Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #40
This week has been all about booking in new gigs. But then, so was last week. And the week before that. And the one before that. And on and on and on to infinity. (Is that an actual place?)
Often the most overlooked aspect of stand-up comedy is the ‘getting’ of the gigs. Sometimes it can be even harder and more stressful than the ‘doing’ of the gigs. You send endless emails out to a wide variety of people and, if you’re very lucky, you get one reply which says no.
It’s the professional equivalent of inviting people to your birthday party – you send out a whole host of invitations, laden down with subtle requests to R.S.V.P, and then sit and wait to see who deems you interesting enough to take a punt on.
Like speed dating in prison, you have very little time to make an impression and if you balls it up, you have to wait at least a month before you can try again.
Before I go any further, I need to point out – I’m not whinging about having to book gigs in. I’m no fool, that’s how this game works. No one is knocking my door down to offer me gigs and unless I’m an Eddie Izzard or a Chaz and Dave, I can’t see that happening anytime soon.
And I’m OK with that – I’ve never been the most in-demand person. I have first aid training and I once saw someone Heimlich themselves before letting me have a stab at it. I can’t blame them.
Getting gigs is a constant exercise is self-promotion and if there’s one thing I’m not very good at, it’s selling myself. The problem is; comedy is full of situations that require you to pimp your bits out.
The Edinburgh Fringe, for one, is a whole month of self-whorery. Standing on the Royal Mile, desperately flagging down strangers, trying to convince them that the one thing missing in their life is an hour-long musical about the industrial revolution, set to the music of Mike and the Mechanics (** – Broadway Baby). Leonardo and his Wall Street Wolf would have trouble drumming up interest in that.
My problem (not that I’m starting a list) is that I’m quick to buckle under pressure when it comes to biggin’ up my bad self. I can say with some degree of confidence that I am quite good at what I do, yet the second someone questions my level of experience I’m quick to stumble. “Well, I’m no Max Boyce…”
(As a quick aside, I did once flyer Max Boyce while in Edinburgh, promoting my own musical comedy show. Now that was a hard sell. I think I went in for the kill by saying “Actually, I’m not sure it’d be your cup of tea.”)
The same is true of gigs as well. When emailing for gigs you are fighting with half the population to get one five minute try out spot. OK, so maybe the percentage isn’t that much, but it certainly feels like it sometimes.
As soon as a gig is posted on one of the numerous forums, new acts descend like vultures, picking at the carcass of a gong show. It’s like that moment when a train pulls into a station and everyone rushes to get on, completely forgetting there are another thirty people trying to get off. It becomes a mess of Young Persons Railcards and wheelie suitcases.
The thing they always say to do in these situations, is to stand out from the crowd – that’s very difficult over email. I suppose the best option would be to reply via carrier pigeon, a tad flashy maybe but worth a shot. Mind you, by the time I’ve nabbed a stray pigeon, trained it up enough to find Dulwich and the stapled the sheet of A4 to his foot, the gig would have been snapped up by one of the youngsters.
All in all, it hardly seems worth the effort, it’s certainly not worth the drop in the population of pigeons.
The thing is; I love doing comedy. I love standing on stage and making a fool of myself. It’s the best fun ever, despite the cold-blooded fear of failure or the stress-induced diahorrea. It’s this love that keeps me going, keeps me emailing people.
I know there is a lot of competition out there and that’s fine, I’ll just have to keep on trying. Everyone loves a trier, don’t they? Unless they’re in charge of booking comedy nights in Prestatyn, that is.
All this leads me to the obvious solution; that the best way to stand out is to keep getting funnier. And that’s what I intend to do. It’s either that or bribe people with cash. £2.50, anyone?
Rob is, very much, available for work. And he’s quite good.
