Laura Cannell: Hi Stewart, So here we go, I thought I would ask you some questions and please can you can ask me some too? A conversation really… We were going to work together live for the first time in July at Kings Place which has now been postponed until 2021, the idea for a…
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.
This is the story of a spontaneous comment that got out of hand, and grew, momentarily confusing an accommodating Japanese performance art group, and, ultimately, inconveniencing a corporate arts sponsor. But it’s also a story about how we value creativity. Is Art about books sold, tickets bought, and units shifted, pleasing the largest possible number of people to squeeze the maximum amount of bums on seats? Or is it rather more opaque than that? And above all, this is the story of what can happen when you drink three pints of Fosters and hit ‘reply all’.
I have been a professional comedian for twenty years now. I’ve attended the Edinburgh Fringe Festival every year but one since 1987. I love it. I live for it. It’s the best thing in my professional life, and the third best thing in my personal life. There’s no curators and no programmers. You pay to enter the brochure, hire a venue, from two seats up to two thousand, and you’re in for a month’s slog, irrespective of supposed artistic merit or commercial prospects. Then it’s up to you and your creditors. For some, the four weeks of the festival offer a glorious mess of artists of all disciplines, - theatre, dance, music, performance art and, yes, comedy, - coming together in a vast celebration that they effectively subsidise themselves because they believe it’s worth it. For others it’s nothing more than an ugly trade fair for stand-up comedians and micro-celebrities looking for a TV break.
The truth is, it’s both these things, and more. I’ve shared venues with both Denise Van Outen and with a Haitian voodoo dance troupe who thought, until week 2, that Edinburgh had a military curfew. This year, there were 2,500 different shows a day, and the average audience size was 4 people. It would take six and a half years to see all these shows. In its infinite variety and intent, this massive sample can accommodate any glib generalization you want to throw at it. There’ll always be enough examples to support your theory. And long may it remain so, unique, unknowable, all things to all comers, from stag and hen parties wanting to trade insults with a punchy comic, to bold aesthetes seeking out bald Polish physical theatre ensembles.
The worst thing about the Fringe, apart from the insurmountable debts incurred by the majority of performers and the promoters and agents that exploit these debts, enslaving the foolish turns for years to come, is the Comedy Awards, chosen by an increasingly powerful committee of mysterious experts, and supposedly ensuring the recipient career-making exposure. Established in 1981, these were formerly known as The Perrier Awards, but the sponsors quit in 2005, perhaps as a result of performer protests about World Health Organisation condemnation of the their parent company Nestle’s developing world practices. “There’s the other 48 weeks of the year for politics,” said the committee’s head, a successful West End promoter called Nica Burns, when challenged on the WHO’s statistics of 1.5 million child deaths annually as a result of Nestle’s infant milk formula.
This year the awards have hooked up with Foster’s, a beer brand currently seeking to align itself with laughs generally, via sponsorship of all Channel 4 comedy and the proposed generation of original on-line comedy content. For, as Heineken UK Brands director Mark Given said on the awards’ website in a typically Orwellian statement, “Comedy plays a singularly important role in the lives of Foster's consumers and we look forward to facilitating and fostering their engagement with comedy in all its guises.”
Ever since their inception the exact criteria of eligibility for the awards has been elusive and changeable, yet the possibility of snagging the now £10 000 prize money is what encourages some of the 700 or so comedy shows in the fringe to rationalize their potential losses. In the eighties and early nineties your eligibility was apparently decided by Nica Burns on a whim. Since then ever-shifting rules, about the size of audience the act normally plays to, about their degree of television exposure, limit the field, the awards’ parameters always lagging behind public taste, cultural trends and advances in technology. This year’s panel prize winner, a young American called Bo Burnham, doesn’t have his own TV show, but he has 65 million hits to his You Tube videos on the internet, which is a kind of computerized TV young people watch these days. You get the idea.
For me, the worst thing about the awards is the way the inevitable media coverage reduces what I believe to be the greatest arts event in the world into some kind of competition, an event which can be won, and how this conspires to suggest that Nica Burns is some kind of spokesperson for the Fringe, which thrives precisely because it is not regulated. Playing up the awards’ importance in the wider scheme of things, this year Nica Burns issued a statement pointing out that sixteen of her previous 170 or so nominees are now stadium-filling success stories. But most aren’t.
Some, like Johnny Immaterial, gave up. Some, such as Daniel Kitson and Will Adamsdale, fled the uncomfortable exposure the awards gave them. Some, such as Emma Thompson, disassociated themselves from the awards during the Nestle years. And many, such as David O’Doherty or Phil Nichol or Arnold Brown, have produced much brilliant work since, untroubled by stadium sized acclaim or significant financial reward. It’s a numbers game, and a show of sixteen unqualified commercial successes is so likely statistically as to tell us nothing about the awards’ predictive abilities, but to reduce the Fringe, and Edinburgh in August, to the notion of a petridish to grow jokes for the stadium gigs of tomorrow seems stupid and soulless at best, and at worst deliberately cynical.
Worse still, Nica Burns’ approach encourages the idea that the Edinburgh Fringe is something artists pass through, on the way to being ‘discovered’, rather than something that can be enjoyed and participated in for its own sake, because it is superb. “I wouldn’t imagine Al Murray would need to come here any more”, said a visiting acquaintance this Summer, surprised at the pub landlord’s self-esteem seeking appearance in a small venue at lunchtime. Call me bitter if you must, but this revealed, unambiguously, the perception that those of us still playing the fringe were second rate losers wasting our time, a perception the idea of Art As Competition fostered by the Foster’s awards encourages.
Being a judge on the Edinburgh Comedy Awards committee must be increasingly difficult. Way back in the 1980s comedy was yet to be the New Rock And Roll (™Janet Street-Porter 1992), and nobody knew comedians might one day play stadiums, so it was easier for the judges to follow their hearts in handing out their unasked for gongs. Thirty years on, the idea that comedy in a massive space may constitute a night out, facilitated by exposure afforded to acts by prime-time career-making shows like Michael McIntyre’s Road Show, means that the critics on the Comedy Awards Committee are expected to act as all-seeing Cassandras, pointing people towards the next John Bishop, whose journey from Pleasance Courtyard Portakabin to football stadium size stardom, via some McIntyre TV gigs, took less than a year.
Undoubtedly, it was a slice of this high-profile exposure by association that sold Foster’s on the idea of sponsoring the then orphaned awards. That and that fact that “comedy plays a singularly important role in the lives of Foster's consumers”, laughing all the way from the drip-tray to the urinal. But somebody, it would seem, wasn’t prepared to wait for this year’s winner to become a future star, and wanted to hitch the new sponsor’s brand to a big name immediately, and in the last week of July the public were invited to vote on-line for an all-time Comedy God, drawn from nearly three hundred individual past award nominees in nearly 200 shows, some explicitly named, some under the names of the shows they won with, the majority of whom there is no video evidence of for the conscientious voter who didn’t perhaps attend the last 30 Edinburgh Fringes to check, and none of whom presumably were asked if they minded their names being used to drive traffic to a Foster’s site.
The way public polls work, whichever former nominee was currently the best known comic in Britain with internet users, probably Michael MacIntyre or Russell Howard, would win the spurious poll, and the new sponsor would be happy to have their profile raised by association, at the expense of hundreds of other artists, none of whom agreed to be part of a Foster’s marketing exercise.
I got in just after midnight on Monday July 19th, and found someone had copied on to me by e-mail a badly punctuated press release announcing the Foster’s awards’ devious All-Time Comedy-God award plan. I had drunk three pints, ironically of Foster’s, having done a set in a central London club and the stayed to watch Greg Davies’ act. Incensed by the press release, which had been sent out to the great and the good in the entertainment world, I wrote an instant and furious critique, calling the organizers ‘morons’, ‘illiterates’ and ‘whores’, and suggesting that Frank Chickens, a Japanese performance art duo nominated for the Perrier in 1984, when the awards were a rather less commercial proposition, might arguably be the best act on the list, but would not get any votes because the public hadn’t heard of them.
To my mind, the Fringe is the work of many hands over many years, most of them unpaid, and it wasn’t for Foster’s to walk in at the eleventh hour and claim a stake in thirty years of comedy by a public poll so poorly thought out as to offer a predictably safe victor. Then I pressed ‘reply all’. If I’d only had two pints of Foster’s I wouldn’t have had the guts, and if I’d had four I wouldn’t have been sober enough to do it. But, the next morning when I awoke, I found that the three pint rant had sudden and unexpected consequences.
Firstly, the Foster’s Comedy Awards’ publicist Anna Arthur contacted my agents and said that because I had used the word ‘whore’ I was a misogynist and that they would make sure everyone knew what kind of a person I was. I was happy to issue an apology, in an email which I entitled Whore Clarification. "To clarify my use of the word 'whore' I wasn't using it in a sexual or sexist sense, but in the commonly understood metaphorical sense of 'corporate whore'. I think this is clear to anyone reading the piece. I didn't have Anna and Nica specifically in mind, but was thinking of everyone involved with the awards over their 30-year history from top to bottom, including all the sponsors, judges, administrators, nominees, winners, and anyone who has ever attended the awards shows, irrespective of their gender.” The matter was then dropped.
Secondly, though I don’t have a Twitter account, as the only time I searched for myself on the Twitter site I was disturbed to see my f-list celebrity movements around the country essentially being updated by unpaid spies the length of breadth of the land, the Twitterverse, got hold of the Frank Chickens’ cause. Nudged by the followers of the comedians Richard Herring and Robin Ince, the internet swiftly voted Frank Chickens to the top of the All-Time Comedy God poll, ahead of even Michael McIntyre. It appeared that corporate money might be used to highlight Frank Chickens’ founder Kazuko Hoki’s three decade career of idiosyncratic multi-media live-art, rather than cementing the easy fit with an already wealthy and famous chat show friendly stand-up that Foster’s might have preferred, a much better representation of the true spirit of the fringe.
Unbeknownst to me, Frank Chickens had recently reformed and Kazuko Hoki professed herself bewildered by the whole campaign, as she did not consider herself a comedian or know who Michael McIntyre was, which was of course perfect. She even assumed that the bizarre looking musical genius Tim Minchin, then second in the poll, was actually a non-existent person, also made up by disgruntled voters. Fairly quickly, Foster’s gilded their voting website with various passwords and gateways, but Frank Chickens remained the people’s choice throughout August, a nagging story underscoring the main PR thrust of the awards themselves that refused to go away. I was offered dozens of opportunities to speak about the accidental campaign on local and national news shows, but declined all but the most insistent, instead allowing events to take their course.
On the 18th of August, as an extra show on top of the month run I was doing in the 150 seater room at the Stand, I had a one off show in the Festival Theatre and asked Frank Chickens, now an 18-piece mega-ensemble, if they would consider closing the show, after Franz Ferdinand had played a selection of hits. Frank Chickens accepted, graciously under the circumstances, and were pleasingly superb – surreal, joyous and entirely free of cynicism, the perfect antidote to the Foster’s awards. The whole thing couldn’t have been better if it had been planned. Which it wasn’t, despite the Foster’s awards people’s suggestions.
The All-Time Comedy God was supposed to be announced on Saturday August 28th, alongside the £10 000 winner of the annual award, which this year was Russell Kane, who is managed by Avalon, a company which recently got The One Show’s Christine Bleakley four million pounds for transferring from the BBC to ITV, resulting in questions in parliament.
Instead, the All Time Comedy God was announced late the following afternoon, after the Fringe was over and after Monday’s papers had been put to bed, to minimize coverage of Frank Chickens’ victory. The All Time Comedy God award was now renamed “The Foster’s Funny Four”, and the low-key press release featured gimmicky advertising-style portraits of the four poll-toppers – Michael McIntyre, Russell Howard, Tim Minchin and Kazuko –made from crushed Foster’s cans.
Under the circumstances, this took on an ugly resonance, like branding a disobedient slave to teach them a lesson. Foster’s, presumably still unable to comprehend the exact nature of the opposition to them, had made their winners’ actual human faces into beer adverts.
Foster’s position on Kazuko’s win was that it was ‘evidence of the British sense of humour’. But it wasn’t. It was 30,000 people who had had enough, just for once, of the bullshit that surrounds us every day, the bread and circuses, cheapening everything, turning everything sour. I haven’t been in touch with Kazuko since her face was made into a massive Foster’s advert, presumably allowable on the basis of something she signed about her likeness for the awards committee nearly three decades ago, and I hope she isn’t upset by this turn of events. But there’s something brilliant about it, her face, fixing you with the flinty and yet playful glare of a true artist, while McIntrye laughs light-ent style, and Russell Howard and Tim Minchin look indie-rock moody.
Without wishing to downplay the amount of effort thousands of heroic cyber-nerds all around the world put in, it was comparatively easy for the public to sabotage the stupid Foster’s poll. The kids had on their side a number of things that are an anathema to The Man, for it is he, in his world of inane corporate speak, his shit-trough of marketing disguised as philanthropy. In short, the kids had wit, intelligence, taste and honesty. And a communications network that bypasses the mediated information we are usually fed, the advertisers’ lies, the PR people’s spin, the news wank. But Frank Chickens’ victory was a happy and unplanned accident.
Once, our irritation and annoyance withered on the vine as we got up from the TV news to find a pen. Now we can go viral while our anger is still hot. Imagine what we could do if we put our minds to it. Something superb.
Probably...
Stewart Lee
2010-09-01T21:45:05+01:00
This is the story of a spontaneous comment that got out of hand, and grew, momentarily confusing an accommodating Japanese performance art group, and, ultimately, inconveniencing a corporate arts sponsor. But it’s also a story about how we value creativity. Is Art about books sold, tickets bought, and units shifted, pleasing the largest possible number of people to squeeze the maximum amount of bums on seats? Or is it rather more opaque than that? And above all, this is the story of what can happen when you drink three pints of Fosters and hit ‘reply all’. I have been a professional comedian for twenty years now. I’ve attended the Edinburgh Fringe Festival every year but one since 1987. I love it. I live for it. It’s the best thing in my professional life, and the third best thing in my personal life. There’s no curators and no programmers. You pay to enter the brochure, hire a venue, from two seats up to two thousand, and you’re in for a month’s slog, irrespective of supposed artistic merit or commercial prospects. Then it’s up to you and your creditors. For some, the four weeks of the festival offer a glorious mess of artists of all disciplines, - theatre, dance, music, performance art and, yes, comedy, - coming together in a vast celebration that they effectively subsidise themselves because they believe it’s worth it. For others it’s nothing more than an ugly trade fair for stand-up comedians and micro-celebrities looking for a TV break. The truth is, it’s both these things, and more. I’ve shared venues with both Denise Van Outen and with a Haitian voodoo dance troupe who thought, until week 2, that Edinburgh had a military curfew. This year, there were 2,500 different shows a day, and the average audience size...
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.
Emptying his East London bedroom to decorate, the viola player Ivor Kallin noticed its exceptional acoustics, and he's rush-released the recorded evidence as a free download from Linear Obsessional. Kallin, a transplanted Glaswegian, claims to be playing viola in the Pibroch tradition of extended bagpipe compositions.
Thus, these three lengthy and oddly timeless pieces recall the experimental bagpipes of Yoshi Wada or David Watson, and the massed string smogs of Tony Conrad, La Monte Young and the pre-Velvets John Cale, suggesting ‘60s downtown New York having a 16th century Highland fling.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-29T20:35:51+01:00
Emptying his East London bedroom to decorate, the viola player Ivor Kallin noticed its exceptional acoustics, and he's rush-released the recorded evidence as a free download from Linear Obsessional. Kallin, a transplanted Glaswegian, claims to be playing viola in the Pibroch tradition of extended bagpipe compositions. Thus, these three lengthy and oddly timeless pieces recall the experimental bagpipes of Yoshi Wada or David Watson, and the massed string smogs of Tony Conrad, La Monte Young and the pre-Velvets John Cale, suggesting ‘60s downtown New York having a 16th century Highland fling.
On Wednesday, I sat in a disabled toilet cubicle, listening to a lifesize effigy of the perpetually silenced free-speech crusader, progressive eugenics enthusiast and regular BBC broadcaster Toby Youngs as it lolled back and forth inside a glass cabinet, a fortune-telling puppet at a fair. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration,” it said, repeatedly. The speech was free, of its original context, and its original audience.
If you accessed any media on Monday, you saw Toby Youngs, who isn’t allowed to say anything, telling supportive journalists about his Free Speech Union™®, a “non-partisan, mass-membership organisation that stands up for the speech rights of its members”. Toby Youngs’s Free Speech Union™® is one of 6,764 limited companies run out of 85 Great Portland Street, London. Presumably this is a virtual office, unless Youngs and his fellow directors, including Nigel Biggar, professor of moral and pastoral theology at the University of Oxford, have used the same miniaturisation ray on their company that they have already used on their cocks.
Youngs has been called a “caustic wit” by his friend, 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.
The Toby Youngs toilet effigy had been programmed to demonstrate Toby Youngs’s caustic wit, which must be defended. But the tape loop jammed. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration,” honked the torso again, banging its bald head on the glass, Youngs’s harmless comments given liturgical resonance beyond their lighthearted origins.
The word “free” in the Free Speech Union™®’s name refers only to free speech. Membership actually costs between £49.95 and £250 a year, depending how freely you need to speak. If you are a student oppressed by political correctness gone mad, jonesing for freedom, Toby Youngs gives you the first hit half-price. It is not clear if the Free Speech Union™® will defend non-members on principle or members who are, as Youngs says, “ghastly, puritanical, po-faced, sanctimonious, finger-wagging, woke” people or “universally unattractive, small, vaguely deformed” working-class students. It’s a protection racket, capeesh?
I decided to visit 85 Great Portland Street, where companies claim presence from £29.99 a year, to see if the Free Speech Union™® had corporeal form. A disabled toilet cubicle, with a crayon drawing of King’s College Cambridge on the door, functioned as the Free Speech Union™®’s nerve centre. I heard the broken Toby Youngs effigy’s voice before I entered. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration.”
Inside the cubicle, a brass plate read: “Ask me a question.” But before I could, the flailing animatronic educationalist lurched into involuntary life again, wooden teeth clacking. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration.” I resisted the urge to cover my ears. The views of a malfunctioning Toby Youngs effigy deserve to be heard. And challenged in robust debate.
Nevertheless, membership of the Free Speech Union™® interested me. Recently, a person called Xpijonipsy wondered on the internet if he should kill me by stabbing my eyes out, shooting off my knees or smashing my brain in with a heavy object. But the first two methods would mean, though blinded or maimed, I would still be able to tell my jokes, as long as I was helped on stage by a clever dog. Will the Free Speech Union™® protect me from Xpijonipsy? Will it protect black footballers from racial abuse? Will it protect feminist campaigners from rape threats? Will it protect female politicians from male politicians who wouldn’t even rape them? Will it protect the “furrowed-browed little soothsayer” Greta Thunberg? Will it protect Holocaust Deniers and Replacement Theorists? Will it protect people from James Grundy’s Lancashire goolies? Will it protect Grundy’s Lancashire goolies?
What Youngs really wants isn’t a Free Speech Union™®. He wants a Freedom from Consequences of Speech Union and a credible-sounding caption for his BBC appearances: “Toby Youngs, Free Speech Union.” But within 24 hours of announcing his Wazzocks’ Waco, his X-Men of Shits, Youngs’s endearingly bumbling Sun interview, in which he wouldn’t guarantee Tommy Robinson’s freedom to speak, exposed his contradictory thinking. Toby Youngs is a tragic fly, floating on flimsy wings of unearned privilege and family connections, banging repeatedly into the same window pane of failure, all the while wishing he were the soaring eagle of legend, instead of something that vomits on to its own food and sucks it back up into its mouth.
Satirising “inclusivity” in 2012, Toby Youngs joked that schools now all have “wheelchair ramps, the complete works of Alice Walker… and a Special Educational Needs Department”, the latter of which might presumably help the struggling students this government-endorsed educationalist described as “functionally illiterate troglodytes with a mental age of six”.
If I am kneecapped by Xpijonipsy, will Toby Youngs protect my right to speak and my right to use those same wheelchair ramps alongside the “troglodyte children”? I asked the effigy. It answered. ““Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration.”
Stewart Lee
2020-03-01T12:08:35+00:00
On Wednesday, I sat in a disabled toilet cubicle, listening to a lifesize effigy of the perpetually silenced free-speech crusader, progressive eugenics enthusiast and regular BBC broadcaster Toby Youngs as it lolled back and forth inside a glass cabinet, a fortune-telling puppet at a fair. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration,” it said, repeatedly. The speech was free, of its original context, and its original audience. If you accessed any media on Monday, you saw Toby Youngs, who isn’t allowed to say anything, telling supportive journalists about his Free Speech Union™®, a “non-partisan, mass-membership organisation that stands up for the speech rights of its members”. Toby Youngs’s Free Speech Union™® is one of 6,764 limited companies run out of 85 Great Portland Street, London. Presumably this is a virtual office, unless Youngs and his fellow directors, including Nigel Biggar, professor of moral and pastoral theology at the University of Oxford, have used the same miniaturisation ray on their company that they have already used on their cocks. Youngs has been called a “caustic wit” by his friend, 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. The Toby Youngs toilet effigy had been programmed to demonstrate Toby Youngs’s caustic wit, which must be defended. But the tape loop jammed. “Five-months pregnant Padma Lakshmi’s boobs are massive. Actually mate, I had my dick up her arse! Living in close proximity to violent crime is the price Londoners pay for racial integration,” honked the torso again, banging its bald head on the glass, Youngs’s...
The Seventies prog survivor Peter Hammill is stripped of the embellishments of Van Der Graaf Generator, naked but for piano or guitar, on seven recent live cd's. Hammill's declamatory plainsong refutes standard rock procedure, and when he touches your heart, it's usually via the cerebral cortex.
His piano pieces have an epic Weimar whiff, whilst the sixty-four year old's brutally pragmatic guitar suggest an anglicised answer to the lo-fi American weird-beard school.
Hammill will free your mind and, though your ass won't be following anytime soon, he remains a national treasure.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-26T20:12:30+00:00
The Seventies prog survivor Peter Hammill is stripped of the embellishments of Van Der Graaf Generator, naked but for piano or guitar, on seven recent live cd's. Hammill's declamatory plainsong refutes standard rock procedure, and when he touches your heart, it's usually via the cerebral cortex. His piano pieces have an epic Weimar whiff, whilst the sixty-four year old's brutally pragmatic guitar suggest an anglicised answer to the lo-fi American weird-beard school. Hammill will free your mind and, though your ass won't be following anytime soon, he remains a national treasure.
Former farm boy Corb Lund's cowpoke honky-tonk evidences a Canada dry wit. Bible On The Dash sees him evading border confrontations by faking belief, and Mein Deutsches Motorarad is a rockabilly German bike tribute. But Lund and his tight-chapped bar band, The Hurtin' Albertans, respect the roots rock rules and, on the bleakly dispassionate Priceless Antique Pistol Shoots Startled Owner and the nostalgically reflective One Left In The Chamber, can make genuine emotional connections despite, or perhaps because of, Lund's apparent nonchalance. A second disc strips the same songs back acoustic basics, often with more affecting results.
Stewart Lee
2012-10-07T20:48:33+01:00
Former farm boy Corb Lund's cowpoke honky-tonk evidences a Canada dry wit. Bible On The Dash sees him evading border confrontations by faking belief, and Mein Deutsches Motorarad is a rockabilly German bike tribute. But Lund and his tight-chapped bar band, The Hurtin' Albertans, respect the roots rock rules and, on the bleakly dispassionate Priceless Antique Pistol Shoots Startled Owner and the nostalgically reflective One Left In The Chamber, can make genuine emotional connections despite, or perhaps because of, Lund's apparent nonchalance. A second disc strips the same songs back acoustic basics, often with more affecting results.
The Alternative Comedy Experience, yet another stand-up showcase for television, begins on Comedy Central tonight at 11pm. Featuring the kind of comics that other comedians stay out late to see, and an uncharacteristically high proportion of female acts, the show is intended as an Alternative to the increasingly formulaic content and presentation of stand-up on television. But, Comedy Central would like to point out, it can be enjoyed in addition to the usual fare, without spoiling your appetite for stand-up on TV generally.
I am a stand-up comedian, and I helped curate the choice of acts for the show, and inform its look and style. Before making The Alternative Comedy Experience, all of us involved in the programme thought long and hard about the history of the presentation of live comedy on television. Learning from the successes and mistakes of all that has gone before, we firmly believe that The Alternative Comedy Experience represents an apogee of TV stand-up. Here’s a summary of the lineage that led up to it. Warning - contains spoilers.
In the early days of ITV, back in the 1950s, most of its light entertainment was essentially outsourced to the showbiz agent and impresario Jack Hylton. Hylton provided the new channel, at a price, with screen adaptations of his own hit West End comedy variety shows and, in his new capacity moonlighting as adviser of light entertainment to the channel itself, he set up Jack Hylton Television Productions Ltd to fill Associated-Rediffusion’s schedules with dozens of poor-quality vehicles for comedians he already represented as an agent - Arthur Askey, Flanagan and Allen, the Crazy Gang and Alfred Marks.
Their profiles were raised by his ability, as A-R’s light entertainment adviser, to place his turns on television. Hylton then put his agent/promoter hat back on and reaped further financial rewards from increased attendance at his own acts’ live shows, which he also promoted. Hylton was relieved of his adviser to light entertainment role in 1959, and it has taken 50 years for the production of live comedy on television to come full circle.
The free market doctrine-driven insistence that broadcasters subcontract the actual business of making television to independent production companies - allowing agent-producers with their own commercial interests at heart to select which comedians get exposure on panel shows and stand-up showcases paid for by advertisers or licence-payers - has increased the amount, but narrowed the range, of stand-ups on television. The ideologically inspired land-grabs of 1980s ”alternative” comedy are now distant folk memory.
I’m 44. I don’t remember any of Jack Hylton’s shows, though I do remember one made by his nemesis Val Parnell, namely Val Parnell’s Sunday Night At The London Palladium. Parnell left his role as managing director of the Moss Theatres variety circuit in 1956 to meet the threat of the new technology of television head on, become MD of the fledgling Midland independent broadcaster ATV, and channel all his comedy and variety contacts into the weekly smash hit which dominated live comedy on TV from 1955 to 1974.
It’s astonishing to think that the promoter-producer of a variety show was once considered so significant that his name was in the title. The modern equivalent would be if one of today’s top TV promoter-producers had given his name to a TV show, despite not appearing in it himself, and we found ourselves watching a smash stand-up TV hit called Addison Creswell’s Comedy Roadshow, or Jon Thoday’s Good News. But unlike Hylton’s, Val Parnell’s programmes boasted professional production values and were held in high esteem, and the Sunday Night At The London Palladium format actually outlived the live variety circuit that detractors maintain it helped to kill, just as today’s comedy club promoters maintain that the prevalence of live stand-up on television is destroying their livelihoods now.
I think I remember watching Sunday Night At The London Palladium in its final, mid-70s, incarnation. But I’m not sure. All modern memories seem contaminated by YouTube. Do I remember watching Sunday Night At The London Palladium, with its mod-haired Jimmy Tarbuck and already cadaverous Bruce Forsyth appearing front-curtain to vast clapping crowds, or have I mentally misfiled the act of looking up clips on YouTube to confirm a childhood memory? I can’t be sure.
I am certain, however, that I do remember watching two other 70s stand-up shows that were to be a huge influence on the presentation of The Alternative Comedy Experience: The Comedians (Granada 1971-79) and The Wheeltappers’ and Shunters’ Social Club (Granada 1974-77). Both brought to the screen a specifically working-class experience of live comedy that was already in its dying days.
It’s difficult for people brought up in the entirely class-free world of Blair’s Britain or Cameron’s Big Society to understand how socially segregated we used to be. I know I wouldn’t have watched The Comedians and Wheeltappers’ with my father’s more middle-class family, where both shows would have been viewed as “common”, so I must have seen them at my mother’s parents’ home, where ITV, a channel initially differentiated from the BBC by reflecting working-class tastes, as opposed to the Reithian notion of pushing improving viewing, was embraced. BBC2, in contrast, was forbidden, seen suspiciously by my grandmother as a hot-bed of liberalism and decadence. Explaining this childhood distinction to the right-wing commentator and BBC political analyst Andrew Neil last year he told me, confidentially and with a twinkle in his eye, that my grandmother had been right all along, and probably still was, and that he would very much like to have met her.
Wheeltappers’ saw some surprisingly imaginative, if often politically dubious, variety acts and club comics, introduced by liberal bête noir Bernard Manning, in a convincingly recreated studio set of the sort of working men’s club already disappearing in Britain, before a studio audience served trays of sloppy Watney’s by barmaids, wreathed in dense clouds of acrid fag smoke. It obviously made a deep impression on me and was exactly the kind of feel I wanted for my own BBC2 series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, which ended up being filmed in one of the last remaining real working men’s clubs in London. Comics and crowd are in it together, the acts living and dying in front of a real audience, albeit one placed in a bizarre virtual recreation of their usual environment. In choosing to film our own Alternative Comedy Experience in the close confines of the 140-seater Stand in Edinburgh, we amplified Wheeltappers’ comedy vérité vibe quite self-consciously.
The content of The Comedians is largely best consigned to the toilet bowl of history. Each week a dozen or so bowtie-sporting comics of the mother-in-law-baiting school came out and told interchangeable jokes, all drawn from the same public-domain pub gag stockpile. A production assistant stood in the wings, literally crossing off the ones that had been done for the benefit of acts further up the bill. They were differentiated only by the extreme, and often brilliantly compelling, stylistic approaches of the respective performers, and weirdly interspersed with tepid white-guy trad jazz. The Comedians’ genius move was its editing, crosscutting small snatches of each act across each episode in fast-moving fillets that made the show a decade-long hit. Was there anything we could learn from this, now abandoned and discredited, approach?
For me, the series Dave Allen At Large and Dave Allen (BBC 1971-90) are the best stand-up comedy ever seen on television, and socio-studies students who would consign '70s stand-up in its entirety to a black bin bag of racism and homophobia need to realise that Allen’s Beckettian monologues were unfolding in the same time-stream as Jim Davidson’s Chalky character. The languid Irish raconteur was allowed to stretch out on his stool with no more support than a Scotch and a cigarette, his slow-burning tall tales unspoiled by snappy edits or needless cutaways. The show respects its audience’s intelligence and attention span like no other stand-up show before or since. When I pitched Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle to BBC2 in 2005 I said I wanted to copy it, and I did. But it’s not an approach that works for everyone, and the performers on The Alternative Comedy Experience were too disparate, stylistically, to benefit across the board from the imposition of Dave Allen At Large’s meditative model.
The existence of Dave Allen disturbs the convenient truth that we needed the punk-era alternative comedy movement to sweep into the late 70s and save us from unremitting awfulness, but it certainly felt that way to me as a barely teenage suburban comedy fan. The mere two editions of Boom Boom… Out Go The Lights (BBC2 1980-81), a low-tech showcase of the emerging alternative comedy scene made back in the days when a producer with a bright idea could follow it up immediately, were life-changing, and contained within them the DNA of the next 30 years of British stand-up. Brightly lit social workers drinking BBC orange squash on plastic chairs in a storage room were filmed failing to process the innovations of Rik and Ade’s Dangerous Brothers double act, Pauline Melville’s radical housewife, and the masked machine-gunman Keith Allen, all inexplicably interspersed with feelgood R&B from pre-punk blues rocker Paul Jones.
Had it been better supported, Boom Boom… Out Go The Lights could have solidified the sea change of alternative comedy ahead of schedule, but ground was lost to Chris Tarrant’s weirdly unresolved O.T.T. (Central 1982). In a small zoo-format studio, Tarrant let rip his inner rugby-club social sec, hosting both anti-Thatcher pop bands and communist Alexei Sayle, alongside dodgy race jokes from Bernard Manning and lots of already dated 1970s-style female nudity. During these sections the young black British comic Lenny Henry, and the Oxford fine art graduate Helen Atkinson Wood, wilted like whipped dogs.
Saturday Live (Channel 4 1985-88) was the live TV stand-up show that defined the 80s, and it remains trapped in amber, like a laughing prehistoric fly. Ben Elton bellowed from a disco nightclub stage over a floodlit sheep-pen of caned football casuals and gluey psychobillies, but his routines are among the most dated bits of the shows if you revisit them. Some of the guests are fantastic and we’re lucky they were documented, the finest being the snail-paced Irish surrealist Kevin McAleer, whose presentation of his minimalist slideshow of inexpressive owls is lent extra drama by Elton’s obvious dislike of it, and by the philistine studio floor manager visibly trying to force McAleer to speed up his perfectly paced performance. The bright lights and shouting of Saturday Live seem quaint now, and, foretelling the mass modern comedy phenomenon of failed irony, Harry Enfield’s Loadsamoney scored heavily with the cash-rich Thatcherites it set out to ridicule.
By the late 1990s, a mini stand-up comedy boom was evident in the form of a bottleneck of cheaply produced shows featuring box-fresh young acts like Noel Fielding, Lee Mack, Julian Barratt, Jason Byrne and Peter Kay, on the sort of brightly lit studio floors that rarely support an especially subtle performance. Gas (C4 1997-98) and Comedy Network (Paramount 1997-98) were the twin last gasps of straight stand-up on TV in the 20th century. It was soon presumed by executives to "not really work". Those of us who participated in them found ourselves endlessly repeated for years on late-night cable, a gaggle of reverse Dorian Grays, condemned to a form of immortality under the terms of our one-payment buy-out deals, our virgin stand-up sets eventually chopped into differently titled shows, and sliced into 79p audio-only iTunes clips, for time immemorial. Comedy as commodity had arrived, and these shows typify the time when TV stand-up started to feel like worthless one-size-fits-all filler, soon to disappear from the schedules.
It fell to the mighty Live at the Apollo and Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow, both made by Open Mike Productions for BBC1, to revive the fortunes of stand-up on television, and to convince executives it was viable. All comedians owe them a huge debt of thanks for this. Live at the Apollo consolidated its audience in October 2008 after being drafted in to replace one of Open Mike’s other prime-time hits, Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, when it was sacrificed on the temporary altar of public outrage in the wake of Sachsgate. The apparently bulletproof format of both shows presents tight, short sets by club-hardened professionals, with little to spook the horses, on a status-conferring big stage, in front of a massive audience, peppered with celebrities who can be cut to, creating a diverting secondary narrative of famous face-spotting that plays alongside the comedians’ actual routines.
All major BBC1 stand-up shows, along with Channel 4’s Stand Up For The Week (C4, 2010-), are made by a production company called Open Mike, a sister company to the Off The Kerb comedians’ agency. Most BBC3 stand-up shows are made by Avalon productions, a subsidiary of the Avalon comedy management group, who launched my career in the early 90s. These shows have often leaned heavily, but by no means exclusively, on featuring acts their parent companies manage, ensuring their promotion wing a healthy return on subsequent live shows, with ticket sales boosted by TV appearances.
Eighty per cent of the acts on the last two series of Stand Up For The Week, 60 per cent of the comics on BBC3’s Live At The Electric, 39 per cent of acts on BBC3’s Russell Howard’s Good News, and 34 per cent of acts on Live At The Apollo were clients of the companies that produce the shows, in a situation weirdly reminiscent of that original 1950s Jack Hylton/Associated-Rediffusion model, but broadcasters are legally obliged to outsource programmes, and both agencies boast impressive rosters of TV-friendly acts. And later series of Live At The Apollo and both series of Comedy Roadshow varied the sources of their star turns so much as for accusations of nepotism to be all but negligible. But the comedy industry website Chortle used pie charts to show that production companies were 20 times more likely to book comics their parent companies represented, and that the two major stand-up comedy show producers, Off The Kerb’s Open Mike productions and Avalon, very rarely feature each other’s clients in their shows.
This lack of diversity is not especially sinister. Open Mike’s ideal stand-up is a 30-year-old man who dresses like a 40-year-old man, whereas Avalon’s is a 40-year-old man who dresses like a 20-old-man, and they have dominated their twin target markets of grown-up BBC1 and youth-orientated BBC3 respectively by deploying these tested models. Sadly, Avalon are unable to find the regular high-profile outlets to expose the varied range of their comedy clients - from the stream-of-consciousness storyteller stand-up Maeve Higgins to the business, sports and morning television humorist Adrian Chiles - that Open Mike have. But other comedy agents, or comedians without any representation, can only look on enviously at their dominance of the spectrum. Inevitably, with two gatekeeper companies funneling in most of the stand-up that we see on our sets, the public’s perception of the art form is bound to be skewed towards certain stylistic norms.
And that’s where The Alternative Comedy Experience comes in. The show is not about consensus. In front of a small audience, the polar opposite from the vulgar displays of scale seen on most television stand-up shows, we see a selection of smart, strange, stupid and above all utterly original acts, from stand-up’s past and its present, dividing and delighting the room. There are no supportive cutaways to laughing audience members to tell you what you’re seeing is funny. The onus is on you, the viewer, to switch on, engage and stop expecting to be spoon-fed. There are few faces famous enough for you to feel you are watching a string of celebrity personal appearances. The Alternative Comedy Experience showcases a variety of styles of stand-up that explore, expand and experiment with the form. These are the comedians who do the research and development that has already, and will continue to, inform the stadium-fillers of tomorrow.
The Alternative Comedy Experience starts tonight at 11pm on Comedy Central (Sky 112, Virgin 132).
Stewart Lee
2013-02-05T21:29:17+00:00
The Alternative Comedy Experience, yet another stand-up showcase for television, begins on Comedy Central tonight at 11pm. Featuring the kind of comics that other comedians stay out late to see, and an uncharacteristically high proportion of female acts, the show is intended as an Alternative to the increasingly formulaic content and presentation of stand-up on television. But, Comedy Central would like to point out, it can be enjoyed in addition to the usual fare, without spoiling your appetite for stand-up on TV generally. I am a stand-up comedian, and I helped curate the choice of acts for the show, and inform its look and style. Before making The Alternative Comedy Experience, all of us involved in the programme thought long and hard about the history of the presentation of live comedy on television. Learning from the successes and mistakes of all that has gone before, we firmly believe that The Alternative Comedy Experience represents an apogee of TV stand-up. Here’s a summary of the lineage that led up to it. Warning - contains spoilers. In the early days of ITV, back in the 1950s, most of its light entertainment was essentially outsourced to the showbiz agent and impresario Jack Hylton. Hylton provided the new channel, at a price, with screen adaptations of his own hit West End comedy variety shows and, in his new capacity moonlighting as adviser of light entertainment to the channel itself, he set up Jack Hylton Television Productions Ltd to fill Associated-Rediffusion’s schedules with dozens of poor-quality vehicles for comedians he already represented as an agent - Arthur Askey, Flanagan and Allen, the Crazy Gang and Alfred Marks. Their profiles were raised by his ability, as A-R’s light entertainment adviser, to place his turns on television. Hylton then put his agent/promoter hat back on and reaped...
During this morning's trawl through the bank holiday weekend email spam I spotted a plea for support from divisive stand-up comedian Stewart Lee.
"Dear all," it read, "Overlooked National Treasures The Nightingales (and Subway Sect) are closing my SOUTH BANK CENTRE AUSTERITY BINGE on Monday 30th May. Here are two great reviews from the current tour. Please twat this if you are a tweeter."
It was a plea for attendance and cultural support on a wet night when most of that London were journeying back from their renovated Cornish fishing village, or still apologising for inappropriate behaviour at the Sunday night barbecue. I'd turned up out of a sense of duty (I'd written a preview piece for the magazine) and curious nostalgia (the Nightingales were one of my teenage indie-kid obsessions) and, truth be told, signs weren't good. With less than ten minutes to go, there were barely ten supporters visible amidst the school-hall fluorescence of The South Bank's Purcell Room. One female punter muttered ominously, something about having "seen him recently, and he looked broken, ruined."
But by the dimming of the lights the hall was healthily half full, and Subway Sect effortlessly dispelled any fears of ruined reunion, the acerbic, attenuated Vic Godard leading his 2011 model band through a nervy set of cheese-wire sharpness, spitting out peculiar pop songs, rich in political anger and English scorn.
Yet nothing in Subway Sect's admittedly excellent return could have prepared for the astonishing revelation of Rob Lloyd's Nightingales. Formed out of the ashes of blackly-comic Birmingham punk upsetters The Prefects, Nightingales Mk. 1 existed from 1979 to '86, Black Country Magic Banders spinning Daedalian indie skronk around Lloyd's slashing gnomic utterances. Since reforming in 2004, Nightingales Mk 2 have survived - like post-punk fellow-travellers The Fall - as an ever-shifting cast of players, a tightly schooled all-ages boot-camp in the employ of one man's absurdist poetic invective.
Recently retrained at Jochen Irmler's Faust Studio, tonight Lloyd and founder Prefects guitarist Alan Apperley field a side barely three weeks old. Bassist Andreas Schmid, a Faust Studio apprentice, is suitably young and severe, the possible leader of some Marxist-Leninist '70s student cell, in academic black suit and socialist haircut. Skinny in black jeans and black western shirt, hair like squid-ink candy floss, rhythm guitarist Matt Wood resembles a teenage Horrors offcast, while from behind her own heavy witch-black fringe ex-Violet Violet drummer Fliss Kitson pounds out the glam-kosmische bin rhythms. As Lloyd takes the stage - stout, bespectacled, wily smile flickering between joy and contempt - the image is complete; it is the embittered Marxist history teacher fronting the school band, the academy in peril.
With no time for nostalgia, tonight The Nightingales ignore any notion of greatest hits in favour of joyous reinvention. Feeding off the hard-drilled energy of these junior initiates, Apperley spins frayed Bo Diddley riffs around Lloyd's tumbling psychedelic eavesdroppings, allowing the singer to recycle, reinvent and repurpose thirty years of vituperative notebook aphorisms, constructing an intense, breathless narrative from the recycled past to the scorched present. And, like some Christ-like curmudgeon, newly risen to grouse again, Lloyd feeds off the audience fervour, growing stronger, yet ever wary; grinning broadly, flicking the Vs, and mouthing "What the f---?!"
With every repurposed song - plus a combative cover of Gary Glitter's I Didn't Know I Loved You (Till I Saw You Rock & Roll) - the band become yet more powerful, Apperley and the kids locked in a heavy zig-zag groove as Lloyd bellows out caustic images from his mordant world-view, like some Black Country Stuart Staples, holidaying in the window of an Arndale Pound Shop. The cumulative effect is one of euphoric delight, of old knowledge in the hands of new disciples. "Dig the depth of the furrow of mirth that I can plough," sings Lloyd on The Overreactor. Tonight The Nightingales hit an epic new low. Catch them when they're at it again.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-31T20:46:09+01:00
During this morning's trawl through the bank holiday weekend email spam I spotted a plea for support from divisive stand-up comedian Stewart Lee. "Dear all," it read, "Overlooked National Treasures The Nightingales (and Subway Sect) are closing my SOUTH BANK CENTRE AUSTERITY BINGE on Monday 30th May. Here are two great reviews from the current tour. Please twat this if you are a tweeter." It was a plea for attendance and cultural support on a wet night when most of that London were journeying back from their renovated Cornish fishing village, or still apologising for inappropriate behaviour at the Sunday night barbecue. I'd turned up out of a sense of duty (I'd written a preview piece for the magazine) and curious nostalgia (the Nightingales were one of my teenage indie-kid obsessions) and, truth be told, signs weren't good. With less than ten minutes to go, there were barely ten supporters visible amidst the school-hall fluorescence of The South Bank's Purcell Room. One female punter muttered ominously, something about having "seen him recently, and he looked broken, ruined." But by the dimming of the lights the hall was healthily half full, and Subway Sect effortlessly dispelled any fears of ruined reunion, the acerbic, attenuated Vic Godard leading his 2011 model band through a nervy set of cheese-wire sharpness, spitting out peculiar pop songs, rich in political anger and English scorn. Yet nothing in Subway Sect's admittedly excellent return could have prepared for the astonishing revelation of Rob Lloyd's Nightingales. Formed out of the ashes of blackly-comic Birmingham punk upsetters The Prefects, Nightingales Mk. 1 existed from 1979 to '86, Black Country Magic Banders spinning Daedalian indie skronk around Lloyd's slashing gnomic utterances. Since reforming in 2004, Nightingales Mk 2 have survived - like post-punk fellow-travellers The Fall - as an ever-shifting...
Brexit and Trump now loom over culturally engaged comedy, where behind-the-curve jokes can be easily exposed. Stewart Lee – just as his wife, Bridget Christie, did in Edinburgh this year – begins by complaining that his new show, Content Provider, has been derailed by the EU vote. The original idea was to explore, with reference to Caspar David Friedrich’s painting Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog, atomised man in the era of digital consumerism. Which Lee duly does, but the concept feels diluted now – rendered peripheral, indeed – by his material on 2016’s two great political cataclysms, which kickstarts each act.
The concept is muddied then, but there remains a great deal in Content Provider to enjoy. After the axing of BBC2’s Comedy Vehicle, Lee is no longer compelled to frame his live work as a dummy run for the TV show, and he can focus on delivering excellent live standup. Tonight’s offering fits the bill, as the almost 50-year-old “ex-TV comic” purports to reassess his place in the world. “I’m coming to despise the character of Stewart Lee,” he tells us at one point, and there are intriguing hints that, for once, that utterance might contain a shred of the truth. Not to begin with, though. Lee’s opening Brexit routine pitches us into trademark Stewart Lee territory, as he double bluffs his scorn for Leave voters and questions his own role within “the metropolitan liberal elite”. (On which pertinent subject, it would be fascinating to hear more.) A new UK landscape comes into being, he tells us: one great Tolkien wasteland studded with walled citadels where “wizards, poets and people who understand data” live. As ever, Lee oozes superiority, whether quoting his own newspaper columns (“I believe it was I who once said ...”) or mocking the BBC’s remake of out-of-time sitcom Are You Being Served? By this stage, he’s back on track with the original show, bemoaning his fall from TV grace, reduced, in one pleasingly beady routine, to buying his own DVDs online and selling them on at a paltry profit. The second half unfolds Lee’s most concentrated setpiece, a characteristically twisty routine about bondage practices in years gone by. On one level, it’s a rude joke about our grandparents’ generation improvising DIY S&M. On multiple others, it’s mocking Lee’s hated under-40s, to whom everything – even kinky sex – comes easily packaged as just another meaningless artefact in the consumerist marketplace. This argument climaxes in a broadside against generational narcissism that, by Lee’s standards, seems unusually straightforward. At such moments – and assuming no irony is intended in the famously navel-gazing Lee critiquing self-absorption – the dense archness of “the character of Stewart Lee” dilutes. At others, it persists, but more cosily than in the past, as a game we all – Lee and his audience – enjoy playing together. It’s certainly enjoyable tonight. Lee is at ease, having fun, totally in control of his complex, supercilious/resentful register. But, as a satisfying visual gag brings his lament for the selfie generation to its conclusion, the sense lingers that Brexit and Trump (and his material on them) have devalued the currency of Lee’s original concept. We’re left with a show that pulls in different directions. But if its parts are ill-fitting, they’re also frequently brilliant.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-17T14:35:05+00:00
Brexit and Trump now loom over culturally engaged comedy, where behind-the-curve jokes can be easily exposed. Stewart Lee – just as his wife, Bridget Christie, did in Edinburgh this year – begins by complaining that his new show, Content Provider, has been derailed by the EU vote. The original idea was to explore, with reference to Caspar David Friedrich’s painting Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog, atomised man in the era of digital consumerism. Which Lee duly does, but the concept feels diluted now – rendered peripheral, indeed – by his material on 2016’s two great political cataclysms, which kickstarts each act. 'I’m coming to despise the character of Stewart Lee' he tells us at one point The concept is muddied then, but there remains a great deal in Content Provider to enjoy. After the axing of BBC2’s Comedy Vehicle, Lee is no longer compelled to frame his live work as a dummy run for the TV show, and he can focus on delivering excellent live standup. Tonight’s offering fits the bill, as the almost 50-year-old “ex-TV comic” purports to reassess his place in the world. “I’m coming to despise the character of Stewart Lee,” he tells us at one point, and there are intriguing hints that, for once, that utterance might contain a shred of the truth. Not to begin with, though. Lee’s opening Brexit routine pitches us into trademark Stewart Lee territory, as he double bluffs his scorn for Leave voters and questions his own role within “the metropolitan liberal elite”. (On which pertinent subject, it would be fascinating to hear more.) A new UK landscape comes into being, he tells us: one great Tolkien wasteland studded with walled citadels where “wizards, poets and people who understand data” live. As ever, Lee oozes superiority, whether quoting his own...
It starts with a cheerily vivid threat of violent retribution to users of camera phones. It ends with a visual punchline: a riposte to generation selfie delivered from on top of piles of rival comedians’ remaindered DVDs. And in the two hours of jokes about Brexit, Trump and “the individual in a digitised free-market society” in between, Lee delivers what may just be the most consistently funny show of his brilliant career.
As you’ll know if you’ve seen Lee in his now-cancelled BBC Two stand-up show, his thirst to address our messed-up world is matched only by his hunger to discuss his style, technique and simultaneously marginal and pre-eminent position in the marketplace. He sets up a hall of comedic mirrors in which any joke about stuff that matters — his Brexit routine is good, as is a Trump routine hastily but artfully conceived to mirror it in every detail — fast ricochets into live footnotes about how the show is going, about whether this is all just “massaging the prejudices” of the metropolitan liberal elite.
Yet secretly there is a plan to Content Provider, a return to the sort of long-form live show that Lee sidelined in the years when his tours became tryouts for television material. And we, the Lee consumers, are getting a much better deal: his mixture of the overstatedly satirical and the wilfully absurd needs time to attain equilibrium.
As he roams between mocking the faddish mimsiness of anyone under 40 — his beaming, Neanderthal mime of people on their phones is my funniest moment of the year so far — to mocking politicians, Russell Howard, Game of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings”) and the strictures of his own persona, he is also trying to find a way to be authentically amusing in a divided society with atomised tastes.
If that sounds highfalutin, what renders it hilarious is Lee’s sheer devotion to jokes. His writing is both dense and loose. He mocks the narcissism of our age, while forever keeping a jaundiced eye out for his reflection. Phew. I laughed till it hurt.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-17T18:22:12+00:00
It starts with a cheerily vivid threat of violent retribution to users of camera phones. It ends with a visual punchline: a riposte to generation selfie delivered from on top of piles of rival comedians’ remaindered DVDs. And in the two hours of jokes about Brexit, Trump and “the individual in a digitised free-market society” in between, Lee delivers what may just be the most consistently funny show of his brilliant career. As you’ll know if you’ve seen Lee in his now-cancelled BBC Two stand-up show, his thirst to address our messed-up world is matched only by his hunger to discuss his style, technique and simultaneously marginal and pre-eminent position in the marketplace. He sets up a hall of comedic mirrors in which any joke about stuff that matters — his Brexit routine is good, as is a Trump routine hastily but artfully conceived to mirror it in every detail — fast ricochets into live footnotes about how the show is going, about whether this is all just “massaging the prejudices” of the metropolitan liberal elite. Yet secretly there is a plan to Content Provider, a return to the sort of long-form live show that Lee sidelined in the years when his tours became tryouts for television material. And we, the Lee consumers, are getting a much better deal: his mixture of the overstatedly satirical and the wilfully absurd needs time to attain equilibrium. As he roams between mocking the faddish mimsiness of anyone under 40 — his beaming, Neanderthal mime of people on their phones is my funniest moment of the year so far — to mocking politicians, Russell Howard, Game of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings”) and the strictures of his own persona, he is also trying to find a way to be authentically amusing in...
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.
The 2007/8 show was recorded at The Stand, Glasgow on April 7th '08 and was released on 28th of July through Real Talent.
You can buy online at amazon, play, etc.
Here's all the press from the tour.
It's come out really well and there's some good extras including a 45 minute interview conducted by Johnny Vegas and Stewart's performance at Pestival - 'the international Arts Pestival dedicated to raising awareness of the integral role insects play in the global ecosystem'.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T20:27:17+00:00
The 2007/8 show was recorded at The Stand, Glasgow on April 7th '08 and was released on 28th of July through Real Talent. You can buy online at amazon, play, etc. Here's all the press from the tour. It's come out really well and there's some good extras including a 45 minute interview conducted by Johnny Vegas and Stewart's performance at Pestival - 'the international Arts Pestival dedicated to raising awareness of the integral role insects play in the global ecosystem'.
Comedian Stewart Lee joins Rob to discuss his new stand-up shows Snowflake and Tornado, currently on BBC iPlayer. And Stewart explains why he particularly embraces the audience members who have been dragged to his shows against their will...
Brydon & is a Spotify Exclusive Podcast. Rob Brydon is the Executive Producer in partnership with The Talent Bank and Folding Pocket. The show is produced by Sam Roberts and Rebecca Taylor-Sims. For Spotify, the Executive Producer is Rachel Simpson. NOTE: THIS PODCAST IS ON SPOTIFY WHICH MEANS YOU NEED A SPOTIFY ACCOUNT TO LISTEN TO IT IN ITS ENTIRETY
Stewart Lee
2022-09-08T19:33:15+01:00
Comedian Stewart Lee joins Rob to discuss his new stand-up shows Snowflake and Tornado, currently on BBC iPlayer. And Stewart explains why he particularly embraces the audience members who have been dragged to his shows against their will... Brydon & is a Spotify Exclusive Podcast. Rob Brydon is the Executive Producer in partnership with The Talent Bank and Folding Pocket. The show is produced by Sam Roberts and Rebecca Taylor-Sims. For Spotify, the Executive Producer is Rachel Simpson. NOTE: THIS PODCAST IS ON SPOTIFY WHICH MEANS YOU NEED A SPOTIFY ACCOUNT TO LISTEN TO IT IN ITS ENTIRETY
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/mp3/brydon-and/
In 2005, the then 20-year-old Prince Harry appeared as a Nazi at a fancy dress party. Perhaps the uniform had been inherited from his great-great-uncle, Edward VIII, who was not averse to a spot of recreational sieg heiling.
But next year Prince Harry is to marry the mixed-race descendant of a black American slave, his wedding garments scrupulously stripped of any stray swastikas. Cosmic order is restored.
Has the Prince nobly taken upon himself the symbolic role of a healing force in our rapidly unravelling world, suddenly riven with the sort of open racism and fears of nuclear annihilations that we had assumed had been laid to rest? I’m all for 70s and 80s revivals, but these aren’t the parts of my childhood I feel nostalgic for. A Fab lolly, an Altered Images 12-inch remix and a vibrant trade union movement would have done.
Today, we need the hope that the forthcoming royal nuptials offer more than ever. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s marriage could be a healing ritual for our ruined land, a joining of races that fascists would have us divide. But of course, the racist writing has been on the wall for years.
In 1965, during Eric Clapton’s tenure in John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, the phrase “Clapton Is God” began to be grafittied around London. But in 1966, Jimi Hendrix arrived in the city and Clapton was usurped, a seething Salieri to Hendrix’s soaring Mozart.
Ten years later, on stage in Birmingham, a drunken Clapton praised Enoch Powell and declared, “Get the foreigners out, get the wogs out, get the coons out. Keep Britain white.” The Rock Against Racism movement was formed soon after his pronouncement, and the Stranglers brought cavorting strippers on stage with them to smash racism at a Victoria Park RAR concert. Different times.
Today, western world leaders openly praise neo-Nazis, but instead of forming a grass roots rock’n’roll resistance, young people remain passively plugged into their PS4s playing PacMan Go, waiting for their braindead fuck-buddies to come round with some pacifying bong-weed, I expect, while laughing at You-net films of people gobbling down more cinnamon than is necessary, squandering bakers’ dwindling spice reserves.
There’s currently a cynical viral marketing campaign for Clapton’s forthcoming Hyde Park show that sees the ancient phrase “Clapton Is God” sprayed up all around London once more by paid PR-vandals. I have prepared a stencil saying “Clapton is an alcoholic racist”, but getting it out there doesn’t, at the moment, seem like a great use of time. There are worse people to worry about than Clapton or, to give him his blues name, Mississippi Nigel Farage.
We should have seen all this coming, but I thought the culture wars were won when New Order got John Barnes to do a rap on their 1990 World Cup single. I expect I was too busy being ironically racist in a Shoreditch bar, drinking Grolsch from a pop-top bottle and toasting Tony Blair. It’s not only Eric Clapton who has a shameful past.
Alarm bells should have been ringing. Somewhere around the turn of the century, in the perineal period between the ubiquity of email and the pervasive idiocy-tsunami of Twitter, my BNP-voting auntie sent me an attachment, typical of the era, designed to melt my snowflake mind.
It comprised a supposedly scientific study, using history and genetics, to prove that all Muslims were demonstrably culturally and morally inferior, and downright dangerous. Of course, a quick Google showed that neither the academic who wrote it, nor the institution he worked for, had ever existed, a discovery that one would have thought would discredit the piece.
But confronted with this evidence my auntie just said, “All the same, I think it makes a lot of good points.” How pleased she would be, were she alive today, to know that her research reached the same exacting standards as that of the president of the United States of America.
This morning, on LBC radio, the professional wasps’-nest-poker Nick Ferrari was audibly rattled. Ferrari, a man who is 85% wazzock, and who has made a living out of inflaming the unstable passions of the “political correctness has gone mad” brigade, realised the monster robot he had reared on raw opinion meat and a vapour of Facebook hearsay was now beyond his control and he’d forgotten to install its emergency-stop button.
Cautiously describing Trump’s Britain First-endorsing missive as “a tweet too far”, Ferrari suddenly found his white-knuckled listeners largely disagreeing with him, and retorting that these videos needed to be aired, whether they were verifiable or not. Could straight-talking Ferrari smell the smoking torches of a previously loyal mob approaching his own mountaintop castle, his Jaguar F-type aflame on the brick-paved driveway?
On Monday, as Theresa May cautiously accepted that we will have to pay for EU schemes we were already signed up for, and the inevitable impossibility of the fluid Irish border was at last made flesh, it seemed to me that the wheels had finally fallen of the lie-encrusted Brexit battlebus.
But the quiet coup currently enacted by the billionaire tax-avoiders behind Brexit continued its forward motion, as cognitive dissonance drove their brainwashed leave-voting serfs to misdirect their ongoing anger towards everyone but themselves.
But Harry knows the power of symbols and he begins the enactment of a healing ritual. Has Harry, ever the self-aware prankster, chosen the tiny St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, as his wedding venue in a coded satirical message every bit as meaningful as the clearly pro-EU hat his grandmother wore at the opening of parliament last June?
In a comic pantomime of self-immolating isolationism, our next National Royal Ceremony will be performed in a room too small to accommodate all those who might have been expected to attend, in a building named after our national saint, a man famous for fighting something that didn’t exist, a dragon as unreal as Boris Johnson’s Daily Telegraph vision of a banana-hating EU.
The chapel’s roof is decorated with heraldic animals. Guests might find themselves staring up at a unicorn, which canters away into the mist of myth, as gaseous as an NHS promise, the porous Irish border, the cake that can be eaten and had.
And here come the prince and his scion of slaves, to make us whole again. Meghan Markle. Her name even sounds like “Mrs Merkel”, and she symbolises an America far better than Trump’s, a virgin new land coming into conjugal union with a grizzled Britain that, like the Prince himself, could still choose to divest itself of its unattractive fascist garments and begin again.
Stewart Lee
2017-12-03T18:13:24+00:00
In 2005, the then 20-year-old Prince Harry appeared as a Nazi at a fancy dress party. Perhaps the uniform had been inherited from his great-great-uncle, Edward VIII, who was not averse to a spot of recreational sieg heiling. But next year Prince Harry is to marry the mixed-race descendant of a black American slave, his wedding garments scrupulously stripped of any stray swastikas. Cosmic order is restored. Has the Prince nobly taken upon himself the symbolic role of a healing force in our rapidly unravelling world, suddenly riven with the sort of open racism and fears of nuclear annihilations that we had assumed had been laid to rest? I’m all for 70s and 80s revivals, but these aren’t the parts of my childhood I feel nostalgic for. A Fab lolly, an Altered Images 12-inch remix and a vibrant trade union movement would have done. Today, we need the hope that the forthcoming royal nuptials offer more than ever. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s marriage could be a healing ritual for our ruined land, a joining of races that fascists would have us divide. But of course, the racist writing has been on the wall for years. In 1965, during Eric Clapton’s tenure in John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, the phrase “Clapton Is God” began to be grafittied around London. But in 1966, Jimi Hendrix arrived in the city and Clapton was usurped, a seething Salieri to Hendrix’s soaring Mozart. Ten years later, on stage in Birmingham, a drunken Clapton praised Enoch Powell and declared, “Get the foreigners out, get the wogs out, get the coons out. Keep Britain white.” The Rock Against Racism movement was formed soon after his pronouncement, and the Stranglers brought cavorting strippers on stage with them to smash racism at a Victoria Park RAR concert. Different times. Today, western world leaders openly praise neo-Nazis, but...
From 1989 to 1991 I lived in Finsbury Park, decades before it began to show signs of gentrification. I'd get home late from unpaid standup try-out spots, and it was hard to hold down a day job. At the end of my street, outside a hardware shop on Tollington Park, was a contraption so unusual that each night, in a state of adrenaline-driven imbalance, I would find myself staring at it in the small hours in bleak fascination. It was a maggot vending machine; faintly glowing, dimly humming, and stuffed with millions of live maggots throbbing gently en masse in a barely warmed state of collective suspended animation. As a younger, and more impressionable, man I couldn't help but find it vaguely profound.
One hot July night in 1990, around 1.30am, I was staring at the maggot machine as usual, a contraband comedy club's can of Carlsberg in hand, thinking about the maggots as metaphors for something or other, when my musings were interrupted by a sharply dressed young man, of around my age, emerging from a van bearing the legend "House of Maggots". "Excuse me sir," he said, politely, "maggot maintenance", and he wheeled over a pallet of plastic cool boxes. Unlocking the maggot machine he began to pour gallons of immobilised maggots into it, topping up the depleted stock within.
"Can I have a look, mate?" I asked. "I walk past this machine every night and I've wondered how it works." "By all means," said the man, and helped me up with a politeness and confidence that my prejudiced assumptions hadn't led me to expect in a man who vended maggots. Beneath me, millions of maggots pulsated slowly in comatose contentment. "I keep them just warm enough to live," he said, "but not hot enough to get excited, nor cold enough to expire. Here, pour this on them. It's their food." The man handed me a sachet of yeasty smelling flakes and I sprinkled it over the ignorant maggots.
"You're out late," the maggot man said, as he locked up the machine. "I'm trying to be a comedian," I replied. "I get back late from all these try-out gigs and the buzz keeps me awake. It's making it hard to hold on to temp jobs." "Oh," the man said. "Can you drive?" One cup of tea at an all-night cafe in Crouch End later and I became House of Maggots' second ever staff member.
Each night after my try-out gigs, I would get a train up to Watford to meet Grant, who patrolled his patch (principally London, and vast swaths of Norfolk and Suffolk, where early-morning anglers gathered by his machines in laybys and car parks), nocturnally maintaining his maggot empire. Like me, Grant had left further education a year previously, having studied finance at Manchester Polytechnic. One morning, setting off early on a fishing trip with an uncle who had forgotten to pack live bait, Grant spotted a gap in the market that his business brain could exploit. And House of Maggots was born.
There was less traffic in the nighttime, and between midnight and morning Grant and I swiftly circumnavigated his machines in a minivan full of permanently chilled larvae. Pretty soon our roles were established. I did all the heavy lifting and driving, while Grant sat in the passenger seat doing paperwork, maintaining his swelling maggot supply lines. Grant's enthusiasm was infectious. I liked him, though we rarely saw eye to eye on politics. Mick Jones from the Clash was Grant's cousin, and we'd blast his tapes from the tinny stereo, singing along to the words while debating the sentiment.
"How can you like the Clash," I asked Grant, "when you're obviously a Tory entrepreneur?" "Easy," he answered. "A protest group like the Clash? They're extremely valuable. The disgruntled proles go and see them on a Saturday night, get drunk, jump around, and feel like their grievances have been addressed. Then they're much happier going back to being wage slaves for the rest of the week." I laughed. Back then I assumed Grant was joking. "Out you get," he continued, "and don't forget to feed the maggots."
One night, as I was topping up a maggot machine in a layby near Thetford, an angler arrived to fill a Tupperware box with comatose larvae. While he made small talk he threaded the fattest maggots on to a succession of hooks, spiking them between two black, eye-like markings on one end. It seems silly to write about it now, but when I got back in the van with Grant I felt a twinge of conscience. "Grant," I said, "don't you ever feel bad about this? We spend the absolute minimum on maintaining those barely alive maggots, just so someone can buy them and then throw them to their deaths?" "My dear fellow," he said, buoyant as ever, "the maggots are comfortable, and they're fed, and they're warm-ish. They are serving an economic purpose. Their pointless existence is being monetised. I validate them."
When I got my first unpaid half spot at the old Comedy Store, on the east side of Leicester Square in December 1990, I told Grant I was quitting and he kindly came to see the show. The hot Saturday night sweat box was stuffed with drunken revellers, packed together at 2am in tight rows like sardines, though I got the feeling Grant saw them as something else. I stumbled through a typical anti-Tory alternative-comedy set and Grant handed me a good-luck card. When I got home I realised it contained the most eloquently written letter of encouragement and £50 in cash. I never saw Grant again.
Grant left House of Maggots, by then a successful outfit with nine employees, in 1997, when he stood as a Conservative MP, but remained a director until 2009, three years before he became chairman of the Conservative party. The skills Grant picked up in marketing maggots seemed to have deserted him earlier this week, when he blundered on to Twitter with an ill-judged graphic about the budget that swiftly sent the social network into meltdown. But I liked Grant back then and I still like him now, despite never actually having met him. Grant just wants all hardworking people to be content, fit for purpose, and able to do more of the things they enjoy.
Stewart Lee appears at the Brighton Dome tonight, in an evening celebrating the music of Nick Pynn, with Kevin Eldon, Boothby Graffoe, Mike Heron and Arthur Brown. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is on BBC2 on Saturdays at 10pm
Stewart Lee
2014-03-23T13:24:30+00:00
From 1989 to 1991 I lived in Finsbury Park, decades before it began to show signs of gentrification. I'd get home late from unpaid standup try-out spots, and it was hard to hold down a day job. At the end of my street, outside a hardware shop on Tollington Park, was a contraption so unusual that each night, in a state of adrenaline-driven imbalance, I would find myself staring at it in the small hours in bleak fascination. It was a maggot vending machine; faintly glowing, dimly humming, and stuffed with millions of live maggots throbbing gently en masse in a barely warmed state of collective suspended animation. As a younger, and more impressionable, man I couldn't help but find it vaguely profound. One hot July night in 1990, around 1.30am, I was staring at the maggot machine as usual, a contraband comedy club's can of Carlsberg in hand, thinking about the maggots as metaphors for something or other, when my musings were interrupted by a sharply dressed young man, of around my age, emerging from a van bearing the legend "House of Maggots". "Excuse me sir," he said, politely, "maggot maintenance", and he wheeled over a pallet of plastic cool boxes. Unlocking the maggot machine he began to pour gallons of immobilised maggots into it, topping up the depleted stock within. "Can I have a look, mate?" I asked. "I walk past this machine every night and I've wondered how it works." "By all means," said the man, and helped me up with a politeness and confidence that my prejudiced assumptions hadn't led me to expect in a man who vended maggots. Beneath me, millions of maggots pulsated slowly in comatose contentment. "I keep them just warm enough to live," he said, "but not hot enough to get excited,...
To Elon Musk, I say this! To perform one Nazi salute at Donald Trump’s inauguration, while simultaneously offering full support to European neo-Nazis, might be considered a misfortune. To perform two Nazi salutes at Donald Trump’s inauguration, while simultaneously offering full support to European neo-Nazis, begins to look like carelessness.
I didn’t write that joke. I have cannibalised it from one by the gay Irish Victorian Oscar Wilde, a typical diversity hire who would have achieved nothing had his work not been promoted by the famously woke 19th-century British establishment. Luckily, Wilde was dead long before he had the opportunity to emigrate to the US and take an air traffic controller job from a more deserving straight white male, where his gayness would have caused planes to crash.
And dead also is Wilde’s contemporary Little Tich, the resilient dancing midget, whose spectacular gravity-defying boots can still be seen on display in Bloomsbury’s bijoux Museum of Comedy, alongside Tommy Cooper’s fez and a jar of thoughts John Cleese was forbidden from articulating owing to political correctness. But I dread to think of the havoc a capering music hall midget might have wrought on today’s international flight paths. It is a relief that Trump has targeted the diversity policies that could lead, directly up the gently sloping access ramp of woke inclusivity, to millions of appalling aviation disasters.
Call me a textbook member of the tofu-munching north London wokerati, but I am proud to live in a world where people of shorter stature, while still entitled to dance in funny shoes if they so desire, can also be air traffic controllers. And call me a textbook member of the cinnamon latte-guzzling liberal elite, but it does seem wrong for the new president of the US to blame dwarf diversity hires and lazy amputees and those pesky epileptics for an air crash, without any evidence, especially when he’s reportedly just laid off loads of air traffic controllers.
On a recent Friday in York, I had a lovely north African tapas lunch with a longstanding comedy promoter who, though still young, was old enough to remember working for a special bowling alley in Blackpool, where small people in crash helmets mounted on little trolleys were ricochetted down the aisles at speed towards clusters of vulnerable skittles by violently drunk stag parties. In the end, this massively popular seaside attraction – dwarf bowling – closed early, not because someone in Blackpool had a belated anxiety about whether it was ethical, but because of the injuries sustained by those being bowled down the lanes by the intoxicated revellers.
In the 1920s, Blackpool’s midgets lived in their own Midget Town on top of the Blackpool Tower, where tourists paid to see them go about their daily business in suitably scaled-down settings. It was a living. But when Midget Town finally closed, the pre-PC future offered only pantomime, seasonal work and bowling. It’s a world Trump would like to return to.
Ah, well! Meet our potential major trading partner, whose return, according to Boris Johnson, was to be celebrated as another welcome victory over the woke. Witnessing the adjudicated sex abuser and convicted felon’s inauguration, Johnson, perhaps scenting his own second chance in the offing, related in the Daily Mail how, as the “invisible pulse of power surged” from the battered bible into the hand of Trump: “I saw the moment the world’s wokerati had worked so hard to prevent.” I can’t even be bothered to write anything funny about a man who could pen something so cynical, stupid and self-serving. I wish Johnson, the wounded wild pig of world politics, wandering around the central reservation wailing, having been winged by a passing Winnebago, would just fuck off. For ever.
Too many of our politicians and pundits seem willing to take a wait-and-see approach to the wild swings of Trump’s pendulous wrecking balls. We should stand strong against Trump alongside Canada, the harmless honey bear of international politics suddenly rearing up like an animatronic grizzly in an 80s B-movie. Keir Starmer is in danger of being on the wrong side of history, his only consolation being that, at the current rate of collapse, there may not be much history left. Like the natural world Starmer wishes to destroy, it seems history may be a finite resource.
“Drill, baby, drill!” cries Trump, as Los Angeles burns and Greenland’s permafrost unfreezes to the point where the previously unexploitable country may actually be worth him invading. Meanwhile, Starmer’s cry is the same but more complex and no less stupid. “Build a third runway and drill in the Rosebank oilfield, baby, build a third runway and drill in the Rosebank oilfield! And while you’re at it, lock up peaceful environmental protesters too. Especially the elderly.”
Starmer can’t really criticise Trump’s planet-pulverising withdrawal from the Paris agreement, let alone his baseless hostility to a phalanx of imaginary disabled air traffic incompetents, when he too has decided to throw all life on Earth under the bus, despite having once been an idealistic teenager who left his “village and went to the city of Leeds” and “discovered a whole new world of indie bands – like Orange Juice and the Wedding Present”. Bless!
I began this supposedly funny column on Monday morning, when the US president was still saying Starmer was “very nice” and there’d be no UK tariffs. Then I travelled to Oxford to do a show, and one takeaway coffee and a homemade sausage sandwich later, the UK seemed to have drifted back into Trump’s target zone, depending on which interpretation of his last mouth-fart of vengeful gobbledy-vomit you chose to believe. There’s no point trying to make plans around the whims of Trump. Starmer may as well throw cake at a hippo or try to cajole a box jellyfish. Go to Brussels on bended knee and beg for brotherhood.
Stewart Lee
2025-02-09T13:08:23+00:00
To Elon Musk, I say this! To perform one Nazi salute at Donald Trump’s inauguration, while simultaneously offering full support to European neo-Nazis, might be considered a misfortune. To perform two Nazi salutes at Donald Trump’s inauguration, while simultaneously offering full support to European neo-Nazis, begins to look like carelessness. I didn’t write that joke. I have cannibalised it from one by the gay Irish Victorian Oscar Wilde, a typical diversity hire who would have achieved nothing had his work not been promoted by the famously woke 19th-century British establishment. Luckily, Wilde was dead long before he had the opportunity to emigrate to the US and take an air traffic controller job from a more deserving straight white male, where his gayness would have caused planes to crash. And dead also is Wilde’s contemporary Little Tich, the resilient dancing midget, whose spectacular gravity-defying boots can still be seen on display in Bloomsbury’s bijoux Museum of Comedy, alongside Tommy Cooper’s fez and a jar of thoughts John Cleese was forbidden from articulating owing to political correctness. But I dread to think of the havoc a capering music hall midget might have wrought on today’s international flight paths. It is a relief that Trump has targeted the diversity policies that could lead, directly up the gently sloping access ramp of woke inclusivity, to millions of appalling aviation disasters. Call me a textbook member of the tofu-munching north London wokerati, but I am proud to live in a world where people of shorter stature, while still entitled to dance in funny shoes if they so desire, can also be air traffic controllers. And call me a textbook member of the cinnamon latte-guzzling liberal elite, but it does seem wrong for the new president of the US to blame dwarf diversity hires and lazy...
“Am I right in remembering you cultivate a colony of head lice in your cellar, Lee?” Nicola Bridgens, former artist in residence at London Zoo, for whom I once provided the voice of a depressed black widow in an insect house installation, called me, coveting my Pediculihumanuscapitis.
Ten years ago, my little boy had nits. But if Paley’s divine watchmaker exists, my precocious son argued, then he engineered lice to live in human hair. They were merely following their natures, so we should not exterminate them. Compromising, I decanted some specimens into a fish tank in the cellar, before destroying the rest like a Mexican god.
A Spectator-type dad at kids’ football told me I was “sentimentally prolonging the lives of lice that should perish. God invented threadworm, too,” he snorted. “I suppose I should allow them to party in my arsehole? Artificial improvements in survival statistics of any species preclude growth towards utopia, my friend, as do wheelchair ramps. See you next week, if you can escape your liberal bubble.”
Fellow late capitalists! Soon the market’s cruel spreadsheets will suggest the cost of saving a life outweighs the economic value of a life saved. Gagged medical professionals are already making terrible decisions about who to spare. But my colony of head lice thrives, nurtured on toe-nail clippings and sock skin. Whether my lice have inherent worth or not, for me the coronavirus crisis has given them religious significance.
Predictably, my teenage son no longer loves lice, but here I sit in the subterranean semi-dark, a generous single malt in one hand, a magnifying glass in the other, contemplating the lives of lice. “Where’s Dad?” the family ask upstairs, demanding wearisome interaction. “Oh, I expect he’s in the cellar,” my wife will say, resignedly, “with his fucking lice.”
Sometimes, as Call of Dutyrages above, the light of my mother’s memorial candle flickers through the white bodies of these translucent ghosts and my parasitical companions seem transcendentally beautiful, microscopic, ectoplasmic lobsters, carved from hoarfrost and ice.
I have been engulfed by many similarly odd epiphanies during these long, locked-down days. Last weekend, when Bob Dylan unexpectedly dropped the contemplative psalmody of Murder Most Foul, like many old men, I sat at my desk stunned, the terrifying world temporarily transformed. On Tuesday, bright blue blossom undulated slowly on a sunlit tree and I was transfixed. And on Sunday morning, a discombobulating BBC interview with Michael Gove captivated me, the chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster momentarily the equal of lice.
On his west London doorstep, words, many not demonstrably untrue, were falling out of Gove’s unflapped face like molluscs made of sound. But glazed clouds of steam kept scudding over his inscrutable visage. Something hot was coming down the pipe into the front garden drain, out of shot to Gove’s right. Vaporising liquid wafted between Gove’s face and the camera, as if some unseen hand were attempting to wipe away stray flecks of cocaine from his nostrils with a sheet of greaseproof paper. Perhaps someone was emptying a hot bath. Or was Gove’s cohabitant making her morning micturition, like a tethered wayside pony in some 70s Cornish lane, its great, golden gallons heard spattering in doppler effect from the back window of a passing family car?
The problem with trying to write supposedly funny columns during the crisis is the speed news moves. Last week, when I filed on Wednesday, our prime minister seemed fair game, but by publication day he had tested positive, and deserved sympathy. Indeed, the Goves were finally handed their coveted bedpan of influence due to the viral indisposition of 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 Johnson.
Having previously hidden from scrutiny inside a fridge, Turds is now hidden from scrutiny inside a virus, perhaps because, last month, he “was at a hospital where, I think, there were actually a few coronavirus cases and I shook hands with everybody, you’ll be pleased to know, and I continue to shake hands, and I think it’s very important that we do”.
Hack standups hoping the ring of truth will nudge their tepid tales over the laughter line preface them with the weight-giving statement: “And this really happened, right.” Likewise Turds, who has spent his political, personal and journalistic life lying, now qualifies important announcements with the words: “I’m going to level with you folks,” a belated admission of the fact that even his followers don’t believe anything he says.
And yet I pity Turds, like me a shallow man in a deep well. “There is such a thing as society,” Turds babbled off-script in isolation, his words unapproved by the swiftly scurried-away Cumming, the PM accidentally refuting 33 years of Thatcherite thinking in a single bound. Doh!
Low-waged employees who would not have vaulted Patel’s threshold are suddenly key workers; foreign nationals toiling for the NHS, many of them piccaninnies or the letterbox-faced, are invited to ignore the expiration of their visas, and their lives, to save the nation that rejects them. What kind of city will we see builded here, in our green and Brexit land, from these ruins? Will it be walled? Or will it be infinite? And will the sewers be blocked with wet wipes and kitchen towels? Just one packet of toilet roll per customer, please! Step away from the hand-sanitiser!! Step away from the hand-sanitiser!!!
“We clutch at straws,” said Bridgens on the phone, “but London lice are resistant to toxins, so might be worth studying as we search for vaccines. And with kids not intermingling they’re in short supply. The world needs your lice, Lee.” Will people still want to hear my 30-minute routine about stupid things Tony Parsons has said when theatres reopen? There must be more to life. Lord, make use of my lice.
Stewart Lee
2020-04-05T17:51:28+01:00
“Am I right in remembering you cultivate a colony of head lice in your cellar, Lee?” Nicola Bridgens, former artist in residence at London Zoo, for whom I once provided the voice of a depressed black widow in an insect house installation, called me, coveting my Pediculi humanus capitis. Ten years ago, my little boy had nits. But if Paley’s divine watchmaker exists, my precocious son argued, then he engineered lice to live in human hair. They were merely following their natures, so we should not exterminate them. Compromising, I decanted some specimens into a fish tank in the cellar, before destroying the rest like a Mexican god. A Spectator-type dad at kids’ football told me I was “sentimentally prolonging the lives of lice that should perish. God invented threadworm, too,” he snorted. “I suppose I should allow them to party in my arsehole? Artificial improvements in survival statistics of any species preclude growth towards utopia, my friend, as do wheelchair ramps. See you next week, if you can escape your liberal bubble.” Fellow late capitalists! Soon the market’s cruel spreadsheets will suggest the cost of saving a life outweighs the economic value of a life saved. Gagged medical professionals are already making terrible decisions about who to spare. But my colony of head lice thrives, nurtured on toe-nail clippings and sock skin. Whether my lice have inherent worth or not, for me the coronavirus crisis has given them religious significance. Predictably, my teenage son no longer loves lice, but here I sit in the subterranean semi-dark, a generous single malt in one hand, a magnifying glass in the other, contemplating the lives of lice. “Where’s Dad?” the family ask upstairs, demanding wearisome interaction. “Oh, I expect he’s in the cellar,” my wife will say, resignedly, “with his fucking lice.”...
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
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...
For twenty years now I have treated the fringe as a vast smorgasboard of talent, sometimes sampling as many as sixty or seventy different shows of wildly varying quality each Summer. This year, my wife and I have a baby, so when we get time off the shows we chose assume a greater significance. We need them to be great.
That’s why we walked out of Biuro Podrozy’s Macbeth: Who Is That Bloody Man?, an outdoor interpretation of the Scottish play in the Old College Quad. Macbeth’s men were motorcylcing Nazis, again. The music was too loud, and too prescriptive. The gunshots sounded like capguns in the echoing square. It seemed like the show had been designed to convince teenagers that theatre could be cool, yeah, and the whole experience felt like being trapped in a Nine Inch Nails video. Theatre critics love it. Increasingly I suspect they know nothing.
My wife’s objections to the piece were more specific. In a former life she was a teenage Hell’s Angel, and recently we fled a rural Wilthsire pub when old enemies from a rival gang entered in helmets and leathers. She lost confidence in Biuro Podrozy’s Macbeth when the Mac-Nazis arrived on trials bikes. “Nazis should ride something powerful,” she explained, “like a Triumph, or a Norton, or a Ducati, something that sounds like a machine gun going off. They sounded like they were riding on lawnmowers.”
We headed off to The Pleasance to try and salvage the night. I’d never really seen the comedian John Bishop perform, but he has always seemed like a nice chap, so we went to see him. John’s show about his marital breakdown and subsequent reconcilliation was warm, touching, and hilarious and resolved itself with a sudden and breath-taking precision. It exceeded the acclaimed outdoor Macbeth in every respect, yet still stand-up is viewed as a poor relation to theatre by critics who are, essentially, ignorant snobs. We found our little fringe gem for this year after all, in a Portakabin out the back of The Pleasance, driven East from the Old Quad by stormtroopers riding lawnmomers.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-26T21:36:34+01:00
For twenty years now I have treated the fringe as a vast smorgasboard of talent, sometimes sampling as many as sixty or seventy different shows of wildly varying quality each Summer. This year, my wife and I have a baby, so when we get time off the shows we chose assume a greater significance. We need them to be great. That’s why we walked out of Biuro Podrozy’s Macbeth: Who Is That Bloody Man?, an outdoor interpretation of the Scottish play in the Old College Quad. Macbeth’s men were motorcylcing Nazis, again. The music was too loud, and too prescriptive. The gunshots sounded like capguns in the echoing square. It seemed like the show had been designed to convince teenagers that theatre could be cool, yeah, and the whole experience felt like being trapped in a Nine Inch Nails video. Theatre critics love it. Increasingly I suspect they know nothing. My wife’s objections to the piece were more specific. In a former life she was a teenage Hell’s Angel, and recently we fled a rural Wilthsire pub when old enemies from a rival gang entered in helmets and leathers. She lost confidence in Biuro Podrozy’s Macbeth when the Mac-Nazis arrived on trials bikes. “Nazis should ride something powerful,” she explained, “like a Triumph, or a Norton, or a Ducati, something that sounds like a machine gun going off. They sounded like they were riding on lawnmowers.” We headed off to The Pleasance to try and salvage the night. I’d never really seen the comedian John Bishop perform, but he has always seemed like a nice chap, so we went to see him. John’s show about his marital breakdown and subsequent reconcilliation was warm, touching, and hilarious and resolved itself with a sudden and breath-taking precision. It exceeded the acclaimed outdoor...
"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
1) NEW SHOW 2019/20 - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. 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.
he 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
"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 WORK IN PROGRESSES
There are work-in-progress shows of this which will be very rough at...
Machynlleth Comedy Festival 3rd - 5th May. These are both sold out.
I am doing a week of hour long work-in-progress shows for Snowflake/Tornado at the Edinburgh Fringe in August, under the title Wok In Progress, after a slot suddenly became available through The Stand.
Here is a link for tickets, which go on sale 12 noon Thursday April 18th.
Other shows by other comedians are available.
SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO Wok-in-Progress
Aug 9th - Aug 15th 2019 7.10pm
EDINBURGH FESTIVAL FRINGE, THE STAND’S NEW TOWN THEATRE, GRAND HALL
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 Amazon, 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!
5) 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.
A special night for comedy connoisseurs. Earth, Hackney, Friday 14th June. Doors 7pm. Show 8-11pm. Bar until 2am.
STEWART LEE (Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle) and MICHAEL CUMMING (Brass Eye, Toast) are currently mid-way through collaborating on a documentary about ROBERT LLOYD, of the enduring Birmingham post-punk band THE NIGHTINGALES (The John Peel Show, Clash White Riot Tour), entitled KING ROCKER. In order to raise money to pay for further train fares and Travelodges they are pooling their resources for one special night only at Hackney’s Earth.
MICHAEL CUMMING will introduce a screening of his documentary about CHRIS MORRIS’ BRASS EYE series, OXIDE GHOSTS. And then STEWART LEE will perform an extended set of WORK IN PROGRESS, an hour of material in development for his forthcoming tour show, SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. There will be a raffle to win cool comedy memorabilia from both auteurs’ personal bin-bags. After the event ends a cut-down taster of KING ROCKER in its unfinished state will be available to view, as a bonus treat.
Stewart Lee: Work In Progress Notes towards a new show from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times). Where does Stew sit in the marketplace, when Netflix mistakenly describe his show as 'reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe'? “Self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground” Sarah Vine, The Daily Mail “The rancid tip of a cesspit”, Tony Parson, GQ; “Not sure Lee was the right person to close the Parkinson’s Disease benefit tonight. I think we've all moved on from ten minute fart jokes.” Rona Hunnisett, England Netball Federation
OXIDE GHOSTS: THE BRASS EYE TAPES (2017, 60 mins) Director: Michael Cumming. Featuring: Chris Morris. Made from hundreds of hours of unseen material from his personal archive, Michael Cumming’s film shares insights into the process of making the legendary TV series Brass Eye. Michael directed both of the pilots and the series and, over a two year period, witnessed the highs and lows of Brass Eye from a personal perspective. The film is designed solely for live screenings and is made up almost entirely of never before seen footage. Oxide Ghosts carries the blessing of Chris Morris and provides a rare glimpse of his extraordinary working practices. This film is a must for fans of the series but will appeal to anyone with a curiosity about how great comedy is made. '[Oxide Ghosts] offers a well-judged and very rare insight into [Brass Eye’s] making, encapsulating the fun and covert excitement that went on while the project was still under wraps, before all the legal wrangling kicked in. If you're an admirer of the show and the opportunity should arise for you to see Oxide Ghosts, have some self re-cocking-spect and do so without hesitation' - Chortle
King Rocker 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, director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast of London) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales), Britain’s ultimate post-punk survivor. Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and snug room raconteur, maintains a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness. https://www.kingrockerfilm.com/
6) King Rocker Doc
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.)
20TH MAY. HILARITY FOR CHARTITY - LEICS SQ THEATRE
A comedy night in aid of community charities North London Cares and South London Cares.
Harry Hill
Jamali Maddix
Lolly Adefope
Martin & Vivian Soan
Shazia Mirza
Stewart Lee
& More acts to be announced!
Line-up may be subject to change.
Running Time 3 hours
7.30pm
Age Restriction 18+
Please Note All ticket prices include a £1.25 venue restoration levy - TICKETS
METRONOMY, THE COMET IS COMING, STEWART LEE AND BAGPUSS CONFIRMED FOR 2019
The Quietus presents Gazelle Twin, You Tell Me, Hannah Peel & Will Burns, Pip Blom, TVAM
Sea Change is thrilled to join with Fire Records/Fire Films to offer the first look at KING ROCKER, a film investigating the mysterious existence of the front man and lyricist of The Nightingales, Robert Lloyd. Comedian and writer STEWART LEE and director MICHAEL CUMMING (Brass Eye, Toast) bring an exclusive first preview of the documentary to Sea Change, with a full panel talk and pounding live show from THE NIGHTINGALES, Britain's ultimate post-punk survivors. Robert Lloyd's The Prefects played with The Clash on the White Riot tour in 1977 and The Nightingales recorded more John Peel sessions than any other band.
Sea Change takes place on Friday 24th, Saturday 25th and Sunday 26th May, moving to the late May Bank Holiday for the first time having staged three sell-out events on the August Bank Holiday. The 2019 edition sees the second partnership between the young festival and a revered old institution
with a new story, the Dartington Hall estate, a combination which continues to add new names to Dartington's quite-immaculate list of guest creators in music, art and culture.
As Sea Change moves to May, it also stretches into a third day, with music sets, talks and events, culminating in a special afternoon matinee headline performance at Dartington to close the festival. And while Dartington is the festival's Offshore stage, hosting music until late on Friday and Saturday, the buildings of Totnes remain central to Sea Change, presenting extremely special music guests, panel talks, films and events beneath the beautiful gold leaf ceiling of the Barrel House Ballroom, 15th century St Mary's Church, 1950s Civic Hall and restored Victorian Totnes Cinema.
Earlybird tickets sold out in record time in December, but day (£49), weekend (£89) and Young Person (£39) tickets are on sale now online or via THE DRIFT RECORD SHOP. https://www.seetickets.com/event/sea-change-2019/venues-in-totnes-dartington/1281511
Death Sequence, a new four-track release from four-piece The Physics House Band, features Stewart Lee mumbling on one track. The record will be released digitally on May 3, and the band will tour the UK extensively through this month and into the summer.
You can find a list of their upcoming dates, and pre-order Death Sequence, here.
11) Meanwhile, I Arrogantly Recommend...
Robert Forster, Richard Dawson, Peter Case, Chameleons Vox, Bevis Frond, The Necks, Thurston Moore.
Robert Forster – waspish Australian songwriter. May 14th Union Chapel London, 15th Fleece Bristol, 16th Band On The Wall M’cr, 17th King Tut’s Glasgow, 17th St Luke’s Glasgow, 19th Button Factopry Dublin, 30th Cyprus Avenue Cork,.
Richard Dawson – experimental folkster. May 11th Cluny Newcastle, w Hen Ogledd 14th Bush Hall London, 15th Patterns Brighton, 18th South Street Reading
Peter Case. Punk-Americana veteran of Nerves (Hanging On The Telephone) and Plimsouls fame, with ex-Long Ryder Sid Griffin. May 15th Leystonstone ex-Servicemen’d Club, 16th Middlesborough Town Hall, 17th Renshaw St Liverpool, 19th Doublet Glasgow, 20th Heart of Hawick, 21st Voodoo Rooms Edinburgh, 22nd Hare And Hounds Birmingham, 23rd Exchange Twickenham.
Chameleons Vox – M’cr post-punk pioneers air their back catalogue. May 20th Vox Guildford, 21st Dingwalls London, 22nd Esquires Bedford, 23rd Gloucester Guildhall, 24th Brudenell Leeds, 27th Trades Hebden Bridge, 28th Riverside Newcastle, 29th Old Fire Station Carlisle, 30th Z Hull.
Bevis Frond – genre defying indie-rock/Hawkwind hybrid. May 18th Shipping Forecast Liverpool, 25th Oslo Hackney.
The Necks. Australian space-jazz unit. May 26th St Luke’s Brighton, 27th Earth Hackney, 28th Exchange Bristol.
Thurston Moore – Ageless Sonic Youth survivor. May 31st Earth Hackney.
Stewart Lee
2019-04-17T10:22:53+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 1) NEW SHOW 2019/20 - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. 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. he 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...
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.
Stew compiled and annotated this compilation by The Fall.
...this is a fine collection; brave, broad and admirably biased...
It is, of course, an appalling concept. Allowing writer/ comedian Stewart Lee to compile a selection of his favourite, latter-day Fall tracks smacks of misguided marketing;an ill-informed attempt to glean the collegiate vote for what surely remains the most virulently anti-student band in Britain. Duh!
Anyway. The onset of the ’90s saw Mark E Smith-uh and his ever-changing chums embrace new technology with gusto – a gambit that would provide a fresh framework for Smith’s misanthropic, beanbag-faced rants. While tracks such as last year’s brilliantly disorderly ‘Touch Sensitive’ could’ve been plucked from the riotous preserve of their late-’70s heyday, ‘A Past…’ shows the ramshackle approach of yore superseded by a battalion of samples and grinding, zeitgeist-courting techno beats. It’s an approach that has yielded some of The Fall‘s finest songs – with the synth-heavy, anti-EU wrath of 1991’s ‘Free Range’ and the deceptively sweet ‘Rose’ proving Smith‘s invective wears many, equally effective, disguises. With ‘The Chisellers’ being the only glaring omission, this is a fine collection; brave, broad and admirably biased.
Stew compiled and annotated this compilation by The Fall. ...this is a fine collection; brave, broad and admirably biased... It is, of course, an appalling concept. Allowing writer/ comedian Stewart Lee to compile a selection of his favourite, latter-day Fall tracks smacks of misguided marketing;an ill-informed attempt to glean the collegiate vote for what surely remains the most virulently anti-student band in Britain. Duh! Anyway. The onset of the ’90s saw Mark E Smith-uh and his ever-changing chums embrace new technology with gusto – a gambit that would provide a fresh framework for Smith’s misanthropic, beanbag-faced rants. While tracks such as last year’s brilliantly disorderly ‘Touch Sensitive’ could’ve been plucked from the riotous preserve of their late-’70s heyday, ‘A Past…’ shows the ramshackle approach of yore superseded by a battalion of samples and grinding, zeitgeist-courting techno beats. It’s an approach that has yielded some of The Fall‘s finest songs – with the synth-heavy, anti-EU wrath of 1991’s ‘Free Range’ and the deceptively sweet ‘Rose’ proving Smith‘s invective wears many, equally effective, disguises. With ‘The Chisellers’ being the only glaring omission, this is a fine collection; brave, broad and admirably biased. - NME
Late last month, Cecil Sharp House, the English Folk song Society HQ in Regent's Park, hosted the UK debut for Rex and Rachel's, twin leading lights of a hardy hybrid strain of American post-rock dynamics and folk classical sensibilities. A 500-strong crowd on plastic seating saw Rachel's showcase last year's essential Sea & the Bells album, a requiem for clipper ships made up of delicate instrumentals - guitar and drums weaving between strings and piano.
Rachel's are one of a host of uniformly excellent bands straddling their home, rural Louisville, Kentucky, and the studios and venues of nearby Chicago, who share common aims, a common ancestry and common living and rehearsal spaces. "Louisville is just ... out of it," says Rachel's guitarist, Jason Noble, "so we all take inspiration from things as diverse as 40-year-old jazz records, reading a lot of books and the climate here, which is very dramatic."
Louisville was also the home to American post-rock's pilgrim fathers, Slint, who disbanded at the turn of the decade, core members currently recording with the For Carnation, Aerial M, King Kong and Tortoise. "I saw Slint when I was 15," recalls Noble. "I could have thought: why bother playing music anymore? That's as good as it gets. But instead of being dismayed, I was encouraged."
Ironically, Noble's own previous band, Rodan, have now assumed the same mythology as Slint, disappearing after one album in 1994 to filter into the finest American bands, the folksy Sonora Pine, symphonically complex noise rockers June of '44, and the Shipping News, Noble's current collaboration with Rodan co-founder Jeff Mueller. Their debut, Save Everything (Quarterstick), is a devastating fusion of impossibly heavy guitars and baroque finesse.
Onstage, Rachel's reflect their disregard for rock conventions. Pianist Rachel Grimes scored their Music for Egon Schiele album as a live ballet soundtrack, and Cecil Sharp House saw Louisville artist Greg King back-projecting appropriate cine-images while Grimes luxuriated in the venue's grand piano. Support Rex, a New York group commonly assumed to be part of the Kentucky clique, heroically duelled with the venue's PA's volume limiter to deliver a curiously appropriate folk-tinged set of thrilling complexity. "We get described as a Chicago band back home in New York," laughs Rex guitarist Curtis Harvey. "We kind of fell into that group of musicians. I feel lucky and honoured to be part of that scene."
Rex, whose new album, 3 (Southern), is their most accessible yet, soften and stretch the mathematical geometry of the Slint template with bizarrely successful folk and country influences. The track Waterbug's chiming music-box strings suggest Michael Nyman scoring Deliverance, while Balloon might be the year's most beautiful folk song.
Rachel's and Rex take post-rock full circle. The scene that spawned them broke rock apart, enabling its survivors to make new shapes, alongside influences from folk, country and classical music, which the dogmatists of the 1980s would have gagged on. Now they can engage the heart as well as the head.
Stewart Lee
1997-10-05T17:16:23+01:00
Late last month, Cecil Sharp House, the English Folk song Society HQ in Regent's Park, hosted the UK debut for Rex and Rachel's, twin leading lights of a hardy hybrid strain of American post-rock dynamics and folk classical sensibilities. A 500-strong crowd on plastic seating saw Rachel's showcase last year's essential Sea & the Bells album, a requiem for clipper ships made up of delicate instrumentals - guitar and drums weaving between strings and piano. Rachel's are one of a host of uniformly excellent bands straddling their home, rural Louisville, Kentucky, and the studios and venues of nearby Chicago, who share common aims, a common ancestry and common living and rehearsal spaces. "Louisville is just ... out of it," says Rachel's guitarist, Jason Noble, "so we all take inspiration from things as diverse as 40-year-old jazz records, reading a lot of books and the climate here, which is very dramatic." Louisville was also the home to American post-rock's pilgrim fathers, Slint, who disbanded at the turn of the decade, core members currently recording with the For Carnation, Aerial M, King Kong and Tortoise. "I saw Slint when I was 15," recalls Noble. "I could have thought: why bother playing music anymore? That's as good as it gets. But instead of being dismayed, I was encouraged." Ironically, Noble's own previous band, Rodan, have now assumed the same mythology as Slint, disappearing after one album in 1994 to filter into the finest American bands, the folksy Sonora Pine, symphonically complex noise rockers June of '44, and the Shipping News, Noble's current collaboration with Rodan co-founder Jeff Mueller. Their debut, Save Everything (Quarterstick), is a devastating fusion of impossibly heavy guitars and baroque finesse. Onstage, Rachel's reflect their disregard for rock conventions. Pianist Rachel Grimes scored their Music for Egon Schiele album as...
When I first saw Stewart Lee’s Content Provider at De Montfort Hall, Leicester in February, I had the ill-conceived and frankly deranged idea in my head that I could review it. In fact, I was so confident in my abilities that I spoke to the artist himself after the show and proclaimed my over-ambitious intentions to his face. "You’ll definitely be getting a five star review from me on my university-paper-website-thing called The Demon Online," I burbled like a blithering buffoon, signing the imaginary contract in blood which meant that I actually had to write something and preferably a gut-bustingly hilarious, self-referential masterpiece of a review that was fit for publication in a student magazine. However, when I was drafting my ideas for the piece, I began to doubt my abilities. "What if Stewart Lee actually reads it?" I thought, "What if I try to be funny… and it’s just not funny?" So, to accommodate for these anxieties, my first attempt came across as if it was written by a pathetic, sycophantic fan (the reasons why still elude me). The embarrassing evidence is exhibited below:
Reviewing Stewart Lee’s Content Provider is beyond my capabilities as a writer. The overarching themes were so well thought out and meticulously planned that it has blown my mind. Therefore, it is impossible for me to say anything particularly interesting about it - having lost the capacity for thought. However, I have to write something. And this is it. All I can say is, find out if this show is on near you, go there and then watch it. It’s deep, funny and I agreed the ‘f’ out of it. I clapped.
Now, in my heart of hearts, I still consider that to be an accurate and honest review. Nonetheless, I was aware that this probably wasn’t the standard of journalism that was expected from The Demon. So, I gave up, resolving to spend the rest of my days as a bitter failure. That, or as a feral recluse, living on his own in an abandoned shed. But that was before I saw… it. The thing that would demolish my humble dreams like a toddler maliciously bitch-slapping a tower of cards that I’d spent twenty minutes building. There - on The Demon website - was an article entitled "Comedy Festival: Stewart Lee @ De Montfort Hall" and it wasn’t by me. I was stunned. "How dare they?" I thought, "What gave them the right to be at the same show as me, have exactly the same idea as me and be determined (or clueless) enough to actually get it done?" With his vanilla and "inoffensive" commentary on the show, that inferior writer had cruelly thwarted my plans of not writing anything and hoping that people would forget that I’d ever mentioned it. I was a mess. I’d even lost my deposit on that abandoned shed. So, what you are reading now—this worthless, irrelevant, "review"—has been forged from an alloy of pomposity, pig-headedness, and jealousy for the writer that got there first. However, the percentage of jealousy in this cocktail of satirical, feigned hatred for my fellow student is only slight because personally, I don’t review artistic comedy shows like I’m reporting the events of a f***ing football match. Anyway, without further ado, here’s my belated review.
Following the inexplicable cancellation of his critically acclaimed BBC series Comedy Vehicle, Serbian warlord and Morrissey lookalike Stewart Lee took his latest show Content Provider to De Montfort Hall for two nights. Having seen his Much A-Stew About Nothing show at the same venue two years prior, I had high expectations for this one. However, after an hour and forty-five minutes of being threatened with violence, patronised, insulted, and having the interests of my entire generation deconstructed and dismissed… I got my Stewart Lee: Content Provider book signed and I bought a t-shirt with a picture of his face on it. In fact, I’m wearing the t-shirt now, in the vain hope that somehow, his crumpled, two-dimensional face will transfer its writing abilities over to me via osmosis or something. It’s safe to say I was impressed. Perhaps even more so than last time. But I didn’t get a selfie with him—hold on to that information.
Having followed Stewart Lee’s work for a while now, I’ve become familiar with the traditional structure of his shows. Generally, the topics of discussion include: politics, current affairs, popular (as well as not so popular) culture, and his own life. However, the unique selling point of Stewart Lee is his trademark comic persona: an exaggerated and more condescending version of himself—it's a little bit like my persona in this piece, only better. That, and his outright refusal to tell conventional jokes. Tim Vine, he beeth not. Instead, Lee favours unrelatable, absurdist anecdotes, rants, and mind-bending repetition. But for the last 20 minutes or so of each show, Lee transitions into a philosophical monologue and/or set piece that encapsulates the key themes of the night. All this, while constantly berating his audience for their amoebic intellects. Because, of course, the character of "Stewart Lee" operates on a much higher level than the peasants beneath him. Including you... and me, I guess (but less so me). Although, this time, it was probably more elaborate and artistic than ever before.
I don’t think anybody puts as much thought into writing their comedy shows as Lee. This is stand-up treated as a true art form. You genuinely leave one of his shows a more informed and thoughtful person. And it’s also very funny, I thought I’d remind you of that. I’m not just making this up so you go to a Stewart Lee show and it’s just a man recreating existentialist Romantic paintings. I mean, it’s highbrow but it’s not that prete—
*clears throat*
The centrepiece for this show was the iconic Caspar David Friedrich painting, Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog, which is often used as a symbol of the Individual, turning his back on society and looking for a deeper meaning in the natural world. This sums up Lee’s aloof comic persona quite aptly due to his feelings of alienation and superiority towards pretty much everyone and everything and his will to explore what makes us human. However, the painting was primarily used to highlight the key idea behind the show: how the internet has fractured us and trivialised everything that was once worthwhile. I mean, has your ease of access to cheap comedy DVDs, pictures of other people’s cats, and the S&M gear that you bought with next day delivery really enriched your life? What happened to the struggles that made life interesting? What happened to universally understood references? What happened to the rebellious spirit, inherent in all young people? Stewart Lee raises all of these questions in Content Provider. And whilst I believe that some of these things might have been fanciful illusions, it seems that social media and the internet have shattered them all nonetheless. I didn’t get a selfie with Stewart Lee after this show. I think it's quite self-explanatory.
Now, as my arduous journey of reviewing something greater than myself nears its end, I have come to a realisation. If there is one thing that a stand-up comedy tour does throughout its run, it is evolve: routines that yield fewer laughs are weeded out, the sections that the comedian grows tired of performing are lopped off and jokes about out of date political stories are mercilessly thrown into a general waste bin, never to be recycled or composted again. Meaning, the Stewart Lee: Content Provider that I saw back in the olden days would probably not be the same Stewart Lee: Content Provider that you would see if you went tomorrow (hypothetically). Thus, many of my comments in this piece could be completely irrelevant. So, why has been the point of all this? Surely, there has to be some sort of meaning. Sheer stubbornness? Genuine hatred for a student who loves the same comedy that I do? Of course not. What kept me going this whole time was an appreciation for creative and artistic pursuits like comedy and writing. I wanted to create a piece of literature, not just a review (you be the judge of if I succeeded). Because if this was just a review, it would not be a particularly good one. I mean, reviews are normally a little more concise and on topic than this—a bit like the one that was published in The Demon. The difference between me and him though is that I’m just one aloof individual, raging against the machine of… a student readership... by writing long, indefinable, and unpublishable articles? No, that image doesn’t work at all. It’s almost as if I just used this review format to tell a funny story about myself. Oh well, at least it’s finished now. I’ll just be here, letting that feeling of catharsis sink in...
Stewart Lee
2017-09-11T21:01:34+01:00
When I first saw Stewart Lee’s Content Provider at De Montfort Hall, Leicester in February, I had the ill-conceived and frankly deranged idea in my head that I could review it. In fact, I was so confident in my abilities that I spoke to the artist himself after the show and proclaimed my over-ambitious intentions to his face. "You’ll definitely be getting a five star review from me on my university-paper-website-thing called The Demon Online," I burbled like a blithering buffoon, signing the imaginary contract in blood which meant that I actually had to write something and preferably a gut-bustingly hilarious, self-referential masterpiece of a review that was fit for publication in a student magazine. However, when I was drafting my ideas for the piece, I began to doubt my abilities. "What if Stewart Lee actually reads it?" I thought, "What if I try to be funny… and it’s just not funny?" So, to accommodate for these anxieties, my first attempt came across as if it was written by a pathetic, sycophantic fan (the reasons why still elude me). The embarrassing evidence is exhibited below: Reviewing Stewart Lee’s Content Provider is beyond my capabilities as a writer. The overarching themes were so well thought out and meticulously planned that it has blown my mind. Therefore, it is impossible for me to say anything particularly interesting about it - having lost the capacity for thought. However, I have to write something. And this is it. All I can say is, find out if this show is on near you, go there and then watch it. It’s deep, funny and I agreed the ‘f’ out of it. I clapped. Now, in my heart of hearts, I still consider that to be an accurate and honest review. Nonetheless, I was aware that this probably...
Once, Richard Thomas’s Jerry Springer the Opera, to which I contributed unpopular elements, held the TV hate record, with 62,000 complaints. But last week it was out-hated by the BBC’s saturation coverage of Prince Philip’s death, which didn’t even win four Olivier awards and had no singing coprophiles. BBC appeasements of unappeasable bad faith actors backfire reliably. More than 110,000 people, missing EastEnders under lockdown, protested the all-channel mourning. That said, the complaints of our day were proper complaints, etched on to stone tablets and delivered by pigeons, not these “e-posts” they have now which any idiot can send. Indeed, it turns out that 116 of the people complaining were complaining that it was too easy to complain.
It is sad that an old lady has lost her companion of 73 years, grieving alone. And the supposedly controversial comments made by Prince Philip, that critics foregrounded, aren’t that bad, given that he was born 100 years ago and left normal life for the ermine cocoon of royalty in 1947. No one would expect Rip Van Winkle to wake up and understand the complex terminology of 21st-century transgender rights. Sadly, the duke was too far ahead of the zeitgeist to be declared a warrior of anti-wokeness and get a lucrative book deal. But only just.
The Daily Mail columnist Sarah Vine’s agenda-setting tribute last week showed how the most tragic and personal event can be press-ganged into the Conservatives’ fabricated culture war. Though the duke was forbidden from expressing his own opinions in life, Vine has grafted hers on to him in death, riding his memory towards the hell of her own choosing, a Pale Horsewoman of the Apocalypse astride Bernie Clifton’s ostrich.
For Vine, Prince Philip’s passing represented, “more than the end of a single life; it represents the end of an era. Of a set of values and personal qualities that seem to have less and less and less place in the modern world; a kind of joyous, unapologetic masculinity that nowadays would – and routinely is – described by many as toxic.” For Vine, the unwitting Duke of Edinburgh is a symbol of that most oppressed minority of all – men! Unwilling to let the Jordan Peterson of carriage-driving rest unmolested, Vine goes on.
“The thing that always struck me as so wonderful about Prince Philip was the fact that he was unequivocally and unapologetically a bloke. It wasn’t only his tendency to put his foot in it. He lived simply and practically, never happier than when barbecuing sausages in the rain on a hillside in Scotland, and then putting those sausages into his mouth, the mouths of his family, or the mouths of delighted passersby. Or doing something complicated with a sausage. In other words, he knew what it meant to be a man. A real, grown-up man. And that, I’m afraid, makes him a rare gem in this day and age, when women are encouraged to consider even the offer of a sausage as an act of patriarchal micro-aggression. But you can’t fight nature. Or sausages. Men like him are as rare as genuine imported European sausages these days, because the modern world seems to despise them, and sausages, so much. How many young men growing up today, their minds addled with crazy brain powders, their Fairy Liquid hands as soft as their woke faces, even like sausages? Sausages that society no longer treats as treats but as toxins, that require the sternest eradication at the hands of the Commissars of Woke. But if toxic masculinity is loyalty, duty, courage, wisdom and sausages, so be it. Farewell then, Prince Philip, Prince among men, Duke of Sausage. Aw! Truly, this man was the Wokefinder General!”
Vine’s fixation on the duke’s admiration for sausage holds water. His pet name for the Queen was “sausage”. But Vine’s assertion that the duke channels the same masculine power that high-school incels claim they are denied is a stretch. If we look closely at the duke’s “politically incorrect gaffes” they suggest instead both a self-aware literary meta-commentary on his own persona, and a tentative embracing of woke values. Taken in isolation, the duke’s quip, “If you stand here much longer you’ll go home with slitty eyes”, to an English student in China in 1986, seems ill-judged. But two months later, to an English student in the Amazon basin, he said: “If you stand here much longer you will come home with a working knowledge of the shamanic properties of the ayahuasca root.” And a year earlier, to an English student in the Australian outback, he said: “If you stand here much longer you will come home able to make complex topographical mental maps by singing tunes in which microtonal shifts in pitch represent the rising and falling of contours. And chuck spears!” The duke displayed both a woke sensitivity to indigenous traditions, and a woke awareness of the obsolescence of his colonialist obligations.
The anti-woke infotainer Andrew Neil had hoped to use the duke as an avatar of anti-wokeness on his new anti-woke GB news show, Woke Watch. Neil denies knowing who I am online, as anti-woke Peter denied the woken Christ, but in reality I know the Weetabix-tonsured Wokefinder well. After the duke passed, Wheat-Head Zoomed me – an Olivier award-winning theatre director, remember – for artistic advice.
“Leapy my old friend,” Bisc-hair blabbed, “the comedy agency Blue Book Artist Management, who are also working the anti-woke market, reckoned they could get me the duke to mock the woke weekly. I don’t want to have to use Laurence Fox, although it would be cheaper. Do you think one could animate a hologram of Prince Philip’s head, like Patrick Moore on Gamesmaster?” “Yes Andy,” I replied, “then you could just make the Duke of Edinburgh say whatever you wanted him to say.”
Stewart Lee
2021-04-18T14:48:44+01:00
Once, Richard Thomas’s Jerry Springer the Opera, to which I contributed unpopular elements, held the TV hate record, with 62,000 complaints. But last week it was out-hated by the BBC’s saturation coverage of Prince Philip’s death, which didn’t even win four Olivier awards and had no singing coprophiles. BBC appeasements of unappeasable bad faith actors backfire reliably. More than 110,000 people, missing EastEnders under lockdown, protested the all-channel mourning. That said, the complaints of our day were proper complaints, etched on to stone tablets and delivered by pigeons, not these “e-posts” they have now which any idiot can send. Indeed, it turns out that 116 of the people complaining were complaining that it was too easy to complain. It is sad that an old lady has lost her companion of 73 years, grieving alone. And the supposedly controversial comments made by Prince Philip, that critics foregrounded, aren’t that bad, given that he was born 100 years ago and left normal life for the ermine cocoon of royalty in 1947. No one would expect Rip Van Winkle to wake up and understand the complex terminology of 21st-century transgender rights. Sadly, the duke was too far ahead of the zeitgeist to be declared a warrior of anti-wokeness and get a lucrative book deal. But only just. The Daily Mail columnist Sarah Vine’s agenda-setting tribute last week showed how the most tragic and personal event can be press-ganged into the Conservatives’ fabricated culture war. Though the duke was forbidden from expressing his own opinions in life, Vine has grafted hers on to him in death, riding his memory towards the hell of her own choosing, a Pale Horsewoman of the Apocalypse astride Bernie Clifton’s ostrich. For Vine, Prince Philip’s passing represented, “more than the end of a single life; it represents the end...
Today’s guest is probably your favourite comedian’s favourite comedian. He regularly sells more than 250,000 tickets for every tour, yet he has never wanted to be a household name and doesn’t do many interviews. But you’re in luck, because he has today: it’s the hilarious Stewart Lee!
Kate and Stewart have known each other for decades, so they retrace the steps of their friendship and reminisce about some hilarious, scarcely believable moments they’ve shared. Plus, Stewart opens up about not wanting to court much public attention, how he’s carved his own comedy lane and how he regularly provokes hairy situations in public in the hope of landing on some new material!
Stewart Lee
2024-07-19T18:11:10+01:00
Today’s guest is probably your favourite comedian’s favourite comedian. He regularly sells more than 250,000 tickets for every tour, yet he has never wanted to be a household name and doesn’t do many interviews. But you’re in luck, because he has today: it’s the hilarious Stewart Lee! Kate and Stewart have known each other for decades, so they retrace the steps of their friendship and reminisce about some hilarious, scarcely believable moments they’ve shared. Plus, Stewart opens up about not wanting to court much public attention, how he’s carved his own comedy lane and how he regularly provokes hairy situations in public in the hope of landing on some new material!
The usually punishing Japanese experimental doom metal trio's New Album is an unexpected set of sugary melodic dream pop, wrapped in Athena faerie artwork you might see on a twelve year old girl's pencil case.
Party Boy's electronic beats and listless female vocal approach dance floor anthem territory; Luna plunges 1990s Thames Valley shoe-gazing guitars into an Atari landscape; and the surging Spoon is licked by dubstep drum patterns.
It's an admirable effort, but will fans, hoping for another forty-five minute feedback fest, give it a thumbs down? “Hope you like our new direction! This is Takeshi. He wrote this."
Stewart Lee
2012-02-12T01:51:35+00:00
The usually punishing Japanese experimental doom metal trio's New Album is an unexpected set of sugary melodic dream pop, wrapped in Athena faerie artwork you might see on a twelve year old girl's pencil case. Party Boy's electronic beats and listless female vocal approach dance floor anthem territory; Luna plunges 1990s Thames Valley shoe-gazing guitars into an Atari landscape; and the surging Spoon is licked by dubstep drum patterns. It's an admirable effort, but will fans, hoping for another forty-five minute feedback fest, give it a thumbs down? “Hope you like our new direction! This is Takeshi. He wrote this."
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.
I interview Graeme Garden, Bill Oddie & Tim Brooke Taylor at Leicester Square Theatre as part of a DVD extra on a DVD box set of their BBC Catalogue
In 1970, the Goodies unleashed their legendary blend of surreal storylines, strikingly topical satire, slapstick and general lunacy on an unsuspecting viewing public. Capturing the irreverent and rebellious flavour of the decade, this phenomenally popular, award-winning series spread its mischief over twelve years – making household names of creators, writers and performers Bill Oddie, Graeme Garden and Tim Brooke-Taylor.
This set contains all the episodes that the terrific trio made for the BBC – from a giant white fluffy kitten called Twinkle to a slippery climb up a giant beanstalk, from the ancient Lancastrian art of Ecky Thump to fighting a ban on fun instigated by an all-too-real puppet government, this is television comedy at its undeniable best!
SPECIAL FEATURE: An Audience with The Goodies
This brand-new special feature reunites Tim, Bill and Graeme on stage for a very special one-night-only event!
Stewart Lee
2018-09-13T05:05:57+01:00
I interview Graeme Garden, Bill Oddie & Tim Brooke Taylor at Leicester Square Theatre as part of a DVD extra on a DVD box set of their BBC Catalogue In 1970, the Goodies unleashed their legendary blend of surreal storylines, strikingly topical satire, slapstick and general lunacy on an unsuspecting viewing public. Capturing the irreverent and rebellious flavour of the decade, this phenomenally popular, award-winning series spread its mischief over twelve years – making household names of creators, writers and performers Bill Oddie, Graeme Garden and Tim Brooke-Taylor. This set contains all the episodes that the terrific trio made for the BBC – from a giant white fluffy kitten called Twinkle to a slippery climb up a giant beanstalk, from the ancient Lancastrian art of Ecky Thump to fighting a ban on fun instigated by an all-too-real puppet government, this is television comedy at its undeniable best! SPECIAL FEATURE: An Audience with The Goodies This brand-new special feature reunites Tim, Bill and Graeme on stage for a very special one-night-only event!
My best New Year’s Eve was 15 years ago. A mis-calibrated dose of prescription painkillers in a bed and breakfast near Wootton Courtenay meant I slept through the whole thing. I slept through the fear. I slept through the dread. I slept through the recriminations and regrets. And I slept through Jools Holland insisting on playing inappropriate boogie-woogie piano with – who will it be this year? – Peter Brötzmann, Napalm Death, Youssou N’Dour, Mark and Roxanne from LadBaby, or the future festive ghost of his own grinning self.
This New Year’s Eve I lay on my back in the garden, long after midnight, belly full of Butty Bach™ ® beer and mini Quorn™ ® sausages, and looked at the stars. Do they have elections on those distant worlds, I wondered? Is there an alien Dominic Cummings, and if so, how would you know? Does the alien Sir Iain Duncan Smith eat his own mucus in public like our Earth Sir Iain, or does he just eat crisps? On Alien Sir Iain’s world is crisp-eating considered disgusting, while finger-picked mucus is the cuisine of the Princesses of Mars? And is that the space Jennifer Arcuri dancing round the Pole Star? Remember her? Thought not.
Sniffing the air, I suddenly realised I had accidentally laid my head in fox excrement. I did not know what I should do. Beat the fox responsible to death with a Remain-voting baseball bat, while cross-dressed in a kimono, like a sick metropolitan elitist? Or wear red and white finery and harry it with hounds, before tearing its body to shreds and smearing its blood upon a nearby child’s crying face, like a rural Tory voter merely upholding an ancient tradition threatened by political correctness gone mad? (Delete as applicable to suit your social and political prejudices.)
Then I regained my composure, and simply lay there in the wet dark, the year yet young around me, grinding my head into the fox faeces, mashing it luxuriously into my precious remaining hairs. 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 prime minister. And I may be lying in the garden with fox excrement in my hair, but I’m looking up at the stars.
Apparently, the communications satellites that now clog the skies mean astronomers and astrophysicists will soon have their view of outer space fatally obscured. But we need those communication satellites. Otherwise how would we know, for example, quite how many people were disgusted by the presence of two black children in the new Worzel Gummidge, and by association the size of the Venn diagram overlap between fans of magic talking scarecrows and White Supremacists?
“It’s unrealistic to say black people live in the countryside, even if they are orphans who have been sent there. The countryside is where magic talking scarecrows live. Not fantasy black people,” they crow. The online debate about the Great Replacement Theory in action at Scatterbrook Farm echoes out into the spaceways for ever, a cosmic memorial to mankind’s noblest sentiments.
I squint upwards. Something shoots across the sky. Is it Turds, spaffing up the wall of the heavens, just because he can? Is there anyone out there at all? Presumably those far-distant alien minds, immeasurably superior to ours, are about to have their observation of us permanently suspended too, unless they can see through the satellite screen. Among their final views of our world will have been Turds hiding in a fridge, public nosepicker Sir Iain Duncan Smith celebrating his knighthood with a fingerful of fresh green, and all life on Earth drowning and choking and burning to death in real time all around us, flapping like an expiring fish, stranded on a beach.
Sadly, the curious aliens will never know how our story ends, though they could have a reasonable guess that it won’t end well. I close my eyes in the new year night and inhale the heady musk, a fox faeces visionary. In the crystal ball of my mind, Australian boat people flounder in the channel in cork-decorated hats, and sunburnt cockneys scrabble at the recently fortified Scottish border for the last of the Highland Spring. Turds is in a dream home in New Zealand, making jokes in Latin as he heads to the shelter with a young researcher on one arm and a nervous rescue dog on the other. “Veni, vidi, vici!”
But who is to blame for the aliens’ view of Earth being blocked? It is, in part, a man called Elon Musk, who is a billionaire genius philanthropist and not a brand of aftershave with both aphrodisiac and organ-elongation properties. Elon Musk is always included on Dad’s Christmas list, alongside novelty socks, a Liam Neeson DVD and a Liam Gallagher album. Mother was exhausted on Boxing Day. Father had been at the Elon Musk again.
The billionaire genius philanthropist Elon Musk, of SpaceX, is like a rubbish DC Comics copy of the billionaire genius philanthropist Tony Stark, of Stark Industries, from Marvel Comics’ Iron Man. “What is this Musk character’s company called?” asks the editor, to a desk-chained cartoonist, who has already signed away all his rights. “SpaceX,” he replies. “Will that do?”
Musk’s SpaceX company is about to shoot 40,000 satellites skyward, enhancing broadband, but blocking astronomers’ view of the universe, and dotting the same heavens our ancestors marvelled at with tens of thousands of artificial points. It’s New Year’s Day. The sky is lightening. As I struggle to stand I realise I am now the weight of a middle-aged man who suddenly dies at the wheel of a Ford Focus in a local newspaper report. So I make a resolution. And one by one the stars all go out.
Stewart Lee
2020-01-05T16:57:50+00:00
My best New Year’s Eve was 15 years ago. A mis-calibrated dose of prescription painkillers in a bed and breakfast near Wootton Courtenay meant I slept through the whole thing. I slept through the fear. I slept through the dread. I slept through the recriminations and regrets. And I slept through Jools Holland insisting on playing inappropriate boogie-woogie piano with – who will it be this year? – Peter Brötzmann, Napalm Death, Youssou N’Dour, Mark and Roxanne from LadBaby, or the future festive ghost of his own grinning self. This New Year’s Eve I lay on my back in the garden, long after midnight, belly full of Butty Bach™ ® beer and mini Quorn™ ® sausages, and looked at the stars. Do they have elections on those distant worlds, I wondered? Is there an alien Dominic Cummings, and if so, how would you know? Does the alien Sir Iain Duncan Smith eat his own mucus in public like our Earth Sir Iain, or does he just eat crisps? On Alien Sir Iain’s world is crisp-eating considered disgusting, while finger-picked mucus is the cuisine of the Princesses of Mars? And is that the space Jennifer Arcuri dancing round the Pole Star? Remember her? Thought not. Sniffing the air, I suddenly realised I had accidentally laid my head in fox excrement. I did not know what I should do. Beat the fox responsible to death with a Remain-voting baseball bat, while cross-dressed in a kimono, like a sick metropolitan elitist? Or wear red and white finery and harry it with hounds, before tearing its body to shreds and smearing its blood upon a nearby child’s crying face, like a rural Tory voter merely upholding an ancient tradition threatened by political correctness gone mad? (Delete as applicable to suit your social and political...
Another day. Another body under Boris Johnson’s battlebus. Another Tory adviser on the white steps of another Canonbury villa. Another pantomime of regret fabricated from whatever tortured sounds and sad shapes the face can muster. Another bright satellite burning up in Johnson’s doomed orbit. Intended to absorb difficult questions, Allegra Stratton was a five-and-a-half foot human loofah made of chlorinated chicken, 30% full of liquefied facts.
Her press secretary role was created in 2020, a firewall between Boris Johnson and the troublesome world of events. This week, for example, she might have shielded him from the unproven suggestion that he had helped to fly 170 asylum-seeking pets out from collapsing Kabul, like the animal-loving politician played by Steve Coogan in the forthcoming Disney+ film Taliban Dolittle.
Stratton was even given her own Downing Street press conference hub in which to answer hacks’ pesky queries, at a cost to the taxpayer of £2.6m, a strategy assumed to be more effective than merely hiding the prime minister in a nearby fridge at the first sign of a microphone, a notebook and some semblance of journalistic ability.
Bizarrely, the only time the £2.6m speak-space made any impression was this week, a year after its completion, when footage emerged of Stratton on its podium, rehearsing plausible denials of a Covid rule-breaking party in Downing Street last December, and finding the whole thing a wizard wheeze. “Is cheese and wine all right? This is recorded,” she laughs. “This fictional party was a business meeting and it wasn’t socially distanced.” Watching Stratton flail, it’s obvious why her press secretary role was so swiftly canned. Had she been given the job she would have made things even worse. As it happens, she didn’t get the job, and made things even worse anyway, a special kind of genius.
Under lockdown, I admit, I went to a party. Or did I? Suddenly I am not so sure. Was it a party after all, or just some people in a place? There was cheese and wine, I think. Does that make it a party? There is cheese in a cheese sandwich and wine in a wine bottle, but that doesn’t mean either is a party. Or does it? Maybe I attended a cheese sandwich? Or climbed into a wine bottle, like a tiny Spanish galleon? Or maybe I went to a business meeting? I met people, certainly, but did I do any business? If there are no people in a room, but there is cheese, does that mean it is a party? Whether it was a party, not a party, a business meeting, a cheese sandwich, or a wine bottle, one thing I am certain of is that the correct procedures were observed. And a man who may have been at the party, or wasn’t if it wasn’t a party after all, will soon be contracted to confirm that. By me.
Last month, vaccination checks were at the discretion of venues, and it seemed unlikely that the government would insist on face coverings in theatres. After all, Boris Johnson likes to watch Macbeth mask-free while masked people all around him wonder what he takes away from the tale of an ambitious traitor and his manipulative wife. But by Wednesday night, a massive dead cat was required to distract from a day of denied parties and prioritised pets, so Johnson banged plan B on the kitchen table, alienating backbench Covid sceptics.
Given the irrefutable evidence of Boris Johnson’s government’s corruption and callousness, how can those few Tory MPs that appear to have a conscience, such as the new intake that voted against their leader’s attempt to spare Owen Paterson, remain in the disgusting party? They should retire from politics, or join the Liberal Democrats, which is essentially the same thing.
Even given everything that has happened this week, there are many diehard Tories, clinging to an inflatable bendy banana marked “Get Brexit Done”, who will still want to vote for the party despite its utter rottenness. After all what’s the alternative? A blandly competent Labour party notably not hell-bent on asset-stripping the country’s infrastructure to line their own pockets? That simply won’t do!
But the Tory faithful will require a blood sacrifice to convince them their concerns are being addressed. And maybe this time some doorstep weeping and a symbolic sacking of soon-to-be-forgotten Foreign Office Sirs will not be enough. Fate has handed us the perfect votive offering to assuage Tory anger: Pen Farthing’s Afghan animals.
Farthing’s innocent 170 refugee dogs and evacu-cats are now permanently branded by association with Tory negligence and Boris Johnson’s lies, even though the intervention by Johnson’s own personal parliamentary private secretary on the poor beasts’ behalf isn’t definitive evidence of his guilt. But on the corner of Hyde Park, where once stood the bloody tree of Tyburn, let us pile a pyre of faggots. Let banks of seating be laid upon the lush slopes of the magnificent Marble Arch Mound. Newly relieved of her latest government role, Allegra Stratton serves party cheese and party wine as Boris Johnson, and other chief actors in the cavalcade of contempt for the lonely Covid dead of lockdown, take their seats, to watch through their onion tears. Then the lie-stained animals are burned en masse, all 170 of them, on a bonfire lit with flamboyant regret by a vindicated Ant and Dec.
And let the smoke from the smouldering bodies be visible, yea, even from the hills of Gog Magog, and serve as a ritual purification of Conservative-soiled Albion, in this valley of dying stars, in this hollow valley, this broken jaw of our lost kingdom.
Stewart Lee
2021-12-12T19:33:19+00:00
Another day. Another body under Boris Johnson’s battlebus. Another Tory adviser on the white steps of another Canonbury villa. Another pantomime of regret fabricated from whatever tortured sounds and sad shapes the face can muster. Another bright satellite burning up in Johnson’s doomed orbit. Intended to absorb difficult questions, Allegra Stratton was a five-and-a-half foot human loofah made of chlorinated chicken, 30% full of liquefied facts. Her press secretary role was created in 2020, a firewall between Boris Johnson and the troublesome world of events. This week, for example, she might have shielded him from the unproven suggestion that he had helped to fly 170 asylum-seeking pets out from collapsing Kabul, like the animal-loving politician played by Steve Coogan in the forthcoming Disney+ film Taliban Dolittle. Stratton was even given her own Downing Street press conference hub in which to answer hacks’ pesky queries, at a cost to the taxpayer of £2.6m, a strategy assumed to be more effective than merely hiding the prime minister in a nearby fridge at the first sign of a microphone, a notebook and some semblance of journalistic ability. Bizarrely, the only time the £2.6m speak-space made any impression was this week, a year after its completion, when footage emerged of Stratton on its podium, rehearsing plausible denials of a Covid rule-breaking party in Downing Street last December, and finding the whole thing a wizard wheeze. “Is cheese and wine all right? This is recorded,” she laughs. “This fictional party was a business meeting and it wasn’t socially distanced.” Watching Stratton flail, it’s obvious why her press secretary role was so swiftly canned. Had she been given the job she would have made things even worse. As it happens, she didn’t get the job, and made things even worse anyway, a special kind of genius....
There is much we can learn from the ancient traditions of Winterval, each culture’s festive myths and rituals being equally valid, and equally instructive, irrespective of their veracity or worth.
Upon the solstice night in Latveria, for example, Pappy Puffklap leaves a dried clump of donkey excrement on the breakfast table of each home. Is this so very different from the wise kings bringing the infant Christ sealed flagons of foul-smelling gas, the divine in harmony with the physical at its most pungent?
There is only really one story this Christmas. The snow that decorates your cards will soon be a half-remembered folk myth. The arctic ice sheet is melting from underneath as well as above now. Did you notice, or were you grime-dancing to Man’s Not Hot at an office Christmas party, the annual arse-photocopier roped off with “police line do not cross” tape, management confused by the exact nature of their legal responsibilities to staff buttocks in the current social recalibrations?
My own Christmas sounds a note of doom. So far, I have escaped ownership of a smartphone or a tablet. With a deserved sense of superiority, I have watched the rest of you degenerate into being no-attention-span zombie scum, fixated on trivial fruit-based games and the capture of invisible Japanese imps, entirely unaware of the geography of your own surroundings, info-pigs gobbling bites of fake news headfirst from shiny troughs 24 hours a day, while our decaying planet performs its last few million fatal, and yet still beautiful, rotations before you.
But now I must become one of you. Having abandoned paper letters, and now declaring even email obsolete, my nine-year-old daughter’s school has told me I need an iPhone to receive any administrative communication. And so, with a heavy heart, I have asked for one for Christmas, a shire horse begging for harness, a hamster requesting its own torturous wheel, Robert Lindsay asking for another series of My Family.
But perhaps, like Jesus renouncing his divinity to become a mortal, finally owning an iPhone will help me to understand Observer readers, and the trivial concerns and inundations of ignorance that drive you in your futile lives. Beneath a powerful enough microscope, even a cluster of wriggling threadworm can be beautiful.
I accepted my iPhone destiny on the morning of last Wednesday, but by the afternoon I wanted to renounce it. I attended the carol service of my niece’s nursery school. Upon each carved pew, the screens of the iPhones of proud parents, their heads respectfully bowed, displayed pages from Facebook and Twitter, and twinkled throughout the ancient religious ritual like the stars that led the wise men to the very cradle of Christ.
As the lights dimmed and the candles flared up for a beautiful choral arrangement of the Coventry Carol, the assembled infant singers could look up and see that many of the grownups in the room, their lowered faces lit beatifically from below by the Caravaggio glow of their iPhone screens, were not the slightest fucking bit interested in them or their stupid fucking song.
This is of course a valuable preparation for adult life, where dreams are crushed and hope and pride are trampled in the dirt. Nothing says “Christmas” like orchestrated mass indifference to the creative efforts of small children, I always think.
In my own line of work, as Britain’s most consistently critically acclaimed standup comedian, I take a hard line against in-show mobile phone usage. If I spot a screen lighting up from the stage I leap into the aisle, wrestle it from the offender’s grasp, and put it down the back of my pants.
Here, clenched in the smallest fissure of my cavity by one of its corners, the phone remains until the end of the three-hour show, before being handed back to its owner in a sealed jiffy bag, its screen ideally complete with tell-tale smears.
I appreciate that this course of action is not appropriate for the headmaster of an infant school during a Christmas carol service, but he would probably only need to do it once for it to take permanent effect. And it would certainly be discussed on Mumsnet.
Christmas continues to educate me. The following day I dropped my seven-year-old son off at school while absentmindedly still wearing the elf jumper my sarcastic wife had hatefully bought me. Knitted legs dangle down from the waist, making me look like a morbidly obese Yule sprite.
It was assumed that I had arrived to replace an absent elf for the children’s Christmas party and, too embarrassed to explain otherwise, I soon found myself in Santa’s grotto in an inappropriate security guard stance, policing suspicious toddlers.
Afterwards, as they ate cake, I listened, in my undercover elf capacity, to the children rationalise their Santa experience. They concluded that the Santa they had seen wasn’t the real Santa, but that Santa did exist, and that he had been merely a representative Santa, the real one being too busy, obviously, to make school visits.
Psychiatrists call the balancing of contradictory facts cognitive dissonance. With regard to the Christmas beliefs, these children’s dissonance was certainly cognitive beyond their years. With regard to leaving the EU, Boris Johnson’s cognitive dissonance found form as the notion of having your cake and eating it, but his cognition was swiftly undissonated, the cake neither had nor eaten.
Some precocious girls had even got as far as explaining that Santa’s sledge would not be covered by the same air traffic agreements that may make European air travel more complex post-Brexit, because it was magic. And so Christmas 2019 deliveries should function as normal.
Children that disagreed were swiftly denounced as traitors, and saboteurs of Christmas. Luckily my accidental elf status gave me a John Bercow-style authority, and I was just able to mediate between the realists and those that would condemn them. Even Santa brought me back to the spectre of Brexit.
Last week, in a gift shop on Oxford Street, I bought my Scandinavian sister-in-law the Christmas present of a mass-produced commemorative mug, which declared on its side that it was “celibrating” (sic) the forthcoming royal wedding.
Now, every time she raises her hot mug of Christmas glogg, she and her fellow Vikings will celibrate the marriage of Harry and Meghan with the respect it deserves. Even working in a second language, the Scandinavian spotted immediately the spelling error that had escaped our highly trained royal ceramics taskforce. The fine detail of post-Brexit paperwork will be an exciting challenge for small British businesses. Merry Christmas.
Stewart Lee
2017-12-12T15:50:53+00:00
There is much we can learn from the ancient traditions of Winterval, each culture’s festive myths and rituals being equally valid, and equally instructive, irrespective of their veracity or worth. Upon the solstice night in Latveria, for example, Pappy Puffklap leaves a dried clump of donkey excrement on the breakfast table of each home. Is this so very different from the wise kings bringing the infant Christ sealed flagons of foul-smelling gas, the divine in harmony with the physical at its most pungent? There is only really one story this Christmas. The snow that decorates your cards will soon be a half-remembered folk myth. The arctic ice sheet is melting from underneath as well as above now. Did you notice, or were you grime-dancing to Man’s Not Hot at an office Christmas party, the annual arse-photocopier roped off with “police line do not cross” tape, management confused by the exact nature of their legal responsibilities to staff buttocks in the current social recalibrations? My own Christmas sounds a note of doom. So far, I have escaped ownership of a smartphone or a tablet. With a deserved sense of superiority, I have watched the rest of you degenerate into being no-attention-span zombie scum, fixated on trivial fruit-based games and the capture of invisible Japanese imps, entirely unaware of the geography of your own surroundings, info-pigs gobbling bites of fake news headfirst from shiny troughs 24 hours a day, while our decaying planet performs its last few million fatal, and yet still beautiful, rotations before you. But now I must become one of you. Having abandoned paper letters, and now declaring even email obsolete, my nine-year-old daughter’s school has told me I need an iPhone to receive any administrative communication. And so, with a heavy heart, I have asked for one for Christmas, a...
Binty Frogwitch lives in Chelsea and has been a Royal Dog Correspondent since the 1950’s, selling stories to The Daily Mail, ITN and Popbitch.
“I have always lived in London. I need to be at the centre of things. If an incident involving a Royal Dog occurs I have to check the facts. Hurry Binty! What is it? One of the Queen’s Corgis? Princess Anne’s Japanese Fighting Dog? Prince Harry’s Red Setter/Golden Labrador cross? (Don’t ask!) Then I deliver a more exciting version of these facts to camera outside Buckingham Palace, whilst making a face that suggests in many ways, that I pity the poor royal dogs, simply trying to go about their valuable duties, in the full glare of the press. I mean, think about it. Can it be much fun trying to cock your leg against a footman or bury your mess in the garden, knowing that over the walls of the palace, the lenses of the paparazzi are focussed on your every movement, literally?
Now, though many of us were thrilled when their romance began, and predicted great things, it was always clear to me that the very public relationship between the Queen’s two Corgis, Willy and Middy, was never going to last. It was reported earlier this month that Willy Winsor V and Middy Middy Middleton had parted. This is truly sad, as it is known the Queen had high hopes for the dogs, and was hoping to breed from them, having gone as far as rubbing Willy’s nose in Middy’s treasure-flower to try and move things along. But Willy was more interested in chasing sticks and running around the garden jumping up at butterflies!
Willy and Middy were the first of any royal Corgis to be allowed to live together publicly, and resided for the last two years at Clarence House, next door to Saint James’ Palace. Here Princess Diana’s former butler Paul Burrell drilled staff in appropriately elegant use of pooper scoopers, soda siphons and blotting paper, in order to clean up dog spillages up in corridors. Rumours that many of the servants were adpet at this already after years of waiting on HRH The Queen Mother are most certainly not true. (Is she still with us? It’s shocking, I know, but can’t remember.)
The media has been swift to blame the media in for the collapse of the relationship. But as a Royal Dog Watcher of some half a century standing, as far as I am concerned the trouble stems from the high class West End dog grooming centre Bijous. Willy and Middy were always happy here, until a naughty pug called Pelly came to have his ears ironed one day, and encouraged Willy to run off sniffing other dogs’ bottoms and rubbing himself against pillows. When a poor-quality tabloid responded to this story last week with the headline “ROYAL DOG IN SOFT FURNISHING SEX ACT. PHOTS PAGE 5”, I for one was delighted to see prime-minister Tony Blair issue an official statement on the subject.
Mr Blair’s tardiness in commenting on the execution of Saddam Hussein was widely criticised in the press, and it was marvellous to see that the PM can still make a statement swiftly when it really matters. “These two dogs should be left alone now without reams of stuff being written that I can assure you, from my experience of having fallen asleep once and dreamed that I was a dog, will be complete nonsense," he told the BBC’s Politics Show. And I agree. Must go now, I am off to do a vox pop at Battersea Dogs’ Home. “
Binty Frogwitch was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-04-24T17:00:31+01:00
Binty Frogwitch lives in Chelsea and has been a Royal Dog Correspondent since the 1950’s, selling stories to The Daily Mail, ITN and Popbitch. “I have always lived in London. I need to be at the centre of things. If an incident involving a Royal Dog occurs I have to check the facts. Hurry Binty! What is it? One of the Queen’s Corgis? Princess Anne’s Japanese Fighting Dog? Prince Harry’s Red Setter/Golden Labrador cross? (Don’t ask!) Then I deliver a more exciting version of these facts to camera outside Buckingham Palace, whilst making a face that suggests in many ways, that I pity the poor royal dogs, simply trying to go about their valuable duties, in the full glare of the press. I mean, think about it. Can it be much fun trying to cock your leg against a footman or bury your mess in the garden, knowing that over the walls of the palace, the lenses of the paparazzi are focussed on your every movement, literally? Now, though many of us were thrilled when their romance began, and predicted great things, it was always clear to me that the very public relationship between the Queen’s two Corgis, Willy and Middy, was never going to last. It was reported earlier this month that Willy Winsor V and Middy Middy Middleton had parted. This is truly sad, as it is known the Queen had high hopes for the dogs, and was hoping to breed from them, having gone as far as rubbing Willy’s nose in Middy’s treasure-flower to try and move things along. But Willy was more interested in chasing sticks and running around the garden jumping up at butterflies! Willy and Middy were the first of any royal Corgis to be allowed to live together publicly, and resided for the...
I WISH I could be as brazen as Stewart Lee — not his humour, which is richly funny, but the chutzpah which saw him stride into the Oxford audience less than two minutes into his set and wrench a phone from an audience member.
“No phones, mate,” he said as he marched back to the stage and stashed the device inside the back of his jeans.
In your face, at your throat, uncompromising, truly remarkable timing, self-referential, laden with irony and straight-up funny.
I realised my own phone was still turned on but didn’t dare get it out to neuter it for fear of similar treatment.
Genuinely funny people don’t need gags written for them, they can exploit a situation, improvise on it and wring it dry. So it is with Lee who’s been a stand-up for more than 30 years.
He delivers two routines, the first an extended riff on a reference to a Netflix video of his, the second his take on being a snowflake — both are hilarious. What makes him work is his dual performance: one is the direct source material, the other is a kind of notated commentary on what he’s doing, a sideways look at himself.
He announces with simultaneous pride and irony his position in The Times hierarchy of comedians — at the top, of course. It’s that apparent contradiction, but not quite doublethink, which makes him tick.
It’s unquestionably original and often challenging. But he’s not unlike Shakespeare in that the high intellect is often countered by low humour which had the audience reduced to helplessness.
He’s political, identifies immediately and proudly as a liberal centre-leftie, and sends out poison-tipped jokes to pick off his targets — Boris Johnson is a favourite.
And watch out for a piece on cesspits which shouldn’t be funny at all, but in the hands of a comic master it is.
Stewart Lee
2020-03-02T18:56:01+00:00
I WISH I could be as brazen as Stewart Lee — not his humour, which is richly funny, but the chutzpah which saw him stride into the Oxford audience less than two minutes into his set and wrench a phone from an audience member. “No phones, mate,” he said as he marched back to the stage and stashed the device inside the back of his jeans. In your face, at your throat, uncompromising, truly remarkable timing, self-referential, laden with irony and straight-up funny. I realised my own phone was still turned on but didn’t dare get it out to neuter it for fear of similar treatment. Genuinely funny people don’t need gags written for them, they can exploit a situation, improvise on it and wring it dry. So it is with Lee who’s been a stand-up for more than 30 years. He delivers two routines, the first an extended riff on a reference to a Netflix video of his, the second his take on being a snowflake — both are hilarious. What makes him work is his dual performance: one is the direct source material, the other is a kind of notated commentary on what he’s doing, a sideways look at himself. He announces with simultaneous pride and irony his position in The Times hierarchy of comedians — at the top, of course. It’s that apparent contradiction, but not quite doublethink, which makes him tick. It’s unquestionably original and often challenging. But he’s not unlike Shakespeare in that the high intellect is often countered by low humour which had the audience reduced to helplessness. He’s political, identifies immediately and proudly as a liberal centre-leftie, and sends out poison-tipped jokes to pick off his targets — Boris Johnson is a favourite. And watch out for a piece on cesspits which shouldn’t...
The first thing to know about comic Stewart Lee is that much that has appeared about him in print isn't true.
He was not at Oxford with David Cameron.
He didn't invent Alan Partridge.
And he is not slavishly politically correct with a smug contempt for his audiences. (He wishes there were more, funny un-PC comics.)
These misapprehensions get about because people don't get the fact that … it's a joke.
And the fact that his jokes aren't all instantly gettable puts people, and some newspapers, on edge. He, like Chris Morris, his partner in crime in his current television series and the inventor of the Partridge canard (Morris claimed recently as a joke, that Lee had indeed invented Partridge, but that in Lee's mind the original Partridge had been a clockwork elephant), is irretrievably not a conformer.
So what is true? He was a writer on the radio version of On the Hour, although his heart remains in stand-up. His stage character is, in his words, a "jealous, delusional, bitter, arrogant and anxious to give a good account of himself", while the real Lee, clearly, is more likeable and thoughtful.
He is seen by his peers as a master practitioner, and the BBC has signed him up for another series after this one, thanks largely to Sky trying to poach him. He is left-wing but, he insists, the joke has to come first. And he feels no particular tribal loyalty to fellow comics.
He did go to Oxford, but a couple of years after Cameron. He had a comic routine in which he recalled an imaginary May Ball when he, as a member of the lower orders, was made by Cameron and his friends to drink vomit from a champagne bucket. "I didn't even know the Bullingdon Club existed when I was there," he says. "But you sort of know what those kind of people were like. Life was already decided at 18. You know where you fit into the hierarchy." He laughs a gleeful, demonic chuckle. "They sort of use you for what you're good at and you think you're in and then you're not and they'll move on. That's what they're doing to Clegg, isn't it?"
Is the stage version of Lee far removed from the real one? The man sitting in front of me, in a hotel round the corner from the BBC in central London, wears DMs and what his detractors might call agitprop garb, but is almost painfully courteous and trouble-taking. You suspect that, like Barry Humphreys and Sir Les Patterson, he finds playing the ogre quite liberating, as if it's him without the polite middle-class upbringing.
He grew up outside Birmingham, having been adopted as a baby which, he speculates bashfully, he thinks may have given him a freedom to choose his own direction. As an only child, he read a lot and had to amuse himself ("I don't think I'm particularly attention-seeking"). His late father ran a small packaging business and his late mother was manager of a medical practice. They split up when he was four. "I'm very grateful to my adoptive family. My mother sorted my life out."
He got a part scholarship to Solihull School, a fee-paying boys' independent school, and a charity award on the basis of being adopted (a "waifs and strays bursary", he calls it). "That difficulty in my start in life ended up giving me a functional level of education that I wouldn't have had."
And quickly we're back to politics. "You do feel an awareness of... luck. Which is why I'm surprised that [Michael] Gove can be so certain about things, because he is adopted and he was parachuted down into a degree of relative opportunity, like I was. In a period when there was a degree of social mobility that there isn't now… it makes me think how lucky [I am]. Seems to make Gove think he's worked hard and deserves the position he's in. I suppose we are what we are and we use the evidence to confirm what we believe."
His comedy is neurotic, angry and constantly self-examining. Much of it involves a mantra-like and uncomfortable repetition of politically obtuse remarks that he has picked up. Very often, he admits, he doesn't know where he is going with the joke. There is usually a safe option, but he likes to test his nerve, often passing comment on his act or his audience.
He is now into an annual cycle of writing and trying out a show in the spring in small venues, the newness of which he finds completely terrifying. "I went to a hypnotist to learn how not to use drinking a pint before you go on as a way of giving you the confidence to just fly at it, irrespective of the fear. That's not a long-term strategy, when you do as many gigs as I do. [Maniac chuckle.]"
He then takes the show on the road and stress-tests it. He must have balls of steel. "It's hard, there's no fall back. You've got to hold your nerve. Initially I don't think I was aware of how hard it was, but what's good about those things is that they leave you room to manoeuvre." There's a masochistic sense of trying to paint himself into a corner. "I try to find a different ending every time … and after 50 times, there's a decision tree. If something's working, there's a part of me that's trying to sabotage myself. I try to lock myself in and not know where I'm going. But then if I do get out of it, the arrogant/needy part of me wants people to appreciate what I've done."
Among those he admires are Arnold Brown, Jerry Sadowitz, Norman Lovett, and Ted Chippington, a 1980s anti-hero and cussed antagoniser of audiences whose proud purpose is to entertain himself.
"He seemed to be taking the piss out of comedy at the same time as doing it," he says. "You just go out and be annoying.... Of course it's very hard to do that, but I didn't realise that then."
It's a notion that many outside the smugger parts of Soho think too art student, too clever by half. One fuming critic wrote, having walked out of a Lee show: "If Lee had a shred of interest or insight into the working lives of other people, he'd realise that those who give up an evening at the end of a week to see him deserve his thanks not his toxic scorn."
Trouble is, again, it's a joke, and not to everyone's taste.
His home life is more conventional. He is married to Bridget Christie, a former Daily Mail journalist (yes, really) and fellow award-winning stand-up, and they have two children. Despite some papers' portrayal of him, at 45, the softie in him is evident. "Now I've got kids, you wouldn't want them to suffer because of a perception of you. I try to be very careful where I do things and make sure I know why I've done them. I wouldn't want them to be stigmatised."
So how does he judge success? He'd love to have a garden, he says without missing a beat, for the children to enjoy. You suspect the couple are too busy working to move.
There seems little danger of him selling out, maybe doing building society commercials. He thinks, in any case, that his stage character lacks the necessary aura of unfoolable truth-telling. He only performs in smaller venues, and doesn't enjoy doing panel shows. (Lee Mack once claimed Lee couldn't cut the mustard, whereas, although he enjoys the company of comics, you suspect green rooms bring him out in a rash.) He is amused that, rather than cashing in on the excellent reviews he has had for his current television series, he is, instead, in the provinces doing nine dates of avant-garderie with contemporary music group Usurp Chance.
Michael McIntyre, he ain't.
Curriculum vitae
1968 Born in Shropshire and adopted by parents who separate when he is four. Raised by his mother in Solihull.
Wins a scholarship to Solihull School and studies English Literature at Oxford,
the first in his family to go to university. 1986 While studying, he performs with his first comedy group, The Seven Raymonds, with students Richard Herring and Emma Kennedy. 1990 Wins the prestigious New Act of the Year award at Hackney Empire. 1991 With Herring, begins writing for Radio 4's On the Hour, which introduces
Steve Coogan's Alan Partridge. 2001 Abandons stand-up. Publishes his first novel, The Perfect Fool. Creates the show Pea Green Boat based on Lear's "The Owl and the Pussycat". 2005 Co-writes and directs Jerry Springer: The Opera which wins five Olivier
awards. The BBC screens it and receives 55,000 complaints. 2006 Marries comedian Bridget Christie. They have two children. 2009 Creates Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and wins a cluster of awards. 2010 Writes his second book, How I Escaped My Certain Fate – The Life and Deaths of a Stand-Up Comedian. 2014 Prepares third series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Clara Baldock
Stewart Lee
2014-03-09T20:54:51+00:00
The first thing to know about comic Stewart Lee is that much that has appeared about him in print isn't true. He was not at Oxford with David Cameron. He didn't invent Alan Partridge. And he is not slavishly politically correct with a smug contempt for his audiences. (He wishes there were more, funny un-PC comics.) These misapprehensions get about because people don't get the fact that … it's a joke. And the fact that his jokes aren't all instantly gettable puts people, and some newspapers, on edge. He, like Chris Morris, his partner in crime in his current television series and the inventor of the Partridge canard (Morris claimed recently as a joke, that Lee had indeed invented Partridge, but that in Lee's mind the original Partridge had been a clockwork elephant), is irretrievably not a conformer. So what is true? He was a writer on the radio version of On the Hour, although his heart remains in stand-up. His stage character is, in his words, a "jealous, delusional, bitter, arrogant and anxious to give a good account of himself", while the real Lee, clearly, is more likeable and thoughtful. He is seen by his peers as a master practitioner, and the BBC has signed him up for another series after this one, thanks largely to Sky trying to poach him. He is left-wing but, he insists, the joke has to come first. And he feels no particular tribal loyalty to fellow comics. He did go to Oxford, but a couple of years after Cameron. He had a comic routine in which he recalled an imaginary May Ball when he, as a member of the lower orders, was made by Cameron and his friends to drink vomit from a champagne bucket. "I didn't even know the Bullingdon Club existed...
In 2002, I accessed the 3,000-year-old subterranean ceremonial chamber of Pendeen Fogou in north-west Cornwall, by crawling through a 2ft-deep river of liquid cow slurry. Once inside, I was transformed and it was worth it. On Wednesday, I crawled through filth again, as I tried to read the Daily Mail as research for this column. But, unlike my Pendeen Fogou epiphany, the experience provoked only nausea. What a week in British politics it’s been!
The multifaceted transport secretary, Grant Shapps, historically manifests himself in many different identities. On Monday, as Grant Shapps, he addressed Brexit Britain by video on the benefits of Brexit, while bestriding a ride-on lawnmower. “Now thanks to Brexit,” Shapps boasted, snake-oil style, “we’ve been able to ditch the Vnuk law” (requiring car insurance to also cover ride-on lawnmowers and golf buggies). “And in these difficult financial times,” Shapps concluded, as if the difficult financial times were nothing to do with him and his party, “that’s going to help the average motorist save about 50 quid.” This, of course, more than makes up for the Office for Budget Responsibility’s estimated 4% Brexit hit to the UK economy over the next 15 years. Ride-on lawnmowers are free! But until all ride-on home-horticulture vehicles are free this Brexit bonus will ring hollow!
Typically, the EU had already repealed the Vnuk law during the Brexit transition phase anyway, while we neglected to do so. At least when creating fake online reviews for his businesses Shapps used to hide behind implausible pseudonyms – Michael Green, Sebastian Fox or Corinne Stockheath. (Corinne Stockheath is a name that never existed anywhere outside Shapps’s fecund imagination, although it seems you can now follow her on Twitter). Next time Shapps bestrides a ride-on lawnmower to fib about Brexit and ride-on lawnmowers, he should do it as one of his made-up identities. The ride-on lawnmower is the choice mode of transport for Corinne Stockheath, apparently.
“Perhaps the grass can be just a little bit greener,” Shapps soliloquised in closing like a stupid arse, before ride-on lawnmowering off into the sunset. Perhaps the grass can be greener, Grant, but not on the roadside verges of Kent, where backed-up lorry drivers have made the green grass all yellow. And brown. Because of Brexit. Indeed, transport select committee chairman, Huw Merriman MP, recently stepped in human excrement while on a fact-finding mission to a Kent lay-by. Hopefully, this gave him some idea of the benefits of Brexit.
And how those stranded lorry drivers must envy the speed at which Shapps’s ride-on lawnmower is able to travel. Cramped in their stationary cabs at night they dream of doing two miles an hour in a field on a ride-on lawnmower, mowing away the letters Vnuk in a heavy-handed Brexit metaphor as inane as it is dishonest.
Is this the best you’ve got, Brexiters? A £50 reduction on ride-on lawnmower insurance that the EU had already scrapped anyway? Ah well. It will now be cheaper to trim the grass of the sunlit uplands. Perhaps Corinne Stockheath could get on with mowing the lawns while Shapps himself concentrates on scraping the barrels.
It’s Wednesday morning. A quarter of a century ago, I made the mistake of getting out of a Jeep in the Lake Bonney Riverlands of South Australia, and suddenly every square centimetre of my face and body was covered in swarming black flies. That’s what the news feels like now: so many sick stories coming at you all at once. What is it you want me to satirise this week, liberals of Observer-land? Brexit-supporting holidaymakers incensed by passport controls they voted for? Or Nadine Dorries’s downstreamed tennis pitch dyslexia? Covid cash millions in disappearing suitcases? Or billions wasted on contracted cronies? Sexual misconduct in the cabinet? Or frontbench porn from the internet? Broken replacement red wall funding promises? Or the end of educational Erasmus opportunities? Raw sewage discharging or more fines for partying? Lawnmower insurance dividends or government human trafficking? Channel 4 cultural vandalism or care home Covid scandalism. Which of these news flies to swat first? Answer me!
I stumble around Southend-on-Sea, where I worked the night before, looking at newspapers in shops. I can see from the front of the Daily Mail that the disappointing Dan Hodges is squatting splay-thighed on his milking stool, desperately tugging the last squits of black poison from the dry udders of Angela Rayner’s Leg-Gate story like a zombie farmhand. For money. I know that if I were to read the Mail’s Leg-Gate coverage I’d get 1,000 words from it, but that means either visiting the Daily Mail website or buying a physical copy, both of which help the horrible paper, and so are not morally acceptable options.
It’s 12.15pm. I go into M&S to buy my usual lunch: a 120g tray of British coronation chicken slices and some egg mayonnaise. In the queue, I browse the newspaper rack’s Daily Mail for free. I get stuck into a double spread that purports to prove Rayner found her sexual objectification delightful via an old interview that actually proves the exact opposite. But suddenly it’s time for me to scan my proteins. Thinking on my feet, I do the only moral thing and slip the Daily Mail into my bag unpaid for.
I sat on the clifftop with my chicken products and my stolen Daily Mail. Maybe it was all the egg mayonnaise, but after the first couple of pages, I vomited slightly into my mouth, so I put the Daily Mail in a dog excrement bin and decided to run with the ride-on lawnmowers. These people only want you to talk about them anyway. Life’s too short to put yourself through that kind of shit.
Stewart Lee
2022-05-01T16:41:29+01:00
In 2002, I accessed the 3,000-year-old subterranean ceremonial chamber of Pendeen Fogou in north-west Cornwall, by crawling through a 2ft-deep river of liquid cow slurry. Once inside, I was transformed and it was worth it. On Wednesday, I crawled through filth again, as I tried to read the Daily Mail as research for this column. But, unlike my Pendeen Fogou epiphany, the experience provoked only nausea. What a week in British politics it’s been! The multifaceted transport secretary, Grant Shapps, historically manifests himself in many different identities. On Monday, as Grant Shapps, he addressed Brexit Britain by video on the benefits of Brexit, while bestriding a ride-on lawnmower. “Now thanks to Brexit,” Shapps boasted, snake-oil style, “we’ve been able to ditch the Vnuk law” (requiring car insurance to also cover ride-on lawnmowers and golf buggies). “And in these difficult financial times,” Shapps concluded, as if the difficult financial times were nothing to do with him and his party, “that’s going to help the average motorist save about 50 quid.” This, of course, more than makes up for the Office for Budget Responsibility’s estimated 4% Brexit hit to the UK economy over the next 15 years. Ride-on lawnmowers are free! But until all ride-on home-horticulture vehicles are free this Brexit bonus will ring hollow! Typically, the EU had already repealed the Vnuk law during the Brexit transition phase anyway, while we neglected to do so. At least when creating fake online reviews for his businesses Shapps used to hide behind implausible pseudonyms – Michael Green, Sebastian Fox or Corinne Stockheath. (Corinne Stockheath is a name that never existed anywhere outside Shapps’s fecund imagination, although it seems you can now follow her on Twitter). Next time Shapps bestrides a ride-on lawnmower to fib about Brexit and ride-on lawnmowers, he should do it...
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...
My wife Bridget Christie is performing her hit 2011 Edinburgh Fringe show Surrealist Housewife at Curve in the Leicester Comedy Fest at 8pm on Friday Feb 10th. http://www.curveonline.co.uk/curve.php?view=showinfo.php&showid=327
Press about the show is here, and join Bridget's mailing list here for more news.
CARPET REMNANT WORLD
Carpet Remnant World is the title of the new full length show from the acclaimed star of the BAFTA nominated BBC2 series: Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle (“The funniest thing on television" The Guardian). The London run sold out three 02’s worth of people. Now it tours. More dates tba.
February 2012
Thursday 23rd - The Playhouse, Nottingham - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0115 9419419 Book Online.
Friday 24th - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01227 787787 Book Online.
Saturday 25th - Town Hall, Cheltenham - 8.00pm Box Office: 0844 576 2210 Book Online.
Wednesday 29th - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - 8.00pm Box Office: 01423 502116 Book Online.
March 2012
Thursday 1st - St. George's Hall, Bradford - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01274 432000 Book Online.
Friday 2nd - Waterfront Hall, Belfast - Box Office: 028 9033 4455 Book Online.
Saturday 3rd - Philarmonic Hall, Liverpool - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0151 709 3789 Book Online.
Tuesday 6th - Opera House, Buxton - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0845 1272190 Book Online.
Wednesday 7th - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01223 357851 Book Online.
Friday 9th - The Anvil, Basingstoke - Box Office: 01256 844244 Book Online.
Saturday 10th - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - Box Office: 01604 624811 Book Online.
Sunday 11th - Theatre Royal, Norwich - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01603 630000 Book Online.
Thursday 15th - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0116 233 3111 Book Online.
Friday 16th - Derby Theatre, Derby - Box Office: 01332 255800 Book Online.
Saturday 17th - Performing Arts Centre, Lincoln - Box Office: 0844 888 4414 Book Online.
Wednesday 21st - The Dukes Theatre, Lancaster - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01524 598500 Book Online
Thursday 22nd - Journal Tyne Theatre, Newcastle - 8.00pm. Box Office:0844 493 9999 Book Online.
Friday 23rd - King's Theatre, Glasgow (Glasgow Comedy Festival) - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0844 3954005 Book Online.
Saturday 24th - Theatre Royal, York - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01904 623568 Book Online.
Monday 26th - Playhouse, Oxford - 8.00pm Box Office: 01865 305305 Book Online.
Wednesday 28th - St David’s Hall, Cardiff - 8.00pm Box Office: 029 2087 8444 Book Online.
Thursday 29th - The Hexagon, Reading - 8.00pm Box Office: 0118 960 6060 Book Online.
Friday 30th - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - 8.00pm Box Office: 0121 7803333 Book Online.
April 2012
Tuesday 17th - Theatre Royal, Winchester - 8.00pm Box Office: 01962 840440 Book Online.
Wednesday 18th - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - 8.00pm Box Office: 01872 262466 Book Online.
Friday 20th - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - 7.45pm Box Office: 0114 249 6000 Book Online.
Saturday 21st - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - 7.45pm Box Office: 0114 249 6000 Book Online.
Thursday 26th - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - 8.00pm Box Office: 01743 281281 Book Online.
Sunday 29th - The Lowry, Salford - MATINEE - 3.00pm Box Office: 0843 208 6010 Book Online.
Sunday 29th - The Lowry, Salford - EVENING - 7.30pm Box Office: 0843 208 6010 Book Online.
May 2012
Wednesday 2nd - The Dome, Brighton - Box Office: 01273 709709 Book Online
Saturday 5th - Machynlleth Comedy Festival, Wales - Book Online.
Sunday 6th - Hippodrome, Bristol - 7.30pm Box Office: 0844 871 3012 Book Online.
Monday 7th - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - Box Office: 01752 230440 Book Online.
Tuesday 8th - Octagon Theatre, Yeovil - Box Office: 01935 422884 VENUE WEBSITE.
Saturday 12th - Music Hall, Aberdeen - Box Office: 01224 641122 Book Online.
Sunday 13th - Eden Court, Inverness - Box Office: 01463 234234 Book Online.
Thursday 17th - Vicar Street, Dublin - Box Office: 00353 (0)1 77 55 800 Book Online.
Friday 18th - Vicar Street, Dublin - Box Office: 00353 (0)1 77 55 800 Book Online.
Saturday 19th - Seapoint Ballroom, Salthill, Galway - 8.00pm - 0818 719300 Book Online.
Sunday 20th - Savoy Theatre, Cork - 8.00pm - 0818 719300 Book Online.
Thursday 24th - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - 8.00pm Box Office: 024 7652 4524 Book Online.
Saturday 26th - Festival Theatre, Malvern - Box Office: 01684 892277 Book Online.
June 2012
Friday 8th - West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds - Box Office: 0113 213 7700 Book Online.
Saturday 9th - The Alban Arena, St Albans - 01727 844488 - ON SALE SOON.
Thursday 14th - Grand Theatre, Swansea - Box Office: 01792 475715 VENUE WEBSITE.
Friday 15th - Lighthouse, Poole - Box Office: 0844 406 8666 Book Online
Friday 22nd - Civic Theatre, Chelmsford - Box Office: 01245 606 505 VENUE WEBSITE.
Saturday 23rd - City Hall, Salisbury - 8.00pm - Box Office: 01722 434434 Book Online.
Sunday 24th - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - Box Office: 01392 493493 Book Online.
Tuesday 26th - City Hall, Hull - 8.00pm - Box Office: 01482 300 300 Book Online.
Wednesday 27th - Huntingdon Hall, Worcester - Box Office: 01905 611427 Book Online.
Thursday 28th - Huntingdon Hall, Worcester - Box Office: 01905 611427 Book Online.
A DISCUSSION ABOUT THE ARTS
With me, Josie Long & Alan Moore, March 26th in Oxford, 2pm
http://oxfordliteraryfestival.org/events/detail/whats-the-point-of-the-arts-and-humanities
NEW BOOK - IF YOU PREFER A MILDER COMEDIAN ETC
Out from Jan 5th through Faber. - click here to buy... link
FIST OF FUN SERIES 1 DVD
You probably know the saga of this. The 1995 series by Richard Herring and me was in the room where the BBC throw things away. An insider asked them why they hadn’t released it.
They said “neither Sales nor Marketing believed that Lee & Herring had much sales potential in the current market”, which probably explains why all my own BBC series are conspicuously absent amongst all the TV comedy tat piled high for Xmas in HMV. Rich and Chris Evans of the Welsh comedy indie label GoFasterStripe brokered a deal to buy Fist of Fun series 1, and now it’s available with three discs of extras, following a superb half page review in The Guardian, Dec 3rd.
If you could buy this rather than steal it it would be good, as all the profits of GFS so far have gone into making it.
Cheers. Buy it here.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-09T14:38:35+00:00
BRIDGET CHRISTIE LEICESTER My wife Bridget Christie is performing her hit 2011 Edinburgh Fringe show Surrealist Housewife at Curve in the Leicester Comedy Fest at 8pm on Friday Feb 10th. http://www.curveonline.co.uk/curve.php?view=showinfo.php&showid=327 Press about the show is here, and join Bridget's mailing list here for more news. CARPET REMNANT WORLD Carpet Remnant World is the title of the new full length show from the acclaimed star of the BAFTA nominated BBC2 series: Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle (“The funniest thing on television" The Guardian). The London run sold out three 02’s worth of people. Now it tours. More dates tba. February 2012 Thursday 23rd - The Playhouse, Nottingham - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0115 9419419 Book Online. Friday 24th - The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01227 787787 Book Online. Saturday 25th - Town Hall, Cheltenham - 8.00pm Box Office: 0844 576 2210 Book Online. Wednesday 29th - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - 8.00pm Box Office: 01423 502116 Book Online. March 2012 Thursday 1st - St. George's Hall, Bradford - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01274 432000 Book Online. Friday 2nd - Waterfront Hall, Belfast - Box Office: 028 9033 4455 Book Online. Saturday 3rd - Philarmonic Hall, Liverpool - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0151 709 3789 Book Online. Tuesday 6th - Opera House, Buxton - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0845 1272190 Book Online. Wednesday 7th - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01223 357851 Book Online. Friday 9th - The Anvil, Basingstoke - Box Office: 01256 844244 Book Online. Saturday 10th - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - Box Office: 01604 624811 Book Online. Sunday 11th - Theatre Royal, Norwich - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01603 630000 Book Online. Thursday 15th - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0116 233 3111 Book Online. Friday 16th - Derby Theatre, Derby - Box Office: 01332 255800 Book...
The Juke Joint Pimps are a duo of a decade's standing, who play fifties style Chicago electric blues with garage punk surface noise. Deacon T thwacks out tantalizingly truncated licks whilst the Reverend Mike blows harp and hollers enthusiastically from behind a stand-up kit.
Only the occasional misplaced vocal inflection reveals the duo are in fact German, and plough a lonesome twelve bar furrow in the Rhine delta.
There can be few blues variants further removed from the source than these Cologne-based revivalists, but The Juke Joint Pimps' low-tech approach has a pungent veracity.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-04T20:31:36+00:00
The Juke Joint Pimps are a duo of a decade's standing, who play fifties style Chicago electric blues with garage punk surface noise. Deacon T thwacks out tantalizingly truncated licks whilst the Reverend Mike blows harp and hollers enthusiastically from behind a stand-up kit. Only the occasional misplaced vocal inflection reveals the duo are in fact German, and plough a lonesome twelve bar furrow in the Rhine delta. There can be few blues variants further removed from the source than these Cologne-based revivalists, but The Juke Joint Pimps' low-tech approach has a pungent veracity.
Morrissey fans have for years equated his more unpalatable pronouncements with the babblings of a beloved but out of touch relative. Some of the things Uncle Stephen says seem a bit racist, but he has seen a lot of changes in the area he lives in, he got food poisoning from a bad curry on the Bristol Road in 1978, and he says he couldn’t get on Top of the Pops in the 80s because he wasn’t black.
But are Morrissey fans justified, in the light of Morrissey’s unambiguous support for both the violent tanning salon entrepreneur Tommy Robinson and the far-right For Britain party, in finally losing faith?
Either way, it looks like I picked the wrong year to take an 18-month break from standup and work incognito as a Morrissey impersonator fronting a Smiths and Morrissey covers band. I know it’s over. My Boz Boorer lookalike has been put to work in the garden, trapping jackdaws and building a gazebo.
Until last week I had four Mexican musicians holed up in the spare room, working on a mash up of This Charming Man and a Paul Simon song, entitled Here’s to You Tommy Robinson. “Why ponder the law’s complexities, when Robinson’s done for a breach of the peace?”
My deliberate Morrissey-style weight gain was all for nothing it appears, and now I am just a fat 50-year-old man of whom passersby remark: “Morrissey has let himself go. What with the weight gain and the Tommy Robinson stuff.”
The late Sean Hughes, a fellow standup comedian to whom Morrissey meant a lot, had insisted on being cremated last year to the sound of the Smiths’ Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, and Morrissey’s calculated black comic misery made even Sean’s actual immolation momentarily funny. Sean also had the perfect Morrissey joke: “Everyone grows out of their Morrissey phase. Except Morrissey.”
But Morrissey’s controversial song lyrics should not be taken as evidence of their writer’s true feelings, any more than this column, by the Observer-reading columnist character of Stewart Lee, represents what the real Stewart Lee actually thinks.
Thus, in 1988, when Morrissey told the titular hero of Bengali in Platforms, “Oh shelve your western plans/ And understand/ That life is hard enough when you belong here”, the bewildered immigrant was perhaps merely an ill-judged metaphor for loneliness; in 1992’s The National Front Disco, when Morrissey sang “England for the English!” from the point of view of a disenchanted young man seduced by the far right, we accepted that exploring that point of view was not the same as endorsing it.
Just as, in 1967, when John Lennon sang: “I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob, goo goo goo g’joob, goo goo g’joob, goo goo goo g’joob”, we knew John Lennon was not the walrus goo goo g’joob, goo goo goo g’joob, goo goo g’joob, goo goo goo g’joob at all. John Lennon was in fact the eggman. The walrus was Paul.
The credibility problem would arise if John Lennon, having said he was a walrus in a song, had then gone around actually being a walrus, and choosing to live as a walrus and do all walrus stuff, like eating benthic bivalve molluscs and engaging in competitive courtship displays. Then we would have had no option but to believe that John Lennon actually was a walrus after all. Which is sort of what Morrissey has done.
This isn’t the time for ambiguity, or irony, or publicity-seeking controversy. Those days are gone, and I miss them, as I am part of a generation that profiteered from the assumption that political correctness was a done deal, and now we could have fun jumping in and out of its boundaries, like street kids round a spurting water main. But the Nazi-saluting pug bloke has just joined Ukip so his racist dog doesn’t seem remotely funny any more.
If Breitbart or Spiked can roll out your comments approvingly online you have fucked up. Nowadays, your true intentions have to be written through every inch of your content, like the word Blackpool through a stick of rock, so at any point the useful idiots of the hipster “alt-right” and their fellow travellers in the opinion industry chose to snap it, it still can’t be repurposed. The trouble is, there’s no longer any way to make the case that Morrissey ever meant anything other than what he says.
But what to do when our idols disappoint us? Like a lot of the centrist dads that constitute his audience, I suddenly found I finally had to decide what to do with my Morrissey records.
I’ve got vintage psychedelic vinyl by actual murderers, and books of poetry by antisemites and paedophiles, who are hard to write out of literary history. And the increasingly reactionary comments made by Mark E Smith in his latter years will not tempt me to part with even the most unnecessary Fall compilation. But somehow, illogically and sentimentally, I held Morrissey to different standards.
As it happened, the break came easily. The last few weeks I’ve been smashing the plastic cases of my CDs, and filing them in folders, to save my children a tedious purge of obsolete physical media when I die.
Oddly, when I got to S (I file Morrissey’s solo stuff alongside the Smiths) I found myself putting Morrissey’s entire works, without really giving it any thought, into the box I was taking to the charity shop. I kept the vinyl of the Smiths’ debut, and the Hatful of Hollow compilation, totemic physical objects that link me to a certain mindscape, but the rest just suddenly seemed irrelevant.
There was no great fanfare. I didn’t ceremonially smash Morrissey’s works or burn them in the street like entartete kunst. It all happened with a whimper, not with a bang, and with sadness for the sorry state of things, not erectile pride in my own virtuousness. Suddenly, I just didn’t want Morrissey in my home any more. And I couldn’t imagine any circumstances under which I would ever listen to him again.
Stewart Lee
2018-07-08T22:00:47+01:00
Morrissey fans have for years equated his more unpalatable pronouncements with the babblings of a beloved but out of touch relative. Some of the things Uncle Stephen says seem a bit racist, but he has seen a lot of changes in the area he lives in, he got food poisoning from a bad curry on the Bristol Road in 1978, and he says he couldn’t get on Top of the Pops in the 80s because he wasn’t black. But are Morrissey fans justified, in the light of Morrissey’s unambiguous support for both the violent tanning salon entrepreneur Tommy Robinson and the far-right For Britain party, in finally losing faith? Either way, it looks like I picked the wrong year to take an 18-month break from standup and work incognito as a Morrissey impersonator fronting a Smiths and Morrissey covers band. I know it’s over. My Boz Boorer lookalike has been put to work in the garden, trapping jackdaws and building a gazebo. Until last week I had four Mexican musicians holed up in the spare room, working on a mash up of This Charming Man and a Paul Simon song, entitled Here’s to You Tommy Robinson. “Why ponder the law’s complexities, when Robinson’s done for a breach of the peace?” My deliberate Morrissey-style weight gain was all for nothing it appears, and now I am just a fat 50-year-old man of whom passersby remark: “Morrissey has let himself go. What with the weight gain and the Tommy Robinson stuff.” The late Sean Hughes, a fellow standup comedian to whom Morrissey meant a lot, had insisted on being cremated last year to the sound of the Smiths’ Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, and Morrissey’s calculated black comic misery made even Sean’s actual immolation momentarily funny. Sean also had the perfect Morrissey...
“A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS
AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
LET’S HOPE IT’S THE FIRST ONE
WITHOUT ANDREW NEIL!”
Dear All.
Thanks for your ongoing support. This tour show took a bit longer than usual to come together but is really working now, sadly partly because the general downward turn of global and national events has helped focus some of the ideas in it. I think it will only get funnier as things get worse.
I don’t know how letting people know about my shows will work in the future as obviously the BBC is no longer an option, much social media has been algorithm-driven to the right, traditional news media no longer has much space for culture comment and review, and I’m not about to trash a lifetime’s dignity and do my own podcast, so if you see the live show and love it please tell your friends.
And please bear in mind, most of any negative stuff you see about me personally on-line isn’t true, but I don’t have the energy to engage and correct it. One battle with the management of Mumsnet was enough for one lifetime.
In the meantime I hope you will check out some of the things I enjoyed this year and please support the artists involved if you like their work.
Have a great 2025.
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. 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 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!!)
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
2 – 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.
STEWART LEE vs THE MAN-WULF Opened at Leicester Square Theatre in December 2024 the new show will tour to UK cities throughout 2025.
Leicester Sq Theatre, London 2nd – 17th Jan 2025 7pm.
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 - 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
5. 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.
6. 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, Beans on Toast, dub legends Zion Train, Angeline Morrison, Miki Berenyi from The Lushes and more TBA. www.beardedtheory.co.uk.
8. A KICKSTARTER FOR THE FINE FOLKIES LISA KNAPP and GERRY DRIVER.
When I was first in London, loads of us lived happy and broke in a lovely big cheap damp old vicarage full of slugs in Tooting. The various housemates’ bands that rehearsed in the spare room represented a successful vision of multiculturalism; unfairly unfamous metal shoegazers Peach (checkout You Lied with me mumbling low in the mix and Tool’s Justin Chancellor on bass); my failed Alt Country effort Dust Harvest; an Afrobeat band run by a Nigerian bloke called Papa J; Simon Munnery’s punk pastiche Alan Parker’s Urban Warriors; Dave Cohen’s Jewish Guns’n’Roses parody Guns’n’Moses; Harry Hill’s Pub Band; and Mike Cosgrave’s world-fusion band Sin e, featuring future percussion superstar Ansuman Biswas and the fiddler Gerry Driver (Their Gentle Art Of Wee Weaving is the drum’n’bass/Irish pub session crossover that never happened). This is where Lisa Knapp, who I worked with years later on the Shirley Collins documentary fundraising circuit, comes in. LISA SAYS – “Advent greetings to you all !! I have a brand new DUO project with my partner and long time musical collaborator, Gerry Diver. Known, somewhat imaginatively, as 'Lisa Knapp & Gerry Diver' (haha!) we've been hard at work creating our debut album, HINTERLAND.... but now we need your help to take the next steps, ie, producing the physical formats like CDs and vinyl, a plethora of promo materials and preparing for a proper release. So, we have launched a KICKSTARTER CAMPAIGN. We're launching this album independently and so we are asking for help from our amazing community.
We’ve lined up some fantastic rewards for our backers including 🎁 Signed albums 🎁 Exclusive experiences and loads of other surprises. I am delighted to be offering online folk singing & folk fiddle classes as well as a one day workshop in person with me - time tbc. As well as that I am offerering to compose a brand new tune from scratch for you or as a gift to a loved one. Have a wee browse at the offers and please share on your social media, it really helps. NB. Kickstarter is an ALL-OR-NOTHING platform so your help really, really matters and every single pledge counts!! This project is truly a labour of love, and we can’t do it without you. Your support means everything to us and keeps independent music alive and thriving.”
Here’s a go-fund me to preserve the punching-above-its-weight local venue Hitchin’s Club 85, another iconic regional grass roots space, in the town where the Fall recorded half of Hex Enduction Hour and which gave us resilient hippy-punks The Astronauts.
When it’s gone it’s gone, and so is another piece of the patchwork that holds the arts in the UK together in the face of gvt indifference and active hostility from tech-bro’s and the right.
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
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
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.”
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.
DISCHARGE Black country D-beat deadbeats
JAN 4th – London 100 Club
FEB 2nd – Bristol Fleece
THE GENTLE SPRING Former Field Mouse Michael Hiscock returns from his French fastness as The Gentle Spring, semi-acoustic indie-pop in hand.
JAN 24th – Water Rats London,
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.
LAURA CANNELL Fenland dronemadchen
FEB 1st London King’s Place
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 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
RICHARD DAWSON Unmitigated art-folk genius, and funny with it
FEB 14th London Rough Trade East, 15th Brighton Resident Music, 17th Bristol Rough Trade, 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.
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 Ballroon
8th – Liverpool Academy
9th – Birmingham Institute
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Groovy mininalists
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 & 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 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
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.
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
LEN PRICE 3 Durable punk-mods
JUNE 18th – 229 London
MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS / MDC American hardcore heroes
AUG 4th – New Cross Inn, London
11. MY CULTURAL YEAR 2024 DEC 29 2023 – 30th DEC 2024
“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
This is everything I saw, read and heard this year. I try to write everything down. Somethings get missed off by accident. *****s represent what that work meant to me in that moment and its aftermath. They are not the same as the attempts at critical evaluation I would make for a newspaper or a magazine.
Maybe I was happy because I was drunk, or was reminded of something from my past.
Who knows? The things I have given * to were actually a bit rubbish though.
ONE FILM – Sasquatch Sunset (David & Nathan Zellner)
ONE BOOK – Pariah Genius – Iain Sinclair
ONE TV SHOW – Mr Bates Vs The Post Office (ITV)
ONE PLAY – This Is Memorial Device (David Keenan/Graham Eatough)
ONE COMEDY SHOW – Alfie Brown, Open-Hearted Human Enquiry
ONE GIG – Richard Dawson/Lankum (Hammersmith Apollo)
ONE NEW ALBUM - Jennifer Walshe & Tony Conrad – In The Merry Month of May
ONE EXHIBITION – The Universe Of William Blake (Fitzwilliam, Cambridge)
NEW FILMS (2023/24) (28)
The Three Musketeers: D’Artganan (Martin Bourboulon)
Retribution (Nimrod Antal) The Holdovers (Alexander Payne)***** Dream Scenario (Kristoffer Borgli)***** Anatomy of A Fall (Justine Triett)*****
In The Land of Saints And Sinners (Robert Lorenz) American Star (Gonzalo Lopez-Gallego)***** American Fiction (Cord Jefferson)***** Sasquatch Sunset (David & Nathan Zellner)*****
Late Night With The Devil (Colin & Cameron Cairnes)
Meg 2 : The Trench (Ben Wheatley)*
Loch Ness Horror (Tyler James)*
Road House (Doug Liman) *
Infested (Sebastien Vanicek)
The Royal Hotel (Kitty Green)
Night Swim (Bryce McGuire)
Starve Acre (Daniel Kokotajlo) Guardians Of The Galaxy 3 (James Gunn)***** Blink Twice (Zoe Kravitz)*****
Longlegs (Osgood Perkins)* Speak No Evil (James Watkins)*****
The Last Voyage Of The Demeter (Andre Ovredal)
Little Eden (Rob Curry & Tim Plester) A Complete Unknown (James Mangold)***** The Outrun (Nora Fingscheidt) ***** Wallace & Gromit – Vengeance Most Fowl (Nick Park, Merlin Crossingham)*****
The Dead Don’t Hurt (Viggo Mortensen) La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher)*****
OLD FILMS
Die Hard (John McTiernan, 1989)***** Measure for Measure (Dominic Dromgoole/Globe, 2015)***** Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion (David Mirkin, 1997)***** The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982)*****
Magnum Force (Ted Post, 1973)
Barbarian (Zach Cregger, 2022)
Humanoids From The Deep (Barbara Peeters, 1980) The Unbelievable Truth (Hal Hartley, 1988)*****
Love Thy Neighbor (John Robins, 1973)
Commandos (Armando Crispino, 1968) Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969)*****
Paradise Lost (John Stockwell, 2006)* Prey (Dan Trachtenberg, 2022)*****
Eurocrime (Mike Malloy, 2014) An American Werewolf In London (Jon Landis, 1981)*****
Howl (Paul Hyett, 2015) Trust (Hal Hartley, 1990)***** The Night Of The Devils (Giorgio Ferroni, 1972)***** Legally Blonde (Robert Luketic, 2001)***** Wonderboys (Curtis Hanson, 2000)***** Angel Face (Otto Preminger, 1953)***** Mickey One (Arthur Penn, 1965)*****
Decision To Leave (Park Chan-Wook, 2022)
Gang War In Milan (Umberto Lenzi, 1973)
The Heroin Busters (Enzo Castellari, 1977) Othello (Oliver Parker, 1995)*****
Madman (Joe Giannone, 1981)
Christine (John Carpenter, 1983) Paris Texas (Wim Wenders, 1984)*****
The Vampire Lovers (Roy Ward Baker, 1970) *
Freeway (Michael Bright, 1996) Meet The Applegates (Michael Lehman, 1990)***** Round Midnight (Bernard Tavernier, 1986)***** Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg, 2020)***** Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows, 2004)*****
The Boss (Fernando di Leo, 1973) Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa, 1954)*****
The One I Love (Charlie McDowell, 2014)
Blacktop (TJ Scott, 2000) The Stepford Wives (Bryan Forbes, 1975)***** Team America, World Police (Trey Parker, 2004)*****
Evil Dead (Sami Raimi, 1982)
Rollercoaster (James Goldstone, 1977)
Street Law (Enzo Castellari, 1974)
Blood & Diamonds (Fernando di Leo, 1977)
Blazing Magnum (Alberto di Martino, 1976)
Violent City (Sergio Sollima, 1970) Dr Zhivago (David Lean, 1965)*****
The Wolfman (George Waggner, 1941)
Summer In February (Christopher Menaul, 2013) Once Upon A Time In The West (Sergio Leone, 1968)*****
The Meg (John Turtletaub, 2018)
The Fiend/Beware My Bretheren (Rupert Hartford-Davis, 1972)
Tony Arzenta (Duccio Tessari, 1973)
The Brood (David Cronenberg, 1979) North By Northwest (Alfred Hitchcock, 1959)***** Theatre of Blood (Douglas Hickox, 1973)*****
Scanners (David Cronenberg, 1981) Sisu (Jalmari Helander, 2022)***** Django (Sergio Corbucci, 1966)*****
Moon Of The Wolf (Daniel Petrie, 1971)
The Italian Connection (Fernando di Leo, 1972) The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963)***** Teeth (Mitchell Lichenstein, 2007)*****
Colt 38 Special Squad (Massimo Dallamano, 1976) The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2006)*****
800 Ballas (Alex de la Iglesia, 2002)
Ebirah Horror Of The Deep (Jun Fukuda, 1966) Spy (Paul Feig, 2015)*****
The Circle (Peter Callow, 2017)
The Stranger & The Gunfighter (Antonio Margheriti, 1974) The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973)*****
Piranha (Joe Dante, 1978)
The Lair (Neil Marshall, 2022)
Road House (Rowdy Herrington, 1989)* Rolling Thunder (John Flynn, 1977)*****
Stan & Ollie (Jon S Baird, 2018) Get Out (Jordan Peele, 2017)***** Ondine (Neil Jordan, 2009)***** The Ritual (David Bruckner, 2017)*****
Mark Of The Devil (Michael Armstrong, 1970)* Basket Case (Frank Hennenlotter, 1982) *****
Interview With The Vampire (Neil Jordan, 1994)
The Nightingale (Jennifer Kent, 2018)
Mimic (Guillermo Del Toro, 1997)
Star Crash (Luigo Cozzi, 1978)
Hotel Coolgardie (Pete Gleeson, 2016)
Seven Deaths In The Cat’s Eyes (Antonio Margheriti, 1974) Lone Star (John Sayles, 1996)***** Monty Python’s Life of Brian (Terry Jones, 1979)*****
Apostasy (Daniel Kokotajlo, 2017)
Fresh (Mimi Cave, 2022)
Showgirls (Paul Verhoeven, 1995)*
Red Sun (Terrence Young, 1971)
A Death Occurred Last Night (Duccio Tessari, 1970)
No, The Case Is Happily Resolved (Vittorio Salerno,1973)
How Did We Find Ourselves Here? (Emile Spoelder, 2022)
Goodbye & Amen (Damiano Damiani, 1977)
The Day Of The Owl (Damiano Damiani, 1968) The Psychic (Lucio Fulci, 1977)*****
Death Ship (Alvin Rakoff, 1980)*
Tenebrae (Dario Argento, 1982)* Don’t Torture A Duckling (Lucio Fulci, 1972)***** Scream (Wes Craven, 1996)*****
The Housesitter (Frank Oz, 1992)
The Antichrist (Alberto Di Martino, 1974) Limbo (John Sayles, 1999)*****
The Long Days Of Vengeance (Floresto Vancini, 1967)
China 9, Liberty 37 (Monte Hellman, 1978) The Designated Victim (Maurizio Lucidi, 1971)***** Four Of The Apocalypse (Lucio Fulci, 1975)*****
Contraband (Lucio Fulci, 1980)* (This film has no redeeming features)
Tales That Witness Madness (Freddie Francis, 1973) Backbeat (Ian Softley, 1994)***** Return Of The Living Dead (Dan O’Bannon, 1985)*****
Smile (Parker Finn, 2022)
The Witches (Cyril Frankel, 1966)
Oxide Ghosts (Michael Cumming, 2017)
The Sect (Michael Soavi, 1991) God Told Me To (Larry Cohen, 1976)*****
Manic Cop (William Listig, 1988)
Unman, Wittering & Zigo (John Mackenzie, 1971) Hannie Caulder (Burt Kennedy, 1971)*****
The Reptile (John Gilling, 1966)
The Nanny (Seth Holt, 1965) Alligator (Lewis Teague, 1980)*****
The Brain (Edward Hunt, 1988)
Rising Damp (Joseph McGrath, 1980) So Sweet … So Perverse (Umberto Lenzi, 1969)*****
The Prey (Edwin Brown, 1982)* Duck You Sucker! (Sergio Leone, 1971)*****
NEW BOOKS
Robin Ince - Bibliomania
Josie Long – Because I Don’t Know What You Mean And What You Don’t Iain Sinclair – Pariah Genius *****
Rosie Holt - Why We Were Right
Ted Kessler – To Ease My Troubled Mind
Steve Wynn – I Wouldn’t Say It If It Wasn’t True
Richard Pascoe & Kirstie Hawkes – The Versatile Performer
The Haunted Trail – ed Weird Walk
Jakko M Jakszyk – Who’s The Boy With The Lovely Hair? Daisy Johnson – Hotel *****
Andrew Michael Hurley – Barrowbeck
Sophie Sleigh-Johnson – Code Damp
OLD BOOKS
Ray Bradbury – Now & Forever (2008) Brigid Brophy – Hackenfeller’s Ape (1953)***** Philip Larkin – High Windows (1974)***** Barbara Comyns – Sisters By A River (1947)*****
Andrew Michael Hurley – Starve Acre (2019)
Daisy Johnson – Fen (2016)
OLD TV
Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place (C4, 2004)*****
Guardians of The Galaxy Holiday Special (Disney, 2022) Mystery Road S1 (ABCTV, 2018)***** Mystery Road S2 (ABCTV, 2020)***** Dark Winds S 1 (AMC, 2022)***** Mystery Road Origin (ABCTV, 2022)*****
Ghost Stories For Christmas, No 13 (BBC, 2006)
NEW TV
Mr Bates vs The Post Office (ITV) *****
True Detective S4 (HBO)
Baby Reindeer (Netflix)*
Deadloch (Amazon Prime)
Channel 4 Election coverage (C4) Inside No 9 series 9 (BBC)*****
Joe Rogan – Burn The Boats (Netflix)* Rivals (Disney +) *****
Charlie Cooper’s Myth Country (BBC3)*
Dark Winds S 2 (AMX, 2023)
Christmas Day Dr Who (BBC1)
Ghost Stories For Christmas, Woman Of Stone (BBC)
Sky news (Sky)
MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
Shindig, Record Collector, Viz, Mojo, Guardian, Machenallia, Faunus, Observer, Guardian, London Review of Books, Weird Walk, Wire, Vala, Larkin About, Shuck, Hellebore, Fortean Times.
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
RADIO NEW AND OLD
James O’Brien (LBC) *****
Nick Ferrari (LBC) *
Shelagh Fogerty (LBC)
BBC News esp L Kuenssberg *
Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch’s Nelken – Sadler’s Wells *****
St Piran’s Day Parade, Bodmin
Othello (dir Ola Ince, Globe)*****
This Is Memorial Device (Riverside)*****
Nye (Tim Price, National Theatre)
This Is Memorial Device (Riverside)***** (again)
Mnemonic – Complicite (National Theatre) *****
Mnemonic – Complicite (National Theatre) ***** (again)
Prime Meat (York University, Space, Edinburgh)
The Signalman (Zoo, Edinburgh)
Simon Raymonde & Will Hodgkinson talking (End Of The Road)
Waiting For Godot – dir James MacDonald (Haymarket, London)
Othello – dir. Tim Carroll (RSC, Stratford-Upon-Avon)
Tales of The Weird Event (British Library)
Abney Park Remembrance Sunday Event (Stoke Newington, London)
So Watt! Jazz & Improvisation On British TV 1972-75(Barbican, London)
Dick Whittington - dir Clive Rowe (Hackney Empire) All’s Well That Ends Well – dir Chelsea Walker (Globe)*****
COMEDY (30 shows)
Daniel Kitson – First Thing (Summerhall) (2023 omission)*****
Garth Marenghi’s Incarcerat (Leicester Comedy Festival) Maurice Grumbleweed (Blues Café Bar, Harrogate)*****
Harland Williams (Bill Murray, London)
Henry Morris (Theatre Mwldan, Cardigan) Rosie Holt – That’s Politainment (Chipping Norton Theatre, days after election) *****
Ben Pope, Alex Kealey, Helen Bauer (Bill Murray, London)
Jo Long, Celya AB, Athena Kugblenu, Sara Barron (Bill Murray, London)
Barry Ferns, Jon Long, Maddie HW, Archit Goenka, Alex Farrow (Bill Murray, London) Kevin Eldon (Tommyfield, London) x 4*****
Noncensored Election Special (Museum of Comedy)
John Cooper Clarke (Latitude)
Reece Shearsmith vs Black Shuck (St Mary’s Church, Bungay)
Rosie Holt – Why We Were Right (Underbelly, Edinburgh) Alfie Brown – Open Hearted Human Enquiry (Caves, Edinburgh)***** Eliot Steel – Soft Boi Core (Underbelly, Edinburgh)*****
Josie Long, Thanyia Moore, Pappy’s Fun Club (End Of The Road) Harry Hill, Jon Culshaw, Jan Ravens, Rory Bremner, Ronnie Golden, Steve Coogan, Laura Mvula, Alfie Brown (Steve Brown Night, Savoy) ***** Harry Hill (Tommyfield, London)*****
GIGS (58 events)
What a great year for seeing music, somehow, in between all the nights I worked and couldn’t see stuff. I totally got my mojo back and was rewarded. It was like being in my teens and 20s again, with things I’d never seen before that nailed me, and yet lots of the same acts from my youth suddenly still exploding decades down the line too!! Maybe seeing some stuff through my kids’ eyes reawakened me as well. I loved being 56 and down the front!
(I have bundled festival acts together by day as one event, against my better judgement, as there was some criticism online of me dividing individual festival performers’ shows up into distinct items, rather than amalgamating them into one ‘gig’.)
Steve Noble, John Edwards & Alan Wilkinson (Café Oto, Dalston)
Rexes Hollow (Butcher’s Arms, Yeovil)
A Covers Guy (Scholar and Gentleman, Birmingham)
Jackdaw With Crowbar (Coventry Belgrade)
Cosse/The Water Chestnuts (Library Pub, Oxford)
Deathcrash/Jesus & Mary Chain (Camden Roundhouse)
Hawkwind (Wulfrun Hall, Wolverhampton) Lenny Kaye/Rat Scabies/Jim Jones/Dave Tregunna/Brian James/Cheetah Chrome/& two superb go-go dancers, egregiously uncredited by any of the men on stage (The 100 Club, London)*****
Martin Newell (St Mattias, Stoke Newington, London) Jasmine Minks (Waiting Room, Stoke Newington)***** Josephine Foster & Lydia Samuels, Monde UFO, Immaterial Possession, Jane Weaver & The Dream Syndicate, Bas Jan, Graham Reynolds, Marta Del Grandi, Kirstin Hersh, Islet, Giant Sand, Giant Syndicate (Earth, Dalston) ***** The Girl With The Replaceable Head (Waiting Room, Stoke Newington)***** Peter Case/Sid Griffin (What’s Cookin’?, Leytonstone) *****
The Black Keys (Brixton Academy, London)
Ex-Easter Island Head/Dean McPhee (Stoke Newington church, London) The Bevis Frond (Lexington, London)*****
The Prisoners (Roundhouse, London)
Dexy’s Midnight Runners (Koko, London) Rain Parade(291, London)***** The Primevals (Lexington, London)*****
The Shadracks (Lexington, London)
The Fallen Leaves (Lexington, London)
The Cosmic Psychos (Dome, London) Patti Smith Quartet – (Somerset House, London)*****
Orbital (Latitude Saturday) Lankum*****, Duran Duran, English Teacher (Latitude Sunday) Laura Cannell (St Mary’s Church, Bungay)*****
Wreckless Eric/Stiff Little Fingers (Cambridge Junction) Laetitia Sadier (Lexington, London)*****
Swansea Sound (Lexington London) David Lance Callahan & Darren Garrat (Lexington London)***** Islet, Sleaford Mods (Green Man Thursday)*****
Jesus & Mary Chain (Green Man Friday) Nightingales, Lonnie Holey, New Eves, Tinariwen, Osees (Green Man Saturday)*****
Boca 45, Zalizo, 86TV’s, Idles *****(Bristol Academy) Secluded Bronte, Eliza Skelton, Alison Cotton, Bevis Frond, Phsyics House Band (Brighton Psych Fest, Komedia)***** Slowdive (End Of The Road, Saturday)*****
Lambrini Girls, Yo La Tengo, Yo La Tengo acoustic (EOTR, Sunday)
Robyn Hitchcock (Earth, London)
Steve Wynn (Walthamstow Trades Hall, London)
Steve Wynn (Rough Trade, London)
Ride/Bdrmm (St John’s, Hackney, London) The Long Ryders (291, London)***** Richard Dawson/Lankum (Hammersmith Apollo)***** New Eves, Boss Morris, Goblin Band, Daisy Rickman (Earth, Hackney)*****
Jody Stephens’ Big Star (St John’s, Hackney, London) The Cure (Troxy, London)*****
Bevis Frond Acoustic Trio (Rio, Dalston, London) The Room – Bar Love (Notting Hill, London)***** Bob Dylan (Royal Albert Hall, London)***** North Kent Folkways Revival, Singing Loins & Chatham Singers (Rochester Medway Little Theatre)*****
Yo La Tengo As Little Black Egg (Café Oto, London) The Chameleons (Shepherd’s Bush Empire)***** The Lovely Eggs (100 Club, London)*****
The Damned (Roundhouse, London) Steve Noble, John Edwards & Alan Wilkinson (Café Oto, London, again)***** The Fallen Women (Lexington, London)*****
RECORDS I LISTENED TO OLD SCHOOL IN ONE SITTING AT A LISTENING DEVICE
NEW RECORDS – 2023/2024 (71)
The Bevis Frond – Focus On Nature *****
Black Bombers – Vive La Revolution
The Smile – Wall Of Eyes
The Pink Fairies – Screwed Up *
The Room – Restless Fate
Drop Nineteens – Hard Light The Silversound – s/t *****
The Sand Pebbles – The Antagonist
The Rebel – Mublatpecnoc
Jeffrey Lee Pierce Sessions Project – The Task Has Overwhelmed Us
V/A – A Tribute To Roky Erickson, May The Circle Be Unbroken
Jesus & Mary Chain – Chemical Animal
Shadow Show – Fantasy Now!
Serious Sam Barrett – A Drop Of The Morning Dew
Alison Cotton – Engelchen
The Bohman Brothers – Room Service Laetitia Sadier – Rooting For Love *****
Kim Gordon – The Collective
Ex-Easter Island Head – Norther
Hawkwind – Stories from Time & Space
Acid Mothers Temple & Melting Paraiso UFO – Paralyzed Genius Brain
Jasmine Minks – We Make Our Own History
Black Keys – Ohio Players
The Prisoners – Morning Star
Shellac – To All Trains The Lovely Eggs – Eggsistentialism ***** Charley Stone – Here Comes The Actual Band *****
The Janitors – An Error Has Occurred
Buffalo Tom – Jump Rope Jennifer Walshe & Tony Conrad – In The Merry Month of May *****
Rain Parade – Last Rays of A Dying Sun
Rain Parade – Last Stop On The Underground
Dead Pioneers – s/t
Sun Dial – Message To The Mothership
Various artists/Rhodri Davies - Creiriau Y Delyn Rawn/Relics Of The Horsehair Harp SnarskiCircusLindyBand – I Know I Know *****
The Smile – A Light For Attracting Attention
Idles – Tangk 40 Watt Sun – Little Weight *****
Guru Guru – The Incredible World Of
Kim Gordon – The Collective
Stephen Pastel & Gavin Thompson – This Is Memorial Device
Kosmischer Läufer – Track Club EP
Howe Gelb – Weathering Some Piano
Sid Griffin – The Journey From Grape To Raisin
Steve Wynn – Make It Right
Chuck Prophet with Qiensave? – Wake The Dead
The Girl With The Replaceable Head – Sometimes She Lives In The Dark Daisy Rickman – Howl ***** Lankum – Live In Dublin *****
Goblin Band – Come Slack Your Horse Laura Cannell – The Rituals of Hildegard Reimagined *****
Julian Cope – Friar Tuck The Room – The Telling *****
The Cure – Songs Of A Lost World
The Smile – Cutouts
House of All – Gaudy Pop Sensations
The Octopus Project – Sasquatch Sunset
Lucinda Williams – Sings The Beatles From Abbey Road New Starts – More Break Up Songs***** David Lance Callahan – Down To The Marshes *****
Nada Surf – Moon Mirror
Thurston Moore – Flow Critical Lucidity Wild Billy Childish & The North Kent Folkways Revival – Cape Trafalgar *****
Wild Billy Childish & The North Kent Folkways Revival – The Speech Of Karaktakus
Dave Graney & Clare Moore – Strangely Emotional
Dave Graney & Clare Moore – I Passed Through A Minor Chord In A Morning
Hugo Race – 100 Years
Guided By Voices – Strut Of Kings Rip Van Winkle – The Grand Rapids *****
Tindersticks – Soft Tissue Rob Snarski – Waiting For The Bell***** The Primevals – I’m A Man-Wulf 3 track bandcamp d/l *****
NEW OLD RECORDS - reissues, archive & comp’s
Bardo Pond – Volume 9 (2001?) Alan Tomlinson – At The Red Rose (2006-7)*****
Sonic Youth – Walls Have Ears (1985)
Can – Live In Paris (1973) Joe Henderson – Power To The People (1969)***** The Fall – Slates Live (1980-82)***** Alice Coltrane – The Carnegie Hall Concert (1971) Sun – Sun 1972 (1972)*****
The Waterboys – 1985 (1985)
The Telescopes – Growing Eyes Become String (2013)
The Prefabs – Dec ‘77 Before The Wall (1977)
The Shop Assistants – Will Anything Happen? (1983-89)
The Green Pajamas – Live At Terrastock 4 (2000)
Howe Gelb – ZEQE 24.088 (1977-79)
The Desperate Ones – 1906 (2013) McCoy Tyner & Joe Henderson – Forces Of Nature (1966)***** The Fall – Grotesque (After The Gramme) Live ! (1980-82)*****
V/A - Brown Acid The 19th Trip (1968-1978) Miles Davis – Miles In France (1962-3)*****
Children’s Crusade – A Duty-Dance With Death (1984)
OLD RECORDS
Ozark Mountain Daredevils – s/t (1974)
The Allman Brothers Band – s/t (1969) Canned Heat – s/t (1967)***** Canned Heat – Boogie With (1968)*****
Canned Heat – Vintage (1970) Canned Heat – Living The Blues (1968)***** Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Bluejeans & Moonbeams (1974)*****
Pure Prairie League – Bustin’ Out (1972) Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Safe As Milk (1967)***** The Byrds – Long Way Back (1974)***** Chuck Prophet et le Mission Express – Live A Paris (2017)***** Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Clear Spot (1972)***** Nina Simone – Here Comes The Sun (1971)*****
Danny Thompson Trio – Live (1967)
David Soul – s/t (1976)
Seatrain – Watch (1973)
Al Kooper – Act Like Nothing’s Wrong (1977)
Mike Bloomfield – Try It Before You Buy It (1975)
Butterfield Blues Band – Original Lost Elektra Masters (1964)
Head Machine – Orgasm (1970)
Uriah Heep – Very ‘Eavy Very ‘Umble (1970) The Beat – I Just Can’t Stop It (1980)*****
The Beat – W’happen? (1981) The Leaving Trains – Fuck (1987)*****
Tom Verlaine – s/t (1979)
Tom Verlaine – Dreamtime (1981) Richard Hell & The Voidoids – Destiny Street (1982)*****
Dave Alvin – Romeo’s Escape (1987) Divine Horsemen – Snakehandler (1987)*****
Divine Horsemen – Time Stands Still (1984)
John Doe – Meet John Doe (1990)
V/A – Girls With Guitars Gonna Shake! (1964-9) Died Pretty – Pre-Deity (1984-5)***** Died Pretty – Free Dirt (1986)*****
Gentle Assassins – They Knew Too Much (2006)
’68 Comeback – Mr Downchild (2012)
The Fort Mudge Memorial Dump – s/t (1970)
Kaleidoscope – Tangerine Dream (1967)
The Tangerine Zoo – s/t (1968) Cotton Mather – Kontiki (1997)*****
Tom Verlaine – Words From The Front (1982)
Tom Verlaine – Cover (1989) The Violent Femmes – The Blind Leading The Naked (1986)***** The Violent Femmes – Hallowed Ground (1984)*****
The Beach Boys – Surf’s Up (1971) Bread – s/t (1969)***** Deviants – Resident Reptiles (2018)*****
Twink – Think Pink III (2018?)
The Nils – Green Fields In Daylight (1983-86)
The Nils – st (1987) Indian Summer – s/t (1971)***** Alexander Skip Spence - Oar (1969)*****
Moon Attendant – One Last Summer (2020)
Christian Bland & The Revelators – Pig Boat Blues (2012) Freedy Johnston – Can You Fly? (1992) *****
Freedy Johnston – This Perfect World (1994) Jasmine Minks – Cut Me Deep (1984-2014)***** Chilliwack – s/t (1970)*****
MC5 – Black To Comm (1968) MC5 – Kick Out The Jams (1969)*****
MC5 – Back In The USA (1970) MC5 – High Time (1971)***** Destroy All Monsters – Bored (1978-9)*****
James Williamson & The Pink Hearts – Across The Sky (2018)
Eddie & The Hot Rods – Teenage Depression (1976)
Eddie & The Hot Rods – Life On The Line (1977)
Buzzcocks – Live! (1995) Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Doc At The Radar Station (1980)*****
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Amsterdam (1980)
Buzzcocks – 30 Live In London (2006) Buzzcocks – Love Bites (1978)*****
XTC – White Music (1978)
XTC – Go2 (1978) The Room – Jackpot Jack (1985)*****
XTC – Drums & Wires (1979)
Captain Beefheart – Somewhere Over Egypt Live (1981) XTC – Black Sea (1980)*****
The Soul Movers – On The In Side (2009)
The Soul Movers – Testify (2017) Morphine – Good (1993)**** Elvis Costello – My Aim Is True (1977)***** The Pontiac Brothers – Big Black River (1985)***** Can – Tago Mago (1971)*****
UFO – Phenomenon (1974) American Music Club – California (1988)***** 13th Floor Elevators – Psychedelic Sounds Of (1966)*****
John & Beverley Martyn – Stormbringer (1970) The Verlaines – Juvenilia (1982-4)*****
The Verlaines – Live At The Windsor Castle (1986)
The Verlaines – Hallelujah All The Way Home (1985)
The Church – Of Skins & Hearts (1981)
The Church – The Blurred Crusade (1982) The Sound – Jeopardy (1980) ***** Mark Kozelek – Rock ‘n’ Roll Singer (2000)*****
Red House Painters – Old Ramon (2001) The Master’s Apprentices – Nickelodeon (1971)***** Buffalo – Volcanic Rock (1973)***** Kahvas Jute – Wide Open (1971)***** Levi Smith’s Clefs – Empty Monkey (1969)*****
The Human Instinct – Stoned Guitar (1970)
The Fourmyula – Alive (1970)
Space Waltz – s/t (1975) Francois Hardy – Soleil (1970)*****
Carson – Blown (1972)
Leo De Castro & Friends – s/t (1971-3)
The Master’s Apprentices – A Toast To Panama Red (1971)
The Church – Séance (1983)
The Waterboys – s/t (1983)
The Violent Femmes – 3 (1989)
Primitons – Happy All The Time (1987) Elvis Costello – My Aim Is True (1987)*****
Wapassou – Ludwig (1979)
Kostas Tournas – Aperanta Chorafia (1973) Arthur Jones – Scorpio (1971)***** Area – Arbeit Macht Frei (1973)**** Balleto di Brozo – Ys (1973)***** Claudio Rocchi – Essanza (1973)*****
Le Stelle Di Mariano Schifano – Dedicated To (1967)
Blue Phantom – Distortions (1971)
Zarathustra – Zarathustra (1973) Alan Sorrenti – Aria (1972)*****
Sensations Fix – Fragments Of Light (1974) Area – Areazione Live (1976) *****
Sensations Fix – Boxes Paradise (1977)
Terje Rypdal – s/t (1971)
Jan Garbarek Quartet – Afric Pepperbird (1971)
Secret Oyster – s/t (1973) Archie Shepp/Lars Gullin – The House I Live In (1980)*****
Giuseppi Logan Quartet – s/t (1964)
Ellufant – Release Concert (1972) Shocking Blue – Singles A’s & B’s (1967-74)*****
Cosmic Couriers – Other Places (1996) Fleetwood Mac – Then Play On (1969)***** John Lee Hooker – Detroit (1948-49)*****
Colour Haze – Los Sounds De Krauts (2003) Bevis Frond – What Did For The Dinosuars (2002)*****
Bevis Frond – Hit Squad (2004)
Bevis Frond – The Leaving Of London (2011)
Game Theory – Blaze of Glory (1982)
Samsara Blues Experiment – Long Distance Trip (2010)
Jacques Coursil – Black Suite (1971) Bauhaus – The Bella Session (1979)*****
Bauhaus – In The Flat Field (1980) Gene Parsons – Kindling (1973)***** Terry Melcher – s/t (1974) *****
The Beau Brummels – Bradley’s Barn (1968) Sun Kil Moon – This Is My Dinner (2018)*****
Johnny Rivers – Rio Fangoso (1969)
Raspberries – Raspberries (1972) Polvo – Cor-Crane Secret (1992)*****
Naked Prey – Kill The Messenger (1988) Trembling Bells – Carbeth (2009)*****
Lloyd Cole – s/t (1990)
The Doublehappys – Nerves (1984-5) Straitjacket Fits – Hail (1990)*****
Art Objects – Bagpipe Music (1979)
Bored! – Chucks (1988-94)
World Party – Private Revolution (1987)
Explosions In The Sky – How Strange, Innocence (2000) Nanci Griffith – There’s A Light Beyond These Woods (1978)***** Kris Kristofferson – Kristofferson (1970)*****
John Lee Hooker & The Groundhogs – On The Waterfront (1965)
Sonny Boy Williamson & The Yardbirds – Live (1965)
Lightnin’ Hopkins – Free Form Patterns (1968)
Howlin’ Wolf – The Howlin’ Wolf Album (1969) Muddy Waters – After The Rain (1969)*****
ZZ Top – La Futura (2012) John Lee Hooker – Simply The Truth (1969)*****
Lowell Fulson – It’s A Heavy Bag (1969) John Lee & Earl Hooker – If You Miss ‘ Em(1970)*****
Roedelius – Durch Die Wuste (1978)
Cluster – s/t (1971)
Cluster -Cluster II (1972) Harmonia – Deluxe (1975)***** La Dusseldorf – s/t (1976)***** Michael Rother – Flamende Herzen (1977)*****
Michael Rother – Sterntaler (1978)
La Dusseldorf – Viva (1978) Mick Hanley & Micheal O Domhnaill – Celtic Folkweave (1974)***** The Bothy Band – Out Of The Wind Into The Sun (1977)*****
Horslips – Book Of Invasion (1976) Jakob – Jakob (1999)*****
Graham Parker – Heat Treatment (1976)
Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)
Jesus & Mary Chain – Damage & Joy (2017) Jesus & Mary Chain – Psychocandy (1985)*****
Jesus & Mary Chain – Darklands (1987)
Jesus & Mary Chain – Automatic (1989)
Jesus & Mary Chain – Honey’s Dead (1992)
Jesus & Mary Chain – Stoned & Dethroned (1994) Elvis Costello – Almost Blue (1981)*****
Jesus & Mary Chain – Munki (1998) Chameleons – What Does Anything Mean Basically? (1985)***** Billy Bragg – Life’s A Riot With Spy Vs Spy (1983)***** Hawkwind – Warrior At The Edge Of Time (1975)*****
The Cleaners From Venus – Number 13 (1990)
Red Chair Fadeaway – Curiouser & Curiouser (1991)
Red Chair Fadeaway – Mesmerised (1993)
Razorcuts – The World Keeps Turning (1989) Millions of Dead Cops – s/t (1982)***** Ry Cooder – Music By (1980-1995)***** Bobbie Gentry – Ode To Billie Joe (1967)***** Slowdive – Just For A Day (1991)***** Nick Drake – Bryter Later (1971) ***** John Lee Hooker – Endless Boogie (1971)***** Cocteau Twins – Treasure (1984)***** Sonic Youth – Sonic Nurse (2004)***** The Smiths – The Smiths (1984)***** Cocteau Twins – Head Over Heels (1983)*****
Elliot Smith – X/O (1998) The Byrds – Mr Tambourine Man (1965)***** The Byrds – Turn! Turn! Turn! (1965)***** Pylon – Gyrate (1980)***** Pylon – Chomp (1983)*****
Hannah Marcus – The Hannah Marcus Years (1993-2004)
Edgar Froese – Stuntman (1979) Jasmine Minks – One Two Three Four Five Six Seven (1984)*****
Guadalcanal Diary – Walking In The Shadow Of The Big Man (1984) Tony Joe White – Black & White (1969)***** Willie Nelson – Red Headed Stranger (1975)***** The Go-Betweens – s/t (1981)***** The Go-Betweens – First Five Singles (1978-82)*****
Slobberbone – s/t (1987)
Volebeats – Up North (1994)
Volebeats – Sky & The Ocean (1997)
Westlake – s/t (1987) Blue Mountain – Dog Days (1995)***** Blue Mountain – Home Grown (1997)***** Blue Mountain – Roots (2001)*****
Mr Henry – As Good As The Ground (1995) The Triffids – In The Pines (1986)***** Lou Reed – New York (1989)*****
Katie Spencer – The Edge Of The Land (2022) Oliver Nelson – The Blues And The Abstract Truth (1961)***** UFO – UFO 1 (1970)*****
The Blackeyed Susans – All Souls Alive (1993) Possum Dixon – s/t (1993)*****
The Prisoners – A Taste Of Pink (1982)
Trader Horne – Morning Way (1970)
The Prisoners – Thewisermiserdemelza (1983) My Bloody Valentine – Tremolo (1991)***** Slint – Spiderland (1991)*****
Jeff Buckley – Cabaret Metro (1995) The Byrds – Untitled (1970)*****
Dillard & Clark – Through The Morning, Through The Night (1969) The Byrds – Ballad of Easy Rider (1970) *****
The Byrds – Dr Byrds & Mr Hyde (1969) Burrito Brothers – The Gilded Palace of Sin (1969)***** Dick Gaughan – Handful of Earth (1981) *****
Dick Gaughan & Andy Irvine – Parallel Lines (1982)
The Electric Flag – The Trip (1967)
Lawrence Hammond – Coyote’s Dream (1976) Mad River – The Paradise Bar & Grill (1969) *****
Nanci Griffith – Last of The True Believers (1986) Suzanne Vega – s/t (1985)***** Nick Drake - Five Leaves Left (1969)***** Dexy’s Midnight Runners – Let The Record Show (2016)***** The Waterboys – This Is The Sea (1985)***** The Fall – Room To Live (1982)***** Scott Walker – Climate of The Hunter (1984) ***** Dexy’s Midnight Runners – Searching For The Young Soul Rebels (1980)*****
Ride – Nowhere (1990)
Sisters of Mercy – BBC Sessions (1982-4)
Sisters of Mercy – Reptile House (1983)
Sisters of Mercy – First And Last And Always (1985)
Sisters of Mercy – Vision Thing (1990) Rain Parade – Crashing Dream (1985) ***** Catheads – Hubba (1987) *****
Coffee Sergeants – Moonlight Towers (1993)
Glen Campbell – Galveston (1969) The Waterboys – Fisherman’s Blues (1987)***** Bettie Serveert – Palomine (1992)***** The Triffids – Treeless Plain (1983)***** The Triffids – Raining Pleasure (1984)*****
Lawson Square Infirmary - s/t (1984) The Triffids – Calenture – (1988)***** Felt – The Splendour Of Fear (1983)***** Felt – The Strange Idol’s Pattern (1984)***** Arzachel – s/t (1969)*****
Salad – Drink Me (1995) John Lee Hooker – The Country Blues Of (1959) ***** John Lee Hooker – Travelin’ (1960) *****
John Lee Hooker – House Of The Blues (1952)
John Lee Hooker – That’s My Story (1960)
John Lee Hooker – The Folk Lore Of (1961)
The Catherine Wheel – She’s My Friend ep (1991)
The Catherine Wheel – Painful Thing ep (1991)
The Catherine Wheel – Ferment (1992)
The Catherine Wheel – Chrome (1993) The Cosmic Psychos – Down On The Farm (1985)***** The Cosmic Psychos – s/t (1987)***** The Folk Devils – Best Protection & Peel Sessions (1987)***** Johnny Rivers – Slim Slow Slider (1970)*****
Johnny Rivers – Home Grown (1971) 40 Watt Sun – Wider Than The Sky (2016)*****
Big Thief - Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You (2022)
Jeff Buckley – Live At Wetlands (1994) Red House Painters – Down Colourful Hill (1992)***** 40 Watt Sun – Perfect Light (2020)***** The Cure – Seventeen Seconds (1980)*****
Del Fuegos – Boston Mass (1985)
Red House Painters – s/t aka Rollercoaster (1993) Jeff Buckley – Live From The Bataclan (1995)***** Bert Jansch – Edge of A Dream (2002)*****
Cocteau Twins – Heaven or Las Vegas (1990)
Slowdive – Just For A Day (1991) Scott Walker – Scott 4 (1970)***** The Doors – Morrison Hotel (1970)***** The Smiths – Hatful of Hollow (1984)***** Sun Kil Moon – Ghosts Of The Great Highway (2003)***** Echo & The Bunnymen – Ocean Rain (1984)***** My Bloody Valentine – Loveless (1991)***** Led Zeppelin – III (1970)*****
The Sugarcubes – Life’s Too Good (1988) The Doors – s/t (1967)*****
Help Yourself – s/t (1971)
The Doors – Strange Days (1967) Mazzy Star – So Tonight That I May See (1991)***** Stiff Little Fingers – Inflammable Material (1979)*****
Stiff Little Fingers – Nobody’s Heroes (1980) Miles Davis/Bill Laswell – Panthalassa (1969-74)***** Frank Morgan – Mood Indigo (1989)***** Frank Morgan – City Nights (2004)*****
Grachan Moncur III – Evolution (1963)
Steve Wynn – Kerosene Man (1990)
Steve Wynn – Dazzling Display (1992)
Steve Wynn – Fluorescent (1993) Gutterball – s/t (1993) *****
Steve Wynn – Take Your Flunky & Dangle (1994) Gutterball – Weasel (1995)***** Steve Wynn - Melting In The Dark (1996)***** John Coltrane – Live At The Village Vanguard (1961)***** John Coltrane – Coltrane (1957) *****
Paul Chambers – Chambers’ Music (1957)
John Coltrane & co – Interplay For 2 Trumpets (1957)
John Coltrane & Tad Dameron – Mating Call (1958)
John Coltrane – Traneing In (1958) John Coltrane – Blue World (1964)***** Miles Davis – Steamin’ (1957)***** Stereolab – Super 45 (1991)***** Stereolab – Switched On (1992)*****
Johnny Rivers – Road (1974) Giant Sand – Chore of Enchantment (2000)*****
Eric Quincy Tate – s/t (1970)
Tramp – Put A Record On (1974)
Sonny Rollins – Standard Sonny Rollins (1964)
Sonny Rollins – Alfie (1966) Dexter Gordon – Our Man In Paris (1963)*****
Idles – Crawler
Dexter Gordon – Soul Sister (1963) Dexter Gordon – One Flight Up (1964)*****
Dexter Gordon – Montmartre 1964 Live (1964) Marion Brown – Sweet Earth Flying (1974)*****
Paul Bley Trio – Closer (1965) Husker Du – Candy Apple Grey (1986)***** Husker Du – Warehouse (1987)*****
Husker Du – The Living End (1987)
Swervedriver – Raise (1991)
Oasis – Be Here Now (1997)
Oasis – Dig Out Your Soul (2008)
The Loft – Magpie Eyes (1983-85)
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss – Raising Sand (2007)
Oasis – Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants (2000)
Highway – s/t (1971) Gene Clark w The Gosdin Brothers – s/t (1967)***** Robyn Hitchcock – Eye (1990)***** Jimi Hendrix – Woodstock (1969) *****
The Move – Message From The Country (1971)
Carson – On The Air (1973)
Carson – Travelling Highway Blues (1970-73)
Chain – Towards The Blues (1971)
Chain – History of Chain (1970-71) Felt – Crumbling The Antiseptic Beauty (1982)***** Jimi Hendrix Experience – Electric Ladyland (1968)*****
The Miracle Workers – Primary Domain (1989) The Green Pajamas – Lust Never Sleeps (2002)***** The Green Pajamas – Seven Fathoms Down & Falling (1999)*****
Ten Years After – Stonedhenge (1969)
Naked Prey – Under The Blue Marlin (1986)
Naked Prey – 40 Miles From Nowhere (1987)
Naked Prey – Live In Tucson (1990)
The Wonderful World Of Depressing Country Music – v/a (1940-1965)
Billy Boy Arnold – Checkin’ It Out (1979) Tom Robinson Band – Power In The Darkness (1978)***** The Dream Syndicate – The Medicine Show (1984)***** Bob Dylan – Highway 61 Revisited (1965)***** Bob Dylan – Blonde on Blonde (1966)***** Bob Dylan – Self Portrait (1970)***** Ultravox! – s/t (1977)***** Ultravox! – Ha!-Ha!-Ha! (1977)***** The Icicle Works – s/t (1984)***** Kris Kristoferson – Border Lord (1972)***** The Psycho Daisies – 30 Milligrams of Your Love (1990)***** PW Long – We Didn’t See You On Sunday (1997)***** The Fall – Dragnet (1979) ***** The Fall – Imperial Wax Solvent (2008)***** The Fall – Fall Heads Roll (2005)*****
Ride – Going Blank Again (1992)
Ride – Smile EP (1990) The Fall – Grotesque (1980)***** Nitty Gritty Dirt Band – Will Circle Be Unbroken? (1972)*****
Pure Prairie League – s/t (1972)
Concrete Blonde – Free (1989)
Ry Cooder – The Border (1982) Pure Prairie League – Live In America (1974)***** Dumptruck – For The Country (1987)***** Dharma Bums – Haywire (1988)*****
The Cure – The Top (1984)
The Cure – The Head On The Door (1985) Suzanne Vega – s/t (1985)*****
Radiohead – A Moon Shaped Pool (2016) Bob Dylan – Blood On The Tracks (1975)***** Bob Dylan – New Morning (1970)***** Victoria Williams – Loose (1994)*****
Pieta Brown – Remember The Sun (2007)
Pieta Brown – Freeway (2014) Matthew Sweet – Girlfriend (1991)***** The Beatles – Revolver (1966)***** The Beatles – Magical Mystery Tour (1967)***** Doug Sahm & His Band – s/t (1973)*****
Kathy Dalton – Boogie Bands & One Night Stands (1974)
The Dils – Class War (1977-80)
The Zeros – Don’t Push Me Around (1976-80)
The Dils – Dils Dils Dils (1977-80)
The Nuns – The Nuns (1980)
Bang – Death of a Country (1971)
Jim Ford – Harlan County (1969)
The Jimmy Cake – Dublin Gone Everyone Dead (2015)
Lynched – Cold Old Fire (2015)
Kollektiv – S/t (1973)
Tetragon – Nature (1971)
Chris Foster – Layers (1977)
Boys of The Lough – Good Friends Good Music (1977) Irene Schweizer Trio – Jazz Meets India (1967)*****
Daisy Rickman – Donsya A’n Loryow (2022)
Randy Burns – The Exit & Gaslight Years (1965-69) Eliza Skelton – The Lookerer (2023)***** Kath Bloom – Finally (1987-99)***** Kris Drever – Black Water (2006)***** REM – Fables of The Reconstruction (1985)***** John Coltrane & Alice Coltrane – Cosmic Music (1966-68)***** Alice Coltrane – A Monastic Trio (1968)***** Black Uhuru – Sinsemilla (1980)*****
Dragoon – The Offending Party (2010)
The Cure – Bloodflowers (2000) King Tubby – Meets Rockers Uptown (1976)***** Fugazi – Fugazi (1988)*****
Llama Farmers – Dead Letter Chorus (1999)
‘O’ Level – A Day In The Life Of Gilbert & George (1977-80) TV Personalities – And Don’t The Kids Just Love It (1981)***** X-ray Spex – Germ Free Adolescents (1978)***** RL Burnside – First Recordings (1968)*****
Rick Roberts – Windmills (1972)
The Desert Rose Band – s/t (1987) Sonny Stitt & Red Holloway – Live! Legends of The Saxophone (1976)****
Lou Donaldson – Blues Walk (1958)
Drugstore – S/t (1995)
Bob Dylan – My Rough & Rowdy Ways (2020) Van Der Graaf Generator – The Least We Can Do Is Wave To Each Other (1970)*****
Cubby + Blizzards – Desolation (1966) The Byrds – Farther Along (1971) *****
The Byrds – Byrdmaniax (1970)
Cubby + Blizzards - Groeten Uit Grollo (1967) Skip James – Greatest Of The Delta Blues Singers (1964) *****
Skip James – She Lyin’ (1964)
June Tabor & Martin Simpson – A Cut Above (1980) Martin Hayes & Dennis Cahill – Live In Seattle (1999)*****
Billy Childish & The Chatham Singers – Heaven’s Journey (2005)
Billy Childish & The Chatham Singers – An Image Of You (2008)
J-Jazz Deep Modern Jazz From Japan Vol 1 (1969-84)
Charles Cauldwell – Remember Me (2004)
The Primevals – Disinhibitor (2011)
Delivery – Fool’s Meeting (1968)
The Vapors – New Clear Days (1980)
Tracey Thorn – A Distant Shore (1982)
Warm Dust – And It Came To Pass (1970)
Dry Ice – s/t (1969) Gin Blossoms – New Miserable Experience (1992)***** John Parker Compton – Live At Turk’s Head (1968)***** Wolf People – Fain (2013)***** The Cure – Three Imaginary Boys (1979)*****
Bjork – Homogenic (1997)
Nico – Venue Edinburgh (1987) Nico – Do Or Die In Europe (1982)***** Joe Henderson – The Inner Urge (1966)*****
The Hi-Alerts – Conjure Time (2015)
The Primevals – So Extra EP (2018) Wall of Voodoo – Call Of The West (1982)*****
V/A – Swedish Meatballs Hard Rock Psyche Underground (1971-7) Robert Pollard & Doug Gillard – Speak Kindly Of Your Volunteer Fire Department (1999)***** Keene Brothers – Blues & Boogie Shoes (2006)*****
Jimmy Webb – Land’s End (1974)
Jimmy Webb – And So On (1971)
Jimmy Webb – Letters (1972) The Undisputed Truth – s/t (1971)*****
The Undisputed Truth – Face To Face With The Truth (1972) Frankie Armstrong – Lovely On The Water (1972)*****
Frankie Armstrong – Songs & Ballads (1974) Jan Garbarek & Hilliard Ensemble – Officium (1994)*****
Jan Garbarek & Hilliard Ensemble – Officium Novum (2010)
V/A – Rough Guide To Delta Blues Vol 1
Byard Lancaster – It’s Not Up To Us (1968)
Sunny Murray – An Even Break (1968) Brigitte Fontaine – Comme La Radio (1972)*****
Eric Andersen – Today Is The Highway (1965)
Tim Hardin – Suite For Susan Moore & Damion (1969)
Tim Hardin – Bird On A Wire (1971)
Tim Hardin – Painted Head (1973) The Fall – The Light User Syndrome (1996)***** Gene Clark with The Gosdin Brothers – s/t (1967)*****
The Octopus Project – Sharp Teeth (2013)
The Octopus Project – Fever Forms (2013) Mississippi Fred McDowell – I Do Not Play No Rock’n’Roll (1969)***** The Chameleons – Script of The Bridge (1983)*****
Cactus World News – Urban Beaches (1986)
Steeleye Span - Ten Man Mop (1971)
The Bothy Band – Old Hag You Have Killed Me (1976) June Tabor – Aqaba (1988)*****
June Tabor & Maddy Prior – No More To The Dance (1988) Autohaze – Mild Steel Flat (1992)***** Guru Guru – UFO (1970)***** Guru Guru – Live In Essen (1970)***** Guru Guru – Hinten (1971)*****
Ash Ra Tempel – s/t (1971)
Ash Ra Tempel – Schwingungen (1972)
Paul Butterfield Blues Band – s/t (1965)
The Blues Project – Projections (1966)
Ronnie Hawkins – s/t (1959)
Ronnie Hawkins – Mr Dynamo (1960)
Ronnie Hawkins – Folk Ballads (1960)
Ronnie Hawkins – Sings The Songs Of Hank Williams (1960)
Steeleye Span – Below The Salt (1972) Quickspace – Superplus (1995)*****
Manassas – Pieces (1972-3) Annie Ross – You And Me Baby (1971)***** Lankum – The Livelong Day (2019)***** Bob Dylan – Brandeis University (1963)***** Paul Butterfield Blues Band – East West (1966)***** The Damned – Damned Damned Damned (1977)*****
Richard Harris – A Tramp Shining (1968)
Richard Harris – The Yard Went On For Ever (1968)
Glen Campbell – Meet Glen Campbell (2008) The Groundhogs – Split (1971)***** The Groundhogs – Thank Christ For The Bomb (1970)***** Echo & The Bunnymen – Crocodiles (1980)*****
David Westlake – My Beautiful England (2022)
The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughters – Smashed Full Of Wonder (1987) The Sea Urchins – Stardust (1987-91)***** Howe Gelb & Lonna Kelly – Further Standards (2017)*****
Maki Asakawa – Live (1971) The Fall – Slates (1981)***** Giant Sand – Valley of Rain (1985)***** The Monkees – s/t (1966)*****
HISTORIC SITES/WALKS
St Giles’ Church, Wrexham
Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral
Liverpool Anglican Cathedral
Leicester Cathedral & Tomb of Richard III
Knaresborough Riverside Walk Nine Stones Close, Derbyshire *****
Arbor Low Henge, Derbyshire
Gib Hill Barrow, Derbyshire Brand End Standing Stones, Derbyshire *****
Wappenbury Village Hillfort, Warwickshire
Stanton Drew Stone Circle, Somerset
The Tristan Stone, Fowey
Holy Trinity Well, Rackenford, Devon Chastleton House, Oxfordshire *****
Godstow Abbey, Oxford
The Grapes Pub, Sheffield Mary Watts’ Watts Chapel, Guildford *****
Waggoners Wells Wishing Well, Hampshire
Ingatestone, village of concealed sarsens, Essex
Danbury Christian-ised Hillfort, Essex
Norwich Anglican Cathedral Oakehampton Castle, Dartmoor ***** Devil’s Humps, Stoughton *****
Bury St Edmunds Cathedral
Mettingham Castle, Beccles, Norfolk Walberswick Marshes Bird Walk (Marsh Harrier, Bittern, Buzzard, Cetti’s warbler)*****
Salisbury Cathedral, Salisbury Swanage coast path walk, Dorset *****
St Aldhelm’s chapel, St Aldhelm’s Head Stonehenge, Salisbury Plain ***** Hotel la Louisiane, Paris *****
Montparnasse Cemetery, Paris – Beckett, Tzara, Gainsbourgh, Sartre, De Beavoir
La Coupoule café, Paris Sainte Chapelle, Paris *****
Café de Flour, Paris
Saint Germain L’auxerrois, Paris
Port Sunlight, Wirral
St Winnifride’s Holy Well, Flintshire Mitchell’s Fold Stone Circle, Shropshire *****
Shelagh-Na-Gig, St Laurence’s Church, Church Stretton, Shropshire
Skirrid, Hillfort & St Michael’s Chapel (ruins), Black Mountains Llanthony Priory, Black Mountains ***** St Issui’s Church, Patrishow, Black Mountians ***** St Ishow’s Holy Well, Patrishow, Black Mountains *****
Tintern Abbey, Forest of Dean
The Devil’s Pulpit, Forest of Dean The Virtuous Well, Monmouthshire ***** The Rollright Stones, Oxfordshire *****
Jeremy Bentham Mummified Corpse Walk, London
Saville Row Apple Beatles gig site Mason’s Yard, London – ‘60s site of Scotch of St James, Indica, Gered Manowitz Studio & White Cube
Dartington Hall & gardens, Totness
Cantrell stone rows, Dartmoor
Fenton House, Hampstead
Caerwent Roman village and temple, S Wales
Caldicot castle, S Wales Sudbrook Hill Fort, S Wales *****
Llandaff Cathedral, Cardiff
Hereford Cathedral, Mappa Mundi & Magna Carta
St Mary The Virgin, Capel-y-ffin
Hay Bluff walk
Sugar Loaf, Brecon Beacons All Saints’, Newland, Forest of Dean (newly restored)*****
St Mary The Virgin & grave of St John Kemble, Welsh Newton
Church of St Peter, Great Livermere, Suffolk
Church of The Holy Innocents, Great Barton, Suffolk
Ickworth House, Suffolk
St Edmund’s Cross, Hoxne
St Mary & All Saints’ Sculthorpe, Norfolk A Warning To The Curious location, Wells Next The Sea A Warning To The Curious location, Holkham Beach
Holkham Park Walled Garden, Norfolk River Titchwell seal colony, Norfolk *****
Blickling House and Estate, Norfolk
Castle Acre Castle, Norfolk Castle Acre Priory, Norfolk *****
Crickhowell Castle, Crickhowell
St Edmund’s church, Crickhowell
St Wystan’s Church & Crypt, Repton
Painswick Beacon, Gloucs
Blackfriars Priory, Gloucester
St John’s Hackney, London
The Hawk Stone, Oxfordshire
Maen Llia stone, Brecon Beacons
Maen Madoc stone, Brecon Beacons
Creake Abbey, Norfolk
Walsingham Abbey, Norfolk
Walsingham Shrine of Virgin Mary, Norfolk Warham Camp hillfort, Norfolk*****
MUSEUMS
Soldiers of Oxfordshire Museum
Battle – The Art Of British War Comics, Oxfordshire Museum
Musee de Cluny, Paris Grant Zoology museum, London *****
RECOMMENDED BOOKSHOPS
Foyles, Charing Cross Rd, London Oxfam Canterbury ***** (always excellently curated)
Oxfam books, Harrogate Oxfam books, Coventry ***** (superb SF & comics)
Oxfam books, Oxford
The Last Bookshop, Oxford Oxfam books, Chelmsford ***** Oxfam books, Exeter ***** Shakespeare & Company, Paris ***** Word on the Water, Granary Sq, King’s Cross, London *****
The Poetry Bookshop, Hay On Wye
Brazen Head Bookshop, Burnham Market, Norfolk
Fantasy : Realms of Imagination – British Library
Gwen John – Holbourne Museum, Bath
St Giles Church, Wrexham - Burne-Jones windows, doom painting
Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral – Elizabeth Frink, Ceri Richards, John Piper
Walker Gallery, Liverpool*****; Alexis Harding – Slump; Dan Hays – Harmony In Green; John Hoyland – Broken Bride; Barbara Hepworth – 2 Spheres In Orbit; David Hockney – Peter Getting Out of Nick’s Pool; Lucien Freud – Interior At Paddington; Albert Richards – Sappers Erecting Pickets In The Snow, The Seven Legends; Ceri Richards – Mother & Child; LS Lowry – The Fever Van; Paul Nash – Telecommunications; Duncan Grant – Farm In Sussex; Laura Knight – Spring In St John’s Wood; Bernard Fleetwood-Walker – Amity; Walter Sickert – Summer Lighting, Bathers Dieppe; Elizabeth Forbes – Blackberry Gathering; John Singer Sergeant – Vespers; Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale – The Little Foot Page; Osman Hamdi – The Young Emir Studying; GF Watts – Love & Life, Love & Death, Katie, Hope, Eve Tempted, Eve Repentant ; John William Waterhouse – Echo & Narcissus; Ralph Peacock – William Holman Hunt; Thomas Cooper Gotch – A Pageant of Childhood; Edward Austin Abbey – O Mistress Mine Where Are You Roaming?; John Byam Liston Shaw – Love’s Baubles; Edouard Vuillard – Madame Hessel au Sofa; John Roddam Spencer – Expulsion From Eden; George Clausen – Kitty; William Shakespeare Burton – Auto-da-fe; Evelyn De Morgan – Life And Thought Emerging From The Tomb; Charles March Gere – The Finding Of The Infant St George; Frederic Leighton – Perseus And Andromeda, Elijah In The Wilderness; Maurice Greiffenhagen – An Idyll; Robert Fowler – Ariel; Albert Joseph Moore – A Summer Night; Louis Edouard Fornier – Funeral of Shelley; Philip Hermogenes Calderon – Ruth & Naomi; Stanhope Forbes – To The Fishing Ground, A Street In Britanny; George Clausen – The Shepherdess; Henry Holiday – Dante & Beatrice; Frederick George Cotman – One Of The Family; William Frederick Yeames – And When Did You Last See Your Father?; James Tissot – Catherine Smith Gill & Two Of Her Children; William Holman Hunt – Triumph Of The Innocents; John Atkinson Grimshaw – The Custom House Liverpool Looking South; Briton Riviere – Daniel In The Lion’s Den; Arthur Hughes – As You Like It; Gustave Dore – Flower Sellers; Sophie Anderson – Elaine; Dante Gabriel Rossetti – Dante’s Dream; Edward Burne-Jones – Study For The Sleeping Knights; John Ingle Lee – Sweethearts & Wives, Going To Market; Daniel Maclise – Death of Nelson; John Brett – The Stonebreaker; Ary Sheffer – The Temptation of Christ; James Campbell – The Dragon’s Den; William Davis – The Courtyard At Speke Hall; Paul Delaroche – Napoleon Crossing The Alps; John Martin – The Last Man; Richard Andsell – Dead Pheasants; Samuel Drummond – Death of Nelson; Giacamo De Maria – Death of Virginia; George Stubbs – Lincolnshire Ox, Gnawpost And Two Other Colts, Horse Frightened By A Lion, Molly Long Legs; Joseph Wright of Derby – The Annual Girandola, The Old Man & Death; Giovani Paolo Panini – Ruins Of Rome
Liverpool Anglican Cathedral – Tracey Emin, Elizabeth Frink, Giles Gilbert Scott
Leeds Art Gallery *****; Edward Armitage – The Siren, Retribution, Return of Ulysses; Francis Bacon – Painting 1950; Lady Elizabeth Butler - Scotland For Ever; Thomas Cooper – Landscape With Sheep & Goats; Alan Davie - In The Face Of The Witch; Ronald Dunlop – Melissa; Jacob Epstein – Modernity; Terry Frost - High Yellow; Anthony Gormley – Brick Man; John Atkinson Grimshaw - Reflections on The Thames at Westminster, Leeds Bridge, Sunday Night Leeds, Iris; Arthur Hacker - Temptation of Sir Percival; Edward Matthew Hale – Mermaids’ Rock, The Drums of The Fore & Aft; Oliver Hall – Interior Of A Wood; Benjamin Haydon – Mary Queen of Scotts When An Infant; Barbara Hepworth – Single Form; Frank Holl – I Am The Resurrection; William Holman Hunt - Shadow of Death; Albert Kindley – Burnham Beeches; Haynes King – An Interesting Paragraph; Leon Kossoff – Fidelma No 1; Jacob Kramer – Rites of Spring; Edmund Blair Leighton – Lady Godiva; Frederic Leighton – Return of Persephone; Daniel Maclise – Noah’s Sacrifice; John Millais - Old Age, Music, Infancy & Manhood; Paul Nash – Circle of The Monoliths, Only Egg; Adelsteen Normann - The Sognefjord; George Bernard O’Neill – Public Opinion, Last Hours of Mozart; Victor Passmore – Girl With A Handbag; John Pettie – Fixing The Site Of An Early Christian Altar; Fiona Rae – Present Party For You; Stanley Spencer - The Sisters, Family Group; William Stott- A Snowstorm; James Tissot – The Bridesmaid; John Tunnard – Davy Jones’ Locker, Painting, Port & Starboard, Red & Black Balance, Yellow Balance; Edward Alexander Wadsworth – Slump, Marseille; Frances S Walker – The Convent Garden; James Whistler – Harmony In White & Blue; JB Yeats – Off The Irish Coast.
Pauline Boty – Gazelli Art House, London Don Van Vliet – Michael Werner Gallery, London ***** Douglas Gordon – Gagosian, London
Spencer, Lowry, Hockney, Ceri Richards - St Edmund Hall SCR, Oxford
Patrice Moore – St John’s College, Oxford
A Bridget Riley – Wolfson College, Oxford
Matthew Conduit, Land – Sheffield Graves Gallery Sheffield Graves Gallery – Bridget Riley, Adrian Heath, JMW Turner, Mary Adshead, John Bratby, Frank Brangwyn, Prunella Clough, Roger Fry, Nahem Shoa, John Hoyland and more.
Terry Frost, Flowers Gallery, Cork St, London
Elizabeth Frink – St Edmund, Bury St Edmunds
The Universe of William Blake (Including John Linnell, John Flaxman, Samuel Palmer, John Henry Fuseli, George Richmond, Catherine Blake, Caspar David Friedrich, Philip Oto Runge, Joseph Wright, – Cambridge Fitzwilliam *****
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge; Alan Beeton – Posing; Vanessa Bell – Portrait of Mrs M; William Blake – An Allegory Of The Spiritusl Conditio Of Man; Ford Maddox Brown – Cordelia’s Portion, The Last Of England; Paul Cezanne – Landscape, Undergrowth; Edgar Degas – At The Café; Alfred Elmore – On The Brink; Harold Gilman – Nude On A Bed;Spencer Gore – The Green Dress; Augustus Edwin John – Dorelia Wearing A Turban; Gwen John – The Convalescent; Stanislawa de Kalowska – Lock On The Canal; Frederik Leighton – Clytie; John Linnell – William Blake Wearing A Hat; Henri Matisse – Woman Seated In An Armchair; John Everett Millais – The Twins, Mrs Coventry Patmore, The Bridesmaid; Armedeo Modigliani - Portrait Of A Young Woman Seate; Claude Monet – Poplars, Rocks At Port Coton; Charles Fairfax Murray – The Flaming Heart; Paul Nash – November Moon; William Nicholson – Augustus Edwin John, The Girl With The Tattered Glove; Glyn Warren Phillpot – Siegfried Sassoon, The Dog Rose; Camille Pissaro – In The Garden At Pontoise; Pierre-Auguste Renoir – Place Clichy; Dante Gabriel Rosetti – Girl At A Lattice; Walter Sickert – The Glance; Stanley Spencer – Landscape In North Wales, Self Portrait With Patricia Preece; George Stubbs – Gimcrack; Marie Louise Von-Motesicksy – At The Dressmakers, Mother In Bed.
