Frankie Boyle, Work in Progress Shambles and Book Reading, The Glee Club, Glasgow. Monday 14th October, 2024.

This was another treat to myself to celebrate my retirement. Ordinarily, I couldn't have attended as the doors opened at 6 pm and closed at 6.30 pm. I've been to a few of Frankie's WIPs, and they've always been good. He's relaxed, reads the jokes from a clipboard, and the expectations are lower. Generally, the audience is less boisterous. 

Our allocated seating was far enough from the stage to feel safe but close enough to have a great view. A few tables were empty despite it being a sellout. Two loud gentlemen transferred to the table behind us, explaining to those beside them that, as the doors were closed, the people who'd paid to sit there weren't coming. One of them didn't appear to own a volume control for his voice. 

Ray Bradshaw, as the support act, performed a fun twenty-minute set with material about Glasgow, his deaf dad, and attending an American bachelor party, amongst other topics. His style was effortless, almost conversational, as if the routines had just come to him. He was excellent.

Frankie, shorn of beard and dressed in a brown, undersized sweatshirt, looked like he'd come from a gym (without going in), instead choosing to sample the wares of the nearby Greggs (that's unfair - he has been making an effort to get into shape - he just didn't explain what shape). He is carrying a copy of his new book, "A Short History of the Apocalypse", with specific pages tagged. He also has a clipboard with pages of printed material attached.

When Frankie came on, the gentlemen behind us clapped and cheered loudly. This was their statement of intent. They wanted to be part of the show, also known in Glasgow as 'being a cunt'. I cringed. This was not going to go well. 

During the show, a rogue heckle from elsewhere in the room emboldened them to contribute, but their comment didn't elicit a Frankie putdown. What did draw his attention was the guy's laugh, which was so loud and forced that it always finished with him falling into a fit of viscous coughing. Frankie suggested the last time he'd heard a cough like that, it was from his uncle, who was dying of cancer. The cougher thought this was an intro to a two-way conversation, but Frankie wasn't having it and continued with his prepared material. Later, though, the guy's cough became so loud that it prevented the audience from hearing one of Frankie's setups, causing Frankie to interrupt the joke to call him out. I would have liked to have seen the guy waterboarded. 

This was Frankie's second WIP. He did a lot of old material, read a couple of sections from his book (the first was funnier than the second), and tested the jokes he intends to use on "The Last Leg US Election Special" next month. One that might not make the broadcast is "The US is fully behind Israel's two-state approach to Gaza, those states being a solid and a gas." As that show is broadcast live, it'll be interesting to hear what material he uses.

After the show, the two loud guys paused as they left to take selfies with the stage Glee logo in the background, a memento of their excellent night ruining the show for the rest of us. 

Cunts!

Ticket Price: £15 x2, plus £2 x2 booking fee direct from The Glee Club. 

Frankie Boyle, 'Lap of Shame' Tour, Kings Theatre, Glasgow. Tuesday 6th June, 2023.

Revelation of the night was support act, Christopher Macarthur-Boyd. Now thirty, the wee guy with the glasses from Glasgow has grown (not in height) into a proper stand-up. He had some cracking material and demonstrated a physicality I'd not seen in him before. He's put in the time and it shows. But, as he commented, we weren't there to see him perform.

You could describe this as vintage Frankie Boyle if the vintage was that of a supermarket wine which somehow had evaded being drunk, lying in the cupboard for months despite the continued misery of our everyday life. By this I mean, chunks of his material were not new, recycled from his telly scripts, with some jokes on the wrong side of their expiry date. The fault there could be mine, having watched all his recent telly stuff and been to see him live during a work in progress for the telly programme. It's likely some of tonight's jokes were never broadcast but were still familiar to me. Those are the perils of going back to see a favourite comedian too soon. It didn't spoil the night - he's still a brilliant crafter of jokes - but it did sour my enjoyment. 

He railed a couple of times at the many coughers in the audience who selfishly insisted on sharing their germs. He also noticed one punter filming the show and politely told him to stop. Then less politely when the bloke argued back. I thought we were about to see our first eviction of the night but the moment passed. The rest of his banter with the audience was half-hearted, like a comedic contractual obligation included to pad out the time. Somehow he missed the girl a few rows in front of me who reacted to his jokes by putting her hand in the air, tapping her fingers together like an alien who'd misunderstood applause. 

