It’s fair to say that Devonte Hynes’ latest musical project came as a surprise to fans of his first. From bad-ass teen dance-punk in Test Icicles to cat-hugging folkie in Lightspeed Champion, you couldn’t get further removed. Now, as Lightspeed Champion, he is making a follow-up, Life Is Sweet! Nice to Mee You – has he found his calling? Especially given that he said of Test Icicles ‘We were never that keen on the music. I understand that people liked it, but we personally, er, didn’t,’ it seems plausible.

Or so I thought. ‘The only reason I said that was to shut up the person I was talking to’ he laughs. ‘People haven’t noticed that I meant the complete opposite. Everyone over-analysed us. Even when we said we weren’t gonna do it any more, people kept trying to analyse why.’ It became quickly apparent to me tha talking to this man about his ‘calling’ was entirely misplaced. Nor was it correct to place any emphasis on the decision to continue with the name Lightspeed Champion: ‘People sholdn’t pay attention to the names they’re released under – it’s distracting. A lot of people who liked the last one, won’t like this one… I don’t progress’. If lead single ‘Marlene’ is anything to go by, then you can’t say it follows on from his debut, Falling Off Lavender Bridge. A stomping riff, angular strings, anthemic chorus, Killers-style organ breakdown then an electrifying solo, with no defining genre in the song; there’s little hope of genre consistency across albums.

That’s no bad thing, but might fans get alienated? Hynes frankly isn’t too concerned about this. ‘I’m selfish’ he laughs. ‘The only reason I make music is for myself to listen to… I wanted something which was kinda ridiculous, I wanted it to be over the top’. Talking to him is certainly refreshing, and he isn’t afraid of the ridicule that may accompany being ridiculous. ‘I remember when I was really young I was reading a Beach Boys book, and Brian Wilson said that he thought laughter in music was the best thing – such a pure form of emotion’. As a former member of a band named Test Icicles, that he doesn’t take himself all that seriously shouldn’t come as a major surprise.

But along with a sense of humour, Test Icicles always had edge. As a fan, I was fascinated to hear about the events surrounding the cult band’s brief career – their live shows (‘people hated us so much… we used to end the show freestyle rapping for twenty minutes. And the feedback!’), the parties (‘it was so fucking awful – I got in a fight and got thrown down a staircase’) and the demos (it seemed I was the only person he met who had heard early demo ‘Semen On The Stepladder’, or at least, had even the slightest bit of time for it.)

But as Hynes observes, ‘I never really changed’, and his lyrics especially still have bite. See ‘pop’ song ‘Galaxy Of The Lost’, and lines like ‘When we kiss and I’m sick in your mouth’. Okay so there isn’t the threat of violence and resultant loss of limbs like ‘Dancing on Pegs’ (youtube it for a genuinely terrifying experience, and then look up the lyrics and never sleep again).

However, it seemed reasonable to ask whether this retained edge was a conscious decision, to make the transition from scary-as-hell dude to folk popster (or otherwise) more palatable. He gave two answers, and, predictably, both were unexpected. On the one hand it didn’t matter, because ‘we thought Test Icicles was like the poppiest thing in the world… It just turns out I’m wrong, all the time.’ Not that I was going to tell him he was ‘wrong’, just a band whose name is a pun on testicles is unlikely to be a chart-topper. On the other, the lyrics weren’t consciously anything in particular: ‘I spend ten minutes on lyrics. If I spent any time on it, it would come out worse.’ His compact method of songwriting has resulted in a number of EPs and official bootlegs, such as I Wrote And Recorded This In Less Than Five Hours. ‘I don’t overthink. I’m never stuck musically. It’s a curse in a way, because I produce quantity rather than quality. If I spent time on stuff it might turn out better…’ Whatever he’s doing has certainly worked to this point .

This individual style has led to conflict when people try to interfere. Animal Collective producer Ben Allen worked on the new record, and for the first time Hynes experienced this tension first hand: ‘it was pretty intense. He’s someone that’s very in to being a producer: ‘Maybe lets try it with this sound, I kinda like this part,’ and I was always ‘well, we COULD do that, or we could do what I wrote.’ It was like that every day.’

The strange thing was, Hynes didn’t come across as a the control-freak he seemed to present himself as. In fact, he came across as incredibly chilled. He summed it up himself, saying ‘I very strategically write songs, it’s all mapped out… but at the same time, I’m very easy going.’ I’ll say. And at the end of the day, he is tolerant, even of his meddlesome producer: ‘I see it as all such an experiment that I’m willing to go for a ride – even if it ends up kinda wrong.’ For not only is Hynes a music maker, he’s a music fan. And any route which might produce something totally original, he’s happy to explore. 

They fuck you up, your mum and dad. You might say that, but did they make you go and stab a load of horses in the eye?

I know what you’re thinking, great premise for a play. Been done I’m afraid. And bloody brilliantly. There’s always a great risk when students take on a play as well-known as Equus, let alone one so challenging both technically and emotionally. But there’s little if no disappointment at the OFS this week, for this production revels in the opportunity for experiment in the script and pulls it off with great maturity.

