Jimeoin, "Turn It Up!" Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow. Saturday 12th February, 2022.

I nearly never went to this gig. My wife called off, leaving me with a spare ticket that, it turned out, no one wanted. Even when I tried to give them both away for free, still no one was interested. Brilliant seats too, near the middle of the front row in the Circle. 

So I went by myself and I'm so glad I did.

Jimeoin is like a human tickle. His littlest expressions can trigger a giggle which builds and builds, much like his routines, adding tag after tag after tag, each line funnier, throwing in callbacks when you least expect them. His material is as light as a feather, daft and silly, mining nuance for comic effect. He sprinkles in some exquisite flights of fancy such as what if every country had to walk like their national dance, before demonstrating a Spaniard going to the shops, then someone Irish dancing across a zebra crossing. He finished the show with some comic songs on his guitar. By the end, I was in fits of giggles, no longer self-conscious about the empty seat beside me. 

He played longer than billed, finishing at 10pm rather than 9.25pm so, by the time I reached the car park, the vehicles were gridlocked trying to get out, the Concert Hall having emptied at the same time. I ended up sitting patiently for twenty-five minutes until eventually, an Audi let me out (I know - an Audi - so unexpected). It took me more time to get out of that car park than it took me to drive all the way home. 

While I waited in the car park, my newly generated endorphins subsiding, none of the drivers stuttering past my car would make eye contact. Becoming irked,  I imagined ducking down, letting a few cars roll by then rising up again wearing a Michael Myers mask. I'd stare at the next driver not letting me out then exit my vehicle, stand beside their driver's window, holding a carjack in my hand, and tilt my head in incredulity while staring at them. I'd savour the concern growing on their trapped faces, their escape blocked by the car in front. Then I'd tap the window and ask, "Are you gonna let me out, mate?"

Fortunately (or unfortunately), I didn't have that kind of mask on me. Wrong time of year. 

Ticket Price: £18.50 each plus a transaction fee of £2.25 and postage £1.30.

Other funnies from the night:

Being aware of sucking in my stomach as I rose after the show, an action not unrelated to the fact the two young ladies on my right were total wowsers. Not that there would have been any universe where I could have impressed them, given I was old enough to be their dad and their attentive boyfriends were sitting right behind them. 

At the car park exit barrier, as I attempted to insert my ticket quickly into the machine, I hit my hand against the car's side window, having forgotten to wind it down. Fortunately, my embarrassment was spared as the barrier rose anyway. 

Nina Conti, "The Dating Show", Theatre Royal, Glasgow. Sunday 30th January, 2022

 

The blurb: "British Comedy Award winner Nina is pioneering a new dating show. She’ll be like Cilla Black with masks. Derailed. Not so much a Blind Date as a re-voiced one. There is no promise that true love will be found but a firm guarantee that big laughs will be had in the reign of this quick-thinking queen of ventriloquism."

It is a brave person who's willing to improvise an entire show. Braver still to do so as a ventriloquist. Add in audience participation, multiple accents, mask operation and improvised songs and you've got to be pretty special to pull it off. Nina does so with aplomb (and a hand up a Monkey's arse).

She and Monkey, her painfully funny glove puppet dummy, introduce us to the concept of the show then bring up two volunteers from the front row to demonstrate what is going to happen. She puts mouth/chin masks on them and the fun begins.

Mark and Julie (real names) met on Plenty of Fish (true) and had their first date in Frankie & Bennies (also true) then made a sex tape (unconfirmed but likely improvised - the comedy, not the sex tape). Nina makes up all the dialogue for both partners reading their body language and hand expressions.

Then Marcella, a single PhD student in Civil Engineering, is looking for love. She sang a song about her true love running over the hills from Kirkcaldy. For this part, Nina brought on a guitarist to play the tune. All in, thirty minutes of hilarity before the interval.

The speed dating section opened the second half, with willing audience participants asked to line up. Once a queue of around a dozen people had formed, Nina came on stage dressed as a full-size Monkey. The first man up got a massive surprise when he wasn't given a mask and realised he had to make small talk himself with the Monkey.

