Streets, the newest production from the youthful Interval Productions, makes the bold claim to be “a new kind of musical”. That sets up a huge amount of expectation in an audience; the show has to offer a fresh perspective as well as offering a new kind of style and aesthetic. That is a lot to ask for. Streets does not disappoint.

With writers Tori Allen-Martin and Sarah Henley, composer Finn Anderson has reworked his Edinburgh Fringe hit into a piece that takes place during the days leading up to, and in the immediate aftermath, of the London riots. Streets examines how environments shape people, how they influence them as they struggle with the same emotions that characters have done throughout history: young couples in love, desperate individuals trying to find a way to fit in, people addicted to power.

The piece is set just after the riots, when some of the central characters have been arrested. Danielle Watson (of This Is England) plays a police officer who interrogates the characters, and through a series of flashbacks they tell their own story. It is a slick device that doesn’t feel clichéd, allowing for a gradual unravelling of a complex plot that could rival a Shakespearian tragedy; backstabbing, lying, sex, drugs, murder, and all entirely recognisable and relatable for the youth of today.

The central character, Robyn (Sian Louise), provides the emotional heart of the piece. Robyn is in love with drug addict Rick (Brandon Henry), but he gradually forces her away and she finds release in the arms of nice boy Jason (Ben Astle). Louise’s performance is beautifully pitched; her relationship with Rick is tempestuous and strained, while the relationship with Jason is tender, loving. Brandon Henry’s progressive descent into severe drug addiction is riveting to watch, particularly in the second half of the play when he loses all he has bit by bit.

James Eyres Kenward gives a stunning, witty performance as Skinner, a kind of narrator figure and the man who seems to run everything and everyone. He is quietly menacing and entirely in control. This blend is truly terrifying. Kamilah Beckles and Ryan-Lee Seager’s choreography is an electrifying combination of contemporary and street dance styles. Jake Leigh stands out from the crowd and in one particular duet it is impossible to take your eyes off him.

Musically, the piece is more backed by the band than it is in a musical. In Streets, external vocalists sing on the behalf of the characters. This is surprisingly effective. Lead vocalists Tori Allen-Martin and Benedict both have remarkable voices. Allen-Martin is a startlingly emotional performer, really nailing the rawness of the lyrics. Finn Anderson’s music is perfect for the piece; at times haunting, at times fierce, it is a powerful score. Juxtaposing the more traditionally ‘musical theatre’, lyrical numbers is beatboxing from Pikey Esquire and rap, written and performed by James Eyres Kenward. Musical Director Kris Rawlinson does well, leading the musicians from the keyboard.

Director Adam ‘Bo’ Boland has created a streamlined, emotionally raw piece of theatre. What could feel disjointed is held together by a strong through-line and Anderson’s captivating score. The ends of both acts are incredibly climactic – a lot happens in a very short space of time, particularly in the conclusion, but this is done with such precision and clarity that the audience never feels lost.

Although some of the acting is a little presentational and there is an over-fondness for shouting, this is exciting musical theatre that deserves to be championed and developed further. Most of all, this is theatre for the younger generation that is fiercely creative and thrillingly fresh. It deserves to be seen by as many people as possible. Get yourself down to see Streets now, you don’t want to miss this.

Streets is playing at the Cockpit Theatre until 21 April. For more information and tickets, see Cockpit Theatre website.

Youngsters, teenagers, lend us your ears! We at Filskit are miffed. It appears that young people have been having a bit of a hard time of late. And as young arts professionals (yes, 25 is still young) we are aware of how tough things can be out there. But this does not seem to stop us and we know how much great stuff our generation is a part of, most of which does not get enough coverage.

Last week, Sophie Heawood, a columnist for The Independent, chose to lambast the graduate generation. A mere glance at the numerous reactive comments listed below the article is enough to lower morale: large levels of student debt, the void of employment opportunities and the expectation that you need to work for free for five years before you could ever be cheeky enough to expect to be treated as a professional under the guise of an ‘internship’ – all these hurdles have left a somewhat despondent youth.

At the other end of the scale it’s almost a year since the ‘London riots.’ A year since Foot Locker, Curry’s and any other unsuspecting trendy footwear/electronic outlets were looted in a wave of juvenility – notably branches of Waterstones were left intact! But even through this minor, sarky quip, judgement has been passed. And isn’t that what everyone does? Cast a blanket of opinion over a situation with sweeping generalisations? The press following the riots at the time bombarded us with headlines such as: “British youths are ‘the most unpleasant and violent in the world’”, and the Mirror’s contribution, “Young rioters say they’re proud to steal”. With this kind of bad press, it becomes very easy to paint a damning picture of today’s youths. We are portrayed as either over-educated and complacent or ignorant and violent. This is grossly unfair.

