Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things

fell into place? If so, what?

Not exactly, but I suppose the realization a couple of years ago that
the stage shows I was doing were not a million miles from stand-up
was a big moment. I had a tough time with stand-up in the early
years and it was a big step for me to face my demons and go back
to it. I had been humiliated many times and convinced myself I
wasn’t cut out for it. So having the courage to try again was a big
step, as was the decision to take some risks and try less accessible
material and I suppose not care if the audiences and promoters
didn’t like it. As it turned out they mainly did, but it was learning
to trust myself that took me forwards. It’s not that you don’t care
at all: it’s just that you aren’t fretting about what the reaction is.
It’s self-belief and confidence again. These are qualities that weirdly
the best and the worst acts seem to share.

What is the best thing about this job?

Loads of good stuff. When it’s working out for you and you’re
on stage and the audience are with you and you’re freewheeling
to a point where even you’re not sure what’s coming out of
your mouth next, and the stuff that comes out turns out to be a
brilliantly funny improvised routine, then it’s hard to get a better
feeling. When you have an audience crying with laughter and in
pain and you know you’ve got something funnier coming up –
that is also an extraordinary feeling (doesn’t happen too often,
I have to say). It’s such a privilege to get paid for doing something
that is generally terrific fun and on the great nights you have a
brilliant gig and then you have some drinks after and adventures
happen. At times like this it’s hard to imagine a better way to
make a living.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

The gigs where your ad libs come out wrong and the audience
doesn’t like you and you come off feeling like you’re the least
funny man in the world do counterbalance the good ones

11. What other comics think 167

 (even though they happen a lot less). A bad gig or even a mediocre
one where you know you haven’t been on top of your game can
make you feel awful. And it’s a bit crap that the way a gig goes
(either good or bad) can affect your mood for days. Often being
on the road is not as much fun as you might hope or as people
imagine. You find yourself alone in hotel bars quite a lot, unable to
sleep as you’re still running on adrenaline. Or you have a long drive
home and don’t get to bed until 3.00 or 4.00 a.m. which can screw
up your day and your mood. It can get a bit lonely and depressing
and the difference between the false euphoria of being on stage and
the reality of the off-stage world can sometimes jar a little.

Pricks in the audience who ruin a great gig that everyone else is
loving by refusing to shut up even when you have done a brilliant
job in putting them down.

Loads of bad things too, but on the whole I think the positives
far outweigh the negatives, even if I could write a lot more about
the negatives!

What would be a typical working day for you?

There isn’t really a typical one. Or maybe the typical day is one
like today where I prevaricate and get nothing done.

I try to write in the daytime. Sometimes this goes well, but

mainly I end up achieving nothing and feeling miserable with
myself. I spend a lot of time dicking around on the internet. Then
it depends if I am gigging and how far away the gig is. But like
I’ve said, if it’s a few hours drive away then I can be out until the
early hours.

I do write a weblog every day at some point, which for the last four
years has been my one regular activity, but I do it at different times
of the day, so even that is not typical. The only time I get into a
definite routine is in Edinburgh, where I do my show, get drunk,
go to bed at about 4.00 a.m., sleep in until about 2.00 p.m., watch
TV, do my show again and repeat × 24.

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What makes a good gig?

As I said above I suppose it’s when you as a performer reach

that point where you are freewheeling and the audience are going
with you and there’s a palpable atmosphere of excitement that
does almost feel like electricity. It’s rare, but it’s great when you
get the kind of audience that are chipping in with things that are
adding to the set: either a good question or a funny extension
of something – trying to add to what you’re doing, rather than
knocking you down.

What makes a bad gig?

Again covered a bit above. It’s hard to be sure. Sometimes it’s

your fault. Sometimes your timing is off or your attitude is wrong.
Sometimes you get the wrong kind of crowd for your kind of
material. Sometimes there are just idiots in the audience who are
determined to ruin everything. I get more upset by the ones where
I screw up though; but screwing up is all part of the learning process
and I think you have to constantly push at your own boundaries
and experiment with how you do things and this does mean that
occasionally you say the wrong thing or come across looking like a
dick. It hurts for a bit. You get over it. Especially after a good gig.
Comedians are nothing if not shallow.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Though it’s good to have a few prepared lines, I think it’s generally
best to deal with each situation as it comes. You will look cleverer
and sharper if you are responding honestly and instinctively to
what is going on, rather than falling back on stock lines. It’s risky,
of course, as you might not come up with stuff, but ultimately
it doesn’t matter too much what you say as long as you remain
in control. Coming back with something fast and measured is
probably the best thing. But you have to keep your cool and the
minute you lose your temper (which is very easy to do and I do
it myself still every now and again) you have lost it. Sometimes
you can pretend to lose your temper and it will work, but only

11. What other comics think 169

 if you are ultimately in control. Occasionally losing it can work for
you, but it’s a risky strategy.

Most hecklers are drunk and useless and not as funny as you, and
the majority of the audience probably hates them. Use that against
them. Usually most people will be on your side and a well-timed
barb will be enough to get you their laughter and their respect.
Dealing well with a heckler can turn an ordinary gig into a brilliant
one as people do seem to have a lot of respect for material they
perceive as being off the cuff. If the whole crowd is booing you,
then it’s harder, but if you keep fighting you can sometimes win
them back. Confidence and self-belief will do a lot to help you as in
every other aspect of this job. Don’t show weakness and don’t feel
you always have to come straight back with something. A weighted
pause followed by a considered and funny response can often kill
a heckler dead. It’s just about showing you’re the boss. They can
smell your fear (occasionally literally) so you must not give them
any opportunity to sense it.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Try again; fail again; fail better.

Every gig is a learning experience. Experiment with stuff. I have

managed to find new jokes or a new intonation or change of a
word that suddenly makes a joke or routine better on the 200th
time I’ve done it.

You really just need to get as much stage time as you possibly can.
The more you gig the better you will get.

Also, though, there is a chance that you are not as funny as you
hope. There is always time to improve and no one steps up on stage
and is just brilliant straightaway. But don’t keep plugging away at
this job if it really is not working for you. I would set a time limit
of, say, maybe five not if you find that audiences still don’t like you
and promoters don’t want to book you then it could be time to

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think about doing something else. Most people come to realize this
themselves; but even though it takes time to become funny, there
are some people who are not cut out for this unusual job.

Good luck though. A trail of tears of misery and joy lay in front
of you. It’s a spectacular way to make a living, and at its best is a
lot of fun.

Steve Hall
Steve Hall has worked all over the country and in Europe. He is
one third of the acclaimed comedy group ‘We Are Klang’.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

That the girl I’d meet after that gig in Glasgow only had one eye.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

Things only fall into place as a result of consistent hard work

over a long period of time. I think eureka moments are illusory:
a really good gig can leave you convinced you can do no wrong,
only for the next night to find you looking like a mentally ill person
holding a microphone. The harder you work, the more consistently
well you’ll hopefully find yourself doing. So you can end up with
a feeling of general contentment that you make a living at this
strange and wonderful business – whereas what you might perceive
to be an individual eureka moment usually precedes something
going soul-shatteringly tits-up.

What is the best thing about this job?

Comparing it to what I did before.

11. What other comics think 171

 What’s the worst thing about this job?

Other than the desperate feeling of isolation; the conviction that

you’re going to get found out as a fraud at any moment; the fractured
lifestyle; boredom of travelling and the unwanted feelings of ravenous
competitiveness towards your peers, this a job with no downside.

What makes a good gig?

Doing well.

What makes a bad gig?

Sucking.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Context is vital, so go to different sorts of clubs and see the various

methods used to deal with hecklers, and think how you’d handle
that situation.

Sarah Kendall
Sarah has been doing stand-up for about eight years and lived in
Britain for six. In that time she has been nominated for both the
Perrier and Time Out Comedy Award. A regular at the Edinburgh
Comedy Festival, she has performed all over the place: Hong Kong,
South Africa, Belgium, Holland, Germany, New York, Norway
and Luton.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

In spite of the way your body might be reacting, there’s nothing to

be afraid of. I used to get crippling nerves – my hands would shake
so badly I couldn’t bring myself to even try and take the mike out

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of the stand. I’d sweat and my mouth would be bone dry. I spent
years overcoming my nerves.

I think most of the fear response is driven by the idea that

something terrible is going to happen if you don’t have a good gig.
After doing it for years and experiencing all kinds of audiences,
you realize that it’s okay if you have a bad gig. It’s okay to fail.
There are some nights when it’s your fault and you just did a bad
show; there are other nights when the crowd is crap. It probably
sounds a bit trite, but ultimately if you’re doing stuff that you’re
proud of, the rest will take care of itself.

The nights you fail are as important to your development as the

nights you do well. They’re your battle scars. It’s very freeing
to experience something that most people are terrified of, and
survive that experience.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

I’m not sure there is such a thing. I remember a comic once told
me that stand-up is a ten-year apprenticeship, and I’m inclined to
agree. I always feel like I’m learning.

What is the best thing about this job?

It’s very pure. You can have an idea at 4.00 p.m., and then do it
on stage that night. Within a few hours, you’ve realized the idea.
There’s nothing else I’ve done that moves that fast, and where you
have that much control. You are the writer, director and performer.
I think that immediacy is what makes it so creatively attractive.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

There’s no map. You’ve got to find your own way. And there’s
very little control. All you can do is work at it hard and get as good
as you can, but beyond a certain point, you’re relying on other
people giving you opportunities.

11. What other comics think 173

 What would be a typical working day for you?

I try not to get up too late – it’s easy with this job to fall into bad
sleeping patterns. And I try to spend about four hours writing
every day – whether I’m working on a new stand-up show or script
stuff or whatever. After hours of writing on my own, my brain and
ideas tend to disintegrate.

What makes a good gig?

I think my favourite gigs are where the audience is focused. It’s

amazing how your performance flourishes when every detail and
nuance is being noticed. You find texture to your performance and
writing that you didn’t even know was there.

What makes a bad gig?

Aggression: I find aggressive audiences and aggressive comedians

really toxic.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Just talk to them – give them enough rope and they’ll hang
themselves. Remember: you’re sober and you have the microphone.
That’s a huge advantage.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Work as much as you can. Get out there as many nights a week as
possible and learn your craft. And if you’re working with someone
who you admire, don’t be afraid to ask them questions. Most
comics love talking about comedy, and it can really open up your
approach. I became very good friends with another comic who
started at the same time as me, and whenever he worked with
someone he admired, he’d ask them for tips before he went on. At
first I thought that was a bit weird, but then I realized the wealth of
knowledge he was tapping into, so I started doing the same thing.
Talking to the old pros is one of the joys of doing this strange job.

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Pat Condell

Pat is a comedian who has been everywhere and done

everything. One of the most intelligent political comedians of
his generation, his website www.patcondell.net is a popular
bookmark for many comedians who look forward to his next
bitter, incisive rant.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

Good jokes come from strong opinions. If you filter the world
through your own core values and beliefs, absurdities will abound
and the jokes will write themselves.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

Back in the 1980s, appearing regularly at the infamous Tunnel

Club taught me that a hostile audience is a thing to be laughed
at and baited, not feared.

What is the best thing about this job?

You can speak your mind and you have the added pleasure of
making it funny.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

Travelling on motorways, killing time in strange towns and coming

off stage knowing you haven’t given your best.

What would be a typical working day for you?

I write every day in a room with no phone or internet connection.

If I’m doing a show in the evening, I’ll go over the material and
try to improve it. If not, I work on new stuff.

11. What other comics think 175

 What makes a good gig?

For me, a good gig is where I’m doing my own show with nobody
else on the bill. A good circuit gig is one that starts on time;
the audience clearly wants to laugh; the compère gets the room
focused, then gets off; all your jokes get big laughs; you get paid
in full; and nobody comes up to you afterwards to give you ‘a joke
you can use’.

What makes a bad gig?

Not getting laughs, and if that happens it’s not the gig’s fault –
it’s always your fault, and I do mean always. However, there are
plenty of things you could use as an excuse: free admission; no
lights or PA; the compère staying on too long (any MC who does
more than ten minutes at the top of the show and more than three
minutes between acts should be pelted with rotten fruit). Other
factors might be: noise from the bar; a local ‘personality’ who likes
to sit at the front and heckle; you have to follow someone who’s
made a mess on the stage, or who has covered the same topics as
you; you got there early because you were supposed to open, but
now you’ve been told you have to close; one of the other acts
brings a group of friends who laugh uproariously at all their jokes
but talk loudly through your set; one of the other acts doesn’t turn
up at all and you have to do a double set, even though you’ve got
another gig to go to.

But none of these things can turn a gig on their own; the power is
always with you to make it good or bad.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Remember why you’re there and keep your sense of humour. Witty
put-downs are great if you can think of them, but as long as you
stay in the funny zone you’ll be OK. The worst thing you can do
with a heckler is to lose your temper, because if you don’t think
the situation is funny the audience won’t either. At best they’ll be
laughing at you, not with you, and if that happens you might as well

176
say goodnight. To be honest, I’ve never met a heckler I didn’t want
to punch in the face. But I’ve only ever actually done it once, at a
New Variety gig in the 1980s, and only because a gang of drunks
had wandered in and were ruining it for everyone, particularly for
me. I was a lot more impetuous in those days, and before I knew it
I had stepped off the stage and given one of them a wallop. I wasn’t
proud of myself, especially when he went crashing through a door
into a room where the gig organizers were counting the box office
while sharing a joint. They nearly shat themselves, and as a result
I was banned from all their venues for a couple of years.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Write every day; never tell a joke you don’t believe; respect the
audience by always doing your very best; don’t steal material;
and never take anything personally.

Katy Bagshaw

Katy is probably the newest comic whose opinions were canvassed.

She is a young, twenty-something comic who is working at the
coalface of the comedy industry. At the time of writing, she is at
that weird stage in her career where she is headlining some clubs
and completely unknown at others.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

That this isn’t the best way to get over being bullied as a child:
therapy is available. And that the audience aren’t really that scary.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

Becoming Geordie. I started off with a posh middle-class persona

and can now be as bigoted as I like.

11. What other comics think 177

 What is the best thing about this job?

The glory of a gig gone well and the huge amount of money I earn
(no, really).

What’s the worst thing about this job?

The horror of a gig gone wrong. And having to sit and listen to
other comedians who go on and on and on about how good they
are, especially when they’re not. And comedians who write their
own reviews (you know who you are).

What would be a typical working day for you?

Get out of bed at midday. Have breakfast. Fall asleep in my eggs.

Wake up, check emails. Fall asleep. Wake up in time to get a shower,
get out. Be funny. Go back to bed. But then I do have narcolepsy.

What makes a good gig?

A well-run venue: a good mike; good lighting; all of the audience

can see the stage; helpful and approachable staff; a decent amount
of money (i.e. not 20 pence).

