The Joy of Live(stream) Theatre

I love live theatre. I grew up going every summer to the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford, Ontario and there are still certain things just the memory of which will send a shiver down my spine.  The sound of the gong that would mark the start of the play on that curtainless apron stage.  The rustle of a costume as an actor made their entrance down an aisle (oh, how I’d clamour to my parents to make sure that we got one of those precious aisle seats!) Maggie Smith holding the audience in the palm of her hand as Cleopatra...

Recently, however, there is no denying I have become a major fan of live streaming – the technology that allows a theatre performance to be broadcast live to cinemas around the country, or even around the world, giving you front row seats at a fraction of the current cost of tickets to the theatre.

In the last couple of months, I have been to two such live-streams:  David Tennant’s Richard II at the RSC, directed by Greg Doran, and Tom Hiddleston’s Coriolanus at the Donmar Warehouse, directed by Josie Rourke. Both these performances were sold out almost as soon as tickets went on sale, so my chances of seeing either of them in the theatres was virtually nil.

Richard II

If you have never been to a live-stream, you might imagine that what you see is just the view from a fixed-point camera, perhaps from the middle of the dress circle.  But it’s far more sophisticated than that.  Somehow, without interfering with the live performance, they position cameras at multiple angles, and take you, at times, right in close  to the actors’ faces, so that you catch details of the performance you wouldn’t see unless you had front row seats – and perhaps no even then.

Both Richard II and Coriolanus suffer from the fact that their central characters are not particularly easy to like. Tennant’s Richard II reeled in the audience’s sympathies over the course of the play, moving from an effete arrogance born of his certainty in his divine right to rule, to a resigned humility as he accepts his fate.

One of the pleasures of a live-stream is that you are often treated to little interviews with the cast and crew before the performance and in the interval. In this case, before the play began, we heard an interview with the director, Gregory Doran, who described Tennant as  “constitutionally incapable of not making a line sound like modern English,” – gift that allows him to draw out some of the bitter humour Richard finds in his own downfall.

Richard II also marks the first return to the stage of Jean Lapotaire since the brain haemorrhage she suffered in 2000, in the small but significant role as the widow to the murdered Gloucester.

We also heard the designer, Stephen Brimson Lewis, talk about going back to an old technology to create a very modern-seeming effect.  Curtains made of strings of fine glass beads (‘a bit like the chain on your sink plug’) were hung in graduated layers through the depth of the stage. Onto this were projected images – like the nave of the cathedral in the opening scene – creating an illusion of depth.  And because the curtains were semi-transparent, actors could move behind and between them, accentuating the effect.

  

Coriolanus

In contrast to the grandeur of the Richard II set, the live-stream of Coriolanus came from the tiny Donmar Warehouse  - a converted banana ripening shed in London’s Covent Garden. The stage is a simple square, surrounded on three sides by banks of seats, and this stark simplicity was used to conjure the idea of a Roman arena.  The only set dressing was graffiti projected onto the back wall and the only props a ladder and a few chairs.

Tom Hiddleston is young and athletic, and he brings a different dynamic to the play than the older actors who are typically cast. (As Emma Freud asked in her interview of the director, Josie Rourke, during the interval, “MTV named Tom Hiddleston as the sexiest man on the planet – so why  exactly did you cast him as Coriolanus…?”)  And they are not averse to making the most of  that athleticism – sending him  scrambling up ladders at the siege of Corioles where he earns his name and afterwards having him stand, half-naked, as he showers blood from his body.

Deborah Findlay is impressive as Volumnia – surely one of the strongest female roles in any of Shakespeare’s tragedies. But the revelation of this production, for me, was Mark Gatiss as Menenius. I love his Mycroft, but I have been in two minds about some of the other things I have seen him in.  but here he displayed the same gift as Tennant – making every word seem perfectly understandable and creating a character the audience could relate to as if this were contemporary drama.

