Comedy Showcase 04.02.12

It’s always a challenge starting a new blog. Looking down at a blank sheet of paper, trying to come up with something fresh and original can be daunting at the best of times. It really does seem like an impossible task, something that I admit I often try to put off to the last minute. It must be exactly the same feeling that my partner gets when she looks down into the laundry basket on Sunday mornings and sees the large pile of shirts, socks and boxer shorts (plus my Saturday night thong with “ You Can Have Me...If You Can Find Me “hand-stitched in red silk down the front) I’ve dropped in there during the course of the week.

Not that I’m incapable of doing my own laundry. Believe me, I’m no chauvinist, expecting the lady of the house to do all the menial jobs. I willingly do my share. Well this is the 21^st Century after all. Only last night, when she came in through the back door, struggling to carry a huge pile of logs which she’d spent the afternoon chopping-up for our open fire place, I immediately put down my newspaper, my glass of vino and my inch-thick steak sandwich, then jumped up off the sofa and without a second thought...closed the back door to stop the cold draft from freezing my bare feet which I’d been warming in front of the fire. D’you know, she was so grateful for my thoughtfulness, she only knee’d me in the nadgers the once? Try and tell me that’s not true love.

All joking aside (for a moment) apart from being incredibly fortunate to have an understanding partner, I’m also blessed with some very good, talented friends, who I consider to be part of the creative and comedy-minded team that I’ve been able to build around me. Despite the fact they are comedy professionals – performers, writers or a combination of both - there is absolutely no rivalry between us. You may find that hard to believe, but it’s true.

There’s not a jealous, violent bone in our bodies. And I’ll slap the face of anyone who disagrees, right? Despite the fact we’re all of us part of one of the most competitive, cut-throat, allegedly bitchy businesses you can name, we all like each other and respect the different styles, attitudes and varied material we each bring to the comedy table. I have a comedy table at home. I get people to sit on it and not only does it make an incredibly loud farting sound, two of the legs then fall off, causing my guest to fall to the floor, often causing excruciating back pain or at the very least, bruised buttocks.

I know it’s very juvenile, but it never fails to make me giggle. I’m only kidding. The farting sounds not that loud.

These comedy comrades have been invaluable over the years and have encouraged me, stretched me and helped me develop and build on some great comedy and ensemble show ideas. 'Team Evans' share ideas, joys and sorrows - but despite our closeness, I have to tell you that none of them are willing to share their chips. You try and steal a chip from a fully-grown comedian and you’re asking for trouble. Not that anyone with any sense actually asks for trouble. That would plain stupid. Imagine walking into a bar and when the barman asks what you want, you say “I’d like some trouble please”. I mean...that would just be asking for trouble.

Recently I found myself hosting and performing at a theatre not far from home with 7 of the most promising comedy performers in Wales. When I say “I found myself hosting....” obviously I didn’t just suddenly wake up and find myself on stage, with a microphone in my hand. I live in the real world. Not Narnia for goodness sake! Narnia’s the next county to mine.

The show featuring that cavalcade of comedians took a lot of preparation. Carefully working out what would work and impress. What would complement each other? And who would work well as part of a team. All are important ingredients in the production of a successful show. It was hard selecting acts that would complement each other and make the event something that would touch each member of the audience with the magic of comedy. It took me months to set it all up.

And it was worth all the time and effort because it was in aid of a wonderful childrens charity Follow Your Dreams and when I asked the comedians to help out, they all promised they’d be there on the night. Which was a bit premature on their part, because I hadn’t told them the date or what or where the venue was. Comedians, eh! Are they a whacky crowd or what?

But of course they did turn up at the right venue on the right date and thankfully, so did the audience. The theatre was packed with people who were not only happy to support the charity, but were looking forward to having a night out in a comfortable, welcoming venue where they could relax and have a damn good laugh. You know. Just like that mixed sauna you go to, down the little alleyway behind Greggs.

Their obvious eagerness to seize this chance to exercise their chuckle-muscles with both hands (Dr. Ken Dodd prescribes chuckle-muscles should be exercised three times a day before meals) was a positive start to the evening as far as I was concerned.

It was my job to open the show, compere the evening and give each performer an up-beat introduction that reflected their individual experience. The rest was up to the comedians...

