» Fight or flight? Nerves set in for some comics
Victoria Nangle examines the phenomenon of the comedy bolter
The danger, I have found, with doing bigger and better gigs is the combination of your own nerves and those of the people around you. The other comics stepping into an unknown environment. The look of panic when you see someone of similar physical proportions stepping into the holding pen at the back where the gaggle of comics sit and await their fate. And it’s back here where you start chatting.
“…waiting for their turn to take the mic, only to shoot out the door at intermission time, never to be seen again”
I was quite looking forward to my gig in Camden Town. It’d taken forever to get up there but I had a mate coming along who was bringing her cousin who was bringing a gaggle of Australians who had disembarked from their plane that morning. Good or bad, I had some support on the way. The fella sitting next to me, however, looked as white as a sheet.
This unnamed comic told me that he had been gigging for the last couple of years and sometimes, just sometimes, the nerves got too much – and he would bolt. Yes – really! Apparently it’s not unheard of in London circles for those of a very nervous disposition to sit through the entire first half, waiting for their turn to take the mic, only to shoot out the door at intermission time, never to be seen again. The wild blue yonder had collected quite a few of these it would seem.
My new friend assured me that he was unlikely to do that tonight. I took another look at him. I didn’t feel 100 per cent certain I believed him. Washed out terror encourages distrust in a person. But it would be a shame if he did disappear over the horizon.
Every gig can be scary, but most bookers have very good memories. Once bitten twice as unlikely to book you for a return visit. I admit that I have cancelled gigs in my time due to illness, transport and – I’m sorry – just plain nerves.
But I do give as much advance warning as I can and get another comic to replace the slot I’ve unfortunately left open. I don’t do a greyhound impersonation, chasing after the rabbit of ‘not having to face the audience’ on the night. I’ve gone up on stage shaking, but once I’m at the venue, I’m going up.
Not that I can really feel proud of simply doing what I’d asked someone very nicely to allow me to do. Doing what you say you’re going to do – surely that’s just the basics of keeping your word?
My new friend did make it through his set, and he wasn’t half bad. The experience he’d garnered when he didn’t run away was serving him well. The audience liked him, even my drunken jetlagged Australians who were having problems concentrating by this point. It was worth hanging around for. I’m glad he did.
