Yo. You. Yes you. You who are so adept and versed in the art of the stand up gig. Remember your first gig? Probably pretty bad wasn’t it? Was it as bad as this? Well………was it?!
Young newcomer Rob Crosby regales us with the sorry tale of his very first gig. All together now……’Bless’!! Strap yourself in, it’s a long one! (Note: I should really edit this, however…I can’t be arsed. Here is the unexpurgated version, live and direct from the author)
My very first gig.
I knew not what to expect but was very excited to finally grace the stage, albeit in a bar I’d never heard of hidden somewhere down a backstreet in Edinburgh.
The show kicked off at 8:30. I arrived early, eager to talk to the other ‘Red Raw’ performers, keen to add my nervous excitement to the rest of the pack. As I psyched myself up and flung open the doors to the bar, the sight of two other people (one being the barman) was not what I was expecting but it was a full 30 minutes before the show. The bar was tiny and L shaped. The searched for the stage and found a blackened ‘doorstep’ at the far window, just off the corner of the L. So a pint of (the worst) cola (I’ve ever tasted) was ordered and I sat down to watch the football, to take my mind off the nerves. It was the World Cup Semi-Final Germany v. Spain and as I watched, I pondered how the show would work as it started before the football ended.
I must have been slightly engrossed (or going over my routine mentally) because when I turned round again, there were about 10 more people in the bar and one was walking about with a piece of paper. I beckoned him over and gave him my name which he ticked off the list and told me:
“What we’re going to do is let the match finish first before we start the show. Last week we just did it with the sound down but people were too distracted by the screens and it wasn’t fair on the acts.”
Sounded reasonable to me, I just nodded and agreed.
Fast forward to the end of the match, Spain (surprisingly) won and signalled my nerves to kick back in – it was soon showtime! A few people in the bar leaned over to the window to watch a sea of Spanish revellers spill out onto the street from the bar across the road. After a few minutes, the compere gathered everyone round to talk shop:
“Okay folks, a few pointers. We’re having problems with the mic, it’s not very clever and cutting out if you pick it up so the best thing to do is leave it in the mic stand and lean over. You can pick it up but no one will hear you and you might look cool but no cunt will hear you. Or you can leave it alone and people will hear your stuff, it’s your call. Also, there’s a few bodies going up tonight so if you can, keep it to the 5 or 10 minutes and try not to over run. If you’ve only got 5 minutes worth, keep it to that and say goodnight, we’re running late as it is.”
Then he showed us the running order and wished us all luck. A quick chat with the others and I realised that out of 10 people, only 2 were actual first timer’s. Fuck.
I was 2nd in the 2nd half. More waiting. More nerves. I sat down to watch the others at work.
First up came the compere and he was good, he worked the audience, engaged them and pulled them in whether they appeared interested or not. This is even more impressive when you learn – the audience consisted of 4 people crushed into a 3 seater sofa 4ft in front of the tiny stage, another sat on a chair beside it. A young guy (what am I saying? They were all young) sat on a 2 seater sofa at right angles to the stage on the right hand side. 2 people on poof’s behind that and guy and a girl on high stools crammed into a cubby hole. All the acts were huddled together on the left hand side of the stage next to the pool table. The young guy was at Uni studying robotics, particularly AI – into my brain popped an opener directed at him: “In a battle of Artificial Intelligence – who would win between your robot… and a tin of beans?”
The first act took to the stage.
I don’t remember anything about them in all honesty, I was far too nervous and going over my routine in my head.
As they left the stage, I followed the compere and went over to sit on the right hand side of the stage, to make the numbers look better.
The second act took to the stage. I tried to give him my full attention. The bar was silent and he was quietly spoken so I struggled to hear him although I did make out that it was a 5 minute story with a punchline at the end.
Forward to the act on just before me – the only other first time performer! A couple of the acts gone before had been good, very professional but I had struggled to hear them and this I put down to nerves. Now I was fully alert and paying as much attention as possible. The crowd had changed: Gone was the young robotics guy – and with him, my opener. Gone were the four young people on the front sofa, replaced by two guys and girl – who’s relationship was bizarre: she was pregnant and dating one of the guys but had slept with the other and she didn’t know who the father was. Into my brain popped a new opener: Quiz them about the relationship and then reply “So what you’re really telling us is – It’s a spit-roast”
On stage the young guy had drank far too much and was rambling, I felt sympathy for him but thought my clear head would give me the advantage I needed over the subdued crowd. The compere came over and asked:
“Are you many gig’s in?”
