The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part Va

I've already blogged on Thursday, but I feel I need to share this with 1) my confused brain and 2) whoever reads it.

My evening gig. There were a core group of 6 people who stuck with me tonight. They gave me the confidence to be fluent and funny. Without them the show would have been hellish. There was a group of 15 pissed up 20 year olds at the back of the gig venue. This is the problem with the evening venue. It's an upstairs bar mezzanine place that people can walk through or sit round the corner from. It's not a room for a comedy. It's not a room at all. 

The group of lads came, they shouted, they went round the corner, they sat at the back, then they left. Then they came back. They were loud, but we kept ploughing through. Somehow that made my core people more faithful to me. We were okay. In fairness, those guys could have ruined things if they'd wanted to. They didn't want to. They were just noisy. But I didn't sense any malice. I'm not sure if this is fair, but I sense I wouldn't have had such a let off in Kent or Stoke or anywhere South of the border. Sometimes the English feel more lairy, in spite of the Scottish talent for drinking and violence. But that may not be national thing at all. Maybe it's because Edinburgh locals largely accept the festival. There are plenty of drunk locals around and I barely ever hear of disruption. I have done weekend shows in the seediest bars here, and never have had a serious problem. It's the posh, drunk London venue staff who are far more obnoxious. I've seen them almost ruin a friend's gig.

So, the gig turned out to be pretty good, despite all signs to the contrary. I threw them off with a sickness story I do, which is usually the highlight for people - for the 5 people that are usually there - when the show actually goes ahead! Maybe 'usually' is not a word I can associate with that show. But generally they were very much on board.

Unusually, this Scouser man and his family said it was the best show they'd seen that day. They had £20 in cash (as they were taking the train back that night) and gave me £5 of it. He shook my hand. It felt like a biblical moment. It was lovely. He said: "You deserve a much bigger audience." He's right. I deserved more than 6-10 people, but more is no guarantee of quality. Still. Two good hours in one day. On fire. Of course, then I ended up accidentally doing two more shows. I should have gone home. No. I should have been out socialising.

Also a superb show by @edfomeara at the Edinburgh Fringe in Sportsters Bar despite the goings on. Go and see him.

— Mike Hughes (@VikingHugheso) August 14, 2014

The plan was to see Bec. I finally got hold of her and it turned out she was doing two other shows herself. I had a prop for her that she told me to leave in the admin office of the Gilded Balloon. She told me in a text that she wanted to see me very soon. When I got there, she was there. I guess she wasn't expecting me to show up. I said hi and gave her the prop. I wanted to talk to her about the gig. I wanted to ask her about how things had been. She told me she briefly about the two gigs she was doing. I said I was off to do a gig in a restaurant basement. She said "Oh" and that was about it. Bec's a very focused person. I could see her mind being drawn back to her next performance, so I slightly reluctantly cleared myself away.

On the way out I said "Hi" to three comedians. Literally "Hi." Smile, no intention of stopping, move on. Festival acknowledgement. Covering the bases. I could be commissioned one day. You never know. Doesn't hurt for them to say hi. Easier than stopping.

Loading entertainment. Entertainment not found.

I had been asked to do this other gig by a guy who often asks me to do gigs in Exeter. I had some time to kill so I went to a bar on my own. I made sure it was a venue so that I could be reasonably waiting for a show or to meet someone. I'm not above having a pint on my own in a pub, but it's more difficult during festival time. When, I got to the restaurant, the promoter wasn't there. It was a particularly uninspiring room with a fairly uninspiring crowd. I did what I thought was a set. They laughed hot and cold. Patchy. After, I asked the MC if he was going for a drink. They were headed to the Library Bar. It's a place for open spots who are having their first few Edinburghs. Then they graduate to the Loft, which is the same thing except they have door staff checking passes and it feels more desperate. You get to see minor celebrities, chain smoking, looking weary and laughing too loud at nothing.

I had texted everyone I felt like I could. That changes year by year. This year it was about 4 people. No one was around. I started to walk home. I got to a place called Canon's Gait which is the PBH Free Fringe hub. They had a showcase there so I thought I would go in and watch it and have a beer. I got one and went downstairs. The showcase was MCd by an atheist political feminist who talks about her TV appearances quite a lot. She is someone who gives her opinion for a living. No condemnation. Nice work if you can get it. Meedya.

