UK Comedy Observations pt.5

For many years I lived on an island; a community where all knew all, and I remember that whenever any musician, artist or performer was reviewed in the local paper it was always in the most glowing terms. This bask in the rays of praise may have given some comfort to the reviewee and have helped to foster some saccharine sense of community but it gave little objective information. Similarly,as a comedian, it is a professionally dubious tactic to roll out aspersive reviews of your fellow comedians and that is why I am so comfortable in writing this.

Firstly, almost a month has passed since these shows so recollections are only in the vaguest sense. There will be no pedantic point picking here. Secondly, I was truly impressed by both acts that weekend so an honest review will float on praise rather than sink under criticism.

Kent Valentine was an unknown commodity to me. An Aussie turned UK resident I believe. A casual, lean and bearded soul, who, like Tom Stade, had a relaxed demeanor that belied the level of craftsmanship behind his comedy. Unassuming in manner, but direct and communicative with the crowd, Kent worked with a range of ideas, some staples, some unique. The humour was clever but very accessible, with some bite and with occasional welcome tinkerings with abstraction. An opening act with all the strength and consistancy of a headline act. I hope I have the good fortune to work with him in the future.

Tom Stade, as was mentioned in an earlier volume of this blog, is a friend of many years standing; an immutable entity who could giggle his way through his own kidnapping. In a show many years ago I clearly remember him being throughly amused because the crowd didn't like him. "This is great, I came here to make you people happy and you fuckin' hate me... right on"

The spark he had led to brighter lights in Toronto, then L.A. and eventually, the UK where he has been very successful. It is a pleasure to see him after so many years, both on and off the stage. His performance has become so comfortable and controlled. With sweetness and savagery, razors and roses, he keeps the level of laughter high throughout his set. He is a true comedian, which means he would be helpless in a world where he had to actually work.

Tom is also the one who warned me the point of frustrating repetition that I should not expect too much, too quickly on my UK trip. "These people are really good over here. Don't do what all these other people do and jump right into a showcase at the Comedy Store or Jongleurs, it'll blow your chances here." So it was particularly rewarding when after the first show he said " That was excellent man, you have to go the Comedy Store, they'll love you."

It did go well. But why? What is it that British crowds really go for that North Americans seem to shower with indifference? Why can some successful comedians play both sides of the Atlantic with ease while other equally talented and accomplished people know better than to even attempt it? After such a limited survey I would be foolish to think I have all the answers but in part 6 I'll take a bit of a run at it - wish me luck.

UK Comedy Observations pt.4

On to part four. As the symbol for "four" means death in Chinese I shall be careful not to tread on the tiger's tail.

The Comedy Box is located in Bedminster, a southern adjunctive morsel of Bristol. It was a 5 minute walk along Raleigh road past the Tobacco Factory theatre. On the way there Tom had to stop for cigarettes and as we waited in line at the shop we were accosted by dishevellant man we had passed a moment ago outside, crouched in the street , furrow-browed, mumbling summat' about Britney Spears. Soon into his accostations, it became evident that he had been practicing his "crazy man" script when we first passed him by. It was an abstract rambling that related a dream about Britney Spears offering him her shoe. He was exceedingly pleased that I wasn't afraid of him and that I actually volunteered comments - we were privileged to have witnessed one of his first performances. It was a little nervous and wobbly around the edges but he did his best and the end result made me want to pat him encouragingly on the back like a child who'd just scraped out something tolerable on the violin.

We arrive at "the Box" which is located overtop a very casual and inviting student'y pub, the Hen and Chicken, good for a pint and a pizza. We were met by Steve Lount who was very accommodating and had a palpable enthusiasm for comedy, which is always a good sign. The room itself was most certainly a box, p'raps 25' x 55' with comedian’s posters decorating the walls with their blaring sameness. The room also had a moderate ceiling and no pillars so sightlines were perfect and at a glance, the sound system looked more than ample. The bar itself was set like a hole in the wall toward the back of the room and was announced only by those crowded in front. No neon beer signs, no glass-washer, in fact I don't remember even seeing a till. I am writing this several weeks after the event, and at this point I can’t recall the look of the tables and chairs, but I think that is how they would have liked it. The stage was a black ply slab and was backdropped with thick curtains, all that was necessary and nought that was not.

