It is true, I am in a Mark Wahlberg film! A Christmas movie called THE FAMILY PLAN 2. Although, noticing it had gone up on Apple TV and skipping straight to my bit, I initially thought oh I've been cut, but you can still see my back so I haven't. They just cut the shot of me humming on my headphones and ignoring the action behind me. You could even argue not seeing my face is cooler. It's certainly Christmassier (if you're into M. R. James). Anyway, I know that's me driving the bus. Here's a photograph of my legs as proof, or rather proof I'm not driving, as all the bus interiors were shot stationary in Shepperton Studios surrounded by a massive blue screen.
Not green screen, as I say in the video. I felt like Harrison Ford in that cab – first confronted with having to make heads or tails of the dashboard of the Millenium Falcon – and if you watch the clip closely you can just about catch me pretending to flip a switch above my head as we take off. What does it do? No idea. I cannot drive a bus. I did two days of filming for this, the first on location in Piccadilly, with a gold-trimmed, burgundy suite at the Sofitel on Regent Street as my trailer...
... during which I kept checking everyone knew I couldn't actually drive a bus. They knew that, right? Jermyn Street's quite narrow. I wasn't needed that day in the end. And if you want to watch the whole film, not just my back, and have a subscription to Apple I guess, it's here – enjoy! And if you still don't believe that's me, here's my bus driver's face back in Shepperton, behind which are Kit Harington and Mark Wahlberg having a tussle. I assume. I never looked round to check because I couldn't be sure in my driver's cab when they were or weren't shooting. Professional. I just kept Maggie Simpsoning at the wheel.
Of course I'm burying the lead, which is that at the beginning of the year I actually landed two Christmas movies, and you can actually see and hear me in the second, as a judge (well, magistrate) in the final button of the trailer no less, which is here. And Kiefer Sutherland came up to me and shook my hand and said You're great, You are great. It's called TINSEL TOWN and it comes out on Sky tomorrow!
Kicking off 2025 with this kind of work was odd and new to me and basically bliss, because I'd definitely decided by then to use all the money I'd received for "High Five" to take JONAH NON GRATA to Edinburgh. The night before my scene, I couldn't sleep, and stayed up re-reading Chris Ware's JIMMY CORRIGAN on my big hotel bed.
I'd brought it with me to Leeds because I wanted to check its influence on the solo show. Jimmy's nervous isolation on the phone. In an alien bedroom. And I remembered writing seventeen years earlier how I'd wanted JONAH to feel a little like a comic. And re-reading it I loved it again. I loved the book. Loved what I was doing. Loved that I was seeing the insides of hotels again. Loved that they'd put me up in a Marriott.
JONAH NON GRATA production shot by John Scott. See? The nervous hand to the mouth? I should definitely write more about Jonah.
And here's where I sat the following day. "There is no Nation so Powerful, as the One that Obeys its Law," it said on the wall in golden letters over a century old. The North gets it.
Of course, I'm biased. But I think my mate Matthew Woodcock (Monster Hunters co-creator, "Roy Steel", and former Tweed Avenger of Mitre Square before the London Dungeons started giving us all scripts) has produced a genuine podcast Masterpiece in The Divide. Without giving too much away – and there is SO MUCH to give away – his new, twelve-part Cold War beast, is John Le Carré meets Philip K. Dick, with new episodes out every Friday, atmosphere you could cut with a piano wire, and me popping up all over the show as louche para-intelligence panjandrum Charles "A bastard for a boss can be quite the motivator" Spooner. Everyone involved has done incredible work on it so I won't mention any of them because I want you to stop reading this immediately and start catching up with it NOW: Here, look what a lovely length the episodes are...
Power through the first four if you can for a NEXT LEVEL TWIST, and then bask in the even-nexter levelness of episode five...
And then enjoy the wait. Cool some water, maybe, invite some friends round whatever you cooled that water with and talk and about it while you wait. Like! Subscribe! Sorry, I'm excited. I honestly reckon you'll be hooked though, I'm really proud to be involved, I've just shed a week-long fever, and you know how long it normally takes me to plug stuff. Here's another Grand Panjandrum...
"... there have been preliminary talks and various plans about a Gaza seaport..."
So that's what I needed to get back on the blog, it turns out. Hope.