The other piece of surprise casting was Birgitte Hjort Sørensen (Borgen’s Katrine Fønsmark) as Coriolanus’s wife Virgilia. It is a part with very few speaking lines and you might think she was wasted on it (especially as her English appears flawless and almost unaccented). But one of the things I have noticed about Scandanavian television actors is that that are often expected to express a great deal without using any words at all.  Because of the  way the play was staged, Virgilia is on view to the audience almost the whole time, and especially for this live-cast, where the camera often comes in very close to the actors’ faces, Sørensen has great scope to express all  the fear, anger and grief of a soldier’s wife.

Coriolanus is  the least known of Shakespeare’s Roman plays.  Unlike, say, Hamlet or Julius Caesar, much of the audience will come to it not knowing the story – and most of all, not knowing the ending.  Josie Rourke and her cast would like to keep it that way, so I won’t spoil it for you. Sufficeth to say that it made full use of Hiddleston’s athleticism, and that even filtered through  a screen, it was shocking.

Simon Russell Beale’s King Lear  from the National Theatre will be live –streamed on 1^st May. I’m buying my tickets now.

Homelessness - it ain't what it used to be

I spent Christmas 1979 working in a homeless shelter in Coventry.

Like Maia in Ghost Town, I’d spent the summer after a graduated volunteering at the Shelter, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to go back there for Christmas. 

Christmas Eve, I went to the midnight service at the ancient Holy Trinity Church next to the Cathedral. And Christmas morning we borrowed the kitchen at the local Methodist church to cook turkey and all the trimmings for around 30 homeless men who had nowhere else to go.

Back then, most of those we catered for probably complied with your stereotype of a homeless person. They were male. In their thirties or forties, but looking a lot older. And almost all were alcoholics.

Even back then, though, there was much to defy lazy stereotyping. We did indeed have an ex-soldier,  like Pongo, who had failed to adjust to civvy street – who kept himself spotlessly clean and had a passion for mathematical puzzles and lateral thinking. With a few exceptions, these guys were kind, often funny, and fiercely protective of the women volunteers.

Move the clock on a few years and the nature of homelessness was changing.  First came the transients, who hit the road looking for work when the recession hit in the early 80s.  Then there were those who slipped through the cracks of ‘care in the community’ – the mentally ill who failed to adjust to life outside an institution, but who hadn’t Pongo’s resources to cope on their own.   And then there were the children – the runaways and those leaving care at 16 – who in the late eighties had their right to claim benefits taken away from them.

By then I was working in an office on Kingsway in central London.  I will never forget the drift of homeless people that seemed, night by night, to move further north from the river, starting on the Strand and moving their way up Kingsway until, by dusk, every doorway would be occupied by a huddled form under a threadbare blanket or a piece of scavenged cardboard.

To walk south over Waterloo Bridge towards the National Theatre was even more heartbreaking.  Within spitting distance of the champagne-swilling excesses of the Square Mile, a cardboard city mushroomed. There hard-core, old-style homeless men slept alongside children who didn’t look old enough to be allowed out on their own – never mind to be living on the streets.

Gradually things changed.  Policies – some well-meant and some ruthless – gradually reduced the numbers of rough sleepers. And in the boom years of the noughties, the number of homeless genuinely reduced.

It's on the rise again now, though you might not know it. There are more rough sleepers to be seen in London than there have been for a decade or more - but nothing like the numbers I saw in the late eighties.  Homelessness has become a hidden scourge.

Homelessness today is kids like Alesha in Polly Courtney’s Feral Youth, living under the radar and dodging social services as they sofa-surf from one unsuitable home to another. It’s mothers with small children living in B&Bs with filthy communal kitchens and stairways booby trapped with used hypodermics. It’s hostels for young adults you wouldn’t home a dog in.

This is the legacy of three decades of failing to provide the housing stock that’s needed, runaway rent prices and – now – a government that is hell-bent on reducing the welfare bill by cutting back on housing benefit. Whatever side of the fence you sit – the three of those together makes for a toxic mix.

Back in 1966, Ken Loach made Cathy Come Home – a film about a young woman forced into homelessness.  It helped to launch the charity Shelter and brought about a change in the law that  gave a duty to local councils to house vulnerable women and children.

