Andi Osho is one of the UK's fastest rising comedians, gaining a huge reputation as one of England's funniest and most glamorous acts. Despite only being on the comedy scene for a relatively short time, after four years she is already making a huge name for herself, which is incredible considering comedy was only a last ditch attempt to make money.
"I got into comedy as a necessity more than anything really," she says. "I was an actor, with very little work coming in and I was a part time receptionist too. Money was becoming a real issue so as a way of keeping my hand in the pot I decided to try stand up comedy. I had a real desire to perform, not particularly comedy but I needed that release you get from performing. I knew people who were doing comedy, which was the main help I needed really because I was far too scared to get on stage. I done a course, which served as a platform and then it took off from there really."
Even at her first show, Andi was making people sit up and notice her talent. "It was after my first performance when someone came up to me and suggested I entered the Funny Women competition. I was new so I had no idea about it really, I didn't know it was for new acts or anything, I thought all female comedians could enter. I thought 'I'd have no chance against the likes of Jo Brand and Dawn French.'"
Andi took on the challenge of the competition in 2007 and, unsurprisingly to those around her, she won it. She explains how this really changed things for her: "What a competition like that does is, it kind of puts you on the radar for people of importance to notice you. The competition alone is probably what has got me where I am today. It got the ball rolling, even if I wasn't quite ready for it. I got an offer for a 30 minute corporate show, which is great and all but, I only had 8 minutes worth of material. I wasn't going to turn it down so I done it. I think I managed to get away with it too. I just got people on stage and padded like a maniac. I've never heard from them since about going back."
TV offers started coming in and it wasn't long before Andi was appearing on shows such as Mock the Week on the BBC. "It was Mock the Week that started getting me more attention really, people start seeing you in a different way after you've been on shows like that. I was getting offers for pilots for my own show, done The Comedy Roadshow and now Stand Up For The Week." Now her break has finally come she intends on grasping it with both hands. "Some people work hard their whole lives just to get noticed and it never happens for them. For me, my chance has come and I was lucky enough to be able to go for it, I'll always be grateful for that. I'm doing what I love."
For Andi, comedy was always a big part of her life, being inspired from an early age. "When I was young, comedy was comedy, there was no distinction, I didn't really know the difference between stand up or sitcoms, I just knew people were laughing," she said. "I loved things like Blackadder, Jasper Carrot and Ben Elton. I remember watching Eddie Murphy's 'Delirious' and that changed my world. It was what everyone was talking about in school, I knew half the jokes before I'd even seen it." Even with those inspirations, Andi explains that she didn't ever expect to be a comedian herself. "I never even considered doing it as a job. I never used to go to comedy shows or watch them on TV and think, 'One Day!!' I was just captivated by the magic of it. It just seemed so natural, like it was all made up, it didn't come in to my head that it could possibly be prepared, they were just funny. It didn't seem like a job."
Something that Andi never seems to be able to escape are the inevitable questions following her into every interview she does, questions about her race and gender within the career path she has chosen."People like to talk about race and gender don't they? I can't say that my gender or race has really been a hindrance or an advantage for me, I'm the wrong person to ask really. Ask a woman who is struggling on the open mic circuit, who, even though she's good, she's not getting a break. Because I got a break, really early on.
"I bypassed loads of white and black guys, so I'm not the person to ask whether it's hard or not because I could say 'Nope, it's easier!' I don't think it's about being a woman or being black, I think what it comes down to is being different to the norm and ultimately getting a break. People are always willing to point out that there aren't enough women comedians or black sitcoms. I honestly don't think there is any argument there, it's a very competitive field and there are people getting rejected every single day, black or white, male or female, it's the same in most jobs. There aren't many male midwives, there're more black football players than white, that doesn't mean there's anything dodgy or underhand going on. I remember people saying that there aren't enough black people going to opera houses. Well, what's enough black people? Maybe black people don't want to go to opera houses. Black people, as well as white people, like some things and don't like others. I don't know the statistics and neither do you. It's just life. It's just a non-topic for me."
