Out, Damned Spot! (Or: some people have trouble letting go, an exercise in catharsis.)

I’ve been bottling this for a couple of days. It is, however, time to get this poison out of my system so I can get on with some of the many awesome things my life contains at the moment. Last Friday (3-May-19), I hosted a Hammer & Tongue Cambridge as usual. It was a fine night in many respects – excellent performers, including last-minute support act the divine Rebecca Cooney; pretty lovely slam; one of my favourite local performers won; I got to see one of my closest friends after a few months apart; we got decent numbers in the audience; and the headliner, Jah-Mir Early, did his usual breath-stealing, improvisational spoken word magic. Why am I needing to vent about it?

Well. Glad you asked. I’ve been running Hammer & Tongue Cambridge as the host since January 2012. Before that it was run for just over two years by another host, who I won’t name. If you know who it is, you know who it is. I started “helping out” in April 2010, which meant: doing front of house, scoring the slam, and latterly doing a great deal (if not most) of the publicity work. In that time, HTC has moved from tiny, dingy pub venues (which I would also have to set up much of the time, and for which I bought lighting, basic sound equipment, etc.), through a much nicer bar venue, to a local arts centre which is wheelchair accessible, clean, and pleasant to be in. Where I no longer have to set up the box office myself, hoick the sound and light equipment up two flights of stairs, and fight my way out with them at the end of the night through lairy drunks (and that was in the nicer venue). Where forty people in the audience was considered the giddy zenith, that’s our baseline now. Our regional final sells out. We have a decent social media following on multiple platforms. We’re proudly part of a larger spoken word scene in the city which is burgeoning all the time. We run on time, break even/ turn a small profit on occasion, and can afford to pay headliner and support act small but reasonable fees without any external funding. The audience and performers are as safe as we can make them from insults and threats of violence.

None of those latter sentences should be remarkable, really, but they’re stated in strong contrast to how things were before I took on the mantle after the previous host stropped off because virtually no-one was turning up to the events, and no-one offered him the requisite “respect”. The penultimate two events under his aegis were totally paid for by me alone (headliner fees, publicity, etc.), and I had to absorb a great deal of aggression and posturing from this stale breadstick before we could all move on.

So far so okay, Fay, what’s your point? At the last event, one of the Old Guard, one who used to come and slam/ watch on the regular under the previous regime turned up. He stood out from the rest of the crowd because he got increasingly intoxicated (I use this word carefully) and lairy, having to be repeatedly asked to shush while other people were talking. Afterwards, having been sought out to be praised/ thanked by various members of the audience and other performers for my crowd control skills (which really shouldn’t have to happen!), I made the error of talking to this chap outside the venue as I waited for the headliner to get back. I warned myself against the desire to mollify aggressive men, but there you go – part of me wants as many members of my audience to walk away happy as possible.

Among other jabberings, he took the time to faintly praise me for “carrying the torch” (sic) of Hammer & Tongue Cambridge. It took me until I got home to work out quite why I was so annoyed by that particular phrase (probably because it was drowned out by what happened next). When I wryly thanked him, saying we’d carried it but changed its shape somewhat, he took the opportunity to complain about how he’d felt tense and repressed (at least, I think that’s what the crouching body language and bouncing, palms-down hands implied) throughout. Maybe I’d noticed, he confided, that he wasn’t entirely sober by the end. Yeah, I had. He theorised about my hosting style being responsible for this tension. This tension that, as far as I could tell, only he felt. He then appeared to do an impression of me speaking, murmuring: “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr.” Then, as I barely responded past a side-eye from under my hat, repeated it: “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr,” complete with smirk and crouching little dance to complement his “feeling repressed” gestures of earlier. Yeah, I got it, dude – you think I’m a less than dynamic presenter.

I was able to pay the headliner and leave shortly after that. By the time I’d got home, after lengthy catch-ups with said beloved headliner and my other too-long-unseen friend, it turns out I’d let this fucknugget get in my head. “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr.” – the sound of a softly-spoken, female-presenting person doing their job. “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr.” – the sound of a mean schoolteacher oppressing the God-given rights of naughty men to be as loud as they want while someone else is talking. “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr.” – the sound of someone who’ll never measure up to the shouty posturings of a third-rate poet and tenth-rate event host who used to drunkenly insult me from the stage and, I discovered years later, buy/ sell drugs in the carpark during the tediously extended intervals, taking up disproportionate swathes of time on the stage with his own repetitive work. My nights aren’t perfect. I could work harder at getting more people in, do more publicity, make more of a spectacle of it, but I’m never going to get loud just to suit other people – I decided long ago that that course of action gets you nowhere – they’re just going to have to lean in to hear better.