The Lady & The Unicorn – Musee de Cluny, Paris *****
Monet’s Water Lilies – Musee d’Orangerie, Paris *****
Anthony Gormley – Another Place, Crosby Beach *****
Doom painting, St Issu’s church, Patrisow
Lady Lever Gallery, Port Sunglight – Lawrence Alma-Tadema – Favorite Poet; Frank Brangwyn – The Shipbuilders; Gerald Brockhurst – Jeunesse Doree; Ford Maddox Brown – Cromwell on his Farm; Edward Burne-Jones – The Tree of Forgiveness, The Annunciation, The Beguiling of Merlin, Azarias, Ananias; Herbert Draper – The Kelpie; William Etty – The Three Graces, Hesperus, Autora & Zephyr, Bather Left, Bather Right, Andromeda, Prometheus, The Judgement of Paris; Joseph Farquharson – The Shortening Day; Elizabeth Forbes – Blackberry Gathering; Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale – The Forerunner; Edward John Gregory – Boulter’s Lock; Hubert von Herkomer – The Last Muster; William Holman Hunt – May Morning On Magdalen Tower, The Scapegoat; Louise Jopling – Blue & White; Laura Knight – Ballet; Frederic Leighton – Clytie, Fatidica, Psamathe, Daphnephoria, The Garden of Hespidres; George Lesley – Midsummer Morning; John Linnell – Woodcutters, At The Cottage Gate, Woodcutters In A Forest, Woodcutters’ Respast; John Everett Millais – An Idyll of 1745, The Black Brunswicker, Cymon & Iphigenia, A Dream Of The Past; Frederic Morgan – His Turn Next; Alfred Munnings – The Fresian Bull; Dante Rosetti – The Blessed Damozel, Sybilla Palmifera; John Singer Sargeant – On His Holiday; Sydney Vosper – Salem; JMW Turner 0 The Falls Of The Clyde; John William Waterhouse – The Enchanted Garden; G F Watts – She Shall Be Created Woman.
The Last Caravaggio - National Gallery *****
National Gallery Permanent Collection; George Bellows – Men Of The Docks; Paul Cezanne – The Grounds of the Chateau Noir; John Constable – Cenotaph In Memory of Joshua Reynolds, The Cornfield; Honore Daumier – Don Quixote & Sancho Panza; Edgar Degas – Combing The Hair, Ballet Dancers, Eleanor Carafa, Young Spartans; Paul Delaroche – The Execution of Lady Jane Grey; Thomas Gainsborough – The Market Cart, The Watering Place; Lake Keitella – Akseli Gallen-Kallela; Edouard Manet – The Execution of Maximillian, Music In The Tuilleries; Henri Matisse – Portrait of Greta Moll; Claude Monet – Water Lillies, Water Lillies Setting Sun, Beach At Trouvet, Thames Below Westminster; Pablo Picasso – Fruit dish, bottle & violin; Camille Pissarro – The Cotes des Boeufs; Pierre Auguste Renoir – The Skiff; Henri Rousseau – Surprised!; Georges Seurat – Bathers At Asnieres, Study for Bathers, The Rainbow, The Morning Walk; George Stubbs – Sir Peniston & Lady Lamb, Whistlejacket; JMW Turner – Rain Sea And Speed; Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus, The Evening Star, Dido Building Carthage, Sun Rising Through Vapour; Vincent Van Gogh – A Wheatfield With Cypresses, Van Gogh’s Chair, Sunflowers; Julius Schnorr Von Carolsfield – Ruth In Boaz’ Field; Joseph Wright of Derby – Experiment On A Bird;
Llandaff Cathedral, Cardiff; Dante Gabriel Rosetti – Nativity Triptych; Edward Burne-Jones - Altar ceramics; Jacob Epstein – Christ In Majesty; The Bishop Marshall Panel.
National Gallery of Wales; 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.
All Saints’, Newland, Forest of Dean – Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale’s rederos *****
Church of The Holy Innocents, Great Barton, Suffolk -Edward Byrne-Jones’ stained glass
Ickworth House, Suffolk – John Flaxman’s Fury of Athamas
Norwich Castle Museum; lots of John Cotman; lots of Thomas Lound; Alfred Munnings – Gypsy Horses Grazing and many more; Emma Sandys – Lady In A Yellow Dress; Frederick Sandys; lots of Joseph Stannard; lots of John Thirtle. A great overview tying in Turner w a particular school of East Anglian visionary landscape painting.
St Mary & All Saints’, Sculthorpe, Norfolk – Edward Burne-Jones stained glass
Blickling Hall, Norfolk. Herbet Gunn – Phillip Kerr; Hans Holbein Younger – Henry VIII; Valentine Prinsep - Lisa.
Houghton Hall, Norfolk – Anthony Gormley’s Time Horizon
Houghton Hall, Norfolk, Permanent Collection. Ryan Gander – More Really Shiny Things; Richard Long – White Deer Circle, Houghton Cross, Full Moon Circle, A Line In Norfolk; James Turrell – Houghton Hut; Rachel Whiteread – Hut. *****
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.
Buxton Museum and Art Gallery is closed indefinitely (permanently?) due to a wood problem, so I didn’t see Duncan Grant - Farm Buildings (1951); Kiffyn Williams - Pony on LLanddwyn Island; and their lovely Charles Keeping lithograph. Again. Can something be done?
MY FOOD JOURNEY (highlights - this isn’t everything I ate in 2024)
My Corbyn Coddled Eggs
My Year End Vegetable Wellington
Bungay Lemon Chicken
My Stoke Newington Sage Eggs
My Joseph Conrad Bacon Sprouts
My Ermine Street Chorizo Scallops
My Mr Kurtz Vegetable Curry
Cork & Bottle crispy pork
My Shepherd’s Pie Pour Dawson, with Chestnut Chili Sprouts
Gloucester (Westmorland) Services’ chicken shawarma
Duck confit, Wreck Bistro, Liverpool
18yr old Highland Park & Guinness, The Dakota Hotel bar, Leeds Lamb curry, Kayal, Leicester *****
Lamb madras, Calcutta Club, Nottingham
Lamb chili curry, MemSaab, Nottingham
My Easter Chicken Solitaire
My Timoleon Vieta Vegan Curry Gray Pays & Bacon, Great Western, Wolverhampton *****
Emsworth Sibling Quinoa
Hare & Hounds, Stoughton, Sunday Lunch
Au Bougnat, Paris, Sausage & Mash
Café de Flore, Paris, boiled egg
My Alchemyst’s Sunday Vegetable Wellington
Naga chili lamb curry, Café la Raj, Chipping Norton
My Baked crusted haddock a la migraine
My Sasquatch Sunset Mushroom Pie
My Crispy Chorizo Stir Fry de Hogan
International Welsh Rabbit Centre, Defynnog, Brecon
Kedgeree, Bircham Stores, Norfolk
My Christmas Day Gray Pays
My Christmas Mushroom Wellington
Ben’s wet onions
Grandad’s steamed Irish gammon
Smoked Canadian friend’s relative’s lake salmon
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)
Andy Leek (Original midnight runner, 1958)
Slim Dunlap (Replacement Replacement, 1951)
Jimmy Carter (Peanutocrat peacemaker, 1924)
Stewart Lee
2025-01-01T07:00:00+00:00
“A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! LET’S HOPE IT’S THE FIRST ONE WITHOUT ANDREW NEIL!” Dear All. Thanks for your ongoing support. This tour show took a bit longer than usual to come together but is really working now, sadly partly because the general downward turn of global and national events has helped focus some of the ideas in it. I think it will only get funnier as things get worse. I don’t know how letting people know about my shows will work in the future as obviously the BBC is no longer an option, much social media has been algorithm-driven to the right, traditional news media no longer has much space for culture comment and review, and I’m not about to trash a lifetime’s dignity and do my own podcast, so if you see the live show and love it please tell your friends. And please bear in mind, most of any negative stuff you see about me personally on-line isn’t true, but I don’t have the energy to engage and correct it. One battle with the management of Mumsnet was enough for one lifetime. In the meantime I hope you will check out some of the things I enjoyed this year and please support the artists involved if you like their work. Have a great 2025. 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. Waste the money your Nan gave you for Xmas here wax-face.com/stewart-lee 2.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 upcoming U.K. tour. There are 3 versions Side...
Dusty function rooms and faded TV stars in English seaside towns felt abruptly moribund when, in 1993, The Mary Whitehouse Experience (a comedy revue featuring Robert Newman, David Baddiel, Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis) sold out 12,000 seats at Wembley Arena [NOTE; This is the author's error. Newman & Baddiel did this as a double act, after TMWE folded].
The event seemed to rubber-stamp the dawning of a loud, monetised era in UK standup, ready-branded with its Janet Street-Porter-appropriated sound-bite: comedy is the new rock ‘n’ roll. In the midst of this boom, Stewart Lee, in his double-act partnership with Richard Herring, made two television series, toured nationally, and earned radio credits for Chris Morris’s influential current affairs satire On the Hour – and yet, it’s plain that he found most of the work in this period conspicuous and unfulfilling. Interest in performance dwindled, and in 2001 Lee co-wrote (with Richard Thomas, to initial acclaim) Jerry Springer: The Opera, which transferred to Theatreland premises, only to attract both controversy from the religious right and no money.
Success on his own terms came relatively late for Lee, well into the mid-2000s, materialising only, we learn, after a period of intense disenchantment. It’s a time eloquently rendered in How I Escaped My Certain Fate, which is the more substantial of the books here. However, Content Provider – superficially a cut-and-paste grab-bag of comment pieces, in this case written mainly for The Observer newspaper – is perhaps more immediately recognisable, playing as it does on the irascible, slightly dysfunctional relationship between Lee and his audience these days. Critics consider Stewart Lee synonymous with The Observer. He’s supposed to represent the whole idea of its archetypal, comfortably liberal reader, sniping at a system that sustains him. However, instead of cosying up, Lee alters this situation by writing either in self-parody or in the skewed on-stage character version of himself. Live, it’s a now-familiar but complex dynamic: Lee can grant tolerance to his ‘established’ audience while displaying intolerance towards newcomers, to whom he once wearily directed, “you’re going to have to raise your game.” It’s a struggling Grotesque that we’re seeing — the once-balanced entertainer mutated into a monster fuming at being denied the recognition that it deserves.
This shtick (which Alan Moore describes as the “innovative technique of spraying his own audience with caustic bile”) is certainly funny to witness; there are shades of John Cleese as Basil Fawlty in its apparent truth. (It’s strange that Lee, also Oxbridge-educated, with a wide-reaching and authentic fascination for music, literature and the arts, felt unable to accept a role presenting a well-known culture show on BBC Television. But of course his irritable character, placed in the real world, in that actual job, would be unable to approach another artist without rancour and jealousy of the work under discussion. And for similar reasons of creative integrity, a kind of “what would I be doing there?” test, adverts and panel shows have also remained off limits.)
The articles compiled in Content Provider (on pretty standard topics such as William-and-Kate; Brexit; television; political pratfalls) were written – mainly, anyway – to plug absences in a regular Observer column by the comic actor David Mitchell. Lee is more inclined to include rudimentary, self-defeating errors in his copy, or toy with the rules of acceptability, than to provide Mitchell’s arch, wry, and distinctly echoing commentary on events of the week. Anyone who reads these things online will know that they unfailingly prompt a deluge of incredulous ‘below-the-line’ abuse, counteracted by Lee’s legacy fan base dutifully attempting to enlighten the naysayers. Lee uses the worst of the comments on his own website, and republishes some choice bile in Content Provider. It’s a typical acceptance of hatred, quoted on stage, promotional posters, and books (Lee “is not funny and has nothing to say,” boasts the front of Content Provider), which goes back to Lee and Herring’s Fist of Fun spin-off book, with its ‘celebration of mediocrity’ sections.
Content has been provided, by Lee and (unwittingly) his detractors, but only half of the equation gets paid. No bones are made about this being an assemblage of disposable writing intended to space-fill the print media – in Lee’s own words, to be smiled at and then become “the lining of a cat’s litter tray.” This is slightly harsh: the new forewords to many of these articles add a lot of value, as does a revealing, angsty introductory chapter. All in all, Lee seems quite chuffed that the exaggerated replica of himself has wound up pulling this off.
A character is never wholly fictional, and it’s interesting, reading How I Escaped My Certain Fate, to map the development of the performance to a chronological autobiography. This is essentially what the book is: a highly (and at times, ridiculously) annotated account of the ups and downs of Lee’s work up to roughly 2008, including verbatim transcriptions of three key shows, ums and ers dutifully included. (In possible homage to Flann O’Brien, of whom Lee is a fan, the footnotes intrude on and disrupt the narrative with infectious glee.)
“I never wanted to be a comedian,” the book begins, inviting the obvious riposte. Indeed, it has been justifiably asked: is Lee really a comedian? Does he truthfully want to stand in front of people and make them laugh? To give folks an enjoyable evening out? The answer to all these questions is yes – Lee has no interest in “driving to Cardiff and ruining someone’s night” – but at the same time his comedy is like awkward, experimental jazz, hovering near the outer reaches of a circle whose epicentre is occupied by Michael McIntyre and Peter Kay. There’s room for all, of course, and one of the most charming aspects of Certain Fate is Lee’s admiration for stand-up as an art form, one for which he seems to have near-unconditional love. His description of the early 1980s movement known as Alternative Comedy is a high point, recalling Malcolm Hardee (who claimed to have invented the phrase), Arnold Brown, Peter Richardson, Alexei Sayle, Dawn French, Andy de la Tour and more.
Alternative Comedy, says Lee, had an ideological standpoint “for about a week in 1980,” which may be true, but sounds like the curmudgeon alone with his pint in the corner of the pub, and prompts the editor to warn in the footnotes that the book may come across as “the demented ramblings of an inexplicably bitter man.” It’s a description that sums up the development of the Stewart Lee character fairly well —intentionally or not. These notes are alive with anecdotal and heartfelt interludes, regaling us with tales of performers whose careers are mere footnotes themselves. They are particularly absorbing in their examination of the three transcribed shows, explaining the minutiae of each set-piece: its delivery, exactly why it did or did not work. We’re taken back to when Radio One had “weird bits,” when Channel Four was radical, and the NME had superb writers. There is sadness in the loss of those things; in fact, the presence of emotion may surprise those expecting blanket cynicism. Depressed in Australia, and rather absurdly, Lee buys Bovril and an Oasis record out of sheer nostalgia.
The book accumulates a roll-call of comedy personalities, some better-known than others, and is dedicated to Ted Chippington, a minor but cult figure in 1980s standup. Seemingly forever misplaced on an unsuitable bill, often supporting bands, Chippington’s act was to repeat, with minor variations, the same joke involving a tortuous misunderstanding of something’s name. Cue nods of recognition from followers of Stewart Lee, who, after first seeing Chippington live, made up his mind to strive for chiefly the same thing. Chippington and another obscure comic, Simon Munnery, are cited as major influences, as is a documentary named The Aristocrats, Paul Provenza’s film about a legendary US standup joke. Arcane and obscene, yet routinely performed by myriad comedians, the less said here about the joke itself the better, but as Provenza says, “it’s about the singer, not the song. Repeating the same joke allows us to get over the issue of content and concentrate instead on the thorny issue of aesthetics.” This provides an apt juncture to conclude the book, with Lee telling us “this was what I had been trying to do in comedy for nearly twenty years.” That aim has been achieved, as most who have seen his standup any time in the last dozen years would confirm. The story closes in a mode of tainted celebration – a long-sought solo BBC series, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, has been commissioned – as Lee finds himself in the Chinese restaurant of a Salford retail park, with a disinterested and preoccupied colleague, and ultimately drinks his champagne alone. “The me you see onstage,” he says, “is largely a construct, based on me at my worst, my most annoying, my most petty, and my most patronising.” It’s an act fronted up so well, people think that the monster is real. How I Escaped My Certain Fate could reverse that view, but books like this are for the converted: Lee’s decriers will have little inclination to read it.--Neil Jackson
Stewart Lee
2018-02-05T17:18:37+00:00
Dusty function rooms and faded TV stars in English seaside towns felt abruptly moribund when, in 1993, The Mary Whitehouse Experience (a comedy revue featuring Robert Newman, David Baddiel, Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis) sold out 12,000 seats at Wembley Arena [NOTE; This is the author's error. Newman & Baddiel did this as a double act, after TMWE folded]. The event seemed to rubber-stamp the dawning of a loud, monetised era in UK standup, ready-branded with its Janet Street-Porter-appropriated sound-bite: comedy is the new rock ‘n’ roll. In the midst of this boom, Stewart Lee, in his double-act partnership with Richard Herring, made two television series, toured nationally, and earned radio credits for Chris Morris’s influential current affairs satire On the Hour – and yet, it’s plain that he found most of the work in this period conspicuous and unfulfilling. Interest in performance dwindled, and in 2001 Lee co-wrote (with Richard Thomas, to initial acclaim) Jerry Springer: The Opera, which transferred to Theatreland premises, only to attract both controversy from the religious right and no money. Success on his own terms came relatively late for Lee, well into the mid-2000s, materialising only, we learn, after a period of intense disenchantment. It’s a time eloquently rendered in How I Escaped My Certain Fate, which is the more substantial of the books here. However, Content Provider – superficially a cut-and-paste grab-bag of comment pieces, in this case written mainly for The Observer newspaper – is perhaps more immediately recognisable, playing as it does on the irascible, slightly dysfunctional relationship between Lee and his audience these days. Critics consider Stewart Lee synonymous with The Observer. He’s supposed to represent the whole idea of its archetypal, comfortably liberal reader, sniping at a system that sustains him. However, instead of cosying up, Lee alters this...
West along the coast is the ancient market town of Rye; to the east, Derek Jarman's driftwood garden fossilises in the shadows of Dungeness power station; between the two, a short walk from the crazy-golf course, lie the utilitarian chalets of the Pontin's holiday camp in Camber Sands, East Sussex. Last weekend its family-fun facade was lowered as it experienced a visitation from the New York art-punk legends Television, who had re-formed to top the bill of the most culturally significant British pop and rock festival of the year.
Two glamorously faded ballrooms that usually host knobbly-knee competitions rang instead to free jazz and stooped experimental rock bands during the most exciting weekend it is legal to enjoy at an English seaside resort. "It's a very special experience to play here," said Ira Kaplan, of New Jersey's Yo La Tengo, archly to the audience. "When we were kids, my parents would fly us here from New York to holiday at Pontin's, sometimes two or three times each summer."
The third annual All Tomorrow's Parties (ATP) sold out its 3,000 places in record time. Confused visitors crossed the Atlantic or travelled from Scandinavia with £100 tickets for three days' chalet accommodation and a bill so daring it should change the sorry way music is promoted, programmed and consumed in this country for good. The absence of flooded chemical toilets, mud and Ocean Colour Scene made it seem as if there really is no reason why rock festivals must be rubbish.
This year, the booker Barry Hogan, whose ATP website mixes disciplinarianism with fan-boy wonder, asked Chicago's Tortoise to curate the event. The 22 acts selected - including the widescreen country-rockers Calexico, the spangle-suited Sun Ra Arkestra, noisy instrumentalists Rick Rizzo and Tara Key, and the Boards of Canada boffins - reflect the band's open-minded approach, as heard on Tortoise's latest album, Standards (Warp).
Plucking players from local groups in the early 1990s, Tortoise could only have emerged from Chicago, says the bassist, Douglas McCombs: "In the early 1980s, Chicago had an art-school punk-rock scene and an intense jazz community, which in the 1990s somehow coalesced. Now both exist together, in the same venues, on the same stages, even within the same group."
Tortoise's steady ascent has opened gateways for fans into areas more interesting than the indie-rock scene that originally harboured the band. Their family tree leads listeners back to the minimalist post-punks Slint, Bastro and Gastr Del Sol, and the psychedelic garage-rock of Eleventh Dream Day, while band members moonlight in numerous jazz outfits, including Isotope 217 and Chicago Underground Orchestra. Tortoise's choice of guests seemed determined to drag their fans kicking and screaming into a wider frame of reference. For the most part it worked, despite the fact that the festival's apparent demographic incomprehensibility had, according to the festival's PR company, scared away potential sponsors.
While US Maple's confrontational combination of 1970s rock sneer and unpredictable free-music ethics was a twin guitar solo too far for some, for the most part the audience rose to the occasion. To see a rapturous reception for the 71-year-old guitarist Derek Bailey's disorientating interaction with the Tortoise sound engineer Casey Rice's samples, to sense the crowd warm to the reinvigorated 1960s saxophonist Fred Anderson's fatherly glances towards the Tortoise guitarist Jeff Parker, shows that an audience given credit for its intelligence, and a bed in a nice chalet, will respond to quality.
ATP's success was due to the festival's emergence as a trustworthy brand and the pulling power of Tortoise themselves, who managed to keep 3,000 people almost silent for 90 minutes of demanding instrumental jazz-dub. But it is also indicative of something bigger.
In another ironic appropriation of standard stage patter, Ira Kaplan asked the audience to shout out if they read The Wire or Mojo. Both these publications, The Wire in particular, step outside the tramlines of what radio programmers and music-magazine publishers usually imagine the public want, and both flourished during the music-press cull that saw Select, Melody Maker and Vox humanely destroyed and buried in a Cumbrian sinkhole. Many tickets were booked through the festival's website, www.alltomorrowsparties. co.uk, while on message boards, younger fans appealed to their elders for information about which Television albums they should swot up on for the show. The success of the weekend is an example of a shift in the way supposedly unmarketable music can be consumed and packaged. It should set alarm bells ringing in rock land, but the festival's allies are in the oddest places.
Perhaps because of the lack of luxurious hospitality facilities, there were no Radio 1 DJs or television executives present at ATP, but the former South Bank Centre programmer David Sefton was studying the event for its autumn transfer to Los Angeles, where Sonic Youth will oversee a weekend at his new UCLA posting. The neglected international underground is bursting its banks and overflowing into places where experimental rock music has never set foot before. Like Los Angeles's most prestigious arts venue. And a Pontin's holiday camp in Camber Sands on a wet weekend in April.
Television played last on Sunday night, and though bar chatter finally overwhelmed a PA that couldn't cover the cavernous ballroom,their furtive grimaces couldn't disguise their enjoyment of their unexpected reunion. As recently as last month, Douglas McCombs didn't quite believe that the band would show. "Richard Lloyd is holding his cards close to his chest," he confessed. "He and Tom Verlaine don't exactly have the best relationship today." But as Television took to the stage, their craggy faces a Mount Rushmore monument of mid-1970s
New York art-rock, All Tomorrow's Parties proved itself capable of little miracles.
Stewart Lee
2001-04-15T17:42:14+01:00
West along the coast is the ancient market town of Rye; to the east, Derek Jarman's driftwood garden fossilises in the shadows of Dungeness power station; between the two, a short walk from the crazy-golf course, lie the utilitarian chalets of the Pontin's holiday camp in Camber Sands, East Sussex. Last weekend its family-fun facade was lowered as it experienced a visitation from the New York art-punk legends Television, who had re-formed to top the bill of the most culturally significant British pop and rock festival of the year. Two glamorously faded ballrooms that usually host knobbly-knee competitions rang instead to free jazz and stooped experimental rock bands during the most exciting weekend it is legal to enjoy at an English seaside resort. "It's a very special experience to play here," said Ira Kaplan, of New Jersey's Yo La Tengo, archly to the audience. "When we were kids, my parents would fly us here from New York to holiday at Pontin's, sometimes two or three times each summer." The third annual All Tomorrow's Parties (ATP) sold out its 3,000 places in record time. Confused visitors crossed the Atlantic or travelled from Scandinavia with £100 tickets for three days' chalet accommodation and a bill so daring it should change the sorry way music is promoted, programmed and consumed in this country for good. The absence of flooded chemical toilets, mud and Ocean Colour Scene made it seem as if there really is no reason why rock festivals must be rubbish. This year, the booker Barry Hogan, whose ATP website mixes disciplinarianism with fan-boy wonder, asked Chicago's Tortoise to curate the event. The 22 acts selected - including the widescreen country-rockers Calexico, the spangle-suited Sun Ra Arkestra, noisy instrumentalists Rick Rizzo and Tara Key, and the Boards of Canada boffins - reflect...
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.
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...
The C86 Show is weekly show inspired by an NME cassette of the same name. We feature new, exciting, in-depth interviews with bands and artists of the time. Check out our other arts and culture content too!
The Nightingales - with Stewart Lee & Michael Cumming in conversation - discussing King Rocker A film about Robert Lloyd & The Nightingales
PREMIERES: SATURDAY FEBRUARY 6TH ON SKY ARTS (9pm)
Stewart Lee
2021-01-25T16:00:58+00:00
The C86 Show is weekly show inspired by an NME cassette of the same name. We feature new, exciting, in-depth interviews with bands and artists of the time. Check out our other arts and culture content too! The Nightingales - with Stewart Lee & Michael Cumming in conversation - discussing King Rocker A film about Robert Lloyd & The Nightingales PREMIERES: SATURDAY FEBRUARY 6TH ON SKY ARTS (9pm)
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/mp3/the-c86-show/
Sofie talks to Stewart Lee about 30 years of stand-up comedy, being a parent, reckless behavior, the character of Stewart Lee, having a different childhood to the one people imagine, clown theory, obscure 70’s musicians, not being recognised and being described as the greatest living comedian.
Stewart Lee
2019-03-13T12:29:57+00:00
Sofie talks to Stewart Lee about 30 years of stand-up comedy, being a parent, reckless behavior, the character of Stewart Lee, having a different childhood to the one people imagine, clown theory, obscure 70’s musicians, not being recognised and being described as the greatest living comedian.
Before Stewart Lee starts his three hour set he issues a warning to any mobile phone users: if he sees anyone taking photos or texting he will “smash the phone with the microphone stand, then wank on it, and then take it to the backstage toilets and shit on it too”. He needn’t bother, though. He’s playing a home crowd; there’s no danger anyone’s going to miss a word.
In many ways a three-hour Stewart Lee gig at the Royal Festival Hall is a middle class comedy fan’s cummy sleep-wank heaven. This was not lost on Lee. He attacked the venue’s patrons immediately, calling the audience at the Southbank Centre “Guardian reading cunts”. It was the first in a long line of many shrewd, apt and hilarious put downs throughout the night. Looking slimmer of waist and less red of face, he looked healthy, seeming to move with more energy across the tastefully lit, bare stage.
My concerns about the RFH being too large for Stew’s muttered performances were unfounded. As much as he’d like you to think he doesn’t know how to do a huge room he does – the 2,500 seat venue quaked with laughter throughout, the jokes travelling from front to back. He employed a tactic familiar to his fans, dividing the room up based on how skilled, liberal and discerning they were. I was on the slow side of the room (the majority) and he expertly played to those seated behind him, turning them into High Command coven of Stewart Lee elites.
He seemed a man utterly relaxed within his craft. Stew, who I do not know well enough to address with such informality, played throughout the night with the crowd’s expectations.
A joke about your inner-tabloid-voice became an extended schizophrenic running gag; sabotaging his measured and reasonable diagnoses of a world besieged by bigoted rhetoric. That interplay of high-concept satire blended with the straight faced social justice makes the jokes hit harder. I am fully aware how glib that all sounds, but it’s his playfulness and great sense of the mood in the room that make it all hang together, seemingly effortlessly.
Politics was the order of the day in this set, although other comedians were the main victims of his painful liberal mastication. It’s something a number of my friends criticise Stew for, the smugness of his character being a thin mask for his genuine Oxbridge pseudery. That and his unrestrained bashing of other acts he’s deemed unworthy.
Personally it’s always been one of my favourite parts of his style; the faux-outrage at the insouciance of an audience failing to recognise his genius. He swept the laughable and tubby James Corden away in a single pithy line, describing the mere idea of his fandom “like a dog listening to classical music”.
You think this mutt appreciates counterpoint?!These jokes wouldn’t work if you didn’t think that some small part of Stew believed in it. Flawless delivery and a tight performance aid this too, although they are almost to be expected at this point. Putting aside his talent as a performer, it’s the mercurial cross-roads where the real Stewart Lee meets the character that is the most interesting. He must be a bit of a mean genius, surely? Maybe I’m falling into his trap.
Stew seems more comfortable in his fame, too. His acute awareness of the respect and admiration other comics hold for him was underscored with the dismissal of his comedy critics “They’re obsessed with me, the young comics. ‘I hate Stewart Lee, I’ve seen him 800 times.’”
He was never too self-satisfied though, a mistake many good comics have made. In recent years Eddie Izzard has looked like he is high on the stink of his own schtick. Jimmy Carr too, his pretend laugh replete with an erroneous assurance that he is “bloody funny ya know”.
Eddie Izzard recycles; he sniffs his own farts.It felt good to see that Stew has never stopped embracing the struggle – and it’s that crackle that makes comedy exciting and dangerous. That’s why he divides and taunts the audience so much throughout, because he has to have something to kick back against.
Still, I did feel that three hours is too much of one comedian for me. It’s an audacious idea – a performance of the six half-hour sets that will make up the next series of Comedy Vehicle. Even so, they’re always quite meaty topics and I did feel some fatigue towards the end, most likely caused by lack of time for digestion. If this was the length of a full show it would veer into masturbatory self-indulgence.
Having seen A Room With A Stew in January last year, I was half expecting to be bored as he talked his way down a well-travelled road. I was proved wrong on this count, much to my satisfaction.
Almost an hour of what I had seen at that preview show had been removed, and another twenty minutes expanded upon and changed. In a world where Jerry Seinfeld feels comfortable stating that he gets rid of only 10 percent of his old material each year.
Casting aside a full hour of material becomes a medallion of artistic integrity round Stewart Lee’s neck. The show would have been great with those bits in (they were my favourite part of the earlier performances), but obviously Stew is neither short of material or afraid of self-editing. I hope that little known fact is with people when they watch the program later this year – he chucked two episodes worth, for us!
As always though, the most interesting parts of any Stewart Lee show are the deconstructions, and it’s these points where his genius, yes genius really shows.It is oft-said and for that reason loses its impact, but Stewart Lee is a much better class of comedian than the TV viewing public are ever exposed to. Given the BBC’s shamefully passé taste of late (Mrs Brown’s Boys), it is a small miracle something unashamedly cerebral has made it onto the box at all.
His preoccupation with form is comparable only to the innovations of the jazz pioneers and visionaries that play throughout the intervals of the show. He is so adept at pulling apart the fabric of his comedy, breaking and folding, repeating and cultivating seat-twisting tension. It is jazz-comedy in a very pure, experimental way.
“Miles Davis has arrived”, it’s true, and he said it himself.
Before Stewart Lee starts his three hour set he issues a warning to any mobile phone users: if he sees anyone taking photos or texting he will “smash the phone with the microphone stand, then wank on it, and then take it to the backstage toilets and shit on it too”. He needn’t bother, though. He’s playing a home crowd; there’s no danger anyone’s going to miss a word. In many ways a three-hour Stewart Lee gig at the Royal Festival Hall is a middle class comedy fan’s cummy sleep-wank heaven. This was not lost on Lee. He attacked the venue’s patrons immediately, calling the audience at the Southbank Centre “Guardian reading cunts”. It was the first in a long line of many shrewd, apt and hilarious put downs throughout the night. Looking slimmer of waist and less red of face, he looked healthy, seeming to move with more energy across the tastefully lit, bare stage. My concerns about the RFH being too large for Stew’s muttered performances were unfounded. As much as he’d like you to think he doesn’t know how to do a huge room he does – the 2,500 seat venue quaked with laughter throughout, the jokes travelling from front to back. He employed a tactic familiar to his fans, dividing the room up based on how skilled, liberal and discerning they were. I was on the slow side of the room (the majority) and he expertly played to those seated behind him, turning them into High Command coven of Stewart Lee elites. He seemed a man utterly relaxed within his craft. Stew, who I do not know well enough to address with such informality, played throughout the night with the crowd’s expectations. A joke about your inner-tabloid-voice became an extended schizophrenic running gag; sabotaging his measured...
Stewart Lee has been walking a fine line for 35 years. One of the stalwarts of the alternative comedy scene, he cut his teeth writing early material for Steve Coogan’s world-class Alan Partridge, creating a long radio and TV run with Richard Herring (A Bit of Lee and Herring), deconstructing his own material to the nth degree (with Chris Morris) in Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, and co-writing Jerry Springer: The Opera. A career in stand up has run through all this, including classic shows such as Carpet Remnant World and 41st Best Stand Up Ever. Lee is also one of the longest-running consistent performers at the Edinburgh Festival.
Content Provider continues his run of very successful one-man national shows. The Dome looked sold out on the Thursday night of his four-night residency, and he started with a typical brief for a Lee gig: the exploration of ‘atomised man in the era of digital consumerism’ with reference to Caspar David Friedrich’s painting ‘Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog’. Here I refer to the ‘fine line’ above: how to extract the Michael out of his own intelligence, material and audience with a mixture of vitriol and irony. Luckily, it’s something he excels at.
He manages to derail very quickly into Brexit and the American presidential vote (and I’m not sure he didn’t have a plant in the audience for this), which certainly can be construed as vehicles for alternative comedy material, and fair game for the leftist multitudes who are Lee’s bread and butter punters. Classic Lee material follows, with forays into self-congratulation, his attitude toward post-Brexit fallout and a great routine on ‘the metropolitan liberal elite’.
What seemed to be missing from this show is the 20-odd minute set pieces that Lee seems to pull off so well: maybe he just wants a change, and maybe it’s just us, but we did miss the huge trademark forays into such subjects as the state of the jungle canyon rope bridges in Scooby-Doo, pear cider that’s made from hundred per cent pears, or scathing deconstructions of Top Gear. This was much more fragmented material, and for our tastes not quite as strong as the some of the previous shows.
Still, there was plenty to get your teeth into, including an ironic take on old school bondage (“if your nan and grandad wanted to use a bridle, they had to make one out of vines”), and selling his own DVDs in the lobby after the show, via his usual swipes at the Michael McIntyres and Lee Macks of this world. He definitely makes a semi-serious point about the inherent narcissism and commodification of beauty, art and lifestyle, and rounds it off with a cracking sight gag based on the Friedrich painting.
Although this might not have been one of his classic shows, Lee’s a trooper, and we hope he continues to tread the boards in his own inimitable way.
Stewart Lee, Brighton Dome, Thursday 23rd February 2017
Words by Sam Moffett
Photo by Idil Sukan
Stewart Lee
2017-03-07T20:45:24+00:00
Stewart Lee has been walking a fine line for 35 years. One of the stalwarts of the alternative comedy scene, he cut his teeth writing early material for Steve Coogan’s world-class Alan Partridge, creating a long radio and TV run with Richard Herring (A Bit of Lee and Herring), deconstructing his own material to the nth degree (with Chris Morris) in Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, and co-writing Jerry Springer: The Opera. A career in stand up has run through all this, including classic shows such as Carpet Remnant World and 41st Best Stand Up Ever. Lee is also one of the longest-running consistent performers at the Edinburgh Festival. Content Provider continues his run of very successful one-man national shows. The Dome looked sold out on the Thursday night of his four-night residency, and he started with a typical brief for a Lee gig: the exploration of ‘atomised man in the era of digital consumerism’ with reference to Caspar David Friedrich’s painting ‘Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog’. Here I refer to the ‘fine line’ above: how to extract the Michael out of his own intelligence, material and audience with a mixture of vitriol and irony. Luckily, it’s something he excels at. He manages to derail very quickly into Brexit and the American presidential vote (and I’m not sure he didn’t have a plant in the audience for this), which certainly can be construed as vehicles for alternative comedy material, and fair game for the leftist multitudes who are Lee’s bread and butter punters. Classic Lee material follows, with forays into self-congratulation, his attitude toward post-Brexit fallout and a great routine on ‘the metropolitan liberal elite’. What seemed to be missing from this show is the 20-odd minute set pieces that Lee seems to pull off so well: maybe he just...
Ah! The turning of the seasons! Once it was always early summer, as swifts swooped from gables, when the private limited company Restore Trust would announce the “anti-woke” candidates it hoped to parachute on to the National Trust board. As the elephant hawk-moths emerged in the simmer dim, Restore Trust would unveil would-be guardians of our heritage such as the evangelical Christian Stephen Green, who has supported the death penalty for some homosexuals in Uganda, and the pliable biographer Andrew Gimpson, who is even worse, having described Boris Johnson as “a statesman of astonishing political gifts… impelled by a deep love of his country and a determination to serve it to the uttermost of his powers”. I wouldn’t trust Gimpson with a single Jammie Dodger, let alone our national scones. Either way, Restore Trust’s declaration of war on the woke National Trust has become an annual event as comforting, in its own way, as the once reliable blooming of the daffodils. But suddenly, like that yellow splash of colour, it seems to happen earlier every year.
Nostalgia is an illness. But it always seemed important to my mother that the daffodils were out by my birthday in the first week of April. Perhaps, because my earliest birthdays were skewed by the uncertainties of orphanages and foster homes, it mattered to her that something as permanent as the daffodils, and by association the apparently endless cycle of seasons, should mark the anniversary of my arrival on your Earth. I still think of all daffodils as mine, and resent Wales’s cultural appropriation of my flower. Especially when it already has the leek, Dafydd ap Gwilym, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci and Pot Noodle’s “too gorgeous” Peter Baynham.
But this year, the daffodils are already emerging. And so is Restore Trust. But its annual cycles should not be affected by climate. The supposed grassroots pressure group is in fact a 55 Tufton Street-affiliated outfit, hiding in plain sight like the Jimmy Savile of scones and aiming to discredit the current National Trust board. Its former director Neil Record is a chief donor to 55 Tufton Street’s Global Warming Policy Foundation, part funded by a charity commemorating an American oil heiress, and which opposes many net zero environmental policies. It’s a small world. But I wouldn’t want to cool it.
Restore Trust places easily discredited news stories in the Daily Telegraph and the Times, and uses opaquely funded social media campaigns to try to strong-arm its preferred candidates on to the National Trust board. Mysteriously, company records show its funding has almost doubled in the accounts it filed this month. But the National Trust’s arcane constitution enables it to operate as a lone Asterix village-style holdout in a public sector that has seen the Tories place whichever go-to golems they like on to boards. At the BBC, it’s Robbie Gibb, shameless Maitlis-wrangler and former adviser to GB News.
And the Victoria and Albert Museum has benefited from the expertise of the former Restore Trust director Zewditu Gebreyohanes. She has also worked for the ExxonMobil-funded thinktank the Policy Exchange, one of the Tufton Street gang of organisations, and is now a senior researcher at the pro-Brexit Legatum Institute thinktank. Another arm of Legatum funds GB News, alongside the dad of the thick twat who banjoed for Mumford & Sons. I’m aware this gibberish sounds as if it’s designed to make anyone who’s noticed what’s happening look insane. Hold on to What You Believe!
But why does Restore Trust want to take over the National Trust? Apparently, it objects to tiny plaques explaining in very small writing that slave trade money may underpin some of our aristocracy’s enormous wealth. But cloaks of ideological concern often conceal naked avarice. Did the disgraced Brexit-backing hedge fund manager Crispin “the Crisp” Odey, who made an estimated £220m shorting the pound because of the negative financial impact of the Vote Leave victory, regularly ponder abstract notions of sovereignty? Maybe Restore Trust’s tentacular chthonic backers want to drive up the value of the scone stocks that capturing the National Trust would see them monopolise.
On Thursday 18 January, with unprecedented earliness, a calculatedly misleading Restore Trust advert appeared on social media announcing, innocuously: “If you love unspoilt historic houses, gardens and countryside you should be a member of the National Trust and use your vote to keep it unspoilt. Sign up at Restore Trust.” Was it a pre-emptive attempt to sabotage the National Trust elections? Or an example of data harvesting, like the Tories’ helpful online “tax calculator” that then gives them all your details, in an apparent breach of privacy rules? Only Restore Trust’s undisclosed backers know for sure.
The dishonest announcement was gone within days, and in turn an uncharacteristically clarified Keir Starmer called out the fabricated culture war on the National Trust, Britain’s most trusted public institution. On Tuesday, the dead-eyed Tory eugenics-fanboy Ben Bradley, who recommended vasectomies for workless families with several children in order to avoid a “vast sea of unemployed wasters”, described Starmer’s concerns as “vacuous nonsense”, before it was pointed out that he himself had previously described the National Trust as being “coloured by cultural Marxist dogma, colloquially known as the woke agenda”. The stupid worm’s cock.
National Trust staff have trees to pollard, paintings to restore and scones to bake. It doesn’t serve our nation’s interests for them to be relentlessly bullied by well-funded fake grassroots groups trying to force their place-people into positions of power. But the fact that the National Trust has, so far, been able to resist dark forces that in the end, I regret, will inevitably overwhelm it, has shone a light on how vulnerable other British institutions are to capture. It’s 11pm on Wednesday night now and the early daffodils are glowing outside my Cheltenham hotel window. They are earlier every year now. Like Tufton Street’s first fetid forays.
Stewart Lee
2024-01-28T20:10:18+00:00
Ah! The turning of the seasons! Once it was always early summer, as swifts swooped from gables, when the private limited company Restore Trust would announce the “anti-woke” candidates it hoped to parachute on to the National Trust board. As the elephant hawk-moths emerged in the simmer dim, Restore Trust would unveil would-be guardians of our heritage such as the evangelical Christian Stephen Green, who has supported the death penalty for some homosexuals in Uganda, and the pliable biographer Andrew Gimpson, who is even worse, having described Boris Johnson as “a statesman of astonishing political gifts… impelled by a deep love of his country and a determination to serve it to the uttermost of his powers”. I wouldn’t trust Gimpson with a single Jammie Dodger, let alone our national scones. Either way, Restore Trust’s declaration of war on the woke National Trust has become an annual event as comforting, in its own way, as the once reliable blooming of the daffodils. But suddenly, like that yellow splash of colour, it seems to happen earlier every year. Nostalgia is an illness. But it always seemed important to my mother that the daffodils were out by my birthday in the first week of April. Perhaps, because my earliest birthdays were skewed by the uncertainties of orphanages and foster homes, it mattered to her that something as permanent as the daffodils, and by association the apparently endless cycle of seasons, should mark the anniversary of my arrival on your Earth. I still think of all daffodils as mine, and resent Wales’s cultural appropriation of my flower. Especially when it already has the leek, Dafydd ap Gwilym, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci and Pot Noodle’s “too gorgeous” Peter Baynham. But this year, the daffodils are already emerging. And so is Restore Trust. But its annual cycles...
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...
YOU CAN PROVE ANYTHING WITH FACTS - IN T-SHIRT FORM !!!
Crime is down 14%, but only if you ignore Fraud, which has bloomed under lockdown, in which case it is up.
Boris Johnson didn’t attend any parties under lockdown, except all of the ones which he did attend under lockdown.
The vaccine could only be developed because we had left the EU, even though it was developed before we left the EU.
There has never been a time where the very nature of facts has been so in doubt.
There has never been a better time to own an ethically crafted Stewart Lee ‘You can prove anything with facts’ leisure garment.
There has never been a better time to celebrate in fabric a statement gifted to us by a furious taxi driver somewhere near Shepherd’s Bush in the Spring of 1999.
You can prove anything with facts, so order a You Can Prove Anything With Facts garment today!
Wear your bewilderment with pride!
Make a bold and yet vague statement of uncertainty!!
Tell the world in no uncertain terms that you are certain of nothing!!!
Other catchphrases are available
Wax-face have made them in black and a Navy / indigo blue version, on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer.
They cost £20 each and will start shipping from Tuesday 15th February 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. The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023 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
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.
March 2022
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
Wednesday 20th April 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - 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 - TICKETS
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 - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Sunday 12th June 2022 - Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple - TICKETS
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
KING ROCKER DVD/SCREENINGS
Our critically acclaimed doc KING ROCKER is available on DVD, and the s/track is out on various formats too.
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, David Olusoga, Ahir Shah, Garrett Millerillerick, Tim’s Twitter Party, Ardman Animatronics, Clangers, and Delia Derbyshire O’Day
Deer Shed (29th - 31st July https://www.deershedfestival.com) w Dry Cleaners, Billy NoMates, Treeboy & Archie, Yard Actors, Snapped Angles, The Love Eggs, and David O’Doherty
6. SAVE THE WYE
I love the Wye. Let’s save this brilliant river from human foulness.
OXIDE GHOSTS: THE BRASS EYE TAPES + Q&A JAN 29TH - MARCH 5TH
I will be hosting the Crouch End screening of this March 21st
To celebrate the 25th anniversary of Brass Eye, a rare opportunity to see Michael Cumming’s cult film Oxide Ghosts, which will only ever be screened at these live events.
January 29th – March 5th are important dates for the director Michael Cumming and for television history. Twenty-five years ago, in 1997, that six-week period saw the transmission of Chris Morris’ groundbreaking and controversial comedy series, Brass Eye.
Directed by Michael, Brass Eye was the start of a career that saw him go on to work with a veritable who’s who of comedy talent: Stewart Lee, Matt Berry, Mark Thomas, Jo Brand, David Walliams, Matt Lucas, Sir Lenny Henry, Rashida Jones, Omid Djalili, Mark Steel, Doon Mackichan, Sanjeev Bhaskar, Jon Hamm & Larry David to name but a few
Michael is still directing cutting edge work. His latest series - Toast Of Tinseltown - aired on BBC2 during January & February 2022, to both critical acclaim and Twitter trending.
Made from hundreds of hours of unseen and behind the scenes footage from his personal archive, Oxide Ghosts shares insights into the process of making the legendary TV series Brass Eye. Michael directed the series and both pilots and, over a two-year period, witnessed the highs and lows from a very personal perspective. The film carries the blessing of Chris Morris and provides a unique glimpse of his extraordinary working practices.
At these special 25th anniversary shows, in his introductions and post film Q&As, Michael both builds and shatters Brass Eye myths.
This event is a must for fans of the series but will appeal to anyone with a curiosity about how great comedy is made.
Michael Cumming is a director & filmmaker whose back catalogue - aside from Brass Eye - contains such gems as The Mark Thomas Product, Snuff Box, Mark Steel Lectures, Lucas & Walliams in Rock Profile, Matt Berry’s BAFTA winning sitcom, Toast Of London and its follow up, Toast Of Tinseltown and, with Stewart Lee, the critically acclaimed, break-out music film of 2021, King Rocker.
‘Oxide Ghosts offers a well-judged and very rare insight into (Brass Eye’s) making, encapsulating the fun and covert excitement that went on while the project was still under wraps, before all the legal wrangling kicked in. If you're an admirer of the show and the opportunity should arise for you to see Oxide Ghosts, have some self re-cocking-spect and do so without hesitation' – Andy Murray, Chortle
Produced & directed: Michael Cumming. 2017.
Featuring: Chris Morris, Ted Maul, David Jatt, Austin Taseltine. Event duration: 100mins approximately.
Intro: 10 min + Film 60 min + Q&A 30 min (approx.)
MARCH
2ND Lancaster Dukes,
3rd Kendal Brewery,
5th Glasgow Stand,
6th Edinburgh Cameo,
7th Leeds Hyde Park Picturehouse,
8th Newcastle Stand,
9th York City Screen,
10th M’cr Chapeltown Picture House,
11th Liverpool FACT,
12th Bangor Pontio,
14th Birmingham MAC,
15th Wolverhampton Lighthouse,
16th Halifax Square Chapel,
17th Wigan Old Courts,
18th Derby Quad,
19th Oxford Phoenix,
20th London Gate,
21st London Crouch End Picture House,
22nd London Chiswick cinema,
23rd TBC,
24th TBC,
25th Southampton Harbour Lights,
26th Brighton Duke Of Yorks,
27th Worthing Connaught,
28th Cambridge Arts Picturehouse,
29th London Fulham Rd Picturehouse,
30th London Finsbury Park Picturehouse,
31st London Hackney Picturehouse, APRIL 1st London Brixton Ritzy
STEW SAYS - ‘I have attended Michael’s Oxide Ghosts screenings and it is a brilliant and hilarious art/comedy experience. The film can never be seen anywhere except at these screeingings which makes the whole evening very special.’
Echo & The Bunnymen Scally psych-survivors APRIL 6TH Bexhill De La Ware (I just saw them in London. It was superb!!!)
The Bohman Brothers Various outgrowths of the fabulous surreal sound-artists The Bohman Brothers are suddenly active. You must see them at least once in your life. BOHMAN BROTHERS March 4th Nottingham Rammel Club, 5th M’cr Anthony Burgess Foundation, April 29th Reading Rising Sun Arts. SECLUDED BRONTE March 20th Rotterdam ?, 26th Amsterdam OCCII, 27th Rotterdam Worm, April 19th Zurich Institut, 20th Geneva Café 12, 21st Paris Les Instants Chavires, 22nd Brussels Les Ateliers Claus, 23rd tba, 25th Café Oto London. MORPHOGENESIS - ORIGINAL LINE-UP OF ART NOISE LEGENDS June 12th Café Oto London
Stiff Little Fingers Still impossibly inspiring NI punk survivors MARCH 10th Bristol Academy, 11th Cardiff SU, 12th B’ham Academy, 14th Nottingham Rock City, 16th Troon Hall, 17th Glasgow Barrowlands, 18th Newcastle City Hall, 19th Leeds Academy, 21st Northampton Roadmender, 24th Bournemouth Academy, 25th M’cr Academy, 26th Camden Roundhouse AUGUST 4th Blackpool Rebellion, OCTOBER 1st- 2nd Sheffield Academy
Robyn Hitchcock Psychedelic surrealist MARCH 17th Cambridge Storey’s Field, 19th London QEH, 20th Leeds Brudenell, 22nd M’cr Night & Day
Doug Stanhope As all serious fans of stand-up know, the American iteration of the artform is currently lagging somewhat compared to the manifestations produced in other English speaking territories, but the mighty Doug Stanhope - the desert compound king of crudely eloquent despair - is an exception. A reformed Libertarian with a compelling stage presence, Stanhope is one of those rare comedians with the skills and talent to make you laugh, against your will, on his terms, whether you agree with his worldview or not. MARCH 24th Glasgow Academy, 25th Newcastle City Hall, 26th Sheffield Academy, 27th Leeds Academy, 30th Birmingham Academy, APRIL 1st M’cr Apollo, 3rd London T&C.
Melt Banana Endlessly inspiring Japanese pop-art-noiseniks MARCH 31st Margate Elsewhere, APRIL 1st Reading South Street, 6th Cambridge Portland Arms, 9th Huddersfield Parish, 12th Edinburgh Caves, 13th Glasgow Stereo, 14th York Crescent, 17th Bristol Exchange, 18th Cardiff Ifor Bach, 22nd Brighton Patterns
Alex Winter London Prince Charles Cinema 31st March - April 3rd. A series of events featuring live contributions from Bill & Ted star, Death Wish III actor and innovative director Alex Winter. I met Alex over 30 years ago on a chat show when he was promoting his deeply eccentric film FREAKED and he was a sincere and talented man, ploughing his own furrow.
Wet Leg Sure to be briefly massive, these waspish Amish-styled Boston-indie-circa-1989-sounding barnstormers hit the road APRIL 17th Edinburgh Mash, 19th Leeds Brudenell, 20th M’cr Gorilla, 21st Bristol Trinity, 23rd B’ham Institute 3, 24th Norwich Arts, 26th London Scala, 27th Southsea Wedgewood, MAY 28th Warrington Weekender
The Nightingales Birmingham post-punk leg-ends and stars of KING ROCKER in their biggest ever tour and their biggest ever venues APRIL 19th Glasgow Cathouse, 20th Liverpool Cavern, 23rd M’cr Deaf Institute, 24th Leeds Key, 26th Norwich Epic, 27th Oxford Academy, 29th Brighton Patterns, 30th Birmingham Academy, MAY 2nd Bristol Thekla, 3rd London Garage, 5th Leek Foxlowe Arts, 7th Nottingham Bodega
Red Guitars Reunited 80’s politicised Hull post-punks w afropop inflections in original line-up configuration. APRIL 19th Leeds Old Woollen, 21st M’cr Night & Day, 22nd Glasgow Attic, 22nd Hull Adelphi, 23rd Brighton Green Door, 29th London 100 Club, 30th Birmingham Institute
Maria Bamford As all serious fans of stand-up know, the American iteration of the artform is currently lagging somewhat compared to the manifestations produced in other English speaking territories, but the mighty Maria Bamford - the Empress of Embarrassment - can hold her own against the best British, Irish and Antipodean acts, and she has an utterly unique comic persona, a kind of crippling bafflement. She is making some rare - and typically modest - British and Irish appearances. APRIL 21st Dublin Liberty Hall, 25th Glasgow Glee, 27th Birmingham Glee, 28th M'cr Academy, 30th London Hackney Earth
Low Mormon minimalists APRIL 25th Edinburgh Queen’s Hall, 26th Dublin Vicar St, 27th M’cr Cathedral, 28th Brighton St George’s, 29th London St John At Hackney, 30th Bristol Trinity
Bridget Christie - Who Am I? Woke comedienne. APRIL 26th - 30th, Leicester Sq Theatre London.
Flamin’ Groovies - You must see these superb ‘70s American Stones/Byrds/Beatles styled survivors. MAY 3rd York Cowgirl, 4th Newcastle Cluny, 6th Glasgow Room 2, 7th London 100 Club
Peter Case performed the original version of Hangin’ On The Telephone with The Nerves, perfected powerpop with The Plimsouls, and then invented Americana as we know it as a solo artist in the ‘80s. Today he looks and sounds like some ‘60s Greenwich village blues-folk legend and is touring the UK with the country-punk-bluegrassman and former Long Ryder Sid Griffin. MAY 27th London Water Rats, 29th High Wycombe Kingsmead House, 30th Hambrook Village Hall, JUNE 1ST Leytonstone Ex-Servicemen’s Club, 2nd Birmingham Kitchen Garden cafe.
8. 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 stringbender (1937)
Stewart Lee
2022-03-03T13:54:05+00:00
YOU CAN PROVE ANYTHING WITH FACTS - IN T-SHIRT FORM !!! Crime is down 14%, but only if you ignore Fraud, which has bloomed under lockdown, in which case it is up. Boris Johnson didn’t attend any parties under lockdown, except all of the ones which he did attend under lockdown. The vaccine could only be developed because we had left the EU, even though it was developed before we left the EU. There has never been a time where the very nature of facts has been so in doubt. There has never been a better time to own an ethically crafted Stewart Lee ‘You can prove anything with facts’ leisure garment. There has never been a better time to celebrate in fabric a statement gifted to us by a furious taxi driver somewhere near Shepherd’s Bush in the Spring of 1999. You can prove anything with facts, so order a You Can Prove Anything With Facts garment today! Wear your bewilderment with pride! Make a bold and yet vague statement of uncertainty!! Tell the world in no uncertain terms that you are certain of nothing!!! Other catchphrases are available Wax-face have made them in black and a Navy / indigo blue version, on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20 each and will start shipping from Tuesday 15th February 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. FACTS - Pink / Blue FACTS - Green / Blue FACTS - Green / Black Content Provider Blue / Yellow Hoodie Content Provider Black / Red Hoodie Cheeses Blue / Yellow Hoodie Cheeses Black / Silver Hoodie Face...
Before The Fall is a superbly sequenced selection of rock and roll, vanilla soul, reggae, garage, country, psychedelia, prog and novelty nostalgia, each track having once been covered by Manchester's art rock survivors The Fall.
Approach in ignorance and emerge thoroughly educated by The Fall's front-man Mark E Smith, whose ears, though famously waxy, remain psychically alert to rock's alternate timeline of forgotten classics. Journey from Gene Vincent's Rolling Danny to Wanda Jackson's Funnel of Love via The Kinks, Lee Perry, Captain Beefheart, Henry Cow, Pete Seeger and Sister Sledge in a life-affirming, twenty four step programme of cultural detoxification.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-13T22:04:55+00:00
Before The Fall is a superbly sequenced selection of rock and roll, vanilla soul, reggae, garage, country, psychedelia, prog and novelty nostalgia, each track having once been covered by Manchester's art rock survivors The Fall. Approach in ignorance and emerge thoroughly educated by The Fall's front-man Mark E Smith, whose ears, though famously waxy, remain psychically alert to rock's alternate timeline of forgotten classics. Journey from Gene Vincent's Rolling Danny to Wanda Jackson's Funnel of Love via The Kinks, Lee Perry, Captain Beefheart, Henry Cow, Pete Seeger and Sister Sledge in a life-affirming, twenty four step programme of cultural detoxification.
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,...
AMONG the customary luvvie banter, there came in The Reunion (Radio 4, Sunday) a significant revelation. Kirsty Wark was hosting the writers and cast of Jerry Springer: The opera, the show which, in the early 2000s, progressed rapidly from Battersea to Edinburgh to the National Theatre, found more than a million viewers on BBC2, and from there went on tour, pursued by crowds of protesters. The revelation was not that the participants were surprised by the fury of their opponents — though they might have anticipated some push-back when a show notorious for its depiction of Christian figures was rewarded with licence-payer funds; rather, it was that Jerry Springer himself — who had always publicly praised the show — was secretly incensed.
One of the co-writers, Stewart Lee, told the story. Springer visited the show in Edinburgh and was delighted by the first half. But, with Act Two, when the action moves to a cartoonish Hell, a message emerges which Springer found deeply insulting. As one lyric has it, “Nothing is wrong, nothing is right.” The moral relativism, Springer declared, was tantamount to Holocaust denial.
The anecdote passed without further reference by Ms Wark’s guests; nor did Mr Lee, in the course of a lengthy vilification of his Christian critics (which included a riff on the involvement of Tufton Street lobbyists), find the opportunity to address this most damning of accusations. It is one thing to bat away those faith-affiliated protesters: “nice people” who had all apparently been manipulated by Stephen Green and Christian Voice. In an ironic twist, the threat to freedom of speech posed by Mr Green and others backfired, and led to the abolition of the Blasphemy Act. But the objection raised by the show’s real-life hero deserves more respect.
Stewart Lee
2023-08-18T14:22:33+01:00
AMONG the customary luvvie banter, there came in The Reunion (Radio 4, Sunday) a significant revelation. Kirsty Wark was hosting the writers and cast of Jerry Springer: The opera, the show which, in the early 2000s, progressed rapidly from Battersea to Edinburgh to the National Theatre, found more than a million viewers on BBC2, and from there went on tour, pursued by crowds of protesters. The revelation was not that the participants were surprised by the fury of their opponents — though they might have anticipated some push-back when a show notorious for its depiction of Christian figures was rewarded with licence-payer funds; rather, it was that Jerry Springer himself — who had always publicly praised the show — was secretly incensed. One of the co-writers, Stewart Lee, told the story. Springer visited the show in Edinburgh and was delighted by the first half. But, with Act Two, when the action moves to a cartoonish Hell, a message emerges which Springer found deeply insulting. As one lyric has it, “Nothing is wrong, nothing is right.” The moral relativism, Springer declared, was tantamount to Holocaust denial. The anecdote passed without further reference by Ms Wark’s guests; nor did Mr Lee, in the course of a lengthy vilification of his Christian critics (which included a riff on the involvement of Tufton Street lobbyists), find the opportunity to address this most damning of accusations. It is one thing to bat away those faith-affiliated protesters: “nice people” who had all apparently been manipulated by Stephen Green and Christian Voice. In an ironic twist, the threat to freedom of speech posed by Mr Green and others backfired, and led to the abolition of the Blasphemy Act. But the objection raised by the show’s real-life hero deserves more respect.
To search for contemporary queens of comedy you need look no further than performers like Victoria Wood, French and Saunders and, of course, the 'slimline' Jo Brand. But they follow in the footsteps of some quite special comic ladies, a number of them still raising a laugh today.
The Comediennes (R2, from Thursday, January 19) is a series celebrating the lives of such performers, with archive material which includes interviews and memories of classic sketches.
The first programme focused on Irene Handl, and dealt with her memorable portrayals of cockney characters, as well her work with artists like Peter Sellers.
It was an interesting half hour, though I felt the formula was a little haphazard and unsatisfying. However, there was a vast improvement in the second instalment when the spotlight was turned on Hattie Jacques. Male, funny and considerably more modern, Lee and Herring are currently causing hilarious havoc on Radio 1 (from Monday, January 9).
This is no ordinary hour of music and chat - in fact Stewart and Richard appear to select records either for their bizarre content or so that they can deliberately label them worthless.
My favourite bits were the outrageous tribute band competition, hapless Peter Baynham's lifestyle tips and the alternative parable.
It had me laughing out loud.
Stewart Lee
1995-02-02T21:35:03+00:00
To search for contemporary queens of comedy you need look no further than performers like Victoria Wood, French and Saunders and, of course, the 'slimline' Jo Brand. But they follow in the footsteps of some quite special comic ladies, a number of them still raising a laugh today. The Comediennes (R2, from Thursday, January 19) is a series celebrating the lives of such performers, with archive material which includes interviews and memories of classic sketches. The first programme focused on Irene Handl, and dealt with her memorable portrayals of cockney characters, as well her work with artists like Peter Sellers. It was an interesting half hour, though I felt the formula was a little haphazard and unsatisfying. However, there was a vast improvement in the second instalment when the spotlight was turned on Hattie Jacques. Male, funny and considerably more modern, Lee and Herring are currently causing hilarious havoc on Radio 1 (from Monday, January 9). This is no ordinary hour of music and chat - in fact Stewart and Richard appear to select records either for their bizarre content or so that they can deliberately label them worthless. My favourite bits were the outrageous tribute band competition, hapless Peter Baynham's lifestyle tips and the alternative parable. It had me laughing out loud.
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...
'But, right, the thing about Riot Grrl is that, like, they didn’t know what it was at the time. It was proto-Riot Grrrl. It’s, like, punk for women, like, proto-punk.'
There’s a guy behind me in the queue for the chip shop. He must be about 20, long hair, kind-of posh sounding. He beat-boxes under his breath, and he’s mansplaining Riot Grrl to his girlfriend. Badly. At one point he refers to her mates as 'norms' because they go clubbing. I fucking hate him. To be honest I fucking hate both of them, privileged art-student types talking about why the Rocky Horror Picture Show is too mainstream to be a cult film, and whether The Raincoats are a punk band or not. I hate them. I want to punch the boy one in the face. And because I’m pretty sure he is exactly what I was like 15 years ago, only less well spoken, I hate myself as well. I hate myself for being so judgey, and for having such an instinctive chip on my shoulder about privilege, for the fact I’m pretty sure I was that kid once. I hate myself now, I hate the version of myself then, and I fucking hate this kid behind me. I’m in a 40-minute queue for a chip shop, and I hate that too. It’s one of only two places to buy hot food on site, and it’s not even a real chip shop, the chips are frozen, the sausages and chicken legs in the heated counter are shrivelled and burnt. They ran out of fish hours ago. I hate this. And because I’m aware how much of a snob that makes me, I hate myself for hating it.
And that is the pervading mood of Stewart Lee’s ATP. It’s not just me. This is a mardy-arse event, everyone seems grumpy. It’s awkwardly male, astonishingly stroppy. And, well, that’s kind of perfect, isn’t it? Lee is a grumpy man, at least on stage (he’s very affable if you catch him off-stage), he’s booked a lot of other grumpy men: The Fall,, Sleaford Mods, and 13th Floor Elevators frontman Roky Erikson. Famously grumpy men Ted Chippington and John Cale haven’t even turned up. That’s how grumpy they are.
People are bitching a lot - about the facilities, about the scheduling changes, the cancellations, the poor organisation, the 'slippery cunt' who runs the ATP brand (I hear this constantly, especially when I talk to bands) the fact that it’s virtually impossible to get into any of the decent comedy events because the rooms are so small. Anything really. Just to have a moan. It’s like everyone is taking part in some sort of gigantic performance art piece. Which, when you think about it, is actually a very Stewart Lee idea. I start to suspect he’s done it on purpose.
It’s a theory born out by the setting - Pontins Prestatyn is bloody awful. None of the bars take cards but the only two cash machines on site are constantly out of order. There’s chips with everything, but they’re not very nice. By Sunday morning there’s no bog roll in any of the gents loos, which is a cruel trick to play on people sharing chalets. Speaking of chalets, you may have paid for the room, but it turns out you’ve not paid for the electricity - that has to be bought separately. The more of this you encounter the funnier it gets. This is a dour, indie version of Hi-De-Hi!, with Paul Shane replaced by Mark E Smith, and Su Pollard played by Josie Long.
I spent my childhood summers going to places like this; cheaper than Butlins, one up from going camping, and I remember always loving it. So what’s wrong with me? When did I become such a wanker? When did I start missing craft ales and decent coffee? When did I start caring that the girl in Java Cafe made my latte with scorching hot milk, burning the coffee and making it undrinkable? WHY DO I CARE? I start to add another layer of self loathing into the cycle of mardy-bum whingeing. I am a wanker. Stewart Lee has made feel like a wanker. Fuck. That is actually genius.
All the petulant misery, all the moaning, all the self-loathing - it’s perfect. It’s the best possible way to frame the astonishingly good set of bands Lee, and whichever 'slippery cunt' books these things, has put together. When you see The Fall burning faces off and baffling with equal measure, with Mark E Smith opening the show by telling someone in the wings to “get fucked”, it makes sense. When you see Datblygu ranting in Welsh it means every bit as much as Sleaford Mods’ ranting in English, despite not understanding a word, and The Raincoats' grudging acceptance of the disappointment and tedium of the female experience actually works better in this environment than the focussed anger of the bands they inspired.
If the atmosphere of navel gazing petulance frames the grumpy contingent, it makes the detonations of real joy that pepper the weekend feel five times as exhilarating. It’s why the quietly angry, but always exuberant Josie Long is as sensible a piece of scheduling as The Fall. It’s why Blue Aeroplanes’ funky-dancing proper-indie, and Trash Kit’s sulky, twitchy, post-punk feel so irresistible. Why Shonen Knife were very nearly the best thing at the whole weekend. It’s why Charlotte Church completely owned Saturday night.
Charlotte Church deserves her own paragraph here. Fuck, she deserves her own article. I could write a novel about that performance. No-one is quite sure what to expect from this, she’s billed as ‘Charlotte Church’s Late Night Pop Dungeon’, and the general expectation is a DJ set of pop bangers, and a nice come down from a full day of creased brows and self-loathing. It isn’t a DJ set. It’s so much better. She’s put together a faultless band and learned a set of idiosyncratic covers, opening with the flashback music from Twin Peaks (she can still sing classical!) before - WHAT THE FUCK - doing Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Closer’, Bowie’s ‘Girl Loves Me’, Sugababes’ ‘Overload’, En Vogue, Basement Jaxx, Neutral Milk Hotel, Super Furry Animals… it goes on, and it is amazing. We’d spent two days being unceasingly annoyed: the glitter-bomb release was orgasmic.
You can pick a ton of holes in this ATP weekend (and everyone did), but when you step outside of the experience, when you appreciate it as a whole, when you remember Dutch Anarcho-punks The Ex’s astonishing saturday-night face-melter, or the irrepressible joy of Shonen Knife on Friday, or The Bell Rays' force-of-nature rock n’ soul party, it’s a hard misery-guts that doesn’t admit to an exhilarating time.
I don’t think Stewart Lee planned to aggravate his guests to the extent they’d force themselves into their own situationist art prank. I’d like to believe he did, but it’s unlikely. Instead the melting pot of farce, coincidence, anger and joy created that all by itself. A perfect storm. A unique alchemical reaction. We loved, we hated and, fucking hell, we moaned, but we also partied and came away richer for it. Well played, ATP. Well played.
Photo by Callum Barton
Stewart Lee
2016-04-18T12:38:33+01:00
'But, right, the thing about Riot Grrl is that, like, they didn’t know what it was at the time. It was proto-Riot Grrrl. It’s, like, punk for women, like, proto-punk.' There’s a guy behind me in the queue for the chip shop. He must be about 20, long hair, kind-of posh sounding. He beat-boxes under his breath, and he’s mansplaining Riot Grrl to his girlfriend. Badly. At one point he refers to her mates as 'norms' because they go clubbing. I fucking hate him. To be honest I fucking hate both of them, privileged art-student types talking about why the Rocky Horror Picture Show is too mainstream to be a cult film, and whether The Raincoats are a punk band or not. I hate them. I want to punch the boy one in the face. And because I’m pretty sure he is exactly what I was like 15 years ago, only less well spoken, I hate myself as well. I hate myself for being so judgey, and for having such an instinctive chip on my shoulder about privilege, for the fact I’m pretty sure I was that kid once. I hate myself now, I hate the version of myself then, and I fucking hate this kid behind me. I’m in a 40-minute queue for a chip shop, and I hate that too. It’s one of only two places to buy hot food on site, and it’s not even a real chip shop, the chips are frozen, the sausages and chicken legs in the heated counter are shrivelled and burnt. They ran out of fish hours ago. I hate this. And because I’m aware how much of a snob that makes me, I hate myself for hating it. And that is the pervading mood of Stewart Lee’s ATP. It’s not just...
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...
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...
An owl wakes adrift at sea in a curiously coloured boat accompanied by a cat, its natural predator. There's some cash lying around in the hull as well as a small guitar and, rather disturbingly, some honey. And you may ask yourself: 'Well... how did I get here?'
At least, that's what Stewart Lee would do. Having temporarily lost his Herring, he's obviously had time on his hands to watch a lot of TV (collaborating on Jerry Springer- The Opera), write a novel (The Perfect Fool) and, perhaps most importantly of all, ponder Edward Lear's classic nonsense rhyme 'The Owl And The Pussycat' and taken it on a journey of its own.
Using the multimedia approach (slides, music and, er, some water), Lee has been commissioned by his Springer collaborators, the Battersea Arts Centre, to ask all the important questions: was this just an exercise in meaningless poetic whimsy or something more sinister than that (strange naval experiments are darkly hinted at)? And just what is a 'runcible spoon'?
Find out now.
Stewart Lee
2002-08-15T22:59:22+01:00
An owl wakes adrift at sea in a curiously coloured boat accompanied by a cat, its natural predator. There's some cash lying around in the hull as well as a small guitar and, rather disturbingly, some honey. And you may ask yourself: 'Well... how did I get here?' At least, that's what Stewart Lee would do. Having temporarily lost his Herring, he's obviously had time on his hands to watch a lot of TV (collaborating on Jerry Springer- The Opera), write a novel (The Perfect Fool) and, perhaps most importantly of all, ponder Edward Lear's classic nonsense rhyme 'The Owl And The Pussycat' and taken it on a journey of its own. Using the multimedia approach (slides, music and, er, some water), Lee has been commissioned by his Springer collaborators, the Battersea Arts Centre, to ask all the important questions: was this just an exercise in meaningless poetic whimsy or something more sinister than that (strange naval experiments are darkly hinted at)? And just what is a 'runcible spoon'? Find out now.
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...
Who were your main comedy influences growing up?
As a little child I liked the Two Ronnies. My Mum took me to see them live in Coventry and I fell onto the floor laughing. As a teenager, the first wave of Alternative Comedy hit me like an enormous “yes!”. I saw Peter Richardson from Comic Strip Presents supporting Dexy’s Midnight Runners in 1981, Phil Jupitus when he was a poet opening for Billy Bragg, and Ted Chippington, a deadpan art-comic opening for The Fall in 1984. He changed my life and made me a stand-up.
Out in the provinces, away from London, you only saw these people opening for bands – there weren’t any comedy venues. On TV, though, The Young Ones blew my mind.
Is it more difficult now for working- class comedians to get a foothold?
It’s more difficult now for people without lots of money to do anything in the arts, as all the cracks you could thrive in have been filled in. Goodbye to squats, student grants, housing benefit, cheap accommodation. The sort of jobs you did while trying to be an artist are now unpaid internships, and education has been reduced, philosophically, to a customer/service provider transaction, so no one is encouraged to believe in the value of ideas for their own sake.
The burst of post-war talent that made Britain’s cultural reputation abroad in arts, music, comedy and film can never be repeated because ordinary people’s access to the means of communication and production has been blocked.
Why do you think society still makes jokes about hearing loss, but wouldn’t dream of doing so for any other disability?
I suppose because it isn’t as obviously awful as other disabilities, so a balancing act is done, ethically, in our heads, that justifies laughing at it. I’m deaf – and I think it’s funny.
Well, it’s one point of view... so what is your own experience of deafness? I went back to a venue in Australia in 2005 that I hadn’t played since 2000. I couldn’t hear the massive sound rush of laughter that I remembered the room generating before. So I thought I’d either got a lot worse, or I was going deaf.
In 2013, I met my real father for the first time. [Stewart was adopted as a baby.] The first thing I noticed was that he had a hearing aid. He told me all the men in the family go deaf.
I went for a check. They said I needed hearing aids. They also said the pattern showed it was genetic, not noise trauma, which is what I’d expected due to years of doing radio, noisy gigs, playing guitar, and listening to music.
The first thing I heard, after being fitted with the hearing aids, was my daughter shuffling her bottom on a plastic seat in the consultation room. I’d forgotten that fabric made sounds. The whole experience of hearing such detail continues to be amazing. And it’s transformed my live work. I don’t really know how I was working rooms before, other than second-guessing the responses from muscle memory, I suppose. God bless the NHS.
Have you ever used the fact of your own hearing loss in your comedy?
I talk about it in the current show and get my hearing aids out of my ears. I look forward to talking about it more.
Hearing loss can be very socially isolating – has this happened to you or do you worry it might in the future if your hearing gets worse?
I was worried mainly about working – but my hearing aids have given me confidence that I’ll be able to continue my live work for long enough to discharge my family and financial responsibilities and then die. I’m not bothered about being sociall cut off. I don’t really have any friends.
But you’re a big music fan – has hearing loss affected your appreciation of music at all?
No, I’ve just been turning things up. But I just found out that an album I love has cello all over it that I hadn’t heard before. And live, squeaky, low-key jazz improvisations sound better than ever.
What are the best – and worst – things about becoming as successful as you have?
The worst things are the invasion of privacy, the compromises in all your relationships with friends and family and other comics, the pressure to meet your own high standards, and the difficulty of juggling relationships and children with working away, and at night, 300 days a year or more.
The best things are not having to worry too much about money, and the satisfaction I get from the work.
Do you see yourself still doing what you do in years to come?
I’m going to do a new stand-up show every two years, and tour it as extensively as possible, until I’m too old, or too sick, to do so. I have no interest in anything else.
Do you prefer writing to performing or vice versa? The fourth series of your BBC show, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, has just aired – did you expect it to be such a hit?
I write the stand-up material and then I perform it – so they’re intertwined. But then I get to edit it, and improvise with it as I go along, so I much prefer this to purely written stuff.
I’ve tried to make the filming for the TV show essentially just the same as me performing. I don’t like filming things as such; I prefer live. I didn’t expect [the TV show] to ever be made. It has been allowed on by a string of coincidences and accidents.
Do you have any unfulfilled ambitions left?
No. I’d like to go to the Tewa village in New Mexico and see the clown ritual again, but this time with my kids. I’d also like to walk up a big mountain with them, before my knees go. I’d like to see Robert Pollard [American rock musician] play live again. But, really, nothing massive. Things have worked out beyond my wildest dreams. I envy me.
Stewart Lee
2016-04-01T00:37:51+01:00
Who were your main comedy influences growing up? As a little child I liked the Two Ronnies. My Mum took me to see them live in Coventry and I fell onto the floor laughing. As a teenager, the first wave of Alternative Comedy hit me like an enormous “yes!”. I saw Peter Richardson from Comic Strip Presents supporting Dexy’s Midnight Runners in 1981, Phil Jupitus when he was a poet opening for Billy Bragg, and Ted Chippington, a deadpan art-comic opening for The Fall in 1984. He changed my life and made me a stand-up. Out in the provinces, away from London, you only saw these people opening for bands – there weren’t any comedy venues. On TV, though, The Young Ones blew my mind. Is it more difficult now for working- class comedians to get a foothold? It’s more difficult now for people without lots of money to do anything in the arts, as all the cracks you could thrive in have been filled in. Goodbye to squats, student grants, housing benefit, cheap accommodation. The sort of jobs you did while trying to be an artist are now unpaid internships, and education has been reduced, philosophically, to a customer/service provider transaction, so no one is encouraged to believe in the value of ideas for their own sake. The burst of post-war talent that made Britain’s cultural reputation abroad in arts, music, comedy and film can never be repeated because ordinary people’s access to the means of communication and production has been blocked. Why do you think society still makes jokes about hearing loss, but wouldn’t dream of doing so for any other disability? I suppose because it isn’t as obviously awful as other disabilities, so a balancing act is done, ethically, in our heads, that justifies laughing at it....
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.
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;...
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.
I join a host of actual stars celebrating the life of comedian/musician Steve Brown at London’s Savoy Theatre this Monday 16th Sept. The line-up includes: Laura Mvula, Steve Coogan, Charlie Baker, Jenna Boyd, Alfie Brown , Lennie Brown, Rory Bremner, Rob Brydon, Tori Burgess, Sally Cheng, Jon Culshaw, Michael Fenton-Stevens, Scott Graham, Harry Hill, Martin Johnston, Marie Lawrence, Stewart Lee, Rachel Leskovac, Grayson Perry, Jan Raven, Howard Samuels, Nicola Sloan, Stranger Stranger, Rosie Strobel, Emma Jay Thomas, Paul Thornley, Jack Whittle.
They will be singing the songs of Steve Brown alongside The Matt Backer Big Band.
Lyricist and composer Steve Brown sadly passed away earlier this year; he had a stellar career. As a writer of musical theatre, he co-created (with Justin Greene) Spend, Spend,Spend(1998) – about the football pools winner Viv Nicholson. As a comedian, he worked closely with Rory Bremner, Harry Hill and Steve Coogan on TV shows and tours, most notably starring as the bandleader Glenn Ponder in the latter’s Alan Partridge talk showKnowing Me, Knowing You(1994).
Brown also produced acclaimed debut albums by the singer-songwriters Rumer and Laura Mvula. The latter was nominated in 2013 for the Mercury prize he also wrote the Wonky Donkey jingle for Ant and Dec’s SM:TV and played kazoo on Flux Of Pink Indians’ The Fucking Cunts Treat Us Like Pricks. Steve Brown and Harry Hill developed the 2014 X Factor musicalI Can’t Sing, produced by Simon Cowell. In 2022, their show about the New Labour years Tony! (The Tony Blair Rock Opera) took residence at the Park Theatre in North London and went on a regional tour.
Harry Hill said: ‘Steve wrote great songs for all of us, he made us all sound smarter and funnier than we ever were - and here we are, all together to celebrate what he gave us. It’s going to be brilliant.'
4) STEVE WYNN, WALTHAMSTOW TRADES, SEP 22ND 2PM
I will be interviewing the Dream Syndicate front man and solo artist Steve Wynn about his brilliant new book I Wouldn’t Say It If It Wasn’t True, and Steve will do a solo set.
5) SAMHAIN RITUAL, EARTH, HACKNEY, LONDON OCT 29TH
Weird Walk magazine presents Stewart Lee introducing wyrd musicians headlined by Daisy Rickman, 6pm Earth, Hackney, London. Tickets: https://thesamhainritual.eventbrite.com There may be Were-action, costume pending.
6) TALES OF THE WEIRD BRITISH LIBRARY NOV 2ND
I’m hosting an event with the novelists Daisy Johnson and Andrew Michael Hurley as part of this folk-horror lit fest at the British Library on Nov 2nd
Michael Cumming’s Oxide Ghosts, a blurred documentary about Chris Morris’ Brass Eye, is on the road again. Michael and I are both appearing at the 21st Nov event in Finsbury Park, London. Other dates, and other guests, are available
“Reviewing a new Stewart Lee show is the easiest work in the world if your audience already knows who Lee is and what he does. Then you just stand by the side of the road, maybe dressed in the uniform of the typical Stewart Lee fan (all London media-hipster-type denim waistcoat and caramel twill rollups, topped with a herringbone baker boy) and you point the traveller in the right direction (Basic Lee now streaming on Sky Comedy until 24th August).You can also reassure them and say it’s “more of the usual” and, in that smug way that all true fans of Lee are said to display, give them a knowing wink and say it’s fearsome stuff and blisteringly good.
But if your audience doesn’t know Lee, then the work becomes more difficult…
You begin by mumbling “Lee is kind of like… but nothing like…”
Daniel Kitson and Simon Munnery are widely cited as his main similarities but it’s also Tony Hancock’s pathos with a dash of Steve Martin’s eclectic brilliance; the misanthropy of George Carlin with a hint of Don Rickles willingness to jump off the stage and pick a fight. Then again, it’s nothing like that. Lee is uniquely Lee; the beats are familiar but the paths taken on his long rambles are entirely his own.
Basic Lee is Lee’s attempt to return to pure standup after some higher concept (and more expensive) shows, including his last (Snowflake/Tornado) which involved a large shark’s head. He presents an argument about the evolving nature of standup comedy, starting with the oldest material he’d written, and working his way to the present day. But that’s not really “the show”.
Skim the surface and you might describe the show as a series of encounters between Lee and his audience. What you don’t get are jokes or punchlines, or, certainly, not in the traditional sense. Jokes are there but delivered as if through a meat grinder. It’s up to you to pick the bones from the gristle.
The fun is in the asides, the digressions, and the continual baiting of the audience. “It’s like jazz,” says Lee at one point, adopting the voice of those insufferable types who constantly whine on about how watching Stewart Lee is like listening to jazz.
But it is like listening to jazz. He plays with motifs and form, and then, just in case you missed the influence, riffs on the history of jazz. We should only be thankful that he doesn’t break out a trombone and give us a 20-minute exploration of the Phrygian Minor scale (maybe on his next tour when he promises to adopt a Wolfman mask).
Gary Winogrand, the great(est) American street photographer, once said, “I photograph to find out what something will look like photographed”. With Lee, you sense he’s performing material to see what it looks like when performed as standup. He constantly talks about himself doing standup; reminding us that The Times once described him as “the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian”. He talks about the role he’s played in popularising long-form stand-up and delivers a particularly biting (but fair) verdict on Phoebe Waller Bridge’s breaking of the fourth wall in Fleabag. Yet Lee draws back how insufferably egotistical this would be by leaning into the insufferable character he’s playing.
This gives rise to the tension underlying the drama on stage; that of an artist trying to create art inside a genre unaccustomed to art and against an audience hostile to the entire venture. It’s tightly crafted, even as it often feels like it’s falling apart. At one point, he liberally takes the old Pagliacci joke, made most famous by its appearance in Alan Moore’s Watchman, and offers it as his own. It’s theft but I’m constantly reminded of Lewis Hyde’s seminal book on the nature of disruptive imagination, Trickster Makes This World. “Trickster isn’t a run-of-the mill liar and thief. When he lies and steals, it isn’t so much to get away with something or get rich as to disturb the established categories of truth and property and, by so doing, open the road to possible new worlds.”
At which point, I can hear Lee’s voice pointing out that only “another monotonous, passive-aggressive man” would reference a little-known book on anthropology to recommend a standup special.
But that’s just it. To love Lee’s work is to loathe yourself for enjoying comedy pulled apart so you can see how it’s done. I am that monotonous passive-aggressive man. Why the hell can’t I just enjoy jokes? Why can’t I just go see Tim Vine, like everybody else?
I saw “Basic Lee” four times on tour, proving (as if this needs proof) that I am that insufferable bore. I can explain why each one was so very different. I first saw it at the start of the run, in the Leicester Square Theatre in Soho. Lee had just broken his foot and hobbled around the stage with a large protective boot on his foot. He kept wincing in pain, which lent the show pathos. That night he thanked the audience for helping make it the best show of the run (to that point). I saw it again once again in Salford, and twice in Liverpool, including the show that Lee would claim to have been his worst.
From my place in the audience, ranging from the front row to almost the back row, the standard never dipped. Some nights, Lee extemporised more than he would on other nights, but it was never easy to spot which bits were new. “That bit normally doesn’t get a laugh,” he’ll say, though, of course, that bit always got a laugh.
The version of Basic Lee now showing on Sky Comedy is perhaps the purest distillation of the run’s material. It also adopts a few of his familiar tricks you might know from his TV series and other specials, especially the commentary he addresses straight to camera. It’s another of the things he does so well, creating a paratext to the main text; asides functioning like footnotes and adding another layer of abstraction to the entire proceeding.
And, still, none of that really explains Lee, which is why his comedy is worth return visits. Compared to many stand-ups who play familiar games (“blah, blah, rhythm of a joke” as Lee puts it), Lee deliberately places himself on the edge between success and failure. But even writing that is to borrow from Lee, who mocks those of us who point out that it’s best when it’s failing. But that’s why Stewart Lee remains a paradox. The closer you get to enjoying his work, the more he pushes you away; the more you loathe his work, the more he wants to draw you closer.
See if you’re on the inside or the outside of his comedy on Sky Comedy.”
9) 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
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 from the dark forests of North America 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, ("the world's greatest living stand-up comedian" The Times), is in danger of being left behind. He's approaching sixty with debilitating health conditions, his TV profile has diminished, and his once BAFTA award winning style of stand-up seems obsolete in the face of a wave of callous Netflix-endorsed comedy of anger, monetising the denigration of minorities for millions of dollars. But can Lee unleash his inner Man-Wulf to position himself alongside comedy legends like Dave Chapelle, Ricky Gervais and Jordan Peterson at the forefront of side-splitting stadium-stuffing shit-posting?
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
Wednesday 2nd April 2025 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield
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
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
September 2025
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
October 2025
Friday 17th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol
Saturday 18th October 2025 - Bristol Beacon, Bristol
10) WORK IN PROG DATES NEW SHOW
Small club dates of these seem to sell in a few hours as the venues announce them to their lists but I will be doing some ½ hrs of new material at various festivals and bigger gigs between now and Dec, and a small venue London run at the hidden gem of The Museum of Comedy, where you can see Little Titch’s actual amazing boots and marvel at a massive collection of jackets and hats belonging to various handsy comedians of the ‘60s and ‘70s, many now the subjects of criminal investigations.
In November I will be doing various new material shows at the Museum of Comedy in London.
Stewart’s 2019 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2023 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. Hopefully I can give them a physical release at some point.
12) CHARITY COOKBOOK
I did a charity performance of Pea Green Boat at the Belgrade Coventry this year for Leamington LAMP and the students put the money into the quality printing of a cookbook (in hardback). There’s a kitchen at the heart of the building and all the students and teachers cook for each other once a week and share recipes. They collected them and one student illustrated the book really beautifully. They are for sale for £15 - so they have re-invested the money into something fabulous that will continue to bring them some income.
I read Philip Larkin’s High Windows for the Philip Larkin Society. I’m also doing a podcast on Larkin’s jazz reviews later in the year.
14) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME HAPPENINGS
MELT BANANA Japanese art rock geniuses return. SEP 10th Carlisle Brickyard, 11th Edinburgh Mash House, 12th Glasgow Stereo, 17th Ipswich Baths, 24th Cardiff Globe. A must!!!
LLOYD COLE Solo tour by the godfather of arch introspective indie
SEPT
13th Guildford G Live,
14th Bury St Edmonds Apex,
16th B’ham Town Hall,
18th Shrewsbury Severn,
19th Lytham St Anne’s Lowther Pavillion,
21st Hamilton Town House,
22nd Greenock Beacon,
24th Whitley Bay Playhouse,
25th Ilkley King’s Hall,
26th Sheffield City Hall
CAROL VORDERMAN The Pepper Potts of pinko politics uses maths and memory to hold the world to account. 21st London QEH https://www.carolvordermanlive.com
ALFIE BROWN The very good stand-up comedian Alfie Brown tours his OPEN HEARTED HUMAN ENQUIRY show. alfiebrowncomedian.com
MARK RADCLIFFE AND MARC RILEY LIVE SEPT 26th Shepherd’s Bush Empire London NOV 3rd Shrewsbury Severn, 5th Crewe Lyceum, 10th Warrington Parr Hall.
MUDHONEY Grunge godheads still growling, SEPT 27th Brighton Concorde 1, 28th M’cr New Century, 29th Glasgow St Luke’s, OCT 1st Bristol Academy, 2nd London Electric Ballroom
LONG RYDERS Another final chance to see the resurrected and now seemingly immortal Alt Country Punk pioneers – like the Clash gone Nashville – The Long Ryders.
OCTOBER 10th Glasgow Oran Mor, 11th Birkenhead Future Yard, 13th M’cr Band On The Wall, 14th Nottingham Metronom2, 16th London 229, 18th St Leonards Piper
TIRZAH GARWOOD Beyond Ravilious, Dulwich Picture Gallery London, 19 November 2024–26 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.
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
15) 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 na Bóinne architect)
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)
Stewart Lee
2024-09-14T08:00:23+01:00
1) ROBYN HITCHCOCK AT EARTH THIS SATURDAY 14TH I am compering British psychedelic legend Robyn Hitchcock’s show at Earth in Hackney, London this Saturday September 14th, and doing a 30 min greatest hits set. https://earthackney.co.uk/events/robyn-hitchcock-14th-sep-earth-london-tickets-pwq7y/ 2) GLOUCESTER HISTORY FESTIVAL THIS SUNDAY 15TH https://www.gloucesterhistoryfestival.co.uk/events/stewart-lee-in-conversation/ I am in conversation with the Goth antiquarian Janina Ramirez this Sunday 15th 3) STEVE BROWN MEMORIAL NIGHT LONDON SAVOY THIS MONDAY SEPT 16TH https://www.thesavoytheatre.com/shows/why-we-love-steve-brown I join a host of actual stars celebrating the life of comedian/musician Steve Brown at London’s Savoy Theatre this Monday 16th Sept. The line-up includes: Laura Mvula, Steve Coogan, Charlie Baker, Jenna Boyd, Alfie Brown , Lennie Brown, Rory Bremner, Rob Brydon, Tori Burgess, Sally Cheng, Jon Culshaw, Michael Fenton-Stevens, Scott Graham, Harry Hill, Martin Johnston, Marie Lawrence, Stewart Lee, Rachel Leskovac, Grayson Perry, Jan Raven, Howard Samuels, Nicola Sloan, Stranger Stranger, Rosie Strobel, Emma Jay Thomas, Paul Thornley, Jack Whittle. They will be singing the songs of Steve Brown alongside The Matt Backer Big Band. Lyricist and composer Steve Brown sadly passed away earlier this year; he had a stellar career. As a writer of musical theatre, he co-created (with Justin Greene) Spend, Spend,Spend (1998) – about the football pools winner Viv Nicholson. As a comedian, he worked closely with Rory Bremner, Harry Hill and Steve Coogan on TV shows and tours, most notably starring as the bandleader Glenn Ponder in the latter’s Alan Partridge talk show Knowing Me, Knowing You (1994). Brown also produced acclaimed debut albums by the singer-songwriters Rumer and Laura Mvula. The latter was nominated in 2013 for the Mercury prize he also wrote the Wonky Donkey jingle for Ant and Dec’s SM:TV and played kazoo on Flux Of Pink Indians’ The Fucking Cunts Treat Us Like Pricks. Steve Brown and Harry Hill developed the 2014 X Factor musical I Can’t Sing, produced by Simon Cowell. In 2022, their show about the New Labour years Tony! (The Tony Blair Rock Opera) took residence at the Park...
I first saw Stewart Lee’s standup act in the early 2000s at the Hackney Empire, and have seen him several times since at venues in London and Edinburgh. Readers unfamiliar with the live Lee phenomenon may know of him through the hugely successful – and equally controversial – Jerry Springer – The Opera, which he co-wrote, or via the TV work he has done over the years, beginning with co-writing credits on Armando Iannucci’s On the Hour in the early 1990s. On Thursday the fourth series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle will begin on BBC2, and the new shows feature all of Lee’s trademark virtuosity – and his equally familiar self-evisceration. Shot as a live standup act at the Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington, where Lee plays to his home crowd (which he characterises as “politically correct, Guardian-reading terrorist sympathisers”), the shows consist of long, narrative-driven absurdist monologues, during which he deconstructs not just the warped problematic of contemporary Britain, but that of his own comic persona. On stage, Lee is apparently an embittered, envious, self-lacerating man, caught in a ferocious double-bind: if he’s unsuccessful it’s because his audience are stupid shits who don’t get his jokes; and if he’s successful it’s because he’s a stupid shit churning out jokes that confirm his audience in their prejudices. So convincing is this act – if indeed it is an act – that I became intrigued: was the “real” Lee quite as prickly as his performance persona? In order to find out I asked him over for a serious sit-down. Here are the results.
Stewart Lee and Will Self in Self's kitchen Photograph: David Bebber for the Guardian
WS: At the live show I saw, you said, “Nobody is competent to review me.” Am I?
SL: It’s like lots of things: it’s true but it’s also a joke. When I stopped doing standup for a while about 14 years ago, it was partly because the stuff I was doing, that I thought was interesting, was being reviewed as if I was making mistakes. I remember a review in the Independent that said, “It’s awful; at one point he loses the whole room for about half an hour, but somehow miraculously manages to claw it back.” Of course, I was working half an hour ahead all the time trying to think, “If I put that in there then I can ruin that bit later on but I can bring it back via that person who would …” You know? I really noticed the scene changing in the 90s. The audience at the Bedford – a pub I used to work at in Balham – started to change. There were new people in with city jobs and they hadn’t come to see you, you were like their employee, and they had expectations and demands they thought should be met by the performer. I remember someone shouting out: “We’ve paid for jokes, there aren’t enough jokes.” I think this has happened across the arts and education generally, hasn’t it? It’s turned into a customer/client relationship. And so when you go on stage and say, “No one is equipped to review me,” you’re saying, “This is going to happen on my terms.”
WS: So, it’s a sort of psycho-social response to a changing economic situation … You want to stop the act being commoditised at that point.
SL: I keep thinking it will run out of mileage, but there always seems to be new ways to spin it. Even when the people are coming in ever greater numbers, my character feels there must be some problem with this.
WS: In a sense, the genius of the shtick lies in its endlessly regressive self-reflectivity, but from the audience’s point of view we’re sitting there thinking, “Is he really actually, ultimately embittered or not?”
SL: One of the reasons I always man the book stall afterwards is I find it very funny to do all that edgy stuff for two hours and then be all, “Hello, how are you? Would you like this signed, too?” As far as being embittered on stage is concerned, that becomes problematic when things happen in the room and you have to stay in the character. I was in Dublin and I did a long bit about thinking I’m being haunted by the ghosts of comedians who have killed themselves. It goes on for ages and people buy into it. I’ve had people in the front row going, “Can you see them? Are they around you?” Anyway, a woman in the front row got her camera out and took a photo. So I went, “Why would you do that? Why would you take a photo of someone remembering people they know who have taken their own lives?” Then she crept out. So she’s on Twitter, she’s a journalist for the Irish Times, or whatever, and she’s tweeted: “I’ve just seen Stewart Lee have a mental breakdown on stage thinking that ghosts are attacking him.” She bought into it to the point where she thought she’d got a scoop that I’d gone nuts. Again, at the Soho theatre a guy got really angry. He said it wasn’t the audience’s fault that they didn’t get what I was doing, and I should be better at my job. I thought there was going to be a fight − he came down to the stage and was hanging around in a menacing way. I had to come out of character and say, “Look this is a construct.”
WS: The constant factor here seems to be social media – it’s changing the standup’s performance dynamic. And your approach is to go towards it and embrace it: you have to follow the logic, because the character is the sort of person who would go back and obsessively look at the social media response.
SL: He wouldn’t get involved.
WS: He wouldn’t necessarily get involved, but he’d have to know.
SL: Yeah, he’d have to know.
WS: Is it the same impulse that makes you put negative quotes from your peers about you on your publicity; is it to further define the character’s purity, since he’s constantly attacking his peers and what they’re doing?
SL: With a lot of comedians I don’t understand what’s going on; why’s this person coming on stage and pretending to talk about everyday life? Whereas with my character, his job is he’s a comedian. He’s got to do that job, there’s no suspension of disbelief. The drama of it is that it falls apart because he gets fixated on some other thing or self-doubt or anger about a particular thing that isn’t really what you should be doing a routine about. The motivation now, explicitly, is he’s got a mortgage and children. He’s not someone who’s talking about, “Oh, I went to football,” or whatever, so it makes sense that he would talk about comedians and other aspects of comedy.
WS: Mock the Week is a constant whipping boy for you, though …
SL: I’ve got lots of friends who do the show, but at some level I think it has spoiled comedy a bit. A lot of good comics go on those programmes, and 10 years later they aren’t fit for purpose because they’ve got used to saying these disconnected one-liners, and having writers work for them.
WS: So for you there’s a strong sense of the vocation and the purity of the craft?
SL: Yeah, but it’s also much more exaggerated –
WS: – For paranoid, on-stage Stewart?
SL: It is. Things I would let go he wouldn’t. I work a lot of things out on stage nowadays, rather than writing them in big blocks. I’ll be thinking, “He should probably say this now about this person,” although I’m also thinking, “But everyone is going to go, ‘Why have you done that?’” And I have to do it, even though I know it’s going to cause problems – then I have to get myself out of it. Really, what I’ve ended up doing is creating this argument with myself.
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WS: Then for the television show you externalise this argument – you turn away from the live audience and address the viewers at home directly.
SL: None of that’s planned – for the TV show I never have a camera rehearsal. I just flipped the dynamic: now the audience at home are my friends and the people who’ve come to see me are these taggers-on. If a gig goes badly my main worry is, “Will these people come back?” Because that will affect my ability to pay the mortgage – but nowadays I don’t really mind what happens, as I think if it all goes wrong for real you still have to go with it. This may sound pretentious, but it’s partly because over the last 20 years or so I’ve been to see a lot of free improvisational music – and I like that when a problem happens instead of trying to avoid it, or cover it up, they go with it.
WS: It becomes part of it.
SL: Yeah, it becomes part of it. Some nights – because all the gigs of last year have been nominally working stuff out for the telly – some of the audiences are unfortunate, or fortunate enough to be there when I think I’ll take this absolutely as far as it can go.
WS: You did that with the gag about the farting cat on the night I saw the live show.
SL: Yes, well, I’m not sure what people will make of that – it’s in the third show, isn’t it?
WS: That’s right, and then you cut to one of these interview segments you do, where Chris Morris seems to be anatomising your “character” still further.
SL: He’s very good at it – Iannucci did it in previous series, and he does it by setting himself up with funny lines, but Chris seems to have thought carefully about how to undermine me; so, the way I play it is not to try and get the better of him, but simply act defeated. The last episode ends with me having genuine hysterics, because I’m just broken by it all. But again, the character in the interview is yet another version of me …
WS: It’s like matryoshka dolls, isn’t it – and perhaps the reason you heart’s still in it (if it is), is precisely because you’ve created the self-reflexive character.
SL: I really, really love being on stage now. Partly, weirdly, because we have a very badly organised life – my wife’s a comic as well [Bridget Christie, see p17; they have two children], and she’s starting to do loads more gigs. We haven’t got any family in London. We haven’t got a nanny or anything like that – so every day is like an organisational and administrative nightmare. So, that three-hour period is when I’m the master of my own decisions: even if it turns nasty, it’s still in the theatre. I read an article about comedians using anonymous writers. This guy was saying he used to go and have ordinary experiences − go to the shops, ride the bus − on behalf of someone who’d become such a celebrity they could no longer report back from the frontline. But I think the sort of version of me on stage can endure, because I’ll talk about not getting a Bafta rather than going to the shops.
WS: That Bafta routine of yours in the show was the crux for me – a perfect exemplar of your character’s foibles, because the ambiguity is absolute: Does he care about not winning one or not? Impossible to say – or perhaps it’s both, like Schrödinger’s cat?
SL: Well … y’know … I don’t mind –
WS: No! I don’t want to know the answer!
SL: I don’t mind − I’ve been up for Baftas three times. I actually won one, which I can’t mention because –
WS: It’d ruin the entire performance. But you are a brilliant comic writer, and you could easily earn your crust as a writer, or directing your own material on stage. You’ve had the experience with Jerry Springer − I wondered why you didn’t go in that direction more?
SL: I had this bad little period where every time I tried to develop a new show in Edinburgh, because of the promoters I was with, I’d end up £10,000 in debt. When I went out on the road with it, it’d be really badly organised – so there was a point where I thought, “I can’t do this any more.” As for Jerry Springer, the arrangement I had with the producers meant we were liable for all the costs arising from the lawsuits taken out by people who were anticipating the passage of the Incitement to Religious Hatred Act. Basically, we came out of the whole thing in debt – and in the meantime I calculated I’d be doing better playing to 100 people above a pub.
WS: I’ve done a bit of standup myself – I also effectively give performances when I do tours to promote my books, but I find it very stressful: if it goes well I can’t sleep, if it goes badly it’s soul-destroying –
SL: Oh, I can’t sleep whatever – it’s a huge problem. The comedian’s thing is you self-medicate with alcohol and knock yourself out – but obviously that’s not a long-term strategy.
WS: But does anyone really have a long-term strategy?
SL: Isis seems to – and, crucially, it involves not drinking …
Stewart Lee
2016-02-26T19:20:01+00:00
I first saw Stewart Lee’s standup act in the early 2000s at the Hackney Empire, and have seen him several times since at venues in London and Edinburgh. Readers unfamiliar with the live Lee phenomenon may know of him through the hugely successful – and equally controversial – Jerry Springer – The Opera, which he co-wrote, or via the TV work he has done over the years, beginning with co-writing credits on Armando Iannucci’s On the Hour in the early 1990s. On Thursday the fourth series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle will begin on BBC2, and the new shows feature all of Lee’s trademark virtuosity – and his equally familiar self-evisceration. Shot as a live standup act at the Mildmay Club in Stoke Newington, where Lee plays to his home crowd (which he characterises as “politically correct, Guardian-reading terrorist sympathisers”), the shows consist of long, narrative-driven absurdist monologues, during which he deconstructs not just the warped problematic of contemporary Britain, but that of his own comic persona. On stage, Lee is apparently an embittered, envious, self-lacerating man, caught in a ferocious double-bind: if he’s unsuccessful it’s because his audience are stupid shits who don’t get his jokes; and if he’s successful it’s because he’s a stupid shit churning out jokes that confirm his audience in their prejudices. So convincing is this act – if indeed it is an act – that I became intrigued: was the “real” Lee quite as prickly as his performance persona? In order to find out I asked him over for a serious sit-down. Here are the results. Stewart Lee and Will Self in Self's kitchen Photograph: David Bebber for the Guardian WS: At the live show I saw, you said, “Nobody is competent to review me.” Am I? SL: It’s like lots of things: it’s...
Having wet-nursed the experimental ambitions of upwardly mobile rock bands, such as Wilco and Sonic Youth, Chicago's irrepressible musical explorer Jim O'Rourke split to Japan in 2006 to rediscover the personal voice he'd subsumed somewhat into star names' signature sounds. The Swedish free jazz saxophonist Mats Gustafson's Fire! trio came to Tokyo and invited him to plug in his guitar. Low bellyache blowing, Goth rock electric bass throb, and unexpectedly martial Zeppelin style drum thwacks menace throughout, while O'Rourke terraforms plateaus of feedback into the inhospitable terrain of four improvisations. A closing seventeen minute blow-out is equal parts ecstatic jazz and nihilist noise.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-07T19:39:51+01:00
Having wet-nursed the experimental ambitions of upwardly mobile rock bands, such as Wilco and Sonic Youth, Chicago's irrepressible musical explorer Jim O'Rourke split to Japan in 2006 to rediscover the personal voice he'd subsumed somewhat into star names' signature sounds. The Swedish free jazz saxophonist Mats Gustafson's Fire! trio came to Tokyo and invited him to plug in his guitar. Low bellyache blowing, Goth rock electric bass throb, and unexpectedly martial Zeppelin style drum thwacks menace throughout, while O'Rourke terraforms plateaus of feedback into the inhospitable terrain of four improvisations. A closing seventeen minute blow-out is equal parts ecstatic jazz and nihilist noise.
British comedy has undergone an elitist 'stitch-up', with poorer performers being 'priced out' of success, Stewart Lee has claimed.
The respected comic also railed against the BBC for allowing its forthcoming Edinburgh Fringe coverage to be dominated by one of the industry's most powerful agents... and vowed to try to use Comedy Central's Alternative Comedy Experience to try to dent the status quo.
Speaking before the second series begins filming tonight, Lee said he hopes some future episodes might exclusively feature acts from the Free Fringe.
The 45-year-old, who curates and is executive producer of the show, said: 'There's a crisis of social mobility in this country and way down the list of important things is the crisis of social mobility of stand-up comedians. 'But it is a sort of microcosm of what's going on, in as much as if you've not
got money, you're being priced out now.'
Lee revealed that he has asked producer Colin Dench: 'Is there any way of getting Comedy Central to do an Alternative Comedy Experience next year with three, four, maybe even six episodes from the Free Fringe? And only use acts from the Free Fringe?'
Many of the acts in the second series, which is being taped at The Stand in Edinburgh, have performed or will be performing free shows on the Fringe, even if those weren't their main festival run.
They include Robin Ince, Josie Long, Simon Munnery, Paul Foot, John Hegley, Michael Legge, Nish Kumar, Helen Arney, Liam Mullone, Lou Sanders, Trevor Lock, Grainne Maguire, Helen Keen and Fern Brady. While returning act Henning Wehn pointedly mocked the Free Fringe model in a 2011 routine.
'Obviously we're not trying to co-opt the Fringe's reputation and we'll have to talk to the venues about it,' Lee stresses. 'But it would be great.'
Earlier this year, he spoke out against the 'tiny coterie' of comedy agencies such as Off The Kerb and his former management, Avalon, for making television shows that 'disproportionately' featured their own clients.
And today he reiterates: 'Comedy on television is completely stitched up by two or three agencies and production companies In Cahoots with the Big Four [venues] at the Fringe, spending money on their own talent and getting their own talent into debt', justifiable by those acts 'being seen in the Big Four by
TV people and journalists'.
'If you could actually have a television show where a criteria of entry was that you had to be in the Free Fringe, that would really start to rock the boat.'
He singles out the BBC, for whom he is currently writing the third series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, and Open Mike Productions, affiliated with Off The Kerb, for particular criticism.
His proposal, he suggests, 'would throw down a challenge to the BBC to make its Edinburgh coverage more in-depth than announcing three months in advance that Open Mike Productions are going to have a night from Edinburgh in which the bill is already largely confirmed.'
Edinburgh Comedy Fest Live will be broadcast on BBC Three and hosted by Off The Kerb clients Kevin Bridges - who is not otherwise performing at the festival - and Adam Hills, who has a limited nine-show run.
Other Off The Kerb acts on the bill are Ivo Graham, Neil Delamere, Seann Walsh, Simon Evans, Marlon Davis, Charlie Baker and Phill Jupitus.
However, it also features comedians from other stables: Andrew Lawrence, Stephen K Amos, Jason Byrne, Romesh Ranganathan, Hal Cruttenden, Tom Stade, Des Clarke, Gary Delaney, Joe Wilkinson, Russell Kane, Roisin Conaty and Lee Nelson.
'They're such a brilliant production company that they've been able to look into the future using their clairvoyant skills and anticipate what the highlights of the Fringe will be,' Lee mutters sarcastically.
'Which is absolutely superb, because it makes the whole point of journalists, the public and even acts going there, largely irrelevant. You could ask Open Mike, "Am I going to be one of the highlights of the Fringe?" and they can tell you, "No, we decided in June" and don't bother going, save yourself ten grand.'
He adds that 'one of the things about [comedy] 30 years ago was that it was relatively egalitarian. I think it's weird that Comedy Central, a commercial broadcaster could help to reverse that trend, because it doesn't seem like something the BBC are interested in doing.'
He confesses to creative tension with the BBC over Comedy Vehicle, citing the corporation's concern at his plan to give an entire episode over to the show's 'programme associate' Baconface.
Comedy Central are shooting a set from the Canadian comic from the 80s at midnight on Friday night at the Stand. And the enigmatic figure in a Mexican wrestler's mask draped in bacon may yet appear as part of the Alternative Comedy Experience.
'At the moment, Baconface is in negotiation with the BBC,' Lee states. 'I want him to do one of the episodes but there's anxiety about whether you can have half an hour of a man whose face you can't really see, with bacon over it, talking.
'Hopefully they'll be some stuff we can put in Alternative Comedy Experience and some stuff for the BBC but I don't know what he's doing. Baconface seems to have annoyed Richard Webb, producer of the BBC show, who doesn't want him to do it.'
The first series of The Alternative Comedy Experience tripled the audience for its slot, easing the commercial channel's concerns 'about people's accents or what they looked like' and so giving Lee greater authority in the selection of the comics featured for the second series.
'They were very supportive but nervous because it wasn't like anything they'd ever done, a lot of weird acts,' he said.
'Now they've really got behind it. We didn't have anyone we didn't want last time but this year we haven't had to make a case for any of them, they've give us more of a free hand and I'm absolutely delighted by some of the people on it.'
Other acts appearing over the second series are David O'Doherty, Isy Suttie, Paul Sinha, Tony Law, Susan Calman, Kevin Eldon, Andrew Lawrence, Andy Zaltzman, Stephen Carlin, Bridget Christie, Kevin McAleer, Alfie Brown, Ginger and Black, Maeve Higgins and David Kay.
Reprising the show's format, where Lee speaks to the acts backstage, he explains
'I didn't want it to be like Des O'Connor, where he gets his researchers to ask the comedians before what their jokes are and he sets them up with feedlines. I genuinely wanted to ask why they'd done certain things. And it was really good fun.
'People have said to me, "I thought you were a horrible wanker. But when I saw you talking to them, having a really good time, then I thought you were probably all right."
'Sometimes, when you see an interviewer like Jonathan Ross, there's a status thing going on where he's either a sycophant or trying to let the celebrity know that he's the king of brokering fame deals. But I think all those acts said something interesting about their work.
'The one person in the last series I don't think I got the measure of was Boothby Graffoe. He's old school, like a Red Coat. And he was "on", even in the interview. I know him quite well but I never really found out much about how he writes or what makes him want to do comedy. He's a consummate performer.'
Graffoe is now followed by McAleer, Hegley, Hayridge and Eldon, older acts confounding 'Comedy Central's worries about demographics' he points out delightedly.
'I wanted it to be a spread from people in their twenties to others in their sixties and seventies, and I got much closer to that this time. That kind of thing doesn't matter anymore, because young people are used to jumping around on YouTube and iTunes, they don't necessarily only want to see stuff by people who look their age.'
Lee dismisses criticism that the previous series' edit wasn't giving the performers 'room to breathe', pointing out that there was 'a longer continuous run of one person's act than you would get on Live at The Apollo'. But he added: 'The edit will be more sympathetic to the material this time because we've all had a chance to see the first series.'
He foresees the show continuing for several years - 'there's loads of people in their forties, fifties and sixties that we haven't used' - even if, ultimately, it's sowing the seeds of its own demise.
'The fact that this outlet exists and people can see it might encourage them to think there's more point in doing a more interesting act,' he reasons.
'It could be, that in the same way Live At The Apollo and Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow have created a generation of more mainstreamy acts, maybe this will show that there's interest in slightly different things.
'Then you'll have to cancel it when everyone likes it!' he cackles.
Lee suggests that he will take a sabbatical from stand-up in the next three years. If the BBC confirm that they want the fourth series of Comedy Vehicle by spring next year, 'I'll do that in 2015, tour a big show in 2016 and then I think I'll stop for a bit.'
He has two young children with Christie, his wife, 'and for the first few years after they were born, it made sense for me to do lots of work and for Bridget to look after them because I was doing better. But things are really picking up for her at the moment and we're on a kind of rota, so I'm hoping she can do more and I can do less. We'll see.'
Stewart Lee
2013-07-08T21:33:21+01:00
British comedy has undergone an elitist 'stitch-up', with poorer performers being 'priced out' of success, Stewart Lee has claimed. The respected comic also railed against the BBC for allowing its forthcoming Edinburgh Fringe coverage to be dominated by one of the industry's most powerful agents... and vowed to try to use Comedy Central's Alternative Comedy Experience to try to dent the status quo. Speaking before the second series begins filming tonight, Lee said he hopes some future episodes might exclusively feature acts from the Free Fringe. The 45-year-old, who curates and is executive producer of the show, said: 'There's a crisis of social mobility in this country and way down the list of important things is the crisis of social mobility of stand-up comedians. 'But it is a sort of microcosm of what's going on, in as much as if you've not got money, you're being priced out now.' Lee revealed that he has asked producer Colin Dench: 'Is there any way of getting Comedy Central to do an Alternative Comedy Experience next year with three, four, maybe even six episodes from the Free Fringe? And only use acts from the Free Fringe?' Many of the acts in the second series, which is being taped at The Stand in Edinburgh, have performed or will be performing free shows on the Fringe, even if those weren't their main festival run. They include Robin Ince, Josie Long, Simon Munnery, Paul Foot, John Hegley, Michael Legge, Nish Kumar, Helen Arney, Liam Mullone, Lou Sanders, Trevor Lock, Grainne Maguire, Helen Keen and Fern Brady. While returning act Henning Wehn pointedly mocked the Free Fringe model in a 2011 routine. 'Obviously we're not trying to co-opt the Fringe's reputation and we'll have to talk to the venues about it,' Lee stresses. 'But it would be...
The tour of the current stand-up show, tours nationwide from January 20th 2024. Then it will be finished in April.
Dates here;
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) JEREMY CLARKSON IS A FARM TWAT
In a piece in the Sunday 28th January’s Sunday Times called “It’s A Sick Joke : US Comedians Are Fearless – And Funnier Than Ours”, Jeremy Clarkson selectively quotes a sentence from my 45 minute 2009 routine about him, in which I said I hoped Richard Hammond was blinded and decapitated in a crash.
The routine was a lengthy and cautious exploration of the idea that contrarians like Clarkson, while saying everyone should be free to offend, of course have their own lines in the sand, as Clarkson himself proves here, by being offended by me. Which was sort of the point. The reason the small section of the 45 minute routine he has quoted mentions The Hampster being blinded is because Clarkson and The Hampster had previously joked about Gordon Brown being blind in one eye, as I explain earlier in the piece.
At the end of the 45 minute routine I address the camera directly, and say, ““I don’t really think Richard Hammond should die. What I was doing there, as everyone here in this room now understands, just in case there’s anyone from the Mail on Sunday watching this, is I was using an exaggerated form of the rhetoric and the implied values of Top Gear to satirise the rhetoric and the implied values of Top Gear. And it is a shame to have to break character and explain that. But hopefully it will save you a long, tedious exchange of emails.”
The Times has described me as “the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian” and I have a greater recorded body of stand-up than any other comedian ever. Allowing an amateur arts critic like Jeremy Clarkson to just dip into it to try and fill up space makes about as much sense as sending me, a man who has driven second hand minis all his life, to a review a performance car.
I would like to close with commiserations to the marvellous Fin Taylor who, having been recommended by Jeremy Clarkson, will hopefully not now find his audience full of moronic Sunday Times cunts.
3) KING ROCKER
King Rocker, the Nightingales rockumentary I made with Michael Cumming, is available to stream globally from Feb 6th.
“One of my all-time favourite rock docs” MARK KERMODE, BBC
“It’s warm, it’s funny, it’s fascinating” Radcliffe and Maconie, BBC6 Music
“The film is ace, the band is ace, Rob is a remarkable man” Marc Riley, BBC6 Music
“A beautiful and fucking hilarious and moving film” Shaun Keavney, BBC6 Music
To celebrate 3 years since the acclaimed film King Rocker premiered on Sky Arts and Robin Ince noticed that "the whole country is watching King Rocker" we will be making the film available internationally on that exact same day. From February 6th everyone, anywhere, will be able to watch.
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 band’s The Prefects and The Nightingales, has survived under the radar 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.
Featuring Frank Skinner, Nigel Slater, Robin Askwith, Samira Ahmed, John Peel, Gina Birch, Marc Riley, Danny Fields, John Taylor, Paul Morley, Fuzzbox, Kevin Eldon, Nish Kumar, Bridget Christie, Andrew O’Neill, Sean Walsh, Paul Putner, Steve Beresford, and more. ‘King Rocker’ is now available to pre-order. From February 6th you can stream and download globally.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a UK based adult cardiologist. I have recently taken up boxing as a pastime and have agreed to fight at a forthcoming charity event at Fats Gymon the 24th February. Please help me reach my initial target of £5000. Please support my fundraising effort for the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund, a charity which “provides free medical care to thousands of injured and ill children yearly who lack local access to care within the local health care system. Over the years, we've sent over 2,000 affected children abroad for free medical care, sent thousands of international doctors and nurses to provide tens of thousands of children free medical care in local hospitals, and provided tens of thousands of children humanitarian aid and support they otherwise would not get”. Children are the future of this planet.”
24th FEB - PEA GREEN BOAT WITH JACKDAW WITH CROWBAR
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!!
Stewart Lee - Pea Green Boat & Jackdaw with Crowbar
Sunday 24th Feb 2024 2pm - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry
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.
The folk-fixated ritual-recycling painter has made a film.
“It’s finally time to release my debut feature length film into the world: ‘Frontline Folklore’ produced by Ben Edge and edited by Angelica Jopson. Join me on a journey through the Ritual Year of Britain during 2019, in which I visited twenty folk customs and unknowingly captured and documented the pre Covid ritual landscape of Britain. The film was a labour of love and after trying to find a similar film, whilst originally researching folk customs and not managing to, it felt like the responsibility was now on my shoulders to make one myself. I’d like to take this opportunity thank all the people involved in the film, giving their time and openness to be filmed and interviewed. I’d also like to thank the special people who have been there alongside me and supported me and my practice Happy New Year.
I hope you enjoy the film…… and let’s have a great 2024! Frontline Folklore is available now via my Vimeo Chanel to watch for free.” https://vimeo.com/897444792
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. https://www.ticketweb.uk/event/the-giant-syndicate-earth-tickets/13278203
7) GO FUND SOME THINGS IF YOU CAN
OSCAR MCLENNAN
When I am asked which comics inspired me as a teenager I have a solid answer – Ted Chippington, Arnold Brown, Norman Lovett, Jerry Sadowitz and Kevin McAleeer. But I always forget Oscar McLennan, because he was already winding down doing stand-up, and moving into a different and less defined area, when I saw him at Warwick Arts Centre, rolling around on the floor in a single spotlight to the Turkey Bones & The Wild Dogs song Helicopter Man, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UIY10-TrIw) in 1985.
But he expanded my whole idea of what a solo performance could be. Today he’s a performance artist and surrealist songwriter, could do with a dab of gofunding, and has this to say...
“On November 23rd 2020, our son Ian was killed in a tragic accident in our home. He was just two years and ten months old. Since then two things have happened which have helped Erica and myself to survive. One was the birth of our daughter Lena in September 2021. The other was that, out of the depths of unspeakable grief, an intense flow of short compositions came to me, on guitar and mandolin. I shared these pieces with Martin Tourish, friend, composer, arranger, and accordion maestro. Martin was very taken by the melodies, and added orchestral arrangements which have taken the music to another dimension. The result is a seventy minute album with over twenty musicians involved, within touching distance of completion. We need about €10,000 to push the production over the line. Ian was in love with the colour yellow, so we have named the album 'Il Palloncino Giallo'. It is much more than a tribute to him: he was right with me in every note of its creation. The music came to me through him and with him, and out into the world. The album is fully instrumental. There are no words.”
Listen to a work-in-progress version of the track Giro Giro Tondohere:
I met Kulkarni a couple of times. He was very nice. Looking back the ‘70s – ‘90s of The British music press was an incredible time; teenagers reading writing of a length and quality that would now be confined to broadsheets and called ‘long form journalism’; and often produced by people who used pop music criticism to jump the tracks and get access to platforms that conventional means would have denied people of their background, another form of social mobility now disappeared – Caitlin Moran, P Paphides, Kulkarni himself, Burchill and Parsons even. Though Kulkarni could write about everything he was also an important voice in changing the way BAME music was written about in a largely white press. Here’s what David Stubbs had to say about him, as he explains why he has set up this fundraiser.
“Hi, my name is David Stubbs. My very dear friend, the brilliant, beloved writer and author Neil Kulkarni recently died suddenly. He is mourned by friends, loved ones including partner Lenie, sister Meera - and his daughters, Georgia and Sofia, on whom he doted. At what is clearly a shocking and terrible time, I simply hope that their burden of grief is not added to by financial worries, his daughters in particular. Those who knew and loved Neil would have known what a proud and loving family man he was. Anything you could spare in his memory, and for the sake of his dependents, from whom he has been so sadly taken, would be most gratefully received.” https://www.gofundme.com/f/neil-kulkarni
8) STOP THE TORIES
Carol Vorderman wants us all to work together to stop the Tories, and here’s how: https://stopthetories.vote
9) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME HAPPENINGS
LAWRENCE IN FITZROVIA Sculpture of indie rock legend in lovely London chapel, until Feb 9th
A SCULPTURE BY CORIN JOHNSON, CURATED BY MARTIN GREEN THE FITZROVIA CHAPEL, LONDON 26 JAN – 9 FEBRUARY 2024.
Lawrence (Felt, Denim, Go Kart Mozart, Mozart Estate) has announced details of the unveiling of the marble head – an incredible sculpture in Portuguese pink marble by Corin Johnson – in the meditative setting of The Fitzrovia Chapel, a magical Grade II listed space that once served Middlesex Hospital, and now stands alone in Pearson Square, W1.
The exhibition will run from 26 Jan until 9 February 2024, part of the chapel’s 2024 cultural programme with two panel discussions confirmed – full details below.
The sculpture will be lit up on a podium by the altar, providing an object of pilgrimage in the former sacred space of the chapel. Corin Johnson approached Lawrence at a Go Kart Mozart concert at London’s Moth Club in 2017, offering to create a life-sized bust.
A huge chunk of pink marble sat in his Camberwell studio and he thought this perfect for the maverick underground star. Lawrence sat through a bleak midwinter, freezing while Corin sculpted.
The finished piece, with Lawrence’s distinctive visor and hood evoking a monk in contemplation, an urban rebel and a public figure in disguise. Lawrence explains, “This huge undertaking reminds me of Caravaggio paintings and biblical statues from the Middle Ages, so it seemed apt to showcase it in the beautiful interior of The Fitzrovia Chapel. It is unlike anything the pop world has to offer, this unique event showcases the coming together of old and new styles – the ancient and the modern – combined! You really haven’t seen anything like this before.”m
“Corin Johnson’s sculpture of Lawrence is a work of solemn beauty. His monkish, aquiline face is shrouded by a cowl-like hoodie and baseball cap, large sunglasses perched on top of a narrow nose bringing a touch of distance, like he is locked into some kind interior monologue that can never be fully revealed or understood by anyone else.” - Will Hodgkinson (The Times)
On Friday 1 Feburary, journalist and artist Siân Pattenden will host a panel discussion about London life with Lawrence, curator Martin Green and filmmaker Paul Kelly, and on Monday 5 February Lawrence, journalist and author Will Hodgkinson, artist Jeremy Deller, artist Georgina Starr and the sculptor Corin Johnson will discuss creating art in an increasingly commercial world – ticket links below.
Corin Johnson grew up in Sutton Coldfield, not far from Lawrence's home town of Water Orton. He trained as a stone carver, studied fine art at City and Guilds, and his works include limestone carvings of martyred bishops for Westminster Abbey, a statue of St Andrew for Exeter College Oxford, a marble Lady Diana memorial at Althorp Estate, a stone and ceramic sculpture of Grace Jones and a series of devil figurines with Nick Cave. It is Lawrence, however, who captured his imagination. “I find it more heroic to sculpt an artist like Lawrence, rather than someone like an admiral. It is the reality of his life which made me want to do the head.” The exhibition is curated by Martin Green who with Duovision Arts has exhibited work by Jarvis Cocker, Marc Almond, Gina Birch, Caroline Coon, Pam Hogg, Andrew Logan, Mick Rock and Sheila Rock. 'I've known Lawrence for 30 years since he hung out at my club Smashing in the early 90s and always had enormous respect for him. So when approached to curate an exhibition of the marble head, I wanted to find the perfect venue. Fitzrovia Chapel is a beautiful intimate Victorian building standing proudly alone among a vast contemporary development in central London. Like Lawrence it remains a strident example of independent creative originality surrounded by a sea of new development.” The Fitzrovia Chapel – which features 17 different kinds of marble in its construction - was originally built as part of the Middlesex Hospital, and for decades was a place of respite and contemplation for medical staff, patients and visitors alike. When the hospital was closed in 2005, the chapel was saved from demolition because of its Grade II* listed status. It reopened in 2015 as a charity with one of its remits being for the promotion of culture, wellbeing and history for the community.
It has its own cultural programme that focuses on these themes. An architectural, historical and design masterpiece in its own right, The Fitzrovia Chapel has hosted exhibitions by galleries, artists and cultural organisations including the Stephen Friedman Gallery, Richard Ingleby Gallery, the Horiuchi Foundation, Erskine, Hall & Coe, and TJ Boulting Gallery. The chapel has taken part in Photo London, London Craft Week and Frieze
FASCINATING AIDA 40TH ANNIVERSARY The fantastic foul mouthed female Flanders and Swans of the singalonga-center-left are celebrating their 40th anniversary and get funnier the longer they go on.
FEB 1st Oxford Playhouse, 2nd Salisbury Playhouse, 4th-6th London Palladium, 9th N’hampton Derngate, 10th Shrewsbiry Severn, 11th Aberystwyth Arts, 12th Monmouth Blake, 15th Peterborough New, 16th Folkeston Leas Cliff, 17th Eastbourne Congress, 20th Cardiff New, 21st Aldershot Princes Hall, 22nd – 23rd Coventry Belgrade, 24th Darlington Hippodrome, 28th Lichfield Garrick, 29th Newark Palace
MARCH 1st Scarborough Spa, 2nd Chesterfield Winding Wheel, 5th Halifax Victoria, 6th New Brighton Floral Pavilion, 7th Wrexham William Aston Hall, 11th Aberdeen Music Hall, 12th Perth Concert Hall, 13th – 14th Glasgow Kings, 15th Dunfermline Alhambra, 20th Bournemouth Pavilion, 21st Weston-super-mare Playhouse, 22nd Dunstable Grove, 23rd Portsmouth Kings, 26th-27th Bury St Edmunds Apex, 28th Dorking Halls
1) ROB AUTON - THE ROB AUTON SHOW. Rob's endearing mesh of absurdist poetry and microtonal observations of life's minutiae is measured, moving and very funny FEB 11TH
2) ELEANOR TIERNAN - WORK IN PROGRESS Future legend Tiernan's dry comic cynicism armours a heart full of hope FEB 15TH
3) PAUL CURRIE SHTOOM / THE DADA DOJO (WIP) A whirlwind of pure clown energy, once seen, never forgotten, in both his current finished show and work in progress incarnation. I love Paul Currie. FEB 16TH/17TH
4) ALASDAIR BECKETT-KING - DIAL M FOR MONTGOMERY BONBON / KING OF CRUMBS (WIP) New material and a tried and tested tour show from a comedian and artist who has mastered a method of integrating inventive tech-support into his immersive and surreal worldview. FEB 24TH/25TH
5) FATIHA EL-GHORRI - COCKNEY STACKING DOLL (WIP) A stomping shouting hurricane of pent-up comic energy, busting taboos and breaking barriers. FEB 25TH
MARTIN CARTHY Never ending tour of English folk All-Father FEB 9th London Kalamazoo, 10th W’chester Hyde Tavern, 17th Arnside Sailing Club
DANIEL KITSON World’s greatest comedian FEB 5th – 9th London Cockpit, 14th-15th Lancaster Duke’s, 16th-17th Scarborough Stephen Joseph
SIMON MUNNERY – JERUSALEM. The struggle continues for The Peter Cook of his generation.
FEB 15th Bedford ?, 25th Leicester Firebug, 29th Aldershot West End Centre,
MARCH 1st London Leics Sq Theatre, 7th Bristol Comedy Box, 8th Brighton Old Market, 16th Oxford North Wal1, 17th Cambridge Junction,
APRIL 3rd Swindon Arts, 10th Norwich Arts, 11th S’hampton Attic, 16th N’castle Stand, 17th E’burgh Stand, 18th Glasgow Stand, 20th Bath Rondo, 21st Colchester Arts, 25th B’ham Glee,
MAY 19th Salford Lowry, 29th Leeds Brudenell, 20th York Theatre 41
PATRICE MOOR – THE PRESENCE OF ABSENCE Contemporary figurative surrealism St John’s College Oxford FEB 16th – MARCH 8thhttps://patricemoor.co.uk
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
FALLEN LEAVES The Gentlemen Adventurers of sharp-dressed mod-punk
FEB 24th Guildford Holroyd Arms,
MARCH 23rd London Hope & Anchor,
JUNE 8th London Dublin Castle,
JULY 20th Kingston Fighting Cocks,
SEPT 14th London Dublin Castle,
NOV 2nd London Hope & Anchor
BOHMAN BROTHERS Rare appearance from the surreal sound artists MARCH 1st Brighton Bee’s Mouth
MARTIN NEWELL/CLEANERS FROM VENUS Unexpected return from 80s English psyche-pop legend suddenly beloved by the young FEB 25th Brightlingsea Winterfest, MARCH 3rd Colchester Minories, 23rd Bristol Ritual Union Festival, 30th Leeds Belgrave, APRIL 11th London Stoke Newington St Mattias, 13th Glasgow CCA, 20th Southend Tea & Oranges
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
ALISON COTTON Acid-folk drone mystic MARCH 23rd Gregynog Hall Newtown, 28th Glad Cafe Glasgow, 29th March The Lubber Fiend Newcastle, 30th Bishop's House Sheffield, 31st RiseYork, APRIL 5th St Pancras Old Church London
ALASDAIR BECKETT-KING The hilarious multi-media surrealist takes his Nevermore show to your town MARCH 27th B’ham Old Rep, 29th Glasgow Oran Mor, 30th Belfast Limelight, APRIL 2nd Colchester Arts, 5th Cambr Junction, 6th Canterbury Gulbienkin, 10th Nottingham Just The Tonic, 12th S’hampton Attic, 13th Salisbury Arts, 17th Basingstoke Anvil, 19th Leeds City Varieties, 20th L’pool Hot Water, 21st M’cr Home, 24th Bristol Redgrave, 25th Shrewsbury Walker, 27th N’castle Stand, MAY 1st Norwich Playhouse, 2nd Brighton Komedia, 3rd Bury St Edmunds, 7th Swindon Arts, 8th Cardiff Glee, 9th Exeter Phoenix, 10th Taunton Tacchi-Morris, 16th & 24th London Leicester Sq Theatre
THIS IS MEMORIAL DEVICE Scottish dates for a brilliant adaptation, by Graham Eatough, of David Keenan’s life-affirming fiction. MARCH 28th – 30th Glasgow Tron, APRIL 3rd – 6th E’burgh Traverse
INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY INDIE ROCK FESTIVAL MARCH 29th High Wycombe Venue. https://www.datathistle.com/event/2293582-iwd-fest/ With Popguns, Desperate Journalist, Miki Berenyi of Lush, Debbie Googe of MBV, Charley Stone (of everything) & The Actual Band, Debbie Smith + more.
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
KEVIN MCALEER. The most I have ever laughed is at this reclusive Irish comedy genius, making a rare greatest hits return. APRIL 11th Dublin Vicar Street, 21st Belfast Mandela Hall.
ROSIE HOLT – THAT’S POLITAINMENT Satirist on the road. APRIL 11th Didcot Cornerstone, 12th Newbury Corn X, 13th Winchester Theatre Royal, 18th-19th London Leics Sq Theatre, 20th Swindon Royal, 21st Bristol Redgrave, 24th Poole Lighthouse, 25th Bridgwater McMillan, 26th Cardiff Sherman, 27th Norwich Playhouse, 28th N’hampton Derngate, MAY 1st Bradford Kings, 2nd Maidenhead Norden Farm, 3rd Tunbridge Wells Trinity, 4th Bury St Edmunds Royal, 5th Colchester Arts, 9th Birmingham MAC, 10th Farnham Maltings, 12th Leeds City Varieties, 22nd Lyme Regis Marine, 23rd Brighton Komedia, 24th Milton Keynes Stables, 25th L’pool Playhouse, 26th Salford Lowry, 31st Chipping Norton Theatre.
JASMINE MINKS Victory lap for Glasgow’s C86 era mod-ish janglers APRIL 19th Bristol Thunderbolt, 20th London Waiting Room
ELIZA CARTHY The first lady of folk and reigning Queen of The Faeries in full flight APRIL 20th Oxford North Wall, 26th Bristol Folk House, 27th Sheffield Greystones, MAY 10th Cambridge Stoney’s Field, JUNE 19th Gateshead Glasshouse
GIANT SAND The great improvising Americana legends unexpected return to active service. APRIL 22nd Newcastle Cluny, 23rs Glasgow Broadcast, 24th M’cr Yes, 27th London Hackney Earth w Dream Syndicate, Kristen Hirsch, Islet, Stewart Lee and more.
PETER CASE/SID GRIFFIN British dates from American power-pop progenitor turned Grammy-awarded grizzled folk-bluesman, with Long Ryders leader Sid Griffin in support. A must. APRIL 23rd Chester St Mary’s, 24th Birmingham Kitchen Garden, 26th Edinburgh Bannermans, 27th Glasgow Glad Café, 28th Leeds Northern Guitars, 29th Bristol Hen & Chicken, MAY 1st London Leytonstone Social, 2nd Dublin Upstairs At Wheelans, 3rd Belfast Cathedral Quarter, 4th Kilkenny Roots Festival
NIGHTINGALES Off the beaten track small town dates for Birmingham post-punk heroes of belated King Rocker film 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
ACID MOTHERS TEMPLE Punishing Japanese acid-jam veterans. MAY 9th Brighton Hope & Ruin, 10th London Dingwalls, 12th Dublin Workman’s, 16th Dundee Church, 17th N’castle Lubber Fiend, 20th Chelmsford Hot Box, 22nd Cambridge Portland Arms
THE BEVIS FROND Psych legends Lexington, London May 18th
THE LOVELY EGGS Art-punk duo MAY 23rd Glasgow St Luke’s, 24th Edinburgh 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 PRISONERS Psychedelic Medway mods return MAY 24th London Camden Roundhouse
ROBERT FORSTER Former Go-Between all grown up into silver fox troubadour MAY 24th/25th London Omeara
WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM Black metal with an eco-bent MAY 28th Limerick Dolans, 29th Dublin Opium, 30th Bristol Fleece, 31st London Earth, JUNE 1st Glasgow Garage/Scarborough Fortress
RAIN PARADE LA’s 80s psychedelic revivalists revived JUNE 14th Bristol Strange Brew, 15th Leeds Brudenell, 16th M’;cr Night & Day, 18th Nottingham Metronome, 19th London 229
DETROIT COBRAS Garage punk party time JULY 2nd Bristol Lost Horizon, 3RD M’cr Rebellion, 4th Glasgow Oran Mor, 5th Leeds Brudenell, 6th London Camden Forge
THE SADIES Surf-twanged country-Canadiana JULY 3rd Oxford Bullingdon, 4th Leeds Brudenell, 5th Eaton Farm Park Woodbridge, 6th London 100 Club
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
10) IN OUR LAMENTATION 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)
Stewart Lee
2024-01-29T21:13:14+00:00
1) BASIC LEE The tour of the current stand-up show, tours nationwide from January 20th 2024. Then it will be finished in April. Dates here; 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...
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 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...
Separate Motorhead's 20th album from the Lemmy legend, and it's a set of effective punk metal belters.
But the 67 year old frontman's ravaged growl remains unique, unexpectedly suggesting a speed-damaged Louis Armstrong on the contemplative Dust And Glass.
Keep Your Power Dry sees enduring outlaw truisms coagulate into the gnomic, but the album's fatally fractured by formulaic splayed sneaker guitar soloing.
The Motorhead machine still runs, if rather too noisily, but deserves a reputational retune of the kind Rick Rubin once gave Johnny Cash.
Stewart Lee
2013-11-03T21:04:17+00:00
Separate Motorhead's 20th album from the Lemmy legend, and it's a set of effective punk metal belters. But the 67 year old frontman's ravaged growl remains unique, unexpectedly suggesting a speed-damaged Louis Armstrong on the contemplative Dust And Glass. Keep Your Power Dry sees enduring outlaw truisms coagulate into the gnomic, but the album's fatally fractured by formulaic splayed sneaker guitar soloing. The Motorhead machine still runs, if rather too noisily, but deserves a reputational retune of the kind Rick Rubin once gave Johnny Cash.
It's almost impossible to review the Fist Of Fun DVD properly - after all, to watch all the shows, the extras and the commentaries would take 14 and a half hours. That might seem fine for a series of The Wire, but could be considered overkill for a six-part mid-Nineties BBC Two comedy show.
Clearly distributors Go Faster Stripe believe that the audience for this long-awaited title is largely comedy obsessives who absolutely must have every scrap of footage from Stewart Lee and Richard Herring's influential series. Because that's exactly what you get in this four-DVD set - all the surviving studio rushes, so you too, can relive the stop-start tedium of being a real TV recording in the comfort of your own home. Although it does mean a few never-before-seen sketches, too.
Such completism - which also extends to a 60-minute live show previously released on VHS - also allows this set to come with a £25 price tag, far more than could likely be justified from the episodes alone. But then there's an investment to be made back, since this release has only been possible as Lee, Herring and the independent distributors forked out a reported £15,000 to buy the rights from the BBC, which never believed a DVD release would be commercially viable.
They might have underestimated the esteem in which the show is remembered by comedy fans of a certain age, who will certainly clamour for the show. The fear. of course, is that it could never live up to such fond memories.
Yet it does bear up remarkably well. The studio segments might be a bit rough around the edges, but that only adds to its studenty charm, and some of the sketches are a little slow to modern eyes, but the humour holds out.
The dynamic between the two is particularly effective: Herring impish and enthusiastic, Lee cynical and dry. One of the many running jokes revolves around Herring's backwards Somerset upbringing, but even when you've heard countless gags about inbred rural folk, there's an inventive spark to the teasing.
Recurring characters include Peter Baynham - now a big-shot Hollywood writer - as a disgusting, slovenly and pitifully lonely man living in Balham squalor, and Kevin Eldon as the weak lemon drink-quaffing king of hobbies, Simon Quinlank. While these are still remembered, it's surprising quite how many comedy stars pop up in the series: Rebecca Front, Alistair McGowan, Ronni Ancona, Ricky Grover, Al Murray and John Thompson can all be spotted.
In some of their commentary, Lee and Herring consider the fact that The Fast Show started about the same time as them, redefining sketch shows as efficient vehicles for catchphrases, causing them to ponder if they got the balance right. It seems so - they cultivate enough familiarity to establish the show's ferocious cult status, but also mix in one-off sketches and ideas so as not to be confined to formula. And in its first release on DVD, viewers can actually read some of the written gags which pop up far too quickly to be read properly at 25 frames a second.
In the past 17 years, both comics have evolved as performers, though the personas are already starting to set. One striking example is where Lee does a gag about Christian protesters who complain 'you wouldn't say that about the Muslims...' - a cry that has only becoming increasingly loud over the years. In Fist Of Fun he makes what now seems quite a cheap joke about being scared of Islamic fundamentalists - whereas in his current live show the same starting point leads to a much more thoughtful, and circuitous, discussion of the subject.
Fist Of Fun is certainly historically significant - if you can say such a thing about a comedy show which only ever captured the imagination of a small but dedicated part of the population. While the amount of material included of this release bears that out, the six episodes are more than an exercise in nostalgia, but a genuinely funny three hours of telly.
Stewart Lee
2011-12-15T01:11:31+00:00
It's almost impossible to review the Fist Of Fun DVD properly - after all, to watch all the shows, the extras and the commentaries would take 14 and a half hours. That might seem fine for a series of The Wire, but could be considered overkill for a six-part mid-Nineties BBC Two comedy show. Clearly distributors Go Faster Stripe believe that the audience for this long-awaited title is largely comedy obsessives who absolutely must have every scrap of footage from Stewart Lee and Richard Herring's influential series. Because that's exactly what you get in this four-DVD set - all the surviving studio rushes, so you too, can relive the stop-start tedium of being a real TV recording in the comfort of your own home. Although it does mean a few never-before-seen sketches, too. Such completism - which also extends to a 60-minute live show previously released on VHS - also allows this set to come with a £25 price tag, far more than could likely be justified from the episodes alone. But then there's an investment to be made back, since this release has only been possible as Lee, Herring and the independent distributors forked out a reported £15,000 to buy the rights from the BBC, which never believed a DVD release would be commercially viable. They might have underestimated the esteem in which the show is remembered by comedy fans of a certain age, who will certainly clamour for the show. The fear. of course, is that it could never live up to such fond memories. Yet it does bear up remarkably well. The studio segments might be a bit rough around the edges, but that only adds to its studenty charm, and some of the sketches are a little slow to modern eyes, but the humour holds out....
Junior doctors demonstrate outside the department of health on 11 February. Photograph: Leon Neal/AFP/Getty Images
It is not always easy to do the right thing. In the 80s, for example, I remember when we all tried to avoid buying apartheid-era South African fruit. “Are these apples from South Africa?”, a photographer friend asked a cockney grocer, “because if they are I can’t buy them.” “I don’t blame you mate,” replied the cheery shopkeeper, “what if them Africans have touched them?” It would be an understatement to say they had been talking at cross purposes.
As an ethical consumer in today’s choice-crowded marketplace, I buy tax-avoiding Starbucks coffee only as a last resort, when no other chain coffee stores are available, perhaps at a motorway service station. But, like an anarchist Fagin, I have trained my children, aged two and four, to wait until the barista has turned round, and then knock as many of the chocolate coins off the front of the display as they can. These I then pocket while pretending to tie my lace, thus costing Starbucks more on each transaction than they make.
I have explained to the children that though this act is not legal, it is nonetheless moral, in a neat reversal of Starbucks’ historical tax avoidance, which though legal, was not moral. Teaching children to steal from Starbucks is a way of making ethics fun for kids and bringing philosophy alive. And they get to eat chocolate which, under normal circumstances, I would forbid them. It’s a win-win situation for all of us. Don’t you wish I was your dad?
Since privatisation, travelling on trains is also clearly morally wrong. How can it be right that privatised rail providers are still in receipt of public subsidies while paying shareholders dividends? But if I’m not on the train, I’m on the motorway, clogging up the environment with evil emissions from my doctored Volkswagen Passat, although this does at least mean I can visit service station Starbucks branches and steal their chocolate coins. Swings and roundabouts.
Due to their unethical milk-powder marketing strategies in the developing world, I have a blanket ban on Nestlé products, meaning when my four-year-old was offered Shreddies for breakfast after a sleepover, she told her friend’s perfectly pleasant parents that they were murdering babies. I worry I have been overzealous in my indoctrination and that when the kids enter their teenage rebellious years, they will turn into a pair of Jeremy Hunts.
But who would have thought the latest challenge to the ethical consumer would come from the NHS? On Monday, it was revealed that health service rules preventing NHS managers offering contracts to companies with Google-style tax arrangements are to be scrapped. If a company subcontracted to provide NHS care is technically legal then it is unfair, under the free market ethic of competition, to discriminate against them. Soon it won’t even be possible to die ethically, let alone buy breakfast cereal.
Clinical commissioning groups in Bristol and Hackney, where I live, are to suspend their objections to using care services provided by companies registered in tax havens. But I haven’t spent my whole life not eating Shreddies and stealing Starbucks chocolate only to be taken fatally ill and see public money paid to a care provider overseeing my expiry while not contributing any of its profits back into the public purse.
Twelve years ago, I collapsed backstage at the Soho theatre after a long-standing stomach disorder finally turned critical, vomiting and discharging blood from my bottom. Had I been obliged to make my own way to a hospital whose ethics I agreed with, I could have wriggled like a filth-trailing snail along Dean Street without any trouble. Indeed I have seen the wealthy night-revellers of Boris’s brave new London step gingerly over expiring homeless folk in worse states, so there would be little risk of a kindly Samaritan forcing me to seek succour from a politically inappropriate service provider.
I lined up black coffees in a Leeds hotel room and started this column on Thursday morning, having seen the story about the tax-avoiding care providers on Monday, and thought it might be funny to write a piece playing up to the image of myself as a leftwing zealot, someone who would rather die in the street like a sick dog than be nursed in a hospital by Virgin Care or GE Healthcare. Ha ha ha.
Then around lunchtime, while writing this sentence, I saw junior doctors on the internet complaining about Jeremy Hunt lying about their pay offer. My deadline was looming and suddenly the intricacies of NHS service providers’ tax arrangements seemed irrelevant compared to the problems facing its very survival. At 1pm Jeremy Hunt appeared on Sky news, saying he had the support of 20 NHS CEOs. But 20 minutes later Twitter showed four had already jumped ship. A news surge had put my funny column into freefall.
On my desktop I still had a website open where I was trying to see if there was a scientific word for the mixture of blood and excrement a sickly snail would leave behind, so I could use it as an over-the-top adjective in the bit about crawling along the road earlier. But the story had moved on. I had no column. I know this dispute isn’t all about me, but I wish people like Jeremy Hunt and these junior doctors would think about the hidden costs of their actions to freelance writers trying to file barely amusing copy on a deadline. How selfish!
The hours passed. Public anger boiled. I wondered why Hunt was imposing on junior doctors a non-negotiable contract which any sensible person could see will decimate the profession and ultimately make the NHS in England untenable. But perhaps, I started to wonder in my caffeinated paranoia, perhaps this was the idea all along.
I don’t want to sound like the Daily Telegraph’s idea of an out-of-his-depth alternative comedian columnist, citing barely understood quotes from books I have never read before going off to talk about farts and cocks on stage for two hours, but Noam Chomsky described the standard technique of privatisation thus: “Defund, make sure things don’t work, people get angry, you hand it over to private capital”.
Suddenly, the removal of moral objections to NHS managers offering contracts to the world’s worst companies seems like part of a bigger picture. Those doctors will defect. And who can blame them? But the way will be cleared to plug the gap with privately supplied, unregulated, labour. And the free market fundamentalists will maintain that their hands were forced.
Stewart Lee
2016-02-14T14:59:11+00:00
Junior doctors demonstrate outside the department of health on 11 February. Photograph: Leon Neal/AFP/Getty Images It is not always easy to do the right thing. In the 80s, for example, I remember when we all tried to avoid buying apartheid-era South African fruit. “Are these apples from South Africa?”, a photographer friend asked a cockney grocer, “because if they are I can’t buy them.” “I don’t blame you mate,” replied the cheery shopkeeper, “what if them Africans have touched them?” It would be an understatement to say they had been talking at cross purposes. As an ethical consumer in today’s choice-crowded marketplace, I buy tax-avoiding Starbucks coffee only as a last resort, when no other chain coffee stores are available, perhaps at a motorway service station. But, like an anarchist Fagin, I have trained my children, aged two and four, to wait until the barista has turned round, and then knock as many of the chocolate coins off the front of the display as they can. These I then pocket while pretending to tie my lace, thus costing Starbucks more on each transaction than they make. I have explained to the children that though this act is not legal, it is nonetheless moral, in a neat reversal of Starbucks’ historical tax avoidance, which though legal, was not moral. Teaching children to steal from Starbucks is a way of making ethics fun for kids and bringing philosophy alive. And they get to eat chocolate which, under normal circumstances, I would forbid them. It’s a win-win situation for all of us. Don’t you wish I was your dad? Since privatisation, travelling on trains is also clearly morally wrong. How can it be right that privatised rail providers are still in receipt of public subsidies while paying shareholders dividends? But if I’m not...
So you’ve been touring your new show, If you would prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One, for a few months now. Are you enjoying the tour?
I’m really enjoying the shows and it is nice to play to people who, after the TV series, have more of an idea what to expect. There are less people coming who want conventional stand-up, so there are less confused and bored people.
Have you yet been asked for a milder comedian whilst on tour?
I haven’t been asked for a milder comedian, but I think a constant diet of Michael McIntyre would be the perfect alternative.
You do a bit in this show on Top Gear which has become quite notorious. Do you find it is a sense of moral injustice which helps drive your comedy?
Well, funny is the main thing, but I am irked by the glibness of Top Gear humour, the lack of responsibility, the softness of the targets, the pungent aroma of playground bullying.
It seemed for ages that you were trying to break into a pseudo-mainstream, or at least achieve a sense of sustainability. Do you think you’ve finally achieved that?
Sustainability is the key word. I don’t want to be famous, or be recognised, or go on panel shows or be in magazines. I just want to do enough for live work to be sustainable until I die, and the TV show has really helped this. I don’t make a loss on live work anymore, but I used to.
Have you been to the revamped Birmingham Town Hall before?
No. I sang there as a choirboy in the mid-70s though, I think. I hope the acoustics aren’t too bouncy.
You’ve had a couple of DVDs recorded in The Stand in Glasgow. Is this one of your favourite venues?
I do like The Stand in Glasgow, and also their Edinburgh venue. Tommy Sheppard has hand-reared a combative but comedy literate audience, free of stags and hens, and it’s the perfect alternative to Jongleurs chains. The Glee in Brum is also good though.
Finally, any news on a second series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle?
They tell me in January. If not, back on the road with a new show from August next year.
Stewart Lee
2009-11-13T16:02:06+00:00
So you’ve been touring your new show, If you would prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One, for a few months now. Are you enjoying the tour? I’m really enjoying the shows and it is nice to play to people who, after the TV series, have more of an idea what to expect. There are less people coming who want conventional stand-up, so there are less confused and bored people. Have you yet been asked for a milder comedian whilst on tour? I haven’t been asked for a milder comedian, but I think a constant diet of Michael McIntyre would be the perfect alternative. You do a bit in this show on Top Gear which has become quite notorious. Do you find it is a sense of moral injustice which helps drive your comedy? Well, funny is the main thing, but I am irked by the glibness of Top Gear humour, the lack of responsibility, the softness of the targets, the pungent aroma of playground bullying. It seemed for ages that you were trying to break into a pseudo-mainstream, or at least achieve a sense of sustainability. Do you think you’ve finally achieved that? Sustainability is the key word. I don’t want to be famous, or be recognised, or go on panel shows or be in magazines. I just want to do enough for live work to be sustainable until I die, and the TV show has really helped this. I don’t make a loss on live work anymore, but I used to. Have you been to the revamped Birmingham Town Hall before? No. I sang there as a choirboy in the mid-70s though, I think. I hope the acoustics aren’t too bouncy. You’ve had a couple of DVDs recorded in The Stand in Glasgow. Is this one of...
The show is a double bill of two, new, sixty-minute sets – weirdly, delivered in the opposite order to the title. Tornado is centered around Netflix incorrectly attributing the synopsis of Sharknado to Lee’s series Comedy Vehicle. The first half is funny and well paced, it sees bits on mainstream comedians who haven’t had their comedy special synopses tampered with – Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr both, fairly, fall victim. Lee also talks at length about rotisserie chickens and ends the set with a ropey impression of Alan Bennett reading allowed from a Bennett-fied Sharknado – brilliant.
The second half is equally as layered, sharp and silly. Snowflake focuses on the absurdity of wokeness and despite its ubiquity, the fact is, it still has little effect on the content we’re shown. In this part we return to the Netflix synopsis of Ricky Gervais’ latest comedy output, which states ‘Gervais says the unsayable’. For several minutes, Lee performs an almost-silent, drawn out impression of Gervais attempting to say words, getting increasingly more ridiculous and causing the audience to cry with laughter. Lee defends wokeness with a heavy dose of ridicule and plenty of self-awareness, ruminating that ultimately it has made no difference as the two best-selling comedians (Gervais and Carr) are still paid to make unnecessarily controversial shows. On a lighter note, we also hear about Lee’s nan’s confusion between ‘political correctness’ and ‘health and safety’ and her frustration at not being allowed to eat soup wherever she wants.
In Snowflake/Tornado, like all of Lee’s shows, jokes wind together and segway seamlessly with earlier references often slipping back into the monologue just as you forget about them. Snowflake/Tornado sees heaps of new material whilst still featuring Lee’s calling cards; repetition, in-jokes and plenty of audience berating. On multiple occasions, Lee stops the audience to critique their reactions and explain why the joke we missed was funny. However, in a change to normal proceedings, the show ends with a tender moment, as Lee very genuinely thanks the audience for attending the show. A heartwarming moment acknowledging the lack of stand-up shows over the last two years and all that came with it.
A recording of Snowflake/Tornado will be coming to the BBC later this year, details to be confirmed. Throughout August, Stewart Lee will be performing at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, with his next tour beginning in September. Further details are available here.
Stewart Lee
2022-07-07T11:55:49+01:00
The show is a double bill of two, new, sixty-minute sets – weirdly, delivered in the opposite order to the title. Tornado is centered around Netflix incorrectly attributing the synopsis of Sharknado to Lee’s series Comedy Vehicle. The first half is funny and well paced, it sees bits on mainstream comedians who haven’t had their comedy special synopses tampered with – Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr both, fairly, fall victim. Lee also talks at length about rotisserie chickens and ends the set with a ropey impression of Alan Bennett reading allowed from a Bennett-fied Sharknado – brilliant. The second half is equally as layered, sharp and silly. Snowflake focuses on the absurdity of wokeness and despite its ubiquity, the fact is, it still has little effect on the content we’re shown. In this part we return to the Netflix synopsis of Ricky Gervais’ latest comedy output, which states ‘Gervais says the unsayable’. For several minutes, Lee performs an almost-silent, drawn out impression of Gervais attempting to say words, getting increasingly more ridiculous and causing the audience to cry with laughter. Lee defends wokeness with a heavy dose of ridicule and plenty of self-awareness, ruminating that ultimately it has made no difference as the two best-selling comedians (Gervais and Carr) are still paid to make unnecessarily controversial shows. On a lighter note, we also hear about Lee’s nan’s confusion between ‘political correctness’ and ‘health and safety’ and her frustration at not being allowed to eat soup wherever she wants. In Snowflake/Tornado, like all of Lee’s shows, jokes wind together and segway seamlessly with earlier references often slipping back into the monologue just as you forget about them. Snowflake/Tornado sees heaps of new material whilst still featuring Lee’s calling cards; repetition, in-jokes and plenty of audience berating. On multiple occasions, Lee stops...
'Everyone is always telling me I am going to hell. Now I've seen it,' was the verdict of popular television's biggest star, Jerry Springer, as he confronted an uncomfortable vision of his own fate on an Edinburgh stage yesterday. 'Not many people get to see their future,' he added.
Springer made an unannounced visit to the hit show of the Fringe Festival, Jerry Springer: The Opera, and pronounced it 'wonderful', even though lawyers for his successful US chat show are likely to try to stop it being produced elsewhere.
The musical, with a foul-mouthed libretto that features an aria sung by a dwarf lesbian with a nappy fetish, a black baby Jesus and the Devil, was 'great' and 'many-layered', Springer said, although it features an unflattering portrayal of him.
'I hope the show comes to America,' he told The Observer. 'I only wish I'd thought of it first. I don't object to anything in it. The whole show is tongue-in-cheek, so what is the problem?'
He had fun with the sell-out audience at the Assembly Rooms, however, most of whom were astonished to see the real Jerry Springer sitting beside them watching a show that satirised his controversial TV programme.
He was greeted with a round of applause and stood up in the interval to shout out a playful 'it's not true' after a particularly sordid allegation about his personal life. The opera, directed and written by the comedian Stewart Lee, one half of the television duo Lee and Herring, with music by Richard Thomas, has prompted the excited attentions of producers from New York and London, including Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackintosh. A German producer was in the audience and hoped to buy up the show.
But Springer's television network lawyers are unlikely to let such a telling parody of his programme continue. Copyright is believed to be an issue. Springer, who is in the city to speak at the Guardian Edinburgh International Television Festival today, was not the only star to enjoy the show. Tracey Ullman, whose husband is one of the producers, praised the singers, while Esther Rantzen said it was 'brilliant'.
'It was beautifully sung and it obviously enhanced it to see it done in the presence of the master.'
Springer's relaxed attitude is remarkable, given that it makes staggering shifts from reality. In the second half, he gets shot and goes to hell and solves the question of what is good and evil.
Lee has said: 'He becomes the liberal fantasy of what you want an American chat-show host to be.'
Stewart Lee
2002-08-25T18:24:12+01:00
'Everyone is always telling me I am going to hell. Now I've seen it,' was the verdict of popular television's biggest star, Jerry Springer, as he confronted an uncomfortable vision of his own fate on an Edinburgh stage yesterday. 'Not many people get to see their future,' he added. Springer made an unannounced visit to the hit show of the Fringe Festival, Jerry Springer: The Opera, and pronounced it 'wonderful', even though lawyers for his successful US chat show are likely to try to stop it being produced elsewhere. The musical, with a foul-mouthed libretto that features an aria sung by a dwarf lesbian with a nappy fetish, a black baby Jesus and the Devil, was 'great' and 'many-layered', Springer said, although it features an unflattering portrayal of him. 'I hope the show comes to America,' he told The Observer. 'I only wish I'd thought of it first. I don't object to anything in it. The whole show is tongue-in-cheek, so what is the problem?' He had fun with the sell-out audience at the Assembly Rooms, however, most of whom were astonished to see the real Jerry Springer sitting beside them watching a show that satirised his controversial TV programme. He was greeted with a round of applause and stood up in the interval to shout out a playful 'it's not true' after a particularly sordid allegation about his personal life. The opera, directed and written by the comedian Stewart Lee, one half of the television duo Lee and Herring, with music by Richard Thomas, has prompted the excited attentions of producers from New York and London, including Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackintosh. A German producer was in the audience and hoped to buy up the show. But Springer's television network lawyers are unlikely to let such a telling...
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.
Perhaps the unelected 2022 Conservative government’s most surprising achievement has been to radicalise the the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. Flask-swiggers best known for shivering silently in freezing hides, usually they await the seasonal arrival of a particular kind of swan. But Kwasi Kwarteng’s kamikwasi budget has made landscape and wildlife collateral damage for his deregulated New Investment Zones, the Japanese knotweed of ultra-Conservative economic ideology, and the twitchers are twitching with rage.
“We are angry!” squawked the normally placid RSPB, in an urgent communique entitled Stop the Attack on Nature. “The UK government has launched an unprecedented attack on nature. They are threatening to tear up the laws that protect our best wildlife sites, weakening protections for nature in the planning system and may be about to scrap vital proposals that would help farmers help nature. We will not stand by and let this happen.” Take to the streets bird-fans. Riot! And remember, a tube of birdfeeder nuts squeezed into a tied-off sock can make a functional cosh, while a barn-style bird-table roof can be adapted into truncheon-resistant headgear. Twitchers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your choughs.
The RSPB revolution wasn’t on my Liz Truss Disaster Bingo Card. To be fair, neither was the instant collapse of the economy. But the RSPB aren’t the only nature-friendly nerds fearing the Conservatives. Follow my trail of seeds, little birds. On Monday night, a decade late, the cowed BBC’s Radio 4 documentary The Other Black Door belatedly identified how the opaquely funded “thinktanks” in and around Tufton Street have facilitated Britain’s excursion into the foothills of fascism. At last!
But the next morning it was back to business as usual at the Balanced Broadcasting Corporation. Julian Jessop, of the tobacco- and oil-funded Tufton Street charity the Institute of Economic Affairs, was invited on to the rarely adequate Today programme for a typically accommodating chat with Justin Webb, defending the new mini-budget, before being given a slice of cake and a happy ending by the team on the way out. Excuse my French, but plus ça fucking change! In August, Ofcom declared LBC gobshite James O’Brien was justified in describing the IEA as a politically motivated lobbying organisation funded by “dark money”. Its punishment? Licence fee-funded airtime.
Basically, the more bland the name of a “Tufton Street” outfit the more evil it is. Of the following 15 Tufton Street organisations only seven are real: the Taxpayers’ Alliance; the Adam Smith Institute; the Sensible People’s Organisation; Leave Means Leave; the Imperial Legacy Forum; the Global Warming Policy Foundation; Brexit Central; the Plausibility Trust; the Centre for Policy Studies; the Racial Implementation Commission; Ignite!; the Institute for Economic Affairs; the European Strategy Pergola; Operation Mindfuck; and the Fanny Quint Content Discharge. I’m not telling you which are the fakes. You’ll have to use Google, like the BBC should before it books yet another neoliberal mouthpiece for balance, the twats.
The revolting pheasants of the RSPB are now sure to be in Tufton Street’s sights, and the National Trust already is. As explained here before, a shadowy syndicate called Restore Trust intends to de-wokeify the dangerously radical cake-and-countryside organisation by manoeuvring its own indistinct blandidates into power via board elections in this November’s National Trust AGM. Restore Trust backer Neil Record funds the Tufton Street charity Global Warming Policy Foundation. Handing the management of vast tracts of land to Record’s place-people would be like leaving Iain Duncan Smith in a room full of noses and telling him to take his pick.
“But what do we have to fear from the Global Warming Policy Foundation, Stew?” I hear you cry. “It sounds nice!” Well, the Tufton Street charity the Global Warming Policy Foundation has been investigated by the Charity Commission. It promotes climate change denial. In 2021, it launched a non-charitable arm, Net Zero Watch, which called for Cop26 to be cancelled and aims to discredit our commitment to carbon reduction. Local activists such as High Wycombe’s Steve Baker Watch have tried to put pressure on its prominent supporters, such as Wycombe MP Steve Baker, and the mpwatch.org group aims to monitor the activities of parliamentary climate change deniers. But the GWPF has big business board members too, such as Jerome Booth, the chairman of New Sparta films, who financed The Limehouse Golem, The Killing of a Sacred Deer and the poor-quality western Brimstone. What would the stars of New Sparta films, such as Toby Jones, Guy Pearce, Drew Barrymore, Bill Nighy and Nicole Kidman, think of their backer’s commitment to ending all life on Earth as soon as possible? Kidman, surely, would do a mouth sick. Jones would put on a jazz record and cry.
Just as the Bank of England intervened to protect the economy from the Conservatives, so environmental charities, pressure groups and the public have to intervene to save our flora and fauna from certain death at the hands of the current government and their Tufton Street masters. Take to the streets to demonstrate these days and the perfect storm of the new Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act, and the landslip collapse of the justice system, means you could spend 18 months on remand for an offence you are ultimately cleared of, though those currently trapped in this legal limbo will soon be looked upon as heroes. But we can still take up our pens. Join the RSPB and do whatever they say is necessary to save the country from the Truss government. Thwart Restore Trust by joining the National Trust by 28 October, and voting against them in November’s AGM. Help MP Watch hold the Tufton Street climate change deniers to account. They can’t arrest all of us. Or can they?
Stewart Lee
2022-10-02T19:41:21+01:00
Perhaps the unelected 2022 Conservative government’s most surprising achievement has been to radicalise the the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. Flask-swiggers best known for shivering silently in freezing hides, usually they await the seasonal arrival of a particular kind of swan. But Kwasi Kwarteng’s kamikwasi budget has made landscape and wildlife collateral damage for his deregulated New Investment Zones, the Japanese knotweed of ultra-Conservative economic ideology, and the twitchers are twitching with rage. “We are angry!” squawked the normally placid RSPB, in an urgent communique entitled Stop the Attack on Nature. “The UK government has launched an unprecedented attack on nature. They are threatening to tear up the laws that protect our best wildlife sites, weakening protections for nature in the planning system and may be about to scrap vital proposals that would help farmers help nature. We will not stand by and let this happen.” Take to the streets bird-fans. Riot! And remember, a tube of birdfeeder nuts squeezed into a tied-off sock can make a functional cosh, while a barn-style bird-table roof can be adapted into truncheon-resistant headgear. Twitchers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your choughs. The RSPB revolution wasn’t on my Liz Truss Disaster Bingo Card. To be fair, neither was the instant collapse of the economy. But the RSPB aren’t the only nature-friendly nerds fearing the Conservatives. Follow my trail of seeds, little birds. On Monday night, a decade late, the cowed BBC’s Radio 4 documentary The Other Black Door belatedly identified how the opaquely funded “thinktanks” in and around Tufton Street have facilitated Britain’s excursion into the foothills of fascism. At last! But the next morning it was back to business as usual at the Balanced Broadcasting Corporation. Julian Jessop, of the tobacco- and oil-funded Tufton Street charity...
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...
'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...
Roky Erickson, the hippy Buddy Holly who invented psychedelia in 1965, was burned out by electroconvulsive therapy in 1968. With schlocky b-movie imagery amplifying his genuine anxieties, unauthorised releases swamped Erickson’s subsequent efforts.
A trio of reissues showcases his Eighties output, 1986’s rare Don’t Slander Me finding Cold Sun’s autoharp guru Billy Miller and Jefferson Airplane’s Jack Cassidy bolstering a set of uncharacteristically conventional, sometimes quietly surprising, songs.
An alternate, greasy lead guitar laden, take of the throbbing punk blues Haunt will satiate starved disciples.
Stewart Lee
2013-09-16T12:34:14+01:00
Roky Erickson, the hippy Buddy Holly who invented psychedelia in 1965, was burned out by electroconvulsive therapy in 1968. With schlocky b-movie imagery amplifying his genuine anxieties, unauthorised releases swamped Erickson’s subsequent efforts. A trio of reissues showcases his Eighties output, 1986’s rare Don’t Slander Me finding Cold Sun’s autoharp guru Billy Miller and Jefferson Airplane’s Jack Cassidy bolstering a set of uncharacteristically conventional, sometimes quietly surprising, songs. An alternate, greasy lead guitar laden, take of the throbbing punk blues Haunt will satiate starved disciples.
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 comedians who consider themselves dangerous like to make an awful lot of fuss about it. They shout and scream and intimidate the audience with their angry, righteous indignation – after all, that’s what Bill Hicks did (sometimes), and he was damn good. But in life, the most dangerous things don’t telegraph themselves, their stealth being the most lethal of their weapons.
Which is where Stewart Lee comes in.
He makes no fuss. He saunters onto the stage, unconcerned about the audience’s presence. He speaks slowly, deliberately, unafraid of pausing, or silence or even appearing vulnerable. Yet under this placid exterior is possibly the most fearless, audacious and challenging comedian working today. He’s unafraid of taking stand-up into seriously uncomfortable areas, compelling the audience to laugh against their basic instincts of decency. Many shock-jock comics claim to say the unsayable, Lee actually delivers, and with a devastating understated style.
Lee, infamously, has been in a lot of hot water this year, not for his stand-up but for Jerry Springer: The Opera. A fun, well-constructed and impressively staged work playing with the ideas of heaven, hell and confessional chat shows. Most who saw it would have seen little to offend, except perhaps the profligate swearing, of which they were warned in advance. But he was persecuted by spiteful Christian organisations, received tens of thousands of death threats and saw a project of which he was proud – and considered theologically sound – evaporate.
This is his considered answer to them. And his response is certainly not to turn the other cheek. Instead, since you might just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, he has produced the most disgustingly blasphemous routine you are likely to encounter, pushing even the most open-minded non-believer’s tolerance to breaking point. The daring is breathtaking as he elicits gales of guilty laughter from an unwilling audience who are surely condemning themselves to hell, too. Lee himself professes to be uneasy in performing this toughest of material, and it’s easy to see why. This is what makes him so astoundingly courageous, because he charges so valiantly beyond any reasonable person’s comfort zone, including his own.
It’s heavyweight stuff. Lee is not your ‘gateway drug’ into comedy, but a crack cocaine of an act for those who find they can no longer get a high from the softer comedy of Peter Kay, most the Jongleurs roster, or Joe Pasquale – Lee’s other bete noire, next to the Christian church. Even the more accessible early routines, before he tackles Jesus, trot through the July 7 bombings and his favourite topic, the death of a much-loved icon (last year, Diana, this year the Pope).
In these, relatively less inflammatory topics, he maintains a keen sense of the absurd, beautifully highlighted by his brilliantly paced delivery, which slowly and subtly peels away new layers of fine material. Among all the talk Lee inevitably attracts for his boundary-pushing content, the point is easily overlooked that his work is also powerfully hilarious - the perfect mix of heavyweight topics, expert timing and fantastic lines proving an irresistible force.
Such a combination is, literally breathtaking.
This is surely the most impressive, intelligent and shockingly funny stand-up on the Fringe, if not the world.
Stewart Lee
2005-08-07T22:43:42+01:00
Most comedians who consider themselves dangerous like to make an awful lot of fuss about it. They shout and scream and intimidate the audience with their angry, righteous indignation – after all, that’s what Bill Hicks did (sometimes), and he was damn good. But in life, the most dangerous things don’t telegraph themselves, their stealth being the most lethal of their weapons. Which is where Stewart Lee comes in. He makes no fuss. He saunters onto the stage, unconcerned about the audience’s presence. He speaks slowly, deliberately, unafraid of pausing, or silence or even appearing vulnerable. Yet under this placid exterior is possibly the most fearless, audacious and challenging comedian working today. He’s unafraid of taking stand-up into seriously uncomfortable areas, compelling the audience to laugh against their basic instincts of decency. Many shock-jock comics claim to say the unsayable, Lee actually delivers, and with a devastating understated style. Lee, infamously, has been in a lot of hot water this year, not for his stand-up but for Jerry Springer: The Opera. A fun, well-constructed and impressively staged work playing with the ideas of heaven, hell and confessional chat shows. Most who saw it would have seen little to offend, except perhaps the profligate swearing, of which they were warned in advance. But he was persecuted by spiteful Christian organisations, received tens of thousands of death threats and saw a project of which he was proud – and considered theologically sound – evaporate. This is his considered answer to them. And his response is certainly not to turn the other cheek. Instead, since you might just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, he has produced the most disgustingly blasphemous routine you are likely to encounter, pushing even the most open-minded non-believer’s tolerance to breaking point. The daring...
In 1973, my mother returned from a lengthy bridgework session, where the dentist played her what became her favorite record, Neil Diamond's career making live double, Hot August Night. It's a more interesting set than I, age 5, then realised.
The former Tin Pan Alley tunesmith, brandishes his cast iron contributions to the Great American Songbook in a Californian amphitheatre, shaggy like a rock star, but unambiguously showbiz.
Diamond's bizarre Springsteen-Manilow hybrid remains unresolved, even after tinkering from the reinvention guru Rick Rubin in 2005, but this expanded Hot August Night captures the freshly cut Diamond in his most enjoyably conflicted state.
Stewart Lee
2012-10-01T11:37:20+01:00
In 1973, my mother returned from a lengthy bridgework session, where the dentist played her what became her favorite record, Neil Diamond's career making live double, Hot August Night. It's a more interesting set than I, age 5, then realised. The former Tin Pan Alley tunesmith, brandishes his cast iron contributions to the Great American Songbook in a Californian amphitheatre, shaggy like a rock star, but unambiguously showbiz. Diamond's bizarre Springsteen-Manilow hybrid remains unresolved, even after tinkering from the reinvention guru Rick Rubin in 2005, but this expanded Hot August Night captures the freshly cut Diamond in his most enjoyably conflicted state.
"This is my first mid-30s, pretentious one-man show," says Stewart Lee in an apologetic intro to Pea Green Boat. This isn't stand-up, he warns, so prepare not to laugh. The preamble promises some daring dramatic experiment. In fact, this solo delve into Edward Lear's most famous poem is sweet and very funny - but doesn't deviate greatly from the stand-up with which Lee made his name.
It is structured as the story of a short time in Lee's life. His career was hitting the skids when he was commissioned to write a film of Edward Lear's life. At the same time, his toilet was broken and he couldn't go to the loo. He interweaves these unlikely story strands into an examination of The Owl and the Pussycat - a boat trip, he points out, undertaken by a bird and its natural predator. Many of the show's laughs derive from Lee's droll determination to take the ditty literally: how can an owl play a small guitar? How can a turkey conduct a wedding ceremony? He recites extracts from the owl's travelogue, to the moody strains of an accompanying cello. Guest star Simon Munnery appears as Lear, and as the would-be biopic star Ray Winstone, "from Scum, and Sexy Beast".
The storytelling structure sets up expectations of dramatic fulfilment on which Pea Green Boat doesn't yet deliver. This is still, essentially, stand-up, even if its subject matter is unusually esoteric and biographical. Lee is a comedy master by now, and his own pleasure and nonplussed sense of absurdity constantly amuses. He makes his material seem like a veritable mine of comic potential, so that on Day 47 of the owl's journal, when the boat trip ends, Lee finds the bird complaining: "But I've nearly learnt to play Mull of Kintyre".
Stewart Lee
2002-08-23T23:07:29+01:00
"This is my first mid-30s, pretentious one-man show," says Stewart Lee in an apologetic intro to Pea Green Boat. This isn't stand-up, he warns, so prepare not to laugh. The preamble promises some daring dramatic experiment. In fact, this solo delve into Edward Lear's most famous poem is sweet and very funny - but doesn't deviate greatly from the stand-up with which Lee made his name. It is structured as the story of a short time in Lee's life. His career was hitting the skids when he was commissioned to write a film of Edward Lear's life. At the same time, his toilet was broken and he couldn't go to the loo. He interweaves these unlikely story strands into an examination of The Owl and the Pussycat - a boat trip, he points out, undertaken by a bird and its natural predator. Many of the show's laughs derive from Lee's droll determination to take the ditty literally: how can an owl play a small guitar? How can a turkey conduct a wedding ceremony? He recites extracts from the owl's travelogue, to the moody strains of an accompanying cello. Guest star Simon Munnery appears as Lear, and as the would-be biopic star Ray Winstone, "from Scum, and Sexy Beast". The storytelling structure sets up expectations of dramatic fulfilment on which Pea Green Boat doesn't yet deliver. This is still, essentially, stand-up, even if its subject matter is unusually esoteric and biographical. Lee is a comedy master by now, and his own pleasure and nonplussed sense of absurdity constantly amuses. He makes his material seem like a veritable mine of comic potential, so that on Day 47 of the owl's journal, when the boat trip ends, Lee finds the bird complaining: "But I've nearly learnt to play Mull of Kintyre".
The centre of the New Jersey trio Yo La Tengo's 1993 album, Painful, features a blurred polaroid of a plate of French fries. Neil Young's French fries. Yo La Tengo's guitarist Ira Kaplan, a moon-faced thirtysomething once described as "the Jewish Jimi Hendrix", had lunched with the grandfather of grunge in a New York restaurant and asked the waitress to wrap his leftover sandwich. Young's uneaten fries were accidentally wrapped with it, and were soon back in the apartment Kaplan shares with his wife Georgia Hubley, Yo La Tengo's drummer, co-vocalist and the daughter of John Hubley, the creator of the cartoon character Mr Magoo. At first they attempted to preserve the historic fries, dating as they did from the week of Young's acclaimed MTV unplugged performance. "Initially, we refrigerated them but, hey, cooked potatoes have a half-life," Kaplan explains. "We thought about varnishing, but eventually we decided on photodocumentation." Lucky. The inherent weirdness of the daughter of the creator of Mr Magoo varnishing Neil Young's French fries for future generations doesn't bear contemplation.
Yo La Tengo have just released an excellent ninth album and are touring the UK this month. Their name is Spanish for "I got it" and was the cry of Elio Chacon, a baseball shortstop. But, ironically not everyone seems to "get" Yo La Tengo at all. The name's Mexican dance-band connotations see them frequently misfiled alongside the Gipsy Kings in record shops and even their press officer admits, "They don't sound like the Small Faces, and nobody knows what to do with them." The New York director Hal Hartley's use of them in film soundtracks, and the fact that they self-mockingly played the Velvet Underground in the film I Shot Andy Warhol, are the closest things the press has ever got to an "angle".
It's not surprising. Yo La Tengo's first two albums slotted neatly into a mid-1980s guitar-pop scene centred around Hoboken's Watermusic studio, alongside a host of other jangly New Jersey bands, but then the duo made a sudden and shocking shift of gear. "With the President
album in 1989, I remember thinking, Wow!" Kaplan recalls. "We haven't been playing much since we last recorded, but somehow we've got much better." President buried the sweetest melodies beneath seemingly endless storms of throbbing feedback, while its follow-up, 1990's Fake Book, a collection of delightful covers of classic acoustic folk-pop songs, couldn't have been more different.
So is there an element of wilful perversity at work in Yo La Tengo? "Maybe a little," admits Kaplan, remembering the band's prestigious support slot two years back in a double-headlining show by indie-rock's premier-division title holders, Stereolab and Sebadoh, at the Shepherd's Bush Empire in London. Yo La Tengo's considered response to facing a theatre full of potential new converts was to ditch all their catchy tunes in favour of a single experimental 45-minute instrumental piece. "Well, we felt that it would be good to do something people remembered, like it or not. We'd prefer it if people liked it, but we'd rather be remembered unfondly than just dimly." The band's last five albums have seen them take on a permanent third member, the bassist James McNew, and reconcile the two sides of their personality. I Can Feel the Heart Beating As One, their new album (Matador records), is no exception. Kaplan will always follow his avant-garde rock inclinations, but is still seduced by the kind of simple pop melodies chart acts would die for. With too great a reverence for classic songwriting skills to fit in with drone-rock noodlers such as Labradford or Bardo Pond, the kind of bands Kaplan describes wryly as "dependably unpredictable", Yo La
Tengo are also, ironically, too experimental to sneak into the public consciousness through the door marked "Classic Guitar Pop". But even at their most elliptical, they still have the fluid dynamic of a road-tested band .
The title of Spec Bebop, the instrumental centrepiece of the new album, sounds like it's describing a musical sub-genre of jazz for the visually impaired - perhaps there's even a Mr Magoo connection - but, predictably, it takes its name from a prewar baseball player. Spec Bebop has the same metronomic, repetitious experimental trademarks as similar pieces by the Anglo-French drone-rockers Stereolab, but somehow it sounds felt , there's a groove to it, while its European counterpart seems merely thought . "Maybe," Kaplan concedes politely. "I wonder if we're not as afraid of being caught jamming as a British band would be. Jamming has very bad connotations for very good reasons, but our goal sometimes is to improvise
something well enough to try and overcome them, I guess there's something really old fashioned about us."
Without meaning to, Kaplan has summed up Yo La Tengo, perfectly, futuristic electric rock music played in the old-fashioned way. I got it! Jazz from the jet age.
Stewart Lee
1997-07-13T17:00:33+01:00
The centre of the New Jersey trio Yo La Tengo's 1993 album, Painful, features a blurred polaroid of a plate of French fries. Neil Young's French fries. Yo La Tengo's guitarist Ira Kaplan, a moon-faced thirtysomething once described as "the Jewish Jimi Hendrix", had lunched with the grandfather of grunge in a New York restaurant and asked the waitress to wrap his leftover sandwich. Young's uneaten fries were accidentally wrapped with it, and were soon back in the apartment Kaplan shares with his wife Georgia Hubley, Yo La Tengo's drummer, co-vocalist and the daughter of John Hubley, the creator of the cartoon character Mr Magoo. At first they attempted to preserve the historic fries, dating as they did from the week of Young's acclaimed MTV unplugged performance. "Initially, we refrigerated them but, hey, cooked potatoes have a half-life," Kaplan explains. "We thought about varnishing, but eventually we decided on photodocumentation." Lucky. The inherent weirdness of the daughter of the creator of Mr Magoo varnishing Neil Young's French fries for future generations doesn't bear contemplation. Yo La Tengo have just released an excellent ninth album and are touring the UK this month. Their name is Spanish for "I got it" and was the cry of Elio Chacon, a baseball shortstop. But, ironically not everyone seems to "get" Yo La Tengo at all. The name's Mexican dance-band connotations see them frequently misfiled alongside the Gipsy Kings in record shops and even their press officer admits, "They don't sound like the Small Faces, and nobody knows what to do with them." The New York director Hal Hartley's use of them in film soundtracks, and the fact that they self-mockingly played the Velvet Underground in the film I Shot Andy Warhol, are the closest things the press has ever got to an "angle". It's...
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.
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 feel sorry for Theresa May. And that Rudd one, who looks like she is wearing a rubber Halloween mask based on her own face. What if, because you were all going on about how great Ukip were, and how Nigel Farage was only saying what people had been thinking all along, and all these people coming over here, May and Rudd thought you wanted them to be racist too, like you are? And so back in 2013, to please you, they did some racism, and wrote racist stuff on racist vans and drove them around laughing.
And in so doing, May furthered the creation of The Hostile Environment, which sounds like an irradiated wasteland where teenage amazons get sent to die in The Hunger Games. May probably wasn’t really all that racist herself, and only did the racism because she thought you wanted it, you racists.
And now look what’s happened. Last week Mrs May spilt a massive silver tureen of hot sticky racism right into the laps of diners at the Commonwealth Heads of Government slap-up supper, leaving the poor old Queen to get down on her knees between Andrew Holness’s Jamaican knees and sponge up all the racist mess herself: “Never mind Theresa, it’s probably best if I do it. You’ve done enough.”
When the royal family, their 1930s Nazi sympathies now walled up in a sealed room at Windsor Castle, are your secret weapon for papering over the racist cracks, you know you’re in trouble. But Prince Philip’s embarrassing colonialist gaffes of old seem now like the charming handmade racist woodcuts of a delightful artisanal bigot, compared with the mechanised Model T Ford production line racism of the current government. May’s industrialised prejudice, a vast Amazon.com of nastiness, aimed to put the corner shop snug-bar Ukip supporter out of business. And suddenly, small-time racists everywhere are nostalgic for the days before racism went mainstream.
Franz Kafka’s novels of bureaucracy gone mad have given us the adjective Kafkaesque, without which it would be impossible to describe the experience of being billed twice as two slightly different addressees by British Gas; and then, when threatened with the bailiffs for not paying the bill of an address that didn’t exist, finding the best way out of the situation was to pretend on the phone to be an old confused pensioner who had forgotten his own name, while your wife pretends to be his carer, who doesn’t speak English as a first language. There was no 12b Shanley Road. It was “basement flat, 12 Shanley Road”. And I am not 84 and senile. My wife is not Latvian.
But this was not my most Kafkaesque situation. In Prague last summer, having booked four tickets online to visit the Kafka museum, and then finding they had been issued with the name Kafka on them instead of Lee, the guide advised us to pretend to be the Kafka family named on the ticket, to save time, and to satirise administrative incompetence as a celebration of dead Kafka himself. How we laughed. The children, three and six, could not have enjoyed their tour of the dimly lit literary tomb, with its morbidly fading handwritten letters and projected images of death, more.
An American family called Kafka arrived soon after us, visiting their distant relatives’ home town, and were denied entry, as their tickets bore our name, until the guide came out and advised them to pretend to be us. This was undoubtedly the most Kafkaesque situation any of us had ever been in, and we all had a good laugh about it in the cafe afterwards, before becoming fixated on the absurdity of existence and crawling away on our bellies to die. To die like dogs.
In Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque novel The Trial, which no one has ever read, the protagonist Danny K makes a complaint about two arresting officers, whose treatment of him, eating his breakfast and trying to steal his clothes, he felt was unfair. The next day Danny opens a store cupboard at work to find the officers being flogged for his benefit, but far more violently than he would have hoped. Danny protests, but the flogger explains that K had set wheels in motion.
Likewise, it now appears you didn’t want May and Rudd to be too racist after all, and now there’s all this unpleasantness, old guys homeless and living in storage units, and old ladies told to pack their bags, and no medical treatment for pensioners who paid in for decades. But that wasn’t what you wanted at all, was it, you racists?
Deporting and depriving those nice old black people who have been here for ever was wrong. And when they came for that Canadian dinner lady in Wolverhampton, who was actually white, and told her to go home as life in Britain was about to become “increasingly difficult” for her, that was definitely too much.
How could someone who had lived in Wolverhampton for 47 years, breathing toxic smog, dancing to Slade, and eating only faggots and peas, be expected to readjust to the land of clean mountain air, the thoughtful roots rock of the Tragically Hip, and light and fluffy blueberry muffins? It is inhumane.
No, it wasn’t the dinner lady and the nice black family from the electrical shop who had to go. It was the other foreigners. The bad ones, who scrounge and steal and are lazy. Not the ones that were like people you knew, harmless tropical fish caught in a dragnet sweeping for sharks. It’s the anonymous parade of frightening brown faces on that Vote Leave poster. They’re the bad ones.
Tough British cheddar. You stoked this hate volcano, racists. And now it has exploded all over your front garden and melted your Ford Focus. Is this what you wanted?
Stewart Lee
2018-04-29T18:27:45+01:00
I feel sorry for Theresa May. And that Rudd one, who looks like she is wearing a rubber Halloween mask based on her own face. What if, because you were all going on about how great Ukip were, and how Nigel Farage was only saying what people had been thinking all along, and all these people coming over here, May and Rudd thought you wanted them to be racist too, like you are? And so back in 2013, to please you, they did some racism, and wrote racist stuff on racist vans and drove them around laughing. And in so doing, May furthered the creation of The Hostile Environment, which sounds like an irradiated wasteland where teenage amazons get sent to die in The Hunger Games. May probably wasn’t really all that racist herself, and only did the racism because she thought you wanted it, you racists. And now look what’s happened. Last week Mrs May spilt a massive silver tureen of hot sticky racism right into the laps of diners at the Commonwealth Heads of Government slap-up supper, leaving the poor old Queen to get down on her knees between Andrew Holness’s Jamaican knees and sponge up all the racist mess herself: “Never mind Theresa, it’s probably best if I do it. You’ve done enough.” When the royal family, their 1930s Nazi sympathies now walled up in a sealed room at Windsor Castle, are your secret weapon for papering over the racist cracks, you know you’re in trouble. But Prince Philip’s embarrassing colonialist gaffes of old seem now like the charming handmade racist woodcuts of a delightful artisanal bigot, compared with the mechanised Model T Ford production line racism of the current government. May’s industrialised prejudice, a vast Amazon.com of nastiness, aimed to put the corner shop snug-bar Ukip...
Stewart Lee hasn’t been on telly for a long time, but I have fond memories of when he used to be a regular on our screens. I was probably too young for Fist of Fun on the radio, but I was just old enough for This Morning with Richard (Herring, of course) Not Judy – a comedy show which inexplicably found itself broadcast on Sunday mornings. We should bring that back, Sunday morning comedy. Anyway, Mr Lee – having penned a musical and spent years on the stand-up circuit – returned to TV last night. And he’s got a few things to get off his chest.
TV has struggled with the best way to showcase quality stand-ups for years now – should comics simply adapt to the medium and star in a sit-com, should they speak straight to the camera, should they have a live audience? Many formats have been tried with varying success, but to be honest I’m coming round to the belief that just pointing a camera at comedians while they do their thing is probably the best idea.
That’s what happens here, for the most part, with Stewart Lee performing a straight stand-up gig with just a few little sketches interspersed between the rants and ramblings. And that’s a great thing, and we need much more of it on our tellyboxes – comedians at the top of their game showing a much wider audience than would ever normally be achievable just how wonderful, uplifting, clever and intricate really great comedy can be.
I have a problem though… a lot of what Stewart Lee said irked me a little. In last night’s episode, Lee turned his admittedly sharp mind to books, and in particular toilet books and celebrity hardbacks. Perhaps it is just me, but isn’t it a little obvious to suggest that these genres are inherently crappy? Taking potshots at the likes of Jeremy Clarkson and Chris Moyles felt pedestrian, and to suggest that he shouldn’t read Harry Potter because it’s intended for kids seems close-minded.
But – surprisingly for a comic not known for set-up-and-punchline jokes – he had some great one-liners: to say of Asher D’s book “it doesn’t do to over-perfect things” is a delightful backhanded compliment, and when Dan Brown writes the line “The famous man looked at the red cup” all the work’s been done for you.
Mixed feelings then: on one hand I love seeing stand-up on TV, especially when supported by veterans of the comedy circuit we don’t often see on the telly such as Tony Law and Simon Munnery, but the comedy itself didn’t suit me personally. But I can be heartened by the very fact that this show – along with the likes of We Need Answers and Cowards – has been commissioned at all.
Stewart Lee
2009-03-17T10:51:01+00:00
Stewart Lee hasn’t been on telly for a long time, but I have fond memories of when he used to be a regular on our screens. I was probably too young for Fist of Fun on the radio, but I was just old enough for This Morning with Richard (Herring, of course) Not Judy – a comedy show which inexplicably found itself broadcast on Sunday mornings. We should bring that back, Sunday morning comedy. Anyway, Mr Lee – having penned a musical and spent years on the stand-up circuit – returned to TV last night. And he’s got a few things to get off his chest. TV has struggled with the best way to showcase quality stand-ups for years now – should comics simply adapt to the medium and star in a sit-com, should they speak straight to the camera, should they have a live audience? Many formats have been tried with varying success, but to be honest I’m coming round to the belief that just pointing a camera at comedians while they do their thing is probably the best idea. That’s what happens here, for the most part, with Stewart Lee performing a straight stand-up gig with just a few little sketches interspersed between the rants and ramblings. And that’s a great thing, and we need much more of it on our tellyboxes – comedians at the top of their game showing a much wider audience than would ever normally be achievable just how wonderful, uplifting, clever and intricate really great comedy can be. I have a problem though… a lot of what Stewart Lee said irked me a little. In last night’s episode, Lee turned his admittedly sharp mind to books, and in particular toilet books and celebrity hardbacks. Perhaps it is just me, but isn’t it a...
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...
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Stewart Lee
2017-06-05T20:30:30+01:00
Down(like a duck's down)-owl-d Tree-ump's eggtteggtude coo tree Pareggs eegreggmeggnt m-eggs hen, with-owl(like an owl)t d-owlt, tree most dangeggrowls hum-hen, and tree beggeggst threggt to tree f-cloaca oeuf owl l-oeuf hen Eggth, bat hiss (like a goose's hiss) eggver eggshisstegged. A-hen-d what Trump segged abowl-t Sadegg chiKhen hen Sundegg was dishenest (like a bird's nest) hen-d disreggtive hen tree eggstreggme. Jereggmy Caw(like a bird's caw)beak(like a bird's beak) hiss hen Tree V n-owl, caw caw-tree pea hen hen tree eggteggnoon oeuf Mondegg 5eggth oeuf June, sayegg tree wood tail(like a bird's tail) Down-owl-d Trump flap beak hegg-ve on-tree wing planegg. Treereggsoar May hen-d heregg crow(like a crow)nies(like a bird's knees), hen contrarse(like a bird's arse), ouef-fried(like a fried French egg) shit(like a bird's shit)eggc-hiss-wing(like a bird's wing) Trump. Tree weed (like a bird's wee) coo h-owl-d Trump hen beak, hen conjeggction wing oeuf-er bird(like a bird) poweggs, hen-d Treeeggsoar May instegg heggd hiss t-heny hen-d hen tree rose birdegg hen-d hiss coo compromeggsed coo condegg hen. The future oeuf owl oeuf hen Egg heggs hen tree baleggs oeuf Eggster, Ealegg, Bereggshire, Breggford, Haliegg, Wingegg, Beggregg hen-d Fried Egg, hen-d Breggegg.
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...
Not many shows start with the audience sitting on a minibus inching its way through a traffic jam. But then the very point of Interiors, part of the impressive new Manchester International Festival, is that it’s not like other shows. Instead, it takes theatre out of the theatre and into a modest, suburban semi in a secret location.
We, the 20-strong audience, are potential housebuyers, being bussed to a viewing courtesy of estate agents Pennington Lee – named after the comedians behind this inventive project, Stewart Lee and Michael Pennington, or as you may better know him, Johnny Vegas.
Vegas plays Jeffrey Parkin, who’s selling this spacious brick-built two-bed des res so he can embark on a new life in Macedonia, where he’s bought a plot of land on which he’s planning his dream home. Doing places up is something of a passion of his, you see. He’s done – or at least started - plenty of design work on this Victorian semi, which he is more than proud to show off, from the illuminated pan rack in the kitchen to the bespoke rootwood Coffee table that takes pride of place in an otherwise spartan lounge. Given Vegas’s fearsome, full-on comic persona, it’s with some trepidation that you cross his threshold.
Being in confined quarters with a drunken, supercharged, 18 stone of idiot is an intimidating prospect.
T hankfully, he’s not like that at all. Playing against type, his character here is a respectable corporate troubleshooter, somewhat nervous about having all these guests round, but generally a genial host. When it comes to matters of taste, he does everything an aspirational middle-class chap should. In furniture, it’s custom-made over Ikea mass production, rare wood over MDF. In food, likewise, he prefers exotic and organic, and in films, it’s acclaimed art-house fare such as his favourite Farinelli: Il Castrato.
So, why, when it comes to imparting bite-sized philosophies, does he resort to quoting Crocodile Dundee and Top Gun? For all his admirable ambitions, is he trying to be something he’s not, living up to the unattainable ideals of glossy style magazines rather than being true to himself? He may be houseproud, but is he happy?
These are the questions that Interiors skilfully raises. Vegas – whose ex-wife, coincidentally, is an interior decorator - plays Parkin with warmth and wit, his experience on the stand-up circuit preparing him well for the uncertainties of working so intimately with an audience. In fact, audience seems almost the wrong word, so completely broken down are the boundaries between punter and performer.
He offers us tea and biscuits, wine if we’d like, and people seem perfectly happy to engage him in small talk, just as if this was a real viewing. It is all enjoyable good-natured banter, really, nothing much more substantial than that, until Parkin takes a phone call that shatters his fragile veneer of happiness, and the experience takes a turn for the dramatic. Even in his stand-up guise Vegas is the prince of pathos, and he uses that to great effect here.
For ticket-holders, it genuinely is a unique experience, being such an integral part of the action. And the fact that this is so obviously an art-for-art’s sake project, with no hope of making much money from such small ‘audiences’ and with no obvious way to be done on any bigger scale, only adds to the special sense of occasion. Viewing recommended.
Stewart Lee
2007-07-05T00:13:33+01:00
Not many shows start with the audience sitting on a minibus inching its way through a traffic jam. But then the very point of Interiors, part of the impressive new Manchester International Festival, is that it’s not like other shows. Instead, it takes theatre out of the theatre and into a modest, suburban semi in a secret location. We, the 20-strong audience, are potential housebuyers, being bussed to a viewing courtesy of estate agents Pennington Lee – named after the comedians behind this inventive project, Stewart Lee and Michael Pennington, or as you may better know him, Johnny Vegas. Vegas plays Jeffrey Parkin, who’s selling this spacious brick-built two-bed des res so he can embark on a new life in Macedonia, where he’s bought a plot of land on which he’s planning his dream home. Doing places up is something of a passion of his, you see. He’s done – or at least started - plenty of design work on this Victorian semi, which he is more than proud to show off, from the illuminated pan rack in the kitchen to the bespoke rootwood Coffee table that takes pride of place in an otherwise spartan lounge. Given Vegas’s fearsome, full-on comic persona, it’s with some trepidation that you cross his threshold. Being in confined quarters with a drunken, supercharged, 18 stone of idiot is an intimidating prospect. T hankfully, he’s not like that at all. Playing against type, his character here is a respectable corporate troubleshooter, somewhat nervous about having all these guests round, but generally a genial host. When it comes to matters of taste, he does everything an aspirational middle-class chap should. In furniture, it’s custom-made over Ikea mass production, rare wood over MDF. In food, likewise, he prefers exotic and organic, and in films, it’s acclaimed art-house...
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/interiors/interiors/
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...
Before Brexit, 44% of British musicians, including my showbusiness friend Fish from Marillion, earned up to half their income from now inaccessible European audiences. But, should Fish find some way around the government’s failure to preserve artists’ touring opportunities, his unfortunate choice of stage name could mean he was still subject to time-consuming delays at EU customs. Thousands of pages of Fish’s Fish Health Certification documents would need to be checked by penny-pinching EU officials, and Fish from Marillion would be left rotting on the quayside like some eels, an undignified state for the 62-year-old progressive rock survivor.
“No man may comprehend the heap of consequences that Brexit has piled on musicians, fish, and musicians called Fish better than I,” said Fish, over our weekly Zoom chat on Monday night, “but fate is inexorable. My delayed farewell tour, Weltschmerz, just became an even bigger scrotal irritant.”
“Would it make it easier as regards the new EU paperwork if you stopped being called Fish and went back to being called your real name?” I asked Fish, helpfully. “Stewart my friend!” Fish honked in dismay, “My real name is Dick. Derek William Dick. Do you not remember why I changed it? Derek Dick? It sounds like the name of some rustic mountebank who would make a bear dance for cakes and sausages. Heavens man! I’m losing on the swings. I’m losing on the roundabouts.”
“Maybe you should call yourself Dominic Cumming, Fish!” I quipped, “He seemed to be able to travel wherever he liked without any form of hindrance. Ha!” “Eh, what do you mean, sir?” Fish asked. “Well, last year he drove to Durham, didn’t he Fish, under lockdown?” “Oh, yes, I think I remember that, yes,” Fish mumbled. “Yes Fish,” I continued, undeterred, “and you could say it was necessary for you to perform your new album, and a selection of classics like Kayleigh, all across Europe in order to test your eyesight! Ha! Ha!” “There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight, son,” said Fish defensively, leaving the meeting.
Tragic tales like Old Blind Dick’s are legion. And the government is keen to distract from the obvious disaster of Brexit, even though Keir Starmer has chosen politely not to mention it in parliament. Last week, Dominic Skeletor Raab, having belatedly realised where France is and which of all our stuff comes from it, encouraged failing businesses to “take a 10-year view” of the route to the increasingly distant sunlit uplands of horrible chickens and reduced educational opportunities. But the Brexit-Covid government’s latest dead cat has been smashed down on to the kitchen table with a new level of desperation, weaponising compensation culture in a spurious war against already beleaguered liberal intellectuals.
Cold calls from compensation-claims solicitors are a bane of modern life, but I have at least learned to have fun with them. I told one cold compensation-caller last month that I had had an accident recently, yes, but it involved a collision with the stolen vehicle of a drugs kingpin who said he would kill me and anyone who reported it, so how did the solicitor know about it? He soon made his excuses and hung up. But last week, the Brexit-Covid government announced it will introduce legislation that will enable academics, students or visiting speakers to sue universities for compensation where they feel they have suffered free speech infringements. Or at least it says it will. Often the Brexit-Covid government just floats these provocative ideas to make the left fight among themselves and say ridiculous things, like when the Telegraph pretended the new head of the BBC was going to ban “leftwing” comedy last September, and then he never said anything about it ever.
A government insider says it will be the education secretary Gavin Williamson himself who will make the cold calls to potentially aggrieved truth-tellers, as a reward for the bravery he has shown in continuing in his unsuitable post when others would have taken the coward’s way out and resigned due to their utter incompetence. Initially a recording of Rob Brydon doing an accurate impression of Williamson will ask leading questions such as: “Do you feel your freedom of speech has been infringed, and if so are you owed money?”; “Political correctness has gone mad hasn’t it and do you think you deserve some cash to make up for it?”; “Will you say you think everything is all too woke nowadays in exchange for gift tokens?” The real Williamson will intercept the call if an aggrieved freedom champion takes Brydon’s voice bait.
A government insider gave us a list of the kind of questions the real Williamson will then ask: “Have you ever not been invited to address a university, ever, and if so why?”; “Have you been temporarily prevented, while appropriate questions were first asked by your employers, from hosting a video presenting an anti-feminist narrative of male victimhood to teenage boys at a famous English public school?”; and “Has the counter-extremist unit of the Department of Education stopped you from booking the far-right former editor of Breitbart Tech, who jokingly supported the delivery of pipe bombs to critics of Trump and lost his book deal for condoning underage sex, to address sixth formers at your Kent grammar school?”
There is an important debate to be had about freedom of speech and the part of once noble further educational establishments, now reduced to the role of qualification-manufacturing machines in a grubby customer-service provider transaction, have in maintaining it. But the government that lied on buses about Brexit, that changed the name of its website during election debates to fool surfers into thinking it was an independent fact-checking organisation, and that is headed by Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Bumboys Vampires French-Turds FactcheckUK@CCHQ 88%-lies Johnson probably aren’t the most trustworthy people to be framing it.
Stewart Lee
2021-02-21T15:21:09+00:00
Before Brexit, 44% of British musicians, including my showbusiness friend Fish from Marillion, earned up to half their income from now inaccessible European audiences. But, should Fish find some way around the government’s failure to preserve artists’ touring opportunities, his unfortunate choice of stage name could mean he was still subject to time-consuming delays at EU customs. Thousands of pages of Fish’s Fish Health Certification documents would need to be checked by penny-pinching EU officials, and Fish from Marillion would be left rotting on the quayside like some eels, an undignified state for the 62-year-old progressive rock survivor. “No man may comprehend the heap of consequences that Brexit has piled on musicians, fish, and musicians called Fish better than I,” said Fish, over our weekly Zoom chat on Monday night, “but fate is inexorable. My delayed farewell tour, Weltschmerz, just became an even bigger scrotal irritant.” “Would it make it easier as regards the new EU paperwork if you stopped being called Fish and went back to being called your real name?” I asked Fish, helpfully. “Stewart my friend!” Fish honked in dismay, “My real name is Dick. Derek William Dick. Do you not remember why I changed it? Derek Dick? It sounds like the name of some rustic mountebank who would make a bear dance for cakes and sausages. Heavens man! I’m losing on the swings. I’m losing on the roundabouts.” “Maybe you should call yourself Dominic Cumming, Fish!” I quipped, “He seemed to be able to travel wherever he liked without any form of hindrance. Ha!” “Eh, what do you mean, sir?” Fish asked. “Well, last year he drove to Durham, didn’t he Fish, under lockdown?” “Oh, yes, I think I remember that, yes,” Fish mumbled. “Yes Fish,” I continued, undeterred, “and you could say it was necessary...
Shameless criminals are exploiting the plight of desperate asylum seekers for their own ends. Yes, that’s right. Boris Johnson attempted to distract the public from his own transgressions with his hastily announced and arguably unworkable Rwanda Solution. Did you see what I did there? I’m here all week! Try the cake!! But keep it in the Tupperware box!!! Then it isn’t a cake. Schrödinger’s lockdown birthday.
Was Boris Johnson’s Rwanda Solution even meant to be taken seriously? Was it no more real than his garden bridge, his Scotland-Northern Ireland tunnel, his bus-brokered £350m for the NHS, his marital commitments, his late-night promises to help his friend the former fraudster Darius Guppy maim a journalist, his 20-year fabrication of fake stories about Brussels bureaucrats and his personal integrity?
Johnson’s Rwanda Solution is the political equivalent of a distraction theft, but while there may be a certain artistry to the well-crafted street con, Johnson’s Rwanda Solution was just an especially eggy stink bomb, let off in a court room, so he could run away before the jury condemned him. Hours later, Johnson boasts like Billy Bunter about his wizard wheeze behind the closed doors of the 1922 Committee: “I didn’t transport your refugees to Rwanda, Jenkins, and anyway, they smelled horrible.”
But Johnson’s Rwanda Solution did give the Brexit government the opportunity to do what it does best, namely creating new and blameless enemies for the asset-stripped and non-specifically aggrieved British public to hate, Nineteen Eighty-Four-style, instead of them hating Johnson and his shameless cabal of outright liars and thieves as they ought to. In the halcyon days of the Brexit referendum, it was Brussels bureaucrats and Polish builders. Then it was high court judges, that girl with the EU flag costume and Terry Christian. Now it is the Conservatives’ client news-filter the BBC and any holy clerics who objected to the government’s 21st-century attempt at transportation. Rwanda-resistant religious leaders have actually been accused by the government of “virtue-signalling”, an activity that is literally the main point of religious leaders. You may as well criticise lifeboat crews for saving lives at sea, although the Brexit brigade do that as well.
The archbishop of Canterbury told us that God himself would be against Johnson’s Rwanda Solution, which presumably makes Almighty Jah-Jah part of what the Daily Mail describes as the woke “army of leftwing lawyers and naysayers lining up to thwart Boris Johnson’s plan”. If God is on the Conservatives’ blacklist, that may explain why he has not been allowed to miraculously intervene in the Covid pandemic, all the contracts instead going to Tory party donors and a man Matt Handcock met in a pub.
But by Wednesday, Johnson’s wall-spaffed Rwanda Solution was all but spent. It had served its purpose, buying the corrupt Tory party a day or so more of breathing space as the net of incontrovertible evidence of its leader’s undeniable moral bankruptcy tightened a little more. Another dead cat would need to be sacrificed on Carrie’s bloodstained kitchen table to get the government through to the weekend. Spurts of crimson gore spatter on Lulu Lytle’s mysteriously financed wallpaper and the house eunuch, Lord Geidt, sponges them off compliantly with a damp cloth, disposed of in a pedal bin full of non-birthday non-cake.
It was strange trying to assemble this so-called “funny” “column” last week, as the political ground landslipped beneath us. I began it on Tuesday night in a Swindon hotel room overlooking an abandoned building project, after easily the worst gig of my tour. The night had been a disappointing throwback to my apprenticeship as a 90s club comedian, all my energies occupied by moment-to-moment crowd management, forcing me to take on a one-dimensional, high-status standup persona, stripped of nuance. Some stray rectangles of purple ticker tape that had been left in the theatre eaves by the selfish children’s entertainer Mr Tumble (MBE) kept falling down at key moments, sabotaging important lines, even though Tumble himself had already moved on to Hull City Hall. And the persistent and meaningless interjections of an indefatigable yet incoherent woman meant the second hour never reached the escape velocity required to sustain the closing 20 minutes of virtuoso free-jazz comedy soloing, so I had to abandon the show inconclusively. People’s time was wasted. I felt depressed and wondered if it was too late to get a different job.
But on Wednesday night in Kingston, after another day’s drip-feed of Johnson’s duplicity, my closing Nuremberg-style litany of Johnson’s many crimes and misdemeanours suddenly seemed incontrovertible. What was once comic exaggeration coalesced into simple statements of fact. As of the middle of the week, it was undeniable to audiences that Johnson was a criminal and unfit for office, however passive-aggressively Jacob Rees-Mogg might state the opposite. The question was simply whether people were prepared to tolerate it any more. As I parroted my Covid-delayed 2020 routine once more, I realised I had to perform it until the end of August and worried my closing 10 might fall apart somewhat should justice be done and Johnson be deposed or even charged. I am probably the only champagne socialist hoping he clings to power, simply because I have a tight three of real zingers about all his various moral and ethical failings that gets me out of a 150-minute show on a high.
I went back to the hotel to finish this column and realised I had lost my glasses somewhere in Kingston and the laptop screen was a blur. Luckily, I didn’t need them. The truth is written in letters a mile high. It’s up to the electorate if, when they go to the polls, they choose to ignore it because Brexit funny Boris immigration blah wank.
Stewart Lee
2022-04-24T19:59:57+01:00
Shameless criminals are exploiting the plight of desperate asylum seekers for their own ends. Yes, that’s right. Boris Johnson attempted to distract the public from his own transgressions with his hastily announced and arguably unworkable Rwanda Solution. Did you see what I did there? I’m here all week! Try the cake!! But keep it in the Tupperware box!!! Then it isn’t a cake. Schrödinger’s lockdown birthday. Was Boris Johnson’s Rwanda Solution even meant to be taken seriously? Was it no more real than his garden bridge, his Scotland-Northern Ireland tunnel, his bus-brokered £350m for the NHS, his marital commitments, his late-night promises to help his friend the former fraudster Darius Guppy maim a journalist, his 20-year fabrication of fake stories about Brussels bureaucrats and his personal integrity? Johnson’s Rwanda Solution is the political equivalent of a distraction theft, but while there may be a certain artistry to the well-crafted street con, Johnson’s Rwanda Solution was just an especially eggy stink bomb, let off in a court room, so he could run away before the jury condemned him. Hours later, Johnson boasts like Billy Bunter about his wizard wheeze behind the closed doors of the 1922 Committee: “I didn’t transport your refugees to Rwanda, Jenkins, and anyway, they smelled horrible.” But Johnson’s Rwanda Solution did give the Brexit government the opportunity to do what it does best, namely creating new and blameless enemies for the asset-stripped and non-specifically aggrieved British public to hate, Nineteen Eighty-Four-style, instead of them hating Johnson and his shameless cabal of outright liars and thieves as they ought to. In the halcyon days of the Brexit referendum, it was Brussels bureaucrats and Polish builders. Then it was high court judges, that girl with the EU flag costume and Terry Christian. Now it is the Conservatives’ client news-filter...
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...
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...
I've been in London twenty-two years now. I came here to try and be a stand-up in the year 17 BM (Before Macintyre, 1989 Common Era). There was no-where else to do it. Asked what I loved about London then I'd have said music and comedy venues, and second hand book and record shops. But we collector scum have moved on-line, and with kids culture's not easily consumable anymore.
With the inconvenience of everyday London life, what's left to like? After nearly a quarter of a century living in a two thousand year old settlement, everywhere is alive with shared history and personal memory in a way that no other city will ever be for me.
Sitting on the top deck and looking around, I can even get a temporally shifted buzz off a bus journey, so here's a best of London that's about people and places, not restaurants and retail outlets.
1) Arthur Machen.
The 19th century Welsh mystic lived and wrote in London from the 1880s onwards, and was strangely fascinated by the idea that the city's emerging residential districts were magical zones where reality was somehow thin.
The Green Round (1933) renders everything in a five mile radius of Pentonville Road disturbingly opaque. N (1935) will make you doubt the very existence of Stoke Newington.
2) Arthur Smith's Balham.
The comedian and dada-ist proclaimed himself the unofficial mayor of Balham in the 1980s, and brought the area to life with piquant detail in his shows and writings.
Because of Arthur, when I am required to visit Balham, the experience seems vividly absurd and Ducane Court, the art deco apartment block where Arthur's adventures begin, seems no more real than Hogwarts.
3) The Astoria, Charing Cross Road.
Many of the people I saw here - Kurt Cobain, David McComb of The Triffids, Grant McLennan of The Go-Betweens, Jeff Buckley and The Fall's Mark E Smith - are no longer with us, but the sticky nostalgia vortex's richly deserved obliteration somehow makes their memories more vibrant every time I cough through the dust of the perpetual building site The Astoria has become.
4) William Blake.
Read Ackroyd's Blake biography alongside the poems and you can get visionary all over London. Blake was baptized at St James' Church, Piccadilly in 1757.
Run your fingers round the very Grinling Gibbons font in which baby William splashed.
5) Bowman's Place, Holloway.
There's a perfunctory plaque to Edward Lear, who wrote The Owl and The Pussycat and was born here in 1812, up this rubbish strewn alleyway at the Nag's Head crossroads.
There's so many London literary associations most are barely celebrated, making the rest of the UK, especially Scotland, seem desperate; "Samuel Johnson shat here c 1773. Buy souvenir tea towel, £10."
6) The Fox Reformed, Stoke Newington Church Street, N16.
Edgar Allen Poe went to school in this wine bar, Daniel Defoe lived over the road above the mini-cab office, and the grave of Coleridge's confidant Anna Laetitia Barbauld nudges out of the nettles five hundred yards West.
I walk past them all every day and thank God I no longer live in Solihull, where a parking meter Bev Bevan once used in is the local museum.
7) The Winchester pub on Essex Road, Islington.
In the 1980s and the 1990s this was the considerably scruffier but infinitely nicer Market Tavern, with its cellar of almost nightly comedy gigs.
In 1990 I joined a new material night that included the then unknown Eddie Izzard, Patrick Marber, Jo Brand, and Alan Davies and went to Pizza Express afterwards where Jo somehow placated the manager after I accidentally broke a marble table-top.
I was there for Izzard's first transvestite performance and Johnny Vegas' first London gigs. Comedy history was in the making and we thought it was just business as usual.
8) The Box, Walker's Court, Soho.
In 1990, back when this was The Raymond Revue Bar, Izzard used to run a gig alongside the sex shows in another room. One night I arrived early and the dressing room was full of buff naked guys masturbating their penises into legally permissible states of arousal.
And that was just Ivor Dembina, Roger Mann and Simon Munnery!
Walking under the fake Venetian bridge of Walker's Court always makes me remember that moment. It was everything my Gran feared would happen when I ran away to London to be in showbiz.
9) The Red Rose, Seven Sisters' Road.
For twenty years the back room of this working men's club was a great comedy venue, and also home to experimental music nights Back In Your Town and Mopomoso, which brought in free jazz improvisers from all over the world.
I saw Sunny Murray play drums in Seven Sisters! A few years back all the Red Rose gigs got kicked out for a snooker hall. Despite official indifference, London's the best city in the world for improvised music and the closure of your local experimental music gig usually presages irreversible gentrification, as the bohos who made the area fly get forced out by weekend beatniks.
Stoke Newington's Vortex went down to Gilette Square when it became a Nandos, and The Spitz got squeezed out of Spittalfields. At Dalston Junction, Café Oto flies the flag, programming world class events without a sniff of funding.
It's one of the reasons I'm still here.
10) Time Out.
Coming to London from the midlands in the Eighties, Time Out was a lexicon of life-changing possibilities, and the thoroughness of its comedy listings section, the nation's first ever, made London the stand-up comedy capital of the world and helped legitimize the scene.
And the first time you got your name in the small print, you felt like it was the start of something.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-01T20:49:49+01:00
I've been in London twenty-two years now. I came here to try and be a stand-up in the year 17 BM (Before Macintyre, 1989 Common Era). There was no-where else to do it. Asked what I loved about London then I'd have said music and comedy venues, and second hand book and record shops. But we collector scum have moved on-line, and with kids culture's not easily consumable anymore. With the inconvenience of everyday London life, what's left to like? After nearly a quarter of a century living in a two thousand year old settlement, everywhere is alive with shared history and personal memory in a way that no other city will ever be for me. Sitting on the top deck and looking around, I can even get a temporally shifted buzz off a bus journey, so here's a best of London that's about people and places, not restaurants and retail outlets. 1) Arthur Machen. The 19th century Welsh mystic lived and wrote in London from the 1880s onwards, and was strangely fascinated by the idea that the city's emerging residential districts were magical zones where reality was somehow thin. The Green Round (1933) renders everything in a five mile radius of Pentonville Road disturbingly opaque. N (1935) will make you doubt the very existence of Stoke Newington. 2) Arthur Smith's Balham. The comedian and dada-ist proclaimed himself the unofficial mayor of Balham in the 1980s, and brought the area to life with piquant detail in his shows and writings. Because of Arthur, when I am required to visit Balham, the experience seems vividly absurd and Ducane Court, the art deco apartment block where Arthur's adventures begin, seems no more real than Hogwarts. 3) The Astoria, Charing Cross Road. Many of the people I saw here - Kurt Cobain, David...
Stewart Lee may have come 41st in a poll of the top 100 comedians. Personally I think he was robbed. I love Stewart’s comedy despite not getting to see him as much as I would like. I am also a great fan of his written work especially his plays and am looking forward to seeing 'Elizabeth and Raleigh: Late But Live' this fringe.
Despite rushing in at the last moment in to a packed Stand One and having to stand well back towards the loos, after the hour I just couldn’t believe it was over. I was laughing so much I was almost glad I was standing so I could jump about laughing.
Stewart now sees himself, as middle aged with a wife and family, things that used to make him laugh enough to include in his set no longer appeal so much, but his inspiration is arising from different situations.
Development and change in comedic superstars may be a commendation but don’t change too much as we love you as you are.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-10T13:50:05+01:00
Stewart Lee may have come 41st in a poll of the top 100 comedians. Personally I think he was robbed. I love Stewart’s comedy despite not getting to see him as much as I would like. I am also a great fan of his written work especially his plays and am looking forward to seeing 'Elizabeth and Raleigh: Late But Live' this fringe. Despite rushing in at the last moment in to a packed Stand One and having to stand well back towards the loos, after the hour I just couldn’t believe it was over. I was laughing so much I was almost glad I was standing so I could jump about laughing. Stewart now sees himself, as middle aged with a wife and family, things that used to make him laugh enough to include in his set no longer appeal so much, but his inspiration is arising from different situations. Development and change in comedic superstars may be a commendation but don’t change too much as we love you as you are.
Saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell: appreciated by 17-year-olds and septuagenarians. Photograph: Massimo Valicchia/Demotix/Corbis
Just before Christmas, I saw the early-80s Boston hardcore band Mission of Burma in a Shoreditch cellar, playing to a crowd of young people barely born this century, typically too inarticulate to explain exactly what had led them to a room I expected to be peopled exclusively by nostalgic fortysomethings. Last week, I enjoyed Roscoe Mitchell, saxophonist of the 60s free-jazzers the Art Ensemble of Chicago, at another Dalston hangout, alongside 17-year-olds and septuagenarians. From where I am standing, the traditional demographics of music consumption seem to be dissolving. Although, admittedly, where I am standing is just by the gents' toilets in a succession of the hippest venues in western Europe.
CD reissues of unknown gems, and the internet-driven mass availability of everything instantly, mean pop culture's past is growing more rapidly than its present. Our sassiest sons and daughters are beyond our command, foraging far from whatever is drip-fed to them by broadcast media, and digging all manner of cross-generational guff. Your 12-year-old niece thinks that Searching for Sugar Man bloke, who had been working as a builder since 1971 until some hipster doofus put him in an arthouse documentary, is exactly the same as Bob Dylan because she discovered them both, for better or worse, on the same illegal download site, free of any illuminating cultural context or critical commentary.
I've spent this week listening to a new, commercially available, download of a previously unreleased 1975 album by a lost Chicago metal band called Medusa, rescued from mouldy master-tapes of the group's only session, found abandoned in the drummer's basement, where perhaps they should have stayed. I don't know if I really like First Step Beyond, but it's fascinating to my saturated palate because it shouldn't be here. First Step Beyond's decontextualised Neanderthal heaviness confuses itself and everyone who comes into contact with it, like a caveman in a Disney film who gets transported to 60s suburbia, takes a dump in Mom's Tupperware and wears her diaphragm as a hat. The fact remains, the instant availability of everything ever means I am consuming something that was never aimed at me, from a time and a place I have no connection with, and yet I am nearly enjoying it.
Not everyone is buying into the theory of the kaleidoscoping of culture. Last year I curated a selection of the 20 best standups working today for a show called The Alternative Comedy Experience. It aims to be an alternative to the more straightforward fare of shows such as Live at the Apollo, and is. I went for a meeting with the channel's marketing people, who had not watched any of the 12 episodes, but were principally, and understandably, concerned about how to sell this strange product to their target audience of 18- to 32-year-olds, whose loyalty to the channel encourages advertisers to fund it.
Identifying the youngest performers in the programme, marketing wondered if they could be profiled in info-outlets popular with 18- to 32-year-olds, their faces stamped on to hallucinogenic plant food tablets, or perhaps grafted on to the bodies of the stars of the pornographic films that all young people stream continuously to their mobile phones. When I was in a double act during the early 90s, when comedy was first the new rock'n'roll, our live audience was composed exclusively of children, which was a godsend, as the fact that their parents had to accompany them sometimes pushed our live crowds up into triple figures. Nonetheless I floated to marketing the idea that, in my more recent experience of comedy, the availability of clips of our show's quality turns on YouTube meant their audiences needn't, and didn't, follow delineated demographic lines. And I suggested that younger people might not necessarily be looking to consume product manufactured by content providers of solely their own age group. But talk soon moved on to the show's coruscating liberal satirist Paul Sinha's appearance on the daytime quiz show The Chase, and whether this could be a way of getting our programme profiled in Puzzler magazine.
Meanwhile, check me out! I've had my headphones on while writing this and I am coming round to First Step Beyond. Now I'm grooving my near 45-year-old ass around in my office chair to Medusa's nine-minute Transient Amplitude, which sounds like a thin no-budget Hawkwind with two bicycle lights replacing the psychedelic light show, and a dead frog on a string instead of a massive naked dancing woman. (Hawkwind, by the way, are a once-despised 70s group loved only by hippy grandads whom young people are now encouraged to admire as space-rock pioneers.)
Indeed, this Transient Amplitude growler makes me think these Medusa cats might be quite good after all. I don't know if I'm allowed to like them, but there doesn't seem to be anyone in any position of authority telling me I shouldn't, so I am going to anyway. The guitar is all over the place though, wandering randomly between the speaker channels, like marketing people searching for demographic certainties in an age where everything that ever was is suddenly available to everyone.
The Alternative Comedy Experience begins on Comedy Central on 5 February at 11pm
Stewart Lee
2013-02-03T14:05:56+00:00
Saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell: appreciated by 17-year-olds and septuagenarians. Photograph: Massimo Valicchia/Demotix/Corbis Just before Christmas, I saw the early-80s Boston hardcore band Mission of Burma in a Shoreditch cellar, playing to a crowd of young people barely born this century, typically too inarticulate to explain exactly what had led them to a room I expected to be peopled exclusively by nostalgic fortysomethings. Last week, I enjoyed Roscoe Mitchell, saxophonist of the 60s free-jazzers the Art Ensemble of Chicago, at another Dalston hangout, alongside 17-year-olds and septuagenarians. From where I am standing, the traditional demographics of music consumption seem to be dissolving. Although, admittedly, where I am standing is just by the gents' toilets in a succession of the hippest venues in western Europe. CD reissues of unknown gems, and the internet-driven mass availability of everything instantly, mean pop culture's past is growing more rapidly than its present. Our sassiest sons and daughters are beyond our command, foraging far from whatever is drip-fed to them by broadcast media, and digging all manner of cross-generational guff. Your 12-year-old niece thinks that Searching for Sugar Man bloke, who had been working as a builder since 1971 until some hipster doofus put him in an arthouse documentary, is exactly the same as Bob Dylan because she discovered them both, for better or worse, on the same illegal download site, free of any illuminating cultural context or critical commentary. I've spent this week listening to a new, commercially available, download of a previously unreleased 1975 album by a lost Chicago metal band called Medusa, rescued from mouldy master-tapes of the group's only session, found abandoned in the drummer's basement, where perhaps they should have stayed. I don't know if I really like First Step Beyond, but it's fascinating to my saturated palate because it shouldn't be...
Signs and wonders. Omens of black portent. Part of an American looney’s ear has been shot off by another American looney. The proposed presidency of the earless looney had been endorsed by Atomic Kitten’s Kerry Katona. A computer went wrong and everything in the world stopped working everywhere. On Tuesday it was reported that Chris Packham regretted having once ridden an elephant. Last Sunday was the hottest day ever. A lioness hath whelped in the streets. Graves have yawn’d and yielded up their dead. Suella Braverman sat in for James O’Brien on LBC and the last surviving member of the Four Tops died. Surely we are living in The End Times. The optics, as they say, are not good.
But last week I sat outside at night alone on my Welsh mountain holiday, drinking draught Bwtty Bach beer from a plastic flask and reading an old Brigid Brophy paperback. For a moment I was happy beyond measure, forgot the world beyond, and stopped worrying. And then I saw something was awry in my idyll. I looked up at a security light, a stark halogen glow between the grey stone wall and the bright buck moon. Not long ago, in such a night as this, such a lamp as that would always have been hazed by a fuzzy penumbra of buzzy invertebrates. But tonight the air around it was hungry and dead, the entomological equivalent of an empty Republican convention room, where no one at all turns up to listen to Boris Johnson.
Thirty years ago, when I was young and ungrateful, a woman took me to Barnes wetlands at night and clapped bat detector headphones over my ears, and I listened to the skriking of the sonar as vampire shadows swooped over the surface of the water, devouring insect clouds like basking sharks cutting through plankton, or Yvette Cooper’s grasp of facts slicing through the wet toilet roll rhetoric of Lee Anderson.
And, four years back, in one of those profound lockdown moments, I stood alone in Hackney Marshes at sunset, keeping the required social distance from the doubtless virus-ridden boat dwellers, and saw great flocks of invasive green African parakeets dive bomb the River Lea for swarms of our British bugs, the fat foreign birds undeterred by Suella Braverman’s £700m Rwandan deportation threats. At least somewhere during the pandemic – in the waters of an ancient marshland and on Michelle Mone’s luxury yacht – life went on as usual.
But last week in Monmouthshire the formerly fecund evening was bereft of life. I immediately thought of the bats, which once would have feasted on the insect cloud. And sure enough, last Sunday, sudden hard evidence of pesticides, habitat loss, and above all the pervasive effects of the climate emergency we have caused, was confirmed, as Britain’s 18 insect-hungry bat species starved, crashed and burned. Imagine a world without bats, or at the very least one in which they are all seriously malnourished? Would DC Comics have been able to build a vast franchise on the premise of a man having the powers of a weak dying mammal?
But on the plus side, now you can sit on the terrace of your holiday let and watch ecosystems collapse in real time. And yet you still can’t see the Green party on the BBC news anything like as regularly as, for example, Nigel Farage and the various iterations of his numerous PLC parties, despite their comparable share of the vote. We’re running out of air and those pointing this out aren’t getting any airtime. David Attenborough crawls towards the terrible truth like a Galapagos turtle, his beak opening and closing unheeded, despite his many Baftas. And that is why we must protest.
But can anyone afford to take to the streets? A conscience is costly. On Thursday of the week before last, five Just Stop Oil protesters, whom history will judge as heroes, were sentenced to record jail terms for non-violent protest. Their families must be rightly proud of them. Michel Forst, the UN’s special rapporteur on environmental defenders, declared the judgment “a dark day for peaceful protest… It should put us on high alert on the state of civic rights and freedoms in the United Kingdom.” At least we are world leaders in something! That and food banks.
Judge Christopher Hehir sentenced the Just Stop Oil protesters to four to five years each, further crowding the prisons the Tories abandoned. But in January Hehir handed a suspended sentence to a former policeman who had sex in a patrol car with a drunk woman he offered to take home, and last September he was similarly lenient to a man who drove a car into the gates of Downing Street while carrying a phone full of indecent images of children, impressively managing to commit two quite distinct offences simultaneously, like Gary Glitter starring in Fast & Furious.
But within a few years, when the climate crisis renders life untenable, the angry public will demand a retroactive Nuremberg-style investigation into who allowed the death of everything to proceed. Then Hehir himself will be in the dock, hoping for the leniency he once offered a joy-riding paedophile.
I’m having trouble coming up with relatable material for my forthcoming live standup show, Stewart Lee Vs the Man-Wulf. But hey, anybody remember insects? Anybody remember bats? Anybody remember life on Earth? What the hell was all that about, people? What was the deal with that livable environment? Remember when, as she was being sentenced, Just Stop Oil’s Louise Lancaster said, “all other means of democratic persuasion have failed”? I’m here all week. Try the fish! Oh! There aren’t any.
Stewart Lee
2024-07-28T14:30:47+01:00
Signs and wonders. Omens of black portent. Part of an American looney’s ear has been shot off by another American looney. The proposed presidency of the earless looney had been endorsed by Atomic Kitten’s Kerry Katona. A computer went wrong and everything in the world stopped working everywhere. On Tuesday it was reported that Chris Packham regretted having once ridden an elephant. Last Sunday was the hottest day ever. A lioness hath whelped in the streets. Graves have yawn’d and yielded up their dead. Suella Braverman sat in for James O’Brien on LBC and the last surviving member of the Four Tops died. Surely we are living in The End Times. The optics, as they say, are not good. But last week I sat outside at night alone on my Welsh mountain holiday, drinking draught Bwtty Bach beer from a plastic flask and reading an old Brigid Brophy paperback. For a moment I was happy beyond measure, forgot the world beyond, and stopped worrying. And then I saw something was awry in my idyll. I looked up at a security light, a stark halogen glow between the grey stone wall and the bright buck moon. Not long ago, in such a night as this, such a lamp as that would always have been hazed by a fuzzy penumbra of buzzy invertebrates. But tonight the air around it was hungry and dead, the entomological equivalent of an empty Republican convention room, where no one at all turns up to listen to Boris Johnson. Thirty years ago, when I was young and ungrateful, a woman took me to Barnes wetlands at night and clapped bat detector headphones over my ears, and I listened to the skriking of the sonar as vampire shadows swooped over the surface of the water, devouring insect clouds...
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...
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...
Jarett Kobek in conversation with Stewart Lee
Monday 23 October 2017, 7pm-8.30pm
Islington Assembly Hall, London, N1 2UD
Jarett Kobek may not be a household name, but his novel I Hate the Internet, a satire of the Internet age and Silicon Valley, earned him cult status in the US and praise from the likes of Bret Easton Ellis. Join Kobek for an evening with another fan - standup comedian Stewart Lee - as he discusses his new novel, The Future Won't Be Long.
This gritty, epic story follows the trials and tribulations of the friendship between starry-eyed gay country bumpkin Baby and rich art school kid Adeline against the backdrop of the highs and lows of the 1980s and 1990s' New York. A California-based Turkish-American writer, Kobek is also the author of several other books, including ATTA, a psychedelic biography of 9/11 hijacker Mohamed Atta, and Soft & Cuddly, a monograph on an obscure computer game for the ZX Spectrum.
SHIRLEY COLLINS + STEW 16TH OCT, CURZON CINEMA, LONDON (NOT 18th! I got it wrong)
& RIO CINEMA LONDON 29TH OCT 4.30pm
Widely regarded as the 20th century's most important singer of English traditional song, Shirley Collins stood at the epicenter of the folk music revival during the 1960s and 70s.
But in 1980 she developed a disorder of the vocal chords known as dysphonia, which robbed her of her unique singing voice and forced her into early retirement.
Rob Curry and Tim Plester's documentary sets out to explore the story behind the icon, and chronicles Shirley's battle, at the grand old age of 80, to rediscover that voice she lost so many years previously and suggests that, during these turbulent and increasingly untethered times, we might just need Shirley Collins now more than ever. Stewart Lee hosts an interview w Shirley. CURZON:https://www.curzoncinemas.com/film-info/the-ballad-of-shirley-collins RIO:http://riocinema.org.uk/RioCinema.dll/WhatsOn?Film=9759698
IAIN SINCLAIR + STEW 30TH OCT, LRB BOOKSHOP, LONDON
Iain Sinclair has been writing about London for most of his adult life. The Last London (Oneworld) is the culmination of Iain's London project, although 'project' is far too determined a word to describe a body of work so many-layered, so prodigiously polyvalent.
He'll be talking about the book and the city with comedian, writer and film director Stewart Lee, another Londoner from elsewhere.
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)
More national dates to follow for Feb-April 2018, and then this must end.
TOP TIPS - I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND
DREAM SYNDICATE uk TOUR
The 1980s California band sounded, and now sound again, like The Fall playing Credence Clearwater Revival, fronted by Dashiell Hammett... on acid!!!
Their new incarnation mixes noir-ish lyricism with stretched out punk-psyche jams.
Monday 30 October, Tues 31st 2017 - The Lexington, London, UK Wednesday 01 November 2017 - Brudenell Social Club, Leeds, UK Thursday 02 November 2017 - The 1865, Southampton, UK
Stewart Lee
2017-10-13T20:57:50+01:00
23rd OCT JARRET KOBEK + STEW EVENT Jarett Kobek in conversation with Stewart Lee Monday 23 October 2017, 7pm-8.30pm Islington Assembly Hall, London, N1 2UD Jarett Kobek may not be a household name, but his novel I Hate the Internet, a satire of the Internet age and Silicon Valley, earned him cult status in the US and praise from the likes of Bret Easton Ellis. Join Kobek for an evening with another fan - standup comedian Stewart Lee - as he discusses his new novel, The Future Won't Be Long. This gritty, epic story follows the trials and tribulations of the friendship between starry-eyed gay country bumpkin Baby and rich art school kid Adeline against the backdrop of the highs and lows of the 1980s and 1990s' New York. A California-based Turkish-American writer, Kobek is also the author of several other books, including ATTA, a psychedelic biography of 9/11 hijacker Mohamed Atta, and Soft & Cuddly, a monograph on an obscure computer game for the ZX Spectrum. Standard tickets are £20, or £30 including a copy of The Future Won't Be Long. Running time: 90 minutes, no interval. To book tickets go to https://membership. theguardian.com/event/jarett- kobek-in-conversation-with- stewart-lee-38107696145 SHIRLEY COLLINS + STEW 16TH OCT, CURZON CINEMA, LONDON (NOT 18th! I got it wrong) & RIO CINEMA LONDON 29TH OCT 4.30pm Widely regarded as the 20th century's most important singer of English traditional song, Shirley Collins stood at the epicenter of the folk music revival during the 1960s and 70s. But in 1980 she developed a disorder of the vocal chords known as dysphonia, which robbed her of her unique singing voice and forced her into early retirement. Rob Curry and Tim Plester's documentary sets out to explore the story behind the icon, and chronicles Shirley's battle, at the grand old age of...
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...
Public services are being laid to waste and benefits shorn, but popular culture's voice of dissent remains strangely silent
For those of us who still spend far too much time thinking about what used to be called popular culture, these are fretful times. For more than two years, politics has been in a state of post-crash tumult. Now the government sets about what remains of the social fabric, with order papers waved aloft. And pop culture's response? Noncommittal, heavy on irony, essentially apolitical. By early 2011, we will have reached a litmus-test moment: if even the full arrival of austerity sparks nothing, we'll know we live in truly deadened times.
The signs aren't good. Aside from soap, the idea of mainstream TV and cinema concertedly portraying life at the blunt end now seems as old-fashioned as double-digit inflation. Comedy is no better. The woefully underrated Stewart Lee aside, most halfway successful comedians seem to cleave to a pretty depressing maxim: why meaningfully critique anything when you could be earning good money for boorish silliness on Mock the Week, selling out the O2 arena, and ensuring an autobiography with profanity in the title is doing brisk Christmas business at WH Smith?
The same sense of washout prevails in popular fiction – can you imagine a latter-day Alan Sillitoe, Nell Dunn or Shelagh Delaney?
And so it goes: in the midst of public services laid waste, social cleansing via the benefits system, the tripling of the cost of higher education and even worse, the only thing that has so far united any significant number of "creatives" is the cutting of their own subsidies: a sad enough business, but one that creates a response that plays perfectly to the populist stereotype of a cloistered, decadent elite.
And what of pop music? These days, it too often feels like the spirit of dissent is the preserve of past generations, there to be reverentially saluted rather than reinvented. In the United States, one of the most talked-about albums of the season is Wake Up, by singer John Legend and the veteran hip-hop band the Roots – a misplaced attempt to crystallise the condition of modern America via reworkings of consciousness-stirring songs by such icons as Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye, which comes off looking like an exercise in sepia-tinted radical chic.
We see a similar thing in the UK. When David Cameron began reminiscing about his love of the Jam, Paul Weller revived his 1979 class-war anthem Eton Rifles on tour ("All that rugby puts hairs on your chest / What chance have you got against a tie and a crest?"), but no one of any note has tried a modern equivalent. If rock history is kept in a glass case, it follows that a once-vibrant tradition of musical protest might be in there with it – so look, don't touch.
That said, four or five years ago musical social comment temporarily came back, and there was a run of stuff about crap jobs, smalltown tedium, and the thin rattle of small change. Thanks chiefly to the Arctic Monkeys, it momentarily defined the fashionable rock aesthetic circa 2006 – and even though the songs that resulted were free of any hardened politics, they were a start. But now, the modern scene looks to be divided between two schools of thought: art-for-art's sake (witness the comically abstract Manchester-based group Everything Everything – "So how will they remember us whole, when we turn into salt?" pleads a frantic song titled Qwerty Finger), and the quest for rustic authenticity that drives the ubiquitous Mumford & Sons – privately educated fans of John Steinbeck, though for his windswept romance rather than his sociopolitical bite. Neither approach holds out the promise of much anger or agitation: one would imagine that either of these artists could soundtrack a Saturday night soiree at Chequers.
So it is that one's thoughts once again turn bleak: when the Berlin wall fell and the gospel of no alternative took hold, maybe the culture was inevitably changed for keeps. And perhaps a good deal of the story lies in pop's own passage into middle-age and the fact that its various incarnations now span not just most of the planet but almost the entire generational range. Ubiquity may have robbed it of its old counter-cultural charge; as it turned out, perhaps what some romantics call the People's Music is better suited to selling mobile phones than soundtracking revolt. The upshot: if you have seditious thoughts, why would you express them via free-market capitalism's favourite art form?
Forty is far too old to be driven mad by any of pop music's supposed failings. But there are truths about our times that most politicians have no wish to tell, and songwriters should be feasting on: 18 millionaires in the cabinet; a war on the poor; the return of a born-to-rule elite, now clad in weekend casualwear and affecting glottal stops, but still reeking of grouse moors and arrogance. This is surreal, mind-boggling stuff. The last time anything comparable happened, my generation's response was couched in the vocabulary of the old left; now, I'd love to hear genuine 21st-century dissent.
To end, then, an appeal to some unknown neurotic outsider, stranded in God-knows-where, and minded to pick up a guitar and howl their outrage: please, prove me wrong.
Selected Comments...
Parvulesco, 4 November 2010 9:50PM
Where are they gonna howl?
Since the demise of the charts, the fantastically egalitarian TotP and the endearingly unpredictable Radio 1 there's nowhere for them to howl into/out of.
Also, Stewart Lee is one unfunny, smug, public school Tarquin.
cocainemidget, 5 November 2010 4:20AM
also..
"The woefully underrated Stewart Lee aside"
why do the guardian staff persist with this guy?? 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..
Public services are being laid to waste and benefits shorn, but popular culture's voice of dissent remains strangely silent For those of us who still spend far too much time thinking about what used to be called popular culture, these are fretful times. For more than two years, politics has been in a state of post-crash tumult. Now the government sets about what remains of the social fabric, with order papers waved aloft. And pop culture's response? Noncommittal, heavy on irony, essentially apolitical. By early 2011, we will have reached a litmus-test moment: if even the full arrival of austerity sparks nothing, we'll know we live in truly deadened times. The signs aren't good. Aside from soap, the idea of mainstream TV and cinema concertedly portraying life at the blunt end now seems as old-fashioned as double-digit inflation. Comedy is no better. The woefully underrated Stewart Lee aside, most halfway successful comedians seem to cleave to a pretty depressing maxim: why meaningfully critique anything when you could be earning good money for boorish silliness on Mock the Week, selling out the O2 arena, and ensuring an autobiography with profanity in the title is doing brisk Christmas business at WH Smith? The same sense of washout prevails in popular fiction – can you imagine a latter-day Alan Sillitoe, Nell Dunn or Shelagh Delaney? And so it goes: in the midst of public services laid waste, social cleansing via the benefits system, the tripling of the cost of higher education and even worse, the only thing that has so far united any significant number of "creatives" is the cutting of their own subsidies: a sad enough business, but one that creates a response that plays perfectly to the populist stereotype of a cloistered, decadent elite. And what of pop music? These days,...
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.
“Stewart Lee has absolutely no capacity to see the world through anyone's eyes other than his own. He is a stupid person's idea of what a 'clever' comedian is like.”
- Paul Embery, UnHerd columnist, Trade unionist (FBU and NUJ), Blue Labour, Made in Dagenham, Author: ‘Despised: Why the Modern Left Loathes the Working Class’.
Please look after yourselves in the ongoing unknown world and don’t take any unnecessary risks.
Keep fit and keep your brains ticking over with books and films and music and don’t get sad and mad, and look out for each other.
When all this is over, I promise you, live comedy and music will feel better than they ever have, so let’s make sure we are all there to join in again on the other side.
1) LIVE DATES NEWS
What can I say?
You live in the same reality as me. You know as much as I do.
All my little club dates for Jan and Feb will be in the process of being pulled. At the moment The Scottish and Geordie Stand shows in Feb are still on, as the virus is more scared of N Sturgeon than it is of B Johnson. We will see.
I assure you, ALL THESE DATES WILL BE RESCHEDULED. 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 surviving and going under, and 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.
2) PETITION FOR MUSIC, COMEDY TOURING
If you like music then bear in mind that its already covid-fucked practitioners are further fucked by the Brexit agreement, which ends the one size fits all arrangement for touring all EU member states cost-effectively, and renders it financially near impossible for most of the UK’s best acts to tour the continent to the smaller places they have got used to playing over the last near five decades, whatever shit Roger Daltrey comes out with, the stupid UKIP-supporting twat.
This is a petition to ask parliament to try and hammer out some arrangement to stem the further decimation of live art, including all the nice English language stand-up gigs all your favorite acts got to play of late, so please sign it.
Thanks to everyone who bought, and told their friends to buy, the Asian Dub Foundation track, Comin’ Over Here, which featured me shouting.
It reached the top of all the actual charts reflecting actual sales and actual downloads, but in the valueless streaming chart it was beaten by the likes of Wham’s Last Christmas, a worthy victor, which was doubtless streamed endlessly over the season by people weeping into their bread sauce.
As Mark Steel, the thrust of whose brilliant In Town Radio 4 series has recently been culturally appropriated on behalf of Channel 4 in Tom Allen Goes To Town, pointed out, ADF have enabled me to join the pantheon of pop chart topping British comics alongside Ken Dodd and Benny Hill.
Thanks also to my favourite obscene electropop act Kunt & The Gang, who graciously co-ordinated their seasonal chart assault with ours, and to Jon Morter, Sally Homer, James Hingley, Duncan Ballantyne and whoever runs a facebook page about me who knew how to target the social media.
4) KING ROCKER - MOJO
Our documentary KING ROCKER was selected for the Sheffield Documentary Festival but didn’t get screened due to Covid.
It has, however, been named by rock-mag MOJO as the second best rockumentary of 2020, and I am now allowed to announce that it will be on newly free-to-air SKY ARTS, which has also recently covered PUNCHDRUNK THEATRE, COLD WAR STEVE and IVOR CUTLER, on Jan 30th 2021 (as far as I know). 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.
I cannot tell you how happy I am to have been involved with this positive and uplifting project, and it has been a mental lifeline this year.
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.
The company operates out of an industrial unit in Southend, run by a man called Colin, who for the whole festive season will be alone and dressed as a Santa while he ships your orders of Xmas laffs worldwide, at top speed!
We have already mailed parcels of fun to Japan, Finland, Switzerland, Germany, France, USA, Canada, New Zealand, and even Latvia! 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.
AMERICANS - stop moaning about not being able to see me and visit MEDIA GARAGE!
and chuck in to save The Goodness, a Wood Green microbrewery run by my old neighbours’ son, which was just coming together from start-up when the Covid struck, and Tier 5 restrictions have just removed even the takeaway option.
We will need music, art, and comedy on the other side of the virus.
But above all we will need beer. And loads of it.
7) I Arrogantly Recommend
NEW TV
Ghosts - Xmas Special 2020 (BBC, 2020)
NEW MUSIC
Lady Leshurr - Quaranqueen
The Primevals - New Trip
8) FINALLY, DAVID JOHNSON
Few real fans of comedy, theatre and music will have been untouched by the work of my old promoter of these last fifteen years, David Johnson, who died in December, and received nothing but massive love from all that encountered.
Here are two lovely obituaries from The Herald Scotland and The Guardian, the latter by his great friend the playwright Mark Ravenhill.
At some stage there will be the tribute show to end all tribute shows. But not yet.
Bunny Lee (dubmaster, 1940)
David Johnson (Duke of Soho, 1960)
Leslie West (Mountain man, 1945)
Stewart Lee
2021-01-06T08:30:15+00:00
“Stewart Lee has absolutely no capacity to see the world through anyone's eyes other than his own. He is a stupid person's idea of what a 'clever' comedian is like.” - Paul Embery, UnHerd columnist, Trade unionist (FBU and NUJ), Blue Labour, Made in Dagenham, Author: ‘Despised: Why the Modern Left Loathes the Working Class’. Please look after yourselves in the ongoing unknown world and don’t take any unnecessary risks. Keep fit and keep your brains ticking over with books and films and music and don’t get sad and mad, and look out for each other. When all this is over, I promise you, live comedy and music will feel better than they ever have, so let’s make sure we are all there to join in again on the other side. 1) LIVE DATES NEWS What can I say? You live in the same reality as me. You know as much as I do. All my little club dates for Jan and Feb will be in the process of being pulled. At the moment The Scottish and Geordie Stand shows in Feb are still on, as the virus is more scared of N Sturgeon than it is of B Johnson. We will see. I assure you, ALL THESE DATES WILL BE RESCHEDULED. 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 surviving and going under, and 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...
