Jupitus Ascending: Phill Jupitus Interviewed… In Rhyme

Phill Jupitus is a tireless workhorse, with each of his fingers thrust firmly into a differently flavoured creative pie. In the summer months he flits maniacally between comedy festivals, like a gigantic bearded butterfly.

He brings to the Greater Manchester Fringe not one but two shows. One is a set of straight and heartfelt stand-up, entitled Shirking Progress; the other, Juplicity, features him as his alter ego Porky the Poet.

He's a very busy man, in other words. He's got an awful lot on.

"Let's see if he'll squander some of that valuable time / humouring an idiot who shares his fondness for rhyme," was the thinking behind this interview. And, as it turns out, he will indeed.

The comedy festival season is here,
Most notably (though our bias is clear)
The Manchester Fringe, where you play twice –
Aren't you greedy! Would once not suffice?

Twice a night if truth be told
No oversight (I make so bold!)
The reason that I've gone to town
I am both poet and a clown

You're a known aficionado of Edinburgh's Free Fringe,
Which paints the affair with a celebratory tinge.
Would you like greater emphasis on providing free events:
Giving fun to one and all, and filling massive tents?

I have always held the view
A festival's just that
So celebrate the things you do
Don't be a greedy twat

Doing both shows at Edinburgh
Would no doubt be tough enough,
But have you conjured extra time
To do some other stuff?

I must confess it's THREE a day
Rather than just the two
I like to play the Fringe that way
And vary what I do

The third show is a love of mine
To copy down fine art
The galleries are so sublime
The work speaks to my heart

On my iPad I will draw
This humble tribute sketcher
And at week's end open the doors
Upon our short art lecture

Comedy is such a mutable field,
It spawns new acts with constancy.
If you picked one unsung circuit hero,
Who do you think it should be?

I can't pick one
That is no fun
Josie Long
Can do no wrong
And James Acaster
Is a master

When approaching the task of bending your words,
To rigid meter, or flexible narrative,
Which do you write with relative ease,
Or are they simply comparative?

The poetry demands more time
And mute consideration.
Though stand-up functions without rhyme
It still needs inspiration

D'you prefer stand-up or poetry?
(Though they both sing a similar ode)
And how different are the audiences
On whom they are bestowed?

I value both as equals
In my mind quite chaotic
They aren't each other's sequels
More, relations symbiotic

Throughout a life spent treasuring words –
Shaping, then spewing them true –
In both comedic and poetic terms:
Who has influenced you?

Right off the mark
John Cooper-Clarke
I saw him as a teen
Hair and shades and suit so sharp
Funny, fast and lean

Horizons broadened
As I aged
I thought tradition dud.
Back in those days, loved LKJ
Adored Dread, Beat an' Blood.

In comedy when I was starting
I held a torch for mad Steve Martin
Stylish, brilliant, slick and daft
Never so much had I laughed

When writing rhymes, is there a mindset?
A zen-like state where all is calm,
Where couplets never struggle
And, plucked from ether, fall to palm?

I always carry a pencil, propelling
In case I am struck by a notion compelling
If paper I lack, around then I look
(I've been known to write in others' books!)

Is there nobler cause at all,
Than to gift verse to the common man?
Ignorance can otherwise thrive
Of coupled words that nicely scan.

The beauty of prose can be startling,
So it seems to me uncouth
To cast it as naught but a goodly excuse
To use words like 'forsooth'.

Poems or prose
Sit in sweet repose
Language can seduce
(Dependent on use)

Some may deplore us
For use of thesaurus

With real joy
This I say now
Words are
My playground

In times of recession, with right-wing 'oppression',
As liberals seethe red hot and glower:
Is there as much work for left-wing punk poets,
As when Tories were last in power?

Right-wing administrations
May cause consternation
But this then makes art
Wake up with a start

One has to love
Action in traction;
What reactionaries loathe
Inspires our reaction

In poetic worlds,
The haiku is a great pre
-tender. D'you agree?

That took liberties
With a pure Japanese art
You should be ashamed

How many years of musical service
As the captain of a quizzical team
Does one have to put in on Buzzcocks,
To qualify for the Chelsea Pensioner scheme?
Where you while out your days being pushed
In a carved wicker bath chair
By progressively younger comedians
With taller and taller hair.

The deal I made with myself
Was 'Do it, if you love it.'
And it is still big fun to do
So I won't yet say 'Shove it!'

Plucked from life's great offerings,
'Twixt woeful depths and joyous highs,
Sweet mundanity, or grand occasion:
What prompts your happiest sighs?

As I grow older
And others bolder
Happiness is found
Travelling round
The world is vast
One's view should cast
Further afield
To newness yield
With people, places, things, ideas
I'm cramming my remaining years

(Oh my...
I forgot 'pie')

Stand-up, poetry, panel shows,
A radio spot or two,
Glorified shouting in punk bands,
And musical theatre too –
It's clear your disposition is never to say:
'C'est tout!'
Is there anything you'd like to try,
Yet haven't had chance to?

This thought to me is elementary
To direct a documentary

'Oh no, I didn't mean to queue,
I was merely standing still!
There're too many people behind me now:
I'm stuck for good or ill!'

You didn't even want a mug printed,
But now you must think with great speed.
Choose some words which amuse you! Now!
They'll adorn your ceramic misdeed...

I can think of nothing finer
Than my own fair branded China
Upon which is this epigram:
'I drink tea, therefore I am.'