Tuesday, 24 March 2015

Caboodle: Poetry by Karina Vidler, Gill McEvoy, Russell Jones, Kate Garrett, Angela Croft and Rafael Miguel Montes (published by Prole Books)



As Angela Readman starts in her foreword for this collective of poets, "It can be difficult to discover poetry sometimes, finding voices out side of our reading habits can be daunting. It can also be a struggle to be heard if you are a poet." Indeed, and there's no bigger distraction than the internet, however, what this cyber world has provided is a vehicle for writers and indie publishers to get their words heard, online and in print. Caboodle, published by Prole Books is dedicated to bringing together the works of the established and the up and coming poets, giving a platform to talent in a squeezed down mainstream publishing world that may not have been read for all sort of modern world publishing politics.

Here we have the collections of six poets, carefully selected and put together in one volume, Prole's main aim being to bring accessible poetry out into the wider world. It starts with Karina Vidler and Facing. Facing change, ageing, and family, noticing repetitive patterns, the joys and mistakes of being human and worrying and wondering at the future ahead. She brings together sadness at the loss of youth with humour, there's a lot of 'sagging' and 'drooping' in the lines, of fantasising about living that youth again, in almost a 'confessional' of the unspeakable. May I have an Arctic Monkey, please? With, "compass stuck at a juicy twenty-two", she ends with the line "Oh come here Alex Turner, want to learn a thing or two?' Mid-Life Folly she laughs at the crisis antics of those desperately clinging to younger people then with a self critical bump reveals,

"And then there's me, so seriously being creative,
looking the part in black patterned tights,
squeezing out poems like there's no tomorrow,
up my own arse about the need to write"

There's the fun and then there's the revelation that "-this human clawing for air and noise and light" manifests in different ways for different mid life follies. Invasion talks of the sudden transformation of a boy into a teenager, "so thin he had to eat the boy who used to live here" and Polite Notice shows how the patterns emerge as the words reveal a cautionary tale of a daughter's new boyfriend, "you've fetched up through our shared poor taste in men". There's a loneliness and wisdom in the poems, Sue's Boys talks of 'invisible woman' in a second marriage, all rather de Maurier's Rebecca. There's the laughs of an almost 'confessions of a cougar' to the tragedy of the title poem Facing, the facing up is to cancer as she tells of the crying being about pain, not death,

"You needed to tell me this. And we both
needed me to pretend to believe you".

Gill McEvoy contrasts with her collection Paw Prints of Light, a study of nature, life, fantastical possibilities and art with titles such as Klimt As A Tree, A Memory of Snakes, Dance of the Cranes and January Blues. 

There are universal themes, every day routine woven into verse of unexpected observation, Morning Routine starts with,

"Sun fractures the morning mist
with one sharp blow."

That tranquil awakening is shattered by life, by magpies, sirens and the frustration as an alarm clock rings on and what seems a vexation of lying next to someone who hits the 'snooze' button and lives eternally in the eleventh hour,

"When it stops he'll sink back
into sheet and pillow,
oversleep again.

It's almost like the routine courts a stagnancy and repetitive patterns until the next poem that goes into fairytale land with Souvenir and lines like,

"He did not bring her silly slippers made of glass,
he brought the latest painting he had done-" a merging of life, passion and fantasy worlds.

One of my favourites in this collection is Breakfast With Malice, most probably because I am a seasoned professional at bleary eyed bitter mornings. and After Sight Loss charts long ago memories of vision, remembering nature and oneself,

"You will
chart my body to me,
brighten the darkness
that I live in now."

Russell Jones with Our Terraced Hum is a much shorter contribution to the collection but fits so brilliantly contrasting with the rural images of the previous poets, bringing in the hum of urban life. I loved the nightlife of these poems, again because I am so nocturnal. The first two poems caught me instantly, Studio, 4 a.m,

"...Our terraced hum is an echo.
heard vicariously through the shadows."

The Flat Opposite reveals the futility of a husband gazing at a television as the woman sets up tea light candles, and reveals herself the goddess in her own bathroom to whoever may be onlooking,

"...She strips,
the small lights dancing on her skin, a blur
of dreams as she arches, lowers her hips,
breasts, her neck beneath the surface."

Meanwhile,

"He flicks through channels as though
he's never seen the goddess through my window."

