled an extended pictorial interview with Irvine, entitled Melt It! The Book of the Iceman, which is published today by indie label Go Faster Stripe.
The author says: ‘I wrote a book about Cluub Zarathustra ten years ago. Everyone I interviewed remembered the Iceman but I couldn’t find him. Like so many other fringe acts, he was simply gone.
‘When [alternative comedy blogger] John Fleming put me in touch with Anthony, I suggested my book idea. We spent a day together at Battersea Arts Centre where I grilled him to see what made the Iceman tick.’
The book features a foreword by Munnery and an afterword by Stewart Lee, who says: ‘I am so glad this book exists ... another of Wringham’s essential mini-masterpieces.’
Alongside the interview, Wringham, who calls the book ‘an alt-alt comedy history bonanza’ presents 56 Polaroid photographs of Irvine’s 1990s ice block.
Chris Evans of Go Faster Stripe said of the 168-page title: ‘It’s right up my street. And if it's something I'd like to read, hopefully there's more people like me’
Stand-up turned comedy historian Oliver Double says: ‘I've long known about the legend of the Iceman, but I'm sorry to say I've never seen his act nor shared a bill with him on the circuit.
‘As a teacher, I’m keen to give examples of speciality acts so I’m always scouring for stuff about the Iceman. This book sounds brilliant.’
Melt It! The Book of the Iceman is available from Go Faster Stripe, priced £15 for a physical copy or £5 as a download. GET IT HERE.
Stewart Lee
2023-02-01T16:46:31+00:00
1. T-SHIRT FRENZY STEWART LEE 100% PEAR T-SHIRTS. Thrill your friends, and your own body, in 2023! Relive the glory days of 2008/9 by wearing a t-shirt with a line from Stew's If You Prefer A Milder Comedian tour, from back when he was still good, rather than simply complacent and reliable. 100% pear! 100% PEAR CIDER Tee Shirts. Two versions in Navy Blue or Purple on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts. A UK based ethical Tee Shirt Manufacturer. £20.00 each plus shipping. https://wax-face.com/stewart-lee 2. TV SNOWFLAKE TORNADO Snowflake and Tornado are both on the BBC iplayer now. Snowflake is here. & Tornado is here. 3. BASIC LEE The new stand-up show, BASIC LEE hits the road and the Royal Festival Hall. February 2023 Wednesday 1st February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Thursday 2nd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Friday 3rd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Saturday 4th February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Monday 6th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Tuesday 7th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Wednesday 8th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Thursday 9th February 2023 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS Friday 10th February 2023 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS Saturday 11th February 2023 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS Sunday 12th February 2023 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS Wednesday 22nd February 2023 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS Thursday 23rd February 2023 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS Friday 24th February 2023 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS Saturday 25th February 2023 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS Sunday 26th February 2023 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS Tuesday 28th February 2023 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS March 2023 Wednesday 1st March 2023...
Brent Burkhart joins the queue of post-Seasick Steve floorboard-stomping bluesmen, and trails the usual mis-spent childhood story, losing his eye tormenting snakes on stage with his Pentecostal revivalist family.
Hymns to Jesus, Satan, booze, blues and drugs are barked one-man-band style over kick drum and rusted electric guitar, but despite the authentic Flannery O'Connor flourishes of the Reverend's press biog the album reeks a little of artifice, even as it corrodes your eardrums and sets your toes a-tappin'.
That said, the endearing huckster's reading of the standard Jesus On The Mainline swings more than convincingly.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-01T21:25:10+00:00
Brent Burkhart joins the queue of post-Seasick Steve floorboard-stomping bluesmen, and trails the usual mis-spent childhood story, losing his eye tormenting snakes on stage with his Pentecostal revivalist family. Hymns to Jesus, Satan, booze, blues and drugs are barked one-man-band style over kick drum and rusted electric guitar, but despite the authentic Flannery O'Connor flourishes of the Reverend's press biog the album reeks a little of artifice, even as it corrodes your eardrums and sets your toes a-tappin'. That said, the endearing huckster's reading of the standard Jesus On The Mainline swings more than convincingly.
It's nice that the late Seventies Ska pioneers The Specials have reformed to stash some pension cash, but The Beat, strafing Two Tone's punky reggae template with taut new wave twin guitars, afro-pop inflections, and dubwise excursions, delivered the movement's best debut.
I Just Can't Stop It's sparkling originals still outshine the cover reliant sets of the Birmingham band's contemporaries, and here, with two discs of extras, it emerges from oblivion as one of the great British albums, gilded by Bob Sargeant's innovative digital production.
And in 1980, where Big Shot's anti-capitalist rant seemed caricatured, now it reads as reportage.
Stewart Lee
2012-07-07T01:16:55+01:00
It's nice that the late Seventies Ska pioneers The Specials have reformed to stash some pension cash, but The Beat, strafing Two Tone's punky reggae template with taut new wave twin guitars, afro-pop inflections, and dubwise excursions, delivered the movement's best debut. I Just Can't Stop It's sparkling originals still outshine the cover reliant sets of the Birmingham band's contemporaries, and here, with two discs of extras, it emerges from oblivion as one of the great British albums, gilded by Bob Sargeant's innovative digital production. And in 1980, where Big Shot's anti-capitalist rant seemed caricatured, now it reads as reportage.
Our labour of love Nightingales rockumentary King Rocker really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times.
“I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times
**** Financial Times
**** Chortle
“One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus
“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman
You can now watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that here.
The film receives its hometown premier in Birmingham, as the King Rocker Christmas Special at the Midland Arts center on Sat 18th December, preceeded by a Q&A with me and dir Michael Cumming, and followed by a performance by the Nightingales. https://macbirmingham.co.uk/event/king-rocker-q-a
There are also these further screenings, where Michael and I will do a Q&A afterwards.
Stewart Lee says - "Following hot on the heels of our sell-out CONTENT PROVIDER t-shirt comes this tasteful ALL THE CHEESES design. The front celebrates Stewart's famous CHEESE joke while the rear print is a delightful tapestry of negative reviews from politicians and their media clients"
Available in two colourways - black t-shirt with liquid silver ink and navy t-shirt with golden yellow (cheese) ink. There is a front print and a back print on each shirt. Available HERE from Noon on Monday 25th Oct.
Stewart Lee said earlier: ‘There are at least 13 t-shirt designs out there based on lines from my stand-up that are nothing to do with me, and a scarf as well, so my hand has been forced into the land of quality endorsed garments. Here is another icily obtuse t-shirt which announces your fandom only to other adepts, and confuses the weak. It's available here from Wax Face, who also do t-shirts for Warren Ellis and the Osees, and make models of Iggy Pop's body and Daniel Clowes' comic book characters. Buy it for the prematurely aged pseudo-intellectual in your life today! As TV's James Acaster recently said, "Stewart Lee fans are like Radiohead fans. They have one big thing they like, and because it’s such a connoisseury thing to enjoy they’re like, “I don’t need anything else outside that. And I’m going to tell everyone that if they don’t get it they’re thick.” And they’re the worst kind of fans.” Come to think of it, that might be the next t-shirt!''
Tees are all unisex and are made by Bella-Canvas. High quality and 100% eco friendly production and no Sweatshops. Shirts come in all sizes and ship worldwide. Get yours before they sell out.
Black Tee Front
Black Tee Back
Navy Tee Front
Navy Tee Back
3) LAURA CANNELL
The avant-folk dronemädchen Laura Cannell has been releasing an ep a month throughout the pandemic.
I wrote and mumbled some words for the latest, August Sounds, also featuring Welsh harpist Rhodri Davies, whose book {below} I done some words for too and that. Available here as cd or dl. http://www.lauracannell.co.uk
Laura Cannell and Kate Ellis also bring the much delayed live incarnation of their These Feral Lands recording project to London’s King’s Place on Feb 18th 2022.
I wrote words for four of the tracks and will attempt to do something with them on the night.
I thought about where I was conceived, and where I was born, plugged the details I know into the folklore of both regions, and tried not to get in the way of Laura and Kate’s mediaeval trance music steamroller. https://www.kingsplace.co.uk/whats-on/contemporary/laura-cannell-with-stewart-lee-kate-ellis-these-feral-lands/
4) LIVE DATES/LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE NEWS
All the SNOWFLAKE TORNADO tour dates outstanding from 2020 will be shifted into 2022, starting in Jan, and below are the ones we know about so far. Local venues will contact you if they haven’t already.
All the warm-up club dates you may have bought tickets for have been slotted in to Nov and Dec, covid willing, and venues will contact ticket holders. Please do not hassle venues about all this. They will contact you. We will get there!
I am planning on re-writing the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE TORNADO to reflect our drastically altered world and will make as good a recording as possible of the abandoned original SNOWFLAKE available at some point. It’s all bacon!
January 2022
Tuesday 4th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 5th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 6th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 7th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 8th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 10th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 13th January 2022 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 15th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Monday 17th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 20th January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Friday 21st January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Saturday 22nd January 2022 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 25th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 26th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 27th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 28th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 29th January 2022 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Sunday 30th January 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
February 2022
Wednesday 2nd February 2022 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd February 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - TICKETS
Friday 4th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 5th February 2022 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 8th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th February 2022 - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Thursday 10th February 2022 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 11th February 2022 - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 12th February 2022 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Sunday 13th February 2022 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 26th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Sunday 27th February 2022 - The Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 28th February 2022 - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - TICKETS
March 2022
Wednesday 2nd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd March 2022 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 4th March 2022 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Saturday 5th March 2022 - Playhouse, Salisbury - TICKETS
Sunday 6th March 2022 - De La Warr Pavillion, Bexhill On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 9th March 2022 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield - TICKETS
Thursday 10th March 2022 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 11th March 2022 - The Courtyard, Hereford - TICKETS
Saturday 12th March 2022 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Monday 14th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 15th March 2022 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th March 2022 - The Sands Centre, Carlisle - TICKETS
Thursday 17th March 2022 - Royal Hall, Harrogate - TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd March 2022 - Churchill Theatre, Bromley - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 25th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 26th March 2022 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 27th March 2022 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th March 2022 - City Hall, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 31st March 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
April 2022
Friday 1st April 2022 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd April 2022 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th April 2022 - Wyvern Theatre, Swindon - TICKETS
Thursday 21st April 2022 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Friday 22nd April 2022 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
Sunday 24th April 2022 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Tuesday 26th April 2022 - Cliffs Pavilion, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th April 2022 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Thursday 28th April 2022 - Derby Theatre, Derby - TICKETS
Friday 29th April 2022 - Lyceum Theatre, Crewe - TICKETS
Saturday 30th April 2022 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
May 2022
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 4th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 5th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 6th May 2022 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 7th May 2022 - Gala Theatre, Durham - TICKETS
Sunday 8th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford - TICKETS
Wednesday 11th May 2022 - Palace Theatre, Watford - TICKETS
Thursday 12th May 2022 - Assembly Hall Theatre, Tunbridge Wells
Friday 13th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 14th May 2022 - The Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Sunday 15th May 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Tuesday 17th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Wednesday 18th May 2022 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 19th May 2022 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Saturday 21st May 2022 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Sunday 22nd May 2022 - The Grand, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 23rd May 2022 - Hippodrome, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 24th May 2022 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 25th May 2022 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Friday 27th May 2022 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Saturday 28th May 2022 - Winding Wheel, Chesterfield - TICKETS
June 2022
Tuesday 7th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester
Sunday 12th June 2022 - Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple
Friday 17th June 2022 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 18th June 2022 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 19th June 2022 - Festival Theatre, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Monday 20th June 2022 - Perth Theatre, Perth - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st June 2022 - Perth Theatre, Perth - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd June 2022 - Tivoli Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd June 2022 - Tivoli Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
Sunday 26th June 2022 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 30th June 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
July 2022
Friday 1st July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd July 2022 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
5) TO VAC OR NOT TO VAC
I would be delighted if, if you are coming to see me, you could do your best to get vaccinated, irrespective of what the gvt or the venue insist upon.
I doubt that my snowflake audience will contain many people who deny the existence of Covid or believe the vaccine is George Soros or Bill Gates trying to put tiny Transformer robots into your blood. But I and my team will be interacting with over 150 000 people on the next leg of the tour, and I would like to minimise our risk, and the risk to my audience, so meet me half way.
I will be selling and signing stuff as usual, I hope, but I won’t be shaking hands to thank you all this time around, and will probably be positioned behind some kind of screen like William Shatner in Airplane 2. Sad.
6) MEDIA GARAGE SALE
My trusted sales partner Media Garage has compacted all my available stand-up dvds into one convenient on-line marketplace, with most available to d/load too.
Remember, if you buy here we will pay tax on these purchases, and help with British schools and hospitals, whereas many major physical media suppliers and streaming services have found ways to avoid declaring their profits, as have NETFLIX, the transphobic bastards. AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE! https://www.mediagarageproductions.com/store/
7) PODCASTS AND THAT
To try and promote King Rocker I have been pimping myself about like Priss Fotheringham on every Podcast going, alone or with dir M Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast), saying the same things in the same room in the same clothes to all different people, all of whom were very kind. I don’t know what a podcast is really but I think you go on the internet and click on something.
As my grandfather once said, in 1983, “Do you know, in America, there are shops that only sell Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I enjoyed being on the internet with all these people enormously, but will put some blue water between me and the next wedge.
David Baddiel told me it was good to be on the internet, though. These are available...
NEW! WHAT’S UPSET YOU NOW? W SEAN WALSH AND PAUL MCCAFFREY.
Dogs, cats, and comediennes of the ‘40s.
NEW! MARK ELLEN & DAVID HEPWORTH’s WORD PODCAST
This was really good fun but I am becoming same-anecdote man
PAUL CHOWDHRY’S PUDCAST
I chow down with the Chowdster!
8) I Arrogantly Recommend
LIVE EVENTS
Ithell Colquhoun
- Song of Songs The surrealist ascendent’s unseen privately owned works displayed alongside sympathetic contemporary artworks at Union London, Hannover Sq, until Nov 6th
Raucous smart post-punk trio NOVEMBER 4th Brighton Mutations Fest
Emily Young - Carving In Time
The mighty Emily Young - who carves monumental god like figures in the tradition of Blake and Epstein - has an exhibition at a commercial gallery, Tomasso at Marquis House in London, until 12th Nov
Alasdair Roberts
Scottish wyrd folk singer NOVEMBER 13th London Jazz Festival Nick Drake event, 19th Canterbury Gulbenkin
The Nightingales
Birmingham post punk veterans and KING ROCKER stars.
NOVEMBER 1st Sheffield Greystones,
3rd London Lexington,
4th B’ham Hare & Hounds,
5th Bristol Rough Trade,
6th Southsea Wedgewood,
7th Bedford Esquires,
8th London Lexington W BLUE ORCHIDS & TED CHIPPINGTON,
9th Barrow-in-Furness Underground,
10th Glasgow Hugh & Pint,
11th Edinburgh Caves,
12th Middlesbrough Westgarth,
13th Hebden Bridge Trades,
14th Leicester Cookie,
DECEMBER 18th Birmingham MAC w King Rocker film
The Fallen Leaves
Gentlemen mod punks.
NOVEMBER 20TH Brighton Prince Albert.
JANUARY 15TH Acton George & Dragon, 20th 100 Club, London + Downliners’ Sect & Masonics.
FEBRUARY 12th 229 London.
JUNE 11TH 100 Club, London.
Thurston Moore Group
Guitar Guru NOV 2ND London Omeara
Paul Currie
The fantastic Belfast surrealist clown-comedian Paul Currie is doing his new show TEET at Soho Theatre, London, from NOV 3RD - 6TH. I cannot recommend him enough. He is the teets! https://sohotheatre.com/shows/paul-currie-teet/
The Wolfhounds
Cheesewire indie kitchen sink realists
NOVEMBER 5TH London 229, 19th Middlesbrough Westgarth, 20th Preston Ferret
Martin Carthy
Ageless folk veteran NOV 11th Lewes Con Club, 27th Brighton Toy Museum, DECEMBER 1st Café Oto London
The Chameleons
M’cr post punk visionaries on another victory lap. NOVEMBER 12TH Minehead Shine On.
DECEMBER 14TH Huddersfield Parish, 16th Blackpool Waterloo, 17th/18th M’cr Ritz.
JANUARY 14TH Leicester Academy, 15th Birmingham Institute.
FEBRUARY 1ST Nottingham Rescue Rooms, 5th London Islington Assembly Hall
Archie Shepp
Jazz genius NOV 15th London Barbican
Faust
Krautrock noise veterans NOV 15th London Union Chapel
Yo La Tengo
Melodic/experimental New York survivors
NOV 16th Bristol SWX, 17th Cantebrury Colyer-Fergusson Bldg, 19th London Royal Festival Hall
Sleaford Mods
Angry loud man and quiet electronic man.
NOVEMBER 17th M’cr Academy, 18th Glasgow Barrowlands, 19th Aberdeen Lemon Tree, 21st Dublin Olympia, 24th Newcastle Academy, 25th Liverpool Academy, 26th Oxford Academy, 27th Nottingham Motorpoint, 30th Cardiff Tramshed,
DECEMBER 1st Bristol Academy, 2nd London Printworks, 3rd Brighton Dome
Trash Kit
High-life inflected post-punk NOVEMBER 19th + 20th Newcastle Brave Exhibitions Festival.
Their mums and dads probably owned Paul Simon’s Gracelands.
Len Price 3
Reliably thrilling Breton-bejumpered Mod-Punks NOV 19TH London Water Rats. Good to see them back.
Jackie Oates
Compelling contemporary folk singer NOVEMBER 24th Exeter Phoenix
The Primevals
Glasgow garage rockers, our own Flamin’ Groovies.
NOVEMBER 27TH London Hope & Anchor.
Dry Cleaning
Sing-speak post-punk poets
NOVEMBER 27th Nottingham Motorpoint, 30th Cardiff Tramshed.
DECEMBER 1st Hebden Bridge Trades, 2nd Norwich Arts Centre, 3rd Brighton Dome.
FEBRUARY 14th Liverpool Arts, 15th Dublin Button, 16th Belfast Empire,. 18th Edinburgh Summerhall, 19th Glasgow QMU, 20th Leeds Brudenell, 22nd Birmingham Mill, 23rd Bristol Marble, 25th Manchester Academy 2, 26th Sheffield Leadmill 2, 27th Nottingham Rescue.
MARCH 1st Southsea Wedgewood, 2nd Brighton Concorde 2, 3rd London Forum.
APRIL 1st Manchester 02 Ritz.
Swell Maps
Surviving members and associated acts DECEMBER 3rd + 4th, Café Oto, London
The Fallen Women
Female Fall tribute band w guest vocalists incl me. DECEMBER 5th London Lexington.
The Bohman Brothers
Dada-ish improvisors. DECEMBER 8th Brighton Rose Hill
John Butcher, Mark Sanders, John Edwards
Top free-improvisation trio DEC 8th London Iklecktik
Eliza Carthy
Folk superstar fiddler currently on top form, seen at Laugharne last month DEC 21st London Union Chapel
NEW FILMS
Little Joe (Jessica Hausner) **** County Lines (Henry Blake) *****
Animal Antics (Patrick Goddard) *****
OLD FILMS
Box Of Moonlight (Tom DeCillo, 1996) *****
Local Hero (Bill Forsyth, 1983) *****
Where Eagles Dare (Brian G Hutton, 1968) *****
The Big Gundown (Sergio Sollima, 1967) *****
The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973) *****
Star Wars (George Lucas, 1977) *****
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)*****
Good Vibrations (Lisa Barros D'sa/Glen Leyburn, 2013)*****
Caliber 9 (Fernado di Leon, 1972) *****
'71 (Yann Demange, 2014) *****
Big Night (Campbell Scott/Stanley Tucci, 1996) *****
Jason & The Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) *****
Goldstone (Ivan Sen, 2016) *****
Witness (Peter Weir, 1985) *****
Avengers Infinity War (Russo Brothers, 2018) ****
Avengers Endgame (Russo Brothers, 2019) ****
In Order of Disappearance (Hans Peter Molland, 2014)*****
Iron Man III (Shane Black, 2013)*****
Pauline A La Plage (Eric Rohmer, 1983) *****
Gone To Earth (Powell/Pressburger, 1950) ****
The Odd Couple (Neil Simon, 1968) *****
Excalibur (John Boorman, 1981) ****
Samurai 1 : Mushashi Miyamoto (Hiroshi Inagaki, 1954) ****
Cache / Hidden (Michaek Haneke, 2005) ***** Babylon (Franco Rosso, 1980) *****
Summer In February (Christopher Menaul, 2013) **** Guardians of The Galaxy (James Gunn, 2014) *****
All Tomorrow's Parties (Jonathan Caouette, 2009) **** Medea (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969) *****
Force Majeure (Ruben Ostlund, 2015) ****
Lift To The Scaffold (Louise Malle, 1958)*****
Macbeth (Roman Polanski, 1971)*****
Tomb of Ligeia (Roger Corman, 1964) ****
Massacre Time (Lucio Fulci, 1966) ****
Bandidos (Massimo Dallamano, 1967) ****
And God Said To Cain (Antonio Margheriti, 1970) *****
Dead Man's Shoes (Shane Meadows, 2004) *****
Romeo + Juliet (Baz Luhrmann, 1996) *****
Gallivant (Andrew Kotting, 1996) *****
OLD BOOKS
Rosemary Tonks - Emir (1963)*****
Rosemary Tonks - The Bloater (1968) *****
John Berger/Jean Mohr - A Fortunate Man (1967) ***** Ann Quin - Berg (1964) ****
Sir John Mandeville - The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (1357)**** Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018)
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) Virginia Nicholson - Amongst The Bohemians (2003)
Joanna Moorhead - The Surreal Life of Leonora Carrington (2017)
Betty May - Tiger Woman (1929)
Val Doonican - My Story, My Life (2009) Dave Graney - Workshy (2017)
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde - R L Stevenson (1985)
Hide & Seek - Dennis Potter (1973)
M R James - Complete Ghost Stories (1904 - 35) *****
Gavin Lambert - The Slide Area (1959)****
NEW BOOKS
Tessa Norton/Bob Stanley - Excavate!
Alan Stafford - Wilson, Keppel & Betty, Too Naked For The Nazis Peter Oborne - The Assault On Truth Nesrine Malik - We Need New Stories ***** Sean Bythell - Diary of a Bookseller (2018) *****
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room (1988) ***** Alicia Foster - Nina Hamnett Charlie Hill - I Don't Want To Go To The Taj Mahjal
Hill's economic autobiography is a simplistic list of addresses, dead end jobs, cultural ephemera, and brief assignations, garnished with two or three short paragraphs of barely formed reflection. And yet, in reducing his life to these most basic elements, it manages to be a more profound comment on existence then many more self-consciously analytical efforts. As if to confound Wittgenstein, it appears the unexamined life was worth living after all.
Tracey Thorn - My Rock 'n' Roll Friend *****
Will Sergeant - Bunnyman ****
Hotel Art Head - Rhodri Davies & Nikos Veliotos I have written the intro for this new project exploring the interior design aesthetics travelling musicians' hotel acommodation https://rhodridavies.bandcamp.com/merch/hotel-art-head-rhodri-davies-nikos-veliotis-art-book
NEW COMICS
Joe Sacco - Paying The Land (2020)
NEW TV
Ghosts S2 (BBC, 2020)
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020) The Mandalorian S2 (Disney, 2020) ***** Call My Agent S3 (France 2, 2018)*****
Call My Agent S4 (France 2, 2021) *****
The Trump Show (BBC, 2020-1)*****
Lupin S1 (Netflix, 2021)***** Wandavision (Marvel, 2021)*****
Stonehenge The Lost Circle Revealed (BBC, 2021) *****
Adam Curtis' Can't Get You Out Of My Head (BBC, 2021)***** Raiders Of The Lost Past With Janina Ramirez (BBC2, 2021) ****
Mortimer & Whitehouse Gone Fishing S3 (BBC, 2020) *****
The Falcon & The Winter Soldier (Marvel, 2021) *****
Homeland s8 (Netflix, 2020)*****
Into The Night S1 (Between a Dog & A Wolf, 2020) ****
Unforgotten S4 (ITV, 2021) ****
Inside No 9 S6 (BBC, 2021) ***** Great British Bake Off S11 (C4, 2020) *****
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) Time (BBC, 2021) ***** Loki (Kate Herron, Marvel, 2021)
Ghosts S3 (BBC, 2021) *****
Alma’s Not Normal (BBC2, 2021)
King Gary S2 (BBC1, 2021)
Great British Bake Off S5 (C4, 2021) *****
Four Hours At The Capitol (BBC, 2021) *****
Blair and Brown, The New Labour Revolution (BBC, 2021) *****
INTERNETS, RADIOS, YOUTUBES AND PODCASTS
Rob Auton's Daily Podcast
Alasdair Beckett-King on Youtube
Shawn Woods' Mouse Trap Monday on Youtube
An Evening With Tim Heidecker (Youtube, 2020) ****
Rosie Holt's Youtube characters
James O’Brien (LBC)
Alexei Sayle’s Imaginary Sandwich Bar S1 (BBC R4, 2016) Bridget Christie - Mortal (BBCR4)
Gideon Coe (BBC 6Music)
Marc Riley (BBC 6Music)
Eddie Mair (LBC)
Down The Line S1, S2 ( )
Tom Robinson (BBC 6Music)
THEATRE
Under Milk Wood - Dylan Thomas (National) *****
The Pin's The Comeback (Noel Coward Theatre) ****
This felt like it was from the 1870s, the 1950s and now all at the same time.
It was of a tradition at the same time as exploding it. It reminded me of THE RIGHT Size and it would be great if The Pin could hold the partnership together in the way they didn't as there's probably lots to find out about how elastic it can be, and what you can subsume into it.
A Victorian audience would have recognised it as Music Hall and a '50s audience would have recognised it as Absurdism, which Beckett knew was music hall anyway. Were they even in a theatre, really, them blokes? I hope it tours.
Ben Moor - Who Here's Lost? (Hen & Chickens) ****
COMEDY
Jo Neary - Wife On Earth (Hen & Chickens) ****
Rob Auton - Time (Soho Theatre) ****
Johnny & The Baptists (Soho Theatre) *****
NEW RECORDS
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
Cult Figures - Deritend Vapour Trails - Celestial Scuzz *****
Robert Pollard - Before Computers (demos)
Kevin March - Last Night
Doug Gillard - Douglas Scott Gillard II
Guided by Voices - Earth Man Blues Gwenifer Raymond - Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain Ustad Saami - Pakistan Is For The Peaceful ***** The Blue Orchids - Speed The Day Dave Graney & The Mistly - Live At Byrds *****
Mainliner - Dual Myths *****
Hawkwind - 50th Anniversary Live
The Amorphous Androgynous w Peter Hammill - We Persuade Ourselves We Are Immortal
Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The London Symphony Orcestrea - s/t
Major Murphy - Access
Eleventh Dream Day - Since Grazed Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg
Guided By Voices - Earth Man Blues
Fixed Horizon - Grenouille Lucinda Williams - Runnin' Down A Dream
Krallice - Demonic Wealth
Catenary Wires - Birling Gap
Cub Scout Bowling Pins - Heaven Beats Iowa ****
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There's Pretty Things in Palookaville ****
Robyn Hitchcock - The Man Upstairs ****
Chris Forsyth - First Flight
Chris Eckerman - Where The Spirit Rests ****
The Scientists - Negativity
David Grubbs & Ryley Walker - Husky Pants **** Shirley Collins - Heart's Ease ***** Gary Louris - Jump For Joy *****
Fixed Horizon - Full Circle ****
Trees Speak - Post Human **** William Loveday Intention - People Think They Know Me *****
Hawkwind - Somnia The Bevis Frond - Little Eden *****
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - There's Pretty Things In Palookaville *****
Goat - Headsoup Adele & The Chandeliers - First Date
Trees Speak - Post Human
Sun Ra Arkestra - Swirling *****
Phil Minton - Woke Up At 8 *****
Rudimentary Peni - The Great War Lucinda Williams - Southern Soul
Son Volt - Electro Melodies ****
Guided By Voices - It's Not Them! It Couldn't Be Them! It Is Them! ****
Billy Childish & CTMF - Where The Purple Iris Grows ****
David Lance Callahan - English Primitive 1 *****
Paul Rooney - Service Industries 1 *****
The Shadracks - From Human Like Forms ****
NEW OLD RECORDS
V/A - Rough Guide To Avant-Garde Japan
Guided by Voices - Live At Irving Plaza (1996)
Damo Suzuki & Echo Ensemble - Live @ Green Door (2013) Heavenly - A Bout De Heavenly (1989-1996)
Martin Stone - Down But Not Out In Paris and London (1992-2013)
John Russell & Terry Day - Russell & Day (1979?)
Derek Bailey, Trevor Watts & Terry Day - At LTC (1972?) Sonny Rollins - Rollins In Holland (1967) *****
Robert Pollard - I Sell The Circus (demos) (2015) The Fall - St Helen's Technical College (1981) *****
Charles Gayle, John Edwards, Mark Sanders - Seasons Changing (2017) *****
The Misunderstood - Children of The Sun(1965-66) *****
Dexter Gordon - Live In Chateauvallon (1978) *****
The Loft - Ghost Trains & Country Lanes (1984-2015)
And Also The Trees - s/t (1984)
Neil Young - Young Shakespeare (1971)
T2 - It'll All Work Out In Boomland (1970)
The Outsiders - Count For Something (1976-78)
The Selecter - Too Much Pressure box (1980)
Brown Acid 11 - v/a (1969-73)
Fleur de Lys - Circles (1964-1969)
J Jazz Deep Jazz From Modern Japan vol 3 - V/A (1962-1985)
The Black Keys Present Hill Country Blues - v/a
Brown Acid 12 - v/a (1968-80)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Open Road - Windy Day (1971)
Dave Graney, Clare Moore, Georgie Valentino & Malcolm Ross - s/t (2017) ****
Hangman's Beautiful Daughters - Smashed Full Of Wonder (1987)
The Lipstick Killers - Strange Flash (1976-81)
The Hawks - Obviously 5 Believers (1979-81) ****
v/a - Goitse A Thaisce (1960-2020) *****
v/a - Fire Draw Near (1940-2020) *****
OLD RECORDS
Cocteau Twins - Treasure (1984) **** Billy Bragg - Life's A Riot (1983) *****
Billy Bragg - Brewing Up with (1984) *****
The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional (1986) ****
Siouxsie & The Banshees - A Kiss In The Dreamhouse (1982) ****
Bunny Striker Lee - The Bunny Striker Lee Story (1967-80) ****
V/A - Dub, A Journey Into Bass Culture (1970s) ****
V/A - Dub, Original Bass Culture (1970s) ****
V/A - Dub, More Bass Culture (1970s) ****
Tomorrow's Gift - Goodbye Future (1973) ****
Jackson C Frank - s/t (1965) ****
V/A - Down Home Blues, Chicago Fine Boogie (1947-1958)**** Maggie Bjorklund - Shaken (2014)**** June Tabor - Airs & Graces (1976) *****
John Martyn - The Very Best Of (1967-1996) ***** The Owl Service - The Garland Sessions (2007) *****
John Lee Hooker - Tantalising With The Blues (1965-70)*****
Furry Lewis, Memphis Willie B, Memphis Slim - Bluesville 3 (1963?) **** Lightnin' Hopkins - Prestige Profiles (1960-4) *****
Magic Slim - Live @ Ma Bea's (1976) ****
Jimmy Dawkins - Come Back Baby (1977) ****
Allman Brothers - At Filmore East (1971) **** John Fahey - The Yellow Princess (1968) *****
Freedy Johnston - Can You Fly? (1992)**** Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day (2009) ****
Tragically Hip - Man Machine Poem (2016) ****
Tragically Hip - We Are The Same (2009) **** Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) *****
Grant Lee Buffalo - Storm Hymnal (1993-98) ****
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues (1990) **** Yo La Tengo - President (1989) ***** Yo La Tengo - Fakebook (1990) ***** Yo La Tengo - That Is You La Tengo (1991) **** Yo La Tengo - May I Sing With Me? (1992) **** Yo La Tengo - Painful (3 cds) (1993) **** Tim Buckley - Dream Letter (1968) *****
Those Bastard Souls - Debt & Departure (1999) *****
Wanderlust - Prize (1995) ****
Chain - Towards The Blues (1971) ****
The Schramms - Omnidirectional (2019) ****
Cannonball Adderley - Soul Zodiac (1972)
Fred Anderson - Quintessential Birthday Trio Vol II (2015)
Greg Bendian's Interzone - Requiem For Jack Kirby (2001)
Nels Cline & Greg Bendian - Interstellar Space Revisited (1999)
The Beat - Bounce (2016) Nina Simone - To Be Free (1959-1993)
Swervedriver - 99th Dream (1998)
Road - s/t (1972)
Mudhoney - Morning In America (2019)
Necromandus - Orexis of Death (1973)
Julian Cope - Peggy Suicide (1991)
Ultravox - Rage In Eden (1981)
Siouxsie & The Banshees - Tinderbox (1986)
Blues Pills - Live In Paris (2017)
Gram Parsons - Alternate Takes (1973-4)
Mike Westbrook - Mama Chicago (1976)
The Fall - Grotesque (1980)
Truly - Fast Stories From Kid Coma (1995)
Echo & the Bunnymen - Evergreen (1997)
Echo & The Bunnymen - What Are You Going To Do With Your Life? (1999)
Blues Pills - Lady In Gold (2016)
Leo Bud Welch - The Angels In Heaven Done Signed My Name (2019)
The Black Keys - Chulahoma (2006) Nanci Griffith - One Fair Summer Evening (1988)
The Soft Boys - Invisible Hits (1983)
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2003)
Raw Material - s/t (1970)
Don Carlos & Gold - Them Never Know Natty Dread Have Him Credentials (1982)
Henry Junjo Lawes - Volcano Erruption (70s-80s)
Don Carlos - Day To Day Living (1982)
Bunny 'Striker' Lee - Full Up (1968-72)
Bunny Lee & Friends - Tape Rolling (1971-4) ****
v/a - Trojan Roots Dancehall Box ('70s, '80s)
Charlie Chaplin & Papa San - Respect Due (1986?)
Robert Forster - The Evangelist (2008) *****
John Stewart - California Bloodlines (1969) ****
v/a - Trojan Dancehall Box ('70s, '80s)
Don Carlos - In Dub (1980)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots ('70s, '80s)
Yabby You - Deeper Roots Part 2 ('70s, '80s)
Norma Winstone - Edge Of Time (1972) ****
Atlas - Just Playin' Rhythm & Blues (1967-71)
V/A - Alan Lomax Songbook (1939-76) ****
Shirley Collins - Lodestar (2016) *****
The Go-betweens - Loving Shocks (1989) ****
Red House Painters - Songs For A Blue Guitar (1996) ****
Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats - Mind Control (2013)
The Damned - Music For Pleasure (1977) ****
Skids - Days In Europa (1977)
Big Country - The Crossing (1983) ****
Big Country - Steel Town (1984)
Jon Dee Graham - Escape From Monster Island (1997) ****
The Fall - Live At The Witch Trials (1979) *****
Echo & The Bunnymen - The Stars, The Oceans & The Moon (2018)
Echo & The Buynnymen - Ballyhoo (1980-87) *****
Orange Juice - Rip It Up (1982)
Orange Juice - Texas Fever (1984)
The Stone Roses - s/t (1989) ****
The Screaming Trees - Buzz Factory (1989) ****
Mark Lanegan - The Winding Street (1990) *****
Killdozer - For Ladies Only (1989) ****
Magazine - Real Life (1978) ****
The Stranglers - Peaches (1977-82) *****
Screaming Trees - Uncle Anaesthesia (1991)
Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan - Sunday At Devil Dirt (2008)
The Osiris Club - Blazing World (2014)
UB40 - Signing Off (1980)*****
UB40 - Present Arms (1981) *****
UB40 - Present Arms In Dub (1981) ****
Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007) *****
The Brave Little Abacus - Last Show @ Vic Geary Center (2012) *****
Sarofeen and Smoke - s/t (1970) ****
Blue Cheer - Outsideinside (1968) ****
Conqueroo - From The Vulcan Gas Company (1968) ****
Frank Morgan - City Nights (2004) ****
Peter Brotzmann - Machine Gun (1968) *****
Phil Minton - A Doughnut In One Hand (1998) *****
Chris Von Sneidern - The Wild Horse (2003)
Alexei Sayle - Cak! (1982) ****
Steve Wynn - Here Come The Miracles (2001) ****
Steve Wynn - Static Transmission (2003) ****
Andy Irvine - Old Dog Long Road Vol 1 (1961-2012) ****
Patti Smith - Land (1975-2002) *****
9) WOKE CAUSES - THIS MONTH, GOOD LAW PROJECT, GET OFF MY MED RECORDS, GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
GOOD LAW PROJECT
LINK
It's evident that the corrupt kleptocracy of Boris Johnson isn't going to dislodged by Kier Starmer's PMQ's however forensic, or by the biased media, or by legal investigations in which the gvt essentially investigate themselves.
However, despite the threats to judiciary in the Queen's speech, at present the gvt are required to obey the law.
Champagne socialist fox-whacking lawyer Jolyon Maugham's donation funded Good Law Project seems to be better than the opposition currently at holding the gvt to account, and proving where they have broken the law, so if you can spare a pound crowd fund them, as they do seem to be making an impact.
GBNEWS ADVERTISERS
Stop Funding Hate say - Advertising sales for GB News are reportedly handled by Sky Media.
We're aware of at least one company who say they were unaware that they were going to appear on GB News and suspended those ads when they found out. If you work for a company that buys programmatic advertising from Sky, it may be worth checking with them to ensure that your ads aren't placed on GB News.
A huge thanks to the Stop Funding Hate volunteers who have come together to help identify GB News advertisers.
Brands that we've seen so far include: Vodafone, Octopus Energy, Ovo Energy, Co-op, Ikea, LV, Virgin Media, Kelloggs, Deliveroo, Nivea, Kenco coffee, AA, Premier Inn, American Express, Benadryl (Johnson and Johnson), Wickes, Starbucks, Weetabix, Listerine (Pfizer), National Lottery, Boomin, Cadbury, Taylors coffee, Amazon, Cazoo, Microsoft, Google, Alpen (Weetabix), Beko Harvestfresh, Pinterest, Ladbrokes, Rana pasta, Burger King, Warburtons, The UK Government (EU resettlement scheme), Bosch, Specsavers, TalkTalk, trivagoWeekend, itchpet.com, MSC Cruises, Grolsch, Indeed recruitment, Motability, Feel Multivitamins, Green Flag, Clean G non alcoholic gin, Facebook, Volvo, Bazuka, fiverr, Motability, Ibuleve Gel, Toyota, Appeal home shading / blinds, People's Postcode Lottery, Just Eat, Petit Filous, Direct Bullion, Compare the Market, Kardia Mobile, Bupa, Verisure, The Open University.
There's more information here about Stop Funding Hate, and the impact of our campaign so far. If you're able to help build our movement tackling toxic media in the UK and internationally, please consider becoming a committed supporter and making a regular donation.
10) IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Dave Mountfield (Ornate Johnson) (1970)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955) Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942) Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944) The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930) Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006) Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929) Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942) Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950) Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938) Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man's-laughter maker) (1964)
Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960)
Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935)
Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?)
Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939)
Bunny Lee (dubmaster) (1940) The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770)
Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979) Jill Paton Walsh (humanist novelist) (1937)
Val Warner (poet) (1946)
Guy N Smith (Lord of The Crabs) (1939)
Richard Corben (decadent cartoonist) (1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho) (1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man) (1945)
- 2021 -
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Katharine Whitehorn (bedsitter cook) (1928)
Celia Drummond Ford (voice of Trees) (1950)
The Happy Man Tree (Stoke Newington Tree) (1870)
John Russell (guitar guru) (1954)
Marcel Uderzo (Asterisk artist) (1933)
Tom Stevens (Long Ryder and Magus) (1956)
Dougie Anderson (Coda's Edinburgh record dealer (1952)
Captain Tom (Covid Walkman) (1920) Rynagh O'Grady (Ted's Mary) (1954)
Mary Wilson (Supreme) (1944)
Chick Corea (Miles' tinkler) (1941)
Iain Pattinson (You wanted to see me Prime Minister?) (1951)
U-Roy (Toastmaster) (1942)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti (bookstore beat) (1921)
Wink O'Bannon (Eleventh Dream Day) (1956)
Bunny Wailer (Wailer) (1947)
Doug Parkinson (Oz vocal celeb) (1946)
Milford Graves (temporal explorer) (1941)
Johnny Rogan (Byrds' Boswell) (1953) Jessica Walter (Play Misty For Me) (1941)
Bertrand Tavernier (Round Midnight) (1941) Anita Lane (Oz punk chanteuse) (1958)
Barbara Ess (Theoretical Girl) (1944)
Michael Collins (Apollo 11) (1930)
Mohammed Ag Itale (Tinariwen) (1960)
Monte Hellman (Two Lane Blacktop) (1929)
Sonny Simmons (jazz hobo) (1933)
Charles Grodin (The American Tim Key) (1935)
Franco Battiato (Italian Fetus) (1945)
Yoshi Wada (bagpipe minimalist) (1943)
Ned Beatty (squealing piggy) (1937)
Davey Datblygu (Davey Datblygu) (1964)
S Clay Wilson (Captain Pissgums) (1941)
Peter Zinovieff (sonic pioneer) (1933)
Richard Donner (kebab pioneer) (1930) Alix Dobkin (feminist folksinger) (1940)
Patrick Sky (native American folksinger) (1940)
Tom O'Connor (raconteur) (1939)
Dusty Hill (ZZ Top) (1949)
Bob Sergeant (digital Beat producer) (194?)
Byron Berline (Byrds fiddler) (1944)
John Lawton (friend of Lucifer) (1947)
Una Stubbs (wooden woman) (1937)
Nanci Griffith (C&W poet) (1953)
Sean Lock (excrement genitals) (1963)
Brian Travers (UB40 blowhard) (1959)
Lee Scratch Perry (The Super Ape) (1936)
Michael Chapman (English primitive) (1941)
Norm Macdonald (acceptable face of US stand-up) (1959)
Tony Selby (Get Some In!) (1938)
Tom T Hall (Harper Valley songsmith) (1936)
Powell St John (Psychedelic Texan) (1940)
The White Stag of Bootle (2010?)
John Rossall (The Last Glam In Town) ()
Pat Fish (A Southern Mark Smith) (1957)
Jim Pembroke (psychedelic Anglo-Fin) (1946)
Rick Jones (Fingerbob Meal Ticket) (1937)
Alan Hawkshaw (Sausage on fork composer) (1937)
Takashi Mizutani (Les Rallizes dude) (1948)
I’m going to end on a note about Tony Selby, as these days not posting anything on Social Media, due to not actually being on social media, can be taken as callous indifference, and there tends to be a rush to comment in the light of any loss.
Condolences to his family and friends. I once had to stay at my friend Nigel Short’s house one night when my Mum was working.
His brother made me eat a maggot. We watched Tony Selby on TV in ‘Get Some In!’ and it seemed really funny.
Stewart Lee
2021-10-30T11:45:51+01:00
1) KING ROCKER CINEMA TOUR Our labour of love Nightingales rockumentary King Rocker really landed. I arrogantly think it knocks most rockumentaries into a cocked hat and will cheer you up no end in the awful times. “I loved every minute” - Ben Dowell, The Times **** Financial Times **** Chortle “One of the best music documentaries of all time” - The Quietus “The new gold standard for rockumentaries” - The Scotsman You can now watch it, ad-free, on NOW TV if you have that here. The film receives its hometown premier in Birmingham, as the King Rocker Christmas Special at the Midland Arts center on Sat 18th December, preceeded by a Q&A with me and dir Michael Cumming, and followed by a performance by the Nightingales. https://macbirmingham.co.uk/event/king-rocker-q-a There are also these further screenings, where Michael and I will do a Q&A afterwards. NOV 9th London Broadgate Everyman https://www.everymancinema.com/film-info/king-rocker-live-qa NOV 10TH Bristol Everyman https://www.everymancinema.com/film-info/king-rocker-live-qa NOV 11th Liverpool Everyman https://www.everymancinema.com/film-info/king-rocker-live-qa NOV 18TH Leeds Everyman https://www.everymancinema.com/film-info/king-rocker-live-qa DEC 16TH London Dalston Rio https://riocinema.org.uk/RioCinema.dll/WhatsOn?Film=13951901 Here’s one link that takes you to all the events; https://linktr.ee/kingrocker 2) RED LEICESTER T-SHIRT Stewart Lee says - "Following hot on the heels of our sell-out CONTENT PROVIDER t-shirt comes this tasteful ALL THE CHEESES design. The front celebrates Stewart's famous CHEESE joke while the rear print is a delightful tapestry of negative reviews from politicians and their media clients" Available in two colourways - black t-shirt with liquid silver ink and navy t-shirt with golden yellow (cheese) ink. There is a front print and a back print on each shirt. Available HERE from Noon on Monday 25th Oct. Stewart Lee said earlier: ‘There are at least 13 t-shirt designs out there based on lines from my stand-up that are nothing to do with me, and a scarf as...
Christ was born in a barn. This proves that he came for all humankind, as well as reducing his parents’ options for witty off-the-peg verbal critiques of him should he leave their front door open. Bearing Christ’s universality in mind, on Christmas Day at lunchtime I made my guests stand to listen to a few hours of festive recordings I had sourced via a bent Prison Service contact. A choir of people convicted of offences relating to the summer riots performed a selection of seasonal songs as my guests listened, hands on their hearts. The man who took a brick in the testicles in Southport added a particularly effective descant on the closing verse of Feed the World. Auntie Gladys was in tears and the old man from next door soiled himself in woe.
In the run-up to Christmas, I pondered all those less fortunate than me who would perhaps have to spend the season in prison; or worse still, those who will have to make polite conversation over the turkey with elderly Reform-voting relatives who still think Brexit was a great idea but it just wasn’t done right, and that Nigel Farage is “a character”.
Meanwhile, 19 environmental protesters, soon to be lauded as martyrs in the planet’s last line of defence, celebrated Christmas in British jails this year, doubtless eating artificially fertilised food and opening wasteful cards, like the trust fund-funded middle-class student hypocrites they are.
One 77-year-old Quaker layabout do-gooder, Gaie Delap, initially instructed to serve her sentence at home, was also told she would spend Christmas in prison; the private company contracted to imprison the climate heroine could not find an electronic tag small enough for her, provision for Delap’s wrist circumference presumably lying outside the break-even margins deemed acceptable by its shareholders.
No privatised British incarceration service could reasonably be expected to hold so small a Quaker and still turn a profit. Criminals are usually large anyway, like that Charles Bronson bloke and the Kingpin in Daredevil. I hope the tiny Quaker gave the screws the slip through a ventilation grille and then floated away on a cocktail umbrella. Madam! History will exonerate you!! Be strong!!! We salute you… from our nice homes, admittedly.
The imprisonment of the environmental protesters is a brown stain on our nation’s history. But Elon Musk, whose purchase of the Ricky Gervais fansite and pornbot accelerant Twitter (currently X) has made him the world’s most influential horse tranquilliser consumer, thinks the throb-veined sunbed magnate and mortgage fraudster Tommy Robinson is also a political prisoner; a veritable white Nelson Mandela for the street cocaine and supa-strength cider generation.
Indeed, in November, on Twitter (currently X), Musk asked: “Why is he [currently Tommy Robinson] in prison for 18 months?” It’s telling that Musk had to openly ask this, rather than just running the question through his own social media app, as he has now degraded Twitter (currently X) so much that all that would have come up were links to porn, AI graphics of Donald Trump fighting a transgender Godzilla, and motivational quotes from Musk himself. (“It’s OK to have all your eggs in one basket, as long as you bought the eggs off me and I rented you the basket.”)
Robinson is, of course, in prison for making false claims about a young Syrian refugee in a film, and then repeatedly showing the film when he’d been asked nicely not to. Although to be fair, unlike James Mangold, the director of A Complete Unknown, at least Tommy Robinson didn’t show Bob Dylan composing Girl from the North Country a full year before he learned the Scarborough Fair melody it is based on from Martin Carthy while playing small folk clubs in London. Who is the real criminal here?
Robinson, and Musk, and Farage circulated inflammatory assumptions from the likes of the professional misogynist and self-styled “webcam pimp” Andrew Tate, and rioters were inspired by these comments. But should cruelly misled summer rioters find themselves spending Christmas in jail, for the crime of simply having tried to burn down migrant hostels full of children in good faith? I don’t know. It was for that reason that I commissioned my own Christmas choir of convicted rioters.
That, and because Trump did the same thing a week or so before Thanksgiving at Mar-a-Largo, when recordings of the convicted January 6 rioters singing the national anthem were played for guests. Later the same month, Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg dined there with Trump. This is a man who has all your personal details going back decades, and photos of every fancy dress party you attended, every assignation you engineered, and every political demo you ever walked peacefully along with – and he’s desperate to be in with the new boss.
You are nothing to these people, just low-hanging fruit for whoever has the money to buy the means to mind-map you into being the voter they want you to be. Western democracy is all over bar the shouting.
But there was a strange sliver of hope on Christmas Day when, somehow, the old BBC liberal values leaked through, as if even the Tory place-people that have gerrymandered the board realised Christmas programmes need to be a little bit nice.
Oh look! A feminist ghost story from 1887 (admittedly adapted and directed by a man)! Oh look! A queer black Doctor in Doctor Who creates the star that leads the wise men to the baby Jesus! It’s the wokest Christmas TV ever! For one day, like Robert De Niro in Awakenings, the BBC was back to its old self. And that’s where I’ll be, in the darkest moments of the coming year of despair, flashing myself back into the Baileys haze where an animated dog and an Asian policewoman defeated an army of malevolent AI gnomes controlled by an evil penguin who really should have been in jail.
Stewart Lee
2025-01-05T19:38:03+00:00
Christ was born in a barn. This proves that he came for all humankind, as well as reducing his parents’ options for witty off-the-peg verbal critiques of him should he leave their front door open. Bearing Christ’s universality in mind, on Christmas Day at lunchtime I made my guests stand to listen to a few hours of festive recordings I had sourced via a bent Prison Service contact. A choir of people convicted of offences relating to the summer riots performed a selection of seasonal songs as my guests listened, hands on their hearts. The man who took a brick in the testicles in Southport added a particularly effective descant on the closing verse of Feed the World. Auntie Gladys was in tears and the old man from next door soiled himself in woe. In the run-up to Christmas, I pondered all those less fortunate than me who would perhaps have to spend the season in prison; or worse still, those who will have to make polite conversation over the turkey with elderly Reform-voting relatives who still think Brexit was a great idea but it just wasn’t done right, and that Nigel Farage is “a character”. Meanwhile, 19 environmental protesters, soon to be lauded as martyrs in the planet’s last line of defence, celebrated Christmas in British jails this year, doubtless eating artificially fertilised food and opening wasteful cards, like the trust fund-funded middle-class student hypocrites they are. One 77-year-old Quaker layabout do-gooder, Gaie Delap, initially instructed to serve her sentence at home, was also told she would spend Christmas in prison; the private company contracted to imprison the climate heroine could not find an electronic tag small enough for her, provision for Delap’s wrist circumference presumably lying outside the break-even margins deemed acceptable by its shareholders. No privatised British...
The BBC will not be renewing Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle.
BBC funding cuts have been blamed for the decision, forcing the comedy department to concentrate on scripted shows.
All the other stand-up on TV is made by the corporation’s entertainment department which, Lee said: ‘I am sure you will agree, isn’t me.’
The comedian broke the news his newsletter tonight, saying he was ‘grateful for a quick answer’ from the broadcaster, just weeks after the fourth series aired.
He said that the run achieved a consolidated million viewers per episode, in line with previous seasons, and ‘personal feedback from viewers was great’.
He added: ‘I am really glad to have produced 12 hours of stand-up with an old school 20th Century BBC logo on it. The team I got to work with were all superb, including [executive producer] Richard Webb, Chris Morris, Armando Iannucci, [director] Tim Kirkby and regular cast members Kevin Eldon, Paul Putner and Tara Flynn. And the last episode of SLCV4 was my favourite of the 24 we made over the ten years.’
'Looking around The Machynlleth Comedy Festival last weekend I realised how lucky I had been to be the comedian that got to do four series like this.'
And he signed off with: ‘Thanks for watching.’
The DVD of series 4 will be released on Monday October 10, and Lee revealed that there will be a book of the annotated texts of all four series further down the line.
Lee will now tour with Content Provider, ‘a proper big-ideas piece of work’ which will be a work-in-progress until the end of this year, including an Edinburgh Fringe run, followed by a full 18-month tour starting in 2017.
Stewart Lee
2016-05-10T20:12:28+01:00
BBC says 'no more' to acclaimed stand-up show The BBC will not be renewing Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. BBC funding cuts have been blamed for the decision, forcing the comedy department to concentrate on scripted shows. All the other stand-up on TV is made by the corporation’s entertainment department which, Lee said: ‘I am sure you will agree, isn’t me.’ The comedian broke the news his newsletter tonight, saying he was ‘grateful for a quick answer’ from the broadcaster, just weeks after the fourth series aired. He said that the run achieved a consolidated million viewers per episode, in line with previous seasons, and ‘personal feedback from viewers was great’. He added: ‘I am really glad to have produced 12 hours of stand-up with an old school 20th Century BBC logo on it. The team I got to work with were all superb, including [executive producer] Richard Webb, Chris Morris, Armando Iannucci, [director] Tim Kirkby and regular cast members Kevin Eldon, Paul Putner and Tara Flynn. And the last episode of SLCV4 was my favourite of the 24 we made over the ten years.’ 'Looking around The Machynlleth Comedy Festival last weekend I realised how lucky I had been to be the comedian that got to do four series like this.' And he signed off with: ‘Thanks for watching.’ The DVD of series 4 will be released on Monday October 10, and Lee revealed that there will be a book of the annotated texts of all four series further down the line. Lee will now tour with Content Provider, ‘a proper big-ideas piece of work’ which will be a work-in-progress until the end of this year, including an Edinburgh Fringe run, followed by a full 18-month tour starting in 2017.
I loved my gran. And my gran loved the Queen; because of the second world war; because of the corgis; and because of getting a television to watch the coronation in 1953. When I lived with her in the early 70s she had just upgraded to a colour TV and would not allow me to watch the old black-and-white films of Kurosawa or Truffaut that I coveted as a child, as she had “paid for colour”. However, if “coloured” people came on the TV, such as Ken Boothe singing Everything I Own on Top of the Pops, the channel would be swiftly changed. It seemed there was one rule for blah blah blah insert punchline here. Take my wife! Please!! I’m here all week!!! Try the Daylesford Organic farmshop hampers!!!!
My gran was a spiritual forebear of that generation that voted for Brexit, ruined their great-grandchildren’s futures and then promptly died. And I loved her. My gran’s royalism was formed by the crucible of the Blitz, by wattle and daub Coventry immolating on the eastern horizon and by the Queen Mother picking through great craters with a grateful public on Pathé news, perhaps the most selfless and inspiring act of any member of the royal family until the current Queen paid Prince Andrew’s £10m sex-case costs. With our money. She could just have auctioned that jewelled hat surely, the one that gets driven around the Mall in its own car.
I’m a Queen sceptic now, I suppose. But in the summer of 1977, the year of the silver jubilee, I was dressed in a patriotic polythene tabard-wristband combo that came free with issue 32 of Marvel’s Captain Britain comic and I ran around the street party in the rectangle of green grass in the middle of the housing estate singing the national anthem in sunshine-sticky bliss, my egg-white face stained with Mum’s homemade pavlova. I was 28 years old.
I’m joking of course! In 1977 I was nine!! And to this day I bitterly regret making a stupid scrunched-up monkey face to my mum’s camera as the royal car drove past us and the Queen waved her white glove, after our eight-hour wait at the railings on Solihull high street. “Why do you always have to act stupid all the time and ruin everything?” my gran despaired, not realising there was a career in it. She never really forgave me for spoiling the royal moment, though I think I partially redeemed myself by introducing her to my showbiz acquaintance Nicholas Parsons on lower Regent Street in 1993. He had seemed so much bigger in real life that my gran wondered how he fitted inside the colour television.
I want to enjoy the jubilee, but I am conflicted. The red, white and blue bunting that be-swaddles the celebration just makes me think of Rwandan deportations, the weaponised nostalgia patriotism of Brexit and Boris Johnson bewitching the bewildered as he waved the union flag while drooping deliberately from a zip wire. Funny Boris. It’s not my flag any more. I want my country back.
I entered a theatre in Derbyshire last week through a union flag forest foyer and suddenly turning into my surly childhood self again, immediately changed the house music playlist for my show that evening to include the Sex Pistols’ God Save the Queen and the Kunts’ similarly suppressed single Prince Andrew Is a Sweaty Nonce. My gran would have slapped my legs.
But what does it mean to wave a British flag, now that Brexit has trashed our international reputation, compromised England’s relationship with Scotland and Northern Ireland and left our most precious cultural institutions at the mercy of the sadistic philistine gentleman thugs elected to deliver it? Having been the prorogue patsy of an early entanglement in Johnson’s spaff-woven silk-web of lies, the Queen is as much a victim of Brexit as that Ukip-supporting eel farmer whose anguilliformes are now all rotting in a warehouse in the Forest of Dean, but she stinks less of dead fish.
And given that democracy fans must respect the result of the Brexit referendum, whether we voted for it or not, we should make the best of the benefits it brings. On Wednesday, Jacob Rees-Mogg claimed scrapping EU vacuum-cleaner regulations was one of the “most interesting” freedoms offered by Brexit. I will use an anti-EU Henry to suck up my Remainer tears. I hear they also work well on the corpses of rotten eels.
On Monday, Kent county council gave a largely unreported £180,000 contract to the disaster relief charity RE:ACT Disaster Response to provide food and water to stranded Brexit backlog lorry drivers. Thoughtfully, this weekend’s compensatory package for the permanently parked has taken the form of a special deluxe jubilee parcel. Each stationary trucker will receive a Prince Andrew pizza slice, a Prince Philip “slitty-eyes” mask and a small furry wipe-clean vibrating scale model of the Queen’s final corgi, Willow, which can be plugged into the cigarette lighter in the driver’s cab to provide much needed comfort and relief.
It’s a strange time to celebrate the Queen. The patriotic fug that frames her is the same brain-fog that saw the failing Brexit government reach out to the stirring memory of imperial measurements. The return of the gill, the furlong and the peck are further attempts to distract from the gallons of Friday fridge wine, the perches of £840 rolled-gold wallpaper and the fluid scruples of vomit at the 18 December Downing Street party. So sod the Queen.
But in 2014, the traumatised Syrian war veteran Dr David Nott visited the palace and was overcome by a PTSD attack when the Queen asked him about his work. She invited him to come and feed the corgis with her, to take his mind off the atrocities he was reliving.
Stewart Lee
2022-06-05T18:55:07+01:00
I loved my gran. And my gran loved the Queen; because of the second world war; because of the corgis; and because of getting a television to watch the coronation in 1953. When I lived with her in the early 70s she had just upgraded to a colour TV and would not allow me to watch the old black-and-white films of Kurosawa or Truffaut that I coveted as a child, as she had “paid for colour”. However, if “coloured” people came on the TV, such as Ken Boothe singing Everything I Own on Top of the Pops, the channel would be swiftly changed. It seemed there was one rule for blah blah blah insert punchline here. Take my wife! Please!! I’m here all week!!! Try the Daylesford Organic farmshop hampers!!!! My gran was a spiritual forebear of that generation that voted for Brexit, ruined their great-grandchildren’s futures and then promptly died. And I loved her. My gran’s royalism was formed by the crucible of the Blitz, by wattle and daub Coventry immolating on the eastern horizon and by the Queen Mother picking through great craters with a grateful public on Pathé news, perhaps the most selfless and inspiring act of any member of the royal family until the current Queen paid Prince Andrew’s £10m sex-case costs. With our money. She could just have auctioned that jewelled hat surely, the one that gets driven around the Mall in its own car. I’m a Queen sceptic now, I suppose. But in the summer of 1977, the year of the silver jubilee, I was dressed in a patriotic polythene tabard-wristband combo that came free with issue 32 of Marvel’s Captain Britain comic and I ran around the street party in the rectangle of green grass in the middle of the housing estate singing...
The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee premieres Thursday 11th March + New ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ 7” out 15th May
Nostalgic for a time when people gathered in crowded rooms to listen to music and comedy?
You can relive those heady pre-pandemic nights with an 80-minute rare concert from Birmingham’s post-punk legends, The Nightingales at Hackney’s Moth Club in 2018.
Directed by Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, King Rocker, Toast Of London), this special concert includes comedian Stewart Lee performing his 20 minute ‘80s club set.
This special live recording premieres on NoonChorus, as part of our ‘Baptism Of Fire’ series, on March 11th 2021 (8pm GMT / 12pm PT /3pm EST).
‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album.
B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album. ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ will be released 15th May on Fire Records/King Rocker Records.
Fire Films and NoonChorus present:
The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee
Thursday, March 11th, 2021
(8pm GMT / 12pm PT / 3pm EST)
To clarify - I do 20 mins stand-up at the start of the livestream.
It is the 1989 Jesus At The Door routine fucked about with, and then the JAZZ FOLK SEX routine from the Content Provider tour that was cut from the finished film of that show.
Michael Cumming filmed the bit in a very live fashion in a very live atmosphere at Hackney’s very live Moth Club. It is a nice bit of film, but if you are a comedy fan and you pay for that stay for The Nightingales 60 mins straight through no-breaks-between-the-songs steamroller of a set, and a lively reminder of what live entertainment and cool venues look like.
PERISH THE THOUGHT LIVESTREAM The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee premieres Thursday 11th March + New ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ 7” out 15th May Nostalgic for a time when people gathered in crowded rooms to listen to music and comedy? You can relive those heady pre-pandemic nights with an 80-minute rare concert from Birmingham’s post-punk legends, The Nightingales at Hackney’s Moth Club in 2018. Directed by Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, King Rocker, Toast Of London), this special concert includes comedian Stewart Lee performing his 20 minute ‘80s club set. This special live recording premieres on NoonChorus, as part of our ‘Baptism Of Fire’ series, on March 11th 2021 (8pm GMT / 12pm PT /3pm EST). ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ is a limited 7” single, featuring a brand-new Nightingales recording, their first since recording their ‘Four Against Fate’ album. B-sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn covering the band’s second single, ‘Use Your Loaf’, a track that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album. ‘Ten Bob Each Way’ / ‘Use Your Loaf’ will be released 15th May on Fire Records/King Rocker Records. Fire Films and NoonChorus present: The Nightingales with support from Stewart Lee Thursday, March 11th, 2021 (8pm GMT / 12pm PT / 3pm EST) To clarify - I do 20 mins stand-up at the start of the livestream. It is the 1989 Jesus At The Door routine fucked about with, and then the JAZZ FOLK SEX routine from the Content Provider tour that was cut from the finished film of that show. Michael Cumming filmed the bit in a very live fashion in a very live atmosphere at Hackney’s very live Moth Club. It is a nice bit of film, but if you are a comedy fan and you pay...
The line of cold, anxious performers stretches around the corner of a theater in London's famed West End. Making up and warming up, nearly 100 hopefuls are here to try out for a production to be staged next season at Britain's prestigious National Theater.
It's to be an opera, reports CBS News Correspondent Richard Roth on The Early Show. But it won't be Carmen.
It's Jerry. The Jerry Springer show, famous for its lurid life stories and its loutish audience, is coming to the London stage, transformed, as "Jerry Springer - The Opera." The artistic potential in this story was irresistible, according to composer Richard Thomas.
“Eight people screaming at each other, the audience screaming at the eight people screaming, and I suddenly thought this is a gift as an opera, I thought, imagine that just sung,” says Thomas.
The hopefuls here haven't seen the opera's libretto or score; they were just told to sing a few seconds of their best.
Thomas says he's looking for offbeat talent.
“Opera is a great medium for extremes, and it will soak up any extreme. Most operas are about murder, death, rape, incest -- so its not, there's no point in using opera unless you are going to have a very extreme subject,” he explains.
And if you're thinking opera is not opera if it is not Verdi or Puccini, the National Theater thinks you're wrong.
“And people often make the mistake of confusing the subject of a material of a thing with whether it’s art whereas really what makes something good is how you handle that material, how you treat it and I think we've treated it with respect and also a sense of humor,” says first time director and co-writer Stewart Lee.
A tenor's already been hired, though right now he's working as a department store clothing salesman. The rest of the cast will be picked this month.
The opera opens in April 2003 at the Lyttelton Theatre and it won't be over , obviously, until the jilted-wife-who-became-a-homewrecker-and-couldn't-stop-cheating-on-her-lazy-boyfriend sings.
Tickets will be on sale early in the New Year.
The opera began its development as a public "scratch night" at The Battersea Arts Centre in 2001, funded by Thomas. It was developed through a subsequent series of public workshops which were seen by Nicholas Hytner, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cameron Mackintosh and various Broadway producers and went on to be performed in concert at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer.
No one on the creative team, which includes first time director and co-writer Stewart Lee, has worked at the National Theatre before. It is both Thomas' and the National Theatre's first new opera.
In this production the National Theatre team, led by Nicholas Hytner, will collaborate with Allan McKeown (original producer of "Auf Wiedersehen, Pet") and comedy producer Avalon ("The Frank Skinner Show," "Fantasy Football," "The All New Harry Hill Show").
Stewart Lee
2002-12-10T18:38:41+00:00
The line of cold, anxious performers stretches around the corner of a theater in London's famed West End. Making up and warming up, nearly 100 hopefuls are here to try out for a production to be staged next season at Britain's prestigious National Theater. It's to be an opera, reports CBS News Correspondent Richard Roth on The Early Show. But it won't be Carmen. It's Jerry. The Jerry Springer show, famous for its lurid life stories and its loutish audience, is coming to the London stage, transformed, as "Jerry Springer - The Opera." The artistic potential in this story was irresistible, according to composer Richard Thomas. “Eight people screaming at each other, the audience screaming at the eight people screaming, and I suddenly thought this is a gift as an opera, I thought, imagine that just sung,” says Thomas. The hopefuls here haven't seen the opera's libretto or score; they were just told to sing a few seconds of their best. Thomas says he's looking for offbeat talent. “Opera is a great medium for extremes, and it will soak up any extreme. Most operas are about murder, death, rape, incest -- so its not, there's no point in using opera unless you are going to have a very extreme subject,” he explains. And if you're thinking opera is not opera if it is not Verdi or Puccini, the National Theater thinks you're wrong. “And people often make the mistake of confusing the subject of a material of a thing with whether it’s art whereas really what makes something good is how you handle that material, how you treat it and I think we've treated it with respect and also a sense of humor,” says first time director and co-writer Stewart Lee. A tenor's already been hired, though right now he's...
“I can write jokes, they just don’t interest me” Stewart Lee says part way through this show. Stewart Lee’s Snowflake/Tornado has no need to rely on Lee’s interest in writing jokes. Instead, the audience are taken on a hilarious and deeply detailed journey through a vast and often bizarre landscape of subject matter.
After three decades in the business, award – winning comedian Stewart Lee was last year named by The Times as the “world’s greatest living stand – up”. His current tour is selling out fast and in his own words has “got better reviews than ever.” He’s clever, fearless , crowd – pleasing and an utter joy to watch and listen to in this new show.
The show itself consists of two one – hour long sets. These were both more than supported by signer, Donna Ruane. Lee refers to her throughout the show and the audience are treated to some genuinely funny interplay between the two of them, as they work as a team.
We begin with ‘Tornado’ where Lee begins in front of a red velvet curtain. His trademark and infinitely listenable voice begins with his self- deprecating humour and sarcasm before reading out the Netflix listing which is the backbone of the piece. For two years Netflix has Lee’s stand up show billed as one in which live sharks are falling from the sky across America. This wild and bizarre inaccuracy sets the tone and the audience are loving every hilarious return to the subject of shark – based peril. And I was holding out for the shark – based payoff at the end of the piece which definitely didn’t disappoint. (Wait for it!).
Throughout the piece, Lee returns to another subject; his perceived disparity between self – worth and his status as a comedian. He is fearless and hilarious in his takedowns of other comedians throughout both halves of the show, and whether or not the audience included fans of Phoebe Waller – Bridge, Lee’s story – telling style and physicality during this particular derision was undeniably utterly hilarious. His literal dissection of reviews too, is hilariously sharp and pedantic, one being read out in a verbatim and scholarly style as Alan Bennet, who means well in his review, but as Lee hilariously points out is literary and niche to the point of alienating rather than drawing in a crowd.
The takedowns do not stop at other comedians, however. The audience are definitely not spared and members daring to leave their seats are given a grilling which, although feels slightly harsh, falls shy of being too uncomfortable.
The second half of the show ‘Snowflake’ although less marine- focused took the audience on a rich journey where the subject matter slipped from the serious to the surreal. These were the best sections for me. Lee’s physicality and voice throughout these moments coupled with his propensity to stay with a line or voice for as long as it takes to settle the audience into the story, locking them in to this bizarre micro – world until many around were helpless and hooting with laughter- unsure where the story would go next but willing to stay with Lee. Of course the payoff was always more than worth it.
Stewart Lee, as a self- proclaimed ‘snowflake liberal’ then crosses over to the subject of ‘Political Correctness gone mad.’ Although in a recent interview, Lee proclaims never to change his material dependent on geographic location, in ‘woke’ and PC Brighton, this was absolute gold dust for the audience. As Lee discusses how other comedians (yes – more take downs!) profess to ‘say the unsayable’ he then proceeds to give us a full, detailed and literal demonstration of what this might look and sound like. Again the audience stayed with his every sound and movement, which just kept getting funnier. Watching the signer during this section was also a thing of real joy. Similarly so as Lee enters a section exploring the perceived link which the older generations appear to see between ‘Political Correctness gone mad’ and ‘health and safety.’ Lee continues throughout the show to strike an undeniably expert balance of political commentary, searing wit and surreal humour.
We are left with Lee playing us a song on his acoustic guitar (which at the beginning of the section he invites us to eye suspiciously), he does this in his usual sarcastic and tongue – in cheek manner but on this occasion is supported by both the signer and also by a guest; the well – known local musician and composer Nick Pynn on violin. The effect rounds off the two hour long show so well, it is the payoff that the audience never even knew that they wanted. At the start of the show, Stewart Lee points out that other comedians tend to ‘ quip’ or otherwise ’ serve up’ , or ‘deliver’ their jokes. Lee does none of these things, and it just works. This show is such a treat, and can be seen in various locations around the UK until July 2020.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-20T19:25:51+00:00
“I can write jokes, they just don’t interest me” Stewart Lee says part way through this show. Stewart Lee’s Snowflake/Tornado has no need to rely on Lee’s interest in writing jokes. Instead, the audience are taken on a hilarious and deeply detailed journey through a vast and often bizarre landscape of subject matter. After three decades in the business, award – winning comedian Stewart Lee was last year named by The Times as the “world’s greatest living stand – up”. His current tour is selling out fast and in his own words has “got better reviews than ever.” He’s clever, fearless , crowd – pleasing and an utter joy to watch and listen to in this new show. The show itself consists of two one – hour long sets. These were both more than supported by signer, Donna Ruane. Lee refers to her throughout the show and the audience are treated to some genuinely funny interplay between the two of them, as they work as a team. We begin with ‘Tornado’ where Lee begins in front of a red velvet curtain. His trademark and infinitely listenable voice begins with his self- deprecating humour and sarcasm before reading out the Netflix listing which is the backbone of the piece. For two years Netflix has Lee’s stand up show billed as one in which live sharks are falling from the sky across America. This wild and bizarre inaccuracy sets the tone and the audience are loving every hilarious return to the subject of shark – based peril. And I was holding out for the shark – based payoff at the end of the piece which definitely didn’t disappoint. (Wait for it!). Throughout the piece, Lee returns to another subject; his perceived disparity between self – worth and his status as a comedian....
Ancient Australian bands currently setting vinyl speculators ablaze are crop-haired boogie-monster thug-visionaries like Coloured Balls, Aztecs and the mighty Buffalo.
But Tully were Sydney psychedelic jazz-folkies, given to third-eye dilating keyboard drones and sublime incantations to Krishna.
Their final 1972 album is reverentially re-released here with extra tracks. Occasional moments of soft rock blandness aside, Loving Is Hard operates in a rarified zone of velvet glove intensity and imminent transcendence, Shayna Stewart's diamond but delicate vocal slicing through the implausibly poised seven minute baroque acid-folk epic, Ice.
Stewart Lee
2013-06-23T22:00:52+01:00
Ancient Australian bands currently setting vinyl speculators ablaze are crop-haired boogie-monster thug-visionaries like Coloured Balls, Aztecs and the mighty Buffalo. But Tully were Sydney psychedelic jazz-folkies, given to third-eye dilating keyboard drones and sublime incantations to Krishna. Their final 1972 album is reverentially re-released here with extra tracks. Occasional moments of soft rock blandness aside, Loving Is Hard operates in a rarified zone of velvet glove intensity and imminent transcendence, Shayna Stewart's diamond but delicate vocal slicing through the implausibly poised seven minute baroque acid-folk epic, Ice.
Stewart Lee, or was it Mark Kermode, has famously said that there is no such thing as the culture war, that it is a fiction, no more real than biological so-called sex. It is, according to Lee, or possibly Terry Christian, something created in a lab – no, not a lab, a right-wing bat market – and then sprayed about like feral cat urine by reactionary newspapers like the Guardian, to distract you from pizza-shop paedophile rings (or was it onion rings?), spirit cooking and postal ballots. No wait, that’s the other lot. To distract you from enforced food banks, the break-up of the NHS (which is simultaneously the envy of the world and on its knees) and Priti Patel’s shoot-to-kill policy on those tiresomely buoyant Calais boat people. A charade, in short.
So, it was a bit of a surprise when fans of Stewart Lee – or is it Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin? – began to share his end-of-year round robin for 2021. Because it seemed almost embarrassingly designed, albeit rather late to the party, to raise the colours of his side in this non-existent war.
Along with his rescheduled tour dates and a gratifyingly detailed account of everything he’d watched, listened to or read that year (‘26 April, 3.36pm, downstairs loo – Warning on the back of a bottle of Domestos: **** Admirably multi-lingual but lacking narrative arc’) Lee had also included a list of those living beings he deems worthy of being put on a pedestal, and those destined for the pedal bin of history. And it was pretty obvious what the criteria had been.
NB: I have to be careful here. The last time I mentioned Stewart Lee in print was for the Daily Telegraph in 2017, in an article called ‘Confessions of a Brexit Comedian’, about the dangers of taking a comedy audience’s Remain sympathies for granted. I was rewarded with a stern admonition from Grand Poobah HQ about allowing myself to become a tool for the dark forces of media manipulation, with which Lee was doing battle on a pretty much permanent footing.
I pointed out that nothing I had said in the copy deviated from Lee’s own stated experiences, or those one or two other EU-friendly comics had shared with me. If anything, I wailed – hot tears of injustice already welling in my eyes – I’d sympathised with this problem as a comic who had himself experienced that record-scratch moment when you realise you have just blithely shared a big fat stinking Babycham of an opinion, assuming it to be axiomatic among the sane, and the room has fallen irretrievably silent.
And, I pointed out, I hadn’t written the headline.
Well, said Lee, I was now (on the standard Hitchens / Larkin fool-ranking system) not only a fool, I was a fucking fool – the most concentrated form. And a patsy and a rube to boot, oblivious to the pawn I had become and the game being played over my head.
So, in short, I’m on a warning and had better be careful if I don’t want to have my badge demanded of me this time. But really, even if only on a technicality, there is something that needs calling out here.
It’s not that I resent the Papal Bull as a mode. Lee is not on Twitter, which is probably wise, and without live gigs, we all need to get this stuff off our chest from time to time. True, many of the barbs are turned inward on the entertainment industry and many of us are somewhat weary of Lee’s assumption of the role of Witchfynder General to the stand-up trade – a position none of us can remember seeing advertised. But as I am sure Napoleon himself must have shrugged, at some point, someone would have had to do it.
No, what rankles is not that Lee should publish such a list, but that his targets should be so banal. Perhaps having excused himself from the argy bargy, the moshpit of Twitter, he is not quite match fit. Perhaps this is what has enabled him to remain so oblivious to the lines having been drawn up all this time. But really, is there anyone who reads Lee’s end-of-year list and feels even the mildest frisson of affirmation seeing Donald Trump dumped, and Greta Thunberg elevated to the full height of a grown man? My own mother would shrink from such basic bitch, normie shit. This is a list to make the committee for Trafalgar Square’s Fourth Plinth look like the Baader-Meinhof Gang.
I honestly have no quarrel with Lee’s desire to connect with his base. And in a year when mass hysteria has made touring tricky, this sort of thing is no doubt intended to suppress rumours of his demise. Kim Jong-un-ish pronouncements of this kind are especially apt.
But this is a man who defines himself by the ‘what level of cultural obscurity are you on?’ system of self-worth. Who would scarcely dream of listening to anything that the Fall had released as an actual A-side. A man whose great heroes have been the likes of Ted Chippington and the Nightingales – heroic failures perhaps, but failures certainly, and in an era when YouTube de-shrouds the reasons for their failure with forensic detachment.
It just makes no sense, that a man of such impeccably contrarian and obscurantist credentials, should put out a hit list and shit list, that invites us to scorn names as shop-worn as Jacob Rees-Mogg and Toby Young, and warmly applaud the likes of Owen Jones, Ken Loach and Sadiq Khan.
Ah well. I want to be fair, and not only so that I avoid getting a name check next year (this year, I have had to do with inclusion under the loosest of banners, those associated with GB News, another all too predictable target). So, let me say that there is something not only generous but also quite profound about Lee’s accumulated souvenirs of every record, book and gig, every meal and art exhibition and place of historical interest that crossed his path in 2021. It is, in its way, what a more twee influencer might think of as a gratitude journal, as much as anything more discriminating, let alone arbitrary and despotic. It is Lee being present.
Thanks to the list I also now know there are one or two gigs coming up in 2022 – Robyn Hitchcock, for one – where I might even find myself rubbing masks with… is that Tucker Jenkins out of Grange Hill?
And as for the Heroes and Villains list, the banality of good and evil? I will, as I have had occasion to in the past where Stewart was concerned, just have to conclude, albeit without complete confidence, that that was the joke.
Simon Evans is a spiked columnist and stand-up comedian. He is currently on tour with his show, Work of the Devil. You can buy tickets here.
Stewart Lee
2022-01-04T13:13:43+00:00
Stewart Lee, or was it Mark Kermode, has famously said that there is no such thing as the culture war, that it is a fiction, no more real than biological so-called sex. It is, according to Lee, or possibly Terry Christian, something created in a lab – no, not a lab, a right-wing bat market – and then sprayed about like feral cat urine by reactionary newspapers like the Guardian, to distract you from pizza-shop paedophile rings (or was it onion rings?), spirit cooking and postal ballots. No wait, that’s the other lot. To distract you from enforced food banks, the break-up of the NHS (which is simultaneously the envy of the world and on its knees) and Priti Patel’s shoot-to-kill policy on those tiresomely buoyant Calais boat people. A charade, in short. So, it was a bit of a surprise when fans of Stewart Lee – or is it Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin? – began to share his end-of-year round robin for 2021. Because it seemed almost embarrassingly designed, albeit rather late to the party, to raise the colours of his side in this non-existent war. Along with his rescheduled tour dates and a gratifyingly detailed account of everything he’d watched, listened to or read that year (‘26 April, 3.36pm, downstairs loo – Warning on the back of a bottle of Domestos: **** Admirably multi-lingual but lacking narrative arc’) Lee had also included a list of those living beings he deems worthy of being put on a pedestal, and those destined for the pedal bin of history. And it was pretty obvious what the criteria had been. NB: I have to be careful here. The last time I mentioned Stewart Lee in print was for the Daily Telegraph in 2017, in an article called ‘Confessions of a Brexit Comedian’, about...
Stewart Lee gives his characteristically honest takes on the performers who chose to play the Riyadh Comedy festival in Saudi Arabia, why he's not into the Oasis reunion despite liking their work, why the current state of Marvel is in direct opposition to what the brand once stood for, why Star Trek is superior to Star Wars (and why Star Trek is better for people with autism).
He also shares a story about getting beaten up by teenagers a few years ago, his love of Top Trumps and why you'll soon be able to buy an action figure of him and why you shouldn't use Chat GPT to write interview questions.
Safe to say, this episode is an all timer!
Stewart Lee gives his characteristically honest takes on the performers who chose to play the Riyadh Comedy festival in Saudi Arabia, why he's not into the Oasis reunion despite liking their work, why the current state of Marvel is in direct opposition to what the brand once stood for, why Star Trek is superior to Star Wars (and why Star Trek is better for people with autism). He also shares a story about getting beaten up by teenagers a few years ago, his love of Top Trumps and why you'll soon be able to buy an action figure of him and why you shouldn't use Chat GPT to write interview questions. Safe to say, this episode is an all timer! Part 2 is here.
We saw Stewart Lee seven years ago with his Much a-Stew About Nothing tour, and I really admired (and found hysterical) his unique style of deconstructing a show and turning it in on itself. I also noted his no-holds-barred stance of calling out any audience member who dares to check their phone… more of which later. So when I saw he was touring again it was a no-brainer to book.
Snowflake and Tornado are (allegedly) two one hour shows that have been put together for the purposes of this tour, but they dovetail together so completely that they do indeed create one night of content. Tornado comes first – originating from a misdescription of his Netflix show that stayed online for two years; the description given was actually for the comic-schlock horror movie Sharknado, which gives Mr Lee lots of scope for imagining how the two could be combined, and it’s very clever stuff. Somehow into this madness he manages to involve Alan Bennett, in a brilliant scene where he re-imagines a Sharknado attack in a suburban Bennett semi, populated by typical Bennett pensioners. It’s a terrific flight of fancy, and, with Mr Lee’s disturbingly accurate impersonation of the Yorkshire National Treasure himself, was the absolute highlight of the evening.
Snowflake centres on Mr Lee’s doubt as to where he now fits in the comedy scene, given the country’s shift towards the right, which he perceives has made popular comedy shallower and much more of a sham commodity. Again, there is loads of excellent and cunning material, including an Enid Blyton parody and stabs at figures such as Tony Parsons and Ricky Gervais.
However, this gig went seriously wrong for me. From the start I sensed that Mr Lee was much more aggressive than I remembered him. To be fair, the show started unfortunately, as there was obviously a mix-up with tickets held by some audience members that an usher was trying to sort out when Mr Lee walked on stage. He ignored their kerfuffle, but then when another lot of people came in late, he targeted them with total vitriol. It’s a well-worn trick with comedians over the decades to pick on latecomers, but I’ve never seen it done so nastily as by Mr Lee. I understand that is part of his stage persona, but you can go too far.
As the show developed, he called out another audience member for using their phone. “I was just checking that it was turned off” was his explanation; I’ve no way of knowing whether that was true. Then a few minutes later Mr Lee shouted again “TURN THAT PHONE OFF!!!” and I realised he was looking at me. I hadn’t touched my phone, so I looked blankly. “YOU! WITH THE GLASSES!” It was like that moment at school when you were picked on by the vicious teacher for something one of your classmates had done. Mrs Chrisparkle quietly muttered that it might have been my Apple Watch that had turned itself into life. “IS IT YOUR WATCH? DON’T MOVE IT THEN!!” he roared. “SORRY!” I replied, in a not sorry way, more in a Pardon Me for Breathing sort of way. Fortunately, he dropped the conversation then, because if he’d said anything more, I could feel the sarcasm rising within my breath. It wouldn’t have ended well. I would have been ridiculed, felt ashamed, and probably walked out. It would have been an ugly and very non-comedic moment.
But from then on, he lost me. Not only was I concerned about keeping my arm and hand absolutely still lest I offended His Majesty again, but I was also fed up with his whole approach. Look, I am experienced at seeing comedy shows. I get the idea of ridiculing the audience – a bit. But he took it to the nth degree. It reminded me of how James Acaster changed his style to become mean to the audience – and it simply alienates me. You don’t pay good money to be insulted. Moreover, on a few occasions he either lost his way in his act or pretended that he had lost his way, and then heaped all the blame on the audience for putting him off. And the more I sat there, not exactly fuming but with my critical facilities prickling, my main reaction was that I don’t need this kind of stuff in my life.
Something else that completely spoils this show is his constant dissing of other performers. Yes, I understand that he ridicules the society that laps up Ricky Gervais’ style, and sees Phoebe Waller-Bridge as the ultimate innovator, as if no one had ever broken the fourth wall before. But when he lays it on with a trowel, it’s just too much. It’s rancorous, bitter and also feels a bit jealous. There’s an intensely tedious moment where Mr Lee ridicules the concept that Ricky Gervais “says the unsayable” by taking it literally. If he said the unsayable, the noise would come out like “ehh…eeee….cchchchchch…” etc. Point taken. Five minutes later, and he’s still making those childish noises? Most people around me were looking bored as hell. Mrs C had long nodded off – that’s her reaction to stage aggression. Mr Lee takes an idea and then batters it to death. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
But by concentrating so heavily on ridiculing other comics, their audiences and his own audience, the evening was just swimming in negative energy, and, frankly, I couldn’t wait for it to end. It’s a shame – Mr Lee is so creative and talented, is a master of the callback and the shaggy dog story, and makes relevant and insightful points to prick pomposity and hypocrisy. But, on the whole, that was an awful night at the theatre. Perhaps I just didn’t get it; perhaps I did and it was a lousy performance. As it’s Stewart Lee, I couldn’t possibly give him one star, there’s too much good content for that.
Thank heavens for the Alan Bennett sequence.
Stewart Lee
2020-03-09T20:19:34+00:00
We saw Stewart Lee seven years ago with his Much a-Stew About Nothing tour, and I really admired (and found hysterical) his unique style of deconstructing a show and turning it in on itself. I also noted his no-holds-barred stance of calling out any audience member who dares to check their phone… more of which later. So when I saw he was touring again it was a no-brainer to book. Snowflake and Tornado are (allegedly) two one hour shows that have been put together for the purposes of this tour, but they dovetail together so completely that they do indeed create one night of content. Tornado comes first – originating from a misdescription of his Netflix show that stayed online for two years; the description given was actually for the comic-schlock horror movie Sharknado, which gives Mr Lee lots of scope for imagining how the two could be combined, and it’s very clever stuff. Somehow into this madness he manages to involve Alan Bennett, in a brilliant scene where he re-imagines a Sharknado attack in a suburban Bennett semi, populated by typical Bennett pensioners. It’s a terrific flight of fancy, and, with Mr Lee’s disturbingly accurate impersonation of the Yorkshire National Treasure himself, was the absolute highlight of the evening. Snowflake centres on Mr Lee’s doubt as to where he now fits in the comedy scene, given the country’s shift towards the right, which he perceives has made popular comedy shallower and much more of a sham commodity. Again, there is loads of excellent and cunning material, including an Enid Blyton parody and stabs at figures such as Tony Parsons and Ricky Gervais. However, this gig went seriously wrong for me. From the start I sensed that Mr Lee was much more aggressive than I remembered him. To be fair,...
This massively expanded version of Skullflower’s 1988 debut e.p. is the addictive noise fix your nan warned you about.
Dumb ugly titles christen filthy dirges of militaristic pounding, unmanly retching, and tidal swathes of space rock guitar sewage.
Often recorded in rehearsal rooms on audibly overburdened dictaphones, Skullflower’s youthful stirrings suggest an obsessively single-minded British Sonic Youth, unencumbered by redemptive hippy dream hopefulness.
Skullflower still exists, though guitarist Stefan Jaworzyn soon split to ply more utilitarian scuzz jazz with the obscurely influential Ascension.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-04T21:39:37+01:00
This massively expanded version of Skullflower’s 1988 debut e.p. is the addictive noise fix your nan warned you about. Dumb ugly titles christen filthy dirges of militaristic pounding, unmanly retching, and tidal swathes of space rock guitar sewage. Often recorded in rehearsal rooms on audibly overburdened dictaphones, Skullflower’s youthful stirrings suggest an obsessively single-minded British Sonic Youth, unencumbered by redemptive hippy dream hopefulness. Skullflower still exists, though guitarist Stefan Jaworzyn soon split to ply more utilitarian scuzz jazz with the obscurely influential Ascension.
The axing of his Comedy Vehicle TV series might rankle with Stewart Lee – particularly when the BBC can find the money to remake Are You Being Served – but has probably been a blessing in disguise for the country’s most original comedian.
He might have been forced to develop new avenues to rustle up a few quid – he claims to buys his own DVDs online to sell at shows at a mark-up – but his live act has been freed of the shackles of building 30-minute routines for the telly, and is more rewarding as a result.
The passive-aggressive lecturer persona and deadpan delivery of his apparent alter ego remain intact, but the cleverly-constructed show – which as usual Lee deconstructed at regular intervals, supposedly for the benefit of slower audience members – enabled him to develop a theme, run with it, stumble with it, explain it, discard it and brilliantly return to it over the course of a hugely entertaining two hours.
The theme was man’s place in a world of superficial digital consumerism, and pitched Lee as a hero attempting to rise above the chaos like the ‘Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog’ in Caspar David Friedrich’s famous painting. Russell Howard this most definitely was not.
Howard was one of many comics trampled on, verbally and literally – in the form of DVDs strewn across the stage – during the show, which also saw Lee stomping on everything from Trump, Brexit, Boris and Farage to Game of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings”), the under-40s and even Deacon Blue as he desperately searched for something of depth in a world dominated by the banality of social media and instant gratification.
It was never going to happen of course – the Content Provider of the show’s title admitting we were witnessing little more than “the ongoing interrogation of a divided soul” – but his self-anointed “metropolitan liberal elite” audience were more than happy to be along for the grilling (in every sense), which was as smart as it was hilarious.
Reviewed by Steve Adams at Warwick Arts Centre
4 Stars on Thu, 04 May 2017
Stewart Lee
2017-05-04T17:36:50+01:00
The axing of his Comedy Vehicle TV series might rankle with Stewart Lee – particularly when the BBC can find the money to remake Are You Being Served – but has probably been a blessing in disguise for the country’s most original comedian. He might have been forced to develop new avenues to rustle up a few quid – he claims to buys his own DVDs online to sell at shows at a mark-up – but his live act has been freed of the shackles of building 30-minute routines for the telly, and is more rewarding as a result. The passive-aggressive lecturer persona and deadpan delivery of his apparent alter ego remain intact, but the cleverly-constructed show – which as usual Lee deconstructed at regular intervals, supposedly for the benefit of slower audience members – enabled him to develop a theme, run with it, stumble with it, explain it, discard it and brilliantly return to it over the course of a hugely entertaining two hours. The theme was man’s place in a world of superficial digital consumerism, and pitched Lee as a hero attempting to rise above the chaos like the ‘Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog’ in Caspar David Friedrich’s famous painting. Russell Howard this most definitely was not. Howard was one of many comics trampled on, verbally and literally – in the form of DVDs strewn across the stage – during the show, which also saw Lee stomping on everything from Trump, Brexit, Boris and Farage to Game of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings”), the under-40s and even Deacon Blue as he desperately searched for something of depth in a world dominated by the banality of social media and instant gratification. It was never going to happen of course – the Content Provider of the show’s...
“Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say” states one Telegraph review for Stewart Lee’s previous tour. Perhaps that critic was irritated by Lee’s ‘metropolitan elite’ reputation, or distinctively abrasive comic delivery. The quote now sits proudly on the promotional material for Lee’s current show, Content Provider.
On stage, Lee plays a character caught in a comedic Catch-22: if the material bombs, his audience are ignorant for failing to appreciate his humour; if it succeeds, it’s only because he’s the eponymous ‘content provider’, forced to manufacture gags to satiate his audience. The result: an absurdist and embittered figure, pathetically railing against the petty injustices of life.
Readers may be familiar with his hit Netflix stand-up series Comedy Vehicle, which ran for four series. His latest show takes aim at a Conservative government, Brexit, and Trump.
So where does the stage character end? And where does Stewart Lee begin?
As the quote on his promotional material suggests, Lee understands his audience’s liberal credentials. So I begin, “You are often held up as the crowning member of the liberal, metropolitan elite-”
“Are you saying I am that?” he interjects.
I stutter: “Well, I’m not sure…”
“I’ve been criticised for that so I decided to own it,” he finishes. “Anything I’m criticised for, I do more. And anything that [the right wing press] say I am, I become it.”
“Social media tells you what thick, horrible people think you’re like,” Lee continues. “If the Daily Mail write opinion pieces about comedy shows – none of which they’ve ever seen – they always call me a ‘foul mouthed comedian.”
Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing of interest to say, as he shows here at some length http://t.co/Nzoas1rp5z
Political commentator James Delingpole on Lee's stand-up
He leans back on the dressing room sofa, cackling to himself. “I’m really delighted to be perceived as [part of the] out-of-touch, liberal elite by the Telegraph, which is a vile paper. I want people with an imagination and a heart to come. I would explicitly state that it’s not meant for them. I did my ten years in the salt mines of the comedy scene, playing to whoever came along.”
“Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I wish I had put the guy’s name, because it was James Delingpole. It would make a lot more people come to the show! I got a really bad review from Toby Young once; if you’ve got Toby Young saying something horrible about you, that actually sells tickets.”
James Delingpole recently addressed the Cambridge Union, claiming that student ‘snowflakes’ exist in an out-of-touch liberal ‘bubble’ – Lee is often accused of being similarly blinkered.
“I’m quite happy to be providing comfort in the form of humour to a demographic whose values are being trampled.” The “politically correct, Guardian-reading terrorist sympathisers” of the Cambridge Corn Exchange, seated in the highest Remain-voting ward in the country, are right at home.
“I already knew what I wanted [the tour] to be before Brexit and Trump. They are sort of there in the background, like a drone. In a way, it’s funnier for the character that those things are happening. It’s funnier to have no power, to be defeated. The character on stage has lost; their tragedy is funny.”
And who exactly is the character on stage?, I ask. “It’s me, really, but he’s more extreme. He says things that I wouldn’t say, because he’s emboldened. He also never thinks that a gig going wrong is his fault; the problem is that the audience don’t understand it, or whatever.”
Lee is quick to underscore the ‘knowing’ aspect to his comic creation: “I am aware that it’s ridiculous for a successful man to be petty-minded about people who he feels have slighted him. It’s a joke. The difference is that a lot of stand-ups are working in one dimension. They are supposed to be a power figure. I am too but I also invite you to find me ridiculous, misguided, petty-minded, mean-spirited […] It’s one dimension more than most stand-ups.”
Lee’s pathetic, British anti-hero is arguably more nuanced than that. His smirks at the camera, acknowledging the comic artifice. In his work for TV, Lee plays off the studio audience against the home audience, exploiting the fact that he is simultaneously playing the same character to two separate audiences.
Lee’s satire couldn’t be more different from the straight-talking American late night equivalent. So why hasn’t the BBC sponsored a renaissance of political satire?
“It’s not going to happen,” Lee continues. “They can have as many Geoff Norcotts [a pro-Brexit and Conservative stand-up] on-air as they want, the Government is not going to say ‘Oh, well done! You hosted Geoff Norcott on the News Quiz, so we’re not going to destroy you’. They’re going to destroy [the BBC] anyway.”
“From a commercial point of view, production companies are thinking, ‘Quick, let’s make some satire!’ But the problem is…”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “The talent is out there, but they haven’t connected with it because they’ve been making stupid panel shows for years.”
Despite studying English at St. Edmund Hall, Oxford, Lee is damning about the political cynicism Oxbridge can instill in some students.
“I think that Oxford and Cambridge are to blame for a lot of this. Both of them have these debating societies, like the Cambridge Union, where politics is an intellectual game for young men – it’s normally young men – to sort of outwit each other. It’s not about the ethics or the morality; it’s about the combative sport of debate.”
“And then [the politicians] walk away from it. A plane crashes, and they just walk out of it.”
Returning to comedy, I ask which comedians he would currently recommend.
“Most comedians think Daniel Kitson is the best. Josie Long and Nish Kumar are both really good at the moment.”
“One of the sad things about being better known is that it’s more difficult to go to see things; your presence in a room creates a problem. People don’t like to be on a bill with me sometimes because they say the people who come to see me are very judgemental of the other acts.”
“Don’t know where they got that one from,” I interject.
“Well, yeah…” A curling, wry smile lights up his expression. Stewart scratches an unshaven chin and adjusts his leather biker jacket. His trademark suit is hanging in the wardrobe: the interview is over, and the show is about to begin.
Stewart Lee
2017-07-25T13:16:25+01:00
“Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say” states one Telegraph review for Stewart Lee’s previous tour. Perhaps that critic was irritated by Lee’s ‘metropolitan elite’ reputation, or distinctively abrasive comic delivery. The quote now sits proudly on the promotional material for Lee’s current show, Content Provider. On stage, Lee plays a character caught in a comedic Catch-22: if the material bombs, his audience are ignorant for failing to appreciate his humour; if it succeeds, it’s only because he’s the eponymous ‘content provider’, forced to manufacture gags to satiate his audience. The result: an absurdist and embittered figure, pathetically railing against the petty injustices of life. Readers may be familiar with his hit Netflix stand-up series Comedy Vehicle, which ran for four series. His latest show takes aim at a Conservative government, Brexit, and Trump. So where does the stage character end? And where does Stewart Lee begin? As the quote on his promotional material suggests, Lee understands his audience’s liberal credentials. So I begin, “You are often held up as the crowning member of the liberal, metropolitan elite-” “Are you saying I am that?” he interjects. I stutter: “Well, I’m not sure…” “I’ve been criticised for that so I decided to own it,” he finishes. “Anything I’m criticised for, I do more. And anything that [the right wing press] say I am, I become it.” “Social media tells you what thick, horrible people think you’re like,” Lee continues. “If the Daily Mail write opinion pieces about comedy shows – none of which they’ve ever seen – they always call me a ‘foul mouthed comedian.” Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing of interest to say, as he shows here at some length http://t.co/Nzoas1rp5z - James Delingpole (@JamesDelingpole) November 6, 2014 Political commentator James Delingpole on Lee's...
Last night I had dinner with the molecular microbiologist Professor Keith Gull. He discussed the information overload that has taken shape in academia his lifetime, and how it has affected the working methods of his students. Over spinach and egg, Professor Gull identified the need to be able to extract the relevant points from the unprecedentedly vast mass of material now available as a key skill in the contemporary data-dense environment. Tangentially, it seems to me that all 21st century musicians are likewise potentially swamped in a vast range of influences largely unavailable to their recent predecessors.
This World Wide Web that you all have now has made pretty much everything that ever was available, by legal or illegal means. But Wolf People are one of the few groups to funnel this oceanic torrent of endless sonic information into a fine and purposeful point. And that fine and purposeful point is their second album proper, Fain.
The peripheral early seventies British underground influences that Wolf People acknowledge on their website playlists - Linda Hoyle and Affinity, Arzachel, Tractor, Beau, Thundermother, High Tide, May Blitz, Arcadium and The Way We Live - were all familiar to me as a post-punk fundamentalist teenager in the early 80s, but in name only. Theirs were the already culturally obsolete gatefold albums with gloomily meaningful sleeves spilling out of the racks in the second hand shop in the underpass by Moor Street Station at low low prices, that our generation thrust aside in search of 12" singles by angry ironists on the Rough Trade and Vindaloo labels. This dopey beardo wizard shit was kulturally verboten. It was never coming back, granddad, and without the open-access information experiment of the newfangled Internet, could a band like Wolf People ever have sounded quite the way it does?
"I don't think it could have, or at least not in the form it's taken now", concedes Wolf People's founder, vocalist, and co-guitarist (with Joe Hollick) Jack Sharp. "We were very much involved in collecting records and sampling, and interested in '60's and '70's subculture (as well as hip hop) in the "pre internet age", but things were a lot harder to come by when you didn't have the almost brain numbing instant access to pretty-much-everything-ever that you have now. Getting involved in online record collecting communities around 2002/2003, when we were in our early twenties, had a massive impact on Tom and myself, and it still provides a lot of inspiration and ways of finding music that is still off the radar even now."
Having burrowed out of Bedford in the mid-noughties, Wolf People are a formidable hybrid. Yes, they're crate-digging record collector completists with time on their hands and the sort of international file-trader connections that mean they can legitimately say "There has always been a 1970s Finnish progressive rock influence on our music." But, crucially, they're also dedicated musicians demonstrating, with their zen-mastery of Tom Verlaine type twin guitar starbursts and Pythagorean progressive rock timekeeping, the lost art of what long dead rock scribes used to call 'chops'.
"We'll probably look back and realise what idiots we were being!" volunteers Sharp. "I suppose it's strange that we're using the internet as a tool to reference a craft of music making that would otherwise be extinct or buried." If only Wolf People been able to enjoy the housing benefit scams, generous student grants, aristocratic major label patronage, and communal squat culture that bought their spiritual Seventies forebears endless practice time. Had they been relieved of the obligation to sustain themselves, we'd have seen Wolf People's debut mini-masterpiece, 2010's Steeple, some years ahead of schedule.
I'm worried I've made Wolf People sound like mere historical revivalists, the prog-blues-folk-rock equivalent of those people who dress up as cavaliers at weekends and lose once more battles already lost long ago. Crucially, there's something else entirely going on in their rehearsal room. We know the technology now exists to clone and revive an extinct woolly mammoth from DNA found in frozen specimens perfectly preserved in arctic ice-fields, which is arguably partly what Wolf People have done, referencing artists on the missing presumed extinct Holyground label, for example. But what if we were to take that mammoth and cross-breed it with a similarly re-vivified sabre tooth tiger?
It was on the closing pair of tracks on Wolf People's last album Steeple, namely Banks of Sweet Dundee Parts 1 and 2, that their unique selling point became clear. Wolf People are positing an alternate early Seventies musical reality that nearly, but never quite actually, happened. Yes, Fairport Convention's A Sailor's Life, the extended epics of Trees' unbeatable 1970 album On The Shore, and bits of Carolanne Pegg's '73 solo album, posit a British folk music informed by then contemporary rock practice, with extended modal soloing and driving rhythm sections.
And yes, the title track alone of Traffic's John Barleycorn Must Die album, and The Battle Of Evermore from Led Zeppellin IV, and bits of the and the inexplicably English sounding German band Carol of Harvest's eponymous 1978 release, suggest a more densely entwined, more fertile, future for this unlikely crossbreed. But it was a future that was never quite fulfilled, Traffic wandering off into a flutey jazz fog, and Led Zeppellin climbing the Giant's Causeway to an immortality not tainted by folksy flavors.
"I think subconsciously, we're trying to make the type of records we would like to find," says Jack. "I love Trees and Fairport and Mr Fox, but I find myself thinking that there aren't enough groups like that, and sometimes I want it to be heavier. So we've tried to stretch both the folk and the heavy element as far as it will go in either direction and see what happens." I think the modest Wolf Person is selling the band short. Fain doesn't sound stretched. Its eight substantial songs sound, given the incompatible diversity of its sources, implausibly integrated.
Empty Vessels skewers California '60s folk rock rhythm guitar with Hollick's insurgent soloing; All Returns' truncated hairy funk licks, from bassist Dan Davis and drummer Tom Watt, suddenly bristle into the red, finally unable to contain themselves, bursting free of a psalmodic structure, like The Stooges' We Will Fall re-tooled by jazz monks; When The Fire Is Dead In The Grate is the album's first stone classic, a funky folk-metal workout that trails off into a compellingly extended coda, both guitarists circling and dovetailing and spiraling; Athol is a downbeat minor key boogie, like an uncommonly reflective Canned Heat gone native somewhere in the Suffolk fens.
Massed witches' sabbat backing vocals swell and rise under the arching leads of the painfully disciplined Hesperus, the song dissolving into a peat bog superfuzz sphagnum moss sludge; Answer drapes hop-harvest harmonies over pointillist pin pricks of lead guitar; Thief's Can-style atomic bomb blast opening spills over analogue synth noise into an all-but unaccompanied plaintive folk ballad vocal, that breaks down into collapsing arpeggios of twin guitars; and NRR sounds like it was written to make Hell's Angels, and their molls, attending an outdoor blues-rock/rock-blues festival in a disused WWII airfield in 1973, do that dance where they bend sideways and bump their butts together, the rather self-conscious set closer that would once have provoked mass applause and the ritualized discarding of bras.
Music fans like to speculate on what-if's. What if The Fall had followed Hex Enduction Hour with more of the same, instead of switching track to escape expectation? What if The Buzzcocks had held on to and harnessed the high art aspirations of Howard Devoto alongside the pop art punch of Pete Shelley? What if Jimi Hendrix had made that album with Miles Davis? What if Television had run in the songs for their belated 3rd album live, and found all the jumping-off points they discovered in the years spent woodshedding Marquee Moon? What if all the great songs the final line-up of The Byrds squandered in half-realised solo projects had made one last brilliant band album? And so on.
If you've ever listened to those furtive early '70s fusions of folk and rock and wondered if there was another way those superficially incompatible genres might have intertwined, then Wolf People offer an answer, with Fain's patchouli-scented stews of perfurmed garden pre-punk, each shadowed by a creeping deep country darkness of backwater occult imagery, utilitarian King James Bible lyricism, and knowing nods to primordial melodies, that already lurk deep in the collective subconscious. Re-organising the re-available past, Wolf People cast a cup of bones against the back wall, and play the runes in the patterns they fall in.
Stewart Lee
2013-03-20T18:49:40+00:00
Last night I had dinner with the molecular microbiologist Professor Keith Gull. He discussed the information overload that has taken shape in academia his lifetime, and how it has affected the working methods of his students. Over spinach and egg, Professor Gull identified the need to be able to extract the relevant points from the unprecedentedly vast mass of material now available as a key skill in the contemporary data-dense environment. Tangentially, it seems to me that all 21st century musicians are likewise potentially swamped in a vast range of influences largely unavailable to their recent predecessors. This World Wide Web that you all have now has made pretty much everything that ever was available, by legal or illegal means. But Wolf People are one of the few groups to funnel this oceanic torrent of endless sonic information into a fine and purposeful point. And that fine and purposeful point is their second album proper, Fain. The peripheral early seventies British underground influences that Wolf People acknowledge on their website playlists - Linda Hoyle and Affinity, Arzachel, Tractor, Beau, Thundermother, High Tide, May Blitz, Arcadium and The Way We Live - were all familiar to me as a post-punk fundamentalist teenager in the early 80s, but in name only. Theirs were the already culturally obsolete gatefold albums with gloomily meaningful sleeves spilling out of the racks in the second hand shop in the underpass by Moor Street Station at low low prices, that our generation thrust aside in search of 12" singles by angry ironists on the Rough Trade and Vindaloo labels. This dopey beardo wizard shit was kulturally verboten. It was never coming back, granddad, and without the open-access information experiment of the newfangled Internet, could a band like Wolf People ever have sounded quite the way it does?...
Can it be only last year that I was making the out-of-touch liberal elite laugh, in publicly subsidised theatres throughout pre-Brexit Britain, by saying that “Donald Trump” sounded like the kind of name Walt Disney would come up with if he was asked to invent a fart that could speak?
Happy times.
It seemed then that Donald Trump was destined to become little more than the answer to a pub trivia question, fondly and foolishly remembered, and filed alongside Faith Brown’s Rusty Lee impression, Spike Milligan’s sitcom Curry & Chips, and an almost heroically offensive sentence my dad shouted at a woman on a gangplank near Greenwich in 1997 as an example of the dying light of a distant dark age.
And can it be only last year that Brexit’s bogus cheerleader Boris Johnson, who remains incomprehensibly at large like a clever piglet, was reassuring us that we could leave the EU and stay in the single market, as his policy was “having cake and eating it”? Where is your cake now, fatty? Or, as Pliny the Younger might have said, “Ubi nunc est subcinericius panis, sterculus?”
And can it be only two days ago that a cakeless Theresa May, desperate to proffer illusory options before forcing through article 50 with the compliance of an immolated opposition, went lamb-like into the Playboy-encrusted office of Donald Trump? Friendless in Europe, she began trade negotiations with the kind of rogue state we might once have proudly imposed sanctions on. We didn’t buy Apartheid oranges. Henceforth let us boycott Dunkin’ Donuts, hardcore pornography and Adam Sandler movies, America’s most choice exports.
Article 50 was not designed to be triggered; nuclear weapons were not built to be used (which is lucky for us, because ours don’t work); and postwar western democracies weren’t supposed to vomit up people like Donald Trump, who appears to have reignited a war against the Native Americans, a conflict historians might reasonably have assumed was now settled. Things have learned to walk that ought to crawl.
Events defy analysis. Sometimes it simply isn’t enough to just keep on drawing Nazi moustaches on Donald Trump’s face – by which I mean on pictures of Donald Trump’s face. Not his actual face. If you so much as approached Trump’s face with a marker pen you would soon be wrestled to the ground by the rubber-hands of his bodyguard, and then waterboarded until you agreed to disputed inauguration audience figures. To analyse Donald Trump we need better tools than felt tips. It seems to me that prophecies of Donald Trump have been built into the culture, perhaps by the very alien scientists that seeded us on Earth in the first place.
Before I seek Donald Trump in cinema, I am aware that my film buff credentials are in doubt. In last week’s column, I ignorantly mixed up two Dirty Harry movies. To be fair, it has been a hard month for fans of Clint Eastwood, whose endorsement of Donald Trump has finally meant we must face the fact that the violent reactionary characters our hero portrayed in the 1970s were not intended as satires of violent reactionary attitudes, but as blueprints for a dystopian future.
Indeed, I am now wondering if Eastwood’s touching portrayal of a weird loner’s dysfunctional relationship with a servile orangutan in the haunting visual poem Every Which Way But Loose (1978) was actually intended as a misogynist endorsement of traditional marriage.
Fans of fake news will be pleased to know that my Dirty Harry error has been erased from history on the Observer’s website. As regular readers will know, the only films I have really watched these past few years are Italian “spaghetti” westerns of the 60s and 70s. I have now seen 112, and sheer weight of numbers makes it seem like spaghetti westerns make sense of every human problem. Like Donald Trump’s tweets, they are often tasteless, incoherent and badly written, and yet somehow seem to offer exactly the answers people need.
Last weekend I sat up late alone, eating some nuts, and watched Joe D’Amato’s micro-budget 1972 shambles Pokerface, a spaghetti that’s hard to recommend, even to genre stalwarts. Variously also known as Run Men Run, Trinity in Eldorado, Stay Away from Trinity When He Comes to Eldorado, Run Men Eldorado Is Coming to Trinity, and, rather brilliantly, Go Away! Trinity Has Arrived in Eldorado, the movie’s very titles, like spellings of Theresa May’s name, are post-factual, alternative names telling alternative truths. The same shot of a laughing Mexican eating something outdoors is repeated over and over again, at different points in the film, to fill empty space. The movie itself lies. The images cannot be trusted.