I went and stood by the bar at the back. When she had finished her bit of MCing and got the first act on, she came up to me and said "One of the acts hasn't turned up. Can you go on?" It was a big, full room. The people seemed reasonably good-natured so I said "Sure." She came back after the second bit of MCing and said: "Right. You're the headliner unless they turn up. It means 15 minutes, but you know, 10 or something." By now, these were statements rather than request. Like it was expected of me. No criticism of her. She was in the lurch and was spinning plates, but I had just walked in off the street. I went along with it. What if no one else was around? What would she have done then? The room wasn't exactly electric, but it seemed okay. There was no reason to suggest it would be difficult.

It was difficult. 

Not disastrously bad. Worse. Reaaaally underwhelming. I felt like a new act. Staring people. Maybe three people really laughing. It wasn't silence, it was worse. A smattering of laughter. Some murmuring. Occasionally I would hit upon something that challenged the scepticism, but not for long. A general sense of weariness. The material I was doing was easy, but it was low status stuff. The MC talked about her TV appearances and newspaper articles. I talked about flyering and temping. THIS IS NOT A HEADLINER! WE DIDN'T NOT PAY FOR THIS! (It was a free show.) I left quickly after. I saw people not putting money into the bucket. Somewhere between the MCs media career and my lacklustre performance, there didn't seem the will. 

I left immediately. I hadn't planned to be there anyway. I felt like maybe if I moved fast enough, I'd escape being caught in the amber of historical events. I should have had a beer elsewhere. But that's disingenuous. If it had gone well, I would have thought "Good beer! Just popped in and ended up bringing the house down!"

The truth is that it's a festival gig. These things happen. It's not gutting. More than that, I don't want to do 10 or 15 minutes of a club set. I don't want to do club sets. There's nothing in it for me. I'm bored of saying nothing. I like doing my evening show sometimes. There are little jokes about jobs and girlfriends and such, but it's part of something much bigger. Club sets are not. They feel like condiment packets. I don't want a condiment packet. I want a jar of mustard.

Tomorrow is my day off. I am torn between just getting out of Edinburgh and going somewhere or just seeing some shows I haven't got round to seeing. Nah. Fuck that. I don't want to hear any more words. I want to see some action: wildlife or landscapes or castles. I'm a gonna buy me a train ticket somewhere. At least if I go on a tour, no one will ask me to take over if the guide doesn't show up.

It's almost 3am now. I am eating into my day trip. Bed.

Note to self: Don't go on a walk and the drop your phone in a field full of slurry like you did last year.

The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part !!

I am already too tired again. Yesterday seems like a lifetime ago. Tomorrow is an absurd thought. I feel drained.

Yesterday, I did too much - or almost too much. The Roman show yesterday was okay - there were flashes of good stuff, but no momentum. The one today was awful. The audience started off in a very warm and supportive manner, but by the end most of them looked relieved to leave. I felt like I sucked the air out of the room. For most of the time my words meant nothing, even to me. My mouth felt like a letterbox flapping and clattering away every time I tried to force some more contrived material through it. I couldn't say the word "adopted" even. I could feel my face contorting and straining to find fluency. Every so often I broke off and tried to find a new angle. Nothing worked. Even worse, I overran by 10 minutes. At the end, an American guy came up to me and pointed out the one bit he did like - never a good sign.

"I liked your bit on defecation."
"Decimation?"
"Oh right! Ha ha."

He was right. The show was pretty much a defecation. I don't mind an audience not laughing because they're interested, but when they just look bored...you know you're responsible for the shit part of their day. When I was at the fringe aged 22, we saw a guy who bored us for an hour and I remember thinking "Why the hell would you do a show that's boring? Why would you put something on that people don't find funny?" I remember us not laughing at something - I think it was a not very good joke about a phone going off in a cinema - and him getting visibly annoyed that we didn't laugh, snapping "It's a dichotomy!" He also angrily said "I've done all the big venues, but they don't treat you right." That was 10 years ago. I wonder if someone will remember my back-pedalling during a bad show. It's a bit mortifying to consider. I suppose that it's best not to know! I don't remember his name. Most failure is ultimately anonymous. That's a blessing.

