Well yesterday was a mixed bag, a jamboree of talent and f*ckwits if you will.
First to the talent…
If you don’t know Scott Capurro or his work then may I suggest you go get an education. Scott’s material is, umm, ‘challenging’, in that if you’re a close minded cretin then prepare for a crowbar to be taken to your cranium, have it prised open and some clarity be poured in. All from a guy with great shoes (suede, oooo).
Scott graciously allowed me to interview him for my current project and what a fantastic interview he was, full of wit, wisdom and wonderful tales of comedy. From his early days in the US and appearing in Mrs Doubtfire (with his thanks to Robin Williams).
We toured through his work, his aspirations and his thoughts about the strange and fascinating job of Stand-up Comedian. It’s a great interview and one that will appear on the new project once it’s up and running. Go see him though he’s great refreshingly uncontirived, honest and damn, damn funny. More on the project later…
Then I went on to what can only be described a car crash of a gig, actually imagine it more as the world’s biggest car crash ever that was in the process of being cleared up and right at the moment where the emergency services had just got halfway through proceedings an airplane, full of explosives spirals in from 30 000 feet causing more carnage. Then imagine a lone survivor emerges, triumphantly and waves a flag from atop the mangled pile of humanity and technology. Then you are probably only 1/5th of the way towards knowing what performing at this gig was like.
I have played the Bedford before and it was small, but friendly and I had a great time. This time though, yeesh! Never before has the sound of blood rushing through my ears been louder than at this gig, and not whilst I was on stage, no, unfortunately whilst on stage my ears where filled with the sound of one man’s voice. Read on… Let me just send out a heartfelt thanks to the ‘comedian’ Gerry Gordino (made up name methinks), thanks for walking into the room, sorry crashing in, loudly, just as I started my set. To then walk right across in front of the stage, continuing your conversation with me, the ‘audience’ (less an audience if you know all their names, thanks Ash and Dave) and the compere and making ‘witty banter’ and in this context let me say that ‘witty banter’ means ‘rude interjections’ (and with that I am underplaying it and being polite).
Cheers Ger for ‘chipping in’, ‘adding comments’ and generally ‘helping’ in this context ‘help’ means interrupting when your contribution was neither, wanted, warranted or encouraged. And for the temerity to then stand up, on a comedy stage and do a song, an unfunny song, not that we could hear it through your nasal twang which was like listening to Bob Dylan with a terminal case of adenoidal cancer. Stopping because you forgot the words could have been overlooked had it not been a self penned ditty and to write the song in a register your voice box could not reach. An X Factor reject in the making.
To then continue to try and offer some comedy audience interaction after this introduction despite getting the MC’s signal to wrap up, and to then proceed to ‘banter’ again with the audience, picking on me, I don’t mind being picked on, I’m game, but your comedy stylings were about as fashionable and twice as irritating as a horsehair merkin. It would have at least been polite for you to then realise, as you walked off to the sound of one hand clapping, that maybe you were not a stellar influence in the comedy firmament sat down and shut up. But oh no, it continued, you then decided to have a pop at Prince Abdi. To round it all off you claimed to be a comedy writer, shame you sold all your best gags, or maybe you had to give ‘em away? Anyway, to claim this then to act as if butter wouldn’t melt when unfortunately I lost my cool and blew up at you after the gig and out of sight of an audience. To not realise that your ‘help’ wasn’t helping and to act all hurt when confronted shows you up for the rank, outside amateur you so patently were.
If you ever see this donut, he looks like a Jerry Sadowitz clone, sans the hat, humour and friendly manner, avoid him or bottle him off. I never say never to an act at the Gag Factory Comedy Club but for you Gerry (with a G like you said) you’re permanently and for all time barred, even your re-incarnation will also be barred, and your children, your grandchildren and anyone carrying your DNA. BARRED you are a comedy black hole, a place from whence comedy cannot escape and to which comedy goes to die. I wish you well in your life and pray to humanity that our paths never, ever cross, ever again (ever).
Gerry, one final piece of advice, the only way you are EVER going to make any money at the comedy game is if you sell you guitar, buy a boxed set of Bill Hicks DVDs, watch them and then sell them on eBay. End of. I never like to be a hater, negative and down on anyone, but never have I ever witnessed, or been party to such a flagrant disregard of etiquette, lack of talent and unsuitability to anything in the comedy world. You a comedy writer? Yeah and I’m Winston Churchill and so is my wife.
OK, sorry people, normal service has been resumed, thank you for letting me vent.
Ah that feels so much better…
As you were…
P.S. Due to operator error on my part I thought I was stopping my voice recorder when I left the stage but turns out I was starting it, just in time to catch Gerry’s whole ‘act’ his ’song’ the ‘banter’ and my after show reaction, maybe if I get a request I’ll put it up, who knows? Gerry, you talk toooooo much, STFU!