
Why Scotland's 'great lost rock star' is busier than ever
Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, fresh from a sweltering gig at Oran Mor nine days ago, are at the Doune festival on August 2. The Filthy Tongues, the darkly compelling band formed by the core musicians of Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, are playing the Famous Spiegeltent during the Edinburgh Fringe on August 13, and will also guest at A Night for Soapy, a fundraising event at Glasgow's Barrowland on August 31. Beyond that, there are dates at Irvine's Harbour Arts Centre on October 24 and Dunfermline's PJ Molloys the following night.
Were all that not enough, Martin is producing the forthcoming albums by the Rezillos and The Countess of Fife. He is also, into the bargain, a talented painter.
He first made his name as singer and songwriter with Goodbye Mr Mackenzie, a popular Bathgate group whose distinctive sound emerged from the post-punk scene.
In 1989 their well-received debut album, Good Deeds and Dirty Rags was a Top 30 hit in the UK charts and led to eventful tours of Britain and Europe.
Sadly, as was the fate of many other promising groups, they would go on to be plagued by record company indecision and internal politics. Though there were three further, very fine, albums – Hammer and Tongs (1991), Five (1994; it charted in the UK for the first time upon its reissue in 2024), and The Glory Hole (1996) – the band came to an end, with a final gig at Glasgow's The Garage in late 1995, after Shirley Manson and guitarist 'Big John' Duncan had departed. Along the way, band members had created a side-project, Angelfish, whose 1994 album was produced by Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth of Talking Heads.
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The Filthy Tongues, which Martin formed alongside former GMM bandmates Fin Wilson and Derek Kelly, were initially known as Isa and the Filthy Tongues, with Stacey Chavis as lead singer, and released two albums, Addiction, a potent blend of punk, surf and blues, and Dark Passenger.
They also contributed songs, including the title track, to New Town Killers, an Edinburgh-set thriller directed by the former Skids frontman, Richard Jobson.
When Chavis left, the band continued as the Filthy Tongues, whose music would explore the dark underbelly of Edinburgh.
Their excellent 2016 debut, Jacob's Ladder, enticed The Scotsman's reviewer to describe them as now a 'strictly testosterone-charged mean gothic blues machine. There is more than a dash of the Nick Cave in the biblical imagery of the title track and much of the album lurks misanthropically in the shadows, but the classy, drawling Holy Brothers references their own musical past with a certain urban romance'.
Jacob's Ladder (2016), Back to Hell (2018) and 2023's densely claustrophobic In These Dark Places all followed. Of Back to Hell, the rock-to-punk-rock music website Louder than War observed: 'This menacingly glorious follow-up to Jacob's Ladder is packed full of richly textured musicianship sound-tracking passionate tales of desolation and pain but with a glimmer of hope to come'.
Also in 2023, the Filthy Tongues featured in Revelations of Rab McVie, an acclaimed collaboration at the Traverse Theatre with artist Maria Rud and actor Tam Dean Burn. As The Herald's theatre critic, Neil Cooper, noted: 'Martin Metcalfe fronts the five-piece Filthy Tongues like some arcane preacher hurling out gothic litanies over a swamptrash voodoo backing'. A live album is currently in the pipeline.
The Rezillos' and Fay Fife's new albums are being co-produced by Martin Metcalfe Martin was flattered to be approached to work on the new albums by the Rezillos, The Armoury Show and The Countess of Fife.
'It was the Countess herself who asked me to co-produce her album', he says. 'That came as a total shock and surprise.
'First she had asked me to co-produce the new Rezillos album, which completely blew me away. The Rezillos were after all the first band I ever saw properly, at the Glasgow Apollo, when I was 15.
'So I find it quite astonishing that I was asked to work on their album, because I never put myself out there as a producer. In fact, it's Derek Kelly who takes most of the producer's role in the Filthy Tongues.
'I've spent a lot of time in control rooms, with the likes of Reinhold Mack, who produced Queen and also recorded the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin.
'So, over the years, you do get to a place where you know what you're doing. I've never imagined a career as a producer but one thing has led to another, but it's been a great experience to work with the Rezillos, the Countess and The Armoury Show'. It was a 'huge compliment' to have been asked to produce the latter band's Dead Souls, which charted at number six in the Scottish charts.
