First musical number as applause for opening gag dies down
(Tune: Message to You Rudy)
"I'm Dead there's a rock above my 'ead I'm dead"
A Skints legacy song written by Steve/ John with someone called Talcum.How did I make it to this gig state of near Nirvana entertaining an audience clad in my old pinstripe suit from Johnsons The Modern Outfitters, black shirt with tie bar from same and white shoes from my best source for stage clothing: my younger brother Sean?
Well, the circuit was far more generous to performers then and we seemed to be having fun performing which helped. I generally find it hard to like smug comics who laught at their own gags but reckon you are allowed to show you are enjoying the spotlight even if that involves berating the audience,
- Could you make the occasional noise so we know you're still out there...doesn't have to be laughs...
If Andy Cunningham was on nowadays I imagine the charlied up punters would wanna kill him and his three heads (his other act apart from Magritte was the three headed ventriloquist act: freeman, hardy and shooly you can guess what the other one is called) ; or that other act - Randolph the Remarkable who basically trapped his belly in a bowl while putting hecklers down using mouldy old lines - possibly from put downs used by the Pope on Michelangelo
- Stand against that fresco - it's plastered too...
There must have been a rich seam of such put-downs at Covent Garden Community Theatre where Phil Herbert (Randolph's real name) was working with the performer who would go on to slay audiences with such material: a youthful Julian Clary who was gigging between bookings as a Tarzan-a-gram. I knew Julian well from Goldsmiths and knew his double act partner Linda Savage better. Julian was known for his acting range of camp to camp but I do recall the pair of them doing Noel Coward with genuine panache. As is the way of these things, Linda and Julian compiled a fabulous double act called Glad and May which genuinely shook up its audience when I saw it, especially their desire to have a rummage in an unsuspecting female punter's bag.
Having attended the factory of intolerance ( St Ignatius branch) which was my all male school and being quite naive in female ways I have to say I was taken aback by the contents they unearthed. Now I empathise as I am grown up and carry a bag everywhere: - briefcase to work filled with old letters from the tax office (probably really important, certainly past their reply by date) , the Guardian despite recent surrender to the centre right , some model railway layout plans (more of this later) and fruit in various stages of squidginess (is that too Prince Charles) ; blue rucksack when taking the family out - a daybag not a fortnight / post apocalyptic survival kit as I explain to wife and daughters as they cram in packed lunches, jumpers, bottles of water (tap), cuddly toys, BBC kids magazines, Saturday Guardian, and add anoraks to the pile as the day goes on. I would have been crucified by Glad and May or Julian as I witnessed his glamour contrast with the surroundings of Highbury Crescent Community Centre one late Spring in 1984.
Along with the dog, he was an instant hit on the circuit as he was a year later on Saturday Night Live. He always has had superb style and this allied to a genuine engagement with his fans - largely female and dressed in Warehouse skirts with black tights and DMs I recall - and a genuine fearlessness he deserves every bit of his incredible success. When we did a run with Ivor Dembina and Joan Collins Fan Club one Edinburgh the publicity stunt featured Steve and I as bodyguards keeping the crowd away - comedy ranking wise I guess it would be hard to find a better metaphor.
To his great credit, Julian openly acknowledges his huge debt to his ex-partner - his act to me could still feature Linda chipping in/ guiding him astray. To complete the circle Linda was in a relationship with the guy I replaced in Skint Video- they got together on a tour to France with myself and a name that came back to haunt me and which unites all early circuit comics: Lawrence Mckenzie. Post -college some of us decided what the South of France really needed was a musical version of Tartuffe in English. On the street/ campsites. With the aforementioned Mckenzie blacking up to play the maid. And me as the old fool.
Stand-up Nick Revell - who was hip to Jon Stewart way before anyone else I knew - claimed that the circuit could be divided like world events: before and after Lawrence. Mr Mckenzie suffered Drama at Goldsmiths like me but should have been doing his natural subject: a Masters in Con Artistry.
I recall a gig Lawrence promoted with Linda and her new group Wild Women?, David Rapoport (died quite young tragically), Fascinating Aida in the old Rock garden where I used to watch the Teenbeats (a Hastings mod band) no doubt my brother's Shelley's jam shoes. The gig laid down a template which would later be adhered to almost everywhere - a kind of supper club layout: candles in mateus rose bottles on tables, poor quality PA, compered by organiser rather than professional, variable quality of acts, packed crowd, plenty of heckling,door split determining the artiste payment
The Door split essentially relies upon the honesty of the promoter - what would you call a fair share of the door takings? Early venues tended to be performer -run mainly so the comic could rely upon one booking as well as being able to use that as leverage for other engagements so generally one might go for an even share say 25% each. Non- comics might keep 30% back and split the rest; Lawrence probably gave the whole line up less than half and kept the rest. No wonder he stays in the collective consciousness.
Of course there were two of us so some venues would pay us double shares, some the same as a solo artist and some a mutliplier say 1.5. The Crown and Castle in Dalston - a pub I used to get served underage in - paid equal shares which worked in our favour and generated groans form some stand ups- selfish gits . One night we were on a bill with acapella troupe Dancing With the Dog who included novelist Mick Jackson anmong their number and what a number it was - the number of the beast - six of the bleeders (can you guess who moaned loudest that night?) You could always do extended sets which might yield greater financial reward. So the length of set or the number of performers were the only basis for differentials in pay - hard to imagine this Utopian vision would be able to resist the business of show.
As we are now on to the subject of double acts, let's meet my partner Steve ...
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