Despite its sensational title, Killer Cults was a relatively sober examination of what makes a cult leader, and how a literally fatal combination of narcissism and psychopathy can lead to disaster.
Read full Article >There's no denying this was a musical and visual spectacular to satisfy the most jaded of palates. In writing this, I've had to wrestle with the jumble of songs now roaming my brain as conflicting ear worms do battle.
Read full ArticleThe quality of the sound at the Art's Centre is always good, but it takes accomplished musicians to make it great. A tad more rockier and jazzier than on previous outings, his faultless ensemble complemented Sam Lee's distinct vocals superbly.
Read full ArticleFor all his ribald profanity, Gamble is an unusually old fashioned comic, building up mental pictures in the mind of an audience from a grain of truth, who then laugh loudest at situations that, but for the grace of God, go I.
Read full ArticleDispensing with the notion of a support act, we collectively jumped into the deep end, as he homed in on the brave souls on the front row. It's not unusual for a comic to break the ice with a bit of a chat with the audience before launching into the act, but it quickly became apparent this was the act. At times, he seemed less like a slick comic, and more like the funniest mate down the pub.
Often, theatre is a device for escaping our troubles, and I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, but for those of us that yearn for more nourishing fare, it's good to know something reliably substantial is still being served up on a China Plate.
Tom Allen is the master of the pointed question, the cheeky put-down and the witty response
Such was the atmosphere generated, it was easy to imagine, out the corner of your eye, that you caught a glimpse of the eponymous Woman, such was the descriptive power of the text. Who would have thought that possible with only two actors on a bare stage?
The appeal of John Otway remains largely inexplicable. He performs the same songs, interspersed with the same patter, and does so with a self-deprecating acknowledgement epitomised by one of the last songs of the night - I Don't Know What I'm Doing, but I Shouldn't Be Doing This. Yet there's something so unremittingly joyous in the chaos and cacophony of an Otway gig, that once you join the cult, it's nigh on impossible to let go. He may not be the Messiah, but he is a very silly boy.
Despite ambitions to be the enfant terrible of British art when he won the Turner Prize in 2003, Grayson Perry is officially a National Treasure. His recent reinvention as an investigative explorer of countercultures and communities, albeit in his civvies, offered a clue as what to expect from his live show. What I didn't expect was for him to break into full throated song.
First staged forty years ago, Michael Frayn's Noises Off continues to be performed all over the world, and continues to have audiences howling with laughter. With Norwich only its third outing, I got the sense the cast had not yet entirely settled into their roles, but for most part this was a thoroughly entertaining, and mercilessly funny, night at the theatre.
Anyone under the age of thirty must find it bewildering that such a prosaic misdemeanour is even remembered, let along dramatized for the stage. And yet its grip obstinately refuses to let go. It’s a testament to the quality of Graham's writing that the show was not only entertaining, but gripping, with an ability to surprise in spite of its well-trodden path.
I don't think I can recently recall seeing a play that so exactly matched my expectations, which was for a jolly night out watching hokey nonsense delivered with style and brio.
The promise of a five-star hit at Edinburgh is no guarantee of a good night out - the unique bubble of the Fringe can distort and filter perception - but this was one of most extraordinary, and genuinely unique, stand up shows I can recall seeing.
The Let's Rock festival is unashamedly a retro festival - often a curate's egg of one hit wonders, war horses and hardy-perennials, but the roll call for Norwich was unusually eclectic. Whether that was by design, or just who they could get, is hard to say, but the inclusion of bands like The Farm and Happy Mondays suggest the festival is starting to take itself more seriously – becoming more about music and less about mullet wigs – which has to be a good thing.
John Osbourne's uncanny ability to draw on universal truths by discussing the particular is the key to all his work, and has never been better than in this outing. What might seem like a wistful nostalgia for times past is underscored by a commentary on the changes that happen in all our lives, as the person we once were becomes as strange to us as the people we once knew
Paul Weller has been praised, and rightly so, for continually reinventing himself as time and tide moves on. It would be downright silly to be singing about Eton Rifles or a Bomb in Wardour Street at his time of life........I can’t argue with any of that.