These guys and girl were all different, original and most important of all...funny. Each performer soaked up the atmosphere instantly and took the audience on a journey which was exciting, entertaining and full of surprises. Like the audience, the line-up of funny men and woman were made up of all ages, which was great because it made for a real mixture of styles and material.

Here’s the roll call of the stand-up stalwarts who helped make the night such a success. My thanks go to...

Geraint Evans - who was the ideal act to open the show and set the scene for what was to come. Great delivery with a laid- back style that got constant laughs from the off.

Alan Wightman - a man who has written material for nearly every mainstream comedian of the past 30 years. He showed that not only could he come up with slick and polished gags, but knew how to deliver them like the best.

Matt Steele - for his warmth and likeable personality. He brings comedy magic alive and never fails to amaze his audience.

Ignacio Lopez – The Welsh Spaniard just goes from strength to strength. A must for every variety show, he leaves the crowd wanting more every time.

Eirlys Bellin as ‘Rhian’ - she was my ‘wild card’ and a surprise to all. She had instant rapport with the theatre audience and was like a breath of fresh air.

Daniel Glyn – who hit the stage running with some tightly written and well paced material that guaranteed laughs from start to finish. Finishing off his set with a ‘call-back’ gag that just bowled everybody over.

Gary Slaymaker – the big man was my choice to headline and close the show. He is a true pro and has the confidence and persona to own the stage. A story -teller who mines a seam of well-timed comedy gold at a steady and constant pace...and always ends his set with a belter.

Some of the comedy routines were a little risqué and one or two weren’t so much ‘near the knuckle’ as ‘right up to the elbow‘. Others were reflections on such diverse but comedy-rich subjects as phobias, relationships, Spanish holidays, drunkenly shaving male body hair at three a.m. on Christmas morning...and how someone felt fully justified in charging a Las Vegas ‘ lady of the night ‘ $4000 for Welsh lessons. No. I can’t explain that one here. You had to be there. All the routines, whether saucy or silly, went down a treat. There literally was something for every comedy taste.

Once again the team spirit came together to provide what can only be described at one of the best nights of comedy you will ever see. Over two hours of non-stop laughter that raised money for a deserving charity. It was a pleasure to be part of it and I know from talking to the comedians immediately afterwards and subsequently, that they had a great time and would be prepared to do it again...anytime. So I might well hold them to that.

The feedback from this event has been both amazing & moving.

Within an hour of the show, one lady wrote to me vie facebook the following message:

“Hi Phil just wanted to say thank you for putting together such a lovely evening of laughter for us all to enjoy and for such a worthwhile cause.

I haven’t seen my dad laugh like that for a very long time as he's been battling with depression.

Before the show started he was very restless and uncomfortable due to being amongst so many people - then during the interval after much laughter he turned to me and smiled saying 'thank you' for tonight and he gave me a hug.

This is from a very proud man who doesn't show his feelings very often - Think you've helped more people tonight than just the charity, that says it all Phil, love and god bless to you xx”

She then went on to add: "I’ve cried all the way home Phil, thank you so very much :) xxx “.

Unusually for me, after reading that, I was lost for words.

I can’t think of a better way of ending this blog.

Until the next time....

CWTSH ME IF YOU CAN                             Blog: 24 Jan 2012

There is sometimes talk in Wales of ‘ English oppression’  just as there is occasional talk in England about ‘ Welsh depression’.

Are they just myths built up over the decades or are they based on truth?

Well,  for a start it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to claim that there’s a wholly misinformed image of ‘ The Welsh ‘ held by some people who live outside the Principality.   The image I’m referring to is that of the dour, miserable, self-pitying Taff with a chip on his shoulder the size of one of Katie Prices over- inflated bazoomas and a pathological hatred of all things English.

But the reality is, unless you’re a curmudgeonly hermit in a sheep-skin thong, living in a cave half-way up Mount Snowdon, sworn to have nothing to do with modern times,  nobody in Wales who buys national newspapers, glossy celebrity magazines, books , cds and dvds, or watches tv, listens to the radio, goes to the theatre , cinema, music & rock concerts and comedy clubs,  can truthfully, hand-on-heart hate all things English.  Because it’s undeniable that we all absorb and enjoy English/British culture.