I mean, sure, instagram stories are great and everything (and don't worry, I'll post soundbites below) but this interview is, if anything, even more useful than a bond-dissolving Niagra Falls of screaming trauma: a gripping, followable, and humanely optimistic account of – for want
of a better phrase – what the fuck is going on and, more pertinently, what the fuck just happened. I mean, Trump?! Peace?! HIM??? It could easily be played in History classrooms for years to come, unless of course it turns out Israeli peace negotiator and self-confessed peacenik Gershon Baskin is just making it all up, but I don't know... he's been doing this for forty-seven years. He definitely knows things. I know. Someone who actually KNOWS things.
"I brought an agreement from Hamas, to do what we're doing today, back in September 2024. And I got it from Hamas in writing, in Arabic and in English, and in voice message. And no one on the Israeli side would listen. In fact, the head of the negotiations in Israel told me: 'It's a great deal. But the Prime Minister refuses to end the war.' I went to Qatar and presented it to them, it was with the Egyptians, it got to the desk of President Biden. But it got no traction."
But Biden, unlike Trump, didn't have property interests in Qatar which might get upset by Netanyahu's later attack on Doha. Nor, it seems, did Biden have real estate mogul Steve Witkoff as a United States envoy:
"Since the Arab Spring, the main base of operation is Istanbul... (Turkish Intelligence Chief) İbrahim Kalın, who's a good friend of (Turkish President) Erdogan, who's a good friend of Donald Trump, and of Steve Witkoff, they got him on the phone and said: 'Ibrahim, we need you to lock Hamas into this deal.' and the Turks – together with the Egyptians and the Qataris – strong-armed Hamas. And Sharm El Sheikh happened."
And, on Trump's horrific homefront, if you haven't yet checked out Portlanders in inflatable animal costumes standing up to ICE, I of course recommend you do so, but what I really haven't been able to get out of my head immediately previous to this Peace is Josh Johnson on The Daily Show brilliantly noting how much Trump's started talking about not getting into Heaven. Where is it now... Oh yeah! Ghislaine Maxwell! Still, as distractions go, I mean, Peace is definitely an improvement.
"I want to try and get into Heaven, if possible. I hear I'm not doing so well." Actual quote.
Although I'd seen and shared photos, I had no idea when I wrote this post back back in 2022, that actual footage might exist of Charles' career at Footlights. Not a hope. But here it is. And, while not a fake, the King's material does share Ai's hallmark of not remotely understanding what a joke is, but prolifically turning something out anyway. As I head off now back to Square One to join the thousands who have faced the Unfightable Unknown of a first night Doing Edinburgh, all previous plaudits potentially worthless – show starts in an hour, TICKETS HERE – may we all find comfort today in the following baffled silence...
I wonder if we could get him to revisit his bagpipe bit.
First video with the Newphone. So maybe badphone wasn't bad after all. Maybe me bad?
Look! I'm in Edinburgh, and beginning to lose track of how many Jonah Non Grata-related PR assigments I've shared on here, but – as these italics suggest – there's more. I don't think the video above counts, but the influence of Jeremy
Hardingham’s brilliant Incarnate – the first site-specific show I ever appeared in back in 1997, and whose route I attempted to retrace last night – only occurred to me in the middle of answering a question about "lo-fi absurdity" for Made in Shoreditch.
Exciting new Youtube Ai feature.
Here then is that Q&A in full (although it's a bit weird seeing my speaking-to-a-publication voice on this blog... I'm not sure why. It's all public, innit):
Nearly 20 years after its first London outing, Simon Kane is reviving Jonah Non Grata,
a solo show that merges absurdism, hymns, and a heavy dose of holy
confusion. This surreal, comic exploration of power, extremism, and
meaning feels sharper than ever in 2025. We caught up with Simon Kane to unpack his return to the Fringe, the joy of “failed magic,” and the art of staying baffling.
You’re
reviving Jonah Non Grata nearly 20 years after its first London outing.
What made you return to this gloriously strange beast now?
It’s
tempting to say something glib about the absurdity of religious
conflict, but I think what’s most important about the show right now is
how baffling it is. Good art can get us talking, but really good art can
get us to shut up. There’s a lot to be said for reaching out to people
through a piece that defies demographics by not making sense to anyone.
But the real answer is, I missed it, and I could now afford it.
