GICF Comedy Gala. King's Theatre, Glasgow. Saturday 30th March, 2024

Another solo gig for me, with my wife still recuperating from Covid. When I arrived, the auditorium was not yet open, so I made for the upstairs bar. Looking around, I noticed the walls had framed photos of famous actors and signs indicating the year they performed at the venue. For example, Michael Caine trod the boards there in 1959. Not a lot of people know that. I meant to snap a few of them to post here, but it was too busy. 

I had plenty of legroom on the front row of the Grand Circle, not just because of my missing wife. There was one seat free on my right and two more on my left. I must have appeared like a right Jonny No Mates, which was why it felt so good to notice a former colleague also on the Grand Circle. At the interval, I texted to confirm it was her, and then we chatted at the back. It's always nice to see a friendly face.

Susie McCabe was the gala's host. In the first half, she introduced Billy Kirkwood, Kiri Pritchard-McLean, Stuart McPherson, Jin-Hao Li, Susan Riddell, and Craig Hill. They each received five-minute slots, and all performed well (although many of them opened with How are you doing, Glasgow? - Were they not listening to our previous answer?). I was most impressed by Jin-Hao Li, who has a great delivery and a unique style. One to watch (and listen to, obviously).  

The second half featured Luisa Omielan, Zara Gladman, Rosco McClelland, Raymond Mearns, and Janey Godley (last year's recipient of the Sir Billy Connolly Spirit of Glasgow Award). Luisa came across well, with some excellent material. It was harder to get into Zara Gladman as she is a character act, and I didn't know her work. Janey has always been a force of nature, but now, with her cancer diagnosis, she is totally unleashed and terrifyingly funny. The top act of the afternoon, in my opinion. 

The afternoon finished with the presentation of this year's Spirit of Glasgow Award. After an introduction by the festival organiser, Elaine C Smith announced the winner, with Janey Godley handing the award to Susie McCabe. There was a touching video from Sir Billy, which made Susie quite emotional. We left the gala with the PA system playing If It Wisnae fur yer Wellies, which brought another smile to the crowd's faces. 

Susie, with the other nominees.

I was surprised to learn that the festival is run by a core team of just five people. Maybe once I retire, I should investigate how to get involved. With a staff discount, I could save a fortune on tickets.

Ticket Price: £24.10 each plus £3.95 transaction fee from ATG.         

Kieran Hodgson, 'Big In Scotland', King's Theatre, Glasgow. Friday 29th March, 2024

This show was on my list to see at last year's Edinburgh Fringe, but I somehow didn't get around to it. So, when this performance was announced as part of the GICF, I immediately purchased two tickets, snagging front-row Grand Circle seats. Brilliant!

Then I noticed the date. This was the same night Elaine C Smith was playing the King's. Surely they couldn't have double-booked the theatre. There must be some mistake. Ah, yes, mine. Her show starts at eight o'clock, this one at six. I'm working till six. Bugger, bugger, bugger, bollocks.

Fortunately, I was able to swap my holidays around to get the day off. Phew!

On the week of the show, two things happened. My wife caught Covid (contrary to Tory propaganda, it hasn't gone away). And I hurt my back, giving me the kind of intense spasms that make me look like an old man being electrocuted whenever my pain relief wears off. 

I hoped my wife would recover, and, indeed, she tested negative on the day, but she couldn't go, still too washed out to attend, so I went on my own. If nothing else, I could use the spare legroom for stretching if my back tightened. I promised her I'd bring home a Chinese takeaway afterwards, given my cooking skills would only give her food poisoning on top of her lingering covid symptoms. 

I drove into Glasgow listening to Radiohead's OK Computer (OKNOTOK 1997, 2017 edition), an album by a band my wife detests. Their song, Karma Police, was in my head, having just watched episode three of the 3 Body Problem.

I planned to pay to park on the street for an hour or so until parking became free at 6 p.m. Then I saw the charge: £1.40 for fifteen minutes? Hell, no. It was cheaper than a multi-storey, but still way too expensive. 

