There's more than one way to be gay

A GAY CROWD?

adjective (dated) light-hearted and carefree (dated) brightly coloured; showy

The dictionary says dated, but after yesterday I'm not so sure.  Of course the more familiar modern usage of the word is

(of a person, especially a man) homosexual

and that certainly applied at the event I’m discussing here.  But if I take with me anything from the assembly I joined, then light hearted and carefree would be right up there.

This was essentially a political demonstration, an act of solidarity and protest, an opportunity to stand up for human rights. It took place outside the Russian Consulate in Melville Street, Edinburgh, and like many other related events and articles around the world, was organised in response to the current, vicious crackdown on LGBT rights by the Russian government of Vladimir Putin.

Anyone who's read my recent blog entries will be aware that for much of the last three weeks I have given myself up wholeheartedly to the pursuit of pleasure at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.  Light hearted and carefree indeed.  As the end approaches on the coming bank holiday Monday I will have been to over fifty shows, events, gigs, whatever. So I haven't had a lot of time to follow news coverage.  But even living in this hedonistic bubble it's been impossible not to take heed of the regressively aggressive behaviour emanating from Moscow.  It makes even the disgusting Section 28 practices of the Thatcher era look mild by comparison.

Not that the battle in the UK can be regarded as over.  Blair might have repealed that evil legislation, but under the current Tories it appears to be making an appearance from under the carpet where it had been swept away.  Read this item from The Independent if you want to see what I mean.  No surprise there when you see the attacks being made on other groups in society.  Cameron's gay marriage legislation is the verdant tree line concealing the bitter swamp of Conservative homophobia, much as I'd already suspected.

So any fight for gay rights is part of an ongoing worldwide conflict.  If we stand by and ignore what takes place in Russia it may be taken as a sign that similar behaviour will receive passive assent in our own society.  Not only are increasingly repressive laws being implemented (see this piece from the Los Angeles Times for a flavour of what is taking place), but the rule of law itself is being assaulted. Russian police turn their backs whilst right wing thugs hand out beatings to gay activists.

Fronted by the wonderful comedian and activist Mark Thomas, yesterday's protest brought together around three hundred people to voice their opposition to what the Putin regime is doing/allowing, primarily through the medium of laughter.  Mr Thomas had assembled a cracking line-up of his fellow comics, including high profile names like Zoe Lyons and Stephen K Amos.  We laughed, we cheered, we mocked a man who strips to the waist, wrestles a bear and then acts like he hates gays....

It was certainly a disparate crowd, and the first time I've been able to tell my wife she can find me under the pirate flag being waved by the transvestite nuns.  I don't think that's a line I'll get to use too often (and this has now become her favourite ever text message).   There were, for obvious reasons, a high percentage of LGBT people making up the numbers, but there were plenty of us straights there too.  Gay Pride was mentioned, but what struck me most about this crowd was how much it also reflected those dated definitions I started this piece with.  Despite the very serious motives behind the gathering, and the genuine and rightful anger being expressed, this was one of the most carefree throngs I've ever been a part of.  Everyone smiled at everyone else, just happy to see the numbers who'd turned up to offer their support, whatever their motivation in doing so (and I'd confess that getting a chance to hear some great comedians for free was a strong incentive - I am Scottish after all).

Forget the Gay Pride tag - this was Human Pride (totally different to Mother's Pride, now that really is disgusting....). A recognition of the diversity of humanity and the importance of each individual being treated and valued equally and fairly. It might not have been seen to achieve much  in concrete political terms, although it really is the case that 'every little helps', but it was both one more small brick in a vast Lego puzzle and a very human marker of hope.  I doubt that one single person there today (and, judging from their expressions, that may well include many of the police who were there to make the event safe) will forget the message that they were a part of.  This is one event of Fringe 2013 that will stay with me for a long long time.