There's a beauty, sadness and longing in this poem which is reflected in a later poem The Call, where emotional starvation simmers seductively yet the everyday just carries on around the pain.

Kate Garrett's The Names of Things Unseen seduced me instantly, there's a shadowy look upon relationships in this collection that reveals an uneasy darkness at the conventional things in life.  Dare I drop the 'f-bomb' but whether intentionally or not, there seems a feminist seasoning on these writings. Housesitting deals with belonging, guilt, intuition, wondering at intentions and the ghosts of the past. The root of  the word 'decadent' is 'decay' has a heavy loneliness, a need to hide but blocking out the gossiping walls, the tainted dent in the bed that holds memories of those before. I love the finality of the last verse, the dead end,

"My heart's heavy
thud presses my lips
shut; my eyes close
under the weight
of a dead response."

As with the word 'decadent' there's an examination of language and image that creates pictures and impressions of the human condition throughout Kate's poetry,  Changeling looks at meaning and weaves a tale of how to love even if you don't like, Echo House shows the nesting of a pregnant woman who is struggling to feather for her new born in the emptiness of her resounding home.

Portraiture critiques standard beauty norms, the model's disconnection of her true self from the viewfinder as the knots, the angles, the hardened desire of untruths of real beauty and art in the body leaves her, "downcast eyes drawn thick with black lines" and

"in a white face, a slash of scarlet lips
through wisps of hair; a strong
chin points to bound breasts. This image
isn't me. This woman is just a suggestion."

There's an imprisonment, a fakeness coupled with the viewfinders shallow need for suggestion; it reminded me in some ways of the famous quote for Hedy Lamarr  'Any girl can look glamorous, just stand still and look stupid' in that the woman is questioning the futile superficiality of it all. The collection spans parenthood, coupledom, the supernatural of girlhood in  Once more with feeling to the becoming of Earth in the Planning the crone that welcomes Death.

Angela's Croft's  Dancing with Chagall plays with language and vision appearing less stormy initially in comparison to the previous poets. As you are pulled in through her global shimmy, the themes of vulnerability, belonging and jealousy raise their heads above the parapet, teasing at a nights out with Bucks Fizz, unplanned pregnancy in Girl Running and my favourite Hanging Fire with it's insecurity, admiration, green eyed mimicry and despondency,

"I'd try it on every so often
to see if I could achieve the same allure
decided it looked better on the hanger
and leapt back into my jeans
when a guy from work phoned
to ask me round to supper."

It ends so well in a date where you want to cheer for her and her hanging fire,

"Didn't that girl who works with you
look frightful in that tawdry red dress?"

The colour red crops up time and again in her poetry, a warning of course that the calm waters are simmering with danger, 'the red wax' in Afternoon Post and more obviously in Red Tops that,

"Show the marks round your throat
tell them how he left you
beat you black and blue
flung the baby against the wall
nearly let you drown"

Angela's poems do leap from continent to continent and personally I gravitate to London ones, particularly Big Issue and Angel. 

Rafael Miguel Montes with Menu and as the title says, this collection talks of a menu of wanting to feed oneself, to comfort, to self loathe, to fill a hole, to go over a repeated pattern from childhood of 'starving' for something. Anatomical Boundaries documents the obsession and pain society has with weight, a baby's weight "a ten pound weight nay mother'd be happy to expel" to childhood where,

"My parents have kept souvenirs of my obesity,
a history of my fat.
Polaroids of me in my Batman underoos
open-mouthed snoring-
a forearm dug deep into a box of Count Chocula."

Gathering Crumbs The Next Morning shows the pain and power of Rafael's words in the first verse alone,

"The 2-minute video on WebMD
can't change the fact that this is fucked.
People aren't supposed to sleepwalk
night after night,
pulling packages from he pantry
and cramming cupcakes down their throat."

There's humour in these poems which cushion a serious issue of 'need' to fulfil oneself, so often morally judged as gluttony. The words weave together the complexities and addictions of vulnerability and how it so often was borne from childhood, the physical linking up with the mental and holistically impacting every waking moment, as 42 starts heartbreakingly,

"This Saturday my age matched my waistline, 42
my wife had a meltdown." as does Gymnauseum.

