A Year in Comedy: GONG!
June 8, 2012 23 Comments
The previous post in this series took a look back at my earliest gigs and how they ranged from poor to mediocre. The next performance of note was Gig 12 – which also went badly – and was significant as my first ever gong show appearance. I’ve had a somewhat tortuous relationship with the gong format ever since, so this post seems a good place to discuss it. And it is a good place to discuss it, but this doesn’t mean that I’ll enjoy the process of discussing it. Writing about these gigs is tricky because I’ll inevitably have to discuss the relationship between how successful you are at them and the type of comedy you perform; and any suggestion (and there will be a suggestion) that my failure has to do with anything other than my own shortcomings will make me sound like a cock. Oh well, I’ll make a start anyway…
For clarification, the particular “gong” format that I’ve tried works like this: Three members of the audience are given a card. Each act takes their turn in an attempt to last five minutes. If the audience members don’t like what you’re doing then they hold up their card. If all three cards are raised then you’ve failed. At the end of the show, all the acts that managed to last five minutes are brought back on stage and a winner is chosen via a “clap off”.
My first attempt at the gong came back in September last year at Preston Frog & Bucket’s Beat the Frog. It’s safe to say that I didn’t do very well. I lasted the shortest amount of time out of all 8 acts on the night, with 6 acts managing to last the distance. In hindsight, my status as loser was probably justified. Not only was it my first straight stand up gig for 2 months (I was still in the process of working out how to acquire enough gigs), but I think I was a bit overawed by the occasion. It was by far the biggest audience I’d performed in front of and even the bright lights aimed in your face whilst on stage were surprisingly daunting. I also chose some material – a series of 3 Dragons’ Den jokes that were intentionally bad – that a) I didn’t have the skill to pull off, and b) would have been hard to pull off had I had the skill to pull them off. I followed up these jokes with one that I’ve performed successfully many times since, but I’d already lost the audience and I was gonged off. I lasted just over two minutes, which was poor, but at least it was a learning experience. Playing in that bigger venue was really useful, even if it was only for 129 seconds. It also made it much clearer about what things I should try at a gong show and which I shouldn’t.
My next attempt wasn’t until January and this time was at Manchester’s Beat The Frog (Gig 29). I was worried before the gig, I guess largely because I’d done so badly in Preston, but also because I didn’t know to what extent I should change my material to try and last the distance. In the end, I did some tweaking and I managed to “beat the frog” (although I didn’t win). Reading the diary post back, it seems like I was really happy with how it went – I felt I’d made real progression with my performance – and how the audience reacted to it (despite having one card held up). In hindsight, this led me to carry around a belief that the Manchester audience were somehow more “comedy savvy” than those in Preston. It’s really not healthy to be making assumptions like this when you’re still a novice (as I very much am). Anyway, more on what this assumption meant, later.
A week later and I was back in Preston (Gig 31) and would be using the same set as Gig 29 (with a few minor tweaks). I wasn’t convinced that I’d last for 5 minutes, but I was at least confident that I wasn’t underprepared (as in Gig 12). As the show started, the crowd’s reaction to the opening acts seemed to confirm my pet theory about what sort of material they’d go for. I concluded that they wouldn’t go for mine. I’m not quite sure how this thought affected the performance. If I felt like a condemned man, would this mean that, subconsciously, my performance level would drop? Or would the feeling of having nothing to lose be liberating? I don’t know for sure. I only lasted for just over 2 minutes, again. One of the minor tweaks – a daft twist on an impression (read the original post for details) – got me gonged off. Now, it was a bit of material that I really like, but my girlfriend (whose opinion I completely trust) thought it was baffling. I had to concede defeat. In my diary post, I wrote:
I don’t blame the audience at all for my demise; I just wasn’t giving them what they wanted. The questions that arise from this are: a) am I able to give them what they want, and b) do I actually want to give them what they want?