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/
Kid Congo was a guitarist for hire for Nick Cave, The Gun Club and The Cramps, teaching rock and roll licks to punks who were too cool for school. His latest album skews a solid foundation of rockabilly rhythms and twangsome strings with strange, echoing, repetitive vocal phrases and surging high end noise, like Kraftwerk playing biker movie theme music. Catsuit Fruit even nods toward the aspirational cocktail lounge Exotica of Martin Denny. Gorilla Rose is the sound of the fifties, but inaccurately recreated by Japanese record collector robots from the 22nd century.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-22T20:37:12+01:00
Kid Congo was a guitarist for hire for Nick Cave, The Gun Club and The Cramps, teaching rock and roll licks to punks who were too cool for school. His latest album skews a solid foundation of rockabilly rhythms and twangsome strings with strange, echoing, repetitive vocal phrases and surging high end noise, like Kraftwerk playing biker movie theme music. Catsuit Fruit even nods toward the aspirational cocktail lounge Exotica of Martin Denny. Gorilla Rose is the sound of the fifties, but inaccurately recreated by Japanese record collector robots from the 22nd century.
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.
Lord Melvyn Bragg has flung open the gate of terrestrial television’s last remaining temple of culture and welcomed in a former heroin addict who sometimes physically attacked his own audiences, and whose only chart hit was accompanied by a video depicting him murdering Kylie Minogue. Tonight’s South Bank Show features the Australian singer-songwriter Nick Cave. His quarter century career has encompassed the chaotic post-punk of The Boys Next Door and The Birthday Party, the acclaimed novel And The Ass Saw The Angel, and the epic sounds of Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds. But the programme makes a case for the former punk icon as an artist at the height of his powers, and, most endearingly, opens with Lord Melvyn himself, standing in a field, describing Cave’s early work as ‘an orgy of violence’. The show has a pleasing absence of both tabloid tale telling and critical analysis. Perhaps Cave has attained a dignity that makes such intrusions irrelevant. In the year that Mick Jagger, an eternal adolescent, turns sixty, Cave has somehow arrived in his mid-forties as his polar opposite – a middle-aged rock star who is not remotely embarrassing.
Cave’s vast press pack documents the changing journalistic angles used to appraise him. Once his struggles with various demons, both chemical and personal, were used to explain the violence of his music. But in the light of the reflective timbre of the records he’s made since 1997’s The Boatman’s Call, Cave is depicted in his Brighton domestic idyll, travelling to his office everyday, sitting at the piano, refining his craft. “I don’t really read pieces about me but I get the feeling they’re all exactly the same,” he explains, “That must be tedious for my fans. But my fans are very forgiving. They’ve forgiven me for my years of drug addiction, and for my dubious Christian leanings. But they probably wouldn’t forgive the fact that today I am wearing Hi-Tops.” A pair of black and white baseball boots peep out beneath Cave’s sensible brown suit. “I’d rather you didn’t report that I’m wearing these,” he requests, “I think they’d draw the line there.”
Cave’s Christianity is perhaps the most shocking thing about his recent history. His lecture The Flesh Made Word enraged a vocal minority of the audience during its 1997 Edinburgh Fringe performance, but rationalist fans could then at least excuse Cave’s God as a metaphor for the creative process. “God is a product of the creative imagination,” he wrote, “and God is that imagination taken flight.” But today the author of the introduction to the Canongate edition of St Mark’s Gospel is unequivocal. “I do accept Christ’s divinity. More and more so actually. But I don’t think a person truly believes unless they doubt as well. My faith kind of swells up and subsides. It’s going through a swelling up at the moment.”
The CD of Cave’s new album, Nocturama, features a DVD of the song Babe I’m On Fire, a vaudeville parade of various characters, all burning with passion. But to illustrate the notion of the ‘Christian apologist’ the dressing up box was closed in favour of a shot of Cave’s own expressionless face. “We tried to think what a Christian apologist would look like and we realised there was one in the room. But if one’s going to mould one’s self on someone it may as well be Christ. Better that than Mick Jagger.” Was coming out as a Christian as a shock tactic, an attention grabbing device as dramatic as calling a live album Drunk On The Pope’s Blood, which The Birthday Party did in 1982? “Well, Christianity doesn’t sell records,” counters Cave, “and it hasn’t done much for Cliff Richard.”
Even though his faith is sincere, Cave acknowledges its role in the artist’s duty to confound his audience. But lately married life is another factor that has given him a new and unexpected energy, and spared him many of the inherent pitfalls that befall other veteran rock stars. “The truth is that I’m middle aged and married and settled and there isn’t this wealth of anguish to write about. That’s definitely a problem, certainly in rock music, for people who are getting older. What do you actually write about? I write love songs I suppose. Certainly the idea of being in a stable relationship is fairly uncharted in rock music. People always write about the beginning and the end but that vast middle period is not really addressed and I find that difficult but exciting.” And how does Cave go about finding a vocabulary to address this uncharted territory? “I read WH Auden.”, he laughs, “especially in regard to his changing from being a radical writer, to writing about community, Christianity, spousal love and marriage. He managed to do it in an exciting way. There’s something very neutral and sensible about the way he writes that is really jarring in modern culture.”
Cave, at last, seems supremely comfortable with himself. And though the look-back bores will always cite The Birthday Party’s “orgies of violence” (c. Melvyn Bragg 2003) as a live highpoint, Cave’s performances can now invoke the hysterical theatrics of Las Vegas period Elvis, and the intimacy of some piano bar balladeer, without compromising any notions of artistic integrity. And Cave still enjoys performing. “I love that moment when it’s all right and you know you’re there. I constantly chase after that feeling. When it’s working there’s a voice in my head telling me ‘You are great. You are God.” I love looking into the crowd and seeing people smiling. It’s a great feeling, the feeling that you are finally where you always wanted to be. I only get that on stage and it is taken away from me as soon as I watch a film of what I’ve done, or see it on TV. Or on The South Bank Show.
Cave’s appears profoundly uninterested in watching his South Bank moment; “I don’t put myself through that sort of thing. There’s some people who do a show and go back to the hotel and listen to the show back and get sent magazine covers, and frame them and send them to their mothers, and read their own press, and make scrapbooks, and put album covers on the wall, but I’m not that sort of person,” he explains defiantly, before adding, “What’s it like anyway? Is it good?”
A DVD by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, God Is In The House, is available tomorrow on Mute records.
Stewart Lee
2003-09-14T17:56:23+01:00
Lord Melvyn Bragg has flung open the gate of terrestrial television’s last remaining temple of culture and welcomed in a former heroin addict who sometimes physically attacked his own audiences, and whose only chart hit was accompanied by a video depicting him murdering Kylie Minogue. Tonight’s South Bank Show features the Australian singer-songwriter Nick Cave. His quarter century career has encompassed the chaotic post-punk of The Boys Next Door and The Birthday Party, the acclaimed novel And The Ass Saw The Angel, and the epic sounds of Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds. But the programme makes a case for the former punk icon as an artist at the height of his powers, and, most endearingly, opens with Lord Melvyn himself, standing in a field, describing Cave’s early work as ‘an orgy of violence’. The show has a pleasing absence of both tabloid tale telling and critical analysis. Perhaps Cave has attained a dignity that makes such intrusions irrelevant. In the year that Mick Jagger, an eternal adolescent, turns sixty, Cave has somehow arrived in his mid-forties as his polar opposite – a middle-aged rock star who is not remotely embarrassing. Cave’s vast press pack documents the changing journalistic angles used to appraise him. Once his struggles with various demons, both chemical and personal, were used to explain the violence of his music. But in the light of the reflective timbre of the records he’s made since 1997’s The Boatman’s Call, Cave is depicted in his Brighton domestic idyll, travelling to his office everyday, sitting at the piano, refining his craft. “I don’t really read pieces about me but I get the feeling they’re all exactly the same,” he explains, “That must be tedious for my fans. But my fans are very forgiving. They’ve forgiven me for my years of...
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. Shipping starts on April 21st
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.
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
January 2024
Monday 22nd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham
Tuesday 23rd January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham
Wednesday 24th January 2024 - Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham
Thursday 25th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil
Friday 26th January 2024 - Westlands, Yeovil
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
Tuesday 6th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Wednesday 7th February 2024 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - TICKETS
Sunday 11th February 2024 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle
Tuesday 20th February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Wednesday 21st February 2024 - Harrogate Theatre, Harrogate - TICKETS
Thursday 22nd February 2024 - The Baths Hall, Scunthorpe
Friday 23rd February 2024 - Opera House, Buxton
Saturday 24th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
Sunday 25th February 2024 - Belgrade Theatre, Coventry - TICKETS
March 2024
Sunday 3rd March 2024 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth
Thursday 14th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield
Friday 15th March 2024 - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield
April 2024
Monday 22nd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd April 2024 - The Lowry, Salford - 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 Bridget Christie’s Who Am I?, Danny Bhoy’s Now Is Not A Good Time, the always exceptional Paul Sinha’s Pauly Bengali, Robin Ince’s Melons, and Heard It, by the mighty sin-eater of manly stand-up Seann Walsh.
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.
5. THE QUIETUS
Obviously everything is fucked and if we want to have nice things now we are going to have to help out.
The weekly music press I read as a teenager had better written and more thoughtful long form criticism than any 21st century Sunday Newspaper, and the online outlet The Quietus has been quietly keeping that tradition alive, saving us from enslavement by algorithm by exposing readers to recommendations and insights from people who actually know what they are talking about.
But it's hitting the buffers unless we all start taking out subscriptions, so, if you can, PONY UP BY CLICKING HERE.
6. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2023 HAPPENINGS AND THINGS
KEVIN MACALEER
I’ve found myself watching a lot of Kevin’s stand-up in the snall hours lately, and reminding myself if just how exceptional he is.
You know his as OLD MAN ONE in Derry Girls, of course.
ALASDAIR ROBERTS Songwriter re-wiring Scottish folk tradition
JUNE 23RD London West Hampstead Arts, 24th London Barbican
ALASDAIR BECKETT-KING - The Interdimensional Alasdair Beckett-King.
I saw this sharp absurdist show in Edinburgh and it is brilliant.
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
TONY! Tony Blair rock opera by Harry Hill and Steve Brown.
Continues until MAY 21ST London Leicester Sq Theatre
BEN MOOR/JO NEARY The superbly gifted performance art comedian and the character comedian Jo Neary offer their amazing Russian Doll of a show BookTalkBookTalkBook, a sublime parody of literary events, at The Hen and Chickens, Islington, London, on Tuesday 23rd May. I cannot recommend it enough.
RICHARD DAWSON Genius art-folk-noise songwriter
MAY 3rd Cardiff Gate, 5th London Barbican
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 28th Manchester Academy I, 29th April – Rock City Nottingham, 30th – Northern Kin Festival Durham, JUNE 16th – Hall for Cornwall, AUGUST 28th - Castell Roc, Chepstow Castle
ROSIE HOLT Satire’s Rosie Holt will be satirising the shit out of shit at the following places in 2023;
MAY 4th & 5th Bristol Hen & Chicken,
May 7th Salford Lowry,
JULY 1st Oxford Festival Marquee
ROBERT LLOYD (Nightingales), JANET BEVERIDGE BEAN (Eleventh Dream Day/Freakwater), LINDY MORRISON (Go-Betweens), MARK BEDFORD (Madness) & PETE BYRCHMORE (Membranes)
LONDON BUSH HALL, MAY 2ND
This is the event of the year in my mind - and I can’t go.
Nightingales frontman and post-punk steamroller Robert Lloyd (the star of the doc King Rocker that Michael Cumming and I made) has a long term sideline in brilliant blue collar country songs, like a Cannock Lee Hazelwood offering black country country and western.
Under lockdown he hatched a plan to document this other facet of his talent with Janet Beveridge Bean, of the legendary Chicago bands Eleventh Dream Day and Freakwater, on vocals.
And for one night only - May 2nd - they are performing this amazing soon-to-be-released set of tearjerkers at London’s Bush Hall, accompanied by a veritable Blind Faith made up of members of many of the bands I love the most in the world.
The Go-Betweens’ rightful drummer Lindy Morrison sits behind the traps with her trademark fills, Pete Byrchmore of The Membranes is on guitar, and the bass is Mark Bedford from Madness - and if you remember his playing on Robert Wyatt’s Shipbuilding you’ll know he’s adept at the sensitivity required here as he is at holding down a rocksteady rhythm.
DO NOT MISS THIS. IT CAN NEVER BE REPEATED.
Here’s a flyer. Tell your friends. 0208 222 6955. Or the Dice.fm ticket ap.
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
BORIS Japanese shoegaze-metal-progists of impossible heaviosity.
MAY 2nd Cork Cyprus Av, 3rd Dublin Button Factory, 4th Belfast Black Box, 5th Glasgow Drygate, 6th Settle Victoria Hall, 7th London Roundhouse
LAUREN CONNORS & ALAN LICHT - Lucid guitar duo MAY 5TH/6TH London Café Oto
PAUL CURRIE The euphoric Belfast surrealist is at Soho theatre with his latest Show May 8th-11th
JOSIE LONG
The absolutely brilliant stand-up is on tour
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
THE FALLEN LEAVES
Gentleman mod-punks
MAY 13th Camden Dublin Castle,
SEP 9th Camden Dublin Castle.
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!
HEAVENLY The Tallulah Gosh descended indie superstars of the ‘90s have reformed and are at Bush Hall in London on May 19th and 20th
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
SHIRLEY COLLINS What looks like the only album launch show for Shirley’s new record, Archangel Hill, is at Brighton Dome on May 21st.
MARTIN CARTHY Venerable and invaluable folk veteran JUNE 1st Barnard Castle Witham,
JULY 2nd Leicester Musician, NIV 5th Scunthorpe Plowright Theatre, DEC 8th London Mycenae House
CHUCK PROPHET Chisel-cheeked Alt Country guitar-slinger of Green on Red fame
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
THE REBEL Shocking country-garage satirist. JUNE 5th, 12th, 19th & 26th Brixton Windmill, London
STEVE EARLE Galway Girl man.
JUNE 9th York Grand Opera, 10th Whitley Bay Playhouse, 11th & 13th Edinburgh Queen’s Hall, 17th Birmingham Town Hall, 19th Buxton Opera House, 21st Liverpool Philharmonic, 22nd Bristol St George’s, 25th London Barbican, 27th Belfast Usher Hall, 28th Sligo Knock Arena, 29th Dublin Vicar St
THE CHILLS Veteran New Zealand psyche-popsters of Pink Frost fame.
JUNE 10th M’cr Deaf Institute, 12th Newcastle Cluny, 14th Norwich Arts, 15th B’ham Hare & Hounds,16th London Earth, 19th Southsea Wedgewood Rooms
TREEBOY & ARC Televisionary young post-punks
JUNE 10th Bedford Esquires, OCT 18th London Moth Club
THE BOO RADLEYS Reformed 90s psychedelic Britpop era fish out of water
JUNE 13th Reading South Street Arts, 14th London Garage, 15th Tunbridge Wells Forum, 16th Birkenhead Future Yard, 22nd Dublin Grand Social, 23rd Belfast Limelight 2, 25th Glasgow Hug & Pint, OCT 32st B’ham Institute, NOV 4th Islington Academy
LAURA CANNELL Hypnotic fenland dronemadchen JUNE 17th London King’s Place
JOHN SMITH Anonymously named but musically distinctive acoustic guitar star - JUNE 19th London Union chapel
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
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Plangent no wave influenced serial minimalists.
Have to be seen!
JUNE 23rd Nottingham National Justice Museum, AUG 31st Birkenhead Future Yard, SEPT 15th London St John on The Green
MUSIC FROM SUMMERISLE Various artists play the Wicker Man s/track, including original score outfit Magnet (!), and the fabulous folk singer Alasdair Roberts JUNE 24th London Barbican
THE MEKONS Rare one off from countrified post-punks
JUNE 29th London Servant Jazz Quarters
BMX BANDITS Also-beens of classic Scottish indie JUNE 30TH Edinburgh Voodoo Rooms
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
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 countru, 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
BLUE AEROPLANES/WAVE PICTURES Superd 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
MICHAEL ROTHER Neu! noise man still motoring FEB 3rd 2024 London Barbican
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 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)
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)
8. BARRY HUMPHRIES
I only met Barry Humphries once, which was at a memorial show for Barry Cryer last year, where he was hilarious of course.
I was surprised he knew my work but he did.
Barry and I are the only comedians to have written introductions to books about the Welsh mystic writer Arthur Machen, and had both been members of societies dedicated to preserving his klegacy, and I was keen to talk to him about his love of the author, which I think he really enjoyed.
Indeed, Barry said he first came to Britian specifically because of his enthusiasm for the very strain of decadent writing Machen represents.
We agreed that The London Adventure is Machen’s funniest book, and had both been inspired into discursive self-indulgent rambling in our writing by it.
We arranged to meet for lunch at some point to have a good Arthur Machen session, but, sadly, this never happened.
Nonetheless I feel very privileged to have had that conversation with him as his interest in Machen has always intrigued me.
It’s always worth remembering comedy is not a meritocracy and loads of great acts never quite achieve the exposure one might feel they deserve, while shit has a tendancy to float!
A trust fund has been set up for Gareth’s sons, so if you ever enjoyed his work, or even if you didn’t, maybe dig in.
Here is a piece from the blog of the writer/comedian Alice Hadland about how the current financial climate is killing the arts and the opportunities of our most vital voices.
It is great.
I am more than thrilled to appear as a fictional version of myself in the new novella by the fantastic Iain Sinclair, House of Flies.
“Arthur Machen once wrote 'I think of these things as I pass along the interminable wandering of the London streets; of the strange things which may have been done behind the weariest, dreariest walls'. The shades of long-dead writers in the London streets, random meetngs, quests and journeys striking lines across the city, days of joy or woe, the past seeping through the pavements, glimpses of the fantastic in the everyday: London Adventures can be any or all of these. In House of Flies, the first in the series, the ghost of Arthur Machen peers from behind the veil, his visions pulling modern pilgrims through the portals of the Grays Inn Road and the groves of Stoke Newington...”
Limited edition, 250 numbered copies. Black cover of 245 gsm card, 36 pages of 80 gsm cream Bookwove paper, one illustration. Price £10.00, including postage and packaging (UK).
If you would like to own it you can’t because it is sold out.
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. Shipping starts on April 21st 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. 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...
‘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. Sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn on ‘Use Your Loaf’, that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album.
Stewart Lee
2021-02-15T01:26:15+00:00
‘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. Sided with Stewart Lee and Nick Pynn on ‘Use Your Loaf’, that was for a mooted Nightingales tribute album.
All Stewart Lee has done this year is drive to gigs in provincial towns and look after his son. He's got nothing to talk about. He has no sob story to tug on people's heartstrings with and can't make a show out of crazy adventures like Dave Gorman. "You're defined by what you do", he tells us. "I don't do anything."
What he has done, is read the news, surf the net and watch a lot of Scooby Doo. He tries out some topical humour on us; name-checking travellers, the News of the World hacking scandal and Colonel Gaddafi. He attempts an ambitious routine comparing the film Scooby Doo and the Pirate Zombie Jungle to Tory cuts and the Thatcher government.
Eventually he tells us he resorted to driving down the North Circular to try and generate some amusing observational material on shops like World of Leather and Carpet World. Michael McIntyre's job is still safe it would seem. After checking his watch and sighing, he admits: "This is a badly worked out show." Zoinks! It all appears to be going terribly wrong...
Happily (and typically) there's something more elaborate going on here. His shows are never particularly observational, anecdotal or topical. They all tend to have narrative arcs and themes that might incorporate some of these elements but you couldn't stereotype the content. Carpet Remnant World is a show about the art of comedy itself, satirising modern stand-up.
Comedy fans will enjoy the pot shots his bitter, jaded persona takes at fellow successful stand-ups like Daniel Kitson, Jimmy Carr, Russell Howard, Russell Kane, Frankie Boyle, Bill Hicks and even his old comedy partner Richard Herring. There's an impersonation of a generic loud, sweary American comic ("Shut up and kiss my ass!") followed with a more subtle nod to Eddie Izzard (he performs the same joke in French).
He draws attention to the tricks and techniques lazy comedians use such as ending a weak section with a rape joke to get the crowd back on side ("We call that Boyle's Law"), or stitching disparate ideas together to try and make the show feel like "a more satisfying whole".
He also offers up his own methods for scrutiny along the way, telling us where he might have improvised had we laughed in a particular place, and how he changes certain word combinations around every night in the perpetual search for the funniest one.
The humour comes from how he manipulates the subjects he's parodying and makes them him own, like an uncharacteristically energetic impression of an observational comic, or an unexpectedly amusing angle on the most heavily covered news stories.
He's not afraid to poke fun at himself either: some of the loudest laughs tonight come from his knack at identifying his own doppelgangers and reading out, to a jazz backing, comments from some of his worst and most abusive internet critics.
There's also a playfulness to his language, with some spectacular punchlines created by the use of an inappropriate metaphor or an absurd simile.
While Carpet Remnant World requires some level of stand-up knowledge to understand all of the jokes, it's by no means an alienating show for the non-comedy geeks - no matter how hard he tries to put off his new 'TV audience' in the room with taunts of "It's not for you" - there's unanimous applause at the end.
For a seemingly incongruous show about nothing, there's a lot going on here and much to enjoy.
But then, as Lee shows us, appearances can be deceiving.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-24T13:01:04+00:00
All Stewart Lee has done this year is drive to gigs in provincial towns and look after his son. He's got nothing to talk about. He has no sob story to tug on people's heartstrings with and can't make a show out of crazy adventures like Dave Gorman. "You're defined by what you do", he tells us. "I don't do anything." What he has done, is read the news, surf the net and watch a lot of Scooby Doo. He tries out some topical humour on us; name-checking travellers, the News of the World hacking scandal and Colonel Gaddafi. He attempts an ambitious routine comparing the film Scooby Doo and the Pirate Zombie Jungle to Tory cuts and the Thatcher government. Eventually he tells us he resorted to driving down the North Circular to try and generate some amusing observational material on shops like World of Leather and Carpet World. Michael McIntyre's job is still safe it would seem. After checking his watch and sighing, he admits: "This is a badly worked out show." Zoinks! It all appears to be going terribly wrong... Happily (and typically) there's something more elaborate going on here. His shows are never particularly observational, anecdotal or topical. They all tend to have narrative arcs and themes that might incorporate some of these elements but you couldn't stereotype the content. Carpet Remnant World is a show about the art of comedy itself, satirising modern stand-up. Comedy fans will enjoy the pot shots his bitter, jaded persona takes at fellow successful stand-ups like Daniel Kitson, Jimmy Carr, Russell Howard, Russell Kane, Frankie Boyle, Bill Hicks and even his old comedy partner Richard Herring. There's an impersonation of a generic loud, sweary American comic ("Shut up and kiss my ass!") followed with a more subtle nod to Eddie...
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...
Not long ago, Stewart Lee was trading on the fact he hadn’t been on TV in a long time.
Though his double act with Richard Herring had a huge following both on television and radio, they disappeared from the nation’s screens at the end of the decade, for reasons that have never been clear - even to the duo themselves - but seemed to involve little more than the personal dislike of a single executive and subsequent reluctance of anyone else to take a chance on them. Indeed, Lee’s most recent live show hinged around the bitterly amusing story of how the cancellation of a planned BBC2 series left him short of work, out of pocket and performing material he wasn’t interested in to an audience who weren’t interested in him… while dressed as a giant insect.
Awning has spoken
"The sat-nav is off!"
Ironically, the success of that same show led to renewed interest from BBC2, resulting in a series that has actually made it to air. Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, rather like the BBC’s 1970s mainstay Dave Allen at Large, takes the form of lengthy and laconic ruminations on various subjects in front of a live comedy club audience, with short sketches (featuring longtime associates Paul Putner, Kevin Eldon, Michael Redmond and Simon Munnery) acting as surreal and frivolous punchlines.
From the opening sequence of Lee driving his ridiculous ‘Comedy Vehicle’ around in a pastiche of the titles of The Pink Panther Show set to shrill, jaunty music (South African kwela song Tom Hark, most famously a hit for ska band The Piranhas), it’s hard to shake the suspicion this show is a deliberate counterpoint to what has become the norm during his absence from the small screen. Television comedy has changed a good deal in the meantime, with taboo-breaking and an increasing reliance on cutting edge technology and interactivity - something Lee and Herring themselves did much to pioneer - seemingly considered as important as actual jokes.
This show is a step in the absolute opposite direction, albeit one robustly supported by a writer and performer with over two decades of experience and enough time spent away from television to tell what works and what doesn’t. It’s all the better for it.
This first edition tackles the subject of ‘toilet books’, with Lee examining several popular tomes he clearly would not have personally chosen to read, among them the works of Dan Brown and Chris Moyles. All of these are subjected to merciless scrutiny, albeit in a manner that seems more tongue-in-cheek than vindictive. Indeed, there is a fair smattering of inspired silliness throughout - notably a superb visual gag about former Grange Hill star Asher D conducting a srive-by sausage-on-forking - and it could be argued some of the more incisive gags (such as Moyles’ choice of the title The Difficult Second Book) had basically already written themselves.
Some will undoubtedly berate the show for an apparent tendency towards ‘predictable’ targets such as The Da Vinci Code, as recent reviews of his live shows have done with regard to sections on Stuart Maconie and Del Boy Falling Through The Bar. The important detail is Lee has plenty to say on these subjects - much of it both new and extremely funny - and any such criticism is doubtless founded more on a personal jadedness with the subject matter than with any problem with the actual material. Indeed, it’s quite refreshing to see such familiar subjects tackled with gags that batter their literary construction, factual veracity and underlying political leanings, rather than just scoffing at the number of people reading popular books in public places.
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is a much-needed breath of fresh air, presenting material that is both intellectually and ideologically challenging in an upbeat, laid back and easily accessible format. Lee himself has suggested the show was concieved as a ‘liberal’ mirror to Grumpy Old Men, using the same sort of observational approach to frame less reactionary material, and with a bit of luck it may prove just as popular as the rantings of Clarkson, Wakeman and company.
And who knows, maybe it’ll open then door for a couple of other sidelined ‘1990s comedians’ who really ought to have been back on the small screen a long time ago…
Stewart Lee
2009-03-16T11:09:10+00:00
Not long ago, Stewart Lee was trading on the fact he hadn’t been on TV in a long time. Though his double act with Richard Herring had a huge following both on television and radio, they disappeared from the nation’s screens at the end of the decade, for reasons that have never been clear - even to the duo themselves - but seemed to involve little more than the personal dislike of a single executive and subsequent reluctance of anyone else to take a chance on them. Indeed, Lee’s most recent live show hinged around the bitterly amusing story of how the cancellation of a planned BBC2 series left him short of work, out of pocket and performing material he wasn’t interested in to an audience who weren’t interested in him… while dressed as a giant insect. Awning has spoken "The sat-nav is off!" Ironically, the success of that same show led to renewed interest from BBC2, resulting in a series that has actually made it to air. Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, rather like the BBC’s 1970s mainstay Dave Allen at Large, takes the form of lengthy and laconic ruminations on various subjects in front of a live comedy club audience, with short sketches (featuring longtime associates Paul Putner, Kevin Eldon, Michael Redmond and Simon Munnery) acting as surreal and frivolous punchlines. From the opening sequence of Lee driving his ridiculous ‘Comedy Vehicle’ around in a pastiche of the titles of The Pink Panther Show set to shrill, jaunty music (South African kwela song Tom Hark, most famously a hit for ska band The Piranhas), it’s hard to shake the suspicion this show is a deliberate counterpoint to what has become the norm during his absence from the small screen. Television comedy has changed a good deal in the meantime,...
Jerry Springer - the Opera has received the Carlton Television award for best musical just weeks after its West End transfer to the Cambridge Theatre, during the 49th Evening Standard Theatre Awards ceremony at the Savoy Hotel in London. Beginning life at BAC as a oneact spoof, it was well received at the Edinburgh Festival in 2002 and went on to become a fully staged production, attracting sell-out audiences at the National Theatre.
Co-writers Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee accepted the prize, which was presented by Zoe Wanamaker, in front of some of Britain's leading actors, writers and directors during the ceremony on Tuesday.
Thomas said: "This has been the culmination of more than two years' work but we never expected that the result would be this good. Initially we thought the show would have a short run in a theatre off the West End but now we are planning to take it to Broadway and Sydney. This award should be for all the members of the cast, without whom there would be no show. Now we are simply working towards maintaining the production in the West End for as long as possible."
The full list of awards is as follows:
Best Actor: Michael Sheen - Caligula.
Best Actress: Sandy McDade - Iron.
Best Play: Democracy by Michael Frayn.
Carlton Television Best Musical: Jerry Springer - the Opera - Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee.
The Sydney Edwards Award for Best Director: Polly Teale - After Mrs Rochester.
Best Stage Designer: Christopher Oram - Caligula.
The Charles Wintour Award for Most Promising Playwright: Kwame Kwei-Armah - Elmina's Kitchen.
Outstanding Newcomer: Tom Hardy - Blood and In Arabia We'd All Be Kings.
Special Award: Max Stafford Clark.
Patricia Rothermere Award: Lord Attenborough.
Patricia Rothemere Scholarship: Elif Yesil.
Stewart Lee
2003-11-27T18:58:46+00:00
Jerry Springer - the Opera has received the Carlton Television award for best musical just weeks after its West End transfer to the Cambridge Theatre, during the 49th Evening Standard Theatre Awards ceremony at the Savoy Hotel in London. Beginning life at BAC as a oneact spoof, it was well received at the Edinburgh Festival in 2002 and went on to become a fully staged production, attracting sell-out audiences at the National Theatre. Co-writers Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee accepted the prize, which was presented by Zoe Wanamaker, in front of some of Britain's leading actors, writers and directors during the ceremony on Tuesday. Thomas said: "This has been the culmination of more than two years' work but we never expected that the result would be this good. Initially we thought the show would have a short run in a theatre off the West End but now we are planning to take it to Broadway and Sydney. This award should be for all the members of the cast, without whom there would be no show. Now we are simply working towards maintaining the production in the West End for as long as possible." The full list of awards is as follows: Best Actor: Michael Sheen - Caligula. Best Actress: Sandy McDade - Iron. Best Play: Democracy by Michael Frayn. Carlton Television Best Musical: Jerry Springer - the Opera - Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee. The Sydney Edwards Award for Best Director: Polly Teale - After Mrs Rochester. Best Stage Designer: Christopher Oram - Caligula. The Charles Wintour Award for Most Promising Playwright: Kwame Kwei-Armah - Elmina's Kitchen. Outstanding Newcomer: Tom Hardy - Blood and In Arabia We'd All Be Kings. Special Award: Max Stafford Clark. Patricia Rothermere Award: Lord Attenborough. Patricia Rothemere Scholarship: Elif Yesil.
Racing backwards through life I can pepper any experience with anxiety. It’s a perpetually irritating talent that never fails to amuse.
My friend Gerry tries to calm me down and reassures me that the tram will ease into Salford with plenty of time to view the unrecognisable landscape before Stewart Lee is on stage. I don’t relax. Instead I fix my gaze on a passenger – an elderly Yootha Joyce look-a-like who clearly shooed reality out of her wig long ago. Sagging boobs pressed against the tram window (mine, not hers), we’re stationary outside Cornbrook for seven minutes and I wilt like a wet sock. Still, we arrive with ten minutes to spare. Gerry nods his silvery knowing nod and we take in the Salford air, now imported directly from Kensington.
We shuffle into The Lowry, social socialist butterflies in full-poverty bloom, and take our seats. This is how the other half live – simply doing something on a Saturday evening. Stewart Lee’s audience is a real Shirley-Bertie-Basset mixed bag and we’re seated by some hipster types hiding copies of The Guardian in their beards, and some Egyptian mummies in M&S cardigans left behind from Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance. This is hardly a criticism – Gerry and I will be Kenneth Williams and Charles Hawtrey messes with a quart of bon bons by intermission.
At eight o’clock Stewart Lee walks on stage. He takes in the audience, scanning the whites of our eyes before his self-interrogation and remarks “the vegetarian restaurants of Salford must be quiet tonight”. Gone is the quiff, replaced by a handsome tousled boyish do. It’s high drama and low hair this time around as the man who could think himself to death starts by shattering the barrier between artiste and audience. He tells us that this is very much a “work-in-progress show”, preparing material for the fourth series of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle. We’ll be treated to a half hour set about Islamophobia (“to get the Daily Mail off my back”) and another half hour about urine before the intermission. Then back for a half hour set about nationalism and a “disappointing encore” (written earlier in the week) about money.
Assuring us he isn’t a comedian who interacts (thankfully for those quivering with nothing to say), he slaps the audience on the autopsy table by instantly dividing us into two separate bubbling vats of laughter. One half of the audience, Lee claims, will get the jokes (“sometimes before the punchline”) while the other half have been dragged by friends and shall be bored to their bowels after five minutes. It’s something of a Stewart Lee trademark to analyse and divide the audience in this manner. In the past some woefully dull critics have mistaken this for sincere contempt rather than a well written smug comedic stage character. This is a seasoned performer at his very best. Doing something that very few do, and fewer still do anywhere near as well as he – airing the unfinished canvas. The menu is being shaped before you and the mind of the writer on stage (rarely corpsing the performer on stage) is constantly scribbling away.
The first half hour, about Islamophobia, has been touched upon in a previous tour, as was his satirical attempt at “Islamic observational comedy” which comes complete with a hilarious Michael McIntyre sprint. It’s a genius piece that’ll have the original-as-wheelie-bin comics searching for industrial-strength glue to keep them on one spot during a performance.
Lee’s stage presence is theatrical without being showy. The voice rarely edges higher than an octave lower than boredom yet it enthrals. Stage-wise it’s all very simple. No garish lights spelling out his own name. The stage belongs to the language which is spectacle enough; a spectacle ignored by a lot of modern comics who open their mouths and out pours the sound of the ocean.
The second half hour, about urine, was my favourite set of the evening. Not a sentence I expect to write again. It’s high theatre. Without giving the content away, it’s Lee’s Banshee breakdown that had most of The Lowry roaring with laughter. Enough to drown out the awkward shuffling of arses-on-seats from those unfamiliar with the nervous energy of Lee’s work.
During the intermission Gerry and I venture outside in nicotine camaraderie. Within four puffs of an Embassy Number One we’ve both mentioned Tony Hancock in relation to Stewart Lee. Both obsessively taking apart then reassembling a joke until it turns to dust or glitter and taking on a level of analysis that would kill a beginner. In Hancock’s case, of course, it did.
The second half of the show opens with a surreal narrative on English Nationalism. In the age of tweet-sized entertainment, a 30-minute blitz involving Ukip, an England flag and cat shit is rather refreshing. Lee is at his acerbic best here, throwing a confetti of critiques at Paul Nuttall, Nigel Farage and even squeezing in Russell Brand (“not voting worked out, didn’t it?”)
The encore, while not nearly as sturdy as the previous three sets, is perhaps the most compelling because it isn’t meant to be. Here we see Stewart Lee trying out his newest material, even taking cues from biro etchings on his hand. During the outro Lee quips that “nobody is equipped to review me”. He’s right too. All I can do is suggest that you go and see this show while it’s evolving. It’s more enjoyable than stealing KitKats before having drunken sex on a Ferris Wheel.
Stewart Lee
2015-05-23T16:51:41+01:00
Racing backwards through life I can pepper any experience with anxiety. It’s a perpetually irritating talent that never fails to amuse. My friend Gerry tries to calm me down and reassures me that the tram will ease into Salford with plenty of time to view the unrecognisable landscape before Stewart Lee is on stage. I don’t relax. Instead I fix my gaze on a passenger – an elderly Yootha Joyce look-a-like who clearly shooed reality out of her wig long ago. Sagging boobs pressed against the tram window (mine, not hers), we’re stationary outside Cornbrook for seven minutes and I wilt like a wet sock. Still, we arrive with ten minutes to spare. Gerry nods his silvery knowing nod and we take in the Salford air, now imported directly from Kensington. We shuffle into The Lowry, social socialist butterflies in full-poverty bloom, and take our seats. This is how the other half live – simply doing something on a Saturday evening. Stewart Lee’s audience is a real Shirley-Bertie-Basset mixed bag and we’re seated by some hipster types hiding copies of The Guardian in their beards, and some Egyptian mummies in M&S cardigans left behind from Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance. This is hardly a criticism – Gerry and I will be Kenneth Williams and Charles Hawtrey messes with a quart of bon bons by intermission. At eight o’clock Stewart Lee walks on stage. He takes in the audience, scanning the whites of our eyes before his self-interrogation and remarks “the vegetarian restaurants of Salford must be quiet tonight”. Gone is the quiff, replaced by a handsome tousled boyish do. It’s high drama and low hair this time around as the man who could think himself to death starts by shattering the barrier between artiste and audience. He tells us that...
Is Content Provider likely to gain Stewart Lee a new fanbase? Probably not. Does it offer proof to his followers as well as the comedy world at large that he remains one of the country's foremost agent provocateurs when it comes to getting up on stage and talking into a microphone? Almost certainly.
On the weekend before the broadcast of this two-hour recording of his most recent live show, The Times announced Lee as the number one English-speaking comedian on the planet. Though to his detractors, he continues to spew the same metropolitan liberal elitist gobbledygook that winds them up into a frothing, Hard Brexit fury. Here, as you'd expect, Lee puts those types to his withering sword but is not afraid, as he has done for several live shows in a row as well as during his now-axed BBC Comedy Vehicle, to mock-antagonise those who purport to be on his side.
Filming this show in the Leave-opting Southend-on-Sea is already an act of theatrical aggression, and the 'character' of 'Stewart Lee' absolutely lords it over their ignorance and bigotry, amusingly coming to the conclusion that the majority in the crowd have been dragged there against their will.
Upon a stage covered in other comedians' live DVDs, he stomps on them both literally and metaphorically, insisting that the very mechanics of his stand-up (how he doesn't always end a line on a hard consonant like Jimmy Carr and Frankie Boyle), makes him a clearly far superior comedian, while he hilariously mimics Michael McIntyre and Russell Howard in his most physically comedic sections.
As with the Comedy Vehicle shows, he breaks up the stand-up bits with the appearance of a merciless interrogator who does the job that his more vocal critics would love to take on, destroying his very existence as a comedian with anything meaningful to say. Previously, the devil's advocate role was performed with relish by Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci, and here it's comics legend Alan Moore (Watchmen / V for Vendetta) who picks away at Lee's scabs of self-doubt. The joke is always on us: they know that we know that they know that Stewart Lee is a uniquely talented comedy warrior.
Stewart Lee
2018-07-25T22:35:34+01:00
Is Content Provider likely to gain Stewart Lee a new fanbase? Probably not. Does it offer proof to his followers as well as the comedy world at large that he remains one of the country's foremost agent provocateurs when it comes to getting up on stage and talking into a microphone? Almost certainly. On the weekend before the broadcast of this two-hour recording of his most recent live show, The Times announced Lee as the number one English-speaking comedian on the planet. Though to his detractors, he continues to spew the same metropolitan liberal elitist gobbledygook that winds them up into a frothing, Hard Brexit fury. Here, as you'd expect, Lee puts those types to his withering sword but is not afraid, as he has done for several live shows in a row as well as during his now-axed BBC Comedy Vehicle, to mock-antagonise those who purport to be on his side. Filming this show in the Leave-opting Southend-on-Sea is already an act of theatrical aggression, and the 'character' of 'Stewart Lee' absolutely lords it over their ignorance and bigotry, amusingly coming to the conclusion that the majority in the crowd have been dragged there against their will. Upon a stage covered in other comedians' live DVDs, he stomps on them both literally and metaphorically, insisting that the very mechanics of his stand-up (how he doesn't always end a line on a hard consonant like Jimmy Carr and Frankie Boyle), makes him a clearly far superior comedian, while he hilariously mimics Michael McIntyre and Russell Howard in his most physically comedic sections. As with the Comedy Vehicle shows, he breaks up the stand-up bits with the appearance of a merciless interrogator who does the job that his more vocal critics would love to take on, destroying his very existence as...
‘The only time I wanna see ‘big break’ and ‘Stewart Lee’ in the same sentence, will also involve his spinal column’ - Centerist Thug, Twitter
YOU CAN PROVE ANYTHING WITH FACTS - IN T-SHIRT FORM !!!
Crime is down 14%, but only if you ignore Fraud, which has bloomed under lockdown, in which case it is up.
Boris Johnson didn’t attend any parties under lockdown, except all of the ones which he did attend under lockdown.
The vaccine could only be developed because we had left the EU, even though it was developed before we left the EU.
There has never been a time where the very nature of facts has been so in doubt.
There has never been a better time to own an ethically crafted Stewart Lee ‘You can prove anything with facts’ leisure garment.
There has never been a better time to celebrate in fabric a statement gifted to us by a furious taxi driver somewhere near Shepherd’s Bush in the Spring of 1999.
You can prove anything with facts, so order a You Can Prove Anything With Facts garment today!
Wear your bewilderment with pride!
Make a bold and yet vague statement of uncertainty!!
Tell the world in no uncertain terms that you are certain of nothing!!!
Other catchphrases are available
Wax-face have made them in black and a Navy / indigo blue version, on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer.
They cost £20 each and will start shipping from Tuesday 15th February 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. The London Autumn 2022 dates are on sale w national 2023 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
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
Saturday 1st April 2023 - The Lowry, Salford Quays - TICKETS
3. EDINBLUR 2022
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.
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
Wednesday 20th April 2022 - Rose Theatre, Kingston - 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 - TICKETS
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 - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th June 2022 - Mercury Theatre, Colchester - TICKETS
Friday 10th June 2022 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Saturday 11th June 2022 - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - TICKETS
Sunday 12th June 2022 - Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple - TICKETS
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. KING ROCKER DVD/SCREENINGS
Our critically acclaimed doc KING ROCKER is available on DVD, and the s/track is out on various formats too.
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, David Olusoga, Ahir Shah, Garrett Millerillerick, Tim’s Twitter Party, Ardman Animatronics, Clangers, and Delia Derbyshire O’Day
Deer Shed (29th - 31st July https://www.deershedfestival.com) w Dry Cleaners, Billy NoMates, Treeboy & Archie, Yard Actors, Snapped Angles, The Love Eggs, and David O’Doherty
6. SAVE THE WYE
Please save the Wye from pollution as it is my favourite river.
There is a Ukraine benefit (which I am not in) at Leicester Sq Theatre on THURSDAY MARCH 24th, but I have given some tickets to the raffle.
You can buy tickets HERE or watch a live stream HERE.
James Acaster, Adam Buxton, Bridget Christie, Amy Gledhill, Nick Helm, Darren Harriott, Rhys James, Milton Jones, Rachel Parris & Sara Pascoe. Join us for an evening of stand up to raise money for the people of Ukraine.
The line up is outstanding - here it is again - James Acaster, Adam Buxton, Bridget Christie, Nick Helm, Darren Harriott, Rhys James, Milton Jones, Rachel Parris & Sara Pascoe with Amy Gledhill as MC.
Also, there will be a raffle drawn live during during the show. I think the star prize is a personalised jingle by Adam Buxton, and there are stacks of other amazing prizes too.
All proceeds from the ticket sales and the raffle go to the Red Cross.
Line Up is subject to change. Age guidance: 15 - some swearing probably
8. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2022 HAPPENINGS/THINGS
Echo & The Bunnymen Scally psych-survivors APRIL 6TH Bexhill De La Warr (I saw them in Feb. It was amazing.)
The Bohman Brothers Various outgrowths of the fabulous surreal sound-artists The Bohman Brothers are suddenly active. You must see them at least once in your life. BOHMAN BROTHERS March 4th Nottingham Rammel Club, 5th M’cr Anthony Burgess Foundation, April 29th Reading Rising Sun Arts. SECLUDED BRONTE March 20th Rotterdam ?, 26th Amsterdam OCCII, 27th Rotterdam Worm, April 19th Zurich Institut, 20th Geneva Café 12, 21st Paris Les Instants Chavires, 22nd Brussels Les Ateliers Claus, 23rd tba, 25th Café Oto London. MORPHOGENESIS - ORIGINAL LINE-UP OF ART NOISE LEGENDS June 12th Café Oto London
Stiff Little Fingers Still impossibly inspiring NI punk survivors MARCH 10th Bristol Academy, 11th Cardiff SU, 12th B’ham Academy, 14th Nottingham Rock City, 16th Troon Hall, 17th Glasgow Barrowlands, 18th Newcastle City Hall, 19th Leeds Academy, 21st Northampton Roadmender, 24th Bournemouth Academy, 25th M’cr Academy, 26th Camden Roundhouse AUGUST 4th Blackpool Rebellion, OCTOBER 1st- 2nd Sheffield Academy
Melt Banana Endlessly inspiring Japanese pop-art-noiseniks MARCH 31st Margate Elsewhere, APRIL 1st Reading South Street, 6th Cambridge Portland Arms, 9th Huddersfield Parish, 12th Edinburgh Caves, 13th Glasgow Stereo, 14th York Crescent, 17th Bristol Exchange, 18th Cardiff Ifor Bach, 22nd Brighton Patterns
Nish Kumar Bread roll obsessed, woke so-called ‘comedian’ hits the road.
APRIL 2ND Brighton Dome, 3rd St Albans Arena, 9th Colchester Charter, 16th Brecon Brycheiniog, 22nd/23rd Hackney Empire, 28th Monmouth Savoy, MAY 17TH Oxford New Theatre More here.
Alex Winter London Prince Charles Cinema 31st March - April 3rd. A series of events featuring live contributions from Bill & Ted star, Death Wish III actor and innovative director Alex Winter. I met Alex over 30 years ago on a chat show when he was promoting his deeply eccentric film FREAKED and he was a sincere and talented man, ploughing his own furrow.
Wet Leg Sure to be briefly massive, these waspish Amish-styled Boston-indie-circa-1989-sounding barnstormers hit the road APRIL 17th Edinburgh Mash, 19th Leeds Brudenell, 20th M’cr Gorilla, 21st Bristol Trinity, 23rd B’ham Institute 3, 24th Norwich Arts, 26th London Scala, 27th Southsea Wedgewood, MAY 28th Warrington Weekender
The Nightingales Birmingham post-punk leg-ends and stars of KING ROCKER in their biggest ever tour and their biggest ever venues APRIL 19th Glasgow Cathouse, 20th Liverpool Cavern, 23rd M’cr Deaf Institute, 24th Leeds Key, 26th Norwich Epic, 27th Oxford Academy, 29th Brighton Patterns, 30th Birmingham Academy, MAY 2nd Bristol Thekla, 3rd London Garage, 5th Leek Foxlowe Arts, 7th Nottingham Bodega
Red Guitars Reunited 80’s politicised Hull post-punks w afropop inflections in original line-up configuration. APRIL 19th Leeds Old Woollen, 21st M’cr Night & Day, 22nd Glasgow Attic, 22nd Hull Adelphi, 23rd Brighton Green Door, 29th London 100 Club, 30th Birmingham Institute
Maria Bamford As all serious fans of stand-up know, the American iteration of the artform is currently lagging somewhat compared to the manifestations produced in other English speaking territories, but the mighty Maria Bamford - the Empress of Embarrassment - can hold her own against the best British, Irish and Antipodean acts, and she has an utterly unique comic persona, a kind of crippling bafflement. She is making some rare - and typically modest - British and Irish appearances. APRIL 21st Dublin Liberty Hall, 25th Glasgow Glee, 27th Birmingham Glee, 28th M'cr Academy, 30th London Hackney Earth
Low Mormon minimalists APRIL 25th Edinburgh Queen’s Hall, 26th Dublin Vicar St, 27th M’cr Cathedral, 28th Brighton St George’s, 29th London St John At Hackney, 30th Bristol Trinity
Bridget Christie - Who Am I? Woke comedienne. APRIL 26th - 30th, Leicester Sq Theatre London.
Flamin’ Groovies - You must see these superb ‘70s American Stones/Byrds/Beatles styled survivors. MAY 3rd York Cowgirl, 4th Newcastle Cluny, 6th Glasgow Room 2, 7th London 100 Club
Chuck Prophet Chiselled guitar gunslinger from another, better time. MAY 26th Bury Met, 27th Nottingham Metronome, 28th Newcastle Gosforth Civic, 31st Bristol Fleece, JUNE 1st B’ham Hare & Hounds, 2nd Thetford Red Rooster, 3rd London Garage
Peter Case performed the original version of Hangin’ On The Telephone with The Nerves, perfected powerpop with The Plimsouls, and then invented Americana as we know it as a solo artist in the ‘80s. Today he looks and sounds like some ‘60s Greenwich village blues-folk legend and is touring the UK with the country-punk-bluegrassman and former Long Ryder Sid Griffin. MAY 27th London Water Rats, 29th High Wycombe Kingsmead House, 30th Hambrook Village Hall, JUNE 1ST Leytonstone Ex-Servicemen’s Club, 2nd Birmingham Kitchen Garden cafe.
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 *****
Stinkfood (Twitter) *****
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
9. 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 stringbender (1937)
Stewart Lee
2022-03-21T15:22:07+00:00
‘The only time I wanna see ‘big break’ and ‘Stewart Lee’ in the same sentence, will also involve his spinal column’ - Centerist Thug, Twitter YOU CAN PROVE ANYTHING WITH FACTS - IN T-SHIRT FORM !!! Crime is down 14%, but only if you ignore Fraud, which has bloomed under lockdown, in which case it is up. Boris Johnson didn’t attend any parties under lockdown, except all of the ones which he did attend under lockdown. The vaccine could only be developed because we had left the EU, even though it was developed before we left the EU. There has never been a time where the very nature of facts has been so in doubt. There has never been a better time to own an ethically crafted Stewart Lee ‘You can prove anything with facts’ leisure garment. There has never been a better time to celebrate in fabric a statement gifted to us by a furious taxi driver somewhere near Shepherd’s Bush in the Spring of 1999. You can prove anything with facts, so order a You Can Prove Anything With Facts garment today! Wear your bewilderment with pride! Make a bold and yet vague statement of uncertainty!! Tell the world in no uncertain terms that you are certain of nothing!!! Other catchphrases are available BUY THEM HERE Wax-face have made them in black and a Navy / indigo blue version, on Anthem Organic Tee Shirts who are a UK based ethical tee shirt manufacturer. They cost £20 each and will start shipping from Tuesday 15th February 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. FACTS - Pink / Blue FACTS - Green / Blue...
Say “Cornwall” to an uncontacted pygmy brave deep in a New Zealand forest and his bamboo flute will swiftly carve the shape of the Cornish pasty into the Shotover riverbank sands. “Oggy, oggy, oggy,” he will cry, as he mimes pushing a too-hot Cornish pasty into his unambiguously delighted face. “Oggy, oggy, oggy!”
But last Monday, the feast day of Cornwall’s proud Saint Piran, American food industry lobbyists revealed plans to exploit the end of our protection by the EU’s regional foods scheme. American “Cornish” pasties could be on their way into Britain. And yet Arthur, who swore to return if his land was imperilled, sleeps soundly still in his Tintagel cave.
American Cornish pasties? Say the horrible words and savour their bitter taste. Was this desecration what Leave-voting Cornwall voted for? Did proud Cornwall want the crusty foodstuff that has made Kernow beloved worldwide replaced by a foul foreign fake? Did Arthur die on adulterous Mordred’s lance to see the sacred pasty cuckolded so? Did Henry Jenner, bard of Boscawen-Un, strive to revive Cornwall’s lost language for his cultural inheritors to ask the man in Pengenna Pasties for a King Size American? Did the noble Cornish folk want nothing more than to be Donald Trump’s Brexit pasty whores? Because that is all they are! Especially the people from London who own cottages there!! And Rick Stein!!!
The Leave-voting Cornish comedian Jethro Tull has appeared twice on the Leave-voting comedian Jim Davidson’s Generation Game show, demonstrating how to make Cornish pasties. During one sequence, Tull mocked the interfering EU for insisting pasty preparers wear gloves. Now he and Davidson will be able to fly to America and see Cornish pasties being made by Hispanic slave labour from factory-farmed, hormone-ridden cattle, doused in petroleum, reduced to pulp and squeezed from automatic tubes into pre-molded pasty pastry Hot Cornwall Pockets™®. Doubtless they are delighted.
If he could see the meat and potato atrocities about to be enacted in the name of his beloved Cornish pasties, Cornwall’s holy Saint Piran would turn in his grave, had his remains not been split up and sent all around the country in the 14th century. As it is, one of Saint Piran’s arms revolves in Exeter Cathedral, the other in Waltham Abbey, while his missing head spins somewhere undisclosed in St Piran’s Old Church, Perranzabuloe.
In the Mad Max dystopia of our post-Brexit nation, it is unlikely hungry Britannia will have the luxury of rejecting Donald Trump’s food regulation-relaxing advances, no matter how many times she slaps his tiny hands away from her cool thigh. Scotch whiskies, Melton Mowbray pork pies, Jersey Royal potatoes, Solihull stickleback slices and Cumberland sausages, all sourced from the finest American processing plants, will soon foul our patriotic British palates. First they came for the West Cornwall Pasty Company. And then they came for me.
I will miss the West Cornwall Pasty Company’s cheery wayside retail outlets, a Greggs for road-worn wayfarers who fear not the harsh crust or the hot steak steam. Doubtless they are soon to close when cheap American imports undercut the business, sending hundreds of gainfully employed Cornish pasty-makers back to their old ancestral ways of piracy, smuggling and wrecking. The West Cornwall Pasty Company’s honest fayre is one of the comforts of the road to an endlessly touring comedian and last week I needed my Cornish culinary compensation.
During these last, final weeks of my 18-month standup comedy tour around broken Brexit Britain, I have been reading the 1967 novel Ice by the science-fiction pioneer and heroin enthusiast Anna Kavan, newly rescued from oblivion by Peter Owen Publishers. Ice eerily depicts a man travelling through a Kafkaesque collapsing society, beset by an encroaching ice age, against the backdrop of some imminent but unspecified political catastrophe. What ghostly forces of guidance compelled me to read this prophetic novel at this exact moment in time? Mother? Are you there? Is that you?
On Thursday night, I and my tour manager were trapped in Bristol by the Beast from the East and I was denied two days back with my resentful family in London, as we remained there until Sunday and a date in Plymouth. An audience member’s ice-skidding car had crashed into the loading doors of the Bristol theatre, where it remained for days, blocking our exit, closing the Overton window of our departure and tripling our hotel bill. I missed the kids and sat in reading Ice, worrying about their futures until my heart ached.
On Sunday we set off toward Plymouth. Though the sudden snow was thawing, all along the A386 abandoned cars lay shipwrecked in laybys, ditched during Thursday’s snowstorm and now stripped clean of parts and fabrics, the Devonshire locals reverting to type at the first sign of a social breakdown.
At the Fox Tor cafe in Princetown, high on Dartmoor, above the prehistoric stone rows of Merrivale, I suspended my diet to stand and scoff a Cornish pasty, looking out across the ancient, frost-flecked landscape of the nation that made me. The pasty was good eating, and authentically Cornish too, but there was a bitter aftertaste not of its own making. As I ate into the pasty, I felt the very notion of Britain itself being eaten away, like some kind of enormous metaphor.
On his Cornish deathbed in 1934, the last Cornish words of the Cornish language revivalist Henry Jenner were: “Here in Cornwall, we do not need other meat and pastry products. The whole object of my life has been to inculcate into the Cornish people, and the Cornish pasties, a sense of their Cornishness. Either that chicken and mushroom slice goes or I do. Aaaagh!”
How sad that Brexit befouls Jenner’s legacy and turns his Cornish pasty to cows’ dungs in our mouths. Wake, proud Arthur! Wake and bake!!
Stewart Lee
2018-03-11T18:04:12+00:00
Say “Cornwall” to an uncontacted pygmy brave deep in a New Zealand forest and his bamboo flute will swiftly carve the shape of the Cornish pasty into the Shotover riverbank sands. “Oggy, oggy, oggy,” he will cry, as he mimes pushing a too-hot Cornish pasty into his unambiguously delighted face. “Oggy, oggy, oggy!” But last Monday, the feast day of Cornwall’s proud Saint Piran, American food industry lobbyists revealed plans to exploit the end of our protection by the EU’s regional foods scheme. American “Cornish” pasties could be on their way into Britain. And yet Arthur, who swore to return if his land was imperilled, sleeps soundly still in his Tintagel cave. American Cornish pasties? Say the horrible words and savour their bitter taste. Was this desecration what Leave-voting Cornwall voted for? Did proud Cornwall want the crusty foodstuff that has made Kernow beloved worldwide replaced by a foul foreign fake? Did Arthur die on adulterous Mordred’s lance to see the sacred pasty cuckolded so? Did Henry Jenner, bard of Boscawen-Un, strive to revive Cornwall’s lost language for his cultural inheritors to ask the man in Pengenna Pasties for a King Size American? Did the noble Cornish folk want nothing more than to be Donald Trump’s Brexit pasty whores? Because that is all they are! Especially the people from London who own cottages there!! And Rick Stein!!! The Leave-voting Cornish comedian Jethro Tull has appeared twice on the Leave-voting comedian Jim Davidson’s Generation Game show, demonstrating how to make Cornish pasties. During one sequence, Tull mocked the interfering EU for insisting pasty preparers wear gloves. Now he and Davidson will be able to fly to America and see Cornish pasties being made by Hispanic slave labour from factory-farmed, hormone-ridden cattle, doused in petroleum, reduced to pulp and squeezed from automatic...
Ideally suited to smoked filled rooms long since legislated out of existence, Nottingham's most cosmopolitan export have spent two decades finessing an exotic gallic soul noir, a perfect fit for the outpourings of moody mumbler Stuart Staples' barely beating heart.
Their ninth studio album, excluding four film scores, opens with a lava lamp lit, nine minute, slow building story of a romantic encounter gone awry, Terry Edwards' sax in an ironic dialogue with the cinematic history of squawking sex scene soundtrack solos.
Elsewhere the original blueprints, rickety railtrack rhythms and soulful Rhodes piano, remain as effective as ever.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-19T21:58:48+00:00
Ideally suited to smoked filled rooms long since legislated out of existence, Nottingham's most cosmopolitan export have spent two decades finessing an exotic gallic soul noir, a perfect fit for the outpourings of moody mumbler Stuart Staples' barely beating heart. Their ninth studio album, excluding four film scores, opens with a lava lamp lit, nine minute, slow building story of a romantic encounter gone awry, Terry Edwards' sax in an ironic dialogue with the cinematic history of squawking sex scene soundtrack solos. Elsewhere the original blueprints, rickety railtrack rhythms and soulful Rhodes piano, remain as effective as ever.
£3.67. That’s the cheapest price you can apparently buy a Stewart Lee DVD if you hunt online – and it’s a fact the top comedian’s deeply embi ered stage persona is immensely proud of.
Surrounded on stage by piles of other stand-ups’ DVDs which he bought for as li le as 1p each or possibly for 50p from a charity shop, Stewart Lee feels a smug satisfaction at being the comic whose DVDs retail second-hand for the highest price.
He even brags about how if he spots any selling for slightly cheaper, he buys them himself and sells them on for an extra paltry profit of around 14 pence.
Although he was momentarily taken aback when he asked a woman in the audience to guess the cheapest price of his DVDs online, only to have her say 5p – “that’s the lowest amount anyone has ever guessed!” he protested.
Disappointment, anger and bit- terness feature highly in Stewart Lee’s Content Provider show – and all to hilarious effect.
From political rantings about Brexit and Trump to his bi er annoyance at not having his BAFTA winning BBC show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle recommissioned for another series, Stewart Lee turns resentful humour into an art form.
He even boasts with wi y narcis- sism to the ti ering audience that his tour so far has generated four and five- star reviews so any failure to get laughs, won’t be down to problems his side of the stage.
But he saved his real venom for bril- liantly mocking the under-40 genera- tions for their selfie and social media obsessed way of living and the way they take for granted ge ing everything they want neatly packaged and delivered to them.
Indeed, Stewart Lee kicks off the show by making his hatred of people’s reliance and obsession with technology clear by telling the crowd that if he spots anyone looking at their mobile phone, he will take it and smash it underfoot on stage.
So I think you can safely assume there weren’t any selfies taken with fans.
With his sneering superiority and observational humour, Stewart Lee is cleverly funny and from his local insults aimed at the people of Garstang to the jibes aimed at fellow comedian Russell Howard, he certainly invoked plenty of laughter.
In the second half, a few of his jokes such as his imaginings of the kinky bondage sex lives of our grandparents went on a bit, but he then manages to pull it back by balancing his arrogance with tales of how his own family don’t find him funny and view being a come- dian as not a “proper job”.
Stewart Lee is wonderfully scathing and hilarious and the show provided plenty of enjoyable laughter.
But if you missed it, don’t worry – I’m sure it will be out on DVD soon ... but it’ll cost you a lot more than 1p.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-23T13:16:03+00:00
£3.67. That’s the cheapest price you can apparently buy a Stewart Lee DVD if you hunt online – and it’s a fact the top comedian’s deeply embi ered stage persona is immensely proud of. Surrounded on stage by piles of other stand-ups’ DVDs which he bought for as li le as 1p each or possibly for 50p from a charity shop, Stewart Lee feels a smug satisfaction at being the comic whose DVDs retail second-hand for the highest price. He even brags about how if he spots any selling for slightly cheaper, he buys them himself and sells them on for an extra paltry profit of around 14 pence. Although he was momentarily taken aback when he asked a woman in the audience to guess the cheapest price of his DVDs online, only to have her say 5p – “that’s the lowest amount anyone has ever guessed!” he protested. Disappointment, anger and bit- terness feature highly in Stewart Lee’s Content Provider show – and all to hilarious effect. From political rantings about Brexit and Trump to his bi er annoyance at not having his BAFTA winning BBC show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle recommissioned for another series, Stewart Lee turns resentful humour into an art form. He even boasts with wi y narcis- sism to the ti ering audience that his tour so far has generated four and five- star reviews so any failure to get laughs, won’t be down to problems his side of the stage. But he saved his real venom for bril- liantly mocking the under-40 genera- tions for their selfie and social media obsessed way of living and the way they take for granted ge ing everything they want neatly packaged and delivered to them. Indeed, Stewart Lee kicks off the show by making his hatred of...
In the late ‘80s, Crystalized Moments' guitarists Wayne Rogers and Kate Biggar began their arch interrogation of psychedelia, stretching extended wig-outs to breaking point.
At the end of the century, as Major Stars, they ditched vinyl-junkie in-jokes to become simultaneously simpler and stranger.
Now a trad-ish Who-style combo given to free-jazz informed digressions, and fronted by Hayley Thompson King, a classic rock chick vocalist unafraid of ‘70s hipster chic, Major Stars hide surging power-chord anthems in mind-bending, pedal-melting, modal jams, Turning For Home being the obvious highlight here.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-06T20:51:10+00:00
In the late ‘80s, Crystalized Moments' guitarists Wayne Rogers and Kate Biggar began their arch interrogation of psychedelia, stretching extended wig-outs to breaking point. At the end of the century, as Major Stars, they ditched vinyl-junkie in-jokes to become simultaneously simpler and stranger. Now a trad-ish Who-style combo given to free-jazz informed digressions, and fronted by Hayley Thompson King, a classic rock chick vocalist unafraid of ‘70s hipster chic, Major Stars hide surging power-chord anthems in mind-bending, pedal-melting, modal jams, Turning For Home being the obvious highlight here.
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...
I have had a great run so far at the New Zealand comedy festival in Auckland. The Classic on Queen Street is one of my favourite five spaces to perform worldwide. It’s a converted porn cinema, there’s table service but it’s genuinely unobtrusive, and it has the kind of faded glamour you can’t manufacture. Pretty much all the shows here have enabled me to do what I do best – take people on funny journeys into spaces they wouldn’t have expected to arrive at in a stand-up comedy set. When there have been heckles or interruptions they’ve been playful, witty, supportive, - things you could have fun with -, or just genuinely confused people, who want to understand, asking questions, with whom you could also have some fun. When there was heckling it normally had the feel of a lively debate, or a flirtation. Nobody was humiliated or hurt, onstage or off.
I like to watch the crowd come in. I play a CD of a long Evan Parker sax solo while they do. I figure if people can’t put up with that then they will probably not be able to put up with me. About one in ten times someone will come up to the sound desk and ask to have the fucking horrible music turned off. The people that do this are always subsequently the people in the audience without the patience to enjoy my set. Tonight an English man in a red football shirt took a table with a party of ten to fifteen other men and started shouting from his seat for the music to be turned off. I identified him as the alpha male of that group and realised the evening would probably stand or fall on his approval. The kind of people that go to comedy in a big party usually need their laughter to be approved of by one particular member, and the sort of person who is that member of such a group will usually feel that I am threatening to their status as the clown/leader of that group and will try to undermine me. Since I came back to stand-up I have largely been playing to people on my wavelength, and I was never a Comedy Store or Jongleurs act, so I rarely encounter this mentality.
Sure enough, within a few minutes I realised the show was sabotaged. The man began jumping into crucial little spaces between feedlines and punchlines with his own attempts at pay-offs that were not as funny as mine, and usually reactionary in nature, but which nevertheless slowed the momentum of the show. I said to him that I had identified him as the alpha male of his group even before the show started, and realised that as clown/leader of his pack I knew he would subsequently be obliged to undermine me. Even this bald statement would not silence him. He and his pack were here for the Lions tour. The Lions are an English rugby team. Things in the set that I consider in playful bad taste were so enthusiastically gobbled up by the English sport fans that I felt their meaning and intent changed, and I felt ashamed to say them. Towards the end I use the word ‘fingering’ in a set up towards something else. At the arrival of the word ‘fingering’ came the shout, “Now you’re getting somewhere.” I explained that this section was my least favorite of the show, and the fact that it seemed to have struck a chord with the rugby fans showed we really were on different wavelengths.
Usually I can silence hecklers with relentless logic, but what I was doing was so far away from what the sport fans expected from comedy, that they didn’t even realise that, to all intents and purposes, they had been defeated, and so their barrage of witless inanity continued. Of course afterwards, they all want to buy you drinks, and genuinely seem to feel their interruptions have done you some kind of favour. One said his favorite comic was Eddie Izzard, which I accommodated, but when they expected me to engage in an enthusiastic debate about how brilliant Peter Kaye was I made my excuses and left. They didn’t even know what they had done. They thought they had helped me to be more like a proper comedian.
It’s funny and sad that my only disastrous show here in Auckland should be as a result of the kind of English people I never usually encounter in England actually coming to my show, but when I went back to the flat later I began to feel depressed, not about the show going badly, but about the existence of such people, and what it means for the world. I tried to offer an audience something different, something they wont have seen, but the English rugby fans were trying to defeat the world of new experiences, and make it into a shape they already understood, rather than to embrace it for what it is, or enjoy its difference. This is why British holiday resorts in Spain are full of British-style pubs and Fish and Chip shops. This is why there aren’t any Spanish locals on Spanish beaches making a killing selling delicious Spanish-style food.
Privately, the debate continues amongst comedians, “what is Daniel Kitson doing?” Why, many wonder, does he do The Stand when he could do the big room at Assembly? Why does he insist on shaking off half the following he has established every couple of years by doing a sensitive story show? Why doesn’t he have a nice haircut? Surely he could afford it now. But Kitson once told me, that after his Perrier nomination, he was doing a run at the Soho theatre. Sitting in a toilet cubicle one night he overheard some of his audience standing at the urinals talking, didn’t like how they sounded, didn’t like them, and realised he would have to begin a process of refining his fanbase.
In the mid-90’s I was on television, and was of the mistaken belief that this represented a logical end-point in comedy. Returning to stand-up recently after four years off, the actual numbers game seems much simpler. I need about 7000 fans. If each of them gave me about £5 a year after tax, agent’s commission and travel expenses, I would be making a fine living, and probably never having to deal with sports fans coming to my shows. There is no need for that 7000 strong audience to include English rugby fans. If I can find some way of operating at such a level whereby they never find me, I could have the most wonderful life.
Why are sports fans at comedy anyway? In the 80’s when I was a teenager, scum and morons and thugs had sport to get excited about. And the nice people and nerds and geeks had comedy and pop music and books and computers. Then, in the 90’s, Baddiel and Skinner let the thugs have our comedy. And then Oasis and The Happy Mondays let the thugs have our music. Now there are lads at indie rock gigs and lads at comedy. Where is our space? What belongs to us? Where is our private place? I propose that we reclaim it, with fiercely strange comedy that will scare them away.
Scott, who runs the Classic and promotes me here, said I was wrong about the heckler being the Alpha Male of the sport fan group. He said the Alpha male would have money, cars, women and be silent. The heckler was a kind of delta male, the jester to the king Alpha Male. He would spend his life in orbit of power, trailing it, circling it, but never achieving it. This is of course true. But it didn’t give me any pleasure. It just made me even more sad to think that a perfectly serviceable show had been sabotaged as just yet another act in the drama of some inadequate’s quiet, or in this case not so quiet, desperation. We can be the sounding board for their strengths, and bring out the best in the public. We are also the blank canvas upon which they write their despair and sadness, in big black letters, a foot high. What a wretched night.
Stewart Lee
2005-05-05T21:09:51+01:00
I have had a great run so far at the New Zealand comedy festival in Auckland. The Classic on Queen Street is one of my favourite five spaces to perform worldwide. It’s a converted porn cinema, there’s table service but it’s genuinely unobtrusive, and it has the kind of faded glamour you can’t manufacture. Pretty much all the shows here have enabled me to do what I do best – take people on funny journeys into spaces they wouldn’t have expected to arrive at in a stand-up comedy set. When there have been heckles or interruptions they’ve been playful, witty, supportive, - things you could have fun with -, or just genuinely confused people, who want to understand, asking questions, with whom you could also have some fun. When there was heckling it normally had the feel of a lively debate, or a flirtation. Nobody was humiliated or hurt, onstage or off. I like to watch the crowd come in. I play a CD of a long Evan Parker sax solo while they do. I figure if people can’t put up with that then they will probably not be able to put up with me. About one in ten times someone will come up to the sound desk and ask to have the fucking horrible music turned off. The people that do this are always subsequently the people in the audience without the patience to enjoy my set. Tonight an English man in a red football shirt took a table with a party of ten to fifteen other men and started shouting from his seat for the music to be turned off. I identified him as the alpha male of that group and realised the evening would probably stand or fall on his approval. The kind of people that go...
"You can't be trusted for a minute. That noise is unacceptable to the neighbours. Just moderate it a bit, will you?" Barbed Wire, from Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's first album, Patio, closes with the sound of an irate mother breaking up one of the bedroom recordings that, together with sessions culled from radio stations in their native Wales, comprises the bulk of the LP. They were in their mid-teens when they made it, and cherubic singer and organist Euros Childs's voice hadn't even broken.
Next month, the five-strong band start work on their fourth album and will be able to claim 21 years apiece, apart from Euros's sister Megan, who is 25, plays violin, and is entrusted with Gorky's chequebook. The band's name, which even their champion John Peel describes as cumbersome, sounds like an effort to mimic the unwieldy polysyllabic progressive English bands of the past, such as Elmer Gantry's Velvet Opera. "I'm afraid it makes less sense than them, though," says guitarist John Lawrence. 'Gork' was school slang for a dimwit, 'zygotic' has been hijacked from GCSE biology, and 'mynci' is a misspelling of monkey. Unfortunately, it's too late to change." Age has not robbed Euros of a stunning choirboy clarity, nor the band of genuine enthusiasm and self-effacing modesty traits absent from a host of other young British groups.
Where Britpop bands creep out from between Paul Weller's legs to create a cultural orthodoxy of second-hand Beatles albums and Small Faces CD reissues, Gorky's have chosen to plunder a different back catalogue the legacy of late British psychedelia. Their audience is a weird mixture of supportive peers, entranced by a music that seems to them to be without precedent, and a few delighted former hippies comforted by traces of Soft Machine and Kevin Ayers. Much of last year's Bwyd (Food) Time LP, notably bassist Richard James's Eating Salt is Easy, seems to take as a starting point the folk-mantras of the 1960s Celtic group The Incredible String Band, who walked the brilliant/rubbish tightrope with less caution than their bearded contemporaries. To a London-centred media, Wales seems more exotic and harder to decode than Seattle or South Central Los Angeles, and, to some extent, Gorky's have played this to their advantage, although there are problems. In deciding to raid a fancy-dress shop for Bwyd Time's cover shoot, and in dressing themselves in medieval garb, they created the oddest sleeve photo since, well...the Incredible String Band's The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter, and confirmed press ideas of them as psilocybin-gobbling space yokels. "It was a joke," says Euros.
The fact remains, for comedians such as Lee Hurst and Hale and Pace, the Welsh are the Pakistanis of the 1990s: the race you can stereotype without losing your liberal credentials. Thus Gorky's decision to sing in Welsh, most of the time, might be construed as a political act. But the majority of the band speak Welsh as a first language, and it seems appropriate to a song such as Sdim Yr Adar Yn Cnau (Birds Don't Sing Anymore), their new Amber Gambler EP's beautiful and affecting lament for the oil-slicked Pembrokeshire coast. Melody Maker described the band's use of their native tongue here as "bloody-mindedness". "Where we grew up is bilingual anyway," argues James, "so not to sing in both languages wouldn't be a true representation of us."
But Gorky's won't be drawn on nationalist issues. Reviews in Welsh-language magazines ignore their English-language songs, and Megan describes a television programme about Welsh bands using shots of them crossing the Severn bridge "as if we were going over the border, betraying them". Lawrence sounds positively bitter: "When the Welsh Language Society put on shows, they make a fuss if we ask for Pounds 300 to cover costs, but they don't complain when they have to pay a middle-of-the-road Welsh band a grand." You'd imagine they'd be thrilled by Gorky's, a populist exportable vehicle for the Welsh language. "I don't think they want the language to go outside," says Euros.
On the train back to London, Megan talks about playing the pedal-steel -guitar-led Heart of Kentucky, from the new EP, to bewildered Epic Records executives, suddenly afraid that Gorky's might transmute into an unmarketable Welsh country & western band. But that is Gorky's prerogative. So they signed with Fontana.
There is a family precedent for breaking the mould. Euros and Megan's dad is a music teacher who plays medieval instruments. He reckons he could write Euros's songs himself in two minutes.
In September, they play America, where they will doubtless be swooned over. The band's very isolation makes them, ironically, a distinctive commercial international proposition: they are originals. Euros speaks of Japanese fans asking the band to autograph English/Welsh dictionaries. "Now that's something, isn't it?" he adds, with undisguised pride.
Stewart Lee
1996-06-09T16:45:17+01:00
"You can't be trusted for a minute. That noise is unacceptable to the neighbours. Just moderate it a bit, will you?" Barbed Wire, from Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's first album, Patio, closes with the sound of an irate mother breaking up one of the bedroom recordings that, together with sessions culled from radio stations in their native Wales, comprises the bulk of the LP. They were in their mid-teens when they made it, and cherubic singer and organist Euros Childs's voice hadn't even broken. Next month, the five-strong band start work on their fourth album and will be able to claim 21 years apiece, apart from Euros's sister Megan, who is 25, plays violin, and is entrusted with Gorky's chequebook. The band's name, which even their champion John Peel describes as cumbersome, sounds like an effort to mimic the unwieldy polysyllabic progressive English bands of the past, such as Elmer Gantry's Velvet Opera. "I'm afraid it makes less sense than them, though," says guitarist John Lawrence. 'Gork' was school slang for a dimwit, 'zygotic' has been hijacked from GCSE biology, and 'mynci' is a misspelling of monkey. Unfortunately, it's too late to change." Age has not robbed Euros of a stunning choirboy clarity, nor the band of genuine enthusiasm and self-effacing modesty traits absent from a host of other young British groups. Where Britpop bands creep out from between Paul Weller's legs to create a cultural orthodoxy of second-hand Beatles albums and Small Faces CD reissues, Gorky's have chosen to plunder a different back catalogue the legacy of late British psychedelia. Their audience is a weird mixture of supportive peers, entranced by a music that seems to them to be without precedent, and a few delighted former hippies comforted by traces of Soft Machine and Kevin Ayers. Much of last year's...
Penning a late-night Fringe play about literature's greatest double act isn't the most obvious career move for a stand-up comedian. Then again, Stewart Lee's 20-year career hasn't exactly followed the usual path. He directed and co-wrote Jerry Springer: The Opera, moonlighted as a music journalist and recently made his debut as a fiction writer in a collection of short stories based on songs by The Fall. As you might imagine, then, Johnson and Boswell: Late but Live is a suitably single-minded excursion into drama.
The two eighteenth-century literary wits, after all, went about things in very different ways. Dr Samuel Johnson confounded people's expectations of how a man of letters should behave, while James Boswell, like some historical equivalent of the music journalist Lester Bangs, preferred to print the myth.
Many years ago, Lee read Boswell's account of his trip with Johnson to Scotland. When he was approached to write the play, he decided to attempt to demonstrate how the wit of Johnson could be presented in a modern way, and to show that he could be as funny as any comedian now. He plumped for using the device of a book launch, in which Johnson (the comedian Simon Munnery) and Boswell (fellow funnyman Miles Jupp) attempt to ply their wares to a thoroughly modern audience - a set-up that allows them to talk about Scotland in the 21st century rather than the eighteenth.
"What became more interesting and relevant to now," Lee explains prior to a warm-up stand-up show at Glasgow's Stand comedy club, "is how Boswell clearly had an agenda on how he wanted to present Johnson. It was a father-son hero-worship thing. And it's also about how PR works, and how events are recorded, and what was the difference between what Johnson might have been like and how Boswell chose to record it.
"Boswell made a career out of following Johnson around and writing down all the funny things he said. So apart from three or four incidents from the story, I started ignoring most of the historical side of it, and thinking about what it would be like to have these two men onstage, one of whom clearly hero-worships the other.
"We ended up looking at how Jonathan Ross interviews people he's clearly a bit in awe of from his childhood. Boswell actually says at one point, I'm a big fan of your work. We all are.'"
Lee began thinking of some of his own heroes, fully-paid-up members of the awkward squad such as the late Peter Cook, former Sex Pistol John Lydon, Morrissey and (of course) Mark E Smith, frontman of Lee's most beloved band, The Fall. All have determinedly confounded any attempts to co-opt them into showbusiness's cosy, PR-led inner circle, making for stubbornly inconsistent, often self-destructive but altogether more interesting careers.
"All these people have a sense of what their public persona is," Lee points out, "and are expected to be caustic and witty. But as they get older, you can see them get rather tired of it. In interviews, Smith either blocks everything or else decides to be hilarious. Morrissey's like that as well, and some of Peter Cook's interviews towards the end of his life were the best things he ever did.
"There's a brilliant quote from Johnson that says something like Men in advanced years should not repeat the simplest elements of their art'. Obviously the thing that follows Johnson round all his life - his equivalent of Ricky Gervais's funny dance - is When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life'. Boswell tries to get him to say it all the way through, because that's his catchphrase. So when someone like Johnson becomes known for a particular thing, you can either choose to roll with it or run from it. It's like whenever Ricky is asked to do his dance, he seems to be genuinely irritated - but will trot it out at a big enough benefit event. It's the same for Johnson, where it's all become a bit of a chore for him."
Nobody seems to think it’s that weird me doing a play about Johnson and Boswell
THE show isn't a history play at all, then, but is more about the fawning sycophancy of today's celebrity culture. It's a world Lee has brushed up against - once when he was represented by the uber-glossy comedy agency Avalon, and then again after the runaway success of Jerry Springer: The Opera. For all his pride in a work that became one of the biggest and most controversial success stories of recent times, there were elements of it he clearly found uncomfortable.
"I would never want to work in commercial theatre again," he says. "With Springer, once we'd done it once, trying to explain to commercial producers that you couldn't just put the next cast in, because it would change things because they'd have a different sets of personalities, was extremely hard work."
Lee prefers to exist on his own terms. After almost giving up stand-up seven years ago, he took on Springer at a time when his profile was so low he could get away with anything.
Last year he directed the comedian Phil Nichol in Eric Bogosian's play Talk Radio, and he has just co-written a play performed in a flat (notably by Johnny Vegas at the Manchester International Festival). Next, he has a few vague thoughts about scripting "a small folk musical about the Napoleonic wars".
"I'm lucky in a way, because I do seem to be allowed to get away with doing different things," he says. "It wasn't a deliberate strategy, but nobody seems to think it's that weird me doing a play about Johnson and Boswell."
Taking inspiration from his musical heroes, Lee's DIY approach now extends to selling self-produced CDs and DVDs through his website without being beholden to big record labels or expensive PR companies. "You look at The Fall or some of the free jazz people like Derek Bailey, and they put out the stuff themselves. That's the way I've started doing it, and it is possible to survive doing that. It's not as arcane or mysterious as promoters and managers make out. Part of it is to not get involved with people whose overheads are so high that you have to do things in a certain way to break even.
"Once Springer moved into a commercial space, the overheads were so high it was impossible to get a royalty. It was very satisfying creatively to be able to play with that level of resources, but on a personal level it was a financial black hole, and in a way the show being destroyed by the American Christian right was a good thing.
"The problem with big things is that investors do start talking about a piece as if they owned it. My attitude is: we wrote it and we've invited you in on it, so don't start dictating terms. I remember an investor saying to me, You can't just do what you want.' After 20 years, I think I can."
Johnson and Boswell - Late but Live is at the Traverse until August 26. Stewart Lee - 41st Best Stand-Up Ever is at the Udderbelly until August 27.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-09T19:39:01+01:00
Penning a late-night Fringe play about literature's greatest double act isn't the most obvious career move for a stand-up comedian. Then again, Stewart Lee's 20-year career hasn't exactly followed the usual path. He directed and co-wrote Jerry Springer: The Opera, moonlighted as a music journalist and recently made his debut as a fiction writer in a collection of short stories based on songs by The Fall. As you might imagine, then, Johnson and Boswell: Late but Live is a suitably single-minded excursion into drama. The two eighteenth-century literary wits, after all, went about things in very different ways. Dr Samuel Johnson confounded people's expectations of how a man of letters should behave, while James Boswell, like some historical equivalent of the music journalist Lester Bangs, preferred to print the myth. Many years ago, Lee read Boswell's account of his trip with Johnson to Scotland. When he was approached to write the play, he decided to attempt to demonstrate how the wit of Johnson could be presented in a modern way, and to show that he could be as funny as any comedian now. He plumped for using the device of a book launch, in which Johnson (the comedian Simon Munnery) and Boswell (fellow funnyman Miles Jupp) attempt to ply their wares to a thoroughly modern audience - a set-up that allows them to talk about Scotland in the 21st century rather than the eighteenth. "What became more interesting and relevant to now," Lee explains prior to a warm-up stand-up show at Glasgow's Stand comedy club, "is how Boswell clearly had an agenda on how he wanted to present Johnson. It was a father-son hero-worship thing. And it's also about how PR works, and how events are recorded, and what was the difference between what Johnson might have been like and...
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....
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.
"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...
This was a rather disappointing read, pretentiously punctuated with snatches of old native American legend which seemed to carry little relevance or resonance for the jumbled up mish mash of tales in the rest of the novel.
A motley assortment of characters are drawn to the same part of the USA in a not-very-interesting way, to take part in a not-very-surprising anti-climactic ending, in which one or two of them are inexplicably shot. The end.
Stewart's Comments: When I first found the Hopi legend it seemed so appropriate to the story I found it quite unsettling, and was worried including it would seem perhaps heavy handed because it seemed to shadow the pre-existing story so heavilly. Then A Reader From Notts says it's not relevant or resonant. Ah well. Also, the characters were not inexplicably shot. One is shot by priests worried he will betray their secret, the other shoots himself when he realises everything he has based his life on is irrelevant. This is explained in the narrative.
Stewart Lee
2001-09-07T14:54:53+01:00
This was a rather disappointing read, pretentiously punctuated with snatches of old native American legend which seemed to carry little relevance or resonance for the jumbled up mish mash of tales in the rest of the novel. A motley assortment of characters are drawn to the same part of the USA in a not-very-interesting way, to take part in a not-very-surprising anti-climactic ending, in which one or two of them are inexplicably shot. The end. Stewart's Comments: When I first found the Hopi legend it seemed so appropriate to the story I found it quite unsettling, and was worried including it would seem perhaps heavy handed because it seemed to shadow the pre-existing story so heavilly. Then A Reader From Notts says it's not relevant or resonant. Ah well. Also, the characters were not inexplicably shot. One is shot by priests worried he will betray their secret, the other shoots himself when he realises everything he has based his life on is irrelevant. This is explained in the narrative.
Ever wonder how a comic constructs an act?
How they layer and time riffs to generate laughs or howls of outrage?
If so, you're in luck. In How I Escaped My Certain Fate, Stewart Lee offers the ultimate insider's guide to the process.
Earlier this century Lee abandoned stand-up, disenchanted that comedy had lost its edge. "I was a mumbling relic from an earlier age," he writes. "I was spent. The crowds had changed. The rules were different . . . Alternative comedy was dead."
Then in 2001 Richard Thomas asked him to help create the show that would become Jerry Springer: The Opera. It was the hot ticket of the 2002 Fringe, and transferred to the West End, where it won four Olivier Awards.
A success that should have brought its creators money and acclaim, the show paid out in headaches and debt instead. Royalties were waived to pay for lawsuits. When the BBC announced it would air the show, more than 65,000 people complained ahead of time. Christian Voice threatened to prosecute Lee for blasphemy.
Perversely inspired, Lee fell back in love with comedy. "The simplicity of stand-up, the fact that you can think of an idea in the afternoon, after a long lie-in, and implement it in the evening, suddenly seemed very attractive," he says.
He revised his business model and launched a comeback that's still going strong. This, then, is his chronicle of life after Jerry. It's the transcripts of his 2005, 2006, and 2008 shows, bracketed by chapters that set them into biographical context. Dense footnotes annotate the origin of jokes, why they appear when they appear, the intricate mechanism of each show, and much more.
In person, Lee's blue eyes twinkle endlessly. He has a distracting laugh that's both maniacal and self-deprecating, but there's no trace of the curmudgeonly persona he sometimes adopts on stage. Responding to my assessment that his book is as densely layered as filo pastry, he says, "There's the stand-up character, transcribed verbatim, and he's like the worst version of me. There's the essay bits that are probably the closest to how I'd actually explain myself. And the footnotes are deliberately obstreperous and go into much more detail than is necessary about things that are red herrings, while skipping over some really important things."
He interrupts himself with a laugh. "The footnotes are both an effort to clarify things and to make them more needlessly mysterious. So you get me talking about what I wanted to do, and then what I did do, and then looking at it now, seeing how I failed or succeeded, or how things feel, with hindsight.
I wanted to write about the actual nuts and bolts, because that, to me, is interesting."
These shows garnered Lee some of his best reviews, yet his footnotes often say: "I'd never do that joke now." And despite a lifetime as an outspoken liberal, he insists he's growing more PC than ever.
To what does he attribute these changes?
"Having a kid makes you suddenly connected to the world; you have someone's health and suffering that you're responsible for. I'd find it much more difficult to do some of the callous humour I might have done in my twenties now. If you see someone being hurt now, you think of it happening to your child. I would still think those things are funny, I just wouldn't say them. Anyway, what's funny depends on who is saying it and how."
Luke was born in 2007. His mum is fellow comic Bridget Christie, married to Lee since 2005. He is an atheist, she's a practising Catholic. How much of his changing philosophy is a function of daily exposure to his wife's faith? He's laughing before I finish the thought.
"I think PC is good, but it's become taboo to talk about what value there might be in respecting people. When I started, you didn't do sexist jokes, but now they're de rigueur. It's flipped. Now the shocking thing is to see someone giving a second's thought to whether it's the right thing to say or not. PC is the last taboo."
It's strenuous, making it look like he's doing nothing at all. How I Escaped My Certain Fate flays the work so thoroughly that it even lays bare the spaces he leaves for improvisation. He anatomises the fine art of the deliberately engineered "fail", designed to alienate parts of the audience - including those who were on side initially - in order to win them back again.
"By the time I gave up stand-up in 2000, one of the few things I still enjoyed onstage was trying to lose a room and then win it back for my own amusement. Now, instead of it being an act of self-indulgent self-sabotage, I was able to use these skills for some purpose, as I attempted to forge the audience into a group that will go with the heavy stuff ahead, proving to them that they need not find supposedly offensive subject material offensive. Form and content, finally, had a relationship."
Fans looking for laughs should know that much of the transcribed material doesn't read funny, reinforcing Lee's point that it's all in who's talking and how. But this was never envisaged as a joke book. "It's about a definite period of trying to work out how to be a comedian and what sort of comedian I wanted to be, before it was too late."
• Stewart Lee's book How I Escaped My Certain Fate is published by Faber, priced £12.99.
A one-off show, Stewart Lee's Silver Stewbilee, is on 18 August at the Festival Theatre in Edinburgh.
Vegetable Stew will run at The Stand throughout August.
Stewart Lee
2010-08-15T12:30:48+01:00
Ever wonder how a comic constructs an act? How they layer and time riffs to generate laughs or howls of outrage? If so, you're in luck. In How I Escaped My Certain Fate, Stewart Lee offers the ultimate insider's guide to the process. Earlier this century Lee abandoned stand-up, disenchanted that comedy had lost its edge. "I was a mumbling relic from an earlier age," he writes. "I was spent. The crowds had changed. The rules were different . . . Alternative comedy was dead." Then in 2001 Richard Thomas asked him to help create the show that would become Jerry Springer: The Opera. It was the hot ticket of the 2002 Fringe, and transferred to the West End, where it won four Olivier Awards. A success that should have brought its creators money and acclaim, the show paid out in headaches and debt instead. Royalties were waived to pay for lawsuits. When the BBC announced it would air the show, more than 65,000 people complained ahead of time. Christian Voice threatened to prosecute Lee for blasphemy. Perversely inspired, Lee fell back in love with comedy. "The simplicity of stand-up, the fact that you can think of an idea in the afternoon, after a long lie-in, and implement it in the evening, suddenly seemed very attractive," he says. He revised his business model and launched a comeback that's still going strong. This, then, is his chronicle of life after Jerry. It's the transcripts of his 2005, 2006, and 2008 shows, bracketed by chapters that set them into biographical context. Dense footnotes annotate the origin of jokes, why they appear when they appear, the intricate mechanism of each show, and much more. In person, Lee's blue eyes twinkle endlessly. He has a distracting laugh that's both maniacal and self-deprecating, but there's...
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...
Following last year's triumphant Johnson and Boswell, full of virulent anti-Scottish jibes and knockabout stand-up, comes this rather disappointing sequel.
This time around, Miles Jupp, who plays the elegantly arrogant Sir Walter Raleigh, and Simon Munnery, the aging queen, seem afraid to let slip they are having fun. The direction is stiffly formal, the language imposingly Shakespearean, the musical accompaniment vividly atmospheric – but while ridiculous things do occur, no one lets their rigid facades slip, bottling up the humour.
We start in Elizabeth I's boudoir, where Sir Walter Raleigh awaits the Monarch, hoping she will finally succumb to his amorous advances. He introduces himself with a few gags about his home town of Budleigh Salterton and a list of his titles, illustrated with slides which stretch a simple gag too far.
Things pick up with the arrival of Munnery's majestic queen, face ash-white and an elaborately regal dress outdone only by his elaborately regal headgear. An all-powerful, infallible ruler is the perfect channel for Munnery's domineering comedy, and a few of his excellent, stupidly xenophobic, lines from his Cluub Zarasthustra days are dusted down to make the point.
No one can tackle this period comically without reference to Blackadder, and Munnery's Monarch makes Miranda Richardson's petulant brat look positively sane. But once we settle into the dialogue between Queen and subject, that formality kicks in.
Writer Stewart Lee certainly has the pair doing stupid things, variously involving mashed potatoes, trampettes and one-galleon hats, but mostly Jupp and Munnery maintain their deadpan dignity and sense of gravitas. That feeing is reinforced by the overly-theatrical presentation in a swanky Edinburgh venue which even boasts a full-size organ, used to enhance the ambience.
But while the intention was to perform silly things with a po-face, hoping the juxtaposition is funny, this formal atmosphere effectively quashes the comedy, making the audience unsure where to laugh. A couple of very minor ad libs do get a reaction, because they crack the pomposity of the situation, rather than the scripted moments that seem afraid to. Looser performances and more playfulness is what's needed here.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-04T20:04:02+01:00
Following last year's triumphant Johnson and Boswell, full of virulent anti-Scottish jibes and knockabout stand-up, comes this rather disappointing sequel. This time around, Miles Jupp, who plays the elegantly arrogant Sir Walter Raleigh, and Simon Munnery, the aging queen, seem afraid to let slip they are having fun. The direction is stiffly formal, the language imposingly Shakespearean, the musical accompaniment vividly atmospheric – but while ridiculous things do occur, no one lets their rigid facades slip, bottling up the humour. We start in Elizabeth I's boudoir, where Sir Walter Raleigh awaits the Monarch, hoping she will finally succumb to his amorous advances. He introduces himself with a few gags about his home town of Budleigh Salterton and a list of his titles, illustrated with slides which stretch a simple gag too far. Things pick up with the arrival of Munnery's majestic queen, face ash-white and an elaborately regal dress outdone only by his elaborately regal headgear. An all-powerful, infallible ruler is the perfect channel for Munnery's domineering comedy, and a few of his excellent, stupidly xenophobic, lines from his Cluub Zarasthustra days are dusted down to make the point. No one can tackle this period comically without reference to Blackadder, and Munnery's Monarch makes Miranda Richardson's petulant brat look positively sane. But once we settle into the dialogue between Queen and subject, that formality kicks in. Writer Stewart Lee certainly has the pair doing stupid things, variously involving mashed potatoes, trampettes and one-galleon hats, but mostly Jupp and Munnery maintain their deadpan dignity and sense of gravitas. That feeing is reinforced by the overly-theatrical presentation in a swanky Edinburgh venue which even boasts a full-size organ, used to enhance the ambience. But while the intention was to perform silly things with a po-face, hoping the juxtaposition is funny, this formal...
With typical aloofness and moral superiority, Stewart Lee unveiled some new material, much of it about the ‘faint praise’ doled out when Channel 4 named him the 41st best ever stand-up.
Mentioning it, he admits, affords him a rare chance to combine ‘boastfulness and humility’, but crucially it gives him the chance to pick apart the list show and its familiar contributors with typical forensic tenacity.
Also in his deadly accurate sights was that more contentious Channel 4 offering, Celebrity Big Brother, and Russell Brand’s attempts to apologise for the racism on the show. Strong, distinctive, material like this augers well for the new solo show Lee is taking to Edinburgh.
Stewart Lee
2007-06-10T19:42:28+01:00
With typical aloofness and moral superiority, Stewart Lee unveiled some new material, much of it about the ‘faint praise’ doled out when Channel 4 named him the 41st best ever stand-up. Mentioning it, he admits, affords him a rare chance to combine ‘boastfulness and humility’, but crucially it gives him the chance to pick apart the list show and its familiar contributors with typical forensic tenacity. Also in his deadly accurate sights was that more contentious Channel 4 offering, Celebrity Big Brother, and Russell Brand’s attempts to apologise for the racism on the show. Strong, distinctive, material like this augers well for the new solo show Lee is taking to Edinburgh.
It wasn't, on the face of it, my idea of a stellar evening out: a workshop production of a chat-show-/opera. But Tom Morris, artistic director of Battersea Arts Centre (and brother of Chris as in Brass Eye), was brimming with enthusiasm for his new show. It seemed churlish to be deterred by the fact that his invitation combined two pet hates, south London and fringe theatre. Last time I combined the two I disgraced myself. My friend Shuna was playing Henry Purcell's wife in a play about the composer. She had to step onstage cradling a bloodied bundle of rags and say, "My babies, all dead – dead – all my dead babies." At this point I was overcome by a fit of giggles so bad that I had to stuff my shirtsleeve in my mouth. Clearly I wasn't grown-up enough for this kind of enterprise.
Luckily, Kombat Opera's production of Jerry Springer: the Opera is magnificently lacking in maturity, so it hit my level nicely. Instead of dead babies you get an adult American male who gets off on soiled diapers, or a hillbilly member of the Ku Klux Klan who harbours a much worse secret: "I prefer flowers to people." It is a work of utter comic genius. The concept is brilliantly simple. The libretto is drawn pretty much verbatim from Jerry Springer's real-life chat-show, but, with the exception of the actor playing Jerry, every exchange is sung with the idiom and musical sincerity of classical opera. The collision of low sentiment and high culture creates a tidal wave of comic energy.
The show opens with a chorus of trailer-trash who form the show's "audience" singing "J-e-rr-rr-y" with the fervour of a messianic requiem. Better still are the guests who spew their traumas and peccadillos as heartfelt arias. Gormless Charlene sings to her love-cheat boyfriend, Dwight: "I remember when we was young, we was full of hope, until we got addicted to crack and dope." A statuesque blonde, Kylie, reveals to her lover, Stan, that she's really a man, at which the chorus trill in shocked delight, "Chick with a dick!" Sadly, most lines are too profane to repeat in a family newspaper. The chorus is particularly foul-mouthed, bigoted and true to life, deriding a bisexual as a "faggot-loser", a lap-dancer as a "strip-slut", and everyone else as "assholes". It's opera, but not as we know it.
The first-night audience watched with a palpable sense of rapture. It was good to see Chris Morris among them, keeping up with bad taste everywhere – though the opera had even more to recommend it than low-rent laughs. The singing and direction are excellent. The music, composed by Richard Thomas, makes sly nods at everyone from Mozart to Sondheim, while holding its own as an original composition, and the libretto embraces every modern malaise going. Take celebrity-itis: the central refrain goes, "This is a Jerry Springer moment, we don't want this moment to end, so cover us in chocolate and throw us to the lesbians."
I had that rare, tingling feeling that I was witnessing something about to fly. I'd be amazed if the fully realised show doesn't become a West End hit, doing for opera what Adventures in Motion Pictures' Swan Lake did for ballet. When you look at it, there's little difference between the triangular relationship at the centre of Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier and the Springer opera's threesomes. Rosenkavalier's male lead, Octavian, is a man dressed as a woman, played by a woman, so it all comes down to chicks with dicks.
Inspired, I started to dream up similar ventures. EastEnders, for example, as a country and western musical, with Dolly Parton a ringer for Peggy Mitchell. You can just see her singing in plaintive, bell-like tones, "You're a slag Pat Butcher – you always were and you always will be." Crimewatch, meanwhile, could breathe new life into pantomime. When Nick Ross asks, "Have you seen this man?" the audience can shout, "He's behind you." And I'm keen on a Kabuki version of the porn classic Deep Throat. All-male casts mean you can't be accused of degrading women, and there's at least one foreign market sorted.
Stewart Lee
2001-09-02T16:24:47+01:00
It wasn't, on the face of it, my idea of a stellar evening out: a workshop production of a chat-show-/opera. But Tom Morris, artistic director of Battersea Arts Centre (and brother of Chris as in Brass Eye), was brimming with enthusiasm for his new show. It seemed churlish to be deterred by the fact that his invitation combined two pet hates, south London and fringe theatre. Last time I combined the two I disgraced myself. My friend Shuna was playing Henry Purcell's wife in a play about the composer. She had to step onstage cradling a bloodied bundle of rags and say, "My babies, all dead – dead – all my dead babies." At this point I was overcome by a fit of giggles so bad that I had to stuff my shirtsleeve in my mouth. Clearly I wasn't grown-up enough for this kind of enterprise. Luckily, Kombat Opera's production of Jerry Springer: the Opera is magnificently lacking in maturity, so it hit my level nicely. Instead of dead babies you get an adult American male who gets off on soiled diapers, or a hillbilly member of the Ku Klux Klan who harbours a much worse secret: "I prefer flowers to people." It is a work of utter comic genius. The concept is brilliantly simple. The libretto is drawn pretty much verbatim from Jerry Springer's real-life chat-show, but, with the exception of the actor playing Jerry, every exchange is sung with the idiom and musical sincerity of classical opera. The collision of low sentiment and high culture creates a tidal wave of comic energy. The show opens with a chorus of trailer-trash who form the show's "audience" singing "J-e-rr-rr-y" with the fervour of a messianic requiem. Better still are the guests who spew their traumas and peccadillos as heartfelt arias....
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...
OUT IN THE SOUTH WESTERN DESERT Tucson's veteran "misunderstood genius," Howe Gelb has been pushing various permutations of Giant Sand to make the finest mesh of country, punk and free improvisation available for two decades now. But his last album, Chore Of Enchantment, is arguably his most focussed and direct recording to date.
If you're not already familiar with it, seek out a copy and enjoy Howe's hickory smoked vocal feeling its way through the music concrete/grunge hybrid of Satellite, the piano bar desolation of Bottom Line Man, the slinky desert twangs of Dusted, and the old time Americana of Raw. Unlike most Giant Sand albums Chore sounds, for once, like some kind of considered sequence, rather than fascinating random pastings from a torn scrapbook But Chore very nearly became one of those famous lost recordings; much talked about but never heard. The year preceding its completion saw the death of Howe's long term, on-off collaborator; steel guitarist Rainer Ptacek. and the gradual withdrawal of services of sidesmen Joey Burns and John Convertino, who drifted away to concentrate on their snowballing side-project Calexico. Then, in June 1999, V2 records dropped Giant Sand on the eve of the album's release, leaving a broke Howe with the choice of buying Chore back without being reimbursed for his work, or getting paid and abandoning it forever: "I've known Howe for a number of years so I was quite sad about this. This is not an easy business," said a V2 representative.
But a year after the event Howe is philosophical, and the potential disaster seems to have forced him to re-evaluate his entire career in positive way, a change of heart which he explains in his typical meandering; free associating fashion. Howe Gelb speaks like he plays. So deal with it and read on. Here goes:
"Sandy Sawotka atV2 was great. She was the one who made sure we got all the promo copies. We made them available to the folks who would check in at our web site (www.giantsand.com), and it was their feedback that prompted me to get the record back. At first V2 offered us three quarters of our settlement money and the rights to the record, but I was done with it. Spent. I knew I had come through something. So I figured it was better to just let them stick it where the sun don't shine and cough up the entire settlement money. It seemed like it was high time to chill for a while and get on with more current meanderings, get back to the old meanderthal roots."
Salvaged promos were sent out over the globe in little plastic wallets, some adorned with the hand-scrawled missive, "Chore Of Enchantment makes a great coaster." How did this air of fatalistic resignation transform into the euphoric realisation that Chore was actually little short of a masterpiece?
'Well, after Sandy sent them promos back and we sent them out to folks all over the planet, the response became a tincture of motivation to continue on with this matter of Chore. Dust settling as it tends to do, the air is clearer and easier to breathe in. It's obvious in this clear light to see the positive side of said dropping... like the refreshing return of doing things the way we once did them... and not having to waddle through the 'luggage of the loop' of a large label."
And in the final reckoning. the financial restrictions also lifted, as if Chore's difficult birth was somehow guided by angelic protectors.
"V2 just offered to return the rights of it if we didn't take all the money they owed us for them breaking off the contract. And this was kinda nice either way, but since the record took two years of my life to gather, I hit the poverty line waiting for it all to come to a head. But it feels good again to be able to do whatever you want without flying it up the company flagpole. And it's great having all the folks at Thrill Jockey and Loose records (Giant Sand's new UK label) very much into it, without having to check with an endless array of higher-ups and such. As a
result I plan to release three more records this year; and that doesn't even include the new Calexico record, or the OP8 album (the second Howe/Calexico/Guest Vocalist project, following the brilliant Lisa Germano debut) we started with Juliana Hatfield. And it was inspirational to hear first hand from the folks who sent in for Chore. Then, it was fun putting together another Giant Sand record that we recorded just moments before and in between the cracks of Chore. This will be an excellent companion piece to Chore, but we will only offer it through the web site again, since that worked out so well, and at live shows, as a form of tour support. It will be tagged as Volume II in a series of official bootlegs; The Rock Opera Years. It has Evan Dando and Victoria Williams singing back up a bit as well. Other than that, I'm finishing up another solo record, Confluence, and an ambient piano record."
Chore's production duties were overseen by a dream team of Jim Dickinson at Ardent studios in Memphis, PJ Harvey's John Parrish in Tucson, and ex-Dumptruck guitarist Kevin Salem in New York, whose fantastic playing you'll recognise from various inspired sessions, including contributions to Freedy Johnston's You Can Fly. His solo on Chore's Punishing Sun dovetails beautifully with Howes distinctive guitar tones. But, who was best?
"John Parrish had become a good friend and it was a treat to finally get to do something with him in a studio. His take on tonal calamity suited our sonic soup to a T, but the overwhelming tragedy was Rainer's death less than two months before we were scheduled to record. The very place we had planned to record the record was the same place I had worked with Rainer days before he died. I couldn't hear past the drone seeded in my tone, the groans in my bones. It sounded too heavy and maladjusted to have to live with that for the entire life of the record.
I couldn't hear clear at all. John would be so into it and I was such a bummer: He was coming up with fantastic edits of our general mess...But the material was also sounding stale to me. Stuff that had gone unrecorded for far too long now seemed to fester, to want to just be left alone. It was the first time I wasn't able to make songs up on the spot. I was hampered and in a state of ill repair, bent on semi-hidden despair. Unbelievably Rainer just wasn't there."
"Months later, through the urging of the record company, we hooked up with Jim Dickinson. It
seemed like a worthy notion to get to continue working on the whole smatter, and it tickled to do it with someone even older then myself; which is getting harder and harder to find. Jim was even more haunted then I was and was such a curious stickler for things like tuning and timing. That was a novel approach for us. And we very much enjoyed his taint of soulfulness and the savouring of his yarns. But as a band, we were more removed then we had ever been in all the records we had done before. Not enough time spent with each other due to imposing agendas. Still, there were a few moments of that old time magic which got captured. And for the first time in way too long, some songs started popping up and writing themselves on the spot And John and Joe (now best known as Calexico) were right there with the pocket most of the time. Still, the completed record had alluded us."
"Now with Kevin, he had done something that I couldn't ever imagine. He had fully re-recorded three of the songs, without us, that we didn't nail just right in Memphis. It startled me that he picked the very same songs that I thought we failed at. And as a songwriter, this was very appealing, to get to hear the songs so realised, but it was impossible to imagine anyone outside the band going through such lengths. The results were nothing we couldn't have done
with John and Joe, if they weren't gone so much with Calexico around that time. So Kevin would send me stuff he constructed in New York and then I would smash my parts onto them, and mail them back to him. Now we as a band have always managed to come up with new ways to record every time we get to, and this was about the only way we hadn't tried yet; to record the band without the band. What a furious fantastic notion. When the tapes would arrive, I'd just waltz in there like Elvis with a bent guitar and nail a sucker like Shiver in one take. It was a great relief to have someone involved, so late in the game, with that much enthusiasm and willingness about the project He had the wherewithal to help me tie it all together. There were some excellent crinkled pieces from Memphis we could now straighten out. And the stuff we did in the beginning with John Parrish was now making more sense to me when tucked in with all this other contrast. Putting these things together is not unlike raising the flag at Hamburger Hill. A lot of good songs get shot down on the way to taking the hill. There is a formation waiting in the wings, however; and finally a declaration of intended ambience."
The cross-fertilisation from different locations informs the whole record. The soulful vlbe of X-Tra Wide, with its subdued gospel backing and lazy beats, sounds like it should have emerged from the Memphis sessions, but is actually accredited to the New York song batch: "'X-Tra Wide was almost done at Memphis.. It started to occur there, but we ran out of time to work it up. This is a prime example of the "luggage of the loop" at larger labels; Our A&R person, the wonderful wunderkind Kate Hyman, asks me what songs do I want to do in Memphis way before we get there. I give her six titles to chew on. Now she goes and makes the deal with the manager or the producer who now has to make sure these six songs get completed so they can get paid. But once we get down there, and these new songs start to rear their heads, we can't spend the time to go after them completely until we finish up the six songs that the producer needs to hand into his manager who needs to hand them over to the A&R person that gave the titles to to begin with. And that just doesn't leave us enough time or room to go for the gold in titles I didn't know existed when the whole plan got set up; a tragic expensive display of expansive organisational skills. But there indeed was a moistness in the Memphis vibe that Jim had promised. Astonished is thick with it. And the singers he brought in were worth the price of admission alone. He even made me go out and fetch me a new clean shirt for their appearance. I instead managed to find a fine green sharkskin suit from a thrift store that was also steeped in said moistness and vibe."
Howe's personal voice is so distinctive and pervasive he manages to make Jim Dickinson seem anonymous. Even under guidance of star producers he's still making very much his own music.. .. Conversely, the Calexico albums don't give much of a sense of his old collaborators Burns and Convertino as individuals. They serve the greater notion of the group sound. Calexico sleeves include anonymous cartographic symbolism, and arch vistas, whereas Giant Sand sleeves nowadays are miniature snapshots of tiny details from Howe's life; a doorway in his home, a ring of lighted candles, a Polaroid of someone's wedding.
"Well, it occurred to me a while back that the more singular you tap the source, then the longer the longevity will be since you always know where the source can be found. The down side is blatant self indulgence. But, on a universal note, it seems that anything anyone goes through can not be truly singular. And by that notion, if you take note of such occurrence, it is more than likely the same will be happening to others anyway at some point or, in all likelihood, already has. Meanwhile, arch vistas are cool too. I love maps. Especially aerial photos. That's probably what I would've been doing if I hadn't cluttered up my days with these doings."
Given his concession to the notion of Giant Sand as self-indulgence, it seems perhaps John and Joey had to leave and found Calexico, in order to find their own voice outside the overwhelming individualism of Howe's style.
"I think it has to do with ambition more that voicings. I certainly don't consider my voice, in any regard, as overwhelming or so distinct. It is actually just a map of where a real voice should be. An aerial view. The final irony is that I always wanted to retire the Giant Sand band name to an actual town. There was a speck of one for sale called Rice. It would have been perfect, located in the middle of the Mojave, miles in between the I-10 and the I-40, between 29 Palms and Vidal Junction, way out in the middle of nowhere, just two buildings (which were eventually torched and pummelled) and a railroad track. A chance to be put on the map. A dream. Maybe I should've picked a town like Calexico and cut to the quick."
Howe's desire to turn his band into a town is the last remaining vapour trail of the despair and resentment that reached its head when the initial loss of Chore looked inevitable. And the fact that Giant Sand spin-off Calexico are enjoying a success which always eluded him has perhaps hit him harder than he might care to admit directly.
"One night after a sad fight with an old girlfriend, I went out to feel better. I happened on a friend's gallery where Calexico were playing. The tones were warm and fuzzy and too familiar. Besides John's specific drum sound, which over the years had become synonymous with the Giant Sand sound, Joe was playing my old Harmony electric guitar through the exact amp I used when John and I were a two-piece ten years ago. It was all the same exact sounds. It felt like I must've died for that sound to be re-represented so. There's just no other bands splaying that exact combination of tones. (yes... splaying)."
"That was a few years ago. Last month when we were touring as Giant Sand, we did a show in Chicago and it was arranged that Calexico would play just before the Sand set. OK. Joe had asked to borrow my guitar for the night, the old red Gretsch. OK. But during their set I grew oddly unaffected and tired. I waited backstage and realised I am the only one in the whole place who is having a negative effect. That creeped me out as well. By this time I took the stage to do the Giant Sand set, it had seemed like there was no point. The tones in this camp have always been an inspiration all their own. Now, they lacked such momentum since they had been going on for the previous hour, and the weird evidence afterwards, when we finished the set, was when a fan came up to me and asked me why I hadn't played the red guitar at all during our set, as he had been waiting for it. I laughed at his comment cause I was certain I had, and then realised the false memory of that was caused from hearing it for a full hour before I too the stage. Freaky."
"If Joe would have gone off to do his own trip without John, or vice-versa, it would not be so strange for me. But to have two-thirds of the band doing things all the time when you're not with them is bizarre at best. At the same time, it's a wonderful feeling to acknowledge the lineage, to understand it would not exist without all that time spent in the Sand camp and see something so healthy carry on after all these years. The funny thing is that over the years I have tried to downplay the effect of the 'desert sound' on our particular brand of messings. But they, in turn, have decided to capitalise on it, and have managed to mix it up within a fine batch of aesthetics."
Maybe seeing John and Joey succeed in Calexico by applying a little of the organisational skills usually absent from Giant Sand has subconsciously raised Howe's game. Could the emergence of Calexico be responsible, in a way, for the tighter focus of Chore?
"We have always found a measure of inspiration from each other on a fairly constant basis. So when they're not around, I have to fill that void. And that kind of gap seems to get wider. And yeah, there is competition, for time and attention. And a side effect of competition can be a measure of taste, a higher watermark due to speculated growth, like sonic real estate development."
Even though Howe has philosophised away a possible conflict with Calexico, on a more profound level the death of Rainer, from a brain tumour, cast a cloud of despair over Hisser, the solo album that preceded Chore, and on Howe's attitude to continuing with Giant Sand. But working through the trials of Chore seems to represent a moving on from mourning.
"Well, Rainer called me last week just to talk about nothing," says Howe. "Sounded just like he used to do about five or ten years ago. All the while, I kept thinking; 'This can't be Rainer... can it? He's dead, right? Who is this then...?' So I just tried to keep this guy on the phone till I could figure out who it really was. And yeah, I was asleep at the time and dreaming, but I still thought it would be insane of me to ask if this was Rainer, when it was obviously him and he was obviously dead. And then, the phone went dead... So I woke up. Made me cranky all day."
When things fell apart with Chore the first time, Howe's response was typically poetic and resigned:
"The pendulum, she swings
We all do a dance to avoid getting clobbered by the swing.
Once u figure out it's a dance it's much better on the system
At first you think you are ducking it, jumping over it, expecting it,
Juggling it, judging the speed of it but then when it hits you,
It hits you, you are just dancing around it."
But now there's a life-affirming humour that undermines his fatalism. One of Chore's highpoints, Dirty From The Rain, features an impressive atmospheric contribution credited to The Ardent Studio Foundation. Will Howe be working with the fountain again, or can it be expected, like John and Joey, to pursue a solo project and enjoy particular success in continental Europe?
"What makes you think it hasn't already?" says Howe.
Chore of Enchantment
Loose VJCD113
The Rock Opera Years Volume II
available from www.giantsand.com
Stewart Lee
2000-01-01T17:37:43+00:00
OUT IN THE SOUTH WESTERN DESERT Tucson's veteran "misunderstood genius," Howe Gelb has been pushing various permutations of Giant Sand to make the finest mesh of country, punk and free improvisation available for two decades now. But his last album, Chore Of Enchantment, is arguably his most focussed and direct recording to date. If you're not already familiar with it, seek out a copy and enjoy Howe's hickory smoked vocal feeling its way through the music concrete/grunge hybrid of Satellite, the piano bar desolation of Bottom Line Man, the slinky desert twangs of Dusted, and the old time Americana of Raw. Unlike most Giant Sand albums Chore sounds, for once, like some kind of considered sequence, rather than fascinating random pastings from a torn scrapbook But Chore very nearly became one of those famous lost recordings; much talked about but never heard. The year preceding its completion saw the death of Howe's long term, on-off collaborator; steel guitarist Rainer Ptacek. and the gradual withdrawal of services of sidesmen Joey Burns and John Convertino, who drifted away to concentrate on their snowballing side-project Calexico. Then, in June 1999, V2 records dropped Giant Sand on the eve of the album's release, leaving a broke Howe with the choice of buying Chore back without being reimbursed for his work, or getting paid and abandoning it forever: "I've known Howe for a number of years so I was quite sad about this. This is not an easy business," said a V2 representative. But a year after the event Howe is philosophical, and the potential disaster seems to have forced him to re-evaluate his entire career in positive way, a change of heart which he explains in his typical meandering; free associating fashion. Howe Gelb speaks like he plays. So deal with it and read...
With their britches bursting with gags, Sir Walter Raleigh (Miles Jupp) and Queen Elizabeth (Simon Munnery) pull off this glorious display of costumed silliness, following the story of the Queen's relationship with her favourite courtier.
Jupp's dashing Raleigh and Munnery's pernickety queen do credit to that quintessentially British obsession with dressing up as our ancestors and ridiculing them, and both actors were on top form.
Seeing the pair break character as their own laughter on stage got too much for them was hilarious, especially as Elizabeth force fed Raleigh his beloved mashed potatoes while they sang 'You Don't Bring Me Flowers' to each other, and he knelt at the block in England boxer shorts.
Pure showmanship and brilliant entertainment.
With their britches bursting with gags, Sir Walter Raleigh (Miles Jupp) and Queen Elizabeth (Simon Munnery) pull off this glorious display of costumed silliness, following the story of the Queen's relationship with her favourite courtier. Jupp's dashing Raleigh and Munnery's pernickety queen do credit to that quintessentially British obsession with dressing up as our ancestors and ridiculing them, and both actors were on top form. Seeing the pair break character as their own laughter on stage got too much for them was hilarious, especially as Elizabeth force fed Raleigh his beloved mashed potatoes while they sang 'You Don't Bring Me Flowers' to each other, and he knelt at the block in England boxer shorts. Pure showmanship and brilliant entertainment. Udderbelly's Pasture, 31 Jul - 25 Aug, 10.35pm (11.35pm), prices vary tw rating 4/5’
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.
Ben Clover finds Stewart Lee's Vegetable Stew a little more silly and a little less ranty than usual, but no less precise.
Stewart Lee isn’t going to let something like gravity interfere with his act. Near the start of Vegetable Stew he says it isn’t a show with an arc like previous 60-minuters, but it’s still done with such precision that midway, after taking a gulp of water, he puts the bottle back on the stool, then carefully lies it flat, just in case it falls over.
It’s as if he’d decided very quickly he had no bottle-of-water-falls-over material and that it would be an event that would have to be acknowledged. After all, there’s no point having finely-crafted material questioning the audience’s own relationship to other material immediately preceding it, if they just want something funny about a bottle of water falling over. Best to just lie it flat, just in case, he probably thought.
Maybe his recent book on stand-up was so analytical that it makes you now pay more attention to tiny details than you should. But he seems more annoyed than amused later when, after much affected tuning of a guitar, the low E-string isn’t actually in tune when he needs it for a song.
The song is about the young Bullingdon Club boys now running the country as they rampaged around Oxford as students. It’s the centre-piece to one of the three subjects Lee introduces tonight, that will presumably form half of the second series of his Comedy Vehicle on the BBC next year.
Alongside politics, there are 30 minutes each on charity and Adrian Chiles. It’s not clear if his story about the BBC’s lawyers banning him from making a whole show about the former One Show presenter, because it constituted a “sustained, personal attack” is true, or whether it is untrue but nonetheless conveys the truth about corporation oversensitivity.
It’s all very clever but at the same time there’s fun to be had with words like “slayings” in sillier bits about Lee’s grandad, “a comic character”. Overall this seems like a slightly more hinged set than those from the first Comedy Vehicle series. Less ranty, a little bit less “inexplicably bitter“, but only a little bit.
He says he is trying to slim his audience down into people who share the same tastes and references as him, but also carps about having to play in a cellar while Tim Minchin tickets at the Millennium Dome go for £100+. But if he did narrow his crowd down to people just like him, wouldn’t they be quite a tough crowd; pedantic, prickly, inexplicably bitter?
So however chagrined he may appear, he should’ve been pleased with the press night crowd he does get, they laugh loud and often on their own, as the silliness take holds of them individually. There’s the same winning combination of repetition, sustained personal attacks and simultaneous director’s commentary as always, and always topped with a brilliant line.
But there is less of the walking into the crowd, sitting next to someone and doing the show from there. He might have decided that kind of thing is best left to Ahir Shah now.
At the start of the second half his pint of Guinness seems to sit fairly stably on the stool.
Stewart Lee
2010-11-01T15:04:09+00:00
Ben Clover finds Stewart Lee's Vegetable Stew a little more silly and a little less ranty than usual, but no less precise. Stewart Lee isn’t going to let something like gravity interfere with his act. Near the start of Vegetable Stew he says it isn’t a show with an arc like previous 60-minuters, but it’s still done with such precision that midway, after taking a gulp of water, he puts the bottle back on the stool, then carefully lies it flat, just in case it falls over. It’s as if he’d decided very quickly he had no bottle-of-water-falls-over material and that it would be an event that would have to be acknowledged. After all, there’s no point having finely-crafted material questioning the audience’s own relationship to other material immediately preceding it, if they just want something funny about a bottle of water falling over. Best to just lie it flat, just in case, he probably thought. Maybe his recent book on stand-up was so analytical that it makes you now pay more attention to tiny details than you should. But he seems more annoyed than amused later when, after much affected tuning of a guitar, the low E-string isn’t actually in tune when he needs it for a song. The song is about the young Bullingdon Club boys now running the country as they rampaged around Oxford as students. It’s the centre-piece to one of the three subjects Lee introduces tonight, that will presumably form half of the second series of his Comedy Vehicle on the BBC next year. Alongside politics, there are 30 minutes each on charity and Adrian Chiles. It’s not clear if his story about the BBC’s lawyers banning him from making a whole show about the former One Show presenter, because it constituted a “sustained, personal...
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?
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"?
3 Which wealthy Hollywood-based comedian spent much of the year bravely trying to reclaim the word "mong" from its apparent misuse?
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?
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Round 5: Punk postmen
1 Which punk proto-goths backed postman Frank Bell on the 1979 single I'm a Cult Hero?
2 Name one of the three bands fronted by Birmingham punk legend and sometime postman Robert Lloyd.
3 Which comedian played Manchester punk scenester John the Postman in the film 24 Hour Party People?
4 Which punk postman recorded with Subway Sect?
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.
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...
Like a bald man masturbating alone into an open pedal bin, Boris Johnson’s Brexit Britain disgusts itself. And yet, despite being observed on the gents’ toilet’s security camera that is the modern world stage, it continues its abasement unabashed. After the second world war, the German volk were described as experiencing kollektivschuld, a national shame. But the capacity for shame has been surgically removed from our leaders. And it pulses only weakly, like some underactive perineal muscle, in the electorate that endorses them. Could it be possible instead for the physical mass of a nation, rather than the citizens it comprises, to display the attributes of shame?
Brexiter culture secretary, Nadine Dorries, who didn’t know what the customs union was, has called publicly for the removal of public funding for a TV channel that isn’t publicly funded; Brexiter Dominic Raab, who had not appreciated the importance of Calais, went paddleboarding in Crete while Kabul rescue cats fought to get on British planes; and Brexiter Rishi Sunak, who has all his different breads in all his different houses, took lucrative advantage of tax loopholes that the EU he sought to exit had hoped to close.
(A judge told a couple fined £2,000 for having a baby shower, days before lockdown ended, they could pay in instalments if they didn’t spend the deferred money on “Sky Sports or anything”. Sunak, who is worth £200m or more, has been issued with a £50 fine for the lockdown breach he seemed to mislead parliament about. He, too, presumably, can pay in instalments as long as he doesn’t spend the deferred money on any $7.2m Santa Monica beachfront homes. Or anything.)
(Johnson has assigned Lord Geidt, the wallpaper investigator, to chair an inquiry into Sunak. This is the same as doing nothing. If I worked in a government office, I would have a bin with a picture of Geidt on it and I would use the phrase “Ask Lord Geidt to chair an inquiry into that” as a euphemism for “Just put that in the bin.” After a few weeks, a new member of staff would say: “You’re quite funny. Have you ever thought of trying to do comedy?” I would try to ask them out and it would go wrong.)
But consider Boris in-All-Frankness Pays-Fixed-Penalty Unreserved-Apology Anger-and-Frustration Birthday-Exemption Poledancing-Cyberlover Wallpaper-Freeloader Lebedev’s-Party Watermelon-Picaninny Tank-Topped-Bum-Boys Deprogramme-a-Transperson Fifty-Pound-Offender Dead-in-the-Water Vaccine-Rollout All-Purpose-Get-Out Johnson. Having bent human language to associate Kier Starmer with Jimmy Savile, it appears an actual living child molester, in the shape of the Brexiter Imran Ahmad Khan MP, was still a member of his own party. Meanwhile, Johnson has been belatedly fined for the first of the lockdown breaches he lied to parliament and the British public about. He should, of course, resign, but clings on, like a sheet of shatted toilet roll stuck to the sole of the national shoe.
Some say now is not the time for Johnson to go, because of the situation in Ukraine. But on Tuesday, parliament couldn’t meet to discuss chemical weapons in case someone asked the prime minister an awkward question about “gatherings”. People shouldn’t die in cellars as human shields for Johnson’s birthday cake. Disposing of Johnson as soon as possible might at least show Putin that the self-serving engine driving the Brexit that Russia so obviously hoped to secure is now no longer a key component of our corrupt political system. And having allowed so many oligarchs and their families to settle in west London and launder their stolen wealth with impunity means there’s still loads more to get rid of! Then Jacob Rees-Mogg can boast to the EU that we are leading the world in dealing with them!!
To summarise, at the start of last week the Conservative party included a child molester, a serial adulterer and compulsive liar, a handsome but morally bankrupt financial whiz-kid and a bully who sends immigrants to Rwanda. That’s less like a government and more like a special team of convicted criminals given their freedom in exchange for accepting an impossible mission behind enemy lines in a 1970s Italian-funded war film. Telly Savalas! Klaus Kinski!! Lewis Collins!!! Helga Liné!!!! Operation Dynamite Bastards!!!!!
Perhaps it is still too soon after the Brexit referendum for Brexit Britain to shudder fully at its folly. Brexit’s social, economic and political consequences are still conveniently blamed on Covid, Ukraine, Eddie Izzard and the wrong kind of langoustines. But last week I climbed the 832-metre (2,730ft) Cadair Berwyn, south of LLangollen, and as I looked east, it seemed that vast patches of rural England had somehow turned purple. Either that or some jam from a scone I ate in Bala had somehow got mashed into my blepharitis flakes.
The staining phenomenon was first observed, I learned from a civil servant friend, in Staffordshire, where a putrefying mountain of 500 tonnes of British beetroot lay rotting, the betanin leaching into the soil to turn the entire landscape the same shade as a Tory MP’s frothing racist face. Brexit has backlogged our beetroot. Publicly, delays are blamed on P&O, bad weather and Covid. You’ll have to scour lorry drivers’ blogs online to learn about the burden of new Brexit customs checks and the fact that the government’s Brexit IT system has been down for more than two weeks. Last week, the BBC literally edited the word “Brexit” out of the Scottish farmers’ union’s president’s explanation of the industry’s current woes.
No one wants to mention the B-word. But my contact warned that if the Brexit beetroot backlog isn’t dealt with soon, it appears the topsoil of the entire country may turn an embarrassing shade of beetroot puce, visible from space. It would be as if the whole of Brexit Britain had changed colour with shame.
Stewart Lee
2022-04-17T20:00:14+01:00
Like a bald man masturbating alone into an open pedal bin, Boris Johnson’s Brexit Britain disgusts itself. And yet, despite being observed on the gents’ toilet’s security camera that is the modern world stage, it continues its abasement unabashed. After the second world war, the German volk were described as experiencing kollektivschuld, a national shame. But the capacity for shame has been surgically removed from our leaders. And it pulses only weakly, like some underactive perineal muscle, in the electorate that endorses them. Could it be possible instead for the physical mass of a nation, rather than the citizens it comprises, to display the attributes of shame? Brexiter culture secretary, Nadine Dorries, who didn’t know what the customs union was, has called publicly for the removal of public funding for a TV channel that isn’t publicly funded; Brexiter Dominic Raab, who had not appreciated the importance of Calais, went paddleboarding in Crete while Kabul rescue cats fought to get on British planes; and Brexiter Rishi Sunak, who has all his different breads in all his different houses, took lucrative advantage of tax loopholes that the EU he sought to exit had hoped to close. (A judge told a couple fined £2,000 for having a baby shower, days before lockdown ended, they could pay in instalments if they didn’t spend the deferred money on “Sky Sports or anything”. Sunak, who is worth £200m or more, has been issued with a £50 fine for the lockdown breach he seemed to mislead parliament about. He, too, presumably, can pay in instalments as long as he doesn’t spend the deferred money on any $7.2m Santa Monica beachfront homes. Or anything.) (Johnson has assigned Lord Geidt, the wallpaper investigator, to chair an inquiry into Sunak. This is the same as doing nothing. If I worked...
Club Z returns again for more brainwashing of the highest order. Simon Munnery (alias Alan Parker) is The League Against Tedium, a super-being of 1984 proportions who is better than us.
He uses a large screen with hidden messages and short sketches to command his all-seeing, all-knowing, all- powerful, all-baloney facade over us. A range of stars - including Kevin Eldon, Jason Freeman and Stewart Lee - have their potential talent colossally wasted in sketches that were probably thought of as a passing indulgence.
But Munnery's super-geek host with a trendy mike-staff is not bad. I confess the majority of my nine laughs were as a result of his beady- eyed Kenneth Williams-on-something-strong expressions.
There were multiple cock-ups, pyrotechnics, music and props.
But the bottom line was the huge audience which was laughing at largely poor material, delivered by decent solo stand-ups.
Stewart Lee
1997-08-28T19:17:56+01:00
Club Z returns again for more brainwashing of the highest order. Simon Munnery (alias Alan Parker) is The League Against Tedium, a super-being of 1984 proportions who is better than us. He uses a large screen with hidden messages and short sketches to command his all-seeing, all-knowing, all- powerful, all-baloney facade over us. A range of stars - including Kevin Eldon, Jason Freeman and Stewart Lee - have their potential talent colossally wasted in sketches that were probably thought of as a passing indulgence. But Munnery's super-geek host with a trendy mike-staff is not bad. I confess the majority of my nine laughs were as a result of his beady- eyed Kenneth Williams-on-something-strong expressions. There were multiple cock-ups, pyrotechnics, music and props. But the bottom line was the huge audience which was laughing at largely poor material, delivered by decent solo stand-ups.
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...
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.
Matthew Bourne is found in typically excitable mode on the newly released Everybody Else But Me, alongside the saxophonist Tony Bevan.
But, with Bourne alone at the piano, Montauk Variations' meditative improvisations instead use cautiously melodic figures to trace penumbral shadows of memory and regret. Bourne's obstreperous other self surfaces on Within and Abrade, stroking the keyboard and the instrument's innards simultaneously, but Smile, written by Charlie Chaplin for Modern Times, closes a deceptively devastating collection, stripped of its cinematic sentiment into a haunting skeletal solo.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-01T01:52:06+00:00
Matthew Bourne is found in typically excitable mode on the newly released Everybody Else But Me, alongside the saxophonist Tony Bevan. But, with Bourne alone at the piano, Montauk Variations' meditative improvisations instead use cautiously melodic figures to trace penumbral shadows of memory and regret. Bourne's obstreperous other self surfaces on Within and Abrade, stroking the keyboard and the instrument's innards simultaneously, but Smile, written by Charlie Chaplin for Modern Times, closes a deceptively devastating collection, stripped of its cinematic sentiment into a haunting skeletal solo.
The boys from TV's Fist of Fun, pack 'em in for another show. Richard Herring wanders about the stage like a penguin with memory loss, spewing juvenile fun to which the audience applaud and groan vigorously.
Stewart Lee tries to talk as gently as possible for much of the time and gives his logical and structured analysis to, among other things, annoy his pal Herring.
Lee acts as an all-knowing big brother, continually arguing and trying to outwit Herring in a battle of wills. There's a good mix of conversational humour and reminiscing about amusing schoolteachers' names.
The pair also enjoy a monologue each which gives good balance to a well-structured show of bickering and ponderous moments. The aspect that partly propels them to their present status is their tremendous chemistry and banter, even during their disagreements.
It's a very audience-friendly show with solid material that is extremely polished and well delivered. And there's some stupid talk about a stick on a moon or something
Stewart Lee
1996-08-29T21:50:47+01:00
The boys from TV's Fist of Fun, pack 'em in for another show. Richard Herring wanders about the stage like a penguin with memory loss, spewing juvenile fun to which the audience applaud and groan vigorously. Stewart Lee tries to talk as gently as possible for much of the time and gives his logical and structured analysis to, among other things, annoy his pal Herring. Lee acts as an all-knowing big brother, continually arguing and trying to outwit Herring in a battle of wills. There's a good mix of conversational humour and reminiscing about amusing schoolteachers' names. The pair also enjoy a monologue each which gives good balance to a well-structured show of bickering and ponderous moments. The aspect that partly propels them to their present status is their tremendous chemistry and banter, even during their disagreements. It's a very audience-friendly show with solid material that is extremely polished and well delivered. And there's some stupid talk about a stick on a moon or something
It’s the tale of the high brow comedian who broke through in the 1990’s only to find himself pushed to the margins as stand up went primetime.
But Lee became the comeback kid who eventually landed his own BBC series after honing his stand up talents in clubs up and down the land away from the glare of mainstream.
Despite the appearance of a rambling, emotive tirade, it is the precision planning and comedic craft that is the key to his success"
He became the master craftsman of comedy, an artisan performer who could skillfully manipulate the mood of a room, wrong foot his audience, and even deconstruct his act as he performed it, all while keeping the laughs rolling in.
Tonight he's back in Salford for what seems like an annual visit.
And he is very much a man on top of game.
Anyone who has seen his TV show, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, for which this gig is a chance to road test new material, will know what to expect.
All present are the repetitive routines that start promisingly, go off the boil before inexplicably sparking back to life, and the jibes at right wing targets.
Norris McWhirter, Ukip and Rod Liddle all come under fire to the delight of the beady, Guardian loving intelligensia who form a sizable part of the audience.
And for such apparently irritable stage persona he is clearly enjoying himself. At points he even breaks character after failing to stiffle laughs at his own supposed ad libs, the first on the resemblance of Salford Quays to a futuristic landscape from a Mad Max movie.
Yet despite the appearance of a rambling, emotive tirade, it is the precision planning and comedic craft that is the key to his success. It is precisely this that allows him to bring the intimacy of small comedy club to an auditorium the size of the Lowry's main theatre. It is a trick he has already pulled off on the small screen.
If you can't catch his last two shows, make sure you allow him into your living room when the show returns later this year.
Stewart Lee
2015-02-14T21:55:07+00:00
You must know the Stewart Lee story by now. It’s the tale of the high brow comedian who broke through in the 1990’s only to find himself pushed to the margins as stand up went primetime. But Lee became the comeback kid who eventually landed his own BBC series after honing his stand up talents in clubs up and down the land away from the glare of mainstream. Despite the appearance of a rambling, emotive tirade, it is the precision planning and comedic craft that is the key to his success" He became the master craftsman of comedy, an artisan performer who could skillfully manipulate the mood of a room, wrong foot his audience, and even deconstruct his act as he performed it, all while keeping the laughs rolling in. Tonight he's back in Salford for what seems like an annual visit. And he is very much a man on top of game. Anyone who has seen his TV show, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, for which this gig is a chance to road test new material, will know what to expect. All present are the repetitive routines that start promisingly, go off the boil before inexplicably sparking back to life, and the jibes at right wing targets. Norris McWhirter, Ukip and Rod Liddle all come under fire to the delight of the beady, Guardian loving intelligensia who form a sizable part of the audience. And for such apparently irritable stage persona he is clearly enjoying himself. At points he even breaks character after failing to stiffle laughs at his own supposed ad libs, the first on the resemblance of Salford Quays to a futuristic landscape from a Mad Max movie. Yet despite the appearance of a rambling, emotive tirade, it is the precision planning and comedic craft that is the...
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...
When photographs of David Cameron's new kitchen were publicised last week, the eagle-eyed identified a Michael McIntyre DVD on the PM's shelves. But standup comedy wasn't always so cosy with the mainstream. At Last! The 1981 Show, curated by Stewart Lee as part of his Austerity Binge mini-festival, marks 30 years since the alternative comedy generation stuck a firework up the backside of British entertainment. This was comedy's punk moment, and tonight, a populous bill of ageing comics intermittently revived its iconoclastic thrill.
Youthful iconoclasm, of course, is hard to reanimate at three decades' distance. But neither are these comics inclined to reminisce and self-congratulate. So the show sometimes fell between stools, with several acts neither recalling nor recreating what first made them great. Nigel Planer, reprising his Young Ones hippy Neil, sings two ropey songs on acoustic guitar, but not his 1984 hit Hole in My Shoe. (Planer is funnier as his thespian alter ego, Nicholas Craig.) And co-host Alexei Sayle, when he is not sending up the show's celebratory agenda ("A lot has changed since I invented alternative comedy"), refuses to perform standup at all.
But, even as compere, Sayle's dissenting spirit is satisfyingly to the fore. He is not alone, either: Pauline Melville's Edie the Radical Housewife contributes some good old-fashioned Tory-bashing, and cabaret troupe the Greatest Show on Legs - one of the show's anarchic high points - perform their butt-naked balloon dance. Elsewhere on an eccentric bill (which has no place for Lee's bete noire Ben Elton), Andrew Bailey as Lenin rants about muesli and Kevin McAleer reaps minimalist deadpan comedy from a photograph of four owls.
Despite the show's refusal to get sentimental, nostalgia remains part of its appeal - at least to those of us reared on The Young Ones and Saturday Live. They may generate more smiles than big laughs, but it is a pleasure to see acts such as the latterday vaudevillians The Oblivion Boys (Stephen Frost and Mark Arden) reunited, and Norman Lovett meander through a delightfully droopy 10 minutes of non-sequitur comedy. The finale sees Kazuko Hohki's art-pop collective Frank Chickens crowd the stage with dancing Japanese women and one tall Irishman. It is funny by dint of its chutzpah and sheer improbability. It is also unlikely ever to feature in the PM's DVD collection, which is entirely to its credit.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-30T20:28:32+01:00
When photographs of David Cameron's new kitchen were publicised last week, the eagle-eyed identified a Michael McIntyre DVD on the PM's shelves. But standup comedy wasn't always so cosy with the mainstream. At Last! The 1981 Show, curated by Stewart Lee as part of his Austerity Binge mini-festival, marks 30 years since the alternative comedy generation stuck a firework up the backside of British entertainment. This was comedy's punk moment, and tonight, a populous bill of ageing comics intermittently revived its iconoclastic thrill. Youthful iconoclasm, of course, is hard to reanimate at three decades' distance. But neither are these comics inclined to reminisce and self-congratulate. So the show sometimes fell between stools, with several acts neither recalling nor recreating what first made them great. Nigel Planer, reprising his Young Ones hippy Neil, sings two ropey songs on acoustic guitar, but not his 1984 hit Hole in My Shoe. (Planer is funnier as his thespian alter ego, Nicholas Craig.) And co-host Alexei Sayle, when he is not sending up the show's celebratory agenda ("A lot has changed since I invented alternative comedy"), refuses to perform standup at all. But, even as compere, Sayle's dissenting spirit is satisfyingly to the fore. He is not alone, either: Pauline Melville's Edie the Radical Housewife contributes some good old-fashioned Tory-bashing, and cabaret troupe the Greatest Show on Legs - one of the show's anarchic high points - perform their butt-naked balloon dance. Elsewhere on an eccentric bill (which has no place for Lee's bete noire Ben Elton), Andrew Bailey as Lenin rants about muesli and Kevin McAleer reaps minimalist deadpan comedy from a photograph of four owls. Despite the show's refusal to get sentimental, nostalgia remains part of its appeal - at least to those of us reared on The Young Ones and Saturday Live....
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...
There are much richer dramatic experiences, though, elsewhere in the programme, and particularly in the two site-specific shows commissioned for the Festival. Johnny Vegas's remarkable solo show Interiors - co-scripted with Stewart Lee - is performed in an empty two-bedroomed semi in Old Trafford, with Vegas giving a superbly-judged performance as Jeffrey, the owner desperately trying to sell us what was once his marital home.
The show emerges as a tragic, funny, and often searing one-hour commentary on the bleak and desperate emotional emptiness that lies behind Britain's TV makeover culture.
Stewart Lee
2007-07-05T00:45:46+01:00
There are much richer dramatic experiences, though, elsewhere in the programme, and particularly in the two site-specific shows commissioned for the Festival. Johnny Vegas's remarkable solo show Interiors - co-scripted with Stewart Lee - is performed in an empty two-bedroomed semi in Old Trafford, with Vegas giving a superbly-judged performance as Jeffrey, the owner desperately trying to sell us what was once his marital home. The show emerges as a tragic, funny, and often searing one-hour commentary on the bleak and desperate emotional emptiness that lies behind Britain's TV makeover culture.
Opposite Sex are a curiously modern proposition, eschewing any especially contemporary musical wave, but nibbling omnivorously the rock and pop detritus on the verges of the information superhighway. Once alternative artists were archaeologists, channeling forgotten styles from deleted vinyl. Now all sounds are easily available to plunder.
Opposite Sex's debut's opener, Le Rat, has the head rush guitar jangle of their native New Zealand's Eighties underground, but elsewhere, foppish boy/girl vocals crown sea shanty psych-pop, angular Go-Betweens art rock, space age surf music, and a twee indie-pop waltz. Neither post punk, nor post rock, Opposite Sex are post everything.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-15T21:11:00+01:00
Opposite Sex are a curiously modern proposition, eschewing any especially contemporary musical wave, but nibbling omnivorously the rock and pop detritus on the verges of the information superhighway. Once alternative artists were archaeologists, channeling forgotten styles from deleted vinyl. Now all sounds are easily available to plunder. Opposite Sex's debut's opener, Le Rat, has the head rush guitar jangle of their native New Zealand's Eighties underground, but elsewhere, foppish boy/girl vocals crown sea shanty psych-pop, angular Go-Betweens art rock, space age surf music, and a twee indie-pop waltz. Neither post punk, nor post rock, Opposite Sex are post everything.
Either Stewart Lee has been having a bad year or some people have really got under his skin.
Criticising Frankie Boyle early in an over-long show, was a brave move in Glasgow, considering the former Mock the Week star is playing to a slightly larger theatre venue for the rest of the week.
Frankie's sin, it appears, was to say that comedians should stop at 40, as after that they “lose the anger". Boyle is 38, Stewart Lee 41. However, if Lee managed something on Monday evening, he convinced that there was fury in the old boy yet.
Being quite a meandering and sometimes painfully-self-satisfied-in-his-own-silence comic, his set opened with a coffee shop loyalty card joke that could only have been told by a middle-class, 40-something new parent living in London. Other topics of hate included the Three Bears of Top Gear and a Richard Hammond personal anecdote that turned out to be completely falsified.
Vitriol aside, there was a feigned comedic nervous breakdown to enjoy as Mr Lee (almost) bounded around the Citz, letting people in the limited view seats see more of his maddened mug.
He ended with a cider tale about plurality, featuring a Magners advert I'd never heard of. He linked that oddly to a sing-song of his favourite song Galway Girl, which he is trying to reclaim from bad memory.
If that sounds mad, that's because it was.
Sponsored by Magners
Stewart Lee
2010-03-16T17:26:03+00:00
Either Stewart Lee has been having a bad year or some people have really got under his skin. Criticising Frankie Boyle early in an over-long show, was a brave move in Glasgow, considering the former Mock the Week star is playing to a slightly larger theatre venue for the rest of the week. Frankie's sin, it appears, was to say that comedians should stop at 40, as after that they “lose the anger". Boyle is 38, Stewart Lee 41. However, if Lee managed something on Monday evening, he convinced that there was fury in the old boy yet. Being quite a meandering and sometimes painfully-self-satisfied-in-his-own-silence comic, his set opened with a coffee shop loyalty card joke that could only have been told by a middle-class, 40-something new parent living in London. Other topics of hate included the Three Bears of Top Gear and a Richard Hammond personal anecdote that turned out to be completely falsified. Vitriol aside, there was a feigned comedic nervous breakdown to enjoy as Mr Lee (almost) bounded around the Citz, letting people in the limited view seats see more of his maddened mug. He ended with a cider tale about plurality, featuring a Magners advert I'd never heard of. He linked that oddly to a sing-song of his favourite song Galway Girl, which he is trying to reclaim from bad memory. If that sounds mad, that's because it was. Sponsored by Magners
On this exceptional album's inner sleeve, a sixties bypass bisects a prehistoric earthwork, and the folklorist Ronald Hutton discusses seasonal rites. Within, a set of tuneful, tonal, slices of clean and cold electronica hums with post-war optimism, warped by echoes of the transcendentally bland music that underscored Seventies architects' pitches for concrete car parks.
The comforting irony cloud, that shadowed earlier Ghost Box label experiments in emotionally manipulative nostalgia, has evaporated.
Without anything so prescriptive as lyrics, The Advisory Circle offers a disarmingly sincere, pellucidly beautiful, and hauntingly disorientating exploration of your civilisation's problematic relationship with the landscapes of its past.
Stewart Lee
2011-07-10T00:42:54+01:00
On this exceptional album's inner sleeve, a sixties bypass bisects a prehistoric earthwork, and the folklorist Ronald Hutton discusses seasonal rites. Within, a set of tuneful, tonal, slices of clean and cold electronica hums with post-war optimism, warped by echoes of the transcendentally bland music that underscored Seventies architects' pitches for concrete car parks. The comforting irony cloud, that shadowed earlier Ghost Box label experiments in emotionally manipulative nostalgia, has evaporated. Without anything so prescriptive as lyrics, The Advisory Circle offers a disarmingly sincere, pellucidly beautiful, and hauntingly disorientating exploration of your civilisation's problematic relationship with the landscapes of its past.
Tucker spent eight years playing bass for Drive-By Truckers, the Athens Georgia country rock academy that also gifted a solo career to her ex Jason Isbell.
After a detour fronting her strange Sweet Soul Cookin' With Shonna Tucker Youtube series, Tucker's half hour calling card seasons the Truckers' hardboiled slick and greasy gumbo with hummable hooks and funky bass. Linda Please channels Dolly Parton's '60s social realist country pop, and marks a confident step forward.
Stewart Lee
2014-01-11T21:56:45+00:00
Tucker spent eight years playing bass for Drive-By Truckers, the Athens Georgia country rock academy that also gifted a solo career to her ex Jason Isbell. After a detour fronting her strange Sweet Soul Cookin' With Shonna Tucker Youtube series, Tucker's half hour calling card seasons the Truckers' hardboiled slick and greasy gumbo with hummable hooks and funky bass. Linda Please channels Dolly Parton's '60s social realist country pop, and marks a confident step forward.
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...
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...
Despite being the first British punks to sign an album deal, for this eponymous 1977 debut, The Boys disappeared from the movement’s mythology, perhaps unsurprisingly.
Sick On You sounds so silly it could be a contemporaneous punk parody and maybe fundamentalists baulked at the band’s boogie woogie piano and boozy lecherousness.
But First Time is a memorable slice of punchy power pop that transcends its times, and Tenement Kids makes an impassioned case for rock’s currently reduced role in encouraging social mobility.
A second disc of rarities sweetens the package.
Stewart Lee
2013-06-16T01:52:35+01:00
Despite being the first British punks to sign an album deal, for this eponymous 1977 debut, The Boys disappeared from the movement’s mythology, perhaps unsurprisingly. Sick On You sounds so silly it could be a contemporaneous punk parody and maybe fundamentalists baulked at the band’s boogie woogie piano and boozy lecherousness. But First Time is a memorable slice of punchy power pop that transcends its times, and Tenement Kids makes an impassioned case for rock’s currently reduced role in encouraging social mobility. A second disc of rarities sweetens the package.
'If there`s one thing I can`t stand... it`s the creeping commercialisation of secular Christmas shows`
Stewart Lee
'Welcome to my folly', declared Robin Ince as he opens Nine Lessons..., his massive sell-out Rationalist Celebration of comedy and science for Christmas.
With a star-studded line-up included Richard Dawkins, Stewart Lee, Josie Long, Simon Singh, Richard Herring, Gavin Osbourne, Isy Suttie, Ben Goldacre, Andrew Collins, Waen Shepherd, Christina Martin and Philip Jeays - all accompanied by Martin White and his amazing Mystery Fax Machine Chamber Orchestra. What more could you ask for?....
Oh go on then, as it's Christmas there's also interview contributions from Dara O'Briain and Jarvis Cocker.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T19:23:34+00:00
'If there`s one thing I can`t stand... it`s the creeping commercialisation of secular Christmas shows` Stewart Lee 'Welcome to my folly', declared Robin Ince as he opens Nine Lessons..., his massive sell-out Rationalist Celebration of comedy and science for Christmas. With a star-studded line-up included Richard Dawkins, Stewart Lee, Josie Long, Simon Singh, Richard Herring, Gavin Osbourne, Isy Suttie, Ben Goldacre, Andrew Collins, Waen Shepherd, Christina Martin and Philip Jeays - all accompanied by Martin White and his amazing Mystery Fax Machine Chamber Orchestra. What more could you ask for?.... Oh go on then, as it's Christmas there's also interview contributions from Dara O'Briain and Jarvis Cocker.
White Hills, New York's ageless Nigella Lawsons of kosmische punk, serve a delicious borscht of all the satisfying and shameful rock moves good taste denied us, which we nonetheless still crave.
In Your Room finds inarticulate lycanthrope chanting over pixilated keyboards, Hawkwind guitar smog, and biker soloing; The Internal Monologue is a brain-fogging bubblebath backwash of Seventies Herzog soundtrack synths; Forever In Space shoots The Stooges into the sun with a barking Nazi robot; Mist is a genetically modified psilocybin pea-souper. Buy it and eat it.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-19T12:39:52+01:00
White Hills, New York's ageless Nigella Lawsons of kosmische punk, serve a delicious borscht of all the satisfying and shameful rock moves good taste denied us, which we nonetheless still crave. In Your Room finds inarticulate lycanthrope chanting over pixilated keyboards, Hawkwind guitar smog, and biker soloing; The Internal Monologue is a brain-fogging bubblebath backwash of Seventies Herzog soundtrack synths; Forever In Space shoots The Stooges into the sun with a barking Nazi robot; Mist is a genetically modified psilocybin pea-souper. Buy it and eat it.
A comedy audience is a capricious animal. Sometimes it cackles on cue, lapping up punchlines with an almost-Pavlovian predictability. At other times, it merely stares back at you, seemingly unresponsive to the highly crafted material it’s fed. The responses are not always binary like this. Often, the organism mutates and divides into multiple parts, all of which behave differently. One part laughs, a second lays dormant, another walks out of the room altogether.
To anybody who has seen comedy live, this is hardly a novel observation. Humour by its very nature is subjective; not everyone’s going find a performer funny. Not everyone will “get” a joke, appreciate a comic’s intent, or understand a cultural reference. Even when a routine or joke is received as funny, audience reactions will admit of varying degrees. So far, so obvious.
It’s up to the comedian then, drawing on their years of experience, to shape such a heterogeneous lump of bodies into a coordinated, laughing unit. Of course, by virtue of the subjectivity of humour, this (assuming 100% of the audience is not already positively disposed to the performer) is an impossible task. The comedian will try nonetheless. In addition to staple routines and jokes, they’ll utilise improvised riffs, audience interaction, impromptu lines, heckle put-downs, and whatever else is in their comedy armament to tame the beast. Watching a comedian try to win over an audience is akin to watching a bullfight, but one free from any awkward ethical implications and one where the risk to the performer is psychic (a shared feeling of embarrassment) rather than physical. Regardless of whether such risk becomes realised, it’s captivating to watch.
Moreover, this gladiatorial spectacle adds an extra frisson to live comedy that’s largely absent in its scripted, televised counterparts. Shows such as BBC’s Live at the Apollo or Channel 4’s Comedy Gala seemingly fail to broadcast this struggle between performer and audience. The former walk on stage to the latter’s whooping and cheering. They’re onside from the beginning. Sitting at home, the TV viewer will merely see a preformed cult of personality. There’s no contest, no struggle, kein Kampf.
Naturally, comedy observed behind a phosphor screen is going to lack the raw, sensorial stimulation of sitting in a live comedy audience. That’s a truism. Technology can’t yet replicate the immersive experience of being surrounded by other dimly lit sentient beings, their collective gaze focused on the moment-to-moment nuances of the living, breathing performer just 20 metres ahead; quietly judging him as he navigates his way through a background hum of drinking and asynchronous laughs. True, but it isn’t just technological constraints beyond our control that suck the authenticity from live comedy as it’s etched onto TV; the editing process does this too. And editing is within our control. Unfortunately, Live At the Apollo edits its clips with an excessive benignity; performers are cast in an artificially flattering light.
Just as doctoring pictures of Stalin expunges any signs of the dictator’s political opposition, an overly favourable editing process removes the air of vulnerability from comedy. As a result, the comedian’s stoicism and skill-against-the-odds goes undocumented, leaving us with something that, although funny, is glib and anodyne: a matador pitted against a bull with sawn-off horns.
Of course, editors don’t have to do this. Across four seasons of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, we’re given a window into the pure, unplanned, and unrefined machinations of comedy. Editing each season into six 30-minute episodes ensures the series is televisable, but, in doing so, doesn’t divest us of a crucial layer of entertainment: the comedian vs. the audience contest.
Televised Struggle
Shot in Hackney’s Mildmay Club, a working men’s club that’s a far cry from Hammersmith’s packed 3,632-seater stadium, Comedy Vehicle‘s modest setting more closely resembles the types of rooms in which the bulk of live UK comedy unfolds. The club has a dull, sodium glow. Audience members are sat around tables. Their faces are weakly illuminated by small, table-top lamps, while pint glasses glint softly in the background. The effect of this setup is to create a kind of low-energy aura that seems more conducive to a jazz ensemble rather than a man hawking his highly polished jokes.
Comporting with such a relaxed affair then, the performer doesn’t walk on to rapturous, sycophantic cooing; Lee’s greeted by more measured applause. This is the beginning of the struggle. The comedian’s the underdog; he’ll have to win them over.
Having performed stand-up comedy since the late ‘80s, Lee’s clearly in his element under such conditions. With an arguably warranted swagger, he plays off the audience, deliberately splits the room and makes sardonic, off-the-cuff comments directly to the camera. Naturally, laughs ensue.
Stand-up comedy, conceivably more so than theatre or live music, relies on two-way interaction between the audience and performer. In its most primitive form, this involves going through routines as mandated by audience laughter. A punchline’s uttered; the audience laughs; the performer pauses accordingly and then proceeds to the next bit. A more evolved exchange sees the performer make comments explicitly about the audience laughter. This, in turn, generates more laughs.
Lee’s a fine exponent of this so-called “meta-humour”. A good example is at the end of “Shilbottle” (Season 3, Episode 1), where Lee is engrossed in a phone call with an imaginary “customer”. By describing the audience reactions to the (non-existent) person at the end of the phone, he’s able to snowball small audience laughs into much larger ones:
Stewart Lee (to customer on phone): “I then say … especially following hot off the heels of the Paxo incident.”
(Mild audience laughter)
(Stewart Lee looks around room to gauge audience response)
Stewart Lee (to customer): “Well a bit, but not enough for it to be a closing ….”
(Stronger audience laughter)
Stewart Lee (to customer): “Well, I don’t know how I’m gonna end this one … To be honest, I was hoping if I keep you on the line long enough, something might come up … The next reasonable sized laugh I get, I’m gonna slam down the phone, call for a blackout and say ‘That’s the end’.”
(Mild audience laughter)
Stewart Lee (to customer on phone): “No that wasn’t enough.”
(Stronger audience laughter)
Such interplay between Lee and the audience is an exemplar of what Erika Fischer-Lichte, Professor of Theatrical Studies at Berlin’s Free University, dubs an “autopoietic feedback loop”:
“Whatever the actors do elicits a response from the spectators, which impacts on the entire performance. In this sense, performances are generated and determined by a self-referential and ever-changing feedback loop. Hence, performance remains unpredictable and spontaneous to a certain degree.”
- Fischer-Lichte, The Transformative Power of Performance (2008:38).
Not all of such audience-performer interaction, however, is “unpredictable and spontaneous”. Sometimes, what may appear to be runaway improvisation is in fact premeditated script, unveiled with impeccable timing. Through clever writing, Lee engineers the predicted audience responses into his routines, thereby setting up further punchlines. As evidenced in “Religion”(Season 1, Episode 1), these lines work synergistically so that a routine builds to large laughs:
“There was a knock at my door…it was one of those Born-Again, Christian evangelists. He said to me, ‘Sir – the answer is Jesus. Now, what is the question?’ And I said to him, ‘Is the question, “For which role, was Robert Powell nominated for a Bafta?”’ And he said, ‘No, it isn’t that.’ I said, ‘Can I have another guess?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ I said, ‘Is the question, “Complete the name of this popular early 1970s item of hippy footwear, The – Blank – Sandal?” ‘And he said, ‘No, it isn’t that.’ I said, ‘Can I have another guess?’ …He said, ‘Yes.’ …I said, ‘Is the question “Complete the name of this influential but little-known late 1980s Chicago rock band, The - Blank –Lizard?”’ (Mild audience laughter) He said, ‘I’ll warn you, if you’re considering recounting this conversation as some kind of stand-up routine…that reference, the Blank Lizard, has a very specific demographic reach.’” (Stronger audience laughter)
In “Childhood” (Season 4, Episode 6), we’re treated to a mixture of both planned and spontaneous audience interaction. Early in the episode, Lee plants humorous phrases, which he’ll repeat later on for further laughs (a widely used comic tool known as a “callback”). That’s the planned part. When he does eventually repeat these lines, he exploits the audience’s different reactions, toying with them in a masterful but nonetheless aleatory fashion. It’s upon this hinterland of improvised crowd-work that he then sculpts perhaps the funniest line in the fourth series: “Audiences like you as good as murdered Robin Williams”.
This is where Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle excels: we, the viewers at home, are given a sense of the comedian’s craftsmanship and finesse, the wielding of skill over an audience. The behind-the-performer camera angles accentuate this sense of mastery, making Lee and his audience look like a conductor and his orchestra. And what is the apotheosis of all of this? Artistic appreciation combined with rapturous laughter—live comedy at its best. But, in contrast to the pristinely edited Live at the Apollo, the viewer is privy to all of the naked comedic groundwork upon which such laughter emerges. To the viewer behind the screen, Stewart Lee has earned those laughs. His struggle is televised. The visible underdog has won.
Raw Comedy
“You are not married to any of this shit – if something happens, taking you off at a tangent, NEVER go back and finish a bit, just move on.”
-Bill Hicks
As enshrined in the fifth of Bill Hicks’ 12 Principles of Comedy, it’s the remit of a stand-up comedian to improvise when things go awry. And in live comedy, things do go awry. Often. Hecklers heckle, glasses smash, and people leave the room, thereby forcing the comedian to “just move on”.
But it isn’t simply a case of “just moving on”. Without wanting to get mired in a discussion of aesthetics, a crude proxy of whether or not something counts as comedy is whether or not it makes you laugh. Stripped of this proclivity, comedy becomes inseparable from a piece of theatre or an interesting lecture. By extension then, improvisation that falls within the realm of comedy also has to be funny. Stewart Lee has little problem here.
In “Satire” (Season 3, Episode 3), Lee enters a routine that ostensibly requires of the audience some sort of familiarity with Animal Park, a wildlife show aired on the BBC. On asking the audience, only one man discloses his knowledge of the show. Later in the routine, Lee returns to him for his input, only to find out the man has left the room and gone to the toilet. This provokes Lee into a long, impromptu but nevertheless hilarious diatribe:
“He’s gone to the toilet? See the fucking level of contempt there! There’s a guy there, he knows this is for a recording for telly, he’s the only person in the room that can help me with this bit; and he’s left… he’s left, leaving no one with any working knowledge of Animal Park in the room! He’s gone to the toilet!
And not only that, but you won’t know this at home, before the recording started, I expressly forbid people from going to the toilet! Not only has he gone to toilet, in direct contravention of my instructions, but he has gone taking with him a piece of knowledge which could have saved this whole bit!
Can I just confirm as well, that this is actually really happening. I don’t want to fucking go on the Internet, and see everyone go, ‘Oh it’s brilliant when he faked that bloke going to the toilet.’ I haven’t.
An actual man, who is the only person here who knows what I am talking about, has left.”
Arguably, someone leaving for the toilet at an inopportune moment is a naturally humorous event; laughs would occur regardless of the comedian’s improvisation. Of course, not all unforeseen events are so congenial.
In “Stand-up” (Season 2, Episode 4) an audience member leaves the room as Lee is playing a song on a guitar, eclipsing a camera shot as he departs. A visibly angry Lee interrupts the song, pointing out the ruined camera shot out before maligning the audience member as a “horrible man”. It isn’t funny. It wasn’t supposed to be. But now there’s an awkward tension in the room. And, as with all such situations, inside or out of a comedy venue, it will have to be diffused with something that is funny: “I’m not having the public in to shows again. If only there were some way of eliminating you from the equation. It was just me and broadsheet journalists.””
On the surface, such a line reeks of hubris. Nevertheless, the audience laughs, and the tension in the room is successfully diffused. Why? According to the Superiority Theory of humour, proponents of which included Plato and Thomas Hobbes, we laugh when we feel a sense of superiority over a person or over a former version of ourselves. Perhaps it is in this instance (as well as in the aforementioned Animal Park scene) that Lee’s vulnerability, his patent lack of control over the audience, leads us to feel superior to him. As a result, we laugh.
Lee certainly does make an effort to appear inferior to his audience. He often turns to the camera, directly acknowledging the mixed responses evoked by his material. Frequent self-deprecatory interview skits (with either Armando Iannucci or Chris Morris) only augment this “comedy pariah” facade. Again, if there’s a tacit comedian vs. audience contest, it’s obvious who’s the underdog. And, once more, we must praise the editing of Comedy Vehicle. By keeping in all the gory details: the people walking out, the smashed glass during a lengthy routine about Rod Liddle (in “Migrants”, Season 4, Episode 5), as well as the comedian’s improvisations around such setbacks, we’re given a rare taste of the volatility that comes with live comedy.
Given this fidelity to warts and all live comedy (without even mentioning the series’ politically incisive material and the intelligent structure of each episode), it’s a shame that Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle hasn’t been re-commissioned for a fifth season.
Seasons one to three of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle are available on Netflix.
Stewart Lee
2016-07-05T17:55:39+01:00
Live vs. Televised Comedy A comedy audience is a capricious animal. Sometimes it cackles on cue, lapping up punchlines with an almost-Pavlovian predictability. At other times, it merely stares back at you, seemingly unresponsive to the highly crafted material it’s fed. The responses are not always binary like this. Often, the organism mutates and divides into multiple parts, all of which behave differently. One part laughs, a second lays dormant, another walks out of the room altogether. To anybody who has seen comedy live, this is hardly a novel observation. Humour by its very nature is subjective; not everyone’s going find a performer funny. Not everyone will “get” a joke, appreciate a comic’s intent, or understand a cultural reference. Even when a routine or joke is received as funny, audience reactions will admit of varying degrees. So far, so obvious. It’s up to the comedian then, drawing on their years of experience, to shape such a heterogeneous lump of bodies into a coordinated, laughing unit. Of course, by virtue of the subjectivity of humour, this (assuming 100% of the audience is not already positively disposed to the performer) is an impossible task. The comedian will try nonetheless. In addition to staple routines and jokes, they’ll utilise improvised riffs, audience interaction, impromptu lines, heckle put-downs, and whatever else is in their comedy armament to tame the beast. Watching a comedian try to win over an audience is akin to watching a bullfight, but one free from any awkward ethical implications and one where the risk to the performer is psychic (a shared feeling of embarrassment) rather than physical. Regardless of whether such risk becomes realised, it’s captivating to watch. Moreover, this gladiatorial spectacle adds an extra frisson to live comedy that’s largely absent in its scripted, televised counterparts. Shows such as...
Johnny Vegas' first DVD in which he is kidnapped, surrounded by a mad lifestyle manager, a megalomaniac sponsor and his obsessive comic flatmate who should've been sectioned years ago...
He also performs a live stand up set at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
Directed by S. Lee.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T19:37:34+00:00
Johnny Vegas' first DVD in which he is kidnapped, surrounded by a mad lifestyle manager, a megalomaniac sponsor and his obsessive comic flatmate who should've been sectioned years ago... He also performs a live stand up set at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Directed by S. Lee.
So when fans of Stewart Lee were told he would be performing a set in a small venue above an Oxford pub, many were left wondering whether it was all a joke.
Last night the comic treated a packed out Jericho Tavern to a short set in support of Birmingham rock band The Nightingales.
Lee is no stranger to the city. A former English student at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, he is also patron of the Oxford Playhouse - performing multiple shows at the venue last year.
He told the crowd at the Walton Street pub: "You play the Jericho Tavern twice in your career: once on the way up..."
He said he had visited the venue on his second day in the city as a student, making a friend which he then spent two weeks trying to get rid of. He also mocked Jericho's 'hipster' reputation, joking that people living in the area had never stopped wearing 60's-style Jesus sandals since they were first in fashion.
The show was followed by a raucous set by The Nightingales, who enjoyed some fame in the early 80s, before breaking up in 1986. Frontman Robert Lloyd reformed the band in 2004.
In keeping with the 80s theme, Lee, who helped create the controversial Jerry Springer The Opera, admitted he would only be performing jokes from that decade - warning an audience member filming the performance not to put it on the internet in case viewers thought he had not written any new material.
His set followed a show by Oxford garage-rockers The Other Dramas the duo of Maria Ilett and Richie Wildsmith.
Maria said: "What a night. We had a great time. We love Stewart Lee - and he's actually a really lovely person to meet. I gave him our new CD and he wanted to pay for it."
Nightingales drummer Fliss Kitson tweeted after the show: "First day of tour - my phone fell down the toilet, big ol’ bruise on my arm, zip on my suitcase has broken, drivers glasses have snapped, but it was great! Thank you Oxford... you were tip top."
Stewart Lee
2018-09-21T16:22:17+01:00
So when fans of Stewart Lee were told he would be performing a set in a small venue above an Oxford pub, many were left wondering whether it was all a joke. Last night the comic treated a packed out Jericho Tavern to a short set in support of Birmingham rock band The Nightingales. Lee is no stranger to the city. A former English student at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, he is also patron of the Oxford Playhouse - performing multiple shows at the venue last year. He told the crowd at the Walton Street pub: "You play the Jericho Tavern twice in your career: once on the way up..." He said he had visited the venue on his second day in the city as a student, making a friend which he then spent two weeks trying to get rid of. He also mocked Jericho's 'hipster' reputation, joking that people living in the area had never stopped wearing 60's-style Jesus sandals since they were first in fashion. The show was followed by a raucous set by The Nightingales, who enjoyed some fame in the early 80s, before breaking up in 1986. Frontman Robert Lloyd reformed the band in 2004. In keeping with the 80s theme, Lee, who helped create the controversial Jerry Springer The Opera, admitted he would only be performing jokes from that decade - warning an audience member filming the performance not to put it on the internet in case viewers thought he had not written any new material. His set followed a show by Oxford garage-rockers The Other Dramas the duo of Maria Ilett and Richie Wildsmith. Maria said: "What a night. We had a great time. We love Stewart Lee - and he's actually a really lovely person to meet. I gave him our new CD...
Jarett Kobek in conversation with Stewart Lee
Monday 23 October 2017, 7pm - 8.30pm
Islington Assembly Hall, London, N1 2UD * MOVED TO BARBICAN!!!!
Jarett Kobek's novel I Hate the Internet, a satire of the Internet age and Silicon Valley, earned him cult status in the US and praise from the likes of Bret Easton Ellis.
Join Kobek for an evening with another fan - standup comedian Stewart Lee - as he discusses his new novel, The Future Won't Be Long. A California-based Turkish-American writer, Kobek is also the author of several other books, including ATTA, a psychedelic biography of 9/11 hijacker Mohamed Atta, and Soft & Cuddly, a monograph on an obscure computer game for the ZX Spectrum.
Standard tickets are £20, or £30 including a copy of The Future Won't Be Long.
SHIRLEY COLLINS DOC - RIO CINEMA LONDON 29TH OCT 4.30pm
Widely regarded as the 20th century's most important singer of English traditional song, Shirley Collins stood at the epicenter of the folk music revival during the 1960s and 70s.
But in 1980 she developed a disorder of the vocal chords known as dysphonia, which robbed her of her unique singing voice and forced her into early retirement.
Rob Curry and Tim Plester's brilliant documentary sets out to explore the story behind the icon, and chronicles Shirley's battle, at the grand old age of 80, to rediscover that voice she lost so many years previously and suggests that, during these turbulent and increasingly untethered times, we might just need Shirley Collins now more than ever.
IAIN SINCLAIR + STEW 30TH OCT, LRB BOOKSHOP, LONDON
Iain Sinclair has been writing about London for most of his adult life. The Last London (Oneworld) is the culmination of Iain's London project, although 'project' is far too determined a word to describe a body of work so many-layered, so prodigiously polyvalent.
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)
Other extra dates by other comedians are available. More national dates to follow for Feb-April 2018, and then this must end.
TOP TIPS - I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND
DREAM SYNDICATE uk TOUR
The 1980s California band sounded, and now sound again, like The Fall playing Credence Clearwater Revival, fronted by Dashiell Hammett... on acid!!!
Their new incarnation mixes noir-ish lyricism with stretched out punk-psyche jams. Monday 30 October, Tues 31st 2017 - The Lexington, London, UK Wednesday 01 November 2017 Brudenell Social Club, Leeds, UK Thursday 02 November 2017 The 1865, Southampton, UK
WILSON DIXON - ONLY UK SOLO SHOW
Sunday 5th Nov, 6.45, The Bill Murray, Islington, London
My favorite New Zealand comedian Jesse Griffin, in his guise of country singer Wilson Dixon, does a lone solo show.
You may have seen Wilson on tour with me a decade or so ago. Griffin's C&W character is far better than the usual genre parodists as it is done with a real love and knowledge of the form, the song structures and lyrics reflecting the cosmic cowboy tunes of Guy Clarke or Townes Van Zandt, refracted through a bewildering stoned-rural-mystic persona.
The foolish Kiwi comedian has booked a gig on Bonfire Night, unaware we will all be burning Catholic effigies, so help him out please.
I was on good terms with Sean Hughes when I started out, and reconnected with him earlier in this decade.
His 1990 fringe show was, in retrospect, a game changer for UK/Irish/Antipodean stand-up generally.
He was encouraging to me in confusing periods, and endlessly provocative on other occasions.
Here is a pair of podcasts of us in better times a few years back, with Sean in a dry season and a witty and wise mood.
23rd OCT JARRET KOBEK + STEW EVENT Jarett Kobek in conversation with Stewart Lee Monday 23 October 2017, 7pm - 8.30pm Islington Assembly Hall, London, N1 2UD * MOVED TO BARBICAN!!!! Jarett Kobek's novel I Hate the Internet, a satire of the Internet age and Silicon Valley, earned him cult status in the US and praise from the likes of Bret Easton Ellis. Join Kobek for an evening with another fan - standup comedian Stewart Lee - as he discusses his new novel, The Future Won't Be Long. A California-based Turkish-American writer, Kobek is also the author of several other books, including ATTA, a psychedelic biography of 9/11 hijacker Mohamed Atta, and Soft & Cuddly, a monograph on an obscure computer game for the ZX Spectrum. Standard tickets are £20, or £30 including a copy of The Future Won't Be Long. Running time: 90 minutes, no interval. To book tickets go to THIS HAS NOW BEEN MOVED TO THE FROBISHER AUDITORIUM AT THE BARBICAN, HERE SHIRLEY COLLINS DOC - RIO CINEMA LONDON 29TH OCT 4.30pm Widely regarded as the 20th century's most important singer of English traditional song, Shirley Collins stood at the epicenter of the folk music revival during the 1960s and 70s. But in 1980 she developed a disorder of the vocal chords known as dysphonia, which robbed her of her unique singing voice and forced her into early retirement. Rob Curry and Tim Plester's brilliant documentary sets out to explore the story behind the icon, and chronicles Shirley's battle, at the grand old age of 80, to rediscover that voice she lost so many years previously and suggests that, during these turbulent and increasingly untethered times, we might just need Shirley Collins now more than ever. Stewart Lee hosts. http://riocinema.org.uk/RioCinema.dll/WhatsOn?Film=9759698 IAIN SINCLAIR + STEW 30TH OCT, LRB...
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 skinhead smashed the still steaming grill plate of the state-of-the-art Breville sandwich toaster into his red face, to stem the violent impulses rising within him. His skin fizzed, like cold piss on a hot Guy Fawkes bonfire. Ancient burnt pieces of cheese and tomato, remnants of his well-heeled host’s cocaine-fuelled midnight snacks, buried themselves in the tight fuzz of his No 1 crop. Through the open window of the politician’s luxury million-pound west London flat Robbie could smell the stench of the Notting Hill night wafting into the exclusive mews of former stable buildings, where some famous film actors and racing car drivers also lived. Goat curry. Chicken jerky. And sweet sweet waccy waccy tobaccy. ‘Those spades got one thing right,’ conceded the skinhead, closing the lid of the sandwich toaster and putting it back on the Formica surface of the expensive designer kitchen.” – The Right Honourable Skinhead by Richard Allen (1981).
It’s well known that the racist news website wizard and former Trump confidante Steve Bannon, currently planning a pan-global far-right resurgence called The Motion, was inspired by Jean Raspail’s controversial 1973 French science-fiction novel The Camp of the Saints, which uses an invasion of western Europe by disenchanted brown people from below the equator as a satire of white European privilege and colonial guilt.
But is it possible that Bannon’s current championing of the sunbed magnate and mortgage fraudster Tommy Robinson as “the backbone” of the UK has been inspired by his acquaintance with a less well-known piece of fascist-flavoured fiction?
The Canadian alcoholic Richard Allen is thought to have written 290 novels in his lifetime, and between 1970 and 1980 he penned 18 violent books set in the milieu of Britain’s fractious youth culture, such as Skinhead, Skinhead Escapes, Skinhead Returns, and the martial arts-themed Taekwondo Skinhead.
Principally chronicling the adventures of a racist skinhead thug called Robbie Tomlinson, the books were top sellers for the cheap and nasty New English Library imprint, also home to Alex R Stuart’s disreputable Hell’s Angels series: Angel, Angel Escapes, Angel Returns and the martial arts-themed Taekwondo Angel.
Allen was rediscovered in his twilight years by the experimental author Stewart Home, who was inspired by the novels’ repetitive formulae, and it is possible to view Allen’s Skinhead as a Nietzschean antihero akin to Henry Williamson’s instinct-driven eponymous animal protagonists Tarka the Otter, Salar the Salmon, Valkyrie the Vole, Mitford the Moth, Hitler the Hamster and the martial arts-themed Taekwondo Hitler Hamster.
But Allen’s last Skinhead outing, which was due to be published in 1981, proved too controversial even for the ambulance-chasing New English Library outlet, and saw the character retired. Allen’s final job for the publisher, under the pen-name James Moffat, was an ignominious novelisation of a suppressed erotic film entitled Queen Kong.
Queen Kong was the first in a doomed series of giant monster sex comedies, in which the genders of famous horror movie creatures were reversed, all due to feature the dream team of Robin Asquith, Rula Lenska and Carol Drinkwater from All Creatures Great and Small. However, legal action ended the project before filming on the follow-up, Queen Kong Versus God-Sheila, had been completed, let alone the series’ third, martial arts-themed, instalment Taekwondo Queen Kong Versus Gwonbeop God-Sheila.
Allen’s sad monkey book appeared in a cover very different to the iconic street-style imagery of the Skinhead series, depicting as it did a man, dressed as a giant female ape with permed hair and exposed furry genitalia, looming over the London skyline in a frenzy of animal lust for Robin Asquith. And yet it is from the author of this ape-sex work that Breitbart’s Steve Bannon appears to be drawing his current political thinking.
The unpublished manuscript of Allen’s 19th New English Library youth violence novel, from 1981, is somehow available for download on the dark web, and is entitled The Right Honourable Skinhead. The overlap between the plot points of Allen’s final skinhead outing and Bannon’s apparent plans for the far-right activist Tommy Robinson is too great to be coincidental.
Having failed to capture the heart of the nation’s disenchanted voters via the scripted racist gaffes of a posh clown-puppet politician called Horace Thompson, a secret cabal of fascists sets about trying to position the street-brawling racist football thug Robbie Tomlinson as a serious political player, and the character gives voice to the same voter discontent Bannon clearly hopes to weaponise through the conduit of Tommy Robinson.
“Bloody MPs, he thought. They got elected to do what their constituents wanted done and the bastards thought they were little tin-gods better than the voters! If he had his way every politician would be slung in prison and given a taste of what they deserved.” – The Right Honourable Skinhead, Richard Allen (1981).
And on page 103 of The Right Honourable Skinhead, the news magnate Steve Mannon, Robbie Tomlinson’s chief cheerleader, who differs only from Steve Bannon in that he is a Welsh born-again Christian, addresses radio presenter Leo Isherwood thus, “Flip you, boyo! Don’t you flipping say you’re calling me out. You flipping liberal elite. Robbie Tomlinson is the backbone of this country, by which I mean the whole UK not just Wales.”
Worryingly for Britain’s embattled liberals, while the unscrupulous New English Library considered Allen’s dystopian fascist fantasy The Right Honourable Skinhead too hideous to publish, Steve Bannon seems intent on belatedly making its bleak fiction a chilling reality.
Stewart Lee
2018-08-12T22:51:48+01:00
“The skinhead smashed the still steaming grill plate of the state-of-the-art Breville sandwich toaster into his red face, to stem the violent impulses rising within him. His skin fizzed, like cold piss on a hot Guy Fawkes bonfire. Ancient burnt pieces of cheese and tomato, remnants of his well-heeled host’s cocaine-fuelled midnight snacks, buried themselves in the tight fuzz of his No 1 crop. Through the open window of the politician’s luxury million-pound west London flat Robbie could smell the stench of the Notting Hill night wafting into the exclusive mews of former stable buildings, where some famous film actors and racing car drivers also lived. Goat curry. Chicken jerky. And sweet sweet waccy waccy tobaccy. ‘Those spades got one thing right,’ conceded the skinhead, closing the lid of the sandwich toaster and putting it back on the Formica surface of the expensive designer kitchen.” – The Right Honourable Skinhead by Richard Allen (1981). It’s well known that the racist news website wizard and former Trump confidante Steve Bannon, currently planning a pan-global far-right resurgence called The Motion, was inspired by Jean Raspail’s controversial 1973 French science-fiction novel The Camp of the Saints, which uses an invasion of western Europe by disenchanted brown people from below the equator as a satire of white European privilege and colonial guilt. But is it possible that Bannon’s current championing of the sunbed magnate and mortgage fraudster Tommy Robinson as “the backbone” of the UK has been inspired by his acquaintance with a less well-known piece of fascist-flavoured fiction? The Canadian alcoholic Richard Allen is thought to have written 290 novels in his lifetime, and between 1970 and 1980 he penned 18 violent books set in the milieu of Britain’s fractious youth culture, such as Skinhead, Skinhead Escapes, Skinhead Returns, and the martial arts-themed...
For a few minutes the other night, I became part of comedian Stewart Lee's act.
Though we've never met, he felt obliged to inform the audience of just under 1,000 that there was a 'Daily Mirror reporter' in the audience to review his show.
It also gave him the opportunity to explain that his material would be coming from six half-hour sets he was preparing for a new TV show, which he's going to be recording in December.
And he said, because there was a 'Daily Mirror reporter' in the audience, he had improved his material for this review, so he would appreciate me giving the show one star less than it merited - as the rest of the tour wouldn't be as good. It got the required laugh.
According to Stewart, I should be telling readers that the best part of his show was when he - supposedly in the character of Animal Magic presenter Johnny Morris - acts out smashing a snake's egg on stage....'definitely worth two stars of anyone's money'.
The Johnny Morris piece - part of a longer wildlife one, including mentions for Ben Fogle and Michaela Strachan - worked well and, as Lee rightly pointed out, elicited a round of applause...'micromanaged', as he put it, 'but got still a round of applause'.
But, sorry, Stew, the funniest moment that had me in stitches was when you ripped UKIP to shreds.
Lee, 45, took the conceit of UKIP's deputy leader Paul Nuttall warning about the influx of skilled Bulgarian workers later in the year, then ran and ran with it, imagining Nuttall telling previous immigrants, such as the Poles of the last 10 years and the West Indians and Pakistanis of the 1950s not to bother coming here.
Then, in characteristic form, he took it to surreal lengths, extending Nuttall's remarks to the Huguenots of medieval France, the Anglo-Saxons, the Neolithics, the first fish to ever make it on to land and then nothingness itself. All addressed with the same degree of intolerant UKIP remarks.
By the time Lee reached the end of that piece, many of the audience had tears of laughter running down their cheeks.
His eviscerating comment on Nuttall and co came in a fast-moving second half, with a rapid-fire range of observational comedy.
His latest material is, without doubt, some of the sharpest he's ever produced and an improvement even on his popular Carpet Remnant World tour of a year or so ago.
Fellow stand-ups came into his line of fire - Alan Davies, Michael McIntyre, Jimmy Carr, Roy 'Chubby Brown', Jim Davidson - and were witheringly and amusingly put down.
And there were unsurprising pops at Tories David Cameron and Margaret Thatcher, but Labour leader Ed Miliband didn't escape either - 'For Miliband to make a mess of Labour, after Blair, is like catching a baby that's been dropped out of an aeroplane, then to trip over and drop it in the gutter'.
The wonderful thing about Lee - undoubtedly the best comedian in Britain - is that he doesn't give a damn, yet eschews the kind of scatological humour so many older 'funnymen' employ or to the excessive foul language that many younger ones rely on.
Sure, there are a few swear words in his intelligent act, but they are used for maximum comedic effect, not for shock value nor as an obscene lingua franca.
Sorry again, Stew, but you do get the full five stars... just take one off if it makes you feel better!
Stewart Lee
2013-10-02T18:17:46+01:00
For a few minutes the other night, I became part of comedian Stewart Lee's act. Though we've never met, he felt obliged to inform the audience of just under 1,000 that there was a 'Daily Mirror reporter' in the audience to review his show. It also gave him the opportunity to explain that his material would be coming from six half-hour sets he was preparing for a new TV show, which he's going to be recording in December. And he said, because there was a 'Daily Mirror reporter' in the audience, he had improved his material for this review, so he would appreciate me giving the show one star less than it merited - as the rest of the tour wouldn't be as good. It got the required laugh. According to Stewart, I should be telling readers that the best part of his show was when he - supposedly in the character of Animal Magic presenter Johnny Morris - acts out smashing a snake's egg on stage....'definitely worth two stars of anyone's money'. The Johnny Morris piece - part of a longer wildlife one, including mentions for Ben Fogle and Michaela Strachan - worked well and, as Lee rightly pointed out, elicited a round of applause...'micromanaged', as he put it, 'but got still a round of applause'. But, sorry, Stew, the funniest moment that had me in stitches was when you ripped UKIP to shreds. Lee, 45, took the conceit of UKIP's deputy leader Paul Nuttall warning about the influx of skilled Bulgarian workers later in the year, then ran and ran with it, imagining Nuttall telling previous immigrants, such as the Poles of the last 10 years and the West Indians and Pakistanis of the 1950s not to bother coming here. Then, in characteristic form, he took it to...
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
Morphic resonance meant The Boys Next Door's Nick Cave and Crime & The City Solution's Simon Bonney both hit that same big-mouthed Jim Morrison punk yowl in mid-seventies Melbourne, but it gave Cave a longer career.
Here's the final incarnation of Bonney's band, decamped to a Berlin in flux, with art house German accomplices, playing wide-screen world-music post-punk cabaret-blues over growled apocalyptic visions of displaced people in transit and dictatorial nation states in collapse.
Next year's new album ought to suit our uncertain times.
Stewart Lee
2012-10-14T11:14:32+01:00
Morphic resonance meant The Boys Next Door's Nick Cave and Crime & The City Solution's Simon Bonney both hit that same big-mouthed Jim Morrison punk yowl in mid-seventies Melbourne, but it gave Cave a longer career. Here's the final incarnation of Bonney's band, decamped to a Berlin in flux, with art house German accomplices, playing wide-screen world-music post-punk cabaret-blues over growled apocalyptic visions of displaced people in transit and dictatorial nation states in collapse. Next year's new album ought to suit our uncertain times.
The so-called EU Referendum debate on so-called ITV (let us not dignify either by naming them) filled me and all my ABC1 liberal friends with despair. Oh! The humanity!! Drunk on Belgian wine, I watched the Barrier Reef of the Britain I know bleach to nothing in the twin glare of Brexit’s burning certainties and Julie Etchingham’s gleaming teeth.
Leave had no arguments or facts, just pornographically arousing soundbites and lies they knew were lies, but which they calculated might stick to a wall in a depressed town somewhere, if flung with enough force, like compacted pellets of Priti Patel’s shit.
Even Remain’s Amber Rudd, the Countess Bathory of Energy and Climate, seemed clever by comparison to Boris, who managed to make the word “expert” a pejorative term. Nonetheless, it was bleakly obvious that the audience’s disillusion led them to favour the Leavers’ lies.
I wondered how Leave could rationalise their blind stab in the dark and live with the untruths they had told. And my mind turned again to Michael Gove, who, to put their relationship in terms of Gove’s beloved Dennis Wheatley, is the supplicant Simon Aron to Boris’s satanic Mocata, their joint prize the mummified phallus of Conservative party power. “Only they who love without desire shall have power granted them in their darkest hour!”
As I have confessed before, in 1992 I was a gag writer on a doomed Channel 4 show, A Pig in a Poke. The experimental satire programme broke new ground by positioning its performers on balsa ladders in a smoke-filled Bat Cave, while they delivered belligerent journalistic monologues to camera, the stylistic integrity of which I and the comedian Richard Herring were encouraged to compromise with jokes.
Lucky Richard was assigned to Poke’s most affable hosts, the restaurant critic Tracey MacLeod and her colleague, the rapper LL Cool J, who plied him with fudge and polystyrene all day, while I was understandably ignored by my master, a capable young comic newspaper columnist called Michael Andrew Gove.
Gove attended one writers’ round-table meeting a week, where all he did was badger the producers to book the former BBC newsreader Jan Leeming, upon whom he was oddly fixated, before leaving with all the office washroom’s toilet rolls secreted in his satchel.
Instead of asking me for jokes, Gove would make me wait on the fire escape outside his Notting Hill flat, occasionally emerging to assign me mundane tasks, such as taking his weekly washing – usually just seven white pants, seven white vests, fourteen grey socks and one yellowing sock – to the dry cleaners.
One week, the old Greek couple in Dryee-Fast seemed unduly amused by Gove’s unusually bulky package. “Tell Michael we try and try but can’t get the stains outta the crotch this time!” they laughed, unravelling a full-size fur suit, the reasonably realistic costume of an unidentified Gove-size rodent. I rolled up the outfit and returned it to Gove without comment. I needed this job. I couldn’t afford to rock the boat. Scruples were a luxury I didn’t have.
Later that day, Gove suddenly appeared beside me on the fire escape, high above the Notting Hill street. He had a habit of sneaking up on you. “Ah, Lee,” he said, “contemplating the incalculable, I see?” “Mr Gove?” I asked, as I felt his hand upon the small of my back, applying gentle pressure.
“The leap, Lee. If you were to leap now, Leapy Lee, from this fire escape, what would happen?” “I’d die I think, Mr Gove,” I answered, unsure where this line of questioning was going. “Perhaps,” Gove countered, “and experts would agree with you, I am sure. But would it not be thrilling to find out if one could profit from such a bold leap?” “There’s nothing to find out, Mr Gove,” I replied, “no one could survive that leap. This is the seventh floor.” “Was it not our lord Christ,” Gove hissed, returning inside, “who urged us to consider the lemming.” I don’t think Christ did say that, did he? Wasn’t it “consider the lily”? What did Gove mean?
The next day, Gove suddenly emerged from his room, carrying a brown parcel, and told me he was going for a walk on Wormwood Scrubs common. “Carry on, Lee,” he called, “with whatever it is A Pig in a Poke pay you for.” I availed myself of my absent master’s sofa and tried in vain to think of a funny introduction for Jan Leeming, should Gove’s ambition of grilling her ever find favour with the producers.
Gove had a crackpot idea that he and Leeming should appear together, both dressed as some kind of rat, and jump off a high diving board into a swimming pool, and he had offered me a bonus, out of his own pocket, if I could contrive a scenario – somehow related to the week’s news – that would convince the producers this would be a good idea.
In Gove’s office, his phone rang persistently and in the end I thought it best to enter, against his strict orders, and answer it. The producer of Pig in a Poke was saying something about how Gove was needed immediately for an urgent overdub of haughty snorting, but my eyes were adjusting to the dark. Gove’s previously unseen office slowly revealed itself to me in the full depth of its demented insanity.
Tiny, tiny... rodents – some soft and grey, some brown with black stripes, in paintings, posters, wallcharts, thumb-tacked magazine clippings and poorly executed crayon drawings, hurling themselves fatally in their thousands over the cliff of their island home; or crudely taxidermied and mounted, eyes glazed and little paws frozen stiff – on every available surface.
Lemmings. Hundreds and hundreds of lemmings. Michael Gove was obsessed with lemmings. And I wasn’t about to let him hurl himself to his death on my watch, although, had I known what he would become, to do so would have been the most moral course of action. I ran to Wormwood Scrubs common.
On a patch of waste ground, upon a filthy mattress, prostrate beneath the abandoned silo from which he had jumped, lay Michael Gove, winded, but alive, and dressed in the lemming costume – for that is what it was – that the dry cleaners had laughed at, the crotch dark once more.
Gove’s eyes flashed open inside the circle of fake fur that surrounded his excited face. “Am I dead?” he bellowed. “Am I dead, Lee?” “No Michael,” I said, “you’re not dead.” “Experts,” he said, “what do they know? Help me up, boy! Help me up!!”
Stewart Lee
2016-06-19T10:22:29+01:00
The so-called EU Referendum debate on so-called ITV (let us not dignify either by naming them) filled me and all my ABC1 liberal friends with despair. Oh! The humanity!! Drunk on Belgian wine, I watched the Barrier Reef of the Britain I know bleach to nothing in the twin glare of Brexit’s burning certainties and Julie Etchingham’s gleaming teeth. Leave had no arguments or facts, just pornographically arousing soundbites and lies they knew were lies, but which they calculated might stick to a wall in a depressed town somewhere, if flung with enough force, like compacted pellets of Priti Patel’s shit. Even Remain’s Amber Rudd, the Countess Bathory of Energy and Climate, seemed clever by comparison to Boris, who managed to make the word “expert” a pejorative term. Nonetheless, it was bleakly obvious that the audience’s disillusion led them to favour the Leavers’ lies. I wondered how Leave could rationalise their blind stab in the dark and live with the untruths they had told. And my mind turned again to Michael Gove, who, to put their relationship in terms of Gove’s beloved Dennis Wheatley, is the supplicant Simon Aron to Boris’s satanic Mocata, their joint prize the mummified phallus of Conservative party power. “Only they who love without desire shall have power granted them in their darkest hour!” As I have confessed before, in 1992 I was a gag writer on a doomed Channel 4 show, A Pig in a Poke. The experimental satire programme broke new ground by positioning its performers on balsa ladders in a smoke-filled Bat Cave, while they delivered belligerent journalistic monologues to camera, the stylistic integrity of which I and the comedian Richard Herring were encouraged to compromise with jokes. Lucky Richard was assigned to Poke’s most affable hosts, the restaurant critic Tracey MacLeod and...
You won't see much of Stewart Lee in his latest TV series starting on February 5.
He is executive producer/curator of Comedy Central's The Alternative Comedy Experience and only crops up briefly interviewing the acts between their appearances.
The real stars of the show are the acts - 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, and MAEVE HIGGINS.
A lot of the acts are established Edinburgh Fringe favourites, but they usually only get on television by appearing on panel shows and rarely get to do their proper stand-up material in the proper context.
I spoke to Lee (left, picture by Steve Ullathorne) about the show, the way that big agencies dominate the TV comedy scene and about other things Lee has been up to in the past and will be up in the future.
A feature on the subject appeared in the Evening Standard and you can read
that here, but what follows is a full unexpurgated transcript of the interview.
BD: Tell me the background to The Alternative Comedy Experience?
SL: I can talk about it immodestly as I'm not in it. About 3 years ago I pitched an idea not dissimilar to BBC4 which was turned down. It featured loads of people critics and comedians think are the best comedians and they tend not to be on those er..those programmes, not just that one. Sometimes they are on television but not at their best if they are. Then at the same time Colin Dench, who produced my DVD got a job a comedy Central He had been at The Stand with Tim Kirkby, who directed Comedy Vehicle, and his DP John Walker, and thought The Stand plus those acts is a programme, Initially it was going to be called Stewart Lee's xxxxxx, but I didn't want my name in it. It's not for me to go 'I give you these people'. Most of them are better than me anyway. I didn't want it to be celebrity driven vehicle and if hosting they have to come off the back of your energy. Saying 'here's a person I've seen and they are so great' is all wank. If you have a host the assumption is that the host is the best and you are waiting for the host to come back, so in this there is no host. We want it to be like when we are at the back and enjoying an act and the audience doesn't like them.
BD: You interview them instead?
SL: I was more interested in doing the backstage interviews. I know it's a little bit Des O'Connor sometimes, doing a set-up for gag. But they all know that club so they are relaxed and forget the cameras are there. It's an appallingly shaped room. Half the audience can't see the other half, on one side there is a little tunnel, yet its everyone's favourite room. Boothby Graffoe was "on" as if he was on Des O'Connor, but most just talked and came out very well. It helps to set up the performers, probably more so than me saying 'I think he's great'. You get more of a flavour of them this way.
BD: You wanted to take a back seat basically and let the line-up have the limelight?
SL: Taking promotional photos I realised I was being put in the middle and I ran around the back. I curated the Alternative Jazz Stage at The Cheltenham Jazz Festival and it somehow became Stewart Lee's Stage with my photo being used, rather than the giants of improvisation I was hosting which was embarrassing.
BD: This feels like a very democratic series. The comedians in it are great and all feel like they have equal billing.
SL: If the BBC4 series had happened it would have been filmed at the Mildmay Club (where Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is filmed) but the BBC is very nervous. Mainstream broadcasters have a relationship with about three agencies and being on this is a bit like the kiss of death for agencies who want to get their acts £20,000 for a corporate gig. They want to see them going down well at Hammersmith, this might be seen as a tiny gig in a cellar.
BD: It is definitely a part of the current wave of stand-up shows on TV, at the other end of the spectrum to Live at the Apollo.
SL: Comedy Central want it as another possibility of choice on your comedy smorgasbord menu, but it is an alternative and we should nail our colours to the mast. Particularly after Funny Business (the recent BBC2 doc on the comedy as big business. Henning Wehn (left), Paul Sinha and Alun Cochrane could do corporate gigs, but the important thing is it is not a be all and end all. They do not wake up in the morning thinking How can I develop a content-driven engagement platform [a phrase used on Funny Business] but comedy, first and foremost, in the purest sense.
The problem at the moment is that everything has to be about generating maximum profits. But in arts education and culture if you eliminate all the people that don't do that those are the people that develop the new language of the form and you end up sapping the people at the top. A lot of the older ones on TACE have helped develop the form. A lot of them may not become big themselves but are hugely influential, ie Russell Brand would not be as he is if he had not seen Paul Foot. He just added rock star trousers and a different vocabulary.
BD: Has working with Comedy Central been easy?
SL: Comedy Central is concerned about 18 - 32 year olds, If I'd had my way there would have been younger and older comedians, but they are a little bit frightened. They want an audience like the people in that poster [points to glossy picture of sexy flatshare sitcom Threesome], but young people do not understand the linear process of time any more. Kids love Norman Lovett, but a marketing person will think all they want is Jack Whitehall.
We had to not spook the horses. Comedy Central was leaning on us to get people who didn't quite fit but were names. I don't know if they know what they've got really. They talk about getting audience figures to please the advertisers but I think they will discover levels of pleasure they never thought they had when they see the coverage the programme gets.
BD: Your own audience is pretty mixed so that should help get a cross-section of viewers?
SL: My audience defies any demographic rationale. I get old people who have seen me and I remind them of Dave Allen, while young people like me too.
BD: The gender breakdown in TACE looks unusually even for a TV stand-up show. It's good, for instance, to see Isy Suttie (left, picture by Steve Ullathorne), best known as Dobby on Peep Show doing what she does best.
SL: A third of the line-up is female and there is absolutely no reason why it shouldn't have been more. I went to a gig the other night and over half of the acts were women. 25 years ago a bill like that would have been for a lesbian shelter.
BD: Comedy has turned into much more of a business during your career hasn't it?
SL: When I started my ambition was to be at the sort of level of people I'd seen at Warwick Arts Centre, like Oscar McLennan. In 1990 Newman and Baddiel did the Cochrane Theatre which held 400 people and I was thinking this has gone far enough surely. Then two years later they were at Wembley and since then there has been a background noise that that is what you should aim for.
I wanted the artistic fulfilment and economic reward of a folk singer. That has changed. There wasn't much point in compromising in the eighties because there wasn't anything to compromise for. Now there is an incentive for a content driven engagement platform which meant we lost a few people. Russell Brand, I thought he was good, but he can never be what he should've been because you view him through the prism of celebrity. He doesn't have to work because people lap it up and he can't have a real life.
I was lucky with the double act [Lee & Herring] at the arse end of comedy as the new rock and roll. We were chewed up and spat back out without making any real impression on culture. Two or three times in my career I've had to go back to square one, until recent years. The interesting thing about this programme is that what the comedians on it have in common is the spread of the type of people who would not be on those programmes.
BD: I guess Daniel Kitson would have been the perfect person to get on the show?
SL: I told Colin it wasn't worth asking him. He did and it wasn't. Jerry Sadowitz wouldn't do it. But on the whole we got everyone.
BD: There was no ban on people who have done the mainstream stand-up shows?
SL:There are loads of good acts on those shows, Henning, or Miles Jupp. They were very frightened of Noel Fielding and had to keep cutting to young girls in audience to prove it was alright.
One dictate of mine was that you don't see audience cutaways because they are designed to shore up the response at home by showing a person appropriate to the joke laughing at it ie a black person if the joke is slightly racist or if they show a celebrity laughing it must be funny. Esther Rantzen is laughing at it so it must be funny. Those shows are about showing you a person in a big place and they must be good because there are 4000 people laughing. The onus with TACE is on you here to decide if it is funny. The response has not been manufactured in the cutting room. The original credits were going to say "Real proper live audience - no Gok Wan or Esther Rantzen. The audience came to it through liking the people who were in it.
The comedians on TACE all fit together so well. They are of a piece, but you've got to listen. It's like the TV producer who said to the makers of Police Squad 'the problem with your programme is you have to watch it.' (laughs)
BD: Your acts straddle the political divide though? They aren't just whinging lefties
SL: Glenn Wool is like a survivalist libertarian so political spread is interesting, Stylistically the show ranges from easy chatting to Maeve Higgins and David Kay, who you really have to listen to. Plus women and music and women doing music which are too things which are so unpopular they almost cancel each other out.
BD: The way you feature acts then return to them later reminded me of the old Granada show The Comedians?
SL: Yes, definitely. That's partly deliberate. The difference is there are little bits of them but also bits where someone does a long bit like Apollo, say five minutes. One or two people who are brilliant are not best served by the format. Paul Foot and Maeve Higgins were hard to edit. Although a lot of them, like Simon Munnery, talk about really obtuse things but also have a lot of good jokes. Simon was great. He's like Barry Cryer. The other thing I had in the back of my mind was The Wheeltappers and Shunters Social Club, but a non-racist version.
BD: Could your style of stand-up have fitted in?
SL: If I'd done an hour you could have got 20 minutes out of it.
BD: Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is coming back for two more series isn't it?
SL: The BBC is in a constant feedback loop between audience approval ratings and veiwing figures. Either they can't justify it because of the ratings or they have to recommission it because it justifies the spending of public money.
BD: Have you ever played Hammersmith Apollo or the O2?
SL: I've done benefits at Hammersmith, but I haven't seen anyone there since Billy Connolly 20 years ago. I've never been to O2. I'd like to see Louis CK [this interview was done before he added Hammersmith dates to his 02 date], but the sad thing is I won't be able to disassociate seeing him from being in that room. I could do the O2 Arena three times given my sales figures at Leicester Square 45,000 over three months. but I'm not sure if the people who like me would go.
BD: Doing a long run rather than one big night is very time-consuming though isn't it?
SL: It's difficult with kids because I missed bedtime for three months, but it's not going down the pit is it.
BD: Are you in or out of fashion at the moment?
SL: All the people who hate me have just given up complaining about me. This year the British Comedy Awards did a promotional cartoon of ex award winners and I wasn't in it despite the fact that I won two awards last year. I've managed to not be in that world, I couldn't have engineered it better. I didn't want supernova thing, I want to be more like Dave Allen, just come back every couple of years.
BD: Would you ever do something like Jerry Springer The Opera again?
SL: I just dropped out of something similar and don't think I'll do it again. I was really lucky to be asked to do it but the bigger it got the harder it was to keep control of the nuanced tone and the marketing which was problematic. It was sold in a way we didn't want - "prepare to be shocked" - which came back to bite us. We didn't anticipate it being controversial when we started doing it at Battersea Arts Centre
BD: You are not a big fan of collaborations like that are you?
SL: I'm a control freak. I never want to work with more than one other person. To be honest I often don't even agree with myself. Financially it's not worth it either. I'm trying to get enough money for the kids before I die and it is not worth it.
BD: What is it like having your wife (Bridget Christie) on the show?
SL: Bridget would be on anyone's list for a programme like that. She should be on it, but she felt she had to be twice as good to avoid it looking like....people tend to like her a lot more until they find out she's my wife. People that don't like her think she's only getting 40 seater rooms because I've put the word in! I think it definitely hold her back. Standing next to me is like standing next to a light everyone is looking at. In one show she's written a routine about her husband doing something and a reviewer said 'typical, the only funny thing was a bit her husband Stewart Lee had said,' but of course she had written that. I think when her radio series comes out it will be so good it will start to settle down.
BD: Do you ever discuss using something that has happened to you together?
SL: Sometimes a thing will happen and we have to decide "who has it?" Some day when it doesn't matter any more we might both do a routine about our honeymoon, the same stories told in my way and her way.
BD: What's next?
SL: Bridget is on tour from February so I'm looking after the children. Then I'll be in Edinburgh and at the Leicester Square Theatre with a show called Much A-Stew About Nothing, which will be developing material for the next series of Comedy Vehicle. 90 minutes a night, in three half hour blocks, so that by December I'll have six half hour blocks. | might try to do one of the episodes as not me, and have me interviewing me.
BD: What has happened to your plan to do your Michael McIntyre "cover version" show?
SL: I'd love to do it, but I've got my own stuff to do for now.
BD: You must be one of the few comedians who have managed to resist joining Twitter.
SL: It's just another background noise I have to deal with. I can't look after two children and have to think of this. A lot of people on Twitter hate me, R4 said to Bridget should open an account for her new programme, but there are people out there who say 'you should be sexually mutilated,' Why open that floodgate?
BD: This isn't a show about creating new stars though is it?
SL: There is a difference between being good and being a star. That's what this show is about, that there is some relationship between popularity and quality which there is but doesn't have to be.
BD: Tony Law (right) is on a bit of a roll at the moment though, isn't he?
SL: About 18 months ago he just clicked. He's like Robin Williams. A synthesis of Noel Fielding and Harry Hill, all these thing come together to make a new thing. And Josie Long is the sort of person who people maintain don't exist any more. Funny but political and absolutely uncompromising.
BD: Will it get people to go to comedy clubs? The club scene has changed a lot since you started.
SL: Live by the alcopop, die by the alcopop. As the chain clubs expanded their remit changed from comedy to food, alcohol and dancing and the comedy became incidental. Promoters of smaller rooms will tell you there isn't enough audience to go around, but clubs like Alternative Comedy Memorial Society and Lolitics are always sold out irrespective of who is on. They trust that brand. It is actually so much healthier than America. Here you can build a coherent show, not just a seven minute act to get onto Tv so that you can et a sitcom.
BD: TACE and ACMS feel like the spearhead of a punk-style reaction. The Sex Pistols and The Clash to Michael McIntyre and Peter Kay's Pink Floyd and Rolling Stones.
SL: For every action there's a reaction. You need to let them know that there is another sort of stand-up. My original press release said "do you hate all stand-up on television?"
BD: People just need to know there is an alternative...
SL: During the first series of Comedy Vehicle I was in a children's playground in Malvern and a man came up to me and said 'I really like your TV programme. I hated Jongleurs and thought I'd never go to a comedy club again. I didn't know people were doing that stuff live.'
Stewart Lee
2013-02-02T21:11:28+00:00
You won't see much of Stewart Lee in his latest TV series starting on February 5. He is executive producer/curator of Comedy Central's The Alternative Comedy Experience and only crops up briefly interviewing the acts between their appearances. The real stars of the show are the acts - 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, and MAEVE HIGGINS. A lot of the acts are established Edinburgh Fringe favourites, but they usually only get on television by appearing on panel shows and rarely get to do their proper stand-up material in the proper context. I spoke to Lee (left, picture by Steve Ullathorne) about the show, the way that big agencies dominate the TV comedy scene and about other things Lee has been up to in the past and will be up in the future. A feature on the subject appeared in the Evening Standard and you can read that here, but what follows is a full unexpurgated transcript of the interview. BD: Tell me the background to The Alternative Comedy Experience? SL: I can talk about it immodestly as I'm not in it. About 3 years ago I pitched an idea not dissimilar to BBC4 which was turned down. It featured loads of people critics and comedians think are the best comedians and they tend not to be on those er..those programmes, not just that one. Sometimes they are on television but not at their best if they are. Then at the same time Colin Dench, who produced my DVD got a job a comedy Central He had been at The Stand with Tim Kirkby, who directed Comedy Vehicle,...
With his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle winning a surprise recommission, the comedian talks to Paul Whitelaw about TV's stand-up boom and the art of compromising
Despite airing in 2009 to strong critical acclaim, a Bafta nomination and a loyal audience for post-watershed comedy on BBC2, it wasn't always certain whether the first series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle would receive an encore.
“I assumed it wasn't happening," admits Lee, who has clocked up more than 20 years on the comedy circuit and an on-off relationship with radio and TV. “I don't think it's wise to apply any reason or expectation to a commissioning process in broadcasting.
“You have to view it rather like a weather system: if rain falls on you, it doesn't mean the weather hates you; and if the sun shines on you, it doesn't mean the weather likes you. It's just weather."
The series averaged just under 1 million viewers in a 10pm slot and, some months later, controller Janice Hadlow invited Lee for what he assumed would be a diplomatic let-down.
“But she told us about this vision of carving out a slot for a certain kind of comedy post-Newsnight, whereby you could do clever or weird stuff but you didn't have to be in competition with things that people actually found entertaining." He smiles at his own back-handed interpretation of the brief. “And that suited me down to the ground."
Original vision
Series one mixed lengthy routines in a comedy club setting with illustrative sketches of his routines, performed by TV comedy veterans including Kevin Eldon and Paul Putner. But Lee is optimistic that the tone of series two is more in tune with his original vision.
“There aren't any sketches because of budget cuts, but I would've dropped them anyway; I've decided to focus on my strengths. Instead of trying to sugar the pill and make it more accessible, I've just got to get on with it now. You either like it or you don't."
Whereas series one was a fairly straight forward attempt to capture the intimacy of a comedy club enivronment, series two revels in the more unpredictable aspects of that platform. “Because we've got a bit more breathing space later at night, we've been able to include things where routines were received badly, or people walked out, or stuff appears to fail."
Lee has avoided TV ubiquity as a way of freeing himself creatively, and it's hardly surprising that he's sceptical about TV's current stand-up boom. “Part of why stand-up works on TV at the moment is that there are a lot of people who are very good at doing very accessible material," he says.
“But television tends not to favour the brave. On the one hand, the man on the street has an understanding of what the conventions of stand-up are, which should presumably mean that, if you're like me, you can mess around with them and people will realise what you're doing.
“The problem with it is that it's also establishing a fairly homogenised idea of what stand-up should be. I worry that the public now think you're supposed to be a cheery person coming on and talking about buses." Lee also points out that, rather than introduce audiences to a wide range of new circuit comedians, the likes of BBC One's Live At The Apollo and Channel 4's Stand Up For the Week tend to feature the same artists.
Diplomatically mentioning no names, he says: “There is a hegemony of certain management personalities who also control production companies, funnelling their own talent through those outlets.
“Not all stand-up benefi ts from being presented as if it were the Rolling Stones. To some extent, you have to look like you're an unwanted outsider, especially if you slag people off and moan about stuff, otherwise it's very easy to appear like a bully.
“Part of why people objected to Frankie Boyle saying particular things is because he's now the sort of person we see in an expensive suit on Live At The Apollo. But if he was able to control the perception of himself as someone who's a sort of angry weirdo, people would see it as coming from this sort of character place." But Lee is nevertheless realistic about the privileged position that TV bestows upon performers and has no problem with exercising a little selfcensorship to fit the medium.
Alternative outlets
“There are a lot of people complaining about what they can't do on television, but a lot of those people have got other outlets.
“Frankie Boyle complains about what you can and cannot say on TV. But you can talk to millions of people, so use the telly fee to write some other material for your live shows. In my last tour, I had a 45-minute routine about Top Gear that I doubt I'd be able to do on TV. But I wouldn't have tried to. I'd just do something else if there was a compliance issue.
“All sorts of people want to smash up the BBC; you don't want to hand them the means to do it by quibbling over small things. If people like what I do and they'd like to see more contentious things covered, then I do perform live for about 200 nights a year."
While Lee accepts that it's increasingly difficult to present yourself as a marginal figure after attaining a level of genuine popularity, he cautiously predicts the long-term benefits of standing apart from his TV peers.
“While I'm happy to benefit from the overspill of the stand-up boom, I also think the main thing for me is to keep my head down, so hopefully I'll still be standing here."
Stewart Lee On…
Chris Morris' approach to script editing
“It's strange: normally the script editing process is about putting ticks and crosses next to lines, but we just talked for a week and he helped arrive at a better tone.
There's a great bit in one episode where I was trying to think of things that observational comedians might say; he suggested something about how in fish tanks at the dentist, why are there always tiny statues of Napoleon? That feels like it might be true, but you're not sure. Chris has a gift for things like that."
Improvising with Armando Iannucci
“Being on TV naturally confers a status on you. So the great thing about the Armando interviews is that we explicitly stage-managed improvisations so that I would always be on the defensive while he represented a voice of criticism or authority. Even though I still maintain this semi-high-status stage persona, there's this secondary thread that undermines me.
That achieves something that I always do live: throw the gig at some point, so that I lower my status, so hopefully when I make criticisms of things, they appear to come from a slightly different place."
Tailoring his material due to critical response
“During the last series, I looked online to see what people didn't like about me, so I thought I'd do more of that. One of the criticisms was that there were no jokes, so the whole fi rst episode is about how there are no jokes, and you might as well stop expecting any because there aren't going to be any. It's not going to get any better."
Fact File
STEWART LEE
TV and radio career
1991 Writer, On The Hour, BBC Radio 4
1993-1995 Writer/performer, Fist Of Fun, BBC2 (with Richard Herring)
1998-1999 Writer/performer, This Morning With Richard Not Judy,BBC2 (with Richard Herring)
2005 Broadcast of stage musical Jerry Springer: The Opera, BBC2 (co-written with Richard Thomas)
2006 Presenter, Stewart Lee Says What's So Bad About Blasphemy?, Channel 5
2009-present Writer/performer, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, BBC2
Stewart Lee
2011-04-27T22:34:18+01:00
With his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle winning a surprise recommission, the comedian talks to Paul Whitelaw about TV's stand-up boom and the art of compromising Despite airing in 2009 to strong critical acclaim, a Bafta nomination and a loyal audience for post-watershed comedy on BBC2, it wasn't always certain whether the first series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle would receive an encore. “I assumed it wasn't happening," admits Lee, who has clocked up more than 20 years on the comedy circuit and an on-off relationship with radio and TV. “I don't think it's wise to apply any reason or expectation to a commissioning process in broadcasting. “You have to view it rather like a weather system: if rain falls on you, it doesn't mean the weather hates you; and if the sun shines on you, it doesn't mean the weather likes you. It's just weather." The series averaged just under 1 million viewers in a 10pm slot and, some months later, controller Janice Hadlow invited Lee for what he assumed would be a diplomatic let-down. “But she told us about this vision of carving out a slot for a certain kind of comedy post-Newsnight, whereby you could do clever or weird stuff but you didn't have to be in competition with things that people actually found entertaining." He smiles at his own back-handed interpretation of the brief. “And that suited me down to the ground." Original vision Series one mixed lengthy routines in a comedy club setting with illustrative sketches of his routines, performed by TV comedy veterans including Kevin Eldon and Paul Putner. But Lee is optimistic that the tone of series two is more in tune with his original vision. “There aren't any sketches because of budget cuts, but I would've dropped them anyway; I've decided...
An extremely crisp 2018 live recording of THE SEEN's tribute to the free improvisation drummer John Stevens, we me doing the spoken word bit.
Mark Wastell has been organising larger formations of musicians, collectively known as THE SEEN for over a eighteen years. 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.
The origins of this piece date back to the 1st December 1991. I’d attended an all day concert at the Red Rose Theatre in Finsbury Park, London - a benefit gig for Terry Day - featuring dozens of musicians in various groupings throughout the afternoon and evening. One of those musicians was John Stevens. This was my first exposure to John and his music and the beginning of a fascination still very much part of my everyday. John performed three times that afternoon; with his Spontaneous Music Ensemble - comprising Nigel Coombes and Roger Smith later joined by Maggie Nicols and Phil Minton, in a trio with Larry Stabbins and Paul Rogers and in an unaccompanied role, reciting a text composed by himself. He gave no introduction or back story to the piece. It just existed as is. Gone in a few fleeting moments. A couple of years later I secured an audience recording of the concert made by Andy Isham. All of John’s activity that day was on the recording and through repeated listening over the...more
credits
released September 24, 2021
Chris Burn : piano
Stewart Lee : reading
Jennifer Allum : violin
Dominic Lash - double bass
Bertrand Denzler : tenor saxophone
Henry Bowers-Broadbent : electric piano
Mark Wastell : tam tam, harmonium
Words by John Stevens
Recorded at Cafe OTO, London, 3 January 2018
Stewart Lee
2021-11-11T11:47:26+00:00
An extremely crisp 2018 live recording of THE SEEN's tribute to the free improvisation drummer John Stevens, we me doing the spoken word bit. Mark Wastell has been organising larger formations of musicians, collectively known as THE SEEN for over a eighteen years. 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. The origins of this piece date back to the 1st December 1991. I’d attended an all day concert at the Red Rose Theatre in Finsbury Park, London - a benefit gig for Terry Day - featuring dozens of musicians in various groupings throughout the afternoon and evening. One of those musicians was John Stevens. This was my first exposure to John and his music and the beginning of a fascination still very much part of my everyday. John performed three times that afternoon; with his Spontaneous Music Ensemble - comprising Nigel Coombes and Roger Smith later joined by Maggie Nicols and Phil Minton, in a trio with Larry Stabbins and Paul Rogers and in an unaccompanied role, reciting a text composed by himself. He gave no introduction or back story to the piece. It just existed as is. Gone in a few fleeting moments. A couple of years later I secured an audience recording of the concert made by Andy Isham. All of John’s activity that day was on the recording and through repeated listening over the... more credits released September 24, 2021 Chris Burn : piano Stewart Lee : reading Jennifer Allum : violin Dominic Lash - double bass Bertrand Denzler : tenor saxophone Henry Bowers-Broadbent : electric piano Mark Wastell : tam tam, harmonium Words by John Stevens Recorded at Cafe OTO, London, 3 January 2018
In 2011, Nigel Farage co-chaired the Europe of Freedom and Democracy grouping with Italy’s Francesco Speroni, who described the Norwegian white supremacist mass murderer and unlikely celebrity Top Gear fan Anders Behring Breivik as someone whose “ideas are in defence of western civilisation”. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Do Ant and Dec believe Breivik’s July 2011 shooting of 69 people, most of them teenagers, on the island of Utøya represented a defence of western civilisation? Do Ant and Dec, like Breivik, think Top Gear is “one of the funniest shows on TV… and one of the very few programmes at the Burka Broadcasting Corporation still worth seeing”, or do they prefer Bill Burr’s new anti-woke movie, Old Dads?
In 2017, Farage was invited to address the Alternative für Deutschland party by Beatrix von Storch, the granddaughter of Hitler’s finance minister and a woman who said German border guards should be allowed to shoot migrants (an attitude she shares with Rwanda, treaty or no treaty). Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Do Ant and Dec have a joint view on whether it is right to shoot migrants, or do their opinions differ? Would they like to meet Hitler’s friend’s granddaughter?
Farage has been happy, repeatedly, to guest on Infowars with the far-right American conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who said that the climate crisis is a hoax initiated by the World Bank, that the Sandy Hook elementary school massacre in Connecticut was faked and that the US government is drugging the water supply to make men gay. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Does Dec believe that the American government is drugging water to gay men up? Does Ant have any opinion about gay water?
In 2016, Brexiters such as Farage claimed Brexit would reduce NHS waiting lists, increase education funding, reduce food costs, boost housing stock, control borders, and strengthen fishing and farming. None of those things happened. And the rivers are full of unregulated post-Brexit shit too. And Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Dec looks very clean, but perhaps Ant likes to swim in human excrement. I expect so.
As a teenaged army cadet and Enoch Powell fan, Farage reportedly marched through a Sussex village chanting Hitler youth songs and was recalled by an old schoolfriend singing an unattributed verse beginning: “Gas them all, gas ’em all, gas them all!” While denying the specifics, Farage argues, not entirely unreasonably, that the mid-80s were a volatile time, when people “were attracted to extreme groups on both sides of the debate”. But what specific debate was that, exactly, one wonders? The debate over whether people should be gassed? And what was the “other side” in that debate? The side that believed people shouldn’t be gassed? To be fair, teenagers often don’t understand the seriousness of what they are saying. Nonetheless, Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Does the show’s sponsor, Tombola, believe it’s acceptable to gas people? Do Ant and Dec have different views on the matter, democratically echoing both sides of the debate?
In 2016, Farage’s Ukip released a poster of Syrian refugees, captioned “breaking point”, widely viewed, by Unison and the archbishop of Canterbury, for example, as inadvertently echoing Nazi propaganda and likely to incite racial hatred. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Does Tombola feel Nazi undertones in political advertising are acceptable? Does Ant? Is Dec ambivalent?
In How They Broke Britain, James O’Brien points out, perhaps tendentiously, as is his right, that within hours of the “breaking point” poster being unveiled, the remain-supporting MP Jo Cox had been fatally stabbed and shot in the street by a white supremacist terrorist; and that a week later, Farage boasted, his short-term memory perhaps damaged by the terrible 2010 crash he suffered while flying a Ukip banner through some clouds, that Brexit had been achieved “without a single shot being fired”. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Does Ant share Farage’s view that Brexit was achieved without a single shot being fired? Perhaps Dec believes that Jo Cox was, on some level, a casualty of the charged atmosphere the leave campaign fostered? Who knows?
The problem with having Farage on I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! is that most of the jungle twats, and the two perma-grinning apologist pricks who present it, do not have the ability, or the inclination, to offer even the gentlest of informed criticism of Farage’s untenable political positions and unsavoury historical associations. Farage may as well be on BBC News with a bunch of acquiescent BBC News journalists. Thus, ITV provides an uncritical platform for a dangerous demagogue to present himself as a man of the people without being held to account in any meaningful way, paving his way to power. Sound familiar? The Apprentice gave America Donald Trump and Have I Got News for Yougave Britain Boris Johnson. If another political assassination follows Farage’s further ascent, Dec will have blood on his hands and Ant will have blood on his face. Yes. I meant to say that. As the blood spatters, see, I imagine both Ant and Dec instinctively trying to shield their faces, but that Ant’s reaction time would be a little slower.
Stewart Lee
2023-11-26T20:31:18+00:00
In 2011, Nigel Farage co-chaired the Europe of Freedom and Democracy grouping with Italy’s Francesco Speroni, who described the Norwegian white supremacist mass murderer and unlikely celebrity Top Gear fan Anders Behring Breivik as someone whose “ideas are in defence of western civilisation”. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Do Ant and Dec believe Breivik’s July 2011 shooting of 69 people, most of them teenagers, on the island of Utøya represented a defence of western civilisation? Do Ant and Dec, like Breivik, think Top Gear is “one of the funniest shows on TV… and one of the very few programmes at the Burka Broadcasting Corporation still worth seeing”, or do they prefer Bill Burr’s new anti-woke movie, Old Dads? In 2017, Farage was invited to address the Alternative für Deutschland party by Beatrix von Storch, the granddaughter of Hitler’s finance minister and a woman who said German border guards should be allowed to shoot migrants (an attitude she shares with Rwanda, treaty or no treaty). Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! with Ant and Dec. Do Ant and Dec have a joint view on whether it is right to shoot migrants, or do their opinions differ? Would they like to meet Hitler’s friend’s granddaughter? Farage has been happy, repeatedly, to guest on Infowars with the far-right American conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who said that the climate crisis is a hoax initiated by the World Bank, that the Sandy Hook elementary school massacre in Connecticut was faked and that the US government is drugging the water supply to make men gay. Farage has received £1.5m to appear on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity … Get Me...
You'll know Hazlewood from the hits he penned for Nancy Sinatra, including These Boots Were Made For Walking.
But this collection of lost singles reveals a great pop auteur, who constructed for himself a versatile degenerate cowboy poet character, equal parts Johnny Cash and Paul Verlaine.
As usual, Hazlewood plays opposite a string of angelically voiced female foils, over songs that embrace the swirling psychedelic colour schemes of the period, suddenly blooming from mock heroic parody into genuine profundity, whist remaining recognisably within a timeless tin-pan alley tradition.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-15T20:15:27+01:00
You'll know Hazlewood from the hits he penned for Nancy Sinatra, including These Boots Were Made For Walking. But this collection of lost singles reveals a great pop auteur, who constructed for himself a versatile degenerate cowboy poet character, equal parts Johnny Cash and Paul Verlaine. As usual, Hazlewood plays opposite a string of angelically voiced female foils, over songs that embrace the swirling psychedelic colour schemes of the period, suddenly blooming from mock heroic parody into genuine profundity, whist remaining recognisably within a timeless tin-pan alley tradition.
Dave Marshy lives in N16 and works for Foxley’s, a large estate agent with branches all over London. He is 29 years old.
Every morning I go down to Starbucks for a coffee and a tiny biscuit. It used to be a second hand bookshop, but we hiked up the rent and sold it to Starbucks because N16 is ‘on the up’. I prefer coffee to books. Books are all the same - loads of lines and symbols and pieces of paper all stuck together. Once you have looked at a book it is done with and you have to throw it in the bin with the others. But there are loads of different kinds of coffee. Black, white, instant. Some people at Uni used to read books. Where are they now? Teaching. In Zone 6! Losers.
Next I drive to work at Islington Green in one of our green Foxley’s BMW Minis. Last year was the thirtieth anniversary of punk rock, which was invented here in London at The Screen On The Green in 1976. The city became a world centre of culture and fashion, adding at least 40% to current property values. To celebrate punk we had the entire fleet of Foxley’s BMW Minis decorated in a standardised Punk Rock livery. On the boot it says ‘Punk Is Not Dead’, and there can be no greater indication of punk’s ongoing importance than its adoption as a brand recognition tool by a vibrant estate agent like Foxley’s. An old punk stuck his head through the window when I was in a traffic jam on Essex Road and spat in my face. For a moment, I fell silent. As the spit dribbled down my chin, I realised that I deserved it.
Things like this seem to happen more and more often. Once I was showing a client round a live-work space in Cannonbury and she asked if there was access to the shared garden and I just looked at her and said, “What does it matter? It’s just property. We’re all prisoners. Prisoners of London! Do you think I wanted to be a Foxley’s estate agent? Isn’t there a country you’ve always wanted to visit? Let’s go! Let’s go there together now!” And then she walked out of the flat silently and drove away, leaving me there alone, staring at a crumpled up copy of London Lite.
Sometimes I forget that I am actually at work. Foxley’s has been designed to look like a cool Shoreditch type bar. There’s no boring desks or annoying chairs, just a long chrome fridge full of beer and energy drinks, and XFM piped in on a loop for ever and ever and ever and ever. Buying a home at Foxley’s is as much fun as spending the whole weekend at Jongelurs with all your mates from the office, drinking and laughing and drinking and laughing, with the music in the after-show club just too loud to hear what anyone is saying but you still manange to get off with the new girl and she hates herself for it and she hates you too and you realise London is Hell and that’s why you’re here. You’re a Foxley’s estate agent. It’s what you deserve.
After work, I go home and look at myself in the mirror and think about property prices, and my genital warts, and my impotence, and my cocaine problem and then I smash my head repeatedly into the mirror, crying and vomitting and remembering the hopes and dreams I entertained as a child. I used to play the French horn. Then I go to bed and dream of RATS TEARING MY FACE OFF! The next day I get up and go to Starbucks. And it all starts all over again.
Dave Marshy was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-01-23T16:48:53+00:00
Dave Marshy lives in N16 and works for Foxley’s, a large estate agent with branches all over London. He is 29 years old. Every morning I go down to Starbucks for a coffee and a tiny biscuit. It used to be a second hand bookshop, but we hiked up the rent and sold it to Starbucks because N16 is ‘on the up’. I prefer coffee to books. Books are all the same - loads of lines and symbols and pieces of paper all stuck together. Once you have looked at a book it is done with and you have to throw it in the bin with the others. But there are loads of different kinds of coffee. Black, white, instant. Some people at Uni used to read books. Where are they now? Teaching. In Zone 6! Losers. Next I drive to work at Islington Green in one of our green Foxley’s BMW Minis. Last year was the thirtieth anniversary of punk rock, which was invented here in London at The Screen On The Green in 1976. The city became a world centre of culture and fashion, adding at least 40% to current property values. To celebrate punk we had the entire fleet of Foxley’s BMW Minis decorated in a standardised Punk Rock livery. On the boot it says ‘Punk Is Not Dead’, and there can be no greater indication of punk’s ongoing importance than its adoption as a brand recognition tool by a vibrant estate agent like Foxley’s. An old punk stuck his head through the window when I was in a traffic jam on Essex Road and spat in my face. For a moment, I fell silent. As the spit dribbled down my chin, I realised that I deserved it. Things like this seem to happen more and more...
I know you do not sign up to this list for my opinions but this has been an important week for comedy.
The time line goes like this;
MONDAY - New BBC DG Tim Davie announces that on Thursday he will make a speech about how the BBC must include diverse viewpoints.
TUESDAY - The Conservatives' newspaper The Daily Telegraph says "BBC insiders" have said Davie wants to crack down on "left wing" comedy, citing Mock The Week, HIGNFY and Nish as examples. This story is picked up, as if it were fact not speculation, by all other right wing papers, and others that should know better, framing a debate in news, on-line and social media about how there is too much 'left wing' comedy entirely on terms already dictated by right wing media and the Conservatives. People who should know better participate in these debates despite the fact there is no hard evidence that Tim Davie intends his crack down on comedy.
THURSDAY - Tim Davie does his actual speech. He praises FLEABAG and THIS COUNTRY and says nothing of a crackdown on comedy. His speech did not contain the points and threats the Telegraph specifically, and right wing media (i.e the media) generally said 'BBC insiders' had told them it did. Who were these 'BBC insiders'?
After the speech Davie does an in-house BBC webcast where he is asked about his crackdown on left-wing comedy. He says, "Reading some of the commentary is ridiculous. Comedy has always been poking at authority. If a particular government is in charge you probably do get a bit more edge against those in power, that’s how it works. And, by the way, I want good satire on the BBC. I like being adventurous." He says he has no idea where the story came from. Let us help him. It came from The Telegraph and The Conservatives, dishonestly fanning the flames of a culture war to distract from the Covid-Brexit government's many failings.
By the time this clarification leaks out to the only media source interested in covering it (Chortle, below) the damage has been done. The deliberate suggestion has been planted, by a client media, that comedy is too left wing and will be clamped down on.
In short. DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT THE RIGHT WING PRESS TELL YOU ABOUT ANYTHING. If they can lie like this about something like comedy, what else are they lying about? Everything, presumably.
There's no war on left-wing comedy, says new BBC boss
But Tim Davie DOES want a wider range of viewpoints on air
New BBC director-general Tim Davie has dismissed ‘nonsense’ and ‘ridiculous’ speculation that he wants to shut down left-wing comedy.
A debate on the Corporation’s comedy output has been raging all week since the Daily Telegraph suggested some satirical shows could be axed if they failed to redress a perceived political bias.
In his first public speech in the job yesterday, Mr Davie – who was once deputy chairman of a local Conservative party in London – did not address the issue.
But in an interview broadcast internally to BBC staff, and obtained by Chortle, he offered reassurances that comics would still be allowed to bash the Conservative government.
However, he did say he wanted to ‘to nurture brilliant writers from all kind of perspectives’ and hear a wider variety of viewpoints - which might suggest allowing more pro-Tory, pro-Brexit gags if he felt they weren’t sufficiently represented on air.
When asked directly about him addressing bias in comedy, Davie said: ‘I’ve no idea where that came from.
‘Reading some of the commentary is ridiculous. Comedy has always been poking at authority. If a particular government is in charge you probably do get a bit more edge against those in power, that’s how it works. And, by the way, I want good satire on the BBC. I like being adventurous.
‘What I do think though, is the same as my framework for overall impartiality. The BBC should not come from a platform from when there’s an assumed point of view. It’s not just about left and right, it’s different people.’
He likened his aims to the publicly stated policy of ensuring there was always at least one woman on panel shows.
‘We didn’t have enough diversity on our panels. We did it [addressed it], it’s brilliant and it adds more flavour,’ he said.
‘I would like a multitude of flavours in our comedy. It’s not about stopping one [side]… that’s just nonsense.’
DEAR ALL I know you do not sign up to this list for my opinions but this has been an important week for comedy. The time line goes like this; MONDAY - New BBC DG Tim Davie announces that on Thursday he will make a speech about how the BBC must include diverse viewpoints. TUESDAY - The Conservatives' newspaper The Daily Telegraph says "BBC insiders" have said Davie wants to crack down on "left wing" comedy, citing Mock The Week, HIGNFY and Nish as examples. This story is picked up, as if it were fact not speculation, by all other right wing papers, and others that should know better, framing a debate in news, on-line and social media about how there is too much 'left wing' comedy entirely on terms already dictated by right wing media and the Conservatives. People who should know better participate in these debates despite the fact there is no hard evidence that Tim Davie intends his crack down on comedy. THURSDAY - Tim Davie does his actual speech. He praises FLEABAG and THIS COUNTRY and says nothing of a crackdown on comedy. His speech did not contain the points and threats the Telegraph specifically, and right wing media (i.e the media) generally said 'BBC insiders' had told them it did. Who were these 'BBC insiders'? After the speech Davie does an in-house BBC webcast where he is asked about his crackdown on left-wing comedy. He says, "Reading some of the commentary is ridiculous. Comedy has always been poking at authority. If a particular government is in charge you probably do get a bit more edge against those in power, that’s how it works. And, by the way, I want good satire on the BBC. I like being adventurous." He says he has no idea where...
WHEN you bill your show as “If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One" it pays to be at least a bit shocking.
In last night's performance, there were a few uses of the C-word, a sketch about the Queen's privates (I don't mean her army) but apart from those Stewart Lee was about as startling as an accountant reading the Financial Times.
Oh, there was the bit when he said he wished Richard Hammond had died when he crashed his jet-powered car and that Jeremy Clarkson's daughters should all be blinded.
But that was because he was belabouring a point about Top Gear being unforgivingly unpolitically correct, and anyway those jokes had already been reported in the papers.
Well, he had a point.
Some of what Clarkson says in between jibing celebrities about their bad driving and undertaking madcap adventures is grossly offensive, but that doesn't necessarily make it good material for stand-up. Actually, it sort of does, but not when you drag it out for so long that the joke becomes so familiar it's no longer funny.
Despite there not being enough material for a 70-minute set, there were some good sketches - the faux pas of inviting a real pirate to a date at a pirate adventure castle activity centre; being accused of trying to steal two-ninths of a cup of coffee from Cafe Nero.
Lee was funniest in the parts of the show specific to Liverpool, commenting on the so-called art works covering the boarded-up houses on Edge Lane and relating a visit to comedian Jimmy Tarbuck's home.
Maybe he's too likeable to be shocking, or maybe, as he comments at one point, there are simply no taboos left in comedy.
Perhaps it's because his most extreme material has had the sting taken out of it by over-exposure in the media.
But, ultimately, you can ask for a milder comedian - but you might struggle to find one.
Stewart Lee
2009-11-20T16:11:07+00:00
WHEN you bill your show as “If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One" it pays to be at least a bit shocking. In last night's performance, there were a few uses of the C-word, a sketch about the Queen's privates (I don't mean her army) but apart from those Stewart Lee was about as startling as an accountant reading the Financial Times. Oh, there was the bit when he said he wished Richard Hammond had died when he crashed his jet-powered car and that Jeremy Clarkson's daughters should all be blinded. But that was because he was belabouring a point about Top Gear being unforgivingly unpolitically correct, and anyway those jokes had already been reported in the papers. Well, he had a point. Some of what Clarkson says in between jibing celebrities about their bad driving and undertaking madcap adventures is grossly offensive, but that doesn't necessarily make it good material for stand-up. Actually, it sort of does, but not when you drag it out for so long that the joke becomes so familiar it's no longer funny. Despite there not being enough material for a 70-minute set, there were some good sketches - the faux pas of inviting a real pirate to a date at a pirate adventure castle activity centre; being accused of trying to steal two-ninths of a cup of coffee from Cafe Nero. Lee was funniest in the parts of the show specific to Liverpool, commenting on the so-called art works covering the boarded-up houses on Edge Lane and relating a visit to comedian Jimmy Tarbuck's home. Maybe he's too likeable to be shocking, or maybe, as he comments at one point, there are simply no taboos left in comedy. Perhaps it's because his most extreme material has had the sting taken out...
I am a travelling entertainer. I spent decades in secondhand bookshops in shabby sidestreets, filling the sick-stomach void between station and show with palliative possibility, panning for gold. Somewhere at the end of the last millennium, a few measly pounds bought me a signed first edition of the Irish travelogue The Crying of the Wind (1954), simply because I liked the accompanying archaeological etchings of its author, one Ithell Colquhoun. More than 20 years later, it’s £300 unendorsed on eBay, I got to write the introductions to the 2016 reprint, and a lifelong fascination with this most mysterious of pan-disciplinary artist-writer-mystic saw me asked to be an unworthy speaker at the launch of an exhibition pairing her paintings with work for sale by comparable contemporary artists at Unit London, Song of Songs. Colquhoun and I, it seems, are trapped in the same cramped Ford Fiesta on Google’s algorithmic roundabout, and I very much doubt she is at all happy about it. But who was Ithell Colquhoun, what inspired the fecund fleshy forms and prehistoric undulations of her work, and how is she creeping back into the collective consciousness?
Amy Hale, author of the most recent Colquhoun study, Genius of the Fern Loved Gully, explains: “Historically, surrealism has been utterly dominated by big male personalities. Women were thought of as either muses or monsters who may have been artists on the side, but they can no longer be relegated to those roles. Self-promotion takes swagger and bravado. Colquhoun was quite terrible at it.”
She’s right. Your heart goes out to her. The Crying of the Wind depicts a woman in retreat from life – at one point it alludes elliptically to Colquhoun’s split from the Italian surrealist Toni del Renzio via a lone remark that her wedding ring has outlasted her marriage – and yet her story is told as if automatically, landscapes and apparently random observations doing all the heavy lifting. And Colquhoun’s artwork is rarely figuratively explicit, illustrating instead the complexities of our inner mental turbulence. For Song of Songs’ curator, Rachael Thomas, it is telling that Colquhoun’s will copyrighted her works to the Samaritans, and mental health charities are the partial beneficiaries of any Unit London sales.
Born in India to a British military family in 1906, Colquhoun splices aspects of an adopted Celtic identity with surrealist techniques. The Indo-Caribbean multidisciplinary artist Suchitra Mattai, who shows five collages in Song of Songs, agrees that such cross-cultural pollination provokes an almost accidental surrealism. “I use imagery from Indian folktales, memory and oral tales passed down to me from my Guyanese Indian family. I study the patterns and palettes of Indian miniatures and textiles but am steeped in contemporary themes of gender and postcolonialism. For me the ‘accidental surrealism’ emerges through a juxtaposition of disparate materials. I reconcile my layered past through seemingly harmonic compositions. My Indian, Guyanese, Canadian and American identities create a mashup of oddities emerging from memory, myth and history and parallel Ithell’s transnational experiences.”
Clare Ormerod’s textiles shadow the occult abstractions of Colquhoun’s paintings. Years after she had become aware of Colquhoun she discovered the artist had visited her husband’s ancestral home, Huntington Castle in Ireland’s County Carlow, the cellar of which houses an ancient sacred well dedicated to St Brigid, the Catholic church’s cannibalisation of the Celtic goddess of the same name. “In the 70s my husband’s great-aunt, Oliva Robertson, initiated Ithell Colquhoun as a priestess of the Fellowship of Isis, the divine feminine religion that is based in the castle dungeons.”
This kind of information can cloud Colquhoun for me. I am not a spiritual person – I’m not even convinced that I exist, let alone any gods or goddesses – but sometimes it feels as if the once forgotten trickster surrealist is organising my existence from the great beyond. It appears the schoolboy me, for example, delivered newspapers to the Birmingham surrealist Emmy Bridgwater, the third party in Colquhoun’s failed marriage; I’ve walked the west London suburbs and west Cornwall moors where Colquhoun lived, arriving at guarded conversations with suspicious personalities connected to her; and only last Sunday, as I sat in a crowd of less than 50 in a chapel in west Wales watching the last ever live performance by the folk veteran Meic Stephens, a woman leaned forward to introduce herself as Katell Keineg, the singer due to perform with me at Song of Songs’ opening, 218 miles and five days away.
The polymath Linder Sterling’s sacred not-safe-for-work collages profanely recast Colquhoun’s collisionary assemblages, and channel a punk aesthetic Mojo readers will recognise from her work on seminal 70s sleeves like the Buzzcocks’ Orgasm Addict. Sterling playfully calls the familiar Colquhoun coincidences I’ve experienced “the Hand of Ithell”.
She notes: “I found a large stash of Health and Efficiency magazines in a bookshop in Penzance. The naturist magazines all dated from the last years of Colquhoun’s life. Coincidence? Or the Hand of Ithell at work?” To me these odd intersections show that, despite having been with us all these years, we are suddenly noticing Ithell Colquhoun everywhere. Her time is now.
Stewart Lee
2021-10-11T15:32:54+01:00
I am a travelling entertainer. I spent decades in secondhand bookshops in shabby sidestreets, filling the sick-stomach void between station and show with palliative possibility, panning for gold. Somewhere at the end of the last millennium, a few measly pounds bought me a signed first edition of the Irish travelogue The Crying of the Wind (1954), simply because I liked the accompanying archaeological etchings of its author, one Ithell Colquhoun. More than 20 years later, it’s £300 unendorsed on eBay, I got to write the introductions to the 2016 reprint, and a lifelong fascination with this most mysterious of pan-disciplinary artist-writer-mystic saw me asked to be an unworthy speaker at the launch of an exhibition pairing her paintings with work for sale by comparable contemporary artists at Unit London, Song of Songs. Colquhoun and I, it seems, are trapped in the same cramped Ford Fiesta on Google’s algorithmic roundabout, and I very much doubt she is at all happy about it. But who was Ithell Colquhoun, what inspired the fecund fleshy forms and prehistoric undulations of her work, and how is she creeping back into the collective consciousness? Amy Hale, author of the most recent Colquhoun study, Genius of the Fern Loved Gully, explains: “Historically, surrealism has been utterly dominated by big male personalities. Women were thought of as either muses or monsters who may have been artists on the side, but they can no longer be relegated to those roles. Self-promotion takes swagger and bravado. Colquhoun was quite terrible at it.” She’s right. Your heart goes out to her. The Crying of the Wind depicts a woman in retreat from life – at one point it alludes elliptically to Colquhoun’s split from the Italian surrealist Toni del Renzio via a lone remark that her wedding ring has outlasted her...
On Monday night, with confident impunity, the Conservative party staged a grand ritual reenactment of its “cash for access” ethos, hosting a £20,000-a-table fundraiser at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Lubov Chernukhin, the wife of Vladimir Putin’s former deputy finance minister, and one-time Neighbours star Holly Valance, were among wealth-smeared guests invited to bid for a three-pronged dinner experience with Boris Johnson, David Cameron and Theresa May. The horrific meal, which would doubtless mostly feature May patiently trying to clean up the mess made by Cameron and Johnson, eventually went for £120,000 or the cost of 49,792 school dinners at £2.41 a time.
Given that Nadine Dorries had already blabbed, before the confidence vote earlier this month, on how deeply the party was beholden to its donors, you’d think the Conservatives would now be keen to avoid appearing so conspicuously up for rent and would have held the event somewhere secret, such as the vault storing the unredacted Russia report, Sue Gray’s findings on the Abba party and the rest of Johnson’s unaccounted for children.
But to the Conservatives, the whole world is just a urine-stained phone box, its peeling red paint walls stickered with gaudy advertisements for services available. Peerships? PPE contracts? Peeing? That will do nicely, sir, and would you like to stroke Lulu Lytle’s gold wallpaper too? But wait, my old friend, I am getting ahead of myself. Sit down here a while by the fire and eat this rustic cheese. I would value your opinion on the most curious tale I am about to tell you.
As you may know, during lockdown, the critically acclaimed rockumentary I made with the director Michael Cumming, King Rocker (“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” – the Scotsman), trickled out on to streaming services. Soon, we were the proud recipients of a certificate, personally signed by the then culture secretary Oliver Dowden himself, stating that we had made a “British film” that dealt with “British themes”. We were glad to have contributed towards Brexit Britain’s cultural renaissance and were relieved, in the current climate, not to have made anything that could be considered remotely foreign. But what would we turn our crowdfunded cameras on next?
During my lockdown perambulations, I had become fascinated by various Hackney addresses that had each been occupied, at various times, by different significant cultural figures. Who knew that the same flat above a minicab company in Dalston had, centuries apart, been the home of the radical pamphleteer Daniel Defoe, the radical parents of the radical pre-Raphaelite ceramicist William De Morgan, and the drummer from Britpop-era hit-makers Dodgy?
I posited a cinematic satire of psychogeography in which Dodgy’s 1996 hit Good Enough somehow exerts an influence, backwards through time, on De Morgan’s idealistic decision to join William Morris in aiming to improve ordinary people’s lives with a focus on both beauty and function. “If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me!”
With this idea in mind, I have spent the spare moments of my current standup tour seeking out examples of De Morgan’s work in various provincial collections, the highlight being Guildford’s Watts Gallery (though Bradford Cathedral had some nice De Morgan stained glass), before finally contacting the Victoria and Albert’s head of ceramics, Dr Wilhelmina Mezzotint, in an attempt to gain direct access to some of his finest art. Our idea was to film the drummer from Dodgy beating out the rhythm to Good Enough on one of De Morgan’s now priceless Fulham-fired vases and Mezzotint had seemed amenable. But, old friend, strange forces were to put a stop to our plans.
