The Stan d Newcastle
Before The Gig.
Tonight I am supporting Tom Stade on his
national tour “Tom Stade Rocks Out”. I take my duties seriously. It is one thing to perform a comedy set as part of a regular mixed
bill. It is quite another thing to support a fellow comedian on their tour. It
is their tour. It is their show. If I screw up at a regular gig I have let myself down.
If I screw up tonight I have let someone else down. That is a whole different
ball game. There are other people involved. My God, my actions may
actually impact upon another human being. I am feeling something
akin to responsibility tonight. Perhaps this is what real people feel all the
time? Didn’t I get into this comedy lark to avoid responsibility?
This gig is buzzing. It is the first
time I have seen this venue sold out. There are people everywhere. It is
so crowded that I have to consult the technician about the best route to the
stage. I will have to walk through the crowd and there is no obvious path. The
doors open an hour before the start of the show but that is not soon enough for
many of Tom’s fans. They are clambering to get in. At first the venue staff
turn them away, tell them the room isn’t open yet, but still the fans come.
Eventually, through sheer force of numbers, the fans win out. The staff relent
and let them in early.
Now the audience sit there festering in
their own excitement. Even as I sit in the green room I can feel this audience.
I can feel their eagerness. I can feel their expectation. I can feel they are
warming themselves up, just by being there. There is no need for me at all, we
could go straight to Tom.
Huge potential. I keep thinking that
this gig has a huge potential. Huge potential for this gig to go well. Huge
potential. And lets face it, huge potential to fuck it up. As soon as I think
that, a morbid fascination takes over me. Imagine if I did badly? Especially
given the potential. Fuck that would be awful wouldn’t it? The audience are in
party mood but behind the curtain, a certain gallows humour has taken hold. The
subject of conversation turns to infamous bad gigs. Gigs that didn’t go well.
Gigs where we “bombed” And of course with each example the ante is upped.
A more disastrous gig has to be conjured up to keep the stories going.
But now it is time to start. “Hey Steve,
have fun out there” - Tom rejoins. Christ. I have to have fun as well? On
top of everything else? I have to have fun? Is there no end to my duties?
During The Gig
There is no compere on these tour shows.
I have to start from a standing start. This is easier than it sounds tonight.
As per my previous analysis the audience are warmed up already. There is no
need to banter, I can just launch straight into material. This is a luxury not
afforded in regular club gigs. The audience feel like they are mid gig already.
It feels like we have been acquainted for ages. There is nice rolling laughter.
There is a woman with a louder than
average laugh. Why is it usually a woman that has a louder than average laugh?
Why don’t men step up to plate and laugh too loud too? I often feel men don’t
pull their weight in audiences.
I do the routine about my Uncle Liam. I
haven’t done this much of late. It is languishing in semi retirement now but tonight
it feels right to do it. I think they have uncles in Newcastle. They will like
this. It is a good call. They anticipate several of the punchlines. And
just before the culmination a man heckles, he heckles. He chips in with his
idea for a punchline. He adds his own to my routine and that’s that. So how
does that routine end? We will never know because I immediately drop the
routine to deal with the heckle. I cannot remember what I do next but the next
60-90 seconds are the highlight of my set. It’s kind of like the genie is
out of the bottle now. What I mean is that having sampled the fruit of genuine
adlibbing the audience seem slightly less impressed with material.
They’re like a man temporarily upgraded to business class having to go
back to economy. I am tempted to run with the adlibbing indefinitely but I also
have responsibilities as a warm up. I return to the routine.
I go on to a new routine about dentists.
Sometimes you make a mistake on stage. You say the wrong thing and you then
have to adlib your way out of it. Sometimes the adlib is so successful that
it’s all the better for having make the mistake in the first place. Sometimes
you repeat the “mistake” at the next gig and it works again. Sometimes the
“mistake” is so successful it becomes a regular feature of your routine.
Tonight I am cutting out the middleman. I deliberately build a “mistake” into
the dentist routine without ever having made that mistake about dentists so I
can apparently riff my way out of it. This mistake is by design; straight off
the drawing board and the audience fall for it. I feel sneaky in a good way.
This routine is still in gestation. It ends well but still isn’t finished.
There is more to do in this routine. Let’s see what will happen with it.
After doing a routine on being dumped
for no one I go totally off piste and talk about regrets at the end of a
relationship. This isn’t planned out, I just talk about it to see where it
takes me. It largely takes me nowhere, down a dead end. It doesn’t really work
and I have to extricate myself from this. I switch to one of my regular
routines about male friendship. I feel that this routine underwhelms and
doesn’t quite land as it usually does. However this routine is later mentioned
in a review of this show as being one of the highlights. So perhaps I have no
judgement in these matters?
Similarly ‘sex for the first time’
slightly underperforms. I feel the last 10 mins of the set doesn’t quite hit
the level of the first 15 mins. So while it is a solid performance I am a
little disappointed.
After The Gig
Unfortunately I cannot stay and watch
Tom. I have to leave immediately to catch my train back to London. It is now
the interval and as I walk out of the venue I come face to face with a member
of the audience. “Hey it is that guy,” he says to his mate. Yes I have to
confess it is “that guy.” I am “that guy”. This confirms what I long suspected,
that unless you are already a household name, no one remembers your name. They
did after all come to see someone else. When I am introduced to loads of people
at a party whom I think I will never meet again, I immediately forget their
names. Sometimes I forget their names as I am being told them. I am that guy at
the party. That guy at Tom Stade’s party. I am that guy.
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