Hello

If you're still subscribed to this blog after two and half years of inactivity, well done you.

However, this is going to be last post on it. I've been blogging elsewehere for a long time now, and I've finally begun gathering everything in one place on my own website:

Come and have a look.

Thanks

Where Am I?

I'm starting to wonder where I am. A few gigs in the past weeks have clouded the issue somewhat, and I feel I'm caught between being a competent comedian, and being rubbish. My reflections on my gig at The Comedy Kav in Birmingham don't clarify matters. It has been many years since I was first there, doing one of my first ever gigs, and walking back in was an odd experience. It was considerably smaller than I remembered, but then I suppose rooms are an extension of your own apprehensions when you first start out. I went on and worked pretty damn hard for little or no real energetic reward, but I didn't feel hard done by, and didn't feel like I had done a bad job. Indeed, Mr Cook said afterwards that it had been one of the best supports he had seen there for a long while, which was flattering and unexpected. Apparently, the opener always meets with a subdued response. I hung around for the rest of the night, and the crowd began to get into it, and Ivan Brackenberry pretty much stormed it.

I went via the Reckless Moment again after that - losing all faith in the material I had prepared, and thus delivering instead a treatise on how not to write jokes to the crowd. This approach worked, but some of the stuff I thought would tank got some good responses, and I actually left regretting not having done it properly.

Then came my second weekend run at Jesters. Friday night I tanked, Saturday night was a delight. Therein lies my dilema. Why can I do so badly one night, so well the next? Admittedly I rushed through everything on Friday, had no confidence and wanted to be off stage as soon as I got on it - so obviously that was the huge mitigating factor. But come the next day, when my brain simply couldn't be bothered to stress about it anymore, I relaxed and did my own thing at my own pace. This is a lesson that I am finding hard to learn. I'm still very guilty of trying to go to a crowd, rather than bring them to me, and when I go to them, it smacks of desperation and they sense that as a lack of confidence. I went at my own pace at the Kav, in the face of apathy, and finished strongly as a result. I went at my own pace at Jester on Saturday, and everything worked like a charm.

Which leads me to conclude that I was guilty of trying to go to them last night in Nottingham. They seemed pretty energised and up for it, but I just didn't connect with them from the outset, though maybe I clawed back a little something, but very little, by the denouement. It was desperate I think.

So where am I? Shrug.

Reader, I Married Him

Lord fuck a duck, it's been ages since I wrote anything here. I suspect the reason for this is because the gigs I have been doing have been going along steadily with not much to reflect upon - but more honestly, I've probably been watching too much Buffy. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to. That's a quote from A Few Good Men.

So, the gig at Atticus immediately lead to a paid support back in Birmingham next week, so that's all good. After that I found myself doing another Rant & Rave Improv spot at The Hatchet in Bristol. It was over a month ago, so forgive me if I'm a bit vague on the details, but I was given the topic of Boredom by the audience, which I thought was a Godsend. I cheated a bit, and began with some pre-written material that I hadn't performed more than twice before, which lead into an extended gob vomit about Star Trek and the other detritus that swamps my brain. All in all, good fun if I remember correctly.

Then either side of Christmas I had to gigs in similar venues but with outcomes at the opposite end of the spectrum. Somewhere in Hereford was a pub that had been stripped of all it's character in an effort to make it seem more friendly, the resultant abhorrence being an incredibly bland piece of chud. The compere was piss poor beyond comprehension, sucking all the energy out of the room within seconds of walking on stage. This left the support act, Mr John Robins, to drag it back up into something workable, which he did with admirable aplomb, leaving an audience laughing and wanting much much more. Then the compere went back on and sucked that all back out with an industrial Dyson. To be fair to the audience, they soon learned that they would enjoy the acts, if not the MC, and when I went on to a smattering of applause, they quickly woke up and gave me lots of energy. I was worried that the blue rinse lady in the front row would be offended by some of my stuff, but she laughed more than anyone, which was lovely. Then Mr Paul Kerensa closed the evening with great success.

And so to a similar pub, run by the same chain in fact, this time in Gloucester. I nearly cancelled my gig actually, as I had a full blown stomach bug, which meant I could hardly move, and all my body wanted to do was shut down. But by the time it got to the decision point, I was fed up with lying on the sofa with my eyes shut and groaning, so I stumbled into the car and somehow managed to make my way to Gloucester. I shouldn't have bothered.

