Scroobius Pip: Words

"I'm the fucking Lady Gaga of this," Scroobius Pip tells us. The roar of applause that follows seems to say that his diverse audience doesn't actually need this information. It's Pip's fourth sold-out night in a row, and he clearly owes explanations to no one. But the metaphor is a helpful one for us Pip (and even spoken word) newbies.

Pip's self-identified Gaga status has to do with his almost supernatural charisma, and a certain degree of Dadaist what-the-fuck-ery within his set. He had entered the stage singing the theme to the 1987 cartoon Duck Tales before launching into a piece about self-harm. What follows a poem about the intoxicated suicide of a terminally ill friend punctures the sombre mood with a single flip of his notebook. And rather than diffusing Pip's quiet power, these moments are absolutely delightful. They reflect the balance between his jaw-dropping command of the written word and his expertly demonstrated penchant for comedy. Perhaps he's come across some mysterious equation having to do with the intensity a given audience can bear at any given length of time (domestic violence plus consumerism over boob jokes squared?). Perhaps he just knows people well.