The
show mixes hymns, failed magic tricks, and audience interaction. How do
you choreograph chaos without completely surrendering to it?
Entropy
keeps the chaos in balance, and a lot of this show errs on the side of
grinding to a halt. I added a line this year: “Waiting is also a way of
joining in.” So it’s not really chaos. Also, all that’s just in the
first third. There are proper scenes and everything later on. It’s like
tapas.
You call it a “clownish mystery play.” What does that mean to you – and how does that genre-bending shape audience expectations?
I
guess that description is meant to suggest a shabby, human-scale stab
at the unknowable. Mystery Plays were the earliest plays in (sort of)
English – Bible stories played with a realism bordering upon absurdity
by local Guilds. I think it’s helpful to base an absurd work on a simple
story most people already know. Even if they don’t know that’s what
they’re watching, something will chime.
This is a solo show, but
it feels full of shifting characters and perspectives. How do you
maintain that energy and dynamism alone on stage?
I’ve realised a
lot of the inspiration for this show came from simply asking, what do I
want to do onstage. I know why my character does what they’re doing,
and I don’t mind if the audience doesn’t, because as long as I know, it
will still be watchable, maybe even more so than if the audience knew.
Their curiosity provides the dynamism. That, and the songs help.
Power,
extremism, meaning – your themes hit harder in 2025. How have the
world’s changes affected your interpretation of Jonah’s story?
Jonah’s
look of double denim, bare chin and big sideburns was originally based
on me very much not wanting to look like anyone’s idea of a terrorist,
and that certainly changed, but I don’t mourn the passing of that
prejudice. I was a little worried some themes might seem too glib now,
but I’d forgotten how abstract the piece is. Although a personal sequel
to Shunt’s Gunpowder-plot-inspired, coincidentally 9/11-adjacent show
Dance Bear Dance, it’s not really about terrorism at all. It’s about an
abandoned protagonist’s power fantasy, and love is as much a part of
that fantasy as obliteration.
What’s it like re-entering the belly of the beast – literally and figuratively – after so long away from this material?
I’m
incredibly excited. The body has modes, I guess. I’ve just been writing
television sketches for Mitchell and Webb again, and it turns out the
last time I did that was in 2010, but it doesn’t feel like that. Jonah
was never off the table, let’s put it like that. If you want someone to
see your work, and your work’s a show, you have to do it again.
You’ve
worked with experimental companies like Shunt. What role does ‘poor
theatre’ or lo-fi absurdity play in your creative process today?
Ultimately,
all immersive work has to do is acknowledge your shared environment,
and that’s cheap as chips. Working with Shunt was a dream come true,
inasmuch I’d always wanted to make work that was funny in a way I hadn’t
seen things be funny before – because that’s what I grew up loving –
and Shunt were deadpan and pithy and wildly creative and wildly
ambitious, but of course they ended up with a real budget, and every -fi
going, which they used brilliantly. Maybe just as strong then is an
earlier influence: a writer, performer, and director a few Shunt artists
and I had worked with at Cambridge called Jeremy Hardingham. We did a
show with him in 1997 around the streets of Edinburgh called
“Incarnate”, based on the Gospels, and interspersed with interviews with
Drew Barrymore and sound bites from Reservoir Dogs, which maybe makes
it sound awful, but Jeremy’s script was brilliant and beguiling, and his
no-budget, Pop Absurdist pilfering was a huge influence on Jonah. He
never liked the title The Empty Space, because there are no empty spaces
– Who plays in an empty space? – but taking everything Peter Brook
wrote about “play”, and trying it out with an artist who actually knows
how to play… that freedom, that power… making a show up becomes
surprisingly easy once you’ve got that under your belt.
How do
you want audiences to feel when they leave Jonah Non Grata – confused,
comforted, or just covered in metaphorical rice pudding?
Do you
know the Monty Python Confuse-A-Cat sketch? Confused only like that cat.
Newly mobile. Reset. Maybe even like they want to make their own
version. Like they can do anything. I don’t want the venue to hate me
though, so no rice pudding. I want people to have had fun, and feel
they’ve come through something safely.
Yes, I now use wet soap instead of rice pudding so I can walk offstage all clean.