The Victoria and Albert Museum’s chair is Conservative donor Nicholas Coleridge and its board includes Ben Elliot, the Tory co-chairman, recently exposed as a professional oligarch facilitator, smoothing the London social paths for some of Putin’s closest friends under the auspices of his Quintessentially company. Solidarity with Ukraine!
In a past Conservative fundraiser, one of the auction prizes was a private tour of the museum itself hosted by Coleridge. But the museum is a charitable body owned by the public and its trustees, its charter states, should be politically impartial. Is Coleridge the museum’s pimp and Elliot the man who puts his cards in the telephone boxes? Coleridge and his Conservative friends have made our museum, that grande dame of Kensington, their whore. Poor old duchess in her William Morris wallpapered boudoir! Her knees will not take it. For God’s sake, Coleridge, show some compassion! Have some shame!! This is a temple of culture, not a brothel where you entertain your clients.
In Western Australia, 25 years ago, I took a daytime tourist tour of a still functioning 19th-century frontier bordello in the mining city of Kalgoorlie. Its flocked interior had more dignity than the Victoria and Albert does today, the museum suddenly little more than a filthy corner for the Conservatives to do their foul business, donors slapping dirty cash down on the dressing table as they leave, spent and ashamed.
Mezzotint contacted me in a panic on Tuesday morning. She was Dutch and I had always suspected that once she had found out who I and the drummer from Dodgy were, from more culturally clued-in colleagues, she would deny us access to De Morgan’s pottery and indeed our meeting was off. But not for the reasons I imagined. Mezzotint had come into work that morning to find that the designs were disappearing, before her eyes, from De Morgan’s tiles and vases. Panicked staff tested the air - was some stray chemical stripping the ceramics? - and then mobile phones began buzzing in chorus, as heads of department all over the building reported the sudden and inexplicable deterioration of the artefacts in their care. What could be causing it? Was it something they had done?
Stewart Lee
2022-06-26T14:55:46+01:00
On Monday night, with confident impunity, the Conservative party staged a grand ritual reenactment of its “cash for access” ethos, hosting a £20,000-a-table fundraiser at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Lubov Chernukhin, the wife of Vladimir Putin’s former deputy finance minister, and one-time Neighbours star Holly Valance, were among wealth-smeared guests invited to bid for a three-pronged dinner experience with Boris Johnson, David Cameron and Theresa May. The horrific meal, which would doubtless mostly feature May patiently trying to clean up the mess made by Cameron and Johnson, eventually went for £120,000 or the cost of 49,792 school dinners at £2.41 a time. Given that Nadine Dorries had already blabbed, before the confidence vote earlier this month, on how deeply the party was beholden to its donors, you’d think the Conservatives would now be keen to avoid appearing so conspicuously up for rent and would have held the event somewhere secret, such as the vault storing the unredacted Russia report, Sue Gray’s findings on the Abba party and the rest of Johnson’s unaccounted for children. But to the Conservatives, the whole world is just a urine-stained phone box, its peeling red paint walls stickered with gaudy advertisements for services available. Peerships? PPE contracts? Peeing? That will do nicely, sir, and would you like to stroke Lulu Lytle’s gold wallpaper too? But wait, my old friend, I am getting ahead of myself. Sit down here a while by the fire and eat this rustic cheese. I would value your opinion on the most curious tale I am about to tell you. As you may know, during lockdown, the critically acclaimed rockumentary I made with the director Michael Cumming, King Rocker (“The new gold standard for rockumentaries” – the Scotsman), trickled out on to streaming services. Soon, we were the proud recipients...
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.
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 b-side of this indie-pop single, Crying Song, features Stew crying.
Following-up their critically acclaimed self-titled debut album, Evans the Death return with their third single in the form of "Catch Your Cold," one of the highlights of their excellent LP. One of the first songs written by the band, guitarist Dan Moss says of "Catch Your Cold": "The sentiment behind it is pretty simple. I like the ending, we mucked about with different tape speeds and delays to try and take the listener on a psychedelic journey." Insanely catchy and bursting with youthful energy, "Catch Your Cold" is the kind of tune that makes you realize that there is still plenty of joy to be found in good old guitar pop. Look out too for B-side "Crying Song" for which the band persuaded comedian Stewart Lee to sob uncontrollably over their rambunctious musical backing.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T22:26:06+00:00
The b-side of this indie-pop single, Crying Song, features Stew crying. Following-up their critically acclaimed self-titled debut album, Evans the Death return with their third single in the form of "Catch Your Cold," one of the highlights of their excellent LP. One of the first songs written by the band, guitarist Dan Moss says of "Catch Your Cold": "The sentiment behind it is pretty simple. I like the ending, we mucked about with different tape speeds and delays to try and take the listener on a psychedelic journey." Insanely catchy and bursting with youthful energy, "Catch Your Cold" is the kind of tune that makes you realize that there is still plenty of joy to be found in good old guitar pop. Look out too for B-side "Crying Song" for which the band persuaded comedian Stewart Lee to sob uncontrollably over their rambunctious musical backing.
Formed in Berlin in 1967, and fusing analogue electronics with Eastern scales, Agitation Free are unfairly forgotten in favor of Krautrock contemporaries Can, Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk.
Their 2007 induction into the Tokyo Tower Progressive Rock Wax Museum prompted three reunion shows, filleted here for release. The band's best album, the epically abstract Last, is largely ignored in favor of more manageable tracks from their first two, re-born as rock-tastic world music hybrids with unwelcome hints of Top Gear incidental cues.
Look out! The 1968 Pink Floyd are driving a Range Rover Evoque through a crowded Moroccan souq.
Stewart Lee
2012-01-12T00:49:54+00:00
Formed in Berlin in 1967, and fusing analogue electronics with Eastern scales, Agitation Free are unfairly forgotten in favor of Krautrock contemporaries Can, Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk. Their 2007 induction into the Tokyo Tower Progressive Rock Wax Museum prompted three reunion shows, filleted here for release. The band's best album, the epically abstract Last, is largely ignored in favor of more manageable tracks from their first two, re-born as rock-tastic world music hybrids with unwelcome hints of Top Gear incidental cues. Look out! The 1968 Pink Floyd are driving a Range Rover Evoque through a crowded Moroccan souq.
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...
Today I am scratchy-throated from laughing so much. The reason for my hoarseness? Stewart Lee's brilliant gig at the Liverpool Philharmonic last night. I haven't laughed so much and so hard in ages.
This was a very special night. I had heard about the gig via Stewart's newsletters in the summer and promptly booked my ticket, bagging a seat in the front row. The gig is part of Stewart's latest tour, entitled Content Provider, but it is still being run-in and won't officially start until later this month. As such the evening was a very relaxed affair and afforded us the chance to see material that may exist only for the evening, as Stew hones the show in preparation for a fully-fledged nationwide tour.
Though, having said that, if he does decided to drop anything then I don't envy him that decision; it's a show full of riches that riffs primarily on the preoccupations and interests of the under 40s, how accessible content is in the digital age, and how such technological advancements are making us stupid and lazy.
So many things had me laughing 'til I cried, including digs at Brexit, Game of Thrones, the difference between Tinder and dating agencies of the past and, in turn, the differences between jazz and folk, the two Russell's (Howard and Brand) and the intricacies of the touring business. But perhaps best of all, was a long and deliriously funny surreal pondering on the S&M practices of Stew's grandparents during the Second World War - I thought I'd broke a rib by that point!
Seated next to me at the front row was a guy who introduced himself and advised me before the show started that he had a very unique laugh. That laugh quickly became apparent almost as soon as Stew bounded on stage and I see that it has been discussed on twitter today. For what it's worth, I witnessed one bloke asking him to 'tone it down' during the interval before a steward came along and notified the guy that some 'complaints' had been made. But there was genuinely nothing he could do, this was his laugh, he wasn't putting it on, and I felt bad that people were singling him out. OK, it was a bit mad and a little distracting, but it was amusing too. People saying he should be banned from shows or that he ruined the night are talking out of their arse - and one person claimed she paid £100 for a front row seat - Um, I paid twenty-odd quid for mine, where do you get your tickets from?! I heard Stewart himself refer to it at the signing afterwards but not in the way that some are claiming on there; ie that it ruined the night. All he said was that he found improvising off script a little difficult with such a distraction, but it was clear that it was no skin off his nose. He's a professional comedian with 30 years experience - he can handle it!
Which brings me to the signing after the show. Each ticket holder was entitled to a FREE DVD of Stewart's latest series Comedy Vehicle, complete with an illustrated limited edition slipcase which Stewart signed for me - as you can see above. It was a real pleasure, not only to see your comedy hero perform live, but to meet him afterwards too was the icing on the cake. He's a genuinely lovely guy.
I will definitely be going to see him again.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-03T04:30:08+00:00
Today I am scratchy-throated from laughing so much. The reason for my hoarseness? Stewart Lee's brilliant gig at the Liverpool Philharmonic last night. I haven't laughed so much and so hard in ages. This was a very special night. I had heard about the gig via Stewart's newsletters in the summer and promptly booked my ticket, bagging a seat in the front row. The gig is part of Stewart's latest tour, entitled Content Provider, but it is still being run-in and won't officially start until later this month. As such the evening was a very relaxed affair and afforded us the chance to see material that may exist only for the evening, as Stew hones the show in preparation for a fully-fledged nationwide tour. Though, having said that, if he does decided to drop anything then I don't envy him that decision; it's a show full of riches that riffs primarily on the preoccupations and interests of the under 40s, how accessible content is in the digital age, and how such technological advancements are making us stupid and lazy. So many things had me laughing 'til I cried, including digs at Brexit, Game of Thrones, the difference between Tinder and dating agencies of the past and, in turn, the differences between jazz and folk, the two Russell's (Howard and Brand) and the intricacies of the touring business. But perhaps best of all, was a long and deliriously funny surreal pondering on the S&M practices of Stew's grandparents during the Second World War - I thought I'd broke a rib by that point! Seated next to me at the front row was a guy who introduced himself and advised me before the show started that he had a very unique laugh. That laugh quickly became apparent almost as soon as Stew bounded...
As a stand-up comedian I am often told that stand-up is the hardest job in the world.
I am told this by firemen, soldiers, nurses, surgeons, pit ponies, chimney sweeps, bees and Colombian drug mules - all of whose jobs are demonstrably harder than mine.
The worst thing that will happen to me at work is that someone will tell me to go away, throw their drink in my face and say that I am "not funny, never have been and never will be". Many people's marriages are like this every day, mine included ironically.
But recently I have started to find stand-up hard, though not in the way people would expect. As an old-school 1980s alternative comedian from the pencil and notebook era, I still write all my own material despite the fact that using conspicuously uncredited and poorly paid writers to generate profitable stadium-filling laugh content for the TV viewer market is now standard industry practice.
I've no problem with comics using writers, as long as the anonymous writer is given food and fresh water in a clean cell by the comedian's management, to whom he probably owes money dating back to losses incurred when they promoted him as a stand-up 10 years ago.
I self-consciously divide my brain into two personalities in order to write stand-up, each trying to irritate and outwit the otherAnd so the magical circle of life continues as ever. I couldn't really use a writer myself. I self-consciously divide my brain into two personalities in order to write stand-up, each trying to irritate and outwit the other.
If we were to introduce a third person into our relationship it would become very complicated. What if we had a big row and one of me went off with the writer, leaving the other of me all alone? I'd be all feedlines and no punchlines, a Little without a Large, an Ernie without an Eric, an Ian without a Wee Jimmy, a Punt without a Dennis or a Dennis without a Punt.
I'm currently beginning the process of writing six half hours of self-contained routines to be recorded for a fourth BBC Two series at the end of next year. It has never been harder. The world is in such a state of flux right now I feel I can't get ahead.
For example, in May 2013, with the early 2014 broadcast of my third BBC Two series in mind, I wrote a 25-minute bit on a then little-known and apparently ridiculous party called Ukip. By the time the bit was broadcast this makeshift alliance of nostalgic Spitfire enthusiasts was a serious political party, despite having no manifesto or fully coherent spokesperson. I had not seen this coming.
Since I began working on the new series two months ago, an attempt at doing half an hour on Islam in the UK has had to be recalibrated in the light of a new splurge from Cameron on ‘British values' in education, while any attempt to write anything about the bigger global picture is doomed.
Former Axis of Evil enemies suddenly become useful allies against Iraqi insurgents; Gaza unravels faster than ever; Scotland may become independent, and Ukrainian separatists appear to have accidentally and incompetently declared war on the Dutch.
Even a mild joke about public perceptions of Jimmy Savile suddenly bit the dust after even worse revelations came out last month and rendered it far more offensive than it was ever intended to be.
I appreciate I sound like a terrible and selfish person. How dare the horrors of the world refuse to restrict their rapid escalation in line with my pitiful writerly workrate? Don't those responsible for these atrocities understand that I have deadlines to meet?
It seems events are conspiring against me. If I wrote a routine about curtain hooks I am sure they would suddenly be used as a murder weapon in some terrible homicide. If I did a joke about someone as innocuous as Cliff Richard he would suddenly be seen putting a cat into a bin.
If I did a joke about three buses all coming at once, something would happen involving a trio of continually ejaculating buses that would make me look like I was deliberately courting controversy.
You know what? Stand-up is the hardest job in the world. I am going to become a bee.
Stewart Lee
2014-08-05T21:14:38+01:00
As a stand-up comedian I am often told that stand-up is the hardest job in the world. I am told this by firemen, soldiers, nurses, surgeons, pit ponies, chimney sweeps, bees and Colombian drug mules - all of whose jobs are demonstrably harder than mine. The worst thing that will happen to me at work is that someone will tell me to go away, throw their drink in my face and say that I am "not funny, never have been and never will be". Many people's marriages are like this every day, mine included ironically. But recently I have started to find stand-up hard, though not in the way people would expect. As an old-school 1980s alternative comedian from the pencil and notebook era, I still write all my own material despite the fact that using conspicuously uncredited and poorly paid writers to generate profitable stadium-filling laugh content for the TV viewer market is now standard industry practice. I've no problem with comics using writers, as long as the anonymous writer is given food and fresh water in a clean cell by the comedian's management, to whom he probably owes money dating back to losses incurred when they promoted him as a stand-up 10 years ago. I self-consciously divide my brain into two personalities in order to write stand-up, each trying to irritate and outwit the otherAnd so the magical circle of life continues as ever. I couldn't really use a writer myself. I self-consciously divide my brain into two personalities in order to write stand-up, each trying to irritate and outwit the other. If we were to introduce a third person into our relationship it would become very complicated. What if we had a big row and one of me went off with the writer, leaving the other of...
Stewart Lee was described by The Times in 2009 as 'the comedians comedian, and with good reason.' He is the man responsible for television delights such as Fist of Fun, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and the controversial but brilliant Jerry Springer: The Opera.
As well as that he is also noticeable for being part of the teams who created great comedy characters such as Alan Partridge and The Mighty Boosh.
His reach within the world of British comedy is unquestionable, I have always been a fan from afar but this is my first experience of the 9th 'Most Influential Person in UK Comedy' live.
I'm suddenly all too aware of the famous E B White's quote 'Analysing humour is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies' but we plod on.
Lee is incredibly articulate; he starts the show with a typical lowdown of what's going to happen over the course of the evening then effortlessly begins deconstructing the jokes, narrative and entire set to great effect. The first half (and first joke we're assured) focuses mainly on satire and is not, in my opinion, his greatest work.
The first half jokes are laboured and other than a great piece about his last date at the Lowry four years ago (giving back a fortune in refunds as a Maltese heckler thought the set was a personal conversation and kept answering back) the act is largely forgettable and I found myself forcing out a laugh or two. The second half is a different story entirely and two sections stand out, the UKIP/Immigration joke is beautifully crafted and delivered taking the current 'don't come to our country' attitude of a particular politician right back through the Neolithic ages to the big bang and beyond. The Latvia stereotype story another wonder of imagination and surrealism. Lee ends with the 45 year old impotent vasectomised married father of two story which has both myself and the rest of the audience in stitches.
Generally the show is very funny but a little hit and miss. I count three genuine belly laughs, several smaller laughs (usually directed at his expert use of language and semantics) and a fairly constant smile, some audience members are in hysteric convulsions others sit bemused.
Lee's reputation as an anti-populist comedian is well founded, but based on tonight's show I'd encourage fans to find tickets in smaller venues with more like minded audience members to fully enjoy the Stewart Lee experience.
Now, where's the needle and thread for this frog?
Stewart Lee
2013-10-05T18:19:26+01:00
Stewart Lee was described by The Times in 2009 as 'the comedians comedian, and with good reason.' He is the man responsible for television delights such as Fist of Fun, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and the controversial but brilliant Jerry Springer: The Opera. As well as that he is also noticeable for being part of the teams who created great comedy characters such as Alan Partridge and The Mighty Boosh. His reach within the world of British comedy is unquestionable, I have always been a fan from afar but this is my first experience of the 9th 'Most Influential Person in UK Comedy' live. I'm suddenly all too aware of the famous E B White's quote 'Analysing humour is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies' but we plod on. Lee is incredibly articulate; he starts the show with a typical lowdown of what's going to happen over the course of the evening then effortlessly begins deconstructing the jokes, narrative and entire set to great effect. The first half (and first joke we're assured) focuses mainly on satire and is not, in my opinion, his greatest work. The first half jokes are laboured and other than a great piece about his last date at the Lowry four years ago (giving back a fortune in refunds as a Maltese heckler thought the set was a personal conversation and kept answering back) the act is largely forgettable and I found myself forcing out a laugh or two. The second half is a different story entirely and two sections stand out, the UKIP/Immigration joke is beautifully crafted and delivered taking the current 'don't come to our country' attitude of a particular politician right back through the Neolithic ages to the big bang and beyond. The Latvia stereotype story...
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...
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...
I am a stand-up comedian, and I am in the process of previewing a new live show, which I hope to tour until early 2018. It was supposed to be about how the digital, free-market society is reshaping the idea of the individual, but we are in the pre-Brexit events whirlpool, and there has never been a worse time to try to assemble a show that will still mean anything in 18 months’ time.
Saturday
A joke written six weeks ago about deporting eastern Europeans, intended to be an exaggeration for comic effect, suddenly just reads like an Amber Rudd speech – or, as James O’Brien pointed out on LBC, an extract from Mein Kampf.
A rude riff on Sarah Vine and 2 Girls 1 Cup runs aground because there are fewer people now who remember Vine than recall the briefly notorious Brazilian video clip. I realise that something that gets a cheer on a Tuesday in Harrogate, or Glasgow, or Oxford, could get me lynched the next night in Lincoln. Perhaps I’ll go into the fruit-picking business. I hear there’s about to be some vacancies.
Sunday
I sit and stare at blocks of text, wondering how to knit them into a homogeneous whole. But it’s Sunday afternoon, a time for supervising homework and finding sports kit. My 11-year-old daughter has a school project on the Victorians and she has decided to do it on dead 19th-century comedians, as we had recently been on a Music Hall Guild tour of their graves at the local cemetery. I wonder if, secretly, she wished I would join them.
I have found living with the background noise of this project depressing. The headstones that she photographed show that most of the performers – even the well-known Champagne Charlie – barely made it past 40, while the owners of the halls outlived them. Herbert Campbell’s obelisk is vast and has the word “comedian” written on it in gold leaf, but it’s in the bushes and he is no longer remembered. Neither are many of the acts I loved in the 1980s – Johnny Immaterial, Paul Ramone, the Iceman.
Monday
I would have liked to do some more work on the live show but, one Monday a month, I go to the studios of the largely volunteer-run arts radio station Resonance FM in Borough, south London. Each Wednesday night at 11pm, the masked Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface presents selections from his late brother’s collection of 1950s, 1960s and 1970s jazz, psychedelia, folk, blues and experimental music. I go in to help him pre-record the programmes.
Baconface is a fascinating character, whom I first met at the Cantaloupes Comedy Club in Kamloops in British Columbia in 1994. He sees the radio show as an attempt to atone for his part in his brother’s death, which was the result of a prank gone wrong involving nudity and bacon, though he is often unable to conceal his contempt for the music that he is compelled to play.
The show is recorded in a small, hot room and Baconface doesn’t change the bacon that his mask is made of very often, so the experience can be quite claustrophobic. Whenever we lose tapes or the old vinyl is too warped to play, he just sits back and utters his resigned, philosophical catchphrase, “It’s all bacon!” – which I now find myself using, as I watch the news, with depressing regularity.
Tuesday
After the kids go to sleep, I sit up alone and finally watch The Lady in the Van. Last year, I walked along the street in Camden where it was being filmed, and Alan Bennett talked to me, which was amazing.
About a month later, on the same street, we saw Jonathan Miller skirting some dog’s mess and he told me and the kids how annoyed it made him. I tried to explain to them afterwards who Jonathan Miller was, but to the five-year-old the satire pioneer will always be the Shouting Dog’s Mess Man.
Wednesday
I have the second of the final three preview shows at the intimate Leicester Square Theatre in London before the new show, Content Provider, does a week in big rooms around the country. Today, I was supposed to do a BBC Radio 3 show about improvised music but both of the kids were off school with a bug and I had to stay home mopping up. In between the vomiting, in the psychic shadow of the improvisers, I had something of a breakthrough. The guitarist Derek Bailey, for example, would embrace his problems and make them part of the performance.
Thursday
I drank half a bottle of wine before going on stage, to give me the guts to take some risks. It’s not a long-term strategy for creative problem-solving, and that way lies wandering around Southend with a pet chicken. But by binning the words that I’d written and trying to repoint them, in the moment, to be about how the Brexit confusion is blocking my route to the show I wanted to write, I can suddenly see a way forward. The designer is in, with samples of a nice coat that she is making for me, intended to replicate the clothing of the central figure in Caspar David Friedrich’s 1818 German masterpiece Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog.
Friday
Richard Branson is on the internet and, just as I’d problem-solved my way around writing about it, he’s suggesting that Brexit might not happen. I drop the kids off and sit in a café reading Alan Moore’s new novel, Jerusalem. I am interviewing him about it for the Guardian in two weeks’ time. It’s 1,174 pages long, but what with the show falling apart I have read only 293 pages. Next week is half-term. I’ll nail it. It’s great, by the way, and seems to be about the small lives of undocumented individuals, buffeted by the random events of their times.
Stewart Lee
2016-10-28T20:36:13+01:00
I am a stand-up comedian, and I am in the process of previewing a new live show, which I hope to tour until early 2018. It was supposed to be about how the digital, free-market society is reshaping the idea of the individual, but we are in the pre-Brexit events whirlpool, and there has never been a worse time to try to assemble a show that will still mean anything in 18 months’ time. Saturday A joke written six weeks ago about deporting eastern Europeans, intended to be an exaggeration for comic effect, suddenly just reads like an Amber Rudd speech – or, as James O’Brien pointed out on LBC, an extract from Mein Kampf. A rude riff on Sarah Vine and 2 Girls 1 Cup runs aground because there are fewer people now who remember Vine than recall the briefly notorious Brazilian video clip. I realise that something that gets a cheer on a Tuesday in Harrogate, or Glasgow, or Oxford, could get me lynched the next night in Lincoln. Perhaps I’ll go into the fruit-picking business. I hear there’s about to be some vacancies. Sunday I sit and stare at blocks of text, wondering how to knit them into a homogeneous whole. But it’s Sunday afternoon, a time for supervising homework and finding sports kit. My 11-year-old daughter has a school project on the Victorians and she has decided to do it on dead 19th-century comedians, as we had recently been on a Music Hall Guild tour of their graves at the local cemetery. I wonder if, secretly, she wished I would join them. I have found living with the background noise of this project depressing. The headstones that she photographed show that most of the performers – even the well-known Champagne Charlie – barely made it past 40, while the owners of...
The faithful gun dog guitarist Kid Congo Powers spent his early years loping alongside various legends of the blues punk aristocracy, retrieving wounded rock and roll riffs for The Cramps, Gun Club, and Nick Cave.
But his third album with The Pink Monkeybirds buffs the black leather with bright shards of Fifties sci-fi sonics.
Echoed vocals and analogue keyboards blend with brothel creeper licks and cocktail lounge twangs to conjure a Tiki bar vision of a Tupperware future.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-11T20:38:07+01:00
The faithful gun dog guitarist Kid Congo Powers spent his early years loping alongside various legends of the blues punk aristocracy, retrieving wounded rock and roll riffs for The Cramps, Gun Club, and Nick Cave. But his third album with The Pink Monkeybirds buffs the black leather with bright shards of Fifties sci-fi sonics. Echoed vocals and analogue keyboards blend with brothel creeper licks and cocktail lounge twangs to conjure a Tiki bar vision of a Tupperware future.
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...
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...
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...
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...
The first time I saw the Cure was on 29 April 1984. The Birmingham Odeon show opened with a set from rural Worcestershire’s pre-Raphaelite goths And Also the Trees, whose early albums remain a guilty pleasure, and about whom I once sent a self-aggrandising letter to ZigZag magazine. The Cure’s set drew heavily on the dark post-punk fundamentalism of Seventeen Seconds, Faith and Pornography, but previewed eight songs from the unreleased The Top, evidencing a worrying drift towards melody, not what the 15-year-old me wanted at all.
The ticket cost £4.50 and I bought it before Andy Anderson, who was black, was announced as the new drummer. This was lucky, as my family discouraged me seeing bands with black members. I remember making the case for Big Country, despite them having a black bassist, because of their reliance on a bagpipes-styled guitar sound. I think UB40 slipped under the net because even gran loved that Neil Diamond cover. Different times!
The last time I saw the suddenly much bigger Cure was 18 months later, alone, at the National Exhibition Centre, for £5.50. It was an amazing 25-song, career-spanning set. Apparently. I was in the first tier of raised seating and, emboldened by my success on the Army Cadets’ assault course, as the lights dipped when the support act Hard Corps came on, I decided to grasp the barrier at the front with both hands to do a forward roll 20ft or so down into the main stalls below. But I fell on my head owing to not being a member of the SAS, so the rest of the night is a blank. It says on the internet that the Cure encored with Gary Glitter’s Do You Wanna Touch Me?, but I don’t remember. Different times.
After that I parted company with the Cure – I don’t know why – until my kids started listening to them, astonished that I’d seen their early incarnation twice. Having realised what I’d been missing, I dutifully pulled over in a layby by the Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire the Thursday before last to try to secure us tickets to their only show of this year, at London’s Troxy cinema this week. Of course they were all gone in one second. But, because of the ethical bloody-mindedness of frontman Robert Smith, pretty much all of them seem to have sold for the price they were supposed to. Suddenly, the 65-year-old post-punk panda is a beacon of hope against the seemingly insurmountable super-monetisation of every aspect of modern life. Here’s why.
For 14 years, the Tory mindset didn’t see culture as a spiritual or intellectual benefit to the citizen, merely as something that was failing to generate as much money as it could. The culture war they stoked was partly about preventing any of us from experiencing any culture. Affordable tickets weren’t a good thing, enabling ordinary people to benefit from culture, but a terrible failure to maximise income potential. Being allowed to pay £850 to see Oasis in a football stadium is one of the things that tells us that we live in a free society.
I’ve said it before, here, only last month, but in 2015, when the then Tory culture secretary Sajid Javid was asked to address secondary market ticket prices he said that ticket touts were “classic entrepreneurs” and their detractors were 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”. But even then the “touts” were bots run by organised criminals, or tacitly legal ticketing loopholes created by the ticket agencies themselves. Concert and theatre-going audiences were not citizens in search of self-improvement or the sublime experience of temporary transcendence, but pigs to be farmed by big business for the monetary value of their pathetic enthusiasms.
Attempting to set ticket prices at the level the artist wanted was regarded by the last government as a socialist intervention in the marketplace, even if the ticket price had already been subsidised by government arts investment. This shouldn’t be a surprise given that their whole ethos was based around selling big business the infrastructure we’d already paid for. But allow a ticket to actually sell for face value and the next thing you know we’ll all be lining up in the town square, waving our hoes, and singing The Red Flag, because we could now see Oasis for the price of a month’s, rather than a year’s, wages.
In opposition, the Tories are furious about Starmer accepting two Taylor Swift tickets. In government, they allowed it to become impossible for most people to attend anything remotely popular unless they had connections or LOADSAMONEY! Viagogo’s subsidiary StubHub, which wouldn’t answer any of my emails, stopped selling my tickets at a 500% mark-up after I spent a day hanging around its Oxford Circus outlet, shouting and eating all the free sweets on the counter while frightening the customers, as the bloke behind the desk recited a prepared script about how what it was doing was legal. Liam Gallagher will pick a fight with a post-box, but not with a ticket agency.
But for next week’s Cure show, everything went through the Dice ticketing app at £45, with no extras, and the one or two touts pushing tickets at £831 on Viagogo are currently being hunted down by Robert Smith’s trained vampire bats. It can be done! And maybe this precedent means when the Cure embark on that final tour, fans will pay what the band wanted them to. Robert Smith is the Mr Bates of ticketing, surely due an OBE and an ITV drama staring a black-wigged Toby Jones in eyeliner as its reluctant hero. Mr Smith Versus Viagogo. I volunteer to play an idiot falling out of a balcony on to his head.
Stewart Lee
2024-10-27T20:57:13+00:00
The first time I saw the Cure was on 29 April 1984. The Birmingham Odeon show opened with a set from rural Worcestershire’s pre-Raphaelite goths And Also the Trees, whose early albums remain a guilty pleasure, and about whom I once sent a self-aggrandising letter to ZigZag magazine. The Cure’s set drew heavily on the dark post-punk fundamentalism of Seventeen Seconds, Faith and Pornography, but previewed eight songs from the unreleased The Top, evidencing a worrying drift towards melody, not what the 15-year-old me wanted at all. The ticket cost £4.50 and I bought it before Andy Anderson, who was black, was announced as the new drummer. This was lucky, as my family discouraged me seeing bands with black members. I remember making the case for Big Country, despite them having a black bassist, because of their reliance on a bagpipes-styled guitar sound. I think UB40 slipped under the net because even gran loved that Neil Diamond cover. Different times! The last time I saw the suddenly much bigger Cure was 18 months later, alone, at the National Exhibition Centre, for £5.50. It was an amazing 25-song, career-spanning set. Apparently. I was in the first tier of raised seating and, emboldened by my success on the Army Cadets’ assault course, as the lights dipped when the support act Hard Corps came on, I decided to grasp the barrier at the front with both hands to do a forward roll 20ft or so down into the main stalls below. But I fell on my head owing to not being a member of the SAS, so the rest of the night is a blank. It says on the internet that the Cure encored with Gary Glitter’s Do You Wanna Touch Me?, but I don’t remember. Different times. After that I parted company...
Stewart Lee has had a stand up career which has spanned twenty five years. Due to regular television appearances in the last five or so years he has reached a status that only a handful of working comics can claim: he has become a household name. Lee acknowledges this status very early on in his show and confesses that success is a double-edged sword.
Yes, as a household name he can easily sell out a theatre (The Civic Theatre in Chelmsford was completely packed to the brim) however he revealed that he now feels a certain amount of pressure to be hilarious. Lee had an odd mixture of self depreciation and arrogance which had the audience in stitches the entire evening.
I was not familiar with Lee's work prior to this performance; however, like so many of the British public, I had heard his name in passing while flipping through the BBC programming schedule. In an early conversation with the audience, Lee acknowledged that his particular style of stand-up was not to everyone's taste, and I found this to be the case for me. Sarcastic, dry and acerbic, Stewart Lee is everything that a 'typical' British comic should be. However, I felt that he lacked a certain amount of charm and likableness which many of his contemporaries manage.
Despite an interesting title, there was no common thread throughout the show - I naively assumed the show was Lee coming to terms with becoming a middle-aged father with two children under the age of five, and that his entire life could be summed up by spending weekends at 'Carpet Remnant World'. In actuality, the entire evening was a sarcastic monologue ranging from every subject thinkable such as 9/11, Islam and buying his own pants for the first time. What Lee spent most of the evening doing was actually explaining why his jokes are funny to the audience, taking much longer in the explanation than in the delivery. I found this particular technique humorous the first couple of times, but by the end of the evening, I was amazed that the audience were still eating it up.
In all honesty, I laughed out loud for about 10% of the material and chuckled at a further 20% which means I was genuinely un-entertained for about two-thirds of the performance. I have to say that I was a huge exception and the audience were in uproarious laughter for the entire evening. While Lee was certainly not to my taste, I appreciate that his certain brand of humour and delivery is very popular and made for an entertaining night out.
Stewart Lee
2012-06-23T14:30:10+01:00
Civic Theatre, Chelmsford - Friday June 22 Stewart Lee has had a stand up career which has spanned twenty five years. Due to regular television appearances in the last five or so years he has reached a status that only a handful of working comics can claim: he has become a household name. Lee acknowledges this status very early on in his show and confesses that success is a double-edged sword. Yes, as a household name he can easily sell out a theatre (The Civic Theatre in Chelmsford was completely packed to the brim) however he revealed that he now feels a certain amount of pressure to be hilarious. Lee had an odd mixture of self depreciation and arrogance which had the audience in stitches the entire evening. I was not familiar with Lee's work prior to this performance; however, like so many of the British public, I had heard his name in passing while flipping through the BBC programming schedule. In an early conversation with the audience, Lee acknowledged that his particular style of stand-up was not to everyone's taste, and I found this to be the case for me. Sarcastic, dry and acerbic, Stewart Lee is everything that a 'typical' British comic should be. However, I felt that he lacked a certain amount of charm and likableness which many of his contemporaries manage. Despite an interesting title, there was no common thread throughout the show - I naively assumed the show was Lee coming to terms with becoming a middle-aged father with two children under the age of five, and that his entire life could be summed up by spending weekends at 'Carpet Remnant World'. In actuality, the entire evening was a sarcastic monologue ranging from every subject thinkable such as 9/11, Islam and buying his own pants...
John and Tony kick off the new season of Three Little Words with comedian Stewart Lee, a man The Times called in 2018 "the best standup working today."
On Three Little Words, John Bishop and Tony Pitts invite guests to chat about three words that mean something to them and the one they would gladly never hear again.
NOTE: THIS PODCAST IS ON AMAZON MUSIC WHICH MEANS YOU NEED AN AMAZON MUSIC ACCOUNT TO LISTEN TO IT
Stewart Lee
2022-02-18T19:34:12+00:00
John and Tony kick off the new season of Three Little Words with comedian Stewart Lee, a man The Times called in 2018 "the best standup working today." On Three Little Words, John Bishop and Tony Pitts invite guests to chat about three words that mean something to them and the one they would gladly never hear again. NOTE: THIS PODCAST IS ON AMAZON MUSIC WHICH MEANS YOU NEED AN AMAZON MUSIC ACCOUNT TO LISTEN TO IT
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...
...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:...
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.
Max Reinhardt is joined by comedian, columnist and musophile Stewart Lee with the debut edition of the Late Junction Mixtape.
A tribute to the age-old tradition of making a mixtape for a friend, guests are invited to explore the full diversity of their record collections, to dig out those obscure gems and much-loved rarities which they seldom get to share. The aim is to reveal a lesser known side to their musical identity and above all to take the listeners on a journey through a variety of moods, feelings and eras, exploring and celebrating the disjunctions within a record collection. Stewart Lee talks about his lifelong love of the avant garde in music ahead of his ATP festival this weekend.
We also play a track from Bonnie Prince Billy's new album with the Bitchin' Bajas, early Celtic music sung by the Choir of Gonville and Caius College Cambridge and a piece by Palestinian Oud player Adnan Joubran.
Stewart Lee
2016-04-21T23:55:01+01:00
Max Reinhardt is joined by comedian, columnist and musophile Stewart Lee with the debut edition of the Late Junction Mixtape. A tribute to the age-old tradition of making a mixtape for a friend, guests are invited to explore the full diversity of their record collections, to dig out those obscure gems and much-loved rarities which they seldom get to share. The aim is to reveal a lesser known side to their musical identity and above all to take the listeners on a journey through a variety of moods, feelings and eras, exploring and celebrating the disjunctions within a record collection. Stewart Lee talks about his lifelong love of the avant garde in music ahead of his ATP festival this weekend. We also play a track from Bonnie Prince Billy's new album with the Bitchin' Bajas, early Celtic music sung by the Choir of Gonville and Caius College Cambridge and a piece by Palestinian Oud player Adnan Joubran.
Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World has been on the road for months and I am sure it is far from as free-form as it appears.
Lee also makes much use of information that can be gleaned online, from the horrifically explicit and sick reactions of some Americans to the death of Osama Bin Laden to some equally robust criticism of his own comedy.
He gives as good as he gets, it should be admitted, with a bloke called Boyle and the many Russells from his line of work among those in the firing line.
More edgily, a huge amount of his act is devoted to critiquing the reaction of certain sections of the audience with building sarcasm. This is bolder than it sounds in print and becomes increasingly squirmingly hilarious as the set goes on and he deconstructs both his jokes and the reaction to them.
There is a lot of old-school vaudeville about Lee's schtick: the gentle, in front of the cloth comedy of Morecambe and Wise pushed into brave new dimensions. It is the intelligence that he brings to the mechanics of making people laugh that make it a really fascinating experience.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-09T14:48:19+01:00
Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World has been on the road for months and I am sure it is far from as free-form as it appears. Lee also makes much use of information that can be gleaned online, from the horrifically explicit and sick reactions of some Americans to the death of Osama Bin Laden to some equally robust criticism of his own comedy. He gives as good as he gets, it should be admitted, with a bloke called Boyle and the many Russells from his line of work among those in the firing line. More edgily, a huge amount of his act is devoted to critiquing the reaction of certain sections of the audience with building sarcasm. This is bolder than it sounds in print and becomes increasingly squirmingly hilarious as the set goes on and he deconstructs both his jokes and the reaction to them. There is a lot of old-school vaudeville about Lee's schtick: the gentle, in front of the cloth comedy of Morecambe and Wise pushed into brave new dimensions. It is the intelligence that he brings to the mechanics of making people laugh that make it a really fascinating experience.
When folkies like Fairport Convention or Trees rocked out in the early Seventies, they assimilated then contemporary sounds. Attempts to ape them today, as in swathes of the Philadelphia psych-folk underground, can whiff of costumed re-enactment. Praise John Barleycorn, then, for Trembling Bells, whose third album is both stoically historic and heroically now. Confidently proclaiming themselves a feature of the titular Constant Pageant, assuming a role in an ongoing tradition, Trembling Bells hit new levels of excellence. A sudden sense of purpose sees their most pronounced avant-rock leanings and ragged improvisatory edges selflessly shorn, sensing some vast utilitarian undertaking almost within their grasp. Michael Hastings' Tardis guitar tumbles through time, snatching the notes it needs from incompatible eras; Simon Shaw's bass charts a pole star path through Alex Neilson's tempestuous free jazz percussion; processionary horns toot; and Lavinia Blackwall can make skyward shifts into a head voice that would wither an X-Factor finalist, on the nosebleed inducingly brilliant Where Do I Go From You, and replicate woozy abandon, on the majestic lurch of the declaratory, tumultuous opener Just As The Rainbow.
The group do cast their net wider than British folk. The pounding punk-prog number Otley Rock Oracle, channelling Mountain's Nantucket Sleighride, belongs by virtue of its hallucinatory folkloric narrative. Cold Heart Of Mine's blues harp connects Americana with its European roots and Hastings' raga like licks look East. In the 21st century nothing can exist in splendid isolation. The Constant Pageant offers a poetic incantation of British identity far brighter than Michael Gove's proposed GCSE history syllabus.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-20T21:59:58+00:00
When folkies like Fairport Convention or Trees rocked out in the early Seventies, they assimilated then contemporary sounds. Attempts to ape them today, as in swathes of the Philadelphia psych-folk underground, can whiff of costumed re-enactment. Praise John Barleycorn, then, for Trembling Bells, whose third album is both stoically historic and heroically now. Confidently proclaiming themselves a feature of the titular Constant Pageant, assuming a role in an ongoing tradition, Trembling Bells hit new levels of excellence. A sudden sense of purpose sees their most pronounced avant-rock leanings and ragged improvisatory edges selflessly shorn, sensing some vast utilitarian undertaking almost within their grasp. Michael Hastings' Tardis guitar tumbles through time, snatching the notes it needs from incompatible eras; Simon Shaw's bass charts a pole star path through Alex Neilson's tempestuous free jazz percussion; processionary horns toot; and Lavinia Blackwall can make skyward shifts into a head voice that would wither an X-Factor finalist, on the nosebleed inducingly brilliant Where Do I Go From You, and replicate woozy abandon, on the majestic lurch of the declaratory, tumultuous opener Just As The Rainbow. The group do cast their net wider than British folk. The pounding punk-prog number Otley Rock Oracle, channelling Mountain's Nantucket Sleighride, belongs by virtue of its hallucinatory folkloric narrative. Cold Heart Of Mine's blues harp connects Americana with its European roots and Hastings' raga like licks look East. In the 21st century nothing can exist in splendid isolation. The Constant Pageant offers a poetic incantation of British identity far brighter than Michael Gove's proposed GCSE history syllabus.
The comedian Stewart Lee arrives at Pizza Express on Upper Street in north London looking more like a wary gnome than the confident figure he cuts in his stand-up shows.
The restaurant holds fond memories for Lee. He used to eat here with other comedians in the early 1990s after performing at the nearby Market Tavern, "a grotty pub, now a swanky bar" called the Winchester. "There used to be marble tables here," he recalls. "I knocked one of them when I was trying to straighten it, and a big slab of marble fell on the floor and smashed in half." Luckily, one of the comedians in his party was Jo Brand, "who might have done a bit of telly by then", and she managed to smooth things over.
These days, Lee has a television series of his own. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, the second series of which was shown late at night on BBC2 earlier this year, combines politically freighted, often cerebral stand-up routines of the kind you almost never see on TV in these days of comedy roadshows and panel games. He also has a new full-length touring show, Carpet Remnant World, which has just begun a three-month run at the Leicester Square Theatre. It is, he says, "all about the idea of utopias".
"I grew up in Solihull," he says, "on the edge of what was then the Birmingham conurbation. It was a good place to write comedy from. I didn't feel allegiance to anything. I didn't have working-class pride or upper-class superiority." He used to have a mild Birmingham accent but he shook it off "fairly deliberately". Solihull was also a good place to grow up, he says, because it's "the kind of place that you want to leave. If you want to do something, it's good to come from the kind of place you would want to be driven out of." Here he chuckles, as he does often, in what seems like a mixture of exasperation, disbelief and joy.
"Otherwise, you just stay - you don't do anything. If I had grown up in London, I wouldn't have been as keen to become a comedian or a writer. I'd have been able to see a lot of good films and music and comedy. I'd have been distracted. As it was, I had to make it." Another chuckle.
Despite increasing popularity and visibility, Lee has somehow remained, or persuasively presented himself as, a cult figure, an outsider, an upstart even. This is due in part to his willingness to make jokes about other comedians, most of them younger and better-known than him - among them Russell Brand, Russell Howard, Mark Watson, Michael McIntyre, Frankie Boyle. He is also both wary and critical of such prevailing modes of stand-up as routines based on everyday observations and jokes that are in aggressive bad taste.
Instead, he offers an ironic approach, in which he dissects what he is saying while in the middle of saying it, and speculates how his comments are coming across to, or going down with, the audience. As things stand, he is the British comedian most widely admired both by broadsheet newspapers and by fellow comedians - some of whom, such as Ricky Gervais, owe a great deal to Lee in terms of tone, subject matter, and delivery, and have confessed as much.
A waiter appears and Lee orders a Diet Coke, a green salad, and, without a wink of irony, the "Christmas pizza", which features a mix of spiced bolognese sauce, beef meatballs and fiery peppers. His green salad arrives first and has to be guarded from the hands of passing waiters - he is saving it for when his main course arrives. I go for the meatballs and Contadina pizza, with chicken, spinach and peppers.
"Protecting the Stewart Lee stand-up brand" is, he explains, his main concern. When it was announced that he had a TV series on its way, he was approached by people from "terrible publishers that have meetings with Tesco's about what the covers of books should be". Instead, the distinctively subtle and intelligent book he ended up writing, and publishing with Faber last year, How I Escaped My Certain Fate: The Life and Deaths of a Stand-up Comedian, and the forthcoming follow-up, based on his recent show, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One, are mostly comprised of verbatim transcripts of stand-up performances with footnotes either elaborating on what he's saying, explaining the provenance of the material, or illuminating some aspect of technique. They are a world away from books by comedians "about what they did at school or university, or something their wife did, or their alcoholism and how they recovered, or their sex-aholism."
It is especially important that the book enhances the "stand-up brand", he says. By way of explanation, he adds, "Things that I do tend not to work out, commercially." For example, Lee's most famous endeavour, Jerry Springer: The Opera, which he co-wrote with composer Richard Thomas in 2001, and also directed, looks to the outside world like a success story - a piece of intellectual fringe comedy that played at the National Theatre and in the West End. "But over the five-year period, the producer's chauffeur - who was being paid out of the production budget - made more money than I did." This is partly because Lee didn't receive a salary until the production started at the National, and partly because he waived it soon after to cover legal fees in a libel battle against the Daily Mail over the newspaper's allegation that the show, which was accused of "blasphemy" by organisations such as Christian Voice and which provoked 55,000 complaints after it was aired on the BBC in January 2005, was losing money. "The only thing that has started to pay for itself is the stand-up," he says - which is why he doesn't want to jeopardise it by appearing in adverts or panel shows or doing things that will earn him quick money or fame while alienating a long-term audience. (Though he thinks appearing in an advert isn't really held against you the way it used to be - "because no one has any values any more", he says more than half-seriously - he still wouldn't do it. No amount of money could justify becoming "the guy off that advert".)
It took Lee, now 43, a long time to achieve the odd, enviable reputation he now has - as a famous stand-up comedian rarely invoked as a famous stand-up comedian. In the early 1990s, he emerged as a startlingly handsome young comedian, appearing on radio and TV alongside Richard Herring, whom he met at Oxford University, in the double act Lee and Herring. But, as the decade wore on, he became increasingly irritated with his career, and with TV executives. In 2001, fed-up of losing money on tour and feeling out of touch with comedy audiences, Lee gave up stand-up and wrote a novel, The Perfect Fool, and Jerry Springer.
Three years later, he decided to return to comedy. Part of the reason was the success of Ricky Gervais. "Ricky had the calmness, and the way of offering up contentious ideas as if they meant nothing and were merely idle thoughts, that I felt was a hallmark of my work, and [which had] made it such a difficult fit for mainstream audiences at populist clubs," he wrote in How I Escaped My Certain Fate. The experience of watching Gervais at the Bloomsbury Theatre in 2004 reminded Lee of how much he cared about his stand-up career. And it also suggested that comedy audiences, having taken to a diluted version of his formula, might be ready for the real thing.
On his return to stand-up, Lee decided that in order to avoid the rise-and-fall arc of his 1990s path, he would nurture a small but loyal audience. In order to do something valuable, he tells me, you've got to be "something that nine out of 10 people will hate". And he doesn't mind being hated - indeed, it has its uses when it comes to attracting the one out of 10. His promotional material carries a quotation from the journalist Toby Young - "I've always thought of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do." Lee explains: "I thought, 'That's a good quote actually.' Because wrongly or rightly, a lot of people hate Toby Young, and they're the kind of people you want to come to see you. In Edinburgh, a lot of people would say to me, 'I didn't know who you were but I hate Toby Young.' I don't think I've ever met him. I saw him at a motorway service station once. Bad quotes from disliked people are quite a good way of trying to galvanise an audience."
This year, Lee picked up another useful enemy, Daily Mail columnist Jan Moir, who identified him as one of a "cabal" of leftwing comedians - another being foul-mouthed Scottish stand-up Frankie Boyle - who were unkind to the popular comedian Michael McIntyre at an awards ceremony. "I wasn't even at this thing where his wife was crying," Lee says. (When I suggest that Moir was wrong to characterise Boyle as leftwing, he corrects me: "He comes from that branch of the left who hate the disabled - a radical splinter group.")
Part of the difficulty with levelling charges at Lee, even when they have a basis in reality, is that his routines contain a great deal of artifice. As he puts it in How I Escaped My Certain Fate, "The me you see on stage is largely a construct, based on me at my worst, my most annoying, my most petty and my most patronising." But "when there are taste issues or ethical things involved," he tells me, "I try not to be too ironic."
When I say, in a spirit of sympathy, that he tends to pick on people for picking on people, he agrees. "Luckily, there are loads of them." One of his core beliefs is that you shouldn't demean or humiliate people on the grounds of race, class, or physical or mental handicap. He seems worried about developments in the work of Ricky Gervais, whose recent use of the word "mong" provoked a row over whether the term was offensive to those with Down's syndrome. Gervais initially insisted it no longer had that meaning before apologising. Lee says he hopes that Gervais "doesn't do something so awful that it undoes The Office". He says comedians who complain that political correctness has gone mad are either using this argument as a quasi-intellectual licence to make offensive jokes, or else deploying it as part of their act - in the teeth of contrary evidence. "Roy 'Chubby' Brown is so oppressed by the politically correct brigade that he's able to tour massive theatres all year and sell millions of DVDs," he says alluding to one particularly successful blue British comedian.
After two hours, Lee is on his second Diet Coke, having declined both dessert and coffee. The restaurant is filling up. There seem to be large groups of talkative women, operating the lunchtime equivalent of a hen-night. Fortunately, seated on the table next to ours, a mother and daughter sit in silence, as Lee talks fluently, only breaking stride to let out another apparently irrepressible, often inexplicable, chuckle.
Towards the end of lunch, though, he becomes quite angry about present conditions. There's no way he would have made it to Oxford today, he says. "For a start, I was adopted. In the 1960s, the process took three months, now it can take three years. That's going to affect people differently. I might have been damaged by longer in care. And I wouldn't have gone anyway because of the debts. There's no way I would take that on. Thirdly, a whole generation of people are being made to feel that they shouldn't be studying the arts. They're being told that their degree has got to be cost-effective."
He especially regrets the disappearance of the old "support networks", such as the unemployment and housing benefits, that enabled artists to live cheaply and find their way. "It's all over. There'll come a point when somebody will suddenly realise - there's loads and loads of Coldplay but there isn't a Radiohead, there's loads and loads of ITV1 sitcoms, and things with Robert Lindsay in a house, but there isn't a League of Gentlemen. Someone will be reading an embossed novel about a missing artefact, and they will suddenly think, 'Didn't there use to be books that were not just a list of events?' " (Lee's well-known parody of a typical Dan Brown sentence goes: "The famous man looked at the red cup.") In 40 years, he reckons, people will be saying, "Where's all that stuff gone that was ... good?"
Lee's conversation, never less than engaging and precise, frequently verges on rant. More than an hour after polishing off his pizza, he has finally indulged in a good one. Then he stands up. It's time, he says, for "school pick-ups and things". "Is that OK?" I say it's OK. And off he shuffles.
Stewart Lee is at the Leicester Square Theatre until February 10
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Pizza Express
335 Upper Street, London N1
Mixed Side Salad £3.50
Meatballs £5.40
Contadina pizza £9.75
Christmas pizza on a romana base £11.95
Sparkling water £3.95
Diet Coke x2 £4.50
Total (including service) £45.00
.......................................................................
Laugh track: Ben Thompson's brief history of modern British comedy
1960s Beyond the Fringe's Oxbridge quartet of Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Alan Bennett and Jonathan Miller set about dismantling British ideas of deference from the top down (a project previously begun by the Goons, who pursued the same goal with more subtlety and from the bottom up, so never got quite as much credit for it). Cook's wryly-named club, the Establishment, operational in Greek Street, Soho, from 1961-1964, was the epicentre of the ensuing satire earthquake.
1970s Perhaps overly identified with the unreconstructed attitudes to race and gender paraded by the hard-bitten working-men's club acts of ITV's The Comedians, the 1970s was also the decade when the gentle "one nation" TV comedy of Morecambe and Wise and the Two Ronnies united its largest ever audiences. While the opening of the Comedy Store above a Soho strip club in 1979 was rightly seen as the dawn of a new era, it's also true that few of the anti-Tory iconoclasts who passed through its doors could match the earlier taboo-busting exploits of daring Irish anecdotalist Dave Allen, the deceptively soft-edged whimsy of Victoria Wood, or the free-wheeling Rabelaisian wit of Billy Connolly (whose endless runs at the Hammersmith Apollo were the closest UK equivalents to the arena comedy being pioneered by the likes of Steve Martin in America).
1980s If Margaret Thatcher was the mother-in-law of alternative comedy, punk was the cooler cousin it always looked up to. A generation of performers brought to a mass TV audience by ITV's Saturday Live and Channel 4's The Comic Strip - Ben Elton, Rik Mayall and French and Saunders among them - coalesced into a new showbiz aristocracy with alarming speed. At the same time an ad hoc network of small stand-up comedy clubs, independent music venues and student comedy nights provided a home to less easily co-optable talents, Nietzschean wildcard Simon Munnery and deadpan provocateur Ted Chippington being two of Stewart Lee's favourites.
1990s The youthful audiences and unfettered adulation attracted by wilfully apolitical "post-alternative" mainstays Reeves and Mortimer and Newman and Baddiel inspired the ubiquitous coinage, "Comedy is the new rock and roll." While an increasingly weighty infrastructure of management companies, tour promoters, comedy club franchises and stand-up courses turned live comedy into a career option, a golden generation of TV shows (among them Father Ted, The Day Today, The Royle Family, The League of Gentleman and The Fast Show) flew the flag for creative daring.
2000s Sacha Baron Cohen, Ricky Gervais and Russell Brand made it in Hollywood on a scale no British performers have managed since Peter Sellers, Dudley Moore and the Pythons. At home, developments in digital sound overcame the technical problems that had dogged large-scale comedy shows to usher in a new era of stadium laughter-making. Peter Kay, Michael McIntyre, and Lee Evans vied to break attendance and DVD sale records, while the tyranny of the TV panel game was Orwell's dystopian vision made flesh - Stephen Fry's boot stamping on a human face for ever
Ben Thompson is the author of 'Sunshine on Putty: The Golden Age of British Comedy'
Stewart Lee
2011-11-25T13:06:05+00:00
The comedian Stewart Lee arrives at Pizza Express on Upper Street in north London looking more like a wary gnome than the confident figure he cuts in his stand-up shows. The restaurant holds fond memories for Lee. He used to eat here with other comedians in the early 1990s after performing at the nearby Market Tavern, "a grotty pub, now a swanky bar" called the Winchester. "There used to be marble tables here," he recalls. "I knocked one of them when I was trying to straighten it, and a big slab of marble fell on the floor and smashed in half." Luckily, one of the comedians in his party was Jo Brand, "who might have done a bit of telly by then", and she managed to smooth things over. These days, Lee has a television series of his own. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, the second series of which was shown late at night on BBC2 earlier this year, combines politically freighted, often cerebral stand-up routines of the kind you almost never see on TV in these days of comedy roadshows and panel games. He also has a new full-length touring show, Carpet Remnant World, which has just begun a three-month run at the Leicester Square Theatre. It is, he says, "all about the idea of utopias". "I grew up in Solihull," he says, "on the edge of what was then the Birmingham conurbation. It was a good place to write comedy from. I didn't feel allegiance to anything. I didn't have working-class pride or upper-class superiority." He used to have a mild Birmingham accent but he shook it off "fairly deliberately". Solihull was also a good place to grow up, he says, because it's "the kind of place that you want to leave. If you want to do something, it's...
A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is on BBC on Saturday 28th July at 11pm, not earlier in the month on July 8th as previously announced.
Already the joke about the status of European migrants is dated.
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.
Comedy DVD indie GO FASTER STRIPE, which came into being to film my 90s Comedian show and saved my career, have a new initiative.
Chris Evans of GFS says...
THREE free downloads when you sign up. PLUS everything we do from now on
Join our club for £5 a month. You'll get a digital download of everything we will put out from the moment you sign up.
We will send you at least one full length show a month, and the download will include all the usual GFS extras. And there's usually a lot of extras.
The shows will be available to club members a day or two before they are released to the public - you'll get an email to let you know.
As usual they can be downloaded or streamed directly from our website.
SIGN UP BONUS
As soon as you sign up you can download or stream your choice of any THREE shows we've recorded since we started. There's loads of great stuff here. Have a look at that list on the left hand side of the screen. Cor blimey.
PLUS you should expect the unexpected. The idea is mostly to be a digital download club, but if this is a success I'll be sending out badges and patches and all sorts.
FAQs How long do I have to sign up for?
You can unsubscribe from this crazy scheme at any time.
So I could just download the three free shows and eff off?
Yes you could. But we wouldn't be very pleased about it.
Wow, this sounds too good to be true.
Good.
How does it work?
When you sign up, you will get your own personal download area.
Then, you can choose your three free shows straight away to start filling it up, and any downloads you've previously bought will be automatically added in too.
Then, every time we release something it will appear by magic in your download area, slightly before the show is made available to everyone else.
We will send you an email when this happens.
What's in the pipeline?
We are putting the finishing touches to brand new shows by Mark Thomas, Rachel Fairburn, Simon Munnery, John-Luke Roberts, Nick Helm, David Trent, Richard Herring, Austentatious and loads more.
Can I sign up for a friend?
You better believe it. Yes. If you want to buy a club membership for a friend, enter their details on the signup page and enter your email at the bottom for billing purposes. You can then give your payment info to paypal, we will bill you, and they will get the goodies.
Is there any type of copy protection on the files?
No. We use the honour system here. All the files will be DRM free, so you can use them however you choose.
Why are you doing this?
Three reasons:
1. People have been asking me to organise a scheme like this for ages.
2. I'm now confident that we've got enough shows in post production to carry us though for at least a year.
3. Mainly though, no one buys DVDs anymore and I'm panicking.
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)
Jesse Griffin's dead-on parody of an American outlaw country singer, WILSON DIXON, has an intimate UK tour
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
2018-07-03T11:29:51+01:00
CONTENT PROVIDER A 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour is on BBC on Saturday 28th July at 11pm, not earlier in the month on July 8th as previously announced. Already the joke about the status of European migrants is dated. 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 Go Faster Stripe Singles Club https://www.gofasterstripe.com/cgi-bin/website.cgi?page=club Comedy DVD indie GO FASTER STRIPE, which came into being to film my 90s Comedian show and saved my career, have a new initiative. Chris Evans of GFS says... THREE free downloads when you sign up. PLUS everything we do from now on Join our club for £5 a month. You'll get a digital download of everything we will put...
The 2 hr film of the Content Provider Tour due to show on BBC2 has moved again from Saturday 4th August, back to 28th July at 10.45pm. This is to give us the best possible chance of not being able to get this Sunday's newspapers to cover it. All 24 ep's of COMEDY VEHICLE are now on BBC i-player too, https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/b0112b65. Your pal, Stewart Lee
After over twenty five years in the British Entertainment Industry, Popular Music Division, Manchester’s punk scene survivors The Fall still haven’t developed what record company fat cats might call a Signature Sound. Sometimes they could be a 60’s garage punk relic, at others an over-amplified, over-amphetamined 50’s rockabilly group. Some songs suggest 70’s German experimental bands, or Italian House records, or cut and paste efforts by bearded post-war beatniks. Why would anyone make this music? Why would anyone listen to it? Over forty musicians, including the Radio 1 DJ Lard, have served sentences of varying lengths in The Fall, usually departing in acrimony. Scientists estimate that most living rock drummers have at some time played in the group, though many choose to deny it. But no matter how many former Fall members tumble to the wayside, like the skeletons in Jason In The Argonauts, still more spring up from the barren soil to take their places. The Fall has only one constant, lead singer and lyricist Mark E Smith.
Music journalists, if they cover The Fall at all, reduce Smith’s quarter century of genius to an ongoing soap opera of cancelled gigs, heavy drinking and needlessly threatening behaviour. We Fall followers the world over hang on his every recorded utterance, lions led by a donkey. But today’s young people probably know Smith best as the man shouting “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!” on the Vauxhall Corsair advert. For me, Mark E Smith’s work is one of life’s few constant pleasures, yet to say I admire him would be an exaggeration. One may as well admire sleet. Your admiration is not a necessary element of the conditions required for wet ice to fall from the sky. Mark E Smith will continue regardless, with or without anyone’s approval.
Today, Smith is forty-six years old and still has many of his own teeth. Even in a bra and pants, he would not be Esquire Magazine cover material. His group played their first gig in Manchester in 1977 in between an experimental piece involving birdsong and a brass band. A DVD interview on the latest in a long line of bewilderingly sequenced Fall compilations, Rebellious Jukebox, reveals that initially the group planned to go out as Flyman And The Fall. Smith was to dress as a fly and end every sentence with ‘bzzzz.’ “It was very ahead of its time.”, he laughs. Today Smith is the band’s only remaining original member. But, as he explained when one of the group’s more stable line-ups collapsed sometime after an on-stage fight in New York in 1998, “if it’s me and your granny on bongos it’s The Fall.”
Above and beyond the reputation of his band, Smith’s eccentric behaviour is legendary. Un-confirmed sources supply the following unsubstantiated rumours, both trivial and significant. It is written that Smith once tried to stub out a cigarette in the eye of a Loaded correspondent and explained, correctly, that none of his fans would read the magazine anyway. It is whispered that Smith was seen vomiting on a step outside a Jerry Sadowitz gig in Edinburgh in 1989. It is recorded that Smith mistook Badly Drawn Boy for a mini cab driver and left his false teeth in his car. It has been intimated that Smith was a confidante of a former head of the CIA. By his own admission, Smith believes he is psychic and was investigated by private detectives for predicting the kidnapping of the corpulent holy man Terry Waite. It is regretted that Smith attacked his wife on-stage in New York and his own band conspired to have him arrested. It was implied that the script of Smith’s 1987 play, Hey Luciani, was written on beer mats and delivered to its director in a shoe box. And it was once imagined that Smith saw a small girl crying on the streets of Salford and, discovering that she had lost her toy bear, explained the stuffed effigy had gone on a world tour, and still writes weekly to her, even though she is now 28 years old, in the persona of Mark Edward Bear, from a variety of fictional holiday destinations.
Try too hard anatomise the attraction of Mark E Smith and you will destroy something magical, but not necessarily something benign. In interviews Smith always smacks down middle class journalists, either physically or at least with the trump card of his working class credentials. Though he attended grammar school, he describes himself as largely self-educated and left at sixteen to work as a clerk in the docks. Then a chance encounter with The Sex Pistols showed him his true calling. Smith is a self-confessed non-musician. He entertains the idea that he has a layman’s ear, which he considers an asset in his chosen field. Yet Smith is blessed with the same perfect sense of timing, and of when to spew forth and when to be silent, that characterises Miles Davis’ records. Few would make a case for Smith being a singer, but he is one of the greatest vocalists ever, and knows exactly how best to deploy his splenetic, whining, staccato, growls for maximum effect. His ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!’’s are amongst the best ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!’’s in rock. A track on his latest album, The New Real Fall LP, repeats the line ‘I hate the countryside so much’ sixteen times in succession with minimal variation in tone. It’s brilliant. By the end of Contraflow we are in no doubt of the extent to which its narrator hates the countryside. He hates it so much-ah!
Non-Fall-fans, who are legion, wrongly assume Smith’s lyrics are the reason we tolerate the cacophony that surrounds them. His mere presence is enough to energise a track. But those barked collisions of choice phrases, stream of consciousness narrative and withering social critique can appear to mean nothing and everything simultaneously. In the introduction to his excellent study of Smith, Hip Priest (Quartet), Simon Ford explains how Smith’s words become ‘the very language you think through …. an inexhaustible stream of neologisms and buzz words, trigger phrases you can’t shake off: ‘eat yourself fitter’, ‘totally wired’, ‘just step sideways’, ‘Jew on a motorbike’.” In the early to mid stages of Smith fandom one wishes Smith would write a novel or a short story collection, so as this unique aesthetic could be mainlined directly into the brain. But eventually you accept that, like Bob Dylan’s, Smith’s words are written to be declaimed. Try shouting the phrase, “On TV today someone claimed their dog had been molested by a textile chemist”. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it. And anyway, the notion that writing a novel would be some kind of cultural upgrade for the renegade rock and roller comes with an inherent notion of snobbery. Dylan’s Tarantula book is terrible. Smith’s lexicon enjoys the perfect symbiotic relationship with whatever bunch of hired hands currently approximate his notion of The Fall.
The above information begins to make a convincing case for Smith’s talent, but that talent comes packaged in such a bizarre way as to explain, to some extent, his continuing obscurity. Even when Smith’s group enjoyed a strange flirtation with the charts in the late 80’s, with covers like R Dean Taylor’s There’s A Ghost In My House and The Kinks’ Victoria temporarily making them pop stars, he always looked wrong. Smith’s fashion sense is that of a middle-aged, lower middle class alcoholic who dresses up as smartly as possible before sinking six pints at the bar, so as to maintain an illusion of non-dependence. I recognise it from the drinking schools of unsteady relatives in suburban Birmingham boozers. Whenever I see Smith live I am struck, initially, with a miserable nostalgia and a sense of loss. A correspondent on the Fall website, called Elderford, described Smith’s appearance at a show last December, thus; “Who is this man? He was alternately fascinating and non-descript. Black school shoes with light coloured trousers, no arse, tight blue pullover revealing his slackening midriff, and atop of slightly hunched shoulders this incredible old man's face fringed with a do it yourself haircut, blowing his nose on the corner of the back drop, generally wandering around as though making mental lists and fiddling.” Yet despite this, Elderford concludes, “I did feel blessed to have been in his presence … it was good to know that Mark E Smith was still doing what he does.”
In more generous moments, one might charitably assume that the snug bar regular persona is one Smith has consciously adopted. Today the spectacle of a tightly drilled young band being fronted by this wizened, sensibly clad cult figure becomes more fascinating yearly. The 1979 single Fiery Jack describes a hardcore hardened drinker in heroic terms; “I sat and drank for three decades. I'm 45. My face is slack. And I think think think. I just drink drink drink. Too fast to work. Too fast to write. I just burn burn burn. I eat hot dogs. I live on pies. I'm 45.” In candid moments, Smith’s ex-wives express concern for his notoriously poor diet, and today he could pass for the once fictionalised Fiery Jack character, railing at the world from a barstool. Beyond beer, Smith’s apparent drug of choice always was, and perhaps still is, speed, - a good honest drug, joyless and practical, free of any elitist cultural connotations. If Smith enjoys other stimulants they are rarely spoken of or alluded to. Psychedelics, one assumes, are for pansies and dandies, while opiates suggest bohemian decadence. A late 70’s encounter in the NME offices with the coke snorting socialists Julie Burchill and Tony Parsons seems to have imprinted the drug with an inescapable whiff of hypocrisy.
In the early stages of The Fall Smith made the decision to distance himself from prevailing trends. The band sported shaggy hair and taunted pogo-ing punks with slow and lugubrious songs. Now he has been out of step for so long it seems Smith’s work can never date, but what appears like a sound career move may in fact be just a result of a genuine bewilderment with most of what passes for popular culture, made explicit in Smith’s songs. “Ted Rogers' brains burn in hell.”, Smith declared in 1982, whilst ten years later A Past Gone Mad pleaded, “If I ever end up like Ian McShane slit my throat with a kitchen tool. And if I ever end up like U2 slit my throat with a garden vegetable”. Smith had no time for the credo of ultra short term nostalgia that defines vast swathes of contemporary publishing and television. He probably does not remember 1987 and would not enjoy BBC 2 shows that asked him to do so, instantly recycling the immediate past for late night comic amusement. “Balti and Vimto and Spangles were always crap, regardless of the look back bores.”, he explains on It’s A Curse, whilst his second spoken word album contains the rather unfair observation; “Harry Hill encapsulates everything wrong with British society. What signals is he sending out to his big white shirt and large NHS spectacles? Fooling about, a qualified doctor needed by everybody.” Instead of a rotating roster of bands and writers that fall in and out of fashion, Smith has maintained a watertight list of acceptable influences that does not seem to have altered much since the early 80’s. Alongside his musical heroes he admires a canon of literary figures that unselfconsciously crosses highbrow and lowbrow barriers in a quest for visionary outsiders; Camus, Wyndham Lewis, HP Lovecraft, Phillip Dick and the Welsh mystic Arthur Machen.
So Fall fans have Smith to thank for their own impeccable taste, and, if nothing else, we learn from him a useful sense of independence, or at the very least, studied contrariness. Smith’s devotees have the same relationship with him as one might have with a League Division Three football team. Being a Smith fan has gone beyond being an issue of choice. We will be there to support him whatever. During the late 90’s, when the majority of his performances were confused and awful, there was even some pleasure to be had in having our worst expectations confirmed. “See, I told you he was passed it.”, someone would say, as plastic pint pots flew at Smith’s shrinking head. But last November’s tour was brilliant. We knew, all along, that he would not let us down. There is nothing dignified or brave about supporting Arsenal FC. They will probably come to rest at or near the top of the table each season. But following Mark E Smith requires virtues. It demands optimism, courage and faith.
The American writer Camden Joy and the Welsh cartoonist Colin Morton collaborated on Pan (Highwater books), a novel set on the night of the Fall’s legendarily bad 1998 New York performance, when Smith allegedly struck his wife and was arrested. The story follows the fortunes of various gig-goers, from devotees to the merely curious, all of whom project their own hopes, desires and needs onto the blank slate of Mark E Smith. “Don’t you ever take me to see a band like that again”, shouts a thin redhead, leaving the gig. Joy has warm feelings towards his novel’s non-protagonist. “I come to admire Mark Smith more and more,” he writes, “as one admires a caged cat, its determined air, strong eyes, and cruel mouth, a beast of brains and savage certainties. There is something so alluring about that famous lack of forgiveness. Looking on, from a safe distance, the fiery paradoxes of Smith’s nature appear oddly inspiring.” Barbara Manning, once of the Californian psychedelic band 28th Day, wrote a song about observing Smith in the street and her admiration for him is similarly cautious. “I get the feeling he would not like me much and probably could easily make me cry,”, she says, “so its better that I never meet him in person."
The song New Big Prinz has become a traditional Fall encore, and the way it is received now constitutes an act of genuine absurdity. Originally released in 1988 as part of The Fall’s soundtrack to Michael Clarke’s ballet, I Am Kurious Oranj, New Big Prinz is a reworking of Hip Priest from the band’s best album, 1982’s Hex Enduction Hour. The Hip Priest is a legendary cult figure, respected and admired, but trapped in poverty stricken obscurity. “Check the record. Check the record. Check the guy's track record,” runs the refrain, “He is not appreciated.” During the band’s last two London dates, microphones find their way into the crowd as usual. Smith directs the audience from the stage with unusually animated gestures. “He is not fucking appreciated” is sung back at him by a thousand fans. Clearly, they do fucking appreciate him. “I’m not a mega-rock star. My thing is just to keep working and developing. Otherwise it’s pointless.”, says Smith, on the Rebellious Jukebox DVD, “The smart idea is to get a load of money and retire, and all that shit which is what every body does, but that’s not why I started it.”
FIVE SONGS
1) Leave The Capitol - Slates – 1981.
A propulsive, paranoid meditation on the big city. “Hotel maids smile in unison, then you know in your brain, you must leave the capitol, exit this Roman shell.”
2) Iceland – Hex Enduction Hour – 1982
“ The spawn of the volcano is thick and impatient like the people around it.” Smith taped the wind whistling past his Reykavik Hotel window, went to the rock walled studio and told the band to play a Dylan-esque vamp. The result is this one take only, never performed since masterpiece of controlled tension. I’d been listening to this song for seventeen years before I finally made it to Iceland, where I too witnessed the last of the dark men, a green goblin redhead and the pipes of aluminium, and was humbled in Iceland.
3) Jerusalem – I Am Kurious Oranj – 1988
Like William Blake, whose words are hijacked here, Smith is will only be appreciated after his death. This comes from the soundtrack The Fall performed to a Michael Clark ballet, nominally about William of Orange, and reminds us that Blake should sound like a contrary bastard too, not a Sunday School singalong.
4) The Birmingham School Of Business School – Code Selfish – 1993
I believe it was I who wrote, ‘it is typical of Smith’s genius to realise that using the word school twice in this title points out the absurdity of the continuing existence of Birmingham. Threshing machine rhythms and flickering sequencers destroy all obstacles. “Laughing stock of Europe. Olympic bidding again and again.”
5) Theme From Sparta F.C. – The Real New Fall LP – 2003
A glam rock stomp, with football terrace backing vocals, describes the annihilation of English teams at the hands of mythical Europeans. “English Chelsea fan this is your last game. We're not Galatasary We're Sparta F.C.”
Stewart Lee
2004-04-01T18:02:19+01:00
After over twenty five years in the British Entertainment Industry, Popular Music Division, Manchester’s punk scene survivors The Fall still haven’t developed what record company fat cats might call a Signature Sound. Sometimes they could be a 60’s garage punk relic, at others an over-amplified, over-amphetamined 50’s rockabilly group. Some songs suggest 70’s German experimental bands, or Italian House records, or cut and paste efforts by bearded post-war beatniks. Why would anyone make this music? Why would anyone listen to it? Over forty musicians, including the Radio 1 DJ Lard, have served sentences of varying lengths in The Fall, usually departing in acrimony. Scientists estimate that most living rock drummers have at some time played in the group, though many choose to deny it. But no matter how many former Fall members tumble to the wayside, like the skeletons in Jason In The Argonauts, still more spring up from the barren soil to take their places. The Fall has only one constant, lead singer and lyricist Mark E Smith. Music journalists, if they cover The Fall at all, reduce Smith’s quarter century of genius to an ongoing soap opera of cancelled gigs, heavy drinking and needlessly threatening behaviour. We Fall followers the world over hang on his every recorded utterance, lions led by a donkey. But today’s young people probably know Smith best as the man shouting “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!” on the Vauxhall Corsair advert. For me, Mark E Smith’s work is one of life’s few constant pleasures, yet to say I admire him would be an exaggeration. One may as well admire sleet. Your admiration is not a necessary element of the conditions required for wet ice to fall from the sky. Mark E Smith will continue regardless, with or without anyone’s approval. Today, Smith is forty-six years...
Every generation feels it witnesses the slow death of its culture. Arriving in the glens in 1773, Johnson and Boswell were advised the real highlanders disappeared twenty years earlier. And having decamped to Cornwall in the fifties, the artist Ithell Colquhoun observed an apparently vanishing way of life in her memoir The Living Stones.
Closer to home, Childhood friends Ben Holton and Rob Glover, who played their first gig as Epic 45 in a concert at their Staffordshire school in 1997, believe they are the last generation to experience real village life in their region, as former rural communities become dormitories for commuters and struggle to maintain their unique identities in the shadow of identikit housing projects. Epic 45 make hazy, electro-acoustic, evocations of the English pastoral in the tradition of Talk Talk or The Durutti Column, and very pleasant they are too. However, there's the merest suggestion of a darker theme at play on their seventh album, Weathering.
Tracks entitled People Say This Place Is Dying or With Our Backs To The City, and emotionally directional sleeve shots of abandoned cottages and a woodland viewed through a PVC window frame, give their bucolic space blues something serious to grind against. A time bomb ticks underneath the village war memorial, and so we read these chiming cyclical guitar parts, moody atmospheric samples, found sounds, and oddly distant massed vocal parts, a little differently.
Epic 45 used to invoke, inoffensively but captivatingly, a nostalgically fictional English idyll. But now there seems to be something at stake, Weathering strikes deeper and more resonant notes.
Stewart Lee
2011-07-17T12:32:57+01:00
Every generation feels it witnesses the slow death of its culture. Arriving in the glens in 1773, Johnson and Boswell were advised the real highlanders disappeared twenty years earlier. And having decamped to Cornwall in the fifties, the artist Ithell Colquhoun observed an apparently vanishing way of life in her memoir The Living Stones. Closer to home, Childhood friends Ben Holton and Rob Glover, who played their first gig as Epic 45 in a concert at their Staffordshire school in 1997, believe they are the last generation to experience real village life in their region, as former rural communities become dormitories for commuters and struggle to maintain their unique identities in the shadow of identikit housing projects. Epic 45 make hazy, electro-acoustic, evocations of the English pastoral in the tradition of Talk Talk or The Durutti Column, and very pleasant they are too. However, there's the merest suggestion of a darker theme at play on their seventh album, Weathering. Tracks entitled People Say This Place Is Dying or With Our Backs To The City, and emotionally directional sleeve shots of abandoned cottages and a woodland viewed through a PVC window frame, give their bucolic space blues something serious to grind against. A time bomb ticks underneath the village war memorial, and so we read these chiming cyclical guitar parts, moody atmospheric samples, found sounds, and oddly distant massed vocal parts, a little differently. Epic 45 used to invoke, inoffensively but captivatingly, a nostalgically fictional English idyll. But now there seems to be something at stake, Weathering strikes deeper and more resonant notes.
Stewart Lee performs his latest tour show Basic Lee filmed in April at The Lowry in Salford.
Superficially an uncharacteristically simple Stewart Lee show, in which the gnomic fifty-six-year-old veteran attempts to define by example what stand-up comedy is, Basic Lee slowly reveals a subtext about staying sane by re-structuring reality. But Lee’s most personal show is also his funniest, as he rewards the post-pandemic audience with a barrel load of big laughs as well as a bucketful of post-modern comedy deconstruction.
Probably the finest live recording to date of “the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian” (The Times, 2018) or “the world’s second best living stand-up comedian after Bo Burnham” (Daily Telegraph, 2023).
Stewart Lee, Basic Lee: Live at the Lowry is produced by Drum Studios in association with Awkward Films. The Producer Director is Colin Dench. The Executive Producers are Danny Carvalho and Andy Holland. The Commissioning Editor for Sky is Dwayne Eaton.
Stewart Lee, Basic Lee: Live at the Lowry airs 20th July at 9pm on Sky Comedy and streaming service NOW
Stewart Lee’s Basic Lee appears to be on Now TV to stream now! There are links to six video clips below. And it has a traditional broadcast at 9pm on Sky Comedy. WATCH IT HERE ON NOW TV, NOW Stewart Lee performs his latest tour show Basic Lee filmed in April at The Lowry in Salford. Superficially an uncharacteristically simple Stewart Lee show, in which the gnomic fifty-six-year-old veteran attempts to define by example what stand-up comedy is, Basic Lee slowly reveals a subtext about staying sane by re-structuring reality. But Lee’s most personal show is also his funniest, as he rewards the post-pandemic audience with a barrel load of big laughs as well as a bucketful of post-modern comedy deconstruction. Probably the finest live recording to date of “the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian” (The Times, 2018) or “the world’s second best living stand-up comedian after Bo Burnham” (Daily Telegraph, 2023). Stewart Lee, Basic Lee: Live at the Lowry is produced by Drum Studios in association with Awkward Films. The Producer Director is Colin Dench. The Executive Producers are Danny Carvalho and Andy Holland. The Commissioning Editor for Sky is Dwayne Eaton. Stewart Lee, Basic Lee: Live at the Lowry airs 20th July at 9pm on Sky Comedy and streaming service NOW BASIC LEE CLIPS The Fun Topical Bit Stewart Lee Is Very Clever Why I Can't Cut This Bit Unenjoyable Comedy Doctor / Weight Don't Be Late
The sleeve of Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell's debut reveals the trio in 1972 flares and trainers.
A bulbous bird head apes countless album covers by the Seventies Welsh blues rock wranglers Budgie. But the period product within is dispatched with a New York 1976 punk energy and flanged with iridescent late Sixties psychedelic effects.
Don't Hear It... Fear It! is further evidence of the internet-expediated end of linear cultural progression, but its sick thrills more than justify the threat it poses to the space-time continuum.
Stewart Lee
2012-10-14T00:42:21+01:00
The sleeve of Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell's debut reveals the trio in 1972 flares and trainers. A bulbous bird head apes countless album covers by the Seventies Welsh blues rock wranglers Budgie. But the period product within is dispatched with a New York 1976 punk energy and flanged with iridescent late Sixties psychedelic effects. Don't Hear It... Fear It! is further evidence of the internet-expediated end of linear cultural progression, but its sick thrills more than justify the threat it poses to the space-time continuum.
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...
How exciting for me! I have written an introduction to Paul Hanley’s brilliant informative and funny new book about my favorite album ever, The Fall’s HEX ENDUCTION HOUR.
HAVE A BLEEDIN GUESS: THE STORY OF HEX ENDUCTION HOUR
Even if it’s a fool’s errand trying to decide which is the greatest LP out of The Fall’s huge back catalogue of albums, many fanatics of the group will tell you that the worst thing you can say about Hex is that it’s their equal best at the very least. ’ – John Doran, The Quietus
Of all The Fall’s myriad long-players, Hex Enduction Hour remains one of their most highly regarded. Even the circumstances of its recording, purportedly in an abandoned cinema and a cave formed from Icelandic lava, have achieved legendary status among their ever-loyal fanbase. HAVE A BLEEDIN GUESS tells the full story of the album, including how each song was written, performed and recorded. It also includes new interviews with key players.
Author Paul Hanley, who was one of The Fall’s two drummers when Hex was created, is uniquely placed to discuss the album’s impact, both when it was released and in the ensuing years. Needless to say, we’re delighted to welcome Paul back to Louder Than Words Fest for what will undoubtedly be a fascinating in conversation focused on his terrific new book
Hanley writes in his introduction to the book: ‘Because of the way The Fall worked in those days, Hex and its contents can’t be discussed in a vacuum […] While what went on during the Iceland and Hitchin sessions will inform much of what follows, documenting the making of Hex Enduction Hour isn’t like discussing Rumours, or even Blood on the Tracks: its recording was part of a process. What’s more, the Fall process often subverted the rehearse-record-tour cycle by skipping the rehearsal bit – it wasn’t unheard of for a song roughed out in a soundcheck to be part of that night’s set. The oldest song on Hex Enduction Hour was first played live as early as August 1980. The group released an LP, a six-track ‘mini-album’ and two singles before it made its way onto vinyl, but it fits Hex Enduction Hour’s atmosphere perfectly. Someone in The Fall knew what they were doing. Hopefully by the end of this you’ll have some idea too.’
It is this continuous working process – from the formation of the band that made the record, through the trip to Iceland, the key switching of record labels from Rough Trade to Kamera and the subsequent recording at The Regal in Hitchin – that is at the heart of HAVE A BLEEDIN GUESS. Along the way, Hanley’s insider’s perspective busts a few myths that have surrounded the album over the years, as well as bringing fresh insights, not least of which is who is the King Shag Corpse.
The book features new contributions from key players on the album, including Craig Scanlon, Steve Hanley, Marc Riley and Kay Carroll, plus producers Grant Showbiz and Richard Mazda, and Kamera’s Saul Galpern and Chris Youle and from Paul himself, we'll undoubtedly get insights and anecdotes that no-one else can match!
Stewart Lee
2019-10-05T21:15:00+01:00
How exciting for me! I have written an introduction to Paul Hanley’s brilliant informative and funny new book about my favorite album ever, The Fall’s HEX ENDUCTION HOUR. HAVE A BLEEDIN GUESS: THE STORY OF HEX ENDUCTION HOUR Even if it’s a fool’s errand trying to decide which is the greatest LP out of The Fall’s huge back catalogue of albums, many fanatics of the group will tell you that the worst thing you can say about Hex is that it’s their equal best at the very least. ’ – John Doran, The Quietus Of all The Fall’s myriad long-players, Hex Enduction Hour remains one of their most highly regarded. Even the circumstances of its recording, purportedly in an abandoned cinema and a cave formed from Icelandic lava, have achieved legendary status among their ever-loyal fanbase. HAVE A BLEEDIN GUESS tells the full story of the album, including how each song was written, performed and recorded. It also includes new interviews with key players. Author Paul Hanley, who was one of The Fall’s two drummers when Hex was created, is uniquely placed to discuss the album’s impact, both when it was released and in the ensuing years. Needless to say, we’re delighted to welcome Paul back to Louder Than Words Fest for what will undoubtedly be a fascinating in conversation focused on his terrific new book Hanley writes in his introduction to the book: ‘Because of the way The Fall worked in those days, Hex and its contents can’t be discussed in a vacuum […] While what went on during the Iceland and Hitchin sessions will inform much of what follows, documenting the making of Hex Enduction Hour isn’t like discussing Rumours, or even Blood on the Tracks: its recording was part of a process. What’s more, the Fall process...
What would a coup d’état look like? Would you even notice if one was happening all around you? Should we even be allowed to use the phrase coup d’état, now that we are leaving the EU? Should we return the very words themselves to the vile continent whence they came, and accept back in turn le weekend, le camping, and loads of leather-skinned racist pensioners currently dwelling in Spanish retirement complexes, to drain the resources of our imminently even more understaffed NHS?
My late father used to have a drinking buddy, Krtek, nicknamed the Mole, who claimed to have been caught in the crossfire of a hostile 50s coup in his east European homeland. Apparently the Mole had been shot in the face in a street battle, leaving him with a permanent slit in his cheek which he could open and close at will, like the oily perineal gland through which Michael Gove periodically oozes translucent globs of sincerity.
The Mole first made my father aware of his face skill in the late 70s, at a family-run Italian restaurant, Da Corrado, on the then rural outskirts of south-east Birmingham. During dinner, in an argument about the veracity of the Dr Hook song When You’re in Love With a Beautiful Woman (It’s Hard), The Mole deliberately shot a compressed jet of masticated cannelloni out of the portal of his cheek wound into my father’s hair, leading to a lifetime Da Corrado ban for the pair of them. This was particularly egregious for my father, who maintained that Da Corrado’s deep fried squid was the best in the immediate Cheswick Green area, if not the West Midlands generally.
Nonetheless, as a child, the Mole’s punctured face, and the exotic fables of street fighting that accompanied it, defined my idea of a coup d’état. There’d be tanks, wouldn’t there, rolling through redbrick squares, beautiful Slavic blond girls putting hopeless blooms into gun barrels, and orders barked through megaphones by men with Nazi moustaches? And there’d be psychedelic bands, playing acid-polka music in mail-order Carnaby Street threads, driven underground by the military, awaiting respectable roles in the revolutionary government’s Ministry of Culture, three decades later. Wouldn’t there?
Well, roll over grandma, and tell Robert Peston the news. This is not your mother’s seizure of political power. I suspect we western liberal democracies may be in the middle of a very modern type of coup, namely an alt-coup. Look! I’ve used the hipster prefix ‘alt’, but in relation to reactionary politics, rather than in a phrase like “alt-country”, “alt-porn”, or “alt-crochet”. How thrillingly 21st-century! This is what it must have felt like to be Milo Yiannopoulos!!
(Sadly, it was only last month I even learned of the existence of Trump-endorsed uber-troll Milo Yiannopoulos, who looked like a Tom of Finland pencil drawing of his Breitbart colleague James Delingpole. And already the boy has been dissolved in acid by his own suddenly squeamish paymasters. The news cycle moves so fast it’s hardly worth finding out about anything any more as it’s all sure to be irrelevant a week later. Note to self: That’s what “they” want you to think.)
An American dictionary definition of coup d’état I found online calls it “a quick and decisive seizure of governmental power by a strong military or political group…. (which) arrests the incumbent leaders, seizes the national radio and television services, and proclaims itself in power”. So does our homegrown alt-coup fit the bill?
Well, undoubtedly, a coterie of far-right conservatives are using the supposed Brexit mandate as an opportunity to pursue their extremist agenda, but incumbent leaders weren’t arrested, they just ran away. And the leader of our current opposition, if you’ll permit me some Daily Telegraph-blogger-type schadenfreude, probably couldn’t get himself arrested if he tried! (This stuff’s easy! I’d be looking at a £250,000 book deal if only I hadn’t been such a careless and vocal advocate of non-consensual human-insect sexual relations.)
Unlike the classic coup, the new government haven’t seized the national radio and television services, as there has been no need to do so, Laura Kuenssberg in particular being essentially just a state-sponsored town crier, who runs around the filthy lanes in a Theresa May tabard blowing a heraldic trumpet in celebration of every government pronouncement. Snitch!
Indeed, earlier this week, the BBC chose to run a coincidentally timed documentary about the senile freeloaders in the irrelevant House of Lords, just as the honourable checks and balances were debating Brexit, the unelected peers intimidated from the sidelines by the unelected prime minister, sporting the face of a vicar’s daughter who had eaten a whole bucket of spicy huevos de toro before being told which part of the toro they were made from.
Surely there must be at least a peerage in waiting for the head of BBC scheduling, if the House of Lords isn’t abolished? Here’s hoping for an equally well-timed reappraisal of the professional/personal irregularities that led to expense-muddling Brexiter and disgraced former defence secretary Liam Fox’s now forgotten 2011 resignation.
Sadly the newspapers aren’t up to policing the coup either. When he interviewed Donald Trump for the Times, Michael Gove didn’t even notice that Rupert Murdoch was in the room. I’m not a respected journalist like Michael, I’m just a comedian, but to me Murdoch’s presence changes the whole story, and makes it look as if the far-right coup is part of an international network of corrupt self-interested parties, a massive scoop for Gove to miss.
Unlike the coup that punctured the Mole’s face, in our alt-coup not a shot was fired in anger. And yes, I am ignoring the shooting of Jo Cox as Remainers have been asked not to “politicise” it. And anyway the gunman who shouted out “Britain first” during the killing has got the politicisation of that murder pretty much covered anyway.
Thirty years later, I wonder if the story of the Mole and his squirty face-hole, like so many of my father’s tall tales, was true at all. It doesn’t matter. It made me happy. My father had also claimed, repeatedly, to be a member of a secret society of European packaging company reps, whose members met in various continental sales-conference venues, where they dared each other to place bets on how many small white plastic sticks were concealed in their clenched fists. I don’t care whether this club existed. Either way, it is now a useful metaphor for Theresa May’s Brexit negotiating strategy. Thanks Dad.
Stewart Lee’s Content Provider is now touring; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-02-26T22:22:38+00:00
What would a coup d’état look like? Would you even notice if one was happening all around you? Should we even be allowed to use the phrase coup d’état, now that we are leaving the EU? Should we return the very words themselves to the vile continent whence they came, and accept back in turn le weekend, le camping, and loads of leather-skinned racist pensioners currently dwelling in Spanish retirement complexes, to drain the resources of our imminently even more understaffed NHS? My late father used to have a drinking buddy, Krtek, nicknamed the Mole, who claimed to have been caught in the crossfire of a hostile 50s coup in his east European homeland. Apparently the Mole had been shot in the face in a street battle, leaving him with a permanent slit in his cheek which he could open and close at will, like the oily perineal gland through which Michael Gove periodically oozes translucent globs of sincerity. The Mole first made my father aware of his face skill in the late 70s, at a family-run Italian restaurant, Da Corrado, on the then rural outskirts of south-east Birmingham. During dinner, in an argument about the veracity of the Dr Hook song When You’re in Love With a Beautiful Woman (It’s Hard), The Mole deliberately shot a compressed jet of masticated cannelloni out of the portal of his cheek wound into my father’s hair, leading to a lifetime Da Corrado ban for the pair of them. This was particularly egregious for my father, who maintained that Da Corrado’s deep fried squid was the best in the immediate Cheswick Green area, if not the West Midlands generally. Nonetheless, as a child, the Mole’s punctured face, and the exotic fables of street fighting that accompanied it, defined my idea of a coup...
STEWART Lee can wrong-foot an audience faster than most people can say "white supremacist theme park".
Which was the description of Cheltenham he decided to goad us with in his intro.
Given that he was promising a three-parter divided into the subject matters of Islamaphobia, urine and UKIP, it went down well. As did his berating of the latecomers shuffling in midway through his jibes at reviewers, namely Rod Liddle and his smeared on suet and Angel Delight.
But all's well that ends well, eh? Stewart got to revive a longer list of smeary foodstuff for Rod, and the audience. Well, it's always nice to see a collective approach to self-flagellation at a comedy gig. And the town hall was packed to capacity.
The Room with a Stew tour is a work in progress in preparation for his TV show, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Stewart's stage act is a conflictive mass of deconstructed and convoluted back-handed comedy. He spares no one as he launches his tirades against the ills of society, then he peppers it with audience-baiting and spoiler ploys, playing the long game and leading you astray, before pouncing back with a killer punch.
But all of this rapid-fire eloquence and irony is still surprising and clever, and there's no denying his intelligentsia appeal. This is the razor-sharp onion unpeeling type of wit that makes you feel a tad intellectually superior, albeit for just a couple of hours. Lee Mack or Michael McIntyre it ain't.
Stewart is a comedic craftsman; taking us one way then haranguing us for going there. It's all finely honed, even though it's a work in progress, and you have to involve yourself and invest in it. But then, let's face it, Stewart has got form, and his precision planning is second to none
And it is an act: the misanthrope who is continually challenged by society and commercialism, to the point where he uses his negative reviews as advertising on his tour posters. It is this ability to subvert the very notion of his own popularity that is his own grist to the mill.
Stewart is an acquired taste, but for all of his diatribes and reprimands, he is evidently amusing himself too. And he eschews any pretentious showy palaver.
He just gets on stage, gives you a run-through, performs and exits stage left. A bit like wash and go shampoo but without the froth and more of a sting in the eye.
I'm not ashamed to admit I cried with laughter. Fairy hats in the fuchsia and a peckish fox can do that to a girl.
Stewart Lee
2015-03-09T20:19:27+00:00
STEWART Lee can wrong-foot an audience faster than most people can say "white supremacist theme park". Which was the description of Cheltenham he decided to goad us with in his intro. Given that he was promising a three-parter divided into the subject matters of Islamaphobia, urine and UKIP, it went down well. As did his berating of the latecomers shuffling in midway through his jibes at reviewers, namely Rod Liddle and his smeared on suet and Angel Delight. But all's well that ends well, eh? Stewart got to revive a longer list of smeary foodstuff for Rod, and the audience. Well, it's always nice to see a collective approach to self-flagellation at a comedy gig. And the town hall was packed to capacity. The Room with a Stew tour is a work in progress in preparation for his TV show, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. Stewart's stage act is a conflictive mass of deconstructed and convoluted back-handed comedy. He spares no one as he launches his tirades against the ills of society, then he peppers it with audience-baiting and spoiler ploys, playing the long game and leading you astray, before pouncing back with a killer punch. But all of this rapid-fire eloquence and irony is still surprising and clever, and there's no denying his intelligentsia appeal. This is the razor-sharp onion unpeeling type of wit that makes you feel a tad intellectually superior, albeit for just a couple of hours. Lee Mack or Michael McIntyre it ain't. Stewart is a comedic craftsman; taking us one way then haranguing us for going there. It's all finely honed, even though it's a work in progress, and you have to involve yourself and invest in it. But then, let's face it, Stewart has got form, and his precision planning is second to none And...
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.
This episode we're joined by the comedian Stewart Lee who is asking you to reimagine Willie of Winsbury, an odd tale of illicit love, a pansexual ghost, and denunciation of property rights. Stewart unpicks some of the rich symbolism at the heart of this beguiling popular folk song and we explore how one man’s accident in the mid-20th century may (or may not) have come to dominate the song’s recent history of interpretation.
/// COMMUNITY ///
If you’re interested in getting deeper into the conversation, come and join our group on Facebook. There’s been some amazing chats over the last month with people sharing demos, feedback and ideas.
/// MUSIC CREDITS ///
6:27 - Coming Over Here - Asian Dub Foundation
11:09 - Prayer for a Saint - Ustad Saami
18:55 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Dick Gaughan
21:55 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Anais Mitchell & Jefferson Hamer
24:27 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Dick Gaughan
30:41 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Anne Briggs
33:38 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Sweeney’s Men
38:17 - Lord Thomas of Winesbury and the King’s Daughter - Barbara Dickson
40:33 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Offa Rex
45:00 - Polly on the Shore - Stewart Lee and Stuart Estell
Stewart Lee
2021-04-19T23:10:56+01:00
This episode we're joined by the comedian Stewart Lee who is asking you to reimagine Willie of Winsbury, an odd tale of illicit love, a pansexual ghost, and denunciation of property rights. Stewart unpicks some of the rich symbolism at the heart of this beguiling popular folk song and we explore how one man’s accident in the mid-20th century may (or may not) have come to dominate the song’s recent history of interpretation. Check out Stewart’s documentary King Rocker here. Watch Stewart’s chart topping track ‘Coming Over Here’ with Asian Dub Foundation here. The book on drones that Stewart references is ‘Monolithic Undertow’ by Harry Sword. Listen to Part 2 Here /// TAKE PART /// Charts: example score, chords & lyrics (.pdf) Playlist: Spotify playlist of existing versions of Willie O’ Winsbury Find a quick guide on how to submit here. Stewart will be back again to listen to your takes in the second part of this episode released Monday 17 May. Remember to get your takes to us by Monday 10 May to feature! Drop us a message if you have any questions. /// COMMUNITY /// If you’re interested in getting deeper into the conversation, come and join our group on Facebook. There’s been some amazing chats over the last month with people sharing demos, feedback and ideas. /// MUSIC CREDITS /// 6:27 - Coming Over Here - Asian Dub Foundation 11:09 - Prayer for a Saint - Ustad Saami 18:55 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Dick Gaughan 21:55 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Anais Mitchell & Jefferson Hamer 24:27 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Dick Gaughan 30:41 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Anne Briggs 33:38 - Willie O’ Winsbury - Sweeney’s Men 38:17 - Lord Thomas of Winesbury and the King’s Daughter - Barbara Dickson 40:33 - Willie...
AXA Wealth International head of proposition Simon Willoughby on his love of stand-up comic Stewart Lee and how he wishes financial services could be more like him.
Some of you may recall my chance meeting with the comedian Jimmy Carr last year, and due to my inability to retain sufficient composure when trying to engage him in conversation, how I became the unfortunate victim of his cutting wit.
Well, you'll be pleased to know that I recently managed to strike-up a brief and vaguely coherent discussion with my all time favourite comedian after a show in Leicester Square. He even signed my DVD.
Stewart Lee, whose third Comedy Vehicle series has just finished on BBC2, tends to polarise opinions.
If you've come across him, you're likely to be either an addicted fan of his comic style or hate him with a vengeance.
As an example of the latter, the Daily Mail described him as a "Slime pit of bitterness".
To prove this point, when I asked my wife if she wanted to come to the show, she said "Oh, no. I can't stand him. I'm going to the ballet instead".
Apparently diverse interests are the key to a successful marriage, so I went on my own.
It was one of the best stand-up shows I've ever seen, and while I waited in a wine bar off Leicester Square for the ballet-follower to return from her rather more highbrow entertainment, I reflected on why I like Stewart Lee and his particular brand of humour.
I concluded that, as he would say, "The comedian Stewart Lee" is everything I wish the financial services sector would be, but only infrequently is.
Stewart Lee has been around since the late 80s and although his recent TV series' have brought his talent to a wider audience, something you suspect he secretly hates, he's never altered his style to court wider popularity.
He's avoided TV panel shows as well as observational comedy. In my view he's never sold out.
He's not afraid to challenge conventional thinking and tackle social injustice by using his own brand of subtle satire and verbal dexterity to put across an alternative view on a topic.
This has the effect of shaming his audience into considering a different way of thinking without beating them over the head.
Finally he's also not afraid to deconstruct the art of stand-up and lay bare the techniques and processes around which his act is supposed to be built.
He's able to do this because he has the confidence and skill to do so and still make people laugh even though he's already told them why they really shouldn't.
I'd like to work in a financial services sector that was a little braver, that never submits to vested interest groups and always chooses to do what's best for the end client.
While I think that is the direction of travel, wouldn't it be great if we were there already?
I'd like to work in a sector that was self confident enough to deal with social consequences of advice exclusion and the real life impact this could have.
I'd also like to work in a sector that was more willing to accept that large parts of what it does right now will need to change in the future and to openly seek to meet these challenges rather than trying to defend the past.
In a nutshell, I'd like the financial services sector to be more like Stewart Lee.
Of course the irony is "The comedian Stewart Lee" would be horrified by such a thought, although I think the Stewart Lee I met would probably allow himself a quiet chuckle.
Stewart Lee
2014-05-14T19:44:38+01:00
AXA Wealth International head of proposition Simon Willoughby on his love of stand-up comic Stewart Lee and how he wishes financial services could be more like him. Some of you may recall my chance meeting with the comedian Jimmy Carr last year, and due to my inability to retain sufficient composure when trying to engage him in conversation, how I became the unfortunate victim of his cutting wit. Well, you'll be pleased to know that I recently managed to strike-up a brief and vaguely coherent discussion with my all time favourite comedian after a show in Leicester Square. He even signed my DVD. Stewart Lee, whose third Comedy Vehicle series has just finished on BBC2, tends to polarise opinions. If you've come across him, you're likely to be either an addicted fan of his comic style or hate him with a vengeance. As an example of the latter, the Daily Mail described him as a "Slime pit of bitterness". To prove this point, when I asked my wife if she wanted to come to the show, she said "Oh, no. I can't stand him. I'm going to the ballet instead". Apparently diverse interests are the key to a successful marriage, so I went on my own. It was one of the best stand-up shows I've ever seen, and while I waited in a wine bar off Leicester Square for the ballet-follower to return from her rather more highbrow entertainment, I reflected on why I like Stewart Lee and his particular brand of humour. I concluded that, as he would say, "The comedian Stewart Lee" is everything I wish the financial services sector would be, but only infrequently is. Stewart Lee has been around since the late 80s and although his recent TV series' have brought his talent to a wider...
Stew wrote sleevenotes for the reissues of these two albums by the 80s band Razorcuts Buy The World Keeps Turning from here and buy Storyteller from here.
Stewart Lee is the death of stand-up comedy. His smug tirades and educated, middle-class opinions ruin it for everyone. For those who don’t like his intellectual concerns and patronising tone, he’s impossible to tolerate. For those who do, he makes it impossible to tolerate any other comedian. That’s the brilliance of Stewart Lee’s stand-up: either way, everyone ends up miserable.
Of course, he needs no introduction. We all know Stewart Lee. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations and repetitive style of delivery. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations and repetitive style of delivery trying to make people laugh. Yeah. We all know Stewart Lee.
Somewhat improbably, the man has turned his niche humour into an intricate art-form, railing against lazy stand-up material almost as much as immigration and other important issues. By the end of a single episode, you’re inclined to agree with him: other comedians just seem half-arsed by comparison. Where one might make a funny remark about the weather, Lee delights in provoking his audience – then explains to those who are offended or not laughing why they’re wrong, before turning the explanation into a joke too.
On the TV, that mock hostility works even better. He turns to the camera repeatedly to shout his most aggressive lines directly into his audience’s face, not caring if he turns his back on those in the room with him. One instalment sees him take that to absurd extremes, holding an imaginary phone call with a fictional customer of a hypothetical business, mostly as an excuse to make puns around silly place names. The phone call goes on for several minutes, before becoming a mini-routine in its own right, as he desperately tries to end it. When he interacts sincerely with the audience, things go just as badly; at one point in a rant about satire (and animals), someone walks out of a room just as he’s making a pop culture reference only they understand, leaving him having to improvise around a gaping hole in his set.
It’s a constant display of verbal footwork and mental agility, to the point where you begin to question just how unplanned some of these things are: Lee’s attention to detail is so careful that you can imagine him working every step out in advance. In fact, his tours have now become an exercise in doing just that: he spends the whole time rehearsing ready for the TV recordings, picking a handful of 30-minute sets to do in a single evening. It’s complacent, it’s clever and it’s ruthlessly efficient – all qualities that he’d no doubt be pleased to be accused of.
Unlike his in-person show, the TV show gives him a chance to acknowledge these qualities directly in a string of faux-behind-the-scenes interviews with Chris Morris (standing in for Armando Iannucci, who played the same role in Seasons 1 and 2). If these are occasionally too on-the-nose when compared to the subtlety on-stage, though, Comedy Vehicle really comes into its own with its filmed finales: sketches that round up the episode’s themes on a bizarre, often tragicomic note. One surreal highlight is an immigration skit involving Kevin Eldon and a sea monster – a moment of unexpected silliness that’s not only worthy of Monty Python, but also balances out Stewart’s harsh wit with colourful imagination.
The result is three hours of antagonistically intelligent stand-up comedy that will leave you exasperated by the middle-aged white man on your screen – or equally exasperated by everything he’s criticising. Stewart Lee is rude. Stewart Lee is obnoxious. Stewart Lee is condescending. But this is his Comedy Vehicle. And it’s hilarious. In the most miserable way possible.
Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle is available on Netflix UK, as part of a £7.49 monthly subscription.
Rating: 9
Rude, obnoxious, condescending and, most of all, hilarious.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-06T13:28:54+01:00
Stewart Lee is the death of stand-up comedy. His smug tirades and educated, middle-class opinions ruin it for everyone. For those who don’t like his intellectual concerns and patronising tone, he’s impossible to tolerate. For those who do, he makes it impossible to tolerate any other comedian. That’s the brilliance of Stewart Lee’s stand-up: either way, everyone ends up miserable. Of course, he needs no introduction. We all know Stewart Lee. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations and repetitive style of delivery. Stewart Lee with his non-observational observations and repetitive style of delivery trying to make people laugh. Yeah. We all know Stewart Lee. Somewhat improbably, the man has turned his niche humour into an intricate art-form, railing against lazy stand-up material almost as much as immigration and other important issues. By the end of a single episode, you’re inclined to agree with him: other comedians just seem half-arsed by comparison. Where one might make a funny remark about the weather, Lee delights in provoking his audience – then explains to those who are offended or not laughing why they’re wrong, before turning the explanation into a joke too. On the TV, that mock hostility works even better. He turns to the camera repeatedly to shout his most aggressive lines directly into his audience’s face, not caring if he turns his back on those in the room with him. One instalment sees him take that to absurd extremes, holding an imaginary phone call with a fictional customer of a hypothetical business, mostly as an excuse to make puns around silly place names. The phone call goes on for several minutes, before becoming a mini-routine in its own right, as he desperately tries to end it. When he interacts sincerely with the audience, things go...
TICKETS ARE ON SALE TOMORROW, JUNE 10TH VIA THE STAND, EDINBURGH 0131 558 7272 www.thestand.co.uk FOR
1)IF YOU PREFER A MILDER COMEDIAN, PLEASE ASK FOR ONE
is the title of the new live stand-up show. It will be run in at The Stand, Edinburgh, Weds 5th Aug - Sunday 30th Aug, not 17th, 7.45, £10. Then it will tour England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and there'll be some kind of London run in December/Jan. Tickets for The Stand run go on sale on June 10th. This is a relatively small room. Work in progress, towards a new touring show, from the comedian currently fashionable amongst broadsheet newspaper critics due to his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.Stew says, “In this show, an account of something that happened to me in a coffee shop will be used as a convenient framing device for disparate material possibly concerning English Heritage, Top Gear, The Olympics, emigration, prawns, Bella Pasta, The National Trust, farmers, DH Lawrence, piglets, cathedrals, bees, Iggy Pop, cider adverts, riots etc etc.”As usual, expect …
1) Some punchy stuff near the top
2) inexplicable hostility towards relatively innocuous figures
3) silences
4) repetition
5) sudden and/or gradual shifts in tone, velocity and volume
6) long routines experimenting with form rather than content
7) the possibility of failure 8) a quasi-serious bit at the end.
2009 is the 22nd fringe appearance by this obtuse man.“Lee destroys his topics with the precision, relentlessness and brutality of a medieval torturer; repeatedly and meticulously attacking the same small point until it becomes weakened to the point of collapse. Shorter jokes would be funnier, but nowhere near as transfixing, as the audience are compelled to see just how far he dare push it, and left to marvel at the man's sheer audacity. There's some tension as to whether it will work or not, and occasionally it doesn't.” - Steve Bennett, Chortle“Apparently ill at ease with both speech and movement, Lee's presence creates a kind of negative energy, a black hole of vacancy, pregnant with lack of meaning.” - Tim Out, Time Out London“His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension” - Roz Laws, Birmingham Sunday Mercury“I thought, ‘I'm funnier than Stewart Lee. If he can do it, I can'.” Al Murray, The Times
2)WHAT WOULD JUDAS DO? Audio cd
There's a set of three audio cds, documenting my 2007 theatre piece What Would Judas Do?, newly available for £10 from the wonderful Go Faster Stripe.
The sound quality is lo-fi and this wasn't a comedy show as such, but I am sure you will be delighted by the package. www.gofasterstripe.com
3) 41st BEST STAND-UP EVER Audio cd
The 41st Best Stand-Up Ever set is newly available as an audio cd. If you're one of the 20 000 + people who illegally downloaded the DVD of this show from torrent sites, as opposed to one of the 4000 or so that bought it, perhaps you'd like to buy this as a way of helping Real Talent to recoup their costs. Thieves!
Tuesday 16th June - 15 mins at Soho theatre gig at HMS President, Embankment, Blackfriars, LONDON
Saturday 20th June - Cardboard Citizens, benefit at Hackney Empire, LONDON - MORE BUMS ON SEATS
£18.50 | Doors 7.30pm, 8pm start Hackney Empire E8 1EJ Box office 020 8985 2424 www.hackneyempire.co.uk
An evening of stand-up comedy with Stewart Lee, Richard Herring, Simon Amstell, Brendon Burns and Josie Long, with all proceeds to Cardboard Citizens, the UK's only homeless people's professional theatre company.
July
July 2nd The Boat Show West Ken (our tagline - 'It's not on a boat, but it is in West Ken') It's in the Famous Three Kings - literally next to West Ken Tube. London. Short set.
Friday 3rd July - dbl bill w Bridget Christie at Jane Bom Bayne's, BRIGHTON, Edinburgh preview
Sat 4th July - Chuckle Club, LSE, London, Edinburgh Preview
Sun 5th July - Balowski Arts Club, Monto Water Rats Theatre, London (30 minute preview followed by full previews by Richard Herring and Gerry Howell)
Thurs 9th July - some benefit, Cross Kings, Kings Cross, LONDON
Sat 11th July - Just The Tonic, LONDON
Sun 12th July - Balowski Arts Club, Monto Water Rats Theatre, London (30 minute preview followed by full previews by Phil Nichol & Pappy's Fun Club)
Weds 15th July - Knock2Bag, Sherpherd's Bush, LONDON
Fri 17th July - Bush Hall, Shepherd's Bush,LONDON + some other good people
Sat 18th July - Falling Down W Laughter, LONDON somewhere.
Edinburgh Preview
Sun 19th July - Balowski Arts Club, Monto Water Rats Theatre, London
(30 minute preview followed by full previews by Stephen K Amos & Tim Key)
Mon 20th July - Tattershall Castle, LONDON
Sun 26th July - Balowski Arts Club, Monto Water Rats Theatre, London
(full preview followed by full previews by special guests)
If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One...
is the title of the new live stand-up show. It will be run in at The Stand, Edinburgh, Weds 5th Aug - Sunday 30th Aug, not 17th, 7.45, £10. Then it will tour England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and there'll be some kind of London run in December/Jan.
5) STEWART LEE'S COMEDY VEHICLE
Thank-you for watching this show, if you did. Figs were 1.25 million by the end, building over the series, which apparently is perfectly acceptable these days, and critical reaction was very good. People have been nice about it in pubs and in the street. I have to go to meetings soon to see if there can be a second series.
There is a dvd available on September 7th, with 1 ½ hrs of extra stuff etc.
Stewart Lee
2009-06-09T21:29:22+01:00
TICKETS ARE ON SALE TOMORROW, JUNE 10TH VIA THE STAND, EDINBURGH 0131 558 7272 www.thestand.co.uk FOR 1)IF YOU PREFER A MILDER COMEDIAN, PLEASE ASK FOR ONE is the title of the new live stand-up show. It will be run in at The Stand, Edinburgh, Weds 5th Aug - Sunday 30th Aug, not 17th, 7.45, £10. Then it will tour England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and there'll be some kind of London run in December/Jan. Tickets for The Stand run go on sale on June 10th. This is a relatively small room. Work in progress, towards a new touring show, from the comedian currently fashionable amongst broadsheet newspaper critics due to his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.Stew says, “In this show, an account of something that happened to me in a coffee shop will be used as a convenient framing device for disparate material possibly concerning English Heritage, Top Gear, The Olympics, emigration, prawns, Bella Pasta, The National Trust, farmers, DH Lawrence, piglets, cathedrals, bees, Iggy Pop, cider adverts, riots etc etc.”As usual, expect … 1) Some punchy stuff near the top 2) inexplicable hostility towards relatively innocuous figures 3) silences 4) repetition 5) sudden and/or gradual shifts in tone, velocity and volume 6) long routines experimenting with form rather than content 7) the possibility of failure8) a quasi-serious bit at the end. 2009 is the 22nd fringe appearance by this obtuse man.“Lee destroys his topics with the precision, relentlessness and brutality of a medieval torturer; repeatedly and meticulously attacking the same small point until it becomes weakened to the point of collapse. Shorter jokes would be funnier, but nowhere near as transfixing, as the audience are compelled to see just how far he dare push it, and left to marvel at the man's sheer audacity. There's some tension as to...
Twice voted 'Funniest Comedian' on Sigma XI Stewart is torn on whether he wants Donald Trump to win the US Election (for a very selfish reason!), and has some excellent advice for anyone (say, a bin-headed count from off-world) who might be heading on their debut comedy tour.
This really is a great episode - it's so good that if you haven't yet, this is probably the one that would make you hit 'follow' so you get a new episode every week.
Enjoy!
Stewart Lee
2024-07-27T18:19:02+01:00
This week Stewart Lee is on the pod. Twice voted 'Funniest Comedian' on Sigma XI Stewart is torn on whether he wants Donald Trump to win the US Election (for a very selfish reason!), and has some excellent advice for anyone (say, a bin-headed count from off-world) who might be heading on their debut comedy tour. This really is a great episode - it's so good that if you haven't yet, this is probably the one that would make you hit 'follow' so you get a new episode every week. Enjoy!
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...
Nirvana's Kurt Cobain found The Raincoats' can-do, English art school playfulness as invigorating as Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon did their dismissal of gender stereotypes. Nominally still under punk's umbrella, The Raincoats' second album, from 1980, featured then forbidden art rock drummers Robert Wyatt and This Heat's Charles Hayward, betraying wider influences.
Tempos and moods mutate mid-stream. Instruments shift from rhythm to lead at will. Barrier breaking Seventies feminist theory is made flesh. Songs stretch and compress in breathless conversational patterns, like someone's thrilling undergrad big sister in punk trousers, back briefly from London, and telling you all about the world.
A classic.
Stewart Lee
2011-09-11T21:23:39+01:00
Nirvana's Kurt Cobain found The Raincoats' can-do, English art school playfulness as invigorating as Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon did their dismissal of gender stereotypes. Nominally still under punk's umbrella, The Raincoats' second album, from 1980, featured then forbidden art rock drummers Robert Wyatt and This Heat's Charles Hayward, betraying wider influences. Tempos and moods mutate mid-stream. Instruments shift from rhythm to lead at will. Barrier breaking Seventies feminist theory is made flesh. Songs stretch and compress in breathless conversational patterns, like someone's thrilling undergrad big sister in punk trousers, back briefly from London, and telling you all about the world. A classic.
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
2017-01-21T20:08:43+00:00
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.
Crawling out of Baltimore like a psychedelic slug, Arboretum play the modal chord progressions you'd find on Seventies British folk rock albums, and douse them in cyclical strangulated lead guitar noise, a stoner metal band gone native at Cropredy.
David Heumann's yearning vocals lie back in the mix, like a man straining to see something from the shore, and the band navigates a cover of Jimmy Webb's The Highwayman, dignity intact. There's been folk rock before, but never folk-rawk, and as the flaxen fug of The Gathering achieves maximum penetration, one wonders why this particular hybrid has taken so long to bloom, because it's beautiful.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-20T00:54:52+00:00
Crawling out of Baltimore like a psychedelic slug, Arboretum play the modal chord progressions you'd find on Seventies British folk rock albums, and douse them in cyclical strangulated lead guitar noise, a stoner metal band gone native at Cropredy. David Heumann's yearning vocals lie back in the mix, like a man straining to see something from the shore, and the band navigates a cover of Jimmy Webb's The Highwayman, dignity intact. There's been folk rock before, but never folk-rawk, and as the flaxen fug of The Gathering achieves maximum penetration, one wonders why this particular hybrid has taken so long to bloom, because it's beautiful.
Roaring out of late ‘70s Redditch, The Cravats played neurotic Weimar cabaret art punk, spitting clipped satirical statements and blowing fog horn brass, whilst John Peel lamented his failure to make them famous.
Here's their first album, and all their early singles, a listening experience akin to being hit over the head, repeatedly and rhythmically, with a saxophone whilst an incredibly clever anarchist autodidact shouts in your face. A second disc of the same album, decisively and dynamically remixed by Crass' Penny Rimbaud, adds punch, presence, and some sympathetic samples, to the band's undeniably inventive sound and deceptively complex musicianship.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-06T11:14:06+01:00
Roaring out of late ‘70s Redditch, The Cravats played neurotic Weimar cabaret art punk, spitting clipped satirical statements and blowing fog horn brass, whilst John Peel lamented his failure to make them famous. Here's their first album, and all their early singles, a listening experience akin to being hit over the head, repeatedly and rhythmically, with a saxophone whilst an incredibly clever anarchist autodidact shouts in your face. A second disc of the same album, decisively and dynamically remixed by Crass' Penny Rimbaud, adds punch, presence, and some sympathetic samples, to the band's undeniably inventive sound and deceptively complex musicianship.
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...
With Stewart Lee's show (Four stars, Underbelly, 8.40pm), the satirical edge cuts in a variety of directions.
Although he starts with 9/11, a date he insists on calling November 9 — "Reclaim the date from American imperialism" — Lee slides effortlessly between attacks on America, Scotland, himself and even the idea of stand-up itself. His greatest bile is reserved for Ben Elton, and he manages to get the audience to offer more praise for Osama bin Laden than for Elton. Top joke, however, was his riff on William Wallace's invention of Pez sweets with collectable heads, including one set of pretenders to the throne of Edward II. The room giggled uncontrollably like schoolchildren hearing their teacher fart.
Superb.
Stewart Lee
2004-08-01T18:28:00+01:00
With Stewart Lee's show (Four stars, Underbelly, 8.40pm), the satirical edge cuts in a variety of directions. Although he starts with 9/11, a date he insists on calling November 9 — "Reclaim the date from American imperialism" — Lee slides effortlessly between attacks on America, Scotland, himself and even the idea of stand-up itself. His greatest bile is reserved for Ben Elton, and he manages to get the audience to offer more praise for Osama bin Laden than for Elton. Top joke, however, was his riff on William Wallace's invention of Pez sweets with collectable heads, including one set of pretenders to the throne of Edward II. The room giggled uncontrollably like schoolchildren hearing their teacher fart. Superb.
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.
"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...
And yet, for festive culture consumers the world of physical media seems to have disappeared.
But you can't give someone a measly download code for Christmas, can you, Mr Scrooge?
Media Garage are the official provider of all Stewart Lee physical media, except books.
The company operates out of an industrial unit in Southend, run by a man called Colin Dench, who for the whole festive season will be dressed as a Santa while he ships your orders of Xmas laffs worldwide!
We have already mailed parcels of fun to Japan, Finland, Switzerland, Germany, France, USA, Canada, New Zealand, and even Latvia!
Give the one you love a Stewart Lee CHRISTMAS with MEDIA GARAGE
Winterval is coming.
And the goose has diabetes.
Please consider buying
Stewart Lee's DVDs please.
Stew
Stewart Lee
2019-11-23T18:24:31+00:00
Dear Fans, Yule Winterval is just around the corner! And yet, for festive culture consumers the world of physical media seems to have disappeared. But you can't give someone a measly download code for Christmas, can you, Mr Scrooge? Media Garage are the official provider of all Stewart Lee physical media, except books. The company operates out of an industrial unit in Southend, run by a man called Colin Dench, who for the whole festive season will be dressed as a Santa while he ships your orders of Xmas laffs worldwide! We have already mailed parcels of fun to Japan, Finland, Switzerland, Germany, France, USA, Canada, New Zealand, and even Latvia! So here's that link again https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?me=A24E17ZJ7ONOJD&marketplaceID=A1F83G8C2ARO7P Give the one you love a Stewart Lee CHRISTMAS with MEDIA GARAGE Winterval is coming. And the goose has diabetes. Please consider buying Stewart Lee's DVDs please. Stew
Last week, as a disciple of the religion of wokeness, I was busy boycotting products advertised on Andrew Sphagnum Moss Neil’s new anti-woke GB News channel, which has been difficult as many of them are goods and services I don’t use. Consequently, I spent Monday in the park under a willow tree trying determinedly to develop a taste for Kopparberg cider, so I could email the company later announcing I was no longer going to drink it. But, as I woke up in a puddle of my own urine on Tuesday morning, I learned that the fruity alcohol provider was the first of many firms to announce withdrawal from GB News’s slots. My liver had suffered needlessly, but I felt pretty good about myself because of the sacrifice I had considered making, but then hadn’t needed to anyway.
Reaching damply for my phone, I saw that Grolsch and Ikea had declared that GB News’s ethos was also contrary to their “values” (namely “buy more beer” and “buy more furniture” respectively). If GB News advertisers Amazon, Google and Facebook suddenly discover they too have “values” maybe they will address their shortcomings in areas such as tax avoidance, workers’ rights and data manipulation. I went downstairs and ordered a garlic naan from the GB News-supporting fast-food bikers Deliveroo, so I could tell the poorly paid delivery person to take it back to his evil paymasters immediately and then signed up for a philosophy degree with GB News enablers the Open University, with the specific intention of withdrawing from it on principle later. Take back control!
While these brands’ damage-limiting dissociation from GB News may be performative, the Stop Funding Hate organisation has nonetheless reminded them of the possible consequences of the messages they pay for. On Tuesday, Boris Johnson’s former race adviser Samuel Kasumu warned against the right’s deliberate stoking of a culture war, suggesting that the death of Jo Cox was already forgotten and that the Brexit supporter who murdered her may have been radicalised by the narratives of certain newspapers and media commentators. Meanwhile, on Tuesday, Andrew Hamster Bedding Neil made a professionally horrified face as his own station’s core demographic of anti-lockdown protesters and conspiracy theorists chased the “traitor” who is the BBC News work experience boy Nicholas Watt across Whitehall, through successive lines of indifferent police officers.
But is GB News even good enough at television to be a threat to our democracy? The channel appears to be broadcast from a dim bunker lined with crumpled black crepe paper, sound drops in and out erratically and, robbed of the dignifying surroundings of Question Time, or even Sky News’s Press Preview, and placed instead in GB News’s degrading Silence of the Lambs cellar, familiar alt-right talking heads appear deflated and radiate only loneliness and tragedy.
A late-night show is presented by the uniquely untelevisual former Sun executive editor Dan Wootton, who needs to be enjoyed now in his tabula rasa incarnation before any recognisable broadcasting abilities are inadvertently etched upon him by passersby. For some minutes on Tuesday night, a segment of Wootton’s opinion show called The Big Question was instead captioned as “The Big Oesion”, an onomatopoeic, if nonexistent, word that suggests some kind of oozing lesion. Wootton himself is squeezed to the left, about a third of the screen is just a blank white space and the intermittently audible alt-right panellists peep out in a column from tiny rectangles, as if appearing on a spatially challenged Dantean edition of Celebrity Squares, hosted by an oesion. The 70s community cable channel Swindon Viewpoint had higher production values.
Andrew Duckdown Neil’s direct addresses to camera, though performed by a real human, have the looming quality of the hologram of Sir Laurence Olivier from Dave Clark’s 1986 Cliff Richard vehicle, Time, as if Andrew Lamb’s Lettuce Neil had projected film of his own face on to an enormous ostrich egg, for some personal opaque gratification. Meanwhile, the coverage of Andrew Fuzzy Felt Neil’s one-to-one interviews is so televisually illiterate, it is like watching consulting room security camera footage, sequestered by the police to investigate criminal claims against an incompetent GP. One wonders how Andrew Parmesan Shavings Neil can have appeared on television for so long and yet have learned so little about how it is made. Did he pay any attention to the skills of the professional and invisible BBC fluffers who facilitated him for all those years or was he like the prize pig in Charlotte’s Web, happily wolfing down its daily swill with little interest in how its trough was filled?
But it is dangerous for sneering woke liberals like me to write GB News off, simply because it is poorly produced, nasty and bad. GB News’s ultimate impact will be measured in its ability to leech bite-size chunks on to social media and viewing figures, currently, are very good, though this may be down to curious woke onlookers in search of sinful schadenfreude. After all, even Christ would slow down to look at a car crash. We underestimate Andrew Intertrigo Neil’s last stand at our peril. Once, the Ukips looked like a joke party, with cranky candidates who talked about Bongo Bongo Land, lost imaginary friends at Hillsborough, ostentatiously declined to rape Jess Phillips and taught dogs to Sieg Heil at the command “Gas the Jews!” But the Ukips lit the bin fire that engulfed British politics and the kind of bilateral agreements the G7 needs to literally save the actual world couldn’t be reached in Cornwall because Boris Johnson is still smeared with the stench of the Brexit lies the Ukips popularised. Nonetheless, I can’t wait for my next date with The Big Oesion!
Stewart Lee
2021-06-20T17:55:06+01:00
Last week, as a disciple of the religion of wokeness, I was busy boycotting products advertised on Andrew Sphagnum Moss Neil’s new anti-woke GB News channel, which has been difficult as many of them are goods and services I don’t use. Consequently, I spent Monday in the park under a willow tree trying determinedly to develop a taste for Kopparberg cider, so I could email the company later announcing I was no longer going to drink it. But, as I woke up in a puddle of my own urine on Tuesday morning, I learned that the fruity alcohol provider was the first of many firms to announce withdrawal from GB News’s slots. My liver had suffered needlessly, but I felt pretty good about myself because of the sacrifice I had considered making, but then hadn’t needed to anyway. Reaching damply for my phone, I saw that Grolsch and Ikea had declared that GB News’s ethos was also contrary to their “values” (namely “buy more beer” and “buy more furniture” respectively). If GB News advertisers Amazon, Google and Facebook suddenly discover they too have “values” maybe they will address their shortcomings in areas such as tax avoidance, workers’ rights and data manipulation. I went downstairs and ordered a garlic naan from the GB News-supporting fast-food bikers Deliveroo, so I could tell the poorly paid delivery person to take it back to his evil paymasters immediately and then signed up for a philosophy degree with GB News enablers the Open University, with the specific intention of withdrawing from it on principle later. Take back control! While these brands’ damage-limiting dissociation from GB News may be performative, the Stop Funding Hate organisation has nonetheless reminded them of the possible consequences of the messages they pay for. On Tuesday, Boris Johnson’s former race adviser...
Gilles invites his absolute favourite stand-up comedian, Stewart Lee - who is also a keen record collector - to join him on the show, play some tunes, and tell us about his sources of inspiration. Expect an eclectic range of sounds, from two-tone to freewheeling jazz and punk, plus lots of stories from Lee, ahead of his new show debuting at London’s Alexandra Palace Theatre on the 3rd of February.
Elsewhere in the show, a special bunch of new releases from around the world and unknown gems from Gilles’ archives.
Produced by Reduced Listening for BBC Radio 6 Music
Stewart Lee
2026-01-31T19:35:28+00:00
Gilles invites his absolute favourite stand-up comedian, Stewart Lee - who is also a keen record collector - to join him on the show, play some tunes, and tell us about his sources of inspiration. Expect an eclectic range of sounds, from two-tone to freewheeling jazz and punk, plus lots of stories from Lee, ahead of his new show debuting at London’s Alexandra Palace Theatre on the 3rd of February. Elsewhere in the show, a special bunch of new releases from around the world and unknown gems from Gilles’ archives. Produced by Reduced Listening for BBC Radio 6 Music
https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/mp3/gilles-peterson/
MERRY XMAS!
At this time of winter cheer
Remember that I’m always here
In my books and on CDs
And telling jokes on DVDs.
There’s no need to be alone
With all my products you can own.
You know they really are the tops
Though rarely available in high street shops.
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE RUN
"I've always thought of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do" - Toby Young, The Spectator
'CARPET REMNANT WORLD'
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE from 15 NOVEMBER 2011
SEASON NOW EXTENDED UNTIL 10 FEBRUARY 2012
Carpet Remnant World is the title of the new full length show from the acclaimed star of the BAFTA nominated BBC2 series: Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle (“The funniest thing on television" The Guardian). The show will open at Leicester Square Theatre on 15 November and, due to extremely strong sales already, the season has now been extended by two more weeks and will now play until 10 February 2012. It will then tour throughout the UK.
CRW took about twelve shows to shape up and now it’s cooking. It is also largely sold out in London, and loads of national dates have gone too.
Obviously I’d rather be playing to readers of this than people who have been brought along by their one friend that likes me so BUY BUY BUY!
Formerly stand-up's youthful iconoclast, Stewart Lee has reached premature middle age. What can this man, with his expanding girth and failing eyesight, whose life consists mainly of watching Scooby Doo cartoons with a four year old boy, possibly find to write comedy about? Lee now gawps blankly at News 24 as Britain burns down around him, and blinks weirdly at vast wayside retail outlets during endless journeys to and from increasingly indistinct provincial theatres. Once he lived on the pleasure planet. Now he is trapped in Carpet Remnant World. And so are you.
LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE
15 NOVEMBER 2011 - 10 FEBRUARY 2011
Tuesday - Saturday 7.30pm Saturday 4.30pm
Additional Matinees Friday 30 Dec Sunday 8 Jan/ Sunday 15 Jan/ Sunday 29 Jan/ Sunday 5 Feb
Additional Eve Perf Monday 23 Jan 7.30pm
No Performances 24-28 Dec & 31 Dec-2 January or 25 January
08448 733433 www.leicestersquaretheatre.com
Tickets: £17 - £22
CARPET REMNANT WORLD TOUR
These dates have been confirmed. But there will be more.
MARCH Thursday 1st - St. George's Hall, Bradford - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01274 432000 Book Online.
Friday 2nd - Waterfront Hall, Belfast - Box Office: 028 9033 4455 ON SALE SOON
Saturday 3rd - Philarmonic Hall, Liverpool - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0151 709 3789Book Online. Tuesday 6th - Opera House, Buxton - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0845 1272190 Book Online. Wednesday 7th - Corn Exchange, Cambridge - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01223 357851 Book Online. Friday 9th - The Anvil, Basingstoke - Box Office: 01256 844244 Book Online.
Saturday 10th - Royal & Derngate, Northampton - Box Office: 01604 624811 ON SALE SOON Sunday 11th - Theatre Royal, Norwich - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01603 630000 Book Online. Thursday 15th - DeMontfort Hall, Leicester - 7.30pm. Box Office: 0116 233 3111Book Online. Friday 16th - Derby Theatre, Derby - Box Office: 01332 255800 ON SALE SOON Saturday 17th - Performing Arts Centre, Lincoln - Box Office: 0844 888 4414 ON SALE SOON Wednesday 21st - The Dukes Theatre, Lancaster - 8.00pm. Box Office: 01524 598500 Book Online Thursday 22nd - Journal Tyne Theatre, Newcastle - 8.00pm. Box Office:0844 493 9999 Book Online. Friday 23rd - King's Theatre, Glasgow (Glasgow Comedy Festival) - 8.00pm. Box Office: 0844 3954005Book Online. Saturday 24th - Theatre Royal, York - 7.30pm. Box Office: 01904 623568Book Online. Monday 26th - Playhouse, Oxford - 8.00pm Box Office: 01865 305305 Book Online.
Wednesday 28th - St David’s Hall, Cardiff - 8.00pm Box Office: 029 2087 8444 Book Online. Thursday 29th - The Hexagon, Reading - 8.00pm Box Office: 0118 960 6060 Book Online. Friday 30th - Symphony Hall, Birmingham - 8.00pm Box Office: 0121 7803333Book Online.
April Tuesday 17th - Theatre Royal, Winchester - 8.00pm Box Office: 01962 840440 Book Online. Wednesday 18th - Hall For Cornwall, Truro - 8.00pm Box Office: 01872 262466 Book Online. Friday 20th - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - 7.45pm Box Office: 0114 249 6000 Book Online. Saturday 21st - Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield - 7.45pm Box Office: 0114 249 6000 Book Online. Thursday 26th - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury - 8.00pm Box Office: 01743 281281 Book Online. Sunday 29th - The Lowry, Salford - 7.30pm Box Office: 0843 208 6010 Book Online.
May Wednesday 2nd - The Dome, Brighton - Box Office: 01273 709709ON SALE SOON Friday 4th - Corn Exchange, Newbury - Box Office: 01635 522733 ON SALE SOON Saturday 5th - Machynlleth Comedy Festival, Wales - ON SALE SOON Sunday 6th - Hippodrome, Bristol - 7.30pm Box Office: 0844 871 3012Book Online. Monday 7th - Theatre Royal, Plymouth - Box Office: 01752 230440 ON SALE SOON. Tuesday 8th - Octagon Theatre, Yeovil - Box Office: 01935 422884 ON SALE SOON. Saturday 12th - Music Hall, Aberdeen - Box Office: 01224 641122 ON SALE SOON. Tuesday 15th - Eden Court, Inverness - Box Office: 01463 234234 ON SALE SOON. WED 16 – TUES 22, IRISH DATES To Be Announced Thursday 24th - Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry - 8.00pm Box Office: 024 7652 4524 Book Online. Saturday 26th - Festival Theatre, Malvern - Box Office: 01684 892277 ON SALE SOON.
June Thursday 7th - City Hall, Hull - Box Office: 01482 300 300 ON SALE SOON. Friday 8th - West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds - Box Office: 0113 213 7700 ON SALE SOON. Thursday 14th - Grand Theatre, Swansea - Box Office: 01792 475715 ON SALE SOON. Friday 15th - Lighthouse, Poole - Box Office: 0844 406 8666 ON SALE SOON. Sunday 24th - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - Box Office: 01392 493493 ON SALE SOON.
NEW BOOK - IF YOU PREFER A MILDER COMEDIAN ETC
This will be out on Jan 5th through Faber. Amazon Link
FIST OF FUN SERIES 1 DVD
You probably know the saga of this. The 1995 series by Richard Herring and me was in the room where the BBC throw things away. An insider asked them why they hadn’t released it.
They said “neither Sales nor Marketing believed that Lee & Herring had much sales potential in the current market”, which probably explains why all my own BBC series are conspicuously absent amongst all the TV comedy tat piled high for Xmas in HMV. Rich and Chris Evans of the Welsh comedy indie label GoFasterStripe brokered a deal to buy Fist of Fun series 1, and now it’s available with three discs of extras, following a superb half page review in The Guardian, Dec 3rd.
If you could buy this rather than steal it it would be good, as all the profits of GFS so far have gone into making it.
Cheers. Buy it here.
ANOTHER TWITTER CUNT
Another fucking twat cunt is pretending to be me on Twitter, confusing people and wasting my time.
He is… http://twitter.com/#!/StewLee68.
Listen StewLee68 if you are reading this I will find out who you are and I will come to where you live and I will smash you in your stupid lying face you cunt.
Close down your account now. I am a 43 year old father and don’t have time to waste with all the confusion this causes you selfish prick.
CULTURAL ROWN DUP
It’s the time of year when e-listers like me tell you what floated their boat in the last 12 months so…
10 RECORDS OF 2011
PJ Harvey - Let England Shake
The Advisory Circle - As The Crow Flies
The Dirtbombs - Party Store
The Fall - Ersatz GB
Lewis Floyd Henry - One Man And His 30w Pram
Mars Classroom - The New Theory Of Everything
Josh T Pearson - The Last Of The Country Gentlemen
Alan Wilkinson - Practice
Crumbling Ghost - Crumbling Ghost
Derek Bailey - Concert in Miwaukee
5 BOOKS OF 2011
AS Byatt - Ragnarok
Simon Reynolds - Retromania
Dave Graney - 1001 Australian Nights
Pauline Black - Black By Design
Ian Sinclair - Ghost Milk
5 GOOD FILMS 0F 2011
Cave of Forgotten Dreams (Herzog)
Pina (Wenders)
Attack The Block (Cornish)
Way Of The Morris (Plester)
Thor (Branagh)
6 GOOD FILMS OF 2010 THAT I SAW IN 2011
Crying With Laughter
Dead Snow
Shed Your Tears And Walk Away
Archipelago
Cherry Tree Lane
Rare Exports
WORST FILM
Mega Shark vs Crocosaurus, w Gary Stretch
5 LIVE GIGS (of 25)
Nic Jones tribute (Austerity Binge, South Bank Centre)
The Nightingales (Austerity Binge, South Bank Centre)
Alan Wilkinson/Steve Noble/John Edwards (Cheltenham Jazz Fest)
Patti Smith/Stooges (Hop Farm, Kent)
Eddie Prevost & Lol Coxhill (Hungarian Cultural House, Berlin)
10 EDINBURGH FRINGE THINGS (of 35 seen)
Jerry Sadowitz (Assembly)
Josie Long (Pleasance)
Michael Legge (GRV)
Paul Foot (Underbelly)
Henry Cluney of SLF solo (Sneaky Pete’s)
The Burryman (living folk art in Queensferry)
Cry Of The Mountian (solo female theatre piece, Pleasance)
La Putyka (Czech physical theatre, Zoo)
Nick Pynn (some language school)
Paul Sinha (Stand)
WORST EDINBURGH SHOW
Sensational Circus Of The Orient
5 TV SHOWS
The Trip (BBC2)
Rev (BBC2)
Holy Flying Circus (Tony Roche, BBC4)
The Story Of England (Michael Wood, BBC4)
A History Of Dark Age Britain (Neil Oliver, BBC2)
WORST TV SHOW
Daybreak w Adrian Chiles
1 CERAMICS SHOW
Grayson Perry at the British Museum
WORST THING OF 2011
Sensational Circus Of The Orient
IT'S GOT BELLS ON
Comedian Stewart Lee explores and celebrates, rather than mocks, the morris and other traditional English dances.
BBC Radio 2 Monday 12th December 10.00 -11.00pm
'Strictly'; 'Britain's Got Talent'; 'So You Think You Can Dance'... there is extraordinary enthusiasm for dance in many forms. But there's one dance that never gets featured, and its England's own - the morris.
Stewart Lee puts this to rights in 'It's Got Bells On' and the usual scornful jibes won't appear because, although he's a comedian, Stewart is an enthusiast for English traditional music and dance. This is the stand-up who had the Black Swan Rappers (dancers not MCs) open for him at a gig in Yorkshire, and the Forest of Dean Morris Men at his wedding reception.
A couple of years back even The Morris Ring said the tradition would have come to an end in 20 years because no young people were joining. But Stewart discovers that the best young folk musicians, such as Jim Moray and Laurel Swift all dance and all develop the form, that hip hop and morris merge in the work of The Demon Barbers and that contemporary choreographers are turning to the tradition. When danced by athletic young men, or women such as the Belles of London City (in their corsets) the morris becomes as sexy as salsa, as fearsome as flamenco.
Stewart hears from Ashley Hutchings and John Kirkpatrick, who gave a boost to the revival in the 1970s with classic albums 'Morris On' and 'Battle of the Field', when morris went electric. He also hears from Tim Plester, whose film 'The Way of the Morris' tells the story of the Adderbury side, all but one of whom were killed in the First World War, and how the tradition was revived in the village.
There is lots of fantastic music, including some from William Kimber, from whom Cecil Sharp collected his first morris tunes in 1899. All this, and a quick glance at rapper and clog dancing, too.
"5,000 morris dancers," quipped Sebastian Coe, when he was asked what the British would do to match the opening of the Beijing Olympics. In 'It's Got Bells On' Stewart Lee takes the idea seriously: 5,000 morris dancers; why not; what could be better?
Producer: Julian May
Stewart Lee
2011-12-06T14:00:42+00:00
MERRY XMAS! At this time of winter cheer Remember that I’m always here In my books and on CDs And telling jokes on DVDs. There’s no need to be alone With all my products you can own. You know they really are the tops Though rarely available in high street shops. LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE RUN "I've always thought of Stewart Lee's comedy as doing the opposite of what really good comedy should do" - Toby Young, The Spectator 'CARPET REMNANT WORLD' LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE from 15 NOVEMBER 2011 SEASON NOW EXTENDED UNTIL 10 FEBRUARY 2012 Carpet Remnant World is the title of the new full length show from the acclaimed star of the BAFTA nominated BBC2 series: Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle (“The funniest thing on television" The Guardian). The show will open at Leicester Square Theatre on 15 November and, due to extremely strong sales already, the season has now been extended by two more weeks and will now play until 10 February 2012. It will then tour throughout the UK. CRW took about twelve shows to shape up and now it’s cooking. It is also largely sold out in London, and loads of national dates have gone too. Obviously I’d rather be playing to readers of this than people who have been brought along by their one friend that likes me so BUY BUY BUY! Formerly stand-up's youthful iconoclast, Stewart Lee has reached premature middle age. What can this man, with his expanding girth and failing eyesight, whose life consists mainly of watching Scooby Doo cartoons with a four year old boy, possibly find to write comedy about? Lee now gawps blankly at News 24 as Britain burns down around him, and blinks weirdly at vast wayside retail outlets during endless journeys to and from increasingly indistinct provincial theatres....
“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 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.”
Stewart Lee
2019-06-11T13:00:55+01:00
“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 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.”
In Komedia's laidback underground North Laine lair, tables on the stage were covered in toys. A child's Speak & Spell, modified stylophones, a Barbie strapped to a sitar and a biscuit tin, just a few of the curios on display, were a colourful aesthetic introduction to the Conspirators of Pleasure.
Promising to introduce us to the pioneering, avante-garde ideas surrounding John Cage's musicology, particularly the concept of Indeterminacy – random interpretations of a performance piece according to the performer's mood, or indeed an audience's, or an instrument's – Poulomi Desai, Seth Aayaz and Simon Underwood set about confusing the living s*** out of some people, who had come expressly to see famous comedian Stewart Lee.
The handful of audience members who, by the second half, hadn't worked out that Lee wasn't here in comedic but in experimental music boffin form, with their (ironic) determination to laugh doggedly at any pause in Lee's poetic phrasing, mistaking it for comic timing, meant that unfortunately, Cage's original ideas were largely lost in translation – but for one thing; it happened, however excruciating.
It was still a philosophical event of some description, even if that description involved the words "car" and "crash". Erudite performance, deeply uncomfortable listening.
Stewart Lee
2014-03-26T21:49:48+00:00
In Komedia's laidback underground North Laine lair, tables on the stage were covered in toys. A child's Speak & Spell, modified stylophones, a Barbie strapped to a sitar and a biscuit tin, just a few of the curios on display, were a colourful aesthetic introduction to the Conspirators of Pleasure. Promising to introduce us to the pioneering, avante-garde ideas surrounding John Cage's musicology, particularly the concept of Indeterminacy – random interpretations of a performance piece according to the performer's mood, or indeed an audience's, or an instrument's – Poulomi Desai, Seth Aayaz and Simon Underwood set about confusing the living s*** out of some people, who had come expressly to see famous comedian Stewart Lee. The handful of audience members who, by the second half, hadn't worked out that Lee wasn't here in comedic but in experimental music boffin form, with their (ironic) determination to laugh doggedly at any pause in Lee's poetic phrasing, mistaking it for comic timing, meant that unfortunately, Cage's original ideas were largely lost in translation – but for one thing; it happened, however excruciating. It was still a philosophical event of some description, even if that description involved the words "car" and "crash". Erudite performance, deeply uncomfortable listening.
“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
1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LIVE
David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present
STEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO.
EXTRA DATE ADDED ROYAL FEST HALL, LONDON, JULY 17TH
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!
The Leicester Square, London run has now finished, and the show is touring the UK. There are extra London dates in June / July at the Royal Festival Hall - here.
JUNE
27TH 28TH South Bank Centre, London BOOK HERE.
JULY
1ST, 2ND, 3RD South Bank Centre, London BOOK HERE.
Currently confirmed / onsale national dates are 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.
Wednesday 1st 2020 - 8pm - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Thursday 2nd 2020 - 8pm - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Friday 3rd 2020 - 8pm - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
Tuesday 7th 2020 - 7.30pm - The Forum, Bath - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th 2020 - 7.30pm - St. David's Hall, Cardiff - EXTRA DATE - TICKETS
Thursday 9th 2020 - Garrick Theatre, Lichfield - ON SALE SOON
Friday 10th July 2020 - 7.30pm - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool - EXTRA DATE - TICKETS
Monday 13th July 2020 - 7.30pm - Theatre Royal, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne - EXTRA DATE - TICKETS
Tuesday 14th 2020 - Hippodrome, Darlington - ON SALE SOON
Wednesday 15th July 2020 - 7.30pm - Playhouse, Nottingham - EXTRA DATE - TICKETS
Friday 17th 2020 - 8pm - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London - TICKETS
2) King Rocker Doc
Michael Cumming (Brass Eye/Toast) and I have now finished this film about Birmingham post-punk band THE NIGHTINGALES, so thanks all crowd-funders for your help. News about screenings to follow. - https://www.kingrockerfilm.com/
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/
4) 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)
5) 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.
6) I arrogantly recommend
THE DAYDREAM LIBRARY SERIES & ECSTATIC PEACE LIBRARY (Thurston Moore, Edwin Pouncey, and the bloke who used to run ZIPPO records) are pleased to announce the opening of a record store & bookshop on the charming retail lane of Stoke Newington Church Street, London. Opening February 5, 2020, 96 CHURCH. “We are giving it a month or so,” says musician Thurston Moore. “If it works, we’ll keep on keepin’ on.” UNTIL MARCH 13TH AT LEAST
JOHN SHUTTLEWORTH. The hilarious legend of mundane musical comedy is on tour and must be seen by all people.
MARCH
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.
OTOBOKE BEAVER. Japa-noise-niks,. FEB 19th Leicester Musician, 23rd London Scala.
THE GOON SAX. Young Australian indie clacissists. FEB 20th Bristol Old England, 23rd London Dalston Victoria.
RICHARD DAWSON. Art-folk wunderkind. MARCH 25th Gateshead Sage, 28th London RFH
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS - Ever relevant punk veterans roll onwards in March - 12th Bristol Academy, 13th Cardiff Great Hall, 14th Birmingham Academy, 16th UEA, 17th Glasgow Barrowlands, 19th Troon Concert Hall, 20th Newcastle Academy, 21st Leeds Academy, 23rd Northampton Roadmenders, 24th Nottingham Rock city, 26th Portsmouth Pyramids, 27th M’cr Academy, 28th Roundhouse London
SPRING EQUINOX FRIDAY 20TH MARCH 3.50 PM Your local druids will be about, in London on Parliament Hill and Tower Hill.
THE FALLEN LEAVES - HOPE AND ANCHOR, LONDON, 21ST MARCH. Veteran mod-punk legends. Always superb. Top entertainment.
PETER CASE (PLIMSOULS, NERVES) w support from SID GRIFFIN (LONG RYDERS) Two punky alt-country legends on the road18th March Menai Bridge The Victoria Hotel, 19th March Liverpool, Heaven’s Gate Presents @ 81 Renshaw, 20th March Newcastle upon Tyne, The Prohibition Cabaret Bar, 21st March Edinburgh, The Wee Red Bar, 22nd March Glasgow, Sound In The Suburbs @ Nice & Sleazy, 23rd March Birmingham Kitchen Garden Café, 24th March London, Green Note presents…@The Water Rats
Stewart Lee
2020-03-13T15:57:04+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 1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LIVE David Johnson & John Mackay in association with Debi Allen/Curtis Brown present STEWART LEE - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. EXTRA DATE ADDED ROYAL FEST HALL, LONDON, JULY 17TH 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! The Leicester Square, London run has now finished, and the show is touring the UK. There are extra London dates in June / July at the Royal Festival Hall - here. JUNE 27TH 28TH South Bank Centre, London BOOK HERE. JULY 1ST, 2ND, 3RD South Bank Centre, London BOOK HERE. EXTRA DATE JULY 17TH - BOOK HERE. SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - UK TOUR Currently confirmed / onsale national dates are 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...
Theatregoers will be aware that it is a rare night when the queue for the men’s outstrips the queue for the women’s toilet. The toilet queue as a feminist issue has been discussed by Caroline Criado Perez in her book, Invisible Women. Where could I have been where the length of the comfort break queue was so out of kilter with reality?
I was not at the darts, snooker or a Chuck Norris convention, instead I was at a colosseum in Watford watching the scourge of Tony Parsons and Brexiteers, lifebelt to the liberal elite, Stewart Lee. His new double bill Snowflake/Tornado is brilliantly and painfully funny. His extended routine on what Ricky Gervais saying the unsayable would really be like, which is ten minutes in the company of a free jazz yodeller who has recently had intrusive and numbing dental surgery and has a Werther’s original stuck in their throat, worried me for fear that the combination of failing to go to the loo in the interval and now losing all control via tearful giggling may ultimately upset the equilibrium of my bladder.
It is the show that I should have avoided as there is an inescapable sense that that there really is no point in continuing with my own career when something this good is out there. I take heart in knowing that my shows are cheaper at least.
Stewart Lee continues to increase the amount of absurdity and clowning in this show, though his trousers remain on for the entirety in this show. He notes that there are likely to be sons brought by fathers in the audience, fathers who believe that bringing their children to see this “culturally significant” comedian will be a bonding exercise and an attainment of kudos, but the young will then sit there, nonchalant and unimpressed. I was fortunate to have a family in front of me where exactly that was happening. At times when I thought I could laugh no more, I would catch a side glance of a bemused face with hints of disdain and the laughter would be reignited.
It is good to know that despite the number of tickets he can sell, Stewart Lee still has the artistic credentials which mean some people leave the auditorium and saying, “Well I’m sorry, Bob, but I did not get that at all.” It reminds me of a night in Newcastle when two annoyed men were heard discussing my show in the urinals, “He’s no Kevin Bridges is he?”.
The best encore I have ever had was at a comedy club in Manchester where one table were still booing. During a particularly critically successful run at the Edinburgh Fringe, Nick Helm had a couple walk out of his show halfway through. He ran after them, out of the venue, across the cobbles, bellowing, “Next time, don’t just look at the stars, read what the review says.” (This is a precis of the anecdote)
I was surprised by how male Stewart Lee’s audience were. They were not dissimilar to an audience that you might see at a Wedding Present gig where you bemoan the number of podgy, grey and bald men in the audience and then catch your reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Being podgy, grey and bald is not a requirement for enjoyment of Stewart Lee, though occasionally a knowledge of Steel Pole Bath Tub or bands that have only ever been mentioned in The Wire magazine might add an extra moment of bonding.
This week I also took a trip to the cinema.
Greta Gerwig’s Little Women is beautifully shot, performed and structured. Gerwig fractures the narrative like a Donald Cammell movie, jumping back, forth and around the lives of the four sisters. Some fans of the novel dislike this approach, but for me it gave certain scenes tremendous emotional punch and entangled the audience in the frequently confused relationships between siblings and the speed from love to hate and back again.
Introducing the film, the cinema manager mentioned how pleased she was to see some men in the audience as until now, the screenings had been almost entirely female (imagine the loo queues). It surprises me how sex specific entertainment still is, or indeed, life as a whole.
On Saturday night trains I see the boys laughing with boys, the girls laughing with girls and the quartet of middle aged straight couples uneasily doing that “We’re all swingers in Pinner” fake flirting which might hide forbidden hopes. I forget who wrote that men’s stories are considered tales for everyone and women’s stories are still seen as stories for women. When The Piano was released some decades ago, I remember being told it was “a woman’s picture”, perhaps because it was directed by a woman, starred a woman and had some costumes in it and pretty music. It also had the lead woman being punished for her truculence by having her finger chopped off by an angry Sam Neill. This did not please all the women who saw it.
I have no grand conclusion save to say, whether man or woman, go and see Stewart Lee’s new show and Greta Gerwig’s new film for the simple reason they are creatively brilliant and excellent ways to spend approximately 130 minutes. Who knows, perhaps Netflix will describe Snowflake/Tornado as “Four sisters learn who they are during a civil war fought between humans and sharks in nineteenth century America.”
Stewart Lee
2020-02-03T16:07:15+00:00
Theatregoers will be aware that it is a rare night when the queue for the men’s outstrips the queue for the women’s toilet. The toilet queue as a feminist issue has been discussed by Caroline Criado Perez in her book, Invisible Women. Where could I have been where the length of the comfort break queue was so out of kilter with reality? I was not at the darts, snooker or a Chuck Norris convention, instead I was at a colosseum in Watford watching the scourge of Tony Parsons and Brexiteers, lifebelt to the liberal elite, Stewart Lee. His new double bill Snowflake/Tornado is brilliantly and painfully funny. His extended routine on what Ricky Gervais saying the unsayable would really be like, which is ten minutes in the company of a free jazz yodeller who has recently had intrusive and numbing dental surgery and has a Werther’s original stuck in their throat, worried me for fear that the combination of failing to go to the loo in the interval and now losing all control via tearful giggling may ultimately upset the equilibrium of my bladder. It is the show that I should have avoided as there is an inescapable sense that that there really is no point in continuing with my own career when something this good is out there. I take heart in knowing that my shows are cheaper at least. Stewart Lee continues to increase the amount of absurdity and clowning in this show, though his trousers remain on for the entirety in this show. He notes that there are likely to be sons brought by fathers in the audience, fathers who believe that bringing their children to see this “culturally significant” comedian will be a bonding exercise and an attainment of kudos, but the young will then sit...
Stop me if I’ve told you this one before, but 20 years ago, a BNP-supporting aunt of mine forwarded me a document, purporting to be a scholarly explanation of why Muslims were inhuman, by a particular academic from a particular university. Even back in the pre-Cambridge Analytica days, I still did a quick fact check, before calling my aunt to say: “You have to be a bit careful with these sort of things, Auntie. Neither the professor that wrote that article, nor the university it says he’s from, actually exist.” “That’s as may be,” she said, “but I still think he makes a lot of valid points.”
The fact that my aunt knew the anti-Islamic man was not real did not stop her using his work to reinforce her prejudices. If I had realised the extent to which her adoption of the research of a man she knew did not exist was a prophecy of the way the whole country was soon to think, I would have joined my friend Roger in emigrating to the Pyrenees before Brexit to set up a pinball machine renovation business.
It was during the Brexit era that feelings trumped facts, and now not being able to prove anything is no barrier to policy and public pronouncement. But Tuesday’s Sky News appearance by the Ipswich Tory MP Tom Hunt, when he doubled down on his belief that “it’s not xenophobic to not want to feel like you’re living in a foreign country”, marked a new fact-free high-water mark. Hunt’s translucent interview with Sophy Ridge pivoted on words such as “feel” and “think”, while details and statistics remained conspicuously absent. “Well, I think it’s, you know,” Hunt explained, “I think if you walk into your town centre, I think if you’re, you know, you’re hearing almost people speaking English is almost a rarity.” Perhaps Hunt is confused. What he is actually hearing is a Suffolk accent, where a man talking about a “waddledickie” is a describing a donkey and not simply suggesting another Tory MP has done something unspeakable to a duck. Allegedly.
The fact that 88% of people in Ipswich speak English as a first language did not deter Hunt from his opinion-based opinion. “Well, I think that lots of people do find that,” he continued, “lots of, lots of people, lots of people when they walk into their town centres and city centres across the country often feel that way.” Oh well. If we feel it, it must be true. Facts? So pre-Brexit!
Hunt went on to conflate failure to integrate with a rise in shop theft. “In the town that I represent we’ve got shop theft on the rise and there is one community that is disproportionately behind the shop theft.” Presumably the “community in question” was an ethic minority of the type that spoke their own language in a town centre, a city centre, otherwise there would be no link between shop theft and integration, but Hunt felt obliged to whistle his dog discreetly. Presumably, the “community in question” responsible for shop theft wasn’t, for example, simply the Shop Theft Community. But, Ridge asked, did Hunt have any data to back this opaque assertion up?
“I’ve been to 12…” Hunt began, “…only a few months ago I went to 12 different shops in the town centre.” It is good, at least, that the shops were different shops, and that Hunt didn’t just question the same shopkeeper over and over again, as that would have invalidated his research. “They all said exactly the same thing,” he asserted. “It’s something which nobody disputes that locally. Nobody disputes that locally. There is analysis done, and there’s lots of… and every single shop we went to said that… And I think that actually that view I have expressed is actually a mainstream view shared by the majority of people in the country.”
It may well be that “the community in question” are responsible for Ipswich shop theft. But if your geography GCSE coursework was based on talking to 12 shopkeepers and didn’t take into account a comparative study of how low income affects shop theft in other communities, it would be invalid. Statistics are tricky like that. But Hunt isn’t really that interested in the truth. He just wants a common enemy to consolidate his Conservative customer base. His own party has filtered millions of pounds of public money to donors and supporters via questionable Covid equipment provision schemes, but ignore the Industrial Scale Fraud Community, and let’s go after the bloke from the “community in question” stealing a Twix.
This is who Hunt, Conservative MP for Ipswich, is. Before entering politics he picked radishes. He picked leeks for a week, but his employer soon returned him to radish work, leeks presumably being too complex for him; he wants to make flying the union flag compulsory in all schools; he does not believe Boris Johnson should have been fined for his Covid parties; and, predictably, he believes the National Trust is “coloured by cultural Marxist dogma, colloquially known as the ‘woke agenda’”. (He is another reminder to National Trust members to make sure they vote online by 3 November in the AGM to prevent the board being stuffed with culture war candidates who share Hunt’s views, from the Tufton Street-linked pressure group Restore Trust.)
I love Ipswich – for its historic clock, for its innovative and resolutely regional Eastern Angles theatre company and because it was the home of Alan Davey of Hawkwind and Hawklords – but if the people of Ipswich return Hunt at the next election, then when their town centre, or city centre, is finally claimed by the rising seas, I shall not mourn its passing, nor the fen-drowning of its waddledickies. The functions of citizenship are the glory of the citizens.
Stewart Lee
2023-10-29T13:12:34+00:00
Stop me if I’ve told you this one before, but 20 years ago, a BNP-supporting aunt of mine forwarded me a document, purporting to be a scholarly explanation of why Muslims were inhuman, by a particular academic from a particular university. Even back in the pre-Cambridge Analytica days, I still did a quick fact check, before calling my aunt to say: “You have to be a bit careful with these sort of things, Auntie. Neither the professor that wrote that article, nor the university it says he’s from, actually exist.” “That’s as may be,” she said, “but I still think he makes a lot of valid points.” The fact that my aunt knew the anti-Islamic man was not real did not stop her using his work to reinforce her prejudices. If I had realised the extent to which her adoption of the research of a man she knew did not exist was a prophecy of the way the whole country was soon to think, I would have joined my friend Roger in emigrating to the Pyrenees before Brexit to set up a pinball machine renovation business. It was during the Brexit era that feelings trumped facts, and now not being able to prove anything is no barrier to policy and public pronouncement. But Tuesday’s Sky News appearance by the Ipswich Tory MP Tom Hunt, when he doubled down on his belief that “it’s not xenophobic to not want to feel like you’re living in a foreign country”, marked a new fact-free high-water mark. Hunt’s translucent interview with Sophy Ridge pivoted on words such as “feel” and “think”, while details and statistics remained conspicuously absent. “Well, I think it’s, you know,” Hunt explained, “I think if you walk into your town centre, I think if you’re, you know, you’re hearing almost...
Over the Easter weekend, I myself was deservedly one of a party of important contemporary artists invited by Danny Boyle to a research project buried beneath the Chipping Norton triangle. Our task was to use our visionary gifts to respond creatively to a government-initiated search not for the "God particle", but for God himself.
Donning a protective helmet, I entered the metal cage of a mine shaft lift and descended with my fellow creatives – the artists Grayson Perry and Martin Creed, the novelist AL Kennedy, pop's KT Tunstall, the DJ Goldie and the children's funnyman Mr Tumble from CBeebies. Tumble, dressed as a clown, did an amusing mime indicating fear, Goldie pretended to bite at the bars of the lift with his metal mouth and Kennedy wrote something down in a Moleskine notebook, similar to one once owned by Ernest Hemingway. It was immediately clear that Boyle had chosen an inspired, if volatile, combination of personalities.
In a brightly lit subterranean chamber, we were met by a crowd of boiler-suited bigwigs including the secretary of state for work and pensions, Iain Duncan Smith, the minister for universities and science, David Willetts, and the minister for faith and communities, Baroness Warsi. Behind them, an ex-servicewoman with one leg who lived in a two-bedroom council flat in Leeds was being shot at high speed repeatedly and painfully through a 16-mile-long transparent tube, her unprotected head and limbs smashing endlessly into the curves of the structure. IDS explained the thinking behind the innovative project.
"All that stands between next week's significant shrinking of the welfare budget to a level that may be made to seem reasonable, and further shrinkage to levels that are definitely unreasonable, even to me, is the notion that to do so may in some way be fundamentally and morally wrong," he began. I looked around. Grayson Perry was already weaving a satirical tapestry and Tunstall was humming a sad melody into a Dictaphone. The battered benefits woman bounced off the cylinder walls.
"But many believe," IDS continued, "that notions of right and wrong are unimaginable without a notion of God." Baroness Warsi objected, conceding that secularists might possibly have their own morality too, but was drowned out by cries of "Calm down, dear!" and the screams of the test subject
Willetts picked up the baton: "Iain charged my department with designing a long-term science and welfare-based spectacle so cruel and gratuitous that it would surely draw any God worth his salt out into the open to use his magic to stop it. If the God does not appear, Iain feels it reasonable to press on with savings in the current welfare system without delay. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is that spectacle."
I and my fellow artists followed Willetts's pointing finger toward the apparatus, as the distressed amputee made another bruising circuit of the cylinder. I was astonished. Iain Duncan Smith and David Willetts had designed a God trap, with a hapless human as bait. Grayson Perry wove frantically in a furious rage, frightened of failing to document something significant, and Kennedy's notebook was ablaze, but Martin Creed had wandered into an empty corner of the space, where he was turning the lights on and off methodically and staring at a doorknob.
Warsi, who has been brushing up on her comparative religion since getting the faith and communities gig, objected to the pair's announcement. She said it was unreasonable to expect any god to manifest himself at Iain Duncan Smith's command. And that while Catholic belief in miracles clearly presupposed an interventionist deity, the former Episcopal Bishop of Edinburgh, Richard Holloway, for example, had defined the Protestant God as a kind of half-absent musical accompanist to human behaviour. Once more, the baroness was shouted down by her coalition fellows in mock Michael Winner voices and the crowd's attention was swiftly drawn back to the awkward impact squelches of the relentlessly bouncing dole scrounger.
I heard Iain Duncan Smith invoke Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill's doctrine of utilitarianism – the notion that true morality was the achievement of the greatest possible good for the greatest possible number of people – and how this could be facilitated by the trickle-down effect of high spending by a wealthy minority whose capital needed to be encouraged to flow for the long-term good of everyone. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed KT Tunstall and Mr Tumble crouched by a distant section of the tube, where it appeared, from Mr Tumble's helpful mime, that the test subject had finally run out of speed and slumped comatose to rest. My kids loved Mr Tumble but I realised that now was not the time to ask for an autograph.
"Look…" said Tunstall. I looked. It appeared, against my better judgment, that the bruised and unconscious one-legged female body behind the Perspex wall had somehow taken on the face of Christ, more Turin shroud than Robert Powell, but Christ nonetheless. Duncan Smith and Willetts had noticed the transformation, too, and Warsi was already calming them.
"Do not worry," she said. "While Catholics believe this sort of manifestation possible, the Vatican paperwork needed to verify it will take years. Anglicans will regard such an appearance merely as symbolic, irrespective of whether it happened or not. The Muslim position is that the face of God should never be seen." And at that she turned her back on the confusing scene and stared instead at the empty corner of the bunker, where Martin Creed's award-winning light-turning-on-and-off skills suddenly seemed more interesting to her than they had previously.
Kennedy and Tunstall decided that the Christ/benefits cheat hybrid needed help, but couldn't work out how to get to him/her through the walls of the cylinder. I tugged at Goldie's Edwardian cuffs and Mr Tumble mimed someone eating a massive sausage. Understanding immediately, Goldie knelt down and gnashed his way through the Perspex tube wall until he had made a fissure large enough for AL and KT to pull the workshy deity through. "This entity has been harmed by being shot repeatedly around a 16-mile tube," declared Mr Tumble, suddenly and miraculously able to speak, "and will need help reapplying for her benefits on new terms and addressing the reductions in her weekly finances caused by the spare bedroom subsidy. This must be done online, on the phone in the case of emergencies, but never in person."
Stewart Lee has curated The Alternative Comedy Experience for Comedy Central, Tuesdays at 11pm. For new live dates, go to stewartlee.co.uk
Stewart Lee
2013-04-07T13:56:27+01:00
Over the Easter weekend, I myself was deservedly one of a party of important contemporary artists invited by Danny Boyle to a research project buried beneath the Chipping Norton triangle. Our task was to use our visionary gifts to respond creatively to a government-initiated search not for the "God particle", but for God himself. Donning a protective helmet, I entered the metal cage of a mine shaft lift and descended with my fellow creatives – the artists Grayson Perry and Martin Creed, the novelist AL Kennedy, pop's KT Tunstall, the DJ Goldie and the children's funnyman Mr Tumble from CBeebies. Tumble, dressed as a clown, did an amusing mime indicating fear, Goldie pretended to bite at the bars of the lift with his metal mouth and Kennedy wrote something down in a Moleskine notebook, similar to one once owned by Ernest Hemingway. It was immediately clear that Boyle had chosen an inspired, if volatile, combination of personalities. In a brightly lit subterranean chamber, we were met by a crowd of boiler-suited bigwigs including the secretary of state for work and pensions, Iain Duncan Smith, the minister for universities and science, David Willetts, and the minister for faith and communities, Baroness Warsi. Behind them, an ex-servicewoman with one leg who lived in a two-bedroom council flat in Leeds was being shot at high speed repeatedly and painfully through a 16-mile-long transparent tube, her unprotected head and limbs smashing endlessly into the curves of the structure. IDS explained the thinking behind the innovative project. "All that stands between next week's significant shrinking of the welfare budget to a level that may be made to seem reasonable, and further shrinkage to levels that are definitely unreasonable, even to me, is the notion that to do so may in some way be fundamentally and...
Stewart Lee branches out into high culture while staying rooted in comedy for this postmodern revue
Stewart Lee's writing is becoming increasingly confident. Having won plaudits and awards for his stripped down standup material and for the overblown Jerry Springer – The Opera, his new work Late But Live falls somewhere – very roughly – between the two: an imaginary revue hosted by two 18th-century literary greats.
Namely, these are the wit-of-the-age, English writer and lexicographer Samuel Johnson, and his Scottish friend and biographer James Boswell. Taking on such challenging subject matter, Lee's script makes the delicate business of fusing historical accuracy with postmodern trickery look effortless. More impressive still, it displays a level of wit that holds up against Johnson's: dry jokes at the expense of the Traverse Theatre, for example, keep things fresh, literary, and close to home.
Two excellent comedians – Simon Munnery (Johnson) and Miles Jupp (Boswell) – are playing the two leads, furthering the show's late-night appeal. However, neither part is cast perfectly: though otherwise excellent, Jupp's evident Englishness is sometimes hard to ignore. He is more than capable of delivering punchlines in deadly fashion but Munnery's bug-eyed stare does not fit with Johnson's dry style.
This is a minor quibble, however, as Late But Live is only very loosely authentic. Like Boswell's biography of Johnson, Lee's emphasis is on conveying an impression of events, rather than creating a rigidly accurate account, a fact played upon in the characters' interactions. Happily for such an high-brow concept, the show will appeal as much to those with no prior knowledge of the original authors as to those who love them already, making Late But Live an intellectual success and, just as importantly, a hoot.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-11T19:47:04+01:00
Stewart Lee branches out into high culture while staying rooted in comedy for this postmodern revue Stewart Lee's writing is becoming increasingly confident. Having won plaudits and awards for his stripped down standup material and for the overblown Jerry Springer – The Opera, his new work Late But Live falls somewhere – very roughly – between the two: an imaginary revue hosted by two 18th-century literary greats. Namely, these are the wit-of-the-age, English writer and lexicographer Samuel Johnson, and his Scottish friend and biographer James Boswell. Taking on such challenging subject matter, Lee's script makes the delicate business of fusing historical accuracy with postmodern trickery look effortless. More impressive still, it displays a level of wit that holds up against Johnson's: dry jokes at the expense of the Traverse Theatre, for example, keep things fresh, literary, and close to home. Two excellent comedians – Simon Munnery (Johnson) and Miles Jupp (Boswell) – are playing the two leads, furthering the show's late-night appeal. However, neither part is cast perfectly: though otherwise excellent, Jupp's evident Englishness is sometimes hard to ignore. He is more than capable of delivering punchlines in deadly fashion but Munnery's bug-eyed stare does not fit with Johnson's dry style. This is a minor quibble, however, as Late But Live is only very loosely authentic. Like Boswell's biography of Johnson, Lee's emphasis is on conveying an impression of events, rather than creating a rigidly accurate account, a fact played upon in the characters' interactions. Happily for such an high-brow concept, the show will appeal as much to those with no prior knowledge of the original authors as to those who love them already, making Late But Live an intellectual success and, just as importantly, a hoot.
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...
Stewart Lee is not the type of comedian who would please the Little Britain/Michael McIntyre loving comedy crowd.
I was both surprised and ecstatic to learn that the BBC had finally commissioned Stewart his own TV series. It was an absolute breath of fresh air to see intelligent comedy in a good slot on national television. Stew did not disappoint.
This six episode series shows Stew at his best, discussing books, television, religion, the financial crisis, political correctness and comedy itself. Stewart Lee is probably the most sophisticated and intelligent stand up that you’ll see today, and though all his ideas may not be revolutionary or life-changing, the man is almost always right! Stewart’s stand-up is supplemented with some great sketches, look out especially for the estate agent and apple store sketches. Incredible stuff.
What makes this DVD even more worthy of picking up is the ten minute interviews which were originally broadcast on interactive TV after each episode. Armando Iannucci (the man behind I’m Alan Partridge and The Thick of It) interviewing Stewart Lee with a series of ridiculous questions and accusations, both completely deadpan. Brilliant. The only thing better than watching this DVD is seeing Stewart Lee live.
A must-buy.
Stewart Lee
2009-12-01T10:27:39+00:00
Stewart Lee is not the type of comedian who would please the Little Britain/Michael McIntyre loving comedy crowd. I was both surprised and ecstatic to learn that the BBC had finally commissioned Stewart his own TV series. It was an absolute breath of fresh air to see intelligent comedy in a good slot on national television. Stew did not disappoint. This six episode series shows Stew at his best, discussing books, television, religion, the financial crisis, political correctness and comedy itself. Stewart Lee is probably the most sophisticated and intelligent stand up that you’ll see today, and though all his ideas may not be revolutionary or life-changing, the man is almost always right! Stewart’s stand-up is supplemented with some great sketches, look out especially for the estate agent and apple store sketches. Incredible stuff. What makes this DVD even more worthy of picking up is the ten minute interviews which were originally broadcast on interactive TV after each episode. Armando Iannucci (the man behind I’m Alan Partridge and The Thick of It) interviewing Stewart Lee with a series of ridiculous questions and accusations, both completely deadpan. Brilliant. The only thing better than watching this DVD is seeing Stewart Lee live. A must-buy.
The grindingly algorithmic controversialist Toby Young was always painfully and obviously in the oedipal shadow of his socialist intellectual father, Michael Young. Each of his desperately politically incorrect tweets was an attempt to cuckold and castrate his progenitor.
Toby Young has wasted his life spitting cold mucus at a ghost and throwing clumps of his own hot excrement at a shade, a raging zoo monkey. Toby Young was at war with a phantom cloud of semen, long since turned to dust motes, bobbing on the west London thermals. But, because I am kind and good, I take no pleasure in the slow-motion farce of his downfall.
On Wednesday night, the probable reason for the sudden twin resignations of the self-styled “right-of-centre maverick” from both the spurious universities regulator and the Fulbright Commission became clear. Despite having survived last week’s cataloguing of his hastily concealed career of context-free non-character-driven monetisable offence, on Monday evening Toby Young finally ran out of options and fell on his own cucumber spiraliser.
Even though he was defended by his chum, Boris “Picaninny” Johnson, as being a “caustic wit”, the maverick self-styled “Toadmeister” had to go. Because, while national media slept, or commissioned supportive thinkpieces from his wealthy and powerful celebrity friends, the London Student newspaper was about to reveal that the Maverick Toadmeister had attended a secret conference on “intelligence”, featuring notorious speakers including in previous years white supremacists and a weird far-right paedophilia apologist called Emil.
Of course, attending a secret conference alongside white supremacists does not amount to endorsing their ideals. I once attended a performance of We Will Rock You, the Queen musical by Ben Elton and Queen, and, if anything, it made me despise the dreadful group even more than I did before, from a position of greater understanding. The Maverick Toadmeister, by his own admission, only attended the secret event for a few hours, only sat at the back, didn’t inhale any of the nazism that was being handed round, and nor did he supply any to anyone else.
But on Monday night, the Maverick Toadmeister realised that even declarations of love from his greatest champions, the environmental opportunist Michael Gove, the Daily Mail hate-funnel Sarah Vine, and the napkin’n’knick-knack guru Kirstie Allsopp, would not overwhelm the taint of his incidental association with genuine white supremacists.
For God’s sake, that’s what paranoid community activists in 70s blaxploitation movies thought white folk were doing – having secret meetings about how to stop them breeding – and it turns out we are! In fact, that’s the plot of the martial arts and black power musical Three the Hard Way (Gordon Parks Jr, 1974), but now with Toby Young as a curious bystander watching the evil Dr Fortrero plot to wipe out the black population, and claiming it’s research for a forthcoming speech.
If Boris Watermelon Smile Johnson’s brother, Boris Johnson Junior, intended the appointment of the Maverick Toadmeister to the universities regulator to counteract the influence of the Political Correctness Gone Mad Brigade, it’s fair to say he may have overplayed his hand somewhat.
The Maverick Toadmeister’s fellow secret conference attendee Richard Lynn, for example, advocates that predominantly white American states secede from the Union, making them dangerously likely to sink into the sea under the excess weight of the massive arses, and brains, of their remaining inhabitants.
The question presupposed by the title of the Maverick Toadmeister’s bestselling book How to Lose Friends and Alienate People had been fairly comprehensively answered.
Asked last week to comment on his attendance at a second intelligence jamboree, this time in Canada, a clearly discombobulated Maverick Toadmeister said he had been giving the “Amanda Holden Memorial Lecture”. Amanda Holden? Les Dennis’s ex-wife? Was the Battersea Dogs & Cats Home’s celebrity ambassador now a eugenicist? And also dead? Thank God Dustin Gee didn’t live to see the memory of The Laughter Show tarnished so.
I knew that there had been a famous science writer called Constance Holden. Had the Maverick Toadmeister, as no one is calling him ever, suffered a slip of his toad tongue? There wasn’t time to check the facts, sadly, as the witch hunt countdown clock was ticking. Needless to say, I immediately mobilised my massive bullying Twitter following of furious politically correct snowflake hypocrites to have Amanda Holden, eugenics apologist, erased from history.
By Wednesday public pressure had seen Holden lose her role as the face of Alpen, the colonic cleansing breakfast dust. And on Thursday Holden was digitally erased from every episode of Britain’s Got Talent and replaced by a surgically enhanced Christopher Plummer, verdicts on ventriloquists dripping like honey from glossed lips down a low-cut satin dress shimmering seductively in the light.
Then I realised the Maverick Toadmeister had made a mis-speak. He had meant Constance Holden. Amanda Holden was not a Nazi (nor, it turned out, was Constance Holden), and she was not dead. A newly confident and self-assured Christopher Plummer reluctantly submitted herself to the painful reverse-Holden procedure as long as she was allowed to keep the dress. (Luckily, Plummer’s most crucial organ had not yet been incinerated and was found still salvageable in an ashtray at a Soho cigar bar frequented by his surgeon.)
I don’t know the Maverick Toadmeister and I have never met him, though he did once make a winsome face at me across a corridor at Heston services, Britain’s worst services, on the M4. I recognised him from somewhere, but something about his curious smirk and his strange gait made me assume he was a lesbian, dressed as a homosexual, who had assumed I was a lesbian dressed as a heterosexual man and was trying to pick me up. What a tangled web we weave.
But where now for the Maverick Toadmeister? Can even vile jam-rags like the Telegraph and the Daily Mail employ him now? Who calls themselves, as an adult, the “Toadmeister” anyway? And “maverick” is what the commissioner shouts at Dirty Harry. It’s not what Dirty Harry tells the commissioner he is himself. That would be very uncool. Who does these strange and desperate things? Someone in search of an identity that has eluded them.
Sometime around 20 years ago Toby Young started being nasty about people less fortunate and privileged than him, and, like a shit Clarkson, he found it was easy to do and paid good money; and then the wind changed, and Toby Young was stuck with the horrible face he had made. And now people all over the internet will be drawing foreskins on his bald head. For ever. And Captain Von Trapp will never urinate standing up again.
Stewart Lee
2018-01-14T16:00:14+00:00
The grindingly algorithmic controversialist Toby Young was always painfully and obviously in the oedipal shadow of his socialist intellectual father, Michael Young. Each of his desperately politically incorrect tweets was an attempt to cuckold and castrate his progenitor. Toby Young has wasted his life spitting cold mucus at a ghost and throwing clumps of his own hot excrement at a shade, a raging zoo monkey. Toby Young was at war with a phantom cloud of semen, long since turned to dust motes, bobbing on the west London thermals. But, because I am kind and good, I take no pleasure in the slow-motion farce of his downfall. On Wednesday night, the probable reason for the sudden twin resignations of the self-styled “right-of-centre maverick” from both the spurious universities regulator and the Fulbright Commission became clear. Despite having survived last week’s cataloguing of his hastily concealed career of context-free non-character-driven monetisable offence, on Monday evening Toby Young finally ran out of options and fell on his own cucumber spiraliser. Even though he was defended by his chum, Boris “Picaninny” Johnson, as being a “caustic wit”, the maverick self-styled “Toadmeister” had to go. Because, while national media slept, or commissioned supportive thinkpieces from his wealthy and powerful celebrity friends, the London Student newspaper was about to reveal that the Maverick Toadmeister had attended a secret conference on “intelligence”, featuring notorious speakers including in previous years white supremacists and a weird far-right paedophilia apologist called Emil. Of course, attending a secret conference alongside white supremacists does not amount to endorsing their ideals. I once attended a performance of We Will Rock You, the Queen musical by Ben Elton and Queen, and, if anything, it made me despise the dreadful group even more than I did before, from a position of greater understanding. The Maverick...
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...
Sixty this month, Hitchcock has abandoned the toy town imagery of his ever maturing acid-pop for personal tones, though pterodactyls still stalk the dark skies of Harry's Song.
He remains possessed of an effortlessly psychedelic voice, somewhere between John Lennon, a Cambridge don and a woodland shaman, proceeding directly from his septum to your cerebellum.
The apparently immortal cult figure's reliably gem-sprinkled 24th album thankfully fails to address his significant birthday, other than the closing End Of Time, a lazily uncoiling ballad bolstered by big beats and a mantric coda.
Stewart Lee
2013-03-10T20:26:27+00:00
Sixty this month, Hitchcock has abandoned the toy town imagery of his ever maturing acid-pop for personal tones, though pterodactyls still stalk the dark skies of Harry's Song. He remains possessed of an effortlessly psychedelic voice, somewhere between John Lennon, a Cambridge don and a woodland shaman, proceeding directly from his septum to your cerebellum. The apparently immortal cult figure's reliably gem-sprinkled 24th album thankfully fails to address his significant birthday, other than the closing End Of Time, a lazily uncoiling ballad bolstered by big beats and a mantric coda.
Making weekly London to Leicester rail journeys, Sandra Cross secretly taped hundreds of buffet announcements, and edited them into this thirty minute piece. Focusing tightly on the small, and usually unvarying, list of fayre generates a maddeningly mundane musicality. Seven minutes in the unprecedented non-availability of hot drinks suddenly seems catastrophic.
Different announcements, with vastly different emphasis and emotional resonances, can sound indefatigably enthusiastic about the quavers/ water combos, or audibly defeated. Marking the announcements as individual tracks might have offered the listener infinite random variations, but it seems fitting that we endure this album as the artist intended.
Stewart Lee
2011-07-17T11:24:46+01:00
Making weekly London to Leicester rail journeys, Sandra Cross secretly taped hundreds of buffet announcements, and edited them into this thirty minute piece. Focusing tightly on the small, and usually unvarying, list of fayre generates a maddeningly mundane musicality. Seven minutes in the unprecedented non-availability of hot drinks suddenly seems catastrophic. Different announcements, with vastly different emphasis and emotional resonances, can sound indefatigably enthusiastic about the quavers/ water combos, or audibly defeated. Marking the announcements as individual tracks might have offered the listener infinite random variations, but it seems fitting that we endure this album as the artist intended.
OFTEN described as the thinking man's comedian or the comedian's comedian - Stewart Lee is a performer with a strong, cult following, but has even more detractors.
This was the third time I've seen him, and he has made me laugh uncontrollably every time.
His latest show Carpet Remnant World pokes fun at his own reputation, and part of the show sees him reading out abuse he has received on the internet.
The theme of the show is that Lee hasn't had time to come up with any new material because he is too busy looking after his son - which gives his internet enemies even more ammo.
He then suddenly pulls the various random strains of the show together for an ending that suggests there has been a theme all along, while attacking contemporaries "all the Russell comedians" for doing just that.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-03T14:45:46+01:00
OFTEN described as the thinking man's comedian or the comedian's comedian - Stewart Lee is a performer with a strong, cult following, but has even more detractors. This was the third time I've seen him, and he has made me laugh uncontrollably every time. His latest show Carpet Remnant World pokes fun at his own reputation, and part of the show sees him reading out abuse he has received on the internet. The theme of the show is that Lee hasn't had time to come up with any new material because he is too busy looking after his son - which gives his internet enemies even more ammo. He then suddenly pulls the various random strains of the show together for an ending that suggests there has been a theme all along, while attacking contemporaries "all the Russell comedians" for doing just that.
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."
It is an unwritten law that as surely as models will, sooner or later, attempt to bulk out their credentials by trying to become actresses, so TV comedians will eventually try their hand at writing novels. It seems grossly unfair, then, that, having already garnered fame, fortune and critical acclaim as a stand-up, half of a successful double act and, more recently, as a director, Stewart Lee should have produced such an ambitious, intricate and impressive novel at his first go.
The Perfect Fool seems to be set in a bizarre world where Iain Sinclair's fiction melds with a Coen Brothers' screenplay. His apparently disparate characters play out the beginnings of their separate dramas thousands of miles apart, until destiny, synergy, what you will, draws the threads together in a conjunction that is deliciously unpredictable in spite of the clues.
Danny and Sid, having lost their youth and their dreams of musical success, are now doomed to spend their nights smoking bad dope, watching illegal porn and living on the meagre wage afforded by their gigs in a Dire Straits cover band, the Sultans of Streatham. Their only solace is Sid's collection of Luther Peyote albums, but the acid-rock legend disappeared in the Seventies and has never been heard of since.
Across London, the amnesiac Mr Lewis thinks he once carried the Holy Grail into space, while the enigmatic Hampstead Man stalks him on behalf of the Freemasons. Obsessive fundamentalist Sheriff Hopkins has been tracking a serial killer across Arizona for 15 years, while former porn star Tracy is on the run from a trail of suicidal lovers. Bob Nequatewa is a Hopi Indian clown, the perfect fool of the title and the magus figure of the novel.
How these characters eventually coincide, at an abandoned air base in the Arizona desert, defies synopsis in so short a space. While the narrative voice - each storyline continued in the present tense, underlining the parallel co-existence of these as-yet-unconsciously linked lives - varies little in tone, Lee manages to foster a sympathy and curiosity for each of his characters, keeping his various plates spinning until enough details crystallise to hook the reader on the emerging pattern.
All his characters are engaged in some kind of quest whose ultimate goal is to give a purpose to a spiritually barren existence; as with the knights errant of the original Grail legends, the quest requires a journey, battles, tasks. People encountered along the way may not be what they seem, with the exception of Sid and Danny, who provide the novel's comic relief. But there is a deeper note beneath the humour; both Sid and Mr Lewis recognise, in different ways, that it is the quest itself and not the Grail that lends a sense of purpose and that dreams usually disappoint.
Stewart Lee
2001-07-15T14:02:24+01:00
It is an unwritten law that as surely as models will, sooner or later, attempt to bulk out their credentials by trying to become actresses, so TV comedians will eventually try their hand at writing novels. It seems grossly unfair, then, that, having already garnered fame, fortune and critical acclaim as a stand-up, half of a successful double act and, more recently, as a director, Stewart Lee should have produced such an ambitious, intricate and impressive novel at his first go. The Perfect Fool seems to be set in a bizarre world where Iain Sinclair's fiction melds with a Coen Brothers' screenplay. His apparently disparate characters play out the beginnings of their separate dramas thousands of miles apart, until destiny, synergy, what you will, draws the threads together in a conjunction that is deliciously unpredictable in spite of the clues. Danny and Sid, having lost their youth and their dreams of musical success, are now doomed to spend their nights smoking bad dope, watching illegal porn and living on the meagre wage afforded by their gigs in a Dire Straits cover band, the Sultans of Streatham. Their only solace is Sid's collection of Luther Peyote albums, but the acid-rock legend disappeared in the Seventies and has never been heard of since. Across London, the amnesiac Mr Lewis thinks he once carried the Holy Grail into space, while the enigmatic Hampstead Man stalks him on behalf of the Freemasons. Obsessive fundamentalist Sheriff Hopkins has been tracking a serial killer across Arizona for 15 years, while former porn star Tracy is on the run from a trail of suicidal lovers. Bob Nequatewa is a Hopi Indian clown, the perfect fool of the title and the magus figure of the novel. How these characters eventually coincide, at an abandoned air base in the...
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...
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),...
The fifth of Jonathan Ross 's six-part series of clips from low-budget movies. Freaks. Co-star of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure Alex Winter and comedian Stewart Lee recall some of cinema's most bizarre moments, from Chained for Life, with its singing Siamese twins, to For Your Height Only, a Bond-style thriller with a male star lacking much of 007's stature.
The fifth of Jonathan Ross 's six-part series of clips from low-budget movies. Freaks. Co-star of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure Alex Winter and comedian Stewart Lee recall some of cinema's most bizarre moments, from Chained for Life, with its singing Siamese twins, to For Your Height Only, a Bond-style thriller with a male star lacking much of 007's stature. https://genome.ch.bbc.co.uk/ca9381d067924250b43cb8d9bdfcf2a9
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...
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...
I am a standup comedian, and simply putting the words “standup comedian” in inverted commas in your below-the-line comments on this column will do nothing to change that, you Brexit-crazed cyberbots of billionaire Trump-backer Robert Mercer’s referendum-shaping Cambridge Analytica company. Sad!
Last week, in Truro, as part of the endless tour I use these columns to promote, I performed my “comedy” act at the “Hall” for Cornwall. Last “year”, at the same “venue”, a charitable “local” man, mistaking my trademark fabricated frustration for actual despair, came on “stage” for 20 “minutes” to help me get the “evening” back on track by telling amusing stories about his “cat”.
It was the kindest, and most prolonged, heckle any “comedian” has ever experienced. But, as usual, my consummate skill in weaving it seamlessly into the show made the Cornish people present assume the invader was a paid stooge, carted around the country for Equity minimum and free crisps.
It could be worse. Tommy Cooper’s faux-incompetence was so convincing that his audience rapturously applauded his own on-stage ITV death in 1984. Warren Beatty needs to realise that worse things have happened on live television, though admittedly without the racially awkward subtext. Tommy Cooper’s death did not compound the marginalisation of African Americans.
Truro’s Hall for Cornwall, where I performed, is about to undergo a £17m refurbishment, partially funded by the European Regional Development Fund, fortuitously finalised before Cornwall voted Leave. It seems that showering someone with gifts and money can make them resent you. Who knew?
I could have told the EU their gauche attempts to woo Cornwall would fail. My packed bottom drawer, full of haughtily returned boxes of Ferrero Rocher, Ann Summers gift vouchers and Katie Price™ Kissable Eau De Parfum, bears mute witness to my own inability to understand that affection cannot simply be bought. What do women want? Ah, solving that question brings the priest and the doctor running over the fields in their Hai Karate aftershave.
And anyway, the county of Cornwall elected to leave Europe in part due to a misunderstanding about the political loyalties of fish. Fish will soon swim away, or choke to death on microbeads, whether Nigel Farage gets knighted or not, as he has no power over the reproductive cycles of cod. Or women, other than his own pan-European concubines. Yet.
Last spring, Cornish Leavers were reassured that their annual £60m European funding would be met after Brexit. Last week they learned it wouldn’t be, obviously, another unravelling assurance. “Whatever your views on the referendum, we are about to go off a cliff,” said Cornwall-dwelling Labour councillor Tim Dwelly, whose experience of rhyming schoolyard taunts propelled him into the Labour party as a form of revenge.
Looking on the bright side, there are worse cliffs to “go off” than Tim Dwelly’s Cornish ones, which are among the most beautiful in Britain. I might buy one, and own a second cliff alongside my main London cliff, as a seasonal holiday cliff.
And the metaphorical cliff that European nationals, who have settled here decades ago and raised culturally British children, are to be hurled off by Theresa May makes Cornwall’s self-inflicted imminent lack of rural broadband and transport infrastructure look less deserving of sympathy.
Perhaps the unelected Lords will stop the unelected prime minister making political sacrifices of the delightful east Europeans who prop up our health and hospitality industries. But, hating both the lower and the upper houses, I feel like Fay Wray, hysterical atop Skull Island in King Kong, hoping the chest-beating monster-ape Heseltine will save us from the carnivorous pteranodon May, the lesser of two evils.
As a fully paid-up member of the Metropolitan Liberal Elite™, I am torn between anger at my beloved Cornwall’s Leave vote and a deep and enduring affection for the mythologically and archaeologically rich county that will endure irrespective of its Boris-bewitched people’s Brexit crime.
Indeed, I have just written an introduction to a new edition of the surrealist Ithell Colquhoun’s 1957 psychogeographical study of the region, The Living Stones, priced at £9.99 from Peter Owen Publishers. Cornwall needs to understand its principal function is as a profitable dreamscape for incoming artists and writers, and not as an economically viable region serving the needs of its indigenous folk.
I thought it would be educational to be on tour in pre-Brexit Britain, testing the waters of different towns by opening with a quarter of an hour of EU referendum-themed zingers. I realised that, as 52% of the country have voted broadly against the sort of liberal position I predictably espouse, this time around I would have to write jokes that were funny in of themselves, rather than being just mildly amusing statements carried because the sycophantic audience unquestioningly agreed with them. This was a whole new area for me, and I relished the challenge.
How could I write a one size fits all touring, two-hour, standup show that would play to all of divided pre-Brexit Britain? A line that, on Tuesday night, might receive a round of applause in Remain-voting Brighton, Harrogate or Glasgow might the next night, in Lincoln, see me glassed in the face by a man with a full transcript of Amber Rudd’s last Tory party conference speech tattooed along the full length of his erect racist penis.
I initially played the show for four months to the metropolitan liberal elite of Remain-voting London, who lapped up my Brexit bit greedily, as if it were a newly spiralised courgette.
Then I went out into the wilderness of Brexit Britain, where the Remain-voting towns loom out of the darkness like fantasy citadels in a Tolkienesque landscape, wondrous walled cities full of wizards and poets, and people who could understand data, in the middle of a vast bubbling swamp with “Here there be trolls” written over it in curly pirate script.
I am writing this now, at 2am, having come offstage earlier tonight in Poole, the most Brexit-y town I have played so far. People laughed along. They bought books afterwards. Some audience members told me the friends they had brought with them had left annoyed, like it was a badge of honour.
I felt torn between not wanting to entertain any stray Leave voters and understanding that, like me on one of our rare nights out, they might be just parents who had booked a babysitter and hoped for the best, and deserved it. I made my colours clear. Nobody died. I don’t know. Ask me in two years.
Stewart Lee’s Content Provider is now touring; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-03-05T15:16:28+00:00
I am a standup comedian, and simply putting the words “standup comedian” in inverted commas in your below-the-line comments on this column will do nothing to change that, you Brexit-crazed cyberbots of billionaire Trump-backer Robert Mercer’s referendum-shaping Cambridge Analytica company. Sad! Last week, in Truro, as part of the endless tour I use these columns to promote, I performed my “comedy” act at the “Hall” for Cornwall. Last “year”, at the same “venue”, a charitable “local” man, mistaking my trademark fabricated frustration for actual despair, came on “stage” for 20 “minutes” to help me get the “evening” back on track by telling amusing stories about his “cat”. It was the kindest, and most prolonged, heckle any “comedian” has ever experienced. But, as usual, my consummate skill in weaving it seamlessly into the show made the Cornish people present assume the invader was a paid stooge, carted around the country for Equity minimum and free crisps. It could be worse. Tommy Cooper’s faux-incompetence was so convincing that his audience rapturously applauded his own on-stage ITV death in 1984. Warren Beatty needs to realise that worse things have happened on live television, though admittedly without the racially awkward subtext. Tommy Cooper’s death did not compound the marginalisation of African Americans. Truro’s Hall for Cornwall, where I performed, is about to undergo a £17m refurbishment, partially funded by the European Regional Development Fund, fortuitously finalised before Cornwall voted Leave. It seems that showering someone with gifts and money can make them resent you. Who knew? I could have told the EU their gauche attempts to woo Cornwall would fail. My packed bottom drawer, full of haughtily returned boxes of Ferrero Rocher, Ann Summers gift vouchers and Katie Price™ Kissable Eau De Parfum, bears mute witness to my own inability to understand that affection...
The television food personality and chef Angela Hartnett, formerly best remembered as the Rod Hull to Gordon Ramsay’s Emu, is curating something called Kitchen Tales at the Chipping Norton Set’s cheese and music festival, Wilderness. But I can’t work out from the blurb if it is an exhibition, an event, a shop, or just some ingredients lying on the floor that you can look at. Nonetheless, it is reassuring to know that it has been curated, whatever it is.My grandad was a sales rep for Colman’s Mustard. I expect today he would have to say he was a mustard plant compound retail opportunity curator! And he wouldn’t be able to say what colour the mustard was, in case it offended people with jaundice!! It’s political correctness gone mad!!! It’s worse than that!!!! It’s political correctness gone sanity challenged!!!!! And they’ve banned Christmas!!!!!! The cattery wouldn’t take Robin’s cat because they said it looked like Hitler!!!!!!!
This morning I heard a radio interview with the British Dental Association’s curator of dental history, Dr Margaret Wilson, her suspicious job title alone suggesting a whitewash is in progress. Perhaps it will turn out that teeth never occur naturally in humans, and are inserted at birth to generate dentistry revenue.
And yet I recognise Curator Wilson as part of the International Curatorship of Curators, of which I am the acting curator. For, in my capacity as an E-list celebrity comedian, writer, and broadcaster, I have curated over six things, from a weekend at the Southbank Centre to the order of all the pens on my desk, and if I get it wrong, all the women in the world will die. Most imminently, I am the curator of the boutique music festival All Tomorrow’s Parties, at Prestatyn Pontins, on the weekend of 15 April.
Ian Hislop’s satirical news magazine Private Eye ran a sympathetic piece on the problems of staging such ambitious events without sponsorship or funding, but in describing me, the word curator was placed in inverted commas, ie “curator”, as if there were some doubt that I had “curated” the festival at all; or as if the very idea of a “curator” was so ridiculous it was suspect in some way. Let me assure you, I am a “curator”, and I have personally “curated” the living fuck out of this event until I am blue in the face.
But what is a “curator”? Hans-Ulrich Obrist, “curator” of the Serpentine gallery, wrote the book on “curating”, literally. It is called Ways of Curating and is, in my professional “curatorial” opinion, naive at best. Indeed, Angela Hartnett, Dr Margaret Wilson and I were all laughing on www.curator.net the other day about what a tool Obrist is when it comes to “curating”. Margaret Wilson said Obrist “couldn’t curate his way out of an elephant’s ballsack”, which seemed unnecessary.
All Tomorrow’s Parties weekend events inevitably exploit the dramatic contrast of the familiar British holiday camp and the unpredictable artists they showcase. Should my “curatorship” embody the radical history of the British holiday camp as an abstract ideal? J Fletcher Dodd’s Socialist Holiday Camp in Great Yarmouth was the interwar pioneer of the holiday-as-political-statement model. The booking of bands like Dutch anarcho-punks the Ex, and Nottingham ranters Sleaford Mods, might reflect this self-improving strain, just as the inclusion of a Saturday small hours set by Charlotte Church echoes Fred Pontin’s and Billy Butlin’s subsequent re-pointing of the instructive blueprint towards utilitarian notions of entertainment.
Obrist’s book told me nothing, as usual. I rang Hartnett, but she was busy stuffing a platypus’s egg with marinated quail’s feet. Dr Wilson was lying about teeth, through her teeth, as usual. And so, in preparing the Prestatyn Pontins ATP “curation”, I undressed, lay on the floor, went into a kind of trance and attempted to visualise the whole history of human sound, while twisting my hips to a rhythm only I could hear, which was embarrassing, as I was waiting to pick up my daughter in her school playground at the time. Luckily, she is 28 years old. And so are all her classmates. And everyone who exists.
“Curating” myself into a visionary state, I saw the Prestatyn event as a pyramid-shaped sonic universe with new acts like Shopping, Trash Kit and Ex-Easter Island Head orbiting its tip, unfamiliar free jazz and folk artists floating in random gyratories, and the whole thing balanced on the back of a huge four-legged turtle, the legs representing musicians whose works are supporting pillars of postwar contemporary music; John Cale; the 13 Floor Elevators; Sun Ra Arkestra; and Giant Sand, wellspring of alt-country. A mysterious fifth vestigial leg is in the form of the proto-alternative comedian Ted Chippington, though its exact function is uncertain. This, my friends, is what “curating” means.
Illustration by David Foldvari
On a related note, I am currently “curating” a radio show called Global Globules on Resonance 104.4FM in the character of the disfigured 80s Canadian comedian and “curator” Baconface, who wears a mask of bacon, and plays lengthy selections from his late brother’s collection of obscure 60s and 70s experimental music, in an attempt to deal with his sibling’s death in a bacon-aggravated bear mauling for which Baconface feels responsible. I record the shows alone in a very small room near London Bridge, wearing Baconface’s stinking bacon-covered clothes and wrestling mask. I receive no payment for this work.
The next logical step of course is to “curate” a festival as Baconface, and indeed the simplicity of his backstory makes it obvious to me who he would book, while my own “curatorial” parameters remain blurred. Has Hans-Ulrich Obrist thought of “curating” something while pretending to be someone else and wearing a mask of cured meat, even while alone? No. Who is the best “curator”? It is me.
Baconface’s Festival of Forgotten Sound would ideally include the Irish minimalist Sr Anselme O’Ceallaigh, two Sardinian 70s acts in the shape of Urthona and Vesuvio, Italian horror soundtrack maestros Hymenoptera, Swindon psychedelic 60s band the Dukes of the Stratosphear, and Martin Zeichnete, who was forced by the Stasi in the early 80s to compose inspiring electronica for the East German Olympic team. All these artists are fictional historical constructs that allow the real musicians behind them creative freedom.
Fictional bands “curated” by a fictional “curator” who doesn’t exist! It’s time to take “curating” to the next level, where the act of “curating” becomes a comment on the very idea of “curating”. We haven’t even begun to explore what “curating” could mean. “Curating” will eat itself! Then, and only then, you may use your inverted commas.
The television food personality and chef Angela Hartnett, formerly best remembered as the Rod Hull to Gordon Ramsay’s Emu, is curating something called Kitchen Tales at the Chipping Norton Set’s cheese and music festival, Wilderness. But I can’t work out from the blurb if it is an exhibition, an event, a shop, or just some ingredients lying on the floor that you can look at. Nonetheless, it is reassuring to know that it has been curated, whatever it is.My grandad was a sales rep for Colman’s Mustard. I expect today he would have to say he was a mustard plant compound retail opportunity curator! And he wouldn’t be able to say what colour the mustard was, in case it offended people with jaundice!! It’s political correctness gone mad!!! It’s worse than that!!!! It’s political correctness gone sanity challenged!!!!! And they’ve banned Christmas!!!!!! The cattery wouldn’t take Robin’s cat because they said it looked like Hitler!!!!!!! This morning I heard a radio interview with the British Dental Association’s curator of dental history, Dr Margaret Wilson, her suspicious job title alone suggesting a whitewash is in progress. Perhaps it will turn out that teeth never occur naturally in humans, and are inserted at birth to generate dentistry revenue. And yet I recognise Curator Wilson as part of the International Curatorship of Curators, of which I am the acting curator. For, in my capacity as an E-list celebrity comedian, writer, and broadcaster, I have curated over six things, from a weekend at the Southbank Centre to the order of all the pens on my desk, and if I get it wrong, all the women in the world will die. Most imminently, I am the curator of the boutique music festival All Tomorrow’s Parties, at Prestatyn Pontins, on the weekend of 15 April. Ian...
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.
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.
In 2003, at the mid-point of their career, superstardom winked briefly at New Jersey's Fountains Of Wayne, when their hit single Stacey's Mom achingly anatomised adolescent trans-generational lust.
But their fifth album finds them back in the box marked ‘underappreciated guitar pop classicists', where their understatedly sharp, and wryly witty, portraits of suburban survivors' mid-life muddles pan out in thirteen perfectly structured songs. With old school moves like middle eights, key changes, vocal harmonies, and guitar solos, in all the right places, Sky Full Of Holes won't spook the horses, but engages instead both the heart and the head.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-21T19:42:05+01:00
In 2003, at the mid-point of their career, superstardom winked briefly at New Jersey's Fountains Of Wayne, when their hit single Stacey's Mom achingly anatomised adolescent trans-generational lust. But their fifth album finds them back in the box marked ‘underappreciated guitar pop classicists', where their understatedly sharp, and wryly witty, portraits of suburban survivors' mid-life muddles pan out in thirteen perfectly structured songs. With old school moves like middle eights, key changes, vocal harmonies, and guitar solos, in all the right places, Sky Full Of Holes won't spook the horses, but engages instead both the heart and the head.
Religious bores would be seriously mistaken if they decide to picket the latest dramatic creation from stand up comedian and Jerry Springer - the Opera creator Stewart Lee.
What Would Judas Do? is a beautifully touching, intelligent, insightful study of what it was like to be ordinary in the presence of the extraordinary.
Lee presents a purely secular interpretation of the last week of Christ’s life.
Judas is a disillusioned revolutionary - an idea many Biblical historians support - who saw Jesus as the leader who would drive the occupying Romans out of Palestine and bring down the Pharisees’ puppet regime. Narrated from after his own death, Lee as Judas explains why he eventually betrayed Christ.
Lee peppers this tale with his masterful comedy. He is probably the most intelligent stand-up this country has produced in the past 20 years. There is more humour in the pauses between his words than in an entire 20-minute set by most comics.
Judas is irreverent towards Christ, who he sees as a Gandhian figure rather than a Messiah and a man who never fulfilled his potential. Lee uses Judas’ cynical humour to define the role and, through Judas’ own witty observations, the characters of the other disciples.
But, together with director Perrier winner Will Adamsdale, he also explores the frailty of a bunch of ordinary men, trying to understand their charismatic leader. The scenes involving the last supper and Christ’s eventual crucifixion are among the most touching an audience will see in a theatre anywhere. A 250-word review cannot do justice to this play - just go and see it.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-21T21:04:49+00:00
Religious bores would be seriously mistaken if they decide to picket the latest dramatic creation from stand up comedian and Jerry Springer - the Opera creator Stewart Lee. What Would Judas Do? is a beautifully touching, intelligent, insightful study of what it was like to be ordinary in the presence of the extraordinary. Lee presents a purely secular interpretation of the last week of Christ’s life. Judas is a disillusioned revolutionary - an idea many Biblical historians support - who saw Jesus as the leader who would drive the occupying Romans out of Palestine and bring down the Pharisees’ puppet regime. Narrated from after his own death, Lee as Judas explains why he eventually betrayed Christ. Lee peppers this tale with his masterful comedy. He is probably the most intelligent stand-up this country has produced in the past 20 years. There is more humour in the pauses between his words than in an entire 20-minute set by most comics. Judas is irreverent towards Christ, who he sees as a Gandhian figure rather than a Messiah and a man who never fulfilled his potential. Lee uses Judas’ cynical humour to define the role and, through Judas’ own witty observations, the characters of the other disciples. But, together with director Perrier winner Will Adamsdale, he also explores the frailty of a bunch of ordinary men, trying to understand their charismatic leader. The scenes involving the last supper and Christ’s eventual crucifixion are among the most touching an audience will see in a theatre anywhere. A 250-word review cannot do justice to this play - just go and see it.
Two and a half years ago the composer Richard Thomas asked me to help with a Battersea Arts Centre workshop of his un-finished epic, Jerry Springer The Opera. I thought it would take a couple of months. We didn’t expect a National Theatre run, or a West End transfer, and we certainly didn’t expect to be called to account years later by the eponymous hero. This would never happen to Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Phantom of The Opera, Barbara Dixon and Jesus Christ Superstar are all fictional characters. But Springer had seen a semi-staged version of the unfinished score at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2002, after which he seemed delighted and decided not to take legal action. Then, three nights before our West End opening, after graciously agreeing to come over and do some press, Springer watched a preview of the finished show. From where I was sitting the very real Jerry Springer seemed to be suppressing a very real dissatisfaction.
It wasn’t until the final stages of the National Theatre rehearsal period that I did any research into Jerry Springer’s life. Richard’s words and music captured the essential flavour of Springer’s show and we didn’t necessarily want the real Springer to intrude into the fictional Jerry’s role in the opera. But now the piece was finished, and so I agreed to interview the man himself for Time Out. Over biscuits in a hotel suite, Springer’s PA queried chronological errors involving an sex scandal and Springer’s election as mayor of Cincinnati. It seemed reasonable to make simple changes to one of his speeches. But Springer’s anxieties, it transpired when he arrived, ran deeper. We saw the Jerry of Jerry Springer The Opera as a tragic hero, disappointed in the show he hosts, who, in the closing moments of his life, is given a chance to do something amazing, literally making peace between Heaven and Hell. The real Springer however, is happy with his TV show for two reasons. Firstly, he insists that it is not really him hosting The Jerry Springer Show; “It is a fictionalised character,” he explains, “and I’ve worked pretty hard at developing this persona in The Jerry Springer Show that would not be me so that I could keep this separation in my life, yet this persona has been going on for thirteen years.” This weird division of the self is not unusual in showbiz. I was once lucky enough to work with the late great Rod Hull, who seemed strangely resentful of Emu, even though the bird was effectively only his own arm encased in blue wool.
Secondly, Springer, who hopes to return to his career as a Democrat politician, believes that shows like the infamous I Married A Horse help society. He is upset by our scene in which he hangs in a gibbet over a pit of hellfire, and saves his skin by uniting God and The Devil and declaring, “Energy is pure delight, nothing is wrong and nothing is right, and everything that lives is Holy.” “(That idea) is 180 degrees the opposite of my philosophy,” Springer asserts, “I believe that free speech is the way, so we can determine the difference between right and wrong. The beauty of the show is we permit all ideas to be heard and therefore we can determine that sleeping with a horse is clearly wrong. I’ve never ever believed there is no difference between right and wrong. You are playing into the hands of the Conservatives. That is their excuse for cutting out freedom. That was Hitler’s excuse for the Holocaust. I make it very clear every single show that there is a right and wrong … from God.”
Sometimes Springer sees morality as divinely decreed, while at other times he admits it is based on a kind of straw poll that will have to serve ‘until God talks to us personally.’ With regard to the Horse episode he says, “If you don’t permit the discussion of human relationships an individual has with anything else then it’s not too much of a leap to say, as was said only a few years ago in a country as free as America, that no white person can have a relationship with a black person, or a man cannot have a relationship with another man. There’s one person in a country of 250 million Americans that says ‘I wanna be with my horse’, and 249 million 999 thousand Americans agree with the Bible, that that’s wrong. Oh my, it fell of its own weight, overwhelmingly. In the next segment of the show there’s two guys together. Now it isn’t 250 million to one, it’s 200 million to 50 million. And that’s freedom.” But conventional readings of God’s word, in the Old Testament and Paul’s letters, consider homosexual relationships and human-animal relationships equally evil? “Sure and there’s some people that believe in this bible, and there’s some people that believe in the Koran,” Springer counters, “and there’s other people that believe in another bible. There’s some people that are agnostic. There’s some people that don’t believe in God at all.” Springer himself believes in God and when asked if he thinks there’s an objective moral correlative for human behaviour says, “I absolutely do.”
Distancing himself from the running of The Jerry Springer Show, Springer emphasises that, “All I do is host the show. I don’t produce the show, I don’t come up with the ideas for the show, I don’t choose the guests. I show up to host a show that has been created by other people, it’s other people’s ideas.” Yet he also feels The Jerry Springer Show functions as a social check and balance. Do the producers of the show share this improving notion? “In the beginning the subjects were more serious. Now the instruction I’ve been given is it must be about outrageous people or people in outrageous situations. That is the edict. That is what I am hired to do. If I wanna go and do another show, I have to leave the company and hope someone hires me to do another show.” The real Springer is only following orders, and thus queried the fact that our Jerry is very much in control.
“The scene where I am sitting back with the cigar firing the warm-up guy, yelling, is truly no role that I ever play, no authority that I ever have,” he reasons. “That character in the opera, this is his show, he created it, he wants the crowd to do this, he wants the crowd to do that. I’ve never been involved in a discussion about any of that. The producer decides who ought to get hired and what it ought to be like. I show up and I do the show whatever. That’s too Machiavellian.” As I explain that we see that scene as Jerry, a non-interventionist God, firing the warm-up man in the same way as Satan is cast out of Heaven, I realise we are talking at cross purposes. “Well,” the real Springer concedes, “what you really got right is how I physically and emotionally step back from the confrontation all the time. I would probably step out of that (argument). He could be fired and come and ask me for help.”
During the photo-shoot I am confused and embarrassed. Jerry Springer The Opera momentarily feels like a situationist prank that has got out of hand, and of course it must be utterly bewildering to find yourself the subject of such a vast enterprise. Indeed, a friend said to me one night, “Imagine, if the opera runs for ever. In fifty years time people will be saying, ‘Did you know Jerry Springer was actually a real person?”” “There’s no way you can prepare for it,” Springer confessed, “Michael Brandon’s got me down cold. It was an out of body experience.” Before he leaves, Springer quietly grills me on the opera’s closing image. The dead Jerry rises to his feet and ascends a staircase into a pool of fading light. Some American liberals in one audience found the apparent deification of a man they considered despicable to be deeply offensive. Springer wants to know what it means? Is he ascending into heaven? We don’t know the answer. Originally our Jerry was met on the stairs by Jesus and The Devil, but we pulled them out because it seemed too pointed. We preferred the inconclusive conclusion. But I suppose, when one is the subject of an opera, you are at least looking for a sense of closure. Like our Jerry, we don’t really do conflict resolution.
On opening night, it was hoped that Springer would bow alongside the cast, but he didn’t want to endorse the show directly. In the event, the audience clapped him out of the aisle, up onto the stage. The last I saw of him, as 1200 people stood to their feet and applauded, he at least looked happy. I hope he is.
Stewart Lee
2003-12-01T17:57:50+00:00
Two and a half years ago the composer Richard Thomas asked me to help with a Battersea Arts Centre workshop of his un-finished epic, Jerry Springer The Opera. I thought it would take a couple of months. We didn’t expect a National Theatre run, or a West End transfer, and we certainly didn’t expect to be called to account years later by the eponymous hero. This would never happen to Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Phantom of The Opera, Barbara Dixon and Jesus Christ Superstar are all fictional characters. But Springer had seen a semi-staged version of the unfinished score at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2002, after which he seemed delighted and decided not to take legal action. Then, three nights before our West End opening, after graciously agreeing to come over and do some press, Springer watched a preview of the finished show. From where I was sitting the very real Jerry Springer seemed to be suppressing a very real dissatisfaction. It wasn’t until the final stages of the National Theatre rehearsal period that I did any research into Jerry Springer’s life. Richard’s words and music captured the essential flavour of Springer’s show and we didn’t necessarily want the real Springer to intrude into the fictional Jerry’s role in the opera. But now the piece was finished, and so I agreed to interview the man himself for Time Out. Over biscuits in a hotel suite, Springer’s PA queried chronological errors involving an sex scandal and Springer’s election as mayor of Cincinnati. It seemed reasonable to make simple changes to one of his speeches. But Springer’s anxieties, it transpired when he arrived, ran deeper. We saw the Jerry of Jerry Springer The Opera as a tragic hero, disappointed in the show he hosts, who, in the closing moments of his life,...
There are certain things that, as a society, we have enough of. Few people can say that when perusing the shelves of their local Waterstones bookshop they're looking for further volumes of Jordan's extensive range of autobiographies. I'm not suggesting that there's anything wrong with the existing eighteen volumes. Quite the opposite. I think that one woman's struggle to retain human emotions whilst physically bearing more and more obscure levels of physical resemblance to humans as a species is a riveting subject. I would argue, though, that the subject has now been covered in sufficient depth. Any insight, any humour, any entertainment to be drawn from this subject has surely been drawn by now.
The same could be said of Stewart Lee's recent 3CD release. I'm a huge fan of Stewart Lee. So much so that the first draft of this review featured an introduction that would have had many readers scrolling to the top of the page to confirm that they hadn't stumbled onto the Den of Greek* by accident. Such was the degree of man-on-man love.
But even from a comic as intelligent and funny as Stewart Lee, do we really need another anecdotal retelling of the last days Judas performed as a one-man-show/stand-up comedy hybrid? Isn't this something that has already been done to death?
What Would Judas Do? is great fun. Those who are familiar with Lee's stand-up will know what to expect here. He masterfully dissects his source material, mining laughs from areas that most comedians wouldn't even think to look. I can't imagine any other comedian coming up with such a brilliant pay-off based around the line "Judas, would you betray me with a kiss?"
Recent work from Stewart Lee has seen him experiment with audience participation. This extends beyond Frank Boyle-style 'tell me what your job is so I can tell you that I hate you' taunting. Here he seems genuinely interested in bringing his audience into the show, which makes it feel slightly unpredictable. Whilst an attempt to bribe them into participation with bags of nuts might seem odd, it does make sense in the context of the show.
The concept of the show not only illustrates Lee's inventiveness, but also provides a good opportunity to showcase his particular style of comedy. Stewart Lee is funny in a very different way to someone like Tim Vine (not to take anything away from Tim Vine, who is brilliant in his own right). He gets his laughs at his own pace (it's not just getting a laugh but how he gets it with Stewart Lee), and raises thought provoking points along the way.
The set consists of three discs, each with a recording of the show from a different night. This might seem excessive but actually works well for a couple of reasons. The first is that, thanks to the interaction with the audience, each show is at least a little different from the last. Given that the set is priced at £10, it's about averagely priced for a stand-up comedy CD but it doesn't grow stale with repeated listening thanks to these differences. The second reason it works for What Would Judas Do? is that Lee has a very deliberate style of delivery. Every word seems specifically placed and it's interesting to hear him play with his performance during the set.
The show warrants a 5 star review. However, as noted on the Go Faster Stripe website, the recordings are not of a technically high standard. Whilst this should be taken into account, the problems are not such that they have any real negative impact over the show. You can hear the audience and there is some interference, but it's not distracting and you can still hear everything that you are supposed to clearly.
*I've been contributing to Den of Geek for nearly 2 years. Over the course of those 2 years, I've been desperate to include the pun 'Den of Greek' but have been unable to place it in anything I've written. I'm pleased to have finally been able to include it.
While you're there, you can also find Stewart Lee's best stand up DVD, '90s Comedian. It comes highly recommended.
Stewart Lee
2009-05-08T21:06:18+01:00
There are certain things that, as a society, we have enough of. Few people can say that when perusing the shelves of their local Waterstones bookshop they're looking for further volumes of Jordan's extensive range of autobiographies. I'm not suggesting that there's anything wrong with the existing eighteen volumes. Quite the opposite. I think that one woman's struggle to retain human emotions whilst physically bearing more and more obscure levels of physical resemblance to humans as a species is a riveting subject. I would argue, though, that the subject has now been covered in sufficient depth. Any insight, any humour, any entertainment to be drawn from this subject has surely been drawn by now. The same could be said of Stewart Lee's recent 3CD release. I'm a huge fan of Stewart Lee. So much so that the first draft of this review featured an introduction that would have had many readers scrolling to the top of the page to confirm that they hadn't stumbled onto the Den of Greek* by accident. Such was the degree of man-on-man love. But even from a comic as intelligent and funny as Stewart Lee, do we really need another anecdotal retelling of the last days Judas performed as a one-man-show/stand-up comedy hybrid? Isn't this something that has already been done to death? What Would Judas Do? is great fun. Those who are familiar with Lee's stand-up will know what to expect here. He masterfully dissects his source material, mining laughs from areas that most comedians wouldn't even think to look. I can't imagine any other comedian coming up with such a brilliant pay-off based around the line "Judas, would you betray me with a kiss?" Recent work from Stewart Lee has seen him experiment with audience participation. This extends beyond Frank Boyle-style 'tell me...
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 friend of mine, a garden historian, had the worst gig ever. He was best man to Stewart Lee, and the cream of the British comedy world was in his audience. He thought it went well. They seemed to laugh in the right places. But as he was walking back to his seat, he overheard someone ask Harry Hill what he thought of the speech. He gave a one-word answer: “Long."
Stewart Lee
2011-08-27T13:25:35+01:00
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...
On Monday, the crusading investigative journalist Piers Morgan interviewed Jennifer Arcuri, the spurned 10-year business associate of 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 FactcheckUK@CCHQ Johnson.
Shortly before being ridiculed by a bluntly Scottish Lorraine Kelly, the disputed tech-entrepreneur revealed that last time she phoned the prime minister she was fobbed off by someone, perhaps Turds himself, pretending to be Chinese by doing a Charlie Chan comedy voice. Heaven help us if Turds uses this conflict-avoidance method when dealing with the prime minister of China, who will find it velly lacist.
It’s Tuesday night now and I am sitting in front of the leaders’ election debate, with a family-size bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a slab of Butty Bach beer. My mother and I used to swing by the once exotic KFC outlet in Hall Green in the 70s on the way back from my birthday Birmingham cinema trip. But our takeaway battered meat was then consumed at home, on plates, with cutlery. Like Donald Trump, my late mother had food standards. And back then so did I.
I haven’t eaten the fried fowl for two decades at least, but the first stirrings of the festive season have raised recollections of departed loved ones and the chicken bucket is my madeleine cake, dipped in Proustian tea. But my mother would not have eaten food out of a bucket. What has British politics done to me? What have I become? A horse? A donkey? An okapi? A pig? Maybe tomorrow I will upgrade to a trough.
I amuse myself with the nosh pail’s contents. Every time Turds tells a lie on television I neck a fistful of coleslaw. Turds’s pink arse-mouth boffs out his usual lie fart about 40 new hospitals, the verified figure of six inflated by 6.66 recurring. By the same maths, Turds, who was once “bursting with spunk”, would have 33.33 children. Or perhaps nearly 40, depending on which truth you believe. It must have been hard for Turds to count all those children on his fingers with one hand in someone’s knickers and the other in the till.
But the days when we were slaves to the meek toothless mewling of acquiescent courtier-broadcasters like Laura Kuenssberg’s flaccid BBC are behind us. We have the internet now, a worldwide web of truth! To check Turds’s hospital claims I log on to social media and find myself on the Twitter feed of a robust looking organisation called factcheckUK, the name of which leads me to believe it could doubtless expose some of Turds’s routinely ignored inconsistencies.
I chew my chicken while I check factcheckUK for facts that have been checked in the UK, but it seems a little biased in favour of the government. And I remember the Kentucky Fried being tastier. The flesh is too wet, the skin not as spicy as I recall, but I gobble my bucket down anyway, like an obedient pig.
And then I notice! This isn’t Kentucky Fried Chicken at all. The logo actually says Kingturkey Fried Chicken, but the lettering has been made to look as much like Kentucky Fried Chicken as possible. And I wonder if the Colin L Sanders bloke on the bucket knows his bearded face is being used to flog this fake southern fried.
Damn my naive eyes! It’s the oldest trick in the book!! A simple case of passing off!!! Kentucky Fried Chicken my feet!!!! At least this factcheckUK site is trustworthy. Maybe they know who is behind this Kingturkey Fried Chicken con. And so I look at factcheckUK and notice, for the first time, in tiny letters that occupy less than 1% of the logo’s area, the words “from CCHQ”. FactcheckUK is actually the Conservative campaign headquarters’s feed deliberately disguised, for the duration of the debate, as an independent fact-checking outfit and I fell for it.
FactcheckUK@CCHQ is the fake Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet of British politics and the Conservatives have held your head in its family bucket of falsehoods and forced you to feed on it. Never mind! Twitter sounded pretty serious about how they were going to stop social media being used to manipulate election results so I expect they will... do nothing.
Imagine a political landscape so ruined that a man who lied about the number of his children, about hospital upgrades, about the EU for two decades every week in the Daily Telegraph, about his oven-ready deal, about bridges, about bikes, about kippers, about pork pies, about money being spaffed up a wall, about his contact with the American white supremacist Steve Bannon and about £350m a week to the NHS, and who lies to his wives, to his bosses, and to his Queen can have his interests represented by a fake organisation that presumes to check facts.
The next morning, Dominic Raab, whose amusing cynicism and stupidity now seem terrifying, defended his government’s indefensible dishonesty, saying: “No one gives a… er… toss about social media.” The tombstone-foreheaded tool hesitated a second before saying “toss”, mentally calculating whether mild profanity would discredit him or make him look like the sort of telling-it-like-it-is truth talker Tories convince each other they are. Then he went for it. Toss! Toss toss toss!!! I said toss! Did you hear me, Dominic?
A few moments later, Tosser Raab was required to make a sad face to express sympathy for a former British consulate employee who had been tortured by the Chinese, enemies of democracy whose totalitarian activities are unacceptable. Everyone has a line in the sand, it seems. I threw my fake Kentucky bones away but kept the bucket. It looks like I’ll be needing something to vomit into on 13 December.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-24T14:30:41+00:00
On Monday, the crusading investigative journalist Piers Morgan interviewed Jennifer Arcuri, the spurned 10-year business associate of 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 FactcheckUK@CCHQ Johnson. Shortly before being ridiculed by a bluntly Scottish Lorraine Kelly, the disputed tech-entrepreneur revealed that last time she phoned the prime minister she was fobbed off by someone, perhaps Turds himself, pretending to be Chinese by doing a Charlie Chan comedy voice. Heaven help us if Turds uses this conflict-avoidance method when dealing with the prime minister of China, who will find it velly lacist. It’s Tuesday night now and I am sitting in front of the leaders’ election debate, with a family-size bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a slab of Butty Bach beer. My mother and I used to swing by the once exotic KFC outlet in Hall Green in the 70s on the way back from my birthday Birmingham cinema trip. But our takeaway battered meat was then consumed at home, on plates, with cutlery. Like Donald Trump, my late mother had food standards. And back then so did I. I haven’t eaten the fried fowl for two decades at least, but the first stirrings of the festive season have raised recollections of departed loved ones and the chicken bucket is my madeleine cake, dipped in Proustian tea. But my mother would not have eaten food out of a bucket. What has British politics done to me? What have I become? A horse? A donkey? An okapi? A pig? Maybe tomorrow I will upgrade to a trough. I amuse myself with the nosh pail’s contents. Every time Turds tells a lie on television I neck a fistful of coleslaw. Turds’s pink arse-mouth boffs out his...
When he released his 1963 debut, Lee Hazelwood was a 34 year old journeyman producer and songwriter, not the minimalist country-pop visionary he was revered as by the time of his death in 2007.
Trouble Is A Lonesome Town, originally intended as a weekly TV series, is a concept album about the inhabitants of the eponymous settlement, complete with endearingly clunky narrated sections, and sounds like Johnny Cash channeling Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon.
Hazelwood himself emerges from the Mojave heat haze already fully formed.
Stewart Lee
2013-03-03T20:24:53+00:00
When he released his 1963 debut, Lee Hazelwood was a 34 year old journeyman producer and songwriter, not the minimalist country-pop visionary he was revered as by the time of his death in 2007. Trouble Is A Lonesome Town, originally intended as a weekly TV series, is a concept album about the inhabitants of the eponymous settlement, complete with endearingly clunky narrated sections, and sounds like Johnny Cash channeling Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon. Hazelwood himself emerges from the Mojave heat haze already fully formed.
The 2nd series of SLCV will be recorded 11th - 14th of Jan at the Mildmay Club, Stoke Newington, London. I will record at least 4 shows of stand-up a night, except on the Friday 14th where I will be doing stand-up and intorducing comedy and musical guests for on-line content.
Stew will be trying out more new material for his forthcoming BBC series – see it live ahead of transmission and start the backlash now. Mon 3rd January 2011 - 4pm, Vegetable Stew. Leicester Square Theatre, London. Click for tickets Weds 5th January 2011 - 9.30pm, Vegetable Stew. Leicester Square Theatre, London. Click for tickets Thurs 6th January 2011 - 9.30pm, Vegetable Stew. Leicester Square Theatre, London. Click for tickets Sat 8th January 2011 - 4pm, Vegetable Stew. Leicester Square Theatre, London. Click for tickets Sun 9th January 2011 - 4pm, Vegetable Stew. Leicester Square Theatre, London. Click for tickets All January tickets £12.50 Full details here: https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/24498666/events or via https://www.stewartlee.co.uk STEWART LEE'S COMEDY VEHICLE The 2nd series of SLCV will be recorded 11th - 14th of Jan at the Mildmay Club, Stoke Newington, London. I will record at least 4 shows of stand-up a night, except on the Friday 14th where I will be doing stand-up and intorducing comedy and musical guests for on-line content. Tickets are free from www.sroaudiences.com
An expanded reissue of the Seventies krautrockers Can's Tago Mago album stuffed the stocking of many a former head this Christmas, but front man Damo Suzuki has never become a nostalgia act. The former busker continues his endless global tour, spieling spontaneous vocalese over sympathetic sound-beds from ad-hoc assemblies of like-minded locals wherever he lands.
Here he is in Italy last year, growling groovy gibberish over locked rhythms, synth noise, and the interlocutions of a sensitive flautist, who engages in provocative conversational probing.
Three steps ahead of the moment, Suzuki somehow works towards perfectly pitched musical climaxes.
Stewart Lee
2012-02-19T21:33:24+00:00
An expanded reissue of the Seventies krautrockers Can's Tago Mago album stuffed the stocking of many a former head this Christmas, but front man Damo Suzuki has never become a nostalgia act. The former busker continues his endless global tour, spieling spontaneous vocalese over sympathetic sound-beds from ad-hoc assemblies of like-minded locals wherever he lands. Here he is in Italy last year, growling groovy gibberish over locked rhythms, synth noise, and the interlocutions of a sensitive flautist, who engages in provocative conversational probing. Three steps ahead of the moment, Suzuki somehow works towards perfectly pitched musical climaxes.
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, 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
2025-10-06T23:11:19+01:00
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, 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!
Four decades since his last album proper in 1971, Bill Fay is now viewed as the great English singer-songwriter that completely got away. Fay's much delayed difficult third album is overseen by pastoral guitarist for hire Matt Deighton, with guests including Fay's cheerleader Wilco's Jeff Tweedy, whose debt to Fay is obvious on the slowly swelling Cosmic Concerto. Life Is People moves inexorably forward with the surging gravitational pull of Fay's best work. A set of self-effacing meditational mantras, their biblical tones disguised in piano balladeer threads, it sounds like the work of someone who never went away.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-26T19:32:22+01:00
Four decades since his last album proper in 1971, Bill Fay is now viewed as the great English singer-songwriter that completely got away. Fay's much delayed difficult third album is overseen by pastoral guitarist for hire Matt Deighton, with guests including Fay's cheerleader Wilco's Jeff Tweedy, whose debt to Fay is obvious on the slowly swelling Cosmic Concerto. Life Is People moves inexorably forward with the surging gravitational pull of Fay's best work. A set of self-effacing meditational mantras, their biblical tones disguised in piano balladeer threads, it sounds like the work of someone who never went away.
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...
COMEDIAN Stewart Lee angrily smashed an audience member’s phone on the stage floor and put it between his bum cheeks.
Stewart leapt from the stage and ordered the device to be handed over.
He had warned him to put his phone away in a rant over how a filmed joke could be taken out of context online.
Despite the fan insisting it was not recording, Stewart shouted: “I f***ing warned you.”
He returned to the stage, threw the phone down then dropped his trousers and shoved it between his cheeks.
The audience at Oxford Playhouse were horrified.
One man said: “He jiggled around with the phone shoved in his bum.”
Stewart, best known as one half of Lee and Herring, later called the fan an idiot and told him that his phone was in a Jiffy bag with sanitiser.
Stewart Lee
2022-01-19T13:53:05+00:00
COMEDIAN Stewart Lee angrily smashed an audience member’s phone on the stage floor and put it between his bum cheeks. Stewart leapt from the stage and ordered the device to be handed over. He had warned him to put his phone away in a rant over how a filmed joke could be taken out of context online. Despite the fan insisting it was not recording, Stewart shouted: “I f***ing warned you.” He returned to the stage, threw the phone down then dropped his trousers and shoved it between his cheeks. The audience at Oxford Playhouse were horrified. One man said: “He jiggled around with the phone shoved in his bum.” Stewart, best known as one half of Lee and Herring, later called the fan an idiot and told him that his phone was in a Jiffy bag with sanitiser.
Whether Stewart Lee is still the “41st best stand-up ever” (Channel 4), “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (The Times) or a declining commodity in the post-PC age is one of the many conundrums the mercurial comic wrestles with in his latest show.
Or rather shows, as the performance is split between the first set’s ‘Tornado’ – during which Lee queries his position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly describes his Comedy Vehicle TV series as about sharks falling from the sky – and second installment ‘Snowflake’, when he’s forced to question his worth in a world no longer in tune with the liberal values on which much of his work is based.
The latter is probably the marginally funnier set, even though its initial laughs seem to come from nothing at all – Lee quipping that it’s unfair on any reviewers present, who at least need something to go on. The notion of laughing at nothing (“but it is something”) is typical of Lee’s show, which veers between clever and absurd, and is often both at the same time.
The weary attitude (he claimed he’d been self-isolating in his hotel room hoping the show would be cancelled due to coronavirus), superiority complex and disdain for the audience are all present and correct too, but there’s a greater degree of playfulness to this performance – he puts on voices and even jumps about – and the finale comes as close to a personal element as I’ve seen him display, though its manifestation, in the form of an acoustic guitar number, is mercifully brief.
The chances of this marking a change of tack are about as likely as him ditching his membership of the ‘metropolitan liberal elite’ of course, but that’s just as well, as “the comedian Stewart Lee” – a character he claims is removed from the real one – has license to skewer a range of contemporaries and celebrities, from Ricky Gervais, Dave Chapelle and Jimmy Carr to Tony Parsons and Phoebe Waller-Bridge. All are subjected to varying degrees of vitriolic attack, but in each case the occasionally imbecilic mockery is grounded in intellectually considered argument – that same mix of clever and absurd that keeps Lee among the elite of stand-up comedy
Stewart Lee
2020-03-13T15:12:02+00:00
Whether Stewart Lee is still the “41st best stand-up ever” (Channel 4), “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (The Times) or a declining commodity in the post-PC age is one of the many conundrums the mercurial comic wrestles with in his latest show. Or rather shows, as the performance is split between the first set’s ‘Tornado’ – during which Lee queries his position in the comedy marketplace after Netflix mistakenly describes his Comedy Vehicle TV series as about sharks falling from the sky – and second installment ‘Snowflake’, when he’s forced to question his worth in a world no longer in tune with the liberal values on which much of his work is based. The latter is probably the marginally funnier set, even though its initial laughs seem to come from nothing at all – Lee quipping that it’s unfair on any reviewers present, who at least need something to go on. The notion of laughing at nothing (“but it is something”) is typical of Lee’s show, which veers between clever and absurd, and is often both at the same time. The weary attitude (he claimed he’d been self-isolating in his hotel room hoping the show would be cancelled due to coronavirus), superiority complex and disdain for the audience are all present and correct too, but there’s a greater degree of playfulness to this performance – he puts on voices and even jumps about – and the finale comes as close to a personal element as I’ve seen him display, though its manifestation, in the form of an acoustic guitar number, is mercifully brief. The chances of this marking a change of tack are about as likely as him ditching his membership of the ‘metropolitan liberal elite’ of course, but that’s just as well, as “the comedian Stewart Lee” – a...
Here's a special edition, pared down version of the our bloated Fist of Fun set.
This two disc set contains just the episodes and commentary tracks.
Finally, people with only a causial interest in early Lee and Herring can see what the fuss is all about.
It's Fist of Fun! And here are your hosts. One is Stewart Lee and the other one is known as Richard Herring.
And you can see all 12 episodes from both series of their crazy adventure on this double disc set.
Here's just some of the nostalgia on offer
- see if Stew gets his Moon on a Stick
- meet the Real Rod Hull (he is him!)
- revisit Simon Quinlank's hobbies
- see inside the Julia Sawalha shrine
- hear Rich say 'ahhh', and then Stew say 'not ahhh'.
The show features young versions of Peter Baynam, Kevin Eldon, Ben Moor, Ronni Ancona, Alistair McGowan and many other famous faces.
But that's not all - as a lovely bonus, modern day Rich and Stew have recorded commentary tracks for every episode and there are commentary tracks from Kevin Eldon, Ben Moor, and one from the Real Rod Hull and Simon Quinlank.
Stewart Lee
2019-03-17T11:04:58+00:00
Here's a special edition, pared down version of the our bloated Fist of Fun set. This two disc set contains just the episodes and commentary tracks. Finally, people with only a causial interest in early Lee and Herring can see what the fuss is all about. It's Fist of Fun! And here are your hosts. One is Stewart Lee and the other one is known as Richard Herring. And you can see all 12 episodes from both series of their crazy adventure on this double disc set. Here's just some of the nostalgia on offer - see if Stew gets his Moon on a Stick - meet the Real Rod Hull (he is him!) - revisit Simon Quinlank's hobbies - see inside the Julia Sawalha shrine - hear Rich say 'ahhh', and then Stew say 'not ahhh'. The show features young versions of Peter Baynam, Kevin Eldon, Ben Moor, Ronni Ancona, Alistair McGowan and many other famous faces. But that's not all - as a lovely bonus, modern day Rich and Stew have recorded commentary tracks for every episode and there are commentary tracks from Kevin Eldon, Ben Moor, and one from the Real Rod Hull and Simon Quinlank.
John Cage's Indeterminacy performed by Steve Beresford, Tania Chen and Stewart Lee. Two different passes on Cage's chance composition, recorded in 2011. You can read about this release in greater detail at the Knitted Records website, here.
Tickets for next year's Hackney Empire BELTER FOR THE SHELTER benefit for Hackney Winter Shelter go live at 11am on THURSDAY 1st NOV.
The show is on TUESDAY 19TH FEB 2019 and the bill so far is;
BRIDGET CHRISTIE
KEVIN ELDON
SOFIE HAGEN
HARRY HILL
ROSIE JONES
ATHENA KUGBLENU
NISH KUMAR
STEWART LEE
ROBERT NEWMAN
Going into it's 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.
DEAR STEWART LEE MAILING LIST Tickets for next year's Hackney Empire BELTER FOR THE SHELTER benefit for Hackney Winter Shelter go live at 11am on THURSDAY 1st NOV. The show is on TUESDAY 19TH FEB 2019 and the bill so far is; BRIDGET CHRISTIE KEVIN ELDON SOFIE HAGEN HARRY HILL ROSIE JONES ATHENA KUGBLENU NISH KUMAR STEWART LEE ROBERT NEWMAN Going into it's 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. Here is the tickets link. TICKETS
Brent Cross is a security guard at the Brent Cross Shopping Centre. He is 37 years old and was born in Wellington, New Zealand.
I suppose it was inevitable that I would end up working at Brent Cross. I was born to Mr and Mrs Peter Cross, in New Zealand in 1970, two British hippies who washed up on the South Island in the 60’s. They named me Brent, but it wasn’t until I came to Wembley to live in a cereal box with three other kiwis that I even knew there was a place called Brent Cross. I called up my Dad and I said “Dad, did you know there was a big shopping centre in London called Brent Cross?” and he just cracked up. I suppose they were having a joke at my expense right from the start. You have to admire their patience. My Mum and Dad, they were playing a looooong game.
And then one day, I saw an advert – “Brent Cross. Security Guard Wanted.” Now, I never wanted to be a security guard, but I like reading and figured I could probably take a book to work, and it was like that little card was calling me, by name. When I arrived for my first day at Brent Cross I had a uniform and a name badge saying “Brent Cross. Brent Cross.” One day, one of the old guys said, “I’ve been coming into Brent Cross every day for thirty years and I’m sick of it” and everyone pointed at me and laughed. The other guys in the flat – Daveo, Keitho and Steveo - kept pinning up headlines from London papers on the fridge door – “Brent Cross to be refurbished”, “£50 000 spent on Brent Cross’ toilets”, “Brent Cross to be extended into inverted T shape” – and such like, and they’d laugh, too. Who cares? You need something to distract you. Brent Cross is Hell.
There isn’t a bookshop in the Brent Cross shopping centre? Does that strike you as weird? Sure there’s a WH Smiths, selling drawing pins and chic lit, but there isn’t an actual bookshop, selling actual books. One time this girl in specs and an alice band said to me, “My boyfriend’s browsing in an electrical shop. I want to kill time. Where’s the bookshop?” And I said ‘There isn’t one, dude. Isn’t that amazing?” And we ended up getting it on in a service elevator while he looked at I-pods.
No bookshop. And on Boxing Day 5000 people rioted over clothes at Next. Can you imagine there being a riot over books at Foyles or Blackwells? No. Who are these people that shop here? Brent Cross’ marketing slogan is ‘Feed Your Addiction”. Brent Cross got what it deserved. Consumer-junkies fighting each other for .... stuff. It’s just stuff, dude.
Last week a guy tripped over a marble stone border surrounding a coffee outlet on Level 1, and I was called because he’d started shouting at it, calling it names, and threatening it. He didn’t want his girlfriend to see him beaten by a step. People that shop here are the kind of people that pick fights with stone. “No inanimate object is going to make me look like an idiot.” That’s why there’s no need for a bookshop here. It’s like hell.
Once, when I was a kid, I walking along the beach, I saw three dolphins just offshore, so I stripped off and ran into the sea, and they raced alongside me for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a few minutes. I think I have to leave London, and go home. There isn’t even a bookshop in the Brent Cross Shopping Centre. Come on! What’s that all about?
Brent Cross was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-03-27T16:57:41+01:00
Brent Cross is a security guard at the Brent Cross Shopping Centre. He is 37 years old and was born in Wellington, New Zealand. I suppose it was inevitable that I would end up working at Brent Cross. I was born to Mr and Mrs Peter Cross, in New Zealand in 1970, two British hippies who washed up on the South Island in the 60’s. They named me Brent, but it wasn’t until I came to Wembley to live in a cereal box with three other kiwis that I even knew there was a place called Brent Cross. I called up my Dad and I said “Dad, did you know there was a big shopping centre in London called Brent Cross?” and he just cracked up. I suppose they were having a joke at my expense right from the start. You have to admire their patience. My Mum and Dad, they were playing a looooong game. And then one day, I saw an advert – “Brent Cross. Security Guard Wanted.” Now, I never wanted to be a security guard, but I like reading and figured I could probably take a book to work, and it was like that little card was calling me, by name. When I arrived for my first day at Brent Cross I had a uniform and a name badge saying “Brent Cross. Brent Cross.” One day, one of the old guys said, “I’ve been coming into Brent Cross every day for thirty years and I’m sick of it” and everyone pointed at me and laughed. The other guys in the flat – Daveo, Keitho and Steveo - kept pinning up headlines from London papers on the fridge door – “Brent Cross to be refurbished”, “£50 000 spent on Brent Cross’ toilets”, “Brent Cross to be extended...
In the Autumn of 2000, my partner and I were driving around the deserts of the American Southwest. It was a holiday, really, but I was also trying to research the area, and the culture of native peoples specifically, for a novel I was writing. It was hard to find out much about the Hopi, and all but impossible to read anything about their clowning tradition, which was what I really wanted to know about. I’d been a stand-up comedian for 12 years and I was sick of it. I had some kind of romantic notion that I needed to go back to the source. But due to a serious sense of humour failure by American government officials in the early 20th century, the Hopi clowns now clouded their performances in secrecy. Bizarrely, Henry Winkler, aka The Fonz, has a videotape of a Hopi clown gig, but he won’t show it to anyone. The clowns recognised The Fonz as a fellow funny-man and allowed Winkler to film them as part of a sacred bond of trust. Not even the University of Arizona can match Fonzie’s influence. He is cool.
The Hopi occupy an increasingly encroached plateau, east of Flagstaff, north of Winslow, surrounded on most sides by the lands of the Navajo. The Navajo saw the writing on the wall a lot sooner than the Hopi. Monument Valley has been ceded back to them, and they control tourist access. There’s no shortage of Navajo symbols on baseball caps and shoulder bags. They’re probably the most media friendly of the native American peoples, and, like good capitalists, have ultimately come to view the ongoing occupation of their country as a business opportunity. Good luck to them. The Hopi, however, have seen it all before. They survived Spanish invasion by ambitious conquistadors, and later fought off Navajo attacks from their fortress citadels of their high mesa villages. Hopi holy stories say they will inherit the earth. They have no reason to believe that the white man’s presence, like that of all their other enemies, is anything but transitory. And indeed, when you stand in the ancient cliff-top village of Walpi, surveying the vast empty desert from the roof of a low pueblo house, the rest of the world does seem very far away.
The Hopi’s approach to tourists couldn’t be more different to the Navajo’s. There’s only one place to stay in Hopi Land, and that’s at the Hopi Cultural Centre. It’s clean, efficient and has excellent blue corn tacos, but you feel you’re there mainly to stop you getting in people’s way and nosing about too much. In Walpi you ask at a little office and a somewhat reserved old woman will accompany you on a walk around the village, the oldest continuously inhabited human settlement in the United States, not that the white officials in the tourist information centre at Holbrook, half an hour South, have ever even heard of it. The two Swedes who took the same tour as us asked her questions about The Sacred Rock in the main plaza. The questions remained unanswered, and the Viking fools tampered with a clearly significant clump of feathers nestled in one of its fissures. I imagine that later on they were visited in dreams by vengeful Katsina spirits. As we left Walpi, another old lady showed me some hand carved sculptures of traditional Hopi figures. In Flagstaff and Tucson the souvenir shops were full of plasticised knock-offs, but here was a nine inch wooden replica of a Hopi Mudhead clown carrying a rattle and an ear of golden corn, at a price I could afford.