In the same way, the majority of people who think the Welsh are a race of whinging whiners have probably never ventured into Wales for any length of time, in which case they never enjoyed the benefits of the loveliest, most gloriously  wonderful thing ever to come out of Wales.

No, not Catherine Zeta Jones. Or the Welsh cake.  Though they both come pretty close.

I am of course referring to a cwtsh. Aahhh! The word itself is a deliciously delicate delight on the lips.  Cwtssshh! Spoken softly it sounds like a miniature lullaby.  If ever you get stressed, repeat ‘ cwtsh ‘ a dozen or so times and your mind will be in a much better place.

So, what is this ‘ cwtsh ‘ ?

A cwtsh, to the uninitiated ( and un-cwtsh’d ) is a warm, affectionate embrace that provides the lucky recipient with much more lasting comfort than a quick cuddle. There’s more to a cwtsh than just holding someone really , really tightly.

You’ve heard of a ‘ group hug ‘ right? Well as all-embracing (literally) one of those is, if you receive a genuine, honest-to-goodness one-on-one cwtsh from a person who really means it,  it’s value is more than a dozen group hugs.

To me, the  fact that over the centuries,  we Welsh created, nurtured, developed and continue to freely practice the art of the  cwtsh, is proof that we are a nation of warm-hearted, understanding people, always ready to hold out our arms to our fellow men and women when they need us.

There is no 100% accurate literal translation of ‘ cwtsh ‘ from Welsh  to English, but the closest ( and at the same time the most appropriate )  is ‘ a safe place ‘.

Everyone needs a safe place when things get too much for us.  Somewhere the world can’t get to us, where no one can  hurt us or criticise us or look down on us or laugh at us or demand too much of us.  And there will be times in our lives when inevitably we will all appreciate that such a place exists.

For a baby , the strong protective arms of a mother, father or grandparent will  provide that safe place .  Always.

And for a small child, perhaps frightened or upset or unwell, there is no more effective remedy that can help to wipe away the tears as quickly and as happily as a cwtsh from it’s  Mam.  Yes Dads can give good cwtshes, but all Dads know that when it comes to quality cwtshes, no one comes close to Mam. She is the Queen of the Cwtsh.

To paraphrase a well- known saying....‘ A cwtsh isn’t just for Childhood. It’s for life “.

Because when you’ve just received bad news....or had a blazing argument with your loved one that’s  come to a head after a lengthy  heated exchange of angry words that you now both regret...or when an item on the news upsets you so much it brings you to the verge of tears...or when your day has treated you so badly, so contemptuously, you need reminding that you’re not such a bad person after all....where better to find solace than in the safest of safe places? Held tightly within the arms of the person who loves you the most in a  cwtsh that can last five minutes or all through the evening and into the early hours.

Remember, while a cwtsh costs nothing to give, it can be worth treble its weight in gold to the person who is being cwtsh’d.

Let’s make 2012 the year of THE CWTSH. The year in which you give as many cwtsh’s as you possibly can.

And in return, if ever you feel the need to be cwtsh’d yourself – and there will be times, I assure you -  I genuinely hope that you are offered  twice as many.

DECEMBER   BLOG 13^th Dec 2011

The Comedians curse

Welcome to my pre-Christmas blog.  My, you look chilled to the bone, my friend! Brush the snow from your boots, come inside and take off your scarf, gloves and overcoat.  Yes it is dark in here.  There’s been a power cut and it could be hours until the supply is reconnected.  Luckily I found some candles to brighten up those dark corners and frighten away any imaginary demons that may lurk in them.

Sit down and warm yourself by that roaring fire while I pour us each a glass of mulled wine.  What was that?  No, that’s not someone tapping at the window.  It’s just the withered branches of a tree being blown about by the bitterly cold North wind.  I agree it does sound a little eerie.  A little unsettling.

Even more so at three in the morning when the timbers of this old place creak and moan and strain like an ancient, arthritic giant and other, unexplained sounds emanate from the room at the far end of the landing that’s been locked for over twenty years, ever since the terrible December night when....

Boo!

Gotcha!

See what I did then?  I led you in one direction, you willingly followed me and then...bang!  I surprised you.  In other words, my opening paragraphs followed the exact same pattern as a joke.  A comedian sets it up...reels in the audience....and the last line of the joke is the ‘payoff ‘ ...or surprise.

