Originally published in the second edition of the VUzine. This was on the last page and I really think it helped tie the edition up. You can curse and call it typical You can welcome the inevitable But we missed the boat Our ship had sailed When Tempest stormed the critical. It’s been ten years in port But far from docked, she’s more than caught Attention She’s held court, spoke forth Waving, drowning, craving, storming, sailing. As long as they’ve listened, they’ve heard her As long as they came, she’d be there Jumping genre fences at festivals Being drunk on rhyme and rum, in bars and cafes Ranting late night in kebab takeaways The beat, her heart, her own, inaudible, invisible.
Go back Way back, before that Kate Tempest spat before she spoke Drummed out her words In school cloakrooms The rhythm of being in the womb Hip hop, the wet nurse Cries full of hunger and meaning Giving voice to the wounded, alone, stranded, abandoned. Writing plays for tomorrow and today Softening the life of the hard living Giving Whether whittling words or treading boards Stirring souls, portraying passion, long rounds of applause Crowds fired up, become molten and been forged into awards. So let the broadsheets bang on about background and beginning Before being shredded and forgotten. Let Jon Humphries get back round to pillaring politicians Rather than hastily constructing pedestals of jauntiness (and Jim Naughtiness) Let the bookies stop taking bets on fake measures of success. Because after the fawning journos, the fakers, After the flamers and slayers have taken their potshots After the Gogglebox gogglers and the blank switch off. Leave the musicians and the makers, Leave those who hear more with repeated listens Standing in the wings being lifted up with words Or pushing to the front Pinned against the band, The following, the follower, the fanzine and the fans. Tempest’s reply (sort of)
Kate Tempest played Village Underground on 11th November check out these amazing pictures of her performance taken by Abi Dainton