That said, Andi is very proud of her ethnicity and based her first Edinburgh show around her roots and being a female comedian, but now, she feels it's time to move on. "I've talked about race and ethnicity, now that's done, I just want to move on to new topics. I want my comedy to be accessible to everybody, I don't want people to feel out of the loop or outcasts from my jokes or shows. I am not trying to make people feel guilty, I don't want to attract that kind of attention, the wrong kind. Not that I am scared of it, more because I just want to be funny. Making people laugh is what my job is, I love doing it and I just want to get on with it, I only do it to make people happy, the last thing I'd want would be for my comedy to do the opposite."
Even with so much going on around Andi, she remains to keep her feet firmly on the ground, "You know in a job like this, you can have it all one minute and it's gone the next. I am so lucky to be given opportunities when I haven't even been going that long and I am totally grateful for that. There are so many great acts who have been going for longer than me who are yet to make it and sometimes I feel guilty around them. But you can't, they tell me that, there are some genuinely lovely people on the circuit who might never make it, there might be some not so nice people who are making it. I just have to keep working hard, keep myself grounded and take nothing for granted. I've still got so much to learn.
"Every step seems like the most important thing, but looking back you realise it might not have been as important or scary as you thought, I like to keep that in mind when opportunities come along. It's like when you were at school doing your A Levels and you'd think 'Oh my God, this is the most important moment of my life' and now you look back and you can't even remember what you got in your A Levels. That kind of thinking helps at times, especially when you have shows to prepare for, the stress of reviewers and peers you know, I want to impress these people but at the same time, I can only do my best and I will always do my best."
Andi is taking her show, Afroblighty, to the Edinburgh Fringe festival again this year and will then be touring it around the country, with dates and ticket details available on www.andiosho.co.uk.
This interview first appeared in Comic Magazine
Here at the Comedy Blog we're super excited for Tim Minchin's arena show this week.
]]> Comedy rock super star Tim Minchin is back on the road with his biggest live show ever.Tim Minchin And His Orchestra includes brand new songs as well as his classics, as you've never heard them before - with the 55 piece Heritage Orchestra.
The grand finale of the comedy festival, it's a far cry from his last appearance at the event, sharing a triple bill attended by less than 50 people, so I'm told.
As well as performing to sell-out crowds around the world, Tim has written music and lyrics for RSC's new musical version of Roald Dahl's Matilda which opened to rave reviews in December and his radio sitcom Strings was broadcast on BBC Radio 2 in May 2010. Tim's second live DVD, Ready For This? is available now.
We lurve him. But don't take my word for it. Here's the Times: "Minchin is a genuine musical virtuoso, whose songs are constructed and sung with an attention to detail that would make Rufus Wainwright sit up and look nervous. And that's even before we get to the jokes."
He's at the arena on Wednesday (May 11). For tickets and more info, call 0844 8000 400, or visit www.echoarena.com, or www.timminchin.com.
The night of the royal wedding, slightly tipsy, I was lucky enough to catch Dylan Moran performing his new show Yeah Yeah for the very first time.
Every seat was filled, and Dylan ambled onto stage to warm applause. He paused, then asked if anyone had watched the royal wedding, before ripping into every dull moment of it. His easy stage presence and instant-on topicality drew everyone into the narrative, as he segued seamlessly to ranting about the aristocracy and from there to the rest of his life.
The laughs came frequently, and the observation felt genuine, but you couldn't miss how familiar every topic was. The problems of turning 40, raising children, rants about young people, girls who wear short skirts in winter, the etiquette of dinner parties - they're all classic subjects, worn smooth as pebbles by every comedian for the last 30 years. That said, Dylan gave each of those pebbles a distinctive shine, and the humour flowed naturally from his unique character and deft use of language, as when he described an entree as "a prawn pole-dancing on a breadstick".
A slideshow of doodles was projected onto the backdrop throughout. It took me a while to figure out that they didn't relate to what he was saying, and they did distract from the show a little, but they added a charming quirkiness.
The second half of the show returned to the themes of the first, including the royal wedding, before Dylan noticed there was a cake on stage, left by a member of the audience. This prompted a long and very funny improvisation. He's at his freshest when off the script, and his description of cake as the ultimate symbol of love was particularly hilarious.
