The Word – Series 3, Episode 12, 29/01/93

The Word – Series 3, Episode 12 (29 Jan 1993)

Tonight’s chaos opens suavely with Digable Planets making their first UK TV appearance and proving that being “cool like dat” means sounding effortless while the studio crowd tries to clap on the two and the four like it’s an escape room puzzle.

Because tonal whiplash is the house style, we cut straight to a Hypnotist Thunderdome: Britain’s “wildest” watch-waggler Peter Powers vs. 18-year-old prodigy Alex Leroy (the only hypnotist with a clown and cowgirl in his family tree). Volunteers are put “under,” then encouraged to see 30 naked people at a football match, speak “only Chinese,” or develop instant stutters. It’s half stagecraft, half HR complaint, and entirely The Word.

On the couch, Wendy James (ex-Transvision Vamp, still allergic to subtlety) unveils her Elvis Costello–penned solo era—proof that sometimes writing a heartfelt letter gets you an entire album and not a restraining order. She swats away school-days myths, discusses image vs. music, and somehow keeps a straight face while a cardboard aristocrat—Lord/Marquess of Blandford—drifts in to represent the “Marquis of Bland” wing of British nobility. (Title: expensive. Chat: strictly B-side.)

For the hard pivot: “Copycat Crips” in Beverly Hills. We meet suburban teens with $400k houses, BMWs, and a burning desire to LARP inner-city gang life. Shotguns are treated like accessories, “OG” is a cosplay rank, and the segment slides—abruptly and rightly—into tragedy: real lives lost to play-acted bravado and real bullets. The show’s tone can’t decide between gawp and PSA, but the consequences are anything but ironic.

Back in safety-dance territory, Eskimos & Egypt plug in and throb; Saint Etienne grace us with their first ever live TV performance, supplying perfect pop like it’s minted at a boutique in Heaven. Somewhere, Danny road-tests a Hollywood starlet fitness fad (spoiler: sweat, Lycra, and the promise your glutes will book a sitcom).

Final tally: one ultra-smooth hip-hop masterclass, one ethically questionable hypnosis derby, one pop icon getting mail-ordered songs from Elvis Costello, one aristocrat doing brand awareness, one grim suburban-gang reality check, and two bands to rinse the taste out. Messy, nervy, very 1993—The Word remains the only show that can segue from beat poetry in bucket hats to Beverly Hills drive-bys and still make time for Saint Etienne to fix your evening.