I was compering a benefit for a charity called
Get Connected at the Comedy Store tonight. As I've discussed before performing at this venue can be a little nerve wracking, because of what it represents, both from my past and the wider comedy world. I am also a relatively inexperienced MC, even if doing the Lyric gigs has given me more confidence. But I went into it without much thought and with a little hubris. In fact enough hubris to try my hubris joke that rarely works, even though it should because it is brilliant.
But it's actually a good thing to be going on stage without really knowing what I am going to do and that it partly what good compering is about. To weave humour out of nothing and interact with the audience.
I started pretty well, I thought and the opening ten minutes were a pleasure, but I had a few sips of wine on an empty stomach while Terry Saunders did his stuff and was amazed by how much that affected me. I stumbled over a couple of words and then when it came to introducing Jo Caulfield ended up tying myself in knots. It can sometimes work to give people slightly rude or rambling introductions. It's something I do at the Lyric, but that is a night when I am in charge and know all the acts well and have selected them. Tonight I was just the MC and no one really knew who I was and so to be cheeky or bumbling didn't work as well. And my mouth was running away from me, after half a glass of wine. "You may have seen her on Mock the Week," I said, "But she's good." Although I have mild disdain for the combativeness of that programme, it's still not a good thing to criticise a show that the next comic has been on. "She's a fabulous comedienne...." Where the Hell had that come from? Who uses that word any more? It's not like it's as offensive as some of those words that we used to use, but it's just archaic and strange and patronising. I attempted to dig myself out of that mild embarrassment by saying, ".. oooh, but we can't call them that anymore," thinking of launching into a parody of those old school comics who hate political correctness and hate the way the world has changed. But I realised that any veil of irony would probably be lost on the crowd, who would just think I was being the kind of old school comedian who would use the word comedienne (which I suppose, at least for that moment I was), so I just bailed out and introduced Jo. As she passed me I said, "What a brilliant introduction" and she laughed. No real harm had been done, except that I slightly lost my confidence, which is a disaster when you're trying to perform on the hoof and the night began slipping away from me a little bit.
This was slightly compounded by a dazzling set from Daniel Kitson, who controlled and commanded the stage and effortlessly ad-libbed, launching into a magnificent diatribe against a man who had said "Who?" when I introduced Daniel and then against the whole audience after they had failed to laugh at one of his jokes. "That was the best 45 seconds of stand up that I have ever seen," commented a man on the front row. And it had been pretty exhilarating and amazing. I had been thinking that I had been making great strides in stand up in the last few months, but seeing Kitson reminded me of how far there was still to go and forced me to acknowledge that whilst I could get better, I will never be that good. Which isn't such a negative thing to acknowledge. He's probably the most complete and perfect stand up I have ever seen. Confident, yet vulnerable, genuinely improvised, able to carve comedy out of thin air, poetic, unafraid of letting something hang in the air even if there is no joke, able to insult the audience without offending them and just wonderfully intelligent, truthful and above all effortless. Following him, if only to wrap up the first half, was a humbling experience. "I think I might have to give up being a comedian," I told the crowd. This is, though, a good place to be. To see someone that good that it makes you realise how useless you are. You either give up or try harder and you're bound to think of going for the easier course first.
In high spirits Daniel came on to stage as I wrapped up, knocking over the microphone stand, still in mock fury at the man who hadn't known who he was.
In the second half I lost even more confidence after someone in the slightly right-on crowd hissed one of my jokes. I became self-conscious and worried that I was doing badly, which of course meant that I started doing badly. Luckily some great turns by Paul Sinha and Pappy's Fun Club kept the energy going and the show went very well. I had been fine. But just got a little out of my depth for tonight. It's good to be brought down to earth after a run of good gigs.
Most of the acts went out for a Chinese after the show (I should probably have had one before to soak up the wine) and we had a lovely time eating, drinking and dicking around. Annoyingly, but unsurprisingly Kitson is as effortlessly funny and likeable off-stage as on. I have never been a big one for hanging around with comedians - a proportion of them are idiots, trying to be funny all the time and outdo each other in the comedy stakes - but this was a charming collection of people, who were not trying to compete (with the possible exception of me by the looks of this entry). I still felt a bit hollow from my disappointing performance on stage, but after being on stage at the Comedy Store and having a late night Chinese with another seven comediennes (oh you can't call them that any more), I did at least feel like I was a proper stand up.
