John Ryan on Stage

Big night tonight. The club holds five hundred and they have their senior managers in. The venue manager is stressed and worries about what they might say. I arrive an hour before the gig and count down the minutes. Soon after arriving we hear the words all comics dread. “Sorry but we are running late!” But then they send someone to check you are okay for food and drinks. You don’t get that in a normal day job. I can’t imagine mechanic being told “ere ya go Dave a nice bacon sandwich to make up for the exhaust not arriving”. Most comedians would agree that you can run as late as you like if there is food involved in the compensation. I read through the menu and my stomach cheered. I am sure a nice juicy steak will take my mind off of the clock.
So, we have time to kill and loiter backstage. The dressing room is a funny place. I am like a child waiting to open Xmas presents. I can’t sit still. I try to look like I am focussing on the job in hand.  I am surrounded by the other acts looking professional as they prepare themselves. I try not to annoy people as they all have their own mannerisms and rituals. I have been in dressing rooms with acts that will go through their entire set list with you. Others sit moodily brooding as they prepare to do ‘battle’. I guess we all have our own techniques for preparing.

The headline act sits strumming his guitar and fills the room with gentle music. He looks sharp in his best suit. He spent five minutes cleaning his shoes. He even brought a proper brush and polish. How cool is that. I don’t even own a proper brush and polish. I looked down at my scuffed footwear and wondered how I could clean them discreetly. I am incapable of doing anything discreetly. I make a half hearted attempt at cleaning up before deciding that if I move around the stage really quickly no one will have time to concentrate on my footwear.
Apparently an audience decides within thirty seconds whether or not they like you. It is down to the little things, how you walk on, how you take the mic and what you are wearing. I catch my reflection and decide that I look clean. The other acts appear occupied so I pose in front of the mirror checking myself out. I am at the age now where my hormones seem to only make long nostril hair. I move about to see if they are noticeable and do a twirl. No one is watching as I curtsy. It makes me giggle.
The Opening act reads through her set list and hones her material whilst talking on the phone to her boyfriend, another comic at a gig miles away. “Yeah love you too Bunnykins!” she says. “Bunnykins?” He likes to see himself as a serious political comedian. That could kill his reputation completely!  She licks her top lip smearing her lip-gloss seductively. I try to lick my top lip to see how it feels. I think I might have found a bit of tomato soup and make a “Yummy” sound. She ignores me and looks at the ceiling. I raise my eyes and catch my reflection in the mirror. I think it amusing to poke my tongue out and pull faces. The middle act arrives and catches me grinning at my reflection. “G’day everyone. Hey Ryan you losing the plot pal?” he throws a cushion at me. I catch it and return it immediately, bang direct hit! Unfortunately he stumbles back onto the headliners guitar case. Oops. Musicians do not like having their stuff touched or played with. “It was his fault,” says the Aussie. The headliner is calm but authoritarian. He has been on the circuit for years and we respect his seniority. “You two should save your humour for the stage”.
The opening act tuts, “Men are so childish!” before texting her boyfriend to remind him to take a chicken out of the freezer for dinner. Oh the Glamour. The Aussie goes outside to smoke and the room falls calm. The headliner does his vocal exercises whilst The Opening act reminds her boyfriend to empty his pockets before doing the washing.
Lots of Comics get nervous before a gig. I watch them and wonder what the problem is? For many normal people I suppose the thought of walking out in front of hundreds of people can be a bit daunting. The idea that we presume we can make you laugh is a bit egotistical. But the way I look at it these people have paid money and are out for a good time. No one goes to a comedy club intent on being miserable do they? My compensation steak arrives and I tuck in.
“It’s Showtime in five” the announcement is made and we make our way downstairs. The Opening act is still on the phone. We see the room for the first time. It is packed and the air is charged. Aussie lights another cigarette and inhales deeply.
 I don’t know if my clowning around is my way of dealing with the pressure, but I don’t feel nervous at all. Never have. I have performed in front of thousands and not been phased. Although performing a kid’s show at my children’s school filled me with fear. I know I can muck up on stage and bring it back, but if I goofed in front of my eleven year old daughter’s mates I would never hear the end of it. Now that is pressure.
The Show manager gives us the signal and the music kicks in. The audience start cheering and off we go. There are good jobs, and there are bad jobs. But mine, it’s fantastic! You get to travel, meet people, talk about anything you want and get paid. And you know that no matter what anyone calls you it could be worse. Somewhere in the UK there is a comic who gets  called Bunnykins.

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More of John Ryans’ musings on the world can be found in his weekly columns in the Irish Post.