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Last
year’s Aberdeen heat was my favourite. Ok so you get so controversies
up there, their comedy references are very parochial, with a few
exceptions the standard of act isn’t as high and most of them would
struggle to get laughs anywhere south of Arbroath. However it is great
fun. The crowd is huge and supportive, if a little scared of those with
non Doric accents and best of all you are guaranteed a couple of car
crashes. Well not tonight. Instead we got a bloody parking ticket for
parking outside the venue. Comedians travelling to SNAFU be warned. The
council are not allowed to paint yellow lines on the cobble stones so
you have to be a fecking psychic to know where you can park.
First
up was James Payne who’s new boss was in the room. There’s
not much to say about James other than he received a brilliant heckle.
Upon one of his too too many opening questions to the audience he
remarked that their response was “disappointing”. More than one of
them replied “so are you”. So to win the crowd over we got a
repulsive and not at all funny period joke. There was a severe lack of
performance skill during his unfocused set.
Stephen
Rose immediately showed us how it should be done. His opening smurf
gambit was simple and fun, instantly winning over the crowd. He’s
louche and surreal but also angry. His bile at the Microsoft advert was
spot on and his take on all things sexual, thanks to his mother’s book
collection and sandwiches, was endearing. His mic skills need to be
improved and his routines made tighter, however he shows lots of
potential.
Andy
Learmonth was a SCOTY finalist last year. He looked relaxed,
confident and hairy. His routines had a wonderfully dark edge to them
which he was able to get away with thanks to his geeky, newly single,
self deprecating persona which instantly won over the hearts and minds
of the audience.
Martin
Bearne should take note. He has improved a lot in the past two year
and his material is of a decent quality and isn’t too dissimilar to
Andy’s, however his onstage persona isn’t as likeable. It’s quite
intimidating. Unlike Andy you believe that he has actually done the
disturbing things he talks about.
I
want to like Jason Murphy. Off stage he’s a lovely, interesting
bloke, on stage he waffles on and on about how much of a shit hole Luton
is. It took 3 minutes to get to his first punch line – a cracker about
his local fast food outlet – then we spent 3 minutes in a 3rd
rate Mark Thomasesque story about confusing debt collectors.
Disappointing.
After
the break a very studenty, almost Jarvis Cockery, John Aggisild
took to the stage. He started with a wanking joke, paced back and forth
and back and forth describing his geek chic. He endeared himself to this
audience. Then for no discernable reason and without a punch line he
went into the entomology of the C word, before finally giving us a
critique of the accents used in porn films and the names of his
favourite ones. GOD WHY? When you are using the same material as Jim
Hobbit then you should have a right good look at yourself. It’s a pity
because he has an ok stage presence and there was the briefest of
glimpses of some clever writing. Try harder young man.
It
is at the point I was at a low ebb. Looking at the running order in
front of me I was relishing the opportunity to call 999 for police, fire
and ambulance to attend an impending RTA. “Ladies and gentlemen please
welcome to the stage Peter Wood”. Well what came on stage
looked like Peter Wood, sounded like Peter Wood, but was bugger all like
the Peter Wood of last year. There was energy and enthusiasm… but it
was controlled. There was a passionate rousing of the audience, but it
was filled with some material. Best of all, it was all smiles and no
anger. It was like watching a Doric Paul Calf who’s dropped a couple
of Es. I understood about 25% of what he said. Some of the words I
understood were Katherine Jenkins, Mary Poppins, Start Trek, Polish and
Ken. This Ken chap was mentioned a hell of a lot, but nowhere near as
much as last year. Thankfully the audience understood it all and laughed
throughout.
For
no apparent reason Tony Laing did a Christopher Walkden
impersonation. That’s about it.
Imagine
a fat, scruffy Billy Kirkwood with a Montrose accent and you have Scott
Forbes a SCOTY finalist 2 years ago. Although he was speaking ten to
the dozen it was a slow start from Scott. The first half of his set was
disappointing with gags about Lady Gaga, midgets and some other stuff
which I can’t remember. The second half of his set was his stoner
material. This room full of students lapped it up, but was it enough.
Sans
suit, looking more like a middle aged ned in shiny, hooded, shell suit
was another SCOTY finalist from 2 years ago, Gus Tawse. Gus tells
jokes, good old fashioned pub style jokes which he wrote himself, but
don’t worry they feature the same moral values as those frilly shirted
comics from the 70’s. We had a touch of chauvinism, a touch of
xenophobia and with his opening gag, a joke which leaves me with in huge
conundrum because it is frighteningly funny but horrifically racist. The
quality of the writing is high, the gag rate is high and the laughs keep
flowing but you feel kinda dirty for laughing.
Finally
Aberdeenshire farmer Duncan Guthrie closed the night. He has seen
the world, he has lived his dreams and had them squashed. With his flat
cap, waistcoat, shirt and tie he looked the part. His delivery was a
slow drawl, more like a monologue than a comedy routine, however it
sucked the audience into his wee, warped, pitiful world. The crowd were
hanging on his every word. Those words were as old as the hill his
fields are on, but they were arranged beautifully.
It
took for ever to count the votes. The result was so surprising that we
miscounted and nearly cocked up the results. But in the end we got
there. It was a griping night where five acts stood out, but which three
would make it through. Gus Tawse won, Andy
Learmonth was second and I can’t believe I am typing this… Peter
Wood has rightly won his way through to the semi finals of the
Scottish Comedian of the Year 2009. Goanyersel son. |