What makes a bad gig?

A badly run gig: background noise; broken mike; no light; pillars

obscuring the stage; hen party in the back room; promoter who
insults; no money.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Don’t try to be funny – say whatever comes into your head and it’ll
mostly be funny. See them as ‘people in a pub’ – that’s all they are.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Stick at it – it takes most people at least two years to crack it. If

you don’t like the way things are going, feel free to change your

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set, character, presentation and so on. Keep going until it
feels right.

Marek Larwood

Marek is a professional, jobbing comic who has travelled all over the
country, winning awards, playing massive venues and performing at
late-night university gigs. He is endlessly creative and loves to take
risks on stage. More recently, he has started to crop up regularly on
TV sketch shows and, as one third of the comedy group ‘We Are
Klang’, has developed a cult status at festivals around the world.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

Do what you think is funny and ignore any advice anyone else
gives you.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

I don’t think there is such a thing as a eureka moment. A good

stand-up has lots of little eureka moments, when a bit of material
falls into place or you think of an ending to a joke. I suppose
thinking of a new character or a new way of performing is the
closest I’ve come to a eureka moment.

What is the best thing about this job?

Not being stuck in an office for eight hours a day. It’s great
being able to think of an idea and then go and perform it on
stage that night.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

Having a bad gig then going to the toilet and overhearing

punters saying ‘that last guy was shit’; followed by the awkward

11. What other comics think 179

 moment when they notice your presence; followed by the
uncomfortable silence as you wash your hands; followed by
the five-hour journey home to address the fact there are now
100 more people in this world that think you are a dick. Now
I’m so thick-skinned I can’t even slash my own wrists when it
does go wrong.

What would be a typical working day for you?

Every day is different. One day you might be on a train back

from Scotland, another day you could be filming something
or recording a bit for radio or rehearsing. That all sounds very
exciting and positive. You could also be stuck in a ropey bed
and breakfast where the heating doesn’t work and the bed stinks
of someone else’s piss or maybe you’re at the start of a seven-hour
car journey with a comic you strongly suspect is a practising
sex offender.

What makes a good gig?

There are a lot of things out of the hands of the comic: lighting;
sound system; seating; whether the bar is closed; whether you
can hear music coming in from the pub next door. It is nice
having a gig set up properly where you know what happens is
in your hands rather than looking at the room and praying for
a miracle.

What makes a bad gig?

Forty pensioners in Portsmouth expecting end-of-the-pier gags.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Most hecklers hang themselves with their own drunkenness. You

can always learn stock heckle put-downs, but the best thing to do
is to think of something on the spur of the moment. It doesn’t even
have to be that funny and you get more credit for it. On the rare
occasion you are subjected to a genuinely funny heckle, you should
give the heckler credit.

180
What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

You can spend all the time in the world you want watching
comedy and talking about it. The best way to learn is to go out
and actually do it, although I previously said to ignore all advice.
I have spoken to a lot of new comics and some make the mistake
of thinking this is a stepping stone to fame and glory. I think to be
good you have to love thinking about comedy and writing about
it, almost so it is second nature to do it. I think you have to have
a love of writing and performing and a great deal of self-belief
to get anywhere. Also, I must add I went on a course taught by
the wonderful author of this book. It gave me the confidence to
start stand-up, and I met a lot of people so it wasn’t such a lonely
journey. Also, it was through the course that I met Steve Hall and
Greg Davies who I formed sketch group ‘We Are Klang’ with.

Since forming we have become almost total pricks.

Mark Maier
Mark has performed all over the world, often topping the bills
at the bigger venues. He also is a prolific award winning comedy
writer and has had many comedy plays performed on Radio 4.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

That the less you try, the less forced your material is, the more an
audience will give you. If you can ‘appear’ relaxed, then you are
more than halfway there. This is a difficult thing to learn and only
comes with experience.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

When I compèred a comedy show at the Glastonbury Festival and

found that being at ease and not the bag of nerves I was pre-gig
was the best thing that could happen.

11. What other comics think 181

 What is the best thing about this job?

Coming up with a thought that you genuinely don’t know is

funny until you perform it in front of a group of strangers and
hear their laughter.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

Any gig in Milton Keynes.

What would be a typical working day for you?

Get up, remind myself where I am working that evening and then
spend a couple of hours trying to tailor my material to suit that
particular gig. If I’m not working that evening, then… not get up.

What makes a good gig?

An audience who is there primarily to see comedy and appreciate

the fact that you are there to make them laugh.

What makes a bad gig?

Disorganization on the part of the venue: bad sound and lighting;

no stage; the audience a million miles away from the comedians;
or starting a club in Milton Keynes.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Use what they say as opposed to coming up with a standard heckle

put-down you have heard before. Chances are, someone else in
the audience will have heard the standard line and heckle you for
being unoriginal.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Be true to yourself and record how your material goes on stage.

It took me a couple of years of pretty constant gigging before

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I felt completely comfortable with myself on stage. There are gigs
that go brilliantly and others that are disastrous, but you must
constantly be working in order to get some consistency to your
performances. By recording your material you can hear what has
worked as opposed to what you perceive has worked, which is
often a very different thing.

Robin Ince
Robin is a force of nature who seems to be responsible (or at
least knows the person who is responsible) for all the light
entertainment output on television. His name constantly crops
up in TV credits. His work ethic and his networking skills are
truly frightening. He is also a comedian who delights in taking
risks; he recently set up the Book Club, which has been winning
praise left, right and centre for helping to reinvigorate the London
comedy scene.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

Why on earth I wanted to stand in front of a group of people

showing off in the desperate hope they would laugh. And I still
don’t know now, it must be something that happened as a child
I would imagine: perhaps a beating or getting lost in a big cave.
I think the best thing to know at the start is that it doesn’t matter
where your contemporaries are going and their success, just
focus on what you are doing. So many comedians get caught up
in getting bitter and that can only get in the way of what you’re
doing. Also, don’t believe what other comedians tell you, they
may well be lying. For example, I was told: ‘If a joke doesn’t
work three times, bin it.’ Not true, it depends on finding the right
audience, the right delivery and so on. Most of the people who
tell you this are the comedians you’ll find rummaging through
your bins at 3.00 a.m.

11. What other comics think 183

 Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

My first real eureka moment was doing the So You Think You’re
Funny competition in Edinburgh. I came second and felt that there
must be something in it.

What is the best thing about this job?

You are in control of what you do: even if you fail, you can
hopefully fail on your terms. You get to travel the country and
possibly the world, showing off and being rewarded for it.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

The creeping self-doubt that haunts you, and the way that the odd
bad gig hangs in the memory for so much longer than the good
gigs. Even a great gig can be marred by the thought of that one line
you felt you screwed up.

As you spend so much time on your own, there is plenty of time

for lengthy train journeys of self-criticism.

Oh, and never do a vanity search on the internet, there will always
be someone out there who detests you for some reason.

What would be a typical working day for you?

I am something of a whore so days are never that typical. Daytime

is often spent writing scripts for others, doing radio shows and
all that kind of thing. Then getting panicked because I realize that
I’ve taken too much on and don’t reckon I’ll get to Skipton on
time, and how on earth am I going to get back from there the next
morning in time to spout on some BBC7 show? At that point I
promise myself that I have learnt my lesson and shall never get in
such a tangle again. Then the next month arrives and the tangling
starts all over. If you are self-employed, you always presume it’s
about to end, so fear ever saying ‘No’.

184
What makes a good gig?

A low level of intoxicants in both the audience’s and your

bloodstream; a microphone that doesn’t cut out every time you
reach a punchline; chairs that have not been used in any historical
inquisitions; and not too many people in party hats with poppers
and harmonicas.

What makes a bad gig?

All the above in preponderance.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Use a poison dart. If you don’t have a poison dart, don’t get
overly embroiled with them and make sure the audience have
heard what they’ve shouted if you have a specific response to
their words.

Sometimes hecklers are actually shouting out nice things or

funny things. If the heckler has been funny, accept that they
have been funny rather then just being vicious and swearing at
them. Violent responses to hecklers can look like you are
losing grip.

Though there are many clichéd put-downs, it’s good if you can
deal with them individually. Try not to burst into tears – it may
show weakness.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in

this business?

Tenacity is the main thing. Your career could go up and down and
up, and if you really want to do it you will somehow keep going.
There are very few overnight sensations: it may be 10 or 20 years
before you get where you hoped, and then when you get there
you’ll want to be at the next stage, so try and enjoy it as you go
along.

11. What other comics think 185

 Greg Davies

In a relatively short period of time, Greg was winning awards

and headlining most of the major comedy venues. He has
written for television and is part of the celebrated comedy group
‘We Are Klang’.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known at the
beginning of your career?

I wish I’d known that hecklers, far from being arbiters of comic
ability, are, in the main, drunken middle-class men who aren’t very
popular at work/home. When starting out, all comics, no matter
how they present themselves in a dressing room, are nervous.
A bad gig is nothing more than a bad gig.

Did you ever have a ‘eureka’ moment in your career when things
fell into place? If so, what?

You have mini eureka moments throughout your career I think;

it is an endlessly fascinating process and one can never afford to
think ‘I’ve cracked it.’ That said, the realization that if you are
enjoying yourself an audience invariably will, was a turning point;
being playful and prepared to let go of your carefully prepared
material can be a big part of this.

What is the best thing about this job?

Unpredictability; instant feedback; creative fulfilment; massive

trousers.

What’s the worst thing about this job?

The feeling that you should always be doing something. If you are
not gigging you should be writing. Sometimes it’s okay to think
about other things.

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What would be a typical working day for you?

I find a typical day no longer exists but I do get to sit around the
house in my pants more often than I ever dreamt… and I dreamt
about it for years*.

What makes a good gig?

When the room has been set up well by the promoter and,
if there is one, the compère.

When an audience comes to a gig placing comedy higher on
their agenda than drinking and/or sleeping with someone.

When a member of that audience after the gig gets drunk, says
‘you were the best tonight’ and offers to sleep with you.

What makes a bad gig?

A persistent drunken heckler who is impervious to wit,

humiliation, kindness and/or anger. An audience who haven’t
paid and weren’t really expecting comedy – these people are
frequently not even seated near you or facing in your direction.

Any tips on dealing with hecklers?

Engage them, give them enough rope and on very rare occasions
doff your cap.

What advice would you offer someone starting out in this business?

Try not to say anything on stage that you do not find funny; be
resilient; work hard; be selective about the advice you take; eat
vegetables; do not smoke as much as I do; and try and find the
happy land that exists between self-delusion and self-loathing.

*13 years

11. What other comics think 187

 12
Business
In this chapter you will learn:
• how to begin your career
• how to market yourself
• professional etiquette.

Probably only half of the day-to-day business of being a comedian

is involved with offering the public a funny, innovative act on
stage; the other half of your career will involve you managing
and exploiting any opportunities that will further your career.
This means you will have to develop good business practice very
quickly. As a comedian you will have to get used to being a one-
man or one-woman band. Ultimately, you are responsible for every
aspect of your career: publicity, networking, booking the gigs,
keeping an ear out for new opportunities – it all comes down
to you.

The most important practice in the business side of comedy –

and one which is true for any small business – is to be polite.
Be nice. No one wants to deal with selfish, rude people. Even if
you were the most obnoxious person in the world, a little bit of
enlightened self-interest should dictate that you should try to be
nice to your fellow performers and the promoters and bookers of
comedy clubs; after all these are the people with whom you will
have to work.

That being said, let’s look at the business side of comedy.

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How to get started

The benchmark for a new comic starting out is to make an

audience laugh for a mere five minutes. This is called an open spot.

THE OPEN SPOT

Usually, you will be performing before or after a professional

comedian who will be doing a 20-minute set. The reasoning behind
this is that if you make a complete hash of things, you won’t ruin
the evening completely. Some clubs put the open spots on right
at the beginning of the evening, which is foolish in my opinion,
because the audience isn’t warmed up properly and the club
promoter is taking a terrible risk of starting the evening on a
bad note if the open spot struggles.

THE HALF SPOT

Once you have proved to the club promoter that you are funny,
they may eventually ask you back to do a half spot. This could be
paid or unpaid depending on how stingy the promoter is. Chances
are you will get paid and by rights it should be half as much money
as the fee for doing a 20-minute slot. From the half spot, you will
eventually build your way up to a full, paid gig.

OPEN SPOT VENUES

There is a subset of gigs that have grown up around London and in

some of Britain’s other major cities that are called Open Spot Clubs.
These are clubs where all the acts are doing an unpaid, five-minute
performance, with the possible exception of the last act, who is
more established and will be getting some money. These open spot
clubs are a mixed blessing. On the one hand, they give you valuable
stage time, but on the other they can occasionally be poorly run.
Also, if the audience is packed out, and the club promoter is
charging five or six pounds on the door, the comedians can begin

12. Business 189

 to feel a little used if they see the promoter walking home with big
wads of cash from the fruits of their labour. That said, they are a
good place to practise your craft. These sorts of venues can be found
in the comedy section of listings magazines in most major cities.
They are recognizable as the shows that list nine or ten acts and will
usually have the helpful phrase: ‘Interested acts call the following
number…’ Call them up, get a gig and begin your apprenticeship.

It is easy for the new comic to put all their energies into open
spot gigs and fail to concentrate on proper venues that lead to
a career and (much more importantly at the beginning of your
career) getting paid. This is understandable; it can seem a hard
business, especially when the more established clubs only take
newer comedians by personal recommendation. The only thing you
can do is work your way slowly up the food chain, getting your
foot through the door and building up your reputation. You might
think it a hard, uphill struggle to get noticed, but take heart that
comedians and club promoters are very good at spreading the
word if they see someone who is new and funny. Comedy is a
very small world and news travels fast. But don’t let that stop
you from being proactive and helping the process along.

Learn to market yourself

One of the best ways to publicize yourself is to get out there and
blitz the clubs with really funny material until the promoters sit up
and notice. But be selective. Some comedians get so bitten by the
comedy bug that they will run around town, occasionally doubling
up at two or even three clubs in one evening. This could end up
offering you diminishing returns; after all, it is arguable how much
time you will have to process the information at the gigs if you are
running yourself ragged seven or eight times a week. Particularly
if you are still holding down a day job. So try to concentrate,
initially, on the better-run open spot clubs, especially if they are in
the habit of paying a closing act. Who knows? One day, you could
be that act. Some established clubs run open spot nights that are

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designed to encourage new acts to come up through the ranks. A
good gig here will often guarantee you a paid half spot (or at least
an open spot that will lead to a paid half spot) on one of their
regular club nights. A lot of research and pooling of shared
information is required of new comedians at the beginning of
their careers, so don’t be shy of swapping information with your
co-workers. Perhaps, after your initial flurry of performances, once
you begin to understand the lie of the land in your particular city
or area, you should draw up a plan of where you realistically want
to be playing in six months’ time then try to follow it through.