This was my Brit-debut as an m.c. -- also known as a host and, in the UK, a compere, which sounds to my ear, more like a dessert than a ringmaster. The same format I had observed in Norwich was observed here – the bar shut down and the house lights dropped. In fact, as the off-stage intro for the MC was given
all the lights were off and the place was so black I could barely make my way to the stage. The room was ¾ full and the crowd was enthusiastic and attentive. I engaged in some interaction, but mostly worked with material, which was received well. It felt as though the crowd found some of the more animated pieces arresting as well as amusing and there was a pervasive sense of admiration and appreciation that was coupled with the laughter and amusement aspect. If a line was particularly well tailored or clever the crowd would respond to that aspect specifically. I have experienced this in North America but not at such a palpable level. Comedy about history, science and philosophy flew well, but it was certainly not a room with an intellectual air at all, not a monocle to be seen, just 20 – 50 year olds of a relatively informal demeanor who seemed to really appreciate the art of comedy.

One of the best parts of the weekend was who I was working with, but after long and feverish negotiations I have agreed to save them for pt. 5.

UK Comedy Observations pt.4

On to part four. As the symbol for "four" means death in Chinese I shall be careful not to tread on the tiger's tail.

The Comedy Box is located in Bedminster, a southern adjunctive morsel of Bristol. It is a 5 minute walk along Raleigh Rd past the Tobacco Factory theatre. On the way Tom had to stop for cigarettes and as we waited in line in the shop we were accosted by dishevellant man we had passed a moment ago who had been mumbling summat' about Britney Spears. Soon into his accostations, it became evident that he had been practicing his "crazy man" script as he sat by the road. It was an abstract rambling that related a dream of Britney Spears offering him her shoe. He was exceedingly pleased that I wasn't afraid and actually volunteered comments - we were privileged to have witnessed one of his first performances. It was a little staged and ragged around the edges but it made me want to pat him encouragingly on the back like a child who'd just scraped out something on the violin.

We arrive at "the Box" which is located overtop a very casual and inviting student'y pub, the Hen and Chicken, good for a pint and a pizza. We were met by Steve Lount who was very accommodating and had a palpable enthusiasm for comedy, which is always a good sign. The room itself was most certainly a box, p'raps 25' x 55' with comedians posters decorating the walls with their blaring sameness. The room also had a moderate ceiling and no pillars so sightlines were perfect and at a glance, the sound system looked more than ample. The bar itself was set like a hole in the wall toward the back of the room and was announced only by those crowded in front. No neon beer signs, no glass-washer,in fact I don't remember even seeing a till.

This was my Brit-debut as an m.c. -- also known as a host and, in Blighty, a compere, which sounds to my ear, more like a dessert than a ringmaster. The same format I had observed in

UK Comedy Observations pt.3

As promised, on to Bristol.

Bristol was an important show in me 'ed. Not important with any deep and foreboding gravitas, but significant for a number of reasons. This was my reunion with Tom Stade, a fine friend of many years, an immutable character with an appealing blend of good nature and addled clarity. I was fortunate enough to take him on his first road trip and at my wedding he was the m.c. who charmed and challenged the prevailing prim. I had hunted down this gig as it gave me a chance to work a week-end together. Craig Campbell had kindly referred me to Steve Lount at the Comedy Box but had warned me that getting booked in might not be done easily, so when I managed it, I was most pleased.

This was my first UK gig where there were accommodations provided and a review of them is essential. Comedians, certainly those in Canada, spend more time at their accomodations than at their venues. In addition, the accommodations are not only where you stay, they are where you have been put. They are reflective of how the club or booker sees the performer: as a cog in a show-business wheel he can be shoved into any ill-scented, hobo-ridden cog den, or as a someone who, after cumulative years of a long day's travel would feel truly blessed by the most average of hotel rooms.
My new home in Bristol was a bed and breakfast wedged comfortably in a section of brick row-houses which looked over a pleasant but well littered waterway. While hotels have managers and/or front desk clerks, bed and breakfasts have either home-owners or "hosts" - of the two hosts are usually preferable as they have a degree of seperation that makes things more comfortable. With a home-owner you feel as though they have made a decision to allow you to sleep in their house and your appearance and behaviour are to quote Milligan "scrutinized with an intense scrute". The gods be praised, I am greeted by a host, she is very sweet and, in friendly west-country tones, shows me to my room and lets me know that her family has lived on the same street for generations. Pertinent information is given: time of breakfast, how to acquire soap, and directions to the club. The fact that my floor has two bathrooms on it is evidently a source of no little pride.

I am on the top floor, stairs are wonderfully narrow and floor covering varies from floor to floor. I quite liked my little room, and it was a little room. It was very clean and it had a little bed, a little television, a little wardrobe, a little sink, a little kettle and a massive skylight, which actually opened up to reveal a pigeon point view of the city. How did I reach this skylight, you might ask. This was easily achieved because the ceiling in the room began to taper down from about 5 feet into the room and eventually ended about waist-high. This left me with an ample 6x6 patch to stand upright and roam about in -(I later discovered the bathrooms on my floor were equally roomy). I felt as though in days gone by, when the room was plank-floored and single paned it likely served to house a crippled child who was an embarrassment to the family.

