BIO 

T.S. IDIOT is a post-punk poet, working with spoken word, theatre and musical projects.

Since 2014 they have written and performed work around queerness, identity politics and everyday life across the UK. After cutting their teeth on the DIY punk scenes of Falmouth and Plymouth, T.S. has spent the last few years headlining poetry nights, performing at festivals and touring the UK (as a solo act as well as collaborations with musicians including Sonic Cathedral’s Mildred Maude) as well as producing commissions for radio, stage and screen. Highlights include support slots with TV Smith, Subway, Sect, Slagheap, ARXX, Attila The Stockbroker and Glen Matlock (Sex Pistols). 

PREMIERE

REVIEW

On a cold and rainy Tuesday evening in December, I made my way to Brockley bar waterintobeer for an evening of poetry and music. Without knowing quite well what to expect, I sat down by the window, ordered a beer and let myself enter into T.S. IDIOT’s world, which I soon discover oscillates between the spirit of punk and the everyday mundanities of life, interpolating relatable routines with the spirit that keeps it all moving forward. On the lineup are also T.S. IDIOT’s hand-picked support artists: The Groke and Chuck SJ. 

T.S. IDIOT’s first full-length poetry collection, Back to the Fuschia, published by Palavro, is a refreshing recapitulation of the wonders, trials and tribulations of modern life, all presented within a 12-hour window. Written during the pandemic, Back to the Fuschia deals with themes from heartbreak, love, queerness, the death of a loved pet, class, a broken shower, a euphoric connection on the dancefloor on a night out, to the untapped potential of what life could be while shopping at a big ASDA. 

From the moment that T.S.IDIOT takes the centre of the room in the crowded bar, all eyes are on them, ready for their live set, made up of pre-recorded instrumentals played out of their laptop, as they recite the words from a selection of poems found in Back to the Fuschia. The whole performance feels fleeting in the best way possible, in a beatnik-like cadence of phrases, enveloped by the pre-recorded synths and bass which ground their words, setting the tone for each new beginning.

T.S. IDIOT manages to encapsulate the magic in the lows, sadness is a gift… to a family holiday in Benidorm patriotism is the last refuge they recite. The crowd laughs and waits for what is yet to come. In the poem “Eulogy for a Dead Cat”, T.S.IDIOT creates a heartbreaking yet moving piece, made from words on a packet of cat food that she’ll never eat… You are 12×100 grams…Of Devotion, while the next poem, aptly named “Walk of Shame is a Religious Experience”, paints a picture of a city and people in decay, rambling around sick and dying cities, we know we are beautiful, we know we are doomed. As I sip my beer, I wonder if Benidorm really is the most patriotic place in the world…

As they finish their set, the crowd erupts into claps. It seems like I am not alone in feeling connected to what we’ve just experienced, there is a quick beer break before Chuck S.J rounds off the night, whose set kicks off by wondering why we need ethical non monogamy (a questions my friends and I have gone into many times before) – setting the tone for a series of funny and heartbreaking verses that bring the evening to a close. 

I guess what stands out to me as T.S. IDIOT gets through their repertoire, with crowd interjections and comments peppered throughout, is the way that it all feels so relatable. It allows me a momentary space to let go and feel things that I had forgotten about, or buried deep down in my psyche. The kind of stuff I think about now and then if it comes up in conversation or when I wake up from a weird dream. My dead cat, heartbreak, the first time I entered a big ASDA when I moved to the UK and almost started crying in the packed soup section, as I looked at all the options and couldn’t make a decision. I was 18, and somehow it all felt so important and I felt so small in that moment. 

It’s unexpected too, and that’s what keeps me hooked to their every word. I relish these feelings, so many times buried through the humdrum of time’s passing. There isn’t time or space for these memories to be let out constantly. It isn’t practical (unless you’re an artist), to stop your day and really feel it all out. 

As I type out these words, it feels like a more than obvious thing to state. Capitalism and introspection are not friends. But I guess that’s why paying attention is important. And it’s also why I think Back to the Fuschia is so important too. A reminder that punk is not dead and that we need it now more than ever. 

Q&A

How does it feel to perform Back to the Fuchsia in front of a live audience? 

