The Bard of Salford
Several months ago I booked
tickets for tonight’s complete sell out performance by John Cooper Clarke. He
is the sort of bloke, that if you saw him walking up your garden path just
before you heard the door ring, you might not hurry to the door to open it! To
describe his appearance simply; I would say he looks a lot like Ronnie Woods of
the Rolling Stones. He is about the Stones age too. Topped by a mess of unruly,
black sticky-out hair, and clothes that looks like he has owned them for a very
long time, in fact since he bought them in a charity shop in 1980. Definitely,
he is a pretty dodgy looking character. This skinny vision in sunglasses
however, is hugely respected, a dyed in
the wool, tell it as it is national treasure who is frequently introduced as a performance
poet, who long, long ago, did the warm up acts on stage for punk bands in
concert inspiring some of them with his words.
At tonight’s show at the
Connaught Theatre in Worthing, my husband Steve will be sitting next to me,
even though I told him before booking the seats, that he would absolutely hate
it. Somehow though, I don’t think he will be able to sleep through the evening.
Poetry has always held me
in a passionate lovers embrace; a warm place, as close to heaven as I can
imagine. John Cooper Clarke is not Robert Frost, no indeed, but is closer, as I
see him to a melting pot blended recipe, for which the ingredients are: A large
dollop of Dylan (Bob that is) although our own Dylan Thomas could also be
sprinkled liberally in, vast quantities of retro and modern, irreverent free
thinking, stirred aggressively until solid and easily digestible. Can’t wait.
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