Rob Rouse, Chorley Little Theatre, 10 November 2012

Being related to a comedian can't be easy.  Les Dawson's mother-in-law was the butt of many of his jokes, and stand ups who use observational material will inevitably be drawn to the people around them as subjects.

It seems doubtful that Mrs Rob Rouse realised that her bladder and bowel movements were going to feature quite so prominently in his act when she first started dating the comedian, who was visiting Chorley Little Theatre on his 'Life Sentences' tour.  Not that Mrs Rouse is the only member of the household whose toilet habits get a mention since the bowel movements of Rouse, his children and one of their friends all get discussed.

Chorley Little Theatre was barely half full for this exploration of the Rouse family's bodily functions, but those audience members who came wrapped in their coats to brave the slightly chilly temperature were soon warmed by the laughter Rouse generated.

After an introductory joke about Saturday evenings being a comedian's Monday morning and how it was important not to dive straight into work in case you make a mistake such as 'Chorley police tasering a blind man with a white stick', Rouse turned to his main themes for the evening.

One was his four year old son, who features heavily in Rouse's act, whether it's the tale of him appearing at his father's bedside at 5.30am to begin the endless stream of questions that a growing young mind needs answering or bursting into the lavatory with his potty to share an intimate moment with Dad and let the postman see the two of them having a bowel movement.

Rouse's at the time unborn daughter also features, with the effect of her her penchant for poking his heavily pregnant wife's bladder acted out on stage.  Her birth at home is also described in graphic detail, and one hopes that Mrs Rouse was given the opportunity to vet the material before her husband performed it to a wider audience.

Life as a parent is acutely observed, with his son's testing of his father's patience by prodding a lump of cheese with his finger bringing flashbacks for anyone who has raised a toddler.

A member of the audience was invited to drink a cup of tea that may have been made with Rouse's wife's breast milk ('but to tell you the truth I really can't remember') and sportingly took up the challenge, while the audience's reaction to the idea was 'milked' for all that it was worth.

Rouse is witty, filthy and thoroughly engaging as a comedian but definitely not for the under 16s, and you probably wouldn't want to be sat next to your gran at a Rob Rouse show either.  He wasn't fazed by the sparse audience and created an intimate atmosphere with his warm manner and enthusiastic way in which he threw himself around.  (For a 'stand up', he spent quite a proportion of his act on the floor.

The Chorley gig was filmed for a DVD and audience members present on the night have been promised a free copy.  When they drop through the letterbox it'll be a chance to show their comedy loving friends who decided to give the show a miss that this genuinely funny man deserves a bigger audience.  And a chance for Mrs Rouse to consider whether she wants her husband in the delivery room if she chooses to have another baby.

Rolling Stones - Crossfire Hurricane

Crossfire Hurricane
Director:  Brett Morgen
Cert 15

Crossfire Hurricane, the new documentary about the Rolling Stones, premiered at 300 cinemas worldwide including The Odeon, Preston.

It is difficult to find something new to say about a band which has probably featured in more books, magazine articles and TV programmes than any other.  But director Brett Morgen has managed it in this fasicinating trawl through the vaults of TV stations across the world.

Culled from TV and cinema footage, much of which is previously unseen or unshown since it was first broadcast, the film is both a treasure trove for hardened Stones followers and an education in the band’s history for the uninitiated.

The heavy bias towards the 1960s reveals the chaos of the early days of the Stones, when the band strummed Popeye The Sailor Man because the girls at their concerts screamed so loudly that the audience could not hear a note that was being played.  So too are the darker days of the group, including their descent into serious drug abuse in the late 1960s, with the death of guitarist and founder member Brian Jones touchingly remembered.

The horror of the Altamont concert, when an audience member was stabbed to death by the Hells Angels hired by the band to provide security at the gig, and guitarist Keith Richards' arrest for heroin possession by the Canadian police in 1976, are also examined in detail, giving a warts'n'all picture of the self styled greatest rock'n'roll band in the world.