After that, the end came sooner than expected, only for Dylan to come back twice for two encores that no-one really asked for. They were good encores, but it felt very pre-planned, and slightly awkward. Still, Yeah Yeah had a very good first night, and the show can only strengthen as the tour continues, as moments of improvisation solidify into practiced routines.
It wasn't life-changing, wasn't ground-breaking, but it did provide an open window into the life and thoughts of a charismatic and talented man.
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Anyone who's read Seb Hunter's Hell Bent for Leather (hilarious book, despite being the kind of suspicious title you can usually find for £1.99 in a bin in HMV) will have a good feel for what Rock 'N' Dole was all about. Avery's comic recollection of teenage angst was familiar territory and won the audience around immediately, but what made it really interesting were the specifics. I'm the same age as Sam, used to read about DBH in Kerrang, oddly enough, know who Bodycount are - and can't resist a show that talks geek. Time flew by in Avery's company as he wizzed through the band's rise to fame (of sorts). From calamitous first gigs, to a dream-come-true record deal and out-of-their-depth hanging out with big-time American producers and touring with Napalm Death, this was a great story full of laugh out loud moments, playing to that boyhood fantasy of becoming a rock star, all with the comedian's laidback delivery and comforable larking about. Who knew Rawhide's finest was getting up to this sort of stuff before the comedy came along?
Just as the boys were hitting the big leagues, I had to dash over to another Liverpool Comedy Festival show. How I wish I'd stayed with Sam and seen how it all worked out for them. I hope there's another chance to catch this funny and loveable show from a comedian who has really hit his stride.
]]>The Funny Women Awards makes its annual stop off in Liverpool tomorrow night, as one of its regional heats ahead of the final in September. As well as the evening event, it is hosting an afternoon 'women in comedy' debate.
The event, held at the Bluecoat on Saturday at 12pm, is being chaired by Lynne Parker from Funny Women, who has recently come under fire for her decision to start charging amateur comics to take part in the competition.
The female role in the comedy industry has certainly changed over the last half century, but what position is the comedy industry currently in for women? How have these changes affected existing comedy professionals, and potential newcomers to the industry? Why do the majority of women in the industry tend to work behind the scenes rather than on the stage? What challenges do women face in the comedy industry, both in front of and behind the curtain?
Discussing all this and much more, plus audience questions, will be performers Bryony Kimmings and Shaista Aziz, the Liverpool Comedy Trust's Sam Avery and Krystal Clarke, who founded the city's first all-female comedy night. Entry is £2.
He has a pop at John Lennon, breaking down the lyrics to Imagine, arguing them nonsensical; fortunately, he was among a decent audience that didn't have any inclination to give him a hard time over it (you must know you're in a safe place when the crowd laughs at your joke about threatening to stop reading the Guardian). His chat with 'Richard Dawkins' is a riot, and he did us a favour this pitbull-ridden city by passing on a great 'untested wisdom' about how to kill a dog that's attacking, that was so simply on the money it'd be a sure thing it would stick with everyone who was there whenever they see an unfriendly canine for a very long time.
Munnary ends the show utilising a number of curious props that had been hanging around, unused, for the whole entire show. His monologue sketch set in "La Concepta, the conceptual restaurant", serving up non-food to bashful audience members was a curiosity at first but incredibly funny once the audience warmed to the rogue idea. It was a notably different piece of comic writing than what had come before. 'Absence of mango' and 'Belgium on a plate' were just two of the treats on the menu, as Munnery became ac-tor, hamming it up with a cardboard tie and moustache comprising a pencil tied under his nose (having read other reviews from different cities, it seems he is wont to plonk this sketch at various points in the show depending on where you catch it. Wonder what that willingness to mess around with the order of things says about how he operates).
With maturity comes the parallels that can be drawn with the curmudgeonly, poetic wit of John Hegley and the variety of Arthur Smith as much as the alternative cool of the Stewart Lee-type stable he came up with. His delivery, peppered with Lee-esque deconstruction of the gags, and his combination of little silly songs, mean at 44 he occupies that evolving middle ground between new and old (alternative) school. It's a good place to be and the resulting act is rather irresistible.
