Read this first: http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2009/jul/27/comedy-standup-new-offenders
I wasn't going to blog this week for a very good reason. I wanted to get away from blogging for a little while because next week I'll be in Edinburgh and no doubt my fury levels will be pretty high and blogging will be my much needed release. It's what happened last year and I can't imagine this year will be any different. So, I wanted to try to avoid things that would upset me so that I could simply enjoy being angry all the time in August. It hasn't been easy.
First, I stupidly watched Uri Gellar rape a dead man he barely knew for money on ITV on Sunday night, then I got a lot of posts on Twitter claiming that I wasn't being supportive to my fellow Edinburgh performers and writers (have a look at some of the blurbs for shows in the Ed Fringe Brochure. How can I not laugh at that pretentious pile of wank?) and then I read that article from Brian Logan in The Guardian.
Where to begin with this idiot? I don't know much about Brian Logan but I do know one thing for sure. This man does not understand or like comedy. Say what you like about Brendon Burns but I don't think for a second that he thinks that sexist or racist jokes are acceptable. From what I remember of his act (I haven't seen it in a long time) he pretty much constantly talked about being not good enough for the women he was with and generally a bit of a fuck up. As for racism, I know he used the word Paki but he explained that it was just a name and it was how you implied that name that is surely the offensive thing (like what that Lenny Bruce did do in the 60's). Brendon explained that in Australia the word Paki is used as a positive thing and not as an insult. I don't know if that's true. I saw some Pakistani people when I was in Australia but I felt saying "Brendon Burns says I'm allowed to call you Paki. Is that OK?" would not portray the outward image that I would wish. Even if that's not true, the piece was about actions not words and that is valid. And yes, I am spelling his name Brendon. If I'm defending his free speech I might as well defend the stupid cunt's right to misspell his own name.
But it's obvious that it's Richard Herring who comes out worst in this piece. Logan has, I can only assume, deliberately taken so much out of context that it comes across as a direct attack on an artist rather than a comedy movement. For fuck's sake, Logan. There are so many offensive comedians out there spreading hatred and horror and you set your sights on Richard Herring? I haven't seen his latest show but from others that I have seen, his podcast and his blog I'm pretty safe in assuming that Hitler Moustache is about the rise of the new right in the UK (if I'm wrong, then I'm sorry, it should be) along with how we look at the history of facism. His ideas of everyone wearing a Hitler Moustache to show that they do not support the rise of the BNP in this country is both hilarious and admirable. I just realised that I have made an assumption about Richard Herring without actually seeing the finished show that he is discussing. I am no better than Brian Logan.
This kind of lazy and spiteful journalism does not help the comedy circuit at all. If this is really how someone takes a piece of comedy then it is easy to expect that others will too. Which means that maybe we can't say what we want. Remember when The Guardian was a bit leftie?
Of course, Brian Logan's attack on Herring isn't the most offensive thing about the piece, nor is his general thought that a joke about race is racist. The most offensive piece in the article is when Brian Logan, the biggest arsehole on the face of the planet, says that he likes Scott Capurro. Scott is one of, if not THE, best comic I have ever seen. Logan has no right to like him. To quote Bill Hicks, an outspoken comedian who was so often misunderstood, "Seriously. Kill yourself."
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Manchester/Liverpool/London.
What an odd weekend. It was all highs and lows. I was in a horrible mood on Friday because I missed a friend's wedding because I can't say no to work right now. Edinburgh starts next week and, although the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is always supportive of artists and audiences and never ever ever rips them off and then spits in their faces with a sort of cum/shit based spit, I need every penny. It was obviously a great wedding do because plenty of people there Twittered and added exciting stuff about it all day on Facebook. How fun could it be if they have time to do all that, I furiously and spitefully reasoned.
But the weekend was great and on a creative level I'm glad I gigged. I was doubling up at The Frog and Bucket in Manchester and Comedy Central in Liverpool. Both good but terrifying gigs. Opening at The Frog and Bucket puts the fear of God in me every time but for no reason as it's always, at the very least, fine. Of course, sitting on the crapper listening to three drunk men quoting Peter Kay and laughing like they've just discovered joy did nothing to relax me. All three gigs in Manchester were fine but I didn't really do what I set out to do. Well, not completely. Before setting off this weekend I promised myself that I would push myself a bit more. Improvise a lot more and try out new material. I did it but just not very much. The same could not be said of Comedy Central in Liverpool where I turned up each night just in time to see the compere, Chris Ramsey, preparing to introduce me to the stage. He set up the gigs so well that it was a breeze (nearly) to do exactly what I set out to do. And, I loved it. Imagine me saying that about comedy? Well, it's true.
The last night was no where near as good as the previous two but I still stuck relentlessly to my plan. I upset a member of the audience by discussing terrorism and his anger put a horrible atmosphere in the room that I just couldn't shake. Luckily, Chris was there to come back on and make the night all OK again plus a lot of people came up to me afterwards to say how much they'd enjoyed my set so I didn't feel too, too bad about it. I'm utterly impressed by Chris' talent and, as he is very talented and young, am not looking forward to him turning into a big arsehole. Please don't turn into a prick, Chris. You're going to do so well and everyone turns into a big prick. Wouldn't you like to be the one who doesn't turn into a big prick? If you haven't seen Chris I very much urge you to do so before TV makes him a star and a fucking nightmare to be around. He's great.
