Michael Keegan-Dolan / Teaċ Daṁsa in Nobodaddy

Michael Keegan-Dolan / Teaċ Daṁsa are back at Sadler’s Wells with their latest work: Nobodaddy - an ode to the peacemakers and the bringers of good things…

Michael Keegan-Dolan / Teaċ Daṁsa’s ‘Nobodaddy’ with Sam Amidon, Jovana Zelenovic, Holly Vallis, Jimmy Southward, Ryan O’Neill and Ino Riga. © Emilija Jefremova

Michael Keegan-Dolan / Teaċ Daṁsa
Nobodaddy: Tríd an bpoll gan bun (through the bottomless pit)
★★★★✰
London, Sadler’s Wells
27 November 2024
teacdamsa.com
www.sadlerswells.com

WTF WTF WTF

That’s what I kept thinking as Michael Keegan-Dolan’s Nobodaddy unfolded before us. It would be a huge understatement to say it’s a wild, surreal ride of a show. ‘Delightfully stupefying’ might sum it up best.

So where does the title come from? “While Nobodaddy is the name of a destructive divinity who appears in several of William Blake’s notebook poems, Teaċ Daṁsa’s Nobodaddy is an ode to the peacemakers and the bringers of good things.” Well, possibly — there seemed to be both violent and life-affirming elements occurring throughout the 1¾ hour show. Ultimately it feels more like a dream than anything else.

Driving the Nobodaddy dream are nine dancers and seven musicians, who all occupy and move freely around the stripped-out Wells stage. The dancers sing and drum, while the musicians often cavort as part of the action. They are led by American folk singer Sam Amidon, and it is his playing and singing of songs and poems created over the last four centuries, including Blake’s railings against authority, that really drives much of the episodic action. Amidon’s voice is grittily reflective and most listenable, even if I could not always make out the lyrics. Kudos to The Wells for including all the show’s songs and words on their website, and for posterity, I include them under this review — it really demonstrates the lengthy sweep of inspiration.

The designs appear rather ad-hoc, with makeshift, wheeled wooden plinths for the musicians and a huge plywood cube centre stage, which all the cast can just about fit into when needed. It also acts as a podium for dancing and playing, dominating everything else on stage. Costumes, by Doey Lüthi, are mostly cheap suits and what looked like a job-lot of bingo callers’ outfits in bright red with black accoutrements — so unhip and not of this century. I loved them.

The stage action often mimics an impromptu look and feels genuinely spontaneous. It has the vibe of children playing in a playground, with much skipping and general noodling to the music, which can be soft or hugely energetic with two drummers going for it. The movement is all beguilingly loose. However, there is super-sharp staging underpinning the amateur look, with an awful lot of cues, all effortlessly handled. This is physical theatre, so ‘dance’ only appears much less than 50% of the time. Nobodaddy is very much about surreal skits on life, and I was reminded of Spike Milligan’s Q… TV series from 50 years ago, which could be fun one moment and bewildering the next.

Nobodaddy: Tríd an bpoll gan bun
Poems & Lyrics

All Kinds of Everything

Derry Lindsay & Jackie Smith, 1969

Snowdrops and daffodils
Butterflies and bees
Sailboats and fishermen
Things of the sea
Wishing-wells
Wedding bells
Early morning dew
All kinds of everything remind me of you

Seagulls and aeroplanes
Things of the sky
Winds that go howlin’
Breezes that sigh
City sights
Neon lights
Grey skies or blue
All kinds of everything remind me of you

Summertime
Wintertime
Spring and autumn too
Monday Tuesday every day
I think of you
Dances
Romances
Things of the night
Sunshine and holidays
Postcards to write
Budding trees
Autumn leaves
A snowflake or two
All kinds of everything remind me of you

As I Roved Out

Traditional / Sam Amidon

As I roved out
On a cold winter’s night
Drinking of sweet wine
I spied that girl
Sweet little girl
Who broke this heart of mine

Whacha say banjo?

Her cheeks are like some red roses
That bloom in the month of June
Her voice is like some melody
That’s always on some tune

Whatcha say banjo?

I wish to the lord that I never been born
Or died when I was young
I never would a kissed your red, ruby lips
Or heard your lying tongue

Whatcha banjo?

Oh, the green, green grass
That’s trampled underfoot
Will rise and bloom again
Oh, love is a killing thing
Did you ever feel such pain?

I See the Sign

Sam Amidon
(original folksong learned from Georgia Sea Islands tradition)

I see the sign
I see the sign
I see the sign

I see the sign
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Sign of the judgment
A sign of the judgment
The sign of the judgment

A sign of the judgement
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Loose horse in the valley
Loose horse in the valley
Loose horse in the valley

Loose horse in the valley
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Tell me, who’s gonna ride him?
Who’s gonna ride him?
Who’s gonna ride him?

