Following on from yesterday’s blog, it turns out that my dog Jack probably knows more about comedy than he lets on. From now on I am taking all of my career advice from him. I have never employed a manager or P.A. (politically correct term for secretary), preferring to do it all myself but not anymore. If you want to book me for anything, you have to go through my dog.

I was in town earlier than necessary as I finished in court at five o’clock and mooched around town having decided against going home only to have to turn straight round to leave the house again, so instead took a change of clothes and saved myself a lot of time and agro. In need of food I decided that I wanted chips and once a particular food enters your head nothing else will do. I really wish I’d gone to Moulin Rouge (which wasn’t that far away now I think of it) which although also selling kebabs and such shit, do a pretty decent bag of chips. Instead I went to Lace Market Fish Bar and will never do so again, utter shite. A few people leapt to its defence when I reported on my findings, so maybe I’d gone in too close to opening time and been given last night’s warmed up unsold food. The chips were terrible and the mushy peas were unlike anything I have ever seen before, I’m only glad I didn’t spontaneously vomit and shit myself on stage, although it would have in hindsight been a much better start to the show than I provided.

The venue slowly filled up with Friday night drinkers who had been attracted to Nirvana for its 3-for-2 cocktails, this wasn’t a gig crowd at all, and unsurprisingly not one of the so-called Nottingham music scene was in attendance. This wasn’t going to be easy for anyone, least of all me. My carefully honed ten minutes were dramatically cut through my want to get the fuck off the stage, so material I’d spent ages writing had gone to waste:

Good evening and welcome, I used to be Steve Oliver and I am your host for the evening. It’s not all bad news though, as we are here to celebrate Blue Vulture, not just for the EP but for their inclusion in the Guinness Book of Records (pause for effect), the most phone calls made by a band looking for a compere. A lot of very busy people tonight, which explains why there’s hardly anyone here.

The above was used, but I cut out the following:

EP used to mean ‘extended play’, a 7 inch single containing four songs instead of two. However meanings change over time and now EP means ‘not enough material for an album’.

There was also going to be a riff about how cassettes are better than MP3 because a cassette allows you to listen to anything up to 20 songs, and I was going to demonstrate that you could listen to a cassette five times before it unraveled. I had swapped my copy of Blue Vulture’s tape in the box with a ‘stunt tape’ I had brought in to unravel and then mend using a pencil. Didn’t use any of it, nor did I use:

Fear not though, as Amateur Tape Recordings is also available as a download, so you can listen to it on a device that you didn’t throw in a skip in 1990.

Nothing, so I just introduced Rosie Abbott and sunk into my chair. I’ve conquered radio, writing, interviewing and all manner of things, but I decided there and then that I would never ever compere or attempt standup again. On the other hand, it was probably the crowd’s fault. Rosie played a great set with a band which was different as I have only heard her as a solo before. She might as well have been playing naked as the people at the bar just carried on talking and ordering their cocktails totally oblivious to the fact a gig was taking place.

It became obvious fairly quickly that this isn’t seen by the public as a live music venue. This is a shame as the staff at the venue were brilliant without exception and looked after us all in a way that many venues don’t. The sound engineers in particular really cared about their job and I hope that they can turn this around and attract more of the people that attend gigs in future.

I walked back up to the microphone after Rosie had finished announcing that the show would continue with the next band after a ten minute break:

I was going to say to feel free to talk among yourselves but you’re way ahead of me!

During the break a hen party entered the venue, again this isn’t exactly what you want at a gig but it gave me the opportunity for a joke as I introduced the next band. I already had a prepared line for them, but I just added to it:

A big welcome to Pickle’s Hen Party, don’t forget to pick up your free Blue Vulture cassette, it would be nice to pick up something on a hen night that you don’t have to go to the doctor with on Monday.

Nothing. To say it was silent wouldn’t be enough, this was quieter than silence.

This next band played last Sunday in front of a panel of Nusic judges, so for the second time this week in front of people who don’t really give a shit about music, ladies and gentlemen The Rascells!

They played a blinder and won over the room by mixing popular covers in with their set. Last Sunday the sound was terrible at Rock City but this intimate setting suited them down to the ground. The hen party enjoyed it so that helped because it meant that they would stay around. The next band on were The CTRL, and I was nervous because a group of ‘lads’ had joined the room by now so I was ready for a fight to break out. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover though, the ‘lads’ turned out to be a great bunch who really got into the spirit of things by dancing right in front of the band and trying to encourage others to do the same. High-fiving and fist-bumping the band while they played their usual scorching set, they seemed at their happiest when the band broke into their speeded up punk version of ‘When You Say Nothing At All’. By now I didn’t have to worry about what to say, as it was pretty much “Are you having a good time?” type stuff from then on. Let’s face it; they could have got anyone to do that. On the mic again to thank The CTRL and encourage cheering, I instigated the lads and the hen night to mingle, so who knows what awkward conversations will be taking place tomorrow morning.

To my utter delight, while I was outside having a cigarette before Blue Vulture’s set another hen party came in.

Can I just say that you are a much fucking better crowd than the one we had earlier (cheers), and before Blue Vulture come on I’ve spotted another hen party. This means I can do the joke again. (The original hen party is now forming a wall in front of me, and the lads are gathering round, one of them is next to me with his arm draped over my shoulder as if he’s my new best friend). Please make sure you pick up a copy of Blue Vulture’s cassette, because it would be nice to pick up something on your hen night that you don’t have to see the doctor about on Monday!

Cheers all round, I win!

Ladies and gentlemen, your headline band for the evening, Blue Vulture!

I’ve never seen the full band live before as they have usually played in a venue I am barred from, but I was impressed with what I saw. It’s a shame that they sit on the outskirts of Nottingham music acceptance, but on the other hand you don’t need those fools to decide if you’re good or not. The hens and the lads (I was almost going to call them cocks but decided against it) enjoyed themselves, and I thanked Pickles for being part of the show. She’s getting married next month.

I didn’t even have to break out my ‘Elbow tribute band’ joke. I’ll save it for next time.

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