After the final gig I decided to treat myself to a 7 hour bus journey back to London sitting next to a fat man who snored in Spanish the whole time. It's very difficult to snore in another language but he managed it. We got on so well that he found it completely comfortable to just lean his massive skull on my shoulder for hours. Oh, and Britain decided to go Road Accident Crazy last night so the bus with no working toilet and a sit-beside-a-cunt policy was diverted all over the country avoiding pile-up after pile-up. Really lovely.
Yesterday's highlight for me was guesting on Andrew Collins' 6 Music show. I had to travel from Manchester to London and back, knowing fully well that I'd be in a toilet-less bus for 7 hours later that night, but it was very much worth it. I was very nervous but only because I was nervous that Andrew might be nervous that I might swear (does that make sense). I knew I wouldn't but was convinced that that was all Andrew was thinking about even though he plainly wasn't. We had a nice chat and my hour on-air seemed to take about 10 minutes. Even though I wanted him to play This Band Has Eaten All Our Money by 28 Costumes, he played 1974 by Robyn Hitchcock and I discussed the delights of the Latitude Festival and my many embarrassments in front of Hitchcock himself. They're very nice people at 6 Music and it was an utter privilege to basically be fucking Richard Herring's wife live on the radio. I got paid like the WHORE I am but I'm nothing if not fair. Richard and Johnny Candon will be up in Edinburgh together for a month. It is only right that they spend the night together at least once. I insist. You can hear the Andrew Collins' show on iPlayer here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00lvgsp/Lauren_Laverne_25_07_2009/
Thanks very much to Ros, Beth and Curtis for making the weekend great.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
But the weekend was great and on a creative level I'm glad I gigged. I was doubling up at The Frog and Bucket in Manchester and Comedy Central in Liverpool. Both good but terrifying gigs. Opening at The Frog and Bucket puts the fear of God in me every time but for no reason as it's always, at the very least, fine. Of course, sitting on the crapper listening to three drunk men quoting Peter Kay and laughing like they've just discovered joy did nothing to relax me. All three gigs in Manchester were fine but I didn't really do what I set out to do. Well, not completely. Before setting off this weekend I promised myself that I would push myself a bit more. Improvise a lot more and try out new material. I did it but just not very much. The same could not be said of Comedy Central in Liverpool where I turned up each night just in time to see the compere, Chris Ramsey, preparing to introduce me to the stage. He set up the gigs so well that it was a breeze (nearly) to do exactly what I set out to do. And, I loved it. Imagine me saying that about comedy? Well, it's true.
The last night was no where near as good as the previous two but I still stuck relentlessly to my plan. I upset a member of the audience by discussing terrorism and his anger put a horrible atmosphere in the room that I just couldn't shake. Luckily, Chris was there to come back on and make the night all OK again plus a lot of people came up to me afterwards to say how much they'd enjoyed my set so I didn't feel too, too bad about it. I'm utterly impressed by Chris' talent and, as he is very talented and young, am not looking forward to him turning into a big arsehole. Please don't turn into a prick, Chris. You're going to do so well and everyone turns into a big prick. Wouldn't you like to be the one who doesn't turn into a big prick? If you haven't seen Chris I very much urge you to do so before TV makes him a star and a fucking nightmare to be around. He's great.
After the final gig I decided to treat myself to a 7 hour bus journey back to London sitting next to a fat man who snored in Spanish the whole time. It's very difficult to snore in another language but he managed it. We got on so well that he found it completely comfortable to just lean his massive skull on my shoulder for hours. Oh, and Britain decided to go Road Accident Crazy last night so the bus with no working toilet and a sit-beside-a-cunt policy was diverted all over the country avoiding pile-up after pile-up. Really lovely.
Yesterday's highlight for me was guesting on Andrew Collins' 6 Music show. I had to travel from Manchester to London and back, knowing fully well that I'd be in a toilet-less bus for 7 hours later that night, but it was very much worth it. I was very nervous but only because I was nervous that Andrew might be nervous that I might swear (does that make sense). I knew I wouldn't but was convinced that that was all Andrew was thinking about even though he plainly wasn't. We had a nice chat and my hour on-air seemed to take about 10 minutes. Even though I wanted him to play This Band Has Eaten All Our Money by 28 Costumes, he played 1974 by Robyn Hitchcock and I discussed the delights of the Latitude Festival and my many embarrassments in front of Hitchcock himself. They're very nice people at 6 Music and it was an utter privilege to basically be fucking Richard Herring's wife live on the radio. I got paid like the WHORE I am but I'm nothing if not fair. Richard and Johnny Candon will be up in Edinburgh together for a month. It is only right that they spend the night together at least once. I insist. You can hear the Andrew Collins' show on iPlayer here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00lvgsp/Lauren_Laverne_25_07_2009/
Thanks very much to Ros, Beth and Curtis for making the weekend great.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Friday, 24 July 2009
Ambition Makes You Look Pretty Ugly.
I was a new act once. Now I’m old and decrepit and carry a foot lump in my pocket with me wherever I go. It was great being a new act. Back then I had no idea that I’d be doing this for a living, travelling round the world (occasionally) and carrying a foot lump in my pocket wherever I went.