I don't want to blame everything on being tired. I did a show last night called "Hate n Live." I did a lot of shouting. It was cathartic and I thought I did quite well, but the promoter said: "Sorry, they were a bit flat. They were like that last night, until this one guy came along and did really well." Translation: Sorry, the audience weren't great, but if you'd been better, they would have been. I'm not too precious about it. I did another spot during the day. I opened a free new act showcase. I was quite good and just doing some MCing for 5 minutes, then I did a story from my show and, as I have no idea how long it is, I massively overran - also it wasn't funny out of context and I was rushing through it when I realised how long it was taking me. I sacrificed funny for more content! Pointless! Overly long and not funny. Bit of a theme developing here. I better finish up this blog post.

I am not going to my show tonight. I shouldn't be doing this on 5th August. It's not good. But I really need the sleep, I really need to rethink the Roman show so I can get through this festival. Outside the festival it works. Here, it doesn't. I need to find a way to change things so that I can do it everyday and get a good response. What I need to do before that, however, is to get some sleep.

I'm not worried so much about the content of the evening show. There's enough to make people laugh and I don't see any proper future for me in straight stand up (even though Better Off Ed is probably much funnier than the other show) - so I like to keep it as a side project.

I have had a bit of a wobble today. Usually I feel I know why I'm here, even if it's hard. This time I don't. I could have stayed in London and done the Camden Fringe. I've never really felt like this before and it's only the 5th! I'd better start to find a way to really enjoy performing again or there's no point me being here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hack Watch:

Last year I did a show called "A Comprehensive History of the Roman Empire in under an hour with Jokes" in Bannerman's. I know I only got such a good venue because someone pulled out. It also explains why business for the show has been slower where I am now. This year, I note that the line up at the venue is pretty much the same minus me. I also notice that the guy who was on after me, and was always amazed at the audience numbers I got, is now doing a show called: "The Story of Medieval England From 1066 to 1485 at Roughly Nine Years and Two Jokes Per Minute Incorporating The Hundred Years War as a Football Match and of Course Scottish Independence" shortened to "Medieval Bollocks" on the board.

I WONDER where he got that idea from. Hmm?

The Decline and Fall of Ed's Festival - Part !

I just eradicated humanity with a plague called "Mr". It gave me a huge sense of achievement. I wanted to call it "Mr Death" but the game on my phone is a bit buggy. I have avoided mostly wanting genocide by mostly avoiding the festival drinking pits. 

Take that humanity!

The exception was my second night here. I met up with someone who is working at one of the venues. She was having drinks with the rest of the staff. Her boss was 22. They mostly all went to university together and all spent their time showing Instagram pictures to each other. A typical conversation was: 

21 year old girl

"This guy was 31. And I was like err...to put it in perspective? I'm 21?"

22 year old girl

"Yeah, but you're not like the stereotypical 21 year old?"

My scowl

"Yes you are."

I was already tired and apparently didn't conceal my feelings particularly well. At one point I went off for a walk. My friend asked me where I'd got to and I told her that I was standing by a tree. She came and met me then we left. We then went to meet her more "cultured" friends, i.e. 24 year old critics at a place called Summerhall, which is where "the cool kids hang out." Festival translation: Arty nerds. Most of whom are still at universities doing masters degrees in advanced job avoidance. Bit sneery, eh? Not to worry. They will all eclipse me.

I'm not sure this was a good idea. They all seemed extremely tired and unimpressed with all the shows they'd seen. The magazines make them go and see 5 shows a day. It's little wonder the reviews are so arsey.

Conversation samples:

Critic:

I saw 5 shows today earlier. They were all shit.

Performer:
Oh hi! You saw my show earlier! What did you think?

Critic:
It was great!

---------------

Critic:

They made me go straight to a show after a 6 hour train ride. I was sooo tired.

Me:

Wow! I wouldn't want to have been that performer. "The buffet service at the venue was non-existent! 1 star."

Critic:

...

I tried not to make too many jokes about critics. It's just so hard. It's my right to reply. That's what's frustrating about being written about. There's no right to reply. If you do, people think you're insane and bitter. My friend assured me that these were very progressive, supportive critics who want to change the system and abolish star ratings. Sure they do. Right up to the time when they leave university and get offered a salary. "Then...you know...I just feel lucky to have the job, because other people would love to be in my position. Actually, I'm bloody good at it, and what's wrong with giving out stars? People respect my opinion! They'd be bloody lucky to be reviewed by me!"

