Welcome to Wormworld Open Mic The Foundry 86 Great Eastern Street London EC2A 3JL www.foundry.tv 13/02/05 Below is a review by Candace Orchard and to the right is a poem/review from Richard Elken, Worm regular himself. Rating 3.5/5 (its free) ‘Welcome to Wormworld’ is an odd… yes, odd is the right word, event – but one with many merits. It’s on every Sunday from 8pm, it’s free and, being at The Foundry, it has a nicely priced bar which is near a tube (Old Street – take exit 3 out of it and keep walking straight). It also has friendly regulars and bar staff, and the place itself is cool in a grungy graffiti-ed sort of way. But being an open mic and free, you do get some weird assed shit. Random drunks, shouty-screamy poets/comedians, people that think they’re poets/comedians, political rants, overly sensitive fans of poets, and you do need to grab the audience’s attention, as half of them aren’t there for the poetry (unthinkable, I know). And that’s all without mentioning The Worm Lady, and why you’ll end up swaying side to side… The thing is, all the above are either pros or cons depending on personal taste. If you want an easy time on stage then go to an open mic you have to pay for where poets go to hear themselves first and others second (*Cough* Poetry Unplugged *Cough*). But if you want a challenge (and easy access to the bar), then Wormworld is it. The regular compere, Spoon, is brilliant. Loud, cool, up for it, and approachable. He did seem a little drained on the night I went, but that might have been the drink.... A few of the regulars - Richard Elken is perhaps one of the oldest open miccers I seen. But he holds his own by being witty and contemporary; as long as you consider Limericks the former, and Charles and Camila and the Fox Hunt debate as the latter. He deals with hecklers really well, and just hearing him swear can be quite entertaining in of itself. Grassy Noel is another regular that emcees occasionally and, like Spoon, exurbs confidence. His political rants do seem easy targets, but when you’ve got Noel give us an anti-Bush poem where the refrain becomes a Dalek monotone chant of ‘A-Mer-E-Can’ then you get swayed by the excellent delivery and writing, albeit the obvious subject matter. The open mic slots were a mixed bag. Richard someone was quite humorous, though seemed to think that the shouting that worked in Primary School to get attention works in open mics… which to be fair does to a certain extent. Kathy was a beautiful singer and fun to talk to after, while David Jays’ ‘Lucy Waterman’ set was weirdly distracting. With his quirky wit and student apparel giving away his persona early on, he nevertheless gave a clever, skilful performance. Marcus, though near the end and obviously feeling the effects of the bar’s trade, gave us an involving short story; culminating in informing us of a scuba diving epiphany that awaits all when we’ll gaze up from the deep to see the downside of a boat. Great stuff. And then she comes on. Again. Oh she was there, at the very beginning. I just wanted to keep her til the end. The Wormlady has a portrait of herself up at the Foundry. It’s a richly coloured affair, with her expression one that you seem to rarely actually see on her. A smile. Shame really, it’s a nice one. And her poetry and personality is analogous in my opinion to that Aunt of yours that seems weird and confused and goes on about  weird and confusing things, but the more you listen, the more you like. You don’t necessarily understand more – why should we praise the worm, or why one of them sways side to side, but you end up remembering the lines and going along for the ride with her - and the other regulars - who shout the refrains out along with Spoon. A bit like a good comedy you watch over and over again, finding it more entertaining each time. Which is also the appeal that Wormworld has. The poets and people, the bar and venue all make it a great poetic night out. The DJs are always something different and The Foundry has its own organic beer. Oh and again, the open mic’s free… So next Sunday you’re definitely Welcome to Wormworld; you’ll go for the poems and bar, but you’ll stay for the swaying.
					There’s local beer and cellars secure, once cash-filled, crammed now with startling art, Above, there’s music strange, and Worm World weird. All around friends meet and strangers greet. Had Mary Shelley’s monster been Bunuel conceived, then moulded by Johnny Vegas, whilst unlikely sober, it would have been cast at The Foundry.
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