We call forth the riches of a good night by abandoning every day care in favor of laughter, poetry and the need to simply put our feet up. This is what happens at Rock bar when the stage is set for a good night of comedy and poetry.
Apart from the lights illuminating pockets of the place, it is largely dominated by shadows which are silvery with the moon’s shine casting a lining here and there.
You not only see but hear these shadows in the indistinct sounds of the patrons talking to one another.
Above the murmurings of the patrons, there is music played proud and loud by DJ Brian Ting.
But above that there is an echo, an echo asking the shadows to dance. That echoed serenade is the audible fragrance we call poetry.
Kasuku, Tuesday Night’s host for Rock Comedy, was triumphant. His ability to distill everyday situations into large parcels of laughter was a gift that kept on giving.
When he said, ‘next we will have the Poetry All Stars…I haven’t heard poetry since I was secondary school’, everyone waited for the Punch line.
Instead, Joanna ‘Mary bud’ trundled onto the stage to probe the fuzzy line between nation and nurture as she compared her mother to her motherland.
Her reflections on the micro level encouraged the audience to reflect on things in macro: how the country has gone from womb to woe since independence led to a dependence on cheap politics and a monetized vote.
As usual, her message was a soft tug on the heartstrings until it grew into a push on doors marked ‘pull’.
Her delivery was slow, deliberate and bubbling under with the slow-burn of quiet indignation.
Each of her performances seemed to be building blocks upon which the masonry of a fine career as a poet is evident to all.
After her, Lus the Poet heightened that patriotic mood as he searched the state of the nation for rhythm as much as substance.
His thoughts on the country being colored bad by yellow politics are most emphatic when he longs for a Wakanda.
He is a social critic, political activist and visionary rolled into virtuosic rants and sophisticated punch lines.
As his voice rose, it took the audience with it to Rwenzori-highs of climbing rage at our parliament and the empty suits who fill it with a vacuum of patriotism.
The audience swayed with laughter and rage as if their mouths were inhabited by water and fire at the same time.
Lus’ delivery and unfettered spirit was transferred to the audience in rounds and rounds of applause which kept on going even when the Outlaw Poet, Philip Matogo, got on stage.
And Kasuku realized he might not witness such poetry again, even in secondary school.
Kasuku introduced the next act and first comedian to perform on the night, Emeka. He didn’t waste time as he roasted social niceties on a spit of smiling rage.
With the openness of the Mukiga he is, his high-wire act used the way campus girls eat Rolexes and how Budonians posture as fodder for an endless flow of jokes.
As he couched cute little jokes into larger packages, he employed a conversational rhythm to make the audience feel like they were listening to a friend telling them how funny his day was.
Emeka ended his performance by imitating how Chinese men propose to their women. To him, it was like they’re skipping rope over broken glass since their pronunciations are sounder than sensibility.
This left the audience in tearful laughter.