Tag Archives: SST9

Debris Stevenson – Final Draft Auditorium show #SST9

6 Jul

Current Length: 5min

I will definitely need:

-1 Handheld mic + stand

-Track will have been mixed into one

-Audio Track – this will be with you by Friday.

I might need:

-ambient mics

-20 chairs

I may be using:

-A loop pedal – I am looking into this at the moment.

Performance wise:

-I am hoping to work with Hannah Silva and my partner to create a bit more texture using Mouthy’s on stage to create a sense of togetherness and seperateness, maybe saying some of the refrains with/ over me, and laying them up using a loop pedal. This is only a maybe at the moment as it depends on time and resources really.

Lighting-wise:

-Beyond what I have stipulated below – I really trust you and Laura on this one, what is making it difficult at the moment is not being 100% clear on the way I am going to perform it but I think there definitely needs to be a sense of being on a train but also being in a Grime setting with that strobing, darkness, and togetherness at the same time as being apart.

Key:

EMOTIONAL CHANGES

TECH/STAGE DIRECTIONS

Human Farm 

.

20 MOUTHY POETS SET UP ON STAGE IN RANGE OF AMBIENT MICS, THEIR SILLOHETTES BUT NOT THEIR FACES SHOULD BE LIT.

 .

DEBRIS WALKS CENTRE STAGE TO WIRELESS MIC ON STAND CENTRE STAGE.

 .

START TRACK.

 .

TIRED, FRUSTRATED AND DISCONNECTED.

//

//

Commuters journey;

wrappers, papers, rats and goodbye naps.

Commuters journey;

Brompton bikes, fights, scenic cites.

.

Commuters journey;

ticket fines, keypads distract minds.

Commuters journeys;

wheelchairs navigate human freight.

.

BECOMING MORE ACTIVELY FRUSTRATED WITH THE SITUATION, SPACE BECOMING MORE PACKED AND LESS CONSIDERATE.

.

It’s only a reservation –

trying to feed them both from her seat –

no other space to squeeze their feet.

Have we made life so neat?

A reservation?

//

//

REVIEWING THE SITUATION IN HER HEAD – WINDING HERSELF UP IN AN ATTEMPT SHE CAN THINK OF A SOLUTION.

Lady sits with bags, baby just blinks

his eyes don’t collide either side, he just squints,

her hands hook pits, her hands look tough,

but skin splits // like her bags lookin’ rough.

Sittin’ here, two seats apart on the train,

Reddening she’s staring through her baby like rain.

.

And I’m sittin’ here thinking

human farm, human farm,

human farm. Sittin’ here.

                                                Hey, we’re sittin’ here

yes sorry sitting here,

yes please sorry, sorry,

sorry sittin’ here

our seat yes we’re sittin’ here.

.

PISSED OFF

I wanna say –

                                    She’s just sittin’ here, saying nuthin’, watch

                                   Plenty other seats on the train, cotch!

.

FEELING STUPID AND HELPLESS

But – down the aisle wheelchairs (three) –

sticklers claiming seats

now elders with priority.

Awkward, I pretend I don’t see –

.

SLOWLY HOPE IMMERGES

She’s showing hurt: —

sweat-patches by the mile.

No one questions bags,

why she’s alone

lady over there

offers hands as a home.

(Hands as a home).

//

//

Commuters journey,

suited kindly other offers cover

commuters journey,

Tesco bags pram past stags,

commuters journey,

adjacent // stacks of fragile patience,

commuters journey,

Calm, baby offers palm.

.

HOPE LOST

Only a reservation

Finally, she was just about to eat.

Only a reservation,

before a clique of work colleagues meet,

                                    Oh our a reservation?

Eyes with a touch more grief?

DISPAIR

.

Now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm,

human farm, human farm,

I’m just sittin here.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry we’re sitting here,

yes us, sorry – sitting here.

Our seats, yes, we’re sitting here.