Pokerface stars Stelvio Rosi, last heard of as the line producer of the 1997 Ice Cube/giant snake vehicle Anaconda, as a magician-cum-conman involved in a series of unfunny scrapes in a blandly anonymous borderland. But just as I was getting ready to hit the hay, the last third of the film changed gear, and loomed like a warning from history.
Rosi arrives in a deserted, whitewashed town, ruled over by an eccentric gold-hoarding demagogue named Eldorado (Craig Hill), who rides around on an ostentatiously decorated nag, in a general’s uniform one suspects he is not entitled to wear. Frightened Mexican peasants bow to Eldorado as he rides past, and then he spits theatrically upon them from above. His garish throne is flanked by semi-naked women, instructed to laugh at his jokes and applaud his thoughts. He cries out, “My gold, my beautiful gold!” and is easily distracted by nudity and card tricks. It’s 2am, I am full of nuts, future sexploitation director D’Amato’s broad-brushed caricature of crazed power is Donald Trump, made flesh in a cheap 70s western, and I claim my £5.
But were D’Amato’s sticky fingers guided by a godlike power, warning us of our future? There are more antecedents for Trump, as if some unseen hand had threaded cautionary archetypes into our collective consciousness, perhaps the finest being the Golem of Jewish folklore. The rabbi of medieval Prague, Judah Loew ben Bezalel, conjures a compliant monster to defend the ghetto. But he forgets to remove from its mouth the rune that brought it to life, and the Golem begins an indiscriminate rampage.
Some critics believe the story to be a 19th-century German literary invention. Fake news, folks! Fake news!! But little America has unleashed a monster of its own making, which it thought would do its bidding, and now no one knows how to bring it to a halt. Somehow I don’t think Theresa May is about to put it back in its box.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-29T16:44:58+00:00
Can it be only last year that I was making the out-of-touch liberal elite laugh, in publicly subsidised theatres throughout pre-Brexit Britain, by saying that “Donald Trump” sounded like the kind of name Walt Disney would come up with if he was asked to invent a fart that could speak? Happy times. It seemed then that Donald Trump was destined to become little more than the answer to a pub trivia question, fondly and foolishly remembered, and filed alongside Faith Brown’s Rusty Lee impression, Spike Milligan’s sitcom Curry & Chips, and an almost heroically offensive sentence my dad shouted at a woman on a gangplank near Greenwich in 1997 as an example of the dying light of a distant dark age. And can it be only last year that Brexit’s bogus cheerleader Boris Johnson, who remains incomprehensibly at large like a clever piglet, was reassuring us that we could leave the EU and stay in the single market, as his policy was “having cake and eating it”? Where is your cake now, fatty? Or, as Pliny the Younger might have said, “Ubi nunc est subcinericius panis, sterculus?” And can it be only two days ago that a cakeless Theresa May, desperate to proffer illusory options before forcing through article 50 with the compliance of an immolated opposition, went lamb-like into the Playboy-encrusted office of Donald Trump? Friendless in Europe, she began trade negotiations with the kind of rogue state we might once have proudly imposed sanctions on. We didn’t buy Apartheid oranges. Henceforth let us boycott Dunkin’ Donuts, hardcore pornography and Adam Sandler movies, America’s most choice exports. Article 50 was not designed to be triggered; nuclear weapons were not built to be used (which is lucky for us, because ours don’t work); and postwar western democracies weren’t supposed to...
...Like Sigarev, Stewart Lee is on the crest of a wave. Literally, in the case of his new show, in which he ruminates on the sea-voyage described in Edward Lear's 'The Owl and the Pussy Cat'. As director and co-writer of the terrific Jerry Springer: The Opera , Lee has proved a dab hand at the loud and fleshy. Now he's back at BAC showing his talent for the small and wry.
Pea Green Boat is, Lee points out in his warm-up routine, something between stand-up and theatre. He doesn't talk about falling between two stools - though this is about the only time he passes up a chance to refer to faeces. Lee's own are given a starring role in this labyrinthine tale: on the day his lavatory breaks down, he notices that the Paolozzi sculpture of Blake's Newton outside the British Library looks like someone sitting on a toilet.
Part of Lee's theme is that only mad people go around compulsively making connections between themselves and big things in the outside world. His own show is, of course, a web of unlikely connections. Wittily woven. In one of the evening's unlikely doublings, John Dowie who looks like a reincarnation of Lear - straw-hatted and thin as a runner bean - reads from the poet's journal, and then disappears behind a screen to impersonate Ray ' Sexy Beast ' Winstone.
The dotty logic of Winstone's involvement is matched by Lee's primary source of historical data: 'The Owl's Diary', in which the bird grumbles about having to play the guitar with no thumbs, and reveals the true grisly end of his love affair. With the earnestness of an elderly geography teacher, Lee illustrates the tale with slides. There's a very boring picture of waves, and two enchanting mugshots of owls: one of them looks like an avid nun, and the other like a judge.
Lee explains - for those not used to the theatre - that when he's doing acting, rather than being himself, you'll be able to tell because he'll 'look askance'. At which point he looks precious and vacant...
Stewart Lee
2003-02-09T23:10:02+00:00
...Like Sigarev, Stewart Lee is on the crest of a wave. Literally, in the case of his new show, in which he ruminates on the sea-voyage described in Edward Lear's 'The Owl and the Pussy Cat'. As director and co-writer of the terrific Jerry Springer: The Opera , Lee has proved a dab hand at the loud and fleshy. Now he's back at BAC showing his talent for the small and wry. Pea Green Boat is, Lee points out in his warm-up routine, something between stand-up and theatre. He doesn't talk about falling between two stools - though this is about the only time he passes up a chance to refer to faeces. Lee's own are given a starring role in this labyrinthine tale: on the day his lavatory breaks down, he notices that the Paolozzi sculpture of Blake's Newton outside the British Library looks like someone sitting on a toilet. Part of Lee's theme is that only mad people go around compulsively making connections between themselves and big things in the outside world. His own show is, of course, a web of unlikely connections. Wittily woven. In one of the evening's unlikely doublings, John Dowie who looks like a reincarnation of Lear - straw-hatted and thin as a runner bean - reads from the poet's journal, and then disappears behind a screen to impersonate Ray ' Sexy Beast ' Winstone. The dotty logic of Winstone's involvement is matched by Lee's primary source of historical data: 'The Owl's Diary', in which the bird grumbles about having to play the guitar with no thumbs, and reveals the true grisly end of his love affair. With the earnestness of an elderly geography teacher, Lee illustrates the tale with slides. There's a very boring picture of waves, and two enchanting mugshots of owls:...
Philosophers delight in the concept of Schrödinger’s cat, a cat that is both inside a box and outside a box at the same time. (Ironically, the somewhat scatty Erwin Schrödinger himself had forgotten that he owned two identical cats, one of which liked boxes while the other hated them, explaining his confusion.) One day, philosophers will also discuss the idea of Schrödinger’s Rwanda: a place at once so awful that the very thought of being deported there will deter asylum seekers from crossing the Channel and yet simultaneously so brilliant that asylum seekers should be delighted to be sent there with no possibility of ever coming back to the UK. The human traffickers who send people across the Channel are despicable. And so their victims, many of them already having enjoyed torture and abuse at home, must be further punished by being deported to Rwanda. It’s an illogicality that Alice in Wonderland would have seen through in an instant. And so did the European court of human rights. Off with their heads!
It’s very early on a Thursday morning and I am still tapping away, alone with black coffee and toast. Reality is kaleidoscoping. I could have filed this week’s so-called “funny column” ™ ® at midday yesterday, 18 hours ago, as I have every right so to do. But I fell asleep listening to Priti Patel dissembling on Rwanda, following prime minister’s questions at lunchtime, after she was trapped in a net made of hard facts and human decency by her opposite number, Yvette Cooper. Nyaaagh! It burns! It burns!! I’m melting!!!
The home secretary was as boring and repetitive, and yet oddly relaxing, as the short cycle of diaphanous library music they pipe in to soundtrack the jellyfish display at the Sea Life Aquarium. But Priti’s Theme was written entirely in Black Sabbath Tony Iommi tritones and played by ghouls on xylophones made from the ribcages of the Kabul embassy dead. I woke up halfway through and thought I had died and gone to hell. No brimstone. No fire. Just listening to tape recordings of Patel while standing waist deep in a lake of coffee. For ever. Could be worse. And then a bell rings and the devil shouts: “All right lads, coffee break’s over. Back on your heads!” I’m here all week! Try the chicken igisafuria!! Don’t forget to tip your Private Security Contractor!!! Their focus is on treating the people in their care with dignity and respect and they are confident that their officers have acted professionally!!!!
It was lucky I didn’t submit today’s “comedy” early, as a lot has happened since lunchtime: the EU has begun legal action against the UK over our criminal abandonment of the Northern Ireland protocol; our prime minister has confirmed that he is considering withdrawing Britain, like our economic and kleptocratic soulmate Russia, from the European court of human rights; and the prime minister’s ethics adviser, the pork belly windsock known as Lord Geidt, realised his time was up and quit his post, having at last grown a vestigial tail (to call it a spine would be generous).
Geidt finally agreed that Johnson’s, and his cronies’, wine and Abba antics may have broken the ministerial code or at the very least a child’s garden swing. Suddenly, an afternoon is a long time in politics. Hopefully, Johnson will manage to soldier on bravely without someone to advise him on ethics. It would be awful if, without a moral mentor, Johnson were to suddenly find himself lying, cheating and repeatedly breaking international law.
Under normal circumstances, any one of these bombshells would have blown up the news cycle and made my columnist job easy. Roll out the barrel and hand me the blunderbuss! These fish are toast!! But this kind of chaos seems calculated. Numerous event-shits are tossed by hand into the news-fans from different angles and critical onlookers are too busy dodging the foul splatterings to remember Partygate and the missing billions the Brexit government has funnelled through the pandemic into the pockets of friends and donors. Look! Over there!! Our old enemy Europe!!! With its snails and its sauerkraut and its “human rights”.
On Monday, future city square statue subject and stained-glass windowed national saint-in-waiting Carole Cadwalladr survived legal persecution by Leave.EU’s Arron Banks. More links between Russia and the desirously destabilising goal of Brexit were highlighted. But even this didn’t really register in the wider news-scape. What’s a soupçon of Russian influence between friends? It’s not like Banks was flying back drunk from private parties at the villa of the subsequently Johnson-ennobled son of a KGB agent. Is distracting from this sort of thing just what the Rwandan deportation programme is for? Fly, my pretties, fly!
The deportation flight to Rwanda was always a win-win situation for the Brexit government, whether it left the tarmac or not. Schrödinger’s cat gives us Schrödinger’s Rwanda, which in turn gives us Schrödinger’s Dead Cat, a policy that succeeds even if it fails. If the asylum seekers were shipped out illegally, that plays well to the worst aspects of the Brexit government’s base. And if they weren’t, that gives the Brexit government, the comforts of the EU suddenly looking dangerously desirable, another range of Orwellian enemies – do-gooding lawyers, lefty charity activists, European “late-night” judges and the very idea of “human rights” itself.
The pockets of protesters currently engaged in street battles against police officers forced to carry out snatch raids on immigrants are a last line of defence against a Home Office that cannot be trusted to act ethically. Your children study the rise of Hitler in history and are asked how the people of 30s Germany allowed their country to slide into fascism. Well, now we can tell them. Kids, look out of the classroom window. It was like this...
Stewart Lee
2022-06-19T19:54:45+01:00
Philosophers delight in the concept of Schrödinger’s cat, a cat that is both inside a box and outside a box at the same time. (Ironically, the somewhat scatty Erwin Schrödinger himself had forgotten that he owned two identical cats, one of which liked boxes while the other hated them, explaining his confusion.) One day, philosophers will also discuss the idea of Schrödinger’s Rwanda: a place at once so awful that the very thought of being deported there will deter asylum seekers from crossing the Channel and yet simultaneously so brilliant that asylum seekers should be delighted to be sent there with no possibility of ever coming back to the UK. The human traffickers who send people across the Channel are despicable. And so their victims, many of them already having enjoyed torture and abuse at home, must be further punished by being deported to Rwanda. It’s an illogicality that Alice in Wonderland would have seen through in an instant. And so did the European court of human rights. Off with their heads! It’s very early on a Thursday morning and I am still tapping away, alone with black coffee and toast. Reality is kaleidoscoping. I could have filed this week’s so-called “funny column” ™ ® at midday yesterday, 18 hours ago, as I have every right so to do. But I fell asleep listening to Priti Patel dissembling on Rwanda, following prime minister’s questions at lunchtime, after she was trapped in a net made of hard facts and human decency by her opposite number, Yvette Cooper. Nyaaagh! It burns! It burns!! I’m melting!!! The home secretary was as boring and repetitive, and yet oddly relaxing, as the short cycle of diaphanous library music they pipe in to soundtrack the jellyfish display at the Sea Life Aquarium. But Priti’s Theme was...
The tour of the current stand-up show, BASIC LEE, is still at the Leicester Square Theatre then tours nationwide from January 20th 2024.
Then it will be finished in April.
Dates here;
January 2024
Thursday 4th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 5th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 8th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 11th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Sunday 14th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 15th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Thursday 18th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 19th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Monday 22nd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Friday 26th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS
Saturday 27th January 2024 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Sunday 28th January 2024 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Monday 29th January 2024 - The Marlowe, Canterbury - TICKETS
February 2024
Friday 2nd February 2024 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd February 2024 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Sunday 4th February 2024 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Friday 9th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 10th February 2024 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Sunday 11th February 2024 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle - TICKETS
Sunday 18th February 2024 - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Tuesday 20th February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Wednesday 21st February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Thursday 22nd February 2024 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Friday 23rd February 2024 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 24th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Sunday 25th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Monday 26th February 2024 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Thursday 29th February 2024 - The Hexagon, Reading - TICKETS
March 2024
Friday 1st March 2024 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Saturday 2nd March 2024 - The Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Sunday 3rd March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - TICKETS
Monday 4th March 2024 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Wednesday 6th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 7th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Friday 8th March 2024 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Saturday 9th March 2024 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th March 2024 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Thursday 14th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Friday 15th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Saturday 16th March 2024 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Sunday 17th March 2024 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Thursday 21st March 2024 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 22nd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Saturday 23rd March 2024 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Sunday 24th March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Norwich - TICKETS
Wednesday 27th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Thursday 28th March 2024 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
April 2024
Thursday 18th April 2024 - St. George's Hall, Bradford - TICKETS
Monday 22nd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 25th April 2024 - The Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
2) BENEFITS
FEB 1ST - HACKNEY HOMELESS SHELTER, HACKNEY EMPIRE Celya AB, Fern Brady, Rob Brydon, Rob Delaney, Kevin Eldon, Rosie Holt, Athena Kugblenu, Nish Kumar, Stewart Lee.
I do my Pea Green Boat spoken word piece with backing from ‘90s Leamington Spa noise art band Jackdaw With Crowbar, for charity, in Coventry, one time only. Sad themes! Loud music!!
An owl wakes up at sea in a pea green boat. It is accompanied by a cat, its natural predator. There is some honey. What chain of events led to this dangerous situation? Stewart Lee reprises his darkly comic tale based on Edward Lear’s The Owl & the Pussycat with improvised musical accompaniment.
“This delve into Edward Lear’s most famous poem is sweet and very funny” ★★★★ Guardian
PLUS a set from band Jackdaw with Crowbar “The best thing to come out of Leamington since the Grand Union Canal’ (Stewart Lee) where bass culture meets EDM and Co in a dark alley full of sequins. This scratch event is a fundraiser for LAMP, an award-winning a specialist education provision established in 2013, dedicated to supporting young people with autism.
ICEMAN FILM
The mighty comedy historian Robert Wringham wants to make a film about Anthony Irvine, aka The Iceman, who you may have heard me mention repeatedly.
“Robert and Anthony became fast friends in 2022. They worked together on a book called Melt It! The Book of the Iceman. Stuffed with stories and colour artwork, it was published by comedy production company Go Faster Stripe. It had a foreword by Simon Munnery and an afterword by Stewart Lee. But the stories keep on coming. Circus! Showbiz! Rock and Roll! So Robert and Anthony have teamed up with respected YouTuber Mark Cartwright (aka GingerBeardMark) to have yet another crack at a legacy for the Iceman. Since mid-2023, we've been working together to make Melt It! The Film of the Iceman. How much permanence and success can we assure for this man whose entire act was about impermanence and failure? Back the film and be among the first to find out. Our aim (aim!) is to complete the film by late-2024, then we hope to secure a limited run of UK art cinemas and possible streaming distribution by our friends at Go Faster Stripe.”
In other cash news, the lovely Kirkdale Bookshop in Sydenham, SE London, where the former free jazz trombonist, flaneur and churchwarden Row-land Bates can be found behind the counter, had all its pre-Christmas takings’ cash burglarised in December, so if you’re buying books with Nan’s Xmas money you could do worse than spend it here https://kirkdalebookshop.com or bung in to a modest gofundme https://www.gofundme.com/f/funding-to-cover-burglary-costs
5) SINGALONGAJUSTSTOPOIL
It’s not too late to weep along to Louise Harris’ Just Stop Oil fundraising hit. Download it here, support the wrongfully detained, and help save the world.
6) THE GIANT SYNDICATE 27TH APRIL EARTH HACKNEY LONDON
From 1pm – 10pm In the month of my 56th birthday, and Fire records’ 40th, I introduce various combinations of Dream Syndicate, Giant Sand and Kristen Hirsch at my local live music emporium.
Teenage me can’t believe it.
FALLEN LEAVES Punk-mod showmen. Jan 27th Brighton Hope & Ruin
MICHAEL ROTHER Neu! noise man still motoring FEB 3rd 2024 London Barbican
CRYPT W PROFESSOR ALICE ROBERTS The Alice Bag of archaeology LIVE FEB 22nd Inverness Eden Court, 26th B’ham Town Hall, 29th Bury St Edmunds Apex, MARCH 3rd London Blackheath Halls, 4th Guildford G Live, 5th C’nam Town Hall, 6th Portsmouth Guildhall, 7th N’hampton Derngate, 9th Oundle Stahl, 10th Wycombe Swan
BO NINGEN Japanoiseniks MARCH 1st Earth Hackney
ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN The psychedelic scallies play the greatest hits of their first incarnation March 2nd – 26th. March 2nd Norwich Nick Rayns LCR UEA, 3rd Brighton Dome, 5th Bournemouth Academy, 6th Bristol Beacon, 8th London Roundhouse, 10th Cardiff University, 13th Nottingham Rock City, 16th/17th M’cr Albert Hall, 19th Sheffield City Hall, 20th Glasgow Barrowlands, 22nd Leeds Academy, 23rd Newcastle City Hall, 25th/26th Liverpool Empire
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS Raucous NI punk survivors, w Glen Matlock support. March 11th Nottingham Rock City, 12th B’ham Academy, 13th Bristol Academy, 15th Newcastle City Hall, 16th/17th Glasgot Barrowlands, 21st Leeds Academy, 22nd M’cr Academy, 23rd Camden Roundhouse
JOHN ROBB Spoken word tour by the ageless en-quiffed punk dandy intellectual flaneur and man of letters MARCH 22 SELBY Town Hall, 23 CHORLEY Theatre, 27 KENDAL Brewery Arts, 28 SALE Waterside, 29 HALIFAX Square Chapel APRIL 10 SHEFFIELD Leadmill, 11 POCKLINGTON Arts Centre, 12 BUXTON Pavilion Arts, 18 WORCESTER Huntingdon Hall, 19 BRISTOL Folk House, 20 SOUTHAMPTON The Attic, 21 CAMBRIDGE Junction, 22 SUDBURY Quay Theatre, 23 COLCHESTER Arts Centre, 24 NORWICH Arts Centre, 26 CHESTER Storyhouse Garret, 27 LIVERPOOL Philharmonic Music Room, 28 LEEDS The Old Woollen, MAY 01 BRIGHTON Komedia, 03 WOOLWICH Works, 04 LONDON 21 Soho, 09 EDINBURGH Voodoo Rooms
JOLIE HOLLAND Alt-country chanteuse returns MARCH 31st London Bush Hall, APRIL 1st Cambridge Portland Arms, 2nd Birmingham Kitchen Garden, 3rdf Belfast Black Box, 4th Edinburgh Summerhall, 6th M’cr St Michael’s, 7th Brighton Komedia
HAWKWIND This current Hawkwind iteration channels their classic ‘70s space rock sound unashamedly, with keyboardist Thighpaulsandra of Coil, Cope and Spiritualised clearly living out a childhood dream. April 4th M’cr Academy, 5th Newcastle City Hall, 6th Edinburgh Academy, 7th Glasgow Academy
HOUSE OF ALL M’cr Fall-related supergroup tour APRIL 2nd Sheffield Leadmill, 3rd Glasgow Stereo, 8th London Dome, 9th Brighton Hope & Ruin, 20th M’cr Gorilla, 25th Portsmouth Wedgewood, 16th Bedford Esquires
NIGHTINGALES Off the beaten track small town dates for Birmingham post-punk heroes of King Rocker fame May 2nd Kendal Glisky, 3rd Telford Firefly, 4th Halifax Square Chapel, 5th Milton Keynes Crawford Arms, 6th Ramsgate Music Hall, 8th W’chester Railway, 9th Newport Le Pub, 10th Warrington Irish, 11th Dunoon Burgh Hall
THE HANDSOME FAMILY Literary Lynchian Alt-Country duo MAY 3rd Dublin Liberty Hall, 7th Glasgow St Luke’s, 10th M’cr Stoller Hall, 12th Leeds Irish, 14th Norwich Arts, 16th Cardiff Gate, 18th Salisbury Winchester Gate, 21st London Union Chapel, 23rd Folkestone Quarterhouse
THE BEVIS FROND Psych legends Lexington, London May 18th
THE LOVELY EGGS Art-punk duo MAY 23rd Glasgow St Luke’s, 24th Edimnburgh Belle Angele, 25th N’castle Grove, 26th Leeds Brudenell, 27th Birmingham Xoyo, 28th Bristol Thekla, 29th Brighton Chalk, 30th London Earth, 31st Nottingham Rescue Rooms JUNE 1st M’cr New Century
THE DAMNED Black Album/Strawberries line-up, with hard-wristed Holy Grail headhunter Rat Scabies back on drums. DEC 4th Newcastle NX, 5th Glasgow Barrowlands, 6th M’c Academy, 8th Leeds Academy, 9th Nottingham Rock City, 10th W’hampton Halls, 12th Bristol Beacon, 13th S’hampton Guuildhall, 14th Eastbourne Winter Gardens, 16th Cambs Corn X, 18th London Roundhouse
8) MY CULTURAL YEAR 2023 (from DEC 29th 2022 – DEC 29th 2023)
“I haven’t seen any of Stewart Lee’s nasty little lists… but this is dark stuff ….. a form of bullying, intimidation and shaming that Joseph McCarthy or The Stasi would recognize.” John Robinson, Radio X
Here is everything I consumed this year.
When I really loved something I put ***** and when I really didn’t I put *.
It’s not a critical list. I might have liked something because it pushed my buttons because of how I personally felt then/now, or because of some historical association, not necessarily because it was objectively the best thing ever.
And I might have hated something out of petty spite, or because i was too dumb to understand it.
This list is not intended to annoy anyone or be a definitive statement of anything. I’ve done it anyway, for me. You may as well see it.
21 NEW FILMS (2022/23)
I saw loads of great new films this year, and two terrible ones. Triangle of Sadness was 1/3rd flawed, and its polemic too pronounced perhaps, but still brilliant, especially the retching.
If I had to choose a top three it would be the ghostly meditation on time and memory Enys Men (Mark Jenkin), the painful portrait of disfunctional dadhood After Sun (Charlotte Wells), the inspiring doc on small town heroism Never Be A Punching Bag For Nobody (Naomi Yang).
The Old Way squandered Cage, which was a shame, but Old Dads was just nasty and cynical and yet also cloyingly sentimental, and clearly a waste of obvious talent - a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and signifying. nothing. Very honorable mentions to Prey, a Predator film set in 1719 in pre-colonial America, with lots to say politically and the option to watch it in the Comanche language; and to You Hurt My Feelings, an old school American comedy of middle class manners with great performances and a kind heart.
And to Neil Marshall’s return to form, The Lair, a clockwork genre film with geopolitical resonance; and to Nope, where Jordan Peele uses sci-fi tropes to stake a black American claim to wild west mythology.
The Finnish spaghetti war film Sisu breathed new life into the aging warrior’s reluctant return to combat trope. Here’s my new film year in order.
In The Court Of The Crimson King (Toby Amies) *****
Enys Men (Mark Jenkin) *****
After Sun (Charlotte Wells) *****
Never Be A Punching Bag For Nobody (Naomi Yang)*****
The Old Way (Brett Donowho)*
The Banshees of Inisherin (Martin McDonagh)
Dead For A Dollar (Walter Hill)
Triangle of Sadness (Ruben Östlund)*****
Barbie (Greta Gerwig, 2023)
The Lair (Neil Marshall) *****
Nope (Jordan Peele)*****
Knock At The Cabin (M Knight Shyamalan)
Cocaine Bear (Elizabeth Banks)
Men (Alex Garland)
You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener)*****
The Last Caveman (Harry Hill) *****
Old Dads (Bill Burr) *
John Wick Chapter 4 (Chad Stahelski)
Prey (Daniel Trachtenberg) *****
The Boy & The Heron (Hayao Miyazaki)
Sisu (Jalmari Helander)*****
2. 88 OLD FILMS IN ORDER
I watched a lot of great Italian westerns in box sets put out by Arrow films, as you can see. And a lot of inappropriate horror films with my kids.
Peter Watkins’ 1967 rise-of-fascism future fable Privilege, in which my Uncle Roger appears as a policeman for 3 seconds, gets more relevant every year.
Danny Kruger should watch it through tears of shame. We all should.
Profondo Rosso (Dario Argento, 1975)*****
Breathless (Jean Luc Godard, 1960) *****
Vivre Sa Vie (Jean Luc Godard, 1962)*****
The Village (M Knight Shyamalan, 2004)
Trading Places (John Landis) *****
John Wick (Chad Stahelski, 2014) *****
John Wick II (Chad Stahelski, 2017)
Eagles Over London (Enzo Castellari, 1969)
The Long Riders (Walter Hill, 1980)
John Wick III Parabellum (Chad Stahelski, 2019)
The Howling (Joe Dante, 1981)
The Canterbury Tales (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1972)*****
The French Dispatch (Wes Anderson, 2021)
The Searchers (John Ford, 1956)
Dog Soldiers (Neil Marshall, 2002)*****
The Dirty Outlaws (Franco Rosetti, 1966)
Crawl (Alexandra Aja, 2019)
Spinal Tap (Rob Reiner, 1984) *****
Night of The Hunter (Charles Laughton, 1954) *****
The Hunt (Thomas Vinterberg, 2013)
The Car (Elliot Silverstein, 1977)
Eight Legged Freaks (Ellory Elkayem, 2002)
In A Valley of Violence (Ti West, 2016)
Appaloosa (Ed Harris, 2008) *
The Hollow Point (Gonzalo López-Gallego, 2016)
The Assassination of Jesse James (Andrew Dominik, 2007)
Forsaken (Jon Cassar, 2015)
Damsel (David & Nathan Zellner, 2018)*****
Sicario (Dennis Villeneuve, 2015)
Demons (Lamberto Bava, 1985)
Alligator (Lewis Teague, 1980)
King Of Comedy (Martin Scorsese, 1982)*****
Evil Dead II (Sam Raimi, 1987)*****
Play Misty For Me (Clint Eastwood, 1971)*****
Theatre of Blood (Douglas Hickox, 1973)*****
The Perfect Host (Nick Tomnay, 2011)*
Casanova (Lasse Hallstrom, 2005)
A Reason To Live, A Reason To Die (Tonio Valerii, 1972)
Tentacles (Ovidio G Assonitis, 1977)
Rasputin The Mad Monk (Don Shields, 1966)
The Deep (Peter Yates, 1977)
Deliverance (John Boorman, 1972)*****
The Beast Must Die (Paul Annet, 1974)*
The Burning (Tony Maylam, 1981) *
Us (Jordan Peele, 2019)
Contamination (Luigi Cozzi, 1980)
Old (M Knight Shyamalan, 2021)
Sweeney! (David Wickes, 1977)*****
Lone Star (John Sayles, 1997) *****
Texas Red (Travis Mills, 2021)
Silver City (John Sayles, 2004)
Dracula AD1972 (Alan Gibson, 1972)*****
Zombi 2/Zombie Flesh Eaters (Lucio Fulci, 1979)
Rise of The Footsoldier (Julien Gilbey, 2007)
Laura (Otto Preminger, 1944)*****
The Church (Michelle Soavi, 1989)
Ready Or Not (Matt Bettinelli-Olpin & Tyler Gillett, 2019)
Society (Brian Yuzna, 1989)
From Beyond (Stuart Gordon, 1986)
Mom & Dad (Brian Taylor, 2017)
Dead Men Don’t Count (Rafael Romero Marchent, 1968)
The Shining (Stanley Kubrick, 1980)*****
Imagine The Sound (Ron Mann, 1981)
Duel (Stephen Spielberg, 1971)*****
Race With The Devil (Jack Starrett, 1975)*****
The Guest (Adam Wingard, 2014)*****
Privilege (Peter Watkins, 1967)*****
The Big Gundown (Sergio Sollima, 1966)*****
Brotherhood of The Wolf (Christophe Gans, 2001)
$10000 Blood Money/$10000 For A Massacre (Romolo Guerierri, 1967)
Alive or Preferably Dead (Duccio Tessari, 1969)
Vengeance Is Mine (Giovanni Fago, 1967)
Find A Place To Die (Giuliano Carnimeo, 1968)
Rear Window (Alfred Hitchcock, 1954)*****
I Walked With A Zombie (Jaques Tourner, 1943)*****
Dr Terror’s House of Horrors (Freddie Francis, 1965)
The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986)
Willard (Daniel Mann, 1968)
Land Raiders (Nathan Juran, 1970)*
Revolver (Sergio Sollima, 1973)
Stage Fright (Michael Soavi, 1987)
Punk Rock (Carter Stevens, 1977)
Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944)*****
El Puro (Eduardo Mulargia, 1969)
Wrath Of The Wind (Mario Camus, 1970)
Fury of Johnny Kidd (Gianni Puccini, 1967)
The Big Racket (Enzo G Castellari, 1976)
Let The Right One In (Thomas Alfredson, 2008)*****
The Salvation (Kristian Levring, 2014)
3. 10 NEW BOOKS
Alan Garner - Treacle Walker
Lauren Jane Barnett – Death Lines, Walking London Through Horror Cinema *****
RB Russell - Fifty Forgotten Books *****
Iain Sinclair - House of Flies *****
Weird Walk – Weird Walk *****
James O’Brien - How They Broke Britain *****
Cold War Steve - Annual 2024 *****
Toby Driver – The Hillforts of Iron Age Wales *****
Thurston Moore – Sonic Life *****
and
Found And Ground – Caroline Ross - on how to mix paints from natural sources!
4. 4 OLD BOOKS – not a good effort by me
Miles Franklin - My Brilliant Career (1901) *****
William Shakespeare - Macbeth(1623)
Debby Holt - Love Affairs for Grown-Ups (2009)
Kieron Winn - The Mortal Man (2015)
Happy Valley S3 (BBC1)
Endeavour S9 (ITV)
Eurovision Song Contest (BBC)
Ghosts S5 (BBC)
The Change (C4)
The Reckoning (BBC)
Patrick Kielty’s Late Show Gaza speech (RTE)
Victoria Derbyshire (BBC)
Ghosts Xmas Special (BBC)
The worst thing I saw, in any category, all year was Ricky Gervais’ new TV special Armageddon (Netflix), though to be fair I watched it curious to see if it could be as bad as everyone was saying, whereas I had high hopes for everything else I sought out on this list.
MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
Shindig, Record Collector, Viz, Mojo, Guardian, Machenallia, Faunus, Observer, Guardian, London Review of Books, Weird Walk, Wire, Idler.
Adrian Childs’ Guardian columns
Jay Rayner’s Observer restaurant reviews
Marina Hyde’s Guardian columns
Nesrine Malik’s Guardian columns
John Crace’s Guardian columns
A Kirstie Allsop interview in Good Housekeeping
RADIO NEW AND OLD
James O’Brien (LBC) *****
Gideon Coe (BBC 6Music) *****
Marc Riley (BBC 6Music)*****
Andrew Marr (LBC)*****
Nick Ferrari (LBC) *
Shelagh Fogerty (LBC)*****
All BBC News *
9. 17 THEATRE/DANCE/RITUAL
The best theatre I saw was Pina Bausch in Edinburgh, and also grand-dad Kitson’s Christmas show.
I thought Wils Wilson’s Macbeth, that I admittedly wrote a scene for, was brilliant too and it was a great privilege to be a part of it.
And the Boxing Day mummery of the Marshfield Paper Boys was mysterious and moving.
I am deeply ashamed that I completely didn’t understand Vanya, that everyone else loved, and I am very depressed about this personally and worried about my brains.
Titus Andronicus (The Globe, London)
Macbeth (a school production)
Spitting Image - Idiots Assemble (Phoenix, London)
The Burryman, Queensferry
Dark Noon - Tue Biering & Nhlanhla Mahlangu (EICC)
The Rites Of Spring/Common Ground(s) - Pina Bausch/Stravinsky - Edinburgh Playhouse *****
2 Guys, 3 Drams (The Space, Edinburgh)
Not On Eileen - Pete Saunders (Finger’s Piano Bar, Edinburgh)
Minotaur/Phaedra - B Britten/Deborah Warner (Ed’bro Lyceum)
Macbeth - Shakespeare/Wils Wilson (RSC) *****
Black Sabbath Ballet - Birmingham Royal Ballet (B’ham Hippodrome)
Vanya - Simon Stephens (Duke of York’s)
Treasure Island (a school production)
Remembrance Day Service (Abney Park)
Our House – Madness/that bloke (a school production)
A Story For Christmas – Daniel Kitson (Alexandra Palace)*****
Aladdin (Hackney Empire)
Marshfield Paper Boys (Marshfield, Gloucestershire)*****
10. 11 COMEDY SHOWS
I am ashamed, that as a comedian, I only saw eleven comedy shows this year, and four of those I was in - pathetic.
Alfie Brown was the best, and NonCensored as a live show at Museum of Comedy was great.
Adam Buxton, Maisie Adam, Nick Helm, Amy Gledhill, Eshaan Akbar - Leicester Square Theatre, London
Daniel Kitson, Shazia Mirza - Bloomsbury Theatre
Paul Currie - outdoors at Glastonbury workin’ him ass off
Rosie Holt - Pleasance, Ed’bro
Alfie Brown’s Work In Progress - Just The Tonic, Ed’bro *****
Simon Munnery - The Stand, Ed’bro
Aideen McQueen/Andrew White - Whistlebinkies, Ed’bro
NonCensored Live (Museum of Comedy)*****
Nick Puppo’s Heroin Equivocation Hour - Mash House, Ed’bro
Andrew O’Neil, The Abyss, Kate Cheka (W’mstow Trades)
Sunil Patel (Always Be Comedy)
11. 40 GIGS
I managed to see 40 music gigs this year, which was brilliant, and most of them were superb – I think because they people I have liked for decades that have kept going just get better and better and also I have had the pleasure of seeing new (and old) things with my kids at their suggestion.
The most fun I had at a gig was dancing about on my own for hours to a ska band called The Downsetters at Glastonbury.
The one that made me the happiest was Chuck Prophet, who is a consummate carnival huckster these days. Slowdive moved me, immensely. Black Country New Road gave me hope for the future.
The Bevis Frond and The Nightingales proved I was right all along, in different ways. Dave Callahan and House of All made me want to persist in my folly. The Bunnymen at the Albert Hall was still sublime. I watched Rick Astley sing The Smiths with my daughter and it was better than the actual Smiths 40 years ago.
I sang with Heavenly. I saw Stereolab, David Murray and The Hives with the kids, which were all great experiences, squaring the circles.
I sat next to Martin Simpson while he tuned up backstage when I hosted the Bert Jansch night. Crime & The City Solution have grown into themselves utterly.
The Sleaford Mods is an 80 minute Beckett show with a beat now. The Wave Pictures have become brilliant standard bearers for a certain kind of timeless sound. Lana Del Rey at Glastonbury was awful, like an endless advert for perfume or cars performed by robots.
My top ten, at this moment in time, in a great year, were...
Bevis Frond (Oslo, Hackney)
The Damned (Glastonbury)
The Downsetters (Rocket Lounge, Glastonbury)
Black Country New Road (Glastonbury)
Echo & The Bunnymen (Royal Albert Hall)
Slowdive (Troxy)
Bert Jansch Tribute night (Royal Festival Hall)
David Murray Quartet (Pizza Express, Soho, London)
Crime & The City Solution (Moth Club, Hackney)
Wave Pictures (Lexington)
But here’s everyone I saw in order
Bevis Frond (Oslo, Hackney)
Mariam Razaei & Angharad Davis (Live Theare, N’castle)
The Nightingales (Alexandra Palace)
Dave Callahan & Daren Garret/House Of All (Garage)
Heavenly/Panic Pocket (Bush Hall)
Chuck Prophet & The Mission Express (Garage)
Master Musicians of Joujouka (Glastonbury)
The Hives (Glastonbury)
The Comet Is Coming (Glastonbury)
Steve Earle (Glastonbury)
Billy Bragg (Glastonbury)
The Damned (Glastonbury)
The Unthanks (Glastonbury)
Billy Bragg & Jamie Webster & Rianne Downey (Glastonbury)
Big Joannie (Glastonbury)
Rick Astley & Blossoms do The Smiths (Glastonbury)
The Pretenders (Glastonbury)
The Murder Capital (Strummerville Glastonbury)
Lana Del Rey (Glastonbury)*
The Downsetters (Rocket Lounge, Glastonbury)
Beth Orton (Glastonbury)
Black Country New Road (Glastonbury)
Sairie/Barbara Manning (Betsey Trotwood, London)
Joe McPhee & Decoy (Café Oto, London)
Sarah Gail Brand & Alex MaGuire/Julian Woods, George Garford & John Bisset/Paul Jolly, Simon McCorry & Jakub Rokita (Vortex)
Pulp (Hammersmith Odeon)
Martin Newell/Feathered Thorns/Willpower (Bungay, St Mary’s)
Thistle Street Bar Folk Session, Thursday
Captain’s Bar Folk session, Thursday
Captain’s Bar Folk session, Friday
Colin Steel Quintet Play Miles Davis (Jazz Bar Edinburgh)
Blueswater duo (The Space, Edinburgh)
Orange Claw Hammer (Bannermans, Ed’bro)
Richard Youngs/Damon & Naomi (Café Oto, London)
Siouxsie (Troxy, London)
Dan Stuart (Walthamstow Trades Hall)
Echo & The Bunnymen (Royal Albert Hall)
The Shadracks (Three Crowns, Stoke Newington)
Matthew Caws/Chris Stamey (Betsey Trotwood, London)
Brian Lopez/Calexico (Electric Ballroom)
Slowdive (Troxy)
BERT JANSCH CELEBRATION - Bernard Butler, Brigid Mae Power & Steve Gunn, Jacqui McShee & Mike Piggot & Kevin Dempsey, James Yorkston & Ranjana Ghatak & Jon Thorne, Kathryn Williams, Martin Simpson, Robert Plant’s Saving Grace, Sam Lee, Sarathy Korwar (Royal Festival Hall)
David Murray Quartet (Pizza Express, Soho, London)
Stereolab (Electric Brixton)
Crime & The City Solution (Moth Club, Hackney)
Lean Left/Steve Beresford (Café Oto)
Sleaford Mods (Alexandra Palace)
Thurston Moore Group (100 Club)
Wave Pictures (Lexington) *****
RECORDS I LISTENED TO OLD SCHOOL IN ONE SITTING AT A LISTENING DEVICE
13. 107 NEW RECORDS – 2022/2023
I include some 2022 releases I came to late. I listened to 105 new albums this year.
I think the one I loved the most was The Lilac Time’s elegiac Dance Till All The Stars Come Down, which I found very emotional and exactly right for where I am now, but it was a brilliant year.
Robert Lloyd and Janet Beveridge Bean’s Black Cat Dark Horse paired two of my favorite singers of my teens/twenties on a reflective set of c&w classics that hit this 55 year old square in the heart. I’ve known Eliza Skelton for years and her belated Kate Bush goes acid folk debut is brilliant – it’s always a relief when your friends do something you are happy to praise to the sky.
The Chuck Prophet album is visceral and superb and isn’t on Spotify so you’ll have to give the bloke some money. If I have a top ten, in no order, it’s ....
Lloyd/Bean - Black Cat, Dark Horse *****
House Of All - s/t ***** Richard Dawson - The Ruby Cord *****
Eliza Skelton - The Lookerer *****
Chuck Prophet et Le Mission Express - Live A Paris *****
Black Country New Road – Live At Bush Hall *****
Slowdive - Everything Is Alive *****
The Lilac Time - Dance Till All The Stars Come Down *****
The Nightingales - Live In Balsall Heath *****
Shirley Collins – Archangel Hill *****
This is all the new records I listened to this year in order ..
Dave Graney & Clare Moore - In A Mistly
Blue Aeroplanes - Culture Gun
Robert Forster - The Candle & The Flame
Lloyd/Bean - Black Cat, Dark Horse *****
House Of All - s/t *****
Maggie Nicols - Are You Ready?
The Soundcarriers - Wilds
Rich Hopkins & The Luminarios - Exiled On Mabel St
GA-20 - Crackdown
Guided By Voices - La La Land
Maggie Nicols & Mark Wastell - And John
Bevis Frond - Clocks Caroline Kraabel and Khabat Abas - 5 Communiques
The Mudvaynes - Love It
Kosmischer Läufer - The Secret Cosmic Music of The East German Olympic Program 1972-83 Volume V
Carlton Melton - Resemble Ensemble
Yo La Tengo - This Stupid World
Neil Young w Crazy Horse - World Record
Brian Jonestown Massacre - Fire Doesn’t Grow On Trees
The Long Ryders - September November
Hawkwind - The Future Never Waits
Sleaford Mods - UK Grim
Deathcrash - Return
Lightning In A Twilight Hour - Overwintering
Richard Dawson - The Ruby Cord *****
Guided By Voices - Tremblers and Goggles By Rank
Wild Billy Childish & CTMF - Failure Not Success
Steve Earle & The Dukes - Jerry Jeff
Pugwash - The Rest Is History
Eliza Skelton - The Lookerer *****
Modern Cosmology - What Will You Grow Now?
Lankum - False Lankum
The Damned - Darkadelic
Headland – Watanda
Shirley Collins - Archangel Hill *****
Naomi Yang - Never Be A Punching Bag For Nobody
Kid Congo Powers - Live In St Kilda
The Necks - Travel
Deathcrash - Less
James Brandon Lewis Trio - Eye of I
Art Ensemble of Chicago - The Sixth Decade
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - Blues, Soul & Rock’n’Roll
The Primevals - Dividing Line
Neverland Ranch Davidians - s/t
Mammatus - Expanding Majesty
Teenage Fanclub - Nothing Lasts Forever
Huntress - Destruction Horizon
Larry Gilbert - Heard Her Call My Name
Molina, Talbot, Lofgren, Young - All Roads Lead Home *
Bob Dylan - Shadow Kingdom
Stick In The Wheel - Endurance Soundly Caged
Lauren Helene Green - Outer Highway Realms
Mali Obomsawin - Sweet Tooth
Skull Practitioners - Negative Stars
Rain Parade - Last Days of a Dying Sun
Chuck Prophet et Le Mission Express - Live A Paris *****
The Feathered Thorns - Witch
Brown Spirits - Solitary Transmissions
Thomas Walsh - The Rest Is History
Gina Birch - I Play My Bass Loud
The Swansea Sound - Twentieth Century
Hugo Race Fatalists - Once Upon A Time In Italy
Cowboy Junkies - Such Ferocious Beauty
Candidate - Point Clear
Lucinda Williams - Stories From A Rock ‘n’ Roll Heart
Laura Cantrell - Just Like A Rose
Black Country New Road – Live At Bush Hall *****
Alex G - God Save The Animals
Son Volt - Day Of The Dog
Son Volt - 26 Live
Brian Lopez - Tidal
Dean Owens - El Tiradito, The Curse of The Sinner’s Shrine
Treeboy & Arc - Natural Habitat
Panic Pocket - Mad Half Hour
Candidate - Point Clear
Slowdive - Everything Is Alive *****
Cult Figures - Between Us And Heaven
The Lilac Time - Dance Till All The Stars Come Down *****
Graham Day & The Gaolers - Reflections In The Glass
Cyanide Pills - Soundtrack To The New Cold War
Guided By Voices - Welshpool Frillies
Snarskicircuslindyband - Someone Said That Someone Said
Gwenno - Tresor
Julian Cope - Robin Hood
The Nightingales - Live In Balsall Heath *****
David Murray, Brad Jones, Hamid Drake - Seriana Promethea
Birds In The Brickwork - A Strange Peace
Vic Mars - The Beacons
Claire M Singer - Saor
Goat - The Gallows Pole
Rooney - Surface Industries II
Guided By Voices - Nowhere To Go But Up
Tobin Sprout - Demos and Outtakes 2
Crime & The City Solution – The Killer
Barbara Manning – Charm of Yesterday... Convenience of Tomorrow
The Handsome Family – Hollow
Martin Simpson & Thomm Jutz – Nothing But Green Willow
Large Plants – The Thorn
Catatonic Suns - Catatonic Suns
The Bevis Frond – Focus On Nature
Silver Apples & Kawabata Mokoto - Mirage
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - Sons Of The City Ditch
Black Bombers – Vive La Revolution
Laura Cannell – Midwinter Processionals
Carlton Melton – Turn To Earth
Divine Horsemen – Bitter End Of A Sweet Night
House of All – Bay City Pistols
14. 36 NEW OLD RECORDS - reissues, archive & comp’s
I listened to 36 new old records this year in this order.
The Beatles - Revolver 5 disc version (1966)*****
V/A - Oz Days Live (1972-3) *****
Jimi Hendrix Experience - Los Angeles Forum (1969)
Bob Dylan - Fragments (1996-97)*****
Various Artists - Ost-Kraut! Progressive DDR Archiven (1970-75) Teil 1
The Barracudas - Drop Out With (1977-1982)
The Beach Boys - Sail On Sailor (1972)
V/A - Piombo (1973-1991)
Verlaines - Live @ The Windsor Castle, Auckland (1986)*****
Saffron - Red Amber (1971)
The Chameleons - Dali’s Picture/Auffurung (1981-3)*****
The Fall - Live Out Ferroviarios (2013)
V/A - Studio One Space Age Dub Special (1974-6)
Datblygu - Terfysgiaith (1982-2022) *****
V/A - Deviation Street (1967-1975)
Sonny Stitt - Boppin’ In Baltimore (1972)*****
The Lemonheads - Come On Feel (1993)*****
The Bevis Frond - The Long Stuff (1995-2019) *****
Ayako Shinozaki - Music For The Harp (1974)
Meiko Kaji - Hajiku Uta (1973)
Gadsby & Skol - s/t (1970/1995)
Elvin Jones’ Revival - Live At Pookie’s Pub (1967)
Josef K - It’s Kinda Funny (1980-2)*****
West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band - A Door Inside Your Mind (1966-68) *****
Roxy Gordon - Crazy Horse Never Died (1988)
John Coltrane W Eric Dolphy - Evenings At The Village Gate (1961)*****
Drive-By Truckers - The Complete Dirty South (2004) *****
Calexico - Feast of Wire (2003) *****
Various Artists - Bullshit Detector 1 (1980)
Various Artists - Bullshit Detector 2 (1982)
Various Artists - Bullshit Detector 3 (1984)
The Galileo 7 - Tear Your Mind Wide Open (2017)
Kyra - Here I Am, I Always Am (1998)
Epic 45 - Drakelow (2005)
Shiva Burlesque - Mercury Blues/Skullduggery(1990)*****
David Westlake – D87 (1987)*****
15. 347 OLD OLD RECORDS
I listened to 347 old old records this year in this order.
Eleventh Dream Day - Prairie School Freakout (1988) *****
Jimi Hendrix Experience - Electric Ladyland (1968) *****
The Bevis Frond - We Are Your Friends Man (2018) *****
Uriah Heep - Salisbury (1971)
Swans - Love Of Life (1992)
Sigur Ros - Valtari (2012)
Sigur Ros - Kveikur (2013)
My Bloody Valentine - MBV (2013) *****
Alex G - Beach Music (2015)
Bill Fay - Time Of The Last Persecution (1971)*****
FJ McMahon - Spirit of the Golden Juice (1969)
Jayhawks - Hollywood Town Hall (1992) *****
Modern English - Peel Session (1980)
The Chameleons - Peel Session (1983) *****
Blood And Roses - Peel Session (1983)
Again Again - Peel Session (1978) *****
Stereolab - Switched On (1992) *****
Stereolab - Peng! (1992) *****
The Soundcarriers - Entropicalia (2014)
Malouma - Nour (2007)
Sidewinders - Witchdoctor (1989) *****
Stereolab - Transient Random-Noise Bursts (1993)*****
Sidewinders - Auntie Ramos’ Pool Hall (1990)
The Associates - Sulk (1982)
The Pastels - Last Great Wilderness (2002)
The Pastels - Illumination (1997)
Grant-Lee Phillips - Widdershins (2018)
Peter Lang - The Thing At The Nursery Window (1972)
Julius Lester - Dressed Like Freedom (1965-7)
Quicksilver Messenger Service - s/t (1967) *****
Stereolab - Mars Audiac Quartet (1994) *****
Doji Morita - A Boy (1977)
Minami Deutsch - s/t (2015)
Stereolab - Emperor Tomato Ketchup (1996)*****
Stereolab - The Group Played Space Age Bachelor Pad Music (1993)
Stereolab - Refried Ectoplasm (1995)*****
Stereolab - Dots & Loops (1997)
Stereolab - ABC Music (1991-2001) *****
Screaming Trees - Buzz Factory (1989) *****
David Crosby - If I Could Only Remember My Name (1971)*****
Jefferson Airplane - Takes Off (1966)
Jefferson Airplane - Surrealistic Pillow (1967)
Jefferson Airplane - After Bathing At Baxter’s (1967)
Jefferson Airplane - Crown of Creation (1968)
28th Day - s/t (1986) *****
Jefferson Airplane - Volunteers (1969)
Dexter Gordon - At The Subway Club (1973)
John Coltrane - Ballads (1963) *****
Tom Verlaine - Dreamtime (1981)
Stiv Bators - Disconnected (1980)
Black Sabbath - Montreux 1970 (1970) *****
Black Sabbath - s/t (1970)*****
Manfred Mann’s Earth Band - The Good Earth (1974)
The Beach Boys - Feel Flows (1969-1971)
The Beach Boys - Sunshine Tomorrow (1967)
The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds (1966)
Sly & The Family Stone - A Whole New Thing (1967)
Black Sabbath - Paranoid (1970)
Black Sabbath - Master of Reality (1971)
Black Sabbath - 4 (1972) *****
Black Sabbath - Sabbath Bloody Sabbath (1973)
Lyres - Lyres (1985)
Gene Clark - Collected (1965-91) *****
Coleman Hawkins - Hawk Eyes (1959) *****
Pharoah Sanders - Live (1981) *****
McCoy Tyner - Inception (1962)*****
McCoy Tyner - Reaching Forth (1962)
The Cars - The Cars (1978)
McCoy Tyner - Nights of Ballads and Blues (1963)
McCoy Tyner - Today & Tomorrow (1964)
McCoy Tyner - Live At Newport (1962)
McCoy Tyner - Plays Ellington (1964)
Coltrane, Dolphy, Jones, Lewis, Tyner, Workman - Munich Jam (1961)
Albert Ayler - Something Different (1962) *****
Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited (1965) *****
Bob Dylan - Blonde on Blonde (1966) *****
Guided by Voices - Bee Thousand (1994)*****
Rain Parade - Emergency Third Rail Power Trip (1983)*****
Rain Parade - Explosions In The Glass Palace (1984)****
Rain Parade - Beyond The Sunset (1985)*****
Cat Stevens - Tea For The Tillerman (1970)
Bob Dylan - Time Out Of Mind (1997) *****
The Waterboys - s/t (1983) *****
The Waterboys - A Pagan Place (1984)
The Waterboys - This Is The Sea (1985) *****
The Waterboys - Fisherman’s Blues (1998) *****
The Fall - Extricate (1990) *****
Robert Belfour - What’s Wrong With You? (2000)
Yung Wu - Shore Leave (1987)
Tiny Grimes & Coleman Hawkins - Blues Groove (1958)
Game Theory - The Big Shot Chronicles (1986) *****
Game Theory - Lolita Nation (1987) *****
Sonny Criss - Jazz USA (1956)
Sonny Criss - Go Man (1956)
The Fall - Are You Are Missing Winner (2001)*****
Dexter Gordon - Both Sides of Midnight (1967)*****
John Coltrane - Crescent (1964)*****
Dharma Bums - Haywire (1988)*****
King Tubby - Dub Gone Grazy (1975-79)*****
The Oblivians - 17 Cum Shots (1997)
The Playn Jayn - Five Good Evils (1985)
The Wreckery - Yeh My People (1987)
The Wreckery - Laying Down The Law (1989)
The Saints - Eternally Yours (1978)
Always August - Geography (1988)
Savage Resurrection - s/t (1968)
Salvation - s/t (1968)
The Thanes - Thanes of Cawdor (1987)
Grimble Grumble - s/t (1997) *****
Nico - Chelsea Girl (1967)*****
Steve Earle - I Feel Alright (1996) *****
Black Sabbath - Sabotage (1975)*****
Watchhouse - Such Jubilee (2015)
Man - 2 Oz’s Plastic With A Hole In The Middle (1969)*****
Centrum - For Meditation (2019)*****
Furry Lewis - s/t (1960)
Glen Campbell - Galveston (1969)
Jeff Wayne - War Of The Worlds (1978) *****
Rita Coolidge - The Lady’s Not For Sale (1972)
Heavenly - Le Jardin Du Heavenly (1992)
Johnny Rivers - Totally Live At The Whisky A Go Go (1964)
Johnny Rivers - Slim Slow Slider (1970)
Johnny Rivers - Whisky A Go Go Revisited (1967)
Johnny Rivers - Changes (1967)
Johnny Rivers - Meanwhile Back At The Whisky A Go Go (1965)
Johnny Rivers - Rocks The Folk (1965)
A A Bondy - When The Devil’s Loose (2009)
Johnny Rivers - A Touch Of Gold (1968)
Jerry Jeff Walker - !Viva Terlingua! (1973)
Kris Kristofferson - Jesus Was A Capricorn (1972)
V/A - C85 (1985)
Tim Hardin - Tim Hardin 2 (1967) *****
Black Country New Road – Ants From Up There (2022)*****
Slowdive - Souvlaki (1993)*****
Bobbie Gentry - The Delta Suite (1968) *****
Bobbie Gentry - Ode To Billie Joe (1967)*****
Eels - Electro-shock Blues (1998)
Thin White Rope - Exploring The Axis (1985)
Thin White Rope - Moonhead (1987)*****
Thin White Rope - Bottom Feeders (1987)
Thin White Rope - In The Spanish Cave (1988)
Thin White Rope - Red Sun (1988)*****
Thin White Rope - Sack Full of Silver (1990)*****
Thin White Rope - The Ruby Sea (1991) *****
Thin White Rope - Squatters’ Rights (1991)
Thin White Rope - The One That Got Away (1993)*****
Thin White Rope - Spoor (1995)
Elliot Smith - XO (1998)
Eels - Beautiful Freak (1996)
Vic Chesnutt - Is The Actor Happy? (1995)*****
Cactus World News - Urban Beaches (1986)
Plasticland - Salon (1987)*****
Plasticland - s/t (1984)
Banchee - s/t (1969)
Mahikari - s/t (2008)
Psycho Daisies - Pushin’ Up Daisies (1985)
Psycho Daisies - 30 mg Of Your Love (1990) *****
David Soul - s/t (1976)
The Groundhogs - Split (1971)*****
The Groundhogs - Thank Christ For The Bomb (1970)*****
The Groundhogs - Blues Obituary (1969) *****
The Groundhogs - Who Will Save The World? (1972)*****
Sonny Simmons - Now! (1963)
Sonny Simmons and Paul Gonsalves - Salt and Pepper (1964)
Felt - The Pictorial Jackson Review (1988)
Gene Clark & Friends - Live At The Three T’s (1985)
V/A - Chicago Blues From Federal Records (1957-64)
Loudon Wainwright III - Fame And Wealth (1983)*****
Hugo Race - Dishee (2021)
Lonesome Strangers - Lonesome Pine (1986)
Lucinda Williams - Lucinda Williams (1988) *****
Mazzy Star - She Hangs Brightly (1990)*****
Mazzy Star - So Tonight That I Might See (1993) *****
Mazzy Star - Among My Swan (1996) *****
Chesterfield Kings - Psychedelic Sunrise (2007)
Onionhead - Live Camden Falcon (1989) *****
The Thanes - Evolver (1987-2001)
The Cynics - Rock’n’Roll (1989)*****
The Cynics - Living Is The Best Revenge (1998)*****
The Cynics - Get Our Way (1990)
Sun Kil Moon - Benji (2014)*****
Big Star - Third/Sister Lovers (1974)*****
Nick Drake - Bryter Later (1971) *****
Swans - The Seer (2012)
Serge Gainsbourg - Histoire de Melody Nelson (1971)
Entourage Music & Theatre Ensemble - Neptune Collection (1976)
Entourage Music & Theatre Ensemble - Ceremony of Dreams (1972-6)
Cocteau Twins - Treasure (1984)*****
The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967)*****
Gregory Isaacs - Slum In Dub (1978)
The Fall - Shift-Work (1991)
The Fall - Middle Class Revolt (1994)
The Fall - Cerebral Caustic (1995)
The Fall - The Light User Syndrome (1996) *****
The Fall - Are You Are Missing Winner (2001)
Died Pretty - Free Dirt (1986)*****
Miles Davis - Kind of Blue (1959)*****
Gaz Coombes - World’s Strongest Man (2018)
Peter Holsapple & Chris Stamey - Mavericks (1991)*****
Chris Stamey - It’s Alright (1987)
Catatonic Suns - Aphelion (2019)
Chris Stamey - Euphoria (2015)
The Fall - Agora Columbus Live (1985)*****
Charles Gayle - Touchin’ On Trane (1991)*****
Rainer - Nocturnes (1995)*****
Rainer - Worried Spirits (1992)*****
Tex, Don & Charlie - All Is Forgiven (2005)*****
Dan Stuart - The Deliverance of Marlowe Billings (2005)*****
Dan Stuart w Twin Tones - Marlowe’s Revenge (2006)*****
Dan Stuart - Unfortunate Demise of Marlowe Billings (2016)*****
Echo & The Bunnymen - Ocean Rain (1984)*****
Peter Case - Let Us Now Praise Sleepy John (2007) *****
Dave Graney & The Coral Snakes - Night Of The Wolverine (1993)****
Cocteau Twins - Head Over Heels (1983) *****
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2002)
Bob Dylan - Modern Times (2006)*****
Bob Dylan - Tell Tale Signs (1989-2006)*****
The Waterboys - Live Adventures Of (1981-85)*****
Onionhead - 3 x 12”s (1990)*****
Orange Humble Band - Humblin’ (Across America) (2000)
The Tragically Hip - Up To Here (1989) *****
Stooges - I Wanna Be Your Dog (1972/3?)
Stooges - Stooges (1969) *****
Peter Case - Peter Case (1986)*****
Peter Case - The Man With The Post-Modern etc (1989)*****
Blue Mountain - Roots (2001)*****
Peter Case - The Midnight Broadcast (2021)
Radiohead - OK Computer (1997)*****
The Doors – s/t (1967)*****
The Blue Aeroplanes - Tolerance (1985)*****
Dan Stuart - Can O’ Worms (1995)*****
Dan Stuart - 4 Songs (2011)
Robyn Hitchcock - Eye (1990)*****
Robyn Hitchcock - Robyn Sings (2002)*****
Grant Lee Buffalo - Fuzzy (1993)*****
The Shadracks - s/t (2019)
The Shadracks - From Human Like Forms (2021)
The DB’s - I Thought You Wanted To Know (1978-81)
The DB’s - Stands for Decibels (1981)
The DB’s - Repercussion (1981)
The DB’s - Amplifier (1981)
The DB’s - Like This (1984)
Chris Stamey - Fireworks (1991)
Chris Stamey - Travels In The South (1994)*****
Nada Surf - Never Not Together (2020)*****
Bert Jansch - Jack Orion
Pentangle – s/t (1968)*****
Bert Jansch & John Renbourn - Bert & John (1966)
Bert Jansch - It Don’t Bother Me (1965)
Bert Jansch - s/t (1965)
John Renborn & Jacqui McShee - An Evening With (2019)
The Silos - The Bird Album Live on KCRW (1990)
Slowdive - Souvlaki (1993)*****
The Gourds - Dem’s Good Beeble (1996) *****
The Gourds - Stadium Blitzer (1998) *****
Shinyribs - Well After A While (2010)
Martin Simpson – The Bramble Briar (2001)
PF Sloan – Raised On Records (1972)*****
The Fall – Slates (1981)*****
Joe Crow – Compulsion (1982)*****
Josef K – The Only Fun In Town (1981)*****
The Magpie Arc – 1st Three EP’s (2021)*****
Crime & The City Solution – Just South of Heaven (1985)*****
These Immortal Souls – Get Lost Don’t Lie (1987)*****
Crime & The City Solution – Shine (1988)*****
Crime & The City Solution – Paradise Discotheque (1990) *****
Crime & The City Solution – The Bride Ship (1989) *****
Simon Bonney – Forever (1992) *****
Simon Bonney – Everyman (1995)
Rowland S Howard – Teenage Snuff Film (1999)*****
Rowland S Howard – Pop Crimes (2009) *****
PF Sloan – Anthology (1965-68)*****
Junior Byles – Beat Down Babylon (1972)
David Lance Callahan – English Primitive I (2021)*****
David Lance Callahan – English Primitive II (2022)*****
The Records – Smashes, Crashes & Near Misses (1978-82)
Uncle Tupelo – No Depression (1990)*****
Cowboy Junkies – The Caution Horses (1990)*****
Cowboy Junkies – Black Eyed Man (1992)*****
Cowboy Junkies - Pale Sun Crescent Moon (1993)*****
Dennis Wilson – Pacific Ocean Blue (1977)
Mason Profitt – Two Hangmen (1969)
Mason Profitt – Movin’ Towards Happiness (1971)
V/A – Banks Of The Ship Canal, The Songs of Cyril Barrett (2018)
The Pogues – Rum, Sodomy & The Lash (1995)*****
The Bevis Frond – North Circular (1997)*****
The Bevis Frond – Valedictory Songs (2000)*****
PF Sloan – Precious Times (1965-66)*****
The Wailing Souls – Inchpinchers (1982)*****
The Wave Pictures – Instant Coffee Baby (2008)*****
The Harbour Kings – The Big Kahuna (1992)*****
Billie Joe Beccoat – Reflections in a Cracked Mirror (1969)
Shack – Here’s Tom With The Weather (2002)
Tindersticks – s/t (1993)
June Tabor – Airs & Graces (1976)*****
June Tabor & Maddy Prior – Silly Sisters (1976)
June Tabor – Ashes & Diamonds (1977)*****
Talk Talk – The Colour of Spring (1986)*****
Talk Talk – Spirit of Eden (1988)
Lucinda Williams – Have Yourself A Rockin’ Little Xmas (2020)
Sybille Baier – Colour Green (1970-73)
The Waterboys – Fisherman’s Box (1986-88)
Steve Earle – Copperhead Road (1988)*****
Steve Earle – El Corazon (1997)*****
Graham Bond – Love Is The Law (1969)
Andromeda – s/t (1969)
Atomic Rooster – s/t (1970)
Hard Stuff – Bulletproof (1972)
Gene Parsons – Kindling (1973)*****
Townes Van Zandt – For The Sake Of The Song (1968)*****
16. 57 HISTORIC SITES/WALKS
Holy Trinity Church, Hardwicke, Herefordshire
Arthur’s Stone, Golden Valley, Herefordshire
Holy Trinity Church, Sloane St, London
Home of Emmy Bridgwater, B’ham
Site of home of Conroy Maddox, B’ham
Trocadero Pub, B’ham
Kardomah Café, B’ham
Guild Hall, Leicester
Liverpool Anglican Cathedral
Exeter Cathedral
St Peter’s church & prehistoric mound, Ugborough, Devon
Brisworthy Stone Circle, Dartmoor
John Rylands Library, M’cr
The Ridgeway, Uffington - Ogden St George
Wayland’s Smithy, Ridgeway
Avebury Stone Circle, Wiltshire
Owlpen Manor, Gloucestershire
Cotswold Way Uley/Nympsfield
Nympsfield Long Barrow
Uley Long Barrow/Hetty Pegler’s Tump
Uley Bury Hill Fort
Minchinhampton Common
Purton ships’ graveyard
Little Malvern Priory
Malvern Priory
St Anne’s Well, Malvern
Malvern Hills
Brighton Beach Flint Grotto - Rory McCormack
Grave of Lew Lake, Abney Park, London (“Stick it, Jerry!”)
Ham House, London
Bath Roman Baths
The Waveney Valley, Norfolk/Suffolk
The Locks Inn, Suffolk
St Mary’s Church, Bungay
Mettingham Castle, Suffolk
Dunino Den, Fife
St Andrews Cathedral
St Andrews Castle
Earlset Standing Stone, Fife
The Rollright Stones, Oxfordshire
The Guild Church, Stratford Upon Avon
Shakespeare grave & bench ends, Holy Trinity, Stratford Upon Avon
St Bartholemew’s The Great, City of London
Shakespeare’s City of London Walk w guide
Holy Innocents’ Church, Great Barton
Twyn Y Gaer hillfort, Brecon Beacons
Mynydd Illtud stone/s, Brecon Beacons
Pen y Crug hillfort, Brecon Beacons
Maen Llia stone, Brecon Beacons
Maen Madoc stone, Brecon Beacons
Sarn Helen Roman Road, Brecon Beacons
Waterfalls walk, Brecon Beacons
Broadstones stone circle site, Wiltshire
West Kennet Long Barrow, Wiltshire
White Horse Hill, Wiltshire
St Mary’s Churchyard, Bath
Abney Park Cemetery post-Xmas expedition
17. 5 MUSEUMS
The Jazz Centre UK, Southend.
Southend Museum esp Prittlewell Princely Burial *****
Exeter Royal Albert Memorial Museum
Imperial War Museum North, Salford
Honeystreet Crop Circle Museum, Wiltshire
Spillers - Welsh culture warhorse, Cardiff
Swordfish - B’ham’s living punk era museum
Truck - Oxford’s coffee-perfumed perennial
Badlands - Cheltenham boutique Byrds-suffused nook
Probe - Liverpudlian petri-dish of perennial Walking Seeds
South, Southend’s indie vinyl vault
Monorail Music - Glasgow, Pastel’s pungent outlet *****
Piccadilly Records, M’cr - Knowledgeable counterfolk
Carnival Records, Malvern - Hillside hipster outpost *****
Resident, Brighton - Clean and tidy music sluice
20. 37 ART
I saw 37 stand-alone artworks/art galleries/art exhibitions this year. Marina Abrimovich at the RA was far and away the best thing I saw. Grayson Perry’s Smash Hits made me reconsider him as a much more serious artist that I realized – maybe I just got old? The miaaowing cat grotto at Raveningham Hall was great and it was fun going to Saffon Waldren to find Michael Ayrton.
Edward Burne-Jones stained glass window - Holy Trinity, Sloane Sq
National Museum of Wales; Eileen Agar - Exceptional Occurrence; Francis Bacon - Study for Self Portrait; Merlyn Evans - Beechwood By Moonlight; Harold Gilman - The Kitchen; Augustus John - loadsastuff incl Dylan Thomas; Gwen Johns - loadsa stuff; David Jones - Portrait of a Maker, Crucifixion, St Francis, Jeus Mocked, Landscape in kent, Elephant, Siphon & Salver; RB Kitaj - TeDeum; LS Lowry - Six Bells; Monet - Waterlillies, Rouen; John Nash - Plage; John Piper; Ceri Richards; Stanley Spencer - Switzerland; Kyffin Williams; Christopher Wood - Rug Seller.
Horatio Nelson - Richard Westmacott (1775-1856), B’ham Bull Ring
A Real Birmingham Family - Rachel Wearing, B’ham
Tony Hancock - Bruce Williams, B’ham
Boulton, Watt & Murdoch - William Bloye, B’ham
Queen Victoria - William Bloye, B’ham
Iron Man - Anthony Gormley, B’ham
The Morris Window - Edward Burne-Jones (St Edmund Hall, Oxford)
Oxford Museum Of Modern Art. Marina Abramovic - Gates & Portals
The Wilson, Cheltenham. Arts & crafts, Morris, Burne-Jones, De Morgan.
Liverpool Anglican Cathedral - Elizabeth Frink, Tracey Emin
Horror Show, Ian & Jane Pollard - Somerset House, London. Noel Fielding; Mark E Smith; Jamie Reed; Helen Chadwick; Pam Hogg; Leigh Bowery; Chapman Bros; Dennis Morris; Matt Holness; Stewart Home; Derek Jarman; Michael Landy; Steve Pemberton; Nic Roeg; Scanner (Robin Rimbaud); Adam Scovell; Reece Shearsmith; David Shrigley; Iain Sinclair; Gavin Turk; Rachel Whiteread;Leonora Carrington; Linder; Alice Lowe. *****
Coventry Cathedral. Ecce Homo, St Michael - Jacob Epstein.
Herbert Art Gallery, Coventry - Interior Coventry Cathedral 1940 - John Piper; Figure 1964 - Barbara Hepworth; Lectern Eagle – Elizabeth Frink; Lady Godiva’s Prayer - Edwin Landseer; Yehudi Menuhin - David Wynne; Woman Taken In Adultery - William Holman Hunt; The Fount - Frank Dobson.
Beecroft Art Gallery - Southend. David Hockney, but little else on view.
The Box, Portsmouth - Lots of Barbara Hepworth, a Rose Hilton, a Stanley Spencer and Stanhope Forbes’ mighty A Fish Sale On A Cornish Beach.
M’cr Art Gallery - Ben Nicholson - 1932 Au Chat Botee; Gwen John - The Student; John Waterhouse - Hylas and The Nymphs; George Watts - A Greek Idyll; Frederick Shields - The Annunciation; Annie Louisa Swynnerton - Montagna Mia *****; Edward Burne Jones - Sibylla Delphia; William Holman Hunt - Light of The World, Hireling Shepherd*****; Lady Elizabeth Butler - Balaclava*****; Frederick Sandys - Vivien; William Blake - Poet’s heads ****
Brighton Beach Flint Grotto - Rory McCormack
The Holbourne Museum Bath - Painted Love Renaissance Marriage Portraits; Thomas Barker; Has Beham - The Judgement Of Paris; Brueghel the Younger - Wedding Dance In The Open Air, Visit To A Farmhouse; John Constable - Flatford Lodge; Arthur Devis - Alicia and Jane Clarke; Thomas Gainsborough; Francis Hayman - David Garrick as Richard III; Holbein - Erasmus; Joshua Reynolds; Samuel de Wilde - Thomas Collins as Slender; Willelm Wissing - John Hyde Earl of Rochester; Johann Zoffany - Garrick as Jaffier; & William Beckford’s gold filigree spoon collection.
Victoria Art Gallery Bath - John Armstrong - Psyche Crossing The Styx; Thomas Cooper - To Market In A Snow Drift; Alan Davie - For A Happy Moonday 4; Emmeline Deane - Anna Belinska; Hester Quinton Eversley - Interior Victoria Art Gallery; Charles Ginner- Old Houses Bath; Howard Hodgkin - Silence; Holbein the Younger - Henry VIII; David Inshaw - The River Bank; William Margetson - Mary At The Loom; Robert McGregor - Les Moulieres; John Nash - Canal Bridge Sydney Gardens; William Roberts - The Dressmakers; Henery Herbert La Thangue - The Splash; Edwin Whitney-Smith - The Scarab.
Raveningham Hall, Norfolk - 2023 Sculpture Trail *****
Edinburgh City Art - 250 Years Of Scottish Landscapes
Stuart Pearson Wright’s studio - Mettingham Castle
Grayson Perry - Smash Hits - Scottish National Gallery *****
Phoebe Traquair Murals, Edinburgh *****
Spencer, Lowry, Hockney, Ceri Richards - St Edmund Hall SCR, Oxford
Damien Hirst - Exquisite Pain - St Bartholomew The Great, London
Elizabeth Frink’s Canterbury Tales prints *****
A World of Private Mystery - Fry Gallery, Saffron Walden: Michael Ayrton, Robert Colquhoun, Robert MacBryde, Keith Vaughan, Graham Sutherland, John Craxton and John Minton.*****
Philip Guston – Tate Modern
Edward Burne-Jones’ Faith, Hope & Charity - Great Barton church
Yayoi Kusama – Infinity Mirror Rooms – Tate Modern *
Stuart Pearson Wright – Miscellanalects – Flowers
Marina Abrimovich – Royal Academy *****
El Anatsui – Behind The Red Moon – Tate Modern
Michael Ayrton – Icarus III
21. ARTWORKS I DIDN’T SEE THIS YEAR AS THEY HAD BEEN WITHDRAWN FROM DISPLAY IN THE GALLERIES I VISITED, OR BECAUSE THEY WERE CLOSED, PERMANENTLY OR TEMPORARILLY.
Birmingham Art Gallery - All the art has been locked away until 2024, including Francis Bacon - Figures In Landscape; Lamorna Birch - A Cornish Stream; David Bomberg - Bab-es-siq, Carnival, Hezekiah’s Pool, Self Portrait; Frank Brangwyn - Enrico Canziani, The Bridge; Georges Braque - Pichet; John Bratby - Courtyard w Washing; Emmy Bridgwater - Night Work Is About To Commence; Ford Maddox Brown - Wycliffe Trial, Work, Boy, Pretty Baa-Lanbs, Tristram, Last Of England; Kate Elizabeth Bunce - Musica; Edward Burne-Jones - King & Other Mourners, Peleas, Pygmailion x 4, Psyche x7, Wheel of Fortune, Zephyrus, Annunciation, The Wizard, Study of Oblivion, Troy Triptych; Edward Calvert - Pan, Ulysses, Artemis; Patrick Caulfied - Red & White; Degas - Beggar Woman; Jacob Epstein - Rock Drill, Euphemia Lamb, Tagore, Einstein; Fuseli - Hotspur etc; Spencer Gore; Duncan Grant - Boats @ Twickenham, Dancers, On The Table; Terry Frost - Black & Lemon, Black & Dust Pink; Gluck - Village Church; Barbara Hepworth - Sun & Moon, Cosdon Head, Prelude 1; Maggie Hambling - Max & Me; Richard Hamilton - Whitley Bay, Patrick Heron - Portheor, Standing Figure; Howard Hodgkin - Venice Sunset, Gardening, Room W Chair; William Holman-Hunt - Lantern Maker, Finding Of Saviour, Valentine; Arthur Hughes - Amy, Young Poet, Annunciation, Nativity, Lost Child; Augustus John - Canadian Soldier; RB Kitaj - Desk Murder; Harold Knight - Barry Jackson; Laura Knight - Autumn Sunlight, Les Sylphides; Peter Lanyon - Offshore; John Frederick Lewis; John Linnell - Sheep Drive; LS Lowry - An Industrial Town; Bruce McLean - Spoon 2; John Millais - 3 Sword Hilts, Widow’s Mite, Waiting, Second Sermon, Enemy, Mrs Joseph Chamberlain; Henry Moore - Warrior W Shield; Desmond Morris - Jumping; Alfred Munnings - Barry Jackson, In Cornwall, Epsom Downs; Ben Nicholson - 1950, 1944/5 Scarf; William Nicholson - Pink Still Life; Victor Passmore - Straw Hat, Spiral Motif; John Piper - Ruined Cottage; Renoir - Mdm Renoir; George Richmond; Bridget Riley - Cherry Autumn; William Blake Richmond; Dante Rosetti - Beata Beatrix, Proserpine; Emma Sandys - Lady Holding Rose; Frederick Sandys - Autumn, Medea, Morgan Le Fay; Walter Sickert - Rue Notre Dame, Dieppe Races; Simeon Solomon - Babylon, Bacchus; Joseph Edward Southall; Stanley Spencer - Resurrection, Old Tannery Mills, The Psychiatrist; Graham Sutherland - Edward Sackville West; JAMES SMETHAM (of Queen Elizabeth Walk, Stoke Newington)- THE MANY WINTERED CROW; Henry Tonks - The Orchard, Hat Shop, China Cabinet, Crystal Gazers; Henry Wallis - Chatterton; GF Watts - Little Red Riding Hood; JB Yeats - Dublin Night, An Old Car Driver; and many more!
Herbert Art Gallery, Coventry. The following were among the works not available to view; Christ Seated - Graham Sutherland; Princess Elizabeth Opening The New Broadgate - Laura Knight;, The Bridge - John Tunnard; Miss Ashwandan In Cookham - Stanley Spencer; Dame Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth - Reginald Eves; Hill Farm In Merioneth - Kyffin Williams; Summer - Henry Baynton; Stackyard - Paul Nash; Hippies - Neville Watts.
Beecroft Art Gallery, Southend. The city withheld the following works, amongst many more, from the public; Frank Brangwynn - Old Hammersmith; John Constable - River Stour; Henry Moore - Off Leigh-on-Sea; John Piper - Morten Corbet Castle; Dante Gabriel Rosetti - Fanny Cornforth; JMW Turner - Temple of Jupiter; John Varley - Landscape; Kyfinn Williams - Deserted Farm LLanrhudladd, Sea At Treardurr.
22. 28 MY FOOD JOURNEY
(highlights - this isn’t everything I ate in 2023)
Lambeth scallops, a scallop-free chorizo dish made by me
Cabbage stuffed with meat, Daquise, South Kensington
Wok To Walk vegetable mix, all over the place on tour
Fake bacon and chicken salad, The Cheeky Vegan, Exeter
Baked potato with tuna, Saltram National Trust cafe, Plymouth
Punjabi vegan breakfast, Chakra, Buxton *****
Vegetable phaal, Shapla, Inverness
Vegetable phaal, Rishi’s, Aberdeen
Mixed vegetable karahi vindaloo, Bombay Blue, Glasgow *****
Jones & Sons, Dalston, generally *****
A prawn curry with roast broccoli and cucumber peanut salad *****
Some poached sea bass with fried potatoes and creamed spinach *****
A stuffed pepper with fried okra *****
Chorizo lardons in coddled eggs made by me *****
Turkish breakfast, Nev Kitchen, Dalston
Kurdish kebab, Rojava, Edinburgh
Octopus balls, Koyama, Edinburgh
Lamb balti, Hussain’s, Stratford Upon Avon
Fish and Chips, Alandas, Longniddry *****
Snails & rabbit & a Corbieres Red, No 1 Ship Street, Oxford *****
Salt and pepper tofu & beef curry, Pho Viet 101, Dalston *****
A monkfish curry
Chilli eggs, Brunswick East, Dalston *****
Severely reduced mushrooms with Bovril ™ & garlic
Papo’s bagels, Shacklewell, London *****
My sage eggs *****
Jethro’s katsu aubergines
Lucy’s artichoke soup
25. ON THE PEDESTAL
Carol Vordemonkey
Gary Linnecrisps
Feral Sharkey
Byline Times
James O’Brien
Harringey Tree Protectors
Just Stop Oil
Extinction Rebellion
George Monbiot
Nesrine Malik
The National Trust
Paul Powesland
Channel 4
Good Law Project
All hunt saboteurs
26. IN THE PEDAL BIN
Terrorists
Trumpists
Genocidal maniacs
All Tories and their supporters/apologists
All British newspapers except Guardian
The BBC and its board
ITV
GBNews
Tim Weatherspoon
Gervais, Chapelle etc
All Tufton St outfits and their stooges/mouth-holes
I’m A Celebrity
Wank McPissflaps & Dickhead Dunnawee
Piss Moron
27. NOTE TO SELF - PLACES I HOPE TO VISIT IN 2024
St John The Baptist, Barnack, Stamford - Statue of Christ
All Saints Church, Thorney Hill, New Forest - murals
St Martin on the Hill, Scarborough
St Martin’s Church, Brampton, Cumbria
St Mary’s, Nun Monkton, Yorkshire
Christ Church, Southgate, London
St Michael & All Angels, Brighton
Waterford Church, Hertfordshire
All Saints Church, Youlgreave, Peak District, D’shire
Holy Trinity Church Leamington Spa
St Agatha’s Church, Easby
Torre Abbey, Torbay
The Tabard pub, Chiswick, De morgan, Crane
Ewelme church, Oxfordshire.
The church of St Botolph's at Skidbrooke
Tew Magna
Aldbury, Hertfordshire, a Woodwose
St Cadoc’s church, Llancarfan
Church of St Mary, Longworth, Oxfordshire - Bunce art
St Mary's church in Llanfair Kilgedden
St James church nr Bix Chilterns
All Saints, Margaret St, London – Butterfield
Taos Pueblo, one more time
Hopi lands
Tucson, Az
Papa Westray
9) IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2023
Vivienne Westwood (Punk trousers,1941)
Ruggero Deodato (Junk genius, 1939)
Kelly Monteith (Lucky pants stand-up, 1942)
Alan Rankine (Associate musician, 1958)
Michael Snow (Jazz filmmaker, 1928)
Darryl Hunt (Pogue bass, 1950)
Jeff Beck (He happened ten years time ago, 1944)
Jane Suck (punk chronicler, 195?)
Yukihiro Takahashi (Sadistic Mika Man, 1952)
Ronald Blythe (Akenfieldsman, 1922)
Piers Haggard (hack genius of Claw and Quatermass, 1932)
Van Connor (sturdy psychedelic tree, 1967)
David Sutherland (Bash Street basher, 1933)
David Crosby (Byrdmaniac, 1941)
Tom Verlaine (Sui generis genius Televisionary, 1949)
Burt Bacarach (Musical cheesnius, 1928)
Eugene Cheese (chucklin’ cheesenius moocher, 1944)
Betty Boothroyd (croaky speaker, 1939)
Wayne Shorter (Shorter no longer, 1933)
David Lindley (Kaleidoscopic guitarist, 1944)
Keith Johnstone (Improvisational Canadian, 1933)
Rolly Crump (West Coast Pop Artist, 1930)
Paul O’Grady (Proudly woke drag act, 1955)
Peter Usborne (Mysterious publisher, 1937)
Tony Coe (Jazz panther, 1934)
Milan Kundera (He czech’d out, 1929)
Barry Humphries (Machenalian, 1934)
Mark Stewart (Bristol pre-post-punk pioneer, 1960)
Johnny Fean (Horslips guitar bandit, 1951)
Ian Ross (Jokin’ juggler, 1958)
Frank Kozik (the Giotto of grunge, 1962)
Andy Smart (Bull-running comedian, 1959)
Alan Frank (Gateway ‘70s film scribe, 1942)
Algy Ward (Damned bass Saint, 1959)
Andy Rourke (Sainted bass Smith, 1964)
Pete Brown (Battered ornament, 1940)
George Logan (The Black Cap’s breakout Hinge, 1944)
Jah Shaka (Sound system shaker, 1948)
Spot (SST soundman, 1951)
Ahmad Jamal (cool jazz piano 1931)
Harry Belafonte (anti-apartheid boat singer, 1927)
Gordon Lightfoot (Fitzgerald wrecker, 1938)
Stu James (Mojo not working, 1945)
Jon Povey (Pretty bass Thing, 1942)
Broderick Smith (Singing Dingoe, 1948)
Wee Willie Harris (2 I’s wild man, 1933)
Cliff Fish (Paper Bass, 1949)
Simon Emerson (Afro-Celt Weekender and a very nice man, 1956)
Bruce Barthol (Fish bass, 1947)
Top Topham (Yardbird, 1947)
Renee Geyer (Voice of Sun, 1947)
Tony McPhee (Groundhog hookerman, 1944)
Martin Duffy (He Felt the keys, 1967)
Jack Lee (He nervously hung on the telephone, 1952)
Cormac McCarthy (The real writing deal, 1933)
Peter Brotzmann (Machine-gunner, 1941)
Henrietta Soames (Novelist, theatregoer, gardener, guerrilla rose grower, 1958)
Bill Allerton (Outstanding Stand Out Gentleman disc dealer)
Lord Creator (Rocksteady artistocrat, 1935)
Blackie Onassis (Urge Overkiller, 1966)
Tony Butler (Alan Partridge of Birmingham, 1935)
Jane Birkin (Je t’aime, 1946)
Adrian Street (glam wrestler, 1940)
Ron S Peno (He died pretty, 1955)
Sixto Rodriuguez (rediscovered man, 1941)
Robbie Robertson (Bandleader, 1943)
Erkin Koray (Turkish delight, 1941)
David LaFlamme (It’s a beautiful violin, 1941)
George Tickner (Fruminous snatchman, 1946)
Louis Tillet (Dark lord of the keyboard, 1959)
Brian McBride (Star of The Lid, 1970)
Charles Gayle (Jazz sax titan, 1939)
Richard Davis (Jazz bass sidesman, 1930)
Malcolm Hay (Comedy listings magnate without whom...1941)
Geoff Davies (He probed the Liverpool punks)
Jon Privett (Wordseller on the Water)
John George (TJ Electrician of The Art Of Repair)
David McCallum (Uncle platformed the WCPAEB, 1933)
The Sycamore Gap Tree
Michael Gambon (He was kind to Paul Putner, 1940)
Carla Bley (Jazznik,1936)
Tony Husband (Political cartoonist & a very nice man, 1950)
Angelo Bruschini (Original Blue Aeroplane, 1960)
Dwight Twilley (Power popster, 1951)
Roger Whittaker (He has left old Durham town as promised, 1936)
Gary Wright (His teeth were haunted, 1943)
Gary Young (He drummed on the Pavement, 1953)
AS Byatt (Ragnarocking writer, 1936)
Annabelle Giles (a funny, clever, kind lady, 1959)
Shane MacGowan (Refused to knuckle under & become a professional, 1957)
Tony Allen (His career started as Lenny Bruce’s ended, 1945)
Denny Laine (Winged Brummie diplomat, 1944)
Mars Williams (Punk jazz sax, 1955)
Benjamin Zephaniah (Handsworth revolutionary, 1958)
Sticky Vicky (Vaginal magician, 1943)
John Hyatt (1/3rd Three Johns)
Shirley Anne Field (Damned decoy, 1938)
Raquel Welch (Hannie get your gun, 1940)
Bobby Sutliff (His power pop broke the wind, 1956)
Wilf Lunn (prop genius, 1942)
100 Colaton Raleigh beech trees (1823)
Scott Kempner (Dictator of the Del-Lords, 1954)
Brian Godding (His toes blossomed, 1945)
10) AND HERE’S AN XMAS GHOST STORY I WROTE FOR THE OBSERVER, FOLLOWED BY A LINK TO C VORDEMAN’S TACTICAL VOTING CAMPAIGN.
THANKS FOR TURNING OUT TO SEE ME IN 2023. NEW LIVE SHOW BACK END OF ‘24. MUCH APPRECIATED. YOU SHOULDA KILLED ME LAST YEAR! PEACE!! I’M OUTTA HERE!!!
Stewart Lee
2024-01-01T00:00:06+00:00
1. BASIC LEE The tour of the current stand-up show, BASIC LEE, is still at the Leicester Square Theatre then tours nationwide from January 20th 2024. Then it will be finished in April. Dates here; January 2024 Thursday 4th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Friday 5th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 7th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 8th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 10th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 11th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Sunday 14th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 15th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Tuesday 16th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Wednesday 17th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Thursday 18th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Friday 19th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Saturday 20th January 2024 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 22nd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Tuesday 23rd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Wednesday 24th January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Friday 26th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil - TICKETS Saturday 27th January 2024 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS Sunday 28th January 2024 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS Monday 29th January 2024 - The Marlowe, Canterbury - TICKETS February 2024 Friday 2nd February 2024 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS Saturday 3rd February 2024 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS Sunday 4th February 2024 - William Aston...
He spent a lot of the first half of his show Content Provider, which is nearing the end of its 18- month tour, lamenting the fact that only a small section of the audience got his jokes, the venue was half empty, and he got a better reception in King’s Lynn.
While he may not have got as big a laugh for some of the jokes as expected, which resulted in him painstakingly dissecting it to explain its intended humour, this grumpy demeanour is all part of the act.
With his material ranging from Brexit and Game of Thrones to bondage in the 1930s and annoying under 40s who drink yogurts from pouches for breakfast, it was varied, original and clever.
Whereas the first half felt like a diatribe against the world, including us fans, with plenty of ad-libbing, the second part felt calmer and more storytelling in its nature, less bothered about how much laugh each joke received.
However the reason he wins so many industry accolades is that it is very much crafted - as if his shows are presented for a study on how comedy should be done.
There are few comedians this gifted on the circuit, so please come back to Ipswich again. Your like-minded out of touch metropolitan liberal elite need you.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-26T22:49:59+01:00
He spent a lot of the first half of his show Content Provider, which is nearing the end of its 18- month tour, lamenting the fact that only a small section of the audience got his jokes, the venue was half empty, and he got a better reception in King’s Lynn. While he may not have got as big a laugh for some of the jokes as expected, which resulted in him painstakingly dissecting it to explain its intended humour, this grumpy demeanour is all part of the act. With his material ranging from Brexit and Game of Thrones to bondage in the 1930s and annoying under 40s who drink yogurts from pouches for breakfast, it was varied, original and clever. Whereas the first half felt like a diatribe against the world, including us fans, with plenty of ad-libbing, the second part felt calmer and more storytelling in its nature, less bothered about how much laugh each joke received. However the reason he wins so many industry accolades is that it is very much crafted - as if his shows are presented for a study on how comedy should be done. There are few comedians this gifted on the circuit, so please come back to Ipswich again. Your like-minded out of touch metropolitan liberal elite need you.
Stewart Lee is not a happy man – at least, he doesn't seem that way. The blood vessels run close to the surface of his face, giving him the appearance of having a permanent, self-loathing blush. He talks in hushed tones, occasionally giving out a harsh, maniacal cackle. Say the wrong thing and he jumps down your throat; he doesn't suffer fools.
"I have always sounded like this," he says. "When I was young it looked like an affectation. The audience would see an 11-stone, 23-year-old man and they would think, 'What's your problem?' I had some time off stand-up for a few years and came back and was older and greyer. I think people believed the persona a bit more after that.">
The comedian, now 40, is slumped in a bar in the top floor of a hotel in the West End of London. He's here to promote his new television series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, which airs from tonight on BBC2 (10pm). Each of its six episodes tackles a different theme – such as books, television, or religion – with Lee talking through the topics in a studio mocked up to look like a comedy club. Each episode features several scenes shot outside the studio – on what seems to be more expensive film stock – with the likes of long-time Lee collaborator Kevin Eldon. Overall, it's extremely funny. Lee's world-weary deconstruction of his various bêtes noires is well thought through rather than indiscriminately snide.
In the first of the series, subtitled "Books", Lee takes a pop at celebrity biographies. First up is Russell Brand's My Booky Wook. "You can read Russell Brand's autobiography and dismiss it as rubbish if you like," he says. "Or you can dismiss it as rubbish without reading it, to save time, if you'd prefer."
Lee lampoons the descent of the novel from its lofty origins to the oeuvre of Chris Moyles – whose highest literary aspiration, Lee says, seems to be a desire for people to read his work on the toilet. "We could only have two shows at the start of the series – books or TV – because they are well-known quantities for a mainstream audience," Lee says. "It's a hook to get people involved. The next four shows are about more abstract ideas. It's amazing to be on telly doing this kind of thing."
It's amazing, for one, because one of the shows is about religion – a subject dear to Lee's heart. Jerry Springer: the Opera, which he co-wrote, attracted some 55,000 complaints when it was screened on BBC2 in January 2005 (it was slammed, in part, for its irreverent attitudes towards Judaism and Christianity).
This series is being closely monitored by the now-vigilant overseers at the BBC. "The show is really about how jokes about religion work," Lee says. "I can't see anything wrong with its content, but you never know. When we laugh at religion, are we laughing at jokes about doctrine and dogma, or are we laughing about the fact that 90 per cent of people in cassocks look funny? Most jokes about religion are about superficial things like that. If you do things about doctrine and dogma then it's more difficult. Well, it's increasingly difficult, because we don't know anything about the majority of religions in the UK. We live in a multicultural society. It's about that, really."
Lee says his show on the credit crunch had to be closely monitored given the severity of the current economic situation. "What I try to do in a show about property and money is to start it like looking as if it was taking a pop at estate agents and bankers, which would be the obvious thing to do," he says. "And then change it along the way so that it implicated us as consumers with a degree of culpability in the situation. And I did that because I think it is partly true. I partly did it because you would expect that show to have jokes about estate agents. And then I take it a step further."
So what does the future hold for Lee? "I can't do any more things for nothing. What I want to do is... I'll do another series of this if they offer me one. I don't want to do any television that I don't have complete control of. I don't want to be in anything, really; I don't want to act, I don't want to present documentaries, I don't want to be on quiz shows or in adverts or be interviewed about anything ever on camera by anyone. I don't want to be in films. I don't want to do anything with commercial West End musical theatre. I don't want to develop characters as animated things for the internet. All I want to do is this series. If it gets re-commissioned, I'll do a tour off the back of it..." Probably best not to press Lee any further on this one.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-16T11:14:23+00:00
Stewart Lee is not a happy man – at least, he doesn't seem that way. The blood vessels run close to the surface of his face, giving him the appearance of having a permanent, self-loathing blush. He talks in hushed tones, occasionally giving out a harsh, maniacal cackle. Say the wrong thing and he jumps down your throat; he doesn't suffer fools. "I have always sounded like this," he says. "When I was young it looked like an affectation. The audience would see an 11-stone, 23-year-old man and they would think, 'What's your problem?' I had some time off stand-up for a few years and came back and was older and greyer. I think people believed the persona a bit more after that."> The comedian, now 40, is slumped in a bar in the top floor of a hotel in the West End of London. He's here to promote his new television series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, which airs from tonight on BBC2 (10pm). Each of its six episodes tackles a different theme – such as books, television, or religion – with Lee talking through the topics in a studio mocked up to look like a comedy club. Each episode features several scenes shot outside the studio – on what seems to be more expensive film stock – with the likes of long-time Lee collaborator Kevin Eldon. Overall, it's extremely funny. Lee's world-weary deconstruction of his various bêtes noires is well thought through rather than indiscriminately snide. In the first of the series, subtitled "Books", Lee takes a pop at celebrity biographies. First up is Russell Brand's My Booky Wook. "You can read Russell Brand's autobiography and dismiss it as rubbish if you like," he says. "Or you can dismiss it as rubbish without reading it, to save time, if...
Despite his BBC show being re-commissioned for a further two series until 2015, a clutch of recent awards and tonight's performance, his biggest audience in a quarter-century of solo gigs, Stewart Lee, stand-up's éminence grise maintains a desire to retreat back into cult obscurity. Or at least to the humbler Citizens Theatre across the Clyde.
He bemoans his belated fame, first for the Jimmy Carr crowd and friends of fans it's attracted, later for the online vitriol and Twitter surveillance culture it's brought him. He maintains he has nothing to say, a middle-aged man whose time is taken up watching endless Scooby Doo cartoons with his young son and travelling to gigs, desperately hoping random retail outlet names will provoke material. This is a patchwork show, a weave of carpet remnants, with themes Lee has covered before in terms of the famous lookalikes he's confused with, abuse directed at him and from him towards his fellow comics, and his ongoing meta-commentary and routine deconstruction as the show develops.
But it's also a sublime validation of stand-up as art, pushing the limits of what it aspires to, playing with the expectations of a comedy literate crowd and ultimately drawing the disparate strands together. Trying on different stand-up styles for size - Thatcherism-bashing through Scooby satire; mocking sad, confessional comedy then drawing it into his narrative - he has the skill to toy with pace and mood, withholding easy laughs for greater pay-offs later. Sadly for him, he seems set to attract more fans yet.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-24T14:02:23+00:00
Despite his BBC show being re-commissioned for a further two series until 2015, a clutch of recent awards and tonight's performance, his biggest audience in a quarter-century of solo gigs, Stewart Lee, stand-up's éminence grise maintains a desire to retreat back into cult obscurity. Or at least to the humbler Citizens Theatre across the Clyde. He bemoans his belated fame, first for the Jimmy Carr crowd and friends of fans it's attracted, later for the online vitriol and Twitter surveillance culture it's brought him. He maintains he has nothing to say, a middle-aged man whose time is taken up watching endless Scooby Doo cartoons with his young son and travelling to gigs, desperately hoping random retail outlet names will provoke material. This is a patchwork show, a weave of carpet remnants, with themes Lee has covered before in terms of the famous lookalikes he's confused with, abuse directed at him and from him towards his fellow comics, and his ongoing meta-commentary and routine deconstruction as the show develops. But it's also a sublime validation of stand-up as art, pushing the limits of what it aspires to, playing with the expectations of a comedy literate crowd and ultimately drawing the disparate strands together. Trying on different stand-up styles for size - Thatcherism-bashing through Scooby satire; mocking sad, confessional comedy then drawing it into his narrative - he has the skill to toy with pace and mood, withholding easy laughs for greater pay-offs later. Sadly for him, he seems set to attract more fans yet.
On the basis of their album launch show at The Royal Albert Hall, it would be hard to explain to a teenager why R.E.M. were once so important. But today, everything from Emo to Alternative Country sounds as it does because of the Athens, Georgia band’s 80’s records, and when Radiohead and Coldplay graduated from cult status to stadiums they used REM’s once unimaginable career path for reference. A quarter century ago, an R.E.M. show was an unprecedented experiment in then forbidden musical fusion, as the synaptic psychedelic cascades of The Byrds tumbled over the jerky post-punk rhythms of The Gang Of Four.
Tonight though, we see men who have long ceased to discover anything new seek to replicate those distant moments of inspiration in a choreographed facsimile of the artistic process. Though arguably constrained by the fact that the show was being broadcast simultaneously by BBC Radio 2, R.E.M might as well have been miming to backing tracks, so precise and lacking in playfulness was their performance, and their new album, Accelerate, revisits their straightforward late ‘80s sound, rather the opaque mystery of their 1983 debut Murmur and its immediate successors, or the more varied musical palette of their ‘90s releases
Of the new songs, the opening rush of Living Well Is The Best Revenge was undeniably attention grabbing, and Horse To Water showed that Peter Buck still knows how to drive home an all-conquering guitar riff. But only 2003’s Final Straw, originally recorded in a swift response to Bush’s declaration of war, sounded genuinely impassioned, as Buck’s sturdy acoustic mined folk memories of purposeful protest music. And the 1991 hit Losing My Religion was a highlight, not simply because of its adoption as a universally applicable anthem by a generation of indistinctly disatisfied baby boomers, but because Buck’s mandolin at last offered some tonal variety.
The group’s singer Michael Stipe has now abandoned his late 90’s voodoo pierrot persona, but his shaven head, stylish suit, and considered manner made it seem as if R.E.M. were now being fronted by the director of The National Theatre, Nicholas Hytner. And indeed, R.E.M.’s current crossplatforming, in the shape of a film and photography tie-in with the Institute of Contemporary Arts, is exactly the kind of brand awareness raising move high profile arts institutions like R.E.M. and the N.T. both need to survive in today’s cut-throat world.
Nonetheless, some of the gauche gestures Stipe adopted in the late ‘80s as the group’s following swelled to fill stadiums remain, and when he impersonates the hands of a clock during the ‘tick tock’ refrain of Drive, it’s more Pan’s People than Lindsay Kemp. At one point, Stiped tossed away a sheaf of song lyrics, requiring him to ask scuffling fans to share sheets with their neighbours. It’s a telling moment that reveals the gap between R.E.M.’s noble hopes of taking the idealism of the American post-punk community into the mainstream, and the invasive realities of mass adulation .
The 21st century R.E.M. package is like BBC2’s motoring show Top Gear. You don’t have to like it to admire its crowd-pleasing professionalism. And it is fronted by a trio of middle-aged men who ought to know better. But how is it possible for R.E.M. to develop, or recapture the spark they once had, when they are obliged to work in the heavy harness of stardom? Sonic Youth found a way to take Geffen Records’ money and still matter, and the superstar actor Brad Pitt was rumoured to have participated in a fiddle festival in the Appalacian Mountains last year, learning at the feet of the masters, masked by a false beard. Perhaps Michael Stipe could borrow his disguise.
Stewart Lee
2008-03-16T20:06:36+00:00
On the basis of their album launch show at The Royal Albert Hall, it would be hard to explain to a teenager why R.E.M. were once so important. But today, everything from Emo to Alternative Country sounds as it does because of the Athens, Georgia band’s 80’s records, and when Radiohead and Coldplay graduated from cult status to stadiums they used REM’s once unimaginable career path for reference. A quarter century ago, an R.E.M. show was an unprecedented experiment in then forbidden musical fusion, as the synaptic psychedelic cascades of The Byrds tumbled over the jerky post-punk rhythms of The Gang Of Four. Tonight though, we see men who have long ceased to discover anything new seek to replicate those distant moments of inspiration in a choreographed facsimile of the artistic process. Though arguably constrained by the fact that the show was being broadcast simultaneously by BBC Radio 2, R.E.M might as well have been miming to backing tracks, so precise and lacking in playfulness was their performance, and their new album, Accelerate, revisits their straightforward late ‘80s sound, rather the opaque mystery of their 1983 debut Murmur and its immediate successors, or the more varied musical palette of their ‘90s releases Of the new songs, the opening rush of Living Well Is The Best Revenge was undeniably attention grabbing, and Horse To Water showed that Peter Buck still knows how to drive home an all-conquering guitar riff. But only 2003’s Final Straw, originally recorded in a swift response to Bush’s declaration of war, sounded genuinely impassioned, as Buck’s sturdy acoustic mined folk memories of purposeful protest music. And the 1991 hit Losing My Religion was a highlight, not simply because of its adoption as a universally applicable anthem by a generation of indistinctly disatisfied baby boomers, but because Buck’s...
My metropolitan liberal elitist friends here in 78.5% Remain-voting Hackney do not hold BBC news in high regard, its election coverage considered biased in favour of the government and Laura Kuenssberg merely a horrid flesh trombone through which Dominic Cumming honks his reverberating falsehoods.
The news seemed skewed. During the election, the prime minister declined the grilling Andrew “Weetabix” Neil gave his opponents, had a selfie with an impartial Phillip Schofield on ITV and hid in a variety of white goods whenever regional reporters tried to ask basic questions, such as how many children he had or what he actually meant by any of the things he had said.
Meanwhile, Jeremy Corbyn was hung upside down in a pedal bin full of hornets by Andrew “Sphagnum” Neil and had cheese graters rubbed on his genital by an impartial Phillip Schofield on ITV. Nonetheless, despite the defeated left’s perception that a cowed BBC kowtows to government, the Tories’ policy continues to be to avoid scrutiny on news outlets favoured by “Westminster obsessives”, which is post-truth newspeak for “people who understand and care about politics”. Maybe the BBC is doing something right?
Even so, it was something of a shock to see Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-Frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-Lies Get-Brexit-Done Bung-a-Bob-for-Big-Ben’s-Bongs Johnson’s first post-election BBC interview on Tuesday morning.
I didn’t even know that Gus Honeybun, the mute puppet rabbit whose leaps announced children’s birthdays on Westward Television from 1961 to 1992, was still alive, let alone conducting political interviews for BBC Breakfast. Honeybun’s inability to speak or communicate in any meaningful way made the cloth rabbit the ideal inquisitor for Turds. Turds was able to wibble his platitudes, avoiding concrete detail on care for the elderly, and saying race wasn’t an issue regarding the treatment of the smiling piccaninny Meghan Markle, the latter a subject on which Turds is uniquely equipped to pronounce.
After Honeybun’s initial attempts to attract Turds’s attention, by leaping successive sequences of leaps, each equivalent in number to the respective ages of the prime minister’s putative children, the puppet reached deep into his repertoire of silent gestures. Turds’s admission that the Americans would be unlikely to extradite the suspected hit-and-run killer Anne Sacoolas, for example, was met with three of Honeybun’s ear waggles, once beloved by West Country viewers.
Turds’s announcement of the Bung a Bob for Big Ben’s Brexit Bongs policy, which the prime minister improvised live on air like a jazzy Sonny Rollins of shit, saw Honeybun perform four of his impressive headstands, a skill his 1970s co-host Fern Britton, in her 1999 kiss-and-tell Honeybun memoir Winter Treats and Summer Delights, described as the move that melted her heart. Honeybun had hoped to respond to Turds’s comments on the racial abuse of Meghan Markle by turning on his magic colour-distorting button, which was introduced to his gestural arsenal in the 1980s, but it was purloined by a lurking Dominic Cumming, who imagined its reality-altering properties might have practical applications for perception manipulation.
While the Honeybun-Turds head to head was bad news for future political accountability in a functioning democracy, it was good news for the cloth rabbit, whose scandal-wrecked career was resurrected, with multiple offers for him to revive his birthday-announcing vehicle on a variety of digital platforms.
All Honeybun needs is a new sidekick to replace his old co-hosts Fern Britton, Judi Spiers and Ruth Langsford, all of whom are now too respected in the serious fields of broadcasting and journalism to interpret the waggles of a fabric rodent. The BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg would of course be the perfect Honeybun sidekick and would bring to the partnership her own experience of being an accommodating puppet operated by unseen hands.
In an unrelated issue, last week’s column jumped the tracks beyond its intended liberal bubble, out into the field latrine of social media, where it was eventually re-edited in a misrepresentative form by a twat. A number of Twitter users, who disliked the work, asked: “Who is Stewart Lee?”, wondered if I was “supposed to be a comedian” and, most hurtfully of all, spitefully put the word “comedian” in inverted commas, cleverly suggesting that I wasn’t a “comedian” at all. Despite many of these commentators being resourceful enough to have proudly traced their pure Viking ancestors, they seemed unable to Google my name to discover that I am indeed a comedian, irrespective of their own necessarily subjective responses to my comedy.
The Duchamp’s urinal of laughter, I have in fact been a comedian for 31 years. My last tour sold a quarter of a million tickets with no advertising to people who attended venues where I was billed as a comedian, on the shared assumption that that was indeed what I was.
In my comedian capacity I have won a Bafta, two British comedy awards and seven Chortle comedy industry awards, and was the co-recipient of an Olivier award, though I do not set any store by these accolades, do not feel that there is any genuine relationship between popularity and quality and mention sales figures and acclaim only to refute the warped aspirational value systems of those who respect them. My current show has received uniform five- and four-star reviews in every British broadsheet newspaper, from the neo-Nazi Telegraph to the Marxist Guardian, but not in the Times, though that paper did last year declare me “the world’s greatest living standup comedian”.
Indeed, the “Wokefinder General” himself, Ricky Gervais, called me “the cleverest, funniest, most cliche-free comedian on the circuit”, though this was perhaps an attempt to absolve himself of an imagined crime, a heart beating beneath the floorboards. I hope this information clarifies any ongoing confusion as unfortunately I do not have time to deal with all your queries individually.
Stewart Lee
2020-01-19T17:47:24+00:00
My metropolitan liberal elitist friends here in 78.5% Remain-voting Hackney do not hold BBC news in high regard, its election coverage considered biased in favour of the government and Laura Kuenssberg merely a horrid flesh trombone through which Dominic Cumming honks his reverberating falsehoods. The news seemed skewed. During the election, the prime minister declined the grilling Andrew “Weetabix” Neil gave his opponents, had a selfie with an impartial Phillip Schofield on ITV and hid in a variety of white goods whenever regional reporters tried to ask basic questions, such as how many children he had or what he actually meant by any of the things he had said. Meanwhile, Jeremy Corbyn was hung upside down in a pedal bin full of hornets by Andrew “Sphagnum” Neil and had cheese graters rubbed on his genital by an impartial Phillip Schofield on ITV. Nonetheless, despite the defeated left’s perception that a cowed BBC kowtows to government, the Tories’ policy continues to be to avoid scrutiny on news outlets favoured by “Westminster obsessives”, which is post-truth newspeak for “people who understand and care about politics”. Maybe the BBC is doing something right? Even so, it was something of a shock to see Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-Frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-Lies Get-Brexit-Done Bung-a-Bob-for-Big-Ben’s-Bongs Johnson’s first post-election BBC interview on Tuesday morning. I didn’t even know that Gus Honeybun, the mute puppet rabbit whose leaps announced children’s birthdays on Westward Television from 1961 to 1992, was still alive, let alone conducting political interviews for BBC Breakfast. Honeybun’s inability to speak or communicate in any meaningful way made the cloth rabbit the ideal inquisitor for Turds. Turds was able to wibble his platitudes, avoiding concrete detail on...
In his new show, Stewart Lee compares himself to a raft of personalities who appear to have let themselves go: Ray Liotta, Morrissey, KD Lang and Terry Christian among them. In the flesh, 41-year-old Lee might be barely recognisable from the comedic waif who, alongside stand-up mucka Richard Herring, snarled and sneered at life’s pomposities during the 1990s before getting up the cassocks of Christian Voice with his co-writing role in Jerry Springer: The Opera. But having reinvigorated his comedy career after this brief yet unforgettable foray into musical theatre, Stewart Lee is, in all senses of the word, the country’s finest heavyweight stand-up talent. Many younger comics have been grateful for the patronage he has bestowed upon them: Wil Hodgson, Josie Long and Daniel Kitson for three.
But none of the devotion he attracts from comics and critics (the public are slowly catching up), can prevent him being doorstepped by the likes of the Mail on Sunday when they got wind of his current routine concerning the self-inflicted near-death experience of Richard ‘Hamster’ Hammond. ‘I was going into The Stand when a bloke went “I’m from the Mail on Sunday; is it true that you say that you want Richard Hammond to be decapitated?” I asked him if he’d seen the show and of course he hadn’t, so I just said, “It’s a joke, just like on Top Gear when they do their jokes”. And they printed that at the end which, if you know the routine, makes their news story quite funny.’