Ugh. I’m such a cock. Asking myself whether I really want to give the audience what they want sounds utterly ridiculous. This post has taken me weeks to pull together, largely because I’ve struggled with not wanting to come across like an idiot. Since I started this, I’ve been reading Chris Brooker’s gig diary blog (see here) and listening to Stuart Goldsmith’s excellent Comedian’s Comedian podcast (listen here), and they’ve both made me think about servicing the audience and how inexperienced I actually am. I feel more self-conscious than ever about talking about’ my style’ of comedy, and yet if I don’t think about it, then I’m never going to become a better act. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope between taking my comedy seriously and sounding like I’m a pompous, egotistical bell-end.
Anyway. Following Gig 31, I had no idea how to approach my next attempt, which was already booked in for Preston (Gig 38). This was the first time that I’d had a gig where I had no enthusiasm for it whatsoever. After some deliberation, I just decided to try and pick my least obtuse bits and see what happened. Unsurprisingly, I got gonged off again. This time I lasted somewhere over 4 minutes, and although I clearly wasn’t to everybody’s taste, certain sections really seemed to go for it. A number of people came up to me afterwards and told me that they loved it, so although, technically, I was a loser, it didn’t feel like it.
Gig 42 was my only non-BTF gong show, at Chester’s Laugh Inn. Despite it not being my favourite format, it was quite exciting to play a new venue. As the night had only been running a few weeks, the audience wasn’t huge (although it was certainly large enough to be workable), and fortunately they were quite generous. I lasted the 5 minutes, but didn’t win.
Gig 53 was back at Preston. The feeling of a complete lack of enthusiasm had returned, and had been added to with an element of dread. As documented in my original post, I went through a whole host of emotions on the night, with them being generally quite negative. Weirdly, under these circumstances, I ended up finally beating the frog, although, again, I didn’t win (I came second). What’s notable is that I really enjoyed myself whilst on stage and was genuinely chuffed to have lasted the 5 minutes, but overall I didn’t enjoy the night. It’s as if all the baggage I have associated with the format is having more of an impact on my experiences than the actual performances.
A few days later and I returned to Manchester for Gig 54. As I mentioned earlier, I was working on the assumption that that Manchester audience would be more likely to go for my stuff than Preston. Considering that I was successful in Preston the previous week, it gave the night a weird dynamic for me. I find the night a bit strange anyway, because it’s a really long night (giving you way too much time to think about what’s going to happen) and I get more pre-occupied with lasting 5 minutes than being funny. As you could probably guess, I didn’t last the distance, getting gonged off after probably about 3 minutes. Not only did this shatter my assumptions (which was probably a good thing), but it was about the same length of time as some really inexperienced acts who were performing (which was a bad thing). I didn’t even think I was doing badly, so I really didn’t (and don’t) know what to make of it. It was all very unsatisfying.
This was the final gong show appearance of my first year of comedy and I’ve not made any since. As I’m sure you can tell by what I’ve written so far, I don’t really know what to make of my gong experiences, and find it really difficult to write about. I feel like I should address how your style of comedy affects your chances of success, but this will end up implying that my “style” isn’t “mainstream” and a) I don’t know if that’s true and b) I don’t know if I’ve earned the right to talk about having a “style”. Is any of that stuff actually true anyway, or am I just making excuses for my poor performances?
At this point, I perhaps should try and describe what I think my style of comedy is. It’s notable that I’ve not mentioned it in any of my “year in comedy” posts so far, and on the face of it seems like a glaring omission. It actually took me until the write up for Gig 8a before I mentioned this in my gig diary, so this isn’t a new phenomenon. The main reason why it hasn’t been addressed is because I don’t know how to describe it. If I was pushed, I’d call it daft, but I don’t that’s an actual genre. I do like telling intentionally bad jokes, bits that don’t quite work, non sequiturs and, what I would pretentiously call, metahumour. And, yes, I am a tosser for using the word metahumour, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t do it. Suffice to say, that regardless of the quality of my material, it’s not going to be everybody’s cup of metaphorical tea. But, even if I’m not for everybody, should I at least be able to avoid getting gonged off on a regular basis if I am going to progress at all?