Who’s gonna ride him?
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Said, I run to the rock
Run to the rock
Run to the rock

Said, I run to the rock
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

But the rock cried out
Rock cried out
Rock cried out

No hiding place
No hiding place
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Two tall angels
Two tall angels
Two tall angels

On a chariot wing
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Dark clouds a’rising
Dark clouds a’rising

Dark clouds a’rise
Hey, Lord, time draws nigh

Devotion

Alexander Johnson (1818)
Isaac Watts (1719)
Arrangement / Sam Amidon

Sweet is the day of sacred rest;
No mortal cares shall seize my breast.
Oh, may my heart in tune be found,
Like David’s harp of solemn sound.

Then shall I share a glorious part,
When grace hath well refined my heart,
And fresh supplies of joy are shed,
Like holy oil, to cheer my head.

Then shall I see, and hear, and know
All I desired and wished below;
And ev’ry pow’r find sweet employ,
In that eternal world of joy.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;

Eternal Day

Charles Wesley, 1759
J. P. Reese, 1859
Shape note hymns collection The Sacred Harp

Oh what of all my suff’rings here,
If, Lord, Thou count me meet
With that enraptured host t’appear
And worship at Thy feet?
Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away,
But let me find them all again
In that eternal day.

Oh what hath Jesus bought for me,
Before my ravished eyes?
Rivers of life divine I see,
And trees of paradise.
I see a world of spirits bright,
Who taste the pleasures there,
They all are robed in spotless white,
And conqu’ring palms they bear.

Óró mo bháidín

Traditional

Óró mo bháidín a’ snámh ar an gcuan
Óró mo bháidín
Óró mo churraichín ó
Óró mo bháidín
Crochfaidh mé seólta ’gus bogfaidh mé siar
Óró mo bháidín
’S go hoíche Fhéile Eoin ní thicofaidh mé aniar
Óró mo bháidín
‘S nach breá í mo bháidín a’ snámh ar an gcuan
Óró mo bháidín
’S na maidí á dtarraingt go láidir ’s go buan
Óró mo bháidín
‘S nach éachtach a’ léimneach thar thonnta árd’
Óró mo bháidín
‘S nach eadtrom í iompar aníos thar an trá
Óró mo bháidín
Curfa
Óró mo bháidín a’ snamh ar an gcuan
Óró mo bháidín
Faighimís na maidí is téimís chun siúil
Óró mo bháidín

In Memory: The Miami Showband — Massacred 31 July 1975

Paul Durcan, 1978 in A Snail in my Prime, 1993
Harvill, Penguin Random House UK

In a public house, darkly lit, a patriotic (sic)
Versifier whines into my face: “You must take one side
Or the other, or you’re but a fucking romantic.”
His eyes glitter hate and vanity, porter and whiskey,
And I realise that he is blind to the braille connection
Between a music and a music-maker.
“You must take one side or the other
Or you’re but a fucking romantic”:
The whine is icy
And his eyes hang loose like sheets from poles
On a bare wet hillside in winter
And his mouth gapes like a cave in ice;
It is a whine in the crotch of whose fear
Is fondled a dream gun blood-smeared;
It is in war — not poetry or music —
That men find their niche, their glory hole;
Like most of his fellows
He will abide no contradiction in the mind.
He whines: “If there is birth, there cannot be death”
And — jabbing a hysterical forefinger into my nose and eyes —
“If there is death, there cannot be birth.”
Peace to the souls of those who unlike my fellow poet
Were true to their trade
Despite death-dealing blackmail by racists:
You made music, and that was all: You were realists
And beautiful were your feet.

Minstrel Boy

Thomas Moore, 1813

The minstrel boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you’ll find him
His father’s sword he hath girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him
“Land of Song” cried the warrior bard
“Tho’ all the world betrays thee
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard
One faithful harp shall praise thee”

The minstrel fell but the foeman’s chain
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again
For he tore its chords asunder
And said, “No chains shall sully thee
Thou soul of love and brav’ry
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery”

The Rev. Edward Nangle, in the Achill Missionary Herald, February 1847

Fellow Countrymen — God is angry with this land. The potatoes would not have rotted unless He sent the rot into them; God can never be taken unawares; nothing can happen but as He orders it. God is good, God is good, and because He is, He never sends a scourge upon His creatures unless they deserve it — but he is so good that He often punishes people in mercy… to turn them from their sins.’

Pat Do This, Pat Do That

Sam Amidon / Tradition

Pat do this, Pat do that
Without our shoes
Without our hat
Nothing in the world
but an old straw hat
Work on the railroad

Rug shugaroo shug shugaroo
Sugar in the cream shaw
How do you do?
Just on the rail road folly follaroo
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

1842
I didn’t know what I should do
Sailed across the ocean blue
Work all on the railroad
Rug shugaroo shug shugaroo

Sugar in the cream shaw
How do you do?
Just on the rail road folly follaroo
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

1843
I set out across the sea
Didn’t expect to see poor me
Work on the railroad

Rug shugaroo shug shugaroo
Sugar in the cream shaw
How do you do?
Just on the rail road folly follaroo
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

1844
I landed on the foreign shore
Didn’t expect to see me more
Working on the railroad

Rug shugaroo shug shugaroo
Sugar in the cream shaw
How do you do?
Just on the rail road folly follaroo
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