At which point, Lee fills his Edinburgh hotel room with a gusto-heavy cackle. When the Hammond section reaches its surreally gruesome finale the night before at the Festival Theatre, it’s met with hearty laughter by an audience who are exactly on Lee’s wavelength, fully aware that when he wishes the presenter had died a slow, painful death, he is not simply being wilfully nasty. Instead, he is subtly swiping the culture of cruelty which pervades everything from the comedy bearpits across the land to motoring programmes in primetime slots. Similarly, when he expresses the hope that Jeremy Clarkson’s daughters all go blind, it’s merely a retort to the bubble-haired boor’s jokey comments about Gordon Brown’s one-eyed status.
What gave the Richard Hammond story extra spice, as though it needed any given the routine’s imagery of a severed head rolling into a puddle of blazing petrol, was that the pair attended Solihull School at the same time, ‘People who read things like that in the Mail on Sunday and who think Clarkson is funny aren’t going to come and see me, so it doesn’t matter. The only time it may have cost me ticket sales was in the Midlands when the Solihull Observer pursued it to an insane degree and made up this annoyed local man to whom they attributed all these quotes. And they then sent me this creepy letter saying, “Oh, we are such fans of yours, will you clarify your position?” When I said no, they set up a phone-in poll to demand that I was banned.’
When it came to securing a second series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle on BBC2, there wasn’t a question of him being censored, exactly, but when news filtered out that the sketch and stand-up show, was to be denied a further outing, an online petition was set up to demand its recommissioning. When the series’ executive producer Armando Iannucci Twittered the good news with a resounding ‘huzzah!’ just as the campaign’s signatories had swelled to over 2000, this could surely be read as a victory for the people? Lee is not so sure. ‘I’m very grateful to everyone who signed it, but I don’t think it would have made much difference. Let’s not forget that during the 90s, there were about 4m people who signed a petition demanding the return of Doctor Who and the only thing that made it happen was Russell T Davies saying “I’ll write that” and the BBC saying “Oh, would you? OK”.’
In line with entertainment cuts across the BBC board, the budget is around a third less than he was handed for series one (‘We won’t be able to film massive David Jason figures falling down in fields again’) but it must be a source of some pleasure to him that has six more half-hour slots to offload his own particular comedy vision upon the nation, without any fear that he will ever end up being the new Michael McIntyre. During If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One, he offers his own perspectives on the smart-suited populist (who beat both Lee and Frankie Boyle to the Best Stand-Up prize at last year’s British Comedy Awards) and in an intriguing twist is attempting to formulate a project which might help Lee begin to understand the mass appeal of those mundane observations. His idea is to perform an entire McIntyre set word for word to see if it can be given a different perspective.
‘I was thinking about when Sonic Youth did “Addicted to Love” and “Into the Groove”, it was only when you heard those songs moved that you can see what it is, so if you took Michael McIntyre out of Michael McIntyre’s act, I’d be interested to see what would be left. As a comedian, I want to understand its appeal because that appeal is baffling to me. Yet it’s what most people seem to like, so if I can’t get it, then there must be something wrong with me.’ And with another full-throated cackle, he’s done, soon to be back on the road and reaching the comedic parts that Top Gear-lovers and Michael McIntyre-worshippers will never get a grip on.
Stewart Lee
2010-02-25T17:21:17+00:00
In his new show, Stewart Lee compares himself to a raft of personalities who appear to have let themselves go: Ray Liotta, Morrissey, KD Lang and Terry Christian among them. In the flesh, 41-year-old Lee might be barely recognisable from the comedic waif who, alongside stand-up mucka Richard Herring, snarled and sneered at life’s pomposities during the 1990s before getting up the cassocks of Christian Voice with his co-writing role in Jerry Springer: The Opera. But having reinvigorated his comedy career after this brief yet unforgettable foray into musical theatre, Stewart Lee is, in all senses of the word, the country’s finest heavyweight stand-up talent. Many younger comics have been grateful for the patronage he has bestowed upon them: Wil Hodgson, Josie Long and Daniel Kitson for three. But none of the devotion he attracts from comics and critics (the public are slowly catching up), can prevent him being doorstepped by the likes of the Mail on Sunday when they got wind of his current routine concerning the self-inflicted near-death experience of Richard ‘Hamster’ Hammond. ‘I was going into The Stand when a bloke went “I’m from the Mail on Sunday; is it true that you say that you want Richard Hammond to be decapitated?” I asked him if he’d seen the show and of course he hadn’t, so I just said, “It’s a joke, just like on Top Gear when they do their jokes”. And they printed that at the end which, if you know the routine, makes their news story quite funny.’ At which point, Lee fills his Edinburgh hotel room with a gusto-heavy cackle. When the Hammond section reaches its surreally gruesome finale the night before at the Festival Theatre, it’s met with hearty laughter by an audience who are exactly on Lee’s wavelength, fully aware that...
“No one is equipped to review me,” suggests Stewart Lee, who can’t help but continue to have a dig at the press – and, more specifically, the Telegraph.
He spends time tearing apart his audience for being “lacklustre”, while humorously stating that the show would be better at The Stand with his proper fans. Lee, with his dry wit and mostly expressionless face, quickly warms up, presenting disdain for fellow comics – involving ten minutes of increasing laughter as the comedian tries to fathom how Graham Norton beat his ‘Comedy Vehicle’ to a BAFTA.
The final section on Islamophobia went off on a tangent, which included a hilarious mocking of Roy Chubby Brown, but this work-in-progress is certainly close to TV standards already.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-13T16:41:42+01:00
“No one is equipped to review me,” suggests Stewart Lee, who can’t help but continue to have a dig at the press – and, more specifically, the Telegraph. He spends time tearing apart his audience for being “lacklustre”, while humorously stating that the show would be better at The Stand with his proper fans. Lee, with his dry wit and mostly expressionless face, quickly warms up, presenting disdain for fellow comics – involving ten minutes of increasing laughter as the comedian tries to fathom how Graham Norton beat his ‘Comedy Vehicle’ to a BAFTA. The final section on Islamophobia went off on a tangent, which included a hilarious mocking of Roy Chubby Brown, but this work-in-progress is certainly close to TV standards already.
Walking away from the Soho Theatre after Stewart Lee's latest show, a friend who hasn't seen that much live comedy commented that we've got to see so much more. The only problem is that I worry that he's peaked way too early. I've seen a lot of stand up over the years, yet I've never seen anything even close to being this stunningly good before.
Wow's the one word that jumps to mind when describing Lee. It may not be the most beautiful adjective or poetic description ever used, but it does sum up just how astonishingly great his stand up is. Whilst his Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy ex-partner Richard Herring is still performing material similar to that found in their tv shows, Lee's stepped up to a league which contains only the most legendary of comedians. From routines about 7/7, Joe Pasquale stealing other comedians jokes, having an endescopy, the effect Jerry Springer The Opera and the outrage it caused had on him, to Dan Brown's novels and the Pope's death last year, and how this might affect sales of Pope shaped lollipops, there isn't a less than stunning moment in the entire show, and it's the beauty of the language he uses, and Lee's immaculate timing, that makes it so special.
He ties in jokes from earlier on in the set with sublime ease, and his material is so layered you'll find yourself chuckling hours later after hearing it, still in disbelief that it's so good. The set ends on the already infamous "Jesus Joke".
Which I won't describe or quote from, doing so would spoil it's effect. But simply put, in the thirty one years I've been on this bastard planet I've never laughed so much, and so hard, at any kind of humour, as I did upon hearing this. It's beautiful. Obscene, shocking, and beautiful comedy.
The only downside to his performance is that I worry Lee's ruined comedy for me for good. That however great another stand up is, I'll always leave muttering, sure, that was superb, but it wasn't as astonishing as Stewart Lee was. I've no doubt that in the way people claim they saw The Beatles play the Cavern Club in the Sixties, or The Sex Pistols at the 100 Club in the Seventies, in the future many will claim they saw Lee at the Soho theatre in 2005.
The poster has a quote declaring Lee the 'New Bill Hicks'. It's wrong though. He's better than the admittedly great but definitely over-rated Hicks ever was.
The live DVD of Lee's previous show was released on October 18th, and it's equally as good. He's touring 90's Comedian right now, so check out his site for details.
Stewart Lee
2005-09-25T22:48:51+01:00
Walking away from the Soho Theatre after Stewart Lee's latest show, a friend who hasn't seen that much live comedy commented that we've got to see so much more. The only problem is that I worry that he's peaked way too early. I've seen a lot of stand up over the years, yet I've never seen anything even close to being this stunningly good before. Wow's the one word that jumps to mind when describing Lee. It may not be the most beautiful adjective or poetic description ever used, but it does sum up just how astonishingly great his stand up is. Whilst his Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy ex-partner Richard Herring is still performing material similar to that found in their tv shows, Lee's stepped up to a league which contains only the most legendary of comedians. From routines about 7/7, Joe Pasquale stealing other comedians jokes, having an endescopy, the effect Jerry Springer The Opera and the outrage it caused had on him, to Dan Brown's novels and the Pope's death last year, and how this might affect sales of Pope shaped lollipops, there isn't a less than stunning moment in the entire show, and it's the beauty of the language he uses, and Lee's immaculate timing, that makes it so special. He ties in jokes from earlier on in the set with sublime ease, and his material is so layered you'll find yourself chuckling hours later after hearing it, still in disbelief that it's so good. The set ends on the already infamous "Jesus Joke". Which I won't describe or quote from, doing so would spoil it's effect. But simply put, in the thirty one years I've been on this bastard planet I've never laughed so much, and so hard, at any...
CONTENT PROVIDER is on BBC I-player until end of March.
And all the COMEDY VEHICLES seem to have gone back up too. See how the world has changed in a decade.
How does a working class autodidact, with no visible means of support, maintain his role as the leader of a cult British underground band into its fifth decade? Comedian and writer Stewart Lee (Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle) , director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales, Robert Lloyd and the New Four Seasons), Britain's ultimate post-punk survivor.
Robert Lloyd's Prefects played with The Clash on the White Riot tour in 1977, and their ongoing incarnation, as Birmingham's Captain Beefheart suffused post-punk poets The Nightingales, recorded more John Peel sessions than any other band. Ever.
Buoyed by endless critical acclaim, but hampered by ongoing commercial indifference, Lloyd has nonetheless continued to tour and record, The Nightingales' affairs managed by drummer Fliss Kitson, from a Wolverhampton shipping container, and Lloyd himself, from the isolated borderland mountain fastness of Wellington, Shropshire, surrounded by prehistoric remains and industrial archaeology.
Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and master snug room raconteur, appears to have maintained a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, often involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness.
But what were the social, cultural and economic circumstances that enabled and sustained such outsider artists in the punk and post-punk eras, and how has the world changed to the point where such figures are unlikely to flourish in the same way today? Lloyd's own odyssey echoes how abstract notions of social mobility, of the value of culture and music, have changed in the last five decades.
In an odd coincidence, Lloyd's current home, the Shropshire market town of Wellington, in the shadow of the Wrekin, is also where the comedian Stewart Lee was born, though he only spent nine days there before being dispatched to an orphanage, and has not been back since.
Further chance collisions abound. For a brief period the skyline of '70s concrete Birmingham was defined by Nicholas Monroe's unloved, and soon sold off pop art sculpture, of the giant ape, King Kong. Missing and presumed lost for years, this icon of Birmingham was eventually discovered prostrate in a Lake District garden, before being critically rehabilitated in an exhibition of great British public sculpture at the Henry Moore Gallery in Leeds in 2017.
As a child, Stewart was fascinated by the sculpture, and in a strange piece of synchronicity Lloyd compared his onstage persona to Monroe's Kong in a triumphant post-gig rant in King's Cross this year. The parallels make the point of comparison too good to ignore. King Rocker will shadow Lloyd's story with that of Birmingham's forgotten, and rediscovered, giant art ape, King Kong.
3) BENEFIT GIGS
i) WALTHAMSTOW
I am doing a benefit for something with some other people, including Christian Reilly, at Ye Old Rose and Crown, Walthamstow on 22nd of Jan.
ii) UP THE CREEK, GREENWICH
I am doing a benefit for something with Phil Kay at Up The Creek, Greenwich on Tues 5th of Feb.
The Goodfather: PHIL KAY, STEWART LEE, TONY LAW
+ Roisin & Chiara, Lucy Hopkins, Russell Hicks, Tom Ward
and Phil Kay (MC aka The Goodfather)
Tue 5 Feb 2019 7:00 pm for 7:45 start. Up The Creek, SE10 9SW - EVENT LINK / TICKETS
iii) BELTER FOR THE SHELTER 19th Feb 2019
BELTER FOR THE SHELTER, Hackney Empire, London, 19th Feb 2019, 7.30.
Join us for a spectacular evening of comedy in aid of Hackney Winter Night Shelter. Going into its 5th year with an incredible line up at the Hackney Empire to help raise money for the Shelter's vital work with local homeless people.
All money raised on the evening goes towards keeping people off the streets of Hackney, providing them with a hot meal and warm bed throughout winter.
Providing the gags for the evening will be Bridget Christie (News Review), Kevin Eldon (TIE), Sofie Hagen (Scandinavia), Harry Hill (Tooting Medics' Review), Athena Kugblenu (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights), Nish Kumar (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights), Rosie Jones (Nish Kumar's Edinburgh Nights), Robert Newman (Steve Wright's Radio 1 Posse) and Stewart Lee (Richard Herring's Fist of Fun)
(compere to be announced).
On Saturday 2nd February Stewart Lee (comedian/writer) will read from his contribution to the book 'Home Town Tales' about his youthful fascination for midlands post-punk band The Nightingales and an outsized piece of public sculpture located in Birmingham's Bullring.
Improvised music at the LONDON REVIEW BOOKSHOP, Bloomsbury
LRB Sound / For Sake Of Joy Of Study Of Oneself Together: Allum, Beresford, Lee and Wastell
£15 - 20 January 2019 at 6.30 p.m. - London Review Bookshop
Jennifer Allum : violin
Steve Beresford : electronics
Stewart Lee : spoken word
Mark Wastell : percussion
For Sake Of Joy Of Study Of Oneself Together is a spoken word piece derived from a poem originally written by drummer John Stevens.
Stevens is best known as one of the original instigators in the development of freely improvised music that began to formulate in the middle 1960s and he dedicated his entire career to the discipline, through group performance, recordings, publications, teachings and workshops.
Mark Wastell transcribed the poem from a live concert recording given by Stevens in 1991 and set it to an improvised musical accompaniment for a project organised by Trestle Records which can be heard here.
This evening's concert will feature an extemporised reading by Stewart Lee together with an improvised score performed by Jennifer Allum, Steve Beresford and Mark Wastell. All four are fully conversant and highly experienced in the delivery of improvised material.
Dedicated to John Stevens 1940 - 1994
6) Meanwhile, I Arrogantly Recommend...
Michael Rother, Patti Smith, The Fallen Women, Mammoth Penguins, Phil Minton, Shirley Collins.
Patti Smith - Roundhouse, Camden, London Fri 25th Jan. Lone UK date for punk pioneer.
Michael Rother - Earth, Hackney, London, Sat 26th Jan. Lone UK date for Krautrock pioneer.
Fallen Women - Lexington, Angel, London, Sun 27th Jan. All-women Fall tribute band w special guest informants.
Phil Minton - Ryan's Bar, Stoke Newington London, Weds 30th. Vocal experimentalist Minton is amongst the performers at tonight's Flim Flam improvisation session.
Shirley Collins - Roundhouse, Camden, London, Thurs 31st. Lone UK date for folk revival pioneer.
7) MY CULTURAL LIFE 2018
The best NEW BOOK I read all year was THIS IS MEMORIAL DEVICE by DAVID KEENAN, which seemed to find a new way of telling a story, a kind of fabricated docu-fiction, and gave utterly vivid 3-dimensional life to a community of outsider artists in a small Scottish town at the start of the '80s. It also made me think about memory, reality and how thoughts and ideas work. I felt imaginatively alive while reading it and oddly bereft when it ended. I found JOHN NIVEN's KILL 'EM ALL so funny people were staring at me as I read it on public transport.
The best old book I read was BESIDE THE OCEAN OF TIME by GEORGE MACKAY BROWN. I read it in Orkney, where it was set, looking across the sea at Hoy, and everything became temporally unstable.
My 11 year old said I would really like the early '70s acid-folk PENELOPE LIVELY children's novels he was reading, and I did. KUNT, from KUNT and THE GANG, self-published an autobiography, I KUNT, which, as well as being very funny, also identifies a lot of key cultural, social and technological shifts this century through the lens of jokes about wanking and shit.
MARK E SMITH died. So there was no FALL fun this year and there never will be again, which is still hard to believe when you find yourself suddenly laughing at a song lyric that arrives in the mind unbidden. My favorite NEW ALBUM was WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS MAN, a late period high point for the indestructible heavy-psyche songwriter Nick Saloman of BEVIS FROND, but PAT TODD's BLOOD AND TREASURE was an unmediated bar-room country-punk pleasure. THE WOLFHOUNDS' PEEL SESSIONS album HAND IN THE TILL was a welcome archival release, as was DEREK BAILEY with tap dancing legend WILL GAINES live at Stoke Newington's KLINKER in 2000.
I saw loads of great gigs this year, including five star sets from THE NIGHTINGALES, THE ON THE SHORE BAND, THE FALLEN LEAVES, THE WOLFHOUNDS, MARK KOZELEK, GIANT SAND/PATSY'S RATS, THE EX/BIG JOANIE, SID GRIFFIN & TOM HEYMAN & DAN STUART, YO LA TENGO, BEVIS FROND, MICHAEL ROTHER, IDLES, JILTED JOHN, & JOHN CARPENTER. I think the best gig I saw was LEE RANALDO at Hoxton Bar & Grill. I didn't listen to much jazz at all in 2019. I don't know how that happened. I don't think it was a very jazzy year. While it is good to experience art the disrupts and confounds, the snowflake Oi of IDLES, in both their live and recorded forms, delighted the entire family and made me, as a fifty year old 1980's politically correct liberal, feel less alone, which is another good thing that art can do.
Not going to the EDINBURGH FRINGE for the second year running improved my mental health and family relationships, but left a bit of a cultural hole, and I didn't see much theatre, or stand-up, or art, though ROSE WYLIE's Kentish primitivism seemed to be everywhere.
I didn't even read many comics in 2018. I liked HENRY'S KITCHEN on YOUTUBE and that thing where SLADE sing the opening line of their Christmas song over and over again. I liked THE BODYGUARD on TV, like everyone else. If a filmed stand-up set is shown on TV is it a film or is it TV? I watched a lot of family films with the kids and now think DWAYNE JOHNSON is some kind of genius, testing the elasticity of the role assigned to him by fate. I didn't see a ★★★★★ new film, but I watched lots of good old ones, including a re-mastered version of DUCCO TESSARI'S RETURN OF RINGO.
I watched the Finish comedy-horror RARE EXPORTS again at Christmas. 9 years ago I thought it was sick fun. Now it seemed like a metaphor for climate change, cultural vandalism, and the death of indigenous cultures. You never see the same film twice because you, the viewer, have changed. Only SHORT CIRCUIT II remains the same. GET SANTA is still the best Christmas film ever made.
The best place I went all year was MAESHOWE in ORKNEY, with my family, on my 50th, and that was the moment that I was happiest in 2018. The best thing I ate was a chicken jalfrezi at the ANGLO SPICE GRILL, STOKE NEWINGTON. The best drink I drank was an 18 year old whisky from THE HIGHLAND PARK DISTILLERY, Orkney. The best animal I saw was either a seal or a wild boar, in their natural habitats.
Nonetheless, here is an unedited list of all the cultural content I consumed in 2018, in the order I consumed it, as far as I remember.
NEW FILMS (2017/8)
Paddington II (2017)
Star Wars - The Last Jedi (2017) ★ Get Out (Jordan Peele, 2017) ★★★★
Early Man (Nick Park, 2018)
Black Panther (2018) ★
Death of Stalin (Armando Ianucci, 2017)
Isle Of Dogs (Wes Anderson, 2018)
Thor - Ragnarok (Taika Waititi, 2017) Long Time Running (Jennifer Baichwal, 2017) ★★★★
Hostiles (Scott Cooper, 2018) ★★★★
Incredibles 2 (Brad Bird, 2018) ★★★★
Ant Man And The Wasp (Peyton Reed, 2018)
3 Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (Martin McDonagh, 2018) ★
Ready Player One (Stephen Spielberg, 2018)
Rampage (Brad Peyton, 2018)
The Witch's Flower (Hiromasa Yonebayashi, 2017)
Jumanji Welcome To The Jungle (Jake Kasdan, 2017)
Deadpool II (David Leitch, 2018)
Skyscraper (Rawson Marshall Thurber, 2018)
NEW OLD FILMS REISSUED
The Return of Ringo (Duccio Tessari, 1965, Arrow) ★★★★
Sorcerer (William Friedkin, 1977)
If You Meet Sartana Pray For Your Death (G Paralini, 1968, Arrow)
I Am Sartana Your Agent Of Death (Giuliano Carmineo, 1969, Arrow)
Sartana's Here Trade Your Pistol For A Coffin ((G Carmineo, 1970)
Have A Good Funeral Friend Sartana Will Pay (G Carmineo, 1970)
OLD FILMS
Dr Zhivago (David Lean, 1964) ★★★★★
The Great Silence (Sergio Corbucci, 1966) ★★★★
Brave (Mark Andrews, 2012) ★★★★
The BFG (Stephen Spielberg, 2016)
Orca The Killer Whale (Michael Anderson, 1977) Hot Fuzz (Edgar Wright, 2007) ★★★★
A Bullet For The General (Damiano Damiani, 1967) ★★★★★
Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid (Sam Peckinpah, 1973)
Apollo 13 (Ron Howard, 1995)
Up (Pete Docter, 2009)
Toy Story III (Lee Unkrich, 2010) Rear Window (Alfred Hitchcock) ★★★★
Network (Sydney Lumet, 1976) ★★★★★
McCabe & Mrs Miller (Robert Altman, 1971) Wolf Children (Mamoru Hosoda, 2012) ★★★★
Wuthering Heights (William Wyler, 1939) ★★★★
The Woman In Black (James Watkins, 2012)
The Medusa Touch (Jack Gold, 1978)
Stalingrad (Fedor Bondarchuk, 2013) Hector (Jake Gavin, 2015) ★★★★★
The Life Aquatic (Wes Anderson, 2015)
Man About The House (John Robins, 1974) Whisky Galore (Alexander Mackendrick, 1949)★★★★
My Neighbour Totoro (Hayao Miyazaki, 1988) ★★★★★
Moonrise Kingdom (Wes Anderson, 2012)
Richard Pryor Live In Concert (Jeff Margolis, 1979)
Wanted (Giorgio Ferroni, 1966) I Called Him Morgan (Casper Collin, 2016) ★★★★
Eden Lake (James Watkins, 2008)
Dennis Leary - No Cure For Cancer (Ted Demme, 1993)
The Stranger & The Gunfighter (Antonio Margheriti, 1974)
Ice Station Zebra (John Sturges, 1968)
Monty Python & The Holy Grail (Terry Gilliam, 1974) Monty Python's Life Of Brian (Terry Jones, 1979) ★★★★
Misery (Rob Reiner, 1990) ★★★★
Play Misty For Me (Clint Eastwood, 1971) ★★★★★
Area 51 (Oren Pelli, 2015) The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966)★★★★★
The Lady In The Van (Nick Hytner, 2015) ★★★★
Tepepa (Giulio Petroni, 1969) ★★★★
The Incredible Shrinking Man (Jack Arnold, 1956)★★★★
The Cars That Ate Paris (Peter Weir, 1974) Monique - I Coulda Been Your Cellmate (G Binkow, 2007) ★★★★★
Arriety (Hiromasa Yonebayashi, 2011) ★★★★★
Glen Campbell : I'll Be Me (James Kneach, 2014)
Solider Blue (Ralph Nelson, 1970) Arrival (Dennis Villeneuve, 2016) ★★★★
Dog Soldiers (Neil Marshall, 2002)
Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid (George Roy Hill, 1969)
The Pledge (Sean Penn, 2001) ★ Die Hard (John Mctiernane, 1989) ★★★★
Mission Impossible (Brian de Palma, 1996) Slow West (John MacLean, 2015) ★★★★
Only Yesterday (Isao Takahata, 1991) ★★★★
Meek's Cutoff (Kelly Reichardt, 2011)
The Woman Eater (Charles Saunders, 1958)
Tomorrow Never Dies (Roger Spottiswode, 1997)
X-Men (Brian Singer, 2000) Live And Let Die (Guy Hamilton, 1973) ★★★★
The Spy Who Loved Me (Lewis Gilbert, 1977)
The Man With The Golden Gun (Guy Hamilton, 1974)
Three Amigos (John Landis, 1987)
The Pink Panther Strikes Again (Blake Edwards, 1976)
Jaws (Stephen Spielberg, 1975)
Help! (Richard Lester, 1965) Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (Stephen Herek, 1989) ★★★★
Robin Hood (Wolfgang Reitherman, 1973) ★★★★
Hard Day's Night (Richard Lester, 1963) ★★★★
The Mask (Charles Russell, 1994)
Deathstalker (James Sardellati, 1984)
Love Thy Neighbour (John Robins, 1973) Basket Case (Frank Henenlotter, 1982) ★★★★
The Stuff (Larry Cohen, 1985) ★★★★
The Nutty Professor (Tom Shadyak, 1996) Spy (Paul Feig, 2015) ★★★★
Queen Kong (Frank Agrama, 1976)
Ghost Rider (Mark Steven Johnson, 2007)
The Satanic Rites of Dracula (Alan Gibson, 1973) Central Intelligence (Rawson Marhall Thurber, 2016)★★★★
Howard The Duck (Willard Huyuk, 1986)
Westworld (Michael Crichton, 1973) They Live (John Carpenter, 1989) ★★★★
Nine To Five (Colbert Higgins, 1980) ★★★★
Punchline (David Seltzer, 1988) ★★★★★
Enchanted (Kevin Lima, 2007)
Octopussy (John Glenn, 1983)
The Man Who Cried For Revenge (Mario Calano, 1968)
The Devil's Men (Kostos Karagiannis, 1976) ★
Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey (Peter Hewitt, 1991) Team America (Trey Parker, 2004) ★★★★
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (John Hughes, 1987)
The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986)
Every Which Way But Loose (James Fargo, 1978) ★ Amazing Spider-Man (Mark Webb, 2012) ★★★★
Becket (Peter Glenville, 1964)
El Condor (John Guillermin, 1970)
100 Rifles (Tom Gries, 1969)
Miracle On 34th St (Les Mayfield, 1994) Koyaanisqatsi - Godfrey Reggio (1982) ★★★★★
Arthur Christmas (Sarah Smith, 2011)
Big Gold Dream (Grant McPhee, 2015)
Nativity (Debbie Isitt, 2009) Get Santa (Christopher Smith, 2014) ★★★★★
Amazing Spider-man 2 (Mark Webb, 2014) ★★ Where Eagles Dare (Brian Hutton, 1968) ★★★★★
Rare Exports (Jalmari Helander, 2010)
Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)
The Hunger Games (Gary Ross, 2012)
NEW BOOKS
Shirley Collins - All In The Downs ★★★★
Bendle - Permanent Transience Daniel Spicer - Andalou Psych 1965 - 1980 ★★★★
John Lemay - Deadly Spaghetti
Kunt - I Kunt
Robin Ince - I'm A Joke And So Are You
Toby Litt - Wrestliana John Niven - Kill 'Em All ★★★★
David Keenan - This Is Memorial Device ★★★★★
Paul Ewen - Writer In Residence ★★★★
OLD BOOKS
Austin Fisher - Radical Frontiers In The Spaghetti Western (2011) George Mackay Brown - A Calendar Of Love (1967) ★★★★
George Mackay Brown - For The Islands I Sing (1985) George Mackay Brown - Beside The Ocean of Time (1994) ★★★★★
Anna Kavan - Ice (1967) ★★★★
Frederick Grice - Folk Tales Of The West Midlands (1952) ★★★★★
Richard Allen - Sorts (1973)
Richard Allen - Skinhead (1970)
Penelope Lively - Astercote (1970) Penelope Lively - The Whispering Knights (1971) ★★★★
Penelope Lively - The Wild Hunt Of Hagworthy (1971) ★★★★★
Michael S Foley - Dead Kennedys' Fresh Fruit (2015) ★★★★
COMICS
Injection vol 3 (Warren Ellis/Declan Shavey) ★★★★
The Man-Thing Vol 1 1970-74 (Steve Gerber)
Kamandi The Last Boy On Earth - 1970's Jack Kirby DC comics
TV NEW AND OLD
The X-Files (S1) (1993 - 25 years ago!) ★★★★
Inside No 9 s4 (BBC2 2018) ★★★★
The Water Margin S1 (NTV 1973) ★★★★
Requiem (BBC1) ★★ The Twilight Zone (S1) ★★★★
Kung Fu (S2)★★★★★
Vic Reeves Big Night Out (C4, S1) ★★★★
Detectorists (BBC2, 1-3) ★★★★★
Endeavour (Itv) ★★★★★
The Story Of Skinhead - Don Letts (BBC4) ★★★★
Ricky Gervais' Humanity (Netflix) ★
This Country (S2) (BBC3)
Sarah Silverman, A Speck Of Dust ( Netfilx)
Chris Rock, Tamborine (Netflix) Putin, The New Tsar (BBC) ★★★★
The Archiveologists (BBC2) ★★★★
Frankie Boyle - Hurt Like You've Never Been Loved (Netflix)
Jimmy Carr - Funny Business (Netflix) John Bishop - Supersonic (Netflix) ★★★★
Jack Whitehall - At Large (Netflix) ★
Cunk On Britain (BBC2)
Jim Jeffries - Free Dumb (Netflix) ★
Chris Tucker - Live (Netflix)
Bill Burr - Walk Your Way Out (Netflix) Doug Stanhope - Beer Hall Putsch (Netflix) ★★★★
Russell Howard - Recalibrate (Netflix) ★ Tales of The Unexpected (S1, ITV) ★★★★
Great British Bake Off (Series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5) (BBC) ★★★★★
My Next Guest Needs No Introduction (Netflix) Gina Yashera (Netflix) ★★★★
Todd Glass - Act Happy (Netflix) ★★★★
Amy Schumer - The Leather Special (Netflix) Monique - I Coulda Been Your Cellmate (G Binkow, 2007) ★★★★★
The Marvelous Mrs Maizel S1 (Amazon) ★★★★
A Very English Scandal (BBC) ★★★★★
Hannah Gadsby - Nanette (Netflix)
England vs Columbia
England vs Croatia The Handmaid's Tale s 1 ★★★★★
The Handmaid's Tale s 2
Better Call Saul s 4 Ozark S1, S2 (Netflix) ★★★★★
Fargo S1 (Netflix) ★★★★★
Bodyguard (BBC1) ★★★★★
Henry's Kitchen (Youtube) ★★★★
Dr Who with a lady (BBC1)
This Week (BBC2) Inside No 9 Halloween Special (BBC2) ★★★★
Louis Theroux in America (BBC1)
First Dates (C4) Norsemen (Netflix) ★★★★
The Marvelous Mrs Maisel S2 (Netflix) ★
The Fix (Netflix) ★ Vic and Bob's Big Night Out (BBC3 2018) ★★★★
MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
Guardian, Mojo, Shindig, Record Collector, New European, Wire, RnR, Faunus, Machenalia
RADIO
James O'Brien (LBC) ★★★★★
Tom Robinson's Windrush Anniversary Show (6 Music) ★★★★★
Resonance 104.4 fm generally
The worst radio I heard was The Today Program (BBC Radio 4)
THEATRE
Alice (Minack Theatre, Cornwall)
The Battle of Evesham - Evesham The Lost Disc - Wil Adamsdale/Tom Parry (Soho Theatre) ★★★★
M R James' Lost Hearts - Hampton Court ★★★★
Aladdin (Hackney Empire) ★★★★
COMEDY
Jimmy Carr/Neal Brennan/Dave Chapelle (Leicester Sq Theatre) ★ Wilson Dixon (Soho Theatre) ★★★★
Andy Kindler (Soho Theatre) ★★★★
Omid Djalili/Boothby Graffoe (Leicester Sq Theatre)★★★★
Felicity Ward - Busting A Nut (Soho Theatre) ★★★★
GIGS (45)
Michael Rother (Jazz Cafe) ★★★★★
Lee Ranaldo (Hoxton Bar & Grill) ★★★★★
Nightingales (Lexington) ★★★★
Shame/Gurr (Electric Ballroom)
Ashley Henry, Nubya Garcia, Cleo Laine (Shoreditch Town Hall) Lore Lixenberg/Naomi Sato/Hen Ogledd (Cafe Oto) ★★★★
Yo La Tengo (Royal Festival Hall) ★★★★★
Iva Bittova w Abraham Brody (Rich Mix) ★★★★
Joss Cope/Anton Barbeau (Betsey Trotwood) Evan Parker, John Edwards, Roger Turner (Vortex) ★★★★
Bevis Frond (100 Club) ★★★★★
The Bug Club (Electric Company, Hay On Wye) Where Pathways Meet/Art Ensemble of Chicago (Jazz Cafe) ★★★★
Patsy's Rats/Giant Sand (Under The Bridge) ★★★★★
Bardo Pond (100 Club)
Olivia Chaney (Hoxton Hall) The Ex/Big Joannie (Electrowerkz) ★★★★★
Wolves In The Throne Room (Garage) ★★★★
Alan Wilkinson/Steve Noble/John Edwards (Cafe Oto) ★★★★
Darren Hayman/Catenary Wires (St Pancras Old Church) ★★★★
Pharaoh Sanders (Ronnie Scott's)
Left Outsides/Trembling Bells (Cafe Oto)
Lower Slaughter (Latitude) Idles (Latitude) ★★★★★
Billy Childish (Koko)
Dave Wakeling/Lee Perry/Toots & The Maytals (Ali Paly) The Other Dramas/Nightingales (Jericho Tavern, Oxford) ★★★★
The Courtesy Group/Nightingales (Bristol Exchange) ★★★★★
Grief Daddy/Nightingales (Portsmouth Wedgwood Rooms) ★★★★
Nightingales (6 Music, Salford) ★★★★
Near Jazz Exp/Nightingales (Hare & Hounds, Brum) ★★★★★
Near Jazz Experience/Nightingales (Moth Club, London) ★★★★★
Near Jazz Exp/Nightingales (Portland Arms, Cambs) ★★★★★
The Wolfhounds/The Nightingales (Green Door, Brighton) ★★★★★
John Otway/Jilted John (229 Club, London) ★★★★★
Mark Kozelek (Union Chapel, London) ★★★★★
Ex-Easter Island Head (King's Place, London) ★★★★
John Carpenter (Shepherd's Bush Empire, London) ★★★★★
Idles (T&C, London) Capri Batterie (Cafe Oto) ★★★★
Neko Case (Barbican)
Teenage Fanclub (Electric Ballroom) The Fallen Leaves (Hope & Anchor, London) ★★★★★
Tom Heyman/Sid Griffin/Dan Stuart (The Islington) ★★★★★
On The Shore Band (Cafe Oto) ★★★★★
RECORDS I LISTENED TO IN THEIR ENTIRITY OLD SCHOOL THIS YEAR IN ONE SITTING AT A DESIGNATED LISTENING DEVICE
NEW RECORDS - 2017/2018 (97)
Pat Todd & The Rank Outsiders - Blood & Treasure ★★★★
Robyn Hitchcock - s/t Lydia Loveless - Boy Crazy And Single(s) ★★★★
The Belbury Poly - New Ways Out
The Focus Group - Stop Motion Happening With
Paula Frazer and Tarnation - What Is And Was
Nick Luca - On A Mission
Nick Luca - Nick Of Time
Nick Luca - Midnight Mantra
The Belbury Circle - Outward Journeys
Hintermass - The Apple Tree
The Pattern Forms - Peel Away The Ivy
The Courtesy Group - Second City Liquor
Toi Toi Toi - Im Hag
Richard Youngs - Belief
Ron S Peno & The Superstitions - Guiding Light
Gun Outfit - Out of Range Surfing Magazines - s/t ★★★★
Buffalo Tom - Quiet & Peace
Pugwash - Silverlake
Richard Youngs - A Brief Walk Outside
Hellenes - I Love You All The Animals Kosmische Laufer - Live In Graz ep ★★★★
Stick In The Wheel - Follow Them True
Mammoth Penguins - John Doe
Laura Cannell - Hunter Huntress Hawker
The Bellrays - Punk Funk Rock Soul Vol 1 ep
Shopping - The Official Body
Calexico - The Thread That Keeps Us
The Feelies - In Between
Shame - Songs Of Praise
Carlton Melton - Mind Minerals The Fall - Atlanta Albania Whatever (bootleg) ★★★★
Trembling Bells - Dungerness
Smitten - Blame
Julian Cope - Skellington 3
Yo La Tengo - There's A Riot Going On
Carla Bozulich - Quieter
Shadracks - No 1 Idles - Brutalism ★★★★
Goat Girl - Goat Girl
Pete Astor - One For The Ghost Anthroprophh - Omegaville ★★★★
Evan Parker, Barry Guy, Paul Lytton - Music For Mossman ★★★★
Anthroprophh - SRR 2.5
The Left Outsides - All That Remains
Walter Salas-Humara - Work : Part One
Alejandro Escovedo - Burn Something Beautiful
Dope - The Intergalactic Re-Gilding of Detroit
Richmond Fontaine - Don't Skip Out On Me
Anton Barbeau - Natural Causes
Flamin' Groovies - Fantastic Plastic
Guided By Voices - Space Gun
Dope - Intergalactic Re-gilding Of Detroit
Neko Case - Hell Or Giant Sand - Returns To Valley Of Rain ★★★★
The Ex - 27 Passports ★★★★
Dan Stuart - The Unfortunate Demise of Marlowe Billings ★★★★
Sonic Boom - Infinite Music
Nubya Garcia - Nubya's Five (2017)
Nubya Garcia - When We Are
Where Pathways Meet - Arrival
Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever - Hope Downs Charles Lloyd/Lucinda Williams - Vanished Gardens ★★★★
The Advisory Circle - Ways of Seeing
Sun Dial - Science Fiction
Dumptruck - Wrecked
Gabriel Naim Amor - Moments Before Idles - Joy ★★★★
Nightingales - Perish The Thought ★★★★
Mudhoney - Digital Garbage
Laura Cannell & Andre Bosman - Reckonings
Dope featuring Fuck Authority - Seven Disquieting Dirges
21 Pilots - Trench
Nogroup - EP MXVIII
Nogroup - E P E G
Kevin Salem - Box of Words
Near Jazz Experience - Afloat Bevis Frond - We're Your Friends Man ★★★★★
Cowboy Junkies - All That Reckoning Darren Hayman - Thankful Villages 3 ★★★★
Chills - Snowbound The Dream Syndicate - How We Found Ourselves ★★★★
Beths - Future Me Hates Me Mark Kozelek, Ben Boye & Jim White - s/t ★★★★
Sleaford Mods - Sleaford Mods EP ★★★★
The Wave Pictures - Brushes With Happiness
The Wave Pictures - Look Inside Your Heart
Chris Cacavas - An Acoustic Evening With Green Pajamas - Supernatural ★★★★
Richard Youngs - Endless Futures Long Ryders - Psychedelic Country Soul ★★★★
Blue Orchids - Righteous Harmony Fist Galya Bisengalieava - EP one ★★★★
Cult Figures - The 166 Ploughs A Lonely Furrow ★★★★
Emanem - Kamikazee
NEW OLD RECORDS
Dave Miller Set - Mr Guy Fawkes (1967-70)
v/a - Uzelli Psychedelic Anadolu (1975 - 84) Fumio Miyashita - Live On The Boffomundo Show (79/80) ★★★★
V/A - The Ballad of Shirley Collins (1959-2016) Derek Bailey & Company - Klinker (2000) ★★★★★
The Gun Club - In My Room (1991-93) Lau - Decade - The Best of 2007-2017 (2017)★★★★★
Summerhill - Return To Lowdown (1988-89) ★★★★★
Sandra Kerr & John Faulkner - Bagpuss (1973) ★★★★
The Wolfhounds - Hands In Till Peel Sessions (1986 - 88) ★★★★★
Richard Lloyd - Live New York (1979) Gene Clark - Sings For You (1967) ★★★★
Nikki Sudden, Johnny Fean & S Carmody - Last Bandits (1985-9) John Coltrane - Both Directions At Once (1963) ★★★★★
Bob Dylan - The Best of The Bootleg Series (1964 - 1989) ★★★★
Gram Parsons - A Song For You box (1968-9) The Posies - Frosting On The Beater (1993) ★★★★★
Alexander Spence - Andoragain (1968) ★★★★★
Ut - Conviction (1986) ★★★★★
The Long Ryders - State of Our Union box (1985) ★★★★★
The Long Ryders - Two Fisted Tales box (1987) ★★★★
Girls In The Garage Vols 1 - 6 Box (1960s) ★★★★★
The Beatles - White Album/Esher Demos (1968) ★★★★★
The Fall - Set Of Ten (box) (1980 - 2001)
OLD RECORDS
Tommy Keene - You Hear Me, A Retrospective 1983-2009 ★★★★
Oh-Ok - The Complete Recordings (1982-84)
Ruts DC - Music Must Destroy (2016)
Ruts DC - Rhythm Collision Vol 1 (1981) Lloyd Cole & The Commotions - Rattlesnakes (1984) ★★★★★
The Sound - Heads And Hearts (1985) ★★★★
Rosemary Haddad - Coming Hohm (1975)
The Business - Welcome To The Real World (1983) Lloyd Cole & The Commotions - Easy Pieces (1985) ★★★★
Lloyd Cole & The Commotions - At The BBC Vol 1 (1984)
Graves Brothers Delux - San Malo (2009) David Tattersall & Howard Hughes - Lobster Boat (2011) ★★★★
The Wave Pictures - Bamboo Diner In The Rain (2016) ★★★★
Jeanne Lee - Conspiracy (1974) ★★★★★
Gord Downie & The Sadies - And The Conquering Sun (2014) Jeanne Lee & Ran Blake - Newest Sound Around (1961) ★★★★
Richard Youngs - The Rest Is Scenery (2016) ★★★★
Andrew Cyrille, Jeanne Lee, Jimmy Lyones - Nuba (1979) ★★★★
The Highest Order - If It's Real (2013)
The Highest Order - Still Holding (2016)
Roger McGuinn - Rockpalast (1977)
Red Television - s/t (1974) Karin Krog - Joy (1968) ★★★★★
Roswell Rudd - Flexible Flyer (1974) ★★★★
21 Pilots - Blurryface (2015) ★★★★★
Furry Lewis - Back On My Feet Again (1961)★★★★
The Sound - Jeopardy (1980)
The Sound - From The Lion's Mouth (1981) The Fall - This Nation's Saving Grace (1985) ★★★★★
The Fall - The Real New Fall LP (2003)★★★★★
The Fall - Reformation Post-TLC (2007) ★★★★★
The Wild Flowers - Dust (1987)
John Bisset - 14 Guitar Instrumentals (?)
The Fall - The Marshall Suite (1999)
Christopher - Christopher (1970) The Fall - Slates (1981) ★★★★
The Fall - Room To Live (1982) ★★★★
The Fall - Perverted By Language (1983) ★★★★★
Furry Lewis - Done Changed My Mind (1961) ★★★★
Graves Brothers Delux - Filter Feeders (2005)
Fiver - Lost The Plot (2013)
Beige Palace - Gravel Time (2016)
The Fall - The Unutterable (2000)
The Fall - Are You Are Missing Winner? (2001) The Fall - Fall Heads Roll (2005) ★★★★
The Fall - Imperial Wax Solvent (2008) ★★★★
Pearl Jam - Ten (1991) Pearl Jam - Vs (1993) ★★★★
Pearl Jam - Vitaology (1994)
The Fall - Are You Are Missing Winner (2001) The Fall - The Real New Fall Album (2003) ★★★★★
The Fall - Reformation Post TLC (2007) ★★★★★
The Fall - Your Future Our Clutter (2010) ★★★★★
The Fall - Ersatz GB (2011) ★★★★
The Fall - Re-Mit (2013)
The Fall - The Remainderer (2013) The Fall - Sub-lingual Tablet (2015) ★★★★★
The Fall - Wise Ol' Man (2016) The Fall - New Facts Emerge (2017) ★★★★
Herbie Hancock - Maiden Voyage (1965) ★★★★
Karin Krog - We Could Be Flying (1974) ★★★★★
21 Pilots - Vessel (2014) ★★★★
John Lee Hooker - The Real Folk Blues (1966) ★★★★
Boo Hooray - Hepcat Gloss 12” (1983) ★★★★★
Pearl Jam - No Code (1996)
Pearl Jam - Yield (1998)
Pearl Jam - Binaural (2000)
Pearl Jam - Riot Act (2002)
Pearl Jam - Pearl Jam (2006)
Pearl Jam - Backspacer (2009)
Pearl Jam - Lightning Bolt (2013) Steve Earle - I Feel Alright (1996) ★★★★★
Tom T Hall - Greatest Hits
Larry Jon Wilson - New Beginnings (1975)
Pearl Jam - Lost Dogs (2003) Lee Ranaldo & Dust - Last Night On Earth Demos (2013) ★★★★
Tony Joe White - Black And White (1968) ★★★★
Tony Joe White - Continued (1969) ★★★★
Tony Joe White - Tony Joe (1970) ★★★★
Tony Joe White - Tony Joe White (1971) ★★★★
Tony Joe White - The Train I'm On (1972)
Tony Joe White - Home Made Ice Cream (1973)
Paul Desmond - Take Ten (1963)
Paul Desmond - Glad To Be Unhappy (1964)
Trembling Bells - Carbeth (2009) Tanya Tagaq - Anuraaqtuq (2011) ★★★★★
Terry Manning - Home Sweet Home (1969) Evan Parker - Monosceros (1978) ★★★★★
Trembling Bells - Abandoned Love (201) Trembling Bells - The Constant Pageant (2011)★★★★
Trembling Bells - The Sovereign Self (2015) Trembling Bells - The Wide Majestic Aire (2016) ★★★★
Skids - Scared To Dance (1979) Orange Juice - The Glasgow School (1980-81) ★★★★
Big Star - #1 Record (1972) ★★★★★
Big Star - Radio City (1974) ★★★★★
Chris Robinson - New Earth Mud (2002)
Chris Robinson - This Magnificent Distance (2004) Pentangle - Pentangle (1968) ★★★★★
Pentangle - Sweet Child (1968) ★★★★★
Pentangle - Basket of Light (1969) ★★★★
Pentangle - Cruel Sister (1970) ★★★★
Pentangle - Reflection (1971) ★★★★
Pentangle - Solomon's Seal (1972) Don Carlos - Wipe The Wicked Clean (1983) ★★★★
Fairport Convention - Fairport Convention (1968) Fairport Convention - What We Did In Our Holidays (1969) ★★★★
Fairport Convention - Unhalfbricking (1969) ★★★★
Fairport Convention - Liege and Lief (1969) ★★★★★
Fotheringay - Fotheringay (1970) ★★★★
Fotheringay - 2 (1970)
Sandy Denny - The North Star Grassman and The Ravens (1971)
Tim Buckley - Works In Progress (1966-72)
Percewood's Organum - Lessons for Virgins (1971)
Tim Buckley - Tim Buckley (1966) Tim Buckley - Goodbye and Hello (1967) ★★★★
Tim Buckley - Happy Sad (1969)
Tim Buckley - Blue Afternoon (1969)
Tim Buckley - Lorca (1970) Tim Buckley - Starsailor (1970)★★★★★
Edir Akbayar ve Dostlar - Singles Overview (1974-77)
Cem Karaca - Nin Apaslar, Kardaslar, Mogollar (1972-74) Davy Graham - The Guitar Player (1963) ★★★★
Pentangle - One More Road (1993)
Sunforest - Sound Of Sunforest (1970)
Dawnwind - Looking Back On The Future (1975)
Lagger Blues Machine - Tanit (1970)
Xixa - Bloodline (2016) Lau - Live (2007) ★★★★
Kris Drever - Black Water (2006) ★★★★★
Kris Drever - Mark The Hard Earth (2010)
Kris Drever - If Wishes Were Horses (2016)
Lau - Lightweights and Gentlemen (2007) Lau - Arc Light (2009)★★★★
Lau - The Bell That Never Rang (2015)
Kris Drever with eamonn Coyne - Storymap (2013) Martin Hayes & Dennis Cahil - Live In Seattle (1999) ★★★★★
Catherine Ribeiro + 2 Bis (1969) ★★★★★
The Unthanks - Mount The Air (2015)
Henry Junjo Lawes - Volcano Erruption (1982-1991)
Biff Bang Pow - Waterbomb (1984-89)
The Prisoners - Hurricane, The Best of (1982-1986)
Kelly Willis - What I Deserve (1999) Sun Dial - Other Way Out (1990) ★★★★★
Ride - Smile (1990) Mississippi John Hurt - Today (1966) ★★★★
Left Outsides - Gower Wassail (2013) ★★★★
Comsat Angels - My Mind's Eye (1992)
Wild Seeds - Brave, Clean & Reverant (1985)
Wild Seeds - Mud, Lies & Shame (1988)
Lee Morgan - The Sixth Sense (1968)
Lee Morgan - The Rumproller (1965)
Lee Morgan - City Lights (1958)
Neil Casal - Fade Away Diamond Time (1995) Neil Casal - Wind, Rain, Speed (1996) ★★★★
Richard Buckner - Devotion And Doubt (1997) ★★★★
Peter Case - Peter Case (1986)★★★★
Peter Case - Man w The Blue Post-Modern Guitar (1989) ★★★★
The Lemonheads - It's A Shame About Ray (1992) ★★★★★
Thirteen Engines - Before Our Time (1987) Thirteen Engines - Byram Lake Blues (1989) ★★★★
Rick Oliver - Continual Battle Of Thoughts (2006)
Alejandro Escovedo - With These Hands (1996) Minutemen - Double Nickels On The Dime (1983) ★★★★
Tortoise - Millions Now Living Will Never Die (1996) ★★★★★
A Minor Forest - Flemish Altruism (1996)
Cary Hudson - Bittersweet Blues (2006) Cindy Lee Berryhill - Naked Movie Star (1989) ★★★★
Moonshake - Dirty & Divine (1996) Come - Eleven : Eleven (1992) ★★★★
Earth - Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I (2011)
Earth - Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II (2011)
The Piersons - Humbucker (1996) The Schramms - Rock Paper Scissors Dynamite (1992) ★★★★
James Griffin - Breakin' Up Is Easy (1974) ★★★★
Love - Forever Changes (1967) ★★★★★
Love - Love (1966) ★★★★
Love - Da Capo (1966) James Griffin - James Griffin (1977) ★★★★
Geraldine Fibbers - What Part of Get Thee Gone… (1997) ★★★★
Joe Henry - Reverie (2011)
V/A - Got No Chains, Songs of The Walkabouts (2009) Jeff Buckley - Garage bootleg (1994) ★★★★
Wolves In The Throne Room - Black Cascade (2009) ★★★★★
Wolves In The Throne Room - Malevolent Grain (2009) ★★★★
Vermonster - Spirit of Yma (1990) ★★★★
Vermonster - Instinctively Human (1991) ★★★★
Chris Brokaw - Incredible Love (2005)
Bottle Rockets - 24 Hours A Day (1997)
Bottle Rockets - South Broadway Athletic Club (2015) Jeff Buckley - Grace (1993) ★★★★★
Live Skull - Positraction (1989)
Live Skull - Snuffer (1988)
Laura Cantrell - When The Roses Bloom Again (2002)
Malcolm Ross & The Low Milfs - s/t (2008)
Paul McCartney - McCartney II (1979)
Maya Caballero - For Sale (2015)
Stereolab - Transient Random-Noise Bursts (1993)
Rico - Wareika Dub (1976)
Junior Parker - Like It Is (1967)
Flamin' Groovies - Step Up (1984-9)
Flamin' Groovies - One Night Stand (1987) Thee Headcoats - Elementary Headcoats (2000) ★★★★
Stereolab - Mars Audiac Quintet (1994) ★★★★
Pharoah Sanders - Karma (1969) ★★★★
Michael Hall - The Song He Was Listening To.. (2006) Abba - Arrival (1976) ★★★★
Michael Hall - Lucky Too (2001)
Michael Hall - Dead By Dinner (2000) Wolfhounds - United Kingdom (2016) ★★★★
Eleventh Dream Day - Prairie School Freakout (1988) ★★★★★
Hefner - Breaking God's Heart (1998) ★★★★
Kevin Salem - Soma City (1995)
Cowboy Junkies - Caution Horses (1990)
Betsy & Charlotte Renals, Sophie Legg - Catch Me If You Can (1978) Julian Cope - Jehovakill (1992) ★★★★
The Primevals - Eternal Hotfire (1984)
The Primevals - Live At The Klub Foot (1985) The Primevals - Sound Hole (1986) ★★★★★
The Doors - The Doors (1967)★★★★★
Penguin Cafe Orchestra - Mini Album (1983) Augustus Pablo - Ital Dub (1974) ★★★★
V/A - Musique du Burundi (1968) ★★★★
Ali Farka Toure - s/t (1976) ★★★★★
Julian Cope - Peggy Suicide (1991)
Gabriel Naim Amor - Hear The Wall (2014)
Noel Akchote & Gabriel Naim Amor - Rickety-Doo (2014) The Beatles - White Album (1969) ★★★★★
The Beatles - Magical Mystery Tour (1967) ★★★★★
The Beatles - Revolver (1966) ★★★★★
The Beatles - Please Please Me (1963)
The Beatles - With The Beatles (1963) The Beatles - Hard Day's Night (1964) ★★★★★
The Beatles - Beatles For Sale (1964) ★★★★
The Beatles - Help (1965) ★★★★
The Beatles - Rubber Soul (1965) ★★★★★
Suns Of The Tundra - Bones Of Brave Ships (2015) ★★★★
Beatles - Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967) ★★★★★
The Beatles - Abbey Road (1968) ★★★★
Lucinda Williams - Car Wheels On A Gravel Road (1998) ★★★★★
The Goon Sax - We're Not Talking Anymore (2016) Brian Henry Hooper - Trouble (2010) ★★★★
Gene Clark - Flying High (1963-1991) ★★★★★
Larry Murray - Sweet Country Suite (1971)
Gene Clark - Here Tonight (1970) ★★★★
Toots & The Maytals - Pressure Drop (1968)
Madness - Very Best Of (1979-2014) ★★★★★
Gene Clark - Two Sides To Every Story (1977) The Nightingales - Pigs On Purpose (1982) ★★★★★
Nightingales/Prefects/ - Radio Sessions (1978 - 2010) ★★★★★
Joy Division - Unknown Pleasures (1979) ★★★★★
The Fall - This Nation's Saving Grace (1985) ★★★★★
The Beach Boys - Surf's Up (1971)
Stiff Little Fingers - Guitar and Drum (2003)
Stiff Little Fingers - Hope Street (1999) Nick Drake - Five Leaves Left (1969) ★★★★
The Byrds - Mr Tambourine Man (1965) ★★★★
Ex-Catheads - Our Frisco (1990) V/a - What A Nice Way To Turn Seventeen Vol 3 (1984) ★★★★
Duran Duran - Girls On Film 1979 demos (1979) Swell Maps - A Trip To Marineville (1979) ★★★★
Swell Maps - Jane From Occupied Europe (1980) The Serfers - Live Westwood Recordings (1980)★★★★
Red House Painters - Old Ramon (1998) ★★★★
Kirk Swan - It's About Time (1998)
Dumptruck - Lemmings Travel To The Sea (2000)
Chris Holliman - The Sailor's Daughter (2009) Christine Perfect - Complete Blue Horizon (1970) ★★★★
John Carpenter - Greatest Hits (1974-1989)
Stiff Little Fingers - Tinderbox (1997)
Stiff Little Fingers - Get A Life (1994)
Theolonius Monk - Underground (1967) The Icicle Works - s/t (1983) ★★★★
Sonny Rollins - Sonny Boy (1956)★★★★
Nancy Wilson & Cannonball Adderley - s/t (1961)★★★★★
Dexy's - Searching For The Young Soul Rebels (1980) ★★★★★
Denim TV - Denim TV (1988)
Denim TV - Starving Rich (1990) Herbert Stanley Littlejohn - 17thc Funerary Violin (1956) ★★★★
Green Pajamas - Strung Behind The Sun (1997)
Goblin Market - Live At Showbox (2010)
Sean O'Brien - Seed Of Mayhem (2004)
Mark Kozelek - Sings Favorites (2016) Popealopes - Kerosene (1990) ★★★★
Denver Mexicans - s/t (1988)
Just Water - Downtown & Brooklyn (1974-79)
Sean O'Brien - Future Harvest (2012)
Volcano Suns - Career In Rock (1991)
V/A - Brown Acid, The Second Trip (1970-77)
V/A - Brown Acid, The Fourth Trip (1969-75)
Gila Bend - Natureburger (1997)
The Aces - Chicago Beat (1970-73) The Long Ryders - Best of (2004) ★★★★
Lloyd Cole - Bad Vibes (1993) The Long Ryders - 10-5-60 (1983)★★★★
The Long Ryders - Native Sons (1984) ★★★★★
Tom Stevens - Points Of View (1982)
v/a - Titan It's All Pop (1978 - 81) Sonny Rollins - Live At The Village Vanguard Vol 1(1958) ★★★★
Goldie - Timeless (1995) ★★★★★
Jayhawks - Live At The Belly Up (2015) ★★★★
Tom Stevens - Home (2007)
Tom Stevens - Another Room (1995)
Tom Stevens - Last Night (1992)
Tom Stevens - Sooner (2009)
V/A - Don't Shoot (1986)
Blue Nile - Hats (1989) Trees - Polly On The Shore (1970)★★★★★
The Chameleons - Script Of The Bridge (1983)★★★★★
The Chameleons - What Does Anything Mean? (1985)★★★★
Dr Alimontado - Best Dressed Chicken In Town (1978)
HISTORIC SITES
Goodrich Castle, Gloucestershire
Brompton Oratory, London (including genuine fragment of True Cross)
Broch of Birsay, Orkney
Maes Howe, Orkney
Cuween tomb, Orkney
Wideford Tomb, Orkney
Tomb of The Eagles, Orkney
Churchill Barriers, Orkney
Broch of Gurness, Orkney
St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall, Orkney
Grain Earth House, Kirkwall, Orkney
Rennibister Souterrain, Orkney
Ring of Brodgar, Orkney
Stones of Stennes, Orkney
Skara Brae, Orkney
Birsay Earl's Palace, Orkney
Longhope Lifeboat Museum, Hoy
Ness Battery, Stromness, Orkney
Orkney Wireless Museum, Kirkwall, Orkney
Stromness Museum, Orkney
Italian Chapel, Orkney
Hereford Cathedral & Mappa Mundi
Kilpeck Church & castle, Herefordshire
Arthur's Stone, Herefordshire
Llanthony Priory, Herefordshire
Jewish Museum, Camden
Barsham 'solar alignment' Church, Suffolk
Bungay Castle, Suffolk
Wayland's Smithy Chambered Tomb, Wiltshire
West Kennet Long Barrow, Wiltshire
Avebury Stone Circle, Wiltshire
Silbury Hill, Wiltshire
Crop Circle Museum, Honeystreet
Carn Galver Mine, Cornwall
Men An Toll, Cornwall
Nine Maidens Stone Circle, Cornwall
Chysauster Romano-British Village, Cornwall
Carn Euny Romano-British Village & Holy Well, Cornwall
Boscawen-un Stone Circle, Cornwall
Zennor Church & Mermaid Chair, Cornwall
Merry Maidens Stone Circle, Cornwall
Tregiffian Burial Chamber, Cornwall
Gun Ruth standing stone, Cornwall
The Pipers standing stones, Cornwall
Site of Ithell's Vow Cave, Cornwall
Boleigh Fogou, Cornwall
Caerleon Roman amphitheatre, Gwent
Caerleon Roman baths, Gwent
Culbone church, Exmoor
Palace of Knossos, Crete
Heraklion museum, Crete
El Greco's birthplace, Fodele, Crete
Speech House, Verderers' Court, Forest of Dean
Great Witcombe Roman Villa, Gloucestershire
Ashmoleon Museum, Oxford
Verulamium ruined Roman city, St Albans
Verulamium museum, St Albans
Verulamium Roman theatre, St Albans
Cannop Colliery, Forest of Dean
All Saints Church, Newland, Forest of Dean
Skenfrith Castle, Monmouthsire
Malvern Clock Tower Well, Worcestershire
British Camp, Worcestershire
Vasa Ship Museum, Stockholm
Stockholm Old Town
Abba Museum, Stockholm
Hampton Court, London
Natural History Museum, London
ART/EXHIBITIONS/INSTALLATIONS
London Lumiere Festival, King's Cross, London Rose Wylie - Quack Quack (Serpentine, London) ★★★★
Penzance School collection - Pier Arts Centre, Stromness ★★★★★
AR Woods - Ness Battery Mess Mural, Stromness ★★★★★
Asterix - Jewish museum, Camden
Dawn Of The Superheroes - O2 Rose Wylie - History Painting (Newlyn, Cornwall) ★★★★
Spellbound - Ashmoleon Museum, Oxford
Strange Days, Memories of The Future (The Store, London) Beyond The Deepening Shadow - (Tower of London) ★★★★★
Ginger Bread House Art Exhibition, Stockholm
Stewart Lee
2019-01-07T19:46:43+00:00
1) CONTENT PROVIDER BBC CONTENT PROVIDER is on BBC I-player until end of March. And all the COMEDY VEHICLES seem to have gone back up too. See how the world has changed in a decade. 2) King Rocker https://www.kingrockerfilm.com/ How does a working class autodidact, with no visible means of support, maintain his role as the leader of a cult British underground band into its fifth decade? Comedian and writer Stewart Lee (Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle) , director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales, Robert Lloyd and the New Four Seasons), Britain's ultimate post-punk survivor. Robert Lloyd's Prefects played with The Clash on the White Riot tour in 1977, and their ongoing incarnation, as Birmingham's Captain Beefheart suffused post-punk poets The Nightingales, recorded more John Peel sessions than any other band. Ever. Buoyed by endless critical acclaim, but hampered by ongoing commercial indifference, Lloyd has nonetheless continued to tour and record, The Nightingales' affairs managed by drummer Fliss Kitson, from a Wolverhampton shipping container, and Lloyd himself, from the isolated borderland mountain fastness of Wellington, Shropshire, surrounded by prehistoric remains and industrial archaeology. Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and master snug room raconteur, appears to have maintained a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, often involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness. But what were the social, cultural and economic circumstances that enabled and sustained such outsider artists in the punk and post-punk eras, and how has the world changed to the point where such figures are unlikely to flourish in the same way today? Lloyd's own odyssey echoes how abstract notions of social mobility, of the value of culture and music, have changed...
It’s half term and I am rewriting the opening topical 20 minutes of my touring standup show. Again. Damn Rishi’s rollercoaster ride. The current Conservative cabinet has had more lineup changes than the Fall, but will not leave as significant a cultural legacy, bar a similarly large succession of weighty books trying to make subsequent sense of what happened. If it’s Rishi Sunak and your granny on bongos, then this is the Conservative government.
My tight five on Nadhim Zahawi, I reluctantly admit, will not make it to the show in Coventry on Wednesday, despite the reliable laugh quota generated all around the land by the mere mention of the former minister without portfolio. Once Zahawi didn’t have two portfolios to rub together. But now, he must look back on the days when all he didn’t have was a portfolio with nostalgic regret.
I can already feel Zahawi receding in the collective subconscious, as he joins the other routines, abandoned along the way since September, like Boris Johnson’s discarded children or Jeremy Hunt’s principles, as their subjects slipped from view.
Farewell Liz Truss, who finally dared to put flesh on the bones of the thinktanks’ impossible economic fantasies, old rotten meat stuck to the balsa-wood skeleton of the Institute of Economic Affairs, and began the rout of Tufton Street. Truss will now be remembered, if she is remembered at all, only for a bizarre speech about cheese! We imported two-thirds of our cheese. It was a disgrace, she told us, with blank ire. But within weeks she had cost the country £30bn and the horrible cheese disgrace suddenly seemed less significant. Indeed, how we longed for the cheese disgrace of old.
And goodbye and good riddance also to the morning news radio round golem, Kwasi Kwarteng, always called upon to defend six indefensible things before breakfast! Kwarteng goes back in the economic attic, the secret rune that reanimates him removed from his wet mouth.
And au revoir to the blink-and-you-missed-him environment secretary Ranil Jayawardena, the George Canning of unchecked sewage discharge, the Tory equivalent of those apparently significant characters Jed Mercurio used to write into Line of Duty who’d always die at the end of the first episode, the Spinal Tap drummer of the Truss era. He spontaneously combusted after 49 days. He voted against LGBT-inclusive sex education. He occasionally goes to church. At the going down of the sun, and in the evening, we will not remember him. But this endless churn of osmotic political excrement is making my professional life a lot harder than it needs to be.
There have been so many rotten Conservative politicians making merry since the Brexit campaign shattered standards of decency and honesty in public life that it’s hard to remember them all, which I suspect is a priced-in strategy. Why get worked up about your local MP who lied about Europe, made a mint off a dodgy PPE contract and charged the taxpayer to heat the nests of his fancy mice when there’ll be another equally rotten Tory along in a moment? But did anyone think that the next “another one along in a minute” would be Ashfield MP, Lee Anderson?
Perhaps some patronising creeps behind closed Conservative doors thought Anderson’s “common sense” pronouncements would play well with the fragmenting “red wall” vote, beginning to see beyond the Brexit lies. Indeed, Anderson is a member of the Common Sense Group, which proves he has common sense or why would he be in a group called the Common Sense Group? It’s common sense that people who have been executed will never commit a crime. But it is not common sense to assume they are guilty. By Anderson’s logic it would make sense to execute everyone immediately, in case they turn bad at a later date.
Anderson is an accident waiting to happen to the entire Conservative party. He was recorded bullying a reporter. And he has had an unfortunate photo opportunity with a shy ex-BNP member who apparently has a white supremacist tattoo and is said to sport a “No Remorse White Pride” T-shirt; and also with a fan of the influential white supremacist band Skrewdriver.
It’s easy enough to be photographed with people without it indicating that you support them unequivocally. I was once photographed with the bisc-haired GB News patsy Andrew Neil, for example, yet I never believed Carole Cadwalladr was a “mad cat woman” or that “GB News is the most exciting thing to happen in British television news for more than 20 years”. But had a Labour party member been photographed shaking hands with similar salt of the earth types to Anderson it’s unlikely they’d still be in a position of responsibility.
In November 2019, while canvassing, Anderson was caught by a Mail+ journalist’s microphone arranging for his friend to pose as a supportive constituent and telling him to pretend he didn’t know him personally. “Make out you know who I am… you know I’m the candidate, but not a friend, all right?” The Conservatives are so concerned about electoral fraud they are introducing a raft of punitive ID measures that will disproportionately disenfranchise exactly the kind of voter most likely to vote against them. There were six examples of electoral fraud in the last election. And yet here is Anderson, caught on camera fraudulently trying to influence public opinion, and he is rewarded with the deputy chair of the Conservative party.
Meanwhile, the sewage flows into the rivers, public money continues to flows into the sewers of the Conservative party’s friends and donors and I’ve wasted my breath talking about a strawman who probably isn’t even worth trying to write a standup routine about. Because I could do with a new five minutes that will see me through to the spring at least.
Stewart Lee
2023-02-19T21:23:37+00:00
It’s half term and I am rewriting the opening topical 20 minutes of my touring standup show. Again. Damn Rishi’s rollercoaster ride. The current Conservative cabinet has had more lineup changes than the Fall, but will not leave as significant a cultural legacy, bar a similarly large succession of weighty books trying to make subsequent sense of what happened. If it’s Rishi Sunak and your granny on bongos, then this is the Conservative government. My tight five on Nadhim Zahawi, I reluctantly admit, will not make it to the show in Coventry on Wednesday, despite the reliable laugh quota generated all around the land by the mere mention of the former minister without portfolio. Once Zahawi didn’t have two portfolios to rub together. But now, he must look back on the days when all he didn’t have was a portfolio with nostalgic regret. I can already feel Zahawi receding in the collective subconscious, as he joins the other routines, abandoned along the way since September, like Boris Johnson’s discarded children or Jeremy Hunt’s principles, as their subjects slipped from view. Farewell Liz Truss, who finally dared to put flesh on the bones of the thinktanks’ impossible economic fantasies, old rotten meat stuck to the balsa-wood skeleton of the Institute of Economic Affairs, and began the rout of Tufton Street. Truss will now be remembered, if she is remembered at all, only for a bizarre speech about cheese! We imported two-thirds of our cheese. It was a disgrace, she told us, with blank ire. But within weeks she had cost the country £30bn and the horrible cheese disgrace suddenly seemed less significant. Indeed, how we longed for the cheese disgrace of old. And goodbye and good riddance also to the morning news radio round golem, Kwasi Kwarteng, always called upon to...
I have been too busy to see The Iron Lady (which I assumed was a distaff spin-off from Marvel's Iron Man), but none the less, I am now about to use it as a lead-in to discussing the critical rehabilitation of Margaret Thatcher. I did, however, find time to watch Troll Hunter last week, an enormous metaphor for Norwegian national identity, which engaged more critically with Norway's mythologised past than The Iron Lady does with ours. I expect. I haven't seen The Iron Lady, as I said.
Phyllida Lloyd's Thatcher biopic includes some daring sight gags employing the literal snatching of milk, but softens the controversial prime minister's legacy. The sympathetic figure of the ageing Maggie is played, by all accounts brilliantly, by the always excellent Glenn Close, her micro-managed Hollywood features magically transformed by hours of painstaking make-up into those of a normal-looking British woman. The old Thatcher remembers her career and divisive and unpalatable riots and strikes and wars acquire an inevitable multiplex gloss.
I have two similarly market-skewed biopics in production, both featuring Oscar-coveting actresses in disfiguring prosthetics, both factually tweaked to avoid punter alienation. In The Meat Man, the elderly Jesus (Meryl Streep) sits in Heaven remembering when lovely wise kings gave the young Jesus (Glenn Close) presents, his outrageous egalitarian teachings forgotten. In Der Fleischmensch, the elderly Hitler (Meryl Streep) sits in his Berlin bunker, recalling his struggles to be taken seriously as a young landscape artist (Glenn Close), the problematic Nazi years now merely light comic relief.
Conveniently, the appearance in the National Archives this month of secret Thatcher-era documents, revealing some surprising moments of sensitivity, has come at a good time for improving perceptions of the Iron Lady and the current Conservative party, both of which, despite undeniably strong performances from their charismatic leads, have suffered at the hands of critics, and are unlikely to spawn long-running franchises.
In the light of these documents, Thatcher has been praised for not agreeing to the "managed decline" of Liverpool, proposed by 80s colleagues. Here, we see the soft heart of Margaret the Woman, the tear-stained blouse of Maggie the Mum. I believe countries should be run like small businesses, and just as one would close down a loss-making shop or sack a sickly employee, so unprofitable towns and their unproductive citizens should be let go also. But Thatcher the maternal metal mother chose to view the feckless Liverpudlians somehow as legitimate stakeholders in their nation, deserving of the support of their own government, and she would not cast them out into the Wirral, to smelt stolen road signs, spit and form heroically self-regarding and influential neo-psychedelic groups.
There are many revelations in the released documents that appear with hindsight to show Thatcher implementing unambiguously brilliant and pragmatic strategies. Much has been made of how, despite the terrifying reality of their threats to her, she nevertheless "opened the back door for negotiations with the IRA" and initiated the peace process that Tony Blair took credit for. I went to the Public Record Office to scour the documents.
Oddly, the idea of opening the back door for negotiations with the IRA never appears in the body of any of the cabinet transcripts themselves, but only in the margins of Thatcher's personal parliamentary briefings. Here, the phrase "open the back door for negotiations with the IRA" is written in Thatcher's own hand, often underlined, or followed by mass exclamation marks, as if to remind the femme ferrous that she must follow up the idea later. And yet there never seems to be any obvious relationship between the idea of opening the back door for negotiations with the IRA and the content of the printed texts the handwritten recommendations append.
I checked the dates. Thatcher writes "open the back door for negotiations with the IRA" on documents dated 31 March 1982, 2 May 1982, 9 February 1985, 3 March 1985, 19 July 1987, 24 May 1988, and every 10 May, or the Friday nearest to it, throughout. On the first six dates, respectively, terrorist Nelson Mandela was moved out of sight to Pollsmoor prison; the Argentinian warship the General Belgrano was torpedoed outside the Falklands exclusion zone with the loss of 323 lives; Russ Abbott's haunting pop single "Atmosphere" peaked at number 7 in the UK chart; the miners' strike ended; Nick Faldo claimed victory in the Open; and the anti-gay Section 28 legislation was passed. All these events would have been causes for celebration either for Margaret Thatcher herself (Russ Abbott fan), for her husband Denis (left-handed golfer) or for both Thatchers (known rightwingers).
The significance of 10 May was more confusing, until good old Wikipedia revealed it to be the date of Denis Thatcher's birthday. Despite the attempts of oxymoronic contemporary Tory feminists to appropriate her, Margaret Thatcher was a traditionally dutiful and obedient wife. Was "opening the back door for negotiations with the IRA" a code for some kind of treat for Denis, who attended a nonconformist public school, or did it really refer to clandestine attempts to lubricate republican relations? And did it explain Thatcher's intermittently unusual walk, which her biographer, Charles Moore, famously described as a "dignified scuttle"?
The implication that these "back-door negotiations with the IRA" occurred on days of celebration for the two happy Thatchers, humanises Maggie in a way that Glenn Close's, admittedly uncannily accurate, impersonation of the woman simply does not. Lloyd draws a discreet sheet over Thatcher's back-door negotiations and concentrates instead on visual puns about milk. Sadly, in hindsight, Lloyd must realise that The Iron Lady would surely have earned more than its usual two- or three-star reviews if only she and Glenn Close had shown the courage to bring Thatcher's back-door negotiations to the silver screen in detail, perhaps in 3D. But in preserving untarnished the cast-iron enigma of Margaret Thatcher, this stainless-steel sister, this un-fatigued metal maiden, Lloyd ensures the legend of this particular Iron Lady will never rust.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-15T15:01:59+00:00
I have been too busy to see The Iron Lady (which I assumed was a distaff spin-off from Marvel's Iron Man), but none the less, I am now about to use it as a lead-in to discussing the critical rehabilitation of Margaret Thatcher. I did, however, find time to watch Troll Hunter last week, an enormous metaphor for Norwegian national identity, which engaged more critically with Norway's mythologised past than The Iron Lady does with ours. I expect. I haven't seen The Iron Lady, as I said. Phyllida Lloyd's Thatcher biopic includes some daring sight gags employing the literal snatching of milk, but softens the controversial prime minister's legacy. The sympathetic figure of the ageing Maggie is played, by all accounts brilliantly, by the always excellent Glenn Close, her micro-managed Hollywood features magically transformed by hours of painstaking make-up into those of a normal-looking British woman. The old Thatcher remembers her career and divisive and unpalatable riots and strikes and wars acquire an inevitable multiplex gloss. I have two similarly market-skewed biopics in production, both featuring Oscar-coveting actresses in disfiguring prosthetics, both factually tweaked to avoid punter alienation. In The Meat Man, the elderly Jesus (Meryl Streep) sits in Heaven remembering when lovely wise kings gave the young Jesus (Glenn Close) presents, his outrageous egalitarian teachings forgotten. In Der Fleischmensch, the elderly Hitler (Meryl Streep) sits in his Berlin bunker, recalling his struggles to be taken seriously as a young landscape artist (Glenn Close), the problematic Nazi years now merely light comic relief. Conveniently, the appearance in the National Archives this month of secret Thatcher-era documents, revealing some surprising moments of sensitivity, has come at a good time for improving perceptions of the Iron Lady and the current Conservative party, both of which, despite undeniably strong performances from their charismatic...
When you see a lot of comedy gigs like I do something that is a bit different usually has a head start. And Soiree in a Cemetery was very different.
Ticket-holders only discovered the location of this one-off in the afternoon, which meant that excitement was building up even before arriving. There was a bit of anxiety about the weather as autumn had decided to chip in, but the rain stopped, the sky cleared and, as long as you were well-insulated by overcoats and alcohol a good time was had by all.
Tower Hamlets Cemetery was a pretty spectacular setting. We were told that there were around 40 bodies under each gravestone due to popular demand.
There were more people buried here than are currently alive in the borough. Having arrived, sat down and enjoyed a welcoming song from the British Humanist Choir (pictured below) and a peanut butter and banana muffin from the non-ironic Women's Institute stall we were all taken on a tour, along paths lit by candles in paper bags.
This was a little like Arthur Smith's old tours of Edinburgh crossed with a ghost train ride. Little pocket performances popped up along the way. Jessica Pearce dancing with fire here, an undertaker there. Henry Maynard with a grisly skull puppet sitting on a tomb, screaming brides running past. It was all very evocative and atmospheric if a little crowded - the event sold out and around 400 people were squeezed in.
After this it was back to our al fresco benches where spooky folksome duo Gentle Folk delivered eeerily catchy songs about prostitutes and lost graveyards in Southwark. Poetess/host/laughter therapist Vivienne Soan, of Nunhead variety club Pull The Other One (who put the night together with Adam Taffler of special event organisers @adamotionsuk) compered, getting everyone to release endorphins by giggling hysterically.
Elsewhere her husband Martin Soan went around shaking everyone's hands - he's usually in naked balloon dance troupe The Greatest Show On Legs but this wasn't the climate for stripping off or a location for gratuitous nudity.
And then it was time for the headline act who didn't want to be called the headline act. Stewart Lee is currently doing gigs testing
out his material for the next series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. This time round he did his challenging routine subverting the stand-up trope of churning out gags about childhood memories with a recollection of being bullied in the school urinals.
It's a very funny routine pulling together Lee's own tropes of repetition, exaggeration and mock irritation.
It was a potentially tricky gig for Lee. This was probably the most comedy-literate easy-to-amuse audience he was ever going to get (he opened with an ironic remark of "tough gig") and there is a section in the set which depends on not getting a lot of laughs.
But with a bit of improvisation around his scripted material be pulled it off. He also got a fair number of chuckles out of a random insect flying across the makeshift stage just as he was building to his finale.
The eminence gris of stand-up said to me a few years ago that he tends to have phases where he goes in and out of fashion every seven years so he should be due for a fall any time now, but there was no sign of it last night. Yes, alright, I'll say it he was dead funny.
Lee had not wanted to be called the headline act and in fact he wasn't. He was followed by shadow puppeteer Matthew Robins who sang warped Tiger Lillies-style song-stories while images of flies and other animals danced around on the screen. A lovely end to a very special night.
I think the organisers will probably do more. Now, if they can only install radiators in the cemetery for their next event...
Stewart Lee
2014-10-05T21:25:37+01:00
When you see a lot of comedy gigs like I do something that is a bit different usually has a head start. And Soiree in a Cemetery was very different. Ticket-holders only discovered the location of this one-off in the afternoon, which meant that excitement was building up even before arriving. There was a bit of anxiety about the weather as autumn had decided to chip in, but the rain stopped, the sky cleared and, as long as you were well-insulated by overcoats and alcohol a good time was had by all. Tower Hamlets Cemetery was a pretty spectacular setting. We were told that there were around 40 bodies under each gravestone due to popular demand. There were more people buried here than are currently alive in the borough. Having arrived, sat down and enjoyed a welcoming song from the British Humanist Choir (pictured below) and a peanut butter and banana muffin from the non-ironic Women's Institute stall we were all taken on a tour, along paths lit by candles in paper bags. This was a little like Arthur Smith's old tours of Edinburgh crossed with a ghost train ride. Little pocket performances popped up along the way. Jessica Pearce dancing with fire here, an undertaker there. Henry Maynard with a grisly skull puppet sitting on a tomb, screaming brides running past. It was all very evocative and atmospheric if a little crowded - the event sold out and around 400 people were squeezed in. After this it was back to our al fresco benches where spooky folksome duo Gentle Folk delivered eeerily catchy songs about prostitutes and lost graveyards in Southwark. Poetess/host/laughter therapist Vivienne Soan, of Nunhead variety club Pull The Other One (who put the night together with Adam Taffler of special event organisers @adamotionsuk) compered, getting everyone...
For a year or so now, Pulp's guitarist Mark Webber has pursued a second career as an arts impresario, organising exhibitions and screenings. His latest project is an overview of the 1960s American underground cinema scene, showcasing 99 films by directors whose influence is felt today upon David Lynch, Martin Scorsese and John Waters. It started last Friday at the Barbican and the Lux cinema in London's East End.
"I did it for entirely selfish, personal reasons," confesses Webber over leek sausages. "I thought I might wait for years and never see most of these films. Then I had the bright idea of getting someone else to pay for it." Expect to view Andy Warhol documenting his polysexual friends and Tony Conrad reducing film to stroboscopic flickers, but make a special date on Monday for George and Mike Kuchar, two distinctive talents in a world of would-be individualists.
Historians credit the Kuchars with originating "the pop camp aesthetic", later to infiltrate the mainstream via their disciple John Waters, but the two working-class Brooklyn boys - who started making movies with an 8mm camera birthday gift - had no interest in kitsch. They strove to re-create Hollywood epics, but minimal budgets, saturated colours and peculiar language put a surreal spin on their efforts. The Wet Destruction of the Atlantic Empire, made in 1954 when they were 12, drowned pictures of New York in local streams.
Unaware of the underground scene, the Kuchars showcased their work at the Manhattan Hotel 8mm Motion Picture Club, alongside other members' holiday movies. Reception there to 1962's A Woman Distressed was mixed. "Thalidomide had just come out," explains Kuchar from San Francisco, where he teaches film, "and, because I was just a kid, I used it as subject material for this satire. We had a little rubber baby and people dressed as doctors and nurses, but a lot of the older people found it hard to handle.
"The way I saw the world was as a pick-and-choose playpen, and I was looking for subjects. If you can make a film about the Titanic where 1,200 people died, why couldn't I make this silly true horror story? It was the only movie ever to get a bad review in the 8mm Motion Picture Club newspaper."
Fortuitously, the Kuchars were introduced to Jack Stevens, a patron of Kenneth Anger and Warhol, and their work found a more appreciative audience at his Fulton Fish Market screenings, despite the brothers arriving among the bereted bohemians in their smartest suits. "Some of those guys were nuts, some of them were nice people," remembers Kuchar. "But I was inspired by Hollywood, and they were part of a movement against Hollywood. Then I looked at their films and got ideas from them."
The 1963 film Lovers of Eternity, part of Monday night's programme, is remembered as George's satire on the Lower East Side artistic community, but apparently that wasn't his intention at all. "I met a film-maker who used to bake his films in an oven," says Kuchar, diplomatically, of Dov Lederberg, "the others thought he was kinda pretentious, but I saw him as a nice man and decided to make a bohemian love story with him in it. But he had...flaws. He was in a nest of odd people. The movie turned out really horrible. It was supposed to be a pretty picture - I thought he was not a bad-looking guy - and the lead woman, she had pretty hair, too."
Kuchar's best known 1960s work, Hold Me While I'm Naked (1966), an inexplicably hilarious, abstract meditation on the tribulations of a film-maker (George Kuchar), is also featured tomorrow night. But Kuchar was initially baffled by audience responses. "Sometimes people would start laughing and I'd think, 'Hey, this ain't a funny movie. They're in for a surprise.' " The film was rescripted halfway through to accommodate the departure of an actress who objected to nude scenes, Kuchar making a virtue of crisis. "That's when you invent new stuff. When things go wrong your brain goes haywire trying to patch things up."
Perhaps Kuchar's finest moment is Thundercrack (1974), made when he and Curt McDowell, a student, snaffled a substantial sum from two heirs to the Burger King fortune to make a porn film. Instead, Kuchar scripted a bizarre 158-minute horror film parody, replete with occasional foully explicit sex scenes, in which he played Bing, a zoo keeper fleeing a gorilla who had fallen in love with him. Too obscene for arts audiences, and too arty for porn fiends, Thundercrack bombed, though the four remaining copies regularly thrill at film festivals, the vagaries of local censorship laws permitting.
Today Kuchar works mainly on video. His Weather Diaries, filmed on his annual vacations at a motel in Reno, Nevada, are strangely moving studies of meteorology, unusual local characters and Kuchar himself, alone in a cheap room. And how does he feel about being the subject of a retrospective? "It makes me feel like an old fart," he laughs. "But I am an old fart. I'm 56 and still making pictures."
George Kuchar is an oddly likable, likably odd, man, but is he calculatedly playing the part of the misunderstood naif? "Oh no," says Webber. "George is one of the good guys. When I told him about this season he said, 'Boy! It must be a big headache getting all those broken old films together!' "
Stewart Lee
1998-10-25T17:24:27+00:00
For a year or so now, Pulp's guitarist Mark Webber has pursued a second career as an arts impresario, organising exhibitions and screenings. His latest project is an overview of the 1960s American underground cinema scene, showcasing 99 films by directors whose influence is felt today upon David Lynch, Martin Scorsese and John Waters. It started last Friday at the Barbican and the Lux cinema in London's East End. "I did it for entirely selfish, personal reasons," confesses Webber over leek sausages. "I thought I might wait for years and never see most of these films. Then I had the bright idea of getting someone else to pay for it." Expect to view Andy Warhol documenting his polysexual friends and Tony Conrad reducing film to stroboscopic flickers, but make a special date on Monday for George and Mike Kuchar, two distinctive talents in a world of would-be individualists. Historians credit the Kuchars with originating "the pop camp aesthetic", later to infiltrate the mainstream via their disciple John Waters, but the two working-class Brooklyn boys - who started making movies with an 8mm camera birthday gift - had no interest in kitsch. They strove to re-create Hollywood epics, but minimal budgets, saturated colours and peculiar language put a surreal spin on their efforts. The Wet Destruction of the Atlantic Empire, made in 1954 when they were 12, drowned pictures of New York in local streams. Unaware of the underground scene, the Kuchars showcased their work at the Manhattan Hotel 8mm Motion Picture Club, alongside other members' holiday movies. Reception there to 1962's A Woman Distressed was mixed. "Thalidomide had just come out," explains Kuchar from San Francisco, where he teaches film, "and, because I was just a kid, I used it as subject material for this satire. We had a little...
I first filed this supposedly funny column, about Boris Let the Bodies Pile High in Their Thousands Johnson’s wallpaper, at 8pm on Wednesday, 15 glorious hours before the Thursday 11am deadline. Now I could enjoy a leisurely morning cycle to a Pret a Manger™ ® breakfast bap with my name on it and some passive-aggressive banter with the private security company policeman by Buck Street Market, who tried to move me on because lockdown hair has made me look homeless. Does he know who I am? It seems having a bi-weekly Observer column counts for nothing.
But then I sat up late watching the rolling news tide wash away my prematurely posted Observer sandcastle of satire. Johnson is being investigated, the flat redecoration fumble threatening a general unravelling of greater threads of corruption. It’s strange that Johnson’s fate may be sealed by the furnishings of Lulu Lytle, the kind of costly kitsch interior designer beloved by people who fly to Glastonbury in private helicopters with wraps of coke in their Hunter wellingtons and only emerge from the VIP area to enjoy Lionel Richie ironically.
The Lulu Lytle brand will now have the same problem as Fred Perry, trying to dissociate its classic yellow striped polo shirts from the far-right thugs who now favour them. I’ve had to take all mine to the Oxfam shop, where hopefully they will be snapped up by thrifty racists. But will people really want wallpaper that makes them think of Johnson and bodies piled high in their thousands? Maybe Lulu Lytle should embrace the chaos and swap her ethno-forged colonial wildlife prints for cushion covers depicting Johnson giving Jennifer Arcuri a business development bung on his wife’s sofa. At one stage, the multi-identity trickster Grant Shapps was trying to pass off Lulu Lytle’s stylings as playing an important role in the conservation of a national monument. I look forward to seeing Stonehenge swathed in wallpaper depicting scrolling ferns, Persian mazes or idealised images of the Ottoman court.
In paranoid moments, I imagine Johnson’s erratic career has been deliberately designed to thwart me. A few years back, I had a film deal on the table, to finesse my finished script about a corrupt politician called Horace Thompson, based loosely on Johnson. But after Johnson lost the leadership bid to Theresa May it no longer seemed plausible that such an obviously untrustworthy person could wield political power in checked and balanced Britain. So I let it wither, not knowing Johnson would soon be back, the Terminator of spaff. This is a shame, as the film climaxed with the Johnson character being eaten alive by his own guard dogs, which is essentially what is happening to him now, something I am sure many of my fellow prosecco Stalinists would have paid to see.
Before bed, I rewatch Matt Handcock’s appearance on the futile totalitarian burlesque of the Wednesday Press Conference, where he told journalists asking questions about corruption that he wouldn’t be answering them and then just answered questions that hadn’t been asked instead, a standard Johnson government move that even Laura Kuenssberg must be tiring of now. Handcock’s barefaced evasion is a not entirely surprising move from a man who handed a massive Covid-test manufacturing job, uncontested, to the bloke who ran his local pub. Move on! There’s nothing to see here!!
I finally go to sleep around 2am with the rewrite unfinished but wake to scan the morning’s developments at 6.30 before the school run. Despite the official Tory line that voters aren’t interested in Johnson’s corruption, every Thursday morning newspaper front page thinks it’s significant, except Johnson’s old employer the Daily Telegraph, which has probably run with a picture of a 17-year-old boarding school girl in shorts celebrating the fact that they are allowed to have sports day. And Arlene Foster has quit. Given the unpredictability of the howling news tsunami I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it’s because she paid for Johnson’s Lulu Lytle curtains in exchange for an afternoon of Irish border negotiations on his wife’s sofa. Is it acceptable to make two variations on that joke in one column?
I sit in traffic listening to the radio. Nadhim Zahawi, a man who spent a portion of a £6,000 claim of taxpayers’ money on heating the stables for his horses and saw a company he was a shareholder in benefit from more than £1m-worth of government Covid contracts, has been sent out again to defend Johnson against charges of corruption. This is a great choice as there is nothing Zahawi hates more than corruption, except maybe a chilly horse. Zahawi refused to be drawn into condemning Theresa May’s sickening skip-ready John Lewis furniture that Carrie Symonds needed replaced, but a brief scan of John Lewis’s website show that pure wool blankets, which would warm a cold horse, start from as little as £45.
I won’t get back in time to file this and finish it by the 11am deadline if I queue up for a hot Pret bacon roll and then argue with the fake policeman, so I grab a BLT from the Co-op ™ ® and scoff it in the car with more radio news on. It appears that a strange loophole means the prime minister, Boris Johnson, retains the power to exonerate the subject of any inquiries, in this case the prime minister Boris Johnson himself, if found guilty. The problem with Johnson is he is so shameless he might actually do just that.
Stewart Lee
2021-05-02T19:46:36+01:00
I first filed this supposedly funny column, about Boris Let the Bodies Pile High in Their Thousands Johnson’s wallpaper, at 8pm on Wednesday, 15 glorious hours before the Thursday 11am deadline. Now I could enjoy a leisurely morning cycle to a Pret a Manger™ ® breakfast bap with my name on it and some passive-aggressive banter with the private security company policeman by Buck Street Market, who tried to move me on because lockdown hair has made me look homeless. Does he know who I am? It seems having a bi-weekly Observer column counts for nothing. But then I sat up late watching the rolling news tide wash away my prematurely posted Observer sandcastle of satire. Johnson is being investigated, the flat redecoration fumble threatening a general unravelling of greater threads of corruption. It’s strange that Johnson’s fate may be sealed by the furnishings of Lulu Lytle, the kind of costly kitsch interior designer beloved by people who fly to Glastonbury in private helicopters with wraps of coke in their Hunter wellingtons and only emerge from the VIP area to enjoy Lionel Richie ironically. The Lulu Lytle brand will now have the same problem as Fred Perry, trying to dissociate its classic yellow striped polo shirts from the far-right thugs who now favour them. I’ve had to take all mine to the Oxfam shop, where hopefully they will be snapped up by thrifty racists. But will people really want wallpaper that makes them think of Johnson and bodies piled high in their thousands? Maybe Lulu Lytle should embrace the chaos and swap her ethno-forged colonial wildlife prints for cushion covers depicting Johnson giving Jennifer Arcuri a business development bung on his wife’s sofa. At one stage, the multi-identity trickster Grant Shapps was trying to pass off Lulu Lytle’s stylings as...
My newly opened standup show, Basic Lee, has to hold together until its final dates in the spring of 2024, so is it worth me even writing any material about the Liz Truss government? Having moved beyond the safe space of Conservative party leadership hustings, it seems Truss will dissolve on contact with air, combusting in a burning flame of Brexit reality. Trying to write durable standup material about the Truss government makes about as much sense as trying to befriend a mayfly or marry a disposable barbecue.
Consider this for a cabinet. We have Jacob Rees-Mogg, an energy minister who believes humanity “should adapt to climate change”. Perhaps by learning to drink fire. And eating despair. Tree-Frog is currently trying to loosen the definition of exactly what constitutes an earthquake, so as to enable further fatal fossil fuel exploitation in the form of fracking. Fair play. Dehydration of clay soils where I live, caused by fossil fuel-exacerbated climate change, means all my British Comedy Awards fall off the display ziggurat every time a mildly overweight man in a Sinclair C5 goes past the house. But Tree-Frog says something is only officially an earthquake now if the Mole Man from Fantastic Four ™ ® issue 1 (1961) has emerged from a great fissure in the street with his mole-human hybrids the Moloids seeking to subjugate the surface world.
Kwasi Kwarteng is the new chancellor of the exchequer and his first response to the cost of living crisis was to lift the EU cap on bankers’ bonuses. All across the City of London, cocaine dealers and the pimps of high-class sex workers breathed a collective sigh of relief. They won’t be going hungry this Christmas! God bless you, Mr Kwarteng, sir! Anything we can do for you, anything. Charlie Mr Kwarteng Sir? Golden showers? Pegging? Pegging, Mr Kwarteng? Perhaps that’s what Kwarteng was giggling about during the Queen’s funeral, much to the disgust of his neighbour, the home secretary, Suella Braverman, whose disgust threshold is high, especially regarding her own policies. Either that or Kwarteng had his phone out and was watching an especially funny Ricky Gervais routine about a man identifying as a blah blah blah blah blah.
Nadhim Zahawi is the new equalities minister and once charged the taxpayer to heat the stables of his horses. Zahawi’s horses are more equal than your frozen gran. But why shouldn’t Zahawi’s horses be warm? Nothing speaks of inequality more than a chilly horse. Zahawi’s horses are warm. But when will all the horses be warm? What do we want? Warm horses. When do we want them? Now. It’s bad news that Gran froze to death, yes, and it’s a shame she wasn’t one of Zahawi’s horses. Admittedly, she would have had to allow him to ride her. But doubtless our grans have done worse things. How do you think they got all those nylon stockings during the war?
There is a new environment secretary called Ranil Malcolm Jayawardena, a previously unknown politician who has been given a doomed and impossible job and is the political equivalent of the bit-part extra sent down to the planet with Kirk, Spock and Bones in Star Trek, who we know will soon be eaten by a sentient rock. Jayawardena has already promised to stop the water companies dumping millions of gallons of human excrement into the sea, which will be hard for him as his own government voted to allow it; and which the water companies do because they can’t get the purification chemicals from Europe any more, because 52% of the country voted to leave the single market, the same 52% of the country that voted to get rid of EU pollution regulations. And we must respect the Brexit referendum. So good luck with that, Ranil Malcolm Jayawardena. You are the patsy and one day you will be charging £2 for a signed photo at Tory fan conventions! Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?
Despite building her campaign on the easily disprovable notion that Brexit was a good idea, Truss has immediately splatted into the reinforced windshield of its impossible reality, like a fly in a small hat. Truss simply isn’t as good at lying as blustery Boris Johnson, a hot man tucking in his shirt as he exits a befouled service station toilet cubicle without even apologising for the terrible state he has left it in to the next in line, on this occasion the entire population of Britain. Of course there won’t be an American trade deal, Truss admitted. The pageantry of the last week has evaporated and we have to appreciate that, whatever the Tory press says, the rest of the free world think we are dicks.
In 2016, Barack Obama warned us that the UK would be at the back of the queue for American trade deals post-Brexit, a situation worsened now by the contempt in which the Conservatives hold the Good Friday agreement that means so much to America’s romantic Irish diaspora. Nigel Farage subsequently dismissed Obama’s comments, calling him “a loathsome creature” and Brexiters took to their tiny plastic trumpets to herald the American trade deals we would soon enjoy. But Brexiters were half right. We’re not at the back of the queue. But that’s because we aren’t even in the queue at all. We aren’t even in the queue to be let into the room where you queue up to join the queue. Which is a shame because, as we saw last weekend in London, queuing is one of the things we Britons do well. And that’s lucky, because Brexit means we’re going to have to get used to doing a lot of queuing.
Stewart Lee
2022-09-25T14:30:54+01:00
My newly opened standup show, Basic Lee, has to hold together until its final dates in the spring of 2024, so is it worth me even writing any material about the Liz Truss government? Having moved beyond the safe space of Conservative party leadership hustings, it seems Truss will dissolve on contact with air, combusting in a burning flame of Brexit reality. Trying to write durable standup material about the Truss government makes about as much sense as trying to befriend a mayfly or marry a disposable barbecue. Consider this for a cabinet. We have Jacob Rees-Mogg, an energy minister who believes humanity “should adapt to climate change”. Perhaps by learning to drink fire. And eating despair. Tree-Frog is currently trying to loosen the definition of exactly what constitutes an earthquake, so as to enable further fatal fossil fuel exploitation in the form of fracking. Fair play. Dehydration of clay soils where I live, caused by fossil fuel-exacerbated climate change, means all my British Comedy Awards fall off the display ziggurat every time a mildly overweight man in a Sinclair C5 goes past the house. But Tree-Frog says something is only officially an earthquake now if the Mole Man from Fantastic Four ™ ® issue 1 (1961) has emerged from a great fissure in the street with his mole-human hybrids the Moloids seeking to subjugate the surface world. Kwasi Kwarteng is the new chancellor of the exchequer and his first response to the cost of living crisis was to lift the EU cap on bankers’ bonuses. All across the City of London, cocaine dealers and the pimps of high-class sex workers breathed a collective sigh of relief. They won’t be going hungry this Christmas! God bless you, Mr Kwarteng, sir! Anything we can do for you, anything. Charlie Mr Kwarteng...
Comedian and columnist Stewart Lee joins Nish and Coco to discuss the week’s big stories.
They talk about Donald Trump’s deadly and yet utterly confusing war with Iran, as the US President continues to contradict his own statements about the Strait of Hormuz and peace talks, almost in the same breath.
It certainly means a new, live, UK sketch show has plenty of material - but how should comedy respond to the challenging times we are all living through?
Plus - why having a weekly opinion column is good for your mental health and why news organisations need to do more to tackle the lies and extreme rhetoric coming from politicians.
Don’t forget to leave a review - it gives the show a boost and we love to see your comments.
Stewart Lee
2026-03-26T11:53:46+00:00
Comedian and columnist Stewart Lee joins Nish and Coco to discuss the week’s big stories. They talk about Donald Trump’s deadly and yet utterly confusing war with Iran, as the US President continues to contradict his own statements about the Strait of Hormuz and peace talks, almost in the same breath. It certainly means a new, live, UK sketch show has plenty of material - but how should comedy respond to the challenging times we are all living through? Plus - why having a weekly opinion column is good for your mental health and why news organisations need to do more to tackle the lies and extreme rhetoric coming from politicians. Don’t forget to leave a review - it gives the show a boost and we love to see your comments.
If ever there was a comedian who divided opinion, it's Stewart Lee.
Older readers may remember him from his other comedy vehicle – the 1990s decidedly-studenty Fist Of Fun, with Richard Herring.
Stewart doesn't do jokes as such … but don't turn away just yet, for the man offers up a deliciously esoteric slant on daily life that you will never, ever get anywhere else. In other words, he's a comedy genius. Think the ferocity of Bill Hicks paired with the eye for the absurdity of Eddie Izzard. And that's still not really it.
The 90s comedian treads a wafer thin line between the often eye-poppingly outrageous reflections of his stand-up persona and the musings and life of the real "Stew".
Stewart also cleverly plays about with the curious and often absurd interchange between his two audiences (the ones at home and in the stalls).
Tonight's jaw-dropping story is all about a cat called Jeremy Corbyn. It is very, very funny.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-17T22:09:25+00:00
If ever there was a comedian who divided opinion, it's Stewart Lee. Older readers may remember him from his other comedy vehicle – the 1990s decidedly-studenty Fist Of Fun, with Richard Herring. Stewart doesn't do jokes as such … but don't turn away just yet, for the man offers up a deliciously esoteric slant on daily life that you will never, ever get anywhere else. In other words, he's a comedy genius. Think the ferocity of Bill Hicks paired with the eye for the absurdity of Eddie Izzard. And that's still not really it. The 90s comedian treads a wafer thin line between the often eye-poppingly outrageous reflections of his stand-up persona and the musings and life of the real "Stew". Stewart also cleverly plays about with the curious and often absurd interchange between his two audiences (the ones at home and in the stalls). Tonight's jaw-dropping story is all about a cat called Jeremy Corbyn. It is very, very funny.
It was devised by Stewart Lee, and with Simon Munnery stealing the show as acidly grumpy Johnson, the show evokes one of their most artistically successful former collaborations: The League Against Tedium's Attention Scum.
The arrogantly superior Johnson tosses out savagely cutting put-downs towards the Scottish nation when he returns to present-day Edinburgh to relaunch his travelogue. He's the ultimate urban sophisticate, a poverty tourist among these miserable Celts who exploits his unhappiness at being away from London in a relentless tirade of brilliantly savage, beautifully aimed gripes.
Edinburgh-born Boswell is his host and scribe - dutifully recording every delightful bon mot and putting up a meek defence of his homeland, which only prompts more delicious bile to pour forth from his friend. The decidedly English Miles Jupp plays this part, and aside from the nationality, provides a perfect humanising foil to Johnson's biting insults.
'A full working knowledge of the texts is essential for the enjoyment of this show,' he intones sombrely at the start. Nonsense, of course, a full, working sense of humour is all you require. The show's sensibilities are decidedly 21st Century comedy club, rather than 18th Century coffee house, thanks to a knowing, razor-sharp script.
To call it theatre is, perhaps, a little ambitious, even if they have got posh period costumes. Save for a playful recreation of a tempest Boswell describes - and rather differently than Johnson recalls - this is at heart a stand-up double-act, with the pair trading tetchy below-the-belt jibes, until the bullying behind the banter becomes apparent.
But, even then, the gags keep coming. There really is no reprise from the brilliantly funny lines, creating an onslaught even the most savage ocean storm would struggle to match.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-08T19:25:43+01:00
It was devised by Stewart Lee, and with Simon Munnery stealing the show as acidly grumpy Johnson, the show evokes one of their most artistically successful former collaborations: The League Against Tedium's Attention Scum. The arrogantly superior Johnson tosses out savagely cutting put-downs towards the Scottish nation when he returns to present-day Edinburgh to relaunch his travelogue. He's the ultimate urban sophisticate, a poverty tourist among these miserable Celts who exploits his unhappiness at being away from London in a relentless tirade of brilliantly savage, beautifully aimed gripes. Edinburgh-born Boswell is his host and scribe - dutifully recording every delightful bon mot and putting up a meek defence of his homeland, which only prompts more delicious bile to pour forth from his friend. The decidedly English Miles Jupp plays this part, and aside from the nationality, provides a perfect humanising foil to Johnson's biting insults. 'A full working knowledge of the texts is essential for the enjoyment of this show,' he intones sombrely at the start. Nonsense, of course, a full, working sense of humour is all you require. The show's sensibilities are decidedly 21st Century comedy club, rather than 18th Century coffee house, thanks to a knowing, razor-sharp script. To call it theatre is, perhaps, a little ambitious, even if they have got posh period costumes. Save for a playful recreation of a tempest Boswell describes - and rather differently than Johnson recalls - this is at heart a stand-up double-act, with the pair trading tetchy below-the-belt jibes, until the bullying behind the banter becomes apparent. But, even then, the gags keep coming. There really is no reprise from the brilliantly funny lines, creating an onslaught even the most savage ocean storm would struggle to match.
As an antithesis to modern comedy where we are force fed floppy haired fops (who charge £31 quid just to watch their work in progress shows); manic young upstarts called Russell (who can be seen endlessly regurgitating their material in snippets on Mock the Week); and those whose aim is simply to shock (otherwise known as Boyle's Law), there is a dinosaur stuck in the 80s whose name is Stewart Lee and he's at the Octagon Theatre with a 2 hour show to fill but no material. Fan-flippin-tastic!
By the time the fat, depressed Terry Christian lookalike took to the stage to embark upon Carpet Remnant World the venue was disappointingly barely half full; and even then the audience was swelled immensely by both ushers and friends of fans that had been dragged along to experience something new. Yet Stew didn't want THOSE people here, he wanted people who know what to expect; people who are familiar with his style and people who are clever enough to understand his jokes before he'd delivered the punchlines.
At a mere 18 quid his show was a bargain; because unlike at the Bristol Hippodrome (where he played a couple days earlier) there are no exorbitant booking charges, no outrageous parking fees and no sneaky renovation add-on.
The first half of the show consisted of some topical news; some clever anti-Islamic/anti-American/ in general stuff in which our host compared Religion to mental illness. His wry observations were hammered home with visceral quotes (that may or may not have been factual) on scraps of paper that he pulled from his jacket pockets; until, just when we thought he'd warmed to us he turned the joke onto us and our own petty prejudices.
And as the show progressed he became ever more exasperated with us, the audience, as he stared into the abyss; the swathes of empty seats and the blank uncomprehending faces. On several occasions he was so disappointed that he had to stop his act for the few idiots who were getting left behind, he then felt it necessary to deconstruct his material and repeat himself once more as he peered over his spectacles and pointed out those punters who just didn't get him, before morosely and indignantly moving along.
When one poor chap walked out about 2 minutes before the interval he was almost apoplectic with rage. Perhaps Lee should have stuck this gig on in Sherborne or Bridport, somewhere where he may have been appreciated; he certainly won't be back in Yeovil any time soon - he clearly hates it here.
And unfortunately for us this is all because nothing very interesting has happened to this curmudgeonly man recently; in the past few years all his monotonous life has consisted of is driving around the country to provincial places like Yeovil or minding his kids while watching the movie Scooby Doo and the Pirate Zombie Jungle on repeat, with only the rare treat of buying some new underpants to relieve the boredom.
This lack of creativity leaves Stew desperate for things to talk about, so in the second half he worked some Scooby Doo references into anti-Thatcher/Tory gags, before we heard how in desperate search of inspiration he visited stored with names like World of Leather; Golf World and City Meats and in which overly protracted tale he eventually met a man with a typewriter for a head and staplers for hands in the car park of Office World Alas, even now he was exasperated as one of Yeovil's finest spoiled his joke by pointing out that the little green pieces of string with metal (or plastic) ends are in fact called Treasury Tags.
Towards the end Lee told us how he hates being recognised (even if it is most often for someone else). In fact, before the show as he was unloading the carpets for his backdrop into the Theatre, a passer-by mistook him for Bosnian Serb War Criminal Ratko Mladic. Furthermore he is scathing of modern culture; he despises the Facebook, the Twitter and The YouTube with a passion; he hates having his every movement logged and blogged and thus over a smooth jazz interlude he read out a selection of the depraved and downright comments left about him via social media; including one from someone he'd called a close friend.
And yes, I assume you've guessed by now, despite this apparently shambolic performance (did he intentionally fall over while running around the stage or was it part of the act?), there was plenty going, and thus for a show purporting to have no real content, this was a cleverly constructed piece of anti-comedy. It wasn't without its misses but at times I laughed until my rectum bled.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-09T14:20:08+01:00
As an antithesis to modern comedy where we are force fed floppy haired fops (who charge £31 quid just to watch their work in progress shows); manic young upstarts called Russell (who can be seen endlessly regurgitating their material in snippets on Mock the Week); and those whose aim is simply to shock (otherwise known as Boyle's Law), there is a dinosaur stuck in the 80s whose name is Stewart Lee and he's at the Octagon Theatre with a 2 hour show to fill but no material. Fan-flippin-tastic! By the time the fat, depressed Terry Christian lookalike took to the stage to embark upon Carpet Remnant World the venue was disappointingly barely half full; and even then the audience was swelled immensely by both ushers and friends of fans that had been dragged along to experience something new. Yet Stew didn't want THOSE people here, he wanted people who know what to expect; people who are familiar with his style and people who are clever enough to understand his jokes before he'd delivered the punchlines. At a mere 18 quid his show was a bargain; because unlike at the Bristol Hippodrome (where he played a couple days earlier) there are no exorbitant booking charges, no outrageous parking fees and no sneaky renovation add-on. The first half of the show consisted of some topical news; some clever anti-Islamic/anti-American/ in general stuff in which our host compared Religion to mental illness. His wry observations were hammered home with visceral quotes (that may or may not have been factual) on scraps of paper that he pulled from his jacket pockets; until, just when we thought he'd warmed to us he turned the joke onto us and our own petty prejudices. And as the show progressed he became ever more exasperated with us, the...
Accused of intellectual snobbery, Stewart Lee hits back, pointing out that it’s a valid performance device, under the theatrical technique of Brechtian alienation. Thus explaining himself and reinforcing the criticism in one kamikaze blow.
The friction is all part of the rules of engagement of his Comedy Vehicle, which are well-established now it enters its fourth series. He takes the Himalayan moral and cerebral high ground, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment with the crowd – branding them ignorant, stupid snobs who just don’t get him, understanding only the easiest lowest common denominator pap. Thus he’s the underdog, fighting against circumstance to try to get his highbrow thoughts across.
