Hey all,

Happy New Year and all that! I’m writing because I wanted to tell you about one of my new projects. It came about whilst sat drinking (too much) Peroni and watching the ridiculously talented Vikki Stone perform an awesome parody of Lily Allen at Behind The Mic in December.

After being delightfully entertained by Vikki, I was overwhelmed with the urge to start up a new night dedicated to this particular genre of comedy. It’s two of my favourite mediums merged and I must add, a welcome respite from working in a serious and troubled music industry. (I am actually inlove with the serious side to the music industry but balance is important, no?… ‘let there be spaces in your togetherness’) Anyway, a quick Google later and it transpired (much to my surprise) that there were hardly any events catering to this fantastically entertaining medium, so I asked Vikki if she was up for starting a musical comedy night with me and henceforth, The Comedy Song Club was born.

I had been looking for new venues for other projects for quite a while and one day Peter Parkers Rock’n'Roll Club popped onto my radar. It’s located at 4 Denmark Street and seems ideal. For those of you unaware, Denmark Street has forever been associated with music thus earning the nickname ‘Tin Pan Alley’ back in the 1920’s. In the early 1800’s it was renowned for selling sheet music and rent was so cheap struggling artists could afford to set up home there, come the 1890’s music publishers had moved in and by the 1960’s, recording studios and instrument shops were springing up. One of the most notable studios was The Regent Sounds Studio, which was actually established on the same site as our Comedy Song Club’s home! It was here that the Rolling Stones recorded their first album and later welcomed the likes of Stevie Wonder. Anyway, I won’t rattle on with too much history. You get the picture, this really is one of the best musical streets in Europe.

So, The Comedy Song Club at Peter Parkers, 4 Denmark Street, Soho. Expect current pop parodies, original comedy songs, comedy bands, dance sketches, improvised singing and an audience participation jam - bring your triangle for the final song!

Vikki Stone, the Jools Holland of Musical Comedy will MC the night from the piano and introduce circuit favourites such as Pippa Evans (Edinburgh Comedy Award Best Newcomer Nominee 2008), Isy Suttie (Dobby from Peep Show), Earl Okin, Rob Broderick, Jay Foreman and sometimes top secret famous types trying out new stuff - ooooh.

Launch: Monday 1st February
Peter Parkers, 4 Denmark Street, Soho, London, WC2H 8LP
Doors: 7.30pm. Showtime: 8.30pm
Entry: £7/£5
Acts included for Feb 1st - Pippa Evans, Rob Broderick, Jay Foreman, The Segue Sisters, G3 & Olly The Octopus. MC, Vikki Stone.

HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE!

Jen x

Well, I have some good news and some bad news with regards our Behind The Mic shows. The bad news is that our beloved Soho Revue Bar ceased trading after last nights gigs so our Soho show is homeless. The good news is, Time Out love our radio shows…‘a splendid arts series’ they say! On the live show front, we’re back at The Library (Islington - Opposite Union Chapel) on the 19th February with Sound of Rum headlining. They were guests on our radio show last Monday and were brilliant! Kate Tempest is one hell of a rapper and the guitarist and drummer were not only lovely lads but highly skilled themselves.

Below’s the latest press release for the next few shows in the series…(NB it was too late to include this Mondays info but I can tell you we have the vampy performance poet Sophia Blackwell and singer songwriter Idan Rabinovici who’s recently supported Jose Gonzalez. http://www.myspace.com/idanrab )

Behind The Mic, Mondays 2nd, 9th, 16th, 23rd Feb, 10-11pm

Resonance FM 104.4FM www.resonancefm.com

Presented by Rosie Wilby (Finalist, Funny Women 2006) with Jen Roberts

www.myspace.com/behindthemic06

Showcasing the cream of emerging and established London talents in music, live literature/poetry and comedy, from Behind The Mic’s live events.

Feb 9th – Rosie and Jen present live acoustic sessions from London songstress Tallulah Rendall whose voice sits somewhere between Alison Goldfrapp and Regina Spektor, and bluesy Marcus Bonfanti who supports Sandi Thom in Feb. www.myspace.com/tallulahrendall www.myspace.com/marcusbonfantimusic

Feb 16th – live music from husky voiced Italian rock songstress Elena and spoken word from 2007 UK Slam Champion, 2007 Glastonbury Slam Champion and 2006 Blackdrop Slam Champion John Berkavitch www.myspace.com/musicelena

Feb 23rd – live acoustic music sessions from Dan Raza, who recently opened for Joan Armatrading on her European tour dates and, daughter of Bill, Rosie Oddie will be in the studio with some of her band the Odd Squad and their fabulously leftfield songs www.myspace.com/danraza www.myspace.com/rosieoddieandtheoddsquad

Jake Morley in the studio for Behind The Mic

Sophia Blackwell goes to the theatre

Having seen last night’s performance at the Oval Theatre, I feel a bit cheap about writing in my last blog how many women on York Racecourse fancied the writer/actor Mojisola Adebayo. Nothing but the truth, but last night confirmed for me that Mojisola is more than just a pretty face and a lovely compere. If that sounds like a crap compliment, compering is a hard, stressy job- part ringmaster, part psychologist, part snake-oil salesman- and someone who can put their performers and audience at ease like her is a gem to be treasured. She’s more than a poet; more than the sharp, diplomatic workshop facilitator at YLAF who guided two very different writers and a large audience of potentially easily-narked lesbians through tales of poverty, politics and sexual abuse, without ruffling anyone’s rainbow feathers. She impressed me then, and last night, she moved me.

