In May I’ll be appearing at The Purple Room, a local music and spoken word night. I’ve performed there before, three times I think, as part of Ilkley Writers or in the summer pick ‘n’ mix event where I’ve had 5-10 minutes to read one or two stories or extracts. This time, however, as far as I know I’m the only spoken word guest there is, though there will be a folk musician — the spoken word and music sets alternate to give performers a break and the audience some variety. I’m looking forward to it, but I confess to finding it daunting as well.
When I’ve read in front of people or on the radio I’ve tried to bring novelty. I always feel like I ought to apologise if I know someone in the audience has heard this story before. And yet I’ve repeated an entire set, when Roz York and Emily Devane and I read stories and poems with musical accompaniment from Keely Hodgson (who runs The Purple Room) and Karen Vaughan. We had the inspired idea to perform it live in the bandstand in Ilkley one September afternoon as part of the Ilkley Literature Festival Fringe, but then we did it again in the radio theatre at Chapel FM so it could be recorded for posterity, and indeed filmed.
For a while, a few years ago, I went to a run of readings by the Wharfedale Poets, in fact I arranged a joint performance with the Ilkley Writers in 2017. The poets would share new work, or revisited work, but some of them had favourites that they brought out at every performance over that period — with poetry often being shorter even than flash fiction, there’s always room for a few from everybody, even in a large group performance. There was no novelty as I heard the poem for the third or fourth time but the very familiarity made me smile like greeting an old friend, and every listen made me notice a different line, a different image. It also made the poem stick: the odd line from a few are in my brain still and I can’t see macarons without thinking of Yvette Huddleston.
I was asked once, when invited to join an event by my friend Alice, to read a particular story she’d heard and enjoyed before (Viv’s 64th, you can listen to it here). She was the only member of the audience other than my other half likely to have heard it, so I didn’t mind. But I’ve never considered the idea that people who have heard me read before might be sitting there wondering if I’ll reprise their favourite.
If I went to an Iron Maiden gig I’d expect them to do certain songs, in fact I’d be disappointed if they didn’t, but does it work the same way with the spoken word? I used to have a Ben Elton stand-up LP which I listened to many times and still enjoyed despite knowing every punchline, and there are sitcom episodes I’ve watched a dozen times or more, so maybe it does. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing.
With such a long set at my disposal it would be madness to try and write entirely new material for the evening. I’m hoping to mix together some new work, some older stories I’ve never read in public before, and yes, a few old favourites.
Here’s a recording of me reading Summer of 96, a story I first read a few years ago at a Purple Room summer showcase:
And if that tale of teenaged love gone sour seems misplaced so close to Valentine’s Day, I’ll leave you with the link to a tiny gay love story that I had in Truffle magazine in 2020, called Evidently Lovestruck.
If you enjoyed either of those stories and you’d like to buy me a cuppa, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/jysaville
And if you’ve heard me read before and have a favourite, please let me know — particularly if you’re aiming to be at the Purple Room.