A-ha-actually...

Someone playing Take On Me.
Kid to dad: "This is such an obscure tune."
Dad to kid: "Obscure? It got to number one!"
Me: holds tongue.
Me: holds tongue.
Me: holds ton-- "Actually, it only got to number TWO."

Yes, this happened. I really shouldn't be allowed out in public.

To be fair, the dad was then joyfully forced to hear me launch into my favourite bit of pop trivia, which is this: The act beginning with A that had a UK number one hit with Take On Me was, in fact, the boy band A1 in 2000, and not, as you'd think, A-ha in 1985.

How's that for a bit of slightly depressing pub quiz trivia? It's such a poor cover version as well.

To be honest, I think he stopped listening at "actually".

A whole Seven Inches of reflections

I did a theatre show. I did a big thing on a stage and, amazingly, people came.

After two Edinburgh Fringe shows and a stack of spoken word / comedy performances, it was great to expand my own brand of cartoon stupidity to a larger stage. My third show Seven Inch was a surreal and silly story about a failed record shop, which happened to be a 3D cartoon. The four performances, commissioned by The Lowry, were part of their Week 53 festival for the creatively curious.

What an absolute joy it was. 160 people on the opening night, a five star review, and a riotous closing performance on Friday in which I lost my temper at the audience. All acting of course - in real life, I have the temper of a ketamined sloth on holiday.

It was also a fantastically rewarding experience to collaborate with proper clever theatre people, especially stage manager Mark Croasdale who, I suspect, is an actual angel. Next time I meet him, I'll check for wings.

I'm not quite sure I can process how big of an experience this was just yet. I'm writing this in bed by yapping into my phone. Maybe I just need some sleep, and to get my blogging and social life back. A touch of normality, and some space to reflect.

Then what? It would be great to go on tour with my little record shop show. For now, though... to bed.

A bit of showing off plus added VMTs

What's Fat Roland up to? Where is he hiding? Why is he wearing that tutu?

I've been up to lots of things, reader. Here's a bit of an update. I'm aware I've been too busy to blog about music (catch my Twitter feed if you want to hear more from me, or read my column in Electronic Sound), so I'll pepper this news with Vague Music Thoughts (VMTs).

I've mostly been prepping for my show at The Lowry, which is fast approaching so you'd best bag tickets quickly. I've added a couple of extra dates, so you've no excuse to miss it. Unless you're a million miles away. Or in another dimension. Or a dog and therefore have no concept of theatre shows. Here's me in my performance space...

VMT: The Prodigy's Music For A Jilted Generation is a cracking album. I know the one after that got all the plaudits and number one singles, but cor, it's a belter.

I compered a scratch show at Waterside in Sale, in which thesps try out new ideas on a crowd. Nights like this are always wonderfully messy, and if compered right, a real joy for the audience. Plenty of new faces too at Bad Language - packed as usual, with the brilliant Deanna Rodger headlining.

VMT: Boards of Canada's Music Has The Right To Children turned 20 this month. One of those albums I remember hearing for the first time. Those detuned chords. So good.

I popped to the Lake District to perform at Verbalise. Lovely crowd, and I spent some time scuttling through the Serpentine woods looking for adventures. I found a massive caterpillar so I ran away.

VMT: Have a listen to Jon Hopkins' new stuff. Emerald Rush is all dirty and squishy and uplifting. I'll embed it below.

Finally, I have a track on a compilation album. There's a robot-themed CD with the latest Electronic Sound, and you can find my Hounds of Hulme track Rise Of The Dead Robots alongside Devo, Meat Beat Manifesto and John Foxx. This is quite a big thing, really, so I should have led with this. Ah well. Too late now. Have some Jon Hopkins...

VMT: Music's good, innit.

How do you write a theatre show? #SevenInch vlog 4

How the heck do you write a theatre show? I've come up with an amazing hack. Here's how to write a one-person theatre production instantly, with as little effort as possible.

Ahem.

This is a roundabout way of saying my two-date Week 53 festival run at The Lowry is now a four date run. Pilter some lovely new Fat Roland: Seven Inch tickets here.

What can we learn from Eric Morecambe's paper bag trick?

We all know Eric Morecambe was a special talent, and his partnership with Ernie Wise is pretty much universally acclaimed. The glasses waggle. The stripper song at breakfast. The speeding 'ice cream van'. All the right notes, not necessarily in the right order.

But when analysing the depth of someone's performance skill, I don't think the big routines are enough. As with Les Dawson's tiny glances off camera, Morecambe made the best of his talent in the small stuff.

Take his paper bag routine, as seen in this video. Skip past the David Frost stuff and watch Morecambe and Wise on stage in Croydon.

Eric's laughing at Ernie's song. Some ad-libbing about Eric's wig. Earnest carries on in, er, earnest as Eric gets out the paper bag. The audience is laughing because they've seen it before. It's a signature Eric prop. Eric begins to catch the imaginary ball, as the ever-straight Ernie presses on with the "singing, folks".

