Look At Me What You Made Me Do

I drove a few places this week and nothing pleases me more than dancing at the wheel of a reasonably priced car. At 17 I was so into Radio One we would actually pull over to dance to In The Mix during Dance Anthems. My mix tapes were also legendary. Who hasn’t hollered White Stripes out the window at a pal in a nice bit of suburbia? FIND ME THAT PERSON. This week, I had a wee run in with R1 driving round in the sunshine.

Geri Halliwell’s 1999 album Schizophonic (no, not messing with you) third best known single was arguably My Chico Latino - both sounding like and looking like Geri writhing around on a boat, was in her words, a tribute to her mother’s Spanish heritage. Apart from being muchos lolz, the song, a inoffensive play with cultural pop-propriation, taught a whole generation of school kids a couple of lines of Spanish ahead of upcoming Spanish Aural tests in their GCSE’s. (I cried with frustration in mine, surprised much?)

Also - Geri famously buried herself at the start of her solo career, popping her wee self in a coffin - in the video to Look At Me. Declaring in every interview on Saturday daytime TV in the UK that Ginger Spice was dead. And generally hammering the message home - ALL THAT BEEF IS BEHIND ME.

Cue 2017, pop is now so cyclical its spin cycle has broken the temperature gauge on the washing machine.  Everything is set to cool. (SORRY). Taylor, who we’ve tried as good feminists to back as she’s a woman bossing it at the top of the industry, just shat out an unapologetic bumface of a song in Look What You Made Me Do. I have just watched the video for research - no comment - but the basic problem is she’s recycling Geri Halliwell. (There are literally a gazillion other problems, pop to Vulture for some of them)

Similarly Reggaetón Lento - Lil’ Mix’s new remix of the Latin American La Banda winning boy band, haunts me back to my sweet lavida - BAILAR! Arguably likely to be third best known single (I mean, nothing’s getting on Power is it, even with it’s ‘YO WOMIN GET DOWN FOR THE BOYS’ accidental chorus), when fused with Lil Mix it’s a confusing mix of Spanish phrase book fun times and joyous declarations of 'BOOM' and 'Eh?'.

I’m not sure how we should feel about Geri’s ghost storming the charts again. Does this teach our little pop fans that they can re-invent themselves or that they should never apologise? Does it teach them Spanish or that any all girl pop-band can only do a single with a man’s voice giving it approval? I mean, Geri didn’t let no Spanish blokes sing on her record, she just lay on them.

I think I’ve kinda lost a thread with this one… maybe the lesson is 31 year olds shouldn’t listen to Radio 1.

VEEP V Festival Life (and some Robyn)

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This fest I’ve been watching VEEP to keep me sane. Odd choice you may think – but it’s basically an office of exhausted people winding each other up and trying not to lose their minds as things all move too quickly. It’s funny. There is no filter. It is exactly like working festivals back to back.

I have just watched 'Midterm' – the episode where Amy gets a call on election night saying her dad has had a suspected stoke. Her reaction is exactly the same as me when my kidney problems started to get serious. She isn’t in the room – I wasn’t in the room. My head constantly racing – when I wasn’t in pain I was managing my time so I could get ahead of the next infection and be able to afford time off to be ill, when I was in pain, I couldn’t work, sleeping and vomiting until tears came out as there was nothing inside me but pain.

I got my diagnosis in October – that my left kidney had likely never worked – and I would have to have it removed. An operation yet to happen because I had already committed to a festival in Oz and in the mean time I bought my first flat.

Writing it down kinda shows me how insane it looks – I think when we find it hard to value ourselves, one – we find it hard to work out what our value is to other people, and two, we lose perspective with work and what’s required of us.

I have gone through two festivals hopscotching illness. This Adelaide Fringe being no exception – I thought I would be fine drinking much, much less, getting sleep, being maybe a little more detached from my artists’ emotional ties to their work. I failed at one of these only – I am always invested emotionally in the shows I work with and I do hope that never changes.  But still, the first week of fringe I experienced stomach cramps so awful I couldn’t walk when they struck, every time I got in a vehicle for a short journey I had to vomit; I was unable to digest food so every time I ate it offered little energy and increased the stomach cramps ten fold.

There’s a Robyn song – ‘Don’t fucking tell me what to do’ – which isn’t about being told what to do, it’s about how too much is killing her. The song vibes with exhaustion and anger. Sometimes in this last year my illness has manifested as ‘don’t fucking tell me what to do’ – whereas you know? I just don’t wanna kill myself. Like Amy – I want that chance to ‘go see my dad in hospital’ – I don’t want to feel guilty for having a few hours off. I want people to trust me that I will get the job done regardless of how I am, and I want to be able to own my imperfections. For Amy in VEEP – taking a colleague to hospital to workshop a speech while she spends time with her dad is dark and very, very funny. For me it was being told to get off my phone in the waiting room for thirty minutes so I could discuss test results. I found the whole thing very, very funny, but at the same time, being Miriam, is killing me.

