The Annual Douieb Review

Here we are at the last day of 2011. As some people would say, its been a year of ups and downs. I agree with this. I’ve been up some hills, particularly over August in Edinburgh, and I’ve also been down the same hills in order to get back to where I lived. I’ve been up some escalators and again, down some later otherwise I’d have had to live upstairs in a shopping centre. There have been some good times, like 22.22 which I always find aesthetically pleasing and some bad times like 15 x 276, which is too difficult for me. Personally though I’ve found 2011 a difficult year to decide whether or not it can join my non-existent log of good years – the annums not favourite tyres or blimps. I should point out that I honestly don’t have one of these. Partly because I consider the end of the Edinburgh festival to be my end of year comedy & career wise, but also because I find that in my cynical old age I know full well that it’ll hit midnight and nothing all that dramatic is going to happen. Unless the Mayans were right and 2012 is going to be the end of the world, in which case I’m very glad I’ll embrace it sitting at home with L having a drink, finishing my drawing of a viking rather than being surrounded by mega twats moshing their skin off in an over priced underground ship’s container. And yes, I know the Mayan’s predicted the end of the world will happen in September so really, that’ll be after Edinburgh anyway and technically in my next year.

But let’s board this band wagon and look at why 2011 was indeed one of shits and giggles. In terms of the world, it was proper massive elephant sized dung shit. The economic crisis swept across the Western world allowing several governments including our own, to make horrible cuts and changes that all very much affected the lower classes and not at all the banking pricks and the rich that caused them in the first place. Several ‘evil’ dictators died or were killed while other people have been put in place that those who dictated why the original tyrants should be usurped can more easily sell weapons to. Horrible natural disasters have happened, thousands of people have died unnecessarily and overall we all felt very much more mortal and vulnerable. We became the first generation of people who think their children will have a worse future than they will and that is a truly horrible thought. Though at the same time it may save us having to read them really sickly bedtime stories with happy endings and instead go for Cormac McCarthy’s The Road or repeat viewings of Mad Max to prepare them. We’ve had more and more obnoxious people trawl the internet making nasty comments unnecessarily, generally being shit to each other and all the while instead of preventing or dissuading the public from doing this, the press have proved itself to be far more responsible for such ills than anyone else. Oh and Gil Scott Heron died which was a terrible loss for the world. Then again to balance all this, there was Frozen Planet and that was great.

Personally though, I’ve had a great year. Sad times mean comedy thrives and career wise I haven’t been busier. I’ve gigged in several different countries, to thousands of amazing people, done a bit of telly and more importantly than any of that, I’ve gigged at protests and events I’ve felt were important. I’ve written material and spoken about things I actually give a shit about and get passionate about rather than just harp on about bears. Which to be fair, I’ve also done. I’ve honestly never felt more pride standing up in front of a massive crowd on Westminster Bridge on a sunny afternoon talking to a massive crowd about why we need the NHS. Or way back in March on the big TUC demonstration, doing stand-up hundreds of people while police helicopters rattled over us. Edinburgh was a mixed bag but of all the things that I didn’t expect, the children’s show that was written in three hours and put together in such a ramshackle haste ended up being a 5 star hit and has lead to some very exciting things. Above all this, I’ve met someone who I completely adore, managed to get a car, went to three zoos, found Adventure Time, was a best man for my best friend, found out I can’t snowboard, and last night I pretended to be Guy Garvey and getting the entire room to sing the chorus of ‘One Day Like This’ so I could stop for a second and drink more beer. Music wise I saw James Blake silence a tent of thousands at Bestival, Elbow smash both the O2 and Glastonbury with an amazing reverse Mexican wave at the latter through the entire crowd at the Pyramid Stage. Me and L watched the National sing ‘Vanderlyle Cry Baby’ acapella while the crowd whispered along, sending a chill down everyone’s spines and we both witnessed DJ Shadow perform to incredible visuals from inside the Shadowsphere. I watched Radiohead from a rainy hill while the gorgeous people of the Pink Bus provided shelter and food, peeked into the tent at Lounge on the Farm where Goodnight Lenin played and then decided they would be the opening track to my Edinburgh show. I watched Sam Duckworth do an amazing solo gig at the Borderline club to an awestruck crowd, which, along with previous meetings, led to my Small Guy Garvey show last night. I’ve worked with a puppeteer who was involved with so many films and tv shows I’ve loved, I struggled to hold back tears, clutching L’s hand so tightly while watching Translunar Paradise at the Pleasance Dome and I won the Slammer. So y’know, it’s been pretty good. Oh yeah and I started drawing a viking.