This also raises the question of whether I should be doing a different type of material and be looking to appeal to a wider range of audiences. I don’t want to change my style, but is it more of a mark of my inability\lack of skill rather than out of artistic integrity? Even on the night of Gig 12 – where I was clearly the loser – I didn’t feel any crisis of confidence in my material at least being the right kind of material for me to be doing. But, if you don’t naturally have the sort of material that the audience want, what do you do? Can you change to meet audience expectations and still manage to be yourself and do the comedy that actually makes YOU laugh? There don’t seem to be any easy answers to this.
Trying to take a step back and look at the format a bit more objectively, I think that there’s definitely quite a random element to gong shows. There’s a theory that the best act tends to win, and often this is the case, but it’s also not true for a significant minority of the time. There’s not necessarily any “justice” to who wins\lasts the distance, and that’s ultimately always going to be frustrating. There’s also the issue that “better” and “worse” are massively subjective terms. As a comedy fan, I can think of lots of acts where the majority of the public just don’t get it (e.g. Stewart Lee) – but who are considered to the “the best”. Another factor is the type of people who end up with the cards (i.e. those drunk enough to shout out for one) – it adds a whole layer of randomness on top of the already random nature.
After a recent gig, I was chatting to the headliner – he’s only been a pro for a couple of years. He said that he used to do BTF and regularly last the distance – he had a very mainstream style – but he never actually won. Once he realised he could always make 5 minutes but that he’d never win then he just gave up. It was interesting to hear that from someone who was a) pro and b) the sort of act you could easily see winning it.
I guess I should try and draw some conclusions. Given the amount of words this post is and the length of time it’s taken me to write it, you can see that I am very conflicted about it all. I really wouldn’t be upset if I never did a gong show again, but a) it’s an easy way to boost the number of gigs I’ve got and b) I feel like on some level I’d be “giving up” by stopping before I was able to “beat the frog” on a regular basis. It’s worth reiterating that if I want to get better as a comic then it’s a skill that I should really have. However, I think I’m going to at least take a break of a few months from them as my feelings around them are now so negative that it doesn’t feel great, even when I do well. Maybe if I get some more gigs under my belt, and a better feeling for what I’m actually doing, then it might be time to give them another crack.
I don’t normally do this, but if anyone with any experiences of gong shows (as an act or as an audience member) has any thoughts then it would be great if you could leave a comment below. Am I the only person that struggles so badly with this? Am I talking utter crap? I’d love to know what you think.
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I feel the same way Mr P. I had 3 or 4 abortive attempts at the Beating the Frog before figuring out how to be better (my material back then was simply rubbish) and engage the audience more fully. I then embarked on a run of 10 attempts that saw me get to the five minutes 9 times.
However, apart from one unusual night where I came second I’ve never really come close to winning. I think part of this comes down to the fact that while I altered my material to fit the night, I still avoided swearing and kept in some of the more unusual deconstruct-y bits, which didn’t really endear me to some in the crowd who seemed to like jokes about penises. However, I often got really positive feedback from audience members who came up to speak to me after I’d been on.
I think it was definitely worth doing as it helped me improve very quickly and showed that I had at least some technical ability. However, like your pro above I decided to stop doing them earlier this year for the similar reasons.
It’s frankly a relief to find out that it’s not just me, so thanks, Mr M!
I think it’s safe to say that certain types of broader comedy seem to do better at gong shows, and those tend to be the kind of acts that win (although, I’ve seen a few notable exceptions). I think that the ability to engage any type of audience for 5 minutes is undoubtedly a necessary skill to have; a gong show is a pretty solid way of determining if you have that skill.