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We heard about Fitzhigham's desperate search to find a sponsor (Thomas Crapper & Company saved the day, and not only was that good for gags, but they eventually made a special toilet bowl named after him); his run-ins with the truculent French authorities, that constantly threatened the project; what it's like to see a cargo ship heading towards you when you're bobbing in the sea in a bath; and the physical toll the journey (and the first failed attempt) took on our hero.
It's an evening in the company of a natural storyteller, full of energy and wit. He's self-depreciating, despite knowing he'd achieved something quite extraordinary and worked incredibly hard for it. But underneath the casual demeanour, the conclusion of the show gives Fitzhigham away. As he wrapped up, we watched footage of him rowing back into London, victorious, and set to Coldplay's Fix You (blerg), and he finished with his thoughts on the British public who helped him along the way. He must have performed this show many times, yet it could be sworn Fitzhigham's eyes misted over as he remembered the completion of his crazy struggle and those who played a part in making it happen for him. The whole endeavour certainly had its absurdities, and the show is played for laughs, but it looked as if the memories of that incredible physical feat were as powerful as ever.
The Liverpool Comedy Festival continues all this week. See the website for more details.
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The obvious, but not entirely lazy parallel to be drawn is with Flight of the Conchords. There's a teeny tiny sliver of Tenacious D and a big dollop of good, old-fashioned British variety in there too, but their good chemistry, musicality, wit and looks make the Brett and Jermaine comparison a half-decent one. Jollyboat bring a certain uncool cool to their musical comedy like the New Zealanders do, and perform with that same sort of naive charm. And, like the Conchords (this is the last one), they can cram so many casual gags into their songs it leaves you struggling to breathe.
Starting with a rap about Jesus and moving on to a Germanic twist on John Lennon's Imagine, they sheepishly apologise for each song's potential to offend - something that would go completely unnoticed in a comedy club, but perhaps not with other audiences, and if Jollyboat are anything, they're a versatile pair, and can end up on all sorts of bills.
Just when they were starting to flag, they pepped themselves up with their joyous medley of pirate parodies of well-known pop songs. It's silly and wonderful and full of highlights (tonight, fitting a little ditty about buried treasure-easure-easure to the tune of Rhianna's Umbrella did it for me). There's a song about the Dewey Decimal System, and one called Three Little Words (somewhat reminiscent of Tenacious D's One Note Song, which made me think of them earlier). Their closing number, a fairly straight love song that brought the laughs through a modern riff on the old Bob Dylan Subterranean Homesick Blues clip, was nicely executed and very funny.
Warming up with a decent ten minute spot was magician - or ninja wizard - David Alnwick, who had some very nifty card tricks up his sleeve as well as a good rapport with an audience. If I'm not wrong, he's the flatmate of the Jollyboat brothers, which only conjures images of a carefree, comedy Monkees-style existence when they're off stage. It was clear that Jollyboat have a great chemistry together and really enjoy performing. That's something that goes a long way. Although new faces on the circuit, their warm, genuine, and needless to say, hilarious act has bags of potential.
Finally, it was good, too, to be reminded of the usefulness of Baa Bar during the comedy festival and beyond - it's upstairs room is a decent venue to check out a lot of smaller or up-and-coming acts throughout the fest at very nice prices. If you're at a loose end over the coming week, why not pop in and see who you discover.
Read my earlier piece about Jollyboat here. Visit their website and catch a video of their pirate adventures at jollyboat.co.uk.
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That was the nice thing about it - close your eyes and being in a room with Smith was as comfortable and calming as sitting at home and listening to the wireless (never called it a wireless before. Must be getting old).
Of course, there's plenty to be said about paying to sit in a theatre with him too. His cool, experienced patter was welcome company. No nerves, no fluffing, no ums and ahs, with a mind full of all manner of comic material and wit, it all gushed forth as the comic lurched from subject to subject. He seemed to very much enjoy people, and speaking in front of them, and looked like a man totally at ease. In fact, it's that cool calm that is utterly misleading in the end. It wasn't until I was putting my coat on and getting ready to leave I realised he'd been effing and c-ing and - without giving too much away - making sure the show lived up to its name of Exposed throughout the evening.