2012 has a lot to live up to. Selfishly, I’m not looking forward to the Olympics and Euro 2012 destroying the comedy scene for several months making bill paying tough. I’m also not looking forward to the effects of the government’s cuts continuing to destroy UK society. I know it’ll be another year where I will be consistently baffled as to how some people can operate by being so horrible and inconsiderate to others. But there’s loads more I am looking forward to, because (and excuse the retchy seriousness) life is always what you make it, and right now I’m enjoying making it fun. I hope the rest of the world realises that we can make stuff happen if you put your minds to it and frankly, we don’t have to stand for the oppression we face. I’m not doing resolutions as such, but aside from cutting down on eating entire bags of Kettle Chips in one sitting (less of a resolution, and more of a ‘trying not to die’ plan) I aim to continue to do what I can to voice my opinion in an accessible way and hope to make a difference as minor as it may be. Oh and I’m totally going to finish the viking drawing.

May you have an excellent night tonight, whether you be brave enough to go against expectation and be out partying, or like me and L, stay in and eat curry. I hope you’ve all had a great 2011 and will have an even better 2012. I hope you make some decisions, chase some exciting dreams and stick to them all and make them all happen. And if you can’t think of any, why not start with a viking drawing?

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Hitting the Breaks

Occasionally I’ll decide that despite not having done something in a very long time, I’m still clearly able to do it. Similar thinking has in previous years resulted in me falling off bikes, nearly having my fingers sliced off ice skating or letting go of a bowling ball too early and nearly killing someone behind me. Having never learnt that my limitations grow quicker than a sea monkey in water filled with baby bio (to be honest, I reckon this would just kill them but the idea of a giant sea monkey is fun), yesterday I decided to try and dance to drum ‘n’ bass music for the first time in many moons. Any readers of yesterday’s blog will note that I’m a bit full of a cold, and so any sort of dancing was a ridiculous idea, but I had stocked myself up on so much spicy vegetable soup that I decided I would be fine to attend The Correspondents new single launch, lured by the music and even more so by the promise of free cocktails at the venue. I could disinfect the cold from my system, I thought, knowingly.

The Correspondents, if you do not know of the scoundrels, are an awesome electro swing double act consisting of Mr Bruce and Mr Chuckles. Chuckles hits the decks with some beautiful blends of 30′s swing jazz and serious beats, while Bruce, replete in spandex plus fours and tails, provides vocals and insane dancing. They are one of a kind and play the sort of music that it really is impossible not to dance to. I saw them first years ago, as they performed on stage before Lily Allen at Bestival. Lily was ace, but she never quite matched the spectacle of this strange looking man pirouetting and chatting to some heavy beats and jazz fusion. I have craved good drum ‘n’ bass since about 2002 when the Brazillian Movement from DJ Marky started dying off and these guys were the first to do anything since then that actually got me excited. I have tried to enjoy the breaks on many types of music – trance, house, hardcore – quite as much as on d’n'b but its pretty much impossible. The way the fast beat kicks in on good tracks will always send me into a flailing arms and legs dancing frenzy. I have some very good memories of early days at The End or Fabric Live hearing the Scratch Perverts, Metalheadz, Roni Size or the Ganja Kru and dancing away until 6am with seemingly endless energy.