Plaudits are due to the RSC for performing and touring Julius Caesar, challenging in its structure and content, but while this was a bold attempt to enliven a problematic play, ultimately the embellishments employed buried the narrative under the weight of stage trickery.
It’s all too easy to sneer at old fashioned entertainment, and old- fashioned entertainers for that matter, but there seemed a lovely bond between everyone on stage. They are all such consummate pros I suppose that could be confected, but I don’t think so.
The Bohman Brothers and Richard Crow used a table top of home-built instruments, tape cut-ups, spoken word, and all manner of ephemera to create a collage of sound. With these raw materials they produced an intriguing mash up of spoken word, found sound and general bonkersness.
Its asking a lot to expect Laurel and Hardy to entertain a modern audience in quite the same way as they did a h
Munnery is a performer that divides people. You either haven't heard of him, or you consider him a legend. Not a legend in the sense of greatness, but a literal legend - a near mythical character that reinvented comedy. Sandwiched somewhere in between Ted Chippington and Andy Kaufman, he redefined what being a comedian could mean back in the day.
It's an astonishing sixty years since vocalist Colin Blunstone and keyboardist Rod Argent first set up shop, and on the evidence of their performance at Epic they are still fighting fit. Rod Argent's keyboard skills were as nimble as ever, while Blunstone's fine voice was impeccable all night. For men in their late seventies, the combination was little short of astonishing.
Devoting a great chunk of your set, especially for a band that has such a powerful back catalogue, to so many songs off of the new album, as yet unreleased, might be thought brave to the point of foolhardiness, but hats off to them for having the confidence and commitment do to so.
His Lordship commanding the stage from the outset and didn't let go, barely stopping for breath in between songs. Their set was over and done with in less than an hour, but was packed so full that I don’t think anyone felt short changed. They may have felt like a lie down and a rest, perhaps, not short changed.
Derren Brown, as he so often does, wrapped things up in a broader theme, this time daring to reveal more of himself that we're used to. His humanity has rarely been in doubt, but here we saw some of his fragility when faced with personal trauma, adding emotional heft to his accomplished stage craft
Clive Mantle's villainous Curtis lit up the stage, injecting much needed energy into the night with a performance that was both menacing and funny. He got all the best lines too, as if Shaun McKenna had finally got his teeth into a character of substance.
This was nothing less than a magical, spell binding experience. The company not only offered up the thrill of being told a ghost story by Dickens, but also provided a genuinely entertaining experience for a contemporary audience.
The chance to hear the swirling, sonic extravagances of two of the finest practitioners of spaced out, trance infused rhythms on the same night felt almost greedy, like breaking into a second box of chocolates when the first had already given you a sugar rush.
John Heminges and Henry Condell took it upon themselves to collect and thereby preserve Shakespeare’s work after his death. Lauren Gunderson’s fascinating play takes the bare bones of what we know about their endeavour and builds a compelling narrative, imagining how they might have gone about it, and why.
In sharp contrast to Otway's puppy like enthusiasm, Wild Willy Barrett mordant disinterest in Otway's buffoonery fails to disguise an obvious mutual affection. No one would seriously argue that Otway has been gifted with the finest singing voice, but he is a proper songwriter when he wants to be.
There was much to enjoy in Rachel Wagstaff’s adaptation of Agatha Christie’s classic novel. Susie Blake was excellent as Miss Marple, the plot was pleasingly convoluted yet neatly resolved, and there were some genuine laughs along the way. What a shame it had to be viewed through the prism of Philip Frank's pedestrian direction.
This was one of only five outings for this world class collaboration, and I’m still scratching my head how we got on the short list. Whatever the reason, hats off to whoever at the Theatre Royal bagged with one.
Andy Powell tipped us off from the outset that we were in for the long haul, and so it proved with a mammoth two hour set that included their seminal album Argus played in full. He must have had the mathematicians in the audience scratching their heads at the youthful vigour of a man already grown up when it was released fifty years ago.
