Can you tell Ink Pantry about your Video Theatre?

My Video Theatre project had varied reasons for its emergence; personal and professional reasons dictated a new start. When I left Sheffield, I no longer had a band or studio. I’ve always wanted to ‘get on with it’, and also finding the right band can be a long and disappointing task. Moreover, studio allows for your full imagination and bands have been a skeletal idea – like acoustic versions of an idea. I wanted to draw on all my musical inspirations in a flexible, eclectic way. It has allowed me to explore with complete freedom from classical to dub, prog and pop. Anything! I like the holistic, and wanted to explore my interest in the elements of all the arts, hence each song has its own symbolic video that relates to the lyrics via a collection of animated stills. I play with the relationships relating the translation in a kind of vice versa symbiosis. So metaphors become literal and so forth. It’s fun!

I didn’t want it to be a simulation so I make it obvious that it’s a studio production. I mix the tracks via PA at volume; very dry so it has a live flavour. The beats are basic and percussive and the sounds are cut and paste loops, like how dance music is created. The bass parts are BIG and done as performance with traditionally played bass, which for me is crucial. The organic flavour creates the juxtaposition against the laptop; the irony – Primitively Modern: the title of the project. The overall content explores this concept throughout from Mayan history to modern issues. The stuff we talk about round the campfire!

You have been writing lyrics for many years. Can you give us a history of your journey as a songwriter? 

My journey as a lyricist has emerged from the punk ideal. Allowance to speak. Having something to say was the motivation to play. An observational approach has diversified over the years and inspiration now comes from spiritual issues and imagining being born under a paving slab!

Can you share with us a couple of your own favourite lyrics?

There are many of my lyrics I like. The crap gets thrown away. One of my faves is anecdotal; simple but big like a haiku. ‘Rooms in houses uncannily did this to me.’ This comes from a focus on idiosyncrasy/constructs. ‘Rooms in Houses’ is from a collection of songs called ‘Common Scenarios of Quite a Strange Man’.

Who inspires you, lyrically? 

Again, loads of inspiring lyrics and writers. Peter Gabriel’s US album is lyrically beautiful, and the Lighthouse Family say some nice things. In contrast, I like the inarguable and simple statements that Discharge used to make too. Hawkwind’s single sentence ‘Space is there’ is, of course, implosively poetic.

Do you read a lot? What book has affected you the most?

Never get time to read. A Kestrel for a Knave has done much to shape the way I think, particularly the implications in institutionalised learning. Billy’s skills and motivations are not on the curriculum. When he finds his true interest, he’s an A-star pupil.

You live on a boat, away from the rat race. Is this the perfect, peaceful setting for a creative person? 

Paint a picture of your day for us.

I live two lives on the boat; week on, week off with my boys. This is a good symbiosis because my domestic week grounds me from a workload that has me awake at ridiculous times and drinking too much coffee. It is delightful when I get to do boater things. I like the resourcefulness such as having solar energy, sawing logs, etc. The relaxing moments with candles, fire and hooting owls are well earned. Of course, my ever changing ‘garden’, I’ve no doubt, is unconsciously calming and inspiring.

Do you think like a poet, perhaps in images, or do ideas come first, then images?

I think in an integrated way, but the visual arts have much to do with the abstraction. It’s all about juxtaposition, texture, composition. I work lyric to maximise meaning in a mind map way and choose words that strengthen a previous reference; like an echo. Put simply…moon, dark, night, stars, etc. It seems obvious but clearly when writing it’s more interesting than that. It has to be, of course!

How do you motivate yourself to write? Or is it an innate passion that constantly needs release?

I used to sit and sing nonsense with guitar and catch/shape lyric as it spilled out. These days, I build soundscapes starting with experimental sounds and loops as well as conventional playing. The ‘painting’ in turn inspires lyric and story.

What do you care about? Which themes keep cropping up in your work?

Spiritual freedom, harmony, peace and being happy. I used to have a lot to say. Now I change the world from where I can actually do something about it – from within. I trust my feelings. I try to be nice. I’m absolute about boundaries. If I’m uncomfortable, I have the right to leave and not have to answer for it.

Tell us about one of the best days of your life.

I have two best days: the days my boys were born. I love them to bits – as you do! They map my future and fill me with purpose. They grow and provide me with continually changing interest.

Any plans for future projects?

Every intention for continual future projects. I have irons in a few fires. I’ve been enjoying writing top lines with harmony for some great producers recently and now have an opportunity to travel too. The variety is great stimuli and takes me to fresh musical/lyrical places (mainstream with a touch of craft). Such co-writes yet again present new landscapes from the imaginations of other artistes, thus stimulating new lyric territory. It helps give my own work a rest and recharge. My Video Theatre remains paramount as it is the vehicle for my deepest thoughts and experiences. It also grants poetic licence unlike the former, which comes with a label brief. Quite difficult at times.

https://www.facebook.com/thevideotheatre/?fref=ts
 

‘This is not an autobiography. I would never write a history of myself. On the other hand, throughout my young days at school and just afterwards, a number of things happened to me that I have never forgotten…I didn’t have to search for any of them. All I had to do was skim them off the top of my consciousness and write them down. Some are funny. Some are painful. Some are unpleasant. I suppose that is why I remembered them so vividly. All are true.’

At some point, probably within our earlier years of life, countless of us will have been captivated and enthralled by the words of Roald Dahl – a gifted writer who brought his imaginative stories to life with a succession of memorable fictional characters in books such as: ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, ‘The BFG’ & ‘James and the Giant Peach’.

