It was easy booking the gig. Once I was given the nod to pop my comedic cherry at the Comedy Bar in Luton, there was nothing to worry about. I had a couple of months, as my four year old would say, “its easy peasy”.
I wrote down some ideas and quickly had 30 minutes of material, not 30 minutes of good material, just 30 minutes of material. The verbose monologue was then whittled down to 10 minutes, which on closer inspection turned out to be an eighteen-minute type of ten minutes.
I began learning nine minutes of it before being struck down by the worst of ailments which restricted my attendance at my day job, for more details you’ll have to come to a gig. Keen to use the time productively, I sat down in front of a back-to-back marathon of comedy legends.
My stomach span inwards when one of them, Peter Kay, basically read out 4 minutes or so of what was left of my script! Had I seen him do it before? I don’t remember but it is possible. Either way, that discovery decimated my script and left me thinking that anything I could write will have been written already. What could I do? Well I sought solace in the ailment which had struck me down, and wrote four minutes (ok, twenty), on that.
Before I could even smell my own sweat on a stage, I’d hit a low and high that told me I could do alright with this. While disappointed that I’d lost what I’d considered a strong part of my fledgling act, I’d rolled with the punch and written a replacement section before my [see the gig for details of ailment] had even calmed.
A week or two of learning the script and its order, and I was ready to test it out. The content seemed fairly solid, and I found myself adding and tightening gags at will, adding one in, taking two out, amending the one I’d put it until it looked much like one of those I’d taken out.
Then I whipped out the video recorder and ran through the set under the lens. Damn, I wasn’t funny. I couldn’t shake the robotic delivery of the material which had stemmed from reading it over and over while sat in a chair. I had to architect a delivery style which offered some animation to the act. It was my first time, but it’s a comedy act, not Jackanory.
As my stage debut approached, I spent time on my act every day, and did one performance a day to my wife, the subject of many the gags. Not in a good way. I’d managed to clear most of the drivel out but she helped with the remaining clumps. A tweak here, and point there. All vital amendments.
The day arrived and the nerves began to grow. I couldn’t believe it was finally here and despite all my desires for the night, I’m now just thinking about remembering the words. I’d seen one meltdown on this stage while in the audience two months ago and red really isn’t my colour, nor is brown. Back over the script, over and again, making sure it had all sunk in.
Arrived at the venue and felt weird signing in with “hi yeh James Howard, I’m performing tonight”. It didn’t sound like I’d managed to get the words out but he looked along the list of acts, some names I recognised, and highlighted mine. It was really happening.
Acts on the night: Jonathon Prince, James Howard, Winter Foenander, Jay Islaam , Fran Byrne, Ryan Jones, Masai Graham, Wizzy Janew, Tim Blackwell and Olaf Falafel.
I went back stage (I know), and was led to the dressing room (I know). The other comedians were filtering in and the conversation was fluid as acts came and left the room. I advised of my stage virginity and was met with open eye-balls. A couple told me how long they’d studied comedy and I felt a bit of a bell end with my “yeh, well I read a book, so….”. One said he’s first show took a year to write which really got me thinking mine might be on the flimsy side. There was a lot of support from very talented people who I’d only just met, little bits of advice and tips they’d picked up over hundreds of gigs.
Jonathan Price opened, and as expected got the crowd into a lively mood with a belting performance. Sean Patrick, the MC for evening told me he wasn’t going to hang around between acts and that he’d bring me straight on. I stood by the curtain, staring at the darkness that shielded the other side, and hoped that the audience would save a few of those giggles for me. Jonathan came off stage, Sean was on and before I knew it was welcoming James Howard to the stage.
It went well. I’d heard so many stories about nightmare first gigs but I was glad to escape unbruised and ego delicately massaged. A drunken heckler served only to tee me up for what was possibly my biggest laugh of the evening, another experience chalked off. I got more laughs than I’d expected, and louder too. Thing with observational comedy, it feels even better than just laughter when then audience laugh and nod with recognition of the common but largely unspoken subject matter your covering on stage. My nightmare gigs will come, no doubt, but my first was a wonderful experience.
I came off stage and it was a big of a blur. Handshakes before settling down to watch the rest of the evening’s comedy. Some of the audience stopped to talk about my set in very positive terms, and even buy me drinks. If nothing else, I can develop an alcohol dependency out of this game.
The gig was recorded by my ever-dependable wife and after watching it a couple of times to gage the audience reaction, I got to work on cutting it (it ran on for seven and a half minutes rather than five), refining it (losing the gags that didn’t work), and developing those gags that did hit the spot.
I’d not wanted to book anything else in fear of dying on my arse but having negotiated the first, the second and third are confirmed in the diary and details will be on the way soon. A drink is on me for the one who laughs loudest!
Stand up comedy debut – James Howard