Last night The Correspondents didn’t get on stage till 10pm and by then me and L were already tired. Fail one. There had already been several grumbles about how quickly we’d drunk the free drinks, how many people were there, the people demanding money in the loos just for handing you paper towels (I’m not paying someone money to do something I can do myself!) and one man who was dressed like a twat. So when they got onstage there was a lovely mix of excitement and a constant checking of the watch wondering how long it would be till we could go home having been at the venue since 8. They didn’t disappoint with Mr Bruce dancing his skinny arse off, replete with travelator and some ace new tunes, as well as their brilliant new single. We held out for 45 minutes and I stated that all I was waiting for was one of their more hardcore d’n'b tracks then I could get my fix and we could leave.

It happened, with ‘Rio De Hackney ‘ booming heavy bass around the brick walls of Village Underground, and both me and L went all a bit loopy before breathlessly letting the track finish, us both grabbing our coats and me limping out as my legs hurt and my nose felt blocked with snot. We could hear them continuing to play awesome music as we left, no doubt the night continuing for many more hours. I however, couldn’t handle it anymore and shall sadly add this to the long list of things 30 year old Douieb is now shit at. RIP enjoying Drum n Bass. I shall miss you, but I also like using my body without it hurting. Sigh.

The Bestival

Ah Bestival. Leaving the Robin Hill Park last night marked the fifth year of Bestival goodness before I rode away on the Red Funnel ferry and back to the safety, real sheets, proper loos and actual showers of the mainland. As I get older, more and more my favourite bit of any festival is that moment I get under my sheets after having scrubbed away several days of grim dirt and know that that night’s sleep won’t be ruined by a shouting twat on laughing gas, torrential rain or feeling inconceivably hot and cold within the space of half an hour. I’m now partially awake after a 9 hour snooze and good grub and feel like once again I’ve managed to restart the Edinburgh festival hangover that began last week. Don’t get me wrong, much fun was had on The Island this year and so, as per usual here’s a run down of the highs – and some lows – at the best festival:

- James Blake is the best thing ever. Highlight of the weekend indeed. Managing to make me feel quite emotional whilst playing bass that ricocheted through my internal organs like a bodily earthquake is quite a feat, and I’m not I’ve ever left a show with my heart pumping but my ears ringing and still feeling like I’m unable to speak due to the sheer brilliance witnessed. Yes I’m gushing a tad but it is deserved.

- Second best thing was the Wall of Death. PEOPLE RIDE MOTORBIKES SIDEWAYS ROUND A WOODEN THINGY AND DO BALANCING THINGS AND DON’T FALL OFF OR ANYTHING?!?!?!? I still am not really sure what I witnessed but I daresay it was some sort of evil magic. Much like the Blake man two major feelings were happening at any one time: fear for the riders who looked extremely happy that at any moment centrifugal force would betray physics and let them plummet to their death with a big hefty bike falling on their faces, and the need to yell ‘fuck yeah’ every time they did something awesome. Which was, incidentally, all the time.

- Mash (especially marmite mash) is better than Kelis. FACT. Mash hasn’t let me down yet.

- Quotes of the festival #1: ‘Woah! These clouds are FAST!’ – Joel Dommet

- It is possible to make any song into Lovecats by The Cure if you try hard enough. This was the only way to get through the fact that even after an hour, the Cure still hadn’t played Lovecats.

- I LOVE BIG BALLOON SPACEMEN! This isn’t a code or anything.

- The two men in suits with massive papier mache heads, you were terrifying. Well done.

- Being short at a festival doesn’t mean I am the wall to a pathway for which you may barge through to get where you want to. Next festival I’m bringing a suit that makes me seem six foot twenty.

- I saw Mr Motivator getting a lift somewhere. CHEAT!

- Graham Coxon, whilst excellent, made so much noise I got head sickness. I have never heard that much noise in my life, but myself and L felt so physically awful from sound that we had to sit down for some time after. Well done Graham. You made noise a weapon and it was awesome.

- When tea doesn’t happen, people get sad.

- When refreshers happen unexpectedly, people get happy.

- At a festival having access to a phone charger and plug socket has the equivalent value of gold.