PUBLICITY

Think about having business cards with your phone number

(but not necessarily your address – you don’t want stalkers!) and
email address. Think about setting up a website with some nice
pictures that promoters can use for their publicity and, at the very
least, an upcoming gig list. Get someone to video you at a good
venue on a night when they have a big crowd and have it made
into a DVD showreel. I know of two comedians who landed
television jobs by having a good-quality tape of their first ever
stand-up performance.

Insight
Have a web presence. Can you buy your name as a web
domain? You will eventually need it.

Almost every comic I know has, at the very least, clips of

their act posted on YouTube. Most of them have also posted
collaborative clips of stupid sketches they’ve home-recorded.
They may not be doing this to market themselves, they just
want to show off, but several have got jobs out of it.

PHONING FOR WORK

Most of the hard work in this business involves phoning up and

asking for a gig. Often you will leave a message on someone’s
answer phone and not hear back, so after a few days you may

12. Business 191

 find you have to start the whole process all over again. If this is
the case, don’t start getting cross with the promoter or drop into
paranoia freefall imagining that everyone thinks you are terrible.
Just keep plugging away politely. Look at it from the promoter’s
point of view. Every day they receive hundreds of messages from
hundreds of new acts. Until they know you, or have heard of you,
you are just another name in the mix. It’s nothing personal, but
if they responded to every message, they would have no time to
eat or sleep. So keep your messages short, businesslike and polite.
There is no point getting an attitude just because someone hasn’t
returned your call. And the more exasperated you begin to sound
on your answer machine message, the less likely they will be to
phone you back.

Insight: be proactive
You have to pick up the phone if you want to perform. No
promoter is going to take the trouble of chasing down your
number and calling you…

Call promoters at a decent time. Some only like business calls in

the morning or (if they have a day job) the early evening. Pool
information with the other comics and find out when it’s best to
call. If you annoy or pester these people outside of their working
schedule, they will be less inclined to offer you work. Turn up at
their venue and introduce yourself (but only when they are having
a quiet moment!) so they can put a face to a name. Better still, get
a comedian that you know who is on the bill to introduce you.
You never know, an act may not turn up and you may get a chance
to take their place.

Look at the open forums on comedy websites. These might tell you
about up-and-coming venues. Or give you tips on how to approach
a particular club. But take all information on these public forums
with a pinch of salt – it’s just one person’s opinion. Similarly, on the
subject of forums, think very carefully before you post anything on
these sites. What you say could return to haunt you years later. Be as
opinionated as you like on stage, if it is getting laughs, but think twice
about this when you are in business mode. It pays to be circumspect.

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Etiquette

A good comic will be practically invisible before they step on stage.

Turn up to the venue, let the promoter know you have arrived and
then try to blend into the background. Here are a few golden rules:

Don’t demand a free drink (it happens).

Don’t snigger loudly and knowingly at another act having
a bad time.

Don’t talk at all while other acts are on stage and don’t pester
other comedians just before they are about to go onstage.

If you have brought some friends along for moral support,
then remember that any bad behaviour from them will
reflect poorly on you. If they are drunk, heckling or causing
a commotion and the promoter gets wind that they are with
you, then you will not be doing your career any favours.

Don’t have a drink before your set. It won’t calm your nerves;
it will just slow you down.

Don’t be tempted to have several drinks after your performance,
so that you have to be carried out of the venue at the end of the
evening. This is your workplace. Promoters need to be able to
see that you are dependable, reliable and responsible.

Do your time on stage

If you have been booked for five minutes, don’t do ten. If you
have been booked for ten, don’t do fifteen; even if you are being
outrageously funny, all you will be doing is cutting into the allotted
time of later comics and making the evening run later and later.
Most promoters would rather you did a really funny four and
a half minutes than a so-so seven minutes that started well, but
stuttered away to a poor finish. Be aware how quickly five or ten
minutes flies by. Do your homework and prepare your set. Don’t
be tempted to cram eight minutes of material into five – you will
only look rushed and you will still overrun.

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 If you have to cut it short because some improvised bits with the
audience have eaten into your allotted time, then just cut to a
strong closing joke. If you haven’t got time for that, then wrap up
with a loud and proud variation on: ‘Thank you. My name’s been
(FILL IN THE BLANK)! Thank you and goodnight!’ Acknowledge
the applause and leave.

One good way of keeping to time on stage is to buy a vibrating

watch with a stopwatch function and set it to your allotted time
just before you start. That way, your wrist will receive a silent
reminder of when it’s time to wrap up. Very few comedy clubs
have a prominent clock to tell the time by, and only the bigger
clubs have a discreet red light in the lighting rig to let you know
when your time is up. It is your job, and yours alone, to make sure
you keep to time.

Building your set

As time goes by, you will continue writing more and more new
material. Then there is the worry of trying it out and hoping that
it won’t mess up your existing set structure. This is less of a
problem than it seems, as even the stuff that you originally wrote
is evolving and growing all the time. This process is called
‘bedding down’ material. You are letting it grow and are starting
to inhabit it more and more. The only problem with fleshing out
your material and adding more and more funny asides is that you
may find that your tight ten-minute set very rapidly becomes a
joke-filled 13 or 14 minutes, so that you are constantly finding
that you have to shave bits off your set to fit the time slot you
have. With all of this happening, it can be difficult to know
where to try out completely new ideas and how to fit them into
your existing set structure. One solution is to jam an untested bit
between two parts of your set that always go down well. That
way if the audience don’t get it, you can always hit them with
something funny to get them back. Do make sure that you try out
newer stuff several times in several different ways before you finally

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give up on it – perhaps, like your older stuff, it too needs to be
‘bedded down’.

Take advantage of the relatively anonymous open spot clubs that

exist to try out new material (again, you might think of ‘topping’
and ‘tailing’ it with jokes that you know work, so that you are
giving the new stuff a fighting chance of a good reaction).

The way you order your subjects is entirely up to you. I would

firmly advise that you start your set strongly and make sure you
finish it with a bang. Apart from that, there is no hard and fast
rule. It’s probably a good idea to separate routines that are similar
or that rely on similar vocal tricks or rhythms. Always work on the
weakest parts of your set and attempt to polish them up. Is there
any dead-wood phrasing? If so, take it out. Are you being clear
enough? Is there a better punchline than the weak one you are
currently employing? If so, sharpen it up!

Are you losing the audience on the journey? If so, why? Perhaps it’s
as simple as missing out one simple bridging thought that would
carry them to the same conclusion that you have made.

Compèring
Here’s one final suggestion for the particularly brave comedian:
become a compère. Taking up the job of resident compère at a
particular club is a sure-fire way of allowing you to try out all the
new material you could ever think of. The trouble with compèring
(especially to the same regular crowd) is that it goes through your
material at a phenomenal rate. Pretty soon, you will hit a pain
barrier where you have run out of scripted stuff and you have
to rely purely on charm and your ability to come up with funny
afterthoughts. This is when a good stint at compèring a show
really starts to pay dividends for the individual comic. As a way of
forcing you to generate funny stuff under pressure, it has no equal.
As a way of training you up to deal with different audiences and

12. Business 195

 building up your confidence, it remains unsurpassed. Arguably
Eddie Izzard, Dominic Holland and Mark Lamarr would not be
the outstanding comedians they are today if they had not thrown
themselves whole-heartedly into the job of compèring regular
comedy venues, week in and week out, for months on end.

Beyond stand-up

There is no greater pleasure than hearing a whole room laugh

and know that you are responsible for that. But another pleasure
that comes a close second is the feeling of empowerment that this
business offers you. Producers and other entertainment-industry
people think, quite rightly, that if we can entertain a crowd with
our own thoughts, that we must be good writers. Also, they may
see you work and feel that perhaps you could present a TV or
radio show, or act in a sitcom, or do the warm-up for a funky new
panel show, or be part of the ‘ideas’ team for a new youth and
music show. The sky is the limit.

You may choose, once you are a little established, to work with
some other like-minded comics and form some sort of sketch
group. You may take a show up to the Edinburgh Festival and
gamble a few thousand pounds’ investment against the chance of
you winning awards and getting some television or radio interest
out of your project. Why not? Someone has to get noticed.

This is a business where you can’t help but endlessly reinvent

yourself; it is an industry that consciously encourages you to play
with new concepts and identities.

Look at any night of television and think of all the comedy writing
opportunities that present themselves; not just the obvious candidates
like sitcoms, but think of who writes the funny quips on the autocue
for the presenter to read out or all the funny put-downs that are
being whispered into the game show host’s earpiece. Someone is
writing all this stuff, and getting paid. Why shouldn’t it be you?

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Competitions

Over the past ten years there has been a rash of comedy
competitions. Some have become regular fixtures with huge
sponsorship, decent prize money and an international reputation;
some are little more than marketing exercises by individual comedy
clubs trying to drum up some interest (and an audience) during the
summer months.

WHY SHOULD YOU DO A COMPETITION?

Someone once said that talent competitions are essentially cruel

and unfair, unless you win. Certainly, this seems a hard enough
business without having the indignity of having your worth judged
on a particular five-minute performance on one particular night.
But if a competition has a good reputation, and if you feel ready
for it, then it may shave some time off your career plan should
you enter it and find yourself through to the finals. Of course,
what you have to be able to prove, once you’ve won, is that you
have another funny 15 or 20 minutes ready to back it up with.
Undeniably, some comedians have won these competitions far too
early in their careers and then have had the torture of trying to
please tough university crowds or late-night comedy clubs when
they haven’t had much material beyond a tight, funny five minutes.
That is a very deep hole to dig yourself out of.

But for a good strong comic who thinks they are ready,
a competition can be a good way for you to race ahead of
your peers and receive a well-earned publicity boost early on
in your career.

Just ask yourself some basic questions before you enter:

Has the competition got a good reputation?

What concrete goals are you hoping to get out of it?

Have you got a thick enough skin to deal with the paranoia
and ego-loss that competitions can engender?

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What is the prize? Is it cash? Is it a string of lucrative gigs?
If there isn’t a prize, then why are you putting in all this hard
work? Are the competition organizers just using you? (One
British comedian famously worked his way through all the
competition heats, finally gaining first place at the final, only
to be told that the prize was an open spot at a prestigious
Australian Comedy Club – but not the air fare to go with it.
That’s a long, expensive journey for five minutes.)

Who is organizing the competition? What are their
credentials?

Do you fit the competition’s guidelines? The competition
rules, for example, may exclude you from entering if you
admit to having too many paid gigs under your belt. (Many
foreign comedians have got through to the finals of prestigious
competitions by saying that they have only performed ‘x’
amount of shows in this country, but omitting to point out
that they have worked professionally for several years in their
own country.)

It may sound hopelessly optimistic, but if you are funny then

eventually your talent will get recognized. A competition may speed
up this process, but it is not the massive watershed in your career
that you may feel it to be at the time. It is only a means to an end –
and that end is to climb a little higher up the comedy career ladder.

Festivals

Every year many comedians in Britain and all over the world move
en masse to the Scottish capital during the month of August for
the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. What began after the Second World
War as a small experimental arts festival has grown – especially
over the last 25 years – into a huge trade show for the comedy
industry. Thousands of pounds can be thrown at an individual
show in the hope that a ‘buzz’ builds up around it and that a TV
production company, a commissioning editor or radio producer
will realize the show’s potential and offer you a big, fat contract.

198
In a festival where the average audience size is four men and a dog,
though, there is obviously a lot of scope for disappointment and
near-bankruptcy. A good Edinburgh Festival can do the individual
performer the power of good. Each year, some maverick show,
held together with bits of string and no budget to speak of, will
become the people’s favourite. But, annoyingly, a show that is
just as funny may sink without trace simply because it’s on at the
wrong venue or the wrong time.

If you want to take the gamble and you think you have a good
show then give it a go. But bear in mind the following things.

EVERYONE IN EDINBURGH MAKES MONEY

APART FROM YOU

Rents quadruple; venues hire out their spaces by the hour, charging
more for peak-time slots; publicists will insist you hire them,
otherwise no one will know your show exists; you must have
enough posters and leaflets to cover you for an entire month;
you may need to hire people to leaflet for you (the big comedy
companies hire a team of about 20 people to leaflet all their shows;
even if you have the funniest show in the world, your leaflet will be
lost under a pile of their glossy brochures).

CHOOSE A GOOD VENUE AND A GOOD TIME

Research both these things very carefully.

Be aware that to be considered a contender you will have to

produce a 55-minute show to fit the hour slot you have booked.
That doesn’t have to be a solo show; often newer comics will gang
together to produce a two-, three- or even four-person show for
their first Edinburgh Festival. That way they can all split the costs.

CHECK OUT THE EDINBURGH FRINGE WEBSITE

The website offers lots of invaluable advice for the first timer.
Check it out if you are interested.

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 Insight
A good Edinburgh Festival will do wonders for your career.
But even a so-so time can expand your circle of contacts, lead
to many more working opportunities and generally enhance
your working reputation. You may find that you are invited
to other comedy festivals all over the world on the back
of someone seeing you do a particularly good show at the
Fringe Festival.

OTHER COMEDY FESTIVALS

Other major international festivals include the Montreal Comedy

Festival and the Adelaide Comedy Festival. These are usually
festivals that comedians are invited to by the organizers once they
have reached a certain level. At this point, a comedian’s agent will
be called and negotiations will begin.

Britain can offer some nice festival experiences outside of

Edinburgh, and ones that seem a little less ‘closed-shop’ than
some of the international festivals. Glastonbury Festival has
included a dedicated comedy marquee for several years now –
if you like music festivals, then it’s not a bad working holiday.
Reading Festival used to have a comedy tent, but you were always
competing with the main stage bands to be heard. Several big
towns like Brighton, Leicester and occasionally Newcastle run their
own comedy festivals. None as yet have the same kudos as the
Edinburgh Festival, and they are all much shorter affairs, but they
are all very professionally run and are well thought of by comics.

Insight: never rest on your laurels

What’s your next goal and how can you best achieve it?

Agents and managers

An agent is someone who, for a percentage of the fee for the
work you receive through him or her, will actively seek out work
for you.

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A manager is someone who will traditionally have a more ‘hands
on’ approach to your career. They may micro-manage every aspect
of your professional career. For this service they often (but not
always) charge a higher percentage of commission for any work
that you receive through their offices.

Most comedians would bite their right arm off to have either an
agent or a manager. They imagine that this miraculous person will
somehow push their career into the stratosphere, or at the very
least they will do all the phoning around and booking of gigs.
Having an agent or manager seems like the Holy Grail for some
comedians. Having one means that we feel someone is fighting our
corner. It is heartening to know, despite all the knock-backs that
we receive in this business, that someone has enough belief in us
that they think they can make enough money out of their 15 or
20 per cent commission to live on.

