Perth Poetry Club is a great idea, and The Moon’s scrappy, ripped couches and rough tables are a perfect setting. With a tonne of wise women and men who look like they’ve seen some shit, and a very generous open mike, anyone annoying, amazing, boring, or bad can get up and read original, or unoriginal, material. All the while a braying crowd – hungry and screaming – jeer and toss rotten fruit at the worst performers, saving roses for the best. Just kidding; the mean age of the crowd was like 60 and everyone is quiet and respectful.
Alexis Dubus turned up and was hilarious, spouting ribald ditties balanced by soul-searching sonnets. His show A Bloody Brief History of Swearing and Marcel Lucont’s Cabaret Fantastique runs nightly throughout Fringe Festival at Noodle Palace in the city and Sunset Veranda in Scarborough. Go see it! He deserves your money for making a 70-year-old lady burst into laughter by comparing a banana to a penis with such eloquence.
David Pensabene, the second feature, had a questionable autobiography that read like he wrote it himself: “[his] surname means good thinking – which sums up his words and poetry.” He then stood there and masturbated into the mike for a while and I had to leave because that kind of avant-garde shit makes my head hurt.
Definitely come down if you want to try out some of your super deep and emotional poetry, or if you want listen, or just so you can tell your arty friends you’re ‘cultured’.
Words by Madison Brooks