By the way, do you know the Confuse-A-Cat sketch? It's this:
Some of those answers were informed by six to seven-hundred words I'd written for Broadway World UK – before I'd clocked Jeremy's influence – attempting a brief historical rundown of other great immersive masters like Sophocles, Shakespeare, Chekhov, the York Realist, me, Shunt, you know, that lot, so here's that...
Back when Shunt – the theatre collective of which I’m an associate
artist – started, we didn’t call it “immersive theatre”, we called it
“site-specific” because we took what we were given. One of the reasons
for choosing the Gunpowder Plot as an inspiration for DANCE BEAR DANCE
back in 2001 was that our venue was a railway arch. No rumbling of a
train overhead needed to be ignored now. All attention was rewarded. As
the collective grew, and designer Lizzie Clachan
could afford to create strange new spaces within found spaces,
acknowledgment of every detail of our environment remained crucial. The
site was the text.
Twenty years after first performing the thing most resembling the
shape it’s now in, I’m taking my solo show JONAH NON GRATA to Edinburgh.
I consider it very much a personal sequel to that work with Shunt but,
not wishing to give too much away, the logistics of the piece are those
of most other solo shows: me on a stage, and the audience in their
seats. Nevertheless, I still think of it as immersive, and here’s a
brief, cherry-picked history of what I think immersiveness is, to
explain why.
We could start with the Ancient Greeks. While I’ve not seen the
dramas of Sophocles described as immersive (and of course back then, you
could easily differentiate actors from spectators because, in a kind of
reverse Punchdrunk, the former wore masks) when Oedipus first steps
onstage to demand of his subjects through the hole in his face – at some
length – if any know who’s responsible for the curse fallen upon his
city, every citizen watching would already have known the story of
Oedipus, and known it’s him. Their silence wasn’t simply that of an
engaged audience; there was that added tension. They were complicit.
Permission to be complicit is a staple of immersive work. The
Mediaeval Mysteries are probably the earliest play-texts in (sort-of)
English: short, open-air adaptations of biblical incidents staged by
Professional Guilds. In one York Pageant, local “pinners and painters”
are seen hunched over a particularly slippery assignment, and it’s only
when the job is finished and erected, that the audience can see they
were roping and nailing Christ to the Cross. The author of this piece is
known simply as “the York realist”. Realism is also a staple.
Then there’s the Elizabethans. I’m old enough to have learnt – by
which I mean, old enough to have been wrongly taught – that
Shakespeare’s actors originally were rubbish, and crudely bellowed their
lines because the Globe was an open-air space, with no special lighting
to tell you who to look at. “Wrongly” of course, because once Sam Wanamaker had the thing rebuilt, its first actor manager was Mark Rylance, stammering and standing like Stan Laurel
wondering what he’d done with his keys, captivating audience after
audience with his brilliantly studied vulnerability because, in the open
air, they could see he could see them back. It wasn’t just
soliloquies that were played out to the audience now. Everything had to
be, thought and speech balloons alike. Numerous mob scenes, which had
proven such a headache in beautifully lit black boxes regardless of
their dimensions, were now a piece of piss at the Globe where the
audience was the mob, happy to be whipped up by whatever demagogue
stepped up. We didn’t call it “immersive” when the Globe reopened
either; that was still a word to be used in opposition to the idea of
“traditional” theatre. But the Globe Experiment proved Shakespeare’s
plays had been both.
Then theatre went indoors, and theatrical spaces stopped basing
themselves on the courtyards of inns. It became too expensive to light
an audience for the duration, and the relationship between performer and
spectator couldn’t help but be affected. Over two hundred years later,
in Chekhov’s THE SEAGULL, the young Konstantin’s awkward rebelliousness
is exemplified by his attempt to stage his work in front of a real lake
beneath a real moon. Not a realist piece, but a hugely ambitious,
abstract poem about the beginning and end of all things, it’s still
immersive, albeit fictionally – it’s an attempt to recontextualize his
audience’s experience of their environment, like the rumbling of the
trains in DANCE BEAR DANCE, or the fleeing green figure in the EXIT sign
my reluctant prophet of doom can’t take his eyes off in JONAH NON
GRATA.
If your environment – audience included – is visible, and
acknowledged, a show cannot help but be “immersive”. And if it’s not,
you might be better off putting whatever you’re doing online, and giving
yourself the evening off. “Come and ignore where you are” is still the
default tradition when going to see a play. “Or don’t” is all
“immersive” really means.