Young Bands, Old Fans

GREAT, WE'VE GOT NEW FANS.....OLD ONES

In the last two days we've seen two of our favourite bands, both of whom we only discovered in the last twelve months.  They might not be quite in the class of the mighty Lau (who is?), but both offer something different musically and are great live performers.  More to the point they are both acts who, having first heard them live, offer CDs which don't then disappoint.  This isn’t often the case with street acts (which one of these favourites most certainly are).  The live performance is exciting and attractive then the hard copy turns out to be flat and derivative.  That's happened a few times....

I can't recall which of them we saw first, as both were Festival discoveries last year.  Let's go with today's candidates initially, because they were in their proper form when first viewed.  That will make more sense when I move on to the second of my choices later!

There are a lot of musicians and bands busking in Edinburgh throughout the summer, but that number increases exponentially in August when the potential audiences are so much the greater.  It's said that around two million people pass through the city, which has a bit more than half a million inhabitants, during the festival month. And the vast majority of them are looking to be entertained, hoping to see something new, original, exciting.  The Spinning Blowfish meet all these criteria.

The line up of instruments isn't especially different.  You can see many similar.  There's a drummer, a guitarist, and a piper (Highland bagpipes, requiring a bit of puff rather than a strong elbow).  They play some traditional Scots tunes, plus a few of their own compositions, and there’s an EP for sale, five tracks for five pounds.  And their sets usually last around half an hour.  So far, so conventional.

So what marks them out?  There are two things that strike the observer immediately, and one more that becomes apparent when they introduce themselves.  Most immediate is the music itself, or, more specifically, the arrangements.  They are obviously highly competent musicians, but there is imagination at work here.  To be able to present 'Scotland the Brave', one of the most hackneyed tunes in the nation's 'popular' repertoire, in a manner that makes it sound fresh and interesting is some achievement.  Then there is the performance.  The guitarist and piper pogo in formation, spin around whilst playing.  They are obviously enjoying themselves and this communicates itself to their motley audience.  Once you start watching you have to stay.  And they get the crowd involved.  The patter is amusing, at times both corny and surreal, and gets all before them clapping along and cheering, attracting further observers.  This is a proper 'live' act.

The guitarist’s accent gives a hint of the other unusual aspect of this band.  They're from the three 'M's.  The drummer from Madrid.  Our amusing guitarist (and banjo player) from Milan.  And, completing the exotic line up, a piper from Musselburgh (a wee town on the north eastern edge of Edinburgh).  An international line up.  I'll enjoy them while I can and hope they get discovered soon.  They deserve so much more.

Our second discovery was even more accidental.  At last year's festival the bandstand in Princes Street Gardens was reactivated during the month to provide a showcase for local bands.  There were allsorts, from school choirs through to heavy metal via chamber quartets, pipe bands and folkies.  We checked it out as often as possible and found a couple of bands that caught our ears.  One was another bagpipe fronted ensemble, Pipedown.  The other more of a pop/rock outfit who had a lead singer we particularly liked.  They went by the excellent name of Flatpack Society.  On a couple of the occasions we saw them they opened up with a guest female vocalist who came from a band called Jules and the Blue Garnets.  She had a fabulous, truly wonderful, voice, but we only got to hear about four numbers from her.  Pity.

Earlier this year we went to a local folk club and enjoyed the support act.  One Jules and the Blue Garnets.  The same amazing voice accompanied by the lead guitarist and percussionist from Flatpack.  And they were great.  Original songs, clever arrangements, and that sensational voice.   (Maybe every bit as good as Emily Smith?)  After their set I went over to say how much I'd enjoyed the performance and bought their eight track CD.  Which has since had a fair bit of play in the Crawford household and we have learned to sing along (off key) with all the songs.

So when there was a chance to see them again yesterday we grabbed it enthusiastically.  It meant a trip along the coast to North Berwick, but as that's an old haunt of mine, with many memories, it was no hardship.  A lovely sunny day, the seaside and a Speigeltent.  The support band were competent and enjoyable.  Jules and co were superb, relaxed and confident, and the songs beautifully delivered.  This was home territory for them as they hail from the little holiday town, and they had a good audience, including several from Jules' family.  The performance was definitely worth the trip for us, with a high grin factor, and it was a shame we had to rush off afterwards to get to a Fringe gig back in the city.