Last year a headliner calmly told the audience that he wanted to stalk me, and they seemed to lap it up. Certainly no-one told him off or offered me support afterwards. One of the audience, in fact, told me afterwards that I loved the headliner for it. I didn’t remonstrate with either of directly (too many years’ training of “mollify the man, soothe him in case he hurts you”?), but I’ve written a poem about it, so that’s all right. {eyeroll} It’s still a tough world as a female-presenting performer and MC. For every ten people or so who think I’m doing a good job, and loves what I’m doing as an artist and a host, there seems to be one who thinks I’m fair game for stalking, pervy comments about my voice, claims that my voice is “fake”, off-stage racist diatribes they think I’ll support, or jittery banter about my unshouty hosting style. “Mehr, mehr, mehr-mehr-mehr.”

Carrying the torch? Fuck you, buddy. How about ditching a toxic legacy? How about transforming the event into something welcoming and professional? How about feeding and transporting that guttering flame and building a hearthfire? How about soldiering the fuck through with no support from my predecessor’s Old Guard? How about nearly four times the length of service in this event alone compared to his? How about the fact that I run a stage at Strawberry Fair that’s dedicated to spoken word and brings people in from fifty miles around? How about my five-star shows at Edinburgh Fringe? How about my BBC and other commissions? How about my national reputation as someone who works to raise and safeguard the spoken word scene? How about my national reputation as professional, hardworking, and talented? How about my well-known propensity to make every performer and audience member feel welcome unless they’re a hate-mongering douchecanoe? How about my small press, my open-hearted open mics, my fund- and awareness-raising for local charities, my groups set up to encourage and foster peer support among the spoken word community?

(Do you know how hard it is to write all the above without the likes of these Mehr-mehr-mehr arseholes’ voices chiming in my head telling me off for showing off? The lifelong legacy of making myself smaller that I have to actively resist every time I leave the house, let alone this?)

For some people you’ll never be other than the last (or first) time they saw you. For some people I’ll never be other than the victim of bullying at school, whichever part of that experience they were part of. For some people I’ll never be other than that administrator who was always late to work. For some people I’ll never be other than a certain person’s pathetic ex. For some people I’ll never be other than the quiet one who lost so spectacularly at whichever slam they saw me lose spectacularly at. For some people I’ll never be other than the nerdy sidekick of a misogynistic poseur. For some people I’ll never be other than a classical singer and choir conductor. For some people, I’ll never be other than Melody Starchild. For some people, I’ll never be other than the person who encouraged them to get into spoken word. For some people, I’ll never be other than the person who wrote that poem for their anniversary that made them cry. For some people, I’ll never be other than the first person who taught them about clerihews. For some people, I’ll never be other than the first person to publish them. And for some people, presumably, I’ll never be other than the Glastonbury Festival blogger 2019.

Tough breaks. You’ll forge your own destiny and some people will want to keep you down, cling onto the old version of what you were. Oddly enough, that was the subject of one of the first performance poems I ever wrote, way back in 2007, striving to survive on a scene that depended on the goodwill of the people still labelling me that person’s ex, the interloper, the Welsh one, the “failed lesbian” (true story). The crab bucket will always want to cling onto you, keep you chained, call you by your deadname, keep you from the light. The best thing for these remnants is to let them go with love, knowing that the shit you went through was one of the things that forged the stronger person you are now, but that you owe it – and these nostalgia hounds – absolutely nothing for the joy of finding your own path, your true name, the clothes that fit you far better. Let them go, and use your energy to cherish the people who’ll expand their first image of you into something complex and spectacular, and will help you find that joy. And let one of those people be yourself.

Photo of Fay Roberts hosting Hammer & Tongue Cambridge - (c) Nikki Marrone

“Can I Perform At Your Show?”

Want to know my answer? Read on; there are headings and links and everything…

Introduction
Hammer & Tongue
Allographic Open Mic
Wild Strawberries
Other Voices Spoken Word Cabaret at Edinburgh Festival
Allographic Presents…
Queries

Introduction

This is a question that, as I’m sure you can imagine, I get asked a lot. If you don’t know why I’d get asked that, let me elucidate: I run two spoken word shows a month, ten months of the year in Cambridge (Hammer & Tongue Cambridge and Allographic Open Mic). I run a dedicated spoken word stage all day at Strawberry Fair, Europe’s largest open-air free festival called Wild Strawberries, also in Cambridge. I also run six spoken word cabaret shows a week, every week of the Edinburgh Fringe most years. (I also run the occasional visiting artist/ one-off thing in Cambridge. That’s different – I’ll come on to that later.) They’re all a mix of featured artists and open mic/ slam slots.

