Last week I went to SHUNT, now laying low under the looming point of the Shard at London Bridge, once hidden by a secret door past cash machines and tottering stilettos in the station, to see a performance by some wonderful friends of mine. Their performance was funny, brilliant and absurd, but there were a couple of others that weren't, including a fairly ropey 'interpretive' dance to a Jack Kerouac poem.
Seeing as I am obsessed with him at the moment, I thought I would let you in on the sound of his voice as it echoed past disorientated limbs in a metal space, pervaded by darkness, candlelight and roughly dimmed voices - as it was so much better than the dance. His voice is so satisfying to listen to - and his style is catching, as you can probably tell!
A LIT BLOG FOR PEOPLE WHO LIKE MUSIC
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