Besides the blaring whine of bagpipes, the streets of Edinburgh are alive with the sound of music. There are many performances at this year’s fringe filled with the spirit of songcraft: take The Great Downhill Journey of Little Tommy, Joseph Morpurgo’s Soothing Sounds for Baby, and not one but two productions inspired by the life of John Lennon - Lennon Through a Glass Onion and John Lennon: In His Own Write.
Perhaps the purest fusion of music and theatre here comes in the bombastic form of Weekend Rockstars, written by award-winning playwright Luke Barnes and performed by Hull collective Middle Child, whose performance explores a 20-something crisis via the medium of indie rock.
Much inspired by the Streets’ savvy social realism about lad and youth culture and Alex Turner’s elegant tales of a humdrum life on the streets of Sheffield, the 80-minute production centres around the tousled stoner Terry, played by the wildly charismatic Russell Tovey lookalike Marc Graham, who embarks on the worst week of his life: he’s sacked, dumped, loses his granny and, somewhat incongruously, murders his dealer’s daughter’s cat during a drug binge. As the story unfolds, the five actors on stage also function as a band – a bassist, guitarist, cellist, laptop artist and backing singer. Each scene is a different song, and each song is performed zealously. Think Human Traffic: The Musical.
There is a lot to applaud in the show’s enduring energy, its performers’ musical dexterity and its neatly witty script. But if it’s an alt-rock essence they were after, this has come off more like a low-key Glee than Grateful Dead. I can’t help but feel the aloof, anarchic essence of a rock gig is compromised when you’re expected to deliver a slick storyline with a beginning, middle and end.
From the moment we arrive in the room, we are asked to approach the show as we would a gig. Arctic Monkeys blast from the speakers as we take our seats. “Feel free to get a beer or go to the toilet,” says Terry as the production begins. But the hustle and bustle of Brixton Academy isn’t easy to re-create when you’re in such intimate settings. The intensity of a play means that a chaotic, come-as-you-please atmosphere is almost impossible to achieve once the story has started and we’ve invested in the characters. The thought of popping to the bogs mid-monologue would feel disrespectful, and it surely wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience to have an audience in such constant flux.
According to its director, Paul Smith, Weekend Rockstars is an “album play”, with its influences including work by the Arctic Monkeys, the Streets and the Libertines, and its original compositions are certainly evocative and memorable. Where it differs from the usual live or recorded listening experience is in the loss of the audience’s own interpretations. When listening to an album, we wander into our own, private explorations through the lyrics and musical composition and make connections with our own lives. However, within this play such individual journeys are doomed, as we must collectively follow the song’s literal meaning for the sake of the plot.
While rock and theatrics have always made raucous bedfellows, from the Who’s rock opera Tommy, to Lady Gaga’s ostentatious on-stage creations and Sleaford Mods’ visceral storytelling, this companionship often doesn’t succeed, as anyone who has seen Pete Doherty in Confession of a Child of the Century will attest. But what Weekend Rockstars achieves most is drilling home the camaraderie of the indie fan experience rather than the spirit of rock’n’roll itself. It is about the catharsis and solace this genre of music provides for many amid life’s most vicious moments. After all, if there’s one thing that’ll ease the nausea while scraping cat brain off your shoe on a come down, it’s the Streets’ Has It Come to This?.