While I was musing what a gentle night of entertainment it had been, it dawned on me it had actually been very rude, daring, cheeky - but not shocking. The audience had been treated like grown-ups, which went a long way and says a lot about his humour. A hellraiser in his day, Smith's maturity suits his act well, as his regular appearances on Grumpy Old Men testify. His material is consistantly good - a few groans here and there and a few ancient gags that limp along - but he is modest in his delivery.
Yet and evening with Arthur Smith is not just about the funny. He has plenty of party tricks - he starts each half of the show with a Leonard Cohen number (unfazed in the second act by the microphone becoming unplugged and leaving him inaudible over the backing track, he calmy made like it was an electric razor), and regularly recited straight poetry at intervals. Of course there was a structure to the show, with its unusual musical interludes, but inbetween that there was warm, slightly anarchic feel to proceedings as Smith riffed - largely off himself, but there were big laughs when he invited a French teacher on stage to translate a joke to the audience. Ultimately, this show was a winner because of his willingness to go off the beaten track - he always had something up his sleeve committed to memory. Smith has an intimacy and rapport with his audience that must make each show unique, always the mark of a fine comic performer and a testament to a brain bursting with jokes of all shapes and sizes.
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Some 18% of the professionals questioned by Dave TV said this city was the hardest to get a laugh in. In all honesty, it's rather a surprise that percentage wasn't much higher. I was pondering whether to throw my two cents into the mix until I read some fightin' words from a former Echo colleague....
]]>He wrote: "To me, the results translate as: "People in Liverpool know their comedy. They know what is funny and what isn't. And if you're a comedian (particularly one who comes with a high ticket price) whose job, of course, is to be funnier than the audience, then you'd better meet our high standards.""
Oh, Paddy, I'm a big fan of yours, but do come on. This old Echo-tastic cliche, again? Must we?
Here's the deal: It's about time we faced up to the fact that Liverpool audiences can be awful and some punters' insistance on being the centre of attention can leave the hardiest comic gigging in this city a nervous wreck.
This ridiculous myth that we must express ourselves - all over someone else's professional act - because some innate superior god-given sense of humour means the comic deserves the distraction is just nonsense.
Tell that to the Doug Stanhope fans who told me they went to see him in Manchester two weeks ago instead of on their own doorstep, because they expected Scouse fans to let the side down and make it a crap night. And who invariably did, leaving the legendary American comic publicly stating he would never come back.
The hecklers who ruined his show - and there is little doubt that was what they were aiming to do, for everyone - weren't there for a bit of friendly banter or to check anyone was "meeting our high standards".
They were there - and God knows why people pay to do this - to deliberately mug over his punchlines, repeatedly throw Stanhope off his stride, and to make a nuisance of themselves. The vibe in the room eventually became threatening and deeply unpleasant.
Lots of comedians I've interviewed over the years have tried to be positive when talking about Liverpool audiences, acknowledging it's tough. They'd be almost guaranteed to trot out the "it's the Scouse sense of humour, you're all so funny" line at some point. It's not always convincing.
Marcus Brigstocke termed it "surviving Liverpool", and wasn't afraid to say the playing the city scared him.
"All the jokes I've ever told about Liverpool are about how seriously the place takes itself and I get a delicious pleasure in doing so," he says unashamedly. Finally, in the wake of this survey (and Paddy's analysis), it's easy to see exactly why he'd have that attitude.
Shazia Mirza told the Guardian, investigating this very phenomenon, that "Liverpool is the worst place to play: they're always pissed and they think they're funnier."
Then there was the unforgettable time German stand up Henning Wehn came to town, on an Al Murray bill. Seemingly because many of the audience didn't seem to realise The Pub Landlord was a comic creation, Wehn was booed before he even came on the stage of the Royal Court, purely because of his nationality.
And despite the fact he later told me it was quite amusing to him in its absurdity, it remains the first and only time I have ever seen a stand up have to abandon his act out of the sheer futility of carrying on over the jeers.
The famous example of Steve Coogan that Paddy mentioned remains a real exception to the rule. His arena shows in 2008 were truly terrible evenings of under-rehearsed, weak material that no paying audience deserved to put up with, and what he was left to deal with was the disappointment of a very loyal fan base - and not just in Liverpool.