The current day opinions of the band are voiced over the soundtrack, interspersed with the more youthful images of Mick Jagger, Keith Richards et al, and only at the very end - with an outtake from Martin Scorcese’s Shine A Light which featured the band in concert in 2008 - do we get to see the wrinkled old rockers in anything like their present state.

What carries the film along is the music, from Route 66 by way of I Can't Get No Satisfaction and Honky Tonk Women through to Miss You, with contemporary footage of the band performing numbers on TV shows that in some cases has not seen the light of day in more than 40 years.

Crossfire Hurricane will be available on DVD before Christmas.  Stones fans unable to make it to view the film on the big screen should start writing that letter to Santa now.

Greg Davies, Chorley Little Theatre, 6th October 2012

Greg Davies is a big man, as he was happy to admit to a packed Chorley Little Theatre when his The Back Of My Mum's Head show rolled into town.  Describing his body shape as resembling that carved by a four year old from a big piece of ham, he confided to the audience that the waistband in his underpants had snapped before he came on stage and that, whilst we might not witness the event, his underpants might fall down inside his jeans at some point in the evening.  Being so large had a number of other drawbacks, including the fact that he'd destroyed two toilets at home in one day.

Having shared his wardrobe malfunction secret, and engagingly got the audience on his side, this former teacher (perhaps best known for playing the teacher Mr Gilbert in The Inbetweeners) revealed his agenda for the evening, helpfully set out on a flip chart.  Davies did not go so far as to tell the crowd when they should laugh but such information would anyway have been superfluous, as they were laughing from start to finish.

The show was a well paced mix of story telling and audience interaction, with Davies' observational comedy taking random incidents in his life and weaving a narrative from them, such as the east London taxi driver who called Davies 'Big Bird' on picking up his fare and, having riled his passenger from the off, then got into an argument with him about what the ingredients of a pie are.  'It's pie, isn't it?'

Davies' top five involuntary noises, with the Pick of the Pops theme tune helpfully hummed by the audience, included a reference to a friend caught spying on his sunbathing neighbour by his monster of a wife.  Davies disguised 'Darren's' real identity to spare his embarrassment only to accidentally blurt out his real name, which is now known only to Davies and 250 theatregoers and staff.  Apart from the laugh it got, the mistake was ironic since Davies' theme was how adults need to censor what they're thinking in a way that children don't.

Davies' parents feature in much of his material, with his mother's concern about Davies being bitten by a fish whilst he was up a mountain so baffling to him that he produced a script so that the audience could help him act out the telephone conversation he had with her and his father.  His mother's 'it's not normal' refrain was reflected back by Davies to highlight how everyone says or thinks things that perhaps they shouldn't.  His friend Nicky's confession at a university Truth and Dare party that he'd fondled his sleeping grandmother's breasts was one example, whilst the hospital consultant asking Davies if there was going to be another series of The Inbetweeners whilst performing a cystoscopy on him was another.

Davies tells a story with a suitably conspiratorial air.  His family's camper van being followed through the American countryside at night with his parents terrified they are about to be killed only for Davies' then 12 year old sister to save the day by hanging out of the back door waving a plastic machine gun to scare their pursuers away has everyone on the edge of their seats, intrigued and amused.

The show concluded with the audience joining Davies on his guitar singing a song about a bonsai tree called 'I wish I was a bonsai tree'.  Music and comedy does not always work, but as a means of concluding a very funny set Davies succeeded in creating the sense of a camp fire singalong and making the audience feel they had been part of something special.

Davies' support was Ed Petrie, better known to younger readers as a presenter on BBC children's television shows.  Petrie suggested he had been asked rather at the last minute to accompany Davies on the tour, a statement which was supported by a short and slightly stumbling set that concluded in him forgetting his last joke.  The Chorley audience gave him a sympathetic hearing but the belly laughs were reserved for Davies.

Dexy's, Bridgewater Hall, Manchester, Friday 21st September 2012

A Dexy’s concert attracts an interesting mixture of mainly older audience goers, reflecting the fact that the band that was once Dexy’s Midnight Runners were big in the 1980s.  Dexy’s have been through innumerable line up changes (Wikipedia lists 30 current or past band members) but at its heart is Kevin Rowland, backed by whichever set of musicians he has enlisted to provide the silky texture to underscore one of Britain's finest vocalists.

