Happily had time to pop into the Glee Club
post gig to see the excellent compere and Morrissey fan Andy Robinson; Worth it
to hear him use ‘Rubenesque’, a word underused in stand up clubs around the
weekend.
....
Currently listening to a packed carriage
discuss their feelings about Evita which has been in some Birmingham theatre or
other. It seems that it was a film with Madonna and is based on a true story.
....
I deleted my previous blog as readers,
including my father, found it rather bleak. I didn’t think it was bleak after
midnight, but I know that I am a little overly analytical and tear most gigs
into shreds in the space of a train journey. This train journey is 100 minutes,
so who knows what tatters tonight’s show will be in by the time I walk into the
house.
....
It was lovely performing in the Electric
Cinema, an arthouse cinema that used to be an almost porno cinema. By almost
porno I mean that it mainly showed filmed made in Britain where dollybirds
occasionally ran off naked or sat motionless in saunas, but Roy Kinnear and
Christopher Timothy popped into scenes too. Apparently the cinema basement
still has many reels of Horny Hospital and Confessions of a Taxidermist holding
up one wall.
....
I am not sure quite where new my show lies
at the moment. Some nights I think it is the best solo show yet, others I think
it might have just too much leftie fury and not enough jokes. I will be playing
around with it for some time before it goes on a full tour. Both on the
Edinburgh and Camden Fringe it would go from great receptions to stubble
stroking reactions. Sometimes the stubble stroking nights appeared ultimately
more effective than the ones with louder laughter. Every solo show I have put
together seems to be part of a transition. I imagine my final show before I die
will still seem to me as another awkward transition show, just one where the
awkward transition from movement to stillness followed by smelliness. I rarely
leave a gig without feeling that some people are cross, maybe that is the way
it should be. Even during club sets I build up an image of the front row as
looking like the angry faces of a colonel in an antiquated punch cartoon, only
to look down at the end and see their smiling faces.
....
90 minutes without a break from a
caterwauling, damp man in a cardigan is still pretty long though and I hope to
have injected more new ideas in by Sheffield and Manchester next week.
....
Wish I could remember how I fitted in
Feynamn’s discussion of jiggling atoms tonight, but I can’t, so that’s that.
I’ll find other ways of letting my mind out to get Feynman and jiggling in next
time.
....
Oh and I think I might have been wrong
about Years of Refusal, though not musically or lyrically the greatest
Morrissey escapade, Robinson has rightly pointed me further into its direction.
I think Morrissey should use a quote from Altered States – “he sees everyone as
nothing more than transitional matter” – for his next A side.
....
My son has a new model steam train with a
dull and repetitive nearly tune, he seems as annoyed by it as we are, this is a
good sign. He still prefers PJ Harvey.
....
I wonder if anyone apart from Richard
Feynman worked on theoretical physics in topless bars? How much physics happens
in Spearmint Rhino on a Friday near Slough? What small particles are discussed
near a dancing nipple?
....
I have just scribbled “evolution betrays
the male feminist” , I don’t know what it means now, but in the backyard of my
mind I think it is somehow meant to turn into a routine of some description.