We need another Cathy Come Home . We need to change the narrative from ‘workless scroungers claiming thousands in housing benefit’ to something that reveals the true picture of homelessness in the 21^st Century. And we need to do it before it’s too late for kids like Alesha.

Christmas seems like a good time to start.

The Power of Reconciliation: RIP Nelson Mandela

When I was a very small child, my father wrote a book which contained a short chapter on Apartheid.  Both the book and my father were immediately banned in South Africa – which didn’t seem to have much effect on us, as we didn’t live in South Africa and had no immediate plans to travel there.

But it meant that my father became a minor focus for anti-Apartheid activists escaping from South Africa, and for other South Africans who came to view their country in a different light once they travelled outside its borders. As a result, I grew up hearing extraordinary stories of courage in opposition, of last minute escapes and daring subterfuge.

When I arrived at University, one of the first conversations I had was about the rights and wrongs of boycotting South African goods. And when I started work, I would walk every day through Trafalgar Square, past the South African embassy and see the handful of people holding their perpetual vigil outside its doors.

I remember almost weeping when, in April 1994, that handful of people swelled to queue that wrapped itself round the building, as ex-pat South Africans queued to vote in the first free elections in the country’s history.

Last year, I was privileged to attend the opening, on Mandela Day, of the Shakespeare: Staging the World exhibition at the British Museum, attended by Sonny Venkatrathnam who was a prisoner with Nelson Mandela on Robben Island for twelve years

The exhibition included the’ Robben Island Bible,’ Venkatrathnam’s copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare.  The only other books allowed on Robben Island were religious texts, and in order to persuade the guards to let him lend it to other prisoners, Venkatrathnam pasted Divali cards over the cover and convinced them it was a ‘Hindu Bible’.  The book was passed among the prisoners and 32 of them annotated the text, marking passages that had particular meaning for them.

The book lay open at the passage from marked Julius Caesar by Nelson Mandela:

“Cowards die many times before their deaths,
The valiant never taste of death but once.”

When Nelson Mandela walked free from Robben Island in 1990, his image in the world changed.  For almost thirty years, no photographs of him had been permitted. The images of him we had all seen – on banners, on t-shirts, at every anti-Apartheid rally – were of a young man, an amateur boxer. In an instant, as he walked through those gates, that image changed.  He was older, much thinner, his hair beginning to grey.

But when he spoke, his image changed in a much more profound way – from a Freedom Fighter to a man who was able to forgive.  A man who could feel nothing but compassion for his oppressors.  A man who could hold his nation together through the power of reconciliation.

Today, the Rainbow Nation has lost its father. May they, and all of us, continue to walk is his light.

Triskele's Black Friday ... and Saturday ... and Sunday ...

Black Friday may have come and gone, but TRISKELE BOOKS have one more treat in store for book lovers. For just three days next weekend, from 6th-8th December:

ALL TRISKELE eBOOKS ACROSS ALL PLATFORMS 

IN US, UK, EUROPE & AUSTRALIA

WILL BE AT 0.99   

We have CRIME FICTION:

Gillian Hamer's historical crime thrillers set along the wild Welsh coast, laced with an otherworldly flavour.

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http://authl.it/B0080JOA7W

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Or JJ Marsh's fast-paced international crime series, with the incomparable Inspector Beatrice Stubbs. 

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HISTORICAL FICTION:

The first two volumes in Liza Perrat's Auberge des Anges Perdues series, set during the French Revolution and in Nazi-occupied France...   

Or JD Smith's beautiful retelling of an ancient Cornish legend...                          

http://authl.it/B00CS5X020

http://authl.it/sh

http://authl.it/sg

and of course my own CONTEMPORARY FICTION from Canada and Coventry:

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http://authl.it/B00G6K9DQU

So if you have yet to sample one of the Triskele authors - or if you want to complete a collection you have already begin - now is the time to do it. Just click on the links below each cover image to find the sales point for your region.

All Triskele eBooks across all platforms at the special Christmas price of 99cents/pence. 

December 6th-8th 2013

DON'T MISS OUT!

