It’s a wrap
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bresciaboy asks:
Hi Kate, are you going to branch out even further, will we see you write for TV or film?
The London show was fantastic, thanks!
Guardian contributor The thing is that I am following ideas. I'm not starting an idea with a form in mind. The idea occurs, and if I give it enough space, and I facilitate its passage from me to human hand, it will come out in the right way. If I think: It's got to be a film, no idea will come. It's worth saying that one of the most enjoyable things about writing is how visual language can me - for the audience the conjuring of visuals is one of the most effective parts of a story being told at my gigs. I think there's a great deal I would lose writing for a camera, than the human mind - but there's probably a great deal I would find too. So the answer is: I don't know.
Charlotte Higgins asks:
Of everything you’ve ever written, what are you proudest of? Great to see you doing this, and doing so well - I saw you perform at the Southbank years ago and Bubble Muzzle had the most massive impact.
Guardian contributor Thanks for listening and sticking with me. I feel closest to the piece that I'm touring at the minute, it's in my body at the moment, it's part of me. Pride isn't quite the word when it comes to me and my finished pieces. I feel a deep connection to Brand New Ancients, and I feel like that was a landmark for me, in terms of getting to the end of such a big project: writing it, learning it, performing it, touring it. My hope is that I will be proudest of the next piece. This is the engine.
slafferty asks:
It seems as though the more progress we make in becoming tolerant as a society, the more vicious and loud the opposing voices become. How do you deal with the bullies, haters and trolls as you become more famous? PS: YOU ARE AMAZING!
Guardian contributor I don't know if I agree the more progress we make the more vicious the voices are. But I understand why it feels like that. I don't really give much attention to haters, trolls, or however you put that, because the thing is, if you decide to pay attention to either people who seem to love or hate you irrationally, you end up becoming so confused as to why you thought you wanted to do this in the first place. You just have to anchor yourself. It's been a long time coming this journey - it's not for affection that I"m doing this. In terms of when faced with aggression my personal belief is you have to love more, activate more love, search for more empathy. If you turn on aggression, you soothe no wounds. And that's a hard path - people think it's all been said before, peace love and unity - but it's a rougher and more disciplined set of principles, and ones you can apply to your everyday life.
Mysticism and me
WilliamBloom says:
Enjoyed your gig in Bristol. Listening to you I found myself thinking of William Blake and London mysticism and London radicalism. Does that chime with you?
Guardian contributor Yes. William Blake is a huge part of my daily life. I find his work integral. And I go and visit his paintings in the room where they are exhibited in the Tate as often as I can. I read him all the time. There is something to be said for London mysticism, that definitely has its hands on me - I can feel it. It's definitely a mystical environment for me - there's a strong current coursing at all times.
bresciaboy asks:
Did the Powell and Pressburger film A Matter of Life and Death inspire the start of Picture a Vacuum?
Guardian contributor I've not seen it, I'm sorry - but it's an age old techinique, to begin in space and zoom in to a city. I was inspired by the first lines of Christopher Logue's War Music, in which he writes: picture the east Aegean sea by night. I may have quoted that wrong! But I found that this command was so effective and rattling and immediate that I started to become aware of it in lots of other poems. I was talking to a journalist in Ireland, and he talked about Henry V - there's a similar panned out instructional monologue apparently in Henry V. Please excuse my ignorance, I don't know whose, but as a convention it crops up all over music and film.
For others who don’t know the classic film, read our recent article about A Matter of Life and Death.
And our review of Christopher Logue’s War Music.
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MauriceBendrix asks:
Are you a real person or rather a media construct created by an uber-thinktank of the most formidable minds from Shoreditch Fashion, EMI and Picador in order to shift sales units of music and poetry while also ticking boxes and the BBC’s artistic diversity charter?
Guardian contributor I'm a real person. But I think that it's worth replying to your question, because if this had been an idea dreamt up by some corporate creatives, it would be the worst idea they would have ever had. It makes no sense, it ticks no boxes, nobody can ever understand what or how or why I do what I do.
imogensage asks:
Do you have a different way of working now to the way you worked when you began making poetry? If so, what is different? Do you find that as your work becomes more well known this affects your style and your voice?
Guardian contributor Yes. I hope so! I suppose that as you develop your voice and your style and your capabilities, you also develop the space in which an idea can present itself to you. I feel like the more I read, the more I write, the more I perform, the more pieces of work I finish, the closer I come to understanding how impossible the idea of improvement is, but how important it is to chase this notion of development and improvement. My process in my formative years was very musical, and I still feel now primarily a musician, but my instrument is words and language - even when I'm writing prose, it's musical, the way it occurs to me and the way I write as well, the sound of the writing. I feel like I've got my head around narrative a bit more than I did when I began.