Then it occurred to me that parking charges are really just a form of insurance. You pay to protect yourself from the risk of a possible parking ticket. I weighed up the chances of a warden appearing at that time of night, then sat in the car for another fifteen minutes, listening to more of the album before heading to the venue, keeping an eye out for parking attendants. The way I was hobbling, having sat in the car for that little bit longer, I could have probably convinced them I'd forgotten my non-existent blue disabled badge.

My colleagues may be surprised to learn you CAN enjoy the theatre with a bad back.

The music playing prior to the show was quite catchy: Manic Street Preachers as I arrived, then Catatonia next. I figured Kieran for a fan of 90s pop music. This was followed by Tom Jones with Stereophonics and Charlotte Church, and I noticed a theme emerging. Shirley Bassey came next, finishing with Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out For A Hero. This show was "Big In Scotland", right? Not "Big In Wales"? 

Dressed in the red tartan jacket from the promotional material, Kieran bounded onto the stage and regaled us with the theme of the show, explaining that he was now, in fact, Scottish despite being born in Yorkshire and previously living in London. Quickly, I realised this wasn't stand-up. This was theatre but with jokes. Essentially an extended monologue, I sensed even the asides to the audience were rehearsed. 

We learned what he was like before he got the part of Gordon in Two Doors Down (or Next Door But One, as one character refers to it) and how he felt he needed to change, having let down a close friend with an inappropriate best-man speech. He then escorted us on his journey to becoming a better person, to becoming Scottish. It was slick, beautifully performed and very funny. It had the important through-line that ex-PM Gordon Brown expected, tied up all the narrative threads, completed his character arc and even finished with a punchline that explained the music playing before the show. This show definitely deserved its 2023 Edinburgh Award nomination.  

  

Even better, I didn't get a parking ticket. That's £4.20 saved towards a future fine. 

Ticket Price: £20.50 plus transaction fees (£3.95) from ATG.

I don't know where the hoop screw came from
but I knew it shouldn't be on the ledge

Yonaka, "Welcome To My House" Tour, SWG3 TV Studios, Glasgow. Monday 25th March, 2024

I am now officially an old man. This was the first time I felt the gig belonged to a different generation—the "Sertraline Generation", epitomised by piercings, tattoos, dyed hair, and sad eyes. Not that I felt unwelcome or unsafe - other adults were present accompanying their teenage daughters - but when the support act instructs the audience to open up a mosh pit, and they willingly comply, the space taking up almost the entire dancefloor, it's time to walk away. I felt like a fringe wallflower, watching as four males bounced about, knocking into one another like trainee wrestlers. I must have missed that dance class.  

This mosh nonsense upset my usual routine, where I plant myself in my carefully selected spot for optimum viewing. With every reset, as people returned to the middle, new tall people or phone wankers landed in front of me. I was well out of my comfort zone.

The first support act was Mimi Barks. She erupted onto the stage in what, to me, looked like a gimp costume: all in black leather with a spiky hood and mask. She screamed, swore, kicked and headbanged like a teenager who needs therapy. Her music is the audible equivalent of a tantrum. Before she left the stage, she finished by telling us, "Fuck you." Not "Thank you", as a polite young woman would say. 

I am not her demographic market.

The second act was Noisy, a wannabe Prodigy-style combo. They were quite good, the frontman establishing his credentials early on with some fine rapping. His constant instructions, like an irritating DJ, grated after a while - "Make some fucking noise", "That's what I'm talking about", "Put your hands in the air", oh, and "Fuck Monday" (middle finger raised in the air). He engaged his audience, though, even coming down into the crowd, getting everyone to crouch down mid-song so they could all jump in the air together. I resisted. My knees and back are too far gone for all that nonsense. 

Or so I thought.

Yonaka shone tonight. Theresa Jarvis can actually sing (not just scream or rap). She has quite a presence on stage, and the crowd loved her. The males in the band are quite striking, too. The place totally rocked. 

