"Do You Miss Doing Stand Up...?"

Hello there

A written post for you today as I jiggle things around over here.

I shifted posts back on Tuesday to let you know about Mouse, and really wasn’t feeling much like doing anything after the rubbish news.  As a result, the edit of Loopholes episode 1 got delayed (it’s in progress), and that will be out next week instead of this week.

A couple of things did prompt me to write a few words about stand-up comedy though, which is what I shall be doing today.  Well, now.  This is me doing it from the very next paragraph onwards.

As I mentioned on last week’s Cabin Fever podcast, I recently recorded an episode of the Chatabix podcast with David Earl and Joe Wilkinson.  I’ve no idea when that’s due out (it might be out by now as I’m writing this on a horribly muggy Monday evening), and I believe it is due to be a two-parter as we all banged on for way too long. Either that or they’ll have gotten into a legal panic and be trying to salvage ten minutes of useable content. I wouldn’t change me for the world.

Anyway, during the podcast, I said in passing that I didn’t do stand-up anymore, and David asked me if I missed it.  I don’t. Which seemed to be a surprising answer, but I don’t.

As a matter of fact, I think I’m often surprised by quite how passionately I don’t miss it.  Like, whenever people ask me, which does happen a lot, I’m quite aminated about it.  It’s never “Nah”, but usually “Not even point one of point one of a percent”. I think this is maybe a response to my confusion as to how often I’m asked it.  As though folk can’t get their head around why anyone would pack in such a brilliant job.  My Pavlovian percentages of disinterest probably stem from the fact that I don’t consider it a brilliant job.  I don’t think I ever did.

Some folk definitely do, so I’m not making any definitive claim for everyone, I’m just saying it wasn’t a brilliant job for me. I think it certainly stopped being the job that it may have been, or certainly wasn’t the job I thought it would be at the very start.

This is usually where you’d get a load of “can’t say anything anymore” or “people are too sensitive” comments, but it’s not been about that. It’s been about the fun aspect of it.  My experience of stand-up was – generally – that it wasn’t fun. Not for me. There were a million reasons for that.

So, two things happened this week that made me think of how it wasn’t fun.  Separate chance viewings, but both made me shudder.  The first one was finding an email on a hard drive, that was handed to me at a gig once.  I’ve got no memory of where the gig was, and I’ve chopped away any personal details before showing it to you, but it’s a cracker.

(I know some people will have been unable to see this picture because of the DoingAPostInTheMiddleOfTheNight virus in computers but I have done a special programme that has gotten rid of that on every computer used by a Patron on here - no need to up your pledge unless you feel that's the kindest thing to do)

Where would you start with that?

I know where I wouldn’t seat them for a kick off.

It’s not even the details of that, but the overall tone.  Look, I know it’s not meant to be insulting.  I know it’s naïve and daft, but it throws up a real duality in the job itself.  Namely, what right does somebody who curates their talent into the mould of a court jester have to throw a strop when they are treated like a court jester? There’s a – let’s presume innocent – condescension across this email, with the inference that whoever is on the stage will need a helping hand and they are just the folks to provide it, especially as they have graciously offered to heckle, but is this even totally unreasonable? What actually is the job? There’s a lot to be said for a raucous evening, for a show like no other, and whilst the advanced planning of such an evening is slightly counterproductive, the expectation of a special night is surely not so big an ask?

Despite remembering nothing about where or when this was, I can tell you with absolute confidence that whenever this email was given to me, I would have stared back at the deliverer with confoundment. That’s mostly on me though.  The court jester is refusing to be the court jester.

When you realise you are spending a lot of time sighing at your job, you can’t really rule out the possibility that the job just might not be for you.  Doesn’t matter if you can do it or not.  Doesn’t matter if you are excellent at it even. If you don’t like it, if it doesn’t suit you, then it’s ultimately going to make you glum, and there really aren’t that many spaces on the Stand-Up comedian bus so it’s rather unsavoury to take the seat of somebody who would love it.  Somebody who would excel in it, and have a nice time doing it rather than constantly pouting.  I really don’t want any credit for giving up my seat, but I certainly wish more people would do it.  Especially the lazy ones.  Which brings us onto the other thing…

The Edinburgh Fringe.  I did ten Edinburgh fringes.  I definitely enjoyed the first one in 1999, and I believe I might have enjoyed the middle Peacock & Gamble one.  So that’s not a great hit rate.  Actually, to be fair, I think I might have enjoyed my last one when I did the Here Comes Trouble solo show, but that’s with the caveat that I think a lot of the enjoyment came from the fact that I’d decided it was definitely my last one.