I'm also interested in formal techniques when I begin to understand what their conventions are. For example, the form of the play, you know? Or the poem. The poetry collection, the novel, the long poem, the album, the song, and within that obviously the different forms of poems I've experimented with. Also I've been extremely lucky to have the attention of an editor like Don Paterson, who has taught me so much about reexamining motives behind words, not just: is that the right word, but, why do you want that to be the right word? And working on Chaos, this album, I could feel the direct impact of that relationship in the way I was writing the lyrics. After we got the first draft written, I took my lyric books, with all my handwritten scrawled ideas and unedited takes, and worked them into a manuscript, and applied the same principles I'd learn from Don to the album lyrics as an entire thing. Which was a hugely important moment for the development of the record.
TW2017 asks:
1. What is one piece of advice you would tell your 14-year-old self?
2. On a lighter note, what’s your favorite memory with your dog, Murphy?
Guardian contributor 1. This is an interesting question. Because when I was 14 I felt like I was in this constant communication with my older self, and that I could hear Kate, the elder Kate, when I was at my most troubled. And actually that was the beginning of my writing - it was this relationship with this older voice that used to talk to me. When I discovered Jung, and he talked about the two personalities present in each mind, I really connected with what he was saying. He attributed the personality of the times and the personality of the depths - you have this one self who is the self you need to be in order to function, to have an occupation and a relationship, and there's this other personality that's connected to all of humanity, and eternity and the depths of the world, he calls it. The second personality is the one we learn to subdue and not listen to because it's terrifying, but in childhood this is the personality that gives us our dreams. It's worth saying that this is a very loose interpretation of Jung, and it's going through two people to get to where it is, and I'm not claiming any expertise on Jung. But it's interesting that we're in constant communication with our older and younger selves, so I'm constantly giving my 14 year old self advice. And my 14 year old self is constantly receiving it. In one of earlier my raps, Thirteen Commandments was one of them, I understand now as being direct advice to lift me out of some troubles I was having at the time, trying to live a bit closer to how I knew I should be living.
But having said that, some advice I would give to somebody else who was 14, is keep going, be careful with yourself, and trust your instincts. And listen to your friends.
2. I've got many happy memories with my dog Murphy! He came with me on tour, I got him a passport and he came round Europe, and he had a bunk on the tourbus. He chilled everyone out. I'd go off on three hour walks with him - a nature reserve in Norwich, the secret towpaths of Manchester, this amazing river in Munich, he's been on the beach in Barcelona. It's beautiful! We went to the necropolis in Glasgow in the pissing rain. It meant that no matter lifted you feel after something massive and strange as these big performances, the next morning you do the most grounding thing you can do: walk the dog.
And chat to people - dog chat is one of the most universal things you can do. I've had dog chat in Swiss, in German, and I was too embarrassed to stop them and say I didn't understand, I just went along with the dog chat I know to be true: the smiles and the chats. I was in Dublin, and I was in Phoenix Park which is one of the biggest municipal parks in Europe, and I met this lovely old guy who told me that that morning, a friend of his, a young man's wife had died of cancer, she was only 28 with a young daughter of 3, and she was at home with this old fella. It just came out - we had this conversation about the fleetingness of life. It was a really moving exchange - he was a beautiful soul, who had some really interesting perspectives on what had happened to him that morning. I was saying this to one of my bandmates, and he said: imagine if all those people in Germany had been saying the same things? And you've just been smiling and nodding!
Poetry and young people
lotusblue asks:
Can poetry ever really be cool to young people? (You’re not allowed to mention rap lyrics!)
Guardian contributor I don't think it ever tries to be. I think that if young people are connected to poetry it's in no lesser way to the way old people are. I think we seek expression and community and recognition of expression in times when we are most fragile or most elated, most ecstatic, attracted, destroyed. It's never been about an impulse to please and I don't think there's much place in poetry for coolness or posturing or anything like that - it gives the idea of holding something back when really you go to a poem when you need to give everything. And when you need to have everything given to you, and there's nothing cool about that. That's what makes it so great.
RabBurnout asks:
What do you think of the current contemporary poetry scene in this country? When you write, do you have a certain “genre” in mind – ie rap, poetry, prose? – or is it just all writing to you, and you decide what to do with it after you’ve written it?
Guardian contributor I think it's in great shape. I think there's an abundance of new voices and young talent coming through. And putting on their own nights, and sharing their work. On the other side of that, in the more conventional poetry circuits, I think there's some really strong work being produced, so to give some names, spoken word wise: Zia Ahmed, Isaiah Hull, Diana Roger, Selina Godden (she is the general). In terms of more conventional poetry, as in published on the page: Robert McClane, Sam Riviera, Warsan Shire.