It's not to say a bit of well-timed and good natured banter can't bring something to a live comedy show. It makes for a unique night, something an audience knows no other city will get. The challenge can show a stand up at their best.
But in my recent experience, it's been either something a lot more unwelcoming than that, or a crutch for a comic who is trying to spin out a show by chatting with audience members who nobody else is really interested in. Why should the rest of the crowd care when that overruns? That's not what we're there to see.
Silky remains the only comedian to have my complete admiration for his lack of fear of hecklers, and the only man (for my money) who has ever kept the concept of humouring them positive and amusing for the rest of the audience.
Saying all this, I know we really can't generalise these things. But excusing the sometimes disgraceful behaviour from our comedy audiences with the defence that "we're worth it" as Scousers is counterproductive, and depressing for those of us who go to comedy shows with admiration, fully expecting the person we're going to see to know what they're doing better than us.
]]>Jake Mills is one of Liverpool's brightest up-and-coming comedy stars. A regular on the stand up circuit as he balances student life with an increasingly busy live schedule, he has managed to impress some of the biggest names on the regional scene.
"Up until then, I'd never considered it," he says. "I always knew I wanted to do something with comedy, but not necessarily as a stand up. But once I got that first laugh, I was addicted. That's what did it for me. It's one of the best things in the world to hear people laugh."
It wasn't long before he was being offered paid spots and taking regular slots at Rawhide and Laughterhouse, as well as corporate gigs and work around the country. He describes his style as observational and influenced by his love of people-watching, and says being cruel and crude just wouldn't suit him.
"People I'd looked up to, like Neil Fitzmaurice, Sam Avery and Chris Cairns, who taught me at Funny Business, are now friends and colleagues. And to hear them say nice things about me, well, I like that! I don't feel like a new act around them, and it's testament to them as people. From the beginning, people had confidence in me and that's what I've always been grateful for. It gives you confidence in yourself."
Once again for the Liverpool Comedy Festival, Mills will be appearing with former Hollyoaks and Casualty star James Redmond. The pair have been honing their acts over the same length of time and have become good friends on the stand up circuit, first pairing up for the festival last year. They hope to make it up to the Edinburgh Festival in future, but for now, will each perform sets of all new material at Baa Bar on Myrtle Street on April 30.
However, the venue didn't particularly serve him well. Practically the whole audience was drunk (and more than drunk), and a great deal of people shuffled round, messed about and kept going to the toilet throughout. That'd be fine in your normal dark club, but in St George's Hall it could really break the concentration. Hecklers were frequent and so generally wasted, the rest of the auditorium was left yelling at them to shut up. One guy walked out about half an hour in - yelling "never play Liverpool again, Doug" as he went - but before anything offensive of note had even taken place. It was, frankly, quite weird.
But Stanhope - best known for his blisteringly good segments on Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe series - pulled through. Nothing would faze a grizzly old comic such as he, and with his mix of irritation and resignation, he soldiered on regardless, occasionally giving the more-than-fleeting impression he might just walk off.
It's not frisson, exactly, but something keeps Doug Stanhope beyond edgy, and just a tiny bit dangerous. He might make it look like any old drunk can climb up and do what he does, but it's clear he works hard. A great deal of the material he came out with was clearly new, topical and tailored for a UK audience. His fantastic Royal Wedding riff, in which he suggested a his own way for anarchists to cause havoc on the big day, was achingly perfect stand up. His older material - including a competely unrepeatable segment about an early sexual encounter, was risky, disgusting, and needed the grace of never being taken out of context, but was smart and considered too. Personally, there was only one segment that really seemed to go too far over the line for no good reason, a piece about Japanese women and the tsunami that was too unpleasant to laugh at. I was expecting more of those uncomfortable moments, and was glad they were sparse.
Offensive, yes, but if you can handle it, Stanhope - enigmatic, antagonistic, wasted, prickly, obscene, vulnerable, challenging, pitiful, smart as a tack and oh so human - is worth a watch because he is such a great and seasoned performer of stand up, and such a fascinating and complex character.
Join in the debate about this gig here.
