Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

A play by Colin Smith

On Saturday 25 September we were lucky enough to be in Oldham, just north of Manchester for the last night of a sold out run of Colin Smith's play "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now".

Let me tell you a little about Colin. He's by far the funniest person I've ever had the pleasure to know.
His wit is absolutely razor-sharp. He's one of those people who seems to effortlessly come out with the type of things that you usually find yourself on the way home saying "Aaargh, if only I'd said xxxxxx, it would have been so funny!" He's a master of accents too, switching from one to another pretty convincingly. He's also a bloody nice bloke and a good friend. An all-round good egg, one might say.

So - Colin wrote this play and The Lyceum in Oldham decided to put it on. Smart move. It was sold out every single night of the run, and on the night we were there, the entire audience seemed to have a great time.

Knowing Colin, I knew this play would be good. What I wasn't really prepared for though, was just HOW good it is. I laughed till I cried and my face ached. It's not all cheap gags. The humour is in equal parts intelligent, witty, risque, borderline offensive (just how I like it) and there's the odd cheap gag thrown in too. The whole cast were brilliant.

I was totally blown away by it and literally rendered speechless once it was over. I even cried a little.

The gist of the story is, this bloke wakes up dead, though he doesn't know it, and he's escorted to the afterlife by a scantily-clad "collector" where he has to endure a series of ridiculous (and hilarious) interviews in order to convince him he's dead and assess his life on earth.
He then has to decide which of his 3 dead wives he wants to spend eternity with. While he's fretting over this big decision he's put into temporary accommodation, sharing a flat with Jesus of Nazareth and Adolf Hitler (best comedy duo EVER). It was almost TOO funny at points. It was so funny it hurt!

The Collector (way better looking than The Grim Reaper!)

Comedy genius!

"Directly or indirectly, how many insect deaths have you been responsible for?"

Nice touch - Jesus reading 'Woodworker' magazine.

Special mention to camp Hitler and his fantastic facial expressions.

I don't even want to give away the ending, as I'm pretty convinced that if there's ANY justice in the world, this play will be picked up and will some day soon be playing in a theatre near you. When it is, do yourself a favour, go and see it. I defy anyone to not enjoy the hell out of this.

Messed up

It's 2.30am. I've been awake since 2am. I was asleep, but my dreams were so messed up that I awoke clawing at my face, so I decided to force myself to be awake for a while, for a much needed reality check.

I always say I should write down my dreams before I forget them. They're already starting to fade, so what follows is probably going to be as weird and disjointed as the thing that woke me in the first place.

I'm at a festival. Barefoot, walking around the edge of 2 stages. Cables everywhere. There is some kind of acrobatic troupe with people strapped into robot shaped cages, being strung onto a long wire that's pulled them high into the air. I'm trying to get a picture of them with my phone because they look like transformers, but they're moving too fast and it annoys me.

I don't like the music on offer, somehow I end up in a dirty house with 2 Mexican DJs. They're playing some good music and seem nice enough (in a slightly scary way). We're drunk. It's going ok until I'm sitting between them and one of them suggests I take my top off. I'm suddenly aware of my personal space and just how much it's been invaded. I'm terrified they're going to rape me, and I get angry and shout at them, trying to force them to respect me as a person, as a human being. They're laughing at me. They have a very low opinion of women.
Someone knocks on the door. Why are they knocking? Do they know what these guys had planned all along and know not to disturb them? I shudder at the thought. He makes the excuse that he often wanks himself off on that sofa, so people knock. I don't know what to believe. I'm angry and scared, so I run. Back through the festival - suddenly the transformer robot caged people are really scary.

Suddenly I'm in an ultra-modern white house, with floor to ceiling net curtains blowing in the breeze and the first light of dawn cast pink across the walls. I'm creeping quietly but quickly through the house because I need to know how long it'll take me to get in there, kill the woman who is sleeping peacefully in a vast white bed, get out and get back (to wherever I came from) and keep my alibi intact. As I go through the last door in the long corridor she wakes up. Did she see me? Could she identify me? Should I just kill her now or risk coming back to do it at the time I planned?

Another sudden change. There's things crawling on me - on my face. Get them off! I wake up clawing at my face convinced there's something there.
At that point, I decided to be awake for a while. It's less traumatic.