The emptiness each poem reveals is prevailing, Envelopes takes another angle on the wanting to 'feed' your emotional well being with ink,

"All that tat money.
All those empties.
All that searching for some permanent mark;
some powerful story to silently tell.

And on the table by the fridge.
All those unopened envelopes."

The poems cross over addiction and control and in a sometimes uncomfortable way reveal vulnerability and emptiness in whatever your particular addiction may be. It could be drink, sex, buying shoes or eating cake, but we all at times need to feed this emptiness and too often judged, it becomes out of control.

Caboodle is a collection of poets for everybody, it can be read cover to cover or dipped in and out of at will and as Angela Readman says in her foreword. "Dip into a smorgasbord of poetry". It is accessible and gives you a hunger to read more poetry...  very unlike my own English teacher who put it on a pedestal of unattainable and for only a few. I'm still annoyed with her about that. I wasted a lot of my younger years not reading or attempting to write poetry because of her words.








http://www.prolebooks.co.uk/


Saturday, 21 March 2015

Café Assassin: An Interview with Michael Stewart (Bluemoose Books)




Bradford based writer, Michael Stewart, has just launched his third book Café Assassin and it’s a goody; a dark tale of intense friendship outlining betrayal and jealousy. Multi award winning stage play, fiction and poetry writer, it’s no surprise that this is a tightly pulled together tale of unrepentant revenge for a man that still feels lost and alone while morphing into a determination to get the life he thinks is his ‘right’.







Bought up by an alcoholic father who was basically shit as any sort of father figure, he grows up with an obsession with his friend Andrew. It manifests in an adoption fantasy that many children develop, the grass is always greener they say and in this case it is …until many years later. It’s a tale of miscarried justice, the laws of ‘an eye for an eye’, like an old spaghetti Western but without a hero, or maybe one with a fatal Byronic flaw.

The real hero in this is of course the dog, Reynard or Ray, untainted and faithful. But the skill of this book is that you feel sympathy for Nick who does unspeakable things, an anti hero, nobody is saved, the ending is questioningly ‘happily ever bitterness’ yet the fragility of the protagonist Nick Smith, even his name is boring, is engaging and the build up to his ultimate goal, without giving too much away, is staggeringly manipulative, unforgiving and bitter, yet sympathetic when you see the back story of betrayals.

The obsessive love interest for Nick in this novel is Andrew and a need for a family and security; the magazine life. The weapon is Liv, a girl, isn’t it always. Followed by money. Followed by humiliation and a rewriting of history.  Traditionally, women are seen as the ones to have the intense and embittered jealous relationships whereas men just nod and drink and get over everything quickly. Café Assassin does the complexities of male friendship a justice and demonstrates the old adage ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned’ as just as applicable to men.

It also reveals the complexities of entrapment, of being imprisoned or creating your own prison, the need for an open door and then wanting to keep it locked. It feels like nobody in this story is actually liberated, just moves on to another locked cell, whether it’s domesticity, career, untruths, guilt, lust, what might have been, putting right a wrong or an entrapment with rewriting a lost history, nobody in this story escapes. I love that it ends with all the superficial achievement of embittered happiness, yet the damage is still lurking beneath the surface. Below is my interview with Michael Stewart.




Café Assassin is an intense novel about betrayal, neglect and jealousy. You have two characters, the maligned and the blessed in Nick and Andrew. Is this drawn from personal experience in part, if not, what inspired you to write about what seems a two sided coin perspective on male friendship? Is it in part auto biographical? Or are you just an expert on walking in other people’s shoes and getting into minds. Of course however you answer, you will be either Andrew or Nick and most probably both.


I’m really not sure where the book came from. I have a friend, who I’ve not seen for a while, also called Nick. At the time the story was forming in my head, I was seeing quite a bit of him. At that time he was seething with pathological anger and the energy of his hate had a kind of purity that I found attractive on one level and I started to think about writing about a character whose primary motivation was hate. It all came out of that, I think.


Keyop. Can you explain the intensity of that relationship, and without giving too much away, the end result of that? Was it quite simply a need for Nick to replace Andrew or more complicated than that? The chain of events as a result of that ‘friendship’ has dire machinations in the latter half of the novel.


