Richard Wright

I’m back, and shattered to boot. A quick look at my inbox shows that I’ve a heck of a lot of catching up to do to, so you’ll forgive me if I’m quiet for a couple of days. Anybody waiting for an email will get one soon enough.

Last night, KP and I stepped out to catch Russel Brand at the Carling Academy in Glasgow. Brand is an interesting character, a sort of self-created wildman for the modern age, with a clever mix of rock and roll image and verbosity, flavoured with a touch of perversion to finish things off. I know him as an anarchic television presenter first and foremost, and had no idea what his stand-up would be like. In the end his material isn’t anything to write home about, but he manages to throw out the same charm on stage as he does on television, effortlessly filling massive spaces just by turning up. It was a tough gig for him too – his sex symbol status clearly working against him as a selection of drunk scottish women continually heckled him more or less to the effect that he should get naked for them then and there. He held on though, impressive in itself, and delivered an entertaining couple of hours.

His support act, Trevor Locke, though… dear god. The whiff of desperation has never oozed so strongly from one single performer.

In other news, I was pleasantly surprised to find reviews of both The Flesh Remembers and Dark Terrains waiting for me when I got home. You can have a look at NoneMaySay.com, and then grab a copy of either or both for free on thier pages here at the website. Enjoy!