As always, we’ve got to allow for certain restrictions in student theatre, and the set and props are basic. But this doesn’t really hold them back, and in some ways what it asks you to imagine can be much more effective than what it might have explicitly shown you. And in the end those horses heads are freaking disturbing.

Director Anna Hextall uses the space well, moving between scenes seamlessly by making simple but clever use of just a few chairs, and some tactical movement; in seconds a psychiatrist’s office becomes a beach, a stable or a cinema of disrepute. The horses in particular were very unsettling, whose actions had clearly been given a lot of thought. The discordant humming noise they emmitted and the ritual ‘placing on of heads’ each time they appeared became a little farcical towards the end, but on the whole it was fantastically creepy.

The acting was generally excellent. Edward Fortes and Joe Murphy, as child psyhiatrist Dysart and eye-stabber Alan respectively, were outstanding. It’s rare that you see performances which go so far beyond your expectations, and these two stood out as being near-professional on the night. Fortes was perfectly charming and engaged well with

the audience – his various monologues were particular highlights, coming across as both natural and genuinely heartfelt. Murphy was equally enjoyable in a role which demanded serious commitment. He moved well from agression to vulnerability, and his expressive face and voice were so watchable I only once asked myself how Harry Potter might have done it. All the other performances were also very commendable, but I couldn’t help but praise these two extensively.

After such a protruding eulogy, I feel duty-bound to add that this wasn’t a perfect production. Of course not. But to pick apart any possible faults would be to contaminate the immediate impact this play can have on its audience. It’s not all serious, mind, and is also importantly very entertaining; full of witty dialogue, black humour and diverse characters. But there’s certainly a lot more to it than that. Words like ‘powerful’ and ‘profound’ are all too easily bandied around with theatre like this, but what else can you say? It’s really…good.

And I haven’t even mentioned the nudity yet. How mature of me. Really, I don’t see what the fuss is about… It’s no skin off my penis.

But how did the audience cope? Aside from a smattering of stifled giggles, they remained surprisingly calm, even if a notable stillness took over the room. Then there was the obligatory scandalous texting and exclamations of surprise in the interval, but it ran far short of hysteria. And I heard the words ‘Daniel Radcliffe’ mentioned only three times. So all in all a good performance. Well done audience!

‘Equus ice cream’, on the other hand: horse shit.

Play: 5 Stars
Audience: 3 Stars

Equus is on at the OFS, 2-6 February

A vast stallion of an Irishman is acting out a horse race. He’s wearing shorts. He could use a shave. You can almost smell him sweating. He’s not going anywhere – one of his legs is fettered – but in his mind, he’s free, riding triumphantly. He believes it. And just for a second, so does the audience, swept along by his swirling tide of commitment.

Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me is superb. It tells the tale of three hostages confined in a Lebanese prison cell: an Irishman (David Egan) an American (Jacob Lloyd) and an Englishman (Sam Smith). Wrestling with their sanity, they cycle through childish games, gruelling physical exercise and heartrending self-revelation in a desperate battle to stay human.

The horseracing scene made a daring opening gambit. It is quite a surprise to be confronted in the first scene of a play by a towering Irishman bellowing his lungs out. I feared the performance might continue over the precipice into a constant shouting match. It didn’t. Like a great Mozart sonata, the production was a masterpiece of beautifully tempered dynamic variation.

The play’s many comic moments were flawlessly portrayed. The actors were listening to each other rather than anticipating their next line – something so many student actors fail to do – and so dialogue became rapid-fire, realistic, and extremely funny.

The contrasting emotional climaxes were almost universally well-handled. Many of them had the audience in tears. When the actors were prepared to risk everything on grief-laden understatement, they were most successful.

David Egan was spellbinding. Fascinating to watch, he created powerful tension, was extremely moving at times, and also revealed great comic delivery. He embodied his character so completely that I was left wondering whether he was a brilliant actor, or simply happened to be a proud Irishman himself – until it became clear he was playing a man many years older than he was, with a wife and children, completely convincingly.

Sam Smith displayed great sympathy for character in his portrayal of a young academic, bringing a quiet gravity to the role. He did justice to some of the play’s most heavily-charged moments.

Jacob Lloyd’s stage presence was impressive, although his American accent did threaten to sabotage him at the start of the play; his role was also the smallest and perhaps the least forgiving of the three. Nonetheless, his performance developed as the action progressed, with some unforgettable moments such as his reading of the Koran.

Of course there are flaws. Professional productions have them too – McKellen’s trumpeted Godot was full of them – in fact, barring a few brief failings, Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me could pass for a solid professional production.

Director Roland Singer-Kingsmith tells the story extremely well. The audience were hooked from beginning to end. As the action of the play consists essentially of three men in a room, this is especially laudable. Also worthy of praise are the clear and defined character choices, the decision to avoid over-politicising the script, and the intelligent and simple staging. In fact, at almost every point, one notices that considered, exciting and extremely entertaining directorial choices have been made. I could continue singing its praises, but I prefer simply to encourage you to go and see it. If there are any tickets left, that is.

Five Stars

Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me is on at the BT, 2-6 February