This isn't an exercise in bad-mouthing critics. I just think that critics need to be experts in their fields - and the people that the Edinburgh festival publications hire are not. They need to know how to fix a show, not how to badmouth it. Anyone can say why they didn't enjoy something. How many can say how they would have enjoyed it more? Incidentally, after my Roman show yesterday, a guy approached me and said. "I really liked the show, but could I give you some advice?...Don't take so many sips of water. It really upsets the momentum." Bloody good advice.

The best use of quotes!

My Roman show has been okay so far. The first one wasn't great. I was very tired. The second one went a lot better because I was well rested. No reviewer would ever take that into account, but it is such an important factor. The difference between me doing a good show and not can often be a pair of ear plugs and a black t-shirt draped over my head to keep the light out. Again, if I were a better performer it wouldn't phase me so much, but saying the right thing in the right tone in the right way takes a brain that is operating at its best, and when it doesn't, I don't.

My first performance of Better Off Ed couldn't have begun worse. I went to the venue and realised that the room they gave me was a landing above the main bar. I went up to somebody working there and said "Where's the venue?" and he said "You're looking at it." By 7.45 there were 2 Swiss people sat down, trying to think up ways to leave. By 7.50 3 girls came up and said "We're just ordering some food. We'll come back up." Some other people came up and sat down and said "Is this the improvised musical?" and I said "No...but I could improvise one, I guess" and they walked off. I watched the girls order their food at the bar and muttered out loud "Just pick a burger for God's sake. No...don't get onion rings too." The Swiss couple were looking in their magazine for other shows they could go to.

Finally the girls came up and we started at 8pm. I had 45 minutes to do the show and, somehow, after some reluctance, it worked. It was fun. They were 5 very nice people and we had a nice time. At the beginning, their faces were sceptical. By the end, they were beaming and thanking me and putting money in the bucket. And that's what I like about performing. It was a lovely little show. It won't always be. Instead of 3 nice girls, I'll get three heckling men. Instead of a nice Swiss couple, I'll get some very confused, hostile Russians. No offence Russians. Or men. But I realised the show is about. It's no great message. It's not an original thought. It's simply about being in the moment. It's the only way to really live and it's the only way to perform. Other than that, it's out of your control.

The Campaign for Real Men...

'Campaign' suggests that action must be taken, and it must be taken now! Campaign against climate change, campaign to cut banker's bonuses, campaign for real ale. All pressing issues demanding immediate action. For if we don't address these emergencies we end up with the human race in peril, huge inequalities in society and Foster's lager.

Non-fictious women

One campaign which seems to be on the minds of most glossy women's magazines is the 'Campaign for Real Women.' The feeling is that there is a great pressure on women to adhere to some ultra-skinny form which, if they don't achieve, they are worthless and unattractive. Seeing as most of the women who are hooked on this shit are largely variously-shaped office workers, it's probably a good idea to make the readership feel better about themselves. So, every time a celebrity pops out a sprog and then decides not to lose the extra weight a great cheer goes up from the editorial desks of Heat and Grazia. Every time a celeb drops a few dress sizes she is suddenly a treacherous bitch. What this essentially boils down to is that The Campaign for Real Women believes that immediate action must be taken to keep women a bit podgy. We must empower them to sit on their arses and not cave into societal pressure by ta
king care of themselves or doing any exercise. We must remove the guilt associated with troughing. Stop crying when eating your chips, unless you like them salty.

Now, I'm being unfair. Women are expected to do all sorts of things everyday that men don't even have to think about: plucking, waxing, painting their face, peeling off skin, balancing in high heels, squeezing into clothes. It's all a form of subtle but accumulative torture which, when combined with the ridiculous burden of a fully functioning baby factory and a brain whirring with extra-sensory perception, leaves me amazed that more women aren't in constant breakdown mode. All I have to do before leaving the house is wipe the crumbs from my beard and smooth my hand through my hair. And even then I'm quite picky! It's really not fair.

He looks in good sh...oh, no he doesn't.