Lemony Snicketisms aside, I was contented in my new nest and looked forward to flying out to do my show that evening.

Pragmatic Interlude (Break break)

As previously promised, I am about to move on to the Bristol experience, but upon reflection there are a few points about Norwich that I failed to cover and I don't want them to come back to haunt me so I am inserting this pragmatic interlude.

I have mentioned that I was very pleased that the crowd was bathed in dark while the performance took place and even more surprising, the bar was closed down. What this inevitably leads to is................ the break. I have spent years fighting the break. Club managers who want to stretch the show longer and pump more drinks into the crowd are always trying to foist the break on me, and I don't want the break! The break destroys the flow, you have to fight to get their attention back. Comedy is like a movie and the break breaks the mood, the break is, well, a break. Snap! crack! smash! break! Why would anyone wish this malevolent fracturance upon a well-meaning comedy show?

The break is wonderful. Watching the lights go up to signal the punters (read patrons) to rush to expel or acquire fluids, and then settle back in to their seats, discussing the show so far and anticipating the upcoming act(s): this is a fine idea. So whyfore this transformation from villian to hero, why was I blind to the beauty of the break? Quite simply, it is the combination of the bar closing and the lights being dropped along with a pinch of familiarity with the format on the part of those attending. The idea of closing down a bar in order to sell more drinks is slightly counter-intuitive but seems to work very well. I would be interested in shifting a regular Canadian comedy room to this format and seeing how sales change, I would venture that, if anything, they would see an increase.

The combination of factors that I saw that night served to make comedy the sole function of the room while it was taking place. To shut down the pool tables and turn off the t.v.'s helps to focus a pub crowd on a show, but to turn off all the house lights and shut down the bar takes it to another level and ... please mum, can I stay at this level for a while? .... it's pretty here.

UK Comedy Observations pt.2

With the inconclusive Electric Mouse experience under my belt I moved on to my first proper booked gig in the U.K.. It was at the football ground in Norwich and was booked by Joss Jones at Cosmic, who was quite charming and communicative regarding the booking. I have dealt with dozens, if not hundreds, of agents over the years and have worked as one myself. My dealings with agents in North America usually are reminiscent of an Indiana Jones scene: there are assorted trials and trickeries before the glittering goal (read gig) can be achieved and even then, one is not always certain what has been procured. While this is an exciting aspect to the career that leaves one attuned to both human nature and the consolations of defeat, it can be somewhat wearing over time. I don't mean to say that all the individual bookers in North America are scheming agents of nefarity, but the politics they are woven into makes every move potential for the highlight reel of tragedy. I assume that to some degree I am simply ignorant of the Machiavellian machinations which exist in U.K. comedy booking, but for now, let me breathe that unpolluted air of innocence.

I travelled up to Norwich with James Dowdeswell who was charming, amusing and informative and not put off by the fact that I was drifting off during the journey - (a rude by-product of shifting time-zones). The gig was in a large-ish room with 80% of the crowd of 400 seated to the left and the right (for pedants and the mathematically inclined:160 to the left, 160 to the right and 80 in front). The show was a sell out and the manager of the room, whose name escapes my tiny brain, was very enthusiastic and liberal with food, drinks and positivity. I made a point of going up on stage and looking at the room in advance - both to see and be seen. I also returned a beer coaster to it's original tosser and exchanged some free comedy with the front row in advance - I hoped to have learned something from the chummy-ism of the Electric Mouse and was keen to present a friendly face.

The MC Dan Atkinson did an excellent job with a good dose of interaction, intelligence and elbow. The crowd took a little bit to bring around but were generally very good. I noticed with more than a little surprise that the house lights were dimmed almost to the point of blackness as the show began and (shock!) the bar was actually shut down while the show was on. These two manoevres had the effect of making the show feel like, well, a show! I was brought on after about 15 minutes and started with about 2 minutes of wobbly/waffly meet and greet seasoned delicately with the bitter trepidation. Up to this point I had been unsure how my comedy would translate to a British audience and what alterations in material and delivery would be required and the "Mouse" had given only the wobbliest compass needle.

While waiting to go onstage I had written a line to explain how as a Canadian I was different from Americans: "...if you were to burn my flag next to me, all I would feel would be......warm"
The material was received enthusiastically from the start and some of the more animated story-telling pieces went over very strongly. I could not have asked for a more solid affirmation of what my potential would be over the next two weeks and though I did engage in some banter to connect with the crowd it was evident that material, and in particular, material with some intelligence and involvement, was consumed with relish. I enjoyed watching the other acts: James, and the headiner Tommy Campbell - James was a solid act who writes well and delivers confidently but in a self-effacing manner - a pleasure to watch. Tommy is a much more punchy act - originally Canadian, his style was more familiar, and thus, less interesting to me, but he has his act nailed down and delivers it with a wrenching verve.