It was seeing the aforementioned family members that brought back to mind a thought I've had several times in the past.  We love discovering new music, finding contemporary bands and musicians we enjoy to add to the list of those who've been going for decades.  But sometimes I wonder how the bands feel?  Is there a bit of good news/bad news going on?

Great, we've got a couple of new fans, people who obviously appreciate what we're doing and get a lot of pleasure from our work.  But.  They're probably older than our parents.  Not much street cred in that, is there?  How did we end up attracting oldies?

I hope not.  Whilst in no way wanting to make a comparison with the great man, I doubt many young bands were offended by interest from pensioner John Peel in his later years.  Good music is good music.  Are good fans just good fans, whatever their age?  The disparaging term 'political correctness' is much abused, but actually represents a steady pushing back of the boundaries of bigotry.  Racism, misogyny, homophobia etc, remain forces which need to be resisted, but the war against them is fighting from much higher ground than it did thirty years ago.  (Although sometimes Twitter suggests otherwise....)  But ageism remains a thing which has yet to gain the recognition of its fellows.  Perhaps because it's only something you can notice once you pass fifty or so?

So how do young bands view older fans?  They're polite of course, but what are they really thinking?  It's an odd situation to find yourself in, where you want to give your support and can't be sure how well it will be received.  But I'm an optimist.  They're musicians and all they see are music lovers.  I'll settle for that.

Fringing onwards and upwards

WE LAUGHED

So, how to approach three weeks at the Fringe on a tight budget and still have fun?  One part of the answer is, and I say this utterly shamefaced, to deploy some of the old project management skills.  Enjoying yourself can be a serious business.

We have a few events booked well in advance.  A couple of big names just so we're not totally missing out on the glamour of it all, and some interesting stuff we've not seen before. And if you take on the seen-on-TV faces early on there are two-for-one deals to be had. Then there's the BBC.  We entered the lottery for free tickets to a variety of radio broadcast and recording events and got lucky with four of them.  Put those two approaches together and we have a succession of fixed points spread across the month.

Now to fill in the gaps.  Of course there are a lot of street acts and you could spend hours taking in the entertainment they offer. If it stays dry.  But there are only so many fire-eating, unicycling jugglers one person can watch.  Believe me.  It doesn't take long for "Is that all you've got" syndrome to develop.  This is a world in which seeing a gorilla, two pandas, a Viking and a multi coloured train of Japanese drummers, all in the space of ten minutes, isn't even worthy of discussion. They’re just what you'll see.  And they'll all stuff fliers into your mitts.

There are always half price and two for one offers.  The former depends on your fondness for queuing, the latter on being sharp to what's hitting the internet.  Better to get on with enjoying yourself.  Then there are the Free Festivals.  Free to get in that is, pay what you think it's worth on the way out. These suffer from accusations of poor quality, may have very small audiences (with accompanying embarrassment factor for all concerned), and are stuck away in many tiny and obscure venues.  Which, if my memories of the seventies have any validity, is exactly what the Fringe is all about.  It's almost the whole point.  That you go to see something based on a brief description and a lot of hope and just see what happens. You'll see some s**t, some mediocre stuff, and a few performances of high quality and sometimes near-genius.  A bit like life really.  (I can't believe I just wrote that.)

So the last three days have seen a mix of these approaches. And bloody good it's been too. On Monday there was a Free Festival offering from Tricity Vogue. One woman, a ukelele, and eyelashes that threatened to lift marshmallows out of the hands of the back row of the audience.  Original songs based on her calamitous love life, complete with sexual shennanigans and bitterest venom directed at exes.  We laughed, we cringed, we drank alcohol.  We found an hour had passed and we had had a good time.  Which was kind of the point really.

