Performer. Writer. Creative. Barista. From Co. Clare, Ireland. Living in London. Workin' it. Currently recording debut EP, Shortened Suite, for summer release...
› Turner prize 2013 shortlist takes a mischievous turn
A streak of subversive humour runs through the work of Lynette Yiadom-Boakye, Tino Sehgal, Laure Prouvost and David Shrigley â all nominated for this year’s £40,000 art prize
Jesus on a bike. I’m so proud that I performed in a Turner Prize nominated piece. Congratulations to Tino, Asad, Andrew, Julia and all of my associates. These Associations was a game changer for me.
The latest single from Brandt Brauer Frick, Plastic Like your Mother, is just amazing. They have previously released on classical music super label, Deutsche Grammophon and I heart how they call their versions ‘Reinterpretations’. There’s so much to say but, I’m not writing an ‘article’ so if you’re interested in specifics check out their website.
It’s this kind of music that excites and inspires me as an artist. ‘Organic Techno’ is the most apt description I’ve come across so far. Hearing this has actually prompted me to finish an arrangement last weekend. This is a fine example of what I call ‘musicians music’ - that isn’t overly processed or relying on technology to deliver effects like polyrhythms and complex countermelodies - ie. they are proficient in their instruments. Using hardware and software is an art in itself, and although I’m a bit thick where some techy stuff is concerned, I am envious of musicians who can incorporate it ways that enhance their music and expression.
In many ways BBF is minimalistic in style, but on closer listening it’s deliciously complicated - traversing between some amazing extended instrumental techniques and the very thing that make EDM and its sister genres attract its tribe. As performers, well - I’m highly buzzed about catching them live some time soon. The video was partly choreographed by Cathy Walsh, a brilliant artist/maker from Cork, Ireland. She’s also part of the Tate Modern alumni (Tino Sehgal: These Associations). I love how people pop up every now and then with their work - there’s quite a gang from that performance (including yours truly) - spanning many different countries, ages, idiom, professions, who never cease to amaze me.
Vid of a session at The Lamb Holloway Road, London. I’m the one playing the fiddle. Led by Mick O’Connor (banjo), Mick Bailey (guitar) and Barbara Hackett (accordion) who go under the name Wraggle Taggle
Every Tuesday from 8:30 to 11ish. Nearest tube is Highbury and Islington (Victoria Line /OG)
Hear me bear my teenage soul. Recorded live at The George, Strand, Wednesday 27 March for CRINGE, a monthly therapy sesh, erm, forum for the willing to read their teenage diaries.
I stumbled upon this whole CRINGE thing via the radio and on d’internets but hadn’t considered contributing until recently. I’ve kept a diary since I was able to write. Granted there’s a whole lot of crap in there - pages of various handwriting styles, crappy doodles…. lists. Diaries are not for everyone, maybe they’re for people who are inclined to write, right? WELL DONE, Twat Head, “what do you fink?!”
After my first CRINGE experience, I’m starting to believe that us readers are a privileged few - lucky to have these mini time capsules that transport us back to days when our priorities were so, so different and emotions were fraught. But even non-diarists can take a lot from these readings - highlighting the universality of the whole teenage experience. I find it interesting the myriad of decade-specific cultural references; fashion, linguistic details (dodgy graffiti-like notes in foolscap notebooks like ‘I woz ere WLT SVS’).
The March CRINGE night had readings from the late 60s up to as recent as 2004. Mine was 2000, god, it does not seem like long ago. I would love to hear even earlier ones. I know my grandmother (and former piano teacher), Dympna Cotter, has kept brilliant notes about her upbringing. With help from the family, she got it typed up nicely with photographs, then laminated and ring-bound. I think about six copies exist. Think of the historical significance of it, not just for the Cotter clan but, of diaries in general. I listened to an old Desert Island Discs episode featuring Kenneth Williams, broadcast 1987 and presented by Michael Parkinson, apparently his diaries are a brilliant read* (more a note to self than anything else but do check it out).
I absolutely adore listening to people talk about their lives, at any age, but the teenage years have a particular comedy factor - you can feel the bloody awkwardness in how we expressed ourselves then - and we all know how comedy loves frailties. I see similarities in teenage expression and my 26 year-old expression, only the emotions and taste are not switched ‘up to 11’ anymore. As adults-in-training (what I consider myself to be), we conform to function in society - we all do to some extent. You can be as rebellious as you damn well like but you still won’t (hopefully) cough phlegm on a fellow commuter’s face or, not wash for 3 weeks or, perform an act of self-love in the bank (wanking while banking, geddit?).