Of course this point of view was probably more true ten years ago. Nowadays men are plucking, waxing, felling, oiling and shaping themselves to look more like the perfectly smooth cyborgs of Blade Runner. In the good old days, sex symbols were lanky, pokey and wonky faced like Mick Jagger or had their flabby bodies squeezed and shoehorned into big pants like Kirk Russell. Men were smelly, hairy and strangely proportioned, but could always fall back on the sense of security and smugness that comes with penis ownership. Nowadays men are expected to take the form of muscular, aerodynamic dolphins. Being the CEO of a willy just doesn't cut it anymore. If anything, it increases drag.

Well, women probably deserve to get
raped...yo check out my abs.

Partly, we can blame popular music. As content has given way to packaging, superstars of today have become bodybuilders. Commercial rap and successive boybands have taught us that the making of an album happens as much in the gym as in the recording studio. Everytime Justin Bieber says something deeply offensive, his usual strategy is to take pictures of himself topless and post them on twitter. We live in a visual, disconnectedly voyeuristic, socially available age and thus seem to be slowly losing sight of what a 'dickhead' is. Twenty years ago, if you were to take a photo of your body and go around showing it to people, you would have been thought of as a bit pathetic, needy and socially maladjusted (the very stuff of a true dickhead). Nowadays, it makes an excellent profile picture and the 'likes' roll in.

Daddy.

Perhaps it's time for men to be judged on the same terms as women. Perhaps it's about time that we should feel bad about our appearance because we aren't willing to spend hours every day in the gym conforming to the new expectations. But the truth is that men have never really had particularly high expectations of women. Most men aren't even aware of female imperfections. The amount of perfectly intelligent women I know who will get upset by the fact that their shoulders aren't quite the right shape or their toe is 2mm short of the national average or are convinced that the proportions of their earlobes make them look like 70s wrestler Big Daddy. Minor details which are imperceptible to the male eye. Most men are just delighted to be able to touch a woman without receiving a restraining order. Women have always had the keys to the city whilst men are merely overly eager Labradors waiting by the backdoor to be let in.

Why does ITV want to enable middle aged comedians to destroy their reputations?

"I'll be rounding up sheep, or is it the other way round?" asks Rory Bremner as he fucks about in a field and "That's the one officer" while pointing at an entirely innocent sheep. No, this isn't some terrifying peyote induced nightmare, this is "Rory Bremner's Great British Views" on ITV. Rather than doling out steaming portions of ripe political satire, he's vising a pencil museum and saying things like "That's a big pencil" when he sees a big pencil. The production is twee, the background music is chirpy, his presenting style is terrible and he has nothing interesting or funny to say. He just bumbles around and looks at things and nods appreciatively visiting the kind of places that drive pupils on school trips to glue sniffing. Nothing...ever...happens. And he's not alone.

Former iconoclastic punk comic Ade Edmondson is even more guilty as he presents the unbearable 'Ade in Britain.' It's like River Cottage meets queuing. His small talk is so tedious that even the business owners he interviews look like they want to wander off mid-sentence. "We're potty about pottery" he chirps as he visits a factory that puts varnish on pots, to the obvious discomfort of the staff. If his character Vivian had worked there, he would have grabbed a box of pots and slammed them over the head of this bumbling old fart. "No, no, no...I hate it, it's so bloody nice."

Edmondson is trying to become the "loveable middle-class eccentric" that Vivan so hated and perhaps he isn't entirely to blame. It is quite clear that ITV are throwing money at these people, and as neither Edmondson nor Bremner seem willing to put out any comedy at the moment, piss weak daytime TV formats must seem preferable to downsizing or bizarre and mawkish Aviva adverts (sorry Paul Whitehouse, but there's no need. How dare you use your considerable talents for evil. Wait. You've died and you were a ghost all along watching over your family? What?) Ever since Michael Palin went around effortlessly charming the pants off normal people across the world, execs at ITV must have assumed that this was a skill shared by all middle-aged comedians. Sadly not. Perhaps ITV are trying to appeal to the elderly or the terminally unimaginative, but there must be a better way to showcase the scintillating wonders of the biscuit making process. At least get that witless twat-du-jour Phil Spencer on the case. His entire career is built in a shame-free vacuum.