Jatinder Verma - Founder of Tara Arts

On 4^th July, 1976, five years before the murder of Satnam Singh Gill in Coventry, another student by the name of Gurdeep Singh Chagger was murdered in Southall.

Just as it would in Coventry, the murder galvanised Asian youths into a response quite different from the non-confrontational approach of their parents. Starting with four days of spontaneous street possession in Southall, the reaction spread out across the country, spawning the Asian Youth Movement.

With slogans such as ‘Come what may, we are here to stay’ and ‘Here to stay, here to fight,’ the AYM was radical, secular and prepared to take the fight to the opposition. Many of those currently involved in fighting for civil rights - such as Suresh Grover from Liberty - cut their teeth with the AYM.

Chaggar’s murder also galvanised a young Jatinder Verma.  Verma had arrived in the UK from Kenya as a teenager in 1968 – the year of Enoch Powell’s Rivers of Blood speech.  As he told the Guardian in 2008, “I saw my mother struggling with four children in a strange land, wading through torrents of abuse, repeatedly refused rented accommodation because of the smell of her cooking, disparaged and devalued by shopkeepers and landlords, stripped of her sari and her dignity on the factory floor.”

Convinced of the need to forge life out of Chaggar’s tragic death, in 1977, Verma set up Tara Arts, Britain’s first Asian Theatre Group in Britain.

Here he talks to me about humour, self-censorship, and why he still sees colour as the central issue in inter-cultural exchange.

Jatinder, could you start by telling me a bit more about why you set up Tara Arts?

Black Album
NT-Tara co-production-2009
Alex Andreaou as Riyaz;
 Photo Credit Talulah Sheppard

Until Chaggar’s murder in 1976, Asian youth had been largely invisible. Asians were perceived as a law-abiding community, and Asian youth were ‘not a problem.’  But here they were saying, “These streets belong to us too.”

There is another less well known line from Powell’s ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech:

"It is by Black Power that the headlines are caught, and under the shape of the Negro that the consequences for Britain of immigration and what is miscalled 'race' are popularly depicted. Yet it is more truly when he looks into the eyes of Asia that the Englishman comes face to face with those who will dispute with him the possession of his native land.”

We needed a space in which to debate these issues and the feelings they aroused.

I strongly believe the way to break through cultural barriers and break down prejudice is through empathy. Through challenging the imagination. Arts in their various guises have always suggested the nature of society. They contest myths. (To paraphrase Shelley) artists are the unacknowledged legislators of tomorrow.

This isn’t just about new writing. It’s also about how you reinterpret the classics.  Look at Othello.  At least today he is usually played by a black actor, which is a step forward from Lawrence Olivier blacking up! But Othello is not black. He is a Moor. An Arab.  A non-Christian.  That’s been addressed academically but never yet on stage. I know that sooner or later that is something I am going to have to do.

You have said that the dialogue between ETHNICITY AND NATIONHOOD is central to Tara’s work.  Can you tell us a bit more about what you mean by that that?

Britain is an island, with all the faults and riches of an island nation.  We don’t like people coming in. We still haven’t forgiven the French for the Norman Conquest.

It is only really since the Second World War that coloured immigration has impinged on the British consciousness.  So coloured immigrants have been caught up in the midst of huge challenges for Britain in determining its identity in a post colonial world – such as, do we align ourselves with a European axis or an American axis? Does the kingdom stay united, or break up into nation states?

I remember taking one of our plays to Dewsbury.  When we got there, we found ourselves surrounded by Victorian non-conformist buildings.  Yet the inhabitants of those streets were dressed as if they were still living in NW Pakistan. That is a challenge to a nation whose self-image is still white.

As Ivan says in Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov: “One can love one’s neighbours in the abstract, or even at a distance, but at close quarters, it’s almost impossible.”

I have always suspected that both xenophobia and elitism run much deeper in the British character than racism itself.  But you clearly believe colour is the central issue.

I agree that Britain likes to imagine that it is a meritocracy.  It isn’t. One of the reasons that the British Raj felt so at home in India was that, in its caste system, they saw themselves in the mirror. 

And yes, today a lot of the ill feeling is directed against Islam as a faith, but how do you recognise a Muslim?  I have walked down the street outside this theatre and been called ‘Osama’.