Rowland is a tortured musical genius who over the years has enjoyed a difficult relationship with critics, fellow band members and his wardrobe.  In response, he attracts a small but devout following that includes middle aged soul boys wearing flat caps, turned up jeans and leather soled shoes.

The show starts with new album One Day I’m Going To Soar.  Played in its entirety, it does not make things easy for the non believer.  Audiences wanting the greatest hits do not always appreciate having to sit through unfamiliar concept albums, as bands going back to The Who playing Tommy in the 1960s have found, and One Day is not a comfortable first listen.  With its spoken word sections and confessional tone, the album is far from uplifting material.  As Rowland says in new song It’s Okay John Joe ‘I don’t show much of myself in life, but in my music I tend to put it all in.’

Things are not helped by the vocal being slightly muffled in parts and a reverential atmosphere descends.  There is little attempt to build a rapport with the audience and conversation is restricted to a few thank yous, reflecting Rowland’s shyness.  But there are strong songs on the new album, and if there was any justice in the world the single She Got A Wiggle would be blaring out of radios everywhere.

The lack of audience interaction continues once the new album is dispensed with, with one of the band appearing dressed as a 1950s police sergeant for inter song banter with Rowland.  It’s a pre rehearsed device that could have been insensitive in the light of the shooting of the two Manchester police officers but as a means of setting up This Is What She’s Like and Tell Me When My Light Turns Green it works, with the latter number proving to be the highlight of the show.

Rowland finally plays one of his trio of instantly recognisable hits with world wide chart topper Eileen.  Sadly fellow number one single Geno, the eminently singalongable Jackie Wilson Said and other songs that got radio play in the band’s heyday do not get an airing.

Despite this, by the end most of the audience is on its feet, waving hands in the air and dancing in their seats.  The faithful have been rewarded.  With less emphasis on the new album and a better selection of songs from a strong back catalogue, the non believers might have been dancing from earlier on in the show too.

Danny Bhoy, Chorley Little Theatre, 23 September 2012

Some stand ups limber up for a gig by baiting the audience members in the front rows. Danny Bhoy eschews this approach for his Dear Epson show. Shuffling onstage in unbuttoned check shirt and jeans, and looking for all the world like a postgraduate student in a shared house who has got up late for breakfast, he initially comes across as a mild mannered kind of guy. But the sheaf of letters he has penned to various corporate giants, around which his show is constructed, reveals an angry inner Danny. He reads the letters whilst sat on a stool, giving an intimate and confessional air to the show.  And whilst his targets are mostly institutions everyone is familiar with, his reasons for attacking them are often personal. From BT To Oil of Olay, Danny has critical questions for them all, wanting to know why Epson printer ink costs as much drop for drop as vintage champagne and whether FIFA President Sepp Blatter took a bung when he awarded Qatar the 2022 World Cup. As a Scot, he's particularly perturbed by the latter. 'Knowing my luck, that's the only World Cup we'll qualify for in my lifetime.  The one you can't drink at.' Candle manufacturers Molton Brown get a letter asking how they can justify charging £36.50 for marketing a candle that is meant to conjure up a forest on the edge of midnight but which to Bhoy smells like wet grass.  His missive to British Airways, twelve years after their failure to let him reschedule a flight back from New York without having to pay for a new ticket, is a reflection on how a TransAtlantic love affair fizzled out.  He also reveals something of the young Danny, cutting pictures of New York out of brochures collected from the local travel agent to paste on his bedroom wall. The letters are an opportunity to lay some ghosts to rest.  Mr Dowel, the school woodwork teacher who never had the comic possibilities of his name exploited at the time, gets a letter. Rather satisfyingly, Bhoy tells him that whilst IKEA has rendered redundant what he learnt about joinery, he did get somewhere as a result of joking around in class. The show was well paced, and appreciated by the audience.  That it was a work in progress is evidenced by the fact that Bhoy had an idea on stage as to how his letter to Ticketmaster could be improved. 'Write that down, somebody.'  In the interests of furthering his comedy genius and without revealing the gag - Captcha, Danny, Captcha. The show concludes with a touching letter of advice from Bhoy to his 13 year old self. This final letter encapsulates the thoughful and thought provoking nature of a well written, beautifully executed and very funny show.