For one song, Theresa also came into the crowd, skipping around the mosh pit, and then gestured for everyone to crouch. This time, practically everyone complied, leaving me and about three others still standing. So I had to creak down, wondering if my back would let me back up again. Fortunately, the music was so loud that no one could hear the ooof sound I made as I rose. 

I'd love to see Yonaka again in a larger venue where the moshpit didn't take up the bulk of the audience space. I'd also like to hear them play for longer. The gig finished just after 10 instead of the advertised 10.30, perhaps so their younger audience could catch public transport home again. It was a school night, after all. (However, most of the audience was older than that).

Ticket Price: £25 plus fees (£64 for the pair, plus souvenir ticket).

Setlist:

By the Time You’re Reading This (link to YouTube video)

Greedy

Punch Bag

Call Me a Saint

Creature

Don't Wait 'Til Tomorrow

Hands Off My Money

PANIC

Welcome to My House

I Want More

Give Me My Halo (Acoustic)

PREDATOR

Clique

Rockstar

Encore:

Seize the Power (link to YouTube video).

Photos 

Branded

 

Ed Gamble, 'Hot Diggity Dog' Tour, King's Theatre, Glasgow. Sunday 24th March 2024

The audience is considerably younger than last night's crowd. There are lots of dating couples clutching armfuls of theatre-bought drinks and snacks, indicating they are still in that early romantic stage of their relationship where extravagant gestures (and by that, I mean purchases) matter. I'm sitting one seat over in the same row of the Grand Circle as last night. My wife isn't there, having tested positive for Covid earlier (yes, that's still a thing), so a mate agreed to step in instead at the last minute (ish). I'm not letting him buy me snacks at those prices, though. We've known each other too long.

Ed has made more of an effort than Frank by bringing along a stage backdrop. With Elvis Ed spraying himself with mustard and Posh Boy Ed messily munching on a hot dog, Ed's name is hung in between, surrounded by dice and a diamond ring, giving us an inkling about what his material will be about tonight. 

Before we get to Ed, though, there is a support act. It's someone called Sam Lake (I'd never heard of him either), a comedian so camp that he can't finish a sentence without placing his hand on his (facial) cheek. He spends half his set introducing himself (he is married to a man named David), and the other half doing crowd work with the front row. 

We get the usual questions - "What's your name?" and "What do you do?" - followed by some comedic reaction riffs. One doesn't go to plan, though. The "homemade" (as her mother puts it) twenty-five-year-old daughter admits she doesn't work. "Ooh, taking after your lazy mum," Sam quips. "Why don't you work?" he asks accusingly. "I'm disabled," she replies. The audience audibly takes a sharp intake of breath. How is he going to dance around this one? Sam steps in a circle around the stage and then asks, "Which disabilities do you have?" "Multiple," comes the reply. He winces and asks, moving on, if the man beside her is her brother. "Yes," she replies."He's normal."  

Sam doubles over. "Gosh, I hope no one is recording this. I don't want to get cancelled."

For a support act, his interactions certainly warmed the audience. He was a bit light on actual material, though.   

Ed is a huge heavy metal fan. His pre-show (and interval) playlist consists entirely of metal tracks. Cleverly, he uses Motorhead's Ace of Spades to rev up the crowd before he comes on, repeating the record at the point it says his name, Gamble. 

He starts off with his own crowd work, uncovering a situation in which a daughter is sitting in the front row with her recently fired from Wagamama boyfriend, but her mother is up in the Upper Circle with a deep-voiced someone who is not her partner (we subsequently find out her partner, Alan, is there, too).

After this had been fully mined, we're off, with Ed barely pausing for breath as he steamrolls us through his set, covering topics like his posh boy persona, how the subjects he has previously mocked he has ended up doing (vaping, getting married), his Street's WhatsApp chat group, his honeymoon in Vegas and his feelings towards their pet cat.

It's a professional set with callbacks in all the right places. There are not a lot of surprises, but it's still a good, solid, loud hour or so of comedy. My ears are still ringing with laughter.

Ticket Price £26.50.

