“Angry and anarchic is where I am at my happiest, as far as music is concerned, but what about angry and anarchic as far as poetry is concerned? Yep, you ‘erd. Poetry! Not being anywhere approaching what you’d could call a poetry expert – I wrote the forward for one of Eagle’s mad poetry collections and erm, have done the odd bit of spoken word with Punk Poets – but when a book known as “DIY OR DIE” by Andy C turned up at the Gadgie Towers Guard House, I was somewhat intrigued. Fifty plus pages of Andy’s DIY or DIE doings and the first and most obvious thing that struck me was the unconventional nature of the presentation. Splitting a whole word up – one letter per line – or not really using any sort of orthodox style has me onside straight away. Challenging and adventurous before I even get in to reading the poetic missives on offer. It doesn’t get any less acerbic when you do. “All About You” takes aim at the “Resurchers” and Covid Deniers and so on who are “still mad at their parents for taking away their god given right to die of Polio” (I’m paraphrasing) as do the Bosses who treat those doing “menial” work so dreadfully while coining it in themselves. This collection of angular angry outbursts is like holding a cracked mirror up to Broken Brexit Britain … a country that has cut it’s nose off to spite it’s face, is ready to blame anyone who looks, sounds or acts different for all the woes inflicted on itself and then turn around and keep voting in and supporting the vile criminal opportunists that have caused all the strife … I despair … as does Andy C and it’s all on display in this latest collection. Highlights for me? “I H8 Shopping Centres”. Fucking right on mate. I find it impossible to find anything of interest in these asinine temples to consumerism and conformity. Hideous experience. George A Romero had it right didn’t he?
“Indeed Mr C. Indeed. Totally agree. Give me a scrotey street full of indie comic shops, record emporiums, spit and sawdust pubs and greasy pizza shops any day. “Help Are Own” is equally withering about the illiterate morons who are so mind boggling dim that they lack the simplest of self awareness to see the fact that the poor souls fleeing war, famine, poverty, whatever else are not the great threat they are told and the real enemy are the feckers they keep voting for as they’ve been convinced they have more in common with the Eton elite than the homeless, the elderly freezing in their bungalows or those afore mentioned dingy denizens who risk their lives to come to this hideous place we call the UK. Totally brutal, no punches pulled and plenty of swearing. Defiantly working class, proper vexed and taking no prisoners. It’s poetry but not like you would have learnt in school. If I were to liken this to one of my infamous Kids of the 80s Escapades it would certainly go under the category that includes when two mates of mine who were total Metal Heads would ask for a metal record at the school disco and then “mosh” and “head bang” away to Motorhead or Bon Jovi while everyone stood around in confused bemusement while me and my mates would be sharing a bottle of Newcastle Brown that someone had hidden a bush outside. Kids eh?”
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