EDINBURGH
Written by James Ward
So.
It’s not a big word, is it? “So”. It’s just two little letters (“s” and “o”), and yet it can be very significant.
So.
It’s the first word I say in the Edinburgh show I’m doing. Did I mention I’m doing an Edinburgh show? Every day at 7pm? At The Bongo Club? You know, on Holyrood Road? I must have mentioned it. It’s “strangely hypnotic and engaging” and leaves you with “a sense of perceiving the world slightly differently”. I must have mentioned it. Do you want a flyer?
So.
“So”. It’s the first thing I say. “So, are there any fork-lift truck drivers in tonight?” The “so” is crucial. It suggests a continuation. I’m responding to something. I’m responding to the framework we have created. This is our show, and the entrance music (Ho Renomo by Eno & Cluster) and the videos which play as you come in are designed to introduce you to our little world. It’s not a high energy show. It’s quiet and it’s meditative and it’s silly. It “swings between the absurd and the beautiful” (The List). It’s “witty and fascinating” (Josie Long). I’m proud of it. And even if it’s costing us a ridiculous amount of money to perform each night to smaller and smaller audiences, I’m happy to have done this because I think it’s a good show. This is not the next big thing, this is our little thing (I stole that line from Lewis).
But.
“But” is not like “so”. “But” suggests a change in tone.
But.
Tonight, I did a bit from our show somewhere else, in front of people who have no idea who I am or what I believe in. It didn’t go down well. It was my fault, of course. I knocked over my props, and as I bent down to pick them up, the microphone caused a high-pitched squeal of feedback. But this wasn’t the real problem. As Tom (who had asked me to do the gig) explained later I’d “already lost the room by then”.
It wasn’t fun. There was a roomful of people looking at me, thinking “You poor, poor man”, as I scrambled around on the floor, picking up the props which everyone had already decided they weren’t interested in anyway.
Of course, all comedians have bad gigs, but the point is, I don’t want to be a comedian. It seems like a horrible job. I want to create spaces and events where I can do my own little thing on my own terms. Boring was something I created, and I’m proud of it. The Quotidian Revue is something I’ve co-created and I’m proud of that too. I don’t want to do “circuit” gigs, and I can’t anyway. I’m not good enough. I’m comfortable with that because I know it’s not what I want to do. I’m not interested in doing that.
It’s now quarter to three in the morning. I was upset earlier because the gig had gone badly and I felt I’d let Tom down. I was so upset, that as I walked home, I decided to buy myself a present to cheer myself up:
I’m not entirely sure why I bought it. I saw it in the window of a newsagents and it sort of seemed funny. When I actually went inside and picked it up and gave it to the man in the shop, it started to get less funny. He looked at it in amazement. I don’t think he realised that they sold them in his shop. He was confused. He turned it over, looking for a price tag. £24.99. Twenty five fucking pounds I spent on this. I hadn’t checked the price before going to the till, but by now I was committed to the purchase.
And that is the reason I now own this:
It’s a life-size model of a cat. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, or how I’ll get it home, but it’s mine.
I think I’m having a breakdown.
I think it will be a charming addition to your temporary home.
I constantly find it amazing that anyone manages to be a stand up, because *every* one of them has bad gigs, and there is something particularly soul-destroying about it. Mike Birbiglia does a nice bit in the end of his Sleepwalk With Me story (http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/361/fear-of-sleep?act=1), where he says that, as a stand up, you have to have a certain amount of denial, otherwise you would just think, “Human beings don’t like me!”
I think you’re wonderful, James Ward, and very, very funny
x
Thanks. I can’t imagine doing this for a living. It must be horrible. I mean, it does feel nice when you say a thing and everyone laughs and cheers and claps, but it’s not something I want to do. I write cute little pieces of idle whimsy, and I’m happy doing that.
If you take it with you and talk to it, it would still be better than talking to a soccer ball. If you start putting lipstick on it however, you have gone over the edge.
Yes, I agree – lipstick would be a step too far.
What you do — and this is based on your writing, which I’ve read, rather than your stage show, which I’ve not seen — is much better that merely being funny. You make the rest of the world funny. Your attempt to change your name by deed poll to James Ward (which was what first brought me to your site) means that I can never hear the words “deed poll” now without quietly sniggering internally. Every time I see a Cadbury’s Twirl, I smile a little private smile. The world IS a funny place, but we mostly don’t stop and look closely enough to see that. Your blog helps us to see.
Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say that. It means a lot.
Yes, Mike Taylor, any time any one (and esp. our James) can make us stop and think or feel or laugh or see the world in a different way is The Best Gift anybody can give anybody else. The most loved people in the world have this gift and usually never realize it. Which. Makes them even more lovable.
“Bad” gigs are great fodder for your blog, James Ward, for which we are all the richer.
Being a comedian is a seemingly thankless job. You somehow make things that are not funny exceedingly laughable by the way you approach them. It’s made me take a step back and look at the world differently, which has made me appreciate how hilarious it is most of the time. You couldn’t be further away from slapstick comedy, and for that you deserve unquantifiable amounts of praise. Unfortunately this brings the price that most people just won’t get it. Soldier on, you do have fans. Come to Leeds sometime, I know a bunch of people that would find you hilarious.
Also, that’s a fantastic cat! I think you should sit stroking it when you invite people over, like a Bond villain. Obviously get very upset if they feel this is not normal. Go as far as to storm out the room.
Thanks. I’ve never been to Leeds, maybe one day…
I’m tempted to take the cat to a vet and ask them to take a look at it. I don’t think it’s very well. It’s barely moved since I bought it.
If he’s a good (read: funny) vet, he’ll ask you to describe just how much it HAS moved. Much is to be learned from that.
You’re totally having a breakdown. But, check out the spoils: that cat is tight!
Exactly. At least if I am having a breakdown, I got a resin statue of a cat out of it.
I like that cat. You are a good and funny man James.
Thank you Gdorean.
That cat photo made me laugh out loud, aided by your suspenseful description in the run-up. Clearly you need to work this post into your live act. Dickon x
If it’s any consolation re your bad gig, I remember Eddie Izzard completely dying circa 1992 when he tried to fit excerpts from his act into a Mock The Week-type multi-comedian radio show. He’d do his surreal stuff to complete silence, then the MC would leap on and say something like “Planet Earth To Eddie” or “Whatever he’s on, I’ll have some” before going into some tired but reliable bloke-pleasing routine about the Prime Minister being rubbish, or getting the munchies at the all-night garage from smoking drugs etc.
No, you need to follow the examples of Izzard, Stewart Lee, Mighty Boosh and so forth, the ones that will always be File Under Cult Appeal, but interest enough fans to make a living (and a pretty good living in Izzard’s case!)
Thanks. Last night was a bit disappointing, but actually I think it was a good thing. It’s made me realise what I’m good at and what I want to do (and what I’m bad at and don’t want to do). It means I just have to create my own spaces and do things on my own terms. I kind of knew that anyway, but last night threw it into sharper focus.
Reminded me of a recent post by Amanda Palmer: http://blog.amandapalmer.net/post/8690473929/the-art-of-audience-courtship (skip past the news bit)
She doesn’t have a resin cat though.
Please can I have the cat?
buddhists sometimes start a dharma talk with ‘so..’
i think that because there is no proper beginning or end to buddhist stuff (apart from the life of the buddha itself, which tells you very little) it makes sense to be rather circular in delivery.