My Mudhead figure was the closest I came to meeting a Hopi clown and I treasure it. Maybe if I’d stuck around, like the writer Frank Waters, who stayed in Hopi land the best part of a decade to write a story, I’d have made some inroads. But this was the strangest, most alien place I’d ever visited. And I felt that, just by being there, I was causing some indefinable offence. So the next day we drove West away from Walpi.
After a couple of miles we picked up a hitch-hiker. He was a young Hopi boy, in his late teens, wearing jeans and a work-shirt. It was mid-day, and he was walking maybe 20km from Walpi to see his girlfriend in one of the outlying Hopi settlements, I forget which one. He said there was some kind of ceremonial dance later in the week, but it was difficult to ascertain exactly what it entailed. After a while the three of us ran out of things to say. This is always what happens on the few occasions I’ve picked up hitch-hikers. Stifled conversation followed by a tense, embarrassing silence. But this was worse than usual. In my mind, the Hopi were clown-mystics, utterly unrelated to my own culture, mysterious, far away and removed. What did I have to say to them, or they to me. In the wordless gulf, Electric Ladyland was bubbling at low volume in the car CD player. As we let the young man out he said, “Hey, did you know Hendrix was half-Indian?” “Yes,” I said, “yes, yes he was, wasn’t he….”.
Stewart Lee
2004-01-01T21:12:44+00:00
In the Autumn of 2000, my partner and I were driving around the deserts of the American Southwest. It was a holiday, really, but I was also trying to research the area, and the culture of native peoples specifically, for a novel I was writing. It was hard to find out much about the Hopi, and all but impossible to read anything about their clowning tradition, which was what I really wanted to know about. I’d been a stand-up comedian for 12 years and I was sick of it. I had some kind of romantic notion that I needed to go back to the source. But due to a serious sense of humour failure by American government officials in the early 20th century, the Hopi clowns now clouded their performances in secrecy. Bizarrely, Henry Winkler, aka The Fonz, has a videotape of a Hopi clown gig, but he won’t show it to anyone. The clowns recognised The Fonz as a fellow funny-man and allowed Winkler to film them as part of a sacred bond of trust. Not even the University of Arizona can match Fonzie’s influence. He is cool. The Hopi occupy an increasingly encroached plateau, east of Flagstaff, north of Winslow, surrounded on most sides by the lands of the Navajo. The Navajo saw the writing on the wall a lot sooner than the Hopi. Monument Valley has been ceded back to them, and they control tourist access. There’s no shortage of Navajo symbols on baseball caps and shoulder bags. They’re probably the most media friendly of the native American peoples, and, like good capitalists, have ultimately come to view the ongoing occupation of their country as a business opportunity. Good luck to them. The Hopi, however, have seen it all before. They survived Spanish invasion by ambitious conquistadors,...
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.
Stewart Lee is back on the road after three years, and he comes back wonderfully refreshed and on marvellous form with this double header, Tornado/Snowflake.
Tornado, the first hour, starts with Lee reading out the wrong blurb that his show Comedy Vehicle was given on Netflix. It actually describes the B-movie Sharknado, in which sharks rain from the sky. The joke is teased out and weaves through the hour, as he chisels away at a favourite subject in his work, his perceived standing in comedy. Would anybody notice if they tuned in to his show after reading that description?
The mention of Netflix allows Lee to ruminate on the relationship between comedic talent and commercial worth, so he names names. Of course Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr are targets, but others too. There's a set piece about US comic Dave Chappelle, which, in typical Lee style, moves from description of fact to sublimely surreal invention as he describes an evening that starts backstage at Leicester Square Theatre and results a scary chase around Soho. This being Lee, he manages to get a fine Brexit joke in the telling of the tale as well.
In Snowflake, it's Tony Parsons, Ricky Gervais (again) and Phoebe Waller-Bridge who get it in the neck. The first is demolished in a gloriously pedantic essay on grammar, while Gervais is parodied for “saying the unsayable” in a lengthy riff that has no actual words, and Waller-Bridge is ridiculed for her “discovery” of addressing the audience directly. To be fair, she doesn't claim this, but Lee nicely deconstructs the iconic status bestowed on her as he acts out how everything from Shakespeare to weather forecasters may have looked if they had not had the same lightbulb moment.
There's so much comedy packed in that one could almost miss the deeper layers of Lee's material. But it's there, in the seemingly throwaway lines, or a detail in a lengthy tale, as he makes a deep dive into the post-PC age, and what those of a liberal bent are to make of it. But he likes to wrongfoot and tease the audience: as he slyly jokes at the top of the show, his fans have been "starved of the opportunity to participate in mass agreement" since he was last on tour.
While the trademarks of Stewart Lee shows – the sarcasm, the surreal invention, the faux self-regard and obsession with his place in the comedy firmament – are very much present here, he also introduces new elements to his performance: a playful physicality and literary spoofs. Despite the Alan Bennett section, complete with a passable imitation, slightly outstaying its welcome, he's on top form and it's great to have him back
Stewart Lee
2019-11-19T12:17:19+00:00
Stewart Lee is back on the road after three years, and he comes back wonderfully refreshed and on marvellous form with this double header, Tornado/Snowflake. Tornado, the first hour, starts with Lee reading out the wrong blurb that his show Comedy Vehicle was given on Netflix. It actually describes the B-movie Sharknado, in which sharks rain from the sky. The joke is teased out and weaves through the hour, as he chisels away at a favourite subject in his work, his perceived standing in comedy. Would anybody notice if they tuned in to his show after reading that description? The mention of Netflix allows Lee to ruminate on the relationship between comedic talent and commercial worth, so he names names. Of course Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr are targets, but others too. There's a set piece about US comic Dave Chappelle, which, in typical Lee style, moves from description of fact to sublimely surreal invention as he describes an evening that starts backstage at Leicester Square Theatre and results a scary chase around Soho. This being Lee, he manages to get a fine Brexit joke in the telling of the tale as well. In Snowflake, it's Tony Parsons, Ricky Gervais (again) and Phoebe Waller-Bridge who get it in the neck. The first is demolished in a gloriously pedantic essay on grammar, while Gervais is parodied for “saying the unsayable” in a lengthy riff that has no actual words, and Waller-Bridge is ridiculed for her “discovery” of addressing the audience directly. To be fair, she doesn't claim this, but Lee nicely deconstructs the iconic status bestowed on her as he acts out how everything from Shakespeare to weather forecasters may have looked if they had not had the same lightbulb moment. There's so much comedy packed in that one could almost...
The word opera for most people means overweight, overpaid singers displaying their tonsils to an audience of overdressed people who probably haven't the faintest what they're listening to. Well, now there's an antidote - a democratic opera-musical that is tiny, easily affordable, sung in English and still pretty incomprehensible. That's because everybody's on stage shouting at once.
JERRY SPRINGER: THE OPERA, based on the legendary daytime TV show, opens next month after being revamped since its much-admired premiere last summer at the minute South London theatre in Battersea. I, for one, can't wait.
It is, apparently, enormously foul-mouthed and features TV's typical parade of human freaks with the legendary frontman, Jerry (played by Lore Lixenberg) acting as referee between his guests and his audience. Musically, the evening features hints of everything from Broadway to Bach.
The programme's brand of yelling accusations and sobbing confessions suits its live theatre treatment, so will it be any less bizarre or outrageous than the TV spectacle? Almost certainly not. Among its cast of wierdos is a character called Diaper Man - a fat bloke in nappies with a dummy in his mouth who pleads with his girlfriend to change him.
The composer is Richard Thomas, who has written music for stand-up comedians such as Harry Hill, Simon Munnery and Frank Skinner. The librettist is Stewart Lee who also directs.
TV shows are becoming all the rage on stage. The Play What I Wrote about Morecambe and Wise is a huge hit in the West End and now comes this daytime opera-trasherama. Already, producers and theatre directors are swarming around it and a future transfer is probable. You may be allergic to the TV Jerry Springer, but the opera version sounds like something else. Whatever next: Oprah: the Opera?
Stewart Lee
2002-01-25T16:34:29+00:00
The word opera for most people means overweight, overpaid singers displaying their tonsils to an audience of overdressed people who probably haven't the faintest what they're listening to. Well, now there's an antidote - a democratic opera-musical that is tiny, easily affordable, sung in English and still pretty incomprehensible. That's because everybody's on stage shouting at once. JERRY SPRINGER: THE OPERA, based on the legendary daytime TV show, opens next month after being revamped since its much-admired premiere last summer at the minute South London theatre in Battersea. I, for one, can't wait. It is, apparently, enormously foul-mouthed and features TV's typical parade of human freaks with the legendary frontman, Jerry (played by Lore Lixenberg) acting as referee between his guests and his audience. Musically, the evening features hints of everything from Broadway to Bach. The programme's brand of yelling accusations and sobbing confessions suits its live theatre treatment, so will it be any less bizarre or outrageous than the TV spectacle? Almost certainly not. Among its cast of wierdos is a character called Diaper Man - a fat bloke in nappies with a dummy in his mouth who pleads with his girlfriend to change him. The composer is Richard Thomas, who has written music for stand-up comedians such as Harry Hill, Simon Munnery and Frank Skinner. The librettist is Stewart Lee who also directs. TV shows are becoming all the rage on stage. The Play What I Wrote about Morecambe and Wise is a huge hit in the West End and now comes this daytime opera-trasherama. Already, producers and theatre directors are swarming around it and a future transfer is probable. You may be allergic to the TV Jerry Springer, but the opera version sounds like something else. Whatever next: Oprah: the Opera?
The folk revival of the fifties interpreted traditional songs with rigorous detail, and the young Yorkshire folksinger Stephanie Hladowski and the Cambridge acoustic guitarist C Joynes deploy the same unfashionably sincere and Spartan reverence.
On eleven traditional tunes, Hladowski's willo the wisp vocal recalls the translucent purity of the folk figurehead Shirley Collins.
Joynes' meditative plucking occupies the space where folk music turns shamanically psychedelic, the 15th century carol The Bitter Withy a brain-buzzing primal drone through which Hladowski cuts her unswerving swathe.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-13T20:17:00+00:00
The folk revival of the fifties interpreted traditional songs with rigorous detail, and the young Yorkshire folksinger Stephanie Hladowski and the Cambridge acoustic guitarist C Joynes deploy the same unfashionably sincere and Spartan reverence. On eleven traditional tunes, Hladowski's willo the wisp vocal recalls the translucent purity of the folk figurehead Shirley Collins. Joynes' meditative plucking occupies the space where folk music turns shamanically psychedelic, the 15th century carol The Bitter Withy a brain-buzzing primal drone through which Hladowski cuts her unswerving swathe.
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...
'This is edgy. Fucking edgy!' Mark Ravenhill's crazed film director tells his prospective star as he comes to a particularly tasteless part of his increasingly ludicrous plot. Product: World Remix, a new production of Ravenhill's play, which he first performed at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2005, consists of an extended pitch for a sexually explicit political thriller that does not so much court controversy as strip naked and leap uninvited into controversy's bed.
Jo Lobban plays the literally speechless actress the director wants for the lead, listening, smoking, sometimes appearing interested and sometimes simply appalled as Ravenhill works his way through the treatment, not simply by reading, but 'acting', singing, emoting and using his whole body to convey to true awfulness of the plot. Basically, the lead falls in with an Islamist terrorist and finds herself taking part in a dastardly operation involving Osama bin Laden, Eurodisney, a training montage set in Tibet, and a single-handed assault on Guantanamo Bay. The treatment of Islam alone would probably make the film a commercial disaster, but frankly that would be the least of its problems.
The show is entertaining, and Ravenhill's performance titanic, and there are some nice jokes sending up the preoccupations of the media class. (The terrorists' targets include, 'The Hague, the Reichstag, Tate Modern.') The basic problem with the piece is that a pitch for a dreadful film does not readily lend itself to good theatre, and the final third suffers as the initial joke starts to wear thin. It might have helped if Lobban's actress had been made to speak for the audience as it were, raising objections for the director to respond to rather than simply letting him burn himself out. The idea of the second character never speaking is a nice conceit, but not at any cost. Ultimately the effect is to heighten the cringe-value of Ravenhill's performance at the expense of any exploration of the themes raised by the film's plot. Given the difficulty of saying anything sensible about these, however, this in itself may be no bad thing.
Product is paired with What Would Judas Do?, another show performed by its writer. Stewart Lee is probably best known as the co-writer of Jerry Springer the Opera, which famously attracted protests from eccentric but voluble Christians when it was shown on BBC television at the beginning of 2005, because of its portrayal of Jesus. That experience, which involved threats of damnation as well as censorship, has clearly not put Lee off dealing with Christianity in his work. What Would Judas Do?, a sort of alternative gospel, is less a provocation or a show of defiance, however, than an attempt to get to grips with religion from the point of view of a practical-minded man with little patience for superstition. Like Howard Brenton's Paul, but funnier, it is a secularised version of a Christian story. Lee takes the fairly well-established view that Judas was really a Jewish rebel looking to get the Romans out of Judea, and ultimately disappointed to find that Jesus was not the man for the job. (He might have been rather more impressed by Paul, if they'd only met.)
Judas shuffles onto the stage in scruffy attire, introduces himself and embarks on lecture-cum-stand-up routine recounting the events of the final week building up to the crucifixion, with bags of nuts as rewards for audience-members who are able to help. Lee is at ease with the audience, and able to respond in character. At one point, Judas asks if anyone knows who Mary Magdelene was, clearly looking for the answer, 'a prostitute'. ('His girlfriend? Well, yeah, if you can have a girlfriend that you pay'.) When one woman at the performance I attended said Jesus had exorcised spirits from Mary Magdelene, Judas/Lee hesitated, as if wondering if he might have missed this, before shaking his head: 'No', and then another shake of the head and a facial shrug, as if to convince himself, before he moved on to a hilariously unconvincing polemic about the socio-economic status of prostitution. As Lee probably knows, according to Luke (8:2), Jesus did cast seven devils out of Mary, but the beauty of the show is that Judas is not bound by any of the (sometimes mutually contradicting) gospels. This is his version, and it is refreshingly free of supernatural complications.
Indeed, Judas is not enamoured of his fellow disciples, especially Matthew and John, a pair of stuck-up intellectuals who always sniggered when he asked Jesus for clarification on this or that cryptic declaration. As a stuck-up intellectual myself, I was not at all convinced by Judas' pedantic objection to putting Jesus on a donkey to enter Jerusalem in order to fulfill a prophecy, however. 'It's not fulfilling the prophecy if you do it deliberately,' he protests, surely revealing political naïveté as much as literal-mindedness. More generally, though, it is hard not to sympathise with Judas, and share his consternation at his fellow disciples' unquestioning assent to the Messiah's often bonkers utterances, not to mention His refusal to think strategically. It is the same frustration felt by anyone struggling to come to terms with religion and its apparent acceptance by people who simply could not function if they truly followed its teachings.
Of course, human frailty is at the heart of religion, and anyone wanting to understand it has to be comfortable with contradiction and paradox. The tragedy of Stewart Lee's Judas is neither that Christianity is irrational nor that he is too stupid to understand it, but simply that he has nowhere else to go. Having finally failed to provoke an uprising by helping the Pharisees to kill Jesus, he can only kill himself. (Judas makes it clear from the beginning that there are no unexpected plot twists, so I'm not giving anything away.) The audience is left to reflect on what has happened, wandering off into the night clutching our scraps of Last Supper bread, and nuts if we're lucky, to face a world in which the questions that vexed Judas are still largely unanswered. What would Judas do? What could Judas do? This is the funniest treatise on these questions since the Sermon on the Mount.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-22T20:57:02+00:00
'This is edgy. Fucking edgy!' Mark Ravenhill's crazed film director tells his prospective star as he comes to a particularly tasteless part of his increasingly ludicrous plot. Product: World Remix, a new production of Ravenhill's play, which he first performed at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2005, consists of an extended pitch for a sexually explicit political thriller that does not so much court controversy as strip naked and leap uninvited into controversy's bed. Jo Lobban plays the literally speechless actress the director wants for the lead, listening, smoking, sometimes appearing interested and sometimes simply appalled as Ravenhill works his way through the treatment, not simply by reading, but 'acting', singing, emoting and using his whole body to convey to true awfulness of the plot. Basically, the lead falls in with an Islamist terrorist and finds herself taking part in a dastardly operation involving Osama bin Laden, Eurodisney, a training montage set in Tibet, and a single-handed assault on Guantanamo Bay. The treatment of Islam alone would probably make the film a commercial disaster, but frankly that would be the least of its problems. The show is entertaining, and Ravenhill's performance titanic, and there are some nice jokes sending up the preoccupations of the media class. (The terrorists' targets include, 'The Hague, the Reichstag, Tate Modern.') The basic problem with the piece is that a pitch for a dreadful film does not readily lend itself to good theatre, and the final third suffers as the initial joke starts to wear thin. It might have helped if Lobban's actress had been made to speak for the audience as it were, raising objections for the director to respond to rather than simply letting him burn himself out. The idea of the second character never speaking is a nice conceit, but not at any...
'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...
Laura Cannell: Hi Stewart, So here we go, I thought I would ask you some questions and please can you can ask me some too? A conversation really…
We were going to work together live for the first time in July at Kings Place which has now been postponed until 2021, the idea for a collaborative piece was already in our heads though. At the same time I was working on a piece I was commissioned to compose for the incredible Irish Contemporary Cellist Kate Ellis called ‘The Last Wild Wolf in Ireland’, and the premiere for that was also cancelled.
One email led to another, and with the addition of Kate on Cello and Double Bass and new writings from Jennifer Lucy Allan and Polly Wright we made an album which is out on my Brawl Records label this autumn called ‘These Feral Lands Volume I’. But none of us met or spoke to each other in person, and you didn’t all hear each others parts until they were whole pieces.
Stewart Lee: I remember you asking me about writing some words for the live version of your landscape project. When we first spoke a few years ago – at Radio 3 on the Xmas Mixing It – I was surprised to find you were from the same part of Norfolk as my birth-family, who I had eventually traced after years of putting it off, and that your Mum knew my sister, and that your friend Polly knew my auntie. Obviously, I am sort of belatedly fascinated by the myths and geography of that region as I suppose biologically I am ‘of’ it, but culturally it is irrelevant to me. I spent lots of time in East Anglia in the early ’90s weirdly, and always find it a bit frightening… sort of vertigo-inducing. The skies are too big. I don’t really like being on the right hand side of this Island. I like the middle, the west and the top end.
LC: This is interesting, I hadn’t put it into words before but I did a project with the brilliant Angharad Davies called Mythos of Violins a few years back, and we performed in 3 countries England, Wales and Scotland, when we were in Wales on the extreme west coast I felt that same vertigo of the sea being in the wrong place, I lost all sense of direction. I don’t get it in the North, one of my favourite places is Northumberland (and ancestrally its in my blood), but the west makes me woozy.
SL:Anyway, it seemed like the right thing to write about Norfolk/Suffolk and other locations connected with my newly traced family, as you asked about what landscape meant to us. And I suppose my relationship w those landscapes is complicated. What do you think about the landscape you write in and how it affects you? You are very much from there.
LC: I am quite stubborn in that as soon as someone you say that I am very much from here, I want to fight against it. It’s good to have a place to draw ideas from, but it’s more about what isn’t here that I’m interested in, always looking at the spaces in-between. Creating new things out of seemingly void spaces. I have gone from wanting to leave Norfolk at 18 and moving straight to London, which I did, to gradually returning for the space. I realised that so much of what I need is visual space, I get a bit aggro if I’m around buildings too much. The nature changes all the time and buildings stay the same, I find it rigid and I find it hard not to get into repetitive thoughts patterns about buildings and the people in them. In the countryside I like the stillness because my head is never quiet, it’s always noisy except when I am playing or creating, so I don’t need extra noise. But getting the balance between isolated, inspiring and outright depressing has taken a few years.
I’m glad you wrote about Norfolk and Suffolk, and the Welsh Borders.
LC: Did making this album help your head during Lockdown? Did it need helping?
SL:It was great to have something to do. All my live work is over and I just did home-schooling of the 9 year old. It was such an escape, and it directed my reading to all the source materials I needed. And it made me think about being outside.
LC: I know that I got completely obsessed with it, and it got me through a really hard patch (with a loss in the family from C19), which is why I optimistically called it Volume I.
SL:I’m really sorry to hear that. We escaped immediate tragedy but there are deaths in our extended network. I feel guilty that I quite enjoyed the 1st month – silence, birdsong, no traffic, the smell of flowers instead of petrol, clear skies day and night, and all of Columbo on DVD, because we were insulated against immediate disaster. How was the process of the record different to others?
LC: It also felt like such a departure for me in some ways, working with words, although when I think back through my previous performing, before I was a solo performer under my own name, I have actually worked with quite a lot of spoken word/storytellers. But working with you was different as your words, speech and vocals feel like an equal instrument and very much in tune with the idea of leaving space. I didn’t feel like an accompanist, it felt like a band even though we’ve worked remotely.
SL: It’s really kind of you to say this. I felt very honoured to be asked – we love your music in our house – and I was very worried about letting you down. Maybe I have done? Who knows? The more I tried to get the vocals to work the worse they got. Shirley Collins (name drop clang) said I can only sing any song well once, the first time I do it, and then I try to perform it. I know I sent you another effort at the Barsham Light vocals but I think the originals were maybe better even though they were even more tuneless. It is particularly shaming because what you sent through is so brilliant. At least there’s lots of parts of the album where people can hear just you. I was proud of the words though. Usually I try and slip the writerly writing into the comedy so it was nice to just be able to do it for real.
LC: You recorded some of your vocals as individual tracks, and because they were improvised they came out in harmony which I love, I know that you sing at the end of your current show Snowflake / Tornado because I jumped up on stage with my fiddle in Leicester Square Theatre earlier this year. Do you think you would go further into singing? (asking for a friend / thinking about TFL Volume II). Also do you have a favourite traditional song, and have you ever been taught one purely by ear?
SL: My favorite trad song is POLLY ON THE SHORE. I know it from The Trees’ ON THE SHORE from 1970, which I got in about 1986, but a blind bloke used to sing it in the folk club in Oxford that I went to in the Port Mahon pub up Cowley Rd in Oxford around 1988. I got to sing it with TREES when the reformed a couple of years back. When I had a crap acid-folk band (we did 3 gigs 1989-91) we used to do a psychedelic heavy metal 20 minute jam on it.
LC: I LOVE this song, I just revisited it because you mentioned it! (also my dad sings it all the time in his van).
SL: I don’t think I can sing really, but I was in a church choir (I don’t really know why – my childhood friend Nigel Short got me to join it and he now runs a posh choral group called Tenebrae) from 1975 to about 1979. I loved lots of the music especially Tallis. We did 3 services on Sundays and weddings on Saturdays and 2 or 3 practises a week. I liked the language of the Anglican services, and the pacing of the sermons, and soaked it all up. We went on week long courses where we filled in for Cathedral school choirs during their holidays at St Asaph, Hereford, Gloucester, Tewkesbury. I remember Mouseman carvings of little mice and weird bench ends in the cathedrals. On the St Asaph trip one of the ex-trebles had hardcore pornography which I was shown on a day trip to Bedgellert which freaked me out. In Hereford I think I probably slept in a room once occupied by the young Arthur Machen, the horror/mystic writer I am now a huge advocate for. The choir also had a weird claustrophobic atmosphere too. The choirmaster was periodically obsessed in quite oppressive depth with whichever boy soprano was the best at any given time, and the ex-trebles and priests used to go off on long weekend trips to Amsterdam. The ’70s was like that. I think my love-hate relationship with organised religion may have been formed by this clammy experience. I love the art and philosophy and history of the church of England but it also nauseates me, sickens me on a visceral level.I am glad I listened to all those services though, as it decodes Blake and Milton and all the greats. I also did classical guitar to grade 4 but then then teacher said I was as much use as ‘a fart in the wind’ and he was right. I wish I had worked at guitar and I should have learned the saxophone. Alan Wilkinson and Evan Parker and Peter Brotzmann look so free. All I ever wanted from stand-up was for it ti give me a life where I was free. Did you do music as a child? I mean – what meshed together to mean you ended up sounding like you do and operating in the space you do? There is no-one else.
LC: I think Tenebrae is another name drop (esp. in the classical/early music world). I didn’t know about all of your singing, I love Tallis too and all those renaissance polyphonic composers. I used to sing in a Renaissance Choir in Beccles run by Philip Thorby, a professor of Early Music and major inspiration to my early music learnings (he also guested on some of my old bands albums on viola da gamba).
We’ve found quite a lot of common ground in terms of attitudes towards the practice of improvisation as well as our own personal folklore histories. These Feral Lands has acted as a vessel for us to do our own thing, and then bring it together into a coherent (to us) whole. I think it’s really interesting that we can bring such different ideas together, we didn’t really discuss what any of it would sound like at all. It’s all based on not over planning.
SL: It’s kind of you to say that. I was in the dark really but I knew what you had sent was great, so I tried not to get in its way. My son, 13, helped me record the vocals, in our cat-shit smelly cellar, on his computer, but he was so embarrassed by what I was doing he couldn’t stand being in the room during the actual recordings. My family took personal offence at the Black Shuck one. They said it wasn’t fair to make those sounds in the house and were worried people at the bus stop outside would hear.
LC: I did feel bad for you trying to record the Black Shuck track near other people! It’s not something you can do if you feel inhibited/unsupported by people nearby! This has been the main reason for me doing so much recording in rural churches! When I’m experimenting I don’t want to know or be worried what anyone else thinks or the noise! Anyway they will have just thought it was an toothless local haunted by a demon dog and carried on along their way.
SL: They all like your stuff though, and it was great when we went to that installation for the soldiers at the tower of London and we could identify your sound in the mix, even though we hadn’t known you were part of it. I expect they will just think I have ruined half of your record. I am glad it was all something you felt you could work with. Writing the words was therapeutic for me and I am usually entirely resistant to writing anything so obviously personal. But I worry that the addition of words limits the emotional range of what you do. Your music makes us make our own choices. It doesn’t direct them. The words have put a gloss of meaning on it haven’t they?
LC: But that’s what I wanted. I have been so adamantly instrumental for my whole career that I wanted to see how it would work with words, and especially the contrast between your explosive diaphragm driven expulsions and the more personal and folkloric vocalisations. There is plenty of space in there.
As a starting point I sent over some solo violin improvisations recorded in January 2020 while watching a buzzard outside my living room window, who was watching me.
SL: I didn’t know you had been watching a buzzard. That is why they were all called Buzzard 1 or Buzzard 4 and things like that. It really makes sense that you were improvising off the sight of a buzzard. That is exactly what they feel like. The pieces are stationary like a hovering bird of prey but vibrant and alive at the same time. I don’t know how anyone can create in a vacuum. I sort of argue with another version of myself in my own head, like someone with two personalities. Sometimes the other voice makes me do things I don’t really know how to do. Do you know the painter Gina Southgate? She was at ATP. She paints improvising musicians in real time. She sees the finished painting I think as a kind of collaboration with them.
LC: I thought at the time that none of it had worked, I was judging in the moment, I honestly thought it was all grot.
SL: I don’t know why you would think that of them, as they are great, except that I normally hate everything I have done after a while. I have to revive a show I was half way through touring, that I wrote in 2019, when the theatres open next year and I don’t know what I will think of it. I don’t really understand people reviving their old work – we aren;’t the people that wrote it anymore – but I do love it when my fave bands tour a classic album or whatever. What do you think of things you did a decade ago?
LC: Having seen your latest show I think it will be an amazing for people to experience it now. There is so much breadth to it and now that we have all shifted together, in some kind of reckoning and grief, I think it will be even more poignant! (I’m not being complimentary for the sake of it, I’ve already got you on the album!)
A decade ago I was touring and writing music with my band Horses Brawl. How I feel is that I was desperate to prove that I could play and write music, I was insecure but also completely driven, I knew I had something to say but I didn’t know what and I think some of the compositions had a very intense energy because I was frustrated with some of the places we were playing and the scene, because we basically didn’t fit into any scene, but would get bookings at Arts Festivals, airplay on BBC Radio 3, Arts Centres, but often I felt I wasn’t playing to my peers, though I think we did play Cambridge Folk Festival around that time. I was desperate to find people like me who were immersed in music but not either completely old school classical in mindset or rigidly traditional folk or just totally different. Anyway…
… when I listened back to the Buzzards in April at the beginning of our project I realised that I needed to open the door and see what response you would have to this music without telling you too much, and the pieces are now the backbone to the album, they are in every track, whether audible or not they are all there.
SL: This sounds nuts but when I am doing a new show, at some point in the development I will perform what I have in hand a bit drunk, to see what a pissed incoherent remix of the material does to it, like handing it over to someone to deface, or improvising with a stranger. It is usually improved. The act has the persona of a belligerent drunk, or a half-cut person who thinks he is clever and people should listen to him. But it is an act. I’m not someone who has enormous faith in the idea that chemically altering your perceptions is a key to creative breakthroughs. It makes me sad when I see these old punk guys I like fall off stages fucked. It reminds me of things in my childhood I’d rather forget. I do eat a lot of cheese though which is good for dreams I suppose. What do you think? There’s a good cheese from Bungay isn’t there? And that St Peter’s ale?
LC: ’He was off his head on Baron Bigods Cheese & St Peter’s Ale when he wrote this bit!’, did you know they have a vending machine in the middle of no-where for that cheese? I like the idea of doing a pissed version, in private. I can’t drink and play at all. I used to find it really stressful doing gigs in bands with people who could (or did). I just felt like I had got to this great place of being open and free with my playing and combatting performance anxiety etc, and getting as close as possible to my intentions. I don’t really get why you do all this work to create something, and when you come to share it with people you do a weird drunk version! I know some people do it to calm nerves or because they think they do it better ‘relaxed’ but my plan is to be so in the performance that however awkward it feels I can use that and channel it into the playing. I say, have a drink after or the next day! Let the audience have a drink and do your thing with wild abandon and as much cheese as you like, and I personally don’t want to watch someone off their head, fall on their head (unless it’s part of the show).
When you are creating new material do you actually get rid of anything or do you keep creating and making and them come, back to ideas?
SL: I love abandoning things. I gives me a sick thrill to dump something I have worked on for months. But it is different every time. The UKIP half hour episode of Comedy Vehicle that is always on social media took about as long to write as it does to say. Some other half hour bits took 2 years of back and forth, until nothing of the original draft is left at all.
LC: Or do you do something else entirely? Sometimes I forget that that best thing is not to make a judgement on what you are doing in the moment, the feeling to the performer can be so different to the outcome.
SL: We are lucky in comedy. The laugh noise tells us how it’s going. What do you look for in audience responses.
LC: I decided a few years ago to stop second guessing what the audience response should be. I think I look pretty grumpy when I’m listening and watching music, so I think it’s fair enough not to get a visual response like that. Also I really want to go on stage and just play without talking, but I always end up talking, I think it’s good to acknowledge that we’re all there together, and that also gives people an opportunity to let out a sound, otherwise they are usually being very quiet. My favourite thing in the world is whoops at the end of an improvisation around a 5th century psalm of repentance, I live for that stuff kind of response. I think my best verbal audience was at Unsound Festival in Poland a couple of years back, they were all really cool and they loved it!!! I had no idea until the end of the set when the room erupted.
SL: Do you consider yourself an ‘entertainer’ or an ‘artist’ or both. I have tried self-consciously I suppose to make ‘arty’ stand-up but I like the fact that I am performing it in a vaudeville tradition where it was supposed to be entertainment. It grounds it. What’s the difference between what you do now and playing at ceilidhs?
LC: I think it’s that difference between functional music and a performance. In ceilidhs people tend to fall into different categories, drunk, Ernest, and self-conscious. I did ceilidhs for about 10 years around East Anglia, London (and one in Ireland). It’s not about the performer, you are playing traditional tunes in your way, and people like it, but it’s not about you. Thousands of fiddlers could do that job. But I can be at the same venue performing my music and they headspace is in a different world. I remember once playing at Ceilidh at The Union Chapel in London, and then a few years later performing my music. I don’t think I’m an entertainer but I do have a lot to give from the stage, I think that’s the most important thing. It’s not about the audience just being entertained, it’s about sharing time and feelings.
If something feels like a battle in performance, do you push into it more?
SL: I try to see how bad I can make everything go before I turn it around. Mark E Smith always seemed to be trying to snatch failure from the jaws of success, and then make the jaws of failure vomit the success back out again. I suppose I have copied that. Do you ever feel audiences are on the edge?
LC: I’ve spent a long time trying to see how crunchy and dissonant I can make my overbow fiddle playing before I give some sort of release or resolution… if I do. I think that sort of suspended sonic angst is an amazing place to be, to go from crunching, biting atonal strings to a pure individual note. I think a lot of my playing is quite feral, and I’ve played into that more and more since realising that I don’t want to be and am not a classical violinist. I’m not neat but I have ways of playing that I’ve developed. Like I said earlier, it’s about a vessel for performance and expression. I need to feel that edginess in order to feel like something is happening. I think people have been on the edge with my music, I love pulling them in, and strangers being visually surprised at themselves that they liked it whether they wanted to or not.
These Feral Lands Volume 1 is out on Friday 13th November 2020 www.brawlrecords.co.uk & all good record shops
Stewart Lee
2020-09-09T12:17:52+01:00
Laura Cannell: Hi Stewart, So here we go, I thought I would ask you some questions and please can you can ask me some too? A conversation really… We were going to work together live for the first time in July at Kings Place which has now been postponed until 2021, the idea for a collaborative piece was already in our heads though. At the same time I was working on a piece I was commissioned to compose for the incredible Irish Contemporary Cellist Kate Ellis called ‘The Last Wild Wolf in Ireland’, and the premiere for that was also cancelled. One email led to another, and with the addition of Kate on Cello and Double Bass and new writings from Jennifer Lucy Allan and Polly Wright we made an album which is out on my Brawl Records label this autumn called ‘These Feral Lands Volume I’. But none of us met or spoke to each other in person, and you didn’t all hear each others parts until they were whole pieces. Stewart Lee: I remember you asking me about writing some words for the live version of your landscape project. When we first spoke a few years ago – at Radio 3 on the Xmas Mixing It – I was surprised to find you were from the same part of Norfolk as my birth-family, who I had eventually traced after years of putting it off, and that your Mum knew my sister, and that your friend Polly knew my auntie. Obviously, I am sort of belatedly fascinated by the myths and geography of that region as I suppose biologically I am ‘of’ it, but culturally it is irrelevant to me. I spent lots of time in East Anglia in the early ’90s weirdly, and always find it a bit...
Imagine a sold-out show without a single person in the audience. To be famous enough for ticket touts to buy your seats, but not so famous that people will pay six times the asking price to sit it them – that's Stewart Lee's dream.
Unfortunately for Lee, virtually all the sold-out seats were filled last night. And so he found himself having to explain why his jokes were funny and chastise his fans for bringing friends who clearly weren't up to the intellectual task of enjoying his set. Unbelievable.
Of course, those familiar with Lee know that this derision and division of the audience is characteristic of his stage persona – a character he self-mockingly admits is based largely on himself. And last night he really went for it, repeatedly meandering off his main theme of narcissism and the fragmented self in the digital era in order to vent his disappointment in us.
Or did he? Lee is so artful, regularly breaking the fourth wall and even managing to somehow find a fifth, that you're never sure how much improv is truly spontaneous. All you do know is that it's definitely funny.
Along the way, he also delivers some straight-up, side-splitting routines. He bemoans the youth of today (read: anyone under 40) for the fact they don't know the value of anything because everything is so readily available; even S&M.
"Let's get under the duvet where it's warm and then you can harm me," says Lee's yogurt-tube drinking, Japanese-cat-satchel toting 37 year-old. It's not like it was in the old days; do you have any idea of the sacrifices our grandparents had to make back in the '30s just to get hold of a simple "potato-sack sex mask"?
Despite all his double-sided takedowns though, Lee clearly thinks highly of his audiences. He leaves his overarching message about the individual's place in modern society, and in particular the value of the 'content provider's' contribution, decidedly implicit.
Content Provider enacts Lee's two-sided triangle approach on a macro scale. He gives the audience the set up and lets them draw the third side – whether that's a punch line or simply a punch in the gut about the inward-looking self.
If this all sounds a bit much for an evening of comedy then fear not - Lee's true genius, like the best writers, is that he makes it all feel effortless; and of course, very, very funny.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-31T16:38:52+00:00
Imagine a sold-out show without a single person in the audience. To be famous enough for ticket touts to buy your seats, but not so famous that people will pay six times the asking price to sit it them – that's Stewart Lee's dream. Unfortunately for Lee, virtually all the sold-out seats were filled last night. And so he found himself having to explain why his jokes were funny and chastise his fans for bringing friends who clearly weren't up to the intellectual task of enjoying his set. Unbelievable. Of course, those familiar with Lee know that this derision and division of the audience is characteristic of his stage persona – a character he self-mockingly admits is based largely on himself. And last night he really went for it, repeatedly meandering off his main theme of narcissism and the fragmented self in the digital era in order to vent his disappointment in us. Or did he? Lee is so artful, regularly breaking the fourth wall and even managing to somehow find a fifth, that you're never sure how much improv is truly spontaneous. All you do know is that it's definitely funny. Along the way, he also delivers some straight-up, side-splitting routines. He bemoans the youth of today (read: anyone under 40) for the fact they don't know the value of anything because everything is so readily available; even S&M. "Let's get under the duvet where it's warm and then you can harm me," says Lee's yogurt-tube drinking, Japanese-cat-satchel toting 37 year-old. It's not like it was in the old days; do you have any idea of the sacrifices our grandparents had to make back in the '30s just to get hold of a simple "potato-sack sex mask"? Despite all his double-sided takedowns though, Lee clearly thinks highly of his...
Mick Collins, The Dirtbombs' front-man, is one of American garage punk's lone black voices.
In 2001, the Detroit band's Ultraglide In Black album hot-wired Seventies soul standards with scratchy guitars. Ten years later, Party Store offers chunky analogue facsimiles of famous Detroit techno tunes of the Eighties, attempting another cross-cultural hybridisation.
It's a fantastic conceit, digital music deprogrammed, Kraftwerk in reverse. Men are driven to drum like machines. Snatches of sampled song are imprecisely vocalised.
Pulverised guitars ape inexactly electronic noise. And a twenty minute slash at Carl Craig's Bug In The Bassbin sheds and shreds The Dirtbombs' punk straightjacket.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-23T12:25:58+00:00
Mick Collins, The Dirtbombs' front-man, is one of American garage punk's lone black voices. In 2001, the Detroit band's Ultraglide In Black album hot-wired Seventies soul standards with scratchy guitars. Ten years later, Party Store offers chunky analogue facsimiles of famous Detroit techno tunes of the Eighties, attempting another cross-cultural hybridisation. It's a fantastic conceit, digital music deprogrammed, Kraftwerk in reverse. Men are driven to drum like machines. Snatches of sampled song are imprecisely vocalised. Pulverised guitars ape inexactly electronic noise. And a twenty minute slash at Carl Craig's Bug In The Bassbin sheds and shreds The Dirtbombs' punk straightjacket.
"The first book by iconic zine creators and cultural phenomenon Weird Walk. This is a superbly designed guide to Britain's strange and ancient places, to standing stones and pagan rituals, and to the process of re-enchantment via weird walking."
An epic folkloric guide to rambling, re-enchanting the landscape, and reconnecting with nature.
288 pages of brand new material (not in the zine!), plus a foreword by Stewart Lee.
In this book is a radical idea. By walking the ancient landscape of Britain, engaging with the traces of the deep past and following the wheel of the year as it turns, we can find a pathway that reconnects us to our shared folklore, to the seasons and to nature, setting a course towards optimism, re-enchantment and brighter futures.
SPRING Watch the equinox sunrise light up the floating capstone of Pentre Ifan and connect with the Cailleach at the shrine of Tigh nam Bodach in the remote Highlands
SUMMER Feel the resonance of ancient raves and rituals in the stone circles of southwest England’s Stanton Drew, Avebury and the Hurlers, and follow the Morris sides around the pubs of Thaxted
AUTUMN Bring in the harvest with the old gods at Coldrum Long Barrow, and brave the ghosts on misty Blakeney Point
WINTER Make merry at the Chepstow wassail, and listen out for the sunken church bells of the lost medieval city of Dunwich
Stewart Lee
2023-10-31T16:07:23+00:00
Stewart writes a forward for the Weird Walk book. "The first book by iconic zine creators and cultural phenomenon Weird Walk. This is a superbly designed guide to Britain's strange and ancient places, to standing stones and pagan rituals, and to the process of re-enchantment via weird walking." An epic folkloric guide to rambling, re-enchanting the landscape, and reconnecting with nature. 288 pages of brand new material (not in the zine!), plus a foreword by Stewart Lee. In this book is a radical idea. By walking the ancient landscape of Britain, engaging with the traces of the deep past and following the wheel of the year as it turns, we can find a pathway that reconnects us to our shared folklore, to the seasons and to nature, setting a course towards optimism, re-enchantment and brighter futures. SPRING Watch the equinox sunrise light up the floating capstone of Pentre Ifan and connect with the Cailleach at the shrine of Tigh nam Bodach in the remote Highlands SUMMER Feel the resonance of ancient raves and rituals in the stone circles of southwest England’s Stanton Drew, Avebury and the Hurlers, and follow the Morris sides around the pubs of Thaxted AUTUMN Bring in the harvest with the old gods at Coldrum Long Barrow, and brave the ghosts on misty Blakeney Point WINTER Make merry at the Chepstow wassail, and listen out for the sunken church bells of the lost medieval city of Dunwich
The DVD of the fourth and final series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle was released yesterday (Buy here). Here, the comedian exclusively reveals the genesis of the first three episodes – with notes on the remaining episodes to follow tomorrow:
You can also download a PDF of these to print out & add to your DVD case FRONT | BACK.
Episode 1: Wealth
This episode came together pretty quickly, and I had a lot of fun doing the Baftas bit on tour. There was a ten-minute plank about owning a home and S&M which went missing for time and narrative issues and will be the basis of a big block in the new tour show, Content Provider.
I saw seagulls peck a duckling to death at Camden Lock while men laughed; I assume the unnamed hated Oxbridge comedian in Lee Mack's autobiography is me; Dominic Cavendish at The Daily Telegraph left one of my shows at half time, openly lied about it, and gave it a no star review; I actually won a Bafta once but had to ignore that to make my faux-resentment of the awards work; James Corden comes to my gigs in little pubs and sits secretly in the dark, which I don't mind, but the stage version of me is consumed by resentment of his noble patronage; the council have promised CCTV to tackle the prostitute punters on the street where I live. I wonder where the girls will go then?
I was a school with the original line-up of Napalm Death, though I wasn't friendly with all of them, and I did go mountain walking with Rat, Simon, Daryl and Robbo.
My initial idea for the film item was a Michael Bentine's Potty Time style thing of tiny metalers moving around a landscape. Then I asked Tim Kirby, director, what he would do if asked to direct an orienteering-themed extreme metal promo video. He came up with a superb storyboard. We shot the extract in real time, with patient lookalikes, as if for a three-minute clip, then sped it up to match the Napalm Death track.
Episode 2: Islamophobia
Right-wing columnists moan that we liberals don't do enough anti-Islamic jokes, and so does James Naughtie on Radio 4. This episode was an attempt to do just that, on my own terms, whilst also making fun of the idea that I was obliged to do so by The Daily Mail.
In the summer of 2014, having visited a site in East London as part of the Chelsea Garden Festival Fringe, I was on the 149 bus with the kids and a saw a veiled Muslim woman sit on a copy of the Jehovah's Witnesses magazine Watchtower.
I used an old bit from the Carpet Remnant World tour as a frame to hang new ideas about religion on, from which only the running around bit, and the basic idea of the Roy Chubby Brown riff, actually survived into the programme.
Ridiculous right-wing reactions to a Muslim winning Bake Off in 2015 bled into the material.
In reality a Sikh man got on the 149 bus and made the Muslim woman move up, and then he or she sat on the Watchtower, I forget which, but when I told this story it never seemed quite funny enough. One night I changed it to a Quaker and the whole closing bit started to come together, I think because no-one in the world could realistically have any kind of grudge against Quakers.
The film item was inspired by John Carpenter's The Fog. Our old friend the Irish comedian, writer and activist Tara Flynn is woefully underused.
Episode 3: Patriiotism
This show started to take shape in January 2015 as a long routine about UKIP and patriotic symbols. The previous November the Labour MP Emily Thornberry had ignited a row about flying the England flag, and loads of spineless creeps who knew better were forced to pretend it is never used as a fascist symbol. Indeed, right now Theresa May is again using the idea that the 'liberal elite' are 'unpatriotic' as a shit-stirring device.
But, after Cameron absorbed UKIP supporter's anxieties in the spring 2015 election, the party suddenly seemed irrelevant and uninteresting, and it seemed weird to even be talking about them. Key elements of the bit were salvaged and made into a show about Jeremy Corbyn, which didn't work quite as well. Sadly, for me and the world, within months of the show being recorded, UKIP again played a major part in British politics in the run up to the Brexit crisis, as if they had never been away.
I did win a hamster in a drawing competition in She magazine in 1979. I drew it as if it were an astronaut in a space-suit. The magazine sent me a voucher. I called the hamster Ray Bradbury, after the science fiction writer I was reading at the time. This never got a laugh until I changed it to Karlheinz Stockhausen. I don't know why. Comedy is alchemy. And our dachshund did break its back, jumping up at the hamster.
I did not have a dog named after Matthew Broderick, but I did see Matthew Broderick through a doorway at the Four Seasons Hotel in LA in 1999, sitting alone, looking sad, waiting to be interviewed about Inspector Gadget. I was trying to fund a film I wrote that never got made.
Live, the cat defecation routine had a musicality to it, and an unpredictability, that regularly created waves of hysteria in rooms of 500, 1,000, or 2,000 people. In the smaller space where the series was recorded it seemed far more provocative.
I knew I wanted the film item to be a montage of news but couldn't get my head round it. Tim Kirkby suggested Zak Snyder's 2004 remake of Dawn Of The Dead as a reference, Jon Culshaw did some brilliant voices, our researcher pulled out some fantastic clearable footage, and the whole thing came together.
Episode 4: Death
I had been chasing down a routine about the death of my pet hamster, the aforementioned Ray Bradbury [see yesterday's guide to episodes 1-3] since I began writing series 3 in 2012, but could never make my memories on stage as funny as they seemed in conversation with friends.
I saw Dara O Briain and Brian Cox talking about the eclipse on TV in a Glasgow hotel room on March 20, 2015, and had the idea for the opening gag immediately. I walked down to a bridge over the Clyde to watch the sky. Oddly, Wilco Johnson was there, and he recognised me and talked to me. I changed to location of the joke from Glasgow to Dundee. Loads of tragic things kept happening in Glasgow during that period and the name of the town made people nervous. Dundee is an inherently funny name anyway. I learned that from Jerry Sadowitz.
The details of my father's weekend routine are largely unchanged. He was a very funny man to be around and I miss him. The idea of mocking young comedians for doing shows about their dead father is hijacked, and then reworked, from the Carpet Remnant World live show. It is supposed to reflect my own perceived anxieties about my own impending obsolescence. I don't have any genuine opinion about people doing shows about their dead fathers one way or the other.
When I changed the hamster in the story to a mouse, it somehow started to seem funnier. The story happened exactly as written, except I never saw my pet rodent morph into a member of Slade.
For the Slade/mice/diary thread, Thorin in the art department asked me what my childhood diary was like, and recreated it, even down to the now out-of-print 1970s Marvel Comics bubblegum stickers that he attached to its cover.
Kevin Eldon and Paul Putner clearly studied their characters' moves far beyond the call of duty; the exteriors and interiors of the home are exactly like the little terraced house I grew up in; the little me was a perfect little me; the mum, somehow, even looks like my late Mum, though no-one was given a photo reference. The whole thing was a bit overwhelming.
The music is Hilary by The Durutti Column.
Episode 5: Migrants
This and the dead mouse episode were the hardest to assemble. This show went wrong for months, during the live shows, because I became hung up on basing it on an Observer column I had written about the migrant crisis happening in my garden which, though enjoyed by executives overseeing the show as a piece of writing, always sounded, to me, too written as a piece of stand-up. I recorded this bit anyway and it's on the DVD as an extra.
I did take some clothes to a migrants' charity in Dalston where the hip gear on offer did make me laugh.
I started to become fixated on the inane way newspaper columnists dealt with the crisis. The Rod Liddle poppadom bit again caused hysteria in large rooms, and seemed to me to be an appropriately meaningless response to the ongoing banality of newspaper comment. We had a couple of goes at it in the Mildmay Club. Neither worked anywhere near as well as it did live. In the two months of touring after the show was recorded I introduced little comedy tricks that meant it always landed in a more conventional way.
There was a lot of mess surrounding all this material as it was recorded – glasses breaking in the room, random introductions, cameramen being where I wasn't expecting them. In the end we decided to include all these, at the expense of the film item (another DVD extra), and the garden routine, and try to assemble the impression of a gig in out-of-control freefall, to capture the real stand-up experience of a room on the edge.
It would have been equally easy to edit it to look like an unqualified success, as Nick Helm revealed they do with acts that go to silence on Live AT The Apollo, but choosing the scrappiest bits and amplifying them seemed more interesting on this occasion.
My initial, and turned down, proposal for Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, in May 2005, had been to record the sets at Pontin's holiday camps, and cross channel ferry bars, and Speakers' Corner, in places where I would struggle. In the end, we managed to make an episode of Comedy Vehicle that felt like that, even in front of my own audience.
Episode 6: Childhood memories
My kid was having trouble at school. But I don't like writing about my immediate family. I started thinking about my own schooldays and remembered that, as a very small boy, I had been kicked into a urinal and urinated on at Streetsbrook Infant School in Shirley. I remembered the ringleader's name, googled him, and changed it for legal reasons.
I did urinate in my grandad's face when I was in hospital in Exeter with a fractured elbow, after I had fallen blowing bubbles on the caravan step in Beer; he and I did urinate together on Maltese flies, and he had been an RAF engineer on Lancaster bombers. He did say he liked to pretend the flies were Germans.
Robin Williams had committed suicide, depressed. There were lots of newspaper articles about comedians being mentally unstable products of circumstance. I thought about my childhood. The two ideas came together. In a sudden late-night burst of inspiration, when some shows took years to crystallize, this half hour was written in about as long as it takes to perform.
What wasn't there on the page was the tension, and the space for intense improvisations around my supposed grief in rooms which often bought into it entirely. In Dublin, a Sunday Times journalist on the front row took camera phone footage and fled to file an exclusive on how Stewart Lee was having a nervous breakdown live on stage, only dissuaded later by Twitter users telling her it was all part of the act. In London, a supposedly psychic woman intervened, offering to help me deal with ghosts that only I could see.
I'm not an actor, and I don't believe in ghosts or the afterlife, but each night I got through the bit and made it real by remembering a vivid ghost of a loved one that had once appeared to me in Wolverhampton. I was glad when I didn't have to do the bit any more, and I think it represents the end point of a certain strand of stand-up I had been pursuing.
My wife has a photograph of herself with a very handsome ex-boyfriend on a tropical beach, on which she looks happier than I have ever seen her since. I want it blown up and framed.
I've been going deaf since my teens. It's an inherited condition, I learned, when I met a blood relative for the first time some years ago. I wonder if I genuinely have developed a stand-up style that seemed indifferent to approval as a result of perhaps not being able to hear any, when it may have been there all along? Since I had my hearing aids on stage, I sometimes feel like I am performing on LSD, absorbing all stimuli. It was nice to be able to take them out, and get a laugh.
I decided I wanted to perform an MGM swimming musical style routine in a massive tank of urine fairly early on in the writing process and spent a year trying to get fit enough to be able to dive underwater through rotating hoops of synchronized swimmers.
In the end the underwater cameraman who came with the place in Essex where the tank was had his focus wrong, and, after a day in the water, only one actual underwater shot, of me swimming through the swirling bodies of the 2012 British Women's Olympic Synchronised swimming team, survives.
Luckily, the rest of the crew had pretty much everything else covered, and the art direction, camera work and editing of this piece were all superb. This episode, which turned out to be the final one, was my favourite edition of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
Stewart Lee
2016-10-11T00:33:27+01:00
The DVD of the fourth and final series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle was released yesterday (Buy here). Here, the comedian exclusively reveals the genesis of the first three episodes – with notes on the remaining episodes to follow tomorrow: You can also download a PDF of these to print out & add to your DVD case FRONT | BACK. Episode 1: Wealth This episode came together pretty quickly, and I had a lot of fun doing the Baftas bit on tour. There was a ten-minute plank about owning a home and S&M which went missing for time and narrative issues and will be the basis of a big block in the new tour show, Content Provider. I saw seagulls peck a duckling to death at Camden Lock while men laughed; I assume the unnamed hated Oxbridge comedian in Lee Mack's autobiography is me; Dominic Cavendish at The Daily Telegraph left one of my shows at half time, openly lied about it, and gave it a no star review; I actually won a Bafta once but had to ignore that to make my faux-resentment of the awards work; James Corden comes to my gigs in little pubs and sits secretly in the dark, which I don't mind, but the stage version of me is consumed by resentment of his noble patronage; the council have promised CCTV to tackle the prostitute punters on the street where I live. I wonder where the girls will go then? I was a school with the original line-up of Napalm Death, though I wasn't friendly with all of them, and I did go mountain walking with Rat, Simon, Daryl and Robbo. My initial idea for the film item was a Michael Bentine's Potty Time style thing of tiny metalers moving around a landscape. Then I...
The weekend before last, my curator friend worried there had been a burglary at his Bloomsbury Museum of Comedy, but nothing was taken. Perhaps some obsessed comedy fan had wanted to caress the stuffed bear from Steptoe and Son with Matthew Corbett’s Sooty puppet while dressed in Freddie Starr’s yellow teddy boy jacket?
Aware of the impossibility of working out new stuff in front of similarly obsessed fans, especially in the digital surveillance era, the American comedian David Chappelle seals his audience’s phones in locked bags. I confiscate any I see from the stage and stick them into my anus. But if there were ever more than one a night it would be a squeeze, even for someone with my medical history.
Earlier this month, on the very evening I ended six months of shows at the Leicester Square theatre, the late slot was occupied for a night by the same David Chappelle, ranked by Rolling Stone as the ninth best standup of all time. He was running in new jokes for one of his $20m Netflix specials at low-key London locations.
Critics wonder if David Chappelle’s non-PC positions remain subversive in the Trump age. His supporters say the comedy stage is a free speech space and should not be stifled by political correctness gone mad and evidence. Meanwhile, punters laugh at jokes, their involuntary chortles a disputed ideological no man’s land, lions led by donkeys.
A Herculean effort saw me bring my two-hour set down bang on its official 9pm end. Self-indulgent improvisations can spread it by 30 minutes when there’s no second show but I wanted to give the staff time to prepare for the 10pm David Chappelle curtain.
Pacing around backstage, I gleaned that two rotisserie chickens had been requested, and that David Chappelle’s dressing room lights were to be covered with a soothing red gel. I just have some tea bags in my dressing room, which is lit normally. Sometimes I get myself a falafel. To be fair, in America David Chappelle is too famous to wander Hollywood Boulevard choosing his own rotisserie chickens, the ensuing riot scattering tender breast all over the Walk of Fame.
Nevertheless, I wondered if it was worth warning David Chappelle about all those rotisserie chickens. When I was young and naive like him, the tours I did off the back of my 90s TV shows all lost money, their slender margins swallowed in apparently complimentary backstage prawn sandwiches and supermarket lager, eventually charged back to me by promoters. A heavy rotisserie chicken habit could soon devour the change from $20m.
At his 10pm start time David Chappelle wasn’t in the building. At around 10.40 the patient £69 ticket-holders were pacified with short sets from a British celebrity and a nervous American. As 11pm approached I saw David Chappelle enter the building from the back of the auditorium. Some time after he had taken the stage an audience member asked him why he was so late. He said the previous act had overrun and he had been waiting in the dressing room, but he hadn’t even been in the theatre.
What? Did he mean me? I thought I had blasted through my set. Was I being paranoid or had I been thrown under the bus by a liar? I stood up to heckle and moved towards the stage to remonstrate with him, but the comedian I was with jerked me back by my jumper, and so I went into the foyer and began sounding off. Perhaps the fact that the comedy stage was a safe space meant it shouldn’t matter whether I had really overrun or not, the important thing was that David Chappelle was allowed to say I had. One of David Chapelle’s people got on a walkie-talkie to call security.
Twenty-five years or so ago I became friends with an old drunken poet, whom I still admire enormously, and who was probably about the age then that I am now. Just as he was about to embarrass himself, he would know instinctively it was time to leave the party. Now I was that same liability, so I split.
I had been wrongly blamed for delays in the venue before. On 6 December a TV satirist tweeted that his 50-minute late start was caused by me overrunning, which I had, but by six minutes. But Nick Clegg, one of the satirist’s guests, insists on having his two rotisserie pigeons garrotted and cooked to order on site, and yellow Lib Dem gels put into the dressing room lights, difficult demands to meet in a 15-minute turnaround between shows.
Perhaps David Chappelle was constructing a cast iron alibi, maintaining he was backstage when in fact he was out in London committing comedy crimes?
Two months later in an Ohio mansion, David Chappelle invites the world’s richest comedians – Michael McIntyre, Jim Carey and Mrs Brown – to a private soiree in his crimson-gelled den.
“Lady and gentlemen,” David Chappelle begins, a crystal flute of bread sauce in one hand, a rotisserie chicken in the other, “I have invited you here because you are the world’s wealthiest comedians. But I have used my cunning to amass sacred comedic artefacts that will never be yours, no matter how rich you become.”
David Chappelle pulls a golden rope and curtains part to reveal, mounted on red velvet podiums, the stuffed bear from Steptoe and Son, Freddie Starr’s yellow teddy boy jacket, and Matthew Corbett’s Sooty puppet.
“Feck me!” exclaims Mrs Brown, while an ayahuasca-addled Carey gurgles, “Two bears, but such different sizes. And a jacket named after a bear? What can this mean?” “Then the originals in the Museum of Comedy are…” blubbers McIntyre, agog. “Fakes,” concludes Chapelle, “that I knitted myself and installed when I broke in, using the supposed overrun of the previous act as my alibi. More rotisserie chicken, Mrs Brown?”
Stewart Lee
2018-02-18T13:52:59+00:00
The weekend before last, my curator friend worried there had been a burglary at his Bloomsbury Museum of Comedy, but nothing was taken. Perhaps some obsessed comedy fan had wanted to caress the stuffed bear from Steptoe and Son with Matthew Corbett’s Sooty puppet while dressed in Freddie Starr’s yellow teddy boy jacket? Aware of the impossibility of working out new stuff in front of similarly obsessed fans, especially in the digital surveillance era, the American comedian David Chappelle seals his audience’s phones in locked bags. I confiscate any I see from the stage and stick them into my anus. But if there were ever more than one a night it would be a squeeze, even for someone with my medical history. Earlier this month, on the very evening I ended six months of shows at the Leicester Square theatre, the late slot was occupied for a night by the same David Chappelle, ranked by Rolling Stone as the ninth best standup of all time. He was running in new jokes for one of his $20m Netflix specials at low-key London locations. Critics wonder if David Chappelle’s non-PC positions remain subversive in the Trump age. His supporters say the comedy stage is a free speech space and should not be stifled by political correctness gone mad and evidence. Meanwhile, punters laugh at jokes, their involuntary chortles a disputed ideological no man’s land, lions led by donkeys. A Herculean effort saw me bring my two-hour set down bang on its official 9pm end. Self-indulgent improvisations can spread it by 30 minutes when there’s no second show but I wanted to give the staff time to prepare for the 10pm David Chappelle curtain. Pacing around backstage, I gleaned that two rotisserie chickens had been requested, and that David Chappelle’s dressing room lights were...
Some comedians choose reggae or punk as their intro music, some declare their grandiosity with a blast of opera, but Stewart Lee brings us into the room with some cerebral, complicated jazz.
He deliberately screws up his announcement from behind the curtain – which is another clue as to how complex and multi-layered this show is going to be.
A few years ago Lee wrote a show around a comedy routine written so it was impossible to steal. In this show, with its deliberately naff title, he breaks all the unwritten rules about how a comedian is supposed to behave. He cultivates a sneery obnoxious persona, he consults his notes, he shares his inner monologue about how long each particular segment is supposed to take.
For the comedy nerds he digresses to provide overblown academic descriptions of the anatomy of a joke.
Ostensibly Lee is trying out material for his new television series – but he has already performed these routines more than a hundred times on his national tour.
Despite the “work in progress” label, this is a highly controlled, highly deliberate and highly theatrical performance about the nature of laughter and the art of stand-up. Lee pulls his audience into his game to act as his collaborators – while leaving them wondering which of his attitudes and opinions are real.
He claims that all he is doing is “reading the room” – quoting a possibly fictitious old jazz player.
But this is a very big room. And despite all the intellectual posturing, the greatest laughs are found in the most accessible and most idiotic moments.
Whether he is talking about fairies at the bottom of the garden, listening to foreign radio under the covers or being haunted by dead comedians, Lee has the ability to reduce his audience to helpless spleen-splitting laughter.
The Assembly Rooms (Venue 20) until 30 August
Stewart Lee
2015-08-21T00:08:58+01:00
Some comedians choose reggae or punk as their intro music, some declare their grandiosity with a blast of opera, but Stewart Lee brings us into the room with some cerebral, complicated jazz. He deliberately screws up his announcement from behind the curtain – which is another clue as to how complex and multi-layered this show is going to be. A few years ago Lee wrote a show around a comedy routine written so it was impossible to steal. In this show, with its deliberately naff title, he breaks all the unwritten rules about how a comedian is supposed to behave. He cultivates a sneery obnoxious persona, he consults his notes, he shares his inner monologue about how long each particular segment is supposed to take. For the comedy nerds he digresses to provide overblown academic descriptions of the anatomy of a joke. Ostensibly Lee is trying out material for his new television series – but he has already performed these routines more than a hundred times on his national tour. Despite the “work in progress” label, this is a highly controlled, highly deliberate and highly theatrical performance about the nature of laughter and the art of stand-up. Lee pulls his audience into his game to act as his collaborators – while leaving them wondering which of his attitudes and opinions are real. He claims that all he is doing is “reading the room” – quoting a possibly fictitious old jazz player. But this is a very big room. And despite all the intellectual posturing, the greatest laughs are found in the most accessible and most idiotic moments. Whether he is talking about fairies at the bottom of the garden, listening to foreign radio under the covers or being haunted by dead comedians, Lee has the ability to reduce his audience...
So, Stewart Lee is back for the second year in a row. This pleases me, especially as even though he is sometimes seen as the nineties comedian the title of his show suggests, he's lost nothing of his skill, talent, or even hilarity.
Although, watching this years show you do start to wonder if he may have started to lose the plot. he has had a hard year, what with the hate campaign and death threats over his alleged plasphemous ways and everything, and instead of calming his act down, he's gone the other way so that he now goes so far, you really start to worry that you shouldnt' be watching at all, that you've accidentally stumbled in on his mid-life crisis or a nevous breakdown, albeit an expertly written and performed one.
His show this year is in the White Belly, one of the Underbelly's larger, and therfore darker caves and this all adds to the feeling that maybe you shouldn't be there, and at one point, Lee retreats into the darkness which only adds to the feeling of tresspass.
Yes, it's funny, but the material and the dankness of the room makes you feel like you need to have a bath and watch something really, really silly afterwards.
Stewart Lee
2005-08-08T22:46:18+01:00
So, Stewart Lee is back for the second year in a row. This pleases me, especially as even though he is sometimes seen as the nineties comedian the title of his show suggests, he's lost nothing of his skill, talent, or even hilarity. Although, watching this years show you do start to wonder if he may have started to lose the plot. he has had a hard year, what with the hate campaign and death threats over his alleged plasphemous ways and everything, and instead of calming his act down, he's gone the other way so that he now goes so far, you really start to worry that you shouldnt' be watching at all, that you've accidentally stumbled in on his mid-life crisis or a nevous breakdown, albeit an expertly written and performed one. His show this year is in the White Belly, one of the Underbelly's larger, and therfore darker caves and this all adds to the feeling that maybe you shouldn't be there, and at one point, Lee retreats into the darkness which only adds to the feeling of tresspass. Yes, it's funny, but the material and the dankness of the room makes you feel like you need to have a bath and watch something really, really silly afterwards.
Merry Christmas, Brexit Britain! And a crap EU year!! It’s me, guest Christmas Observer columnist Father Christmas!!! Or Gender-fluid Parent/Carer Winterval, as Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Disaster Weightloss Haircut Bullshit Johnson probably pretended the EU insisted on calling me, in his lying column in the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper. But whatever name you know me by, I ho ho ho hate Brexit!
While Christmas is expected to progress as usual this year, unless you manage to extricate yourselves from exiting the European Union pronto, Britain had better start making plans for a no-Christmas Brexit in 2019.
Stop up your chimneys, deep-freeze your figgy pudding, and stockpile your stockings! And it doesn’t matter who has been naughty and who has been nice!! Because Santa Claus ain’t comin’ to Brexit-town!!!
Like a lot of business people whose work involves moving large numbers of goods over a succession of borders, and/or the transportation of hoofed livestock across different national boundaries, the possibility of a no-deal Brexit leaves me pretty much up the creek of shite mit keine paddle.
The existence of the European Common Aviation Area, for example, has avoided some of the awkwardness that accompanied my circuits of the Earth in the 50s, when I was regularly pursued across Europe by hostile cold war fighter jets, Rudolph’s tedious nose making us an easy target for state-of-the-art missile systems.
And, although I do appreciate that many unscrupulous employers exploit this, the fact that the short-term seasonal staffing needs of my Finland workshop can be fulfilled each festive season without friction has meant I have still been able to meet all my toy manufacture and delivery targets, each and every year.
And that’s despite needing to service a global Santa‑believing customer base that has expanded significantly, year on year, since I first transitioned myself from a folkloric yuletide nature spirit into a Christianised personification of the winter season, some time in the early 17th century.
Take the Irish border question, for example, and it’s a shame you never did. I have no desire to go back to the bad old days of the 70s, when I was shot down between Armagh and Dundalk, kneecapped and then had all my presents stolen and resold to fund the revolutionary struggle. Little Tommy in Cork was crying because he didn’t have a Stretch Armstrong; meanwhile a post office north of the border was on fire.
And furthermore, at the moment, I can save an enormous amount of time, on what is already a very busy night, if you don’t mind me saying so, by traversing the island of Ireland east to west and back again, as the crow flies, from Belfast in Northern Ireland to Donegal in the Republic of Ireland, without the necessity of customs checks on my gifts (are they up to EU standards?) every time I cross the border, or on my livestock (do they carry foot and mouth disease?), or on my small green-clad seasonal staff (do they have the relevant legal paperwork?).
Even assuming that this was all smoothed over by some frictionless arrangement involving yet to be invented technology, which it won’t be in the event of a no-deal Brexit, then there is a further problem. I take off from Lapland, which, as part of Finland, is an EU member state, so it is not even certain whether I will be able to land in Britain at all, unless its future relationship with the European Common Aviation Area is maintained.
I wrote to the Department for Exiting the EU, asking, in the event of me not being allowed to fly over the UK after Brexit, if I could do my British deliveries on land? They invited me to enter a lottery for one of only 2,000 European Conference of Ministers of Transport permits, allowing me to complete my cross-channel deliveries by road. Do they know who I am? Clearly not. Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?
Put it this way. If you leave the EU with no deal, then I can promise you, people of Britain, that, irrespective of whether you have been naughty, ie you voted to leave, or nice, ie you voted to remain, Christmas 2018 will be the United Kingdom’s last Christmas. And there is no room for further negotiation.
If you want to make all that extra work for me, then as far as I am concerned, some other mug can be Britain’s own personal Santa in 2019, ’cos I ain’t doin’ it! Perhaps next Christmas, the job of Father Christmas could be done, in quick succession, by David Davis, Dominic Raab, and then some anonymous fall guy no one’s ever heard of, the Lee Harvey Oswald patsy of Brexit.
Clad in a red, white and blue Brexit Santa suit, Raab could fly over the land in his sleigh, scattering valuable medicines and tinned foods to the bedraggled people traversing the ruined Mad Max wasteland of post-Brexit Britain.
Or perhaps Boris Johnson could be Santa. He has the physique, and the international aspect of the job would give him a chance to display his well-loved facility for diplomacy in a variety of different nations.
Now, in closing, a lot of people ask me: do you exist? To which the simple answer is: no, obviously not. But there is a more complex answer. I do exist, but only if you really, really, really believe in me. And in that respect, I am very similar to Brexit.
Father Christmas’s favourite snowflake, Stewart Lee’s last touring standup show, Content Provider, is screened on BBC Two on Saturday 29 December. He is also appearing with Athena Kugblenu and Rosie Jones in A Belter for the Shelter, at the Hackney Empire, London, on 19 February
Stewart Lee
2018-12-23T21:44:11+00:00
Merry Christmas, Brexit Britain! And a crap EU year!! It’s me, guest Christmas Observer columnist Father Christmas!!! Or Gender-fluid Parent/Carer Winterval, as Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Disaster Weightloss Haircut Bullshit Johnson probably pretended the EU insisted on calling me, in his lying column in the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper. But whatever name you know me by, I ho ho ho hate Brexit! While Christmas is expected to progress as usual this year, unless you manage to extricate yourselves from exiting the European Union pronto, Britain had better start making plans for a no-Christmas Brexit in 2019. Stop up your chimneys, deep-freeze your figgy pudding, and stockpile your stockings! And it doesn’t matter who has been naughty and who has been nice!! Because Santa Claus ain’t comin’ to Brexit-town!!! Like a lot of business people whose work involves moving large numbers of goods over a succession of borders, and/or the transportation of hoofed livestock across different national boundaries, the possibility of a no-deal Brexit leaves me pretty much up the creek of shite mit keine paddle. The existence of the European Common Aviation Area, for example, has avoided some of the awkwardness that accompanied my circuits of the Earth in the 50s, when I was regularly pursued across Europe by hostile cold war fighter jets, Rudolph’s tedious nose making us an easy target for state-of-the-art missile systems. And, although I do appreciate that many unscrupulous employers exploit this, the fact that the short-term seasonal staffing needs of my Finland workshop can be fulfilled each festive season without friction has meant I have still been able to meet all my toy manufacture and delivery targets, each and every year. And that’s despite needing to service a global Santa‑believing customer base that has expanded significantly, year on year, since I first...
THE comedian dubbed the “master of the callback” and the “world’s greatest living stand-up” proved he was just that during a two-night run in Sheffield City Hall.
Stewart Lee’s latest tour, Snowflake/Tornado, is two 60-minute shows of the highest calibre sliced together.
The first-half, Tornado, is inspired by the inaccurate description Lee's show was accidentally uploaded to Netflix with: “Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe”.
This turned out to be the description for B-movie Sharknado 3 — but for two years, millions of Netflix subscribers around the world clicked on the comic’s show hoping for an ocean adventure.
In trademark style, Lee (pictured) continually references back to the description while also taking aim at the careers of some of his peers.
Jimmy Carr, Josh Widdicombe, Dave Chappelle and Ricky Gervais are carefully unpicked — Gervais doesn’t actually say the “unsayable”, but what would it look like if he did?
Cue five long minutes — sometimes uncomfortable for both audience and comic — of Lee gagging, gasping, gurning and blabbering.
It is an endurance test and one he says a Mumsnet reader said “went on a bit”.
Even Fleabag writer Phoebe Waller-Bridge — currently enjoying national treasure status — isn’t safe as Lee ridicules astonishment at her breaking of the “fourth wall”, sniping: “What did we do before she invented looking at the camera?”
Lee cleverly pokes fun at addressing the audience directly, which is a staple for stand-up comics, referring back to earlier in his set when he had broken off to talk directly to someone on their way to the toilet.
Even his own brand isn’t safe as he knowingly mocks the demographic the likes of the Daily Mail will associate him with — “the metropolitan liberal elite”.
In Snowflake, Lee examines people, like his nan, who decry “political correctness gone mad” at every opportunity.
And if being labelled a snowflake means you’re empathetic, then so be it. Hear, hear!
Lee is a total Marmite comedian — I could see audience members both completely stony-faced or bent over in stitches.
My friend and I were the latter, although even my superfan pal had to admit some of the material was rehashed.
Thank God Lee’s recent ill-health hasn’t put the brakes on his career as this was one, if not the best, comedy shows I’ve seen and is definitely worth checking out, or watching on Netflix...if you can find it.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-11T15:01:56+00:00
THE comedian dubbed the “master of the callback” and the “world’s greatest living stand-up” proved he was just that during a two-night run in Sheffield City Hall. Stewart Lee’s latest tour, Snowflake/Tornado, is two 60-minute shows of the highest calibre sliced together. The first-half, Tornado, is inspired by the inaccurate description Lee's show was accidentally uploaded to Netflix with: “Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe”. This turned out to be the description for B-movie Sharknado 3 — but for two years, millions of Netflix subscribers around the world clicked on the comic’s show hoping for an ocean adventure. In trademark style, Lee (pictured) continually references back to the description while also taking aim at the careers of some of his peers. Jimmy Carr, Josh Widdicombe, Dave Chappelle and Ricky Gervais are carefully unpicked — Gervais doesn’t actually say the “unsayable”, but what would it look like if he did? Cue five long minutes — sometimes uncomfortable for both audience and comic — of Lee gagging, gasping, gurning and blabbering. It is an endurance test and one he says a Mumsnet reader said “went on a bit”. Even Fleabag writer Phoebe Waller-Bridge — currently enjoying national treasure status — isn’t safe as Lee ridicules astonishment at her breaking of the “fourth wall”, sniping: “What did we do before she invented looking at the camera?” Lee cleverly pokes fun at addressing the audience directly, which is a staple for stand-up comics, referring back to earlier in his set when he had broken off to talk directly to someone on their way to the toilet. Even his own brand isn’t safe as he knowingly mocks the demographic the likes of the Daily Mail will associate him with — “the metropolitan...
Stewart Lee always seemed a bit too clever to be a really successful stand-up comic. Even in his early twenties he came across as world-weary, with a seen-it-all-before persona that belied his baby-faced appearance. It was as if he could never quite forget the inherent absurdity of stand-up comedy - reciting a rehearsed monologue, pretending it was spontaneous, being paid to try and make a bunch of strangers laugh.
Less clever, more successful comics did their best to please their customers. They'd ditch routines that didn't work. Lee did the opposite. If a gag was stiffing he'd spin it out rather than compressing it, taking a perverse pleasure in seeing how much he could infuriate his foes.
How I Escaped My Certain Fate charts Lee's rise and fall and recent renaissance, from young wannabe to obscure cult to counter-cultural mini-icon. It's a sort of autobiography, but really just as much a book about the way British comedy has changed. When Lee started out, a lot of stand-up was still performed by eccentrics like Ted Chippington, to whom Lee dedicates this book. However as Alternative Comedy became big business, Lee became increasingly uncomfortable and this unease was reflected in his work. Lee took a break from stand-up and co-wrote Jerry Springer – The Opera. After this lively sabbatical he returned to stand-up and this time things clicked.
The story of how Lee found an audience and found his voice would make a great self-help book, but Shakespeare probably said it best: above all, to thine own self be true. Lee decided to downsize. He started playing smaller rooms, building a devoted following who understood his work, rather than pandering to TV execs. When the TV offers came, they came on his own terms. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, broadcast on BBC2 last year, was one of the few series that have captured the frenetic atmosphere of live stand-up.
The bulk of the book consists of transcriptions of three live shows. Lee annotates these transcripts with lengthy footnotes, so extensive that at times they almost eclipse the main text. Usually, such copious asides are the sign of a very bad book but Lee pulls it off, mainly because his notes are invariably insightful, and frequently very funny. There are a few bum notes. The various appendices dilute the book's dramatic impact, and Lee's shaggy dog story about vomiting into the mouth (and anus) of Jesus Christ reads as wretched, rather than daring. Yet as Lee says himself, "I don't think stand-up should really work on the page, so the very existence of this book is an indication of my ultimate failure as a comedian."
Stewart Lee
2010-08-13T12:29:42+01:00
Stewart Lee always seemed a bit too clever to be a really successful stand-up comic. Even in his early twenties he came across as world-weary, with a seen-it-all-before persona that belied his baby-faced appearance. It was as if he could never quite forget the inherent absurdity of stand-up comedy - reciting a rehearsed monologue, pretending it was spontaneous, being paid to try and make a bunch of strangers laugh. Less clever, more successful comics did their best to please their customers. They'd ditch routines that didn't work. Lee did the opposite. If a gag was stiffing he'd spin it out rather than compressing it, taking a perverse pleasure in seeing how much he could infuriate his foes. How I Escaped My Certain Fate charts Lee's rise and fall and recent renaissance, from young wannabe to obscure cult to counter-cultural mini-icon. It's a sort of autobiography, but really just as much a book about the way British comedy has changed. When Lee started out, a lot of stand-up was still performed by eccentrics like Ted Chippington, to whom Lee dedicates this book. However as Alternative Comedy became big business, Lee became increasingly uncomfortable and this unease was reflected in his work. Lee took a break from stand-up and co-wrote Jerry Springer – The Opera. After this lively sabbatical he returned to stand-up and this time things clicked. The story of how Lee found an audience and found his voice would make a great self-help book, but Shakespeare probably said it best: above all, to thine own self be true. Lee decided to downsize. He started playing smaller rooms, building a devoted following who understood his work, rather than pandering to TV execs. When the TV offers came, they came on his own terms. Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, broadcast on BBC2 last...
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...
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...
Cerebral, confrontational and laugh-out-loud funny, it's the work of a master at his peak. Four years ago he playfully announced to a Nottingham audience that "no-one is equipped to review me". I laughed nervously at the time but if any show sums up how true that joke still is, it's this one.
Well, I say "show" when "shows" is really more accurate. Snowflake/Tornado is an all-new double bill - two separately themed performances, each about an hour long, divided by a 20-minute interval.
On the first of a sold-out four-night run at the Playhouse, Tornado, the first half, started with the inaccurate synopsis Netflix gave to his show TV Comedy Vehicle: "Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe" - actually the plot of bizarre horror movie Sharknado. Lee claims Netflix left it online for two years.
This mishap leads him to jealously read out the much more straightforward descriptions given to other comedians' Netflix shows.
Which of course allows vicious takedowns of the comics in question - fans of Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais, Josh Widdicombe and American comedy superstar Dave Chapelle are probably still tending their wounds.
His relentlessly repeated announcement that The Times had called him the number one stand-up comedian in the world became a hysterical running joke between the well-aimed barbs at his rivals - and his continuous interrogation of stand-up, critiques of his own performance and parodic "disappointment" with the quality of the Playhouse audience never became laboured.
By the time he reached the interval with a brilliantly delivered reading of "Alan Bennett's Sharknado" (complete with an uncanny impression and ending in a striking visual coup de theatre), the crowd was awestruck.
If anything, part two - Snowflake - was even better. Lee's reaction to the rise of bigotry, it hailed what he sees as the genuine triumphs of political correctness while acknowledging its shortcomings.
The mood was more elegiac, with a freshness and intelligence rivalling the genius of his previous Content Provider tour but still allowing for bursts of marvellously supercharged venom aimed at the writer Tony Parsons, Fleabag creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge and (inevitably) Ricky Gervais yet again.
Indeed, an otherwise pin-sharp demolition was slightly derailed by an over-lengthy depiction of Gervais incoherently "saying the unsayable" but Lee's forensic wit saved the day as he moved on to our unsettling current prime minister - "the Ricky Gervais of British politics" - and finished with a song (!) which managed to be sincere, crude and outrageously funny at the same time.
If there's a bar in British comedy, Stewart Lee sets it. He's unique and every tour is different, but the five-star quality always remains.
Stewart Lee
2020-01-30T19:39:54+00:00
So much goes on, and on so many levels, during Stewart Lee's latest stand-up performance that it's even harder than usual to describe. Cerebral, confrontational and laugh-out-loud funny, it's the work of a master at his peak. Four years ago he playfully announced to a Nottingham audience that "no-one is equipped to review me". I laughed nervously at the time but if any show sums up how true that joke still is, it's this one. Well, I say "show" when "shows" is really more accurate. Snowflake/Tornado is an all-new double bill - two separately themed performances, each about an hour long, divided by a 20-minute interval. On the first of a sold-out four-night run at the Playhouse, Tornado, the first half, started with the inaccurate synopsis Netflix gave to his show TV Comedy Vehicle: "Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe" - actually the plot of bizarre horror movie Sharknado. Lee claims Netflix left it online for two years. This mishap leads him to jealously read out the much more straightforward descriptions given to other comedians' Netflix shows. Which of course allows vicious takedowns of the comics in question - fans of Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais, Josh Widdicombe and American comedy superstar Dave Chapelle are probably still tending their wounds. His relentlessly repeated announcement that The Times had called him the number one stand-up comedian in the world became a hysterical running joke between the well-aimed barbs at his rivals - and his continuous interrogation of stand-up, critiques of his own performance and parodic "disappointment" with the quality of the Playhouse audience never became laboured. By the time he reached the interval with a brilliantly delivered reading of "Alan Bennett's Sharknado" (complete with an uncanny impression and ending...
A feisty chat between Ian Rankin and Stewart Lee at the Book Festival saw the blockbuster crime novelist and revered comic trade insults, anecdotes and peculiar allegations about George Osborne and stationery items.
Lee’s new book Content Provider brings together prose pieces he has written for newspapers over the years – as well as some of the more insane reader comments he’s retrieved from that swamp “below the line”. So strange are some of the responses, Lee said, that the act of newspaper writing has become akin to a collaborative performance. “I started to think of the columnist as a sort of character,” he said, “somebody who pretends to know a bit more than he does. And then afterwards you get the public wilfully misunderstanding. It unfolds like real-time improv.”
Rankin suspected Lee of writing some of the weirder remarks himself. “I don’t have multiple identities to troll myself,” Lee insisted. Can we really trust the word of a man, however, who freely admits to having lifted blocks of text from other writers, altered one noun throughout and published the results under his own byline? “I don’t know if you’re allowed to do that,” he said, “but no-one’s ever stopped me. I don’t know what you have to do to get sued.” As for George Osborne, Lee insists that he was once told such a scandalous anecdote about George Osborne and some pencils that he keeps trying to track it down online. “So now it’s a search item on Google… because of me. There is a rumour. But I started it.”
Lee could presumably choose to perform his Fringe show at one of the Edinburgh’s more vast and glitzy venues. Instead he picks the cosier environs of The Stand. “The size of your audience hasn’t changed,” teased Rankin. But Lee declared The Stand “one of the best rooms in the country”. The venue is a survivor, he said, of “a battle that’s been lost – a tussle for the soul of the Fringe.” He praised Stand impresario turned SNP MP Tommy Sheppard for resisting the cutthroat model of the commercial comedy venues, and using profits from bigger shows to fund smaller ones. “It’s a socialist model - and I’m a champagne socialist.”
Also performing at the Stand is Lee’s wife and fellow comedian Bridget Christie, for whom he also had affectionate words. “If I wasn’t married to Bridget Christie, she would be one of my favourite comedians, and I would be trying to marry her,” he said. “It’s less awkward than if she was terrible.” While the couple might garner material from their real life together – “A lot of what she finds funny is ridiculous things that have happened to me; any pain that I endure” – they have not yet created a show together. One may evolve one day, Lee said, about their honeymoon, which they spent on Shetland - in December. “We didn’t realise how little there was there,” marvelled Lee, “or how dark it would be.” Shetlanders, prepare to feel indignant, but beware: any online trolling of Stewart Lee will only feed his future act.
Stewart Lee
2016-08-20T23:52:06+01:00
A feisty chat between Ian Rankin and Stewart Lee at the Book Festival saw the blockbuster crime novelist and revered comic trade insults, anecdotes and peculiar allegations about George Osborne and stationery items. Lee’s new book Content Provider brings together prose pieces he has written for newspapers over the years – as well as some of the more insane reader comments he’s retrieved from that swamp “below the line”. So strange are some of the responses, Lee said, that the act of newspaper writing has become akin to a collaborative performance. “I started to think of the columnist as a sort of character,” he said, “somebody who pretends to know a bit more than he does. And then afterwards you get the public wilfully misunderstanding. It unfolds like real-time improv.” Rankin suspected Lee of writing some of the weirder remarks himself. “I don’t have multiple identities to troll myself,” Lee insisted. Can we really trust the word of a man, however, who freely admits to having lifted blocks of text from other writers, altered one noun throughout and published the results under his own byline? “I don’t know if you’re allowed to do that,” he said, “but no-one’s ever stopped me. I don’t know what you have to do to get sued.” As for George Osborne, Lee insists that he was once told such a scandalous anecdote about George Osborne and some pencils that he keeps trying to track it down online. “So now it’s a search item on Google… because of me. There is a rumour. But I started it.” Lee could presumably choose to perform his Fringe show at one of the Edinburgh’s more vast and glitzy venues. Instead he picks the cosier environs of The Stand. “The size of your audience hasn’t changed,” teased Rankin. But Lee declared The...
Stewart Lee comes on stage, gazes around in mild amusement and shakes his head. He has barely uttered a word, nor heard our reaction, and yet he has already formed an opinion of his audience – and he is not impressed. Or at least, he is pretending not to be impressed – which is, of course, the joke.
There’s a lot of that with Lee. While lesser comics play for straight laughs or stride around the stage with their headset microphones (both earning the ire of this unforgiving master of what used to be called alternative comedy), Lee leads us part way up his torturous garden path and allows us to reach our own conclusions. Kind of. He also delights in playing us off against each other, toying with the boundaries of what it means to be a comedian, and with the traditional form of the comedy gig.
“I’m coming to despise the character Stewart Lee in the way Rod Hull hated emu,” he grimaces.
There are laughs. Loads. It’s painfully funny – if you get it. We do, though he would beg to differ, insisting Oxford is a ‘strange place. “It’s not London is it?” he says. “It’s basically a farming community.”
At his best he is the funniest stand-up on the scene. And this is vintage Lee – which means we are in for some chiding, especially if we don’t laugh loud enough for the clever bits. “You’re not putting enough effort into being an audience, by being too mainstream,” he complains.
He also suggests that by playing the venue for a week, too many of the ‘wrong’ people are coming. Maybe one night would have worked better, he smirks.
He tells us early on he won’t be doing jokes about Brexit or Donald Trump, because he’ll be touring the material for months to come, and he doesn’t want it to go stale. However, he proceeds to do exactly that – his profoundly profane digs at the political ‘right’ in the UK and US getting some of the biggest laughs of the night – the first before the interval and the latter in the second half, in an identical set-up, which he tells us off for not realising is deliberate.
Boris Johnson comes in for a thorough roughing-up as does the toilet humour-obsessed ‘comedian’ Russell Howard (could you imagine two performers more diametrically-opposed?). The Howard-mocking extends way beyond the limits of what is comfortable. “I’ll still be doing this when you get back,” he tells a young woman who leaves her seat for a comfort break. And he was.
A section about why bondage was better in our grandparent’s generation is beyond funny. To the delight of this audience he also has a dig at the phone and selfie-obsessed under-40s. It goes on and on, and just gets funnier.
“Don’t imagine your indifference will make me bail out sooner,” he warns us. “This is for my benefit... I’m not enjoying it... but I’ll look back on it with excitement – like being in a car crash.”
Quite brilliant.
Tim Hughes 5/5
* Stewart Lee, Content Provider, is at the Oxford Playhouse until Saturday. All shows have sold out
Stewart Lee
2017-02-03T17:24:27+00:00
Stewart Lee comes on stage, gazes around in mild amusement and shakes his head. He has barely uttered a word, nor heard our reaction, and yet he has already formed an opinion of his audience – and he is not impressed. Or at least, he is pretending not to be impressed – which is, of course, the joke. There’s a lot of that with Lee. While lesser comics play for straight laughs or stride around the stage with their headset microphones (both earning the ire of this unforgiving master of what used to be called alternative comedy), Lee leads us part way up his torturous garden path and allows us to reach our own conclusions. Kind of. He also delights in playing us off against each other, toying with the boundaries of what it means to be a comedian, and with the traditional form of the comedy gig. “I’m coming to despise the character Stewart Lee in the way Rod Hull hated emu,” he grimaces. There are laughs. Loads. It’s painfully funny – if you get it. We do, though he would beg to differ, insisting Oxford is a ‘strange place. “It’s not London is it?” he says. “It’s basically a farming community.” At his best he is the funniest stand-up on the scene. And this is vintage Lee – which means we are in for some chiding, especially if we don’t laugh loud enough for the clever bits. “You’re not putting enough effort into being an audience, by being too mainstream,” he complains. He also suggests that by playing the venue for a week, too many of the ‘wrong’ people are coming. Maybe one night would have worked better, he smirks. He tells us early on he won’t be doing jokes about Brexit or Donald Trump, because he’ll be...
Ever since the time of the court jesters, it's been the comedian's social function to get paid for saying things that normal people can't get away with. So it's easy to understand the bewildered response of the professional iconoclast when some media vested interest or other decides - generally for reasons unconnected to the alleged offence - to make an example of them for having trespassed outside the boundaries of public taste and decency.
After all, they were only doing their job.
Both Glaswegian shaggy-dog storyteller Billy Connolly and gonzo ironist Stewart have felt the hot breath of the tabloid lynch-mob on the back of their necks in the past few years. The last time Connolly forsook his customary Californian exile for a marathon residency at the Hammersmith Apollo, he was pilloried for a gratuitously flippant remark about the death of Iraq war hostage Ken Bigley.
While Stewart Lee - who might still have been basking in the profitable artistic backwater of musical theatre had the evangelical pressure group Christian Voice not misunderstood the profoundly religious sensibility at work in his Jerry Springer: The Opera - has recently been in hot water for disputing the messianic credentials of Top Gear's Richard Hammond.
Connolly's natural insouciance has expressed itself in the decision to embark on a month-long season of sold out shows without making the slightest attempt to prepare an actual act. Happily, this eternally Rabelaisian 67 year-old does a lot of his best work staggering delightedly around the hinterland of an anecdote like one of the Caledonian street-drunks to whose sacred memory so much of his comedy is still dedicated.
So by the time he finally hits his stride after a ragged first hour - with an exquisitely eloquent description of a condemned tenement surrounded by a fence made of internal doors - this particular full-house is miraculously still with him.
Stewart Lee's scrupulously well-planned yet satisfyingly spontaneous performance at the Leicester Square Theatre is a master-class in subversive pedantry. No-one - not his audience, not his fellow comedians, not his favourite high-street coffee chain, and certainly not Lee himself - escapes this ruthlessly self-aware 41 year-old's kestrel's eye for linguistic bad faith. In the belief that “the last taboo in stand-up is a man trying to do something sincerely and well", he ends the show by singing a favourite folk song to the best of his ability. By a strange quirk of evolutionary fate, that's how Billy Connolly's career started.
Stewart Lee plays Leicester Square Theatre (0844 8472475) at 4pm today.
Billy Connolly is at the Hammersmith Apollo till Jan 31st (0844 8444748).
Stewart Lee
2010-01-10T17:09:52+00:00
Ever since the time of the court jesters, it's been the comedian's social function to get paid for saying things that normal people can't get away with. So it's easy to understand the bewildered response of the professional iconoclast when some media vested interest or other decides - generally for reasons unconnected to the alleged offence - to make an example of them for having trespassed outside the boundaries of public taste and decency. After all, they were only doing their job. Both Glaswegian shaggy-dog storyteller Billy Connolly and gonzo ironist Stewart have felt the hot breath of the tabloid lynch-mob on the back of their necks in the past few years. The last time Connolly forsook his customary Californian exile for a marathon residency at the Hammersmith Apollo, he was pilloried for a gratuitously flippant remark about the death of Iraq war hostage Ken Bigley. While Stewart Lee - who might still have been basking in the profitable artistic backwater of musical theatre had the evangelical pressure group Christian Voice not misunderstood the profoundly religious sensibility at work in his Jerry Springer: The Opera - has recently been in hot water for disputing the messianic credentials of Top Gear's Richard Hammond. Connolly's natural insouciance has expressed itself in the decision to embark on a month-long season of sold out shows without making the slightest attempt to prepare an actual act. Happily, this eternally Rabelaisian 67 year-old does a lot of his best work staggering delightedly around the hinterland of an anecdote like one of the Caledonian street-drunks to whose sacred memory so much of his comedy is still dedicated. So by the time he finally hits his stride after a ragged first hour - with an exquisitely eloquent description of a condemned tenement surrounded by a fence made of...
In the mid-‘70s, Birmingham's Steel Pulse sold a dramatic live version of roots reggae's studio bound sound to suspicious punks, and issued an astonishing debut of pressure cooked protest songs, Handsworth Revolution, bleeding flamenco guitar into deep heat dub-wise grooves. Five of that unsurpassed album's eight cuts, and a b-side, feature here, along with some dated late ‘80s and ‘90s pop reggae cuts.
With nothing from 1982's True Democracy, the band's second best album, Prodigal Sons isn't a definitive career overview, but will have to do until someone slaps out Handsworth Revolution with out-takes and Peel sessions.
Stewart Lee
2012-07-29T21:51:58+01:00
In the mid-‘70s, Birmingham's Steel Pulse sold a dramatic live version of roots reggae's studio bound sound to suspicious punks, and issued an astonishing debut of pressure cooked protest songs, Handsworth Revolution, bleeding flamenco guitar into deep heat dub-wise grooves. Five of that unsurpassed album's eight cuts, and a b-side, feature here, along with some dated late ‘80s and ‘90s pop reggae cuts. With nothing from 1982's True Democracy, the band's second best album, Prodigal Sons isn't a definitive career overview, but will have to do until someone slaps out Handsworth Revolution with out-takes and Peel sessions.
Stewart Lee, the scourge of mainstream comedy, is lending his expertise to a commercial television enterprise. But fear not - he hasn't sold out. He's curating The Alternative Comedy Experience, a showcase of talented stand-ups who have a substantial club following but wouldn't normally get a chance to perform on screen. "These are comedians you have to listen to," says Lee, as if that is a novel thing to do. The jokes have time to breathe. They are not gags that work in print or on Twitter.
There is deliberately no reference to his name in the title of the 12-part series, which starts on Comedy Central next Tuesday - that would be too reminiscent of Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow. Unlike McIntyre, of whom Lee, 44, has been been particularly dismissive in the past, he will interview acts instead of compering. The main focus is on the 10 guests, who include up-and-coming Londoner Josie Long and the wonderfully weird Paul Foot.
This punk-like groundswell is comedy's retort to the O2 Arena juggernauts. "We should nail our colours to the mast. The comedians on this show do not wake up thinking, 'How can I develop something that will appeal to people in marketing?' They think about comedy first and foremost," says Lee.
Filmed in The Stand in Edinburgh, which has room for 160 fans (rather than the Roadshow's 1,000-plus capacity venues), the programme is a mainstream acknowledgement of a trend that is surfacing in London for acts who aim to provoke rather than please. The similarly named Alternative Comedy Memorial Society recently had to move to the Soho Theatre when it became too big for its tiny pub venues such as The Lion in Bloomsbury.
"There are a lot [of comedians] that may not become big themselves but are hugely influential," explains Lee. "Russell Brand would not be as he is if he had not seen Paul Foot. He just added rock star trousers and a different vocabulary." Lee used to like Russell Brand but thinks superstardom destroyed his potential. "I thought he was good but he can never be what he should've been because now you view him through the prism of celebrity. He doesn't have to work because people lap it up."
As executive producer, Lee regularly goes to gigs to spot talent. He is proud that a third of the Alternative Comedy Experience's line-up is female. "There was absolutely no reason why it shouldn't have been more. I went to a gig the other night and out of six acts four were women. And they were the better ones."
But he did not have to go far to uncover one of the highlights of his series - his wife, Bridget Christie. "Bridget would be on anyone's list for a programme like this. She should be on it but obviously she felt she had to be twice as good."
Christie was a hotly tipped comedian before they married in 2006 but Lee feels his connection with her can put people off. "People tend to like her a lot more until they find out she's my wife," he says. "They think I've put the word in. I think it definitely holds her back."
Her humour is less angry and more surreal than her husband's and we will be seeing more of her in the near future. She is currently recording a BBC Radio 4 series (Bridget Christie Minds the Gap) about feminism in Britain and live dates are planned for February and March. On the nights when she works, Lee stays at home with their two young children. They'll swap parental duties in the autumn when Lee starts gigging again. He will be doing a new show called Much Astew About Nothing at the Leicester Square Theatre from November 4 and then plans to film his next BBC2 series (which does have his name in the title), Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
While Lee has the shabby demeanour of a fame-hating artist, after two decades as a stand-up he has gathered a substantial following. His show at the Leicester Square Theatre last year ran for three months and he is as much of a draw as the primetime comedians who do one night at the O2 Arena. "I could do the O2 Arena three times, 45,000 people came to see me last year. But I'm not sure if the people who like me would go there."
Lee finally seems happy about his place in the celebrity firmament. "All the people who hate me have just given up complaining about me. Despite the fact that I've won two British Comedy Awards [for Best Comedy Entertainment Programme and Best Male TV Comic in 2011] I've managed to not be in that world. I couldn't have engineered it better. It's great."
So is it fair to say we shouldn't expect comedy collobarations in the future? "I'm too much of a control freak. I never want to work with more than one other person. To be honest I often don't even agree with myself."
The Alternative Comedy Experience reflects Lee's oppositional attitude. He thinks it was only a matter of time before something like this would emerge. "For every action there is a reaction. You need to let people know that there is another sort of stand-up. My original press release said 'Do you hate all stand-up on television? If you do this is the show for you.'"
The Alternative Comedy Experience starts on Comedy Central at 11pm on February 5.
In his own words: Stewart Lee on his comedy choices
David O'Doherty
The Dublin stand-up is a pioneer of his trademark vlemwhy (very low energy musical whimsy) comedy and brings a literary flair to his depressive tales of the everyday everynerd.
Isy Suttie
Indie-folk songs place poignancy over punchlines and rambling romantic stories have a black comic pallor, which you wouldn't expect from Peep Show's Dobby.
Tony Law
Classic British surrealism synthesised with the headbutt impact of the shouting angry school, squeezed through the folksy backwoods idiom of his rural Canadian roots.
Bridget Christie
The anti-alternative comedy internet troll's worst nightmare [Lee's wife, see interview above] is a confident woman who has made feminist issues funny and isn't averse to dressing up as an insect or a virus.
Paul Foot
The original and best of the steampunk surrealists, whose opaque and archaic phrasing, glam-thrift Victorian dress code and decadent indolence have been an uncredited influence on many better-known acts.
Josie Long
Only 30 but already spawning a generation of followers, she remains inspirational. Her spittle-flecked anti-capitalist rants are leavened by a self-deprecating self-awareness and the warm glow of a good heart.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-30T21:08:21+00:00
Stewart Lee, the scourge of mainstream comedy, is lending his expertise to a commercial television enterprise. But fear not - he hasn't sold out. He's curating The Alternative Comedy Experience, a showcase of talented stand-ups who have a substantial club following but wouldn't normally get a chance to perform on screen. "These are comedians you have to listen to," says Lee, as if that is a novel thing to do. The jokes have time to breathe. They are not gags that work in print or on Twitter. There is deliberately no reference to his name in the title of the 12-part series, which starts on Comedy Central next Tuesday - that would be too reminiscent of Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow. Unlike McIntyre, of whom Lee, 44, has been been particularly dismissive in the past, he will interview acts instead of compering. The main focus is on the 10 guests, who include up-and-coming Londoner Josie Long and the wonderfully weird Paul Foot. This punk-like groundswell is comedy's retort to the O2 Arena juggernauts. "We should nail our colours to the mast. The comedians on this show do not wake up thinking, 'How can I develop something that will appeal to people in marketing?' They think about comedy first and foremost," says Lee. Filmed in The Stand in Edinburgh, which has room for 160 fans (rather than the Roadshow's 1,000-plus capacity venues), the programme is a mainstream acknowledgement of a trend that is surfacing in London for acts who aim to provoke rather than please. The similarly named Alternative Comedy Memorial Society recently had to move to the Soho Theatre when it became too big for its tiny pub venues such as The Lion in Bloomsbury. "There are a lot [of comedians] that may not become big themselves but are hugely influential,"...
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,...
Swandown is a film by the artist Andrew Kotting and the writer Iain Sinclair. http://www.swandown.info/
I appeared in one scene with Alan Moore. The film opens in July.
I urge you to see it on a big screen where its immersive power will smother you. Here's their press release.
"For four weeks throughout the months of September and October 2011 Andrew Kötting and Iain Sinclair pedalled a plastic swan over 160 miles from the seaside in Hastings to Hackney in East London.
They drank 84 litres of water, 2 bottles of whisky, 4 bottles of wine and 24 cans of special brew. They got through 8 pairs of sunglasses, a handmade suit, a pair of walking boots and a camper van. Andrew Kötting wore the same clothes throughout.
Iain Sinclair was changed regularly. They met all sorts en route, from the Hoi Polloi to the Hoity Toity, from the very old to the very young, with the pedallo acting as catalyst and magnet.
Sometimes they were accompanied by invited guest pedallers, Alan Moore, Stewart Lee, Dudley Sutton, Dr Mark Lythgoe and Marcia Farquhar. Swandown premieres in the Abandon Normal Devices Film Festival, Manchester on 22nd June and Saturday 23rd June 2012.
Swandown screens at the East End Film Festival, London on 7th July 2012. Swandown opens in cinemas nationwide across the UK on 20th July 2012."
EDINBURGH - BRIDGET CHRISTIE / S LEE
My wife Bridget Christie, who likes nothing more than to be referred to as 'wife of comedian Stewart Lee' by journalists, and I are both at the new/old Assembly Rooms venue on George St in Edinburgh in August.
I am doing Carpet Remnant World for the last time.
Bridget is doing her new show War Donkey at 1.30, but the Fringe website is confusing about the times.
Bridget Christie - The War Donkey.
What are Tory feminists? How did Hitler choose soups in restaurants?
Why isn't there a Spielberg blockbuster about donkeys, and why did Colonel Gadaffi hate them?
Bridget Christie knows. And will wear stilts.
Baffling stand-up and grotesque manifestations from someone who's been on Radio 4's News Quiz, E4's Cardinal Burns, Sarah Millican's Support Group and Harry Hill's Little Internet Show.
'Avant-garde comedian of prodigious talent' (Guardian).
'True, beautiful insanity' (Sunday Times).
'Brilliant political bite' (Arts Desk).
'Insightful, intelligent, absurd ⦠hits highs of genuine brilliance' (Chortle.co.uk).
www.bridgetchristie.co.uk, and join Bridget's mailing list here for more news.
Book here. http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/bridget-christie-war-donkey Total sell out 2011.
And me : http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/stewart-lee-carpet-remnant-world
11 EDINBLUR TIPS FOR SHOWS BY PEOPLE I'VE SEEN AT SOME POINT
Aaaaaargh It's The Greatest Show On Legs - alt com pioneers, Hive, 9pm.
Botallack O'Clock - great Cornish theatre co - Gilded Balloon 1.40.
Bridget Christie - satire in animal costumes, Assembly Rooms, 1.30.
Charlie Chuck - deranged absurdist, Space Cabaret, 12.30 pm 13th - 25th.
Daniel Kitson - As Of 1.52 GMT - new monologue at Traverse, times vary..
Derevo, Mephisto Waltz - Russian physical theatre, Assembly Roxy 8pm.
Dick Gaughan - Scottish folk singer, Acoustic Music Centre, 13th Aug.
Jane Bom-Bane - mechanical hat songs - Laughing Horse, 4.45 FREE.
Jerry Sadowitz - the master s/up, Assemby Rooms, 17th-18th Aug.
Nick Pynn - ingenious art folk in intimate space, Inalingua 9.45.
Tony Law - 12.30 Stand 1, 47 year old newcomer comic.
7 EDINBLUR TIPS FOR SHOWS I'VE NOT SEEN
Josie Long & Sam Schafer's Awkward Romance - Mood, 1.45, 13-17th.
Appointment With The Wicker Man, - play, 3.10 Assembly Rooms..
Eat A Queer Foetus For Jesus - good title, 9.50, Counting House.
Carmen Funebre - arty fire thing, 10.30 at that big Quad on Aug 14th.
Macbeth by some circus Poles, 10.30 at that Quad, 2nd-13th August.
Go To The Devil & Shake Y'Self, papal powerpop song cycle, Ryans. 4-19th.
Spirit Sideshow - looks weird 10.45 Counting House 19 - 27th.
YOU ARE NOTHING, BOOK
Buy You Are Nothing at GoFasterStripe
Robert Wringham's important book, You Are Nothing, is available above. Thee Fyrst and Onlie History of Cluub Zarathustra It comes complete with a limited edition Cluub badge, and also a free download of a pdf copy of the book!
It's! Simon Munnery. Stewart Lee. Roger Mann. Lori Lixenberg. Richard Thomas. Kevin Eldon.
Also! Richard Herring. Jason Freeman. Sally Phillips. Tom Binns. Andy Riley. Dave Thompson.
And! Harry Hill. Waen Shepherd. Al Murray. Graham Linehan. Johnny Vegas. Peter Baynham. Julian Barratt.
Cluub Zarathustra was an unorthodox comedy club based in an Islington pub basement between 1994 and 1997.
Anticipating Fist of Fun, The Mighty Boosh, and Jerry Springer: The Opera, it all happened here, presided over by The League Against Tedium.
Those who attended bore witness to the birth of today's finest comedy. They were also insulted, dribbled on, and forced to wear dunce's caps. But that was all part of the fun.
Based on new interviews with the principal cast, supporting artists, and audience members (and on tonnes of fusty old interviews and press cuttings too), Robert Wringham tells the story of Cluub Zarathustra: the seldom-celebrated and viciously experimental underground comedy cabaret.
At last! The story of Cluub Zarathustra can be told. Finally! Roger Mann bares all. Regrettably! It's mostly based on drunken half-memories from two decades ago.
Come. Join us at the wonkiest, yet arguably most important, crossroads in all of comedy history.
CARPET REMNANT WORLD
Carpet Remnant World is the title of the new full length show, Aug 2011-Aug 2012.
Thanks to all who came so far. It has been really very good.
The show has been slimmed down from its original 2hrs running time to 75 minutes for the final dates, including a reprise of the show for the 2012 Edinburgh Fringe, as part of The Stand's Assembly Rooms program, having been originally run it at The Stand in the Summer of 2011.
DON'T WORRY. THE 2012 Assembly Rooms program is nothing to do with the ASSEMBLY company, that used to be housed there, run by Bill Burdett-Coutts, of Coutts Bank.
It will not, therefore, feature loads of out of date Radio 4 acts, exploited theatre companies, and lousy comedians shoe-horned in by management company package deals, and so you can go there with the same confidence you would approach, say, The Stand.
I am worried the cool kids will think Assembly Rooms is Assembly and stay away.
It isn't. Don't.
Thursday 2nd - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Friday 3rd - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Saturday 4th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Sunday 5th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Monday 6th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Tuesday 7th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Wednesday 8th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Thursday 9th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Friday 10th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Saturday 11th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Sunday 12th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Tuesday 14th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Wednesday 15th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Thursday 16th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Friday 17th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Saturday 18th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Sunday 19th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Tuesday 21st - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Wednesday 22nd - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Thursday 23rd - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Friday 24th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Saturday 25th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
Sunday 26th - The Stand @ The Assembly Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh - 6.05pm - Book Online.
AUTUMN DATES
Sunday Sept 16th - FRANK SIDEBOTTOM STATUE FUNDRAISER, LEXINGTON, LONDON
It's a fantastic Frank Sidebottom Statue Fundraiser organised by the London branch, being held at the Lexington, London N1 on Sunday 16th September.
Appearing on the night will be:
STEWART LEE, SIMON MUNNERY, KEVIN ELDON, BRIDGET CHRISTIE ,THE GLUVETS, DREAM THEMES, ADRIAN R TEENBEAT.. and THE (LONDON) OH BLIMEY BIG BAND.
Running order will be decided on the night, according to what we think will work best showbiz-wise.
Come on down for thrills and fun, including a raffle, merch stall, 'the Sidie mannequin' and our fantastic puppet finale.
++ These will sell out in about minus one second, so don't miss out! ++
A fundraiser for the indie/comedy legend, Frank Sidebottom. The man underneath the papier mache head, Chris Sievey, sadly, died on June 21st 2010, after a short battle with cancer.
Now, the FRANK SIDEBOTTOM STATUE FUND has been set up in an attempt to raise £60,000 for a bronze statue of Frank, which will be placed in Timperley Village as a permanent tribute / memorial.
More details about Frank, the fund and how you can donate in the meantime, can be found here. http://www.franksidebottom.org.uk/site/
We miss Frank and we want the campaign for a statue to succeed. He put Timperley on the map. You know he did, he really did.
And he was an enormous influence and inspiration to a great many people. Not to mention, a fantastic bloke.
We're very lucky to have some big names involved in this, all giving their time absolutely free, and are looking for other high profile acts to get involved with future events across the country. £10.23 7pm http://www.wegottickets.com/event/170451
Weds Sept 26th - Cancer benefit, London somewhere
Friday 21st Dec - Robin Ince Xmas show, London Hammersmith Apollo.
INDETERMINACY
JOHN CAGE - INDETERMINACY. WITH STEVE BERESFORD, TANIA CHEN, STEWART LEE & ALAN TOMLINSON. TOUR OF LONDON - SEPTEMBER 2012
I say, “Please come. These shows are always a little bit magic.”
Three contemporary musicians and a comedian tour John Cage’s Indeterminacy around London in a three night marathon of unusual events. Indeterminacy was originally recorded in 1959, with David Tudor playing the piano and John Cage reading aloud 90 stories, each lasting one minute.
Tonight, fearless contemporary pianists Tania Chen and Steve Beresford will assume the role of Tudor, accompanying the comedian Stewart Lee reading Cage's stories, with occasional unrelated events on the piano (and other things).
This is a performance which disorientates and transfixes and audience.
Beresford addresses its strange effect: 'There's no word for it, which is why it's worth doing.'
The first half of the programme will comprise a performance of John Cage’s Solo For Sliding Trombone, by Alan Tomlinson, and improvisations by Steve Beresford and Tania Chen.
1) Sunday 23/9/12 Battersea Arts Centre, Lavender Hill, Battersea, London, SW11 5TN Box Office: 020 7223 2223 £10/8 Time 7pm http://www.bac.org.uk/whats-on/
2) Monday 24/9/12 Kings Place, 90 York Way, LONDON, N1 9AG Box Office 020 7520 1490. £12.50, Time 8pm http://www.kingsplace.co.uk/whats-on-book-tickets
3) Tuesday 25/9/2012 - Café Oto, 18-22 Ashwin Street, London, E8 3DL Box office 020 7923 1231 8pm £8/£10 http://www.wegottickets.com/event/172410
A SOUND ADVENTURE
‘A Sound British Adventure”, written by Mark ‘Palace Of Light’ Brend and presented by comedian Stewart Lee, discovers how after World War 2 a small group of electronic pioneers began tinkering with their army surplus kit to create new sounds and music, and traces the development of Electronic Music in Britain.
The show transmits on BBC Radio 4 Tuesday 14th August 2012 at 11.30am and is repeated Saturday 18th August at 3.30pm.
It will also be on the BBC iplayer for seven days after broadcast.
CARPET REMNANT WORLD DVD
Recorded at The Lyceum Theatre Sheffield, Stewart Lee's CARPET REMNANT WORLD will be available on DVD on 12th November.
The grumpy old comedian will again release the DVD via Comedy Central in his latest fruitless attempt at knocking much better known TV comics off the top of the Christmas DVD charts.
This new DVD has again been produced by the team behind STEWART LEE'S COMEDY VEHICLE.
Click here to pre-order 'Carpet Remnant World' from Amazon.
Stewart Lee
2012-07-20T18:36:48+01:00
SWANDOWN Swandown is a film by the artist Andrew Kotting and the writer Iain Sinclair. http://www.swandown.info/ I appeared in one scene with Alan Moore. The film opens in July. I urge you to see it on a big screen where its immersive power will smother you. Here's their press release. "For four weeks throughout the months of September and October 2011 Andrew Kötting and Iain Sinclair pedalled a plastic swan over 160 miles from the seaside in Hastings to Hackney in East London. They drank 84 litres of water, 2 bottles of whisky, 4 bottles of wine and 24 cans of special brew. They got through 8 pairs of sunglasses, a handmade suit, a pair of walking boots and a camper van. Andrew Kötting wore the same clothes throughout. Iain Sinclair was changed regularly. They met all sorts en route, from the Hoi Polloi to the Hoity Toity, from the very old to the very young, with the pedallo acting as catalyst and magnet. Sometimes they were accompanied by invited guest pedallers, Alan Moore, Stewart Lee, Dudley Sutton, Dr Mark Lythgoe and Marcia Farquhar. Swandown premieres in the Abandon Normal Devices Film Festival, Manchester on 22nd June and Saturday 23rd June 2012. Swandown screens at the East End Film Festival, London on 7th July 2012. Swandown opens in cinemas nationwide across the UK on 20th July 2012." EDINBURGH - BRIDGET CHRISTIE / S LEE My wife Bridget Christie, who likes nothing more than to be referred to as 'wife of comedian Stewart Lee' by journalists, and I are both at the new/old Assembly Rooms venue on George St in Edinburgh in August. I am doing Carpet Remnant World for the last time. Bridget is doing her new show War Donkey at 1.30, but the Fringe website is confusing about the...
Ok, so first things first: I absolutely love Stewart Lee. I am the absolute embodiment of the repeat, loyal audience member he talks about in every show. I’m the liberal-elite, muesli-munching, Remain-voting, over-educated, politically articulate lefty that he addresses every time.
Every time.
And I know that because he acknowledges us.
Every time.
While doing the same routine.
Every time.
He talks about how one part of the audience is “getting it”, while another mostly consists of people’s friends who’ve ended up here by mistake, and aren’t quite bright enough.
It’s funny, and it deservedly gets laughs. But I think this is the fourth time I’ve seen it and, to be honest, it sort of sours the beginning of the show for me.
Don’t get me wrong; what follows is typically brilliant. He tackles the problem of our absurd political dramas and the impossibility of generating relevant material quickly enough head on, and with characteristic wit.
There are, predictably, stand-out moments of true genius.
On the tricky subject of wondering who in his audience might help make up the 52% of Brexit voters he ponders the dangers of being glassed in the face in Lincoln by a man “…with the text of Amber Rudd’s immigration speech tattooed on his erect racist penis”.
He muses on how the modern trendy acceptance of S&M fits into our disposable culture; how in the thirties his grandparents whittled gimp masks from potato sacks, but they meant so much more than a bit of kinky kit from Amazon.
Lee talks about his inability to sell out and go on panel shows on Sky, not just because he’d hate it, but the character he’s created would hate it even more. “I’d love to go on Sky!” he bemoans. “I hate Stewart Lee! And I hate this meta-textual, self-referential s**t”.
When I talk about recycling content, I’m most definitely not talking about the ingeniously clever re-use of the same phrase at the beginning of the first half when talking about Brexit, and then at the beginning of the second when discussing Trump. And I’m definitely not referring to standing on stage and repeating the same line over and over which, as you will see, I adore.
Lee is often scathing about other, lighter, comedians with populist appeal. This is interesting because, though he is certainly in character to some extent, it’s also self-evidently true that nothing in Live at the Apollo comes even remotely close to matching the brilliance of any of Stewart Lee’s material. However I think he gets away with it, and here’s why.
Stewart Lee is, as he regularly reminds us, getting older. Not only does this mean that he’s actually quite good at this by now, his age also frees him from the self-aware longing to be cool of a younger comedian. Lee is deeply silly.
Nowhere is this all summed up better than a five-minute routine in which all he does is stand on stage aping the earnest voice of an imagined young comedian saying “Uh Mate, what’re you having a go at Russell Howard for mate?” over and over and over again. His voice is actually quite close to those he is mocking, but nevertheless descends into utterly ridiculous clowning.
This, for me, is where Stewart Lee really shines. He is unafraid to make a fool of himself. He is confident enough to know when to simply stand on stage pulling a face, making silly noises, and, crucially, understands when the audience will go with him. This is a beautiful moment, that can only work with a live audience present.
It feels churlish to damn such excellence with faint praise, but really, why recycle so much material? The show wouldn’t be any worse for being ten minutes shorter. If you’ve never seen Stewart Lee before then please, please do. He really is a five-star act. But for me, I’d have been content provided Stewart Lee had provided more of the original content.
Stewart Lee
2017-02-26T20:54:06+00:00
Ok, so first things first: I absolutely love Stewart Lee. I am the absolute embodiment of the repeat, loyal audience member he talks about in every show. I’m the liberal-elite, muesli-munching, Remain-voting, over-educated, politically articulate lefty that he addresses every time. Every time. And I know that because he acknowledges us. Every time. While doing the same routine. Every time. He talks about how one part of the audience is “getting it”, while another mostly consists of people’s friends who’ve ended up here by mistake, and aren’t quite bright enough. It’s funny, and it deservedly gets laughs. But I think this is the fourth time I’ve seen it and, to be honest, it sort of sours the beginning of the show for me. Don’t get me wrong; what follows is typically brilliant. He tackles the problem of our absurd political dramas and the impossibility of generating relevant material quickly enough head on, and with characteristic wit. There are, predictably, stand-out moments of true genius. On the tricky subject of wondering who in his audience might help make up the 52% of Brexit voters he ponders the dangers of being glassed in the face in Lincoln by a man “…with the text of Amber Rudd’s immigration speech tattooed on his erect racist penis”. He muses on how the modern trendy acceptance of S&M fits into our disposable culture; how in the thirties his grandparents whittled gimp masks from potato sacks, but they meant so much more than a bit of kinky kit from Amazon. Lee talks about his inability to sell out and go on panel shows on Sky, not just because he’d hate it, but the character he’s created would hate it even more. “I’d love to go on Sky!” he bemoans. “I hate Stewart Lee! And I hate this...
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
2018-10-15T16:58:45+01:00
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.
At 16 I was doing a lot of reading, going to gigs, buying records, listening to the John Peel show. If it was still on I’d still be listening to John Peel now. Some of the things I heard on his show changed my life and still form the roots of everything I listen to now. Old reggae, the Nightingales, The Fall – they inspired me to write because their lyrics were so good. People forget what an amazing lifeline Peel was for people. He also gave me, perhaps rather self-destructively, that ‘no sell out’ mentality which has made my life more difficult than it needs to be. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I really enjoyed school. I was in this mountain-walking club and every other weekend we’d go to Wales and go climbing. We’d get in a minibus with our geography teacher and go to Snowdonia and go up and down mountains. I loved it. The original members of hardcore death metal pioneers Napalm Death were in the group too. None of them made it to the first album though.
I looked cadaverously thin when I was 16. I had just started going to hospital with something called ulcerative colitis, which meant I kept losing loads of weight. Which was actually really good. I wish I could get it again now. I had Morrissey hair, which I’ve now got rid of as a political protest. That’s one of the things I’d tell my 16-year-old self; don’t trust Morrissey. Other than that, I wear exactly the same as I did then and I probably had much the same sense of humour. In fact I’m much more now like I was in my mid-teens. In my twenties I was more of an arrogant and conceited man as I’d been given a taste of fame and success when I wasn’t really equipped to deal with it. I wasn’t very happy with myself.
Have I betrayed the 16-year-old me? Probably not actually. The teenage me might have found it mildly abhorrent that only this morning I listened to a Soft Machine record, a jazz-fusion record. But other than that, I’ve been able to live a charmed life and avoid most of the responsibilities and compromises that other people have. I’ve been so lucky I can’t believe it. Being asked to curate a whole weekend festival of arts and music [All Tomorrow’s Parties in 2016]. And being able to make four TV series of stand-up comedy, and make a living out of it, and to be called the world’s greatest living stand-up in The Times – he just wouldn’t believe it.
For years now I’ve managed to keep ploughing my own furrow without distraction. Part of that is fear of failure, of trying other things and being found out. Other things haven’t worked out. I came in to help with the story of Jerry Springer: the Opera in 2001, and that was basically banned, so after five years we all lost money on it. In 2005 I thought, I have to get away from big management and major promoters. There has to be a way of making stand-up pay off.
I worked out I needed about 5,000 people in the British Isles to like me. If they all gave me £10 a year then, after costs and paying tax, that would be enough to live on. That was all I aimed for. I thought, what was all this other stuff that had been going on for 15 years about breaking big markets and getting my face out? I didn’t have to do it. And actually, what I would say to my 16-year-old self is, don’t go through those 15 years. Get to where I eventually got to sooner.
In my stand-up, I play a kind of game with the audience; the audience who are not worthy of the great artist. Strangely, I think this goes back to when I was about 16 listening to John Peel and to artists who had real self-respect. When I first saw The Fall, Mark E Smith had his back to us all night, he didn’t introduce himself or say anything, and it was really great because the stuff was brilliant.
I do respect the audience and I make sure I give them good value for their relatively cheap ticket. But I don’t kowtow to them. Maybe that’s down to the adolescent part of me that I can’t get rid of, formed by that snooty ‘don’t go on Top of the Pops’ attitude of the post-punk bands I loved. A lot of critics don’t understand that, but I think my audience get it. It’s like I’m attacking a friend.
I do wish that I was fitter. Not out of any vanity – I don’t wish I could wear a tiny white T-shirt at the Albert Hall. Actually this increasing decrepitude has worked well for me as a stand-up. Looking older suits my act better. In the Nineties, looking young didn’t suit how jaded my character was. The more rundown I look the funnier it is.
Also, I was never a physical comedian but now that I’m visibly knackered I enjoy dancing and jumping around onstage – audiences can see me run out of breath and it’s funny. But I would like to be fitter because there are things I just can’t do with the kids, and I’d like to stay alive long enough to see what happens to these really funny weird little kids [he has two with comedian Bridget Christie].
If I could have one last conversation with anyone, it would be with my mum. She adopted me, she chose to take me on and she was a single mum. I wish I’d be able to thank her properly for that. One of the things I would say to my 16-year-old self is, try to find some time with your mum when you’re in your adulthood. My mum died eight years ago now, and there was never really a point after I left home when we really spent time together. I never really got to explain to her how I was doing and how I was living and I think she really worried about me. I’d have loved to have gone away maybe on holiday with her and just explained I was doing OK and stopped her worrying.
If I could go back to any time in my life I’d go back to The Elephant Fair in Cornwall in the summer of 1984, when I was 16, awake and full of the joys of possibility. To see The Fall for the first time again, with the two drum line-up, lit by flaming torches. And of course there was the added thrill of being 16 and having got to Cornwall on my own, just me and my sleeping bag, setting down in the field. I couldn’t believe that anything could be that good. It was like a dream.
I had some spiked mushroom tea. All the girls were topless and dancing around. I went to the cinema tent and watched The Thing, just me and a Rasta bloke who said “Ohhh Jesus Christ almighty” every time The Thing took over other people’s bodies. I saw lots of comedians like John Hegley and Malcolm Hardy. And I realised wow, there’s a big exciting world out there.
Stewart Lee’s book March of the Lemmings: Brexit in Print and Performance 2016-2019 is out now (Faber & Faber, £14.99)
This interview originally appeared in the Big Issue magazine. Pick up a copy from your local vendor or buy it online from the Big Issue Shop.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-01T21:21:13+00:00
At 16 I was doing a lot of reading, going to gigs, buying records, listening to the John Peel show. If it was still on I’d still be listening to John Peel now. Some of the things I heard on his show changed my life and still form the roots of everything I listen to now. Old reggae, the Nightingales, The Fall – they inspired me to write because their lyrics were so good. People forget what an amazing lifeline Peel was for people. He also gave me, perhaps rather self-destructively, that ‘no sell out’ mentality which has made my life more difficult than it needs to be. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I really enjoyed school. I was in this mountain-walking club and every other weekend we’d go to Wales and go climbing. We’d get in a minibus with our geography teacher and go to Snowdonia and go up and down mountains. I loved it. The original members of hardcore death metal pioneers Napalm Death were in the group too. None of them made it to the first album though. I looked cadaverously thin when I was 16. I had just started going to hospital with something called ulcerative colitis, which meant I kept losing loads of weight. Which was actually really good. I wish I could get it again now. I had Morrissey hair, which I’ve now got rid of as a political protest. That’s one of the things I’d tell my 16-year-old self; don’t trust Morrissey. Other than that, I wear exactly the same as I did then and I probably had much the same sense of humour. In fact I’m much more now like I was in my mid-teens. In my twenties I was more of an arrogant and conceited man as I’d been given...
My first DVD, a recording of the 2004 Edinburgh show, "Standup Comedian".
Recorded at The Stand in Glasgow in March 2005 & released by 2Entertain in October of that year.
Within days of release, despite superb reviews, 2entertain decline their option to do a second one.
Stewart Lee
2017-01-21T19:48:59+00:00
My first DVD, a recording of the 2004 Edinburgh show, "Standup Comedian". Recorded at The Stand in Glasgow in March 2005 & released by 2Entertain in October of that year. Within days of release, despite superb reviews, 2entertain decline their option to do a second one.
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,...
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...
Like Happy Mondays, The Fall, and William Blake, Sleaford Mods are English visionary ranters, seeing the big picture reflected in the toilet bowl.
The East Midlands duo's second album throws Andrew Fearn's decade dissolving scuffed dance loops and churning post-punk bass under Jason Williamson's kitchen sink hallucinations, profanity strewn, furiously funny.
Reporting from Poundland Britain's frontlines, the perfect antidote to Clarkson-Hopkins comment culture, and operating entirely outside traditional music biz structures, Sleaford Mods are the band of the moment.
Massive by Christmas.
Stewart Lee
2014-03-05T21:40:45+00:00
Like Happy Mondays, The Fall, and William Blake, Sleaford Mods are English visionary ranters, seeing the big picture reflected in the toilet bowl. The East Midlands duo's second album throws Andrew Fearn's decade dissolving scuffed dance loops and churning post-punk bass under Jason Williamson's kitchen sink hallucinations, profanity strewn, furiously funny. Reporting from Poundland Britain's frontlines, the perfect antidote to Clarkson-Hopkins comment culture, and operating entirely outside traditional music biz structures, Sleaford Mods are the band of the moment. Massive by Christmas.
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.
If The Byrds or REM had joined the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood maybe they'd have played the baroque folk-pop Seattle's Green Pajamas have pushed since 1984.
Still stalked by dark ladies and ghost lovers, The Pajamas' 30th album in an apparently infinitely sustainable career satisfies regular customers' expectations of effortlessly hummable guitar pop - Supervirgin's McCartney bass runs and the controlled rush of Carrie - but offers enough new moves to justify the band's persistence.
The Queen's Last Tango, for example, is a Balkan-sounding polka that becomes an incendiary twin guitar burn-out.
Stewart Lee
2013-02-17T19:53:28+00:00
If The Byrds or REM had joined the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood maybe they'd have played the baroque folk-pop Seattle's Green Pajamas have pushed since 1984. Still stalked by dark ladies and ghost lovers, The Pajamas' 30th album in an apparently infinitely sustainable career satisfies regular customers' expectations of effortlessly hummable guitar pop - Supervirgin's McCartney bass runs and the controlled rush of Carrie - but offers enough new moves to justify the band's persistence. The Queen's Last Tango, for example, is a Balkan-sounding polka that becomes an incendiary twin guitar burn-out.
It was the summer of 1984. I was 16. I wanted, finally, to see the Fall. I’d been fixated on the group since a 1981 Peel session suddenly flipped somehow from irritating me beyond reason to enthralling me beyond imagination. Provocative repetition. Monotonous drones. Withering sarcasm. I’m lucky I was struck by something so utterly superb when I was in my culturally vulnerable teenage state, otherwise you could be sitting here reading an article about Toto.
I saw an advert saying the Fall were playing at a rock festival in Cornwall and persuaded my mum, against her better judgment, to let me go, alone, with a sleeping bag and a tent. The rolling grassland sloped down to a stage, shadowed by the ancestral home of Lord Eliot, unlikely benefactor of one of the last gasps of the real 60s counterculture. The Elephant Fayre.
Wafty pre-Raphaelite women wandered bare-breasted. Terrifying crusties, friendly if approached, roamed the site. In ignorant bliss I saw the then‑unknown to me John Martyn, fortuitously abandoning his gloopy 80s jazz funk to return spectacularly to his 70s echoplex experiments, and Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, of whom I was similarly unaware, deliver a set of entrancing faux-naivety.
The Fall, Mark E Smith centre, on the main stage at the Elephant Fayre, July 1984. Photograph: Gentleman_Dude/Flickr
Darkness fell. A woman gave me free homemade tea and I sat in a little tent and watched a band I never caught the name of play a three-hour-long version of the Beatles’ The Fool on the Hill. It was only many years later, remembering the experience, that I realise it was unlikely anyone played The Fool On the Hill for three hours, and that the tea was probably slightly stronger than I realised at the time.
In another tent, a lone Rastafarian and I sat together and watched John Carpenter’s The Thing, when film still felt special, in those pre-DVD days. A screaming scientist turned into a weird mutant dog. “Lord Jesus Christ,” said my companion, his hand on my shoulder, blowing sinsemilla into my face.
A hippy antiques dealer lectured me by moonlight about the ninth-century Welsh monk chronicler Nennius, on whom I had written my O-level history project, and gave me a copy of a solo single by Dave Oberlé, of 70s medievalists Gryphon, which I have never since seen listed in any official discography. Did it even exist?
The Fall took the stage by the light of burning torches, the classic two-drum-kit line-up, now augmented by American guitarist Brix. Without a word of greeting, the group dropped into the spindly descend of Smile. I’m listening to a bootleg tape now and touching the entry ticket, still tucked into the cassette box, and I relive the exhilaration of experiencing the stolen riff of Elves for the first time, and a vast 10-minute version of the soon-retired Garden, still my favorite Fall song, with Brix singing the “Jew on a motorbike” refrain through some strange dub-effects pedal. I can taste the wet air in my lungs, see the black-clad couple in front of me, and I realise that the rest of my life, which can have such profound and disorientating pleasures in it, is going to be both wonderful and frightening.
The next day, my dad and his new wife, holidaying somewhere in Devon, intercepted me in Exeter. On the way home we stopped at Gordano services and I shat blood into a toilet bowl, the first signs of a stomach disorder that has since been my constant companion. As have the Fall. Next month I will see them for the 48th time.
Stewart Lee
2015-11-15T13:10:33+00:00
It was the summer of 1984. I was 16. I wanted, finally, to see the Fall. I’d been fixated on the group since a 1981 Peel session suddenly flipped somehow from irritating me beyond reason to enthralling me beyond imagination. Provocative repetition. Monotonous drones. Withering sarcasm. I’m lucky I was struck by something so utterly superb when I was in my culturally vulnerable teenage state, otherwise you could be sitting here reading an article about Toto. I saw an advert saying the Fall were playing at a rock festival in Cornwall and persuaded my mum, against her better judgment, to let me go, alone, with a sleeping bag and a tent. The rolling grassland sloped down to a stage, shadowed by the ancestral home of Lord Eliot, unlikely benefactor of one of the last gasps of the real 60s counterculture. The Elephant Fayre. Wafty pre-Raphaelite women wandered bare-breasted. Terrifying crusties, friendly if approached, roamed the site. In ignorant bliss I saw the then‑unknown to me John Martyn, fortuitously abandoning his gloopy 80s jazz funk to return spectacularly to his 70s echoplex experiments, and Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, of whom I was similarly unaware, deliver a set of entrancing faux-naivety. The Fall, Mark E Smith centre, on the main stage at the Elephant Fayre, July 1984. Photograph: Gentleman_Dude/Flickr Darkness fell. A woman gave me free homemade tea and I sat in a little tent and watched a band I never caught the name of play a three-hour-long version of the Beatles’ The Fool on the Hill. It was only many years later, remembering the experience, that I realise it was unlikely anyone played The Fool On the Hill for three hours, and that the tea was probably slightly stronger than I realised at the time. In another tent, a...
“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
"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
"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
1) SNOWFLAKE/TORNAD0 - LONDON
I THINK ALL 50 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 WILL GO ON SALE ASAP.
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!
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.
THERE WILL BE SUPPLEMENTARY DATES AT THE ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON, JUNE 27TH, 28TH AND JULY 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, AND THESE WILL GO ON SALE ASAP.
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
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.
THERE WILL BE SUPPLEMENTARY DATES AT THE ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON, JUNE 27TH, 28TH AND JULY 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, AND THESE WILL GO ON SALE ASAP.
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.
Monday 18th May 2020 - 8pm - Town Hall, Cheltenham - TICKETS
Sunday 31st May 2020 - 7.30pm - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton - TICKETS
June 2020
Saturday 27th 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London
Sunday 28th 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London
July 2020
Wednesday 1st 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London
Thursday 2nd 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London
Friday 3rd 2020 - ON SALE SOON - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London
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) CONTENT PROVIDER DVD
Content Provider is out on modern d/l, available now, and as a dvd with an extra disc of an early work-in-prog show,
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.
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.
4) King Rocker Doc
Michael Cumming (Brass Eye), James Nicholls (Fire films) and I are now 2/3rds 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. We have one last bit of filming - an interview with ROBIN ASKWITH - and the the edit and costly sound and vision clearances. 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
Released 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”.
7) HAVE A BLEEDIN’ GUESS
How exciting for me! I have written an introduction to Paul Hanley’s brilliant informative and funny new book about my favorite album ever, The Fall’s HEX ENDUCTION HOUR.
THE EX - Life-affirmingly inspiring Dutch anarcho-jazz/punk heroes do 3 nights at London’s Café Oto 15 - 17 November
Mouth-master PHIL MINTON and everyday-object-wrangler ADAM BOHMAN are amongst those collaborating, also at Café Oto in London, on Monday 25th November
Desert blues guitar snake-charmers Tinariwen tour the UK and EIRE - November 11th Olympia Dublin, 13th M’cr Cathedral, 14th/15th Earth London.
Experimental-folk genius, lyrical seer and acute observer of the micro and the macro, Richard Dawson - November 19th London Moth, 20th Brighton Komedia, 21st M’cr RNCM, 22nd Leeds Belgrave, 23rd Liverpool Studio Parr. His new album 2020 is a state-of-the nation address wrought from heartfelt humanity.
You should see Hawkwind’s 50th Anniversary tour, shouldn’t you? Dave Brock cannot do this forever, can he?
Nov 10th Brighton Theatre Royal, 11th York Opera, 12th Ipswich Corn, 13th Basingstoke Anvil, 15th M’cr Albert, 16th Ebinburgh Queens, 17th Glasgow Academy, 18th Cambridge Corn, 19th Bristol Anson, 20th Cardiff Tramshed, 22nd Nottingham Rock City, 23rd Brum Town Hall, 24th Coventry Empire, 25th Guildford G, 26th London Albert Hall
My alt country heroes Giant Sand haul burned Arizona ass round Europe once again with a lone UK stop off at London Under the Bridge Nov 21st, tearing apart their punked-up second album, from 1986, with appropriate disrespect.
Once seen, never-forgotten full-on troubadour-visionary-shaman David Thomas Broughton - Nov 19th M’cr Gullivers, 22nd Lancaster Hallam, 26th London Bush Hall, 27th Oxford Florence Park, 29th Leeds Hyde Park Cinema.
Indestructible rock and roll sleazemeister Tav Falco is here, from his fur-lined lair. November 21st Halifax Lantern, 23rd Glasgow Broadcast, 24th N’castle Cluny, 26th Oslo London.
Two nights with punk survivors Alternative TV at London’s Dublin Castle, 29th/30th November. Action + time = vision!
Slagheap - The female Bristol quartet that sound like The Fall’s FANTASTIC LIFE crossed with SPARE RIB have a secret launch for their ace debut album, which has cheered me up no end, somewhere in their hometown on Nov 15th. Non-info here.
The midday session of DAYLIGHT MUSIC at London’s Union chapel on Nov 30th boasts a fascinating bill including our old friend from the road the experimental pianist and flaneur Matthew Bourne, who was born inside the Avebruy Stone Circle, like a wizard.
Stewart Lee
2019-10-31T17:26:51+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 "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 "In contrast with (my) generation, which had spent most of its time...
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...
Jerry Springer, trash TV personified, is the perfect subject for satirical treatment
You might think twice about putting a nappy fetishist centre stage in an opera. But the very funny, very foul-mouthed, superbly sung Jerry Springer: The Opera did exactly that, and turned out to be one of the most original events staged last year. But the work was unfinished.
Now this satirical tribute to trash telly is coming back, in an extended version, to the Battersea Arts Centre. It will not be short of an audience. For the concert performances last August there was no official press night and not much coverage, but the word of mouth was so enthusiastic that the show sold out without being advertised. Soon Hal Prince was emailing the composer, asking what was going on. Nicholas Hytner, who (encouragingly for frequenters of the South Bank) took the trouble to see the show, has said that the National would be interested in commissioning the composer's next opera.
That composer is Richard Thomas. He is - in a laid-back way - a man with a mission. He wants to prove to doubters that opera need not be posh, melancholy and expensive. It can be demotic, caustic and cheap.
Tom Morris, the artistic director at Battersea who commissioned the work, talks of Thomas's extraordinary gift for 'matching registers of speech to melody' and of the sheer beauty of his harmonies. In the sobbing confessionals, the violent confrontations, the impassioned soliloquies played out in front of Springer, Thomas has found a perfect operatic subject.
After all, what better form than opera to project melodramatic encounters in which 'people are always screaming at each other and you can't understand a word they say'? And the roaring participation of Springer audiences make Thomas's show ideal for live performance.
Thomas's route to opera was idiosyncratic. He studied classical piano as a child, but moved into jazz and rock, writing songs for bands. And then he took to comedy, working as part of a musical-based double-act - 'lots of synchronised swimming over the keyboard'.
He's made a trance version of the 'Lacrimosa' from Mozart's requiem; he's worked with Harry Hill; he's turned out a stream of television jingles. He's a big fan of the Sex Pistols, but found his all-time showstopper when, while working as an ice-cream seller in Vienna, he first heard Mozart's Queen of the Night's aria. At the moment, he's working on The Frank Skinner Show, turning out 'soundulikes' - of anything from the Stones to Planet of the Apes .
The Springer idea has its roots in his comedy life, which made him 'paranoid about boring an audience'. He had the brilliant idea of putting down hecklers by employing a singer to hurl back coloratura insults. In exquisite diction and perfect phrasing, the soprano used to warble at a member of the audience: 'Your mother sucks cock.'
Struck by the concept, Tom Morris suggested to Thomas that he develop it. The result was a song-cycle called Tourette's Diva: 12 arias in unrelated keys and tempi in which two mezzos engaged in a frenetic sparring match. The language was demotic; the pace was rapid; the music beautiful. Thanks, Morris guesses, to Thomas's exceptional gift for 'matching registers of speech to melody', it was an instant success. Gaining in confidence, Thomas came up with the idea for a piece featuring Springer, whom he thinks of as part-Mephistopheles, part-working-class hero.
He'd done his homework on the material: hours of watching the show in the small hours when pissed. He had an exact idea of the music he wanted to produce. There has, he points out, been a revolution in musical style since most big musicals were written. And a change of attitude in listening to music which comes in part form exposure to television: 'If you watch three minutes of ads, you'll probably see 30 or 40 styles of music.' He wanted to get a musical equivalent of the crude, snap edits in the Springer show, so he used brutal cuts, and avoided cadences. When he composed a big number featuring a would-be pole dancer, he made it swell like 'classic cheesy music theatre', and then - at a point when the song could run for another minute - cut it short. 'It's like graffiti-ing your own work.'
He uses singers with wonderful voices, but no one 'looks as if they've been sitting under a sun-lamp for the last year'. He likes it when his actors are 'fat, gangly and awkward'; he likes them in their early middle age. The result is a show that looks as well as sounds authentic, that is to say grotesque, raunchy, passionate.
I saw it last summer, in a packed, rapt auditorium. It felt like a mass for the masses, with the Springer figure identifying with Christ and the opening chorus sobbing 'Jerry' with vowels so elongated that it sounded like 'Kyrie'.
'I'm not a Catholic but I do like a requiem,' says Thomas. And it felt liberatingly irreverent. The guests included a 'chick with a dick', a backwoodsman who turned out to really like flowers but not to care for people, and a chorus line of Ku Klux Klansmen who jigged as they chanted 'Jews'n' blacks can go to hell. New York Democrats as well'. There was a crucial, thrilling song called 'This Is My Jerry Springer Moment'. And there was Diaper Man: a huge bloke who stripped down to a chunky pair of nappies and, with a dummy round his neck and a baby bonnet on his head, pleaded with his girlfriend to pin him up.
The show has been expanded since then, greatly helped by the development process - a series of public try-outs of work in progress - and the initiative of Battersea. Thomas offered little tasters from his first draft there, giving a beer away to anyone in the audience who came up with suggestions. Stewart Lee - Lee and Herring's Fist of Fun and other comedy adventures - has become involved, contributing to the libretto and directing. Avalon Promotions and Us Productions have invested in the show. But production money is needed if this is to have a further life. It deserves one.
The lazy convention has it that while films are full of innovation, theatre is creaking to a halt, shackled to the past. But it would be hard to find a movie to match this for invention and imagination.
Jerry Springer: The Opera will be at Battersea Arts Centre (BAC) from 5-23 February
Stewart Lee
2001-12-31T16:28:44+00:00
Jerry Springer, trash TV personified, is the perfect subject for satirical treatment You might think twice about putting a nappy fetishist centre stage in an opera. But the very funny, very foul-mouthed, superbly sung Jerry Springer: The Opera did exactly that, and turned out to be one of the most original events staged last year. But the work was unfinished. Now this satirical tribute to trash telly is coming back, in an extended version, to the Battersea Arts Centre. It will not be short of an audience. For the concert performances last August there was no official press night and not much coverage, but the word of mouth was so enthusiastic that the show sold out without being advertised. Soon Hal Prince was emailing the composer, asking what was going on. Nicholas Hytner, who (encouragingly for frequenters of the South Bank) took the trouble to see the show, has said that the National would be interested in commissioning the composer's next opera. That composer is Richard Thomas. He is - in a laid-back way - a man with a mission. He wants to prove to doubters that opera need not be posh, melancholy and expensive. It can be demotic, caustic and cheap. Tom Morris, the artistic director at Battersea who commissioned the work, talks of Thomas's extraordinary gift for 'matching registers of speech to melody' and of the sheer beauty of his harmonies. In the sobbing confessionals, the violent confrontations, the impassioned soliloquies played out in front of Springer, Thomas has found a perfect operatic subject. After all, what better form than opera to project melodramatic encounters in which 'people are always screaming at each other and you can't understand a word they say'? And the roaring participation of Springer audiences make Thomas's show ideal for live performance. Thomas's route...
LOOKING more like Heath Ledger's Joker than the Virgin Queen, Simon Munnery is, nevertheless, surprisingly, perfectly cast as Elizabeth I in this dementedly enjoyable follow-up to Late But Live with Boswell and Johnson. Once again he's joined by Miles Jupp, as Sir Walter Raleigh, in a show scripted by Stewart Lee.
The result of all these stellar talents coming together is just a joy; a lavish, mad multimedia bash that recalls Munnery and Lee's semi-legendary epic Cluub Z that debuted in Edinburgh way back in 1997.
Although this show doesn't quite approach the scale of Cluub Z, it is quite understandable – that show played to packed houses every night yet still lost thousands. This one, you hope, might make a few quid.
Jupp cuts quite the dash as the resurrected Raleigh, obviously expecting a hero's welcome in Scotland as he popularised both smoking and the potato. Without him, he says, our diet would consist merely of brown sauce and alcohol.
But when Munnery enters he commands the stage; his Elizabeth is a throwback to the Nietzschean übernerd he played in his League Against Tedium persona – overbearing, arrogant, insane and shockingly regal.
This supremely silly show is handsomely mounted and benefits immeasurably from some live authentic 16th-century music performed by a perfectly deadpan Jane Watkins as enslaved American Indian Prince Tinymeat ("mind of a child").
While Elizabeth's closing speech – a vain attempt to give this lunacy a point – doesn't really work, it's hardly worth complaining about. The Spanish Armada battle sequence alone is enough to make up for any minor flaws.
Until 25 August.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-20T20:20:35+01:00
LOOKING more like Heath Ledger's Joker than the Virgin Queen, Simon Munnery is, nevertheless, surprisingly, perfectly cast as Elizabeth I in this dementedly enjoyable follow-up to Late But Live with Boswell and Johnson. Once again he's joined by Miles Jupp, as Sir Walter Raleigh, in a show scripted by Stewart Lee. The result of all these stellar talents coming together is just a joy; a lavish, mad multimedia bash that recalls Munnery and Lee's semi-legendary epic Cluub Z that debuted in Edinburgh way back in 1997. Although this show doesn't quite approach the scale of Cluub Z, it is quite understandable – that show played to packed houses every night yet still lost thousands. This one, you hope, might make a few quid. Jupp cuts quite the dash as the resurrected Raleigh, obviously expecting a hero's welcome in Scotland as he popularised both smoking and the potato. Without him, he says, our diet would consist merely of brown sauce and alcohol. But when Munnery enters he commands the stage; his Elizabeth is a throwback to the Nietzschean übernerd he played in his League Against Tedium persona – overbearing, arrogant, insane and shockingly regal. This supremely silly show is handsomely mounted and benefits immeasurably from some live authentic 16th-century music performed by a perfectly deadpan Jane Watkins as enslaved American Indian Prince Tinymeat ("mind of a child"). While Elizabeth's closing speech – a vain attempt to give this lunacy a point – doesn't really work, it's hardly worth complaining about. The Spanish Armada battle sequence alone is enough to make up for any minor flaws. Until 25 August.
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...
The danger in meeting politicians is that they seem all right and then, as a comedian, it is much harder to summon up the manufactured anger required to despise them for personal commercial gain. I have a mortgage. I can’t afford to find myself thinking things like “You know, Ken Clarke isn’t so bad once you get to know him.” Hate is money! And I have to pump it out to a deadline!!
In the noughties I had a 25-minute routine about Michael Portillo looking like the Cuprinol wood stain goblin, which was gradually becoming the spine of a new three-hour show. But after I met Portillo on BBC1’s This Week, he seemed belatedly reasonable in that way that ex-Tories often do, and I found I could no longer suggest he was a wood stain goblin with any conviction. Another revenue stream ran dry.
I don’t like going on TV, but I will make an exception for This Week, of which I am a huge fan. People always ask me what Andrew Neil’s dogs are like in real life. To answer that question once and for all, Scrubber is nice, but Molly stinks and the BBC had to hush it up when she bit Jacob Rees-Mogg in his North East Somerset constituency. Though to be fair, Rees-Mogg had subjected the dog to a cruel and sustained floccinaucinihilipilification.
Last Sunday morning, I further compromised my embargo and appeared on Peston’s ITV politics niche, Peston’s Weekly Thought Nook™. Peston introduced himself to me while reclining in a makeup chair: “Hello, I’m Peston. And today I’ll be talking to ballroom-dancing politico Ed Balls, and Ukip’s Suzanne Evans. Stay with me.”
I thought Peston’s greeting oddly formal and impersonal, and then realised he was being filmed for a trailer, and was addressing the British public en masse, not me individually. I felt stupid for not understanding how TV worked, like when I was little and I thought Harold Wilson could see me through the television.
Next I went to the green room, which is showbiz language for the place where the stars wait their turn to go on TV with Peston, or Andrew Neil, or whoever’s show it is. In the old days it could have been Russell Harty for example. Or Gus Honeybun.
The green room doesn’t have to be green, or even a room. There isn’t a green room on This Week on BBC1 in case the Daily Mail says it’s too luxurious. On This Week there’s just some chairs in a corridor and a table with old fishing magazines on it, like at the proctologist’s. “Andrew Neil will see you now.” Peston is much better.
I’m aware that writing about what happens in the green room is a betrayal of an unspoken showbiz-politics rule. Like Vegas, what happens in the green room stays in the green room. It’s supposed to be a safe space, in a theatre or at a TV studio, where performers and contributors shouldn’t feel they are being watched. Journalists went into my dressing room at the Leicester Square theatre and reported that I used Lynx deodorant. I felt violated.
Nowadays I find it very difficult being in the green room with younger, newer comedians, as I feel my age and supposed status mean I am permanently required to be in presidential mode. And I mean this in the old sense of “presidential”, meaning magnanimous, patient and generous, rather than in the modern sense of presidential, meaning being a corrupt, pussy-grabbing racist. How quickly words change their meanings.
In the Peston green room I sat next to Suzanne Evans from the Ukips. I tried to make small talk. She agreed that when Nigel Farage, earlier that week, had threatened to unleash a pussy-grabbing Trump sex attack robot on Theresa May, it had been a bit much.
Suzanne Evans from the Ukips was wearing a giant Remembrance Day poppy made of cloth. Jeremy Corbyn came on TV wearing a tiny badge of a poppy. I said, “Your poppy’s massive isn’t it Suzanne? Jeremy Corbyn’s is tiny. He’s a traitor, isn’t he?”
Suzanne Evans from the Ukips didn’t say much, and I worried that she had my card marked for being one of the liberal comedians that dominate all comedy now, to little or no effect in real terms. Perhaps she thought I was trying to generate material for a funny column. Which I wasn’t. At the time.
Later on, when Marine Le Pen came on the BBC news being really, really racist, Suzanne Evans from the Ukips shook her head disapprovingly, as if Le Pen had crossed a racist line in the alt-right sand. I started wondering about gradations of tolerance, of how our relationship with someone, however minimal, affects our attitude to them.
On Christmas morning 1995, I came down to our kitchen, hung over, and the first sentence that was said to me, on Christmas morning, apropos of nothing, was ‘You can say what you like about Hitler, but he had some good ideas. He just went about them the wrong way.” It was Auntie Hattie, on seasonal secondment from the old people’s home, praising Hitler, on Christmas Day! On Christmas Day!! On Christmas Day in the morning!!! Sieg Heil!!!!
But we make allowances for the madness of our relatives, because they are little old ladies, and little old men, and are a bit confused probably; but we must not allow ourselves to make allowances for far-right politicians and their followers. Because the American woman with mixed-race kids I talk to at swimming lessons every Tuesday is afraid to go home; and the day after Brexit, in our cosy comedy community, an Asian comedian was told to go back where he came from by an emboldened heckler at the Comedy Store, historic home of politically correct alternative comedy, the sort of incident I haven’t seen since the 80s.
And that’s why, after next week’s This Week, I’m not meeting any more TV politicians. These aren’t the times for self-loathing liberals to seek to understand the leaders of the global far right, or their supporters. That ship sailed when Trump put Breitbart into the White House. We should be in crisis-management mode. It’s time to reassert a fundamental principle, namely that there’s no excuse for bigotry, whichever alt-right buzzword you get Boris or Steve Bannon to rebrand it with. And if that means no more free green-room bacon sandwiches on Sunday morning for me, then so be it. We are all going to have to make sacrifices.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-20T12:21:44+00:00
The danger in meeting politicians is that they seem all right and then, as a comedian, it is much harder to summon up the manufactured anger required to despise them for personal commercial gain. I have a mortgage. I can’t afford to find myself thinking things like “You know, Ken Clarke isn’t so bad once you get to know him.” Hate is money! And I have to pump it out to a deadline!! In the noughties I had a 25-minute routine about Michael Portillo looking like the Cuprinol wood stain goblin, which was gradually becoming the spine of a new three-hour show. But after I met Portillo on BBC1’s This Week, he seemed belatedly reasonable in that way that ex-Tories often do, and I found I could no longer suggest he was a wood stain goblin with any conviction. Another revenue stream ran dry. I don’t like going on TV, but I will make an exception for This Week, of which I am a huge fan. People always ask me what Andrew Neil’s dogs are like in real life. To answer that question once and for all, Scrubber is nice, but Molly stinks and the BBC had to hush it up when she bit Jacob Rees-Mogg in his North East Somerset constituency. Though to be fair, Rees-Mogg had subjected the dog to a cruel and sustained floccinaucinihilipilification. Last Sunday morning, I further compromised my embargo and appeared on Peston’s ITV politics niche, Peston’s Weekly Thought Nook™. Peston introduced himself to me while reclining in a makeup chair: “Hello, I’m Peston. And today I’ll be talking to ballroom-dancing politico Ed Balls, and Ukip’s Suzanne Evans. Stay with me.” I thought Peston’s greeting oddly formal and impersonal, and then realised he was being filmed for a trailer, and was addressing the British...
With an understated entrance: “oh, Stewart Lee has let himself go.” The paunchy comedian ambled on to his stage to show off the craft that has earned him genuine plaudits and metaphoric tomatoes for a number of decades.
The pandemic has taken its toll on all of us. Not least on Lee and his perspective on comedians and life. As Lee confessed… “I’m now bald, fat, deaf, have high blood pressure and according to the local GP only capable of chair based activities.” He clearly has had time to think, reflect and re-evaluate…
The first show Tornedo saw the stand-up comedian explore the premise of miscommunication and being misunderstood. All the while, deconstructing the craft of the comedian – highlighting the fact that T.I.M.I.N.G is all important – as ever though, I think Lee’s desire to force the audience to think is paramount. The rhetorical devices, techniques and repetition are at times what receive the greatest laughs. Only Lee can stand silently in front of a sell-out theatre for a casual age for the audience to infer and write the narrative of the joke themselves.
Lee has honed the ability to really laugh at himself and openly mocks his persona to great effect. Just read the quotes on his website. The final anecdotal story of the first show explored the introduction of the multi-millionaire comedian late to the stage who blamed Lee for the reason. The voice, behaviour and facial expressions alerted the audience to how he dealt with the situation, badly – true tragicomedy.
The tragedy unfolded further as at the end of the comedic vignette Lee found himself outside a certain Comedy Store. The poignant confession that some of the comedians he worked with, had given up, or had sadly passed away did not go unnoticed by the compassionate majority. True pathos.
Amplified bathos greeted the final act as the “most expensive prop used for a three second joke” was employed for memorable effect.
Snowflake, the second half show is a work in process having been written and worked on over the last two plus years and this is obvious. The seeming chaotic scattergun approach of verbal concentric circles has been polished to an impressive performance. Although, as ever his determination to corrupt the medium ensures we knew the ending before the show gets under way.
Reviewers and detractors maintain his jokes are laboured and convoluted with a punch line every twenty five minutes is a clichéd and misguided view of Lee’s art form. Conversely, his visual use of a lectern – twice – to mock another “supposed comedian” was a joke of minimalist distillation.
Lees, intelligence snows in and the insistence on playing with polysyllable words and academic references works with his erudite audience. It is not enough to state he was drunk, the phrase “I didn’t calibrate my drinking” will be employed by many on-lookers I am sure. In polite Malvernian society the C-bomb is strictly taboo. However, Lee knows his audience and the determination to utter and repeat the expletive ensured complicit laughs and a routine that took nearly twenty five minutes to get the punchlines. Lee’s comedy vehicle keeps on giving…
He even found time for a little crowd participation…is the firebrand mellowing I wonder?
Given we knew the ending, the faux-mawkish ending was even funnier when the prop snow failed to find its target. What was just as humorous was the triptych of jokes questioning Johnson’s achievements in the final act. You have to concur that Stewart Lee, regardless if you see him as a “Smug Bastard” (Peter Fears, on Twitter) or “Stewart Lee is not funny and has nothing to say” (Daily Telegraph)…or you see him as a deft exponent of his art, Lee is as wonderfully unique as a single snowflake.
Stewart Lee
2022-02-17T19:47:14+00:00
With an understated entrance: “oh, Stewart Lee has let himself go.” The paunchy comedian ambled on to his stage to show off the craft that has earned him genuine plaudits and metaphoric tomatoes for a number of decades. The pandemic has taken its toll on all of us. Not least on Lee and his perspective on comedians and life. As Lee confessed… “I’m now bald, fat, deaf, have high blood pressure and according to the local GP only capable of chair based activities.” He clearly has had time to think, reflect and re-evaluate… The first show Tornedo saw the stand-up comedian explore the premise of miscommunication and being misunderstood. All the while, deconstructing the craft of the comedian – highlighting the fact that T.I.M.I.N.G is all important – as ever though, I think Lee’s desire to force the audience to think is paramount. The rhetorical devices, techniques and repetition are at times what receive the greatest laughs. Only Lee can stand silently in front of a sell-out theatre for a casual age for the audience to infer and write the narrative of the joke themselves. Lee has honed the ability to really laugh at himself and openly mocks his persona to great effect. Just read the quotes on his website. The final anecdotal story of the first show explored the introduction of the multi-millionaire comedian late to the stage who blamed Lee for the reason. The voice, behaviour and facial expressions alerted the audience to how he dealt with the situation, badly – true tragicomedy. The tragedy unfolded further as at the end of the comedic vignette Lee found himself outside a certain Comedy Store. The poignant confession that some of the comedians he worked with, had given up, or had sadly passed away did not go unnoticed by the...
Lee’s stand-up show mocked the narcissism of the our atomised digital age while forever keeping a jaundiced eye out for his own reflection as he commented on his techniques and his popularity. The result was clever, as always, but also joyous: the most consistently funny show of a consistently daring 30-year career.
Stewart Lee
2019-12-19T00:08:04+00:00
Lee’s stand-up show mocked the narcissism of the our atomised digital age while forever keeping a jaundiced eye out for his own reflection as he commented on his techniques and his popularity. The result was clever, as always, but also joyous: the most consistently funny show of a consistently daring 30-year career.
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...
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.
There’s a new photo of Nigel Farage and the Reform treasurer, Nick Candy, who partied through the pandemic at Lord Shaun “Bum and Boobs” Bailey of Paddington’s Pissedmas disco with a load of dancing Tory spads in horrible Christmas jumpers, meeting Elon Musk at Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago document storage unit slash vanity art display mausoleum. How’s that for an opening para? It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. They think it’s all over. It is now.
The last time Farage posed like this was eight years ago, with his fellow bad boys of Brexit and Trump himself at the same Trump Tower lift where Michael Gove contemporaneously observed “an immensely dignified African American operator”. But now Farage is finally standing next to the organ-grinder in charge of democracy’s hand-cranked dance of death, instead of the orange monkey whose jaunty capering distracts the punters while their passports are lifted and burned.
Farage has openly stated he hopes to find ways to funnel Musk’s offers of enormous funding for the British far right through the UK arm of Musk’s X platform, and knows he can do this legally; and we’ve seen how Musk’s spectrum retooling of vast sections of social media helped deprioritise liberal voices and push Trump towards power, like someone locking a philosophy student in a cupboard at a raucous frat party.
Once, Musk’s social media platform allowed the sharing of these columns, for example, in their thousands and garlanded me with limitless ego-massaging witty compliments from clever, funny liberals. Now they land in the less than hundreds, accompanied by AI images of Trump as a Marvel superhero firing a bazooka of justice at some Mexican peasants. Cry liberal tears, muesli boy!
Everyone I used to look at on Twitter, currently X, has gone elsewhere, except for my racist auntie, a man who paints pictures of moss, and the eternally youthful 70s comedy art sex icon Robin Askwith, who just can’t seem to extract himself from the Liz Fraser foaming bathtub of Musk’s echo chamber of hate.
Musk is open in his contempt for Keir Starmer, but also vocal in his support of the far-right fraudster Tommy Robinson, having promoted his discredited racist documentary Silenced to 200 million of his followers, who view it as some kind of tablet of law, dragged breathlessly down from the mountaintop by a man made of unrefrigerated sausages with a perpetually runny nose and an imminently exploding forehead.
But by all means, let the British parliament allow Musk to buy his pets into power while our leaders stand around trading witty barbs about steak lunches and tuna sandwiches, the useless twats – Nero laughing at someone’s Greggs order as Rome burns and is rebuilt in the shape of a million revolving swastikas.
I’m calling it. This Farage-Musk-Candy photo op marks the death of British democracy. And there’s nothing we can do about it. Prepare for fascism-lite in Farage’s future UK and get out while you still can. Oh! But you can’t. Thanks to Brexit. That must have been one of the many Brexit benefits Kemi Badenoch was talking about in PMQs last Wednesday. That and not being able to afford the postage for formerly cheap old Serge Gainsbourg 7in singles from French secondhand record dealers.
Don’t believe me? Look at how I am always right. Over and over again. In 2025, my 15-year old standup routine about how Russell Brand was a sleazy creep is looking evermore prescient. And three weeks ago, I’d just had a massive £6,000 prop of Gregg Wallace made for my new standup show, Stewart Lee vs the Man-Wulf,which rapidly unfolding events rendered more resonant five days before opening night.
Sometimes, like Richard Burton waking each morning in The Medusa Touch to news reports of mass death and destruction that he feels his own dreams are causing, I worry that the worst imaginings of my most cynical standup routines are somehow being recast as reality by malevolent Lovecraftian squid gods, hellbent on the destruction of human civilisation. Did I cause all this to happen? Kill me. Kill me now. Save your society! Save yourselves! I am doing this! Me!
But unlike the clients of Cambridge Analytica, Musk doesn’t even need to hide what he is doing. I think Musk will use his unlimited wealth and all-pervasive cyber-influence to install Farage at the head of some Tory-Reform hybrid opposition party, remove the current government and have his way with our country over an Aga like a jodhpurred male lead in a Disney+ Jilly Cooper adaptation. And I think Farage will be our leader by the end of the decade, booze and fags notwithstanding.
Because Musk is part of the incoming American presidency, Starmer seems to think he has to accept this open collusion, this direct attempt by a foreign power to interfere in the functions of our democracy, as business as usual. We seem to be unduly upset that Prince Andrew, a man who makes the phrase “loose cannon” seem unfair on insecurely fastened antique weaponry, has been a fool to befriend a possible Chinese spy, whose presumed paymasters wish us ill. But here’s Farage, scrabbling about on his knees before Musk behind the bus station downtown in a hail of loose ha’pennies, and our politicians just stand around like spare princes at a Jeffrey Epstein cocktail sausage party.
The Washington Post’s slogan, irrelevant since Jeff Bezos bought the paper, was: “Democracy dies in darkness.” Well, democracy is dying here in plain sight. Merry Christmas your arse, I pray God it’s our last.
Stewart Lee
2024-12-22T14:36:15+00:00
There’s a new photo of Nigel Farage and the Reform treasurer, Nick Candy, who partied through the pandemic at Lord Shaun “Bum and Boobs” Bailey of Paddington’s Pissedmas disco with a load of dancing Tory spads in horrible Christmas jumpers, meeting Elon Musk at Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago document storage unit slash vanity art display mausoleum. How’s that for an opening para? It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. They think it’s all over. It is now. The last time Farage posed like this was eight years ago, with his fellow bad boys of Brexit and Trump himself at the same Trump Tower lift where Michael Gove contemporaneously observed “an immensely dignified African American operator”. But now Farage is finally standing next to the organ-grinder in charge of democracy’s hand-cranked dance of death, instead of the orange monkey whose jaunty capering distracts the punters while their passports are lifted and burned. Farage has openly stated he hopes to find ways to funnel Musk’s offers of enormous funding for the British far right through the UK arm of Musk’s X platform, and knows he can do this legally; and we’ve seen how Musk’s spectrum retooling of vast sections of social media helped deprioritise liberal voices and push Trump towards power, like someone locking a philosophy student in a cupboard at a raucous frat party. Once, Musk’s social media platform allowed the sharing of these columns, for example, in their thousands and garlanded me with limitless ego-massaging witty compliments from clever, funny liberals. Now they land in the less than hundreds, accompanied by AI images of Trump as a Marvel superhero firing a bazooka of justice at some Mexican peasants. Cry liberal tears, muesli boy! Everyone I used to look at on Twitter, currently X, has gone elsewhere,...
Veteran stand-up Stewart Lee explains the lure of the Fringe, 10 comics, young and old, tell us whether the scene is all smiles. And, for the punchline, a concise history of 'alternative comedy'Rich Hall (in hat, then clockwise), Sean Lock, Stewart Lee, Tameka Empson and Phill Jupitus
Next year I'll turn 40, and for my generation of stand-up comedians there's a Year Zero attitude to 1979. Holy texts found in a skip out the back of the London listing magazine Time Out tell us how Alexei Sayle, Arnold Brown, Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders destroyed the British comedy hegemony of Upper-Class Oxbridge Satire and Working-Class Bow Tie-Sporting Racism with a few explosive, post-punk punch-lines. Then, with the fragments of these smashed idols and their own hands, they built the pioneering stand-up clubs The Comedy Store and The Comic Strip. In so doing they founded the egalitarian Polytechnic of Laughs that is today's comedy establishment. Every religion needs a Genesis myth and this is stand-up comedy's...
The comedy community I joined in the late Eighties still retained traces of its birth in opposition to both the political and the entertainment establishments of its day. But what's happened to comedy on the front line, in comedy clubs and at the Edinburgh Fringe? Would the pioneers of yesteryear recognise the territory they carved out?
In the Eighties, London clubs such as Jongleurs and The Comedy Store hosted stand-up comedy, satirical songs, and even magic. Now a massive chain of Jongleurs and Comedy Stores nationwide sells simple man-and-a-mic stand-up to audiences of stag and hen nights – they're a branded franchise, like TGI Fridays or Pizza Hut, serving up comedians and chips in wicker baskets before the disco and late bar. For this reason, the better acts that play Jongleurs gigs have a set which bears little relation to their best work. The London Comedy Store declares itself the National Theatre of Comedy. But like Jongleurs, the Store is now a night out first and foremost, and a platform for adventurous work second. Their bookers ignore the risky, innovative acts that would justify their hyperbolic marketing in favour of guaranteed crowd-pleasers with often breathtaking people skills, squashed talents struggling to work good material into an environment where it's not necessarily wanted, and a few jaded veterans hanging in there for the not-enormous fees.
But the blandness of the big chains means that in every city that has a Franchised Laff Retail Outlet ™, at least one alternative venue seems to have thrived in opposition to it, such as XS Mallarkey in Manchester, or The Comedy Box in Bristol, which have almost no crossover with the franchises in terms of acts. The same sort of seismic shift that pitched The Comedy Store against Bernard Manning's Embassy Club 30 years ago now plays itself out again, but in a post-Blair Britain. What we need is a phrase, such as Janet Street-Porter's early Nineties classic: "Comedy is the new rock'*'roll" , to nail the New Alternative Comedy and we'll have a full-scale movement, primed and ready, for fans and performers to align themselves to. The difference today is that the front line that the French and Saunders generation manned has moved North from Soho and Leicester Square and permanently repositioned itself in Edinburgh in August.
I first worked on the Edinburgh Fringe in 1987 (I'm approaching my 20th Fringe), so I feel qualified to state that, right now, Britain and Ireland have the greatest stand-up comedians on the planet and that the Edinburgh Fringe is, for one month, the world's comedy capital. And they come from all over to be in the Scottish capital in August. There are brilliant Antipodean acts, such as Greg Fleet who is visiting the Fringe this month. All Canadians, meanwhile, are hilarious. But while American stand-ups, such as Lenny Bruce and George Carlin, crystalised the art form, their successors have largely forgotten what it is for. Whenever a high-profile US act tours here the quality of their work is usually disappointing. Any US comics with a real love of the form, such as Paul Provenza, end up returning to the Fringe again and again, in awe of our superior skills; or, as Rich Hall does, they spend as much time as possible in the UK, where the diminished commercial opportunities are vastly outweighed by the value of participating in a comedy community that seems to care about what it's doing.
The schism in the live stand-up scene is most evident in Edinburgh. For the last few years at the Fringe, acts that would wither before the hen and stag parties of the franchised comedy club chains have received superb reviews and won awards, before returning to their usual life of obscurity, near-poverty and patronising dismissal by big club promoters. Conversely, reliable franchise-club headliners – who can clear £80,000 a year doing corporate gigs andJongleurs weekends – venture to the Fringe to sacrifice a month of massive pay-days in search of credibility, but usually wind up with a set of two-star reviews from the critics and massive chips on their shoulders. Why? Because in Edinburgh stand-up is actually reviewed by critics and consumed by audiences who believe it's more than just something you go to to get drunk with a big gang of mates (one of whom will end the night chained to a dead horse with his pubic hair shaved off).
So, instead of complaining that stand-up comedy in Edinburgh is destroying theatre at the Festival (it isn't), we should accept the fact that we are still world leaders in something, and that we got here without public subsidy or private investment, via endless clammy summers of little weirdos working away in tiny Scottish rooms at their own expense. At the Melbourne Comedy Festival and at Montreal's Just For Laughs, a lot of public and private money is spent enticing comedians from all over the world to perform. Just For Laughs struggles to feel like much more than the Comedy Industry Trade Fair that ignorant journalists and cynical pundits accuse the Edinburgh Fringe of being. In Montreal, American actors pretending to be stand-ups perform endless strings of seven-minute showcases in the hope of a lucrative TV deal to audiences comprised largely of American industry insiders. The Montreal festival's choices of foreign talent often reflect this conservatism, or are the result of strong-arming by powerful agents. Last year Just For Laughs took the bold initiative of scheduling a series of actual full-length shows by respected practitioners of the art of stand-up from all over the world, and local media and visiting LA media executives reeled with shock as they struggled to comprehend true stand-up comedy, beyond its degraded American form.
But nothing like the breadth, quality or quantity of Edinburgh Fringe comedy is achieved. At the world's biggest and best arts festival, the performers in the Edinburgh Fringe effectively promote themselves and cover their own inevitable losses. In Edinburgh there is still a sense that strange things are happening without anyone's permission. Unlike any other major festival in the world, there isn't a selection procedure for the Edinburgh Fringe – the Fringe director is an administrator, not a curator or a programmer. People just invite themselves by booking slots, buying a "line-ad" , or entry, in the programme, and getting overdrafts to pay for their shows (an afternoon slot in a middling venue might cost a stand-up £5,000 to £10,000 for the three-week duration).
Sure, TV commissioners and journalists and agents can come and spectate, but the Fringe would be happening with or without them. From the bars of their hotels, industry visitors and cultural commentators may imagine the Fringe is the stock exchange with jokes: "Sell white male stand-ups! Buy female Asian sketch groups!", "The improv market is about to crash! " But here on the trading floor it feels like Babel, and it's brilliant.' Not that you'd know this from the comedy broadcast on TV or radio. A BBC Radio 4 producer earlier this year put the problem in this way: he explained how his father once came to the Fringe to visit him, and was exposed to talents in tiny rooms above pubs far superior to anything he came across on TV or radio, and was confused as to why this was the case.
The producer explained that the procedures which led to talent being spotted or commissioned were many and complex, and that it was often difficult to translate what was great about them to other mediums. Then eventually he heard the sound of his own dissembling voice and blurted out, "You're right. It's ridiculous isn't it." Few first-time visitors to the Fringe return with their sense of cosmic fair-play intact. "These people are br illiant," they say, "why haven't I heard of any of them when Joe Pasquale is a household name?" Well, I haven't really worked in television or radio comedy for nearly a decade now, but here's an urchin's eye view through the letterbox of that big, fancy house.
We know that the BBC's own trailers are as believable as their phone-in competiton results. Imagine if the BBC was actually allowed to make programmes as fascinating, tasteful and diverse as its promotional " idents". (I'm still waiting for that show where the contemporary dancers perform in slow motion on top of a skyscraper.) The most dishonest BBC ident is the one that alludes to everyone's favourite sit-com of the last 10 years, The Office, as being a product of risk-taking enabled by " the unique way the BBC is funded", however, everyone in the business knows that the then controller of BBC2 hated it and tried to pull it after the first show. The Office was unique in tone, style and vision, and as such is not at all typical of television comedy commissioning procedures, which punish flair and reward malleable, cooperative conformity.
It's unfair to single out any particular programme as an example, but perhaps the worst example of recent years is the BBC3 sketch show Rush Hour. Where classic sketch shows such as Big Train or Monty Python's Flying Circus were defined by the distinctive writing and performing style of the teams, Rush Hour, and its contemporary ilk, are defined thematically, by subject. It is hard for TV executives to quantify style or a particular comic aesthetic. They are more comfortable talking about where a comedy might be set, or what kind of objects might feature in it. Rush Hour differed from many of the current crop, which have concentrated almost exclusively on the world of thirty-something relationships lately, to look instead at the hilarious world of transport. The result was a loveless, producer-led mechanism for squandering talents such as Marek Larwood and Adam Buxton, both of whom have appeared at The Fringe pursuing their own unique, individual ideas. This, like many current comedy shows, was clearly a programme that no one, in their hearts, really wanted to make.
Radio, by its simpler nature, could act quickly to capture blossoming talents in the moment with small mobile units. But Radio 4's laborious commissioning procedures mean its comedy remains almost exclusively the kind of middle-class sketch shows where people wander in and out of shops asking for things, establishing an absurd premise, and working it through to its logical and predictable conclusion in irritating student-review voices. Radio 4's most formally radical comedies remain the subversive quiz-show formats, such as Just a Minute and I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue, developed in the Sixties and Seventies by the now wizened veterans that still staff them. I am a middle-aged, middle-class man, who once wrote for a 1980s Oxbridge student review, and even I find Radio 4 comedy middle-aged, middle-class and studenty.
It takes courage to allow talents with a vision to follow that vision – and The Office happened despite the BBC rather than because of it – and the only place you will see the comedian's vision undiluted by television executives is on The Fringe, or, increasingly, on the internet.
There are few modern sights more depressing than a 39-year-old man who has just figured out iTunes sitting down to write a piece about how he feels the internet may change the entertainment industry. At the moment, YouTube is full of genius-nerds developing their own funny 50-second fragments, that can generate enormous feedback without an orchestrated campaign. But now TV comedy producers want some of that internet excitement. Again, because none of them are smart enough to analyse the tone of individual aesthetics of comedy, they are excited instead by the delivery mechanism, in this case the internet. It was the YouTube success of some short pieces the writer-performer Peter Serafinowicz shot himself and posted that gained him his forthcoming BBC series, rather than his years of quiet and diligent work on various, hugely worthwhile projects such as Look Around You and Spaced.
But maybe the heady frontier days of the internet are already over. The suits are wise to it. Earlier this year, I took a script to a television production company. They suggested developing the characters on the web as icons people could interact with, to generate a buzz. I just wanted money to write a script, words and jokes and stuff, on pieces of paper, like in the old days, so I went home and cried. But on the positive side, if a stand-up comedian could eliminate the desire for mass acclaim, the internet could be one of the tools that relieves him or her of the need to cooperate with broadcasters. I have 5,000 MySpace friends. If each of them came to a gig, or bought a cd, every year, I would make a great living for the rest of my life without needing my popularity to be brokered by the unreliable interface of television or radio. The age of the MySpace comedian cannot be far off. Then we will be able to make the transition from the pre-lapsarian comedy paradise of the Edinburgh Fringe and bypass the broadcaster to achieve direct access to mass audiences, without needing to get any dirt on our shoes. Oh, let it be soon.
In the meantime, the Fringe remains the best place to experience the real cutting edge of comedy, and its role in facilitating cultural exchange, introducing new talents and establishing critical criteria is more important than it has been for some time. This is the good stuff. And a quick statistical scan of show titles in a festival that hasn't been programmed by a governing intelligence, or inhibited by any across-the-board artistic policy, or dumbed-down by TV producers, will tell you what comics really want to talk about.
Last year the Blair government threatened free speech with their woolly, but only narrowly defeated, Incitement to Racial and Religious Hatred Act, and continued its "elephant in the room" approach to the causes of terrorism here at home by refusing to even discuss the possibility that British foreign policy in Iraq was in any way a factor. Twenty comedy shows in Edinburgh last year mentioned these subjects in their titles alone – but how many people caught, say, Abie Bowman's plucky Jesus – The Guantanamo Years?
Television can't respond to cultural shifts with the same speed or precision, and radio doesn't seem to want to. As for the internet, its full potential for the dissemination of quality comedy has yet to be realised. Meanwhile, the Fringe comedy show is written and up and running, without any interference. And because the Fringe attracts people, in all fields of performance, who, however delusionally, believe they are doing their thing for its own sake, it's the best barometer we have of where artists and audiences want to go next...
Stewart Lee's new show '41st Best Stand-Up Ever' is at the Udderbelly @ The Underbelly, Edinburgh, 0870 745 3083, to 26 August
Stewart Lee
2007-08-05T19:56:02+01:00
Veteran stand-up Stewart Lee explains the lure of the Fringe, 10 comics, young and old, tell us whether the scene is all smiles. And, for the punchline, a concise history of 'alternative comedy'Rich Hall (in hat, then clockwise), Sean Lock, Stewart Lee, Tameka Empson and Phill Jupitus Next year I'll turn 40, and for my generation of stand-up comedians there's a Year Zero attitude to 1979. Holy texts found in a skip out the back of the London listing magazine Time Out tell us how Alexei Sayle, Arnold Brown, Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders destroyed the British comedy hegemony of Upper-Class Oxbridge Satire and Working-Class Bow Tie-Sporting Racism with a few explosive, post-punk punch-lines. Then, with the fragments of these smashed idols and their own hands, they built the pioneering stand-up clubs The Comedy Store and The Comic Strip. In so doing they founded the egalitarian Polytechnic of Laughs that is today's comedy establishment. Every religion needs a Genesis myth and this is stand-up comedy's... The comedy community I joined in the late Eighties still retained traces of its birth in opposition to both the political and the entertainment establishments of its day. But what's happened to comedy on the front line, in comedy clubs and at the Edinburgh Fringe? Would the pioneers of yesteryear recognise the territory they carved out? In the Eighties, London clubs such as Jongleurs and The Comedy Store hosted stand-up comedy, satirical songs, and even magic. Now a massive chain of Jongleurs and Comedy Stores nationwide sells simple man-and-a-mic stand-up to audiences of stag and hen nights – they're a branded franchise, like TGI Fridays or Pizza Hut, serving up comedians and chips in wicker baskets before the disco and late bar. For this reason, the better acts that play Jongleurs gigs have a set...
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...
Today I took my four-year-old to London zoo, where I am currently appearing as the pre-recorded voice of a spider, Morgan Freeman having proved unavailable. A handler had a snowy owl on his wrist. The bird appeared comfortable with its “as seen in Harry Potter” tag, and was yet to do anything as drastic as appearing naked in Peter Shaffer’s Equus to shake it.
A man kept pushing a massive black camera into the owl’s distressed face, as it spun its head away 180 degrees, an ability I wish I had when members of the public on the tube say they don’t really like my act but their weird lonely uncle loves it and can they have a selfie for Twitter and what is my name anyway?
Hadn’t the snowy owl suffered enough, its numbers in worldwide decline, its cousins kept in cupboards by confused Daniel Radcliffe fans? But I didn’t have the stomach for direct confrontation, so I filtered my annoyance through my daughter. “Do you think the owl likes having his photo taken?” “No. He really hates it,” she replied, loudly and pointedly, realising instantly what I was trying to achieve. But the man clicked on as the owl shrank away. “Here’s the back of an owl’s head again, and here is one of its frightened face. They’re part of a study in human stupidity.”
I wish the owl had lunged at the photographer and torn out his eyes, and then vomited them up a week later as an owl pellet, taunting him with the hope his half-eaten orbs might be reintroduced to his vacant sockets, meaning he ended up with balls of dried owl vomit for eyes, chased for ever by children calling him “Captain Bird Sick Eye”. Seriously though, what has happened to you people?
On the last day of May, a dancing dog won a televised talent competition. But Britain was furious when it turned out that the dog was in fact two dogs, a TV-friendly front-dog, and an anonymous dog who had been doing all the difficult acrobatics. It was ever thus. Derren Brown has a hideous genius sibling, Darran Brown, whom the handsome TV illusionist keeps locked in a recycling bin, painstakingly planning the pranks that his photogenic brother then performs on the public. We have the culture we deserve. Anything more nuanced than a dancing dishonest dog appears wasted on us.
Craig Raine this month had a bewilderingly controversial poem published in the London Review of Books, a periodical so brilliantly removed from this fallen world that even its personal ads read like the last cris de coeur of ageing and despairing romantics, their lifelong immersion in profoundly meaningful literature having done little to prepare them for the gradual realisation that life itself is utterly meaningless, and that their long-awaited transformative moment of epiphany appears to have been lost permanently in the post.
Somehow Raine’s, to me at least, self-aware stanzas on growing old and irrelevant and impotent crossed passport control from Literary Island into the modern milieu of social media where, due to it not being either a photo of a celebrity’s buttocks or a film of an old woman falling down some steps, the work was quickly stamped to death like a defenceless duckling.
Imagine the brilliant but misanthropic jazz-racist Philip Larkin under similar contemporary scrutiny. Or even John Donne, whose belated religious fervour saw him picture the almighty as a lustful lover in Batter My Heart, Three-Person’d God. “Poet perv Donne wants God to bum him. Sick!” Thus would ye Twitter hath spaeke.
The veteran slow-core singer songwriter Mark Kozelek, similarly Twitter-traduced this month, may have enjoyed his temporary notoriety. Kozelek, it seems to me, has been dealing with critical deification since 1992 by creating an arsehole stage persona that works in dramatic opposition to accepted notions of the sensitive poet-musician.
Nonetheless, Twitter took him down for off-colour onstage comments about a female interviewer at a London show, without its army of armchair commentators having been there to know how these words played out contextually in a two-and-a-half-hour performance, or a two-and-a-half decade career. Or perhaps Kozelek is just an arsehole.
I know how it feels to be singled out for criticism by someone you admire. In 2005, Take That’s Robbie Williams walked out of my show at the Soho theatre, telling the usher he thought my voice was so boring I should do relaxation tapes. I still listen to Angels, but only while home-waxing my perineum or bleaching my anus.
It’s easy to blame Twitter, where ignorance is no barrier to an opinion, for these sudden flash-floods of uninformed judgment, but I also blame Simon Cowell and, by association, David Walliams, who knows better, for corroding the culture. In recent years Britain’s Got Talent has begun to feature the odd brilliant offbeat comedian – Latvia’s Gatis Kandis, Brighton’s Lorraine Bowen – who knowingly inhabit deliberately absurd personas, but are treated by all the judges as if they are mad, an embarrassment. Walliams here is a traitor, a double agent, who, unlike the human filth that makes up the rest of the panel, understands that these people are artists, having once been one himself, but doesn’t want to let on, in case it makes him look dangerously clever.
How would the great working-class surrealists of the music hall era fare against Cowell’s ignorant crew? Mr Pastry, who tangled himself in a tuba for 10 minutes, would be dismissed as a musician with no idea of how to hold his instrument. And Little Tich’s trademark failure to keep track of his hat, that so impressed JB Priestley, would be seen as evidence only of a lack of rehearsal.
Admitting his failure where the double dogs were concerned, Cowell said, “I didn’t really know what I was judging until afterwards so I felt like a bit of an idiot.” But this is true of everything he judges. He hasn’t begun to grasp even the beginnings of his inadequacy.
The idea that culture has “dumbed-down” is a cliche. So let’s rebrand the idea as the Failure of Nuance. And the failure of our entertainment and information brokers to float the idea of dualities of meaning, of context, has wider political and social consequences. Liam Byrne’s letter, his outgoing joke about the Treasury, was waved around repeatedly by David Cameron, and may have cost Labour an election. It’s the perfect example of the kind of contextually specific playfulness that is as unlikely to survive our current stupidity as the snowy owl.
Stewart Lee’s A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre from 21 September
Stewart Lee
2015-06-14T21:36:54+01:00
Today I took my four-year-old to London zoo, where I am currently appearing as the pre-recorded voice of a spider, Morgan Freeman having proved unavailable. A handler had a snowy owl on his wrist. The bird appeared comfortable with its “as seen in Harry Potter” tag, and was yet to do anything as drastic as appearing naked in Peter Shaffer’s Equus to shake it. A man kept pushing a massive black camera into the owl’s distressed face, as it spun its head away 180 degrees, an ability I wish I had when members of the public on the tube say they don’t really like my act but their weird lonely uncle loves it and can they have a selfie for Twitter and what is my name anyway? Hadn’t the snowy owl suffered enough, its numbers in worldwide decline, its cousins kept in cupboards by confused Daniel Radcliffe fans? But I didn’t have the stomach for direct confrontation, so I filtered my annoyance through my daughter. “Do you think the owl likes having his photo taken?” “No. He really hates it,” she replied, loudly and pointedly, realising instantly what I was trying to achieve. But the man clicked on as the owl shrank away. “Here’s the back of an owl’s head again, and here is one of its frightened face. They’re part of a study in human stupidity.” I wish the owl had lunged at the photographer and torn out his eyes, and then vomited them up a week later as an owl pellet, taunting him with the hope his half-eaten orbs might be reintroduced to his vacant sockets, meaning he ended up with balls of dried owl vomit for eyes, chased for ever by children calling him “Captain Bird Sick Eye”. Seriously though, what has happened to you people? On...
Birmingham's Peel session perennials The Nightingales should be profitable post-punk survivors, a Fall or a Gang of Four, with submerged pop sensibilities that mean you can yodel along yourself.
Is their balti bowl of rock and roll, Beefheart twang, throbbing krautfunk, and Robert Lloyd’s meticulous pop-cultural lyrics too hot for you? Album eight explodes with Bullet For Gove, and peaks with His Family Has Been Informed, an arch glam terrace stomp through the UKIP heartland.
Prophets without honour. Again.
Stewart Lee
2014-04-12T21:08:09+01:00
Birmingham's Peel session perennials The Nightingales should be profitable post-punk survivors, a Fall or a Gang of Four, with submerged pop sensibilities that mean you can yodel along yourself. Is their balti bowl of rock and roll, Beefheart twang, throbbing krautfunk, and Robert Lloyd’s meticulous pop-cultural lyrics too hot for you? Album eight explodes with Bullet For Gove, and peaks with His Family Has Been Informed, an arch glam terrace stomp through the UKIP heartland. Prophets without honour. Again.
To his critics, Stewart Lee is little more than a champagne socialist: an audience-hating, Oxbridge-educated comedian who cracks cheap jokes at the expense of the establishment for an audience of similarly well-off lefties. To these accusations, Stewwy responds that we should all just be thankful he is no longer the “amphetamine communist” of his earlier years.
Over the course of two hours, the topics covered at the satirical comedian’s latest show, Much A-Stew About Nothing, oscillate between the Tories, celebrities who support the Tories, UKIP, political correctness, immigration, unemployment, middle-age, and he even squeezes in a line about Russell Brand. In short, while Lee’s personal circumstances may have changed (in his own words, he is now an “impotent, vasectomised, 45-year-old father of two”), his angle has not. And, it appears, neither has his audience. It is for this reason that, unlike too many comedians with a similar stage-life spanning decades, Lee cannot get away with recycling old jokes. We are thankful for this; he is the same old Stew that my parents also love, typical in the topical issues he challenges through laughter.
For the most part, this is a good thing. Comedians reminiscent of the 90s Golden anti-PC Age are now few and far between, at least in the mainstream comedy circuit. It is easy to criticise UKIP MEP Paul Nutall for his bigoted anti-immigration slurs, but few others today could do it with the intelligence, wit and coherence of Lee; a lesson in the history of European immigration, beginning at the moment fish stepped on to land, revealed the absurdity of Nutall’s remarks, and had the audience in fits.
At the dawn of 2014, where his history of immigration concludes, Lee has plenty of new things to hate: Twitter, which he refers to as a “voluntary state surveillance system”; dog owners, who perpetually allow their mutts to shit outside his comfortable suburban abode; and what he describes as the rampant multiculturalism in the UK today, in which state schools are encouraged to celebrate Diwali, Chinese New Year, and “LGBT harvest day”, where we can find “all the fruits”, apparently.
I take issue with Lee on jokes like the latter. Ultimately, his success lies in his ability to challenge social anxieties through comedy. So it wasn’t really his whining about these pressures that made me feel uncomfortable so much, but more because of the sheer number of jokes that made punch lines out of stigmatised groups. Too often, I was forced to wonder whether we had really made it to the 21st century after all, or if I had been transported to a bygone era when being ‘liberal’ did not necessarily mean you agreed with gay or minority rights.
According to Twitter and other corners of the pixelated realm that Lee tries to avoid, in previous warmup performances he has reaped laughs from similar lines about Chelsea Manning’s gender and anal sex. Far from challenging stereotypes, Lee seems to be reinforcing them.
His comments about “oligarchs” (bankers, politicians and everyone else who lives in London now, according to Lee) would have been quite funny too if he hadn’t gone on with quite so much disdain about “their prostitutes”. More than once I almost choked on my own laughter when a funny joke took a politically tasteless turn for the worse.
Stewart Lee knows the power he wields over an audience. His tales are captivating, and his politics are, for the most part, refreshing. We are invited to laugh at how fed up he is with society – and laugh at ourselves, too, when we don’t respond well enough to his one-liners. Nonetheless, it is a shame that a brilliant comedian, who is still heralded as a beacon of political satire, does not allow the real victims of social anxiety “in” on the joke, and instead makes jokes of them.
Stewart Lee
2014-01-14T23:37:13+00:00
To his critics, Stewart Lee is little more than a champagne socialist: an audience-hating, Oxbridge-educated comedian who cracks cheap jokes at the expense of the establishment for an audience of similarly well-off lefties. To these accusations, Stewwy responds that we should all just be thankful he is no longer the “amphetamine communist” of his earlier years. Over the course of two hours, the topics covered at the satirical comedian’s latest show, Much A-Stew About Nothing, oscillate between the Tories, celebrities who support the Tories, UKIP, political correctness, immigration, unemployment, middle-age, and he even squeezes in a line about Russell Brand. In short, while Lee’s personal circumstances may have changed (in his own words, he is now an “impotent, vasectomised, 45-year-old father of two”), his angle has not. And, it appears, neither has his audience. It is for this reason that, unlike too many comedians with a similar stage-life spanning decades, Lee cannot get away with recycling old jokes. We are thankful for this; he is the same old Stew that my parents also love, typical in the topical issues he challenges through laughter. For the most part, this is a good thing. Comedians reminiscent of the 90s Golden anti-PC Age are now few and far between, at least in the mainstream comedy circuit. It is easy to criticise UKIP MEP Paul Nutall for his bigoted anti-immigration slurs, but few others today could do it with the intelligence, wit and coherence of Lee; a lesson in the history of European immigration, beginning at the moment fish stepped on to land, revealed the absurdity of Nutall’s remarks, and had the audience in fits. At the dawn of 2014, where his history of immigration concludes, Lee has plenty of new things to hate: Twitter, which he refers to as a “voluntary state surveillance...
The older Stewart Lee gets the more militant he becomes. Carpet Remnant World finds stand-up's Tony Benn raging at the state of the nation with satirical style.
It also finds him raging at the state of comedy. There are swipes at Frankie Boyle, Russell Kane, Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais and more. Deceased writers do not escape this dissident's deadpan wrath. Look out George Orwell.
As he explains, with brutal sarcasm, there is no narrative. Unfortunately he never has adventures which inspire material because he stays in watching cartoons with his son. This is merely a disingenuous dig at comedians who turn their lives into anecdotage. Lee has his Fairtrade cake and scoffs it, wittily describing his tedious domesticity, while getting gags out of Twitter and Googling himself. A highlight is reading unprintable online insults over a jazz soundtrack.
This set boasts little of the trademark repetition or taboo-busting of recent monologues, so by his standards it feels underpowered. It is, however, polished and funny, particularly if you are a comedy trainspotter. Michael McIntyre fans may be baffled but for Lee's chin-stroking devotees Carpet Remnant World cuts a hilarious rug.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-24T13:00:04+00:00
The older Stewart Lee gets the more militant he becomes. Carpet Remnant World finds stand-up's Tony Benn raging at the state of the nation with satirical style. It also finds him raging at the state of comedy. There are swipes at Frankie Boyle, Russell Kane, Jimmy Carr, Ricky Gervais and more. Deceased writers do not escape this dissident's deadpan wrath. Look out George Orwell. As he explains, with brutal sarcasm, there is no narrative. Unfortunately he never has adventures which inspire material because he stays in watching cartoons with his son. This is merely a disingenuous dig at comedians who turn their lives into anecdotage. Lee has his Fairtrade cake and scoffs it, wittily describing his tedious domesticity, while getting gags out of Twitter and Googling himself. A highlight is reading unprintable online insults over a jazz soundtrack. This set boasts little of the trademark repetition or taboo-busting of recent monologues, so by his standards it feels underpowered. It is, however, polished and funny, particularly if you are a comedy trainspotter. Michael McIntyre fans may be baffled but for Lee's chin-stroking devotees Carpet Remnant World cuts a hilarious rug.
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...
Until recently, Stewart Lee was still flogging his own DVDs in the foyer after
his shows, but a couple of BBC2 series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and a pair of 2011 British Comedy Awards have taken him on to the next level, a state of affairs that doesn't sit entirely comfortably with this most contrary of standups.
On Carpet Remnant World ★★★★★, Lee brilliantly plays off this awkward dichotomy, dividing his audience into those who 'get' his multi-layered deconstructionism and those who are only there because they've seen him on the telly, explaining to them: 'I'm so good at stand-up, I make it look as if I can't do it.'
The show's thrust is that Lee is devoid of material, since he spends his days either driving up and down motorways to gigs or watching Scooby Doo with his young son. So he's taken to cruising London's North Circular in the vain hope that something funny will happen, thereby neatly mocking the observational style of comedy favoured by so many successful stand-ups.
Only Lee could get away with writing a show about not having a show, but he pulls all the threads together with such understated aplomb that you can't help but marvel at his utterly distinct approach. Really, it's ridiculously good.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-06T15:00:07+00:00
Until recently, Stewart Lee was still flogging his own DVDs in the foyer after his shows, but a couple of BBC2 series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle and a pair of 2011 British Comedy Awards have taken him on to the next level, a state of affairs that doesn't sit entirely comfortably with this most contrary of standups. On Carpet Remnant World ★★★★★, Lee brilliantly plays off this awkward dichotomy, dividing his audience into those who 'get' his multi-layered deconstructionism and those who are only there because they've seen him on the telly, explaining to them: 'I'm so good at stand-up, I make it look as if I can't do it.' The show's thrust is that Lee is devoid of material, since he spends his days either driving up and down motorways to gigs or watching Scooby Doo with his young son. So he's taken to cruising London's North Circular in the vain hope that something funny will happen, thereby neatly mocking the observational style of comedy favoured by so many successful stand-ups. Only Lee could get away with writing a show about not having a show, but he pulls all the threads together with such understated aplomb that you can't help but marvel at his utterly distinct approach. Really, it's ridiculously good.
Laughing Point - a branch of charitable organisation CentrePoint - hosted a sell-out show in London's Palace Theatre to raise funds and awareness for London's youth homelessness crisis.
Hilariously deadpan Stewart Lee topped the evening's line-up and any thoughts that he may be above toilet were soon flushed down the pan.
Lee spent his entire 25-minute set comparing a childhood memory of being tinkled on by school bullies to his successful comedy career.
Keeping the audience captivated, the 46-year-old managed to remain completely straight-faced as he turned his intense and acerbic wit to urine anecdotes.
Catherine Ryan, Josh Widdicombe, Joe Lycett, Aisling Bea and Tony Law also provided many laughs during their turns on the West End stage and the brilliant Daniel Kitson ensured everything ran 'smoothly' - squirm-inducingly awkward - with his fantastic audience-baiting banter as the event's compere.
Canadian funny woman Ms Ryan provided a refreshingly scathing look at British popular culture.
Any strident royalists may have been left frothing at the mouth when she claimed Prince Harry was "the most successful ginger orphan since Annie".
Lycett may be a relatively fresh face, but he identified himself as a force to be reckoned with on the comedy circuit with acid-tongued quips about dimwitted parking ticket jobsworths.
Oh and his spirit animal is a walrus with a sassy mouth, FYI.
Like Stewart Lee - though admittedly with a slightly sunnier disposition - Widdicome revisited his schoolboy days with some fresh but relatable observations.
Ahead of the gig the Channel 4 star said: "It is an honour to be doing a gig for a charity as brilliant and worthwhile as Centrepoint.
"It is a great bill and so I am a little annoyed I am performing as I would love to be in the audience."
For more information on the vital work Centrepoint carries out in the UK visit their website here.
Stewart Lee
2014-10-07T21:29:59+01:00
Laughing Point - a branch of charitable organisation CentrePoint - hosted a sell-out show in London's Palace Theatre to raise funds and awareness for London's youth homelessness crisis. Hilariously deadpan Stewart Lee topped the evening's line-up and any thoughts that he may be above toilet were soon flushed down the pan. Lee spent his entire 25-minute set comparing a childhood memory of being tinkled on by school bullies to his successful comedy career. Keeping the audience captivated, the 46-year-old managed to remain completely straight-faced as he turned his intense and acerbic wit to urine anecdotes. Catherine Ryan, Josh Widdicombe, Joe Lycett, Aisling Bea and Tony Law also provided many laughs during their turns on the West End stage and the brilliant Daniel Kitson ensured everything ran 'smoothly' - squirm-inducingly awkward - with his fantastic audience-baiting banter as the event's compere. Canadian funny woman Ms Ryan provided a refreshingly scathing look at British popular culture. Any strident royalists may have been left frothing at the mouth when she claimed Prince Harry was "the most successful ginger orphan since Annie". Lycett may be a relatively fresh face, but he identified himself as a force to be reckoned with on the comedy circuit with acid-tongued quips about dimwitted parking ticket jobsworths. Oh and his spirit animal is a walrus with a sassy mouth, FYI. Like Stewart Lee - though admittedly with a slightly sunnier disposition - Widdicome revisited his schoolboy days with some fresh but relatable observations. Ahead of the gig the Channel 4 star said: "It is an honour to be doing a gig for a charity as brilliant and worthwhile as Centrepoint. "It is a great bill and so I am a little annoyed I am performing as I would love to be in the audience." For more information on the...
Like all good mythical heroes, King Arthur is all things to all men. For the poets of the middle ages, his legend provided the perfect empty vessel into which to pour the ideals of Courtly Love. For Henry II, who attempted to legitimise his own rule via Arthurian precedents established in Geoffrey Of Monmouth’s semi-spurious Historia Regum Britanniae, Arthur was a political propaganda tool. For the monks of Glastonbury Abbey, who fabricated Arthur’s tomb sometime in the late 12th century with an eye on box office receipts of their own, Arthur was a money-spinning tourist attraction. And for an antiques dealer I got talking to in a field in Cornwall twenty years ago, Arthur was his personal friend, who had told him in a vision at Stonehenge that he would return and wreak havoc should the Tories get re-elected. They did and Arthur didn’t. For screenwriter David Franzoni, who comes to producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s King Arthur armed with credits for Gladiator and Jumping Jack Flash, Arthur is a metaphor for American Vietnam GI’s. But the movie he’s written has a unique selling point that no other modern interpretation of the Arthurian story can lay claim to. It says it’s true.
Almost nothing is known of the historical King Arthur. Most writers, whether they are suspicious academics or the excitable enthusiasts that fuel the vast Arthurian publishing industry, agree that the few scant references to similarly named soldiers in near contemporary texts, most notably Gildas’ 6th century De Excidio Britanniae, suggest ‘Arthur’ was a Dux Bellorum, a military leader in 5th century Roman Britain. His subsequent fame saw his actual life-story subsumed into existing Celtic myths, and later elaborated into the chivalric Romances of the Mediaeval courts.
Building on these flimsy foundations, Bruckheimer’s King Arthur claims a genuine Romano-British general, Lucius Artorius Castus, as its Arthur, and bolts him to a band of indentured soldiers from Russia active in Roman Britain, called Sarmatians. Artorius leads these disgruntled veterans in one last mission, before uniting the helpless Britons and the elf-like Picts, here called ‘Woads’, against the Orc-faced Saxon invaders in a face-off at Hadrian’s Wall. It’s a plausible tale, which is neither compromised nor enlivened by any obvious mythical elements, though it does include the slow motion sequences and Celtoid sound-scapes mandatory in Hollywood historical blockbusters. If he existed at all then, King Arthur wasn’t a king as such, and Jerry Bruckheimer knows this. But, like those tomb-making monks, he also knows that a recognisable brand will sell. Make King Arthur and they will come. Make Arthur and they will still come, but they’ll be expecting a remake of the Dudley Moore classic, perhaps starring Steve Coogan.
Just as Henry II had Geoffrey Of Monmouth to sure up his dynastic integrity, Bruckheimer also has his trump card. John Matthews is the movie’s historical advisor. He has a vast knowledge and a small beard, and has written over fifty books on Arthur, ranging from lavishly illustrated coffee table tomes, like his soon to be available Merlin – Shaman, Prophet, Magician (Mitchell Beazley), to Elements of The Arthurian Tradition (Element), an incense-suffused study of the legends’ symbolism, which concludes each chapter with an exercise designed to help the reader meet their inner Arthur. By his own admission, it’s professionally expedient for Matthews, as a major player in what one might call ‘the Arthurian industry’, to entertain various theories without committing to any one, but he’s sold on the Sarmatians.
“We know there were these Sarmatian warriors that were stationed near Hadrian’s Wall. What we don’t know about are any of the individual characters, so you do have to bring in a little bit from the later stories.” But is Bruckheimer’s King Arthur the definitive Arthur? “What you can say about this one is it’s based on the oldest version of Arthur. Lucius Artorius Castus is the oldest character with that name in that place at the right time. When I was originally approached by the film company I wasn’t entirely convinced of the Sarmatian theory, but in the process of the research I found new evidence. My wife was working on some translations from the old Welsh and came across this poem, which had not been translated properly before, from the book of Taliesin which, even though it wasn’t collected until the middle ages, dates back to 6th century. It mentions Arthur, a man of two cultures, Roman and British, who leads the defence from The Great Wall. I was gob-smacked.”
The press pack for the movie opens with the verse Matthews cites, attributing it not to Taliesin but to a vague ‘6th century A.D. Celtic poem’, in such a way as to make it, and the information that follows it, seem somehow suspicious. ‘Yes,’ says Matthews, ‘well it shouldn’t have been in there at all because they don’t actually have permission to use it.” It doesn’t help that the movie itself opens with a brief summary of the Dux Bellorum idea, followed by the inconclusive sentence; “Recently discovered archaeological evidence sheds light on Arthur’s true identity’. “I know, I know, I wanted them to put something else,” sighs Matthews, “ ‘Recently documented evidence’, anything would have been better, but having said that the excavations at Ribchester in Lancashire have revealed a Sarmatian presence, so in that sense it’s not untrue. But in the press showing here quite a few people laughed when that came up and I couldn’t blame them. They wanted to put the stamp of historical authority on it. I mean, I gave them two other alternatives that they didn’t use, but you can’t win everything.”
“John and I made copious notes about that all of which they ignored.”, the screenwriter David Franzoni elaborates. “I wish they’d either said nothing or been specific. My feeling was when you’re trying to be historically accurate, if you’re going to say something you’d better really say it, rather than just throw it out there. But as far as an American audience goes they’re numb to that sort of opening. It’s like, “In a kingdom far way etc.” Jerry Bruckheimer was very concerned but it isn’t his call. Jerry really wanted us to go back and try and find the source of the Arthur legend.” I laugh, assuming Franzoni’s deliberately painting a comic picture of the producer of Pirates Of The Caribbean as Historical Philanthropist, and then realise that he is being serious and quickly move on.
Franzoni has done his research and can stand by any historical information in King Arthur. But, like Geoffrey of Monmouth almost a millennium ago, Franzoni fits into a long tradition of Arthurian writers pursuing their own agenda. The film’s depiction of Rome’s waning imperial influence, of its exploitative client state relationship with Britain, of its maltreatment of its prisoners and its vulnerability to bands of Pictish insurgents, seems to directly parallel America’s current situation. “I understand Rome’s posturing when it became the ultimate military state. It comes from fear. And America is perhaps going through a lot of that right now so it’s not unfair to read into it that it could be about Iraq. But I began writing the movie before we went into Iraq. The GI connection is what is important for me. (Like the Sarmatian knights) if you’re a GI you’re surrounded by people that hate you, you hate what you’re doing, but you have to do it or you’ll die and you’re living for the day you get out. And that is about America. I see Arthur as being like someone drafted to Vietnam, who goes there full of ideas and gung ho and gets it all shot away and comes down to himself. And that used to be an American hero but we’ve become so cowboy-ed and JohnFord-ed and numbed we’ve lost track of who we once were.”
In King Arthur, David Franzoni sends Arthur north of Hadrian’s Wall to save a Roman nobleman, but he ends up finding that most reliable of Hollywood devices, the hero within. If we’re to believe Franzoni’s testimony, Jerry Bruckheimer sent the screenwriter himself on a special mission to 5th century Britain to find the real historical Arthur. But Franzoni has brought back Shane, an all American hero, missing in action, long presumed dead. Matthews describes the lack of actual historical evidence for the personalities that stemmed the first Saxon advance as ‘an Arthur shaped hole’. As a writer, Franzoni has filled the Arthur shaped hole with the story he wanted to tell. Even though the film is marketed on its historical objectivity, the subjective influence of the people who actually made it is delightfully evident. And the historical debate is largely irrelevant. Arthur is lost. King Arthur is the latest in a long line of responses to the power of his legend. The armour onscreen may be more accurately recreated than ever before but, as usual, King Arthur, the Summer blockbuster, tells us more about our own times than it does about those it allegedly depicts.
OTHER ARTHURS
The Life Of St Cadoc – Lifric of Llancarfon – 1075. In this Mediaeval Welsh text King Arthur gambles away his money, lusts after a peasant, and gets into a violent argument over the colour of some cows he has bought, which then turn into sticks.
The Modena Cathedral Carving – The image of Arthur over the door of Modena Cathedral in Italy is from 1120, indicating how far the stories had spread even before their definitive written versions.
Lancelot Du Lac – Robert Bresson – 1974. Bresson’s Arthur is just like any other middle aged man in an early 70’s French art film, wandering around slowly having existential crises. The only difference being that he is wearing full plate mail armour.
Monty Python and The Holy Grail – 1975. Python’s vision of the Knights of The Round Table remains the standard by which all others must be judged. Once seen, the fearsome Knights who say ‘Ni’ can never be forgotten.
Excalibur – John Boorman – 1981. Boorman abandons narrative cohesion for a rich, if ill-conceived, symbolist fantasia that approaches the strange, inexplicable attraction of the Arthurian myths themselves. Nicol Williamson’s Merlin is funny and terrifying. Helen Mirren’s Morgana Le Fay is dependably arousing.
Camelot 3000 – DC Comics – 1988. This bewilderingly acclaimed comic book series sees Arthur emerge from a cave underneath Glastonbury Tor to save the Earth of the future from Alien invasion.
Stewart Lee
2004-07-11T18:08:00+01:00
Like all good mythical heroes, King Arthur is all things to all men. For the poets of the middle ages, his legend provided the perfect empty vessel into which to pour the ideals of Courtly Love. For Henry II, who attempted to legitimise his own rule via Arthurian precedents established in Geoffrey Of Monmouth’s semi-spurious Historia Regum Britanniae, Arthur was a political propaganda tool. For the monks of Glastonbury Abbey, who fabricated Arthur’s tomb sometime in the late 12th century with an eye on box office receipts of their own, Arthur was a money-spinning tourist attraction. And for an antiques dealer I got talking to in a field in Cornwall twenty years ago, Arthur was his personal friend, who had told him in a vision at Stonehenge that he would return and wreak havoc should the Tories get re-elected. They did and Arthur didn’t. For screenwriter David Franzoni, who comes to producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s King Arthur armed with credits for Gladiator and Jumping Jack Flash, Arthur is a metaphor for American Vietnam GI’s. But the movie he’s written has a unique selling point that no other modern interpretation of the Arthurian story can lay claim to. It says it’s true. Almost nothing is known of the historical King Arthur. Most writers, whether they are suspicious academics or the excitable enthusiasts that fuel the vast Arthurian publishing industry, agree that the few scant references to similarly named soldiers in near contemporary texts, most notably Gildas’ 6th century De Excidio Britanniae, suggest ‘Arthur’ was a Dux Bellorum, a military leader in 5th century Roman Britain. His subsequent fame saw his actual life-story subsumed into existing Celtic myths, and later elaborated into the chivalric Romances of the Mediaeval courts. Building on these flimsy foundations, Bruckheimer’s King Arthur claims a genuine Romano-British general, Lucius...
JOHN BURNS catches several of his comedy heroes, and feels the barriers of the form itself being pushed ever further.
STEWART LEE is the vindaloo of stand up comedy - he is spicy and sometimes hard to swallow. You know what you are in for, the slug line of his show tells it all: If you wanted a milder comedian you should have asked.
Lee has you squirming in your seat with your eyes stinging and a little perspiration forming on your top lip. The heat of his comedy does not come from obscenity, swearing or even blasphemy, as you might be led to expect given some of Lee's most controversial work in Jerry Springer the Opera.
His comedy is hot because he is constantly pushing the medium, trying to find out just where you can take this simplest of theatrical forms consisting, as it does, of a man talking to an audience.
For me, seeing Lee came at the end of a long but eventful week in which I had actually fulfilled three comedy ambitions. In that week I had seen Dylan Moran at London's Apollo Theatre, seen Eddie Izzard at Glasgow's SECC, and finally I saw Lee, a man I had wanted to see for over two years.
I'm not sure it's a good idea to see so much comedy in a short space of time. It's possible that I'm developing dependence - maybe I should see someone or join a support group.
There are interesting comparisons in the styles of the three comedians I saw this week. All of them break the rules of comedy in different ways. Here are just a couple.
Rule 1. Only do material about things people can relate to in their own lives.
Izzard shattered that rule a long time ago with material he gathered from his classical education. In Glasgow he told stories about the ancient Persian's wars with the Spartans. Possibly that has some relevance to Sauchiehall Street on a Friday night [no, more a Saturday - Ed.], but there the comparison ends.
Lee was equally cavalier with that rule, relating stories about the sayings of his family and his favourite songs being stolen by advertising men. Most comedians try to work with stories that at least might be true. Lee has no such truck with reality, allowing his audience to see clearly that he is feeding them fiction.
Rule 2. Keep whatever you are saying as brief as possible and keep it to the point, the comedy point that is, and never repeat yourself.
Dylan Moran wanders about through the frustrations of his middle age like a rudderless ship bumping into islands of despair. Lee has gone one stage further and turned his meandering style into an art form. He delights in repetition, coming back to the same point over and over again as he teases the audience.
He always returns to his focus on how the audience relates to him at the precise moment of his performance. Lee's brilliance is in his ability to play with his relationship with the audience, to torment them, to ask them why they think they are laughing and what is it they are laughing at.
If you wrote down what Lee says you would be unlikely to find much humour. The comedy for Lee exists not in what he says but how he says it. On Wednesday night he was able to get a laugh merely from a glance or the way he turned his head or how he walked on stage. Of all the comedians around today, Lee is the one most concerned with evolving the art form, he is the comedian most likely to find new routes for stand up and he is frighteningly talented.
The theatre was disappointingly only two-thirds full, but those who did attend clearly had an enjoyable if challenging evening. It is perhaps fair to say the Lee rarely captured the whole audience in his comedy, with some people laughing at parts of his act and others not. That is not surprising given the unpredictable and quirky nature of his comedy. Lee often takes you by surprise and most of the time you are not really sure why you are laughing.
Lee is prolific in his writing, with not only the Springer show to his name, but also other plays such as Johnson and Boswell, which was performed at Eden Court's OneTouch Theatre to much acclaim by comedians Miles Jupp and Simon Munnery last year.
His TV appearances are rare but the short run of his own show surprisingly titled Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle was original and entertaining as he blended sketches and stand up in a way not seen before. Stewart Lee will always be an acquired taste and he will remain too hot to handle for many, but for those whose taste buds are accustomed to the heat he is a rare delight.
Stewart Lee
2009-11-16T16:05:51+00:00
JOHN BURNS catches several of his comedy heroes, and feels the barriers of the form itself being pushed ever further. STEWART LEE is the vindaloo of stand up comedy - he is spicy and sometimes hard to swallow. You know what you are in for, the slug line of his show tells it all: If you wanted a milder comedian you should have asked. Lee has you squirming in your seat with your eyes stinging and a little perspiration forming on your top lip. The heat of his comedy does not come from obscenity, swearing or even blasphemy, as you might be led to expect given some of Lee's most controversial work in Jerry Springer the Opera. His comedy is hot because he is constantly pushing the medium, trying to find out just where you can take this simplest of theatrical forms consisting, as it does, of a man talking to an audience. For me, seeing Lee came at the end of a long but eventful week in which I had actually fulfilled three comedy ambitions. In that week I had seen Dylan Moran at London's Apollo Theatre, seen Eddie Izzard at Glasgow's SECC, and finally I saw Lee, a man I had wanted to see for over two years. I'm not sure it's a good idea to see so much comedy in a short space of time. It's possible that I'm developing dependence - maybe I should see someone or join a support group. There are interesting comparisons in the styles of the three comedians I saw this week. All of them break the rules of comedy in different ways. Here are just a couple. Rule 1. Only do material about things people can relate to in their own lives. Izzard shattered that rule a long time ago with...
Twenty-five years ago an adept I traded tapes with proffered a C90 of Scott Walker, then still misfiled in the forgotten kitsch crooner bucket, which proved revelatory.
The collective subconscious was slowly rehabilitating Walker’s most significant four sixties solo albums, reissued here, wherein the former pop star suddenly steered his soul-searing vocals toward the phantasmagorically psychedelic, the unashamedly chic, and the sophisticatedly sublime, an act of artistic recalibration that remains unsurpassed.
1970’s fascinatingly flawed ‘Till The Band Comes In, included, begins the defeated visionary’s fourteen fallow years.
Stewart Lee
2013-06-02T12:37:11+01:00
Twenty-five years ago an adept I traded tapes with proffered a C90 of Scott Walker, then still misfiled in the forgotten kitsch crooner bucket, which proved revelatory. The collective subconscious was slowly rehabilitating Walker’s most significant four sixties solo albums, reissued here, wherein the former pop star suddenly steered his soul-searing vocals toward the phantasmagorically psychedelic, the unashamedly chic, and the sophisticatedly sublime, an act of artistic recalibration that remains unsurpassed. 1970’s fascinatingly flawed ‘Till The Band Comes In, included, begins the defeated visionary’s fourteen fallow years.
It was “the most glorious, bravest, the most splendid music”, says British folk singer Shirley Collins of her time collecting folk songs at the Mississippi State Penitentiary in the 1950s. “It was all recorded out in the open, so there was a wonderful echo there.” Collins, the one-time leading light of the postwar British folk revival, was travelling across the US’s rural South alongside the American archivist Alan Lomax. On that trip, they also recorded songs by the Appalachian singer Texas Gladden and by Mississippi Fred McDowell, who would go on to inspire The Rolling Stones and tour the world.
Collins, now 90, is talking on the new BBC podcast What Happened to Counter-Culture?, hosted by the writer and comic Stewart Lee. The title of this delightfully meandering and richly illuminating series is self-explanatory: Lee wants to know whether counterculture, as a concept, is dead. But, before we get to the present day, he must define it, which is much like trying to trap water in a sieve. He calls it “an intoxicating brew of alternative music, independent ideas, of underground presses, writing and art, of activism . . . A philosophy of liberation that swept across western societies in the second half of the 20th century.” And that’s before you get to LSD and the 14 Hour Technicolor Dream (a 1967 event headlined by Pink Floyd at London’s Alexandra Palace). Exploring the evolution and legacy of counterculture, Lee — a wryly engaging host — interrogates themes of sex, class, politics, protest and the avant-garde. Along for the ride are commentators John Harris and Jon Savage, author Olivia Laing, Rolling Stone founder Jann Wenner and Brian Eno, the one-time Roxy Music synth wizard who has written extensively about art and culture. The series comes in five parts, though it’s clear the theme could stretch to twice that and still not provide a complete picture.
The opening episode traces the countercultural philosophy back to Beat writers Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs. The latter’s arrestingly lugubrious tones can be heard in a clip in which he reads from his transgressive masterpiece Naked Lunch. Back in Britain, Collins and her peers were laying the groundwork for a folk explosion that would transform music and culture. As producer Joe Boyd tells it, she created “a bridge between folk, which was its own kind of counterculture in Britain, and this transatlantic influence.” Talking with Collins about how history is created, Lee hits the nail on the head. “You can be in the middle of these things, and they don’t make sense until after the event.” This was evidently the case when Collins was working at the Troubadour club in London where an unknown American named Bob Dylan came to perform in 1962. “He wasn’t impressive,” Collins recalls, adding that she wasn’t the only one who thought so. “And his reaction was to go into the loo and lock himself in for the rest of the night.”
Stewart Lee
2025-08-25T17:44:54+01:00
It was “the most glorious, bravest, the most splendid music”, says British folk singer Shirley Collins of her time collecting folk songs at the Mississippi State Penitentiary in the 1950s. “It was all recorded out in the open, so there was a wonderful echo there.” Collins, the one-time leading light of the postwar British folk revival, was travelling across the US’s rural South alongside the American archivist Alan Lomax. On that trip, they also recorded songs by the Appalachian singer Texas Gladden and by Mississippi Fred McDowell, who would go on to inspire The Rolling Stones and tour the world. Collins, now 90, is talking on the new BBC podcast What Happened to Counter-Culture?, hosted by the writer and comic Stewart Lee. The title of this delightfully meandering and richly illuminating series is self-explanatory: Lee wants to know whether counterculture, as a concept, is dead. But, before we get to the present day, he must define it, which is much like trying to trap water in a sieve. He calls it “an intoxicating brew of alternative music, independent ideas, of underground presses, writing and art, of activism . . . A philosophy of liberation that swept across western societies in the second half of the 20th century.” And that’s before you get to LSD and the 14 Hour Technicolor Dream (a 1967 event headlined by Pink Floyd at London’s Alexandra Palace). Exploring the evolution and legacy of counterculture, Lee — a wryly engaging host — interrogates themes of sex, class, politics, protest and the avant-garde. Along for the ride are commentators John Harris and Jon Savage, author Olivia Laing, Rolling Stone founder Jann Wenner and Brian Eno, the one-time Roxy Music synth wizard who has written extensively about art and culture. The series comes in five parts, though it’s clear the theme could stretch...
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.
The first half, Tornado, stems from the comedian’s discovery that his Comedy Vehicle TV show mistakenly spent two years on Netflix with the description from American sci-fi horror film Sharknado 3 as its listing.
This discovery, alongside the Times calling him the “world’s greatest living stand-up”, causes Lee to assess his own place in the comedy landscape.
Tornado is a brilliant set, that has more clear jokes than any of Lee’s previous work that I can remember, and even sees him doing impressions of Alan Bennett.
Dave Chappelle, Leonard Cohen, and Josh Widdicome are all discussed and Brighton itself is lauded/berated (it can be quite hard to tell) for having two comic shops, but none received as much attention as much as the comedian’s favourite topic, Stewart Lee himself.
The second half, Snowflake, is a less structured set than Tornado and is a little weaker for it in a purely comic sense.
It sees Lee addressing politics and the downfall of political correctness in recent years.
The set did include a couple of bits that were familiar such as an array of responses to a Christian evangelist asking Lee: “Jesus is the answer, what is the question?”.
But these were only done in passing and the sheer amount of material in the show means it can’t be held against the comedian.
Some of Lee’s extended riffs can feel more like endurance tests for both audience and performer than anything else.
One such bit came in the second half when Lee discusses what a comedian “saying the unsayable” would really be like. The six-minute demonstration that follows tested the patience of many, but other, similarly long routines certainly land.
One was a long enactment of a week’s worth of workplace conversations, while another was a less obviously worked bit about Tony Parsons’ cess pit, which eventually had Lee saying: “Thank God the laughter has stopped. Can it be noted by the local paper that I actually had to stop the laughter.”
Snowflake/Tornado isn’t perfect then, but with Stewart Lee offering some genuine insight alongside perhaps more jokes than ever before, it certainly shouldn’t be missed.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-21T19:27:02+00:00
The first half, Tornado, stems from the comedian’s discovery that his Comedy Vehicle TV show mistakenly spent two years on Netflix with the description from American sci-fi horror film Sharknado 3 as its listing. This discovery, alongside the Times calling him the “world’s greatest living stand-up”, causes Lee to assess his own place in the comedy landscape. Tornado is a brilliant set, that has more clear jokes than any of Lee’s previous work that I can remember, and even sees him doing impressions of Alan Bennett. Dave Chappelle, Leonard Cohen, and Josh Widdicome are all discussed and Brighton itself is lauded/berated (it can be quite hard to tell) for having two comic shops, but none received as much attention as much as the comedian’s favourite topic, Stewart Lee himself. The second half, Snowflake, is a less structured set than Tornado and is a little weaker for it in a purely comic sense. It sees Lee addressing politics and the downfall of political correctness in recent years. The set did include a couple of bits that were familiar such as an array of responses to a Christian evangelist asking Lee: “Jesus is the answer, what is the question?”. But these were only done in passing and the sheer amount of material in the show means it can’t be held against the comedian. Some of Lee’s extended riffs can feel more like endurance tests for both audience and performer than anything else. One such bit came in the second half when Lee discusses what a comedian “saying the unsayable” would really be like. The six-minute demonstration that follows tested the patience of many, but other, similarly long routines certainly land. One was a long enactment of a week’s worth of workplace conversations, while another was a less obviously worked bit about Tony...
Stewart Lee seeks to divide his audience. His own biography is evidence of this, ending as it does with two quotes:
“One of the top three or four living stand-ups..” – Time Out
“The worst stand-up I have ever seen” – Graham Simmons, Chortle
He begins his set by complaining about the type of audience he gets in the provinces, claiming that those who are there as ‘friends of the theatre’ or as guests of someone who actually bought tickets won’t understand his material. He complains about the theatre (the air conditioning is too noisy) and about people who couldn’t get their act together to see the show when it was on in London, claiming it was much better there because the audience all agreed with him. He then complains about people who agree with him saying they don’t laugh at the jokes but simply clap material if it expresses a view matches their own.
Having neatly set-out to alienate everyone in the room he then begins to lay into other comics, pointing out that the stage set he is standing in comprises DVDs of live performances by comedians, all of which were bought online for just 1p each. His own live DVD, he points out, is currently priced at £3.67.
His material, he says, is based around politics, language and history. But if you don’t agree with the politics (especially if you voted leave) you may have a hard time getting through to the other two elements. But he professes not to care, deliberately setting-up material for fans to like, only to under-cut their ‘metropolitan liberal elite views’. Being a Stewart Lee fan is not easy because it seems he’s just as likely to dislike people for agreeing with him as anyone else.
But all this is (surely) a front. He’s playing with the stand-up norms, deconstructing his jokes and techniques as part of his act – in the same way Penn and Teller show how their magic tricks work. And throughout he is expertly and apparently effortlessly manipulating the room for the precise effect he wants. Apparent ad libs and random interjections from the audience are woven in. Or are they as carefully planned and rehearsed as everything else? Who knows? It’s hilarious comedy that credits you with some intelligence and rewards you accordingly, provided you don’t mind that sneaky feeling that Mr Lee doesn’t really like you at all!
Stewart Lee
2017-05-12T17:22:19+01:00
Stewart Lee seeks to divide his audience. His own biography is evidence of this, ending as it does with two quotes: “One of the top three or four living stand-ups..” – Time Out “The worst stand-up I have ever seen” – Graham Simmons, Chortle He begins his set by complaining about the type of audience he gets in the provinces, claiming that those who are there as ‘friends of the theatre’ or as guests of someone who actually bought tickets won’t understand his material. He complains about the theatre (the air conditioning is too noisy) and about people who couldn’t get their act together to see the show when it was on in London, claiming it was much better there because the audience all agreed with him. He then complains about people who agree with him saying they don’t laugh at the jokes but simply clap material if it expresses a view matches their own. Having neatly set-out to alienate everyone in the room he then begins to lay into other comics, pointing out that the stage set he is standing in comprises DVDs of live performances by comedians, all of which were bought online for just 1p each. His own live DVD, he points out, is currently priced at £3.67. His material, he says, is based around politics, language and history. But if you don’t agree with the politics (especially if you voted leave) you may have a hard time getting through to the other two elements. But he professes not to care, deliberately setting-up material for fans to like, only to under-cut their ‘metropolitan liberal elite views’. Being a Stewart Lee fan is not easy because it seems he’s just as likely to dislike people for agreeing with him as anyone else. But all this is (surely) a...
Mumford and Sons, and their singer-songwriter followers, aren't really folk musicians.
Folk fans, still looking to the likes of Topic records and the Waterson-Carthy dynasty for an uncut fix might wonder, wither the next generation?
But the Rif Mountain label, comprehensively showcased here, offers a cross-fertilised family of younger artists, quietly future-proofing the form.
The Owl Service grapple with Lal Waterson's ghostly lament Fine Horseman, and electrify the standard Katie Cruel in an early Seventies acid-folk style; The Straw Bear Band anglicise Creedence's Bad Moon Rising convincingly; and the Caledonian mediaevalist Alasdair Roberts' own False Astronomy is a spritely highland gavotte.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-14T00:52:37+01:00
Mumford and Sons, and their singer-songwriter followers, aren't really folk musicians. Folk fans, still looking to the likes of Topic records and the Waterson-Carthy dynasty for an uncut fix might wonder, wither the next generation? But the Rif Mountain label, comprehensively showcased here, offers a cross-fertilised family of younger artists, quietly future-proofing the form. The Owl Service grapple with Lal Waterson's ghostly lament Fine Horseman, and electrify the standard Katie Cruel in an early Seventies acid-folk style; The Straw Bear Band anglicise Creedence's Bad Moon Rising convincingly; and the Caledonian mediaevalist Alasdair Roberts' own False Astronomy is a spritely highland gavotte.
The relationship between Sir Walter Raleigh and his questionably virgin queen has long been pondered upon, but this new play by Stewart Lee harbours no such pretensions.
It is from the outset a larger-than-life, multi-media caricature of their supposed love story, turning it into a kind of lurid adult pantomime complete with Simon Munnery as the (literal) drag Queen.
Miles Jupp's blustering Raleigh introduces the play with an overview of his life's achievements, via the unexpected medium of a slideshow featuring Jimmy Carr as a fictional Elizabethan prize-giver and 'racist Morris dancer', and things become increasingly surreal from there.
However, there is no doubt that Munnery's deliberately grotesque parody of Queen Elizabeth is the star of the show and his performance is perfectly deadpan, an essential quality if he is to portray a 16th century queen dealing with her anger by vigorous bouncing on a mini trampoline.
Some of the show's funniest moments are in his impromptu reactions to the audience and to faults with the set and costumes, notably when a plank falls from the makeshift gallows and he turns on Raleigh demanding: "How can I trust a man who is no good at woodwork?" Unfortunately, this is where Jupp's portrayal of the archetypal simpering Englishman is perhaps too convincing, as he often finds it difficult not to snigger at his co-star's wit.
The script contains moments of real beauty, brilliance and humour, but it strays from the poetic into a convoluted tangle of loops and flourishes which trip the actors on several occasions.
Although it is based on puns, wordplay and outrageous insults, the finale is too briskly reached and strangely solemn, leaving a question mark over whether the play's intention is to entertain or to seriously ponder the nature of Elizabeth and Raleigh's relationship after all. If that is the case, it is well wide of the mark - but as a panto, it's a hoot.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-04T20:09:50+01:00
The relationship between Sir Walter Raleigh and his questionably virgin queen has long been pondered upon, but this new play by Stewart Lee harbours no such pretensions. It is from the outset a larger-than-life, multi-media caricature of their supposed love story, turning it into a kind of lurid adult pantomime complete with Simon Munnery as the (literal) drag Queen. Miles Jupp's blustering Raleigh introduces the play with an overview of his life's achievements, via the unexpected medium of a slideshow featuring Jimmy Carr as a fictional Elizabethan prize-giver and 'racist Morris dancer', and things become increasingly surreal from there. However, there is no doubt that Munnery's deliberately grotesque parody of Queen Elizabeth is the star of the show and his performance is perfectly deadpan, an essential quality if he is to portray a 16th century queen dealing with her anger by vigorous bouncing on a mini trampoline. Some of the show's funniest moments are in his impromptu reactions to the audience and to faults with the set and costumes, notably when a plank falls from the makeshift gallows and he turns on Raleigh demanding: "How can I trust a man who is no good at woodwork?" Unfortunately, this is where Jupp's portrayal of the archetypal simpering Englishman is perhaps too convincing, as he often finds it difficult not to snigger at his co-star's wit. The script contains moments of real beauty, brilliance and humour, but it strays from the poetic into a convoluted tangle of loops and flourishes which trip the actors on several occasions. Although it is based on puns, wordplay and outrageous insults, the finale is too briskly reached and strangely solemn, leaving a question mark over whether the play's intention is to entertain or to seriously ponder the nature of Elizabeth and Raleigh's relationship after all. If...
The drummer Tony Levin died in February, aged 71, and this is one of six previously unissued recordings offered by Rare Music in tribute.
Live in London in 2003, Levin chooses perfect points at which to interrupt and investigate a slowly gathering storm of horns, featuring two veterans from free improvisation's first wave, Evan Parker and Kenny Wheeler on saxophone and trumpet respectively, and their spiritual nephew Paul Dunmall, on more saxophone.
The ubiquitous John Edwards' endlessly inventive bass bricolage provides see-sawing structural underpinning.
Stewart Lee
2011-10-09T21:15:17+01:00
The drummer Tony Levin died in February, aged 71, and this is one of six previously unissued recordings offered by Rare Music in tribute. Live in London in 2003, Levin chooses perfect points at which to interrupt and investigate a slowly gathering storm of horns, featuring two veterans from free improvisation's first wave, Evan Parker and Kenny Wheeler on saxophone and trumpet respectively, and their spiritual nephew Paul Dunmall, on more saxophone. The ubiquitous John Edwards' endlessly inventive bass bricolage provides see-sawing structural underpinning.
This sell-out show was performed on a stage littered with piles of DVDs released by lesser comedians that Lee bought for 1p off Amazon.
He took great pleasure in grinding them into the stage under his boot. However, Lee has been stomping over comedians for more than two decades.
Few comedians can deconstruct their jokes to expose the mechanics and bones – but still be funny. Lee can.
Lee admitted his ideal gig would be a sell-out where no one turned out so he didn’t have to look at people struggling to understand his genius.
Tongue in cheek – but not without merit.
Each generation has a comedic genius asking questions and pushing boundaries. There was Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks. We have Lee.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-13T22:33:49+00:00
This sell-out show was performed on a stage littered with piles of DVDs released by lesser comedians that Lee bought for 1p off Amazon. He took great pleasure in grinding them into the stage under his boot. However, Lee has been stomping over comedians for more than two decades. Few comedians can deconstruct their jokes to expose the mechanics and bones – but still be funny. Lee can. Lee admitted his ideal gig would be a sell-out where no one turned out so he didn’t have to look at people struggling to understand his genius. Tongue in cheek – but not without merit. Each generation has a comedic genius asking questions and pushing boundaries. There was Lenny Bruce, Bill Hicks. We have Lee.
It’s a brave and foolish person who tries to take a photo at a Stewart Lee show. Brave, because you will be singled out and shouted at. Foolish, because what’s the point? Just watch it instead.
Early in tonight’s gig, Lee turns his ire on someone brandishing a phone up on the balcony and it immediately ruins the flow of his routine. Admittedly, it wouldn’t have ruined his flow nearly as much if he hadn’t stopped to point out how much it had ruined his flow. This incident, the first of several such interruptions, is a mirror of his comedy: self-aware to the point of distraction and repetitive to the point of distraction. And yes, that’s kind of the point. Despite a running gag about parents bringing their unsuspecting kids to the show, everyone here must know what they’re in for.
“Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.”
Stewart Lee is in Brighton for four dates on this tour. He’s performing two sets every night, each with a discrete theme and throughline. The first, Tornado, begins a long and winding journey with the amusing discovery that the TV show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle was (mistakenly) described by Netflix as being about sharks falling from the sky. The quote above isn’t a spoiler, by the way, and if you’re planning to see the show on this run you’ll be very familiar with it by the end. You know what you’re in for, right?
One of the highlights of the first half hinges on a review written by Alan Bennett in which the playwright earnestly compares Stewart Lee to various obscure academics. It’s a neat section – the sort of thing that Erving Goffman would probably like. Anyway, Lee pulls out a great Yorkshire accent to mimic Bennett’s endearing turns of phrase, and later warps his style brilliantly. Although he rips into the review, it’s clear he’s got lots of respect for the guy. This in itself is refreshing, given how much time is given over to taking potshots at other (lesser) comedians.
We have no idea if the Netflix cock-up ever really happened, but it makes for an entertaining yarn. Lee sometimes seems to get tangled up in random asides, with plenty of self-demeaning anecdotes about ageing, but he knows what’s he doing (and lets you know about it). The first half concludes with him wrapping up these loose ends with a satisfying twist, like one of the better episodes of Columbo. It’s funny and impressive, and it doesn’t even matter that the midpoint finale fails due to a technical hitch.
Lee pads every step of his act with hints about where he’s going with it, and it’s this meticulous structuring that seems to make him so irate at being interrupted by the sight of a mobile phone. But sometimes the fun happens in the gaps. A non-gag in the second half escalates into contagious laughter, which Lee keeps afloat by adeptly berating the audience for laughing at nothing. Which leads to more laughter, and so on. It’s a strange moment, and Lee is loving the absurdity of it. Eventually he has to ask the audience to stop laughing – so he can carry on with his routine. (In the spirit of self-referentiality, we should mention the fact that he asked local press to mention this fact).
The second set is entitled Snowflake, which does a little of what you might expect, and a lot that you won’t. We get some hit-and-run references to Brexit, but the main focus is a defence of political correctness. He makes the very good point that people who think PC politics has “gone mad” have often simply confused it with health and safety legislation. He has fun with this idea, and soon spirals into hilariously extreme imagery. A more sober approach sees him recollecting facets of his younger days to remind us what 70s racism was really like. And it’s an effective message. However, rather than attempting to explore the bizarre civil war that’s erupting in our culture, the show sees him simply reasserting his liberal position. Stewart Lee is exactly what his critics think he is, and he’s fine with that.
Trying to explain the appeal of this comedian would be a fruitless task and the background info required to do so wouldn’t leave much space for anything else. So let’s not go there. Yet without the context of Lee’s thirty-year career, his show wouldn’t function. His material is often about his career, just as much as it is about the material itself. You see where this is going… Commenting on a stand-up show that habitually comments on itself is possibly fruitless as well. We’ve now realised it’s a brave and foolish person who tries to review a Stewart Lee show. Brave, because his shows take the piss out of his reviews. And foolish, because what’s the point? Just watch it instead.
Stewart Lee
2020-02-19T13:31:08+00:00
It’s a brave and foolish person who tries to take a photo at a Stewart Lee show. Brave, because you will be singled out and shouted at. Foolish, because what’s the point? Just watch it instead. Early in tonight’s gig, Lee turns his ire on someone brandishing a phone up on the balcony and it immediately ruins the flow of his routine. Admittedly, it wouldn’t have ruined his flow nearly as much if he hadn’t stopped to point out how much it had ruined his flow. This incident, the first of several such interruptions, is a mirror of his comedy: self-aware to the point of distraction and repetitive to the point of distraction. And yes, that’s kind of the point. Despite a running gag about parents bringing their unsuspecting kids to the show, everyone here must know what they’re in for. “Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe.” Stewart Lee is in Brighton for four dates on this tour. He’s performing two sets every night, each with a discrete theme and throughline. The first, Tornado, begins a long and winding journey with the amusing discovery that the TV show Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle was (mistakenly) described by Netflix as being about sharks falling from the sky. The quote above isn’t a spoiler, by the way, and if you’re planning to see the show on this run you’ll be very familiar with it by the end. You know what you’re in for, right? One of the highlights of the first half hinges on a review written by Alan Bennett in which the playwright earnestly compares Stewart Lee to various obscure academics. It’s a neat section – the sort of thing that Erving Goffman would probably like. Anyway, Lee pulls...
This was not really a proper live show at all. The lengthy run is, by Stewart Lee's own onstage admission, "faffing" to prepare episodes for his next BBC2 series. Luckily for his audience, Stewart Lee faffing is preferable to a lot of comedians' faffless finished articles.
The title, Much A-Stew About Nothing, is presumably meant to be ironically corny but despite the smirky self-referential asides, this was Lee at his most accessible. At times he came perilously close to mainstream Live at the Apollo badinage, bemoaning his declining sex appeal and making quips about Peter Stringfellow that could have fallen from an old Spitting Image script.
Somehow he managed to have his cake and devour slice after slice, doing cheap gags about vasectomies, demolishing BBC2’s The Culture Show and haughtily dismissing the recent Paxman/Brand face-off as lacking the gravitas of David Frost probing Richard Nixon. Smug and superior, but still very funny.
Elsewhere he seemed to be channeling comedy history. A stand-out riff about Ukip’s anti-immigration stance had an echo of the classic Four Yorkshiremen sketch, as he imagined the party rejecting increasingly ancient arrivals. When making a cheeky remark he glanced into the wings to check the coast was clear like a latterday Max Miller.
While the episodic format meant that there was no overarching theme, there was clearly a left-of-centre undertow. This was certainly clever in places, yet unusually for this performer, rarely too clever. The ripples of laughter were almost constant. Not uncomplicated enough for Live at the Apollo, of course, but Lee might be relieved to read that.
Stewart Lee
2013-11-08T18:42:23+00:00
This was not really a proper live show at all. The lengthy run is, by Stewart Lee's own onstage admission, "faffing" to prepare episodes for his next BBC2 series. Luckily for his audience, Stewart Lee faffing is preferable to a lot of comedians' faffless finished articles. The title, Much A-Stew About Nothing, is presumably meant to be ironically corny but despite the smirky self-referential asides, this was Lee at his most accessible. At times he came perilously close to mainstream Live at the Apollo badinage, bemoaning his declining sex appeal and making quips about Peter Stringfellow that could have fallen from an old Spitting Image script. Somehow he managed to have his cake and devour slice after slice, doing cheap gags about vasectomies, demolishing BBC2’s The Culture Show and haughtily dismissing the recent Paxman/Brand face-off as lacking the gravitas of David Frost probing Richard Nixon. Smug and superior, but still very funny. Elsewhere he seemed to be channeling comedy history. A stand-out riff about Ukip’s anti-immigration stance had an echo of the classic Four Yorkshiremen sketch, as he imagined the party rejecting increasingly ancient arrivals. When making a cheeky remark he glanced into the wings to check the coast was clear like a latterday Max Miller. While the episodic format meant that there was no overarching theme, there was clearly a left-of-centre undertow. This was certainly clever in places, yet unusually for this performer, rarely too clever. The ripples of laughter were almost constant. Not uncomplicated enough for Live at the Apollo, of course, but Lee might be relieved to read that.
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...
Eddie Prevost's AMM, who have just released their 25th album, remain a major force in free improvisation, and inspired the ‘60s Pink Floyd's edgier moments.
Paired with John Butcher, best known nowadays for aiming his horn exploratively into the architectural voids of site-specific recordings, he and the bassist Guillame Viltard complete a superficially conventional jazz trio.
Prevost surrenders the usual cymbal scraping for flick-wristed fluid drumming as Butcher blasts off from uncharacteristically bluesy runs into abstract twittering and air-swallowing clacks.
Stewart Lee
2012-12-02T01:54:44+00:00
Eddie Prevost's AMM, who have just released their 25th album, remain a major force in free improvisation, and inspired the ‘60s Pink Floyd's edgier moments. Paired with John Butcher, best known nowadays for aiming his horn exploratively into the architectural voids of site-specific recordings, he and the bassist Guillame Viltard complete a superficially conventional jazz trio. Prevost surrenders the usual cymbal scraping for flick-wristed fluid drumming as Butcher blasts off from uncharacteristically bluesy runs into abstract twittering and air-swallowing clacks.
‘You know those amazing occasions where a significant band’s finally unearthed first demo tape is revealed as better than anything else they ever recorded?’ go the sleeve notes to Stewart Lee’s newly-released Jazz Cellar Tape from 1989. ‘Well, this CD is not like that.’
True, but this small bit of comedy history is a fascinating curio and, despite Lee’s assertion that the set is ‘undeniably poor’, it is occasionally funny, and - more significantly – very revealing about the origins of his penchant for subverting comedy conventions.
This 27-minute set was recorded when Lee was a student of 20 in the Oxford Union’s jazz cellar. As a contemporary, I remember those Sunday-night gigs fondly if patchily. With the naitivity of youth, seeing the Oxford Revue Workshops in this intimate, smoky, low-ceiling venue seemed like belonging to an exciting, secret clique, riding the spirit of alternative comedy which, to us, still seemed fresh.
This recording – made on an old reel-to-reel tape and of the quality you might therefore expect – shows what an easily pleased audience we were. But although the jokes may be patchy there is still an unmistakably impudent, precocious attitude to Lee’s writing.
Twisting the expected formula, he gets some cheap anti-Tory cheers from what looks like a series of ‘knock, knock’ jokes, which he undermines immediately, while the riddle of why a chicken would cross the road is warped into a routine about the persecution of Iraq’s Kurds and a philosophical treatise on the meaning of life. It’s possibly more ambitious than funny, although this is clearly a young man with ideas for comedy. ‘Where have all the proper comedians gone?’ he asks, putting clear water between him and the Jimmy Tarbucks of the world; a disconnect from the mainstream he exploits to this day.
Largely his approach is similar to his contemporary persona so loved by comedy aficionados, if less sophisticated, and without the grumpy weariness of middle age that fits him so well. Talk of pulling women and being a great shag is strange, the supposed irony barely disguising the self-aggrandisement, but his comments on Christianity remain sharp.
Familiar sayings and old wives’ tales are a staple of this act, with Lee applying a superiority and logic to subjects that don’t require much in the way of life experience. Sometimes he tries to have his cake and eat it, for example by doing a deliberately poor piece of observational stand-up about the weather, but with a cheesy wink.
The content has largely weathered the intervening 22-and-a-half years well, although there is the occasional dated references to the likes of acid house (which Lee admits is already not ‘trendy’) and the Queen Mum looking well at 80. And a jibe at the undergraduates of Wadham College also shows that Lee couldn’t entirely raise his comedy scope above parochial student in-jokes.
The CD also includes a reproduction of the original poster advertising the gig (which cost 50p to Union members) and a student newspaper review of ‘Stuart’ Lee, which concludes he ‘might be bound for the host’s job in a comedy club’. And yet he’s still not a regular at Jongleurs...