Here’s some Salena Godden:
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The joy of performing live
Wifeofbath asks:
Thank you so much for the Bristol gig the other night, it blew me away. I don’t know if you noticed – lots of us in the audience were in tears after your encore, as a result of being moved by your own lovely, emotional response and by the words of the encore piece, which encapsulated how so many of us are feeling right now: horrified but daring to hope. Another thing that both struck and moved me was that the audience was such a wide, heartening cross-section of gender and age groups. Are you seeing the same mix in all your audiences on this tour?
Guardian contributor There's something extremely heartening about seeing such varied audiences. We did a gig in Salt Lake City that was attended by I'm gonna say 21 people, in this very cool venue, and there were three generations of the same family, three women, and it was moving to talk to them and find what brought them out. I don't think I've experienced that before. On this tour there's been some really young girls, much younger than we've previously had, and at the same time, people who look like they could be those girls' grandparents. And there's a nice bunch of old punks that come through, that seem excited about what we're doing with the live show. I think it's beautiful. I struggled with it - I thought it's not cool if there's old ladies at my gigs - but I think it's beautiful now. I had a coachload of pensioners who had been discussing Brand New Ancients at their church reading group. They put chairs across the front row. It was hard to begin with - I wanted to play a hard electro rap set - but they bopped along. That's also what's interesting - because of the different worlds that I work across and all the different pieces I've made, you never know who has come for what, why they're there and what they expect. And you can tie yourself up in knots wondering what the audience want from you or why they're there.
But the best thing for the performance is to go to the place that you know to be where performance comes from, and not try and deliver what you think people have paid money to see, but go where you need to go to get to where you need to be. It can be terrifying to see old and young people, but it can also be exhilarating. Bristol was a specifically memorable gig for that, there were so many different types of people in the place. Bristol is somewhere I feel very close to - I love that city, I have family there and that was a beautiful gig. I actually burst into tears on stage - just the audience at the end, the huge applause, and also the culmination of all the energy that had been raised... the characters felt very real that night. I was a mess, crying; my drummer came out and gave me a big cuddle. He said: Marvin Gaye, for the children, you've already won. That sorted me out. It was beautiful!
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Patrick Davey asks:
Why do you think we use the term “spoken word” at times when we actually mean “poetry”?
Guardian contributor
Women's journeys
TW2017 asks:
1. Is Jemma in Let Them Eat Chaos the same Jemma in Bricks and Brand New Ancients? I’ve always wanted to know more about her since Brand New Ancients.
2. As a queer young woman, what would you say to other queer young women who may be dealing with shame that they feel?
3. As your profile rises, how do you strike a balance between not saying too much about your personal life and just writing about your truth?
Guardian contributor 1. Yes. The thing about these characters and the way they keep popping up, it's not really a planned thing, but Jemma, she's real to me. She comes in and comes out of Brand New Ancients, she has to walk off stage, and part of the dynamic is that she leaves. But she stays with me, and even when you take a different character on stage and tell their story, the characters are all still in you. Jemma crops up so briefly in the Bricks, and she crops up on this record. It's such a small amount, but she may come back in another form. I want to know more about her, perhaps in another form - thank you for reading so closely!
2. I think there's so much to say, and this doesn't feel like the right place to say it. I'm talking and someone else is typing, and this feels like the kind of question that deserves more of a direct route between me and the person who has asked it. But the shame we carry through our lives, it's such a private and crippling weight, but I've found that through facing it in Hold Your Own, where I did write about my body and gender and sexuality - and I wince that that's out there, I'm so ashamed I wrote those things down – but I still struggle that those things are down in ink on the page, but I have to remember that there is a connection being made to other women, specifically young queer women, but through facing that shame, acknowledging it, and facing it, it becomes something less terrifying. And humourous, that we can talk about. This beautiful strange journey that women go on with their bodies - all of us go on these hideous and terrifying journeys through our lives with our bodies. And it's important to say that Hold Your Own is the first time I've ever spoken about my sexuality, and the first time I address love poems to she rather than you. And it felt like opening a window in my shame, in my heart. I think we can reach each other, and I think it's important to mention that when I grew up, it was not ok to kiss your girlfriend in the street - but it's really beautiful that it's ok now, and I feel really proud that we're there now.
Guardian contributor 3. I just fucked it up! If there was a balance, there isn't any more.
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mecarson asks:
What did it feel like to stand in front of an audience at the Roundhouse on Sunday last, knowing that they got every nuance of every single word? Have rarely seen an audience stay so firmly rooted to the spot! How has reaction to your work changed as Britain as changed societally and politically over the past two years?