I open tomorrow. My technical rehearsal was Monday, and everyone was lovely but the venue still hadn't been built, so I don't entirely know yet what there won't be to ignore there. But, just to prove my inspiration for Jonah changes every time I'm asked, here to play us out is a Q&A for Hinton magazine in which I add to the mix of Shakespeare, Shunt, Jeremy, Deburau and Chris Ware, not only Sulayman Al-Bassam, but the artist I finally, actually realised probably did inspire me to do a show about Jonah: Alasdair Gray, in his little Canongate Introduction to books of the Bible. These interviews have proved really useful. I hope it's not telling tales to say the one below originally went out under the headline "A Whale of a Mid-Life Crisis" but I do want to broadcast public thanks to my PR and her phones today for handling that narrative. I should probably also state explicitly that – apart from Voidspacezine in the previous post – all the Qs in these Q&As are based purely on a single press release (basically this). Maybe you knew that already. It's a new dynamic for me though. Take it away, liminal beings!
Rooted in the Book of Jonah but constantly spiralling into stranger territory, this solo performance is silly, profound, and as Kane puts it, “a temporary reprieve from having to be right.”
You describe Jonah Non Grata as “a clown take on a modern-day mystery play.” Tell us a bit more about this.
The first show I wrote on my own, rather than co-devising with fun people like Shunt who’d actually studied theatre, was a modern-day prequel to Shakespeare’s Othello, because I really wanted to play Iago, and had also just been to Cairo with Sulayman Al-Bassam’s “Al Hamlet Summit”, so any work seemed fair game. For my second play I wanted to go even further back for inspiration, to the old Mediaeval Mystery plays: rough, semi-realist adaptations of old stories from the Bible. Initially, I considered adapting Jesus’ awkward goodbyes on his return from the dead as described in various Gospels, but then I came across Alasdair Gray’s little Canongate introduction to The Book of Jonah, which he described as “a prose comedy” about “an unwilling prophet” who just “wants God to leave him alone”, and realised this should be the next show, and also that it should be – if not a clown show – at least a show where people felt very comfortable laughing at me.
The show originally debuted nearly 20 years ago. Why revive it now - and what’s changed?
In the show? My eyesight’s got worse, so there’s more audience interaction, as I have to ask people to read stuff out to me. Also, I received a very helpful note, after a late-night performance in 2008, to never let my character lose their temper. The technology that was lying around in 2005 is rarer to source now too, and you can’t just light candles onstage. Bits have been added. Bits have drifted off. But the biggest change is that stupid, evil, wrong people are even more of a problem in the world, and making sense doesn’t seem to be enough to diffuse that. So the show’s absurdity maybe seems more of a radical kindness now – a temporary reprieve from having to be right.
There are hymns, bungled magic tricks, a hotel room, and someone who might be on the moon. What’s your method for weaving such a mix into a cohesive narrative?
Bit by bit. I worry that the more I go into my inspirations for the piece, the more I risk closing off how people might enjoy it. It’s intentionally abstract, but the narrative’s there, in The Book of Jonah. I don’t want audiences to think it’s necessary for them to know that to enjoy the show though. Treat it like a concept album, or a cabaret. Music helps. A lot of the show was made to accompany the music I wanted to put into it. It’s practically a musical.
How does audience interaction influence the tone or outcome of the show if at all?
I’ve realised, in many ways, the show is simply about a character trying to work out how to talk to other people. And those other people are, for the most part, the audience. But because the audience is real, and the character is not, and we know that’s the deal when you come to see a show – a bit like Hamlet’s soliloquies – nothing will ultimately be sorted out. So I think probably the outcome won’t be affected at all. But hopefully watching that failure play out will be something, and maybe even itself feel like a connection.
What’s the strangest or most memorable reaction you’ve had from an audience member?
I think it’s my duty to out-weird the audience, and the richness of an interaction is not in its uniqueness or anecdotal worth, but in the simple fact it’s a reaction. In other words, I don’t remember. Honestly, what I find weirdest is just that so many people get it.
What do you hope to take away from Edinburgh Fringe this year?
Apart from all the stuff you’d expect me to want to take away from performing a show at an International Arts Festival – like love and respect and glory and validation and happy memories and job and book offers – I hope to take away with me some idea of what to do next. I’ve never really made anything as a means to an end, and I have the CV to prove it.