In all the literature around race, there is no real investigation of the visceral impact of colour.  There has been a failure to engage with questions that we find difficult to examine.  Our framework for discussion, such as it is, has been borrowed from the US.

A couple of years ago, you adapted Hanif Kureishi’s The Black Album for the stage.  [The Black Album is about a search for identity amidst the clash between fundamentalism and liberalism. Written in the wake of the Rushdie affair, Verma staged the play twenty years later, in the shadow of 9/11.] You said then that one of the things that you wanted to achieve was to make a comedy out of racism. How successful do you think you were?

What Kureishi is able to do so brilliantly is see fascism for what it is, irrespective of race or faith.

But in terms of comedy?  No, not all that successful, if I am honest.  I still have in mind to do a cabaret on race – to make use of all those 19^th Century writers whose work is infused with racism.

We are just beginning to see comedy that is self-referential, prepared to lampoon oneself.  But there is still a nervousness about making fun from without.

I know you’ve said that, in the wake of the Rushdie affair, we began self- censoring over words like Muslim’, ‘Islam’, and ‘’Race’.  Can expand on that?

Domestic Crusaders, 2013
(Taqi Nawaz as Sal and Kieran Vyas as Ghafur
Photo credit George Torode)

I have come to realise that there can be times when a small amount of self-censorship can be the right thing to do. Take the play we currently have on: Domestic Crusaders by Wajahat Ali.  Three generations of a Muslim family come together in the wake of 9/11to celebrate the 21^st birthday of the youngest son.

The oldest son is pursuing the American Dream.  He comes home to find his younger brother wearing a beard and looking as if he is on the road to radicalisation. The play had a line where he says to his brother (referring to the beard), “And what’s this filth on your face?”

Now the beard represents the beard of the Prophet.  To call it filth would be extremely challenging. In the end we decided to have the actor simply swallow the word.  (“And what’s this ... on your face?”) And we did that for two reasons.  First, if anyone did decide to take offence, it was the actor, not me or the writer, who would be in the line of fire, who might get beaten up. And secondly, it would get in the way of the story.  The story is about young Asians seeking to carve a space for themselves in the American landscape while remaining connected to their own cultures.

But censoring ourselves over what issues we are prepared to discuss?  That can never be right.

There are very few British Asian playwrights. And none of our major playwrights have tackled these issues. Our major theatres are all looking for ‘the Muslim play.’ At the same time, they won’t touch Muslim plays. But not to do so is a failure to reflect the country as it is.

I know there are playwrights who won't write about the Asian experience because they 'don't know the culture'. What do you mean, you don't know the culture? What about Shakespeare, your literary 'god'? 'If you prick us, do we not bleed?'

What matters is that someone has been seized by an idea and has sweated for it.

Thank you, Jatinder.

Concrete Jungle

Sukhbender Singh is the author of Concrete Jungle, a radio play performed on the BBC Asian Network which shares its backdrop with Bob Eaton’s Three Minute Heroes and my novel, Ghost Town.

"As the storm of racial tension in Coventry rises, two young Asians, Harri and Rudy, each have to make a choice about what's most important to them - music, girls, or standing up to be counted."

Here he talks to me about growing up in Coventry in the 1980s, and the trials and tribulations of getting Concrete Jungle produced.

Sukhbender, what are your memories of Coventry from the early 80s? Did you take part in the protest marches that followed the murder of the young student, Satnam Singh Gill? 

I was born in India and came to Coventry when I was two. In 1981, I was fourteen - too young to be directly involved. My mum would never have let us!  What I do remember is that going into Coventry City Centre could be a bit of a tortuous trail. We used make sure we went shopping early because the skinheads didn’t come out until later.

Most of those involved in the protests were around five years older. Nineteen, twenty. It was one of the first times that young Asians took a stand against racism.  For the older generation, it was all about keeping your head down, not being noticed. But now there was a new generation who felt British. I know some of the older ones got involved in vigilante patrols, protecting their communities.

How did you come to write Concrete Jungle?

