It’s auspicious for any debut when people are filling the bar early to check it out, and that’s exactly what happened for IRREGULAR’s blisteringly good launch at Edinburgh's Voodoo Rooms on 19 March . Each act had two short sets, so if you missed one the first time around, you were guaranteed to fall under their influence later on. Though within all that stage-shifting one or two secret goldmines lay buried – a brand-new Nick Cave video and free tequila, anyone?
Tim Turnbull , a poet and writer in residence at HMP Edinburgh and many other institutions, played host. His standout piece was an ode to Lux Interior, where every rhyme and pause got people laughing in disbelief. How long can he keep it going?! Tim’s sharp suit and deep, intriguing voice cast a spell of mischief that was perfect for the other performances to come . . .
Namely, Joe Dunthorne , author of the novel Submarine (we at Canongate wanted to publish it, weren’t chosen, but pathetically we remain unconditional Dunthorne fans). Here’s a young man with the delivery of David Sedaris and literary sparkle of Salinger, who already knows how to get an audience to gasp and belly-laugh at his command. His deadpan recitations about bullies, the future of speed-dating and the rules of poetry are hilarious for their honesty. Hats off, Joe.
Dan Rhodes read to a crowd that was by now seated at his feet. Dan’s Anthropology is a collection of 101 stories about girlfriends, all 101 words long. ‘Now that’s a book I want to read,’ someone next to me shouted – and Dan took random audience calls as cues for which story in the sequence he should perform. My favourite was the one about one girlfriend’s three children (‘They were horrible.’) Or maybe the one about the girlfriend who named their daughter Lesbian. Isn’t it about time a new Dan Rhodes book came out?
The band for the evening was the stunning Black Diamond Express: with their gypsy aesthetic and hooks that could get the grinch to dance, this is primal roots rock ’n’ roll. It’s not often you see so many strings on stage – violin, blues harp and banjo, among others – and the songs are so ahead-of-the-pack good, lyrically, sonically and in terms of the amazing charisma these guys have, they are kept onstage as long as legally possible. Despite their traditional influences and innocent grins, The Express are clearly familiar with the dark side of life and art – making them the perfect partner for the other rock ’n’ roll moment of the evening.
The lights went down for this bit; Nick Cave has made videos of himself reading passages from his not-yet-published novel, The Death of Bunny Munro, a hellish and madcap story about a salesman in search of a soul. Filmed by acclaimed directors, with custom-made soundtracks (never publicly screened before last Thursday), the projections show Nick in an unfamiliar guise – the novelist, but also the actor. Rolling Stone’s comment that ‘Nick Cave will obviously live forever, just because the Devil’s scared of him’ is called to mind – but even so, Bunny went down a storm and mesmerised us into thrilled, open-mouthed glee. It takes a lot to shock IRREGULAR people.
The last dancing opportunity of the night saw the full benefits of the enthralling earlier acts and gratis tequila shots in total evidence. Departure Lounge DJ Mr Zimbabwe , followed by Canongate’s Jamie and Francis, set up at the decks for a few happy hours, and when the lights came up, the only consolation at hand was a free copy of Barack Obama ’s memoir Dreams from My Father handed out at the exit.
Yes, that’s right – not only is IRREGULAR pro-hopes, but it supports dreams, too.
VOX POPS
‘The first Irregular was fantastic – the band was so much fun and the writers reading live really connected with the audience. The atmosphere was so welcoming too and Voodoo Rooms is a beautiful venue for it. The next date is already in my diary.’ Yasmin, 24, freelance writer
‘I couldn't stop laughing when Dan Rhodes read from The Anatomy of Melancholy. In a past life I was a Renaissance scholar so imagine my surprise when Robert Burton was mentioned in an Edinburgh bar-about-to-be-a-dancefloor . . . Rhodes reads like a natural performer and he put in the perfect pauses between the descriptions of the heinousest woman in all of Christendom. “She has a swollen juggler's platter face”, “her face like a squished cat”, “her breath stinks all over the room”, and, his personal favourite (wait for it), “her ankles hang over her shoes”. Then there was some unbelievable dancing, quite surprising in its quality . . . Thus Irregular turned into the sort of regularity that seems to define life.’ Adam, 30, PhD candidate