Guardian contributor It felt incredible. This tour has been one of the most grounding experiences. Usually touring leaves you so uprooted and exhausted and you have to find your centre, but this tour I've felt so connected to your bandmates and the audiences, and the crew of the show. We've all been friends a very long time, and there's a lot of love between us all. Some of those relationships go back 15 years. So it feels like such a victory for us to be playing these bigger stages, and have the attention of that many people. When you've played hundreds of gigs to nobody, and the conviction of music drives, when you do play a big stage, you don't take a second of it for granted. The elation you feel, it leaves us all in this really tender grounded place. It felt like nothing I've experienced to walk out on stage and see 3000 people, in the same venue I've watched artists on, and I told poems in the foyer there. It felt like a real moment, and I think the audience felt it too, which contributes to the humility I felt. I just feel so humble and thankful.
I'm not the best person to judge the reaction to my work. I'm not really focused on that. I'm thinking of how best to create it and put it on its feet. The only access point is through performance, and I think that the feeling seems to have been the same since I began - the feeling between me and the audience. Obviously when there's more people, everything is multiplied, there's more magnetism. There's a lot of talk about 2016 being this doom year, and we're suddenly in this position we weren't in a few years ago, but we've been moving in this direction for a long time. I don't think it's anything new. I like to think when people are listening to my work, they're connected to the experience.
OriginCookieMan asks:
There’s a track that’s one of my favourites. On the release with Sound of Rum, before Balance. I think it’s called ‘The Wave’. Is the track about a moment of clarity or realisation, after a near-death experience from drowning?
Guardian contributor So first of all, I want to say thank you to this person, for having that recording. It was on a kind of EP that we made 200 CDs of, and sold it while busking at festivals, so I really appreciate this person seeing us and getting on board and listening and remembering that track. Yes, it is about a moment of clarity from a near death experience from drowning. I don't have anything to add - just a big big thank you to this person!
Carl Jordan asks:
Hi Kate. Will recognition alter/affect your output? Are you coping? I marvel at your ability to convey such emotions.
Guardian contributor The thing is, you don't know what's going to happen in the future but there is this mythology around the life and arc of a musician, which is that you kind of forge your best work when you're unknown and the pressure goes to your head and you implode. But in the career arc of a novelist, it's not expected that your best work will be straight away - it'll be in your 40s and 50s and 60s. I'm hoping to apply that thinking to my work - I want it to be a lifelong journey, and with every piece I want to find where I went wrong before, and where I could go next. I've got so many ideas, and my life is about building up the ideas, and receiving them in the best way. But I've no idea - I could end up imploding! The most pressure I feel doesn't come from people listening or not listening - it comes from myself, this idea that I'm trying to improve and hone and develop. That's a big enough pressure - I don't have any more room in my brain for more pressure.
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Gary Cunningham asks:
As you seem to be gathering a lot of attention and I haven’t bothered listening to you yet, where should I start?
Guardian contributor Here’s the Guardian’s review of the album…
and a video: Don’t Fall In.
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KVinnieVincent asks:
In these dark days and in this lost world what is it that you love and find solace in?
Guardian contributor In people. And also in nature. And in love. And in music. But mainly people.
Jessie Whitehead asks:
What would your advice be to an aspiring author who is also interested in playwriting?
Also will you be performing at Brighton festival as well? Loved seeing you in Brighton, it was probably one of the best nights of my life.
Guardian contributor Read a lot of plays, if you can go and see some plays, or at least track down archive footage of them. And have a think about what you hate and what you love, and examine the effect of dialogue. And then start, and then finish. I don't meant to sound flippant, but the only advice really to an aspiring writer is to examine what the aspiration is - what is it you want out of the form? The best way to learn it is to give it a try, and see where you fall down. Allow yourself to be inspired, and moved, by interesting forms of work.
Simon Stephens' Sea Wall is a good place to start - a beautiful monologue. Jez Butterworth's play Jerusalem is a great play to read, but even better to see. You need to see it, hear it. But if this person is a novelist, then what novelist is doing is being the playwright, the director, the cast, builds the scenery; a playwright has a much more sparse role. It's about what you allow yourself to let go of, how much control you allow yourself to relinquish.
Yes, I think I will be performing at Brighton!
Post your questions for Kate Tempest
Kate Tempest moves in the grey areas between rapper and poet. Sometimes set to music, sometimes not, her words encompass everything from intimate bedroom scenes to strident political screeds.
The breadth of her work is humbling: albums Everybody Down and this year’s Let Them Eat Chaos, the spoken word theatre piece Brand New Ancients, a reworking of The Tempest with the Royal Shakespeare Company, and a novel, The Bricks That Built the Houses. She’s also published collections of her poetry, though she has admitted that “a poem on the page is half the experience”.
With Let Them Eat Chaos out now, and Kate directing the Brighton festival next year, she’s joining us to answer your questions in a live webchat, from 1pm GMT on Wednesday 14 December. Post them in the comments below, and she’ll answer as many as possible.
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Thanks guys. That was one of the most halting interviews, but I hope you feel like I answered your questions. Thank you so much for listening to me and reading and being a part of this - as gushy as it sounds, I'm genuinely extremely grateful. Have a nice day!