It's worth mentioning that Martin and Fin also spent a year touring with the Skids in 2023-24, playing between 30 and 50 gigs and visiting such far-flung places as Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong.
'To do that was really bucket-stuff list that I didn't have on a bucket-list', he acknowledges. 'In my head, or my heart, I'd love to play with Iggy Pop, I'd love to play with the Sex Pistols, I'd love to play with the Skids. It's not like a bucket-list thing you think is achievable, like climbing the Eiffel Tower or visiting the Pyramids or sailing down the Amazon. I never thought I'd visit Australia, or New Zealand – a lovely place - or Hong Kong. These were fantastic places. In Hong Kong, I thought, how the hell did I end up here? I really didn't know what it was going to be like'.
Martin and his bands – Goodbye Mr Mackenzie and the Filthy Tongues – are gearing up for a busy August and beyond. He is no doubt hoping that at none of the forthcoming gigs does the temperature match that at GMM's gig at Glasgow's Oran Mor a week ago last Friday.
'It's probably the hottest gig we've ever played', he says. 'Twenty-seven degrees in the soundcheck and possibly 30 degrees during the performance. In the end it was one of the very best gigs, and great because it was shared by us and the audience.
'People will ask in years to come, 'Remember that insanely hot gig in Oran Mor?' and I will. It was a night to remember for many reasons'.
* The Filthy Tongues play The Famous Spiegeltent Presents: Sounds of Scotland, in the St Andrew Square Gardens hub, Edinburgh, on August 13, 9.30pm. www.thefamousspiegeltent.com; www.filthytongues.com. www.backdounetherabbithole.co.uk – August 1,2 and 3, Cardross Estate, Cardross, Port of Menteith.
RUSSELL LEADBETTER
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Scotsman
4 hours ago
- Scotsman
Edinburgh Fringe theatre reviews: Trouble, Struggle, Bubble And Squeak
Sign up to our Arts and Culture newsletter, get the latest news and reviews from our specialist arts writers Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... Trouble, Struggle, Bubble And Squeak ★★★★ Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) until 24 August The Edinburgh Fringe is not short of solo artists who, faced with a breakup, go on to make deeply self-absorbed shows about how angry they are about their breakup. The theatre-maker and visual artist Victoria Melody, though, is made of sterner stuff; and after previous shows about the worlds of Northern Soul and British undertakers, among other subjects, she decided to move her life on by joining an English Civil War re-enactment society. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad It wasn't entirely plain sailing; for a start, Victoria - who wanted to explore England's buried radical history by joining the Roundheads - accidentally signed up for the wrong side. Trouble, Struggle, Bubble And Squeak | Matt Stronge Her interest in the forces behind the English Revolution remained undimmed, though; and she became fascinated by the story of the Diggers, a radical group who refused to accept the power of landlords to remove them, and their means of food production, from the once common land of England. Melody was artist in residence at a housing estate in Brighton at the time; and with the help of her Civil War chums, she was soon organising the community there to re-enact not so much a battle, as a famous act of resistance by Diggers who refused to be shifted from their land. In Trouble, Struggle, Bubble And Squeak - a one-hour solo show written and performed by Melody, and directed by Mark Thomas - all of this is narrated in fine agitprop style, with Melody's pals and comrades in the community represented by vivid black and white photographs on sticks; she also uses small felt vegetables and similar props to bring the story to life. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad And while Melody's show may not be the most polished performance of the Fringe, it is one of the most genuinely purposeful and hopeful; reminding us that once people reclaim the soil beneath their feet, and start using it to grow their own food, they are on their way not only to a radically better diet at prices they can afford, but to a true sense of autonomy and empowerment, long lost to the machine age. Joyce McMillan Lymphomaniac ★★★ Just the Tonic at the Caves (Venue 88) until 24 August In 2014, at the age of 22, life was going well for Megan Timpane. An aspiring young actor living in Hollywood, she worked at upmarket handbag and fashion chain Michael Kors, and was about to audition for a Will Ferrell movie. She also has a great line in impersonations, from Britney Spears to Kourtney Kardashian by way of the cast of babies she voice-acted in an animated series, and all are fortunately brought out to play in her show. Then she was diagnosed with cancer, stage 3 Hodgkin's lymphoma, and during her subsequent treatment and recovery she began to put this real-life, one-woman play together to work through her experiences. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad In this she pulls hardly any punches, from detailing the embarrassing effects of chemotherapy upon her digestive system, to an amusing montage of wildly differing reactions from friends when she tells them her bad news. While Timpane's exploration of the psychological effects and long-term implications of her recovery feels novel, it's also somewhat overlong and self-analytic, meaning the back end of the play is less dramatic or revelatory. Yet this is a personal piece with plenty of humour and frankness around what Timpane has been through, and it's hard to see how anyone who shares her experiences won't find it a very moving and identifiable piece of work. David Pollock ROTUS: Receptionist of the United States ★★★ Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Venue 24) until 24 August Chastity Quirk is an old-fashioned all-American girl from Idaho, with mandatory bottle-blonde hair and a fake innocent high-pitched squeal of a voice. It's no surprise she was a sorority girl at school, a cheerleader who chanted about being 'saved and spicy' to emphasise both her religion and her hotness. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Now she's made it her mission to get into one of the most exclusive clubs in the world – the office of the President of the United States. Beneath Chastity's cheery, can-do surface she's merciless in pursuing this goal, leaving the woke news media and yuppie Democrats in her wake as she carves out a niche as the Receptionist of the United States of America, the woman with her hands on the diaries of power. But has he gotten herself in too deep, and do the leering, crotch-grabbing men of President Drumf's administration have something special in mind for her? On the surface, Leigh Douglas (who is Irish, but the US accent is excellent) has carved out a satisfying character comedy which gets plenty of laughs as it pokes fun at the seat of American power and some of the personality types which populate it. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Yet as it nears its conclusion it takes a turn for the darker, leaving the audience in no doubt they've seen an effective political satire as much as an irreverent comedy. David Pollock Body Count ★★★ Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Venue 24) until 25 August A roaring rampager of revenge, Lily, the protagonist of Gabrielle Beasley's one-woman show imagines herself as a cross between Harley Quinn and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Initially, however, she's more like the protagonist of Helen Zhavi's novel Dirty Weekend, a woman driven to violence by male aggression. Lily's body count doesn't consist of partners but victims. She feels compelled to kill out of fear of walking the streets alone at night but her deeply sadistic tendencies also suggest a true psychopath. With her black leather biker jacket and short platinum hair, Lily has the iconic female avenger look down but she's also the ultimate unreliable narrator. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Beasley does good work compelling the audience to feel sympathy for Lily — even with her malignant tendencies — but the narrative becomes ever more unbelievable in the aftermath of Lily's murder of a friends abusive partner. This seems intentional as the police officer who turns up at her door is called P.C. Goodhusband (nudge nudge) which signals a sharp turn towards Lily's fantastical view of herself. This certainly doesn't undo all Beasley's good work but it does sit uneasily with the grimy realism of the first half. Rory Ford Baron Vordenburg's Guide to the Paranormal ★ theSpace @ Symposium Hall (Venue 43) until 23 August This sophomoric spectacle initially flatters to deceive, opening with some excellent costumes and the striking presence of Kelly Desiree as The Scarlet Countess. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the show is then surrendered to Baron Vordenburg (Corey Boe) who really lets the side down in his Gap khakis and curious mittel-European accent. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Supposedly a slide-show presentation (albeit without slides) about the undead, the Baron employs two hapless goons to illustrate his vampire hunting techniques. Remarkably, this Dark Pony Radio production comes to us all the way from the U.S.A. yet bears all the hallmarks of a lark dreamed up in the pub at the weekend. Rory Ford Exposure Therapy ★★ Greenside @ George Street (Venue 236) until 23 August In a neat concept for a Fringe show, New York ex-pat Nicole Nadler attempts to conquer her fears – including change, the unexpected and reviews like this – by improvising around post-it notes written by the audience detailing their fears, suggesting truth or dares or directing her to read aloud passages from her teenage diary. 