SHOCK/FRUSTRATION/HOPLESSNESS

//

//

//

//

START NEXT TRACK

Crying silent, tears are itchy, rolling down her shirt.

Strangers offering hands, but baby screeches, baby squirts.

Ladies champers-table, Marks & Spencer – what next?

No longer sittin’ here. Standin’ in aisle getting’ vexed.

.

ALMOST COMEDIC ANNOYANCE AT THE REDICULOUSNESS OF THESE WOMEN

Commuters journey;

bougie bitches don’t get deserts.

Commuters journey;

mums travel lonely carry slums.

Commuters journey;

bust, we need strangers’ we trust.

Commuters journey –

dust, no tracks without rust.

//

//

SMALL AMOUNT OF RELEIF FROM THE WOMAN GETTING OFF THE TRAIN

Only a reservation,

others assist with muggy buggy.

Only a reservation,

champers ladies ignore her like a druggie.

Finally at her station

and I wish I could say I’d done less harm,

.

REFLECTION/ REALISATION

whilst I was sitting here

thinking

human farm,

//

human farm,

//

human farm

human farm

human farm,

x3

human farm

human farm

.

DISAPOINTMENT

Thinking here –

I was just sittin’ here

sitting here thinking human farm.

sittin’ here

sitttin’ here

.

Thinking.

.

Was I doing

any less

harm?

.

FADE OUT TRACK.

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Debris Stevenson – SST9 Auditorium 3rd Draft & Tech Wishlist

29 Jun

Hello All, Sorry I am a day late – Charlotte is on holiday at the moment (we love your Charlotte!) and we are all feeling the burn of being without her efficiency! But I have come a long way in a day I think… So I have now confirmed the producer I am working with on this poem/track, and I am going to use two of his songs back to back: It will be Twelve Thirsy and then Club Rum from this EP. Tech Wish List  I have really scaled my ideas down…  I am really worried about being heard over the music and making sure I have a suitable mic/s and that the levels are right. I will 100% need a monitor to hear myself I think and I may end up professional recording some of this to take the preassure of this but it would be good to talk to tech about how we navigate this. -I think I basically might need some chairs, cool lighting and people but beyond that I want to keep it simple. A lapel mic or very good handheld and stand would be best. Feedback Questions

  • Is the story clearer now?
  • How does it make you feel?
  • What does it make you think about?
  • Are there any jarring lines/words/sections?
  • Not sure about the title?

Current Length: 4-5min

Human Farm 

1 bar intro track 1 (Twelve Thirsty)

 

Commuters journey;

wrappers, papers, rats and goodbye naps.

Commuters journey;

Brompton bikes, fights, scenic cites.

//

Commuters journey;

ticket fines, keypads distract minds.

Commuters journeys;

wheelchairs navigate human freight.

.

It’s only a reservation –

trying to feed them both from her seat –

no other space to wheel their feet.

Have we made life so neat?

A reservation…

.

–1 bar pause–

.

Lady sits with bags, baby just blinks

his eyes don’t collide either side, he just squints,

her hands hook pits, her hands look strong,

but skin splits // like her bags later on.

Sittin’ here, two seats apart on the train,

staring into tray through her baby like rain.

.

And I’m sittin’ here thinking

human farm, human farm,

human farm. Sittin’ here.

                                    Hey, we’re sittin’ here

yes sorry sitting here,

yes please sorry, sorry,

sorry sittin’ here

our seat yes we’re sittin’ here.

.

I wanna say –

                                    She’s just sittin’ here, saying nuthin’, watch

                                                      Plenty other seats on the train, cotch!

.

Clock down isle wheelchairs (three) –

sticklers claiming seats

now elders with priority.

Awkward, I pretend I don’t see –

.

She’s showing hurt:

sweat-patches by the mile.

No one questions bags,

why she’s alone

lady over there

offers hands as a home.

Ladies’ shone she cares,

others’ head phones blare –

//

Commuters journey,

suited kindly other offers cover

commuters journey,

Tesco bags pram past stags,

commuters journey,

adjacent // stacks of fragile patience,

commuters journey,

Pain? Baby’s crying canes.