Comedians should always remember that although they may

be friends with their agent or manager, theirs is primarily a
professional relationship. If at any time it is not working out
between you, you should both have the freedom to sever your ties.

An agent or manager should help your career in ways that you

are unable to. They may agree to look after your work diary and
book in all your gigs (although, in most people’s experience that
is a rarity). They should send you out for castings that you would
otherwise never have heard of; set up meetings with people who
may be able to help you; suggest ways of publicizing yourself or
how best to put a showreel together; or they may be able to push pet
projects of yours forward when you feel you have hit a brick wall.

The most important thing that an agent or manager can do is to

negotiate for more money on your behalf. This means that you can
avoid arguing with promoters or production companies over your
worth. You look after the creative side of things; they look after
the financial.

Some comedians think that they can relax completely once they
have someone working for them, but this is a mistake. You must be

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 as proactive and driven as you were earlier on in your career –
think of the agent/manager as another resource for you to utilize.
They will not work by themselves – they need your input to help
guide your career.

So be proactive!

The ideal person to look after your interests is someone who is very
keen on you, young and hungry for success. They should, ideally,
have lots of industry contacts. If an agent or manager has too many
acts on their books, or a stable of very well-established household
names and you, then you might legitimately wonder how much
time they can devote to your cause.

Remember
Nice as it is to have someone to organize things for you, the
person best placed to manage your career is probably you.

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 5 THINGS TO REMEMBER
1 Do the time you are booked for. Don’t do more as this will
be cutting into someone else’s time; don’t do less, as this
will leave a hole in the evening’s proceedings that someone
else has to fill.

2 Getting gigs and marketing yourself is just as important as

making people laugh.

3 Perseverance is just as important as talent.

4 Set yourself reasonable, achievable goals for the next stage of

your career.

5 You might have to work for free to begin with, but you should
never have to pay money to perform. Avoid ‘pay to play’ gigs.
They are toxic!

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 13
Your first gig
In this chapter you will learn:
• how to prepare for your first show
• how to behave on the night
• what to do after the gig.

Don’t be scared. This is what all your preparation has been leading
up to. You should feel excited that you are taking the first step in
your new vocation.

Booking the gig

The hardest part when you begin, arguably, is to pick up the phone
and try to convince a complete stranger to offer you a five-minute
slot at their club. The easiest way to do this is to look at a local
listings magazine and make a list of the comedy clubs that you’d
like to play and that you could realistically expect to play (you may
want to play at the Comedy Store in London – but, initially, you
probably aren’t quite ready yet!). Do some research and check out
which venues you think you’d enjoy playing and then phone them
up. Some people like to have a marathon session on the phone and
book in lots of gigs. This is probably the best strategy; otherwise
you will have a very sparse gig diary. It is much better to have your
second and third gigs lined up after your first show so that you can
keep up the momentum. Some venues book months in advance,
some a few weeks, so be prepared to drum your fingers for a while
once you feel you are ready to unleash yourself on the world.

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Once you are booked in, continue doing your research: return to the
venue on several different nights and try to get a flavour of what the
club is like. What’s the crowd usually like? Have they got a regular
compère? What is his or her style like? Ideally, by the time your gig
rolls around, you should be champing at the bit to get on stage.

Three or four days before the gig

Bullet point your set and keep familiarizing yourself with the order
of jokes. Make sure that you have something up your sleeve to
say just in case you forget what your next joke is. Keep reminding
yourself that, although your jokes are very important, the audience
will have a much better time if they think you are having a good
time, so don’t become too tunnel-visioned about the experience.

Say your set out loud, at normal volume, when you are alone.
Perform in front of a mirror. If you have a very close trusted friend,
perform to just that one person. The comedian and writer Sally
Holloway is of the belief that if you can communicate your jokes
to just one person, you can probably convey these thoughts to an
entire room. If you do try out your stuff in front of close friends,
then by all means accept any constructive criticism they offer; but
do remember that you are the one, ultimately, who is in charge.

Time yourself! If you have been booked for five, aim for about four
and a half minutes of material – with laughter that should take it to
around five minutes. If you can, buy a vibrating wristwatch, then
familiarize yourself with it until turning it on seems like second
nature to you.

The day before the gig

Run through your stuff. Then relax and do something that’s fun.
Reward yourself. Decide what you are going to wear. Eat good
food. Don’t drink heavily the night before – it will slow you down

13. Your first gig 205

 up to 24 hours later. Try not to give in to the rising sense of panic
that you are experiencing.

Every comedian has felt exactly as jittery as you do before their

first performance, so consider yourself in very good company.

On the day of the gig

Try not to panic. Rest assured that, no matter how much you
imagine in your head how the experience will go, it will turn out
to be completely different; so try to keep yourself flexible.

If it’s a weekend you probably won’t want to do anything too

taxing or too far from home: you’ll be too preoccupied with the
evening’s show. Eat well, but lightly. Drink plenty of fluids! Try
not to eat two hours before the show. If you grab a sandwich half
an hour before you go on stage it will slow you down.

If the show is during the week then try to bury yourself in work
(in other words, keep yourself occupied). Perhaps think about your
set during lunch, but don’t fret about it too much. You should
know it backwards by now, if you have been rehearsing. Keep
relaxed and quell any surges of adrenaline by stretching your legs,
yawning and so on.

On the evening of the gig

Get to the venue in very good time. Introduce yourself to whoever

is running the club. Then keep out of their way or offer to help out
if they need a hand. Check out the room. Ask for a sound check –
politely! Do exactly what you feel you have to to get into your
performance ‘head space’: walk around the block for a breath
of fresh air or retire to a corner with your own thoughts. Some

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comedians become very gregarious before a performance, some
retreat into themselves. So don’t worry about how the others on
the bill are treating you. It’s nothing personal if they appear rude;
it’s simply that they are also trying to get their head together.
Remind yourself that the only important relationship that you have
on this particular evening is with the audience – not with your
fellow comedians.

Try not to think of your set once the audience starts coming in.
Trust that it will all be there when the time comes.

Perhaps you would like to buy a drink to wet your lips when you
are on stage. Most comedians would advise against something
alcoholic. My own personal preference is water with the tiniest drop
of lime cordial in it to make my mouth water if it starts to go dry.

Relax. Warm up, if you need to. Collect your thoughts. Watch the
crowd. Try to get a feel for them. Ask the compère how long they
are likely to do before they introduce you.

On stage

This is your first gig! Well done, you! As you move towards the
stage, remember to smile and enjoy the sensation of having jumped
out of an aeroplane without a parachute.

Look as if you are in charge and, if it suits your persona,

look relaxed.

Take your time. Keep relaxed. Don’t race through the
audience’s laughter.

Talk to the audience, not at them.

Enjoy everything that happens on stage.

Finish with one of your best jokes. If appropriate, finish with
a nice, big energy. Acknowledge the applause; it’s the
audience’s way of thanking you.

13. Your first gig 207

 After the gig

Don’t retreat to the bar and drink yourself insensible with relief.
You are still at work. Notice how much more communicative
comedians become after they have performed – this might be a
good opportunity to swap notes.

Make sure, either during the interval or after the show, to get
some feedback from the club promoter. Ask if they’d like you back.
Don’t do that terrible, middle-class thing of half-apologizing for
your own performance. You won’t do yourself any favours if you
had a great time and then say (out of false modesty) ‘I thought
that could have gone better…’ Be nice. Even if the promoter isn’t
(most are).

Remember to go through your set after the gig. What worked?

What didn’t go down as well as you expected? Did you improvise
any funny lines that could be incorporated into your set?

Try to get some sleep despite the massive high you are feeling.
Congratulate yourself. You have just done a very scary thing.

Insight
If the sense of elation afterwards outweighs the sense of
nagging doom you felt beforehand, then you probably owe
it to yourself to do it again.

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 5 THINGS TO REMEMBER
1 Almost everyone in the audience wants you succeed.

2 All you have to do is make people laugh and you have been
doing that socially most of your adult life.

3 Research the space you will be performing in. The more you
know about the space, the happier you will be on stage.

4 Eat well and sleep well on the days running up to the

performance. A hangover may not be the best idea.

5 Excuse yourself politely if other nervous performers try to

hijack your attention before the show. Make time (and space)
for you!

13. Your first gig 209

 14
The future
The party always moves on.
Hakim Bey

Each generation feels that it is reinventing comedy, when in actual

fact, with the aid of hindsight, we can see that it has just been
rediscovering it. Each generation feels it is leading a revolution
against the mainstream, and then is slightly surprised when a
newer generation comes along and calls them complacent and
reactionary. So it goes. Back in the early 1980s, modern comedy
in Britain was born out of alternative comedy: a political comedy
that promised to be non-sexist, non-racist and tried to ignore easy
stereotypes. The next generation saw this as too worthy or too
confining and introduced the concept of ‘ironic’ sexism or racism.
Doubtless, the people who follow will rebel against irony.

No comedian ever feels that they are part of a movement. They are
just one person learning, with each passing gig, how to become a
better comic. The comedian is the ultimate outsider, asking their
audience to question the absurdity of all the things we do.

But, in one sense, we do all belong to a very small, select gang

of people who have, through the centuries, had the guts to stand
up before a group of strangers and make them laugh. Sixty million
people live in the British Isles, out of which 1,000–2,000 are
(at the time of writing) attempting to carve out a career in
comedy; only 500–600 are working with any regularity. That is

210
quite an exclusive club (much more exclusive than the Freemasons
or a private members club). And we have an open-door policy –
anyone can join, provided they can prove that they can make
audiences laugh.

Comedy encourages us to continue playing with ideas in a way that

most people aren’t allowed to. We get to make complete fools of
ourselves; we ask the audience to come along with us for the ride;
we get to say the things that other people wish they’d said and we
often find that they find us damned sexy at the same time!

Stand-up keeps us playing with ideas for our entire working lives.

All creativity comes out of play – so keep playing!

What a vibrant, living art form this is: what other profession would
have such a broad church of fellow performers – from hacks to
visionaries? What other job would offer such extremes of emotions
and achievement, from slinking off stage, humiliated, to raising the
roof at a thousand-seat venue?

What a brilliant, dangerous, exhilarating, entertaining way to

spend your life.

Countless people have had an absolute blast in this business.

Now it’s your turn.

14. The future 211

 Appendix 1: group games
Group games force you to think on your feet and ‘up’ your
performance at the same time. They stop you becoming too
cerebral and encourage you to let go and enjoy yourself. If you
are lucky enough to be working with a group of other comedians,
feel free to try the games listed below.

Some basic guidelines for the following games:

Try to keep yourself open and responsive to your partner

or partners.

Listen to what they are saying so that you can react to them.

Don’t feel you have to force yourself to be funny.

Rely on your basic human communication skills.

Don’t put yourself in charge if you are working with someone
else. React to them rather than try to direct them.

Try, metaphorically, to say ‘yes’ to every offer, rather than
saying ‘no’.

And finally (and not wishing to sound overly pessimistic),
it is OK to fail. That’s the only way we learn.

Learn to let go!

Some people hate performance games. They feel that they are
being foolish for no good reason; some idiot (me, if they’re in my
class) has even told them not to try to be funny. That makes them
even crosser: ‘Why am I doing a comedy workshop that doesn’t
encourage me to be funny?’

Often people can feel at sea because they are being asked to
step outside the usual role that they have given themselves. We
pigeonhole ourselves as the responsible homeowner, the concerned

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citizen, Mr or Ms Sensible, the ‘cool’ person, or whatever persona
we think fits us. As the years roll by, we become very comfortable
with this mask and feel exposed if we are told to put it away and
do something new. Try to remember that the ‘mask’ isn’t you and
that you are much more than the labels you give yourself. If you
cut away every definition that you have built up around yourself,
there would still be an infinite amount of you left. That is the part
of you that contains the funny ideas; we are trying to uncover the
playful you, not the sensible you.

With that in mind, you may find that some of these performance
exercises work better in larger groups: a larger group tends to
legitimize the madness; if everyone else is behaving like an idiot,
then the individual can be carried along by the rest. There is
also a certain anonymity provided by groups: the individual can
merge into the mass of others, safe in the knowledge that they
don’t stand out.

So, if you find yourself working in a smaller group, try to be

sensitive to what the other people are doing. It is easy to allow a
bit of negativity to open the gates of paranoia. If you think you are
being judged, your creativity will shut down. If you do that, your
social editor will have won.

If you are the sort of person who feels self-conscious during these
games, then you can always take heart that, ultimately, no one
cares what you do. Everyone else is just as worried as you are. You
will see other people do really funny things one moment and then
fail at something the next. You will probably do it too. But try to
remember, in the same way that you don’t really care about other
people’s failures (except to learn by them) and you only really
celebrate their successes in the workshop, they feel the same way
about you and your successes and failures. If we didn’t take a risk
and occasionally fall flat on our faces, then we would never learn
anything. So, try to be bold and learn to throw yourself into things.

Similarly, if that little social controller in your head asks why

is everyone running around behaving like fools and you can’t

Appendix 1: group games 213

 convince it that messing around is its own reward, then remind
yourself that you are just warming up into the business of comedy.
These performance games are just there to limber you up. Have
you ever seen the film The Karate Kid? At the beginning of the
film the young hero desperately wants to learn karate, but all
his teacher will let him do is clean the car, to get him used to
basic martial art moves. So he spends days, just putting wax on
the car and taking wax off the car until the movements are second
nature to him.

Well, that is what we are doing in a lot of these performance

games. You may not necessarily get many stand-alone jokes out
of it (although I’m willing to bet you will make other people in
the group laugh a lot) but, most importantly, you will be exercising
your comedy muscles.

Warming up

Make sure you have a good yawn and stretch to minimize the risk
of pulling any muscles. Comedians are notoriously unfit, so don’t
feel that you are about to tackle an Olympic event. It should go
without saying that you should have your hands free, so refrain
from lighting up a crafty fag during the performance games.
Also, turn off your mobile phone to minimize distractions.

In the same way that you free up your body, try to free up your
mind. Forget about any worries you may have had before the
games and concentrate on just them. The comedian Martin
Beaumont has a wonderful phrase for clearing your head. He
calls it ‘Etch-a-Sketch Head’: just shake all those loose thoughts
out and try to present us with a blank canvas. We need you to be
‘here and now’ when trying out these games, not lost in the past
(an angry phone conversation five minutes before) or thinking
ahead (will the shops still be open when you’re finished?).
You have set this time aside to work on your comedy, so enjoy
the moment.

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Warm up games

NAMING EVERYTHING

Imagine you are God on the first day of creation, naming

everything. Point at every object you can see and name it with
great authority. Do it with enthusiasm. Most people are a little
casual to begin with and have to be encouraged to be a little bit
more energized. So try to ‘rev’ yourself up when doing this.