- Willy Mason is brilliant. The people watching Willy Mason were not. They were the opposite of brilliant. They were, er, celery. That’s what they were. If everyone is sitting down, and Willy Mason is playing lovely music, you are totally celery if you stand up at the front, block everyone’s viewpoint and then tell everyone telling you too sit down to ‘fucking stand up’ instead. Bellends. Celery bell ends.

- New term of the festival #1: Diamond wristbands (PB’s term)/ sticky cufflinks (My term. Don’t ask).

- Quote of the festival #2: ‘Nosenana!’ – Me, after hitting PB in the face with an empty banana skin.

- Best audience member at Comedy Club 4 Kids – Sophie who had eaten half a pack of wine gums the night before during Pendulum and was now on a terrible come down.

- Due to bad planning I only got to see one track by Daughter who I’ve wanted to see live for ages. That one track however, Run, was so amazing, I will definitely pay to see them elsewhere. She will be big soon. Music wise. Not size.

- I would like to get breakfast from Strumpet’s With Crumpets everyday please.

- Some awesome costumes around including the ‘L.E.D Zepplin’ – a papier mache zeppelin with L.E.D’s all over it. The Yellow Submarine was also ace, as was the Scissor Sisters and the hordes of Lady Gaga’s. The woman I saw in the pink spandex trousers, I have no idea what you were dressed as but you hurt my eyes more than Graham Coxon could ever hurt my ears.

- My feet hate wellies. True story. Way has no one ever invented comfy wellies? Or a sound proof sleeping bag? Or teleportation? All these things would make festivals better.

- If you high five up above and down below, how can you neglect either a) to the side? Or b) the competitive need to check someone’s slowness?

- To any and everyone who kept ruining Bjork’s set for me by saying ‘oh yeah its great she’s playing the hits’ with utmost sarcasm, next time, please just watch something else. I thought she was immense playing all of her new album with awesome visuals, a huge choir and a couple of classic tracks at the end. Saying that, the best bit was seeing her nearly get set alight by a chinese lantern.

- Clog dancing? No I’m ok ta. NB. See the Unthanks for an explanation.

- Am I correct in thinking the really awful Middle Class Sound System are what’s happened to Trevor and Simon in later life?

- I spent far too long thinking the Free Range Crepes stall was giving away pancakes that were made on a shooting area for free. I am an idiot.

- HAHA SOME DUCKS HAVE MOHICANS!! HAHAHAHHAHA!

I’m sure there’s more but to sum it up: James Blake is amazing and I like my own bed. That’s pretty much it. Hooray for Bestival! Now off back to bed to recuperate before I damage myself doing something else no doubt in a few days time.

 

 

Fat Goodbyes

Yesterday I made a rather end of an era type decision and announced to the Fat Tuesday mailing list that I was no longer going to be running my club. It wasn’t an easy decision to make but after over six years of running it, hosting it, booking it and generally doing everything (with much help over the years from my Doctor’s assistants Georgie and Rosie) it felt like I’d had enough. It’s overlooked how much time running a gig can take and just how stressful it can be at times when you rely on people turning up – both audiences and acts. Last minute headliner dropouts are a nightmare, weather conditions meaning people can’t get there or a badly timed cup final meaning turn out is low, all end up costing huge amounts of energy and money. It was a labour of love though as I would always look forward to getting on that stage, with the audience that have been so good to that gig throughout its history and banter with them before bringing on an act I’d booked and I knew they’d like. Acts sometimes got upset with me when I wouldn’t book them but I knew exactly what the FT crowd liked and what they didn’t and even if I enjoyed an act I wouldn’t risk them gigging at the club if I felt they weren’t right. I knew so many of our audience by name and would get excited when I saw a ticket booking list with mostly recognisable names on as I knew it’d be a great gig. I never had to tell them not to talk during the acts they would just know. Mobile phones very rarely went off and despite being only one interval more often than not people would just wait to get another drink. I wish all crowds would be that good, I was very spoilt by them and so in turn I tried to make the bills as good as they could be.