Then comes the twist: Ernie grabs the bag, and of course, he fails to replicate the trick. And then a lovely bit of audience interaction which gifts Ernie the funniest set-up line of the routine, where the bag itself becomes a pun.

But hold on. Rewind. We've skipped my favourite bit. It's a part of the routine that lasts ten whole seconds, but you wouldn't notice it because the Sooty line distracted you.

After Eric laughs at the Sooty line, he decides to get out his trusty paper bag. He's half-ignoring his partner as his attention wanders. The paper bag will liven things up, he thinks. Eric then reaches into the wrong pocket. Eric then reaches into the wrong pocket.

Morecambe knows exactly which pocket the paper bag is in - watch him retrieve it with ease back in the Frost studio. Yet he has the confidence to bumble clumsily for the bag while the routine picks up pace. This is the same Eric who trips over nothing, who flinches at imaginary goosings, who second-guesses everything for that extra laugh. It's the same Eric who asks Ernie to move along the sofa, then sits on the chair instead. An inexhaustible supply of sleights.

His deliberate mistake elevates his performance into something that's deeper than the big-hitting gags and comedic face slaps. Every time I watch that routine, I'm so grateful for the moment of Cooper-esque humanity. If Eric can make an error, albeit very small, then I'm okay too.

Except it's not an error. It's pure professional dexterity that keeps the audience hooked. All performers can learn from this. What extra can you do between the things that are there to be noticed? What can add a pleasing ripple as we go from A to B?

All the right moves, exactly in the right order.

Fat Roland's out-of-context March 2018 supercut

Here are ten sentences I've written this month. Each line is from a different thing I've written during March, whether it's a piece of journalism, social media post or mere note on my phone. I would provide the context… but it's more fun without.

1. The parpy one, the screechy one, the one that goes ting, and the big one made out of elephants.

2. A pizza hut and a bowling alley, the best kind of secondary school.

3. A horn of eggs.

4. Then you sacrifice the words to the moon God Crathalpffrpt.

5. All these tunes are my real friends,” I say to the dog, but all he hears is “woof woof woof” because I am a dog too.

6. The phrase “more cowbell” has never been less appropriate.

7. Phlenk. Garrup. Fanhoodle. Birra-birra-mancho. Liaoeoume. Hank.

8. Putting a rock on an animal skin. Putting a rock under an animal skin. Putting a rock next to an animal skin.

9. I once made a willion bitconks hawking double-A drugpills to shash-faced childreds.

10. I'M JUGGLING CHAINSAWS.

This Bonobo / Kiasmos video is definitely better than "weird and trippy"

I've not had much time to post this month, so have some hold music.

It's a Bonobo remix of Blurred by Kiasmos. I've woofed on about Kiasmos before: you can read about the original release of Blurred here. And Bonobo did a good video a while back which I called "weird and trippy" because I was short of words that day.

This Blurred video came out a couple of months ago, and sets the rousing remix to a Faroese love story. The directors Arni & Kinski did a load of stuff with Sigur Ros, including Hoppipolla, so you know the vibe before you even put a donk on that play button. You'll want to hit repeat - it's wonderful.

Take That Record Shop

Gary Barlow From Take That is shopping at a record shop, fingering through the sleeves, looking for Barry White.

He goes to the counter and behind the counter is Howard Donald The Duck From Take That. "You are Howard Donald The Duck From Take That," says Gary Barlow From Take That.

“Yes I know, Gary Barlow From Take That,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That. “I work in a record shop now.”

“Yes I can see that,” says Gary Barlow From Take That.

“I’m glad we got that sorted,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That

“I would love a copy of Greatest Hits by Barry White,” says Gary Barlow From Take That.

“It is rubbish,” says a voice from near Death Metal & Gospel. It is Robbie Williams From Take That holding a mop. “I am the cleaner in the record shop,” says Robbie Williams From Take That still holding the mop.

“But it has got a carpet,” says Gary Barlow From Take That.

“Look who is here too,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That, pointing to over there in the window.

Over there in the window is a boy-man from Take That who is suspended on a pulley and has a soapy bucket what is suspended from the boy-man. “I am Mark Owen The Small One From Take That,” says Mark Owen The Small One From Take That with the pulley and the bucket, “and I am a window cleaner now.”

“These record shops seem to take a lot of cleaning,” says Gary Barlow From Take That.

“Good joke,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That.

“Yes,” says the final one from Take That, whatever his name was, not sure what he is doing in the shop, insert this bit later.

“Have you tried Reputation by Taylor Swift instead,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That.

“I didn't even know she cleaned,” jokes Gary Barlow From Take That.

“Get out,” says Howard Donald The Duck From Take That, and Gary Barlow From Take That leaves the Take That record shop to the sound of a sad tattooed man rubbing the carpet with a mop.