“This is my first.”
He looked worried, watching the guy on stage. Then he spoke to another act before coming back to me:
“Right, I’ll swap you. You don’t want to go on directly after that.”
This he explained was because the audience were now a bit hostile and needed an experienced act to win them back. I just agreed. The replacement act took to the stage. He was great.
Walking right up to the front row, he yelled right in their faces before doing the same to everyone else. I remember thinking “They can’t ignore him now.” And they didn’t, he won them back and there was laughter again. And then he came off. I don’t remember exactly what he said but it was something along the lines of “Shite crowd, sorry man – I did my best.” At the same time, the front row left – another opener gone. The compere shouted my name. It sounded alien. I took to the stage. My audience was the 3 heavy metal dudes 2 rows back, 2 people sitting on my right and 4 young guys in the cubby hole.
Can’t pick up the mic, no one will hear you.
The stage was tiny – painted black. I reach for the mic which is too low and try to quickly adjust the angle bracket. I loosen it too much and the stand nearly folds in two. I don’t think anyone has noticed as I quickly tighten it again – into a lower position. Did I mention I have a sore back? I’m recovering from 2 slipped disc’s. I lean over.
“Yes, this is my first time on the stage.. I say stage.. it’s more of a pallet… with aspirations.”
Silence. Okay, go with the script.
“Hello, my names Rob…”
The main door of the bar opens and in walks a crowd of drunken Spanish fans. They’re very loud but I have a microphone!
I don’t remember saying much after that, only that when my attention returned, it found my mouth was still going and the words coming out were the right ones. There’s a (very small) sea of puzzled looking faces, they don’t find it funny… Shit.
I keep going.
From the act corner I see 2 of the acts come forward and sit on the sofa in front of me. It makes me feel better for a second, then worse as I think they’re now judging me on a professional level. Fuck it, I play to them anyway.
I get a very small laugh – it’s enough. I turn to the right where the most people are sitting. Puzzled faces look back. I turn to the right to play to the acts in the vain hope I’ve bonded with someone. There are some smiles and a grin but no laughter – I turn back to the metal dudes.
From the act corner Someone shouts:
“Speak up, we can’t hear you!”
I almost chew the mic:
“Hello!”
Almost the whole bar says “Hello!”
I’m halfway through my act – keep to 5 minutes! I can’t start over. I just introduce myself again:
“Hello! My name’s Rob..”
“Hello Rob!”
It’s a miracle – I have the crowd interacting with me. My brain kicks into overdrive and I fight it to keep to the script. “No time! No time!”
Suddenly there’s the odd pocket of laughter, people have gone from puzzled to smiling. The metal dudes still look like they want to kill me but I no longer care. I kick in to the 2nd half of my set. I later find out that I had no mic skills whatsoever and as cool as Ben Elton might look as he sidles in to the mic and talks out the corner of his mouth, that just doesn’t work with this mic. That said, my only experience with a mic to date is the odd drunken cat-waller on Singstar. If someone had told me “Share saliva on the mic.” then I would have done that and been heard but I knew no different and foolishly assumed that all could now hear me. But now I had gone from “Can’t hear a word you’re saying.” to “What did you say? I missed that.”
The increased volume of my voice is apparently a challenge to the Spanish revellers as they now start chanting “Spania! Espania!”
A few ad-lib’s to the script pop into my head and I go with them, I get the odd bit of laughter but I’m now completely conscious of the time limit.
“Espania! Espania!”
I’ve never timed my routine so I have no idea how long it runs but even if I had, it’s thrown to hell. I look over to the acts, someone taps their watch and I become acutely aware of the possibility that I’ve overrun.
Shit – can’t upset the professionals, not on my very first gig. I try to wrap up, completely forgoing the little acted out section at the end – which at the time, I forget is the actual pay-off to the whole routine. Still, they laugh as I near the end and are somewhat shocked but applaud as I announce I have to leave the stage. Leave them wanting more!
In retrospect – I left them wanting a pay-off but hey, I was buzzing.
The rest of the night was a blur, I remember watching the 3 acts left including the headliner who just treated the crowd as hostile and was all the funnier for it but I only remember bits of their sets. A very nice girl act gave me her details so I could follow up with some other places to play with the advice: “See this as a bad gig, the good ones outnumber the bad gigs 10-1. So you’ve got 10 good ones to go.” And the compere just patted me on the knee saying:
“I wouldn’t wish this on anyone let alone as a first time.”
I didn’t care, I’d finally done it and laughed excitedly all the way to the car.
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