Both James and Dan were very accessible on stage - dressed neither shabbily nor stylishly, intelligent but not arrogant they personified another interesting fact about the evening: the intros the comics are given involve no credits. In North America, credits are the backbone of an intro for every comic. Less so in larger centres such as L.A. or New York but in general you let the MC know all the most impressive (to the crowd) things you have done and he bundles them to together to form an intro. This serves to build up enthusiasm and expectation in the crowd. Americans in particular, are very impressed by any brush with celebrity you might have had and mentioning it in advance serves to legitimise you as a performer. I have said before that in America, crowds will laugh for you because they think they saw you on HBO, but in Canada crowds laugh at you because they think they saw you on CBC. While less inclined to worship at the altar of celebrity, Canadians still feel an act is legitimised by their credits. In the UK, not so. We discussed this before the show and I was told that credits are never listed off as it would seem arrogant and/or raise the expectation, which here was seen as a bad thing. This little fact also seem to run in line with what I had already witnessed; that the comic should appear as much as a friend as an entertainer.

After the show the promoter encouraged me to come back for a summer festival (which I am now booked to do) - When work leads to more work, one can only be walking down the right path. Next point on this path ....Bristol.

UK Comedy Observations pt.1

After working as a stand-up for 22 years I have just returned from my first venture to the U.K. to work. As I had lived there during my teenage years I was familiar with the nation and some it's flavours and ways, embracings and intolerances. Arrival and re-aquaintance was a rush of sensory input blended with the stirring of memory and the stimulus of the new, all in all, exciting and pleasurable. So I embarked upon the comedic exploration in a generally positive frame, eager to dip toe and, hopefully, discover a whole new domain, in which I could continue to ramble professionally forward. The purpose of this blog is to examine what I found and experienced and, naturally, to do some cross-comparison with North American equivalents.

The first show I attended was at a tiny venue in London just off Carnaby St. called the Electric Mouse. Down a flight of cramped stairs there blossomed a cramped room which was comfortable enough to be oblivious of it's own charm. There were 16 people in attendance and in true London fashion all were from other than London. The reason I know this is because of the constant back and forth between comedians and crowd. It was most important to each performer that information and opinions were extracted on a consistant basis. I sat comfortably with my friends Craig and Merlot and quite enjoyed the feel in the room. With rooms and crowds of such teeny-ous dimension it is usually advisable to connect in a comforting way and acts of a more dramatic and/or aggressive nature are less suited but the degree to which the performers sought to befriend and re-befriend this group was quite startling to me. There were approx. eight comedians on that night and at least half of them would check in with the crowd every few lines to assess how they were doing, how certain people were responding and so on. The material itself seemed to take a real back seat and the act of becoming chummy with the crowd was paramount.

All the while, I did recognize that it did seem that this was a rather insubstantial group to draw any sweeping judgements from but still the contrasts with North American norms were too striking to ignore. In small rooms on this large continent, amateurs and pros will go up, greet the crowd and then go through their proscribed material. Some are predisposed to riffing with the crowd but the norm is to perform. The interaction I was witnessing was not so much "riffing" but rather polling the crowd to find out how much they were approving at any given time. There were also a variety of accents and performers seem to have a number of regional dialects and foreign accents at their disposal: language is a broader and more flexible tool to the average Brit comic. The level of intelligence assumed in the crowd was also relatively high and there were occasional refreshing gusts of abstraction and absurdity present.

The gent running the room was kind enough to grant me 5 minutes of stage time in which I chose to run in the opposite direction from the others in order to find out more on the nature of the room. Instead of connecting with the crowd, I leaned into the material and deliberately veered towards bits that were slightly more extreme and dramatic. Unsurprisingly this had the effect of pressing people back into their seats. There was a measure of appreciation, however, and the organizer was most complimentary afterwards for which I was very glad as he had been kind enough to give me a mic and I had returned the favour by frightening his spindly crowd. I had no difficulty in making adaptations relating to cultural differences in subject matter etc. but did feel like I was playing with a baby who didn't know me yet - much more observation, performing and understanding would be needed.

I walked away from the Mouse feeling as though I had seen something different from the N. American norm but that somehow it was not truely representative of what UK comedy is. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps this was a perfect gem reflecting and distilling all the lights, both bright and dim, that shine from UK comedy in one perfectly flawed microspace but....... methots not. The next stop would be at the football ground in Norwich - more about that shortly............