Over the years we’ve been lucky enough to get acts I never thought I’d get to be on a stage with. I won’t go into a huge name dropping session but I have fond memories of Frank Skinner saying it was the gig that made him want to do comedy again, and of Tim Minchin finding that the woman in the front row just 2ft away from him was almost having fits at being that close. It’s intimacy meant everyone felt close, it was almost a secret gig of sorts where you’d pile into a sweaty room – even when changing from the Salmon & Compass’s dark red stained walls to The Compass’s more regal look – and see acts they’d usually pay a lot to see miles away at the Apollo or somewhere like that.

Personally too its been a huge help. My compereing skills have developed hugely having to host every fortnight, as has my material on account of not being able to fob off the same stuff when you have regulars. I know far more acts and agents than I would if I hadn’t run it and I’ve been able to give some acts their first paid gig before a few years later they went off and won awards. But I also got known by some as only a promoter instead of an act, I was overlooked in reviews of the gig because ‘the compere doesn’t count’ and I got tired of people I knew only asking how FT was going rather than other aspects of my career. And now, to be honest, I’ve got a far few things coming up that mean I just don’t have time to care about it anymore. Rather than close it though, I’ve handed it over to another comic who’s work I currently admire, Nish Kumar. He’s a great act, and knows what he’s doing so I’m sure FT will continue to thrive in his hands and he’ll easily make it his own.

Bye bye FT. You’ve been bloody brilliant.

I’m off to Bestival now. Expect megablog on Monday when I return covered in all of the mud.

Freedumb

I never have to say those words again! AHAHAHAHAH! Never! Never ever again! HAHAHAHAHAH! Never do I have to repeat the same jokes and words again and again blurting them out like a dead behind the eyes automaton, trapped in a verbal groundhog day! Never do I have to go hide in my tiny dressing room/cupboard peeking behind the curtain at people sitting on the front row wondering if they’ll be nice again! AHAHAHAHA! Never will I have to deal with being unable to see out of the giant polar bear outfit stumbling around an inflatable igloo hoping I don’t accidentally knee a kid in the face again (yes, I did it once. That along with the children yesterday that ate the polystyrene snow despite me and Tim telling them not to mean there will surely be a court case on our hands very soon). Never do I have worry everyday that the news might mean I have to rewrite bits to do with a bear/riots/MPs/anything else. Never ever do I have to be concerned that incompetent flyerers are selling my show as ‘brand new Irish comedian’. Never ever do I have to go through the whole ordeal of this ridiculous month all over again! Ever! Well, until next year. Maybe. And until I do my solo show in Shoreditch in two weeks time. And the Adventurer’s Club over Christmas. Sigh. But until then….never ever again! I am a free man! I am not a number etc etc.

 

I’m bloody pleased it’s all over with again. Not that I’ve had a bad time. Far from it infact, but by Jove and who ever else it may be by, I’m a tired man. Last night, being the last night, I aimed to have a late one, drinking till the birds sang, and still ended up yawning by 1am and going home like Johnny Loser of Losertown. And you know what? By having a tame one, more good stuff has happened than ever before. Yes it could be just because I’ve (not my words or opinion. Or in fact anyone’s words or opinion. Merely a suggestion/lie) got a better show/s than usual. It could also be that I’ve now been going for 8 years as a comedian and so things are finally clicking. Or, and more likely, it could be because because I wasn’t drunk and/or hungover every single day and actually worked my arse off instead of working on drinking it off. I don’t want to put two and two together and conclude that the fun has drained from my existence but it seems to make sense. Even worse, and yes this is even worse, I’ve really enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed not waking up every day with booze blues, whisky taste in my mouth, wondering where I am, before trudging off and hoping the nurofen will get me through my show and that I won’t sick on the front row (though that’s an impossibility as I’ve only ever been sick from booze 6 times in my life. 4 from downing 8 pints in a row, one from a milky coffee post drinking and one due to cigar smoking. FACT. I have a stomach of steel. And a body that hates me). Horrible isn’t it? It’s almost like I’ve been grown up about it all. I promise it’ll stop soon. Promise. Maybe.