I started this Christmas blog in a spooky manner because this is traditionally the time of year for ghost stories and tales of mystery and imagination, whether it’s with your family and friends sitting around swapping strange experiences...which have no rational explanation...or the annual ritual of reading a couple of chapters of Charles Dickens “ A Christmas Carol “ every night when you’re snuggled under the duvet.

I love a mystery and believe me there is no greater mystery, in my book (which comes out next year priced £30 in all good book shops and an ironmongers in Aberystwyth) than what makes a person want to become a comedian when they are absolutely totally unsuited to the job psychologically.  The history of comedy is littered with the names of performers who were, at-best depressed or at-worst totally screwed-up because they didn’t quite make it to the ‘ A ‘ list.

And here’s the thing.  The list of comedians who did manage to make it to the ‘A ‘ list, subsequently becoming fabulously rich and achieving success on stage, television, radio....even in films...and who became even more depressed and  screwed-up, is just as long.

If you’re only vaguely knowledgeable about the great comedians of the past, you’ll be aware that Tony Hancock, the man whose BBC tv shows were so popular they emptied ‘pubs and caused church services to be re-arranged, was an introspective manic-depressive who late in his career developed an over-reliance on booze to give him confidence before he could face an audience.

Although a massive star, he was riddled with insecurities and jealous of the success of his comedy colleagues Sid James and Kenneth Williams.  So he dispensed with them before also sacking the men who had created the ‘ Hancock’ persona which had propelled him to success, scriptwriters Ray Galton and Alan Simpson.  He then channel-hopped from the BBC to A.T.V. ( one of the several ITV companies which broadcast to the nation in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s ) for whom he made a truly appalling series which shed viewers in their millions, even  though the nation really wanted him to succeed ( no I’m not that old, I just know my comedy ).

Although famous for his radio and television sitcoms and a brace of films which, while fitfully amusing, didn’t set the movie world alight, he did start out as a stand-up comic and eventually went back to it when his star waned.  His famous return to stand-up at the Royal Festival Hall in September 1966 was a hit and miss affair and even the 50 minute televised version of the show did him no favours.

Despite hiring his old scriptwriters Galton and Simpson to pen him some new routines, whether it was because he couldn’t learn them or didn’t think they did him justice, he scrapped the new stuff and on the night went out and did bits from his old act, including impressions of long-dead actors that would have had anyone under 30 in the audience scratching their heads.  Remarkably, his comic timing was still intact but he looked tired and bloated and nothing like ‘ The Lad Himself ‘ whose television shows just a few years before were un-missable.

His problem,...well one of them...was that he continually analysed what made audiences laugh.  He wasn’t content with being the biggest, most-loved comedy star in Britain year after year. He over-intellectualised the art of comedy so much it eventually evaporated in his hands.

Two years later, in the middle of trying once again to resurrect  his career and star status, this time in Australia, he took his own life, leaving a note that said “ Things went wrong too many times “.

Perhaps if he’d hung on to his talented comedy cohorts and his writers and his BBC contract, maybe things wouldn’t have gone wrong quite so many times.  Who knows?  I do know that Bob Hope hung on to his staff and many of his writers for 30 years or more and no one enjoyed their success in comedy and the art of making people laugh as much as Hope and no one was less prone to depression or self-doubt.

Then there was the huge light entertainment star of the 70’s.  No, not Mr. Blobby.  He wasn’t big until the 90’s.  For about three weeks.  A terrible, gut-wrenching three weeks admittedly but just three weeks nevertheless.

No, I’m referring to a comedian and impressionist who was popular for a decade or more.  I won’t mention his name but you should have a pretty good idea who I mean.

He was HUGE.  He had a Saturday night BBC series plus a Christmas special every year.  He toured theatres.  He played long summer seasons.  And he popped-up as a welcome guest on chat shows and panel games.  That man had it made.  Well apart from the fact he was physically sick before he went on stage or in front of a television audience.  He was happiest pre-recording sketches that would be shown on monitors to the studio audience and their genuine laughter would be recorded.