If you asked me how many I regretted though, not whether I enjoyed it or not, but whether I thought the decision to go was the wrong one, then my answer is different.  I’d say I regretted (and even that is slightly too strong a word) two or three out of the ten.

Am I annoyed at the expense?  Yep.  Do I shudder when I think of how many quids went into it? Yep.  Am I a better creative as a result of testing myself in many different guises at the largest arts festival in the world? Yep. Would I have been happier just trundling around clubs doing compering and twenty-minute sets as a means to an end? Nope.

I absolutely subscribe to the idea that the very process of curating a show for the fringe (or a tour, or theatre or arts centre or whatever) is not only more desirable than being at the whim of comedy promotors, but a far more authentic and credible way of testing yourself and your abilities. Not just on stage, but as an all-round creative.

From my experience, stand-up comedy, on a night with three acts on the bill in front of a drunk crowd, isn’t satisfying.  It’s almost always crowd-control and a tactical exercise rather than an artistic one.  It’s like doing origami in a wind tunnel.  The environment is not the best one for the task at hand. Actually, that’s probably a bad example, because I’d also argue it’s not difficult.  Not as long as you’re prepared to literally treat it like you are performing at a children’s party, and keep asking them to “give us a cheer if you’re – insert any combination of ‘drinking’ ‘celebrating’ ‘on a hen/stag night’ – tonight!”. Then, after ten minutes of training an audience to shout out, they get all stroppy when the audience continue to shout out all evening long. They would have you believe it’s difficult, but it’s not.  It’s just about holding your patience and ignoring rudeness, which is something I was really not good at.  Ergo, the job is not for me. But we covered that in Act One.

The fringe though, as I said, is a different beast.  Genuinely bad audiences are exceptionally rare at the fringe.  Equally, snooty audiences of chin strokers are also exceptionally rare at the fringe. It’s a decent mix of all types, leaning more towards locals at the weekend whose enthusiasm is (usually) born of support rather than disruption. Well, as long as your show doesn’t start at 1am. They tend to be audiences of people who have come to see a show.  That sounds really obvious, but a lot of club gigs aren’t people who have some to see a show. They are people who are on a loud night out where somebody on the stage is a hindrance to their experience unless that person is perpetuating some lazy cultural stereotype against the person from New Zealand in their party.

I’m in the position, born of my own experiences, of being fully in favour of the fringe whilst deploring almost every aspect of it. However, that’s for another day, as the second thing I saw this week (and I knew I’d get to it eventually), was an article about why you shouldn’t go to the fringe. Same as there is every single July. An article that, once again, confirmed to me that I am way better off out of all this nonsense. Not because of the content but more because of the article itself being something to deal with.

You may consider me to have some front in sneering at a party pooper, given the amount of ghost japes I’ve pulled the curtain back on, but I really don’t like this trend.  I think it’s hugely mean-spirited, bordering on cruel. I’m not saying it isn’t a worthy discussion, but it’s no good saying to people in July that their plans for August are stupid.  I think every single year I went to the Fringe there was something like this that made me downhearted and questioning my decisions, and you so don’t need that when you’re less than a month from it. There was even an occasion when Richard Herring did a big video speech about how the lamppost adverts were a waste of money, right after everyone had paid for them.  I remain proud to this day that my in-character parody video of it got more views than the original.  I also remain baffled to this day as to what the extra people watching my one thought was going on. Absolutely agreed with much of what he was saying, but absolutely thought the timing was off.

About the financial side of the fringe, I think there is a common misconception about what and how people have invested.  The figures themselves make for galling reading, but the figures alone do not consider the whole picture. I think there’s also a misconception that these acts are so posh and loaded that they can just chuck a load of cash towards Scotland and then go put their posh show on, squeezing out the working-class comedians.  It’s not as clear cut as that.

