Grammy award winning Texas song-writer Michelle Shocked is bringing her show Bootleg This to the Gilded Balloon. This will be her first UK show in eight years. She tells Entertainment Now all about the show, about her unique storytelling and song-writing style and why she loves the Fringe.
Tell us about your show. Why should we go and see it?
Over the repeated objections of a goldfish, I’ve described the show as Schrödinger’s Cat in the Hat. My show is called Bootleg This! which, depending on your point of view, is either an invitation, a warning, or evidence that I have learned absolutely nothing from experience. It contains songs people know, songs people don’t know, stories that are true, stories that ought to be true, and a few mysteries I’m still trying to solve myself. The title refers to a long and complicated relationship with recordings. Once upon a time, music was something that happened in a room. Then somebody invented a machine that could trap sound and suddenly the room could travel. Then somebody invented a machine that could copy the machine that trapped the sound. Then somebody invented the internet. So Bootleg This! is a show about songs and stories and memory. It’s about what happens when stolen art escapes into the wild. It’s about the difference between hearing something and listening to it. There will be music. There will be storytelling. There may be philosophy disguised as mischief. There may be mischief disguised as philosophy. Why should you come? Because the Fringe is one of the reliable places on earth where a complete stranger can walk into a room and leave with an entirely different understanding of what they thought they came to see.
What is your favourite thing about your show?
My favourite thing about the show is that every night proves me wrong. People imagine songs as fixed objects. Like furniture. You write them, perhaps record them and there they are forever. But songs are more like weather. They drift. They change. They mean one thing at twenty and another thing at sixty. Sometimes they mean one thing to the songwriter and something far more interesting to the audience. I like discovering what a song has been up to when I wasn’t looking. Bootleg This! creates space for that. The stories behind the songs have accumulated their own stories. Audiences arrive carrying their own memories and interpretations. The result is less like a recital and more like a family reunion where nobody can quite agree what happened. That’s my favourite part: the possibility that something unexpected might occur. The audience thinks they’re watching the show. The show thinks it’s watching the audience. By the end of the evening nobody is entirely sure who’s in charge.
Do you have a Fringe idol?
I do have a Fringe idol. A hep cat. A secret admirer. The problem with naming your idols is that eventually they disappoint you by becoming human. What I love about Edinburgh is the Fringe itself. Every August the city becomes a temporary nation governed entirely by unreasonable optimism. Thousands of artists arrive carrying posters, dreams, anxiety disorders and extension leads. Somebody somewhere has remortgaged their future to stage a one-person show about a historical figure nobody remembers. Somebody else is convinced they’ve reinvented comedy. Both of them might be right. I admire anyone willing to stand in front of strangers and say, “This matters to me. Perhaps it will matter to you too.” That’s a brave thing to do.
What three words best describe your performance style – and why?
Short. Sharp. Shocked.
Short because life is short.
Sharp because language deserves respect. Words are tools. Musical notes are tools. Stories are tools. I like keeping them sharp enough to cut through distraction.
Shocked because surprise remains one of life’s greatest teachers.
People often arrive expecting certainty. I’ve always preferred curiosity. Curiosity asks better questions. A performance should contain at least one moment where the audience discovers they have been looking at something from the wrong angle. Ideally the performer discovers it too. The older I get, the less interested I become in certainty and the more interested I become in wonder.
Short. Sharp. Shocked. All else is commentary.
Who are you looking forward to seeing in Edinburgh?
In Edinburgh I look forward to seeing Greyfriars Bobby chasing a cat. Beyond that, I look forward to seeing people I’ve never heard of. One of the great pleasures of the Fringe is wandering into a venue because it’s raining and emerging an hour later convinced you’ve witnessed genius. The best discoveries are often accidental. I enjoy the democracy of the festival. The famous and the unknown occupy neighbouring posters. Sometimes the biggest queue belongs to the smallest show. I’m also looking forward to seeing audiences. Edinburgh audiences are unusually adventurous. They arrive prepared to be surprised. That’s a gift. Without adventurous audiences, art becomes furniture.
What do you hope to achieve in Edinburgh – what are your hopes and dreams?
Whenever somebody asks about hopes and dreams I feel like a rabbit being interviewed by a fox. Still. A booking agent would be awfully nice. Beyond that, I’d like to introduce Bootleg This! to people who know my name but don’t know my story, and people who know my story but don’t know the latest chapter. Careers are funny things. People often imagine them as straight lines. Most artistic careers look more like somebody spilled spaghetti onto a map. I’ve had adventures. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve learned things. I’ve unlearned things. The songs have survived all of it. If audiences leave feeling they’ve spent an hour in genuine company rather than simply consuming entertainment, I’ll consider that an achievement. Everything else is a bonus track.
What are the biggest obstacles you face as a performer at the Fringe?
The biggest obstacle I face is that I’ve spent much of my career accidentally becoming part of the story. Songs are easier to market than complications. I’ve noticed that audiences often claim they dislike controversy. Yet controversy somehow manages to attract remarkable levels of attention. It’s a mystery worthy of scientific investigation. The Fringe itself presents another challenge. There are thousands of shows. Every artist is competing with every other artist, and also with sunshine, rain, pubs, restaurants, naps and basic human exhaustion. Then again, that’s what makes Edinburgh special. Nobody is entitled to an audience. You have to earn one. I rather like that arrangement.
What do you hope the audience will take away after an hour in your company?
I can tell you what I hope they don’t take away: a bootleg recording of the entire performance. What I hope they take away is a story. Maybe a question. Maybe a song they find themselves humming unexpectedly three days later while standing in a supermarket queue. We’ve become accustomed to measuring experiences immediately. Did you like it? Give it stars. Leave a review. I’m more interested in delayed reactions. Sometimes a song takes years to arrive. Sometimes a story waits patiently until you’re ready for it. If the show lingers in the imagination longer than it lasted in the theatre, that’s success.
How do you plan to relax and recharge when not on stage?
I plan to relax and recharge when not on stage by obsessively checking social media on my phone for likes, and follows, and good reviews to confirm that civilization continues to exist. Failing that, I’ll walk. Edinburgh is a city designed for wandering. The streets seem to contain conversations from several centuries simultaneously. You can turn a corner and feel as though you’ve accidentally entered a novel. I enjoy people-watching. Songwriters are professional eavesdroppers. The world is constantly providing material. I also like seeing other artists work. Nothing renews your faith in creativity faster than watching somebody attempt something ambitious. Especially if they succeed. And if all else fails, I shall pursue the mythical Fringe creature known as “a good night’s sleep.”
What is your idea of a perfect Fringe day?
My idea of a perfect Fringe day begins with a good night’s sleep, which already places it somewhere between fantasy and science fiction. After coffee, I’d like an audience willing to travel somewhere unexpected. Not geographically. Imaginatively. Then I’d like to discover a performer I’ve never heard of doing something I’ve never seen before. That’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to Edinburgh. The city rewards curiosity. A perfect day would include laughter, conversation, music, a few surprises and no preventable catastrophes involving technology. Mostly, though, a perfect Fringe day ends with the feeling that something happened which could only have happened here, in this city, with these people, on this particular day. Those moments are impossible to manufacture. They’re also the reason we keep trying.
Michelle Shocked: Bootleg This!, 20.30, Gilded Balloon, August 5 – 20