The dynamic is all about status, and this series opener made that very clear. It was billed as concerning wealth and social responsibility, but he digresses into a long grumble about Graham Norton trumping him to scoop a comedy Bafta. It forensically picks the weak spots in Norton’s show while purporting to praise him, yet revealing Lee’s insecurities about his relative standing. Or at least he insecurities of the ‘character of Stewart Lee’ as the comic always describes his complex on-stage persona.
The contrast between Norton’s accessible quick, camp wit and Lee’s carefully constructed stand-up couldn’t be starker. Although a disclaimer to the routine comes in the deliciously reluctant grilling by Chris Morris, in which Lee begrudgingly acknowledges that the Bafta was for comedy AND entertainment. Norton is undeniably entertaining, Lee concedes, while accepting his own work ‘isn’t entertainment. No one would think that.'
Disingenuous, of course. He can craft proper jokes - the gag about orienteering with Napalm Death did deserve more, he was right about that – and has beautifully constructed metaphors that imprint themselves in your memory. Lee might demand your attention, but he rewards it with phrases and ideas that resonate.
And if you think he’s got it in for Graham Norton, wait until Lee skewers James Corden, heaping sarcastic scorn on the idea that the star of Lesbian Vampire Killers might be a genuine fan of his highfalutin stand-up.
It turns out – as he tacitly promised us it would – that all these complaints about more successful comedians do come back to make a point about wealth, albeit a very personal one. Fuelled by a jealousy he’d never admit, Lee mulls how a wider mainstream status might help him pay his mortgage, how he should give the public what they want without fretting about such outdated concepts as artistic merit.
This most credible of stand-ups would never crack of course, though there is perhaps a slight nod to the ‘entertainment’ genre this series, as he seems a more playful in his grumpiness than ever before before. There’s a glint in the eye, letting on that all his audience baiting, all his jibes about fellow comedians, are all just part of one big meta-joke – which, as he points out in response to a zero-star review, is well in the remit of the job. And it’s a job he does like no other, despite so many would-be imitators.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-03T23:03:29+00:00
Accused of intellectual snobbery, Stewart Lee hits back, pointing out that it’s a valid performance device, under the theatrical technique of Brechtian alienation. Thus explaining himself and reinforcing the criticism in one kamikaze blow. The friction is all part of the rules of engagement of his Comedy Vehicle, which are well-established now it enters its fourth series. He takes the Himalayan moral and cerebral high ground, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment with the crowd – branding them ignorant, stupid snobs who just don’t get him, understanding only the easiest lowest common denominator pap. Thus he’s the underdog, fighting against circumstance to try to get his highbrow thoughts across. The dynamic is all about status, and this series opener made that very clear. It was billed as concerning wealth and social responsibility, but he digresses into a long grumble about Graham Norton trumping him to scoop a comedy Bafta. It forensically picks the weak spots in Norton’s show while purporting to praise him, yet revealing Lee’s insecurities about his relative standing. Or at least he insecurities of the ‘character of Stewart Lee’ as the comic always describes his complex on-stage persona. The contrast between Norton’s accessible quick, camp wit and Lee’s carefully constructed stand-up couldn’t be starker. Although a disclaimer to the routine comes in the deliciously reluctant grilling by Chris Morris, in which Lee begrudgingly acknowledges that the Bafta was for comedy AND entertainment. Norton is undeniably entertaining, Lee concedes, while accepting his own work ‘isn’t entertainment. No one would think that.' Disingenuous, of course. He can craft proper jokes - the gag about orienteering with Napalm Death did deserve more, he was right about that – and has beautifully constructed metaphors that imprint themselves in your memory. Lee might demand your attention, but he rewards it with...
Veterans of the same Seventies Melbourne punk-shamanism class as Nick Cave, Crime & The City Solution ended up transplanted to America via decadent pre-unification Berlin.
Returning to active service, the band takes a global perspective, from the title track's hard-funk depiction of Detroit's decline, to the MC5 play mariachi music romanticism of My Love Takes Me There.
Here's an unexpectedly cohesive set of intelligent, classy, and thunderous widescreen alterno-rock destined to raise the roofs of publicly funded venues in any European cities that still have an arts budget.
Stewart Lee
2013-03-24T11:20:43+00:00
Veterans of the same Seventies Melbourne punk-shamanism class as Nick Cave, Crime & The City Solution ended up transplanted to America via decadent pre-unification Berlin. Returning to active service, the band takes a global perspective, from the title track's hard-funk depiction of Detroit's decline, to the MC5 play mariachi music romanticism of My Love Takes Me There. Here's an unexpectedly cohesive set of intelligent, classy, and thunderous widescreen alterno-rock destined to raise the roofs of publicly funded venues in any European cities that still have an arts budget.
“Sphincter-poppingly angry, totally unamusing and uninsightful, and painfully, excruciatingly right-on. A bitter, politically correct member of the Remain-voting liberal elite. The type of comedy which is not designed to provoke laughter so much as solemn head-nodding and applause at the politically correct sentiment.” James Delingpole, Steve Bannon’s Breitbart News
"“I seem to have been radicalised into a one man crusade against Stewart Lee and his fans. This will probably occupy the rest of my life but mark my words the man will die and I will try to be the one that ends his life." Corbyngrad Mayor @SyedforLondon, Twitter
"“Stewart Lee is an archaic left wing relic. The old 'alternative comedian' crowd is now the Establishment - Milo Yiannopoulos is more on the zeitgeist. The 'alt' comics are that comfortable establishment, with their 'edgy' Apollo nights out on the BBC. Don't agree with all of his views, but at least people like Paul Joseph Watson can be funny about subjects that Lefties like Stewart Lee are shit-scared to go anywhere near." Brendan McCarthy, writer/artist of Judge Dredd and Mad Max : Fury Road, Twitter
Dear Covidians of Infectoland
I hope you are all well and have not suffered any loss.
Here I wait patiently to reassume my privileged duties, which I promise to perform henceforth with a greater sense of responsibility, having learned and listened under lockdown.
One day we will all be laughing again in some rooms.
I cannot embrace you all.
Your pal
Stew Art Lee
1) LIVE SHOWS UPDATE
I’m not even bothering with trying to list dates here this month, as so many are in flux...BUT...
1) All outstanding shows of the Snowflake/Tornado tour will be rescheduled/are being rescheduled for whenever they are allowed to happen.
The venues have your ticket money and this is helping them not collapse. I will do these shows. Don’t worry.
2) All little socially-distanced club gigs (that I had down for working out new stuff in November, in London, N’castle, E’bro & Glasgow), have been pulled, and will be rescheduled.
Again, the venues have your ticket money which is good for them, so take a chill pill daddi-o.
As for any December 3rd onwards club shows, these are currently still on.
For the record, unlike clay’s Grayson Perry, I do not believe that venues or artists that are struggling under covid are ‘dead wood’ which will be cut out by the covid.
Some of the best artists currently working in the world in comedy and music are stacking shelves and driving vans right now, and always will be, having not been lucky enough to enjoy the patronage of various massive publicly funded arts institutions.
In my experience, the best people have often found commercial viability elusive, and the pestilence only exacerbates this. SHIT FLOATS. As a rule, most profitable art is rubbish, and my own success only makes me doubt my worth.
The Nov club dates were also an effort to make money for small venues to ensure that the infrastructure that supports our artform survives.
Having not done any of these much in the past I did quite a few recently and I believe you will be able to find a stream of me talking to the Idler mag on Youtube.
There may be something popping up soon with Mod Postman Alan Johnson.
I interviewed RICHARD DAWSON for the Barbican livr stream of his brilliant concert last month and I think I will be doing something similar with SLEAFORD MODS in January.
I did a live stream with Boothby Graffoe, the Jake Thackray of Generation X, which was good but is gone now.
I will probably do another with BG at some point in the covid.
Also here is a trailer for a 2020 lockdown reimagining of Morgan Fisher’s 1980 project MINIATUTURES, out soon, on which I am lucky enough to appear alongside many of the original contributors https://youtu.be/2moh5nRlfnM
3) LTD EDTN PRINTS
All supposed merch you see of me on-line, like the YOU SAY YOU’RE ENGLISH football scarf or 100% PEARS t-shirts, is unofficial and I see nothing for it.
But these legit artists have made prints of my ANTI-TORY quips as lovely art to tie in with an exhibition by NEW NORTH PRESS that opens on Nov 20th - somehow.
There will – hopefully – also be a dedicated website with all the posters on it (www.revertingtotype.com), that will showcase the 150 prints from presses around the world, plus our 25 collaborative prints.
This is classier merch than a LITTLE BRITAIN action figure of a bloke pretending to be disabled.
4) KING ROCKER SHEFFIELD
Our documentary KING ROCKER has been selected for the Sheffield Documentary Festival but didn’t get screened due to Covid.
It will however, I am now allowed to announce, be on now free-to-air SKY ARTS, which has also recently covered PUNCHDRUNK THEATRE and IVOR CUTLER, in the 1st ¼ of next year.
Who would have thought that the weird arts brief of BBC4 would one day be fulfilled by SKY ARTS?
Comedian Stewart Lee and director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye) investigate a missing piece of punk history. Robert Lloyd, best known for fronting cult bands The Prefects and The Nightingales, has survived under the radar for over four decades. Anti-rockumentary King Rocker weaves the story of Birmingham’s undervalued underdog autodidact into that of the city’s forgotten public sculpture of King Kong, eschewing the celebrity interview and archive-raid approach for a free-associating bricolage of Indian food, bewildered chefs, vegetable gardening, prescription medicines, pop stardom and pop art.
Mediaeval minimalist Laura Cannell, whom my wife and I have been huge fans of since the Welsh free-jazz harpist Rhodri Davis recommended her work to me in the bar of the ex-Hungarian embassy in East Berlin over a decade ago, is “beyond excited” to announce her new release THESE FERAL LANDS, for which she asked me to write and mumble words for 4 of the 10 tracks.
Laura says...
“I am beyond excited to announce: THESE FERAL LANDS Volume I - Out Friday 13th November 2020. Feat. LAURA CANNELL + STEWART LEE + KATE ELLIS + POLLY WRIGHT + JENNIFER LUCY ALLAN. This is our Personal and Collective Folklore. PRE-ORDER Ltd Ed CD/DL NOW
ACCESS DENIED, the new album from Asian Dub Foundation! Out 18-9-2020.
Asian Dub Foundation release their new album “Access Denied” for X-Ray Productions , with collaborations featuring incendiary Palestinian shamstep warriors 47 soul, radical UK comedian Stewart Lee, and climate activist supreme Greta Thunberg.
The album showcases ADF in full spectrum mode from the tough Jungle Punk sound of “Stealing The Future” and “Mindlock” through to the orchestral meditations of “Realignment” and the reggae lament of the title track.
Unbowed and undeterred Asian Dub Foundation continue their sonic opposition to the powers that be and “Access Denied” kicks harder and higher than ever.
Stewart Lee completists, and art fans, can order this fabulous print, by agit-artist Cold War Steve, of Birmingham, called Benny’s Babbies from Birmingham Art Gallery.
The montage includes me, and many other far more significant Midlands figures i.e Steel Pulse, Kevin Rowlands, Mr Egg, Black Sabbath, and Robert LLoyd, and obviously any sales will help Birmingham’s superb art gallery, with its astonishing pre-Raphaelite selection and cool stuff by Laura Knight and Emmy Bridgwater, through the plague times.
A bostin Winterval gift for the Brummie, or ex-Brummie, in your life. £15.
We are all Benny’s Babbies. Ich bin ein Benny’s Babby.
Tim Wells’ first skinhead werewolf novel, MOONSTOMP, perfectly fused disparate strands of 70s New English Library pulp fiction, into story that was both viscerally entertaining and subversively thought-provoking.
He needs our help to publish its sequel and you would be doing me and him a favour of you bunged in as I want to read it ASAP.
ELECTRIC MUSIC by WOLFHOUNDS with sleeve notes by me -
The Trees. I have done sleeve-notes for the reissue of the complete back catalogue of superb 70s folk rock band THE TREES. https://www.firerecords.com/shop/
BEN MOOR’S NEW BOOK. Performance Artist and writer Ben Moor says,
“In lieu of the theatrical performances of Who Here's Lost? I have printed the text of the piece for to be read at leisure.
This would have been on sale after the show to people who missed half the jokes (I tend to go fast) and so they can try and work out just what it was they'd been watching. The book version also includes a selection of pieces I wrote in each of the last four decades"CLICK THIS LINK
PODCASTS DADDI-0!
(Podcasts are like radio shows but are on the internet and you can hear them at any time.
I have just found out about them.)
Erwin Saunders - This is one of those internet finds that one worries about sharing, and hesitates to recommend, a precious bloom that might wither on exposure to light.
There are 17 episodes which, oddly, have been numbered 1 - 17 in reverse order, so you need to start with 17 and work backwards.
Watch the 1st two without distraction, looking for the tiny points if light, ideally on a TV screen where you can see the backgrounds properly, and you will be hooked.
There is only one mis-step in the whole 2 hrs +, where “Erwin” obviously couldn’t resist using some footage he had shot some years ago, which is tonally slightly out of kilter with the rest of this brilliant labour of love.
I know that subscribers to this newsletter will treat Erwin Saunders’ work with the care and respect it deserves. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIptHpq0tre-Mnu2V1VOoww
Honeyland (Tamara Kotevska, Ljubo Stefanov) Days of The Bagnold Summer (Simon Bird)
The Laundromat (Stephen Soderbergh)
The Day Shall Come (Chris Morris)
Southern Journey Revisited (Tim Plester, Rob Curry)
NEW MUSIC
The Nightingales - Four Against Fate
Rich Hopkins & Luminarios - Live At El Lokal
The Dream Syndicate - Universe Inside
Wild Billy Childish - Kings Of The Medway Delta
Garcia Peoples - Nublu NYC 2019
Windy & Carl - Allegiance & Conviction
The Frees - Live From The End Of The Earth
Alan Wilkinson & Douglas Benford - Appointed Views
The Heartwood Institute - Tomorrow’s People
John Edwards - Just Another Day At Home
Adam Bohman & Douglas Benford - Ad Hoc & Words
Laura Cannell - The Earth With Her Crowns
Jack Sharp - Good Times Older
The Frees - Live To Air
The Frees - Lips That Bite
Fixed Horizon - Jungle
Jon Free - Spiralling
Richard Skelton - Border Ballads
Howe Gelb - Cocoon
The Primevals - Second Nature
Richard Youngs - Vistas
Darren Hayman - Home Time
Richard Youngs - Four Verses
V/A - Seito In The Beginning Woman Was The Sun
Lucinda Williams - Good Souls & Better Angels
Bob Dylan - Rough & Rowdy Ways
Billy Sedlmayr - Mean What You Say
Shirley Collins - Heart’s Ease
Alasdair Roberts - The Songs of My Boyhood
Boris - No
Slum of Legs - Slum Of Legs
Tobin Sprout - Empty Horses
Thurston Moore - By The Fire
Rhodri Davies - Telyn Rawn
Idles - Ultra Mono
Guided by Voices - Mirrored Aztec
The Cravats - Hoorahland
Alison Cotton - Only Darkness Now
Rachel Aggs - Visitations 0202
Richard Dawson - Republic of Geordieland
Shopping - All Or Nothing Tamikrest - Tamotait Hen Ogled - Free Humans Asian Dub Foundation - Access Denied Chuck Prophet - The Land That Time Forgot Cash Rivers & Sinners - Frankenstein’s New Nut Huggers Guided by Voices - Styles We Paid For Dope - Semi Legal On The Edge Of Culture
REISSUED OLD MUSIC
Tim Buckley - Live At The Electric (1968)
John Lee Hooker - Black Night Is Falling (1977)
The Heads - Reverberations Vol 1 (2005)
Barnabus - Beginning To Unwind (1971)
Miracle Legion - 4.20 Live At The Boot (2017)
V/A - Brown Acid The Tenth Trip (1969-74)
Creedence Clearwater Revival - Live At Woodstock (1969)
John Lee Hooker - Documenting The Sensation (1948-52)
Albert Ayler - New Grass (1969)
Guided by Voices - Doses of Nonchalance (1995)
The Fall - Tech College, St Helens Merseyside (1981)
Linda Hoyle - Pieces of Me (1971)
Day Of Phoenix - Mind Funeral (1971)
L7 - Smell The Magic - SubPop (1991) The Fall - Imperial Wax Solvent special edition (2008) Guided By Voices - Rara Avis (recent live) Gorgeous Space Virus - Shall We Go Skinny Dipping? (1992) Sume - The Sound of a Revolution (1973-6)
IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS...
Adam Schlesinger (Fountain of Wayne) (1967)
John Prine (outlaw country singer) (1946)
Henry Grimes (jazz bassist) (1935)
Hal Wilner (arranger) (1957)
Tim Brooke-Taylor (Goodie) (1940)
Lee Konitz (jazz saxophonist) (1927)
Matthew Seligman (Soft Boy) (1955)
Millie Small (ska singer) (1946)
Florian Schneider (Kraftwerk robot) (1947)
Bill Rieflin (drummer for hire) (1960)
Hugh McKenna (Tear Gas pianist) (1949)
Steve Weber (Holy Modal Rounder) (1942)
Astrid Kirchherr (photographer) (1938)
Danny Ray Thompson (Sun Ra saxophonist) (1947)
Aubrey Burl (archaeologist) (1926)
Phil May (Pretty Thing) (1944)
The Clacton Fin Whale (circa 2000)
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff (artist) (1930)
Doll Tor stone circle (3300 BC)
Kay Carroll (The Fall) (1948)
Bob the Cat (73 bus) (2006)
Alex Taylor (Shop Assistant, in 2005, and no-one knew)
Simon H Fell (jazz bassist) (1959)
Carl Reiner (director) (1922)
Ennio Morricone (architect of sonic dreams) (1928)
Keith Tippett (jazz pianist) (1947)
Jimmy Cobb (jazz drummer) (1929)
Barbara Smoker (Humanist) (1923)
The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton
Tony Elliot (Time Out) (1942)
Judy Dyble (folk singer) (1949)
Peter Green (blues guitarist) (1946)
Emitt Rhodes (power pop auteur) (1950)
Annie Ross (jazz bohemian) (1930)
Joe Ruby (Scooby-Doo) (1933)
Craig Weatherhill (folklorist) (1950)
Don Weller (jazz saxophonist) (1940)
Simeon Coxe (Silver Apple) (1938)
Diana Rigg (Avenger) (1938)
Toots Hibbert (reggae got soul) (1942)
Dele Fadele (carry bag man) (1962)
George Jeffrie (man’s-laughter maker) (1964) Dave Kusworth (Brum punk Stone) (1960) Gary Peacock (jazz bassist) (1935) Doorkins (Southwark Cathedral Cat) (2005?) Spencer Davis (Brumbeat pioneer) (1939) The Cubbington Pear Tree (1770) Fungie The Dingle Dolphin (1979) Jill Paton Walsh (novelist) (1937)
Stewart Lee
2020-11-03T13:29:27+00:00
“Ghastly, puritanical, po-faced, sanctimonious, finger-wagging, Woke-Witchfinder-in-Chief” Toby Young, Twitter “Sphincter-poppingly angry, totally unamusing and uninsightful, and painfully, excruciatingly right-on. A bitter, politically correct member of the Remain-voting liberal elite. The type of comedy which is not designed to provoke laughter so much as solemn head-nodding and applause at the politically correct sentiment.” James Delingpole, Steve Bannon’s Breitbart News "“I seem to have been radicalised into a one man crusade against Stewart Lee and his fans. This will probably occupy the rest of my life but mark my words the man will die and I will try to be the one that ends his life." Corbyngrad Mayor @SyedforLondon, Twitter "“Stewart Lee is an archaic left wing relic. The old 'alternative comedian' crowd is now the Establishment - Milo Yiannopoulos is more on the zeitgeist. The 'alt' comics are that comfortable establishment, with their 'edgy' Apollo nights out on the BBC. Don't agree with all of his views, but at least people like Paul Joseph Watson can be funny about subjects that Lefties like Stewart Lee are shit-scared to go anywhere near." Brendan McCarthy, writer/artist of Judge Dredd and Mad Max : Fury Road, Twitter Dear Covidians of Infectoland I hope you are all well and have not suffered any loss. Here I wait patiently to reassume my privileged duties, which I promise to perform henceforth with a greater sense of responsibility, having learned and listened under lockdown. One day we will all be laughing again in some rooms. I cannot embrace you all. Your pal Stew Art Lee 1) LIVE SHOWS UPDATE I’m not even bothering with trying to list dates here this month, as so many are in flux...BUT... 1) All outstanding shows of the Snowflake/Tornado tour will be rescheduled/are being rescheduled for whenever they are allowed to happen. The...
The comedian Simon Munnery suggests all autobiographies should be sub-titled "Failure Justified". It's funny because it's true. All autobiographies are the acrid after-burps of dying mortals pleading for forgiveness.
That said, in his new autobiography, See A Little Light, the American punk icon Bob Mould seems delighted with his downward spiral from front-man of the hardcore pioneers Hüsker Dü, via a stint as a World Wrestling Federation script consultant, to hosting a disco night for middle aged 'bears'. Called Bob Mould's Blow Off, linguistic differences mean the event is unlikely to enjoy transatlantic success. "From here on out, life might get even better.", Mould concludes, with unintended accuracy, and his autobiography ends, not with a bang, but with a blow off.
Last week I read the new memoir of TV's idiotically be-quiffed film critic, Mark Kermode. Kermode's position as TV's top cine-pundit is secure. Once we had Joan Bakewell, the thinking man's crumpet. Today we have Film 2011's Claudia Winkleman, the crumpet man's thinker.
Kermode's The Good, The Bad And The Multiplex What's Wrong With Modern Movies deals with Hollywood's quality collapse. The title contains three, or possibly even four, punctuation errors. It should be The Good, The Bad, And The Multiplex; What's Wrong With Mark Kermode?
Upon its release in May, Kermode reviewed Kenneth Branagh's Thor for BBC radio. Stan Lee's Sixties Thor comics channelled Shakespeare's Henry V, Falstaff becoming Volkstagg for example, making luvvie Ken the film version's ideal director. But critics didn't look at the source material, as that would have been work, preferring instead to sneer in ignorance at the fact that high-falutin' Ken's career was so dead he was directing a dumb-ass comic book caper.
Well, wake up and smell Bob Mould's Blow Off, daddio! Comics have grown up! I know because every two years a broadsheet runs a feature strap-lined 'Biff! Bang! Pow! Comics Have Grown Up! Where once Batman battled the Joker now Marjane Satrapi battles sexism in Iran".
"Have comics grown up?", I asked the comics writer Alan Moore, last week. "No," he replied, as moths flew out of his beard, "they have merely encountered mainstream culture on its way down."
In Branagh's Thor, Thor's father Odin seals his son's magic hammer in a rock, and banishes him to Earth for disloyalty. Only when Thor redeems himself will he retrieve Mjolnir. Sounds familiar? Of course it does. It's a myth, and deals in eternally relevant cross-cultural archetypes found in all fables and belief systems. Or clichés, as critics call them.
Indeed, last Thursday I made a journey, along the Medway river near Tonbridge, in a giant swan shaped pedallo, which was similarly mythic. Alan Moore and I were amongst a number of guest pedalers, invited by the artist Andrew Kötting and the writer Ian Sinclair, to approach East London from the sea on the pedallo. Progress can be monitored at www.swandown.info.
Sinclair is the author of may hugely significant books, and an important champion of forgotten writers, but is best know for hating the Olympics, and is banned from speaking in many public places in Hackney as a result. (Spare a thought here for those who would love to be banned from speaking in public places in Hackney, but are instead duty bound to do so.)
The purpose of the swan pedallo ride was not explained. Kötting has a fondness for taking large structures to improbable places, having already carried a seventy foot inflatable model of his late father all over Europe, but the Greek God Zeus once manifested himself as a swan in order to impregnate Leda, and I suspected Sinclair was riding a God of Olympus towards the Olympic site as part of his crazed vendetta against all sport.
Gods impregnating women, usually violently, and while in some other form, is a sadly common feature of all myths and religions, though in Christianity it has been cleaned up and rebranded as Christmas. And in Kenneth Branagh's Hollywood Thor film, instead of sexually assaulting female giants as he does in the Norse myths, Anthony Hopkins' Odin adopts an abandoned baby, as if subjugating his inner Berserker to his inner Dr Bernardo.
When the film came out, Kermode described Branagh's Thor as "Xanadu meets Transformers", "utterly ridiculous" and "ludicrous". But when this reasonable film was released on DVD last month, Kermode's gel-addled head had recalibrated its thoughts slightly. This "comic-book adaptation (had) brought Branagh first ridicule and then plaudits… it transpired that (he) had deftly conjured a silk purse from a sow's ear, creating a thoroughly enjoyable and deceptively witty mainstream blockbuster from a problematic source."
To be fair to Kermode, Hollywood films are getting worse at such a rate, that the fact that Thor is six months old makes it, by default, much better than anything that's around now. But the real reason for Kermode's change of heart is simpler. Since he first reviewed Thor last May, Kermode has published his aforesaid book, Mark Kermode's Blow Off. In its key chapter, Why Blockbusters Should Be Better, Kermode cites Michael Bay's Pearl Harbour as a tipping point in the sheer awfulness of Hollywood cinema. Its true worthlessness went unnoticed by critics because their expectations were so low, like battered partners in an abusive relationship grateful for a Penguin biscuit rather than a punch in the face. Kermode now regrets the leniency of his own review, describing it as "a shameful misjudgement, which I will carry with me to my grave."
But Hollywood's descent hasn't happened alone. Critics didn't stop it. All that was required for Michael Bay to triumph was for Mark Kermode to do nothing. Kermode's inconclusive Pearl Harbour review is his rock-fast hammer. And until Kermode can redeem himself, Mjolnir remains immobilised. Kermode likes Branagh's Thor film now, because he sees himself, the Hollywood apologist, in the exiled boy-God, who must atone for his sins. "Chris Hemsworth is …. Thor!" No. Mark Kermode is Thor. And he knows it.
Touring an Oxford college in the late Eighties, Margaret Thatcher described the study of old Norse as a 'luxury'. It was the first chisel blow in her political inheritors' eventual reduction of further education to a drive-in window transaction devoid of meaning or nuance. But understanding the old tales is hugely useful, and has already helped us to mock Mark Kermode, for example. A culture that does not know its history is condemned, not to repeat it, but to enjoy Michael Bay's version of it. Perhaps Kermode's autobiographically skewed film book misses the bigger picture. Societies get the cinema they deserve. Hollywood is simply meeting us on the way down.
Stewart Lee
2011-10-01T20:53:36+01:00
The comedian Simon Munnery suggests all autobiographies should be sub-titled "Failure Justified". It's funny because it's true. All autobiographies are the acrid after-burps of dying mortals pleading for forgiveness. That said, in his new autobiography, See A Little Light, the American punk icon Bob Mould seems delighted with his downward spiral from front-man of the hardcore pioneers Hüsker Dü, via a stint as a World Wrestling Federation script consultant, to hosting a disco night for middle aged 'bears'. Called Bob Mould's Blow Off, linguistic differences mean the event is unlikely to enjoy transatlantic success. "From here on out, life might get even better.", Mould concludes, with unintended accuracy, and his autobiography ends, not with a bang, but with a blow off. Last week I read the new memoir of TV's idiotically be-quiffed film critic, Mark Kermode. Kermode's position as TV's top cine-pundit is secure. Once we had Joan Bakewell, the thinking man's crumpet. Today we have Film 2011's Claudia Winkleman, the crumpet man's thinker. Kermode's The Good, The Bad And The Multiplex What's Wrong With Modern Movies deals with Hollywood's quality collapse. The title contains three, or possibly even four, punctuation errors. It should be The Good, The Bad, And The Multiplex; What's Wrong With Mark Kermode? Upon its release in May, Kermode reviewed Kenneth Branagh's Thor for BBC radio. Stan Lee's Sixties Thor comics channelled Shakespeare's Henry V, Falstaff becoming Volkstagg for example, making luvvie Ken the film version's ideal director. But critics didn't look at the source material, as that would have been work, preferring instead to sneer in ignorance at the fact that high-falutin' Ken's career was so dead he was directing a dumb-ass comic book caper. Well, wake up and smell Bob Mould's Blow Off, daddio! Comics have grown up! I know because every two years...
The Alternative Comedy Experience, a new stand-up series, starts on Comedy Central tomorrow night. I am executive producer of the show, curated the selection of acts, appear interviewing them backstage, and am obliged to promote the programme.
So here I am, heading direct into the heartland of the comedy cognoscenti on Chortle, with a point by point description of the process and intentions of The Alternative Comedy Experience, too detailed, dull, nuanced, and niche to ever see print in a newspaper. Warning: contains spoilers.
For the first and second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle we were required to provide extra content for BBC on-line and the red button channel. The producer Richard Webb and I decided to use my existing stage set to spend the last night of filming of each series, shooting stand-ups I liked who were perhaps too quirky, cerebral, unknown, independent or strange to get slots on the mainstream television stand-up shows, including Stephen Carlin, Henning Wehn, Andrew O'Neil, Kevin Eldon's character stuff, and Paul Sinha.
Pleased with the results, we pitched the idea of me fronting a similarly themed series to BBC2 or BBC4 but never heard anything back from anyone about the idea. Bear that in mind, internet commentators who imagine known comics have a hotline to the decision process.
At the same time, Colin Dench, a punk era promoter and comedy maven from Southend, who produced my last few live DVDs, was experiencing unnamable stirrings. Dench had been struck by the sense of an ever-widening gap between his experience of sets by the sort of acts you'd find on the Edinburgh Fringe doing solo shows at, say, comedy fans' favorite space The Stand, and the content of mainstream television stand-up shows, even when that content is provided by the sort of act you might see at The Stand.
Enamored by the unique atmosphere of that particular cave-like venue, described to me by a visiting American comedian as the place 'where all that art comedy happens', Dench took Tim Kirkby and John Walker, who were the director and director of photography on Comedy Vehicle and my live DVDs, to The Stand. They wanted to see the room with a view to asking permission to film there, and Dench, who is teetotal, began to outline his tea-inspired vision of documenting, not necessarily for television, a different form of stand-up experience, for punter and performer, than that offered on Apollo and Roadshow.
Surprisingly, the cable channel Comedy Central were interested but, I suspect needed a sweetener. I was asked on board, I have no doubt, merely in a misguided attempt to give the project some kind of marketing and promotion angle, and it has worked. Do you think you would be reading this if a teetotal man called Colin Dench from Southend had written it? No. I said I would help out as long as my name wasn't in the title, and I didn't introduce the acts in the show.
I wouldn't feel comfortable bringing on, under my name, the sort of people who regularly actually inspire me, as if I were delivering them to the viewer by the grace of my god-like hand. And I felt like the absence of a comic's name in the title helped to democratise the programme, and differentiate it from McIntyre's Roadshow, where the implication is that he is the star and is better than the guests.
Also, Comedy Central weren't about to pay me enough to put my name on the product anyway, although lazy journalists everywhere are calling the finished show Stewart Lee's Alternative Comedy Experience, so that hasn't worked. (For the record, I received less for working on the series than Hal Cruttenden does for a corporate gig, according to BBC2's Funny Business documentary.)
Even before the series was christened, we imagined we should be striving towards some kind of loose overview of the other styles of stand-up that are, and perhaps always have been, available, but are not currently favored by the big TV showcases. I insisted on a final say in the line-up, as it was going to be my face fronting the thing out, although appreciated some compromises would have to be made as we thrashed around an original long-list of 60 or so names to the essence of what we thought defined this 'alternative' strand of stand-up, and which would also be acceptable to Comedy Central, whose commitment to the idea already seen them going out on a long limb.
Advertiser-dependent Comedy Central has to be ratings driven, and is understandably obsessed with maintaining the 18-32 year old market popular with the products that fund it. This is how broadcasting works, the BBC excepted, and it's why we mustn't allow the Right, and its friends in the communications business, to close the BBC down, Savile and Sachsgate or not.
I am well aware that the tentative and delayed re-commissions of my own BBC series Comedy Vehicle were both only achieved as a result of the prestige the show was imagined to have bought to the channel, as the ratings were unspectacular. For some people, rightly or wrongly, there is a perception that Comedy Vehicle was what BBC2 ought to be doing, and so it was eventually returned.
But you can't live on prestige, and Comedy Central does not have the luxury of allowing the clanging bell of hollow praise to be a factor in its commissioning process, (although I fondly imagine they will be pleased with the good advance word on the series so far, ratings aside.) We have been criticized on the internet for the lack of 'new' talent in the show, but we never wanted the talent to be exclusively 'new', and any quotes saying we did are inaccurate glosses of my words.
Indeed, if I'd had full reign there would have been more septuagenarians and twenty-somethings in the bills. But Comedy Central, already making a bold programming decision by their standards, needed our show to draw audiences and were understandably nervous about alienating their core audience with elderly performers, and also about the obscurity and inexperience of some of the proposed younger ones - wrongly in my view, but I conceded.
Two acts we wanted, who remain conspicuously absent in a show claiming to be an overview of all the best working comics who fit the brief, turned us down, as I assumed they would. One big agent's act teasingly told me the show was viewed as some kind of dangerous anarchist splinter group, that he would be ostracised for having appeared on. And I suspect larger agents, their eyes on the prize of the lucrative corporate gig market ensnared by acts' appearances on the big shows, were worried about how their clients' commercial standing would fare if they were filmed performing in a small room.
And the small room of Stand I was key to the show. In a small enough room you can feel different parts of a crowd respond differently, you can engage directly with an audience member two feet from you, and punters can feel a comic making choices in real time. Luckily, there was a team to hand with experience, from my live DVDs and Comedy Vehicle, of filming comedy in smaller spaces than we usually see on TV.
Tim Kirkby, director, and John Walker, director of photography, were essential to the project. Over the last five years both have enabled me to realise the mental rulebook I have been trying to follow in the filming of stand-up. I think stand-up is like juggling, home baking, or sex, in that one of the exciting things about it is the element that it is really happening and that things might go very badly wrong.
Too fussy an edit, with too many different shots, with cuts to too many different angles while a joke or story is being told, remind the viewer they are watching a post-produced construct, and takes them out of the moment. If possible you should be able to pick up audience responses in a wide shot in which you can also see the comic, so we know the response was genuine, rather than appended in the edit in the form of a cutaway to a laughing person.
If there are cutaways to individual audience members they should work against the grain of the performance, showing people who are unhappy, angry, confused or bored, to exaggerate the sense that something is at stake, that a risk is being taken. Extreme close-ups should be favored at the expense of massive wide shots, to force the viewer at home to think for themselves about what is being said and done, rather than giving them the false comfort of seeing a huge crowd all enjoying it, and suggesting by association that they should.
The content of the show should be appropriate to these camera moves. It is all about non-consensus. I appreciate it must be fun to be part of the party atmosphere that the mass-agreement, and mass-recognition, of a Peter Kay or Paddy McGuiness audience provokes (and I do really mean this). But another thing I think is great about stand-up is confusion, doubt, unease, the gradual sea change in a room as the stiffs come round to a point of view they had never considered, as they come to realise that the person they assumed was mad or incompetent really knows what they are doing, and when some of them are in tears while others are still silent.
We had seen all our chosen acts - whether by dint of their silliness, their strangeness, or their sheer smartness - have those effects on a room, as opposed to the instant consensus aimed at by the big TV stand-up shows, and we wanted to see it captured. On Comedy Central. Ideally after a repeat of Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow.
There's a '70s ITV variety show, called The Wheeltappers' and Shunters' Social Club, set in a terrifyingly accurate studio-replica of an old-school Working Men's Club, that also had that same vibe. I loved it as a child, when I was too young to baulk at Bernard Manning, and think I have spent my whole adult life trying to recreate it. It's probably not a coincidence that Comedy Vehicle came to be filmed at The Mildmay Club, one of the last unspoiled Working Men's Clubs left in London.
And another now hated Seventies show had been at the back of Colin Dench's alcohol-free mind all along, - The Comedians. In this once massive ITV stand-up showcase, a talent pool of a dozen or so club comics in bowties performed to a studio audience, each drawing from the same shallow well of shared pub jokes, which were literally crossed off a blackboard in the wings by a production assistant as they were used up, to the dismay of whichever bow-tied racist had to go on last.
But it wasn't the racism, sexism and homophobia that had drawn Colin Dench's fertile mind to The Comedians. It was that the comics' sets were snappily edited together, crossing from one gag to the next, and stripped across the series in an unrelenting cavalcade of bite-sized pre-Political Correctness laughs. Would this be a way of selling our alterno-acts to Comedy Central's imagined viewership of no-attention span youngsters, and ringing another, if retrograde and reactionary, change to the current TV stand-up style?
By June last year the eventually 20-strong line-up of the still untitled show had solidified. Most TV stand-up shows lean heavily on acts represented by the management company that owns the production company that makes them, as Chortle's deranged pie-charts showed yesterday. But internet types have said, in contrast, that although The Alternative Comedy Experience doesn't just have acts from the usual three or four big agencies, it's made up instead of all my friends.
It isn't, and indeed some friends I proposed for the show were lost in the negotiations towards the final list, and some of the acts in the show are people who, though I love their work, make me feel uncomfortable, frightened, and paranoid, though I don't actively dislike them as people. And 50 per cent of the acts, including most of the ones I know best, were on Dench's ideal final squad before I was brought on broad. And two of them, Maeve Higgins and David Kay, were turns I'd never spoken to before. That said…. Admittedly, five of the acts - Stephen Carlin, Josie Long, Henning When, Tony Law and Eleanor Tiernan - are people I got to know well having asked them to come on the road opening for me for months at a time because I already liked their acts; and admittedly, I did once book a babysitter so I could go out on the town with Tony Law, but that one and only time I arranged to meet him socially he fell asleep and didn't turn up; and admittedly, I went to see the group Giant Sand with Robin Ince once in the last century, but that was the only time we ever met out of work, and he didn't like them anyway; and, admittedly, one of the five female performers is my wife of seven years, but as such can hardly be described as a 'friend'; and Simon Munnery, admittedly, was at our wedding, but he hadn't been invited. He just suspected there would be sausage rolls and arrived after everyone had gone to bed to lick the plates.
What defined these disparate performers, I suppose, was not that I knew some of them a bit, but that they are all the sort of acts, I think, that other comics stand at the back of the room admiring, irrespective of what audiences, critics and commissioners think of them. Should enough of you watch the series and we get another go, we will throw the net wider next time. We've a better gender mix than any other TV stand-up show ever, but in the event of a TACE 2 I'll spend a summer seeing only Free Fringe acts for starters, and in addition to that hopefully we'll be able to expand the age rage at both ends of the spectrum, and the cultural and international mix, testing the tolerance of Comedy Central's X-Box-fingering young viewers to the max.
In July we went to The Stand in Edinburgh to film nearly two dozen acts in ten shows over five nights. John Walker lit the venue brilliantly, in such a way as it doesn't look like it had been lit at all, and in the daytimes I began interviewing the acts backstage, to cut between their performances in lieu of a big Roadshow style build-up intro. In the familiar surroundings of the cosy backstage cupboard of their favorite venue, The Stand, most people enjoyed relaxed, candid and charming conversations, somewhere between a therapy session and those Graham Norton-type interviews where he feeds set-ups to people whose material he's read up on.
I did some great fake spontaneous TV chat-show style riffs with Simon Munnery, my backwards knowledge of his back catalogue allowing me to set him up perfectly for his best lines. I got in deep with Dave O'Doherty on comedy theory. Interviewing my wife was the most awkward moment in our relationship since the cheese grater incident. And the former Butlins Red Coat Boothby Graffoe gave away nothing, and remained resolutely 'on' throughout, peppering his Christmas cracker gag-reliant chat with tiresomely forced zingers about my increasing weight and deteriorating appearance.
Everyone's performances on Monday and Tuesday and Friday went brilliantly in both the 7pm and 10pm recordings, the venue itself almost seemed like the star of the show, and Phil Nichol delivered a spontaneously, and massively, extended career-defining set of all his old club set material that I hope one day everyone will be able to see in its entirety. But the early mid-week shows on Wednesday and Thursday revealed an unforeseen problem that slightly derailed those two recordings, and cost us a couple of potentially great performances.
While most of the tickets for most of the shows went to comedy-savvy Stand regulars or fans of the individual performers themselves, we used a TV audience supply company to fill the remainder of the 140 seats. For the early shows on Wednesday and Thursday the majority of the room ended up comprising people who like TV comedy, provided by the audience supply company, and not surprisingly, they struggled with material that Stand regulars would have processed more readily. How do you sell a show that aims to be different to TV stand-up to people who have come along to see TV stand-up?
Robin Ince, like the club hack that he secretly is, somehow sold them a set of quantum physics based observational comedy, that I've seen re-aligning the horizontal plane of a Hammersmith Apollo full of science buffs, but both those early shows were a slog for the acts. Nonetheless, we used much of the footage. There's something satisfying about seeing a comic's look of disappointment in the audience when a line other comedians, and probably even some TV viewers at home, can tell is brilliant, is met with a degree of bafflement by the squares in the room.
We wanted the show to reflect accurately the comedians' experience of performing, and part of that experience is the struggle, I suppose. But if there's a series two though I will lobby to only allow in audience members who can prove they haven't even got a TV licence, thus ensuring some degree of quality.
Negotiations about the title were fraught. I hoped it could include the word 'Alternative' precisely because, in comedy, I remember when 'Alternative Comedy', the post-punk movement that changed the rules in British humour and gave you pretty much everything you value today, became a perjorative term. 'Alternative comedy?', Jim Bowen said to David Baddiel on daytime TV in 1989, 'It's the alternative to comedy.' Also, irrespective of dictionary definitions of what 'alternative comedy' was or is, we were at least offering an alternative to the way most stand-up comedy on TV is presented today.
And suddenly there seems to be enough of a groundswell of discontent with panel show and stand-up showcase comedy to suggest that it was time to actively embrace this debased and hated term, 'alternative comedy'. And 'experience' seemed like a good word to have in there because the show was shot in such a way as to emphasise the unique nature of the one-off performances we'd captured, and to give you a flavor of what it might be like to be there. But we couldn't get that idea past Comedy Central. Until the rough edits began to come together. Then everything changed.
On the editing suite monitor it seemed, to me at least, that the show's line-up belonged together. Even though they offered approaches as diverse as the left-wing or feminist polemic of Josie Long and Bridget Christie respectively, and the arch reactionary rationalism of Henning Wehn or Glenn Wool; as the superb silliness of David Kay and Maeve Higgins and the brutal logical reasoning of Andy Zaltzman and Robin Ince; as the charming indie-folk stylings of Isy Suttie and the one-string freak-noodling of Simon Munnery; as the deadpan minimalism of Eleanor Tiernan and David O'Doherty and the frenzied agitation of Phil Nichol, they belonged together by virtue of what they were not - safe, packaged, and predictable.
Acts like Paul Sinha and Alun Cochrane, who have the range of talent to be able to do extended one-man shows in arts centres and yet also to appear before the stag parties of The Comedy Store, (which I couldn't), were able to show sides of themselves not visible on The Chase or Mock The Week respectively. And they seemed to sit alongside equally talented, but more problematically strange, turns like Tony Law and Sam Simmons. And Boothby Graffoe, whose lineage stretches back to the pre-Alternative Comedy folk-circuit humorists like Mike Harding or Jake Thackray, makes the whole thing seem timeless, standing outside fashion or trends, as I hope the entire series will. Presented with this evidence, even a nervous Comedy Central realised The Alternative Comedy Experience was the ideal title.
In partnership with the editor Jon Blow, Dench's spring-water brain had streamed 20 acts through 12 shows. Each drifts in for a few episodes, appearing a few times each week as you get to know them, and disappears again, making way for others.
I was initially nervous about the short Comedians-style clips, the briefest of which is a zippy 11-second quip from Simon 'King Of The One Liners' Munnery, but they will soften the Comedy Central viewer's resistance readying them for longer clips through each show, some up to six and a half minutes. The format did not best serve Paul Foot or Maeve Higgins, admittedly, whose sets work partly through a cumulative pressure application of escalating ongoing absurdity, so they had to be heavily featured in just one or two shows respectively to show them at their best and to give the viewer a feel for their approach. But again, the strengths and weaknesses of the show's format made me see how well the acts chosen belonged together.
There's no doubt that the acts featured on Apollo and Roadshow are among the best at what they do, offering tight short bulletproof sets to hugely diverse crowds of celebrities and everyday folk. Go to see the turns you've seen on these shows in their theatre tours and you will the same thing as you have seen on TV, but longer, as most of them deliver a value-for- money hour of great gags, unencumbered by any overarching theme, and then speed up and get louder towards the end to tell you the show is approaching its conclusion. In The Alternative Comedy Experience we present snatches of comedians with different aims and methods.
We realised, in the editing process, one of the reasons these acts aren't often regulars on the big shows is because what they do is too evolved to be snipped into those formats. Instead, we've tried to give an impression of their work, and in conjunction with the cut-in backstage interviews, to go some way towards anatomizing what they all have in common. It wasn't until the edit that the true picture of the series emerged - a kind of cross between an Art House documentary and a stand-up showcase - but had we seen where it was heading I think I would have pressured everyone in their interviews harder for definitions and dogma. Which probably would have made for a more self-conscious and less entertaining look at this other parallel world of comedy.
Last time I ever did a job like this was in the early Noughties, when I executive produced a failed stand-up and sketch pilot for Channel 4 called Head Farm, featuring Matt Holness, Richard Ayoade, Dan Antopolski, The Mighty Boosh, Karen Taylor and Johnny Vegas. (Yes, it was an Avalon production and they're nearly all Avalon acts. Sorry. I was young. When I was a baby I used to shit my pants. I don't do that anymore either.)
When it was finally screened, half the cast looked at me with daggers in their eyes, furious about what had been done with their material. But when we came to show a few episodes of The Alternative Comedy Experience to the cast in a Soho cellar at Christmas, there couldn't have been a better atmosphere. I felt like the headmaster at the school disco, so went home early to allow the kids to kick back, but they all seemed pleased to be in the same show, so something was right.
Everyone involved with production and commissioning of The Alternative Comedy Experience is really happy with it, and some advance press has said it's the sort of show BBC2 and C4 should have made, instead of more panel shows, which is nice.
But we're not out of the woods yet. Comedy Central understandably suffer the occasional failure of nerve, despite their support of the project, and the original trailers were edited in such a way as to try and pass this quirky and odd show off as a much more straightforward post-pub proposition, before finally finding a more appropriate visual vocabulary. The channel's keen not to spook its audience, offering The Alternative Comedy Experience as an additional dish on the Comedy Buffet rather than an either/or proposition, but I think its content and style choices raise unavoidable issues and ask uncomfortable questions about where we are in comedy.
So now I have to do press interviews, which I don't enjoy, having an unintentional ability to land myself in tepid water, with one controversial opinion snatched out of 90 minute chat and reduced to a misleading headline. But it's worth the misery, because we believe this project could be the start of something. Comedy Central aren't used to having programmes that papers want to cover in this depth, and we wonder how they will weigh the luxury of favorable column space against the viewing figures they need for the show to survive.
What we hadn't anticipated, and it's something that gives me a sense of pride I rarely feel about anything I work on, is the way that The Alternative Comedy Experience suddenly seems, to my mind, to have a broadly political dimension, just by virtue of its very existence.
We live in brutal times where further education - especially the study of the arts - and theatre and culture generally are being denied funding, the top-down suggestion being that they should all find ways to cover their own costs, and that anything useful or worthy eventually turns a profit. Even places that develop great work, like The Bush Theatre or Battersea Arts Centre, have fallen into the trap of justifying their output in terms of the profits some of their West End transfers make for investors, instead of the inherent worth of the work itself. But even right-wingers like Roger Scruton, Toby Young or Michael Gove profess to believe that some forms of culture have inherent worth, irrespective of the Right's devotion to the dogma of the free market.
A three-page press release I received for some charity gigs a famous comedian did last year covered the shows themselves in half a page, and the rest of the wordcount listed how much money he, and his management's other clients, had turned over, and how many DVDs and tickets they had sold.
We're not interested in the DVD sales and ticket capability of any of the acts on The Alternative Experience - though some of them are quietly massive - and we're not interested in showing them in a huge room for the sake of it, like some fascist display of empty military and economic power.
We believe these acts are all inherently worthwhile, whether they end up filling the 02 and lining David Cameron's DVD shelf or not. They advance the form of stand-up comedy, consolidate its strengths, and are the sort of people that have no other choice but to be comedians.
They discover, develop and maintain the new routes that perhaps better known names then simplify into stadium-filling styles. You've been distracted by the pretty blooms for too long. We have done our best to show you where some of the real work is being done. Can I go now, Chortle?
Stewart Lee
2013-02-04T21:18:08+00:00
The Alternative Comedy Experience, a new stand-up series, starts on Comedy Central tomorrow night. I am executive producer of the show, curated the selection of acts, appear interviewing them backstage, and am obliged to promote the programme. So here I am, heading direct into the heartland of the comedy cognoscenti on Chortle, with a point by point description of the process and intentions of The Alternative Comedy Experience, too detailed, dull, nuanced, and niche to ever see print in a newspaper. Warning: contains spoilers. For the first and second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle we were required to provide extra content for BBC on-line and the red button channel. The producer Richard Webb and I decided to use my existing stage set to spend the last night of filming of each series, shooting stand-ups I liked who were perhaps too quirky, cerebral, unknown, independent or strange to get slots on the mainstream television stand-up shows, including Stephen Carlin, Henning Wehn, Andrew O'Neil, Kevin Eldon's character stuff, and Paul Sinha. Pleased with the results, we pitched the idea of me fronting a similarly themed series to BBC2 or BBC4 but never heard anything back from anyone about the idea. Bear that in mind, internet commentators who imagine known comics have a hotline to the decision process. At the same time, Colin Dench, a punk era promoter and comedy maven from Southend, who produced my last few live DVDs, was experiencing unnamable stirrings. Dench had been struck by the sense of an ever-widening gap between his experience of sets by the sort of acts you'd find on the Edinburgh Fringe doing solo shows at, say, comedy fans' favorite space The Stand, and the content of mainstream television stand-up shows, even when that content is provided by the sort of act you...
“A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS
AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
LET’S HOPE IT’S THE FIRST ONE
WITHOUT ANDREW NEIL!”
Some notes on this tour – I’m seeing various things speculating on-line about why I am doing particular venues, with various imagined personal motivations. I have seen this called a stadium tour; that I have ‘sold out’ etc. I am not playing any stadiums. If anything, for the most part, I am doing longer runs in smaller rooms. I may do some stadiums in 2028, with a special stadium-satirising set, but not yet. As usual tour dates choices come down to the same rather mundane things;
1) Will the venue have excess charges to punters and back door secondary ticketing markets? Are their merchandise %s so punitive it is not possible to run the shop without making a loss? If so I aim to avoid them wherever possible.
2) Will it work for my bad deaf hearing aid ears? Sadly some spaces just aren’t working for me anymore, despite how hard the lovely staff tried, so I am now doing longer runs at smaller more acoustically secure spaces in some towns. B’ham Symphony Hall is bouncy and I do struggle there – one of the shows on the last tour was particularly tough to hear - but the second city has pretty much no-where else to play that is ever available and/or large enough. Royal Festival Hall can be hard for me to hear from the stage but works well for the punters themselves and is extremely safe in terms of ticketing in a way most big London spaces aren’t, where rip offs are rife. And it’s a classy joint!
3) What is actually available in the tour timeframe? The Scottish leg of the tour is increasingly difficult in terms of finding available, appropriate and acoustically secure spaces that are well run with no ticket tout infiltration or secondary market shit. This time around there’s a lot of unknowns. We have to land in Glasgow during the comedy festival as the big venues are sublet to the festival at that time, which makes them easier to deal with. Edinburgh in August is not really viable now, especially in Oasis year, so I am doing one big night at the Playhouse in Sept.
4) I’ll be 58 when I finish this tour, and I am deaf with coronary artery disease. I won’t be able to carry on spreading the 250,000 people that want to see me over all these smaller shows in nice little theatres for ever and in my ‘60s may just squat at big but eminently playable spaces, like the lovely Lowry in Salford or the delightful Dome in Brighton, for as long as they will have me, and you will have to travel! It’s been a blast but I am worn out! You spend your life trying to do the right thing in the essentially criminal world of Showbiz. Nobody thanks you for it. Make me a sandwich!
5) I haven’t been to Northern Ireland lately, not because I think it’s ‘too dangerous’, but because in Belfast the Opera House is the only venue that works for me acoustically, and ideally I will tie a trip in with Derry/Londonderry, and the Republic, and the latter has become difficult for various reasons - none of which are to do with being 'afraid' of Ireland. Quite the opposte. I much prefer it to most of England, for example. For Snowflake/Tornado bringing across the shark mechanism would have been a challenge in terms of time and money and manpower. We had a whole Irish secondary set built to tour Carpet Remnant World on the island. Sorry. I miss you and your lovely lands.
1. NEW MERCH
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality.
I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant.
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE, LONDON
3rd December 2024 – 17th January 2025 AND UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2025
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up.
Opening at Leicester Square Theatre in December 2024 the new show will tour to UK cities throughout 2025.
Leicester Sq Theatre, London 3rd Dec 2024 – 17th Jan 2025 7pm, except for 6pm and 8.30 pm Sat 4th Jan.
0207 734 2222 www.leicestersquaretheatre.com
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF 2025 TOUR SCHEDULE
January 2025
Sunday 19th January 2025 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton - TICKETS
Monday 20th January 2025 - Dorking Halls, Dorking - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st January 2025 - Dorking Halls, Dorking - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd January 2025 - The Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd January 2025 - The Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Friday 24th January 2025 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Saturday 25th January 2025 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Sunday 26th January 2025 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 28th January 2025 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th January 2025 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Thursday 30th January 2025 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Friday 31st January 2025 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
February 2025
Saturday 1st February 2025 - Theatre Royal, York - TICKETS
Monday 3rd February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Wednesday 5th February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 6th February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Friday 7th February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Saturday 8th February 2025 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Monday 10th February 2025 - The Marlowe, Canterbury - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th February 2025 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Thursday 13th February 2025 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Friday 14th February 2025 - De Montfort Hall, Leicester - TICKETS
Saturday 15th February 2025 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Sunday 16th February 2025 - Wycombe Swan, High Wycombe - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th February 2025 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th February 2025 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Thursday 20th February 2025 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Friday 21st February 2025 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 22nd February 2025 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
April 2025
Tuesday 1st April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 2nd April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd April 2025 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Friday 4th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Saturday 5th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Sunday 6th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Monday 28th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
May 2025
Thursday 1st May 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 2nd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Sunday 4th May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Friday 9th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 10th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Monday 12th May 2025 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Thursday 15th May 2025 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 16th May 2025 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
July 2025
Saturday 5th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
September 2025
Monday 8th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Tuesday 9th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th September 2025 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 11th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 12th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 13th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Sunday 14th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 18th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Friday 19th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Saturday 20th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th September 2025 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Thursday 25th September 2025 - Gala, Durham - TICKETS
Friday 26th September 2025 - Theatre Royal, Glasgow - TICKETS
Saturday 27th September 2025 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 28th September 2025 - His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
October 2025
Friday 3rd October 2025 - Aberystwyth Arts Centre – Great Hall, Aberystwyth - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Thursday 9th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 10th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 24th October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 25th October 2025 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - ON SALE SOON
Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Friday 31st October 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
November 2025
Saturday 1st November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Monday 3rd November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 7th November 2025 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 8th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS
Sunday 9th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 13th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 14th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 15th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 17th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
3. SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
Stewart’s 2019 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
5. FESTIVAL SETS 2025
24th May 2025 Bearded Theory, Derbyshire Iggy Pop, The Manics, Thee Sisters O’ Mercy, Yard Act, Left Field, Throwing Muses, The Selecter, The Lovely Lovely Eggs, my pals Asian Dub Foundation, Cool distaff Japanese Ramones Shonen Knife, Beans on Toast, dub legends Zion Train, Angeline Morrison, Miki Berenyi from The Lushes and more TBA. www.beardedtheory.co.uk.
6. Robber Nince
The comedian Robin Ince is so much more than that now. He is becoming a proper poet, not just some comedian who gets their poetry published because they are a micro-celeb, and increasingly good writer of impassioned polemics that never tip over into haranguing the reader. Here’s another one. https://thecosmicshamblesnetwork.substack.com/p/true-british-horror-stories.
7. TWO DANIEL KITSON BENEFITS
Daniel Kitson’s newsletter announces two benefits the world’s greatest living stand-up is hosting, thus.
Monday 9th of December - Union Chapel, London, for the PDA society w Ian Smith, Ania Magliano, Amy Gledhill and Rob Auton - Tickets are available HERE
Wednesday 18th of December - Exeter Phoenix for Tom Parry’s kids Pre School or something like that. Mike Wozniak, Amy Mason, Mike Bubbins, Will Adamsdale, Mel Owen and my sweet, sweet, collaborator and one time neighbour and all time king of midfield ball retention, Gavin Osborn. - You can get tickets HERE.
VICTORIAN RADICALS – BIRMINGHAM MUSEUMS & ART GALLERY, UNTIL DEC 23RD 2024 AT LEAST https://www.birminghammuseums.org.uk/exhibitions/victorian-radicals
Three generations of British artists, designers and makers revolutionised the visual arts in the second half of the nineteenth century. The Pre-Raphaelites, William Morris and his circle and the men and women of the Arts and Crafts movement transformed art and design.
VANESSA BELL – MILTON KEYNES GALLERY - 23rd Feb 2025
A World Of Form And Colour. Thorough retrospective on the hot Bloomsbury freak. Vanessa Bell (1879–1961) was a pioneering modernist painter and founding member of the Bloomsbury Group, a circle of influential English artists, writers and intellectuals in the first half of the twentieth century. This exhibition – her largest-ever solo show – provides an in-depth overview that includes drawings, paintings, ceramics and furniture.
Bell’s pioneering work was at the forefront of British abstraction. At the same time, she helped to create conditions in which artists, including women, could flourish. This involved organising the ‘Friday Club’ for artists to meet and co-founding the experimental design collective, Omega Workshops. Collaboration formed an essential part of Bell’s approach to art, including with her sister, the writer Virginia Woolf, and the artist Duncan Grant. https://mkgallery.org/event/vanessa-bell/
SCENT AND THE ART OF THE PRE-RAPHAELITES – BIRMINGHAM BARBER INSTITUTE UNTIL JANUARY 26TH https://barber.org.uk/scent-and-pre-raphaelites/
Scent is a key motif in paintings by the artists of the Pre-Raphaelite and Aesthetic movements. Fragrance is visually suggested in images of daydreaming figures smelling flowers or burning incense, enhancing the sensory aura of ‘art for art’s sake’. Scent was also implied in Victorian painting to evoke hedonism – pleasure in exquisite sensations – and a preoccupation with beauty; or to reflect the Victorian vogue for synaesthesia (evoking one sense through another) and the penchant for art, like scent, to evoke moods and emotions.
EVELYN DE MORGAN – W’HAMPTON ART GALLERY – 9th MARCH 2005 https://www.wolverhamptonart.org.uk/whats-on/edm/
Stew says, “This late Victorian visionary’s work can come across a bit Advanced Dungeons and Dragons ™ ®, but that probably tell us more about how she anticipated, or even influenced, the populist art of the future. I have a real soft spot for her. Her partner William De Morgan, initially of Stoke Newington, was also a proto-science fiction author, and ceramicist, whose decorative tiles pop up in the oddest places – there may be some in a once swanky pub near you. Anyway, the last time EDM had her own exhibition was 1907 so get on down, and get some lovely Gray Pays & Bacon from the Great Western Pub by W’hampton Station while you are at it”
They says, “Featuring thirty artworks, Painted Dreams reveals De Morgan’s progression as an artist and her technical mastery as one of the most impressive artists of the late Victorian era. Discover De Morgan’s exploration of challenging subjects and painterly responses to enduring social and political issues of the day, such as feminism, inequality, war and pacifism. Painted Dreams revisits the historic 1907 show, reuniting several of De Morgan’s most significant works in Wolverhampton.
The original exhibition was a remarkable achievement, challenging Victorian prejudices and the notion that being a professional artist was a male occupation and unsuitable for a woman of De Morgan’s class. Her ability to layer contemporary issues into mythological tales was well received, with one reviewer for the Wolverhampton Express and Star describing the pictures as ‘painted dreams’. Painted Dreams presents De Morgan as a pioneering artist who explored new, challenging subjects that delved into the fundamentals of human existence.
The artworks are displayed in chronological order to show the progression of De Morgan’s talent as an artist and demonstrate her painterly responses to enduring social and political issues of the day, such as feminism and inequality, mental health and the impact of war.
By recreating De Morgan’s 1907 solo show as faithfully as possible, Painted Dreams highlights a career that has been historically overshadowed by her male contemporaries. The exhibition is curated by Sarah Hardy, Director of the De Morgan Museum, and Wolverhampton Art Gallery. The exhibition is a partnership between the De Morgan Foundation and Wolverhampton Art Gallery. The Gallery is funded by Arts Council England as a National Portfolio Organisation, and City of Wolverhampton Council.”
ALFIE BROWN
The very good stand-up comedian Alfie Brown tours his OPEN HEARTED HUMAN ENQUIRY show. alfiebrowncomedian.com
The first major exhibition devoted to the artist and designer Tirzah Garwood (1908–1951) since 1952. Best known until now as the wife of Eric Ravilious and as the author of the autobiographyLong Live Great Bardfield, Garwood excelled as a fine artist and printmaker. Her diverse and enchanting works are gems of the mid-20th century.
THE DAMNED Black Album/Strawberries line-up, with hard-wristed Holy Grail headhunter Rat Scabies back on drums.
JACKIE OATES AND JOHN SPIERS Super-folk team up’s festive fun
DECEMBER
6th - Reith Hall, Swaledale, N York
7th - Wychwood Folk Club, Chipping Norton
8th - Folk at the Froze, Woodridge, Suffolk
9th - Colchester Arts, Colchester
10th - Riverhouse Barn, Walton Upon Thames
11th - Chapel Arts, Bath
13th - Ropewalk, Barton Upon Humber
14th - Flowergate Hall, Whitby, N Yorks
20th - Nailsea Folk Club, Bristol
21st - The Globe, Hay-On-Wye
22nd - Halsway Manor, Taunton
DISCHARGE D-beat deadbeats
DECEMBER
7th – Newcastle Byker Grave
13th- Stoke On Trent somewhere
14th – B’ham Castle & Falcom
JAN 4th – London 100 Club
FEB 2nd – Bristol Fleece
THE BLUE AEROPLANES Annual Xmas wig-out from British art-rock institution
DECEMBER 8th Bristol Fleece
THE FALLEN WOMEN – LEXINGTON LONDON DEC 28TH –
The Female Fall Tribute super-group and live karaoke outfit are back in the biffin bridge between Xmas and New year to blast away your festive blues. https://www.thelexington.co.uk/event.php?id=2897
20-odd songs performed by you THE PUBBERLICK and some special celebrity guests.
THE GENTLE SPRING Former Field Mouse Michael Hiscock returns from his French fastness as The Gentle Spring, semi-acoustic indie-pop in hand.
THE MAGPIE ARC Fabulous young British country-folk-rock act on the road, augmented by the mighty guitar legend Martin Simpson
FEBRUARY
Friday 7th – International Arts Centre, Leicester Buy Tickets
Saturday 8th – Indoor Festival of Folk, Cecil Sharp House, London The Magpie Arc, Edgelarks, The Bookshop Band, Sam Carter, Frankie Archer and “The Guv’nor” of folk rock Ashley Hutchings in conversation with Matthew BannisterBuy Tickets
Sunday 9th – Ropetackle Arts Centre, Shoreham-by-Sea Buy Tickets
Monday 10th – Colchester Arts Centre, Colchester Buy Tickets
APRIL
Thursday 17th – The Glasshouse, Gateshead Buy Tickets
Tuesday 22nd – The Phoenix, Exeter Buy Tickets
Thursday 24th – Chapel Arts, Bath Buy Tickets
CHUCK PROPHET Chuck’s last live tour was one of the greatest rock and roll shows I ever saw – real huckster guitar slinger stuff that they don’t make anymore. The Mount Rushmore of sandblasted country noir is on the road here again in 2025. Don’t miss. Honestly.
FEBRUARY
19th - Oxford - The Bullingdon
20th - Leeds - Brudenell Social Club
21st - Manchester - Yes Pink Room
22nd - Newcastle - The Cluny
23rd - Glasgow - St Lukes
24th - Sheffield - Greystones
25th - Leicester - The International
26th - Nottingham - Metronome
27th - Cambridge - Portland Arms
28th - Norwich - Arts Centre
MARCH
1st - Hassocks - Mid Sussex Music Hall
2nd - Bristol - Lantern
3rd - Birmingham - Hare & Hounds
4th - Southampton - 1865
5th - London - The Garage
NAPALM DEATH Birmingham’s grindcore godparents
MARCH
4th - Dublin Academy
5th – Glasgow Galvanisers’ Yard
6th – Newcastle Uni Union
7th – London Electric Ballroom
8th – Liverpool Academy
9th – Birmingham Institute
THE LOFT
I never saw Pete Astor’s pioneering indie-folk-rock janglers The Loft, like an English middle class mid-60s Dylan with a post-punk rush, first time around, though I saw the Weather Prophets loads, and regular doses of Astor solo over the decades have been pleasurably unavoidable.
But I am thrilled at the possibility of this, and new recordings show the band on great form. Age suits them it seems.
MARCH
13th – M’cr Gullivers
14th – B’ham Castle & Falcom
15th – Nottingham JT Soar
20th – Ramsgate Music Hall
21st – Bristol Thunderbolt
22nd – London Lexington
23rd – Brighton Prince Albert
27th – Leeds Lending Room
28th – N’castle Cluny 2
29th – Glasgow Mono
HAWKWIND 2025. Another implausible trip for the psychedelic survivors, Dave Brock still imperious, even from his stool.
APRIL
17th – Gateshead Glasshouse
18th – Guildford G Live
19th – Bournemouth Pavillion
20th – B’ham Symphony Hall
MAY
9th – Aylesbury Waterside
10th – Liverpool Auditorium
11th – M’cr Bridgewater Hall
23rd – Sheffield City Hall
25th – Cambridge Corn Exchange
26th – London Barbican
THE NIGHTINGALES Birmingham post-punk leg-ends hit the road again. When will it end?
MAY
21ST Leeds Brudenell
22nd Newcastle Think Tank
23rd Glasgow Stereo
24th M’cr Deaf Institute
25th B’ham Castle & Falcon
27th Bristol Exchange
28th Brighton Chalk
29th Cambridge Junction
30th London Oslo
31st Swansea Bunkhouse
10. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2024
Tony Oxley (Sheffield’s Sunny Murray, 1938)
John M Burns (His modesty blazed, 1939)
John Pilger (News terrier, 1939)
David Soul (The covered man, an inspiration 1943)
Annie Nightingale (Gateway drug, 1940)
Pitchfork (Signal to noise, 1996) Mary Weiss (She led the pack, 1948)
Chris Karrer (Archangel’s Thunderbirdman, 1947)
Iasos (Greek space muso, 1947)
Phil Niblock (NY art noise, 1933)
Pluto Shervington (Ram Goat Liver Eater, 1950) Tisa Farrow (Zombies ripped her flesh, 1951)
Norman Jewison (Rollerball Superstar, 1926)
Neil Kulkarni (Era-enhancing music critic, 1972)
Wayne Kramer (He kicked out the jams motherfucker, 1945)
Steve Brown (He left Avalon and taught the world to sing, 1954)
Christopher Priest (Dorset future-ist, 1943)
Aston "Family Man" Barrett (dub bass headcase, 1946)
Ian Lavender (Don’t tell him, Pike, 1946)
Damon Suzuki (Krautrock witness cuddled me & Noel Fielding, 1950)
John Rotheroe (Shire Book Seer, 1935)
Steve Wright (massive old-skool pro made it look easy, 1954)
Alan Tomlinson (Jazz trombonist, dry northern wit, beatnik, 1947)
Ewen Mackintosh (Office secondary superstar, 1973) Jenni Nuttall (Chaucerian)
Richard Lewis (Worthwhile American comedian, 1947)
Nick Dimbleby (Sculptor of note, scholar, gentleman, comedy fan, 1946)
Edward Bond (Whitehouse-infuriator, 1934)
Karl Wallinger (Waterboys’ prime period pianist, 1957)
Eric Carmen (Raspberry sensation, 1949)
Wally Shoup (Hard-blowin’ hero, 1944)
The Wye Salmon (pollution-fucked fish)
Paul Brett (Crazy World guitarist, 1947)
Shane Baldwin (Vice Squad drummer and punk scribe, 1963)
John Sinclair (Beatnik, 1941)
Carl Andre (None more brick, 1935)
Graeme Naysmith (Pale Saint) Marian Zazeela (Eternal Musician, 1940)
Shelley Ganz (Unclaimed but claimed, at last, 1959)
Steve Albini (Big blackhead, 1962)
Dennis Thompson (He also kicked out the jams motherfucker, 1948)
Gary Floyd (Double happy dick punk, 1953)
Roger Corman (King of the Bees, 1926)
Doug Ingle (The Iron Butterfly, 1945)
Gerry Conway (Folk drummer for hire and tool of anti-CND propaganda, 1947)
Nicholas Ball (His house bled to death, 1946)
Larry Page (Wild thingy, 1936) Francois Hardy (Chanteuse genieuse, 1944)
Arthur Gaps Hendrickson (Selectaman under pressure, 1951)
James Chance (He contorted himself, 1953)
Donald Sutherland (Kilroy was here, 1935)
Dexter Romwebber (Guitar jet, 1966)
Clarence Frogman Henry (Anthropomorphic blues amphibian, 1937)
Randy Fuller (He fought the law also, 1944) Lucy Rimmer (She fell briefly on a birthday)
Callum The Highland Red Deer (Killed by twat tourists)
Mark Found (Sound recordist and model railway specialist) Shelly Duvall (She shone, 1949) Wendy Ritson (Centipede violinist, 1934) Jean Williams (Complex Feminine bassist, 1951)
Bob Newhart (I ripped him off, 1929)
Toumani Diabate (Mali kora master, 1965)
Jerry Miller (He was purple and lived under the sea, 1943)
John Mayall (Bluesbreaker broken at last, 1933) Irene Schweizer (German jazznius, 1941)
Jack Karlson (Succulent Chinese meal, 1942) Catherine Ribeiro (Oh! My heart is broken! An angel! A true star!1941)
Anthony O’Neill (Brú naBóinnearchitect)
Pete Bailey (Josefus/Stone Axe vox)
Brian Trueman (Dangermouseman, 1932) Rebecca Horn (Concerto anarchist, 1944)
James Earl Jones (He made shit sparkle, 1931)
Dean Roberts (Thela-maturgist, 1975)
Brother Marquis (He had 99 problems and a bitch weren’t one, 1966)
Zoot Money (Ran madly towards Tim Kirkby’s dad’s beach hut, 1942)
Herbie Flowers (He walked on the wild side, 1938)
Pat Collier (He vibrated,1952)
Steve Kille (Dead Dead Meadow Man)
Gavin Webb (Master’s Apprentice,1947)
Alan Delon (Man In A Girl On A Motorcycle, 1935) Maggie Smith (The grande dame!, 1934)
Kris Kristofferson (The Border Lord, 1936)
Tim Darvill (Cotswold archaeologist, 1958)
Irwin the Malmesbury Emu (He loved cold showers and cuddles)
Glen Hutchinson (Cambridge performance poet)
75% of all animal life on earth since 1974 (1974)
Phil Lesh (Bassful Dead, 1940)
Ron Ely (Ooo-e-o-e-o-e-o-e-oooo!, 1938)
Nick Gravenites (Buttered quicksilver, 1938) Janey Godley (Street level satirist, 1961)
Lou Donaldson (Hornblower, 1926)
American democracy!!! (1965)
Frank Auerbach (Auerbout a painting of Camden please Frank, 1931)
Tim West (He ate royal jelly and turned into a human-bee, 1934)
Roy Haynes (Snap Crackle Bop! 1925)
Pete Sinfield (Crimson King Courtier, 1943)
Johnny Duhan (Granny’s Intention, 1950)
Richard Andrew (Black Cab Underground Lover)
John Prescott (Mr Punch, 1938)
Jim Abrahams (Rapid fire comedy genius, 1944)
11. Janey Godley
I was very sad to learn of the death of the Scottish comedian Janey Godley, and had communicated with her privately in the weeks prior to her passing.
She was a unique voice and, sharing a venue with her at Underbelly throughout much of the ‘00s, I was privileged to watch her learn how to replace standard but effective stand-up material with the bittersweet and brutal stories of her real life that went on to make her such a beloved act. In those days, Janey was one of the acts I took friends and family unfamiliar with the world of stand-up to see, to show them what a vital and varied art form it could be.
She was a compelling figure, by turns exhilarating and exhausting, who I wish I had seen more of in the last few years.
My thoughts are with Sean and Ashley, of whom it was clear Janey was enormously proud.
12.PRIMEVALS MAN-WULF SINGLE
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf upcoming U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions
Side a I'm The Man-Wulf
Side b I'm The Man-Wulf (long nail edit)
Plus a 9 minute I'm The Man-Wulf (long nail version)
These tracks will be released on Friday 6th Dec, a BC no fees day all proceeds to to the band.
Vinyl sides a&b released on a 45 in January.
“A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! LET’S HOPE IT’S THE FIRST ONE WITHOUT ANDREW NEIL!” Some notes on this tour – I’m seeing various things speculating on-line about why I am doing particular venues, with various imagined personal motivations. I have seen this called a stadium tour; that I have ‘sold out’ etc. I am not playing any stadiums. If anything, for the most part, I am doing longer runs in smaller rooms. I may do some stadiums in 2028, with a special stadium-satirising set, but not yet. As usual tour dates choices come down to the same rather mundane things; 1) Will the venue have excess charges to punters and back door secondary ticketing markets? Are their merchandise %s so punitive it is not possible to run the shop without making a loss? If so I aim to avoid them wherever possible. 2) Will it work for my bad deaf hearing aid ears? Sadly some spaces just aren’t working for me anymore, despite how hard the lovely staff tried, so I am now doing longer runs at smaller more acoustically secure spaces in some towns. B’ham Symphony Hall is bouncy and I do struggle there – one of the shows on the last tour was particularly tough to hear - but the second city has pretty much no-where else to play that is ever available and/or large enough. Royal Festival Hall can be hard for me to hear from the stage but works well for the punters themselves and is extremely safe in terms of ticketing in a way most big London spaces aren’t, where rip offs are rife. And it’s a classy joint! 3) What is actually available in the tour timeframe? The Scottish leg of the tour is increasingly difficult in terms of finding...
One of my favorite places in the world is the neolithic Tomb of The Eagles on Orkney. Instead of making it easy for themselves and just reburying it, the farming family that owned the land it occupied tried to run it for the benefit of visitors, with young volunteer archaeologists staffing a museum full of amazing objects. They marked out a stunning route from the farm to the tomb and installed a little trolley on wheels with a rope so you couldn’t haul yourself along the entrance passage into the chamber. I have visited three times and I loved it. But obviously covid wiped out tourism temporarily and picking up the financial pieces proved impossible and this incredible place closed to the public.
These people of the Island of South Ronaldsay (below) are trying to crowdfund reopening the Tomb so please help!
About the Tomb
The internationally famous Neolithic chambered cairn at Isbister, known as the Tomb of the Eagles, occupies a spectacular clifftop location in the South Parish of South Ronaldsay. The 5,000+ year-old burial tomb is currently in private ownership. For over 20 years it was a successful family-run, and family-friendly, visitor attraction comprising the chambered cairn, scenic walks, a Bronze Age burnt mound, and a visitor centre. The Tomb provided employment opportunities for young people, and established itself as a much-loved and unique part of South Ronaldsay and Orkney’s tourism scene.
Why is it closed?
In 2020 the Covid-19 pandemic resulted in the suspension of tourism activity, and the tomb was closed to visitors. It did not reopen, and the family has now decided to retire, and to sell the Tomb and associated assets.
What are we doing about it?
With the family's full support, we, the South Ronaldsay community, are working to buy these assets, reopen the tomb, and redevelop the site using sustainable tourism principles.
To buy the site and make it safe, we are actively applying for funding from several places, including the Scottish Land Fund, the National Heritage Lottery Fund, and Orkney-based resources. Crowdfunding and sponsorship from local businesses will then help us staff and run the site, creating a sustainable and welcoming hub for the South Ronaldsay and wider community.
What has happened so far?
We have commissioned expert surveys of the tomb itself to assess its structural integrity, of the buildings and land that will support the visitor experience, and of the financial viability of running the site as a community-owned place. Each report has shown that our plan is viable, as long as we can upgrade the facilities already in place. Best of all, the 5000 year-old tomb remains in excellent condition!
Why this crowdfund?
Through our crowdfunder campaign, we hope to raise a minimum of £20,000 to re-open the visitor centre, including renovating the museum displays, shop and toilet facilities, and providing a snack and hot drinks service. If successful, we plan that the centre and site will once again welcome visitors starting in late summer 2025.
Why can’t we have nice things? Predictably this superb grass roots music and comedy venue, with real atmosphere and fantastic sound and sightlines where we shot much of King Rocker, is at risk of closure due to a dodgy housing development. Two housing proposals have been deliberately split into two applications to avoid the obligation to include social housing. Save The Moth Club here
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals announce a new single as featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour.
There are 3 versions
Side a I’m The Man-Wulf
Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit)
Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version) (I LOOOOOVE THIS!!)
Vinyl sides a&b were released on a 7” 45 in January.
See The Primevals live JUNE 27th London Hope & Anchor, 28th Preston Ferret.
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW
UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2025
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up.
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF Opened at Leicester Square Theatre in December 2024 the new show will tour to UK cities throughout 2025.
Tuesday 1st April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Wednesday 2nd April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd April 2025 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Friday 4th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Saturday 5th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Sunday 6th April 2025 - Palace Theatre, Southend - TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 23rd April 2025 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS
Monday 28th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th April 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
May 2025
Thursday 1st May 2025 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Friday 2nd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Sunday 4th May 2025 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th May 2025 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Thursday 8th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Friday 9th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Saturday 10th May 2025 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Monday 12th May 2025 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Thursday 15th May 2025 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 16th May 2025 - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
June 2025
Wednesday 18th June 2025 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Friday 20th June 2025 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 21st June 2025 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
Saturday 21st June 2025 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS
July 2025
Saturday 5th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 6th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Saturday 12th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Sunday 13th July 2025 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
September 2025
Monday 8th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Tuesday 9th September 2025 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th September 2025 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 11th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Friday 12th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 13th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Sunday 14th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 17th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Thursday 18th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Friday 19th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Saturday 20th September 2025 - New Theatre, Cardiff - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th September 2025 - Hippodrome, Darlington - TICKETS
Thursday 25th September 2025 - Gala, Durham - TICKETS
Friday 26th September 2025 - Theatre Royal, Glasgow - TICKETS
Saturday 27th September 2025 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 28th September 2025 - His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen - TICKETS
October 2025
Friday 3rd October 2025 - Aberystwyth Arts Centre – Great Hall, Aberystwyth - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Thursday 9th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Friday 10th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th October 2025 - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - TICKETS
Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 21st October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Wednesday 22nd October 2025 - Storyhouse, Chester - TICKETS
Thursday 23rd October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Friday 24th October 2025 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 25th October 2025 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe - TICKETS
Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - TICKETS
Friday 31st October 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
November 2025
Saturday 1st November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Sunday 2nd November 2025 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Monday 3rd November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Tuesday 4th November 2025 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 7th November 2025 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 8th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS
Sunday 9th November 2025 - Rose Theatre, KIngston - TICKETS
Tuesday 11th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Wednesday 12th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Thursday 13th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 14th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Saturday 15th November 2025 - Brighton Dome, Brighton - TICKETS
Monday 17th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Tuesday 18th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Wednesday 19th November 2025 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS
7. SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
8. FESTIVAL STAND-UP SETS 2025 (the usual 30 mins greatest hits shit)
24th May 2025 Bearded Theory, Derbyshire
Iggy Pop, The Manics, Thee Sisters O’ Mercy, Yard Act, Left Field, Throwing Muses, The Selecter, The Lovely Lovely Eggs, my pals Asian Dub Foundation, Cool distaff Japanese Ramones Shonen Knife, The Alarm (!!!!???), Beans on Toast, dub legends Zion Train, Angeline Morrison, Miki Berenyi from off of The Shoegazing Lushes, The Vaselines, Stick In The Wheel, Paul Heaton, and afro-rock avatars W.I.T.C.H. www.beardedtheory.co.uk.
18TH – 20TH JULY Toldpuddle Martyrs’ Festival, Tolpuddle, Dorset. I will be doing 20 mins on a mixed bill here one night. Looks great. https://www.tolpuddlemartyrs.org.uk/festival
22nd – 24th August Krankenhaus, Muncaster Castle, Lake District Sea Power, Arab Strap, the legendary Throwing Muses, Jane Weaver, The Lovely Lovely Lovely Eggs, the awesome Richard Dawson, the amazing Nightingales, King Rocker film, the quirky Personal Trainer, the mesemerising Ex-Easter Island Head, the hypnotic Alison Cotton. www.krankenhausfestival.com
10. IDLER FEST 11-13 JULY, HAMPSTEAD HEATH, LONDON
I will be amongst the knobheads being grilled at the Idler magazine’s annual 3 day garden party. It’s a lovely event. “FENTON HOUSE & GARDEN, HAMPSTEAD, LONDON. The Idler Festival is a weekend of philosophy and merriment, comedy, talks, music, workshops and salons in the bucolic surroundings of Fenton House and gardens near Hampstead Heath. You’ll be entertained and enlightened by the Idler’s favourite thinkers, comedians, writers, and musicians. There’ll be walks, ukulele, bibliotherapy, agony aunts, beekeeping and plenty of time to loaf under the apple trees. There’ll be dancing lessons on the lawn, loafing to DJs in the orchard and salons in the house. Join us for our dream garden party. Headlining a stellar line up will be comedians Michael Palin and Stewart Lee and former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Plus Daisy Dunn, Miranda Sawyer, a mini pilgrimage with Guy Hayward, evensong on Sunday and much more to be announced. “Britain’s best arts and literary festival,” Spectator”
CODE: DAMPExperimenta Mixtape. Curated by Sophie Sleigh-Johnson.+ Q&A with Sophie Sleigh-Johnson, hosted by Stewart Lee
A new book on the dark shadows of 1970s British TV comedy, centred around the work of Leonard Rossiter, provides the inspiration for a new Experimenta Mixtape in which, as ever, no further information is provided in advance of the event.The textures, domestic surrealism and atavistic underbelly of the British television sit-com are unpicked and excavated in singular, idiosyncratic fashion in Sophie Sleigh-Johnson’s strange, new book CODE: DAMP, and this one-off, adjunct, ExperimentaL, film and television, cut-up, screening mix. With references to The Fall, the situationists, medieval musical instruments, 1970s horror, and Holsten Pils, Sleigh-Johnson’s world is at once: weird, wonderful and frightening.
GO FUND JOHN MANN, COMEDY’S ESSEX UNCLE
Comedy fans of a certain age will remember John Mann as a safe pair of hands, great gagsmith, classic era Big Breakfast energy courier, and indefatigable supporter of new ‘90s talent at the Harlow Square comedy club. Now he needs your help. Promoter Jim Howarth writes, ““Hi there everyone, Jim Howarth here and I am coming to you for help raising some funds for one of our own in the comedy industry. John Mann has been making people laugh for over 30 years and during that time he has up there with the best of them. He has written for some of the biggest names in the business, and some less so. he has mentored and supported and generally been one of the nicest people in our industry. Those close to him will know he has been unwell for a while, but he has been soldiering on but even the toughest soldier have their limits. John has barely worked for the last 2 months as he barely worked and financially that has put him in a very tough situation.He has a serious long term respiratory issue and on top of that he has pneumonia, with an infection on his lung which is proving very difficult to shift. Despite being unwell, John helped to deliver one of my own shows while I was poorly in hospital, and in the past he has helped to raise funds for me at my own time of need. His first thought is always to look after others, and he is always on hand to advise and support. It is now it is time to return the favour by offering him our support. Please give whatever you can to help John get through this difficult situation, he gives so much to others, me in particular and whatever we can raise I know will be a huge help to John. These are the pit falls of being self employed, we have to push through difficult times as we lose income. I am hoping we can take away some of the pressure he finds himself under so he can focus on his recovery. Thank you in advance for your support, and please spread this across our industry to make sure as many people see this as possible. Jim, Comedy Hotspot”
In the 90s it was Al Murray, whose own landlord alter-ego displays a Hulkish bent, who turned me on to the amazing work Peter David was doing in rebooting The Hulk comics, foregrounding with great humour and imagination, and in a modern way, all the kind of moral and psychological dilemmas that were handled in broader strokes in Lee and Kirby’s classic 60s comics, and the collected editions I have of his work have survived numerous culls and domestic upheavals. Of course as a Marvel comics writer David gets no share of profits from any further exploitation of the creative contributions he has made, and as an American he lives in a fascist shithole where healthcare is costly business for creatives and freelancers. Some guy called Graham Murphy says … “Hi, friends. I'm restarting a fundraiser for Peter David and his family. Peter's health issues continue to be a challenge. He has been in recovery now forthree years!Peter is steadily improving - even with his kidney disease, minor surgeries, and some recent small strokes. But Medicaid, which had been taking care of his Long Term Disability, has just dropped him. As a result, medical care and living expenses are mounting beyond current control. So, we are reaching out to you for help. I've known Peter and his family for many years. They are the nicest, kindest, and most generous people you will ever meet. Let's return some of that kindness and generosity and help them make it through this. Please donate and spread the word. Thank you!”
BEN MOOR’S A THREE DAY THING The unassuming performance-art-comedy legend that is Ben Moor has a new project on the go, A Three Day Thing. He says...
“My new stage piece is called A Three Thing Day, and it is highly upcoming. I previewed it at the awesome Bookseller Crow On The Hill in Crystal Palace in late January and I got some great feedback from the lovely audience. Here's yet another brief excerpt:
My sister puts the plant milk on the table – it comes in a landscape carton to differentiate it from the other kind – switches the TV off – it’s been showing That’s Riduckulous! The World’s Funniest Duck Videos.
The aquarium has objects from dry land at the bottom, presumably to acclimatise the fish life for what they’ll be swimming through in the future as the seas rise.
It's a surreal and melancomic journey through a day when I had three things to do, including detours about snacks and dolphins, the nature of time, and different forms of vertigo. I'm currently learning and editing the script, and it should be good to go by the time summer comes round, when I hope to be taking it to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. The wonderful Simon Oakes and his band Suns of the Tundra are composing and recording a beautiful music score, and I will be printing the full text (along with some other new writing) in a book to be published in July.
More details in the next mailout, but for now, I've scheduled some work-in-progress performances...
16.00 Saturday 29th March 2025A THREE THING DAY - WORK-IN-PROGRESS at THE LAUGHARNE WEEKEND, a weekend of literature, comedy and performance in Carmarthenshire, the home of Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood. This has an absolutely amazing array of people like John Shuttleworth, Lucy Cooke, Stewart Lee and Mike Brearley, so that's poetry, zoology, comedy and cricket sorted.
I'll be stumbling through the new show in the marquee behind Browns Hotel and enjoying the excellence on offer at all other times. SOME TICKETS STILL AVAILABLE 20.00 Wednesday 23rd April 2025A THREE THING DAY - WORK-IN-PROGRESSCOLCHESTER ARTS CENTRE I'll hopefully have got the show a little closer to the final thing by the time of this date as part of the terrific Colchester Arts Centre's Wonderful Wednesdays. It's Pay What You Can Afford. TICKETS ON SALE HERE
12.00pm Sunday 4th May 2025A THREE THING DAY - WORK-IN-PROGRESS
MACHYNLLETH COMEDY FESTIVAL Another fantastic bill for this weekender of oddball comedy excellence. Tons of great acts (lots off the telly even) over the Bank Holiday in a lovely setting and a marvellous festival spirit. And the camping in the sheepfield is always a highlight of a perennial celebration of comedy and creativity. TICKETS ON SALE NOW 16.00pm Saturday 7th June 2025A THREE THING DAY - WORK-IN-PROGRESSEXETER COMEDY FESTIVAL Last year's inaugural Exeter Comedy Festival was a joy - great programme, delicious pizza and special late-night acts too!
Again - what a brilliant set of comedians - Christie, Hegley, Long, Hill, Watson, Adamsdale, Brookes etc. TICKETS ON SALE NOW
11th-13th July 2025A THREE THING DAY - WORK-IN-PROGRESS
THE IDLER FESTIVAL A special few days of summer ease at Fenton House in Hampstead celebrating the pleasures of taking things slowly. There'll be talks from Michael Palin, Rowan Williams and Stewart Lee; dancing, strolling, loafing.
I'll have the show nearly ready by now and will probably be on early on the Saturday... TICKETS ON SALE NOW”
TIRZAH GARWOOD: Beyond Ravilious, Dulwich Picture Gallery London, until 26 May 2025.
The first major exhibition devoted to the artist and designer Tirzah Garwood (1908–1951) since 1952. Best known until now as the wife of Eric Ravilious and as the author of the autobiography Long Live Great Bardfield, Garwood excelled as a fine artist and printmaker. Her diverse and enchanting works are gems of the mid-20th century.
ITHELL COLQUHOUN – BETWEEN TWO WORLDS Tate St Ives, Feb 1st – May 5th. Coincidentally, I have a routine about Ithell in the new show! “The first major exhibition of visionary artist Ithell Colquhoun. One of the most radical artists of her generation, Ithell Colquhoun was an important figure in British Surrealism during the 1930s and 1940s. An innovative writer and practicing occultist, Colquhoun charted her own course, investigating surrealist methods of unconscious picture-making and fearlessly delving into the realms of myth and magic. Colquhoun explored the possibilities of a divine feminine power as a path to personal fulfilment and societal transformation. Her understanding of the world as a connected spiritual cosmos brought her to Cornwall, where she deepened her creative explorations, inspired by the region’s ancient landscape, Celtic traditions, and sacred sites. This landmark exhibition of over 200 artworks and archival materials traces Colquhoun’s evolution, from her early student work and engagement with the surrealist movement, to her fascination with the intertwining realms of art, sexual identity, ecology and occultism. It culminates in a room dedicated to Colquhoun’s interpretation of the Tarot deck – her most accomplished fusion of her artistic and magical practice. Explore Colquhoun’s enthralling, multi-layered universe through writings, drawings, paintings, early theatre projects and mural designs, many of which have never been shown publicly before. The exhibition will debut at Tate St Ives in February 2025, journeying to Tate Britain from June to October 2025.” Here’s an audio guide to this with bits of me on it https://www.tate.org.uk/story-player/ithell-colquhoun
THE FALLEN LEAVES Mod-punk veteran assassins. MAY 3rd Stockton-On-Tees Volume, 4th N’Castle Billy Bootleggers, 31st London Dublin Castle, June 8th Southsea Edge of The Wedge, SEPT 27th London Dublin Castle
DEAN WAREHAM Galaxie 500/Luna guitar guru on the road. APRIL 1st Glasgow Garage, 2nd M’cr Band On The Wall, 3rd Liverpool Rough Trade, 4th Leamington Spa Assembly, 5th Leeds Brudenell, 6th Bristol Fleece, 7th London 229
JOHN SHUTTLEWORTH One of the all-time funniest character comics. Surely he can’t go on for ever? The once so elderly John is now younger than his creator Graham! APRIL 6th Glasgow, 11th Scarborough Spa, 14th Exeter Phoenix, MAY 16th Bude Lit Fest. An inspiration! Oppressive kitchen sink surrealism in spades!
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Groovy minimalists. APRIL 20th Colchester Arts
DAVID LANCE CALLAHAN I cannot arrogantly recommend enough the former Moonshake and Wolfhounds man’s amazing solo folk-blues-noise workouts, nailing the state of the world over a superb stripped down sound in some great small venues that we all should support.
APRIL 3rd Penzance Acorn; 16th Leytonstone What’s Cookin’.
MAY 9th Brighton Hope and Ruin.
JUNE 5th Birmingham Rock’n’roll Brewhouse, 6th Sheffield Bishop’s House.
AUGUST 3rd Chilterns Awamu Together Festival
FOLK ROOTS, NEW ROUTES – CARVED HEADS OF SHIRLEY COLLINS AND DON LETTS BY CORIN JOHNSON The Fitzrovia Chapel, London, April 4th – 15th. The chapel is one of London’s hidden gems and so are these two icons of Englishness.
MEKONS/NIGHTINGAKES. STEWART LEE April 12th – Signature Brew, Haggerston, London. I host an album launch show by Welsh country punk legends the Mekons w support from The Nightingales and a short set from me.
THE MAGPIE ARC Fabulous young British country-folk-rock act on the road, augmented for the final time by the mighty guitar legend Martin Simpson APRIL Thursday 17th – The Glasshouse, Gateshead Buy Tickets, Tuesday 22nd – The Phoenix, Exeter Buy Tickets, Thursday 24th – Chapel Arts, Bath Buy Tickets
HAWKWIND 2025. Another implausible trip for the psychedelic survivors, Dave Brock still imperious, even from his octogenarian stool. APRIL 17th – Gateshead Glasshouse, 18th – Guildford G Live, 19th – Bournemouth Pavillion, 20th – B’ham Symphony Hall. MAY 9th – Aylesbury Waterside, 10th – Liverpool Auditorium, 11th – M’cr Bridgewater Hall, 23rd – Sheffield City Hall, 25th – Cambridge Corn Exchange, 26th – London Barbican
RICHARD DAWSON Unmitigated art-folk genius, and funny with it
APRIL 23rd & 24th M’cr Stoller Hall, 25th Kendal Brewery Arts, 27th Leeds City Varieties, 29th London Clapham Grand, MAY 1st Cardiff Gate, 2nd Notts Metronome, 17th Gateshead Glasshouse, 20th Edinbro Pleasance, 21st Glasgow St Lukes, 22nd L’pool Philharmonic, 23rd Brighton St Georhe’s , 24th Folkestone Quarterhouse.
MARTIN SIMPSON Folk guitarist who mines the hidden connections between British and American traditional musics with taste and virtuosity. APRIL 26th London Kings Place. JULY 21st Croydon Ruskin House. SEPT 6th Howden Shire Hall
THE ICEMAN AT TABERNACLE GALLERY, NOTTING HILL, LONDON
April 28th – 4TH May. Anthony Irving Iceman (aim) says, “aim is surfacing from deepest Dorset for his first London show which is taking place at the Tabernacle Gallery in Notting Hill. Here is a group of paintings from the previous 10 years selected by aim himself. There is also a series of more recent paintings based on The Iceman’s ground-breaking Lecture at the Bill Murray Club in September 2024 where The Iceman explained his Block melting work in the form of an academic lecture. All aim’s paintings are based on the live performance and relational work of The Iceman who has spent his adult life melting Blocks of ice for reasons that escape most people. The Iceman and aim are one and the same person. Humanly speaking, they coalesce as Anthony Irvine.“The Blocks live on”-that is the Iceman’s mantra and now aim’s as well. aim’s paintings have been described in numerous ways. He looks forward to hearing more adjectival phrases to describe his work during this run. aim is sometimes labelled as an ‘outsider’ artist because of the raw energy of his painting style and the idiosyncratic subject matter. But aim himself simply describes himself as a “painter with clear aims.” Although in one sense the pieces could be described as obsessional self-portraits, in another sense they are paintings of ‘Everyman’ and “’Everywoman’ in life’s struggles and joys. Taking a leaf from Andy Warhol’s dictum that Business is the best kind of art to heart,The Iceman will be clearly delineating the prices of individual paintings. He will also be offering a wide spectrum of aesthetic merchandise for sale at bargain prices: Postcards, Posters, his ’75 braimnd new paintings’ art Book, his “Melt It! Book”, etchings, engravings, signed block photocopies on authentic fax paper, Melt It Badges and even his children’s book, “Lockdown Melter”, will all be available for purchase. Truly there is something for everyone. The Iceman will have a padlocked cash box on site and provide his own security for his priceless paintings and all goods. aim hopes visitors enjoy viewing his insightful canvases. The opening do is at 7pm on 29th April 2025 [Thank you to “Music Business Associates” for kindly sponsoring the refreshments for that event] The Iceman/aim will be in the Tabernacle Gallery in person every day of the run. But he will not be shaking anyone’s hand, for health and safety reasons, due to the freezing effect of such a gesture. *Thank you to Artcetera, Bournemouth who generously supply aim with free quality cut-offs of mounting board upon which to paint. **FYI The Iceman’s Blockbuster Documentary film “Melt It!The Film of the Iceman” is due to be released this year 2025”
WATERBOYS The Waterboys ebb and flow like the tides of time, under the ongoing stewardship of mad Mike Scott. He saw the crescent. MAY 1st Basingstoke Anvil, 2nd Bath Forum, 3rd Bexhill-On-Sea De-La-Warr, 5th Brighton, 7th Nottingham Rock City, 8th Liverpool Philharmonic, 9th Sheffield City Hall, 10th Gateshead Glasshouse, 12th Blackpool Opera House, 13th M’cr Bridgewater Hall, 15th York Barbican, 16th Birmingham Symphony Hall, 18th Bournemouth Pavillion, 19th Cardiff New, 20th Cambridge Corn Exch, 22nd Bristol Beacon, 23rd Oxford New, 24th Stockton Globe, 25th Llandudno Venue Cymru, 27th Guildford G Love, 28th Leicester De Montfort, 31st London Roundhouse. JUNE 1st London Roundhouse, 7th Dublin 3 Arena.
MACHYNLLETH COMEDY FESTIVAL The greatest comedy festival in the world. Book your bell tent now to avoid disappointment. I am doing MAN-WULF 3 times, John Shuttleworth is on, Celya AB etc etc. Make sure to see Ben Moor’s A Three Thing Day. May 2nd - 4th. Once visited, never forgotten. DON’T TELL ANYONE ABOUT IT OR YOU WILL RUIN IT!!!!
BEVIS FROND Psychedelic survivors reaching a late career phase of imperial majesty MAY 16th Lewes Con Club, 17th & 18th London Lexington, AUG 8TH Built Wells Kozfest.
DINOSAUR JR The Crazy Horse of the hardcore era in another turn of the wheel MAY 18th M’cr Albert Hall, 20th Glasgow Barrowlands, 22nd London Troxy
SAMANTHA CRAIN Heart-rending Choctaw country-folk. MAY 19th Brighton Green Door, 20th London Neon 194, 21st M’cr Gullivers
THE NIGHTINGALES Birmingham post-punk leg-ends hit the road again. When will it end? MAY 21ST Leeds Brudenell, 22nd Newcastle Think Tank, 23rd Glasgow Stereo, 24th M’cr Deaf Institute, 25th B’ham Castle & Falcon, 27th Bristol Exchange, 28th Brighton Chalk, 29th Cambridge Junction, 30th London Oslo, 31st Swansea Bunkhouse. ALSO ----- The Nightingales release their first studio album since 2022’s much-praised ‘The Last Laugh’. Celebrated in the Stewart Lee-narrated film King Rocker of 2020, where the curtain was raised on the magic of the “long serving punk/alternative rock volunteer” (The Quietus) Robert Lloyd, The Nightingales are as pertinent as ever as they release a poignant tirade on modern times heralded, quite rightly, as ‘The Awful Truth’. Released on April 4th on Fire Records, their new album ‘The Awful Truth’ is a modern mutant music hall interpretation of the day’s news, a haunting jolt into realism narrated with all the angst of an insistent, slightly dishevelled late-night newscaster. BUY A BUNDLE HERE. https://thenightingales.org.uk
BOOTHBY GRAFFOE & ANTONIO FORCIONE May 28th, The Old Woollen, Leeds. A MUST!! ONE OFF SHOW!!!! “20 years ago a stand-up comedian made an album with a virtuoso guitarist. They did a bunch of shows and got a bunch of 5 star reviews. Then they toured Australia, and won a bunch of awards. One of which they left in an Italian restaurant in Adelaide. Now they're back, performing songs from Wot Italian? and some other songs too. Boothby is funny & Antonio is one of the best guitar players in the whole wide world. Seriously.” https://oldwoollen.seetickets.com/tour/antonio-forcione-boothby-graffoe-wot-italian-
SONGHOY BLUES The Mali Clash. JUNE 1st Sheffield Crookes, 2nd Leeds Brudenell, 4th B’ham Castle & Falcon, 6th London Islington Assembly Hall, 7th Bristol Thekla
BO NINGEN Japanese art psyche-punks JUNE 5th Liverpooo Arts, 7th London Dome.
0SEES I am a late adopter of the extreme noise power of this veteran combo, amazing live, who share the same t-shirt provider as me. JUNE 9th Edinburgh Liquid, 15th Bristol Marble Factory, 16th M’cr Ritz, 18th Glasgow Galvanisers, 20th Leeds Irish Cent, 21st B’ham Digbeth Crossing, 23rd London Electric Ballroom, 24th London Earth, 25th Brighton Chalk.
LEN PRICE 3 Durable punk-mods. JUNE 18th – 229 London
CHRIS ECKMAN Former frontman of dark alt country prgenitors The Walkabouts in what I think is his first UK date this century. June 19th Water Rats, London
SKEP WAX WEEKENDER July 17th – 20th, Islington, London
Four nights of radical indiepop - Thursday and Friday evening at the Lexington, Saturday evening at Islington Town Hall, Sunday (4pm) back at The Lexington: see full line-up below. The 'Weekender' ticket will admit you to all four nights. Day tickets are available for each of the four shows. Thursday (The Lexington) Jeanines, Sassyhiya, Panic Pocket Friday (The Lexington) The Would-Be-Goods, The Orchids, Swansea Sound Saturday (Islington Assembly Room) Heavenly, Lightheaded, Crumbs Sunday (The Lexington), Marlody, The Gentle Spring, Special Friend
Venue addresses: The Lexington, 96-98 Pentonville Rd, London, N1 9JB.
Islington Assembly Hall, Upper St, London, N1 2UD. (The venues are less than a mile apart.)
Heavenly's new 7" single will go on sale at this event.
Ticket prices include £1.50 Venue Levy for Islington Town Hall.
The Lexington is 18+ admission, The Islington Assembly Hall is 16+
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS / MDC American hardcore heroes of NO KKK NO FASCIST USA chant fame. AUG 4th – New Cross Inn, London
EDWYN COLLINS Orange Juice’s indiepop originator SEPT 27th Glasgow Theatre Royal, 29th Buxton Opera House, 30th Bath Komedia. OCT 2nd S’hampton Central Hall, 3rd Brighton St Georges, 4th London RFH, 6th Norwich Epic, 7th Manchester Albert Hall, 8th Newcastle Boiler Shop
BOB MOULD Hardcore punk pioneer of Husker Du/Sugar lineage. NOV 18th Glasgow Oran Mor, 19th Leeds Brudenell, 20th London Dome
SAINTS 73-79 Superb! The original line-up of the Australian Punk progenitors, but with Mudhoney's Mark Arm deputising for the departed Chris Bailey (a gentleman and a scholar who once came to my show!). His co-writer and co-guitarist Ed Kuepper remains undimmed and the rhythm section will rattle your bones. NOVEMBER 21ST Bristol Trinity, 22nd Leeds Project, 23rd Glasgow Garage, 24th M’cr Academy 2, 26th London Camden Electric
16. IN OUR LAMENTATIONS 2025
Barre Phillips (Jazz bassman, 1934)
Bob Grover (Brighton Piranha, 1956)
Riro (Japanese sea otter, 2007)
Nora Orlandi (Spaghetti symphonist, 1933)
Ed Askew (Acid folkie, 1940)
Tony Slattery (The vile blows of the world made him reckless, 1959)
David Lynch (He erased our heads, 1946)
Landy Randerson (Museum access pioneer, 1949)
Garth Hudson (Bandolier, 1937)
Brian Murphy (Instantly aged actor, 1932)
Rab MacWilliam (Hackney historian, 1951)
Barry Goldberg (His flag was electric, 1941)
Peter Yarrow (He left on a jetplane, 1938)
Snowy Fleet (Easybeater, 1939)
Jamie Muir (Absolute fucking rhythmical genius, 1942)
Mike Ratledge (Moon in June Soft Machine man, 1943)
Gabriel Yacoub (Malicorne muso of French folk, 1952)
Bill Fay (Christian mystic songwriter seer, 1943)
Roberta Flack (Made Ewan MacColl sexy, 1937)
Gene Hackman (an actor who knew when not to,1930)
Jay Rayner’s Observer restaurant column (1999)
David Johansen (New York Doll, 1950)
Bill Dare (Even his socks were funny, 1959)
Johnny Green (A gentleman, a dandy, and always a pleasure,)
Ken Parker (The Blue Bender, 1943)
Edweena Banger (Her nose bled, 1959)
John Cassady (Planetary penman, 1971)
Joey Molland (His finger was bad, 1947)
Peter Farrelly (Fruuppster, 1949)
Jesse Colin Young (He got it together, 1941)
Brian James (Lord of The Damned, 1955)
Roy Ayers (Good vibes, 1940)
Bob Rupe (Brilliant Gutterball and Silos bottom end)
Nadia Cassini (Starcrash starlet, 1949)
Nike Arrighi (The Devil Rides Out, 1944)
Bill Smith (Original Corrie, 1936)
DG Hessayon (Garden expert who answered my questions, 1928)
Elliot Ingber (Winged Eel Fingerling, 1941)
Leanne Cowie (Scientific drummer, 1964?)
George Foreman (Meat griller, 1949)
17. AN IMPRISONED CLIMATE CHANGE PROTESTOR WRITES...
This heroic young man, George Simonon, has written about his time in prison for climate change activism for the Guardian
“‘The prison system is insanely broken’: a climate activist on his experience in jail
George Simonson says you learn about society by seeing how it treats its prisoners – and jail has strengthened his belief that change is crucial
Wed 19 Mar 2025 05.00 GMT
George Simonson, 24, from London, had recently graduated inmechanicalengineering from the University of Edinburgh when he wasgivena 24-month custodial sentence for climbing a gantry over the M25 in 2022. He was also found guilty of criminal damage and sentenced to a further six-week custodial sentence for spraying paint on a wall of Exeter University in 2023. He sent this letter from prison before he was released in January.
I remember the day I was sentenced like it was yesterday. I was filled with anxiety the entire time. It’s a strange situation to be in, not knowing whether or not you’d have your liberty at the end of the day, or for how long it might be taken away. My mind was racing and I had no idea how to operate.
At the moment the judge read out my sentence, I felt so many things at once. Sadness, strength and some relief, if I’m honest. Simply because the uncertainty was gone. I stood up and blew kisses to my family and partner who were sitting in the gallery. I wanted them to know that I was going to be OK.
But I didn’t look at the judge. I wanted those precious moments to be shared with the people I love. As I walked down to the court cells, my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know when I’d see any of them next and I didn’t know what the next few months would bring.
The whole experience has shaped me and made me who I am today
My first few days in jail felt like weeks. It was the end of summer and it was something like 30 degrees at HMP Chelmsford. The heating was on constantly and the tiny windows offered no relief. The Olympics were on, so I and my co-defendant, who I was sharing with, spent our time watching and re-enacting the events in our hot, sweaty cell. I’ll always be grateful for his company during that time. It was the first time in prison for both of us so we were able to work through it together.
It took several weeks to sort out communication with my family. Several times my application forms would get lost or forgotten about by staff.
I was hungry a lot of the time, too: vegan options weren’t on the menu, so often I’d have digestive biscuits for dinner and eat my cereal with water rather than milk. I didn’t kick up too much of a fuss. I was new on the wing and I knew that prison wasn’t going to be particularly nice.
I was sustained by the belief that a better future is possible. I fought for it, and now, as a result, I’ve been sent to prison. But I wasn’t going to let the experience break me.
The action itself was over two years ago now. I remember many friends, family and even strangers were supportive, but some weren’t. One family friend told me that they would run me over if they were stuck in the traffic I caused. I understand their anger, and I just hope that one day they will understand why I chose to take this action – simply, I didn’t think there was any other option left.
The days here run on a rigid routine which changes only slightly between weekdays and weekends. In the week, we wake up at 7.30am. I listen to the radio while I eat my prison-issue breakfast and drink my coffee. We’re unlocked at 8.05am and I leave the wing after a pat-down from the guards. Thankfully, I’m in full-time work, so I spend much of the day fixing bicycles in the workshop for a charity. There is a two-hour break at lunchtime when we’re locked up again. After work in the afternoon, we’ll grab our dinners before going to the gym, which we can attend a few times per week. We aren’t allowed out into the yard during the week, so I only spend five to 10 minutes each day outside walking to and from work.
On the weekends, it’s a lot slower and loneliness often creeps in. I’ll have biscuits with my coffee for a treat. I play card games, write letters or watch TV in my cell. We all dread the weekend: Saturdays and Sundays feel longer than the working week.
If I was alone it would be so much worse, but the people I’ve met in here have given me so much strength and support. They’re friends that I’ll keep in contact with once I’m released.
I’m convinced that civil resistance works, and it’s absolutely justified when you’re fighting for the survival of the human race. I’d voted, signed petitions, written to my MP, attended marches … I tried all the conventional ways to make my voice heard like everyone else, but it didn’t change a thing. So I feel content with the choices I’ve taken. Ultimately, the action that I took did work: it played a part in getting the demands of no new oil and gas drilling into the Labour manifesto. And now it’s policy.
It angers me that politicians have known about global warming and climate change for decades. They’ve known that fossil fuels are causing it, and they’ve known that it’s going to kill, displace and starve millions of people. But they ignored it.
Whatever stability people had is ripped away when you step inside
Our politicians are perfectly willing to lead when the country goes to war, but not when it comes to stopping emissions, which will save lives. In light of all of this, it was clear to me that civil resistance was the only option left. I didn’t do it for fun, for attention or for the sake of it. I did it because I knew that it could work. We’re taught about Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and the suffragettes in school: they’re celebrated as heroes now. But nobody pays much attention to the fact that they were absolutely vilified by the government, the judiciary and the journalists at the time.
In the end I’ve done what I can, and a judge chose to send me to prison for it. I don’t blame him, and I don’t spend my time wishing things had gone differently. The whole experience has shaped me and made me who I am today.
You learn about society by seeing how people are treated in its prisons, and it’s an absolute mess in ours. This whole experience has deepened my understanding of our system and strengthened my conviction that change is desperately needed. Not reform – we need revolutionary change. The prison system is insanely broken – people here are not treated like human beings.