There is a definite advantage to a comedian who is solvent or has minted parents to fund their offspring’s public blabbering/showing off.  They can get to the fringe easy.  Likewise, there is a huge disadvantage to somebody who can’t afford to pay for this up front because…well, because it means they can’t go.  Obviously.  Even the free-fringe, or whatever incarnation of it currently exists, can’t battle that, as being in the brochure/listings and accommodation will still price these performers out of the market. That – undeniably – is not fair and renders an arts festival redundant due to the exclusivity of inclusion. Not a solitary argument to that, and it’s sickening.

If we stick with the acts that are managing to go though, most of them aren’t paying up front for anything.  They are taking on a debt.  So that requires an act to have management who will spend the cash, admittedly with the abandon of a repressed toff in Stringfellows, on the acts behalf. So, it doesn’t stand definitively that no working-class comic can afford to get to the fringe. They can if they have an agent with an Edinburgh department.  We’ll have to hold the debate about agents favouring posh clients to another time, but…yeah. Yeah, I think they do really.

All these acts though, are taking on an investment debt. I’ll now revert to speaking about my own personal experience of it, as I can speak with complete credibility on that.

At no point, ever, did I sign an Edinburgh budget thinking it wasn’t a ridiculous amount of money. It was always eye-watering, and always hugely concerning.  This conflicted with the other consideration of me believing myself worthy of making that investment. It was a belief in what I was doing, and me paying for my training and experience essentially. So, I always found disparaging comments about how much money it was costing to be a little unfair, as it was an indirect judgement on me not being worth that. I know it’s over-costed, I know that management and – particularly – PR were fleecing me, but that was kind of collateral. I knew exactly what I was signing off.  Which is why I also got really annoyed when others didn’t do their jobs.  That’s just a betrayal of trust though, and the only alternative would be to not trust a soul and do nothing.

You rarely get people shouting, “HOW MUCH?” at somebody who has spent twenty grand kitting out a shop, or getting equipment for a business, but this is the same principle.  You are taking on a debt because you believe that there is some benefit to being at this festival.  And there definitely is.  Not pipe dreams of huge telly dreams or whatever, but rather just getting right good at curating yourself and your work.  There are loads of other ways to do that, I know that, but that’s not always been the case.  We’re all of us wiser for our experiences, good and bad, so experiences are invaluable.

Making people with that mindset feel stupid or undermining their commitment to their own growth isn’t nice. Don’t get me wrong, I would absolutely not do it now, but that doesn’t mean I hold the opinion that anyone who does do it is an idiot. There may have been a time where I’d have strongly advised people to not take that path, but I do think/hope that now I would credit them with following their instincts on gaining the experience.  If we also consider the terms of paying back these debts, then it would be particularly cruel to frown at them in bafflement. For at least ten years of my stand-up career, I was getting 60% of what I was actually earning.  15% to agents (only on work/gigs they had got me), and 25% back into clearing the Edinburgh pot. This is all before tax too.

People pay the same money for a university course though. Or for specific training in skilled work. You see what I mean? Again, this isn’t really about encouraging people to be part of the fringe, but more acknowledging what that commitment actually is, and definitely not pulling it apart a month before it starts and it’s too late to bail.

This would have all been far too long an answer for that Chatabix podcast though.  We just spoke about Noel Edmonds instead.

Oh and here are my hot tips for the fringe:

Tom Mayhew – Trash Rich at The Stand 21.20

Bilal Zafar – Care at the Underbelly 17.30

Impro All Stars -  Frankenstein’s Pub 18:00 (just don't get dragged into sitting around with them afterwards because you will be drunkenly corrupted and probably wake up in Dubai or somewhere)

Rob Rouse – No Refunds at the Gilded Balloon 20:45

(and his Dirty Scrabble show is at 10:30 pm which is a daft turnaround from his other show)

Any other shows you think should be given my gracious blessing then please leave them in the comments and I shall consider their worth.  Which, judging by those three, is mainly to do with whether they are supporting me on Patreon…

Hope you are having a wonderful week over there and taking extra care in the daft warm.

Lots of love to you

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