.

Only a reservation

Finally, she was just about to eat.

Only a reservation,

before a clique of work colleagues meet,

                                    Oh our a reservation?

Eyes with a touch more grief?

.

Now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm,

human farm, human farm,

I’m just sittin here.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry we’re sitting here,

yes us, sorry – sitting here.

Our seats, yes, we’re sitting here.

.

fade into next track (Club Rum)

.

Two bars of new track

.

Crying silent, tears are itchy, rolling down her neck.

Strangers offering hands, but baby screeches, what the heck?

Ladies champers-table, Marks & Spensers – what next?

No longer sittin’ here. Standin’ in isle getting’ vexed.

.

Commuters journey;

bougie bitches don’t get deserts.

Commuters journey;

mums travel lonely carry slums.

Commuters journey;

bust, we need strangers’ we trust.

Commuters journey –

dust, no tracks without rust.

.

1 bar pause.

.

Only a reservation,

others assist with muggy buggy.

Only a reservation,

champers ladies ignore her like a druggie.

Only a reservation,

I wish I could say I was doing less harm,

.

whilst I’m sitting here

thinking

human farm,

//

human farm,

human farm

human farm

human farm,

human farm

human farm

.

Thinking here –

I’m just sittin’ here

sitting here thinking human farm.

I’m just sittin’ here

sitttin’ here

.

Thinking.

Fade out track.

Debris Stevenson – SST9 Draft 2 Auditorium/Studio Show

23 Jun

Hello All

So I am currently working on a long term project (I think) on the meeting points and collaboration potential of Grime music and poetry – as two big loves of mine. I was hoping to find an artists and use that as a starting point, but that has been logistically very difficult – I have found lots of amazing artists to work with and indeed I feel I will work with lots of them but creating something for SST9 with no experience of collaborating has proven too tight a timeline.

So I was faced with an issue of really wanting to pursue this collaboration but needing a new plan, so I decided (as I often do) to give myself an exercise:

– To start re-writing my favourite album, Boy in the Corner, by Dizzee Racal, but with poetry. For now I am going to call this the #PoetintheCorner project. And it will give me a chance to really analyse Grime Lyrics at their finest and try and replicate them within my own form. Bonus: I get an end product and a clear set of things I would like to work with other artists on.

So below is essentially my first try at this exercise, so feel free to tell me if you think it is crap! It uses the structure of Sittin’ Here – the first track on the album – and uses it to tell a story of an experience I recently had on the train…

Feedback Questions

  • I will be using a lot of staging techniques to tell the story, but on the page can you actually understand/follow what is going on? I think that is important.
  • I have been massively pushed by rhythm here so it would be good to know which line sare working and which feel forced or weird or are not working.
  • How does the pice make you feel?
  • + Generalness…

Who’s Seat?

[Intro -]

Mind your back

Still a way to go.

Baby.

.

It’s clear

(nearly there)

.

Look,

.

[Verse 1]

She’s just sitting there, holding bags and baby just blinks

his eyes don’t collide either side, he just squints

her hands hook pits and her hands look strong

but I think her skin’s split like her bags later on

.

She’s just sitting there, two seats in front on the train,

she’s staring into tray, through her baby like a pane,

she reddens quiet a lot, in fact she’s red all the way.

If she stays, disabled place – get moved slash replaced.

.

Commuters journey,

wrappers, papers, rats and goodbye naps,

commuters journey,

Brompton bikes, phone fights and scenic cites

commuters journey,

ticket fines as keypads distract minds

Yeah commuters journeys,

wheelchairs navigate – human freight.

.

Only a reservation,

trying to feed them both from her seat,

only a reservation,

but no other space to wheel their feet,

only a reservation,

but we’ve made life so neat

.

[Hook]

that now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm?

human farm, human farm

I’m just sittin here

.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry sitting here,

yes me, sorry – sitting here.

My seat, yes, I’m sitting here –

.

