“With a face redder than the devil’s dick, Danny Murphy roars onto stage with all the energy of a paraplegic snail corpse, the joy of Dot Cotton licking piss from a nettle and the charisma of BOTH Chuckle brothers… on acid.” 

Failed singer/songwriter, sometimes comic and all time drunk- I’m turning my attentions towards Performance poetry -because let’s face it, with a guitar, 3 chords and the truth, who needs to sing when we can speak?

Now aged 20, having spent my 18th year living on New Zealand’s Mount Cook, I’m a professional rock climber with a passion for spoken word, in particular what the art form can become if combined with visual prompts such as photography. Having worked in theatre and events promotion at Edinburgh’s Glasshouse, as well as Birmingham’s Little Highbury, I’ve joined the collective because it has a real sense of rebellion. Art can change people; people can change cities – and cities? Well, they change the world.

Currently in my second year at the University of Birmingham studying (far too little) English Literature and (far too many) whiskey blends, I hope to go on to work in creative art, music, or foundation shaking.