No-one encouraged me to write, and no-one discouraged me to write. I wrote everything, I still do. It’s like I miss the filter between the thought process and ‘do’ process. Do you ever wonder when you started to do something you’ve been doing forever? It’s like, I was born, ready to diary the fuck out of my life. I, not caring about seemingly irrelevant info like what I ate for dinner - which, have actually ended up being details that spark more memories.
As a musician/performer I am accustomed to audiences. On rare occasion I have enjoyed attentive, mannerly, respectful audiences. These are almost exclusively seated concert scenarios or ‘solo’ part of a traditional Irish music session. Other than that, we are forewarned (and therefore forearmed) to deal with this whole reality of fighting for airtime. It sometimes feels like its not good enough that you have spent time honing your act, to entertain them, to better yourself as an artist. You are bearing your soul, but yes, it’s music or whatever, and that can be a bit more abstract than reading a passage directly from arguably the toughest period of your young life…. So justifiably, the audience at The George although full to the rafters are THE most amazing crowd to stand up in front of. Personally, I’ve rarely experienced this level of attentiveness, where everyone’s ears and eyes are focused on you. Next time I’m going to take a picture. It’s that good.
Unlike stand-up comedy, art, fashion, literature or theatre, the crowd are not there to criticise or take the mickey. It’s like a massive room-in-the-shape-of-the-upstairs-part-of-The George-shaped womb. Yes. WOMB, I said. You feel all warm and safe. The crowd’s laugh-track is not entirely in synch - you can hear some great laughs trailing off for longer - what resonated with them? Why did they laugh for so long? Everyone talks. I’ve often gone to open mics where audiences consist mainly of after-drink office-y types, who frankly have no interest in what you’re doing on stage (and why should they? They’re there for the jug of pre-mix cocktail for £10). Mix this audience type (if they even DESERVE to be called that..) with loner, cold, or competitive open mic performers and you’ve got a recipe for a largely unsatisfying performance experience. Conversation is the greatest sauce, or eh, seasoning for CRINGE.
In short, don’t be held back by shyness or fear of embarrassment - that was then and this is now, why should you ever be ashamed of who you are? - unless you’ve done something really terrible. I haven’t done anything really terrible in my life, yet. Murder, terrorism, scam-free me. If you are murder, terrorism, scam-free then CRINGE is right up your strasse. Next one is in May, follow CRINGE on Twitter for all the latest.
Gillian Lynne is being awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Oliviers this year. I was familiar with her work, notably Cats - as kids, neighbours and friends and me used to prance around our front room in tights and face paint, we fashioned tails out of odd socks, and interpreted what we saw on the worn-out VHS my aunty in Liverpool had sent me one Christmas, along with an early edition of the TS Eliot text. I’ve never seen it live, and as I grew into my teens and now my twenties, I never had any desire to see it live. In a way, a lot of musical theatre has lost its draw. I want really badly to lust after a production - maybe it’s a case of being recommended a good one. I’m terrified of paying through my nose and not enjoying it can you tell I’ve been burned this way before? Anyway, that’s beside the point. I knew some of her work, but not her name. Sometimes you feel a right pillock when you hear the impact someone has had on an industry and you’re like, ’ erm, yeah, I know that’. But as my granda Eddie says “It’s all part of livin’ ” (you live, you learn - in other words: we don’t automatically know all these cultural reference points!) I’m sure that’s happened you…
I heard Gillian Lynne being interviewed on Front Row on BBC Radio 4 last night and all I can say is, her life story and body of work, and pace of work, influence, tenacity has just blown me away. I hate making age a ‘thing’ but it has to be in this case, she is 87. She has been working professionally since she was 14 or 15, with very few breaks. She hadn’t planned on becoming a choreographer but she was driven by passing on the knowledge. She spoke about reality TV culture, and how it is damaging to performance and the quality of performers, perhaps the future performer’s longevity. I know for sure that people will read that headline and think it’s just another rant by an elder but, I totally agree.