Concrete Jungle was one of the first things I wrote. A classic example of ‘write what you know’. It started off as film script. I first tried peddling it around in 1993, and then again around 2000.  The first time they all wanted it to be more like My Beautiful Launderette.  The second time round it was, “can’t you make it more like Bend It Like Beckham?” The only thing Concrete Jungle has in common with either of those is that it’s about Asians! After a while, I decided there was no point. I had to move on.

I started working on Silver Street, which was a radio soap opera for the BBC Asian Network.  When that was canned, the BBC decided to put some one-off dramas on the Asian Network, so I pitched Concrete Jungle to them. I cut the film script down to 50 minutes, hoping that they might do a longer piece, or maybe a two-parter.  But in the end I had to squeeze it all down to 25 minutes, which didn’t give much scope.

2011 was an interesting time for Concrete Jungle to come out.  Not only was it the 30^th anniversary, but we were in a recession again, there was another Royal Wedding ... I was working with the producer, James Pereis, who was brilliant and fully understood the script and the times. But the BBC controllers didn’t know the history. They were concerned about the riot scene and they didn’t like my using the word Paki.  How can you tell the story of that time without using that word?  They wanted to sanitise it.

The play used comedy to highlight the tensions of growing up Asian, which wasn’t all about racism. It was about not having a job, unrequited love, all that stuff. It wasn’t overtly political, but there were political undertones.

The playlist for Concrete Jungle includes tracks from Two Tone Bands like The Specials, The Selecter and The Beat. Yet Horace Panter has said that not that many young Asians would go to The Specials’ concerts.  How do you think Coventry’s Asian youth viewed Two Tone and Ska? Did it speak to them, or did they feel excluded? Were you a fan yourself?

A few Asian kids were into things like The Jam and The Clash. But most of them were listening to Bhangra or Filmi (Bollywood music). My brother loved Two Tone, though and so I got into it. No one else captured the zeitgeist quite like they did.

When The Specials announced their Concert for Racial Harmony, we were very excited.  But we couldn’t afford the tickets. And we were all scared things would kick off again.  Everybody thought the National Front would use it as an excuse to make more trouble, though in the event, that didn’t happen. 

This is potentially a huge question – but how do you think things have changed for young British Asians in the past thirty years? Is Coventry in particular a better place to be growing up than it was thirty years ago – or a worse?

It’s hard for me to say.  As an adult, your cognitive map of the city changes.  But the vibe is not the same as it was during the 80s recession.  There aren’t the same tensions. 

It feels like a calmer place.  I understand it’s now one of the safest cities in England. There was a small demonstration by the English Defence League a while back, but hardly anyone turned up.

Thank you, Sukhbender.  

Coming soon:  Jatinder Verma, Artistic Director of Tara Arts, the first Asian Theatre Group in Britain (founded in 1977).

Three Minute Heroes

Bob Eaton was Artistic Director of the Belgrade Theatre, Coventry from 1996 to 2003.  During that time, he wrote and produced Three Minute Heroes, a “jukebox musical” about a young Ska band in Coventry, set against a background of the same events that inspired Ghost Town.

Here he talks to me about why it was so important to him to put on a play about the Two Tone era, how he approached writing it and what Coventry is like today.

First can you tell us a bit about your background.  Are you Coventry born and bred?

No. In fact, I was Manchester and Liverpool during the Two-Tone era. So, really, my experience of Two Tone was much the same as the rest of the country - seeing the Specials and The Selecter on Top Of The Pops.

So how did you come to write Three Minute Heroes ?

I started work under Peter Cheeseman at the Victoria Theatre in Stoke on Trent.  He pioneered the idea of developing work for the stage that was based on real local events, which made me think a lot about how theatre relates to the community - the ‘soil in which it grows,’ as it were. 

There was also a bit of me that was a bit of a wannabe rock ’n roller who had been persuaded to do my exams and go to university instead... I guess that was why, in the late sixties and early seventies, I started developing the idea of what these days you’d call ‘jukebox musicals,’ using actors who were also musicians, which was a new idea back then.  When I went to the Everyman Theatre in Liverpool in 1981, I put on a show called Lennon, which is still being produced now.  That was a local story, and timely, as he’d been killed the year before.