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Some of the very best comedians aren't always able to reel in their audience interaction (Ross Noble for one), and when that is misguaged it can really throw a show off. Lawrence's insistance on repeatedly bringing a rowdy group of students into the act took away from the one reason we were there - to hear what he had to say - and the fact he was still casually chatting to them even as he tried to wrap up the show only seeked to demonstrate the comic wasn't really in control of his own act - and, curiously enough, didn't much appear to want to be. There's only so many times a stand up can try and deflect from his rambling by pointing out he's rambling - and further insistance that it's real rambling and not rambling for comedic effect will only have an audience eyeing up the door.
Lawrence is likeable and the big laughs were there - his eloquent rants are quite something to behold and I'd take a punt on him again. When he got in the zone of his scripted material, it all worked - the argument with the policeman, and the conversations with small children were great bits. But it just didnt seem to be a good night. On the strength of this performance, there was just no reason why it should have been spread over two halves with an interval. Although the time went by quick enough, there was no theme or story holding it all together to give things any context, and even Lawrence seemed to be aware he was just winging it at times. Tightening it up to a good, strong hour long show would have worked perfectly.
April 5 2011
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So how might you know Dan Clark? Most likely as the writer and star of BBC3 sitcom How Not to Live Your Life. Maybe as the insufferable band leader Johnny Two Hats in Electro, a classic episode of The Mighty Boosh. Or possibly from one-off appearances in French & Saunders, My Family, Only Fools and Horses, or his own sketches on the Paramount channel.
Best friends with Boosh star Noel Fielding, he has worked along side some of the finest young talents currently in UK comedy - and has the appeal to attract them to his own show.
How Not to Live Your Life now has three series behind it. Clark plays Don Danbury, an ultimately likeable, although chaotic and immature antihero, suffering unrequited love and surrounded by oddball characters. It's a grower of a show, a bit laddish, but with solid writing and a boyish charm that is appealing. Its supporting cast has included familiar faces from Miranda, Peep Show, and (again), the Mighty Boosh.
He says: "Each generation has their group of people who seem to all know each other. Quite often groups of like-minded people do gravitate towards each other, and if you're quite driven or ambitious and you're prolific enough to keep going - some of my contemporaries have been knocking around and performing for years, and will help each other out with a little bit on their show."
Clark, 34, is in a good place. He is being nurtured as a long term prospect by the BBC, which is working with him on new projects, and is developing How Not to Live Your Life for a possible American adaptation. The show, that began life on BBC3, has successfully transferred to BBC2.
But months of writing has left him hankering for life on the road. His live show is a mix of stand up and his own comic songs. For this new tour - as he's never been round this way before - he's been able to pick his strongest material from the past few years. So whatever happens at the Empire, it can't be a bad time to be Dan Clark.
He said: "When I do think of what I've managed to do I'm incredibly pleased. I play a little game and imagine what it would be like to go back in a time machine and tell my 15-year-old self the things I've got up to. I'd be chuffed."
Mitch Benn and Neil Morrissey were among those at Saturday night's Musical Comedy Awards, that had seen Jollyboat make their way through the heats and semi-finals to secure a place in the last five and eventually be crowned winners. Originally from Hebden Bridge, one half of the duo, Ed Croft first came to Liverpool to study at LIPA. Elder brother Tom followed on to help him complete his final year project, and Jollyboat was born. In the last year they have become familiar faces on the open mic circuit at venues like Mello Mello and Egg Café, then waded into the bear pit of the stand up circuit with a successful slot at Rawhide Raw before moving on to paid gigs almost straight away.
Tom said: "We live together and we've always got on well, the only time we argue is when we're writing songs. In general, I'm good at writing long lists of jokes and Ed's good at putting it to a tune.
"We found from the open mic nights that the comic songs always went down well. Then, when we went on to Rawhide Raw we were worried if we'd be funny enough, as we'd never really seen live comedy before. There's a lot to learn and it's all coming at once - we're busy on pretty much every front."
Before then, some dates for your diary: Jollyboat will preview the show at the Liverpool Comedy Festival at Baa Bar on May 2, and before that are also taking part in Laughterhouse's New Act Competition on March 30. Arrr.
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