Railroad comes
We’ll take a ride
Here we go side by side
Here we go side by side
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

Rug shugaroo shug shugaroo
Sugar in the cream shaw
How do you do?
Just on the rail road folly follaroo
Johnny comes pickin’
on the banjo

Your Lone Journey

Written by Rosa Lee Watson, 1963

God’s given us years of happiness here, now we must part
And as the angels come and call for you, the pains of grief tug at my heart

Oh my darling, my darling
My heart breaks as you take your long journey
Oh my darling, my darling
My heart breaks as you take your long journey

The days will be empty, the nights so long, without you my love
And as God calls for you I’m left alone, but we will meet in heaven above

Oh my darling, my darling
My heart breaks as you take your long journey
Oh my darling, my darling
My heart breaks as you take your long journey

Fond memories of dear and happy ways that on earth we trod
And when you come we will walk hand in hand, as one in heaven in the family of God

O Death

Traditional / Sam Amidon

What is this that I can’t see
With icy hands taking hold on me?
I am Death, no one can tell
I’ll open the doors to Heaven or Hell

O Death
O Death

Please spare me over just another year
I’ll fix your feet so you can’t walk
I’ll lock your jaw so you cannot talk
Close your eyes so you can’t see
This very hour come and go with me

“O Death,” someone would say
“Couldn’t you call some other day?”
God’s children pray, the preacher preach
Time and mercy are outta your reach

O Death
O Death

Please spare me over just another year
My mother comes to my bed
Place a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm, my feet are cold
Death is moving upon my soul

Prodigal Son

Sam Auger, 1994
Traditional / Sam Amidon

When I left my father’s house
I was well supplied
I made a mistake and I did
wrong
I’m dissatisfied

I believe I’ll go back home
I believe I’ll go back home
I believe I’ll go back home,
acknowledge I’ve done wrong

I’ll go back my father’s house
I’ll fall down on my face
Say that I’m unworthy and seek
a servant’s place

I’ll go back my father’s house
The place I love so dear,
There they have food to eat
And I’m a-starving here

Father saw him coming
He met him with a smile
Threw his arms around
him Said, “This is my
wandering child”

Father said to his servants
“Go kill a fatted calf
Invite both friends and relatives
Our son’s come home at last”

I believe I’ll go back home
I believe I’ll go back home
I believe I’ll go back home
Acknowledge I’ve done wrong

Lilly-O

Traditional / Sam Amidon

There were three ladies playin’ at ball
Oh, Lily-O
There were three lawyers come a-courtin’ them all
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
The first one came all dressed in white
Oh, Lily-O
Come callin’ for his heart’s delight
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
The next one came all dressed in red
Oh, Lily-O
Come callin’ for to see her wed
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
The third one came all dressed in blue
Oh, Lily-O
Said “oh my love, I’ve come for you”
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

Oh, you must ask my father dear
Oh, Lily-O
And you must ask my mother too
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
And you must ask my sister Ann
Oh, Lily-O
And you must ask my brother John
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

Oh, I have asked your father dear
Oh, Lily-O
Oh, I have asked your mother too
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
And I have asked your sister Ann
Oh, Lily-O
Your brother John I did forget
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

Her father led her down the stairs
Oh, Lily-O
Her mother led her to the door
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
Her sister led her to the block
Oh, Lily-O Her brother John to help her up
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
As she lay down to kiss him sweet
Oh, Lily-O
All with his knife he stabbed her deep
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
Ride on, ride on, my daughter dear
Oh, Lily-O
No, I must lie and bleed and die
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
They carried her up to yon green hill
Oh, Lily-O
Laid her down to write her will
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
Oh, what will you leave to your father dear
Oh, Lily-O
My house and land that I leave here
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
Oh, what will you leave to your mother dear
Oh, Lily-O
These bloody clothes that I do wear
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
Oh, what will you leave to your sister Ann
Oh, Lily-O
My silver rings and golden fan
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

Oh, what will you leave to your brother John
Oh, Lily-O
The rope and gallows to hang him on
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh
And what will you leave to your brother John’s wife
Oh, Lily-O
Pain and sorrow all her life
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

And what will you leave to your brother John’s son
Oh, Lily-O This great wide world to wander upon
Lily-O, sweet hi-oh

Auguries of Innocence

William Blake, 1803
Excerpts

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood

A Skylark wounded in the wing
A Cherubim does cease to sing

The wild deer, wandring here & there
Keeps the Human Soul from Care
The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife
And yet forgives the Butchers knife

He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spiders enmity

The Catterpiller on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh

The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat

The Gnat that sings his Summers Song
Poison gets from Slanders tongue
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artists Jealousy

A Truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent

The Bleat the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of Death

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall neer get out

He who Doubts from what he sees
Will neer Believe do what you Please
If the Sun & Moon should Doubt
Theyd immediately Go out

To be in a Passion you Good may Do
But no Good if a Passion is in you

Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night