Flyer (front)

Flyer (back)

Frank Skinner, 30 Years of Dirt. King's Theatre, Glasgow. Saturday 23rd March, 2024

Frank Skinner announced on his radio show today that Absolute Radio was not renewing his contract after fifteen years at the station. He's now sixty-seven. He said he was, in recent times, "ever-more becoming Grandad from The Simpsons". I have to report that, based on tonight's performance, it didn't show. Even with all his muscular stretches at the start, he's still a limber comedian. 

He won the Perrier Award for Best Comedy Show in 1991, but I'd yet to see him perform a full standup show, having only caught him once as part of a mixed-bill late-night lineup at the Fringe one year. Obviously, I'd seen him on TV back in the day and found him cheeky, smutty, and incredibly funny. Then he went all lad culture with his Fantasy Football League show, and I lost interest. 

This return to the stage was much lauded, with plenty of five-star reviews plus a run in the West End. He's not racist or sexist but does have a wicked, impish sense of humour peppered with occasional vulgarity. His style is conversational, often bantering with the front row as a segue way into his next topic.  The punchlines feel so natural, as does the casual way he dismisses heckles. Yet, there is great skill at work here, making everything sound so effortless yet achingly funny. At one point, when we're ahead of him in the joke, he admits, "Sometimes you should think of me like HelloFresh. I deliver all the comedy ingredients so you can cook up the delicious punchline." (Or something like that).

His support act was Pierre Novellie, his current sidekick from his radio show. I saw him support Phil Wang almost a year ago, and he hadn't changed much, even wearing the same outfit. I did find him funnier, though, possibly because he incorporated much more local material into his set, winning over the audience. Like Frank, his style is laid back and conversational with a great deal of craft going into his phrasing. They complemented each other well. Shame he'll also be out of work now the radio show is stopping.

The audience's age was definitely skewed towards those eligible for imminent retirement planning advice. Not the lady sitting on my left, though. She was a young thing (comparatively) who supped a pint, chatted with her pal and occasionally allowed her leg to stray up against mine. It's funny how I didn't mind this yet inwardly was incensed if the man on my right even nudged my other leg. I guess there's still inequality between the sexes. 

Ticket Price: £32.96 inc fees from ATG.

 

The pre-show view from Grand Circle, row B

 

Adam Rowe, "What's Wrong With Me?" UK Tour 2024. Venue38, Ayr. Friday 22nd March, 2024

I've never listened to his podcast, but his show, "Juicy", which I caught on YouTube, was a superior work of comedy. I had to catch him live. When I noticed he was playing in Ayr (I couldn't make the Edinburgh date), I thought close enough. I didn't realise close still meant an hour's drive, in both directions, along an average-speed M77.

I don't know Ayr, but I figured if I left early enough, I'd find somewhere to park on a street near the venue. Three times I went around that town centre, passing taxi ranks, bus stops, and lanes of disabled spaces, cursing the continuous double yellow lines until I eventually gave up and paid to use a public car park. By this time, I'd been driving in circles for so long that I had no idea where the venue was, and the map on my phone wasn't updating my location. I had to return to the car to check the sat nav. Turned out the venue, Venue 38, was just down the road and around the corner.

I joined the queue, pleased to be quite near the front. The young punters behind me were stoked to see Adam, remarking how much they loved him and Paul Smith (another Liverpudlian comedian). While they waited, they showed each other comedy reels on their phones. A short, heavy shower didn't dampen their spirits. 

At 7 pm, the venue doors opened and we shuffled in, the girl in the booth checking off our names from her list. Venue 38 is a nightclub, not my natural environment. The decor and ultraviolet lighting triggered bad memories from my youth. I sussed out where I wanted to sit (not on the balcony due to a rogue stage light; not at the sides due to the pillars restricting the view). I settled for a seat in the middle of the third row on the dancefloor - close enough not to have my view blocked but far enough away not to be noticed by the comedian (I hoped). The ultraviolet light lit up everyone wearing anything white, including the cap of a bloke in the front row. A brave choice of headwear, I reckoned.

