Before Gig
I am trying to avoid caffeine and sugar induced highs before I go on stage. Pre-show food. Water, White Grapes (Green?), Cashew Nuts. The venue is an arts centre but the gig hasn’t sold enough tickets to be in the main auditorium. Instead the gig is in the cafe. The cafe kitchen serves as a greenroom. I stand next to a microwave oven. I can watch the show through a serving hatch. The cafe area is now full and the audience over flow is now accommodated in the kitchen with the audience members looking through the hatch too. The acts hatch not the publics! This kitchen is over subscribed. I stand in the corridor and watch the gig through the window of a door. The sound if muffled though. I feel cut off from the gig. I retreat further up the corridor doing voice exercises. I drift into the bar. I chat to the bar maid about the town and obtain local references I will later fail to use in my set.
During Gig
I perhaps misjudged the audience before I go on. I overestimate their ability to laugh at themselves and this (to me) farcical set up. I joke that I am not big enough to play the theatre space. That this is the gig everyone wants to play, the cafe bar. It doesn’t quite land. I sound like a man coming from London to complain about being under appreciated. Obviously that is how I actually do feel but I shouldn’t say it. It is a bit awkward at the start but i know to move on to some material. There is a woman in the front row who is glaring at me, so even as I win the audience over she is staring at me. Her partner, a man with a crew cut, can obviously sense her disapproval and he is stony faced. There is a third man, sitting to the side of the stage. There are only a few seats to the side and it gives the impression that he is some sort of judge. If he is, his face is giving me zero points. He is mid fifties with a fringe and a red face (It is a healthy countryside red face rather than the bloated red face denoting congenital heart disease). His misery is altogether a different order, he seems not only to disapprove of me, but of the entire concept of comedy and it would appear to be all my fault. The rest of the audience are warming but these three characters remain straight faced. I am determined to crack them. There is a row of women sitting in the second row really buying into this but so what, they are not the one woman on the front who is unhappy. At one moment she audibly sighs as I introduce the subject of dentists. I haven’t even done the routine yet but still she seems to have written it off with her stern face. And her hubby, Mr Crew Cut is magnifying her disapproval. He looks like he may go on a rampage with a gun just to spite me. I have a new section about losing some money in a cinema and it is good but not quite fighting fit yet and I am debating whether it is wise to do it tonight. I feel it may be a risk to far but I also sense that when it comes to it I will take the plunge and do it anyway. And I want to do it!
This new section contains a rant . As I go into the rant there is clear apprehension as it appears to be mildly psychotic but I am confident they will get on board when I turn it at the end. And indeed it gives me the gear change I need. And suddenly the the woman in the front row cracks a smile and it has all been worth it. Mr Crew Cut is still holding out with a grimace but I know I can get him now. He is on borrowed time. He has lost his biggest ally. I will bring him down. I don’t quite know when I get him but I look over at him at the fifteen minute mark and he happens to be smiling. Part of me loses respect for him caving in so easily. But this still leaves the one man to the side. the man with the fringe and the red cheeks. He is of a different order. He is a grand master of the misery. He seems like the sort of person who could be tortured for three days and still not crack. I really intensify my efforts to win him round.
I am throwing everything at this fucker. Everything. Asides, facial expressions, changes on tone, eye contact. Faking sincerity, the works. I wouldn’t mind ambivalence actually. I think that is the best that I can hope for now. Just stop hating me, you don’t have to like me. Stop hating me and I will count that as a technical victory. This guy is a professional trainer of comedy. He is making me work harder and harder. As an accidental side effect of all this , I am now having a better gig. This wasn’t planned but the rest of the audience think I am working my pants off for them. I am not. I am doing fir him. This is nothing to do with the rest of them now. It is me and him. I run over five minutes longer than I should, just trying to win this guy over once and for all time. It doesn’t work. There is never even the hint of mild approval. I finally concede I cannot win him over. I end the gig. It is easily the best performances I have achieved in several weeks, the audience show their appreciation. I retire to the kitchen area, to stand by a microwave oven, defeated by a man with red cheeks.
After Gig
The red faced fringe man comes up to me after the show. I imagine he wishes to complain and advise me to quit comedy. “Are you playing the Edinburgh Festival this year?” He asks. “Where are you playing?” I tell him the Canon’s Gait 6pm. “Then I will certainly be there.” he announces and leaves.
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