After a series of speed dates, Nina was pulled from her costume by the final pair and the remaining queue sent away. These two then agreed to put on the masks and Nina engineered another scenario, with the mother seeking a suitor for her daughter. The first lad was no good so Nina brought back the male dancer who hadn't had the chance to speak to her on a speed date. The interaction between the three especially the sitting down mum was hysterical.

Then the cleaning company man was brought up on stage so she find him a date, getting him to show off his broom skills. He knew his way around a broom handle we discovered.

In the finale, she brought back Monkey and showed off her ventriloquism skills by switching voices with Monkey then having both of them talk at the same time. Quite a talent.

And then it was over. 

A quick night, starting at 7.30 and finishing at 9.15, but packed with improvising gold.   

Ticket Price: £28.90 each, plus £2.85 transaction fee and £2.90 VAT 

 

  

Mark Thomas, "50 Things About Us", Macrobert Arts Centre, University of Stirling. Saturday 29th January, 2022

The official blurb describes this show as "Mark picks through the myths, facts and figures of our national identities to ask who do we think we are?" This it did but tonight it seemed to be about a whole lot more.

There were quite a few gaps in the audience, more so than the seating-plan ticket availability would have suggested. That could have been down to the bad weather or the pandemic or maybe just Ticketmaster fucking up (more of which below).

 

Mark kicked off by mentioning his recent deafness (hence his hearing aid), then moved onto other subjects: his diabetes (Type 2, earned, not inherited, like a proper working man's disease); sharps bins (which drew a factual heckle in response to his line "When you've filled it, they've GOT to take it back"); his Steptoe-like mum with whom he spent lockdown (she's "unbelievable" in her wickedness); his love of music hall songs (not a tradition I've followed as closely as him); and the ineptitude and negligence of each of the Tory MPs at Westminster, especially the liar-in-chief Boris Johnston. This was just the first half and didn't seem to connect with the subject of the show, which he himself realised, eliciting the apology, "I appear to have forgotten to do the show I was originally booked to perform". He was enjoying himself though, having not gigged in a while, bending over and giggling at his own off-the-cuff material.

He was much more on topic in the second half, where he was much outraged by the idea of Tory peers suggesting Britain was full up. He then produced all the facts and figures to explain why this was not the case. National identity and colonialism featured too. He's written a book to accompany the show, available on his website, £10 for a signed copy or £1000 for a rare, unsigned one, the cheeky squire.

Overall, this show was sweary as fuck especially when it came to the bits about the politicians but I enjoyed it greatly. His asides about the loss of Barry Cryer were endearing and heartfelt.

We were both lucky to make the gig: him because Storm Malick had decimated the West Coast rail line service; and me because Ticketmaster had logged the show in my account as a Past Event, believing the much-rescheduled event had taken place in September 2020. Many emails later over a period of five months, they finally confirmed I still had tickets. Then they said they were posting them out. These new ones never arrived so I complained again most urgently. So they cancelled the originals, telling me their records showed they'd been sent out shortly after I bought them - in September 2019. I shake my head in disbelief. Fortunately, new ones were made available to collect from the venue on the night. So it all ended well. 

As did the gig, finishing with a clever clogs punchline about his shirt.

Ticket Price £16 each

Service charge £1.95 each

Delivery Charge £3.25

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.

Admiral Fallow, St Lukes, Glasgow. Saturday 4th December, 2021.

Sometimes you buy tickets for a gig and then when it comes along, you're not in the mood. When their new album, The Idea of You, came out, it left me initially underwhelmed so my enthusiasm was low plus my wife had made other plans, leaving me with a spare ticket. Should I just punt the pair instead? The gig was sold out so it was likely I could get rid of them. 

No, I thought. Go along. You like Admiral Fallow. They are a class act.

So I asked a friend if he wanted a free gig and he accepted, kindly offering to drive us up so I didn't kill him on the journey after a rather intense day at work. 

We got there at 7.20pm for doors opening at 7.30pm and were eighth in the queue. Not quite what I had intended (where was everyone?) but we waited, had our Covid passes checked, had our ticket stubs torn off and then our wrists stamped before being allowed entry into the main room. We found a pillar table, downed some soft drinks and had a chinwag until the support act came on.