A closely choreographed assault on the senses, as a combination of story-telling, mime and vegetable annihilation had her audience reeling with laughter and discomfort in equal measure - this ferociously talented performer confronted and questioned tired stereotypes and lazy preconceptions at every turn.
I can’t say this was the best gig I’ve ever been too, but I can say I’m struggling to think of a better one. A perfect marriage of stagecraft and musicianship, it’s certainly the finest thing I’ve seen in Norwich for a very, very long time.
Neither current nor heritage, We Are Scientists remain part of a noughties phenomenon of acts that burned bright with their debut album but never quite matched it, producing literate songs heavily disguised with pop camouflage, just in case anyone noticed how clever they were.
Latitude is set in a beautiful park tastefully enhanced with all manner of frills (and purple sheep). There is music, and lots of it, with main stages of mainstream acts complemented by the quirky and intriguing if you dig deep enough, while the manageable layout tempts you to poke about more than your aching feet appreciate. In short, despite the sometimes suffocating branding and sponsorship liveries, it’s a nice place to be.
The Exaudi Vocal Ensemble took to an otherwise bare stage to perform a selection of Carlo Gesualdo Madrigals that were dripping with melancholy and emotion. Using only the considerable power of their voices, this unamplified concert was the music the acoustics of St Andrews Hall were built for.
Last Saturday, it felt like the gauntlet had been thrown down, as a string of shows offered up a truly varied festival experience for those with a strong constitution and keen knowledge of the city’s layout. It just went to show that a festival that has sometimes felt constricted by practical and financial considerations, can, on the day, deliver.
Slowly, very slowly, the sense of something musical emerged, as if the performers were teasingly grappling for out of reach harmony. Only then did Cooper join the party, with delicate, gossamer light touches on the piano. Subsequently, he would play music of sublime beauty, as Daniel Pioro prowled around the performance area, accompanying and complementing faultlessly.
Les Patterson was an ungracious slob, and while Edna softened in her dotage, it’s worth remembering how she longed to turn Norm’s life support off. Both revealed a cruel streak that ran through Humphries work, perhaps born of the days when he was the bully, not the bullied
"There is no one to match her, both with regard to her technical ability and her brilliant improvisational skills. Ironically, she is such a good ventriloquist it's all too easy to forget that everything funny happening on stage is coming out of her head and her tight lipped mouth."
I think Elmer would argue that the evening was presented as Williams would have constructed it, and as such was guarded where the man himself would have been guarded.
This was a great show, well written, well acting, and one which explored challenging themes. How to top that? The answer was in a tiny epilogue, which those hasty to catch the last bus home might have easily missed. To say more would be spoil a lovely surprise, but I will say it left a big, fat silly smile on my face.
What I got was a seamless set list of quite brilliant, and quite brilliantly performed, tunes.
For the most part, this was an imaginative, energising and wonderfully original approach to a literary classic.
The use of puppetry to represent Victor’s creation was an absolute masterstroke, and on many different levels.
Norwich seemed to shift on its axis just a little for the weekend, offering up one giant playground that not only changed the city but celebrated it. Meticulously curated, Wild Paths presented an astonishing (both in number and quality) array of acts
A collection of songs recorded during the Unthanks tour last year, when they returned to their roots, singing unaccompanied and in harmony. More a miscellany of tunes than a curated collection, this is nonetheless what traditional folk music is all about - reflecting on hard times with both stoicism and good humour. It's a timely reminder of happier times, when folk congregated in big rooms and listened to other people singing.
Dripping with melancholy, this is an astonishingly assured and mature work. In an age when we select rather than browse and skim rather than immerse, it’s such a pleasure to fall across an album of such substance.
"Sometimes I have to check myself and think whether John would really say something. I worry that John might be a Daily Mail reader who supports Brexit – I don’t think he is, but sometimes it’s tricky to come down one side or the other..."
The music itself was full of stark, thunderous menace, counterpointed with moments of surprising delicacy. On occasion I was gobsmacked by the band’s symphonic ambitions; at other times I felt I was listening to little more than a cacophonous row.