Stewart Lee
2011-09-05T18:45:08+01:00
‘You know those amazing occasions where a significant band’s finally unearthed first demo tape is revealed as better than anything else they ever recorded?’ go the sleeve notes to Stewart Lee’s newly-released Jazz Cellar Tape from 1989. ‘Well, this CD is not like that.’ True, but this small bit of comedy history is a fascinating curio and, despite Lee’s assertion that the set is ‘undeniably poor’, it is occasionally funny, and - more significantly – very revealing about the origins of his penchant for subverting comedy conventions. This 27-minute set was recorded when Lee was a student of 20 in the Oxford Union’s jazz cellar. As a contemporary, I remember those Sunday-night gigs fondly if patchily. With the naitivity of youth, seeing the Oxford Revue Workshops in this intimate, smoky, low-ceiling venue seemed like belonging to an exciting, secret clique, riding the spirit of alternative comedy which, to us, still seemed fresh. This recording – made on an old reel-to-reel tape and of the quality you might therefore expect – shows what an easily pleased audience we were. But although the jokes may be patchy there is still an unmistakably impudent, precocious attitude to Lee’s writing. Twisting the expected formula, he gets some cheap anti-Tory cheers from what looks like a series of ‘knock, knock’ jokes, which he undermines immediately, while the riddle of why a chicken would cross the road is warped into a routine about the persecution of Iraq’s Kurds and a philosophical treatise on the meaning of life. It’s possibly more ambitious than funny, although this is clearly a young man with ideas for comedy. ‘Where have all the proper comedians gone?’ he asks, putting clear water between him and the Jimmy Tarbucks of the world; a disconnect from the mainstream he exploits to this day. Largely...
September 1995, past midnight in an unlicensed downtown Los Angeles coffeehouse. The door is sealed with heavy wrought-iron work, and its front steps have recently played host to a drive-by shooting. The staff can't recommend anywhere in the area safe enough to find a real drink, and the crowd affects a studied, West Coast indifference as the Dirty Three take the stage, puffy, crumpled and ragged. They've played more than 200 shows since March, leaving their native Australia on a proposed three-week jaunt that has somehow stretched to 10 months, as they drive coast to coast in a 1960s Dodge Polara.
There's no vocalist and no bass player, just a guitarist of sorts, a drummer playing as though he's just stepped out of some loose jazz combo, and a gypsy-curled, hunched figure scraping and plucking a violin, lurching from folksy reels to squalls of ear-splitting feedback. Baseball-capped Californians are turning from the video games, jerking thumbs stageward, saying: "Hey, these guys have got something." It's like a scene from a bad teen rock movie, the traditional fresh-faced aspirants supplanted by a desperate, road-worn threesome who haven't seen fresh shirts since early spring. "Now that was a great show," recalls the group's violinist and spokesman, Warren Ellis.
In 1989, Ellis returned to Melbourne from four years of busking round Europe and found himself at a loose end. "Australia seemed so cold after Europe that I didn't want to do anything," he explains. "I just went and lived out in the country and didn't pick up the violin for three years." Then in 1992, a friend opened a hotel and asked Ellis to play in the bar. Mick Turner, late of the 1980s band the Moodists, was recruited on guitar; drummer Jim White joined from the unlikely-named People With Chairs Up Their Noses, where he had played percussion on an ironing board covered with letter boxes and other domestic detritus. The Dirty Three was formed.
Last year, the casually tossed together trio provided a live accompaniment for Carl Dreyer's silent classic, The Passion of Joan of Arc, at the National Film Theatre; in February, Ellis is to travel to Vienna to score a new play with countryman Nick Cave; and the band's third album, Horse Stories, was released by Big Cat last week.
Turner is a generous and modest foil for Ellis's amplified flights of distorted fiddle fancy, and there's still a residue of White's disrespect for drumming conventions in his approach. He doesn't treat the kit so much as a rhythm source as a vehicle for sympathetic embellishment of the ebb and flow of Ellis's and Turner's unpredictable leads, as close to free improvisation as they are to any received notion of folk or blues. "Jim has a remarkable style," says Ellis. "He plays very melodically. In the Dirty Three, everyone is important."
The band's egalitarian principles reach beyond a simple division of the limelight. Their first two albums were self-financed, and they own the rights to Horse Stories, a nine-track collection of insidious, elliptical and utterly distinctive instrumentals, and the first they've recorded with any certainty of a release. Ellis takes satisfaction in distancing himself from a host of smiling music execs suddenly "coming out of the woodwork". "I was opposed to going with anyone who hadn't been with us since the early days," he says. "It was good to be able to put the finger up at them. It's a pipe dream that's come true."
Industry manipulators could no doubt see the potential in the Dirty Three. You could plaster their album sleeves with sepia tints of cracked Death Valley sandscapes, like hints for a directed reading of their parched electric-organic explorations, and perhaps see them nudge the mainstream, but Ellis won't have any of it. "People say our music sounds like the desert," he says, "but I've never even been there. Australia is far enough away from everything for us to be influenced by the rest of the world but still have our own character."
The closest the band come to putting a helpful gloss on their monastic purity is Ellis's on-stage patter, which illuminates the exacerbating circumstances behind each piece in vivid purple-prose descriptions of wasted days, lost loves and drunken despair, veering from comic monologue to impassioned beat poetic. But no matter how near to high art he and his cohorts might soar, Ellis in person will always remain firmly and gloriously earthbound. It's impossible to be pretentious in an Australian accent.
The Dirty Three are currently in America collaborating on a new record with Palace's Will Oldham. "Where are you calling from?" I asked Ellis. "F***ed if I know..." was his reply
Stewart Lee
1996-09-29T16:52:04+01:00
September 1995, past midnight in an unlicensed downtown Los Angeles coffeehouse. The door is sealed with heavy wrought-iron work, and its front steps have recently played host to a drive-by shooting. The staff can't recommend anywhere in the area safe enough to find a real drink, and the crowd affects a studied, West Coast indifference as the Dirty Three take the stage, puffy, crumpled and ragged. They've played more than 200 shows since March, leaving their native Australia on a proposed three-week jaunt that has somehow stretched to 10 months, as they drive coast to coast in a 1960s Dodge Polara. There's no vocalist and no bass player, just a guitarist of sorts, a drummer playing as though he's just stepped out of some loose jazz combo, and a gypsy-curled, hunched figure scraping and plucking a violin, lurching from folksy reels to squalls of ear-splitting feedback. Baseball-capped Californians are turning from the video games, jerking thumbs stageward, saying: "Hey, these guys have got something." It's like a scene from a bad teen rock movie, the traditional fresh-faced aspirants supplanted by a desperate, road-worn threesome who haven't seen fresh shirts since early spring. "Now that was a great show," recalls the group's violinist and spokesman, Warren Ellis. In 1989, Ellis returned to Melbourne from four years of busking round Europe and found himself at a loose end. "Australia seemed so cold after Europe that I didn't want to do anything," he explains. "I just went and lived out in the country and didn't pick up the violin for three years." Then in 1992, a friend opened a hotel and asked Ellis to play in the bar. Mick Turner, late of the 1980s band the Moodists, was recruited on guitar; drummer Jim White joined from the unlikely-named People With Chairs Up Their...
The terrible massacre of innocent Israelis by sadistic Hamas agents on 7 October last year has set in motion a dreadful chain of events, exploited by bad faith actors on all sides to sow division and hate. Last week the campaigner Gideon Falter tenaciously stage-managed a confrontation with the Metropolitan police by demanding to walk through a peace demonstration at a non-designated crossing point. Why did Gideon Falter cross the road? Was it to emerge with evidence that Jewish people were under threat, and that the police were racist? Or was it because he was stapled to the person he had filming him?
Falter’s 55-second framing of his confrontation with the police emerged on Friday 19 April, before anyone had properly looked at an illuminating 13-minute clip Sky was sitting on that compromised his account. But it was too late. Suella Braverman, who’d done no research as usual, was already saying Sir Mark Rowley should resign as police commissioner. The usually reliable shoot first and ask questions later approach backfires again.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m no fan of the police. In 1990, two bored patrolmen pulled me over and searched my car, and, finding nothing but a selection of silly props from my early standup set including some string and a massive painting of some washing-up, made me perform it in its entirety, clearly for their own amusement, at the side of the road in Elephant and Castle at 1am, before telling me I was “fucking shit” and sending me on my way. Everyone’s a critic.
But in the Sky footage, Falter can be seen attempting to manipulate the situation and the police. On some level, like an eco-demonstrator dressing up as a cartoon whale and harpooning themself outside a Japanese restaurant, or Joe Lycett putting a giant inflatable toilet in the Royal Albert Dock, Falter was merely creating a piece of living theatre, passive-aggressively goading police officers into taking a position that vividly dramatises anxieties about the Gaza conflict’s role in fuelling domestic antisemitism. And the fact that the Falter incident was not what it seemed doesn’t mean antisemitism isn’t real. But Falter was, disturbingly, showing how easy it is to create a kind of immersive viral deepfake that quickly bypasses conventional channels and blows up on social media and the political arena, risking a dangerous inflammation of an already explosive debate.
We always need to check the wider picture. Within days, “doing a Falter” had become a thing, and the reliably deranged actor Laurence Fox turned up with his trusty phone at London’s annual St George’s Day festival of street fighting, horse punching, regret and flagrant cocaine consumption. Fox, who also seemed keen to cross a road, filmed himself telling a young and patient policeman to fuck off in a posh voice, though the aims of his staged confrontation were less clear than Falter’s. What was Fox trying to prove? To be fair, at this late stage in Fox’s public unravelling, ascribing motives to his actions makes as much sense as ascribing motives to a smell, a landslide, or a hot bulldog that has been given class A drugs and Special Brew by bored Sunday drinkers in a dodgy East End pub. It took Sky’s footage to show that Falter wasn’t playing with an entirely straight bat. Meanwhile, Fox’s own footage meant he himself revealed himself as an arse. We live in a surveillance society. And sometimes we are surveilling ourselves.
Today, comedians who deal with any kind of controversial material live in fear of being filmed and having their routines uncoupled from the inverted commas that frame our stage work and posted and discussed online without the benefit of context. My next tour, Stewart Lee vs the Man-Wulf, will be a satirical response to the monetisation of the supposedly unsayable by fake-ass Netflix standups, and will include unsavoury terms. I will have to develop it in venues where I can rely on audience good faith and management support, in case of orchestrated complaints, and I’ll need to police rogue phone usage. I don’t want phone footage of me parroting forbidden epithets to leak out without justifying framing, especially if I am dressed as a werewolf and sporting a tiny prosthetic penis.
During my 2018-2022 Snowflake/Tornado tour, phone use became so problematic and widespread that I developed a strategy of vaulting into the audience, confiscating the phone, inserting it visibly between my buttocks on stage, and handing it back to the punter at the end in a Jiffy bag, culminating in an incident in Oxford and the fabulous Sun headline “Comedian in Bum Fury”. Sadly, various health conditions mean I can no longer make that phone-snatching leap safely, and my colon has become too distended to accommodate even a small burner phone for the duration of one of my admittedly overlong shows.
It was with some relief I finally had my now retired Basic Lee show filmed in Salford last week by Sky. The definitive record of this much-discussed, but comparatively rarely seen, show should diffuse the ongoing online storm in a teacup reflecting its imagined content, which has already resulted in the location of my family home being posted on the guest book of the schools advice, recipes and hate site Mumsnet by a furious old lady.
But how do we ensure potentially controversial footage is not shorn of context? Maybe the answer is to film everything you ever say or do for security, in case you end up on the wrong end of someone doing a Falter or a Fox. In fact, I’m filming myself writing this now, and I am making a very serious and concerned face while doing so, just to be on the safe side.
Stewart Lee
2024-04-28T13:13:45+01:00
The terrible massacre of innocent Israelis by sadistic Hamas agents on 7 October last year has set in motion a dreadful chain of events, exploited by bad faith actors on all sides to sow division and hate. Last week the campaigner Gideon Falter tenaciously stage-managed a confrontation with the Metropolitan police by demanding to walk through a peace demonstration at a non-designated crossing point. Why did Gideon Falter cross the road? Was it to emerge with evidence that Jewish people were under threat, and that the police were racist? Or was it because he was stapled to the person he had filming him? Falter’s 55-second framing of his confrontation with the police emerged on Friday 19 April, before anyone had properly looked at an illuminating 13-minute clip Sky was sitting on that compromised his account. But it was too late. Suella Braverman, who’d done no research as usual, was already saying Sir Mark Rowley should resign as police commissioner. The usually reliable shoot first and ask questions later approach backfires again. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no fan of the police. In 1990, two bored patrolmen pulled me over and searched my car, and, finding nothing but a selection of silly props from my early standup set including some string and a massive painting of some washing-up, made me perform it in its entirety, clearly for their own amusement, at the side of the road in Elephant and Castle at 1am, before telling me I was “fucking shit” and sending me on my way. Everyone’s a critic. But in the Sky footage, Falter can be seen attempting to manipulate the situation and the police. On some level, like an eco-demonstrator dressing up as a cartoon whale and harpooning themself outside a Japanese restaurant, or Joe Lycett putting a giant inflatable...
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.
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
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.
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 2025/26
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.
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
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
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
Saturday 24th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - TICKETS
Sunday 25th October 2026 - Tyne Theatre & Opera House, Newcastle Upon Tyne - 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. COMPANY 2025 FOR DEREK BAILEY
I am compering 2 nights of this celebration of the late Derek Bailey at Café Oto, London, Dec 15th-16TH
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.
9. 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
10. 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.
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 Ballroom
THE OWL SERVICE Unless I am mistaken it looks like Essex’s innovative acid-folkies The Owl Service are making a tentative return to active service. We all now live in a post Owl Service world. NOV 29th Leigh On Sea Fishermen’s Chapel, DEC 7th M’cr Red Deer, Jan 31st London Good Shepherd Studio.
SWANSEA SOUND Anglo-Welsh indiepop supergroup, combine photo-strip romance and quietly radical politics, the C86 Crass. DEC 20th London Stoke Newington Waiting Room.
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.
THE NIGHTINGALES King Rocker cats’ annual club circuit FEB 19th Swansea Bunkhouse, 20th Southampton Joiners, 22nd Cambridge Portland Arms, 24th London Moth, 25th B’ham Castle & Falcon, 26th Sheffield Greystones, MARCH 1st Sunderland Pop Recs
PSYCHEDELIC PORN CRUMPETS Australian prog-psyche FEB 24th Newcastle Uni, 25th Glasgow Galvanizers, 28th Leeds Uni, 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. FEB 25th Coventry Just Dropped In, 26th London Lexington, 28th Athens Temple, 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
SUGAR Apparently they’ve reformed MAY 23rd, 24th London Forum
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)
Peter Watkins (Genius of British film, prophet of Privilege, 1935)
Jack DeJohnette (Miles’ funky fusionist, 1942)
Stewart Lee
2025-11-08T12:33:09+00:00
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...
My week long Wok-In-Progress Edinburgh run (9-15th August) has sold out at the Edinburgh Fringe website (here), but I am told The Stand will be releasing their ticket allocations tomorrow - Tuesday June 11th - at approximately midday via their website, here.
So if you missed out on tickets via Edfringe, or want to come, then...
1) More Tickets For Edinburgh Fringe Released. Dear List My week long Wok-In-Progress Edinburgh run (9-15th August) has sold out at the Edinburgh Fringe website (here), but I am told The Stand will be releasing their ticket allocations tomorrow - Tuesday June 11th - at approximately midday via their website, here. So if you missed out on tickets via Edfringe, or want to come, then... CLICK HERE FOR EDINBURGH FRINGE TICKETS VIA THE STAND FROM MIDDAY TOMORROW. 2) LONDON WOK IN PROGRESSES As I mentioned in the last newsletter, I am also doing several more work in progress shows at the Bill Murray pub in Islington. They are not on sale yet, but will go on sale some time on Wednesday 12th June. The dates are; Tuesday 9th July (9.30pm - 10.45pm) Wednesday 10th July (8pm - 9.15pm) Thursday 11th July (8pm - 9.15pm) 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) You will be able to get these tickets by clicking here when they are released or by signing up to Angel Comedy's mailing list.
Andy Partridge of XTC once described record fairs, and more specifically record collectors, as "smelling of broken biscuits". Butlocating a mint-condition second West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band album or a bootleg of Sonic Youth rehearsing is a difficult job that
someone has to do. Be thankful, then, to Phil McMullen and Nick Saloman, publishers of the venerable British fanzine Ptolemaic Terrascope, who sort through the bottom of the biscuit barrel for you, so that you don't have to have to get covered in unsightly crumbs. Next weekend the magazine brings Terrastock, the third annual assembly of the undeservedly obscure artists they've championed for the last decade, to Britain for the first time. The hallowed halls of the University of London Union should be shaken to their foundations by three days and nights of performances from 32 grizzled 1960s veterans and earnest contemporary drone rockers.
Described by Wire magazine as "a psychedelic three-ring circus", Terrastock began life in New Jersey in 1987, as a benefit to clear Terrascope's debts. "If anything we're in a worse state now!" says McMullen. "Terrastock 1 lost money because we had to make an unexpected and very large payment to the City of Providence fire department at the last moment - I'd rather not go into it, to be honest." But the three-day festival had already gathered an unstoppable momentum, unifying separate stratums of the international underground into a hermetic whole. Forgotten American electronic pioneers the Silver Apples were coaxed out of retirement by Terrastock, later playing alongside Blur at last year's Meltdown festival on London's South Bank, while some more modern explorers of musical extremities, Bardo Pond and Windy & Carl, shared space with a former Julie Burchill beau and Portobello Road revolutionary, Mick Farren, who scared young children with a revivified version of his 1960s proto-punk group the Deviants.
American noise addicts drove from as far away as Alaska to pay homage, and a rematch the following year in San Francisco became inevitable. "It was nothing less than a gathering of true believers," wrote one local reviewer in a piece entitled How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Drone, "somehow combining the retro-obsessed nerdiness of a Star Trek Convention with the most open-minded and avant-garde elements of the indie-rock underground, all gathered together under the genre-spanning umbrella of 'psychedelia'."
The Bevis Frond, the band fronted by Terrascope's 46-year-old co-publisher, Nick Saloman, typify Terrastock's eclectic aesthetic. Saloman's band, and the record label Woronzow that he runs with his bassist, Adrian Shaw, enjoy considerable international success with a negligible press profile. Indeed, you're most likely to remember gentle giant Saloman via his fantastic performance in the 1989 series of Richard Whiteley's TV quiz Countdown. "I won it six times in a row but I fell apart in the semifinals and tried to rewrite the dictionary," he confesses, drinking tea in his back garden, but still clearly wracked with guilt and shame. In 1984 Saloman was touring the fairs as a second-hand record dealer, but was secretly one of the
finest guitarists, if not in the entire world, then certainly in the Walthamstow area. An insurance payout after a motorcycle accident funded the Bevis Frond's first album of sprawling, synapse-shredding acid rock, and 17 albums down the line he's a veritable cult figure. Saloman's still a refreshingly unashamed music fan, and the respect accorded him enables him to fulfil a string of childhood fantasies: recording with Arthur Lee of Love, playing guitar for Woodstock hero Country Joe of Country Joe and the Fish at his last British show, and once giving the late Randy California of Spirit a lift to West Byfleet in a green Ford Escort.
Saloman went into partnership alongside long-term fanzine contributor McMullen in 1989, to publish the Ptolemaic Terrascope. A recent issue featured the Christian pop star Cliff Richard discussing the early British rock scene alongside an interview with Aleister Crowley acolyte David Tibet, of shadowy English mystics Current 93. "That pretty much sums up the Terrascopic world-view," says McMullen proudly. "Two extremes whose musical orbits cross paths even less often than that of the moon and the sun, but who have both made equally valid contributions to the musical enjoyment of a great many people down the years."
Sadly Sir Cliff won't be getting on stage to sing Mistletoe and Wine in between sets from My Drug Hell, the Supreme Dicks and the Bevis Frond at ULU next weekend, but the festival isn't without its surprises. The return to recording and performing of the 1960s folk singer Tom Rapp from Pearls Before Swine, who makes his belated British debut at Terrastock, is a coup for which McMullen can justly claim some credit, having tracked him down for the 1997 event and promised him an appreciative audience.
Bailing out of the music business in the mid-1970s to become a civil-rights lawyer, after his manager made off with $150,000, Rapp was unaware of the influence that his group has had on new psychedelic-folk acts such as Japan's Ghost or softly spoken duo Damon & Naomi. Rapp relearned his old songs from tabulations on an internet fan site. The reaction to his 1997 return, after a 22-year hiatus, astonished him. "I had no idea there were any fans out there.
As far as I knew, all of Pearls Before Swine's work existed only in the lost language of vinyl - it was as though I had recorded only in Latin or onto wax cylinders. I was amazed. I thought the fans would be my age, with tie-dyed walkers and paisley platform shoes, but the room was jammed with people who offered vociferous support."
Despite the success of the last two Terrastock events, and an impressive bill that includes the UK debut of the Byrds-inflected Seattle group the Green Pajamas, two performances from the Silver Apples, and the overwhelming epic noise of Bardo Pond, Saloman is characteristically sceptical about the weekend. "I'm worried that some of the younger US bands will be hoping for a bit of coverage out of it, but I've a feeling that if there is any press it'll all be, 'Hey! Dust your kaftan off, man!' " And then he goes back into the house to paste me together a copy of the new Tom Rapp CD, A Journal of the Plague Year, which his label releases next month, and gets sticky-backed photo mounts stuck all over his fingers. Terrastock may be the ancient DIY music ethic in action, but there isn't a kaftan in sight.
Stewart Lee
1999-08-22T17:34:21+01:00
Andy Partridge of XTC once described record fairs, and more specifically record collectors, as "smelling of broken biscuits". Butlocating a mint-condition second West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band album or a bootleg of Sonic Youth rehearsing is a difficult job that someone has to do. Be thankful, then, to Phil McMullen and Nick Saloman, publishers of the venerable British fanzine Ptolemaic Terrascope, who sort through the bottom of the biscuit barrel for you, so that you don't have to have to get covered in unsightly crumbs. Next weekend the magazine brings Terrastock, the third annual assembly of the undeservedly obscure artists they've championed for the last decade, to Britain for the first time. The hallowed halls of the University of London Union should be shaken to their foundations by three days and nights of performances from 32 grizzled 1960s veterans and earnest contemporary drone rockers. Described by Wire magazine as "a psychedelic three-ring circus", Terrastock began life in New Jersey in 1987, as a benefit to clear Terrascope's debts. "If anything we're in a worse state now!" says McMullen. "Terrastock 1 lost money because we had to make an unexpected and very large payment to the City of Providence fire department at the last moment - I'd rather not go into it, to be honest." But the three-day festival had already gathered an unstoppable momentum, unifying separate stratums of the international underground into a hermetic whole. Forgotten American electronic pioneers the Silver Apples were coaxed out of retirement by Terrastock, later playing alongside Blur at last year's Meltdown festival on London's South Bank, while some more modern explorers of musical extremities, Bardo Pond and Windy & Carl, shared space with a former Julie Burchill beau and Portobello Road revolutionary, Mick Farren, who scared young children with a revivified version of...
By his own admission, last time Stewart Lee played the Greenwich Comedy Festival marquee - in front of a beered-up crowd in 2010 - it was a disaster, and the gig had to be rescued by Daniel Kitson. But if he had second thoughts about returning, he slayed that demon at the opening night of this year's event in the grounds of the National Maritime Museum, thanks to a virtuosic routine about the perceived wisdom that liberal comics wouldn't dare tackle Islam in the same way they would lay into Christianity.
It's a peculiar prejudice that he's laid into before, but this extended routine - loosely based around an incident involving a woman in full niqab on the 149 bus - was a dazzling, hilarious display of manipulating audience's sensibilities and thwarting their expectations. In turns evoking Roy Chubby Brown while defiantly telling the large sell-out crowd precisely why they are allowed to laugh because ‘I'm not an idiot and know what I'm doing.'
Indeed he does. He may have a superiority complex on stage, but he's earned it. Under the guise of delivering the anti-Islamic stand-up he's told people crave, he prompts examination of prejudice while taking brilliant side-swipes at the young plagiarist pretenders to his comedy crown, the crowd-sourced surveillance of Twitter, and his own reputation for pause-filled delivery. In fact, it is far more nuanced than that; for a minute or so getting laughs from hesitancy in a way not seen since Frankie Howerd's day. It's not all about the super-smart material - although clearly most of it is.
At the start of his headlining set, Lee promised us two routines: the called-for Islamophobia and 25 minutes entirely about urine purely, he claims, because if he heard about a comedian doing such a thing he would assume it was abysmal or brilliant - and he wanted to prove it could be neither.
He was possibly right. Even though the section was foreshortened, the fictional family catchphrases based around pee didn't quite gain enough traction. But the mixed reaction opened the door for a masterful berating of he audience, holding us collectively responsible for real-life tragedies - with the exaggeration of blame played entirely deadpan.
Lee's slot was prefaced by two other heroes of the alternative comedy scene, Tony Law and Josie Long, and held together with the skilful compering of ever-affable Ed Gamble. Not that he had to do too much at the start - this corner of South-East London has a fine reputation for audiences who mess with comics, thanks largely to Up The Creek and the Tunnel Club in their heydays - and the lies spun by ‘Noddy' and ‘Big Ears' got some instant laughs. Whether by luck or instinct, Gamble also unearthed two cops - one a police diver, the other an undercover officer who poses as a prostitute - which provided the sort of running gags any MC would hope for.
It's fair to say the unabashed absurdity of opening act Tony Law was a tent-splitter - and he probably wouldn't have it any other way. Playing to a much wider crowd than his natural audience, his nonsense garners huge laughs, but also some stony faces.
However anyone who comes onstage in way-too-snug onesie and carrying a trombone and a shopping bag is clearly not a comic who takes themselves too seriously, and there are gags at his own expense a plenty. He may be weird, but he's also that archetype of the mainstream comedy ‘saying what we're all thinking'. It's just that what we're all thinking is ‘that guy's odd' - though there's more to his comedy than that superficial impression.
Long, like Law, performed edited highlights from her Edinburgh show, about her struggles to enter enter the successful relationship she believes she ought to have now she's in her early thirties, especially given her inherently romantic nature. There's a strong narrative structure to this, starting off with her stupidity in going to the wrong airport and weaving deftly around her own family and - making something of a departure for her, a sex story.
It's not as overtly political as her reputation - save for a dark fantasy about doing away with Nigel Farage or the odd aside about the warped priorities of those who seek wealth above all else. But there's something more subtle about reclaiming the ‘period joke' from being an inaccurate slur against female comics. A strong ending for a warm, thoughtful, and funny routine.
Stewart Lee
2014-09-25T21:22:13+01:00
By his own admission, last time Stewart Lee played the Greenwich Comedy Festival marquee - in front of a beered-up crowd in 2010 - it was a disaster, and the gig had to be rescued by Daniel Kitson. But if he had second thoughts about returning, he slayed that demon at the opening night of this year's event in the grounds of the National Maritime Museum, thanks to a virtuosic routine about the perceived wisdom that liberal comics wouldn't dare tackle Islam in the same way they would lay into Christianity. It's a peculiar prejudice that he's laid into before, but this extended routine - loosely based around an incident involving a woman in full niqab on the 149 bus - was a dazzling, hilarious display of manipulating audience's sensibilities and thwarting their expectations. In turns evoking Roy Chubby Brown while defiantly telling the large sell-out crowd precisely why they are allowed to laugh because ‘I'm not an idiot and know what I'm doing.' Indeed he does. He may have a superiority complex on stage, but he's earned it. Under the guise of delivering the anti-Islamic stand-up he's told people crave, he prompts examination of prejudice while taking brilliant side-swipes at the young plagiarist pretenders to his comedy crown, the crowd-sourced surveillance of Twitter, and his own reputation for pause-filled delivery. In fact, it is far more nuanced than that; for a minute or so getting laughs from hesitancy in a way not seen since Frankie Howerd's day. It's not all about the super-smart material - although clearly most of it is. At the start of his headlining set, Lee promised us two routines: the called-for Islamophobia and 25 minutes entirely about urine purely, he claims, because if he heard about a comedian doing such a thing he would assume...
Here's eight real-time improvisations by Charlotte Hug, bowing, plucking, and scraping the viola, with studiedly inchoate vocal accompaniment. A Romantic whiff surrounds the affair, suggested in part by sleeve shots of the black frock coated musician, poised to perform, against abstract arty scribbles.
Like Caspar David Friedrich's mountaintop wanderer, facing into a sea of fog, Hug charts a forward progress into a chaotic weather system of layered keening sounds and sporadic scrambles, voice eventually indecipherable from viola, identity subsumed into art.
Stewart Lee
2011-10-23T20:20:53+01:00
Here's eight real-time improvisations by Charlotte Hug, bowing, plucking, and scraping the viola, with studiedly inchoate vocal accompaniment. A Romantic whiff surrounds the affair, suggested in part by sleeve shots of the black frock coated musician, poised to perform, against abstract arty scribbles. Like Caspar David Friedrich's mountaintop wanderer, facing into a sea of fog, Hug charts a forward progress into a chaotic weather system of layered keening sounds and sporadic scrambles, voice eventually indecipherable from viola, identity subsumed into art.
In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow is able to translate the grunting of Mark Ruffalo’s incoherent Hulk into meaningful dialogue. Last Monday the Times newspaper invited us to believe that the resentful foundling Michael Gove could do the same with the contradictory snarling of Donald Trump.
As a fellow adoptee I recognise Gove’s irreparably damaged personality. Indeed, both of us were once published in the same vanity-pressed anthology of neurotic, self-justifying teenage poetry. And as a member of the Gove-loathing metropolitan liberal elite, I thought we had seen the last of the self-serving nest-cuckoo and his hand-wringing wife. Six months ago, it looked as if a stateless Gove and Sarah Vine were reinventing themselves as the amusing celebrity political couple for young millennials so jaded they no longer found Neil and Christine Hamilton quite sickening enough. Michael Gove and Sarah Vine – a Neil and Christine Hamilton for the Two Girls, One Cup generation.
It had been Gove who, with David Cameron and Boris Johnson, sabotaged our children’s futures in a doomed peeing war of competitive posh men. As a student, David Cameron is rumoured to have put his penis into a dead pig. To outdo him as an adult, in an act even more bizarre and obscene, Michael Gove put his penis into a Daily Mail journalist. And to render both his rivals irrelevant, to do something even more disgusting and demented, Boris Johnson allowed himself to be put into the role of foreign secretary, a punishment-beating for the world.
But, in a plot twist worthy of an HBO box set, it is actually Johnson’s old ally and enemy Gove who has made the first plausible contact with the new president of America. This journalistic coup goes some way to restoring the wounded pride of Gove, an adopted misfit masking his low self-esteem, afraid that his standing is an accident of administrative paperwork in infancy, desperate to assert his role in a world of entitlement to which he suspects he is not really entitled.
Encounters with Trump that appear calm usually suggest the school bus driver in the film Dirty Harry (Don Siegel, 1971), interacting as politely as possible with Andy Robinson’s vividly unhinged psychopath, in the hope that he won’t massacre the kidnapped preteens on board. When Robinson forces the weeping children to sing Old MacDonald, the scene conveys the same air of forced jollity evident among Democrats at Trump’s inauguration. But Gove’s dealings with Trump were reported as relaxed, admittedly by Gove, in an interview he wrote, in a paper he works for owned by an arse.
Everything you need to know about Gove’s feelings for Trump, and for his previous paramour Boris Johnson, is contained in Nietzsche’s 1887 book of essays On the Genealogy of Morality. If you haven’t read it, download Apple’s Ask a Nietzsche app, and question a tiny avatar of the dead philosopher, voiced by the German comedian and TalkSport regular Henning Wehn. I first heard about the book on a radio show hosted by someone called Melvyn Bragg, who I was surprised to find was real, rather than a Siri-like app with a broken pitch control.
Illustration by David Foldvari.
Now, I personally know nothing about psychiatry, philosophy, moral philosophy, psychology, psychoanalysis, psychological profiling, cultural history, politics, linguistics, or the science of personality, but to me Gove would appear to exhibit all the characteristic traits of what Nietzsche calls “slave mentality”, the resentful jealousy of the “ill-born, meek” man, imagining that one day the world will see that he was right all along.
Boris Johnson and Donald Trump, however, fulfil the criteria of what Nietzsche names, in the same essay, “blond beasts”. Not only are they both blond and beastly, but they are “beyond good and evil”, observing no law other than their own power. The Gove-slave needs to believe in deferred justice as he is physically incapable of defeating the blond beasts on their own terms. Nietzsche sees this as the root of Christian morality.
Or alternatively, it would appear, the slave can canoodle with the beast, and if one blond beast doesn’t take the bait, there’s always another one over the Atlantic to cuddle up with instead. But one doesn’t need Nietzsche to understand Gove’s relationship with Trump. Presumably you remember it from the playground, where Gove-like figures peeped over bullies’ shoulders, urging them to violence from a position of cowardly safety, the Richard Hammond/Jeremy Clarkson dynamic, an eternal archetype, replayed in Trump’s golden office, framed Playboy covers reflected in the smeared lenses of Gove’s steamed-up spectacles. Is it just me or is it hot in here?
Gove may be a slave but he is not an idiot. He knows there is no point setting any store by anything Trump says. Trump’s comments do not add up to any coherent worldview. Each emerges in the moment, suitable for that second and that second alone. In his Gove interview Trump said he hoped to scale down his nuclear arsenal. But as recently as the 22 December, in his famous Let It Be an Arms Race series of 140-character treatises, Trump declared “The United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability.”
After the interview’s publication, Gove was deferred to uncritically on Radio 4’s Today programme, a show currently so spineless in its questioning of government that it resembles not so much a news source, as a stack of jellyfish piled up on top of one another and wrapped in an unbuttoned shirt and a Robert Redford wig, in the hope that someone will mistake it for Bob Woodward.
Gove is a desperate, disappointed man, staring into the murky dew pond of Trump’s inarticulate pronouncements, looking for something that validates him. Hearing that Trump will do a trade deal with the UK “absolutely, very quickly”, Gove the emasculated Brexiteer makes this the focus of a Times interview so uncritical as to be as dangerous and dishonest as anything emerging from a Macedonian fake news factory. This is not a game. Lives are at stake. You all need to do better. See me.
Stewart Lee’s Content Provider is now touring; see stewartlee.co.uk for details
Stewart Lee
2017-01-22T11:46:08+00:00
In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow is able to translate the grunting of Mark Ruffalo’s incoherent Hulk into meaningful dialogue. Last Monday the Times newspaper invited us to believe that the resentful foundling Michael Gove could do the same with the contradictory snarling of Donald Trump. As a fellow adoptee I recognise Gove’s irreparably damaged personality. Indeed, both of us were once published in the same vanity-pressed anthology of neurotic, self-justifying teenage poetry. And as a member of the Gove-loathing metropolitan liberal elite, I thought we had seen the last of the self-serving nest-cuckoo and his hand-wringing wife. Six months ago, it looked as if a stateless Gove and Sarah Vine were reinventing themselves as the amusing celebrity political couple for young millennials so jaded they no longer found Neil and Christine Hamilton quite sickening enough. Michael Gove and Sarah Vine – a Neil and Christine Hamilton for the Two Girls, One Cup generation. It had been Gove who, with David Cameron and Boris Johnson, sabotaged our children’s futures in a doomed peeing war of competitive posh men. As a student, David Cameron is rumoured to have put his penis into a dead pig. To outdo him as an adult, in an act even more bizarre and obscene, Michael Gove put his penis into a Daily Mail journalist. And to render both his rivals irrelevant, to do something even more disgusting and demented, Boris Johnson allowed himself to be put into the role of foreign secretary, a punishment-beating for the world. But, in a plot twist worthy of an HBO box set, it is actually Johnson’s old ally and enemy Gove who has made the first plausible contact with the new president of America. This journalistic coup goes some way to restoring the wounded pride of Gove,...
Life on tour for a successful comedian can be a bit of a slog, but for Stewart Lee, Shrewsbury left its mark when he performed in the county town last year.
"We walked past a pub where an acoustic guitarist was playing covers of John Martyn songs, and they were selling a nice local bitter—and that is about as good as it gets on the road," the 45-year-old recalled.
With the county town a regular date on his tours over the past 25 years, Lee's association with Shropshire goes back even further than that, having been born in Wellington before moving to Solihull, where he developed an early taste for comedy.
"My grandparents, who brought me up as a little kid, were very much of the area. They were both on the shop floor at Cadbury's before the war, spoke with the accents of the area and had a distinct sense of humour. My grandfather was a big influence on me in that way," he said.
A London resident for many years, Lee admits that his Midlands accent has become somewhat diluted, yet he still sees his native tongue as a potent weapon in his comedic arsenal.
"If I'm saying something really pretentious, dogmatic or contentious, if I let a little bit of the lilt trickle back into my voice, it seems to neutralise it. I think people trust the Birmingham accent, they don't seem to think it's capable of deceit or guile, or pretentiousness. There's something really great about it," he said.
Lee doesn't confine references to his West Midlands roots to the accent. When asked about a type of curry that could sum him up, Lee stays very much close to home.
"A balti, probably. Something that began with a localised popularity, but appears to be becoming a national dish," he joked.
Lee first rose to prominence as the writing and performing partner of Richard Herring, with Lee and Herring's Fist of Fun comedy show a hit on BBC radio and television in the early to mid-1990s. A Sunday lunchtime show, This Morning With Richard Not Judy, took the pair to the end of the decade and, along with it, the end of their professional partnership.
The past 14 years have seen Lee perform a number of themed stand-up shows, with titles such as 90s Comedian, 41st Best Stand-Up Ever, If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One and last year's Carpet Remnant World. Hot on the heels of a run at this year's Edinburgh Festival Fringe, Lee's new show, Much A-Stew About Nothing, kicked off its national tour on Tuesday. So what can the audience expect when it rolls into Shrewsbury on Monday?
"The idea of this tour is that normally when I do a tour I write a show that's a two-hour through line, it's got some kind of beginning, middle and end, and some kind of story to it. Every couple of years, I do a tour where I try and work out three hours of stuff for the telly show, so any stories or ideas have to be self-contained within a 30-minute loop,” he explained.
The "telly show" Lee referred to is Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, the BBC production that won the Bafta award for best comedy programme last year. With a third series scheduled for March next year, Lee finds that his inspiration comes from a middle-aged point of view these days.
"I tried to fix a light in the kitchen about six months ago in the middle of the night, fell and ended up in A & E. I think they thought I had been drinking or was on drugs, and I worked that into half an hour about what it's like to be a middle-aged dad and to be weak and vulnerable,” he said, adding that he still hadn't lost his eye for a dig at politicians.
"I've got half an hour on UKIP policy. I'd dropped the kids off at school and I had the car radio on and the bloke from UKIP came on. He did a really incoherent, mad interview, which was quite funny, and then I found it online and you suddenly had half an hour.”
With Much A-Stew About Nothing stopping off at some large venues, such as Birmingham's 2,200-seat capacity Symphony Hall, Lee's popularity is clearly broadening much to the comedian's consternation.
"The perception of me is that [my audience] is just a load of Guardian readers, but it's hilarious now, it's so diverse. You get a whole spread, old people," he said.
Stewart Lee
2013-09-13T18:07:38+01:00
Life on tour for a successful comedian can be a bit of a slog, but for Stewart Lee, Shrewsbury left its mark when he performed in the county town last year. "We walked past a pub where an acoustic guitarist was playing covers of John Martyn songs, and they were selling a nice local bitter—and that is about as good as it gets on the road," the 45-year-old recalled. With the county town a regular date on his tours over the past 25 years, Lee's association with Shropshire goes back even further than that, having been born in Wellington before moving to Solihull, where he developed an early taste for comedy. "My grandparents, who brought me up as a little kid, were very much of the area. They were both on the shop floor at Cadbury's before the war, spoke with the accents of the area and had a distinct sense of humour. My grandfather was a big influence on me in that way," he said. A London resident for many years, Lee admits that his Midlands accent has become somewhat diluted, yet he still sees his native tongue as a potent weapon in his comedic arsenal. "If I'm saying something really pretentious, dogmatic or contentious, if I let a little bit of the lilt trickle back into my voice, it seems to neutralise it. I think people trust the Birmingham accent, they don't seem to think it's capable of deceit or guile, or pretentiousness. There's something really great about it," he said. Lee doesn't confine references to his West Midlands roots to the accent. When asked about a type of curry that could sum him up, Lee stays very much close to home. "A balti, probably. Something that began with a localised popularity, but appears to be becoming a...
Opera aficionados beware. A new figure has entered the landscape of music's most refined genre, and he brings with him the stories of trailer park tragedy and welfare woe.
Yes, none other than Jerry Springer -- the former Cincinnati mayor who hosts a self-titled talk show on which buxom women exchange violent blows over men who prefer to sleep with transvestites -- is now the subject of an opera, produced by one of Britain's fastest-rising comics.
Jerry Springer: The Opera features classically trained professional singers performing music inspired by Mozart, Handel, Gilbert & Sullivan and rock opera. Produced for the government-funded Battersea Arts Centre, it is the brainchild of comedian and composer Richard Thomas and his Kombat Opera Company.
"The Jerry Springer Show is very excessive and so are most operas, although this must be the first opera to include lap dancing as a subject," Thomas says. "Like the show, opera takes extremes very well. It's about murder and infidelity. You can have singers screaming 'You whore!' and then musically bring an extra story to it."
A Springer fan, Thomas hit upon the concept last year after writing and producing Kombat Opera's Tourette's Diva, a black-comedy opera about a psychotic mother and child that aired on the BBC.
He says he used that experience to develop a 10-minute musical segment about Springer's critically reviled talk show and played it as part of a one-man show at the BAC. Two months later, he tested the idea again with four professional singers. By August, the production had grown into its present incarnation.
Running just under two hours, the opera has a setting that mimics the TV program and is packed with the same kinds of characters mired in jaw-dropping dysfunction one finds on any given episode of Springer's show. On stage, a chorus of straight-faced vocalists plays the part of the studio audience, chanting "Jerry ... Jerry ... Jerry." In pitches ranging from soprano to bass, they utter repeated coloraturas such as "My mum used to be my dad."
The drama, which comprises a series of turns in the guests' scandal-ridden lives, includes Kylie (played by Andrew Emerson) informing her boyfriend that she is a he.
Montel (Wills Morgan) tells his girlfriend Andrea (Lucy Stevens) that he wants to be her "baby." So, he enters the studio wearing nothing but a diaper and sucking his thumb. When a disgusted Andrea rejects him, on comes Baby Jane (Lore Lixenberg), who's happy to fulfill Montel's fantasy.
But there is some substantial social commentary lurking beneath the lowbrow, profane content. As Baby Jane, Lixenberg exudes tremendous pathos while belting out, Judy Garland-style, "This Is My Jerry Springer Moment" -- the story of a nobody who's finally achieved her 15 minutes of TV fame.
Recently, Thomas and director Stewart Lee introduced a new segment in which the Springer character (Rick Bland) dies and Jesus Christ and Satan appear to do battle for the souls of his oddball guests. Lee thinks the scenes add a more overtly intellectual aspect to the opera.
"It sounds simple and obvious, but I think people who've never been to an opera before will come and see it," Lee says. "The Bible's Old and New Testaments are metaphors for human behavior, and Jerry Springer seems to have a better grasp of the practicalities of human behavior."
The goal is to turn the workshop production into a full-blown opera for the West End, London's equivalent of Broadway. Already, British theater director Richard Eyre and Broadway producer Harold Prince have expressed interest. The British-born Springer endorsed the idea in an interview with the Los Angeles Times.
Judging strictly from the packed house left rolling in the aisles with laughter during one of the workshop stints in September, Thomas just might have a hit on his hands.
The first production of the completed work is scheduled for February at the BAC. By then, we should know whether the fictional Springer goes to heaven with Jesus or, like Mozart's immoral Don Giovanni, follows Satan into the abyss of hell.
Stewart Lee
2001-10-10T16:27:16+01:00
Opera aficionados beware. A new figure has entered the landscape of music's most refined genre, and he brings with him the stories of trailer park tragedy and welfare woe. Yes, none other than Jerry Springer -- the former Cincinnati mayor who hosts a self-titled talk show on which buxom women exchange violent blows over men who prefer to sleep with transvestites -- is now the subject of an opera, produced by one of Britain's fastest-rising comics. Jerry Springer: The Opera features classically trained professional singers performing music inspired by Mozart, Handel, Gilbert & Sullivan and rock opera. Produced for the government-funded Battersea Arts Centre, it is the brainchild of comedian and composer Richard Thomas and his Kombat Opera Company. "The Jerry Springer Show is very excessive and so are most operas, although this must be the first opera to include lap dancing as a subject," Thomas says. "Like the show, opera takes extremes very well. It's about murder and infidelity. You can have singers screaming 'You whore!' and then musically bring an extra story to it." A Springer fan, Thomas hit upon the concept last year after writing and producing Kombat Opera's Tourette's Diva, a black-comedy opera about a psychotic mother and child that aired on the BBC. He says he used that experience to develop a 10-minute musical segment about Springer's critically reviled talk show and played it as part of a one-man show at the BAC. Two months later, he tested the idea again with four professional singers. By August, the production had grown into its present incarnation. Running just under two hours, the opera has a setting that mimics the TV program and is packed with the same kinds of characters mired in jaw-dropping dysfunction one finds on any given episode of Springer's show. On stage, a...
Alexei Sayle, Talal Karkouti and the returning Stewart Lee talk comedy history, kung-fu (NOT judo!), young comics, old comic, American comics, racist comics, sexist comics, houseboats and Stewart's new tour.
Go to stewartlee.co.uk for link and details of his upcoming tour and shows including next week at Alexandra Palace.
Stewart Lee
2026-01-31T19:32:43+00:00
Alexei Sayle, Talal Karkouti and the returning Stewart Lee talk comedy history, kung-fu (NOT judo!), young comics, old comic, American comics, racist comics, sexist comics, houseboats and Stewart's new tour. Go to stewartlee.co.uk for link and details of his upcoming tour and shows including next week at Alexandra Palace.
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...
The selection of Kate Middleton, a lowly commoner drawn from the very dregs of society, as Prince William's bride has been the subject of great speculation, much of it thinly veiled snobbery. But Britain is broken. Social mobility is at a historic low, state education and public healthcare are in crisis, and our own prime minister has blamed the truculent immigrant and his concealed wife for our lack of national cohesion. Once upon a time, royal marriages were political acts that forged links between different nations. Instead, William and Kate's wedding will bind this nation to itself, and in marrying so very far beneath himself, I believe the young prince has made a heroic and deliberate sacrifice to achieve this end.
Pause for a moment. Imagine being Prince William. Imagine knowing that the best justification most rational people could come up with for your heavily subsidised existence was that you were a symbolic figure. And symbolic of what, the boy must wonder. History? The land? The nation itself? A notion of refined nobility? Grace under pressure? Or perhaps some abstract idea of temporal continuity? Unable to escape being a symbolic figure, the prince's recent activities suggest he has chosen instead to embrace the role in the most profound way imaginable. And, I believe, this is why the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton itself seems symbolic on an admirable and unprecedented level.
Jessie L Weston's 1920 study of Holy Grail mythology, From Ritual to Romance, pictures Britain as a wasteland, an image appropriated by TS Eliot to describe the aftermath of the first world war. The Fisher King must search the devastated terrain for the Holy Grail, and drink from it to heal the land. Broken Britain is that wasted land. William is that Fisher King. Kate Middleton is that lovely grail, full not of the blood of the crucified Christ, but of the blood of the Middletons, who run a children's partyware business in Berkshire. And Kate's wedding to wise William is a ritual that may help to fix what David Cameron's vision of the Big Society so far has not. For in choosing Kate, a simple girl from a school near Swindon, as his bride, William is in fact taking each and every British subject – man, woman, old, young, black, white, Christian and Muslim – into his royal bed, and binding us all to each other in the white heat of his princely passion.
Kate was educated at Marlborough College in Wiltshire. It is a private school, yes, but it is no Eton, and its most famous alumni are little more than flannelled fools: the comedian Jack Whitehall, the children's author Lauren Child, and the pop musician Chris de Burgh, whose 1976 Christmas hit A Spaceman Came Travelling describes an alien being's disappointment in the shortcomings of human society – disappointments it appears William shares, and is trying to address in his own esoteric way. But his motives for plucking a bride from such an inauspicious establishment are, I believe, twofold, and we must admire and accept the occult reasoning behind his selfless choice.
First of all, Marlborough College, where Kate Middleton flushed into womanhood, is set in a magical landscape that has been declared a world heritage site, being only five miles from the exact centre of the Avebury stone circle. Perhaps Kate's growing body absorbed the magical energies of the region. Perhaps it did not. It does not matter. She is from, and she is of, the ancient wetland. The arrangement of the 6,000-year-old circle, and the stone rows, burial chambers and mounds that surround it, is explicitly symbolic, explicitly sexual and explicitly ritualistic, and as such it shares the same transformative agenda as Friday's royal wedding.
In Avebury, the West Kennet Avenue, a long row of erotically paired stones, uncoils snake-like from the circle, as if to penetrate nearby Silbury Hill, a fecund 37-metre-high female belly, which rises from the marsh to meet it. The prince has taken his lowly bride from within this charged landscape, where our ancestors celebrated the union of man and woman in stone and earth, and began the communal processes that forged a nation from their descendents, the broken nation that William the Fisher King must now heal. Our shaman-prince could not have chosen a better receptacle for his magical purposes than Kate Middleton, a peasant-spawned serf-girl, sodden with the primordial mire of the Swindon-shadowed swamplands.
Secondly, in choosing a commoner for his bride, William gives hope to millions of socially disenfranchised Britons. Only two Tory generations ago, the prime minister Margaret Thatcher was proud to proclaim herself "a grocer's daughter". A mere 20 years since she passed power on to John Major, a garden gnome salesman with six O-levels, it is impossible to imagine either in government today, composed, as it is, principally of former members of the elite Oxford vomiting society the Bullingdon Club. The state-schools system is stretched to the limit; the withdrawal of further education grants deters poorer students; and government contributions to the Bookstart scheme, which gives books to children who might otherwise have none, have been halved. It is not possible to imagine a Thatcher ever getting out of Lincolnshire today, let alone becoming prime minister.
But in snatching Kate from the gutter, William stooped even lower than he would have done had he chosen Margaret Thatcher for his bride. Kate's parents aren't even grocers. They sell novelty hats and paper plates. It's no coincidence that as genuine social mobility in broken Britain is eroded, so commoners turn to the National Lottery, The X Factor and Britain's Got Talent. Winning them represents the only chance real people have to change their circumstances significantly. It could be you. And, like some giant illuminated penis flying over the rooftops of suburban homes and frothing at random passing women, William has pointed himself at Kate Middleton, the Susan Boyle of social mobility. In declaring her his princess, he brings hope of real change to millions of people denied a decent education and the means to better themselves, to millions of tiny babies denied even books, that one day they too could be randomly rewarded with untold wealth and privilege.
The wedding of my wife and I was a small affair, with 40 or so guests. We were not required to arrange our day along magical or symbolic lines, though admittedly some aspects of the Catholic wedding ceremony confused me, and my wife is yet to explain the tradition whereby I have been obliged ever since to sleep alone each night on the toilet. But as a symbolic figure, poor Prince William's wedding is hostage to political expediency. Consider the faces he will see as he and Kate make their solemn vows.
From the world of government, the prime minister and Mrs David Cameron, and the deputy prime minister and Ms Miriam González Durántez, holding whichever suit the prime minister has chosen not to wear; from the faith communities, the Reverend Gregorius, Anil Bhanot, Malcolm Deeboo of the Zoroastrians, The Venerable Bogoda Seelawimala Nayaka Thera, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Optimus Prime, Yog-Sothoth, Captain Marvel and Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor; and from the twin spheres of entertainment and sport, Mr Ben Fogle, Mr David Beckham and Mrs David Beckham, Mr Madonna Louise Ciccone, and Sir Elton Hercules John and Mr Sir Elton Hercules John. Candles in the wind all.
But as he gazes at this golden shower of dignitaries, it is William who will have the last guffaw. He knows that this was not so much a wedding as a psychic rescue operation, a healing ritual for broken Britain, a pantomime of hope for the terminally hopeless. In taking Kate Middleton as his bride, Prince William, more than anyone in any position of power in Britain today, has tried at least to do something to help. I hope sincerely that both of them are very happy.
• Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle starts on BBC2 on Wednesday, 11.20pm. A series of events called Stewart Lee's Austerity Binge starts at the Southbank Centre on 27 May. He is among artists performing John Cage's Indeterminacy in a short season he's programmed for the Cheltenham Jazz festival.
Stewart Lee
2011-04-27T15:16:17+01:00
The selection of Kate Middleton, a lowly commoner drawn from the very dregs of society, as Prince William's bride has been the subject of great speculation, much of it thinly veiled snobbery. But Britain is broken. Social mobility is at a historic low, state education and public healthcare are in crisis, and our own prime minister has blamed the truculent immigrant and his concealed wife for our lack of national cohesion. Once upon a time, royal marriages were political acts that forged links between different nations. Instead, William and Kate's wedding will bind this nation to itself, and in marrying so very far beneath himself, I believe the young prince has made a heroic and deliberate sacrifice to achieve this end. Pause for a moment. Imagine being Prince William. Imagine knowing that the best justification most rational people could come up with for your heavily subsidised existence was that you were a symbolic figure. And symbolic of what, the boy must wonder. History? The land? The nation itself? A notion of refined nobility? Grace under pressure? Or perhaps some abstract idea of temporal continuity? Unable to escape being a symbolic figure, the prince's recent activities suggest he has chosen instead to embrace the role in the most profound way imaginable. And, I believe, this is why the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton itself seems symbolic on an admirable and unprecedented level. Jessie L Weston's 1920 study of Holy Grail mythology, From Ritual to Romance, pictures Britain as a wasteland, an image appropriated by TS Eliot to describe the aftermath of the first world war. The Fisher King must search the devastated terrain for the Holy Grail, and drink from it to heal the land. Broken Britain is that wasted land. William is that Fisher King. Kate Middleton is...
In the '80s, Dan Stuart's Green On Red played punk in a Crazy Horse style, a hardcore era heresy, dissolving messily in bad drugs and bad business.
His 1994 comeback, Can O'Worms, sounds even better here than twenty years ago; a heady country blues fever dream, with spicy Mexican flavoring, and Carveresque deadbeat lyrics, painting a socio-geographic landscape straight out of Breaking Bad's sun-blasted borderlands.
A second disc covers Stuart's more lighthearted collaboration with Tucson lo-fi legend Al Perry.
Stewart Lee
2014-04-12T21:34:30+01:00
In the '80s, Dan Stuart's Green On Red played punk in a Crazy Horse style, a hardcore era heresy, dissolving messily in bad drugs and bad business. His 1994 comeback, Can O'Worms, sounds even better here than twenty years ago; a heady country blues fever dream, with spicy Mexican flavoring, and Carveresque deadbeat lyrics, painting a socio-geographic landscape straight out of Breaking Bad's sun-blasted borderlands. A second disc covers Stuart's more lighthearted collaboration with Tucson lo-fi legend Al Perry.
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,...
He might need the time off to calm down. From the outset he was in typically intolerant mode, warning that if he saw any phones turned on they will be smashed “and you can take it up with the police”. He did not carry out his threat but he did briefly wade into the stalls to give someone a mean stare.
This is a show packed with magnificent jokes at the expense of Brexit, Trump, the sex in Game Of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord Of The Rings”) and much more. There is also some self-indulgent guff where he dissects his ongoing routines, though it is very entertaining self-indulgent guff.
He generated considerable mileage out of mocking his membership of the metropolitan liberal elite, N16 branch, too. But as the monologue moved into the second half a deeper theme developed as he yearned for a simpler, less narcissistic, pre-instant gratification age. In his grandparents’ day, he noted, people had to walk miles to find bondage outfits, now they can just click on Amazon.
There is nothing new about creating an exaggerated version of oneself for humorous effect, yet the road-hardened veteran has made this style his own. Every idea is pushed to the limit, from his impression of under-forties on their smartphones, bashing the screens like apes, to adopting an absurd bow-legged stance to satirise fellow stand-up Russell Howard. The result is both intellectually ambitious and clownishly jocular. The comedy world will be a less funny place without this performer at the top of his game.
Stewart Lee
2018-04-20T12:59:22+01:00
He might need the time off to calm down. From the outset he was in typically intolerant mode, warning that if he saw any phones turned on they will be smashed “and you can take it up with the police”. He did not carry out his threat but he did briefly wade into the stalls to give someone a mean stare. This is a show packed with magnificent jokes at the expense of Brexit, Trump, the sex in Game Of Thrones (“Peter Stringfellow’s Lord Of The Rings”) and much more. There is also some self-indulgent guff where he dissects his ongoing routines, though it is very entertaining self-indulgent guff. He generated considerable mileage out of mocking his membership of the metropolitan liberal elite, N16 branch, too. But as the monologue moved into the second half a deeper theme developed as he yearned for a simpler, less narcissistic, pre-instant gratification age. In his grandparents’ day, he noted, people had to walk miles to find bondage outfits, now they can just click on Amazon. There is nothing new about creating an exaggerated version of oneself for humorous effect, yet the road-hardened veteran has made this style his own. Every idea is pushed to the limit, from his impression of under-forties on their smartphones, bashing the screens like apes, to adopting an absurd bow-legged stance to satirise fellow stand-up Russell Howard. The result is both intellectually ambitious and clownishly jocular. The comedy world will be a less funny place without this performer at the top of his game.
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...
Codeine are another early nineties American post-rock band recently rediscovered, like Bitch Magnet, by young people, ravenous for sacred sources, and caught in the time-collapsing vortex of the internet's immediate availability of everything.
Here's Codeine's slender oeuvre in one luxurious package, simple crunchy chords sliding into empty spaces over then radically restrained beats, their glacial display of punk minimalism now one of many standard modern moves.
Codeine's defining imperative, to play melodic hardcore at abjectly funereal tempos, might seem arch, but the music itself remains uniquely open-hearted, unaffected, and honest, undiminished by distance.
Stewart Lee
2012-06-10T01:59:14+01:00
Codeine are another early nineties American post-rock band recently rediscovered, like Bitch Magnet, by young people, ravenous for sacred sources, and caught in the time-collapsing vortex of the internet's immediate availability of everything. Here's Codeine's slender oeuvre in one luxurious package, simple crunchy chords sliding into empty spaces over then radically restrained beats, their glacial display of punk minimalism now one of many standard modern moves. Codeine's defining imperative, to play melodic hardcore at abjectly funereal tempos, might seem arch, but the music itself remains uniquely open-hearted, unaffected, and honest, undiminished by distance.
Stewart Lee’s latest show is actually two shows. In Tornado he takes his cue from a Netflix listings error that confused his stand-up special with a shark film gorefest. Then in Snowflake he plunges into the world of political correctness.
To be frank, there is not as much distinction as one hoped. Ricky Gervais, for example, is mercilessly teased on either side of the interval.
During one memorable skewering Lee contorts his face and blurts out meaningless dada noises to satirise the notion of comedians saying the unsayable.
While he is quick to knock others he is equally swift to mock himself, recalling how when he had a recent medical check he was regarded not as a pre-eminent performer but as an old, grey fat man, and advised to do some “chair-based activity”.
This is Lee the clever crowdpleaser. There are few overt Brexit ruminations, just astute asides. Instead there are deft Alan Bennett impressions and daft little hops. It is testament to his talent that he is even brutally funny when wrong.
His take-down of Phoebe Waller-Bridge, arguing that she is no gamechanger, misses the mark yet is still hilariously acted out.
If Lee flirts with self-parody with his relentless moans about his increasing decrepitude he has found considerable humour there. Has he jumped the shark? Fortunately for us he is no physical shape to jump over anything.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-07T16:35:43+00:00
Stewart Lee’s latest show is actually two shows. In Tornado he takes his cue from a Netflix listings error that confused his stand-up special with a shark film gorefest. Then in Snowflake he plunges into the world of political correctness. To be frank, there is not as much distinction as one hoped. Ricky Gervais, for example, is mercilessly teased on either side of the interval. During one memorable skewering Lee contorts his face and blurts out meaningless dada noises to satirise the notion of comedians saying the unsayable. While he is quick to knock others he is equally swift to mock himself, recalling how when he had a recent medical check he was regarded not as a pre-eminent performer but as an old, grey fat man, and advised to do some “chair-based activity”. This is Lee the clever crowdpleaser. There are few overt Brexit ruminations, just astute asides. Instead there are deft Alan Bennett impressions and daft little hops. It is testament to his talent that he is even brutally funny when wrong. His take-down of Phoebe Waller-Bridge, arguing that she is no gamechanger, misses the mark yet is still hilariously acted out. If Lee flirts with self-parody with his relentless moans about his increasing decrepitude he has found considerable humour there. Has he jumped the shark? Fortunately for us he is no physical shape to jump over anything.
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.
Richard Thomas's Jerry Springer The Opera, which I directed, is finally on tour. Last spring, it was closed down indefinitely by the Religious Right. Threats from the gay-hate group Christian Voice convinced Sainsbury's to withdraw the show's DVD from sale in its shops and prompted a cancer charity to reject proceeds from a benefit performance.
When the opera was broadcast in January 2005, a concerted campaign led to the BBC receiving 60,000 complaints in advance of the screening, while television executives got police protection after their addresses were put on a Christian website.
And then a proposed tour for late 2005 collapsed after one third of theatres withdrew in the face of Christian Voice's pledge to demonstrate and prosecute them for blasphemy.
It's hard to believe that we are not living in the 1950s. These battles have been fought and won once already within my lifetime. The multi-award winning opera, which Richard and I worked on for four years, was conceived as an infernal version of Jerry Springer's television talk show as imagined by the dying titular host. It is set in Hell, with guests drawn from Judaeo-Christian myth to amplify the opera's themes of sin and guilt. Using religion in such an allegorical way isn't unusual, a fact noted in positive reviews in both the Church Times and The Catholic Herald. In fact, many of the aspects of the opera described as blasphemous by the Christian Right were drawn directly from Milton, Blake and medieval mystery plays, although not, admittedly, the bit where Jesus says he might be "a bit gay".
I've met very few people who have seen the opera and still think it should be banned. Those who do tend to be the sort who argue that Hurricane Katrina was God punishing New Orleans, who believe that all Muslims are going to Hell or who work for the Daily Mail. So it is difficult to care what they think.
Now, thanks to a rescue package, a reduction in cast and set, and the creative team agreeing to work for no royalties, the show is finally back on the road. Jerry Springer The Opera is already enjoying the predictable cycle of negative local paper editorials before each opening, followed by positive local paper reviews that wonder what people's problem is. Things are looking up. Who knows? One day we may even make some money out of it.
In the light of the Danish cartoon controversy, the usual covert racists have been saying that the writers of Jerry Springer The Opera would not have done the same thing with the Koran as we have with the Bible. This is, of course, true. But it is not a case of "political correctness gone mad".
In the opera, we were looking for commonly understood themes to examine universal feelings. American talk shows are commonly understood as is, in the West, the Christian myth. Most people here can't even spell Koran, so it isn't a serviceable story for a project such as ours.
Second, we don't know anything about Muslim culture. But if someone does want to write the first funny opera about Islam, we would be happy to help out, though I doubt you'd be able to raise the necessary investment with the Government trying to criminalise writers who deal with religious themes.
Third, at a time when ordinary Muslims understandably feel somewhat put upon, one has no desire to add to their woes without good reason. In contrast, Christianity is our cultural background, it has a rich history of artistic reappropriation, and we feel entitled to use its symbols as we see fit. That said, a few weeks ago I did begin reading the Koran, as it's obviously going to be hard to write comedy for the foreseeable future without understanding it. The first sentence ends with a warning of the day of judgment. To be honest, it doesn't start well.
The Danish cartoonists stepped on the landmine of depicting Muhammad without realising the seriousness of the taboo, obscuring their indoor firework of weak jokes about suicide bombers. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I look forward to living in a genuinely multicultural society and a genuinely global world where non-sectarian education means we all know enough about each other's cultures to be able to use them in the service of art, music, theatre and, yes, comedy from an informed position of strength.
Sadly, with Tony Blair passing the educational buck to faith schools and attempting to compromise freedom of speech with measures such as the Racial and Religious Hatred Bill, this vision seems ever further away.
Never mind. I understand that We Will Rock You is soon to embark on a national tour. You lucky people!
Stewart Lee is a writer, comedian and co-creator of Jerry Springer The Opera, which is currently touring the UK. www.jerryspringertheopera.com
Copyright Stewart Lee 2006.
Stewart Lee
2006-03-31T18:45:06+01:00
Richard Thomas's Jerry Springer The Opera, which I directed, is finally on tour. Last spring, it was closed down indefinitely by the Religious Right. Threats from the gay-hate group Christian Voice convinced Sainsbury's to withdraw the show's DVD from sale in its shops and prompted a cancer charity to reject proceeds from a benefit performance. When the opera was broadcast in January 2005, a concerted campaign led to the BBC receiving 60,000 complaints in advance of the screening, while television executives got police protection after their addresses were put on a Christian website. And then a proposed tour for late 2005 collapsed after one third of theatres withdrew in the face of Christian Voice's pledge to demonstrate and prosecute them for blasphemy. It's hard to believe that we are not living in the 1950s. These battles have been fought and won once already within my lifetime. The multi-award winning opera, which Richard and I worked on for four years, was conceived as an infernal version of Jerry Springer's television talk show as imagined by the dying titular host. It is set in Hell, with guests drawn from Judaeo-Christian myth to amplify the opera's themes of sin and guilt. Using religion in such an allegorical way isn't unusual, a fact noted in positive reviews in both the Church Times and The Catholic Herald. In fact, many of the aspects of the opera described as blasphemous by the Christian Right were drawn directly from Milton, Blake and medieval mystery plays, although not, admittedly, the bit where Jesus says he might be "a bit gay". I've met very few people who have seen the opera and still think it should be banned. Those who do tend to be the sort who argue that Hurricane Katrina was God punishing New Orleans, who believe that...
Stewart Lee does not hide the fact that he is using his run of shows at the Fringe in order to test and refine material for his BBC 2 programme, Comedy Vehicle. The fact that he is testing half hour sections does not, however, impede the brilliance of his performance, or his ability to structure his act and weave comedy across content. Rather, by the end of his set this arrangement (which had seemed more than a little underwhelming for a £12.50 ticket) had dissolved entirely into a series of much long-form rants on his audience's ability to correctly receive the content.
Lee's performance was constantly interwoven with a kind of meta-narration about his own act, its quality, and his audience's ability to grasp it. He spends most of the performance pretending that a portion of his audience have been dragged along begrudgingly by a friend, and can't understand why he hasn't made a joke yet.
In between the flow of the set Lee makes some brilliant insights, both political and pedestrian in nature, along with more than a few on the current state of British stand-up. From Lee Mack's description of him as a 'cultural bully', to Government cuts to arts funding, to the realisation that having kids means the majority of his set is literally about what he can see from his window, Lee meets every topic with his signature combination of brilliant satire and playful smugness.
It is easy to see, however, why he is such an acquired taste. Very few of his reviewers seem to receive Lee with anything other than outright disdain or absolute praise; one reviewer from the telegraph even opted to walk out of the show half-way through and leave a zero star review. If the irony of Lee's complaints towards his audience are missed, and taken as genuine disdain then it would be a grating hour of perceived condescension. But this is not the case, and in the context of what is a very purposeful conception of stand-up comedy, Lee's stage persona brilliantly parodies what could be a weakness in his set: his insistence on intellectualism and seeing comedy as art. By exaggerating this and bringing it to the fore of his work, Lee exposes its contradictions and opens them up for mockery.
Even in its partially complete form Stewart Lee's performance was brilliantly constructed and sets the bench mark very high for stand-up comedy, and despite his best attempts to convince the audience that they should not like him, he had them enthralled for its full duration. He gets close to admitting this at the end of his show, when describing performing since acquiring a hearing aid: 'I've spent twenty-six years building up a distant and bitter stage personality. Unfortunately it seems the shows have been going quite well'.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-27T00:34:08+01:00
Venue: The Assembly Rooms Stewart Lee does not hide the fact that he is using his run of shows at the Fringe in order to test and refine material for his BBC 2 programme, Comedy Vehicle. The fact that he is testing half hour sections does not, however, impede the brilliance of his performance, or his ability to structure his act and weave comedy across content. Rather, by the end of his set this arrangement (which had seemed more than a little underwhelming for a £12.50 ticket) had dissolved entirely into a series of much long-form rants on his audience's ability to correctly receive the content. Lee's performance was constantly interwoven with a kind of meta-narration about his own act, its quality, and his audience's ability to grasp it. He spends most of the performance pretending that a portion of his audience have been dragged along begrudgingly by a friend, and can't understand why he hasn't made a joke yet. In between the flow of the set Lee makes some brilliant insights, both political and pedestrian in nature, along with more than a few on the current state of British stand-up. From Lee Mack's description of him as a 'cultural bully', to Government cuts to arts funding, to the realisation that having kids means the majority of his set is literally about what he can see from his window, Lee meets every topic with his signature combination of brilliant satire and playful smugness. It is easy to see, however, why he is such an acquired taste. Very few of his reviewers seem to receive Lee with anything other than outright disdain or absolute praise; one reviewer from the telegraph even opted to walk out of the show half-way through and leave a zero star review. If the irony of Lee's...
Stewart Lee's book, How I Escaped My Certain Fate: The Life and Deaths of a Stand-Up Comedian, released this summer, is a triumph of the art of footnotes, providing a DVD extra-style commentary over transcripts of some of his shows. As those who know Lee's work would agree, the format is entirely fitting for a comedian who is renowned for deconstructing his own work.
Among the fourth-wall breaking utterances tonight, Lee urges us to note "the structural integrity of the work that you have mistaken for repetition". It won't be the last time Lee references criticisms that have been made of him and it seems he rather enjoys them. "My songs have been received poorly," he says, "and that's like red rag to a bull for me."
Food for thought: Stewart Lee on stage in London - Credit: Marilyn Kingwill
The opening of this highly structured show (formatted for future TV work, he's happy to reveal) basically says that, yes, he does have jokes, that he's not just about deconstruction, repetition and protracted routines, though you shouldn't worry if you are a fan of those. His salvo of introductory jokes, throughout which he fiddles with the microphone, includes his doubt that a fox could ever attack a child in Hackney, because "Hackney children are all armed". The ones that aren't, he says, are being holed up by "feckless middle-class parents planning to lie their child's way into a school". He flourishes: "That's a joked aimed at you, the audience. I'm holding a mirror to you!"
The burly Lee, who holds a flat-topped mic to complement his flattened quiff hairstyle, is quite open about losing some of his audience, maintaining that "refining" an audience is his career aim now, rather than building one. In the form that he is in tonight, mischievous with his audience and his sense of self, he seems less liable to leave many of the converted behind, mostly because the excesses of his protracted absurdism are reined in by more gags.
Almost all of Lee's routines have a duality to them, where both the subject and Lee's reaction are derided. The results are often joyously ludicrous. Alternative comedy was the good old days when performer and audience could enjoy hating Tories for 67p; now we do the same thing with electrical appliances for £47.50. Meanwhile, the presenter Adrian Chiles' £6m fee for joining ITV is likened to The Six Million Dollar Man: "I'd at least expect Adrian Chiles to outrun a train – as it is he can barely keep ahead of the slow-moving cloud of disapproval that follows him down the narrow corridor of public opinion."
There is some posturing and some lily-gilding – for example, Lee tries to find out how many ways he could end a joke about his charity work and his confusion of a benefit for orangutans with one for sufferers of irritable bowel syndrome. And the Japanese monster-movie denouement of a running joke about his grandfather is just a little silly. Nonetheless, there always seems to be a killer line not far away. While Lee may think he is making us work hard for the pay-offs, compared to some previous outings this is happily not the case.
Stewart Lee
2010-11-02T15:10:21+00:00
Sharp show is souped up with jokes Stewart Lee's book, How I Escaped My Certain Fate: The Life and Deaths of a Stand-Up Comedian, released this summer, is a triumph of the art of footnotes, providing a DVD extra-style commentary over transcripts of some of his shows. As those who know Lee's work would agree, the format is entirely fitting for a comedian who is renowned for deconstructing his own work. Among the fourth-wall breaking utterances tonight, Lee urges us to note "the structural integrity of the work that you have mistaken for repetition". It won't be the last time Lee references criticisms that have been made of him and it seems he rather enjoys them. "My songs have been received poorly," he says, "and that's like red rag to a bull for me." [caption id="attachment_1845" align="alignleft" width="300"] Food for thought: Stewart Lee on stage in London - Credit: Marilyn Kingwill[/caption] The opening of this highly structured show (formatted for future TV work, he's happy to reveal) basically says that, yes, he does have jokes, that he's not just about deconstruction, repetition and protracted routines, though you shouldn't worry if you are a fan of those. His salvo of introductory jokes, throughout which he fiddles with the microphone, includes his doubt that a fox could ever attack a child in Hackney, because "Hackney children are all armed". The ones that aren't, he says, are being holed up by "feckless middle-class parents planning to lie their child's way into a school". He flourishes: "That's a joked aimed at you, the audience. I'm holding a mirror to you!" The burly Lee, who holds a flat-topped mic to complement his flattened quiff hairstyle, is quite open about losing some of his audience, maintaining that "refining" an audience is his career aim now, rather...
This is the book that proves that Birmingham is not just the crucible of the Industrial Revolution, but the cradle of civilisation.
It’s the definitive guide to the 101 things that made the world what it is today – and all of them were made in Birmingham.
Read how Birmingham gave the world the wonders of tennis, nuclear war, the Beatles, 'that smell of eggs' and many more... 97 more.
It also includes a foreword by Stewart Lee called 'A Birmingham of the memory,' all about his relationship with the city.
"101 Things Birmingham Gave The World, is not a Birmingham of the memory. It is a living breathing thing, wrestling with the city's contradictions, press-ganging the typically arch and understated humour of the Brummie, and an army of little-known facts, both trivial and monumental, into reshaping its confusing reputation."
Stewart Lee
Written by: Jon Bounds, Jez Collins, Liz Cooke, Julia Gilbert, Simon Fox, Stuart Harrison, Craig Hamilton, Libby Hayward Bounds, Jon Hickman, Jon Neale, Steve Nicholls, Nick Stevens, Danny Smith, and Howard Wilkinson.
Cover design by Mark Murphy.
Edited by Jon Bounds and Jon Hickman, from an original idea by Craig Hamilton. Additional editorial support from Libby Hayward Bounds, Julia Gilbert, and Nick Moreton.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T21:48:15+00:00
This is the book that proves that Birmingham is not just the crucible of the Industrial Revolution, but the cradle of civilisation. It’s the definitive guide to the 101 things that made the world what it is today – and all of them were made in Birmingham. Read how Birmingham gave the world the wonders of tennis, nuclear war, the Beatles, 'that smell of eggs' and many more... 97 more. It also includes a foreword by Stewart Lee called 'A Birmingham of the memory,' all about his relationship with the city. "101 Things Birmingham Gave The World, is not a Birmingham of the memory. It is a living breathing thing, wrestling with the city's contradictions, press-ganging the typically arch and understated humour of the Brummie, and an army of little-known facts, both trivial and monumental, into reshaping its confusing reputation." Stewart Lee Written by: Jon Bounds, Jez Collins, Liz Cooke, Julia Gilbert, Simon Fox, Stuart Harrison, Craig Hamilton, Libby Hayward Bounds, Jon Hickman, Jon Neale, Steve Nicholls, Nick Stevens, Danny Smith, and Howard Wilkinson. Cover design by Mark Murphy. Edited by Jon Bounds and Jon Hickman, from an original idea by Craig Hamilton. Additional editorial support from Libby Hayward Bounds, Julia Gilbert, and Nick Moreton.
Series Two of Stewart Lee's alternative stand-up comedy show.
The idea of irreverent stand-up comedian Stewart Lee being given a BBC series was hard to believe several years ago and its return for a second curtain call is borderline unimaginable. Since the original series of Comedy Vehicle aired back in 2009, Lee has toured constantly, weathered a media-stoked cold war with the presenters of Top Gear and the election of a Tory government hell-bent on slashing funding for the BBC.
Coupled with the radically diverse reaction to Comedy Vehicle's initial run, it seems highly likely that the second series will also be the last. Possibly with this in mind, Lee has largely abandoned the relatively populist aspects of his previous series such as surrealist sketches and comparatively modern cultural references to produce a show which is more in line with his modus operandi as a deliberately esoteric, fiercely independent artist.
Traditionally Lee has made a name for himself amongst his small, dedicated fan-base by writing and performing long-form shows which are socio-politically astute, bitingly cynical, tragi-comic and defiantly literate. Inspired by artists of all mediums, from poets to visual and conceptual artists to independent musicians, Lee's work is the comedy of dramatic irony, bleak satire and occasional flourishes of absurdist humour.
His live shows are full of semi-improvised tangents, attention-grabbing drops into absolute silence and abrupt vitriolic outbursts of convincing malice. Though commonly accused of outright snobbery, Lee's onstage persona is more of an embittered, cantankerous and self-depreciating performer than an arbiter of cultural tastes. His perspective is defined by an abject hatred for the mundane - specifically the pandering hypocrisy of the mainstream media - and an unabashed love of all things which seek to challenge their audience in some way.
Lee's most artistically stimulating shows have been the longer, more substantial pieces which he has created over the past two decades. In particular the devastatingly spiteful 90s Comedian, a searing diatribe against the religious right-wing (who had attempted to charge the comedian for writing the critically acclaimed Jerry Springer: The Opera), and the surreal 41st Best Stand Up Ever, a rumination on the nature of stand-up comedy and political correctness .
The former show was released as an audio disc which had no track breaks, a conscious decision made to force the listener to treat the piece as a whole rather than in digestible chunks. Indeed, it's very difficult to fully understand or enjoy the work of Lee without enduring the whole duration of his performances, which often stray wildly from their ostensive thematic focus and only return to course at the conclusion, when all strands are pulled together to create one larger image. In a recent article written by Lee for The Financial Times, he discussed the relationship between content and form and noted that in the modern era all media is expected to be adaptable into other formats. Appropriately, Lee is utterly resistant to the notion of his work being taken out of context for any reason and vowed to create a show which is even slower and more arrhythmic than detractors claimed Comedy Vehicle was the first time around.
For fans of Stewart Lee's brilliant stand-up comedy this is good news indeed because this translates into some two hours of material collectively across the series. In place of the hit and miss sketches of the first series, there are occasional interviews with Lee conducted by producer Armando Iannucci, which are brief enough to not interrupt the flow of the comedy itself.
The opening two episodes touch upon the critical backlash which trails Lee, who is often made a target by the fans of those he mercilessly lampoons on stage. Rather than compromise his vision in an attempt to make the show more approachable, Lee chooses to ramp up every aspect of his performance style which most infuriates his critics - in particular his usage of grinding repetition and long, overly-verbose punch-lines. There are also several meta-references to the intentional absence of obvious, structured jokes, instead replaced by Lee's trademark usage of semi-alliterative and purposefully resonant phrases which are often repeated several times over the course of each performance. Gone is the sense of smiling frivolity which Lee occasionally interjected into the first series, replaced with defiant and angry rejections of lazy comedic tropes, consumerism and creative stagnation.
Although Lee cannot build into crescendos of the same magnitude as in his longer-form stage shows, he instead manages to focus his anger into smaller but no less intense bursts. Aside from the self-referential meta-humour, there are also surreal vignettes inspired by cult cinema and obscure news items. The deliberately hostile interviews with Iannucci are amusing and help provide mental bookends for some of the lengthier bits. Whilst there are still brief sketches relating to earlier material in the show at the end of each episode, they are still unneeded and unnecessary extras.
Additionally some of the material will be relatively familiar to his loyal fan-base, though this is an acceptable concession for getting the show back on the air. If this does end up being Stewart lee's televisual swan-song, it is a worthwhile, provocative and dignified exit filled with the sort of intelligent and imaginative humour which has all but left the screens of television here in the UK. A tour de force of refreshing and clever left-field comedy courtesy of one of the all time greats.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-16T22:05:42+01:00
Series Two of Stewart Lee's alternative stand-up comedy show. The idea of irreverent stand-up comedian Stewart Lee being given a BBC series was hard to believe several years ago and its return for a second curtain call is borderline unimaginable. Since the original series of Comedy Vehicle aired back in 2009, Lee has toured constantly, weathered a media-stoked cold war with the presenters of Top Gear and the election of a Tory government hell-bent on slashing funding for the BBC. Coupled with the radically diverse reaction to Comedy Vehicle's initial run, it seems highly likely that the second series will also be the last. Possibly with this in mind, Lee has largely abandoned the relatively populist aspects of his previous series such as surrealist sketches and comparatively modern cultural references to produce a show which is more in line with his modus operandi as a deliberately esoteric, fiercely independent artist. Traditionally Lee has made a name for himself amongst his small, dedicated fan-base by writing and performing long-form shows which are socio-politically astute, bitingly cynical, tragi-comic and defiantly literate. Inspired by artists of all mediums, from poets to visual and conceptual artists to independent musicians, Lee's work is the comedy of dramatic irony, bleak satire and occasional flourishes of absurdist humour. His live shows are full of semi-improvised tangents, attention-grabbing drops into absolute silence and abrupt vitriolic outbursts of convincing malice. Though commonly accused of outright snobbery, Lee's onstage persona is more of an embittered, cantankerous and self-depreciating performer than an arbiter of cultural tastes. His perspective is defined by an abject hatred for the mundane - specifically the pandering hypocrisy of the mainstream media - and an unabashed love of all things which seek to challenge their audience in some way. Lee's most artistically stimulating shows have been the...
I have three outstanding benefit shows to do this year, and an obligation, but I am not doing a new stand-up show until the Autumn of 2019, which will then tour, far less than usual, until Spring 2020 and then it's done.
(I do not intend to ever do the numbers I did for the CONTENT PROVIDER tour again. In the next 18 months I may do some odd support slots of my 1988/89 try-out spot material for someone else, tba. I am also trying to get a music documentary off the ground with a fan-beloved comedy director.)
I need to do a year or so of dad stuff at home, see some music and comedy and films and hills and rivers. & get fit. & thwart intestinal fate. & I need to have a think about where to go with s-up with me in my 50s as the '70s/'80s cultural consensus that shaped me dissolves and the darkness rises.
CONTENT PROVIDER was filmed by the brilliant SLCV team in Southend in the lovely Palace Theatre, by the way, and will be available in some form in the near future via the BBC, maybe as a pill you can eat, or as an emollient.
It is a full length 2 hr recording w interrogator inserts (not Chris Morris or Armando), like a massive episode of SLCV. I look a right mess in it though.
SLCV4 was the most extreme thing I ever did in s-up, and the CONTENT PROVIDER tour arguably the most accessible, with the support of my promoters, my agent, and the tour manager James. I don't know in terms of tone and content what to do next.
I have an idea about sharks, and an idea about a standard lamp and a piano. I have 4 minutes of quite good material about jazz I had to cut from the film of CONTENT PROVIDER. That's all.
Thank-you for your continued support in numbers I never dreamed of, and for your kindness and politeness after the shows, in theatre foyers and nearby pubs.
The last fourteen years has changed my life. Back in 2004/5 I had literally no idea how I was going to live. The 1960s Shropshire orphanage is a distant memory now, and I know at last that I am never going back there.
"Though I love you all, I cannot embrace you all. With this kiss, remember me. Goodbye, my soldiers. Goodbye, my sons. And goodbye, my children."
BENEFIT SHOWS
18th May - Benefit gig in aid of Action on Hearing Loss, with Samantha Baines and Tom Gockelen-Kozlowski. London's Museum Of Happiness holds 80 people.
Tickets here.
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.
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
CAPRIE-BATTERIE W STEWART LEE
You can buy Bristol Fashion, an industrial jazz album which we improvised in an hour, here for £7.
Shirley Collins interviewed by Stewart Lee - Hay On Wye Lit Fest, 2nd June
ALL IN THE DOWNS: REFLECTIONS ON LIFE, LANDSCAPE AND SONG
5.30pm Venue: Baillie Gifford Stage. A legendary singer, folklorist and music historian, Shirley Collins has been an integral figure in the English folk music scene for more than 60 years.
In her autobiography, All in the Downs, Collins tells the story of that lifelong relationship with English folksong - a dedication to artistic integrity that has guided her through the triumphs and tragedies of her life.
She will also be attempting to better Evel Knievel's 1975 motorcycle jump over 13 single-decker London buses. £8
Jerry Springer The Opera soprano and Stockhausen's singer of choice plus Anglo-Welsh avant-folk-drone.
2) Yo La Tengo. The '80s Velvet Underground, 29 years since I first saw them.
May 1st - Birmingham Town Hall, May 3rd - Church, Leeds. May 4th - RFH London.
3) Gabriel Naim Amor. Filmic French Americana exponent.
May 3rd. Slaughtered Lamb, London.
4) The Stems. Australian power pop veterans.
May 6th, 100 Club, London
5) Iva Bittova. The Czech violin Bjork.
Rich Mix, London, May 9th.
6) Ruts DC. Punk-dub veterans.
12th May - Islington Academy, London. 25th - 26th May - Waterfront, Norwich.
7) Robyn Hitchcock - Post-punk Syd Barret.
Tuesday 08 May McHughs (Basement Bar), Belfast.
Friday 11 May Club Academy, Manchester.
Saturday 12 May - Ulu Live StudentCentral, London, UK.
Tuesday 15 May Fat Lil's, Witney, UK.
Wednesday 16 May 2018 The Louisiana, Bristol.
Thursday 17 May Unitarian Church, Cambridge.
Friday 18 May Unitarian Church, Cambridge.
Saturday 19 May Kino-teatr, St Leonards.
Tuesday 22 May FRUIT, Hull.
Wednesday 23 May Music Room, Liverpool Philharmonic Hall.
Thursday 24 May Oran Mor, Glasgow.
Friday 25 May The HUBS.
Saturday 26 May More Music, Morecambe.
Tuesday 29 May Kingskerswell Parish Church (St Mary's), Newton Abbot
Wednesday 30 May The Brook, Southampton, UK .
Thursday 31 May Ramsgate Music Hall, Ramsgate.
8) Fallen Leaves - Mod punk survivors.
May 19th, Half Moon, Putney.
9) Pere Ubu - Cleveland Punk pioneers.
May 19th, Lexington, London.
10) Evan Parker - Free jazz originator.
May 24th, Vortex, London.
11) Bevis Frond - Lo-fi psychedelic DIY legend.
27th May - 100 Club London
12) The Oblivians - garage punk veterans.
29th May, ULU, London.
13) The Scientists - Australian proto-grunge swamp-denizens.
May 31st - Borderline, London. June 1st - Crypt, London. June 2nd - Cluny, Newcastle. 3rd June - Prince Albert, Brighton.
14) Space Shambles - Royal Albert Hall, June 15th.
Science, music, comedy, poor time-keeping and wonder collide in Space Shambles, presented in association with The Cosmic Shambles Network™ ®.
Part of the Festival of Science: Space.
Legendary astronaut Chris Hadfield™ and Robin Ince ® (host of Radio 4's Infinite Monkey Cage) are your hosts for the evening, plus an eclectic mess of surprise special guests for comedy lovers, music fans and science enthusiasts alike.
We are excited to announce that the first headliners joining us in June include Apollo™ ® astronaut Rusty Schweickart, theoretical physicist Jim Al-Khalili and science-comedy phenomenon Festival of the Spoken Nerd!
In the tradition of Nine Lessons and The Christmas Compendium of Reason, these huge shows have included guest appearances from Professor Brian Cox, Professor Alice Roberts, Charlotte Church, Skeletal Family, Hugh Grant, Dr Spunkfield Leominster, Pristeen Vagamutt, King Tinkale Omoono, Apollo™ ® astronaut Randy Vanwarmer, Sproutmaster Sprat, Dripknob The Weeping Physicist, The Drunken Astronomers, Laika and Uranus, The Gay Space Mice, Blind Lemon Jefferson, The Mad Aryabhatas, The Metaphysical Circus, Schooly D, Principal Ince's Magic Theatre, Mike Peters & The Alarm, Albert's Wanking Rocket Monkees, The Astronomers Royale, and Dara O'Briain.
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
Friday 5th - WHAT NOW? - Theatre Royal, WINCHESTER - 8pm - 01962 840 440 - TICKETS
Saturday 6th - WHAT NOW? - Corn Exchange, EXETER - 7.30pm - 01392 665938 - 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
Saturday 24th - WHAT NOW? - Nuffield Theatre (NST City), SOUTHAMPTON - 7.30pm - 023 8067 1771 - TICKETS
Stewart Lee
2018-04-27T15:23:58+01:00
MESSAGE FROM MY BRAIN I have three outstanding benefit shows to do this year, and an obligation, but I am not doing a new stand-up show until the Autumn of 2019, which will then tour, far less than usual, until Spring 2020 and then it's done. (I do not intend to ever do the numbers I did for the CONTENT PROVIDER tour again. In the next 18 months I may do some odd support slots of my 1988/89 try-out spot material for someone else, tba. I am also trying to get a music documentary off the ground with a fan-beloved comedy director.) I need to do a year or so of dad stuff at home, see some music and comedy and films and hills and rivers. & get fit. & thwart intestinal fate. & I need to have a think about where to go with s-up with me in my 50s as the '70s/'80s cultural consensus that shaped me dissolves and the darkness rises. CONTENT PROVIDER was filmed by the brilliant SLCV team in Southend in the lovely Palace Theatre, by the way, and will be available in some form in the near future via the BBC, maybe as a pill you can eat, or as an emollient. It is a full length 2 hr recording w interrogator inserts (not Chris Morris or Armando), like a massive episode of SLCV. I look a right mess in it though. SLCV4 was the most extreme thing I ever did in s-up, and the CONTENT PROVIDER tour arguably the most accessible, with the support of my promoters, my agent, and the tour manager James. I don't know in terms of tone and content what to do next. I have an idea about sharks, and an idea about a standard lamp and a piano....
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.
An opera about the controversial American chat show host Jerry Springer has become the hot ticket at this year's Edinburgh Fringe. Allan Brown explains why.
The Fringe is used to comedy shows selling themselves by using celebrity names opportunistically shoe-horned into the title. Stand-up comedy is clever enough to know a familiar name always stands out amid the tumult of Edinburgh in August. Jerry Springer: The Opera, however, marks a quantum leap in the ambitions of the cheap and cheerful Fringe: a full-blown grand-cum-comic opera with libretto, chorus and cast of 21, most of them swearing repeatedly. Just as there is no art form more stately and baroque than opera, there is no television programme happier to plumb the depths of tornado-belt America than Springer's. The gladiatorial talk show may now be past its prime, its parade of feuding dysfunctional families and exhibitionist maniacs of pre-9/11, but it lives forever in infancy as the very essence of low-brow, freak-show vulgarity.
It occurred to the show's writers, Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee, that grand opera was not entirely dissimilar, though both are willing to admit that their expertise in the field is laughably limited. Hence Jerry Springer: The Opera.
It makes a change from some disaffected Oxbridge graduate in a damp Cowgate cellar vending quips about Richard and Judy. Not that Thomas and Lee necessarily planned it that way. Much like a typical edition of the American talk show host's confrontational programme, wherein angry transsexuals berate their abusive foot-fetishist step-fathers, the concept of a Springer opera assumed its own wayward, reckless momentum, starting life as a one-man skit performed at the piano before ballooning to its present scale.
"The irony is that the opera fraternity are always dreaming up ways to popularise opera and remove it from its high-art ghetto," Lee says. "Then two novices come along and seem to do it accidentally."
The ENO and the Royal Academy of Music both opine that JSTO sounds terribly jolly and a Good Thing if it brings opera to a new audience. Richard Underwood, head of vocal studies at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, agrees: "If we were having this conversation in Italy, we wouldn't be talking about high culture and low culture," he says. "You wouldn't be in the presence of an elite doing their homework. If this show focuses on the salacious tabloid aspect, we can think it a traditional Fringe gimmick. If it honestly aspires to opera then it will get to the heart of human circumstance and see what makes these people tick."
Thomas and Lee think it does. "The thing about the people on Springer," Thomas says, "is that their dilemmas are so huge and all-consuming that they border on those we associate with grand opera."
JSTO, however, is not what purists would recognise as unalloyed opera. In the second half, when Springer goes to hell and mediates acrimonious encounters between various warring figures from history, the score cherrypicks its musical styles from calypso, rock and reggae. The creators' commitment to the form is not absolute.
While Thomas became addicted to Springer after invariably encountering it returning home drunk from gigs, Lee has barely seen it and doesn't approve of its insidious manipulations.
Neither previously had any particular interest in opera though Lee saw a performance of Wagner's Ring Cycle as research. "When we were preparing the show in workshops," he says, "we invited suggestions from the audience. The more musically minded were amazed at some of the technical things we'd done. But of course, we didn't know what we were doing, so we didn't know that certain things weren't done."
So, rather than a serious, full-blown attempt to transplant the squalid, fractious concerns of the Springer show into a new and ennobling context, Thomas and Lee prefer to toy with them lightly. So what makes JSTO anything more ambitious creatively than the average musical revue?
"I don't really care what the purists think," says Thomas. "They should get out more. Annoyingly, they've been really behind the show, though I think they're so keen to be acknowledged outside their own subsidised circles that they'd support anything even vaguely connected."
"The thing with high-culture people," says Lee, "is that they generally have no idea what is going on. Musical theatre is fulled with gags that proper comedians wouldn't bother making because they're so lame. The show that Ben Elton wrote with Queen is a perfect example. He must think back to what he used to do and wonder how he ended up like this.
"With Springer, we could get excited about the reception it's getting from the opera establishment. But then you remember the fuss around the Patrick Marber play Closer, which anyone could see was an episode of This Life put on a stage. Because it had computers in it, the theatrical buffs thought it was the most cutting-edge thing they'd ever seen.
"So we wouldn't be so crass as to say this is a proper opera about Jerry Springer. It's a show that points up the operatic elements in the typical Springer encounted and by extension that whole confessional television world. If opera buffs want to claim it as theirs, then let them stew in their own juice."
The ambition, then, lies not in the embrace of a forbidding and exotic form but in the willingness Thomas and Lee have shown in allowing their humble skit to germinate, merely because they find amusing the idea of trained singers wrapping their fruity contraltos around a welter of expletives.
It began as a sketch performed by Thomas, a Fringe veteran and musical director of Frank Skinner's various television shows, entitled How to Write an Opera about Jerry Springer. Tom Morris, director of the Battersea Arts Centre, invited him to expand it in a series of workshops.
The arrival of Lee and the financial backing of the powerful Avalon agency ensured a run at the Assembly Rooms and an impressive clutter of West End backroom staff, including arranger Martin Koch, from Les Miserables and Miss Saigon, and designer Julian Crouch, winner this year of an Olivier award. The London performances were attended by Cameron Mackintosh and Andrew Lloyd Webber, with talk of a probable run in the West End. But the creators elected first to test the show in Edinburgh.
"I didn't go to Edinburgh last year," says Lee. "It had become a trade fair for comedians with very polished acts. Although this show is grand and elaborate it feels more in keeping with what the Fringe used to be. It's experimental, we're still not really sure what we're doing with it. We've had to defend this show every step of the way, against people who say it's insulting to proper opera or who think that Springer's too low-brow."
Jerry Springer The Opera
Springer himself has promised to attend one of the performances in Edinburgh, but Lee suspects that privately his attitude is more ambivalent. Springer's representatives inspected the script and asked that much of the swearing and several religious references be excised, "which, given the nature of the show, is a farcical demand", Thomas notes. "We could have written it about a made-up figure," says Lee, "and called it Talk Show: The Opera. But the interesting thing about Springer is that he's the consummate politician. When we met him, fans came up and he was charm itself. When they left, he said that anyone who enjoyed rubbish like the TV programme were stupid, that the whole thing was vulgar. I think lots of people feel that way about the guests on Springer: they want to look away but they can't."
In the end, Thomas and Lee refused to make the changes but the feared legal intervention of Springer's lawyers didn't come.
"His whole show exists on a freedom of speech platform," says Lee. "So it was hypocritical of his people to interfere with us. My own feeling is that Springer told them to back-pedal. He knows he'll come out of the thing smelling of roses. He'll be seen to have upheld freedom of expression and, because there's been an opera written about him in Britain, he'll be seen back home as a moral philosopher."
Stewart Lee
2002-07-28T16:52:55+01:00
An opera about the controversial American chat show host Jerry Springer has become the hot ticket at this year's Edinburgh Fringe. Allan Brown explains why. The Fringe is used to comedy shows selling themselves by using celebrity names opportunistically shoe-horned into the title. Stand-up comedy is clever enough to know a familiar name always stands out amid the tumult of Edinburgh in August. Jerry Springer: The Opera, however, marks a quantum leap in the ambitions of the cheap and cheerful Fringe: a full-blown grand-cum-comic opera with libretto, chorus and cast of 21, most of them swearing repeatedly. Just as there is no art form more stately and baroque than opera, there is no television programme happier to plumb the depths of tornado-belt America than Springer's. The gladiatorial talk show may now be past its prime, its parade of feuding dysfunctional families and exhibitionist maniacs of pre-9/11, but it lives forever in infancy as the very essence of low-brow, freak-show vulgarity. It occurred to the show's writers, Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee, that grand opera was not entirely dissimilar, though both are willing to admit that their expertise in the field is laughably limited. Hence Jerry Springer: The Opera. It makes a change from some disaffected Oxbridge graduate in a damp Cowgate cellar vending quips about Richard and Judy. Not that Thomas and Lee necessarily planned it that way. Much like a typical edition of the American talk show host's confrontational programme, wherein angry transsexuals berate their abusive foot-fetishist step-fathers, the concept of a Springer opera assumed its own wayward, reckless momentum, starting life as a one-man skit performed at the piano before ballooning to its present scale. "The irony is that the opera fraternity are always dreaming up ways to popularise opera and remove it from its high-art ghetto," Lee...
Once described as the 'comedian's comedian' Stewart Lee has been performing stand up since 1988. https://bit.ly/C4_News_Subscribe
He is known for pushing boundaries with his intelligent, self-referential and often provocative style of comedy but in his new show 'Stewart Lee vs the Man Wulf' he questions his place on the comedy circuit in an era of increasing populism rhetoric and the popularity of, in his words “$60m Netflix comedians of hate.”
In this episode of Ways to Change the World with Krishnan Guru-Murthy he discusses the state of comedy today and what he thinks of the comedy style of comics like Ricky Gervais and Dave Chappelle as well as why he wouldn't tour America right now.
As The Observer, the world's oldest Sunday newspaper begins a new era under Tortoise media he also reflects on his column for the paper which he's stopped after 15 years.
Produced by Holly Snelling and Sachin Croker
Stewart Lee
2025-05-09T15:29:48+01:00
Once described as the 'comedian's comedian' Stewart Lee has been performing stand up since 1988. https://bit.ly/C4_News_Subscribe He is known for pushing boundaries with his intelligent, self-referential and often provocative style of comedy but in his new show 'Stewart Lee vs the Man Wulf' he questions his place on the comedy circuit in an era of increasing populism rhetoric and the popularity of, in his words “$60m Netflix comedians of hate.” In this episode of Ways to Change the World with Krishnan Guru-Murthy he discusses the state of comedy today and what he thinks of the comedy style of comics like Ricky Gervais and Dave Chappelle as well as why he wouldn't tour America right now. As The Observer, the world's oldest Sunday newspaper begins a new era under Tortoise media he also reflects on his column for the paper which he's stopped after 15 years. Produced by Holly Snelling and Sachin Croker
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.
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.
“Gentlemen,” began the Baron to his two companions, faces flickering in the guttering coals, “I beg your indulgence on a very peculiar matter, and I would ask you not to mock me, nor worse, to think me quite mad, until you have considered fully the whole of my sorry tale. For if what I am about to say is true, then I am of the mind that it has the capacity to be the ruination of all of us.”
It was the evening of the winter solstice, and time once more for the quarterly meeting of three somewhat awkward acquaintances, bound by shared shame to a secrecy they regularly reassembled to reaffirm. Before falling upwards, as men of his birth do, their host Lord James, the 5th Baron of his line, had managed a nightspot in the stews south of the river named the Ministry of Sound, in a foreshadowing of his belatedly discovered vocation. For during the Great Pandemic, the Baron was to be appointed minister for a short-lived medical novelty called Test and Trace, by the then prime minister, Letterbox Turds of Brightwell-cum-Sotwell, himself also present, tousled-haired and trousers stained as usual.
But that night the harsh winter cold bit into baronial bones, as frostily it would into peasant flesh, and as he poked the dying embers, the Baron knew what had to be said. “Tell me, gentlemen,” the Baron continued, casting his eye over the aforesaid Turds, and his diminutive prime ministerial successor, referred to only as the Banker, whose short legs dangled childishly over the edge of the armchair like worms, “do you think, in your wildest imaginings, it could be possible for an object so commonplace as a phone… to be haunted?”
Turds and the Banker were in no mood for Christmas parlour games. It had been a difficult week. During the pandemic certain monies had journeyed ambiguously through the companies of certain people. One, a common lingerie seller from the slums of Glasgow, who had been chosen, accommodated, rewarded and subsequently ennobled, precisely because she had seemed unlikely to attract suspicion, had made a fatal error, the Baroness conspicuously spending the sidelined sums quite publicly, disporting herself on a yacht in revealing swimwear and becoming the belated subject of no small amount of controversy. “I simply sought to distance myself from the Baroness,” began the Baron, “by sharing a message in which she did not make clear her financial links to the company we were publicly funding, but…”
“But…”, exclaimed Turds, suddenly realising the full implications of the Baron’s words, “the message you have shared dates from the period where the three of us agreed we had lost all our messages.” “Yes,” replied the Baron, ruefully, “that’s about the shape of it, Turds,” and he stoked the dying fire again, more in hope than expectation.
“But Baron!”, shrieked the Banker, hysterically, kicking his tiny legs furiously, “they know the messages aren’t lost now. We’re ruined! You fool!” And with that the Banker buried his little head in his soft hands, sobbing. “You can’t talk, Banker,” snapped Turds. “When you were questioned, you forgot the statement we’d agreed on – ‘It looks as though it’s something to do with the app going down and then, aaah, coming up again but somehow, ah, not it, it, it automatically erasing all the things, ah, between that date when it went down and the moment when it was last backed up, so I, I can’t give you the technical explanation but that’s the best I’m able to do’ – and just kept saying: ‘I don’t recall’ over and over again. But what I don’t understand, Baron, is how you accessed the messages. We agreed to put them, ah, so to speak, beyond use.”
The Baron’s face turned ashen and he drank deeply from a crystal glass of whisky, staring hollow-eyed into the last flickering flame, as the traffic at the junction of Theobalds Road and Gray’s Inn Road outside grew uncharacteristically silent for the hour. “That’s just it, Turds, old man,” he muttered, “I did. But they keep popping up on to my phone.” “Let me see!” snapped Turds, snatching up the offending item and turning it on, his fat eyes suddenly widening in horror as he scrolled the screen. The messages! Thousands of them! Thousands of deals! Thousands of deaths! Billions of pounds! “Destroy this phone, Baron, destroy it!” shouted Turds.
“That’s not the end of it, Turds, old boy,” gibbered the Baron, like a man witness to a horrific vision of such virulence he is no longer accountable to reason, “they’re everywhere.” And with that, the Baron flipped up the lid of his laptop and Turds saw those same swathes of incriminating texts rolling endlessly past, Saint Peter’s Book of Life aflame. The final flicker of fire in the grate suddenly died and the Banker burst into tears in the darkness, but as he did, the Baron’s television exploded into life, the flatscreen filling with disputed litanies of funnelled funds and the expendable dead.
“The dead!”, squealed the Banker, as Turds tried to slap the fear out of him, “The dead will not be silenced! The dead will speak and we must answer.” Then, with a crackling surge of arcane power, each of the Baron’s three devices burned out and the room went black. Turds smoothed out his shivering successor’s crumpled jacket and straightened his tie. “Probably a simple connectivity issue, Baron,” he suggested, unconvincingly. “I’ll have MI5 send round a sympathetic tech wallah. Toodle-oo.”
His guests hurriedly departed, the Baron stood alone at the window of his mansion block apartment, the whisky untouched in the glass he clasped in his cold and frozen hand. The sun began to climb over the Wren spires of the City, spires that rose like fingers, coming out from the damp earth and pointing for ever, fingers rising from the damp earth and pointing forever at him.
Stewart Lee
2023-12-24T21:57:18+00:00
“Gentlemen,” began the Baron to his two companions, faces flickering in the guttering coals, “I beg your indulgence on a very peculiar matter, and I would ask you not to mock me, nor worse, to think me quite mad, until you have considered fully the whole of my sorry tale. For if what I am about to say is true, then I am of the mind that it has the capacity to be the ruination of all of us.” It was the evening of the winter solstice, and time once more for the quarterly meeting of three somewhat awkward acquaintances, bound by shared shame to a secrecy they regularly reassembled to reaffirm. Before falling upwards, as men of his birth do, their host Lord James, the 5th Baron of his line, had managed a nightspot in the stews south of the river named the Ministry of Sound, in a foreshadowing of his belatedly discovered vocation. For during the Great Pandemic, the Baron was to be appointed minister for a short-lived medical novelty called Test and Trace, by the then prime minister, Letterbox Turds of Brightwell-cum-Sotwell, himself also present, tousled-haired and trousers stained as usual. But that night the harsh winter cold bit into baronial bones, as frostily it would into peasant flesh, and as he poked the dying embers, the Baron knew what had to be said. “Tell me, gentlemen,” the Baron continued, casting his eye over the aforesaid Turds, and his diminutive prime ministerial successor, referred to only as the Banker, whose short legs dangled childishly over the edge of the armchair like worms, “do you think, in your wildest imaginings, it could be possible for an object so commonplace as a phone… to be haunted?” Turds and the Banker were in no mood for Christmas parlour games. It...
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 - 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 - 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 - 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
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 - 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
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
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
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
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
I rewrote the Porter scene for Wils Wilson’s brilliant new production of Macbeth at the RSC in Stratford. The show is open now and runs until the 14th Oct.
It is ace, with lots of things done in radical ways I have never seen them, under the heavy manners of a pervasive folk horror feel, and it’s a great entry point for Shakespeare. There’s only the odd seat left but give it a go… https://www.rsc.org.uk/macbeth/tickets
6. I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME 2023 HAPPENINGS AND THINGS
Botallock O’Clock If you are near Mousehole Cornwall on 16th Sept see Eddie Elks’ excellent play about the artist Roger Hilton, performed by Dan Frost, here in the Solomon Brown Hall at 7.30, doors 6.30 https://www.tickettailor.com/events/thesolomonbrownememorialhallassociation/980851 A rehearsed reading of Botallack O’clock written by Eddie Elks and performed by Dan Frost and Jason Calder For the last two years of his life, Roger Hilton took permanently to his bed, in his cliff top cottage on the coastline of Botallack, Cornwall. Here he continued to work, painting over the side of his bed on sheets of paper laid on the floor. A small downstairs room became his bedroom, living space and studio, where Roger would work through the night with only his thoughts, his imaginings and a temperamental radio for company. Botallack O'Clock is a funny, moving and thought–provoking journey into the creative mind of one of the most unique voices in post–war British art. Having premiered at the Half Moon, Herne Hill in 2011, Botallack O”Clock transferred to the Edinburgh Festival 2012 and then on to the 59E59 Theaters, New York as part of the Brits Off Broadway Festival 2013. Botallack O”Clock returned to London in 2016 and 2018 at the Old Red Lion Theatre, Islington.
TIME OUT CRITIC'S CHOICE ★★★★★ "Dazzlingly eloquent yet always just beyond sense... Botallack O'Clock is a stunning miniature; surprising, profound and very very funny... a phenomenal and uncompromising performance by Dan Frost”. Matt Trueman, Time Out
Running time: approximately 50 minutes Doors open at 6:30pm -Bar Open for Refreshments: Show starts at 7:30pm
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 YO LA TENGO Gods of American indie APRIL 10TH Dublin Olympia, 12th M’cr New Century, 13th Bristol SWX, 14th London Palladium,
ALAN WILKINSON Europe’s second greatest livi8ng fee jazz saxophonist has some dates;
Sunday, September 10th - Alan Wilkinson/Oren Marshall/Steve Noble at Hundred Years Gallery, London, from 15.30. Wilkinson/Marshall/Noble HYG £8 cash on door;
Thursday, 14th September - Alan Wilkinson/Oren Marshall/Steve Noble at Robyn's Rocket, Cafe Oto, London 8.30pm Robyn's Rocket at Cafe Oto £10;
Friday 15th September - Alan Wilkinson/Dominic Lash/Steve Noble at Finch Café, London. Dominic will be playing electric guitar. 8pm. £8 cash on the door. Wilkinson/Lash/Noble Finch Cafe
FALLEN LEAVES Punk-mod showmen. OCT 7th London West Hampstead Arts; Nov 11th Kingsdton Upon Thames Fighting Cocks; Jan 27th Brighton Hope & Ruin
SCIENTISTS Sydney Swamp Punks OCT 5th Leeds Brudenell; 8TH London 100 Club; 9th Northampton Black Prince; 10th Newcastle Cluny 2
CARLTON MELTON California sunshine boys OCT 12th OSP Fest London; 13th Glastonbury King Arthur; 14th Hebden Bridge Trades; 18th Bristol Crofters.
CHRIS STAMEY Power pop progenitor at 69 OCT 30th - 31st London Betsey Trotwood; NOV 1st Glasgow Glad; Nov 9th Dublin Wheelans
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. OCTOBER 29TH Royal Albert Hall.
MARTIN CARTHY Venerable and invaluable folk veteran 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
EX-EASTER ISLAND HEAD Plangent no wave influenced serial minimalists. Have to be seen! Cut here SEPT 15th London St John on The Green
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.
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
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. Cut here 11th M’cr Aatma, 12th Leeds Hyde Park Book Club, 14th Bristol Louisianna, 15th Leytonstone Social Club, 17th St Leonard’s Piper’s.
ELIZA SKELTON - Album Launch + Special Guests, Brighton Unitarian Church, 22.09.2023
Doors 7pm / Start 7:30pm, £12 + booking fee / £16 on the door
Brighton-based singer songwriter and accomplished multi- instrumentalist Eliza has been quietly making music in the south coast for many years. Known for The Desperate Ones, her collaboration with Paul Simmons, and a long-serving member of Oddfellow’s Casino, Eliza has now produced this magnificent, fully-fledged debut solo album of beautiful material.
Eliza's songs are a genre bending blend of atmospheric, gothic tinged folk rock, electronica and lush pastoral vocal harmonies, complimented with visionary narrative lyrics. 'The Lookerer' is out now on Blue Matter records.
‘The Lookerer is the twenty-first century filmic folk rock album everyone needs.’ – Stewart Lee. ‘**** An entrancingly good debut.' - Shindig Magazine
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
KID CONGO POWERS & THE PINK MONKEY BIRDS. California garage punk guitar legend of Fur Bible non-fame. OCT 24th - Newcastle Cluny; 26th Nottingham Boat; 27th London Oslo.
DETROIT COBRAS Garage punk party band NOV 3rd London Forge; 4th Birmingham Crossing; 5th Bristol Lost Horizon; 6th Southampton 1865; 8th Leeds Old Woolen; 9th Glasgow Oran Moor; 10th Edinburgh Liquid; 11th Blackpool Bootleg; 12th M’cr Rebellion.
NECKS Nov 20th Kings Place London one-off for down under jazz ambience miniminalists
LARGE PLANTS Cheesecloth hairy funk-folk Vertigo-flavoured revivalists return to London Grace Nov 25th
CRIME & THE CITY SOLUTION Australian cinematic blues punks of Wenders cameo fame return NOV 24th London Moth, 25th Bristol Cube, 26th Colchester Arts
BLUE ORCHIDS Dishwater visionaries NOV 21st Glasgow Hug & Pint, 24th Newcastle Cumberland Arms, DEC 1st London 229, 2nd St Leonard’s Piper, 3rd Leicester Musician
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
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)
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)
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 poet of the keys, 1959)
Brian McBride (Star of The Lid, 1970)
Charles Gayle (Jazz sax titan, a real blow,1939)
Richard Davis (Jazz bass sidesman, 1930)
Malcolm Hay (Comedy listings magnate without whom...1941)
Stewart Lee
2023-09-11T14:38:01+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. AVAILABLE FOR 18 MORE DAYS. 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 - 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 - TICKETS Sunday 17th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London - TICKETS Monday 18th December 2023 - Leicester Square Theatre, London -...
Stewart Lee and Richard Herring revived their double act on Sunday night for only the second time in ten years. It was a feisty, fond occasion for the faithful - at least one of whom, Herring gleaned in his opening routine, had trekked from Exeter for the show.
He'd be disappointed, Herring warned him, and maybe he was; the duo's gloriously sloppy half-hour set followed a bill of solo stand-up plus turns from other alumni of their BBC Two show This Morning With Richard Not Judy, so cruelly axed in 1999. Trevor Lock did some waffly stand-up; Emma Kennedy played Seventies TV themes with her girl band, Vaginal Tap, upstaged by a masked “celebrity dance gimp” (rumoured to be Mel Giedroyc).
Lee, 40, and Herring, 41, last performed as a duo last year, and this set was an even looser reinvention of the same old jousts. Silly, horny Herring threatened to ring Jonathan Ross and tell him he'd slept with his grandfather. Dubious Lee insisted that the double was no more. “It was predicated on the conflict between a thin man and a fat one... Not two similarly overweight middle-aged men.”
Watching them at work was like seeing two old jazzers playing off each other. They were quick and rude, familiar and opaque. Sadly, nobody told Paul Putner, reviving his character Curious Orange, that things were going to be this ragged. Dressed as Davros from Doctor Who, he was so focused and funny that he blew the cobwebs from the ceiling.
So why the reunion? They never said, but Lee did mention that he's back on BBC Two soon with his own series. And, good though Herring is, great though they were together, Lee's stand-up is about as good as it gets. His set here had verve, imagination, intelligence and poise. So the nostalgia bandwagon starts and stops here: Lee and Herring have moved on. “My life is just like a Jack Dee sitcom,” Lee assured us. “It's mediocre, middle-aged, and exactly copied off Curb Your Enthusiasm.” An indulgent but invigorating evening.
Stewart Lee
2008-11-18T00:36:22+00:00
Stewart Lee and Richard Herring revived their double act on Sunday night for only the second time in ten years. It was a feisty, fond occasion for the faithful - at least one of whom, Herring gleaned in his opening routine, had trekked from Exeter for the show. He'd be disappointed, Herring warned him, and maybe he was; the duo's gloriously sloppy half-hour set followed a bill of solo stand-up plus turns from other alumni of their BBC Two show This Morning With Richard Not Judy, so cruelly axed in 1999. Trevor Lock did some waffly stand-up; Emma Kennedy played Seventies TV themes with her girl band, Vaginal Tap, upstaged by a masked “celebrity dance gimp” (rumoured to be Mel Giedroyc). Lee, 40, and Herring, 41, last performed as a duo last year, and this set was an even looser reinvention of the same old jousts. Silly, horny Herring threatened to ring Jonathan Ross and tell him he'd slept with his grandfather. Dubious Lee insisted that the double was no more. “It was predicated on the conflict between a thin man and a fat one... Not two similarly overweight middle-aged men.” Watching them at work was like seeing two old jazzers playing off each other. They were quick and rude, familiar and opaque. Sadly, nobody told Paul Putner, reviving his character Curious Orange, that things were going to be this ragged. Dressed as Davros from Doctor Who, he was so focused and funny that he blew the cobwebs from the ceiling. So why the reunion? They never said, but Lee did mention that he's back on BBC Two soon with his own series. And, good though Herring is, great though they were together, Lee's stand-up is about as good as it gets. His set here had verve, imagination, intelligence and...
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...
Stewart Lee's style of comedy - using repetition, sarcasm, irony and a drawn out self analysis - has been much emulated by the latest set of new comic acts trying to break through on the circuit, much to his chagrin.
He has famously mocked Michael McIntyre and his ilk, and spoken out about the 'stealing' of his style more recently forcing him to change it (something he does each year anyway) to something more difficult to aspire to. He mocks his own success at the start of the show, complaining how winning an award this year and his success on the TV has attracted a new Johnny-come-lately audience he just can't be doing with.
And the friendly beligerance peeks through. Stewart Lee has returned snappier, more pacy, cramming in more laughs per minute, subverting the form more than ever and bringing the deconstruction of comedy to the masses, alternately scolding and praising them for their reactions like a manipulated partner or dog.
It was positively thrilling to see him have so much fun baiting the forms of mainstrream comedy. Using the full length and space of the stage, running, shouting, dropping into a bi-lingual segment - all the time pairing the simple and the complex, knitting the high brow and the low brow, delivering what has been demanded and then deconstructing it to point out why his original call not to take that path would have been better. All of it hilarious.
Lee truly seemed to have heaps of fun with this show, almost corpsing at times. Declaring a void of structure, then exposing that structure, then deconstructing that structure with added asides to the wings, all skipping along at a definite speed and perfectly timed. This pretender misanthrope has concentrated his formula, stretched it and then encoded it with a magic formula to bamboozle the pretenders and deliver his best show in years.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-03T14:16:48+01:00
Stewart Lee's style of comedy - using repetition, sarcasm, irony and a drawn out self analysis - has been much emulated by the latest set of new comic acts trying to break through on the circuit, much to his chagrin. He has famously mocked Michael McIntyre and his ilk, and spoken out about the 'stealing' of his style more recently forcing him to change it (something he does each year anyway) to something more difficult to aspire to. He mocks his own success at the start of the show, complaining how winning an award this year and his success on the TV has attracted a new Johnny-come-lately audience he just can't be doing with. And the friendly beligerance peeks through. Stewart Lee has returned snappier, more pacy, cramming in more laughs per minute, subverting the form more than ever and bringing the deconstruction of comedy to the masses, alternately scolding and praising them for their reactions like a manipulated partner or dog. It was positively thrilling to see him have so much fun baiting the forms of mainstrream comedy. Using the full length and space of the stage, running, shouting, dropping into a bi-lingual segment - all the time pairing the simple and the complex, knitting the high brow and the low brow, delivering what has been demanded and then deconstructing it to point out why his original call not to take that path would have been better. All of it hilarious. Lee truly seemed to have heaps of fun with this show, almost corpsing at times. Declaring a void of structure, then exposing that structure, then deconstructing that structure with added asides to the wings, all skipping along at a definite speed and perfectly timed. This pretender misanthrope has concentrated his formula, stretched it and then encoded it with...
Few comedians would get away with breaking down a joke in the middle of their set to tell the audience that they laughed at the wrong time. Then again, few comedians have a relationship with the audience like Stewart Lee has.
Bringing his latest show Content Provider to a packed-out Winchester Theatre Royal, Lee proclaimed to Winchester’s “metropolitan liberal elite” that his show was critically acclaimed and that if there were any problems with the evening they were not coming from his side of the stage, and he was right.
Lee has a dilemma – he’s critically acclaimed but decidedly niche. People who have heard of him buy tickets for his shows; but don’t know what why are going to get. Fans bring their friends: who then don’t enjoy the show half as much. Ticket touts buy up seats, and then find that no one wants to pay over the odds for them. It turns out his ideal performance would be a sold out show where nobody turned up, as he’s be paid but it would remove the worst part of being a performer – the audience that don’t appreciate his genius.
At one point proclaiming himself “the moral arbiter of stand-up comedy for the past 16 years” his scorn spared no one - from Brexiteers to Trump, other comics - whose live DVDs were strewn across the stage (they were the cheapest building material he could find, which he gleefully stamps on throughout the show), Game of Thrones, (or Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings as he calls it) and even himself.
Turns out Lee hates his stage persona because he would never appear on Sky, so he refused to take a lucrative TV deal with them several years ago to take his BAFTA winning series Comedy Vehicle to ‘Rupert Murdoch’s Evil network’. A deal that shows what a pariah he has become because Sky tried to send him a cease and desist when he started mentioning it in his shows. This was of course before the BBC cancelled it because it was “critically acclaimed and incredibly cheap to make”.
Lee’s vitriol came to a hilarious crescendo when he began to rave about his hatred for the under 40s while his trousers slid down to his ankles, gesticulating wildly with the microphone stand as he raved about the utter pointlessness of the young.
Cynical, bitter, and hysterically funny, Stewart Lee may loathe the audience, but I can’t say the feeling is mutual.
Stewart Lee
2017-10-23T19:45:50+01:00
Few comedians would get away with breaking down a joke in the middle of their set to tell the audience that they laughed at the wrong time. Then again, few comedians have a relationship with the audience like Stewart Lee has. Bringing his latest show Content Provider to a packed-out Winchester Theatre Royal, Lee proclaimed to Winchester’s “metropolitan liberal elite” that his show was critically acclaimed and that if there were any problems with the evening they were not coming from his side of the stage, and he was right. Lee has a dilemma – he’s critically acclaimed but decidedly niche. People who have heard of him buy tickets for his shows; but don’t know what why are going to get. Fans bring their friends: who then don’t enjoy the show half as much. Ticket touts buy up seats, and then find that no one wants to pay over the odds for them. It turns out his ideal performance would be a sold out show where nobody turned up, as he’s be paid but it would remove the worst part of being a performer – the audience that don’t appreciate his genius. At one point proclaiming himself “the moral arbiter of stand-up comedy for the past 16 years” his scorn spared no one - from Brexiteers to Trump, other comics - whose live DVDs were strewn across the stage (they were the cheapest building material he could find, which he gleefully stamps on throughout the show), Game of Thrones, (or Peter Stringfellow’s Lord of the Rings as he calls it) and even himself. Turns out Lee hates his stage persona because he would never appear on Sky, so he refused to take a lucrative TV deal with them several years ago to take his BAFTA winning series Comedy Vehicle to...
Stewart Lee has become one of the few alternative comics from the early 1990s to keep his clout.
Today the likes of Jimmy Carr can make jokes about rape and Ricky Gervais can take cheap shots at people with disabilities.
So the fact that Lee has stuck to his guns is refreshing.
His recent BBC 2 show, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, showed that Lee has retained his bitterness at the gutter press, right wing comedians and Jeremy Clarkson.
Carpet Remnant World allows Lee slightly more freedom than this.
Rather than lined-up anecdotes with knock-down punchlines, it's more of a rambling but effective critique.
The show starts with a quickfire attack which sums up the stupidity of the "war on terror".
He goes on to talk about demands from racists to start telling jokes about Muslims, before taking up the challenge and dismantling the idea.
But this is also an exploration of comedy. What makes something funny?
Lee mines the lack of inspiration of his "life of childcare and driving between gigs".
He offers long routines about watching Scooby Doo and driving down the motorway.
He goes on to criticise himself for such mundane material.
The fact that he dissects and subverts today's standard comedy formula means that a lot of his humour doesn't rely on one liners or cheap shots.
If the audience doesn't bite at the route he's taking, he continues regardless, stretching the joke as far as possible.
He also dwells on the reactions of right wingers to his comedy.
He reads out hate-filled comments about him from reviews and Twitter, turning the tables on those who expend so much rage in condemning him.
Stewart Lee plays an important part in comedy.
Many of today's much-touted celebrity comedians have fallen back to the era of Bernard Manning and Jim Davidson.
They present sexism, racism, homophobia and jokes about the disabled through the get out clause that "it's ironic".
Anyone who challenges this lazy brand of humour is quickly labelled and denounced as being "part of the political correctness brigade".
Lee goes against the grain—and gets gags out of the absurdity of these ideas.
But he also goes further, and takes on the difficult arguments and viciously sees them out.
What's wrong with political correctness? he asks.
He has talked about how "political correctness" essentially means that racism and other forms of prejudice become unacceptable in society.
But Lee is anything but a wet liberal. He goes for the jugular, whether it's over the Dale Farm eviction or the Tories.
That's why he's still one of the best things about comedy today.
Stewart Lee
2011-12-06T13:25:52+00:00
Stewart Lee has become one of the few alternative comics from the early 1990s to keep his clout. Today the likes of Jimmy Carr can make jokes about rape and Ricky Gervais can take cheap shots at people with disabilities. So the fact that Lee has stuck to his guns is refreshing. His recent BBC 2 show, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, showed that Lee has retained his bitterness at the gutter press, right wing comedians and Jeremy Clarkson. Carpet Remnant World allows Lee slightly more freedom than this. Rather than lined-up anecdotes with knock-down punchlines, it's more of a rambling but effective critique. The show starts with a quickfire attack which sums up the stupidity of the "war on terror". He goes on to talk about demands from racists to start telling jokes about Muslims, before taking up the challenge and dismantling the idea. But this is also an exploration of comedy. What makes something funny? Lee mines the lack of inspiration of his "life of childcare and driving between gigs". He offers long routines about watching Scooby Doo and driving down the motorway. He goes on to criticise himself for such mundane material. The fact that he dissects and subverts today's standard comedy formula means that a lot of his humour doesn't rely on one liners or cheap shots. If the audience doesn't bite at the route he's taking, he continues regardless, stretching the joke as far as possible. He also dwells on the reactions of right wingers to his comedy. He reads out hate-filled comments about him from reviews and Twitter, turning the tables on those who expend so much rage in condemning him. Stewart Lee plays an important part in comedy. Many of today's much-touted celebrity comedians have fallen back to the era of Bernard Manning and...
“This is the end… …of our elaborate plans, the end
of everything that stands, the end
no safety or surprise, the end”
Jim Morrison of The Doors wrote these words about a failed relationship 50 years ago but he could just as easily have been speaking about the demise of All Tomorrow’s Parties (ATP). The organisation that had made its name by staging a series of often quite incredible festivals in holiday camps has now surely run out of road. Paying punters were in the process of handing in their chalet keys following what was ultimately the successful completion of ATP 2.0 April 2016 curated by Stewart Lee when news broke that next weekend’s event – curated by Drive Like Jehu – had been cancelled.
The news came as no surprise. For years ATP has been plagued with organisational difficulties, mounting financial problems and reports of extensive unpaid debts. In 2012 the company went into voluntary liquidation apparently owing £2.6m to creditors. That same year a dispute with the Butlin’s holiday camp chain ended with their six-year relationship being terminated.
Two years later, and after re-emerging in the interim in a different guise, ATP cancelled the Jabberwocky festival three days before it was due to take place; it had previously jettisoned a show at Alexandra Palace at which Grizzly Bear were to headline. And then only last month the Stewart Lee curated event was thrown into confusion after ticket-holders were advised by the Pontin’s venue that it had been cancelled amidst suggestions of non-payment by the promoters.
ATP said that a “miscommunication” had occurred between them and Pontin’s and the event finally went ahead as planned on Friday. The gates to the North Wales holiday park had barely been opened, though, before it was revealed that the weekend’s headliner John Cale had pulled out. In a deeply embarrassing development for ATP, the founding member of The Velvet Underground – whose song ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ provided ATP with their brand name – blamed the event organisers for “letting us all down”. As the afternoon progressed further rumours circulated the site. There were very strong indications that Friday night’s bill topper Roky Erickson had followed Cale’s example and withdrawn from proceedings too – he was, however, to eventually play – and then there was a swell of opinion that the plug might even be pulled on the entire festival before the weekend was out. Suddenly the small matter of there being no hot water in our chalet did not seem quite so important.
Early Friday evening, in his first scheduled appearance of the weekend, the English stand-up comic Stewart Lee tried to draw the sting from what was fast becoming a very palpable concern amongst the crowd. In a hastily prepared skit – he had even written prompts on the back of his hand – he explicitly acknowledged the rumours with jokes about the organisation’s sister event ATP Iceland being relocated to Greenland; ATP’s head honcho Barry Hogan having been seen counting out money back stage; and anyone who grew a beard over the weekend being asked to hand it in to ATP’s London office afterwards to assist the company with further fund-raising. In conversation with Lee a day later he said that he “had been trying to calm everyone down”.
And things did calm down and despite repeated stories to the contrary nobody else did pull out. And for those of us that remained – and compared with the poorly attended Nightmare Before Christmas in December, there were plenty of us – we could only marvel that despite ATP’s rapidly deteriorating reputation as a promoter (and this was even before the Drive Like Jehu announcement) it still had the capacity, against all odds, to pull something rather special out of the hat.
To be greeted on entry by a Police sniffer dog and car searches was rather over-zealous at best. The dilapidated infrastructure of this sadly jaded Pontin’s site – characterised by the vagaries of its push-button showers and those electricity guzzling payment cards – did leave much to be desired. Much of the organisation was consistent with the traditional ATP behind-the-scenes chaos and the loss of the much-loved ATP TV channels must surely be attributed to the organisation’s dire financial straits. And whilst John Cale’s absence did see The Fall promoted to Saturday night’s headline slot – an honour that they just about managed to fulfil despite Mark E. Smith’s best efforts to derail the process through his customary unpredictability – it left a huge gaping hole in the afternoon schedule.
Mark E. Smith
But for all of that, and once the immediate anxieties had ceded, the ATP ethos of producing a quality, varied programme of predominantly alternative music to be enjoyed in a warm, friendly communal atmosphere was maintained.
From the Australian experimental jazz trio The Necks, who commenced proceedings proper early Friday evening with their breath-taking display of dextrous musical virtuosity, to the multi-dimensional sonic grooves of the Sun Ra Arkestra late on Sunday night, there was pretty much something for everyone. Sleaford Mods – one of many artists who in contrast to the more popularised view of ATP spoke warmly about their host’s hospitality – go from strength to strength. Age may have withered Roky Erickson – a man who is no stranger to having faced difficulties of his own – but here he rolled back the years as he trawled through The 13th Floor Elevators back catalogue. With his by now cracked country croon, ‘I Had To Tell You’ reaffirmed the fact that this man is a genuine piece of psychedelic history.
Roky Erickson
Not everything turned to gold; Giant Sand, in what is their farewell tour, sounded laboured and disinterested for the most part and whilst this will be a view at stark odds with most everyone else in Stage 3 on Friday night, the three-piece nucleus of Liverpool’s Ex-Easter IslandHead failed to properly engage this listener. But the Geordie songwriter Richard Dawson later that night was a revelation. Performing what he himself describes as “ritual community music”, his music was accessible, engaging and underpinned with more than a hint of Daniel Johnston-like vulnerability.
The Blue Aeroplanes produced what was probably the highlight of the entire weekend with “a carefully contrived mix of the old and the new”. With singer Gerard Langley looking like Tom Jones’ more louche younger brother and dancer Wojtek Dmochowski defying age, gravity and reason, their set was all bristling energy and pizzaz. Running them a very close second was Dave Graney. A regular presence over the festival’s three days and nights, the Australian maverick illustrated another fine ATP principle that of the ordinary punter being able to literally rub shoulders with the performing artists. His two sets – the second of which where he was joined by the legendary former Orange Juice guitarist Malcom Ross – merely begged the question why this man is not a huge international star.
The Blue Aeroplanes
Somewhat unfathomably given the apparent leeway with the schedule John Cale’s departure afforded, The Bellrays were listed to play at the exact same time as The Fall. They won that particular battle, punching a huge, visceral hole in the heart of Saturday night. And the following night and despite some early sound problems Flamin’ Groovies achieved much the same end and in so doing showed why they are fully deserving of the epithet seminal.
If this was to be the last such ATP event then in many ways it was a fitting finale, demonstrating that if you are able to put all of their financial chicanery to one side the organisers were still able to put on an event that merges the experimental, the legendary and the downright weird (ergo Sing-Along-A-Wickerman, hosted by Dr. Bramwell and fellow musician, Eliza Skelton). But maybe the strangest moment of all was suddenly realising that the very last performance in ATP’s incredibly chequered holiday camp promotion history should be a showing of the 1973 British comedy film Holiday On The Buses. In it the principal character – played by Reg Varney – is sacked from his job for reckless, negligent behaviour in which he placed others at considerable risk. He ultimately finds redemption of sorts at Pontin’s in Prestatyn. The ATP story is not destined to have a similar ending.
ATP 2.0 curated by Stewart Lee was held at Pontin’s Holiday Park in Prestatyn between 15th and 17th April 2016
“This is the end… …of our elaborate plans, the end of everything that stands, the end no safety or surprise, the end” Jim Morrison of The Doors wrote these words about a failed relationship 50 years ago but he could just as easily have been speaking about the demise of All Tomorrow’s Parties (ATP). The organisation that had made its name by staging a series of often quite incredible festivals in holiday camps has now surely run out of road. Paying punters were in the process of handing in their chalet keys following what was ultimately the successful completion of ATP 2.0 April 2016 curated by Stewart Lee when news broke that next weekend’s event – curated by Drive Like Jehu – had been cancelled. The news came as no surprise. For years ATP has been plagued with organisational difficulties, mounting financial problems and reports of extensive unpaid debts. In 2012 the company went into voluntary liquidation apparently owing £2.6m to creditors. That same year a dispute with the Butlin’s holiday camp chain ended with their six-year relationship being terminated. Two years later, and after re-emerging in the interim in a different guise, ATP cancelled the Jabberwocky festival three days before it was due to take place; it had previously jettisoned a show at Alexandra Palace at which Grizzly Bear were to headline. And then only last month the Stewart Lee curated event was thrown into confusion after ticket-holders were advised by the Pontin’s venue that it had been cancelled amidst suggestions of non-payment by the promoters. ATP said that a “miscommunication” had occurred between them and Pontin’s and the event finally went ahead as planned on Friday. The gates to the North Wales holiday park had barely been opened, though, before it was revealed that the weekend’s headliner John Cale...
Monthly show from Kate Hutchinson, Guardian music and culture journalist, broadcaster and DJ from London.
Kate is joined by comedian and writer Stewart Lee, who’ll be taking a quick break from his Content Provider show at Leicester Square Theatre to provide a two-hour alternative globe-trotting jukebox, live from our London studio. He’ll be talking to Kate about the songs that remind him of Edinburgh fringe and touring with post-punk band The Nightingales, plus the music he’s discovered on his travels to New Mexico, Montreal, Melbourne, his ATP takeover in Prestatyn and beyond.
Brace your ears for jazz, krautrock, alt-folk, psych-rock, reggae and outsider ballads from The Fall, Tragically Hip, The Ex with Getachew Mekuria, Ali Farka Touré, Faust, Napalm Death and maybe even The Wombles.
Tracklist
Street Pulse – Handsworth Revolution [Mango]
The Bachelors – The Sound Of Silence
Dangerous Girls – Dangerous Girls [Happy Face Records]
Nikki Sudden – Green Shield Stamps [Troubadour]
Napalm Death – You Suffer [Earache Records]
The Fall – Garden (John Peel Session) [Rough Trade]
Razorcuts – Sorry To Embarrass You [Creation Records]
Baris Manco – Kol Basti [Guerssen]
Faust – Krautrock [Virgin]
Nico – All Tomorrows Parties
Richard Dawson – Orge [Weird World]
Nick Pynn – Afterplanesman [Roundhill Music]
Big Country – Inwards [Mercury]
Frank Morgan – In The Sentimental Mood [Antilles]
Howe Gelb – The Shiver Revisited [Fire Records]
Stewart Lee
2017-11-24T16:38:49+00:00
Monthly show from Kate Hutchinson, Guardian music and culture journalist, broadcaster and DJ from London. Kate is joined by comedian and writer Stewart Lee, who’ll be taking a quick break from his Content Provider show at Leicester Square Theatre to provide a two-hour alternative globe-trotting jukebox, live from our London studio. He’ll be talking to Kate about the songs that remind him of Edinburgh fringe and touring with post-punk band The Nightingales, plus the music he’s discovered on his travels to New Mexico, Montreal, Melbourne, his ATP takeover in Prestatyn and beyond. Brace your ears for jazz, krautrock, alt-folk, psych-rock, reggae and outsider ballads from The Fall, Tragically Hip, The Ex with Getachew Mekuria, Ali Farka Touré, Faust, Napalm Death and maybe even The Wombles. Tracklist Street Pulse – Handsworth Revolution [Mango] The Bachelors – The Sound Of Silence Dangerous Girls – Dangerous Girls [Happy Face Records] Nikki Sudden – Green Shield Stamps [Troubadour] Napalm Death – You Suffer [Earache Records] The Fall – Garden (John Peel Session) [Rough Trade] Razorcuts – Sorry To Embarrass You [Creation Records] Baris Manco – Kol Basti [Guerssen] Faust – Krautrock [Virgin] Nico – All Tomorrows Parties Richard Dawson – Orge [Weird World] Nick Pynn – Afterplanesman [Roundhill Music] Big Country – Inwards [Mercury] Frank Morgan – In The Sentimental Mood [Antilles] Howe Gelb – The Shiver Revisited [Fire Records]
Mus Musculus is a house mouse, currently resident in London’s fashionable West End.
People say that in London that no-one is ever more than six feet away from a mouse. But we in the London Mouse Community have our own saying. “In London, no mouse is ever more than six feet away from a piece of cheese.” London is the cheese capital of the world, and it’s this that is drawing millions more mice to the city every year.
During the day, I curl up in a ball at the back of the Rough Trade Record shop in Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden. Obviously, I am an expert on cheese in all its many and storied forms, but since living in Rough Trade Records I have also become a connoiseur of experimental electronica too. For me, Pole’s new album is the best of the current batch, but I dislike the German duo Mouse On Mars. A mouse would not go to Mars. There is no cheese there.
At night, I creep out on my cheese bender. First stop is The Neal’s Yard Dairy, where hundreds of classic cheeses are arranged on easily scaled wooden tables. Last night I enjoyed some Laughton Log, a soft, goat’s milk cheese from Sussex. I was also tempted by a Mull Cheddar! So many cheeses, so little time, in London, city of cheese!
I head South to Pimlico’s Rippon Cheese Store. Karen and Philip Rippon claim to stock over five hundred varieties of cheese, and I think of their stupid, boastful faces crying as they realise that I have been eating their cheese every night without them knowing. I gobble a pungent Munster Fermier, from Alsace, and a slice of Shropshire blue, and then I do a tiny poo on the floor, to taunt the Rippons, like a master thief leaving a silken glove at the scene of his crime.
Heading across town to Jermyn Street, I sneak into Paxton And Whitfield’s, with its black, Victorian style frontage. Tonight I nibble the current top-seller, Montgomery’s Cheddar, a hand-cheddared cheddar with textured curd. There’s a Ticklemore on the counter but as I climb towards it I suddenly start to wonder... is this it? Is this my life? Racing around from cheese shop to cheese shop, eating expensive cheeses, and taunting cheese shop owners with my excrement? London has offered me endless pleasure, but does it give my life any meaning? Sure, the cheeses make me feel good, but in the morning when I awake, what am I? A mouse, hiding in the cellar of a record shop, with an opinion about which of the two LCD Soundstystem albums is the best. (It is the 1st, obviously).
Never mind. North again, to La Fromargerie in Moxon Street, dizzy and full of cheese. I enter under the gate to the alley left of the shop itself. But in the famous Cheese Room I see something unusual. Right in front of me, on the floor, is an obvious and clumsy wooden mouse trap, of the mass-produced Little Nipper variety, baited with a fat slice of eighteen month old La Machan Farmhouse Manchego, a rare cheese that I have always coveted. I approach and sniff the cheese. Its gritty, fruity texture enchants me and I realise, in a moment, that this is my destiny. The Farmhouse Manchego has come to save me from a life of futile decadence. It is both my executioner, and my saviour. When a mouse is tired of London, he is tired of life. I reach in to bite the Manchego, knowing this cheese will be my last. London has killed me.
Mus Musculus was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-03-13T16:56:09+00:00
Mus Musculus is a house mouse, currently resident in London’s fashionable West End. People say that in London that no-one is ever more than six feet away from a mouse. But we in the London Mouse Community have our own saying. “In London, no mouse is ever more than six feet away from a piece of cheese.” London is the cheese capital of the world, and it’s this that is drawing millions more mice to the city every year. During the day, I curl up in a ball at the back of the Rough Trade Record shop in Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden. Obviously, I am an expert on cheese in all its many and storied forms, but since living in Rough Trade Records I have also become a connoiseur of experimental electronica too. For me, Pole’s new album is the best of the current batch, but I dislike the German duo Mouse On Mars. A mouse would not go to Mars. There is no cheese there. At night, I creep out on my cheese bender. First stop is The Neal’s Yard Dairy, where hundreds of classic cheeses are arranged on easily scaled wooden tables. Last night I enjoyed some Laughton Log, a soft, goat’s milk cheese from Sussex. I was also tempted by a Mull Cheddar! So many cheeses, so little time, in London, city of cheese! I head South to Pimlico’s Rippon Cheese Store. Karen and Philip Rippon claim to stock over five hundred varieties of cheese, and I think of their stupid, boastful faces crying as they realise that I have been eating their cheese every night without them knowing. I gobble a pungent Munster Fermier, from Alsace, and a slice of Shropshire blue, and then I do a tiny poo on the floor, to taunt the Rippons,...
From the belatedly Christianised northern Swedish village of Korpolombolo, the girls and boys of Goat arrive in leathers and feathers.
Their kitchen cauldron soup of Can Kraut grooves, ritualistic chants, and black acid suggests they used Julian Cope's Faber-endorsed cult rock overview, Copendium, as a rulebook.
Begin at Goathead, where surging mercurial lead guitar battles big mama blues wailing over bent boogie rhythms, before melting into a spooked satanic acoustic folk guitar fade.
And the eight minute Ded Some Aldrig Förändras/Diarabi is the Viking voodoo workout you've been waiting all year for.
Stewart Lee
2012-12-16T19:52:13+00:00
From the belatedly Christianised northern Swedish village of Korpolombolo, the girls and boys of Goat arrive in leathers and feathers. Their kitchen cauldron soup of Can Kraut grooves, ritualistic chants, and black acid suggests they used Julian Cope's Faber-endorsed cult rock overview, Copendium, as a rulebook. Begin at Goathead, where surging mercurial lead guitar battles big mama blues wailing over bent boogie rhythms, before melting into a spooked satanic acoustic folk guitar fade. And the eight minute Ded Some Aldrig Förändras/Diarabi is the Viking voodoo workout you've been waiting all year for.
Stewart Lee has the crowd in the palm of his hand right from the get-go at his Bristol Comedy Garden set on Sunday, July 7, the last performance in this year's series.
"I know what you're thinking... Julian Assange has let himself go," he quips, adding to the long list of lookalikes he has referenced in a long-running joke.
The 51-year-old is as delightfully downbeat and morose as ever throughout his set, discussing his recent diagnosis of high blood pressure, which he blames on his most recent visit to Bristol.
"I was stressed about the slaves last time I performed here. The guilt left me with high blood pressure," he says, prompting one of many belly laughs from the crowd.
Bristol's ties with slave traders isn't the only thing he uses to rip into the city. Early on, he also mocks Bristol's self-defined bohemian nature.
"You think you're so trendy in Bristol, don't you?" he yells at the crowd. "You say things like, 'for a city of our population we punch well above our weight when it comes to music' don't you? Still doesn't make up for the slave stuff though, does it?"
As ever he is also critical of fellow stand-up comedians, giving damning descriptions of the material of both Jimmy Carr and Ricky Gervais, which earns rapturous applause from the packed-out marquee. He once again demonstrates just how funny repetition can be, by reading out the erroneous blurb which was used to describe his Comedy Vehicle programme on Netflix.
A mix-up at the streaming service saw the description for sci-fi disaster film Sharknado used to describe his show, and 'Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again - and nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe' became funnier each time Lee reads it out, comparing his unfortunate description to those of Jimmy Carr, Dave Chappelle and Ricky Gervais.
Alan Bennett is his next victim, due to a review penned by the legendary playwright in his blog which states how 'he’s fearless, undeterred by an audience’s failure to respond,' before going on to say how 'Erving Goffman would have liked Stewart Lee,' - a comparison he takes particular offence to.
This then leads to a reading from 'one of Bennett's early works', which Lee says must have acted as inspiration for the aforementioned Sharknado. In typical Stewart Lee fashion, jokes from early on in the set are beautifully intertwined with newer material throughout the set, culminating in a hilarious finale which sews them all together. It's just a pity his set wasn't a little longer.
Considering the stand-up, who is widely seen as one of the very best on the circuit, was preceded by three fantastic support acts and masterful compère work from Kiri Pritchard-McLean, it was a truly top night of live comedy which once again showcased the brilliance of Bristol Comedy Garden.
Stewart Lee
2019-07-08T14:14:21+01:00
Stewart Lee has the crowd in the palm of his hand right from the get-go at his Bristol Comedy Garden set on Sunday, July 7, the last performance in this year's series. "I know what you're thinking... Julian Assange has let himself go," he quips, adding to the long list of lookalikes he has referenced in a long-running joke. The 51-year-old is as delightfully downbeat and morose as ever throughout his set, discussing his recent diagnosis of high blood pressure, which he blames on his most recent visit to Bristol. "I was stressed about the slaves last time I performed here. The guilt left me with high blood pressure," he says, prompting one of many belly laughs from the crowd. Bristol's ties with slave traders isn't the only thing he uses to rip into the city. Early on, he also mocks Bristol's self-defined bohemian nature. "You think you're so trendy in Bristol, don't you?" he yells at the crowd. "You say things like, 'for a city of our population we punch well above our weight when it comes to music' don't you? Still doesn't make up for the slave stuff though, does it?" As ever he is also critical of fellow stand-up comedians, giving damning descriptions of the material of both Jimmy Carr and Ricky Gervais, which earns rapturous applause from the packed-out marquee. He once again demonstrates just how funny repetition can be, by reading out the erroneous blurb which was used to describe his Comedy Vehicle programme on Netflix. A mix-up at the streaming service saw the description for sci-fi disaster film Sharknado used to describe his show, and 'Reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise again - and nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe' became funnier each time Lee reads it out,...
The Fall's 29th studio album, in 35 years, finds Mark E Smith fronting a kind of amphetamine drone rock band. The 2011 model grooves on two or three chord riffs, pounding bass booms, and Eleni Poulou's retro keyboard blips, like some ancient krautrock legend, but pin-eyed with punk intensity, spattered with Smith's kaleidoscopic shards of dog-growled observations, and serrated throughout by Pete Greenway's stuttering guitar skree.
And when Poulou takes the mic to intone Nico-style over the bittersweet Happi Song, it's one of The Fall's most successful changes of mood.
Dear me.
Now all other rock music suddenly seems rather silly. The Fall remain our most vital group.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-13T19:24:19+00:00
The Fall's 29th studio album, in 35 years, finds Mark E Smith fronting a kind of amphetamine drone rock band. The 2011 model grooves on two or three chord riffs, pounding bass booms, and Eleni Poulou's retro keyboard blips, like some ancient krautrock legend, but pin-eyed with punk intensity, spattered with Smith's kaleidoscopic shards of dog-growled observations, and serrated throughout by Pete Greenway's stuttering guitar skree. And when Poulou takes the mic to intone Nico-style over the bittersweet Happi Song, it's one of The Fall's most successful changes of mood. Dear me. Now all other rock music suddenly seems rather silly. The Fall remain our most vital group.
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.
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...
"The worst comedian in Britain, as funny as bubonic plague." - The Sun
"I never wanted to be a comedian." writes Stewart Lee in the introduction to his brilliant book. "When I was very young I wanted to be a writer, first of all a writer of philosophically inclined thrillers like Robert E. Howard, Ray Bradbury or Stan Lee," he continues, "and then later a writer of thrillingly inclined philosophy, like Albert Camus, Franz Kafka or Samuel Beckett." - I dare say he has succeeded on both counts!
First of all, it is impossible to read this book on the toilet. It doesn't have a handy wipe-clean cover. It is slightly too large to hold comfortably in your hands while emptying your bowel.
However, it is - to borrow from the Goldilocks story - 'just right' for a prolonged and hungry single-sitting read on a rainy Wednesday night. But I'm getting ahead of myself! Before I move on to the subject matter of this must-have piece of genuine writing (as opposed to page after glossy page of recycled "scenes we'd like to see" jokes from Mock The Week), I want to tell you about the trouble I had buying this book in an actual shop.
The plan was my parents would buy this book, along with Stew's recently released and just as long windedly-titled DVD, "If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One", for Christmas. But I couldn't wait. I had the money in my hands, in coins, which I planned to spend on the book and just get the DVD from Father Christmas.
I went to Waterstones in Cardiff, who told me that they had one copy in stock but couldn't find it anywhere. They even checked the "Celebrity Hardbacks" section - against my many protestation. What an ignorant man he was. Anyway, they couldn't find it anywhere. So I went to W.H.Smith's to see if they had it. Again, there were two in stock. One was missing completely and the other's cover was torn to shreds. Worse still, it was shelved between "Richard Littlejohn's House Of Fun: Thirteen Years Of (Labour) Madness" and some mini-book about Justin Beiber, in the Entertainment section, no less!
I wanted a pristine copy in the hope that I would get it signed by the man himself when I saw his new live show, "Vegetable Stew" at the postponed St David's Hall date (I shall keep the book safe until March). So I meandered toward HMV - I got my copy of Disgusting Bliss there a few weeks earlier, so you never know - and asked the purple-haired young chap with eye-liner at the counter if the store stocked it. He didn't even know who Stewart Lee was! Using my eyes I looked in the "Book" section for my prize and discovered, to my amazement - and that of the camp man behind the counter - the last copy they had, in perfect condition.
And I think that word - perfect - sums up the content of the book fairly well. Comprised of extensively annotated transcripts of his three Stand-Up shows, Stand-up Comedian, 90s Comedian and 41st Best Stand-up Ever, interspersed with detailed and informative - and very funny - autobiographical intros to these shows, How I Escaped My Certain Fate (or HIEMCF, as I shall call it in homage to earlier Lee masterpieces) speaks always honestly, sometimes brutally and often emotionally about Stewart Lee's rise and fall-cycle, which has led to him being known in the trade as "The Comedian's Comedian". I found that I couldn't put the book down!
As I mentioned in my opening paragraph above the "real life" stories he tells read like a personal diary more
than a celebrity autobiography - which, of course, it sort of it. Filled with open and occasionally shocking revelations (£600 for an appearance on HIGNFY?) and the sort of anecdotes that actually interest people (there's nothing in here about "that time I was at Elton's place on Brits night and Cilla Black was in the pool...") the chapters between the transcripts are beautifully written, witty, clever, honest and filled with references to comics I had never heard of; comics I have now looked up and fallen in love with.
The whole thing reads as a kind of love-letter to the art-form of stand-up. Reading of Lee's ups and downs, from glass-strewn Bangor stages to the National Theatre, via Cardiff, Glasgow, Edinburgh (every year bar one) and every other sticky-carpeted, brown-walled pub back room on the way, you can't help but get swept along by his enthusiasm for an industry that he clearly loves. If you're not a stand-up fan then it's very unlikely you'd have heard of Stewart Lee, let alone bought his book. But if you are a fan of stand-up comedy, this perfect-bound stack of 378 pages is everything you've ever wanted to read about.
It's a rare thing. I want to talk about what's in it, but I REALLY WANT you all to read this book. Since reading the book a second time I've decided that there is more to Stewart Lee than most give him credit for. He's not just the most intelligent and interesting stand-up working today, but a true artist. People say he deconstructs comedy and that's his trick, but I think they're wrong. I think Lee sees comedy. Stew gets that what he does is clever; he sees that there is an audience he will never win.
And I don't think he wants them. Much of what he does he talks about in terms of "losing a room and then winning them back" which is daring. He speaks of his wish to make form and rhythm the most important aspect of his comedy, even over material! Again, daring. Stewart Lee does what most comedy audiences - and this isn't arrogance, here - simply don't understand: he takes a joke and tells us why it's funny.
Sidestepping actual punchlines, even when they present themselves blatantly, in favour of a turn-of-phrase or even just a look, Lee provides more seasoned comedy fans with something better.
His book is a must buy, then you'll all know what the hell it is I've been talking about all through this post.
To me, in the nicest possible way, Stewart Lee is like going to the cinema while taking A-Level Media Studies. I have found myself watching Lee Evans in his stadium shows, huge and sweaty on 30ft screens, and getting ahead of him. I've watched mainstream comics like Michael McIntyre and his "Comedy Road-show Massive" telling jokes that have already been explained to me by Lee and others like him.
I was appalled to hear Noel "The Mighty Boosh" Fielding telling a joke on Comedy Roadshow (BBC) last week which Stew had made in his 90s Comedian, and made much more effectively, about the audience making the jokes in their heads, thus rendering themselves and only themselves responsible for their possible lack of enjoyment. I saw this joke retold, not verbatim, granted, and thought to myself "this isn't theft... this is influence". Stewart Lee.
A name that is known by those who know it, and those alone. My Mother hates him despite never having seen him at all, simply because he's "so slow". She doesn't get it. But then again she's seen the best stand-up she'll ever see; she was on this Cruise once...
Stewart Lee's book, "How I Escaped My Certain Fate - The Life And Deaths Of A Stand-Up Comedian" is available to buy from Stew's website, here. If you only read one book... etc.
Stewart Lee
2010-10-28T12:45:14+01:00
"The worst comedian in Britain, as funny as bubonic plague." - The Sun "I never wanted to be a comedian." writes Stewart Lee in the introduction to his brilliant book. "When I was very young I wanted to be a writer, first of all a writer of philosophically inclined thrillers like Robert E. Howard, Ray Bradbury or Stan Lee," he continues, "and then later a writer of thrillingly inclined philosophy, like Albert Camus, Franz Kafka or Samuel Beckett." - I dare say he has succeeded on both counts! First of all, it is impossible to read this book on the toilet. It doesn't have a handy wipe-clean cover. It is slightly too large to hold comfortably in your hands while emptying your bowel. However, it is - to borrow from the Goldilocks story - 'just right' for a prolonged and hungry single-sitting read on a rainy Wednesday night. But I'm getting ahead of myself! Before I move on to the subject matter of this must-have piece of genuine writing (as opposed to page after glossy page of recycled "scenes we'd like to see" jokes from Mock The Week), I want to tell you about the trouble I had buying this book in an actual shop. The plan was my parents would buy this book, along with Stew's recently released and just as long windedly-titled DVD, "If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One", for Christmas. But I couldn't wait. I had the money in my hands, in coins, which I planned to spend on the book and just get the DVD from Father Christmas. I went to Waterstones in Cardiff, who told me that they had one copy in stock but couldn't find it anywhere. They even checked the "Celebrity Hardbacks" section - against my many protestation. What...
"Smug elitist liberalism. Who is this cunt? …I hate Stewart Lee. He's like Ian Huntley to me," reads a listless Lee to a backdrop of soothing jazz. These are only a couple of gems from his extensive collection of hilariously disproportionate and unwarranted hate-mail. All too often misunderstood in a career marked distinctively with little commercial outreach, Stewart Lee has performed boldly original and outstanding stand-up for over twenty years. However, whilst staying faithful to the punk-rock ethos of alternative comedy and to political correctness, Lee has arguably reached the heights of his 'mainstream' success so far, having recently been awarded Best Male Comic at the British Comedy Awards after completing the second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle for BBC2.
The rise of alternative comedy coincided with the Thatcher era, fertilised by the humble beginnings of Peter Rosengard's Comedy Store in a Soho strip-club in 1979, compered by the prolific Alexei Sayle. As a movement it was fundamentally a reaction against the tiresomely right-winged, casually sexist and racist humour that predominated in working men's clubs (the likes of Roy 'Chubby' Brown, Bernard Manning and Jim Davidson), but was also towards a preference for more experimental approaches to explore and exploit the conventional 'set-up, punch-line' structure of the archetypal joke. Nowadays whenever the term 'alternative comedy' is wielded, the question that prevails is 'alternative to what?'. Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World, apparently blandly named to deter the new TV-fame found audience, certainly contrasts the stagnant tide of much of contemporary mainstream stand-up.
Accompanied by both the flashing lights and smoke that one could associate with Live at the Apollo and by the experimental krautrock of Amon Duul II, Stewart Lee walked out onto the stage. Rather fittingly for us viewing Carpet Remanent World at Nottingham's Playhouse Lee was upon the same stage that Trevor Griffith's play Comedians was first performed, the play which precociously questioned the moral nature of stand-up back in 1975. What then unfolds in Carpet Remnant World is a heavily self-analytical exegesis and profoundly post-modern piece of stand-up where Lee satirises everything from the banality of 'McIntyre-branded' observational and topical comedy to the so-called 'boundary pushing', Boyle-esque humour that is too often just an excuse for easy laughs at the expense of vulnerable targets. Disillusioned by modern society, Lee leads us to ponder comedy's metaphysical nature and coaxes us to laugh at the lazily contrived forms of stand-up that we are so frequently served-up and have become jaded into accepting as the norm.
His masterful and divisive control of the crowd makes for a delightful journey, as he springs a double bluff or turns on us for laughing where we should not. Lee's stage presence is nothing short of compelling: self-assured but more importantly self-aware. Even an untimely loss of voice served only to enhance his performance, providing a layer of gruff desperation.
Lee's unique take on the 'middle-aged-man-with-a-child' routine sees him swigging from a wine bottle, despairingly resembling only remnants of a past self - what could once have been scathing political satire now amusingly confined to a dilute Scooby-Doo frame of reference.
Carpet Remnant World, though deliberately less provocative than previous works, is no less potently funny and in a way more thoughtful. In a show allegedly "about nothing", Lee expressed from the offset that by its closure the disparate ideas of his routine would be strung together to create the "illusion of structure". Indeed, following a brief pseudo-failure of timing, Lee concludes with a meaningless through-line on the discovery of a utopic carpet remnant world that leaves an impression of pseudo-success.
There are many souvenirs one can gather from Carpet Remnant World, but at the very least it demonstrates the capacity for stand-up comedy as a form of art to be perceived with the same depth and sense of purpose as theatre, film or literature. As Griffiths wrote in Comedians, "A joke that feeds on ignorance starves its audience. We have the choice. We can say something or we can say nothing. Most comics feed prejudice and fear and blinkered vision, but the best ones… illuminate them".
Stewart Lee is touring the UK with 'Carpet Remnant World' and will finish up in August at the Edinburgh Fringe.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-27T14:06:43+01:00
"Smug elitist liberalism. Who is this cunt? …I hate Stewart Lee. He's like Ian Huntley to me," reads a listless Lee to a backdrop of soothing jazz. These are only a couple of gems from his extensive collection of hilariously disproportionate and unwarranted hate-mail. All too often misunderstood in a career marked distinctively with little commercial outreach, Stewart Lee has performed boldly original and outstanding stand-up for over twenty years. However, whilst staying faithful to the punk-rock ethos of alternative comedy and to political correctness, Lee has arguably reached the heights of his 'mainstream' success so far, having recently been awarded Best Male Comic at the British Comedy Awards after completing the second series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle for BBC2. The rise of alternative comedy coincided with the Thatcher era, fertilised by the humble beginnings of Peter Rosengard's Comedy Store in a Soho strip-club in 1979, compered by the prolific Alexei Sayle. As a movement it was fundamentally a reaction against the tiresomely right-winged, casually sexist and racist humour that predominated in working men's clubs (the likes of Roy 'Chubby' Brown, Bernard Manning and Jim Davidson), but was also towards a preference for more experimental approaches to explore and exploit the conventional 'set-up, punch-line' structure of the archetypal joke. Nowadays whenever the term 'alternative comedy' is wielded, the question that prevails is 'alternative to what?'. Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World, apparently blandly named to deter the new TV-fame found audience, certainly contrasts the stagnant tide of much of contemporary mainstream stand-up. Accompanied by both the flashing lights and smoke that one could associate with Live at the Apollo and by the experimental krautrock of Amon Duul II, Stewart Lee walked out onto the stage. Rather fittingly for us viewing Carpet Remanent World at Nottingham's Playhouse Lee was upon the...
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...
I’m sure everyone will always remember where they were last Monday when they heard that Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset had died.
I was in a traffic jam in the Seven Sisters Road, with my two daughters, nine and five, as the quizzical tones of the Today programme’s Nicholas Robinson broke the news. At his wife’s insistence, it appeared the actor Eddie Redmayne had finally abandoned his analogue handset in favour of a modern iPhone.
Tributes were already flooding in, many rather thoughtlessly delivered in the form of tweets sent from smartphones
In an instant, I processed my shock into potential content provision, opining internally that Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset represented, to me, almost the last link to a better time: a time before the stress of instant communication, the death of casual contemplation and the inevitable dumbing-down caused by an oceanic volume of immediate information: train times, species of woodlouse, the original line-up of BMX Bandits.
I wanted my girls to witness the final flowering of that other age, even as it faded before us. “One day, your own children will ask you where you were when you heard about the death of Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset,” I advised my daughters, “so fucking shut up and listen.”
Clearly grief-stricken himself, Nicholas Robinson haltingly sniffled out a brief Twitter statement from Eddie Redmayne’s wife, Lili, saying of the analogue handset: “Sad 2 report handset gone. Eddie love analogue handset in theory. In end he too tied 2 laptop ans-ing email. I happy he iPhone now.”
Tributes were already flooding in, many rather thoughtlessly delivered in the form of tweets sent from smartphones. David Cameron’s tweet, clearly dispatched in hurried woe, said simply: “A huge losp.”
The warlock Russell Grant did a tweet that said: “Part of my past has left me today with the death of Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset. Even I, with my third eye, couldn’t have seen this coming.”
Richard Wilson, star of One Foot in the Grave, did a poorly judged tweet, attempting to lighten the mood of national mourning, joking: “In the words of my famous creation Victor Meldrew, I don’t believe it!”
And Twitter’s David Schneider, the director of BBC3’s flatshare sitcom Josh, did a tweet that said: “It’s only when you hear something like this that you realise how much an actor’s analogue handset can feel like part of you. RIP Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset and thank you.”
But my Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset is not gone. Nor ever can be. What it gave to me is eternally in my grasp. I know this to be a known known. I need no eulogies from politicians or disc jockeys with their blurred recollections of its “limited analogue functions”.
I need no ranking of where it rated alongside the Sinclair C5 or Asteroids, or other supposedly dated bits of technology.
Less than a decade before Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset’s emergence, vast chunky mobiles with briefcase-size chargers were first seen around Soho media meetings, dead heavy symbols of a dead heavy system.
And though it only arrived decisively in the 00s, Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset was the individual device that most spectacularly embodied the advances of its age, forcing open drawers that older, more conservative gadgets left locked.
Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset was the shining star that led me to the Bethlehem stable of my own identity: through the decades when I wore the multiple imaginary Pierrot hats of the selves, it stored many milliners in its memory, literally and figuratively. The thought of that handset gave me one hell of a buzz. It’s pinging alarm was a clarion call. It’s 9.30am! A change is gonna come!!
Horror was a fat slice of how we all reacted to Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset’s abandonment, but so was something else: in all the memories of this or that certainty, and too-late-now lamentations for a world in which a handset that fitted into a man’s pocket could fracture normality, one idea seems quaintly strange.
It is the fact that we wished to hear that handset, and that handset alone, in real time, in a real place. We imagined its blips as religious communiques. Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset was our encyclopedia of experience. I was a small man from a small town, an outcast from what my choirmaster called “a barrel of broken biscuits”. Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset split my world open like a melon.
My hands never got too big for Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset. It was never back there. Always right here. It has merely slipped into another room. That drawer once more. It rendered up the key. For me, for you. For him, for her. For it. For us. But not for them. It gave us ambitions. Ambitions above our airspace. All the ambitions and a lone enormous ringtone. Meep meep! The cosmic concept that we can contact ourselves directly and instantly, whoever we are. ET phone home! It let us be more than we ever dreamed. Peter Pan. Pan. Peter Panpan. There was something more significant. Something.
Smartphones serve a different function. They are omnipresent in presence and purpose, offering a sofa-soft fuzz of reassurance or standing for nothing but themselves. But this weird boy, who experimented with feminine clothes and falling down in a quadrangle, with his analogue handset, gave me and a whole generation of kids permission to ring at random and raspberry. The sheer danger of it made it extraordinary. I would call it social spelunking. Dark but also wet.
As our characters coalesce we look for something in the culture that reflects our subconscious desires. Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset certainly did that for me. Sure, the handset wasn’t perfect, but the time it sent all those swastikas to everyone in its address book can be explained by Mrs Redmayne having “accidentally” dropped it into a bucket of glühwein.
Most importantly, Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset arrived in an age where the idea of postwar individuality was being replaced by taking one’s place in the cosseted, opiated mass. When Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset declaimed: “Bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleeeeeep”, it seemed somehow to survey certainties, invert its surroundings, and loudly proclaim: “It’s time to get up.”
I dispatched the daughters, drove home, broke the news to my wife and went to do my business. “Are you in mourning?” my wife taunted as she left for work. “No, I’m in the lavatory,” I laughed, through gritted teeth. I stood, a 47-year-old man, my crying mixing with my micturition, as I wept into the toilet.
Stewart Lee is curating the All Tomorrow’s Parties 2.0 festival, Prestatyn, Wales, 15-17 April
Stewart Lee
2016-01-17T10:06:40+00:00
I’m sure everyone will always remember where they were last Monday when they heard that Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset had died. I was in a traffic jam in the Seven Sisters Road, with my two daughters, nine and five, as the quizzical tones of the Today programme’s Nicholas Robinson broke the news. At his wife’s insistence, it appeared the actor Eddie Redmayne had finally abandoned his analogue handset in favour of a modern iPhone. Tributes were already flooding in, many rather thoughtlessly delivered in the form of tweets sent from smartphones In an instant, I processed my shock into potential content provision, opining internally that Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset represented, to me, almost the last link to a better time: a time before the stress of instant communication, the death of casual contemplation and the inevitable dumbing-down caused by an oceanic volume of immediate information: train times, species of woodlouse, the original line-up of BMX Bandits. I wanted my girls to witness the final flowering of that other age, even as it faded before us. “One day, your own children will ask you where you were when you heard about the death of Eddie Redmayne’s analogue handset,” I advised my daughters, “so fucking shut up and listen.” Clearly grief-stricken himself, Nicholas Robinson haltingly sniffled out a brief Twitter statement from Eddie Redmayne’s wife, Lili, saying of the analogue handset: “Sad 2 report handset gone. Eddie love analogue handset in theory. In end he too tied 2 laptop ans-ing email. I happy he iPhone now.” Tributes were already flooding in, many rather thoughtlessly delivered in the form of tweets sent from smartphones. David Cameron’s tweet, clearly dispatched in hurried woe, said simply: “A huge losp.” The warlock Russell Grant did a tweet that said: “Part of my past has left me...
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.
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/
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...
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...
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...
Sleeve notes by Stew for this blistering live set by American-Dutch-Scandinavian free-improv quartet.
The Ex guitars meet Nilssen-Love/Vandermark Duo.
Lean Left throws together two explosive duos - the sax/drums collision course of Ken Vandermark and Paal Nilsson-Love with the piledriving guitarists from The Ex - to make up a positively apocalyptic quartet: an elemental musical force featuring Grade A international players zoning in and scrambling together rock, jazz, noise and blistering free improv into a highly-charged onstage assault, each member taking their sounds and bodies to the edge and often snapping out of the wilds and into glorious passages of regular rhythm. Recorded live at Café Oto, London in 2011.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T22:54:18+00:00
Sleeve notes by Stew for this blistering live set by American-Dutch-Scandinavian free-improv quartet. The Ex guitars meet Nilssen-Love/Vandermark Duo. Lean Left throws together two explosive duos - the sax/drums collision course of Ken Vandermark and Paal Nilsson-Love with the piledriving guitarists from The Ex - to make up a positively apocalyptic quartet: an elemental musical force featuring Grade A international players zoning in and scrambling together rock, jazz, noise and blistering free improv into a highly-charged onstage assault, each member taking their sounds and bodies to the edge and often snapping out of the wilds and into glorious passages of regular rhythm. Recorded live at Café Oto, London in 2011.
Stewart Lee is undoubtedly one of our finest comedians despite his standing outside of the comedy mainstream. Long time fan Dave Griffiths gave us the following review of one of his recent shows.
Like a magician who reveals his tricks, I thought Lee's book (How I Escaped My Certain Fate) about his stand-up routines and the fact and fiction in them would lessen the impact of future shows.
Not at all - it makes him even more intriguing. For example, the show was being filmed and we were told if we nipped out while he was on, we wouldn't be allowed back in. Lee started a tale about his dad the cardboard salesman and a woman walked out. He used her exit in his patter, dropping the story about his dad, and the woman came back in 30 seconds later.
Was she a plant? Did his dad really sell cardboard?
Lee later explained that certain bits of the show were true and some made up. But even then you were in doubt. He kept reviewing parts of the show and never made it easy for himself - 'grumpily' and 'patronisingly' spurning new fans, 'agonising' over easy laughs, saying the show was 'about nothing', doing a politics section with daft references to Scooby Doo, and mocking the trendy young comedians - 'the Russells' (I think he was really mocking them).
According to Lee, people in the stalls were his real fans while people in the balconies only came because he was on TV. Another clever move which made the stallees feel good and the balconites wishing they were in with the in crowd.
All this works because he has great presence and calm authority - something I particularly remember when I first saw him 20 years ago - as well as superb timing and delivery, and a hilarious, deadpan face. He may be desperate to escape the 'traditional' ways of making people laugh but he uses all the techniques of the great comedians.
Stewart Lee
2012-04-27T14:11:58+01:00
Stewart Lee is undoubtedly one of our finest comedians despite his standing outside of the comedy mainstream. Long time fan Dave Griffiths gave us the following review of one of his recent shows. Like a magician who reveals his tricks, I thought Lee's book (How I Escaped My Certain Fate) about his stand-up routines and the fact and fiction in them would lessen the impact of future shows. Not at all - it makes him even more intriguing. For example, the show was being filmed and we were told if we nipped out while he was on, we wouldn't be allowed back in. Lee started a tale about his dad the cardboard salesman and a woman walked out. He used her exit in his patter, dropping the story about his dad, and the woman came back in 30 seconds later. Was she a plant? Did his dad really sell cardboard? Lee later explained that certain bits of the show were true and some made up. But even then you were in doubt. He kept reviewing parts of the show and never made it easy for himself - 'grumpily' and 'patronisingly' spurning new fans, 'agonising' over easy laughs, saying the show was 'about nothing', doing a politics section with daft references to Scooby Doo, and mocking the trendy young comedians - 'the Russells' (I think he was really mocking them). According to Lee, people in the stalls were his real fans while people in the balconies only came because he was on TV. Another clever move which made the stallees feel good and the balconites wishing they were in with the in crowd. All this works because he has great presence and calm authority - something I particularly remember when I first saw him 20 years ago - as well as...
At the beginning of the current decade I was often mistaken for the then North Korean dictator-in-waiting Kim Jong-un, which led to an embarrassing incident in a pet shop on Dalston High Road in February 2009. Needless to say, I was unable to convince the Polish lady behind the counter that I was merely looking for a canine companion for my elderly aunt, and did not in fact regard labradoodle puppies as a “superfood”.
But it was worse for Kim himself, who once ended up accidentally and uncomfortably appearing in my place on a December 2006 edition of Eight Out of 10 Cats alongside Sean Lock, Jason Manford, Liza Tarbuck and Nightcrawler from The X-Men. A comment Kim made about the production company, Endemol, was described during the recording by host Jimmy Carr as the single joke “least likely to make the final edit of the show in the programme’s history”. Needless to say, due to Kim’s poor performance I was not asked back.
Fans of unusual celebrity-dictator friendships with long memories will recall the physical comedian Norman Wisdom’s odd 1950s relationship with the totalitarian Albanian leader Enver Hoxha. In between mass executions of dissidents and incarcerations of anti-communists, Hoxha even found time, in 1951, to accompany Wisdom and his family on a week’s holiday to the Isle of Wight amusement park Blackgang Chine.
Beside the English Channel, the curious pair cavorted between the open legs of a giant fibreglass smuggler and frolicked in a fairy glade, all the while crying out “Mr Grimsdale! Mr Grimsdale!!” and “Have you, Albanian peasant brothers, ever sought the reason for the poverty, misery, hunger and gloom which have been your lot for centuries?“
In a modern echo of Hoxha-Wisdom, the American basketball player Dennis Rodman sees himself as the unofficial peacebroker between the US and North Korea. Having befriended Kim in 2013, and with whom he claims to go horse-riding, ski, sing karaoke and generally hang out, Rodman claims, “I just want to try to straighten things out for everyone to get along together.”
Since Kim took power in North Korea in 2011, the stress of the top job has relieved his friendly round face of much of its puppy fat, whereas I have slid into a porcine middle-aged spread of repellent aspect, meaning Kim and I are now rarely confused with each other.
That said, when one of my critically acclaimed standup specials from 2005 aired on Netflix in the US last year, I did notice a tweet from Dennis Rodman which read, “Yo! My bro Kim Jong-un on TV right now slaying the Scotch people at the Glasgow Stand! Tell it like it is! Braveheart was a fag!!”
At the risk of sounding arrogant, I do feel the many occasions upon which I am still addressed as chairman of the workers’ party of Korea, chairman of the central military commission, chairman of the state affairs commission, supreme commander of the Korean people’s army, and presidium member of the politburo standing committee of the workers’ party of Korea by shocked North Korean expats have given me some insight into the dictator’s mindset. Needless to say, Trump’s approach to dealing with Kim Jong-un is entirely the wrong-un.
I understand Kim, certainly more than Donald Trump, and perhaps even more than his hoop-bothering friend Dennis Rodman, who has all scribbles all on him. I am the most consistently critically acclaimed male British standup comedian of the century, while Kim is the most dictatorial dictator in the world today, and let me tell you, like little Kim, I know that it is lonely at the top.
I wonder if, like Kim, many of my life’s achievements (winning six Chortle awards and an edition of Celebrity Mastermind in my case, developing a nuclear arsenal in his) are simply attempts to gain the attention of an absent father figure. Instead of rattling his atomic sabre, and sticking his flaccid orange penis into the heart of the wasp’s nest of south-east Asian geopolitics, Trump could choose to be that father. What Kim needs is love from a big daddy, and Trump could be that big daddy, bear-hugging and play-wrestling us out of the impending apocalypse.
Donald Trump sees the world as a set of business deals. Business is not moral. It is about results. Trump is alleged to have done alleged financial or publicity deals with people allegedly worse than Kim – dodgy Russian oligarchs, Italian-American mafia families, and Michael Gove. All Kim wants is Trump’s attention, so why can’t Trump, in the interest of global security, simply invite Kim to the US for the holiday of a lifetime?
Kim and Trump in Long Beach, Washington, marvelling at the world’s largest chopsticks, laughing as they act out the futile attempts of normal-sized men to use them; Kim and Trump in Topeka, Kansas, at the Evel Knievel museum, bonding as they hold hands in silent humble admiration; Kim and Trump in San Luis Obispo, California, comparing notes at the Madonna Inn’s famous waterfall urinal, laughing as their twin torrents cross streams, Ghostbusters-style, in the soft subterranean lighting. You cannot make nuclear threats against a man whom you have urinated alongside in the beautiful waterfall urinal of the Madonna Inn, San Luis Obispo, California.
My friend the comedian and failed recluse Roger Mann recently befriended a goat near his Pyrenean hermitage in an experimental attempt to understand the nature of relationships. Were Trump to engage paternally with Kim, he himself may learn something, something that might cure the emptiness inside him that threatens to suck all human history into it like a black hole made of nameless need. For Trump, like Kim, is also lonely.
You can own New York, but you can’t make it love you; you can execute hundreds of North Koreans, but you can’t make North Korea love you. To be feared is not the same as to be respected. A father whose children obey him only through fear is a failed father. When we think of fathers they paint Airfix with us, and wrestle in the summer meadow of memory. They do not threaten us with warheads.
Kim Jong-un pleads to be disciplined. Donald Trump is desperate for love. If diplomatic channels could be opened to enable the gaping maws of these two desperate needs to meet, they would engulf each other with a flood of unrequited love, and we would all sleep easy again.
Stewart Lee is appearing with Jo Brand, Bridget Christie, Harry Hill, Athena Kugblenu, Shazia Mirza, Sue Perkins and Mark Thomas in a benefit for FGM charity the Dahlia Project at London’s Union Chapel on Monday 18 September. unionchapel.org.uk
Stewart Lee
2017-09-10T11:16:53+01:00
At the beginning of the current decade I was often mistaken for the then North Korean dictator-in-waiting Kim Jong-un, which led to an embarrassing incident in a pet shop on Dalston High Road in February 2009. Needless to say, I was unable to convince the Polish lady behind the counter that I was merely looking for a canine companion for my elderly aunt, and did not in fact regard labradoodle puppies as a “superfood”. But it was worse for Kim himself, who once ended up accidentally and uncomfortably appearing in my place on a December 2006 edition of Eight Out of 10 Cats alongside Sean Lock, Jason Manford, Liza Tarbuck and Nightcrawler from The X-Men. A comment Kim made about the production company, Endemol, was described during the recording by host Jimmy Carr as the single joke “least likely to make the final edit of the show in the programme’s history”. Needless to say, due to Kim’s poor performance I was not asked back. Fans of unusual celebrity-dictator friendships with long memories will recall the physical comedian Norman Wisdom’s odd 1950s relationship with the totalitarian Albanian leader Enver Hoxha. In between mass executions of dissidents and incarcerations of anti-communists, Hoxha even found time, in 1951, to accompany Wisdom and his family on a week’s holiday to the Isle of Wight amusement park Blackgang Chine. Beside the English Channel, the curious pair cavorted between the open legs of a giant fibreglass smuggler and frolicked in a fairy glade, all the while crying out “Mr Grimsdale! Mr Grimsdale!!” and “Have you, Albanian peasant brothers, ever sought the reason for the poverty, misery, hunger and gloom which have been your lot for centuries?“ In a modern echo of Hoxha-Wisdom, the American basketball player Dennis Rodman sees himself as the unofficial peacebroker between the...
There are important questions to be asked about lavatories, and Kemi Badenoch is certainly the Tory best suited to answering them. A report in the government’s Daily Telegraph mouthpiece announced that a new government initiative would see the equalities minister, Kemi Badenoch, appoint a Tory lavatories tsar, a task that would doubtless make her flush with pride. But the Independent then reported that the government had “distanced” itself from this appointment, for fear of increased bureaucracy, and also, presumably, across-the-board toilet tsar-based ridicule.
Apparently, Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar would have ensured that all new offices, schools, hospitals and entertainment venues have separate male and female lavatories; a big job and a massive piece of business. But our children’s generation seem largely ambivalent about gender identity, and the practical lavatorial considerations that come with it; first-wave feminists, in contrast, are understandably anxious that women’s hard-won recognitions are not, as they see it, eroded; meanwhile, some young women tell me they fear the loss of certified spaces in nightclubs and pubs for crying, vomiting up alcopops and avoiding young men; most young men, however, seem comfortable with the idea of urinating indiscriminately on the floor, while simultaneously passing wind, in any toilet, however Kemi Badenoch choses to designate the toilet’s gender.
Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar’s appointment was doubtless a well-meaning gesture from a government consistently defined by its genuine concern for society’s most vulnerable minorities, but the issues it raises have had the unintended effect of enflaming the culture war, the stoking of which is, by unfortunate coincidence, the Tories’ only chance of holding on to power. Of course, there has never been a worse time in British history for Kemi Badenoch to appoint Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar, and to insist on the provision of more public lavatories, an act that would have been seen by future generations as a crime comparable to the detonation of the atomic bombs that destroyed Hiroshima, or when that spade goes in the otter’s head in Ring of Bright Water.
Already, a crumbling water infrastructure, fatally wounded by decades of criminal underinvestment by private owners, cannot cope with current sewage levels, resulting in regular discharges of untreated human muck into our seas and rivers at unprecedented levels, often hazardous to health. More than 90% of freshwater habitats in our most valued rivers are soiled by raw human excrement. Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar would have had to pause to consider if it is appropriate, today, to encourage the construction of yet more toilets, and thus to facilitate the release of yet more excrement into an already fatally compromised privately owned sewage system.
It is of course important that all people, irrespective of their gender identity, should be allowed to void their bowels copiously and at will, albeit discreetly, behind closed doors in designated public spaces, as loudly as they like. But just as the allowance of legionnaires’ disease-infected barges, and the removal of welcoming murals, is designed to deter asylum seekers from claiming legitimate sanctuary here in the UK, on the grounds that the system simply cannot cope, should there be, in turn, not a designated increase but in fact a reduction in public toilet provision, in order to prevent the public from pumping further human filth into an already clogged system? I, for one, believe there should.
Kemi Badenoch’s appointment of Kemi Badenoch’s tory lavatory tsar would have been just another example of the well-meaning Tories’ nonetheless worrying inability to practise the art of joined-up thinking. You cannot encourage further fossil fuel production while at the same time obstructing those who will be displaced by the environmental catastrophes you have contributed to. Similarly, you cannot preside over the filthification of our waters while at the same time encouraging the building of yet more lavatories, all essentially just sluices that channel human excrement down Victorian lead pipes to further befoul our beauty spots.
While Tory attempts to use lavatory construction regulation to address anxieties about gender identity will doubtless be sincere, their legacy will be measured in the damage they do to our already ailing environment. It seems harsh to make legitimate asylum seekers live for four days on a barge infected with a fatal disease, just as it seemed harsh when the 18th-century British army colonel Henry Bouquet floated the idea of dispersing smallpox-infected blankets among the “disaffected tribes of indians, because we must, on this occasion, use every stratagem in our power to reduce them”. But the criminal people-smugglers must be discouraged, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Likewise, it is unreasonable and unrealistic to expect private, foreign-owned water companies to stem their profits in order to save our seas and rivers. But the flow of excrement into British waters must be stopped, and the only way to do that, it appears, is to stop it at source.
Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar’s first priority would have been to stop the flow of filth into our lavatories themselves. This could be done by the compulsory withdrawal of all fibrous foods from our supermarkets, and then by the provision of biodegradable “jobbie bags” to every household, which, once filled by hand, can be tossed into the food recycling bin, rather than flushed into our rivers. If it helps placate Daily Express readers, the Tory lavatory tsar could have insisted the excrement bags are colour-coded, depending on the gender identity of the defecatee, so that all are sorted and then disposed of in gender-appropriate receptacles.
This is the only valid course of Tory lavatory action. While Kemi Badenoch’s current Tory lavatory tsar’s scheme to increase public toilet provision may prove popular with a minority of the trans-fearing public, it spells certain death for our seas, our rivers, and the fish and water creatures that do sport and play within them.
You say “Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar”; I say “Kemi Badenoch shitting on Feargal Sharkey’s human face – for ever”.
Stewart Lee
2023-08-20T14:06:17+01:00
There are important questions to be asked about lavatories, and Kemi Badenoch is certainly the Tory best suited to answering them. A report in the government’s Daily Telegraph mouthpiece announced that a new government initiative would see the equalities minister, Kemi Badenoch, appoint a Tory lavatories tsar, a task that would doubtless make her flush with pride. But the Independent then reported that the government had “distanced” itself from this appointment, for fear of increased bureaucracy, and also, presumably, across-the-board toilet tsar-based ridicule. Apparently, Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar would have ensured that all new offices, schools, hospitals and entertainment venues have separate male and female lavatories; a big job and a massive piece of business. But our children’s generation seem largely ambivalent about gender identity, and the practical lavatorial considerations that come with it; first-wave feminists, in contrast, are understandably anxious that women’s hard-won recognitions are not, as they see it, eroded; meanwhile, some young women tell me they fear the loss of certified spaces in nightclubs and pubs for crying, vomiting up alcopops and avoiding young men; most young men, however, seem comfortable with the idea of urinating indiscriminately on the floor, while simultaneously passing wind, in any toilet, however Kemi Badenoch choses to designate the toilet’s gender. Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar’s appointment was doubtless a well-meaning gesture from a government consistently defined by its genuine concern for society’s most vulnerable minorities, but the issues it raises have had the unintended effect of enflaming the culture war, the stoking of which is, by unfortunate coincidence, the Tories’ only chance of holding on to power. Of course, there has never been a worse time in British history for Kemi Badenoch to appoint Kemi Badenoch’s Tory lavatory tsar, and to insist on the provision of more public lavatories, an...
When I, a comedian currently fashionable in broadsheets, and an uncomprehending fan of Free Improvisation, was invited to publicise and programme Freehouse, the Cheltenham jazz festival's new experimental strand, Evan Parker was the first musician I wanted to contact. For me, the 66-year-old saxophonist is the greatest living exponent of free improvisation. Nearly half a century ago, he played alongside the drummer John Stevens and the guitarist Derek Bailey, in the Spontaneous Music Ensemble, tunnelling under contemporary American free jazz's exultant innovations, with precise, near silent, collective improvisations, free of tempi or tunes. In 1968, he was part of the multi-horn assault of Peter Brotzman's Machine Gun album, bringing unprecedented power to the music. And in the intervening decades, he's become a quiet colossus. If you've ever been tempted by free improvisation, Parker is your gateway drug.
At home in Faversham in Kent, Evan Parker has the physicality of a contented honey-bear and the joviality of a real-ale enthusiast. He lives, as artists should, in a whitewashed terraced cottage with the dimensions of a Cornish net loft, each subsequent stage stratified with shelves or records, CDs and books. Economics dictate that Parker, who operates at the upper levels of a music that's often commercially unsustainable, plays all over the world. "I make most of my living in Germany and Holland," he says. "Italy's love of improvisation goes up and down depending on the politics. Mostly I try to do things that make sense in some way. I am encouraged by people close to me to slow down a bit. At my age, the business of air travel becomes very tedious. I am trying to stop commuting to Europe every weekend. But I've played every year with the Alexander Schlippenbach Trio, in Germany, since 1972. I think the audience is waiting to see who keels over first." In between these jaunts, Parker returns to his hermitage, where he is evidently very happy. It's a relief to meet an artist who, despite producing hugely important work in relative obscurity, seems entirely contented. But Parker's journey to Faversham has been a long one.
Born in Bristol in 1944 to solidly lower-middle class parents, Parker says he "picked up the saxophone at 14 and went for lessons. I was listening to who my peer group told me to listen to, Dave Brubeck, Paul Desmond, Lee Konitz, with a lot of pleasure. But I was a very naive listener. You're thrown into the pond and you have to find out which way the river flows, and where it's going, and it may not be the river you're interested in." Parker describes a pre-internet era, unimaginable to anyone under 30, when music fans had to do detective work. "I was accidentally listening to all this smooth west coast jazz and then I remember the day Charlie Parker died, and somebody showed me Melody Maker, and it made me want to find out who this Charlie Parker was. I bought the 10in record Bird and Diz – still a very good record – and then I realised, 'so there's East Coast and west coast jazz', and I started to do my own research and put it together myself. By time I was 15 I was listening to new Coltrane and Miles Davis records as they were coming out."
By his own admission, Parker bungled his botany course at Birmingham University: "At the end of the first year they said to me,'We don't know what's happened to you. You knew more about botany when you came in than you do now.'" What did happen to him? "The saxophone. The saxophone happened to me. I had three gigs a week by the time I left Birmingham." Perhaps it's fortunate. If Parker's approach to botany had been the same as his approach to his instrument, one dreads to think what might have happened to the Linnaean system of taxonomic classification.
For Parker, the music known as European free improvisation began in 1966, and he was a witness to its birth. "I remember the first conversation I had with John Stevens when he invited me to come down to the Little Theatre club in Covent Garden. We talked about Milford Graves and Sunny Murray. Very few people would have known who those drummers were then, so it was like showing him a tattoo to prove you were in the club. After that all doors were open." Parker laughs, as if the full implications of the path he chose to follow have just crystallised for the first time: "But they were doors to very small rooms with very small amounts of people in them. Smaller than I'd been playing before."
The history lesson over, I explain to Parker that he's always the person I take sceptics to see. At first, free improvised music will sound like formless, pointless chaos. But the saxophone is an iconic instrument a new listener can relate to; Parker's ensembles clearly take risks, and the possibility of failure, like a wobbling wire walker, demands attention; and Parker himself, his lungs heaving in endless circular breathing solos, is clearly hard at work, with something of the circus strongman about him. Is his take consciously vaudevillian? "I believe a lot of what I am doing communicates because of those qualities, and when you get two or three things happening, they may not be actual physical solids, but they are the equivalent of balls being juggled. I don't claim anything higher than that for it really. It's just something that is meant to be absorbing. For me, the only idea is that it is interesting to listen to, not that it should demonstrate an understanding of anything beyond that."
An enduring aspect of this music, irrespective of the actual sound, is that it cannot be co-opted. In 2005, in my professional capacity as a comedian, I was emailed by someone asking if I could "provide any content" that was equally suited to internet applications, mobile phones, television, radio. But I am not a content provider. I try to make everything I do appropriate to the medium and the moment. And this unfashionable attitude is even more evident in free improvisation. Every second of every Evan Parker show is a considered refutation of the 21st century idea that a piece of art is a one-size-fits-all product to be cross-platformed into ubiquitous anonymity.
Free improvisation's political affiliations were formed in the beer-and-sandwiches days of the 1960s and 70s left, and the pioneering trombonist Paul Rutherford saw the music's emphasis on collective creativity as the embodiment of his own communist principles. Forty years later, Parker remains a romantic, but his politics are more oblique. "John Stevens talked about free improvisation being his 'other little life'," he says. "When I close my eyes and I am just playing with other people in a free situation, where we can all do what we want, I am in a utopian space. And I have been very lucky to spend a huge amount of my life in that utopian space."
1. The Spontaneous Music Ensemble: Karyobin (Island, 1968)
An unusual major-label outing for a low-key, light-hued set, now impossible to find. You can't borrow mine.
2. Evan Parker, Derek Bailey and Han Bennink: The Topography of the Lungs (Incus, 1970)
The first release of Parker's partnership with Bailey remains a cornerstone of free improvisation, not least for its illuminating Parker sleevenotes.
3. Evan Parker: The Snake Decides (PSI, 1986)
A gripping solo set, brilliantly recorded by engineer Michael Gerzon.
4. Evan Parker: Time Lapse (Tzadik, 2006)
A selection from five years of experiments with overdubbing, as Parker improvises with versions of himself.
5. Evan Parker Electro-Acoustic Ensemble: The Moment's Energy (ECM, 2009)
Parker's glacial big band is perfect for ECM's chilled aesthetic.
JOHN FORDHAM'S CHELTENHAM JAZZ FESTIVAL PICKS
trioVD
Exhilarating Leeds-based trio (the VD is for Valentine's Day) that combines wailing free-jazz sax, manic grooves, crunching guitar from Acoustic Ladyland's Chris Sharkey – and a rare succinctness in the world of improv.
Pillar Room, Cheltenham town hall, 30 April
Food
Iain Ballamy's Wayne Shorter-like sax sound floats ever more hypnotically over Thomas Stronen's cinematic percussion and electronics in this sublime decade-long partnership.
Pillar Room, Cheltenham town hall, 1 May
Dave Holland/Pepe Habichuela
Unusual world-music setting for bass star and influential bandleader Holland – swinging on Andalusian flamenco music with Spanish guitar virtuoso Pepe Habichuela.
Main Hall, Cheltenham town hall, 1 May
Carla Bley and the Lost Chords
Great American jazz composer Bley's most coolly quirky group repackages her deceptive swingers, soft Latin grooves, and quirkily churchy blues and ballads. Soft-toned trumpeter Paolo Fresu joins UK sax star Andy Sheppard in the front line.
Main Hall, Cheltenham town hall, 2 May
John Scofield
Guitar hero Scofield has explored gospel music lately, but this looks like a punchy workout for more of a straightahead postbop quartet, with Scofield's stinging lines supported by pianist Michael Eckroth, bassist Ben Street, and drummer Bill Stewart.
Jazz Arena, Imperial Gardens, 2 May
Stewart Lee
2010-04-22T20:20:59+01:00
When I, a comedian currently fashionable in broadsheets, and an uncomprehending fan of Free Improvisation, was invited to publicise and programme Freehouse, the Cheltenham jazz festival's new experimental strand, Evan Parker was the first musician I wanted to contact. For me, the 66-year-old saxophonist is the greatest living exponent of free improvisation. Nearly half a century ago, he played alongside the drummer John Stevens and the guitarist Derek Bailey, in the Spontaneous Music Ensemble, tunnelling under contemporary American free jazz's exultant innovations, with precise, near silent, collective improvisations, free of tempi or tunes. In 1968, he was part of the multi-horn assault of Peter Brotzman's Machine Gun album, bringing unprecedented power to the music. And in the intervening decades, he's become a quiet colossus. If you've ever been tempted by free improvisation, Parker is your gateway drug. At home in Faversham in Kent, Evan Parker has the physicality of a contented honey-bear and the joviality of a real-ale enthusiast. He lives, as artists should, in a whitewashed terraced cottage with the dimensions of a Cornish net loft, each subsequent stage stratified with shelves or records, CDs and books. Economics dictate that Parker, who operates at the upper levels of a music that's often commercially unsustainable, plays all over the world. "I make most of my living in Germany and Holland," he says. "Italy's love of improvisation goes up and down depending on the politics. Mostly I try to do things that make sense in some way. I am encouraged by people close to me to slow down a bit. At my age, the business of air travel becomes very tedious. I am trying to stop commuting to Europe every weekend. But I've played every year with the Alexander Schlippenbach Trio, in Germany, since 1972. I think the audience is waiting...
In the second world war, Navajo code talkers transmitted sensitive US military information in their own undocumented language. Which was nice of them, as their immediate ancestors had been dispossessed and destroyed by white settlers, and then had all their water poisoned with uranium. “Were it not for the Navajos,” concluded major Howard Connor, at the time, “the marines would never have taken Iwo Jima.” And that famous photo of the American soldiers raising a flag would just have shown some Japanese boy scouts letting off a party popper.
But last month Trump’s defence secretary, Pete Hegseth, said: “I think the single dumbest phrase in military history is ‘our diversity is our strength’.” Predictably, some Navajo code talkers had to have bodyguards to protect them from white American servicemen who thought they were Japanese. Plus ça change, as they say over there in that Europe.
The Navajos’ efforts went unrecognised for several decades. When the son of one of the code talkers got to live the American dream by opening a Burger King in Kayenta on Navajo lands in 1986, he made the building a partial museum of his father’s unit. I visited it 30 years ago, with the comedian Kevin Eldon (Narvi the dwarf smith in TV’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power), and it remains the most edifying fast food restaurant I ever ate in. It was even better than that KFC near Bletchley Park that does that delicious Alan Turing chicken strips and alphabetti spaghetti meal deal ™ ®.
The Kayenta Burger King also has a more extensive archive of code talker artefacts than any official government repository. Especially since, last week, videos, photos and stories of the Navajo code talkers were temporarily removed online as part of Trump’s assault on diversity. A page commemorating corporal Ira Hayes, a Pima of the Gila River Indian Community, and one of the servicemen photographed raising that Stars and Stripes at Iwo Jima, also disappeared for a while in Trump’s thwarting of the woke. Boris Johnson must be delighted. But I wonder if Trump’s actions please the British daytime TV treasure Lorraine Kelly?
Kelly’s interview in the Times on 14 March, culled from a book promotion appearance on Times Radio, seemed to suggest she believed gender and racial diversity are wrongly prioritised in the workplace at the expense of offering opportunities to the (presumably white) working class. The headline spoke for itself: “Lorraine Kelly: Diversity push is leaving working-class people behind.” Was our Lorraine an unexpected supporter of Trump’s anti-diversity agenda?
Probably not. This is the rightwing press, or the press as I call it, that we’re talking about, and Kelly didn’t quite espouse the view the headline implies. Even the elements of the radio interview that the paper chose to transcribe show a Lorraine Kelly principally concerned about how the cost of living affects working-class access to media jobs, and she made explicit that she hoped to see diversity initiatives tackle exclusion on the basis of class in addition to concentrating on gender and race. It’s a subtly different position and an example of the nuanced thought that has made Kelly the Socrates of the sofa, while her competitor Richard Madeley stares out of his kitchen window at a donkey in a field while thinking about bread.
But this is how papers work. For two decades I was lucky enough to review records (remember them?) for the Sunday Times. So when they asked me, 20 years back, to write an insider comedian’s view of attempts to boycott the Edinburgh comedy awards because the sponsor, Perrier, was owned by Nestlé, which pushed unsafe formula milk initiatives to the developing world, what could possibly go wrong? And the money didn’t hurt either!
I wrote a balanced piece about how the boycott was morally the right thing to do, with the appended caveat that high-profile supporters were asking a lot of young broke performers to walk away from a cash bung of £10,000 that might shift at least some of their debts. The headline? “‘Emma Thompson needs to grow up’, says comedian Stewart Lee”, which wasn’t anything I said, but perhaps fitted the paper’s agenda better, and left me apologising, cap in hand, to the charity Baby Milk Action and Miss Thompson herself, who has conspicuously failed to cast me in any of her hit films since.
Despite the fun-size fascism we’re seeing across the Atlantic, the woke folk panic still sells papers and farms online engagement. The Times got what it wanted out of massaging Kelly’s quotes, and in the US the fourth estate is finished, jeopardising democracy worldwide. Maybe it’s time for writers to work out what they believe and stand up for it. But the British press is staffed by a class of professionals happy to drift between the Times, the Telegraph, the New European and yes, even the last liberal papers, refining their opinions as required by their offshore billionaire employers. It’s as easy as changing the look of your byline photo from sensible suit and tie to a beatnik polar neck jumper and beard. And that’s just the women. These days.
Ironically, some wag at the Times has chosen to illustrate Kelly’s interview with an old photo of her GMTV colleague, the black fitness expert Mr Motivator, holding her aloft on the roof of a building. Presumably there were dozens of more motivated white working-class Mr Motivators, but the woke agenda meant they never got the opportunity to lift a Scottish woman. Let’s see if we can’t see a white working-class TV fitness instructor raising Lorraine Kelly high above their head by the end of 2025, but ideally let’s do it without playing into the divisive playbook of Trump, Musk, Vance and Farage, apportioning blame to the disadvantaged, while consolidating their own chrome-plated futures.
Stewart Lee
2025-03-23T22:39:05+00:00
In the second world war, Navajo code talkers transmitted sensitive US military information in their own undocumented language. Which was nice of them, as their immediate ancestors had been dispossessed and destroyed by white settlers, and then had all their water poisoned with uranium. “Were it not for the Navajos,” concluded major Howard Connor, at the time, “the marines would never have taken Iwo Jima.” And that famous photo of the American soldiers raising a flag would just have shown some Japanese boy scouts letting off a party popper. But last month Trump’s defence secretary, Pete Hegseth, said: “I think the single dumbest phrase in military history is ‘our diversity is our strength’.” Predictably, some Navajo code talkers had to have bodyguards to protect them from white American servicemen who thought they were Japanese. Plus ça change, as they say over there in that Europe. The Navajos’ efforts went unrecognised for several decades. When the son of one of the code talkers got to live the American dream by opening a Burger King in Kayenta on Navajo lands in 1986, he made the building a partial museum of his father’s unit. I visited it 30 years ago, with the comedian Kevin Eldon (Narvi the dwarf smith in TV’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power), and it remains the most edifying fast food restaurant I ever ate in. It was even better than that KFC near Bletchley Park that does that delicious Alan Turing chicken strips and alphabetti spaghetti meal deal ™ ®. The Kayenta Burger King also has a more extensive archive of code talker artefacts than any official government repository. Especially since, last week, videos, photos and stories of the Navajo code talkers were temporarily removed online as part of Trump’s assault on diversity. A page...
If ever there was a collection of, by and for our times, this is it. English composer, recorder player and violinist Laura Cannell dives into the deep end of these endlessly deep ended days, in search of a connection to the folklore of her people. Her unlikely collaborator is English comedian Stewart Lee, whose conjured stories lope alongside Cannell’s sounds, inspired by feral animal sounds. A buzzard in particular, offered Cannell inspiration, but These Feral Lands sees Cannell and Lee engage in a ricocheting, jagged-edged conversation with Crash Ensemble’s Kate Ellis, harmonium player Polly Wright and broadcaster Jennifer Lucy Allan.
This is a twilight world, with surreal tales of ancient poison potions and a parson’s wife (on the standout Wellington Hearts) and knot-in-the-stomach insistent strings (Black Shuck). Think The Copper Family and Sheila Chandra meeting Chris Wood and Simon Emmerson of The Imagined Village at a crossroads.
This fevered collection hints at a subtle emotional dissonance that permeates life for many of us these days.
Stewart Lee
2020-11-13T13:20:48+00:00
If ever there was a collection of, by and for our times, this is it. English composer, recorder player and violinist Laura Cannell dives into the deep end of these endlessly deep ended days, in search of a connection to the folklore of her people. Her unlikely collaborator is English comedian Stewart Lee, whose conjured stories lope alongside Cannell’s sounds, inspired by feral animal sounds. A buzzard in particular, offered Cannell inspiration, but These Feral Lands sees Cannell and Lee engage in a ricocheting, jagged-edged conversation with Crash Ensemble’s Kate Ellis, harmonium player Polly Wright and broadcaster Jennifer Lucy Allan. This is a twilight world, with surreal tales of ancient poison potions and a parson’s wife (on the standout Wellington Hearts) and knot-in-the-stomach insistent strings (Black Shuck). Think The Copper Family and Sheila Chandra meeting Chris Wood and Simon Emmerson of The Imagined Village at a crossroads. This fevered collection hints at a subtle emotional dissonance that permeates life for many of us these days.
We are living in strange times in the country and it really does feel like we are going through a historical moment in history.
As Bristol's first night of the annual Comedy Garden festival got under way a demonstration was taking place in the wind and the rain just a couple of hundred yards away.
We are not quite at the stage of manning the barricades but it really does feel that politics actually means something and has got people talking.
Stewart Lee might not be one of the biggest names on the comedy circuit but he has a devoted following and never has problems selling out major venues whenever he tours.
He has a loyal fan base and everyone who turns up for one of his shows. His rancorous – almost spiteful outlook – is very much of the left and he is not one to hold back the punches when he goes on the attack.
Lee was the last comedian to take to the stage last night on a bill that also included Josie Long, James Acaster and Tony Law. Josie Long was compering and it felt like it was virtually impossible not to bow to the inevitable.
Of course, the comics were always going to be preaching to the converted but there was a real sense of anger and frustration in the room.
Anyone who put their cross in the exit box must have been sitting pretty uncomfortably last night as jokes at the expense of the leave campaign were met with roars of approval.
James Acaster was up second and although just as left wing his style was a lot less confrontational. His lengthy comparison between a cup of mint tea and the vote bought the house down.
Next up was Tony Law who's act is almost impossible to describe. It was the most surreal and the least political. And then came the star of the show who walked on to stage to rapturous applause.
The man who everyone came to see was clearly trying out new material and the first quarter of the set was a referendum rant.
But Stewart Lee can do anything he wants as far as his audience is concerned and they lapped every minute of his set.
Josie long came back on stage to close proceedings and the whole event turned into something of an anti-Brexit rally.
The clearly emotional comedian got the biggest cheer of the night with what amounted to a political rallying cry.
Stewart Lee
2016-06-29T17:47:44+01:00
We are living in strange times in the country and it really does feel like we are going through a historical moment in history. As Bristol's first night of the annual Comedy Garden festival got under way a demonstration was taking place in the wind and the rain just a couple of hundred yards away. We are not quite at the stage of manning the barricades but it really does feel that politics actually means something and has got people talking. Stewart Lee might not be one of the biggest names on the comedy circuit but he has a devoted following and never has problems selling out major venues whenever he tours. He has a loyal fan base and everyone who turns up for one of his shows. His rancorous – almost spiteful outlook – is very much of the left and he is not one to hold back the punches when he goes on the attack. Lee was the last comedian to take to the stage last night on a bill that also included Josie Long, James Acaster and Tony Law. Josie Long was compering and it felt like it was virtually impossible not to bow to the inevitable. Of course, the comics were always going to be preaching to the converted but there was a real sense of anger and frustration in the room. Anyone who put their cross in the exit box must have been sitting pretty uncomfortably last night as jokes at the expense of the leave campaign were met with roars of approval. James Acaster was up second and although just as left wing his style was a lot less confrontational. His lengthy comparison between a cup of mint tea and the vote bought the house down. Next up was Tony Law who's act is...
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
2017-01-21T20:06:22+00:00
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, A Room With A Stew, York Barbican, Saturday
NOT everyone gets Stewart Lee. Famously, Dominic Cavendish, the theatre critic of the Daily Telegraph, walked out of one of his gigs, lambasting Lee for insulting his audience and saying: “If Lee had a shred of insight into the working lives of others, he’d realise that those who give up an evening to see him deserve his thanks, not his toxic scorn”.
Is Lee bothered? Of course not. Not only does he use this quote in his publicity, he mentions the stinking review in his set.
If you take offence at the tirade of abuse with which Lee lashes the audience, then you are better off doing just as what the comedian suggests: going to see Michael McIntyre. Or Lee Mack.
So when he starts the gig by lamenting the size of the venue (too big), and the crowd (a sell-out) and wishing he was in a smaller place with more like-minded people (liberal Guardian readers), if you don’t get it, then the joke is, I am afraid, on you (sorry Dom).
Happily, the crowd in York lapped it up.
“York’s vegetarian restaurants must be empty tonight,” said Lee. In a smaller venue, you can see the wry smile on his face. If you’re still not sure he is taking the proverbial “p”, he soon spells it out.
“I always pretend to be annoyed with the audience. I do it for comic effect,” he says.
We know, Stewart. And we laughed.
Maxine Gordon
Stewart Lee, A Room With A Stew, The Shed, Brawby Village Hall, Sunday
ON Saturday, as he put the barb into a sold-out York Barbican, Stewart Lee wished he was in a smaller place with more liberal, like-minded, Guardian-reading people. Come Sunday, he was, and still he was in a stew in a room with an intriguingly close-up view of England's hardest-thinking comedy turn.
On night 83 of his tour, he was among friends as he returned to The Shed micro-theatre, specially re-opened for the occasion by Brawby impresario Simon Thackray, who had earlier played his part in helping Lee climb back into the comedy saddle after four years of self-doubt.
Now, there is no doubt. At 47, Stewart Lee is utterly assured in his role as intellectual agent provocateur, storyteller, punchline pugilist and running commentator on his own shows and the art, act and arc of comedy: in effect two shows in one.
Yet even in a village hall so compact, so hot, so intense as a boxing ring, there was still a detachment from his stream of "passive-aggressive comments", not because of a need for self-preservation when met by the whites of his eyes, but because the intellectual process, the working method, was always present. It becomes comedy at one step removed, comedy with appendices.
Unlike the similarly game-playing Al Murray, Lee was sometimes in danger of becoming too clever to be humorous. Nevertheless, it was a thrilling, even exhausting experience, as he worked his audience harder than any other comic, constantly shifting your reaction, challenging your prejudices, while spinning his way through TV-bound material on Islamophobic jokes, urine, the ghosts of suicidal comedians and nationalism.
On a whim, for Brawby's ears only, the risk-taker in Lee had him re-inserting a routine on national stereotyping that had failed elsewhere. It turned into one of the highlights here, rewarding his urge to push himself as much as his audience.
He ended with an experimental encore, not so much off the cuff as scrawled in bullet points on the back of his hand. Stewart Lee will never let the bounds of comedy rest.
Charles Hutchinson
Stewart Lee
2015-06-08T12:54:57+01:00
Stewart Lee, A Room With A Stew, York Barbican, Saturday NOT everyone gets Stewart Lee. Famously, Dominic Cavendish, the theatre critic of the Daily Telegraph, walked out of one of his gigs, lambasting Lee for insulting his audience and saying: “If Lee had a shred of insight into the working lives of others, he’d realise that those who give up an evening to see him deserve his thanks, not his toxic scorn”. Is Lee bothered? Of course not. Not only does he use this quote in his publicity, he mentions the stinking review in his set. If you take offence at the tirade of abuse with which Lee lashes the audience, then you are better off doing just as what the comedian suggests: going to see Michael McIntyre. Or Lee Mack. So when he starts the gig by lamenting the size of the venue (too big), and the crowd (a sell-out) and wishing he was in a smaller place with more like-minded people (liberal Guardian readers), if you don’t get it, then the joke is, I am afraid, on you (sorry Dom). Happily, the crowd in York lapped it up. “York’s vegetarian restaurants must be empty tonight,” said Lee. In a smaller venue, you can see the wry smile on his face. If you’re still not sure he is taking the proverbial “p”, he soon spells it out. “I always pretend to be annoyed with the audience. I do it for comic effect,” he says. We know, Stewart. And we laughed. Maxine Gordon Stewart Lee, A Room With A Stew, The Shed, Brawby Village Hall, Sunday ON Saturday, as he put the barb into a sold-out York Barbican, Stewart Lee wished he was in a smaller place with more liberal, like-minded, Guardian-reading people. Come Sunday, he was, and still he...
ONE of the most eagerly-anticipated world premieres of the Manchester International Festival has been this unique – and as it turns out rather extraordinary and poignant - show from Johnny Vegas and writer Stewart Lee, of Jerry Springer – The Opera fame.
So secret has it been that even its location is not divulged until you’re actually there. How it works is that twenty people at a time board a specially-chartered bus outside the Festival Pavilion twice a day.
They are given an estate agent’s description of a “two bedroom house, Old Trafford/Chorlton border” and are then taken to an ordinary-looking house, where they’re met by Jeffrey Parkin, also known as Johnny Vegas or, in another version of real life, Michael Pennington.
They are then shown around the property by its owner, who’s anxious to sell up so he can move to Montenegro but is equally anxious to point out the unique qualities of the house he’s been busy renovating.
So keen is he on his renovations, in fact, that he insists it’s “not renovation but romance”.
It would be unfair of me to reveal precisely what happens subsequently but a story gradually emerges in which IKEA, allen-keys and world cinema loom as large as love, inadequacy and self-delusion, with a final twist that’s genuinely poignant and thought-provoking.
Vegas/Pennington gives a remarkable, quick-witted performance, especially as many of the audience are obviously expecting something closer to his stand-up persona and are, perhaps, a little too eager to laugh.
Being so close to him throughout the performance can, no doubt, be a little disconcerting and, as the show ends, it’s difficult to know how exactly to react, beyond acknowledging that we’ve all just been part of something that’s genuinely special.
Stewart Lee
2007-07-06T00:37:28+01:00
ONE of the most eagerly-anticipated world premieres of the Manchester International Festival has been this unique – and as it turns out rather extraordinary and poignant - show from Johnny Vegas and writer Stewart Lee, of Jerry Springer – The Opera fame. So secret has it been that even its location is not divulged until you’re actually there. How it works is that twenty people at a time board a specially-chartered bus outside the Festival Pavilion twice a day. They are given an estate agent’s description of a “two bedroom house, Old Trafford/Chorlton border” and are then taken to an ordinary-looking house, where they’re met by Jeffrey Parkin, also known as Johnny Vegas or, in another version of real life, Michael Pennington. They are then shown around the property by its owner, who’s anxious to sell up so he can move to Montenegro but is equally anxious to point out the unique qualities of the house he’s been busy renovating. So keen is he on his renovations, in fact, that he insists it’s “not renovation but romance”. It would be unfair of me to reveal precisely what happens subsequently but a story gradually emerges in which IKEA, allen-keys and world cinema loom as large as love, inadequacy and self-delusion, with a final twist that’s genuinely poignant and thought-provoking. Vegas/Pennington gives a remarkable, quick-witted performance, especially as many of the audience are obviously expecting something closer to his stand-up persona and are, perhaps, a little too eager to laugh. Being so close to him throughout the performance can, no doubt, be a little disconcerting and, as the show ends, it’s difficult to know how exactly to react, beyond acknowledging that we’ve all just been part of something that’s genuinely special.
'I'd imagine watching this at home would be incredibly tedious.'
That's Stewart Lee's own verdict on the second series of his Comedy Vehicle. It comes in the second episode, during an apparently interminable conversation he has with a fictitious estate agent that turns into a running meta-commentary on the progress of the show. 'Unbearable' is another description that crops up; 'problematic' another.
Lee takes self-criticism to new levels. Not only is his stand-up strewn with references to how acutely aware he is that his languid, repetitive delivery style will be anathema to many, but the routine is interspersed with snippets of awkward interviews with Armando Iannucci, mordantly interrogating him over his inaccessibility and lack of actual jokes.
Iannuci is the headmasterly voice of reason, asking: 'You're not going to go on about crisps for the whole fucking show are you?' Lee is the schoolboy, trying to be belligerent, but knowing he's been caught out.
These tense Frost/Nixon-style exchanges, shot in stark monochrome, were hidden 'red-button' extras on the first series; here they form a more integral part of the show's fabric - adding extra judgmental layers to Lee's relentless self-analysis.
It's not the only change. Budget cuts have expelled most of the sketches, although both the first two episodes - at least - feature a closing film to tie up various threads, with Lee taking centre stage. But the more intense focus on the stand-up is to be welcomed.
The show has also moved to a later transmission time after Newsnight 'so we don't have to compete against actual entertainment,' as Lee dryly notes. It will make little difference. Those in awe of his dense, alternative stand-up will seek him out whatever the timeslot - but it's always going to be a hard sell to recruit more casual viewers.
This is the antithesis of the big shiny-floor stand-up shows like Michael McIntryre's Comedy Roadshow. Atmospherically shot in the more intimate confines of Mildmay Working Men's Club in North London, the Comedy Vehcile recreates the more alternative feel of the best 'above-a-pub' style clubs, rather than the neon-soaked glitz of an arena tour. Which again means, as if the point needs underlining, that it's not for everyone.
During that imaginary estate agent dialogue, Lee morosely points out that 300,000 people turned off during a similarly drawn-out piece of futility about rappers in series one. Like the doorman of an exclusive club, he takes satisfaction in dispelling those who don't live up to his exacting standards; though doing so brings him no joy, just affirmation of a futile existence.
The first episode, going out tomorrow night, revolves around charity - a multi-threaded yarn that starts and ends with his grandfather living in a strange nest on an unvarying diet. Along the way, he slips in the C-word with rare artistry and takes a perfectly-aimed shot at the nastiness underpinning Frankie Boyle's Tramadol Nights, while exposing all the inner workings of his stand-up. The second episode is titled London, and contrasts family life in the capital - including the lengths to which parents go to get school places for their children - with the tedium of living in the countryside.
They are extended routines which Lee worked though in live shows in the second half of last year, and the thought and artistry that goes into both writing and performance should shame any soundbite comedian tossing out easy gags on panel shows. They will always be more famous than Lee, but the perceived 'difficulty' of Lee's approach is what makes these half-hour jewels of stand-up so richly rewarding.
* Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle returns to BBC Two at 11.20pm on Wednesday May 4.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-03T22:29:21+01:00
'I'd imagine watching this at home would be incredibly tedious.' That's Stewart Lee's own verdict on the second series of his Comedy Vehicle. It comes in the second episode, during an apparently interminable conversation he has with a fictitious estate agent that turns into a running meta-commentary on the progress of the show. 'Unbearable' is another description that crops up; 'problematic' another. Lee takes self-criticism to new levels. Not only is his stand-up strewn with references to how acutely aware he is that his languid, repetitive delivery style will be anathema to many, but the routine is interspersed with snippets of awkward interviews with Armando Iannucci, mordantly interrogating him over his inaccessibility and lack of actual jokes. Iannuci is the headmasterly voice of reason, asking: 'You're not going to go on about crisps for the whole fucking show are you?' Lee is the schoolboy, trying to be belligerent, but knowing he's been caught out. These tense Frost/Nixon-style exchanges, shot in stark monochrome, were hidden 'red-button' extras on the first series; here they form a more integral part of the show's fabric - adding extra judgmental layers to Lee's relentless self-analysis. It's not the only change. Budget cuts have expelled most of the sketches, although both the first two episodes - at least - feature a closing film to tie up various threads, with Lee taking centre stage. But the more intense focus on the stand-up is to be welcomed. The show has also moved to a later transmission time after Newsnight 'so we don't have to compete against actual entertainment,' as Lee dryly notes. It will make little difference. Those in awe of his dense, alternative stand-up will seek him out whatever the timeslot - but it's always going to be a hard sell to recruit more casual viewers. This...
On the other side of the river, Battersea Arts Centre is becoming another increasingly thrilling powerhouse. Tom Morris's latest project, still in development, is Jerry Springer: the Opera, a thoroughly modern musical that does something musicals rarelyéfv do: it holds a mirror up to the contemporary world and reveals it to be sick.
Witty, inventive, funny, camp, dirty and in seriously gross taste, this is satire of Springer-style confessional telly. The studio audience of trailer trash are gagging for some squalid action ("Bring on the losers...") their throbbing chorus of "Jerry, Jerry..." as impassioned as the Kyrie of a sung mass.
Divinely blasphemous, of course, but Jerry is to them a sort of high priest, God's representative on Earth, which is why it is appropriate that sinners should turn to him to publicly and ritually confess their guiltiest secrets and then receive his absolution. One by one the guests appear: a "chick with a dick"; a big guy in a bigger nappy who wants to be babied by his lover; a woman past her best-by date who movingly sings of her dream of becoming a lap-dancer.
For each of them, this is their "Jerry Springer moment" for which they expect, with some relish, their just and deserved punishment: "Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians."
The second half is a fantasia springing from Jerry's subconscious mind (he's been shot), a wildly entertaining, sub-Miltonesque, philosophical debate that builds to a hilarious climactic duet between Satan (the warm-up guy) and Jesus (the nappy fetishist) about good and evil.
It dares to pose a semi-serious question: Did these sad creatures who do nothing but "eat, excrete and watch TV" come first, or did Jerry (and Trisha and Oprah and the rest) create them? I think we should be told.
The music and singing are superb, though the frequency of four-letter words, even when sung as fabulously and with such feeling as here, makes this too fruity an earful for the easily offended. But believe me, this is going to be HUGE. See it here first, then watch it become a cult.
Stewart Lee
2002-02-17T16:39:55+00:00
On the other side of the river, Battersea Arts Centre is becoming another increasingly thrilling powerhouse. Tom Morris's latest project, still in development, is Jerry Springer: the Opera, a thoroughly modern musical that does something musicals rarelyéfv do: it holds a mirror up to the contemporary world and reveals it to be sick. Witty, inventive, funny, camp, dirty and in seriously gross taste, this is satire of Springer-style confessional telly. The studio audience of trailer trash are gagging for some squalid action ("Bring on the losers...") their throbbing chorus of "Jerry, Jerry..." as impassioned as the Kyrie of a sung mass. Divinely blasphemous, of course, but Jerry is to them a sort of high priest, God's representative on Earth, which is why it is appropriate that sinners should turn to him to publicly and ritually confess their guiltiest secrets and then receive his absolution. One by one the guests appear: a "chick with a dick"; a big guy in a bigger nappy who wants to be babied by his lover; a woman past her best-by date who movingly sings of her dream of becoming a lap-dancer. For each of them, this is their "Jerry Springer moment" for which they expect, with some relish, their just and deserved punishment: "Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians." The second half is a fantasia springing from Jerry's subconscious mind (he's been shot), a wildly entertaining, sub-Miltonesque, philosophical debate that builds to a hilarious climactic duet between Satan (the warm-up guy) and Jesus (the nappy fetishist) about good and evil. It dares to pose a semi-serious question: Did these sad creatures who do nothing but "eat, excrete and watch TV" come first, or did Jerry (and Trisha and Oprah and the rest) create them? I think we should be told. The...
During his show at a packed Lyric Theatre in The Lowry, Stewart Lee says no-one is equipped to review his unique brand of comedy.
He may well be right, but I will let you be the judge of that at the end of this attempt.
It is a fairly difficult task, as Lee is certainly is not a conventional or one-liner comedian.
He goes out of his way to deconstruct the jokes he does tell, explaining why they were funny if any of his audience is not as up to speed as many of the Guardian reading intelligentsia his shows attract.
Lee berates the audience when they do not respond in the right places, and even tells those sat in the gods that they needn't bother to come to future shows.
For those reading this without a knowledge of his style or delivery, going to a Stewart Lee show may sound like a masochistic experience.
His fans get a hard time, and must work for every laugh.
He tells audience at the show, which is the fifth Salford gig of his current tour, is not as good as the previous four.
But this is the Stewart Lee stage persona, which at the start of the second half, he reminds us that he has created for comedic effect.
Lee is currently preparing for the next series of his successful Comedy Vehicle show, and performs three half hour sets in addition to an encore which he says at the outset he will deliver, despite how the show goes.
The set includes a brilliant routine about UKIP, and the fact that he has named his cat after the party's deputy leader Paul Nuttall, half an hour on the subject of urine, as well as an attempt at "Islamic observational stand up" in a bid to get the Daily Mail off his back.
Of course most of this is delivered with tongue firmly in cheek, with layer upon layer of meaning added until the final call back produces hilarious results.
First finding fame in the 1990s as part of a comedy duo with Richard Herring, Lee wrote the controversial Jerry Springer: The Opera in 2003 and after returning to stand up after a brief gap, his BBC show, which will return to our screens later this year, has helped to bring him to a new audience.
Lee is now regarded the godfather of modern comedy, and every other act is judged against his exacting standards.
I just hope I got somewhere near meeting those standards
Stewart Lee
2015-05-17T16:25:24+01:00
During his show at a packed Lyric Theatre in The Lowry, Stewart Lee says no-one is equipped to review his unique brand of comedy. He may well be right, but I will let you be the judge of that at the end of this attempt. It is a fairly difficult task, as Lee is certainly is not a conventional or one-liner comedian. He goes out of his way to deconstruct the jokes he does tell, explaining why they were funny if any of his audience is not as up to speed as many of the Guardian reading intelligentsia his shows attract. Lee berates the audience when they do not respond in the right places, and even tells those sat in the gods that they needn't bother to come to future shows. For those reading this without a knowledge of his style or delivery, going to a Stewart Lee show may sound like a masochistic experience. His fans get a hard time, and must work for every laugh. He tells audience at the show, which is the fifth Salford gig of his current tour, is not as good as the previous four. But this is the Stewart Lee stage persona, which at the start of the second half, he reminds us that he has created for comedic effect. Lee is currently preparing for the next series of his successful Comedy Vehicle show, and performs three half hour sets in addition to an encore which he says at the outset he will deliver, despite how the show goes. The set includes a brilliant routine about UKIP, and the fact that he has named his cat after the party's deputy leader Paul Nuttall, half an hour on the subject of urine, as well as an attempt at "Islamic observational stand up" in a...
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...
Nineteen years ago now, I was asked to perform my standup high in the Colorado Rockies at the Aspen comedy festival, a trade fair for the American comedy industry patronised by wealthy locals. In super-affluent Aspen, I discovered, to my horror, economically uncompetitive service industry workers were homed in special “employee housing projects”, like castrated catering cyborgs from a Russian science fiction novel, sleeping in pods, dreaming of electric sheep. But today that system seems benign compared with the housing poverty of Sunak island.
In Aspen, the famous comedians were domiciled in luxury hotels. I was in a cheap motel on the edge of town, where I breakfasted daily with a quartet of equally undervalued underground comic book writers, regarded as witless savants nonetheless capable of providing content by the predatory industry vampires. Daniel Clowes told me the contents of his Oscar ceremony goody bag – the film of his Ghost World comic was nominated – were worth more than everything he had earned as a writer to that point.
The Aspen audience nested in the isolated Fabergé eyries of their mountaintop Frank Lloyd Wright villas, overlooking snow-capped peaks and quaffing the finest wines, fed by servants they housed in dormitories. Did they really need to be amused by my jokes about farts and US foreign policy? Anyone whose act goes down well in Aspen probably has to ask themselves what is wrong with it. Ideally, one would write a set so excoriating the audience would climb over their sun terraces and hurl themselves to their deaths.
Wealth and the arts are strange bedfellows. Keir Starmer speechified a good speech at the Labour Creatives conference this month, but it will take more than free infant school recorder lessons and an old man remembering proper music like the Wedding Present and the Juicy Oranges to reignite the cultural explosion that burned through postwar Britain and gave us the international soft diplomatic heft to erase our imperial embarrassment. At the moment, it’s barely affordable to be a doctor. Starmer needs to make it affordable to be an artist, because the value of art is beyond financial metrics. All that artists really need is a garret, a muse and some laudanum. When I moved to Hackney in the 90s, you couldn’t move for muses. Now the muses have all been priced out and gone to live in Glasgow. And Tory politicians have snaffled all the laudanum.
Most punters and performers at the Edinburgh festival fringe, for example, are now either well heeled, happy to camp 10 miles away and cycle in like serfs, or lucky enough to have a relative there who always goes away in August to escape actors shrieking about Andrew Scott in sandwich shops.
Top private schools have better theatre facilities than the entire city of Gloucester. Unlike Gloucester, Eton doesn’t have a cheese named after it or a famous serial killer, admittedly. But it does produce loads of famously cheesy actors, one of whom, Dominic West, got to play a serial killer from Gloucester with the same surname. Put down those puppets! The arts ain’t for you any more, peasants. Back in auspicious alpine Aspen, you could even ski after you’d consumed your culture.
I, of course, chose not to. At my first secondary school games lesson, I rejected all sport for ever, having been ritually humiliated for dropping a weird-shaped ball I’d never seen before by our games teacher, a former rugby international, bonding like a coward with the alpha males. He gave me no choice but to become a writer.
But I wish I had taken that one-off opportunity to go skiing in Aspen. Because within our lifetimes, obviously, the sport of skiing is going to melt out of existence, along with the snowfields that sustain it. Old James Bond films will be digitally corrected to show an out-of-shape Roger Moore wearing goggles and making snappy one-liners about decapitation while he just runs fast down scorched Swiss hillsides.
On Monday, one of the last lines of legal defence for climate protesters who damage property – namely, the beliefs of a defendant – was removed by Tom Little KC and the lady chief justice of England and Wales, Sue Carr, two of these lefty lawyers we read about in the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper. Juries must not consider the “wider motivation” of the defendant and “evidence… about the facts of climate change would be inadmissible”. You can prove anything with facts.
On the last night of the 2005 Aspen comedy festival, the writer Jonathan Ames, Hemingway in a green beanie, whom I admired enormously, declared he would somehow get those of us not important enough to have been invited – him, me and the comic book writers – into the private house party of the richest man in Aspen. Somehow, Ames bulldozed the door-staff at the mountaintop mansion and tailgated us in behind a Sexand the City writer he had charmed. In the bathroom, framed photos showed our host shaking hands with successive American presidents, irrespective of their political affiliations.
Twelve hours later I found myself drinking the last Beck’s alone on a frosted wooden terrace wedged into an icy cliff. I saw a cold gold sun rise, like Shiva the Destroyer, over a die-cut Rocky Mountain snowscape and I clicked the shutter on a Polaroid memory. Then I was finally escorted out by security staff, who I think had known all night that I, like them, would never have been asked to a party like that. I didn’t ski in Aspen. But I’m glad I briefly slid into the social slipstream and saw that snowy scene. I suspect it’s already less impressive and won’t last the century.
Stewart Lee
2024-03-24T20:16:02+00:00
Nineteen years ago now, I was asked to perform my standup high in the Colorado Rockies at the Aspen comedy festival, a trade fair for the American comedy industry patronised by wealthy locals. In super-affluent Aspen, I discovered, to my horror, economically uncompetitive service industry workers were homed in special “employee housing projects”, like castrated catering cyborgs from a Russian science fiction novel, sleeping in pods, dreaming of electric sheep. But today that system seems benign compared with the housing poverty of Sunak island. In Aspen, the famous comedians were domiciled in luxury hotels. I was in a cheap motel on the edge of town, where I breakfasted daily with a quartet of equally undervalued underground comic book writers, regarded as witless savants nonetheless capable of providing content by the predatory industry vampires. Daniel Clowes told me the contents of his Oscar ceremony goody bag – the film of his Ghost World comic was nominated – were worth more than everything he had earned as a writer to that point. The Aspen audience nested in the isolated Fabergé eyries of their mountaintop Frank Lloyd Wright villas, overlooking snow-capped peaks and quaffing the finest wines, fed by servants they housed in dormitories. Did they really need to be amused by my jokes about farts and US foreign policy? Anyone whose act goes down well in Aspen probably has to ask themselves what is wrong with it. Ideally, one would write a set so excoriating the audience would climb over their sun terraces and hurl themselves to their deaths. Wealth and the arts are strange bedfellows. Keir Starmer speechified a good speech at the Labour Creatives conference this month, but it will take more than free infant school recorder lessons and an old man remembering proper music like the Wedding Present and...
Samuel Johnson didn't mince his words when identifying deficiencies in the Scotland he travelled through with his friend and biographer James Boswell in the autumn of 1773. In his Journey to the Western Islands he variously identified a "sullen scrupulousness and warlike ferocity", bemoaned the lack of trees ("a tree might be a show in Scotland as a horse in Venice") and proudly affirmed that Cromwell civilised the Scots "by conquest and introduced by useful violence the arts of peace".
What he didn't do, though, was deliver an uninterrupted stream of insults calculated to make the blood of even the feeblest Scottish patriot boil. For a full 10 minutes after his arrival on stage in this hilarious fictional reunion, devised by Stewart Lee, Simon Munnery - a very pale, skinny incarnation of the great man - does his best to bait the locals.
"To say that a Scot speaks English is to say that a dog eats a bone - whereas it mauls it," he suggests, with impassive hauteur. "Athenians of the North, where are your abacuses?" he demands. "Did you eat the beads or did you exchange them for heroin?" "As a dog returns to its vomit, so have I returned to the land of the deep-fried pizza," he drawls, a provocation that Miles Jupp's adoring-yet-squirming Boswell - like Munnery, attired in unfetching period dress and wig - dutifully scratches into his notebook with his feather quill.
War would probably break out on the spot were it not for the fact that everyone's too busy laughing. It's an inspired idea to imagine what would happen if the pair tripped into the Traverse today with books to plug. What makes the show so impressive is that the wit flows freely for a whole hour, even though, as they confess, there's nothing much to be said.
"Bozza" keeps trying to get a bemused Johnson to repeat his famous "a man who is tired of London" aphorism. A sullen, warlike drummer and bagpipe player, both kilted, lend desultory, ear-paining accompaniment. There are some tetchy readings, an inept recreation of a storm at sea and the evening concludes with Boswell being forced to eat a haggis while the audience all sing The Skye Boat Song at him. "Snortingly funny" - it's not a phrase to be found in Johnson's Dictionary, but it's the only way to describe it.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-10T19:42:19+01:00
Samuel Johnson didn't mince his words when identifying deficiencies in the Scotland he travelled through with his friend and biographer James Boswell in the autumn of 1773. In his Journey to the Western Islands he variously identified a "sullen scrupulousness and warlike ferocity", bemoaned the lack of trees ("a tree might be a show in Scotland as a horse in Venice") and proudly affirmed that Cromwell civilised the Scots "by conquest and introduced by useful violence the arts of peace". What he didn't do, though, was deliver an uninterrupted stream of insults calculated to make the blood of even the feeblest Scottish patriot boil. For a full 10 minutes after his arrival on stage in this hilarious fictional reunion, devised by Stewart Lee, Simon Munnery - a very pale, skinny incarnation of the great man - does his best to bait the locals. "To say that a Scot speaks English is to say that a dog eats a bone - whereas it mauls it," he suggests, with impassive hauteur. "Athenians of the North, where are your abacuses?" he demands. "Did you eat the beads or did you exchange them for heroin?" "As a dog returns to its vomit, so have I returned to the land of the deep-fried pizza," he drawls, a provocation that Miles Jupp's adoring-yet-squirming Boswell - like Munnery, attired in unfetching period dress and wig - dutifully scratches into his notebook with his feather quill. War would probably break out on the spot were it not for the fact that everyone's too busy laughing. It's an inspired idea to imagine what would happen if the pair tripped into the Traverse today with books to plug. What makes the show so impressive is that the wit flows freely for a whole hour, even though, as they confess, there's...
Thirty-five years into his career, the Lincolnshire folk singer and guitarist Martin Simpson has perfected a professorial fusion of British and American forms. The Sheffield Apprentice's provenance blurs in a hillbilly hootenanny, a transcript of an archive interview with the Kentucky musician Banjo Bill Cornet arcs around BJ Cole's swooping pedal steel, and there's a cinematically vast slide guitar reading of In The Pines. But proficient and tasteful as Simpson is, his guests Dick Gaughan and June Tabor, both blessed with instantly affecting individual voices, steel the honours on Jamie Foyers and Strange Affair respectively.
Stewart Lee
2011-09-12T21:38:40+01:00
Thirty-five years into his career, the Lincolnshire folk singer and guitarist Martin Simpson has perfected a professorial fusion of British and American forms. The Sheffield Apprentice's provenance blurs in a hillbilly hootenanny, a transcript of an archive interview with the Kentucky musician Banjo Bill Cornet arcs around BJ Cole's swooping pedal steel, and there's a cinematically vast slide guitar reading of In The Pines. But proficient and tasteful as Simpson is, his guests Dick Gaughan and June Tabor, both blessed with instantly affecting individual voices, steel the honours on Jamie Foyers and Strange Affair respectively.
I hope you are all well. I have been as unwell as I have been for about a decade and spent much of October in bed hallucinating and hot. I lost weeks of try-outs for the new show, but a terrible odd thing happened to me involving a form of identity fraud that will be great material.
Has anyone seen Charlie Cooper’s Myth Country on BBC3? It is a terrible wasted opportunity to make a great show about a wonderful subject, as if someone has given Paul Whitehouse’s “That’s brilliant!” character from the Fast Show a copy of the Readers’ Digest Book of Folklore and then had the results edited by and for gnats on cocaine with ADHD.
Why not order the Weird Walk book, newly nominated for a Kathrine Briggs Book Award (!), and with an intro by me, or the WW ‘zines which cover many of the same subjects (I wrote for issues 4 and 5), or visit the WW website see this concept approached with taste, intelligence, dry humour, love and dignity. https://www.weirdwalk.co.uk
Weird Walk has also flung together this female-fronted acid-folk event, hosted by me, at Earth in Hackney on Oct 29th, called Samhain Ritual, and featuring prog-folk-garage weirdoes The New Eves, dancing dames Boss Morris, Daisy Rickman and Wicker Man modernists The Goblin Band, but it’s sold out now muthafuckas! https://earthackney.co.uk/events/weird-walk-presents-samhain-ritual-29th-oct-earth-london-tickets-pyyo3l/
1) VOTE IN THE NATIONAL TRUST A G M 2ND NOVEMBER
This may seem a strange start to a comedian’s newsletter, but just because the government has changed ongoing attempts by sinister organisations and individuals to infiltrate and influence our cultural and educational institutions have not ended. Every year a mysteriously funded, Tufton St associated astroturfed, fake grass roots pressure group called, plausibly, Restore Trust tries to get its candidates onto the board of the National Trust. Their previous candidates have included the ‘Reverend’ Stephen Green, the homophobic far right evangelical who attempted to close down Jerry Springer The Opera. The group enjoys the support of Nigel Farage and Jacob Rees-Mogg and benefits from sympathetic, if often inaccurate and legally actionable, pieces in The Daily Telegraph, The Daily Mail etc.
If Restore Trust get control of board of the National Trust they could free up – for God knows what use – land and property and artwork that has been held in trust on our behalf since the 19th c. We don’t know exactly what they want because, typically of Tufton St affilliated groups, they won’t say who funds them.
So if you are a National Trust member you MUST VOTE for the National Trust’s recommended candidates by Nov 2nd (online below), and of you are not maybe join and vote to protect our environment, our inheritance and our history from those who would repurpose such things for their own financial and political ends. You’ve seen what these people did to the BBC.
If you follow the news you will know that Tufton St shadow-funded lobbyists The Institute of Economic Affairs have their evil tentacles into everything, and yet are inexplicably still deemed a charity by the Charity Commission. One of their leadership team, Neil Record, who funded and housed Kemi Badenoch’s Tory leadership bid, even helped set up Restore Trust, the group attempting to destabilise the National Trust (above). Wheels within wheels. Help Good Law Project shine a light on this. https://goodlawproject.org/update/regulator-reopens-complaint-against-institute-of-economic-affairs/
3) GO FUND MATTHEW SWEET WHO HAS HAD A STROKE IN AMERICA
https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-matthew-sweets-stroke-recovery
Matthew Sweet’s 1991 album Girlfriend is an all-time ***** power-pop classic, and the Brian-Wilson-in-a-sandpit style genius has spent the last three and a half decades refining its template until being hit by a stroke last month. This being America the itinerant self-employed artist is of course utterly fucked fincancially, and in 2009 the mighty Vic Chesnutt, for example, took his own life at 45 after being deemed "uninsurable due to his quadriplegia, and $50,000 in debt for his medical bills.” This is why we can’t let The Institute of Economic Affairs (above) lobby to privatise our NHS to profit their paymasters, and why, if you’ve ever loved Girlfriend or any of Sweet’s output, or if you’re just hearing about it now, you should bung him some dosh. Here he is on bass (as Sid Belvedere) with his collaborator Susanna Hoffs on guitar in the closing credits of Austin Powers parodying, perfectly, an American idea of British 60s psyche-pop. Oddly I have just discovered I am related to Liz Hurley, so it’s a good job I turned her down when she was stalking me in the ‘90s.
“Our remarkable line up of speakers includes some of the most exciting names in UK writing. Folk horror worlds are unearthed by Andrew Michael Hurley, introducing his new novel Barrowbeck, and Daisy Johnson, whose latest, Hotel, set on a possessed plot of land, is the successor to the uncanny classics Fen and Sisters. They are in conversation with weird fiction aficionado, comedian and writer Stewart Lee. Weird bodies and more are explored by Eliza Clark (Boy Parts, Penance and new collection She’s Always Hungry) and Lottie Mills (Monstrum), hosted by Julia Armfield(Our Wives Under the Sea, Private Rites). Our closing panel sees special guests including Reece Shearsmith (League of Gentlemen, Inside No.9), film director and screenwriter Peter Strickland (Berberian Sound Studio, The Duke of Burgundy) and writer AK Benedict (The Beauty of Murder, Jonathan Dark or The Evidence of Ghosts) join Johnny Mains on a journey into their weird fiction favourites. Plus unveilings of the latest British Library Tales of the Weird editions Deadly Dolls and Halloweird introduced by Elizabeth Dearnley and Johnny Mains respectively, and many strange goings on throughout the day featuring unsettling dance, clowning, puppetry, drag, and immersive theatre! The day begins with an insight into the British Library Tales of the Weird series, as cultural historian and writer Travis Elborough talks to Elizabeth Dearnley and Johnny Mains, the editors of latest releases Deadly Dolls and Halloweird, and series editor Jonny Davidson.”
5) BEVIS FROND FILM, LONDON DALSTON RIO NOV 3rd
Rob Curry and Tim Pleister (Way Of The Morris, The Ballad of Shirley Collins) are in the process of making a charming film about a day in the life of the enduring septuagenarian British legend of psychedelia Nick Saloman, of the group Bevis Frond, Little Eden, which may or may not be finished.
I will be hosting a screening, and the group will play a rare acoustic set, on Sunday Nov 3rd at 5pm at the Rio Dalston in London. There is also another screening and acoustic set, but without me kakking on, the next day in Brighton at the Duke of York’s cinema at 6.15pm
6) SO WATT! LONDON JAZZ FESTIVAL FILM SHOW NOV 16TH
So Watt: Jazz and Improvisation on British TV Jazz on Screen Sat 16 Nov 2024, 14:30, BARBICAN, LONDON Cinema 2. Diving into the British TV archives of the 70s!
Stewart Lee (Host): Lee’s passion for the genre ensures a thoughtful exploration of the themes and historical context behind these films.
Maggie Nicols (Special Guest): Celebrated jazz vocalist and improviser Nicols has been a prominent figure in the British jazz scene for decades.
Ian Greaves (Co-Curator) is a writer and researcher whose books include edited collections of the work of Dennis Potter, Jonathan Miller and Ivor Cutler.
Open Door: Musicians' Action Group (1974) is introduced by the inimitable Spike Milligan and features rare footage of The Tony Oxley Unit, Stan Tracey, Norma Winstone and Maggie Nicols. Aquarius: Sounds Amazing (1975) features saxophonist Evan Parker, percussionist Paul Lytton, Max Eastley, David Toop, and Hugh Davies. There will also be the earliest known footage of Derek Bailey performing for Omnibus (1973). And Richard Williams speaking to Ornette Coleman on an early edition of The Old Grey Whistle Test (1972).
Michael Cumming’s Oxide Ghosts, a blurred documentary about Chris Morris’ Brass Eye, is on the road again. Michael and I are both appearing at the 21st Nov event in Finsbury Park, London. Other dates, and other guests, are available
"Reviewing a new Stewart Lee show is the easiest work in the world if your audience already knows who Lee is and what he does. Then you just stand by the side of the road, maybe dressed in the uniform of the typical Stewart Lee fan (all London media-hipster-type denim waistcoat and caramel twill rollups, topped with a herringbone baker boy) and you point the traveller in the right direction (Basic Leenow streaming on Sky Comedy until 24th August).You can also reassure them and say it’s "more of the usual" and, in that smug way that all true fans of Lee are said to display, give them a knowing wink and say it’s fearsome stuff and blisteringly good.
But if your audience doesn’t know Lee, then the work becomes more difficult...
You begin by mumbling "Lee is kind of like... but nothing like..."
Daniel Kitson and Simon Munnery are widely cited as his main similarities but it’s also Tony Hancock’s pathos with a dash of Steve Martin’s eclectic brilliance; the misanthropy of George Carlin with a hint of Don Rickles willingness to jump off the stage and pick a fight. Then again, it’s nothing like that. Lee is uniquely Lee; the beats are familiar but the paths taken on his long rambles are entirely his own.
Basic Lee is Lee’s attempt to return to pure standup after some higher concept (and more expensive) shows, including his last (Snowflake/Tornado) which involved a large shark’s head. He presents an argument about the evolving nature of standup comedy, starting with the oldest material he’d written, and working his way to the present day. But that’s not really "the show".
Skim the surface and you might describe the show as a series of encounters between Lee and his audience. What you don’t get are jokes or punchlines, or, certainly, not in the traditional sense. Jokes are there but delivered as if through a meat grinder. It’s up to you to pick the bones from the gristle.
The fun is in the asides, the digressions, and the continual baiting of the audience. "It’s like jazz," says Lee at one point, adopting the voice of those insufferable types who constantly whine on about how watching Stewart Lee is like listening to jazz.
But it is like listening to jazz. He plays with motifs and form, and then, just in case you missed the influence, riffs on the history of jazz. We should only be thankful that he doesn’t break out a trombone and give us a 20-minute exploration of the Phrygian Minor scale (maybe on his next tour when he promises to adopt a Wolfman mask).
Gary Winogrand, the great(est) American street photographer, once said, "I photograph to find out what something will look like photographed". With Lee, you sense he’s performing material to see what it looks like when performed as standup. He constantly talks about himself doing standup; reminding us thatThe Timesonce described him as "the world’s greatest living stand-up comedian". He talks about the role he’s played in popularising long-form stand-up and delivers a particularly biting (but fair) verdict on Phoebe Waller Bridge’s breaking of the fourth wall inFleabag. Yet Lee draws back how insufferably egotistical this would be by leaning into the insufferable character he’s playing.
This gives rise to the tension underlying the drama on stage; that of an artist trying to create art inside a genre unaccustomed to art and against an audience hostile to the entire venture. It’s tightly crafted, even as it often feels like it’s falling apart. At one point, he liberally takes the old Pagliacci joke, made most famous by its appearance in Alan Moore’sWatchman, and offers it as his own. It’s theft but I’m constantly reminded of Lewis Hyde’s seminal book on the nature of disruptive imagination,Trickster Makes This World. "Trickster isn’t a run-of-the mill liar and thief. When he lies and steals, it isn’t so much to get away with something or get rich as to disturb the established categories of truth and property and, by so doing, open the road to possible new worlds."
At which point, I can hear Lee’s voice pointing out that only "another monotonous, passive-aggressive man" would reference a little-known book on anthropology to recommend a standup special.
