I’m just back after watching an amazing show at the Underbelly. I had no idea what it was going to be like the title and the blurb were quite plain, “Storm Large – Crazy Enough” was the name of the show and the blurb was just the usual “5 stars, outstanding, energising show will rock your way of life”.
As most times the shows I do don’t finish till 22:30 I find it hard every year to see some of the late shows, which is a shame cause I am really quite filthy minded and enjoy like minded individuals, so the show is marked as quite inappropriate for everyone, regardless of age.
The venue is small (under 100 seats) and it is right under the bridge so you get the authentic cavern feel right away. The stage small and is only set up for a music gig but I still have no idea what the show is going to be like. So this huge amazonian woman comes out on stage and when the band are ready she opens her mouth and sings like a tormented angel, the song is harsh and sick but the way she carries herself is undeniably beautiful.
She then starts to explain about her life and the fact she was told from a young age that she would grow up to be just like her Mother, in an un-pc word “Crazy”. I start to tear up at this point as all I could think of is how tough that must be for a child to hear. We all want to grow up and be our own person it’s kind of the incentive of living, but it is hard enough to handle someone telling you chances are your going to go bald because of your genes, a million times worse to be told you will most likely see the inside of a padded cell and there nothing you can do about it.
She said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing day in & day out…and expects a different outcome. I finally realised that I’m a mad man just the same, I work day in, day out expecting my job to be just a bit different but in the end…the people are the same, the wages are the same and people don’t care how smart I am. Changing the way I work, the people around me etc doesn’t do anything need to change myself.
She then talks about her time as an addict, and she explains why she did it, “Heroine makes you feel small and invisible, safe, liked your tucked away in a pocket”. However, when you are performing you have to be big and visible and pretty much “Louder than God”. I’ve never been or ever known any drug users in my very sheltered life but I can understand completely on the positive aspects of feeling like your invisible and safe on a daily basis. I often think to myself you can’t lose if you don’t play, which is why I will never find the confidence to just talk to woman I like, tell her how I feel, as far as I’m concerned I’ve played and lost these games 50 times to many. In that instant I all I wanted to do was ask every girl in the room out, fuck it if husbands and boyfriends get pissed off about some fat guy trying to chat there woman up I just wanna get back in the game that second (a feeling I don’t have often).
However, their I was sitting in the dark wearing all black as I had just finished crewing for the evening but 15 minutes in she turns round in my direction and stares right at me with this amazingly sexy, troubled look as sweat literally pours off her, she keeps pawing at her skin tight, stretchy, little black dress, its a lot like sliding on a black condom. Relentlessly flashing her bra and pants to the whole audience while she screams in perfect pitch about the most horrifying parts of her life, I can’t help feeling like I’m in love. My legs are killing me from all the walking, my back aches from humping set everyday but right now as of this minute, I’m totally free (a feeling well worth £12).
At this point I finally realise that after 11 years I’ve finally cracked how to have a good time at the Fringe. Just do what feels right, don’t listen to the critics cause they aint listening to you. I went home feeling great like I could punch right through a brick wall; I floated home trying my best keep some of the songs in my head, anything to keep the feeling fresh.
People ask why I would go to the Fringe year in year out rather than go to Ibiza, Turkey etc where young people are “meant” to go cut loose and be free. I just smile quietly and remember that only in Scotland can you walk in to a dark, gloomy, dungeon and walk out feeling clean again.
Mr Bison (loves tall crazy chicks)
P.S The blurb was right the show did rock my world
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Fringe Rules
These are the Fringe rules that I have been working on over the last 11 years, in the hope that many young ambitious youngsters will heed my advice and enjoy the Festival right away.
Rule one of the Fringe…don’t annoy the talent. When you see people walking around the street they would really like to be left alone, they obviously don’t want fans to approach them, as it would be never ending. In saying this, the man who told me this bit of advice has been stalking Richard Hearing for 11 years and on several “chance” encounters has said some really creepy things to him. So…morale of the story is
Rule two of the Fringe…beware of single white females. I’m a long standing believer that the Fringe programme should be clearly marked like the lonely hearts ads. One woman shows should be clearly labelled as the sad, lonely, attention grabbing hour long mind fucks they are. Its not like female comedians (who I love to bits) it’s just more self obsessed tripe from people who are slowing losing a grip on who they are.
Rule three of the Fringe…beware of bare feet. Bare feet from the cast members just screams pretentious tit wankery and it always spells disaster. If you are in a small venue with a bunch of tourists who don’t look like they are 100% on what’s going on and the cast come out in bare feet, I advise you just get up and leave. You already lost 10 bucks on the ticket price don’t lose an hour of your life watching the fevered dream of 4 awkward teens and a drama teacher with delusions of granger.