'Push me out of my comfort zone,' she says. The resulting anecdotes from her life are warmly delivered, but a stronger predeveloped framework behind an illusion of improvisation feels like it would benefit someone who is neither a trained actor nor comedian. However, this wouldn't test Nicole in the way she wants to be – and it's a show primarily about her need to do this, rather than the audience's to see something more crafted. Sally Stott Jack Offerman's Big Uncut Flick ★★ Assembly Roxy (Venue 139) until 25 August Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Although considerably slicker and more professionally produced than many Fringe productions, this misfiring parody by New York writer Todd Michael doesn't hit the target. A recreation of a 1970s U.S. TV screening of a less-than classic film noir, Vice Ain't Nice, with some welcome commercial interruptions, the 1930s style movie performances are so broadly overplayed as to be unrecognisable. The script is fatally short of gags and the talented cast have little recourse but to talk faster and act sillier. Kathleen Macari wins a couple of laughs with her portrayals of outdated notions of femininity but — given the obvious effort involved — this really should be much more fun. Rory Ford


Scotsman
4 hours ago
- Scotsman
Edinburgh Fringe theatre reviews #CHARLOTTESVILLE Ohio The Monkeypox Gospel The Ego
Sign up to our Arts and Culture newsletter, get the latest news and reviews from our specialist arts writers Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... #CHARLOTTESVILLE ★★★★ Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) until 25 August Ohio ★★★★ Assembly Roxy (Venue 139) until 24 August With the United States thrown into turmoil by Donald Trump's second prsidency, it's fascinating to see those American dramas of doubt, division and aggressive certainty play out across the Edinburgh Fringe; and nowhere more so than Priyanka Shetty's impassioned solo show #Charlottesville, produced by Yellow Raincoat and Richard Jordan in association with the Pleasance. Subtitled 'The play that Trump does not want you to see!', Shetty's show is a powerful docudrama about the events of 2017 in the city of Charlottesville, home of the University of Virginia, which Shetty witnessed as a young first year theatre student of Indian origin. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Ohio | Oliver Rosser Enraged by a city council decision to remove some statues and memorials commemorating Confederate leaders, the American far right, emboldened by Trump's election the previous year, vowed to stage massive demonstrations in the normally quiet university city; and amid the torchlit white supremacist marches and huge counter-demonstrations that followed, one woman demonstrator was killed by a man who drove his car into the crowd. Shetty chronicles all this in vivid narrative style, with sharp and telling use of projected video images. Alongside this shocking story of a quiet town confronted with an overt politics of hatred, though, she also has a tale to tell of the more subtle oppression and marginalisation she suffers at the hands of her university department, who see nothing wrong with directors repeatedly refusing to cast her for student productions because of her skin colour, and aggressively forbid her to make a show about the Charlottesville events. The result is a riveting tale, told with intelligence and feeling, that cuts to the heart of the lingering racism and overt white supremacism that is helping to reshape American politics. And Shetty's powerful stage presence is a living reminder both of the profound crisis the United states faces, and of its enduring capacity, despite Trump's best efforts, to offer new Americans from across the world the chance to find, and raise, their own voices. In their show Ohio, at Assembly Roxy, US indie-folk duo The Bengsons - Shaun and Abigail - offer their audiences a much more meditative insight into the tensions that divide American society. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad In what they call 'an ecstatic grief concert' - a one-hour cycle of songs punctuated by narrative - they chart their own personal journeys from childhoods shaped by religious faith (hers light-touch Jewish, his in a strict and devout Christian sect) through a long youthful process of doubt, rebellion, rejection, and rage, towards some kind of new accommodation with the aspects of life that are both spiritual and unknowable. The experience that shapes them includes Sean's increasing profound deafness, inherited from his preacher father, and the premature birth of their son, when the baby's life hangs in the balance. None of this, though, ever seems to diminish the magnificent, raw strength of their music, of Shaun's guitar and Abigail's wild, magnificent singing, which ranges from the gentlest of dances and laments to heart-tearing rebel yells of rage and grief; in a show whose music comes from the very heart of American culture - religious, folk-based, touched by soul and blues - yet always succeeds in forging it into something brilliant, and new. Joyce McMillan The Monkeypox Gospel ★★★ Underbelly Cowgate (Venue 61) until 24 August There's a lot going on in Ngofeen Mputubwele's debut stage show The Monkeypox Gospel; and so there should be, given the importance of the subjects he tackles, which include the science of pandemics, the politics of vaccination, and the impact of lingering colonial attitudes on human health and health care. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad His subject is the monkeypox (now renamed m-pox) epidemic of 2022; but since m-pox, like AIDS, is often transmitted by sex between gay men, Mputubwele fears that by writing honestly about it, he will finally expose himself to complete exclusion from his Congolese family and community. The problem with the show, though, is that in a short 60 minutes, Mputubwele - who is an award-nominated podcast producer, as well as a journalist and lawyer - throws absolutely everything at it, from a massively noisy mixed soundtrack that sometimes drowns out his words (although he is a big man with a big voice), to awkward episodes in which he works through his traumas - as a gay man from a strictly religious background, and a black African living in New York - by performing extracts from Verdi's La Traviata, and dancing to the strains of Tchaikovsky's ballet music. That he has a powerful story to tell is not in doubt; but before he brings it to the stage again, he needs to declutter and re-focus the narrative, and then allow it - through him - to speak for itself. Joyce McMillan The Ego ★★★ ZOO Playground (Venue 186) until 24 August The Ego takes time to heat up, but as with a frog in water, there's no escaping the message at its heart when Anemone Valcke and Verona Verbakel bring proceedings to the boil. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad In fact, the play isn't about the ego at all (the softest, most fragile part of a person, as they understand it), but of internalised misogyny and #MeToo. The action comprises videos captured during or after significant life-events – like when Verbakel's part in a movie gets cut, or when she calls her mum in tears before going onstage to do a kissing scene – and direct conversations with the audience. There is an unsettling commentary on informed consent performed to the tune of Marilyn Manson, and a message, written over Google Docs, reveals the soft, fragile centre of the play (what it is, what it isn't, why it is, and where it came from). This is overlayed by footage of manatees, who by law, cannot be harmed. What would it be to have the same rights as a manatee, they ask? Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The overall shape of the piece means the final moments are somewhat anticlimactic, but each layer holds intrigue and meaning, and its conclusion poses powerful questions, nonetheless. Josephine Balfour-Oatts Jello Brain ★★★ Greenside @ George Street (Venue 236) until 23 August What starts off as a show about an anxious young woman's fear of getting of getting Alzheimer's disease, following her mother's diagnosis at the age of 55, turns into not so much a demystification of the illness and its effects, but a celebration of a charming mother-daughter relationship that prevails through the challenges. Written and performed by Natalie Grove, it begins with Natalie's Mum going to live in a place called 'Memory Care' and Natalie taking Xanex to deal with her worry of also getting the disease which, conversely, might in the long-term also make her ill. Grove's head is initially filled with the facts she's researched online about the disease, which are adding to her anxiety but also her knowledge. Her worries slowly alleviate as she and her mum adjust to their new lives, with the world of the care home, with its supporting cast of characters and their activities, evoked in a way that feels pleasantly domestic rather than offputtingly institutional. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad A day-to-day charting of a series of events, including Natalie's trips to see her psychologist, rather than a piece with a more focussed story, it's refreshing to see such a positive piece about Alzheimer's and caring, with a heartfelt script performed by a warm and identifiable narrator with compassion and, by the end, strength. Sally Stott


The Independent
4 hours ago
- The Independent
The hell of staying in Edinburgh during the Fringe Festival
My first ever trip to the Edinburgh Fringe did not start well. 'Major disruption is expected until at least 12.00', the message read when I checked my Trainline app before I'd even set off. A sea of red: delayed, delayed, delayed. Fine, I thought grimly. I'll go to King's Cross anyway. It's not like I've paid £172 for my ticket, or anything… That's right: for the same price as a flight, I was heading up to the Fringe for the very first time — I just had to find some way to get there. But with so many trains cancelled on a Friday morning before one of the key weekends in the creative calendar (the second in August), things were not looking good. Not least when you consider that when I did eventually arrive and went straight to where I was staying, it was an immediate throwback to the bad parts of the late 1990s (by which I mean the days when we used to go on a group shop to Big Tesco at three in the morning to stock up on 17p loaves of bread, cut-price potatoes and crates of Hooch