On the one hand, I like reality TV formats for it’s rich content potential but now it’s like, things are so unpredictable you can almost predict it, if you know what I mean. It’s like, sometimes I think Come Dine With Me, it has run its course… But what Gillian is referring to is this idea of being fast-tracked to stardom and recognition, in the event that this happens, it is often unsustainable because many “do not have the chops”. I am a trained musician, ethnographer, composer and so on. Okay, I may be missing discipline in practice 100% of the time but, I feel prepared for, and have survived, car crash rejections, the highs and lows of performance as well as being equipped to adapt to changing circumstances. An example of this in a music context is over-reliance on text - as a traditional musician I have strong aural skills that have helped me out ‘Thanks Ears’. Developing your own voice is one thing, but there is a lot to be said for being grounded in your practice, in the tradition, the bare bones of something. I fought against it for years, but I’d be nowhere without my early training. Some people will not have a thick enough skin to bounce back. She prizes the discipline instilled in dancers in conservatories - this, she claims, is what gets you through the lows - the craft, the classic routines, being well-read, knowledge is power etc.
Having worked full time as part of the ‘cast’ of These Associations, I had contact with quite a few dancers. I had little or no contact with these otherworldly creatures before this. The aches and sprains and pains I experienced then, that’s a major part of their craft. I was astounded at how physically resilient they are - no matter what - there is a constant fiery, unquenchable passion in them. Gillian spoke about how she danced through many injuries because she had to - she needed to. Even today she does what she can, despite having two metal hips and a metal foot. I even hear she has a ‘toy boy’ partner, hate that term but hey, credit where it’s due!
Okay, I can hear you saying ‘the suffering artist….yadda yadda’ - in this case, I think yes, she for one felt a duty to deliver for herself and her company, fans, audience. I felt held back by physical pain because I’m not used to it as a composer, instrumentalist (except rare RSI) - god, I felt like a bit of a chump when i whinged and felt sorry for myself - only to look over at these gazelles who, after a quick treatment of arnica cream and a few stretches, were back on the floor. Dancers inspire me so much, even though I don’t consider myself to use my body as an instrument, it inspires me to break through those pain and mental barriers. Gillian Lynne, what a great inspiration. She hasn’t retired. But who wants to do that anyway?
Superhuman Happiness - are one of my favourite bands evor. A band and collective of musicians and artists who are at the very top of their game, with their finger on the proverbial pulse of the very thing that makes music awesome. I’m v. blessed to know one member, Eric Biondo, when I was on my J1 Work Travel visa in 07. Not much work was done, to be honest. I left a private member’s club after a month of slave labour and thankless work to tutor, via ads I put on Craigslist, aspiring Irish traditional fiddle players, among them a lonely Wall Street stock broker. We joked that we would start an Off Off Off OFF B’Way stage musical called ‘Fiddles on Fire’ (this hasn’t happened, yet). My main man, a keyboardist, composer and buddy from Dublin, Justin Carroll, put me in touch with Eric. It’s a small world. It really is. Since then, the music of people I have jammed with, brushed shoulders with, and those who I wish I met, have a significant impact on my appreciation of music, and my approach to writing, arranging, and performing.
When I’m stuck in a rut, I regain focus, creative juices flow (I HATE that phrase, but lack another), and I feel a kind of arty sense of determination when I listen to music like what you’ll hear on HANDS, released on indie label from Brooklyn, The Royal Potato Family. Art is everything. You can call it what you like - art, music, tunes, ditties, a band.
HANDS exemplifies the prosody, the weight and meaning of every little aspect, every little twist and turn that makers of every idiom should be focused on achieving. Man - what else can I say but THANK YOU for making such an exciting, uplifting, technically and compositionally interesting record. And, please, please come and play in London some time soon.
I received the HANDS LP in the post today - a dark, snowy, dreary day in London. My name was handwritten on the package, and I’m a sucker for hardcopy. I love knowing that someone took a few precious seconds doing that one little thing. In my case, it might have taken a wee bit longer. Thanks mom and dad for giving me a hard-to-spell-yet-unique name. x
I’m reading about the famine in Ireland. I always called it the potato famine. After reading some more historical texts I dread to think what has been omitted from my education (in Ireland). Na Sasanaigh lofa. My bf tells a joke about the potato famine: “why didn’t ye eat fish? - sure you can’t have fish without potatoes” - I get it, it’s funny, and it’s typical of Irish character to relish that ability to point and laugh at ourselves - a kind of comic relief. But it could be considered a signifier of low self-worth, of sorts. It’s easier to take the piss than seriously engage with it. I never seriously engaged with it - it was a passing subject in my primary and secondary education. When I went to college, other things defined me, like my subject of study (music, composition, performance), my taste in music, books, and my social activities.