The evening inevitably finished on a rousing encore of Easy Livin’ (proving not that every song had to be tricky to be good) and the band grinning from ear to ear as they played. It only served to consolidate the abiding impression throughout, of the strong bond between the men on stage, delighted that they still got to do this for a living.
It also says much for this production that a cocktail of an unmarried teenage pregnancy, gay friendships, mixed race relationships, alcoholism and unremitting poverty, could be presented with such defiant stoicism and good humour.
..it was with some trepidation that I went along to see him play with his Bastard Sons, and I desperately wanted to like what I found. What a pleasure it is, therefore, to report what a great band they are....
Why did so many of the Sgt Pepper generation turn their backs on revolution?
The band was uniformly excellent....
Pizza Shop Heroes is a significant and worthwhile attempt to explore the harsh realities of seeking asylum in the UK. It is episodic and uneven, but has a huge heart.
The gentlemen of Hawklords have long since been able to stand on their own feet, a comfortable distance from their Hawkwind association as they prolifically pump out freshly minted material that continues to impress
Acid Mother Temple are a quite extraordinary genre-defying ensemble of talented Japanese musicians that from the outset delivered a wall of thunderous sound that was energising, uplifting and just a bit bonkers
Visit most of the various musical venues in Norwich, and I’ll warrant you will do so with a preconception of the kind of act you’re going to see. The exception is surely Epic Studios, frequently playing host to the eccentric and undefinable that doesn’t easily fit in anywhere else
an evening of knockabout fun with a charming host that was warm and inclusive, but how frustrating that, with a just a little more work and attention to detail, we could have had so much more.
Armstrong’s ensemble cast looked to be having enormous fun chattering their way through acres of exposition in clipped, received pronunciation, delivering their lines with exactly the right degree of knowing humour, without ever quite lapsing into parody
… the evening was always going to end too soon
This production left me wondering at my appraisal of the earlier work.
The end came too soon, in an evening that had flown by
Bells and Spells is an episodic, hallucinogenic journey through increasingly loopy vignettes drawn from Chaplin’s weird and wonderful imagination.
Stunning soloists, extraordinary harmonies, and flawless execution were evident throughout a performance
What proved consistent throughout the evening was Gillam’s infectious enthusiasm and commitment to her instrument and the eclectic pieces she had chosen to play, something that shone through her brief chats with the audience
The Slow Readers Club may have cornered the Indie electro doom pop market, such as it is, but they’ve been clearly influenced by some of the finest acts of the last century, mixing up a cocktail of sounds in a way that is both discriminating and imaginative.
It proved to be as stunning and breath taking as ever, confounding the prejudices of anyone (not least me) who thinks ballet simply isn’t for them.
Stoppard’s text constantly reminds us that this is a play about a play, poking fun at theatrical convention, making a virtue of its shortcomings, and openly taking the mickey out of anyone investing too much energy into proselytising art
A stunning set of imaginative rearrangements, which combined with a healthy sprinkling of their own composition, stretched for over two hours.
...from the outset, a jolly thrill ride that takes full advantage of the possibilities of live theatre, presenting a classic haunted house story with a combination of impressive stage trickery and winning performances
The chemistry between Elizabeth Boag’s convincingly drunk Sally and Alan Gillett’s character lifted the production just when it needed it
I know reviews are not supposed to be lists, but when the first five songs are Wall Street Shuffle, Art for Art’s Sake, Life is a Minestrone, Good Morning Judge and The Dean I, it warrants a special mention
Miles Jupp’s achievement, in bringing to life an actor known for only a handful of roles, and doing so in a way that was utterly engrossing and a complete delight, was surely all the more remarkable given the relative obscurity of his subject
His opening salvo is a warning that if I don’t laugh at the disabled guy I will go to hell
What is so inspiring about Valtýsdottir is her ability to take other peoples music as merely the starting point for what she creates
Norwich with yet another – Wanderlust - which he showcased at the Norwich Arts Centre on the opening night of his latest tour.