Ellie Harrison, DJT, post-trust... I just had to write.

This weekend I went to the presentation of work by Ellie Harrison – outlining her work over a year on project ‘The Glasgow Effect’. Yesterday I watched a few minutes of Donald J Trump’s first (!) press conference in six months – and the first since the election result that shocked many.

There is one glaringly obvious factor here – a link between the way Ellie was attacked by the press and on social media – and the way that DJT has achieved the highest political office. One has created a zone of 'untouchability' and the other was all too easy to tear down. Imagine if it was the other way round. One can do nothing wrong - and one can do nothing right. That's just that. An actual fact. Ahem. 

It reminds me of how Jessie J made famous for song 'Not About The Money' (and do it like a dude) - then sold her voice to Virgin Media. It's ALL about the money.

It’s easy to apply the phrase ‘that’s unlikely’ or this is 'unbelievable' but then again, I think if the 21^st century has proved anything it’s that shit happens which many are not banking on. In a post-truth – I prefer ‘post-TRUST’ world, there’s going to be much more of this.

We can start by regaining our trust. YES some people will take advantage but many won’t. Case in point Ellie Harrison, let’s stop presuming this is poverty porn or a patronising pursuit of vanity in a poor person’s world – at worst it's a failed experiment. Dissect? YES. tear down? God no.

I think it's fair to say in the current climate we are wrong to ask someone who's living on under 20k FOR ANY REASON to check their privilege. Look at who governs us before we toy with ANY kind if idea of privilege in this example – because in the grand scheme of things... it's nae relevant.

We must stop saying things, any happenings, are unbelievable. As they are entirely believable. And happening. Face things head on, make jokes about them, draw them into your pals' consciousness. Meet people for tea/drinks/a walk in the park and talk about stuff face to face. Soundbites on fb are not enough. Invite people into your home and see it as a shared space – where comment and opinion comes at no cost.  

Another thing DJT seeks to promote and EH press reports push is clever people are dickheads and intelligence, expertise and knowledge are just out to get everyone else. Be proud of your knowledge. Own it. Verify it yes. But don’t shy away from it. There is nothing wrong with knowing stuff – knowing history gives context that may reassure the person next to you OR open their eyes to a simplification they had taken as truth.  

Tell people how much you earn – honestly – and own it. You’ve most likely worked hard for it. If it’s not much, let your mate who earns ten grand more to buy your drink, if you discover you earn more than your friends – give some money to charity. I’m serious. If you can't be honest about it, maybe there's a problem there.

We must own ourselves, our identity and not get wrapped up in tearing everything down. OR get too wrapped up in our selves. Solipsism and narcissism will take us down. Be aware of this. Don’t argue with the person who voted leave when you were remain – or avoid conversation with the remainer if you voted leave – ask them ‘why?’ And listen when they answer.

See art – hate it – love it – discuss it. Be the one person in the room who doesn’t know the performer on stage. Be the one person in the room who’s never seen Ballet/Live Art/Art House Cinema/Heavy Metal before. There is free stuff. Find it – take a two hour lunch break (you waste an hour a day online) and go find something. A shit museum off the 70s. A new sandwich shop, a graveyard. Look UP when you’re on the street and smile at people you pass.

That’s me for now. GL team.

In the words of Kylie - So Now Goodbye...

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This may be one of the last blogs I write on Vamoosh. I feel like the time of pondering, typos and some insanely accidental made up grammar is gone.  I also feel it’s time to write with purpose, see if I can make a wee contribution. So maybe... this is goodbye.

There is a silence around this blog, like it’s too honest and I don’t quite realise I’m doing it. (I do.) I wonder if all women who write with a confessional tone have had this experience. Or maybe, it’s cos, as the title says, my blogs are a bit shit. So the next step is to step outside Miriam a little further, and write on a theme, better, with an editor, to try and net out the pondweed. You’ll never guess what that theme is (you can.)

I feel it’s relevant to tell you why I’m ready to shift-up a gear. Today marks the end of a huge campaign my PR company was running for an arena show, 30,000 tickets to sell over three nights. It was a huge change for me in terms of numbers, but in terms of PR just a few different tricks and maneuvers; and it feels significant.  At the same time I have been hired by a client to do far too much work for a borderline insulting fee. And it’s been really difficult to manage. I should have said no – I know I should have. I know NOW. But it’s made me realise how much the onus is on me to make decisions that suit my worth – and my work’s worth. Alongside this I’ve been reading (obsessively) the opinions and work of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie who has stepped out with extraordinary wit and intelligence to make a difference to how women see and place themselves. I feel inspired to take a deep breath, pool my powers and head on up to the next level. DING DING.