The entire apparatus is executed with maximum emphasis on punishment and a superficial mention of rehabilitation. Many people resort to smashing the contents of their cells or self-harming as a way to access the help that is available. It is absolutely no wonder that re-offending rates are so high when those leaving prison are in a worse way than when they came in.
And whatever stability people had in their lives before prison, whether it’s housing or employment, is ripped away when you step inside and there is minimal help to put things back together. Once you’ve received a prison sentence, it’s harder to get a mortgage, car insurance, or a job. How is any of this fair? This country has a huge problem and the evidence is hidden away behind razor wire and brick walls where nobody can see it.
I’m going to be released with extraordinarily broad licence conditions, with the purpose of stopping my involvement in “political activism”. Really, these conditions will mean that the probation service can pick and choose which elements of the political process I can be involved in. I’ve been told that I won’t be able to attend meetings of the Labour party, for example, or post anything to do with protesting on my social media, despite the fact that freedom of assembly and expression is protected by the European convention on human rights. Lack of cooperation results in imprisonment for the remainder of the sentence. In my case, that would be 19 months.
Before I got involved in civil resistance, I was so depressed. I buried my head in the sand because I felt so powerless in the face of it all. I was terrified about what the rest of my life would be like.
Looking at the positives, though, I’m going to come out of prison with a fresh appreciation for the things around me. I can’t wait to savour the things that gave me happiness. I took so much for granted before. Whether it’s walking in nature, listening to music, or spending time with my family and partner, I’m going to savour every minute. Even things like being able to use a toilet or shower in privacy and go to sleep knowing you won’t be woken up by a night guard. There’s a lot to settle back into, but I feel lucky that the day of my release is coming – something that many people in here don’t have.
Stewart Lee
2025-03-27T12:05:08+00:00
1. SAVE THE TOMB OF THE EAGLES One of my favorite places in the world is the neolithic Tomb of The Eagles on Orkney. Instead of making it easy for themselves and just reburying it, the farming family that owned the land it occupied tried to run it for the benefit of visitors, with young volunteer archaeologists staffing a museum full of amazing objects. They marked out a stunning route from the farm to the tomb and installed a little trolley on wheels with a rope so you couldn’t haul yourself along the entrance passage into the chamber. I have visited three times and I loved it. But obviously covid wiped out tourism temporarily and picking up the financial pieces proved impossible and this incredible place closed to the public. These people of the Island of South Ronaldsay (below) are trying to crowdfund reopening the Tomb so please help! About the Tomb The internationally famous Neolithic chambered cairn at Isbister, known as the Tomb of the Eagles, occupies a spectacular clifftop location in the South Parish of South Ronaldsay. The 5,000+ year-old burial tomb is currently in private ownership. For over 20 years it was a successful family-run, and family-friendly, visitor attraction comprising the chambered cairn, scenic walks, a Bronze Age burnt mound, and a visitor centre. The Tomb provided employment opportunities for young people, and established itself as a much-loved and unique part of South Ronaldsay and Orkney’s tourism scene. Why is it closed? In 2020 the Covid-19 pandemic resulted in the suspension of tourism activity, and the tomb was closed to visitors. It did not reopen, and the family has now decided to retire, and to sell the Tomb and associated assets. What are we doing about it? With the family's full support, we, the South Ronaldsay community,...
Thirty years ago, Birmingham's Napalm Death invented ‘grindcore', and initiated a dialogue between hardcore anarcho-punk, extreme metal, and the experimental jazz crew. Without them, almost nothing your surly weed-eyed nephew nods out to at weekends would exist.
Today, behind an ersatz protest punk sleeve, a long serving line-up finds Barney Greenway bellowing fearsomely incomprehensible cut and paste complaints over shifting high velocity blast beats.
John Zorn wafts in from the New York conservatoire to blow a sax solo, and there's an uncharacteristic symphonic moment on the chorally enhanced Fall On Their Swords.
Maximum happiness achieved, Jeremy Bentham's mummified head is doubtless delighted.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-18T21:06:59+00:00
Thirty years ago, Birmingham's Napalm Death invented ‘grindcore', and initiated a dialogue between hardcore anarcho-punk, extreme metal, and the experimental jazz crew. Without them, almost nothing your surly weed-eyed nephew nods out to at weekends would exist. Today, behind an ersatz protest punk sleeve, a long serving line-up finds Barney Greenway bellowing fearsomely incomprehensible cut and paste complaints over shifting high velocity blast beats. John Zorn wafts in from the New York conservatoire to blow a sax solo, and there's an uncharacteristic symphonic moment on the chorally enhanced Fall On Their Swords. Maximum happiness achieved, Jeremy Bentham's mummified head is doubtless delighted.
For a man who professes to dislike the internet so much, Stewart Lee is an ardent fan on one of its trendiest aspects: the meme.
His act is almost entirely based around the recurrence of motifs: building them up in the audience's mind and returning back to them again and again, hoping that the growing conspiracy of insider knowledge that he creates in the auditorium will repay with bigger laughs with every reoccurence.
The most wicked part of this conceit is that Lee is so naked in its pursuit - actively bragging about the emptiness of his show while taking close to £20 a seat from a near-sell out Theatre Royal crowd - and that the audience loved it.
So he gets away with a show that has Scooby Doo, self-aggrandising shop names, and the acts of other comics as its main themes, and does so with enviable panache, deceitful confidence and a still-growing fan base after more than two decades as a professional comedian.
He can do this because as well as pursuing an almost Platonic study of comedy he is very funny. Alongside the metaphysical dispositions there are very good gags, both of the bold, crude kind, and slow burning jokes that take hold after a few cogs have turned in the listener's head.
Lee made much of his previous visits to Norwich at the Art Centre and the Playhouse, and was perhaps too close with an observation that his style of comedy works better in smaller venues.
It deserves Theatre Royal-sized audiences and their big belly laughs though.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-11T14:00:55+00:00
For a man who professes to dislike the internet so much, Stewart Lee is an ardent fan on one of its trendiest aspects: the meme. His act is almost entirely based around the recurrence of motifs: building them up in the audience's mind and returning back to them again and again, hoping that the growing conspiracy of insider knowledge that he creates in the auditorium will repay with bigger laughs with every reoccurence. The most wicked part of this conceit is that Lee is so naked in its pursuit - actively bragging about the emptiness of his show while taking close to £20 a seat from a near-sell out Theatre Royal crowd - and that the audience loved it. So he gets away with a show that has Scooby Doo, self-aggrandising shop names, and the acts of other comics as its main themes, and does so with enviable panache, deceitful confidence and a still-growing fan base after more than two decades as a professional comedian. He can do this because as well as pursuing an almost Platonic study of comedy he is very funny. Alongside the metaphysical dispositions there are very good gags, both of the bold, crude kind, and slow burning jokes that take hold after a few cogs have turned in the listener's head. Lee made much of his previous visits to Norwich at the Art Centre and the Playhouse, and was perhaps too close with an observation that his style of comedy works better in smaller venues. It deserves Theatre Royal-sized audiences and their big belly laughs though.
An English musician sits on the outskirts of the Spanish desert town of Tabernas, where Italians shot American cowboy movies on now abandoned sets, and concocts a widescreen country rock record influenced by the mariachi hued soundtracks bashed out to accompany them.
Scott Walker only sang themes to two Spaghetti westerns, Joe Hill and The Rope And The Colt, but the Choppers' musical director and vocalist Ben Nicholls swells his lungs and ghosts the tortured troubadour a whole album of horse opera hits.
Be Ready is so ingrained with acutely observed inauthenticity it swallows its own tail and becomes thoroughly convincing.
Stewart Lee
2011-07-10T11:36:01+01:00
An English musician sits on the outskirts of the Spanish desert town of Tabernas, where Italians shot American cowboy movies on now abandoned sets, and concocts a widescreen country rock record influenced by the mariachi hued soundtracks bashed out to accompany them. Scott Walker only sang themes to two Spaghetti westerns, Joe Hill and The Rope And The Colt, but the Choppers' musical director and vocalist Ben Nicholls swells his lungs and ghosts the tortured troubadour a whole album of horse opera hits. Be Ready is so ingrained with acutely observed inauthenticity it swallows its own tail and becomes thoroughly convincing.
Last week’s newspaper attacks on Jeremy Corbyn have moved from the dishonest into the deranged. On page seven of Monday’s Telegraph, Sir Gerald Howarth MP, who once worried that the same sex marriage bill would be seen by “the aggressive homosexual community… as but a stepping stone to something even further”, analysed Corbyn’s Remembrance service bow.
Sir Gerald, who was dismayed when the ban on military homosexuals was lifted because many “ordinary soldiers in Her Majesty’s forces joined the services precisely because they wished to turn their backs on some of the values of modern society”, explained how Corbyn’s “slight tip forward” toward the Cenotaph “should have gone down to around 45 degrees from the waist” proving that he was “not cut from the cloth of a statesman”.
Perhaps, mindful of Sir Gerald’s anxieties, Corbyn had refrained from bending too far forward in order to avoid encouraging any members of the aggressive homosexual community present at the ceremony to see his action as a stepping stone to something even further.
Meanwhile, on page 23 of the same edition, the Telegraph’s former editor Charles Moore, whose decision to live in Tunbridge Wells indicates a man at peace with posterity, took a contrary position to Sir Gerald. He said that Corbyn behaved with decorum at the Cenotaph, but that this was actually worse than if he had behaved appallingly, as it was an attempt to foist far-left values on the public “by outward deference to common norms”.
Whatever Corbyn does is wrong, it seems. Punching blindly out of the paper bag of his own lunacy, Moore concluded, “It is sensible, from [the Labour party’s] point of view, to make well-arranged poppies part of their window dressing.”
While I don’t doubt that Corbyn is a Marxist sociopath hellbent on the destruction of British society, and indeed I applaud him for this, the best evidence of well-arranged window-dressing in British politics last week was the Conservatives’ hasty grafting of a digital poppy on to an all-purpose online David Cameron maquette, which can be speedily adapted to sport the appropriately sincere symbols of any passing festival of remembrance.
Father Dom Bernardo Vincelli’s tonic wine was sentimentally drunk by old soldiers years after they had consumed it under fire in Normandy. It is understood that, for next year’s remembrance ceremony, the prime minister’s tear ducts are to be surgically altered so that he can cry French Benedictine on demand, lick it off his own face, and then transubstantiate it in his bladder, to wee out the holy tears of the fallen.
Taking contrary arguments to arrive at the same conclusion, Sir Gerald and Charles Moore are like terrible hack comedians on some shit TV panel show, who’ve found the same funny punch line, and now just need to reverse-engineer opinions to justify it.
The Telegraph even included a helpful photo diagram, showing the exact angle of Corbyn’s bow, with protractor-style annotation to prove that it did, indeed, clock in at below Sir Gerald’s respectful angle of 45 degrees.
What constitutes offence is normally a difficult thing to delineate. The N-word, for example, while unacceptable racist filth in the mouth of your dad, may yet be a delight in the gutter poetry of African American rap singers, like Ice Cube, Ice-T or the Insane Clown Posse.
Defining offence is so complicated. That’s why it was thoughtful of the Telegraph to publish an actual graph of the angle of Corbyn’s bow. The existence of a literal calibration of offence relieves us of the obligation of understanding complicating factors like context, intent, or the agenda of the observer. Corbyn’s bow was undeniably offensive because it fell outside the mathematical parameters of inoffensive bowing.
Oddly, I have previous experience of a protractor being used to calculate offence. Twenty-one years ago I appeared in a TV sketch show, and in an item written by the comedian Richard Herring, Tom Binns featured naked as a showering footballer. When the rushes arrived, there were legal anxieties that Binns’s penis appeared to be erect, and that the footage could not be broadcast.
A BBC ombudsman analysed Binns’s penis with a protractor, using the Mull of Kintyre test, and found that Binns’s penis, while buoyant, was angled downwards at less than the 45 degree mark that would have made it unfit for transmission. Turning from the Telegraph to the Sun, this knowledge was to come back to haunt me.
The Sun’s front page, Leveson a mere memory, maintained Corbyn had not bowed at all, downgrading his movements to a futile nod, and ran a photo of the nodding “pacifist” next to a picture of an apparently topless woman standing heroically in some snow in just tiny pants and ski-boots. Her back was towards the camera, but the subconscious 3D modelling in my mind kicked in involuntarily, and I was very slightly excited, surely the paper’s intention in displaying the image.
Later that day, as I walked home past a decorated war memorial, the stirring began again, and I realised to my horror that accidentally viewing the image of the semi-naked woman on the Sun cover alongside their story on Corbyn and the Cenotaph had caused me to associate subconsciously Remembrance Day with mild sexual arousal.
Appalled at what had happened to me, through no fault of my own I might add, and terrified of incurring the wrath of Sir Gerald for my inappropriate response to the sacred symbols around me, I grabbed my protractor from my satchel and rushed into a toilet cubicle to calibrate the extent of my unintentional disrespect.
Luckily, I realised that, as usual, my penis fell below the required standard to constitute legal tumescence, and quickly mailed off mathematically annotated photographic evidence of this to Sir Gerald, for fear of becoming the subject of a Daily Telegraph exposé myself, while praying that he himself would not interpret this desperate gesture as an invitation to a stepping stone to something even further.
We all remember the dead in our own way, and contextualise their sacrifices as we see fit. I stood among a small crowd at the war memorial at the library where I was working at 11 o’clock on Wednesday. Someone’s phone went off, of course. Young mums walked past unaware of the significance of the moment. I thought about my grandfather, an RAF crewman, quietly and privately traumatised, I think, by flying over Dresden, days after the firebombing. Though he continued to profess hatred of all foreigners until his death, as was the way of his generation, I suspect that, from that day onwards, his heart wasn’t really in it.
A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 until 8 Jan; stewartlee.co.uk. Stewart Lee is the curator of next year’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, at Prestatyn Pontins, 15-17 April 2016
Stewart Lee
2015-11-15T13:06:23+00:00
Last week’s newspaper attacks on Jeremy Corbyn have moved from the dishonest into the deranged. On page seven of Monday’s Telegraph, Sir Gerald Howarth MP, who once worried that the same sex marriage bill would be seen by “the aggressive homosexual community… as but a stepping stone to something even further”, analysed Corbyn’s Remembrance service bow. Sir Gerald, who was dismayed when the ban on military homosexuals was lifted because many “ordinary soldiers in Her Majesty’s forces joined the services precisely because they wished to turn their backs on some of the values of modern society”, explained how Corbyn’s “slight tip forward” toward the Cenotaph “should have gone down to around 45 degrees from the waist” proving that he was “not cut from the cloth of a statesman”. Perhaps, mindful of Sir Gerald’s anxieties, Corbyn had refrained from bending too far forward in order to avoid encouraging any members of the aggressive homosexual community present at the ceremony to see his action as a stepping stone to something even further. Meanwhile, on page 23 of the same edition, the Telegraph’s former editor Charles Moore, whose decision to live in Tunbridge Wells indicates a man at peace with posterity, took a contrary position to Sir Gerald. He said that Corbyn behaved with decorum at the Cenotaph, but that this was actually worse than if he had behaved appallingly, as it was an attempt to foist far-left values on the public “by outward deference to common norms”. Whatever Corbyn does is wrong, it seems. Punching blindly out of the paper bag of his own lunacy, Moore concluded, “It is sensible, from [the Labour party’s] point of view, to make well-arranged poppies part of their window dressing.” While I don’t doubt that Corbyn is a Marxist sociopath hellbent on the destruction of British...
The Tom Waits of 2008 has ventured far from the conventional balladry his career began with in the early Seventies, and deep into the forest of weird, faux-experimental fairground music. Tonight he appears as a dishevelled hobo, complete with Tourettes spasms and ticks, standing in a circus ring. Birds have eaten his breadcrumb trail. There’s no way back out of the woods.
The Glitter and Doom Tour, its UK dates limited to two nights in Edinburgh Playhouse, costs £102.50 a ticket, and punters are required to show photo i.d on arrival. We were offered unsolicited advice on the unsuitability of ours after we had been let in, which I suppose is all part of the service for such a high ticket price. Waits takes the stage, the set resembling a carnival in a junkyard, forty minutes late, just as the slow handclap started, and then orchestrates the ebb and flow of applause. He stamps his feet. Pre-positioned dust rises in a cloud. He sings, all the lyrics rendered incomprehensible by the growl that grows more guttural with the years. The band clump their clownish reels, a square’s idea of weird. Every shift in mood, every gesture Waits makes, is shadowed by superbly slick and subtle lighting changes. But everything is calculated and pre-ordained. This isn’t a gig. It’s a theatre piece. And Waits and his band are actors, playing the role of a band in an American Gothic fantasy. During Eyeball Kid Waits puts on a shiny hat which reflects the light. There’s a standing ovation. The Edinburgh Fringe starts next week. At The Standing Order pub there’s a guy called Mr Methane who can fart the national anthem. These people need to get out more.
The band leave. Waits sits at the piano. He tells a funny story about something that supposedly happened last time he was in Edinburgh, but like a visiting hack American comic who hasn’t done his local research, maintains it involved swallowing a ‘bullfrog’ in someone’s ‘yard’. Everyone laughs. He dismisses requests, - “Those are all requests, but they’re your requests” – and even though we appreciate he’s in character as a grouchy genius, a little humility wouldn’t go amiss at these prices. Waits plays Innocent When You Dream and hands the chorus over to the crowd, the one moment in the evening when something genuine seemed to happen, before the band, now augmented by his son Sullivan on bongos, return for a closing set of more rootsy, less contrived material. His son? Tom Waits could have a son, sure, but would the shaking hobo-clown-huckster, and could the hobo-clown-huckster’s son afford sneakers? What is it we are watching exactly? The artifice of Waits’ latter-day act makes it difficult to respond to emotionally, as you never feel you’re reaching anything real, but now it’s being compromised by inappropriate footwear. At least make the boy pretend to have a club foot or something.
Nonetheless, the crowd are ecstatic. Was it an example of the West End musical effect, where high prices mean the audience have already invested so heavily, both financially and emotionally, in the event that it can’t fail? Or, like the medicine show shysters of old, whose schtick Waits’ has appropriated, is the old devil just a master salesman?
Stewart Lee
2008-07-27T20:11:21+01:00
The Tom Waits of 2008 has ventured far from the conventional balladry his career began with in the early Seventies, and deep into the forest of weird, faux-experimental fairground music. Tonight he appears as a dishevelled hobo, complete with Tourettes spasms and ticks, standing in a circus ring. Birds have eaten his breadcrumb trail. There’s no way back out of the woods. The Glitter and Doom Tour, its UK dates limited to two nights in Edinburgh Playhouse, costs £102.50 a ticket, and punters are required to show photo i.d on arrival. We were offered unsolicited advice on the unsuitability of ours after we had been let in, which I suppose is all part of the service for such a high ticket price. Waits takes the stage, the set resembling a carnival in a junkyard, forty minutes late, just as the slow handclap started, and then orchestrates the ebb and flow of applause. He stamps his feet. Pre-positioned dust rises in a cloud. He sings, all the lyrics rendered incomprehensible by the growl that grows more guttural with the years. The band clump their clownish reels, a square’s idea of weird. Every shift in mood, every gesture Waits makes, is shadowed by superbly slick and subtle lighting changes. But everything is calculated and pre-ordained. This isn’t a gig. It’s a theatre piece. And Waits and his band are actors, playing the role of a band in an American Gothic fantasy. During Eyeball Kid Waits puts on a shiny hat which reflects the light. There’s a standing ovation. The Edinburgh Fringe starts next week. At The Standing Order pub there’s a guy called Mr Methane who can fart the national anthem. These people need to get out more. The band leave. Waits sits at the piano. He tells a funny story about...
For the public good: Sir Lynton Crosby in Downing Street. Photograph: Steve Back/Rex
The New Year knighting of David Cameron’s election strategist Lynton Crosby was the most obscene misuse of Conservative power since George Osborne, unable to locate his satchel, used a friend’s chained gimp as a human pencil sharpener.
If the opposition were not in such disarray, and the press not so cowed, giving an honour to the dog-whistle waving, dead cat blowing, evil mastermind Crosby could have brought down the government, and seen Cameron airbrushed from the collective memory, a Bullingdon Trotsky carved from marzipan.
Examining the New Year honours list I began to wonder, almost in spite of myself, why I had not been mentioned, again
Crosby’s iniquitous ennobling has discredited the honours system for ever, and it is henceforth utterly without worth. Presenting Barbara Windsor with a DBE is now as offensive as if David Cameron had personally handed her a lacquered fragment of Ronnie Kray’s palaeofaeces.
On a related note, last weekend it was my son’s turn to bring home the school vole, and as I went to Fresh & Wild to purchase its lemon couscous, I realised a similar system could save the reputation of honours. Everyone in the country should be allowed to have one, but only for a weekend.
There could be problems. At my daughter’s old school, when children took home the class fluke worm, they also brought with them a scrapbook, in which they were required to document the worm’s weekend, before handing it on to next week’s wormkeeper.
Perusing the book was an object lesson in social inequality. Some weekends the lucky intestinal parasite disported itself in a chairlift, accompanying wealthy hosts on skiing trips. Other weekends were spent entirely on the sofas of social housing flats, the asexual opportunist pictured eating pizza, inhaling helium gas, and playing Grand Theft Auto.
I refused to be drawn into this web of contrasts on our fluke worm weekend, and so we photographed the tiny parasite outside a betting shop, coiled provocatively around a packet of Silk Cut and a can of Special Brew, in order to thwart nosy parents.
Nonetheless, I feel this system would work well for OBEs, giving everyone in the country the opportunity of posing delightedly with the medal in a semicircle of delighted relatives. One must take care, though, not to lose the award. During the brief period of our recent vole guardianship the rodent bolted into a French horn before our son’s music lesson, and suffocated.
Forced to purchase hastily a similar-looking vole online, at replaceyourdeadclassvole.com, we returned it only after having given it a thorough Martin Guerre-style schooling in the exact details of its supposed former life, should it ever be grilled by my son’s suspicious headmistress about its changed shoe size.
While there are, undoubtedly, deserving winners in the New Year honours list, all of them, coincidentally, people I personally admire or am related to, it didn’t take the garlanding of Lynton Crosby to cast doubts over the system. Jacqueline Gold, the sex-toy magnate behind such products as the Ann Summers Anal Training Kit, got a CBE, so even George Osborne’s humble pencils must surely be in line for something.
Examining the New Year honours list in closer detail I began to wonder, almost in spite of myself, why I had not been mentioned, again. Damon Albarn from the Blur was there. His calculating application of culturally lowbrow vaudevillian techniques to essentially middlebrow art forms, flattering the pretentions of middle-class reviewers while remaining on nodding terms with a broad-brushed populism, mirrors my own. Why he and not me?
And while James Nesbitt is a great actor, in terms of critical acclaim and awards I am probably considered, rightly or wrongly, a more significant artist than he is. Nesbitt’s charity work is admirable, but it is also visible, whereas the many charity stand-up benefits I help organise operate below the radar, the bills I tirelessly assemble being so strong as to sell out usually without much advertising.
I’m so good at what I do that those in power do not notice. My modesty is a handicap. It’s a problem I’ve had, I think, all my life. I hide my light under a bushel, and then I camouflage the bushel, and hire a reputation management company to remove all traces of the bushel from websites and social media.
Even Gary Barlow has an OBE and I am definitely a nicer person and a better artist than him. And, more importantly, unlike the tax-avoiding Barlow, I pay all my tax, and when I was investigated by HM Revenue they actually gave me a rebate for overpaying! It seems very wrong to me that this Barlow character has an OBE and I don’t. There doesn’t seem to be any definable logic in a system that rewards the arrogant and the guilty and yet punishes and insults the meek and virtuous.
I pay my tax. I organise charity benefits. I am a patron of at least three worthwhile arts organisations and four useful pressure groups. I have a Bafta and an Olivier award. I give frequent talks on the creative process at schools and universities and refuse all payment, no matter how much they press me. I leave out little trays of water to give the rare newts in my garden somewhere to spawn. I recycle, even food waste. I am environmentally ashamed to own a Volkswagen and will get rid of it as soon as possible. I am kind. I tolerate people who are different from me. And I have never done a comedy character on national television based on anyone with learning difficulties. And yet once more I am passed over. What is going on?
I would love to use my OBE to draw attention to all sorts of problems in the world, not least of all the continuing neglect of deserving OBE winners, and yet I am repeatedly, and apparently deliberately, denied that chance. And you know what, because of the years of calculated insults, if David Cameron offered me an honour now, I’d tell him where he could stick it. You can keep your bloody OBE!
Stewart Lee is appearing, for free, in a benefit for the homeless, A Belter for the Shelter 3, at the Hackney Empire, London, on 6 February, with Daniel Kitson, Earl Okin, Lewis Schaffer, Francesca Martinez, Sofie Hagen and James Acaster; and in a fundraiser for South London Cares, Hilarity for Charity, at the Leicester Square theatre, London, on 3 March with Eleanor Tiernan, Earl Okin, Ginger and Black, John Kearns and Shappi Khorsandi. He personally booked the bills for both of these by email and text message, which took some time, and he expects no thanks.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-10T19:34:34+00:00
For the public good: Sir Lynton Crosby in Downing Street. Photograph: Steve Back/Rex The New Year knighting of David Cameron’s election strategist Lynton Crosby was the most obscene misuse of Conservative power since George Osborne, unable to locate his satchel, used a friend’s chained gimp as a human pencil sharpener. If the opposition were not in such disarray, and the press not so cowed, giving an honour to the dog-whistle waving, dead cat blowing, evil mastermind Crosby could have brought down the government, and seen Cameron airbrushed from the collective memory, a Bullingdon Trotsky carved from marzipan. Examining the New Year honours list I began to wonder, almost in spite of myself, why I had not been mentioned, again Crosby’s iniquitous ennobling has discredited the honours system for ever, and it is henceforth utterly without worth. Presenting Barbara Windsor with a DBE is now as offensive as if David Cameron had personally handed her a lacquered fragment of Ronnie Kray’s palaeofaeces. On a related note, last weekend it was my son’s turn to bring home the school vole, and as I went to Fresh & Wild to purchase its lemon couscous, I realised a similar system could save the reputation of honours. Everyone in the country should be allowed to have one, but only for a weekend. There could be problems. At my daughter’s old school, when children took home the class fluke worm, they also brought with them a scrapbook, in which they were required to document the worm’s weekend, before handing it on to next week’s wormkeeper. Perusing the book was an object lesson in social inequality. Some weekends the lucky intestinal parasite disported itself in a chairlift, accompanying wealthy hosts on skiing trips. Other weekends were spent entirely on the sofas of social housing flats, the asexual...
A weekend of events curated by Stewart Lee culminated in a spectacular nostalgiafest which dusted off some lovingly remembered and some long forgotten acts that inspired the young Lee. It was not all terrific but much was. Mostly, though, it was a reminder of how political, surreal and downright dangerous the original alternative comedy scene could be.
Alexei Sayle easily prompted the biggest cheer.
The former fuming iconoclast would now make a serviceable Edward VII lookalike and while he now calls himself a writer he still fired verbal volleys with sardonic panache. Recalling his Liverpool roots, he encapsulated a dodgy Greek restaurant: "We've run out of pitta, do you want Hovis?" If Nigel Planer's hippy Neil felt dated, Arnold Brown's laconic wit was timeless. Red Dwarf's Norman Lovett made a little routine with a shower cap go a long way and Kevin McAleer also raised comic minimalism to absurd heights describing a cute owl picture.
The show-stealer, however, was The Greatest Show on Legs collective. Original prankster Malcolm Hardee is gone but survivor Martin Soan led their traditional naked balloon dance with clownish aplomb. Proceedings climaxed with Chris Lynam reviving his banger-up-the-bum firework finale.
Then they left. Possibly to the funniest old people's home imaginable.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-31T20:52:46+01:00
A weekend of events curated by Stewart Lee culminated in a spectacular nostalgiafest which dusted off some lovingly remembered and some long forgotten acts that inspired the young Lee. It was not all terrific but much was. Mostly, though, it was a reminder of how political, surreal and downright dangerous the original alternative comedy scene could be. Alexei Sayle easily prompted the biggest cheer. The former fuming iconoclast would now make a serviceable Edward VII lookalike and while he now calls himself a writer he still fired verbal volleys with sardonic panache. Recalling his Liverpool roots, he encapsulated a dodgy Greek restaurant: "We've run out of pitta, do you want Hovis?" If Nigel Planer's hippy Neil felt dated, Arnold Brown's laconic wit was timeless. Red Dwarf's Norman Lovett made a little routine with a shower cap go a long way and Kevin McAleer also raised comic minimalism to absurd heights describing a cute owl picture. The show-stealer, however, was The Greatest Show on Legs collective. Original prankster Malcolm Hardee is gone but survivor Martin Soan led their traditional naked balloon dance with clownish aplomb. Proceedings climaxed with Chris Lynam reviving his banger-up-the-bum firework finale. Then they left. Possibly to the funniest old people's home imaginable.
I will always remember where I was when I heard Boris Johnson had resigned. It was 9.05am on Thursday 7 July, I was driving through Stamford Hill. This column had a final deadline of 10am and now I had 55 minutes to rewrite it. The bendy BBC Tory-trumpet Chris Mason broke the news via the government-amplifier of Nick Robinson’s mouth and, winding down my window, I was desperate to share my joy with someone. But the only human beings in the area were a group of Orthodox Jewish schoolboys by the library, who seemed bewildered by an old fat goy shouting something about a bastard having gone at them out of a passing Ford Fiesta.
But, even as a Metropolitan Liberal Elitist Remoaner, I am grateful to Johnson on many levels. When the country voted for Brexit, and then for Johnson, I knew years of chaos and a far right lurch lay ahead. I also realised Brexit and Johnson would be exactly the kind of wedge issues to guarantee me a lucrative stand-up career playing to grateful audiences of crying Remainers for the foreseeable future. Like the hedge fund manager Crispin Odey and the international businessman Arron Banks, I too benefited financially from Johnson’s Brexit.
My last tour, Piglet’s Inferno, which ended an interrupted three-year run with a sold-out week at the Royal Festival Hall last Sunday, contained nothing but me swearing, red-faced, about Johnson for two-and-a-half hours and culminated in a beef effigy of the prime minister being shredded into slices and dropped from the rigging into the mouth of a giant puppet shark. And I achieved my dream of abandoning the traditional demands of so-called “comedy”, finally writing an entirely laugh-free show, each attack on the prime minister greeted simply by approving applause and angry jeers from the grim-faced Remoaners who exclusively comprise my audience. But for the tour’s closing weeks I worried daily that Johnson was about to be forced to resign and the show would fall apart before I had finished. I will be eternally grateful to Johnson for hanging on for four days after the show’s final date.
Johnson’s premiership, a mindless rotting meat zombie held together with the Sellotape™® of lies and the sticky excretions of his own spaff-faucet, began a sudden and dramatic slide into the ocean on Wednesday, like an arctic ice shelf made entirely of frozen shit. The Tories gasped for air in the filthy brine. Michael Fabricant got all brown stuff in his stupid hair and Carrie Johnson went down. Again. Hemingway’s line about a disaster happening “gradually, then suddenly” grew flesh. Gardy-loo! Gardy-loo! Gardy-loo!
I started to write this at 8.30am on Wednesday in a Pret A Manger, the day before Johnson finally folded. Two MPs resigned in less time than it took me to eat a Bacon & Egg Breakfast Mini Baguette™®. Whatever I filed on Thursday morning would surely be irrelevant by the time it was published on Sunday. I considered emailing the illustrator David Foldvari, suggesting he drew a blank space in a frame, inviting readers to scribble in their own etching of whatever has happened in the previous five minutes. Who would be in charge by the weekend? Mike “Concrete” Graham? A jar of Bovril with some mould in it? Morbius the Living Vampire? Or would Johnson cling on, like a mad king in an ancient British folk tale, roaming the mushroomed woods with his langer a-dangle, knighting stoats and beatifying otters.
Nadhim Zahawi, whose horses were never knowingly under-warmed, with £5,822.27 of public money heating their stables, became chancellor, surely a safe pair of hands for public finances. Michelle Donelan was education secretary for 36 hours before resigning and still managed to be rubbish at it. Even Ashfield MP Lee 30p Anderson quit, a man of such integrity he used supportive stooges on filmed walkabouts, and who until recently believed the PM was a victim of “a witch hunt by the BBC”, a news outlet so enfeebled it would run scared if someone showed it a child’s drawing of a Frankingstein. All these sudden discoveries of standards speak only of self-preservation.
I tried to follow the resignations on my laptop in Pret. A woman sitting at the next table, who has been throwing boiled eggs into her mouth and shouting about how magnetism is gay, got up and left. Perhaps she was the new parliamentary private secretary in the Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy. I turned off my phone, worried that if I could be contacted I might be offered a cabinet position.
By the time I turned in on Wednesday night, 42 MPs had resigned from the government and Johnson had sacked Michael Gove. Portents of doom abounded; a lioness hath whelped in the street; Sky News had a drone camera flying over parliament, beaming back the kind of shots you’d see in a disaster movie where London is attacked by dragons from space; graves yawned, and yielded up their Kremlin connections. You couldn’t write this. How could I write about it? And then the morning news brought a sort of conclusion, but the corruption that allowed Johnson is still with us.
Because despite the drama, we are still where we always have been. Rightwing media and the Conservative party enabled the promotion of a man they knew was a dangerous lying corrupt cheat, in order to further their own interests. And so far they have wasted six years of our country’s life now, briefly wavering only when the figurehead’s corruption could no longer be concealed and threatened to blow the political reactor core sky high, a Chernobyl explosion of backhanders, bullying, Brexit bullshit and ridiculously expensive wallpaper. You fucking idiots. Your self-serving resignations ring hollow. Your backpedalling editorials stink. You should all be in prison.
Stewart Lee
2022-07-10T21:16:12+01:00
I will always remember where I was when I heard Boris Johnson had resigned. It was 9.05am on Thursday 7 July, I was driving through Stamford Hill. This column had a final deadline of 10am and now I had 55 minutes to rewrite it. The bendy BBC Tory-trumpet Chris Mason broke the news via the government-amplifier of Nick Robinson’s mouth and, winding down my window, I was desperate to share my joy with someone. But the only human beings in the area were a group of Orthodox Jewish schoolboys by the library, who seemed bewildered by an old fat goy shouting something about a bastard having gone at them out of a passing Ford Fiesta. But, even as a Metropolitan Liberal Elitist Remoaner, I am grateful to Johnson on many levels. When the country voted for Brexit, and then for Johnson, I knew years of chaos and a far right lurch lay ahead. I also realised Brexit and Johnson would be exactly the kind of wedge issues to guarantee me a lucrative stand-up career playing to grateful audiences of crying Remainers for the foreseeable future. Like the hedge fund manager Crispin Odey and the international businessman Arron Banks, I too benefited financially from Johnson’s Brexit. My last tour, Piglet’s Inferno, which ended an interrupted three-year run with a sold-out week at the Royal Festival Hall last Sunday, contained nothing but me swearing, red-faced, about Johnson for two-and-a-half hours and culminated in a beef effigy of the prime minister being shredded into slices and dropped from the rigging into the mouth of a giant puppet shark. And I achieved my dream of abandoning the traditional demands of so-called “comedy”, finally writing an entirely laugh-free show, each attack on the prime minister greeted simply by approving applause and angry jeers from the...
“Dance, dance, wherever you may be!
I’m the Chancellor of the Duchy
of Lancaster, and Surrey Heath’s MP,
And that’s why I get into clubs for free.”
The Gove of the Dance, Sydney Carter, 1963
Few people will ever forget where they were when they learned that Michael Gove had been filmed dancing alone in an Aberdeen nightclub. Except for Gove himself, who looks as if he will remember little of the incident. For a moment, battered Brexit Britain was able to put aside its complicity in the twin horrors of the death of Geronimo the alpaca and the fall of Kabul and delight in Gove’s unselfconscious cavorting. Surrendering his soul to the skills of the mixmaster, never had Gove looked less like someone who had had enough of experts. If pressed for his views on that Aberdeen dancefloor, it is unlikely that Gove would have been able to decide with any certainty whether a scotch egg constituted a full meal. Would Gove even have believed, if asked mid-gyration, that we could give £350m a week to the NHS if we left the EU? Did this small-hours solo superstar look like a man found guilty by the high court of institutionalised cronyism over Covid contracts? For a moment, it seemed, Gove was absolved.
Irresponsible sections of the liberal newspaper commentariat even described Gove’s pathetic antic as somehow heartwarming. Were we trying to prove we are not the humourless cultural Marxists the right paint us as? Are there any circumstances under which it is acceptable for professional truth-tellers on the left to find Gove in any way amusing? Should we not contrive to condemn Gove at every opportunity, irrespective of his personal situation? Have we not learned the lesson taught to the nation when we indulged Boris Johnson’s once-enjoyable eccentricities? His broom! His zip wire!! His Have I Got News For You banter!!! Funny Boris!!!! Complicit liberal media allowed a dangerous, lying egomaniac to be installed at the head of the most corrupt government in living memory because he had messy hair. Laugh fondly at dancing funny Gove now, broadsheet ink-wasters, but do not come crying to me when he is your next prime minister and spectacles, cocaine, Christianity and falling over at work are mandatory.
While an unshackled Gove presumably uploaded himself to Tinder, I stole the last two days of school holidays camping innocently on the banks of the River Wye, frittering away the firelit nights fretting about writing this “so-called” funny “column”. On Tuesday morning, I set off for the shelves of the bibliophile hill fort Hay-on-Wye to seek inspiration. In Hay coffee shops, people shouldered canvas bags from north London bookstores stuck with badges of progressive causes. I felt like a wildebeest on some annual migratory march, following the herd, bemoaning Brexit and looking for old orange Penguins and Ladybird books with Frank Humphris covers. I am why Leave won.
Hay’s endless racks are a tarot experiment. The random tomes you reach for reveal your innermost realities. The first one I picked up, in the Hay Cinema Bookshop, was a 1967 copy of Agent of Chaos by the sci-fi writer Norman Spinrad. Brilliantly, its protagonist appeared to be a character called Boris Johnson, who confuses democracy with unchecked personal freedom. Pleasingly, it included the sentence: “Fifty men would pay with their lives to destroy the Hegemonic Council but Boris Johnson, while he felt regret, felt no guilt.” The £2.50 purchase would easily provide a basis for Sunday’s forthcoming funny column, so I snagged it, laughing in the stupid face of fate. My column would knock Allison Pearson’s contrived weekly misunderstandings of health and safety guidance into a cocked hat!
Checking the internet while my daughter queued for ice-cream at Shepherds Parlour, I realised with dismay the Johnson-Spinrad coincidence had already been scooped by the Daily Express as long ago as 2019, the loyal paper noting how one of the fictional Boris Johnson’s enemies described him as “a bumbler, [who] stumbles in the dark, ignorant of even the Democracy he professes to champion”. My non-original column idea collapsed as quickly as Dominic Raab’s holiday timeline. Then a message alerted me to Gove’s Aberdeen incident and I was back in the game. Note to self: are all the current crop of Conservatives in fact fictional characters?
That night, toasting a wild boar sausage, I wondered: does a calculating political machine like Gove, whose own teacher at Robert Gordon’s College 40 years ago declared: “That boy is a future leader of the Conservative party”, simply stumble into an Aberdeen nightclub and start dancing alone? Even if under whichever influence – cocaine, alcohol, Euroscepticism, scotch egg, freedom even – currently excites him? No. He does not. Gove danced quite deliberately.
For decades, Gove has craved power, even while winsomely declaring he does not wish to be prime minister. This is a man who, when questioned in an inquiry by Joanna Cherry QC, managed to appear to be so charmingly fogeyish he didn’t know what a burner phone was, even though in the 90s he would have made a number of deals with people who used them extensively. Gove has tried many different public personas, from Hard Man of Education to Hard Man of Brexit via Hard Man of Scotch Eggs, and yet he rarely rises in the popularity polls. He needs a new face from the ancient gallery. Gove has watched as the false bumbling character his ruthless contemporary Johnson fashioned for himself won over the gullible electorate and the supine media. And Gove has decided that although his post-Brexit party leadership plot failed, maybe he can yet grasp the reins of power, wooing the public in the role of that hapless dancing dad who just happened to be caught on camera in that unknown Aberdeen nightclub. Beware geeks bearing gifts.
Stewart Lee
2021-09-05T12:18:31+01:00
“Dance, dance, wherever you may be! I’m the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and Surrey Heath’s MP, And that’s why I get into clubs for free.” The Gove of the Dance, Sydney Carter, 1963 Few people will ever forget where they were when they learned that Michael Gove had been filmed dancing alone in an Aberdeen nightclub. Except for Gove himself, who looks as if he will remember little of the incident. For a moment, battered Brexit Britain was able to put aside its complicity in the twin horrors of the death of Geronimo the alpaca and the fall of Kabul and delight in Gove’s unselfconscious cavorting. Surrendering his soul to the skills of the mixmaster, never had Gove looked less like someone who had had enough of experts. If pressed for his views on that Aberdeen dancefloor, it is unlikely that Gove would have been able to decide with any certainty whether a scotch egg constituted a full meal. Would Gove even have believed, if asked mid-gyration, that we could give £350m a week to the NHS if we left the EU? Did this small-hours solo superstar look like a man found guilty by the high court of institutionalised cronyism over Covid contracts? For a moment, it seemed, Gove was absolved. Irresponsible sections of the liberal newspaper commentariat even described Gove’s pathetic antic as somehow heartwarming. Were we trying to prove we are not the humourless cultural Marxists the right paint us as? Are there any circumstances under which it is acceptable for professional truth-tellers on the left to find Gove in any way amusing? Should we not contrive to condemn Gove at every opportunity, irrespective of his personal situation? Have we not learned the lesson taught to the nation when we indulged Boris Johnson’s once-enjoyable eccentricities? His...
Bourke, John G - Snake Dance Of The Moquis - Arizona
Doran, Jamie and Bizony, Piers - Starman, The Truth Behind The Legend Of YuriGagarin - Bloomsbury
Wachhorst, Wyn - The Dream Of Spaceflight - Basic
Waters, Frank - Pumpkin Seed Point - Swallow -
ACID ROCK
Derogatis, Jim - Kaliedoscope Eyes - 4th Estate
Lively overview of the kind of characters that inspired Luther.
Erickson, Roky - Openers II - 2.13.61
Collection of lyrics and writings by the former 13th Floor Elevators frontman, with biographical stuff.
Joynson, Vernon - Fuzz, Acid & Flowers - Borderline Borderline as in 'borderline autistic', this is the definitive record collector nerd guide to psychedelic music. No comment. No gloss. Just pages and pages of facts. Ace.
Unterberger, Richie - Unknown Legends Of Rock And Roll - Miller Freeman
Another lively overview of the kind of characters that inspired Luther
Watkinson, Mike and Anderson, Pete - Crazy Diamond, Syd Barrett and The Dawn Of Pink Floyd - Omnibus Press
Biog of acid-casualty frontman.
AREA 51
Campbell, Glenn - Area 51 Viewer's Guide
Available from http://www.ufomind.com/area51/links/ this is a sceptical look at the Airbase by a local sceptic.
Piccard, George - Liquid Conspiracy, JFK, LSD, The CIA, Area 51 and UFO's - Adventures Unlimited Press This free-ranging rant is a great read, and due to the number of subjects covered in the title alone, represents good value.
Thomson, David - In Nevada, The Land, The People, God, And Chance - Little, Brown and Company
Good, dryly humorous descriptions of Area 51 fallout.
ARIZONA
Frommer's 2000 Arizona - IDG Books Worldwide USA The Rough Guide - Rough Guides
McMurtry, Larry - Roads, Driving America's Great Highways - Simon & Schuster
McMurtry is best known for his fiction but this book of essays about driving around the USA is great, and includes lots of good stuff about the South West. His book on Crazy Horse, called Crazy Horse, is phenomenal and burns with a controlled sense of injustice.
FREEMASONRY
I used various real Masonic ritual books to get the flavour of The Hampstead Man's way of thinking and speaking. They'll probably sell you one if you go to a Masonic Regalia shop. All the really secret bits are left blank anyway.
HOLY GRAIL/KING ARTHUR ORIGINAL
TEXTS
Anon - Pearl, Cleanness, Patience, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight - Everyman
Nice edition of the text in middle english, as used, I suspect, by the over-educated Marvel comics writer Dan Abnett for his early 90's series The Knights Of Pendragon.
Anon - Three Arthurian Romances - Everyman
Good translation of three minor entries in the cannon.
De Troyes, Chrétien - Arthurian Romances - Everyman Sadly this densely typed edition of the thieving Frenchman's 1170's take on our stories doesn't include the unfinished fragment, Perceval.
Malory, Thomas - Complete Works - Oxford
Yeah, like I read all 810 pages of the rapist's complete works in middle English? Matching up the bits I wanted with a translation saved me some clearance fees. Mallory's out of copyright.
HOLY GRAIL/KING ARTHUR THEORIES
Ashe, Geoffrey - The Traveller's Guide To Arthurian Britain - Gothic Image
A fun guide to Arthurian sites by Geoff 'King Arthur' Ashe
Barber, RW - Arthur of Albion - Barrie And Rockliff/Pall Mall Press
Sadly, this goes way back to my O Level history project (B+). Published in 1961 it pre-dates the colonisation of Arthurian study by crystal gazing Glastonbury types. Who did carve the Arthurian scene on the Porta della Pesceria, Modena Cathedral, years before any of the Arthurian Romances had been written down?
Berthelot, Anne - King Arthur Chivalry and Legend - Thames And Hudson
Looks like a new age rip-off book but is actually really good. Loads of great pictures.
Dunstan, Victor - Did The Virgin Mary Live And Die In England? - Megiddo Press
Privately published by a businessman who heads a £7,000,000 group of companies, in 1885, this book theorises wildly about 'the Jesus family' and their links to Britain. By the same author - The Ultimate Personal Success Programme, and How To earn Big Money Selling.
Knight, Christopher & Lomas, Robert - The Holy Grail - Weidenfeld & Nicholson
Flimsy easy to read pamphlet which concludes that the Grail is in Roslin chapel and includes floor plans to prove it.
Gardner, Laurence - Bloodline Of The Holy Grail - Element
The usual madness
Laidler, Keith - The Head Of God - Orion
Theorises that the severed head of Jesus, rather than the Grail, is buried at Roslin chapel.
Matthews, John - Elements Of The Arthurian Tradition - Element
Spiritualist/symbolist study of the story.
Phillips, Graham - The Search For The Holy Grail - Century
Respectable looking tome claims the Grail is hidden in Shropshire
HOPI CULTURE
Bourke, John G - Snake Dance Of The Moquis - Arizona
Though obviously coloured by the attitudes of the time it was written (1884), military man Bourke's 1st hand account of his time with the Hopis is a brilliant read and often unintentionally hilarious, as the ridiculous prig struts around busting into places where he clearly isn't welcome, and then wonders what he has done to cause offence. Emory Sekaquaptewa's introduction to the current edition laments the fact that Bourke's text made public a lot of things his people would rather were private, but is philosophical and forgiving.
Brugge, David M - The Navajo Hopi Land Dispute, An American Tragedy - University Of New Mexico Press
This is hard going but makes those ITV documentaries about Neighbours From Hell look kind of inconsequential.
Courlaner, Harold - The Fourth World Of The Hopis - University Of New Mexico Press
Waters and James (below) cover the same ground better.
Erdoes, Richard & Ortiz, Alfonso - American Indian Myths & Legends - Pimlico
All the Pimlico books about Native American Culture are pretty good, and this one provided the italicised, quoted myth sections dotted throughout The Perfect Fool which make it seem more important and well thought out than it is. I don't see how any credulous Western believer can read through the beautiful, useful, functional myths contained here-in and continue to assert that the bible is the best way of making sense of the world.
Jacobson, Howard - Seriously Funny - Channel 4/Viking
The book of Jacobson's freewheeling TV series about comedy was the first place I ever found out about pueblo clowns, and is full of fascinating, if tenuously linked, facts and theories.
James, Harry C - Pages From Hopi History - University Of Arizona Press
James collates other source material in a history that runs from the mythical emergence from the underworld, through invasion by the Spanish, The Navajo and the white Europeans, to the present day.
Page, Suzanne & Jake - Hopi - Abradale
Large format book of amazing photos from couple who seem to have had unprecedented access.
Powell, Major JW - The Hopi Villages - Filter Press
In 1870, the explorer Major JW Powell became one of the 1st white men to meet the Hopis, and went on to plead their case to the Bureau Of Indian Affairs. This is a reproduction of the pamphlet he wrote about his experiences. In the period illustrations, the villages look much the same as they do now.
Waters, Frank - The Book Of The Hopi - Penguin
Waters is a brilliant writer who makes everything shine and I'm glad writing the Perfect Fool helped me to discover him. His study of Hopi culture and myths was done in partnership with the people themselves and, despite being out of print for years, remains the definitive text.
Waters, Frank - Pumpkin Seed Point - Swallow
Waters' book about his time in the 60's spent researching The Book Of The Hopi is absolutely beautiful, and is better than any novels I've ever read about different cultures trying to find a common ground.
Whiteley, Peter M - Deliberate Acts, Changing Hopi Culture Through The Oraibi Split - Arizona
In 1906, the inhabitants of Oraibi, the oldest continuously inhabited settlement in the whole USA, split into Traditionals and Progressives, the latter of whom cleared off to found a new village, Hotevilla, which today has a very nice post office. I didn't read all of this, but think of the story in terms on New and Old Labour and it soon makes sense. Strangely, I never saw this book in the USA, but there were 2 copies of it in the same 2nd hand book shop on Stoke Newington Church Street.
Wright, Barton - Clowns Of The Hopi - Northland This has some great photos and a breakdown of all the different classes of pueblo clowns.
Wright, Barton - Hopi Kachinas, The Complete Guide To Collecting Kachina Dolls - Nortland
Personally I'm not that interested in collecting dolls, unless they are superhero action figures, but this is also a good guide to the Kachina spirits the dolls depict.
Various Artists - Parabola Volume IV, No. 1 - Tamarack Press
This academic publication from The University Of Arizona contains the essays, One More Smile For A Hopi Clown by Emory Sekaquaptewa, Wisdom Of The Contrary by Joespeh Epes, and Boundaries of Belief by Barabara Tedlock, which were the most useful articles I came across anywhere for information about pueblo clowns.
LAS VEGAS
Time Out Guide To Las Vegas - Penguin
Anderton, Frances and Chase, John - Las Vegas, A Guide To Recent Architecture - Ellipsis
All the Ellipsis books about the architecture of various cities are great, and they're design classics too
PEYOTE
Aberle, David F - The Peyote Religion Among The Navajo - Oklahoma
This was good for legal info, but is essentially pages and pages of dense documentation about how appalling American treatment of the natives was, and continues to be.
Gottlieb, Adam - Peyote And Other Psychoactive Cacti - Ronin
A concise and readable guide to the art of cultivating peyote.
Mount, Guy - The Peyote Book, A Study Of Native Medicine - Sweetlight
Mount describes himself as 'Editor and Earthperson', so you know what he's all about immediately.
RELIGIOUS MADNESS
Godwin, Jeff - The Music's True Master - Chick
Unintentionally comic overview of Satanism written by a man who thinks Spinal Tap are a real band. Includes the following sentence; "Homosexuality and Satanism are the two main reasons you should burn any Hall and Oates records and tapes you may own"
SPACE TRAVEL
Doran, Jamie and Bizony, Piers - Starman, The Truth Behind The Legend Of Yuri Gagarin - Bloomsbury
This is such a great book. Tells you all about the early days of space travel and makes you weep for the failure of Communism. Someone's probably optioned it for a film starring Ben Affleck by now.
Wachhorst, Wyn - The Dream Of Spaceflight - Basic
This is a beautiful book of essays about attitudes to space and spaceflight that reads like it's poetry.
WANDERING JEW
Stableford, Brian - Tales Of The Wandering Jew - Dedalus.
Great summary of all the Wandering Jew myths, which helped me get the Peter Rugg character together.
Stewart Lee
2001-06-01T14:58:35+01:00
Bourke, John G - Snake Dance Of The Moquis - Arizona Doran, Jamie and Bizony, Piers - Starman, The Truth Behind The Legend Of YuriGagarin - Bloomsbury Wachhorst, Wyn - The Dream Of Spaceflight - Basic Waters, Frank - Pumpkin Seed Point - Swallow - ACID ROCK Derogatis, Jim - Kaliedoscope Eyes - 4th Estate Lively overview of the kind of characters that inspired Luther. Erickson, Roky - Openers II - 2.13.61 Collection of lyrics and writings by the former 13th Floor Elevators frontman, with biographical stuff. Joynson, Vernon - Fuzz, Acid & Flowers - Borderline Borderline as in 'borderline autistic', this is the definitive record collector nerd guide to psychedelic music. No comment. No gloss. Just pages and pages of facts. Ace. Unterberger, Richie - Unknown Legends Of Rock And Roll - Miller Freeman Another lively overview of the kind of characters that inspired Luther Watkinson, Mike and Anderson, Pete - Crazy Diamond, Syd Barrett and The Dawn Of Pink Floyd - Omnibus Press Biog of acid-casualty frontman. AREA 51 Campbell, Glenn - Area 51 Viewer's Guide Available from http://www.ufomind.com/area51/links/ this is a sceptical look at the Airbase by a local sceptic. Piccard, George - Liquid Conspiracy, JFK, LSD, The CIA, Area 51 and UFO's - Adventures Unlimited Press This free-ranging rant is a great read, and due to the number of subjects covered in the title alone, represents good value. Thomson, David - In Nevada, The Land, The People, God, And Chance - Little, Brown and Company Good, dryly humorous descriptions of Area 51 fallout. ARIZONA Frommer's 2000 Arizona - IDG Books Worldwide USA The Rough Guide - Rough Guides McMurtry, Larry - Roads, Driving America's Great Highways - Simon & Schuster McMurtry is best known for his fiction but this book of essays about driving around the...
'I didn't get into this to get big crowds,' says comedian Stewart Lee. 'I got into it to be free to do what I want. People can come and see me if they want, but it doesn't make any difference to the work I produce. I'd do it anyway, to no one.'
The less Lee panders to his crowd, the more they seem to like what he does. He wrote Content Provider after the 2016 Brexit referendum, then toured it around a divided Britain for over 18 months. 'I don't really change what I say in different parts of the country,' he explains. 'I am a graduate who works in the arts from a 78% Remain-voting constituency so obviously my attitude to Brexit reflects that. I wouldn't be as aggressive about it now as I was last time I toured, because I don't think anyone has got what they wanted, so it just seems like a massive tragedy. But I'm not going to change who I am or what I think, even if it did mean losing audiences. They've gone up if anything!'
A live recording of Content Provider was shown on BBC iPlayer in 2018 and watched by 2 million people. 'Before it went out I grew a massive beard and let myself go a bit so I didn't get attacked in the street. The problem is, I can't seem to find my way back to normal now, so I look like a furry bin bag.' Lee's new live show Snowflake/Tornado sees him, in his own words, 'negotiating the thin line between has-been and legend'. It's two one-hour shows back to back: Tornado is the story of Lee sharing a venue with a famous American comedian and getting chased by his security team while Snowflake is more ideas-driven, about political correctness from someone who describes himself as 'a 1980s snowflake liberal'.
Although Lee doesn't adapt his show for individual cities, when he plays Glasgow, is he tempted to comment on Scotland's position now that we know the election results? 'If something local fits into the show without derailing it and pops up naturally, yes. Before Brexit I hoped Scotland would stay in the UK. I would be much less happy to be British if I didn't feel Scotland was part of that Britishness: I have underserved sentimental attachments to my Scottish ancestry and for a brief period I mistakenly thought I was the rightful heir to the title of Marquess of Tweeddale, due to some misinformation on my adoption paperwork. The happiest I have ever been was in Orkney, and doing the Edinburgh Fringe totally changed my life.'
Besides his stand-up, Lee is a huge champion of the musical underground. He's written music reviews for The Sunday Times, did a live Q&A in 2019 about his music and fiction favourites for The Quietus, contributed a chapter on The Fall for The Wire Primers: A Guide to Modern Music and played a key role in the comeback of folk legend Shirley Collins. What's next? 'I'm contributing to a live piece by the brilliant medieval, minimalist improviser/composer Laura Cannell in the summer and I'm helping Michael Cumming [Brass Eye and Toast of London director] make a film about Birmingham post-punk band The Nightingales. Hopefully it will avoid the usual rockumentary clichés.'
Stewart Lee: Snowflake/Tornado, King's Theatre, Glasgow, Thu 26 Mar, and touring.
Stewart Lee
2020-03-05T19:24:49+00:00
'I didn't get into this to get big crowds,' says comedian Stewart Lee. 'I got into it to be free to do what I want. People can come and see me if they want, but it doesn't make any difference to the work I produce. I'd do it anyway, to no one.' The less Lee panders to his crowd, the more they seem to like what he does. He wrote Content Provider after the 2016 Brexit referendum, then toured it around a divided Britain for over 18 months. 'I don't really change what I say in different parts of the country,' he explains. 'I am a graduate who works in the arts from a 78% Remain-voting constituency so obviously my attitude to Brexit reflects that. I wouldn't be as aggressive about it now as I was last time I toured, because I don't think anyone has got what they wanted, so it just seems like a massive tragedy. But I'm not going to change who I am or what I think, even if it did mean losing audiences. They've gone up if anything!' A live recording of Content Provider was shown on BBC iPlayer in 2018 and watched by 2 million people. 'Before it went out I grew a massive beard and let myself go a bit so I didn't get attacked in the street. The problem is, I can't seem to find my way back to normal now, so I look like a furry bin bag.' Lee's new live show Snowflake/Tornado sees him, in his own words, 'negotiating the thin line between has-been and legend'. It's two one-hour shows back to back: Tornado is the story of Lee sharing a venue with a famous American comedian and getting chased by his security team while Snowflake is more ideas-driven, about...
First, a statement of principles: the person reviewing this book considers himself left-wing at a time when to be even mildly left-wing is to be considered extremely communist, at least in the eyes of anyone who is right-wing (or “mainstream” as I believe at least 80% of all UK media would have it). I voted remain, rather than leave. I don’t think we have an immigrant problem in the UK, and I don’t think that immigration has anything to do with such things as pressurised public services, which have been damaged by austerity and Tory rule and not immigration or benefit scroungers or whatever else the tax avoiding head honcho of the Daily Mail wants us to believe. I believe that tax evasion and the way in which Government supports big business is a far larger problem and I believe that the establishment, in the form of the media and the Government and the aforementioned big businesses, work together in order to keep people distracted, cowed and beaten down. I believe in social justice, would rather live in a society that is fair rather than a society that is cruel, even if that means I pay more tax. And I would happily pay more tax if it meant the gulf between rich and poor stopped yawning quite as much as it is. If you powerfully disagree with any of this, I would hazard a guess that Stewart Lee’s Content Provider, a collection of columns that (mostly) appeared within the Guardian and the Observer between 2011 and 2016, is NOT FOR YOU.
Just for the record, or the uninitiated, Stewart Lee is a comedian. His comedy is not of the observational sort. He builds long routines, sometimes based on repetition, sometimes deconstructing the notion of stand-up even as stand-up is itself performed. He is clever (at a time when cleverness is seen as being a kind of a mean trick played on the ignorant). His columns are not long, obviously. As such, one could argue they don’t play to his obvious strengths. There is a much tighter format at play across the sixty or so columns collected here. Much is, as you would expect, reactive. Content Provider is not a million miles away from what Charlie Brooker was doing in the likes of I Can Make You Hateor The Hell of it All with the exception that Lee is better read, has an interest in esoterica and isn’t as eager to please as Brooker is. If you follow politics, even loosely, you’ll have an idea of the kinds of things that draw Lee’s attention – think: Tory hypocrisy, Tory venality, the Olympics, the Royal Wedding, the iniquitous relationship between the media and the Government, the iniquitous relationship between business and Government, the UKIPs, the dismantling of the NHS and the BBC, the migrant crisis, the racist reaction to the winner of the last Great British Bake-Off, corruption in FIFA, corruption in DEFRA, the demonisation of Jeremy Corbyn… If you’ve reached this point in the review, having thought “well, I didn’t quite agree with everything he said in the first paragraph but I was open-minded enough to at least see what the book is about” – and then found that list of topics dull, again – this book is NOT FOR YOU.
Stewart Lee annoys people – sometimes just by being himself and by doing what it is he does, and sometimes inexplicably because people are stupid. Content Provider is stuffed with examples of the stupidity of people, many of the columns including a handful of the kinds of comments his columns drew on the Guardian. Some of the comments are of the “I didn’t understand this, therefore it’s shit” variety. Some of the comments miss the point to such a staggering degree it is profoundly depressing. So, for example, in the column, “Jezza the jester? He’s here to satirise politics as we know it”, Lee writes about some kids on a bus:
“She corbyned you man,” laughed a teenager on the 73 on Tuesday… Listening in, I realised the phrase described a situation where one of the youngsters’s remarks had been deliberately misinterpreted to some rival youths with the intention of compromising, perhaps fatally, his standing in their social mileau.”
A couple of paras on, Lee writes (and the caps are mine):
“NOW, NONE OF THE ABOVE IS TRUE.”
But that doesn’t stop one eagle-eyed Guardian reader from writing:
“Your whole story about the youths on the bus sounds like something you invented. So pathetic.” John Doe
He did make it up, you plank, you think as you read. He said so! There are unfortunately probably a couple of dozen examples of people taking things literally that are obviously comedic. (Lee writes about teaching his children to steal from Starbucks because Starbucks avoid paying tax – and morons go on and on about it. He was joking, you think as you read. You morons!). It is, as I’ve said, profoundly profoundly depressing.
Ah, you might say (as Stewart Lee himself has said elsewhere), you only like (or pretend to like!) Stewart Lee because it makes you feel like you yourself are clever. I’m willing to acknowledge that I don’t get every reference he makes. I’m also willing to admit that I don’t like every column in the book (some of the longer Observer columns definitely over-stay their welcome and too quickly and too easily descend into a kind of anarchic bedlam). I’d even go as far to say that in between sharing a lot of the same feelings about a lot of the same subjects – my favourite example of this in the book is,
“When I was a child, my grandmother always referred to our pet dog’s excrement as “business”, so to this day, when I envisage “the business community”, I imagine a vast pile of sentient faeces issuing demands whilst smoking a Cuban cigar, an image that seems increasingly accurate as the decades pass.” –
I am still sometimes confused by where the ‘real’ Stewart Lee stands and where the persona ‘Stewart Lee’ operates. Obviously there are times he adopts positions to draw the ire of the stupidly literate Guardian readers (who are living proof that half a brain is indeed a dangerous thing) – and there are times when he drops the kind of Daily Mail-baiting throwaway line (mentioning ‘the gays’ or ‘feminist dungarees’, which, as you’d expect, provokes apoplexy from people who spend their lives on the hunt for anything to be upset about) alongside pompous reiterations of the number of awards he has picked up (which he does just to make people go on and on about how pompous he is in the comments section – and that is what they do!). But there are times when I feel my own narrow opinions challenged too. So, for example, in a piece that never ran in “stupid men’s lifestyle magazine” ShortList, he talks about how Irish bookies Paddy Power defaced a 3,000 year old English chalk hill figure, and Lee writes,
“I hope everyone who works for Paddy Power, or thought this was funny, is fucked to death by a giant white horse, the cold-hearted sport morons.”
Now, I get the sense that most high street bookies employ a lot of people for not very much money – and those self-same people probably have absolutely no say in the kinds of things that happen in their Marketing department. So, whilst I agree that whoever came up with the idea to deface the hill figure is probably a thoughtless cock, Lee’s throwaway line feels awkward. Then I worried whether I was being as literal as the cocks who go on and on in the Guardian comments section. Then I read the longer piece Lee wrote for the Spectator about the debacle of not writing for Shortlist and it included the line,
“I had hoped to pastiche punchy lad-mag style and twist it to my own ends, but there’s a head-butt economy about gadget porn that’s actually hard to approximate…”
And I thought, was he trying to be as bullish as the lad mags are, as casually offensive, does it even matter if the piece never actually ran in Shortlist, maybe I’m being too literal, blah blah blah. And I arrived at the point I usually arrive at, the point where I edit myself. This is what sets me apart from the people who populate the Guardian comments section. Later, writing about Grant Shapps, he writes,
“…though apparently this was a joke, but one so subtle people took it at face value. Now he knows how I feel writing these columns.”
But then Content Provider is not a manifesto and Stewart Lee is not Owen Jones. As such, if you were to place Content Provider alongside, say, Jones’ The Establishment, it would appear improbably scattershot. Saying that, somewhere between the real Stewart Lee and the persona of “Stewart Lee” I think there is an artist who would encourage his fans (and, you know, quite possibly the people who hate him as well) to think for themselves. This is what satire is for. We (still) live in a land where people can disagree. Just about. And for as long as that lasts, it feels very positive. And given the world we live in, and the speed with which it appears to be going to hell in a handcart, I’ll grasp at whatever positives I can find.
Any Cop?: Lee is definitely as challenging in column form as he can be as a stand-up. Provided you know what you are letting yourself in for (and provided you view him, as I do, as almost the last bastion of some kind of opposition to the ridiculous bullshit we get handed via the mainstream media every day), Content Provider gets a big thumb’s up from us.
Stewart Lee
2016-08-11T23:22:49+01:00
First, a statement of principles: the person reviewing this book considers himself left-wing at a time when to be even mildly left-wing is to be considered extremely communist, at least in the eyes of anyone who is right-wing (or “mainstream” as I believe at least 80% of all UK media would have it). I voted remain, rather than leave. I don’t think we have an immigrant problem in the UK, and I don’t think that immigration has anything to do with such things as pressurised public services, which have been damaged by austerity and Tory rule and not immigration or benefit scroungers or whatever else the tax avoiding head honcho of the Daily Mail wants us to believe. I believe that tax evasion and the way in which Government supports big business is a far larger problem and I believe that the establishment, in the form of the media and the Government and the aforementioned big businesses, work together in order to keep people distracted, cowed and beaten down. I believe in social justice, would rather live in a society that is fair rather than a society that is cruel, even if that means I pay more tax. And I would happily pay more tax if it meant the gulf between rich and poor stopped yawning quite as much as it is. If you powerfully disagree with any of this, I would hazard a guess that Stewart Lee’s Content Provider, a collection of columns that (mostly) appeared within the Guardian and the Observer between 2011 and 2016, is NOT FOR YOU. Just for the record, or the uninitiated, Stewart Lee is a comedian. His comedy is not of the observational sort. He builds long routines, sometimes based on repetition, sometimes deconstructing the notion of stand-up even as stand-up is itself...
Your new touring stand up show is called Carpet Remnant World. Why?
Well, the idea of the show is that as a 43 year old comedian and dad of two all I ever do is drive around motorways doing gigs, going past all those massive warehouse type shops, or look after children, so I haven't had time to write anything apart from jokes about things I've seen out of the window of the car. Of course, this is just a dramatic device and in the end it all ties together beautifully and turns out to have been a devastating critique of society. There's also a load of old carpets in it which are quite expensive to transport around so that explains the high ticket price.
So being a father has changed your stand-up?
Yes. But for the better. Looking tired and dead suits my act. Also, because I'm too tired to learn anything verbatim the shows are more discursive and naturalistic now, which is good. Also, I used to be very cynical, but when you have kids you can't take any pleasure in the abject failure of the world. You have to hope, for their sake, that things get better, which is an interesting place to do stand-up from.
In your TV series you said you hadn't got any jokes. Is that true?
Yes, but people do laugh. I do stories and odd ideas really, not jokes as such. If I do a joke it sort of breaks the spell of the show and sticks out like a sore thumb.
What difference has being on television made to your stand-up?
I don't know. More people are coming. But I don't know if they're coming to see me, or just someone they've heard is on the TV. It doesn't seem to make the shows go any better or worse. There's still people in that don't get it. There's just more people generally in the room.
You must have been pleased to win two British Comedy Awards last year?
I'd rather not talk about it to be honest. I found it very confusing. I don't know who chooses them or where they came from. It was a big surprise. I was happy for about ten seconds and then I just started worrying about whether people would come to see me expecting 'award winning comedy' and then just hate what I do. I couldn't go to the ceremony as I was working. When I got home I put the TV coverage of the aftershow party on. I saw a load of skittles with the faces of comedians on. They had all fallen down apart from one with my face on. And then a woman in a red dress ran up and kicked it over, very violently. It was all quite strange really.
You caused a lot of controversy when you wrote Jerry Springer The Musical.
You mean Jerry Springer The Opera? Jerry Springer The Musical is two rubbish things together so it isn't funny. Jerry Springer The Opera is funny because it's two different things. And I didn't write it. I co-wrote the words with Richard Thomas. It was his idea and he wrote all the music. I'm fed up of talking about it to be honest. A far right pressure group called Christian Voice made up a load of lies about its content and stirred up 65 000 people who hadn't seen it into wanting it banned for being blasphemous, so it basically closed and we never saw any money really for five years' work. The guy in charge of Christian Voice, Stephen Green, even the Daily Mail won't talk to him these days. I was very proud of the piece but the stress surrounding it means I don't really like thinking about it.
What's the worst heckle you've ever had?
I can't remember. People tend not to heckle me. I don't really invite it. If people shout stuff out it's usually funny or helpful. That said I did a show at the Lowry in Salford and a drunk Turkish man came in and just kept going on at me for so long it meant there was no way I could really do the show as written, which was a shame. The venue tried to make out it was my fault and that I should reimburse people who wanted refunds out of my own pocket, so now if there are persistently disruptive hecklers, like there were last time I was in Cambridge, I force them out of the theatre myself and barricade the door with chairs.
In the early 90s you were something of a comedy sex symbol, but now
you are grey haired and very overweight. Does this make you feel sick?
I find that question quite offensive to be honest, but I will answer it anyway. It works better for my comedy to be old and decrepit, but I do miss being fit and thin. I have to suffer for my art I suppose, and so do my audiences.
Frankie Boyle has described you as 'irrelevant and flabby'. What do
you think of that?
Has he? I didn't know that. I can see what he means. If you want punchy well-written one-liners like he does you're not going to get them from me, so I suppose what I do is irrelevant to what he feels comedy is. I wouldn't imagine there's much cross over of audience. And I am flabby. So he's right on both counts. I met him once or twice. He was actually very nice. He lived near me for a bit and one of the old ladies at the church my wife goes to said "The Scottish comedian from off the telly" was always going round to check she was alright, because she was a bit disabled, and help with stuff in her house. But then money started going missing. She couldn't confront him about it, obviously. He moved away soon after. Back to Scotland I think.
Who are your favorite comedians?
Well, everything we think of as break-throughs in stand-up has already been done better and first by Lenny Bruce. I think the best living comics are Daniel Kitson and Jerry Sadowitz and Kevin MacAleer, who is Irish. I really like Paul Sinha, who is a gay Hindu, and Simon Munnery. Boothby Graffoe is very good, a musical comedian. Greg Fleet, who is an Australian who doesn't come here really. I don't really like any comedians under 40. I don't think you can really be any good at stand-up until you are 40. I don't like any American comedians either, except some of the dead ones. Comedians seem much funnier when they're dead, I think. I liked Dave Allen when I was a kid. My wife, Bridget Christie, is also one of my favorite comics. I thought she was so funny I married her. People say, 'that must be funny, being married to a comedian.' But the laughs soon wear off. Then it becomes like any normal marriage. Awful.
What can people expect from you in the future?
Well the audience numbers I'm getting now are big enough to do stadium gigs like all the famous comics, so I'm wondering if there's a way of making that idea interesting or subversive. I've signed up for martial arts and contemporary dance classes for when this tour is over, and I've been talking to some people at The Circus Space in East London about what is entailed in being shot out of a cannon. I want to study kung fu with the Shaolin Monks. I've also been doing Neuro Linguistic Programing studies, to try and control the minds of audiences to laugh at what I want them to, and mass hypnosis ideas, thinking about how Hitler and Stalin manipulated crowd responses. I've been trying to see how far I can spit ping pong balls, and trying to contact that guy who used to dance with ferrets down his tights on TV at night in the 80s. It's all good stuff. Also, in the 19th c the Hippodrome Theatre in London had a show with elephants in a water tank. I don't think you're allowed to do that sort of thing to animals now but I saw a show where someone swam in a tank with a python in Paris and these are all the sorts of things I'm thinking about for the next big tour, which won't be until about 2016, so I've got lots of time to learn all these skills and get fit.
And get the snake?
Well, I don't know if it will be a snake. It might be just a big worm. In Australia there are worms that can grow up to 9 feet long. The Gippsland earthworm. Maybe I'll use one of them.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-08T18:32:29+00:00
Your new touring stand up show is called Carpet Remnant World. Why? Well, the idea of the show is that as a 43 year old comedian and dad of two all I ever do is drive around motorways doing gigs, going past all those massive warehouse type shops, or look after children, so I haven't had time to write anything apart from jokes about things I've seen out of the window of the car. Of course, this is just a dramatic device and in the end it all ties together beautifully and turns out to have been a devastating critique of society. There's also a load of old carpets in it which are quite expensive to transport around so that explains the high ticket price. So being a father has changed your stand-up? Yes. But for the better. Looking tired and dead suits my act. Also, because I'm too tired to learn anything verbatim the shows are more discursive and naturalistic now, which is good. Also, I used to be very cynical, but when you have kids you can't take any pleasure in the abject failure of the world. You have to hope, for their sake, that things get better, which is an interesting place to do stand-up from. In your TV series you said you hadn't got any jokes. Is that true? Yes, but people do laugh. I do stories and odd ideas really, not jokes as such. If I do a joke it sort of breaks the spell of the show and sticks out like a sore thumb. What difference has being on television made to your stand-up? I don't know. More people are coming. But I don't know if they're coming to see me, or just someone they've heard is on the TV. It doesn't seem to...
Emptyset are a Bristol duo who pressgang techno's subsonic bass into a dub-inflected abstract sound. Medium is a record of them using that sound to push air around the sensitively mic'd spaces of a supposedly haunted Gloucestershire pile, Woodchester Mansion, abandoned untouched since an abortive 1870s refit.
The packaging sets the scene, with black and white photos of cables trailing in deserted corridors, and microphones standing alone in sorry stone cells. You can't help but visualize Emptyset's vast clouds of pulsating electronica billowing through the architecture, as you hear the rough edges of the noise resonate and thrum in Woodchester's emotive emptiness.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-07T12:31:57+00:00
Emptyset are a Bristol duo who pressgang techno's subsonic bass into a dub-inflected abstract sound. Medium is a record of them using that sound to push air around the sensitively mic'd spaces of a supposedly haunted Gloucestershire pile, Woodchester Mansion, abandoned untouched since an abortive 1870s refit. The packaging sets the scene, with black and white photos of cables trailing in deserted corridors, and microphones standing alone in sorry stone cells. You can't help but visualize Emptyset's vast clouds of pulsating electronica billowing through the architecture, as you hear the rough edges of the noise resonate and thrum in Woodchester's emotive emptiness.
During Margaret Thatcher's funeral on Wednesday, the Right Reverend Richard Chartres, the bishop of London, boasted to all and sundry of how the late prime minister had once physically restrained him when he lunged at some pulverised ducks' breasts. He had intended to cram into his mouth. Fatty duck pâté, it transpired, was a forbidden fruit of Thatcherism.
Like thousands of Thatcher refuseniks across the land, rendered impotent with irritation by biased media coverage and the insensitive splendour of her highly politicised funeral, I immediately rang up my local Waitrose and ordered a delivery of every punnet of duck pâté they had in stock. They could censor our views; they could rewrite the history books; but they could not prevent us pushing the very fatty pâté that Thatcher so despised up to the top of the weekly pâté charts. Or could they?
The Daily Mail saw the skyward sales of duck pâté as evidence of a "campaign organised by left-wing activists", but the truth is the anti-Thatcher pâté protest took off largely of its own accord. Nobody needed to be nudged. Even Morrissey, a staunch vegetarian, suspended his squeamishness and was pictured in the press the day following the bishop's indiscreet poultry paste revelation licking his 11th punnet of duck pâté clean, a beaming smile on his famously miserable face.
By Thursday evening, duck pâté looked likely to be the week's top selling pâté, and the BBC, cowed by the Conservatives as usual, moved into damage-limitation mode. Questions were asked. If, on Saturday, duck pâté was the nation's favourite pâté, would the hostess of BBC Radio 4's Weekly Pâté Round-up, Nigella Lawson, be gobbling it up as normal alongside the other 49 pâtés in the chart, or would a censorious exception be made? The controller of Radio 4, Gwyneth Williams, was grilled on air about pâté by the BBC's own Samira Ahmed.
"It is normal procedure, as you know," Williams explained, "for Nigella to eat a standard Waitrose punnet of each of the 50 chart pâtés live on air during the programme, while describing its taste to the listeners in a breathless eroticised voice. On Saturday, if the duck pâté is the people's most popular exotic paste as expected, she will instead sample only a teaspoonful of the protest pâté, after a brief chat with Nick Robinson and Heston Blumenthal, aimed at contextualising the now politicised foodstuff for confused or vegan listeners."
Meanwhile, untroubled by the possible reduction in the licence fee should Cameron's Conservatives retain power indefinitely, Sky News was brazenly showing a loop of the channel's trophy comedy stars, Ruth Jones and Robert Lindsay, lapping up endless punnets of duck pâté at a sunlit seaside cafe. "A lot of my actor friends said they wouldn't appear on Sky TV eating loads of punnets of duck pâté," Lindsay said to Jones, over and over again, "but now they are saying they wish they had and that they have seen that they themselves are weak and that I am right and much better than them."
On Friday, when the duck pâté finally hit the No 1 slot, social media-savvy Conservatives, led by the would-be personality Louise Mensch, staged a belated fight back. Mensch tweeted a picture of her husband, the Metallica manager Peter Mensch, allowing her his golden credit card to buy herself a pallet piled high with punnets of pâté de foie gras at an all-night New York deli. She encouraged her followers to do the same, hoping to "knock the miserable lefties' duck muck off the top spot".
Mensch's subversive idea spurted through the Twitterverse like a frozen spear of urine falling from an aircraft toilet, and soon pâté de foie gras was itself shooting up Nigella's pâté chart. Even David Cameron himself admitted to having bought some, which he planned to smear joyfully over other foodstuffs later that evening in the company of Helena Bonham Carter and her husband, Morbius the Living Vampire, both of whom he was sure would enjoy the chance to eat pâté de foie gras and celebrate the life of a woman who, whatever you thought of her politics, was simply remarkable and had saved us from the unions.
Overnight, duck pâté partisans noticed essential flaws in Mensch's campaign. Wasn't pâté de foie gras made from the livers of geese? And weren't geese, like ducks, both members of the Anatidae family? Was the goose sufficiently different from the duck for the purchase of its bloated liver to count as a protest against the purchase of the duck pâté? It was even rumoured that "foie gras" was the French for "fat liver". Wasn't it the fat content of the pulverised ducks' breasts that had led Thatcher to prevent the bishop from eating them? And yet here was Mensch urging her supporters to buy, as a tribute to the late fat-loathing prime minister, a pâté specifically named after its high fat content, and which contained even more fat than the pâté that had sickened the baroness when the bishop of London tried to touch it? It was as if Louise Mensch was some kind of stupid, embarrassing, feckless idiot.
Sky news interviewed three diffident French pâté de foie gras farmers early on Saturday morning, who refused to be drawn on the fat content of the pâté de foie gras, the meaning of the phrase pâté de foie gras, or even the exact species of the bird from which pâté de foie gras was made. Giving nothing away, they were able to watch pâté de foie gras sales continue to grow, the pâté's naive Tory purchasers unaware of the irony of their actions.
Despite the best efforts of those aiming to register their displeasure, on Saturday afternoon, Nigella Lawson revealed the duck pâté to have been displaced at the top of her pâté chart by a plantain pâté with Reggae Reggae sauce, made by the celebrity chef Levi Roots. She duly licked up little more than a sliver of the duck pâté and handed over to Nick Robinson, whose choice of language nonetheless toed the official BBC Tory establishment line.
The protesters, apparently, had "failed" to get the duck pâté to No 1. Perhaps Nick, or maybe we had succeeded in getting it to No 2 against all odds, without the benefit of a marketing campaign, and with the might of Louise Mensch against us. Like so many aspects of the Thatcher legacy, it's a matter of perspective.
Stewart Lee has curated The Alternative Comedy Experience for Comedy Central, Tuesdays at 11pm. And hundreds of new live dates are on sale now – visit stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2013-04-20T13:49:37+01:00
During Margaret Thatcher's funeral on Wednesday, the Right Reverend Richard Chartres, the bishop of London, boasted to all and sundry of how the late prime minister had once physically restrained him when he lunged at some pulverised ducks' breasts. He had intended to cram into his mouth. Fatty duck pâté, it transpired, was a forbidden fruit of Thatcherism. Like thousands of Thatcher refuseniks across the land, rendered impotent with irritation by biased media coverage and the insensitive splendour of her highly politicised funeral, I immediately rang up my local Waitrose and ordered a delivery of every punnet of duck pâté they had in stock. They could censor our views; they could rewrite the history books; but they could not prevent us pushing the very fatty pâté that Thatcher so despised up to the top of the weekly pâté charts. Or could they? The Daily Mail saw the skyward sales of duck pâté as evidence of a "campaign organised by left-wing activists", but the truth is the anti-Thatcher pâté protest took off largely of its own accord. Nobody needed to be nudged. Even Morrissey, a staunch vegetarian, suspended his squeamishness and was pictured in the press the day following the bishop's indiscreet poultry paste revelation licking his 11th punnet of duck pâté clean, a beaming smile on his famously miserable face. By Thursday evening, duck pâté looked likely to be the week's top selling pâté, and the BBC, cowed by the Conservatives as usual, moved into damage-limitation mode. Questions were asked. If, on Saturday, duck pâté was the nation's favourite pâté, would the hostess of BBC Radio 4's Weekly Pâté Round-up, Nigella Lawson, be gobbling it up as normal alongside the other 49 pâtés in the chart, or would a censorious exception be made? The controller of Radio 4, Gwyneth Williams,...
Mainliner first leaked from Japan in the ‘90s, their low slung Stooges riffs, plangent psychedelic feedback surges, and exhaust rattle improvisations unprecedented in their pulverizing intensity.
The trio soon dissipated, guitarist Kawabata Makoto recording a subsequent sixty-two albums with the deeply dippy Acid Mothers Temple.
But the title track of the reformed Mainliner’s album opens with a bomb-blast of stuttering guitar and distant monastic chanting, immediately reasserting their status. New Sun’s twenty minute stew of Neanderthal noise and sun worshiper psalmodies manages to be both meditational and maddening.
Stewart Lee
2013-06-16T20:36:36+01:00
Mainliner first leaked from Japan in the ‘90s, their low slung Stooges riffs, plangent psychedelic feedback surges, and exhaust rattle improvisations unprecedented in their pulverizing intensity. The trio soon dissipated, guitarist Kawabata Makoto recording a subsequent sixty-two albums with the deeply dippy Acid Mothers Temple. But the title track of the reformed Mainliner’s album opens with a bomb-blast of stuttering guitar and distant monastic chanting, immediately reasserting their status. New Sun’s twenty minute stew of Neanderthal noise and sun worshiper psalmodies manages to be both meditational and maddening.
German comedian Nico Semsrott has been ripping off the 'Paul Nuttals of the UKIPs' bit from series 3 of Comedy Vehicle (6min 50 in the video of his set). Challenged on it by a Facebook user, he has provided this explanation...
"Dass das Original des Abschlussteils auf einer Idee von Stewart Lee beruht, hab ich schon im November auf Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nicosemsrott/videos/10153695466017836/ Und auf Youtube auch so angegeben: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo_kLKOKJHY Steht auch hier: http://www.stern.de/.../nico-semsrott--afd-anhaenger-sind... Dass ich das bei diesem Slam-Auftritt nicht erwähnt habe, ist uncool. Ich war vorher über vier Jahre nicht mehr in einem Wettbewerb aufgetreten, hatte das das ganze Jahr in meinem Solo-Programm drin, ein bisschen was verändert und dann einfach nicht mehr dran gedacht. Das war doof von mir. Tschuldigung. Zerknirscht: Nico (So, das poste ich jetzt auch nochmal unter dem Youtube-Video)" Google translate renders his explanation as;
"The fact that the original of the final part is based on an idea by Stewart Lee , I've been in November on Facebook : [ LINK ] And on Youtube have been defined thus : [ LINK ] Is also here: [ LINK ] That I not in this Slam appearance I mention is uncool . I was not previously in a competition occurred over four years , which had all year in my solo program in there , a little bit changed and then simply not thought about it . That was stupid of me . Sorry. Contrite : Nico ( So that I post now again under the Youtube video )"
Stewart Lee
2016-09-08T00:23:47+01:00
German comedian Nico Semsrott has been ripping off the 'Paul Nuttals of the UKIPs' bit from series 3 of Comedy Vehicle (6min 50 in the video of his set). Challenged on it by a Facebook user, he has provided this explanation... "Dass das Original des Abschlussteils auf einer Idee von Stewart Lee beruht, hab ich schon im November auf Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nicosemsrott/videos/10153695466017836/ Und auf Youtube auch so angegeben: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo_kLKOKJHY Steht auch hier: http://www.stern.de/.../nico-semsrott--afd-anhaenger-sind... Dass ich das bei diesem Slam-Auftritt nicht erwähnt habe, ist uncool. Ich war vorher über vier Jahre nicht mehr in einem Wettbewerb aufgetreten, hatte das das ganze Jahr in meinem Solo-Programm drin, ein bisschen was verändert und dann einfach nicht mehr dran gedacht. Das war doof von mir. Tschuldigung. Zerknirscht: Nico (So, das poste ich jetzt auch nochmal unter dem Youtube-Video)" Google translate renders his explanation as; "The fact that the original of the final part is based on an idea by Stewart Lee , I've been in November on Facebook : [ LINK ] And on Youtube have been defined thus : [ LINK ] Is also here: [ LINK ] That I not in this Slam appearance I mention is uncool . I was not previously in a competition occurred over four years , which had all year in my solo program in there , a little bit changed and then simply not thought about it . That was stupid of me . Sorry. Contrite : Nico ( So that I post now again under the Youtube video )"
Comic-book writer Alan Moore issues lee with a series of challenging questions interspersed with footage from his most recent acclaimed stand-up tour. ★★★★★
Stewart Lee
2018-07-24T12:53:05+01:00
Comic-book writer Alan Moore issues lee with a series of challenging questions interspersed with footage from his most recent acclaimed stand-up tour. ★★★★★
Last Summer, Richard Dawson was invited by Tyne & Wear Museums to visit their vaults, and spend half an hour a piece responding to objects found there.
The Glass Trunk is a mesmerising and pungent selection of seven eerily keened faux folk songs, forced into form from scrapbook scraps and forgotten family papers, and interspersed arrestingly with the tumbling snapped shards of Rhodhri Davies’ pedal harp and Dawson's ugly-beautiful electric guitar. Penetrating the heart of the archive’s hidden stories, Dawson draws out hidden truths in strong bold strokes.
Stewart Lee
2013-09-08T11:31:00+01:00
Last Summer, Richard Dawson was invited by Tyne & Wear Museums to visit their vaults, and spend half an hour a piece responding to objects found there. The Glass Trunk is a mesmerising and pungent selection of seven eerily keened faux folk songs, forced into form from scrapbook scraps and forgotten family papers, and interspersed arrestingly with the tumbling snapped shards of Rhodhri Davies’ pedal harp and Dawson's ugly-beautiful electric guitar. Penetrating the heart of the archive’s hidden stories, Dawson draws out hidden truths in strong bold strokes.
Agit-pop stars Asian Dub Foundation sampled an old routine of mine on their new album, Access Denied, to make a song called Comin’ Over Here.
If you download it, and their many inventive remixes, between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve you can help make it the Brexit day No 1 the nation deserves!
Merry Winterval! Agit-pop stars Asian Dub Foundation sampled an old routine of mine on their new album, Access Denied, to make a song called Comin’ Over Here. If you download it, and their many inventive remixes, between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve you can help make it the Brexit day No 1 the nation deserves! All proceeds to Kent Refugee Action Network https://smarturl.it/cominoverhere
Last year, Uncle Acid's home-burned CDR, the imaginary ‘70s horror movie soundtrack Blood Lust, became a genuine word of mouth phenomenon, as opposed to a carefully orchestrated major label master-plan masquerading as a word of mouth phenomenon.
Black as early Sabbath, but cautiously funky-assed and glittery in a groovy glam rock way, the mysterious and all but anonymous Cambridge coven could be Doom Metal's answer to The Darkness, an unlikely crossover no-one saw coming.
Blood Lust gets its first legitimate release in advance of a new album.
Stewart Lee
2012-11-25T22:01:28+00:00
Last year, Uncle Acid's home-burned CDR, the imaginary ‘70s horror movie soundtrack Blood Lust, became a genuine word of mouth phenomenon, as opposed to a carefully orchestrated major label master-plan masquerading as a word of mouth phenomenon. Black as early Sabbath, but cautiously funky-assed and glittery in a groovy glam rock way, the mysterious and all but anonymous Cambridge coven could be Doom Metal's answer to The Darkness, an unlikely crossover no-one saw coming. Blood Lust gets its first legitimate release in advance of a new album.
Every live stand up show is an unique event and the possibility of failure is real. Will the audience behave as anticipated?
Stewart Lee has been touring Snowflake for some time and the 2022 Edinburgh Fringe run at The Stand’s New Town Theatre marks the end of its life. This afternoon, this is what happened –
The comedian introduces himself from backstage, comes on, delivers a great opening line and then some twat with a phone heckled. And, despite repeated requests, he refused to turn his phone off. It took around five or six minutes to sort out.
“In my thirty-three years of stand up experience…” says Lee, “it’s very unlikely that the show can recover from this.”
But quickly recover he did.
Right wing Brexiter, Tony Parsons, once described Lee as, and I’m paraphrasing from memory, “a woke, enlightened, professionally sensitive, Guardian columnist, BBC approved comedian…”
He didn’t mean it as a compliment.
The show sets about dismantling Parsons’ views via digressions and playful teasing of sections of the audience. This is Lee in full flow. Carving up the crowd, overexplaining the jokes. In a class of his own.
“Don’t get caught up in their stupid culture war of blaming people who aren’t to blame, for things they haven’t done. Try and stay a snowflake if you can.” Lee concludes.
The comedian is too intelligent and too funny to be ignored. Just turn your bloody phone off.
Stewart Lee
2022-08-11T12:08:49+01:00
Every live stand up show is an unique event and the possibility of failure is real. Will the audience behave as anticipated? Stewart Lee has been touring Snowflake for some time and the 2022 Edinburgh Fringe run at The Stand’s New Town Theatre marks the end of its life. This afternoon, this is what happened – The comedian introduces himself from backstage, comes on, delivers a great opening line and then some twat with a phone heckled. And, despite repeated requests, he refused to turn his phone off. It took around five or six minutes to sort out. “In my thirty-three years of stand up experience…” says Lee, “it’s very unlikely that the show can recover from this.” But quickly recover he did. Right wing Brexiter, Tony Parsons, once described Lee as, and I’m paraphrasing from memory, “a woke, enlightened, professionally sensitive, Guardian columnist, BBC approved comedian…” He didn’t mean it as a compliment. The show sets about dismantling Parsons’ views via digressions and playful teasing of sections of the audience. This is Lee in full flow. Carving up the crowd, overexplaining the jokes. In a class of his own. “Don’t get caught up in their stupid culture war of blaming people who aren’t to blame, for things they haven’t done. Try and stay a snowflake if you can.” Lee concludes. The comedian is too intelligent and too funny to be ignored. Just turn your bloody phone off.
The Messthetics compilations have identified a lost strand of late seventies, low fidelity, British art rock, in which the minimally monikered 'Bendle' swam the surface noise with The Door And The Window.
Today, he continues to confound with Dustdevil and Crow, whose second album suggests an art school Wicker Man soundtrack, or The Velvet Underground's debut played on string and feathers, and fronted by a librarian.
In America, Dustdevil And Crow would be Outsider Artists, stalked by documentary crews.
Sidestepping the downloading debate, their album is available at the price of your choice at http://bendle.bandcamp.com.
Stewart Lee
2011-02-13T12:29:23+00:00
The Messthetics compilations have identified a lost strand of late seventies, low fidelity, British art rock, in which the minimally monikered 'Bendle' swam the surface noise with The Door And The Window. Today, he continues to confound with Dustdevil and Crow, whose second album suggests an art school Wicker Man soundtrack, or The Velvet Underground's debut played on string and feathers, and fronted by a librarian. In America, Dustdevil And Crow would be Outsider Artists, stalked by documentary crews. Sidestepping the downloading debate, their album is available at the price of your choice at http://bendle.bandcamp.com.
Stewart Lee is feeling chatty. It's notable that Lee, famous for his deadpan, languid delivery, is smiling much more these days. That may have something to do with him being a new father, or, perhaps he's feeling more comfortable in his clown shoes, having been placed at No. 41 in Channel 4's 100 Greatest Comedians Of All Time poll.
Despite a relentless mocking of the ridiculousness of lists like this, Lee has chosen to embrace it as fact, while at the same time putting a gentle two fingers up to his quilt-loving mum who prefers cruise ship gag merchants.
He uses the conceit to question approval, why it matters and from whom we should seek it.
Lee's obviously sore that he was commissioned by BBC 2 out of nowhere, only to be dropped equally out of the blue, but any bitterness is so deftly delivered that he never endangers his top bloke persona.
No one matches Lee's powers of comic deconstruction and the only thing that stops him getting five stars is that 90s Comedian from 2005 was better.
Until Aug 27 (not 15), Udderbelly's Pasture (V300), 7.30pm. www.udderbelly.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2007-08-13T21:35:39+01:00
Stewart Lee is feeling chatty. It's notable that Lee, famous for his deadpan, languid delivery, is smiling much more these days. That may have something to do with him being a new father, or, perhaps he's feeling more comfortable in his clown shoes, having been placed at No. 41 in Channel 4's 100 Greatest Comedians Of All Time poll. Despite a relentless mocking of the ridiculousness of lists like this, Lee has chosen to embrace it as fact, while at the same time putting a gentle two fingers up to his quilt-loving mum who prefers cruise ship gag merchants. He uses the conceit to question approval, why it matters and from whom we should seek it. Lee's obviously sore that he was commissioned by BBC 2 out of nowhere, only to be dropped equally out of the blue, but any bitterness is so deftly delivered that he never endangers his top bloke persona. No one matches Lee's powers of comic deconstruction and the only thing that stops him getting five stars is that 90s Comedian from 2005 was better. Until Aug 27 (not 15), Udderbelly's Pasture (V300), 7.30pm. www.udderbelly.co.uk
Something funny happened over the Bank Holiday weekend: I was walking down the Old Kent Road and heard a South London accent!
Unbelievable. Even funnier was At Last! The 1981 Show, Stewart Lee and Paul Jackson's attempt to recreate the buzz of thirty years ago when alternative comedy was about to explode.
They have persuaded comics to resurrect routines that have not been performed for almost all of that 30 years, got double acts to reform for this one-off event, and dragged comedians out of comedy retirement to make an appearance.
There were as many funny men in the audience as there was on stage. Me and young Jimmy played spot the comedian as we sat in the Royal Festival Hall bar. Frank Skinner, Matt Lucas, Sean Hughes and many others I recognised but not put a name to.
Bermondsey Boy Arthur Smith compered the first part of the show and exhumed old gags from his early days, one about 'entering a marathon' was crude but hilarious; his 1980s political jokes still have a freshness about them as the Tories are in government now, as they were then.
Comedians that had passed away were fondly remembered with some of their best lines, Malcolm Hardee's 'Doctor, Doctor' gags getting an airing. Smith also did a passable impression of Leonard Cohen, which surprised us all.
Alexei Sayle came on and did a few introductions but did not seem too bothered about making us laugh: ' I'm only here to give validity to this thing,' he told us with a sense of boredom. But he did want to let us know that he is now an author. Hello John, got a new book out?
It was an evening of legends. Ageing legends but legends nevertheless. Nigel Planer bringing back Neil for our delectation; the brilliant John Cooper Clarke giving us the one and only Chicken Town; Arnold Brown demonstrating why he has been at the top of the game longer than anyone else on the show and The Oblivion Boys showing us why they were not.
Memory of the night: The Greatest Show On Legs (Malcolm Hardee's old gang) performing the famous Balloon Dance. Joke of the night: 'One out of three people weigh as much as the other two.' Visual of the night: One naked comedian with a firework up his backside, spraying hot sparks over another naked comedian.
Now, that's what I call a finale!
Stewart Lee
2011-06-01T21:02:06+01:00
Something funny happened over the Bank Holiday weekend: I was walking down the Old Kent Road and heard a South London accent! Unbelievable. Even funnier was At Last! The 1981 Show, Stewart Lee and Paul Jackson's attempt to recreate the buzz of thirty years ago when alternative comedy was about to explode. They have persuaded comics to resurrect routines that have not been performed for almost all of that 30 years, got double acts to reform for this one-off event, and dragged comedians out of comedy retirement to make an appearance. There were as many funny men in the audience as there was on stage. Me and young Jimmy played spot the comedian as we sat in the Royal Festival Hall bar. Frank Skinner, Matt Lucas, Sean Hughes and many others I recognised but not put a name to. Bermondsey Boy Arthur Smith compered the first part of the show and exhumed old gags from his early days, one about 'entering a marathon' was crude but hilarious; his 1980s political jokes still have a freshness about them as the Tories are in government now, as they were then. Comedians that had passed away were fondly remembered with some of their best lines, Malcolm Hardee's 'Doctor, Doctor' gags getting an airing. Smith also did a passable impression of Leonard Cohen, which surprised us all. Alexei Sayle came on and did a few introductions but did not seem too bothered about making us laugh: ' I'm only here to give validity to this thing,' he told us with a sense of boredom. But he did want to let us know that he is now an author. Hello John, got a new book out? It was an evening of legends. Ageing legends but legends nevertheless. Nigel Planer bringing back Neil for our delectation;...
I phoned ahead to check the show was still on - it was only sensible given the Prime Minister's ambiguous update earlier in the day.
The woman who answered assured me it was, but in honesty didn't seem entirely convinced herself.
So, it was against this backdrop of impending doom that we travelled to Canterbury's Marlowe Theatre to take in what could prove to be one of the last performances in a while... anywhere.
I'm pleased to report it was worth the risk, even if Stewart Lee announced to the audience it wasn't one he would have taken.
Snowflake/Tornado is split in to two parts, finely tuned over a six-month run at London's tiny Leicester Square Theatre.
It was at one of these experimental shows, albeit for a previous tour, where I last took in the spectacle of 'The Times' greatest living stand up'.
That was in Sevenoaks and he was very good.
Maybe it was the trip deeper in to Kent, maybe it was the way the world has changed in the two years since or maybe, as he concluded early on, it was coronavirus whittling down his audience so that just the hard core fans were left but he was better this time.
Not many people know this about me but my personal comedy litmus test revolves around the history of baked potatoes - if a comedian can make me cry with laughter at the fact the carb-packed snack didn't arrive in the UK until a few hundred years after legend first mentioned Robin Hood, then he or she gets the thumbs up.
Stew passed with flying colours and for good measure embarked on routines about cult horror Sharknado, Alan Bennett and rotisserie chickens.
They're all threads in a far larger tapestry which he masterfully weaves together at the end of each half - first in the form of a story and then a song (panic not, it worked).
But as always the show is the sum-of-its-parts and this equated to a heavy-hitting take down of the anti-PC generation and the state of the modern world.
It's a world Stewart Lee may well be getting tired of but that certainly doesn't mean he's slowing down - even if he does now qualify for free sessions of chair-based activity at Hackney Council-funded leisure centres.
So, when you do finally emerge from your toilet roll fortresses and baked bean induced slumbers one of the first things you should do is snap up a ticket to watch the self-proclaimed master of the multiple call back - you won't be disappointed.
* Stewart Lee's Snowflake/Tornado was due to tour until July 17 with two more dates at the Marlowe which have now been postponed. Who knows when the tour will resume but when it does tickets can be bought at stewartlee.co.uk/live-dates/
Stewart Lee
2020-03-17T14:29:33+00:00
I phoned ahead to check the show was still on - it was only sensible given the Prime Minister's ambiguous update earlier in the day. The woman who answered assured me it was, but in honesty didn't seem entirely convinced herself. So, it was against this backdrop of impending doom that we travelled to Canterbury's Marlowe Theatre to take in what could prove to be one of the last performances in a while... anywhere. I'm pleased to report it was worth the risk, even if Stewart Lee announced to the audience it wasn't one he would have taken. Snowflake/Tornado is split in to two parts, finely tuned over a six-month run at London's tiny Leicester Square Theatre. It was at one of these experimental shows, albeit for a previous tour, where I last took in the spectacle of 'The Times' greatest living stand up'. That was in Sevenoaks and he was very good. Maybe it was the trip deeper in to Kent, maybe it was the way the world has changed in the two years since or maybe, as he concluded early on, it was coronavirus whittling down his audience so that just the hard core fans were left but he was better this time. Not many people know this about me but my personal comedy litmus test revolves around the history of baked potatoes - if a comedian can make me cry with laughter at the fact the carb-packed snack didn't arrive in the UK until a few hundred years after legend first mentioned Robin Hood, then he or she gets the thumbs up. Stew passed with flying colours and for good measure embarked on routines about cult horror Sharknado, Alan Bennett and rotisserie chickens. They're all threads in a far larger tapestry which he masterfully weaves together at...
James Brooks' Appliance failed to flog clever clogs electronica to Britpop Britain. His new project, Land Observations, drives the cyclical sound Kraftwerk applied to German autobahns, but at a gentler speed, and along Roman Roads.
The album begins in Hackney with Before The Kingsland Road, tracing Ermine Street north, pointillist pin-pricks of treble guitar bursting out from a chugging 30 mph throb. It ends, after a lengthy Italian detour, with Battle Of Watling Street, a folktronic elegy for the first century Iceni that fell under Boudica, somewhere on the A2.
Stewart Lee
2012-10-28T20:42:42+00:00
James Brooks' Appliance failed to flog clever clogs electronica to Britpop Britain. His new project, Land Observations, drives the cyclical sound Kraftwerk applied to German autobahns, but at a gentler speed, and along Roman Roads. The album begins in Hackney with Before The Kingsland Road, tracing Ermine Street north, pointillist pin-pricks of treble guitar bursting out from a chugging 30 mph throb. It ends, after a lengthy Italian detour, with Battle Of Watling Street, a folktronic elegy for the first century Iceni that fell under Boudica, somewhere on the A2.
This year I have chosen to adopt the following quotes as my mantras.
“Comedy can be a transient art that can assist leisure businesses in widening their appeal, something that is vital in these current trading conditions.” Maria Kempinska, Jongleurs
“James just said "fuck it". It was a lot of money and why not? Loads has happened in his life people don't know about.'”
A 'friend' of TV's James Corden on his £1m autobiography deal.
“I've always though of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do.”
Toby Young, BBC Radio 4
DEAR RATFANS
Coming up: Arty John Cage events all over the land, arts programming by me in Cheltenham and London, comics conventions, new live shit, dumb ass comments.
JOHN CAGE'S INDETERMINACY
I have been invited by the musicians Steve Beresford and Tania Chen to do the spoken word bit in their performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy at the following shows, details TBC.
Saturday May 8th: Bexhill-On-Sea - De La Warr Pavilion. 3pm - Tickets
Saturday May 28th: London - Mini-Meltdown - South Bank. Time TBC
CHELTENHAM JAZZ FESTIVAL
After it's successful debut in 2010, Jamie Cullum's Cheltenham Jazz Festival continues it's Freehouse strand, guest curated by Stewart Lee and Chris Cundy, which will feature some of the UK's finest experimental music exponents and a special performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy.
http://www.cheltenhamfestivals.com/find-events. ALAN WILKINSON TRIO are currently SUPERB.
GET YA SELVES DOWN TO MY CHELTENHAM JAZZ FESTIVAL.
Freehouse: Indeterminacy, curated by Stewart Lee, The Playhouse Theatre, Cheltenham, Sat 30th April 8pm – 10pm
Writer, comedian and experimental music fan Stewart Lee joins fearless contemporary pianists Steve Beresford and Tania Chen for a performance of John Cage’s Indeterminacy. They are joined by trombonist Alan Tomlinson who will also perform Cage’s Solo for Sliding Trombone.
Freehouse: Alan Wilkinson Trio, curated by Stewart Lee, The Playhouse Theatre, Cheltenham, Sun 1st May 8pm-10pm
One of the hottest bands on the London improvised music scene, Alan Wilkinson leads his trio featuring the brilliant bassist John Edwards and drummer Steve Noble playing ‘free jazz’ born exclusively out of intense listening and an almost intuitive creativity. Their willingness to embrace a broad spectrum of styles is redefining traditional barriers and prejudices, making the music vibrate with a renewed sense of freedom.
STEWART LEE’S COMEDY VEHICLE SERIES 2
The second series of SLCV will begin transmission on BBC2 in the post-newsnight slot on Wednesday May 4th at 11.20pm.
We were asked to create a show to try and carve out the post-newsnight slot for comedy and have done so.
The material comprises the 3 hours I worked up in the Vegetable Stew shows August –December 2010, and ten minutes of old stuff, and has been seen by less than 25 000 guinea-pig people live in advance of transmission.
The material, except the ten minutes of old stuff, will not be available commercially in any other format than as part of SLCV series 2 and was generated specifically with the TV format in mind.
DODGEM LOGIC LONDON
Wed 4 May Alan Moore's Dodgem Logic Steve Aylett, Robin Ince, Savage Pencil, Melinda Gebbie, Kevin O'Neill & The Retro Spankees Round Chapel | 7pm | £10 adv/£12 door
Alan Moore's reinvigoration of the underground fanzine, Dodgem Logic, comes alive in the non-conformist surroundings of Hackney's Round Chapel. A night of art, comedy, comment and put-something-back localism.
Released bi-monthly since 2009, Dodgem Logic is equal parts escapist entertainment, social curiosity and grassroots activism: a formidable pick-and-mix of hardworking humour and indie-essaying.
An ink-stained-mantle-carrier for all the socially involved photocopy-and-staple self-published antecedents. With Robin Ince heading up a colossal stand-up bill, artists Steve Aylett, Savage Pencil, Melinda Gebbie and Kevin O'Neill panel-up to talk about their comic work, while music comes from hyperactive racketeers The Retro Spankees.
With an exhibition of artwork from the magazine, and conducted by editor-in-chief Alan Moore. I think I am doing something in this too.
STEWART LEE'S AUSTERITY BINGE
I am curating a weekend of events at the South Bank Centre, London, 27 -30 May.
"Stewart Lee, the stand-up comedian and writer, presents some of Britain's most resilient cult artists. Featuring Trembling Bells, the Nightingales, a host of folk figureheads, enduring stars of the 1980s Alternative Comedy scene, and a John Cage special."
In the words of Stewart Lee: 'As an E-list celebrity comedian and gentleman-amateur music journalist popular with the arts consumer demographic, I am delighted to have been asked to curate a short season for Southbank Centre.
Needless to say it's a dream come true, a chance to programme all the talents I have been inspired by, and ripped-off, over the last three decades. Come! Feast upon my Austerity Banquet!'
FRIDAY 27th May
Stewart Lee in The Complete Vegetable Stew.
The recent sell-out West End run of Stewart Lee's Vegetable Stew saw him perform a random three of a possible six 30-minute sets each evening, assembling shows for the second series of BBC2's Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Now in one marathon of stand-up, Stew offers up all six sections in one enormous show, live, for definitely the very last time.
Royal Festival Hall, 7.30pm.
SATURDAY 28th May
John Cage's Indeterminacy with Steve Beresford, Tania Chen and Stewart Lee + guests.
Indeterminacy was originally recorded in 1959, with David Tudor playing the piano and John Cage reading aloud 90 stories, each lasting one minute. At this show, fearless contemporary pianists Tania Chen and Steve Beresford assume the role of Tudor, joining forces with Stewart Lee to accompany Cage's stories with random and unrelated events on the piano (and other things). Queen Elizabeth Hall, 7.30pm
SATURDAY 28TH May
A tribute to Nic Jones
The current English folk revival owes much to Nic Jones. Despite a career-ending car accident nearly 30 years ago, his early recordings have inspired countless stars of the folk scene. In this very special concert, produced in association with Sidmouth FolkWeek, some of his biggest fans, including Martin Carthy, Ashley Htchings and Jim Moray, pay tribute to Nic by sharing their favourites from his repertoire. Nic also returns to the stage for a reunion of The Bandoggs. Queen Elizabeth Hall, 7pm £24 £20
SUNDAY 29TH May
At Last The 1981 Show
A celebration of the alternative comedy of 30 years ago curated by Stewart Lee and Paul Jackson at the Royal Festival Hall. At Last The 1981 Show presents acts who were part of the burgeoning new comedy scene, just before alternative comedy took off in 1982. Some you might have seen in that comedic Indian summer – some famous, some infamous, some unfamous - all massively significant.
It was 30 years ago today. Royal Festival Hall, 7.30pm
BILL IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER
Nigel Planer as Nicholas Craig and Neil The Folksinger
Arthur Smith
The Oblivion Boys
Norman Lovett
The Greatest Show On Legs
Andrew Bailey
Alexei Sayle
Arnold Brown
Kevin MacAleer
Frank Chicken
Chris Lynham
(and more who cannot be announced, including women)
Ticket link
MONDAY 30th May
Trembling Bells & Mike Heron + Nick Pynn
In the wake of their acclaimed third album, The Constant Pageant, 'the 21st century troubadours' Trembling Bells continue to synthesise traditional forms with post-rock textures and improvisatory rumbles.
Their guests are The Incredible String Band founder Mike Heron, in whose footsteps they follow, and multi-instrumentalist Nick Pynn.
Queen Elizabeth Hall, 7pm £15 £12.50
MONDAY 30th May
The Nightingales + Vic Godard & Subway Sect
Birmingham's indomitable punk survivors fuse Beefheart licks and pulverising rhythms with a strangely sensitive cynicism, and arrive at Southbank Centre in advance of imminent National Treasure status.