Then, once you are happy with your energy level, repeat the
exercise giving everything the wrong name. Try to have the same
degree of authority that you had the first time.

PUTTING YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS IN DIFFERENT

PARTS OF YOUR BODY

Walk around the room and try to think where your sense of self
exists in your body. Do you feel you live in your head? The ancient
Chinese thought that the seat of consciousness rested in the belly;
some native American tribes ascribed the attribute of courage to the
bowels. Is that any stranger than the common western belief that we
exist between our ears? The brain is the most complicated part of the
nervous system, but that system extends all through your body. Yet
we have all seen people who live entirely in their heads. Their body’s
movement seems clumsy and ungraceful, like it’s an afterthought.

Let’s try putting our sense of self in different locations in

our bodies.

Walk around the room as if your whole sense of self existed in

your forehead. How does that make your body behave? Do you
feel more earnest? More deliberate? Slower?

Move your sense of self to the eyes. Does this make you more wide-
eyed and innocent? Or suspicious? How do you react to the world
(and other people) if your whole sense of self comes from the eyes?

Appendix 1: group games 215

 Once you have explored that, move to your nose: feel the air
passing in and out of your nostrils; try to become aware of any
subtle tangs or scents in the air. How does this nose-person
behave? Are they snooty? Inquisitive? How do they behave if
the nose is where their sense of self resides?

What about your chin?

Put your whole sense of self into your chest, then your belly,
then your bum. If you are working in a group, make someone
the temporary boss and have them shout out other areas of the
body: ‘Shoulders!’ or ‘Feet!’ or ‘The top of your head!’ You
will probably find your behaviour and movement alters greatly.
When it’s at the top of your head you may find yourself becoming
‘floaty’ or dithery; when it’s in your belly, you may feel more solid
or grounded.

It must be stressed that this is just a warm-up. No one is going to

ask you to do this for 20 minutes on a comedy stage. We are just
playing with notions of physicality. If the game gets you out of
your head and into your body a little bit more, then it will have
achieved its purpose.

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME

Someone needs to nominate themselves as boss to point and click

their fingers at someone so that they know it’s their turn.

The first person chosen names someone famous. The next person
pointed to has to name another famous person whose first name
begins with the same letter that the previous famous person’s
surname started with. (Single word names are allowed.) So it might
be something like:

Kevin Bacon – Basil Fawlty – Felicity Kendal –

Keira Knightley – Kevin Spacey – Simon Schama –
Sean Connery – Clive of India – Indira Gandhi –
Gerald Ford – Francis Ford Coppola

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There must be no repetitions and no hesitations otherwise you
are out of the game.

The last one standing wins.

The comic Martin Beaumont also uses a variation on this game

where people have to think laterally about a subject. Again,
someone is ‘boss’ to point at the next victim, but this time the
next person has to think of something that incorporates the last
word. It will make more sense through demonstration:

Someone might say ‘table top’ so the next person has to

start something using the last word, for example ‘top gun’.
The next person has to use ‘gun’, so they might come up with
‘gun fire’, the next person comes up with ‘fire alarm’, then
‘alarm bells’, then ‘Bell’s Palsy’. Good luck to the next one in
that particular game! (I suppose you could say ‘palsy victim’ at
a pinch…) Again, any hesitations or repetitions get you kicked
out of the game.

GREETING EACH OTHER AS DIFFERENT PEOPLE

(A group activity that could be altered to a solo game if you don’t

mind staring at yourself in a mirror.)

Once you are happy enough letting go of your physical inhibitions,

make someone temporary boss again and have them shout out
descriptions of the type of people you should try to become.
Here are a few popular favourites:

Everyone has to be incredibly hungover and then desperately

try to hide the fact from everyone else in the group.

Everyone has to treat everyone else in the room as if
they are a bit insane and they, themselves, are trying to be
very understanding.

Everyone is an undercover police officer trying to buy drugs
at a rock festival – unfortunately, they aren’t very good at
pretending to be ‘with it’.

Appendix 1: group games 217


You know that everyone in the group fancies you and, quite
frankly, you have had enough.

Everyone greets each other as if they were a children’s performer.

Everyone is incredibly patronizing towards one another.

Everyone is incredibly fearful that each person they meet
might be the murderer that they ‘know’ is in the room.

Everyone thinks that they are the person in charge of the
room and suspects that everyone else is getting ideas above
their station.

Everyone is a massive fan of everyone they meet.

Everyone suffers from very low self-esteem.

Everyone is the geekiest, nerdiest person in the world,
attempting to be ‘cool’.

Everyone loathes one another, but because they are at a family
gathering, they have to give each other a hug.

Everyone has a shameful secret that they think everyone they
meet is hinting at. It’s making them increasingly paranoid.

Everyone is a physical coward trying to assert themselves to
everyone they meet.

I’m sure you could think of lots of other suggestions once you get
going. I find this a great way to warm-up and wake up a group.
Some of the suggestions on the list work on the principle of saying
one thing and revealing another. It is almost always funny to watch
performers ‘unwittingly’ reveal things about themselves, like the
male comedian who tells you he is a devil with women, but is
clearly terrified of any encounter. So remember, even though this
game is just a warm-up, the comedian can always generate a lot
of laughs saying one thing, while revealing another – therefore
be ready to jot down any funny lines that appear out of nowhere
during this game.

‘ IT WASN ’ T ME ’

This is a game to turn everyone into very bad, melodramatic

actors. Once again, the aim is to make the individual lose some of
their social inhibitions. This game can never be played too big or
too loud. But remember not to strain your voices.

218
Everyone gets into a circle. Pretend that every acting agent and
theatrical booker is watching and that each of you is determined
to make an impression on them. One person begins by shouting
out some ‘hammy’ melodramatic variation of the line: ‘It wasn’t
me… It was them.’ They then shift the blame to someone else in
the circle who must be even more over the top with their delivery.
They may be shocked by the accusation or deny it vehemently,
but however they feel they must shift the blame to someone else
as soon as possible, with something like: ‘It couldn’t have been me!
It must have been them!’ while pointing at someone else.

The rest of the circle, mindful that every casting agent in the
room is also watching them, must act their little socks off too;
gasping and accusing everyone, voicing outrage and shock in equal
measures, like some demented chorus.

You will know if you are doing this game correctly because it will
feel like a bad costume drama on steroids.

‘ IT WAS ME AND … ’

This is the follow-up to the previous game. It has exactly the same
dynamic and requires everyone in the circle to continue to be very
bad actors. This time, however, instead of denying the crime,
each individual confesses to the crime (to everyone else’s shock or
dismay); but they explain that they only did it because someone
else threatened them with something horrible if they didn’t do it.
Having thus successfully shifted the blame from themselves they
can join the frenzy of denunciation visited on the new person.
Until obviously, they blame someone else.

In this game we are saying ‘yes, and…’, whereas in the previous

version we were saying a resounding ‘no’ (‘It wasn’t me!’). Each
game will be different, but it might go something like this:

Person 1: Yes! I admit it! I did run over his foot. And I’d do it
again, I tell you. But the only reason why I ran over his foot
in the first place was because she (pointing at someone across
the room) held a loaded gun to my head!

Appendix 1: group games 219

 (Gasps and exhortations from the crowd)

Person 2: Yes! I held a gun against their temple, but I’m not
a naturally violent person. I only did it because he (shifts
blame) said he would microwave my hamster if I didn’t.

(Grown men fainting; the sound of gnashing of teeth and

general overacting)

Person 3: Big deal! So I wanted to chuck her little verminous

rodent in a microwave. So what? And, anyway, I only did it
because she (pointing away) threatened to beat me with sticks
if I didn’t.

(Screams of ‘Vile criminal!’ and ‘Burn the monster!’ are heard

from the crowd)

Well, I’m sure you get the picture. It is a great game for lifting
people out of themselves and getting them to flirt with the idea of
using extreme attitudes.

After 10 or 15 ‘turns’ you can always get the next ‘criminal’ to sit
down (still in the circle) so that they can continue to be the chorus,
but aren’t eligible for being chosen again, until everyone has had a
chance to try to worm their way out of these hideous crimes.

The last one standing is obviously guilty and should be treated with
extreme caution for the rest of the day.

Creativity games

INNOCENT OR GUILTY

This is another circle game, like the previous two. Each person
has to think of a general question, such as: ‘Do they like cheese?’;
‘Were they rubbish at sports at school?’; or ‘Are they a good
swimmer?’ Don’t reveal your question! Each person then has to

220
step into the circle, look everyone in the eye in turn and with
as much attitude as they can summon up (as if they were judge
and jury), answer the question that they have devised, pronouncing
judgement on each person they face. The people who are being
judged must take it on the chin.

So the person who is pronouncing judgement might say: ‘Yes.

Never. No. All the time. Wants to, but can’t…’, and so on. It
can be quite funny, because the rest of us have no idea what the
question is and are desperately trying to make a pattern out of
the information we are provided with.

One of the strengths of the exercise, apart from playing with

attitudes, is that it forces the comedian to take charge. They must
make a choice and be definite. The players soon lose our interest
if they become wishy-washy.

If you are in the circle, waiting for your turn, watch the
relationship between the ‘judge’ and the ‘accused’. Often you
will see them reacting to each other’s signals. The ‘judge’ may
say, dismissively, ‘No. Never!’ and the ‘accused’ might hang their
head in shame and silently nod in agreement. The ‘judge’ then
bestows one final look and walks away in disgust. Later we
might find that the question was as innocuous as ‘Do they like
eggs in the morning?’ but they have played it up as if it is a life
sentence being bestowed. This or indeed any playing up is to
be encouraged.

Similarly, if it is your turn, try to make eye contact with your next
victim and savour the moment. Don’t rush through it, eager to be
finished. You are the one in charge, so take charge. A comedian is
paid money to play, not to be timid.

COLD READING

This is another circle game. It is the more advanced sister exercise

to the previous game. Don’t try it unless you feel that everyone has
stopped being timid.

Appendix 1: group games 221

 In this game each person has to think of a general category that
they want to apply to everyone in the group; feel free to make it as
specific as you like. Again, you must keep it to yourself. Here is a
list of some of the things people have come up with in the past:

What is their favourite magazine?

How many people have they slept with?

What would they have for breakfast?

What sort of comic book character do they remind you of?

What is their least favourite activity?

How will they die?

What year do you think they should have been born in?

What was the last kind act this person performed?

Then, as in the previous game, every person takes a turn going into
the middle and making up an answer, without ever revealing their
question. The trick is to be definitive and to show bags of attitude.
Relish each moment when you get to pronounce on any given
individual. In this game you are pretending to be absolutely sure of
your ability to ‘read’ these people. If you can’t pick up anything,
leave them for the moment and return to them later. Take your time
and don’t worry about the clock; say exactly what you want about
these people. Do remember that no one cares what you say; they
certainly won’t be hurt or offended. Everyone knows that it is made-
up rubbish; they all just want to be entertained. So make sure your
little social controller is well and truly turned off when playing this.

One unintended side benefit to this game is that it can, sometimes,

reveal what sort of ‘vibe’ you are giving off. If people are generally
indicating through their pronouncements that you seem to be very
nice and very middle class, or a bit of a hippy or come across as a
bit of a ‘geezer’, then this is useful information that you can use as a
comic – either by playing up to it or subverting it. It is always useful,
especially as a newer comic, to have an insight into how others see us.

But the main aim of this game is to get you to make up complete,
opinionated observations about other people. Remember, your
opinions count to the audience. Even if, as in the case of this game,

222
they are made up on the spur of the moment, with little or no hard
evidence to back them up.

As an exercise in cold reading, this is a game that you can play by

yourself next time you are sitting in a pub or café. Just give yourself
a category and jot down, in your notebook, how each person in the
place would respond to your criteria. Try to be discreet. You don’t
want anyone to think you are staring them out!

YES/NO

(A group activity, although it could be adapted for just two people.)

This is another circle game. The person who starts will turn to
the person on their left and the two of them will have a whole
conversation just using the words ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. It might go
like this:

‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes!’
‘No…’
‘Yes!’
‘No…’
‘YES!’
‘…Yes…’

Or it might be as short as:

‘No?’
‘Yes!’

As soon as the person who initially responded (i.e. the one on the
left) feels the conversation is at a close they turn to the person to
their left and initiate a totally new, totally different dialogue.

This is a good game for getting people to turn off the bit of them
that wants to take over and take charge, because it encourages you

Appendix 1: group games 223

 to react. It is also worth doing because it so limits the vocabulary;
the people doing it really have to work to communicate their
message to each other and to us, the audience.

Watch how many full stories or encounters come out of these

scenes when people are limited to only two words. A lot of
them will be very satisfying to watch, some will even make you
laugh, but almost all of them (unless the players get scared and
decide not to listen to each other) will have a beginning, a middle
and a conclusion. It is almost as if, when humans turn off their
conscious selves and simply react, they can’t stop themselves
from telling stories. Perhaps the gift of narrative is hard-wired
into the brain.

CHANNEL HOPPING

This is an old improvisation game. The group is split in half:

one half is the audience, while the other half performs. Someone
is elected boss and kneels in front of the group of performers,
who have to choose a TV programme to act out. When the boss
points and clicks at them they must act out that show to the best
of their ability until the finger points and clicks at someone else.
The boss’s choices should be completely random so that the
performers don’t know what is going to be next or for how long
they will have to speak; all the performers should be ready to
go at any time.

Once the performing group has had a fair crack of the whip, they
can sit down and the other half of the group gets to perform. Feel
free to choose films instead of TV programmes if you want.

This is a great exercise for the individual in learning to let go.

All they have to do is ‘switch on’ when they are pointed at and to
keep talking and acting until the boss moves on. Often very funny
moments can arise out of juxtaposition, but that is just a bonus.
The real benefit of this game is that it helps us get used to coming
up with ideas out of nothing, it helps us concentrate better and
sanctions us to behave foolishly.

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 THREE-HEADED EXPERT

(You need at least four people to do this one; ideally more, so that
someone can be the audience.)

This is an old improvisation game I was taught decades ago. You

could use it as a follow-up exercise to the previous game.

Three people sit next to each other in a row and an elected boss
kneels in front of them, ready to direct the action by pointing and
finger clicking different people.

These three people are going to be one personality with three

heads, lecturing their audience (if there is one) as if they are a
leading authority in their field. Give them a stupid lecture title, such
as ‘Why bananas are evil’, but don’t give them any time to prepare.

Each individual person has to pick up the other person’s sentence

whenever it is their turn (even if it’s mid-word) and still ensure that
the lecture makes sense. It forces people to be quick on their feet
and also helps them realize that they don’t have to hold on to some
precious idea that they are desperately trying to crowbar into the
lecture. If the next person goes off on a tangent then the three-
headed expert has to merrily go down that avenue, even if you had
just thought up a great gag to resolve the previous thought. Tough!
You aren’t in charge. Learn to let go.

