Review: Rich Lansley and Jackson Davies' 'Same Coin'

I began my journey into the unknown (that is Southsea, and Portsmouth in general) in the one way that nobody wants to begin their wholesome evening activity: stressed.

Obviously I blamed the two delayed trains and mentally prepared myself to send the let-down text - "I can not show up half an hour late for this". Meanwhile, the powers that be were probably laughing at the smallness of my large platform dilemma, because I had, in fact, put the wrong time in my calendar. I arrived right on time — professional, yet uncool, and is a miracle for someone who is unfortunately blessed with the skill of being late more often t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶c̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ than being on time.

Why am I sharing this? Well, because on this particular evening, this was one of my Small Things.

Let us begin...properly.

Stage for the show 'Same Coin'

MC/host - SM Ripper

Jolly in his shirt and bouncing a little as he spoke, SM Ripper did what it didn’t say on the (non-existent) “MC” tin — he got the crowd involved with a call and response poem about cider. This instantly piqued my discerning critic eye because it presented the opportunity for people to exercise their own voice without it feeling like a tactic. It sounds simple, but there was something deeper there about making a poetry event, which could sound insufferably posh, engaging and accessible.

I, for one, enjoyed the elongation of his words, almost commanding them to rhyme, like a wizard. It gave an air of willingness to be seen on a soul level, which would be continued and expanded throughout the show.

Jackson Davies - Chaos

Sunglasses. Glorious arrogance — at first. Jackson, like all of the poets in the show, has a talent for tapping into first impressions and almost mocking them until he chooses to transform and transmute through poetry.

His set 'Chaos' came in two parts, revealing intelligence over time and ending on the other side of the interval, lit by the "right, safe" brand of fiery rage. His work rode on a rap-like delivery, which had obvious musical influences, but somehow his words felt more empowering. Jackson had the ability to make people think by occupying not just the stage, but the entire space he was speaking into.

Jackson Davies performing his set 'Chaos'

One particularly brilliant poem caught people in the crowd out despite describing something I'd personally equate to a staple in the average British household, almost at pet-level status. Nobody laughed in the same raucous way they had been until he unveiled a red Henry vacuum cleaner, waiting patiently on the floor for his moment to shine.

After the first segment, I started to recall and feel the power of spoken word and voice as an art form. It's very different from just intellectually understanding words, or even podcasting, and that's where I think the craft in poetry lies. It's not just the way you say something, it's infusing those words with lived experience, and regurgitating them in a way that connects total strangers.

Rich Lansley - '100 Small Things'

Less than two minutes in, and I heard myself think "it's like listening to someone voice all your weirdest thoughts". Hearing Rich Lansley was like hearing a child saying things that the 'grown-ups' label as absurd or ridiculous, but then pause, reflect, and realise that actually it's quite profound and insightful.

Music and staging in '100 Small Things' really added to the feeling of watching something magical without a screen between you, like the first time you watch a HD TV. It's clear Rich has poured a lot of love into his show. It's also clear that a lot of love has been poured into him, which he shares willingly and unassumingly. The attention to detail started with the world, and boiled down to the price tag appearing as still attached to his burgundy-coloured suit.

Rich Lansley at Hunter Gatherer Coffee, Southsea.

Rich's work highlighted the small: moments and curiosities that people ridicule artists and other often creatively minded people for, like doing things slowly or not grinding to the point they forget the world exists around them. We need art and artists, we need people who are brave enough to craft their emotions into something tangible for us to feast on, and whose works foster true connection.

The entire construction of 'Same Coin' as a show lovingly "exposed" just a few of the many ways men express their most emotional, vulnerable selves. In two hours, it created space for us to accept, to be patient, laugh, and feel real joy. That little room tucked away in Southsea was warm (not just because it was packed out) and touched an essence of togetherness that I fear we've even forgotten to miss, because social media is filling the void for that connection.

It was touch without touching. Some might call it tantalising...to our humanness!