OneTaste Festival. London.

In Uncategorized on November 9, 2009 at 1:47 pm

The One Taste festival is a carnival of creativity held in the grand maze that is The Bedford pub in Balham and sprawling over three glorious floors. Slightly left of centre, it showcases an eclectic array of music, spoken word, film, theatre, philosophy and erm, adult fairies

It is the kind of place where you’re most likely to find women doused in glitter sporting oversized fairy wings– you know the sort, the type of women that hang around the stone circle at Glastonbury sniffing arnica and picking flint out of each others matted dreads. It is also the kind of place where phrases such as ‘far out’ are in active usage. However, don’t let this put you off. And I really do mean this. Don’t let this put you off.

Arriving late, I am greeted by a trio of girls that look like extras from a Florence and The Machine music video, all face paints and feathers, headbands and eyeliner, serenading guests with the ethereal sounds of drum, flute and ukulele. It’s all a bit early 90’s. There is a lot of love in the room but to my surprise (and also chagrin) there is not an illegal high in sight. That’s okay though, because trust me, you really don’t need it:

My first stop is a Lucid Dream workshop led by an eternally smiley Charlie Morley, a 25 year old Hip Hop devotee who has dedicated the last six years of his life to the art of Lucid Dreaming. Having recently been ordained to teach the practice by none other than the famous Buddhist Abbot Lama Yeshe Rinpoche, (Trips off the tongue, doesn’t it?), he now travels the Globe teaching the less enlightened among us how to harness the power of our dreams.  Far out, eh?

We enter a dimly lit room, where Charlie sits crossed legged, (natch) on the floor, (natch) with only a small crystal light (natch) for company. The talk blends both Jungian theory with Western Scientific principals, merely scraping the surface of both, but just enough to make the audience desperate to get home, pop a mazzy and give it a whirl. Despite my innate scepticism and the fact this guy really reminds me of Peter Andre, I find myself completely engaged and ready to go to sleep and embrace my Jungian Shadow. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Next, there is time to sink some cider (drink de jour, apparently) and catch some spoken word. Kate Tempest takes to the stage, whipping up a largely sedate audience with impassioned rhymes of love and life and anecdotes of life as a female MC and Poet. Sometimes I don’t hear all the words but that’s okay because she’s cool and I like her:

Inua Ellams is up next. Edinburgh Fringe First award winner and quite possibly one of the most enigmatic performers around.  Words flow smooth as silk. He has the type of voice that could cure insomnia, lyrical and soothing, a slight Jamaican twang by way of Dublin.  I do him no justice, see here:

Ross Sutherland takes to the stage and does what he does best. Makes everyone laugh. Imagine a slightly leaner and fitter Essex version of Jack Black. His slightly scruffy and unassuming gait belies what comes next;  sharp  observational witticisms that takes the evening into a different direction. I am amused, and so shall you be:

Finally High Poetess Salena Godden, amazes the audience with her frank and fresh life perspective. She recites poem:  ‘Be A Twat’, a homage to a twat who was such a massive twat that she wrote a poem about the act of him being such a twat. The point being, if you act like a twat, someone, somewhere will probably write about you and your twattyness. Sage advice. You have been warned: http://www.myspace.combookclubboutique

Then Newton Faulkner came on stage.  So I left and ate sushi.

It was the right decision.


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