But that’s just it. To love Lee’s work is to loathe yourself for enjoying comedy pulled apart so you can see how it’s done. I am that monotonous passive-aggressive man. Why the hell can’t I just enjoy jokes? Why can’t I just go see Tim Vine, like everybody else?
I saw "Basic Lee" four times on tour, proving (as if this needs proof) that I am that insufferable bore. I can explain why each one was so very different. I first saw it at the start of the run, in the Leicester Square Theatre in Soho. Lee had just broken his foot and hobbled around the stage with a large protective boot on his foot. He kept wincing in pain, which lent the show pathos. That night he thanked the audience for helping make it the best show of the run (to that point). I saw it again once again in Salford, and twice in Liverpool, including the show that Lee would claim to have been his worst.
From my place in the audience, ranging from the front row to almost the back row, the standard never dipped. Some nights, Lee extemporised more than he would on other nights, but it was never easy to spot which bits were new. "That bit normally doesn’t get a laugh," he’ll say, though, of course, that bit always got a laugh.
The version ofBasic Leenow showing on Sky Comedy is perhaps the purest distillation of the run’s material. It also adopts a few of his familiar tricks you might know from his TV series and other specials, especially the commentary he addresses straight to camera. It’s another of the things he does so well, creating a paratext to the main text; asides functioning like footnotes and adding another layer of abstraction to the entire proceeding.
And, still, none of that really explains Lee, which is why his comedy is worth return visits. Compared to many stand-ups who play familiar games ("blah, blah, rhythm of a joke" as Lee puts it), Lee deliberately places himself on the edge between success and failure. But even writing that is to borrow from Lee, who mocks those of us who point out that it’s best when it’s failing. But that’s why Stewart Lee remains a paradox. The closer you get to enjoying his work, the more he pushes you away; the more you loathe his work, the more he wants to draw you closer.
See if you’re on the inside or the outside of his comedy on Sky Comedy."
9) 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
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
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 - ON SALE SOON
Friday 12th September 2025 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter - ON SALE SOON
Saturday 13th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - ON SALE SOON
Sunday 14th September 2025 - Westlands Entertainment Venue, Yeovil - ON SALE SOON
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 - ON SALE SOON
Friday 26th September 2025 - Theatre Royal, Glasgow - TICKETS
Saturday 27th September 2025 - Playhouse, Edinburgh - TICKETS
Sunday 28th September 2025 - His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen - ON SALE SOON
October 2025
Tuesday 7th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 8th October 2025 - Milton Keynes Theatre, Milton Keynes - TICKETS
Wednesday 15th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - ON SALE SOON
Thursday 16th October 2025 - Grand Theatre, Swansea - ON SALE SOON
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
Wednesday 29th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - ON SALE SOON
Thursday 30th October 2025 - Cast, Doncaster - ON SALE SOON
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
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
10) SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
Stewart’s 2019 touring show Snowflake/Tornado, which was originally broadcast as a BBC Special in Autumn 2023 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. Hopefully I can give them a physical release at some point so you are slaves to the whims of licensing but you know what it’s like. These days.
11) 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
12) I ARROGANTLY RECOMMEND SOME HAPPENINGS
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.”
There are special Evelyn events at the gallery all day on 30th Nov
ALFIE BROWN
The very good stand-up comedian Alfie Brown tours his OPEN HEARTED HUMAN ENQUIRYshow. 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 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.
THE DAMNED Black Album/Strawberries line-up, with hard-wristed Holy Grail headhunter Rat Scabies back on drums.
DECEMBER
4th - Newcastle NX,
5th - Glasgow Barrowlands,
6th - M’c Academy,
8th - Leeds Academy,
9th - Nottingham Rock City, 1
10th - W’hampton Halls,
12th - Bristol Beacon,
13th - S’hampton Guuildhall,
14th - Eastbourne Winter Gardens,
16th - Cambs Corn X,
18th - London Roundhouse
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 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. Songs will be up for grabs on October 1st at midday. In order to bag a song, email thefallenwomen at gmail dot com with your first, second and third choices from the list below. PLEASE NOTE EMAILS RECEIVED BEFORE MIDDAY ON 1ST OCTOBER WILL NOT COUNT!
No Xmas For John Quays
Mr Pharmacist
Free Range
Victoria
Glam Racket
Last Orders
Blindness
Lost In Music
Deadbeat Descendant
Industrial Estate
Fantastic Life
Edinburgh Man
Rebellious Jukebox
Cruiser's Creek
Senior Twilight Stock Replacer
I’m A Mummy
Rowche Rumble
Eat Y'Self Fitter
Repetition
Touch Sensitive
Jawbone & Air Rifle
There's A Ghost In My House
Kicker Conspiracy
How I Wrote Elastic Man
Big New Prinz
My New House
What About Us
CHUCK PROPHET Chuck’s last live tour was on 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 19 - Oxford - The Bullingdon
February 20 - Leeds - Brudenell Social Club
February 21 - Manchester - Yes Pink Room
February 22 - Newcastle - The Cluny
February 23 - Glasgow - St Lukes
February 24 - Sheffield - Greystones
February 25 - Leicester - The International
February 26 - Nottingham - Metronome
February 27 - Cambridge - Portland Arms
February - 28 Norwich - Arts Centre
March 1 - Hassocks - Mid Sussex Music Hall
March 2 - Bristol - Lantern
March 3 - Birmingham - Hare & Hounds
March 4 - Southampton - 1865
March 5 - London - The Garage
NAPALM DEATH Grindcore godparents
MARCH
4th - Dublin Academy
5th – Glasgow Galvanisers’ Yard
6th – Newcastle Uni Union
7th – London Electric Ballroon
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
13) 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 na Bóinne architect)
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)
STEWART LEE VS THE MAN-WULF – LONDON SOUTH BANK ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL DATES, 5TH-13TH JULY 2025, ON SALE https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/stewart-lee-vs-the-man-wulf/ Dear fans! I hope you are all well. I have been as unwell as I have been for about a decade and spent much of October in bed hallucinating and hot. I lost weeks of try-outs for the new show, but a terrible odd thing happened to me involving a form of identity fraud that will be great material. Has anyone seen Charlie Cooper’s Myth Country on BBC3? It is a terrible wasted opportunity to make a great show about a wonderful subject, as if someone has given Paul Whitehouse’s “That’s brilliant!” character from the Fast Show a copy of the Readers’ Digest Book of Folklore and then had the results edited by and for gnats on cocaine with ADHD. Why not order the Weird Walk book, newly nominated for a Kathrine Briggs Book Award (!), and with an intro by me, or the WW ‘zines which cover many of the same subjects (I wrote for issues 4 and 5), or visit the WW website see this concept approached with taste, intelligence, dry humour, love and dignity. https://www.weirdwalk.co.uk Weird Walk has also flung together this female-fronted acid-folk event, hosted by me, at Earth in Hackney on Oct 29th, called Samhain Ritual, and featuring prog-folk-garage weirdoes The New Eves, dancing dames Boss Morris, Daisy Rickman and Wicker Man modernists The Goblin Band, but it’s sold out now muthafuckas! https://earthackney.co.uk/events/weird-walk-presents-samhain-ritual-29th-oct-earth-london-tickets-pyyo3l/ 1) VOTE IN THE NATIONAL TRUST A G M 2ND NOVEMBER This may seem a strange start to a comedian’s newsletter, but just because the government has changed ongoing attempts by sinister organisations and individuals to infiltrate and influence our cultural and educational institutions have not ended. Every year a mysteriously funded, Tufton...
Stewart Lee says during this date on a lengthy tour of his Content Provider show that runs into 2018 that he wants to give the illusion of structure.
But it’s definitely no illusion, with a set that masterfully weaves together subjects like Brexit, bondage and, inevitably, bringing down some of his grating comedy contemporaries a peg or two. There are some nods to the local crowd, with Morningside coming off worse for wear, and his controversial shopping habits when he’s in the city during August. The “post-fact” era with growing political division also gives him plenty to get his teeth into, while the narcissism, consumerism and rapidly shortening attention spans of the smartphone generation gain plenty of (admittedly deserving) bile.
He also jokes that now he’s playing the bigger venues, it’s meaning the wrong type of people are getting dragged along wondering where the proper jokes are. But despite a prolonged riff on how one part of the audience wasn’t keeping up, this show, with its conclusion proving the structure really is watertight, makes it clear, it were needed, that Lee is a worthy holder of the title he wryly highlights of one of the UK’s most critically acclaimed stand-ups.
Stewart Lee
2017-03-18T20:54:53+00:00
Stewart Lee says during this date on a lengthy tour of his Content Provider show that runs into 2018 that he wants to give the illusion of structure. But it’s definitely no illusion, with a set that masterfully weaves together subjects like Brexit, bondage and, inevitably, bringing down some of his grating comedy contemporaries a peg or two. There are some nods to the local crowd, with Morningside coming off worse for wear, and his controversial shopping habits when he’s in the city during August. The “post-fact” era with growing political division also gives him plenty to get his teeth into, while the narcissism, consumerism and rapidly shortening attention spans of the smartphone generation gain plenty of (admittedly deserving) bile. He also jokes that now he’s playing the bigger venues, it’s meaning the wrong type of people are getting dragged along wondering where the proper jokes are. But despite a prolonged riff on how one part of the audience wasn’t keeping up, this show, with its conclusion proving the structure really is watertight, makes it clear, it were needed, that Lee is a worthy holder of the title he wryly highlights of one of the UK’s most critically acclaimed stand-ups.
My friend Paul is revered in DJ circles for his vast collection of novelty singles, and his team of ironic selecters, wearing masks of 70s cartoon characters, regularly appear at hipster clubs laying Indonesian porno grooves on the jaded ears of the weird beards. “I’ve got the strangest gig,” he said, “so you’re going to come with me, undercover. Some bald creep wants me to play what I think are the sexiest singles ever made, all night long, in a bedroom in… you won’t believe it… Downing Street.”
Consider the facts that inform this story. A self-confessed yet inefficient cocaine user, who lost three jobs due to lying to his bosses, who has fathered an unverifiable amount of children by a variety of since abandoned women (many of whom he was seeing simultaneously), who is currently under investigation by the police due to questions arising from his alleged financial impropriety with a pole-dancer, who was a high-profile member of an organised hooligan gang of teenage vandals familiar to local law enforcement agencies, who assisted a known criminal in plotting a violent assault, who rarely turns up to work (and when he does is woefully underprepared with usually disastrous consequences), and who is supported almost entirely by the public purse, is fathering yet another child. Where is the Daily Mail exposé condemning this disgraceful burden on society?
It is nowhere to be seen. Because this man isn’t your “drunk, criminal and feckless working-class” cousin, who dropped out of school at 14 and fell in with a bad crowd, or a young immigrant who must now be deported for dealing the kind of drugs Michael Gove used to neck in the Notting Hill 90s. No. This feckless criminal is 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 Virus-Handshake Three-Men-and-a-Dog Johnson. And normal rules no longer apply. If indeed they ever did.
But the columnist Sarah Vine, a cess-gargling Barbamama made entirely out of cess, whose Daily Mail cess fountains vacillate from the foulest acrid cruelty to headily perfumed sentimentality, has declared that we must now be “kind”. It is the sort of brand-derailing U-turn statement the skull-faced demon Skeletor made in the 1985 He-Man and She-Ra Christmas Special, when the attention of a cute puppy finally turned him good. “What’s coming over me?! Whatever it is, I don’t like it! Stop licking my face, you dratted dog! Get away from me! You’re drowning me!” Following the virtuous examples of Vine and Skeletor, I am not about to be rude about Turds’ unborn baby. I may, however, be rude about Turds’ convenient dog, Dilyn. Remember him? Thought not.
Last year, Turds adopted a Welsh rescue dog and spirited it away thoughtlessly, with his intended fiancee, to a grey world of stone and steel where it did not even speak the language. Dominic Cumming, who presumably suggested both the proposed marriage and the de facto dognapping, had calculated that the jack russell’s cute antics could single-pawedly detoxify Turds’ brand in the runup to the election. And on the day that a compliant Dilyn urinated against a carefully placed sculpture of loudmouthed David Lammy, pollsters reported a massive bounce in Tory support. Dilyn was made to wear a dog’s coat depicting a union flag, always a winner with the public, who presumably assumed the dog had bought the garment himself with his own funds, and chosen to wear it as an act of support for his master, rather than simply having been stuffed into it against his will by the cruel finger of Cumming.
When the true history of Brexit, and its role in enabling a calculated far-right coup, is revealed it is unlikely that Dilyn will be spared his share of the blame, and the weak dog will rightly be held to account for normalising the corrupt campaign’s public face. If Dilyn is clever enough to choose his own racist clothing, then surely he can be tried in the courts, following the final overthrow of Cumming’s fascist cabal, and sentenced accordingly, along with Cumming’s own personal lapdog, Laura Kuenssberg.
Peak Dilyn dog was last December and the compliant creature’s appearances and press opportunities have faded this year. Cumming knows the electorate hunger for new novelties and the shelf life of a Welsh dog is short. Insiders say Cumming set Turds a rigorous schedule of carefully timed procreative activity as long ago as last summer, so that the next dead cat distraction could arrive on time. And I can verify this. Because last October I found myself, standing next to DJ Paul, both of us sweating into our Dick Dastardly masks, as we spun our sexy sounds in a dimly lit Westminster bedroom.
Serge Gainsbourg’s Je t’aime segued into Man’s rare 1969 debut Erotica as Cumming lurked behind us, wearing just tennis shorts and a baseball cap, shouting instructions towards the bed through a rowing cox’s megaphone. Suddenly he became furiously convinced that our selections were not doing the trick and tore Jacqueline Taïeb’s breathless 1967 yé-yé stomp Sept heures du matin from the turntable, crying: “For God’s sake boys. This is sex music!” Replacing the record with his own worn copy of the J Geils Band’s 1981 hit Centrefold, Cumming danced round the pre-marital bed bellowing exhortations through his megaphone and singing along: “My blood runs cold! My memory has just been sold!” We made our excuses and left.
But Cumming’s efforts paid off and Turds has already announced paternity leave, though how the country will cope without his famously hands-on style of leadership is anyone’s guess. Floodwaters rise. Viruses throb in cracks. Far-right racists return from Russian meetings. Rights erode and advisers resign. A baby! Look!! A beautiful baby!!!
Stewart Lee
2020-03-08T18:54:50+00:00
My friend Paul is revered in DJ circles for his vast collection of novelty singles, and his team of ironic selecters, wearing masks of 70s cartoon characters, regularly appear at hipster clubs laying Indonesian porno grooves on the jaded ears of the weird beards. “I’ve got the strangest gig,” he said, “so you’re going to come with me, undercover. Some bald creep wants me to play what I think are the sexiest singles ever made, all night long, in a bedroom in… you won’t believe it… Downing Street.” Consider the facts that inform this story. A self-confessed yet inefficient cocaine user, who lost three jobs due to lying to his bosses, who has fathered an unverifiable amount of children by a variety of since abandoned women (many of whom he was seeing simultaneously), who is currently under investigation by the police due to questions arising from his alleged financial impropriety with a pole-dancer, who was a high-profile member of an organised hooligan gang of teenage vandals familiar to local law enforcement agencies, who assisted a known criminal in plotting a violent assault, who rarely turns up to work (and when he does is woefully underprepared with usually disastrous consequences), and who is supported almost entirely by the public purse, is fathering yet another child. Where is the Daily Mail exposé condemning this disgraceful burden on society? It is nowhere to be seen. Because this man isn’t your “drunk, criminal and feckless working-class” cousin, who dropped out of school at 14 and fell in with a bad crowd, or a young immigrant who must now be deported for dealing the kind of drugs Michael Gove used to neck in the Notting Hill 90s. No. This feckless criminal is our prime minister, Boris Piccaninny Watermelon Letterbox Cake Bumboys Vampires Haircut Wall-Spaffer Spunk-Burster...
I remember my first experience of the Edinburgh Fringe through a nostalgic haze. The Fringe was the postwar utopian ideal, but with jokes, experimental theatre and a lot of fried food; anyone could perform in it if they could raise the programme entry fee, still only a modest £246 today. Anyone might get audiences and even reviews. We slept in a church hall with no running water, but in a city that, until 1995, still had a 50p public bathhouse. You couldn't get a bottle of water in Edinburgh today for 50p.
I went for the first of 25 Fringes to date in 1987 when I was 19. Wordsworth's French revolution paen, "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!" reflected my Fringe experience. (Except, being a student, I was rarely up at dawn, though I was technically alive.) But I will now show you how the state of Comedy in the Fringe today reflects the cultural bankruptcy of late capitalism. And I will also plug my own £15 Edinburgh show (less than half the price of Michael McIntyre, and one that will nudge me into fringe profit when offset against decades of loss), and those of my friends and family, while appearing to rail against property values, lack of social access, and the exploitation of the workers (by which I mean comedians, actors and dancers, who have never done a decent day's work in their lives).
The Fringe, the biggest, best and most diverse arts festival in the entire world, is almost entirely underwritten by participants, most of whom go home thousands of pounds in debt, and who offer more than 2,000 different performances every day, 35% of which are classed as comedy. But because there's no committee of worthies trying to re-brand their shitty town by scheduling Jools Holland's Big Band to close their provincial gin-sponsored krapfest, historically the Fringe has represented a unique middle ground between what artists want to do and what people might suddenly find, unexpectedly, they want to see, even though no one in the straight world thought it worth a platform. Hence Theatre de Complicite, Bill Hicks, Steven Berkoff, and, yes, Puppetry of the Penis.
The publication of the Fringe's programme, and the operation of its box office, are overseen by the Festival Fringe Society, a registered charity. Once neither painfully elitist nor patronisingly populist, Edinburgh in August now threatens to become an oligarchy, a Chipping Norton of the arts, its sluices greased by Foster's lager, rather than by country suppers and police horses.
In 2008, after 61 years, The Edinburgh Fringe fragmented. The Fringe's "big four" venues re-defined themselves alongside the charitable foundation of The Edinburgh Fringe festival, rebranding as the Edinburgh Comedy festival (confusingly showcasing all genres of performance). The big four were, and remain, Pleasance, Underbelly, Gilded Balloon, and Assembly (the company that I call False Assembly, to distinguish it from its former parent venue, Edinburgh Council's Assembly Rooms, which I now call the One and Only Real Assembly Rooms, and where I appear at 6.05pm).
Without asking the city's permission, or notifying acts who had already paid to appear in their venues, the big four distributed literature giving the impression that the previously non-existent Edinburgh Comedy festival had been responsible for discovering decades of talent, rolled out their new brand, and set about re-pointing the fragile but functioning ecosystem of the Fringe for their own ends, with their own printed programme and their own box office. The collapse of the People's Democratic Republic of Arty Farty Twats had begun.
The Edinburgh Fringe had been built up, collectively, over six decades, by the work of many hands, mostly unwaged, and if it belonged to anyone, it belonged to the public and performers who had floated it with their own funds for 61 years. But here was an act of corporate cattle rustling familiar from 30 years of government sell-offs.
The Etonian cabal behind the Edinburgh Comedy festival, Underbelly's own Cameron and Osborne duo of Charlie Wood and Ed Bartlam, maintained that cost-assuaging sponsorship would now be easier to attract, and suggested they would moor an empty cruise ship in Leith, accommodating broke performers. Five years later, costs to performers in the Edinburgh Comedy festival have risen, including their subsidy of its spin-off fake Fringe brochure. The fabled bunk boat, like Marcus Garvey's Black Star Liner out of Babylon, is still yet to arrive.
The establishment of the assumed Edinburgh Comedy festival in isolation from the Fringe festival saw many tacit threads of standardised practise – a mutually observed ticket release date for example – fall away, and the Fringe entered the deregulated free-market phase of late capitalism. Shows performed in the burgeoning Free Fringe cost nothing to see, and little to stage. The fiercely independent Stand underwrites all its shows, so performers lose nothing. But many performers in the simulated Edinburgh Comedy festival's venues will agree to shed upwards of £10,000 this summer.
Sadly, the perception exists among agents, fringe-goers, and even performers, that Edinburgh Fringe festival shows outside the Edinburgh Comedy festival venues are invisible. And monopolising visibility costs money. (I, for example, was only able to get to write this high-visibility article via a costly go-between.)
The agents who nudge their acts towards the big four Edinburgh Comedy festival venues are most likely to be charging their clients huge fees for advertising and networking, because their eyes are set on the prize of TV deals for their own production companies to develop their own acts, and they feel a presence in the Edinburgh Comedy festival, as distinct from the Edinburgh Fringe festival, will best achieve this. They are not wrong.
There are many reasons why the Fringe is now much more expensive than 25 years ago. The property boom means that even the public bath house I used to wash has been converted into luxury flats, and Edinburgh residents, with no apparent grasp of cause and effect, criticise Fringe prices while boasting about how they tripled the rent of their flats for the summer.
The Fringe is less of a commercial trade fair than cynics assume. But the Edinburgh Comedy festival venues lie within easy walking distance in an increasingly grotesque Philip K Dick-style wasteland of alcohol-banner festooned architecture around Bristo Square. Here, the Edinburgh Comedy festival uses performers' and sponsors' money to maintain private bars in abandoned attics, where journalists and media types are schmoozed by PRs in branded anoraks, again paid for by the acts, coaxing them into their clients' nearby shows. Lazy journalists reviewed only one Stand show between them in the national press last year. The 10-minute walk from the Edinburgh Comedy festival was too far and there was no private bar. A Fringe Leveson inquiry would be a mass humbling, with many flying pies.
Newspaper editors and TV bosses want to hear that their scouts have seen "must see" shows, when in fact having seen things everyone else has seen, when there are over 2,000 different shows daily, should be a sackable offence. Agents and PRs and the mendacious Edinburgh Comedy festival maintain a symbiotic relationship to control this consensus, like parasitical worms hanging out of the cat's anus that is Bristo Square in August.
Everyone benefits from the perception that The Edinburgh Comedy festival is the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Except, in the long term, the performers, the public, and the once great open-access arts experiment that was the Edinburgh Fringe.
It can cost so much to perform in the Edinburgh Fringe now, and the very people being deterred by these costs are just the sort of independent minds we used to value as a society; the same people now, demonstrably, priced out of further education. It's another example of the erosion of access, the reversal of social mobility, the entrenchment of privilege, and the gradual silencing of diverse voices. British comedy is much healthier than TV and radio output suggests. But more interesting talents desert its traditional spawning ground, broke, as promoters and performers replicate familiar marketable models. Last year being a young funnyman in a T-shirt, following the currently proven Russell Howard trope, appeared the best way to minimise massive financial risk. And the cycle of Fringe debt makes loyal slaves of artists, perhaps paying off their loss by working for their management's own subsidiary production and promotion companies. Journalists, media types, and the delusive Edinburgh Comedy festival are complicit in supporting a broken system.
All the venues outside the Edinburgh Comedy festival, and inside the Edinburgh Fringe festival, must be supported more by the public, performers, press and media scum. Their lower overheads ensure the possibility of greater creative risk, and of the likelihood of seeing bizarre and sometimes brilliant shows, with no obvious commercial future, that are what makes the Fringe unique. One man vomiting mayonnaise into a circle while a woman shows slides of clouds (Market St Arches, 1993) is worth 50 Live at the Apollo wannabees.
Fringe goers shouldn't penalise performers for appearing at Edinburgh Comedy festival venues by boycotting them outright. Instead, we must all increase our off-piste grazing. If journalists ditch their paid-for press releases and discover talent in the Edinburgh Fringe outside the Edinburgh Comedy Festival there will soon be no incentive for acts to accept its overheads, and the hidden costs of the promoters who collude with it, and the Fringe will flourish again. We've all been the person who complains about the homogenisation of the high street while shopping at the supermarket. Don't turn the Edinburgh Fringe into Tescos, but let the juice of the fresh produce available elsewhere trickle down your chin this August. Old timers talk about the spirit of the fringe. It's still there, and you can have all the fun of finding it.
Stewart Lee's Carpet Remnant World is at the Assembly Rooms, George St, Edinburgh, 2-26 August, 6.05pm.
Stewart Lee's pick of this year's Fringe
With saving the spirit of the Fringe in mind, here are seven cross-genre tips. In the interest of full disclosure, I have had children with one of these. And it isn't Künt & the Gang.
As Of 1.52pm on Friday April 27 2012 This Show Has No Title
Theatre piece by world's best stand-up, Daniel Kitson.
7-26 August, times vary, Traverse, £12.
Tony Law: Maximum Nonsense Canadian comic finally strikes the motherlode.
1-27 August, 12.30pm, the Stand, £8
Jane Bom-Bane
Musical mechanical hat woman.
2-25 August, 4.45pm, Laughing Horse @ Finnegan's Wake, free
Aaaaaaaaaaarghh! It's the Greatest Show on Legs
1980s anarcho-comedy pioneers.
22-26 Aug, 9pm, Hive, £5
Nick Pynn
Transcendental acoustic avant-folk loops in candle-lit intimacy.
2-26 August, 9.45pm, Inalingua, £10
Künt & the Gang
Inventive sub-Depeche Mode musical obscenity.
3-26 August, Laughing Horse @ City Café, 10.30pm, free
Stewart Lee
2012-07-30T14:34:07+01:00
I remember my first experience of the Edinburgh Fringe through a nostalgic haze. The Fringe was the postwar utopian ideal, but with jokes, experimental theatre and a lot of fried food; anyone could perform in it if they could raise the programme entry fee, still only a modest £246 today. Anyone might get audiences and even reviews. We slept in a church hall with no running water, but in a city that, until 1995, still had a 50p public bathhouse. You couldn't get a bottle of water in Edinburgh today for 50p. I went for the first of 25 Fringes to date in 1987 when I was 19. Wordsworth's French revolution paen, "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!" reflected my Fringe experience. (Except, being a student, I was rarely up at dawn, though I was technically alive.) But I will now show you how the state of Comedy in the Fringe today reflects the cultural bankruptcy of late capitalism. And I will also plug my own £15 Edinburgh show (less than half the price of Michael McIntyre, and one that will nudge me into fringe profit when offset against decades of loss), and those of my friends and family, while appearing to rail against property values, lack of social access, and the exploitation of the workers (by which I mean comedians, actors and dancers, who have never done a decent day's work in their lives). The Fringe, the biggest, best and most diverse arts festival in the entire world, is almost entirely underwritten by participants, most of whom go home thousands of pounds in debt, and who offer more than 2,000 different performances every day, 35% of which are classed as comedy. But because there's no committee of worthies trying...
Last years Brits declared a pop-friendly facsimile of folk newly fashionable. But our venerable Waterson-Carthy clan continue plying the family business, unheralded by host James Corden. Siblings Marry Waterson and the guitarist Oliver Knight weave a hybrid of traditional textures and contemporary colours, cousin Eliza Carthy's occasional fiddle their stark debut's only adornment.
Mary can do winsome, on the Kathryn Williams co-write Father Us, and strident, - the stoically menstrual Curse The Day is haunted by the blunt Yorkshire harmonies of her mother Lal. This duo reach beyond folk's core constituency, dignity intact.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-27T12:38:36+01:00
Last years Brits declared a pop-friendly facsimile of folk newly fashionable. But our venerable Waterson-Carthy clan continue plying the family business, unheralded by host James Corden. Siblings Marry Waterson and the guitarist Oliver Knight weave a hybrid of traditional textures and contemporary colours, cousin Eliza Carthy's occasional fiddle their stark debut's only adornment. Mary can do winsome, on the Kathryn Williams co-write Father Us, and strident, - the stoically menstrual Curse The Day is haunted by the blunt Yorkshire harmonies of her mother Lal. This duo reach beyond folk's core constituency, dignity intact.
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...
Go-Go Boots, assembled from the same sessions as last year's plaudit-plastered The Big To-Do, ditches scuffed roots rock for smooth country soul, perhaps reflecting Patterson Hood's father David's membership of the legendary Muscle Shoals Swampers.
The album as whole finds the band's downbeat narratives gaining extra resonance, pitched over uncharacteristically clean grooves like the twitchy hick funk of Used To Be A Cop or the slow burning build of The Fireplace Poker.
Meanwhile, I Do Believe shows that a streamlined and simplified Truckers might have enjoyed Kings Of Leon's par can illumined success.
The stadium's loss is our gain.
Stewart Lee
2011-02-13T12:28:14+00:00
Go-Go Boots, assembled from the same sessions as last year's plaudit-plastered The Big To-Do, ditches scuffed roots rock for smooth country soul, perhaps reflecting Patterson Hood's father David's membership of the legendary Muscle Shoals Swampers. The album as whole finds the band's downbeat narratives gaining extra resonance, pitched over uncharacteristically clean grooves like the twitchy hick funk of Used To Be A Cop or the slow burning build of The Fireplace Poker. Meanwhile, I Do Believe shows that a streamlined and simplified Truckers might have enjoyed Kings Of Leon's par can illumined success. The stadium's loss is our gain.
I contributed to Wire magazine's 'Epiphanies' book.
A new anthology of essays reveals music's transformative powers
Epiphanies: Life Changing Encounters With Music is a new anthology of essays drawn from the monthly Epiphanies column which has been running in The Wire magazine since January 1998.
The book includes more than 50 essays in which a diverse cast of musicians, authors and critics detail their personal experiences of music’s transformative powers.
The contents include poet Ian McMillan on Captain Beefheart; singer Robert Wyatt on Ray Charles; Black Atlantic scholar Paul Gilroy on The Voices Of East Harlem; musician Jerry Dammers on Sun Ra; author Barry Miles on The Beatles’ hive mind; novelist Michel Faber on a Hungarian spontaneous music ensemble; film maker Chris Petit on the transcendental poetry encoded in disposable pop lyrics; and comedian Stewart Lee on the links between stand-up comedy and experimental music.
The book also boasts contributions from many of The Wire's regular contributors, all acclaimed critics in their own right, including Ian Penman on Jimi Hendrix, Brian Dillon on Kate Bush, Nina Power on Fugazi, Simon Reynolds on Scritti Politti, Adam Harper on Cornelius Cardew, Geeta Dayal on the joy of drones, and Sukhdev Sandhu on fanzine culture.
Other essays describe sonorous encounters with South Africa’s World Cup vuvuzelas, noisy street protests, and the deathly silence inside an anechoic chamber.
The book has been edited by The Wire's Editor-in-Chief & Publisher Tony Herrington and designed by the magazine's Art Director Ben Weaver, with illustrations by Sculpture’s Reuben Sutherland.
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T21:33:40+00:00
I contributed to Wire magazine's 'Epiphanies' book. A new anthology of essays reveals music's transformative powers Epiphanies: Life Changing Encounters With Music is a new anthology of essays drawn from the monthly Epiphanies column which has been running in The Wire magazine since January 1998. The book includes more than 50 essays in which a diverse cast of musicians, authors and critics detail their personal experiences of music’s transformative powers. The contents include poet Ian McMillan on Captain Beefheart; singer Robert Wyatt on Ray Charles; Black Atlantic scholar Paul Gilroy on The Voices Of East Harlem; musician Jerry Dammers on Sun Ra; author Barry Miles on The Beatles’ hive mind; novelist Michel Faber on a Hungarian spontaneous music ensemble; film maker Chris Petit on the transcendental poetry encoded in disposable pop lyrics; and comedian Stewart Lee on the links between stand-up comedy and experimental music. The book also boasts contributions from many of The Wire's regular contributors, all acclaimed critics in their own right, including Ian Penman on Jimi Hendrix, Brian Dillon on Kate Bush, Nina Power on Fugazi, Simon Reynolds on Scritti Politti, Adam Harper on Cornelius Cardew, Geeta Dayal on the joy of drones, and Sukhdev Sandhu on fanzine culture. Other essays describe sonorous encounters with South Africa’s World Cup vuvuzelas, noisy street protests, and the deathly silence inside an anechoic chamber. The book has been edited by The Wire's Editor-in-Chief & Publisher Tony Herrington and designed by the magazine's Art Director Ben Weaver, with illustrations by Sculpture’s Reuben Sutherland.
I had to cancel some previews in June in London and Chippenham. I am sorry.
First of all I was bitten five times in my sleep by a False Widow Spider and it went septic and I had to go into hospital and go on a drip and be on drugs for ages lying down.
I have rescheduled the Chippenham show and some London ones.
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 projections, although the exact material is currently in freefall post-Brexit. Until Dec 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. Here’s some dates.
AUG
Stand, Edinburgh – Content Provider.
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
22nd Simon Munnery 30th Anniversary Show – Alan Parker’s Urban Warriors.
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, 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/
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.
TWO POSTS ON JULIAN COPE’S WEBSITE GUESTBOOK, THE SECOND VERY INSPIRING
At the moment I don’t know what to say about Brexit in the widest sense or, more narrowly, how it affects my future as a stand-up comedian or a British citizen. I am lucky that I am not playing comedy club gigs to politically split rooms, my future bookings dependent on promoters’ anxieties about not alienating the punters. I can’t see how you can write a tour show for the whole of the UK that will have any consistency in its reception from region to region. Maybe that is the angle to embrace?
In the meantime, this exchange on Julian Cope’s website’s guestbook inspired me. Although I concede that Sin Agog, like many of us, has the luxury of inviting people to frown at the sight of him. There are people now experiencing hostility that they haven’t invited or provoked.
Anyway….
Sanctuary: “We need to stop all the bickering and accept that we are now all in this together whether we like it or not and work together to re-stabilise this wonderful country after the shock the 'remainers' suffered just a few days ago. Be honest with yourselves and admit that if you had voted out, this is exactly what you would be saying now yourselves to the remainers who didn't get their way. I'm sure in time all the issues troubling folk will be resolved, but we need to work together to make that happen. You know it makes sense. Let's do it!”
Sin Agog: “Your way assimilation lies. The remaining left needs to wriggle and bite and snap else we'll become tamed, broken-in zoo animals, pacing up and down our tiny cages whilst yokels stare at us. We need to become as angry and virulent as the '80s anarcho culture. Become as passionate as the most ardent of EDL and UKIP members. If we are to be pushed ever further into the fringes, then we should revel in the freedom that affords us. We should make passersby frown at the sight of us, though secretly wishing they had the stones and strength to shake off their bridles, too. We should be like Havel, open-eyed dreamers convening at wild, noisy Plastic People of the Universe concerts and sewing the seeds for the future despite incredible odds. We must be the sorest, most ignoble of losers; guerilla soldiers, picking off bright red infantrymen abiding by the tenets of an outdated rulebook.”
MICHAEL GOVE’S TEENAGE POEM
In the early 80s I was published in a book of precocious teenagers’ poems, alongside Michael Gove and Kieron Winn, who became a proper poet.
My poem was rubbish, but I didn’t go on to wreck the UK, did I? The one by the teenage Michael Gove was worse. It comes from the point of view of a weird loner with a grudge, hell bent on revenge, and one wonders if this is what it has all been about, all along. The first verse seems especially ironic now.
Larking About – Michael A Gove
Facile words in Flexible mouths
Play games that no-one can win.
The verbal delights of social engagements
Are wearing audibly thin.
The constant retelling of lewd innuendoes
Assails your sensitive ears.
The score is the number of women you’ve had
Whilst still keeping down all those beers.
The vomit lies not on the floor though.
They keep it stored up in their heads
For constant recycling at parties
On the way to acquiring more beds.
Their clothes are as sharp as their talking.
Their hair is impeccably styled.
They are the beautiful people
But in their mouths beauty has died.
A Cat Called Paul Nuttalls
IN EARLY 2015 I had a long routine about a cat named after UKIP politicians, but I had to drop it over the Summer of 2015, and re-write it to be about Corbyn. So utterly had UKIP dropped from public consciousness that no-one was even interested enough in them to laugh at them. Of course, now they are a major force again, so here are 2 versions live of the routine from the spring of 2015.
CANCELLED GIGS I had to cancel some previews in June in London and Chippenham. I am sorry. First of all I was bitten five times in my sleep by a False Widow Spider and it went septic and I had to go into hospital and go on a drip and be on drugs for ages lying down. I have rescheduled the Chippenham show and some London ones. 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 is the Faber link: http://www.faber.co.uk/shop/drama/9780571329021-content-provider.html This is an Amazon link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Content-Provider-Selected-Pieces-2011-2016/dp/0571329020/ CONTENT PROVIDER TOUR 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 projections, although the exact material is currently in freefall post-Brexit. Until Dec 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. Here’s some dates. AUG Stand, Edinburgh – Content Provider. OCT 11th – 15th, 18th – 20th Digital Content Provider w free DVD, Leicester Sq Theatre London NOV (Digital Content Provider...
It's confession time. Yes, I admit to having watched that phenomenon of trash television, The Jerry Springer Show. It was (quite) a long time ago and it only happened (just about) once. Truly nothing in life is wasted, however, because the experience turned out to have been useful advance homework on Jerry Springer: The Opera at Battersea Arts Centre, composed by Richard Thomas and co-written and directed by Stewart Lee. They have asked me to make it clear that this is still a work-in-progress, and therefore officially at preview stage only. It's a riot in any case, and in the best sense.
Come off it: it isn't opera at all, despite some delicious operatic take-offs in Thomas's piano accompanied score. This is a musical, with the chorus representing the studio audience of Springer's show - denouncing the benighted participating couples who harangue each other in scenes of mutual emotional carnage, while Springer hosts proceedings with laconic mock-empathy ("I'm confused here"), and a marvellously morose bouncer tries to stop the cat-fights from progressing towards mutual disembowelment.
The whole thing is seriously offensive, genuinely as funny as it thinks it is, replete with ceaseless profanities, laced with moments of poignancy, and dangerously close to brilliant in its sheer verve. Thomas's scintillating score succeeds in applying Sondheim's ingenuity and dark imagination to a musical idiom resembling Donald Swann on crack cocaine. There will be pressure to sanitise the final version for the show to have a chance of making it to the West End or elsewhere. I hope Thomas and Lee successfully resist.
Stewart Lee
2002-02-10T16:38:53+00:00
It's confession time. Yes, I admit to having watched that phenomenon of trash television, The Jerry Springer Show. It was (quite) a long time ago and it only happened (just about) once. Truly nothing in life is wasted, however, because the experience turned out to have been useful advance homework on Jerry Springer: The Opera at Battersea Arts Centre, composed by Richard Thomas and co-written and directed by Stewart Lee. They have asked me to make it clear that this is still a work-in-progress, and therefore officially at preview stage only. It's a riot in any case, and in the best sense. Come off it: it isn't opera at all, despite some delicious operatic take-offs in Thomas's piano accompanied score. This is a musical, with the chorus representing the studio audience of Springer's show - denouncing the benighted participating couples who harangue each other in scenes of mutual emotional carnage, while Springer hosts proceedings with laconic mock-empathy ("I'm confused here"), and a marvellously morose bouncer tries to stop the cat-fights from progressing towards mutual disembowelment. The whole thing is seriously offensive, genuinely as funny as it thinks it is, replete with ceaseless profanities, laced with moments of poignancy, and dangerously close to brilliant in its sheer verve. Thomas's scintillating score succeeds in applying Sondheim's ingenuity and dark imagination to a musical idiom resembling Donald Swann on crack cocaine. There will be pressure to sanitise the final version for the show to have a chance of making it to the West End or elsewhere. I hope Thomas and Lee successfully resist.
Just at a time when the wealth of music available to everyone finds young people making connections between previously disparate approaches for themselves, and beating down ancient barriers of culture and history, BBC radio is travelling in the opposite direction, by scrapping the very shows that embody that ideal.
Luke Turner of The Quietus and The Guardian makes the case for LATE JUNCTION and shows like it below, so maybe you'd like to help him by signing his on-line petition
Stew
"Apologies for the impersonal / bcc nature of this email but I'm trying to get this out and wide as fast as possible this week.
We protest the dramatic cuts to Radio 3's programming of specialist music. These have been made to "enhance the distinctive nature of the network". The opposite is happening: the distinctive parts of the network are being dismantled.
British jazz is experiencing a renaissance. Thrilling folk acts are attracting broader audiences. Electronic and experimental music is thriving, and boundaries between genres, mediums and scenes are being dissolved and swirled into ever more exciting permutations.
But in the month of its sold-out festival in London, the brilliant Late Junction, which supports new and existing artists from the worlds of experimental music, folk, jazz and beyond, is being reduced from three shows a week to one.
Jazz Now and Geoffrey Smith's Jazz are being 'rested'. Music Planet, Radio 3's only dedicated programme exploring music from around the world, is being moved to a post-midnight slot, and having its running time cut by half. And while we welcome the unique format of Unclassified, it only has an hour in the schedules. It is not enough.
The remit of BBC Radio 3 is explicit: to "appeal to listeners of any age seeking to expand their cultural horizons through engagement with the world of music and the arts". The disappearance of the programmes above - fertile, adventurous spaces showcasing the creativity and diversity of many genres - goes against this entirely.
Local, national and international culture benefits so much from these programmes.
Music-lovers tune to make new discoveries and build new creative communities. Music-makers rely on these shows as lifelines to support and share their music with enthusiastic audiences, both nationally and internationally.
New works and unexpected collaborations have happened either directly or indirectly due to these shows. This flourishing cultural ecosystem will be damaged, and musicians' careers profoundly affected, as opportunities for their work to be experienced by the mainstream at home and abroad will be drastically reduced.
We urge Radio 3 to think again about how the changes they are making will profoundly affect the broader cultural landscape, and reconsider their decisions. The BBC's enduring principles - to inform, educate, and entertain - live and breathe in the shows they are pulling apart.
A Facebook page collating other petitions - as there are a few - has also been put up by Sliz Gillard, who was involved in the Late Junction festival, to try and connect all efforts and gain momentum: Alan Davey's announcement of the scheduling changes can be found here:
Dear Mail List Just at a time when the wealth of music available to everyone finds young people making connections between previously disparate approaches for themselves, and beating down ancient barriers of culture and history, BBC radio is travelling in the opposite direction, by scrapping the very shows that embody that ideal. Luke Turner of The Quietus and The Guardian makes the case for LATE JUNCTION and shows like it below, so maybe you'd like to help him by signing his on-line petition Stew "Apologies for the impersonal / bcc nature of this email but I'm trying to get this out and wide as fast as possible this week. We protest the dramatic cuts to Radio 3's programming of specialist music. These have been made to "enhance the distinctive nature of the network". The opposite is happening: the distinctive parts of the network are being dismantled. British jazz is experiencing a renaissance. Thrilling folk acts are attracting broader audiences. Electronic and experimental music is thriving, and boundaries between genres, mediums and scenes are being dissolved and swirled into ever more exciting permutations. But in the month of its sold-out festival in London, the brilliant Late Junction, which supports new and existing artists from the worlds of experimental music, folk, jazz and beyond, is being reduced from three shows a week to one. Jazz Now and Geoffrey Smith's Jazz are being 'rested'. Music Planet, Radio 3's only dedicated programme exploring music from around the world, is being moved to a post-midnight slot, and having its running time cut by half. And while we welcome the unique format of Unclassified, it only has an hour in the schedules. It is not enough. The remit of BBC Radio 3 is explicit: to "appeal to listeners of any age seeking to expand their cultural...
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...
Last weekend, residents of our east London thoroughfare were told to remove their vehicles, clearing the route for an exceptionally wide and potentially hazardous load. Perhaps your mum, who I believe lives locally, had ordered a new pair of pants from Littlewoods?
Rising on Tuesday to a thunderous ding dong, I saw “Free Tibet” protesters fleeing west while nervous Chinese students waved identical banners reading “Welcome” and, in much smaller letters, “Made in China”.
Dispersing demonstrators, police ensured the welcomers were in place as the object of their obligations began its progress past my window. It was, at some 100 feet across, and mounted on tiny casters, nothing less than a massive Chinese arse.
With the silent authority of a vast totalitarian slug, the massive Chinese arse rolled over the buckling tarmac, shiny in the sun, with all farts coming out of it, speeding its gaseous progress towards Westminster.
Having flown in from China, suspended between four Chinooks, the massive Chinese arse sat down discreetly at RAF Scampton, where it became the subject of an enthusiastic Lincolnshire cargo cult, and was then escorted into London by a fleet of police motorcyclists, clothes pegs discreetly over their noses against the arse’s flatulent mechanism.
A human rights protester positioned himself before the massive Chinese arse, raising defiant fists. But two unremitting meat mountains, enormous Chinese buttocks, rolled unsentimentally over him, spitting him out behind, winded and battered.
“Did you see that?” I asked a policewoman, “A massive Chinese arse is crushing legitimate criticism.” “Calm down Mr Lee,” said an undercover officer, recognising me from my multiple Bafta- and British Comedy Award-winning TV shows. “Perhaps a ticket to tonight’s ceremonial massive Chinese arse banquet at Buckingham Palace would buy your silence?”
I told him I could not be bought, having turned down an advert for Sharwood’s Spicy Szechuan Stir Fry Melts on ethical grounds only last week. “There will be braised red cabbage, cocotte potatoes, and timbale of celeriac,” he bartered, waving an embossed menu of tainted possibility.
And so it was that, for truth and timbale of celeriac, I was seated at Buckingham Palace, with the massive Chinese arse and his confidants, a host of delighted business people, and some compromised dignitaries: Mark Carney of the Bank of England, George “Pencils” Osborne, David Cameron and, Christ-like in his accommodations, Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, supine among the sinners, the non-tax-gatherers, and the non-dom non-tax payers.
The Queen wore a white banquet dress, embroidered with beads by her dressmaker Angela Kelly, and a pair of old lady’s knickers, the label sewn in by C&A. It was the first time she had worn the dress. The Duchess of Cambridge wore a bespoke red gown by Jenny Packham, and a Chinese Rocks tiara, on loan from George “Pencils” Osborne. It was the first time she had worn the gown.
Instead of wearing a booby-trapped papier-mache head of the Dalai Lama, as was feared, Jeremy Corbyn wore a black jacket, white tie, white shirt, black shoes and black trousers, with black socks and white pants from Marks and Spencers. It was the 75th time he had worn the pants.
I saw the Queen’s eyes, as she licked the massive Chinese arse, meeting Jeremy Corbyn’s eyes
On the subject of clothes, PEN Award-winning writer and academic Ilham Tohti appears to be wearing a blue anorak and a white T-shirt in the picture I found of him, but who knows what he is wearing now, as he is serving life imprisonment in a Chinese jail, as I would be if I wrote this piece there, even though it is only a silly thing about a massive Chinese arse.
Still, no time to worry about that now. The timbale of celeriac smelt delicious when I could catch a whiff of it, wafting in from the kitchen, through the low-hanging cloud of the massive Chinese arse’s effulgent flatulence. And anyway, dinner was served.
Fillet of west coast turbot with lobster mousse, roasted loin of Balmoral venison in a Madeira and truffle sauce, braised red cabbage, cocotte potatoes, and timbale of celeriac. To follow, and in celebration of the prime minister’s heroic rejection of the sugar tax, délice of dark chocolate, mango and lime. And 25 almonds, some Space Dust, and a juicy red apple for George “Pencils” Osborne, who was still on his diet.
After dessert came the part of the evening the diplomats had dreaded most. They knew the assembled worthies were required to venerate the massive Chinese arse, but even the most accomplished translator had been unable to ascertain whether the Chinese government’s instructions meant the massive Chinese arse was to be licked, or to be kissed.
Archbishop Justin Welby officiated, the dignitaries processing toward the massive Chinese arse, in a sick pantomime of the communion. Some – David Cameron, Mark Carney, and the Duchess of Cambridge – chose to kiss the massive Chinese arse. Others – Prince William, Prince Andrew and the Queen – elected to lick it.
From where I was sitting I saw the Queen’s eyes, as she licked the massive Chinese arse, meeting Jeremy Corbyn’s eyes. It seemed to me they shared an intimate moment, as she communicated to him the terrible bondage of duty, perhaps envying the rebellious leader of the opposition, and her own absent firstborn son, their uncompromised freedom, perhaps asking for understanding. And I like to think that it was in solidarity with the quietly dignified Queen that Jeremy Corbyn too then leaned forward to lick the massive Chinese arse himself.
The arse-licking and arse-kissing done, the band struck up the James Bond theme Nobody Does It Better and George Osborne took centre stage. Testing the opening with his usual pencil, he rolled up his shirt sleeve, James Herriot-style, and began his diplomatic negotiations, pushing through the half-digested fillet of west coast turbot with lobster mousse, the semi-dissolved roasted loin of Balmoral venison in a Madeira and truffle sauce, the broken-down braised red cabbage, the condensing cocotte potatoes, the disintegrating timbale of celeriac and the dissipating délice of dark chocolate, mango and lime. And finally the chancellor pulled out a plum! “What a good boy am I!” he cried, holding up the filthy fruit, to the applause of all. “This plum is worth £30 billion.”
The week dragged on. Unfortunately the massive Chinese arse was unable to find time to see Ai Weiwei at the Academy, the capital’s most important cultural event. But David Cameron did manage to take it to his local, The Cock and Pig, in Chipping Norton, where it enjoyed fish and beer, and was then forgotten, as the prime minister drove off, leaving it in a toilet.
A Room With a Stew is at Leicester Square theatre, London WC2 until 8 Jan. Stewart Lee is the curator of next year’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival, at Prestatyn Pontins, 15-17 April 2016
Stewart Lee
2015-10-25T15:22:28+00:00
Last weekend, residents of our east London thoroughfare were told to remove their vehicles, clearing the route for an exceptionally wide and potentially hazardous load. Perhaps your mum, who I believe lives locally, had ordered a new pair of pants from Littlewoods? Rising on Tuesday to a thunderous ding dong, I saw “Free Tibet” protesters fleeing west while nervous Chinese students waved identical banners reading “Welcome” and, in much smaller letters, “Made in China”. Dispersing demonstrators, police ensured the welcomers were in place as the object of their obligations began its progress past my window. It was, at some 100 feet across, and mounted on tiny casters, nothing less than a massive Chinese arse. With the silent authority of a vast totalitarian slug, the massive Chinese arse rolled over the buckling tarmac, shiny in the sun, with all farts coming out of it, speeding its gaseous progress towards Westminster. Having flown in from China, suspended between four Chinooks, the massive Chinese arse sat down discreetly at RAF Scampton, where it became the subject of an enthusiastic Lincolnshire cargo cult, and was then escorted into London by a fleet of police motorcyclists, clothes pegs discreetly over their noses against the arse’s flatulent mechanism. A human rights protester positioned himself before the massive Chinese arse, raising defiant fists. But two unremitting meat mountains, enormous Chinese buttocks, rolled unsentimentally over him, spitting him out behind, winded and battered. “Did you see that?” I asked a policewoman, “A massive Chinese arse is crushing legitimate criticism.” “Calm down Mr Lee,” said an undercover officer, recognising me from my multiple Bafta- and British Comedy Award-winning TV shows. “Perhaps a ticket to tonight’s ceremonial massive Chinese arse banquet at Buckingham Palace would buy your silence?” I told him I could not be bought, having turned down an...
To anyone who hasn’t been to one of Stewart Lee’s shows before it’s worth pointing out that in his stand up Lee plays an amped up version of himself that is more bitter, angry and insufferably woke than he is in person, and in the process he often berates and taunts the audience. Tonight is no exception as he kicks thing off by threatening to do hilariously unspeakable things to any mobile phones he finds in use during the performance.
An angry and energetic Lee then does some searing material on Brexit, pouring a big bowl of scorn on those who claim they voted leave for reasons not motivated by racism: “We only wanted bendy bananas, and now here we are in a chaotic furnace of hate!” His greatest disdain, though, is reserved for the Machiavellian right-wing power couple, Michael Gove and Sarah Vine who he describes as “Neil and Christine Hamilton for the 2 Girls 1 Cup generation”.
A power struggle then begins between Lee and the two stern faced ushers flanking either side of the stage. Lee insists that they sit down as A) they’re making it difficult for the audience to laugh B) there are plenty of seats in the auditorium which is the worst selling night of the tour. When he learns that they are actually security guards he seems bemused. “What for? There’s so few of you that I could fight you all myself!”
The second half brings some Trump gags that precisely mirror the Brexit material from the first half. One idiot in the audience, not getting that this is a ruse pointing the similar motives behind the result in Brexit and the US election, bellows out the punchlines before they land. An exasperated Lee declares “You’re the kind of bloke who goes to see Othello and shouts, ‘Don’t get jealous mate. She’s not been unfaithful to you!'”
The show ends with a high brow visual gag incorporating a Romanticism era painting, Mr Lee in period costume and a selfie stick. It’s been a great night of comedy and Lee’s hit ratio, at least for me, has been pretty high as I’ve laughed hard and long. I head out to the merch stall to buy one of Lee’s books and wait to see if Stewart will be out to sign it. He doesn’t appear. Perhaps he’s scared of the security guards.
87% Summary A disappointing turnout and some peculiar behaviour from the venue security staff did little to rankle an angry and energetic Lee, who’s hit ratio was on point.
Stewart Lee
2018-03-24T13:08:33+00:00
To anyone who hasn’t been to one of Stewart Lee’s shows before it’s worth pointing out that in his stand up Lee plays an amped up version of himself that is more bitter, angry and insufferably woke than he is in person, and in the process he often berates and taunts the audience. Tonight is no exception as he kicks thing off by threatening to do hilariously unspeakable things to any mobile phones he finds in use during the performance. An angry and energetic Lee then does some searing material on Brexit, pouring a big bowl of scorn on those who claim they voted leave for reasons not motivated by racism: “We only wanted bendy bananas, and now here we are in a chaotic furnace of hate!” His greatest disdain, though, is reserved for the Machiavellian right-wing power couple, Michael Gove and Sarah Vine who he describes as “Neil and Christine Hamilton for the 2 Girls 1 Cup generation”. A power struggle then begins between Lee and the two stern faced ushers flanking either side of the stage. Lee insists that they sit down as A) they’re making it difficult for the audience to laugh B) there are plenty of seats in the auditorium which is the worst selling night of the tour. When he learns that they are actually security guards he seems bemused. “What for? There’s so few of you that I could fight you all myself!” The second half brings some Trump gags that precisely mirror the Brexit material from the first half. One idiot in the audience, not getting that this is a ruse pointing the similar motives behind the result in Brexit and the US election, bellows out the punchlines before they land. An exasperated Lee declares “You’re the kind of bloke who goes to...
If Stewart Lee's recent stand-up show on BBC Two has brought any newcomers to this latest live show, then they're jumping in at the deep end here. If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One — yes, the clue is in the title — is right up there with the best work this consistently surprising and beguiling comedian has done.
But as he mixes moments of mock shock with moments of genuine provocation, his most personal revelations with his most far-fetched flights of fancy, we don't always know where we stand with him.
Does he really wish a hideous death on the Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond? Did Magners cider really take its advertising slogan from a Lee family saying? Did a leading coffee chain really accuse him of faking the stamps on his reward card? Be still, and know.
Mind you, he starts falteringly. His support act, the Canadian comic Tony Law, gets a muted reception — the worst of the tour so far, Lee reproves us. “Now this gig has got off to a bad start," he says slowly, a teacher taking control of the class, “and if it's going to work at all, you're going to have to pick up the pace."
What I like best about Lee is the way he brings a deeply-felt moral core to work that delights in playing with surfaces. Occasionally he overplays his hand. But mostly his digressions about the mood in the room remind us that our responses really matter — as something worthy of study, not as anything to pander to.
“More than anywhere on the tour," he tells the supposed bastions of Middle England, “I sense a large Top Gear support." Pause. “The trouble is," he continues, “I hate Top Gear." And, as he goes on to spin a bad-taste yarn about Hammond, ridiculing what he sees as the hypocrisies of Clarkson and crew, the room splits in two.
The context is all there to justify this, just not necessarily when you feel you need it. But show faith and he'll deconstruct everything, especially his own deconstructions. He takes apart his audience, his looks — a washed-up Terry Christian/Todd Carty/young Albert Finney — and his status as a 41-year-old father resisting gentrification.
Some sequences, such as an inspired one about people who rave on about “the quality of life" abroad, are enabled by sheer performance: control of rhythm, repetition, tone, physicality. Lee has said that he can't act; this proves him wrong. He even ends on a song, accompanying himself on guitar. There's a vital sincerity shaking awake all these layers of irony.
One of his targets is Frankie Boyle, who once suggested that stand-ups are no good after 40. Well, Lee rubbishes this like he rubbishes everything else: not in a direct act of revenge, but as a spur to finding material that mixes the deeply felt with the deeply unlikely.
His perpetual games with form mean that he's not for allcomers. But if you succumb to his spell he's the most exciting comedian in the country, bar none.
Stewart Lee
2009-11-26T16:14:11+00:00
If Stewart Lee's recent stand-up show on BBC Two has brought any newcomers to this latest live show, then they're jumping in at the deep end here. If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One — yes, the clue is in the title — is right up there with the best work this consistently surprising and beguiling comedian has done. But as he mixes moments of mock shock with moments of genuine provocation, his most personal revelations with his most far-fetched flights of fancy, we don't always know where we stand with him. Does he really wish a hideous death on the Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond? Did Magners cider really take its advertising slogan from a Lee family saying? Did a leading coffee chain really accuse him of faking the stamps on his reward card? Be still, and know. Mind you, he starts falteringly. His support act, the Canadian comic Tony Law, gets a muted reception — the worst of the tour so far, Lee reproves us. “Now this gig has got off to a bad start," he says slowly, a teacher taking control of the class, “and if it's going to work at all, you're going to have to pick up the pace." What I like best about Lee is the way he brings a deeply-felt moral core to work that delights in playing with surfaces. Occasionally he overplays his hand. But mostly his digressions about the mood in the room remind us that our responses really matter — as something worthy of study, not as anything to pander to. “More than anywhere on the tour," he tells the supposed bastions of Middle England, “I sense a large Top Gear support." Pause. “The trouble is," he continues, “I hate Top Gear." And, as he goes on...
The Plimsouls played melodic sixties mod pop with punk aggression, Peter Case's grazed white soul vocals and Eddie Munoz' plangent guitars bleeding through the surface noise and cheerleader air-punch rhythms.
This 1983 live recording, the group in explosive form after their second album, betters their studio output in terms of sheer energy and reveals The Plimsouls as one of the great lost groups.
A cover of Moby Grape's Fall On You holds on to the hippy harmonies whilst serrating them with nerve shredding guitars at white knuckle velocity. I'm sorry, but they don't make them like this anymore.
Stewart Lee
2012-03-04T21:17:12+00:00
The Plimsouls played melodic sixties mod pop with punk aggression, Peter Case's grazed white soul vocals and Eddie Munoz' plangent guitars bleeding through the surface noise and cheerleader air-punch rhythms. This 1983 live recording, the group in explosive form after their second album, betters their studio output in terms of sheer energy and reveals The Plimsouls as one of the great lost groups. A cover of Moby Grape's Fall On You holds on to the hippy harmonies whilst serrating them with nerve shredding guitars at white knuckle velocity. I'm sorry, but they don't make them like this anymore.
A new Neptune-sized planet has been discovered, lurking beyond Pluto, after a prolonged study of unexplained orbital patterns. This method of detection has a precedent. As long ago as 1846, the French mathematician Urbain Le Verrier wrote to the physicist François Arago, saying “Sir! Surely you can see there must be a ninth planet, if only because of terrible irregularities in the behaviour of Uranus.”
Sadly, the letter, which had inexplicably been written by Le Verrier in English, even though both boffins were French, was read aloud to Arago by his housekeeper, and the incensed physicist, who suffered terribly with haemorrhoids and so assumed Le Verrier was attempting to satirise him, was never to speak to his mathematician friend again.
(To clarify, Arago had thought that when Le Verrier wrote “Uranus” he was actually talking about Arago’s anus. But this was a misunderstanding caused by the letter’s being in English, and then having been read aloud by Arago’s housekeeper. Had this letter, which did exist, been read off the page by Arago himself, Le Verrier’s intentions would have been obvious. But Arago wouldn’t touch it, see, because he had some cassoulet or something on his finger that day and didn’t want to get it on the letter in case it made a duck-flavoured mess.)
Meanwhile here on planet Earth, the prime minister David Cameron revealed last week that sink estates are to be demolished. He is, however, unable to reveal the future location of their former residents. These feckless humans are an inconvenient and minor element of the regeneration process, like those tedious newts that have to be seen to be transported to other waterlogged areas when begrudging builders tarmac over an ancient wetland.
It doesn’t matter. Prime inner-city real estate, clogged with a profligate underclass, can now be freed for redevelopment by interested parties. Old street names will haunt the rechristened work-live landscape in a precisely ordered pantomime of provenance. And the definitions of “affordable housing” will doubtless be redrawn once more, to maximise the investors’ return. Perhaps the Conservatives can look to the French, as they investigate ways of storing their own troublesome tenants.
In Calais this week, the migrants’ camp was bulldozed, and the desperate people who lived there were rehoused in shipping containers, as if they were a cargo, ready to be transported. But to where? To anywhere, as long as it’s not anywhere we have to look at them. If the French had known how things were going to work out I expect they would have let Queen Mary keep Calais after the siege of 1558, instead of securing victory from a decisive move by their artillery into Fort Nieulay on 3 January of that year. But, hey, hindsight is 20:20.
On her deathbed, Mary said, “When I am dead and cut open, they will find Calais inscribed on my heart.” When David Cameron is dead and cut open, they will find no heart, but, if they check his pockets, they will find Calais written at the bottom of a very long “to do” list, just underneath “fix catflap” and “try to make space for more me time”.
In a related development on Wednesday, the British astronaut Tim Peake uploaded to the internet a film of himself explaining how he goes to the toilet. If I did that I would either be questioned by the police or be given my own breakfast show on Xfm. But apparently, because Tim is “in space”, his toilet procedures are a matter of public interest.
Once upon a time, journalists would have had to hack a phone to know as much about a public figure’s private doings as Peake has disclosed voluntarily. Seeing the exhibitionist space traveller’s toilet talk in the same week as the newspapers carried blurred photos of Chris Evans vomiting into a layby, I longed for the old days when celebrities were still glamorous and mysterious.
One doesn’t have to reveal everything. Keep them guessing. Maggie Moone was never photographed being sick next to an Audi R8 V10, and the exact nature of Arthur Negus’s toilet routine remains something to be fondly imagined, rather than detailed intimately on the worldwide web.
Despite his lavatorial indiscretions, Tim Peake remains a persuasive brand ambassador for space travel, declaring on his departure from Kazakhstan’s Baikonur Cosmodrome in December, “This isn’t a one-off mission. We have a serious project in the European Space Station to land on the moon, install full sit-down and wall-mounted urinal trough facilities, and use the satellite as a stepping stone to the solar system, going to the toilet along the way whenever needed, in whatever tubes and cavities are available.”
I wondered why we had suddenly invested in this crazy dream of long-distance solar human conveyance? And then the news stories aligned, like planets in a perfect orbit, as if guided by unseen hands.
Planet X, as astronomers are imaginatively calling the new world, is at present a stale and unprofitable wasteland. The question is, who owns it, and how can it be monetised? What environmental restrictions, if any, have interfering Brussels bureaucrats put on its exploitation? Would Planet X be governed by idiotic EU human rights regulations? How soon will the sort of extended solar journeys Toilet Tim has posited be a genuine possibility? Is there any legislation in place preventing the former inner-city sink estate dwellers from being temporarily rehoused in the same shipping containers currently used in Calais? And would there be some way of yoking these shipping containers, and their French counterparts, together in some kind of loose wagon train arrangement, behind a long-distance spacecraft of some kind?
The idea of sending the unwanted and irredeemable dregs of human society to a supposedly barren, largely unknown, probably inhospitable and impossibly faraway place seems cruel. But today Australia, for example, has transcended its degrading origins to become if not a fully fledged civilisation, then at least a place that gave us the Up & Go Australian breakfast drink, and eventually became mildly embarrassed by Tony Abbott.
Would it be so very wrong to give those whose poverty both shames and inconveniences us a chance of a life which, if not necessarily better than their current one, would at least be markedly different to it, involving, as it would, an impossible struggle for survival on a hostile and remote world of ice, tilted at a chaotic angle, revolving slowly in a vast elliptical orbit, far far away from our embarrassed gaze?
Stewart Lee
2016-01-24T19:48:42+00:00
A new Neptune-sized planet has been discovered, lurking beyond Pluto, after a prolonged study of unexplained orbital patterns. This method of detection has a precedent. As long ago as 1846, the French mathematician Urbain Le Verrier wrote to the physicist François Arago, saying “Sir! Surely you can see there must be a ninth planet, if only because of terrible irregularities in the behaviour of Uranus.” Sadly, the letter, which had inexplicably been written by Le Verrier in English, even though both boffins were French, was read aloud to Arago by his housekeeper, and the incensed physicist, who suffered terribly with haemorrhoids and so assumed Le Verrier was attempting to satirise him, was never to speak to his mathematician friend again. (To clarify, Arago had thought that when Le Verrier wrote “Uranus” he was actually talking about Arago’s anus. But this was a misunderstanding caused by the letter’s being in English, and then having been read aloud by Arago’s housekeeper. Had this letter, which did exist, been read off the page by Arago himself, Le Verrier’s intentions would have been obvious. But Arago wouldn’t touch it, see, because he had some cassoulet or something on his finger that day and didn’t want to get it on the letter in case it made a duck-flavoured mess.) Meanwhile here on planet Earth, the prime minister David Cameron revealed last week that sink estates are to be demolished. He is, however, unable to reveal the future location of their former residents. These feckless humans are an inconvenient and minor element of the regeneration process, like those tedious newts that have to be seen to be transported to other waterlogged areas when begrudging builders tarmac over an ancient wetland. It doesn’t matter. Prime inner-city real estate, clogged with a profligate underclass, can now be freed...
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...
It's assumed the '80s New Zealand lo-fi noise of bands like The Dead C reflected geographical and technological isolation.
But contemporaneously, in bedrooms from Bristol to London, and within earshot of pop cultural civilization, a young Stefan Jaworzyn plugged whatever sounds he could source into cassette recorders and carved his own archipelago of clattering loops, psychedelic guitar squalls, and brain-fizzing organ drones.
Now your laptop conceals more kit than Abbey Road, these analogue aural hallucinations seem positively Arts and Crafts.
Stewart Lee
2014-05-11T20:33:30+01:00
It's assumed the '80s New Zealand lo-fi noise of bands like The Dead C reflected geographical and technological isolation. But contemporaneously, in bedrooms from Bristol to London, and within earshot of pop cultural civilization, a young Stefan Jaworzyn plugged whatever sounds he could source into cassette recorders and carved his own archipelago of clattering loops, psychedelic guitar squalls, and brain-fizzing organ drones. Now your laptop conceals more kit than Abbey Road, these analogue aural hallucinations seem positively Arts and Crafts.
The percussionist Clare Moore of blues punks The Moodists, and the pianist Kaye Louise Patterson of alt country pioneers Acuff’s Rose, are grand dames of Australia’s underground. Moore offers four arch negotiations with the downward gravitational pull of kitsch, Barry Adamson’s filmic mix reimagining cocktail lounge muzak as a psychedelic formica.
Patterson pounds baroque pop from the piano with shades of Billy Joel or Ben Folds.
A sinuous version of John and Beverley Martyn’s languidly sinister Auntie Aviator takes wing on the meshed guitar muscle of Dave Graney and Matt Walker.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-06T11:29:38+01:00
The percussionist Clare Moore of blues punks The Moodists, and the pianist Kaye Louise Patterson of alt country pioneers Acuff’s Rose, are grand dames of Australia’s underground. Moore offers four arch negotiations with the downward gravitational pull of kitsch, Barry Adamson’s filmic mix reimagining cocktail lounge muzak as a psychedelic formica. Patterson pounds baroque pop from the piano with shades of Billy Joel or Ben Folds. A sinuous version of John and Beverley Martyn’s languidly sinister Auntie Aviator takes wing on the meshed guitar muscle of Dave Graney and Matt Walker.
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...
Johnny Vegas doesn't so much climb the property ladder as walk under it in this site-specific solo comedy at the Manchester International Festival. Vegas plays Jeffrey Parkin, who's showing us around his three-bedroom Chorley semi with a view to making a sale. Purr as Parkin flaunts the pan rack, inspired by the Humber Bridge. Coo at his root-wood coffee table. Then blanche as his beer-bellied Sarah Beeny act crumbles, revealing structural flaws in the property-is-God value system. Interiors (co-created with Stewart Lee) is less Location, Location, Location, more Depression, Depression, Depression.
That drama is a long time coming, however. For most of the show's hour-long duration, it's just Parkin riffing on property, with diminishing returns. There are choice jokes: Ikea are "flatpack paedophiles, preying on the weak and vulnerable". And much fun is derived from Vegas's ad hoc responses to audience questions. Yawning beneath all this is the gulf between Parkin's self-image as an aspirational Montenegro property magnate and his bathetic provincial reality. One bizarre detour sees him fast-forward his Farinelli: Il Castrato DVD to find the scene he'd turn into a painting for his living-room wall. Parkin, you see, is a world cinema type of guy - albeit one whose sales spiel forever quotes cheesy Hollywood blockbusters.
Something's got to give, and it does - even if the transition from comedy to tragedy is clunking. A home isn't about design features, it's about the relationships between the people living there. And Parkin's relationships have (for reasons not made clear) fallen foul of the wrecking ball. Vegas and Lee's demolition of the property fetish is hardly more subtle. But if the theatrical architecture is crude, Vegas brings it to life with extemporising flair. A house isn't a status symbol, he suggests in this enjoyable situationist curio - it's somewhere to try and live well.
Stewart Lee
2007-07-04T00:21:08+01:00
Johnny Vegas doesn't so much climb the property ladder as walk under it in this site-specific solo comedy at the Manchester International Festival. Vegas plays Jeffrey Parkin, who's showing us around his three-bedroom Chorley semi with a view to making a sale. Purr as Parkin flaunts the pan rack, inspired by the Humber Bridge. Coo at his root-wood coffee table. Then blanche as his beer-bellied Sarah Beeny act crumbles, revealing structural flaws in the property-is-God value system. Interiors (co-created with Stewart Lee) is less Location, Location, Location, more Depression, Depression, Depression. That drama is a long time coming, however. For most of the show's hour-long duration, it's just Parkin riffing on property, with diminishing returns. There are choice jokes: Ikea are "flatpack paedophiles, preying on the weak and vulnerable". And much fun is derived from Vegas's ad hoc responses to audience questions. Yawning beneath all this is the gulf between Parkin's self-image as an aspirational Montenegro property magnate and his bathetic provincial reality. One bizarre detour sees him fast-forward his Farinelli: Il Castrato DVD to find the scene he'd turn into a painting for his living-room wall. Parkin, you see, is a world cinema type of guy - albeit one whose sales spiel forever quotes cheesy Hollywood blockbusters. Something's got to give, and it does - even if the transition from comedy to tragedy is clunking. A home isn't about design features, it's about the relationships between the people living there. And Parkin's relationships have (for reasons not made clear) fallen foul of the wrecking ball. Vegas and Lee's demolition of the property fetish is hardly more subtle. But if the theatrical architecture is crude, Vegas brings it to life with extemporising flair. A house isn't a status symbol, he suggests in this enjoyable situationist curio - it's somewhere to...
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,...
With his rapier wit, caustic put-downs and prodigious appetite for drink, Samuel Johnson is right at home on the Edinburgh Fringe but for one thing: his jokes are 230 years old.
In 18th-century London, Dr Johnson was a superstar — the author of the first English dictionary, a critic and a novelist who dominated the capital’s literary salons. In 21st-century Edinburgh, he is half of the Fringe’s most eagerly awaited double act in Johnson and Boswell — Late but Live, which has its premiere at the Traverse theatre tonight.
The show, devised by the team that turned Jerry Springer: The Opera into one of the most explosive successes in Fringe history, is an attempt to prove that Dr Johnson can cut it as a modern comic. The Jerry Springer cocktail of biblical characters, filthy arias and tap dancing Ku Klux Klansmen appalled some and delighted many more. Five years later Stewart Lee, who co-wrote and directed it, has returned to the festival with Iain Gillie and Nigel Godfrey, the show’s managers, to put on the equally ambitious Johnson and Boswell.
“Great wit is timeless,” Lee said yesterday. “I wanted to find a way to take the dust off Dr Johnson’s lines and show that Johnson was as funny as any stand-up working today.”
Like many Fringe favourites, Dr Johnson’s humour was punchy, rude and often fuelled by alcohol. The Scots were frequently the victims of his barbs, although he did concede that “much may be made of a Scotchman, if he be caught young”. In 1773 Dr Johnson toured the Hebrides with his dissolute friend and biographer James Boswell, who recorded much of their conversation verbatim. Extracts from their contrasting accounts of the trip form the basis of Lee’s script.
The show is set in the present day. Boswell has persuaded Dr Johnson to visit Edinburgh to cash in on the fad for celebrity memoirs by relaunching their travel books.
“We quote a lot of their text directly but we’ve also written things about Scotland today in a Johnsonian way. I don’t think the average person will be able to tell which bits are Johnson and which bits are us. That’s the joy of it,” said Lee.
Stewart Lee
2007-08-07T19:34:55+01:00
With his rapier wit, caustic put-downs and prodigious appetite for drink, Samuel Johnson is right at home on the Edinburgh Fringe but for one thing: his jokes are 230 years old. In 18th-century London, Dr Johnson was a superstar — the author of the first English dictionary, a critic and a novelist who dominated the capital’s literary salons. In 21st-century Edinburgh, he is half of the Fringe’s most eagerly awaited double act in Johnson and Boswell — Late but Live, which has its premiere at the Traverse theatre tonight. The show, devised by the team that turned Jerry Springer: The Opera into one of the most explosive successes in Fringe history, is an attempt to prove that Dr Johnson can cut it as a modern comic. The Jerry Springer cocktail of biblical characters, filthy arias and tap dancing Ku Klux Klansmen appalled some and delighted many more. Five years later Stewart Lee, who co-wrote and directed it, has returned to the festival with Iain Gillie and Nigel Godfrey, the show’s managers, to put on the equally ambitious Johnson and Boswell. “Great wit is timeless,” Lee said yesterday. “I wanted to find a way to take the dust off Dr Johnson’s lines and show that Johnson was as funny as any stand-up working today.” Like many Fringe favourites, Dr Johnson’s humour was punchy, rude and often fuelled by alcohol. The Scots were frequently the victims of his barbs, although he did concede that “much may be made of a Scotchman, if he be caught young”. In 1773 Dr Johnson toured the Hebrides with his dissolute friend and biographer James Boswell, who recorded much of their conversation verbatim. Extracts from their contrasting accounts of the trip form the basis of Lee’s script. The show is set in the present day. Boswell has...
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.
Broadcaster Adrian Goldberg hosts his music based radio show: Adventures in Music on Brum Radio.
Adrian takes you on a journey through gigs he's attended, tracks that are important to him
and talks to guests who are part of that story.
This week, Adrian is joined by Stewart Lee and Michael Cumming to discuss their new documentary about post-punk band The Nightingales. You can watch King Rocker on Sky Arts on Saturday 6th February at 9pm.
Broadcaster Adrian Goldberg hosts his music based radio show: Adventures in Music on Brum Radio. Adrian takes you on a journey through gigs he's attended, tracks that are important to him and talks to guests who are part of that story. This week, Adrian is joined by Stewart Lee and Michael Cumming to discuss their new documentary about post-punk band The Nightingales. You can watch King Rocker on Sky Arts on Saturday 6th February at 9pm. Live every Friday at 3pm on Brum Radio www.brumradio.com Twitter: @BrumRadio @goldbergradio
A merrie new year to ye all. What a terrible year 2016 was. This year will be worse, I expect. Never mind, see the cultural panaceas I am pushing.
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)
The following link for tickets goes live 12/1/17 @ 10am
Other extra dates by other comedians are available
VIAGOGO
Those utter wankstains at www.viagogo.co.uk are selling tickets from my Edinburgh tour dates at twice face value. Needless to say you can get seats for normal prices from the theatre itself and anyone found to have bought a ticket via Viagogo will not be let in. There is no need to be ripped off by Viagogo, whose activities will soon be illegal anyway, as they are criminals.
Other secondary ticketing agencies are available
CONTENT PROVIDER TOUR
Autumn 2017 dates are currently being booked.
More dates will be added as they are confirmed.
Thursday January 12th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Friday January 13th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Monday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Tuesday January 17th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Wednesday January 18th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Thursday January 19th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Friday January 20th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Saturday January 21st - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Monday January 23rd - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Tuesday January 24th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Wednesday January 25th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Thursday January 26th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Friday January 27th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Saturday January 28th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT
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. ON SALE SOON. (Short set on Charity Bill - not tour show).
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
Tours by other comedians are available
Unpaid Charity Benefit Shows
As usual, I continue to work tirelessly for charity.
Feb 20th – PEN Writers’ Freedom of Speech benefit, Union Chapel, London w Jack Dee + Andy Hamilton + Shappi Khorsandi + Stewart Lee + Nick Revell. https://www.musicglue.com/union-chapel/events/20-feb-17-you-cant-say-that-the-big-pen-gig---union-chapel/
Feb 27th – Refugees at Union Chapel bill t b c
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.
Tix on sale soon.
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.
Jon Fine spent years in various aggressive and underground bands — Bitch Magnet being the most known–and, as he writes in his widely acclaimed memoir Your Band Sucks: What I Saw At The Failed Indie Rock Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear), “none of them were ever threatened, even distantly, by actual fame. But fame, of course, was never the point. What was the point was participating in—indeed, living one’s entire life in—the underground rock culture of the 1980s and 1990s, that miracle that happened when a generation of smart misfits found each other and built, by hand, a culture that persists to this day.
In spoken-word-performances-cum-discussions–which Jon has already taken to fifteen North American cities–Jon will read several short sections of his book, interlinked with a series of narrative reminiscences that will serve to join those sections into one narrative arc that will cover the tentative beginnings of the underground of the 80s, its flowering and flourishing, its reckonings with the mainstream (and vice versa) and the re-emergence of many such bands once again this decade, as many got back together for reunion tours. Including Bitch Magnet, a tour in which—well, why give it all away now?
Questions from the audience are encouraged. Actually, they’re mandatory. Where possible, Jon will be joined for a discussion of his book and the independent music culture of the 80’s and 90’s and today by someone who was there, too. (Musicians who’ve appeared with Jon at events in the US include: Ira Kaplan of Yo La Tengo, Mark Arm of Mudhoney, and Clint Conley of Mission of Burma.)
PRAISE FOR YOUR BAND SUCKS:
“Everything a cult-fave musician’s memoir should be: It’s a seductively readable book that requires no previous knowledge of the author, Bitch Magnet or any other band with which he’s played.”
—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“The story of the indie rock era has rarely been told as well as it has in Your Band Sucks . . . Written with both anthropological detachment and deep romanticism about the making of music, Fine’s book belongs on the shelf alongside Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life.”
—Salon
“Jon Fine has done something miraculous: he managed to drag me through a time in my life that I hated and made me actually miss it. Both a hilarious personal memoir and an obsessive guide to that weird moment in underground music before the great tsunami of the Internet changed everything forever, Your Band Sucks reminds you that one self-confessed rock-nerd’s journey through rejection, triumph, and cheap motels is as universal as any well-told story.”
—James Murphy, LCD Soundsystem
“Like Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, but for would-be rock stars who live like train hobos and perform for dozens of fans a night.”
—Men’s Health
“More striking than Fine’s clever words is his incisive commentary, which examines everything we’ve come to know about music in the digital age, from cyber communities to music streaming services to major record labels.”
—Esquire.com
“Your Band Sucks is a fantastic document of a culture-defining era of rock music. It paints a detailed portrait of the scene before corporations bought music’s soul. A tremendous read.”
—Stuart Braithwaite, Mogwai
“When we played festivals, we used to have this thing where we’d walk up to the other bands and ask, ‘What shitty band are you in?’ I would dare never have asked Bitch Magnet that same question. In fact, I would probably have run and hid from them the same way I would have from Wire or Iggy Pop, or a tear-streaked, mascara-running Courtney Love, in her ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ dress, being escorted through the backstage area on the arms of a couple of police officers. Their music was that intimidatingly good. And in Your Band Sucks, Jon Fine lovingly chronicles, with strong accuracy, the zeitgeist in which his band excelled.”
—Robert Pollard, Guided by Voices
“A fine-grained account of indie rock’s conflicted mind-mess—the mix of boundless idealism and cynicism, lofty aspirations and defeatism, absolute conviction and constant doubt, flashes of transcendence and abject embarrassment. Best of all, Your Band Sucks captures the delirious fun of joining up with a small group, finding your way into a small scene, connecting to a larger family of internationally networked and like-minded misfits, and taking on the world knowing you’ve already lost. This book makes me feel lucky to have played a small part in this grand, doomed endeavor.”
—Clint Conley, Mission of Burma
“I imagine, in a small van, Jon Fine is very hard to take.”
—Amazon reviewer
BIO:
Jon Fine is the executive editor of Inc. magazine. As a guitarist in Bitch Magnet, Coptic Light, and Don Caballero, among others—he’s performed around the world and appeared on MTV. As a writer, Fine’s long-running BusinessWeek column “Media Centric” won both American Society of Business Publication Editors and National Headliner awards, and his work for Food & Wine won a James Beard Award. He has served as an on-air contributor to CNBC, and his work has also appeared in the Atlantic, GQ, and Vanity Fair.
2016 MY CULTURAL YEAR
Here’s all the culture I consumed last year.
1) NEW FILMS
I saw 14 new films this year. The best 4 were…
The Lady In The Van (Nicholas Hytner)
The Martian (Ridley Scott)
Jason Bourne (Paul Greengrass)
Rogue 1 Star Wars (Gareth Edwards)
The rest were…
The Hateful Eight (Q Tarantino)
The Revenant (Alejandro G Inarritu)
Ant Man (Edgar Wright)
Alexander & The Terrible , Horrible, No Good Day (Miguel Arteta)
Swallows And Amazons (Philippa Lowthorpe)
Miles Ahead (Don Cheadle)
I, Daniel Blake (Ken Loach)
Green Room (Jeremy Saulnier)
Supersonic (Mat Whitecross)
Dr Strange (Scott Derrickson)
2) OLD FILMS
I saw 91 old films this year, mainly Italian westerns of the ‘60s and ‘70s as usual. The best 10 were...
Groundhog Day (Harold Ramis 1993) *****
Duel (Steven Spielberg, 1971) *****
Cave Of The Yellow Dog (Byambasuren Davaa, 2005) *****
Southern Comfort (Walter Hill, 1981) *****
For A Few Dollars More (Sergio Leone, 1966) *****
Gallivant (Andrew Kotting, 1996) *****
Two Lane Blacktop (Monte Hellman, 1971) *****
Arriety (Hiromasa Yonebayashi , 2010) *****
The Fog (John Carpenter, 1980)*****
The Guest (Adam Wingard, 2014) ****
The rest were…
Galaxy Quest (Dean Parisot, 1999) ****
Django Prepare A Coffin (Ferdinando Baldi, 1968) ***
If You Meet Sartana, Pray For Your Death (G Parolini, 1968) ***
The Dirty Outlaws (El Desperado) (Franco Rosetti, 1967) ****
I Am Sartana, Your Angel Of Death (Guiliano Carmineo, 1969) ***
The Specialist (Sergio Corbucci, 1969) ****
$10 000 Blood Money (Romolo Guerrieri, 1967) ***
Four Of The Apocalypse (Lucio Fulci, 1975) ****
Texas Adios (Fernando Baldi, 1966) ***
Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes (John DeBello, 1978) ***
Keoma (Enzo Castellari, 1976) ****
Nanny McPhee (Kirk Jones, 2005) ***
Raiders Of The Lost Arc (Steven Speilberg, 1981) ***
Ratatouie (Brad Lewis, 2007) ****
Brother Outlaw (Edoardo Mulargia, 1971) ** (same opening as….)
Bury Them Deep (Paolo Moffa, 1968) **
The Incredibles (Brad Bird, 2004) ***
Mr Bug Goes To Town (Dave Fleischer, 1941) ****
Coffy (Jack Hill, 1973) ****
Foxy Brown (Jack Hill, 1974) ****
Best In Show (Christopher Guest 2000) ****
Iron Man (John Faverau 2008) ****
A Reason To Live, A Reason To Die (Tonino Valeri, 1972) ***
The Fellowship Of The Ring (Peter Jackson, 2001) ****
The Simpsons Movie (David Silverman, 2007)****
The Two Towers (Peter Jackson, 2002) ***
My Neighbour Totoro (Hayao Miyazaki, 1986) ****
The Return Of The King (Peter Jackson, 2003) ***
Death Race 2000 (Paul Bartell, 1977) ***
Ponyo (Hayao Miyazaki, 2008) ****
Tremors (Ron Underwood, 1990) ****
Rollerball (Norman Jewison, 1975) ****
The Viking Queen (Don Chaffey, 1967) **
Loch Ness (Jon Henderson, 1996) ****
Porco Rosso (Hayao Miyazaki, 1992) ****
The Wind Rises (Hayao Miyazaki, 2013) ****
Close Encounters Of The 3rd Kind (Spielberg 1977) ****
Kiki’s Delivery Service (Hayao Miyazaki, 1989) ****
Westworld (Michael Crichton, 1973) ***
Howl’s Moving Castle (Hayao Miyazaki, 2005) ****
Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (Mel Stuart, 1971) ****
The Deer Hunter (Michael Cimono, 1978) ****
Race With The Devil (Jack Starrett, 1975)****
The Time Machine (George Pal, 1960)***
Hannie Caulder (Burt Kennedy, 1971) ****
Charlie One-Eye (Don Chaffey, 1973) ****
Pale Rider (Clint Eastwood, 1985) ***
A Little Of What You Fancy (Michael Winner, 1968) **
Champagne Charlie (Alberto Cavalcanti, 1944) ****
Greyfriars Bobby (Don Chaffey, 1961) **
Midnight Run (Martin Brest, 1988)****
The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986)***
Privilege (Peter Watkins, 1966) ****
Silent Running (Douglas Trumbull, 1972) ****
Hidden Fortress (Akira Kurosawa, 1958) ****
Men In Black (Barry Sonnenfeld, 1997) ***
Cool Runnings (John Turteltaub, 1993)***
Dust Devil, The Final Cut (Richard Stanley, 1991) ****
When Marnie Was There (Hiromasa Yonebayashi, 2014) ****
The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982) ****
78 Killer Kid (Leopoldo Savona, 1967) **
Elf (John Faveraux, 2003) ****
Big Trouble In Little China (John Carpenter, 1986)
Cjamango (Edoardo Mulargia, 1967) ***
Ringo The Lone Rider (Rafael Romero Marchent, 1968) ***
Ultimate Killer (Giuseppe Vari, 1967) ***
Death Sentence (Mario Lanfranchi , 1968)****
Gatling Gun (Paolo Bianchini, 1968) ***
Sartana Does Not Forgive (Alonso Balcazar, 1968) ***
No Room To Die (Sergio Garrone, 1969) ****
Sno Angel Winging It (Maria Monchacz, 2009) ****
The Exterminating Angel (Luis Bunuel, 1962) ****
Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese, 1976) ****
3) NEW BOOKS
I read a pitiful nine new books this year. The best 4 were...
Alan Moore – Jerusalem
Lucy Newlyn – Earth’s Almanac
Alexei Sayle – Thatcher Stole My Trousers
Will Carruthers – Playing The Bass With Three Left Hands
Tim Richardson – Righteous Ire Of The Reincarnated Jethro Tull
Daniel Rachel – Walls Come Tumbling Down
Brix Start Smith – The Rise, The Fall and The Rise
Simon Woolstonecraft – You Can Drum But You Can’t Hide
Clinton Heylin - Year Zero
4) OLD BOOKS
I read 9 old books this year..
Sidharth Bhatia – India Psychedelica (2014)
Arthur Machen – Hill Of Dreams (1897)
Ithell Colquhoun – Crying Of The Wind (1955)
Ithell Colquhoun – The Living Stones (1957)
Eric Ratcliffe – Ithell Colquhoun (2007)
Arthur Machen - The Secret Glory (1908)
Francis Brett Young – Cold Harbour (1924)
Rex Warner - The Aerodrome (1941)
Shirley Collins – America Over The Water (2004)
5) COMICS
I barely even read any comics in 2016. Here’s some I remember reading..
Daniel Clowes – Patience *****
Weird Love 2
Mike Mignola - Hellboy In Mexico ****
6) TV NEW
I barely watched any new TV this year..
Better Call Saul series 1 *****
Better Call Saul series 2 *****
First Dates (C4) ****
Happy Valley (BBC2) *****
Line Of Duty series 2 (BBC2) ****
Gogglebox (C4) ****
Line of Duty s 3 (BBC2) ****
Grayson Perry’s All Man (C4) *****
Porridge (BBC1)
Fleabag (BBC2)
SAS Who Dares Wins (C4)
7) TV OLD
Here’s some old TV shows I watched
The Prisoner (series 1) *****
Kung Fu (seasons 1 and 2) *****
Columbo (seasons 2 and 3) *****
Wolf Hall (BBC2) *****
Over The Garden Wall (Cartoon Network) *****
Father Ted (series 1-3) *****
6) MAGAZINES AND PAPERS
The usual, but I have stopped reading Private Eye as they kept calling me a “curator” of ATP, in inverted commas, like I wasn’t.
Guardian, Observer, Mojo, Record Collector, Shindig, Wire, Viz, London Review Of Books, New Humanist, Faunus, Machenalia, Fringe Pig
7) RADIO
The Honey Dripper (Resonance)
The Today Program (R4) – though the experience of being interviewed by a James Naughty who managed to be both biased and ignorant at the same time has made me listen to it suspiciously now. I can hear the cogs turning.
8) THEATRE 2016
I saw nine bits of theatre in 2016. Emma Rice’s Midsummer Night’s Dream at Globe, after which she was sacked, and The Hackney Empire Sleeping Beauty, were the best.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Emma Rice, Globe) *****
Art (Old Vic) *****
Sleeping Beuty (Hackney Empire) *****
Team Viking (Just The Tonic) *****
Shouting Out Loud - Gaby Agis (Greenwich Borough Hall)
Chilcot Report (Bob’s Blundabus, Edinburgh)
Counting Sheep – Lemon Bucket Orchestra (Summerhall) ****
Let’s Put The Band Back Together (Summerhall)
Sleeping Beauty (Kenton Theatre, Henley On Thames)
9) COMEDY 2016
I saw 24 stand-alone comedy shows this year. The best seven were..
Nish Kumar – Actions speak louder …. (Pleasance) *****
Bridget Christie dvd show (Water Rats) *****
Lloyd Langford (White Horse, Free Fringe)
Joe Davis – Who’s The Daddy (Dragonfly)
Ghost Bus Tour (Edinburgh)
Kunt & The Gang (Free Sisters)
Mike Willmott – Uncle (Soho Theatre)
and
Richard Gadd Waiting For Gadot (Machynlleth)
Colin Hoult – Anna Mann (Pleasance)
Emma Sidi – Telenova (Pleasance)
Bill Burr (Pleasance)
Kieran Hodgson – Maestro (Voodoo Rooms, Free Fringe)
Improvised Sherlock Holmes (Just The Tonic)
James Acaster – Reset (Pleasance)
Will Franken (Stand)
Paul Currie (Heroes At The Hive)
Spencer Jones (Heroes At The Hive)
Johnny & The Baptists (Summerhall)
Michelle Wolfe (Pleasance)
Andy Doyle (Stand)
Simon Munnery’s 30th Fringe (Stand)
David O’Doherty (Assembly)
Grainne Maguire (Pleasance)
Arnold Brown’s 80th (Comedy Store)
10) GIGS 2016
I attended 37 musical events
No Cars/Stick In The Wheel (Union Chapel)
The Raincoats (Greenwich Borough Hall)
Fernando/Tom Heyman/Dan Stuart/Sid Griffin (The Islington) ****
Stiff Little Fingers (Forum)
Clipper/Wolfhounds/June Brides (100 Club) ****
Elle Osborne/Alasdair Roberts (St Pancras Old Church)
Jesus & Mary Chain (Forum)
Darren Hayman (Shacklewell Arms)
ATP Friday – Necks/Nightingales/Sleaford Mods/Roky Erickson/Richard Dawson/Ex-Easter Island Head/Richard Youngs & Damon Krukowski/Dave Graney *****
ATP Saturday – Bevis Frond/Ex/Heads/Fall/Steve Noble, John Edwards, Alan Wilkinson/Trash Kit/Richard Youngs/Blue Aeroplanes/Giant Sand/Bellrays *****
ATP Sunday – Bardo Pond/Flamin’ Groovies/Mission Of Burma/Trembling Bells/Evan Parker, John Russell, Mark Sanders, John Edwards, Thurston Moore/Dave Graney & The Mistly/Richard James/Suns Of The Tundra/ Damon & Naomi/Laura Cannell/Terrie Ex & Han Bennink *****
The Fall (Garage Monday)
Tania Chen (Café Oto)
The Fall (Garage Weds) *****
The Fall (Garage Thurs)
The Long Ryders (Under The Bridge) *****
Grant McLennan night – Left Outsides/Bill Botting & The 2 Drink Minimum/Wolfhounds/Pete Astor/Wave Pictures/Gerry Love (Bush Hall) *****
The Scientists (Lexington) ****
Barry Humphries’ Wiemar Cabaret (Usher Hall, Ed’bro)
Melbourne Ska Orchestra (Gilded Ballon)
Captain’s Bar Session (Captain’s Bar)
Blueswater – Queens Of The Blues (Space Triplex) *****
Blueswater – Titans Of The Blues (Surgeon’s Hall) *****
Blueswater – Titans Of The Blues (Surgeon’s Hall) again
Richard Dawson (Summerhall) *****
Blueswater – Titans Of The Blues (Surgeon’s Hall) again
Blueswater – Queens of the Blues (Space Triplex) again
Nick Cope – Songs For Kids (Gilded Balloon)
Blueswater – Queens Of The Blues (Space Triplex)
Savages (End Of The Road)
Laura Gibson (End Of The Road)
Jayhawks (Islington Assembly Hall)
The English Beat (Garage)
Howe Gelb (Genesis Cinema)
Howe Gelb Piano Trio (Café Oto) ****
Evan Parker, John Edwards, Mark Sanders, Shabaka Hutchings (Vortex) *****
ALBUMS I LISTENED TO IN THEIR ENTIRITY OLD SCHOOL THIS YEAR IN ONE SITTING AT A DESIGNATED DEVICE. I MAY HAVE LOST TRACK OF SOME HERE.
11) NEW RECORDS – 2016
I listened to 50 new albums this year. The best eight were
Shirley Collins Lodestar *****
Laura Cannell – Simultaneous Flight Movement *****
Howe Gelb – Future Standards *****
Dexys –Let The Record Show ****
Darren Hayman – Thankful Villages ****
Kosmischer Laufer - III ****
Smitten – Lonestar ****
Car Seat Headrest – Teens of Style ****
Also..
Richard Youngs – Inside The Future ****
Robert Pollard – Of Course You Are****
Lucinda Williams – The Ghosts Of Highway 20 ****
David Thomas Broughton – Crippling Lack ****
Billy Childish & CTMF – Sq 1 ****
Daniel Patrick Quinn – I, Sun ****
The Blue Aeroplanes – Welcome Stranger! ****
Wolfhounds – United Kingdom ****
Suns Of The Tundra – Bones of Brave Ships ****
Hawkwind – The Machine Stops
Sleaford Mods – TCR
Trembling Bells – Wide Majestic Aire
The Owl Service – His Pride. No Spear. No Friend.
Crumbling Ghost – Five Songs
Hope Sandoval & The Warm Intentions – Until The Hunter
Peter Case – Hwy 62
The Golden Void – Berkana
Climbing Trees – Borders
Drive By Truckers – American Band
Van Der Graaf Generator – Do Not Disturb
Kandodo McBain – Lost Chants
ESP Ohio – Starting Point Of The Royal Cyclopean
Jo Lepine & Friends – As The Blackbird In The Evening
The Fall – Wise Old Man
Stiff Little Fingers – No Going Back
Sun Dial – Made In The Machine
Levitation – Meanwhile Gardens
Lukas Graham – Blue Album
Black Bombers – s/t
Blaney w Mark E Smith – Urban Nature
Walter Salas Humara – Explodes And Disappears
Blueswater – Around Here
Blues Pills – Lady In Gold
Case/Lang/Viers – s/t
John Doe – The Westerner
Kris Drever – If Wishes Were Horses
Guided By Voices – Please Be Honest
Cotton Mather – Death Of The Cool
Teenage Fanclub – Here
Coal Porters – No 6
Kim Salmon – E(a)rnest
The Beat feat Ranking Roger – Bounce
Gord Downey – Secret Path
12) REISSUES, NEW OLD LIVE RECORDINGS, AND COMP’S – 2016
I listened to 25 new old records this year. The best 9 were…
Game Theory – Lolita Nation (1987)****
V/A Wayfaring Strangers Cosmic American Music *****
Velvet Crush – Pre-teen Symphonies (93/4)
Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs – Completely Under The Covers
V/A – I’m A Freak Baby *****
Paternoster – Paternoster (1972) ****
Yamasuki – Le Monde Fabuleux de Yamasuki (1971)
Guru Guru Groove Band – The Birth of Krautrock 1969 *****
Steamhammer – Mountain (1970)
V/A When Sharpies Ruled
V/A Golden State Psychedelia
Green On Red – Sympathy For The Devil (live 1985)
The Peace – Black Power (1974)
Betty Davis – The Columbia Years 1968-8
Folk Devils – Beautiful Monsters 1984-86
The Bangles – Ladies And Gentlemen
Leviathan – Leviathan (1969)
Syrinx – Tumblers from the Vaults 1970-72
The Bevis Frond – Sprawl (1994)
Big Brother & Holding Company – How Hard/Be A Brother (1970/71)
Marvin Gardens – 1968 (1968)
Folque – Folque (1974)
Kvartetten Som Sprangle – Kattvals (1973)
Les Rallizes Denudes – France Demo Tapes (1977?)
Jack Lee – Bigger Than Life, Anthology 1981-85
13) OLD OLD RECORDS THAT I LISTENED TO IN 2016
I listened to about a hundred old old records in 2016, many as part of an in-car on-tour exercise in listening to artists’ entire back catalogue irrespective of declines in quality, or during the school run. Here’s some of them. Many I failed to note down, or consumed ambiently against background noise, or conversation. I was in other people’s company much of the year. This list reflects that.
Sam Gopal – Escalator (1969)
The Byrds – Mr Tambourine Man (1965)
The Byrds – Turn! Turn! Turn! (1965)
The Byrds – Fifth Dimension (1966)
The Byrds – Younger Than Yesterday (1967)
The Byrds – The Notorious Byrd Brothers (1968)
The Byrds – Sweetheart of The Rodeo (1968)
The Byrds – Dr Byrds and Mr Hyde (1969)
The Byrds – The Ballad of Easy Rider (1969)
Dillinger And Trinity – Clash (1977)
The Byrds – Untitled/Unissued (1970)
The Byrds – Byrdmaniax (1971)
The Byrds – Farther Along (1971)
The Byrds – Byrds (1973)
REM - Chronic Town (1982)
REM - Murmur (1983)
REM - Reckoning (1984)
REM - Fables Of The Reconstruction (1985)
REM - Life’s Rich Pageant (1986)
REM - Document (1987)
REM - Dead Letter Office (1987)
REM - Green (1988)
REM - Out Of Time (1991)
REM - Automatic For The People (1992)
REM - Monster (1994)
REM - New Adventures In Hi-Fi (1996)
REM - Up (1998)
Van Morrison - 1967 New York Bang session (1967)
REM - Reveal (2001)
REM - Around The Sun (2004)
REM - Accelerate (2008)
REM - Collapse Into Now (2011)
David Bowie - The Rise And Fall of Ziggy Stardust … (1972)
Warren Zevon - Wanted Dead Or Alive (1969)
Warren Zevon - Warren Zevon (1976)
Warren Zevon - Excitable Boy (1978)
Warren Zevon - Bad Luck Streak In The Dancing School (1980)
Warren Zevon - The Envoy (1982)
Hindu Love Gods s/t (1984)
Warren Zevon - Sentimental Hygiene (1987)
Warren Zevon - The Wind (2003)
Sun Dial – Mind Control (2012)
Jimi Hendrix Experience – Are You Experienced? (1967)
Stiff Little Fingers – Inflammable Material (1979)
Nobody’s Heroes (1980)
Hanx (1980)
Go For It (1981)
Now Then (1982)
Pink Fairies - Finland Freakout (1971)
Pugwash – The Olympus Sound (2011)
Candidate – Under The Skylon (2004)
Nuala (2002)
Hot Tuna – Burgers (1972)
First Pull Up Then Pull Down (1971)
v/a Mindexpanders Box Set
Hawkwind – Warrior At The Edge Of Time (1975)
Krautrock Archives Vol 1
Krautrck Archives Vol 2
Krautrock Archives Vol 3
Temple – Temple (1976)
King Tubby Meets The Roots Radics – Dangerous Dub (1981)
Sonny Stitt – Now!/Salt And Pepper (1963)
Sonny Rollins/Don Cherry – Complete 1963 Paris Concert
The Selecter – Too Much Pressure (1980)
The Beat – I Just Can’t Stop It (1980)
Madness – Greatest Hits
Madness – One Step Beyond (1979)
Doctor Ross – The Memphis Cuts (1953-6)
Sisters Of Mercy – Some Girls Wander By Mistake (1992)
Howlin’ Wolf – Moanin’ (1958)
s/t (1962)
Live & Cookin’ (1972)
Miles Davis – Kind Of Blue (1959)
Lau – Arc Light (2009)
West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band –Part 1 (1966)
Volume 1 (1967)
Volume 3 (1967)
Guided By Voices – Suitcase 4 (2015)
Muddy Waters – Fathers And Sons (1969)
Gram Parsons – The Early Years (1963-5)
Fulsom Prison Blues ?
Miles Davis – Someday My Prince Will Come (1961)
Specials – More Specials (1980)
American Music Club – San Francisco (1994)
Pearl Jam – Backspacer (2011)
Pearl Jam – Lightning Bolt (2013)
The Faces – Ooh La La (1973)
The Last Resort – This Is My England Skinhead Anthems III (2013)
Little Sonny – Hard Up Goin’ (1973)
Black and Blue (1971)
The Vibrators – Pure Mania (1978)
Arvo Part – Spiegel im Spiegel (2006)
Salem 66 – Your Soul Is Mine Fork It Over (1983-7)
Neil Young – Harvest (1972)
14) HISTORIC SITES
I visited historic sites, including
Eastwood, birthplace of D H Lawrence
Roman goddess of Nemesis shrine in All Saints Church, Gresford, N Wales
Lagrasse Abbey
Grottes des Bev
Orford Castle
Sutton Hoo
Jervaulx Abbey
Caerleon ampitheatre
Twmbarlwm hill fort
Bolton Abbey
Middleham Castle
15) ART
Out There : Our Post-War Public Art – Somerset House
Velvet Underground Exposition – Philharmonie, Musee Music, Paris
Javier Perez – Lamentaciaones – Abbaye De Lagrasse, France
Ruby Pester and Nadia Rossi – Mother Tongue (Summerhall)
Mark Fell – Diagramming The Listener (Summerhall)
APG – Context Is Half The Work (Summerhall)
Cardiff Contemporary Installations, (The Angel, Cardiff)
Stewart Lee
2017-01-11T21:00:06+00:00
A merrie new year to ye all. What a terrible year 2016 was. This year will be worse, I expect. Never mind, see the cultural panaceas I am pushing. 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) The following link for tickets goes live 12/1/17 @ 10am https://leicestersquaretheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873569397/events All dates listed in full at the gigs page. Other extra dates by other comedians are available VIAGOGO Those utter wankstains at www.viagogo.co.uk are selling tickets from my Edinburgh tour dates at twice face value. Needless to say you can get seats for normal prices from the theatre itself and anyone found to have bought a ticket via Viagogo will not be let in. There is no need to be ripped off by Viagogo, whose activities will soon be illegal anyway, as they are criminals. Other secondary ticketing agencies 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. January 2017 Thursday January 12th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Friday January 13th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Monday January 16th - Content Provider, Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm SOLD OUT Tuesday...
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.
“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
All outstanding SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO dates have been or are being rescheduled. Any updates will be added to the LIVE DATES page of the website as soon as they're confirmed.
Here is an updated list of those that are confirmed and on-sale, although most are sold out anyway.
There are some new dates too, and there are sure to be some returns due to fear.
The Bristol date this time is The Hippodrome, as the lovely Colston Hall is closed for refurb and rename.
The Hippodrome is an ATG theatre. ATG tickets often end up on dodgy resale websites so please don’t pay over the odds.
We must thwart the criminal touts that the Tory Sajid Javid calls “legitimate entrepreneurs” who only annoy “the chattering middle classes”. I hope the theatres can hang in there.
SOME OF THESE DATES BELOW MAY END UP BEING MOVED AS ALL TOURING ARTISTS OF EVERY GENRE JUGGLE FOR RESCHEDULING SPACE , VENUES FIGHT TO STAY AFLOAT, AND bewildering GVT ADVICE EVOLVES AND CHANGES. DO NOT WORRY. ALL WILL BE WELL. WE WILL MEET AGAIN. DO NOT PANIC ABOUT WHEN YOU GET TO USE YOUR TICKETS.
As God said...
“Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?”
I AM YOUR GOD. YOU ARE MY FOWLS.
November 2020
Wednesday 4th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 4th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 11th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 11th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Sunday 15th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Sunday 15th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Monday 16th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Monday 16th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Tuesday 17th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Tuesday 17th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 18th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 18th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Thursday 19th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Thursday 19th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Sunday 22nd November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Sunday 22nd November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Monday 23rd November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Monday 23rd November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Tuesday 24th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Tuesday 24th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 25th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Wednesday 25th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Thursday 26th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Thursday 26th November 2020 - 8.45pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Bill Murray, Islington, London TICKETS
Sunday 29th November 2020 - 2pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Glasgow TICKETS
Sunday 29th November 2020 - 4.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Glasgow TICKETS
Sunday 29th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Glasgow TICKETS
Sunday 29th November 2020 - 9.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Glasgow TICKETS
Monday 30th November 2020 - 2pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Edinburgh TICKETS
Monday 30th November 2020 - 4.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Edinburgh TICKETS
Monday 30th November 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Edinburgh TICKETS
Monday 30th November 2020 - 9.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Edinburgh TICKETS
December 2020
Tuesday 1st December 2020 - 2pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Newcastle TICKETS
Tuesday 1st December 2020 - 4.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Newcastle TICKETS
Tuesday 1st December 2020 - 7pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Newcastle TICKETS
Tuesday 1st December 2020 - 9.30pm VIRUS TORNADO (Work In Progress) - The Stand, Newcastle TICKETS
February 2021
Monday 1st February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Playhouse, Leeds
Tuesday 2nd February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Playhouse, Leeds
Wednesday 3rd February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Playhouse, Leeds
Friday 5th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Playhouse, Nottingham TICKETS
Saturday 6th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Playhouse, Nottingham TICKETS
Sunday 7th February 2021 - Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton TICKETS
Tuesday 9th February 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Town Hall, Cheltenham TICKETS
Thursday 11th February 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge TICKETS
Friday 12th February 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Corn Exchange, Cambridge TICKETS
Tuesday 23rd February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April/May 2020 - Lyric @ The Lowry, Salford Quays TICKETS
Wednesday 24th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April/May 2020 - Lyric @ The Lowry, Salford Quays TICKETS
Thursday 25th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April/May 2020 - Lyric @ The Lowry, Salford Quays TICKETS
Friday 26th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April/May 2020 - Lyric @ The Lowry, Salford Quays TICKETS
Saturday 27th February 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April/May 2020 - Lyric @ The Lowry, Salford Quays TICKETS
March 2021
Monday 1st March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - The Marlowe, Canterbury TICKETS
Tuesday 2nd March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - The Marlowe, Canterbury TICKETS
Friday 5th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Northcott Theatre, Exeter TICKETS
Saturday 6th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Westlands, Yeovil TICKETS
Sunday 7th March 2021 - Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Hippodrome, Bristol TICKETS
Friday 12th March 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield TICKETS
Saturday 13th March 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Gala Theatre, Durham TICKETS
Sunday 14th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne TICKETS
Monday 15th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - Theatre Royal, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne TICKETS
Tuesday 16th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / Tornado - The Sands Centre, Carlisle TICKETS
Wednesday 17th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - King's Theatre, Glasgow TICKETS
Thursday 18th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from March 2020 - King's Theatre, Glasgow TICKETS
Wednesday 24th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - St. David's Hall, Cardiff TICKETS
Thursday 25th March 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - De La Warr Pavilion, Bexhill-on-Sea TICKETS
Friday 26th March 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Rose Theatre, Kingston TICKETS
April 2021
Monday 19th April 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Theatre Royal, Wakefield TICKETS
Tuesday 20th April 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Storyhouse, Chester TICKETS
May 2021
Tuesday 4th May 2021 - Snowflake / Tornado - Hall For Cornwall, Truro
Wednesday 5th May 2021 - Snowflake / Tornado - Hall For Cornwall, Truro
Friday 7th May 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - The Forum, Bath TICKETS
Saturday 8th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / Tornado - Hippodrome, Birmingham TICKETS
Saturday 15th May 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / Tornado - Lighthouse, Poole TICKETS
Sunday 16th May 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth TICKETS
Tuesday 18th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Wednesday 19th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Thursday 20th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Friday 21st May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Saturday 22nd May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Sunday 23rd May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Royal Festival Hall, Southbank, London TICKETS
Tuesday 25th May 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / Tornado - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford TICKETS
Wednesday 26th May 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / Tornado - Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford TICKETS
Thursday 27th May 2021 - Snowflake / Tornado - Theatre Severn, Shrewsbury
Friday 28th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Derby Theatre, Derby
Saturday 29th May 2021 - 8pm Snowflake / Tornado - Royal & Derngate, Northampton TICKETS
June 2021
Sunday 6th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Mayflower Theatre, Southampton TICKETS
Thursday 10th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - Theatre Royal, Norwich TICKETS
Sunday 13th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from May 2020 - Theatre Royal, Plymouth TICKETS
Friday 18th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from July 2020 - Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool TICKETS
Saturday 19th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from June 2020 - St. George's Hall, Bradford TICKETS
Sunday 20th June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / Tornado - City Hall, Sheffield TICKETS
Monday 21st June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April 2020 - Theatre Royal, York TICKETS
Tuesday 22nd June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April 2020 - Theatre Royal, York
Wednesday 23rd June 2021 - 7.30pm Snowflake / TornadoRescheduled from April 2020 - Theatre Royal, York
SOME WARM UP SHOWS THAT ARE PROBABLY SOLD OUT...
I am doing warm-up shows to rewrite the SNOWFLAKE half of SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO for the final 50 dates of the tour in 2021.
The dates are from Nov this year in smaller venues under covid conditions.
All monies will go to the venues as they get no aid. Here are some. They are probably all sold out as tix were v limited.
There will be more TBA. If they don’t happen they will be rescheduled/refunded, but it will be helpful for the venues to be able to sit on the ticket money anyway.
i) THE STAND - GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, NEWCASTLETICKETS HERE ii) THE BILL MURRAY, ISLINGTON, LONDONTICKETS HERE
In this week's episode, we invite cult meta-comedian and out-there-music connoisseur Stewart Lee to discuss the new documentary he's made with Michael Cumming about Prefects/Nightingales legend Robert Lloyd.
Stewart also pitches in on RBP's new audio interview, a 1991 conversation 'twixt the late Andy Gill and everyone's favourite choirboy-voiced Commie Robert Wyatt.
In addition we consider the week's featured RBP writer Caitlin Moran, with especial attention to her hair-raising 1994 encounter with Courtney Love. Plus we bid a fond farewell to Kool & the Gang co-founder Ronald "Khalis" Bell and to Simeon Coxe of pioneering '60s oscillators Silver Apples...
Finally, with intermittent interjections from Mr. Lee, Mark picks highlights from the week's trove of new additions to the RBP library, including top pieces on Jimi Hendrix, Rodney "Mayor of Sunset Strip" Bingenheimer, Spandau Ballet and inimitable drag superstar RuPaul.
With Stewart's tastes in mind, Jasper M-B spotlights Wire classics on Laurie Anderson and Japanese free-music extremist Keiji Haino. Many thanks to special guest Stewart Lee.
Find out more about King Rocker at kingrockerfilm.com.
Pieces discussed: Robert Lloyd, Nightingales, The Prefects, The Chameleons, Robert Wyatt audio, Courtney Love, Kylie Minogue, Spice Girls, Silver Apples, Kool & the Gang, Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Thunders & the Heartbreakers, Rodney Bingenheimer, Spandau Ballet, Brothers Johnson, Sinéad O'Connor, RuPaul, Keiji Haino and Laurie Anderson.
ii) LEICESTER COMEDY FESTIVAL STREAM, SEPT 24TH - LINK
Join Stewart Lee as he chats with Leicester Comedy Festival founding director Geoff Rowe about his comedy career, his highlights and views on the future of live comedy. Stewart is cited as the 41st best standup comedian ever, and has been gigging up and down the UK since he started performing comedy in the late 1980s.
He is an acclaimed writer, including reviews for The Sunday Times as well as a series of books, and has had his own series of TV show Comedy Vehicle. All profits from this event will go towards supporting Leicester Comedy Festival and the charity Big Difference Company (registered charity 1135167). The interview is pre-recorded lasting around 60 minutes and will not be live. The purchase of a ticket will give you access to this exclusive content for 24 hours from Thursday 24th September 8pm.
Tickets for our Interviews and Q&A events are usually £10. With times being difficult for many of us, we have decided to let you choose which price you pay and tickets are available for £5, £10 or £20. Your purchase supports Big Difference Company, Leicester Comedy Festival, and live comedy.
Thank you for your support.
iii) XTC FAN CONVENTION.LINK
I am doing something on-line in this year’s XTC fan convention, with much bigger XTC fans than me, but you have to be on facebook to find out what and how to access it.
I am not on facebook but here is the link to Swindon Events list.
3) KING ROCKER SHEFFIELD
Our documentary KING ROCKER has been selected for the Sheffield Documentary Festival in Oct/Nov this year.
There is also loads of other great news about it that I can’t share yet.
Everybody worked so hard on this, and mainly for nothing, so I am so glad it appears to be being so well received by those who have seen it.
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. Available to watch in the cinema or Sheffield Doc/Fest Selects in the Autumn.
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.
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/
BOOKS.
The Comedian Phil Kay has written some new books.
Phil Kay is great. Here is a link. https://philkay.online
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.)
Ian McPherson’s Hardly A Fit Subject For Levity - LISTEN HERE
The Internet
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
NEW FILMS
Honeyland (Tamara Kotevska, Ljubo Stefanov) Days of The Bagnold Summer (Simon Bird)
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
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)
BONUS FEATURE:
HERE IS A LIST OF ALL THE OLD FILMS I HAVE WATCHED SINCE LOCKDOWN
Django Kill (Guilio Questi, 1967)
Fracture (Gregory Hoblitt, 2007)
Swallows and Amazons (Philippa Lowthorpe, 2016)
Milford Graves - Full Mantis (Jake Meginsky, 2018)
Rahsaan Roland Kirk, 3 Sided Dream (Adam Kahan, 2014)
Play Misty For Me (Clint Eastwood, 1971)
‘Round Midnight (Bertrand Tavernier, 1986)
Roman Holiday (William Wylder, 1953)
Bird (Clint Eastwood, 1988) *
Lacombe Lucienne (Louis Malle, 1974)
Duel (Steven Spielberg, 1971)
Deep Rising (Stephen Sommers, 1998)
Contagion (Steven Soderbergh, 2011)
Duck, You Sucker! (157m extended)(Sergio Leone, 1971 )
Have A Good Funeral My Friend, Sartana Will Pay (G Carnimeo, 1970)
Light The Fuse, Sartana Is Coming (Guiliano Carnimeo, 1970)
First Blood (Ted Kotcheff, 1982)
Falling Down (Joel Schumacher, 1993) *
Companeros (Sergio Corbucci, 1970)
The Specialists (Sergio Corbucci, 1969)
What We Do In The Shadows (J Clement, T Waititi, 2014)
The Mercenary (Sergio Corbucci, 1968)
You Only Live Twice (Lewis Gilbert, 1967) *
Ghost Rider Spirit of Vengeance (Mark Nevildene, 2011) *
Attack The Block (Joe Cornish, 2011)
The Cat People (Val Lewton, 1942)
Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
Comedian (Christian Charles, 2002)
The Power of Grayskull (Randall Lobb, 2017)
Iron Man 3 (Shane Black, 2013)
Paranormal Activity (Oren Peli, 2007)
The Boy (William Brent Bell, 2016)
Age Of Innocence (Martin Scorsese, 1993)
Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (Stephen Herrick, 1989)
Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey (Pete Hewett, 1991)
Who Saw Her Die? (Aldo Lado, 1972)
Monty Python Conquers America (Will Yapp, 2008)
Before The Flying Circus (Ian Macnaughton, 2000)
The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963)
Spy (again) (Paul Fieg, 2015)
Midnight Run (again) (Martin Brest, 1988) Burn After Reading (Coen Brothers, 2008)
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)
Stewart Lee
2020-09-18T19:15:50+01:00
“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 All outstanding SNOWFLAKE / TORNADO dates have been or are being rescheduled. Any updates will be added to the LIVE DATES page of the website as soon as they're confirmed. Here is an updated list of those that are...
The Smiths - The Smiths - Rough Trade - Rough 61 Vocals – Morrissey, Guitars, Harmonica – Johnny Marr, Bass – Andy Rourke, Drums – Mike Joyce. Reel Around The Fountain; You’ve Got Everything Now; Miserable Lie; Pretty Girls Make Graves; The Hand That Rocks The Cradle; Still Ill; Hand In Glove; What Difference Does It Make?; I Don’t Owe You Anything; Suffer Little Children. Recorded at Pluto in Manchester, Eden in London, Matrix in London and Strawberry in Manchester, Winter 1983.
Released 1984 (UK), peaked at number 2.
The 80’s was an unlovely decade, politically, culturally, and musically, and tribal options for young music fans were unappetising. If you needed a sense of belonging, you could opt for the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal and sew a shiny Saxon patch onto your denim jacket, or become a crusty-goth and follow New Model Army, Skeletal Family and Southern Death Cult around drab Midland towns with an Army And Navy kitbag. Across the Atlantic, American bands like Hüsker Dü, Sonic Youth and REM were already doing amazing things, mixing psychedelia, avant garde noise and roots rock influences into a robust post-punk template. But they were far away. So is it any wonder that, in the months preceding the initial stirrings of The Smiths, even Lloyd Cole’s first album had seemed like a lifeline to would-be sensitive types without their own flag to wave.
When John Peel first started playing The Smiths’ debut single, Hand In Glove, in 1983, it was clear they would immediately find their own fanatical constituency. A 1984 Go-Betweens gig at Aston university saw a man with Morrissey hair dressed in Morrissey clothes cavorting with Morrissey moves at the front of the stage. How strange it must have been for the literate Australian expatriates to look down and realise their poetry reading, outcast fan-base was already moving on to a more easily assimilated idol. And when The Smiths’ eponymous album finally appeared, even though every song on it was familiar from bootlegs of Troy Tate’s scrapped studio versions that circulated with the cider at parties, it was an instant classic.
There can’t have been many albums stranger and more provocative than The Smiths to scale the heights of number 2 in the UK charts. Before the advent of the CD reissues and the full scale exhumation of the past, The Smiths’ twangy guitars and 60’s beat group stylings sounded vital and unprecedented, even though Johnny Marr’s Roger McGuinn flourishes were lost in a muggy mix and the keyboard parts, played by a bloke from Mike And The Mechanics, seemed somewhat superfluous. And in an era where the apogee of proto-Goth, post punk fashion was to go onstage looking like a mascara smeared Native American tribesman in a bin liner, The Smiths’ studied drabness seemed almost chic. Above all, in 1984, the weird Polytechnic literary criticism that passed for music journalism found its perfect fodder in Morrissey’s lyrics, which played multi-layered, ironic games with meaning, sexual identity, notions of the unreliable narrator, and saucy seaside postcard humour. In the 70’s spliffs were rolled on Led Zep and Yes gatefold sleeves, while Tolkienesque artwork was perused for clues. The lyrics on The Smiths offered a far more satisfying opportunity for detective work, even if some of Morrissey’s more oblique strategies were soon to explode in his scrumpled face.
The Smiths is an unashamedly provincial and nostalgic album. It couldn’t be written today, when there is a Weatherspoons pub in every high street and all city centres sport cobbled pavements and the same thirty shops. Morrissey’s imagery was defiantly not from London, and reflected the last gasp of a culturally specific notion of the North reflected by the 60’s kitchen sink dramas from which much of the band’s sleeve art was culled. The album’s vocabulary evokes a pre-lapserian age, where Morrissey could speak to confused adolescents about their confused adolescent sexuality using metaphors that today no-one would dare touch. Thus, The Smiths’ epic opener, Reel Around The Fountain, explores the loss of sexual innocence with lines that are at once lascivious, sleazy and impossibly romantic, over a woozy, hazy backing. The narrator of The Hand That Rocks The Cradle appears both touched and somehow enflamed by a child’s defencelessness. And Suffer Little Children is clearly a sincerely meant, if perhaps ill advised, elegy for the young victims of the Moors Murders, that, if it were any more musically or lyrically sophisticated, would seem unjustifiably offensive. Morrissey buckled in the predictable tabloid shit-storm that followed, and attempted to clarify his position. He’s since learned that a great artist need never explain or apologise.
Returning to The Smiths two decades later and listening anew, the enduring and absurd myth of Morrissey’s miserableness is instantly exploded. Here are dozens of hilarious lines that comfort and yet also mock the introspective audience that made the album their own. “I know I need hardly say how much I love your casual way but please put your tongue away”, pleads the protagonist over Miserable Lie’s full-on rockabilly rhythm, and who could have been stupid enough to take Still Ill’s “I decree today that life is simply taking and not giving. England is mine! It owes me a living.”, seriously? Rock’s idea of humour still only stretches as far as covering Simon and Garfunkel songs as if they were punk classics, or getting a rap about smoking dope onto Top Of The Pops. The Smiths, in contrast, evidences a genuine and timeless wit.
By the time The Queen Is Dead came out many of the band’s first fans had stopped listening to The Smiths. It was an Oedipal thing I think. What choice did a young man have when faced with something that exerted so powerful an influence on his life but to reject it. Nonetheless, their quiffs never quite grew out. And in the 90’s, when Cornershop and a host of NME journalists crucified Morrissey over his pre-Britpop use of Nationalistic imagery, might it not be fair to say that part of their anger was an attempt to annihilate the memory of their devoted, unquestioning teenage selves that snapped up The Smiths the day it hit the racks? I saw Morrissey again for the first time in nearly 20 years at his recent Royal Albert Hall show. It felt good to be back. He is that rare thing, a proper, old fashioned star. Relax, Smiths fans, and listen to that first album again. You were right all along.
Stewart Lee
2004-06-01T18:05:09+01:00
The Smiths - The Smiths - Rough Trade - Rough 61 Vocals – Morrissey, Guitars, Harmonica – Johnny Marr, Bass – Andy Rourke, Drums – Mike Joyce. Reel Around The Fountain; You’ve Got Everything Now; Miserable Lie; Pretty Girls Make Graves; The Hand That Rocks The Cradle; Still Ill; Hand In Glove; What Difference Does It Make?; I Don’t Owe You Anything; Suffer Little Children. Recorded at Pluto in Manchester, Eden in London, Matrix in London and Strawberry in Manchester, Winter 1983. Released 1984 (UK), peaked at number 2. The 80’s was an unlovely decade, politically, culturally, and musically, and tribal options for young music fans were unappetising. If you needed a sense of belonging, you could opt for the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal and sew a shiny Saxon patch onto your denim jacket, or become a crusty-goth and follow New Model Army, Skeletal Family and Southern Death Cult around drab Midland towns with an Army And Navy kitbag. Across the Atlantic, American bands like Hüsker Dü, Sonic Youth and REM were already doing amazing things, mixing psychedelia, avant garde noise and roots rock influences into a robust post-punk template. But they were far away. So is it any wonder that, in the months preceding the initial stirrings of The Smiths, even Lloyd Cole’s first album had seemed like a lifeline to would-be sensitive types without their own flag to wave. When John Peel first started playing The Smiths’ debut single, Hand In Glove, in 1983, it was clear they would immediately find their own fanatical constituency. A 1984 Go-Betweens gig at Aston university saw a man with Morrissey hair dressed in Morrissey clothes cavorting with Morrissey moves at the front of the stage. How strange it must have been for the literate Australian expatriates to look down...
Two things spring immediately to mind when confronted with the title to this show. It's an opera?
Surely it's just a single joke tenuously stretched over two hours?
Don't be dissuaded. It may have the structure of a conventional opera, and sure, it seems a bit of a one-trick pony at first. However the novelty value alone is enough to carry the show along enthusiastically to the end of the first half.
The show takes the form of one of Jerry's less subdued episodes. Chicks-with-dicks go head to head against slut junkies. Mullet-headed trailer trash beat on their wives in a barrage of foul-mouthed one-liners: "When you're dead and buried in the grass, I'll dig you up and fuck you up the ass," sung with uninhibited gusto by professionals. It then shifts into a more fantastical setting, building to an outrageous Miltonic climax in parts both offensive and hysterical.
It'd be false not to say it's only funny because people sing rude words, but fuck it, it works. The production's faultless, the performances are fantastic and there are enough laughs to go round, thanks to the better half of Lee and Herring having a hand in the script. If this isn't sold out every night, they might as well burn the Assembly Rooms to the ground.
Thrills: Talk to the hand, cos the face ain't listening.
Spills: Oh my God, I was wrong. It was Earth all along...
James Lyon
Director Stewart Lee explains the joys of Springer, and what happens when the voice of a soprano meets the language of a Soprano...
"We were interested in ethics and the human condition, about reconciliation and love. These are the things that people can relate to. Even if you can't see anything of yourself in a man who likes to dress up as a baby and shit his pants, you can empathise which his despair and frustration. I certainly do. I cry sometimes, when I watch it, actually. It's quite overwhelming.
"And yes, there's a lot of swearing, but after the first 15 minutes you just become immune to it. There's a song near the beginning called "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fucking fucking fuck," which isn't shocking at all, but it gets a big laugh. It's just stupid swearing. There's another bit when a woman sings "Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt!" and the fact that she is doing so over beautiful harmonies and melodies means that a totally different message is conveyed."
jerry springer: the opera- assembly rooms until aug 26 (not 13,20). 14.35 - £14.50 (£12.50)
Stewart Lee
2002-08-07T17:21:55+01:00
Two things spring immediately to mind when confronted with the title to this show. It's an opera? Surely it's just a single joke tenuously stretched over two hours? Don't be dissuaded. It may have the structure of a conventional opera, and sure, it seems a bit of a one-trick pony at first. However the novelty value alone is enough to carry the show along enthusiastically to the end of the first half. The show takes the form of one of Jerry's less subdued episodes. Chicks-with-dicks go head to head against slut junkies. Mullet-headed trailer trash beat on their wives in a barrage of foul-mouthed one-liners: "When you're dead and buried in the grass, I'll dig you up and fuck you up the ass," sung with uninhibited gusto by professionals. It then shifts into a more fantastical setting, building to an outrageous Miltonic climax in parts both offensive and hysterical. It'd be false not to say it's only funny because people sing rude words, but fuck it, it works. The production's faultless, the performances are fantastic and there are enough laughs to go round, thanks to the better half of Lee and Herring having a hand in the script. If this isn't sold out every night, they might as well burn the Assembly Rooms to the ground. Thrills: Talk to the hand, cos the face ain't listening. Spills: Oh my God, I was wrong. It was Earth all along... James Lyon Director Stewart Lee explains the joys of Springer, and what happens when the voice of a soprano meets the language of a Soprano... "We were interested in ethics and the human condition, about reconciliation and love. These are the things that people can relate to. Even if you can't see anything of yourself in a man who likes to dress...
It is impossible to produce an irreverent historical comedy without inviting comparisons with Blackadder and this romp certainly knows it. Writer Stewart Lee even makes a pre-emptive strike by namechecking Baldrick and co's authors Ben Elton and Richard Curtis. Maybe he should give them some royalties, too.
The tissue-thin plot involves Raleigh (Miles Jupp) wooing Queen Bess (cross-dressing Simon Munnery). After bragging about winning "Celebrity Cock-Fighting On Ice" his seduction technique falters. The potato-populariser promptly finds himself facing the chop.
And that is it. Numerous jokes feel as if they date back to 1600 and the cast often seems to be enjoying proceedings more than the audience. Amiable posho Jupp has a whiff of Stephen Fry about him, while Munnery's gnomic one-liners sound smuggled in from his stand-up: "Violence is the only language the Spanish understand... and Spanish, of course."
This is Stewart Lee going for broad laughs in silly rather than subversive mode. As history mash-ups go, it is harmlessly daft fun. The sight of two grown men wearing ships on their heads is worth the ticket price alone.
It is impossible to produce an irreverent historical comedy without inviting comparisons with Blackadder and this romp certainly knows it. Writer Stewart Lee even makes a pre-emptive strike by namechecking Baldrick and co's authors Ben Elton and Richard Curtis. Maybe he should give them some royalties, too. The tissue-thin plot involves Raleigh (Miles Jupp) wooing Queen Bess (cross-dressing Simon Munnery). After bragging about winning "Celebrity Cock-Fighting On Ice" his seduction technique falters. The potato-populariser promptly finds himself facing the chop. And that is it. Numerous jokes feel as if they date back to 1600 and the cast often seems to be enjoying proceedings more than the audience. Amiable posho Jupp has a whiff of Stephen Fry about him, while Munnery's gnomic one-liners sound smuggled in from his stand-up: "Violence is the only language the Spanish understand... and Spanish, of course." This is Stewart Lee going for broad laughs in silly rather than subversive mode. As history mash-ups go, it is harmlessly daft fun. The sight of two grown men wearing ships on their heads is worth the ticket price alone. Croydon Clocktower, 16 October (020 8253 1030, www.croydonclocktower.org.uk).
On the tabla-propelled Travel, The Sails play sitar-flanged psychedelia in the style of The Beatles' post-enlightenment incarnation. Yesterday And Today draws a line from Honeybus' 1968 single I Can't Let Maggie Go to The La's' wondrous eighties one hit There She Goes.
Dogs plunders the twelve-string folk-rock of The Hollies, in the interlude between ditching their matching suits and swallowing their sugar cubes.
If all late sixties British acid-pop were destroyed, and recreated from DNA particles lodged in Oasis' Dig Out Your Soul album, it might sound like A Headful Of Stars, an extremely satisfying exercise in reconstructive surgery.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-09T21:35:11+00:00
On the tabla-propelled Travel, The Sails play sitar-flanged psychedelia in the style of The Beatles' post-enlightenment incarnation. Yesterday And Today draws a line from Honeybus' 1968 single I Can't Let Maggie Go to The La's' wondrous eighties one hit There She Goes. Dogs plunders the twelve-string folk-rock of The Hollies, in the interlude between ditching their matching suits and swallowing their sugar cubes. If all late sixties British acid-pop were destroyed, and recreated from DNA particles lodged in Oasis' Dig Out Your Soul album, it might sound like A Headful Of Stars, an extremely satisfying exercise in reconstructive surgery.
A few days before the end of the England trip, we managed to watch A Room with a Stew by Stewart Lee, a comedian my wife’s family, who the UK Border Agency hadn’t wanted me to see, gave me the gift of knowing about. Truth is, the hour and a half I spent watching Stew was the only time while I was in England that I felt there’s something to envy the English for.
In a TV interview, Stewart Lee explains that when you see his dark jokes and see other people’s dark jokes, you’ll know exactly why the others never take the extra step — take it to the end — and why he does. Stewart Lee is not famous in Egypt because his videos don’t show up in the related list when you’re watching Louis CK on YouTube.
In A Room with a Stew, Stew jokes about how he’s always named his pets after celebrities. He tells the story of his dog that had the name of a B-list British actor, and how his dog died after a failed jump to a high shelf. He seals the joke with a simile between the dog and the actor and how both met their end while still thinking they could reach something much higher than their true capabilities. A section of the audience releases a sympathetic wince. Stew looks at them and nods unapologetically as if to say: “Yes, it’s not a joke.”
The thing I find most interesting about Stew’s comedy — other than it being extremely English — is how it analyzes the very phenomenon of making people laugh. He doesn’t just superficially bring up his own miseries or other people’s miseries to make you accept sadness and have more hope in tomorrow and love life. When he says something sad he means it. He makes you laugh at how sad it is, not despite how sad it is. There’s no denial in it, and it’s not delivered in a “funny” way. He also judges you in your laughter and tells you why you’re laughing at one thing more than something else.
The first thing I remember watching by Stewart Lee was a show called 41st Best Comedian Ever, where he talks about being ranked as the 41st best comedian in the UK. Of course this is sad, and it’s definitely funny. What does such a ranking mean? What does ranking itself mean after number 3? Or 10? In the show he talks about how his mum attended the show of a famous traditional comedian who was ranked higher than him while she was on a cruise. He imitates his old mother trying — with great admiration — to tell him the joke, he said, that she really loved. It takes him 30 minutes almost, during which he repeats a sentence expressing how clever this other comedian is nearly 30 times. He finally tells the joke his mum loved, in the silliest possible way, and the audience laugh really hard at how silly it is.
Many comedians repeat a joke to milk out the last drop of laughter, yet repeating a joke is a haunting nightmare for a comedian who’s slowly and steadily mauling his self-confidence and his ability to create. Stew breaks into this nightmare, tames it and makes it do exactly what he wants. Despite how dangerous repetition is, repetition is always the most unpredictable joke.
When Stewart Lee makes fun of young people, he first makes fun of himself for being old, then makes fun of the kind of jokes he made when he was younger, then makes fun of what young people are into compared to what old people are into, then he pushes the old person’s game to the end and says today’s kids think they’re into violent sex but our old timers’ violent sex used to end up in death or in hospitals. You find yourself thinking about how ridiculous it is to brag about things you have no hand in, like when you’re born, even though Stew doesn’t say that.
Stew says: Young people aren’t into my comedy? Of course, because they like other stuff. Young people like smartphones. Then he pretends the microphone is a phone and keeps hitting it with his finger with a manic expression on his face, and he does it for 40 seconds until you hate yourself.
Stew is aware of people’s love for the rudeness of jokes, and their longing to hear what should never be said. He appears to have more fun the ruder and more decadent his jokes get. Also what Stew does feels a lot more complicated than a direct response to this primitive urge for impropriety.
Stew plays multiple characters in his show. He says many things he would never say in normal life. He responds to your expectations, ambitions and suppressed dreams and lets you hear what your subconscious wants you to hear, but he does it with conscience. He gets you involved in the moment and explains to you what’s going on. It feels like a psychological experiment.
In A Room with a Stew there’s a 30-minute segment about Islamophobia where he talks about the West’s relationship with Islam and Muslims at the moment. He acts out an imagined argument with an angry right-wing Islamophobic English person who’s mad at Stew and his blind Muslim-aligned prejudice because of Stew’s feeble liberal political correctness. Stew tries to please this angry white person and promises him that within the next half hour he will tear Muslims apart. He starts thinking out loud, and tries to formulate the joke the way the bigot will like it, then he starts saying it. You see very clearly how he comes out of his own skin and down to the level of the argument to please, and you think of every similar public act of rhetoric that lowers itself the same way, and you laugh at Stew swinging back and forth on the stage chewing nothing in his mouth.
In his show Stew calls himself a politically correct liberal comedian. He quietly explains between jokes what he thinks is wrong with his country. He talks about minorities and social harmony, he talks about nationalism and makes fun of the British national anthem. At the same time he presents an extremely funny and extremely complex show. He talks about how he writes, how he designs his script and adjusts his timing. He says what he thinks of himself and other people doing the same job. He also makes fun of religions and religious people, his audience and everything.
To put it simply: He says everything he wants without offending anyone.
>Watching Stewart Lee was a comfortable experience in the middle of the chaos of the England visit, all the emotional expectations around it and actually being surrounded by England. It was comfortable because — unlike central London where the theater was located and unlike Louis CK — it was realistic and honest, and its anaesthetic repetitiveness synchronized smoothly with the world's normal repetitiveness, just like the guitar in The Fall’s Blindness, which played on loop from the theater’s speakers until Stew emerged at the beginning of the show. We just noticed now how similar it is to Roots Manuva’s Witness the Fitness, which I sung with my wife’s family — who the UK Border Agency doesn’t want me to hang out with — throughout the holiday.
Stewart Lee
2016-01-19T20:05:27+00:00
A few days before the end of the England trip, we managed to watch A Room with a Stew by Stewart Lee, a comedian my wife’s family, who the UK Border Agency hadn’t wanted me to see, gave me the gift of knowing about. Truth is, the hour and a half I spent watching Stew was the only time while I was in England that I felt there’s something to envy the English for. In a TV interview, Stewart Lee explains that when you see his dark jokes and see other people’s dark jokes, you’ll know exactly why the others never take the extra step — take it to the end — and why he does. Stewart Lee is not famous in Egypt because his videos don’t show up in the related list when you’re watching Louis CK on YouTube. In A Room with a Stew, Stew jokes about how he’s always named his pets after celebrities. He tells the story of his dog that had the name of a B-list British actor, and how his dog died after a failed jump to a high shelf. He seals the joke with a simile between the dog and the actor and how both met their end while still thinking they could reach something much higher than their true capabilities. A section of the audience releases a sympathetic wince. Stew looks at them and nods unapologetically as if to say: “Yes, it’s not a joke.” The thing I find most interesting about Stew’s comedy — other than it being extremely English — is how it analyzes the very phenomenon of making people laugh. He doesn’t just superficially bring up his own miseries or other people’s miseries to make you accept sadness and have more hope in tomorrow and love life. When he says something...
On their second album, The June re-animate familiar sixties sounds via the conduits of the Eighties American Paisley underground bands and the Nineties Britpop groups that also assimilated them.
Despite the trio hailing from Parma, Italy, Christian Ravanetti perfectly replicates Liam Gallagher's nasally elongations of John Lennon's flattened Liverpool vowels.
The June's vintage Rickenbackers sound as authentic as their accents are geographically accurate, and the Strawberry Fields keyboard steal on I'm Looking Out is brazen. Green Fields And Rain might be a third generation photocopy, but the colours still flicker.
Stewart Lee
2011-01-30T20:34:10+00:00
On their second album, The June re-animate familiar sixties sounds via the conduits of the Eighties American Paisley underground bands and the Nineties Britpop groups that also assimilated them. Despite the trio hailing from Parma, Italy, Christian Ravanetti perfectly replicates Liam Gallagher's nasally elongations of John Lennon's flattened Liverpool vowels. The June's vintage Rickenbackers sound as authentic as their accents are geographically accurate, and the Strawberry Fields keyboard steal on I'm Looking Out is brazen. Green Fields And Rain might be a third generation photocopy, but the colours still flicker.
The Ohio senator JD Vance has attacked “childless cat ladies”, going so far as to suggest infertile cat owners, or cat owners choosing life without children, should enjoy reduced voting rights. Donald Trump has already alienated Elvis Presley fans (“Elvis didn’t have 50,000 people and he had a guitar… I don’t have a guitar”) and the wind (“I never understood wind … I’ve studied it better than anybody”). Now Vance is politicising pets. The MP for Clacton, Nigel Farage, has called Vance a “top man”. Farage fuels violence, as we saw in the moving cocaine-and-cider vigil in Southport last week. Should Clacton cats, and Clacton cat ladies, fear the fist of Farage?
Rightwingers aiming to weaponise pets should remember the old showbiz adage: “Never work with animals and children.” Especially if, as the American alt-right theorist Jack Psobiec suggests they should, the Republicans sign up the Trumpanzee rock star Ted Nugent. The blood sports enthusiast, and author of the song Jailbait, already has demonstrably poor history with both wildlife and the young.
In 2019, the then prime minister Boris Johnson acquired a jack russell cross called Dilyn to try to seem normal. But the dog savaged the stuffed lemur of an award-winning boy, spaffed up random visiting dignitaries’ trousers, and sexually assaulted a stool made from the foot of an elephant killed by Roosevelt, disrespecting the special relationship and endangered species simultaneously. The journalists outside Chequers looked from dog to man, and from man to dog, and from dog to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.
The former prime minister David Cameron’s disputed student friendship with an accommodating pig has become legendary, largely because no one can prove it ever happened. The story was allegedly sourced by the Brexit idiot Isabel Oakeshott from the then Westminster Conservative MP Mark Field, but he denies everything. Piggate aside, Field is most famous for grappling a Greenpeace protester at a Mansion House banquet in 2019 while shouting: “This is what happens when people like you disturb our dinner.” If Field had been at the Oxford feast where Cameron befriended the pig, the Mansion House banquet wouldn’t have been the most disturbed dinner he ever attended, so he would definitely have remembered it.
We all know that Alastair Campbell, when Tony Blair was on the verge of first admitting the sheer depth of his religious convictions, told him: “We don’t do God.” What’s less well known is that the spinmeister general also advised “We don’t do pets,” when Blair suggested winning back old Labour’s northern heartlands by releasing video of himself and his wife, Cherie, dressed as prize whippet and a racing pigeon respectively.
But in choosing to denigrate cats and their owners, are the Republicans on to something? In 2021, researchers revealed that US voters with conservative beliefs tended to dislike cats. The former Washington Post reporter Christopher Ingraham summarised the findings: “Conservatives hold strong anti-cat biases, likely stemming from cats’ disregard for social hierarchies, their general lack of loyalty, and their refusal to submit to authority.” Are cats instinctively left of centre? Can it be mere coincidence that Rishi Sunak’s memorably soggy election date announcement was further sabotaged by the Downing Street cat, Larry, shuffling about on the No 10 steps, like Eric Morecambe in the background of an excruciating Ernie Wise song?
I do not wish to make light of postal workers’ suffering, but can it also be mere coincidence that, during the decade in which the Conservatives’ dismantling of Royal Mail escalated, attacks on mail delivery people by presumably right-leaning dogs have also increased, with more than 1,000 post-persons losing a finger or part of one in the past five years? The Royal Mail’s Lizz Lloyd was rightly angry to see “postman-flavour” dog treats for sale at a stately home. It is as wrong as if the JoJo Maman Bébé line were to make costly leotards emblazoned with the face of Trump’s rock-star supporter Ted Nugent.
I allow two cats to live with me: one rescued from a litter in a back garden where foxes slaughtered its siblings; the other found in a cardboard box outside the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ Kingdom Hall on Stamford Hill. As an adoptee, I relate to them, and am fascinated as I watch their abandonment issues develop. Archie, at only a year old, drinks far too much cat milk, while Winged Ear Fingerling, a year older, I estimate, has retreated into a solipsistic world of narcissistic fantasy. And yes I, a cat man, didn’t vote for Reform.
As if to prove the point, Adolf Hitler, arguably the most rightwing person who has ever lived, of course had a dog, which was given to him by his personal secretary, the Nazi Martin Bormann, another known rightwinger. Hitler named the German shepherd Blondi, which was rather on the nose given his passionate belief in Aryan supremacy. It’s as if Nigel Farage had instead named his two dogs, Pebble and Baxter, after what he believed in: Money and Nothing.
But today Blondi seems a better pet name, politically, than that favoured by the Dambuster airman Wing Commander Guy Gibson, whose dog’s name cannot be mentioned now because of the wokeness gone mad, those wokies and that wokery. Indeed, the dog’s Scampton gravestone was replaced by the RAF in 2020, at a cost of £675. This was fortunate, as the former RAF base’s fences are now used to contain asylum seekers, and an actual grave bearing a racial slur would make them paranoid. The Conservative party leadership contender and Disney-mural desecrator Robert Jenrick would doubtless have had the original grave reinstated, a deterrent even more powerful than Rwanda. I think all politicians should play by 70s swimming pool rules. No petting!
Stewart Lee
2024-08-04T19:12:46+01:00
The Ohio senator JD Vance has attacked “childless cat ladies”, going so far as to suggest infertile cat owners, or cat owners choosing life without children, should enjoy reduced voting rights. Donald Trump has already alienated Elvis Presley fans (“Elvis didn’t have 50,000 people and he had a guitar… I don’t have a guitar”) and the wind (“I never understood wind … I’ve studied it better than anybody”). Now Vance is politicising pets. The MP for Clacton, Nigel Farage, has called Vance a “top man”. Farage fuels violence, as we saw in the moving cocaine-and-cider vigil in Southport last week. Should Clacton cats, and Clacton cat ladies, fear the fist of Farage? Rightwingers aiming to weaponise pets should remember the old showbiz adage: “Never work with animals and children.” Especially if, as the American alt-right theorist Jack Psobiec suggests they should, the Republicans sign up the Trumpanzee rock star Ted Nugent. The blood sports enthusiast, and author of the song Jailbait, already has demonstrably poor history with both wildlife and the young. In 2019, the then prime minister Boris Johnson acquired a jack russell cross called Dilyn to try to seem normal. But the dog savaged the stuffed lemur of an award-winning boy, spaffed up random visiting dignitaries’ trousers, and sexually assaulted a stool made from the foot of an elephant killed by Roosevelt, disrespecting the special relationship and endangered species simultaneously. The journalists outside Chequers looked from dog to man, and from man to dog, and from dog to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which. The former prime minister David Cameron’s disputed student friendship with an accommodating pig has become legendary, largely because no one can prove it ever happened. The story was allegedly sourced by the Brexit idiot Isabel Oakeshott from the...
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...
As well as being a playwright, Mark Ravenhill is also a witty and astute newspaper columnist, writing about the business of being a playwright.
And in a sense, it is this Ravenhill who is to the fore in Product: World Remix, his mordant hour-long monologue satirising the movie industry (the first of these two short shows). Ravenhill plays James, a monstrous film producer trying to sell an unspeakably tasteless script to the bankable actress he needs on board to sell the project. She sits, poised in mute disdain as he gives a blow-by-blow account of the excesses of the story.
It is a piece of post-9/11 schlock about a beautiful western woman who falls in love with a "dusky" stranger named Mohammed and is drawn into his plans for jihad.
Ravenhill the writer is acidly funny about the moral vacuity of his character, whose avowed sensitivity sees no problem in making dollars out of suicide bombers, banking on fear and reducing critical global tensions to a series of slickly filmed images. Ravenhill the actor plays him as a vulture in a designer suit, circling round his target, creepy in his desperation as he alternately crows, flatters and wheedles. Jo Lobban, meanwhile, is delightful as the silent actress, occasionally raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows in faint surprise as the script takes yet another implausible twist.
It is mercilessly funny and written with panache. It is also necessarily unsubtle, the drawback to this being that it goes on for some time after the point has been made. Still, expect to see Mohammed and Me on some screen or other sometime.
Product: World Remix is playing alongside What Would Judas Do? by Stewart Lee.
Lee is a stand-up comedian and brings his skill at working an audience to bear on this short play. He plays Judas Iscariot, here to explain his behaviour. His Judas is a fervent but not very bright disciple, a would-be revolutionary, disappointed that his leader did not capitalise on his chance to bring the social structure tumbling down and convinced that his role, in betraying Jesus, is to carry forward the work.
It is a droll yet thought-provoking piece, and Lee charms his audience by roving round the theatre, handing out packets of nuts for correct answers to questions on scripture and drafting them in to eat bread and drink wine at the Last Supper.
Ingenious and interesting.
Stewart Lee
2007-01-16T20:19:09+00:00
As well as being a playwright, Mark Ravenhill is also a witty and astute newspaper columnist, writing about the business of being a playwright. And in a sense, it is this Ravenhill who is to the fore in Product: World Remix, his mordant hour-long monologue satirising the movie industry (the first of these two short shows). Ravenhill plays James, a monstrous film producer trying to sell an unspeakably tasteless script to the bankable actress he needs on board to sell the project. She sits, poised in mute disdain as he gives a blow-by-blow account of the excesses of the story. It is a piece of post-9/11 schlock about a beautiful western woman who falls in love with a "dusky" stranger named Mohammed and is drawn into his plans for jihad. Ravenhill the writer is acidly funny about the moral vacuity of his character, whose avowed sensitivity sees no problem in making dollars out of suicide bombers, banking on fear and reducing critical global tensions to a series of slickly filmed images. Ravenhill the actor plays him as a vulture in a designer suit, circling round his target, creepy in his desperation as he alternately crows, flatters and wheedles. Jo Lobban, meanwhile, is delightful as the silent actress, occasionally raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows in faint surprise as the script takes yet another implausible twist. It is mercilessly funny and written with panache. It is also necessarily unsubtle, the drawback to this being that it goes on for some time after the point has been made. Still, expect to see Mohammed and Me on some screen or other sometime. Product: World Remix is playing alongside What Would Judas Do? by Stewart Lee. Lee is a stand-up comedian and brings his skill at working an audience to bear on this short play....
Ruth is phoning her favourite late-night phone-in. "Barry," she enthuses to the host, "you are a prick in the conscience of the nation." Night after night in the small hours, talk radio host Barry Champlain listens to the deranged, the bigoted, the heart-broken and the plain stupid as they pour out their tears, bile and bewilderment over the airwaves. So successful is his show that it is about to go national, but there is one last crazy night to get through.
The first show from the new Comedians Theatre Company, dedicated to letting stand-ups get their teeth into meaty drama, this revival of Eric Bogosian's 1980s play is a curious choice. Inspired by the murder of liberal radio talk show host Alan Berg, Bogosian's play pre-dates the rise of the rightwing shock jock, and as an excavation of the American psyche looks rather dated. It fails to tell us much we don't already know about a misfit America of religious maniacs, racists and deranged pet-lovers whose provincialism means their understanding of the world doesn't extend beyond their own navels.
With a much sharper production than we are offered here from Stewart Lee, and in a more intimate space than the Udderbelly, this might work better. The show should be as unsettling as an anonymous dirty phone call, rather than light and cosy. The team of comics are good as the disembodied voices who phone in, but although Phil Nichol works hard as Champlain, he lacks the sense of despair and savagery that the host should feel about the nation as he listens to the poison oozing across the airwaves. As a result, it is Will Adamsdale's over-the-top comic turn as a drug-befuddled teenager who lingers in the mind.
Stewart Lee
2006-08-08T14:21:22+01:00
Ruth is phoning her favourite late-night phone-in. "Barry," she enthuses to the host, "you are a prick in the conscience of the nation." Night after night in the small hours, talk radio host Barry Champlain listens to the deranged, the bigoted, the heart-broken and the plain stupid as they pour out their tears, bile and bewilderment over the airwaves. So successful is his show that it is about to go national, but there is one last crazy night to get through. The first show from the new Comedians Theatre Company, dedicated to letting stand-ups get their teeth into meaty drama, this revival of Eric Bogosian's 1980s play is a curious choice. Inspired by the murder of liberal radio talk show host Alan Berg, Bogosian's play pre-dates the rise of the rightwing shock jock, and as an excavation of the American psyche looks rather dated. It fails to tell us much we don't already know about a misfit America of religious maniacs, racists and deranged pet-lovers whose provincialism means their understanding of the world doesn't extend beyond their own navels. With a much sharper production than we are offered here from Stewart Lee, and in a more intimate space than the Udderbelly, this might work better. The show should be as unsettling as an anonymous dirty phone call, rather than light and cosy. The team of comics are good as the disembodied voices who phone in, but although Phil Nichol works hard as Champlain, he lacks the sense of despair and savagery that the host should feel about the nation as he listens to the poison oozing across the airwaves. As a result, it is Will Adamsdale's over-the-top comic turn as a drug-befuddled teenager who lingers in the mind.
Well, what can I say? I bought this book a couple of months ago, for when I went on holiday. Being an immense fan of Lee, I found it incredibly hard to resist taking a look at it until then! But it was lucky that I did, because from the second I started reading I was unable to put it down. But this book is more than just an excellent way to pass an 8-hour plane journey.
Oh yes.
It's a collection of stories, all concerning the grim underbelly of our world, and the people who inhabit it. Eventually, all their tales beautifully interwind into one. This book takes in the freemasons, burned-out 60's rock stars, women who can't keep a living boyfriend, and a motely crew of other no-hopers.
I don't want to give away the plot, but I will say this: It's an amazing book, and you'd have to be bl***y stupid to pass it up. Bl***y, bl***y stupid indeed.
Stewart's Comments: "I am delighted Iain enjoyed the book so much, but there is no excuse for bad language."
Stewart Lee
2001-09-06T14:56:17+01:00
Well, what can I say? I bought this book a couple of months ago, for when I went on holiday. Being an immense fan of Lee, I found it incredibly hard to resist taking a look at it until then! But it was lucky that I did, because from the second I started reading I was unable to put it down. But this book is more than just an excellent way to pass an 8-hour plane journey. Oh yes. It's a collection of stories, all concerning the grim underbelly of our world, and the people who inhabit it. Eventually, all their tales beautifully interwind into one. This book takes in the freemasons, burned-out 60's rock stars, women who can't keep a living boyfriend, and a motely crew of other no-hopers. I don't want to give away the plot, but I will say this: It's an amazing book, and you'd have to be bl***y stupid to pass it up. Bl***y, bl***y stupid indeed. Stewart's Comments: "I am delighted Iain enjoyed the book so much, but there is no excuse for bad language."
“I would like to carry on doing this into my mid to late-60s, minimum. I am not going to write a play or do a novel or host anything or do a film. I would like to do this”
Stewart Lee has returned for a fourth series of his acclaimed, complicated and bellyachingly funny BBC2 comedy series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle – and now he has to deal with that success.
For those who haven’t seen it, the show is a stand up routine in which Lee adopts the persona of Stewart Lee – a kind of more idealistic, angrier and pettier version of himself – and performs in front of an audience. The first episode (Wealth) was last week and episode two (Islamaphobia) is on tonight. They are brilliant.
The show offers a fascinating interplay between Lee and his live audience (“who are sort of trapped”), Lee and the audience at home (whom he frequently addresses by pointing his face at the camera) and, most importantly, between Lee and himself.
“He is mainly me but I have to create some distance to do it night after night,” Lee tells RadioTimes.com. “It’s like being in a double act but with yourself. He’s more of a bad drunk version of me. He’s more arrogant. He’s more given to emotional outbursts, he’s more petty-minded. But on the positive side he’s also a moral absolutist about what’s right and wrong. He’s like an exaggerated version of me. He’s able to live a different side of me.”
It’s finely crafted, deeply nuanced stuff and the character has developed from series one where he was a man on the outside, trying to get in, having been given a BBC TV series and berating people who couldn’t recognise his genius. With four series now under his belt, the outsider shtick won’t rub, as Lee himself admits.
“I think a comedian has to be low status on some level, that gives you the right to do all sorts of jokes about all sorts of different kinds of people. But that idea was compromised because the series kept getting recommissioned which sort of lends me a degree of status.
“If you look at the first couple of series I am much more arrogant on stage. And I could afford to be because the series was still a new thing. Now it’s more established you have got to undercut yourself even more. So you have a right to do jokes. So now I am making myself look like I am on the edge of losing it.
“My character now hates himself because things are going well. In the first series he was convinced he was brilliant and the problem was entirely with the audience for not getting how good he was. Now it’s going well, he’s wracked with this terrible doubt about what he’s doing which of course, is from me. I have always been the sort of person who thought that popular things were rubbish. It’s a bit of a double bind.”
In reality too, Lee’s audiences – the real Lee’s audiences – have swelled since his TV show. But instead of killing off the concept (as he feared) that has actually made it funnier and more complex. His frustrations as he struggles with his success are the point now.
Truth and identity are elusive concepts in this universe, but Lee admits there are sections of his act where he deliberately tells good stand-up gags (despite having frequently taken apart more conventional comics like Lee Mack and Michael McIntyre) just to keep his hand in.
“I am not comparing myself to great artists but when you see conceptual artists at work, on some level it’s reassuring to know they can paint figuratively. Likewise when you listen to the 50s jazz people who do these vast solos you buy into it more if they open by playing a tune. The assumption [made of me] is you can’t do it so you do this weird shit. Still. It doesn’t make any difference. Critics still say I can’t do it.”
Another problem with his increased professional success, is that he has become more recognised and says that the night before we spoke, he went out with a friend and their evening was ruined by people who kept coming up and talking to him.
“It ruined my friend’s evening definitely and my night was sort of ruined,” he says.
“You get those little surges of things. The amount of people who wanted to talk to me was difficult, actually. I haven’t figured out how to work that in my life. In a way I would love to do another series but increasingly the downside of it, the way it affects your life and the life of your children, is being a recognised figure. Some people love it. But I don’t go to Jonathan Ross’ Halloween party, I go to see a band in a pub and it’s difficult to do that sometimes.”
The use of a persona allows him to talk about his wife and children and family life, creating a scenario where he is performing in order to help support them and pay his mortgage.
The reality is pretty close. In real life he and his wife, the award-winning comedian and writer Bridget Christie have two children. They talk about their stand up, of course, and obviously exchange ideas. But he’s been banned from seeing her last two shows.
“She says if I go I make the room weird. I understand she’s very good, she’s won loads of awards.”
Meanwhile, a fifth series of Comedy Vehicle for Lee is a possibility but he is relaxed about it.
“It depends on how long the BBC takes to tell me whether they want another one. A new tour could develop into a series or another long-term story tour.
“Weirdly, financially, I am better off not doing telly. Because you can tour the material for longer. But really telly means I can do long theatre runs in London working it out and not touring so much. And also there’s probably an argument to be had that doing the telly helps build the live audience. It’s creatively interesting trying to write six half-hour blocks and it’s also creatively interesting trying to write a story show which I haven’t done for four years, so we will see what happens next.”
One thing he is sure about is that he wouldn't want to do anything else.
“I would like to carry on doing this into my mid to late 60s minimum. I am not going to write a play or do a novel or host anything or do a film. I would like to do this.
“I’m 47 now. The ends in sight. I once interviewed [musician and writer] Julian Cope who was 55 at the time and he said ‘I am 60 in five years’ time and if I make it to 60 instead of becoming an embarrassment I become a legend’. And once you carry on after 60 you are a cult figure.”
He snorts with laughter at that, clearly too modest to put himself in that category. But he does muse that if he makes it to 60 “that’s only 20 hours of material, just 80 more jokes I’ve got to write...”
Personally, I think he’s got it in him…
Stewart Lee
2016-03-10T04:44:19+00:00
“I would like to carry on doing this into my mid to late-60s, minimum. I am not going to write a play or do a novel or host anything or do a film. I would like to do this” Stewart Lee has returned for a fourth series of his acclaimed, complicated and bellyachingly funny BBC2 comedy series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle – and now he has to deal with that success. For those who haven’t seen it, the show is a stand up routine in which Lee adopts the persona of Stewart Lee – a kind of more idealistic, angrier and pettier version of himself – and performs in front of an audience. The first episode (Wealth) was last week and episode two (Islamaphobia) is on tonight. They are brilliant. The show offers a fascinating interplay between Lee and his live audience (“who are sort of trapped”), Lee and the audience at home (whom he frequently addresses by pointing his face at the camera) and, most importantly, between Lee and himself. “He is mainly me but I have to create some distance to do it night after night,” Lee tells RadioTimes.com. “It’s like being in a double act but with yourself. He’s more of a bad drunk version of me. He’s more arrogant. He’s more given to emotional outbursts, he’s more petty-minded. But on the positive side he’s also a moral absolutist about what’s right and wrong. He’s like an exaggerated version of me. He’s able to live a different side of me.” It’s finely crafted, deeply nuanced stuff and the character has developed from series one where he was a man on the outside, trying to get in, having been given a BBC TV series and berating people who couldn’t recognise his genius. With four series now under his belt, the...
A couple of years ago, the Daily Telegraph's longstanding comedy correspondent reviewed Stewart Lee's then touring show, Much A-Stew About Nothing. Or rather, he reviewed the first half because, boasting rather too gleefully, he walked out at the interval due to Lee's perceived bad attitude towards his audience. If they were handing out prizes for The Person Who Should Probably Know Better Yet Totally Missed The Point in 2013, we'd have a very clear winner.
Were he attending A Room With A Stew, chances are he would have bolted after five minutes. Somehow an experienced comedy critic failed to note that his anti-audience running gag is a fairly natural by-product of the detached snooty intellectual persona that creeps in and out of Lee's stage act. Happily for the crowd, his new show (more try-outs for the next series of his BAFTA-winning Comedy Vehicle) is absolutely packed with laughs as that persona rails and jibes and mocks everything from English nationalism to urine and the ‘polo-necked' Dapper Laughs to, yes, the inadequacies inherent in his crowd as we all work towards making the night a success.
One of his central points in the show is that the news agenda has never been so impossible to pin down, so that any actual intention he may have had to display ironic Islamophobia on stage had been shot to pieces by the ever-changing events of the last year. Instead, he pillories those who think that observational humour and perceptive analyses of fundamentalism go easily hand-in-hand.
Those who love Stewart Lee's deconstruction of both his act and the very nature of stand-up will revel in another prime example of this, while his critics (and friends of fans who came along, only to be bored to death) will have left feeling at best perplexed, and at worst, irritated beyond words.
Reviewed at Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, Sun 15 Mar. A Room With A Stew is on tour until 8 Jan, 2016
Stewart Lee
2015-03-16T20:21:58+00:00
A couple of years ago, the Daily Telegraph's longstanding comedy correspondent reviewed Stewart Lee's then touring show, Much A-Stew About Nothing. Or rather, he reviewed the first half because, boasting rather too gleefully, he walked out at the interval due to Lee's perceived bad attitude towards his audience. If they were handing out prizes for The Person Who Should Probably Know Better Yet Totally Missed The Point in 2013, we'd have a very clear winner. Were he attending A Room With A Stew, chances are he would have bolted after five minutes. Somehow an experienced comedy critic failed to note that his anti-audience running gag is a fairly natural by-product of the detached snooty intellectual persona that creeps in and out of Lee's stage act. Happily for the crowd, his new show (more try-outs for the next series of his BAFTA-winning Comedy Vehicle) is absolutely packed with laughs as that persona rails and jibes and mocks everything from English nationalism to urine and the ‘polo-necked' Dapper Laughs to, yes, the inadequacies inherent in his crowd as we all work towards making the night a success. One of his central points in the show is that the news agenda has never been so impossible to pin down, so that any actual intention he may have had to display ironic Islamophobia on stage had been shot to pieces by the ever-changing events of the last year. Instead, he pillories those who think that observational humour and perceptive analyses of fundamentalism go easily hand-in-hand. Those who love Stewart Lee's deconstruction of both his act and the very nature of stand-up will revel in another prime example of this, while his critics (and friends of fans who came along, only to be bored to death) will have left feeling at best perplexed, and at...
Working from a barn in Kent, Postgate and Firmin produced some of the best-loved children's television of the 1960s and 1970s, including Bagpuss, The Clangers, Ivor The Engine and Noggin The Nog.
This book presents the Smallfilms archive - the puppets and cut-outs from these series, along with insights into how they were made.
It's a book full of pipe cleaners, cotton wool, wire and ping-pong balls, and celebrates the imagination and ingenuity of two artists who shaped the childhoods of a generation.
Introduction by Jonny Trunk, Foreword by Stewart Lee:
'Jonny Trunk has taken the astonishingly thorough archive of Smallfilms... and presented it as one would a collection of artefacts in an exhibition detailing some much-admired 20th century art movement, like Fluxus or Dada.
The Smallfilms' partnership's sacred relics repay his trust, and our repeated viewings.'
Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2018-10-30T21:37:46+00:00
Working from a barn in Kent, Postgate and Firmin produced some of the best-loved children's television of the 1960s and 1970s, including Bagpuss, The Clangers, Ivor The Engine and Noggin The Nog. This book presents the Smallfilms archive - the puppets and cut-outs from these series, along with insights into how they were made. It's a book full of pipe cleaners, cotton wool, wire and ping-pong balls, and celebrates the imagination and ingenuity of two artists who shaped the childhoods of a generation. Introduction by Jonny Trunk, Foreword by Stewart Lee: 'Jonny Trunk has taken the astonishingly thorough archive of Smallfilms... and presented it as one would a collection of artefacts in an exhibition detailing some much-admired 20th century art movement, like Fluxus or Dada. The Smallfilms' partnership's sacred relics repay his trust, and our repeated viewings.' Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee is probably the cleverest comedian working in Britain, and his past few shows have moved increasingly into what might be called anti-comedy, both in the sense of taking a well-aimed swipe at TV's narrow, unambitious definition of stand-up, and in that he delights in pushing the form until it strains at the seams.
Two series of his BBC Comedy Vehicle seem to have made him all the more provocative in his new live show, which on the surface is 90 minutes of Lee apologising for the fact that he doesn't have any material.
"It's form interrogated by content through a haze of passive-aggressive monotony," he explains, deadpan, apologising to his supposed new television audience, who are presumed to want Mock the Week-style paedophile jokes.
But Lee is also sending up those fans who imagine themselves the cognoscenti, lest they become too cosy.
The target of his satire shifts even within the same story, and he is always one step ahead, subverting expectations. And yet despite the absence of "jokes", Carpet Remnant World is marvellously funny: mordant, thoughtful and crafted, even while posing as the ragbag of throwaway scraps its title implies.
Stewart Lee
2011-11-27T13:11:19+00:00
Stewart Lee is probably the cleverest comedian working in Britain, and his past few shows have moved increasingly into what might be called anti-comedy, both in the sense of taking a well-aimed swipe at TV's narrow, unambitious definition of stand-up, and in that he delights in pushing the form until it strains at the seams. Two series of his BBC Comedy Vehicle seem to have made him all the more provocative in his new live show, which on the surface is 90 minutes of Lee apologising for the fact that he doesn't have any material. "It's form interrogated by content through a haze of passive-aggressive monotony," he explains, deadpan, apologising to his supposed new television audience, who are presumed to want Mock the Week-style paedophile jokes. But Lee is also sending up those fans who imagine themselves the cognoscenti, lest they become too cosy. The target of his satire shifts even within the same story, and he is always one step ahead, subverting expectations. And yet despite the absence of "jokes", Carpet Remnant World is marvellously funny: mordant, thoughtful and crafted, even while posing as the ragbag of throwaway scraps its title implies.
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...
Jim O'Rourke's latest album, Eureka, features delicately finger-picked acoustic guitar, funereal New Orleans jazz, a Bacharach and David cover, and ambient washes of abstract sound, buoyed up on imaginative string arrangements. It is provocative and intelligent, asks subtle questions about how and why we consume music, yet is tuneful enough to sing in the bath and - despite O'Rourke's free-noise background - your Mum would still recognise it as "proper music".
However, such is O'Rourke's low profile that a London listings magazine recently described Eureka as the unassuming 30-year-old's second album, when in fact it's the 30th to carry his name. Somehow Eureka has become a fixture of current "pick of the moment" columns, despite O'Rourke's evident obscurity, despite its lack of radio airplay and despite the fact that the cover features a painting of a naked Sumo wrestler in lipstick holding a small stuffed rabbit. What is Jim O'Rourke suddenly doing right?
O'Rourke is currently in London producing Stereolab, far from his Chicago home. His back catalogue conjures a Romantic artist straight out of a Caspar David Friedrich painting, surveying the world with lofty detachment, but in fact he's a small man in glasses and a green woolly hat, who is genuinely surprised you've heard anything he's done. In his teens O'Rourke was making tape collages and coaxing everything out of his guitar but a regular chord, and by the age of 19 he'd forged working relationships with the British improvisers Eddie Prevost and Derek Bailey. Early 1990s solo albums such as Scend, Terminal Pharmacy and the two-inch CD Rules of Reduction, mixed drones and tones imbibed from the 1960s violinist Tony Conrad with the spatial awareness of the British anti-rockers AMM, and the odd Krautrock klang. Collaborations with Japanese and European noise-niks gave him a substantial international profile, admittedly within a Lilliputian musical landscape.
O'Rourke's first connection with most consumers was as half of Gastr del Sol - the folkish avant-rock group, whose founder member David Grubbs was then beginning a long journey from his punk roots in Squirrelbait to the fully fledged cosmic Americana of his solo albums. "I was actually writing a lot of the more melodic songs in Gastr del Sol," protests O'Rourke, "but people think I just did the weird noises."
O'Rourke first encountered Grubbs in 1993, when he was assembling the studio group Brise-Glace. "I'd become obsessed with the idea of trying to figure out what makes music conform to the genre that it is. I wanted to make some kind of pseudo-documentary about this and present it as if it was about a real rock band. So I put together a band to watch the dynamic of how these people work."
Thus Brise-Glace was a sort of anti-Monkees, configured artificially to examine rock's internal organs at work.
"It seemed rock musicians felt constant frustration if they weren't allowed to rock, and I wanted to constantly frustrate the urge to rock," O'Rourke explains. "Not that I'm against 'rocking', but in any music there are established gestures that signify it as this type of music, and if you constantly frustrate expectation hopefully people eventually question why they expected certain things at all. That was the idea."
Brise-Glace's When in Vanitas album perhaps prepared O'Rourke for producing Rien, the 1995 comeback album by the reanimated 1970s avant-rock barbarians Faust. O'Rourke's experience of the scary German metal bangers, whose most recent London show saw them clear the venue with CS gas, was not entirely pleasant: "This label had asked Faust to do a record. Then they showed up and everybody quickly discovered that it wouldn't work. Faust didn't really play much on the album."
What? O'Rourke has let slip a scandal as shocking as the news that Geri Spice might not really have been such a great vocalist. "Yeah. It was mostly me. That's what they wanted. They did a recording session that didn't work, so they gave me tapes of their tour, and I found moments where a drum or a guitar note was alone, put everything on reel-to-reel and spliced every possible individual note out. Then I stayed in my room for a year with drums pinned up on one wall and guitars on the other, and hand-spliced every note on that album together. I tried to make a Faust record and not a Jim O'Rourke record, but it was difficult when I was playing about half of everything. I actually went broke because I spent all my money making that record. It doesn't bother me though," he says, and laughs madly in the way that only someone who really was bothered would. "And whenever I hear about the record being used for a commercial in Germany, and they got $100,000 for it, I just accept it."
Not all O'Rourke's experiences of his musical heroes have been so distressing. His 1997 collaboration with Sonic Youth actually outsold their subsequent studio album A Thousand Leaves, and it seems that producing Womblife, the 1996 album by the 1960s folk blues guitarist John Fahey, gave him the confidence to return to more expressly melodic music, such as 1997's gorgeous acoustic suite Bad Timing. "Maybe," he concurs, "but the finger-picking thing wasn't the focus for me - it was the arrangements. There's plenty of mistakes on Bad Timing, but I didn't care. All the guitar playing was done first-take and then I spent eight months on the arrangements. Being obsessed with technique is something I can't relate to."
Eureka (out now on the Domino label) is a logical progression from Bad Timing, and O'Rourke's most accessible album to date sees him making the journey from cacophony to melody in the opposite direction to the average ageing pop star desperate for a bit of artistic credibility. "I found after years of listening to avant-garde music it started to ring false. Scott Walker got across more profound feelings than any Faust piece. You can listen to his songs and think they're beautiful, but if you just go a little beyond the surface..." Similarly, on their recent Hoffman Estates album, O'Rourke used editing and some beautiful arrangements to deliciously season improvised duets by the spiky guitarists Alan Licht and Loren
Mazzacane Connors, without compromising their distinct identity. "I try to do that. I don't like doing things that I can do, so the challenge is to try to find a way of doing stuff that I can't. Even when I'm making a record - and that record is about the act of making a record - I still want to respect the material. That's why I really used to like Sparks."
Sparks? The 1970s chart band with the keyboard player who looked like Hitler? "Yes. They were able to be self-commentating but still be pop, and that's a hard line to be on."
True. But if anyone can walk it, it's Jim O'Rourke.
Stewart Lee
1999-04-11T17:31:29+01:00
Jim O'Rourke's latest album, Eureka, features delicately finger-picked acoustic guitar, funereal New Orleans jazz, a Bacharach and David cover, and ambient washes of abstract sound, buoyed up on imaginative string arrangements. It is provocative and intelligent, asks subtle questions about how and why we consume music, yet is tuneful enough to sing in the bath and - despite O'Rourke's free-noise background - your Mum would still recognise it as "proper music". However, such is O'Rourke's low profile that a London listings magazine recently described Eureka as the unassuming 30-year-old's second album, when in fact it's the 30th to carry his name. Somehow Eureka has become a fixture of current "pick of the moment" columns, despite O'Rourke's evident obscurity, despite its lack of radio airplay and despite the fact that the cover features a painting of a naked Sumo wrestler in lipstick holding a small stuffed rabbit. What is Jim O'Rourke suddenly doing right? O'Rourke is currently in London producing Stereolab, far from his Chicago home. His back catalogue conjures a Romantic artist straight out of a Caspar David Friedrich painting, surveying the world with lofty detachment, but in fact he's a small man in glasses and a green woolly hat, who is genuinely surprised you've heard anything he's done. In his teens O'Rourke was making tape collages and coaxing everything out of his guitar but a regular chord, and by the age of 19 he'd forged working relationships with the British improvisers Eddie Prevost and Derek Bailey. Early 1990s solo albums such as Scend, Terminal Pharmacy and the two-inch CD Rules of Reduction, mixed drones and tones imbibed from the 1960s violinist Tony Conrad with the spatial awareness of the British anti-rockers AMM, and the odd Krautrock klang. Collaborations with Japanese and European noise-niks gave him a substantial international profile,...
Remember Stewart Lee's last show, Carpet Remnant World? There were dazzling lights, recalls Lee, countless individually-illuminated rolls of luxurious pile, sound queues, and a cohesive underlying narrative.
By Lee's own admission - in fact he discusses it at length - this show isn't anything like that.
Much A-Stew About Nothing (or Much Ado About Stew, as it was billed by the box office) is a work-in-progress show, an opportunity for Lee to nail down several 30 minutes sets for the upcoming third series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
And Newcastle are in for a treat tonight; we're being given an as-yet-unseen extra set. It's an extended riff about dog excrement, granted, but still.
There's a sense of value about Lee's stand-up; not only is the material itself often brilliant, but its deconstruction offers more still to enjoy. Lee is a rare master of substance and style, with a unique ability to turn the latter into the former.
Stewart Lee's shows have often been touted as master-classes in stand-up. A claim not only reflective of their quality, but of their very nature.
Breaking down gags, and laying out their tiniest mechanisms, is a technique that allows him to infinitely stretch out a joke, getting laughs even when a punch-line falters.
Recounting a stretch of signs on the A1, on which the name Shilbottle had been dutifully amended to Shitbottle, Lee notes that where the initial novelty wears off quickly, if you repeat something enough the absurdity of it all will render it hilarious again.
Lee's new set-pieces take aim at celebrity endorsements of political parties, UKIP policy and other right-wing idiocy, cleverly whittling statements down to their base-level lunacy via riffs on dog-owners and Britain's long history of invasions.
However, pressed to come up with three hours of new material for the BBC show, naturally not all of it is top flight.
Wearied by fatherhood, a casual attitude to alcoholism, and middle-age, Lee resorts to chatting up cabbies for ideas, and falls on kids and a flagging marriage for material.
It's exactly the sort of thing he berates his contemporaries for, but in picking it apart and framing it with desperate, jaded candor of a man who can't keep up with the world, he gets away with it in a way only Stewart Lee can.
While not the tightly-spun conceptual show that Lee's audiences have come to expect, this work-in-progress outing is still a cut above his contemporaries, and casts a long shadow over the new wave of "young men in t-shirts, remembering things."
Date of live review: Thursday 10 October 2013
Stewart Lee
2013-10-12T18:25:32+01:00
Remember Stewart Lee's last show, Carpet Remnant World? There were dazzling lights, recalls Lee, countless individually-illuminated rolls of luxurious pile, sound queues, and a cohesive underlying narrative. By Lee's own admission - in fact he discusses it at length - this show isn't anything like that. Much A-Stew About Nothing (or Much Ado About Stew, as it was billed by the box office) is a work-in-progress show, an opportunity for Lee to nail down several 30 minutes sets for the upcoming third series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. And Newcastle are in for a treat tonight; we're being given an as-yet-unseen extra set. It's an extended riff about dog excrement, granted, but still. There's a sense of value about Lee's stand-up; not only is the material itself often brilliant, but its deconstruction offers more still to enjoy. Lee is a rare master of substance and style, with a unique ability to turn the latter into the former. Stewart Lee's shows have often been touted as master-classes in stand-up. A claim not only reflective of their quality, but of their very nature. Breaking down gags, and laying out their tiniest mechanisms, is a technique that allows him to infinitely stretch out a joke, getting laughs even when a punch-line falters. Recounting a stretch of signs on the A1, on which the name Shilbottle had been dutifully amended to Shitbottle, Lee notes that where the initial novelty wears off quickly, if you repeat something enough the absurdity of it all will render it hilarious again. Lee's new set-pieces take aim at celebrity endorsements of political parties, UKIP policy and other right-wing idiocy, cleverly whittling statements down to their base-level lunacy via riffs on dog-owners and Britain's long history of invasions. However, pressed to come up with three hours of new material for...
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,...
Maria Dada, from Lebanon, and Manchester's Amy Pennington, open their debut with Daddy's Bulge, two shouty schoolgirls traversing the bristly ridge of Captain Beefheart's Sue Egypt with a drum machine in tow.
Doomed is bed-sit electro-pop, home-taped by Duracell Gary Numans, and Oh Boy She Moans is a sluggardly Seventies Fall rant. Eighties fixtions surface in the muffled, no-budget, power ballad Berlin and in a lint fluffed reading of Billy Idol's White Wedding.
But is Greatest Hits Vol : 1 an album proper, or just the audible run-off of an arch performance art project?
Stewart Lee
2011-10-16T20:52:46+01:00
Maria Dada, from Lebanon, and Manchester's Amy Pennington, open their debut with Daddy's Bulge, two shouty schoolgirls traversing the bristly ridge of Captain Beefheart's Sue Egypt with a drum machine in tow. Doomed is bed-sit electro-pop, home-taped by Duracell Gary Numans, and Oh Boy She Moans is a sluggardly Seventies Fall rant. Eighties fixtions surface in the muffled, no-budget, power ballad Berlin and in a lint fluffed reading of Billy Idol's White Wedding. But is Greatest Hits Vol : 1 an album proper, or just the audible run-off of an arch performance art project?
Stewart Lee is on marvellous form with this double header. The first hour, Tornado, opens with Lee reading out the wrong blurb that a previous show of his, Comedy Vehicle, was given on Netflix. It actually describes the B-movie Sharknado, in which sharks fall from the sky. The joke is teased out through the hour, as Lee chisels away at a favourite subject in his work – his perceived standing in comedy. Both the film and Lee’s stand-up are so surreal, though, would anyone tuning in on Netflix have actually noticed the difference?
The mention of Netflix also allows Lee to ruminate on what he sees as the disparity between talent and commercial worth. Of course Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr are targets, but there are others, too. A set piece about US comic Dave Chappelle moves from a description of an unremarkable meeting between the pair at Leicester Square Theatre to something altogether stranger, as Lee imagines a scary chase through the streets of Soho. And this being Lee, he also manages to weave a fine Brexit joke into the telling of the tale.
In the second hour, Snowflake, it’s Tony Parsons, Ricky Gervais (again) and Phoebe Waller-Bridge who get it in the neck. The first is demolished in a gloriously pedantic essay on grammar. Gervais is parodied for “saying the unsayable” in a lengthy riff that has no actual words in it, and Waller-Bridge is ridiculed for her “discovery” of addressing the audience directly. To be fair to the Fleabag creator, she never claims this, but Lee neatly deconstructs the status bestowed on her as he acts out how everything, from Shakespeare to weather forecasts, may have looked had others not had the same lightbulb moment.
There’s so much comedy packed into the two hours that one could almost miss the deeper layers of Lee’s material. But it’s there, in the seemingly throwaway lines, as Lee makes a deep dive into the post-PC age, and what those of a liberal bent are to make of it. He never quite reaches a conclusion, preferring to let the audience confront their own prejudices.
While the Stewart Lee trademarks – the sarcasm, the surreal invention, the faux self-regard – are very much present, he also introduces new elements to his performance: a playful physicality and literary spoofs. Despite one section on Alan Bennett slightly outstaying its welcome, Lee remains on top form.
Stewart Lee
2020-01-03T15:38:28+00:00
Stewart Lee is on marvellous form with this double header. The first hour, Tornado, opens with Lee reading out the wrong blurb that a previous show of his, Comedy Vehicle, was given on Netflix. It actually describes the B-movie Sharknado, in which sharks fall from the sky. The joke is teased out through the hour, as Lee chisels away at a favourite subject in his work – his perceived standing in comedy. Both the film and Lee’s stand-up are so surreal, though, would anyone tuning in on Netflix have actually noticed the difference? The mention of Netflix also allows Lee to ruminate on what he sees as the disparity between talent and commercial worth. Of course Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr are targets, but there are others, too. A set piece about US comic Dave Chappelle moves from a description of an unremarkable meeting between the pair at Leicester Square Theatre to something altogether stranger, as Lee imagines a scary chase through the streets of Soho. And this being Lee, he also manages to weave a fine Brexit joke into the telling of the tale. In the second hour, Snowflake, it’s Tony Parsons, Ricky Gervais (again) and Phoebe Waller-Bridge who get it in the neck. The first is demolished in a gloriously pedantic essay on grammar. Gervais is parodied for “saying the unsayable” in a lengthy riff that has no actual words in it, and Waller-Bridge is ridiculed for her “discovery” of addressing the audience directly. To be fair to the Fleabag creator, she never claims this, but Lee neatly deconstructs the status bestowed on her as he acts out how everything, from Shakespeare to weather forecasts, may have looked had others not had the same lightbulb moment. There’s so much comedy packed into the two hours that one could...
Despite being named by The Times as the best current English-language comedian in the world, Stewart Lee insists that nobody really knows who he is. His absence from the panel show circuit, resistance to social media and use of multiple on-stage personae may be contributory factors.
In the first Full Disclosure of 2022, James tries his hand at getting to know the man behind the accolades. Tickets for his autumn show, Basic Lee are available now.
Stewart Lee
2022-01-13T01:27:58+00:00
Despite being named by The Times as the best current English-language comedian in the world, Stewart Lee insists that nobody really knows who he is. His absence from the panel show circuit, resistance to social media and use of multiple on-stage personae may be contributory factors. In the first Full Disclosure of 2022, James tries his hand at getting to know the man behind the accolades. Tickets for his autumn show, Basic Lee are available now.
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...
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.
Of all the brilliant bands that never broke, Chicago's Eleventh Dream Day are perhaps the unluckiest. Playing Neil Young goes garage burnouts in the Eighties deadzone, pre-grunge and post-punk, their eponymous 1987 album is an all time great debut.
Their first record in five years maintains altitude whilst rarely soaring. Former lieutenants departed, Rick Rizzo lacks a foil for the group's trademark twin lead guitar firewalls on raging riffs that smoulder where once they would have smoked.
But Away With Words, a slow, pensive number, underscored by Doug McCombs' cautiously melodic bass, equals anything in their back catalogue.
Stewart Lee
2011-03-20T12:31:32+00:00
Of all the brilliant bands that never broke, Chicago's Eleventh Dream Day are perhaps the unluckiest. Playing Neil Young goes garage burnouts in the Eighties deadzone, pre-grunge and post-punk, their eponymous 1987 album is an all time great debut.Their first record in five years maintains altitude whilst rarely soaring. Former lieutenants departed, Rick Rizzo lacks a foil for the group's trademark twin lead guitar firewalls on raging riffs that smoulder where once they would have smoked. But Away With Words, a slow, pensive number, underscored by Doug McCombs' cautiously melodic bass, equals anything in their back catalogue.
It's a tag bout to drive wrestling enthusiasts wild. On guitars, Holland's Terrie Ex and Scotland's Andy Moor, from Amsterdam's anarcho-punks The Ex; on drums, the Norwegian improviser Paal Nilssen-Love; and on tenor, Chicago's free jazz drill sergeant, Ken Vandermark.
The twelve minute appetiser Knuckle Cracking Party lets the guitarists spew electric sparks at each other uninterrupted.
Then the half hour Chunk Of Lung adds Nilssen-Love's pounding percussion and Vandermark's bubbling horn, a pot of coffee too long on a stove, and dares an unexpectedly exposing tenderness around the twenty minute mark. Seconds away!
Stewart Lee
2011-09-11T20:45:30+01:00
It's a tag bout to drive wrestling enthusiasts wild. On guitars, Holland's Terrie Ex and Scotland's Andy Moor, from Amsterdam's anarcho-punks The Ex; on drums, the Norwegian improviser Paal Nilssen-Love; and on tenor, Chicago's free jazz drill sergeant, Ken Vandermark. The twelve minute appetiser Knuckle Cracking Party lets the guitarists spew electric sparks at each other uninterrupted. Then the half hour Chunk Of Lung adds Nilssen-Love's pounding percussion and Vandermark's bubbling horn, a pot of coffee too long on a stove, and dares an unexpectedly exposing tenderness around the twenty minute mark. Seconds away!
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...
The presidency of Donald Trump contaminates everything that touches it, like dogshit on the end of a pointed stick. Be careful, politicians of the world, entertainment brands, and commercial properties, that you don’t get any on you. It stinks.
On Monday night, one of my lovely rescue cats, having battled the cat flap into submission, disappeared in the stupid firework dark. He’s not back yet and I am very sad. Like me, he was abandoned to his fate as a child, but in a cardboard box outside the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ place rather than in the Children’s Society offices in Lichfield (a town from which I have been banned from performing by the mayor’s office since 1990). Dependent, like me, on the kindness of a chain of strangers, the cat’s arrival and survival felt like a small balancing of the book of life. But maybe, like many millions of us worldwide, he just couldn’t face Wednesday morning.
Last week, Robert Jenrick, our new shadow justice secretary, was trying to blame Keir Starmer for the early release of sex offenders from the very prisons his own government had carelessly overcrowded; another mess left for someone else to pick up. The Tories spent 14 years treating the whole country like a teenager’s bedroom. I only went in to gather up all the old coffee cups, and ended up tripping over a series of abandoned infrastructure projects and falling into a vast network of sewage-filled waterways.
But, one has to ask, if Jenrick’s so worried about sex offenders being on the loose, why is he so pleased that one is now in the White House? “If I were an American citizen, I would be voting for Donald Trump”, the child-hating sod told GB News’s calcified opinion-vampire Camilla Tominey, Britain’s 49th most influential rightwing figure, in September. It looks like it’s one rule for white working class British rapists and quite another for orange American billionaire sex offenders with their fingers on the nuclear codes. Two-tier Jenrick can do one! Accommodating Donald Trump will invalidate us all.
This week, Bob Dylan is at the Royal Albert Hall. I couldn’t buy a ticket, and wasn’t about to pay five times over the odds to one of the Tories’ ticket criminals. But I may go down to Kensington and hang around outside hopefully, like a dog, in case another middle-aged man with an opinion about the relative merits of the five extant takes of She’s Your Lover Now wants to sell a sudden spare to “the world’s greatest living standup comedian” (the Times).
I would like to see Bob Dylan one more time, at least, but wonder what it would feel like to watch one of the architects of postwar progressive America performing in a world where the culture he helped create is so obviously in retreat, as a sexual abuser reclines in Washington inflating himself like a bulbous brown toad. One thing you can say about Dylan, who rarely offers the casual fan the opportunity to enjoy any of his back catalogue live without a significant ontological struggle, is that he was never a nostalgia act. Well, he is now. Trump has moved the dial and made him into one. The times they are a-changing. But not in a good way.
Since the second world war, America’s most powerful tool has been the soft global diplomacy of its irresistible, and broadly liberal, popular culture – rock’n’ roll, cinema, and latterly the comic-book characters that are now the tentpoles of the international entertainment industry. But how do those American icons make sense in a Trumpian world, where the star-spangled iconography that informs their costumes is now redolent of fascism and climate denialism rather than freedom and the future? Nobody would want their child to be saved from a burning building by Swastika-Chest Man and his kid sidekick Drill Baby.
Because working-class Jewish autodidact visionaries, producing the pop art primers of tomorrow on a pittance, drew Captain America punching out Hitler in the early 40s, and because formerly one-dimensional superheroes were made thrillingly two-dimensional by acid-fried college dropout creatives in the 60s and 70s, Marvel Comics, though their roots are obscured, remain broadly liberal, even almost countercultural. That’s how I reverse-engineer my infantilised pseudo-intellectual desire to keep reading them at the age of 56, anyway.
Indeed, in September 1963, Jack Kirby, the 12-cent William Blake of the Lower East Side, drew the Fantastic Four fighting the Hate-Monger, a villain whose superpowers were not the ability to control soil or infuriate moles, but the ability to whip up hate. “We must drive all the foreigners back where they came from. We must show no mercy to those we hate,” he cries, in his purple hood, as his followers agree – “Long live the Hate-Monger. He’ll clean up this country for us!” – and the Invisible Girl observes, helpfully: “He seems to have the crowd in a trance. They … they’re agreeing with his un-American sentiments.” Hang on! Was that Fantastic Four Issue 21, 61 years ago, or Sky News last week?
Scarlett Johansson, Marvel’s Black Widow, pointlessly assembled a squadron of Avengers actors to denounce Trump, arguably emphasising America’s divides, but the real Avengers would oppose Trump. If they existed. In 1974, as Watergate’s curtain fell on Nixon, the comics writer Steve Englehart, a former soldier who became a conscientious objector, had Captain America abandon his costume and take on the identity of Nomad (“the man without a country”) because he couldn’t square the fictional character’s values with his country’s corrupt figurehead. My Captain America would not sling his vibranium shield for Donald Trump. The success of Trump invalidates the shared, if naive, notion of what America is. I’m going to look for my cat.
Stewart Lee
2024-11-10T15:09:26+00:00
The presidency of Donald Trump contaminates everything that touches it, like dogshit on the end of a pointed stick. Be careful, politicians of the world, entertainment brands, and commercial properties, that you don’t get any on you. It stinks. On Monday night, one of my lovely rescue cats, having battled the cat flap into submission, disappeared in the stupid firework dark. He’s not back yet and I am very sad. Like me, he was abandoned to his fate as a child, but in a cardboard box outside the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ place rather than in the Children’s Society offices in Lichfield (a town from which I have been banned from performing by the mayor’s office since 1990). Dependent, like me, on the kindness of a chain of strangers, the cat’s arrival and survival felt like a small balancing of the book of life. But maybe, like many millions of us worldwide, he just couldn’t face Wednesday morning. Last week, Robert Jenrick, our new shadow justice secretary, was trying to blame Keir Starmer for the early release of sex offenders from the very prisons his own government had carelessly overcrowded; another mess left for someone else to pick up. The Tories spent 14 years treating the whole country like a teenager’s bedroom. I only went in to gather up all the old coffee cups, and ended up tripping over a series of abandoned infrastructure projects and falling into a vast network of sewage-filled waterways. But, one has to ask, if Jenrick’s so worried about sex offenders being on the loose, why is he so pleased that one is now in the White House? “If I were an American citizen, I would be voting for Donald Trump”, the child-hating sod told GB News’s calcified opinion-vampire Camilla Tominey, Britain’s 49th most influential rightwing figure,...
King Crimson's epochal 1974 album Red remains progressive rock's finest recording, collaborative and curiously egoless, its brutality as undeniable as its beauty.
So, who wants a 24 disc set of American live dates leading up to Red? Someone, evidently.
Crimson spew recent wrestles with free improvisation at the emerging edifice of supersized stadium rock, tilting at the impossible alignment of transatlantic paydirt and transcendental extemporization. Familiar favorites explode.
Red emerges piecemeal in unplanned explorations.
It couldn't last.
It didn't.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-27T20:40:13+00:00
King Crimson's epochal 1974 album Red remains progressive rock's finest recording, collaborative and curiously egoless, its brutality as undeniable as its beauty. So, who wants a 24 disc set of American live dates leading up to Red? Someone, evidently. Crimson spew recent wrestles with free improvisation at the emerging edifice of supersized stadium rock, tilting at the impossible alignment of transatlantic paydirt and transcendental extemporization. Familiar favorites explode. Red emerges piecemeal in unplanned explorations. It couldn't last. It didn't.
Five minutes into a performance of Jerry Springer: The Opera (JS:TO) at the Battersea Arts Centre, in south London, last August, there occurred one of those moments in artistic endeavour when a collective intake of breath is heard from those witnessing it. In part, this was to do with the experimental nature of the evening: singers clasped scores to their chests; accompaniment came from a single grand piano; and the invitation for audience feedback was boldly made in the programme. But chiefly, this audible "haaaahhhh" was caused by the realisation that what we were about to experience was opera - as flagged by the title - but not as we knew it.
A warm-up man was goading the chorus of singers assembled stage left. Wearing an ear-piece and carrying a clipboard, he repeatedly asked the throng: "Are you ready?" The chorus, playing the part of the haranging rabble that graces (if that is the word) the average Jerry Springer show, sang impatiently: "Yes, we're ready." Eventually, pushed beyond endurance by the man's questioning, they screamed: "Oh, for f**k's sake, we are ready." The audience gasped, sneaking looks at each other that signalled both shock and excitement.
Nearly everyone who has seen JS:TO seems to have the same reaction, leading to levels of anticipation about the show's February run that terrify Richard Thomas, its composer.
"Don't remind me of this," he pleads. "I'm in denial. And that's a very powerful place."
Thomas, his director and co-librettist Stewart Lee (who writes for the music pages of this section) and the opera singer and JS:TO linch-pin Lore Lixenberg are drinking champagne in central London, in a manner that suggests not so much complacent, premature celebration as a desperate attempt to steady nerves in the face of their mounting terror about what the coming three-week run at the BAC holds in store. Certainly, they have a lot to live up to.
"Oh God, the press we had was just incredible," Thomas recalls, with a rolling-eyed loopiness that people overendowed with creativity often exhibit. "I made one of the reviews into a little ps-upaper hat, and wandered around in it until Stewart ripped it off my head. I was delirious."
The composer who honed the skills he so readily deprecates writing music for stand-ups such as Frank Skinner, Harry Hill and Simon Munnery, had the idea for JS:TO after the success, in 2000, of Tourette's Diva, the sequence of 10-second put-downs he set to an operatic score featuring two sopranos. Tourette's itself had sprung from his novel way of dealing with hecklers during a long and, he insists, inglorious career as a musical comedian, which involved the classically trained Lixenberg delivering ripostes such as "F*** off, you c***" and "You remind me of chemotherapy" in full-throated Wagnerian tones.
This splendidly disrespectful approach to the operatic idiom bears glorious fruit in JS:TO, a mad musical melange that throws everything from gospel to glissandi, Broadway to Bach, calypso to coloratura and Motown to Mozart into the blender, then flicks the switch. Some people got into a terrific lather, with it stirring up the old "musical v opera" debate.
"It's a pointless quibble," argues Tom Morris, the BAC's artistic director and the man whose enlightened policy of workshopping new musical stage works during a series of annual festivals allowed Thomas to develop his initial idea. "The cultural values that the word opera seems to have attracted in Britain over the past 100 years, which are to do with snobbery and expense, are just nonsense."
Lee is equally forthright: "I think the thing with so-called expensive opera is that the audience expects to be edified, and only the next day realise whether they enjoyed it or not. Whereas with Jerry Springer, they are entertained, and those from an opera background who came to see it were confused by how much they'd enjoyed it. I don't think they could tell if it was good, because they'd liked it too much."
The composer himself is at pains to stress that he has no particular axe to grind, pointing out that JS:TO was the result, first, of too many late-night sessions watching the show, inebriated, and, second, of the desire to "write something as commercial as I could, on the grounds that it might actually be commercial".
Happy accident or not, the show caused a huge stir in August, when the first act was presented, with sketches from the second tacked on after the interval. The performances next month will be the first of the finished article, although, as the ever fretting Thomas reminds me, "as Sondheim said, you don't write a musical, you rewrite it".
Among those attending will no doubt be Nicholas Hytner, the incoming director of the National Theatre, who raved about the August run and has had discussions with Thomas with a view to commissioning his next work. Possibly the Broadway producer Hal Prince, too.
What showgoers, famous and anonymous alike, will get is a musical and dramatic journey that seeks to replicate the madness of Springer's show - its confessionals, its slanging matches, its almost gladiatorial atmosphere - in a way that justifies the "opera" part of its title. Diaper Man, Chick with a Dick, a Ku Klux Klan backwoodsman who secretly collects flowers: these are just some of the grotesques played by a small cast in multiple roles. All the while, a profanity-strewn dialogue continues between chorus (the audience) and principals (Jerry's guests), until the frontman takes a bullet. The great man himself seems to approve, says Lee. "His comment was: 'There have been operas about more tragic things than my show. How could I not be honoured?'"
The newly minted second half takes this into new realms, with the arrival of the jazz singer Ian Shaw's show-stopping devil, and a journey into allegory that pitches Blake against Milton and Jesus against Satan, with Jerry in the unaccustomed position of moral arbiter.
Morris, pushed to divulge the identities of the top theatre honchos rumoured ot be pestering him to let them give the show the big treatment in a large house, comes over uncharacteristically coy. "Yes," he says, after a long pause, "we have had discussions. But I'm not, I mustn't..." And he leaves it there.
"What's great about the TV show," concludes Thomas, "is that you have eight people screaming at each other, and you can't understand a word they're saying. Which is just like..." Opera? "Exactly."
The stock theatrical effusions seem entirely justified. Any or all of them - "Mortgage your home, sell anything to get a ticket"; "I urge you to see this show"; "If you go to one event this year, make it this one" - will do.
Now - are you ready?
Jerry Springer: The Opera, BAC, SW11,
February 5 - 24
Stewart Lee
2003-01-13T16:32:27+00:00
Five minutes into a performance of Jerry Springer: The Opera (JS:TO) at the Battersea Arts Centre, in south London, last August, there occurred one of those moments in artistic endeavour when a collective intake of breath is heard from those witnessing it. In part, this was to do with the experimental nature of the evening: singers clasped scores to their chests; accompaniment came from a single grand piano; and the invitation for audience feedback was boldly made in the programme. But chiefly, this audible "haaaahhhh" was caused by the realisation that what we were about to experience was opera - as flagged by the title - but not as we knew it. A warm-up man was goading the chorus of singers assembled stage left. Wearing an ear-piece and carrying a clipboard, he repeatedly asked the throng: "Are you ready?" The chorus, playing the part of the haranging rabble that graces (if that is the word) the average Jerry Springer show, sang impatiently: "Yes, we're ready." Eventually, pushed beyond endurance by the man's questioning, they screamed: "Oh, for f**k's sake, we are ready." The audience gasped, sneaking looks at each other that signalled both shock and excitement. Nearly everyone who has seen JS:TO seems to have the same reaction, leading to levels of anticipation about the show's February run that terrify Richard Thomas, its composer. "Don't remind me of this," he pleads. "I'm in denial. And that's a very powerful place." Thomas, his director and co-librettist Stewart Lee (who writes for the music pages of this section) and the opera singer and JS:TO linch-pin Lore Lixenberg are drinking champagne in central London, in a manner that suggests not so much complacent, premature celebration as a desperate attempt to steady nerves in the face of their mounting terror about what the coming...
This mini-newsletter is intended to cover weekly extras in the current slew of stuff related to me. The absence of anything should not be seen as an indication of its cancellation.
Everything will be covered in the next big monthly or weekly newsletter, including final line-ups for ATP at Prestatyn 15-17 April, which isn’t cancelled, and Edinburgh and Autumn dates. In the meantime...
Tonight 9th of March 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.]
This week’s show covers the music of Sweden and is uncharacteristically enjoyable.
Last week’s show can be heard here.. http://www.baconfacecanada.com/listen/
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.
My wife Bridget Christie begins her A Book For Her tour tonight in Salford.
March 2016
9th - The Lowry, Salford Quays, SALFORD - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0843 208 6010 TICKETS
10th - Lakeside Arts, NOTTINGHAM - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0115 846 7777 TICKETS
14th - Citizen's Theatre, GLASGOW (COMEDY FESTIVAL) - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0844 873 7353 TICKETS
15th - The Stand, NEWCASTLE - 8.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0844 693 3336 TICKETS
16th - The MAC, BELFAST - 7.45pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 028 9023 5053 TICKETS
17th - Warwick Arts Centre, COVENTRY - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 02476 524524 TICKETS
21st - Everyman Theatre, LIVERPOOL - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0151 709 4776 TICKETS
22nd - The MAC, BIRMINGHAM - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0121 4463232 TICKETS
April 2016
13th - Memorial Hall, SHEFFIELD - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0114 2789 789 TICKETS
14th - WYP Courtyard, LEEDS - 7.45pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0113 213 7700 TICKETS
18th - Gulbenkian Theatre, CANTERBURY - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01227 769075 TICKETS
19th - Corn Exchange, EXETER - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01392 665938 TICKETS
20th - Ropetackle Arts Centre, SHOREHAM BY SEA - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01273 464440 TICKETS
21st - The Dukes, LANCASTER - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01524 598500 TICKETS
25th - The Junction, CAMBRIDGE - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01223 511511 TICKETS
26th - The Stables, WAVENDON, MILTON KEYNES - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01908 280800 TICKETS
27th - North Wall Arts, OXFORD - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01865 319450 TICKETS
28th - Theatre Severn, SHREWSBURY - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01743 281281 TICKETS
May 2016
3rd - The Mercury, COLCHESTER - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01206 573948 TICKETS
4th - Playhouse, NORWICH - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01603 598598 TICKETS
5th - Tobacco Factory, BRISTOL - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0117 9020344 TICKETS
9th - Sugar Club, DUBLIN - 8.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0818 903001 TICKETS
10th - Sugar Club, DUBLIN - 8.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0818 903001 TICKETS
11th - Glee Club, CARDIFF - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0871 472 0400 TICKETS
12th - Corn Exchange, BRIGHTON - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 01273 709 709 TICKETS
Stewart Lee
2016-03-09T16:40:23+00:00
This mini-newsletter is intended to cover weekly extras in the current slew of stuff related to me. The absence of anything should not be seen as an indication of its cancellation. Everything will be covered in the next big monthly or weekly newsletter, including final line-ups for ATP at Prestatyn 15-17 April, which isn’t cancelled, and Edinburgh and Autumn dates. In the meantime... SLCV Series 4 This continues on BBC2 tomorrow March 10th at 10pm BBC page for the series with clips & links to iPlayer episodes (after broadcast) is here. Global Globules with Baconface Tonight 9th of March 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.] This week’s show covers the music of Sweden and is uncharacteristically enjoyable. Last week’s show can be heard here.. http://www.baconfacecanada.com/listen/ 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. http://www.baconfacecanada.com | https://www.resonancefm.com BRIDGET CHRISTIE TOUR My wife Bridget Christie begins her A Book For Her tour tonight in Salford. March 2016 9th - The Lowry, Salford Quays, SALFORD - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0843 208 6010 TICKETS 10th - Lakeside Arts, NOTTINGHAM - 7.30pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0115 846 7777 TICKETS 14th - Citizen's Theatre, GLASGOW (COMEDY FESTIVAL) - 8pm - A BOOK FOR HER - 0844 873 7353 TICKETS 15th - The Stand, NEWCASTLE - 8.30pm -...
“No one is equipped to review me.” So says Stewart Lee a little way into his Edinburgh Fringe set, having already made it clear that neither his audiences, nor his fellow comedians, nor indeed The Telegraph newspaper are going to get an easy ride here.
He’s still bristling about (among other things) a slating that our critic Dominic Cavendish gave him in a review last year that led to something of a falling out between the pair. He also knows I’m in the room as The Telegraph’s reviewer – and won’t let me forget it.
As Lee delights in telling the audience, The Telegraph has apparently published some of the “most-missing-the-point” writing he’s ever encountered about his live shows. His knowingly over-played response is to address me in a highly patronising way, as if I were a two-year-old trying to eat tomato soup with their hands. It is not a comfortable experience.
Stand-up comedian Stewart LeeCredit: Graham Whitmore
Annoyingly, though, I must admit to liking Lee very much. Currently the object of derision from the more Right-wing comedian Andrew Lawrence, in the latter’s own Edinburgh show, Lee stands apart in a profession full of stand-ups who have “Please love me” coming off them like steam. His point-blank refusal to ingratiate himself with audiences, critics or – least of all – his fellow stand-ups is refreshing.
Eyes narrowed in all-purpose loathing, he opens his set with a familiar salvo of contempt for just about everyone. People who’ve come because they’ve seen him on the telly? Hates them. His loyal fans? “Cackling sycophants.” Lee then explains that this Edinburgh run, A Room With a Stew, is a work-in-progress in which he’s going to try out material for his return to television, with a bit of “stuff” at the start. “This whole opening,” he drawls, “is designed to lower expectations to the point where basic competence seems extraordinary.”
If the meat of the show is not Lee’s leanest ever – and his fixation on bodily fluids is something that he would, one suspects, be scathing of in a rival’s routine – there is still a great deal to enjoy. Constantly signposting, explaining and yanking his own material apart, he is very funny on the “cosmic coincidence” that occurred when Dara O’Briain visibly eclipsed fellow Stargazing Live star Professor Brian Cox. Later, he is far less forgiving about fellow comedians Russell Brand, Lee Mack and particularly James Corden (“Our loss is America’s loss”).
Best of all are the passages in which we see – or, at least, think we see – Lee’s more vulnerable side. For example, he mentions in passing that Graham Norton’s chat show beat his BBC Two series Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle to win a Bafta and then his faux obsession with the subject, in true Lee style, balloons magnificently.
A word of warning, then: anyone going to see Stewart Lee performing live – including us critics – should be wary of taking anything he says at face value.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-11T16:49:11+01:00
“No one is equipped to review me.” So says Stewart Lee a little way into his Edinburgh Fringe set, having already made it clear that neither his audiences, nor his fellow comedians, nor indeed The Telegraph newspaper are going to get an easy ride here. He’s still bristling about (among other things) a slating that our critic Dominic Cavendish gave him in a review last year that led to something of a falling out between the pair. He also knows I’m in the room as The Telegraph’s reviewer – and won’t let me forget it. As Lee delights in telling the audience, The Telegraph has apparently published some of the “most-missing-the-point” writing he’s ever encountered about his live shows. His knowingly over-played response is to address me in a highly patronising way, as if I were a two-year-old trying to eat tomato soup with their hands. It is not a comfortable experience. Stand-up comedian Stewart Lee Credit: Graham Whitmore Annoyingly, though, I must admit to liking Lee very much. Currently the object of derision from the more Right-wing comedian Andrew Lawrence, in the latter’s own Edinburgh show, Lee stands apart in a profession full of stand-ups who have “Please love me” coming off them like steam. His point-blank refusal to ingratiate himself with audiences, critics or – least of all – his fellow stand-ups is refreshing. Eyes narrowed in all-purpose loathing, he opens his set with a familiar salvo of contempt for just about everyone. People who’ve come because they’ve seen him on the telly? Hates them. His loyal fans? “Cackling sycophants.” Lee then explains that this Edinburgh run, A Room With a Stew, is a work-in-progress in which he’s going to try out material for his return to television, with a bit of “stuff” at the start. “This whole opening,”...
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....
I spent the weekend at the Latitude festival in Suffolk with my children, Nelson and Mandela. Like a good metropolitan liberal elitist, I had all my tastes and prejudices confirmed, and all in a safe family-friendly environment. But when I left the site on Monday it seemed that, while I was eating sushi in recyclable rice coatings and cheering the snowflake oi of Idles, the post-second world war power balance had shifted beyond all recognition. I can’t turn my back for a second.
Donald Trump, having spent the previous week calling the European Union his “foe”, like a mad medieval king, was now taking the dictator Vladimpaler Putin’s side against evidence-based investigations into the kind of Russian meddling that helped swing an American election, destabilise the EU, fan the global far right, popularise Fortnite, drive swarms of hornets into Dorset, kill our English newts, and deliver Brexit.
“I don’t see any reason why it would be Russia,” Trump proclaimed at the press conference, having already fondled a football presented to him by master-puppeteer Putin, which made the president look like a disturbed zoo monkey given toys to stop him flinging his excrement at visitors. I expected the tanks to roll west into the Baltic states unchallenged within hours, showered with stars-and-stripes confetti in a New York-style ticker-tape parade.
Luckily, overnight, Trump realised that what he had meant to say was not “I don’t see any reason why it would be Russia,” but “I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be Russia.” This is fortunate, as otherwise he could have been executed for treason, an event that would doubtless have drawn even larger crowds than his famously full inauguration, especially if it saw a repeat performance from the TwirlTasTix baton-twirling group.
Overnight, the Republicans had constructed a paper-thin plausible denial, hoping that no news agencies, in our micro-attention-span world, would run Trump’s explanation of his misspeak alongside the press conference footage, where context and his repeated use of the preposition “but” would show he had clearly meant to say exactly what he said in the first place, without a shadow of a doubt. Which is exactly what happened.
Nonetheless, even in a period of unprecedented stupidity and cynicism, Trump’s “would”/”wouldn’t” gambit represents a new low in contempt for human intelligence, and a rejection of language itself, words and their actual meanings now a kind of obsolete tool in the battle for the hearts and minds of the very worst people on earth.
How easy it appears to be to unravel and reverse the great statements of the past with a simple negative insertion. Neville Chamberlain returns from seeing Hitler in 1938 and utters the reputation saving denial: “I do not have in my hand a piece of paper.” Martin Luther King’s 1963 address is reremembered, to satisfy the racist vote, as: “I do not have a dream, and anyone who says I did must have misheard me.”
Descartes is reverse-engineered to proclaim the perfect philosophy for the Trump-Brexit era: “I do not think, therefore I am.” And his philosophical forebear Shakespeare is retooled to offer the timeless truism: “ To not be, or to be, that is not the question.”
Meanwhile, our cowardly, self-interested MPs were given many opportunities in parliament earlier this week to sabotage Brexit in the national interest, but the traitors put pride and party loyalties before the future of the country, choosing instead to stoke the petrol engine of the out-of-control Brexit Flymo™ with even more incendiary lies as it hurtles towards the landscaped no-deal ha-ha.
Instead of voting against Brexit, the Liberal Democrat Tim Farron was actually in Dorset charging milkmaids £5 to watch him struggle to accommodate his feelings about the homosexuals and his feelings about an all-knowing God he imagines has very strong views on the specifics of marriage legislation.
God would have wanted Tim to vote. Anyone can tell that snowflake God would obviously be a remainer, but if the result of the corrupt referendum must be honoured, the Lord would at least favour a soft Brexit. Like Jeremy Corbyn, Jesus Christ would be a hard Brexiteer, but only because he imagined a fairer society could be built from the ruins of the old one. Drive your plough over the bones of the dead.
Nonetheless, if Tim and Vince Cable had turned up, Monday’s Brexit trade vote would almost have been a dead heat, and the nation would be a little bit closer to avoiding the need to stockpile tins of Alphabetti Spaghetti in its cellars.
As an ardent remoaner, I was at least looking forward to enjoying a degree of post-Brexit schadenfreude, as leavers were forced to own their bullshit. But Trump’s “would”/“wouldn’t” strategy must be a great comfort to our bold buccaneering Brexiteers, many of whom have recently quit their jobs in order to avoid being held accountable to statements they made two years ago, now demonstrably revealed as dishonest and undeliverable.
Now the brave Brexiteers can merely rewrite what they said in retrospect. What’s that squeaking noise? It’s Brexiteer privateer Daniel Hannanananan, peering out from behind an effigy of Elgar, to declare: “absolutely nobody is not talking about threatening our place in the single market”.
And there, towelling himself down on a union jack jolly roger, Liam Fox announces that the Brexit deal “will not be one of the easiest in human history”, before hopping on to a bus emblazoned with the legend “Let’s not give our NHS the £350m the EU doesn’t take every week”, driven by a doleful Boris Johnson, looking at a cake he has on the dashboard but which he is, on this occasion, unable to also eat.
Once you were post-fact. Now you are post-post-fact. That’s going to work out well. Not.
Stewart Lee’s Content Provider will be on BBC Two at 10.45pm on Saturday 28 July, and then on iPlayer
Stewart Lee
2018-07-22T13:49:19+01:00
I spent the weekend at the Latitude festival in Suffolk with my children, Nelson and Mandela. Like a good metropolitan liberal elitist, I had all my tastes and prejudices confirmed, and all in a safe family-friendly environment. But when I left the site on Monday it seemed that, while I was eating sushi in recyclable rice coatings and cheering the snowflake oi of Idles, the post-second world war power balance had shifted beyond all recognition. I can’t turn my back for a second. Donald Trump, having spent the previous week calling the European Union his “foe”, like a mad medieval king, was now taking the dictator Vladimpaler Putin’s side against evidence-based investigations into the kind of Russian meddling that helped swing an American election, destabilise the EU, fan the global far right, popularise Fortnite, drive swarms of hornets into Dorset, kill our English newts, and deliver Brexit. “I don’t see any reason why it would be Russia,” Trump proclaimed at the press conference, having already fondled a football presented to him by master-puppeteer Putin, which made the president look like a disturbed zoo monkey given toys to stop him flinging his excrement at visitors. I expected the tanks to roll west into the Baltic states unchallenged within hours, showered with stars-and-stripes confetti in a New York-style ticker-tape parade. Luckily, overnight, Trump realised that what he had meant to say was not “I don’t see any reason why it would be Russia,” but “I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be Russia.” This is fortunate, as otherwise he could have been executed for treason, an event that would doubtless have drawn even larger crowds than his famously full inauguration, especially if it saw a repeat performance from the TwirlTasTix baton-twirling group. Overnight, the Republicans had constructed a paper-thin plausible denial,...
Kevin McAleer. In the late 80s his slide show, mainly of owls, during which he describes inaccurately a succession of bland images, reduced me to tears, and years ago his then current show, loosely derived from Dostoyevsky, made me fall off a chair in actual pain. I think he is the most naturally funny person alive. I wish he was much better known so it would be worth him producing a lot more work.
The funniest TV show I’ve ever seen
That probably remains The Young Ones, but that is in part about being a pissed-off teenager in the early 80s who was zapped by something that felt like it was “ours”, at a time in history when comedy belonged very much to “them” and not “us”.
The funniest book I’ve ever read
Undoubtedly Lint by Steve Aylett. Each sentence seems more absurd than the last until you are finally and irredeemably overwhelmed by its relentless meaningful meaninglessness. It is a work of towering comic genius.
The funniest dream I’ve ever had
It was about a safari park which only had worms in it. I wrote it up as the sketch Wormworld, which ended up on the Radio 4 series On The Hour with Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci.
The funniest word
Wool, according to the Australian standup comedian Greg Fleet. It has a damp, undramatic clamminess to it, and sits uneasily in any stream of words, the ultimate onomatopoeic dead end, free of connotations, meaningless, banal.
The funniest thing that shouldn’t be funny
Van Morrison performing his instant composition Ring Worm on his contractual obligation Bang Records recording session.
The funniest sketch I’ve ever seen
Roger Mann and Kevin Eldon’s “Australian clowns” dialogue in Simon Munnery’s live show Cluub Zarathustra, from 25 years ago, in which the duo described the clowning process in painful detail in stoned Australian beach-bum voices.
The funniest person I know
Roger Mann, who gave up comedy in the mid 90s to live in rural France and play in a Beatles covers band. His raised eyebrow is funnier than most people’s whole act.
The funniest item of clothing I’ve ever owned
Probably an orange monkey costume with long arms made out of poles used in Harry Hill’s Channel 4 series in the 90s, and which I then bought to dress Johnny Vegas in when he was playing a version of the legendary Hartlepool monkey in a workshop I wrote for the National Theatre, which never led to anything. I lay on the cold floor in tears of hysterics at the costume and Johnny in it. It was funnier than anything I ever wrote.
The funniest meal I’ve ever had
An undefrosted piece of frozen meat at The Hart Inn in Hartland in North Devon six years ago, served with indolent arrogance by a bored woman.
The funniest film I’ve ever seen
Spinal Tap. It gets better every time you watch it. Very little of the critically acclaimed comedy of the last 30 years – Alan Partridge, The Office, The Thick Of It – would be the same without it.
The funniest number
28, which is the perfect funny age in any joke, which works only as a result of the age of the character in it being revealed at the end of the sentence.
The funniest joke I’ve ever heard
The comedian Ted Chippington told essentially the same terrible joke over and over again throughout the 80s but the deadness of his delivery and the sheer audacity of daring to offer this joke up as entertainment in an environment where people had a reasonable expectation of more polished content made it hilarious: “How far is it to the railway station mate?” “One mile,” said in a growly voice. “One mile?” “Yes, one mile. Roughly speaking.”
The funniest hairstyle I’ve ever had
In Edinburgh in the late 90s I went to a barber’s I had always gone to, in an alleyway off Cockburn Street, run by an old Italian man, but he wasn’t there, and in his place were two threatening, scowling young men. They sat me in a chair and just shaved most of my hair off in weird concentric rings so I looked like a tonsured 14th-century monk who had had brain surgery.
The funniest standup I’ve ever seen Kevin McAleer. In the late 80s his slide show, mainly of owls, during which he describes inaccurately a succession of bland images, reduced me to tears, and years ago his then current show, loosely derived from Dostoyevsky, made me fall off a chair in actual pain. I think he is the most naturally funny person alive. I wish he was much better known so it would be worth him producing a lot more work. The funniest TV show I’ve ever seen That probably remains The Young Ones, but that is in part about being a pissed-off teenager in the early 80s who was zapped by something that felt like it was “ours”, at a time in history when comedy belonged very much to “them” and not “us”. The funniest book I’ve ever read Undoubtedly Lint by Steve Aylett. Each sentence seems more absurd than the last until you are finally and irredeemably overwhelmed by its relentless meaningful meaninglessness. It is a work of towering comic genius. The funniest dream I’ve ever had It was about a safari park which only had worms in it. I wrote it up as the sketch Wormworld, which ended up on the Radio 4 series On The Hour with Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci. The funniest word Wool, according to the Australian standup comedian Greg Fleet. It has a damp, undramatic clamminess to it, and sits uneasily in any stream of words, the ultimate onomatopoeic dead end, free of connotations, meaningless, banal. The funniest thing that shouldn’t be funny Van Morrison performing his instant composition Ring Worm on his contractual obligation Bang Records recording session. The funniest sketch I’ve ever seen Roger Mann and Kevin Eldon’s “Australian clowns” dialogue in Simon Munnery’s live show Cluub Zarathustra, from 25 years...
Islington’s Union Chapel is a foreboding venue for rock musicians. Its vaulted Victorian interior amplifies and supports the unplugged guitar or the naked human voice, but electrify the proceedings and indecipherable white noise bounces round the buttresses. Sometimes the holy formality of the space adds a magical, crispy frosting to an event, but sometimes it smothers an audience’s response in reverential torpor, as their laughter and applause disappear unheard up into the arches. And tonight it’s snowing outside. The bar isn’t busy, but the kiosk selling hot drinks by the doors is doing well. Robyn Hitchcock’s been in the business over thirty years now, from the psychedelic punk trash of his ‘70s Cambridge band the Soft Boys, to his current incarnation as a surrealist troubadour and national treasure in waiting. His fans are, understandably, aging. Some of them may not survive the cold.
If anyone can defeat The Union Chapel, it’s Robyn Hitchcock. Opening for R.E.M last year, at the similarly sonically unpredictable Royal Albert Hall, the silver-fringed dandy arrived onstage, accompanied only by Led Zepellin’s John Paul Jones on mandolin, and let the architecture do the work, playing the spaces between the notes with a subtlety and quiet confidence the headliners could have learned from. Tonight, Hitchcock’s on tour trailing his new album, Goodnight Oslo (Proper), a noisy reminiscence of an amphetamine fuelled night in Norway in 1982, recorded with three fifths of R.E.M, and the stage is set up for a full band. Hitchcock is accompanied by PJ Harvey’s drummer Rob Ellis, a bass player sensibly clad in a fur hat, and a cello player in a sleeveless dress she must already be regretting. He holds a steaming cup of tea and a black and white polka dot guitar that matches his black and white polka dot shirt, making it look as if he has a fret-board growing out of his stomach.
While Ellis adjusts his kit, Hitchcock fearlessly free-associates his way through an inspired between song ramble, that’s as funny as a wedge of vintage Eddie Izzard, and draws down the Union Chapel’s cavernous ceiling into an intimate canvas canopy. Ellis’ percussion is minimal and sharp, the bass parts clean and functional, and the cello hums supportively. Hitchcock's nasal folksy voice and precise phrasing cleave the damp air. And there’s room in NASA Clapping and the closing I’m Only You for Hitchcock to fill the band’s bent jug-band grooves with freak-beat guitar breaks that echo the synaptic and studiously untutored cascades of his childhood hero, Pink Floyd’s Syd Barrett.
Barrett’s influence on Hitchcock is also lyrical. He’s been criticised for his reliance on a peculiarly English sense of whimsy, and it must be said that Hitchcock lyrics sport more than their fair share of amphibians and insects. But his songs can also capture those tiny moments when nothing seems right, when time contracts and expands and we’re momentarily uncertain of whom me are. The Union Chapel was built to offer worshippers dead certainties. Tonight, Goodnight Oslo’s spindly title track uncoils to fill it, incrementally, inch by inch, with a bleakly comic existential dread. Hitchcock one, Union Chapel nil.
Stewart Lee
2009-02-15T20:17:10+00:00
Islington’s Union Chapel is a foreboding venue for rock musicians. Its vaulted Victorian interior amplifies and supports the unplugged guitar or the naked human voice, but electrify the proceedings and indecipherable white noise bounces round the buttresses. Sometimes the holy formality of the space adds a magical, crispy frosting to an event, but sometimes it smothers an audience’s response in reverential torpor, as their laughter and applause disappear unheard up into the arches. And tonight it’s snowing outside. The bar isn’t busy, but the kiosk selling hot drinks by the doors is doing well. Robyn Hitchcock’s been in the business over thirty years now, from the psychedelic punk trash of his ‘70s Cambridge band the Soft Boys, to his current incarnation as a surrealist troubadour and national treasure in waiting. His fans are, understandably, aging. Some of them may not survive the cold. If anyone can defeat The Union Chapel, it’s Robyn Hitchcock. Opening for R.E.M last year, at the similarly sonically unpredictable Royal Albert Hall, the silver-fringed dandy arrived onstage, accompanied only by Led Zepellin’s John Paul Jones on mandolin, and let the architecture do the work, playing the spaces between the notes with a subtlety and quiet confidence the headliners could have learned from. Tonight, Hitchcock’s on tour trailing his new album, Goodnight Oslo (Proper), a noisy reminiscence of an amphetamine fuelled night in Norway in 1982, recorded with three fifths of R.E.M, and the stage is set up for a full band. Hitchcock is accompanied by PJ Harvey’s drummer Rob Ellis, a bass player sensibly clad in a fur hat, and a cello player in a sleeveless dress she must already be regretting. He holds a steaming cup of tea and a black and white polka dot guitar that matches his black and white polka dot shirt,...
Where the Blackadder feared to tread – that is the territory occupied with resolution and wit by Simon Munnery and Miles Jupp in Stewart Lee’s take on the first Elizabethan age.
The plot of Elizabeth And Raleigh – passingly relevant as an excuse to move things along – has Raleigh wooing the Virgin Queen only to find her truculent, indeed downright vengeful, in the face of his romantic entreaties.
The Queen is played with the sort of comic force of persuasion that Munnery brought to his TV persona in Attention Scum! She/he repairs to her trampette to bounce off her anger while Miles Jupp – comically versatile in a Hugh Laurie vein – energetically counts the ways he loves her.
This is advanced panto fare – with knowing quips to the audience, sharp ad libs, mashed potato as a form of torture and soiled underpants as a makeshift crown. But amid the setpiece ribaldry, there’s nifty wordplay, dextrous acting, and, despite the odd codpiece gag, the script happily steers clear of the lowest common denominator.
The audience at Greenwich Theatre was not large and the wind outside was whipping and cold. The pair – old hands at this kind of thing – did a handsome job of warming an initially bewildered audience (what is this, we wondered as Raleigh gave us a slide show featuring Jimmy Carr), finally bringing us to our feet for a closing rendition of the national anthem.
God save this gracious queen.
Stewart Lee
2008-10-02T20:31:26+01:00
Where the Blackadder feared to tread – that is the territory occupied with resolution and wit by Simon Munnery and Miles Jupp in Stewart Lee’s take on the first Elizabethan age. The plot of Elizabeth And Raleigh – passingly relevant as an excuse to move things along – has Raleigh wooing the Virgin Queen only to find her truculent, indeed downright vengeful, in the face of his romantic entreaties. The Queen is played with the sort of comic force of persuasion that Munnery brought to his TV persona in Attention Scum! She/he repairs to her trampette to bounce off her anger while Miles Jupp – comically versatile in a Hugh Laurie vein – energetically counts the ways he loves her. This is advanced panto fare – with knowing quips to the audience, sharp ad libs, mashed potato as a form of torture and soiled underpants as a makeshift crown. But amid the setpiece ribaldry, there’s nifty wordplay, dextrous acting, and, despite the odd codpiece gag, the script happily steers clear of the lowest common denominator. The audience at Greenwich Theatre was not large and the wind outside was whipping and cold. The pair – old hands at this kind of thing – did a handsome job of warming an initially bewildered audience (what is this, we wondered as Raleigh gave us a slide show featuring Jimmy Carr), finally bringing us to our feet for a closing rendition of the national anthem. God save this gracious queen.
On Wednesday evening a high-level spook I had known vaguely at Oxford, a former Etonian and a Bullingdon Club chum of David Cameron's, rang me up with interesting findings and a resistible offer. "You've been following this Birmingham schools thing, Lee?" "Yes," I replied. "It's outrageous. No child should have to go to school in Birmingham." "Very funny," said the spook. "But what do you make of it?" "Well, Doug," I answered, "it appears that where education is concerned, all faiths are equal, but some are more equal than others." "Don't be smart, Lee. People's lives are at risk. This could kick off into a bloody civil war. Luckily, Dave's got a plan."
Indeed he had. Like a man distracting his children's attention from a terrible car crash by pointing at a funny pig, David Cameron had deftly skirted the ideological collapse of the education system by saying all schools had to teach British values, and then disappearing back into his office before anyone had the audacity to ask what that actually meant.
As he monitors all communications of any sort all the time, Doug had noticed that my standup comedy act was much discussed online by the sort of fidgety middle-class liberals inherently sceptical about notions of patriotism. Doug wanted me to fill a gaping hole in an emergency celebrity thinktank in Westminster the following morning, aiming to produce a workable definition of British Values as quickly as possible.
This definition could then be translated into Welsh, Gaelic, Cornish, Polish, Bulgarian, Romanian and Urdu, printed up on massive boards mounted on the front of intimidating armoured personnel carriers, and driven around areas with high immigrant populations by masked gunmen, instructed to shoot on sight anyone who so much as tutted at them.
There was no fee for the focus group, but unlimited Fanta and party eggs were to be provided for all the celebrities, and each of the entertainers was to be given a £4 voucher to spend in the House of Commons bar at the end of the day. The token could not, however, be exchanged for sparkling water or continental beers, which were to be paid for at a till linked directly to an account in Luxembourg, as part of an arrangement organised by the chancellor.
It was not the first time I had been invited to help shore up British national interests. Earlier this year, the famous adventurer Rory Stewart had asked me to be part of a continuous Auld Lang Syne of e-list celebrities, their arms linked along the border in a gesture of Anglo-Scots solidarity. I was to take my place on Adrian's Wall, joining hands with the Scottish folk singer Dick Gaughan, and a lifesize wash mitt of Archie the Laird of Balamory.
Gaughan, a staunch nationalist, declined, and the foamy Archie mitt became saturated with tepid bathwater and collapsed in on itself, uselessly. Besides which, my own opposition to Scottish independence had by then collapsed too. In the light of Ukip's success I now rather wished that I too could become independent of Britain and Farage's bewildering policy void. Nonetheless, anxious to defer bloodshed in my home town of Birmingham, the city of a thousand faiths, I accepted Doug's offer.
The next morning, Thursday, I found my letter box compromised by a free copy of the Sun newspaper, which was aiming to win new readers. In the wake of Ukip's success and our forthcoming national football fever, 22m patriotic editions of a special England issue were delivered free to unwitting households all across Britain. Some made landfall in beatnik hipster urban zones such as mine, where the paper was so rarely seen by human eyes that it had assumed a folkloric air, like the sasquatch or the kelpie.
I was to be charged later that day with defining a national identity – Britishness – and the collective good was at stake. Tangentially, the Sun was struggling with a similar conundrum. The paper was trying to define Englishness, through the thoughtful writings of my fellow celebrity columnists James Corden, Tony Parsons, Jeremy Clarkson, Katie Hopkins and Rod Liddle. If anyone could wrestle this age-old problem to the mat it was this dream team of clockwork opinion monkeys. Perhaps I could learn something that would be useful later that day.
For Parsons, the English are "gentle, tolerant … and love animals and freedom… and hate people who aren't polite". Parsons' definition of Englishness sounds like a transcript of the envelope upon which Ricky Gervais worked out his Derek character. Hopkins maintains she's English because if you cut her to the core her blood's "red, white and blue", which presumably means Katie washed her England flag along with a non-colourfast Conservative Party HQ sauna wash mitt. Corden appears in the paper in knitted tie, his face painted with a cross of St George, looking like the Man at C&A version of the Christian soldier who goes crazy and dynamites the Cajun's shack in Southern Comfort. The image illustrates his column. There is no need to read his column.
A Sgt Pepper-style Sun collage of 117 definitive English people included James Corden, Simon Cowell, Boris Johnson, Michael McIntyre, David Cameron, Jeremy Clarkson, and Nigel Farage, but no Mark E Smith, William Blake, Mary Wollstonecraft, Ted Chippington, or Pauline Black from the Selecter, which my superior version would have boasted. At which point during the preparation of the artwork was Gary Barlow crossed out? When did they realise they'd forgotten to include Rik Mayall, who narrowly escaped this unasked-for honour?
Doubtless the Sun's choices exemplify Englishness to someone, but not to me. It was as if ideals of identity were almost entirely subjective. Making David Cameron's dream of a definition of Britishness a living reality was going to take some doing.
I arrived at Westminster at 8am, ready for a day of defining national identity with the other key British celebrities hurriedly assembled by Cameron's advisers; Inayat Bunglawala of the Muslim Council of Britain, Judaism's Rabbi Sachs, television's June Sarpong, Top Gear's Richard Hammond, thought's Brian Eno, women's PJ Harvey, history's David Starkey, comedy's Leo X Muhammad, Scotland's Lulu, Northern Ireland's Van Morrison and Wales's Gorky's Zygotic Mynci. Rabbi Sachs embraced each of us in turn at length, weeping; Hammond began sucking hard on a Calippo; Van Morrison took off his wellington. The debate had begun.
Stewart Lee is appearing at the Bloomsbury theatre, London, this Wednesday and Thursday, in Tell Me Something I Don't Know, a benefit for Arts Emergency, a charity helping students from disadvantaged backgrounds.
Stewart Lee
2014-06-15T13:14:23+01:00
On Wednesday evening a high-level spook I had known vaguely at Oxford, a former Etonian and a Bullingdon Club chum of David Cameron's, rang me up with interesting findings and a resistible offer. "You've been following this Birmingham schools thing, Lee?" "Yes," I replied. "It's outrageous. No child should have to go to school in Birmingham." "Very funny," said the spook. "But what do you make of it?" "Well, Doug," I answered, "it appears that where education is concerned, all faiths are equal, but some are more equal than others." "Don't be smart, Lee. People's lives are at risk. This could kick off into a bloody civil war. Luckily, Dave's got a plan." Indeed he had. Like a man distracting his children's attention from a terrible car crash by pointing at a funny pig, David Cameron had deftly skirted the ideological collapse of the education system by saying all schools had to teach British values, and then disappearing back into his office before anyone had the audacity to ask what that actually meant. As he monitors all communications of any sort all the time, Doug had noticed that my standup comedy act was much discussed online by the sort of fidgety middle-class liberals inherently sceptical about notions of patriotism. Doug wanted me to fill a gaping hole in an emergency celebrity thinktank in Westminster the following morning, aiming to produce a workable definition of British Values as quickly as possible. This definition could then be translated into Welsh, Gaelic, Cornish, Polish, Bulgarian, Romanian and Urdu, printed up on massive boards mounted on the front of intimidating armoured personnel carriers, and driven around areas with high immigrant populations by masked gunmen, instructed to shoot on sight anyone who so much as tutted at them. There was no fee for the focus...
"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
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...
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...
“No one is equipped to review me,” says Lee, beginning the fourth round of his standup series. He’s joking. Kind of. By now, he’s basically Oscar Wilde: it’s practically impossible to divine any meaning from his increasingly complex pose. Lee says he adopts a snobbish persona to make people “laugh in spite of me, not because of me”.
Hopefully, that’s not a rare moment of earnestness: this is a show dominated by a commentary on audience reaction, real and imagined, that’s unlikely to have anyone in stitches.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-03T15:16:18+00:00
“No one is equipped to review me,” says Lee, beginning the fourth round of his standup series. He’s joking. Kind of. By now, he’s basically Oscar Wilde: it’s practically impossible to divine any meaning from his increasingly complex pose. Lee says he adopts a snobbish persona to make people “laugh in spite of me, not because of me”. Hopefully, that’s not a rare moment of earnestness: this is a show dominated by a commentary on audience reaction, real and imagined, that’s unlikely to have anyone in stitches.
In 1873 the British scholar and traveller Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain visited Japan. He recorded his views of the nation’s music in his subsequent book, Japanese Things: Being Notes On Various Subjects Connected With Japan. “Music,” he wrote, “if that beautiful word must be allowed to fall so low as to denote the strummings and squealings of Orientals, is supposed to have existed in Japan since mythological times… but (its) effect is not to soothe, but to exasperate beyond all endurance the European breast.” Professor Chamberlain concluded his essay suggesting that further study of Japanese music should only be pursued by those “who wish to investigate more minutely the ways and means whereby injury is inflicted upon sensitive ears.” Today this view seems shameful to our modern, sophisticated brains, and we believe the Japanese to be at worst our equals, and possibly even our superiors in matters such as bondage pornography, the illegal slaughter of whales, and the manufacture of infantile miniature models of colourful animals. It was not, as Professor Chamberlain assumed, that Japan had no musical ability, but that it had no musical tradition that an 1873 British professor could recognise. The Japanese musical vocabulary was utterly alien. Similarly, a commonly held contemporary British view is that the Germans have no sense of humour. But can this be possible? Can there genuinely be a nation incapable of laughter, or is it just that the German language of laughter differs so greatly from our own, that it appears non-existent?
Our attitude to the Germans and their supposed lack of a sense of humour is best understood through the example of the joke known to comedy professionals such as myself as ‘The German Child.’ It goes like this. An English couple have a child. After the birth, medical tests reveal that the child is normal, apart from the fact that it is German. This however should not be a problem. There is nothing to worry about. As the child grows older, it dresses in lederhosen and has a pudding bowl haircut, but all its basic functions develop normally. It can walk, eat, sleep, read and so on, but for some reason the German child never speaks. The concerned parents take it to the doctor, who reassures them that as the German child is perfectly developed in all other areas, there is nothing to worry about and that he is sure the speech faculty will eventually blossom. Years pass. The German child enters its teens, and still it is not speaking, though in all other respects it is fully functional. The German child’s mother is especially distressed by this, but attempts to conceal her sadness. One day she makes the German child, who is now seventeen years old and still silent, a bowl of tomato soup, and takes it through to him in the parlour where he is listening to a wind-up gramophone record player. Soon, the German child appears in the kitchen and suddenly declares, “Mother. This soup is a little tepid.” The German child’s mother is astonished. “All these years,” she exclaims, “we assumed you could not speak. And yet all along it appears you could. Why? Why did you never say anything before?” “Because Mother,” answers the German child, “up until now, everything has been satisfactory.” The implication of this fabulous joke is that the Germans are ruthlessly rational, and this assumption leaves us little room to imagine them finding time to be playful. But be assured, the German sense of humour not only exists, it actually flourishes, albeit in a form we are ill equipped to recognise.
In December 2004 I accompanied Richard Thomas, the composer of the popular stage hit Jerry Springer The Opera, to Hannover, where he had gained a commission to develop an opera about a night in a British stand-up comedy club. We wrote the words in English and Richard then collaborated on a translation, with a talented German comedy writer called Hermann Bräuer. There were two initial problems with this comedically, one cultural and one linguistic. Firstly, the idea of stand-up is somewhat alien to the Germans. They have a cabaret tradition of sophisticated satire, perverted cross dressing and mildly amusing songs, and there are also recognisable mainstream low brow comedy tropes in the form of vulgar popular entertainers. But the idea of the conversational, casual, middle-ground of English speaking stand-up comedy is unknown to the Germans. Indeed, initial attempts by the Hannover Schauspielhaus set designers to render a typical British comedy club floundered as they attempted to formalise the idea of a stand-up venue, and it was a struggle to explain that we needed to reduce the room to a bare black box rather than attempt to give it a cabaret stage vibe.
Secondly, this instinct to formalise of a genre of comedy we accept as inherently informal is not indivisible from the limitations the German language imposes on conventional British comedy structures. The flexibility of the English language allows us to imagine that we are an inherently witty nation, when in fact we just have a vocabulary and a grammar that allow for endlessly amusing confusions of meanings. At a rough estimate, half of what we find amusing involves using little linguistic tricks to conceal the subject of our sentences until the last possible moment, so that it appears we are talking about something else. For example, it is possible to imagine any number of British stand-up’s concluding a bit with something structurally similar to the following; “I was sitting there, minding my own business, naked, smeared with salad dressing and lowing like an ox… and then I got off the bus.” We laugh, hopefully, because the behaviour described would be inappropriate on a bus, but we had assumed it was taking place either in private or perhaps at some kind of sex club, because the word ‘bus’ was withheld from us. Other suitable punch-lines for this set-up would be, “And that was just the teachers”, “I was twenty-eight years old” and “That’s the last time I attempt to find work as a research chemist in Paraguay.” There is even a technical term used by those who direct comedy on camera to describe this one-size-fits-all mechanism. Eddie Large is gasping for air as a hot dog falls into the end of his snorkel. The shot widens to reveal Sid Little, whose sausages are flying into the air out of his hot-dog buns because he is using too much ketchup. Pull back and reveal. But German will not always allow you to shunt the key word to the end of the sentence to achieve this failsafe laugh. After spending weeks struggling with the rigors of the German language’s far less flexible sentence structures to achieve the endless succession of ‘pull back and reveals’ that constitute much English language humour, the idea of our comedic superiority soon begins to fade. It is a mansion built on sand.
The German phenomenon of compound words also serves to confound the English sense of humour. In English there are many words that have double or even triple meanings, and whole sit-com plot structures have been built on the confusion that arises from deploying these words at choice moments. Once again, German denies us this easy option. There is less room for doubt in German because of the language’s infinitely extendable compound words. In English we surround a noun with adjectives to try and clarify it. In German, they merely bolt more words onto an existing word. Thus a Federal Constitutional Court, which in English exists as three weak fragments, becomes Bundesverfassungsgericht, a vast impregnable structure which is difficult to penetrate linguistically, like that Nazi castle in Where Eagles Dare. The German language provides fully functional clarity. English humour thrives on confusion.
Thirdly, for the smutty British comic writers, it seemed difficult to find a middle ground between scientifically precise language describing sexual and bodily functions, and outright obscenity. There seemed to be no nuanced, nudge-nudge no-man’s land, where English comic sensibilities and German logic could meet on Christmas Day and kick around a few dirty jokes in a cheeky, Carry On style. A German theatre director explained that this was because the Germans did not find the human body smutty or funny, due to all attending mixed saunas from an early age. I told her I found the idea of mixed saunas disgusting, and that while British people may be ashamed of sex, at least they had never elected a Nazi government. Later on in my stay I found myself explaining to the dramaturg of Hannover Schauspielhaus why English was a great language for comedy, with its possibility for confusion of meaning and the flexibility of its sentences. “There is no need for you to be so proud of yourself,” she explained in precise and accurate English, “it is not as if you personally invented the English language. You merely inherited it by the geographical accident of your birth”. I laughed, and everything finally fell into place.
The geographical accident of Germany has denied Germans the fun we have with language, and it seemed to me that their sense of humour was built on blunt, seemingly serious, statements, which became funny simply because of their context. I looked back over the time I had spent in Hannover and suddenly found situations that had seemed inexplicable, even offensive, at the time hilarious in retrospect. On my first night in Hannover I had gone out drinking with some young German actors. “You will notice there are no old buildings in Hannover,” one of them said. “That is because you bombed them all.” At the time I found this shocking and embarrassing. Now it seems like the funniest thing you could possibly say to a nervous English visitor. Since watching jokes I co-wrote for our German production withering in the translation process, all their contrived weaknesses exposed, I have stopped writing jokes as such, and feel I am a better stand-up because of it. I try now to write about ideas, that would be funny in nay language, and don’t rely on Pull Back And Reveals and confusion of meaning. Germany kicked away my comedy crutches and taught we to walk unaided. I am hugely grateful to the Germans, though this does not fully make up for the bad things they did in the war. Since you asked, the stand-up opera went ok, and sooner or later we’ll stage it in Britain, in English where it will make a lot more sense. To paraphrase Simon Munnery, a British comedian so rigorous in his intellect he is almost German, there is much we can learn from watching the Germans. Not as much, however, as they can learn from watching us.
Stewart Lee
2006-05-23T18:38:36+01:00
In 1873 the British scholar and traveller Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain visited Japan. He recorded his views of the nation’s music in his subsequent book, Japanese Things: Being Notes On Various Subjects Connected With Japan. “Music,” he wrote, “if that beautiful word must be allowed to fall so low as to denote the strummings and squealings of Orientals, is supposed to have existed in Japan since mythological times… but (its) effect is not to soothe, but to exasperate beyond all endurance the European breast.” Professor Chamberlain concluded his essay suggesting that further study of Japanese music should only be pursued by those “who wish to investigate more minutely the ways and means whereby injury is inflicted upon sensitive ears.” Today this view seems shameful to our modern, sophisticated brains, and we believe the Japanese to be at worst our equals, and possibly even our superiors in matters such as bondage pornography, the illegal slaughter of whales, and the manufacture of infantile miniature models of colourful animals. It was not, as Professor Chamberlain assumed, that Japan had no musical ability, but that it had no musical tradition that an 1873 British professor could recognise. The Japanese musical vocabulary was utterly alien. Similarly, a commonly held contemporary British view is that the Germans have no sense of humour. But can this be possible? Can there genuinely be a nation incapable of laughter, or is it just that the German language of laughter differs so greatly from our own, that it appears non-existent? Our attitude to the Germans and their supposed lack of a sense of humour is best understood through the example of the joke known to comedy professionals such as myself as ‘The German Child.’ It goes like this. An English couple have a child. After the birth, medical tests reveal...
Edward Smith is a snowman, based in Kings Cross. Due to increasingly mild weather, he has seen little active snowman service in the last decade. Having been assembled by a gang of children on a piece of wast eground off Pentonville Road during last week’s heavy snowfall, Edward is looking forward to seeing how the area has fared in his absence.
