Hammer and Tongue

For 2012, Hammer and Tongue has a new venue, the Crisis Skylight Cafe in the new arts development at Old Fire Station, and whilst I loved the bohemian atmosphere of the Old Boot Factory, I have to say that for those of us who live out of town and rely on buses, or just those of us whose legs aren't as young as they used to be, the new location is fabulous, as is the cafe itself, which comfortably holds 70-80, has friendly staff, and supports a fabulous cause.

Hammer and Tongue is always notable for its friendliness, and last night it seemed more welcoming than ever, the fabulous hosting duo of Tina Sederhom and Lucy Ayrton (both of them poets and performers of exceptional prowess as well as marvellous MCs) on wonderful front of house form so newcomers to poetry slams and the oldest of hands felt equally welcome.

In addition to the excellent slam, personal highlights of which were Hannah Elwick's achingly moving performance (in her first ever reading, no less - watch this space!!), Paul Askew's delightfully surreal fabulism, and Davy Mac's unflinchingly honest heartbreaking poems about homelessness, the night's support act was the delightfully sui generis Johnny Fluffypunk, hilarious and insightful self-styled pastoral anarchist and one of the loveliest people you will meet in the already lovely world of poetry.

But the night belonged to the stellar headline act, Anna Freeman, one of the tiniest of tiny handfuls of poets to combine words that bear many rereading/listenings, efforless and engaging flow, and an emotional intensity and honesty that digs right inside your skin and your soul. She also does what so so few do, and moves effortlessly from the soul's darkest nights to hilarity and back again without the slightest cracks appearing. Go to see her any place you can.

Dan Holloway (DI Reviewer), 14/03/12

Hammer and Tongue is one of the jewels in Oxford’s cultural crown, a homegrown event that has spread to eight venues across the UK, each of which take it in monthly turns to host the mix of open poetry slam, support act and headline poet (for whom this comprises a mini tour). This month’s headliner was Kate Tempest, billed as the UK’s queen of hip hop. Having watched pretty much every clip of her mesmerising poetry on YouTube, she was the reason I walked half an hour through rain and gales to The Old Boot Factory, a deliciously scuzzy shell of a warehouse venue replete with outside loo, buckets to catch drops from the leaking roof, and a door with no catch to welcome in the elements.

Support came in the shape of The Dead Poets, a double act with a delightful backstory (one was a grime MC, the other the poet laureate of Peterborough - and then they swapped roles). They were an engaging, entertaining way to warm up a crowd on a very cold night, their set giving humorous spins on not quite fitting in. They were very good at what they did, though they sometimes veered towards the territory occupied by a lot of contemporary performance poetry of not really having much to say beyond the laughs and the clever rhymes - yet each time they put a tyre on that curb they managed to steer back onto the road. This was unlike a few of the open mic slammers who were rooted firmly in an aesthetic that didn’t quite get past stating that the government was crap. In rhyme. That said, the overall quality was very high, and the winner’s quiet, mesmeric meditation on time, fragility and grief was something very special.

Kate Tempest was something else altogether. Her Teflon-fluid delivery served up rhymes that had depths within their depths within their depths. But whilst the word play and rhythm was exceptional, and the erudition beyond anything you’ll find on the pages of Faber, what set her apart was her desperate, soul-wrenching passion. The audience felt every word of her world with her. And it’s a world that embraces a glorious panorama of humanity, from awkwardness to despair to frustration to joy. She belongs, like the very best hip hop - and unlike so much superficial, slick, performance poetry - in the ecstatic spiritual lineage of Ginsberg and St John of the Cross. She is one of the UK’s most precious gems. Do anything you can to see her.

Dan Holloway (DI Reviewer), 14/12/11

Hammer and Tongue's new season sees it return to the Cowley Road, where it was born some years ago in the tiny, packed and sweaty basement bar of the Brickworks to co-founders Steve Larkin and Jim Thomas. The crowd's grown up a bit since then, so instead of standing room only, crowd-surfing comperes and a front row of spit-spattered faces, the audience lounges on leather sofas in an art bar whilst drinking Peroni on draught. It's all very sophisticated (and the rather good artwork is on sale), though the neon chip shop sign flashing through the window behind the stage reminds us that we're still at a pulsing node of Oxford's grassroots arts scene.

I've been a couple of times to the new location (Bar Baby, just past east Oxford health centre), once to catch favourite Mark Gwynne Jones (a softly spoken northern poet who 'tells' you each poem as if it were a story - which, of course, it is) and once for disturbingly insane Aussie Tug Dumbly (whose 'true' tale of what happened to him as a boy in the outdoor privy with a budgie and the Virgin Mary is enough to make your mind water). It's a privilege to be able to get this close to performers of such a high calibre in such an intimate space - an increasingly elusive quantity these days as venues expand and the only festivals you'd otherwise see these guys at are too pricey to get into. And then of course, there's the Slam. If you don't know what a Slam is - well, there's only one way to really find out: by taking part. Entrants sign up at the start of the evening, judges get ice-skating-style score cards, entrants take the stage for 3 minutes delivering their own poetry, and the judges mark their performance (to the boos and cheers of the audience). Unlike the old days when the winners got a homecooked meal from a random audience member, they now get the chance to take place in a high-profile finale where the prize is a performance spot at Glastonbury Festival. The other Joy of Slam is the fact that poetry careers are born here - and you get to watch future stars just starting out. Remember that nervous Oxford student shaking like a leaf whilst pouring her sapphic heart out? Now she's a regular Glastonbury festival performer, with professional bookings in London and beyond. (My current favourite is a young chap who is like a cross between Vancouver punkabilly poet The Minimalist Jug Band and Nick Cave.) Not to forget local stalwarts such as gently revolutionary US punk George Roberts, and feisty feminists Lizzie Mc. & Tina Beard - all of whom have that treasured ability to hold the audience's emotions in the palm of their hand. And not forgetting inimitable compere and co-founder Steve Larkin - the excellent poet and entertainer at the helm of this tight ship.

Hammer & Tongue is a monthly affair, traditionally on Wednesdays - usually a quiet night for gigs (unless Fuzzy's floats your boat), so your diary is bound to be clear. At only a fiver on the door - or £4 concs, or FREE if you Slam - can you afford to miss it?!

Liz Graham (Unverified), 03/03/09