It’s been years since I compered a new act night and, if the one I did on Wednesday night is anything to go by, they’ve changed a lot. It’s a career thing now. It’s how you get to be on E4. And it shows. Yes, these people were new and yes they were nervous and it wasn’t an easy gig but my God do they have to show their hunger quite so much? Within seconds of being handed the running order I was surrounded by young fellas asking “When am I on? When am I on?” How the fuck could I know when they’re on if I don’t know who the fuck they are and, you know, what happened to “Hello”?
Don’t get me wrong, I know that it was a competition night and winning must be a fairly big deal to these new acts but for fucks sake relax. So what if you don’t win? You’ve just started. You have no right to be the best act on a bill when you’ve just started. Greg Burns, who has been going for about 10 years, was there and you didn’t see him thinking he was the best on the bill. Obviously.
But there was a moment where a few of these new acts thought Greg was a new act also. They saw a new act being relaxed and confident on stage and started questioning how long this guy had been going for. What the HELL is he doing on our stage? He’s been going for longer than 8 weeks. If he hasn’t made it now then he never will so he can fuck off now because we have the producer of TNT coming to see us tonight. He said he’d be here. He really did.
Four separate acts came up to me saying "Is he new?" and part of me wanted to say yes just to see the nervousness grow but as they seemed so utterly serious anyway I just couldn't do it.
Sigh…
I’m just not sure new act competitions are good if new acts are actually properly competitive. Where is the joy in performing if you see something beyond performing and have that as your goal? I’m probably being naïve.
Luckily, I know that there are plenty of new acts who do seem to be there for the joy of it. I still look back at that night at The Ambassador’s Comedy Reception and the nervous excitement of youth with great fondness. Eric Lampaert was great that night and he just seemed so happy in what he was doing. The same with new acts that I’ve met in Manchester this weekend. I’ve been hanging out with my new friend Curtis who has been doing stand-up for a year who is driving from Manchester to Eastbourne on Sunday to do an unpaid gig and he seems delighted by it. Will there be people in from Avalon/E4/CBeebies in at Eastbourne?
Yes, this is a grumpy old man grumping oldly. It’s what I do second best (my Father is slightly better at this sort of thing). I started in comedy through improvised comedy which, although lots of people think is utter shit including me a lot of the time, just felt like a brilliantly free way to be creative and funny. It was exciting to be involved in something that, to me, was totally new. I cared nothing about a career, just about the fun and joy of doing some good work.
FUCK! That’s why I STILL don’t have a career. If you’re a new act and have just read this PLEASE IGNORE EVERYTHING I HAVE SAID. It is the only good advice an old man like me can give you.
Have to say that last night’s gigs were great. Manchester was good (though I wasn’t very on form) but Liverpool was excellent. I improvised my aging arse off and it’s all thanks to a lovely audience that were made lovely by a genuinely great compere called Chris Ramsey. He was fantastic.
Chris is 22. The fucking cunt.
Just a reminder that I’ll be on Andrew Collins’ 6 Music show tomorrow. I will be bringing my foot lump. You won’t be able to see it but he will.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
It’s been years since I compered a new act night and, if the one I did on Wednesday night is anything to go by, they’ve changed a lot. It’s a career thing now. It’s how you get to be on E4. And it shows. Yes, these people were new and yes they were nervous and it wasn’t an easy gig but my God do they have to show their hunger quite so much? Within seconds of being handed the running order I was surrounded by young fellas asking “When am I on? When am I on?” How the fuck could I know when they’re on if I don’t know who the fuck they are and, you know, what happened to “Hello”?
Don’t get me wrong, I know that it was a competition night and winning must be a fairly big deal to these new acts but for fucks sake relax. So what if you don’t win? You’ve just started. You have no right to be the best act on a bill when you’ve just started. Greg Burns, who has been going for about 10 years, was there and you didn’t see him thinking he was the best on the bill. Obviously.
But there was a moment where a few of these new acts thought Greg was a new act also. They saw a new act being relaxed and confident on stage and started questioning how long this guy had been going for. What the HELL is he doing on our stage? He’s been going for longer than 8 weeks. If he hasn’t made it now then he never will so he can fuck off now because we have the producer of TNT coming to see us tonight. He said he’d be here. He really did.
Four separate acts came up to me saying "Is he new?" and part of me wanted to say yes just to see the nervousness grow but as they seemed so utterly serious anyway I just couldn't do it.
Sigh…
I’m just not sure new act competitions are good if new acts are actually properly competitive. Where is the joy in performing if you see something beyond performing and have that as your goal? I’m probably being naïve.
Luckily, I know that there are plenty of new acts who do seem to be there for the joy of it. I still look back at that night at The Ambassador’s Comedy Reception and the nervous excitement of youth with great fondness. Eric Lampaert was great that night and he just seemed so happy in what he was doing. The same with new acts that I’ve met in Manchester this weekend. I’ve been hanging out with my new friend Curtis who has been doing stand-up for a year who is driving from Manchester to Eastbourne on Sunday to do an unpaid gig and he seems delighted by it. Will there be people in from Avalon/E4/CBeebies in at Eastbourne?