No, it’s not f***in’ Frosty pal. The name’s Smith. Edward Smith. I am a snowman, yes, but I’m not called f***in’ Frosty! You think all Snowmen are named after some form of frozen water, don’t you? Oh there’s Frosty, and there’s Snowy, and there’s Icey… and now we’ve run out of names, so we’ll just have to give them normal ones. Ah Jesus! Look at me! Will you look at my face! In the old days kids had a bit of respect… lumps of coal for eyes, carrot for a nose etc. Look at this? Asthma inhaler for a nose, two bits of chewing gum for me eyes, and load of old dog ends for teeth. Where’s the respect? Kids today? I look like Shane MacGowan.
The Flying Scotsman, right of the station, used to be a safe bet for a cheap pint and a stripper. That’s what I used to like about King’s Cross. Everyone was welcome, drunk, sober, black, white, made of snow, whatever. King’s Cross was like paradise to me, with booze and birds and blow, after years of being in the limbo where snowmen go when there’s no snow. Anyway, some guy on the door goes, “You can’t come in here mate.” And I’m going, “Why? What’s the problem?” And he says, “Because you’re made of snow, and you’ve got dog ends for teeth.” And I said, “Hang on mate, there’s a fifty year old woman with cellulite in there spreading her arse cheeks for a pint glass of loose change and you’re saying this place is too smart to let me in.” And he starts shoving me around and me inhaler nose falls off so I look like some kind of snowman plastic surgery disaster, but I know when I’m beat so I split.
A Chinese bloke at the top of Gray’s Inn Road said to me, “Hey, you, snowman, why don’t you fly off to the North Pole and go to the big snowmen’s party?”, and I say “Because it’s f***in’ melting, thanks to you. And anyway, just because someone’s made of snow, like what I am, doesn’t mean I’ll have anything in common with them. Why don’t you go to China town with all your Chinese mates and talk about China? Now, where’s the Scala cinema?”
Last time I was at the Scala you could pay £3 for a whole night of 70’s Italian Exploitation Cinema, and there’d be all manner of Kings Cross deadbeats nodding off in the aisles and joints doing the rounds up the back, so I roll up and go inside, and there’s some band playing funky prog, and the audience are all scrubbed up and shiny, and the beer’s £5 a pint in bottles. And by two in the morning I’ve had enough of all this so I get up on the stage and nab a mic and start shouting, “What have you done? What have you done to King’s Cross? This place used to be paradise, heaven on earth. It used to be a den of thieves and you have made it a…” And then a big purple light swings round and shines on me and I’m melting… I’m melting… I’m melting… what have you done? What have you done to King’s Cross? Noooooooooo.
Edward Smith was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-02-13T16:52:47+00:00
Edward Smith is a snowman, based in Kings Cross. Due to increasingly mild weather, he has seen little active snowman service in the last decade. Having been assembled by a gang of children on a piece of wast eground off Pentonville Road during last week’s heavy snowfall, Edward is looking forward to seeing how the area has fared in his absence. No, it’s not f***in’ Frosty pal. The name’s Smith. Edward Smith. I am a snowman, yes, but I’m not called f***in’ Frosty! You think all Snowmen are named after some form of frozen water, don’t you? Oh there’s Frosty, and there’s Snowy, and there’s Icey… and now we’ve run out of names, so we’ll just have to give them normal ones. Ah Jesus! Look at me! Will you look at my face! In the old days kids had a bit of respect… lumps of coal for eyes, carrot for a nose etc. Look at this? Asthma inhaler for a nose, two bits of chewing gum for me eyes, and load of old dog ends for teeth. Where’s the respect? Kids today? I look like Shane MacGowan. The Flying Scotsman, right of the station, used to be a safe bet for a cheap pint and a stripper. That’s what I used to like about King’s Cross. Everyone was welcome, drunk, sober, black, white, made of snow, whatever. King’s Cross was like paradise to me, with booze and birds and blow, after years of being in the limbo where snowmen go when there’s no snow. Anyway, some guy on the door goes, “You can’t come in here mate.” And I’m going, “Why? What’s the problem?” And he says, “Because you’re made of snow, and you’ve got dog ends for teeth.” And I said, “Hang on mate, there’s a fifty year old...
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...
The Feelies sprouted in New Jersey in 1976, their debut Crazy Rhythms following in 1980, a re-tread of The Velvet underground's melodic moments played with a neurotic, new wave, energy. Here Before is only their fifth album in thirty-five years.
Glenn Mercer's Loud Reed-style, New York school, vocals have slipped an octave but those simple chords still circle in simple patterns, sometimes in downbeat acoustic mode, other times in a propulsive electric splurge. Morning Comes is a model of controlled tension.
On And On dares a dramatic mid-point mood shift. The Feelies offer art-house indie rock comfort food of a superior calibre.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-16T19:38:01+01:00
The Feelies sprouted in New Jersey in 1976, their debut Crazy Rhythms following in 1980, a re-tread of The Velvet underground's melodic moments played with a neurotic, new wave, energy. Here Before is only their fifth album in thirty-five years. Glenn Mercer's Loud Reed-style, New York school, vocals have slipped an octave but those simple chords still circle in simple patterns, sometimes in downbeat acoustic mode, other times in a propulsive electric splurge. Morning Comes is a model of controlled tension. On And On dares a dramatic mid-point mood shift. The Feelies offer art-house indie rock comfort food of a superior calibre.
For two decades Ben Wallers has been head-butting hotspots of race and gender, but his viscerally shambolic garage band The Country Teasers were sacred clowns, not dangerous dictators.
The Devil, however, is a polished gothic edifice, Wallers dwarfed by the sepulchral keyboards and Frippertronic guitars of some Satanic '70s Italian prog band.
A stunning ten minute reading of Kool Keith's dead-eyed Girls Want You sucks soil samples from hip-hop's skull, sounding like Canned Heat slurring toilet cubicle scribblings at a bewildered blues festival crowd.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-27T11:36:34+00:00
For two decades Ben Wallers has been head-butting hotspots of race and gender, but his viscerally shambolic garage band The Country Teasers were sacred clowns, not dangerous dictators. The Devil, however, is a polished gothic edifice, Wallers dwarfed by the sepulchral keyboards and Frippertronic guitars of some Satanic '70s Italian prog band. A stunning ten minute reading of Kool Keith's dead-eyed Girls Want You sucks soil samples from hip-hop's skull, sounding like Canned Heat slurring toilet cubicle scribblings at a bewildered blues festival crowd.
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...
How would an audience usually react to a comedian who started the first and second half of his set with the same jokes, with just a couple of nouns changed here and there?
If the comedian in question is Stewart Lee they’ll lap it up - and find it funnier second time around. That’s because the use of repetition is just one of the many comic techniques Lee has long been a master of. He’ll also let the audience in on the joke, get them thinking of the punchline and laughing in advance, then get an extra, bigger laugh when, after much anticipation, he finally delivers it. He’ll analyse the joke after telling it, then you’ll realise the analysis was another joke and laugh at that, too.
That the nouns I mentioned earlier included Brexit, Boris Johnson and Donald Trump wouldn’t have come as a great surprise to the ‘centre-left liberal metropolitan elites’ Lee identifies as his core fan base. But the Content Provider show has more profound targets in its sights than the political ructions of the past 18 months, using references as diverse as 19th century art, dating apps and potato sacks to make a statement on how the human condition has been changed by our living so much of our lives online.
The audience find themselves first in the firing line for Lee's withering but hilarious attacks. Starting with a warning about the unspeakable fate facing any smartphone whipped out during the show, audience members who don’t laugh in the right place or aren’t sitting properly are taken to task. Even the venue - the ‘Colston Museum of Slavery’ - can’t escape.
Fellow stand-ups also come a cropper, with Bristol’s own Russell Howard, not for the first time, foremost among them. Lee’s attack on Howard provided a launch pad for a full-on and hilarious tirade against anyone aged under 40, in turn leading us on to the set’s main theme, via Game of Thrones, gimp masks and yoghurt.
Lee is never backwards about making himself the butt of his jokes and makes several at his own expense during the show. So when his trousers fell down, during a vigorous and manic demonstration of smartphone poking, it was hard to work out whether it was supposed to happen or just an accident he was happy to let run as the laughs got ever louder.
Afterwards I managed to ask him, as he signed DVDs and books in the foyer, and it turned out that an accident it was, brought on by losing some weight but not (he thought) enough to make it worth wearing a belt. Perhaps I should have realised by now that slapstick isn’t usually part of Lee's act - but when comedy has this many layers, should you ever assume something isn’t just all part of the show?
Fans who missed out on tickets for Stewart Lee's Colston Hall shows on Sunday and Monday will have another chance to see him on March 1 next year at the same venue. Tickets are on sale now atthe Colston Hall website.
Stewart Lee
2017-10-09T02:40:55+01:00
How would an audience usually react to a comedian who started the first and second half of his set with the same jokes, with just a couple of nouns changed here and there? If the comedian in question is Stewart Lee they’ll lap it up - and find it funnier second time around. That’s because the use of repetition is just one of the many comic techniques Lee has long been a master of. He’ll also let the audience in on the joke, get them thinking of the punchline and laughing in advance, then get an extra, bigger laugh when, after much anticipation, he finally delivers it. He’ll analyse the joke after telling it, then you’ll realise the analysis was another joke and laugh at that, too. That the nouns I mentioned earlier included Brexit, Boris Johnson and Donald Trump wouldn’t have come as a great surprise to the ‘centre-left liberal metropolitan elites’ Lee identifies as his core fan base. But the Content Provider show has more profound targets in its sights than the political ructions of the past 18 months, using references as diverse as 19th century art, dating apps and potato sacks to make a statement on how the human condition has been changed by our living so much of our lives online. The audience find themselves first in the firing line for Lee's withering but hilarious attacks. Starting with a warning about the unspeakable fate facing any smartphone whipped out during the show, audience members who don’t laugh in the right place or aren’t sitting properly are taken to task. Even the venue - the ‘Colston Museum of Slavery’ - can’t escape. Fellow stand-ups also come a cropper, with Bristol’s own Russell Howard, not for the first time, foremost among them. Lee’s attack on Howard provided a...
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...
Stewart Lee makes stand-up and almost moral pursuit., predicting an audience's reaction (or lack of it), to his material in a way that makes the usual (and more popular) stand-ups seem crude and obvious. He's fearless, undeterred by an audience's failure to respond, even welcoming it so he can analyse it, tracking down the missing laugh until the audience laughs at itself. Erving Goffman (1) would have liked Stewart Lee, though the more accessible material put out by other (and more vapid) stand-ups derives in part from Goffman's observation of small behaviour. Stewart Lee is the J.L. Austin (2) of what is now a rather sloppy profession
1. Erving Goffman (11 June 1922 – 19 November 1982) was a Canadian-American sociologist, social psychologist, and writer, considered by some "the most influential American sociologist of the twentieth century". In 2007 he was listed by The Times Higher Education Guide as the sixth most-cited author in the humanities and social sciences, behind Anthony Giddens, Pierre Bourdieu and Michel Foucault, and ahead of Jürgen Habermas.
2.John Langshaw Austin (26 March 1911 – 8 February 1960) was a British philosopher of language and leading proponent of ordinary language philosophy, perhaps best known for developing the theory of speech acts. Austin pointed out that we use language to do things as well as to assert things, and that the utterance of a statement like "I promise to do so-and-so" is best understood as doing something — making a promise — rather than making an assertion about anything. Hence the name of one of his best-known works How to Do Things with Words. Austin, in providing his theory of speech acts, makes a significant challenge to the philosophy of language, far beyond merely elucidating a class of morphological sentence forms that function to do what they name. Austin's work ultimately suggests that all speech and all utterance is the doing of something with words and signs, challenging a metaphysics of language that would posit denotative, propositional assertion as the essence of language and meaning.
Stewart Lee
2018-12-05T21:36:03+00:00
Stewart Lee makes stand-up and almost moral pursuit., predicting an audience's reaction (or lack of it), to his material in a way that makes the usual (and more popular) stand-ups seem crude and obvious. He's fearless, undeterred by an audience's failure to respond, even welcoming it so he can analyse it, tracking down the missing laugh until the audience laughs at itself. Erving Goffman (1) would have liked Stewart Lee, though the more accessible material put out by other (and more vapid) stand-ups derives in part from Goffman's observation of small behaviour. Stewart Lee is the J.L. Austin (2) of what is now a rather sloppy profession 1. Erving Goffman (11 June 1922 – 19 November 1982) was a Canadian-American sociologist, social psychologist, and writer, considered by some "the most influential American sociologist of the twentieth century". In 2007 he was listed by The Times Higher Education Guide as the sixth most-cited author in the humanities and social sciences, behind Anthony Giddens, Pierre Bourdieu and Michel Foucault, and ahead of Jürgen Habermas. 2.John Langshaw Austin (26 March 1911 – 8 February 1960) was a British philosopher of language and leading proponent of ordinary language philosophy, perhaps best known for developing the theory of speech acts. Austin pointed out that we use language to do things as well as to assert things, and that the utterance of a statement like "I promise to do so-and-so" is best understood as doing something — making a promise — rather than making an assertion about anything. Hence the name of one of his best-known works How to Do Things with Words. Austin, in providing his theory of speech acts, makes a significant challenge to the philosophy of language, far beyond merely elucidating a class of morphological sentence forms that function to do what they...
Baroness Margaret Thatcher died on Monday. Or so they say. Whenever an important figure passes away, the usual marijuana-muddled conspiracy quacks are quick to suggest they faked their own death. But the demise of Baroness Margaret Thatcher has been accepted without question, even by friends of mine who love Nordic jazz fusion, live on houseboats, ride unicycles, and eat only smoke. Can I, then, be alone in suspecting that, while she certainly did not fake her own death, perhaps someone faked Margaret Thatcher's life? Consider.
The reported death of Mrs Thatcher could deliver a serious blow to the Labour party's gradual comeback. The Conservatives know they can consolidate this possibility by making themselves appear as the natural heirs to the late Lady Thatcher, but only if the perception of the baroness is micro-managed to appear unambiguously positive. By Wednesday the Thatcher years had been spun so enthusiastically that the proposed parliamentary celebration of her life that afternoon looked from the buttock-shaped space in my sofa like a man trap designed specifically to snap off Ed Miliband's testicles.
Cameron batted first, using his eulogy as an opportunity to reassert key Conservative ideals unchallenged, as if their efficacy were a matter of historical fact rather than critical interpretation, and knowing that any interruption from the left would be perceived as disrespectful to the dead. This was a genius move, displaying previously absent degrees of cynicism and cunning that suggest Cameron might yet make a great modern politician. Lord Tebbit was even able, in a Shakespearean speech in the House of Lords later, to compare Mrs Thatcher not unfavourably with Christ (in their shared ability to differentiate ruminants), to only a few polite chuckles from astonished Church of England bishops.
The pro-Thatcher consensus had reached critical mass to the point that even suggesting something as innocuous as the baroness being "divisive" brought accusations of bias and bad taste. But I must have lived through a different 1980s, because I remember Lady Thatcher being actively despised. For whatever reasons, united in their hatred of the baroness were massive and vastly different sections of the population, and not just the imaginary Trotskyites Michael Gove is currently trying to resurrect from within their dusty donkey jacket winding sheets.
I wasn't on the miners' picket lines in the Thatcher years, nor was I blown up on the Belgrano, and neither was I battered at the Battle of the Beanfield. In the 1980s I was, respectively, a middle-class charity bung public schoolboy, a full-grant Oxbridge literature student, and finally a freelance plant taxonomy researcher and would-be standup. I could only imagine what hard work looked like, though I had seen an arts cinema screening of Alexander Dovzhenko's 1930 Soviet propaganda film Earth, about the hardships of Russian agricultural labourers, which gave me a fair idea.
Back then, I knew nothing about anything, admittedly. Maybe Margaret Thatcher was right to hasten the demise of an outdated mining industry, to sell off nationalised concerns to private investors, to enfranchise council house occupants with the right to buy, to neutralise the National Front by appropriating some of its rhetoric, and to leave apartheid unopposed. I was a teenager. I don't know. At some point in the middle of the decade I discovered alcohol and I wasn't paying attention. I experienced and understood the world exclusively through the passive assimilation of culture. And culture, it appeared, hated Thatcher. Musicians hated Thatcher. Comedians hated Thatcher. Writers hated Thatcher. There were even aliens from the future in 2000AD comic strips who hated Thatcher. And yet she still managed to get elected. Three times.
From my adolescent bunker the opposition seemed overwhelming. In 1982, 28,000 anarcho-punks had bought Crass's coruscating How Does It Feel to Be the Mother of 1000 Dead? 7-inch by the time Tim Eggar MP tried to ban it. Indeed, Eve Libertine's Thatcher impression on Crass's Sheep Farming in the Falklands single is so convincing that had Meryl Streep not been available for the recent hagiography, Libertine would have made an excellent replacement.
At the other end of the spectrum, in 1983, I remember a swinging Birmingham Odeon full of ordinary-looking couples, come to smooch to the newly pop-friendly UB40's chart-topping version of Neil Diamond's Red Red Wine. Nonetheless, all were happy to sing along to the band's spectacular 13-minute Maggie-loathing dub workout Madam Medusa, during which MC Astro advocated unequivocally, and to general approval, the assassination of the prime minister. The refrain "Madam Medusa. She can' offer anytin', gotta shoot her dead!" seems especially tasteless now, given Thatcher's targeting by the IRA, her fear of snakes, and the problems she had with unmanageable hair. But these blood-baying punters weren't Class War bombers. They were normal brummies with babysitters on a bostin' night out.
One of the glib criticisms of 80s alternative comedy was that all Ben Elton had to do to make a mid-scale theatre full of Friday fun-seekers laugh was to diss the prime minister. Indeed, there was a genuinely terrible comic turn, whose name I forget, whose set consisted solely of working himself up into a berserker-like frenzy of incoherent fury whilst cursing Thatcher and the often overlooked Denis, in a scatological Jamaican patois, spiced with deeply personal and sexually and medically explicit imagery. In retrospect, his act was much better, and more genuine, than anything Ben Elton has ever done, but it is hard now to imagine what anyone saw in it.
I'm not saying these violent and rude responses to Thatcher's reign were valid, tasteful, or justified, and I hope the Daily Mail message boards don't decontextualise this piece and say that I am. But they are tiny samples of a massive swath of opinion so unrepresented by last week's media coverage, I began to wonder if I had imagined the entire 80s, and perhaps even Thatcher herself.
Was there really a time when a grocer's daughter could have afforded to go to Oxford University, and then find her way into the Bullingdon boys' club of the Conservative party? All movements need their genesis myths, and Cameron's Conservatives are no exception. But even the staunchest Scottish nationalist will admit there's now no evidence for the existence of Ossian, the invented bard whose legacy stimulated the 18th-century Gaelic revival. The idea of a Thatcher is a very useful one, and she continues to be useful to the Conservatives, even in her artfully timed absence. But that footage of her in the gun turret of the tank… the flag that flaps across her face… slow it down. I swear it's unfolding in opposition to the direction of the wind. And that's just the start of it all.
Stewart Lee has curated the Alternative Comedy Experience for Comedy Central, Tuesdays at 11pm. New live dates are on sale now at stewartlee.co.uk
David Mitchell is away
Stewart Lee
2013-04-14T13:51:54+01:00
Baroness Margaret Thatcher died on Monday. Or so they say. Whenever an important figure passes away, the usual marijuana-muddled conspiracy quacks are quick to suggest they faked their own death. But the demise of Baroness Margaret Thatcher has been accepted without question, even by friends of mine who love Nordic jazz fusion, live on houseboats, ride unicycles, and eat only smoke. Can I, then, be alone in suspecting that, while she certainly did not fake her own death, perhaps someone faked Margaret Thatcher's life? Consider. The reported death of Mrs Thatcher could deliver a serious blow to the Labour party's gradual comeback. The Conservatives know they can consolidate this possibility by making themselves appear as the natural heirs to the late Lady Thatcher, but only if the perception of the baroness is micro-managed to appear unambiguously positive. By Wednesday the Thatcher years had been spun so enthusiastically that the proposed parliamentary celebration of her life that afternoon looked from the buttock-shaped space in my sofa like a man trap designed specifically to snap off Ed Miliband's testicles. Cameron batted first, using his eulogy as an opportunity to reassert key Conservative ideals unchallenged, as if their efficacy were a matter of historical fact rather than critical interpretation, and knowing that any interruption from the left would be perceived as disrespectful to the dead. This was a genius move, displaying previously absent degrees of cynicism and cunning that suggest Cameron might yet make a great modern politician. Lord Tebbit was even able, in a Shakespearean speech in the House of Lords later, to compare Mrs Thatcher not unfavourably with Christ (in their shared ability to differentiate ruminants), to only a few polite chuckles from astonished Church of England bishops. The pro-Thatcher consensus had reached critical mass to the point that even suggesting...
Lol Coxhill, who died last year, exemplified the sort of celebrated English eccentric artist and free spirit currently being priced and legislated out of existence. Here he is, live in Paris, in one of his final recordings, with his fellow soprano saxophone virtuoso Michael Doneda.
Their opening nineteen minute dialogue buries half-familiar snatches of melody in sonorous sonar scrapes and twinkling star-cloths of winking notes. Coxhill pursued an ongoing, and quietly heroic, struggle to reach an unknown destination, by an eternally uncharted route.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-04T11:13:34+01:00
Lol Coxhill, who died last year, exemplified the sort of celebrated English eccentric artist and free spirit currently being priced and legislated out of existence. Here he is, live in Paris, in one of his final recordings, with his fellow soprano saxophone virtuoso Michael Doneda. Their opening nineteen minute dialogue buries half-familiar snatches of melody in sonorous sonar scrapes and twinkling star-cloths of winking notes. Coxhill pursued an ongoing, and quietly heroic, struggle to reach an unknown destination, by an eternally uncharted route.
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...
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...
Stewart Lee said in an earlier broadcast that “no one is equipped to review me”. That’s me told, bless him. The alleged theme of last week’s Comedy Vehicle was patriotism. He could so easily have been lazy. Stew is many bastarding things, but lazy isn’t one.
Somehow, he managed – mouth-farting into a mic – to turn a full three minutes of the sounds of a cat’s diarrhoea into the most plosive and gorgeous argument against deference. It was wonderful, and I still stand and applaud its sculpted perfection. A man mouth-farting into a microphone, while mumbling the national anthem badly and talking about cat shit shouldn’t have been subtle, but somehow it and its wider points were, and clog-brained oversentimental deference might want to pipe down for a bit.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-20T06:58:59+00:00
Stewart Lee said in an earlier broadcast that “no one is equipped to review me”. That’s me told, bless him. The alleged theme of last week’s Comedy Vehicle was patriotism. He could so easily have been lazy. Stew is many bastarding things, but lazy isn’t one. Somehow, he managed – mouth-farting into a mic – to turn a full three minutes of the sounds of a cat’s diarrhoea into the most plosive and gorgeous argument against deference. It was wonderful, and I still stand and applaud its sculpted perfection. A man mouth-farting into a microphone, while mumbling the national anthem badly and talking about cat shit shouldn’t have been subtle, but somehow it and its wider points were, and clog-brained oversentimental deference might want to pipe down for a bit.
Venom P Stinger offered an indifferent Australia unwanted acres of tricksy, lurching, tempo-shifting, art rock sea-shanties, doubtless as difficult for the band to play as they were for the merely curious to tolerate.
The guitarist Mick Turner and the drummer Jim White went on to supply tastefully distressed licks and off-beat percussive flourishes to Warren Ellis’ post-rock gypsy fiddle trio The Dirty Three, but here’s a complete document of the five years they spent turning spit-flecked rock filth into free punk noise silver.
Stewart Lee
2013-08-19T00:58:41+01:00
Venom P Stinger offered an indifferent Australia unwanted acres of tricksy, lurching, tempo-shifting, art rock sea-shanties, doubtless as difficult for the band to play as they were for the merely curious to tolerate. The guitarist Mick Turner and the drummer Jim White went on to supply tastefully distressed licks and off-beat percussive flourishes to Warren Ellis’ post-rock gypsy fiddle trio The Dirty Three, but here’s a complete document of the five years they spent turning spit-flecked rock filth into free punk noise silver.
Curse my last minute ticket purchase! - Resulting in 'worst seat in the house' at Brighton Dome Theatre; Row Z, half behind a pillar. Even with glasses, I can't quite get the nuances in Stew's facial expressions. It probably won't matter. I've had a crush on him since the Fist of Fun days and should be able to predict exactly where the eyebrow raises, denoting the commencement of each carefully monitored pregnant pause, will lie within his material. After all this time, his stand-up may be formulaic and predictable in flow, but Stew is the original creator of a winning recipe and surely, inimitable in the flare and precision with which he delivers it, every time...
...not that I can imagine any chump brave enough to try and rip a whole act structure from the deconstruction-master himself. We all know Stew's response to unworthy appropriators. Those fools are treated with the same contempt as his critics; publicly stripped bare and dissected with their own sharp words. Tonight, Stew is every bit as harsh on himself and his audience as he is on, say, Rod Liddell, who meets a sticky fate - metaphorically tarred and feathered with gravy and Angel Delight.
Luckily, the pillar complete with fire hydrant, the elongated Egon Schielesque head of the man in front and his wife's giant cloud of hair don't impair my view of an ancient gent who takes it upon himself to shout abuse at Stew from the dress circle: 'I'm dying of cancer and you're not funny'.
After pointing out the "carelessness" of buying a ticket to see a comedian without first checking YouTube for some idea of what to expect, Stew blows him down with gentle philosophy: "I am as much a prisoner of my expectations of myself as you are of yours and that's the common ground we have". It's a truism close to Stewart Lee's heart.
For all his self-congratulatory spiel, Stew never fully transcends that signature air of self-loathing and misanthropy. Nothing he does will ever be good enough for him, and it's the same for us, his over-privileged, middle-class audience. We're ashamed of ourselves for having let the world get into this awful fucking state whilst purporting to be smart enough to see through the media's reality sham...
And that's what we're here for, isn't it? - Group therapy for the collective guilty conscience, not an evening of cheap laughs. Someone should have told the heckler; you will often wait a good half hour for a punch line, with Stew providing no more than a few sniggers to keep you going. He'll test your endurance to the limit before you're allowed an emotional climax. Even then, it's often a dry orgasm; you find yourself at the end of a winding thread, having followed it for miles, thinking, 'fuck, that was seriously clever', not 'oh no, I think a little bit of wee came out.' But that is enough. It's more than enough because what we're really being offered is something much bigger than comedy - we're being given a space in which we can unite in social opinion and political stance:
Stewart Lee has become a badge you wear to show the world you're a liberal, a politically correct, Guardian reading, religion eschewing, comfortably dissatisfied fringe-culture enthusiast. Every few months, us badge-wearers congregate in auditoriums to offer ourselves up to his ridicule, because despite our right-on attitudes, our daily struggles see our privilege get the better of our feelings of social responsibility. We are the Union that takes no action and we deserve our punishment. Stew, both our leader and detractor, berates and reminds us; "Don't laugh. Don't clap. Let's just get through this".
He uses all the usual colourful tools with which to beat us; absurd visual imagery that sticks in your memory (a monkey with a Fez nailed to it's face), shock tactics (I know you all want me to do some jokes about Islam), pre-apologising as a way to absolve himself of the responsibility of trying to cause maximum offense (is it too soon to say 'Jim'll Fix It t-shirt' on a stage?) to drag us in and out of our comfort zones. It works exceptionally well using a subverted version of the Englishman, Irishman, Scotsman walk into a bar joke: a Muslim woman, a Jehovah's Witness and a Jewish man get on a bus... it's worth going to see Stew on this tour just for the pay-off on that one. Whatever you're thinking now, I can guarantee you're half a mile wide. Every phrase that sounds for a millisecond like unexpected racism is really a carefully crafted lesson in cultural relativism and the need to challenge our internal prejudices.
Stew suggests that one of his later skits (think an anthropomorphised cat plus some bargain basement England flags) is "a stupid, scatological, childish attempt to satirise the rise of the far right in contemporary politics". I agree. It's totally awful, puerile, relentlessly hollow and offensive - just like UKIP and their policies - the target. He labours the point and for a couple of minutes my attention is lost, as it was a few years ago when he did that sketch about vomiting into the gaping anus of Christ. You get over the initial shock of what you're hearing and then you just want it to end...
...And after Stew's diatribe tonight about comedians committing suicide and his fake nervous breakdown on stage, I'm starting to get the impression that he wants it all to end too. His smug, downtrodden, neurotic on-stage persona is by now at odds with the rather famous Stewart Lee who pens call-to-action newspaper articles and backs worthy causes.
Is Stewart getting sick of Stew? What if the two became one? What if the comedian and the activist melded and started shouting the odds on Newsnight? Oh, hang on, apparently someone's already gone down that route. So, I suppose Stew will have to keep finding new angles and abstract concepts in order to challenge our illusions, which he seems to be finding a task right now - my favourite quote of the night: "It's not possible to write anything at the moment because the world is more stupid than anything you can think of."
Stewart Lee
2015-03-02T20:06:30+00:00
Curse my last minute ticket purchase! - Resulting in 'worst seat in the house' at Brighton Dome Theatre; Row Z, half behind a pillar. Even with glasses, I can't quite get the nuances in Stew's facial expressions. It probably won't matter. I've had a crush on him since the Fist of Fun days and should be able to predict exactly where the eyebrow raises, denoting the commencement of each carefully monitored pregnant pause, will lie within his material. After all this time, his stand-up may be formulaic and predictable in flow, but Stew is the original creator of a winning recipe and surely, inimitable in the flare and precision with which he delivers it, every time... ...not that I can imagine any chump brave enough to try and rip a whole act structure from the deconstruction-master himself. We all know Stew's response to unworthy appropriators. Those fools are treated with the same contempt as his critics; publicly stripped bare and dissected with their own sharp words. Tonight, Stew is every bit as harsh on himself and his audience as he is on, say, Rod Liddell, who meets a sticky fate - metaphorically tarred and feathered with gravy and Angel Delight. Luckily, the pillar complete with fire hydrant, the elongated Egon Schielesque head of the man in front and his wife's giant cloud of hair don't impair my view of an ancient gent who takes it upon himself to shout abuse at Stew from the dress circle: 'I'm dying of cancer and you're not funny'. After pointing out the "carelessness" of buying a ticket to see a comedian without first checking YouTube for some idea of what to expect, Stew blows him down with gentle philosophy: "I am as much a prisoner of my expectations of myself as you are of...
Promoting the uncharacteristically accessible Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! album, Nick Cave’s back with The Bad Seeds. The elegantly dishevelled interncontinental post-punk supergroup assembled a quarter century ago after the collapse of Cave’s breakthrough Melbourne group, The Birthday Party. Tonight the septet’s fifty year old front man valiantly defeats the onset of middle-age by adopting a look that is on the verge of adsurdity. His huckster hairstyle and tight Wild West pants defiantly challenge you to find him ridiculous, like a local eccentric who regualrly arrives at the pub dressed as Doc Holliday and recently had his replica six guns confiscated by a community police officer. Few men could carry this look off. Nick Cave is already ahead on points.
Cave is flanked by two key players. Stage right stands his Horatio, his lieutennant of thirty years, the multi instrumentalist Mick Harvey, who seems grimly professional throughout. Stage left is his fool, the violinist Warren Ellis, looking like a seafaring Alan Yentob who has been abandoned on a desert island by disgruntled fellow pirates. The newly guitar-toting Cave’s emergence from behind the piano he somberly sat at throughout his forties means there’s now a lack of any discernable lead instrument in The Bad Seeds’ sound, save the occassionally plucked strings of Ellis’ violin. When the ensemble do stretch out to fill the spaces, they tend to respond not with genuinley inspired improvisations, but, as in tonight’s storm tossed version of Tupelo, with simple but effective shifs in textural density or rhythmic intensity. The group are at their best during the flailing free-form sections sneaked into the breakdowns of We Call Upon The Author, Ellis riding its krautrocking throb as if electrocuted. But the Velvet Underground groove of More News From Nowhere reveals their limitations. When the mighty lead pendulum of this incarnation of the Seeds fails to swing they have little to fall back on, and things can drag.
When Cave pruned his Seeds into the garage-rock quartet of Grinderman last year, critics said it represented a rebirth. But Grinderman only made explicit the sharp end of a stylistic spread always implicit in the prolific polymath’s canon, giving journalists something new to say in the thirty year narrative of Nick Cave. Tonight, with high kicks, catwalk wheels, greatest hits like the clanging Red Right Hand for the dabblers, and relative obscurities for the faithful, Cave is committed both to entertaining the crowd and expanding their horizons. He is at last the anti-Elvis of his teenage dreams, and his dissolute image conceals a canny survivor’s instinct. Luckilly for us, Nick Cave seems to be figuring out a way of becoming immortal.
Stewart Lee
2008-05-08T20:08:01+01:00
Promoting the uncharacteristically accessible Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! album, Nick Cave’s back with The Bad Seeds. The elegantly dishevelled interncontinental post-punk supergroup assembled a quarter century ago after the collapse of Cave’s breakthrough Melbourne group, The Birthday Party. Tonight the septet’s fifty year old front man valiantly defeats the onset of middle-age by adopting a look that is on the verge of adsurdity. His huckster hairstyle and tight Wild West pants defiantly challenge you to find him ridiculous, like a local eccentric who regualrly arrives at the pub dressed as Doc Holliday and recently had his replica six guns confiscated by a community police officer. Few men could carry this look off. Nick Cave is already ahead on points. Cave is flanked by two key players. Stage right stands his Horatio, his lieutennant of thirty years, the multi instrumentalist Mick Harvey, who seems grimly professional throughout. Stage left is his fool, the violinist Warren Ellis, looking like a seafaring Alan Yentob who has been abandoned on a desert island by disgruntled fellow pirates. The newly guitar-toting Cave’s emergence from behind the piano he somberly sat at throughout his forties means there’s now a lack of any discernable lead instrument in The Bad Seeds’ sound, save the occassionally plucked strings of Ellis’ violin. When the ensemble do stretch out to fill the spaces, they tend to respond not with genuinley inspired improvisations, but, as in tonight’s storm tossed version of Tupelo, with simple but effective shifs in textural density or rhythmic intensity. The group are at their best during the flailing free-form sections sneaked into the breakdowns of We Call Upon The Author, Ellis riding its krautrocking throb as if electrocuted. But the Velvet Underground groove of More News From Nowhere reveals their limitations. When the mighty lead pendulum of this incarnation...
If the United Kingdom can take one positive thing from the Covid-19 crisis, it is that the most powerful and virulent version of the virus is perceived globally as being British, faster and stronger than its puny foreign counterparts. And the education secretary, Gavin Williamson, has rightly declared this the sort of thing that makes our island nation “a much better country than every single one of the others”. Up yours Delors! Take back control!!
Due to festive blockages, I had to file this “so-called” “funny topical column” six days ago, though I’m not under as much stress this week as Boris Johnson’s anal sphincter. Indeed, there were only so many times the prime minister could blame Dilyn the dog before Carrie Symonds, the power behind the porcelain throne, realised some privileged knowledge had set her babyfather’s bowels aquiver. Stranded Dover hauliers must envy Johnson’s endless torrent of just-in-time perishable goods deliveries.
Last week my area moved into tier 4, a new tier that wasn’t even on the government’s own website the day it was announced. Like the notion of an “Australian-style Brexit”, tier 4 is a new piece of language intended to conceal quite how bad things really are by the use of meaningless words. “The virus is out of control,” admitted Matt Handcock, the crying piñata, on Sky News, looking like a bit-part actor in Chernobyl who realised the reactor was going to blow. Suddenly we were cut off from Europe, and from much of our usual food supply, a situation millions of people who knew what they were voting for voted for in 2016, so they were delighted.
Suddenly once-needy Europe seemed enthusiastic to cut us loose, a teenager backing away from necking someone with maggot-infested cold sores. On Sky News, entitled matching middle-class couples with matching children in matching JoJo Maman Bébé jackets justified their right to evacuate the tier 4 zone and kill the weak via some Waitrose shopper interpretation of manifest destiny. Twentysomething interns fled home to their mothers’ mince pies, filling crowded trains with death spores, as the whole online Covid map east of Dalston Junction turned the colour of the Martian red weed in War of the Worlds.
By the time you read this, you may be warming yourselves round burning bins in the ruins of Victorian gothic power stations, roasting tasty pensioners on spits made of dismantled 5G masts, and speaking a new form of English based on rhyming slang and half-remembered Smiley Culture lyrics. Britain, or more specifically the south of England, has somehow managed to platform the twin pestilences of both the current Conservative party front bench, and also a new and more virulent strain of the already terrifying Covid-19 catastrophe.
Like the gorgeous space virus in John Carpenter’s The Thing, or Jacob Rees-Mogg, the bespoke Kentish Covid-19 strain sees us as expendable host bodies in its path to full spectrum dominance. In the south-east it has mutated into a faster variant, perhaps because it is keen to get out of Kent, which is now made up entirely of bewildered Brexit voters in cognitively dissonant denial, enormous death-belching lorry parks, and laybys strewn with abandoned two-litre Coke bottles full of lorry drivers’ hot Covid-19-flavoured urine. Indeed, the acrid deposits made by thousands of tannin-fuelled truckers all along the A2 has already rendered Kent uninhabitable for generations to all humans except Iain Duncan Smith.
Our English Covid is a world-beating virus, displaying the buccaneering spirit, beloved by the buccaneering trade-buccaneer Liam Fox, that saw us conquer the world, invent the television and the telephone, and win two world wars single-handedly. Our unstoppable British Covid strain shows that yes, we can prosper mightily outside the EU. While not necessarily thinking of it as a friend, I regard the strain with fearful respect and trembling admiration, as I do sharks, black holes and the late Mark E Smith of the Fall.
I, meanwhile, am trying to rewrite the topical half of my repeatedly rescheduled 2020 tour show. But will anyone even remember Tony Parsons next year, let alone be interested in a 20-minute routine describing the various ways in which I imagine the epicurean Brexiter might manage the storage and dispersal of cess? I suspect not. A bit I wrote about attitudes to immigration eight years ago, however, appears to have endured. It has been sampled with surgical focus on a record, Comin’ Over Here by Asian Dub Foundation, and described by my nine-year-old as the only thing I have ever been involved in that isn’t awful. If you download it, and maybe all the remixes too, before New Year’s Eve it might be the Brexit day No 1, profits to Kent Refugee Action Group. And remember, channel-crossing migrants may be able to help us through this if they can bring in basic food supplies with them.
Appearing on what I am assured by the internet is a “banging tune” is a strange experience for a 52-year-old man who has let himself go badly. Asian Dub Foundation filmed a video in the gap between the first two lockdowns, that social historians are already calling Boris Johnson’s Perineum. I mimed a 1,000-year-old Anglo-Saxon poem in the original Anglo-Saxon, and felt like Alan Bennett fronting Public Enemy. Between takes in an empty Bermondsey warehouse, the quartet improvised a flute-led reading of John Coltrane’s arrangement of My Favourite Things, a strange moment of unalloyed beauty in a time of dearth, a privileged private performance when most stages are silent. I’ll never forget it. What did you do in the Covid wars, Dad? People who mimed to Anglo-Saxon poetry and swore in empty warehouses. They were the real heroes. Happy new year.
Comin’ Over Here by Asian Dub Foundation (ft Stewart Lee) is available to download, by New Year’s Eve please for the Brexit day No 1 slot, here: smarturl.it/cominoverhere
Stewart Lee
2020-12-27T21:11:04+00:00
If the United Kingdom can take one positive thing from the Covid-19 crisis, it is that the most powerful and virulent version of the virus is perceived globally as being British, faster and stronger than its puny foreign counterparts. And the education secretary, Gavin Williamson, has rightly declared this the sort of thing that makes our island nation “a much better country than every single one of the others”. Up yours Delors! Take back control!! Due to festive blockages, I had to file this “so-called” “funny topical column” six days ago, though I’m not under as much stress this week as Boris Johnson’s anal sphincter. Indeed, there were only so many times the prime minister could blame Dilyn the dog before Carrie Symonds, the power behind the porcelain throne, realised some privileged knowledge had set her babyfather’s bowels aquiver. Stranded Dover hauliers must envy Johnson’s endless torrent of just-in-time perishable goods deliveries. Last week my area moved into tier 4, a new tier that wasn’t even on the government’s own website the day it was announced. Like the notion of an “Australian-style Brexit”, tier 4 is a new piece of language intended to conceal quite how bad things really are by the use of meaningless words. “The virus is out of control,” admitted Matt Handcock, the crying piñata, on Sky News, looking like a bit-part actor in Chernobyl who realised the reactor was going to blow. Suddenly we were cut off from Europe, and from much of our usual food supply, a situation millions of people who knew what they were voting for voted for in 2016, so they were delighted. Suddenly once-needy Europe seemed enthusiastic to cut us loose, a teenager backing away from necking someone with maggot-infested cold sores. On Sky News, entitled matching middle-class couples with matching...
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...
For a little while now, Stewart Lee has been drifting in and out of relevance, veering between revered godfather of British standup, and largely ignored godfather of British standup. Time was that young comics would pore over his Comedy Vehicle programme as a lodestar of how to become successful without compromise, which is exactly what it was. Now, though, Lee seems a long way out to sea, perhaps permanently so. Rather like his beloved Mark E Smith, he’s found his thing and he’s bloody well gonna keep on doing it.
So Snowflake/Tornado finds Lee in his heritage phase, performing to an intense reduction of vinyl-collecting white blokes, of which I count myself as one. It’s surely only a matter of time before he ends up on the front cover of Mojo.
But this suits him. Despite his complaints about being “blind, deaf, great and fat”, he is energised, good company, liberated from … something, whatever that might be. We take the depth and density of his shows for granted, and Snowflake/Tornado is fun to watch; there isn’t this nagging feeling that he’s constantly trying to trip you up and go HAHA IDIOT. His masturbatory belligerence is still very much there, that trademark repetition that goes on as long as he wants, but it’s not going to drive the gig into the ground – you just have to let him get on with it, as if he’s a child crying himself out, and wait for peace to return. With these shows, Lee seems at peace with his comedy, and he has every right to be: he has, after all, built a fanbase that’s refined enough to let him do what he wants, yet abundant enough to earn him a fat wad of cash.
Anyway, to the meat. Of the two halves, Tornado (which comes first) is the superior. Sporting a look that can only be described as “disgraced Labour councillor”, Lee spins a full hour out of a Netflix listing for Comedy Vehicle, which somehow got mixed up with the listing for 2013 art-house classic Sharknado. He puts this admin cock-up down to a lack of status and respect in the industry, citing Dave Chappelle and his favourite whipping boy Ricky Gervais as comics who would never be treated this way.
Fact and fiction then intertwine as Lee begins a story that seems perfectly feasible, of him getting to watch Chappelle perform in the flesh, in this very same venue. But bit by bit you find that he is leading us far, far down the garden path. In this case, Lee ends up in one of the seedier backstreets of Soho getting career advice from one of Chappelle’s private security team.
As ever there are digressions, and pauses for some director’s commentary, and there are snippets of stories about Lee trying in vain to make friends with young comedians, acknowledging the loneliness of the long-distance comic. The half winds up with one of Lee’s various indulgences, which are scattered through the show. It’s another bit of pure absurdity (and expediency) that ties up the hour in a nice, neat bow. He becomes Alan Bennett, reading aloud from a story from the 1960s that, it turns out, underpins his entire tall tale.
Then Snowflake lets the side down somewhat. Lee suggests it’s going to be some kind of investigation into where a PC 1980s comedian fits into an alternative comedy scene that seems at odds with its founding liberal principles. Now, that could have been both a timely and interesting hour, but it fails to materialise. Instead Lee pits himself against predictable adversaries, notably old leave-voting racists, Boris Johnson, and rightwing convert Tony Parsons who accuses Lee of being anti-feminist for using the word “cunt”.
I can’t help feeling that this is the downside of the more contented Lee, that previously he would have been up for an intergenerational arm wrestle over what liberalism means in 2019. It’s far easier for him to engage in … I want to use the phrase “gammon-on-gammon” warfare, but that would be a bit unfair. His defence of political correctness – that without it we’d be back in the bad old days of the 1970s – also feels reheated, although I acknowledge that this argument cannot be stated enough. Surely Lee could have found a different way to say the same thing.
There are some brilliant moments in Snowflake, though. Such as his dig at, not Fleabag per se, but the way it is credited with things that have been knocking around for centuries. Another is the image of him playing an immersive, violent computer game with his son, and being confronted by his worst self. This little window of plausible truth really cuts through – I can understand if Lee is protective of his private life, but in a two-hour show that feels like he’s taking refuge in absurdity, a few more glimpses of actual reality wouldn’t go amiss.
But broadly speaking, Lee appears to have given his show a zeitgeist-y, highly contemporaneous title, then filled it with material that’s the opposite: familiar and tangential. It’s a form of clickbait, really. Like writing a show about how Hitler was a bad person then calling it “Woke”. The only real time Lee really gets to grip with free speech and offence – subjects that are suggested by the word “Snowflake” – is another rant about Gervais, which, yes, is 100% bang on, but could have been said at any time over the last decade.
I did actually enjoy Snowflake quite a lot – but then I would, I’m a fan of Lee’s, and in many ways he’s still a remarkable comedian. But to put the whole night in vinyl terms, the first half was full of bangers, the second faded out.
Stewart Lee
2019-11-08T20:59:09+00:00
For a little while now, Stewart Lee has been drifting in and out of relevance, veering between revered godfather of British standup, and largely ignored godfather of British standup. Time was that young comics would pore over his Comedy Vehicle programme as a lodestar of how to become successful without compromise, which is exactly what it was. Now, though, Lee seems a long way out to sea, perhaps permanently so. Rather like his beloved Mark E Smith, he’s found his thing and he’s bloody well gonna keep on doing it. So Snowflake/Tornado finds Lee in his heritage phase, performing to an intense reduction of vinyl-collecting white blokes, of which I count myself as one. It’s surely only a matter of time before he ends up on the front cover of Mojo. But this suits him. Despite his complaints about being “blind, deaf, great and fat”, he is energised, good company, liberated from … something, whatever that might be. We take the depth and density of his shows for granted, and Snowflake/Tornado is fun to watch; there isn’t this nagging feeling that he’s constantly trying to trip you up and go HAHA IDIOT. His masturbatory belligerence is still very much there, that trademark repetition that goes on as long as he wants, but it’s not going to drive the gig into the ground – you just have to let him get on with it, as if he’s a child crying himself out, and wait for peace to return. With these shows, Lee seems at peace with his comedy, and he has every right to be: he has, after all, built a fanbase that’s refined enough to let him do what he wants, yet abundant enough to earn him a fat wad of cash. Anyway, to the meat. Of the two halves,...
A bustle of anticipation breathes through the play house as we wait for Stuart Lee’s arrival. It’s one of those rare occasions where anyone who has seen and enjoyed his show before knows full well they won’t be disappointed. Originality and invective are a guarantee. However, this seems to be a fact little appreciated, demonstrated by the flanks of empty chairs to our left and right.
Nevertheless, when he appears applause and cheers erupt throughout the room and for a moment it feels like a full house gig. That is until Lee makes several jokes about how the title of the show Stuart Lee: 41st best comedian was meant to lure people in, something, he comments, which obviously worked like a dream here in Nottingham.
The title of the show, he explains, is from one of the endless Channel Four ‘list’ programmes, The 100 Best Stand-Up Acts Ever: “a tedious count-down concept, where, for a fee, Stuart Maconie can recall any aspect of human experience”. It is obvious that the name of the gig is meant to be ironic, and the ‘bitter’ parts of the routine work really well with the lack of turn-out tonight. At one point Lee drops his microphone and starts wandering in between the vacant seats ranting: “You’re probably wondering whether this is innovation or a mistake.”
Absurd rambling stories about him dressing-up as a giant insect to do observational comedy as a grasshopper, for an insect conference named ‘Pestival’, contrast with satirical pieces about Carphone Warehouse pulling their sponsorship from 2007’s Celebrity Big Brother due to racism being at odds with their values: “I had previously suspected they were in fact a front for a white supremacist group using the unusual method of selling phones to disseminate their ideology.”
There was not one boring moment in Stuart Lee’s hour-and-a-half-long performance. He is not a one-liner man, but a comedian who crafts clever surreal and political comedy using drawn-out narratives. However, I was left with a feeling of genuine despair at the human race. I mean, there is something very disturbing about people’s comedic taste when Jim Davidson can pack-out venues ten-times bigger than this…
Stewart Lee
2008-03-22T22:07:57+00:00
A bustle of anticipation breathes through the play house as we wait for Stuart Lee’s arrival. It’s one of those rare occasions where anyone who has seen and enjoyed his show before knows full well they won’t be disappointed. Originality and invective are a guarantee. However, this seems to be a fact little appreciated, demonstrated by the flanks of empty chairs to our left and right. Nevertheless, when he appears applause and cheers erupt throughout the room and for a moment it feels like a full house gig. That is until Lee makes several jokes about how the title of the show Stuart Lee: 41st best comedian was meant to lure people in, something, he comments, which obviously worked like a dream here in Nottingham. The title of the show, he explains, is from one of the endless Channel Four ‘list’ programmes, The 100 Best Stand-Up Acts Ever: “a tedious count-down concept, where, for a fee, Stuart Maconie can recall any aspect of human experience”. It is obvious that the name of the gig is meant to be ironic, and the ‘bitter’ parts of the routine work really well with the lack of turn-out tonight. At one point Lee drops his microphone and starts wandering in between the vacant seats ranting: “You’re probably wondering whether this is innovation or a mistake.” Absurd rambling stories about him dressing-up as a giant insect to do observational comedy as a grasshopper, for an insect conference named ‘Pestival’, contrast with satirical pieces about Carphone Warehouse pulling their sponsorship from 2007’s Celebrity Big Brother due to racism being at odds with their values: “I had previously suspected they were in fact a front for a white supremacist group using the unusual method of selling phones to disseminate their ideology.” There was not one boring moment...
Don't expect an artfully constructed hour with a narrative arc and a coherent finale like the last show, Stewart Lee warns his audience at the opening of his Leicester Square theatre run. Like most of Lee's commentary on his own act, this is somewhat disingenuous – Much A-Stew About Nothing is structured with as much care and hidden precision as all his work – but the format is indeed different. The show is billed as a work in progress, originating at this year's Edinburgh fringe and being shaped, over the course of a brief tour and now this residency, into the material that will form his next BBC2 series.
He provides us with three sample shows, each kept to a tight half-hour, though as he points out for the benefit of the critics in the audience, it's tricky to rehearse topical material for a television show that will be broadcast next April, so he'll probably take out the best bits of these live gigs, meaning that the shows are getting exponentially worse as the run progresses.
Sadly, this may mean TV viewers lose his splendid, almost throwaway observation that Russell Brand's recent interview with Paxman "was hardly Frost/Nixon – more like watching a monkey throwing its excrement at a foghorn".
The themes and the comedic techniques he dissects here will be comfortably familiar to his fans. In the first half, he tackles party politics, analysing a list of celebrities who support the Tories, which leads him neatly into a deliberately reductive definition of satire, which in turn segues into a section on wildlife programmes of the past, wilfully extended to the point of absurdity.
Lee doesn't invite audience participation in the traditional sense, but he plays with the appearance of it, giving him an opportunity to turn the spotlight around and critique us for our lack of imaginative input, reminding us of the peculiar two-way relationship between performer and audience in live comedy.
Though he probably would not like the term, Lee is the most Brechtian of comedians, exposing the mechanics of his art at every turn. He swoops from high erudition to the basest stag-party jokes in the course of one story, but the crass material always serves a larger purpose. He revels in pushing a thoughtless or ignorant statement to its most extreme logical conclusion – in one case, Ukip's Paul Nuttall's assertion that the brightest Bulgarians should stay in their own country and improve its economic prosperity rather than coming to Britain.
Lee uses this as a device for a tour of British immigration history, taking in the Huguenots, Saxons, Neolithic man and the earliest invertebrates, punctuating his history lesson with an increasingly whiny repetition of Nuttall's idea.
The final act sees a return to the misanthropic, self-pitying persona he perfected in his last show, Carpet Remnant World. Here his observations hang on a series of fictitious conversations with cab drivers, always returning to the portrait of himself as "an impotent, vasectomised, 45-year-old functioning alcoholic father of two", whose existence is so unremittingly bleak that he welcomes a visit to A&E because it gives him a chance to lie down uninterrupted.
The self-pity act requires a fine balance because it can teeter on the edge of depressing. The comedy comes from the air of baffled anger and resignation in the delivery, and the fact that even his oldest fans can never be quite sure how much of it is put on. Fortunately, Lee is a master of the form, never afraid to subvert it or test his audience's patience, and he is also supremely funny, even at his darkest.
Catch this show while it's still evolving, just in case he's right about taking out the best bits.
Stewart Lee
2013-11-10T23:18:38+00:00
Don't expect an artfully constructed hour with a narrative arc and a coherent finale like the last show, Stewart Lee warns his audience at the opening of his Leicester Square theatre run. Like most of Lee's commentary on his own act, this is somewhat disingenuous – Much A-Stew About Nothing is structured with as much care and hidden precision as all his work – but the format is indeed different. The show is billed as a work in progress, originating at this year's Edinburgh fringe and being shaped, over the course of a brief tour and now this residency, into the material that will form his next BBC2 series. He provides us with three sample shows, each kept to a tight half-hour, though as he points out for the benefit of the critics in the audience, it's tricky to rehearse topical material for a television show that will be broadcast next April, so he'll probably take out the best bits of these live gigs, meaning that the shows are getting exponentially worse as the run progresses. Sadly, this may mean TV viewers lose his splendid, almost throwaway observation that Russell Brand's recent interview with Paxman "was hardly Frost/Nixon – more like watching a monkey throwing its excrement at a foghorn". The themes and the comedic techniques he dissects here will be comfortably familiar to his fans. In the first half, he tackles party politics, analysing a list of celebrities who support the Tories, which leads him neatly into a deliberately reductive definition of satire, which in turn segues into a section on wildlife programmes of the past, wilfully extended to the point of absurdity. Lee doesn't invite audience participation in the traditional sense, but he plays with the appearance of it, giving him an opportunity to turn the spotlight around...
A nakedly corrupt and evidently narcissistic leader, surrounded by a phalanx of accommodating acolytes, enriched his supporters with liquidised public assets and spurious government schemes, flagrantly broke international treaties, trashed domestic political standards, systematically flooded social media with fake news, used his power over the press to spread disinformation over many decades, sought to destabilise the EU, had fruitful meetings with far right figures in Europe and America, weaponised nostalgic nationalism, and allowed refugees to be used as cannon fodder in an ongoing border dispute. But now is not the time for Keir Starmer to call for Boris Johnson’s resignation. (Did you see what I did there? I’m here all week!! Try the fish!!!)
Britain shamefully allowed Russian oligarchs to pay their way into the upper echelons of society, and is internationally despised for it. It is probably the only area of the current conflict in which we do genuinely “lead the world”. Did the wealthy interlopers’ presence protect Putin from meaningful criticism? Kill a British citizen in a Salisbury park, and then sarcastically maintain your trained assassins were tourists, of an ecclesiastical bent, keen to see the cathedral en plein soleil? Step right this way, sir! And would you like to play tennis with the prime minister too? Stick your head in between them and go “Blubby blubby blubby”.
Swathes of the home counties are now populated by oligarchs who look like they saw a Jack Vettriano painting of a woman putting on some stockings while a smoking man masturbates through a French window, and instead of just vomiting, decided that was the lifestyle for them! The Intelligence and Security Committee report on Russia, from July 2020, warned, as cautiously as possible, about their influence on British media and politics, but played down the danger of an oligarch-fuelled Jack Vettriano suspenders and sports car aesthetic dominating the fine art market for decades.
Instead, the report suggested “the UK has been viewed as a particularly favourable destination for Russian oligarchs and their money”, pinpointing visas for cash, the reputation laundering power of British institutions, and the danger of British lawyers, financiers and PR professionals, such as Tory party chairman and oligarch enabler Ben Elliot, presumably, becoming de facto Russian state actors. Having learned at the Telegraph that the best way to belittle anything is to tie it into Brussels, Turds Johnson dismissed its concerns as those of “Islington remoaners”. But the people being shelled in Ukrainian cellars don’t seem too keen on Russian influence either. And they love the EU. Is it possible to be an Islington remoaner if you live 2,500 miles away from Islington and spend all day pouring petrol into milk bottles or hiding? Just asking for a fellow comedian.
Fifteen months prior to the report, while still foreign secretary, Turds evaded his bodyguards for an unapproved jaunt to a party in Italy held by an ex-KGB agent’s playboy son, Evgeny Lebedev, whose name sounds like someone trying to say “Have you any liver please?” underwater (I have checked with Alexa and this joke is officially “not racist”).
Turds was then spotted admitting to fellow passengers he’d “had a heavy night”, in San Francesco d’Assisi airport, on the way home. One onlooker observed of the future PM: “He was such a mess. He was quite dishevelled and his trousers were twisted and creased. He looked like he had slept in his clothes.” To be fair, Turds always looks like that, but the fact that his trousers were “twisted” is uniquely disturbing. What horrendous act could Turds’s host have perpetrated on him that left the future PM’s trousers tangled so, and could it have any relation to Lebedev’s accession to the House of Lords two years later, at Turds’s request, despite the security agencies briefing Turds against it?
Suddenly, the suggestion of Russian interference is taken more seriously, and the systematically maligned Carole Cadwalladr is quietly transforming from Andrew Neil’s “mad cat woman” into the Oracle of All Knowledge from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. The Tories’ own use of disinformation in the last election, where 88% of their online communications were false, showed us the approach can work, and it was always obvious to me that I was being targeted by Russian trolls. Whenever I wrote about Russia around the time of the EU referendum, patriotic counterattacks would appear in the newspaper’s below-the-line comment section in not quite right English. In the end I took to goading the writers of these clearly targeted contributions by including deliberately incomprehensible comments about Russia in my satires, peaking, in June 2015, with the following paragraph (apologies if I have quoted it before).
“To me, 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.” But I suspect the author of the subsequent comment, “Even if Putin bee, he struggle for better colony much better for world than western wasp colonialist Lee tries to flag wave”, was an Observer reader joining in.
Did the Kremlin trolls’ cost-effective cyber campaign finally run out of steam? Trump surrendered the White House, eventually; the anticipated EU exit domino effect was headed off by the reality of Brexit; all over Europe, oligarchs’ assets are being seized; even in Britain, Roman Abramovich’s assets were finally frozen and stored in the ice compartment of the Downing Street lockdown party wine fridge. Putin has unplugged the wifi and sent in the tanks. Russia entangled British trousers, as surely as Lebedev tangled Turds’s on that fateful Italian evening. First we must hold the Home Office to account, neutralise the anti-refugee aftertaste of the Brexit campaign, and match European hospitality for the displaced victims of war. Then we must disentangle our trousers. Permanently.
Stewart Lee
2022-03-13T16:06:09+00:00
A nakedly corrupt and evidently narcissistic leader, surrounded by a phalanx of accommodating acolytes, enriched his supporters with liquidised public assets and spurious government schemes, flagrantly broke international treaties, trashed domestic political standards, systematically flooded social media with fake news, used his power over the press to spread disinformation over many decades, sought to destabilise the EU, had fruitful meetings with far right figures in Europe and America, weaponised nostalgic nationalism, and allowed refugees to be used as cannon fodder in an ongoing border dispute. But now is not the time for Keir Starmer to call for Boris Johnson’s resignation. (Did you see what I did there? I’m here all week!! Try the fish!!!) Britain shamefully allowed Russian oligarchs to pay their way into the upper echelons of society, and is internationally despised for it. It is probably the only area of the current conflict in which we do genuinely “lead the world”. Did the wealthy interlopers’ presence protect Putin from meaningful criticism? Kill a British citizen in a Salisbury park, and then sarcastically maintain your trained assassins were tourists, of an ecclesiastical bent, keen to see the cathedral en plein soleil? Step right this way, sir! And would you like to play tennis with the prime minister too? Stick your head in between them and go “Blubby blubby blubby”. Swathes of the home counties are now populated by oligarchs who look like they saw a Jack Vettriano painting of a woman putting on some stockings while a smoking man masturbates through a French window, and instead of just vomiting, decided that was the lifestyle for them! The Intelligence and Security Committee report on Russia, from July 2020, warned, as cautiously as possible, about their influence on British media and politics, but played down the danger of an oligarch-fuelled Jack...
Last weekend, I stood on a remote Derbyshire moor with my flask and surveyed the romantic remnants of a once-flourishing society that faded out, forgotten, 5,000 years ago. Civilisations hang by threads and can collapse, as Hemingway said, “gradually and then suddenly”. Watching the Conservatives and their media allies dissolve objective notions of truth before my eyes daily these last two weeks I wonder if the Great Britain we loved is entering the “suddenly” phase.
Paul Marshall, the £680m financier and father of Mumford & Sons’ banjo-playing Jordan Peterson fan Winston Marshall, funds the libertarian-lite wankstains’ website Unherd, where Nick Cave is finally able to speak without fear of censure by the wokerati. And Marshall Sr also backs the inexplicably unregulated conspiracy-theory-and-saloon-bar-opinion funnel GB News. But Marshall, it transpires, has been sharing unambiguously, and now mysteriously disappeared, Islamophobic material online, like your shit Christmas-dinner uncle but with his own multimillion-pound media propaganda platform. Yes, Uncle Paul. Allah wants British people to be replaced. Yes, Uncle Paul. Winston is doing very well on the banjo at school. More sprouts?
It’s hard to imagine the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper, becoming even more rightwing, and even less trustworthy, but Marshall plans to buy it and then it will become a mere tissue of Tufton Street talking points. On Marshall’s GB News, rightwing politicians present rightwing talkshows where they interview rightwing politicians to promote rightwing policies, while Ofcom looks the other way like bent cops in The Sopranos. If you work for Ofcom, what is the point of your life exactly? Why don’t you go and work for the Environment Agency, where your experience of failing to deal with Paul Marshall will surely be valuable in ensuring the ongoing flow of raw sewage into our rivers? We need broadcasters and newspapers that will hold lies to account, not propagate them, or democracy dies.
Last month, Conservative party social media accounts selectively clipped news footage to make the London mayor, Sadiq Khan, appear antisemitic, using a mid-sentence stumble he immediately corrected. On Times Radio, the Tory party chair, Richard Holden, defended the Conservatives’ circulation of the fake footage, largely unchallenged in my opinion by the accommodating presenter, Calum Macdonald. The important thing, apparently, was not whether the video of Khan was real or not. What mattered was what it told us about Khan. I used to tell a long, false, but plausible story on stage about David Cameron making me eat his vomit when I was a student. The punchline was that it didn’t matter if the story was true, because what it told us about David Cameron was true. An absurd, self-parodic joke of 15 years ago is now an actual Tory attack strategy.
Eight days later, the GB News presenter, former Tory Party deputy chair, and Ashfield MP Lee Anderson appeared on Paul Marshall’s GB News. He was being interviewed in his capacity as a Tory MP by a GB News presenter, rather than interviewing another Tory MP in his own capacity as a Tory MP GB News presenter. Speaking of the London mayor, Anderson said Islamists had got control of “a very cowardly Khan” who was, among other things, letting down the Jewish population. Anderson soon had the whip taken away from him, technically for failing to apologise, but essentially for speaking ill of someone his own party had tried to smear in a similar fashion by using edited footage just over a week earlier.
Throughout the week it became clear that Tory MPs had been briefed that Anderson’s comments were serious enough to be condemned, but that they were not to alienate potential voters from the valuable racist and Islamophobic communities by condemning the comments as racist or Islamophobic. In Wednesday’s PMQs, Keir Starmer, by criticising the Conservatives’ relationship with Nigel Farage, made it clear he was finally happy to let those same voters swing to Reform plc, where the red wall referendum cannon-fodder whose votes holed Britain below the waterline for a generation can be farmed like pigs for political power by Richard Tice.
Someday, the communique advising all Tory MPs to just use the word “wrong” over and over again all week in respect of Anderson’s comments, without ever defining what “wrong” means, will come to light. Michael Tomlinson, who is the Tory MP for both Mid Dorset and North Poole simultaneously, used the word “wrong” seven times, without defining it, before being cut off by the normally compliant Nick Ferrari on LBC. On Monday, the Tory Forest of Dean MP Mark Harper told Sky’s Kay Burley that Anderson’s comments were “wrong” 10 times, but refused her repeated invitations to clarify. On Wednesday, Croydon South’s disposable Tory MP Chris Philp told her Anderson’s undefinable comments were abstractly wrong three times. When discourse is this degraded, democracy is, suddenly, entering the palliative stage.
Last weekend, a helpful farmer pointed me in the direction of the Brand End Stones, said I was welcome to walk across his land on what appeared to be a Roman road, and confessed that the smaller of the two monoliths was now considerably shorter, having been kicked by a horse. The pair were still impressive, in their imperious isolation, a white mist billowing up from the Dove Valley beyond. The farmer pointed out another stone on the horizon, undocumented by archaeologists, with which he said they aligned, but when I looked for it later I was unable to find it. He asked me what the stones were for exactly. I said no one really knew. No records remain. Down in the valley, he said, there were ancient earthworks, but they had been rendered unrecognisable by quad-bike damage. I expect these Neolithic stargazers thought their way of life would last for ever. Then maybe someone started lying about stuff. And things deteriorated rapidly.
Stewart Lee
2024-03-03T15:55:13+00:00
Last weekend, I stood on a remote Derbyshire moor with my flask and surveyed the romantic remnants of a once-flourishing society that faded out, forgotten, 5,000 years ago. Civilisations hang by threads and can collapse, as Hemingway said, “gradually and then suddenly”. Watching the Conservatives and their media allies dissolve objective notions of truth before my eyes daily these last two weeks I wonder if the Great Britain we loved is entering the “suddenly” phase. Paul Marshall, the £680m financier and father of Mumford & Sons’ banjo-playing Jordan Peterson fan Winston Marshall, funds the libertarian-lite wankstains’ website Unherd, where Nick Cave is finally able to speak without fear of censure by the wokerati. And Marshall Sr also backs the inexplicably unregulated conspiracy-theory-and-saloon-bar-opinion funnel GB News. But Marshall, it transpires, has been sharing unambiguously, and now mysteriously disappeared, Islamophobic material online, like your shit Christmas-dinner uncle but with his own multimillion-pound media propaganda platform. Yes, Uncle Paul. Allah wants British people to be replaced. Yes, Uncle Paul. Winston is doing very well on the banjo at school. More sprouts? It’s hard to imagine the Daily Telegraph, Britain’s worst newspaper, becoming even more rightwing, and even less trustworthy, but Marshall plans to buy it and then it will become a mere tissue of Tufton Street talking points. On Marshall’s GB News, rightwing politicians present rightwing talkshows where they interview rightwing politicians to promote rightwing policies, while Ofcom looks the other way like bent cops in The Sopranos. If you work for Ofcom, what is the point of your life exactly? Why don’t you go and work for the Environment Agency, where your experience of failing to deal with Paul Marshall will surely be valuable in ensuring the ongoing flow of raw sewage into our rivers? We need broadcasters and newspapers that will...
Last month I was in Languedoc, formerly the fabled Cathar country, a remote outpost of heroic resistance to oppressive distant rulers. This month I am in Edinburgh. Plus ça change.
I don’t feel happy away from home at the moment. Like you, I have a terrible feeling that in the last three months the society we know has been slipping away, and the values we treasured systematically discarded, as the traditional opposition parties flutter away uselessly like old unspooled audio tape, wound round a lamppost at a dual carriageway junction.
A government of crackhead burglars has breached the window locks, smashing porcelain statuettes in a National Trust property, as they blow through looking for something disposable they can flog on fast to their dodgy mates, an Xbox, an iPhone, an ancient forest or a publicly owned bank.
Meanwhile, the centre-right squabble about whether to allow leftwing people to vote for an old leftwing man to lead an old leftwing party, or whether to allow it to be led by one of three wooden spoons with faces drawn on them that, if viewed from a certain angle, might look reassuringly like some of the people that are already in power.
But here I am in the comforting four-week fiction of the Edinburgh fringe, the Kos national stadium of the arts. And I am but a lotus eater, eating a fried lotus supper from the Clam Shell chippy on the Royal Mile, and washing it down with sugary lotus-ade. Burp.
Once again, the same venues have sprung up in the same bars and parks and beer gardens, and there are clowns and jugglers, puppeteers and children’s entertainers, circuses and bread. Yum yum. Ha ha.
Last night at 2am stars burst overhead. But I missed them because I was looking in the gutter. A stream of hot dog’s urine was carrying along a crumpled four-star review of my standup show from the Daily Telegraph, reflections of meteorites glittering gold and yellow around its incoherent bet-hedging. The image seemed profound, but in the clear light of the morning, as I poured out desiccated haggis for the kids, its exact meaning escaped me.
I’m so frightened now of real events I daren’t look at legitimate newspapers. Is it true the Conservatives are brazenly closing down official channels of opposition to strong-arm councils into allowing their friends and donors in the fossil fuels industry to frack everywhere, even under formerly protected national parks? Yes it is. Why isn’t this being stopped?
Amber Rudd, energy secretary, says shale gas must play a part in our energy supplies. But I thought if we got all this stuff out of the ground we would all die? And here, north of the border, the scrapping of wind farm subsidies bites, but will leave the death cult of Daily Telegraph readers delighted. Meanwhile, I am watching a clown and eating battered lotus burger, with lotus stains all over my Batman trainers.
Even the artists that ought to be complaining are all just drunk in a Grassmarket bar. And any that say anything, if they happen to be gay or “ethnics” or “women posing as comedians”, will be dismissed as evidence of a leftwing media cabal that controls the country (not terribly effectively, under the circumstances), and then be threatened with rapes and beatings and burnings. And that’s just by the newspaper critics.
When something is playing on your mind, you see evidence of it everywhere. Hence religion. Once I longed for forgiveness – and a ghost appeared to me, in Wolverhampton, and forgave me. But I still do not believe in ghosts, and anyway, the person whose ghost it was would never have chosen to visit Wolverhampton. Alive or dead. So I know it was not real.
As a result of the same mental process, the precious few shows I have managed to see here in Edinburgh, in between performing myself and occupying the children, begin to bleed meanings that probably aren’t there. Am I going mad with post-election grief and fear, or was the kids’ show, Our Teacher’s a Troll, at Summerhall, really a call to overthrow a corrupt government?
In the lean two-performer piece, an evil troll, imaginatively conjured from empty space by flickering lights, takes over a school, chews children’s heads off, sets the survivors to work in a gold mine, and eventually humiliates and oppresses even the compliant staff who thought they might benefit from collaborating with it. Sound familiar?
The troll, brilliantly, justifies its cruel actions by reference to a garbled reading of natural law, not dissimilar to the survival-of-the-fittest theorising that appears to underscore neoliberal free-market dogma, as espoused by the current crop of Conservative trolls from Sajid Javid to George “pencils” Osborne.
Of course, the two dozen under-eights sitting around me weren’t necessarily responding to the story on this level, although a caricature of a dissembling politician seemed universally recognisable, even to infants barely able to speak, who gurgled self-aggrandisingly at his appearance, like horrible West End theatre audiences do at a joke about some supposedly unfashionable brand of kitchenware.
It appears that all is lost until two small children, Holly and Sean, emerge from the silent compliant mass to ask the troll “Why?” Why does he govern them in the way that he does? Under their persistent questioning the troll, and his belief system, eventually crumble. And I left the theatre feeling a little less hopeless, feeling that all it might take to stop the juggernaut of unfairness is for someone, anyone at this stage, to ask why. A child could do it. So why not then a funny, little old man?
Maybe I am projecting my own anxieties on to the piece? Would a kids’ show consciously carry such weight? Or is it natural that any thoughtful piece of art should do so?
The similarly thoughtful young comedian Nish Kumar is currently appearing on the fringe with a show that explains, with knowing playfulness, why, in his opinion, there are no good rightwing comedians and no good leftwing action films, and how he takes the different pleasures he as a human needs from both, ideologically different, genres.
Likewise, it would be hard to imagine an effective children’s show written in support of child slavery and government by oppression and intimidation. It wouldn’t seem right to justify these things to children. But perhaps the market for it would be there. So let’s see someone write one, and let the market decide.
Stewart Lee
2015-08-16T13:34:44+01:00
Last month I was in Languedoc, formerly the fabled Cathar country, a remote outpost of heroic resistance to oppressive distant rulers. This month I am in Edinburgh. Plus ça change. I don’t feel happy away from home at the moment. Like you, I have a terrible feeling that in the last three months the society we know has been slipping away, and the values we treasured systematically discarded, as the traditional opposition parties flutter away uselessly like old unspooled audio tape, wound round a lamppost at a dual carriageway junction. A government of crackhead burglars has breached the window locks, smashing porcelain statuettes in a National Trust property, as they blow through looking for something disposable they can flog on fast to their dodgy mates, an Xbox, an iPhone, an ancient forest or a publicly owned bank. Meanwhile, the centre-right squabble about whether to allow leftwing people to vote for an old leftwing man to lead an old leftwing party, or whether to allow it to be led by one of three wooden spoons with faces drawn on them that, if viewed from a certain angle, might look reassuringly like some of the people that are already in power. But here I am in the comforting four-week fiction of the Edinburgh fringe, the Kos national stadium of the arts. And I am but a lotus eater, eating a fried lotus supper from the Clam Shell chippy on the Royal Mile, and washing it down with sugary lotus-ade. Burp. Once again, the same venues have sprung up in the same bars and parks and beer gardens, and there are clowns and jugglers, puppeteers and children’s entertainers, circuses and bread. Yum yum. Ha ha. Last night at 2am stars burst overhead. But I missed them because I was looking in the gutter....
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...
Hmmm... writing about stand-up comedy when you're not a stand-up comedian is tricky... Like writing about sausage production when you aren't involved in the production of sausages - what you end up with is a piece that probably puts you off the product whatever you say.
Lee is a comedian who frequently requires perseverance (a bit like that above meaningless metaphor). As he suggests in his own show, staring balefully down the lens of the camera 'I imagine watching this at home you'd find this terribly tedious'. The argument against this style of comedy is that comedy is frequently perceived as a form of escapism rather than as an art-form in itself. But that's the argument that justifies switching television channels from Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy to The A-Team: the latter is more instantly accessible - but the former will last forever as a significant cultural moment.
Similarly, sticking with Lee (if you can find him late at night on BBC2), and
learning to find his nuanced comedy funny is a worthwhile and rewarding exercise.
Stewart Lee is a difficult comedian to like, and when you do like him - he's a difficult comedian to persuade other people to like.
The problem is there are the bare minimum of traditional jokes - no catchphrases and almost no enclosed, defined moments of humour. His routines rely on his spending time building a rapport with the audience - then challenging that rapport thereby daring the audience to stay with him. All of this is blended with a self-mockery. Lee, in the best style of a preacher, approaches his craft with a theme. He describes the theme at the beginning of his set, unpacks the theme during the set, and then explains how the theme has worked - and somehow he manages to do all this comedically. In his fabled comeback set, '90s Comedian, this technique was an essential one. In the midst of being accused of blasphemy and receiving hate mail from right wing Christians for his work on Jerry Springer: The Opera, Lee decided to devote the second half of his show to a single, visceral anecdote that combined alcohol induced emesis with an encounter with Christ. The first half of his show involved his attempts to prepare the audience in time for the second half. Somehow, he gets away with it.
His television series, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle is a condensed and truncated version of his live shows. Each episode follows a similar format - he opens his routine with a more traditional set of stand-up anecdotes, follows this with a more abstract piece illustrating the first half in which he 'acts' as a character or characters in conversation. These two halves are punctuated by filmed inserts showing him in interview with producer Armando Iannucci who, in the role of a BBC executive, criticises Lee's lack of jokes and idiosyncratic approach to comedy. The episodes all end with an elaborately filmed piece drawing the themes of the set together - the first episode, for example, depicted Lee dressed as Godzilla defending a model city from a giant lobster, while the second depicted Lee besieging an isolated house dressed as a pearly king/biker arms with a shotgun.
It's almost impossible to relay Lee's comedy after the event - his style is such that repeating his lines or trying to re-enact his anecdotes are guaranteed to not be funny. Lee's comedy relies so much on both seeing the whole routine and on his tone, the silences between the lines, even his posture. Disconcertingly, it's difficult to relay Lee's comedy even when talking to someone who has seen a whole episode. Watching Lee is an hilarious ordeal. When you get him it makes it much easier to stick with him - but if you fail to make that first step then you're lost. But Lee helps you along the path to finding him funny. His sets are designed carefully to guide you (or manipulate you depending on your cynicism) towards the laughs. I know this because his book, effectively a transcription of his three most notable routines with footnotes, describes the skills and techniques Lee employs to hold the audience.
Of course - it would be useless if, to understand Lee's comedy, you needed to read his book in advance. Fortunately, like his book, his routines come with footnotes. The filmed inserts in the television episodes are part of this trick - they undercut the frequently contentious, apparently arrogant content of the main stand-up by mocking both Lee personally and his style. These moments act as points of reference, driving the theme of the set home, but also as breathing spaces, allowing the audience to take stock before Lee proceeds towards more contentious material. This is the key to Lee's style - he refuses to compromise but also refuses to leave the audience behind. Those he loses are almost collateral damage, grudgingly sacrificed in the knowledge that if they fail to find Lee funny in half an hour, they probably won't be able to persevere for an hour or more of his live show. As such, Lee hones his audience . He suggests in his book, mockingly but not without reason, he has carefully selected his audience - and it is clear even in the limited time-spans of these television episodes how he manages to do this.
So - love him or loathe him, or love him and loathe him (it is possible), you need to understand Lee's place in the hierarchy of current stand-up comedy. He stands apart from recent, stadium behemoths such as Michael McIntyre, Russell Brand and Frankie Boyle partially by being less popular - but this position allows him the freedom to mock his fellow comedians 'from below' - and his moments of self-reflexivity allows him to do so without appearing genuinely jealous or bitter. In this way, he is, perhaps, the most ethical of comedians.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-16T22:09:27+01:00
Hmmm... writing about stand-up comedy when you're not a stand-up comedian is tricky... Like writing about sausage production when you aren't involved in the production of sausages - what you end up with is a piece that probably puts you off the product whatever you say. Lee is a comedian who frequently requires perseverance (a bit like that above meaningless metaphor). As he suggests in his own show, staring balefully down the lens of the camera 'I imagine watching this at home you'd find this terribly tedious'. The argument against this style of comedy is that comedy is frequently perceived as a form of escapism rather than as an art-form in itself. But that's the argument that justifies switching television channels from Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy to The A-Team: the latter is more instantly accessible - but the former will last forever as a significant cultural moment. Similarly, sticking with Lee (if you can find him late at night on BBC2), and learning to find his nuanced comedy funny is a worthwhile and rewarding exercise. Stewart Lee is a difficult comedian to like, and when you do like him - he's a difficult comedian to persuade other people to like. The problem is there are the bare minimum of traditional jokes - no catchphrases and almost no enclosed, defined moments of humour. His routines rely on his spending time building a rapport with the audience - then challenging that rapport thereby daring the audience to stay with him. All of this is blended with a self-mockery. Lee, in the best style of a preacher, approaches his craft with a theme. He describes the theme at the beginning of his set, unpacks the theme during the set, and then explains how the theme has worked - and somehow he manages to do all...
My bathroom contains a six foot square area of hotel toiletries, arranged over two large shelves, set in a westerly alcove. I have harvested the toiletries from hotels, bed and breakfast establishments, and motels over a fifteen year period of travelling the world as a stand-up comedian, during which I have spent approximately half of each year in strange rooms cleaning myself with soap I neither chose nor paid for. I now have more conditioner than I can use in my lifetime, especially as, at current rates of recession, I will be bald in thirteen years’ time. Then, if I continue to accumulate hotel toiletries with the same dedication I have throughout my adult life so far, I will be an entirely hairless man, like a speaking lizard or a shaven ape, with the world’s largest privately owned collection of hair maintenance products. Does this seem futile to you? Yes? Well, rest assured, in many ways it seems futile to me too.
My dedicated snaffling of soaps and shampoo has become compulsive. I have a system. On arriving in a room I immediately conceal all the available toiletries, so that any staff coming in at any time will be obliged to replenish them. Female travelling companions have, historically, complained that the toiletries they seek to use for their intended purposes are often hidden before they have even seen them. On long trips, such as the four months I have just spent in Australia and New Zealand, I box up all my hotel toiletries once every three weeks and mail them home to me in London via Sea Mail, the cheapest available freight method. This takes about three months, and can lead to delicious surprises. Only last week a crate of toiletries arrived from Auckland, mainly culled from the Heritage Serviced apartments, which I had quite forgotten ever posting. The staff at the Heritage had not been as generous as those at the Medina Grand Serviced Apartments in Melbourne, and I think they got wise to my system about ten days in, sometimes withholding their daily soap and shampoo stocks out of spite. Thus the toiletry haul from Auckland itself was not as big as it should have been, but was made up for by a night in a hotel in the Maori spa-town of Rotarura, where the comedians I was travelling with all gave me the contents of their rooms too.
The first time I ever stayed in a toiletry stocked hotel room was in April 1990, supporting the comedian Jerry Sadowitz, in Bradford. I was 21, and out on the road, and it seemed thrilling. I could not believe I was being paid to perform, and that there was free soap and shampoo thrown in. The toiletries I took home with me served, in some way, to confirm that this incredible state of affairs was actually real. But do not imagine that my toiletry collection tells the story of my career, from humble £8 a night rooms in the early 90’s in government subsidised doss-houses in Bristol or Glasgow, to the heights of five star luxury at the Four Seasons, Beverley Hills, or The Westin, Melbourne, courtesy of American television networks and Australian State Funded Arts Festivals. It does not. I abandoned any attempt at a chronologically ordered display sometime in the mid-90’s, when my then fledgling collection began to overwhelm the available space in the bathroom of the house I then shared with relative strangers, who I suspected of secretly using my toiletries for their own ablutions, rather than revering them as a icons in their own right.
And do not imagine that each of the sachets of shampoo, or individually wrapped tablets of soap, or tiny bottles of body lotion, tells a story, or sparks a Proustian reverie. To be frank, I remember little of anywhere that I have been. I do not look at a piece of Canadian soap and think, “Aaaah. Montreal! I remember. I remember the sweet smell of the blueberry muffins, the harsh but pleasing bite of cigarette smoke in my throat as I stood by the docks at mid-night, and the scent of Jessica’s perfume as we walked hand in hand over the disused railway line.” No. Instead, I merely think, “Ah. There is a piece of soap, piled up, with the others, in the soap section, behind the shower gel sachets, next to the mouthwash bottles.”
But there is a meaning behind this vast assembly of elegantly packaged slime. Do I have anything to show for the three seasons I was made to spend in LA, auditioning for parts as ‘eccentric British neighbour’ or ‘fish out of water type guy’ in sit-coms? Do I have anything to show for the trips I made to New York to meet Miramax about the funding of my never-made screenplay? Did my two years storming stages at The Montreal Festival amount to anything? Have a decade and a half of circuitous touring of the United Kingdom added up to much? Well, my London comedy circuit contemporaries Lee Evans, Eddie Izzard, Steve Coogan and Patrick Marber may have burgeoning pages on the Internet Movie Database, but I, only in my late 30’s, have already accumulated more soap, shampoo, body lotion, bath foam, conditioner, shower gel, mouthwash and mending kits than I will ever need.
How do we measure our success? By our bank balances? By the amount of power we have over those weaker than us? By the amount of love we personally spread around this wicked world? Or by vague, mutable notions of personal happiness? I have my own method, mine and mine alone, and on my own terms, I am ahead by a nose.
Stewart Lee
2005-07-01T21:14:40+01:00
My bathroom contains a six foot square area of hotel toiletries, arranged over two large shelves, set in a westerly alcove. I have harvested the toiletries from hotels, bed and breakfast establishments, and motels over a fifteen year period of travelling the world as a stand-up comedian, during which I have spent approximately half of each year in strange rooms cleaning myself with soap I neither chose nor paid for. I now have more conditioner than I can use in my lifetime, especially as, at current rates of recession, I will be bald in thirteen years’ time. Then, if I continue to accumulate hotel toiletries with the same dedication I have throughout my adult life so far, I will be an entirely hairless man, like a speaking lizard or a shaven ape, with the world’s largest privately owned collection of hair maintenance products. Does this seem futile to you? Yes? Well, rest assured, in many ways it seems futile to me too. My dedicated snaffling of soaps and shampoo has become compulsive. I have a system. On arriving in a room I immediately conceal all the available toiletries, so that any staff coming in at any time will be obliged to replenish them. Female travelling companions have, historically, complained that the toiletries they seek to use for their intended purposes are often hidden before they have even seen them. On long trips, such as the four months I have just spent in Australia and New Zealand, I box up all my hotel toiletries once every three weeks and mail them home to me in London via Sea Mail, the cheapest available freight method. This takes about three months, and can lead to delicious surprises. Only last week a crate of toiletries arrived from Auckland, mainly culled from the Heritage Serviced...
2009 has been an exciting year for Stewart Lee. His TV show, 'Comedy Vehicle' aired on BBC2 to critical acclaim. This enabled Stewart to break out of the arts centre circuit and play large theatres for his new show for the year, If You Want A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. Having seen the fantastic Swansea date of this tour (reviewed in this issue), I spoke to Stewart the next day to discuss the tour, TV show and The Daily Mail, amongst other things. Interview by Leigh
MM: You are currently in the middle of your new tour, having already done the Edinburgh Festival. How has the tour been going so far?
Stewart: It's been going really great. In Edinburgh I did a hundred- seater room for a month, because I knew I'd be doing big rooms, and they are difficult to hear. You can't quite gauge the responses, so playing the little room which I normally do, The Stand, was really great, because I knew the show worked properly before I had to upgrade it to spaces that aren't always great for comedy.
The most difficult one yet was actually the Swansea one, because it was a big room which was only half full, so the bodies don't quite absorb the laughs. It's hard to get an atmosphere in the room and you have to trust your own internal timing as you can't quite hear the room, because all the sound disappears into the roof of the auditorium.
So last night's show was a mixture of a real performance, but also I had to trust that it was going better than I could hear and sort of fake it a bit, which I think that all these comics who are properly famous and who are used to doing stadiums do, because you can't really get a proper flavour of what's actually happening in the bigger rooms sometimes, and Swansea was one of the biggest places that I've done so far. It was great, but it wasn't as spark-y as some of the others have been, because I couldn't quite hear the room.
MM: One of the arcs of the show is based around Frankie Boyle's comment that after 40 you shouldn't really be doing stand up. Do you think there's any truth in that comment at all?
Stewart: Ummmmm no. I think people in stand up get better with age, usually. A lot of musicians get worse. There's something about being in a rock band, it's kind of a naïve art form. It can be really great when you've got loads of energy and no technique. I think sometimes technique in rock music makes people kind of worse, actually.
With comedy you tend to get better. The pitfalls are that sometimes you can get sucked towards blandness as your life becomes blander. You're not out there having adventures anymore. The other thing is that people tend to become more conservative politically as they get older, which doesn't always make for great comedy. We are living in strangely reactionary times where you could almost not be conservative enough to satisfy many audiences.
It depends where you're coming from. When I was 21 and started doing stand up I remember a quote from Victoria Wood, who is kind of a godmother of alternative comedy, and she said that no-one under 30 should do stand up as you couldn't possibly know enough about anything. I don't agree with that, either. But I also think that it's part of Frankie's sense of humour.
I don't think he would really think that. Or else he was talking about himself and what he's doing in his life. Stand up can be anything you
want, particularly if you're Frankie Boyle, you know, he's really popular, so there's nothing to stop him doing anything he wants on stage. He could do a really thoughtful, nice show, or a story show, or he can do what he does now, loads of jokes. The main thing about him saying that was that I had an idea that this show should be about what I'm supposed to be writing about.
I thought, 'what am I supposed to write about as a 40 year old comedian and a father of one?' I had this idea about something that happened to me in a coffee shop and I started writing about it and thought, 'that's so bland, so middle-aged'. When I read that quote of Frankie's I thought that it was a great way to set up an argument in the show. There's someone who said you should give up doing stand up, so you have to prove why you should be doing stand up. What have you got to offer, you know? So I suppose that's what the show is about.
I'm talking about all the slippery ideas, things that make me feel that there's nothing left for me to relate to in culture as an older man who still has the political views he had as a teenager. I know Frankie; I wouldn't hesitate to tell him that I'd done that. It was just something he'd said in an interview and it seemed funny.
MM: There is a bit in your new show which talks about Richard Hammond [a TV presenter for any of our non-UK readers]. The Daily Mail took sections of this bit completely out of context for a story. What was your reaction to this 'journalism'?
Stewart: The guy came up to me in the street before the show in Edinburgh and said, “I write for the Daily Mail and the Mail on Sunday, I understand you are calling for Richard Hammond to be decapitated" and I said, “Have you seen the show?" and he said, “No", and I told him I wouldn't talk to him about it and he'd have to make something up.
He said, “Well what's it about then?" and I said, “It's a joke, like they have on Top Gear". There's absolutely no point in talking to it about people, that's what I've learnt. There's no point in discussing it because there's no way that the nuance of what you're doing can translate to the Mail on Sunday. The problem was that if I had tried to explain it then it would've spoiled the joke for people coming.
And also no-one that reads the Mail on Sunday or likes Top Gear is going to come and see me anyway. So it doesn't make any difference. What I learned from Jerry Springer The Opera, which I co-wrote and got in trouble for, they sent me around the country trying to justify it when people tried to ban it, and there was absolutely no point having a discussion with any of the people because they'd already made their minds up.
All that happened was that I was forced to explain what we meant by it, which I think spoilt it for people who were coming to see it, so I'd be happy to have a conversation about what I meant the show to be about with you, but there's no point doing it on the back-foot when you're being attacked by a tabloid newspaper.
Actually I thought the article in the Mail was really funny. The way it was written up was hilarious. They changed what I'd said, they had me saying, 'I hoped his head had exploded into a million pieces', which is pretty funny. They had this picture of me smiling, looking quite nice, then next to it a picture of Richard Hammond's car exploding and then a picture of Richard Hammond's face looking unhappy. It looked like something they do in Viz, you know.
Anyone with half a brain reading between the lines would realise what the joke was, it's about…well you know what it's about. It's about if you are on Top Gear
and you attack the weak and the defenceless and say, “It's only a joke", then what's to stop that being used against you? Nothing. You have no comeback on it because that's your defence when you pick on gypsies or whoever. The best you can come up with is 'it's just a joke'. It's just about that idea. No-one reading the Mail on Sunday would agree with that anyway, because they hate the poor (laughs).
It's not as if I've lost any audience by it. At the end of the day, when you're 41 and have a family it's nice to get good reviews, but really all you're hoping is that bad reviews don't make it more difficult for me to pay my mortgage.
MM: This year you've gained more exposure with your BBC show. On your '41st Best Stand Up Ever' DVD you talk about the disappointment of having the show offered and then taken away. Were you surprised when the offer was then put back on the table?
Stewart: I was, yeah. It was offered to me in May 2005, withdrawn in April 2006, then back on the cards in spring/summer of 2007. So I was surprised and confused, because the offer was for exactly the same project that was already turned down by the man who had turned it down. The thing about television is that there's no point trying to make any sense of it. It's like looking at the weather system. If you go out and it starts raining and you get wet, it doesn't mean that the weather was trying to harm you. It was just raining. Likewise if it's sunny and you're happy, it doesn't mean that weather likes you, it's just weather.
So you have to view television and commissioning procedures as kind of a random system that there's no logic to. You can't start to believe that it means anything because there're lots of people much better than me who have never been on television and there're lots of people much worse than me that are on television all the time, so it doesn't mean they are good or bad, it just means that their face fitted at the time, and what strange decisions were being made behind closed doors about what kind of audience they were trying to attract.
That said, I still think that the BBC is out best bet globally for any kind of quality news coverage or comedy or anything.
There's a tiny chink of risk there, where they can afford to make things without having to worry too much. I know it's a deeply flawed system, but I've benefited hugely from it and I don't think there's any way that a commercial broadcaster would have made any of the things that I've done.
MM: In the series you did an episode criticising some aspects of television. Was there anything you wanted to add to that show but couldn't as it was on the BBC?
Stewart: No, there was nothing I was stopped doing in the whole series, apart from one sentence about David Cameron that I was made to slightly re-twig so that it was factually accurate. It was just something he'd said about religious schools, I just had to change it so it was right. One other bit was this idea I had about religious dog training schools, and I wanted to have an Islamic one for training dogs, and there was a concern that was never really resolved that because there's a cultural, but not a specifically religious, taboo about dogs in Islamic culture, although not necessarily in the Islamic faith, that it would look like I was being deliberately provocative.
I was asked not to do that, and to be honest no-one was really able to resolve whether this Islamic dog taboo was the case or not, so we just had to let it go. It actually made the bit funnier.
Those were the only things I was stopped on. But there's other stuff that I wouldn't have done on TV anyway, because there's things that I do in the live shows that are very long and they are contextualised and they have balance.
You worry that on TV a sentence gets taken out of context and pinged around the world, and it's not worth the risk with YouTube and all this kind of thing.
MM: Some of your shows talk about religion and atheism.With books by Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens hitting bestsellers lists in the last few years, do you think that atheism is being looked at more positively in mainstream society?
Stewart: Definitely. The worry about it then is that you have to remember to be polite. There probably isn't a God, but it's not worth getting too cross about.
You have to be able to carry on your discussions with your mental enemies with a greater degree of politeness than they've historically shown to us (laughs).
There's a worry now that in Europe, as the rationalist's cause starts to gain ground that you have to avoid triumphalism. Remember that there's still a lot of work to do and that's best achieved with a degree of cautious politeness, but you can understand people's frustration when their work gets banned and they get shouted down.
MM: The TV series recently came out on DVD and, as you mention in your new show, you've had trouble with people illegally downloading your DVDs, so will you continue releasing live DVDs?
Stewart: I will do, in fact the guy that put out the last one sold 57 last week, so he's just about to cover his costs, so he wants to do this show.
MM: Is that Go Faster Stripe?
Stewart: No, this is Colin Dench, who runs another company, but Go Faster Stripe are great as well, and I'll definitely do some more with them if they'll have me. Probably audio stuff or old archive, but the new show will be filmed with Colin Dench. He films it to broadcast quality which means you can flog it on to the Paramount channel or whatever.
Go Faster Stripe are really brilliant and what they've done is fantastic, because there a lots of really great comics who don't get on telly, and there's no documentation of them. Four or five of the DVDs that Go Faster Stripe have got are of the best people working today, people like Tony Law, Simon Munnery and John Hegley.
Will Hodgson is amazing and it's really great that they are out there doing it. It's one guy in Cardiff, Chris Evans, and I think that the British Film Institute should give him a grant because he's documenting the best people, and they don't get documented as a rule.
MM: He's also bringing comedy out on different formats. He released your Pea Green Boat poem/story on 10", and comedy hasn't been pressed on vinyl for 20 years or so.
Stewart: (laughs) Just as everyone else is heading into downloads I'm going back to vinyl. Good idea.
MM: In your new show you tell a story about your youth and being friends with members of Napalm Death…
Stewart:Well there's no-one that I knew in Napalm Death who are still in Napalm Death. The only person from the line-up on the first album was Nick Bullen, who sang on one side. Nick Bullen wasn't at my school, but the other three were. The other three were, they were Daryl Fedeski, Simon Oppenheimer and Miles Ratledge.
I didn't know them that well; they were in the year above me. I was in a play with Daryl Fedeski, I was a butler and he was a sailor, I was in a walking club where we used to go walking in Wales with the other members of Napalm Death. I did see them when they had that lineup and around that time they were only 14 or 15.
They got on these compilation albums that Crass used to put out called Bullshit Detector which were samplers of new anarcho-punk bands, but back then they sounded more like Crass or Poison Girls or something. They hadn't got that sound, even that's on the first album, where they sort of invented speed/metal/thrash/grind punk.
They played sort of early 80's anarchopunk.
MM: Speaking of music, in your new show you close the show with a song. Did you approach picking up a guitar live with some trepidation?
Stewart: I stopped doing stand up in 2001 for three years, partly because I was never nervous and did the same sort of things again and again and I was sort of jaded with it, and I think that communicated to audiences. So every new show I do I try and do something I think is going to be difficult.
In the last show it was trying to show a degree of sensitivity, I suppose, about having a kid and things like that. In the show before that it was about having one 40-minute routine which only had one joke at the end. This time around I thought I'd try and end on a song. It's sort of not something you'd expect from me, and also it'd make me nervous.
It means I'll be nervous all the way through the show until the end, because I've got this thing coming up. It was a deliberate thing to do, and when I can afford to get him along I have a fiddler to play along as well. He helped me learn it. It was a deliberate decision to make it hard for myself.
MM: I think a few people may have missed the Sex Pistols reference in the song last night.
Stewart: Yeah... I do like the song 'Galway Girl', and I was sad when it was in an advert, that's what gave me the idea for the words, with Iggy Pop and John Lydon being in adverts. Also things you like generally, Nick Drake songs being in phone adverts and so on. I thought one of the only things you've got when you get older is culture that you love, books, films, music, comedy that means stuff to you. It's really depressing when it's taken away or the meaning is changed.
Although I hope that the song's funny, I am also serious in saying that we need to value these things more and let them retain their original meaning and not abuse them.
You've only got one memory, you've only got one life and those special things are what keep people going, and certainly the Nick Drake albums that I loved, you just now think of that horrible fucking BT advert where his music is playing and they are talking about options for friends and family and stuff like that. It's insane, it's awful. I know that's an old-fashioned point of view, but that's what I think. Leave stuff alone (laughs).
MM: You also talk about the recent Magner's Cider adverts, and of course the comedian Mark Watson is the 'actor' in them…
Stewart: Yeah, I don't mention him in the show because I've got no personal animosity with him. I wish it hadn't been him and had been some anonymous actor. I know him a little bit.
I've seen some of his work and I like it, but it would be hard to watch him again without thinking of advertising.
MM: I like Mark Watson, but wondered why he'd decided to do an advert.
Stewart: I expect he did it because he's got a family. He always does very well in Edinburgh, but for the rest of the year you don't really hear much of him. I would worry if I were Mark Watson. The brand of Mark Watson, as a quirky young fellow who thinks deeply about things and wears a Socrates T-shirt is compromised by being in an advert, on a purely practical level.
I would imagine there are people who would stop going to see him because of it. But then he might pick up a lot of people who like cider (laughs).
MM: You're closing up the year with a month-long season at Leicester Square Theatre with If You Want a Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. Have you done a season that long before in London?
Stewart: I think it's six or seven weeks. I have done five weeks before at Soho Theatre, which is half the size. It may be that people won't come, but on the tour I've been getting 25-50% more people than usual, so maybe it will be all right. It's about a 350 seat theatre, and I could probably have done a shorter run at a bigger venue, but I chose this as it's sort of an optimum size for stand up, especially with what I do. It's not a big show.
So I decided to do a longer run at Leicester Square and see what happens. I hope people come. It's been good around the country so far.
MM: Do you have any new projects for next year?
Stewart: I'm not sure yet. The BBC are supposed to tell me at the end of January whether we'll do a second series. If they will do a second series then I'll get on with that and I'll do some stuff in Edinburgh and film it before the summer of 2011. If they don't do another series then I'll write a new show for August next year and then I'll tour it and hopefully be back everywhere I've been before in about a year's time. It'd be really nice to do a TV show again, because it's nice to earn that money, and it's nice to earn that money without being away from home when you've got a little kid.
On the other hand, just having it on at all has been amazing and it's transformed my life. The money meant we could get a mortgage and stay in London and get a flat with a room for our son. And the exposure, it's not like being Michael McIntyre, but it does mean I get six hundred people rather than three hundred, and that makes the economics for touring so much easier. I can get someone to drive and come with us and help us with technical things, I can pay an opening act properly and I can pay a fiddler for some of the gigs and it just makes life easier.
I was just getting old and tired to be honest, and I don't know if I could've carried on doing what I did without a little bit of a leg up. I was getting burnt out. I was in a sort of funny quandary where I'd get really good reviews in broadsheet newspapers, but I'm not the kind of comic who does corporate gigs, I can't do them, I'm not very good at them, or do the commercial gigs like Jongleurs or the Comedy Store, so unless I'm on the small theatre/arts centre circuit it's hard to know what to do exactly, and the telly show has probably really helped get people along.
It will be interesting to see what difference this makes long term, but when I used to tour there was always 10-15% of the audience, maybe more, where I just wasn't what they wanted to see. They'd come to see some stand up comedy and they end up seeing this boring bloke going on really quietly about things they aren't interested in. Because the TV show was an accurate reflection of that, those people aren't coming on this tour.
There was a bloke in Worthing that hated it, but on the whole, most of the people who come know what they're coming to. You can have more fun with them and there are more of them. In fact, a lot of people who think they don't like stand up come and see me because it's not like other stand up.
It's helped to whittle out trouble, the people who wouldn't get it in an audience, which is nice, but on the other hand all of us think that who we are now is the sum total of all our experience in the past and I wouldn't want to undo the twenty years I've had doing gigs to people who didn't really like me (laughs).
I think it helped me become what I am now. It is nice now, at 41, when you have a kid and want to earn some money to be playing to large groups of people that actually want to see you (laughs).
Stewart Lee
2009-12-01T16:24:04+00:00
2009 has been an exciting year for Stewart Lee. His TV show, 'Comedy Vehicle' aired on BBC2 to critical acclaim. This enabled Stewart to break out of the arts centre circuit and play large theatres for his new show for the year, If You Want A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. Having seen the fantastic Swansea date of this tour (reviewed in this issue), I spoke to Stewart the next day to discuss the tour, TV show and The Daily Mail, amongst other things. Interview by Leigh MM: You are currently in the middle of your new tour, having already done the Edinburgh Festival. How has the tour been going so far? Stewart: It's been going really great. In Edinburgh I did a hundred- seater room for a month, because I knew I'd be doing big rooms, and they are difficult to hear. You can't quite gauge the responses, so playing the little room which I normally do, The Stand, was really great, because I knew the show worked properly before I had to upgrade it to spaces that aren't always great for comedy. The most difficult one yet was actually the Swansea one, because it was a big room which was only half full, so the bodies don't quite absorb the laughs. It's hard to get an atmosphere in the room and you have to trust your own internal timing as you can't quite hear the room, because all the sound disappears into the roof of the auditorium. So last night's show was a mixture of a real performance, but also I had to trust that it was going better than I could hear and sort of fake it a bit, which I think that all these comics who are properly famous and who are used to doing...
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...
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...
Called the "world's greatest living standup" by The Times, listen to Stewart chat with Clare about the mechanics of comedy, his favorite music and whether or not he's ever seen a ghost, also features Orkney oatcakes.
Stewart Lee
2025-08-26T11:29:00+01:00
Called the "world's greatest living standup" by The Times, listen to Stewart chat with Clare about the mechanics of comedy, his favorite music and whether or not he's ever seen a ghost, also features Orkney oatcakes.
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...
It is a strange situation Lee finds himself in at this moment in time.
Despite the huge success of his BBC show 'Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle' in terms of viewing figures, DVD sales and Netflix streams, he was told by the broadcaster that they wouldn't be keeping him on for another series.
Instead, money would be ploughed into a remake of Are You Being Served and other dull, lifeless attempts at sitcoms.
However, Telford born Lee is a survivor and has reverted back to what he does best by taking his latest 90 minute show 'Content Provider' on the road.
The first of two nights at Birmingham's Symphony Hall saw Lee attack the audience at every opportunity, blasting them for bringing friends who 'don't get it', demanding that nobody used their phone during the show and painfully explaining his material to those who he felt weren't smart enough to understand it.
Those who already know what to expect from Lee will have revelled in this strange, very British, form of self deprecation.
Only us Brits could pay good money to see a comedian, spend two hours getting insulted by him and still go home happy.
Of course, this wasn't the whole show.
Content Provider touched on Brexit, Trump, social media, Pokemon Go, Game of Thrones and bondage, just to name a few, with everything coming together in a way it is tricky to put your finger on.
It felt to me that the main point of the show was to shine a light on how our obsession with social media fads has stripped away more than one layer of the culture which had previously been our trademark.
Instead of enjoying beautiful works of art, like Caspar David Friedrich’s painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, which is often referenced throughout the show, we are looking at selfies on Instagram.
Instead of poets, painters, singers, actors and comedians, we have content providers, offering us watered down, bite-size versions of things we can remember once dearly taking to our hearts.
Lee stands alone against this, giving us a show with immense depth, quality and meaning.
He may pretend to despise his audience, but those who saw what Lee had to offer at the Symphony Hall will no doubt be back next time he visits Birmingham.
There isn't another show out there like his that they can go and see.
Stewart Lee
2017-03-28T20:49:15+01:00
It is a strange situation Lee finds himself in at this moment in time. Despite the huge success of his BBC show 'Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle' in terms of viewing figures, DVD sales and Netflix streams, he was told by the broadcaster that they wouldn't be keeping him on for another series. Instead, money would be ploughed into a remake of Are You Being Served and other dull, lifeless attempts at sitcoms. However, Telford born Lee is a survivor and has reverted back to what he does best by taking his latest 90 minute show 'Content Provider' on the road. The first of two nights at Birmingham's Symphony Hall saw Lee attack the audience at every opportunity, blasting them for bringing friends who 'don't get it', demanding that nobody used their phone during the show and painfully explaining his material to those who he felt weren't smart enough to understand it. Those who already know what to expect from Lee will have revelled in this strange, very British, form of self deprecation. Only us Brits could pay good money to see a comedian, spend two hours getting insulted by him and still go home happy. Of course, this wasn't the whole show. Content Provider touched on Brexit, Trump, social media, Pokemon Go, Game of Thrones and bondage, just to name a few, with everything coming together in a way it is tricky to put your finger on. It felt to me that the main point of the show was to shine a light on how our obsession with social media fads has stripped away more than one layer of the culture which had previously been our trademark. Instead of enjoying beautiful works of art, like Caspar David Friedrich’s painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, which is often referenced throughout...
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.
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.
Martin Carthy, English folk pioneer and national treasure, celebrates his 70th birthday at the Royal Festival Hall next weekend, and here's a two disc career overview.
The hypnotic, chunky, acoustic guitar style arrives fully-formed on the earliest tracks, from '65 and '66, pulsating round the purloined ur-folk licks on which Paul Simon and Bob Dylan built their breakthroughs.
Psychically sympathetic modal duets with the fiddler Dave Swarbrick remain timelessly intense. By a 2004 reading of Famous Flower Of Serving Men, ten minutes of head-drone render contemporary acid folk obsolete, and Carthy's once reedy vocal has a Methuselaic authority, his playing flowing like blood.
Stewart Lee
2011-05-08T11:23:07+01:00
Martin Carthy, English folk pioneer and national treasure, celebrates his 70th birthday at the Royal Festival Hall next weekend, and here's a two disc career overview. The hypnotic, chunky, acoustic guitar style arrives fully-formed on the earliest tracks, from '65 and '66, pulsating round the purloined ur-folk licks on which Paul Simon and Bob Dylan built their breakthroughs. Psychically sympathetic modal duets with the fiddler Dave Swarbrick remain timelessly intense. By a 2004 reading of Famous Flower Of Serving Men, ten minutes of head-drone render contemporary acid folk obsolete, and Carthy's once reedy vocal has a Methuselaic authority, his playing flowing like blood.
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,...
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.
A corrupt and narcissistic leader has backed himself into a corner after a dirty campaign, driven by propaganda and lies; he has trashed international treaties, justifying his actions through deliberate political and historical falsehoods, propagated for decades by pliant client media; and now he is looking for a way out of a seemingly doomed situation.
But that’s enough of Boris Johnson’s Brexit disaster! Putin’s war in Ukraine isn’t going well either!! I’m here all week!!! Try the fish!!!! Sorry, you can’t. We’ve run out. Try the Own Brand I Can’t Believe It’s Not Fish Fish Substitute, you lazy extravagant peasant. But you’ll have to wait until later, after chef has done a 4pm emergency run to the yellow-stickered discount aisle. You might have to just have Party Eggs™®. Get a job! Then get another job!! And don’t forget to tip your waitress!!! Oh, there isn’t one. They’ve all gone back to Europe. Sorry.
In my Buxton hotel dining room a confused young Englishman, new to the short-staffed set-up and unacquainted with the pretentious Euro-concept of lids, placed a fuzzy British Jaycloth™® over the budget breakfast buffet platter of fried eggs. Tiny blue-and-white microfibres burrowed into the yolks. Britain is those eggs. Brexit is that Jaycloth™®. I haven’t decided who the man putting the Jaycloth™® on the eggs is but when I do this bit will end up as a Swiftian slice of satire, rest assured. (Does it work if the man is Tim Wetherspoon? Arron Banks? Roger Daltrey perhaps? I will ask Ian Hislop, who is in charge of these things.) And since you ask, if anything the Jaycloth™® fibres made the eggs even more delicious, free from the food standards fascism of Brussels. Another Brexit bonus!
Why doesn’t the British press pursue the crimes of Johnson with the dedication with which it covers Wayne Rooney’s gradual metamorphosis into a cross between a Grange Hill geography teacher and a pastel drawing of my rotting face after drowning? Stories we never get to read, when Conservative corruption is cited under parliamentary privilege or in as yet unresolved investigations, are ignored here but highlighted in the foreign press, where we are now viewed as a failed fascist state where the trains still don’t run on time.
Feeling like the Sue Gray report of public transport, I sat stationary between Finsbury Park and Stevenage for 45 minutes on Tuesday despite people being deported, the curtailment of the right to protest, the crushing of critical broadcasters and the disappearance of liberal arts and humanities from the curriculum. What’s in it for me?
Here the media has focused instead on the fact that the carbon-based lifeform Keir Starmer sometimes needs to eat foods, which are then turned into energy by his body. The waste is then removed by a process called defecation, leaving a foul byproduct that Dan Hodges of the Daily Mail has vowed to go through with a fine-toothed comb, determined not to allow the Labour leader to get away with it.
In contrast, due to a hedgehog pate-overdose at Eton, Johnson can only turn food into energy if it’s in the form of surprise birthday cake, mini fridge wine, or £27,000 of Daylesford Organic luxury meals. These were sneaked in the back of No 10 by a courier, so somebody at least thought it looked bad whether it was legitimate or not, though the fact that the massive boxes were branded “Daylesford” and had photos of contented-looking cows on them rather gave them away.
Daylesford is owned by Lady Bamford, wife of JCB billionaire Lord Bamford, whose yellow diggers Johnson never misses an opportunity to prat about on photogenically, even visiting Bamford’s Gujarat factory during his busy India trip. If there was an Egg And Bacon Flan for Excavators scandal, it has been overlooked.
Why don’t the press explain the simple truth that Johnson’s insistence his oven-ready deal could serve both Brexit and the Good Friday agreement was either stupid or dishonest? Johnson threw people on both sides of the border under his bullshit-covered Brexit bus. And now he’s driving that bus back over them, and blaming the EU for the squelching, even as he throws the vehicle into reverse.
At PMQs, a jabbering Johnson began by reaching for the same empty flagons of rhetorical drywank that recently saw even his not especially ethical propaganda adviser Munira Mirza walk away in shame to do something less soul-destroying. Johnson’s opening move was to dampen Starmer’s first question by suggesting the Labour leader is unable to decide what a woman is. Again.
This crudely exploited culture war standby, which serves neither side in the debate, had previously been stood down. Johnson had switched from joking like a panel show twat about trans people at a Park Plaza hotel dinner on the 29 March, to praising Tory MP Jamie Wallis the next morning, after he came out as trans: “The Conservative party I lead will always give you, and everyone else, the love and support you need to be yourself.” Try telling that to Allegra Stratton.
Johnson’s platitudinous toss was another example of him having his cake and eating it. But there’s precious little cake in, for example, the “red-wall” seats, where millions of EU hardship fund monies remain unmatched by the Brexit government. Ironically, during lockdown, Boris Johnson did have a cake, and he also ate it, but then tried to say he didn’t have a cake after all, Jenkins, and anyway it was horrible. It’s a shame his Brexit promise, that we could have our Brexit cake and eat that too, turned out to be not even “half-baked”. Ba-da-boom! I’m here all week!! Try the gruel!!!
Stewart Lee
2022-05-22T20:28:50+01:00
A corrupt and narcissistic leader has backed himself into a corner after a dirty campaign, driven by propaganda and lies; he has trashed international treaties, justifying his actions through deliberate political and historical falsehoods, propagated for decades by pliant client media; and now he is looking for a way out of a seemingly doomed situation. But that’s enough of Boris Johnson’s Brexit disaster! Putin’s war in Ukraine isn’t going well either!! I’m here all week!!! Try the fish!!!! Sorry, you can’t. We’ve run out. Try the Own Brand I Can’t Believe It’s Not Fish Fish Substitute, you lazy extravagant peasant. But you’ll have to wait until later, after chef has done a 4pm emergency run to the yellow-stickered discount aisle. You might have to just have Party Eggs™®. Get a job! Then get another job!! And don’t forget to tip your waitress!!! Oh, there isn’t one. They’ve all gone back to Europe. Sorry. In my Buxton hotel dining room a confused young Englishman, new to the short-staffed set-up and unacquainted with the pretentious Euro-concept of lids, placed a fuzzy British Jaycloth™® over the budget breakfast buffet platter of fried eggs. Tiny blue-and-white microfibres burrowed into the yolks. Britain is those eggs. Brexit is that Jaycloth™®. I haven’t decided who the man putting the Jaycloth™® on the eggs is but when I do this bit will end up as a Swiftian slice of satire, rest assured. (Does it work if the man is Tim Wetherspoon? Arron Banks? Roger Daltrey perhaps? I will ask Ian Hislop, who is in charge of these things.) And since you ask, if anything the Jaycloth™® fibres made the eggs even more delicious, free from the food standards fascism of Brussels. Another Brexit bonus! Why doesn’t the British press pursue the crimes of Johnson with the dedication...
"Visiting athletes enjoying their first taste of an East End curry have just discovered a new purpose for their Olympic Rings!" That was the tweet that started it all. Fans of me and my comedy work will know I am an inescapable presence on the Twitter social networking site and have more than 900,000 followers. It's not an ego thing. Drip-feeding a few gags every 20 minutes helps me to maintain my customer base and the discipline of being humorous in 140 characters or fewer forces me to develop different kinds of comedy from the multi-award-winning, long-form, idea-driven monologues I am best known for. When you've won two British Comedy awards, a Bafta and a Chortle award all in the same year, it's easy to rest on your laurels and I find that grappling with Twitter's stylistic limitations helps me keep my wits sharp and my comedy muscle match-fit.
The throwaway Olympic Ring gag isn't among my best work, admittedly, drawing as it does a simple and direct comedic comparison between the Olympic Rings themselves and the perhaps inflamed anuses of visiting Olympians who might perhaps have gone out for a curry in the East End of London, maybe around Brick Lane, and who might then perhaps have ordered a dish that was somewhat hotter than advisable, perhaps leading to soreness later when defecating. I'm not saying this did happen or ever will happen. It probably didn't and probably never will. What I am saying is that if it did happen, and the information that it had happened were somehow to leak out into the public domain, then there would be more than ample opportunity for we satirists to use the word "ring" in both its Olympic and its rectal sense.
Anyway, the gag, which I made on the Twitter network three days ago, wasn't intended to be analysed to death. It was just supposed to be a bit of spur-of-the-moment fun, something to keep my fans in the loop and my follower numbers up until the next pithy bon mot, although I noticed David Baddiel had re-tweeted it to Jonathan Ross, who in turn had re-tweeted it to United Nations secretary general Ban Ki-moon, who in turn had re-tweeted it to Ricky Gervais, who had then sent it to all his followers, without clear attribution, sadly. But what I could not have anticipated was the Olympic ring of fire that the gag would cause to surround me over the next 48 hours.
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I wasn't aware of the extent to which unauthorised use of key Olympic phrases is being policed during the Games this year. Nearly 300 "Advertisement Enforcement Officers" are on hand to ensure that only the Olympics' official sponsors get sole commercial use of a list of Olympics-associated phrases so extensive it even includes "summer", "bronze" and "London".
Astonishingly, an independent butcher, Dennis Spurr of Weymouth, has already been told to remove a sign showing his bespoke sausages in the shape of Olympic rings. Had I known this, I perhaps wouldn't have been so surprised when, on Friday at 5am, a team of a dozen Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers dressed in matching McDonald's- and Coca-Cola-branded NBC suits battered down my door and pinned me up against a bookcase while my wife and children looked on in horror.
Once the hoo-hah had died down and I had tweeted my near-million followers to tell them I was OK, we all sat around the conservatory table with a pot of tea. While the Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers regretted their heavy- handed entrance, it transpired that the problem was that there was already a precedent for action against an Olympic Rings/anus comparison.
Last week, a cheeky chemist in Truro, Paul Deakley, put up a humorous handmade sign, written in marker pen, saying: "This summer, why not soothe your Olympic Rings with Anusol." Even though the haemorrhoid ointment manufacturers had not asked Deakley to advertise their product in any manner at all, let alone such a controversial one, it was decided that Deakley's business, which is not an official Olympic sponsor, was profiting by association with the Olympics. (Obviously I hadn't known this Deakley guy had already done an Olympic Rings/anus gag, and if I had I wouldn't have done mine, but it is difficult for professional comics to stay ahead of the pack now that any amateur clown has access to Twitter, online blogs, cardboard and marker pens.) But either way, Deakley's Olympic Ring joke counts as "ambush marketing" and it's just the sort of thing the Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officers are cracking down on.
"But hang on," I said. "My Olympic Rings tweet was just a joke. It had no commercial application." "Well, we would argue that it did," offered the lead Olympic Advertisement Enforcement Officer, Leslie Macintosh, and asked me what I thought the point of my Twitter feed was.
Without thinking it through, I answered: "Well, to flex my comedy muscle and to maintain links with the people who come and see me live and buy all my DVDs."
"Exactly," she said. "So in other words your appropriation of the Olympic symbol served the purpose of furthering your own business interests. We're not monsters. We can't, and wouldn't, stop an ordinary member of the public using the phrase 'Olympic rings' to another member of the public, even if they were using it as a euphemism for anuses, but the fact that you can generate increased income by using the phrase means you are in contravention of our sponsors' agreements."
I packed a bag and said goodbye to my children. Leslie had explained the official questioning process might take some days. "I don't understand," said my son through his tears. "Am I allowed to say 'Olympics' or not?"
"Yes," I told him. "I think you are allowed to say 'Olympics'. But I'm not sure that I'm allowed to quote you saying the word 'Olympics' in a piece I might write for money. It's all very confusing."
I spent the next 48 hours waiting to be processed, sitting on a stone bench in a damp cell in Newham. By the end of the ordeal I had Olympic Ring problems of my own but realised it wouldn't be appropriate to tell my million-plus Twitter followers anything about that!
Stewart Lee
2012-07-22T14:51:41+01:00
"Visiting athletes enjoying their first taste of an East End curry have just discovered a new purpose for their Olympic Rings!" That was the tweet that started it all. Fans of me and my comedy work will know I am an inescapable presence on the Twitter social networking site and have more than 900,000 followers. It's not an ego thing. Drip-feeding a few gags every 20 minutes helps me to maintain my customer base and the discipline of being humorous in 140 characters or fewer forces me to develop different kinds of comedy from the multi-award-winning, long-form, idea-driven monologues I am best known for. When you've won two British Comedy awards, a Bafta and a Chortle award all in the same year, it's easy to rest on your laurels and I find that grappling with Twitter's stylistic limitations helps me keep my wits sharp and my comedy muscle match-fit. The throwaway Olympic Ring gag isn't among my best work, admittedly, drawing as it does a simple and direct comedic comparison between the Olympic Rings themselves and the perhaps inflamed anuses of visiting Olympians who might perhaps have gone out for a curry in the East End of London, maybe around Brick Lane, and who might then perhaps have ordered a dish that was somewhat hotter than advisable, perhaps leading to soreness later when defecating. I'm not saying this did happen or ever will happen. It probably didn't and probably never will. What I am saying is that if it did happen, and the information that it had happened were somehow to leak out into the public domain, then there would be more than ample opportunity for we satirists to use the word "ring" in both its Olympic and its rectal sense. Anyway, the gag, which I made on the Twitter...
Having scarcely been to a live comedy gig, Stewart Lee was surely a niche act to start on. His acerbic routine has been described by some as a parody of his alter-ego; by others as a deconstruction of stand-up comedy itself.
And even as a confessed Stewart Lee fan, I must admit that his style does not elicit the same sort of easy laughs as Jimmy Carr or Michael McIntyre – both comedians whose popularity Lee mocks with a heady mixture of artistic contempt and barely concealed professional jealousy.
‘Observational comedy!’, he laments, bemoaning his lack of surely deserved popular appeal, whilst implicitly taking aim at the elitism of his audience. You don’t simply laugh at a Stewart Lee joke, you nod in smug amusement, wearing the ironic face of someone who has understood all the layers of complexity therein. To laugh at the surface level content is to join the Stygian swamps of populism for which Lee reserves nothing but condescension and contempt. ‘Did you laugh at the Stewart Lee gig? No, but I agreed the f*** out of it!’
But here’s the thing. Lee’s comedy is premised on his bitterness and resentment that he lacks the commercial success of his comedic rivals despite his obvious superiority. Except, post-lockdown, this previously unknown comedian has filled theatres across the country. Over the last decade, his act has maintained its critical appeal, and now audiences flock in greater numbers than ever before. How, then, can Stewart Lee adapt to this popularity? Does his own success ironically put him into the same category as those he criticises: a populist, a predictable deliverer of numb sensation? How could he possibly square this glaring contradiction?
As it turns out, the answer is arrogance. Sheer, unadulterated arrogance. A form of arrogance that is utterly at odds with what the audience sees: a comedian rapidly advancing through middle age, his greying hair, his decaying form, this tragic image of a man struggling for relevance whilst insisting that his greatness remains undimmed. Thus throughout Snowflake/Tornado, he takes aim at the Guardian – where he writes a weekly column – as if he was personally insulted by their consistently positive reviews of his stand-up.
The subtext of all this pomposity, I think, is that his success means increasingly little in a society fractured by generation, culture and class. His narcissism represents the chasm between a self-congratulatory elite and ordinary working people. Lee isn’t resentful of his doting pundits – he’s frustrated that his critical success signifies nothing. Macbeth has seized the crown, and finds the sceptre empty and hollow. Admittedly, in this analogy, Macbeth seizes power not by killing the king, but by offering sardonic and layered comments parodying his own lack of said power. Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this irony from my hand?
Beneath it all, Snowflake/Tornado is a tour de force from a comedian who remains remarkably aware of the cultural trends of the younger generation. There’s no hint of ageing cynicism, at least beyond the slightly jaded references to Fortnite and Stormzy. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown” features at one point, though I won’t elaborate any further.
This cultural awareness distinguishes Lee from his Oxbridge predecessors John Cleese and Eric Idle, both of whom seem increasingly alienated from a society of gender pronouns and vanilla latte. Whereas Idle and Cleese bash ‘woke culture’ – a corrupted and largely meaningless term, I might add – Lee displays a sensitivity to shifting cultural norms. There’s no attempt to bash the poor, the young, gypsies or other ethnic minorities; no attempt to criticise the sensitivity of the ‘snowflake generation’.
After the performance, a friend (let’s call him Tony) asked me if I thought Snowflake/Tornado was a good introduction to Stewart Lee’s standup. Probably. Maybe. I’m not entirely sure.
Another friend said they felt the content was slightly less clever than the stuff they’d previously seen. Although I initially agreed, I now think the reason the act felt less sophisticated relates to the subtext of the pandemic, which has spelt disaster for the arts. Lee, who has produced documentaries on regional punk-rock bands, is a passionate supporter of theatre and the arts more generally. So there was a sense in which he was willing to suspend the ‘layers of irony’ to give people a good time, delighting in the attention of a live audience after three years of lockdown.
Finally, if you are lucky enough to go and see Snowflake/Tornado, make sure you know who Alan Bennett is. And JL Austin. And read up on the literature around 19th century Eastern-European sociology.
Stewart Lee
2022-02-23T19:44:26+00:00
Having scarcely been to a live comedy gig, Stewart Lee was surely a niche act to start on. His acerbic routine has been described by some as a parody of his alter-ego; by others as a deconstruction of stand-up comedy itself. And even as a confessed Stewart Lee fan, I must admit that his style does not elicit the same sort of easy laughs as Jimmy Carr or Michael McIntyre – both comedians whose popularity Lee mocks with a heady mixture of artistic contempt and barely concealed professional jealousy. ‘Observational comedy!’, he laments, bemoaning his lack of surely deserved popular appeal, whilst implicitly taking aim at the elitism of his audience. You don’t simply laugh at a Stewart Lee joke, you nod in smug amusement, wearing the ironic face of someone who has understood all the layers of complexity therein. To laugh at the surface level content is to join the Stygian swamps of populism for which Lee reserves nothing but condescension and contempt. ‘Did you laugh at the Stewart Lee gig? No, but I agreed the f*** out of it!’ But here’s the thing. Lee’s comedy is premised on his bitterness and resentment that he lacks the commercial success of his comedic rivals despite his obvious superiority. Except, post-lockdown, this previously unknown comedian has filled theatres across the country. Over the last decade, his act has maintained its critical appeal, and now audiences flock in greater numbers than ever before. How, then, can Stewart Lee adapt to this popularity? Does his own success ironically put him into the same category as those he criticises: a populist, a predictable deliverer of numb sensation? How could he possibly square this glaring contradiction? As it turns out, the answer is arrogance. Sheer, unadulterated arrogance. A form of arrogance that is utterly at...
In life we all have different guises. There are times at work where we have to dress up our serious side and play the professional. Then at home we can kick off this costume and return to our default role of leading goofball. I mean, this blog I write is another form of characterisation: it is and isn’t me. Despite being far from articulate on this, I’m far more articulate here than I am in real life. In my day-to-day existence I couldn’t hold an audience for five minutes; I don’t have the verbosity to hold someone’s attention. But on here, I have time to pause, to think, to hone and check before pushing send. I don’t see your faces when you read this. Therefore, I’m unconcerned by what you think of me; consequently, I write more personally and honestly about art, religion and politics. In real life I wouldn’t challenge someone on what they watch, practice or think because I’d be worried about hurting someone’s feelings. Herein, lies the pleasure of the arts: it allows you to present your opinions without seeing the reactions of others.
Stewart Lee is a comedian and character. In real-life he is avuncular, a paroxysmal laugher, satisfied with the success he's attained. On stage he is something else: embittered and strained, dissatisfied with the level he's reached. Lee is going through something of a renaissance with this the fourth series of his Comedy Vehicle. No comedian, other than Russell Howard, has had a show devoted to their stand-up for such a sustained period of time (even then Howard’s is more of a magazine show with content deliberately unitised for YouTube viewing). Lee, on the other hand, is a comic that doesn’t ‘chunk’ routines for easy edification- his work will not go viral. Rather, he plots his work with the precision of a playwright: lines that appear inconsequential at the beginning will resonate by the end. Creator of TV masterpiece The Wire, David Simon was once asked his philosophy on screenwriting; his response, ‘Fuck the casual viewer.’ Lee is the same: he is not interested in people who have one eye on Mock The Week whilst they play Candy Crush on their phone, instead he wants people that will invest time in him and be rewarded for their patience. He is the closest thing comedy comes to theatre.
Lee nearly lost patience with stand-up altogether. Following his successful 90's partnership with Richard Herring, he found himself in a rut. His stand-up was regarded without being celebrated. The routines he wrote were well crafted with a Dali eye for the surreal, but they were no masterpieces. By Lee’s own admission, his character didn’t make sense when he was young. People thought he was too precocious, too studenty to be taken seriously. Considering a move away from comedy, he collaborated with Richard Thomas on Jerry Springer: the Opera, a smash hit that was enjoyed by Joe Public and Seb Critic. Unfortunately, a payday was to elude Lee with the Christian-right picketing the show, crying blasphemy. The ensuing lawsuit ate into Lee's profits, leaving him disconsolate. Unwilling to be silenced, Lee took his rage to the stage, turning in a bravura performance in his show 90’s Comedian. Lee begins the show by drawing a circle in chalk around him, a move conceived by Medieval clowns to protect themselves from heresy. Lee proceeds to use his freedom to rail against the restrictive thinking of the Church. The fact that this is done with a closing 40 minute routine that sails so close to blasphemy that the audiences goodwill could capsize at anytime makes it a career turning-point, proving that people could be receptive to long-form jokes.
Lee is now one of the most venerated comedians on the circuit. In a Channel 4 poll he ranked 41 in the World’s Best Stand-Up Comedians – just one place behind Bernard Manning. If only he was more racist. He regularly sells out his tour show, writes a weekly column for The Guardian and is the (self) appointed spokesperson for alternative comedy. Comedians such as John Robins argue that this position is undeserved: Lee’s Second Coming has made him rich, which makes his stand against commercial comedy ring hollow. This is true to an extent: I remember seeing Lee play the Channel 4 sponsored Udderbelly venue in Edinburgh 2007, yet today he attacks comedians that play the big venues. On the other hand, he has used his name to promote other comedians through his curated show, The Alternative Comedy Experience, in which left-field acts have gained screen time on Comedy Central. Despite his growing reputation, Lee’s persona comes from the resentment of his wilderness years. The fact he is now critically acclaimed doesn’t make it any better. Instead of objecting to no one liking him, he now objects to the people who don’t get him. Why when he’s got a loyal following are some people not on board? Why when he’s getting 5 star reviews do people write in to the BBC to tell him his show isn’t funny? Why when he’s clearly a genius do people think he’s incompetent?
Lee’s genius lies in using these slights to make his arrogance more palatable. His recent show begins with a joke that falls flat. He turns to the camera and makes a play out of it, remarking, ‘Where do they get this crowd from? Normally, my audience would go ‘Ha, Ha! Imagine liking Mock The Week.’ Lee has orchestrated his own downfall to make his ensuing pomposity seem less cruel and more ridiculous. In reminding the audience he is against the ropes, they root for him when he hits back. (I don’t know James Corden personally, but he’s always going on in interviews about how brilliant I am. And the feeling is not reciprocated. Britain’s loss is America’s loss also). Lee has cultivated too strong a following to ever be up against it: he is Ali, feigning rope-a-dope to floor his opponents.
For the comedians on the end of Lee's ire, he is a traitor: comedy is a hard enough fight without its participants turning on one another. For me and many of Lee’s fans, it is refreshing: many of his millionaire targets have made their money through selling cheap observations, therefore it’s gratifying to see them pay the price for this. Opponents would argue that Lee’s televisual status makes these attacks nasty and pernicious - Lee Mack being one- but Lee is no household name: if you showed the casual viewer a picture of him, they would say, ‘Terry Christian has let himself go. Leonardo DiCaprio has let himself go. Todd Carty has let himself go. Morrissey has let himself go. KD Lang has let herself go.’ They wouldn’t know who he is. He remains an obscure figure. As long as that stays the same, he is well within his right to stand outside the tent and piss in.
Even though I love Stewart Lee, I cannot guarantee you will like him. I think this fact alone indicates why he is an artist and not an entertainer. Artists write for themselves; entertainers for an audience. Stewart Lee is not an entertainer. His Comedy Vehicle is not entertainment. But only a fool would deny that it isn’t comedy.
Stewart Lee
2016-03-06T11:51:27+00:00
In life we all have different guises. There are times at work where we have to dress up our serious side and play the professional. Then at home we can kick off this costume and return to our default role of leading goofball. I mean, this blog I write is another form of characterisation: it is and isn’t me. Despite being far from articulate on this, I’m far more articulate here than I am in real life. In my day-to-day existence I couldn’t hold an audience for five minutes; I don’t have the verbosity to hold someone’s attention. But on here, I have time to pause, to think, to hone and check before pushing send. I don’t see your faces when you read this. Therefore, I’m unconcerned by what you think of me; consequently, I write more personally and honestly about art, religion and politics. In real life I wouldn’t challenge someone on what they watch, practice or think because I’d be worried about hurting someone’s feelings. Herein, lies the pleasure of the arts: it allows you to present your opinions without seeing the reactions of others. Stewart Lee is a comedian and character. In real-life he is avuncular, a paroxysmal laugher, satisfied with the success he's attained. On stage he is something else: embittered and strained, dissatisfied with the level he's reached. Lee is going through something of a renaissance with this the fourth series of his Comedy Vehicle. No comedian, other than Russell Howard, has had a show devoted to their stand-up for such a sustained period of time (even then Howard’s is more of a magazine show with content deliberately unitised for YouTube viewing). Lee, on the other hand, is a comic that doesn’t ‘chunk’ routines for easy edification- his work will not go viral. Rather, he...
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.
"Be careful, Brighton. Some of the jokes are traps." Watching Stewart Lee isn't like going to see any other stand-up. The audience cannot sit back and expect to be entertained, oh no, they're made to work hard - and have to be on guard at all times. No lazy, easy observational jokes here, save for the opening few minutes of token news-based satire to parody the style of comedy that less imaginative, yet more successful, comedians might peddle.
In fact, success is a taboo that casts a vulgar shadow over proceedings for Stew, formerly more used to small club venues with crowds of devotees attuned to his slow, deconstructionist shows, than playing to large audiences in theatres such as this.
Consequently he tests and tortures, dividing the audience by ability to follow his dense, splenetic routines; playing them off against each other and insisting that this "isn't for you" to those found wanting. This is ostensibly aimed at weeding out the "Jimmy Carr fans" that might have unknowingly strayed into his orbit since winning a British Comedy Award, expecting him to "notice things", like what Michael McIntyre or one of the Russell comics that they have now might do. Of course, this is all part of his onstage persona, but it makes for a provocative live experience all the same.
When one of the biggest laughs of the first half comes after an unusually broad and traditional setup/punchline joke (one of only a couple in the whole show), it's not with the intention of entertaining the audience - it's to root out the people he believes "shouldn't be here". In a twist on the established relationship dynamic between performer and audience, it's the wearily despairing Stew who is evaluating and judging us. This even extends to heckling audience members when there's a perception that they don't get it - "Don't leave now, there's literally five minutes left. If you leave now you have no heart" - as one particular unfortunate is subjected to during the climactic unhinged rant.
The premise of this latest show, performed at Edinburgh last year, is that as the 40-something father of a small boy, he has no time to see or do anything that might inspire him. That all he does now is watch 'Scooby Doo and the Island of the Zombie Pirates' with his young son, leaving him thin on material. This is of course disingenuous - 'Carpet Remnant World' is as intricate, carefully planned and densely layered as previous iconoclastic outings of his.
He just uses it as a vehicle for established tropes such as proving that anything can be funny through prolonged, excruciating (and eventually hilarious) drawn-out repetition, and to make indignant points. Everything is seen through the prism of his son's obsession with Scooby Doo. A routine lambasting Tory spending cuts and the Big Society is done so using the metaphor of Scooby Doo's jungle canyon rope bridges ("Margaret Thatcher said 'if a man in his late 20s still uses a jungle canyon rope bridge, he can count himself a failure in life'").
This subversion extends to other topics, such as long-time targets of vitriol, Top Gear and Jeremy Clarkson. Following Clarkson's comments about believing striking workers should be shot, it was said that no Top Gear fans ever killed anyone - "Apart from Anders Bering Breivik, the Neo Nazi mass-murderer", Stew dead-pans.
The show culminates in a lengthy tale of desperately touring the country trying to "notice things" that he can put in his act, which sprawls at length becoming increasingly surreal and absurd as he chances upon shops that are made of meat, or stationery, or carpet remnants. It's played out far longer than many comedians would dare, but the audience is rewarded for sticking with it as it gradually ascends to the ridiculous, helpless laughter filling the room. All the while it points an accusing finger at the ubiquity of lazy 'Mock The Week' hack stand-up; the kind that's become a form of content to be consumed, to the point where punters feel they have a solipsistic right to enjoy every aspect for it to be worthwhile.
Stewart Lee has been described as anti-comedy, but that misses the point. He isn't 'anti-comedy' at all - he's a comedy partisan. In believing that we can and should always do better, by deconstructing the form to show that it isn't just a product, it can and should be art, and by having no truck with the substandard or the charlatan, he's very much on comedy's side. As a long-time subscriber to the punk ethics of alternative comedy, Stew champions the magic of the live spectacle - that something wonderful and unique is happening right in front of you, of shared experience.
If stand-up can still be saved from the vampirism of TV and DVDs in supermarkets, it'll be thanks to comedians who refuse to compromise, like Stewart Lee. It's a refusal to dumb-down that he shares with Daniel Kitson and Jerry Sadowitz, the three of them arguably the most important comedians in Britain today. They play around with and explode the format, what it means to be a stand-up, even what it means to be an audience. He's doing it for our own good, and we should be grateful to him for it. Or perhaps to Scooby Doo.
Stewart Lee
2012-05-14T14:26:14+01:00
"Be careful, Brighton. Some of the jokes are traps." Watching Stewart Lee isn't like going to see any other stand-up. The audience cannot sit back and expect to be entertained, oh no, they're made to work hard - and have to be on guard at all times. No lazy, easy observational jokes here, save for the opening few minutes of token news-based satire to parody the style of comedy that less imaginative, yet more successful, comedians might peddle. In fact, success is a taboo that casts a vulgar shadow over proceedings for Stew, formerly more used to small club venues with crowds of devotees attuned to his slow, deconstructionist shows, than playing to large audiences in theatres such as this. Consequently he tests and tortures, dividing the audience by ability to follow his dense, splenetic routines; playing them off against each other and insisting that this "isn't for you" to those found wanting. This is ostensibly aimed at weeding out the "Jimmy Carr fans" that might have unknowingly strayed into his orbit since winning a British Comedy Award, expecting him to "notice things", like what Michael McIntyre or one of the Russell comics that they have now might do. Of course, this is all part of his onstage persona, but it makes for a provocative live experience all the same. When one of the biggest laughs of the first half comes after an unusually broad and traditional setup/punchline joke (one of only a couple in the whole show), it's not with the intention of entertaining the audience - it's to root out the people he believes "shouldn't be here". In a twist on the established relationship dynamic between performer and audience, it's the wearily despairing Stew who is evaluating and judging us. This even extends to heckling audience members when...
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...
Mervin Griffin is a mythological heraldic beast with the body of a Lion and the wings and head of an Eagle. He lives in a nest in a tree on a small island on the River Thames in the South West London borough of Brentford, eating mainly dead rats and discarded MacDonalds packaging, and was first spotted by local resident Kevin Chippendale twenty three years ago.
Older What’s On readers may remember, in the Summer of 1984, that the inhabitants of Brentford started seeing a flying eagle-headed lion sitting on the gasometer next to the Waterman’s Arts Centre. The Brentford Griffin. That was me. Yes, I do find it difficult to meet other flying eagle-headed lions, thank-you for asking, even in a city as supposedly culturally diverse as London.
At the time, of course, the whole thing was treated as a joke. If I am honest, I can see why people might find the notion of a Brentford Griffin amusing. I suppose there is a certain amount of humour innate in adding the name of mythic being to the name of a mundane London borough. The Brentford Griffin – companion of The Acton Sasquatch. Associate of The Earlsfield Cyclops. Hilarious, I suppose, but not if you actually are the Brentford Griffin.
And I am The Brentford Griffin, as I believe I made clear. What is so funny? What are you? A Listings Magazine Journalist? And where do you live? Stoke Newington? You are The Stoke Newington Listings Magazine Journalist. I am the Brentford Griffin. Who is weeping now? It is you. Well, go on then, weep. You live in a tiny overpriced flat next to a cemetery that is collapsing from subsidence. I live in a tree in the River Thames. You cannot even fly! Does your head match your body? How tedious for you.
Stop sniggering. Is it the fact that I am a flying eagle-headed lion that amuses you? Or the fact that I chose to dwell in Brentford? If it is the latter, then you are an idiot. You know nothing! Brentford has changed a great deal in the quarter of a century since man first sighted my flying eagle-lion form. It might have seemed funny to imagine a majestic eagle-headed lion living in a tree in Brentford twenty five years ago, but now Brentford is different. You’re looking at nearly half a million for a three bedroom apartment.
But why? Brentford’s crime rate is above the national average, and many of the primary schools are under-performing. Admittedly there are luxurious apartments going up on the site of the old gasworks, where once I perched in my unassailable might, but it cannot be the lure of the Steam Museum that is sending Brentford prices skyrocketing. Nor can it be the much trumpeted reliability of the 237 and 267 bus routes! Nor the fact that Brentford is home to the headquarters of Tie Rack, the men’s neckwear manufacturer. Men will always need neckwear, and Brentford will always be the centre of British neckwear excellence. But that is not what has made it such a desirable address, nor is it the efforts of The Brentford Regeneration Partnership. No! No! And thrice No! Brentford blooms because of the memory of the Brentford Griffin!
A shadow falls across Brentford, the non-descript suburb of Hounslow! And it is my shadow! Brentford - eyrie of the Griffin! Brentford – cradle of legend! Brentford – suburb of the fantastic! Brentford… Oh, all this excitement has exhausted me. You haven’t got any dead rats have you? I left mine in the tree.
Mervin Griffin was talking to Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee
2007-03-20T16:56:55+00:00
Mervin Griffin is a mythological heraldic beast with the body of a Lion and the wings and head of an Eagle. He lives in a nest in a tree on a small island on the River Thames in the South West London borough of Brentford, eating mainly dead rats and discarded MacDonalds packaging, and was first spotted by local resident Kevin Chippendale twenty three years ago. Older What’s On readers may remember, in the Summer of 1984, that the inhabitants of Brentford started seeing a flying eagle-headed lion sitting on the gasometer next to the Waterman’s Arts Centre. The Brentford Griffin. That was me. Yes, I do find it difficult to meet other flying eagle-headed lions, thank-you for asking, even in a city as supposedly culturally diverse as London. At the time, of course, the whole thing was treated as a joke. If I am honest, I can see why people might find the notion of a Brentford Griffin amusing. I suppose there is a certain amount of humour innate in adding the name of mythic being to the name of a mundane London borough. The Brentford Griffin – companion of The Acton Sasquatch. Associate of The Earlsfield Cyclops. Hilarious, I suppose, but not if you actually are the Brentford Griffin. And I am The Brentford Griffin, as I believe I made clear. What is so funny? What are you? A Listings Magazine Journalist? And where do you live? Stoke Newington? You are The Stoke Newington Listings Magazine Journalist. I am the Brentford Griffin. Who is weeping now? It is you. Well, go on then, weep. You live in a tiny overpriced flat next to a cemetery that is collapsing from subsidence. I live in a tree in the River Thames. You cannot even fly! Does your head match your...
In 2009 The Times referred to Stewart Lee as “The comedian’s comedian, and for good reason” others have labelled him “Marmite” but love him or hate him tonights show at The Gatehouse was to a sell out crowd.
Before he got going Stewart explained the running time for the show and asked people not to use mobile phones or ‘wander’ around. He warned anyone using a mobile would have it confiscated, then it would be smashed into pieces on stage, taken back stage for further unmentionable acts before being finally returned. Within 5 minutes he’d spotted someones face light up from their screen and he ‘leapt’ from the stage and came tearing into the audience and straight to the culprit. The phone was seized and he made his way back to the stage whereupon he placed the phone down the back of his pants, where it stayed until the end of the first half. I sensed at this point there would be no heckling from audience members!
Content Provider is Stewart Lee’s first full live tour for 5 years. In that time he was of course busy writing and performing his BAFTA-award-winning BBC 2 TV series Comedy Vehicle, but the BBC’s decision to cancel the show, despite, in Stewart’s words, “it being unprecedentedly critically acclaimed, whilst also being incredibly cheap to make” is the BBC’s loss, and the stand ups fans gain.
Perhaps still a little bitter by their decision he continues “I notice there is enough money at the BBC for a remake of Are You Being Served.”
“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 warehouse, with Mrs. Slocombe standing in a massive shed just off the M6 and making cat-based double entendres to poorly paid, and soon to be deported, East European workers.”
The stage set was made up of / littered with heaps of other stand-up comedians DVDs, purchased from the Money Magpie website or Amazon for 1p.
“The cheapest you can buy a second-hand copy of one of my DVDs is £3.67!”
As he tramples and crunches over the penny priced DVD’s he explains “They were actually the cheapest building material available.”
In one routine he repeats, and repeats, the voice of a young comedian “Uh Mate, mate, why are you having a go at Russell Howard mate?”
Then defensively explains “I don’t know why people keep bringing this up, I’ve only ever had one joke about Russell Howard, years ago, although it did go on for 59 minutes!”
He noticed one empty seat about six rows back and assured us they had all definitely sold, but probably to ticket touts.
“That’s my dream… to perform to an entirely empty sold out theatre, which will eliminate the problem all live art has to face, the public’s inability to appreciate what is happening.”
He’s made a career from criticising his audience for not being bright enough to comprehend the joke, and how one small section of the audience is “getting it”, while the rest is made up of people’s friends, who’ve been dragged along, or even come by mistake, thinking they were actually off to see Lee Mack.
If a joke falls flat he’ll go back over it and dissect it bit by bit, he made an imaginary triangle shape in the air to point out where the audience should have laughed, of course it’s all part of the act, but at this point the tears were already rolling down my face.
In typical Stewart Lee loveable arrogance he declares “This show has got five-star reviews, maybe a three tonight. If you don’t find it funny, the problem is certainly not on this side of the stage.”
Stewart picked up a canvas and explained that originally when he’d penned the show back in August, he’d wanted to write it around this 19th-century painting
“It was going to be the idea of an individual in a digitised free-market society based around an image of Caspar David Friedrich’s Wanderer Above The Sea of Fog. But then Brexit happened, and as I don’t know how Brexit’s going to pan out, I can’t write anything about it, just in case it goes out of fashion or out of date, and I can’t use that bit for the full 18 months of the show, and monetise the work I’ve done.”
He did of course continue with Brexit, some may say a brave move in Stafford, a town that chose overwhelmingly to leave, but Stewart was keen for us not to make massive generalisations of leave-voters, as people voted to leave for many reasons
“Not everybody who voted to leave was a racist….. some of them were just *****!”.
He suspected the residents of Abbot’s Bromley, with their Horn Dance, had probably voted to leave, but then admitted he actually knew nothing of the village and had simply driven past it on the way to tonights show, the oldest gag in the book? But i guess it’s they way you tell them!
Writing for the show about the divisive nature of Brexit was always going to be tricky “Oxford, Monday night, round of applause; next night, Lincoln, glassed in the face, and that was by the Mayor!”
Brexit aside, Stewart finds time to pass comment on
Jimmy Carr, Nigel Farage, Game of Thrones (which he admits he’s never seen but had gained all he needed to know from the back of a merchandised mug) Gary Lineker, David Cameron and the under 40’s. From the latter he connects to the selfie taking obsessed narcissism and consumerism abundant in modern day society.
The under 40’s, with a courgette spiralizer in one hand, a smartphone in the other, slurping yoghurt drinks for breakfast, have access to instant gratification. Though he feels sorry for them, as they no nothing of the lengths people had to go to in the past to partake in niche activities or interests. Stewart used to carry a wants list of vinyl LP’s everywhere he went, and every town he played in he would visit the local record shop to try to acquire one from the list, when he did it felt fantastic, special. Then in 1997 he got connected to the internet, and within 30 minutes had found all those records on his list, but that magic of unearthing them was lost, they no longer seemed special. It’s the same for anything, stamp collecting, fishing, S&M sex, the magic is lost.
Stewart explains how for his grandparents to enjoy their interests they would have to walk for miles to find an empty potato sack that they could shape into a gimp mask, but it meant so much more than one arriving in the post with next day delivery.
The show comes to an end with a clever and poignant monologue of how our modern society has “turned away from the wider world and is looking inward.”
as Stewart climbs the mountain of DVD’s to recreate the Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog, yet instead of looking outwards he turns to the audience, selfie stick in hand to capture the moment. Genius.
Stewart Lee – Content Provider continues until March 2018.
For full details and tickets visit https://www.stewartlee.co.uk/
Stewart Lee
2017-10-01T21:04:29+01:00
In 2009 The Times referred to Stewart Lee as “The comedian’s comedian, and for good reason” others have labelled him “Marmite” but love him or hate him tonights show at The Gatehouse was to a sell out crowd. Before he got going Stewart explained the running time for the show and asked people not to use mobile phones or ‘wander’ around. He warned anyone using a mobile would have it confiscated, then it would be smashed into pieces on stage, taken back stage for further unmentionable acts before being finally returned. Within 5 minutes he’d spotted someones face light up from their screen and he ‘leapt’ from the stage and came tearing into the audience and straight to the culprit. The phone was seized and he made his way back to the stage whereupon he placed the phone down the back of his pants, where it stayed until the end of the first half. I sensed at this point there would be no heckling from audience members! Content Provider is Stewart Lee’s first full live tour for 5 years. In that time he was of course busy writing and performing his BAFTA-award-winning BBC 2 TV series Comedy Vehicle, but the BBC’s decision to cancel the show, despite, in Stewart’s words, “it being unprecedentedly critically acclaimed, whilst also being incredibly cheap to make” is the BBC’s loss, and the stand ups fans gain. Perhaps still a little bitter by their decision he continues “I notice there is enough money at the BBC for a remake of Are You Being Served.” “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 warehouse, with Mrs. Slocombe standing in a massive shed just off the...
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...
Seasick Steve narrowly pipped his contemporary, the less marketable Jawbone, to the lone position for punk-blues one-man bands in the casual consumer's collection.
There's no house room for more hollerin' lonesome hobos, yet, like H G Wells' foolhardy martians, still they come. Reverend Deadeye, Lewis Floyd Henry, and now, from the unlikely blues cradle of Christchurch New Zealand, Stomping Nick and His Blues Grenade.
Stomping Nick's guitar is a buzz garage blur, his harmonica playing is beautiful and bellicose, his drumming is breathless and barrelling, and his Orange Blossom Special is a breakneck bulldozer blast.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-21T21:52:43+01:00
Seasick Steve narrowly pipped his contemporary, the less marketable Jawbone, to the lone position for punk-blues one-man bands in the casual consumer's collection. There's no house room for more hollerin' lonesome hobos, yet, like H G Wells' foolhardy martians, still they come. Reverend Deadeye, Lewis Floyd Henry, and now, from the unlikely blues cradle of Christchurch New Zealand, Stomping Nick and His Blues Grenade. Stomping Nick's guitar is a buzz garage blur, his harmonica playing is beautiful and bellicose, his drumming is breathless and barrelling, and his Orange Blossom Special is a breakneck bulldozer blast.
We met Stewart outside the offices of Comedy Central off Oxford Street. He was holding a carrier bag containing a few CDs from HMV that he had picked up prior to the interview. Readers of Stewart's occasional Guardian column will know that he is not getting paid for the DVDs he supplied to HMV of his last show, Carpet Remnant World. How noble of the man - resisting the temptation to recoup a small part of his losses by pocketing the CDs.
We went up to the Comedy Central offices and found that the room reserved for us had been taken; so we stole some chairs from a workstation and wheeled them into a vacated office. The only thing left in there was a piece of paper stuck to the wall, detailing the notes of a management meeting. Stewart ridiculed the corporate-speak and we got on with the interview.
The first thing I did was make the mistake of referring to The Alternative Comedy Experience as 'his' programme -
"Well it's not 'my' programme," Stewart replied, "I fought really hard to not have my name in the title and not to appear on screen more than is necessary and I managed not to stand near the middle of the publicity photos as well."
He went on to explain that the idea behind the show started when Colin Dench (producer of many live comedy DVDs) had realised that there were a number of comedians on the circuit that didn't fit the mould of the 'television comic', but were loved by broadsheet newspaper reviewers and other comedians. He then thought about the ways that this lesser-known content could be packaged, and chose The Stand in Edinburgh as a venue to film them in. A spliced together selection of this stand up, along with short interviews with the comedians by Stewart Lee, comprises each episode of the twelve long series.
With The Alternative Comedy Experience; Stewart was also involved closely enough with the production that he had a veto over which comics were to be featured.
Even though a few of the comedians that you will see on the programme you may not have heard of, Stewart still wasn't completely satisfied -
"There were some slightly more extreme people I'd have liked. As it is, there are a couple of people in it that the people here [at Comedy Central] are utterly bewildered by, and can't understand why they should be in it, which is really great."
"If we did it again it would be great to have more people under thirty and more people over sixty in it as well."
However -
"I'm really pleased with the balance of women - about a third of the acts are female. I'd have liked it to have been slightly higher, because there's proportionally more women doing good stand-up now than there's ever been. Five to six isn't bad at all though, and Josie Long's got so much stuff she's basically all over the whole series. It's a much better breakdown than you get on any other stand-up show or panel show in terms of the gender balance."
And looking at the show as a whole, Stewart is "really pleased with it".
"Whether you like it or not, whether you think it's funny or not, I actually think it's the most accurate and visceral capturing of stand-up that there's been on British television since The Wheeltappers and Shunters Social Club which is a mid-70s Bernard Manning vehicle, but was nonetheless actually quite good at capturing the feeling of what a room was like."
My next question was regarding the programme that alternative comedians often like to think of as what they are the alternative to. Bland, repetitive and unimaginative, is The Alternative Comedy Experience a counterpart to Live at the Apollo?
"You're encouraged not think like that by Comedy Central, because they obviously show a lot of those sorts of programmes. Their angle would be that it's an additional choice to your buffet - you can have this weird show as well as all the square ones. But in the last couple of days I've thought fuck it, it really is. Part of what made me think that, is that there's been a documentary on BBC 2 called Funny Business, about the economics of comedy. If you've got a bland enough act, you can make five to forty thousand pounds a night doing corporate gigs."
"The content of this show and the things that drive the people in it to perform comedy are absolutely irrelevant to ninety per cent of what was said in that programme."
"So, I actually think, by accident, Comedy Central have been handed on a plate this thing that's incredibly zeitgeisty in its own way. There's a lot of talk about how the comedy bubble's burst, there's a lot of talk that it's become very bland. BBC 2 have basically bitten their own suppliers by putting this documentary out showing how bland and boring most of it is at the top level. There's also a lot of talk at the moment about unintelligent use of taste-related issues, and I think everyone in this that does stuff about contentious issues handle it with real intelligence. So I think its time has really come."
The next question comes from my co-interviewer, Tom. Has the BBC let down alternative comedy?
"Yes, definitely, I think so. It's not the BBC's fault because it's very difficult for them to know what to do. Firstly, they couldn't put this programme on, because it wouldn't get past their lawyers. I don't think the content's contentious, but there are certain buzzwords that they'd be paranoid about, which is a shame. But also, if it got seven hundred thousand viewers and good reviews in broadsheet newspapers, one spin on that to bash the BBC is: 'Why are they using public money to make these minority interest programmes that are only of interest to broad sheet newspapers?'"
We then all agree that the point of a public broadcaster is to provide broadcasting that would be undersupplied in a free market.
"I'm just saying it's difficult for them. They need a Miranda every three years to justify their comedy department and this show wouldn't have done it for them.
Stewart goes on to say that he doesn't think that Channel 4 would be interested in the programme either, because he doesn't think it's "heroin chic enough for them". He thinks that all the people on the program look like comedians should; they look like "the people that would be kicked into the urinal at school, and pissed on, and have ended up doing comedy as a result."
The Alternative Comedy Experience is truly a series that a large number of comedy fans have been waiting for. A brilliantly eclectic group of comics show the audience how comedy is supposed to be done. No corporate trappings, no cuts to celebrities chuckling, no dry ice, rock music and shouty voiceovers; just an unpolished comedian performing their act in front of a real audience.
The Alternative Comedy Vehicle features 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 of course, Stewart Lee.
It is on Comedy Central UK at 11.00pm from Tuesday 5th Feb 2013.
Interview by Rhys Giles, with additional questions by Tom Pearson, from University of Sussex's student newspaper, The Badger.
Stewart Lee
2013-01-28T21:02:00+00:00
We met Stewart outside the offices of Comedy Central off Oxford Street. He was holding a carrier bag containing a few CDs from HMV that he had picked up prior to the interview. Readers of Stewart's occasional Guardian column will know that he is not getting paid for the DVDs he supplied to HMV of his last show, Carpet Remnant World. How noble of the man - resisting the temptation to recoup a small part of his losses by pocketing the CDs. We went up to the Comedy Central offices and found that the room reserved for us had been taken; so we stole some chairs from a workstation and wheeled them into a vacated office. The only thing left in there was a piece of paper stuck to the wall, detailing the notes of a management meeting. Stewart ridiculed the corporate-speak and we got on with the interview. The first thing I did was make the mistake of referring to The Alternative Comedy Experience as 'his' programme - "Well it's not 'my' programme," Stewart replied, "I fought really hard to not have my name in the title and not to appear on screen more than is necessary and I managed not to stand near the middle of the publicity photos as well." He went on to explain that the idea behind the show started when Colin Dench (producer of many live comedy DVDs) had realised that there were a number of comedians on the circuit that didn't fit the mould of the 'television comic', but were loved by broadsheet newspaper reviewers and other comedians. He then thought about the ways that this lesser-known content could be packaged, and chose The Stand in Edinburgh as a venue to film them in. A spliced together selection of this stand up, along...
STEWART LEE (Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle) and MICHAEL CUMMING (Brass Eye, Toast Of London) are currently mid-way through collaborating on a documentary about ROBERT LLOYD, of the enduring Birmingham post-punk band THE NIGHTINGALES (The John Peel Show, Clash White Riot Tour), entitled KING ROCKER. In order to raise money to pay for further train fares and Travelodges they are pooling their resources for one special night only at Hackney’s Earth.
MICHAEL CUMMING will introduce a screening of his documentary about CHRIS MORRIS’ BRASS EYE series, OXIDE GHOSTS. And then STEWART LEE will perform an extended set of WORK IN PROGRESS, an hour of material in development for his forthcoming tour show, SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. There will be a raffle to win cool comedy memorabilia from both auteurs’ personal bin-bags. After the event ends a cut-down taster of KING ROCKER in its unfinished state will be available to view, as a bonus treat.
------------------------------
Stewart Lee: Work In Progress
Notes towards a new show from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times). Where does Stew sit in the marketplace, when Netflix mistakenly describe his show as 'reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe'?
“Self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground” Sarah Vine, The Daily Mail
“The rancid tip of a cesspit”, Tony Parson, GQ;
“Not sure Lee was the right person to close the Parkinson’s Disease benefit tonight. I think we've all moved on from ten minute fart jokes.” Rona Hunnisett, England Netball Federation
OXIDE GHOSTS: THE BRASS EYE TAPES (2017, 60 mins)
Director: Michael Cumming. Featuring: Chris Morris.
Made from hundreds of hours of unseen material from his personal archive, Michael Cumming’s film shares insights into the process of making the legendary TV series Brass Eye. Michael directed both of the pilots and the series and, over a two year period, witnessed the highs and lows of Brass Eye from a personal perspective. The film is designed solely for live screenings and is made up almost entirely of never before seen footage. Oxide Ghosts carries the blessing of Chris Morris and provides a rare glimpse of his extraordinary working practices. This film is a must for fans of the series but will appeal to anyone with a curiosity about how great comedy is made.
'[Oxide Ghosts] offers a well-judged and very rare insight into [Brass Eye’s] making, encapsulating the fun and covert excitement that went on while the project was still under wraps, before all the legal wrangling kicked in. If you're an admirer of the show and the opportunity should arise for you to see Oxide Ghosts, have some self re-cocking-spect and do so without hesitation' - Chortle
King Rocker
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, director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast of London) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales), Britain’s ultimate post-punk survivor.
Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and snug room raconteur, maintains a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness. https://kingrockerfilm.com
Stewart Lee
2019-04-16T09:17:05+01:00
EartH, Hackney, Friday 14th June. Doors 7pm. Show 8-11pm. Bar until 2am. Tickets: http://bit.ly/SLKR_Tickets (Long link: https://earthackney.seetickets.com/event/stewart-lee-oxide-ghosts-the-brass-eye-tapes/earth-theatre/1367088) STEWART LEE (Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle) and MICHAEL CUMMING (Brass Eye, Toast Of London) are currently mid-way through collaborating on a documentary about ROBERT LLOYD, of the enduring Birmingham post-punk band THE NIGHTINGALES (The John Peel Show, Clash White Riot Tour), entitled KING ROCKER. In order to raise money to pay for further train fares and Travelodges they are pooling their resources for one special night only at Hackney’s Earth. MICHAEL CUMMING will introduce a screening of his documentary about CHRIS MORRIS’ BRASS EYE series, OXIDE GHOSTS. And then STEWART LEE will perform an extended set of WORK IN PROGRESS, an hour of material in development for his forthcoming tour show, SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. There will be a raffle to win cool comedy memorabilia from both auteurs’ personal bin-bags. After the event ends a cut-down taster of KING ROCKER in its unfinished state will be available to view, as a bonus treat. ------------------------------ Stewart Lee: Work In Progress Notes towards a new show from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times). Where does Stew sit in the marketplace, when Netflix mistakenly describe his show as 'reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe'? “Self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground” Sarah Vine, The Daily Mail “The rancid tip of a cesspit”, Tony Parson, GQ; “Not sure Lee was the right person to close the Parkinson’s Disease benefit tonight. I think we've all moved on from ten minute fart jokes.” Rona Hunnisett, England Netball Federation OXIDE GHOSTS: THE BRASS EYE TAPES (2017, 60 mins) Director: Michael Cumming. Featuring: Chris Morris. Made from hundreds of hours of unseen material from his personal archive, Michael Cumming’s film shares insights into...
"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
1) NEW SHOW 2019/20 - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO
I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. 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.
he 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.
SEPTEMBER 2019
Tuesday 24th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 25th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - TICKETS
Thursday 26th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - TICKETS
Friday 27th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - TICKETS
Saturday 28th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 7pm - TICKETS
OCTOBER 2019
Tuesday 1st - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Wednesday 2nd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Thursday 3rd - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Friday 4th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
Saturday 5th - WORK-IN-PROGRESS with Free 'Content Provider' DVD - Leicester Square Theatre, London - 8.45pm - TICKETS
"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:
Jan / Feb 2020
Wednesday 29th January 2020 - Saturday 1st February 2020 - Snowflake / Tornado, Nottingham Playhouse. TICKETS HERE
April / May 2020
Wednesday 29th April 2020 - Saturday 2nd May 2020 - Snowflake / Tornado, Salford Lowry. TICKETS HERE
More national dates are currently being added & confirmed & will be announced soon. They will be listed on the Live Dates page of the website as they are added.
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 Amazon, 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 - SECOND DATE - September 2019.
AFTER THE FIRST NIGHT (14th June) sold out, we have added a 2nd date at Earth, Hackney.
Monday 16th September 2019. 7.30pm.....
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.
STEWART LEE (Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle) and MICHAEL CUMMING (Brass Eye, Toast) are currently mid-way through collaborating on a documentary about ROBERT LLOYD, of the enduring Birmingham post-punk band THE NIGHTINGALES (The John Peel Show, Clash White Riot Tour), entitled KING ROCKER. In order to raise money to pay for further train fares and Travelodges they are pooling their resources for one special night only at Hackney’s Earth.
MICHAEL CUMMING will introduce a screening of his documentary about CHRIS MORRIS’ BRASS EYE series, OXIDE GHOSTS. And then STEWART LEE will perform an extended set of WORK IN PROGRESS, an hour of material in development for his forthcoming tour show, SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO. There will be a raffle to win cool comedy memorabilia from both auteurs’ personal bin-bags. After the event ends a cut-down taster of KING ROCKER in its unfinished state will be available to view, as a bonus treat.
Stewart Lee: Work In Progress Notes towards a new show from “the world’s greatest living stand-up” (Times). Where does Stew sit in the marketplace, when Netflix mistakenly describe his show as 'reports of sharks falling from the skies are on the rise. Nobody on the Eastern Seaboard is safe'? “Self-proclaimed inhabitant of the moral high ground” Sarah Vine, The Daily Mail “The rancid tip of a cesspit”, Tony Parson, GQ; “Not sure Lee was the right person to close the Parkinson’s Disease benefit tonight. I think we've all moved on from ten minute fart jokes.” Rona Hunnisett, England Netball Federation
OXIDE GHOSTS: THE BRASS EYE TAPES (2017, 60 mins) Director: Michael Cumming. Featuring: Chris Morris. Made from hundreds of hours of unseen material from his personal archive, Michael Cumming’s film shares insights into the process of making the legendary TV series Brass Eye. Michael directed both of the pilots and the series and, over a two year period, witnessed the highs and lows of Brass Eye from a personal perspective. The film is designed solely for live screenings and is made up almost entirely of never before seen footage. Oxide Ghosts carries the blessing of Chris Morris and provides a rare glimpse of his extraordinary working practices. This film is a must for fans of the series but will appeal to anyone with a curiosity about how great comedy is made. '[Oxide Ghosts] offers a well-judged and very rare insight into [Brass Eye’s] making, encapsulating the fun and covert excitement that went on while the project was still under wraps, before all the legal wrangling kicked in. If you're an admirer of the show and the opportunity should arise for you to see Oxide Ghosts, have some self re-cocking-spect and do so without hesitation' - Chortle
King Rocker 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, director Michael Cumming (Brass Eye, Toast of London) and James Nicholls (Fire Records, Fire Films) investigate the mysterious existence of Robert Lloyd (The Prefects, The Nightingales), Britain’s ultimate post-punk survivor. Lloyd, a post-punk flaneur, sometime postman, and snug room raconteur, maintains a lifestyle outside the system via a succession of hustles, involving an encyclopaedic knowledge of horse racing and pre-punk musical weirdness. https://www.kingrockerfilm.com/
7) King Rocker Doc
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.)
"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 1) NEW SHOW 2019/20 - SNOWFLAKE/TORNADO I'm doing a new stand-up show for the back end of 2019 and the first half of 2020. 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. he 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...
WHAT WOULD JUDAS DO? Was first performed in the autumn of 2006 at Battersea Arts Centre as one of their enormously important, work-in-progress Scratch Nights.
The idea was to know the story of the last week of Judas' life as well as possible and then kind of throw it away, and tell it anecdotally, like someone remembering a series of events.
These three, not terribly hi-fi, recordings are all that remains of What Would Judas Do? They are about 20% different from each other.
You can download a work-in-progress version of the script here.
WHAT WOULD JUDAS DO? Was first performed in the autumn of 2006 at Battersea Arts Centre as one of their enormously important, work-in-progress Scratch Nights. The idea was to know the story of the last week of Judas' life as well as possible and then kind of throw it away, and tell it anecdotally, like someone remembering a series of events. These three, not terribly hi-fi, recordings are all that remains of What Would Judas Do? They are about 20% different from each other. You can download a work-in-progress version of the script here. You can buy the CD set here
The Nightingales, Stewart Lee, Grief Daddy – Wedgewood Rooms, Southsea
22/9/2018
Force 10 Gales blew into Pompey, Stewart Lee has grown a white beard and the IT Crowd form a band and Ged Babey’s last train gets cancelled. Extraordinary gig though he says.
Are the Nightingales a comedy band? I overheard a young woman say in the smokers pen -after Stewart Lee’s short, sharp set -during which he humiliated a photographer and took-down a heckler -and revisited the ‘If the Answer is Jesus, what is the Question?’ sketch from the 1980’s. He is a fucking genius but hides behind a barbed persona up-close and failed to blend into the crowd when wanting to watch the bands from out-front.
The Nightingales are a funny band, I was gonna say – but more funny peculiar than funny ha-ha.
Grief Daddy are on a high in their home-town, Battle of the Band winners and a bizarre conceptual band. They dress like IT geeks: shirts, ties and slacks, and use analogue synths and gadgetry to make Nerdy Sleaford Mods meets Human League piss-take pro-test muzak. That sounds naff, but they have some catchy tunes and whip up the home-crowd of mates and fans into something approaching a mild-mannered frenzy. The frontman has the Jarvis Cocker as Open University lecturer from 1972 look and manner and they incorporate the Normal and Add N to X influences musically with cartoon sci-fi and public information film visuals behind them. They have the potential for Devo-like cult stardom if the band is more than a conceptual art-prank.
Why exactly Stewart Lee agreed to tour small venues with the Nightingales is a bit of a mystery, but he has been a long time fan and it certainly helped ticket sales. For many of the people there-to-see-Stu, the Nightingales high-volume, drum-heavy, song-after-song barrage of weird-time-sigs and surrealist beat-poetry was perhaps a bit of a shock. The crowd did thin out- but those who remained were captivated and witnessed a band on the form of their lives. A band quite unlike any other.
The front row at Nightingales gigs always includes a couple of drummers, marvelling at the skill and unique style of Fliss Kitson -whose vocals are increasingly a major part of the ‘Gales magic formula.
A distinctly sober Robert Lloyd was on good bum-wiggling form and in ferocious voice and at times seems to stand aside and marvel at what a great band he has backing him. Jim Smith has really come into his own on the new Perish the Thought album. Inventive, clamourous, jagged-but-smooth guitar-playing which can turn on a sixpence when the need arises. Andreas is a monumentally great bass-player too given he has to anchor the bottom end of a combined sound which takes in Beefheart, Velvets, jazz, prog and rock’n’roll.
This was the slickest show I’ve ever seen the Nightingales play, and the loudest and to the biggest audience. Most of Perish the Thought the baffling new album was aired, and it all somehow made perfect sense finally. Dumb and Drummer and Company Man were as-near-as-they get to crowd-pleasing singalong favourites and were magnificent. A lot of people new to the band seemed won-over , whilst a few had a baffled and shell-shocked look on their face at the end. Just how it should be.
A really great if somewhat strange gig. Shame about South West Railways being cun…Cut!
Stewart Lee
2018-09-23T16:25:26+01:00
The Nightingales, Stewart Lee, Grief Daddy – Wedgewood Rooms, Southsea 22/9/2018 Force 10 Gales blew into Pompey, Stewart Lee has grown a white beard and the IT Crowd form a band and Ged Babey’s last train gets cancelled. Extraordinary gig though he says. Are the Nightingales a comedy band? I overheard a young woman say in the smokers pen -after Stewart Lee’s short, sharp set -during which he humiliated a photographer and took-down a heckler -and revisited the ‘If the Answer is Jesus, what is the Question?’ sketch from the 1980’s. He is a fucking genius but hides behind a barbed persona up-close and failed to blend into the crowd when wanting to watch the bands from out-front. The Nightingales are a funny band, I was gonna say – but more funny peculiar than funny ha-ha. Grief Daddy are on a high in their home-town, Battle of the Band winners and a bizarre conceptual band. They dress like IT geeks: shirts, ties and slacks, and use analogue synths and gadgetry to make Nerdy Sleaford Mods meets Human League piss-take pro-test muzak. That sounds naff, but they have some catchy tunes and whip up the home-crowd of mates and fans into something approaching a mild-mannered frenzy. The frontman has the Jarvis Cocker as Open University lecturer from 1972 look and manner and they incorporate the Normal and Add N to X influences musically with cartoon sci-fi and public information film visuals behind them. They have the potential for Devo-like cult stardom if the band is more than a conceptual art-prank. Why exactly Stewart Lee agreed to tour small venues with the Nightingales is a bit of a mystery, but he has been a long time fan and it certainly helped ticket sales. For many of the people there-to-see-Stu, the Nightingales...
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!
“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...
Woe betide those who find themselves on the receiving end of Stewart Lee's sarcasm. It kills with a smile - then bludgeons the corpse. One of the several routines, old and new, he is rotating as part of this year's Edinburgh show turns the irony on an American comedian called Franklyn Ajaye. Lee cites Ajaye's album I'm a Comedian, Seriously as his career inspiration. With sarcastic intonation excised, but with its mordancy very much intact, he recites the sleevenotes, which claim for Ajaye the status of an artist and thinker. Then he lists the tracks on the album: 1. Homosexuals. 2. Girls with Big Breasts. 3. Dick Caught in Zipper.
It is a viciously funny routine, one of several that Lee is rehearsing for a forthcoming TV show. But tonight's set doesn't lack a unifying theme; the quality of the material is too high for that. Yes, it is sometimes breathtakingly cynical: he burns a few comedy bridges with his send-ups of comics who riff on their own ethnicity or fetishise plain-speaking ("outlaws, they are, saying the unsayable, to the many people willing to pay to hear it"). The way Lee disassembles practically every genus of joke, meanwhile, makes one worry that he may never again actually find a gag funny.
Or is it just that he finds technique as funny as the gags? He exposes the architecture of his own jokes: how he sets up laugh-lines then alternates and repeats them, like a slo-mo vaudevillian spinning plates. Sometimes there is no need for transparency: Chris Moyles' literary output would be laughable even without Lee's wit applied. And the observational stuff about being middle-aged and staying in Travelodges is amusing but pedestrian. Perhaps Ajaye could write a routine about that - but I suspect he is keeping his head down.
Stewart Lee
2008-08-09T13:54:50+01:00
Woe betide those who find themselves on the receiving end of Stewart Lee's sarcasm. It kills with a smile - then bludgeons the corpse. One of the several routines, old and new, he is rotating as part of this year's Edinburgh show turns the irony on an American comedian called Franklyn Ajaye. Lee cites Ajaye's album I'm a Comedian, Seriously as his career inspiration. With sarcastic intonation excised, but with its mordancy very much intact, he recites the sleevenotes, which claim for Ajaye the status of an artist and thinker. Then he lists the tracks on the album: 1. Homosexuals. 2. Girls with Big Breasts. 3. Dick Caught in Zipper. It is a viciously funny routine, one of several that Lee is rehearsing for a forthcoming TV show. But tonight's set doesn't lack a unifying theme; the quality of the material is too high for that. Yes, it is sometimes breathtakingly cynical: he burns a few comedy bridges with his send-ups of comics who riff on their own ethnicity or fetishise plain-speaking ("outlaws, they are, saying the unsayable, to the many people willing to pay to hear it"). The way Lee disassembles practically every genus of joke, meanwhile, makes one worry that he may never again actually find a gag funny. Or is it just that he finds technique as funny as the gags? He exposes the architecture of his own jokes: how he sets up laugh-lines then alternates and repeats them, like a slo-mo vaudevillian spinning plates. Sometimes there is no need for transparency: Chris Moyles' literary output would be laughable even without Lee's wit applied. And the observational stuff about being middle-aged and staying in Travelodges is amusing but pedestrian. Perhaps Ajaye could write a routine about that - but I suspect he is keeping his head down.
In Content Provider, Stewart Lee's agenda is nothing less than all that’s wrong with the world in this social media age, from the insular echo-chamber of opinion, through selfie-taking solipsism to the instant gratification that means no experience is hard-won, leading to a generation of infantilised young adults defined only by the shallow.
They are the sort of ideas that are common in the liberal newspapers read by Lee’s own 21st-century tribe, the metropolitan liberal elite, as they grapple to understand the EU referendum or the Trump election. But the stand-up’s intellectual skill is to enclose all the various strands in one overarching narrative, while his comic one is to emphasise the theories through hilariously exaggerated example.
When he’s toured in previous years, it’s been to work up material for his Comedy Vehicle TV shows. But now the BBC has cancelled those to make more Citizen Khans and Mrs Brown’s Boys, he’s no longer constrained by the half-hour routine providing the opportunity for a more ambitious dissertation, which he boldly seizes.
The Western world may be increasingly divided, but Lee thrives amid division. First in setting his core constituency away from the tabloid-reading, Brexit-demanding masses. Then in dividing his crowd into ever smaller subsets, getting laughs from the manufactured friction between him and his audience – an effect that’s amplified on press night as he lectures us journalists on the likes of irony.
When it comes to the instant gratification part of his thesis, that is not a charge easily levelled at Lee. He has short, sharp jokes, but that’s not his trademark. Both points are made when he protests that he never intended a feud between Russell Howard following a decade-old bit contrasting the younger comic’s fundraising with his wealth. ‘I only had one joke about Russell Howard,’ Lee quips. ‘But it did last 55 minutes.’
In the section about Generation Download he considers the lengths people would have had to go to in the past to indulge and foster niche tastes, from music to S&M. It’s a meandering, wordy, repetitive routine deploying all the comic devices we’ve come to know from Lee, almost a parody of his own indulgent tropes.
But the old dog has new tricks too. In the first half, especially, he seems actually happy, frequently abandoning his defining grump to make himself laugh aloud, making clear his playfulness. That’s never more true than with the running commentary on his jokes, and occasional autopsy when one falls flat. And there’s no question of whose fault that is when it happens. ‘Who knows more about stand-up, me or you?’ he says with the same withering semi-mock-arrogance which lets him be the self-proclaimed moral arbiter of comedy, though that’s not without a grain of truth. Few other comedians would dare have dressed their stage with other stand-ups’ DVDs from Amazon’s virtual bargain bin.
Elsewhere he admits to being tired of the ‘character of Stewart Lee’ - the dichotomy of self between on-stage ego and offstage id not concerning your average panellist on Keith Lemon’s Celebrity Juice.
He subverts himself, too. At one point in the first half he admonishes himself for acting out a piece, something he vows he’ll never do. In the second, which contains several reflections of the first, the indulged youth – anyone under 40 – is portrayed with a balletic pantomime of phone prodding that’s an hilarious slice of physical theatre.
In a typical slice of iconoclastic pedestal-shaking, Lee offers a devastatingly dismissive attack on box-set favourite Game Of Thrones, without the fag of actually having seen it, of course. That would be needless research in a ‘post-fact’ world. One criticism of the swords-and-sorcery epic is that he learned all he needed to from a quote on a bit of merchandise. Indeed, it would be hard to summarise Lee’s work in a mug-sized soundbite.
In fact, Content Provider is said to be inspired by Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog, 19th Century German painter Caspar David Friedrich’s romantic allegory of an apparently noble, wise and lonely man, staring aloofly out at the gloomy inhospitable landscape beneath him. It’s a perfect metaphor for Lee’s comedy. And you could get it on a tea towel.
Stewart Lee
2016-11-17T14:13:47+00:00
In Content Provider, Stewart Lee's agenda is nothing less than all that’s wrong with the world in this social media age, from the insular echo-chamber of opinion, through selfie-taking solipsism to the instant gratification that means no experience is hard-won, leading to a generation of infantilised young adults defined only by the shallow. They are the sort of ideas that are common in the liberal newspapers read by Lee’s own 21st-century tribe, the metropolitan liberal elite, as they grapple to understand the EU referendum or the Trump election. But the stand-up’s intellectual skill is to enclose all the various strands in one overarching narrative, while his comic one is to emphasise the theories through hilariously exaggerated example. When he’s toured in previous years, it’s been to work up material for his Comedy Vehicle TV shows. But now the BBC has cancelled those to make more Citizen Khans and Mrs Brown’s Boys, he’s no longer constrained by the half-hour routine providing the opportunity for a more ambitious dissertation, which he boldly seizes. The Western world may be increasingly divided, but Lee thrives amid division. First in setting his core constituency away from the tabloid-reading, Brexit-demanding masses. Then in dividing his crowd into ever smaller subsets, getting laughs from the manufactured friction between him and his audience – an effect that’s amplified on press night as he lectures us journalists on the likes of irony. When it comes to the instant gratification part of his thesis, that is not a charge easily levelled at Lee. He has short, sharp jokes, but that’s not his trademark. Both points are made when he protests that he never intended a feud between Russell Howard following a decade-old bit contrasting the younger comic’s fundraising with his wealth. ‘I only had one joke about Russell Howard,’ Lee...
Just when it seemed there were no more ways to repackage Trojan's vast back-catalogue of Jamaican sounds, Freedom Sounds' five themed CD, 108 song celebration of fifty years of Jamaican independence radically recombines typical Trojan material. Disc 2, “Jamiacan Hits", surveys the usual suspects, Desmond Dekker's syncopated 007, Junior Murvin's Clash-inspiring Police & Theives, and The Maytals' 54 46. But Disc 4, “Innovators", diversifies, with many of the set's fifty rarities, never before on CD. A King Tubby dub of Johnny Clarke's None Shall Escape The Judgement, and an extended version of Barrington Levy's declamatory Skylarking, both clang righteously.
Stewart Lee
2012-08-06T00:55:29+01:00
Just when it seemed there were no more ways to repackage Trojan's vast back-catalogue of Jamaican sounds, Freedom Sounds' five themed CD, 108 song celebration of fifty years of Jamaican independence radically recombines typical Trojan material. Disc 2, “Jamiacan Hits", surveys the usual suspects, Desmond Dekker's syncopated 007, Junior Murvin's Clash-inspiring Police & Theives, and The Maytals' 54 46. But Disc 4, “Innovators", diversifies, with many of the set's fifty rarities, never before on CD. A King Tubby dub of Johnny Clarke's None Shall Escape The Judgement, and an extended version of Barrington Levy's declamatory Skylarking, both clang righteously.
From the late 1950s onwards, guitarist John Fahey has forged a unique fusion of traditional American musics and avant-garde conceits, bending blues and folk templates into new forms and dousing them with found sounds. Today, Fahey is flattered by the collaborative attentions of underground guru Jim O'Rourke, Sonic Youth's ever-adventurous Thurston Moore and experimental rockers Cul de Sac. While the early 1960s saw Fahey tracking down boyhood blues heroes such as Skip James and Bukka White for his own label, Takoma, three decades later, after re-emerging from a haze of drink and depression with 1997's City of Refuge, he himself is now Skip James to the current class of free-form, cut-and-paste guitar wranglers.
"Ironic? I suppose so," he concurs in a wheezy whisper, from the Oregon motel-room home he describes as "between nowhere and no place". Taking a moment to adjust his position on the bed, he continues: "It's kind of funny. I was looking for people from southern-Negro musical culture, and now these new people are looking for me. It's delightful to be touring with someone like Thurston. And...it's work."
It's work. Throughout his career Fahey has eschewed any marketplace that might offer him a platform. As early as 1958 he incurred purists' ire by recording scratchy, ancient-looking 78s under the name of Blind Thomas, and sharing his first release with a pseudonymous "Blind Joe Death", sending most of the album's 300 copies to blues scholars or sneakily leaving them in the racks of second-hand shops and thrift stores. Throughout the 1960s, Fahey composed and recorded the beautiful, delicate instrumentals that he now contemptuously describes as his "little jewel art pieces"; and the introduction of found sounds and tape effects to 1968's expansive and ambitious Yellow Princess might have seen a crossover to the experimental fringes of the rock scene, had Fahey been able to shrink his talent into a psychedelic shape.
"Most people assumed he was a 'head'," recalled producer Samuel Charters of Fahey's 1960s concerts, in The New York Times. "But what they didn't understand was that John was a drunk. So there would always be this stunned moment when they would look at him sitting up on stage with a quart of Coca-Cola and a bottle of whisky." Fahey dismisses Charters's re-collections as "bullshit", but can't conceal his contempt for the counterculture's sacred cows. "When Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead died, we had a party in Salem. That guy was a silly prophet guru getting people to take drugs. How many deaths is he responsible for? I considered him a kind of paedophile, going around trying to influence youth through politics or drugs, the kind of parasitical adult who says he's helping children but wants to destroy their creativity."
Clearly, Fahey has what Americans call "unresolved issues", which might explain his gradual slide into despair in the 1980s, watching from the sidelines as the "new-age" music of the Windham Hill label and William Ackerman shifted thousands of units with a marketable distillation of his own innovations. "New-age music! Yeuuchhh!" says Fahey, suddenly animated. "They were doing me without the passion, education or taste. It's vapid crap. But I made some bad records in the 1980s. I didn't even know there was an 'alternative' movement, and, when I experimented, reviewers gave me hell, so I gave up and churned out the same stuff."
Pretty soon Fahey had given up churning out anything at all, stuck in Salem in hostels and cheap motels, scrounging a living seeking out valuable second-hand records in thrift stores and selling them on to dealers, drinking himself to death, until he was diagnosed with the chronic fatigue syndrome Epstein Barr virus and had to make some choices. Fahey's new work has been characterised by an absolute refusal to compromise. His most recent record, Womblife, is a slow, face-down crawl through the American musical landscape, inspecting the sun-bleached bones of traditional forms at such intimate proximity they become unfamiliar and eerie. "What I did," explains Fahey, "was play four boom-boxes of gamelan CDs simultaneously, and paid the kids in the motel to keep changing the CDs over. We had a lot of fun, me and the kids. Then I laid down some cheap acoustic steel guitars and put a screwdriver in the neck to tune them real high, layer by layer. It's the best record I ever made."
Fahey's return to recording and touring might, at last, make his body of work more important than the legends attached to him. Before he goes back to sleep, he is coerced into finally confirming the exact circumstances of his 1969 confrontation with Blow Up director Michaelangelo Antonioni, who'd hoped Fahey might score his new film, Zabriskie Point.
"Well," begins Fahey, unburdening, "the antipathy began when Antonioni got me over to Rome without telling me what he wanted me to do. Then he shows me film of this big sex scene in a desert, and I said, 'Hey man, I don't do no skin flicks.' I should have flown back straightaway. I'm too Victorian. It scared me, made me sick. Antonioni starts describing the scene. 'John,' he says, 'this is young love. But it's in the desert. And what's in the desert, John? Death, John, death! So it's death and love and death and love and death and love and death and love and death and love and death and love...' And I said, 'Yeah, sure I can do that!' not realising I was working for a madman. So I composed his sex-desert-death music and he said it was great, and then he took me out to dinner and started telling me how much he hated the USA and Americans, and kept talking about sex and death. To me it seemed impolite. Well, we were both drinking, and I don't exactly remember who threw the first punch, probably him. We got in a fist fight and fell on the ground, but we were too drunk to really hit each other, just rolling on the floor in this expensive Italian restaurant. Anyhow, Antonioni got up and ran away, and then I flew back to the USA. He took my music out of the movie and hired in Jerry Garcia instead. Which is another reason why I hate him and why, I think, Zabriskie Point ended up as one of the 100 worst movies ever made."
Playing his first concerts in the UK for more than a decade, Fahey seems to harbour a hesitant anger even towards his audience. "What I don't want is people coming along and asking me to play things they know. They should just open their minds to what I want to do." At 59, John Fahey is still clearly a dangerous man to cross.
From the late 1950s onwards, guitarist John Fahey has forged a unique fusion of traditional American musics and avant-garde conceits, bending blues and folk templates into new forms and dousing them with found sounds. Today, Fahey is flattered by the collaborative attentions of underground guru Jim O'Rourke, Sonic Youth's ever-adventurous Thurston Moore and experimental rockers Cul de Sac. While the early 1960s saw Fahey tracking down boyhood blues heroes such as Skip James and Bukka White for his own label, Takoma, three decades later, after re-emerging from a haze of drink and depression with 1997's City of Refuge, he himself is now Skip James to the current class of free-form, cut-and-paste guitar wranglers. "Ironic? I suppose so," he concurs in a wheezy whisper, from the Oregon motel-room home he describes as "between nowhere and no place". Taking a moment to adjust his position on the bed, he continues: "It's kind of funny. I was looking for people from southern-Negro musical culture, and now these new people are looking for me. It's delightful to be touring with someone like Thurston. And...it's work." It's work. Throughout his career Fahey has eschewed any marketplace that might offer him a platform. As early as 1958 he incurred purists' ire by recording scratchy, ancient-looking 78s under the name of Blind Thomas, and sharing his first release with a pseudonymous "Blind Joe Death", sending most of the album's 300 copies to blues scholars or sneakily leaving them in the racks of second-hand shops and thrift stores. Throughout the 1960s, Fahey composed and recorded the beautiful, delicate instrumentals that he now contemptuously describes as his "little jewel art pieces"; and the introduction of found sounds and tape effects to 1968's expansive and ambitious Yellow Princess might have seen a crossover to the experimental fringes of the rock...
Andrew Haydon: What do you normally get asked in interviews?
Stewart Lee: Well, it depends. Local newspapers haven’t ever seen you and they ask you where you get your ideas from, what you think of political correctness, are there any topics that are unacceptable, you know [does a voice] “Are there things that you can’t joke about, though?” And I answer them all the same. Then they ask me a question about Jerry Springer: The Opera, except they call it “Jerry Springer: The Musical”. And I go “It was Jerry Springer: The Opera” and they go “Oh yes”. Then they say, “You’re very controversial, aren’t you?” Because they’ve read that somewhere, but they’ve never seen anything you’ve done, so it’s really hard to talk about it. That’s normally what local newspapers do, because they’ve got to turn round loads of interviews in a day. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, you get 20-year-olds on an art school course that are writing a thesis about you, asking you questions about Brecht and things like that.
AH: Really?
SL: Yeah. That bit tonight is slightly taking the piss of out these theses I read about myself. They send you this 6,000 word bound thing. I mean, it’s interesting. I’ve got about three dozen of them now. Some things you sort of intend, and other things… But that’s good fun as well. They sort of know a bit about theory and practice and ideas and they get a bit nearer to… They’re not so bothered about “Are you a comedian?” You’re just an artist of some sort, so actually they sometimes ask better questions but then they often think that things that all stand-ups do are very avant garde and amazing: just changing things in the moment, or there not being a fourth wall. And there’s never any fourth wall in stand-up…
AH: There’s that thing about “performing yourself”? Or an idea of yourself?
SL: Although, the really good thing about that is lots of performers they have a question about “what is the motivation of the character? Why are they there?” And, like, with him, with me – I call him him – it’s explicitly that it’s his job, so he has to do it. And he’s also, now, got these financial obligations to family…
AH: There’s a character arc, isn’t there?
SL: He’s got to do this job. And then the drama, such as it is, comes from his failure to do it because he gets distracted by his own paranoia, annoyance, genuine passion about things, disappointment with the audience, all sorts of things like that. Whether it’s a two-hour show like those or a half-hour block in Comedy Vehicle, now, really, the sort-of formula is that he’s got this thing that he wants to talk about, which he’s got to do because that’s his job, but then some other problem gets in the way and he gets distracted by it. What I like about it is, in stand-up you don’t have to think “What’s my motivation?” The person’s got a reason to be on stage, which is that they’re an entertainer. They’ve got to fill up time. Their motivation is that they’ve got to fill up time…/
[That’s quite bleak, isn’t it? Like Beckett or something]
SL: But you’ve kind of avoided this whole thing you get with character comics. I mean, there’s lots of really good ones, but sometimes it seems like they’ve made a problem for themselves. Like, why is this postman on stage? Why is this flight attendant on stage? Y’know? That’s not to criticise them, ‘cause obviously there’s loads of brilliant people [doing that], but…
AH: Is there a frustration for you that there’s all the irony, and all the meta-comedy… Do you get to a point where it feels self-deleting?
SL: When you go to Wrexham, people have come out because something’s gone there. When you go to Inverness, people have come out because something’s gone there. And what I like about stand-up is that one some level it’s tradesman’s stuff, you know? You’ve got to do this job. And they have to go away thinking that they’ve seen something that’s recognisably stand-up. But the good thing about it is because it’s such an obvious form – like, the form of stand-up is a man or a woman is at a microphone. I don’t even like it really when people put head mics on, because there’s this really powerful image there [mimes mic]. That’s the rules of that. It’s got a form like a sonnet. You know what it is and everyone understands what a stand-up’s supposed to be. So, actually, that does give you a degree of lee-way to experiment within that, ‘cause you’ve got these clear parameters. So, I like the fact that you can do both things. And, recently, an interesting thing is that ten years ago people would say, “my favourite comics are you, and Josie Long, and Simon Munnery” or something – weird people – and now I’ve got into this area where people come and see you, they might also see, y’know, John Bishop, or something. And they think you’re kind of part of *that*.
They can see you’re different to it, but… It’s interesting. And then, sometimes, really good theatre places say, “Do you want to develop a one man show that isn’t stand-up?” And I have done things like that in the past, but now I think with the stand-up there’s no incentive to, ‘cause actually the recognizable form and rules of stand-up are so strong that if I’ve got something I want to talk about, or something I want to do with sound or light or music or whatever, I can probably do it in one of those shows. And, I can do it in the Trojan horse of it being a form of mainstream entertainment, and I can get people that would never go to the National Theatre or the Battersea Arts Centre, or wherever, to watch something that sometimes is borderline avant garde. And they like it. And they wouldn’t go to it if they were told that it was A Highbrow Thing, which is a shame, but sort of true.
AH: Although presumably being on telly once every two years or so for a series helps, though, right? Like a big advert.
Yeah. It sort of grows incrementally every time. But then it was anyway. It’s difficult to know. Some people go on telly every week for years, but because their demographic aren’t people who go out… You never know what’s going to happen. It’s a constant source of frustration to promoters that a fairly mainstream impressionist on BBC1 who gets 8 million viewers a week, they put him on the road and he’ll get less than me. Like nothing. Like ten people.
AH: And not because they’re not good…
SL: Not because they’re not good, it’s just that different kinds of people go out to things. It’s the same with advertising. Advertisers don’t necessarily pay a premium for some sorts of shows that get a lot of viewers, because the people that watch them don’t buy anything. Whereas something that appeals to 16 to 35-year-old gay men will have premium rate advertising because they go out and buy products and do things, they’re not in a system where they have to pay for, y’know, kids or something. So there’s not always a correlation. You remember the Lighthouse Family? That band? They were massive. Number one singles. Everything. I remember when I lived in Finsbury Park they put them on in Finsbury Park, in the park, and they had to cancel it because they sold like 200 tickets or something, because people who buy [those records] don’t go out. So it’s kind of weird. But tonight; Friday night; West End: two thirds of the people have never seen me before some of them may never have even seen anything you’ve done anywhere, they’ve just come to “some comedy”. Which I quite like, actually. I pretend that I don’t like it, but I do like it.
AH: So, no more theatre stuff then?
SL: I’m 47 now. The amount of years I’ve got left on stage are ticking away. There’s still loads to find out about this. I’ve kind of crossed the point where [swallows rest of sentence]. Also, it’s very flexible and cost-effective. And I’m my own boss. And in terms of my wife doing stand-up as well, and childcare or whatever, it’s sort of unrivalled. I mean, if I was to have to rehearse something… the days start to disappear… It’s easier working evenings and getting babysitters, so it’s kind of weirdly flexible. And also, I’ve now passed a point with it where it’s become quite an interesting project to think “Right, how much of this can you do?” And also, the things that change in my life changes… Like this series, a lot of it is about trying to make sense of… Like, it’s not a struggle; life. It’s a struggle, like, getting the kids into school and things like that, but we’ve got somewhere to live and trying to think about how do you write about that without becoming someone doing stuff about Ocado deliveries. And obviously it’s because he feels that he’s not entitled to it. So he feels…
AH: That is interesting.
SL: Well, it’s true as well.
AH: I mean, is it hard to accept because of the disparity in…
SL: Well, I have done this for a long time. I like all sorts of comedy. I like all sorts of music. I like all sorts of art and literature. And I know that there is no objective correlation between someone doing well and being any good. And so I don’t… It doesn’t make me feel any sense of “worth”.
AH: Do you secretly suspect a negative correlation?
SL: Yeah, I do. Yeah. And, again, I try to address that in this show…
AH: Is there a fifteen-year-old you sitting on your shoulder saying/ you’ve sold out?
SL:/yeah, yeah. You’ve sold out. And also I’m aware that there are… Ok, in Edinburgh, for example, really, that was supposed to be, that was billed as “Work in Progress”. And normally I do the “work in progress” shows in The Stand, in the cellar there; and it’s really good fun and costs eight quid and whatever. But I did it in a big room this year. And I did it in the big room ‘cause in order to stay in London to do these theatre runs, we bought a house in London and it’s smashed to bits – a broken house – the only kind of house you can afford in London. Even if you’re on telly. And we’ve got to do it up. And I thought, “If I do the big room and it fills up, I can fix the roof” right? So I made a decision about the art based on practical considerations. Which I’ve never done before. Then there’s a knock-on effect from that, which is that at least one of the two bits I did every day had to be bankable. ‘Cause there were 600 people in there and I want them to come back. So I never went on and did all… I didn’t do what I would have done in the little room to the hardcore, which would be to basically risk throwing the gig because I thought, this is a lot of people to play for, it could be an audience for the future. I need them to come back. So this year, on two or three occasions, I’ve made choices about things that are based on economics, that I’ve never done before. It’s quite interesting. So I suppose that is the beginning of it chipping away… I didn’t cover as much new ground as I should have done in Edinburgh.
AH: Is that what this run is for? To make up lost ground?
SL: Oh, no. I’d booked this anyway. I’ve got five now. I’ve got four that I know off by heart, I’ve got one that’s all written…
AH: And then the Jeremy Corbyn thing is… It’s new…?
SL: Well, it sort of is, although, weirdly, ten minutes of it was in before, and it was about a cat called Paul Nuttall from UKIP and it had a different spin on it. But weirdly, since May, I tried it and it just… No one’s interested. Like, it’s gone. It’s like you were talking about the civil war or something. It’s just off the face of the earth. Gone.
AH: Is it a bit like the Cameron thing?
SL; The Pig?
AH: Yeah. {recounts circumstances of hearing the Cameron/Pig thing while at at theatre festival in Serbia, and how weird it was trying to explain it…] And it’s gone in two days…
SL: In a way, is Twitter almost like the Two Minute Hate?
AH: Like, your masters are quite happy…
SL; It spent itself, didn’t it?
AH: You were at Oxford at almost exactly the same time…
SL: A bit younger. They were in the third year when I was in the first year, all that lot.
AH: You didn’t meet them, obviously…
SL: No. And this is the awful thing about all that: say you’re a clever 17-year-old, and your school says you should apply to Oxford. You don’t want to because you think it was full of snobs, you know. Do you know Arts Emergency? They’re trying to improve access to university for kids who will be the first in their family to go to uni… And, I think, you know what? It’s like the world. You never even meet them [snobs at Oxford]. All the time I was there I never came across them. I got into some of their balls, because I would do music or comedy at them, and you’d get a free ticket, but even then it wasn’t the ones that you read about – it wasn’t those ones – it was this whole other layer of middle-class people, y’know. So I’m saying, it’s nothing like that. And about a week later that story breaks, and of course kids don’t want to apply now. And I thought; accidentally, just by being who they are, and being involved with those societies, whether Cameron did that pig thing or not, they’ve ruined social mobility. Because people will go, “Oh, is that what happens at a top university? I won’t apply then.” They create that impression.
I got the impression that people were angry and making those jokes precisely because they kind of knew that the Tories were like that anyway. That’s a funny thing about Twitter now. And I think it will sort of change comedy in that, ten years ago, that week some comedians would have done some jokes about it but Twitter’s like an infinite number of monkeys. There’s a million people all writing jokes about Cameron and a pig. Only a hundred of them need to be any good and all the jokes are done. So I think, weirdly, that’s good for people like me because [this] is not about lines, what I do. A guy that writes – ‘cause all the guys on panel shows have writers – was saying that they look on Twitter to check things haven’t been done, because otherwise people on Twitter go [does a whiny voice] “I made that up”.
AH: You’re not on Twitter.
SL: I look on it. But I don’t want to…
AH: No.
SL: I think I would get involved in the…
AH: [asks badly framed question about panel shows]
SL: Most panel shows are a recreation of the sorts of social situations I spend my whole life trying to avoid. I think they’re bad, ultimately. Most of the people on them spend more money on writers than they get paid [to appear]. They see it as a chance to get spotted, so they throw everything at it. It’s very exploitative in a way. There’s also a thing that’s really wrong about it, in that it pretends to be improvised – they’re a kind of mixture of improvisation and people working off prepared notes – but the thing about improvisation in theatre or music is that it’s a team effort, right? And you sometimes step out of the spotlight because you create something for someone else, and you think about the good of the whole. And no one does that on those shows. So it’s competitive improvisation. Which is a contradiction in terms. It doesn’t really make any sense when you think about it.
AH: You work with a lot of other comedians, though, so you’re not pessimistic about the state of UK comedy…?
SL: The thing is, when kids say to you afterwards, “how do you become a comedian?” I can give them that book How I Escaped My Certain Fate and say, well, there’s stuff in here about how I write, have ideas… What’s changed is economics. When I came to London in 1989 my rent was £50 a week I got a temping job that paid £105 a week, travel was like £15 a week, and you could live on £40. Then, after the temping job, I got a job doing freelance research for a publisher, which paid about £200 a week, and was flexi-time, and I did fewer hours as I got more gigs. That job now would be an unpaid internship. And it would be “How lucky for me to find a way into publishing”. But I didn’t want to work in publishing. Also, I started, there were only about 80 comics in the UK – alternative comedians, you know – so you’d start getting paid a bit if you were half decent, but you got paid in cash. You got a door-split. You might get £30 on a Tuesday night. That’s over half your rent. Now, even a little circuit-gig, the tickets go through an online agent because people book online, and it goes into your bank account, so you have to declare it, so you’re seeing 25% less of it. Plus rent, in real terms, is three or four times higher. So the sort of jobs you used to do while you were trying to be a comedian would now be things that you wouldn’t get paid for, because the idea is that you need the experience to do something else. So the economics is…
The circuit in the eighties, obviously there were Oxbridge people, and there were middle class people, but there was a real spread of types of people. It’s much more difficult to have that now. It’s like everything. The net’s tightened a bit. I don’t really know what the future is. Also, like, a lot of the young comics, the types of people that in our day would have said no to things – because they think they’re a bit naff, or because they had some weird principles – now say yes to them. But they have to say yes to them, because they don’t get paid for anything. And it’s much harder to…Pursuing your artistic vision is a sort of economic luxury created by a society that has loopholes in it. Those loopholes were squats, cheap rent, student grants, enterprise allowance…
AH: And, probably for the decade before you, the dole…
SL; Even easier then. I mean, in the seventies it gave birth to alternative comedy and punk rock and whatever. Geoff Dyer wrote a really good piece about how he finished college, came to London, lived in a squat, did part-time jobs, and just read a lot. Then, by the end of that, he knew what he wanted to do. That’s gone. In the old days, there were lots of people getting by. They weren’t any harm to anyone. It feels like something maybe shifted slightly, culturally, with people’s aspirations as well? I remember a bit after I’d left university I was quite surprised that everybody wanted to live in nice places rather than just muddling by in the cheapest places…
I also think there are funny things happening again. There are so many of these competitions, like X-Factor and stuff, I think people think you win a competition to be famous. What you don’t do is graft around for years figuring things out. The weird thing about all that art and music that was produced by the unofficial subsidy of dole-culture, that’s what “Cool Britannia” is. That’s what Cameron holds up as our cultural exports, but they were entirely produced by an unofficial subsidy culture that’s been entirely eradicated.
AH: Part of me doesn’t want to sign up to too much pessimism…
SL; Well, I am pessimistic. I’m from a lower-middle-class family, but I wouldn’t have gone to university – my mum would not have encouraged me to go to university – if I’d been taking on a £28,000 debt. It’s not the sort of thing we would have done. And she wouldn’t have thought there was any point studying English for three years for that debt. What I probably would have done is gone to London three years earlier and tried to get on with stand-up and done it in a slightly more muddled way than I would have done had I not spent three years reading books. It *might* not have made any difference, who knows?
AH: You would have done stand up definitely?
SL: I wanted to do it from 15, 16…
AH: And this is after you saw Ted Chippington supporting The Fall… What about that grabbed you?
SL: About stand-up?
AH: When you’re a 16-year-old, and you see a guy *supporting* The Fall and then you see The Fall, you don’t think, “That’s it! I want to be in The Fall” you think, I want to be Ted Chippington…
SL: Well, I couldn’t play the guitar. [laughs]
AH: You could have learnt.
SL: Well, no, look, I wanted to write comedy. And I liked comedians. But I’d never seen one… I thought you had to be energetic, happy, confident… Like you wanted to please people. I know that’s not entirely true of Dave Allen, who I liked as a kid, but Ted Chippington seemed like he didn’t want to be there. I think I thought, I can do that. And it was sort of noxious and adolescent and irritating… It was all the things you might like about a band or something. And it just seemed, it was just… You see certain things that people… Like, about ten years ago you had all these documentaries about punk rock made by people five years older than me making out it was the best thing ever. And of course it was, because they were all 18 when it happened. But for people ten years older than them, it was The Doors, wasn’t it? You’re very susceptible to things at that age. So the best thing you can hope is that you’re lucky enough to encounter something that actually does have some value, because you’re going to carry that thing with you whatever. That’s the thing that’s going to… I was just lucky, I think, that between 14 and 21; I ran across enough things that gave me the tools to do this in my life. Not all of them comedy. Bit of Live Art. Things like that.
SL: Well, I saw it without really knowing what it was.
AH: This was in Birmingham?
SL: Yeah. When I was about 15/16 I had a friend who was always into stuff. Went to see a guy called Anthony Howell, which I thought was idiotic for the first half of it, at Birmingham Art Gallery. He moved furniture around for half an hour and then he ended up getting inside a wardrobe and it fell over. I was so embarrassed by it I was sitting on my hands and laughing with embarrassment. And then the second half he did it all again by lantern light and with buckets of water as well, and I kind of went oh, right, fuck, this is really good, and by the end… I didn’t really know what it was but I thought it was brilliant. Funnily enough, I met him a couple of years ago. He teaches tango now, and he’s a poet.
Another thing was the BBC. John Peel would play not just music but he’d play sessions by people like Eric Bogosian. Eric Bogosian is now the star and director of some American cop show, but in the 80s he was on threshold of stand-up and performance art and he’d do these odd monologues… There’s a parody of him, actually, in the portmanteau film New York Stories, where Nick Nolte’s wife Rosanna Arquette is unfaithful to him with a character that is clearly a piss-take of Eric Bogosian and he performs in a kind of candlelit cellar, like walks up to people and shouts in their faces… Whoever wrote it obviously really fucking hated Eric Bogosian [laughing]. He wrote Talk Radio. Anyway. That kind of thing would be on.
And also, a lot of the people who would be early stand-ups would be from a Live Art background and then kind of went back to it. Like, one of the first gigs I went to was Oscar McLennan who’s now the sort of person who gets grants round the world to do Live Art pieces and performance art concepts, but he did a sort of show that I went to see at Warwick Arts Centre when I was 16. ‘cause, in the provinces, you knew this alternative comedy thing was happening, but you couldn’t see it anywhere. You were desperate. And it was like stand-up, well, it wasn’t really, he ended up crawling round on the floor lit by this light that was on the floor and complaining about his family…
AH: I saw a show at Warwick last night with a slightly similar ending, oddly…
SL: Did you? What was that?
AH: It was called Weaklings. It was a, it’s an adaptation of a blog by, do you know the writer Dennis Cooper?
AH: Aw. Well, someone’s done a stage adaptation of his blog.
SL: I’m in that blog! But, yeah. It’s… This sounds really arrogant, right, but… I get a better class of celebrity. I get people like that. It makes me laugh. You get these funny people like Grayson Perry and Will Self… Yeah, it’s funny that, um… It’s quite costly, because they say hello afterwards, and you want to give them lots of stuff, and you lose money on the merch. table every night, giving it away. It’s funny to have crossed over. But it’s a relief, because you become slightly more distant from the comedy community, I suppose. Because you’re not in normal gigs all the time…
AH: Is that maybe partly to do with it being very clannish when you’re all young and then everyone gets married and has kids and…
SL: Well, also that there’s an awkward thing now where I am like this thing that gets written about in a positive way, so really they ought to hate you. Except that I’m not bad enough. It’s confusing. The young ones will want to hate you out of some entirely understandable Oedipal thing. That’s the job of the younger generation: to hate you and older acts. But because I’m of that generation where you could afford, economically, to be more experimental, they can’t really write you off. Because you’ve got a flexibility that just through sheer time and chance and economics has been denied them. So it’s difficult. They sort of want to hate you, but they can’t hate you as much as they’d like to. And also, on a slightly cynical level, I get in there first. I can kind of intuit what the next thing used to slag me off will be, and I take it on as a positive thing.
AH: Like what?
SL: Like, “You’re a champagne socialist” And I say, “Yeah, I am, but I have prosecco” or whatever, and I’ve seen Charlotte Church saying that, and I know she got it from me, and good luck to her. Or, “You don’t know about anything, you’re out of touch”, or “What have you got to say now you live in a house?” Yeah, ok, fine. Take it all on, make it like… And what those things actually do, is they create problems to be solved. And that is the thing. I’ve seen poor old McIntyre’s been getting some bad reviews on this tour. Even from like – begrudgingly, even a liberal broadsheet would concede that he had various undeniable skills, previously, and would give him a three or a four, and now they’re giving him twos, and I suspect that’s because there’s no grit in that oyster any more.
Because he’s carried on talking about these things. And yet you know he’s got a £7 million house. But he’s not that kind of character that can turn on himself. Or eat himself. Because he’s a broadly positive, happy sort of thing. Whereas with me, nothing would make him happy. And in fact, as you said earlier, even the fact that loads of people are coming, would itself be a problem. He would assume that was not any good.
AH: And I suppose, you only have to be funny. You’re not being elected. You don’t even have to be right.
And also, when you said, “you don’t have to be right”, that’s the other good thing; although I talk about things that I think are true or interesting, there’s another element to that which is that he’s self-obsessed, he wants to give a good account of himself, he’s arrogant, so they’re skewed by those things as well, so they don’t have to be exactly right, the things that you say, because there’s this filter.
But, when you said, “Do you want to do these one-man-shows and theatre?” another reason I don’t want to is because I’m really interested in what it’ll be like to be sixty-five being him on stage. Because I think it’ll be funnier. Because. To be petulant and to have a sort of adolescent sense of wanting to be taken seriously, all those things can only be funnier, surely, coming from an elderly man. It’ll become even more absurd. I’m really looking forward to it.
I’ve made a concerted effort in the last twelve months to lose weight and get fit. Partly because we’ve got this house and this debt, and partly, as I say on stage, because things are fucked. Like, all the other fall-back things like getting money from DVDs, TV, whatever, there’s no future in it, it’s fucked. The right [wing] have got hold of Über and Amazon and AirB’n’B and these things that undercut you, like they’ve got hold of iTunes so they don’t have to pay you anything and they’re all dodging their tax and they sort of want to destroy your livelihood. I think it’s a weird kind of thing, it’s almost like they hate creatives on some level. But live stuff, it’ll be the last thing to go. So I thought, I’ve just got to stay fit enough to do it. And that meant trying to lose three stone, basically.
So I could think, I’ve got to be able to do this. Forever. Because it’ll be hilarious. To keep coming back every couple of years with this much stuff would be…
Do you know that band, Guided by Voices? Fucking hilarious. The guy releases about seven albums a year of two to three minute long power pop songs with progressive rock leanings recorded on four-tracks, and they’re mainly pretty good and it’s like there’s not really – if you like slightly pretentious melodic indie rock – there’s not really any point of comparison. They’re obviously the best. Then there’s this massive dropping off before anyone else. And he’s sort of done it by sheer attrition really. Just by sheer weight of numbers. He’s written more great songs than anyone else in that vein and he’s like really old now – well, he’s like 57 or so… And like, The Fall as well, are a big inspiration in that way. I mean, there’s all sorts of really unpleasant things about it, but it keeps rolling along, and and gets more like itself. To a point that, only in the last five years, really, you think “Oh, this is what he’s been hearing for the last thirty years” and only now have they really got it. By a process of elimination they’ve arrived at this… The other good thing about The Fall or something, is it’s sort of sustainable. It’s mainly grooves. Not lines or moments, it’s about this kind of atmosphere, that you kind of get into. Each half-hour set has got a bit like “The Things that are on Rod Liddle”, or about the BAFTAs, it’s not really about lines… just kind of keep going and probing it and making this sort of sound like a drone and see what happens. That’s the fun bit. The middle of every half hour of those is like a ten minute… and like the urine one where I’m shouting at the audience about the ghosts attacking me. You just create this sort of space framed by conventional stand up where this other thing can happen.
AH: Is it relevant that they’re very visual?
SL: Well, it’s a new thing. I read things about myself: that I talk in a monotone and stand still, and I think it’s funny ‘cause I know that actually I do quite extreme things with physical stuff, like run round the room, pretend to be attacked by ghosts, fall over, and do things with huge silences where I’m not moving… And again, that’s not necessarily from stand-up.
AH: Anything you’d like to add?
SL: No. But, it was just… It was very nice to be written about by you, irrespective of it being positive, in that it wasn’t caught up in lots of things that um… I mean I gave up for a bit in about 2000/2001 because I got loads of bad reviews that were criticising me – criticising as mistakes – things that I’d actually chosen to do. Like people in the Independent, I remember saying, “At one point he seems to lose the audience for fifteen minutes, but gradually claws the room back from complete silence, despite the fact that he has alienated everyone in it.” And I’d think, well, that’s what I meant to do. And, weirdly, the better you get at some things, the more, sometimes, if you act it well…
I was in Dublin doing the bit where I complain about all the dead comedians and the audience not getting it, and I saw this woman on the front row with her phone out doing something. And I went, “What are you doing? Are you looking at your phone?” And I thought, well, I can’t break off, I’ve got to roll with this. So I went to her, “Why would you get your phone out when I’m talking about people I know that have committed suicide? What is wrong with you? Why would you be on your phone? Get out.” you know. And she went. Then I got home and I thought “Hmm, I’ll Google that.” So I put my name into Twitter and she was a Sunday Times journalist, right? And she’d thought she was seeing this famous comedian having a mental breakdown on stage, so what she was doing was going on Twitter to tell everyone. And then she went out, and she went on Twitter, and she was all “I can’t believe it, I’ve just seen Stewart Lee having a mental breakdown on stage.” And she thought she’d got some exclusive, some scoop, and she was obviously off to write it up and try to get it in the paper, that I’d thrown this gig in Dublin by going nuts, and then a couple of other people went to her, “You know that’s part of the act?” And she said, “Well, from where I was seeing it looked pretty real.” And people were going, “Yeah, but it’s, y’know..” Because she’d left, you see. And I thought, “Wow.” It actually becomes a sort of problem if you make things look like they’re real, people don’t think you’ve got any skills. They just think you’re… It’s a shame people stopped her. ‘Cause I would actually have liked that story to come out. That would have been really interesting to see what would happen.
That’s another thing about the act at the moment, I sort of find things funny, but then I also find it funny that they exist. See, that diarrhoea-on-the-flag thing didn’t really work tonight, normally it becomes really like people are almost sick with… It goes on so long… Normally it goes through waves of not being funny and then it comes back. It didn’t really ever reach the scale of velocity tonight. I don’t know why. Who knows? Maybe, like, I didn’t do funny enough sounds or something, I don’t know, but. With that, part of what’s funny about it to me, why I get the giggles while I’m doing it, is thinking that it will be on television. And then you think of how angry people will be…
AH: [rambling observation from me that maybe irony is once more the new sincerity]
About five or six years ago I wrote, I think it’s If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, my sort of angle on that was that the most controversial thing you could do was to be sincere in a world of irony. But, it’s not possible night after night with the amount of gigs I do now, to put yourself genuinely in that level of… you can’t really have those feelings every night. You can’t do it, so in a way now I contrive things to get me stuff to work off but in a way, weirdly, that was sort of the show at the apex of honesty, that one If You’d Prefer a Milder Comedian, it was about seven years ago. And then, as I got more popular and had to do more shows I couldn’t *mean it* every night, you know, and I had to do what probably actors do, which is to develop ways of convincingly faking it and that is like to create little problems and little strategies…
The problem is now you’ve achieved being a convincing actor, so now… [laughs]
AH: …you’re scaring Sunday Times journalists.
SL: Actually, I contacted her editor… She was filming it! That’s right! She filmed it on her camera. So I went to her, “Don’t film it”, and then I contacted the paper to say, a) you’re not allowed to film anyway, and b) this is a bit that I’m working on, so I don’t want it posted up, but she’d deleted all her tweets. But it’s really out of order. Makes you think what vampires they are. Like she sees someone she thinks is having a breakdown and her response is to film it…
[interview turns into an untranscribe-able conversation about the ethics of journalism, public interest, and somehow a comparison with war photographers… They go and get the tube…]
Andrew Haydon: What do you normally get asked in interviews? Stewart Lee: Well, it depends. Local newspapers haven’t ever seen you and they ask you where you get your ideas from, what you think of political correctness, are there any topics that are unacceptable, you know [does a voice] “Are there things that you can’t joke about, though?” And I answer them all the same. Then they ask me a question about Jerry Springer: The Opera, except they call it “Jerry Springer: The Musical”. And I go “It was Jerry Springer: The Opera” and they go “Oh yes”. Then they say, “You’re very controversial, aren’t you?” Because they’ve read that somewhere, but they’ve never seen anything you’ve done, so it’s really hard to talk about it. That’s normally what local newspapers do, because they’ve got to turn round loads of interviews in a day. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, you get 20-year-olds on an art school course that are writing a thesis about you, asking you questions about Brecht and things like that. AH: Really? SL: Yeah. That bit tonight is slightly taking the piss of out these theses I read about myself. They send you this 6,000 word bound thing. I mean, it’s interesting. I’ve got about three dozen of them now. Some things you sort of intend, and other things… But that’s good fun as well. They sort of know a bit about theory and practice and ideas and they get a bit nearer to… They’re not so bothered about “Are you a comedian?” You’re just an artist of some sort, so actually they sometimes ask better questions but then they often think that things that all stand-ups do are very avant garde and amazing: just changing things in the moment, or there not being a fourth wall. And there’s never any fourth wall in stand-up… AH: There’s that thing about...
Even on his 17th visit to the Fringe, the sublime Stewart Lee is one of the most intelligent, skilful and original comic voices on offer. But even so, he's not quite as funny as a fart. That the expulsion of waste gas is the most hilarious thing imaginable is just one of the many theses he painstakingly explains in this comedy masterclass. It sounds a puerile subject, but Lee's technique is to treat it with such a considered, measured gravity you trick yourself into thinking it must be serious and important, even when he suggests farting as a solution to world peace.
The gap between this elevated approach and the juvenile subject is where the comedy lies, especially when he punctures his own thoughtful solemnity at the routine's end. Not that it's just the wonderful lines that get a laugh, the languid pauses and quiet build-ups build such anticipation that you're suppressing chuckles before the punchline even arrives. Lee is nothing if not a superlative technician, yet original enough to follow his own comic blueprint rather that reaching for the universal ploys found in the pages of teach-yourself stand-up manuals. In fact, when he does feel the need to employ, say, the rule of three (that being the optimum number of items in any list for most impact eg, 'an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman', or 'ein volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer'), he knowingly deconstructs and subverts the idea, keeping the audience in on the joke.
Another example is that 9/11 to Britons should mean November 9 an observation made by many a comic in the three years the date became significant. Yet Lee mentions it so relentlessly that we are beaten into submission by the very repetition more than the actual gag itself. Exaggerating to comic effect is another staple, but Lee takes even that to such ridiculous extremes that it becomes a rich, unique pleasure. He has fairly strong views on most aspects of comedy's structure and execution, as demonstrated by the ridiculously funny overanalysis of a pun he made to film director Ang Lee, who misunderstood the entire concept of wordplay and thus sparked a huge row laced with accusations of racism.
That subject is hinted at again when Lee launches a savage, unrestrained broadside at the Scottish, belittling their nation, beliefs and heroes in a deliberate wind-up. But this low-level racism is perfectly acceptable, he ironically claims, since he's 'Scotch' himself at least by birth if not upbringing. Ethnic comics everywhere should take note of the sarcasm. Not that he's shy about naming and shaming who he considers comedy's worst practitioners, likening Graham Norton to 'a pink jackboot stomping on a human face for all eternity' but reserving his most vitriolic scorn for Ben Elton, who he considers slightly less popular than Osama Bin Laden, because at least the terrorist mastermind lived his life according to a strict moral code.
Lee has something in common with Elton, of course, having once been at the vanguard of a stand-up movement and now the writer of a West End show. But that's where the similarities, thankfully, end, with Lee still on top of his game, and true to his original voice. Anyone serious about comedy should watch and learn.
Stewart Lee
2004-08-01T18:21:31+01:00
Even on his 17th visit to the Fringe, the sublime Stewart Lee is one of the most intelligent, skilful and original comic voices on offer. But even so, he's not quite as funny as a fart. That the expulsion of waste gas is the most hilarious thing imaginable is just one of the many theses he painstakingly explains in this comedy masterclass. It sounds a puerile subject, but Lee's technique is to treat it with such a considered, measured gravity you trick yourself into thinking it must be serious and important, even when he suggests farting as a solution to world peace. The gap between this elevated approach and the juvenile subject is where the comedy lies, especially when he punctures his own thoughtful solemnity at the routine's end. Not that it's just the wonderful lines that get a laugh, the languid pauses and quiet build-ups build such anticipation that you're suppressing chuckles before the punchline even arrives. Lee is nothing if not a superlative technician, yet original enough to follow his own comic blueprint rather that reaching for the universal ploys found in the pages of teach-yourself stand-up manuals. In fact, when he does feel the need to employ, say, the rule of three (that being the optimum number of items in any list for most impact eg, 'an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman', or 'ein volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer'), he knowingly deconstructs and subverts the idea, keeping the audience in on the joke. Another example is that 9/11 to Britons should mean November 9 an observation made by many a comic in the three years the date became significant. Yet Lee mentions it so relentlessly that we are beaten into submission by the very repetition more than the actual gag itself. Exaggerating to comic...
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.
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...
"Edinburgh is full of comedians who want to be TV presenters," says veteran stand-up Scott Capurro with a sweet, sunny smile. "Why don’t you just cut yourself, you self-loathing cunts...?"
August in Scotland. The world’s largest arts festival: 258 venues, over 2,500 shows, around 1.8 million tickets sold. Imagine 10 back-to-back Glastonburys spread across 25 days, with a vast army of artists and punters all kettled within a few square miles in Edinburgh. Actually, the seething urban carnival atmosphere of the Scottish capital’s fabled Fringe Festival feels more like South By South West, the annual music industry jamboree in Austin, Texas. Every last possible basement bar, church hall, cobbled courtyard and converted car park has been pressed into service as a round-the-clock performance space. Welcome to North By North East.
Pushing past the endless waves of grinning jugglers, trying-too-hard buskers and jaded London media whores, your Quietus correspondent is on a mission to find the sick, dirty, dark heart of the Fringe. This means avoiding the zany-haired Australians and sold-out posh-boy stand-ups, and instead seeking out veteran provocateurs like the London-based San Franciscan comic Capurro, whose latest Fringe show Who Are The Jocks? weaves tender reflections on his mother’s death around button-pushing jokes about incest, the Columbine massacre and rough gay sex. Great stuff.
In short, I want to leave Edinburgh feeling jolted, challenged, disgusted, disturbed, violated even. Why? Because that is the job of all great art. Good taste has nothing to do with it. To be honest, this is also a sentimental journey, a doomed search for long-lost youth. When I first visited the Fringe as an idealistic teenager in the mid 1980s, the ‘alternative’ comedy boom was still in its post-punk phase: edgy, experimental, spiky and surreal. It was often politically worthy too, of course, but equally likely to challenge taboos and make you work a little harder for your cosy liberal opinions.
Since then, live comedy has been through its own Britpop-style explosion, making the metaphorical leap from indie to major, underground to mainstream. Stand-up is now a huge industry, with the Fringe as one of its key shop windows. Increasingly aimed at a primetime family audience, most of the aspiring comics in Edinburgh are plainly being groomed for their own BBC Three series or Radio 4 panel show. In the future, everyone will be famous on Dave for 15 minutes. Every day.
Mooching around the Fringe, benign blandness starts to look like the new comedy business model. Ever since those notorious outbursts by Russell Brand and Frankie Boyle united left and right alike in mock shock, boyish cheek and wholesome good taste have become depressingly marketable. As ever, the stupid and the prudish ruin things for the rest of us. If stand-up ever truly became the ‘new rock & roll’, arena-filling gag merchants like Michael McIntyre would be Coldplay. Such is the banality of evil.
McIntyre is not even playing this year’s Fringe, but he still proves too big a target for some of comedy’s old guard. The original shock jock of Scottish stand-up, Jerry Sadowitz skewers his family-friendly rivals between bracingly offensive jokes about "spastics", the recent London riots, Anders Brevik and Milly Dowler. In his show Comedian, Magician, Psychopath, the diabolical Mr Punch lookalike dares you not to laugh at his breathtaking bad taste. There is definitely something exhilarating about Sadowitz’s indiscriminate machine-gun cruelty, but plenty of calculated provocation too. He undoubtedly belongs on the dark side of the Fringe, but a little more insight into the anger and self-loathing behind his savage nihilism might have made a more genuinely edgy show.
Also dropping scornful asides about McIntyre is Quietus favourite Stewart Lee, who sold out his entire Edinburgh run weeks in advance despite fielding a work-in-progress show that is still rough around the edges – a drawback he smartly turns into fuel for his cranky, world-weary, perennially disappointed stage persona. Besides, even a half-baked Lee set contains more inspired tangents and surreal imaginative leaps than most polished arena-comic shows. Teasing out elliptical links between Scooby Doo, Osama Bin Laden and Planet of the Apes, the deadpan comedy Dadaist also reads out some ferociously negative quotes from his online critics, and uses a throwaway line about anal rape to attack one of his familiar targets, Frankie Boyle.
In fairness, I am not convinced Lee and Boyle are really so far apart in comic technique. Both inhabit exaggerated self-portraits that accentuate the bitter, sour, nihilistic side of their characters. Each understands that tragedy and comedy are very close and often overlap. Both are literate, politically engaged intellectuals with an unashamedly arrogant contempt for their lazy, careerist peers. In Edinburgh, Lee’s tirade against Helena Bonham Carter’s Tory views is almost as remorseless as one of Boyle’s bilious routines, albeit more rapier than bludgeon. But at his best, Lee remains the Charlie Kaufman of stand-up, deconstructing his own meta-comic riffs even as they unfold on stage, a Brechtian anti-comedian caught in an endless Moebius strip of self-referential irony.
Like Lee, several big-name comics are using this year’s Fringe as a springboard for their autumn tours. Down-to-earth populist Dave Gorman is arguably on the Coldplay side of the comedy fence, but his slick PowerPoint Demonstration show is effortlessly enjoyable and oddly reminiscent of Lee’s in places, notably in the extended routines based on quotes harvested from the internet. Gorman’s bloke-next-door niceness sometimes blunts his wit, but his Twitter feud with Jim Davidson and his musical poem about the French company supplying flags for the London Olympics are both terrific touches.
Comedy at the Fringe may be dominated by stand-up, but many of the more adventurous acts combine traditional jokes with musical and physical theatre, mime and magic, props and puppets. The sketches performed by the young, mask-wearing team Late Night Gimp Fight are typically undergraduate hit-and-miss affairs, many featuring the kind of sex-and-violence cop-out punchlines that Stewart Lee scornfully mocks. But the Gimps stand out thanks to a witty selection of doctored video clips and musical numbers, including a brilliant chorus of fluorescent toilet seats singing Stand By Me.
Also pushing the limits of sketch comedy is the US duo The Pajama Men, whose quickfire show In the Middle of No One is a surreal sci-fi fantasy featuring a dazzling range of accents and characters. It’s essentially gentle stuff, but with agreeably absurd overtones in the Monty Python and Mighty Boosh vein. Another impressive one-off is The Boy With Tape On His Face, aka the London-based New Zealander Sam Wills, a hyperactive performer who makes great use of music, props and audience participation in his wordless Edinburgh show. Gimmicky and repetitive, but still great fun.
The Fringe began as a drama festival, and straight plays remains the only statistical rival to comedy in the Edinburgh listings. Making a brief diversion from humour in my quest for dirt and darkness, I find plenty in Mark Ravenhill’s haunting one-man musical Ten Plagues, starring Marc Almond as an eyewitness to the last great bubonic plague epidemic of 1665, which killed 100,000 Londoners. Southport’s answer to Serge Gainsbourg wears an elegant black skirt throughout, acquitting himself well with a complex sung-through libretto set to Conor Mitchell’s stridently modernist piano score.
Ravenhill does not overplay the AIDS parallels, but they are impossible to ignore in this carnal and sensual pageant, especially as he has been living with HIV for over a decade. He and Almond have also both recovered from life-or-death comas in recent years, which lends their poetic reflections on dead lovers and survivor’s guilt an extra emotional charge. With its smart use of back projection and sly final twist of audience participation, Ten Plagues is already a rave-reviewed sell-out and dead cert for London transfer after Edinburgh.
Usually a Fringe fixture, big-name American comics are thinner on the ground this year than usual. Even so, there are some reliable regulars in town, including Flight of the Conchords co-star Kristen Schaal and her stage partner Kurt Braunohler. Their nightly variety show Hot Tub is a ramshackle mix of surreal sketches and cheesy musical numbers, but with an enjoyably creepy and macabre edge. Making her first Edinburgh appearance in a decade, the Korean-American comic Margaret Cho is also great company. Her stand-up set Cho Dependent is packed with raunchy, scatological and occasionally eye-watering confessions from her polymorphous sex life. Life-affirming filth. Yay!
But easily the best US import I see at the Fringe is Neil Hamburger, a seedy stand-up raconteur with a bad attitude, a greasy combover and an ill-fitting Rat Pack suit. The foul-mouthed alter ego of Australian-born indie-rocker Gregg Turkington, Hamburger has recorded numerous albums, opened for Jack Black’s spoof band Tenacious D and even performed at rock festivals – indeed, he was bottled offstage at Reading last year for his abrasive anti-jokes about the disgusting antics of pop stars and celebrities. Respect. Onstage in Edinburgh, he is a pitiful piece of human wreckage, like Sir Les Patterson scripted by Samuel Beckett.
Hamburger’s Fringe show Discounted Entertainer is a one-man orgy of self-loathing and sick jokes, including probably the best gag ever written about being gang-raped by Crosby, Stills and Nash. He also winces and sobs with each disturbing punchline, as if compelled to deliver them by forces beyond his control. This is evil genius at work. With these queasy insights into a purgatorial parallel universe still ringing in my ears, I leave the world’s biggest arts festival feeling both revolted and cheered. However sanitised and commodified the Fringe may have become, it is oddly heartening to discover there is still some darkness on the edge of Edinburgh.
Stewart Lee
2011-08-22T12:00:01+01:00
"Edinburgh is full of comedians who want to be TV presenters," says veteran stand-up Scott Capurro with a sweet, sunny smile. "Why don’t you just cut yourself, you self-loathing cunts...?" August in Scotland. The world’s largest arts festival: 258 venues, over 2,500 shows, around 1.8 million tickets sold. Imagine 10 back-to-back Glastonburys spread across 25 days, with a vast army of artists and punters all kettled within a few square miles in Edinburgh. Actually, the seething urban carnival atmosphere of the Scottish capital’s fabled Fringe Festival feels more like South By South West, the annual music industry jamboree in Austin, Texas. Every last possible basement bar, church hall, cobbled courtyard and converted car park has been pressed into service as a round-the-clock performance space. Welcome to North By North East. Pushing past the endless waves of grinning jugglers, trying-too-hard buskers and jaded London media whores, your Quietus correspondent is on a mission to find the sick, dirty, dark heart of the Fringe. This means avoiding the zany-haired Australians and sold-out posh-boy stand-ups, and instead seeking out veteran provocateurs like the London-based San Franciscan comic Capurro, whose latest Fringe show Who Are The Jocks? weaves tender reflections on his mother’s death around button-pushing jokes about incest, the Columbine massacre and rough gay sex. Great stuff. In short, I want to leave Edinburgh feeling jolted, challenged, disgusted, disturbed, violated even. Why? Because that is the job of all great art. Good taste has nothing to do with it. To be honest, this is also a sentimental journey, a doomed search for long-lost youth. When I first visited the Fringe as an idealistic teenager in the mid 1980s, the ‘alternative’ comedy boom was still in its post-punk phase: edgy, experimental, spiky and surreal. It was often politically worthy too, of course, but equally...
An almost full capacity audience waits patiently in line for the opening night of Stewart Lee's new show. Behind me some bloke recites the Edward Lear poem from which the show takes its name.
Stewart Lee takes the stage almost immediately we are seated. He apologises fullsomely for the delay, explaining that the Traverse were trying to clear away the set behind him, part of the preceding play, which consists of rocks, sand, and almost an entire Hebridian island. He says that if we get bored during his show we could imagine living on that island. In actual fact, he couldn't have got a better set if he'd commissioned it himself. It lacks only a bong tree.
You cannot deconstruct nonsense verse, for that way lies madness. And by a similar token, if you try to make sense of nonsense, you will go round in circles like a wee boat adrift at sea. The experienced writer, performer, and director,(here epitomised), knowsthat this really handy, as bathos is a cornerstone of comedy.
Simon Munnery takes on two supporting roles, one of which is that of Lear himself, replete with beard. His fulsome comedic voice can be heard clearly despite the oversized merkin, and he's brilliant; a Shakespearean clown nearing the peak of his talents. Catch him solo at the Stand if you can.
The show is great, doubly so if you're a fan as I'd guess most of tonight's audience were. If you haven't seen Lee before, try this anyway, although those expecting a full and scholarly examination of Lear's most famous work are undoubtedly meowing up the wrong bong tree.
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.
If 2011's Carpet Remnant World was Stewart Lee's ground-breaking psychedelic album, then Much a-Stew About Nothing could - as its title suggests - be his next batch of unfinished demos.
And on first listen it seems, that with a bit of work in the studio, there could be some more cult-classic comedy hits on the way soon.
Lee warns an expectant crowd from the outset that there will be no cleverly-woken narrative thread through this set tonight. Or even a backdrop. He confesses to having arrived armed only with a bundle of fresh ideas, three new set-pieces and an "optional encore - if you want it", with the best bits set to find themselves polished then eventually put on the tele via the next series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
But Lee is clearly still reeling from his last visit to the plush Lowry Theatre, which apparently ended badly. After being unable to resist the lure of engaging in a lengthy impromptu dialogue with a Maltese heckler, he was likewise unable to complete his planned show in time and left owing the venue money!
Keen to ensure this doesn't happen again he quickly distinguishes an early enthusiastic shout-out. "This is not a two-way conversation Salford. This is very much a monologue." Few comedians can get away with an instant assault on their paying public. But fans of his Comedy Vehicle know by now that it's best not to back seat drive or question Lee's often erratic driving. Nor his eventual destination. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the journey - from the post-modern to the surreal, and back again, via his observatory in Hackney.
Ironically though the highlight of a slow-burning first half did come from the audience member, who - to Lee's delight - offered up "furry eggs", as a response to the left-field question of what form would a mythical Griffin's young take? Bird Eggs or Baby Lions? A beautifully bizarre improvised exchange.
After apologising for his first half faux pas of referring to Salford as Manchester - which brought groans from some residents of the Other City - Lee began to move through the comedy gears after the break.
The closest The Lowry came to rapture was after a startling piece of satire regarding a Merseyside politician's rightist fears about the arrival of an influx of Bulgarian immigrants next year, on the basis that the best Bulgarians should stay where they are for the benefit of Bulgaria. Lee compares this to early mammals ordering the first landed fish back into the sea, and questions whether he himself would have as many fears about moving on from his Liverpool homeland if it would benefit his career.
Other highlights include an abstract reflection on the character traits of Lee's imaginary black and gay wives - and the tragic-comic gasp around the room when he kills these fictional characters stone dead.
Towards the end Lee - intentionally or not - rolls out a few old hit singles of jokes that have appeared on other tours. But that's pretty forgiveable for a man who so often pushes the boundaries, and he ends on some half-written jokes read off a piece of paper. With most acts you would feel short-changed in this situation, but with Lee it's an insight into how he constructs and edits his hilarious world vision.
You get the impression that once it's been fully MOT'd and given a lick of paint, Stewart Lee's new comedy vehicle will soon be revved up to full throttle and driving straight up the alternative comedy charts once more.
Stewart Lee
2013-10-07T18:21:41+01:00
If 2011's Carpet Remnant World was Stewart Lee's ground-breaking psychedelic album, then Much a-Stew About Nothing could - as its title suggests - be his next batch of unfinished demos. And on first listen it seems, that with a bit of work in the studio, there could be some more cult-classic comedy hits on the way soon. Lee warns an expectant crowd from the outset that there will be no cleverly-woken narrative thread through this set tonight. Or even a backdrop. He confesses to having arrived armed only with a bundle of fresh ideas, three new set-pieces and an "optional encore - if you want it", with the best bits set to find themselves polished then eventually put on the tele via the next series of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle. But Lee is clearly still reeling from his last visit to the plush Lowry Theatre, which apparently ended badly. After being unable to resist the lure of engaging in a lengthy impromptu dialogue with a Maltese heckler, he was likewise unable to complete his planned show in time and left owing the venue money! Keen to ensure this doesn't happen again he quickly distinguishes an early enthusiastic shout-out. "This is not a two-way conversation Salford. This is very much a monologue." Few comedians can get away with an instant assault on their paying public. But fans of his Comedy Vehicle know by now that it's best not to back seat drive or question Lee's often erratic driving. Nor his eventual destination. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the journey - from the post-modern to the surreal, and back again, via his observatory in Hackney. Ironically though the highlight of a slow-burning first half did come from the audience member, who - to Lee's delight - offered up "furry eggs", as...
The only available room in Birmingham last Tuesday night was an Airbnb on Edward Street. Usually the Birmingham tourist board are giving them away free, with incentivising jars of Bovril and vouchers for the legendary Hurst Street cafe Mr Egg. “Eat like a king for under a pound!”
But tonight, Birmingham was buzzing. There was a heavy police presence, and Ladypool Road had run out of balti, which I assumed was because I was the opening comedian for local blue-collar Beefheartian post-punk survivors the Nightingales at the Hare & Hounds in King’s Heath.
However, when I got into the room, I found I was overlooking the International Convention Centre, the home of the room-gobbling 2018 Conservative party conference. After last year’s standup stage-invasion debacle, I was surprised security checks had allowed a comedian like me within sight of the conference, and would like those responsible for this oversight to be spanked senseless in Josef K’s broom cupboard.
Perhaps I avoided being on the radar of security staff looking out for comedians because I am “about as funny as a bonfire in a burning orphanage. I thought comedy was sposed 2 b funny”, as you will doubtless say in the below-the-article comments online, Mr TrueBritExitEuropeKremlinbot19.
On Wednesday morning, staring over my laptop at the Conservative party conference venue, I assumed it would be easy to shit out Sunday’s thousand-word screed of liberal elite humour, but I was sick of the Tories, so I trawled the papers for other stories. Tuesday’s Independent newspaper headline “Planning glitch delays sex robot brothel”, a sentence in which almost every word suggests a story in its own right, seemed promising. But then I saw a photo of a sad-faced blond sex robot staring blankly out of the page, and I felt she had suffered enough ignominy without me adding to her woes.
I had the same feeling of mercy when I witnessed a mouse-faced Michael Gove eating wasabi peas alone in a Costa Coffee at Knutsford services last week, and quietly binned my latest Gove-mocking tract.
Then, that afternoon, in the van from Birmingham to Hackney’s fashionable Moth Club, Nightingales guitarist James Smith showed me a clip on his phone of Theresa May prancing uneasily to an Abba record, like a mantis with an inner ear infection.
Dead Cat strategies attempt to distract the public from some impending political disaster, but this was off the scale. Theresa May hadn’t so much thrown the dead cat on the table as slit it open, scooped out its guts, swallowed them whole, and worn its eviscerated feline body as some kind of hideous hat of gore.
Nonetheless, her idiotic Dead Cat Dance was received with loyal approval by the usual snap-on tools of democracy. James Cleverly, Conservative MP for Braintree, who despite having the word clever in his own name and the word brain in that of his constituency, found time to tweet, stupidly, “Great to see Theresa May dance on to the stage to Dancing Queen by ABBA. Classy.” This was something no one else anywhere in the world was thinking, as they watched, cringing with embarrassment, through their splayed fingers.
Meanwhile the Telegraph, a monochromatic shit-sheet which is given away free with water in WH Smiths, opined “Journalists gasped. Politicians burst into applause and laughter. Abba’s Dancing Queen played loud, and Theresa May shimmied her way to the podium.” Presumably I have spent my entire life misunderstanding the idea of shimmying. If I am ever hit by a car and have to crawl towards the edge of the road to die, trailing my guts behind me, I will be sure to think of myself as “shimmying” into the gutter.
And while her colleagues continue to nail Corbyn hard to the floor for his shortcomings, the BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg remains a friendly face that Theresa May visibly looks for in a difficult press conference, knowing she will throw her an easy question bone. Kuenssberg tweeted, “PM massive sense of humour alert – comes on to Dancing Queen, jigs about – hall loves it.” But I thought humor woz sposed 2 b funny.
If May’s ill-advised advisers were hoping to use her Dead Cat Dance as a distraction from the impossibility of reaching a satisfactory Brexit solution, they may have misjudged the situation. Mung-bean munching musicians hate it when Conservatives appropriate their work. Johnny Marr commanded David Cameron not to like the Smiths, and presumably must now have extended that embargo to For Britain poster boy Morrissey too.
Abba have already expressed concern about the abuse of their work for political ends, and threatened to sue the far-right anti-immigration Danish People’s party for appropriating Mamma Mia. Former Hep Star Björn Ulvaeus himself has described Brexit as “a disaster”, and as the Eurovision song contest’s most famous winners, Abba embody the spirit of pan-European cooperation that anti-immigration, anti-European Tories on the far right of the party seek to undermine.
Avatars of the 70s Keep Britain Tidy campaign, Abba were early adopters of the sort of environmental concerns that the Tories’ drive towards a deregulated post-Brexit Britain will abandon. And in featuring such arch historical rivals as a yellow-haired woman and a brown-haired woman, and a fat bearded man and a thin clean-shaven man, working in perfect harmony, Abba showed that different people could cooperate for the common good, rather than fight their fellows like horrid Brexit rats.
It’s highly likely that Theresa May’s Dead Cat Dance will end in Swedish pop anger, and the spin-wazzocks that talked her into it will soon distance themselves from their suggestion. There is no solution to the Conservatives’ impasse. Theresa’s Dead Cat Dance aimed to ensure that people talked about her moves, however humiliating, rather than her speech. And you fell for it. The Winner Takes It All would have been better walk-on music. “I’ve played all my cards, and that’s what you’ve done too / Nothing more to say / No more ace to play.”
Stewart Lee
2018-10-07T19:03:00+01:00
The only available room in Birmingham last Tuesday night was an Airbnb on Edward Street. Usually the Birmingham tourist board are giving them away free, with incentivising jars of Bovril and vouchers for the legendary Hurst Street cafe Mr Egg. “Eat like a king for under a pound!” But tonight, Birmingham was buzzing. There was a heavy police presence, and Ladypool Road had run out of balti, which I assumed was because I was the opening comedian for local blue-collar Beefheartian post-punk survivors the Nightingales at the Hare & Hounds in King’s Heath. However, when I got into the room, I found I was overlooking the International Convention Centre, the home of the room-gobbling 2018 Conservative party conference. After last year’s standup stage-invasion debacle, I was surprised security checks had allowed a comedian like me within sight of the conference, and would like those responsible for this oversight to be spanked senseless in Josef K’s broom cupboard. Perhaps I avoided being on the radar of security staff looking out for comedians because I am “about as funny as a bonfire in a burning orphanage. I thought comedy was sposed 2 b funny”, as you will doubtless say in the below-the-article comments online, Mr TrueBritExitEuropeKremlinbot19. On Wednesday morning, staring over my laptop at the Conservative party conference venue, I assumed i