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The last time I was in London at The Earl of Camden, a blues guitarist called Laine told me of A Spoonful of Poison, an anarchistic open mic that took place out in Stoke Newington. When I tracked it down on the internet it sounded like my kind of time; welcoming musicians, bands, poets, performance artists, comedians, storytellers, magicians and even people who hit each other with sticks. This is a twice a week event run by Vis the Spoon.
So it was I found myself at The Drop, which is underneath the Three Crowns on ‘Stokey’ High Street. One of those basement venues with the smell of a damp dungeon, it felt like the right kind of place for bizarre goings on.
I got talking to Piers, a big guy with a beard and braces who it turned out was from Doncaster and working down in London during the week. Rather than sitting in and watching the telly, he frequented some of London’s finest open mics and introduced people to folk singing. A mix of three hundred year old songs, as well as his own compositions.
A guitarist by the name of Oliver kicked off the night with some self penned tunes. There are two rules at A Spoonful of Poison and the first is strictly no covers. I’ll tell you about the second rule later, and it doesn’t involve singing. I’m with Spoon on the no covers ruling because its always more interesting listening to what people have come up with for themselves. There’s often more passion and personal involvement in original music. Though I'm not sure how three hundred year old folk songs fit into that category.
A comedian by the name of Johnny Armstrong told us of how he took his wet suit to the dry cleaners and they didn’t know what to do with it. He told us of a worm that fell through a worm hole and he’d seen that exact same worm a year ago. Turned out this was his 500th gig, quite an achievement I reckon and good on him for that.
I was on next and went through Iambic Vision, which is long rambling fantasy poem about missionary work and how it can do as much harm as good. It’s a poem I’ve only ever read once in public and then to a disinterested bunch of beanie hats in Sheffield. They were more taken with their mobile phones and iPads than with what I had to say, and there was no changing that. So I’d never read it again, but I like that piece so it struck me if there was ever a place to try it one more time it was here. I followed with Smells of London and The Return of the Bed Bugs – the latter of which I’m turning into an animation .
Spoon was under pressure from a last minute change of venue and a PA he’d never worked with before, but he still does a great job of keeping things rolling. Its good to see an organiser who is so involved in the art and entertainment of the night, and he does this twice a week. A little later he told me of the second rule and it stemmed from a previous happening at this event, though at a different venue. A Russian/Austrian couple who might be considered ‘performance artists' had 'performed' (as in bowel movements) all over the stage, and then smeared the result on themselves. Its not clever and its not original. So the other rule is ‘no live shitting!’
The almighty Jazzman John Clarke was up next with his carrier bags full of poems. John must be in his sixties and a real live relic of the beatnik poetry scene. I’d seen a clip of him on youtube reciting his work over a jazz band. This guy is a natural born poet and at ease with his word smithing. One of his poems called Cautionary Tales particularly struck a chord and I’ve reproduced some of it here (hope John doesn’t mind):
“Never touch a wasp until it tells you its full life story
Never spill the beans on a banana skin
Don’t wind up an orange with the promise of a toffee apple
Don’t pour chocolate sauce over left over peanuts”
This is almost lyrical and I guess that’s why I like it so much, being half musician half writer, I’m drawn to that kind of thing. This country needs people like Jazzman John Clarke to talk us out of the mess we're in.
Becky Fury, a comedian, told us of her life in Pekham where she still shop lifts pick n mix and there’s a shoe shop that sells two shoes for the price of one. She was followed by another quality comedian by the name of Kristoff. Kristoff is from Belgium and he happily explained that Belgians are the only people who tell you where they are from with an apology. Dangerous T adds some hilarious material, including a wonderful piece about dealing in Night Nurse. The comedy on this night is complete and accomplished stuff.
After this point things go a little hazy because I’d downed a few too many pints and finished with the worst of all night caps, a spoonful of loopy juice by the name of JD. I remember with fondness a woman on a megaphone blasting out emotive words over an electric guitar, and then an effective mix of poetry and acoustic guitar by Rob Monk and Jim Rhesus. And I liked the way Rob’s poetry reading drifted into a vocal instead of pure spoken word.
The night was a mini-festival full of interesting surprises. A Spoonful of Poison is an entertaining and innovative event which truly welcomes all comers from all walks of life. I’d have liked to have seen more people in there, but maybe the last minute change of venue put paid to some attendees. As always with these kinds of nights I met some great folks and my only regret is that the Russian/Austrian couple didn’t turn up to perform (as it were) – because that really would have been something to write home about.
http://www.aspoonfulofpoison.com/
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