[Verse 2]

.

I want to say

.

She’s just sittin’ here, not saying nuthin’, just watch

There are plenty other seats on the train please, cotch,

But I spot down the isle wheelchairs by the three

And I turn so fast that the answers not with me.

.

Their just talking at her, she says nothing but a smile

Slowly showing hurt, sweat patches merge miles.

No one questions bags, why she’s alone

but the lady over there offers hands as a home.

.

Commuters journey,

suited rosy mother offers cover

commuters journey,

Tesco bags and pram past stags,

commuters journey,

seat adjacent stacks fragile patience,

commuters journey,

pain, as baby’s crying like the cane.

.

Only a reservation

Finally, she was just about to eat.

Only a reservation,

before a clique of work colleagues

Only a reservation,

eyes with a touch more grief?

.

[Hook]

and now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm?

human farm, human farm

I’m just sittin here

.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry we’re sitting here,

yes us, sorry – sitting here.

Our seats, yes, we’re sitting here –

.

[Verse 3]

.

She’s just sittin’ there, she’s not lookin’ up, breathes less (shame)

We’re only here till Bagshot, reservation’s’ always best.

Crying silent, tears are itchy, rolling down her neck.

We keep offering hands, baby screeches, what the heck?

 .

No longer sittin’ here. No one askin’ baggage why?

Stood flat in the isle silent side to side.

Try read myself together, tell table ladies “Fix Up”

Kick Champaign to laughin’, but subconscious shuts me up.

.

Commuters journey,

Bougie bitches don’t get deserts

commuters journey,

tickets trench human spirit

commuters journey,

mums travel lonely carry slums.

commuters journey.

Bust, we need strangers’ we trust.

.

Only a reservation

stand till bags give out

Only a reservation,

I wish I’d hug her now.

Only a reservation,

New voice saying you’re aloud…

.

[Hook]

to be sitting here

thinking human farmI

human farm, human farm

Leave me sittin here.

.

Come sit with me,

But let’s just be

sittin’ here our seats,

yes, we’re sitting here.

.

Staging Ideas:

  • So I definitely want to create the train somehow; set, lighting, seats, projection or people I am not sure.
  • Some characters will say some of these lines I think… so I need to find some volunteers.
  • I want the poem to end with at least me the lady and her baby sitting in the isle but possible lots of people to be sitting in the isle by the end might be nice.

Technical/ Props Wish List

  • I would really like a fake baby… I am not sure if it will work but it is worth a try?
  • I will need lots of people and or chairs on stage I think… I want to create the feel of the train I think but it would be nice if I could do this with lighting as much as possible.
  • I know you are looking into musical licensing, I would really like to use the actual instrumental from boy in the corner if possible… but I am looking into original music options too.
  • Considering some kind of projection to set the scene but I haven’t thought about it tooo much.
  • I think some of this will be played via audio and some live… as it is A LOT to perform in one go… But I would like to challenge myself.

Which Show?

  • With this new staging idea, having a bit stage to travel around may be really helpful to telling this story, but I am also aware of how new a thing this is for me and the risk in that – everything is taking a long time. Also still conscious that a grime vibe might just sit better in the studio… but it could also be scary…. Interested on thoughts of this too.

How Long? 

  • 5-6min – track is 4min long I am thinking + staging and encase I put it to a new slightly slower track.

Debris x

‘Writing is editing’

14 Jun

Writing is a process of trial and error, of drafting and re-drafting and of banging your head against a wall until the right words fall into the right places. Though the wall can be metaphorical, I’ve been using a literal wall this past week. And what I’ve discovered in my head-bashing was that my idea just won’t work for Say Sum Thin 9 and I’ll tell you why: it’s not a poem.