Is It Worth It? Radio 2 Documentary, 25 June 2012

Is it worth it?, the Radio 2 documentary about Clive Langer and Elvis Costello's glorious song Shipbuilding, had the feel of a programme idea both conceived and recorded down the pub.  Presenter Annie Nightingale sounds slightly the worse for wear throughout, and the show switched clumsily between discussing the song and talking about the Falklands conflict without ever really knitting Shipbuilding into the fabric of the times in the way that the producers presumably intended.

From the outset, it felt like they had an hour to fill and too little interview material to fill it, with Costello, Langer and Robert Wyatt, who recorded the first version of Shipbuilding, speaking eloquently but not at great length about the song's genesis.

After talking about how the song was first written and then offered to Robert Wyatt, the show is suddenly filled with reminiscences from Falklands veterans spliced with snippets of news broadcasts from the time - interesting stuff but not tied into people's awareness of the song.  Half an hour passes by before it tacks back into musical territory with Costello explaining how he signed up jazz trumpeter Chet Baker to play on his own version of the song and had to negotiate upwards Baker's fee for recording the session.

The documentary is worth hearing just for the chance to listen to Hue and Cry's tortuous version of Shipbuilding.  Had they rather than Wyatt been offered the song by Costello and Clive Langer, the likelihood is that it would not have become so revered and the subject of a Radio 2 documentary thirty years later.

Although worth a listen on iPlayer for Costello's reminiscences, this hour long documentary needed serious editing to get it down to 30 minutes.  Radio 4 does this kind of thing so much better.

Morrissey, Manchester Arena, 28 July 2012

When they erect statues to the heroes of modern Manchester, Sir Alex Ferguson is probably guaranteed a place in the pantheon and so, if results continue to go their way, is Manchester City's manager Roberto Mancini.  A spot is possibly also reserved for Morrissey, who carries the flame for his home city around the globe.  But whilst there may be 'no place like Hulme', he archly informed the audience at the Manchester arena that whilst he had recently been given the keys to the city of Tel Aviv, no such honour had yet been forthcoming from the good burghers of Manchester.

It may be that heroic status will be denied Morrissey because of his apparent willingness to grasp the  nettle of controversy whenever the opportunity arises.  His drummer's bass drums sported the Israeli national flag despite the mixed feelings some fans may have about him touring there.  If that were not provocative enough, the band were sporting 'We Hate William and Kate' t-shirts and the singer acerbically remarked that he hoped his audience had survived the 'moronic Diamond Jubilee'.

His audience of devotees lapped it up.  If Morrissey was not complaining about something, then that would suggest that their hero was not well.  As it was, he seemed to be in fine form, launching into You Have Killed Me and Every Day Is Like Sunday before moving on to I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris and Ouija Board, Oiuja Board.

If anything, the band were too muscular, with plenty of mid set guitar histrionics wailing over material that was unfamiliar and bludgeoning the crowd into submission.  The audience wanted to singalongaMoz but this was a request the self styled most curmudgeonly man in rock seemed disinclined to indulge.  For much of the middle of the set he belted out less well known songs, making for a leaden twenty minutes or so, whilst the big screen video on factory farming that accompanied Meat Is Murder did nothing to lighten the mood.

But finally Morrissey relented and opened his box of magic tricks. The fairy dust that he can sprinkle over any performance is, of course, selections from the Smiths' back catalogue.  After years of denial, these songs have increasingly featured in his concerts in recent years and the first to be unveiled was a pulsating How Soon Is Now, which ended on a throbbing synthesizer riff, to be followed later on by Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me before the show concluded with the massed choirs of the arena belting out the words to Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want and an encore of a vibrant Still Ill.

His legions of adoring fans will continue to follow him, but if Morrissey wants to attract gig goers other than those who merely wish to worship at his shrine, he needs to polish up that set list.