I help to programme the Spoken Word element of PBH’s Free Fringe, and to look after and promote the artists we programme. I have been involved in the BBC Edinburgh Fringe Slam in a non-competing role most years it’s been running. I used to run a calendar promoting spoken word events in south-east England and the Midlands. I used to run a combined featured artists-open mic-slam event in Milton Keynes. I’m part of the Bardic Council for Cambridge (though that needs a thorough reviving right now), which I set up, along with the In Other Words Festival (ditto).

And I’m also a performance poet. But it’s probably fair to say that more people know me as an host/ administrator of other people’s performance than as a performer in my own right.

I had a wee whinge yesterday on Facebook about the particular teeth-gritting phenomenon which is people asking me if I can recommend female spoken word artists for their programme. Since most people think of me as female, this is galling, but I consider it an application in humility and thence character-building to recommend other people. (It’s easier when they ask for people who are of a different demographic or geographic location from me but yeah – character-building.) And I do it, because, at the end of the day, I do like talking up the artists that get me excited, and everyone loves being asked their opinion…! ☺

Back to that other question I get asked – “Can I headline/ perform at your show?” I get asked this so many times, that I thought it might be neater to put all the criteria down in one post, and then I can point people at it in future. It’s a question of spoons, you understand… ↑ Top

Hammer & Tongue Cambridge

Not many people seem to realise that all the various H&T franchises are just that – semi-autonomous facets of the whole. The way it works is that we are sent the month’s headliner (October-December, February-June inclusive), who will tour through all the (currently) six locations: Cambridge, Brighton, Hackney, Bristol, Southampton, and Oxford (order depending on how the month falls, day-wise). Once a year or so, we’re asked to a) provide our own list of spoken word artists we’d like to see headline on the H&T circuit, and b) vote on the full list between all of us. Steve Larkin (H&T Boss/ Director/ Founder/ Capo) then books and sends us the gen about each one as they confirm.

Short version: I don’t have any control of who’ll be headlining when.

We programme support acts, and for Cambridge they tend to be local artists/ artists with a strong local connection. (They’re often, but not always, H&T Cambridge slam winners.) There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, it’s part of showing how engaging with the event can see you rise as an artist in terms of platform and respect (that clear path of audience ➔ slammer ➔ support act ➔ headliner – especially as many of our headliners are former/ current slam champions of some kind). Secondly, it’s good to support local talent, for a variety of hopefully obvious reasons (especially if you’re intent on building the local arts scene, as I am). Thirdly, in an utterly mercenary philosophy: local artists are more likely to bring friends/ relatives/ colleagues with them, and we need the money to pay the artists. And I do pay my artists.

Short version: unless you have a local connection and I’ve seen you perform before, I’m excessively unlikely to book you as a support act.

Apart from those two acts, all the other people on stage during H&T Cambridge are slammers and me, and I rarely perform anything other than my usual hosting schtick. (My job here is to keep the audience motivated and excited about the performers.) During the Regional Final, it’s just three rounds of slam – we just don’t have time for anything else!

(Oh, and we also have a “sacrificial slammer” before each new slam round in the heats. They tend to be the winner of the previous heat (again as part of demonstrating that progression thing), and they tend to get free entry (and travel expenses if they’ve come from out of town) and a chance to show off.)↑ Top

Allographic Open Mic

Short bit of background: I started helping out with Hammer & Tongue Cambridge in 2010, having an increasingly central role until February 2012 when I started hosting and programming as well as the other admin. (Frankly, I need to get other people doing the other admin stuff these days – delegating is not my strongest suit.) For a while in late 2010/ early 2011, we were being sent a lot of mostly white, straight, able-bodied, British, cis male performers within a narrow age range as headliners. They were all lovely chaps and very talented, but I found I wanted to be hearing other stories and voices. I’d started suggesting female, queer, of colour, and generally “other” performers as support acts, but that felt wrong too. I wanted to curate my own events that had “other” voices front and centre. I also wanted to run an open mic again. Somewhat haphazardly, I set up Allographic (“nebulous poetry concept” – thanks, Tim Clare) to be a platform for other voices – either as work I published or promoted on stage. It swiftly became an umbrella for all the non-H&T stuff that I do, whether it’s an anthology of local artists, a stage of predominantly female and non-binary performers at a literary festival, a stall of “Poetry To Go” at various festivals and other gatherings, or the “Other Voices” spoken word cabaret at Edinburgh Fringe. Plus other things that crop up from time to time.

Nowadays, the regular open mic (poetry, storytelling, any other spoken word that people want to bring) often (but not always) features guests for short spots who often also lead workshops in the afternoon of the same day. The events are designed to be accessible, in as many different ways as you’d like to use that term, though do we encourage people to bring and perform difficult and challenging work. Allographic open mic is supposed to be a friendly, safe-yet-fierce space for new and/ or difficult work/ performance. The only rules are: don’t kick down, and don’t apologise (unless you’ve kicked down). Part of that accessibility is making it free at the point of entry and encouraging people to donate whatever they can afford/ think the event is worth in order to help with our costs and to at least pay the guest artist’s expenses (travel and subsistence). Any money donated at the workshop goes straight to the workshop leader, and we provide means for them to sell their merchandise, if any.