I have really enjoyed expunging the odd thing on this platform. A few blogs have had lovely warm reactions, which has been amazing – and I feel no disappointment about the ones that haven’t. You only learn by putting yourself out there. I like long explanations of little things, and I know this can be a problem when one is reading stream-of-consciousness. Don't expect a huge shift – SOZ – just more chatter, moments from my wee life and maybe a little more background on how we got here. So for now I’ll say thank you so much for reading. I hope to see you on the flip side. 

PJ Harvey, John Donne on National Poetry Day

PJ Harvey read this in a break in her extraordinarily powerful Glastonbury Festival set this summer. When I feel listless, dispirited and terrified by what's happening, maybe it's best to seek solace in the fact that humans have been utter morons before. Let's hope there is enough wisdom between us to rescue ourselves from too huge a fuck up this time round. On and for National Poetry Day... and my sanity.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were:

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind,

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

John Donne 1624 (in the voice of PJ Harvey June 2016)

Yes Peggy. Did you hear about this trendy new series Mad Men?

Ever since I’ve been able to recognise the affect pleasing others has, making people smile yay! that’s been my go to shtick. Not in any kind of fox like cunning way, that’s just how I behave. When I don’t pull things off I do a joke and then think about it for days and days and days. A regret machine. It’s never been a conscious thing, from when I was a wee girl, not a tiny arch manipulator - just eager to get it right.

The reason I’m good at my job is I can run with ideas and ask questions, matchmake things I’ve seen, things I may see, things I know instinctively work or will work. Like Colour Me Beautiful, but not the 80s and not clothes and makeup portioned in seasons. This festival season, I reverted to ticking  boxes, thinking to myself ‘but this is how some people work, in an office, hammering out emails, making phonecalls, GO GO GO’ - and it’s not how I usually work.

I’m onto season five of Mad Men (it’s this documentary about how when you wear a suit and have a willy you can do whatever you like and if you’re a lady you need to be a regular genius to be allowed to do more than pop a roast in the oven). In S5 of Mad Men Peggy gets frustrated that people won’t take her ideas seriously, as they don’t know what they want. It’s also layered with a million other issues around her being a women in a position of responsibility in a male male male workplace-worldplace. She looks around herself (working the longest hours of anyone in the office) and is constantly delivering but also expecting more from herself and those around her.

My job is ideas, and selling ideas, both how I can talk about a show or someone's creation - often deeply personal, and then fairly represent them - as if they were doing the talking themselves. On balance, like Peggy never is able to, I should look back and see how it is - I’m here in this position able to make mistakes, get frustrated, fire off at difficult situations - because I am here and I’ve worked hard for it. I am not perfect. But it’s tough. Cos like Peggy the onus is on me to continue proving myself, time and time again. As that’s how it goes.

We may work like Olympians but exhaustion ain't no competition

When I was in the first few years of high school physics I remember learning about how when electricity is conducted down loads of different avenues it always remains the same voltage. So instead of the (uh logical duh) option of electricity splitting in amount when it is routed down two wires from one source, both wires carry the same amount. I say this, as a bit of an analogy for how the arts works.

The mainstay of my work, and my company, for the last three years has been festivals. Arts festivals, work spanning venues and artists, producers and shows.

When you take on one project at a Fringe, you smash yourself into it with every ounce of yourself. When you take on two, that energy is not split but doubled. Same for 5, 10, 20 strings to your bow. Each requires the same energy as if it were just one project.

Watching Olympians perform I understand that feeling of pushing a little harder, that moment at the end of a sprint where you find energy and power that you didn’t know you had in you. And I am one of hundreds of people at this festival who entirely understand that feeling; dismiss it, and push on through.

There are two problems with this level of commitment to a job. One, is fatigue, and two is competition about the visible level of commitment to the role. Who worked hardest; who had the fewest days off; who is stuck in one place for the most hours; who is taking the most risk. I’m usually much more of a party girl than this year, but possible fatigue induced illness has rendered me slightly off kilter and where I would find that 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th wind I find myself retreating, with my laptop, to double and triple check things over a cup of tea and some vitamin supplements.

There is something about the way we apply ourselves so vigorously to every task with the same energy, expectation and precision that we feel everything keenly, like the princess on her pea. Every layer of stress and self-expectation piled up, always aware of that wee bump right through all the layers.

I don't want to compete over exhaustion. That's plain bonkers. When we talk about this crazy-ass storm we've thrown ourselves into, I want a smile and a 'I know, we're idiots, bumz right', not a riff-off over who's the most burnt out. #martyr

Trying not to get sucked into it is key to me this time round. But it’s hard. I’m not at 100% and it’s breaking my heart. Although, I guess I get points for managing to make myself ill before the festival even started? Non? Promise, it’s not a competition.