A Global Hangover meeting in Runcorn this afternoon with two guys that can secure us some funding. Tim from Forty Eight drove me down – I wanted him to come along because he knows them and could help answer any questions I was too idiotic to. It seemed to go well, we spoke for about an hour, there are a few forms to fill out now but basically it looks like we can get 40% off our costs due to European funding and there might be some extra cash from Liverpool University. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed and see what comes of it – but at the moment it looks positive.
Of course it was also a day of me realising we were getting into this whole thing quite seriously now and the further realisation that a crazy dream is slowly becoming a potential reality. The question is; can I have the fortitude and commitment to see it through? The fact is I have to I suppose.
Tim dropped me at Lime Street Station because I had to go over to Manchester to appear as a guest, of sorts, at the end of a comedy competition in Levenshulme. The comedy circuit has a strange sort of sub-circle in Manchester, which is the domain of the ‘open spot’ comics, those who are either just starting out in this silly business or, more frequently, those who have been around for a while but never progressed to the professional arena. All comics have to start by doing their open spots at clubs, which are a kind of audition, and five hundred years ago when I started out it was a natural thing to do because a successful spot, unpaid, would lead to a paid spot at that club, or perhaps a recommendation to another. It’s the best and most natural way of learning the business and working your way up.
But now it seems that these open spots have evolved into a circuit comprised of only these five to ten minute unpaid slots, and comedians – for want of a better word – just seem content to compete with each other in this macro-arena without ever really ever getting beyond it. It seems that there’s a new definition of success, i.e. being the best of the worst.
How has this happened? Well firstly it’s because too many people want to be comedians. Remember ten years ago when everyone wanted to be a DJ? Well you need equipment for that. Records as well. But you don’t need anything to be a comic, you just have to write your name down and get on stage. So there’s been a huge influx of attention seekers, who a few years ago would have been killed off after a few unsuccessful open spot gigs, who now just continue to exist in this murky comedy underworld. It’s a world, in Manchester anyway, that has been described as The Circle Of S**t.
And this is the second reason; the world isn’t cruel enough. Time was, you started out, had a rubbish gig because you’re young and inexperienced and people would say ‘Frankly, that was rubbish’. That’s what they’d still say at the professional clubs, but in these open spot clubs (whole clubs just hosting a dozen or so open spots every week) there is a kind of support network. People are encouraged (normally by fellow acts) even after being appallingly bad, and whilst that might sound kind, it doesn’t help anyone improve. It’s a harsh old industry, at least it should be.
So this competition tonight involved a £250 top prize, and people naturally enough going for it when they’ve not really learnt what they’re doing. Or really learnt an act. The standard was horribly low. I’m not being snooty, it just was.
So I was booked to go on at the end and sort of be ‘the pro’, but I didn’t really take much enjoyment out of that. What I did take enormous enjoyment from was one of the acts, who was a complete exception to the standard of the others. She’s a Muslim girl called Isma Almas. She’s quite new, but the potential is astonishing. She really could be a huge star. Her delivery is charming and calm, her material is frequently strong, she doesn’t show signs of nerves, and I think she’s my new tip for the top. I told her so afterwards.
A big agency will sign her very soon and I think I have a duty to my agent, Paula, to tip her off and give her the opportunity of seeing her first. Could be a good coup. So, Isma Almas… you heard it here first folks.
Cabbed back into Manchester and met Athena Caramitsos, the atom-sized nano human half-child in The Roadhouse where she was working on the ticket desk. Stayed over with her in Manc, the last train having gone, and the National Express coach a horrible prospect.
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