Purcell Room at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, 7.15pm £15
Friday 27th - Monday 30th May
Real Food market
With summer well on the way, savor the May Bank Holiday with some of the fat glutton Stew's favorite food and drink. Fresh asparagus, broad beans, cherries and fennel, a particular favorite of Stew's, sit alongside delicious spring lamb, slow-reared pork and more seasonal treats.
Southbank Centre Square, Friday 11am - 8pm, Saturday 10am - 6pm, Sunday 12 noon - 6pm.
How to book
Southbankcentre.co.uk Tickets 0844 847 9911 9am - 8pm (daily).
Transaction fees applicable.
No transaction fees for Southbank Centre Members.
In person: Royal Festival Hall Ticket Office 10am - 8pm (daily).
SOHO WORK-IN-PROGRESS RUN
New material. June 13th - 18th, 20th - 23rd. 9pm. £10. Tickets here.
EDINBURGH 2011
I'll be at The Stand, Edinburgh, in August, doing a new work in progress show, Flickwerk 2011. Details TBA.
Here's the 40 and 100 word blurbs.
Stewart Lee - Flickwerk 2011.
Work towards new live show.
"Gigged with him. Arrogant twat." Japaneseboy, Chortle.co.uk.
"Smug, self-righteous, unfunny prick. Thoroughly unpleasant in real life." Donuticus, thestudentroom.co.uk.
"Embarrassing old man ranting like teenage student, labouring "jokes", deliberately unfunny." Tony Cowards.
Stewart Lee - Flickwerk 2011. Work in progress towards new live show.
"Gigged with him. Arrogant twat." Japaneseboy, Chortle.co.uk.
"After 35 years as a professional comic you weigh people up pretty good. Lee is whispering, piggy eyed, smug, arrogant, arty farty twat." Roy, Chortle.co.uk.
"Used to go out with my wife's cousin. He's a cock." MrBloefeldt, readytogo.com.
"Smug, self-righteous, unfunny prick. Thoroughly unpleasant bloke in real life." Donuticus, thestudentroom.co.uk.
"Lee is a borderline alcoholic, aggressively taunting and downright insulting society." Chong Nhu, martialartsplanet.com.
"Feel sorry for his wife and son, spending Sunday afternoon with someone who thinks they're funny." Dino, spoonfed.com.
STRATFORD CIRCUS BOOK EVENT
Sunday June 19th, 6pm
Stewart Lee will be speaking about his book How I Escaped My Certain Fate in conversation with Michael Rosen.
This bestselling book by acclaimed stand-up comedian Stewart Lee now comes with an entirely new section on his most recent show, 'Vegetable Stew'.
Experience how it feels to be the subject of a blasphemy prosecution! Find out why 'wool' is a funny word!
See how jokes work, their inner mechanisms revealed, before your astonished face! In 2001, after over a decade in the business, Stewart Lee quit stand-up, disillusioned and drained, and went off to direct a loss-making opera about Jerry Springer.
How I Escaped My Certain Fate details his return to live performance, and the journey that took him from an early retirement to his position as the most critically acclaimed stand-up in Britain.
Here is Stewart Lee's own account of his remarkable comeback, told through transcripts of the three legendary full-length shows that sealed his reputation, plus transcripts of his most recent show 'Vegetable Stew'.
These astonishingly frank and detailed in-depth notes reveal the inspiration and inner workings of his act; with unprecedented access to a leading comedian's creative process, this book tell us just what it was like to write these shows, develop the performance and take them on tour.
How I Escaped My Certain Fate is everything we have come to expect from Stewart Lee: fiercely intelligent, unsparingly honest and very funny.
6pm. Info Here.
IF YOU PREFER A MILDER COMEDIAN PLEASE ASK FOR ONE DVD
Went on sale Monday 11th Oct 2010 and is still floating about Amazon's top 30, so thanks for that. Amazon Link.
HOW I ESCAPED MY CERTAIN FATE
My book did better than anyone could have expected, so thanks for your support.
If your local bookstore isn't stocking it, or doesn't exist, you can get it on Amazon on from meat gigs. Amazon Link.
LIVE SHIT
Saturday 7th - On a bill of 4 comics at Union Chapel, London
Wednesday 11th - w Nick Pynn, Jane Bom-Bayne's, Brighton Fringe
Friday 27th - Complete Vegetable Stew at Royal Festival Hall, London
Saturday 4th - Benefit (unpaid) for St Evelina's, Bloomsbury, London
Monday 6th - Benefit (unpaid) for Simon House, Grand Union pub, London
Friday 10th - Benefit (unpaid) for something somewhere in Notting Hill, London
Monday 13th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Tuesday 14th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Wednesday 15th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Thursday 16th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Friday 17th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Satuday 18th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Monday 20th - Benefit (unpaid) for something at Bloomsbury, London
Monday 20th - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Tueday 21st - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Wednesday 22nd - work in progress at Soho Theatre, London - Tickets
Saturday 16th - Benefit (unpaid) for Cardboard Citizens at Hackney Empire, London
Wednesday 20th - Benefit (unpaid) for No Sweat at Bloomsbury, London. Tickets
Friday 29th - Benefit (unpaid)for Stoke Newington homeless, somewhere
3rd - 14th, 16th - 29th. Work in progress. Flickwerk 2011. The Stand, Edinburgh, 5.15pm
Thursday 20th - Benefit (unpaid) - LST, WOM (don't know what these notes mean)
Sunday 30th - R Herring's Lyric Hammersmith night, London
THE MUSIC GROUP
I done a R4 show called The Music Group, talking about Derek Bailey. Tuesday 26th April at 1.30pm, repeated on Saturday 1st May at 3.30pm iPlayer link is here.
MORE FROM THE MESSAGE BOARDS
Here is an ongoing selection of bad reviews I have been compiling.
"A sneering tosser." Rowing Rob, Guardian.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is about as funny as an abortion." Mr Biff Olive, Youtube
"Smug elitist liberalism. Who is this cunt?" Tokyofist, Youtube
"I hate Stewart Lee with a passion. He's like Ian Huntley to me." Wharto15, Twitter
"Stuart Lee = Cock" Brendon, Vauxhallownersnetwork.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is a massive asshole." Secretdeveloper, Youtube
"I saw him at a gig once, and even offstage he was exuding an aura of creepy molesty smugness." Yukio Mishima, dontstartmeoff.com
"I always thought he looked like morrisey with down syndrome." Drvol1, Youtube
"Stewart Lee. Boring as hell and unfunny." Peter Ould, Twitter
"Five minutes of Stewart Lee makes me want to kill myself . Completely unfunny, dated, painful SHIT." Anon, westhamonline.com
"One man I would love to beat with a shit covered cricket bat." Joycey, readytogo.net
"The most overrated smug twat ever." Syhr, breakbeat.co.uk
"A small, sad man." FBC, finalgear.com
"Stewart lee is a shit comedian doing a shit impression of a shit comedian. If he was burned alive it could raise serious cash." Mrdavisn01, Twitter
"I hope stewart lee dies." Idrie, Youtube
"Fuck this Stewart Lee twat, fuck anyone that agrees with him, and FUCK PC." Mearecate, Youtube
"3rd rate comedian and politically correct maggot." Anonymous, The Northfield Patriot
"All this man seems to be able to do is dance about going "ah ha ha ha ha ha!' So incredibly unfunny." Emilyistrendy, Youtube
"Lee was a good comic. Unfortunately now he comes across as a chaotic drunk." Foxfoxton, Youtube
"See that stupid look on his face....you just know he would have that exact same facial expression if he was getting the kicking of his life." Neva2busy, don't start me off.com
"Prime example of a well educated looooooser." Rudeness, Youtube
"If this is supposed to be a "Comedy Vehicle," maybe someone should call the RAC to get it started." Gwaites, Digitalspy
"The boringly infantile Stewart Lee." Peter Ould, Youtube
"This guy sure knows how to run a joke into the ground." Mpf1947, Youtube
"I hate comedy that presumes to 'defend' minorities like me. Sod off, you don't know what offends me, so you can't protect me from it. But most of the things you think offend me don't." Sweeping Curves, Twitter
"Genuinely can't stand him, he comes across as the sort that thinks that live comedy should just be kept to smoky art student union clubs and that any comedian that plays in arenas is destroying the so called "artistic integrity" of stand up when we all know stand-up comedy is not an art form it's a form of live entertainment. P.S. Just because your TV show is terrible doesn't mean you have to rip into Russell Howard and 'that Roadshow''." Someoneyoudon'tknow, Chortle.com
"He stank. I've never seen a moronic idiot trying to tell jokes in my life. What a fuck. The man could barely stand up never mind tell a decent story. Everyone was laughing at him, and I hated his guts." Alex Quarmby, Edfringe.com
"A fraud and a total unfunny tit." Bosco239, youtube
"Lee seems to think he's more clever than he really is. His material is delivered in a "If you don't find this funny, you can't be very intelligent" manner, which is an attitude perpetuated by the pseudo-intellectual Guardian reading arsebiscuits who like him." Johnny Kitkat, dontstartmeoff.com
"Quite possibly the most boring stand-up I've ever heard. I fail to see what on earth is funny about him rambling on....and on...and on..." Kozzy06, Youtube
"After careful deliberation, I can now say I have finally gone off Stewart Lee. Give it two years and so will you." Tweeterkiryakou, Twitter
"Sorry, Something has gone wrong (Error 500). Unfortunately this part of iPlayer has temporarily stopped working. This will be because there has been an unforeseen technical error." BBC iPlayer edition of disussion of Stewart Lee on A Good Read "I must protest most feverently at the prospect of further wanton waste of the licence fee on this pile of wank." Aaron, comedy.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is a pedantic, overrated, mundane little shit of a comedian. And yes, I do 'get' him, it's just ... wank." Meanstreetelite, Peoplesrepublicofcork
"Just seen a very haggard looking Stewart Lee near Carnaby St. He was carrying laundry." @98rosjon, Twitter
"This guy is as funny as a kick in the nuts." Ckay, Chrismoyles.net
"Alleged comedian Stewart Lee is cheap and mean spirited", Iain, eatenbymissionaries
"WHAT THE HELL! If i ever find you, lee, i promise i will, I WILL, kick the crap out of you." Carcrazychica, Youtube
"The thinking woman's potato farl." Rubyshoes, Twitter
"The ludicrously coiffered fat-of-face fuck" Mini-x2, readytogo.net
"Stewart Lee is a pompous, condescending bore, and he isn't remotely funny. He claims to have read the entire works of William Blake - he obviously completely missed one of the great themes of Blake: a love and respect for all humanity. If smugness could be harnessed as a form of energy this man could help reduce our reliance on fossil fuels." Danazawa, Youtube
"I spent the entire time thinking of how much I want to punch Stewart Lee in the face instead of laughing. He does have an incredibly punchable face, doesn't he? (I could just close my eyes, but fantasizing about punching Stewart Lee is still more fun than sitting in complete, stony silence.) Fucking smug-faced cunt." Pudabaya, beexcellenttoeachother.com
"Not one joke delivered. Absolutely the worst comedian I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Don't waste your money or time. Only comedian that I have ever thought of walking out on." Dave Wilson, Chortle.com
"Christ what a monotoned smug nobhead, don't you people get tired of his student aimed so called humour, god he's crap." Anamatronix, Youtube
"Lee makes pretentious lefty dickheads feel good about themselves and superior to others." Underground906, Youtube
"I continue to watch out of amazement at how unfunny this is… he has made me snigger but once when talking about getting your willy stuck in a zippe. Anyone could get a laugh with that! It amazes me how he likes to repeat the same thing several times, likes to repeat things several times, repeat things several times, several times, times." Stuart, Chortle
"Stuart 'man of the people' Lee is nothing but a fringe alternative comedy act who wouldn't stand a chance at a real comedy club like Jongleurs." Karen Laidlaw, Edfringe. com.
"I really cannot *bear* the bumptious prick that is Stewart Lee." Lucinda Locketts, Twitter
"An abysmal 'comedian'. He's unable to pick up Brownie points for being funny and so instead flaunts his politically correct views to try to get audiences' and critics' sympathy. While this works to keep him a cult following of der brains who enjoy playing the game of 'I'm holier than thou', it's the reason while he'll never be mainstream (you have to be funny to do that) and why critics who like him always have to apologise for his contributions to high profile charity gigs in venues when the punters don't laugh. Garbage." Chez, Chortle.com
"I had to walk out of Stewart Lee's gig tonight when my wife started projectile vomiting!" Cyberbloke, Twitter
"The dullness of his jokes is only matched by his bitterness towards other comedians and half the world around him. He seems to spend hours on stage pretending that he 'gets something' nobody else has. I just wish he'd get a sense of humour. Tripe." Gabrielle, Chortle.com
"Stewart Lee : 20 years of 'sneer = career'." Clampdown59, Twitter.
"Jealous that your comedy career didn't go anywhere Lee?" Anonymous, don'tstartmeoff.com
"Stupid. Unfunny. Hypocritical. Nonsensical. Fits in with his fanboys' worldview, basically." Guest1001, Youtube
"There's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach." Dominic Cavendish, Daily Telegraph
"Lee is supposed to be a ground-breaking comedian and writer, but I found little entertainment value in his material.? It was not funny. It was a sad and deliberate attempt to see how far he could go. This was ultimate sick humour, and if anyone thought it funny, they must be sick as well." Brighton Argus
"The worst stand-up I have ever seen. A man who seems to aim his set at angry, atheist comic book, nerd Morrissey fans and if you don't find him funny you're obviously an idiot. As smug and contemptible as Richard Herring." Graham Simmons, Chortle.com
"No part of this routine was funny enough to even bother delivering it. I'm not offended, more bemused by his total lack of talent and why the audience are laughing at his dull and obvious "jokes"." Whoiscuriousgeorge, Youtube
"Watching Stewart Lee in action these days is like standing on the edge of a frozen lake and seeing a man half-submerged in the perishing ice. You throw him a rope - but he hurls it back. You didn't throw it correctly, he advises. And anyway, he was fine as he was, until you ruined it all. Didn't you know that sub-zero was his natural habitat?" Dominic Cavendish, Daily Telegraph
"Fine to make jokes about Jeremy Clarkson but only if you're funnier than he is. Lee's humour is all about repetition and digression, but even brilliant comedians need material." Herald Scotland.
"I don;t feel Stewart Lee is funny anymore, just a boring droning on 'comedian' who's set's just happen to be the most unlively sets in the comedy world." Spursguy, Youtube
"He talks only about commonplace things, with a really slow pace. He made me smile. That's it! A disappointment." Etienne, Chortle.com
"Lee makes Kim Jong II look comparatively relaxed. Maybe it's time to lighten up a little?" Dominic Cavendish, Telegraph
"Lee is about as startling as an accountant reading the Financial Times." Liverpool Daily Post
"The worst comedian in Britain, as funny as bubonic plague" Fergus Shanahan, The Sun
"Typical left wing wankstain. When someone happens to disagree with them, they just yell "Nazi" or "racist". When challenged, the pathetic cunts can't even justify why they've said it, they'll just repeat it ad nauseam. I suspect that many of Lee's fans think they're superior to everyone else because he's perceived as being a bit niche and edgy, when really he's just a smug, fat, unfunny shitbasket." Mrjohnnykitkat, Youtube
"His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension." Birmingham Sunday Mercury
"This guy just isnt funny ..... standing there telling mildly humerous stories does not make you funny ... so overrated." Boygeniuz, Youtube
"A poor man's Bill Hicks… Sorry Stew, Bill was already doing the "Comedy of Hate" when you were fumbling around doing student-targetted humour." Potace, Amazon.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is so, so, irritating." RossB, Twitter
"Emperor's new clothes. This man is a cock." Mdnw2007, Youtube
"Lee has been ploughing the same 6th Form/Student Union seam of predictable and not really edgey comedy since the early 90s." Frank Frenz, Guardian.co.uk
"Stewart Lee - not funny. Just putting that out there." Commodore Dan, Twitter
"Urrgh. I liked Stewart Lee briefly about seven years ago but I haven't been able to stand him since." Narrativiumgirl, Twitter
"Comedy for 'up their own arse' ponces." ???markzilla6969, Youtube
"Stewart Lee is the worst comedian around (if you can class him as a comedian). He is a smug, arrogant man who thinks he is funny (he isn't!) and is not one for the working-class people. Why do you do this rubbish?! " Y McLaughlin, Amazon.co.uk
"Top Gear attack things that really ought to be attacked, like the bloody bus lane on the M4, Stewart Lee just attacks anything that doesn't fit in with his stupidly socialist world view." Scourge of God, Youtube
"He's another of those smug incompetents who are said by the 'in-crowd' to be cool. He appears to have serious life issues and he seems to think that foisting his emotional turmoil onto audiences is somehow 'art'. Bollocks." Dahoum, Guardian.co.uk
"Has anybody noticed that this Stewart Lee guy is poo'ing a massive halo out of his backside? How the 'left' take the moral ground hey! Peace." Pittounikos, Youtube
"I was at least expecting a few jokes. Sorry to say they don't exist. He takes about 5 or so good concepts and plays them all out over far too long a time so by the end of each segment you don't really care whether there is a point to the piece. The delivery is too dead pan to make it interesting. Avoid at all costs, please don't encourage the man." P Mishkin, Amazon.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is crap I'm afraid." Balboa, Guardian.co.uk
"I find this guy hard to warm to. He's a bit slimy" Graemeoliver, Youtube
"Oh, that Lee! He's suuuch a kidder! *tch* And by that I mean a scum sucking, attention whore who should just die horribly from brain cancer while his family laugh because he's a contemptuous little prick with no redeeming social qualities whatsoever. HAHAHA!!" Squidge, finalgear.com
"An evil, evil man and not in the slightest bit funny" Ronnie, Nottingham, Dailymail.co.uk
"So I tried to watch this last night. After about 5 minutes I couldn't bear any more. ? Tell a joke, you twat." Sadpunk, drownedinsound.com
"Its like richard herrings comedy. People like it because they think by understanding it, they are smart. But really its shit." Jonphonics, Twitter
"He's about as funny as piles." Ealoraont, Youtube
"Stewart Lee should jump in his 'comedy vehicle' and drive it off a very high cliff. Whoever this youth is, he sounds about as funny as three weeks of really bad weather!" Shane, Beverley, Dailymail.co.uk
"Still time to vote for @Herring1967 in the Chortle Awards! Don't vote for Stewart Lee, though." Piccadillo, Twitter
"Slow, boring delivery from the smuggest cunt on them all." johnwinfield367676, Youtube
"Stewart Lee's jokes consist of taking a moderately funny idea and then spending 25 minutes slowly and repetitively beating it to death with a shovel." Tim J, liberalconspiracy.org
"Slow, boring and not at all funny. People who like this dick are retarded." Dharmashooter, Youtube
"Stewart is a self deluded person, who looks into a mirror and sees great sadness . What a loser he is then. He should grow up and shut up. Hes got many problems I feel and should seek help! If he cant grow up maybe he should go a way. Because hes a posh boy he cant get a way with anything, but hes just spolit brat by the look at it." Mr Cool, Wales, Dailymail.co.uk
"George Carlin was an intelligent comedian and his delivery was great at a normal speed. This is just slow-motion man. It goes beyond any form of comedic timing. This is like watching a sloth read an essay. I think the most impressive thing is his ability to find enough middle-aged angry champagne socialists to buy tickets for a horrendously unfunny act. I'm sure if I watched for long enough he'd have rolled out a few tired Daily Mail comments. Comedy is about making you laugh... not about allowing you to join in a public snide-athon where one can exude moral exclusivity with our peers. It's smug, self-righteous bs." CorXXXSmile, Youtube
"He needs to either stop getting drunk during the show or stop being self-pityingly depressed in a mid-life crisis. Watching the old, past-it, fat, grey comedian vocally wishing for death isn't that funny." Melotronic, forum.watmm.com
"Is this comedy?....You need to buy a frankie boyle dvd fella, here's a tip..........retire!" Totes32, Youtube
"The only true fool is a man who considers himself more intelligent than everyone else. Stewart Lee is afflicted with this condition, and sadly he probably will not recover anytime soon." P12z13, Youtube
"I don`t know how stewart lee can call himself a comedian. Went to his show and it was the worst performance i`ve ever seen. It was so bad i was stunned." Prodeoetpatria1691, comedians.iniv8.com
"Some people look for somthing more in a stand up then using big words and slagging off the more successful. This is intellectual snobbery at it's worst - but its not even that clever, lee's trick is to take a simple concept and phrase it in a way that makes it sound intelligent. One word mate: cancelled." Mrseppo2010, Youtube
"Shit, look at him. He's so unfunny he has to bitch about how there are funny people that are popular, and I'm positive the audience is paid to laugh, and when they do it's clear it's uncomfortable laughter. Cunt." Gemini4, Youtube
"Lee is just a fat Rob Newman without the melancholy surrealism." Shatterface, liberalconspiracy.org
"The Yawnmaker. He's been in comedy for 20 years? And this is the best he can come up with? Basically snide comments about people who he obviously considers leagues below his great self?" Lord Fauntleroy Mahonk, dontstartmeoff.com
"I imagine this it what it would be like if Morrissey did stand-up. Really very dull." Noriarty, Youtube "How the hell does he pass himself off as a comedian, Those people in the audience must be really easily pleased n life to find him even mildly amusing." Chef, Ush.net
"Try looking up the word comedian in a dictionary. Stewart Lee... comedian? Not two words I would use in the same sentence!" Rachael, Peterborough, Dailymail.co.uk
"God this bitter whining silly man really needs to shut up lol. I mean seriously, people pay this man money to listen to him whine like this? Pathetic." Superiority85, Youtube
"His smug attitude and the fact that he comes accross like a grade A bellend makes him unwatchable for me." Joycey33, readytogo.net
"The biggest pile of crap I have ever seen! Boring and unfunny. Childish. Made an absolute fool of himself." – Lianne, Chortle.co.uk
"One of those deluded self righteous liberal cunts who choose to be blind to certain issues" Luke Griffiths, Youtube
"Urgh i don't think stewart lee's voice could get any more smug and annoying" Vicki Fran, Twitter
"That humourless apparatchik Stewart Lee is genuinely offensive. He gives me the willy's." Norcalmo, Guardian.co.uk
"Christ I hate stewart lee - he really is a pompous fucking wanker. He really is a pompous fucking wanker a pompous wanker he really is a pompous fucking wanker." Al, urban75.net
"Absolutely shite. Wank comedy made by a wanker for wankers. Loads of "safe" and tedious jokes while constantly peddling his left wing views to appear fashionable. Perfectly suited to the bbc. Go to your local pub and chances are you'll meet someone funnier than him. He is arguably worse than Lenny Henry." Archer, Readytogo.net
"Worst comedian ever (along side David Baddiel). Saw him live once, and had to get a refund. He lacks one ingredient of comedy - he's not funny." Good Evans, tvguide.co.uk
"Have never heard of Stewart Lee before now. If I never hear of him again it will be too soon! The one thing he is not, is a comedian." David Spark, Leeds, Dailymail.co.uk
"Fna fna... not remotely funny, another one who thinks hes funnier than he is. Its soooooo trendy to like these so called intelligent comedians... oh please, give me a break... Middle class up his own backside twddle..." Baabaa, Digitalspy
"Sociology lecturers aren't really funny, are they? No matter how smug they are." Roger Hoare, Youtube
"I fucking hate stewart lee, so this is shit. All his comedy is taking the piss out of other people when in fact he should look in the mirror at his egotistical fat morrisey wannabe face and slam it into the glass." Jabba897, reddit.com
"Cnt beileve i pay my taxes for this shit the BBc shold make good programs like balls of steel and jackass!! infact get moyles to do a program where he takes the piss out of this wanker!!!!!!! and OMG not knowin what a rapper iz!! wt sort of grandad iz he!>!>?!??!? so yeah dnt watch this shit watch horne and corden instead a decent program frm the BBC for once not the usaal tax wasting shit like this!!!" Tom W, Chortle
"Stuart Lee is a fcking coward. He wouldnt dare insult the prophet muhhummed. stuart Lee a pathetic little worm! ps im nt viewing any of this rubbish." Christian1truefaith, bagito.com
"Incredibly unfunny in a way that only Lenny Henry can replicate. Lee's attempt to appear intellectual betrays the fact that it is actually pretty lightweight comedy, dressed up with some long(ish) words, and playground insults. He was a witless pseudo-intellectual snob 10 years ago and he still is. At least he has got rid of the floppy fringe." Matt, tvguide.co.uk
"I put it to you Mr Lee that you are earning a liveing from using race related issues in your pointless act. How many times did i hear, Nigger, Wog, Darky, Paki* and a whole plethora other 'un-pc' racist derogatory remarks? Hypocritical pointless arsebert. That's first thing that sprang to mind, what an ironic cunt he is. Not only does he use racist remarks but there's an underlined air of bullshit in his anectdotes and stories that are purely used make a point where there's absolutly no point to be made. He goes on about how if it wasn't for the PC brigade the Conservatitive party would still be useing slogans like "Want to live next door to nigger? Vote Labour". ** He's a liar, the Conservative party has never used slogans like that so he is lieing to make a point at people that are stupid enough to believe him. He should be arrested for incitement. I can't believe that i've just sat through 3 mins of his smarmy leftwing shite. A true cunt in every sense of the word.' Hone st George, dontstartmeoff.com
(* I have never used the words wog, 'darky', or paki on stage, and used the word 'nigger' when quoting a famous football commentator. ** The Conservative Party slogan was used in Smethwick, Birmingham by Conservatives in 1964.)
"I don't like Stewart Lee. I like my comedy to be funny and not a story of someones meaningless opinions of which I have no interest in." Frednut, Twitter
"This is one of the biggest shitloaded pretending to be funny alike speaches that I ever heard, Not only this psicopath looking dog shit bag is hating without anfact to do so, but then thinks other people are also skizofrenics too. I hate you. This irrational hateress that makes someone to try to make fun out of talking shit from others for 15 min. So be aware Stewie. I know your face." Hormigaz, Youtube
"I just woke up from a nightmare were the only comedians left in the world were stewart lee and steve coogan. what a boring nightmare of right on "sophisticated" never "offensive" islington humour it was indeed, were the laughs are just a smirk and nothing more. get over yourselves, your generation of comedians aren't actually very funny - they are amusing at best." Westmorland, Guardian.co.uk
"What a butt-hurt old man, deeply unfunny and a waste of time." Grandurr 1327, Youtube
"Well, he came 11th in the Greatest Stand Ups of All Time poll shown on Ch4 the other month (yes I know it's a fiddle - but still). If you went out in the street and asked a hundred people about him you'd be hard pressed to find a handful who'd even heard of the miserable coconut. Never mind think he was funny. I saw him on an old 8 out of 10 Cats repeat the other day. He hardly made a contribution, just sitting there partly looking out of his depth and embarrassed to be there exposed as talentless and partly with a smug look on his fat ugly mug. The only few people who even claim to rate him are the usual crowd who think he may in some way be "clever" and so by claiming to like the unfunny twonk somehow raises their own "status"." Voiceofreason, forum.football.co.uk
"Watching English liberal atheists, like Mr Lee, ridiculing American Creationists is a bit like watching someone pick a fight with an asthmatic fat kid from the opposite side of a very busy road. One word, more pertinent to these shores; Islam! You fucking third-rate Bill Hicks wannabe coward!" Noonday100, Youtube
"All Stewart Lee managed to do though, was wind me up by dragging "jokes" out for too long." Cassiejackson, Chrismoyles.net
"I don't know how to feel about Stewart Lee. Sometimes I think he's quite funny, but most of the time overwhelmingly smug." MouseY, Twitter
"The people who enjoy his comedy also like boring dinner parties, socialism even though they are all living the capitalist lifestyle and think nothing at all bringing up the topic of cheese boards into a conversation and make a joke out of it that only they find funny. They probably hate country folk that hunt even though they them selves have done fuck all to preseve our natural enviroment and are too busy indulging themselve inn their own smuggness to stop and realise what twats they are. Stewart Lee+Comedy= does not work out." 22623501, Youtube
"Only a Sun reader could mistake this dross for intelligent comedy. Probably laughs at farting noises too. Here's to hoping this particular vehicle runs off the road. Under a train." NevW47479, UKTV.co.uk
"Stewart lee is a prick. Saw him live he isn't funny just obsessed with stupid issues like political correctness." Fogjinda, Youtube
"He is NOT funny... In what way is this man a comedian?" Mr Angry, bbc.co.uk
"He's a comedian who I have to say I have never heard of and who doesn't appear to have made much of a name for himself by being a "funnyman" with jokes like that are we really suprised ??" Julie, Highland, Dailymail.co.uk
"An up-his-own-arse tosser who isn't very funny but is perceived to be a slightly edgy, niche comedian and is therefore popular with up-their-own-arse tossers that enjoy being in the niche up-their-own-arse tosser club. Lee's always been about as funny as getting spit roasted by Little and Large. I wish he'd fuck off, the unfunny cunt. He's a cunt. I have a remit to chronicle cuntishness through the ages. I am writing the definitive compendium of cunts. The Lee Anus has a chapter all to himself. If you have no sense of humour, he's the comic for you." Withnail555, Youtube
"I always thought stuart lee was a smug, unfunny, my view's right and if you disagree you're wrong, right on lefty, cunt." MadDog, westhamonline.com
"Its just another over-educated, middle class man getting pointlessly angry about a lot of things that aren't very important in the great scheme of things....' Tristran Fabriana, bbc.co.uk
"I think stewart lee should be banned from actually being a so called "comedian"." Sophie, Spalding, Dailymail.co.uk
"This man isn't a comedian. He is disgusting, unfunny and a man full of hate. I think some members of the crowd agree with my statements." Sireld, Youtube
"What a massive cunt. What a massive cunt. Cry some more, Stewart Lee." Fiendish77, Youtube
"He has thrown two heads but he missed the third catch and the coin rolled under the wardrobe. We are still looking. On our knees. With a torch." A J King, Amazon
"I wish that he would show more evidence of the fact that he read English at Saint Edmond's Hall Oxford. The evidence of this has been carefully sifted out along with his Shropshire* accent as he has adopted both the speech and cognitive vocabulary and conventions which are the default position of the speakers of Estuary English with whom he presumably spends his days. ?During the Fist OF Fun days he made a darkly glamorous, if static, foil to the far more comedically gifted Richard Herring, but that was then, the glamour has long departed ( welcome to the club Mr Lee ), and he does not seem to have gained anything in the way of skill from the period working alongside his erstwhile partner." Greysimon1, bbc.co.uk
(*I left Shropshire at the age of 9 days old.)
"Stewart lee is so over-rated. Does he say something then leave a... Long pause?" Kilburnmat, Twitter "A slightly embarrassing 40+ year old man ranting like a teenage student activist whilst labouring "jokes" and being, what seems, almost deliberately unfunny." Tony Cowards, comedy.co.uk
"This guy is so smug he nearly fell into his own arse. Smart arse twat - not funny at all." Gallowgrey, Youtube
"Stewart Lee isnt even funny. He's disgusting and i hope they ban him from performing. Stewart Lee is a pathetic little man. the only thing funny about him, is his looks." Hammondx3, richardhammond.net
"Burn in Hell Scum." Christian1truefaith, Youtube
"A hate filled little man." Willdaq, finalgear.com
"I saw Stewart Lee live in Galway a couple of years ago and he wasn't very funny. I used to really like his early stuff and I always REALLY want to find him funny, but he's just not." LMNR, Youtube
"Did watch this guys comedy. I got it straight away. It was look at how clever I am. I really am clever, None of you are as clever as me. Just join mensa stewart." Davy123, Guardian.co.uk
"A heckler could destroy his entire act simply by shouting "we get the fucking picture" from the back of the room in the first 5 minutes." Dirtbox, eurogamer.com
"Stewart Lee : A man so far up his own backside he sneers at his own poop as it passes by." Clampdown59, Twitter
"To have a smart ass Oxbridge sasnach making shit jokes about Gaelige irritates me beyond belief. Stewart Lee a patronising English imperialist cunt." Lars3939, Youtube
"It's a disgrace that someone like this no talent comedian can say something like this and not be arrested. Surely there should be a ban on the arts to some degree?" Danny, London, Dailymail.co.uk
"An unfunny, smug, supremely pleased with himself bellend." Jerrymorris, Youtube
"I think Stewart Lee has just one problem as a comedian, for all his faux intellectual affectations and his penchant for student union politics, he just isnt funny. I tried hard to like it but it all has a whiff of the emporers new clothes. For me he has just about managing to maintain his status to a level where you actually remember who he is since that awful lee and herring thing. I guess that as fringe acts/celebs, who struggle to capture the audience they are clearly desperate for, begin to fade, their act has to become more shocking to maintain their profile, rather than funny." Matt, York, Daily Mail.co.uk
"A two bob unfunny 'comedian' still trying to make it at the Edinburgh festival..." English Cad, Cad Towers, Dailymail.co.uk
"Stood behind him in the queue at Forbidden Planet last year, he was reading a poor collection of Hellblazer rather than anything substantial, and anyone who buys their books at FP is a nob-ed. I was hoping for quality comedy, but this stand up was padded out with drivel (ie the rapper thing, y'know, the thing about rappers, you know don't you, rappers, yeah, rappers, on the bannister, rappers, they slide along 'em, rappers, they do, they're called rappers etc.) I didn't laugh once despite being ripped to the t's and wanting to find it funny. His act really misses Herrring's over eager schoolboy to his aloof indie schtick, and maybe an editor to tell him 'This isn't funny, go and rewrite it till it is. I'd love to join the Stewart Lee bandwagon that all the reviewers seem to be on, but I'm going to sit on the sidelines and throw the rotten tomatoes till he starts being funny. I too have loved Stewart, but this seems more like I've met up with him through Friends reunited aft er years apart, had one bad shag, gone back for another just to find that he was a bad shag first time." Beef, eastdulwichforum
"Stewart Lee is a fucking asshole; another left-wing, Labour, BBC luvvy propagating politically correct bullshit." Lightfoot, Youtube
"Crap… like 'bottom', just not funny." Frigadol, Youtube
""I was able to predict his line on any subject with completely accuracy to the lady of the house." Greysimon1, bbc.co.uk
"What a SICK man Stewart Lee is. My condolences to his family and friends." Sharon, Shoreham, Dailymail.co.uk
"How the hell does he pass himself off as a comedian, Those people in the audience must be really easily pleased n life to find him even mildly amusing." Chef, Ush.net
"Lee is, without doubt, a charm free vacuum who has bathed in a bath of shit. Emotionally unintelligent and intellectually retarded, he offers up a form of comedy that is both visually appalling and aurally disingenuos. A twat in other words. Top marks to him for foisting this crap and people buying it." Cameron Borland, Offthetelly.com
"This guy is a twat, he is not funny at all." jaabui, bagito.com
"This guy's as amusing as toothache!" Keith, Switzerland, Dailymail.co.uk
"Steward Lee is a bitter, cynical and arrogant prick. Wat a hateful cunt." Tommart123, Youtube
"I went to see Stewart Lee in Brighton last night and it was thoroughly disappointing. He's become formulaic and large parts of the show were just a rambling mess. Stewart Lee is also shorter than you'd think, and fatter than he looks on stage." Willybum, zetaboards.com
"If that's the state of British comedy today then come back Bernard Manning all is forgiven!" Andrew Hall, Bradford, Dailymail.co.uk
"He certainly no Bernard Manning. Complete and utter shite. A smug lefty arse. Bernard was a genius, from the golden age of comedy that's sadly gone now in a time where you can't insult anyone any more. You can't even take the piss out of gays now, they're passing a law to make homophobic jokes illegal. Scots are fair game still though so I've seen from Lee's DVD." Magnificent Bastard, Readytogo.net
"Intellectual pretensions aside for a moment Stewart Lee is a bit of a knob sometimes., isn't he?" Contrapuntal, Twitter
"This guy is a douche bag who probably drank to much before going on stage to prove what a complete and utter asshole he is." GRTak, finalgear.com
"It is basically him making a few different faces and reading the text while some idiots mindlessly laugh for no reason. He says a few words, just normal words and the audience laugh. "Well I was walking down the road" Pauses and makes a face *laughter* "And I saw a dog" Pauses and makes a face *laughter* "I think it was a Poodle" Pauses and makes a face *laughter* "Maybe a Jack Russel with Curly hair" Pauses and makes a face *laughter* "I walked past it while looking at it" Pauses and makes a face *laughter*. You get the picture. I hate this * shite. Painful... I started to feel sorry for him. Worst thing is that he obviously thinks a lot of himself." Monkeymonger, Chrismoyles.net
"I must admit I have heard of Mr Lee, having seem two of his televised "shows". However, it seems that he is now definitely not worth bothering about. Bye bye loser." Harry, Rugby, Dailymail.co.uk
"Im sorry stewart lee fans but his material is lazy, repitive, dirivative and aimed squarely at the sychophants." dufftownallan, eurogamer.com
"What a prick." Jordanrowell555, Youtube
"Absolutely the saddest so called comedian I have ever heard. Trash is the only word I can think of this person. Disgusting!!!" Carla, St Albans, Dailymail.co.uk
"I watched the whole thing and didn't even smile once. What a terrible comedian..." Sthhlm, Youtube
"Come back Mr Lee when you have achieved 1% of what Ben Elton has achieved." Redandwhiterob, readytogo.net
"Please Mr Lee do humanity a favor and scuttle back under your rock" Charles, North Carolina, Dailymail.co.uk
"Hes a pile of crap. Not funny whatever" skype29, skyvu.com
"Stewart Lee is a sick, unfunny excuse of a man..." Rusty, Surrey, Dailymail.co.uk
"He was struck off the comedic role-call forever with his breath-taking hypocrisy over the Danish cartoon controvesy." Nadel, Guardian.co.uk
"Unfortunately, Stewart has changed somewhat since his younger days and is now only available in widescreen." Tvc18, youtube
"I can't stand his smuggy smug bastard smugface." PES Fanboy, eurogamer.com
"I've gigged with him and he's an arrogant twat. Maybe he thinks comedy should be challenging conventions and intelectually complex. Maybe he thinks comedy is a form of high art, perhaps there is a place for that. But there is also a place for comics who work fucking hard on their material and delivery and include Pull Back & Reveal's and puns and all that stuff and just want to be FUNNY and make a living out of making people happy." Japaneseboy, chortle.com
"Stewart Lee is a fat jealous cunt, he should be strangled." Aceshigh, finalgear.com
"Is this supposed to be funny? It comes across as drawn-out tedious tripe." Licensetodrive, Youtube
"This prick is about as funny as having a shit! What a loser! It's like he's bitching in the playground with the other ugly girls." Chizmulu, Youtube
"What a wicked viscious man this Stewart is (never actually heard of him). There really are some nasty people posing as entertainers." Hilary, Staffs, Dailymail.co.uk
"Stewart is a poor mans Ricky Gervais! If Stewart Lee was ib my garden I would tell him to fuck off." Chrispugh, Youtube
"The most interesting thing about his stand-up is watching the audience. You will not see one person there laughing in a natural, spontaneous manner. It's all ridiculous Liberals laughing when they think something is supposed to be funny. It's genuinely cringe making. What an unfunny, faux tortured intellectual cunt he is. The only thing worse than him are the humorless liberals who pretend to find him funny. "One of the most respected performers on the circuit." Yes, this is always a euphemism for "he's fucking useless, but we don't want to tell him". The British Bill Hicks, without the swearing. A comedian who isn't funny, followed by cunts that think they are brighter than everyone else and laugh way too loudly at the 'jokes' to show how much they get it. The Pied Cunter of Cuntlyn. Literally packed to bursting with cuntishness. The knobs in the business always describe him as 'honest' and having integrity, which actually means 'useless unfunny shithead.' Just the same as saying that an old biffer has a nice personality. Apparently he's very popular amongst his peers on the comedy circuit. Thinking about it, it's the same in any occupation really. The journeyman arseconker is generally liked because a) they've been trying and not getting anywhere for years and b) nobody feels vaguely threatened by them. So, it's a case of 'yeah, he's alright him' but when you examine why, it only highlights his uselessness. This boring cunts on the tv now, going on and on and on and on and not raising a single smile. Fuck off, you arsehat. I think he sees himself as the Morrissey of the comedy circuit. What a shitsplat. Lee has however developed a new style of niche comedy. He's become so niche, he's a complete non-entity and invisible to all but the biggest, most self absorbed pricks in society. He's the 'comic' beloved by people without a sense of humour, that think he's a bit niche and edgy. He's just a good old fashioned cunt. I laughed more when I went for my va sectomy and the nurse suck a javelin like needle in my bollocks." Ricardo, dontstartmeoff.com
"Talk about a pseudo-intellectual with a slow delivery and unfunny anecdotes. He's also a smug, liberal, PC douche bag to boot." Merriol, Youtube
"Stuart Lee is not funny! And thats a problem if you're suppossed to be a comedian. Jesus is Lord philippians 2:11. Burn in Hell Stuart Lee." Christian1truefaith, bagito.com
"Stewart Lee is one unfunny, smug, public school Tarquin." Parvulesco, Guardian.co.uk
"In my opinion Stewart Lee is a very dangerous man who needs to be locked away in a strait jacket in a psychiatric hospital." Expat, Australia, Dailymail.co.uk
"Stewart Lee went goes in a bar. he saw Joe Pasquale and joe Pasquale said Hi Stewart Lee how is your career as a successful telly comedian going ? and Stawert Lee said not well ,i only get telly work on the paramount comedy channel.Joe Pasquale said WELL FUCK OFF THEN STEWART LEE. CAME BACK WHEN YOUR A HOUSE HOLD NAMES!! wheres Richard Herring he was the funny one ,NOW PISS OFF." Chrisspencerbarnes, Youtube
"His overwrought language, overthought logic and complete lack of comedic timing just leaves me scratching my head as to what those in the audience at his shows are laughing at. He reaches for the offhand insights bill hicks' schtick used to stumble through but falls woefully short.." cocainemidget, Guardian.co.uk
"Lee is preaching to a gradually decreasing audience of weak sycophants who prefer their need for sneering political/moral guidance, wrapped up and disguised as comedy. Meanwhile the rest of us persue and enjoy the search for genuine comedy and real laughs. I think he's a smug arrogant bighead whose main function is slagging off others, whilst surrounded mainly by sycophants who seem to have fallen masochistically under his subtle bullying "I'm cleverer than you" style. The laughs per minute are very few and far between. Lecturer? Sociologist? - Maybe. Proper comic - nah. After over 35 years of being a professional comic you learn to weigh people up pretty good, and as far as I'm concerned the man is struggling to get over himself and positively exudes contempt for everybody but himself, which btw he can barely conceal - from me anyway - even if some more naive others don't see it. If a man's style, presentation or material is so indeterminate that several interpretations c an be taken - especially negative ones, then he is a fool for not removing all doubt, thus not allowing himself to be unecessarily, and perhaps possibly wrongly, judged either a genius (good) or merely a big head (not good). What can he actually DO? All he does is stand on the sidelines being "clever" and knocking others like some showbiz Jeremy Paxman equivalent (only with even less personality).Does he ever do anything funny without it being at somebody else's expense? A good comic should have empathy and sympathy with an audience, should be "vulnerable" or self depreciating at the same time as being confident (not easy). They should be very human and not make an audience feel inferior in any way. Bob Monkhouse achieved all this and at the same time was far cleverer and funnier than the soulless cold fish Lee could ever hope to be. Stewart Lee has never depreciated himself - in fact, with his gradual weight gain, I would describe him as stubbornly augmentative. He stands on the sidelines and critises/takes the piss out of other artists while contributing very little himself - that is nothing to do with who he chooses to work with. As for Armando Ianucci, Chris Morris, Simon Munnery, Miles Jupp - I've never heard of any of them - could it be that he has "got them on board" because of their desire for TV exposure and of course the fees or is that just cynical old me? I am not denying that he is a very clever man - but so is Stephen Hawking but I wouldn't expect many laughs there either. Whispering, piggy eyed, smug, arrogant, arty farty twat. All those that like him come on - be honest - would your mum, dad, uncles, brothers and sisters, gran and most of your mates and work colleagues laugh at him? - would they fuck and you know it. At my age and being in business I know and meet hundreds of people from all walks of life, many of them young as well as old, so I conducted a little survey and roughly half had never even heard of him and of those that had, most di dn't think he was funny. Mind you to be fair, hardly any of those asked were spotty, right on, supercool dudes/students." Roy, Chortle.co.uk
"Am I the only person who doesn't find Stewart Lee funny in the slightest?" Mr T Grady, Twitter
"Burn in Hell stuart lee. You are a scumbag." Tristan2929, Youtube
"Stewart Lee. Jesus, what a lame muppet." Radeeboi, Twitter
"What an absolute wanker, not funny at all. Attention seeking idiot." Carlen, Youtube
"A very annoyed man who craves attention." SK187Payback, Youtube
"Would rather scoop my eyes out with rusty spoons then watch him again." Maxdaman19, Youtube
"What's happened to Stewart Lee? He was hilarious back in the 90's now he just sounds bitter." Muppet135, Youtube
"Go fuck yourself ya cunt!" Warbrain88, Youtube
"Fuck this ELITIST-I'm-just-like-David-Cross boring "comedian" that calls himself Stewart Lee." Yourface, Youtube
"I think Stewart Lee's about as funny as free falling into a wood chipper." Cavwebmaster, Vauxhallownersnetwork
"Half a preacher, half an unfunny prick hiding behind unfunny sarcasm." Diabolik, pistonheads.com
"I know this guy... not well... but I can in fact confirm that he is a cock ! I've spoken to him several times in the past at various get-together's (although not recently) and he is a bit of a pillock! He used to go out with my wifes' cousin. He came up a few times for Xmas and one or two other things. I found him to be a little condescending and a bit arrogant... I think it must be a thing with people who become famous, whereby they automatically think they are superior to you, just cos they've been on Telly... Anyway they've split up now and my wifes cousin seems a lot happier. I'd expect him to keep his stand-up routine seperate from day to day life, but then perhaps I'm expecting too much. I like his comedy, but as a person, he's a bit of an arse." MrBloefeldt, readytogo.com
"Stewart lee seems like hes stuck in a 'right on' era. Hes not as funny,cutting edge or clever as he probably thinks he is. He gets some things right but his deire to challenge modern life and society dont quite hit the spot and come over as both studenty and smug. He reminds me of that other 'protesting' comedian Mark Thomas. Allthough both are probably well intentioned." Jackoscarsargeant, makeapost.com
"SL's mastery of the English language and history has not made him funny, it appears to have just made him an arrogant twat. I'd rather listen to Chris Moyles than sit through Stewart Lee's unfunny drivel." Nexxxxeh, reddit.com
"Went to see this 'funny' guy last night. Funny he was not. Load of rubbish. Hardly anyone was laughing because his act is rubbish! I really fancied a good laugh to cheer my self up. Unfortunately I didn't get it. His style is to bang on about something for ages and ages and then come back to it for ages and ages. It was like being stuck with a bore at a dinner party, one that you want to punch." Denadainit, Sheffieldcityforum
"I'd rather hear some good arse jokes than endure Lee's self satisfied smuggery..." Sparebub, Guardian.co.uk
"Classic left wing socialist comedian. If they don't approve of you and you don't conform to their world view they'd rather put you up against a wall (a la Che Guevara). I hate this comedian. He's about 25 years out of date and is no doubt coming to the fore just as another failed Labour government is about to be kicked into the political wilderness for a generation." Doug, Aberdeen, Dailymail.co.uk
"He sounds like Pam Ayres grandson, without her intellect. I'm sorry but this is self indulgent tedious piffle, allowed only because this 'worzelette' has been to oxford. Something funny please. More haha and less ooh ahh!" Kevin1M, Chortle.co.uk
"Didn't laugh once and his smugness irritates the fuck out of me." Foo, urban75.net
"Same old mis-informed deluded shite from the master of donkeys wank humour." Anon, Marublog.net
"He was very disappointing when I saw him at the opera house about ten years ago. Gave the impression he couldn't really be arsed." Dr Kenneth Noise, Toontastic.net
"He'd be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again, he'd be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again in the buildup to the punch line Stewart Lee comedian on BBC2 would be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again in the buildup to the punch line whilst telling his joke." Toxic, Ush.net
"Looks like Morris out of the Smiths and is an equally unfunny fat dwarf." Simonsays, Chortle
"To call Stewart Lee a comedian is fucking stretching it. He comes across as SUCH a cunt, so unfunny, so unoriginal, so needlessly offensive (still without being funny) and so prone to pointing out the bloody fucking obvious, in a manner which packs in all the charisma of a miscarried lamb, I don't actually know how he's got a career out of it. Stewart fucking Lee can fuck off, I hope I never see his ugly piggy little cunty slant-eyed face again, or hear his wretched, self-congratulating drawl ever again for that matter. The stout loathsome little twat." Xnulian Rudho, westhamonline.com
"This guy is a complete cunt!" Straight86edge, Youtube
"What a sad fat individual. If as a self proclaimed comedian if you can't be funny which is after all a basic requirement, time to do something else. " Julia, Ilkley, Dailymail.co.uk
"Sooooooooooooooooooooo fucking shit there all laughing at nothing he keeps repeating him self what a joke." Dedringer2, Youtube
"Stewart Lee is a cunt. I've always thought this and every utterance from his boring little sphincter of a mouth just proves it more and more..." Al, Urban75.com
"I think Stewart Lee is a cunt. He really is not funny. I've seen him live and the dead pan got old after about 5 minutes." Lee, wordsfromreuben.com
"Worst comedian ever. Hes a fuckin bore." Zacfanere, Youtube
"Wow, this hack has some balls ripping into Russell Brand - a far sharper and more original comedian than he is." Kentrel2, Youtube
"His comedy schtick seems to be a chippy, elitist sneer at anyone who doesn't share his Public School/Oxbridge background and he has no sense of comic timing whatsoever. Watching his act, I found myself checking my phone to see if anyone had texted me, even though I knew they hadn't.
Lee's audience is full of the right on sector of society, his act is feeding and reinforcing their prejudices, much the same as some of the ultra right-wing American comedians who have been around in the last few years. It's a cheap shot, which guarantees him laughs from an audience bound to agree with him, and it's much easier than having to write decent gags." Amie8, finalgear.com
"Smug as fuck. Who is this douche?" AAAAGordon, Youtube
"He rambles on and on to a meaningless 'punchline' with a consistent smug look on his face and a constant thinly veiled attempt to look ironically cool. I detest him." Darksoldier, f2010.com
"He drags stuff out so long to the point of tedium. Can only watch about five minutes, laugh, then I'm fast asleep." Cpfc.org
"Stewart Lee is shit. He's like a small child in the way that he thinks if he tells you the same joke over and over it will become funny." Peter G, b3ta.com
"It's been a lot longer than 3 years since Stewart Lee was even remotely funny. You couldn't find a more tiresome, self-regarding twat masquerading as a comedian." Chronos, Guardian.co.uk
"I hate stewert lee. He thinks he's funny but he's not." Megsey1995, Youtube
"This piece of disgusting shit isn't even close to funny..." Rock3tCat, Youtube
"His voice sent me to sleep in about three minutes." Confuesed Proud, Youtube
"I think there is something there but he does need to be reined in and told to write a bit more funny stuff rather than the repitition which started to rankle after a while. I admire anyone who has obviousy spent as much time with Bill Hicks material as Lee has but he doesn't have the (seeming) natural physicallity and economy that BH had." Hoonaloochieb, Eastdulwichforum
"Sickening to watch. Nice how some people can claim the moral highground whilst also being dreadful human beings." EFG9000, Youtube
"Being just a little bit younger than Stewart Lee, I've always felt like he's somehow the king of the musty self-righteous twisters whose bobbing nape-over-Crombie I've been forced to stare up at my whole life long." Benjamin Rollanson, Amazon
"He had about 5 jokes which he made last 1 and a half hours. I've never been closer to walking out of a gig and I closed my eyes at one point I was so bored." AMD, Chortle.com
"Stewart Lee is a despicable Student Union throwback and the idea that anyone would look to him for material is horrifying indeed. I saw him live not too long ago and he still had faded black jeans, DM shoes and that stupid Morrissey quiff like the superannuated indie kid he is ." I am nice, Guardian.co.uk
"Leftie nobhead hates god big surprise!" Araregoodguy, Youtube
"I saw Stewart Lee live. He was as funny as cancer. Thinks he's clever, he's dreadful. A comedian from the 80's who has remained there." Lynn, Carlisle, Dailymail.co.uk
"Absoluetly shite. Probably one of the most unfunny "comedians" I've ever seen. Didn't even make me crack a smile." Leeuk66, Youtube
"Stewart Lee was 75 minutes of self-indulgent resentment and bitterness, all dressed-up as "unique", "quirky" etc. If it wasnt for the polite laughter from half the room (the half at which Stewart aimed all his remaining material once he identified them - literally - five minutes in) and the 15 simpletons laughing their heads off in the first two rows it would have been a wake. How can he think it funny to impersonate his mother advising him to be more like Tom O'Connor over and over and over again? Lazy, lazy performing." Peacheycarahan, Guardian.co.uk
"Wow, what a not-funny and stupid performance." Chailzard, Youtube
"Watched Stewart Lee on Xmas eve 2009 and he was pretty crappy. The jokes were stretched out endlessly - imagine a 30 minute long joke where you only probably laugh at the 24th minute once. It wasnt genuinely funny at all - it was like he was trying very very hard and ended up being stupid. It was yawn-inducingly boring." SGT, timeout.com
"He's attractive, but in a seedy way. He hasn't worn well for 40. I think he looks a lot like Morrissey." Morriszapp, Mumsnet.com
"His delivery is fucking putrid. It'd send a chinchilla to sleep during the night hours. For a better deadpan comic, seek out Jack Dee." Vizitron3, Youtube
"Non-eyed pig faced repeat offender chancer who confuses a cock-tail of contrived pauses, volume shifts and repetition for true wit. I repeat, not funny." Jockass, Holymoly.com
"What a truly smug, self-righteous, unfunny prick Stewart Lee is. He's also a thoroughly unpleasant bloke he is in real life. Ever wondered why you're not on telly much anymore? It's because you were such an insufferable **** to all the people you worked with you utter arse.
My name's Rich, I'm 30, straight and a Leo. I studied film and media production at Sheffield Hallam University and I spend my time working as a freelance Film Producer and sitting on funding panels for the UK Film Council, Film4, Momentum Pictures and Working Title." Donuticus, thestudentroom.co.uk
"He'd be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again, he'd be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again in the buildup to the punch line. Stewart Lee comedian on BBC2 would be a lot funnier if he didn't repeat the same parts over and over again in the buildup to the punch line whilst telling his joke." Toxic, Ush.net
"Comedy is so subjective but nevertheless... Self-indulgent, dull, superannuated indie boy who takes himself way too seriously, which is not really a good quality for a comic. He's the comedian people say they like, just to appear more intelligent than the rest of us, a bit like those student union bores I remember from the '80s who seemed to think all indie music was automatically more radical than pop when it was often more conservative. What I object to most is his obvious envy and resentment for comedians more successful (and usually more funny) than he is. Ahem, sorry for the rant - I just can't bear this 'credible' comedian reputation he's been uncritically allowed to cultivate!" Richjw, digitalspy.com
"One thing i dont get...why do people find stewart lee funny? Is it his lack of comic timing, monotonous delivery, predictable topics or something else?" Oscar, NME.com
"Personaly I can't see this guys humor... and I like Frankie Boyle!" Captain70s, finalgear.com
"Stewart Lee (who he?).....is a relatively unknown so called comedian I've never heard of, although with his style of comedy I question as to if he'll ever achieve greater 'stardom' than he has to date! Apart from Paul Merton and Julian Clary I admit to disliking contemporary comedians as I see no reason for swearing and tasteless patter on stage, I much prefer comedians who make audiences laugh because they are funny men (or women)! I would have enjoyed watching audience response to many of todays 'comedy kings' should they have played some of the northern cabaret clubs of the 60's and early seventies......walking off to the sound of your own boots wouldn't have been in it! Tasteless 'comedy' a la Stewart Lee style leaves him in the gutter alongside the likes of Jonathan Ross and and the long-haired scruffy one he got into trouble with! " Mal, Norfolk, Dailymail.co.uk
"I have very strong reservations about uber-smug unfunny Stewart Lee." Karile Marks, Twitter
"This pc cunt only appeals to cunts with no sense of humour who need to be told what to laugh at. Claims on his website to be "officially the 41st funniest comedian". No you pile of shit... you`ve never been funny but you may well be in the top 5 biggest "comic" cunts in England. Cunt!" Despoileruvcunts, cuntscorner.com
"S Lee comes across as an unfunny cunt - he was a twat when he came out with his floppy hair and he's still a cunt now he's fat and full of hate." Claretbadger, westhamonline.com
"This guy is as funny as a steaming pile of shit. What a wanker." Pete1839, Youtube
"He does look a bit weird nowadays. Physically, middle-age doesn't suit him the way it suits some people." Chipolata, comedy.co.uk
"His approach to gag telling seems to be that because he is so much more insightful than his audience that is just going to bloody well keep going until even the most retarded of them has got the joke. Sorry I did not see what was so intelligent about his act. Sneering about other people being stupid is not in itself clever. The basic problem is that there are not enough gags. He gets an idea, and instead of building on it and developing it into a proper routine, he just hammers home the same point until any possible humour has been drained out of it" Timbo, comedy.co.uk
"Stewart lee is probably that smug white skinned pc cunt who spends half his conversations calling everyone out on racism when he's got no ethnic mates. most myu mates are asian, we tell loads of racist jokes to each other 4 a laugh, and i've been called out on it by so many white people who remind my of lee, all my mates in question and the others i know dont give a fuck. real racism stewart lee dont know themeaning of it." Hjastroi, Youtube
"This guy must be so hard to get along with in real life." Deanocfc, Youtube
"Drivel. A series of cheap shots by someone I've never heard where both his and the audiences hearts aren't in it. He's found a massive mine of rhetorical middleclass self-loathing but is only taking the topsoil. Really, listen to the audience. Not exactly falling about are they? A little bit concerned, perhaps introspective, wondering if Mr Lee will hit a target that really IS US?" Lonesometwin, Guardian.co.uk
"Stewart Lee preaching again. Yawn." Plumjam, Youtube
"Stewart Lee wants to replace the ethnically homogenous and relativily stable british society with a totalitarian multicultural PC society full of strife and conflict. PC has gone wild, its time to stop this leftist madness." Dringles, Youtube
"Miserable fecker with an annoying delivery." blythy, readytogo.net
"Lee & Herring used to have an bright young fan base looking optimistically to the future, but I guess where he`s headed for now is small club & publand with a dwindling audience that just wants to relive the nostalgia of their student days from yesteryear. The Lee fans that I hung around with in the 90`s used to be bright & a laugh & you could debate with them in good humour. It seems what`s listening to him now is a crowd of kidults who what to regress into their past & wrap themselves up in the cosy quilt of yesteryear. Pseudo-phoney student bar talk, sitting around a table with 1/2 a pint wearing donkey-jackets, been there done it & bought the t-shirt. Lee's not satarizing anything here but trying to re-live old battles from the 1980s in a tired routine. Meanwhile Stu`s stuck in 1988 having a go at Littlejohn, Jim Davidson (when`d you last hear fro m HIM? - lol) & advocating the benefits of P.C. Let`s embrace the reality: Lee & Herring, Iannucci & Morris = Generation Underachievement. Time to look elsewhere for laughs & some insights. As for Lee not being concerned with breaking into the mainstream - show me an artist of any sort that doesn`t want as big an audience for their material as possible & I`ll show you a fibber. If Lee doesn`t create better material than this he doesn`t deserve to get to a bigger stage. I hadnt seen him for a while, & thought the "Comedy Vehicle" was good in parts, but I was alarmed by this routine as recent material. It`s old hat & sounds like mid 1980`s stuff. Next he`ll be having a go Thatcherism. If Lee can`t develop new material he`ll end up as a back number pretty quickly, playing only the nostalgia circuit. I like Lee, but this is out of date early leftie mid-1980`s student stuff that`s tired & anachronistic. He needs to move with the times or he`ll become an act caught in a generational rut only talking to itself like Freddie Starr ended up. With this haircut, he`s even starting to look a bit like him." Kcirdrab , Youtube
"If, after watching Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, impressionable muppets who watch Kevin Smith films every weekend believe that laughing at Dan Brown and J.K. Rowling automatically makes them very clever, then - somewhat ironically given the oft-missionary nature of Lee's stand-up - we're no further on; indeed, the bar for acknowledged intelligence may have been lowered further. That is, if Lee has read the works of William Blake, then why not attempt to perform some truly intellectual comedy about those? If anyone can do it, he can. Instead, though, he opts to pander to an advertisably middle-class crowd who might dip into the new Ian McEwan or Ali Smith book when it comes out, rather than to a genuinely academic demographic. Is he afraid of encroaching on a demographic amongst which he would he a disciple rather than a doyen? Or his he just settled where he is? Possibly a bit of both; possibly neither - but it isn't good enough to just offer a few token criticisms of the, a nd then to go, 'But it was still better than almost any other comedy programme on TV at the moment,' which I can confidently predict will be the case with many broadsheet reviews of the episode.
The flipside must be considered, however: is the Hairyapplefeed's more negative review of Comedy Vehicle not perhaps some sort of subconscious dick-measuring contest which resinscribes the same small-town elitism of which it has been critical throughout, an elaborate way of saying, 'I liked Stewart Lee before everybody else did, in the same way that I liked Biffy Clyro, or the Coen Brothers'? No, it isn't. Here's why: I've heard Stewart Lee discuss, in a non-comic forum, the sexualization of Christ in Old and Middle English literature; I've heard him quote at will from Milton to illustrate salient points; and I've heard him craft a 75-minute joke which intertwines religious fundamentalism, ideological prescriptivism and Joe Pasquale. He has it in him to perform something like verbal magic. He does not need to sully himself encouraging smug laughter from people who aren't very clever, really, at a half-arsed book release from So Solid Crew's publicity department. It was like Louis Theroux or internet blogger Maddox at their smug, soft-targeting worst, but nothing like Chris Morris at his knuckle-nearing best. That isn't the right order of things, now, is it? Ironically, given his well-documented love for The Fall, episode 1 of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle represented a similar turn towards easy street to that of which Fall frontman Mark E. Smith's recent autobiography was culpable. Both relied on an audience indulgence produced by past glories; both remained very firmly in a comfort zone (surprising, given arch-experimenter Armando Iannucci's involvement in production); and both were very, very minor addenda to generally impressive bodies of work. Shame, that." Hairyappleman, Hairryapplefeedblogspot
"He's from Shropshire, maybe that's why he's a smug unfunny cunt." Tte, ush.net
"I think i will lis10 to chris moyles, wots the differNce? They're both self-satisfiyd arseholes but moyles is mor likly 2 raze a smile.? This is not funny, you can delete my comments, but you can't delete the truth." Seppo2009, Youtube
"His "acclaimed" show is so bad that it could case peoples hearts to stop through utter dispair! " Adam, Dorset, Dailymail.co.uk
"Typically unfunny left-wing 'comedian' who thinks he's more clever than he really is, spouting a diatribe to Guardian reading Psuedo-intellectuals, who think they are more clever than they really are!." Yorkie, tvguide.co.uk
"I've never in my life, wanted to punch someone as much as I do Stewart Lee after seeing his 'Top Gear' stand up thing. AWFUL he is." MichaelaSHDK, Youtube
"He comes across as the oldest sneering student in the room everytime I see him. " Graham Casey, Chortle.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is just word soup. Throwing together buzzwords doesn't make an argument you fucking idiot. Political correctness is genocide against white nations perpetrated by Jews. This is your argument, I distilled it so people could see just how moronic you are." Kobaltchris, Youtube
"FUCK ME! What a massive fat cunt he's turned into.. he's huuuuuge!!!!" Thepopesmokesdope, officeonline.com
"May I sudgest dropping a piano on this guy? Prefarrably one made out of lead......." Cowboy, finalgear.com
"He is such a boring comedian! The only shred of comic value I got out of this was laughing at a grown man making an idiot out of himself on stage." Callisto, Youtube
"He's the comedian people say they like, just to appear cool and above the rest of us proles. I'm sure Mr Lee hasn't written 100% of his own material. Actually, maybe he has and that's why none of it is funny. Just repeat what you've said, 98 times, each time more slowly with a longer gap between words." Monders, Guardian.co.,uk
"My mate has had a huge crush on SL forever, but even she's starting to admit that time hasn't been kind to him. ?" Queenoftheharpies, mumsnet.com
"Stewart Lee basically massages the prejudices of Guardian readers to make them feel better about themselves." Unecom, Guardian.co.uk
"My Dad is a better comedian than Stewart Lee. Lee's comedy is based on slating other people, most notably sardonic talents like Chris Moyles and Jeremy Clarkson, both of whom, incidentally, are immeasurably funnier than Lee. Lee elevates his sense of self with his own callous brand of intellectual elitism," Sally McIlhone, channelhopping.onthebox.com
"I think the problem is he's not actually funny. Lying on the floor ranting about Del Boy just made him look mentally ill frankly. He comes across as arrogant and condescending. A final point - Lee should get a suit that actually fits." Morris Minor, comedy.co.uk
"I keep being told what a genius Stewart Lee. But every time I watch any of his work he just comes across to me as a bit of a sanctimonious prick." Sam Roony, guardian.co.uk
"Stewart Lee is a borderline alcoholic comedian, who aggressively taunts and down right insults society." Chong Nhu, martialartsplanet.com
"He's like the boring guy in the pub. I have seen him at the fringe in Edinburgh, and he is the only comedian ive ever seen who died on his arse so badly that he sat at the front of the stage and said something like "im sorry, this isnt working , is it?" Davetay, Youtube
(This was an intentional piece of the show, which was performed each night for 6 months. I was acting.)
"Whilst Michael MacIntyre is a tit at least he doesn't Repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfuny line, even though it remains unfunny with the repetition and leave enormous spaces between his words to emphasize just how laden with gravitas his Comedy actually is instead of admitting that it is just a good way of padding twenty minutes of material out to an hour and a half." Lennie Law, wordmagazine.com
"Stewart Lee supports the dangerous ideology of political correctness- that makes him very unfunny." Culave, Youtube
"Stewart Lee does come across as a preachy, sanctimonious berk an is actually quite patronising to the audience" Thenewnumbertwo, Guardian.co.uk
"He's a self-impressed, patronising, up-his-own arse, condescending twat." Vagabond, b3ta.com
"Stewart Lee is bigoted unfunny dick." Andy Bolton, twitter
Stewart Lee is the pied-piper of the pseudo-intellectuals", ChrisWales22, youtube
"Probably the worst comedian performance I've ever seen. An old man talking about what he ate for dinner the last week would have been equally giving." Tom Jones, whoateallthepies
"You know who I can't stand? Stewart Lee!" Hammondette, twitter
"I do dislike the way that he has assigned himself the role of Comedian in chief and conscience/ gatekeeper of 'Alternative Comedy'.? I can't tolerate all the condescending looking down their noses at the audience that he and his minions seem to partake in." Paddy H, wordmagazine.com
"Without doubt the world's least funny comedian." Pierre 3030, Youtube
"Stewart Lee: You are not funny. Almost a Dane Cook level of NOT funny." May Pescante, Twitter
"Another marxist idiot who doesn't realize he's the one to be wiped out." Linxx88, Youtube
"What an unfunny cunt. He just isnt funny - hes incredibly dull. The problem with stuart lee is that he's A. He's not as clever, original or interesting as he thinks he is. B. He just isnt very funny, C. He wasnt funny to start with anyway. Just shit. What a pretentious wanker. Sixth form art schooll 'humour' which thinks its more clever than it is. Shit. He keeps doing the same tired sixth form iroinic 'liberal' shite. He doesnt even come close to Mcintyre in wit, entertainment or popularity. Pleeeeease!!! What he does is basicly sixth form college humour that thinks its alternative, clever and a bit on the edgy/social commentary side. But its just predicatble. And just not funny. I think he thinks hes cleverer and more insightful than he actually is, very simillar to richard herring. And no i dont find al murray, roy chubby brown or jim davidson funny either. Incredibly dull sixth form humour." Chrisjoneschrisjones, Youtube
"I've given him two chances and fail to see why he's classed as comedy. I think I'm meant to have laughed but didn't. If he's trying to shock or offend he's failing at that too. It's just painfully unfunny. I just feel slightly sorry for him." Tintin, UKTV.co.uk
"God this is just not funny .... you have to be naturally funny to be a comedian ... not just stand there speaking lines." Boygeniuz, Youtube
"Lee, great comedian? He has never made me laugh; but then I don't find totalitarians funny. The joke wears off after the first ten million corpses." JoeSoap, the UKLibertarian.co.uk
"Drags out that not routine far too long. Presumably to fill space in this dead, lifeless, self-important show." DavidUK84, Youtube
"The jokes were dragged out for too long. He has got fat and old. I miss the days of this morning with richard not judy." Quincy, Chrismoyles.net
"Stewart Lee isnt even funny. He's disgusting and i hope they ban him from performing. The only thing funny about him, is his looks." Hammondx3, richardhammond.net
"Personally I find this way too laboured and smug and most importantly not particularly funnny given it's his career. Its natural not clever clever.??? Very vogue at the moment with the Guardian readers. Can't do wrong apparently until the next great middle class wannne be different joy thing comes along." Johnanthonyp, Youtube
"I have just returned from viewing the sensation that is Stewart Lee! Now I am being ironic and sarcastic. There is nothing sensational about Stewart Lee. The reviews I have read have put him somewhere between a comedy genius and a funny grumpy old man. To be honest he isn't and I would advise anyone who isn't a fan to not bother seeing his show on a whim.
His innane ramblings are neither informed, funny, ironic, or angry. Everything is forced in his delivery, his jokes come at a rate of 1 every 8 mins 40 seconds, and even they are only of sniggering quality. He specialises in a type of story that apparently reflect his intelligence and wit, instead I ended up feeling sorry for his wife and son who have to spend Sunday afternoon with someone who thinks they are funny.
I originally thought I was being obtuse in the first 10 minutes of the show, as a couple of people around me quite literally burst with side splitting laughter to jokes that were so innane I was wondering if I was too stupid to understand. Then I started to think maybe the manager of the joint had got a Stewart Lee mask and given it to the stage hand and told him to get out there and do his best, due to the inappropriate, forced and unfunny delivery. Very disappointed." Dino, spoonfed.com
"He's as funny as cow sh1t..." Jeff Faa Faa, Vauxhallownersnetwork.co.uk
"Reminds me of David Brent. What a sad middle aged twat." 001908, Youtube
"So I was persuaded by someone to go and see Stuart Lee, one half of former comedy duo Lee and Herring last night but it ended in bitter disappointment. ??So, to any Scousers that might be tempted into parting with some hard-earned, I just wanted to know what you'd be letting yourselves in for. " MBE, redandwhitecop.com
"What is all this buzz about this fat old man? I don't think I've ever found a comedian funny from south of Derby. This jerks frm the f-ing midlands so he shed have sum NORTHERN SOUL in his set. But its like a rant. Where are the jokes? Nothing he talking about happen to me. Ever." Cardiffwilly, Youtube
"Went on too long and his moaning just made him look like a cock. Yeah, used to be funny. Shouda stuck to radio 4" Fishlick, dogsonacid.com
"He came 11th in the Greatest Stand Ups of All Time poll shown on Ch4 the other month (yes I know it's a fiddle - but still). If you went out in the street and asked a hundred people about him you'd be hard pressed to find a handful who'd even heard of the miserable c*nt. Never mind think he was funny. The only few people who even claim to rate him are the usual crowd who think he may in some way be "clever" and so by claiming to like the unfunny tw*t somehow raises their own "status". Hs face says it all really - he's got a twat face." Voiceofreason, totalfootballforums.co.uk
"Not as clever, or as funny as he thinks he is, really just smug and elitist, with the odd laugh as a byproduct." Firetotheworks, dooyou.co.uk
"People who like Stewart Lee are arrogant, self righteous cunts." 32Wallace, Youtube
"Its his whole intelligent bullsht that grates on me, extending joke after joke to the point of fucking tedium to prove a point." Dark Soldier, forums.nextgen.biz
"Shit-haired cunt who resides at the very apex of all that is absolute, patience-testing wank. Repeating the same thing a hundred times in a monotone is NOT comedy, Stewart, now cunt off. I was having such a lovely day then someone reminded me of the unfortunate ongoing existence of this unutterably smug, self-satisfied, student-friendly arsewhistle, which has left me wanting to carve the word 'Nicobobinus' into my wrist with the sharp end of my front door key. Comedy for people whose idea of a fun night out is a glass of lemonade and a game of darts. His audiences always contain klaxon-heads who bray with inane "I GET IT!" laughter. Twats. Another total cunt who's apparently a genius. Fuck him. What a patronising, condescending, smug, worthy, self-righteous tool he is. He's a fur-lined, ocean going cunt. The alarm bells should be ringing in the Lee household, as he's turned into a fat, unfunny bastard with a pretentious quif who is now more Miss than Hit - and we all know wh at that did for former edgy comedian Alexi Sayle's career. I don't like him anymore coz he looks like Mark Lamaar with a pie factory problem. Rank. " Jimmy Vespa, dontstartmeoff.com
"Is he drunk?" Jobe129, Youtube
"No, but the audience must be drunk to laugh at him." Capitalsho, Youtube
"I've tried to listen to Stewart, but because i didn't go to Private School & Oxford, i feel he has a air of Superiorty (sorry if thats spelt wrong). No bodys opion or veiws matter. Thats what you call a MIDDLE CLASS TWAT.................!" Rightwing1969, Youtube
"I saw his shows was described as comedy and it looked like some sort of stand up but I watched it and couldn't for the life of me find the comical part of the show. Perhaps it was some sort of ironic comedy thats only funny cos its really crap but I just didn't get it." Dr Boris Gobshite, totalfootballforums.co.uk
"How fat does Stuart Lee look. That jacket's not doing him any favours either, it looks like it's gonna burst open at any point...... he looked really fat in that bloody suit." AndyB, Chrismoyles.net
"Michael McIntyre is funnier. The Stewart Lee cult are driven by nothing but jelousy." Rattlesnakemeuk, Youtube
"You know...the cunt. The shit haired, monotonous cunt. The cunt who repeats things....in a monotone. You know, the repetitive, liberal cunt. The monotonous cunt, repeating his liberal jokes, over and over...repeating them...in a monotonous way. You know...the smug, liberal cunt..." Stewart Lee, donstartmeoff.com
"I'm a comedian and I' better than this guy, no wonder he's unknown in the UK, it's just not up to standard - it's tired, derivative, vapid and tedious - come on Stewart. You've been doing the same routine since 1993." Rainbowchild8888, Youtube
"I disagree with Stewart Lee. I believe morality is derived from our evolution, so it is fixed - or at least, hasn't changed since ancestral times. Perception of what is morally right may fluctuate throughout our history but I think there is a rational and absolute morality at the core of it." Svelter, Youtube
"Stewart Lee has found fame and fortune as the genius behind Jerry Springer The Opera.", Toby Young, Spectator, 2005
"I've always thought of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do. He essentially uses comedy to browbeat people in to agreeing with his rather dogmatic left wing political points of view. It's as though he's essentially taking what is the sort of prevailing politically correct dogma of his generation and aggressively ridiculing anyone who doesn't sign up to it, using comedy as an instrument to enforce conformity, not as a means of subversion. He's a red faced man jabbing his finger in my face because I don't agree with him. He may as well be playing to an empty room, for all the concessions he makes to the audience. His refusal to concede to the audience is part of an ongoing desire to be taken seriously, but someone who wants to be taken so seriously is quite hard to take seriously." Toby Young, A Good Read, BBC Radio 4, March 2011
"Pundits on the Right like to imagine we live in a PC dictatorship, but the fact remains that …. the only time you ever see PC mentioned is when people are complaining about PC. For money. And usually on the very publicly funded radio stations that these dicks believe are involved in a politically correct conspiracy to silence them." Stewart Lee, How I Escaped My Certain Fate
"He seems to have spent an awful lot of time looking for negative comments about himself. As he's going through one of his most successful periods in a long time, I assume this is a desperate attempt to convince himself that he is still an 'outsider'." Danger Man, cookedandbombed.co.uk
"Morrisey's piling on the pounds." RonMexico121
“He stank. I've never seen a moronic idiot trying to tell jokes in my life. What a fuck. The man could barely stand up never mind tell a decent story. Everyone was laughing at him, and I hated his guts.” Alex Quarmby, Edfringe.com
“Stuart 'man of the people' Lee is nothing but a fringe alternative comedy act who wouldn't stand a chance at a real comedy club like Jongleurs.” Karen Laidlaw, Edfringe. com.
“Genuinely can't stand him, he comes across as the sort that thinks that live comedy should just be kept to smoky art student union clubs and that any comedian that plays in arenas is destroying the so called "artistic integrity" of stand up when we all know stand-up comedy is not an art form it's a form of live entertainment. P.S. Just because your TV show is terrible doesn't mean you have to rip into Russell Howard and 'that Roadshow''.” Someoneyoudon'tknow, Chortle.com
“Not one joke delivered. Absolutely the worst comedian I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Don't waste your money or time. Only comedian that I have ever thought of walking out on.” Dave Wilson, Chortle.com
“An abysmal 'comedian'. He's unable to pick up Brownie points for being funny and so instead flaunts his politically correct views to try to get audiences' and critics' sympathy. While this works to keep him a cult following of der brains who enjoy playing the game of 'I'm holier than thou', it's the reason while he'll never be mainstream (you have to be funny to do that) and why critics who like him always have to apologise for his contributions to high profile charity gigs in venues when the punters don't laugh. Garbage.” Chez, Chortle.com
“The dullness of his jokes is only matched by his bitterness towards other comedians and half the world around him. He seems to spend hours on stage pretending that he 'gets something' nobody else has. I just wish he'd get a sense of humour. Tripe.” Gabrielle, Chortle.com
“The worst stand-up I have ever seen. A man who seems to aim his set at angry, atheist comic book, nerd Morrissey fans and if you don't find him funny you're obviously an idiot. As smug and contemptible as Richard Herring.” Graham Simmons, Chortle.com
“He talks only about commonplace things, with a really slow pace. He made me smile. That's it! A disappointment.” Etienne, Chortle.com
“3rd rate comedian and politically correct maggot” – Anonymous, The Northfield Patriot
“See that stupid look on his face....you just know he would have that exact same facial expression if he was getting the kicking of his life.” Neva2busy, don't start me off.com
“What an unfunny, faux tortured intellectual cunt he is. The only thing worse than him are the humorless liberals who pretend to find him funny.” Ricardo , don't start me off.com
“Shit-haired cunt who resides at the very apex of all that is absolute, patience-testing wank. Repeating the same thing a hundred times in a monotone is NOT comedy, Stewart, now cunt off.” Jimmy Vespa , don't start me off.com
"One of the most respected performers on the circuit." Yes, this is always a euphemism for "he's fucking useless, but we don't want to tell him." Ricardo, don't start me off.com
“I had to stop watching that at 45 seconds. Really couldn't listen to that monotone voice anymore.” Monkey, don't start me off.com
“Jealous that your comedy career didn't go anywhere Lee?” Anonymous, don't start me off.com
“There's only so much antipathy or disdain an audience can stomach." Dominic Cavendish, Daily Telegraph
“Lee is supposed to be a ground-breaking comedian and writer, but I found little entertainment value in his material.?It was not funny. It was a sad and deliberate attempt to see how far he could go. This was ultimate sick humour, and if anyone thought it funny, they must be sick as well.” Brighton Argus
"Watching Stewart Lee in action these days is like standing on the edge of a frozen lake and seeing a man half-submerged in the perishing ice. You throw him a rope - but he hurls it back. You didn't throw it correctly, he advises. And anyway, he was fine as he was, until you ruined it all. Didn't you know that sub-zero was his natural habitat?" Dominic Cavendish, Daily Telegraph
“Fine to make jokes about Jeremy Clarkson but only if you're funnier than he is. Lee's humour is all about repetition and digression, but even brilliant comedians need material.” Herald Scotland.
"Lee makes Kim Jong II look comparatively relaxed. Maybe it's time to lighten up a little?” Dominic Cavendish, Telegraph
“about as startling as an accountant reading the Financial Times” Liverpool Daily Post
“The worst comedian in Britain, as funny as bubonic plague” Fergus Shanahan, The Sun
“His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension” Birmingham Sunday Mercury
“A poor man's Bill Hicks… Sorry Stew, Bill was already doing the "Comedy of Hate" when you were fumbling around doing student-targetted humour.” Potace, Amazon.co.uk
“ Stewart Lee is the worst comedian around (if you can class him as a comedian). He is a smug, arrogant man who thinks he is funny (he isn't!) and is not one for the working-class people. Why do you do this rubbish?! “ Y McLaughlin, Amazon.co.uk
“I was at least expecting a few jokes. Sorry to say they don't exist. He takes about 5 or so good concepts and plays them all out over far too long a time so by the end of each segment you don't really care whether there is a point to the piece. The delivery is too dead pan to make it interesting. Avoid at all costs, please don't encourage the man.” P Mishkin, Amazon.co.uk
“Lee has been ploughing the same 6th Form/Student Union seam of predictable and not really edgey comedy since the early 90s.” Frank Frenz, Guardian.co.uk
“He's another of those smug incompetents who are said by the 'in-crowd' to be cool. He appears to have serious life issues and he seems to think that foisting his emotional turmoil onto audiences is somehow 'art'. Bollocks.” Dahoum, Guardian.co.uk
“a sneering tosser” Rowing Rob, Guardian.co.uk
“Stewart Lee is crap I'm afraid.” Balboa, Guardian.co.uk
“an evil, evil man and not in the slightest bit funny” Ronnie, Nottingham, Dailymail.co.uk
“Stewart Lee should jump in his 'comedy vehicle' and drive it off a very high cliff. Whoever this youth is, he sounds about as funny as three weeks of really bad weather!” Shane, Beverley, Dailymail.co.uk
“Stewart is a self deluded person, who looks into a mirror and sees great sadness . What a loser he is then. He should grow up and shut up. Hes got many problems I feel and should seek help ! If he cant grow up maybe he should go a way. Because hes a posh boy he cant get a way with anything, but hes just spolit brat by the look at it.: Mr Cool, Wales, Dailyamil.co.uk
“Try looking up the word comedian in a dictionary. Stewart Lee... comedian? Not two words I would use in the same sentence!” Rachael, Peterborough, Dailymail.co.uk
“Have never heard of Stewart Lee before now. If I never hear of him again it will be too soon! The one thing he is not, is a comedian.” David Spark, Leeds, Dailymail.co.uk
“He's a comedian who I have to say I have never heard of and who doesn't appear to have made much of a name for himself by being a "funnyman" with jokes like that are we really suprised ??” Julie, Highland, Dailymail.co.uk
“i think stewart lee should be banned from actually being a so called "comedian".” Sophie, Spalding, Dailymail.co.uk
“it's a disgrace that someone like this no talent comedian can say something like this and not be arrested. surely there should be a ban on the arts to some degree?” danny, London, Dailymail.co.uk
“I think Stewart Lee has just one problem as a comedian, for all his faux intellectual affectations and his penchant for student union politics, he just isnt funny. i tried hard to like it but it all has a whiff of the emporers new clothes. for me he has just about managing to maintain his status to a level where you actually remember who he is since that awful lee and herring thing. I guess that as fringe acts/celebs, who struggle to capture the audience they are clearly desperate for, begin to fade, their act has to become more shocking to maintain their profile, rather than funny.” Matt, York, Daily Mail.co.uk
“a two bob unfunny 'comedian' still trying to make it at the Edinburgh festival...” English Cad, Cad Towers, Dailymail.co.uk
“What a SICK man Stewart Lee is. My condolences to his family and friends.” Sharon, Shoreham, Dailymail.co.uk
“This guy's as amusing as toothache!” Keith, Switzerland, Dailymail.co.uk
“If that's the state of British comedy today then come back Bernard Manning all is forgiven!” Andrew Hall, Bradford, Dailymail.co.uk
“I must admit I have heard of Mr Lee, having seem two of his televised "shows". However, it seems that he is now definitely not worth bothering about. Bye bye loser.” Harry, Rugby, Dailymail.co.uk
“Absolutely the saddest so called comedian I have ever heard. Trash is the only word I can think of this person. Disgusting!!!” Carla, St Albans, Dailymail.co.uk
“Please Mr Lee do humanity a favor and scuttle back under your rock” Charles, North Carolina, Dailymail.co.uk
“Stewart Lee is a sick, unfunny excuse of a man...” Rusty,Surrey, Dailymail.co.uk
“What a wicked viscious man this Stewart is (never actually heard of him). There really are some nasty people posing as entertainers.” Hilary, Staffs, Dailymail.co.uk
“in my opinion Stewart Lee is a very dangerous man who needs to be locked away in a strait jacket in a psychiatric hospital.” Expat, Australia, Dailymail.co.uk
“Classic left wing socialist comedian. If they don't approve of you and you don't conform to their world view they'd rather put you up against a wall (a la Che Guevara). I hate this comedian. He's about 25 years out of date and is no doubt coming to the fore just as another failed Labour government is about to be kicked into the political wilderness for a generation.” Doug, Aberdeen, Dailymail.co.uk
“What a sad fat individual, if as a self proclaimed comedian if you can't be funny which is after all a basic requirement, time to do something else. “ Julia, Ilkley, Dailymail.co.uk
“I saw Stewart Lee live. He was as funny as cancer. Thinks he's clever, he's dreadful. A comedian from the 80's who has remained there.” Lynn, Carlisle, Dailymail.co.uk
“Stewart Lee (who he?).....is a relatively unknown so called comedian I've never heard of, although with his style of comedy I question as to if he'll ever achieve greater 'stardom' than he has to date! Apart from Paul Merton and Julian Clary I admit to disliking contemporary comedians as I see no reason for swearing and tasteless patter on stage, I much prefer comedians who make audiences laugh because they are funny men (or women)! I would have enjoyed watching audience response to many of todays 'comedy kings' should they have played some of the northern cabaret clubs of the 60's and early seventies......walking off to the sound of your own boots wouldn't have been in it! Tasteless 'comedy' a la Stewart Lee style leaves him in the gutter alongside the likes of Jonathan Ross and and the long-haired scruffy one he got into trouble with! “ Mal, Norfolk, Dailymail.co.uk
“Stewart Lee's jokes consist of taking a moderately funny idea and then spending 25 minutes slowly and repetitively beating it to death with a shovel.” Tim J, liberalconspiracy.org
“Lee is just a fat Rob Newman without the melancholy surrealism.” Shatterface, liberalconspiracy.org
“One man I would love to beat with a shit covered cricket bat.” Joycey, readytogo.net
“miserable fecker with an annoying delivery” blythy, readytogo.net
“Come back Mr Lee when you have achieved 1% of what Ben Elton has achieved.” Redandwhiterob, readytogo.net
“his smug attitude and the fact that he comes accross like a grade A bellend makes him unwatchable for me.” Joycey33, readytogo.net
“The biggest pile of crap I have ever seen! Boring and unfunny. Childish. Made an absolute fool of himself.” – Lianne, Chortle.co.uk
“Worst comedian ever (along side David Baddiel). Saw him live once, and had to get a refund. He lacks one ingredient of comedy - he's not funny.” Good Evans, tvguide.co.uk
“Typically unfunny left-wing 'comedian' who thinks he's more clever than he really is, spouting a diatribe to Guardian reading Psuedo-intellectuals, who think they are more clever than they really are!.” Yorkie, tvguide.co.uk
“Incredibly unfunny in a way that only Lenny Henry can replicate.. Lee's attempt to appear intellectual betrays the fact that it is actually pretty lightweight comedy, dressed up with some long(ish) words, and playground insults. He was a witless pseudo-intellectual snob 10 years ago and he still is. At least he has got rid of the floppy fringe.” Matt, tvguide.co.uk
“Well, he came 11th in the Greatest Stand Ups of All Time poll shown on Ch4 the other month (yes I know it's a fiddle - but still). If you went out in the street and asked a hundred people about him you'd be hard pressed to find a handful who'd even heard of the miserable coconut. Never mind think he was funny. I saw him on an old 8 out of 10 Cats repeat the other day. He hardly made a contribution, just sitting there partly looking out of his depth and embarrassed to be there exposed as talentless and partly with a smug look on his fat ugly mug. The only few people who even claim to rate him are the usual crowd who think he may in some way be "clever" and so by claiming to like the unfunny twonk somehow raises their own "status".” Voiceofreason, forum.football.co.uk
“He is NOT funny... In what way is this man a comedian?” Mr Angry, bbc.co.uk
“"I was able to predict his line on any subject with completely accuracy to the lady of the house." Greysimon1, bbc.co.uk
“Its just another over-educated, middle class man getting pointlessly angry about a lot of things that aren't very important in the great scheme of things....' Tristran Fabriana, bbc.co.uk
“I wish that he would show more evidence of the fact that he read English at Saint Edmond's Hall Oxford. The evidence of this has been carefully sifted out along with his Shropshire accent as he has adopted both the speech and cognitive vocabulary and conventions which are the default position of the speakers of Estuary English with whom he presumably spends his days. During the Fist OF Fun days he made a darkly glamorous, if static, foil to the far more comedically gifted Richard Herring, but that was then, the glamour has long departed ( welcome to the club Mr Lee ), and he does not seem to have gained anything in the way of skill from the period working alongside his erstwhile partner.” Greysimon1, bbc.co.uk
“a slightly embarrassing 40+ year old man ranting like a teenage student activist whilst labouring "jokes" and being, what seems, almost deliberately unfunny” Tony Cowards, comedy.co.uk
“Stewart Lee isnt even funny. He's disgusting and i hope they ban him from performing. Stewart Lee is a pathetic little man. the only thing funny about him, is his looks.” Hammondx3, richardhammond.net
“a hate filled little man” Willdaq, finalgear.com
“a small, sad man” FBC, finalgear.com
“A heckler could destroy his entire act simply by shouting "we get the fucking picture" from the back of the room in the first 5 minutes.” Dirtbox, eurogamer.com
“im sorry stewart lee fans but his material is lazy, repitive, dirivative and aimed squarely at the sychophants” dufftownallan, eurogamer.com
“I can't stand his smuggy smug bastard smugface.” PES Fanboy, eurogamer.com
“I've gigged with him and he's an arrogant twat.” Japaneseboy, chortle.com
“Lee is preaching to a gradually decreasing audience of weak sycophants who prefer their need for sneering political/moral guidance, wrapped up and disguised as comedy. Meanwhile the rest of us persue and enjoy the search for genuine comedy and real laughs.....” Roy, Chortle.com
“Stewart Lee is crap I'm afraid.” Balboa, Guardian.co.uk
“hes a pile of crap.not funny whatever” skype29, skyvu.com
“Lee is, without doubt, a charm free vacuum who has bathed in a bath of shit. Emotionally unintelligent and intellectually retarded, he offers up a form of comedy that is both visually appalling and aurally disingenuos. A twat in other words. Top marks to him for foisting this crap and people buying it.” Cameron Borland, Offthetelly.com
“this guy is a twat, he is not funny at all” jaabui, bagito.com
“this guy is crap” browo010, bagito.com
“Stuart Lee is not funny! and thats a problem if you're suppossed to be a comedian. Jesus is Lord philippians 2:11 Burn in Hell Stuart Lee.” Christian1truefaith, bagito.com
“Stewart Lee is one unfunny, smug, public school Tarquin.” Parvulesco, Guardian.co.uk
“His overwrought language, overthought logic and complete lack of comedic timing just leaves me scratching my head as to what those in the audience at his shows are laughing at. he reaches for the offhand insights bill hicks' schtick used to stumble through but falls woefully short..” cocianemidget, Guardian.co.uk
“I think he's a smug arrogant bighead whose main function is slagging off others, whilst surrounded mainly by sycophants who seem to have fallen masochistically under his subtle bullying "I'm cleverer than you" style. The laughs per minute are very few and far between. Lecturer? Sociologist? - Maybe. Proper comic - nah.” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“After over 35 years of being a professional comic you learn to weigh people up pretty good, and as far as I'm concerned the man is struggling to get over himself and positively exudes contempt for everybody but himself, which btw he can barely conceal - from me anyway - even if some more naive others don't see it.” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“If a man's style, presentation or material is so indeterminate that several interpretations can be taken - especially negative ones, then he is a fool for not removing all doubt, thus not allowing himself to be unecessarily, and perhaps possibly wrongly, judged either a genius (good) or merely a big head (not good).” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“What can he actually DO? All he does is stand on the sidelines being "clever" and knocking others like some showbiz Jeremy Paxman equivalent (only with even less personality).Does he ever do anything funny without it being at somebody else's expense? A good comic should have empathy and sympathy with an audience, should be "vulnerable" or self depreciating at the same time as being confident (not easy). They should be very human and not make an audience feel inferior in any way. Bob Monkhouse achieved all this and at the same time was far cleverer and funnier than the soulless cold fish Lee could ever hope to be.” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“Stewart Lee has never depreciated himself - in fact, with his gradual weight gain, I would describe him as stubbornly augmentative.” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“He stands on the sidelines and critises/takes the piss out of other artists while contributing very little himself - that is nothing to do with who he chooses to work with. As for Armando Ianucci, Chris Morris, Simon Munnery, Miles Jupp - I've never heard of any of them - could it be that he has "got them on board" because of their desire for TV exposure and of course the fees or is that just cynical old me? I am not denying that he is a very clever man - but so is Stephen Hawking but I wouldn't expect many laughs there either.” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“He comes across as the oldest sneering student in the room everytime I see him. “ Graham Casey, Chortle.co.uk
“Hsounds like Pam Ayres grandson,without her intellect.I'm sorry but this is self indulgent tedious piffle,allowed only because this 'worzelette' has been to oxford.Something funny please. More haha and less ooh ahh!” Kevin1M, Chortle.co.uk
“Whispering, piggy eyed, smug, arrogant, arty farty twat. All those that like him come on - be honest - would your mum, dad, uncles, brothers and sisters, gran and most of your mates and work colleagues laugh at him? - would they fuck and you know it. At my age and being in business I know and meet hundreds of people from all walks of life, many of them young as well as old, so I conducted a little survey and roughly half had never even heard of him and of those that had, most didn't think he was funny. Mind you to be fair, hardly any of those asked were spotty, right on, supercool dudes/students....” Roy, Chortle.co.uk
“Didn't laugh once and his smugness irritates the fuck out of me.” Foo, urban75.net
“Stewart Lee is a cunt. I've always thought this and every utterance from his boring little sphincter of a mouth just proves it more and more...” Al, Urban75.com
“I think Stewart Lee is a cunt. He really is not funny. I've seen him live and the dead pan got old after about 5 minutes.” Lee, wordsfromreuben.com
“He rambles on and on to a meaningless 'punchline' with a consistent smug look on his face and a constant thinly veiled attempt to look ironically cool. I detest him.” Darksoldier, f2010.com
“He drags stuff out so long to the point of tedium. Can only watch about five minutes, laugh, then I'm fast asleep.” Cpfc.org
“Stewart Lee is shit. He's like a small child in the way that he thinks if he tells you the same joke over and over it will become funny.” Peter G, b3ta.com
“He had about 5 jokes which he made last 1 and a half hours. I've never been closer to walking out of a gig and I closed my eyes at one point I was so bored.” AMD, Chortle.com
“Stewart Lee is a despicable Student Union throwback and the idea that anyone would look to him for material is horrifying indeed. I saw him live not too long ago and he still had faded black jeans, DM shoes and that stupid Morrissey quiff like the superannuated indie kid he is .” I am nice, Guardian.co.uk
“He's the comedian people say they like, just to appear cool and above the rest of us proles. I'm sure Mr Lee hasn't written 100% of his own material. Actually, maybe he has and that's why none of it is funny. Just repeat what you've said, 98 times, each time more slowly with a longer gap between words.” Monders, Guardian.co.,uk
“Stewart Lee was 75 minutes of self-indulgent resentment and bitterness, all dressed-up as "unique", "quirky" etc. If it wasnt for the polite laughter from half the room (the half at which Stewart aimed all his remaining material once he identified them - literally - five minutes in) and the 15 simpletons laughing their heads off in the first two rows it would have been a wake. How can he think it funny to impersonate his mother advising him to be more like Tom O'Connor over and over and over again? Lazy, lazy performing.” Peacheycarahan, Guardian.co.uk
“Watched Stewart Lee on Xmas eve 2009 and he was pretty crappy. The jokes were stretched out endlessly - imagine a 30 minute long joke where you only probably laugh at the 24th minute once. It wasnt genuinely funny at all - it was like he was trying very very hard and ended up being stupid. It was yawn-inducingly boring.” SGT, timeout.com
“He's attractive, but in a seedy way. He hasn't worn well for 40. I think he looks a lot like Morrissey.” Morriszapp, Mumsnet.com
“My mate has had a huge crush on SL forever, but even she's starting to admit that time hasn't been kind to him. ” Queenoftheharpies, mumsnet.com
“He does look a bit weird nowadays. Physically, middle-age doesn't suit him the way it suits some people.” Chipolata, comedy.co.uk
“His approach to gag telling seems to be that because he is so much more insightful than his audience that is just going to bloody well keep going until even the most retarded of them has got the joke. Sorry I did not see what was so intelligent about his act. Sneering about other people being stupid is not in itself clever. The basic problem is that there are not enough gags. He gets an idea, and instead of building on it and developing it into a proper routine, he just hammers home the same point until any possible humour has been drained out of it” Timbo, comedy.co.uk
“I think the problem is he's not actually funny. Lying on the floor ranting about Del Boy just made him look mentally ill frankly. He comes across as arrogant and condescending. A final point - Lee should get a suit that actually fits.” Morris Minor, comedy.co.uk
“I keep being told what a genius Stewart Lee. But every time I watch any of his work he just comes across to me as a bit of a sanctimonious prick.” Sam Roony, guardian.co.uk
“Stewart Lee basically massages the prejudices of Guardian readers to make them feel better about themselves.” Unecom, Guardian.co.uk
“Stewart Lee does come across as a preachy, sanctimonious berk an is actually quite patronising to the audience” Thenewnumbertwo, Guardian.co.uk
“My Dad is a better comedian than Stewart Lee. Lee's comedy is based on slating other people, most notably sardonic talents like Chris Moyles and Jeremy Clarkson, both of whom, incidentally, are immeasurably funnier than Lee. Lee elevates his sense of self with his own callous brand of intellectual elitism,” Sally McIlhone, channelhopping.onthebox.com
“Stewart Lee is a borderline alcoholic comedian, who aggressively taunts and down right insults society.” Chong Nhu, martialartsplanet.com
“Whilst Michael MacIntyre is a tit at least he doesn't Repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfunny line, repeat the same unfuny line, even though it remains unfunny with the repetition and leave enormous spaces between his words to emphasize just how laden with gravitas his Comedy actually is instead of admitting that it is just a good way of padding twenty minutes of material out to an hour and a half.” Lennie Law, wordmagazine.com
“No doubt he's a very clever comedian. Very technically adept and, more often than not, really funny.?But I do dislike the way that he has assigned himself the role of Comedian in chief and conscience/ gatekeeper of 'Alternative Comedy'.?His book is at once fabulously illuminating and massively smug. I can't tolerate all the condescending looking down their noses at the audience that he and his minions seem to partake in.” Paddy H, wordmagazine.com
“He's a self-impressed, patronising, up-his-own arse, condescending twat.” Vagabond, b3ta.com
“Stewart Lee is bigoted unfunny dick.” Andy Bolton, twitter
“Stewart Lee: You are not funny. Almost a Dane Cook level of NOT funny.” May Pescante, Twitter
Stewart Lee is? the pied-piper of the pseudo-intellectuals”, ChrisWales22, youtube
“Probably the worst comedian performance I've ever seen. An old man talking about what he ate for dinner the last week would have been equally giving.” Tom Jones, whoateallthepies
“You know who I can't stand? Stewart Lee!” Hammondette, twitter
“Am I the only person who doesn't find Stewart Lee funny in the slightest?” Mr T Grady, Twitter
“Went to see this 'funny' guy last night. Funny he was not. Load of rubbish. Hardly anyone was laughing because his act is rubbish! I really fancied a good laugh to cheer my self up. Unfortunately I didn't get it. His style is to bang on about something for ages and ages and then come back to it for ages and ages. It was like being stuck with a bore at a dinner party, one that you want to punch.” Denadainit, Sheffieldcityforum
“I hate Stewart Lee with a passion. He's like Ian Huntley to me.” Wharto15, Twitter
“I have very strong reservations about uber-smug unfunny Stewart Lee” Karile Marks, Twitter
“Stewart Lee - not funny. Just putting that out there.” Commodore Dan, Twitter
“Still time to vote for @Herring1967 in the Chortle Awards! Don't vote for Stewart Lee, though. He's got enough stuff already.” Piccadillo, Twitter
“Slow, boring delivery from the smuggest cunt on? them all” johnwinfield367676” Youtube
“comedy for 'up their? own arse' ponces.” markzilla6969, Youtube
“what an unfunny cunt”? chrisjoneschrisjones, Youtube
“a fraud and a total? unfunny tit.” Bosco239, youtube
“Lee has his moments, but a lot of people like him because his comedy gives the *impression* there is something sophisticated and high brow about it and you need a higher intellect to understand it. It makes pretentious lefty dickheads feel good about themselves and superior to others. You'll see the same 'you just? haven't got the intelligence to get it' used on all his vids to any criticism.” Underground906, Youtube
“He keeps doing the same tired sixth form iroinic 'liberal' shite. he doesnt even come close to Mcintyre in wit, entertainment? or popularity” chrisjoneschrisjones, Youtube
“Incredibly dull sixth form humour?” chrisjoneschrisjones, Youtube
“Pleeeeease!!! What he does is basicly sixth form college humour that thinks its alternative ,clever and a bit on the edgy/social commentary side. But its? just predicatble and just not funny. I think he thinks hes cleverer and more insightful than he actually is, very simillar to richard herring”, chrisjoneschrisjones, Youtube
“Has anybody noticed that this Stewart Lee guy is poo'ing a massive halo out of his backside? How the 'left'? take the moral ground hey! Peace.” Pittounikos, Youtube
“one of those deluded self righteous liberal cunts who choose to be blind to certain issues” Luke Griffiths, Youtube
“what a wanker I heard he and satan have gay sex together then they? go to th local primary school together and pick up kids” xXCelticwarriorXx1, Youtube
“Lee's? always been about as funny as getting spit roasted by Little and Large. I wish he'd fuck off, the unfunny cunt. He's a cunt” Withnail555, Youtube
“Watching English liberal atheists, like Mr Lee, ridiculing American Creationists is? a bit like watching someone pick a fight with an asthmatic fat kid from the opposite side of a very busy road. One word, more pertinent to these shores; Islam! You fucking third-rate Bill Hicks wannabe coward!” Noonday100, Youtube
“Stewart Lee seems to put together A and B and C in unexpected ways. This means comedians might find it funny. But the general public would find utterly unfunny. To give an analogy; Picasso could actually paint really really well. Almost photographic quality. It was only when he broke all the "rules" of painting that he became famous though. And people said he was a genius. But if all you saw was his messed up paintings of women with a nose where their ear should be, you could be forgiven for saying "This guy can't paint. Why is he famous?" Stewart Lee, I think, might be the Picasso of comics. He didn't make me laugh. But professional comics can probably appreciate it, and laugh or whatever. Of course, that could all be rubbish. Maybe he's hilarious and I just don't get it. But I don't personally see much difference between a guy who studiously and ironically pretends not to be funny and pretends to have a comedic routine fall apart on stage and pretends to restart the show... and a guy who simply is not funny and who's comedic routine falls apart and has to restart the show.” John R Finnan, Amazon
“Watching Stewart Lee certainly is a break from comedy. The last funeral I went to was genuinely far funnier than Lee's gig.” Janean Patience, Twitter
Stewart Lee
2011-05-01T21:20:54+01:00
This year I have chosen to adopt the following quotes as my mantras. “Comedy can be a transient art that can assist leisure businesses in widening their appeal, something that is vital in these current trading conditions.” Maria Kempinska, Jongleurs “James just said "fuck it". It was a lot of money and why not? Loads has happened in his life people don't know about.'” A 'friend' of TV's James Corden on his £1m autobiography deal. “I've always though of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do.” Toby Young, BBC Radio 4 DEAR RATFANS Coming up: Arty John Cage events all over the land, arts programming by me in Cheltenham and London, comics conventions, new live shit, dumb ass comments. JOHN CAGE'S INDETERMINACY I have been invited by the musicians Steve Beresford and Tania Chen to do the spoken word bit in their performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy at the following shows, details TBC. Saturday May 8th: Bexhill-On-Sea - De La Warr Pavilion. 3pm - Tickets Saturday May 28th: London - Mini-Meltdown - South Bank. Time TBC CHELTENHAM JAZZ FESTIVAL After it's successful debut in 2010, Jamie Cullum's Cheltenham Jazz Festival continues it's Freehouse strand, guest curated by Stewart Lee and Chris Cundy, which will feature some of the UK's finest experimental music exponents and a special performance of John Cage's Indeterminacy. http://www.cheltenhamfestivals.com/find-events. ALAN WILKINSON TRIO are currently SUPERB. GET YA SELVES DOWN TO MY CHELTENHAM JAZZ FESTIVAL. Freehouse: Indeterminacy, curated by Stewart Lee, The Playhouse Theatre, Cheltenham, Sat 30th April 8pm – 10pm Writer, comedian and experimental music fan Stewart Lee joins fearless contemporary pianists Steve Beresford and Tania Chen for a performance of John Cage’s Indeterminacy. They are joined by trombonist Alan Tomlinson who will also perform Cage’s Solo for Sliding Trombone....
In the late 80s I used to do standup at a Soho club called Raging Bull, run by the young Eddie Izzard. At half-time we shared our dressing room with male strippers from The Paul Raymond Carnival of Erotica. They would sit naked in their chairs, casually chatting and masturbating, but not for pleasure, merely to keep their members at the maximum tumescence for public display, the legal definition of an erection being 45 degrees.
I for one feel this definition is too exacting, and hope that one of the benefits of leaving the European Union will be a relaxation in the erection rules. In fact, I wonder if, secretly, it is a desire to set our own standards on what level of tumescence constitutes an erection that has made Mark Francois, for example, such a zealous Brexiteer.
It is hard to believe my accidental encounter with the sharp end of the sex business ever happened now. I was 20, and I was sitting in a room in Soho watching naked men masturbating. It was everything my worried gran had warned me showbiz would be.
The Mull of Kintyre famously juts out from mainland Scotland at exactly the same angle as that of the legal penis definition, and it is said that for many years the British Board of Film Censors used an image of the peninsula to judge the legality of an onscreen erection, the outcrop first employed to analyse sex scenes in Tinto Brass’s 1979 epic, Caligula.
I have a confession. The opening of this column is cut and pasted from notes towards my new standup show, Snowflake/Tornado, which previews at London’s Leicester Square theatre from the 24th. On Tuesday morning I travelled to the lighthouse at the bell end of the Mull, the closest mainland point to the Northern Irish coast, to shoot some footage for a multimedia climax to the piece, based around my youthful memories of the Soho dressing room incident.
In the dawn mist of the Mull, I looked across the sea towards Northern Ireland, and noticed, on the beach, a strange mixture of surveyors in high-vis jackets, and druidic figures in dark robes, waving sextants and staffs respectively. Cloaked men were chanting, “We build a bridge, a bridge of lies.” Back then, I had no idea what they meant.
Later that day, on my Campbeltown hotel television, I saw Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Turds Johnson declare his intention to build a bridge between Scotland and Northern Ireland, something, he quickly pointed out “that Jeremy Corbyn would be too chicken-frit to do!”
Turds has form here. In my newly published study of Brexit, March of the Lemmings, I detail Turds’ previous declaration of bridge-building intent. On 18 January 2018, as the EU’s transition deal stance hardened, and a discredited Turds doubled down on his disputed £350m NHS dividend lie, the then foreign secretary promised a 22-mile motorway crossing from England to France, an obvious dead cat distraction from the gathering Brexit storm.
No one seems to remember this now, but Turds’ wall-spaffed envelope-back spunk-burst of an idea was swiftly dismissed by the UK Chamber of Shipping with an understated rebuttal: “Building a huge concrete structure in the middle of the world’s busiest shipping lane might come with some challenges.” Turds’ London Garden Bridge project had already ended in ignominy.
It is as if Turds has a strange bridge-based Tourette syndrome. Whenever he finds himself under pressure, Turds’ default setting seems to be to announce, in a mad panic, that he will build some kind of bridge. And by the time of his Tuesday bridge announcement, Turds has been sorely stressed.
On Monday morning Turds was easily bested in his beloved classical allusion stakes by Ireland’s Leo Varadkar, whom Turds presumably considers a bumboy. And in the evening Turds saw parliament dissolve in a haze of rousing oppositional folk singing and chants of “shame on you”, which was not good optics.
Normally reserved procedure-nerds lay themselves across the retiring Speaker like Spearmint Rhino lapdancers. Mark Francois, who seemed to have taken ketamine, stood up to ramble prophetically about a bell tolling, and whom it was tolling for, a Peter Glaze Cassandra in the Crackerjack Trojan War. But when I look at Mark Francois I know the Bell End tolls for him.
By Tuesday afternoon, questions of funding, construction material strength, and the problem of unexploded Second World war munitions in the straits between Scotland and Northern Ireland had already thrown Turds’ latest bridge boast into doubt. I went down to the beach again, assuming the figures there had some connection to the project.
A bearded wizard figure chanted into the waves, “Come, oh lies! Take physical form! Bend to the will of Boris!” I caught the eye of a bewildered engineer, hard-hatted head bent into the wind. “I know, I know,” he said, “we’re here on the orders of Dominic Cumming. We’re to build Boris’s Irish bridge from the strongest, most indestructible material available.” I asked what that material was. “Mr Cumming’s and Mr Johnson’s lies, apparently,” said the engineer, nonplussed. “They believe they can withstand anything.”
On Wednesday I watched the hotel television while I waited for the film crew. Suddenly, it seemed that Turds’ proroguing had been declared illegal. Parliament might reconvene.
There appeared to be some consternation down on the beach too. Staffs were snapped in two. Surveying equipment was hurled into the sea. An engineer bellowed into a mobile phone. One of the druids sat down on a rock to roll a pacifying joint.
