5 March 2010

Showtime

Would you be worried if you had a trip to Secrets Showbar in your diary looming? As I celebrate a decade in the business we call show, (I’m not officially celebrating, more low key, just a few nibbles and that) I often have to stop and take some time to be grateful for all that I’m allowed to do. I’m sure I’m happy in my work because I get to do a variety of different stuff. I really enjoy doing my radio show. I’m happy with the bits of acting I have done, and given the chance I’d like to do more and more. Writing is proving to be my new favourite other thing I do currently. However I’ll always want to be primarily a ‘working stand up comedian.' I bloody love doing stand-up comedy. It’s the best job I have ever had. Standing on a stage, with just a mic in your hand and the words coming out of your mouth, hopefully in the order you’ve decided makes them funniest is the most fun you could possibly imagine. It’s the only thing in show business that lets you be the writer, director and performer. The common perception people have is that it must be really hard to do it. It’s not. It’s easy. If you want to do it and you are blessed to be able to do it. Though don’t tell anyone, especially young good looking, talented people, stand-up is full.  The hardest thing about being a stand-up comic is deciding to do it in the first place. I first did it just over ten years ago, and that first gig was the only one I have worried about. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not any easier these days, in fact sometimes it’s a lot harder. The weight of expectation, the fear that one day you’ll just not be funny any more, the constant nagging thought that you might die a horrible, horrible death on stage, all serve to keep you on your toes and deliver just enough ‘stage-fright’ to keep the flow of adrenaline needed to be on top of your game. I’m lucky enough to perform regularly at some of the best comedy rooms in Britain. Places like London and Manchester’s Comedy Stores, the Glee Club in Birmingham and Sheffield’s great Last Laugh gig at the Memorial Hall run by mate Toby Foster. I’ve been blessed as well to go out on tour and do some wonderful theatres - The Hull Truck, Leeds City Varieties and the Opera House in Manchester being the three best venues I have ever been fortunate to appear at. At these great clubs and theatres, the fear of not having a great night doesn’t weigh so heavily. Its more a case of making sure you are prepared, focused and giving it your all to ensure that you side of the bargain is fulfilled and you come across as good as you can. However as I embark on putting on a new show for the Edinburgh Festival, I find my diary filling up with smaller gigs, places where I want to try stuff out. Around this time I’m doing gigs at places I wouldn’t normally do so I can mix in new routines to get them ‘match-fit’. On Monday I was at the Iguana Bar in Chorlton-cum-Hardy trying some brand new material. It was fine, a bit rough around the edges, but no-one had paid specifically to see me, I was essentially the open-spot on the bill. It was fun and the crowd there are comedy literate and understand what you are trying to do. Last night I was booked to do a place called “Secrets” in Warrington. I didn’t really give it a second thought when I put it in my diary after my mate, the very funny and affable Steve Harris had rang me with the date. I was headlining or to be fair going on last. I thought, I’ll do that, mix some new stuff in, it’ll be great. Though as the day of the gig drew nearer I have to confess to having a couple of pre-gig worries. It’s the name. “Secrets”. It sounds like a lap-dancing bar doesn’t it? When I got there, it looked like it. It’s not a great start when the offers on WKD and beer pitchers have bigger billing than yourself on the posters outside the venue. It seems Stella Artois was headlining. Then again I’m glad my name wasn’t on the poster that advertised the comedy. In a cheeky typeface it stated - “If easily offended - f**k off”. I wanted to. I was offended, I wanted to f**k off right there and then. Get in my c*r and d***e away. Get the f**k out of Warrington. I couldn’t though, I’d been booked and by a mate. Bad form to walk now. The other acts did well, despite the annoying buzz on the microphone that wouldn’t go away. Steve who was compering for the night did well, despite the in-house DJ whipping the crowd up before each section of the show like a bloke on the Waltzers on crystal meth. Honestly if I had seen in on a documentary I’d have presumed it was a spoof, a mockumentary. Then I noticed he had his name on the poster. He was on the poster but I wasn’t. Oh who cares?Me. To be fair it was an ‘okay’ gig. Though I’ve never been brought on directly after a woman who had drunkenly stormed the stage been fireman style lifted off by the compere, who to be honest showed remarkable restraint after just finishing an arm wrestle to quell a persistent heckler. It was that kind of gig. You had to be there, though I wish I hadn’t.