It’s been an experimental process, intentionally so – before the book release I’d been performing a fairly well rehearsed set and I wanted to get out of that comfort zone. This collection provided an opportunity to challenge myself – to learn how to bring these more succinct and sombre written words to a live audience. Until this year they had only existed as my personal notes, a more truthful inner landscape behind my public-facing work as an artist. To set the parameters of this challenge and allow room for the work to form itself, I set out to perform each of the seven shows on this tour in a different way – a different selection of poems, with different collaborations and contexts each time. This pushed me to work in new ways – an improvised set with a noise artist, a performance with a brass band, blues backing from Ray Davies’ guitarist and, at the London show, dusting off my lockdown project boca juniors – using my laptop archive of field recordings and synth demos together with live poetry. This variety, and space for experimentation, allowed me to test out a lot of different methods of performing the work in a short space of time. 

I’m really grateful to the musicians who were willing to collaborate so freely – and for the other acts on the lineups. It meant a lot that I got to share spaces with people I love and who have inspired me creatively – to show each audience what I’ve been making over the last few years, the creative and personal place I’ve arrived at at this point in time. I have a rule that if even one person at a gig tells you that you’ve connected with them, that your work means something – that’s a success. And I feel very grateful to have gone way over that target on this tour – I think people have been surprised, maybe seen me mature. And it’s given me a fresh perspective to continue experimenting, to fine tune what I’m making.

How did you decide which poems made the final cut in the book?

Editing and precision are maybe not my strengths as an artist – I tend to feel things out, always writing and making and trying to stop and reflect when something feels right. Most of the poems in the book feel like they represent specific moments over 2019 – 2024 that I wanted to capture. Framing them in the setting of a 12 hour day helped with the editing process too – choosing two poems for each hour of a fictional day. I had some creative feedback from Rosie Garland (The March Violets) too, which helped to sharpen the collection as I was putting it together – but other than that, I’ve stayed pretty true to my DIY roots. I’m a self-taught writer, with no formal education in creative writing or poetry, and a background in punk scenes – usually my rule has been that a poem is good if it connects with an audience and, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t make the cut. 

This collection has been a little different, maybe more self-indulgent. But my hope is still that they land where they’re meant to, that they communicate my experiences to people who can relate to them. To avoid making too many decisions, I also released a zine with the book, a collection of the b-side poems that didn’t make the cut, living their own life among collages and other scribbles I made during the editing process.

The pandemic happened around 5 years ago, and yet we are all still recovering from the effects of lockdown and all that came with it. Was it cathartic to write these poems, and do you feel it has been a way of entering a new vital phase?

If so, what is the new life phase you find yourself in right now? 

This has been on my mind throughout the process of writing, releasing and performing the book. I felt more pressure immediately after the pandemic – we were already seeing books, short films, hot takes about our experiences of lockdown and it felt like these reflections had an expiry date. But I’m glad it took me 5 years to release the collection – it allowed me to realise that the ripples from these experiences are ongoing – like a bruise, not neatly contained and wrapped up. I’ve learned a lot from disability activists who knew this more than anyone – that the cracks we all saw during Covid aren’t going anywhere, that we have an opportunity to fundamentally change how we see one another and the world around us. In the middle of it all I was grieving pretty heavily, a lot of my relationships were rapidly changing, I was falling apart quicker than I could understand myself. I don’t think that would have been the right time to share these poems – I hadn’t understood them yet, hadn’t begun to find the lessons in it all. 

The collection has evolved as I have, as I’ve learned more about myself, built a life that’s kinder and safer. It’s only now that I’m ready to share, that I’ve caught up with where the work was taking me. I’ve moved to a new place, built a family around me. I’m still learning to move slower, to trust myself and to choose wisely how to spend my time and creative focus. I’m more open to being led by experimentation and intuition, letting go of that need to decide a fixed outcome before I’ve started the process.

And finally, would you like to share any future plans that we can look forward to?

Hopefully, the work I’ve done on this tour will continue rippling throughout 2025. Film-maker Sam Pilbeam shot the London show, so there’ll be some footage of that out soon. I’ve been recording some demos under my boca juniors project that will be out in the new year too. I’m really feeling a need to lean into the musical/sonic side of my practice – I’ll be collaborating more with Quieting, a queer noise artist based up North, as well as more projects with SSTRAPP, the collective we’re both in (Sonic and Somatic Transdisciplinary Research and Practice Program). My longtime collaborator Louie Newlands was sadly ill for this tour, but I’m hoping to do some more shows together this year – he’s been busy with Slowdive side-project Three Quarter Skies and his improv/noise band Mildred Maude. I’ve been working on a new collection of poetry too, in its very early stages – but planning on getting this one out sooner than five years time!