I had more fun on a 400 mile round trip to Brighton and back though. Rabbit In The Headlights is an odd gig - it's in a nice pub theatre, and has an appreciative crowd, but it lacks verve. I did my time, felt a little off and rusty as it had been a fortnight between gigs, and talked through some new ideas to see where they could and couldn't work. Ideas which I then refined for an airing at The Reckless Moment, which is always my favourite gig. Made doubly so because Anna Keirle was there, and she is good company and an excellent act (plus she has a great new coat). The new stuff was fleshed out, and I re-aired a piece I wrote a few months back, which seemed to work nicely enough - and since I had indulged the audience with over ten minutes of brand new thoughts, I then told them a joke about a man with a massive orange for a head.

I got the bonus opportunity to try all the new stuff again, this time back at The Hatchet, and then we did some actual improv games to close the show. That's us all caught up, now go away.

Rocky-esque Violence

I did a gig in Reading last week. Well, I say gig ... it didn't feel like I did a gig, it felt like I had a fight. Which I think I nearly did - at least in the sense of being physically beaten to a pulp. It was in a place called Lower Earley, in the blandest, most characterless pub I have been in for a very long time. It was encouraging to learn on arrival that it had just been refurbished in an effort to wash away its image as a violent hole. Also encouraging was the complete lack of anything announcing that comedy was to take place, with not even an arrangement of chairs and a microphone to suggest anything was about to happen.

Anyway, I went on, and was handed the cheapest microphone money can buy, which was plugged into the smallest amplifier that exists, turned up so loud all it did was squeal painfully. Not that it mattered, no-one was even listening. Most of my time was spent having football songs chanted at me - before I was finally handed another microphone that was wired into the pub's PA system, but meant I had to stand at the bar itself and talk to them. At which point, a fifty year old man stood behind me and made some hilarious gestures, much to the amusement of everyone. I turned to speak to him, he began chanting "Reading" at me, I said something else, and he came at me, eyes bulging, chest puffed, fists clenched. So I walked off, and had a tiny little cry to myself. Everyone else did ok after me, so I singlehandedly failed to do my job. Pat Gallagher ripped it, like he always does these days.

What I needed to get over that was a friendly audience, but one I would have to work hard for. Luckily, that's exactly what I got when I did the opening support at a halls gig in Bristol. I really had to keep at it to sustain the energy levels, as did everyone all night, but it was rewarding. Then came the world's longest, windiest, most rollercoaster like drive to Machynlleth in Wales. It was vertigo inducing how the roads flowed, but luckily Mr Hodgson was there to whinge hilariously about it all the way there and back. A three and half hour drive to meet an audience drenched in apathy. I suppose it was a reflection of my performance that they weren't energetic and up for it, so I can't blame them.

And now I've just returned home from a jaunt to Birmingham. All straight roads, and an incredibly enthusiastic audience waiting at Atticus. I've never been at a gig and thought, no, there's too many people here - but tonight there was. They were packed in, and incredibly close to the stage, but the PA was amazingly good, as was the lighting. I got quite nervous beforehand, convinced I would struggle, but that vanished the moment the microphone hit my hand. I said hello, and someone shouted, "stand up", which I half heartedly batted back with "I'm a comedian, only smaller, so let's have some fun," which got a huge response, and from then on in, it was fairly plain sailing. I was poised and confident, and it's not often I come off stage feeling I couldn't have done any better. But no better could I have done me thinks. I learnt though that one piece works much better with a lull before it - but I cut the lull out tonight because I had limited time. Learning to pace your set is much fun.

Personal Services

Is it possible for a comedian to be too personal on stage? Can exploring his angst or inner most thoughts alienate an audience? Can she share just a little bit too much with a crowd? I've never really thought so, but it's something I have heard and discussed more than once in the past week.

For quite a long time now, my favourite comedians have been the ones you know much more about once they have left the stage than when they arrived on it. This can manifest itself in many different ways, and not simply a confessional. The one liners that betray a theme of character, the tone of material, or simply a revealing anecdote - these all add up to good comedy in my opinion. Yes, of course laughs are king, but it's much more fulfilling as an audient to receive more than just the equivalent of a drive by. Surely you want to know who shot you?

