After the nastiness of the previous blog, I am delighted to report on a splendid meeting with another local artist: Phil Spencer, sometime director and performer with For We Are Many, a company that is willing to challenge itself as often as the audience. I had just reviewed their lastest piece, an updating of an absurdist drama, in less than glowing terms. Phil was gentlemanly.
"I agreed with you in places," he said. "But not all of it. I did wish that we'd had a few weeks to rehearse it, though."
I steer the conversation away from their most recent show to older work. Since they have only been together for two years or so, that isn't a deep resource. But I did admire their debut, Shit and Sugar, even if it had more than a slight aura of Forced Entertainment.
What really interests me about FWAM is that they seem very unlike a theatre company. First of all, they swap roles: Phil directed and wrote this one, although he is usually on stage; previous performers have disappeared back stage, building and doing light design. Then there is the collective vibe.
"Yeah, we are more like a band than a company. If we could only play instruments, we'd be a ska band."
I'm glad that they can't: I don't think the world needs a Glaswegian ska troupe like it needs experimental theatre- although, as I type, I realise that many people will think that I am being sarcastic. But I do love FWAM, even when they don't quite blow me away. In three works, they have moved from pretty generic physical theatre- albeit very funny and entertaining- to cod-historical studies in mayhem and attemting to find a link between script and devised work, the absurd past and the live art present.
I caught up with Phil in the CCA cafe- despite the venue's abject failure to achieve any sort of worthwhile performance schedule, it seems to be the centre of the artist lunch scene- and was delighted by his relentless energy and enthusiasm. He'd just been in a butoh workshop- something we have in common.
"I am quite excited about doing more with him (Alex Rigg). He is choreographing for Peeping at Bosch (the show that FWAM are doing with Ian Smith from Mischief La Bas)."
In spite of the brevity of our lunch date, Phil and I raced through a range of subjects- Ian Smith ("He's a bit of a maverick."), Phil's performance art career ("I got a few gigs dressing up as the arse end of a camel- and called that Live Art") and his enthusiasm ("I am sure that it will wear off by the time I am thirty"). On my recording of the conversation, I can barely tell the difference bewteen our voices, as we are both shooting off at the mouth so rapidly. The same infectious energy that feeds FWAM's best moments rattled out from him like nasty one-liners from a bitter critic.
Most productive was Phil's willingness to engage with criticism, and his interest in the theory behind his work. It isn't like his shows are dry- a solo piece called Bluey was witty and emotional- but he has an intelligent grasp of ideas.