Yes, this is a grumpy old man grumping oldly. It’s what I do second best (my Father is slightly better at this sort of thing). I started in comedy through improvised comedy which, although lots of people think is utter shit including me a lot of the time, just felt like a brilliantly free way to be creative and funny. It was exciting to be involved in something that, to me, was totally new. I cared nothing about a career, just about the fun and joy of doing some good work.
FUCK! That’s why I STILL don’t have a career. If you’re a new act and have just read this PLEASE IGNORE EVERYTHING I HAVE SAID. It is the only good advice an old man like me can give you.
Have to say that last night’s gigs were great. Manchester was good (though I wasn’t very on form) but Liverpool was excellent. I improvised my aging arse off and it’s all thanks to a lovely audience that were made lovely by a genuinely great compere called Chris Ramsey. He was fantastic.
Chris is 22. The fucking cunt.
Just a reminder that I’ll be on Andrew Collins’ 6 Music show tomorrow. I will be bringing my foot lump. You won’t be able to see it but he will.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
This Is Not a Blog.
I don't have time to complain today but would it be too crass for me to give myself a little plug? Fanks.
I'm going to be on Andrew Collins' 6 Music show on Saturday somewhere between 4pm and 5pm. Not sure what we'll be talking about but as I am such a fan of Andrew and, of course, the fantastic Collings and Herrin Podcast I can't tell you how happy I am to be asked. I've been told that I'm not allowed to say cunt.
Two little things (of which I have little to no information): I'm going to host a screening of "Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door" on the 24th August at the GRV in Edinburgh. We'll have Nicholas Parsons with us to share his memories of Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson continually trying to kill him. Lovely. Hopefully, we'll have one more guest there too. I'll let you know.
Sarah Millican and I will be performing a Blog Off at the same venue. Tiernan Douieb and hopefully some other bloggers will be there too. Times, dates and a description of what a Blog Off actually is will follow very soon.
Sorry, this has just been an ad so let me leave you with this. What the fuck is that thing in You Have Been Watching? The show is great and all but that annoying fucking eye-rape that skips about begging for help before and after the show as well as during the ad break, is it really necessary? Don't accept 3's money, Spencer. I propose a whip round to help him get out of his contract with 3. Will you all help? Let's set up a donate website. Seriously.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
I'm going to be on Andrew Collins' 6 Music show on Saturday somewhere between 4pm and 5pm. Not sure what we'll be talking about but as I am such a fan of Andrew and, of course, the fantastic Collings and Herrin Podcast I can't tell you how happy I am to be asked. I've been told that I'm not allowed to say cunt.
Two little things (of which I have little to no information): I'm going to host a screening of "Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door" on the 24th August at the GRV in Edinburgh. We'll have Nicholas Parsons with us to share his memories of Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson continually trying to kill him. Lovely. Hopefully, we'll have one more guest there too. I'll let you know.
Sarah Millican and I will be performing a Blog Off at the same venue. Tiernan Douieb and hopefully some other bloggers will be there too. Times, dates and a description of what a Blog Off actually is will follow very soon.
Sorry, this has just been an ad so let me leave you with this. What the fuck is that thing in You Have Been Watching? The show is great and all but that annoying fucking eye-rape that skips about begging for help before and after the show as well as during the ad break, is it really necessary? Don't accept 3's money, Spencer. I propose a whip round to help him get out of his contract with 3. Will you all help? Let's set up a donate website. Seriously.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Oh My God, That's the Funky Shit.
Easily the most horrible thing that happened to me at this year's Latitude festival was having to take a shit on another man's shit. I was unhappy enough just looking at another man's shit but when I pulled the flush and nothing happened I just got depressed. Yeah I could go somewhere else but these are probably the best toilets in the entire site (it was in the Artist's Area and artists rarely, if ever, excrete). The cubicle next to me was occupied so it was shit on this shit or get off the pot.
It's disgusting but also too intimate for me. Something that has been inside me has touched something that has been inside another man. I mean, that's sort of more intimate than sex really. And so much dirtier, in more ways than one. I mean, I don't even know the guy. It could have been Jarvis Cocker's shit which is quite a pleasing thought but then it could be Carl Donnelly's. Nothing wrong with Carl at all, of course, it's just that from the moment I first met Carl I knew that I didn't want my shit to touch his. He's not alone, either. There are lots of people who's shit I don't want mine to touch. Write to me for a list. And I know it wasn't Ben Goldacre's because he keeps his. But it is someone's and now mine it attached to his somewhere.
One thing I do know about him is that he vacated the toilet very soon before I arrived. I knew this because the seat was still warm. Another piece of intimacy that the two of us have shared together. Unbeknownst to this complete stranger his body heat has warmed my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. I've gone out with people who never did that. I did my business feeling slightly raped, got up and left. I didn't flush. There was no point.
FUCK! Maybe someone else came in right after me and did a shit on my shit. I have taken part in a shit orgy. I hate festivals.
With the bad there must be a small piece of good. I met Robyn Hitchcock, an incredible songwriter who I have loved for 20 years. To me, him and Morrissey are pretty much it musically. I've met him before but this time it was very different because I didn't make an almighty arse of myself. I have embarrassed myself in front of Robyn so many times that it's just...pathetic. Robin Ince finds my stories of fucking up in front of my idol hilarious and therefore told Robyn all about them. Great. That meant when I met him he said "Robin told me your stories".