So when I came to the Belgrade Theatre, I knew from the start that I wanted to do something about Two Tone, even if it took me a few years to get round to it.  It was a local story, it was exciting, and it had a political dimension to it.  I spent a long time talking to people like Pauline Black, Neol Davies and James Mackie from the Selecter, and Horace Panter and Roddy Byers from The Specials, finding out how Two Tone had come about for them.

It was a strange period musically. Punks and latter-day mods were coming together with musicians with a soul/funk/Caribbean background. And then you had people like Pauline, who was mixed race but had grown up in a white (adoptive) family, and (as she herself says) the nearest she had come to Caribbean music was Joan Armatrading.

At the same time, this wave of fascism and racism was building, and musicians were reacting to that.

Three Minute Heroes wasn’t a documentary.  We decided to tell it as the story of a group of young musicians coming up in the wake of bands like The Specials. We had five young actors, some of whom could play a bit.  And then we had a live band, directed by Akintayo Akinbode.

As well as the joys of the Two Tone era, Three Minute Heroes also addresses the rising tensions between skinhead and Asian youths, and the protests that followed the murder of the young student, Satnam Singh Gill. How did you go about portraying those events on stage?

We dealt with it indirectly, I guess.  One of the members of the band – a Rasta – is set upon in the Precinct late at night and badly beaten up.  Their roadie – the unmusical one who feels a bit left out -  becomes a skinhead.  But then, appalled by the violence he sees around him, joins CovWAR* and goes on vigilante patrols.

[*Coventry Workers Against Racism – which in my novel became CovARA – the Coventry Anti-Racist Alliance]

And though the band breaks up, they come together again one last time to play at The Specials’ Concert for Racial Harmony.

Your play had two seasons at the Belgrade Theatre in Coventry, in 2000 and 2001. How was it received by a Coventry audience?

The audience was always very mixed – but on the nights that were the most packed, there were a lot of men of a certain age and waist size – ex rude-boys, jumping on stage and dancing at the first opportunity.

On one amazing night, after the end of the show, the band on stage was joined by Neol Davies, then Pauline Black, then Horace Panter ...

I’d love to put it on again.  I’ve been talking to the current Artistic Director at the Belgrade.

There was a screening a couple of years ago, at Coventry’s Two Tone Central, wasn’t there?

Screening is a bit grand. It was a video I’d shot on a hand held camera, with the stage half-blocked out by someone’s bald head. I think about seven people came.

Earlier this year, you were involved with Shaun Prendergast’s Re-Creation Quartet, shown as part of Coventry’s Mysteries Festival.  Can you tell us a bit about that?

The Re-Creation Quartet was a cycle of four short plays focused on different periods in Coventry’s history, each one to be staged in a different square in Coventry. The last of the four plays was a Two Tone story.  Shaun didn’t really know the history, so I more or less re-wrote that one.

We worked with kids from Ego Performance, and we had a band, including Harrington Bembridge, the drummer from The Selecter. They performed it in Broadgate, which is now all pedestrianised. We had kids of all races dressed up in 2-Tone gear. Skinheads with shaven heads. Maggie Thatcher and Arthur Scargill on stilts. Dancing riot police.  The audience were all skanking.

Those kids were all far too young to remember the events from first time round.  But they were all so into the whole 2-Tone thing, it makes me think maybe its time has come again.

[Click here and scroll down to see some fabulous pictures of the performance from John Coles ]

You still live in Coventry now.  How would you describe the city today?

I think it’s much more chilled. A nicer place to live. It had a bad reputation at one time for late night violence, but that’s all abated. For my kids, growing up in Coventry, racism isn’t even a question. There are poorer areas of the city of course – Foleshill Road and Stoney Stanton Road. But unlike some cities, it isn’t ghettoised. People from different backgrounds mix.

Thank you, Bob!
Coming soon to this blog: Sukhbender Singh, author of Concrete Jungle, and Jatinder Verma, founder of Tara Arts, the first Asian Theatre Group in the UK.