 

What next? Well as the comedian’s new year will pass this evening – at least that’s how I like to think of it – I aim to spend the next day at Edinburgh zoo, and then go home and be in a coma till at least Saturday, at which point I’ll check my answer phone messages and then return to coma until Bestival where I will actually ruin myself to make up for my sensible month. And post that? We’ll see. Though ‘Tiernan Douieb Schmiernan Schmouieb’ won’t write itself…..

 

FREE! FREE I TELLS YA! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Massive Planker

I realise I have been neglecting this blog of late, what with there being a distinct lack of WiFi in the festival fields of Glastonbury and this last weekend finding that paying €3.50 just to tell you what a lovely sunny time I was having in Malta seemed like expensive boasting, and so unfortunately this took a small hit. I hope none of you were left too redundant of things to do and read and I can now only promise that I will intend to blog everyday once again until Bestival in September when similar field based antics to Glasto will render it impossible. One day they will put the future and the internets in fields using cows as antenna and all shall be fine. Then on another day they will decide that like the supposed idea of God, WiFi is everywhere and should just be free and you will be able to access it whatever country you are in for nada. Some people say I’m a dreamer. Well, yes, I am. Particularly when I’ve had cheese.

So without further ado…well infact without any ado. We don’t do ado here. We are adoless. So without any ado at all, here’s some points of note for which to dwell upon, or perhaps beside:

PLANKING

I did my first ‘plank’ this weekend. Some of you might be questioning what such a thing is and whether or not its some sort of terrible sexual fetish focusing around wood based objects. No, no, its far more tame than that. Its a craze in Malta at the moment where people lie face down, in a straight line in odd places. You must have a serious expression on, have your arms by your side and pointing away from you and your legs straight and the more bizarre the location, the better. It has taken Malta by storm and people have died planking on roads or on balconies then falling off. People have planked at their own weddings and on MTV. Have a look here for those of you that Facebook:

PLANKING MALTA

It was a fad in the UK for a while, but then quickly died down after people realised its not that extreme or exciting at all and we don’t have time in our lives to be doing such things, whereas the more laid back attitude of the Maltese means they have snapped it up in their hoards. After jumping off a rock into the sea and then sitting on top of a boat in a way that went against all health and safety standards on Saturday, it was all I could do to risk a ‘plank’ over the weekend. Saturday I managed, to rapturous applause, plank on a table on the stage with no problems at all. Sunday, after a beautiful 5 course meal, my attempts caused the table to tip slightly, ruining my plank somewhat, but a second attempt proved successful. I’m not sure what this means now. I’ve planked, and I can say I’ve planked, but ultimately, aside from about 500 Maltese people, I can’t see it gaining any respect for at all. I can only hope a time comes where several small children need to cross a gap in water or across buildings and my planking experience will form a bridge to help them across. Or perhaps several people will need to carry me somewhere and I can assist by making myself as portable as possible? Only time will tell. Until then, its obvious I’m a planker.

 

PAUL

I managed to watch 20 minutes of the film Paul last night. Then I realised it was more fun to stare at a blank ceiling. This is not a great sign for anything that is meant to capture the imagination.

NORTHERN LINE

I’ve managed to create fictional history for every stop on the Northern Line. This was partly to entertain L on the way home yesterday and partly because I am wired wrong in my head. I don’t have time to tell you them all here, but promise to make a full tube map with my definitions on at some point. Highlights included Lee the Finch being the largest of all the birds to the extent he needs both an east, west and central station for the public to navigate around him, and Elephant and Castle being a joint venture between Nelly the performing animal and Roy the former, now sadly deceased, host of Record Breakers. See? I’m wired wrong.

BAC

I start work at the BAC today. Doing acting and shizzle. I give them a day before they realise I’m only good at larking around and planking on tables and decide to get someone who’s actually trained and stuff. I am also going to see how many times I can pretend they need my BACS details before they get upset. Commence fun.

 

Normal blogging service shall resume as of tomorrow. Sorry for any inconvenience caused.