Cradle to the Grave showcases bawdy poetry and songs from Ant Smith and Mel Jones, with the emphasis very much placed on the seedier, grubbier aspects of life. Anything and everything that could be considered even vaguely rude or perverted is here hoisted into words and music, performed with unpretentious gusto and unparalleled passion. There are no areas the two performers won’t touch with their particular brand of unhinged enthusiasm.
In the case of Mel Jones this love affair with smut is entirely welcome. Her poems are full of natural wit and uproariously candid revelations, covering everything from bestiality to urinating to unglamorous, wordy depictions of sexual intercourse. The poem about bestiality actually turns out to be the unexpected highlight, composed entirely with words beginning with the letter M and showcasing a dazzling command over the English language. Granted, not everyone will be impressed at the choice of subject matter, but the skill with which the verse is crafted is undeniable.
Sadly, after Jones’ performance the show displays a notable decline in standards. There are a couple of poems from a guest performer which compare poorly, and Ant Smith’s set following this, while showing glimpses of promise, does little to live up to the high standards set by Jones. His crude songs wallow in filth for the sake of it, and often without any of the redeeming intelligence of Jones’ biting humour. There are some clever lines and mordantly observed subject matter, but for the most part his loud, hoarsely-delivered ballads are reminiscent of the kind of shock-humour you might find in a particular kind of pub shortly after last orders.
Cradle to the Grave is a mixed bag of comedy, spoken word and song, and while it loses momentum as the show goes on there are some hidden treats to be found lurking within its depths. It’s not for the easily shocked or offended, but those with strong constitutions could find worse ways to spend an hour of their time.