You certainly do, given your track record, so I don’t think you have a lot to gain by continuning. I’m stil at that stage where I’ve beaten it a few times – and given the type of material that I do, I’d like to think it was some skill that let me do that – but I don’t consistently beat it. Discounting the really early attempts, which were very much a learning experience, I’ve found it hard to work out exactly where I went wrong. Some of the times I got gonged off felt like they were going as well as times that I lasted the distance. I think it’s these occasions that become frustrating and it becomes really difficult to pinpoint what the problem is.
I don’t really do the gong shows with an expectation of winning – for me it’s more about tightening up my act. Also, the early stuff in my set is quite political and sometimes people just don’t want to listen to that. However, I’d never change my set (ie. the type of material I do) just to try and win a gong show. The first few times I tried BTF I didn’t get through and I think that that forced me to think about the order of my set, the first joke I tell when I get on stage and also the pacing (i.e. not feeling the need to rush through things, taking your time and drawing the audience in). Now I usually beat the gong but I’ve never won (the nearest I’ve come is second). As you both say – you can do exactly the same material and two different shows and go down completely differently, it just depends on who’s got the cards and whether they get you.So I don’t really take them too seriously – they’re just another gig, albeit with an extra level of pressure which I think sometimes I need to help me up my game. That said – I am doing King Gong in a few months – I may have a completely different view of things after doing that one!
You make some excellent points around tightening up, the order of material and the pacing of your set. These are all things that I’ve tried to do with my gong show appearances, although I haven’t gone into it in too much depth on this particular post. Because there’s an element in some of my material that I’ve done it wrong (although doing it on purpose), BTF made me start addressing this head on with the audience. I didn’t want to leave any doubt in their minds that I knew what I was doing. Half the battle (if not more!) is having the audience have faith in that you know what you’re doing as a performer.
Your attitude towards it is definitely what I lean towards – I don’t expect to ever win, either, and that’s not why I do it – I just thing I’ve made the whole thing such a horrible experience in my head that it feels really unenjoyable. I think it’s a lot to do with the fact that I feel like I should be able to beat the gong 9 times out of 10 and I don’t.
Ah, the infamous King Gong. Part of me would like a crack at it, just for the experience, but I don’t know how I’d tackle it. I think I might be tempted to just try something completely different and try and take the audience on – as I don’t think my stuff would last 30 seconds against the baying mob. Have you thought about how you’re going to approach it? Are you doing it just for the experience, or are their specific things you’re looking to get out of it?
Well, obviously we’ve talked a lot about this subject already (and I think that I was actually the pretentious tosser who first coined the term “meta-comedy” in our interactions, I hold my tossing hand up to that!), but here goes…
First of all, just last night I was chatting to a young female comic at the pro-comic night I manage about this very subject. She made a couple of interesting statements about BTF Preston: she said she’d done it a lot and thought that it was generally a very young audience who are not very comedy savvy. She’s seen acts there that seemed to succeed merely by showing confidence, by owning the stage and delivering stuff (however weak) in a way that the audience would recognise from popular TV acts. She reckoned it was not a place to try anything unusual or experimental. That was her take on it – just thought it would interest you as that was what we have wondered about it before.
Personally, I don’t like the gong show format and, in some ways, I think it’s a skewed reality – it doesn’t necessarily reveal helpful truths about your act. I say this because there’s simply too many chaotic and questionable factors in play. You’ve covered all the aspects such as what type of “judge” ultimately is the person who drunkenly yells to be given a card etc. but above and beyond all else is the fact that the response of the whole audience is hobbled by factors that don’t normally appear at any other type of comedy night, such as a) an expectation that the acts they’re about to witness are somehow “weak” or “beginners”, leading to a negative outlook; b) the burden (without or without a card) of knowing this is an arena where judgements are to be made, rather than being able to just relax and get into someone’s set; and c) it’s maybe quite subliminal but I think the “jumpy” nature of the night in general leads to a very fractured concentration from the crowd – i.e. the way that some acts are there for 5 mins, some for 2, some for 4 etc. etc. is completely unlike the rhythm of any other comedy night.