Like the previous game, the boss’s choices of who to point at next
should be random. He or she may only let you get a couple of
words out, or you may get a couple of sentences – whichever it is,
learn to let go of the sentence when the finger clicks on someone
else; try not to race to the end of the thought.

Here is an example of a good way of playing this game:

Head 1: Bananas are evil because…

(click)
Head 3: …they are the only fruit…
(click)

Appendix 1: group games 225

 Head 1: …made by evil dwarves who live in the land of…
(click)
Head 2: …Milton Keynes. We know they are evil because…
(click)
Head 1: …they live in…
(click)
Head 3: …Milton Keynes.

It is satisfying because we like watching the three picking up on

each other’s cues and running with their suggestions. These three
have also probably made us smile by collectively deciding that
Milton Keynes is the home of cosmic evil.

Here is an example of a bad way of playing that same game:

Head 1: Bananas are evil because they…

(click)
Head 3: …evil because they are the only fruit…
(boss clicks at Head 1, but Head 3 carries on for
a moment, unwilling to give up on their idea)
(rushed) …that is yellow…
Head 1: (not too sure what the last word is) …er…yellow
and curved like a…
(click)
Head 2: (thinks it safer to repeat the previous couple of
words to give them some ‘think’ time)
...Ooh, um, like a big evil…
(click)
Head 1: (trying to save the dialogue by taking control)
They are evil because they are sent here by
aliens…
(boss clicks at Head 3, but again, Head 1 is
reluctant to let go)
…from Alpha Centauri (recognizes that he/she has
overrun again) Sorry!
Head 3: Sorry? What was the last word?

The whole illusion has broken down. Our egos and our hesitancy
have let us down.

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 INTRODUCING EACH OTHER WITH LOVE

The group is the audience while each person stands before them
and introduces the next person with an overwhelming sense of
love, as if they are their biggest fan. Their adoration must border
on the obsessive. The last person in the group introduces the first
person, at which point you can begin the next game (‘Introducing
each other with hate’).

This is a good game to highlight what can happen if you are

playing with an extreme attitude. It’s amazing how often funny
ideas come out of nowhere if the comedian is absolutely clear what
specifically they are supposed to be doing and what attitude they
should be playing. As with every exercise, you must be bold and
take risks. Nothing is to be gained by the performer emotionally
freezing and mumbling, ‘Here’s the next act…’ The only outcome
to ‘bailing’ on any exercise is that the rest of us will see how not
to do it. That isn’t a bad lesson to learn, as an observer, but it is a
wasted opportunity for the performer.

If the participants can beg, borrow or steal a real microphone

and sound system for this game and the next one, then so much
the better. The sooner new comedians get used to a mike, the
sooner they will be ready to go on stage before a live audience.

INTRODUCING EACH OTHER WITH HATE

This is exactly the same game as before; but this time you
absolutely loathe the person you are introducing. Perhaps they
stole your jokes, perhaps they stole your live-in partner, but the
plain simple fact is that you hate their guts. Luckily, you think
you are a sufficiently professional act not to let this get in the way,
so you will try to give them a good introduction, but some of that
bile you feel will inevitably bleed through.

Once again, when this works it’s funny, because we are watching
people say one thing and reveal another.

Appendix 1: group games 227

 Feel free to tailor this type of game with other emotions. Perhaps
everyone could take a turn experimenting with jealousy, or
completely patronizing the next act.

SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE LONDON PALLADIUM

Find a partner then, as a double act, try to warm up the rest of

the group by telling them what a great show they are going to see
tonight. It is the group’s job to act like a really overeager audience,
cheering and whooping enthusiastically throughout. Each person
in the couple takes a turn in listing what other great star is in
the show while their partner adds a little comment or afterthought
to go with it. It could be as simple as, ‘I’m really looking forward
to seeing them, too…’ but it could be as weird as you like.
For example:

MC 1: Later on, live on this stage, we have 1970s classic

pop group Abba! Yes that’s right! They’ve re-formed for one
night only!

MC 2: To perform open-heart surgery on members of the

audience! We’ve also got the entire population of Belgium!

MC 1: Eating chocolate…

MC 2: …for world peace! We’ve also got… (and so on)

The braver you are at taking risks, the more the audience will
applaud you.

This is a good game for letting people off the hook. Most of the
time you will be responding to something your partner says, so
it gives you a bit of a safety net because you feel that there is
someone to hide behind.

The double act should aim to keep topping each other’s suggestions
and list of stars until the ‘audience’ is apoplectic with joy. Then

228
they can announce the final guest and the next two performers can
stand up and have a go.

The rest of the group must make sure that the couple performing
aren’t ‘bottling’ it or performing under par. It is their job to keep
the double act on track. Although they shouldn’t try to take
over the exercise, if the couple are being a bit shy to start with,
then a little (and I stress little) good-natured heckling is allowed.
Something in the nature of ‘We want more’ or ‘And what do they
do?’, perhaps.

DROPPING THE NEXT ONE IN IT

There are two ways to play this game. In both cases, feel free to
use a microphone and stand if you possess them. It’s not, strictly
speaking, essential for the game but it’s a good opportunity to
practise mike technique.

The first version of this involves everyone introducing the

next person and explaining to the audience what a treat they
have in store, because the next act is going to do something truly
amazing. Then they drop their partner in it by promising the
audience that the next act will do something very bizarre. The
next act has to honour that promise before they are allowed to
introduce the next act (who will also be forced to perform some
outlandish feat).

People have been forced to attempt performing the entire cannon

of Shakespeare in under a minute because of this game; I have seen
grown men attempt to belly dance and seen very bad magic tricks,
song and dance numbers or strange impressions performed. So be
prepared to make life difficult for the next person you introduce
and then watch them squirm.

The next act must try to perform the stunt or, at a last resort, find
a really creative way of getting out of it. It is not acceptable to say:
‘Sorry, I’ve hurt my leg. So here’s the next act…’

Appendix 1: group games 229

 Remember that this is an exercise in creativity, so we want to
see you trying to be creative in fulfilling that particular promise.
Please also remember that an audience would much rather see you
go down with all guns blazing than see you sheepishly get through
the exercise trying to be as well behaved as possible. Eventually
you will be paid money to be a fool. Fools are allowed to behave
like idiots!

If the group is slightly smaller (three or four people), the

participants might enjoy a more intensive version of this game
whereby people partner up and take turns in making ridiculous
promises to the audience as to what their partner will do. It calls
for sharper wits, but a bonus to this game is that you have the
opportunity to play with different attitudes more thoroughly.
Perhaps one of the double act begins to hate their partner for
what they are making them do, or perhaps one pretends to
become more despairing at what they see as the loss of their
personal dignity. Whatever happens, the couple can have great
fun exploring their extended relationship with each other.

THE LORD MAYOR ’ S PARADE

Split the group into two: one half becomes the audience, the other
half selects which of them is going to be the commentator (if it’s
a big group and you want to work on your afterthoughts, you
could have two commentators). The commentator stands behind
the audience, who should be sitting in a line, looking ahead of
themselves. The commentator is going to pretend to be a television
announcer describing the Lord Mayor’s Parade for the benefit of
the viewers at home. They must be full of gravitas and always sure
of themselves.

The rest of the performing team then, one by one, walk across
in front of the audience doing something stupid, which the
commentator has to address. It’s a great game for getting the
comedian to come up with ideas out of nowhere. They have
to respond and make sense of everything passing before the
audience’s eyes: if someone is doing a forward roll in front of

230
the audience, they might say, ‘And here comes the Royal Marines
Gymnastic display… slightly under strength due to recent funding
problems…’; if someone staggers by flapping their arms they might
say, ‘Now we can see the London Guild of Unpowered Flight trying
to take to the air’, or they might equally say ‘Here comes the Bank
of England’s lucky albatross, always a crowd favourite…’ It is the
commentator’s job to read some sort of pattern out of the chaos
he or she is presented with. The other performers can, if they wish,
‘gang up’ and appear two or three at a time, if they want to provide
more of a spectacle. Feel free to utilize any props (newspapers,
chairs, coats) to make yourselves look as stupid as possible.
The more stupid you are prepared to become as a performer,
the funnier this exercise can be. Many people taking part in the
‘parade’ find the experience hugely liberating as they try to outdo
each other in the ridiculousness stakes. Once the commentator or
commentators have had a fair crack at the whip, let the other team
have a turn and repeat until everyone has had a go.

TREE AND BRANCH – THE PERFORMANCE VERSION

The written version of this game appears in Chapter 5.

Each person has to stand up and talk to the others on a given

specific topic for one minute. They are given that topic only
when they stand up, so there can be no preparation time. The
game is called ‘Tree and branch’ because even though their subject
is the main topic (the ‘tree’), they are allowed to ‘branch off’ on
any tangents.

The speaker is completely in charge even if they are talking

apparent nonsense. For the purpose of this exercise they are to
treat themselves as a world-class expert on the subject.

Here are some subjects that have proved useful in the past, but
please feel free to make up your own:

Why should Christmas be banned?

Why is global warming good for you?

Appendix 1: group games 231


Dogs and cats: the ultimate evil.

How to impress on a first date.

How not to impress on a first date.

The worst vegetable in the world.

Things that bend.

Why should children be seen and not heard?

The British hedgerow.

Skydiving for fun and profit.

How to upset your mother.

How to prevent fires.

As well as a being a very good game for developing creativity,

this can also be used as a presentation exercise. It really puts the
performer under the spotlight, so we notice every little tick and
jerk they make. Are they making eye contact with their audience
or staring fixedly above their heads? Are they fidgeting or rocking,
or are they masking their face or twiddling with their hair in some
sort of displacement activity? Then they are probably not looking
as if they are having a good time, let alone taking charge of the
situation. Remember, if your extraneous movement isn’t helping
your performance, then it is probably hindering your message.
(If it doesn’t add, it distracts!) Does the performer favour one side
of their body over the other? If this is the case, tell them once they
have finished. A new performer may not be aware of how their
body can be doing one thing when they are trying to say another
(like trying to look important and taking an involuntary step
backwards, which looks weak).

Have fun with it. If nothing else, it will show you how little time
a minute actually is. Most of the group will be sorry that you have
to stop so suddenly and can’t entertain them for another minute.
Or two.

HOME SHOPPING TV

Every person must bring in a stupid object and put it into a pile.
Each person takes a turn at pulling a different item out of the pile
and tries to sell it to the group as if they were a presenter on a TV

232
shopping channel. Each item is a multi-use item: a coat-hanger
doesn’t just solve your clothing storage needs, it also doubles as
a boomerang with a safety bar; use it as an emergency television
aerial; explain how it can make a delightful and fashionable hat.
The presenter can be as creative and as stupid as they want. What
is the item called? How much does it cost? What luxury materials
is it made of? Why is this item a ‘must have’ product that will
make everyone’s life complete?

If the presenter’s creativity flags, the rest of the group can put up
their hands to ask pertinent questions. At the end, have a show
of hands to see how many people would want one of those items
in their lives.

THE PARTY TRICK COMPETITION

Feel free to use a microphone if you have access to one, but it

isn’t essential.

Everyone thinks of a stupid trick that they want to show off to

the rest of the group. It can be as basic as performing a forward
roll or making a shadow puppet, or as complicated and as
impressive as performing a card trick correctly. In general, the
more stupid and pointless the trick is, the better it will serve this
game’s purpose. But don’t let that suggestion limit you: if you
want to show off your light German opera singing skills, then go
for it! Each person will perform the party trick with as much stage
presence as possible, as if they are presenting something that is
really fantastic. If anyone isn’t able to think of a stupid party trick,
then they become the official judge who will come on stage at the
end to announce who came first, second and third and any other
honourable mentions.

Each contestant, in turn, must introduce themselves with bags of

presence and attitude, perform their party trick once they feel the
audience has warmed to them, and then wrap up their mini show
and take the applause from the audience before leaving gloriously.
In other words, it is not enough to simply perform the party

Appendix 1: group games 233

 trick: each performer must also muster as much stagecraft as they
possibly can, topping and tailing their trick to make it look as if
they have a perfect right to be performing before a real audience.

The judge must treat their role seriously, too. When they appear
on stage to announce the winners at the end, they must behave as
if this is as important as the Olympic games.

One of the side benefits of this game is that it takes comics

away from the merely verbal. Who is to say that if the group
is entertained by a stupid stunt, a paying audience might not
appreciate it too?

234
Appendix 2: the fall and rise of
stand-up comedy
Stand-up in Great Britain was in freefall in the 1970s. Working
comedians were, with a few honourable exceptions, middle-aged
men in frilly shirts and bow ties, recycling old jokes, most of
which had some very dubious racist, misogynist or homophobic
undertones. They would trawl a slowly shrinking variety club
circuit, trying to get the audience’s attention before the bingo
started. It’s probably fair to say that the profession was viewed
as a little lowbrow. The comic was the man shoved on stage to
give the strippers a break, or else they were the performer waggling
their eyebrows and shouting out strange catchphrases at the
Queen during a Royal Variety Performance. Comedy seemed a
little tired and old.

Forty years later, stand-up has become a massive art form in the
UK. There are in excess of 90 comedy clubs in and around the
capital; many universities and colleges run regular comedy nights;
every major city has at least one thriving comedy club; there are at
least five major stand-up competitions every year; music festivals
now have comedy tents competing with the main stage; there are
festivals, tours and agencies devoted entirely to the promotion
of comedy; there are even one or two university courses devoted
to the medium.

How did this sea change occur?

Probably in the birth of a many-headed, squalling, brat of a

beast called ‘alternative comedy’. Alternative comedy is often
shorthanded by journalists as ‘non-racist, non-sexist comedy’,
which doesn’t entirely explain what it was about. Neither is it
really fair to call it a movement; it was more a loose collection
of individuals who were reacting (all in different ways) to the

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 235

 complacency they saw going on around them. Their ethos still
affects the modern scene today.

The immediate years before the birth of alternative comedy had seen
a rapid and radical politicization of much of the country’s youth:
punk rock had passed from subculture to mainstream, introducing
a new generation to the aesthetic of anarchy and rebellion; popular
youth movements like Rock Against Racism had been formed;
CND experienced a huge intake of members as many young
people looked for a way out of an insane arms race. Personalized
fashion flourished; individualism was in the air. Everything was
being questioned: diverse national and international struggles were
discussed, people were becoming educated on (or at least familiar
with) issues concerning the environment, trade wars, apartheid,
multi-national corporate behaviour. It was a good time for dissent.