I'd never heard or heard of Pour Moi. They play Americana (?), no doubt with heartfelt lyrics but I couldn't make out what the bearded main man was signing. All their songs were performed at one of two paces: slow and slower (except for the last number which speeded up to medium). I was disappointed. Poor, indeed. But at least I could see them.

Maybe the sensible ones knew what Pour Moi were like and waited in the bar next door because, by the time Admiral Fallow ambled on stage, the venue was packed. I lost my good view to a young couple, both of whom were as tall as me, only she had thick, long blonde hair, which had the view-blocking power of a bath towel draped over her head. Whenever he closed in for a hug or to rub her back, my viewing angle disappeared. So I entertained myself by imagining how he was really into her but she wasn't into him, then she spoiled my game by reciprocating his affection. Ah, to be young and in love.

Then another group migrated their way into the narrow space between us, a not quite-as-young couple and their Art Garfunkel-lookalike friend (whom I noticed was missing a hand). The bloke chatted frequently to Art about how much he liked the band, ignoring the fact that they were playing during his conversation. How inconsiderate of them! At one point, I even considered broadcasting their chat on Facebook Live as it definitely wasn't private. It was fascinating to watch Art clap with his pint in his mouth or use his phone to take pictures. And good for him. He was certainly proficient at carrying three pints back to his pals midway through the show. Not quite at Paralympian level but close (not that there is a Paralympic event for carrying pints of lager).

Despite my initial reservations (and the crowd in front of me), I still enjoyed listening to the music. Their set contained enough variety between soulful ballads and quick-paced bouncy numbers to hold my interest and the lead singer's banter is always modestly engaging. When the band gathered at the front of the stage for Four Bulbs at the start of the encore, the audience fell appreciatively silent, giving the number a reverence that worked well in the former church venue. 

They are a class act indeed. 

Setlist  

Subbuteo

Sleepwalking

Electric Eyes

The Grand National, 1993

Holding The Strings

The Paper Trench

Evangeline

Dead Against Smoking

Three Weeks

Dragonfly

Guest of the Government

Squealing Pigs

Tuesday Grey

Encore:

Four Bulbs

Old Balloons

Madness, The Ladykillers Tour, OVO Hydro, Glasgow. Friday 3rd December, 2021

Prior to the gig, we enjoyed a sneaky game of Macdonalds' bingo, eating in, waiting patiently for our one number to be called to win an evening feast for two: ticket price - an evening feast for two. 

Our stomachs duly satisfied, we headed for the venue and joined one of the long but quick queues outside, firstly to get out Covid passports checked then to get frisked then to get our tickets scanned and a wrist band attached. My frisk was not without incident as the security man discovered my change pocket was full of forgotten dog treats. He looked at me suspiciously but let me in. I suspect the smell would have told him they weren't edibles.

Squeeze came on just after 7.30 pm and played a tight hour-long set full of familiar hits and a couple I wasn't so sure about. Glenn Tillbrook can rock a mean guitar which I was not expecting. It was great to hear the Hydro singing along to a strong support act.

The DJ did a fine job of keeping our vocal cords and our dancing feet warmed up between the bands. Dressed in a suit and shades, a handkerchief poking out of his jacket pocket, he had the style and verve of Reggie Kray and played some fine tunes. 

A lesser band would struggle to follow Squeeze but this was not a concern for Madness. Drawing back the curtains to the backdrop of a London street, complete with a telephone box, red pillar box, street lights, railings and an Underground entrance, Madness took the stage, grabbed the audience and held on till they departed before the encore. Then on came a bagpiper to play our national anthem and Scotland the Brave and the band returned to top off the evening with a couple more hits, finishing on Night Boat to Cairo, playing us out with Monty Python's Always Look On the Bright Side of Life.

Suggs is an excellent raconteur and ringleader for his band of miscreants, full of tales and comic quips. The sound was occasionally muddy but improved as the gig progressed. The audience loved them and danced and sang along in their fezs, trilbys and porkpie hats. It was a great night.

