JOHN COOPER CLARKE | LIVE REVIEW
Tramshed, Cardiff, Fri 23 Apr
A seated gig at the Tramshed: a first for me, and one which made the ambience of the evening different. With three poets performing, life was reflected with humour, pithy truths and existentialism. With a dedication to Prince and Victoria Wood, Clare Ferguson-Walker got the show on its way. Her short set left you wanting to hear more, my favourite being Housewife Blues: “Place is a mess, stress building up in the form of odd socks…” Clare sculpts words creating a three-dimensional montage of observations.
Then Mike Garry picked up the warm-up baton. A fantastic poetic orator weaving in the pithy hard edge with the honest phrases of his Mancunian wit and power of observation, these were brilliantly captured in Penny For A Guy, a thought-provoking montage of verbal imagery of the tough life in Manchester. Every poem was insightful, to the point with descriptive words which had a true purpose such as What Me Mam Taught Me, written for his mam’s funeral.
Now time for The Bard Of Salford, Dr John Cooper Clarke. More than a poet, he commentated on social and cultural subjects in his performance to make us laugh at ourselves. He strode on to stage, notebook in hand and duly read out The Guest List. With his turn of phrase and the shaping of words he would make the telephone book funny. He shared his existentialism philosophy as it floated through the air.
A crowd pleasing favourite, Beasley Street felt like a comfortable friend, and then as we revisited Beasley Boulevard it was all changed, updated and revamped, with the poem given a 21st century make-over. The words are clever, reflecting the change of time and people’s aspirations and how they shape their communities. Speaking for over an hour, sharing limericks, sonnets and tales of length, JCC isn’t politically correct and his set is sweary – but it makes you laugh. He laughs at himself, remembering slights from the past when a heckler commented on his post-rehab weight gain: recalled in verse as Get Back On The Drugs You Fat Fuck.
Some of the poems are long and wind around the subject; others are short and sharp as a razor. As acerbic and irreverent as ever, Dr John Cooper Clarke drew in a sell-out crowd that spanned the ages.
words and photos LIZ AIKEN