It seemed that after most of the blandness of the 1970s, Britain’s

youth were becoming more politically aware. They were certainly
questioning with greater frequency the traditional values that
were shoved upon them. Given their changing opinions, it’s not
surprising that many young people felt alienated from the ‘safe’
entertainment marketed on the nation’s televisions. How could
Love Thy Neighbour (a sitcom whose comedy premise was to have
a white racist living next door to a black couple) relate to young
adults? What did Terry and June mean to anyone outside of the
suburbs? For anyone who missed this BBC offering, it featured a
middle-aged couple worrying ‘What will the neighbours think?’
endlessly – for decades! It was never off the TV! For anyone with
half a brain, popular comedy was a vast desert with nothing to
offer in terms of entertainment. Given this, it was only a matter
of time before people created an alternative.

It must be stressed at the outset that alternative comedy consisted

of only a handful of performers. They were an eclectic bunch with
no shared ideology as such. What united them all in the early
days was their shared distrust of any authority, whether it was the
police, US foreign policy, the judicial system or (a great source of
alternative humour) the Conservative government.

236
The birth of alternative comedy

Alternative comedy began in London in 1979 with two different

groups of people.

The first group was a loose collection of performers who opened a

venue in the function room of The Elgin pub in Ladbroke Grove.
They were all politically minded comedians – feminists, anarchists
and plain old dyed-in-the-wool socialists – who were used to
working in political theatre. It was one of their number, Tony Allen,
who came up with the title Alternative Cabaret. Although, as he
explains, it originally had very different connotations in his mind:

I was really against Arts Council funding, because I thought

the economics should determine the style, and I couldn’t
understand how you could get these large amounts of
money from the Arts Council and then put on something
with 30 people in the audience; if you were good and it
worked you should fill the place and be able to make a
living out of it. So we formed ‘Alternative Cabaret’ –
which is what I called the thing – and we all became
‘Alternative Comedians.’1

The term soon caught on.

About the same time, Peter Rosengard and Don Ward were
opening The Comedy Store in Soho. Rosengard’s inspiration came
from having had a great night out at the Los Angeles Comedy
Store. He thought the concept would work in London. It wasn’t
the first time that American comedy has influenced its British
cousin, but it was, perhaps, the most overt example. Rosengard’s
brazen theft (of even the name!) has, as far as I’m aware, never led
to the lawyers being called in.

Rosengard imagined The Comedy Store to be a venue where

comedians of any persuasion could play. He didn’t really care if
they told ‘mother-in-law’ jokes or denounced capitalism, as long as

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 237

 they were funny. He convinced the owner of the strip club that was
to house the event that The Comedy Store was an idea whose time
had come. The fact that the owner, Don Ward, was an ex-comedian
himself may have made him more sympathetic to Rosengard’s idea.

With hindsight, Rosengard would claim that The Comedy Store’s

aims were clear from the outset: ‘Anything went, as long as it
wasn’t racist or sexist.’2 This differs from the memories of original
performers who were there on the opening night. According to
comedian Lee Cornes:

Rosengard couldn’t care less what went on from the

beginning. That ethos came from the alternative cabaret
mob – Tony Allen, Jim Barclay and Andy de la Tour.
My stuff was outrageously racist and sexist at the time
but no one mentioned it.3

It was the consequent work of these three people, and a few

others, that ousted the sexist and racist comedians from The
Comedy Store. Innovative comedy was encouraged; clichéd and
stereotypical humour wasn’t.

For their opening night, they hired a then unknown but highly
abrasive comic called Alexei Sayle, whose aggressive style summed
up the spirit of the bear pit that The Comedy Store could evoke.
Sayle became to some the archetypal Comedy Store comic: loud,
scathing and abusive. His style was to influence many alternative
comedians who started after him.

There was a third group who helped midwife the birth of the
alternative comedy scene, although they appeared slightly later,
in 1982. They came from an established London theatre company
that was trying to move away from the world of ‘straight’ theatre.
They were called ‘Cast’.

Cast had been around for a long time, formed by Claire and Roland
Muldoon in 1965 as a breakaway from the left-wing Unity Theatre.

238
By the 1980s, through luck and good management, they found
themselves in receipt of Arts Council funding and sponsorship
from the Greater London Council (GLC). They began to build up a
small circuit of venues for their shows. These venues were later well
placed to run their successful New Variety nights. From the outset,
Cast tried to offer their audience something different. Roland
Muldoon explains:

We agreed that what was not needed was five male

stand-ups being naughty in Soho à la America, but that the
tradition in Britain would go back to variety. This coincided
with our need to recruit people who could play out to the
audience… with specific interest in promoting entertaining
performers as opposed to entertaining comedians.4

In other words, they were interested in pushing the envelope.

The Cast circuit was quite small, with only four or five venues
operating at any given time, but they were a welcome addition
to the comedians of that time. Despite their very best efforts to
nurture radical new variety acts (I saw my first and only Marxist
magician on a Cast/New Variety night), quite a few comedians
snuck in through the back door. To them, Cast was a particular
boon because they treated you like a professional and (more
importantly) paid you like a professional. They planted the seed
in many comics that what seemed to be an engaging hobby could
become a career.

There were many diverse influences, apart from 1970s youth

culture, that helped create alternative comedy. Among the most
important of these were: the American tradition of stand-up,
British music hall, university revue, ranting poets, punk rock,
feminism and Thatcherism.

To a greater or lesser effect, they continue to influence modern

comedy. Perhaps we should take a brief look at some of the most
important ones.

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 239

 The tradition of American stand-up comedy

The Americans have a long history of stand-up comedy that grew

out of the twin traditions of Vaudeville and Burlesque. Whereas
British comedy seemed to get stuck in a music hall world, with the
emphasis on broad, brash performances, its American counterpart
managed to escape these roots and develop into a more intimate
style of one man, a microphone and his audience. The advent of
the solo stand-up comic occurred in the States around the time of
the Second World War. Comedians by the late 1950s and early
1960s had separated into two groups.

The first were ‘gag merchants’ or ‘one-liner’ comics. Their sets

consisted of a string of jokes, with little editorial control over
content. Material would often be swapped between comedians (or
more often stolen from one another). The humour was often generic
in style, with little difference between individual performers’ styles.

The second group of comedians had a much broader impact

on alternative comedy and on modern comedy in general.
These comics were more concerned with entertaining through
biographical or ‘pretend-biographical’ information. Broadly
speaking, their jokes moved away from the third person (‘A man
walks into a bar…’) to the first person (‘A funny thing happened
to me on the way to the theatre…’). Comedy became personal.
This group was responsible for the birth of observational comedy,
whereby common experiences or situations were commented on
and poked fun at. This type of comedian was far more concerned
with social dilemmas and (as they moved into the 1960s) with
psychological perspectives too. Their routines would take the shape
of a voyage of discovery, delighting or outraging their audiences as
they progressed. Many of these comics honed their craft in
the bohemian atmosphere of the Greenwich Village cafés of
New York, although the vast majority took their chances in
the more mainstream clubs of the big cities. Hugely influential
comedians like Mort Sahl, Bob Newhart and George Carlin began

240
this way, as did Woody Allen and Lenny Bruce. Whereas Allen
cornered the market in comedy based on neurosis or psychological
disorder (influencing a whole generation of comedians by opening
up vast subject areas previously not considered to be funny), it was
Lenny Bruce who left a legacy for taboo-breaking jokes that the
alternative comics were to adopt a quarter of a century later. This
through line continues into modern-day comedy; every few years a
firebrand comedian appears to shake us all up.

Bruce died in 1966, after being hounded for years by charges of

obscenity. As a role model, he continues to haunt us all. As Tony
Allen sometimes says when he ends his set on a rough night:

Lenny Bruce finished his career out of his head on drugs,

hassled by the police and dying in a toilet… That’s how
I started off!

Individual examples aside, it’s fair to say that Britain adopted

the American style of stand-up almost totally during the 1960s
and 1970s. However, by only copying the ‘gag merchant’ style of
the 1950s US comedians, with its emphasis on jokes rather than
personality, British stand-up effectively painted itself into an arid,
uncreative corner that led, almost inevitably, to a reaction against
it with the birth of the alternative comedian.

Jokes, by themselves, removed from any context, can only make

people laugh. Good comics want to do more than that.

Music hall

Although it was on the wane by the late 1950s, music hall still
holds a place in the imagination of the British people. Some
comedians, from the alternative movement to more modern times,
have plundered this heritage in search of comic ideas. Back in the
1980s, as we have seen, the Cast/New Variety evenings made a

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 241

 conscious effort to encourage music hall-style acts. Many of these
old styles were spoofed or twisted for a newer audience (hence
Ian Saville, the Marxist magician that we came across earlier).
Sometimes music hall’s style might be adopted wholesale, as in the
performance of a three-headed ventriloquist and a mind-reading rat
called ‘Magritte’. Sometimes music hall would be only glancingly
referred to: Sean Hughes had a lovely little non sequitur in his
set where he would whip out a playing card from his top pocket
and ask a bemused member of the audience, ‘Is that the card you
were thinking of?’ before carrying on with his set. Musical acts,
magicians, ventriloquists and the outright bizarre often appeared in
alternative comedy shows and, by extension, continue to crop up in
the world of modern comedy. Al Murray, before he came up with
the Pub Landlord character, used to play a very worrying character
(who may or may not have been a contract killer) and would
entertain audiences by doing impressions of guns and rifles being
fired. I would argue that this act owed a debt, ultimately,
to music hall.

Steve Murray (no relation) had a marvellously dark act in which

he would perform standard magician’s tricks, such as sawing the
lady in two, with teddy bears. What made the act so delightful and
so horrible is that the teddy bears were invariably mutilated and
would bleed profusely. Here, Steve was subverting the tradition of
grandstanding, music hall illusionists.

Dave Schneider, now perhaps best known as a television writer,

used to give the audience a variation on a plate-spinning act, but
instead of plates, he would attempt to keep four or five members of
the audience spinning on stage.

‘The Bastard Son of Tommy Cooper’ brought the tradition of

sword swallowing to modern comedy audiences.

A good idea is hard to keep down. In more recent times,

the female double act ‘A Congress of Oddities’ has impressed
audiences and critics alike with their dark, Victoriana-inspired
cabaret shows.

242
Aesthetically, there may be a less obvious bridge between music
hall and modern comedy that alternative humour tapped into.
According to theatre historian Roger Wilmut, music hall originally
contained satire and subversion, but as the twentieth century rolled
on it became a much tamer medium. It seems that when things
become too safe or too mainstream, a (usually younger) group
comes along to kick over the traces.

Comics of the 1980s and 1990s picked up on this need for

subversion and, under the umbrella of ‘alternative’, decided to
become a voice of dissent.

In the case of music hall, its slow death after the Second World
War meant that the world was ready for some fresh voices
of protest; which leads us nicely on to the next influence on
alternative comedy.

The university revue

One of the functions of humour in society should be to question

authority. Satire implicitly poses questions like: ‘Is this law
right?’; ‘Is this a just war?’; ‘Are these politicians making the
right decision?’ By the 1960s, few comedians were asking these
questions. Music hall had lost its teeth (and was dying out anyway)
and television and radio were too staid and ‘pro-establishment’
to bite the hand that fed them. Britain was coming out of years
of rationing and austerity, a new generation was growing up
questioning the attitudes of a fading British Empire. Rather like the
emergence of alternative comedy, the time was ripe for a new batch
of humorists to appear.

They were found in student revues mostly from Oxford and

Cambridge Universities. Revue burst on to the scene in 1960 with
shows like ‘Beyond the Fringe’ and their stars went on to dominate
television and radio for the next two decades, producing writer/
performers such as: Eleanor Bron, Peter Cook, John Cleese,

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 243

 John Bird, John Fortune, Tim Brooke-Taylor, Graham Chapman,
Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Jonathan Miller and Alan Bennett.

These comedians often brought a sense of the absurd to

their performances and writing that made them rise above the
instinct of ‘just’ poking an accusing finger at society; they tried
to treat comedy as liberating play. They were not bound by
convention. The best examples of this (that were to prove a definite
influence on alternative comedians and those who came after)
are the four series of television’s much celebrated Monty Python’s
Flying Circus.

With exceptions like monologists such as Peter Cook or Alan

Bennett, most performers were happier working in a sketch format.
There was little or none of the interaction with the audience that
there is usually in stand-up, but it was the ‘mood’ of the work
rather than its operation that was to prove a lasting legacy up to
the present day.

At best, there is a charming brutality, an erudition and a

willingness to shatter taboos that most modern comedians admire
and are happy to emulate. The major failings of this Oxbridge
Mafia (as they came to be known) were that they did not
democratize comedy in any way. It became the exclusive preserve
of a lucky few (mostly white, male and middle-class) who went to
the ‘right’ college and who wrangled a job at the BBC afterwards.
They managed to make comedy seem like a closed shop.

As the 1960s and 1970s rolled by, the rot set in and intelligent
comedy became the rarefied domain of a mere handful. Despite
the egalitarian mood of the times, there was an unspoken status or
(dare we say it?) a class structure to much of it. Comic references
to Proust or Kierkegaard’s journals may have intended to be
satirical, but they implied knowledge that most people working
nine to five didn’t have time for. The inference in some of these
performers’ work seemed to be that if you ‘got’ the references then
you were clever enough to join the club.

244
Ranting poets

Ranting poetry was a high-energy performance style that sprang

out of punk-rock roots. The self-styled poets would often support
bands and have the thankless task of performing before hostile
or indifferent audiences. Such a baptism of fire ensured that the
successful poets were usually loud, political and funny: a necessary
combination of talents if they hoped to get their message across to
their listeners.

Performers like John Cooper-Clarke, Attila the Stockbroker,

Seething Wells, Ginger Tom, Little Brother, Joolz, Mark Miwurdz
and Henry Normal began their careers a year or two before the
arrival of alternative comedy. The strange names weren’t just there
for dramatic effect; often they were used as pseudonyms to help
fool the social security system, but as the performers’ fame grew,
the names stuck with them.

Several poets made the cross over into stand-up, like Mark
Miwurdz who, as Mark Hurst, showed his mastery over drunken,
late-night audiences at The Comedy Store countless of times.
Others, like Attila the Stockbroker, have remained poets but
occasionally are known to perform at stand-up venues.

Often there remains a blurred line between poet and comedian

that performers are more than happy to cross and recross.
As Henry Normal once put it on stage, ‘These are just gags
that rhyme.’

It is difficult to say how much ranting poets contributed to

the development of modern comedy: they did provide a vital
injection of energy in the nascent alternative scene. Perhaps their
biggest contribution, back in those early days, was to convince a
generation of aspiring comedians that there was a market for solo
performers who wanted to tackle dangerous topics. They showed
us that it was possible to make money by speaking our minds.

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 245

 Punk, feminism and Thatcherism

Punk rock was a phenomenon not limited to the world of music.