Then one of those TV faces, albeit not for the hip crowd.  Unless contemplating hip replacement.  A decidedly middle aged audience watched the emphatically middle aged Jenny Eclair.  Fart gags and a whole lot more.  The perils of middle agedom for women covering the full range of sagging, aching and unwanted pissing.  It was hilarious throughout and Ms Eclair demonstrated surprising mobility for one with knees like those she insisted on displaying to us, her paying public.  Go see her, even if you're not a MAW.  I'm not, and yet I knew all the signs.  No comments required thank you.

Want hip?  Want a TV face?  We did Ed Byrne last night.  Actually he's a forty one year old, happily married father of two.  But he is on the telly and, unlike some similar I've seen in the past, didn't disappoint.  He reckons that now he's supposed to be a respectable family man he keeps being overcome with the urge to act like the dick he was in his teens and early twenties.  And, since that offers a pretty good source of comic material, he does.  So we heard about his incessant need to play air guitar (and drums, and sax, and.... you get the idea) despite it's high irritation factor for his wife.  And his intolerance of people he knows he's never going to like and can't be bothered being polite to.  There were some decent rants.  Politicians received some ire, with the best diatribe of the evening was reserved, deservedly, for the odious and oleaginous Gideon.  When he digressed to the Olympics I'm surprised he left out the greatest highlight of that triumph - 80,000 people spontaneously booing the obnoxious Osborne.  So I'll mention it for him.  But Ed did a great job of keeping a big audience on his side and if you get the chance to see him then take it.

Today was all about Free Festival gigs for us so you'd expect it would fail to burn laid in the shadow of Mr Byrne strutting his stuff.  Not so, this was about as diverting a day as I could wish for. Three shows, all unlike not only each other but so much else that's around.  First up was Gusset Grippers, a comedy lecture on how to stave off incontinence using pelvic floor exercises.  Yes, you did read that right.  It featured real science, a model of a pelvis, sex toys and a knitted vagina with a Swarovski clitoris.  And, believe it or not, genuinely useful health advice, for men too.  Since it turns out that following the proffered tips can not only prevent you pishing yourself but also improve your sex life (although I'd have thought the latter would automatically follow on from the former?) this show should really be selling itself.  I think I'm not risking much to say that there probably isn't another show like it this year....

10 Films With My Dad was another step into the unknown.  I'd never heard of Aidan Goatley, but I do want to see him again.  With a mix of audiovisual and stand-up material (plus, on screen, the cutest, smartest dog since The Artist, especially when equipped with a shark's fin) Mr G outlined the way his relationship with his father was largely determined by shared visits to the cinema. Funny, sad, touching and, best of all, often genuinely stupid. He's got a great way of interacting with his audience and I am now a fan.

Finally, a Free Festival TV Face. In disguise. Porky the Poet, aka Phil Jupitus. Fat, scruffy bugger. Fat, funny bugger, with some decent poems and a fine delivering voice. All for fun. Shared with two lovely Welsh ladies who both had an amazing way with words and some pointed observations on the world, especially the beauty "industry". Might go back another time.

On to a bus heading home. Only to catch a glimpse of street-band Spinning Blowfish, a favourite of ours since we saw them last year.  Who could resist a bagpiper who plays whilst pogoing?  Or an international line-up from Madrid, Milan and, em, Musselburgh? We dismounted, caught the last half of their set, and rebussed ourselves. Happy homecoming.

Only nineteen days to go.

Entertain me please

AND SO IT BEGINS

If you've never been to Edinburgh, indeed if you've never been in the Athens of the North during Festival time, then the following isn't going to mean a lot to you so I'd turn over to another channel immediately.  There must be something better on than this rubbish.

We arrived after midnight so today is most certainly the first of our Fringe 2013.  There is much more to come.  It was planned as a day of rest after the journey and our first pre-booked tickets are for tomorrow and the queen of middle aged comedy, Jenny Eclaire.  But it would seem churlish not to venture up into the city for a brief visit and check out the atmosphere.  So I walked up the hill whilst Barbara took the bus.