Me: "Er...yeah".
Robyn: "Pitiful".
I can't even quite remember if pitiful was the word he used (though I think it was) because I was busy making sure that I didn't accidentally pee on him or set fire to him or knock his eye out by falling on him and poking him with my stupid erection. I once ruined a gig of Robyn's at the Jazz Cafe because I treated it like I was at a Metallica concert despite it was a man alone with an acoustic guitar on stage. I apologised to Robyn the next time I saw him at the 12 Bar Club but this time a woman dropped a bottle from the balcony and when it smashed Robyn looked up only to see me. I hadn't done anything but I got the blame. This type of thing went on for a long time pretty much anytime I was in the same room as him. I went to rescue Muki and her friend Emer from a Gang of Four gig that they got paraletically drunk at. I was holding Muki up and trying to pick up Emer while they both shouted FUCK OFF at me. When I finally got the two screaming, swearing drunk women standing and balancing on me I realised I was in front of Robyn Hitchcock. It sort of looked like I had drugged two women and was human trafficing them. Silly Legge.
Nothing quite so bad this time, thankfully. This time I kept my celebrity embarrassment for Vivienne Westwood when I gave a loud "Oh-For-Fucks-sake" type sigh when she was telling us that the environment is "important". She looked round and disgusted. But you know what? An hour and a half of hearing her boring everyone by telling us stuff we all know justified by rude, rude sigh. Especially as she was telling us this at a festival that financially thrives on pretending to give a fuck about the environment.
I'm sure there was something else that happened at Latitude. Did I tell you about Pappy's Fun Club's cocks?
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
It's disgusting but also too intimate for me. Something that has been inside me has touched something that has been inside another man. I mean, that's sort of more intimate than sex really. And so much dirtier, in more ways than one. I mean, I don't even know the guy. It could have been Jarvis Cocker's shit which is quite a pleasing thought but then it could be Carl Donnelly's. Nothing wrong with Carl at all, of course, it's just that from the moment I first met Carl I knew that I didn't want my shit to touch his. He's not alone, either. There are lots of people who's shit I don't want mine to touch. Write to me for a list. And I know it wasn't Ben Goldacre's because he keeps his. But it is someone's and now mine it attached to his somewhere.
One thing I do know about him is that he vacated the toilet very soon before I arrived. I knew this because the seat was still warm. Another piece of intimacy that the two of us have shared together. Unbeknownst to this complete stranger his body heat has warmed my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. I've gone out with people who never did that. I did my business feeling slightly raped, got up and left. I didn't flush. There was no point.
FUCK! Maybe someone else came in right after me and did a shit on my shit. I have taken part in a shit orgy. I hate festivals.
With the bad there must be a small piece of good. I met Robyn Hitchcock, an incredible songwriter who I have loved for 20 years. To me, him and Morrissey are pretty much it musically. I've met him before but this time it was very different because I didn't make an almighty arse of myself. I have embarrassed myself in front of Robyn so many times that it's just...pathetic. Robin Ince finds my stories of fucking up in front of my idol hilarious and therefore told Robyn all about them. Great. That meant when I met him he said "Robin told me your stories".
Me: "Er...yeah".
Robyn: "Pitiful".
I can't even quite remember if pitiful was the word he used (though I think it was) because I was busy making sure that I didn't accidentally pee on him or set fire to him or knock his eye out by falling on him and poking him with my stupid erection. I once ruined a gig of Robyn's at the Jazz Cafe because I treated it like I was at a Metallica concert despite it was a man alone with an acoustic guitar on stage. I apologised to Robyn the next time I saw him at the 12 Bar Club but this time a woman dropped a bottle from the balcony and when it smashed Robyn looked up only to see me. I hadn't done anything but I got the blame. This type of thing went on for a long time pretty much anytime I was in the same room as him. I went to rescue Muki and her friend Emer from a Gang of Four gig that they got paraletically drunk at. I was holding Muki up and trying to pick up Emer while they both shouted FUCK OFF at me. When I finally got the two screaming, swearing drunk women standing and balancing on me I realised I was in front of Robyn Hitchcock. It sort of looked like I had drugged two women and was human trafficing them. Silly Legge.
Nothing quite so bad this time, thankfully. This time I kept my celebrity embarrassment for Vivienne Westwood when I gave a loud "Oh-For-Fucks-sake" type sigh when she was telling us that the environment is "important". She looked round and disgusted. But you know what? An hour and a half of hearing her boring everyone by telling us stuff we all know justified by rude, rude sigh. Especially as she was telling us this at a festival that financially thrives on pretending to give a fuck about the environment.
I'm sure there was something else that happened at Latitude. Did I tell you about Pappy's Fun Club's cocks?
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Monday, 20 July 2009
Bad Latitude.
I haven't blogged since last Thursday and I've missed it. It's a shame because I've got plenty to blog/complain about as I've spent the weekend at the Latitude festival. I don't like festivals, I've discovered. There's nothing fun about sleeping in a bag, walking in constant rain or watching 1500 people breaking Janeane Garofalo just by staring at her. Well, the last one was fun-ish but that's about it.