The “platform for other voices” thing holds true for the guest artists – we want to be deliberately platforming people who are still marginalised: female artists, artists of colour, LGBTQIA+ artists, disabled artists, neurodiverse artists, etc. (We need to be doing better at getting working class voices on the bill to boot, especially those combining the above.) We don’t currently have any external funding, so making this viable for people from outside Cambridgeshire and nearby is… challenging.

Short version: if you want to perform at Allographic open mic as a guest artist (rather than on the open mic – obviously everyone’s welcome to that!), travelling to Cambridge needs to be economically viable for you, and you need to be an “other” voice. If I’ve not seen you perform, I’m relatively easy to persuade with a good bit of footage – audio, or audiovisual for preference. It probably goes without saying, but: I also need to rate your work pretty highly and trust you as an artist.

If you’re up for it, the form is here: http://bit.ly/agoguest ↑ Top

Wild Strawberries

Wild Strawberries is the yearly spoken word (poetry and storytelling) stage at Strawberry Fair in Cambridge. Strawberry Fair is on the first Saturday of every June. A form for expressions of interest for short guest slots and open mic will go out in the next couple of months, and I’ll post the latest here each time it’s ready. If I’ve not seen you perform, I’m easy to persuade with a good bit of footage – audio, or audiovisual for preference. The Fair is free, everyone there is a volunteer, all the payment for what we do pretty much comes out of our own pockets and any fundraisers we’ve done over the months proceeding. We cannot pay anyone. Yes, you can bring merch. No, you can’t have a longer feature set unless you’re either an act that combines poetry/ storytelling and music, you are crazy famous and we’re lucky to have you, or you’re the Bard of Cambridge.

Even shorter version: a ten minute slot at a Cambridge outdoor festival in early June needs to be economically viable for you. ↑ Top

Other Voices Spoken Word Cabaret at Edinburgh Festival

We’re part of PBH’s Free Fringe. All cast members and guests are “other voices”, and there is open mic available to everyone. I am excessively unlikely to book you unless I’ve seen you perform/ you have a compelling bit of footage to wave at me. Again: we’re looking to cover our costs, and we can’t pay anyone, but please do bring merch if we’ve booked you. The forms for featuring/ being in the open mic will be made available by May/ June of any year we’re running it. ↑ Top

Allographic Presents…

This one’s a bit different – this is where I use the Allographic banner to promote a spoken word event that’s touring/ wants to come to Cambridge/ needs curation or collaboration from our “stable” of local spoken word artists. We negotiate publicity, payment, etc. between us. I find you a venue and support artist(s) if needs be. While we obviously favour promoting “other” voices, it’s not a central criterion for the “specials”. Again, it probably goes without saying, but: I also need to rate your work highly and trust you as an artist.

If you’re up for it, the form is here: http://bit.ly/agpresents ↑ Top

Th-th-th-that’s All, Folks!

That’s it, really. Any further questions, please comment here so we can create a kind of FAQs section. ☺ If that’s too exposed, email me (remove the gaps if you’re not a robot) on:

cambridge @ hammerandtongue. com for Hammer & Tongue Cambridge

events @ allographic. co. uk for Allographic events

fay @ fayroberts. co. uk if you’d like to book me as a host or performer (hey, you never know!) ↑ Top

What's all that equipment you bring to poetry nights?

Glad you asked:

1. 4 x spotlights.

2. 2 x T-stands for the spotlights (each component ~>=1m long).

3. 1 x mic stand.

4. 1 x music stand.

5. One 50l box containing:
a) cables for the lights;
b) microphone and associated cable
c) spares of a) and b);
d) various sound cables for e.g. iPod into sound desk, not being sure which sound desk we'll get;
e) spare bulbs

6. One 20l suitcase containing everything else we might need, e.g. signposts for the venue; posters for the night's event; flyers for the next event; books and magazines for sale; spare spotlight gels; hand stamps; cash box; notepads; camcorder and tripod.

7. A2 swing-sign to advertise the night's event outside.

8. Laptop for Hammer & Tongue to do slam scoring.

9. Personal belongings and other random stuff. Sometimes hand drums (medium-sized djembe).

I can't store any of this stuff at the current venue and, lovely though thwy are, they do not have sound or light equipment that works for spoken word...

I'm thinking of buying a new car; it needs to be, ideally: light and easy to park, with room in the boot for that lot, comfortable to drive for long journeys, and be able to take passengers without squishing them.

Suggestions? :D