Brian Bilston and the Catenary Wires
12th November 25 – Huntingdon Hall, Worcester
The evening’s entertainment could be described in any number of trifling adjectives…understated?…sedate?…urbane? However, the night’s proceedings were best described by Rob of Catenary Wires as – “a many layered trifle”.
Almost apologetic for being there, two members of Catenary Wires, Amelia Fletcher (vocals) and Rob Pursey (guitar & vocals)were the sponge fingers forming the foundation for the gig. Their bitter-sweet musical vignettes about their lives in Kent were understated and charming. Clearly the neighbours are a constant source of inspiration. The homage to the 80s disco was a mirror ball of collective reflections. The lugubrious song about the local youth playing their peculiar game with a bar-stool leg took us “down to the park, in the dark” for a poignant message.
Very much on message is the poetry of Brian Bilston. His poetry readings are sedate and far from histrionic. Although, alarmingly his poems break convention, play with form and structures and corrupt expectations. You have a great sense that Bilston would willingly leave out the jelly from a trifle if he wanted. Anarchy. This is a man, who, when confronted with on-line pedants and trolls wilfully turned to – poetry – to prove his point. Chaos.
The laughter rolled easily around the Hall like the little silver balls Mum used to decorate our birthday cakes with…
For the second half, the poetry of Brian Bilston was joined on stage by his band the Catenary Wires. By contrast the opening salvo saw the front line erupt, as the chairs and any sense of decorum were thrown into the air. The spectacle of Bilston sneering with one foot on the monitor speaker, topless, and hunched over in a seeming homage to Johnny Rotten will stay long in the memory. In reality, our “reluctant rock-star” and Catenary Wires presented us with an urbane night of musical poetry.
Drummer Ian Button and guitarist Bob Collins joined Amelia Fletcher and Rob Pursey to form Catenary Wires.
The ensuing songs of lost love, slowly-fading memories and modern day observations were viewed and written through a chipped and tarnished, Pyrex mixing bowl. Compilation Tape, a love letter to when relationships could rise and fall by the choices made on a cassette tape, lit flickering nods of recognition around the Hall. Every Song on the Radio Reminds me of You, a declaration of longing and loss (Please do check out the video on Youtube), was an enjoyable pun-filled ditty – “hang the DJ” – about trying to move on, with asides many could recognise.
Many poets have used music as a soundtrack to their poems before but how many have had their words incorporated into songs?
Who could fail to recognise The Interview and the awful format of probing questions: “At what age did you learn to tie your shoe laces?” However, how many of us have been inspired to write a poem about the experience? Thou Shalt not Commit Adulting insisted we all question if we should embrace adulthood; the final line begins “Give me childhood every time,” and seemed to hang like fruit suspended in jelly. However, 31 rules for Midlife Rebellion offered us a rich custard of hacks to ensure midlife is still doable. Accordingly, I for one was glad I had “stayed up later than 9pm.”
Like the squirty cream on top of a trifle, whipped laughter decorated the sumptuous dessert of an evening. Furthermore, the welcoming Huntingdon Hall stewards on the night such as Eugene and Su were the added sprinkles.
By: The Swilgate Scuttler