Anthony
Livingspace turned his back on society 25 years ago and has been in its face
ever since. His neck aches. Nobody seems to care. Out of this frustrating void
Tony pulls laughter.
He’s adopted the junctions of two bars and a church on banked cobbles
on a hill in the south of Spain.
His show is built on pain so Tony has to build up sorrow misfortune and woe
in useable quantities to even consider going through the agony of comedy.
Tony’s genius is that he provides industrial quantities of sorrow misfortune
and woe and many other, equally sterling qualities by the use of a simple tool
that is his lifestyle.
To put it bluntly, he’s a bum.
A bum with a free apartment, his own pitch and nuns who lock up the church (with
them inside for the night) in the middle of his show to play with.
He puts a cloth over his head and in Spanish pleads to be let back into the
nunnery, “It was only one movie”, “ The people were only pretending”,”It
wasn’t real love.”
He skips up to the church with soccer ball underarm and shouts out for Mary
at the door, he waits then loudly asks if Jesus can come out to play soccer,
starts kicking the ball against the steps.
He’s walked in the church clothed and out the church naked.
He’s been experimenting for years.
Originally Australian and a dishwasher
Anthony confronted his own boredom in public places as a young man, and in this
self induced retarded state he has carved a small career consisting of his trousers.
amp,mike,drum kit and suit. (plus change)
In small part, Pepe, Lee Ross and Jamesons have been influences.
However no-one else to my knowledge has spent time consistently getting obese
men to take off their shirts in public and vamp.
Or eats a flower so wistfully.
Still fully bald with the french collaborator haircut he’s made his own,
the new Spanish Tony has the beginnings of a handlebar mustache. Its funny but
a little scary and holds bread crumbs baked weeks before, and curdled milk foam
from countless cafe con leche’s.
This horizontal dreadlock encapsulates Tony. Its crusty.
If you were to imagine the outskirts of society and from there walk a day and
a half, then have on hand a very powerful set of binoculars, you may, in the
distance make out what looks to be a putrid swamp. Tony lives just on the other
side of that.
He has a rare full instinctive sense of comedy coupled with that second sense
of where the crowd can be taken and innate timing, all counter balanced by a
romantic disdain for success or safety.
He has a home here, the establishments round his pitch fuel him till he’s
ready to perform.
Rooms are provided.
He’s fluent in spanish, his only impediment is that his eyes are getting
redder and smaller and shrinking back into his head.