Which immediately makes me sound antisocial.  Nonsense.  I'm just mean.  If I walk it saves £1.50 (hey, we're pensioners....) and I can pretend I'm getting fit.  Anyway, she had important things to do while I was ready to leave (fried egg sandwiches rate high in importance in our household).  

So we met up at the Lothian Buses office of Waverley Bridge.  Yes, I know this sounds just like a scene from Casablanca, but there was practical motive for this romantic assignation.  Bus passes.  I think Byron once wrote some lines on the subject.

And so we made our lovers' tryst and had our photos taken for our ridacards (I now think I may have been mistaken about Byron - perhaps it was James Blunt?).  The Fringe is all about merriment, entertainment and the search for meaning in life.  You may wonder how two bus passes can encompass such noble goals, but the depths were indeed plumbed.  You know those Greek masks reflecting comedy and tragedy?  That's our photo ids.  I daren't say any more, but I'm the comedy one.

And so up to the hub of Fringe life, the High Street, where if you aren't a performer you wonder how you there was space for you to be there.  And, on cue, my first sighting of the ubiquitous fire-eating, unicyling juggler.  In Edinburgh, in August?  Yawns all round.

There was also a purpose to this journey and a visit to the main Fringe office produced a three foot run of tickets, a lizard tail of artists and venues to occupy our time in coming days.  But that was but a brief interlude in circumnavigating the hordes.  Along the way was a helmeted man with a dinosaur tail; a Japanese troupe of musicians dressed from a fire sale in TK Maxx; an American guitarist who appeared to have at least sixteen fingers; a country music fiddler/one man band with the controls of his drum gaffer taped to his right foot; and a kilted gent propelled by a furious zimmer frame.  A fairly typical sample of Fringe fare really.  So far so normal.

But there was a shock.  I went from Cockburn Street to George IV Bridge (Google it if you've no idea what I'm on about), passed countless acts, and not one flier was thrust into my mitts.  Not one.  Que?

It will change.  There is an early days atmosphere, a sense of youthful optimism and no hint of the stench of failure.  None of the many performers present have yet suffered ten nights of single figure audiences.  Yet. Their dreams remain intact.  There is hope and enthusiasm in abundance, they are friendly and accommodating, they are looking at a glorious run ahead of them as word of their triumph ("triumph") spreads like botulism though the masses.  How times will change.

I await the coming day, not so far off now, when those same faces will approach me with a manic hint of desperation, a desire to please, debilitate, and kidnap combined in a sly glance, the need to relieve themselves of those tiny bits of paper and cardboard that define their future.  There's no better time to be a potential audience member....

We did take in a show.  We had to make a start somewhere and there was something in the Free Festival starting in less than ten minutes.

Forget the cynicism.  There is no substitute for live entertainment, even if not of the highest quality.  We so easily become blasé about the way in which we interact with performers when they are delivered to us through a glass screen.  But these are real human beings, doing their best to present themselves, through comedy, music, drama or whatever medium, to the people who have come to watch.  This is real communication, none of that electronic nonsense.

So we found ourselves watching Pam Ford in a show called Happy In My Skin.  And it was OK.  Not brilliant, not awful, but good enough to make me feel I'm glad we made the effort to go.   It was, by and large, about her life, and how various people along the way had made her feel bad about the person she appeared to be.  So there was a moral of sorts.  Value yourself for the good bits of who you are, not for how other people see you.  (I'm old enough, indeed a lot older than Pam, to have figured that one out some time ago, but it's good to seeing others do so and spread the word.)  There were laughs.  She was likeable.  We had fun.  And that's enough.  It doesn't have to be constantly hilarious, or philosophically earth shattering.  It just needs to be human to human contact, a rare enough thing at times.  That's what we're here for.  And that was a good beginning.

(If you are coming to the Fringe Pam's on at Espionage and is worth an hour of your time.)

Only three weeks to go....