My mum phoned me the other day to settle an argument. She’d been arguing with my dad. He said that Nick and Keyop had a physical relationship but my mum insisted that it was purely platonic. I refused to clarify where I stood – I think that’s for the reader to interpret. Of course this infuriated her even more. I think on one level, Keyop does act as a substitute Andrew. On another level, he is any port in a storm. Nick doesn’t handle prison well. Keyop appears to be tougher than Nick – although this is a veneer. Nick’s wounds take a long time to heal. He doesn’t seem to have the necessary amount of proteins in his blood.

I took it as a physical relationship…but not until much later in the book.


Liv. Do you think or did you want to portray Nick as really loving her? I wasn’t convinced, there were hints she was just an instrument of his embittered plot to destroy Andrew despite some scenes of highly charged sexual tension, long hugs, lingering looks, it did feel quite teenage and as though they had both got stuck in nostalgia. Broken up with anger at her not visiting him inside, “the fucking bitch”.

This changed a lot in the re-writing. In early drafts of the story, I tried to show Nick as more ‘human’ but it just didn’t work. I think Nick wants to treat Liv as an instrument of his vengeance, but underneath he has feelings for her. I think he is in denial about those feelings. To allow them to surface might weaken his strategy. Of course, there is unfinished business there. Nick is still eighteen in his head. He hasn’t had a relationship with a woman for twenty-two years. If I was his therapist, I would tell him to ‘move on’. But that’s the one thing he just can’t do.


Her character is kind of one dimensional for me, she doesn’t grow. We know she’s beautiful, bright, likes The Cramps, has two kids, resents her husband…but we never really get into her head. At the revelation of the original crime, she goes quiet. I think the ending confirms her as just a plot support, (not quite as a vacuous as a manic pixie dream girl) but nevertheless, we don’t see much in the narrative that hints at her POV outside of these two men. She’s vital to the story, as the prize and the punishment. She never seemed freed . Yet at the same time, I like that nobody escapes their prisons. Thoughts?

I guess that is one of the flaws of first person viewpoint. We never leave Nick’s head. I suppose it is also the power of that viewpoint too. We are seeing Liv through Nick’s myopic vision. I don’t agree that she is one dimensional though. There are plenty of paradoxes. And she does change. When they first meet she is suspicious of Nick and very cynical about his proposed business ventures. You say she is ‘beautiful’ but that’s just Nick’s opinion. It doesn’t mean anything. For what it is worth, I think Nick is wrong about lots of things. He has a very twisted view of the world and of humans.

Yes good point. It is a flaw and strength of the first person viewpoint. I wanted to know about Steve too and that indicates good storytelling that even the extras are curious characters.  I think Liv started to change in her role opening the club but there’s a sense later in the book that she remains a puppet. I can’t be specific without spoiling so read it people.


The adoption fantasy for children. Did you have one growing up in Salford? Obviously Nick’s childhood is fraught with abandonment that carries on into his adult life even within prison walls…but the adoption fantasy is a thing that children of all walks of life have. 

Like lots of kids, I dreamed of escape. I didn’t really like being a child. I fantasised about being an adult. Now I spend a lot of my time wishing I could be a child again.

Yes. As children we crave freedom and think adults have it, then as adults we reminisce and think children have it. 


Café Assassin sounds like super cool venture. Art décor, music and poetry, membership only, safety in numbers. Is that something you’ve wanted to do, or just want to in your local town, or is it based on a real place you frequented in the past or present?

It is based on a real venture I was involved with in the early nineties. A friend and I rented some premises on Oldham Street in Manchester. My friend went to prison and before the cafe/club opened I was approached by some dark characters who threatened me and wanted money off me. There were a lot of shootings at that time in Manchester. The Hacienda was riddled with gun toting gangsters. I bottled it and never opened. 


Sounds very intimidating.  And what a shame, though you may not have written your books if it had worked out.

I never quite got the strange noise the parka crazy ‘Madman Marz’ made, the ‘Keek brrrmf’. I guess he symbolised the bogey man or the scratching of the monster in your closet or under your bed. But what is that noise?

Again, this is based on real life. That camping story is lifted from my childhood. Madman Marz was a real crazy character we used to see regularly. He terrified us. That’s the noise he made – or the closest I could render phonetically.