A lesser-known book of the author – who would have celebrated his 100^th birthday in 2016 – is a 1984 autobiography, simply entitled ‘Boy’. Within these pages lie a multitude of adventures and tales from the author’s childhood during the 1920’s and 30’s. It is also the first half of Roald’s autobiographical accounts, being followed by his amazing story during World War II in a book entitled ‘Solo’ – a thoroughly recommended read.

‘Boy’ begins in his father’s native Norway and gives a fascinating account of the Dahl family.  At times, even though the accounts are true, it’s difficult not to get caught up in Roald’s writing style and wonder if he is building up more fascinating characters for a new novel. Tales abound, such as how his father lost an arm aged 14, yet successfully managed to adapt without it and never saw it as a problem in life…the only mild inconvenience ever aired being the fact that he could never manage to remove the top from a boiled egg.

Clearly, school years play a pivotal role in Roald’s childhood and it is here that we gleam fascinating insights into life during the 1920’s. In particular the reader is witness to the cruel barbarity of life within the interior of educational facilities; mostly undiscovered by the parents of the poor children enduring often-terrible treatment by vicious teachers.

Not that Roald was an angel. Carried along by his words, the reader is exposed to the planning and operation of ‘The Great Mouse Plot of 1924’ – a true escapade of naughty boys doing naughty things.  With a suitably wincing expression we can also discover how adenoids were removed in the 1920’s and also how Roald nearly lost his nose when the entire Dahl family decided to drive an early, massive car along tiny country lanes, complete with just an hour’s driving lesson. (No tests required back then).

The writing style of the book is magnetic, but then it’s Roald Dahl and perhaps we might expect nothing less from a writing master. However, there is something magical occurring between the pages of ‘Boy’. Writing this in 1984, Roald was already 68 years of age and yet the writing appears fresh; spoken like a child in a child’s wondrous, enquiring voice.

Through his words we witness the horror of public schools, with often-vile headmasters and the rigmarole of ‘fagging’. Yet we also hear of pleasant, inspiring teachers. We also visit the Norwegian fjords and delight in Roald’s innocence at encountering such natural beauty, alongside his loving, caring family.

By the time we reach the final pages of the book we have walked alongside Roald through his entire childhood and watched him arrive at a responsible adulthood, just prior to the outbreak of war in 1939. The fact that this is the easiest of processes is due to the beautiful writing structure of Roald Dahl.

Always the story-teller.

 ‘The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it. It happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. He does it to give himself faith hope and courage. A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul and that I am sure is why he does it.’ 

I’m at the Old Stone Butter Factory in Whangarei, in the Far North district of New Zealand. Craft beer and gourmet burgers feature on the menu, and the clientele is scattered over several battered sofas indoors and out (it’s early summer here). The MC encourages all potential performers (the stage is a slightly raised, black-painted, spotlit corner of the pub) to put their name down for a slot; pen and paper lie on one of the tables. By the time the evening begins, the place is neither full nor empty, but the audience is enthusiastic, clicking fingers to show when they are enjoying phrases and words, as well as whooping and cheering as each piece ends. The atmosphere is encouraging, relaxed, accepting.

The MC breaks the ice by performing first. The amplified words ebb and flow, packed with rhyme, alliteration, extended syllables and high-tempo, rapid-fire delivery into the hand-held microphone. The poet refers on and off to handwritten lines in his battered, folded-over notebook, reciting most of the piece from memory — he may even be adding or rephrasing as he goes — and keeping eye contact with audience members, speaking directly to them. Hand gestures punctuate his expressive delivery, and he is enjoying himself, flicking the mic cord, lunging across the stage. As he finishes the piece, an audience member yells out, ‘Tell it like it is, bruv!’ and they slap hands before he introduces the next poet.

A softly spoken woman shuffles in front of the microphone stand, juggling to extract a single typed sheet of paper from a file balanced in her hand. This is her first time on stage; she is a biologist and has never read out her poetry to an audience before, confesses to being horribly nervous but reads her poem nevertheless. It is a brief and elegant piece in blank verse, and her eyes never leave the page as she reads exactly what is written, her voice neutral. She gets her share of whoops and applause, and leaves the stage smiling.

The flyer for this regular Wednesday-night Dirty Word gig has the byline ‘Poetry and Spoken Word’. Just as well, because although the foregoing two poets could be judged to represent extreme examples of two different genres, most performers, performances and poems are harder to categorise, mixing aspects of both. My own work and style is a case in point. I have participated four times now, performing old and new work each time, including works in progress. No one has asked me whether I am a poet who reads, or a spoken word artist, and I doubt it matters, although my university tutors might disagree.

I graduated from the OU last year. For the first assignment of my Advanced Creative Writing course, I wrote my first poem and submitted it with anticipation. I was astonished when my tutor deemed it a ‘performance poem’ and therefore outside the scope of the course; it was marked low. Although all my subsequent poems satisfied the esoteric criteria of the course, I have gone on to perform those poems and dozens of new ones without considering which genre they belong to, and I am both more carefree and more productive as a result.

Soon after arriving in NZ, I saw the Dirty Word flyer and simply decided it was aimed at me, even though I’d never performed a poem in my life. Those evenings are now a firm commitment and I’m writing more and more to perform. It’s a huge buzz, even if initially terrifying, so I strongly recommend performing (you’ll be amazed how an audience can sharpen up your work and boost your confidence). And to develop your written work, consider creating or joining a poetry crit group where you more actively discuss and critique each others’ pieces. And remember, all poetry is performance poetry, because all poetry is meant for the human voice.