For a show called Lap of Shame, I can't say I wasn't warned. Not Frankie's finest hour.   

        

Ticket price: £26.75 from ATG.

Tour Blurb

"Frankie Boyle’s on tour. Buy a ticket, because by the time he arrives, the currency will be worthless and you and your neighbours part of a struggling militia that could probably use a few laughs."

And also:

"As part of a continuing physical and mental tailspin, Frankie Boyle suppresses his overarching sense of futility and horror to tell jokes for an hour in the final days of organised human life. Note that these are the final performances of last year's Fringe show! The show has been honed on a tour of re-education camps, robot barracks and colosseums built from old shipping containers."

Frankie Boyle: Work in Progress, The Stand, Glasgow. Sunday 11th December, 2022

After a late Saturday night at GUN at the Barrowlands, I enjoyed a lazy Sunday morning knowing I had this to look forward to in the afternoon.

Works in progress, by definition, can be hit or miss but they generally have a more relaxed vibe as the audience is aware the material is being tried out. Today, Frankie was testing the script for the End of Year edition of his BBC2 series, New World Order. Essentially, he read out the entire, printed-out script from a clipboard, including his opening monologue, links to all the clips they might use in the final edit and the end monologue. There was little chitchat with the audience, except to comment when he felt something wouldn't make the cut or to react to our reaction about the joke he just told. As anticipated, the material was dark, brutal and shoulder-shakingly funny. In this unedited version, the band U2 came in for some serious carnage involving the consequence of their helicopter flying over an active volcano. It will be interesting to see how much makes the final broadcast.

There was also a surprise support act, Ray Bradshaw, who performed a lot of funny but familiar material about having deaf parents. His chatty, relaxed style was conducive to big laughs and he set us up nicely for Frankie to do his stuff.

Ticket price: £15.

 

Frankie Boyle's New World Order End Of Year Show Recording, Film City, Glasgow. Tuesday 14th December, 2021

I missed out on GUN's Barrowland gig on Saturday thanks to an unfortunate COVID ping from Track and Trace. At any other time, a ten-day forced absence from work would have been a delight (excepting the illness part) but this week I was on holiday and had gigs to attend. Fortunately, my PCR result returned negative so my plans for the rest of the week were not scuppered. 

Originally, this show wasn't on my list for this week. I hadn't even bothered applying for tickets. Then, after watching the show, I noticed a name I recognised on the show's end credits. I contacted her to check if she was this person (I knew she worked in television) hoping to get some juicy backstage goss about the show. I happened to mention how long I've admired Frankie Boyle's work and she responded by offering me tickets to one of the recordings. Not just tickets, production seats, the M&S of show tickets, although at the time I didn't realise how big a deal this was. 

So, tickets printed and maps checked, we drove to Ibrox Underground station and walked the short distance to Film City on Govan Road, not failing to notice the number of parking spaces available closer. It was a cold night but the rain had paused so it wasn't too much of an inconvenience. We joined the end of the queue, which had stretched around the corner of the building. The Standing Room Only staff were checking names and temperatures. When they came to us, they highlighted that we had Production Seats and indicated we should head to the front and go in. My temp check was fine but the thermometer froze during Bob's scan. They eventually needed to scan his neck having failed to register anything other than LOW on his forehead and wrist.

At the front, the doors were already open and the queue was moving in. They closed ranks as we approached not leaving any gaps so we stood there until a security person pushed through with someone else, announcing "VIPs coming through". We tagged on behind. At the next checkpoint, the staff checked my name again and gave us silver wristbands and examined our COVID passports. The lady wanted to see all the content, not just the QR code. Then we were handed black PPE facemasks to wear during the show.

We waited in the holding area in the building's cafe. There, a security woman with long dark hair and fierce eyeliner kept us away from the doors marked PRODUCTION  and TALENT and directed those in need towards the toilets. She didn't appear happy in her job, like a wolf forced to shepherd sheep. We didn't have too long to wait before she announced that Gold and Silver wristband holders could proceed into the studio.