Add to this the idea of someone like Stewart Lee or Paul Foot doing BTF: would they last the 5? I doubt it, yet these are people who can have their own, niche audiences (numbering in the thousands at least) in uncontrolled hysterics and hailing them as comedic maestros. What if you, Ste Price, are ultimately one of these type of comics? How much angst, nerves and debate have you expended over this potentially flawed realm of judgement? (This is obviously not a dig at you as I’ve debated it a lot too!).
From all I’ve felt, seen and heard I think most pro comics have to be like a DJ to a large degree. They have to be ready with many different tunes to play depending on the crowd and be able to adapt to that on the hoof, at all times. You have to ask yourself: do I want to be able to please even the most boorish stag or hen crowd with what I do? Do I want to be a sort of “everyman” that can appeal anywhere to anyone? Do you ever want to put yourself in danger of feeling like a whore for laughs – you know, literally doing material you don’t even like to fulfil an engagement?
If not, it’s not a case of then giving up as there’s many different and vital shades to comedy, as well as to audiences and notions of what success is. What a terrible world it would be, in the final analysis, if the only comics who were ever allowed exposure and fame had to Beat the bloody frog in Preston first!
Finally, you should also stop worrying about coming across as a bell-end due to debating this stuff – you’re thoughtful, considered and passionate about comedy, you’ve every right to debate something about the subject that keeps making you feel uncomfortable (and, from what I’ve seen, BTF is an edgy test from start to finish that goes on far too long, why torture yourself? Go somewhere else that allows you to thrive and take your time and makes you happier). Last but not least, the night where we were both gonged off at Preston you were streets ahead in intrigue, freshness and plain old hilarity than any of those that got through – and I don’t say that out of friendship, I say it as someone who sees pro acts every week and quite coldly thought you were of a much higher quality than anyone else there. Apart from me -haha. As the yanks say, “Go figure”.
Firstly, you know, thanks for the compliments!
I think that gong shows are certainly skewed and unlike any other type of performance. The fact that they’re like that is probably why they’re such a good way to test out your skills. If you can succeed under those circumstances then you’re probably onto something (although you have to accept that success will never be guaranteed).
I’d break down the factors for success into three elements (although I’m sure there’s many different ways of skinning the cat): 1) Confidence of delivery, 2) quality of your material, and 3) content of your material. I’d like to think that my delivery was confident enough, and there’s nothing you can do about the quality of your material other than to constantly work at it and hone it. The third part is where the (endless, tortuous, internal) debate occurs.
The question as to whether I’m “one of those kind” of comics is a tricky one. Who decides that? Is it something you are inherently or something you decide to be, or a combination of the two? It would be so easy to just think “yes, I am that kind of comic, so I don’t care” and then not have to worry about it. BUT this doesn’t just seem insanely arrogant, but also would be closing my mind to what’s happening when I’m on stage and would perhaps stop me from learning new skills – such as dealing with tricky audiences.
What intrigues me is not whether Stewart Lee or Paul Foot woiuld beat the gong now, but whether they would have at a similar stage to me in their development. Also, I wonder what they’d be like if they were fledgling comics now, given that the scene is so different to when they started. I wish I had a way of asking these questions of them!
Your analogy with being a DJ is really interesting, and the need to service the audience you’re playing too is key. My natural instinct is not to want to be the everyman, but maybe this is just misplaced arrogance. I don’t want to close myself off to anything at this stage, as I’m very much still a beginner. One of the things I want to do more of in my second year of comedy is to learn that skill of tailoring material to the audience you’re playing, whilst still doing stuff that appeals to me personally.