Over the past few years I’ve come to grips with how I should treat my ideas and how they would best be written. Hell, the editing for me doesn’t begin after the writing is done, it begins with the idea itself. ‘Writing is editing’ after all, as papa Hemingway once said. In short, if my idea is image-based then it will work wonders as a poem, but if my idea is character-based it will work better as a story. Granted, elements of a narrative often worm their way into my poetry, but this is more the exception than the norm. However, poetic features such as repetition, assonance and metaphor feature prominently in my fiction. I feel fiction cannot exist without poetry, but poetry can exist without fiction. This can make it difficult to differentiate where an idea would best be written as fiction or best as poetry.

I’ve had this confusion with my recent idea for SST9. We got talking about it in the office the other week and Anne was asking me loads of questions to do with who the bloke in my idea was and why he was fishing and what grinded his gears and his age, his family, his profession, what he likes for tea, what he thinks of the carnival clearing up behind him. These were all great questions that prompted me to consider my character closely. And when push comes to shove, this bloke is impossible to write about in poetry, especially if I were to perform it in character. I like to play with language and I’ll tell you what, this guy would not be caught dead playing about with language or talking about feelings or what he can see about him or anything like that. What’s going off with him would all be in the subtext, and to write subtext I need to write in fiction.

Got to admit I’m a little disappointed in this revelation regarding my idea, but sometimes that’s the way she goes. Yeah I can’t dress as a fisherman now, yeah I can’t pretend to catch goldfish after frigging goldfish and not that ever-elusive carp, but at least I not be writing a poem that should be a story.

I wonder if any of you guys have had similar experiences with your writing in the past. If you have, I’d love to hear about it in the comments and we could have a right old natter about it! And if any of you are planning on coming to Five Leaves for the Noumena book launch on Wednesday at 7pm, we could chat there over a glass of wine, or several!

Keep an eye on this space over the next few days for a catch-up on what all of Mouthy have been up to over the past couple of weeks and where we’re going in the coming weeks. Until then, ta-rah miducks!

Jordan

SST9 First Draft BeaBop

1 Jun

Smiling On De Road

Two dimples brand the base of her back –
Carries my chants along veined tendrils
Emanating from soft skin to feathered-edged sonnet

Her body defined my mood for years
Sometimes I was marmalade – thick cut.
Others I am a crouching tiger hiding my aggression

Soured reprisals are balanced on her left
Proud to remind me of her worth
Weighted in gold-coated vibranium

Cusses used to fling from my mouth
Taunting her schizophrenia to tussle
Glitter sparkles atop hundreds of sequined thousands

On her right is a Mas band of angels
Lined up like a troupe ready for fireworks
Rhythms pierce the tarmac

Around her girth is an aluminium frame
Into which slots in her left and right
Her right to be objective in the custardly light

This idea is still cooking in my head. I see it being performed by somebody else or two. The construction of a carnival costume being the metaphor. It will last for 3 minutes.

Posted from BeaBop’s tablet thingy

Debris Stevenson – SST9 First Draft

1 Jun

Hello All!

So I haven’t had much time to work on this as I have been working on London for the past two weeks so an incredibly rough and I actually already have a lot of feedback on it already to implement but I am holding off until I have worked out who I am collaborating with – as I may end up using a loop pedal (Hannah Silva has kindly offered to teach me) or an instrumental and the introduction of these could possibly have a big impact on the direction of the piece.

First thing on my list before develop further is to set in stone who/what I am working with then I will push this further. As mentioned previously, this is also likely to feed into a wider body of work around religion, poetry and my life.

But regardless of all those apologies, feedback is obviously always welcome J

 

Slam; bang, criticize, pan, crash, thump

 

I remember Amit’s dad’s garage,

Ilford, metronomic language.

Girl pulled a shank to my ribs –

.

We got’a mic, got kids, got lyrics.

Life’s but a race or a rave.

Either way we need something to pray to.

.

We need more hope than a b-tech

We can brick lay a path but can’t

articulate our way yet.

.

I open my eyes. I’m in a black-box studio.

15 young pallets sat in a nervous row.

One steps forward, talks about her Dad –

She hides her clothes in his briefcase,

his lies in her tea. Then another poet does

a series of puns about movies I’ve not seen.

.