I've actually been away from my house since Wednesday. I went to a friend's wedding in York, a town that I've never been to before but, thanks to their "interesting" road system, have now visited 28 times. The wedding was fun and not without it's FUCKING HELL moments. I met a complete stranger who saw me getting booed off stage at a gig years ago and I spent an hour eavesdropping on the world's poshest fuckwit. He referred to food as "guys", said that he did what he did for a living because he wants to do what he wants to do and that's what he does, and when asked if he was ready he replied "No. I'm yellowy". Cunt.
The wedding was great, though. Very lovely people and York is a lovely looking town. I saw the most perfectly quaint, Dickensian looking porn shop and visited a public school with a very small garden that, by law, the head boy is allowed to graze a cow on. If you were allowed to do that, why wouldn't you?
Then it was off to Latitude so rain decided to get angry about everything and continue getting angry about it forever.
Why do people like festivals? They're awful. The weather is ALWAYS bad, everything costs too much and they're a Krypton Factor to get to. Firstly, the train was delayed. Then I had to queue up for my coach ticket from the train station because the ticket I had was only a ticket for a ticket not a ticket for the actual coach. Makes perfect sense. Then when I get there I realise that the free booze that will constantly be given to me any time I demand it was drunk by Johnny Candon the night before. Fuck it, I'll PAY for a drink like a fucking idiot. I mean, the drinks are only over-priced plus you have to pay £2 on top of the price of your drink so that you can rent the cup your drink is in. The festival claim that this will really help the environment. What a great excuse to rip us all off for lots of money. The fucking, fucking, FUCKING CUNTS. I still had two cups at the end of the festival but could I get my money back? NO. The festival was over and my money now belonged to the Latitude corporate fat cats. I then did what everyone at the festival did. Threw my cup away. The environment remains screwed.
Once I got my beer, after queuing up for a millennium, Johnny thoughtfully lummoxed into me and it spilled over my already wet clothes. I hate festivals.
£7 for a burger. £2 for a coke. £25 for a t-shirt. It's just not the peace and love thing that all music festivals make themselves out to be but, then, the people who go to festivals are all cunts so they deserve to be ripped off. Grown men in their 30's were playing with two sticks attached to string and spinning a cup in the air. Did they want to be beaten? Then there were people who actually wanted to paint their faces blue and voluntarily watch theatre in a tree that was surrounded by brightly painted sheep. This wasn't a dream. It really happened in real life right in front of me.
It was the families that mainly upset me. Firstly, families think they have have more right to space at a festival than the rest of us. They spread out a blanket and lie on it while you have to tip-toe round them to watch a tiny, tiny version of Thom Yorke who is on stage just three miles away from you. Plus, they seem to bring babies in prams to late night gigs so that they can ROCK together as a family. I know when I was a kid I'd much rather have that than have my parents make sure I was in bed and care about me and shit like that.
Was it all bad? Yes, but it did have it's moments. The gigs were good, especially late night Book Club plus I saw a lot of great acts. Grace Jones's 85 year old arse terrifying security is an image that will stay with me forever. Nick Cave, The Vaselines, Magazine, Pet Shop Boys and Jeffrey Lewis were all excellent and The Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra were just fantastic. Of course, the main talk (comedy-wise) was about Garofalo but to be honest it was just a bit boring. She came along, misjudged the gig, got off stage, ran to he dressing room and closed the door. It's a shame because I love her and was really looking forward to the gig. She went on stage and the first thing she talked about was Doctor Who. I thought "This is the greatest gig ever". Then, 12 seconds later, I thought "This is the worst gig ever". It was just weird that she made fun of David Caruso's acting as her opening gambit. It's not like she's tripping over her Oscars, is it? But she took it all really badly and sprinted to her dressing room to hide and, no doubt, phone her friend Sarah Silverman to warn her about British audiences. Bruce Dessau's review on Chortle offer's Ed Byrne's performance directly after Garofalo a whole sentence. Very generous. Ed was utterly superb in his slot and didn't just "fill time", he pretty much rock-solidly triumphed at a gig that looked to me to be pretty damned hard. If you were there I'm sure you'll agree it was an incredible piece of stand-up.
Pretty much the highlight of the festival and my life so far is being stopped by a very drunk John Simm to discuss the lack of merits of a band called The Gaslight Anthem. "They're not The Beatles", The Master wisely pointed out. But the big heroes of the festival for me were Waen Shepherd who's songs as by both Gary Le Strange and his Brian Wilson character (I'm an idiot and forget the name) were just sublime, and Robin Ince who is nothing short of a miracle. The Book Club tent was always rammed full anytime he was on and his reading of the Horrible Henry stories to a tent of a thousand screaming children is a sight to behold. Brilliant.
It was also good to see comedians terrified at Karaoke Circus. They had every right to be terrified. Singing is dead hard and remembering words, a tune and a key is practically impossible. Johnny and I shouted Come On, Eileen without remembering any of the words while other comedians went on looking like they had never heard of music before in their lives. Dave Gorman was visibly bricking it before singing Daydream Believer and his stage-dive was something that needed to be done. Not enough stage diving in karaoke. Not nearly enough.