Stewart Lee
2019-09-15T11:41:24+01:00
In the late 80s I used to do standup at a Soho club called Raging Bull, run by the young Eddie Izzard. At half-time we shared our dressing room with male strippers from The Paul Raymond Carnival of Erotica. They would sit naked in their chairs, casually chatting and masturbating, but not for pleasure, merely to keep their members at the maximum tumescence for public display, the legal definition of an erection being 45 degrees. I for one feel this definition is too exacting, and hope that one of the benefits of leaving the European Union will be a relaxation in the erection rules. In fact, I wonder if, secretly, it is a desire to set our own standards on what level of tumescence constitutes an erection that has made Mark Francois, for example, such a zealous Brexiteer. It is hard to believe my accidental encounter with the sharp end of the sex business ever happened now. I was 20, and I was sitting in a room in Soho watching naked men masturbating. It was everything my worried gran had warned me showbiz would be. The Mull of Kintyre famously juts out from mainland Scotland at exactly the same angle as that of the legal penis definition, and it is said that for many years the British Board of Film Censors used an image of the peninsula to judge the legality of an onscreen erection, the outcrop first employed to analyse sex scenes in Tinto Brass’s 1979 epic, Caligula. I have a confession. The opening of this column is cut and pasted from notes towards my new standup show, Snowflake/Tornado, which previews at London’s Leicester Square theatre from the 24th. On Tuesday morning I travelled to the lighthouse at the bell end of the Mull, the closest mainland point to...
Three consistently contrary decades in, The Nightingales ought to enjoy the sustainably farmed cult status of The Fall; both bands' last orders philosopher front-men work from similar Karutrock-abilly blueprints, The Nightingales' more carefully drafted.
With his pint pot spyglass, Robert Lloyd leads a crew of grizzled original ‘gales and talented young people into some typically thrilling skirmishes.
Dick The Do-Gooder is an unapologetically expansive splurge of sustained bile; Real Gone Daddy hijacks a lick from CBBC's In The Night Garden; and the sassy mod-pop of Someone For Everyone suggests the cuddly Jarvis Cocker national treasure Lloyd almost was.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-22T21:08:45+01:00
Three consistently contrary decades in, The Nightingales ought to enjoy the sustainably farmed cult status of The Fall; both bands' last orders philosopher front-men work from similar Karutrock-abilly blueprints, The Nightingales' more carefully drafted. With his pint pot spyglass, Robert Lloyd leads a crew of grizzled original ‘gales and talented young people into some typically thrilling skirmishes. Dick The Do-Gooder is an unapologetically expansive splurge of sustained bile; Real Gone Daddy hijacks a lick from CBBC's In The Night Garden; and the sassy mod-pop of Someone For Everyone suggests the cuddly Jarvis Cocker national treasure Lloyd almost was.
He threw his guitar in a campervan and recorded himself playing wherever his wanderlust led, an often combative improviser indulging his sometimes suppressed facility for fluid folk melodies. The Spanish and French backdrops of these fecund field recordings inspire flamenco flourishes and café society chords, as Bisset battles bird and bee noise with pizzicato flurries.
Rain hisses. He offers long sonorous notes to the rising sun.
Coming Home’s cautiously euphoric refrain suggests a problem solved.
Stewart Lee
2013-07-07T01:56:14+01:00
John Bisset's kids left home. He threw his guitar in a campervan and recorded himself playing wherever his wanderlust led, an often combative improviser indulging his sometimes suppressed facility for fluid folk melodies. The Spanish and French backdrops of these fecund field recordings inspire flamenco flourishes and café society chords, as Bisset battles bird and bee noise with pizzicato flurries. Rain hisses. He offers long sonorous notes to the rising sun. Coming Home’s cautiously euphoric refrain suggests a problem solved.
Cope's fifteen year reign as Britain's quirky alterno-pop king lasted until the mid-nineties, bequeathing the stomping hit single World Shut Your Mouth and the acid-breakdown album Fried.
Nowadays the shaman-trickster shrouds his instinctive melodic gifts with obnoxious seventies pre-punk filth and eccentric pagan politics.
Though the first of its two discs is sluggish in parts, Psychedelic Revolution sports an unequivocal banker bashing ethos, and sounds like an anarchist commune of Odinist krautrockers fronted by a slightly shot Scott Walker.
And Cope can still mainline the sublime, with the analogue synth buzz of X-Mas In The Woman's Shelter or the anthemic thrust of Hooded And Benign.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-04T02:00:56+00:00
Cope's fifteen year reign as Britain's quirky alterno-pop king lasted until the mid-nineties, bequeathing the stomping hit single World Shut Your Mouth and the acid-breakdown album Fried. Nowadays the shaman-trickster shrouds his instinctive melodic gifts with obnoxious seventies pre-punk filth and eccentric pagan politics. Though the first of its two discs is sluggish in parts, Psychedelic Revolution sports an unequivocal banker bashing ethos, and sounds like an anarchist commune of Odinist krautrockers fronted by a slightly shot Scott Walker. And Cope can still mainline the sublime, with the analogue synth buzz of X-Mas In The Woman's Shelter or the anthemic thrust of Hooded And Benign.
A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is PROBABLY on BBC2 on Saturday 4th August, I think, at 11 pm, not 28th July or July 8th as previously announced.
This is to give the material the best possible chance of being out of date as the political structure of the UK collapses around us.
COMEDY VEHICLE ON I-PLAYER
All four series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle will be going live on lucky Friday 13th of July at 10am as a box set on the BBC I-player. To save you all the bother here's a series breakdown.
The first series was filmed ten years ago this year. What a different world it was then!
Series 1) (2008) ragbag of unrelated routines of a reasonable quality interrupted with sketches that have been decreed of mixed virtues, with Stew in a suit at execs' insistence.
Series 2 (2010) and 3) (2013) Routines specifically worked out and written for half hour format with a single film item each week and Stew in a suit jacket.
Series 2 featured a guitar.
Series 4) (2015) The most stylistically extreme routines of the project performed, to an often baffled crowd compromised by BBC liggers and people's suspicious friends, by Stew in a shirt.
NIGHTINGALES DATES
I am supporting Birmingham post-punk Legends The Nightingales doing 15 mins of my 80s material on seven of their autumn tour dates.
I am not in the Edinburgh Fringe this year but if I was I would remind you to prioritise looking beyond the Big 4 at Free Fringe, Stand, Summerhall etc, and I would see the following 32 shows this August.
*Daniel Drench. West Cornwall's most prolific and unstable storyteller, presents a bewildering and potentially moving interpretation of the classic Cornish folk tale 'The Mermaid of Zennor'.
Drenched is a one man comedy-theatre piece, challenging the form of a traditional solo performance with a combination of storytelling, character comedy and physical theatre. 1-27 August - Pleasance Courtyard @ 3pm
Stewart Lee
2018-07-11T22:24:51+01:00
CONTENT PROVIDER BBC2 A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is PROBABLY on BBC2 on Saturday 4th August, I think, at 11 pm, not 28th July or July 8th as previously announced. This is to give the material the best possible chance of being out of date as the political structure of the UK collapses around us. COMEDY VEHICLE ON I-PLAYER All four series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle will be going live on lucky Friday 13th of July at 10am as a box set on the BBC I-player.To save you all the bother here's a series breakdown. The first series was filmed ten years ago this year. What a different world it was then! Series 1) (2008) ragbag of unrelated routines of a reasonable quality interrupted with sketches that have been decreed of mixed virtues, with Stew in a suit at execs' insistence. Series 2 (2010) and 3) (2013) Routines specifically worked out and written for half hour format with a single film item each week and Stew in a suit jacket. Series 2 featured a guitar. Series 4) (2015) The most stylistically extreme routines of the project performed, to an often baffled crowd compromised by BBC liggers and people's suspicious friends, by Stew in a shirt. NIGHTINGALES DATES I am supporting Birmingham post-punk Legends The Nightingales doing 15 mins of my 80s material on seven of their autumn tour dates. Thu SEPT 20 OXFORD, THE CELLAR https://www.seetickets.com/event/the-nightingales/the-cellar/1227777 Fri SEPT 21 BRISTOL, THE EXCHANGE https://www.seetickets.com/event/nightingales/exchange/1227678 Sat SEPT 22 PORTSMOUTH, WEDGEWOOD ROOMS https://www.seetickets.com/event/the-nightingales/wedgewood-rooms/1225457 Tue OCT 2 BIRMINGHAM, HARE & HOUNDS https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Birmingham/Hare-And-Hounds/The-Nightingales/13216234/ Wed OCT 3 LONDON, MOTH CLUB https://www.seetickets.com/event/nightingales/moth-club/1227677 Thu OCT 4 CAMBRIDGE, PORTLAND ARMS https://www.wegottickets.com/greenmind/event/439332 Sat OCT 6 BRIGHTON, GREEN DOOR STORE http://www.wegottickets.com/event/439847 CAPRI-BATTERIE W STEWART LEE You can buy Bristol Fashion, an industrial jazz album which we...
It’s the best comedy festival in the world, but don’t tell anyone about it!
We are screening the KING ROCKER movie with Q&A on Saturday morning, I am doing Man Wulf on Sunday, and on Saturday afternoon there’s this...
Joking Apart: Stewart Lee Asks Robert Lloyd to Explain Old Jokes. 2 Pilot episodes of an exciting new podcast featuring Stewart Lee and his mentor, the Birmingham punk legend Robert Lloyd of Prefects, Nightingales and King Rocker repute. Saturday May 2nd, 2 pm, Ysgol Bro Hydden – Main Hall
I am the reader of the audiobook of The Big Midweek, Steve Hanley from The Fall’s book about playing bass for two decades in the greatest British band, against twenty years of social change. You can hear it here...
I am now writing 1000 funny words a week for Carole Cadwalladr’s new on-line newspaper The Nerve, run by people who were sacked or quit when Tories and Telegraph/Times types took over The Observer. It is immediately ace. Sign up here and it would also really be great if you could pay them £6.95 a month as the 5 women at the helm sunk all their redundancy money into it. Carole understands that the only story in town is how the tech-bros choose what news we see and how we understand the world, and The Nerve will address this head on. The only news that matters. Please send the link below and this begging request to anyone you can. https://www.thenerve.news
4. THE MEMORY BLOCKS, SAT 28TH MARCH, WATERSHED, BRISTOL
My favourite pan-disciplinarians Andrew & Eden Kotting want me to arrive as unprepared as possible and host this experimental investigation of memory, from 6pm – 8.15. In the future, people will say, if you can remember it you were there!
Along with WAXFACE’s usual line of Stewart Lee merch there are new for 2025 t-shirts and hoodies on the Man-Wulf theme, all of the highest quality. I’d wear them myself but I’d look arrogant. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here
Glasgow’s garage punk veterans The Primevals’ new single is featured in the new Stewart Lee vs The Man-Wulf U.K. tour. There are 3 versions. Side a I’m The Man-Wulf. Side b I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail edit). Plus a 9 minute I’m The Man-Wulf (long nail version). Vinyl sides a&b were released on a 7” 45 in January. https://primevals.bandcamp.com
John Mackay & Sally Homer, in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF BRAND NEW SHOW
UK TOURING THROUGHOUT 2026
NB: TICKETS FOR THESE SHOWS WILL REMAIN AT THE ADVERTISED PRICE. SURGE PRICING IS IMMORAL AND TICKETMASTER AND OASIS ARE WANKERS, ENCOURAGED BY SUCCESSIVE TORY CULTURE SECRETARIES IN THEIR CRIMINAL ENDEAVOURS.
In this brand-new show, Lee shares his stage with a tough-talking werewolf comedian who hates humanity. The Man-Wulf lays down a ferocious comedy challenge to the culturally irrelevant and physically enfeebled Lee. Can the beast inside us all be silenced with the silver bullet of Lee's unprecedentedly critically acclaimed style of stand-up.
Sunday 3rd May 2026 - The Mach Arena, Machynlleth Comedy Festival - TICKETS
Wednesday 6th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS
Thursday 7th May 2026 - The Playhouse, Weston Super Mare - TICKETS
Friday 8th May 2026 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - TICKETS
Saturday 9th May 2026 - Richmond Theatre, Richmond - TICKETS
Monday 11th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Tuesday 12th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Wednesday 13th May 2026 - Playhouse, Leeds - TICKETS
Thursday 14th May 2026 - Floral Pavilion Theatre, New Brighton - TICKETS
Friday 15th May 2026 - Opera House, Buxton - TICKETS
Saturday 16th May 2026 - Stockton Globe, Stockton On Tees - TICKETS
Tuesday 19th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
Wednesday 20th May 2026 - Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea - TICKETS
June 2026
Monday 1st June 2026 - 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS
Tuesday 2nd June 2026 - Bord Gais Energy Theatre, Dublin - TICKETS
Wednesday 3rd June 2026 - The Tommy Leddy Theatre, Drogheda - TICKETS
Thursday 4th June 2026 - Millennium Forum, Derry - TICKETS
Friday 5th June 2026 - National Opera House, Wexford - TICKETS
Sunday 7th June 2026 - Opera House, Cork - TICKETS
Wednesday 10th June 2026 - Theatre Royal, Waterford - TICKETS
Sunday 14th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Monday 15th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Tuesday 16th June 2026 - Cambridge Arts Theatre, Cambridge - TICKETS
Thursday 18th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Friday 19th June 2026 - Alban Arena, St. Albans - TICKETS
Sunday 21st June 2026 - New Victoria Theatre, Woking - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd June 2026 - Venue Cymru, Llandudno - TICKETS
Wednesday 24th June 2026 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield - TICKETS
Thursday 25th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Friday 26th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Saturday 27th June 2026 - Grand Opera House, York - TICKETS
Tuesday 30th June 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
July 2026
Wednesday 1st July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Thursday 2nd July 2026 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Saturday 4th July 2026 - The Hawth, Crawley - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th July 2026 - Lyceum, Crewe - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Thursday 9th July 2026 - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - TICKETS
Friday 10th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Saturday 11th July 2026 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Monday 13th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Tuesday 14th July 2026 - King's Theatre, Glasgow - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th July 2026 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Thursday 16th July 2026 - Perth Theatre, Perth - TICKETS
Friday 17th July 2026 - Eden Court, Inverness - TICKETS
September 2026
Thursday 3rd September 2026 - King's Theatre, Portsmouth - TICKETS
Friday 4th September 2026 - Pavillion, Weymouth - TICKETS
Saturday 5th September 2026 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Thursday 10th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Friday 11th September 2026 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Saturday 12th September 2026 - William Aston Hall, Wrexham - TICKETS
Sunday 13th September 2026 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
Wednesday 16th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS
Thursday 17th September 2026 - Marina Theatre, Lowestoft - TICKETS
Friday 18th September 2026 - Castle Theatre, Wellingborough - TICKETS
Saturday 19th September 2026 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Sunday 20th September 2026 - The Central Theatre, Chatham - TICKETS
Thursday 24th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Friday 25th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Saturday 26th September 2026 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol - TICKETS
Tuesday 29th September 2026 - Truck Theatre, Hull - TICKETS
Wednesday 30th September 2026 - Truck Theatre, Hull - TICKETS
October 2026
Thursday 1st October 2026 - The Spa Centre, Scarborough - TICKETS
Friday 2nd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS
Saturday 3rd October 2026 - Alhambra Theatre, Bradford - TICKETS
Tuesday 6th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th October 2026 - Festival Theatre, Malvern - TICKETS
Thursday 8th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Friday 9th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Saturday 10th October 2026 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Monday 12th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Tuesday 13th October 2026 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 17th October 2026 - Waterside Theatre, Aylesbury - TICKETS
Sunday 18th October 2026 - Hippodrome, Birmingham - TICKETS
Friday 23rd October 2026 - New Theatre, Peterborough - TICKETS
Saturday 24th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Sunday 25th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Friday 30th October 2026 - Pavilion Theatre, Worthing - TICKETS
Saturday 31st October 2026 - Lighthouse, Poole - TICKETS
November 2026
Sunday 1st November 2026 - Devonshire Park Theatre, Eastbourne - TICKETS
Thursday 5th November 2026 - City Hall, Salisbury - TICKETS
Friday 6th November 2026 - The Anvil, Basingstoke - TICKETS
Saturday 7th November 2026 - New Wimbledon Theatre, Wimbledon - TICKETS
Monday 9th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Tuesday 10th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Wednesday 11th November 2026 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS
Thursday 12th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
Friday 13th November 2026 - Chelmsford Theatre, Chelmsford - TICKETS
9. SNOWFLAKE TORNADO / BASIC LEE
Stewart’s 2019-2022 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2022 is now available to buy or rent “on demand” from www.mediagarageproductions.com
Both shows also appear to be free as part of the current Amazon Prime rosta, but buy them from us to defeat American fascism.
We are currently preparing a physical release of these shows but it’s got delayed as I got pneumonia and have been bogged down in picking through a wealth of possible, and very exciting, audio extras, where the material worked much better than in the broadcast show itself.
10. TEENAGE CANCER TRUST COMEDY NIGHT
– ROYAL ALBERT HALL, 24TH MARCH. I am on in this with Bridget Christie, Athena Kugblenu, Miles Jupp and more. Robert Smith from The Cure is in charge this year. http://lnk.to/TCT26
11. KEVIN ELDON’S PODCAST
The actor Kevin Eldon has a new podcast called Speakers.
12 CHURCHILL’S URINAL BY ROSIE HOLT, KING’S HEAD THEATRE, ISLINGTON LONDON 13TH MAY – 6th JUNE
I did a script editing pass on an early draft of this play last year, which was full of great funny ideas about the comedy of the culture war, and contributed some end of the pier gags to lower the tone of an otherwise sophisticated conceit, but it sounds like the writer-performer and the director have really moved it on and massively changed and upgraded the central thrust of it. I am looking forward to seeing it in its first incarnation.
“Freshly installed in 11 Downing Street, a fearless female Chancellor of the Exchequer is determined to get rid of the ancient urinal in her grace-and-favour en-suite. Intrigue overflows into outrage when it transpires that the porcelain was first tinkled on by that undying icon of Britishness, Winston Churchill. Soon, the whole nation has a view on this storm in a pisspot. Join us for this rambunctious romp through the corridors of power and discover whether our fearless Chancellor’s grip on her Budget red box can survive the clamour for her Whitehall washroom to be awarded a Blue Plaque. Known for her alter ego MP who has achieved more than seven million views with her online videos, and toured two stage shows nationally, satirist and Chortle award-winner Rosie Holt shares the world premiere of her new play, first seen in a reading at Shedinburgh last year. Directed by Dan Clarkson, whose previous show starring Rosie Holt The Crown Live sold out at the King’s Head Theatre, and whose other credits include Olivier Award nominees Potted Potter, and Potted Panto, as well as Biff To The Future which is currently on an extensive tour. Early Booker Preview Special: First two performances (13 & 14 May) - top price tickets only £25.” https://kingsheadtheatre.com/whats-on/churchill-s-urinal-ncmf
13.SKIDS PORTMERION WEEKENDER 13TH – 15TH MARCH
Kevin Eldon (above) used to get the bus to school in Scotland with The Skids, and I am special stand-up guest of the Scottish punk pioneers at their weekender at Portmerion Prisoner village in N Wales. Come and see me get booed off by old geezers. https://skidsofficial.com/news-1/f/the-absolute-weekend-2026-1 What an amazing life I am having in my late 50s.
The Trawl Marina Purkiss and Gemma Forte had me on their unashamedly political podcast. They are twin national treasures. You can find it in the usual places.
Alexei Sayle Podcast I just done this again with the Podfather of Alternative Comedy. Usual outlets.
It’s the best book festival in the world but don’t tell anyone about it. I will be amongst many appearing at Laugharne including Carole Cadwalladr, Gwenno, Budgie, Laetitia Sadier, Nicky Wire, Nigel Planer, Angeline Morrison, Dave Rowntree, Armando Iannucci, Joe Dunthorne, Martin & Eliza Carthy, Tessa Hadley, Elizabeth Alker, Mark Thomas, Kate Mossman, Mike Joyce, Henry Normal, Lucia Osborne-Crowley, Jeremy Deller, Charlie Higson, Zakia Sewell, Luke Wright, Carys Eleri, Nick Revell, Fflur Dafydd, Daniel Rachel, Robin Ince, Emma Warren, Jake Arnott, Steve Punt, Debsey Wykes, John Higgs, Paul Gorman, Peter Finch, Pete Brown.” https://www.thelaugharneweekend.com
16. FESTIVALS I will be doing short stand-up sets at the following festivals
BEARDED THEORY 20TH – 24TH MAY, CATTON PARK DERBYSHIRE https://beardedtheory.co.uk w Pixies, Damned, Maytals, Au Pairs, Nightingales & Ted Chippington. This is a great, friendly festival that totally feels like it is run for the benefit of the people, and it has a brilliant tent called Convoy Cabaret which is all proper hardcore anarcho-punk and traveller music.
DEER SHED 24TH – 26TH JULY, BLADERSBY PARK, N YORKS https://deershedfestival.com Sleaford Mods, Angeline Morrison, New Eves & The Adam Buxton Band. The village fete vibe of indie rock!
KRANKENHAUS, 28TH-30TH AUGUST, MUNCASTER CASTLE, LAKE DISTRICT. It’s the best music festival in the world but don’t tell anyone about it. Sea Power, House Of All, Laura Cannell, Fallen Women, Stereolab, lectures, talks, walks, mountains. All the fun of the farm!
More to follow
17 CULT NIGHT 30th April Moth Club, London
Weird muso’s Grham Reynolds and Mike Lindsay soundtrack weird films The Portcullis and The Last Sacrifice and I introduce them.
18. GOLDSMITH’S TALK, GOLDSMITHS, LONDON MARCH 10TH. I blab on.
Stewart Lee: In Praise of the Outcast - MA Art & Politics,
Tuesday, Mar 10 from 12 pm to 1 pm GMT
MA Art & Politics + Art & Politics Society, Goldsmiths, London present a talk by comedian Stewart Lee. In Praise of the Outcast: Stewart Lee on clowning and the essence of comedy (hint: to overturn the rules).
WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? – EDWARD ALBEE, DIR MIKE TWEDDLE. Oxford Playhouse until March 7th. If you hurry you might get into the superb production which I saw on the opening night. I say, “Mike Tweddle's radical new production of Edward Albee's Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf runs at Oxford Playhouse until March 7th and crumbles the colossus of the Burton-Taylor reading in a quietly radical reinterpretation. Innovative staging frames the two couple's conflicts very much as a form of performance, sets of curtains in the increasingly claustrophobic house echoing our assumptions about theatre, confessional monologues repositioned downstage like old-school front-curtain stand-up comedy, and fourth-wall breaking antics spilling the collapsing third act into the main house itself. Big laughs! Sick revelations! And lots of booze! It's the shortest three hours you'll ever experience.” https://www.oxfordplayhouse.com/events/edward-albees-whos-afraid-of-virginia-woolf
BOHMAN BROTHERS AND CO Stunning sound artists the Bohman Brothers appear in various combo’s.
March 22nd Christ Church John Marshall Hall, London. The Remote Viewers – John Edwards (double bass), Steve Beresford (electronics), Adrian Northover (soprano sax), Dave Petts (tenor sax,composition)-quartet/Annie Kerr (violin, piano) & Matt Clark (guitar)-duo/ Sue Lynch (tenor sax), Adam Bohman (amplified objects) , Rory Salter (guitar,electronics)-trio/ Doors 5.00pm – Music 5.30pm-8.00pm 27 Blackfriars Rd SE1 8NY Suggested fee £8/10 cash or card OTD https://horseimprovclub.wordpress.com/
ROB AUTON The comedian poet philosopher is on tour with a new show called Can. “ This year my new show is an hour long story, written and performed by me. It is about a man who at one point in his life was the world's best motivational speaker, and then something happened. If you would like to come to one I'd love to see you there.” March 5 - Edinburgh Stand, March 7 - Glasgow Stand, March 8 - Newcastle Stand, March 10 - Cambridge Junction J2, March 11 - Margate Where Else, March 12 - Brighton Komedia, March 13 - Bristol- 1532, March 18 - York- Crescent, March 19 - Sheffield- Steamworks, March 20 - Chester- Storyhouse, March 21 - Chorley- Theatre, March 29 - Colchester- Arts Centre, April 9 - Salford- Lowry Quays, April 10 - Lancaster- Dukes, April 11 - Birmingham- Rep The Door, April 15 - Bath- Rondo, April 16 - Cardiff- Sherman, May 2- Machynlleth Comedy Festival, May 26-30 LONDON SOHO THEATRE EXTRA DATES
THURSTON MOORE 3 DAY CAFÉ OTO RESIDENCY, LONDON March 9th-11th
Monday 9 March - Thurston Moore (guitar), Akira Sakata (sax), Evan Parker (reeds)
Thursday 10 Match - Thurston Moore (guitar), Ståle Liavik Solberg (percussion) + guest TBA
Friday 11 March - Thurston Moore (guitar), Carlos Giffoni (electronics) + guest TBA
The 4th Kallin Family Exhibition The wonderful Kallin family make an exhibition of themselves at Burgh House, Hampstead, from 11th - 29th March 2026. Once again the Kallin Family bring together their artworks into a joint exhibition showcasing their textile landscapes, ink drawings, paintings, dollshouse sculptures and mysterious figures. The collection explores themes of childhood nostalgia, dreams and the urban landscape. Featuring the work of: Sophie Levi-Kallin, Hamish Kallin, Jenny Kallin and Phoebe Bowman. Also featuring the launch of Outwith, a book of 'poetry' by Ivor Kallin, with illustrations by Jenny Kallin. Burgh House, New End Square, NW3 1LT
JETSTREAM PONY 12TH March, Waiting Room, London. Rare one off from the Trembling Blue Stars descended indie pop classicists.
WARRINGTON RUNCORN NEW TOWN DEVELOPMENT PLAN I am late to the WRNTDP party, but he/they play/s 70’s style public information electronica that suggests the dashed hopes of the post war Utopian social project. I don’t know how it will work live. I wish I could see it but I am touring. MARCH 13th Leeds Seven Arts, 19th Oxford Bullingdon, 20th Liverpool Capstone.
RON SEXSMITH The taken-for-granted Canadian troubadour is back.
MARCH
01 LIVERPOOL Hangar 34
04 LIMERICK Dolan’s Warehouse
05 WATERFORD Theatre Royal
06 KILKENNY Set Theatre
07 CORK St Lukes
08 DUBLIN Ambassador Theatre
10 GALWAY Town Hall
11 DUNDALK Spirit Store
12 BELFAST Limelight
PSYCHEDELIC PORN CRUMPETS Australian prog-psyche MARCH 1st B’ham Digbeth Crossing, 3rd Southampton 1865, 4th London Forum
HEAVENLY Suddenly boosted by fleeting Tic Toc fame with Punk Rock Girl, here’s another victory lap for the mould-making indie veterans in 2026. MARCH 5th Ramsgate Music Hall, 6th Paris Petit Bain, 8th London Lexington all ages matinee, 14th Oxford Nest, 18th M’cr Yes, 19th Glasgow Mono, 20th Sunderland Pop Recs, 21st Sheffield Sidney & Mathilda, 26th Brighton TBC, APRIL 4th Cardiff Wales Goes Pop
THE WAVE PICTURES Brilliant British indie rock band in the vein of Go-Betweens, Loft etc… All the greats. MARCH 1st - Oxford @ Jericho Tavern - TICKETS, 3rd - Bristol @ Strange Brew - TICKETS, 4th - Cardiff @ Clwb Ifor Bach - TICKETS, 5th - Manchester @ YES - TICKETS, 6th - Brighton @ DUST - TICKETS. MAY 9th - London @ Bush Hall - TICKETS
KID CONGO & THE PINK MONKEY BIRDS Cramps/Gun Club/Bad Seeds/Knoxville Girls gunslinger with current combo MARCH 5th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 6th Oslo London, 7th Nottingham Boat Club.
KEIJI HAINO Japanese brain-bending noise improvisor London ICA 17th March
A BELTER FOR THE SHELTER, HACKNEY EMPIRE, LONDON MARCH 19TH. Benefit for Hackney Night Shelter. Belter for the Shelter is back! Hackney Night Shelter’s legendary comedy benefit night returns to the Hackney Empire. Get ready for a stellar line-up hosted by Laura Smyth with the likes of Jeff Innocent, Red Richardson, Rosie Holt, Athena Kugblenu taking to the stage, plus more. Your ticket doesn’t just get you an evening of laughs, it raises crucial funds to keep Hackney Night Shelter open all year round. With your support, the shelter can provide emergency accommodation and routes out of homelessness for another 200 people each year who would otherwise be sleeping on the street. Full line-up: Jeff Innocent, Red Richardson, Rosie Holt, Kevin Eldon, Andrew Mensah, Bobby Mair, Athena Kugblenu, Sharon Wanjohi, Laura Smyth (MC)
DELINES Cinematic symphonic country rock sophisticates. MARCH 21st Trowbridge 7 Hills Fest, 22nd Bury Met, 23rd L’pool Hangar, 24th Nottingham Metronome, 25th Norwich Epic, 26th London Union Chapel, 27th Brighton Old Market, 28th Cardiff Gate, OCTOBER 2nd Glasgow GUU, 3rd Gosforth Civic, 4th Leeds City Varieties
MAN Welsh 70s psyche-blues outfit appear to be on the road, and are supported in London by survivors of Help Yourself as The Green Ray, who are currently superb live. MARCH 22nd Kinross Backstage, 23rd N’castle Cluny, 24th B’ham Hare & Hounds, 25th Leicester Int’l, 26th Swansea Hangar 18, 27th Aberdare Jacs, 28th St Leonards Piper, 29th London Leytonstone O’Neills.
SIMON LOVE Welsh purveyor of a certain kind of vintage indie pop.
2 April - The Waiting Room, London (album launch show)
3 April - Wales Goes Pop, The Gate, Cardiff
26 June - The Fighting Cocks, Kingston-Upon-Thames
28 June - Prince Albert, Brighton (Afternoon show)
RUTS DC Reggae-punks on the road. APRIL 4th London Electric Ballroom, MAY 22nd Dunfermline PJs, 28th Glasgow King Tut’s, AUG 21st Dublin Academy No
COSMIC PSYCHOS Australian idiot-savants who have reduced rock and roll, and by association, life itself to its core essentials. Profound. But last time I had to leave ‘cos it was TOO LOUD. APRIL 7th Nottingham Bodega, 8th Glasgow Nice’n’Sleazy, 9th M’cr Pink Room, 10th London Dome, 11th Cardf Clwb Ifor Bach, 12th Brighton Green Door
THE ROOM Bunnymen/Teardrops-adjacent 80s Liverpool psychedelic survivors return in dishevelled majesty. APRIL 24th Future Yard in Birkenhead 24th April, 25th Aces & Eights London, SEPT 11TH Future Yard Birkenhead album launch. November 13th at Dublin Castle London with St Vitus Dance & Vernons Future.
COWBOY JUNKIES Smoke-suffused Canadian country stoners. APRIL 29th Bath Komedia, 30th Bexhill De-La-Warr, MAY 3rd Edinburgh Queen’s Hall, 6th Sunderland Fire Station, 7th B’ham Town Hall, 11th London Palladium, 14th Norwich & Norfolk Festival
THE UTOPIA STRONG Snooker genius’ Steve Davis’ space-rocking outfit. May 8th N’castle Star & Shadow, 9th N’hampton Black Prince, 15th London St Mattias Stoke Newington, 17th Luton Castle, 20th Glasgow Cottiers, 22nd Cambridge Storey’s Field, 24th St Leonard’s Piper.
THE EX Heroically inspiring Dutch jazz-punks. MAY 20th London 100 Club, 21st B’ham Castle & Falcon, 22nd Glasgow Flying Duck, 23rd M’cr White Hotel.
SUGAR Apparently they’ve reformed MAY 23rd, 24th London Forum
TAMIKREST Malian blues-wranglers in snake-charming mode JUNE 8th Glasgow Rum Shack, 9th Leeds Belgrave, 11th Norwich Arts, 12th Bristol Strange Brew, 13th London Jazz Café, 15th M’cr Band On The Wall, 176th Bristol Hope & Ruin.
BEVIS FROND One of Britain’s all-time greats, frontman Nick Saloman now a 70-something psychedelic survivor still at the top of his game. Will it ever end? JUNE 5th M’cr Pink Room, 7th Edinburgh Sneaky Pete’s, 8th Gateshead Central Bar, 9th Leeds Attic, 10th London Moth Club (hosted by S Lee)
OH-SEES Mighty psyche-punk juggernaut. JULY 14th Leeds Irish Centre, 16th & 17th London Earth.
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS Hardcore originators. New Cross Inn, London August 10th
LEMONHEADS Melodic hardcore countryfied punk cherub soldiers on
30 Sep: Electric, Sheffield, UK
01 Oct: De La Warr, Bexhill, UK
02 Oct: Troxy, London, UK
03 Oct: UEA, Norwich, UK
05 Oct: Boiler Shop, Newcastle, UK
06 Oct: SWG3, Glasgow, UK
07 Oct: Albert Hall, Manchester, UK
09 Oct: Electric, Bristol, UK
10 Oct: O2 Institute, Birmingham, UK
11 Oct: Rock City, Nottingham, UK
Finally, the wonderfully dry comedian Jackie Kashian, who I did a lovely tour of Australia with 21 YEARS AGO!!!! has a new video/album out.
Gunter Schickert (G.A.M guitar man, 1949)
Amos Poe (He squashed a banana in the street, 1949)
Sly Dunbar (definitive dub drummer, 1952)
Sal Buscema (Marvel mastercraftsman, 1936) Catherine O’Hara (Fucking hilarious, I wish we’d met, 1954)
Philippe Gaulier (Our clown enemy, our clown king, 1943)
Stewart Lee
2026-02-27T14:28:42+00:00
1.MACHYNLLETH COMEDY FESTIVAL MAY 1ST – 3RD https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/category/year/2026/ It’s the best comedy festival in the world, but don’t tell anyone about it! We are screening the KING ROCKER movie with Q&A on Saturday morning, I am doing Man Wulf on Sunday, and on Saturday afternoon there’s this... Joking Apart: Stewart Lee Asks Robert Lloyd to Explain Old Jokes. 2 Pilot episodes of an exciting new podcast featuring Stewart Lee and his mentor, the Birmingham punk legend Robert Lloyd of Prefects, Nightingales and King Rocker repute. Saturday May 2nd, 2 pm, Ysgol Bro Hydden – Main Hall https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/show/2026/joking-apart-stewart-lee-asks-robert-lloyd-to-explain-old-jokes/ The King Rocker screening is at 11 am on Saturday https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m002qc91 Stewart Lee Vs The Man-Wulf is on Sunday at 1.30 https://machcomedyfest.co.uk/show/2026/stewart-lee-stewart-lee-vs-the-man-wulf-4/ 2. THE BIG MIDWEEK I am the reader of the audiobook of The Big Midweek, Steve Hanley from The Fall’s book about playing bass for two decades in the greatest British band, against twenty years of social change. You can hear it here... https://www.audible.co.uk/pd/The-Big-Midweek-Audiobook/B0FXBJJD4X?source_code=AUKFrDlWS02231890H6-BK-ACX0-479031 3. THE NERVE I am now writing 1000 funny words a week for Carole Cadwalladr’s new on-line newspaper The Nerve, run by people who were sacked or quit when Tories and Telegraph/Times types took over The Observer. It is immediately ace. Sign up here and it would also really be great if you could pay them £6.95 a month as the 5 women at the helm sunk all their redundancy money into it. Carole understands that the only story in town is how the tech-bros choose what news we see and how we understand the world, and The Nerve will address this head on. The only news that matters. Please send the link below and this begging request to anyone you can. https://www.thenerve.news This recent piece on enshittification is especially good https://www.thenerve.news/p/cory-doctorow-enshittification-internet-craphound-lyft-political-organising All my columns are collected...
Last week it was confirmed that Gary Barlow, Mark Owen and Howard "the duck" Donald, the key talents of legendary rock'n'rollers Take That, hid £63m in the Icebreaker tax avoidance scheme. Barlow's crime may cause short-lived shame, but it could guarantee the Take That frontispiece an eternal place in the rock'n'roll annals that his music (a regular presence on David Cameron's Spotify account) might not. Sid Vicious, Pete Doherty and Screaming Lord Sutch can step down. Gary Barlow is now the most offensive rock'n'roller of all!
Rock'n'roll has always given young people the means to offend the petty sensibilities of society, from Elvis Presley's lascivious legs and Freddie Garrity's cruel dances, via the furious bile of punk rock'n'rollers the Jags, Bad Manners and the Pork Dukes, to the sexual explosives of Bucks Fizz's Eurovision thighs, Miley Cyrus's plucked chicken wrecking-ball lick, and Dennis Roussos's diaphanous sack.
But for me, and many other part-time pop cultural critics, rock'n'roll as an art form of offence appeared to have reached its apogee in the work of the late GG Allin. Allin delighted the American hardcore rock'n'roll scene of the late 80s and early 90s by performing naked, having swallowed vast amounts of laxatives, before bellowing violently misanthropic lyrics, maiming himself, defecating on stage, throwing his excrement into the crowd, and inflicting often actionable degrees of physical damage on audience members. But at heart, Allin was still an entertainer, pledged to put on a good show for the paying public, no different to TV's Dara O'Briain or world war two's Dame Vera Lynn.
Though he had always promised to commit suicide during a show, a defeated Allin finally walked off stage in Manhattan in June 1993, sporting just soiled briefs, his body smeared with blood and droppings, and into a fatal heroin overdose. Gary Barlow, in contrast, performed before the Queen at her Diamond Jubilee concert wearing a scrupulously clean thong, received an OBE for his services to charity in 2012, and once climbed Kilimanjaro with Fearne Cotton for Comic Relief, the latter an image more disturbing than anything a Google of Allin will throw up.
But, to paraphrase an old vaudeville act, who is the real sick man? Is it GG Allin, singing Bite It You Scum in dirty knickers, beating himself over the head with the microphone until his skull bleeds, masturbating furiously, and kicking audience members in the teeth? Or is it Gary Barlow of Take That, in his suit and tie, conscientiously following his accountant's advice to invest in a tax avoidance scheme, while soliciting other people's money for charity and denying the most vulnerable members of society the benefit of his personal financial contribution? It is Gary Barlow. Obviously.
In Hated, a documentary about his former employer, GG Allin's drummer, Donald "Dino Sex" Sachs, suggests Allin's scatological, sadomasochistic performances had some satirical purpose, or were a form of social commentary; that Allin intended to compare his own zany plop antics with "a society that's going crazy with violence". I wish that were true, though I'm not sure Allin's posthumous body of work has the rigorous theoretical scaffolding required to sustain a consistent ideological or aesthetic position. That said, there doesn't seem to have been much difference between Allin's private faces and his public faeces.
Gary Barlow is a far more complex character than GG Allin, despite also choosing to place his artworks within the broad field of light entertainment. Though convicted of an appallingly violent assault in 1989, Allin was nonetheless a kind of punk bouffon, and one that the clown guru Philippe Gaulier would have recognised, inviting us to hate him, self-consciously taking on the mantle of the folk devil. In contrast to Allin, Gary Barlow accepted an OBE publicly for his good works, despite privately playing his part in closing hospitals, schools, shelters, and women's refuges across the land. Allin's life was a performance. Barlow's life is an act.
The paper trail linking Gary Barlow to a homeless man expiring in an empty building is convoluted. Allin's culpability follows a more obvious sequence of cause and effect. He ate laxatives. This caused him to soil himself. He then threw his filth around, and if it hit you in the face you might get an illness. But compared with Barlow's tax avoidance, Allin's actions seem simple, uncontrived, honest – noble, even. His onstage offences were transient, as ephemeral as the sudden impact of a ball of dung in the eye. But who knows at what age Barlow began planning to present the public face of a charitable do-gooder, while secretly scheming to deprive the weak and vulnerable of succour, if indeed he ever did so? To quote Karlheinz Stockhausen's oft-misunderstood comments on the 9/11 atrocity, Barlow's career might be the devil's "greatest work of art that is possible in the whole cosmos". Allin aimed to be the ultimate rock'n'roll degenerate, but as an icon of filth, Barlow has surpassed him.
To be charitable to Barlow, we might perhaps see the same sort of satirical purpose in songs like "Back For Good", "Shine" and the other ones, all of which now taste of ashes and earwax, that defenders of GG Allin attribute to songs like "Kiss Me In The Gutter" and "Suck My Ass It Smells". In creating this "Gary Barlow" character, who raises money for charity while simultaneously trampling our shared values into the urinal trough, was Barlow in fact (like the comedy of Jimmy Carr or Ricky Gervais at its best) holding up a mirror to society, magnifying our hypocrisy through the lens of his own actions? Who can say? But the fact remains, today's young people, anxious to offend as ever, need to embrace the opportunity Barlow has offered them to discover an avatar of offence that is entirely appropriate to our corrupt era.
Grubby T-shirts of Vicious and Cobain and Doherty all seem so 20th century. In the current climate of cuts and austerity, drugs and violence are silly schoolyard crimes compared with massive corporate and individual tax avoidance. In 1976, Vivienne Westwood made T-shirts of a violent masked criminal. Couldn't some enterprising young fashion designer today employ Barlow's Cameron-endorsed visage as a similar cipher for off-the-peg prêt-a-porter moral transgression? How brilliantly and thrillingly offensive would it be for today's teens to parade around in T-shirts bearing the smiling face of Gary Barlow, OBE?
Stewart Lee is appearing free for charity at standup comedy benefits almost weekly for the rest of the year, as usual. See stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2014-05-18T13:16:45+01:00
Last week it was confirmed that Gary Barlow, Mark Owen and Howard "the duck" Donald, the key talents of legendary rock'n'rollers Take That, hid £63m in the Icebreaker tax avoidance scheme. Barlow's crime may cause short-lived shame, but it could guarantee the Take That frontispiece an eternal place in the rock'n'roll annals that his music (a regular presence on David Cameron's Spotify account) might not. Sid Vicious, Pete Doherty and Screaming Lord Sutch can step down. Gary Barlow is now the most offensive rock'n'roller of all! Rock'n'roll has always given young people the means to offend the petty sensibilities of society, from Elvis Presley's lascivious legs and Freddie Garrity's cruel dances, via the furious bile of punk rock'n'rollers the Jags, Bad Manners and the Pork Dukes, to the sexual explosives of Bucks Fizz's Eurovision thighs, Miley Cyrus's plucked chicken wrecking-ball lick, and Dennis Roussos's diaphanous sack. But for me, and many other part-time pop cultural critics, rock'n'roll as an art form of offence appeared to have reached its apogee in the work of the late GG Allin. Allin delighted the American hardcore rock'n'roll scene of the late 80s and early 90s by performing naked, having swallowed vast amounts of laxatives, before bellowing violently misanthropic lyrics, maiming himself, defecating on stage, throwing his excrement into the crowd, and inflicting often actionable degrees of physical damage on audience members. But at heart, Allin was still an entertainer, pledged to put on a good show for the paying public, no different to TV's Dara O'Briain or world war two's Dame Vera Lynn. Though he had always promised to commit suicide during a show, a defeated Allin finally walked off stage in Manhattan in June 1993, sporting just soiled briefs, his body smeared with blood and droppings, and into a fatal heroin overdose. Gary Barlow,...
Hibernation is over! Outside our front window, sex workers comfort strangers again, and opposite Sainsbury’s men fight with their shirts off, like boar or rutting stags, arousing passing women, loveless for too long in lockdown. And in Parliament Square, Winston Churchill emerges from his winter wooden box, snuffling the virus-free air like a cocaine groundhog. It’s past midsummer, and spring has finally sprung.
By a strange coincidence, I actually saw the controversial statue of controversial Winston Churchill unveiled. It was November 1973, I was five years old, my mum had taken me to London for the first time, and we stumbled into the ceremony. A friendly man put me on his shoulders, unimaginable today, not least because I am now too heavy to go on some waterslides. At the time, I did think it was odd that he made me sit facing him. Edward Heath appeared to salute us.
Ever since then I have been fascinated by the statue’s creator, Ivor Roberts-Jones, who incorporated bulky abstraction into Churchill’s historical reality, the image both mythic and figurative, an impression of Churchill that neither endorses nor condemns him. I believe I observed this to the stranger whose shoulders I sat on during the unveiling, but to no avail, as my thighs were clamped over his ears.
For me, the statue is a marker in the sands of time. So, on the last Friday evening before the prime minister reduced the 2-metre rule, and in the week of my late mother’s birthday, I decided to walk 16 memorial miles to and from the statue we saw unveiled together, through the now-silent city that first bustled in my brain in 1973. I still think Roberts-Jones’s Churchill statue is a brilliant work. I also think some things Churchill said are racist.
In 1937, Churchill explained: “I do not admit that a great wrong has been done to the Red Indians of America or the black people of Australia. A stronger race, a higher-grade race, a more worldly wise race, to put it that way, has come in and taken their place.” Perhaps today Churchill would have floated the idea that “taking a knee” was from Game of Thrones, like the sadly mistaken Dominic Raab, a man who expresses his opinions with the caution of a terrorist strapping an explosive to a dog and shooing it into a crowded market?
To be fair, in the 1970s, even my gran probably thought much the same thing as Churchill, though she never had the opportunity to put her philosophy into action, beyond turning off a 1974 edition of Top of the Pops when Ken Boothe sang Everything I Own. It should be noted, for balance, she hated all continental Europeans too, on account of their toilets, which were just filthy holes in the floor.
Should the Churchill statue stay? Our prime minister says efforts to remove statues are “a great lie, a distortion of our history – like some public figure furtively trying to make themselves look better by editing their own Wikipedia entry”. This is an idea the prime minister would understand well, as his handler Dominic Cumming’s old blogs were recently altered to make it look as if he had predicted the coronavirus in 2019, and the last Conservative election campaign used re-edited news footage to discredit Keir Starmer. Some distortions of history don’t matter.
In 1973, my mum was listening to Neil Diamond’s soundtrack to Jonathan Livingston Seagull, which is about a seagull who, instead of stealing chips and shitting everywhere, is a metaphor for something. I resolved, once I had reached my destination, to mount a copy of its sleeve on the wooden crate surrounding the statue. I scanned the album cover but I couldn’t print it as there were no HP 304 printer cartridges left in the whole world. So I drew a scale copy in felt pen, attempting to blend abstraction with reality in the fashion of Ivor Roberts-Jones himself. Then I set off, Sellotape ™ ® in pocket, on my two-hour twilight trek to Parliament Square, my seashore sunset Neil Diamond silhouette looking more like a sickly mantis crouching over a puddle of urine.
Perhaps the answer is not to tear down the statues that offend us, but to supplement them with others that more accurately reflect modern British life. Perhaps Parliament Square is the place for a statue of Marcus Rashford, raised like me by a single mother, and thus in the prime minister’s words “ill-raised, ignorant, aggressive and illegitimate”, who forced a government U-turn on free school meals? Or of the Black Lives Matter protester Patrick Hutchinson, who scooped up a fallen counter-demonstrator and saved his life?
Some Conservative MPs made an equivalence between the largely peaceful Black Lives Matter protests and the following weekend’s coke-and-boozed fuelled fascist riot of misspelled flags and racist polyphony. In the interests of balance, should the square also feature a marble effigy of Andrew Banks, the football fan who urinated next to a policeman’s memorial? Banks could be rendered in the form of Jérôme Duquesnoy the Elder’s Manneken Pis, tinkling sombrely for all eternity, perhaps into the face of Churchill himself.
When I arrived at the statue the boards had already been taken down, and I sat and stared at it, secretly relieved I wasn’t obliged to enact my ritual. It seemed the folded Diamond drawing had fallen out of my pocket somewhere anyway. I started walking home through Covent Garden. A pub was serving takeaways through a window so I had my first proper pint for three months and drank it alone, high on unfamiliar exercise endorphins and cold beer, staring up through the midsummer twilight at the architecture of the Masonic Temple. When I was a boy, it was the source of the small charity bursary my mother secured, for “orphans, waifs and strays”. I don’t suppose that Churchill statue will ever mean to anyone else what it now means to me.
Stewart Lee
2020-06-28T14:44:11+01:00
Hibernation is over! Outside our front window, sex workers comfort strangers again, and opposite Sainsbury’s men fight with their shirts off, like boar or rutting stags, arousing passing women, loveless for too long in lockdown. And in Parliament Square, Winston Churchill emerges from his winter wooden box, snuffling the virus-free air like a cocaine groundhog. It’s past midsummer, and spring has finally sprung. By a strange coincidence, I actually saw the controversial statue of controversial Winston Churchill unveiled. It was November 1973, I was five years old, my mum had taken me to London for the first time, and we stumbled into the ceremony. A friendly man put me on his shoulders, unimaginable today, not least because I am now too heavy to go on some waterslides. At the time, I did think it was odd that he made me sit facing him. Edward Heath appeared to salute us. Ever since then I have been fascinated by the statue’s creator, Ivor Roberts-Jones, who incorporated bulky abstraction into Churchill’s historical reality, the image both mythic and figurative, an impression of Churchill that neither endorses nor condemns him. I believe I observed this to the stranger whose shoulders I sat on during the unveiling, but to no avail, as my thighs were clamped over his ears. For me, the statue is a marker in the sands of time. So, on the last Friday evening before the prime minister reduced the 2-metre rule, and in the week of my late mother’s birthday, I decided to walk 16 memorial miles to and from the statue we saw unveiled together, through the now-silent city that first bustled in my brain in 1973. I still think Roberts-Jones’s Churchill statue is a brilliant work. I also think some things Churchill said are racist. In 1937, Churchill explained:...
If you couldn’t make it to A Room With a Stew at the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds on Tuesday evening, you unfortunately missed a brilliant night’s comedy in one of Suffolk’s cosiest venues.
Don’t feel too disheartened, though. Stewart Lee is using this tour to create new material for his upcoming series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, so you’ll get to see a developed version of the show later this year.
This is the second time Stewart Lee has performed at Bury’s Theatre Royal, and he uses this to great advantage. He played a benefit at the theatre Royal to fund its restoration back in 2005, and makes constant references to the ‘good old days’ of the theatre. He says he preferred the theatre before its restoration, and doesn’t appreciate people bringing friends who haven’t heard of him. He ribs anyone sitting in the upper circles for being an arrogant snob. Take this with a pinch of salt. Despite his grumpy old man persona, Stewart Lee is almost certainly a big softie.
Although many comedians give the seemingly obligatory ‘shout out’ to wherever they’re performing, Stewart Lee is one who’s actually done his research. He knows all about St Edmund, and the wolves that ate his head. The village of Hoxne and the Eastern Angles Theatre Company also receive a special mention (although he suspects Hoxne is full of UKIP supporters – not sure why).
Since A Room With A Stew is, by Stewart Lee’s own admission, a work in progress for his new TV series, the structure is quite loose. He starts by outlining his set, but swaps things around depending on how the performance is going. However, at no point does he seem woolly or unprepared. If he didn’t tell the audience when he thought things weren’t going so well, they wouldn’t have a clue. Like many great minds, Stewart Lee is his own worst critic.
As ever, Stewart Lee’s comedy remains deeply political. He may not be happy with the outcome of May’s General Election, but it has certainly inspired some witty material. His fans will be unsurprised that ‘Paul Nuttall of the UKIPs’ features very heavily. Nor that Islamophobia, Britain First, and the class system all receive a heavy bashing. Nobody could have predicted the twenty minutes he did on urine, though.
And of course, it wouldn’t be a Stewart Lee gig without his trademark ‘repeating the same thing over and over again until you’re not sure whether it’s awkward or funny’. It’s both awkward and funny. The new series of Comedy Vehicle can’t come soon enough.
Stewart Lee
2015-05-19T15:59:13+01:00
If you couldn’t make it to A Room With a Stew at the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds on Tuesday evening, you unfortunately missed a brilliant night’s comedy in one of Suffolk’s cosiest venues. Don’t feel too disheartened, though. Stewart Lee is using this tour to create new material for his upcoming series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, so you’ll get to see a developed version of the show later this year. This is the second time Stewart Lee has performed at Bury’s Theatre Royal, and he uses this to great advantage. He played a benefit at the theatre Royal to fund its restoration back in 2005, and makes constant references to the ‘good old days’ of the theatre. He says he preferred the theatre before its restoration, and doesn’t appreciate people bringing friends who haven’t heard of him. He ribs anyone sitting in the upper circles for being an arrogant snob. Take this with a pinch of salt. Despite his grumpy old man persona, Stewart Lee is almost certainly a big softie. Although many comedians give the seemingly obligatory ‘shout out’ to wherever they’re performing, Stewart Lee is one who’s actually done his research. He knows all about St Edmund, and the wolves that ate his head. The village of Hoxne and the Eastern Angles Theatre Company also receive a special mention (although he suspects Hoxne is full of UKIP supporters – not sure why). Since A Room With A Stew is, by Stewart Lee’s own admission, a work in progress for his new TV series, the structure is quite loose. He starts by outlining his set, but swaps things around depending on how the performance is going. However, at no point does he seem woolly or unprepared. If he didn’t tell the audience when he thought things...
Award-winning comedian Stewart Lee brings his A Room With A Stew to the Theatre Royal Bath on Monday January, 18.
A Room With A Stew, is a work in progress towards the material for Series 4 of the triple BAFTA nominated Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Throughout this extensive tour, the comedian will explore new subjects, try-out brand new material and will cut and add sections ... see it live now ahead of transmission.
Max Castle spoke to Stewart to find out more:
What is the idea of the Room With A Stew tour?
Stewart: There's a fourth series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle for BBC2 in the spring of 2016, so I am trying to work out six half hours of new material, which I will be working out on this tour.
Most stand-up comedians on television use teams of writers now like in the 1970s, although they don't admit to it, but that doesn't really work for me because I don't really do jokes as such.
It's more about mood and attitude so you can't just buy in things wholesale from the anonymous humour content providers that all the others use.
It is quite hard to generate that amount of material, even if you talk as slowly as I do, and repeat yourself all the time, and use pauses.
The tour is billed as work in progress towards the TV series, and prices are pegged a bit lower than the other TV stand-ups wherever the theatres will allow it, and where we've managed to stop tickets showing up on tout websites like Stub Hub at massively inflated rates.
Hopefully, as it continues, I'll have about three hours of material on the go, although I won't perform all of it every night!
How is the writing of the tour and the fourth series going?
Well, it's a challenge this time. I've got three or four half hours on the go which are coming together nicely but the news is so volatile at the moment.
I recently re-jigged and expanded an old bit about the banal tabloid newspaper assumption that comedians need to do more anti-Islamic stuff, and don't because they are scared, and this bit was working quite well. But since the Charlie Hebdo murders people's reactions to it are all over the place.
You can't really use irony because people in the public eye have said much worse things for real than comedians would say as jokes.
I have a funny half hour on the go about UKIP but any massive fall or rise in their fortunes would probably change how it works.
Initially I was worried about doing it on tour because Paul Nuttalls of UKIP was leading a campaign to have comedians that did jokes about UKIP banned from theatres, but he seems to be saying the opposite of that since the Charlie Hebdo murders.
He is now saying that making jokes is a democratic right in a free society so I am pleased about that.
I mean, I've got kids and a mortgage and this is my job, and you do worry about would you be allowed to carry on working if a far right group like UKIP got in.
I've got another half hour on poverty, which is always going to be topical sadly, and a bit on urine, which I think is timeless.
Will touring help you to generate material?
I'm really excited about going on the road. I like sitting in the van and having music on in the day, even though I miss the kids.
But I can't remember a time in my life when the country has seemed so fragmented in terms of politics, culture, wealth, attitudes, so it's going to be fun seeing how badly and well different bits go in different places and then bringing what I've learned from that to bear on the finished routines when I film them for the telly.
In the '90s, when comedy was labelled "The New Rock and Roll", you were a kind of youthful comedy pin-up. But now you are really showing your age, and no-one is going to buy a ticket to see you based on your looks. Do you feel ashamed of what has happened to you?
Well, I find that question quite offensive. You're comparing a man in his late 40s to a boy barely out of his teens, and I don't think many people would benefit from that comparison. I am what I am.
In a way my physical collapse has been a huge advantage, it's given the stage me some tragedy, some gravity.
Also I am going deaf, and now wear hearing aids, which has been an interesting challenge on stage.
My knees are shattered and don't work – I think I ruined them during the 200 dates I did of a show where I pretended to be Jeremy Clarkson kicking a tramp to death – and that has had an interesting effect on my physicality.
If I jump off stage now or climb things there's a genuine element of pain and danger. I'm like Eddie The Eagle or something.
Stewart Lee: A Room With A Stew tours to the Theatre Royal Bath on Monday, January 18 at 7.30pm. Only a handful of standby tickets priced at £15 each are now available – maximum two per person – from the Theatre Royal's box office on 01225 448844.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-12T19:12:44+00:00
Award-winning comedian Stewart Lee brings his A Room With A Stew to the Theatre Royal Bath on Monday January, 18. A Room With A Stew, is a work in progress towards the material for Series 4 of the triple BAFTA nominated Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. Throughout this extensive tour, the comedian will explore new subjects, try-out brand new material and will cut and add sections ... see it live now ahead of transmission. Max Castle spoke to Stewart to find out more: What is the idea of the Room With A Stew tour? Stewart: There's a fourth series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle for BBC2 in the spring of 2016, so I am trying to work out six half hours of new material, which I will be working out on this tour. Most stand-up comedians on television use teams of writers now like in the 1970s, although they don't admit to it, but that doesn't really work for me because I don't really do jokes as such. It's more about mood and attitude so you can't just buy in things wholesale from the anonymous humour content providers that all the others use. It is quite hard to generate that amount of material, even if you talk as slowly as I do, and repeat yourself all the time, and use pauses. The tour is billed as work in progress towards the TV series, and prices are pegged a bit lower than the other TV stand-ups wherever the theatres will allow it, and where we've managed to stop tickets showing up on tout websites like Stub Hub at massively inflated rates. Hopefully, as it continues, I'll have about three hours of material on the go, although I won't perform all of it every night! How is the writing of the tour and...
Two books bestrode my childhood, and made me the man I am: The Magic Bridle, a collection of British and Irish myths retold by the folklorist Forbes Stuart, which ignited my six-year-old imagination in 1974, and Mysterious Britain by Janet and Colin Bord, published two years earlier, and part of a then burgeoning bookseller phenomenon of often unreliable Earth mysteries compendiums. Nonetheless, they set this particular boy off, seeking out ancient sites whenever possible. Now everything has wilted but I still have calves of iron, and I can identify the outline of a hilltop earthwork from a moving car on a motorway as surely as a falcon seeing a field mouse 500 feet below.
Through childhood and adolescence I worked towards my targets, assembling my own apostolic archive of similar but unrelated 70s texts, light on detail and heavy on conjecture. Where were these places of power? I would see them! “You and your old ruins!” my gran would cluck dismissively, as I politely requested we broke our Morris Marina journey southwest to the caravan site, at Stanton Drew or Glastonbury.
And when I stumbled in my cub-scout shorts to find the Longstone Barrow, which I had only seen in a blurred pamphlet picture, my divorcee dad waited patiently in a car at the bottom of Challacombe Common, counting down the functional alcoholic hours to opening time. God bless him! Today I feel his pain. But we were all weird walking blind back then, confused men with their hands on the shoulders of the equally confused man in front, seeking silhouettes of standing stones in the mists of imaginary moors.
And then, in the closing hours of the 20th century, came Julian Cope’s The Modern Antiquarian, a landmark practical tome for the would-be site-seeker, served up in its own mud-proof slipcase, synthesising archaeology, folklore, grid references, helpful full-colour maps, parking advice and a small smidgeon of Cope’s own eccentric interpretations, often later validated by reluctantly admiring academics. The stones were stages! Rock and roll! It was a game-changer, and Cope opened up the crack in the Devil’s Grave of our folkloric landscape to all, like the wizard of Alderley Edge.
But Weird Walk is not The Modern Antiquarian. If anything, the three Weird Walkers, whoever they may be, have returned the love of folk tales, ancient sites and the perambulations that lead one to their locations even more defiantly to the realm of the gentleman and gentlewoman amateurs who first documented them. The sensibly shod 17th-century parson, mapping the megaliths between funerals and marriages, and the aristocratic antiquary, pleading with some Cornish farmer to spare the collapsed burial chamber whose capstone he had earmarked for a pigsty, would recognise the Weird Walkers as kindred spirits. No one knows who they are, or what they are doing.
And yet, in their costly boots and cagoules, they seem to have stumbled into something. They walk the landscape in the shadows of the seasons as we used to experience them before they blurred, reminding us of how we once measured out the increments of our humanity, and etched it into rock and earth, in the annual cycles of rotting and rebirth. When we lose this knowledge, we are lost. We’re probably lost anyway to be honest, but fuck it, let’s go down drunk and walking weird.
Dartmoor is a weird place; temporal dislocation comes with the territory. Wayfinding is not easy among this gorse, these rambling tors and secluded brooks. And when an autumn mist descends, you can be transported: a bronze age farmer to your left, a medieval tin miner to your right, and up ahead the lord of the manor has antiquarian ambitions. He’s just repositioned those stones. The earth gnomes don’t approve.
The stretch of moor between the storied Warren House Inn and the foreboding interwar plantation of Fernworthy Forest is classic Dartmoor; the grasses are thick underfoot and marshy ground emerges without warning, saturated by the capricious weather. Long ago, the moorland here would have rolled uninterrupted and Fernworthy’s ancient monuments would have been as exposed as their neighbours at Merrivale or the Grey Wethers. Now, the break with the moor is absolute, and dark evergreens offer up an entrance out of a Grimm’s tale. Once inside, the silent monoculture can provide even the warmest October day with an eerie chill.
Near the edge of the forest sits Assycombe double stone row, Fernworthy’s planters helpfully leaving a gap between the saplings for the stones to breathe. Although little known, it is a remarkable monument that seems to tumble down its grassy hill, the irregular miniliths descending like a dragon’s spine from an initial menhir to a large blocking stone at the foot of the slope.
Assycombe is one of the many stone rows on Dartmoor thought by early antiquarians, such as Richard Polwhele, to be “Druid ways”. They are scattered across the landscape, sometimes barely discernible, but always potent in their imaginative value. Walking these ancient lines creates an access point, a connection to those who walked them long ago.
Following the track from Assycombe, deeper into the plantation, will eventually bring you to the reservoir that dominates the area. Built during the second world war, its construction was not without incident. Fernworthy Farm, which could trace its ancestry back to the Middle Ages, was among the buildings demolished to make way for the dam and reservoir. When it was standing, locals told of a curse laid upon the farm by the earth gnomes who dwell beneath the moor.
So infuriated were the gnomes by the quarrying of their finest granite to rebuild the farmhouse at Fernworthy that they stole the firstborn child of the farmer who had committed the sin. On Dartmoor, “don’t upset the gnomes” seems to come pretty high on the list of folk rules.
Working around the body of water as it lies today, it’s an easy stroll to the mysterious stone circle of Froggymead, its name nodding to its marshy location. A bronze age circle of some 29 stones, it is a wonderfully meditative place. Stone rows, albeit damaged by all that tree planting, can be seen to the north and south of the site. Froggymead (also known as Fernworthy stone circle) makes a vibe-laden picnic spot and, from here, there’s the option to continue out of the forest to the Grey Wethers.
Consisting of two stunning stone circles, the Grey Wethers are one of the megalithic highlights of this part of the world. Their position makes them even more appealing – you’re likely to be sharing the circles with relatively few visitors or perhaps only the skylarks that dance overhead.
From the Grey Wethers, you can head back through the forest for a pint at the Warren House Inn: a fine place to wind up after a day’s yomping. Its fire has been burning solidly since the current building was put up in 1845 and, as one of the highest and most isolated pubs in England, visitors have often welcomed the warmth, especially when autumn arrives.
The inn has its share of tales told around the fire, a favourite being “The Salted Corpse”. This yarn tells of a traveller staying overnight who opens up an intriguing chest in his room. To his horror, he finds himself gazing upon the face of a dead man. Suspecting murder, he rushes to the landlord, who casually informs him that “tis only father”, the old man having been salted down and stored until the trip can be made from the remote inn to Lydford for burial.
Dartmoor is not as out of the way as it once was, and we would hope that there is less need to reach for the salt cellar these days. However, this land has somehow managed to retain a peculiar flavour of isolation well into the 21st century, and, especially away from its most-frequented spots, it still holds almost limitless possibilities for exploration.
Walk notes
Covered on map OS Explorer OL28. There are several parking spots near the Warren House Inn (SX 67423 80944) and from here we made our way across the moor to Fernworthy Forest. As with any moorland walking, this is a map and compass job, best done with pals and all the requisite gear. We entered the forest at SX 66068 81902. Assycombe stone row can be found at SX 66096 82641. From here, you can walk through the forest, skirting the reservoir, to Froggymead at SX 65486 84127. The walk can be extended out of the trees to the Grey Wethers at SX 63869 83134. The nearby Bronze Age settlement of Grimspound (SX 70051 80904) is a two miles walk across the moor from the Warren House Inn and is highly recommended. Absolutely rife with vibes.
Tigh nam Bodach, Perth and Kinross
Tigh nam Bodach is one of Britain’s most enigmatic and isolated ritual sites. This simple pagan shrine sits below snow-capped peaks in a side valley of the mighty Glen Lyon, the longest enclosed glen in Scotland and, according to Sir Walter Scott, the “loneliest and loveliest” too. Outside a modest yet beautifully constructed shelter sits a family of Gaelic myth, headed by a mysterious goddess, the Cailleach. The goddess, her husband (the Bodach of the shrine’s name) and their children are all represented by strangely humanoid stones, which have been shaped over millennia by the fast-flowing Allt na Cailliche stream. At Beltane, on 1 May, locals take the stone family from their house to watch over the land and ensure its fertility, ritually returning them inside on Samhain, 1 November.
The journey to Tigh nam Bodach often begins by driving some 10 miles down a single-track road through stunning scenery to Lubreoch dam at the western end of Glen Lyon. The road runs out at the enormous dam, which holds Loch Lyon at bay in the name of hydroelectricity. From here, a rough track climbs around the loch through a towering landscape of mountains and waterfalls for around six miles to the shrine.
In its eastern section, near the dam itself, the loch has an unusually industrial aspect; the many waterfalls that tumble down from on high are occasionally directed by steel outflow pipes beneath the track. Thankfully, no structures other than a handy wooden bridge interfere with the magnificent Eos Eoghannan waterfall that soon crosses your path, its ravine populated with rowan and birch.
Running through modern Scottish and Irish mythology, the legend of the Cailleach may well have begun life in literature before tumbling into the world of folklore. The goddess is a shaper of mountains and wild places, a bringer of storms and winter. Although it is unclear how old the animistic practices associated with Tigh nam Bodach actually are (some say they were developed in the 18th or 19th centuries by shepherds), the place names in this landscape certainly suggest a venerable association with the goddess.
Turning away from the loch, the track leads you up towards even more impressive mountains, speckled with snow. Here there are streams to cross that can feel more like rivers following a downpour. After the stepping stone crossing of Allt Meurain stream, you climb into Glen Cailliche. This is very much the goddess’s territory, with the powerful Allt na Cailliche running alongside the track. When the shrine is finally spied, it is hard not to run over the marshy ground in excitement, greeting (but not handling, of course) the sacred stones like old friends. The family’s modest home is modelled on a shieling, the simple house once used by farmers in the summer months up in the glens.
Sitting in front of Tigh nam Bodach is a moving experience. The stones themselves seem genuinely imbued with life, appearing at once vulnerable and impervious to the whims of time. Pilgrims have left items around the shrine – a wooden star, a ram’s horn, a piece of shining quartz. Few sites tell of our connection to the seasons and the land like this. In its simple, localised ritual practice, Tigh nam Bodach encapsulates an ancient relationship. The Celtic scholar Anne Ross noted that when the land was flooded, extending the loch for the new dam, there were fewer folk to carry out the ritual. Happily, it has been maintained by Glen Lyon’s shepherds, and, if anything, attachment to the custom has grown even stronger in these parts. When further hydroelectric work threatened to encroach upon the Cailleach’s hidden glen, the plans were soon nixed by concerned locals and academics. Here, the stones still matter.
Walk notes
This walk is covered on OS Explorer OL48. The simplest way to access the site is to find a spot to park at Lubreoch Dam (grid reference NN 45932 41892). You can then walk around Loch Lyon and up to Tigh nam Bodach (NN 38053 42711) which is around six miles away. There are streams to cross, so waterproof footwear is a must. This is a remote one – there’s no phone signal and, being subject to the vicissitudes of the Scottish weather, the right gear is essential. Make sure you have a route mapped and take a pal. Situated at the opposite end of Glen Lyon to Tigh nam Bodach is the village of Fortingall (a fifty-minute drive from Lubreoch Dam), a small place with a hefty mythic pedigree. Fortingall is home to a famous ancient yew tree (some parking at NN 74156 47011), which is thought to be between 2,000 and 3,000 years old. The remnants of three stone circles lie at the eastern edge of the village, close to the River Lyon. Another monument, Càrn na Marbh or “the cairn of the dead”, began life as a Bronze Age burial mound before it was opened in the 14th century to hold the bodies of Fortingall’s plague victims. Further antiquities can be seen in the church, including a Celtic handbell and fragments of Pictish stones.
Trellech, Monmouthshire
Trellech is, in some respects, an uncertain place. The village’s very name is contested – you’ll encounter signs for Tryleg, Trelleck, Trellech and Trelech, depending on the angle of your approach.
There is, however, one thing that Trellech is very definite about: a deep affection for its ancient sites and layers of lore. Trellech’s Rosetta Stone lies inside the church of St Nicholas. Here, the sculpted side panels of a 17th-century sundial bear witness to the village’s mysteries: its mound, its stones and its Virtuous Well. Once standing proud in the village centre, the sundial was moved indoors to protect it from the elements. Observing the venerable, chiselled image of three pagan standing stones within this medieval church is a remarkable thing, and it is certainly worth pretending you can read Latin and donning the attitude of a Jamesian academic as you decipher the inscription, mumbling, “MAIOR SAXIS – greater in its stones; MAXIMA FONTE – greatest in its well”, as though unravelling some ancient riddle.
The mound commemorated on the sundial is known as Tump Terret. Its associated inscription laments “Oh! How many are buried here!” – a reference to the legend that the mound is the resting place of those slain in a conflict between the last crowned Anglo-Saxon English king, Harold Godwinson, and the Welsh. The site has now been identified as the remnants of a small Norman castle which belonged to the De Clare family.
Tump Terret itself emerges ziggurat-like, past swanky barn conversions and their attendant SUVs. This is the remaining motte of the motte and bailey castle, and today its sides ripple with possible paths to the summit, an undulating inverted bowl of green. A summer house was once built on the top of the mound, with flagrant disregard for the supposed curse that befalls those who disturb it. The view over the surrounding landscape perhaps warranted tempting fate. Not far from Tump Terret, and accessed by tracking the route of a stream across a sheep field, lie the three megaliths of Harold’s Stones, a monument that definitely deserves to be more widely known.
The stones have a similar feel to Avebury’s menhirs, whose ancient sacred alignments are juxtaposed with layers of subsequent history within the bounds of an idyllic village. Unlike Avebury’s stones, however, these three are composed of a conglomerate rock called pudding stone, which holds vivid quartz pebbles and lends the megaliths an almost brutalist concrete quality.
Sunrise is the perfect time to visit Harold’s Stones. The early bird is rewarded with a slow reveal of colour, as the stones morph from deep blacks to a complex collection of hues drawn from lichen, shadowed grooves and the unusual conglomerate rock itself.
The folklore, as ever, has had its say on the stones. In one tale, they are said to have arrived in the village when flung from the Black Mountains by the wizard Jack o’ Kent during one of his regular chucking competitions with the devil, although their current name derives from the idea that they mark the site of the defeat of three Welsh elders by King Harold. Their true origins lie much earlier, in the bronze age, but perhaps talk of Harold preserves a folk memory of the stones’ use as an assembly point for those fighting the English king, or even as a site of conflict with the invaders from beyond Offa’s Dyke. However, Trellech’s most important venue may be the well that is found a short walk from Harold’s Stones.
The village is powerfully linked to natural springs and deep wells, and the current Virtuous Well is the last of many ancient springs to be in use here. It is sited next to a stream which flows energetically beneath its footbridge, while nearby trees offer up the colourful tied rags that accompany so many holy springs. Also known as St Anne’s Well, it was once a big draw for pilgrims, the water said to ease ailments of the eyes in particular.
On stepping down into the sunken stone horseshoe of the well, the great age of the place is apparent. Water seeps across ancient flagstones that lead to an arched recess within the far wall. Here, a basin collects the water that bubbles from the underworld, while further recesses provide space for offerings or perhaps cups for those who would have drunk the iron-rich water, the mineral evident in a reddish build-up of sediment between the paving and the wall.
The Virtuous Well remains a meditative place, a reminder of the network of sacred springs in these parts, not least in nearby Ninewells Wood. The well is captured beautifully on a striking modern interpretation of Trellech’s sundial at the village crossroads. Cut from the trunk of a single tree, it incorporates all of the nearby sites of interest. The sculpture is the latest entry in a long tradition of Trellech acknowledging its sites and stories. This is cherished land. And if history is a wondrous palimpsest on these islands, perhaps it is nowhere more so than in this small Monmouthshire village.
Walk notes
There is a small car park at SO 50087 05282. From here you can take in the key sites. The Church of St Nicholas (and its famous sundial) is at SO 50042 05483, and Tump Terret is located at SO 49978 05354. From the Tump, you can follow a signposted path across a sheep field and over the road to Harold’s Stones (SO 49929 05144). On your way to the stones, make a stop at the modern interpretation of the sundial described above (SO 50053 05238). The Virtuous Well can be found at SO 50298 05101. You can soak up the area’s connections to sacred waters with a visit to nearby Ninewells Wood, a beautiful Wye Valley woodland (parking 1.6 miles from Trellech at SO 51501 03827) once renowned for its healing springs. Spotter’s badge if you can find the haunting carving of a fox’s face on the stone stile at SO 51403 03482. It is said to have been the creation of a French prisoner held here during the Napoleonic Wars.
This is an edited extract from Weird Walk (Watkins, £19.99).To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
Stewart Lee
2023-10-28T13:15:27+01:00
Two books bestrode my childhood, and made me the man I am: The Magic Bridle, a collection of British and Irish myths retold by the folklorist Forbes Stuart, which ignited my six-year-old imagination in 1974, and Mysterious Britain by Janet and Colin Bord, published two years earlier, and part of a then burgeoning bookseller phenomenon of often unreliable Earth mysteries compendiums. Nonetheless, they set this particular boy off, seeking out ancient sites whenever possible. Now everything has wilted but I still have calves of iron, and I can identify the outline of a hilltop earthwork from a moving car on a motorway as surely as a falcon seeing a field mouse 500 feet below. Through childhood and adolescence I worked towards my targets, assembling my own apostolic archive of similar but unrelated 70s texts, light on detail and heavy on conjecture. Where were these places of power? I would see them! “You and your old ruins!” my gran would cluck dismissively, as I politely requested we broke our Morris Marina journey southwest to the caravan site, at Stanton Drew or Glastonbury. And when I stumbled in my cub-scout shorts to find the Longstone Barrow, which I had only seen in a blurred pamphlet picture, my divorcee dad waited patiently in a car at the bottom of Challacombe Common, counting down the functional alcoholic hours to opening time. God bless him! Today I feel his pain. But we were all weird walking blind back then, confused men with their hands on the shoulders of the equally confused man in front, seeking silhouettes of standing stones in the mists of imaginary moors. And then, in the closing hours of the 20th century, came Julian Cope’s The Modern Antiquarian, a landmark practical tome for the would-be site-seeker, served up in its own mud-proof...
Fans of Roberts' fulsome free jazz alto blow-outs might have hoped for a few more incantatory explosions before she embarked on Coin Coin, an ongoing conceptual composition exploring of black American identity.
The saxophonist and her sympathetically psychic supporting quartet are intermittently skewed by unwelcome operatic interruptions.
But Roberts' own soulful vocal is a quiet revelation, her 'wordspeak' narration unfolds with an unaffected directness, and when the threads come together, as on Was The Sacred Day, Mississippi Moonchile is a beautiful patchwork.
Stewart Lee
2012-09-30T21:21:59+01:00
Fans of Roberts' fulsome free jazz alto blow-outs might have hoped for a few more incantatory explosions before she embarked on Coin Coin, an ongoing conceptual composition exploring of black American identity. The saxophonist and her sympathetically psychic supporting quartet are intermittently skewed by unwelcome operatic interruptions. But Roberts' own soulful vocal is a quiet revelation, her 'wordspeak' narration unfolds with an unaffected directness, and when the threads come together, as on Was The Sacred Day, Mississippi Moonchile is a beautiful patchwork.
Two lost Hooker albums, from the unloved early '70s, re-emerge. Kabuki Wuki captures the 54 year old blues progenitor selling San Francisco longhairs a live electrified Chicago sound, no less than three re-titled retreads of his Boogie Chillen signature vamp giving intuitive accompanists generous stretching time.
Born In Mississippi is a studio set, marred by massed horns and backing vocalists, but sporting the superb nine minute How Many More Years You Gonna Dog Me 'Round?
Stewart Lee
2014-01-05T20:22:24+00:00
Two lost Hooker albums, from the unloved early '70s, re-emerge. Kabuki Wuki captures the 54 year old blues progenitor selling San Francisco longhairs a live electrified Chicago sound, no less than three re-titled retreads of his Boogie Chillen signature vamp giving intuitive accompanists generous stretching time. Born In Mississippi is a studio set, marred by massed horns and backing vocalists, but sporting the superb nine minute How Many More Years You Gonna Dog Me 'Round?
At my secondary school, a friend of mine pretended to be the confidant of the tragic Scottish child star Lena Zavaroni, maintaining that time away on family holidays was actually spent visiting the ailing singer at her home in Scotland. He even went as far as appearing to receive and engage in phone calls from Zavaroni, presumably by cutting off the call as soon as he picked up the receiver, and acting out a fake one-way conversation. It wasn’t until years after Zavaroni’s death I learned the relationship had been an elaborate, committed, and entirely pointless hoax. No one was impressed by a friendship with the former Opportunity Knocks singer anyway, just baffled. And yet my friend identified, convincingly, as a personal friend of Lena Zavaroni. For about five years. It was an act of insane genius.
For the past week, the national conversation has been dominated by the idea that a school in Rye had defended a child’s right to identify as a cat, subsequently and cynically extrapolated into the idea that woke schools all over the land were encouraging children to identify as animals. The clandestine classroom recording that sparked this moral panic revealed a put-upon teacher discussing complex gender issues with some combative children, clearly under some pressure and concerned for a distressed class member. But at no point was it clear that anyone was identifying as a cat. Or indeed as a dog. A dinosaur. Or a furry. Because at no point did anyone identify as a cat. It didn’t happen.
But by this point the cat that didn’t exist was out of the bag that didn’t exist either. The falsehood-windsock Nick Ferrari, on LBC, hosted a morning phone-in about it; Kemi Badenoch, the minister for women and equalities, demanded an investigation; the prime minister, Rishi Sunak, condemned schools – as it was now assumed the cat-child phenomenon was spreading beyond the lone Rye cesspit that spawned it – for letting children say they were animals, generally (ocelots perhaps, or shrews); and Sir Keir Starmer condemned the practice of animal-child-identification, even though it didn’t happen, which his advisers must have known. It seems Starmer’s hunger for power is so great that not only will he sell out old-school socialists, he will also throw children who never even identified as cats anyway under the bus. Luckily the cat-children don’t exist, so no one was harmed.
But the imaginary cat-child did what was required of her, tapping into the Tories’ carefully fabricated culture war to fill the internet, the press, and the swamps of barely regulated “news” television with distracting stories about cat-identifiers. Meanwhile, disaster capitalism crashed Thames Water, Boris Johnson’s murky relationship with a Russian intelligence-adjacent playboy became ever more dubious, British beaches ran thick with sewage as the summer getaway season loomed, and Texas threatened to become too hot for human habitation. The news was smouldering. The Tories were putting out fires with cat-people.
The government has made poor progress towards net zero and is now committed to opening a new coalmine in Cumbria. What can be done? On Wednesday, at Lord’s, brave Just Stop Oil protesters invaded the pitch and were arrested. I’m not a fan of cricket, and associate it with standing around bored before having my penis and testicles felt by a breathless old man apparently checking to see if I had showered after games. But the square world’s objection to Just Stop Oil is that they are stopping decent people getting to work. Now they’re not allowed to disrupt a sport game either, even one that moves so slowly no one would notice if it had stopped anyway. So how does one protest exactly, in post-police bill Britain?
The photos from the Ashes, of heroic Just Stop Oil protesters being brought down by uniformed sport primates, in striking clouds of orange dust, are already iconic. And one day soon, as the Earth itself turns to actual ashes, they will take on the same status as all those other unforgettable news images: that lone Tiananmen Square protester in front of a tank; that flag raised at Iwo Jima; that hooded Abu Ghraib detainee; that starving child stalked by an opportunistic vulture; that Saigon street execution; those civil rights Olympics salutes; that napalmed nine-year-old; and that post-party Boris Johnson, clearly still off his tits at an Italian airport, having met a former KGB agent.
Imagine, if instead of carrying that bold dust-chucker off the cricket field to the cheers of the foolish crowd, idly accepting the collective suicide of their species and the death-by-negligence of their planet, the cricketer Jonny Bairstow had made a different choice at this sliding-doors moment of his life. What if the athlete had had the intelligence to take the protester’s hand, present them to the audience, and invite the world to applaud them for their courage? Then he could have made a difference. But instead Bairstow, like so many others, missed his moment, his chance to help. And one day the cricket player’s own children, as they watch the world die in real time around them, will curse his terrible error of judgment, his unwitting role as the unpaid enforcer for big oil and the climate crisis denialists, the worst people on earth.
But never mind. Somewhere, someone didn’t identify as a cat, and the front pages roll forward and the pundits step up to their microphones, with endless comment on something unimportant that didn’t even happen. And as the world of tomorrow burns, when the image of Bairstow carrying a Just Stop Oil protester away from the cricket competition is reflected upon by the dying, only one hero will emerge from the picture. And it absolutely won’t be Jonny Bairstow.
Stewart Lee
2023-07-02T16:46:02+01:00
At my secondary school, a friend of mine pretended to be the confidant of the tragic Scottish child star Lena Zavaroni, maintaining that time away on family holidays was actually spent visiting the ailing singer at her home in Scotland. He even went as far as appearing to receive and engage in phone calls from Zavaroni, presumably by cutting off the call as soon as he picked up the receiver, and acting out a fake one-way conversation. It wasn’t until years after Zavaroni’s death I learned the relationship had been an elaborate, committed, and entirely pointless hoax. No one was impressed by a friendship with the former Opportunity Knocks singer anyway, just baffled. And yet my friend identified, convincingly, as a personal friend of Lena Zavaroni. For about five years. It was an act of insane genius. For the past week, the national conversation has been dominated by the idea that a school in Rye had defended a child’s right to identify as a cat, subsequently and cynically extrapolated into the idea that woke schools all over the land were encouraging children to identify as animals. The clandestine classroom recording that sparked this moral panic revealed a put-upon teacher discussing complex gender issues with some combative children, clearly under some pressure and concerned for a distressed class member. But at no point was it clear that anyone was identifying as a cat. Or indeed as a dog. A dinosaur. Or a furry. Because at no point did anyone identify as a cat. It didn’t happen. But by this point the cat that didn’t exist was out of the bag that didn’t exist either. The falsehood-windsock Nick Ferrari, on LBC, hosted a morning phone-in about it; Kemi Badenoch, the minister for women and equalities, demanded an investigation; the prime minister, Rishi...
Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ Get-Brexit-Done Johnson is finally your elected prime minister! And the past decade’s worth of my multi-award-winning satirical standup sets seem like the sagely predictions of a seer.
Sometimes I scare myself and I am a familiar face at the TK Maxx emergency underwear counter. Young activists in the Labour party recognise me as a doom barometer, and tremble when they encounter me. I agreed to meet some of the optimistic hope vessels for a brain-storming session and suggested a fashionably minimalist Dalston bar called Untitled, as if to satirise the youthful city-dwelling socialists’ perceived cultural isolationism.
In Workington, for example, pubs still have the names of actual things: the Henry Bessemer is named after the inventor of the Bessemer steel manufacturing process; the Pack Horse is named after an actual horse that did actual work, exactly the kind of horse with genuine non-racist anxieties about foreign horses that is now deserting the Labour party in droves; and there’s Vinnie’s Bar, which is probably named after Vinnie Jones. Or Vinnie Vincent, who replaced Ace Frehley in Kiss. Either way, it isn’t named after something that isn’t even a thing, like a bar in Hackney called Untitled where metropolitan liberal elitists go.
“Should shell-shocked Labour double down with a new leader from its far left again or aim for the centre ground,” I opined, as the activists licked their alcopopsicles. “Sadly, no Labour leader, however convincing, can win an election while the lies of unregulated social media, the false claims of the Conservatives themselves and both the bias and impotence of mainstream media all remain untreated. In short, it doesn’t matter whose head is thrust into the threshing machine. They will still come back with a severely threshed head.” The youngsters nodded in baffled agreement at my aged wisdom.
“A Frankingstein assembled from leftover body parts attractive both to the wine-quaffing, avocado-crushing, lentil-souffle-nibbling, champagne-socialist hypocrites of Hackney and the chip-butty-gobbling, fish-gut-snuffling, raw-offal-scoffing racist troglodytes of Hull will never fly,” I continued, holding forth. “And yet the Labour party thinks it needs to unite these two incompatible, and quite frankly vile and unacceptable, stereotypes.”
“Then how,” asked one young woman, her mascara still smeared from days of unstinting weeping, “do we unite Labour supporters in constituencies as different as Hull and Hackney? I’ve never been to Hull, but I am told it is not the same as London at all. Do they have any of those cafes that only serve breakfast cereals, for example?”
“Deluded strategists think the Hull-Hackney divide could be bridged by choosing Rebecca Long-Bailey as leader,” I condescended, “as long as she is made to visit more fringe-theatre productions, go around on a bike towing a trailer full of children in £28 Cath Kidston bobble hats and be photographed at Glastonbury dancing to Toots and the Maytals. Others think the solution is as simple as electing Keir Starmer leader, but never allowing him to appear anywhere except at bookmakers and never without mushy peas, curry sauce and saveloy dip smeared all round his mouth.”
“You can get all mushy peas in the chip shop opposite the cemetery,” piped up Dan, hopefully. “Shall I ask them who their supplier is and then we can get masses of the bloody stuff ready to smear on Keir when victory is near?”
“It’s too late for that,” I explained, leading the activists out across the road towards De Beauvoir Place, now rebuilt from wartime bomb rubble. “The media and the opposition will demonise any Labour leader that Turds faces across the house. Best to meet the problem head on. The party should be led instead by an actual demon.”
“Come on, Grandad! Demons aren’t real!” exclaimed a spotty cynic, unaware that he was standing on the very site of the 1854 birthplace of Aleister Crowley’s acolyte, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, who conjured them all, one by one, and knew each of their secret and unholy names.
“Not far from here Mathers summoned Aamon, the Marquess of Hell, governor of 40 infernal legions, in the form of a wolf with a serpent’s tail, retching forth flames,” I told the incredulous Labour party activists. “And when they walked south towards Arnold Circus Aamon took the shape of a man, so as not to cause commotion, but his mouth was full of dogs’ teeth and he hid his head, suddenly that of a hawk, beneath a black hood. In the words of Mathers himself, ‘Aamon telleth all things Past and to Come. He procureth feuds and reconcileth controversies between friends.’ Put Aamon in charge. You cannot demonise a demon.”
“How about Jess Phillips instead?” piped up an insolent youngster. “She’d be a great match for Johnson in parliament. His cynicism and lies would look feeble before her passion and honesty and she’s properly funny, rather than just saying things in Latin. And she’s all over the detail, whereas he just wings it. And people trust anyone with a Birmingham accent, thinking them incapable of guile. It would play badly when Johnson bullies and patronises her too. The answer is staring us in the face.”
“What use is this ‘Aamon’ of yours to the parliamentary Labour party,” squawked another youth, “and why is a demon a more logical choice than, for example, Angela Rayner or even Lisa Nandy?”
And then I realised I was alone. The young socialists were drinking small sour drinks and sampling Japanese sharing plates somewhere. And I was on the pavement as it started to rain, shouting up at an obsolete golden chicken, perched atop a former Courage pub, now a Nando’s. “You finally really did it. You maniacs. God damn you. God damn you all to hell.”
Stewart Lee
2019-12-22T20:42:56+00:00
Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster Fuck-Business Fuck-the-Families Get-Off-My-Fucking-Laptop Girly-Swot Big-Girl’s-Blouse Chicken-frit Hulk-Smash Noseringed-Crusties Death-Humbug Technology-Lessons Surrender-Bullshit French-Turds Dog-Whistle Get-Stuffed FactcheckUK@CCHQ Get-Brexit-Done Johnson is finally your elected prime minister! And the past decade’s worth of my multi-award-winning satirical standup sets seem like the sagely predictions of a seer. Sometimes I scare myself and I am a familiar face at the TK Maxx emergency underwear counter. Young activists in the Labour party recognise me as a doom barometer, and tremble when they encounter me. I agreed to meet some of the optimistic hope vessels for a brain-storming session and suggested a fashionably minimalist Dalston bar called Untitled, as if to satirise the youthful city-dwelling socialists’ perceived cultural isolationism. In Workington, for example, pubs still have the names of actual things: the Henry Bessemer is named after the inventor of the Bessemer steel manufacturing process; the Pack Horse is named after an actual horse that did actual work, exactly the kind of horse with genuine non-racist anxieties about foreign horses that is now deserting the Labour party in droves; and there’s Vinnie’s Bar, which is probably named after Vinnie Jones. Or Vinnie Vincent, who replaced Ace Frehley in Kiss. Either way, it isn’t named after something that isn’t even a thing, like a bar in Hackney called Untitled where metropolitan liberal elitists go. “Should shell-shocked Labour double down with a new leader from its far left again or aim for the centre ground,” I opined, as the activists licked their alcopopsicles. “Sadly, no Labour leader, however convincing, can win an election while the lies of unregulated social media, the false claims of the Conservatives themselves and both the bias and impotence of mainstream media all remain untreated. In short, it doesn’t matter whose head is thrust into the...
Iva Bittova stands alone in the isolated star-shaped 17th century Czech church of St John of Nepomuk, at Zelena Hora, her quavering explosive vocal and stark violin humming in the cold stone acoustics.
Bittova blends ancient Eastern European folk phrasing with experimental modal improvisations and ecstatic ejaculations, an analogue gypsy Bjork, or some conservatoire star turned feral by wolfsbane and boiled burdock. John of Nepomuk, The Czech national saint, was silenced for keeping the secrets of the Queen's confessionals.
Iva Bittova stands alone in the isolated star-shaped 17th century Czech church of St John of Nepomuk, at Zelena Hora, her quavering explosive vocal and stark violin humming in the cold stone acoustics. Bittova blends ancient Eastern European folk phrasing with experimental modal improvisations and ecstatic ejaculations, an analogue gypsy Bjork, or some conservatoire star turned feral by wolfsbane and boiled burdock. John of Nepomuk, The Czech national saint, was silenced for keeping the secrets of the Queen's confessionals. Bittova remains equally mysterious, inscrutable, essential.
HAVING seen Richard Curtis’ jokey take on history in Blackadder and Frankie Howerd relating his doubles to the people of ancient Rome in Up Pompeii, we’re all familiar with lampooned versions of the history books.
But not many stray as far as this gloriously silly interpretation of the relationship between Queen Elizabeth I and her courtier Sir Walter Raleigh.
Following on from their historical recreation of Samuel Johnson and James Boswell’s tour of Scotland last year, writer Stewart Lee - at the suggestion of producer Ian Gillies - has penned a similar vehicle for Liz and Walt and again places Simon Munnery and Miles Jupp in the eponymous lead roles.
The historical duo are played as if both trying their hand at stand-up, an enjoyably ridiculous sight particularly as the material is a classic combination of the Oxford graduate Lee’s penchant for thought-provoking, clever comedy on one hand to unashamedly puerile toilet humour on the other – plus there’s a fair dollop of the absurdism favoured by Munnery.
An added humorous dimension is how well those elements suit the discourses that we associate with both the historical figures; Elizabeth’s speeches easily take on Munnery’s surrealism and Jupp as Raleigh employs the courtly language of the day and imbues it with bawdy comedy. Main purveyor
Indeed, the cocky yet put upon Raleigh is the main purveyor of Lee’s base silliness with plenty of innuendo and even a potato medley at the top of the show for fans of the Maris Piper and its fellow varieties.
For the haughty Elizabeth, Munnery contributes much from his League Against Tedium stand up days including his somewhat surreal, and at the same time wilfully childish, xenophobic rant.
This tour version of the show is slicker than the somewhat experimental Edinburgh Fringe run of the show.
To make it longer, there’s increased self-reflexive messing about with Liz throwing her arms in the air and announcing ‘interval!’ then cracking open a beer.
There’s more self-conscious japery towards the end of the show. At the point where the Edinburgh show closed, Queen Bess presents a moving soliloquy about potato crisps and rotting strawberries spoken against a haunting backdrop of a single instrument score (provided by Jane Watkins), here on tour the mood created by the monologue is quickly punctured by Raleigh’s comment of ‘and what kind of an ending is that, what does it mean anyway?’.
Stewart Lee
2008-09-17T20:29:52+01:00
HAVING seen Richard Curtis’ jokey take on history in Blackadder and Frankie Howerd relating his doubles to the people of ancient Rome in Up Pompeii, we’re all familiar with lampooned versions of the history books. But not many stray as far as this gloriously silly interpretation of the relationship between Queen Elizabeth I and her courtier Sir Walter Raleigh. Following on from their historical recreation of Samuel Johnson and James Boswell’s tour of Scotland last year, writer Stewart Lee - at the suggestion of producer Ian Gillies - has penned a similar vehicle for Liz and Walt and again places Simon Munnery and Miles Jupp in the eponymous lead roles. The historical duo are played as if both trying their hand at stand-up, an enjoyably ridiculous sight particularly as the material is a classic combination of the Oxford graduate Lee’s penchant for thought-provoking, clever comedy on one hand to unashamedly puerile toilet humour on the other – plus there’s a fair dollop of the absurdism favoured by Munnery. An added humorous dimension is how well those elements suit the discourses that we associate with both the historical figures; Elizabeth’s speeches easily take on Munnery’s surrealism and Jupp as Raleigh employs the courtly language of the day and imbues it with bawdy comedy. Main purveyor Indeed, the cocky yet put upon Raleigh is the main purveyor of Lee’s base silliness with plenty of innuendo and even a potato medley at the top of the show for fans of the Maris Piper and its fellow varieties. For the haughty Elizabeth, Munnery contributes much from his League Against Tedium stand up days including his somewhat surreal, and at the same time wilfully childish, xenophobic rant. This tour version of the show is slicker than the somewhat experimental Edinburgh Fringe run of the show....
Lucinda Williams is one of the finest living exponents of the well made song, making sceptics into country rock apologists, and her uncommonly lean and literate lyrics inevitably inspire speculation on the influence of her father, the poet Miller Williams. Now in her mid-50’s, Williams is a sand-blasted frontierswomen, her voice coarsened into richer colours. The Shepherd’s Bush Empire’s sold-out crowd of forty-something men rightly adore her, over-compensating for her apparent unease with great, soft, warm surges of stage-bound love. But where once Williams’s shows rode Alternative Country’s first wave with raucous unruliness, her current set has hardened into routine. A production manager turns the pages of a ledger of lyrics. Crass lighting dictates appropriate emotional responses, rather than allowing her subtle songs the luxury of ambiguity.
Doug Pettibone delivers stillborn guitar solos, their endings evident in their very beginnings. It all sounds just like the record, tonight mainly 1998’s breakthrough Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, newly re-released with extra tracks. As Bob Dylan knows, the only way to deal with a weighty back catalogue is to ignore it, or abuse it and see if it still comes up shining, but Williams is cautious and tentative with her litter of songs. In the closing minutes, a blistering Real Live Bleeding Fingers.. picks up the pace before special guest Bruce Springsteen arrives to help bludgeon L’il Son Jackson’s blues Disgusted to death. Apart from a perfunctory drum solo, the closing number Joy allows the band to loosen up and hit an energy level that Williams’s shows used to start at and build from. Ten years ago, at this same venue, Emmylou Harris showcased her groundbreaking Wrecking Ball album to visibly distressed fans, who ultimately learned to love it. Williams could be a similarly bold elder stateswoman, but tonight she looks like she’d rather be Sheryl Crow.
Stewart Lee
2006-11-12T19:33:47+00:00
Lucinda Williams is one of the finest living exponents of the well made song, making sceptics into country rock apologists, and her uncommonly lean and literate lyrics inevitably inspire speculation on the influence of her father, the poet Miller Williams. Now in her mid-50’s, Williams is a sand-blasted frontierswomen, her voice coarsened into richer colours. The Shepherd’s Bush Empire’s sold-out crowd of forty-something men rightly adore her, over-compensating for her apparent unease with great, soft, warm surges of stage-bound love. But where once Williams’s shows rode Alternative Country’s first wave with raucous unruliness, her current set has hardened into routine. A production manager turns the pages of a ledger of lyrics. Crass lighting dictates appropriate emotional responses, rather than allowing her subtle songs the luxury of ambiguity. Doug Pettibone delivers stillborn guitar solos, their endings evident in their very beginnings. It all sounds just like the record, tonight mainly 1998’s breakthrough Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, newly re-released with extra tracks. As Bob Dylan knows, the only way to deal with a weighty back catalogue is to ignore it, or abuse it and see if it still comes up shining, but Williams is cautious and tentative with her litter of songs. In the closing minutes, a blistering Real Live Bleeding Fingers.. picks up the pace before special guest Bruce Springsteen arrives to help bludgeon L’il Son Jackson’s blues Disgusted to death. Apart from a perfunctory drum solo, the closing number Joy allows the band to loosen up and hit an energy level that Williams’s shows used to start at and build from. Ten years ago, at this same venue, Emmylou Harris showcased her groundbreaking Wrecking Ball album to visibly distressed fans, who ultimately learned to love it. Williams could be a similarly bold elder stateswoman, but tonight she looks...
One of the UK’s most famous comedians, Lee recalled a previous trip to Derry in an interview with the Derry Journal this week. “I have been to Derry before a number of times but I always arrived and left in darkness and never got to see it really. I am afraid I have no memory of Derry whatsoever, except for seeing the beatific face of Northern Irish stand-up Kevin McAleer in the stalls once and hoping he liked my act, as he is one of my favourite comedians of all time,” he said. For many, Lee would come in as their favourite comedian of all time. His latest show, which he brings to the Millennium Forum on Wednesday next, has been a big hit with audiences.
“The conceit of the evening is that I tried to write a clever show about the role of the individual in a digitised free market economy, inspired by the Caspar David Friedrich 1818 painting Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog, but that it keeps being interrupted by pressing anxieties about Brexit and Trump and my own career,” he explained. “It is a very loose show, and more straightforward and less fraught than my usual ones.
I wanted to be able to tour it for a couple of years so I knew I couldn’t kill myself every night by having to force my own mental breakdowns for the amusement of the public. I am 50 next year. I am a big man and out of shape. I doubt I will ever do a 250 date tour like this again. I will probably just do far less gigs in bigger venues, which I regret as they are never as good, but my kids are growing up missing me and months of service station food and hotel room mini-bar snacks eventually take their toll on your arteries. I doubt, sadly, I will ever come to Derry again to perform, for example. Or Perth. Or Barnstaple. Or Gravesend. Or Brawby. Or Pocklington. Or Brecon. I am now in managed decline.
But I have had the rare privilege of seeing the UK town by town, year by year, for nearly three decades. I have had a good last decade. Few people in this business get a break after they are 40.”
Despite its demanding nature, the popular comedian says he much prefers touring to tv comedy. “Performing on TV is rubbish. Audiences never react normally because they are self-conscious and you rarely capture the real magic of stand-up. That said I think the team on my Comedy Vehicle Show did capture the real feel of stand-up better than any TV show ever has, but it’s still not at good as being there. I love performing and the cares of the world, fears for the future and everything, lift the moment i set foot on stage. There are no middle-men, just you and the crowd organism.”
Stewart Lee performs at the Millennium Forum on Wednesday, September 27. Tickets are now available at the Millennium Forum.
Stewart Lee
2017-09-26T20:56:48+01:00
One of the UK’s most famous comedians, Lee recalled a previous trip to Derry in an interview with the Derry Journal this week. “I have been to Derry before a number of times but I always arrived and left in darkness and never got to see it really. I am afraid I have no memory of Derry whatsoever, except for seeing the beatific face of Northern Irish stand-up Kevin McAleer in the stalls once and hoping he liked my act, as he is one of my favourite comedians of all time,” he said. For many, Lee would come in as their favourite comedian of all time. His latest show, which he brings to the Millennium Forum on Wednesday next, has been a big hit with audiences. “The conceit of the evening is that I tried to write a clever show about the role of the individual in a digitised free market economy, inspired by the Caspar David Friedrich 1818 painting Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog, but that it keeps being interrupted by pressing anxieties about Brexit and Trump and my own career,” he explained. “It is a very loose show, and more straightforward and less fraught than my usual ones. I wanted to be able to tour it for a couple of years so I knew I couldn’t kill myself every night by having to force my own mental breakdowns for the amusement of the public. I am 50 next year. I am a big man and out of shape. I doubt I will ever do a 250 date tour like this again. I will probably just do far less gigs in bigger venues, which I regret as they are never as good, but my kids are growing up missing me and months of service station food and hotel...
When I first met the future education secretary Michael Gove in 1992, I was writing jokes for him when he was a satirist on the groundbreaking Channel 4 opinio-tainment show A Stab in the Arras. Last summer I attended the programme's 20th anniversary reunion, a sausage-on-a-stick event at M&M's World in Piccadilly Circus. Also partying were the show's other writer, known today as the frog-loathing novelist Tibor Fischer, and three of Gove's former co-presenters, the footballing comedian David Baddiel, the epicure Tracey MacLeod, and Norman "Normski" Anderson, who was then, and remains, Britain's foremost Normski.
Despite remembering me, Michael Gove was unable to shake hands, as his two small fists were full of sausage meat that he had spat on and then squeezed into a pulp, but he was enthusiastic about the future. "There is a deeper philosophical question behind the forthcoming formulation of the new curriculum, Lee, and it is this, this, and this alone," Michael Gove proclaimed. "Namely, what is education for? Why test children at all? The answer Lee is this, and this only. It is in order to stratify society, to sift the wheat from the men, the sheep from the chaff, and the boys from the goats."
Pausing to compact his sausages, Michael Gove warmed to his theme. "There is an old saying in the Michael Gove family, Lee. 'Not every slave can be in the circus.' The facts children are taught are arbitrary. Of course, there is crude political capital to be gained from skewing their selection towards appeasing special interest groups – nostalgic patriots, frustrated nationalists, foaming Trotskyites, malleable religious factions, furious ethnic minorities and such like – but ultimately I'm looking for some way of judging one set of children against another. Which is why I have come up with one new, and revolutionary, subject that will be studied exclusively and by every child. Michael Goveathonics."
Michael Goveathonics intrigued me. But at that moment, Michael Gove was dragged away by a delighted Normski, wanting to show him three statues of giant dancing M&M's that had captivated his imagination. "Look after Lee, we go way back," Michael Gove called to his attendant special adviser, Dominic de Zoot, who co-helmed the twitter parody account Tory Education News. Soon Michael Gove was posing for photographers, his arm around Normski, his top button adrift, his tie suddenly askew, and wearing the rap singer's baseball cap at a coquettish angle. Zoot, carefree from sausage and coated chocolate as only a younger man can be, immediately forwarded me a first draft of a sample Michael Goveathonics exam paper from his app-pad.
Perusing the paper later, it dawned on me. All the questions in the Michael Goveathonics modules merely tested the pupil's ability to learn facts about Michael Gove. For example…
Question 3 Who, according to Michael Gove, "deserves, of all people, to come back from the dead and win a new following of thrill-starved souls in thrall to his dark magic"?
a) Comedian Charlie Williams
b) Dennis Wheatley
c) Peter "Sleazy" Christopherson of Throbbing Gristle
d) Ali Bongo
Question 18 In Michael Gove's 1985 poem Larking About where do the sexually active teenage boys he both despises and envies store their vomit?
a) In sealed Tupperware boxes
b) In pint glasses
c) In their heads
d) In their souls
Question 27 What was Michael Gove describing when he said "the cure might be worse than the disease"?
a) Going to bed wearing boxing gloves while a pupil at Robert Gordon's college, Aberdeen
b) Extra regulation of the press
c) Having his consistently bitten fingernails smeared with earwax by Matron.
d) Ed Balls
Question 104 The verb "gove" means…
a) To stare like a fool
b) To predict the future
c) To tame ferrets, shrews or weasels
d) To take plums from trees without consent
It was too perfect. Students completed the work online, allowing teachers to track their progress. Correct answers earned them points, which they could trade for images of spectacles or lips to make their own avatars further resemble Michael Gove. The answers to the Michael Goveathonics questions were undeniable and not open to debate, and should anyone question them, then Michael Gove himself would stand as the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong. Like some kind of god.
Although I'm not about to pretend that learning mathematical equations and proper grammar on a part scholarship and a waifs' charity bung at a private boys' school was not an invaluable and unfair privilege, the incidents of my education that I remember being especially inspiring all occurred outside, or on the fringes of, the curriculum. At my infant school I learned humility, having been kicked into the urinals amid hooting laughter and micturated upon at length. And that was just by the teachers! (I am no Pamela Stephenson Connolly, but I wonder if it was seeking to recreate this experience that drove me to become a stand-up comedian?)
At my junior school, our teacher blushed inwardly as she quietly stopped reading us Alan Garner's The Owl Service, having found it a little too fecund, thus sending me off to devour the book alone, sucked into a sphagnum bog of sexy druidical Celtoid mytho-poetics that were to leave unshiftable stains on the white underpant of my imagination.
In the second year of secondary school, an English teacher abandoned impulsively the proposed double spelling lesson to speed-declaim the entire second half of Albert Camus's The Outsider, turning vulnerable pre-teens into nascent existentialists.
And in the final week of sixth form the priest that taught me A-level religious studies stopped me in a corridor before lessons and advised me, apropos of nothing, that without doubt there could not be faith, setting me free, before hurrying away. This was a moment of lightning-strike educational clarity it would be difficult for even Michael Gove to quantify and replicate, and it had little to do with the ability to learn facts about Michael Gove by rote. And, in case you are wondering, the answers are b, c, b, a.
Stewart Lee has curated The Alternative Comedy Experience for Comedy Central, Tuesdays at 11pm.
Stewart Lee
2013-03-24T13:59:33+00:00
When I first met the future education secretary Michael Gove in 1992, I was writing jokes for him when he was a satirist on the groundbreaking Channel 4 opinio-tainment show A Stab in the Arras. Last summer I attended the programme's 20th anniversary reunion, a sausage-on-a-stick event at M&M's World in Piccadilly Circus. Also partying were the show's other writer, known today as the frog-loathing novelist Tibor Fischer, and three of Gove's former co-presenters, the footballing comedian David Baddiel, the epicure Tracey MacLeod, and Norman "Normski" Anderson, who was then, and remains, Britain's foremost Normski. Despite remembering me, Michael Gove was unable to shake hands, as his two small fists were full of sausage meat that he had spat on and then squeezed into a pulp, but he was enthusiastic about the future. "There is a deeper philosophical question behind the forthcoming formulation of the new curriculum, Lee, and it is this, this, and this alone," Michael Gove proclaimed. "Namely, what is education for? Why test children at all? The answer Lee is this, and this only. It is in order to stratify society, to sift the wheat from the men, the sheep from the chaff, and the boys from the goats." Pausing to compact his sausages, Michael Gove warmed to his theme. "There is an old saying in the Michael Gove family, Lee. 'Not every slave can be in the circus.' The facts children are taught are arbitrary. Of course, there is crude political capital to be gained from skewing their selection towards appeasing special interest groups – nostalgic patriots, frustrated nationalists, foaming Trotskyites, malleable religious factions, furious ethnic minorities and such like – but ultimately I'm looking for some way of judging one set of children against another. Which is why I have come up with one new,...
Stewart Lee’s new stand-up show brimmed with the unapologetic, politically skewed charm that the comedian has built his career upon.
Split into a double-bill of two hour-long halves, Snowflake/Tornado revolved around two different subjects, but both interlinked well in what was a cohesive performance.
The English stand-up performer, writer and director has received big praise for his work from critics over the last two decades, often satirically revolving around topical issues across the UK.
However, it was his unparalleled ability to feed off of the audience that displayed all the signs of a comedian at the top of his game at The Tivoli Theatre in Aberdeen last night.
Stepping onto the stage, Lee started off with the first few lines of his routine before totally ripping it up and spending the next ten minutes mocking the crowd’s lack of laughs – which weren’t really all that bad.
Of course, this was much to the crowd’s amusement and his knack for returning to this anti-comedic stance throughout the show was excellent.
Lee is far-fetched from a Lee Evans type comedian; his casual clothing correlated with his calm demeanour and the crowd quickly settled in to his witty comedy.
Many comedians’ sketches can feel rigid from time to time – but this was far from the case with Lee.
His ability to improvise in the moment was remarkable.
Unexpected laughs, late crowd arrivals to their seats and even staff holding ice creams for the interval all became entwined in the show, making every single ticket holder feel like an integral part of the act in the intimate Tivoli Theatre.
Tornado
The first half of Lee’s show began with Tornado, which focused on Lee’s thoughts on his position in the comedy world today with funny sketches on the likes of Josh Widdicombe and Dave Chapelle.
The rise of streaming platforms like Netflix have offered stand-up comedians new ways to showcase their work and Lee explained how one of his shows had managed to be hilariously mis-titled as a shark themed horror film – which remained on the platform for two whole years.
Repetition was a core theme used by Lee to lay home his gags which ranged from witty to slightly absurd.
Sarcasm and irony peppered his first-half performance and the nice use of a large shark prop to bring home the act towards its conclusion added some nice visuals to the minimal stage setup.
Snowflake
Returning for the second half in an ice blue suit jacket, Snowflake revolved around a series of sketches based on Lee’s views of the culture wars happening across the country and his position of being a ‘snowflake’.
He poked at various issues such as Brexit, politics and woke culture with well-thought-out remarks, bringing a bit more of an air of sophistication to the show.
That was until an amusingly silly speechless Ricky Gervais impression proceeded to (purposely) take up a large chunk of the set, which made the eventual simple punchline hugely effective.