Oh, and I just thought I should clarify that the other reason BTF is a flawed source of information or study is, of course, that the COMICS are performing under auspices that never occur at ordinary gigs i.e. their knowledge that the crowd can have a potent judgement on them that could curtail their act horribly early. That’s an unecessary pressure that doesn’t burden the comedian at 99% of gigs they’ll ever do. Thus it’s a pretty useless and harmful factor. I’m off now, bye!
I think this is a pressure I certainly feel and what makes the experience tougher for me – I guess learning to deal with that is another good skill to have!
Well, we obviously disagree on this – because, as I’ve said, I don’t think it’s a situation you’d really ever face other than at a gong show; so, yes, it’s a good skill to develop if your ambition is to beat a gong in a random and chaotic setting, but I know plenty of successful comics who don’t like them and have done well without doing them.
I don’t think any comic worth their salt particularly enjoys or eagerly looks forward to doing gong shows. I certainly don’t. A lot of people I talk to at them/afterwards agree that they’re not a great place to develop in the long term and what you see (and what I have seen/have been guilty of) is acts using the same five minutes over and over again because you KNOW that it’ll last you the five minutes. I don’t see how this is beneficial. It’s one thing knowing what your best five minutes are but if that’s all you’ve got… That being said, what BTF and other gong shows do offer is the chance for progression into longer open spots and then obviously if you do well in those over a long period of time then there’s even better progression, so they’re not totally worth dismissing.
The worst thing that happened me early on was winning a gong show within my first 10 gigs or so. It made me think I didn’t have to try hard and that comedy was easy. I subsequently died on my arse in Doncaster a couple of gigs later. which put me back in my place.
In my position I feel confident that I’ve got material (after I don’t care to count how many times I got gonged off trying to figure myself out) that will get me through the gong. If I do gong shows now I will try to inject some new material into them as it’s a very abrupt way of finding out if you have a naff joke. The best thing that gong shows gave me was that after finding five minutes of gags (that later developed into ten minutes of gags) it made me realise that THAT isn’t the type of comedian I wanted to be, and reignited my hunger for the more creative side of things.
I’d say keep doing them. Don’t take them seriously and try not to be affected by them whether you win or get gonged after a minute.
Just felt I’d throw in my two pennies. Hope to see you soon mate, good blog. GOOD BLOG.
Your two pennies are very much appreciated!
It certainly seems to be the case that the gong show career is relatively short term and a means to an end.
Your point about sticking with tried and tested material Vs. trying new stuff is really interesting. I naturally tend to try out new stuff, or at least swap stuff around, so perhaps that doesn’t help. Even following my triumphant beating of the gong in Preston (when you were the righful winner!), I followed up a few days later in Manchester with a different set. Maybe I should have tried the same set, just out of interest! And, as I mentioned in the blog post, in Gig 31 I got gonged off doing my stupid impression. This was something that I threw into my set as I wanted to see how it went, but, again, this was only a few days after beating the gong in Manchester. I guess if I wasn’t so downbeat about the whole thing, then I might realise that I was actually approaching it in the right way!
The progression aspect is really interesting. It’s something I was going to mention in post, but it got lost somewhere between drafts. The most obvious way to progress is by winning, but playing at a larger, pro club is a great way to get exposure and get spotted. I’ve been spoken to a couple of times following gong appearances about “bigger and better” gigs, and while they haven’t come to anything (as yet), it’s good to put yourself in people’s minds for these things.
The e-mail came through, a day or two after posting this entry, asking for availability for the next batch of BTF. I was tempted to delete it right away, but I haven’t so far. Ultimately, I’d like to do some more and treat them in the way that you suggest – as a way of learning and progressing. I just need to figure out a way of getting my head around it, so that I’m not bothered. I guess I have more of an ego about this than I would have thought!
Hope to see you again soon, too!
p.s.
The good thing about stand up is that if you get cocky (like after your early gong win), it has it’s own way of knocking you back to earth. I’ve certainly been there myself!
