I missed Steve Hofstetter's last UK tour on principle because his Glasgow date at The Stand started at 7 p.m., and I was working until 6 p.m. I didn't want to arrive late and have to sit somewhere with an obscure view or, worse, stand at the back for the entire show. I regretted not going, though, because I figured, as he was American, I wouldn't get many opportunities to see him live.
When he announced this tour, the Glasgow date was at St Lukes. I knew the seating plan there would be more forgiving, so although it was on another work day, I bought the tickets regardless. I wasn't going to miss him a second time.
Many of you may not be familiar with Steve. He was a pioneer on social media for sharing his crowd interactions, demonstrating an incisive and articulate precision in his takedowns of unruly hecklers. I found his anti-Trump rhetoric refreshing. He's a comedian who does his research and calls out wrongdoing whenever he sees it, but always with a comic's eye.
The ticket and website said 7 p.m., but it didn't explain if that was the showtime or when the doors opened. I didn't get a reply from St Lukes when I emailed them asking for clarification, so I played safe and drove like a maniac to get there before seven. My usual parking area near the Barrowlands was a bust because Cannibal Corpse were playing at that venue and had an earlier door opening time. It took a while to find somewhere to leave the car as that area of Glasgow is strewn with double yellows. Fortunately, as we drove past St Lukes, I spotted the queue outside, so I knew I could relax. It was a 7 p.m. doors open, and the queue was tiny.
Once inside the venue, my wife wasn't amused that we were again sitting for an hour waiting for the show to begin. I was happy, though. My seat was on the aisle midway back with a great view of the stage. The space between rows was comfortable, suggesting the layout had been spaced to accommodate lower-than-expected ticket sales, making it feel like a sell-out. Anyway, I bought my wife a red wine to smooth things over. It came in a plastic tumbler and cost the same as my can of Irn Bru, so I suspect the quality wasn't vintage.
This early, the crowd included a few distinct characters, such as the woman with crutches and special eye patch spectacles. In fact, many of the audience members had crutches, giving the seating area the feel of a hospital waiting room. Or, perhaps, given that we are in a converted church, they're here to be healed with laughter. It is the best medicine, they say.
Time passed quickly, and before we knew it, the show began.
Steve bounced onto the stage and explained how the night would work. In the first half, there would be two support acts—one local and one he'd brought with him from the States—then an interval, and then he would do his set. The night would end with a Q&A session.
He explained how much he loved a Scottish crowd, but Edinburgh had let him down the previous night. Now, the pressure was on us to prove how good a Scottish crowd could be. If it went badly, then it was our fault. He also explained that he'd had to change some of his material to remove American cultural references and replace them with more local ones. He assured us the material would still work, and we'd hardly notice.
I'd never heard of the first act, Peter Bell, despite his being from my hometown, Paisley. He delivered the standard type of set new comedians deliver: mocking his appearance, telling us a little about himself, and making jokes about where he was from ("Paisley: a town with more dentists than teeth"). His set was short but funny and went down well.
Next up was Brett Druck. His set was full of jokes, told with an impish charm. It was very entertaining and surprisingly self-deprecating for an American.
Steve's set covered two main topics: his life-long battle with anxiety and his take on why he doesn't believe robots will destroy humanity. He was superb. Although he'd claimed some of his set was brand new, it felt like a fully-crafted show, tossing out zingers throughout. I loved how he'd punctuate a reference change with a quick "Celsius" to let us know he knew what he'd done.
The Q&A afterwards with Steve and Brett was bizarre. The first question asking if they'd bought any of Trump's merchandise was met with confusion and an obvious "No". The thick Glasgow accents didn't help the comedians understand what was being asked. Then, the bloke behind me boomed a question about Trump. This was immediately followed up by a remark that he was speaking so loud because he was pissed off that he couldn't hear what the others were saying. He then talked over the comedians as they tried to answer him, not understanding how a dialogue worked. Embarrassing.
His pal then chimed up, "What about Middle America?"
"What about Middle America?" Steve replied, confused.
"You know, the bit between New York and San Francisco."
"I'm still waiting to hear your question."
The man mumbled, sounding inebriated, still not asking a specific question.
"Sir, you do understand what a question is? It usually goes up at the end and finishes with a question mark."
The loud man beside him interjected dismissively. "I told my friend to keep quiet. He doesn't know what he's saying."
After an extended back-and-forth that went nowhere, the comedians thankfully moved on.
Despite this end to the night, Steve told us we'd been a great audience and that he would be at the merch stall after the show. He usually avoided it because of his anxiety, preferring to decompress alone backstage. He also asked us to tip the staff whatever we could afford to make their day.
I thoroughly enjoyed the night. I did tip the staff, but I didn't buy any merch.
They had stickers.
Who buys stickers?
Ticket Price: 2 x £30 plus Booking Fee £7.20 = TOTAL £67.20 from TicketTek.
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| Brett and Steve during the Q&A |