We’re constantly astonished at how frequently work for young people or by young people is somehow deemed to be something lesser. Mozart composed from the age of 5 for God’s sake! So just to prove our point, this week Filskit has been part of the International Youth Arts Festival (IYAF) in Kingston-upon-Thames. That is twenty-four days of workshops, carnivals and performances, made for young people, by young people. We first took part in this event as part of its debut in 2009 and are happy to say it has grown massively with more events, more people and support, enabling it to reach a wider audience. In terms of IYAF a young person is classified as twenty-six or under – or anyone eligible for a Young Persons Railcard. These young people come from diverse backgrounds: from choirs, touring theatre companies and circus acts, all producing a true mix of exciting work. And what is most impressive is that we were surrounded by young people who are creative, driven, and ambitious. In fact there was a distinct absence of moaning, self pitying graduates, or illiterate, anti-social yobs.

The same can be said for U-Dance – a national programme run by Youth Dance England, an organisation that “champions dance for all children and young people […] all performances count.” Isn’t that great? We had the pleasure of catching some of the acts appearing at the Southbank over the weekend – a fantastic platform where there was a tangible buzz of excitement from all the young people performing.

So, perhaps it is about time that newspapers readdressed their attitude to young people, because our experience of young people in the arts is that they are motivated and are producing work that is challenging, entertaining and socially aware. They are not just sitting back and waiting for opportunities to be handed to them, but are shaping their futures themselves and this needs to be supported. There is so much to celebrate and the more we encourage young people to take their futures into their own hands the better. We need more events like IYAF and supportive organisations like U-Dance to show the world what the Creative Youth of today can do.

Last summer, Archie W. Maddocks was inspired: inspired by the city he lived in, the things he witnessed and the people he saw. In this special guest blog, he tells us more.

Smoke spiralled out of a charred shell of a car while hoards of hooded figures regrouped around it, flames and bats in hands, ready to go to war with the police, the politicians, the system. Certain streets descended into chaos while others were left unsurprisingly unblemished by the hurricane taking over the country. The youth were to blame. Britain was broken. Right?

To me, the riots represented the same enigma as a well-crafted novel or slowly floating iceberg: those unwilling to acknowledge what lies beneath the surface will only see what is right in front of them. I felt that people would never truly look at the reasons for the riots happening. Being an angry, reactionary species, people would quickly point the finger of blame to those who they felt were at fault. It was always going to be the fault of someone else, someone removed from themselves, someone alien to their world. In reality, the August riots of 2011 were the fault of everyone. But, I felt, no-one was ever going to acknowledge that idea. So I decided to explore it in Mottled Lines.

I wrote Mottled Lines because I felt that people needed to look at the culmination of the summer’s discontent from different viewpoints. The riots were not caused by one group of people. They were not caused by thugs wanting to make a mess. They were caused by a country-wide disenfranchisement. People sought to improve their lives in some way, and what other opportunity would they have? Let’s not forget, there were teachers rioting, office assistants, artists, university students. This was not caused by a singular group of people, this was diverse. People were unified despite their divisions by their similar feelings in the situation; they weren’t happy and they wanted to make some kind of statement. But, again, unless people were willing to look beneath the surface of things, they would only see what was right in front of them.

I can remember reading people blaming other factions of society for why the riots occurred and thinking, “So, what, you didn’t have any impact on the lives of other people?” Whenever a substantial and varied group of people move and react in the same way to something, there has to be more than one source. There couldn’t just have been a sole reason that people got up and took to the streets. The issue was complicated, yet people tried to make it simpler by suggesting that it was the fault of someone else. The ever-elusive ‘other’.

I wanted to take a look at different archetypes in society and try and think about what they thought about the riots. Why they thought that these “incidents” occurred. It led me to the conclusion that everyone has this idea that their word is gospel, while the voices of others are misinformed. Each character in Mottled Lines presents a different viewpoint about why the riots happened. Each character also makes it clear what they think about the other members of society. Looking at it from different angles brought a fuller picture of how the riots may have occurred.

It’s always a good idea to look at things through the eyes of others, to try and see something from another person’s viewpoint, no matter how alien that may seem. Not only does that make you understand them a little bit better, it makes you more aware of yourself and how you may be perceived. This was essential to the thinking behind Mottled Lines; I wanted to explore the real thoughts and opinions of those who don’t usually get heard. Some of the characters in the play are listened to, but none of them are truly heard.

Society would work if people took the time to hear other people. Real talk, how is some rich Bullingdon-boy nob-end going to even try and relate to a road man that has to do x y and z to survive? How is someone in a perfect little bubble going to understand the problems that policemen have to go through on a day-to-day basis? How is anyone going to understand anyone but themselves and the people like themselves unless they hear the others? And how will people ever get heard without communication? This play investigates the idea of communication and suggests that there is a lack of it in our society due to the prevalence of fear.

Mottled lines is fundamentally a play about fear. How fear can run the lives of people and motivate them to do things they would never usually do. And that’s what I think happened with the riots. During the years before that fateful summer, there was a distinctive atmosphere in the air. My friends and I all felt it. Other people must have as well. Whether that was fear or foreboding I can’t say, but there was something out of the ordinary there.

What caught my eye in regards to the riots was that I saw people were united by their divisions. They were united in their fight against something. Or, their fight for something. But they were united. And they were all most definitely fighting. I wanted to capture that essence in the play, and although there characters are juxtaposed against each other, and alienated from one another, they are all essentially united by their division. A division that has been born from fear.

