The science of laughter is something that can never be explained. Many different elements contribute to the creation of an atmosphere and environment that encourages goodwill and enjoyment but, even then, you can never be sure whether the laughs will come. Some signs that would frequently suggest hilarity for all is on the horizon are shattered and, equally, against all odds, sometimes it will go the other way.
For quite a while tonight, all signs were pointing towards a quiet one for all concerned. Audience members were late to arrive and, when they did turn up, they didn’t do so in large numbers. The room, a perfect one for comedy with a slightly raised stage, decent lighting and low ceilings, was cold. Temperature-wise, that is. It was Friday night, no one seemed to have that Friday feeling, and the heating situation can’t have helped one bit.
But it didn’t matter. None of that stuff mattered. As soon as the comedy started, all the pieces fell into place. This is a surprising business at the best of times, and that was in evidence tonight. This was an experimental new material night organised by H Anthony Hildebrand, he of the last show I saw at Edinburgh this year and the incredibly enjoyable An Event Of Some Kind from back in February, which took place in the same room. The audience immediately bought into the ramshackle nature of the show, without being easily won over by the illusion of spontaneity. This was a discerning bunch and they wanted good jokes – if they weren’t good, they wouldn’t laugh. Simple as that.
Thankfully, they laughed a lot. They laughed all night, at everyone, and everyone deserved the laughs they got. A genuine highlight was the young performance poet by the name of Freddie Kingsmill kicking things off and, even though he wasn’t even old enough to be in the pub, he was right at home on stage. His writing was good and his charm was evident, even though this was, I believe, his first time performing at a night like this. Confidence will build with each and every performance, of that I’m sure. Luke Benson and Carly Smallman were as good as they always are, a be-dreadlocked chap called Jackson Voorhees provided the surprising second instance of someone having turned a Guitar Hero guitar into a real instrument that I’ve seen this year, and I finally got to see Will Howells and Chris Coltrane do comedy – very well, too – after a year or so of bumping into them and enjoying their company at various events and gatherings.
More of this sort of thing, please, career. Good gigs with good acts and good audiences, even if they are in cold rooms. I can deal with contracted testicles as long as my pint is kept cold and everyone still laughs, and this evening, all of those things were in evidence. Especially the contracted testicles.
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