'Mark Wynne was the first support act. I only managed to catch a glimpse of his naked back bent over his guitar as I got the first pint in, but there was a good amount of laughter floating out of the crowd. Worth a listen if partial to stuff like Jamie T, Scroobius Pip and, of course, the ‘Mods.' http://www.leftlion.co.uk/photos.cfm/title/sleaford-mods-nottingham-weekender--the-gig-/id/513
'Inside the venue Yorkshire eccentric Mark Wynn is taking to the stage. With a chair, a box, a laptop and a tiara he walks on to a sea of mild indifference, Ten minutes later its a different story as the front begins to fill up captivated by his off the wall observations, frankly ridiculous rock’n’roll parody dancing and strutting and a decent line in songs about the lady in Age Concern -“This ones called ‘She Fancies Me That One In Age Concern’. It’s about how she fancies me, that one in Age Concern”. Madcap half hour yes, but very, very entertaining. Even the bouncers are laughing.' http://www.artofthestate.co.uk/blog2/index.php/category/punk-reviews-2/
'Explaining Mark Wynn is like trying to teach the rules of gravity to a dog armed only with a box of packaging foam and a Spanish-to-English phrase book;everything you say will make no feckin' sense.
At 7:30 prompt this scrawny man entered the stage with a small punnet of grapes, a mix-board and a domestic egg timer. He walked straight up to the microphone, spoke some very unrecognisable words then hit play on his mixer to start this funky tune of which he began bopping and reading poetry to.
If it wasn't already weird enough, his set just became more and more strange with the introduction of a range of marker pens, a tiara and incessant rambling of grapes and pineapple juice.
His poetry was a mixture of talking about his Grandma with the flu, mixed feeling of his sexuality at a young age and embodying a shouty woman who insisted on knowing "You pissed mate?" in an ear bleeding manor. And if his poetry and props weren't strange enough – his stage presence was like watching someone who is possessed by a devil in a mid LSD trip, shirtless, confused, scoffing a range of fruits.'
'The crowd of 50 or 60 upstairs at the Prince Albert had to endure the jingle-jangle Iggy Alcopop of Mark Wynn..' and then there was more.
'Mark Wynn used to be such a lovely man, but recently he's taken his art so far 'out' it's easy to understand why people generally just stare in open mouthed disbelief. Is it stand up? Is it performance art? Is it just silly? Is it punk? Is it just a Fall rip-off? It may be all these things and it may be none of them, but it is very, very, very funny indeed.' Vibrations Magazine, Leeds.
'First up was Mark Wynn, who walked on to the stage and started drawing on his arm in black marker pen as he shouted and mumbled in to a microphone over a backing track of distorted sounding jangly guitars. As he shouted and mumbled aggressive poetry over noisy, pre-recorded backing tracks, his slight frame and perhaps deliberately awkward stage presence were intriguing enough to draw a small crowd from the early arrivals at the Ritz. When somebody in the crowd shouted something uninspired and unhelpful, Mark responded brilliantly with “I’m getting three hundred quid for this, pal.”
The cheers from the crowd only added to the silenced heckler’s blushes and attracted a few more interested people towards the stage. There were moments of hilarious genius, including songs about flu, a tiara and a shirtless rant but there were also a lot of uncomfortable silences and puzzled faces as nobody in the audience seemed very sure what they were watching.' GIGsoup