Maybe I’m just really, really bad at this comedy/gig thing, but isn’t another of the problems with gong shows the way that they’re so common and one of the few ways fledgling stand-ups can see to get stage time and some form of progression?
I’m fairly certain that many of my favourite comedians would not last too long in gong shows with the sort of material that they perform (not enough paedo/rape gags for starters). I often wonder how they’d go on starting off today.
Ah! Sorry, JD! You asked the same question as I did in my reply to Tim’s comment (about how certain comedians would fare if they were to start today), but because I left it as a reply it looks like I asked it first when you did!!! I’m an idiot. Anyway, it’s nice to know that great minds think alike!
I guess with something like BTF, is that it takes place at a mainstream comedy club, and so they have an audience to consider and a certain type of act that works best there. This isn’t a criticism; they’re a business and they have to make that work. It’s great that such places exist at all, and we’re lucky to live in a country with such ready access to comedy clubs. The challenge for anyone who strays from a more mainstream flavour is how you can make the available spots work for you.
Hi Tim. Yes, I’m having to reply to you all the way down here! Oh, the indignity.
It’s not that I necessarily disagree with you (which makes me sound like a terrible fence-sitter), and you could well be correct and I’m completely getting myself into a twist for no reason.
I seem to be flopping around all over the place on this, which is indicative of my confused feelings on this and why I’ve written such a long blog post on the subject! If I had to boil down my feelings, it would be this: I tend towards thinking that my style of comedy is never going to consistently beat the going, albeit with occasional successes. The problem with giving up on this basis is that I’m not confident in my own my judgement (possibly just being neurotic), because I don’t know whether my ego is making excuses for me and that’s why I really want to quit. Other than getting extra gigs to try stuff at, this is the main reason I’m even considering continuing.
God, I’m thinking about this WAY too much.
I tend to overthink things myself, Ste! What strikes me most after all I’ve now read is that you are very concerned about seeming egotistical and keep scrutinising every aspect of your outlook, feelings and impressions for signs of either weakness or conceit. Now, whilst no one would say that seeking to improve on weaknesses is not a good thing (although “weakness” itself is a judgement call that’s in the eye of the beholder), I do question your view of “ego” itself – and I’ve thought a lot about this for years: The human ego is partly there to protect you, it is a vital and INESCAPABLE filter through which you process information. Sometimes you really need your ego to wade in and say “Fuck this and fuck you, I can’t abide being in this situation anymore and it’s beneath me” – no matter how arrogant and patronising another part of yourself may later reflect on that to be…
This is perhaps a better chat to have over a drink, but I think you’re in danger of getting yourself in a pickle (as a Gran might say) over this: for one thing, of ALL people, comedians need their ego and it’s part of the spur that gets you up there or makes you bother to work on stuff in preparation. It can also aid you in differentiating that which is good or bad for you in an unthinking instant. Dying hurts because you have an ego. Succeeding brings great joy because you have an ego. The only trouble with the ego is it’s sometimes like a dog straining on a leash – if you don’t hold tight enough it can bolt and do damage to people and things. However, you are really NOT the sort of person that ever appears to have that problem, say, in a social setting – you are concientious and considered. So don’t worry about the machinations of your ego coming across as conceited or trying to give you an easy way out, you’re too thoughtful for that. However, when it comes to taking the stage (or even having an important debate) there’s nothing wrong with letting your ego into that arena because, without it, there would be no one even onstage and no one ever challenging the status quo.
For instance (and I know your style is way different but I still think it applies), Bill Hicks could be seen as highly arrogant and spiteful onstage, yet offstage he was a sweet, kind, humble fellow. Without his ego we would never have seen the astonishing art.
Put it another way, sometimes I don’t like things because they make my ego feel slighted or hurt, other times I don’t like things because I genuinely believe they’re unhelpful or just plain rubbish. It doesn’t take much soul-searching to realise which is which in me. Then you just have to decide which route you’re going to follow on each occasion because of how you think or feel.