So, that was that. My last ever festival. I'm glad I went despite the rain and Ben Goldacre but I'm not a festival or Ben Goldacre person really. Thanks to Robin Ince for inviting me and being brilliant and a lot of thanks to people who came to see King of Everything. You're very brave.
I haven't even mentioned how pointless Vivienne Westwood was or how I did a shit on another man's shit. So, that's tomorrow's blog sorted.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
I've actually been away from my house since Wednesday. I went to a friend's wedding in York, a town that I've never been to before but, thanks to their "interesting" road system, have now visited 28 times. The wedding was fun and not without it's FUCKING HELL moments. I met a complete stranger who saw me getting booed off stage at a gig years ago and I spent an hour eavesdropping on the world's poshest fuckwit. He referred to food as "guys", said that he did what he did for a living because he wants to do what he wants to do and that's what he does, and when asked if he was ready he replied "No. I'm yellowy". Cunt.
The wedding was great, though. Very lovely people and York is a lovely looking town. I saw the most perfectly quaint, Dickensian looking porn shop and visited a public school with a very small garden that, by law, the head boy is allowed to graze a cow on. If you were allowed to do that, why wouldn't you?
Then it was off to Latitude so rain decided to get angry about everything and continue getting angry about it forever.
Why do people like festivals? They're awful. The weather is ALWAYS bad, everything costs too much and they're a Krypton Factor to get to. Firstly, the train was delayed. Then I had to queue up for my coach ticket from the train station because the ticket I had was only a ticket for a ticket not a ticket for the actual coach. Makes perfect sense. Then when I get there I realise that the free booze that will constantly be given to me any time I demand it was drunk by Johnny Candon the night before. Fuck it, I'll PAY for a drink like a fucking idiot. I mean, the drinks are only over-priced plus you have to pay £2 on top of the price of your drink so that you can rent the cup your drink is in. The festival claim that this will really help the environment. What a great excuse to rip us all off for lots of money. The fucking, fucking, FUCKING CUNTS. I still had two cups at the end of the festival but could I get my money back? NO. The festival was over and my money now belonged to the Latitude corporate fat cats. I then did what everyone at the festival did. Threw my cup away. The environment remains screwed.
Once I got my beer, after queuing up for a millennium, Johnny thoughtfully lummoxed into me and it spilled over my already wet clothes. I hate festivals.
£7 for a burger. £2 for a coke. £25 for a t-shirt. It's just not the peace and love thing that all music festivals make themselves out to be but, then, the people who go to festivals are all cunts so they deserve to be ripped off. Grown men in their 30's were playing with two sticks attached to string and spinning a cup in the air. Did they want to be beaten? Then there were people who actually wanted to paint their faces blue and voluntarily watch theatre in a tree that was surrounded by brightly painted sheep. This wasn't a dream. It really happened in real life right in front of me.
It was the families that mainly upset me. Firstly, families think they have have more right to space at a festival than the rest of us. They spread out a blanket and lie on it while you have to tip-toe round them to watch a tiny, tiny version of Thom Yorke who is on stage just three miles away from you. Plus, they seem to bring babies in prams to late night gigs so that they can ROCK together as a family. I know when I was a kid I'd much rather have that than have my parents make sure I was in bed and care about me and shit like that.
Was it all bad? Yes, but it did have it's moments. The gigs were good, especially late night Book Club plus I saw a lot of great acts. Grace Jones's 85 year old arse terrifying security is an image that will stay with me forever. Nick Cave, The Vaselines, Magazine, Pet Shop Boys and Jeffrey Lewis were all excellent and The Mystery Fax Machine Orchestra were just fantastic. Of course, the main talk (comedy-wise) was about Garofalo but to be honest it was just a bit boring. She came along, misjudged the gig, got off stage, ran to he dressing room and closed the door. It's a shame because I love her and was really looking forward to the gig. She went on stage and the first thing she talked about was Doctor Who. I thought "This is the greatest gig ever". Then, 12 seconds later, I thought "This is the worst gig ever". It was just weird that she made fun of David Caruso's acting as her opening gambit. It's not like she's tripping over her Oscars, is it? But she took it all really badly and sprinted to her dressing room to hide and, no doubt, phone her friend Sarah Silverman to warn her about British audiences. Bruce Dessau's review on Chortle offer's Ed Byrne's performance directly after Garofalo a whole sentence. Very generous. Ed was utterly superb in his slot and didn't just "fill time", he pretty much rock-solidly triumphed at a gig that looked to me to be pretty damned hard. If you were there I'm sure you'll agree it was an incredible piece of stand-up.
Pretty much the highlight of the festival and my life so far is being stopped by a very drunk John Simm to discuss the lack of merits of a band called The Gaslight Anthem. "They're not The Beatles", The Master wisely pointed out. But the big heroes of the festival for me were Waen Shepherd who's songs as by both Gary Le Strange and his Brian Wilson character (I'm an idiot and forget the name) were just sublime, and Robin Ince who is nothing short of a miracle. The Book Club tent was always rammed full anytime he was on and his reading of the Horrible Henry stories to a tent of a thousand screaming children is a sight to behold. Brilliant.
