A Night with Bad Betty Press at Peggy’s Skylight

Bad Betty Press is here to stay, and how lucky we were to have this indie publisher and curator of live literature make itself at home at Peggy’s Skylight for the evening. Beneath a red ceiling and the golden glow of candlelight vying for our attention, a parade of artists captivated us from start to finish.

English teacher Ioney Smallhorne opened the night, setting the bar intimidatingly high. Her work was set against a backdrop of Jamaican heritage, her spoken word fast and rhythmic, swirling from a hurricane into galaxies of supernova hormones, paying homage to fertility as she went.

Then, a guest appearance from Bad Betty’s Editor and head honcho, Amy Acre. Amy’s poem reminded us - with grace and a little sting - that poetry keeps conversations alive between lovers, both living and dead, tightening the atmosphere around our chests.

Fran Lock, whose poetry has been nominated for a T. S. Eliot prize among many other plaudits, drew strong applause next with her delivery, raw and rapid-fire, hitting us with powerful themes and images of flowers. The audience tapped their knees and nodded their heads, hanging on to every word. Her killer line about daffodils: “We are all dying, but they did not get the memo.”

Then came Cappo. His vocals carried us through his life’s pain and hardship, while Supreme struck the piano keys, serenading the skylit ceiling. The two complemented each other like wine and cheese—going down so easily, leaving us eager for the next sip, the next bite. The crowd joined in as Cappo closed his eyes, lost in the moment, while we sang with him, “Pain is a constant but it doesn’t define me. I refuse to let it shape me; I’m open-minded.”

The piano now warmed up, Ellie Stainsby took to the keys. Influenced by Damien Rice and Billie Marten, she conjured ethereal vocals and captivating lyrics. Her shoulders moved rhythmically under her deep green jacket as she blessed us with 'Silence, No Sounds,' and 'Locked In'—a song written during lockdown. Her final performance paid homage to seasonal depression and the changing seasons, which perhaps some of us felt on our way to Peggy's.

Then came a breeze from Cyprus: Polis Loizou, flooding the room with raw, honest words about buffer-zones separating Greek and Turkish-speaking citizens, and the internal battle of losing your native tongue as a migrant. We could almost smell the citrus soap he mentioned as he discussed singing in the shower, his mother tongue taking over his English. Polis stood before us, sure in his skin and confident in his words.

Ending the night was Raymond Antrobus. Raymond was a natural crowd pleaser, and so many of his poems resonated with us: New Year's resolutions, becoming a parent, watching our children grow and develop. But what sliced through the room the most was the gentle signing motion he made for the word ‘music’, mimicking the way his young son conducted in the air, appreciating how our ‘bodies know things before our language has a chance to catch up’.

We ended the night lost in Raymond’s children’s book, Terrible Horses. In a tender exploration of unspoken communication between siblings, Raymond reminded us all to be a bit kinder and more tolerant of those who cannot express themselves as clearly as we do.

Nottingham’s very own Bridie Squires held the night together as host, prodding the audience to cheer our loudest and shining the best light on each of the artists. As ever she is a crucial part of our literary scene, just like Bad Betty Press.

In the warmth of Peggy’s Skylight, we were reminded that the essence of human experience—its struggles, its joys and its quiet moments—finds its truest expression through the art of spoken and written word. Here's to more nights of Nottingham’s eloquence and emotion, and to the voices that continue to shape our understanding of the world and each other. 

Upcoming events can be found on the Bad Betty website.