Category Archives: Just James

Anything I feel like putting online that may or may not relate to anything.

The water that flattens my hair…

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It is tradition – and somewhat of an initiation programme – that I take girlfriends to see Morrissey in concert. If they can endure this indulgent gift then things will probably work out. My third such girlfriend to experience this musical pleasure (and I should point out this is over the past eighteen years, less I sound like a… ) only got to see el Quiffo perform This Charming Man and half of Black Cloud. This is because someone launched a bottle of water at him and it landed straight on his bonce. A cracking shot that under any other circumstance would have been applauded but a rather foolish thing to do to the man who once sang ‘the bottled water that flattens my hair, these are the things which kill me’

His petulant gesture was greeted with general frustration and annoyance by the majority of the crowd – if chat rooms and overheard conversations are anything to go by, rather than the usual forgiving adulation which usually surfaces when the great man is attacked in any way. This is probably because the majority of the audience are now at the fag end of their thirties and so the cost of petrol, an overnight stay in a hotel, finding a babysitter etc, become more important than the questionable ethics of a Mancunian warbler.

It’s a pity because he’s a great entertainer and has undoubtedly brought me much joy over the years, particularly in the fantastic reading lists he’s provided, courtesy of his bookish lyrics. But I don’t have much sympathy with him on this occasion. For goodness sake it was bottled water, organic, from a mountainous spring. It certainly wasn’t the end of the world. ‘Ger over your sen, lad’, Arthur Seaton would have told him. But I guess this is the real problem. Morrissey is an established star who no longer has the hunger. It is an occupational hazard of fame. People will still flock and see him no matter what so he can afford to be principled. Those starting out fresh would not have the luxury and so would be forced to continue. If you don’t believe me, lob a bottle of coke at the next new band you go to see, though I suspect for most of the audience fitting my demographic, there won’t be a next time.

Now it’s time for an experiment to see if I can get my money back whilst testing the sanity of his devout flock. I’m listing the bottle on eBay…

*Morrissey kind of played the Liverpool Echo Arena on the 7th November. The gig was ended courtesy of a fan with excellent hand-to-eye coordination and a bottle of water. Morrissey said afterwards ‘I’ve been hit with sherbert lemons, a Farley’s rusk and some penne or was it Linguini, anyway, but water is taking it too far. It could have taken my eye out or i could have slipped on stage. It’s a bloody risk hazard, so it is’

Performing in public

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A large part of my time as Books Editor at LeftLion involves encouraging other writers to come and read their work on the podcasts or read live at our spoken word events. I tell them how important it is for their career, put them in contact with local organisations that can help promote their work and comfort them with positive anecdotes about how everybody watching wants them to do well. Unfortunately I am a complete hypocrite who has avoided public performances like the plague and so do not have the right to console or encourage anyone.

The reason I’ve never read live is the same reason a lot of writers haven’t – because performing is antithetical to the gorgeously solitary discipline of writing. And why do people write – other than because they are unsociable – because it enables them to have complete control over their environment, a control over characters and situations that real life rarely, if ever affords. Placed on an evolutionary scale we’re perhaps one up from the jigsaw puzzlers. In conclusion then, the reason that people like me write is not because we have something beautiful to share with the world but because we a) suffer from delusions of grandeur b) are vane and c) are social misfits with control issues. It is hardly surprising then that so many writers don’t want to read live because it means stepping out of the comfort zone.

Personally, I think more people should write. It is the cheapest and most enjoyable form of therapy. The minute all of that angst is emptied from the head and transferred to the page, the world seems manageable, the air breathable. Of course this is only a temporary reprieve. It will all start again. But just because you write and have a few ego issues, doesn’t necessarily mean that you want to read it in public. I guess this is the Faustian Pact we make when we publish those thoughts in the public sphere. Readers inevitably want to meet the person who created the words and publishers want to promote and shift copies. Just as writing down an initial thought is a betrayal of the self because language can never fully represent that which is innate, so too publication is a betrayal of the initial words because it places demands on the self which would never have existed if that idea had remained private.

From the 11th November I will be able to look other writers in the eye having finally read in public at the forthcoming Word of Mouth event. The reason for my sudden change of mind is partly to avoid accusations of hypocrisy and partly to prove that I am not the kind of egomaniacal control freak that I have previously accused writers of being. There is of course a simpler explanation. Over the last year I have seen some fantastic spoken word events across the region from the phrased and confused tent at Leicester’s Summer Sundae to Hello Hubmarine at Quad in Derby. At these and other such events I have discovered lots of different writers I would otherwise never have heard of, seen a variety of different styles, contemplated the acoustics and aesthetics of surroundings, participated in spontaneous audience debates, realised poetry is so much more emotive when read live, made friends through eye contact and conversation rather than through ‘poking’ or ‘adding’ online and most importantly realised that people simply enjoy sharing their thoughts with one another. This is why reading in public is necessary. Once I have finally discovered this for myself, I’ll be coming at you on the writing forums with a new found zeal, demanding you read work at local events and on the podcasts. And for the first time I’ll be able to do this with integrity, sincerity and conviction; I’ll probably be a little smug as well. So be warned!

Kick off: Nov 11th 7.30pm Ground: Theatre Royal Team: as follows

  • Frances Thimann – Shells (Short Fiction)
  • Rowland Nelken – Christmas Sonnets and Paradise series of poems
  • Matt Hurst – Rutger the Rabbit (Radio play)
  • James Walker. White Van Man (WIP novel)
  • Clare Littleford Also known as Melissa Grady (extract from WIP novel)
  • Maria Allen Earthquake Time (extract from new novel Before The Earthquake)
  • Ann Featherstone Extracts from Walking in Pimlico and The Newgate Jig.
  • Nicola Monaghan The summer of love, Extract from WIP novel We all sing, we all smile.