I hope this hasn’t all been too garbled as I typed it rather quickly but, overall, I feel your second-guessing of your judgements and motives could lead to you stopping doing stand up and that would be a terrible waste of your obvious talent.
No, Tim, it certainly wasn’t garbled. You gave me lots to think about, which is part of the reason it’s taken me a few days to reply to your comment.
The other thing that’s given me pause for thought was an e-mail from Stuart Goldsmith (whose podcast is referenced in the main post). I had sent him a link to the post (since he got a mention), and he took the time to read it and get back to me. His description was “frighteningly analytical”, which, you know, made me feel a bit mental.
He also made some good points on the general discussion:
“Though I would suggest that as well as the Lee/Foot examples, there are plenty of comics acceptable to the mainstream (eg capable of closing Jongleurs Portsmouth on a Saturday) who are also interesting and unique: Milton Jones, Harry Hill etc. They also went through a period of making their stuff work in difficult rooms – you’ve probably heard about Harry Hill’s “chicken in the oven” put-down…
I don’t think the goal is “to win King Gong”, the goal might be “to win King Gong with material you love”. That’s probably a longer journey, but maybe a more worthwhile one. Or “to not need to do King Gong”. That’s a reasonable one also…”
So. Lots to think about. So I did some thinking.
The process of keeping a gig diary, and then doing a review of the gig diary, is always going to make me look analytical; perhaps making me look more analytical than I actually am. However, it’s only really in my posts about gong shows where it turns from analysis to neurosis.
When engaging in an activity, you need to ask yourself: Am I enjoying it? Am I getting anything out of it? Am I learning anything? On the whole when I perform, it’s an emphatic yes to all of these. Even if I have a bad gig, I can still see the worth in it, and it’s place in the long road of my development.
What about gong shows? I’m not going to say that the answer is no for all of them, but it’s much less crystal clear. The overall feeling, however, is that doing them has become counter-productive for me, and by worrying about what that it’s distracting me from how much I enjoy performing at other gigs.
I think it’s time to stop worrying about what I’ll potentially lose by not mastering the gong show, and focus on what I gain gain by using my energy in a more positive way.
When I forwarded you that invite to have a crack at the one in Leeds, I would say that if you can focus your set to that sort of crowd, and accept the ‘loss of creative integrity’ it would be just as much of a challenge to actually win one. I know you, and I know that it’ll itch away at your unless you conquer one. And I think you should. Then ease off the gas my freaky friend!
Just when I thought I was out (of this post about gong shows)…they pull me back in.
I genuinely am not bothered whether or not I ever actually won a gong show, the only itch I have/had was whether I could consistently last the distance.
Perhaps I’ll give them another go if I could actually work out what different approach I could take. I guess the best reason to do a gong show is if you have something that you want to try out at that format, but currently I have nothing that fits that bill.
Sorry to pull you back in again all these months later, but I happened across your post when wondering how best to approach my first gong show this week. I have avoided doing them so far because, frankly, I have been shit scared to do so, but the show came up and it’s local to me, and it’s a gig – so I decided to go for it. Anyway, it makes perfect sense why you should be so conflicted over them, and the discussions in both the post and the comments have also been helpful to me. So thank you, and don’t apologise for thinking about stuff, okay?
Well, since you’ve said that this post has been helpful for you, you absolutely mustn’t apologise for pulling me back in! It means a lot when someone reads this blog, let alone when they tell me that they’ve gotten something out of it!
I should probably add that I’m not sorry that I took part in gongs, and they were definitely a useful experience. Getting gonged off a few times definitely helps with the essential growing of thick skin, so they’re worthwhile for that alone. With a bit of perspective, I guess this post is more a personal thing about whether they were right for me to continue with, and what I was (and wasn’t) getting out of the format. (Incidentally, I haven’t done any since writing this post.)
Have you done your gong show yet? I’d love to hear about how it went and any thoughts you had about it.
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