The gig was nowhere near a sellout. Indeed, in terms of my seating location, if I was a meeple on a monastery tile in Carcassone, my score would have been terrible, with empty space in front and beside me. My unhindered view was great, though. 

 

Having driven for over an hour, I needed to pee. The Gent's toilets were honking. The pensioner attendant, who stood over his stash of aftershaves at the sinks, must have been there so long he'd grown accustomed to the smell. Either that or he wanted to be tipped for others to block out the smell with his scoosh.  

The opening act was Darren Connell. He's best known for the programme Scot Squad, where he appeared as Bobby Muir, the character who regularly pestered "Officer Karen." I'd seen him live once before and didn't particularly appreciate his style of Glasgow comedy. The audience didn't warm to him much tonight either, with him commenting about the silence in the room a couple of times. He finished strong, but he could have done better. It didn't help, though, that the venue didn't turn off the spinning disco lights that covered the dancefloor for the first ten minutes of his set. 

Adam Rowe looked different tonight. Dressed in a tracksuit, he appeared trim. His teeth were also perfectly white like he'd gone down the Jimmy Carr route by getting veneers. Disregarding these positive cosmetic differences in his appearance, his comedy is still the same - passionate tales about his various failed relationships and of his family (his father drinks whisky alone at home while watching Corrie, while his mother drank two bottles of vodka a day for twenty years, so by comparison, Adam's certainly not an alcoholic, he says). He discussed his neuroses and how he'd feel if he ever had to give up being a standup. He delayed getting a full-body MRI because he didn't want his deepest fears about his ill health confirmed. It took a special encounter with a disabled man to persuade him he could own his illness once it was diagnosed. The answer to what was wrong with him was classic and a brilliant, unexpected callback.

Adam has a gift for standup. He might not be to everyone's taste, but for those who know, he's up there with the best. 

Ticket price: £24.75 inc fees from Ticketmaster.   

     

Stewart Lee, "Basic Lee", King's Theatre, Glasgow. Sunday 17th March, 2024

I attend this gig on my own. 

I'm sitting in the front row of the Grand Circle beside another man, also on his own, whose splayed knees have already claimed the legroom as he got there first. I shrink as much as my big frame will allow, but it feels like I'm sharing the space with my dominant alter ego. He is also bald but is comfortable asserting his position. Unlike me, he keeps his jacket on to ensure his testicles are not overheated by the presence of extraneous clothing. I'm surprised he can cope with the heat as it is so sweaty (the show is a sellout), even the cherubs (Waley and Paley) above the proscenium arch have disrobed, leaving only a sliver of curtain to cover their dignity (which paints the Deacon Blue song in a whole new spotlight).

On my other side, the gentleman's wife firmly points out to him that his jacket is covering the sign that states no items are to be placed on the ledge. This amuses me, and the show hasn't even started. They amuse me further upon their return to their seats after the interval, with him clutching a bottle of beer and an ice cream tub. He places the beer at his feet, then dips his spoon into his ice cream just as the lights go down, leaving the theatre in near darkness. He freezes (unlike his soft, melting ice cream), remaining in this perilous position until the stage lights come up.    

Stewart Lee's schtick hasn't changed much since 1989, when he began his comedy career. He takes a subject and repeats it over and over, tagging on extra laughs with each pass. He often teases us by not giving us the laugh we expect, then scolds us for wrongly anticipating how he'll deconstruct his own material. His stage persona is that of a smug, sarcastic and sometimes bitter comedian. His writing is clever in how he makes things funny, which is part of the joke. 

Tonight, he strayed slightly from his norm (but not much) by writing some political material and doing some crowd work. Of course, he did it in his own way, as if playing out his role as a proper comedian, suggesting he could do that style of comedy if he wanted to. There was one biting dig at his former double-act partner, Richard Herring, which drew an ooh from the audience. The material about JK Rowling writing crime as Robert Galbraith, a man, reinforcing gender stereotypes, had us making up our own jokes, which he denied having any responsibility for. 