Rik Mayall: Selling out with dignity.

I suppose we must allow people to grow up and grow boring, but there must be some better way to put your kids through private school without defecating quite so openly on your own legacy. Hats off to Rik Mayall. He may be doing beer adverts but at least he does plenty of his trademark shouting in the process.

How to Be Popular by Slagging Off Your Friends...

“I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” Mark Twain

When I was 17, I had an experience which hung over me for years to come. I had been part of a group of people in GCSEs who spent every weekend together: having parties, drinking in parks, incestually ‘getting off’ with each other. It heralded social acceptance. I had ‘a life’ and I was finally immune to the suggestion that I should ‘get a life’. It was great. It was like ‘Friends’ but with 12 packs of Stella Artois and fingering under railway bridges. I was ‘the funny one’ and it was clear that this new Eden would last forever. This was absolutely indisputable.

It didn’t last forever. Some of the group formed a band with other people, new people came into our tight circle forming splintering factions. It was what happened to the Beatles and quite possibly Roll Deep. (It’s very important for my readership that I include modern references). Another ‘funny one’ called Dominic Walliman joined the group. A competitor. The guy told jokes, he made amusing observations, he believed he had a future in comedy. In short, he was a total shit.

Meanwhile two of the members (Nicky White and Ben Newman) were finding new identities in a band. I wasn’t in the band and thus I felt the band to be a threat to our group. I took the only responsible measure to bring us together and save our group: I let it be known that the band was rubbish and that Ben Newman was shit on bass.

In the meantime, I fancied a girl called Georgina Owen. She was a group member. On one occasion, during science, she pressed her breasts into my back. It was love. I once told her that I fancied someone but couldn’t tell her who it was. I thought I was being elusive and charming. I wasn’t. I must have looked like a love-sick stuffed animal. For some reason I confided in Dominic that I fancied Georgina Owen. I think I was trying to make a grand, benevolent gesture to him: “Here, I was saying. Welcome to the masonic lodge”. However, the information probably wasn’t all that precious. In fairness, it’s rather like confiding in someone that Hitler was a bit naughty. It’s generally known.

Nicky White threw a party. They were going to watch all of Starwars back-to-back. It was the social event of the season. I mentioned it to Nicky few times as a talking point, obviously to protest that I hadn’t been invited. He looked uncomfortable and then said, as if wearily resigned to something, “Do you want to come?” My plan to unite our disparate factions had begun.

When I arrived at the party, I was sure to slag off Ben’s bass playing to Delny Fitzryk (a neutral figure in all this) before sitting uncomfortably close to Georgina Owen and firing off lots of jokes at her. The charm offensive had begun. Some time later, Dominic Walliman sat next to Georgina and put his arm round her. She didn’t seem to mind. They kept looking over at me. I was drunk and absolutely gutted. I went up to the bathroom and had a huge swear. Nicky White knocked on the door and told me to keep it down because I was keeping his family awake. I told him how angry I was with Dominic. Nicky told me that the whole thing was staged to make me jealous, was known about by everybody, and was to get back at me for calling Ben Newman a crap bassist.

I was devastated. I felt utterly betrayed and rejected. I left the house and didn’t think I could realistically return to the school. Ben and Nicky were surprised at how badly I took it and had no idea it would have such an effect on me. Despite apologies and faint attempts at reconciliation, that was pretty much that as far as the group went. I no longer had plans on Friday or Saturday nights, so I spent the time making comedy films with my friend, Mark Gensler. Comedy became my new cathartic refuge. People were far too dangerous.

It took me years to get over, but I never totally got over it. Every time I found a new group of friends I knew the countdown to destruction had begun. The sense that things would inevitably fall apart, that people would quickly grow sick of me.

Of course the wicked perpetrators of my crisis in confidence got their come-uppance. Georgina is a successful criminal pathologist, Ben is an award winning artist and film director, Nicky runs a successful business and Dominic has a degree in nuclear physics. It just goes to show. Betrayers never prosper, and any concept of ‘success’ they have in their lives is mere fallacy and self-delusion. Meanwhile I’m a gnat’s wing away from comedy greatness. I will be doing my show, ‘You Have Nothing to Fear’ in Edinburgh. It’s free to get in.