It felt like we had priority boarding as we headed in, greeted by an attractive production assistant who ushered us to our seats. This feeling of elation grew even stronger when I saw the signs for our reserved seats, with my name in capitals, in the second row from the front. 

The studio lights were warm as we waited for the rest of the audience to filter in. Cameramen and the production crew stood around waiting too. Without a fanfare, comedian Christopher MacArthur-Boyd jumped onto the stage to warm us up, performing material at least one audience member had heard before.

Then Frankie came on to greet us, telling us the three jokes he uses to gauge an audience's tolerance levels. And the show began.

The recording went on far longer than the half-hour programme suggests, going on for nearly two hours and those seats are not comfortable over a prolonged period. With the audience lights dimmed, the room grew colder despite being packed in close together. Fortunately, there were plenty of laughs to keep us warm. There was a brief respite where they paused the show to allow Jamali Maddix a fag break. Christopher came back and that gave us wriggle time knowing the cameras were off. 

As this is television, at the end there were pick-ups to do, one where Frankie had mispronounced Ant McPartlin's surname and another where Susie McCabe had to redo her bit about Talk Radio. It was also strange listening to Frankie recite a monologue of words like up first, up next, and finally, one after another to be subsequently used in the edit to link the sequences.

The cast posed for a picture and it was all over.

A fun experience and I can't wait to see what they use. One bit I know won't be in it is the first joke from Frankie's end of show monologue. Even he knew it, returning to his seat to start afresh, beginning with the next joke.  

Thank you to Clare Hipkiss for arranging the tickets. Check out her novel, Tales from the Ice Cream Van here. It's really good.

Frankie Boyle, Full Power, Kings Theatre, Glasgow. Tuesday 1st October, 2019.

I've been going to see Frankie perform since the days of his pink suit when he played at The Garage on Sauchiehall Street. I've watched his star rise, get consumed by his own bile then witnessed his return on his own terms, sober but still delightfully twisted and curmudgeonly. 

The support act was the naturally funny Ray Bradshaw. He got twenty minutes to play with before the venue insisted on selling more booze and ice cream. He coped admirably. His material around sign language and his deaf parents was top-notch. He is touring later in the year and would be well worth a look-see.

We were warned both on the posters displayed on the doors and verbally by the ushers that once Frankie has started there would be no readmittance to anyone leaving the auditorium. Obviously, for a Glasgow audience, this meant wading back to your seat loaded up with pints of lager just before the lights dimmed. I wondered how many would last through his set without needing a pish. Fortunately for them, he only played for an hour so few departed.

Tam Cowan was sitting in front of me. He didn't load up at the interval but did need a pish at the end, asking the ladies to his right if they wouldn't mind letting him pass given his urgency. As he is semi-famous, they, of course, insisted on chatting to him. He managed to hold it in as far as I could tell. No fouling off the ball for Tam. 

(Trivia: Tam looks older than me but is actually six months younger - that's journalism for you). 

I had attended the gig alone so was more receptive to the people around me. I thought the couple sitting on my right were mismatched. Both were in their early twenties. She was a pretty brunette in a green and blue dress with red tights that colour-matched her loafers. She also wore a purple beaded necklace that Frankie might have suggested (had he seen it), she kept as an emergency marital aid. The boyfriend, on the other hand, looked like he could pass as Ed Sheeran's older brother in Jarvis Cocker specs, with short ginger hair, short ginger beard and, presumably, short ginger pubes. He droned on with the annoying monotony of a 1970's sociology lecturer.

I couldn't understand their attraction. 

Then, when Frankie came on stage (not sexually), she put her fingers to her mouth and let rip a whistle that would leave Ray Bradshaw's parents complaining. 

Then I got it.

She was pretty.
He was annoying.
Together they were pretty annoying.

The rest of the audience were mostly well-mannered with only a couple of idiots heckling. Frankie swiftly put them down and moved on, not wishing to give their interruption more air than they deserved, while inwardly hoping they might bleed to death on the leaky priapism they'd given themselves.

You can tell I enjoyed the gig.