The gig did have its share of drunken doughballs who insisted on pushing forward but not in an ill-mannered way. In the break between the bands, one incensed individual was carried out off the ground at a forty-five-degree angle by a posse of security guards, his double chin straining as he struggled to keep his head upright while he cursed and argued with them. It was the first time I'd seen this level of action. Normally the drunks get led out not carried. I suspect he'd been fighting. 

Would I go back to see Madness again? Probably not. It was a special night but I've ticked them off my bucket list.

Setlist : Squeeze

Take Me I'm Yours

Up the Junction

Hourglass

Cradle to the Grave

Slap and Tickle

F-Hole

Labelled With Love

Please

Pulling Mussels (From the Shell)

Tempted

Cool for Cats

Black Coffee in Bed

Setlist: Madness 

One Step Beyond (Prince Buster cover)

Embarrassment

The Prince

NW5

My Girl

Take It or Leave It

The Sun and the Rain

Baby Burglar

Wings of a Dove

One Better Day

Lovestruck

If I Go Mad

Shut Up

Mr. Apples

Bed and Breakfast Man

Wooly Bully (Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs cover)

House of Fun

Baggy Trousers

Our House

It Must Be Love (Labi Siffre cover)

Encore:

Madness (Prince Buster cover)

Night Boat to Cairo

 

 

   

 

Holy Moly and the Crackers, Audio, Glasgow. Sat 9th October, 2021

My third gig post-lockdown and this was the one where I feared most that I'd catch Covid: small, steamy venue; no pre-checks required; no testing at the door; hardly anyone wearing masks inside; no social distancing; lots of alcohol being consumed and plenty of loud conversations between people determined to be heard over the music. Akin to playing Russian roulette with a couple of empty chambers already clicked.

I'm still glad I went.

The first support act, Rob Heron, appeared dressed like a French man (his words) and played a set of old-time music. He carried an air of Lonnie Donegan via Miles Jupp. His personality won over most pockets of the audience. Not sure if he managed to double his sales though, with a night target of two LPs.

Rob Heron

The second support act was True Strays, a rock-blues combo, inhabiting the spirit of truckstop America's Deep South. Imagine Seasick Steve as a duo. I wasn't enamoured by their weak cover of ZZ Top's Gimme All Your Lovin' but their original material went down well. Technical sound gremlins hampered their show with the mics often not working. It turned out the venue's sound engineer had called in sick with Covid and they'd had to bring in a last-minute replacement and he was having a nightmare keeping everything wired up. At one point the two guys played acapella at the front of the stage to let the engineer fix things and from then on it went fine, apart from the occasional issue with the sound levels. 

True Strays

The headliners, Holy Moly and the Crackers are (to quote their website) "innovative and fiery folk-rockers, who put on a raucous and feel-good party, where everyone is invited". This was evident by the wide range of their audience: from students to pensioners, working-class to moneyed-class. I stumbled across the band during lockdown thanks to an Amazon Music "You Might Like" suggestion. Their combination of catchy tunes and eastern European rhythms was beguiling so I took a punt on seeing them live. They did not disappoint.

Beforehand, I was not aware Ruth Patterson, their frontwoman, was disabled. She was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlon Syndrome at 21 and performs from a seat in the centre of the stage. She normally gets around in a wheelchair but this wasn't an option with Audio's small stage so Conrad Bird, the band's other frontman, carried her on piggyback-style. Seeing the frontwoman lowered to a seat this way unsettled me as I didn't know what was wrong with her. Perform sitting down, thrusting out her arms and dancing with her upper body, she quickly dissolved any awkwardness proving her disability didn't detract from her and our enjoyment. She had a great time singing, playing the fiddle and whipping up the crowd. 

So too did Conrad with his earthy vocals, guitar playing and trumpeting. Indeed, the band meshed as a tight unit to create their unique sound and party atmosphere. Again, there were a few minor sound gremlins but nothing serious.

I would definitely see these gypsy troubadours again, hopefully in a venue where the audience did less drinking and chatting during the show. 

No Setlist, unfortunately, though they did finish on Whiskey Aint No Good, written by Rob Heron, with him and True Strays joining them for the final song. 

My phone camera kept playing up so I have only a few pics from the show worth sharing.