that had gone off the week before). Yes — I'd paid £366 for the dubious privilege of two nights in student digs: the only option available for bad ADHD planners like me, who had left it so late to decide to come. The options were the student accommodation (a single bed in a private room with a shared bathroom), or a cubby hole in a dorm room for 24. In the latter, there were no locks on the door, because there were… no doors. Just a curtain separating your twin bed in a 'pod' from your neighbour (a total stranger). Something weird must have happened to me, though (I think it's called 'being skint') because I did, actually, book that dorm originally after having a mad moment of forgetting I'm a 44-year-old mother-of-two and fancying myself 18 again and in Australia on a 'gap yah'. What in the name of 'carve myself a didgeridoo' was I thinking? Still, the gods of basic human sense came to my rescue (sort of): the £222 I'd paid to secure my dorm 'pod' had sold out by the time it came for me to put in my payment details. God, how I craved a hotel. But a hotel in Edinburgh in August for two nights was well over £1,000. It wasn't going to happen. Student digs might not be so bad, I reasoned… but then I got there. And my god, I'd forgotten the smell. That unique odour, the pervasive scent of teenage boy; of unwashed socks and unaired rooms and mould and badly ventilated showers and blocked toilets with suspiciously wet floors and basement flats without windows and 'I didn't know you had to actually clean the carpet'. Someone had left unidentifiable bits of skin in the sink. Someone else found it totally acceptable to come in at 4.30am the first night; to shout loudly to their friends in the corridor, and to then go to bed, but not before slamming all the fire doors. Had Sartre also stayed in Destiny Student, Meadow Court, House 13, Flat 1 when he wrote 'Hell is other people' in his seminal work, No Exit? Because after trying to get to sleep with someone buzzing the front doorbell every five minutes from two in the morning, I think I finally understand existentialism. Not wishing to spend more than a minute longer inside my damp cell than I had to, I launched myself at the Fringe — the only trouble was, Oasis were playing in Edinburgh that weekend. Which makes the words of one Scottish man who barraged past my friend while she was sobbing on a side street after a particularly emotional play even more pertinent — 'Locals need to get past too, you know'. And, look, I get it. I hated English people being in Edinburgh as much as any local — and I was one of the main offenders. Unsightly swarms of summer tourists descending on the city in droves not only drives up the prices for everybody (I saw one set lunch menu change before my very eyes from £12 per person to £20, when the manager realised he'd given out the wrong one) but it makes walking in the street — the simplest of acts, the only one that doesn't cost a fortune — unbearable, if not downright impossible. After getting off my train when I arrived, I had precisely 15 minutes to navigate my way to my friends, who were queuing at the Pleasance Courtyard to see Fuselage, Annie Lareau's emotionally devastating play about losing her friends in the Pan Am Flight 103 bombing over Lockerbie. I should have been able to make it — except for the foot traffic. Swarms of suitcases weaved aggravatingly slowly through the cobbled streets like a funeral procession of tiny pink woodlice with 'I heart London' stickers on their backs. Tour guides stopped every few steps to point out something to do with Harry Potter or haggis. The Royal Mile felt like a gladiatorial arena, where you're running the gauntlet of desperate comedians handing out flyers, beat boxers spitting into microphones and gratingly cheerful acapella groups (not now, Susan). All around us: buses dropping off more bodies — more, more, more — to shop for woolly bobble hats and tartan trousers at Pride of Scotland, ubiquitous £3.50 pizza slices on every corner, coffee for £4.20 a pop, cashmere scarves. It was like Oxford Street, which no Londoner with any sense at all would do anything but avoid. It's lucky, then, that the Fringe was so good. It really was. I mean: it was also hit and miss (on my first night I found myself at a cabaret show at The Three Sisters, with such sad and lackluster burlesque it felt as though it was a Christmas Day episode of EastEnders; as if the local WI had decided to do a half hour 'introduction to stripping' session and then 'let the girls have a go on stage') but some of it was incredible. Fuselage was incredible. Margaret Curry in Lanford Wilson's Who We Become: incredible. Kieran Hodgson's biting Voice of America: incredible. The surreal and ridiculous (and Sartre would've dug it) 3 Chickens Confront Existence: incredible. The authors Emma Forrest and Emma Jane Unsworth, who I caught as part of the opening day of the Edinburgh International Book Festival: incredible. The events and art at the Summerhall: incredible. The Japanese omelette pancake cooked freshly at a tiny stand at the corner of Sciennes: incredible.