I think it's all about context too. You can't simply walk on stage and expunge everything in one emotive tirade - you need to saunter up to that kind of material sideways and almost gesture at it with your head, innocently, hoping the audience is looking at what you are drawing their attention too. My last four gigs seem to have explored this theme somewhat.

After I left you last, I had been doing Improv for students. The following night, I was once again at The Hatchet. This is my favourite place to air new material, it feels like my home base. I began with some older stuff, before moving into a lengthy bit about something very personal to me. Perhaps too personal, as I'm reluctant to air it again anytime soon - but it was well received, and it drew from me a performance I wasn't aware I was capable of. And a performance it was, even though I made much of it being "real". While the emotional reserves I drew from were real, I think it produced a convincing facade. I was aware of some sympathetic looks from passing exitors, even though I was feeling pretty good about the gig I had just done. From a laughter perspective, the new bit started very well, and maintained its pace - and I wasn't afraid of the silences - they added to the laughs. I blew it a little towards the end, which fell flat, mostly because I was squatting down and couldn't really be seen. Plus, from a writing perspective, the bit needs more of a narrative, as it doesn't lead to a satisfactory conclusion as it stands. So, until life presents me with an adequate denouement, it will sit on the shelf for a while.

I'll skip to the next pertinent gig now, which happens to be the following week at The Hatchet again. In the afternoon I had written another new piece, which I had no confidence in, and abandoned quick smart once on stage and it was dying. The reason it tanked was me having little or no faith in it - but the other things I tried around it worked nicely, and some familiar banter moments made the gig more worthwhile than it deserved to be.

Next day, I was in Leamington, determined to give the material a second airing, but worried I would bottle it again. I didn't, but I did a properly horrible job. It was competent, and was getting laughs, but I kept blowing lines and drawing attention to the bridging I was doing whilst trying to remember bits. I tried to pull it back with the material about my Gran, which mostly helped raise the levels again, but I unforgiveably forgot an important line. So, we come back to the theme of this post. Afterward, Mr Tom Binns had a chat with me about the set, and about the manner in which I handle Alzheimer's in it. He was mostly praiseworthy, but vocalised the thought that maybe that stuff was a bit too personal. Now, this is where we come to context. I've never had that kind of reaction before. I've had people come up and engage me in chat about The Long Goodbye (not the film), or even about my Dad's illness, but no-one has said it felt too much. And that's because I have always performed those bits after other lengthy material - and usually in a 20, not in a 10 when I have just tanked with some new stuff. So, to bastardise a phrase, context is king. As an aside, bits of the new bit worked very well, and I failed to do the more pertinent and personal concluding parts of it, so I have no idea what state this material is in.

So, I'm in a car on the way to Exeter with three other comedians, and the subject of being too personal comes up again - less than 24 hours later, and unprompted by me. I had nothing to add to the general chat, and listened happily at the thoughts being expressed. The consensus seemed to be that if it's too much, it might seem like a mental episode. Again, context I guess. If you come on so angry you have nowhere else to go, then yes, brain malfunction is a good conclusion. But what if you slowly build to that anger, hint at the underlying frustrations, remain calm - then surely, when you do "blow", the effect is more engaging (and possibly more menacing). Anyway, the gig was pointless. The audience didn't really care, and invested nothing of their own energy into it, so it was hard to summon up my own reserves. I felt like Buffy in the opening number to the musical episode, "Going Through The Motions".

Why not visit my MySpace page and read some more vomit?

I Donated My Voice To Children In Need

I'm a bit all over the place at the moment, and what with my Dutch travels, my over whelming sense of doom, and it being quite late, I'm not sure what gigs I've actually done recently - so I'll chat about them as they occur to me. It seems quite a while since I did a conventional stand up gig, and the one that springs to mind is a spot I did at Bristol Student Union. It was a night of improv comedy, with a middle section of straight stand up, which I had the pleasure of doing. I always enjoy gigs in that room, and that night was no exception. Weirdly though, I felt I had to work for it, when perhaps I hadn't expected that. I also had an annoying habit of starting an aside thought and having an inability to conclude it. Which didn't bode well I seem to remember, because I was doing some actual Improv the next evening.