Robin Guthrie at ICA, London - 19 September 2010

It's not that often that I feel moved to blog about a gig I go to, but this one left me feeling so gushy that I need an outlet.
Early Sunday evening is a good time to be in London. We tubed it from Kentish Town to Charing Cross then wandered leisurely past the tourists taking pictures of each other on Trafalgar Square (taking care to protect our belongings from the pick-pockets), through Admiralty Arch and onto The Mall. Pretty fancy surroundings for a venue, what with Queenie being just up the road...

The ICA is one of those venues that I've heard about for years and years, but never been to until now. It's a very nice arts centre, with art on the walls and a bookshop, as you walk in. The super friendly staff don't make you feel like a scumbag (for a change). We mooched around in the bar for a while and had a nice cup of filter coffee - for only £1.50, which is unheard of in central London, before being politely ushered into the venue.
Nice small/medium venue with pretty good sound, a decent sized stage (with no barriers) and lots of lights. So far so good.

First on were a band that a friend had TOLD me I needed to get there early to see - Daniel Land & The Modern Painters. I'm glad she did. Thoroughly enjoyed their set. Nice wooshy guitars, good songs. I'd definitely recommend them and go to see them again. Thanks for the tip Cath!

Next up were Heligoland. I've seen them before and sadly, this 2nd experience didn't change my opinion. They make great sounds, but (with a couple of exceptions) the songs aren't quite 'there'. Worthy of a mention though is their drummer. Absolutely fascinating to watch. He's so into what he's doing.

Down to the real reason we're all here, sweating our arses off on this exceptionally warm night.
Talking of which...
We've always been weirdo magnets. I don't know why, but they seem to gravitate towards us.
We're chilling out, waiting for Robin Guthrie to come on and this bloke wanders drunkenly up to us and says "What are we all doing here?" The only reply I could think of was "Ummm, we're here to see Robin Guthrie play."
"Yeah, but how did we all end up here? What's it all about? Who is he?"
Oh Jeez...
We humoured him for a few minutes, then kind of ignored him. He eventually wandered away.

After a short wait, a middle-aged man in a green jumper and dark glasses wandered onto the stage. There was no fanfare, no introductions, no applause - he was just 'there' and he was Robin Guthrie. This is the man who was responsible for the glory that is the Cocteau Twins sound and he looks like he's just popped in on his way back from B&Q. If you walked past him buying wallpaper, you wouldn't give him a second glance. I kind of like that. The only recognisable thing about him is those earrings. The epitomy of understated, he has no microphone, so his conversation was limited to the few people at the front who could hear him. He says fuck a lot.
One particularly annoying bloke in the audience, whose hairdo obviously hasn't changed since the 80's shouts out "We've missed you!" Robin instantly comes back with "Well you should have come and fucking visited me then, shouldn't you." We laugh, and I ask Mark to remind me how to spell sycophant.

Recognisable on the street or not, understated or not, one thing you cannot be mistaken about, is the sound when this man picks up a guitar and the effect it'll have on you.
The set didn't start all that well. Technical difficulties meant the first track had to be abandoned and the laptop re-booted before proceedings could continue. This left more time for slightly awkward silences, stupid comments and questions from the crowd etc.
The next period of time, could have been an hour, could have been a day - I lost track of everything... was utterly spell-binding. To try and describe what Robin Guthrie does would be a waste of time. The internet is there. Go and find it...
For most of the set he was joined by the bass player and drummer from Heligoland, who did a damned-fine job of lifting the tunes and added another, very enjoyable dimension. I'm pretty sure that everyone who was there would have been happy to just watch Robin Guthrie noodle away on his guitar randomly, but what we got was a full set of gorgeous tunes, that went from minimal to euphoric and back again.
To be in a crowd of people and see so many beaming faces, closed eyes and swaying bodies is bordering on a religious experience. I remember turning to Mark at one point and saying 'This must be what it sounds like in Heaven."

I left the ICA with a spring in my step, a tear in my eye, a glow in my heart and a deep feeling of joy. I kid you not. All was right with my world in that moment.
Not even the 'severe delays' on the Northern line or the diversion off the A1 through Hatfield on the way home came close to putting a dent in my mood. A mood which has so far lasted 48 hours and shows no signs of declining.

Robin Guthrie should be available on prescription.
Gush over...