Much of the second half was spent explaining how the style of comedy where a comedian speaks directly to an audience only began in 2016 when Phoebe Waller-Bridge broke the previous mould with her show, Fleabag. He later asked us to make up our own silent jazz soundtrack to his next routine because, due to Brexit, he couldn't afford the clearances for each of the individual European countries. He also let us know that if the joke failed, it was our fault for getting the soundtrack wrong. 

He finished by acting out what our day-to-day working lives must be like in a routine that stretched the humour to breaking point. He spent nearly ten minutes of "Morning / See you tomorrow" with affirmations of colleague recognition covering the entire working week, Monday to Friday. This was probably the weakest part of the show, but that amused him.    

The one moment of sincerity came when he confessed to realising during lockdown that no matter how much he despises his audience, it's difficult to do his comedy without them. After the show, he sold merch and signed autographs in the foyer. I didn't wait. I'm back to my usual humdrum work life tomorrow. 

Good night.

Sam Campbell: Wobservations. The Garage, Wed 13th March, 2024

I didn't know what to expect from this gig. Sam comes across as a funny oddball on TV, but I hadn't seen any of his stand-up. He has pedigree, though, as he won the Edinburgh Award for Best Show of the Fringe in 2022. He also sold out a solo performance of "Bulletproof Ten" at last year's Fringe at the Pleasance Grand despite promoting that the show only lasted ten minutes. 

The ticket for tonight's gig said the doors opened at 8 p.m., but the GICF website said 7 p.m., so I arrived early, at 6.30 p.m., not wanting to take the risk. There was no queue, so we went across the road to the pub. By the time we'd downed our drinks, there were about twenty people waiting. 

My name wasn't on the attendee list, but I had printed out the tickets, so we were waved on. Unusually for such an event, the tickets weren't scanned. Then we waited in the bar area for the main hall to open. The staff opened the curtains just before showtime and, as the show was a sellout, insisted we fill each row in turn with no gaps, starting at the front. We ended up sitting bang in the middle of the second row. Perfect!

My pre-show view

We were packed in like sardines (which Sam referenced early in the show). I wondered if the seats were getting smaller or if I was getting bigger (thinking the latter), but my mate, who is thinner than a stick that's had its stomach removed, assured me it was the seats.   

Sam arrived on stage wearing sunglasses, which flew off his face up onto the balcony. From there, the weirdness continued. Sam's comedy is difficult to put into words. It's absurd, it's wacky, it's prankish, but most of all, it's funny. He asked a guy in the front row if he had keys. Sam got him to throw them onto the stage for Sam to catch using his special catching glove. Then Sam pinged the keys to a guy wearing the same type of glove at the side of the stage. The guy catches them, receives an audience cheer, then bolts off, with Sam admitting, "I don't know that guy", then corrects himself, saying, "I do know that guy. I just don't trust him". The poor punter had to wait till the very last moment of the show to get his keys back, and even then, the return was elaborate (involving a plant tub, a box of rice crispies, four litres of milk and a giant spoon, the keys being tossed into the pot from the balcony).

An Image from The bizarre video he played during the interval

We had a broken egg dangled over our heads using an extendable pole, the yoke dangling longer and longer, threatening to drip onto us (it was a foot long before he whisked it away - pun intended). He showed us screen grabs of text exchanges between him and a school, which resulted in him going in disguise to a parents' evening pretending to be the parent of the kid for whom he'd been receiving detention notifications. There was audience participation in a bizarre game show where the participants picked a number that revealed an Australian ad for life insurance. His PowerPoint work was extraordinarily bizarre. With his standup material, you never knew what was coming next.   

Sam is a unique talent, unlike anything I've ever seen. Hail to the weirdness! 

Ticket price £18 plus fees.

Blurb:  

Basically, we keep him in a metal crate. Once everyone is settled and the house lights go down, we will let him loose onto the stage.
It is our understanding that his comedy moments will DAZZLE you. His prefrontal cortex is larger than you might expect.
When he’s done/empty we shove him back in the crate and you will be allowed to return to your home. How does all that sound?
As seen on Taskmaster.