My overall impression
A backwoods beat poetry noir performed among the clink of cocktails and the blanket of throbbing red lights and leering shadows. A sort of ritual with no purpose but dig and dig and dig, and as the search opens to rhyme and the rhyme falls into rhythm, the strange man in the fedora and a bottle in his hand leads us to wonder and marvel at both the maddening syncopation of his craft and the false duality of heaven and hell. It’s common knowelege that Aaron Lyons already was a devil, a growling, horn-headed trickster drunk on Theatre Row and cackling at the meek light of stars, but in The Devil and Billy Markham he proves that he is a devil with a heart an closes us in that blanket of light and shadow. Congratulations on this labour of dark addictive love.
I pray to whoever is divinely endorsing this project that the joy you take in this American epic poem masterpiece spreads through the Fringe and aquires more souls.