As his success grew, so did his doubts and fears and depression.  Until eventually he became so crippled with stage fright he just could not step out in front of an audience.  Which as you may know is one of the basic requirements of being a performer.  He even tried appearing in stage farces, surrounded by comedy actors who could give him moral and sometimes verbal support if he forgot a line.  But even that was too much for him and in less time than it takes to remove the greasepaint of destiny from the over-made-up face of Olde Father Time, this very talented man disappeared from view.

Blimey!  This blog hasn’t been very Christmassy has it?  Doom and gloom Depression. Suicide. Sad lonely characters...it’s like “ A Best of Jeremy Kyle “ dvd.

Look, it’s not a state secret that most comedians are complicated people.  To be complicated is one of the main requirements of the job.  You may have seen the ads in your local ‘paper or the situations vacant pages of the Times.

“ Comedian wanted.  Simple, uncomplicated people with no particular attitude, hang-ups, obsessions,  opinions or oddly- skewed personal  view of the world need not apply “.

Let’s take me for example.  Why?   Because this is my blog.  When you get around to writing your own blog you can talk about you as much as you like.   I might even take the time to read it.  Unless it’s a nice day.  But this is my blog, which is why there’s so many references to me in it.  I think I’ve made my point. Ever so subtly.

I love being a comedian. I love making people laugh. But most sensible people in the audience realise that I don’t just walk on and make things up as I go along.  I prepare well in advance. I write material, and learn it. Over and over again until I know it well enough to open my mouth and share it with an audience.

But before I go on stage my slightly ‘complicated‘side shows itself.   I can’t just step out of the car and onto the stage.  I arrive well before show time and I keep myself to myself, staying away from any negative conversations or other performers  mood swings.  Because if there are eight comedians in the green room, all with different personalities and character quirks, it only takes one of them to look a bit nervous or doubtful about the strength of his or her material and it can be as contagious as a sneeze in a lift.   A lift with lots of people in it.  Well, I say ‘lots’.  Two or three’s enough for the germs from a sneeze to spread. You get the idea.

While I’m waiting to do my set, I always try and visualise the end of my act and that it’s gone very well.  By visualising the perfect outcome, when my name is called I hit the stage running and work towards what I had already pre-visualised.

That in itself isn’t enough of course.  You also need confidence, attitude, experience and faith in your material.

But if you possess all those things and can see, in your head, that they will all come together in the time they’ve given you on stage, you will do better than someone who is full of self-doubt and moments before his or her name is called,  is sitting there wondering “ What the hell am I doing here?  I’m crap !”.

And here endeth the umpteenth lesson.

Roy Woods song “ I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day “ which there’s a chance you might have heard once or twice while out shopping in the last couple of months, doesn’t make any sense.  Why?  Well I’ll tell you if you’ll have a bit of patience.

Roy Wood is/was a singer and songwriter.

Singers and songwriters, before the advent of downloads, made money from singles and album sales.

Singles and albums were sold in shops ( and still are ).

But shops like HMV and supermarkets are closed on Christmas Day.

So if it was Christmas every day, Roy wouldn’t be able to sell any of his records, whether they were related to Christmas or not.

So where’s the logic of  wanting it to be Christmas every day?

He just didn’t think it through, did he?

November 20th 2011                                                                                             Comedians have stress blog.

In previous blogs I’ve tried to explain what it’s like for a comedian and warm-up man to make an audience laugh in a club, theatre, television studio or a mixed sauna in Sweden. Oh....you missed the one about my gig in the mixed sauna? Well I won’t bore you with it all over again, but I will remind you how disappointed I felt when, after I thought I’d received a massive round of applause, as the steam cleared I realised the sound I’d heard was actually thirty-five pairs of bare buttocks sitting down on stone slabs at the same time.

So, if you’ve read some of my previous blogs, by now you should have some idea what it’s like to stand on a stage and tell jokes and funny stories hoping the people sitting there watching you will find you at the very least mildly amusing and at best, flippin’ hilarious.

This time around I want to give you a flavour of what it’s like behind the scenes, backstage, before that heart-stopping moment when your name is called and it’s your turn to walk up to the microphone.  Actually, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, if it really was a heart-stopping moment, you’d never make it to the microphone would you? You’d be lying semi-conscious on the floor with someone working on your chest and giving you the kiss of life.   Similar to what you might see on some Swansea streets on most Friday nights.