“I don’t tell jokes,” said Lee, “I only deliver juxtapositions of information.”
Like the first half, Lee’s versatility to bring the crowd into the show was superb.
A brief comment on stovies worked a treat while stretching other gags to almost uncomfortably repetitive and long limits definitely had the desired effect on the crowd.
The inclusion of a satirical song as snowflakes dropped from the stage roof also brought further laughs and added a varied dynamic to the show that you don’t often find with other comedians.
And after a few warm remarks from Lee regarding The Tivoli as the nicest theatre he’d played at in the city, the Aberdeen audience left with warm smiles upon their faces.
Classy show
Stewart Lee’s double-act of classy comedy was a delight.
It’s rare to find comedians with bags of experience that avoid feeling outdated as their careers go on.
But Lee’s varied style of delivery (from satirical to almost nonsensical as well as improvisational) impressed on all fronts and it was easy to see why he is one of the country’s most revered comics.
Stewart Lee
2022-06-23T21:10:32+01:00
Stewart Lee’s new stand-up show brimmed with the unapologetic, politically skewed charm that the comedian has built his career upon. Split into a double-bill of two hour-long halves, Snowflake/Tornado revolved around two different subjects, but both interlinked well in what was a cohesive performance. The English stand-up performer, writer and director has received big praise for his work from critics over the last two decades, often satirically revolving around topical issues across the UK. However, it was his unparalleled ability to feed off of the audience that displayed all the signs of a comedian at the top of his game at The Tivoli Theatre in Aberdeen last night. Stepping onto the stage, Lee started off with the first few lines of his routine before totally ripping it up and spending the next ten minutes mocking the crowd’s lack of laughs – which weren’t really all that bad. Of course, this was much to the crowd’s amusement and his knack for returning to this anti-comedic stance throughout the show was excellent. Lee is far-fetched from a Lee Evans type comedian; his casual clothing correlated with his calm demeanour and the crowd quickly settled in to his witty comedy. Many comedians’ sketches can feel rigid from time to time – but this was far from the case with Lee. His ability to improvise in the moment was remarkable. Unexpected laughs, late crowd arrivals to their seats and even staff holding ice creams for the interval all became entwined in the show, making every single ticket holder feel like an integral part of the act in the intimate Tivoli Theatre. Tornado The first half of Lee’s show began with Tornado, which focused on Lee’s thoughts on his position in the comedy world today with funny sketches on the likes of Josh Widdicombe and...
Stewart Lee is past it. Ensconced in comfortable middle-age, the essential anger of comedy has deserted him. It’s time for him, at 41, to retire gracefully.
Or so Frankie Boyle would have you believe.
The Mock The Week star’s comments that no stand-up over 40 is funny was the spark that ignited these 90 unforgiving minutes of perfectly-measured sarcasm, using deconstruction, repetition and moral superiority as the sharpened tools with which to slay the very idea.
Boyle’s proposition is conclusively refuted, while he becomes the object of Lee’s scorn, his supposedly controversial line about the Queen’s vagina being meticulously picked apart, revealed as ridiculous under the scrutiny. This is Lee’s usual MO, and it’s as effective today as it has ever been.
The show’s title, as well as serving as a warning for those who like their humour lass challenging to stay away, comes from the sign behind every Caffe Nero counter. It was there that Lee was embarrassed when his loyalty card was refused because of an irregularity in the accumulated stamps.
The incident is typical of the sort of minor irritant that middle-class comics of a certain age – the very people Boyle was presumably thinking about – often build routines around, getting laughs from their impotent fury. Lee proves he can easily fit into this category, though it soon becomes apparent his heart is not in it. He berates us for chuckling at the ‘wrong’ places and subtly highlights the artifice of the supposed rage behind the genre. Never mind the free coffee, he’s certainly having his Danish raisin swirl and eating it….
This show of extended set pieces then moves on to the life expected of a fortysomething parent, skewering the bucolic idea of moving to the country with its cultural malnourishment before moving on to an attack on the unedifying ‘politically incorrect’ ideology as espoused by Top Gear that culminates in a daring piece about Richard Hammond’s near-fatal crash. Here, Lee moves the audience between discomfort and laughter with deceptive ease.
Because they are so distinctive, it’s easy to focus on Lee’s techniques; the deadpan delivery, the constant reiteration of his themes, the aloof demeanour. But there’s also a playfulness that imitators often miss, while the intelligent but unpretentious writing builds skilfully to make punchlines out of the most unexpected places.
Only in his final routine, based on the artistic bankruptcy of advertising executives, is in danger of becoming a parody of his own methodology – but the payoffs are certainly well worth it, and you’ll never watch Mark Watson’s Magners cider ads in quite the same way again.
Comedy in-jokes are, of course, an integral part of the show’s fabric. As well as Boyle, Lee takes pot-shots at the easy target of Michael McIntyre and creates a whole new genus of stand-up: the ‘Russell comedian’. But such asides hit a wider audience, not just the comedy cognoscenti.
In what will come as a surprise to long-term fans – though it’s entirely in keeping with his compulsion to keep the audience out of their comfort zone – Lee ends with a sincere song. It’s a cover version of a Steve Earle track, not a schmaltzy Lee Evans-style number; but it’s enough to show that he still has the capacity to surprise – even at a positively geriatric 41
Stewart Lee
2009-12-09T16:32:36+00:00
Stewart Lee is past it. Ensconced in comfortable middle-age, the essential anger of comedy has deserted him. It’s time for him, at 41, to retire gracefully. Or so Frankie Boyle would have you believe. The Mock The Week star’s comments that no stand-up over 40 is funny was the spark that ignited these 90 unforgiving minutes of perfectly-measured sarcasm, using deconstruction, repetition and moral superiority as the sharpened tools with which to slay the very idea. Boyle’s proposition is conclusively refuted, while he becomes the object of Lee’s scorn, his supposedly controversial line about the Queen’s vagina being meticulously picked apart, revealed as ridiculous under the scrutiny. This is Lee’s usual MO, and it’s as effective today as it has ever been. The show’s title, as well as serving as a warning for those who like their humour lass challenging to stay away, comes from the sign behind every Caffe Nero counter. It was there that Lee was embarrassed when his loyalty card was refused because of an irregularity in the accumulated stamps. The incident is typical of the sort of minor irritant that middle-class comics of a certain age – the very people Boyle was presumably thinking about – often build routines around, getting laughs from their impotent fury. Lee proves he can easily fit into this category, though it soon becomes apparent his heart is not in it. He berates us for chuckling at the ‘wrong’ places and subtly highlights the artifice of the supposed rage behind the genre. Never mind the free coffee, he’s certainly having his Danish raisin swirl and eating it…. This show of extended set pieces then moves on to the life expected of a fortysomething parent, skewering the bucolic idea of moving to the country with its cultural malnourishment before moving on to...
As a tiny child, I fell in love with the pageantry and camaraderie of the Eurovision song contest. But my infant innocence was shattered as early as 1969 when, barely 18 months old, I watched Norway’s Kirsti Sparboe crawl criminally into last place with her swinging slice of Carnaby Street pop Oj, Oj, Oj, Så Glad Jeg Skal Bli (Oh, Oh, Oh, So Glad Your Skull Bleeds). From that day forth I no longer believed in the existence of a supposedly just God.
Nonetheless, throughout my adolescence, I followed Eurovision blindly. I made my own Eurovision Top Trumps, carved my own Eurovision chess set (with Terry Wogan as the king), and baked myself a tiny clay Eurovision thong. I chose Eurovision, almost provocatively, over the things an 80s teenage boy was supposed to enjoy, like torn-up pornography in a wood, the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal, or football. In retrospect, I have only myself to blame for being kicked into the sixth-form urinal trough every day and then urinated on. And that was just by the teachers!
What an appalling thing football seemed to my youthful, Eurovision-formed sensibilities. And what an appalling thing football has remained. And what strange and self-deluding accommodations football’s followers and practitioners must have to make with their beautiful game’s racism, its violence, its avarice, its sectarianism, its corruption, its misogyny, and its Andrew Lloyd Webber and Ben Elton musical.
The world of football is a world in which the phrase “racist orgy” really exists, and genuinely applies to an actual thing that actually happened. The phrase is not just a random meeting of deliberately tasteless words Hadron-collided together in the human subconscious for the sheer sick pleasure of their absurdity, such as paedophile frogspawn, antisemitic wool, or colonic wasps’ nest.
And last week’s football players’ racist orgy wasn’t even spoiled by the racism. On some level, the racism appears to have improved the orgy for the young Leicester sportsmen spreading their international goodwill around in it. It’s as if at some point during the orgy one of the rich football players thought, “What this orgy, already involving an arguably morally dubious power imbalance between millionaires from the developed world and poor Thai women, really needs to make it absolutely perfect is some overt racism!” It is only fair that Leicester City’s mascot, Filbert Fox, is forthwith forced to Patpong to play ping-pong.
But what threatens to finally bring football down is not a racist orgy, but the plain old-fashioned human greed of Fifa, the Football Illegal Funnelling Association. Of course, in retrospect, it’s obvious no just system would award the World Cup to Qatar, a country named after a sinus phlegm blockage, or, worse still, to Russia, which lacks even the distinction of sounding like a mucus-based illness, and which always generates dozens of below-the-line comments from full-time, Kremlin-controlled internet posters, masquerading as annoying Observer readers, whenever I mention it in print and online.
One may as well give the kosovorotka-marinading wazzocks something incomprehensible to feed to their bewildered brainstems. To me, then, Vladimir Putin is a giant prolapsed female worker bee that sucks hot ridicule out of langoustines’ cephalothoraxes. Let’s see what crunchy, expansionist lavatory honey this notion causes the parthenogenetic Russian keyboard wendigos to inflate for us this week, in the shadow of Paul McGann and his art gnome. Happy now?
Fifa’s decisions may yet be revealed as the result of backhanders as obvious as Chuck Blazer trying to sneak up on an unattended tray of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. But corruption is everywhere. For example, these days, individual Eurovision songs’ respective scores reflect only the shifting geopolitical allegiances or entrenched national prejudices of the voters. And since the high watermark in 96 and 97, of Gina G’s religiously ecstatic Ooh Aah …. Just a Little Bit and the tectonic emotive surge of Katrina and the Waves’ Love Shine a Light, it appears some foreign agent has drugged the infinite number of monkeys we had working on our annual entries.
At the centre of this toxic bubblegum farce lies the laughing, mocking, sneering face of one man, soaked in duplicity like a sin-smeared human pikelet, the Jack Warner of Eurovision, Graham Norton. Surely it can’t have been only on my face that eyebrows were raised when The Graham Norton Show beat my own Comedy Vehicle in the category of best comedy and comedy entertainment programme at last month’s Baftas? A man failing to ask Gary Barlow about tax avoidance and tipping a member of the public out of a chair, better than my artfully crafted work? Surely there was some mistake. And yet this Norton, like Blatter, chose to accept the award as if he deserved it.
Of course, like those of Sepp Blatter, Eurovision’s tentacles are long and covered in suckers, and it is very useful for the organisation to have a public face that brings Bafta-winning credibility to its tawdry TV competition. Just as Sepp Blatter paraded a grieving Nelson Mandela at the 2010 World Cup final in order to ennoble his vile carnival of ball-control, so the presence of Bafta-winning Graham Norton, TV’s Nelson Mandela of celebrity chat, at Eurovision lends the disgusting singing event a legitimacy it no longer deserves.
Eurovision is nothing more than music’s Fifa. But what can be done with the bent football body now? Obviously this discredited organisation can’t be allowed to run a football franchise, but is it right to squander Fifa’s vast infrastructure? On the morning news last Tuesday, a nitrous oxide-eyed Nicky Morgan, currently licking round the rim of the Gove-poisoned chalice of the education secretary post, announced that all “failing” schools would now be made into academies. An ignorantly on-message Morgan was unable to say how many academies are failing, though in September an Ofsted survey of 12 schools run by the Academies Enterprise Trust chain found half of them less than adequate, and she had no suggestion as to who might take these disastrous establishments over.
I think that rescuing failed academy schools is a job for Fifa, whose robust and flexible approach to business and ethics would appear to make them the perfect partner for the messy mallard mating-squabble Morgan’s department clearly proposes for the school system. A good fit for the fundamentalist free-market future being rolled out unopposed by the government, Fifa could be swiftly rebranded as something positive like Faith in Failing Academies and set to work. Worse people than Sepp Blatter have already been sold a stake in the future of your children.
Stewart Lee
2015-06-07T21:38:44+01:00
As a tiny child, I fell in love with the pageantry and camaraderie of the Eurovision song contest. But my infant innocence was shattered as early as 1969 when, barely 18 months old, I watched Norway’s Kirsti Sparboe crawl criminally into last place with her swinging slice of Carnaby Street pop Oj, Oj, Oj, Så Glad Jeg Skal Bli (Oh, Oh, Oh, So Glad Your Skull Bleeds). From that day forth I no longer believed in the existence of a supposedly just God. Nonetheless, throughout my adolescence, I followed Eurovision blindly. I made my own Eurovision Top Trumps, carved my own Eurovision chess set (with Terry Wogan as the king), and baked myself a tiny clay Eurovision thong. I chose Eurovision, almost provocatively, over the things an 80s teenage boy was supposed to enjoy, like torn-up pornography in a wood, the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal, or football. In retrospect, I have only myself to blame for being kicked into the sixth-form urinal trough every day and then urinated on. And that was just by the teachers! What an appalling thing football seemed to my youthful, Eurovision-formed sensibilities. And what an appalling thing football has remained. And what strange and self-deluding accommodations football’s followers and practitioners must have to make with their beautiful game’s racism, its violence, its avarice, its sectarianism, its corruption, its misogyny, and its Andrew Lloyd Webber and Ben Elton musical. The world of football is a world in which the phrase “racist orgy” really exists, and genuinely applies to an actual thing that actually happened. The phrase is not just a random meeting of deliberately tasteless words Hadron-collided together in the human subconscious for the sheer sick pleasure of their absurdity, such as paedophile frogspawn, antisemitic wool, or colonic wasps’ nest. And last week’s football...
Stewart Lee has said that nobody is competent to review him. It’s a sentiment he echoes early on in the first episode of his new six-part BBC2 series. So after thinking about doing something more useful with my time I decided to have a go. Does he mean it? It’s a remark like a lot of remarks in this episode. They can be taken as face value, they can be taken as a wry postmodern joke. Or maybe both. It's a very layered show, that's for sure. Not so much a comedy vehicle as a comedy Viennetta.
The trouble is that Lee is such a profoundly good stand-up these days he is able to have it every way. He makes his audience at the recording laugh while insulting their intelligence, blaming the BBC ticketing system for sending the wrong crowd to watch him perform..
He puts the boot into fellow comedians such as Lee Mack and Graham Norton and then appears to imply that he is joking. But you never quite know what he is thinking. ‘Stewart Lee’ onstage is a character, but there seems to be plenty of Stewart Lee in there, much the same way that there is plenty of Steve Coogan in Alan Partridge. It’s because of the overlap that Lee is so good at being ‘Lee’. He works hard at it – god knows he did enough warm-ups for this series – but it also comes naturally. By the way, on the subject of Partridge, Lee's "Orienteering with Napalm Death" remark is the new "Monkey Tennis".
This first episode, entitled Wealth, though it also touches on social responsibility, success and fame, is actually quite benign. It feels as if it has been scheduled to sucker the audience in. Later shows are clearly going to be more political. There is one on Islamophobia coming up, which should be a bundle of laughs for the Daily Mail. And talking of people that piss off the Mail it’s nice to see Chris Morris here interviewing Lee during his set and adding to the sense of textured deconstruction, though Morris doesn't say much. Then again, his silences are worth a thousand Alan Carr quips.
In this opening outing Lee seems to have loosened up in all sorts of ways. He seems to smile more (though I can’t prove this scientifically). And he is not wearing a suit and a collar that is so tight the veins on his neck stand out like whipcords. He might even be less pasty-faced.
He definitely seems more relaxed and playful. And however much he wants to quote Brecht and make asides to the camera, such as wondering why his gag about Mock The Week doesn’t get a bigger giggle, the comedy is definitely more accessible. His swipe at James Corden or his despair at becoming a middle class dad could actually almost be on Mock The Week. There are plenty of stand-out standalone lines in this show that I could happily print here and they would make you laugh. But I gather reviewers aren’t supposed to quote material and I’m trying to be as competent a reviewer as possible.
I’ll just quote this though. At one point Lee says “this isn’t entertainment”. Well it’s a lot more entertaining than a lot of entertainment.
Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, Thursdays from March 3, BBC2, 10pm. Watch the first episode online here.
Watch Stewart Lee talking to Alexei Sayle about comedy here – it's not part of the series.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-02T10:46:15+00:00
Stewart Lee has said that nobody is competent to review him. It’s a sentiment he echoes early on in the first episode of his new six-part BBC2 series. So after thinking about doing something more useful with my time I decided to have a go. Does he mean it? It’s a remark like a lot of remarks in this episode. They can be taken as face value, they can be taken as a wry postmodern joke. Or maybe both. It's a very layered show, that's for sure. Not so much a comedy vehicle as a comedy Viennetta. The trouble is that Lee is such a profoundly good stand-up these days he is able to have it every way. He makes his audience at the recording laugh while insulting their intelligence, blaming the BBC ticketing system for sending the wrong crowd to watch him perform.. He puts the boot into fellow comedians such as Lee Mack and Graham Norton and then appears to imply that he is joking. But you never quite know what he is thinking. ‘Stewart Lee’ onstage is a character, but there seems to be plenty of Stewart Lee in there, much the same way that there is plenty of Steve Coogan in Alan Partridge. It’s because of the overlap that Lee is so good at being ‘Lee’. He works hard at it – god knows he did enough warm-ups for this series – but it also comes naturally. By the way, on the subject of Partridge, Lee's "Orienteering with Napalm Death" remark is the new "Monkey Tennis". This first episode, entitled Wealth, though it also touches on social responsibility, success and fame, is actually quite benign. It feels as if it has been scheduled to sucker the audience in. Later shows are clearly going to be more...
Mid-90’s prole art threat re-forms 20th May at The Big Chill House, London.
LIVE WORK
BENEFITS
1) Monday 14th May – Oranoutangs at the Lyric. I’ve had to drop out of this.
2) Wednesday May 23rd – Benefit for Reprieve at Bloomsbury Theatre. http://www.thebloomsbury.com/event/run/1048.
I’ve had to pull out of this but it will be great.
3) Sunday June 10th Benefit for something at the Lyric @ The Lyric Hammersmith,
I will be running in the new s-up show, 41st Best Stand-Up Ever, at..
May 13th – Drill Hall, Freeschool Lane, Lincoln, Lincolnshire, LN2 1EY, Box office: 01522 873894
May 21st and 24th – Brighton Festival
May 29th – Electric Mouse, Carnaby Street, London. www.electricmousecomedy.com WITH BRIDGET CHRISTIE
May 31st 2007 – Offline Club, Brixton www.urban75.org/offline/, w Darren Heyman of Heffner group.
June 4th – Monday Club, London
June 7th – Drum and Monkey, Archway, London
June 11th – Electric Mouse, www.electricmousecomedy.com The New Globe, 359 Mile End Rd, E3 4QS. WITH BRIDGET CHRISTIE (King Charles II)
June 14th – Roar With Laughter, GJ's Bar, High Street, Colliers Wood, London, SW19 Box office: 0845 838 5191. WITH SIMON MUNNERY.
June 17th, Just The Tonic, Cabaret, Fletchergate, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, 0115 912 9000, WITH JOSIE LONG.
June 18th, Liverpool Comedy Festival, Unity Theatre, 1 Hope Place, Liverpool, L1 9BG, 0151 709 4988, www.unitytheatreliverpool.co.uk
June 25th & 26th - XS Malarkey, Wilmslow Road (next to Sainsbury's), Fallowfield, Manchester, info@xsmalarkey.com, door on the night, or from Ticket Web (08700 600 100 or www.ticketweb.co.uk , type in XS Malarkey as your keyword, £2 members, £4 non members, www.xsmalarkey.com
July 14th – Lattitude Festival, The Countryside, England.
July 17th - Show + tell's wonderfully fantastic edinburgh preview club, the old coffee house, 49 beak street Soho W1F 9SF (020 7437 2197) £5. WITH BRIDGET CHRISTIE.
July 19th – Short Fuse, Camden Head, Angel, London
July 21st – Chuckle Club, LSE, London
July 23rd – Amersham Arms, New Cross, London
July 24th – Ginglik, A toilet, Shepherd’s Bush, London
July 25th – Andy Zatlzman’s Political Animal @ Soho Theatre
July 26th – Sabotage @ Great Eastern Hotel, London EC2
July 27th – Soho Review Bar
41ST BEST STAND-UP EVER, NEW SHOW, EDINBURGH, TOURING AND SOHO THEATRE – more dates to follow – may not be on sale yet
July 28th – Taunton Festival
July 30th – The Stand, 333 Woodlands Road, Glasgow, G3 6NG Box office: 0870 600 6055. RESCHEDULED FROM FRIDAY 9TH MARCH.
August 2ndst + 1 month, 41st Best Stand-Up Ever, Udderbelly, Edinburgh, 7pm.
October 5th – Canterbury, Gulbenkian Theatre
October 7th – Southampton Nuffield
October 10th – Northampton Roadmenders
October 11th – Birmingham Glee Club
October 12th – Reading Concert Hall
October 14th – Cambridge Junction
October 19th – Wolverhampton Wulfrun
October 20th – North Yorkshire, Shed
October 21st – Leicester, Bottle Rocket
October 26th – Walton On Thames, somewhere
Octover 27th – Coventry, Belgrade
October 30th – High Wycombe, Town Hall
November 1st – Worcester, Huntington Hall
November 3rd and 4th – Cardiff Millennium Hall
November 10th – Kings Lynn, Corn Xchange
Nov 12th – December 22nd – 41st Best Stand-Up Ever, Soho Theatre, London
Interiors/Perverted By language
I am co-writing a site-specific theatre piece for the M’cr festival with Johnny Vegas. Interiors will premiere at the first-ever Manchester International Festival, a highbrow arts event which starts on June 28. Speaking at the festival’s launch, Vegas promised: ‘I'm breaking free of what theatre ought to be.’ On the 1st of July I will be reading a bit of a story from a new book of stories inspired by Fall song titles, called Perverted By Language, before a show by The Fall in M’cr.
JOHNSON AND BOSWELL – LIVE AND LATE
I am devising an improvised piece for the Traverse, for the second 2 weeks of the festival, in Edinburgh in August. Miles Jupp will be in this.
90’s COMEDIAN ON DVD – SECOND PRESSING + RICHARD HERRING DVD/ PEA GREEN BOAT
Cardiff Comedy mavericks Go Faster Stripe shot the show in February last year, and it’s available on DVD for only £10. I plan to flog these at gigs in late 2007 but the initial two print runs of 2000 are nearly sold out, and there is now a third run planned. Check their website to get them, and please don’t bootleg them all over the place and sell them on e-bay. I NEED THIS. www.gofasterstripe.com
Richard Herring, who I used to work with, has exactly copied me as usual by doing a DVD with Go Faster Stripe too, “The 12 Tasks Of Hercules Terrace”. New DVDs from Simon Munnery, Richard Herring, Robin Ince and Tony Law are in the pipeline from a company set up to market comedians not famous enough for large-scale releases.
My 2002 show Pea Green Boat will soon be out via GFS as an audio cd and limited edition vinyl 10” single.
WHAT’S ON?
I was writing for What’s On, doing funny columns. It went bust last week owing me a life-changing amount of money, having never paid me for anything. I’ll put the accursed columns up on the soon to be redesigned website, www.stewartlee.co.uk
THE FLASH
I have a very short story in this new book, The Flash. It can be purchased through Amazon here. If you want to buy copies, you can purchase them at a reduced rate of £5.50 by sending a cheque (or international money order if you are outside the UK) made out to H Garwood at the following address: 11 Haymans Point / Tyers Street / London / ENGLAND / SE11 5NT. Postage & package for additional copies is free in the UK.
Outside of the UK, it's $8 per book for up to 5 books with $16 for a package of more than 5 books.
Stewart Lee
2007-05-01T21:20:44+01:00
ALAN PARKER’S URBAN WARRIORS Mid-90’s prole art threat re-forms 20th May at The Big Chill House, London. LIVE WORK BENEFITS 1) Monday 14th May – Oranoutangs at the Lyric. I’ve had to drop out of this. 2) Wednesday May 23rd – Benefit for Reprieve at Bloomsbury Theatre. http://www.thebloomsbury.com/event/run/1048. I’ve had to pull out of this but it will be great. 3) Sunday June 10th Benefit for something at the Lyric @ The Lyric Hammersmith, I will be running in the new s-up show, 41st Best Stand-Up Ever, at.. May 13th – Drill Hall, Freeschool Lane, Lincoln, Lincolnshire, LN2 1EY, Box office: 01522 873894 May 21st and 24th – Brighton Festival May 29th – Electric Mouse, Carnaby Street, London. www.electricmousecomedy.com WITH BRIDGET CHRISTIE May 31st 2007 – Offline Club, Brixton www.urban75.org/offline/, w Darren Heyman of Heffner group. June 4th – Monday Club, London June 7th – Drum and Monkey, Archway, London June 11th – Electric Mouse, www.electricmousecomedy.com The New Globe, 359 Mile End Rd, E3 4QS. WITH BRIDGET CHRISTIE (King Charles II) June 14th – Roar With Laughter, GJ's Bar, High Street, Colliers Wood, London, SW19 Box office: 0845 838 5191. WITH SIMON MUNNERY. June 17th, Just The Tonic, Cabaret, Fletchergate, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, 0115 912 9000, WITH JOSIE LONG. June 18th, Liverpool Comedy Festival, Unity Theatre, 1 Hope Place, Liverpool, L1 9BG, 0151 709 4988, www.unitytheatreliverpool.co.uk June 25th & 26th - XS Malarkey, Wilmslow Road (next to Sainsbury's), Fallowfield, Manchester, info@xsmalarkey.com, door on the night, or from Ticket Web (08700 600 100 or www.ticketweb.co.uk , type in XS Malarkey as your keyword, £2 members, £4 non members, www.xsmalarkey.com July 14th – Lattitude Festival, The Countryside, England. July 17th - Show + tell's wonderfully fantastic edinburgh preview club, the old coffee house, 49 beak street Soho W1F 9SF (020 7437 2197) £5....
Revisiting the past can be as painful as it can be nostalgic and this showcase of the most anarchic and cult punk comedians, assembled by Stewart Lee from the dawn of the alternative circuit, occasionally verged on excruciating.
London's South Bank Centre is a world removed from the smoky clubs where these comics first found their feet, and although Alexei Sayle and Stewart Lee may be accustomed to the finery of theatre surroundings, there were a few acts who struggled to live up to the promise of the grand venue and the expectations of the somewhat aged audience.
Yet despite the predictable bumps of 'hack' material when some of the acts pulled out their 30-year-old material, this retro showcase was a spectacle worth seeing. It's not often you get to witness a comedian doing material that is older than some of their audience, and it served as an interesting reminder of the roots of the alternative - and now mainstream - acts of today.
Some of these old hands are still very much involved in the industry now, with Arthur Smith proving an assured and entertaining host for the first section. His Leonard Cohen impression was slightly self indulgent, but his wit and delivery is just as sharp as it was back in the Eighties.
Up first was Nigel Planer as Nicholas Craig, the actor. This monologue was overextended, but performed with charm and skill, and featured little nuggets of updated material and techniques. It was a strange choice of opening act, but much more successful than his Neil The Folk Singer character, who made a heckle-heavy appearance later in the show.
The return of The Oblivion Boys was more of a lesson on how stand-up can age than anything else. The once-brilliant Stephen Frost and Mark Arden reunited after 15 years to produce some rather ropey pull-back-to-reveal punchlines in some under-rehearsed scripts, during which each of them talked over the other's punchlines. This was not aided by the echoing sound in the cavernous Royal Festival Hall adding to the sometimes incoherent delivery.
Following their high energy came the underplayed brilliance of Norman Lovett, who really got the first big laughs of the night with his gentle and hilarious musings about everyday items he'd found backstage. Lovett managed to inject the sense of intimacy into the gig that you may have felt back in one of those smoky, sticky-floored clubs of the Eighties. A true master of his craft with the confidence to downplay what must have been one of his biggest gigs in a decade. Genuinely brilliant.
From subtle, quiet observation to the manic and riotous Greatest Show On Legs minus the late, great Malcolm Hardee who got a huge round of applause when Arthur Smith paid tribute to him in his introduction. Hardee's place was taken up by Bob Slayer who threw himself into the anarchic, chaos of refereeing the brilliantly performed 'mime-off' with gusto. One of the highlights of the show came in the form of the famous balloon dance which led to shrieks of laughter from the audience and some full frontal nudity onstage. A fittingly outlandish and unconventional way to end the first section.
Andrew Bailey and Cindy Oswin opened the second third with what is now an old trick but done with the panache of experts. Bailey plays Lenin addressing his comrades, with Oswin providing the translation, in a very amusing skit with some nice Left wing nods, as befitting the revolutionary spirit which spawned alternative comedy.
Announcing that he was only there to lend historical validity to the night Alexei Sayle, the Comedy Store's first resident compere, took the reigns as host for the second section. He was greeted with huge applause and despite stating that he has not performed stand-up in more than 15 years, he commands the stage like he has never been away. His anecdotes about voiceover work and his run-ins with Scousers have the audience rapt. It's a real treat to see one of the comic forces of the Eighties return to the stage with the same passion and skill as his heyday.
Pauline Melville retired her character Eydie the Radical Housewife 30 years ago, but dusted off the beige-draped creation especially for this event - and despite the overtly scripted delivery, she updated the character well, making insightful topical observations about the Big Society alongside some delightfully silly quips about BBC newsreaders.
Alas Arnold Brown failed to follow her example and his material was very much what you would have expected to hear in the old clubs. A true great of his day Brown just didn't seem on form tonight with a sluggish, tired feel to his set, the energy started to sap from the room. There were a couple of nice one liners dotted around the tedious and outdated stereotypes that Scots and Jews are tight with money.
Their was an air of anticipation at the end of the interval with chatter in the audience about whether or not Stewart Lee would host the final section; and there was huge applause when he took to the stage to do just that. He started with some Tory bashing with a typical Lee twist which went down beautifully with his adoring fans. Sadly he then chose to do material about his previous job as a librarian which is excellently executed but its impact was lost on an audience who would have seen the same sketch on his Comedy Vehicle earlier in the week. It is a superb piece of material but it seemed an odd choice to perform it so close to its national TV broadcast.
In contrast Kevin McAleer presented us with a set that was performed on Friday Night Live decades ago, the opening of which has remained completely unchanged and got the biggest response of the night. His slide show of weird and surreal photos accompanied by his lyrical Irish storytelling was the highlight of the night. Most of his set was spent waiting for people to finish laughing. Absolute hilarity took over the vast hall and he looked impossible to follow.
This was evident when punk poet/comedian John Cooper Clarke left the audience a little cold with his rants and ravings about everything from the criminally insane to hire cars. Clarke very much had the air of someone who thought the crowd were there to see him specifically, not helped by a couple of members of the audience requesting specific poems. He laughed more at his material than the audience did and it was a sad dip in the energy McAleer had injected into the room.
Who could headline such a night? Lee chose Japanese musical surrealists Frank Chickens, the obscure Perrier nominees whom inadvertently returned to the comedy spotlight last year.
Like a cross between physical theatre, a pop group and a comedy spoof, Frank Chickens perform several incoherent but ultimately enjoyable 80-style numbers. The joy is in the weird spectacle of how the now large ensemble choreograph themselves around the stage. Incredibly bizarre and something that has to be seen to be believed. Even weirder is when the cast of the show join them for a big finale. Watching Stewart Lee, Norman Lovett et al try to copy some 80s Japanese pop dancing was worth the admission fee alone.
And just when we thought it was all over Chris Lynam appeared to announce his trademark striptease and firework-up-his arse routine. It is hard to tell if this has been pre-arranged or whether it is a spur of the moment, anarchic turn. But the audience are tiring and Lynham is jarring. Numerous people leave as Lynam starts to strip off. Again the spectacle is worth watching, but it's not particularly entertaining or funny and dampens the mood at the end of what was a mixed bag of retro acts.
But then 'wildly inconsistent' is probably a fair representation of bills on those early days of alternative comedy.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-31T20:50:25+01:00
Revisiting the past can be as painful as it can be nostalgic and this showcase of the most anarchic and cult punk comedians, assembled by Stewart Lee from the dawn of the alternative circuit, occasionally verged on excruciating. London's South Bank Centre is a world removed from the smoky clubs where these comics first found their feet, and although Alexei Sayle and Stewart Lee may be accustomed to the finery of theatre surroundings, there were a few acts who struggled to live up to the promise of the grand venue and the expectations of the somewhat aged audience. Yet despite the predictable bumps of 'hack' material when some of the acts pulled out their 30-year-old material, this retro showcase was a spectacle worth seeing. It's not often you get to witness a comedian doing material that is older than some of their audience, and it served as an interesting reminder of the roots of the alternative - and now mainstream - acts of today. Some of these old hands are still very much involved in the industry now, with Arthur Smith proving an assured and entertaining host for the first section. His Leonard Cohen impression was slightly self indulgent, but his wit and delivery is just as sharp as it was back in the Eighties. Up first was Nigel Planer as Nicholas Craig, the actor. This monologue was overextended, but performed with charm and skill, and featured little nuggets of updated material and techniques. It was a strange choice of opening act, but much more successful than his Neil The Folk Singer character, who made a heckle-heavy appearance later in the show. The return of The Oblivion Boys was more of a lesson on how stand-up can age than anything else. The once-brilliant Stephen Frost and Mark Arden reunited after...
If you’ve ever played dominoes, you’ll know that while the first number has to match with the next, the last may not match with the first. I’m afraid this came to mind when I went to see Stewart Lee and Friends at his one-off Silver Stewbilee show at the Festival Theatre on 18th August.
There is an assumption that if someone makes you laugh, whoever makes them laugh will make you laugh too. Eh, no! Going by the comedy crowd laughter, I was in the minority but mostly the rest of the acts failed to reach my funny bone. There was neither programme nor flyer so the guests on the bill were a mystery. Some were a great surprise and a real pleasure to see, like the daft and novel Bridget Christie as A. Ant and amazingly Franz Ferdinand, both of whom gave terrific performances. Apart from them, I’ll move on.
This was Stewart Lee's night. The evening was a celebration of his 20-odd years in stand up and to promote his book , How I escaped my Certain Fate: The Lives and Deaths of a Stand up Comedian. The title, How I escaped my Certain Fate, comes from a punk song by Mission of Burma and was played at the end of the gig by Franz Ferdinand. Nice touch!
I came across Lee by chance on his late-night TV show Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and immediately liked his style. He is observant and topical. He uses repetition like a fairy tale in his own comic flights of fantasy, maybe to make sure the audience stays up to speed with his sharp, self-referential Borgesian style.
He used old and new material in the gig with his intelligent melding and observation of societal bigotry and liberalism. He covered the urban myths around country living, Gaelic as an ancient Scottish polari, Braveheart, crisps, charity and a certain topical news team named as the Seven Dwarves. Clever, original and funny.
Stewart Lee
2010-08-19T22:08:00+01:00
If you’ve ever played dominoes, you’ll know that while the first number has to match with the next, the last may not match with the first. I’m afraid this came to mind when I went to see Stewart Lee and Friends at his one-off Silver Stewbilee show at the Festival Theatre on 18th August. There is an assumption that if someone makes you laugh, whoever makes them laugh will make you laugh too. Eh, no! Going by the comedy crowd laughter, I was in the minority but mostly the rest of the acts failed to reach my funny bone. There was neither programme nor flyer so the guests on the bill were a mystery. Some were a great surprise and a real pleasure to see, like the daft and novel Bridget Christie as A. Ant and amazingly Franz Ferdinand, both of whom gave terrific performances. Apart from them, I’ll move on. This was Stewart Lee's night. The evening was a celebration of his 20-odd years in stand up and to promote his book , How I escaped my Certain Fate: The Lives and Deaths of a Stand up Comedian. The title, How I escaped my Certain Fate, comes from a punk song by Mission of Burma and was played at the end of the gig by Franz Ferdinand. Nice touch! I came across Lee by chance on his late-night TV show Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and immediately liked his style. He is observant and topical. He uses repetition like a fairy tale in his own comic flights of fantasy, maybe to make sure the audience stays up to speed with his sharp, self-referential Borgesian style. He used old and new material in the gig with his intelligent melding and observation of societal bigotry and liberalism. He covered the urban myths...
Last week, the culture secretary, Oliver Dowden, opportunistically pretended to have bailed out a picturesque Cornish theatre that had, like most arts practitioners, received nothing from him. Also last week, Dowden was outlining his plans for privatising Channel 4 in a piece penned for the Times, hidden behind the paywall. Dowden’s favourite kind of policy announcement is the kind of policy announcement you have to pay for. So I snatched up the Times from my newsagent’s counter, the first hard copy I had read since it declared me “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” in 2018. Dowden’s words were reassuringly expensive, like luxury Stella Artois. My newsagent, Ranking Newsman the News Selector, remembered the old days when the younger me would buy every non-Guardian newspaper in his shop and methodically burn them in the council dog mess bin outside. He wryly remarked that a man gets more right wing as he gets older.
Dowden’s first two paragraphs were blandly plausible. Then he patronisingly cited I May Destroy You and It’s a Sin as examples of shows by public broadcasters that “hold their own”. But the subject material of these acclaimed dramas – race, gender, sexuality and rape – is exactly the kind of woke content commercially driven producers would historically not commission, content that Channel 4 was explicitly established to create. Indeed, 20 years ago, the anti-woke Daily Mail wrote that woke It’s a Sin creator Russell T Davies’s 1999 drama, Queer as Woke, proved woke television needed to be actively censored. Beck’s beer even withdrew its sponsorship of the woke series, as it has every right so to do.
The government’s most loyal anti-woke culture war warrior, Dowden spoke fondly to the Evening Standard last year of his school minibus trips “to see West End shows – fairly accessible ones, like We Will Rock You, Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens and Flashdance the Musical”. I noted that an all-singing, all-dancing sex-tacular dealing with the abstract notion of consent in contemporary urban relationships was conspicuously absent from the reopening West End and wondered if Andrew Lloyd Webber had a show in the pipeline about the millennial sexual anxieties of the black community, featuring James Corden and Dame Judi Dench as singing cats. I laughed to myself in the newsagent’s queue.
Ranking looked up from his credit card reader and asked me what I was sneering at. I told him my idea and that I would probably put it in my Observer column that weekend. Ranking shook his head and told me that woke humour was never funny and I would never be a successful comedian. “See The Falcon and the Winter Soldier?” he continued, unexpectedly. “That is massive and it is pro-Black Lives Matter and addresses racial injustice. And there’s a robot eagle in it. And Batroc the Leaper, a fellow from France who can leap madly about, my man. These things don’t have to be all suffering and gloom and ladies crying.” I stormed outside to read my Times while sitting on the dog mess bin, bringing the paper closer to its ultimate resting place in the faecal crematorium of content.
Now Dowden was saying that although Channel 4 was set up “to provide greater choice”, the multi-platform market means choice is no longer an issue. But we never get the choice to see his cabinet colleagues on Channel 4 News, in case someone asks them a hard question about some facts. And far from providing real choice, the multi-platform market just means that clusterfucks of algorithms drive consumers into narrow trenches of similar content. Few privatised companies are going to commission a necessary, but not necessarily popular, documentary-drama about FGM, for example, although perhaps Dowden could persuade Andrew Lloyd Webber to write a musical about it featuring James Corden and Dame Judi Dench as singing vaginas.
Meanwhile, David Attenborough, our living national saint, emerges in my Guardian to warn Dowden against deforesting an ecosystem of “editorially independent television channels that currently promote quality, diversity, innovation, respectful debate and trust”. Previously, Saint David has tried to save our physical world. Now he is trying to save the abstract world of ideas. He will go to his grave having failed on both fronts, politicians mouthing perfunctory platitudes while pissing into it. Through the newsagent’s doorway I could see Ranking laughing at me with another customer, the security guard who often moves me on from sitting on the steps by the Electric Ballroom. I slipped on my mask and stormed back into the shop to begin a muffled rant.
“The thing is, Ranking, Dowden’s thinking is so muddled it’s possible he really believes his proposals will safeguard Channel 4. It’s more likely that he’s trying to hasten the death of one of the few news outlets that can be relied upon to question his colleagues. Look! Dowden signs off this piece with a sentence dripping in deliberate, or maybe entirely unaware, irony. Dowden is the representative of a government whose online election communiques were proved to be 88% false and he has warned advertisers not to withdraw their support from the counterfactual, Ofcom-evading GB News channel. But here he writes that we are in ‘the era of fake news’ and need ‘trusted and respected media providers more than ever’. It’s a deliberate provocation, surely? I’m glad you think this crisis is funny, Ranking.”
“It’s not that,” said my aggrieved newsagent. “Maybe BBC and Channel 4 give you news for free. But not me. You went off without paying.”
Stewart Lee
2021-06-27T15:37:04+01:00
Last week, the culture secretary, Oliver Dowden, opportunistically pretended to have bailed out a picturesque Cornish theatre that had, like most arts practitioners, received nothing from him. Also last week, Dowden was outlining his plans for privatising Channel 4 in a piece penned for the Times, hidden behind the paywall. Dowden’s favourite kind of policy announcement is the kind of policy announcement you have to pay for. So I snatched up the Times from my newsagent’s counter, the first hard copy I had read since it declared me “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” in 2018. Dowden’s words were reassuringly expensive, like luxury Stella Artois. My newsagent, Ranking Newsman the News Selector, remembered the old days when the younger me would buy every non-Guardian newspaper in his shop and methodically burn them in the council dog mess bin outside. He wryly remarked that a man gets more right wing as he gets older. Dowden’s first two paragraphs were blandly plausible. Then he patronisingly cited I May Destroy You and It’s a Sin as examples of shows by public broadcasters that “hold their own”. But the subject material of these acclaimed dramas – race, gender, sexuality and rape – is exactly the kind of woke content commercially driven producers would historically not commission, content that Channel 4 was explicitly established to create. Indeed, 20 years ago, the anti-woke Daily Mail wrote that woke It’s a Sin creator Russell T Davies’s 1999 drama, Queer as Woke, proved woke television needed to be actively censored. Beck’s beer even withdrew its sponsorship of the woke series, as it has every right so to do. The government’s most loyal anti-woke culture war warrior, Dowden spoke fondly to the Evening Standard last year of his school minibus trips “to see West End shows – fairly accessible...
I appeared on Radio 4's CHAIN REACTION twice in January 2005.
20th Jan, interviewed by Johnny Vegas & 27th Jan, interviewing Alan Moore.
Stewart Lee
2005-01-27T01:08:02+00:00
I appeared on Radio 4's CHAIN REACTION twice in January 2005. 20th Jan, interviewed by Johnny Vegas & 27th Jan, interviewing Alan Moore.
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/mp3/chain-reaction/
A couple of years ago, Frankie Boyle said comics should quit before they are 40, by which time they are creatively spent.
His comments infuriated the then 42-year-old Stewart Lee, a chagrin exaggerated for his last tour and DVD, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One. Two years later, and Lee admits his life now involves nothing more than childcare of his four-year-old son and driving Britain's motorways from gig to gig... however could such a quotidian life inspire comedy, if there really is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall?
That's how a weary Lee explained his predicament, but as he patiently explains to the irony-impaired new recruits to his work, quite often he doesn't mean what he says, but the very opposite. Imagine that!
In fact some of his fans might be a little surprised by some of this show, too - especially the opening routine which is an strong piece of political-flavoured stand-up, about the nonsense of Big Society or the moral response to the assassination of Osama Bin Laden, all in a traditional style. It seems to be an effort to prove that he can do stand-up - despite what his detractors might say - without the long pauses, endless deviation and meta-anaylsis.
That's not to say he doesn't return to those trademark techniques later, most notably with a deliberately laboured section about the impact of Thatcherite economic policies on jungle canyon rope bridges - his only frame of reference now he endlessly watches his son's favourite Scooby-Doo cartoon.
But there's a lot going on in this show, and especially inventive - and enjoyable - is Lee's splitting Sheffield's Lyceum Theatre into a mixed-ability group, more effectively than he's ever done before. In the stalls, the fans who've stuck by him in the lean years, brought their tickets early, and 'get' the jokes; in the circle the newbies, attracted because they vaguely know Lee is on TV now, and not up to speed on how this all works. This device is made even more effective through thoughtful camera direction that gives us both points of view.
In other sections, the insidious intrusion of Twitter into privacy, and, of course, the nature of comedy itself come under the microscope. On the later, he has an unarguable riposte for those on the right who claim no one ever does jokes about Islam - delivered with a conspiratorial air of sideways glances worthy of Max Miller. Or Jimmy Cricket.
But the main idea explored here is the comedian's desperate search for material and relevance, which allows Lee to reassert his esteemed reputation at the top of the comedy food chain. He is witheringly dismissive of those he feels are intellectually lazy, and this time around it includes himself, in a sublimely self-deprecating, and uniquely funny couple of hours.
Stewart Lee
2012-11-12T14:57:39+00:00
A couple of years ago, Frankie Boyle said comics should quit before they are 40, by which time they are creatively spent. His comments infuriated the then 42-year-old Stewart Lee, a chagrin exaggerated for his last tour and DVD, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One. Two years later, and Lee admits his life now involves nothing more than childcare of his four-year-old son and driving Britain's motorways from gig to gig... however could such a quotidian life inspire comedy, if there really is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall? That's how a weary Lee explained his predicament, but as he patiently explains to the irony-impaired new recruits to his work, quite often he doesn't mean what he says, but the very opposite. Imagine that! In fact some of his fans might be a little surprised by some of this show, too - especially the opening routine which is an strong piece of political-flavoured stand-up, about the nonsense of Big Society or the moral response to the assassination of Osama Bin Laden, all in a traditional style. It seems to be an effort to prove that he can do stand-up - despite what his detractors might say - without the long pauses, endless deviation and meta-anaylsis. That's not to say he doesn't return to those trademark techniques later, most notably with a deliberately laboured section about the impact of Thatcherite economic policies on jungle canyon rope bridges - his only frame of reference now he endlessly watches his son's favourite Scooby-Doo cartoon. But there's a lot going on in this show, and especially inventive - and enjoyable - is Lee's splitting Sheffield's Lyceum Theatre into a mixed-ability group, more effectively than he's ever done before. In the stalls, the fans...
The title of Stewart Lee's latest show - Carpet Remnant World - is anything but easy to comprehend. He loosely ties it very carefully as a punch line towards the finale. In this manner, he demonstrates his style of comedy, taking a form which is subtle in its reference to a future joke you've not yet heard, which vastly dissimilar to the modern styles of what he likes to call the "Russell Howards of this world" with shows like "Joke Gags 8" or similar, more in-your-face advertising.
This is mainly because he knows he doesn't need to try. He barely advertised his 2011 Edinburgh Fringe show which still sold out. He prefers the smaller rooms to the big money rakers such as the Hippodrome (with a £1 restoration fee). Lee publicly mocks his audience on stage, yet he still has a large and growing loyal fan base.
Yes, he does mock the audience, and he preferes some sections of the crowd to others, often those who are quick-witted and can see the joke before he's said it. This preference is just an act though, repeated in all his shows, but it works and even unites the audience in their laughter. He cuts those who are slow (or just can't laugh for fear of suffocating) with the killer line "You don't belong here."
In this way, he is the Ratko Mladic of comedy. Yet his vehement rhetoric is what drives the high-speed laughter locomotive, picking up passengers at Satire City via Topical Town - but only rarely slowing down for stragglers.
He compares being religious with having a mental illness, but his mockery of religion isn't specific. Lee tells the audience that his lack of understanding of the Muslim faith is what prevents him from drawing as much humour as he does with Christianity, yet he shows his contempt for comics who slate Islam or its followers.
This isn't hypocrisy; he doesn't like the racist stylings of Roy "Chubby" Brown or Jim Davidson, but shows that you can mock sensitive topics such as religion without inciting personal mockery. He ends that topic by working the audience against their own prejudices that are inherent to society and then mocks the larger lack of intellect abundant in the broadcasted media.
Within the 2 hour show, he covered topical issues as well as his own pet hates, but in own unique brand of humour, soaked in sarcasm and steeped in satire. To those who say his list of comic achievements fall when he tackles the surreal, I say to them half of his show was a lead up to a man made up of stationary with a typewriter for a head and little green strings for DNA. Noel Fielding, eat your heart out.
Lee disdains being labelled as a "post modern critique of performance comedy", when in actuality he is far from being "post" anything. His grip on topical issues is as contemporary now as it was 20 years ago, and as for being a critique - it's his cynical misanthropy that so attracts me and so many others to this comedian, a.k.a a fat Morrissey a.k.a 41st Best Stand Up Ever.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-08T14:17:50+01:00
The title of Stewart Lee's latest show - Carpet Remnant World - is anything but easy to comprehend. He loosely ties it very carefully as a punch line towards the finale. In this manner, he demonstrates his style of comedy, taking a form which is subtle in its reference to a future joke you've not yet heard, which vastly dissimilar to the modern styles of what he likes to call the "Russell Howards of this world" with shows like "Joke Gags 8" or similar, more in-your-face advertising. This is mainly because he knows he doesn't need to try. He barely advertised his 2011 Edinburgh Fringe show which still sold out. He prefers the smaller rooms to the big money rakers such as the Hippodrome (with a £1 restoration fee). Lee publicly mocks his audience on stage, yet he still has a large and growing loyal fan base. Yes, he does mock the audience, and he preferes some sections of the crowd to others, often those who are quick-witted and can see the joke before he's said it. This preference is just an act though, repeated in all his shows, but it works and even unites the audience in their laughter. He cuts those who are slow (or just can't laugh for fear of suffocating) with the killer line "You don't belong here." In this way, he is the Ratko Mladic of comedy. Yet his vehement rhetoric is what drives the high-speed laughter locomotive, picking up passengers at Satire City via Topical Town - but only rarely slowing down for stragglers. He compares being religious with having a mental illness, but his mockery of religion isn't specific. Lee tells the audience that his lack of understanding of the Muslim faith is what prevents him from drawing as much humour as he...
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, written and performed by Stewart Lee himself, takes place in a small venue in London, and it’s basically a half hour stand-up set, cut back and forth between short sketches in the first season, and a hostile mock interview segment from the second onwards, with the interviewer played by Armando Iannucci in season two, and then Chris Morris in season three and four. Each episode has its own theme, with Lee exploring a particular topic in depth, questioning its meaning and often exposing the absurdity of it, from political matters, social issues, religious dogma, philosophical ideas, and the artistic integrity and different forms of stand-up comedy itself. Stewart Lee is a comedian who explains comedy to his audience, and through a combination of satire, role play and self-awareness, he tackles controversial subjects from an intellectual standpoint. Masterfully written, perfectly directed and excellently performed, Lee’s approach to stand-up is like a magician, not only letting the audience know that he is indeed performing a trick, but also giving them insight into how it’s done. Stewart Lee is my favourite comedian and I absolutely love the series, it’s edgy, interesting, sometimes surreal, often cringe worthy and most importantly, extremely funny, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is a masterpiece!
I'm currently half-way through the fourth instalment in the series, the next episode is titled, ‘Death’, and I'm very excited to watch it! I loved the first series, but the decision to take out the sketches and replace them with the mock interview was a good one! They detracted too far away from the stand-up parts, which is why we’re here, and I always felt like I was just waiting for them to end to get back into the good stuff, but since the second season, it’s been the mock interviews instead, and they’re much better, they keep in line with the tone, and they don’t feel intrusive, it’s a perfect balance now. I was a big fan of Armando Iannucci, and I was sad to see him replaced in the third season, I didn't think Chris Morris was a good, but having watched the first half of the fourth season, I think he’s doing just as good a job as Iannucci, maybe he’s got better since the third season, maybe it’s because I haven’t watched the series in a while, or maybe I'm just remembering it wrong, either way, he’s great in season four, and both Iannucci and Morris share a wonderful chemistry with Lee, their interactions are hilarious and these segments are essential to the pacing of the show.
Stewart Lee’s style of stand-up comedy is unlike any I've ever seen, it’s a completely new approach to the art form, and he’s able to take it to a new level in the 'Comedy Vehicle', he’s the comedian other comedians are scared of. Something he consistently does throughout the series is turn away from the audience, and address the camera directly, speaking to his wider audience, the people who aren't there in the room with him, and I haven’t seen this technique used by anyone else. No one works a room like Stewart Lee, it’s so great to watch, he’s very interactive with the audience and he plays off their reactions, he doesn't always want you to laugh, ‘’some of the jokes are traps’’ as he puts it. Most of the time he’s playing a character as well, a fictionalized version of himself, it is him though, but a lot of what he says on the surface level shouldn't be taken too literally, he’s exaggerating his personality for comedic affect. There’s always a deeper message to Lee’s routines, and as he points out himself, you really have to be listening to understand it. As a fan, and as I'm sure with all his fans, there’s a sense that we’re in on the joke, what’s often funny is the fact that it isn't funny, Stewart Lee’s not, ‘’a cultural bully from the Oxbridge Mafia’’, but he plays one, and he transitions in and out of character throughout all of his routines.
Stewart Lee certainly isn't for everybody, his material is definitely an acquired taste and it’s very possible you won’t appreciate his style, you mind find that it tests your patience, and if that is the case this series could be a gruelling experience for you. As a fan, and I've been a fan ever since I saw The 41st Best Stand-Up Ever! On Comedy Central back when I used to watch cable TV, like I said, there’s a sense that we’re in on the joke with Lee, and the fact that what he’s doing is often pissing off thousands of people makes his material even more funny, he had thousands of Christians protesting against his musical, ‘’Jerry Springer : The Opera’’ in 2006 for fuck sake! You either get it, or you don’t, and that’s fine, but if you’re offended, you’re an idiot. Lee’s style can come across as very aggressive, he plays with the audience and they’re often made to feel very uncomfortable, the subject matter he’s using comes with a certain level of controversy, and if you aren't accustomed to his style, there are moments that will probably make you feel awkward, just know it’s on purpose! Lee never loses the moral high ground, his material is meticulously written, and he approaches every issue with care, despite its evidently brutal nature, Stewart Lee is clearly a man with a strong ethical code, and he makes a lot of interesting, important and profound points throughout the series.
Stewart Lee has kept his integrity throughout his entire career, it’s evident he’s a perfectionist, or at least that’s how it comes across to me, this series is a true work of art! The way he writes is often like poetry, he isn't just trying to make you laugh, he’s trying to make you think as well, but if your sense of humour is anything like mine, you will definitely fucking laugh, this is British comedy at its finest! There aren't any cheap jokes here, these aren't easy laughs, as Lee puts it, ‘’I can do jokes, it’s just not something that’s of interest to me’’, and as a 47 year old politically correct liberal, as he often defines himself, he’s pissing off all the right people! Lee’s material speaks to a niche audience, and although since the series aired on the BBC in 2009 he’s pushed into the mainstream, he’s still very much kept his core fans happy, often joking that after his fame has fizzled out and his mainstream audience has left, they’ll still be with him, ‘’That’s my dream, Wembley Stadium, 16,000 seats, just them, the Liberal Intelligentsia, no laughs all night’’, he jokes to a divided audience in the second episode of the fourth season, titled ‘’Islamophobia’’.
If it’s not obvious by now, I love this series, and I find Stewart Lee immensely entertaining, if you’re a fan of the usual routines we’re used to in the British comedy circuit, stuff like Jimmy Carr, Michael McIntyre, the young ‘Russell’ comics, James Corden, Mock the Week and shit like Top Gear, Stewart Lee is the opposite of all that, so you might want to avoid him, if not, you might discover a new favourite comedian, his style speaks to a niche, and you’ll either love it or hate it, I absolutely love it, and if you understand the use of satire and irony in his material, and the fact that his ‘contempt’ for the audience is fictional, you will too! At a time in society when tension is high, Stewart Lee is breathing life into an over saturated industry and opposing its often questionable ideals, he’s also proving that stand-up comedy is indeed an art form to be respected, his routines are beautifully constructed, socially poignant and extremely original, you’re watching a master at work. I love the series, and although Stewart Lee might not be the comedian Britain perhaps wanted, he’s definitely the comedian it needs! Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is a modern masterpiece and I recommend it to anyone who’s a fan of alternative comedy.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-24T16:38:39+00:00
''No one is equipped to review me'' - Stewart Lee Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, written and performed by Stewart Lee himself, takes place in a small venue in London, and it’s basically a half hour stand-up set, cut back and forth between short sketches in the first season, and a hostile mock interview segment from the second onwards, with the interviewer played by Armando Iannucci in season two, and then Chris Morris in season three and four. Each episode has its own theme, with Lee exploring a particular topic in depth, questioning its meaning and often exposing the absurdity of it, from political matters, social issues, religious dogma, philosophical ideas, and the artistic integrity and different forms of stand-up comedy itself. Stewart Lee is a comedian who explains comedy to his audience, and through a combination of satire, role play and self-awareness, he tackles controversial subjects from an intellectual standpoint. Masterfully written, perfectly directed and excellently performed, Lee’s approach to stand-up is like a magician, not only letting the audience know that he is indeed performing a trick, but also giving them insight into how it’s done. Stewart Lee is my favourite comedian and I absolutely love the series, it’s edgy, interesting, sometimes surreal, often cringe worthy and most importantly, extremely funny, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is a masterpiece! I'm currently half-way through the fourth instalment in the series, the next episode is titled, ‘Death’, and I'm very excited to watch it! I loved the first series, but the decision to take out the sketches and replace them with the mock interview was a good one! They detracted too far away from the stand-up parts, which is why we’re here, and I always felt like I was just waiting for them to end to get back into the good stuff,...
Fatherhood has had a calming influence on Stewart Lee. The potent combination of raw, visceral bitterness and powerful, combative intellect has been softened; no longer does he make mincemeat of scared cows, now we have sarcasm-drenched grumpiness at the dumbing down of Britain.
It means his 2007 show doesn’t have the searing intensity and fearless, uncomfortable edge of his most commanding work, but still offers an irritable, petulant whine at the way of the world.
Public opinion is what most vexes him this time around, prompted at his own ranking in a meaningless Channel 4 poll of great stand-ups. His mother, utterly uninterested in comedy, is duly unimpressed, given she has already witnessed the pinnacle of comic genius: Tom O’Connor on a cruise ship.
Lee is dismissive of the consensus taste. Is Del Boy falling through a bar really the funniest thing ever? He reels of a list of infinitely better moments of TV comedy – all less suited to the instant format of packaged clip shows – each time childishly mocking the British public mewling pathetically that the pratfall is still their favourite, until he is reduced to a foetal, impotent ball, curled up on the filthy Udderbelly floor.
This is a routine that’ll be loved by comedy aficionados, as other digs at everyone from Russell Brand to Al Murray reinforce. Lee likes to work the niche, himself. Cracking an obscure comic-book reference that only two lads get, he does a brief follow-up routine just for them, defiantly working ‘the thinnest edge of the wedge possible’.
Lee’s stock-in-trade, though, is the slow, tedious repetition of his points – testing the audience’s patience, but also getting the laughs as they realise that’s exactly what he’s doing. It makes for a slow start, agonising but knowingly funny, until it’s revealed as a teasing build-up to more considered argument. Patience is rewarded.
Given his take on populism, you can imagine Lee’s take on Celebrity Big Brother and the broadcaster that peddles it – inconveniently, also the sponsor of his venue – especially in the light of him having his own stand-up series unceremoniously dumped by BBC Two before he had even started filming His unique material on a ubiquitous topic, the Jade Goody racism row, opens out into his own tongue-in-cheek observations of why Muslims made him fat.
Then, with consummate skill, every element of the preceding hour slots cleanly into place, giving a satisfying overview of the fundamental folly of bowing to public opinion - that the public are, en masse, idiots. But then Lee demonstrates that he’s above acting like an idiot himself if it gets a laugh… especially if it eminates from the belly of his tiny son.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-06T21:18:28+01:00
Fatherhood has had a calming influence on Stewart Lee. The potent combination of raw, visceral bitterness and powerful, combative intellect has been softened; no longer does he make mincemeat of scared cows, now we have sarcasm-drenched grumpiness at the dumbing down of Britain. It means his 2007 show doesn’t have the searing intensity and fearless, uncomfortable edge of his most commanding work, but still offers an irritable, petulant whine at the way of the world. Public opinion is what most vexes him this time around, prompted at his own ranking in a meaningless Channel 4 poll of great stand-ups. His mother, utterly uninterested in comedy, is duly unimpressed, given she has already witnessed the pinnacle of comic genius: Tom O’Connor on a cruise ship. Lee is dismissive of the consensus taste. Is Del Boy falling through a bar really the funniest thing ever? He reels of a list of infinitely better moments of TV comedy – all less suited to the instant format of packaged clip shows – each time childishly mocking the British public mewling pathetically that the pratfall is still their favourite, until he is reduced to a foetal, impotent ball, curled up on the filthy Udderbelly floor. This is a routine that’ll be loved by comedy aficionados, as other digs at everyone from Russell Brand to Al Murray reinforce. Lee likes to work the niche, himself. Cracking an obscure comic-book reference that only two lads get, he does a brief follow-up routine just for them, defiantly working ‘the thinnest edge of the wedge possible’. Lee’s stock-in-trade, though, is the slow, tedious repetition of his points – testing the audience’s patience, but also getting the laughs as they realise that’s exactly what he’s doing. It makes for a slow start, agonising but knowingly funny, until it’s revealed as...
Snowflake is on BBC Two and BBC iPlayer at 10.30pm on Sunday 4th September, followed by Tornado on Sunday 11th September. Batten down the hatches.
2.BASIC LEE
The new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, started to come together in Edinburgh.
The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023. More dates to follow
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE
Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec 17th 2022
(EXCEPT Oct 18th - 29th and Nov 11th)
7pm (4pm performance Saturday 12th November
After a decade of ground-breaking high concept shows involving overarched interlinked narratives, massive sets and enormous comedy props, Lee enters the post-pandemic era in streamlined solo stand-up mode. One man, one microphone, and one microphone in the wings in case the one on stage breaks. Pure. Simple. Classic. Basic Lee. "The world's greatest living stand-up comedian." The Times
Friday 26th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 27th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Saturday 27th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
Sunday 28th May 2023 - Playhouse, Nottingham - TICKETS
3. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2022 HAPPENINGS/THINGS
THE FALLEN LEAVES Top punk-mod gentlemen entertainers. SEPT 10TH London Camden Dublin Castle, 17th Lewes Con Club
ALASDAIR ROBERTS Scottish troubadour SEPT 3rd Cardiff Chapter.
ELIZA CARTHY English folk godhead back in active service NOV 28TH Birmingham Glee, 30th Cardiff Glee. DEC 5th Cambridge Junction
EARL OKIN The mouth trumpeteer runs amok. SEPTEMBER 2022 11th - Charity Jazz/Cabaret Show, Norwich Playhouse, 42 - 58 St George's Street, Norwich, Norfolk, NR3 1AB, Booking line: 01603.63000
HOUSE OF LOVE post-punk pre-Britpop avatars of dream pop return. SEPTEMBER 12th Oxford 02, 13th Bedford Esquires, 14th B’ham 02, 16th Liverpool 02, 17th Glasgow Room 2, 18th Huddersfield Parish, 19th Nottingham Rescue, 21st M’cr Academy 3, 22nd Bristol Thekla, 23rd Brighton Concorde 2, 25th London Garage
DOUG STANHOPE How Stanhope’s acerbic libertarian schtick reads post-Brexit and Trump is anyone’s guess, but the desert-dwelling American is one of the great stand-ups. SEPTEMbER 14 Tyne Theatre Newcastle, 15th Sheffield 02, 16th M’cr Apollo, 17th S’hampton Guildhall, 19th London Forum, 21st Cardiff St David’s, 22nd B’ham 02, 23rd Glasgow Academy, 24th Leeds Academy
HARRY HILL Big collared loon, and one of thee great live comics, makes a rare excursion beyond his badger-filled bathroom.
SEPTEMBER
20th-24th London Wilton’s,
28th Maidstone Hazlitt,
28th-29th Maidenhead Norden Farm,
30th Norwich Playhouse,
BLUE ORCHIDS Half a dozen dates from M’cr’s bad acid post-punks.
SEPT 23rd M’cr Night & Day, 24th Middlesborough Westgarth, OCTOBER 8th Stourbridge Claptrap, 20th Exeter Cavern, 21st Bristol Thunderbolt, 22nd London Hope n Anchor, 23rd Brighton Prince Albert
STARRY EYED AND LAUGHING Pub rock era Byrds fanatics reform for one show at The Betsey Trotwood in London at 2.30pm on Sept 24th, w The Hanging Stars.
ACID MOTHERS’ TEMPLE Japanese acid all-fathers OCTOBER 9th Birmingham Norton’s, 10th York Crescent, 11th Glasgow Hug & Pint, 12th Newcastle Star and Shadow, 13th Salford White Hotel, 16th Preston Continental, 19th Bristol Lanes, 20th Brighton Komedia, 21st London Studio 9294
DINOSAUR JR A post-hardcore Crazy Horse OCTOBER 10th Dublin Vicar St, 11th Glasgow QMU, 13th Hull Asylum, 14th M’cr 02 Ritz, 16th London Forum
PAVEMENT Pension plan payouts for the Gen X Fall-copyists. OCTOBER 17th Leeds Academy, 18th Glasgow Barrowlands, 19th Edinburgh Usher, 20th M’cr Apollo, 22nd - 25th London Roundhouse
DREAM SYNDICATE Blue collar paisley underground psychedelic explorers in imperial career phase. OCTOBER 18TH London Lafayette
YEAH YEAH NOH 2 dates from Leicester’s C86 era psychedelic satirists OCTOBER 26th Leciester Y, 29th London Oslo
THE DAMNED An authentic line-up celebrate their survival. OCTOBER 28TH-29TH London Apollo, NOVEMBER 3rd M’cr Apollo, 4th Glasgow Academy, 5th Birmingham Academy
FOSSIL FOOLS Original and best XTC tribute band OCTOBER 29th London Water Rats
WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM Black metal eco-terrorists from the Pacific Northwest NOVEMBER 5th M’cr Damnation, 6th London Heaven
THE NIGHTINGALES W TERRY EDWARDS Post-punk KING ROCKER types w top trumpet geezer NOVEMBER 12TH London Dome, 13th B’ham Castle & Falcon
THE BEVIS FROND One off from Hendrix fronts Hawkwind combo NOVEMBER 13th London Lexington
COWBOY JUNKIES Somnambulant Americana shoegazers NOVEMBER 20th Edinburgh Assembly, 27th London RFH
STEREOLAB Krautrockin’ cocktail-drinkers hit the autobahns once more NOVEMBER 24th Brighton Concord, 26th Leeds Stylus, 27th M’cr New Century Hall, 28th Edinburgh Liquid Room, 29th Glasgow TV Studio, DECEMBER 2nd-3rd London Earth
THE CHAMELEONS Most convincing line-up for years of the always emotionally edifying Big Music should-have-beens. DECEMBER 7th Coventry HMV Empire, 8th Liverpool Cavern, 9th Leeds Brudenell, 10th Stoke On Trent Sugarmill, 11th Gloucester Guildhall, 12th Oxford 02, 13th B’ham 02, 14th Cottingham Civic Hall, 16th Huddersfield Parish, 17th M’cr Academy, 18th Blackpool Waterloo
4. ED FRIN ROUND-UP
Edinburgh was just what I needed, right here, right now, but the effects of surge pricing and AirBnB mean you’re already seeing an important strata of performers and punters priced out.
The Free Fringe meant that The Fringe saw off ferally avaricious promoters and agents this century, but who can save it from the market?
With the Tories’ assault against the arts continuing unabated we could do with a safe space like the fringe.
Anyway, I saw these 63 shows.
THEATRE
Lion (Assembly George St)
An Evening Without Kate Bush (Assembly Garden)
Afghanistan Is Not Funny (Gilded Balloon) Police Cops (Assembly studio) ***** Medea - Liz Lochead (EIF Hub) ***** Famous Puppet Death Scenes (Roxy)
Eulogy (Summerhall) * The Tragedy of Macbeth - Flabbergast Theate (Roxy)***** The Road To Ballina (Gilded Balloon/Museum)
Church Of The Fall (Surgeon’s Hall)
Fata Morgana - Margherita Remotti (EICC)
Aberdeen - Cassie Workman (Tonic)
Eve - All About Her (Gilded Balloon) This Is Memorial Device (Wee Red Bar) ***** Shannon Matthews The Musical (Just The Tonic)
The best theatre I saw was This Is Memorial Device. I loved David Keenan’s novel so much I was worried about seeing it but it was brilliantly adapted in a way that felt totally special, in that moment, in that place, on that night.
COMEDY
Jonny & The Baptists (Assembly Studio)
Fascinating Aida (Assembly George Sq) Alastair Beckett-King (Pleasance) ***** Marvellus (Just The Tonic) Paul Currie (Just The Tonic) ***** Tim Vine (Pleasance)
Eleanor Tiernan (Gilded Balloon)
Thom Tuck & Tim FitzHigham’s Macbeth (Underbelly)
Rosie Holt (Pleasance)
Jo Neary (Stand)
Omid Djalili (Freemason’s Hall) Paul Currie again (Just The Tonic) ***** Eleanor Morton (Monkey Barrel)
Amy Gledhill (Monkey Barrel)
Mark Silcox (Monkey Barrel)
Kiri Pritchard-Maclean (Monkey Barrel) Alfie Brown (Monkey Barrel)***** Laura Davis (Monkey Barrel)
Dima Watermelon & Pavlo Voytovych (Counting House)
Moni Zhang (Three Sisters)
Lydia Hirst (Burrito ‘n’ Shake) Paul Sinha (George St Theatre) ***** Janeane Garofalo (Gilded Balloon) ***** Seymour Mace (Stand)
War Of The Worlds On A Budget (Space) Flat & The Curves (George St Theatre) ***** Spank - Bronwyn Sweeney & Flat & The Curves (Underbelly)
Abby Wamburgh & Bronwyn Sweeney (George St Theatre) John Cooper Clarke/Fascinating Aida/Luke Wright/Ronnie Golden (Playhouse) ***** Celya AB (Pleasance) Josie Long (George St Theatre) ***** Flat & The Curves (again) (George St Theatre) ***** Camile O’Sullivan/Fascinating Aida/Dave Johns/Rhys Nicholson/Lynn Fergusson (George Sq) *****
The best comedy I saw was Paul Currie, which felt like the right comedy for this moment in human history.
Honorable mention to Garofolo, who is onto something unique, mixing 50s/60s Lenny Bruce jazz stand-up with Gen X sarc, and she looks like she might yet be stand-up comedy’s Patti Smith.
F Scott Fitzgerald said there were ‘no second acts in American lives.’ Well, fuck him!
Alfie Brown seems to be simultaneously of the jazz age of stand-up as well as the woke future.
Josie and the Sinhaman inspired as usual. Flat & The Curves are my new favorite fun thing, and it was an honour to be on w veterans Fascinating Aida and John Cooper Clarke.
Alastair Becket King is clockwork comedy perfection.
MUSIC
Bucketboy (Royal Mile)
Herbie Hancock (Edinburgh Playhouse)
Bucketboy (again) (Royal Mile)
Captain’s Bar Session 15/8 (Captain’s Bar, Edinburgh)
Charlie Wild Trio (B-Bar, Edinburgh)
Martin Hayes & The Common Ground Ensemble (Leith Theatre) Orange Claw Hammer (Bannermans)***** Dean Owens & The Sinners (EICC) Blueswater (Surgeon’s Hall) ***** Captain’s Bar Session 21/8 (Captain’s Bar, Edinburgh) Blueswater (again) (Surgeon’s Hall) ***** Martin Kershaw/Colin Steele Quintet (Jazz Bar) ***** A U2 Covers band (Kitty O’Shea’s)
The best music I saw might have been Martin Kershaw and Colin Steele playing 50s bebop at the Jazz Bar, which I wasn’t expecting, but it made me hear that music as a living organism rather than a museum piece.
I will miss Blueswater’s magicals shows, which they are drawing to a close after a solid decade of blues-based Edutainment.
ART
Alan Davie (Dovecote Gallery) ***** A treasure trove of unseen Davie curated by a keen woman.
5.IN OUR COVID ERA LAMENTATIONS 2022
Sydney Poitier - woke actor (1927)
Magwa - woke Cambodian landmine hunting rat (2013)
Burke Shelley - bass Budgie (1950)
Ronnie Spector - woke Ronette (1943)
Rachel Nagy - Detroit Cobra (1975)
Robin Le Mesurier - Womble (1954)
Andy Ross - Disco Zombie/nice man of Britpop (1956)
Barry Cryer - King Of Comedy (1935)
Norma Waterson - Mighty Folk Matriarch (1939)
John Nolan - man Behind The Magnolia Curtain (1966)
Betty Davis - She Might Get Picked Up! (1944)
Ivan Reitman - He was not afraid of no ghost! (1946)
Mark Lanegan - Screaming Tree rehabilitee (1964)
Bruce Anderson - MX-80 man (1950)
Anna Karen - ‘70s public transport icon (1936)
Sam Lay - Howlin’ Wolf/Paul Butterfield/Dylan drums (1935)
Mikey Chung - Reggae session regular (1950)
Fred Van Hove - Belgian free-jazz stringbender (1937)
Ian McDonald - Crimson saxophonist King (1949)
Gary Brooker - Synesthesiac Hackney musician (1945)
Nicky Tesco - Suburban soundman/comedy fan (1956)
Dallas Good - Sadies guitar slinger (1974)
Philip Jeck - Art Noiseman (1952)
Margaret Curtis - Callanish visionary (1942)
Jordan - punk fashionista (1955)
David McKee - Then the shopkeeper appeared (1935)
Chris Bailey - Lordly protopunk, wit, raconteur (1957)
Gilbert Gottfried - That ‘Too Soon’ guy (1955)
Audrey Henshall - Scottish Neolithic expert (1927)
Eric Chappell - Rising Damp (1933)
Klaus Schultze - Tangerine Joker (1947)
Neal Adams - Woke progressive comics creator (1941)
Judy Henske - Greenwich psych-folkstress (1936)
George Perez - Best Avengers artist ever (1954)
Don Craine - deerstalking Downliner (1945)
Richard Polodor - acid rock engineer (1936)
Gavin Martin - music rag wit (1962)
Fred Ward - Worm Warrior (1942)
Vangelis - Apocalypso-Maestro (1943)
Bob Neuwirth - Gelb/Dylan adjacent beatnik (1939)
Cathal Coughlan - Microdisney Man (1960)
Rick Price - Move bassist (1944)
Ric Parnell - Tap/Rooster drummer & gardener
Alan White - Ono drums (1949)
Ray Liotta - has let himself go (1954)
Ronnie Hawkins - Canadian rock wellspring (1935)
Harrison Birtwistle - When Things Fall Over (1934)
Grachan Moncur - Jazz trombonius (1937)
Ray Hill - anti-Nazi mole (1939)
Paula Rego - pastel radical (1935)
Julee Cruise - Peak voice (1956)
Bruce Kent - God’s peacenik (1929)
Jean-Louis Trintignant - mute spaghetti hero (1930)
James Caan - Rollerballbearing and Elf-father (1940)
Barbara Thompson - saxophonist whose time I wasted (1944)
Chris Broderick - singing loin
George Kinney - Golden Dawn (1946)
Alan Grant - Bat-Scot (1949)
Bernard Cribbins - Who Hole (1928)
David Warner - Your ominous Montreal compatriot (1941)
Nichelle Nicholls - interracial kisser (1932)
Raymond Briggs - hilarious genius of the tragi-comic (1934)
Stewart Lee
2022-08-31T15:42:21+01:00
1. TV SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Snowflake is on BBC Two and BBC iPlayer at 10.30pm on Sunday 4th September, followed by Tornado on Sunday 11th September. Batten down the hatches. 2.BASIC LEE The new stand-up show, BASIC LEE, started to come together in Edinburgh. The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023. More dates to follow LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE Tues - Sat from Sept 20th to Dec 17th 2022 (EXCEPT Oct 18th - 29th and Nov 11th) 7pm (4pm performance Saturday 12th November TICKETS FOR LEICESTER SQUARE RUN, HERE. After a decade of ground-breaking high concept shows involving overarched interlinked narratives, massive sets and enormous comedy props, Lee enters the post-pandemic era in streamlined solo stand-up mode. One man, one microphone, and one microphone in the wings in case the one on stage breaks. Pure. Simple. Classic. Basic Lee. "The world's greatest living stand-up comedian." The Times The show will the tour until Spring 2024. These are the currently confirmed dates. More will be added to the gigs page as they are confirmed. January 2023 Monday 23rd January 2023 - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - TICKETS Tuesday 24th January 2023 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS Wednesday 25th January 2023 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - TICKETS Thursday 26th January 2023 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS Friday 27th January 2023 - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - TICKETS Monday 30th January 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Tuesday 31st January 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS February 2023 Wednesday 1st February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Thursday 2nd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Friday 3rd February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Saturday 4th February 2023 - Playhouse, Oxford - TICKETS Monday 6th February 2023 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham - TICKETS Tuesday 7th February 2023 -...
In the coffee bar of the 1976 Comics Convention at the NEC in Birmingham, a bearded American introduced himself to my mother: "I'm Chris Claremont." Then he turned to me: "I write X-Men. Do you read that?" I was eight years old, but I suddenly realised, with some regret, that penning stories of spandex-clad mutants wasn't a suitable job for a grown man, and wasn't going to impress my mother either. I have been a comics apologist ever since and, as such, realise I and my brethren are about to be called upon once more. The hour is at hand. Avengers assemble!
Once each decade, the mysterious moon of the comic-book industry draws near the greater gravitational mass of popular culture. In the late 1980s, Tim Burton's Batman film, Art Spiegelman's Holocaust fable Maus, and Alan Moore's evisceration of superhero myths, Watchmen, suggested something stirring in sequential storytelling. But still sales fell and comics continued in the downward spiral that saw even Marvel, the owners of Spider-Man and Hulk, narrowly escape bankruptcy in the 1990s and reclassify as a "doll and stuffed-toy" company.
The forthcoming flurry of interest is easily explained. The movie adaptation of Daniel Clowes's Ghost World comic, a portrait of teenage neuroses, was an autumn sleeper hit; the Hughes Brothers' cinematic take on Alan Moore's From Hell, in which Johnny Depp battles a conspiracy to conceal the identity of Jack the Ripper, is released next month; Chris Ware's meditation on father-son relationships, Jimmy Corrigan, won a Guardian first book award; Spider-Man soon swings into multiplexes, and there's a Hulk movie in preproduction, with Ang Lee to direct the incredible green metaphor for the divided self. But will all this breach the hermetically sealed hull of comic-book culture and draw new readers into this overlooked art form?
"In a word, no," says From Hell's writer, Alan Moore, in his hypnotic Northampton burr. "Everyone in the industry thought the Batman film would tell people how great comics were. But what happened was some people went to a Forbidden Planet store and bought Batman toys. Maybe some of them bought a Batman comic. And then they found that the comic was nothing like as exciting as the film." But Marvel comics, which revolutionised the genre in the 1960s, is keen to capitalise on the forthcoming Spider-Man movie by winning actual readers as well as flogging "dolls and stuffed toys". Brian Michael Bendis's rewriting of the Spider-Man stories, Ultimate Spider-Man, erases 40 years of impenetrable continuity and returns the character to his teens, a useful starting point for new readers. Where once the orphan Peter Parker's Aunt May fed him cookies, now she offers advice on safe sex.
Moore’s pessimism is perhaps unwarranted. Comics are currently the best they've been for years. Marvel recruits left-field writers to address the atrophy that engulfed its most famous titles. DC, home to Batman, publishes books with an alternative slant through its Vertigo line. And the independent scene boasts the victories of Ghost World, From Hell and Jimmy Corrigan, each subtler and more diverse than the 1960s countercultural ethic of the "comix" underground would allow. But these high points are but the tip of a slag heap composed largely of unreadable books, available only from specialist shops stuffed with Tomb Raider soft toys and soft-porn comics. Are movie adaptations the manna that comics need? Can they prime potential long-term readers?
Typically, Moore hasn't yet seen the adaptation of From Hell, but he may rent it on video. "I saw a three-minute trailer, which was a weird experience. It looked beautifully photographed." He confesses to an annoyance with "the fallacious modern notion that making a movie of something somehow validates it. A Michael Crichton book, for example, is a template, with characters blank enough to be inhabited by any actor and a schematic sequence of events, so it makes a good film. But, as a rule, adapting from one medium to another is dodgy."
Moore need not worry. From Hell is a decent movie on its own terms and is daringly experimental by Hollywood standards. Those familiar with the comic will see some shots storyboarded directly from Eddie Campbell's illustrations, but the film loses the mystical subtext of the book, which includes 42 pages of footnotes and reduces Moore's Ripper to a cinema psychopath, rather than a man driven by religious beliefs and political expediency. "I don't know if people who like the film would necessarily like the book anyway," Moore concludes. "It's in black-and-white, for a start."
Moore remembers the moment in 1987 when comics, like comedy five years later, were the new rock'n'roll. Today he is content trying to produce work he is proud of and has many satisfying sidelines. His spoken-word William Blake biography, Angel Passage, is currently
available on the Re: label, and he describes his current line, America's Best Comics, as a "Trojan horse". Titles such as Top Ten and Tom Strong "look like superhero comics and are designed to sell in the superhero marketplace, but import ideas from the fringes". Promethea, in which a teenager is possessed by a Wonder Woman-style heroine, is, for Moore, "a magical drone disguised as a superhero comic", reflecting his fascination with occult esoterica. In contrast, he thinks "Jimmy Corrigan is a marvelous book, but it's unlike anything else, so it will have no effect on the mainstream and won't necessarily get people into comics".
It's Moore's enthusiasm for the comics medium's inherent virtues that has seen Marvel's new editor-in-chief, Joe Quesada, make a pilgrimage from his New York skyscraper to Moore's Northampton home to convince him to sign on with Spider-Man and company. Quesada is something of a radical in comics, aiming at actually producing better books, rather than hoping to ride the coat-tails of movie adaptations and cash in on the merchandising. Letting Moore loose on Marvel's classic characters might prove mainstream comics' cultural worth once and for all. Apologists need never apologise again. But would he do it? For a moment, I smell a scoop that would set fandom buzzing like Peter Parker's Spider sense. But "Joe Quesada? He seemed like a nice bloke," was all that Moore would say.
TEN GREAT GRAPHIC NOVELS
From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
Safe Area Gorazde: The War in Eastern Bosnia 1992-1995 by Joe Sacco
Ghost World by Daniel Clowes
Box Office Poison by Alex Robinson
Preacher: Gone to Texas by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon
Berlin, City of Stones, Book One by Jason Lutes
Fortune and Glory by Brian Michael Bendis
Hey, Buddy! Hate Collection by Peter Bagge
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill
Ultimate Spider-Man Volume I: Power & Responsibility by Brian Michael Bendis
Stewart Lee
2002-01-06T17:43:28+00:00
In the coffee bar of the 1976 Comics Convention at the NEC in Birmingham, a bearded American introduced himself to my mother: "I'm Chris Claremont." Then he turned to me: "I write X-Men. Do you read that?" I was eight years old, but I suddenly realised, with some regret, that penning stories of spandex-clad mutants wasn't a suitable job for a grown man, and wasn't going to impress my mother either. I have been a comics apologist ever since and, as such, realise I and my brethren are about to be called upon once more. The hour is at hand. Avengers assemble! Once each decade, the mysterious moon of the comic-book industry draws near the greater gravitational mass of popular culture. In the late 1980s, Tim Burton's Batman film, Art Spiegelman's Holocaust fable Maus, and Alan Moore's evisceration of superhero myths, Watchmen, suggested something stirring in sequential storytelling. But still sales fell and comics continued in the downward spiral that saw even Marvel, the owners of Spider-Man and Hulk, narrowly escape bankruptcy in the 1990s and reclassify as a "doll and stuffed-toy" company. The forthcoming flurry of interest is easily explained. The movie adaptation of Daniel Clowes's Ghost World comic, a portrait of teenage neuroses, was an autumn sleeper hit; the Hughes Brothers' cinematic take on Alan Moore's From Hell, in which Johnny Depp battles a conspiracy to conceal the identity of Jack the Ripper, is released next month; Chris Ware's meditation on father-son relationships, Jimmy Corrigan, won a Guardian first book award; Spider-Man soon swings into multiplexes, and there's a Hulk movie in preproduction, with Ang Lee to direct the incredible green metaphor for the divided self. But will all this breach the hermetically sealed hull of comic-book culture and draw new readers into this overlooked art form? "In...
At the time of his death from pancreatic cancer three years ago, the American comic Bill Hicks was revolutionising stand-up comedy. A regular on David Letterman's television show at home, here he could sell out West End theatres. With a brooding, rock-star-like stage presence, Hicks was feted by comedians such as Rob Newman and Sean Hughes and sampled by the California agit-rock band Tool.
This week Rykodisc reissues the two albums Hicks made during his lifetime, Dangerous and Relentless, and also releases Arizona Bay and Rant in E Minor, both edited posthumously from the comedian's notes. Hicks's pervasive influence has, ironically, rendered the first pair somewhat cliched, but the latter two offer stand-up new possibilities, a tantalising coda to a life cut tragically short at the age of 32.
Born in Georgia to strict baptist parents, but relocating to Texas at an early age, Hicks spent his youth sneaking out of his bedroom window to local comedy clubs, and was a touring comedian by the age of 18. He first came to prominence as one of the American "outlaw comics" of the mid-1980s, alongside Sam Kinison and Andrew Dice Clay. When Hicks first played here in 1991, British comedy fans were already familiar with the fast-talking, chain-smoking East Coast speed rants of the New Yorker Dennis Leary, and much of the pair's material overlapped. Leary, an efficient and ambitious method actor, approached the part of "hate comedian" as he would have Richard III or Willy Loman. Hicks, in contrast, believed in the role. But one set of pseudo-reactionary attacks on non-smokers, sexually unadventurous women, teeny pop stars, drugged-up rockers and health-nut joggers seemed much the same as another to a virgin audience.
Hicks was given to philosophical pronouncements on the comic's role. The actual material on his first two albums rarely fulfils his theories. "The comic is a flame, like Shiva the Destroyer, toppling idols no matter what they are," he said. But Shiva would have had better targets to destroy than the harmless media nonentities, such as Debbie Gibson, Tiffany or George Michael, that Hicks wasted his talent taking pornographic potshots at on Dangerous. Much more honest and self-knowing is Hicks's description of himself as "Noam Chomsky with dick jokes". He had pretensions towards being a radical social theorist, dealing in unpopular truths, but would always sacrifice them when the going got too tough for a crowd-pleasing vulgarism.
Hicks was diagnosed with cancer in June of 1993, and the best of his material dates from the last year of his life. It's as if he realised he had nothing to lose. He had already begun experimenting with the persona of "Goat Boy", a sleazy satyr that would possess him when he needed to get down-and-dirty. In separating off this part of his personality, Hicks was able to sugar the pill of his more demanding material by still delivering the obscenities that comedy convention demanded, but without compromising his authorial voice.
Steven Saporta of Invasion Records describes his first encounter with the comic as "not unlike the first time I was rocked by Jim Morrison". Indeed, there are sections of Arizona Bay, with Hicks intoning his bible-belt preacher apocalyptica over a groundswell of drums and guitar, where he sounds like nothing so much as the Lizard King himself - but talking perfect sense rather than a load of sub-French expressionist nonsense. Comparing the United States's sales of arms to poorer countries, on which it then wages war, to the crooked landowner in Shane who forces the farmer to pick up a gun so he can excuse shooting him, is chilling, horrifying and hilarious.
Hicks briefly fell victim to believing the comparisons with Jim Morrison and other icons of rock, coming on stage to the sound of Hendrix's Voodoo Chile, backlit with rising flames and dressed in black cowboy regalia. But in his closing year he started wearing less self-consciously dramatic colours, eliminated the hectoring egotism that characterised his earlier work and cut down his swear-word count. Channel 4's biography of Hicks, It's Just a Ride, included his friend the comedian Brett Butler saying Hicks didn't want to be Hendrix or Dylan, but Jesus. "Bill wanted to save us all."
Hicks enjoyed an uneasy relationship with religion. He hated the machinery of churches but frequently would break out of his routines into impassioned sermonising about his belief in a loving higher power. But a preacher without a pulpit achieves nothing, and Hicks usually found a way to dovetail his material into the Letterman programmers' requirements. It is to the show's eternal shame that they cut his final routine about government disinformation regarding its handling of the Waco siege. Rant in E Minor, which includes the censored material, sees Hicks at his most politically controversial, and yet also at his funniest, his most impassioned.
Rant is mainly a brilliant deconstruction of America's political and social hypocrisy. Hicks saves his most acidic bile for comedians who compromise their artistic voice, not with "dick jokes", but by signing up for adverts. "Do a commercial and you're off the artistic roll call for ever. End of story. Another whore at the capitalist gang-bang."
The routine is Hicks in a nutshell. He ultimately came to be motivated, not by charting the everyday whimsy of the differences between cats and dogs, nor the contrived misanthropic anger of the other "outlaw" comics, but by a righteous disgust at the lack of integrity he saw everywhere around him. Sadly, perhaps, Hicks has saved us the embarrassment of watching him betray himself, as all great comedians inevitably seem to. But Rant in E Minor and Arizona Bay suggest he could have become Shiva the Destroyer after all.
Stewart Lee
1997-03-02T16:57:51+00:00
At the time of his death from pancreatic cancer three years ago, the American comic Bill Hicks was revolutionising stand-up comedy. A regular on David Letterman's television show at home, here he could sell out West End theatres. With a brooding, rock-star-like stage presence, Hicks was feted by comedians such as Rob Newman and Sean Hughes and sampled by the California agit-rock band Tool. This week Rykodisc reissues the two albums Hicks made during his lifetime, Dangerous and Relentless, and also releases Arizona Bay and Rant in E Minor, both edited posthumously from the comedian's notes. Hicks's pervasive influence has, ironically, rendered the first pair somewhat cliched, but the latter two offer stand-up new possibilities, a tantalising coda to a life cut tragically short at the age of 32. Born in Georgia to strict baptist parents, but relocating to Texas at an early age, Hicks spent his youth sneaking out of his bedroom window to local comedy clubs, and was a touring comedian by the age of 18. He first came to prominence as one of the American "outlaw comics" of the mid-1980s, alongside Sam Kinison and Andrew Dice Clay. When Hicks first played here in 1991, British comedy fans were already familiar with the fast-talking, chain-smoking East Coast speed rants of the New Yorker Dennis Leary, and much of the pair's material overlapped. Leary, an efficient and ambitious method actor, approached the part of "hate comedian" as he would have Richard III or Willy Loman. Hicks, in contrast, believed in the role. But one set of pseudo-reactionary attacks on non-smokers, sexually unadventurous women, teeny pop stars, drugged-up rockers and health-nut joggers seemed much the same as another to a virgin audience. Hicks was given to philosophical pronouncements on the comic's role. The actual material on his first two albums...
Last week Jeremy Corbyn welcomed the endorsement of the 80s Birmingham band UB40, in front of a room of baffled journalists. But then a rival version of UB40 declined to endorse the Labour leader. The Corbyn narrative became collateral damage in the titanic battle of two warring factions of the once mighty pop-reggae pioneers, supposedly made funnier because UB40 are considered inherently ludicrous by metrosexual tastemakers.
But for me, the first two UB40 albums, Signing Off (1980), and Present Arms (1981) remain great slices of post-punk cross-cultural pop-polemic, and served as gateway drugs to the Jamaican source for a grateful and curious teenager. Then, rather like New Labour, UB40 abandoned their more extreme moments to pursue a populist course, perhaps at the expense of their core values.
But it was UB40’s crazed decision to invade Iraq in 2003, in defiance of public opinion, and as a desperate attempt to promote their poorly received Homegrown album, that finally sealed their legacy. The section of the Chilcot report detailing the eight-piece group’s bombardment of the city of Basra, with a barrage of covers of 70s Trojan label chart-topping pop reggae hits, was especially harrowing. And the leaked photos, of keyboardist Mickey Virtue forcing prisoners to balance on piles of unsold copies of the 2002 single Cover Up, remain burned into the collective consciousness.
As with last month’s film of Corbyn sitting on the floor in a train, which offered full-time professional satirists any number of seat-based jokes on a silver platter, anyone who had ever seen or read anything ever could have predicted how badly a photo-op with a version of UB40 was going to pan out for Corbyn.
Within hours Michael Deacon at the Daily Telegraph and John Crace at the Guardian had both used the same algorithm to spin satirical columns making parallels between UB40’s internal divisions and those of the Labour party.
And who can blame them? You can almost hear the clunk as the fully formed satires fall ready-made out of the satire engine and thunk down on to the content conveyor belt.
The next step for the Labour party should be to ape the production company Endemol, who made both the soul-destroying Big Brother and Charlie Booker’s zombie-based parody of it, Dead Set. Labour media strategists should create not only their own easily satirisable news stories, but also the satires of them that are inevitably to follow, thus monetising both, diametrically opposed, markets.
Meanwhile, instead of getting the backing of UB40, a prime minister who has never formally secured the backing of any of the electorate, not even Musical Youth or Aswad, steamrolls forward largely unsatirised.
Nonetheless, Corbyn has my sympathy. It is easy to engage mistakenly the support of a band you didn’t realise was divided.
In 2006 I participated in Pestival, a three-day event at Barnes Wetland Centre, which used art and music to celebrate insects. I performed an insect-based standup routine in an insect-themed cabaret.
Also appearing were the psychedelic magus Robyn Hitchcock, who sang a song about an aphid accompanied by a musical saw, and the saxophonist Ned Rotherberg, who used an amplified tank of crickets as unwitting collaborators in a freeform sonic extrapolation. The audience of entomologists lapped up the entertainment, having first vomited onto it to reduce it to an easily digestible protein soup.
Eight years later, as a result of an ongoing battle against the unlicensed use of an empty but newt-rich neighbourhood garden as a chemical processing plant, I became sympathetic to the ongoing struggles of all amphibians, and decided to set up my own amphibian-based arts festival, Frogstock.
As regular readers will know, I organise and perform in more charity benefit shows than any other British standup comedian, and have never received any public recognition for this. So this time around, as well as raising funds to fight on behalf of the frogs and newts, I decided, selfishly, to just book artists that I myself would like to see.
In the mid-90s the comedian Richard Herring and I hosted a daily mid-morning chatshow on the Edinburgh fringe, and our guests were usually light-entertainment figures like Nicholas Parsons, Annabel Giles or Frank Skinner. But in 1997, the unexpectedly re-formed early-70s German art-rock pioneers Faust were bringing their teargas and jackhammer noise party to town.
So instead of hearing Nicholas Parsons’s humorous quiz-show anecdotes, for one morning only the early-rising tea-drinking punters were entertained by an actionably unsafe duet for piano and angle-grinding machine, performed by clearly inebriated men, whose early-70s producer had once been a known associate of the Baader-Meinhof terrorist organisation.
The visually fearsome Faust were of course delightful in person, and after their performance drummer Werner “Zappi” Diermaier, who only moments before had been aiming splinters of hot metal into the eyes of scared old-age pensioners, told me he was hoping to find time to head into the sphagnum bogs of the Highlands to seek out natterjack toads and great crested newts. The two amphibians were beloved by the frightening percussionist and, though rare in Germany, were still clinging to life in Scotland. “If I can leave Scotland having held a natterjack toad in my fist then re-forming Faust will have been worth it,” Diermaier confided.
Remembering Zappi’s frog and newt fandom, earlier this year I contacted him and engaged Faust for my Frogstock event, and in November they will perform inside a giant floating piece of frogspawn mounted in a giant lake of pond water at the Roundhouse in Camden, to raise money for my ongoing battle with the amphibian-hating petro-chemists. Or at least that was the plan.
Sid Griffin, of the legendary country rockers the Long Ryders, once told me that in the mid-90s he had witnessed two different versions of 70s glam popsters the Sweet engaged in a violent fist fight at a Little Chef in East Anglia.
And of course, the existence of two rival UB40s is now well documented. But who knew, or even cared, that there are now two Fausts, in an experimental music market barely built to sustain one?
And who could have guessed that the second Faust, led by keyboard player Hans Joachim Irmler, would have publicly declared their loathing of all amphibians, after one of Irmler’s irreplaceable vintage transistor organs was ruined by over‑wintering salamander newts four years ago?
Needless to say, the tensions surrounding Frogstock have now thrown the event into jeopardy. Like all the other paid content providers, I wanted to laugh at Corbyn and UB40, but this time the story felt just too close to home.
Stewart Lee
2016-09-11T14:56:23+01:00
Last week Jeremy Corbyn welcomed the endorsement of the 80s Birmingham band UB40, in front of a room of baffled journalists. But then a rival version of UB40 declined to endorse the Labour leader. The Corbyn narrative became collateral damage in the titanic battle of two warring factions of the once mighty pop-reggae pioneers, supposedly made funnier because UB40 are considered inherently ludicrous by metrosexual tastemakers. But for me, the first two UB40 albums, Signing Off (1980), and Present Arms (1981) remain great slices of post-punk cross-cultural pop-polemic, and served as gateway drugs to the Jamaican source for a grateful and curious teenager. Then, rather like New Labour, UB40 abandoned their more extreme moments to pursue a populist course, perhaps at the expense of their core values. But it was UB40’s crazed decision to invade Iraq in 2003, in defiance of public opinion, and as a desperate attempt to promote their poorly received Homegrown album, that finally sealed their legacy. The section of the Chilcot report detailing the eight-piece group’s bombardment of the city of Basra, with a barrage of covers of 70s Trojan label chart-topping pop reggae hits, was especially harrowing. And the leaked photos, of keyboardist Mickey Virtue forcing prisoners to balance on piles of unsold copies of the 2002 single Cover Up, remain burned into the collective consciousness. As with last month’s film of Corbyn sitting on the floor in a train, which offered full-time professional satirists any number of seat-based jokes on a silver platter, anyone who had ever seen or read anything ever could have predicted how badly a photo-op with a version of UB40 was going to pan out for Corbyn. Within hours Michael Deacon at the Daily Telegraph and John Crace at the Guardian had both used the same algorithm to spin satirical...
The no-budget brilliance of the Eighties New Zealand indie-scene inspired a generation of post-punks, from Pavement to My Bloody Valentine, to stop worrying and splash some sloppy psychedelic Spector-style spillages on their reactionary rockist riffs. Bruce Russel's insider overview avoids regularly anthologised standards to create a secret mirror history of the DIY decade, from the Joy Division mushroom fog of The Pin Group, via the chiming jangle-pop of Sneaky Feelings, to the stadium rock in miniature moves of The Double Happys.
Incisive sleeve-notes illuminate the perfect cultural storm that shaped the sound.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-22T00:53:38+01:00
The no-budget brilliance of the Eighties New Zealand indie-scene inspired a generation of post-punks, from Pavement to My Bloody Valentine, to stop worrying and splash some sloppy psychedelic Spector-style spillages on their reactionary rockist riffs. Bruce Russel's insider overview avoids regularly anthologised standards to create a secret mirror history of the DIY decade, from the Joy Division mushroom fog of The Pin Group, via the chiming jangle-pop of Sneaky Feelings, to the stadium rock in miniature moves of The Double Happys. Incisive sleeve-notes illuminate the perfect cultural storm that shaped the sound.
During the Thatcher era, wealthy British people leaving the National Theatre skirted British homeless people in the cardboard cities of the South Bank subway. Today, wealthy Arabs, Russians and Europeans, leaving the Princess Diana memorial playground, skirt Romanian homeless people in the Marble Arch underpass. Can there be any better proof of the astonishing progress London has made in three decades to become the truly global city it is in 2014?
Even as a professional comedian of 25 years' standing, I nevertheless find it difficult to know what angle to take on this week's much anticipated mass influx of Romanians. I am filing this column, in English, on the morning of Thursday 2 January, but by the time you read it, on Sunday the 5th, it may already be appearing only in Romanian, in an attempt to court some of the 29 million potential new Observer readers the soft right predict will arrive this week. From a business point of view, should I be pro-Romanian or anti-Romanian? While I won't be down at Luton airport handing out Costa coffees any time soon, I do nonetheless wonder which market should I work.
At the end of November, Boris Johnson, Britain's first self-satirising politician, became an early advocate of the anti-Romanian business model, observing sadly: "We can do nothing to stop the entire population of Transylvania – charming though most of them may be – from trying to pitch camp at Marble Arch." Johnson's trademark tuck-shop wit makes him a formidable political orator. Johnson is like an iron fist encased in an iron glove, but on the knuckles of the iron glove are tiny childlike drawings of ejaculating penises at which even the son of a Marxist intellectual cannot help but smirk.
I am not a political speech writer, and I hate to appear cynical, but when Johnson said most of the Romanians "may" be "charming", I don't think he meant this. I think Johnson was being sarcastic. Johnson chose to make Romania synonymous with Transylvania, a region of Romania comprising, at more than 7 million souls, roughly a third of the country's 20 million-plus population. In doing so, was he deliberately evoking fears of the blood-eating Transylvanian vampires of legend, deeply buried in the European collective subconscious? I believe so. For nothing Johnson does is accidental, even things that look like accidents. His wizard zip-wire prang of 2012 was choreographed by CBeebies' Mr Tumble, to exact specifications laid down by a team of spin doctors, in order to court the slapstick vote.
FW Murnau's silent 1922 vampire classic, Nosferatu, is frequently read as antisemitic, the hook-nosed, rat-fancying Count Orlok obviously a 20s Jewish stereotype, as surely as Johnson's flesh-drinking "Transylvanians" represent the Romanians today. Johnson is mired in the folkloric, I should imagine. His evocation of the unholy dining habits of the Romanians is as deliberate as Enoch Powell's allusions to Virgil, and Powell's "rivers of blood" marks the same attitudinal watershed as Johnson's own dinners of blood.
Dracula must be destroyed. Not even Keith Vaz would argue against this, though he may offer him a gingerbread latte. But it's harder to know what to do with dozens of old people on crutches sleeping on the floor between bin bags full of rags, or crammed by unscrupulous landlords into unregulated low-rent ex-council properties in market towns forgotten by party politics. You can't just creep up and drive stakes through their hearts, even though Johnson's calculatedly casual allusion to the vampire myths seems to be inviting Londoners to do so.
As a commercial traveller, delivering my humour content to customers nationwide, I don't think the service industries of Britain could cope without east European workers, even if they do feast on human blood, take gas form, attract vermin, and poison our wells. From the lowliest Travelodge to the highest Hotel du Vin, every front desk I approach is manned by an eastern European, their literacy and numeracy skills putting them ahead of one third of the British workforce.
The "Off-Liscenese" near my home and the "Babelon Cafe", Nicholson Street, Edinburgh, are just two examples, off the top of my head, of British businesses that have managed to spell their own names two different ways on the front of their own premises. And, while the extract from the lyrics of the Waterboys' Fisherman's Blues, hand-painted on the wall of my room in the Morrison hotel, Dublin, sports a glaring misused possessive apostrophe, it is unlikely that the Bulgarian woman on reception was responsible, as her English was perfect.
We fear what we do not know. And what do I, I wonder, know about the Romanians? Well, like many people, Johnson included, I should imagine, say the word Romania to me, and I think instantly of Stefan Niculescu, Octavian Nemescu and Corneliu Cezar. We all accept that the Romanian electro-acoustic composers of the postwar era were decent, hard-working pioneers in their field. But it is not decent, hard-working Romanian electro-acoustic composers who will be coming here and undercutting decent, hard-working Polish immigrants who have spent 10 years undercutting the decent, hard-working British workers at the hand car wash by the cemetery on the bypass, now closed. And I should be very surprised if British artists applying for grants to drop ring modulators down wells suddenly find there is a bald Romanian with a communist beard trying to gazump their funding bid. The last place in Europe a Romanian would come to pursue a career as a state-funded experimental artist would be Britain.
Of course, it is very easy for me, a middle-class man, economically shielded from any immediate negative impact of surges in immigration, to adopt a moderate attitude to the imminent arrival of 29 million Romanian vampire Gypsies coming to eat our children, but pointing this out won't stop the comments section under this article from going on and on about it. And I need an electrician. No one returns my calls.
Stewart Lee's Much A-Stew About Nothing is currently at the Leicester Square theatre, London, and then touring. See stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2014-01-05T13:39:12+00:00
During the Thatcher era, wealthy British people leaving the National Theatre skirted British homeless people in the cardboard cities of the South Bank subway. Today, wealthy Arabs, Russians and Europeans, leaving the Princess Diana memorial playground, skirt Romanian homeless people in the Marble Arch underpass. Can there be any better proof of the astonishing progress London has made in three decades to become the truly global city it is in 2014? Even as a professional comedian of 25 years' standing, I nevertheless find it difficult to know what angle to take on this week's much anticipated mass influx of Romanians. I am filing this column, in English, on the morning of Thursday 2 January, but by the time you read it, on Sunday the 5th, it may already be appearing only in Romanian, in an attempt to court some of the 29 million potential new Observer readers the soft right predict will arrive this week. From a business point of view, should I be pro-Romanian or anti-Romanian? While I won't be down at Luton airport handing out Costa coffees any time soon, I do nonetheless wonder which market should I work. At the end of November, Boris Johnson, Britain's first self-satirising politician, became an early advocate of the anti-Romanian business model, observing sadly: "We can do nothing to stop the entire population of Transylvania – charming though most of them may be – from trying to pitch camp at Marble Arch." Johnson's trademark tuck-shop wit makes him a formidable political orator. Johnson is like an iron fist encased in an iron glove, but on the knuckles of the iron glove are tiny childlike drawings of ejaculating penises at which even the son of a Marxist intellectual cannot help but smirk. I am not a political speech writer, and I hate...
Have you heard the one about Snow White and the Seven Dwarves? There was this man, right, who needed a password eight characters long, and… and then he went and gave away the punchline before he'd done the set-up.
I'm hopeless at jokes. I told one to my children the other day that got a laugh, but for the wrong reason, because they'd heard the correct version before. “What's the secret of timing a joke?" I said. “No, wait, that doesn't sound right…"
So I'll try again. As is traditional at this time of year, the best joke of the Edinburgh Fringe has been named. Written by the comedian Nick Helm, it goes like this: “I needed a password eight characters long, so I picked 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'." The second-best joke this year was written by the man who wrote the best joke last year, Tim Vine: “Crime in multi-storey car parks. That is wrong on so many different levels."
Yet as Evan Davis and Justin Webb showed on Today when they took it in turns to read out the winner and runner-up, these things are so subjective that it is meaningless to try to judge them. They both thought a gag about the Greek economy that a listener had sent in (it involved taramasalata, hummus and a double dip) was better.
Even worse than judging jokes is trying to analyse them, an exercise Woody Allen satirises in Crimes and Misdemeanours. His character has an annoyingly unfunny brother-in-law, played by Alan Alda, who keeps saying: “If it bends, it's funny; if it breaks, it's not funny."
Yet despite the obvious danger of murdering in order to dissect, trying to work out a formula for funniness seems to obsess comedians. I once interviewed Bob Monkhouse who, on a summer afternoon in his garden in Bedfordshire, gave me a masterclass in how to tell a joke, talking me through the principles of timing, “the rule of three", and the Arthur Askey “check step" you should take before delivering your “topper". He also told me that the joke he was most proud of was: “I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my father. Not screaming and terrified, like his passengers." The reason? Economy.
The heir to Monkhouse, though he probably won't thank me for saying so, is Jimmy Carr, a Cambridge graduate who has written a semi-academic book on joke-telling. And the latest comedian to do something similar is Stewart Lee, an Oxford graduate whose strange and brilliant memoir, How I Escaped My Certain Fate, has just been published in paperback. In it, he deconstructs his own stand-up routine using footnotes, explaining why he creates tension here, cuts the audience some slack there.
I blame the German philosophers, who couldn't bear to leave comedy alone, either. Kant would write dusty observations such as: “Laughter is an effect that arises if a tense expectation is transformed into nothing."
Fortunately, most of us can get through life without either analysing jokes or telling them in public. About the only time we men have to do it is when we're made best man. In this respect, a fr
I had a new book out on August 4th, Content Provider, through Faber. "Over the last five years, often when David Mitchell has been on holiday, the comedian Stewart Lee has been attempting to understand modern Britain, and his own place in it, in a series of irregular newspaper columns.
This clunky title, as well as being the same name as my next book, will be another full-on, finished, Carpet Remnant/41st Best/Milder Comedian type epic show, with an actual set, although the exact material is currently in freefall post-Brexit.
Comedian Robin Ince, the co-editor of the new comedians' horror fiction anthology, in which I have a piece, writes...
By this time, Thomas had been joined by co-writer/director Stewart Lee (one half of comedy duo Lee and Herring). The imminent arrival of Springer induced more than a little panic. After all, their show sees Springer presiding over a blackly comic rewrite of a typically rabble-rousing, warts 'n' all episode, with a voracious chorus of keyed-up audience members, a hymn to pole-dancing, a desperate guest stripping down to nappies and a tap-dancing line of Ku Klux Klansmen and ends the first half by having Jerry killed live on air.
By this time, Thomas had been joined by co-writer/director Stewart Lee (one half of comedy duo Lee and Herring). The imminent arrival of Springer induced more than a little panic. After all, their show sees Springer presiding over a blackly comic rewrite of a typically rabble-rousing, warts 'n' all episode, with a voracious chorus of keyed-up audience members, a hymn to pole-dancing, a desperate guest stripping down to nappies and a tap-dancing line of Ku Klux Klansmen and ends the first half by having Jerry killed live on air.
"Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee!" A trio of muscular security guys in black, arms crossed and glowering fiercely, separates the crowd from the stage. A distinct frisson of guilty pleasure is in the air, based on an expectation of imminent angry arguments, outrageous accusations and confessions, and even attempts at physical violence and the hurling of stage furniture.
"Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee! Jerr-ee!" A trio of muscular security guys in black, arms crossed and glowering fiercely, separates the crowd from the stage. A distinct frisson of guilty pleasure is in the air, based on an expectation of imminent angry arguments, outrageous accusations and confessions, and even attempts at physical violence and the hurling of stage furniture.
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