Rule four of the Fringe…don’t fuck with the tourists. These guys are your customers, they fill your seats and they hand over a lot of there hard earned (in some cases) money. They also will annoy the living fuck out of you if you let them, but you got to let it go. No matter what stupid pish they start spouting just smile, nod and if worse comes to worse get down on those knees.
Rule five of the Fringe…don’t burn the locals. People in Edinburgh have to put with the most ignorant people for the month of August and they do it with a smile. The locals are on strict instruction to be as helpful as possible to all you Nancy boys and Prima Donnas. Out of courtesy its best to antagonise them more than they already are (see rule four about annoying tourists).
Mr Bison
Rule one of the Fringe…don’t annoy the talent. When you see people walking around the street they would really like to be left alone, they obviously don’t want fans to approach them, as it would be never ending. In saying this, the man who told me this bit of advice has been stalking Richard Hearing for 11 years and on several “chance” encounters has said some really creepy things to him. So…morale of the story is
Rule two of the Fringe…beware of single white females. I’m a long standing believer that the Fringe programme should be clearly marked like the lonely hearts ads. One woman shows should be clearly labelled as the sad, lonely, attention grabbing hour long mind fucks they are. Its not like female comedians (who I love to bits) it’s just more self obsessed tripe from people who are slowing losing a grip on who they are.
Rule three of the Fringe…beware of bare feet. Bare feet from the cast members just screams pretentious tit wankery and it always spells disaster. If you are in a small venue with a bunch of tourists who don’t look like they are 100% on what’s going on and the cast come out in bare feet, I advise you just get up and leave. You already lost 10 bucks on the ticket price don’t lose an hour of your life watching the fevered dream of 4 awkward teens and a drama teacher with delusions of granger.
Rule four of the Fringe…don’t fuck with the tourists. These guys are your customers, they fill your seats and they hand over a lot of there hard earned (in some cases) money. They also will annoy the living fuck out of you if you let them, but you got to let it go. No matter what stupid pish they start spouting just smile, nod and if worse comes to worse get down on those knees.
Rule five of the Fringe…don’t burn the locals. People in Edinburgh have to put with the most ignorant people for the month of August and they do it with a smile. The locals are on strict instruction to be as helpful as possible to all you Nancy boys and Prima Donnas. Out of courtesy its best to antagonise them more than they already are (see rule four about annoying tourists).
Mr Bison
Friday, 6 August 2010
Top, Middle or Bottoms?
Driving the van in before the week starts we have a bit of time to kill. We decide to park up and grab some papers till its time to move. In this little newsagent we head to the back where the papers are kept and the place is pretty well stocked.
The shop in question has not so much a top shelf section…as it really is more a top, middle or bottom shelf section. There must have been 150 titles to choose from and I also noticed that behind the top shelf there was the “real top shelf” behind the actual top shelf. Looking at the juicy titles on show I could only imagine what was behind
“Don’t suppose this guy has a copy of The Economist” I say.
“It’s right there” my lawyer points out.
Sure enough underneath “Big Swinging Tits”, in between “Swingers Monthly” and “Classy Ass” is my copy of the Economist.
I take it to the counter and the guy picks it up shocked like and proceeds to hum and haw over it. As he scans it looking for the price I soon realise that he probably hasn’t sold this particular publication ever.
I eventually tell him its £4 and he agrees quickly and takes my money.
I sit down and begin to read my periodically of choice with a very interesting article about how the UK will profit under Margret Thatcher…I guess it was sitting there a while.
Mr Bison
The shop in question has not so much a top shelf section…as it really is more a top, middle or bottom shelf section. There must have been 150 titles to choose from and I also noticed that behind the top shelf there was the “real top shelf” behind the actual top shelf. Looking at the juicy titles on show I could only imagine what was behind
“Don’t suppose this guy has a copy of The Economist” I say.
“It’s right there” my lawyer points out.
Sure enough underneath “Big Swinging Tits”, in between “Swingers Monthly” and “Classy Ass” is my copy of the Economist.
I take it to the counter and the guy picks it up shocked like and proceeds to hum and haw over it. As he scans it looking for the price I soon realise that he probably hasn’t sold this particular publication ever.
I eventually tell him its £4 and he agrees quickly and takes my money.
I sit down and begin to read my periodically of choice with a very interesting article about how the UK will profit under Margret Thatcher…I guess it was sitting there a while.
Mr Bison
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