I compered a comedy night recently which featured an array of comedians. No, that doesn’t sound right, does it? An ‘array‘ of comedians.  No, there has to be a better word to describe a collection of funny men.  A ‘ giggle ‘ of comedians maybe?  Knowing some comedians penchant for ‘ borrowing‘ other comedians material,  I think it was Barry Cryer who coined the phrase a ‘ steal ‘ of comedians. And bearing in mind how stressed-out and worried many ( though not all ) comedians are before they go on stage, maybe the most apt word would be a ‘misery ‘ of  comedians.

Anyway, this particular night there were eight comedians on the bill plus me compering and generally keeping order.  There was a real mixture of ages and experience amongst the eight comics, from the ones with loads of gigs under their  belts to those who were comedy virgins.

But it was noticeable that even some of the experienced ones were visibly nervous, unsure if the act that might have stormed an audience the previous night will get the same reaction this night. Because that happens a lot.  Solid gold material can raise the roof one night, yet, delivered in exactly the same way to a different audience in another venue the following night, it can be met by silence....or even worse...heckles and jeers.
Heckles and Jeers?  Weren’t they a comedy double-act back in the 70’s.

It’s odd that audiences can feel  so free to heckle a comedian or even shout out ” Heard it!”  while he’s in the middle of a joke, but they never do that when a singers on stage belting out a chart-topping pop song or a power ballad. Imagine going to see Shirley Bassey at the Royal Albert Hall. The 60-piece orchestra starts the strident, brassy intro to “ Goldfinger “. Shirley opens her mouth to allow that glorious voice of hers to belt out “ Gold....fingah! He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch....” and some annoying twonk in the second row who thinks he’s funny , suddenly yells out  “ Heard it!“.

That never happens and quite rightly so. But a performer who may be just as talented in the comedy world as Shirley is in the music world, is wide open to being rudely interrupted by an obnoxious audience member and is expected to be able to handle it.  I just thought that was a point worth making. Where the heck was I....?

Oh yeah.  Back to that comedy night. It was interesting for me to quietly observe how each of the comics dealt with the ‘ordeal’ they were about to endure.

And make no mistake about it, if you go out there and your first few jokes or amusing observations fall flat and get little or no reaction from the audience, so you start losing confidence and sweat appears on your top lip and the inside of your mouth suddenly resembles the Gobi Desert at noon and you’re wondering if the rest of your material will meet a similar fate and your mind starts wandering and you ask yourself why you didn’t take your  brothers advice and take up a much-less hazardous occupation, like grizzly bear wrestling or sky-diving without a parachute....it definitely becomes  an ordeal.

Different comedians cope with pre-show nerves in different ways. Some like to quietly sip a pint. Or two. Or three.  That’s not something I would recommend. I never drink alcohol before a show.  I respect my audience too much to go out there with a drink or drinks inside me.  They might have had several , which is all well and good. But a comedian has to remain sharp and focused and you can’t do that when alcohol is flowing though you system.  Or when you’re wresting grizzly bears.

On this particular night, minutes before the show started, some comedians paced up and down, going over and over the act in their head.  Some stood outside smoking and chatting as if they were just waiting for a ‘bus. Others sat there, hands in their heads, apparently asleep but actually trying to remember a new line they wrote that day and how they could shoe-horn it into their well-rehearsed routine. Mind you, I did discover that one of them really was fast asleep because of Jet lag. He’d left his car at the petrol station and walked eight miles to the gig.

They all dealt with their nerves in their own way and what worked for them, definitely must work for them, because on this particular evening, none of the comedians let me down.  They each had their own style and attitude and came well prepared with plenty of fresh, laugh-out-loud routines. I know they all took the time to prepare for the night.  And that I think is the main way a comedian can conquer his or her nerves. By knowing their act inside and outside, frontwards and backwards, so that if they do mess up a line – and it can happen to the very best and most experienced – they know exactly what the next line is,  deliver it perfectly and get the laughter that their hard work and creativity deserves.

My thanks go out to the following performers: Gary Slaymaker, Gill Ray, Matt Steel, Huw Marshall, Andy Woolley, Ignacio Lopez, Geraint Evans, Alan Wightman and Luke England.

That’s it for now. If I don’t speak to you all before December 25th, let me be the first to wish you a Happy Easter and a joyous May Day Bank Holiday,