“When there’s a gap left in understanding, that’s when people let the fear breed”. And where else are we left to go if people are afraid of one another? The most common reaction to something we don’t understand or something we fear is to try and kill it, to destroy. If people fear other people in their society, will that not eventually culminate into some kind of event that resembles a riot?

Come and see Mottled Lines and find out what happens when you let the fear breed…

Mottled Lines plays at the Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond, from 10 to 14 July. For tickets and more information, visit the theatre’s website here. You can follow Archie on twitter @AWMDX.

Image credit: Archie W Maddocks

I want to tell a story about an event in my life which helped direct me towards working in theatre. It was an unlikely piece of career advice, but it had a profound effect.

Three years ago, I was the victim of an assault. It was the last night of a play I was in, and I was out with the other three cast members. I was hit in the face with a ‘Diversions Ahead’ road sign, and I fell over.

I balled up and covered my face as best I could as the group kicked me in the head and the small of my back. Most of the kicks landed on my arms, forehead, cheeks and chin. One hit the jackpot of my nose though, and I experienced a flowering explosion of pain like I have never known before or since. I began to bleed pretty fast from my nose, and, because the expanding puddle of blood in front of my head didn’t stop the kicking, I tried going as still and silent as I could, rabbit-style. This worked. The group ran off, and I got up.

Interestingly, I was able to pretend to be unconscious because, apart from when you get hit in the nose, being kicked very hard in the head isn’t that painful. It was a real surprise to me – even as it was happening, I found myself thinking, I could take a lot of this. I suppose there isn’t actually that much bruisable flesh covering the skull – there aren’t many nerves to damage. And the brain has no nerves at all, so you can’t feel the damage being done as it rattles about, like a jelly in a blender.

After this encounter I was left with a fractured thumb, two swollen black eyes I couldn’t see out of for a few days afterwards, and trainer marks all over my face (for a week I sported a Nike tick on my forehead). I could insert my little finger up to the second joint in my left nostril (this doesn’t sound like much, but try it, it’s twice as far as you can go, I bet). For two years afterwards, I suffered occasional, incredibly sharp stabbing pains on the right side of my skull, from what I think was another fracture. To this day, I still get pains in my lower back. My face is also a slightly different shape – I have a Neanderthal indent where my nose meets my forehead, and a wider bridge.

I was also left feeling very sorry for my assailants. These people had nothing to fill their lives with but violence, and that seemed sad and wrong to me. I wanted to find a way to engage with the reasons they had beaten me up, to try and stop it happening again. Not just for the sake of people like me, but for them as well. These young boys out in the dark with nothing to do.

I made the decision that the most effective place I could try to engage with this problem was in a theatre. A play isn’t a direct way of solving anything, but in my own life, the place where I engaged most fruitfully with ideas and problems was in the dark of an auditorium. And I believed imaginative engagement was the most important work I could do to challenge this kind of violence. Because what’s missing from the debate over youth crime, I think, is sympathy.

You can’t divorce the actions of people from the conditions of their lives, so to confuse motiveless, mindless violence with causeless violence is an imaginative failure. When a crime is committed, we should look to understand and tackle the conditions that led to it. We should engage with the problem, because otherwise it won’t go away. Punishment can suppress it, but the problem stays. The perceived or actual social isolation of the young men who attacked me is, I believe, part of why I experienced that assault. They felt a distance between themselves and the world, a lack of sympathy, and that informed their violence. My assault was also the result, I think, of a failure of sympathy on their part – I don’t think you could hurt another person as I was hurt if you really knew what you were doing to the victim.

This is loosely the definition of psychopathy – an inability to empathise, to imagine – and I came to believe that what I saw in the society around me, where it failed, was a kind of psychopathy, an absence of sympathetic understanding. Just as psychopathy in an individual is considered a condition requiring treatment and support, I felt it required the same when manifested in society. Our ability to sympathise needed strengthening. I felt that a theatre was the best place to do this.

Theatre opens the world to us. Being a dialectic medium, it engages with ideas as questions, weaving points of view together to undermine ways of thinking, to make us challenge our preconceptions, to make us imaginative. In David Hare’s play Fanshen, a Chinese peasant shouts to a crowd, “Think! All think of your lives!” This, for me, is the challenge good theatre always sets down to its audience. It doesn’t advocate or argue – it asks us to sympathise, to empathise, and to engage with ideas we don’t examine in our everyday existence.

By working in theatre, I believed I could challenge the psychopathic tendency that exists in all of us, and tears through the fabric of our society more and more as we lose own capacity for sympathy. I had always thought of theatre as an extension of the dressing up game. After my assault, I began to believe that dressing up in the lives of others can help change the world. Because a society that drifts apart, whose members find themselves inhabiting different islands, has failed. So work needs to be done to hold us together.

Barney Norris is a playwright, currently under commission at the Bush and developing work at the Finborough. His play, AT FIRST SIGHT, toured earlier this year. He is Co-Artistic Director of the theatre company Up In Arms: www.upinarms.org.uk

Image by Hozinja