Another runs over 3 minutes explaining

her black-boy-brother prank painted

with dulux burning through 3 layers of naked.

.

Flash to the knife at my bottom right rib.

Heave hand to lips. Next poet grips the mic.

Till the BPM of her life jostles right.

.

I have to look at my score sheet eventually.

Tell only some of the 15 that they articulated

life successfully. I spend 2 hours talking 1-1.

.

Several contestants cry before feedback’s begun.

As I explain, I’m back in that garage, where no one

sung about flowers in the pouring rain.

.

A shank was a stage.

the other two judges

missed their trains.

.

I’ll have to go back to my parent’s house.

Pass the garage where we all unleashed ‘arms-house’.

.

Where spit could burn further than 3 layers deep.

Where we all learned to cut before we could leap.

.

—- Debris

Clichés, Drafts and Caroline Bird

31 May

My drafting process is a bit of a doozy. One piece of writing I may whizz through and after a couple of revisions chalk it off to a job well done, while others I’ll struggle over and struggle over and struggle over again and again trying to write my way into an idea. Writing a poem for Say Sum Thin 9 is proving to be a case of the latter form of drafting. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get anywhere with it. I have the idea, but I can’t find the medium in which to express it. It’ll come, but it’ll take time.

If the other Mouthy Poets are having similar problems they’re doing a cracking job of keeping it under wraps, particularly if Friday’s workshop with Caroline Bird is anything to go by. Caroline promised to get us all writing, said that we’d be all well tuckered out by the end of the workshop and I’ve got to admit she wasn’t wrong there. I was worn out by the end of the session, but the amount of work everyone produced was staggering. I write at about 4 wph (words per hour) and I think that’s fast; I’ve got nothing on the rest of Mouthy. Pages of the stuff straight onto the page, but with Caroline in the room we all really kicked it up a notch. She even said at one point she wanted the session to feel like six hours’ worth of workshop in three. It was jam-packed, and it was great.

We looked at a number of poems and used these as springboards for exercises. One such exercise was to try and get to the heart of clichés, trying to find ‘the danger’ in them again. Caroline used the examples of ‘head in the clouds’ and asked us questions like ‘What does that feel like? Is it cold? Is it hard to breathe? Where’s your neck and how does it feel: is it thin, long, what?’ I tried to write around the phrase ‘cat got your tongue’ – taking it quite literally is a painful thing to imagine when you really think about it! When I read what I’d written Caroline suggested I remove the last line to give it a punchier feel, and this is something I find myself often doing or being recommended to do. I think it’d be a useful way to think about your own poetry too: how does deleting the last line or stanza change your poem? Is it better? Worse? What does it offer or change? It’s good practice to play with your drafts in such a way.

And speaking of drafts, midnight tonight marks the deadline for first draft of our poems for SST9. If you’re anything like me, you’re bricking it. If you’re not anything like me, teach me your ways. With that said, I guess it’s time to get to the drafting.

I guess I’m going to cheat here a little because I’m going to bung on my idea and first draft to this post! How cheeky of me. So here goes:

My idea revolves around a fisherman trying to catch carp the day after a carnival in his village but all he can catch are goldfish children released the day before. Behind him the carnival is being packed away. I have this very strong image of him sat there trying to get a decent carp on a bank holiday Monday after he’d not been able to fish all weekend because of the carnival. I’m wanting to play around with the poetic form, but I think the specific way I play about with it will come later when I settle on the backbone of the poem.

And so here’s the first draft while we’re at it. I’m sure it’ll be one of the shortest first drafts you’ve ever seen!

 

 

Blp. Floating dog biscuit.

 

 

I told you I write at 4wph! I can’t seem to get beyond this. The problem is I’m trying to write a character and I don’t know anything about him. For this to work, I need to figure out what makes him tick. Or to step away from the idea of performing as him. With the midnight deadline looming, reckon that may be a hard one to pull off! I’ve taken the mickey a bit there, but ah well! I’ll sign off here…

Jordan