Here's one of many tangents from a very enjoyable series of conversations I had with Katy Naylor, either side of Katy seeing Jonah Non Grata's Soho show, about that and other participatory projects:
Simon Kane:
Do you know the old Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy text adventure game?
Voidspace:
Yes, it’s impossible. Notoriously impossible.
Simon Kane:
Once I worked out what that was doing, I thought this is incredible,
because it’s actually subverting what a game is. It’s not a role-playing
game at all. I think it’s designed to be about creating a very visceral
emotional relationship with the technology. The whole point of it is that it’s almost impossible to play.
Voidspace:
I had always thought of that as a bug rather than a feature,
and just said it was early days, and they hadn’t actually got the hang
of difficulty moderating it.
Simon Kane:
It’s about how you deal – it’s a Kobayashi Maru – it’s about how you deal with this unplayable game.
Voidspace:
In the modern Table Top Role-Playing Game world, in the art-game one-pager space,
there are games that are deliberately unplayable. There are all sorts of
things that are interrogating the form and just being fun and weird.
It’s interesting if that was an idea back in the ’80s.
Simon Kane:
It has to be. There’s no reason to make it that unplayable. I think it’s signalled
by the very first thing you do, where you have to work out how to turn on the
light. That’s unnecessary. And you could die. It's horrible. This machine
doesn’t understand how a person exists.
Voidspace:
It’s creating in you the sensation of being Arthur Dent,
because Arthur Dent hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing. Everything is
alien, nothing makes sense, everything is baffling. And so that ties
into the idea of this work being able to create a sense of exchange, or a
sense of communication that can put you into an emotional state of
someone else who’s in the world of the piece.
Tell me some more about Jonah.
... which, if you can bear it, I contine to do HERE.
And you can try to play the old Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy text adventure for yourself HERE.
If you want to see me in a dressing gown in Islington, you can come and see Jonah Non Grata's other preview, at the Hen and Chickens this Saturday, by getting tickets for almost a tenner HERE.
Meanwhile, the PR continues to work, keep taking the PR, with a lovely piece from, of all places, ATV HERE and another from Midlands TV HERE.
(And here is the final scene of Jack Aldisert's The Manikins (A Work In Progress) – one of many other things Katy and I talked about – as passed to me in a manila envelope when I left the venue. Enlarge for spoilers...)
To think there was a time I balked at the thought of putting my face on this blog. But here's a little record of my business trip to Praha! for another advert, and catching the mood board for my character at the wardrobe fitting, I see who I have to thank for it...
Thank you, Michael Cera, for giving me a type.
In my time off, I revisited many sites still standing from my last trip with Lanna in 2011: the crazy babies crawling up TV Tower – I had forgotten the massive holes in their faces – the weird, giant metronome which replaced the statue of Stalin – the third AD told me they were thinking of bringing the statue back, but pink this time, of which he approved – and there was, of course, new mad shit too...
The Giant Prague Museum of Endless Glass Cases of Minerals now boasted other stuff as well! Like a life-sized diorama of "dog-bears" fighting Early Cenozioc ungulents, a complete whale skeleton...
I've played smaller. And those beautiful Šalamoun "Hobbit" illustrations I mentioned last post – here are more...
There were also harps you could play, suits of armour, skulls, typewriters, and that big, empty room in the video, none of which I remember from 2011, but what I really went to the Museum for of course was the stairs, and they never disappoint...
I also – for the first time – went to the zoo, as recommended, which was huge, its enclosures far less enclosing than those of Regent's Park...
At its centre was a giant statue of Radegast on Mount Radhošť. Not just a guano-soiled wizard played by Sylvester McCoy, Radegast is also it turns out a Slavic Beast God overthrown by Christian missionaries – a deeply disappointing legend.
With of all this, Badphone did its best, bless...
But my PR's given me her old phone now, which I didn't take with me, and I think it's time to start taking better pictures.
(Reviewing the video, I notice it's actually shot with a different – and possibly worse – Badphone from the one I took to Bucharest in '22. I fell for Prague just as hard [and indeed for Norwich, when I did Polar Express there {and indeed Croydon, when I went to voice video games there}] but while I did make it to the last two minutes of a band in a cellar playing Watermelon Man, I didn't discover any cool, new music to round off this post with like the Bucharest one.