Would you consider writing a follow up to Café Assassin? There’s plenty there to work with. Nick and Liv’s life after, Andrew’s imprisonment, what happens to Steve, I shouldn’t care but you managed to make him kind of weirdly likeable too? Bring back Ramona just to stir stuff up a bit? We didn’t really get much on Andrew’s motives other than guess work from Nick. I’m grabbing at the obvious, this is your story.

I don’t know about that. I got asked this a lot about King Crow. For me the story ends where it ends. I like to think that the story goes on though in the mind of the reader. In an earlier draft Ramona was a prominent character. There was a love story between Nick and Ramona, but it humanised him too much and it had to go. I was very fond of Ramona, and sad to see her leave. Maybe I’ll go back to her and write something for her.

I’m not sure I can ask much more on the book without this being spoiler central so…writing. This took four years to write? Was it started after King Crow? I start stories at the same time (and sadly finish few), it feels to me that Café Assassin is more a debut novel than King Crow, being a little more accessible, the themes universal everyone has intense friendships,  experience of jealousy and betrayal on some level. King Crow felt a little more niche, I could imagine some picking it up and a getting a bit ‘birds, birds and more birds’ with it. I didn’t, it actually gave me a greater appreciation for them. So tell us about the jump/transition of debut novel to second novel.


I’d written a novel in the nineties that wasn’t very good. It got skipped. There were three more attempts to write novels. They all got skipped too. Or burned. I can’t remember. I thought I’d given up attempting to write novels, once the scriptwriting took off, but I was wrong. King Crow started off as a script idea but mutated into a novel. Café Assassin was always a novel. It took me four months to write and four years to re-write. That was just me trying to get it right. Or just less shit. I had some major problems with the story that were tricky to resolve.



Any plans for more poetry? I loved Couples. It was a collection of observations of quite dysfunctional relationships. What other tricks have you up your sleeve to surprise your readers with?


I write poetry all the time, and love poetry, but I’m very bad at it. For every ten poems I write, one might have something in it that I can develop, the rest are execrable. I’d love to do another poetry book, but Couples took me ten years – embarrassingly – so god knows. I’ve got a short fiction collection out in November called Mr Jolly. I’ve also finished a first draft of a new novel. I’m also hoping to secure another commission for Radio 4 – I love writing radio plays.

Mr Jolly? That’s a great title. So it’s all busy busy.



Any tips for keeping focus on writing? And that battle of promoting your writing balanced with social media bollocks. Do you give yourself rules about how much you promote and how personal it gets? I’ve noticed you seem to say something controversial then appear to put your feet up and put the kettle on while everyone has a scrap.


Walking. And reading. Those are the two anchors for me. I read for an hour or two every day. I walk for two hours every day. A lot of my writing I do when I’m walking. Computers are terrible for me. I’m so easily distracted. Facebook, and all that. I’m a complete addict. I’ve gone back to the pencil. I’ve got a shed in the garden. I’m thinking about getting a manual typewriter like the one I started on back in 1992 when I wrote my first novel. I’m worried about running out of ribbons though, they are hard to get hold of now.

Both of your novels have been from a male POV. Would you consider writing from a woman’s or child’s? Or writing in different forms, e.g. letters, diary ect? I know in a subtle sense Café Assassin is a letter to Andrew. I sense a fascination with prisons that could work well with. A prisoner’s wife or child. You’ve done the prisoner.


My new book is told from the POV of Joanne. She’s a dog. A Manchester terrier. She’s a lesbian (people will think I am making this up, but I’m not). The book after that, if I have the balls to write it, is also from a female perspective. I’ve written quite a lot from a female POV. Quite a few stories in my new book are from a female perspective. A lot of the stories I have pitched to the BBC have been from a female POV, but they never get commissioned. I really like writing women. The future is female.



Any plans for a book trailer for Café Assassin? I think it would work well with the jumping back and forth from 1989 to 2011, just for the fashion and music alone.

The trailer for King Crow was my publisher’s idea. It was fun to do. I don’t think they have any plans to do one for Café Assassin. Would love it if they did though.


Can we have a teaser for your next novel please? 

It’s about dogs.

Great. I look forward to hearing Joanne the terrier's story. Best of luck with Mr Jolly, your new novel and of course the Radio 4 commission. 