It spawned a number of popular ideologies for young people,
ranging from trendy nihilism (‘no future’) to a very creative
anarchy that spread into a number of different areas, bypassing
the traditional means of production: a thriving street-level fashion
industry was founded; venues and clubs were set up; popular art
was influenced, as was the communications industry (advertisers
started working with ‘punk’ artists, most famously with the man
who designed the Sex Pistols’ album covers, Jamie Reid); new
writing was explored, and journalistic careers forged in new
magazines and fanzines like The Face and Sniffin’ Glue.

There was a feeling at the time that the whole apparatus of popular
culture might be taken away from the few big businesses that ran
the whole show, and be reclaimed by the audience. Instead of a
‘top down’ structure, where the public were told to like what they
were given, there was more a mood that we could all make up our
own minds. Punk encouraged people not to be passive consumers,
but to be active participants. If we were all creating our own music,
our own literature and our own fashion, perhaps the next logical
step (for some) was to create our own humour.

Feminism also contributed to the process of development in

modern comedy. Since the early 1960s, women were asking why
TV and radio comedies were constantly portraying them either
as battleaxes or dizzy dolly birds, with few role models to choose
from in between. This didn’t reflect their experience. They were
sick of being treated as objects in the media. Such a constant
battle was bound to radicalize the nation’s youth, even if it was
only a tiny amount. As a generation of women started reorienting
themselves, young men found they had to adapt or die. Even the
crassest men began to realize that there was no point in offering
to give up your seat on the tube if you weren’t rewarded with
a look of gratitude, but instead got a look of contempt. Female
comics found a willing audience who wanted to hear what their

246
individual world view was. A generation went to war against the
lazy stereotypes that existed previously.

This new awareness effectively killed the ‘mother-in-law’ gag.

‘Blonde’ jokes were out too (for a while, misogyny tried to creep
through the back door with a succession of ‘Essex girl’ jokes). Any
male comic telling jokes whose punchlines revolved around putting
down the opposite sex was viewed as old-fashioned and slightly
distasteful, like watching reruns of white folk blacking-up on
The Black and White Minstrel Show.

Lazy observations about women continue to be made to this day,

as do other forms of derogatory humour, but these days it seems to
be through the occasional ignorance of young male comics, rather
than a default position of comedy as a whole.

Thatcherism is the last influence that I want to look at that played

a part in the development of alternative comedy. That particular
Conservative government gave us a massive target to aim at.

For a while, it seemed that Ben Elton made a career out of attacking
the Conservatives, especially with his weekly alternative address to
the nation as the front man for the television show Saturday Live.

There was a lot to attack:

Clause 28 was trying to push gay people back into the closet.
The ‘suss’ law gave carte blanche to black men being stopped
and searched for no good reason. Whole communities were being
uprooted through deregulation and sell-offs; instead of sympathy
and protection, people were told to ‘get on your bike’ and look for
work – any work – even if it meant the break-up of the family. The
right to strike for fairer conditions seemed under threat. Britain
was governed by a regime that supported apartheid in South
Africa and shook hands with torturers. Norman Lamont, after
wiping billions off the stock market through his own complacency,
went on record jokingly saying, ‘Je ne regret rien.’ The mood
was summed up at a party conference when Margaret Thatcher

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 247

 told us: ‘There is no such thing as society.’ Sleaze and corruption
abounded: brown paper envelopes stuffed with notes were finding
their way into the back pockets of MPs; prostitutes were given
bribes to keep quiet even though, the public were assured, nothing
had happened.

How could any young comedian, angry at the sense of injustice

everywhere, not comment on these events?

Here, at last, was a really objectionable political party for critical

comedians to get their teeth into!

Anger can be a great engine of creativity for the comedian to utilize

and it seemed for a while that every week there was something
new for comedians to get cross about. But it’s difficult to remain
angry, over the years, if nothing ever changes. Experience tends to
transmute anger into bitter acceptance or cynicism – which isn’t the
same thing at all.

Over time, the posturing of comedians against the times began

to seem a little ritualized. As comedian John Junkin once said, he
didn’t like it if the audience were cheering rather than laughing; it
made the gig seem more like a political rally than a comedy evening.

The next generation

Some time over the past 20 years, the term ‘alternative’ was quietly
dropped: perhaps it seemed a little old fashioned. Modern comedy
in Britain stopped being a reaction against the mainstream in a
few rooms above pubs or in back rooms and became the new
mainstream. Comedy is now seen as a legitimate career choice in a
way that wouldn’t have been possible a generation ago.

The pioneering spirit of alternative comedy fled long ago; perhaps

its demise was inevitable, given the constant turnover in fashions

248
and fads. Perhaps every artistic movement can only last a brief time
before burning itself out or becoming swamped by the mainstream
culture it began by criticizing. This seems to have been the fate of
alternative comedy. Comedians began by lampooning daytime TV
gameshows and now we host them; we were bored by primetime
sitcoms and now we write them. In a very real sense, comics of a
certain age have become the new old guard.

Let’s not be too pessimistic. As stated, comedy is also a thriving

international scene, due in no small measure to what British
comedians tried to achieve in the 1980s. There are more clubs,
more festivals, more comedy TV and radio being produced than
ever before, and this shows no sign of abating.

This is one of the lasting legacies of alternative comedy: it created

a network of venues around the country where audiences can see
comedy and where performers can work out their apprenticeship.
This training ground is invaluable; it is where you will be honing
your craft throughout your career. The second lasting legacy
of alternative comedy was to make overt sexism and racism
unpopular, discouraging inaccurate stereotypes. Perhaps it helped
force comics to not rely on what they thought an audience would
want them to say, but instead encouraged them to speak their own
minds. Out with the ‘Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman’ jokes;
in with the personal observations.

The rot always manages to creep back in, however. We may not
tell jokes deriding black people, Jews, women or the handicapped
anymore, but we will all (with no sense of the social injustice of
it all) continue to lampoon the Welsh, Americans, fat people or
the old. What makes the first group forbidden and the second
fair game for the comedian? Have the goalposts actually moved
that much? Or did we just substitute one set of stereotypes for
another?

Also, despite all the non-racist, non-sexist talk at its inception,

modern comedy continues to be the province of mostly white,

Appendix 2: the fall and rise of stand-up comedy 249

 middle-class men. Likely as not, this just reflects the make-up of
society. Ben Elton observes:

People say to me, ‘Why aren’t more women doing it?’ Well,
why aren’t there more women doctors? It’s because we live
in a sexist society. It doesn’t help to lie about it.5

This is perhaps a debate for another day, perhaps for another

generation of comics. Let’s leave the final word about alternative
comedy to Tony Allen:

It shifted the mainstream a little bit – but to move the

mainstream just a little bit you have to get out there and
go HEAVE!! And I think that’s what we did.6

Notes

1, 4, 5 and 6: Wilmut, R. and Rosengard, P., Didn’t You Kill My Mother-in-Law?

(London: Methuen, 1989)

2 and 3: From an article by J. Conner in the now defunct listings magazine City Limits
entitled ‘Game for a Laugh’, 1989

250
Taking it further

Further reading

Allen, T., Attitude (Glastonbury: Gothic Image, 2002).

Angerford, L. and Lea, A., Thundersqueak (TMTS, 1979).

Banks, M. and Swift, A., The Joke’s On Us (London:

Pandora, 1987).

Berger, P., The Last Laugh (New York: First Limelight, 1985).

Freud, S., Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious (London:

Penguin, 1994 edn).

Holloway, S.T., The Serious Guide to Joke Writing (Bookshaker,

2010).

Jacobi, S., Laughing Matters (London: Century, 2005).

Koestler, A., The Act of Creation (London: Hutchinson & Co,

1964).

Orwell, G., Why I Write (London: Penguin, 2004 edn).

Philotunus, A., The Good, the Bad, the Funny (The Mouse that
Spins, 2002).

For more information about Logan Murray’s comedy courses,

contact him at email@loganmurray.com or look at his website,
www.loganmurray.com.

Taking it further 251

 Index
adrenaline, 141–2 treat as your friends, 61,
afterthoughts, 28–31, 112–15 137
games, 31–9
agents, 200–2 Bagshaw, Katy, 177–9
Allen, Tony, 126, 237, 238, Bailey, Andrew, 76–7
241, 250 Benny, Jack, 15–16
Allen, Woody, 16, 152, 241 Bergson, Henri, 10
alternative comedy, 235–6, body language, 59–60, 137
237–9, 248–9, 249–50 Bourke, Mary, 28
American stand-up comedy, Brooke, Rupert, 108–10
240–1 Bruce, Lenny, 241
archetypes, comic, 69–77 buffoons, 71–2
Attila the Stockbroker, 245 business matters
attitude agents and managers,
comedian’s, 15–17, 46–7 200–2
comedic flaws and, 67–9 beyond stand-up, 196
extreme leading to building your set, 194
humour, 25–6 compèring, 195–6
games, 18–22, 47–50 competitions, 197–8
audiences, 61 etiquette, 193
attitude towards, 136–7 festivals, 198–200
crowd control exercises, getting started, 189–90
161–2 keep to set length, 193–4
don’t distract them, 58–60 marketing, 190–2
hecklers, 159–61, 169–70,
176–7, 185 Carlin, George, 27, 75, 240
look at, 138 Cast, 238–9
preventing problems with, character acts, 133–4
156 clichés, 92–3
‘reading’, 138–9 Cognito, Ian, 60
seeming in charge of, comedic flaws, 67–9, 78
156–8 The Comedy Store, 237–8
slow down for, 139–41 comic losers, 70–1

252
comic messiahs, 75 gags see jokes
comic persona, 66–7 gigs
archetypes, 69–77 asking for, 191–2
mixing and matching, 77–8 audiences, 136–9
compères and compèring, dealing with nerves,
195–6 141–7
competitions, 197–8 etiquette at venue, 193
Condell, Pat, 10, 72, 175–7 first, 204–8
confrontationalists, 73–4 hecklers, 159–62
content and style, 41 improving, 156–8
Corbett, Ronnie, 58 keep to set length, 193–4
creativity, 4–5 microphones, 149–53
games, 5–8, 220–34 open spots and half spots,
unlocking, 83–4 189–90
writing activities, 84–93 perform in the here and
now, 61–2
Darwin, Charles, 9 speed of presentation,
Davies, Greg, 186–7 139–41
deadpan comedians, 74–5 start and finish with best
Dee, Jack, 16 stuff, 62–4
taping, 145
Edinburgh Festival, 198–200 why one can go bad, 156
Elton, Ben, 247, 250 Gilhooley, Brenda, 126
emotional exaggeration, 95–6 group games, 212–34
activities to encourage,
100–4 haikus, 88
need to be more extreme, half spots, 189
98–9 Hall, Steve, 31, 171–2
overlooking emotional Hayridge, Hattie, 74
performance, 97–8 hecklers, 159–61, 169–70,
reasons to start, 96–7 176–7, 185
etiquette at venues, 193 Herman, Peewee, 72
eye contact with audience, 138 Herring, Richard, 166–71
Hill, Harry, 27, 70
feminism, 246–7 Hope, Bob, 68
festivals, 198–200 Howerd, Frankie, 68
flaws, comedic, 67–9, 78 Hughes, Sean, 242
Freud, Sigmund, 11 humour, theories of, 8–13

Index 253
 ideas, 4–5, 83–4 Larwood, Marek, 179–81
be concise, 54–7 laughter, 3–4, 10
be specific, 54–7 lists, 106–7
building a joke, 24–39, creating own, 121–3
57–8 hate list, 120–1
creative games, 5–8, thank you list, 107–11
220–34 thank you list revision,
social control and, 42–6 111–15
trying out new, 194–5 thank you list second
using lists to generate, draft, 115–19
106–23 Lock, Trevor, 39
writing activities, 84–93 logical illogical conclusions,
Ince, Robin, 183–5 127–8
losers, comic, 70–1
jokes, 4, 24
afterthoughts, 28, 28–39, Maier, Mark, 181–3
112–15 managers, 201–2
be concise, 54–7 marketing, 190–2
building tension, 57–8 Martin, Steve, 31, 72
comedian’s attitude and, material see jokes
15–17, 25–6, 46–7 messiahs, comic, 75
don’t distract the microphones, 149–50
audience, 58–60 mistakes to avoid,
in the here and now, 61–2 150–3
joke forms, 123–9 misunderstanding, 25–6,
methods of approach, 25–6 128–9
solutions to problems, Miwurdz, Mark, 245
26–8 mockery, humour and, 10–11
start and finish with best, Monty Python’s Flying Circus,
62–4 244
theories about, 14–15 Mousicos, Chris, 76
theories of humour, 8–13 Muldoon, Claire and Roland,
see also ideas 238–9
Jones, Milton, 74, 164–6 Murray, Al, 242
Murray, Steve, 242
Kendall, Sarah, 172–4 music hall, 241–3
Koestler, Arthur, 12
Kyria, Alyssa, 37 nerves, dealing with, 141–7

254
open spots, 189, 189–90 Sadowitz, Jerry, 73, 74, 98
outsider (comic archetype), 75–7 Sayle, Alexei, 238
Schneider, Dave, 242
performance games, 212–34 sets see gigs; routines
persona, 66–7 smart arses, 72
comic archetypes, 69–77 Smith, Will, 68–9
mixing and matching, 77 social control, 42–6
play, humour as, 12–13 specific thinking, 50–4
poets, ranting, 245 stagecraft, 136
publicity, 190–1 attitude towards audience,
punchlines, 28, 57–8, 58 136–9
afterthoughts, 28–39, dealing with nerves,
113–15 141–7
punk rock, 246 gigs going wrong and
making better, 156–8
ranting poets, 245 hecklers, 159–62
rants, 126–7 microphone technique,
Revell, Nick, 25, 28, 31 149–53
reversal gags, 124–5 speed of presentation,
revues, university, 243–4 139–41
Rigsby, Ronnie, 31, 125 stand-up comedy
Rosengard, Peter, 237–8 in 1970s, 235, 236
routines alternative comedy,
building, 111–15, 115–19 235–6, 237–9
building a joke, 24–39 American, 240–1
character acts, 133–4 modern, 248–50
don’t distract the audience, music hall, 241–3
58–61 punk, feminism and
emotional exaggeration in, Thatcherism, 246–8
95–9 ranting poets, 245
in the here and now, 61–2 university revue,
keep to set length, 193–4 243–4
new material in, 194–5 Steel, Mark, 72
start and finish with best stereotypes, 130–3
stuff, 62–4 student revues, 243–4
style or content?, 41 style and content, 41
using stereotypes, 130–3 sublime-to-ridiculous jokes,
rule-of-three jokes, 123–4 126

Index 255
 taboos, humour and, 11 good and bad, 158
talent competitions, 197–8 open spot, 189–90
tension, building, 57–8 voices, different, 130–3
Thatcherism, 247–8
Ward, Don, 237, 238
university revues, 243–4 warm up, 214
games, 215–20
venues weapon, humour as a, 9–10
etiquette at, 193 writers, comedy, 196

256