I guess it’s something to do with getting older, well, I’m only 26. I moved to London for love in 2011. Since then I have experienced a wide variety of attitudes, mainly positive or indifferent, towards my Irishness and the Irish in general. Weirdly, I’ve experienced a kind of affinity with black people and other minority groups: NO BLACK, NO IRISH, NO DOGS, NO CHINKS. The famine, or genocide as some historians call it, is part of the fabric of Ireland. Although you may not have direct experience with a historically significant event, it doesn’t mean that you should ignore it. I feel that I’ve been living without an historical awareness of where I come from. I feel like I don’t know as much as I should do, politically, socially. I feel I am a generic Euro-woman sometimes. That’s an ‘orrible thought, that there is a chance that we are mimicking a homogenous Western culture. Well - that is there, but we are all unique. I’m just thinking inwardly and worldly - where are you in all of this?
We are all blank canvases - we paint each other. Just a thought…
The Irish Famine Tribunal, is taking place in Fordham University of Law New York this April. It will be examining the genocide through the lens of political, social responsibility. It will be interesting to see if there is any further media engagement with this event - I know I have never spent long thinking about it. It’s been brushed under the proverbial carpet of history. I found this heartwarming story on their website:
“Irish Famine — The Choctaw Send Aid
One hundred and sixty years ago this week in 1847, the Indians of the Choctaw nation took up a collection. Moved by news of starvation in Ireland, a group of Choctaws gathered in Scullyville, Oklahoma to raise a relief fund. Despite their meager resources, they collected $170 and forwarded it to a U.S. famine relief organization. It was both the most unlikely and the most generous contribution to the effort to relieve Ireland’s suffering.
Begun two years before in the fall of 1845, the potato blight and subsequent famine had reached its height in 1847. It was, of course, much more than a mere natural disaster. British colonial policies before and during the crisis exacerbated the effects of the potato blight, leading to mass death by starvation and disease. For example, in March of 1847, at the time of the Choctaw donation, 734,000 starving Irish people were forced to labor in public works projects in order to receive food. Little wonder that survivors referred to the year as “Black ’47.”
First through letters and newspaper accounts, and later from the refugees themselves, the Irish in America learned of the unfolding horror. Countless individuals sent money and ship tickets to assist friends and family. Others formed relief committees to solicit donations from the general public. Contributions came from every manner of organization, from charitable societies and businesses to churches and synagogues. By the time the famine had ended in the early 1850s, millions in cash and goods had been sent to Ireland.
What made the Choctaw donation so extraordinary was the tribe’s recent history. Only 16 years before, President Andrew Jackson (whose parents emigrated from Antrim) seized the fertile lands of the so-called five civilized tribes (Chickasaw, Cherokee, Creek, Seminole, and Choctaw) and forced them to undertake a harrowing 500-mile trek to Oklahoma known as the Trail of Tears. Of the 21,000 Choctaws who started the journey, more than half perished from exposure, malnutrition, and disease. This despite the fact that during the War of 1812 the Choctaws had been allies of then General Jackson in his campaign against the British in New Orleans.
Perhaps their sympathy stemmed from their recognition of the similarities between the experiences of the Irish and Choctaw. Certainly contemporary Choctaw see it that way. They note that both groups were victims of conquest that led to loss of property, forced migration and exile, mass starvation, and cultural suppression (most notably language).
Increased attention to the Great Famine in recent years has led to renewed recognition of the Choctaw donation. In 1990 a delegation of Choctaw officials was invited to participate in an annual walk in County Mayo commemorating a tragic starvation march that occurred during the Famine. In honor of the special guests, the organizers (Action From Ireland, or AFRI) named the march The Trail of Tears. Two years later, two dozen people from Ireland came to the U.S. and retraced the 500-mile Trail of Tears from Oklahoma to Mississippi. That same year the Choctaw tribe made Ireland’s President Mary Robinson an honorary chief.
Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of these events is that while they commemorate dark chapters of the past, they are focused on the present and future. In other words, they seek to dramatize the need to stop starvation and suffering worldwide. As the plaque on Dublin’s Mansion House which honors the Choctaw contribution reads: “Their humanity calls us to remember the millions of human beings throughout our world today who die of hunger and hunger-related illness in a world of plenty. “
This is what Liam Neeson’s character in TAKEN would be like if he was Irish. This is so true.
En route to @RETZproduces workshopping Kafka’s The Trial. Whoop! So far there’s been an excellent response. See what Wired.co.uk writer, Olivia Solon has to say about it.
The museum as a place of art production
By Victor Wang
I’ll remember this forever. An amazing immersive, life-altering, performance experience. I salute my fellow Associates. This was my FT job for 3 months last year. Lucky me. x