Café Assassin is out now. Buy it here, it’s good..and while you're at it, get King Crow and Couples too.





Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Ibeyi, Sea Change, Bjork, Pastel Ghost and Grimes...

It has been a while since I've blogged music, though sometimes it's good to sit on these things and check yourself for that 'love on first listen' that can get bored and the 'lack of immediacy' that can turn into a full blown love affair.

 Ibeyi meaning 'twins' and is made up of the French/Cuban sisters Naomi and Lisa-Kaindé Díaz (daughters of Buena Vista Social Club percussionist Miguel Díaz). They fuse all sorts of cultural influences and genres in their debut. Tracks like River, Ghosts and Oya create a haunting atmosphere of past Cuban folk influences, electronica and jazz with harmonies that you can be lost in. Oya I would say is my favourite track for its Bjorkiness...listen below.





This debut has an overall feel of tradition while breaking new ground and the sisters' dynamic and love of family in Mama Says saturates the piano and percussion arrangements with a spiritual voice in lines like "come to the river, wash my soul". There's a synchronicity in the way they work with an electronic edge inspired by their love of Yoruba culture mixed equally with a love for popular music. Ghosts starts with a "Welcome to my Earth..." leaps about perfectly with an otherworldly enchantment that grounds you with the beats of creation. Here's a live clip of River.



Highly recommend this self titled debut if you like a bit of fusion.

IBEYI official site


Sea Change: Breakage

This has nothing to do with Beck other than Ellen Sunde who fronts this electronic beautifulness wanted to make a record that made her feel the same way she did as teen playing Beck’s album.

If you want a rest from all the glitchy experimental sounds going around, some of it sounding a bit too much like effort to listen to and leaving you wanting to scream, ‘its not experimental if everyone is doing it’ then this is worthy at the very least, dreamy for its delicate ambience.

Gorgeous voice, atmospheric music, Wooden House starts and sets a standard at the consistency to follow, Above echoes the sound of Fever Ray in the backing but eclipsed by a coverlet of shimmer,  and Fearless reminds me a little of The XX in that sort of droney chillout thing. Stairs has swallowed a Fever Ray pill too but it’s all so layered it weaves together so nicely and perhaps more accessible for some pop antenna.


Knives, We Run through to the closing track Raan consistently work their charm as you take in soundscapes that could help you drift off into a dark forest looking for fairies or lying in long grass looking at the Northern Lights. Come on she’s from Norway, it’s got to be said.

As annoying as it is, I’m keeping up my track record of discovering a band and finding out they played a London show only a few days before, I can count on two hands how many times this has happened. Anyway here’s to next time.


Sea Change official site

Bjork: Vulnicura

The new Bjork album is superb, definitely Tardis trip to the 90s on Vulnicura with her love of strings coming to play. Black Lake without a doubt is my fave, the strings, the beats of feeling and echoes the beauty of Joga. Here’s the trailer for the album, it seems she has a vagina shaped forest maintaining her modesty, this album is her heartache and pain after a break up, rolled into an emotive and enormous healing soundscape. It's definitely the album to please those Bjork followers who stumbled confused through Biophilia. Every song feels like a snapshot of a memory building up to a release; it could have been self indulging but with Bjork's brilliance, it feels like a journey.



Jump here for a  clip of her singing Stonemilker at Carnegie Hall in New York.

Big thanks to my blog friend Oliver for suggesting Ibeyi and Sea Change. Here's a piece he wrote on The MoMA Bjork Retrospective in New York that enhances the whole 'experience' of Vulnicura. Glamglare: The MoMA Bjork Retrospective.

The BBC aired Army Of Me: Bjork Now in honour of International Woman's Day. 28 days left to listen. Again, recommended, she's never a dull interviewee.

Now a quick round up of tracks floating about online...


Pastel Ghost are promising to resurrect a sort of Crystal Castles type vibe if this debut is anything to go by. Gorgeousness…



And the finale...Grimes aka Claire Boucher is back. There's a stumbled explanation of this track having been on the long awaited new and then scrapped album, it feels like she's in some kind of confidence crisis releasing music and awaiting a response. Well here's mine, it's bloody catchy and great so please hurry up with that album.



I expect my next music update will be me screaming like a fangirl over Morrissey. Countdown time to 27th and a trip to Peaky Blinder land.