The last gig I did was five weeks ago. It was a special one because it was my 100th and also marked a year of doing comedy. I did it on the same night I did my first one – the amazing, bonkers Alternative Comedy Memorial Society; at the time we all tentatively joked that this might be the last audience we’d see, little did any of us really know how right we were.
100 gigs for an open mic-er is one of the metrics you work towards, it’s arbitrary, and it suggests that someone doesn’t have the capability to be terrible 100 times without learning a single thing, something anyone who has seen me bowl/play darts/play pool/rollerskate will know is a falsehood. That said, there is no doubt that after that many sets, you do get into a groove – I had an incredibly packed schedule of spots and Fringe Previews running me up to July and I was starting to believe I was actually getting a bit good at it.
We all know what happened next.
I quietly attempted to put aside my disappointment and try to take a break – I was gigging up to five nights a week alongside my full-time day job to try to get in some shape for Edinburgh Fringe and friends and family were starting to worry I was going to burn out, so maybe it was a chance to listen to them.
But I missed it.
I saw some of the nights I regularly performed at testing new online formats but, despite seeing other people coping with streaming sets well, I just didn’t think I could do it without all my usual crutches and ritual of two glasses of wine (okay, I guess that one I could recreate at home), and more importantly without the direct audience feedback. Also, I’d be able to see every single audience member’s face, close up, on-screen; something you are mercifully spared in the relative dark of the average open mic. There is no way to set the scene and command people’s attention when they are sitting in their own homes, surrounded by distractions whilst also desperate to be distracted.
So, whilst I liked the principle of getting back to work, I stayed firmly on the fence and needed someone to give me a push. The push came from Lucien Jack – resident MC for The Big Gay Comedy Show, who invited me to compete in a charity show – streamed live on Zoom, and representing Wales.
It involved writing a three-minute brand new set – that I had no way of testing – themed towards all things Welsh. The standard unit of measurement for sets is five, three minutes is both a lifetime and a second in comedy terms, particularly if you’re someone like me who is prone to waffle, adlib and whimsy.
But I had so much fun doing it, carrying my notebook around the house with me, scribbling things down, running ideas past longsuffering friends and fellow comedians. As ever, I left it to the last possible minute – writing the set on the day, as it was a bit out of my comfort zone. Most of my ‘writing’ is done on stage, with me working out the kinks through hijacking people at the office kettle, or in front of an audience. This was the first time I would be doing something completely blind, and without a read on the room to make adjustments or reroute if I got lost in dead, stony silence.
When the show started it was fascinating to see all the faces pop up on the Zoom chat, and all you could do was hope that they were all in the Friday night spirit, despite the unusual conditions. There was a live chat facility, and throughout the show the lovely 60 strong audience posted comments the way they might have shouted them out in support, and – despite my worries – they were 100% positive. One of the benefits of a gig like this is no one is forced to come, there are no ‘bringees’ suffering through and, despite some logistical/wifi signal argy-bargy, it was amazing to see that almost the whole audience stayed right until the end. I also got to properly watch the other performances – I didn’t want to be a disengaged little square on the screen obsessively looking at my notes, so I got to enjoy them all in a way I probably wouldn’t under normal circumstances.
Overall, it was an enjoyable experience and I went to bed happier than I had been for a while. I can’t wait for things to be back up and running again, not least because I’m ready for the comedians that have supported and looked after me while I made my first step into comedy to be working and secure again. I have loved getting to know them all better through live streams, there is something a bit different about experiencing comedy ‘face to face’ and I have never had so much access to so many of the best in the business to enjoy, laugh with and learn from.
What I hope, is that the audiences who don’t typically see behind the curtain and assume anyone who’s done Live at the Apollo must be minted, appreciate that comedy requires time, work and love, which deserves to be paid for. There are a lot of funds currently set up to keep comics afloat and make sure we still have them when everything goes back to normal, so if you have enjoyed something you’ve seen and are in a position to afford to, please consider supporting a comic’s Patreon, or dropping a fiver into their ko-fi pot. If you aren’t able to support financially, support comics by downloading their podcasts, sharing their posts about what they’re doing next, and just showing up for them. If you don’t know where to start with somewhere to donate, NextUp is running a Heckle the Virus fund here!
I’m currently doing an Instagram live chat every Sunday afternoon with some of my favourite comedians from open mic to pro level to try to steal their secrets, and hopefully get a few laughs at the same time. You can follow me on social for more details – @PRVix on Twitter, @Vixel247 on Instagram, or Vix L Stands up on Facebook.
Photo by Gavin Whitner