It was also good to see comedians terrified at Karaoke Circus. They had every right to be terrified. Singing is dead hard and remembering words, a tune and a key is practically impossible. Johnny and I shouted Come On, Eileen without remembering any of the words while other comedians went on looking like they had never heard of music before in their lives. Dave Gorman was visibly bricking it before singing Daydream Believer and his stage-dive was something that needed to be done. Not enough stage diving in karaoke. Not nearly enough.
So, that was that. My last ever festival. I'm glad I went despite the rain and Ben Goldacre but I'm not a festival or Ben Goldacre person really. Thanks to Robin Ince for inviting me and being brilliant and a lot of thanks to people who came to see King of Everything. You're very brave.
I haven't even mentioned how pointless Vivienne Westwood was or how I did a shit on another man's shit. So, that's tomorrow's blog sorted.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Fake.
I am nothing if not up to the minute when it comes to pop culture. My finger is always on the media pulse at all times. That's why I got to see the Katie Price/Piers Morgan a full four days after everyone else. I hadn't even heard of it's existence until tuesday. Don't get me wrong, it's not really the sort of thing I would have the slightest interest in but you would thing that something with that magnitude of trivia would be all over the newspapers. It was and somehow I missed it. Maybe the pointless can be filtered out or maybe, like Katie Price herself, I "don't read all the papers".
That was the level of reveal in this interview between a cunt and a cunt. Who would have thought that that this IQ-free, talking fuck-hole occassionally passed on The Guardian? Her big drawing of a face just sat there throughout the hour and a half of utter bordom spouting shit about how she was in love with her Pete and now, five fucking minutes later, she isn't. THAT for a fucking hour and a half. With that dump of dirty washing Morgan nodding and occassionally saying really controversial things like "Well, Kate, you were wearing a bra and an arrow pointing to your minge at a christening, maybe Pete was upset?". Never once did he ask the important questions like "Are you embarrassed ever?", "Why do you do this, seriously?" and "You're rich, why don't you just fuck off?"
This is all very trivial. Of course it is. It's supposed to be. She is trivial. Something to do when we're bored. But then, all of a sudden, the interview turned to something horrible. During a trip to America Katie Price had a miscarriage and is deeply feeling the loss of this as well as the breakdown of her marriage. So much so that she started crying during the interview. I am relieved that her new tear-ducts work but really is this the kind of thing that a sane person uses as an exclusive on TV so soon after it happened? Isn't selling the loss of your child just, I don't know, a bit fucking immoral? That doesn't really upset me as much as the cunt of a TV channel who think that it's fine to buy that and stick it on telly to gloat at how the other half suffer. If you don't count Horne & Corden, I rarely get offended but that is just plain sick. Remember when the nation became appalled at that blonde forgettable idiot selling her wedding for a Flake? She seems pretty decent all of a sudden.
Not that it matters but how is she supposed to come out of this looking good? Her next move has to be to get married again. Really quickly. To someone all those messes like just as much as they like her. She needs to marry Kerry Katona or Primark or something. It's not going to be easy for Katie Price but she needs something big to stay on top. Jade was so lucky, eh?
I'm in York right now. I'm about to go to my friend Ronie's wedding. Should be a very romantic, lovely piss-up. Then it's off to Latitude on Friday were King of Everything will be performing as part of Robin Ince's Book Club. Come and see us.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
That was the level of reveal in this interview between a cunt and a cunt. Who would have thought that that this IQ-free, talking fuck-hole occassionally passed on The Guardian? Her big drawing of a face just sat there throughout the hour and a half of utter bordom spouting shit about how she was in love with her Pete and now, five fucking minutes later, she isn't. THAT for a fucking hour and a half. With that dump of dirty washing Morgan nodding and occassionally saying really controversial things like "Well, Kate, you were wearing a bra and an arrow pointing to your minge at a christening, maybe Pete was upset?". Never once did he ask the important questions like "Are you embarrassed ever?", "Why do you do this, seriously?" and "You're rich, why don't you just fuck off?"
This is all very trivial. Of course it is. It's supposed to be. She is trivial. Something to do when we're bored. But then, all of a sudden, the interview turned to something horrible. During a trip to America Katie Price had a miscarriage and is deeply feeling the loss of this as well as the breakdown of her marriage. So much so that she started crying during the interview. I am relieved that her new tear-ducts work but really is this the kind of thing that a sane person uses as an exclusive on TV so soon after it happened? Isn't selling the loss of your child just, I don't know, a bit fucking immoral? That doesn't really upset me as much as the cunt of a TV channel who think that it's fine to buy that and stick it on telly to gloat at how the other half suffer. If you don't count Horne & Corden, I rarely get offended but that is just plain sick. Remember when the nation became appalled at that blonde forgettable idiot selling her wedding for a Flake? She seems pretty decent all of a sudden.
Not that it matters but how is she supposed to come out of this looking good? Her next move has to be to get married again. Really quickly. To someone all those messes like just as much as they like her. She needs to marry Kerry Katona or Primark or something. It's not going to be easy for Katie Price but she needs something big to stay on top. Jade was so lucky, eh?
I'm in York right now. I'm about to go to my friend Ronie's wedding. Should be a very romantic, lovely piss-up. Then it's off to Latitude on Friday were King of Everything will be performing as part of Robin Ince's Book Club. Come and see us.
www.twitter.com/michaellegge
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