In her play Muhammad Ali and Me, Mojisola plays a character strongly similar to her- a gay girl child growing up black and alone in London- and the boxer that a generation worshipped, Ali, who the heroine has a fantastical friendship with. As imaginary friends go, you can’t get much better than that. In different times and places, the girl and Muhammad grow, learn to say no, and fight for more than the hand they’ve been dealt. She never fails to convince- as a trembly-lipped child, a frustrated teenage ‘thesbian,’ or as Ali himself- cocky, un-educated, surprising, always passionate and convinced of how ‘pretty,’ he is- performing tricks for the ladies, lecturing on the state of Islam and refusing to fight for a country that treats him like ‘a nigger,’ when he’s the World Champion.

Moj’s main foil is Charlie Folorunsho, a remarkably multi-faceted actor who also slips masterfully from character to character- he’s Moj’s cockney foster-mum Ange, ‘You’re ‘avin’ a bubble bath, incha?’ her deadbeat son Jimmy, Malcolm X, a girls’-school headmistress, a scarf-wearing luvvie director- and for one unforgettable moment, a blonde-wigged Giant Haystacks in a strangely padded red leotard. The other actor, Jacqui Beckford, performs primarily in BSL- she has a ‘referee,’ persona but also takes on various roles she performs silently. The way she uses her face and body to support the two more vocal characters is admirable- a sinuous, generous performance.

When I saw Moj perform a section of the play at YLAF, she told the lyrical, legend-like tale of Cassius Clay’s birth and childhood. I waited for her to recite it again, but in the play, this speech is given to Folorunsho. He delivers the speech in the persona of Moj’s father, a stone-faced, Scripture-reading Nigerian accountant who leaves her in Care when she’s five years old. Sitting on her bed alone, she imagines him telling her the story of how Clay learned to fight for justice. As the cadences of the story wash over her, her face seems to fill up with light, and just watching her, at that point, is enough to break your heart.

This was the second year I took my mother to Glastonbury, and the first year I took her to York Lesbian Arts Festival. I’m not sure why I keep doing this and not even being ashamed about it. Sashaying up to the disco-dancing dykes on the front desk and saying, ‘I’m Sophia Blackwell and this is my mum,’ probably gave the impression that (a) I think people have heard of me and (b) she cuts up my food after the MC leads me offstage with a rope.

There were quite a few women around York Racecourse who went green at the thought of their parents showing up while they were trying to get down with their sisters, but my mum thinks everything I do is fabulous, which my girlfriend maintains is responsible for turning me into the lesbian Russell Brand. She’s also good at making conversation with strangers, which saves me from having to do it while in my usual state of pre-gig catatonia. Jen describes this as ‘the Zone,’- as in ‘Are you entering the Zone again?’ at that crucial two-hour-or-so point before going on stage when I lose the ability to make words while doing eye contact. Even when in a non-Zone state, I’m not as sociable as my mother, who was having a gay old time in the Green Room chatting with Diva writers and historical novelists, eating crudités and eavesdropping on Val McDermid and Jackie Kay. They were talking about puppies apparently.

Even in my Zone state, I couldn’t resist the many charms of our Wordslam MC, Mojisola Adebayo (I don’t think any of the other ladies could, either; I didn’t hear Moj’s name mentioned once that weekend without an accompaniment of ‘Fwoaargh, yeah, I would,’ or similar). Moj freely admitted that she wasn’t a Slam veteran but had worn a T-shirt and trainers to appear more street (I was touched- most of the Slams I attend are full of middle-aged white men bemoaning the fact that they didn’t grow up in Compton). The other guest poet in our session, Dorothea Smartt, was wonderful- warm, open, with a beautiful singing voice, a National Grid-lighting smile and some gorgeous imagery as she told us stories of dancing the Shango and a mysterious maiden aunt or two who ‘lived with she friend.’ ‘Macamere,’ is the Caribbean word for that sort of business, and my mother has started using it since then. It does sound a bit more poetic than ‘lez.’ The audience were fantastic- they really listened, behaved respectfully, and the ones who were just there for the raffle left immediately after the L Word Convention tickets were drawn instead of sticking around to heckle. I love lesbians.

Once I’d finished lobbing words at the audience, given one of the BSL interpreters repetitive strain injury and had a pint and a fag, I was ready to enjoy the weekend’s sundry delights, which ranged from the side-splitting- watching VG Lee and Claire Summerskill do their stories and monologues- to the mind-opening- listening to women like Manda Scott, Val McDermid, and Valerie ‘Queenie,’ Mason-John discussing their writing made me feel awed, inspired and a bit lazy. While I managed to get some cheap n’ dirrrrty books, some free booze at the artists’ party, and even got to sign an autograph for a fifteen-year-old who also hadn’t realised I’m not famous, I’m a bit gutted that I didn’t manage to see the fantasti Stella Duffy- see her reading, anyway. I did get to sit next to her on the artist minibus while she called me ‘little one.’ I’m not quite sure how I feel about that but I suppose I do want to be her when I grow up. Though based on our recent adventures, even turning into my mother won’t be that bad.

Presuming that Moj got out of York in one piece, her new play, Muhammad Ali and Me, is now on at the Oval House Theatre, Kennington Oval, til Nov 29. You should go. I would.