Yes, that's right. The Hatchet played host to something a bit different - a section in which the comedian was given their topic by the audience, and asked to chat about it for as long as they deemed fit. My hope for doing this was that it would inspire some material for the set. In the afternoon, in a run through, I had been given the subject of cardigans, and this had lead me to some thoughts on something that I will write up tomorrow and try and work into a bit. In the evening however, I was given the subject Rubber Bands, which didn't really go anywhere, and only harvested laughs towards the end of my time. Everyone else did an excellent job though, and I hope it's something we get to do again.

Then I was in Holland - no gigs happened there. Um. And tonight, yes, I remember, tonight I did my first stint as part of an improv group. We performed at another University Halls in Bristol, all in the aid of Terry Wogan. Students are certainly getting younger and even more annoying. We had no amplification, so I had to rely on my puny little chest cavity and much shouting - the result of which is no voice now. It was fun, and a very different skill than stand up, with its own set of rules - all of which I hope to discover slowly. It's quite hard to judge how well it went, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it, and we mustered some very big laughs, which is all important I guess.

Since I've been home, I've made the mistake of watching myself on DVD from a few weeks back. It wasn't as disconcerting as I expected, but I am now very aware of how much I move around on stage, and I know for sure this is going to be in my head next time I do it - which is not a good thing, because it's going to throw me. I've also been re-watching Comedian, which is one of my favourite documentaries, for obvious reasons, not least becasue Seinfeld is one of my idols. It always inspires me to write and gig more, but then I realise I don't have my own private jet to travel around in.

I Wanna Meet Shatner

If a week is a long time in politics, it's certainly a bit of a hike in Stand Up Comedy. I did two very different gigs on Thursday and Monday, and completely misunderstood a booking I made which meant I didn't do a gig on Saturday as I expected. As I write this, I'm wondering how many times the word gig, or derivations thereof, appears in this rambling blog. At least four times I would imagine. Also, I often mistype imagine as imahine.

I think I'm prevaricating to avoid talking about Jesters on Thursday. So, deep breath. I died on my hole. A proper big time, spectacular death of a proportion I have not experienced in a very long time. I had no nerves before boarding the stage, and the crowd had been pretty good for the support act, Mr Adam Crow, but I still had a suspicion that I'd find it more of a struggle. It wasn't a self-fulfilment thing, they just hated me. Batman, got nothing. Except a heckle that Robin was a rodent not a bird - twunt. Beckham, got nothing. Plus I fumbled the punch by tripping over an important word. My new joke got feck all, but by then I knew it wouldn't, and threw it in only to walk myself through it once more. I could hear them blinking, but for some reason, I wasn't particularly phased.

So, here I was, on the verge of a lengthy six minute piece that requires rhythm and performance to hide its actual lack of proper jokes - facing an audience riddled with total apathy for me. Many full moons ago, I'd have cut my losses and legged it, but it's a bit that has worked now many times at this place, so I knew it was worth the effort. I fed them a line, which got devoured. I said "I nearly died a few weeks ago," knowing full well what the response would be, and sure enough, there it was, "You're dying now!" That was my cue to address the atmosphere. I said I was well aware of that fact, that we were still only halfway through, and that we should knuckle down and get through it together. There was immediately a marked change in the mood, they shifted and sat up a bit, many of them even cheered. From then on, they were with me, in the sense that I had given them permission to enjoy the failure, and I got a huge cheer and applause at a rant inside the storm story, which I must admit, I delivered very well. I left the stage to a good response, but all in all, though it was a nice recovery in its own way, I'd rather have had a really easy gig.

Yesterday, I had the opposite experience at The Reckless Moment in Leamington Spa. I love the Moment, and I love Tom Hughes who runs it - he's turning into an excellent compere, and has some great, funny, original and quirky material. If anything, the gig was too easy, and I didn't have to work for it, but it's just what I needed after my heart attack at Jesters. I cheated a bit, because it's a new act, new material night, but I did most of my set, with only a minute or two of new material - and even then, that was it's fourth or fifth outing. That said, the new joke about being pregnant got my biggest laugh of the set. I had an odd moment at the beginning, where I was very aware of my feet. I could feel myself minutely shifting on the spot as I spoke, and as I felt myself doing it, it was like my mouth was on auto pilot - it didn't last long and I came out of it and back into the room pretty quickly, but it would explain why that bit of the performance was comparatively flatly received. After that, it was a breeze.

Just a reminder that I do have another blog, one that talks about my writing and other crap on MySpace.