Mark texts: “you can say cunt all you like, you’ll always be this guy to me!”
This comes up very occasionally. Someone will say “Oi! That was you in that!”
The most recent person to do so was Carrie Marshall.
Here’s the full, illegally-uploaded thing:
A bit of audience participation from a handsome fellow in Seymour Mace’s beautifully sweary show.
To be highfalutin, the Iceman has roots in the Fluxus experimental art movement of the Sixties, where the process is more important than the result. Here, Irving’s ‘let’s just give this a try’ ethos results in a shared sense of meaningless fun, that should, by rights, only exist in the moment – though we should be grateful, too, that it has finally been recorded for the ages.
A spectacular Chortle review of “The Final Block,” the recording of the event we put together at the Bill Murray Comedy Club last year.
To be clear about what this is, my team and I are making a documentary film about the Iceman. We needed more footage of him in action, so we put together a gig. But we also got the gig filmed by Go Faster Stripe, legendary comedy production team. What’s being reviewed here is the Go Faster Stripe recording, not our film. You can buy that recording for a tenner here and I suggest that you do!
Steve, the reviewer, really gets what’s going on. Here’s an important bit:
‘The whole concept of The Iceman is failure,’ Irvine tells us – and it’s a notion that he proves from the start – when he pours a bucket of water over himself and damages the microphone.
A lesser comedian might have cut all the futzing around that resulted, but leaving some of this in captures the joy of amateurism, in its true sense, that his act celebrates. Trying to sum up what his charmingly ramshackle performance achieved, Irving concludes: ‘Something has happened that wouldn’t otherwise have happened’. What more reason does one need?
It’s one of my favourite moments of the show, indeed one of the best things I’ve had the privilege to witness in my life. The director, Chris Evans, understandably went bananas when Anthony wrecked his expensive radio mic. This happened early in the show’s proceedings. It could have been ruinous, but it made the whole night.
“We need to mic you up again,” said Chris, “Being able to hear you is the whole point.”
“The whole point,” Anthony corrected him, “is to melt the block.”
All of this is in the show. We open with a quote from Chris “If I end up on stage, something has really fucked up.”
I wasn’t the only comedian to be subjected to Tony’s often incisive and always loud criticism of our skills. It happened to all of us, usually when we were doing it.
My friend John Dowie on his friend Tony Allen on what would have been his 80th birthday.
Amusingly he plugs our book at the bottom of the piece.
With Samara’s help (well, she basically did all of it), I’ve made this Red Dwarf-inspired jacket, which is a sure sign of crisis.
What am I, some sort of “fan”?
Urgh.
The website we bought the patches from has plenty of user reviews from young people saying they bought these patches “for father’s day.” I am old.
It’s not supposed to be “screen accurate” and it’s not for cosplay. It’s just a Listerish look to delight the other old men in the pub.
On the TV show, Lister’s khaki jacket is normally worn over the shirt that has these patches. I still might get one of those London Jets tee-shirts though. We’ll see how long this crisis lasts.
I wore the jacket to our Edinburgh WIP screening of Melt It! and you can see it in this pic, albeit before the shoulder patch went on:
You know what my jacket is? It’s historic re-enactment. I’ve been described as a comedy historian a couple of times recently (by Stewart Lee and Oliver Double no less) and I have at least written some books (and now a film) in comedy history so that’s fine by me.
Anyway, I’m about to start a six-month break from doing much of anything. I’ve been far too Rimmerish of late and this will remind me to slob properly.
I want to get custard stains and gravy marks all down it. That way it can be screen accurate.
Something that never took off — never became a catchphrase or entered the popular consciousness — but definitely should have:
It’s when Neil on The Inbetweeners says “I can’t do that I’m afraid” when asked to stop doing something irritating or appalling.
I haven’t been watching The Inbetweeners. I just remembered it. Because it’s good.
With Michael Cumming in The Doublet pub.
I’ve been feeling a bit itchy-scratchy lately and struggling to relax.
It’s partly because of having too much to do — the ideas and the burden still moving around in my mind when I’m trying to relax — and partly because of an eczema flare that’s been going on for over a year.
Thankfully, there’s light at the end both tunnels. In the eczema department, I’ve been getting phototherapy. This involves reporting to hospital three times a week to stand in a sunbed-like tube and being blasted with UV light for about a minute.
It’s the sort of thing that seems destined to make me a superhero or give me cancer, but I’ll settle for unitchy, unscabby, elastic, unreddened, non-flayed, unsore skin. I only have five sessions left, so this standing appointment can soon be scratched (as it were) from my bloated schedule.
In terms of being too busy (a shameful state for a proud idler), the end of October sees the end of multiple projects. Then I’ll be travelling for a month or two: Utrecht, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Zagreb, Belgrade, Athens, Montreal. This is a genuine attempt to get away from it all and I’m looking forward to it. I like being out in the world with nothing to do. I’ll be with Johnston for the European cities and Samara for the Canadian one. Escaaaaape!
Until then, I’ve been resorting to my favourite ’90s telly comedy to relax: deep dives into Adam & Joe, Red Dwarf, and Lee & Herring. This is something I usually try to avoid — to consume new stuff, new culture, instead of falling back on old favourites — but I’m embarrassingly tired and, as I said, struggling to wind down. The comfort provided by Pliny and Histor and a cavernous old JMC ship seems to do the trick.
Oddly, none of these deep dives has involved actually watching full episodes of these shows. Maybe this a twenty-first century phenomenon. For Adam & Joe, I’ve been watching clips (“when I go and see Villa / my view is blocked by a concrete pillar”) and reading this (“eight quid forty-five for half an hour of stupid craaap”). For Lee & Herring… actually, for them I have been watching full episodes albeit supported by a forum watch-along.
For Red Dwarf I’ve been reading and listening to small chunks of the first two novels (did anyone remember that the toaster kills the polymorph in the book version – I had forgotten this) and watching video essays like this one on YouTube. I also watched the Bodysnatcher stuff for the first time, which really tipped me over the edge. I hope Rob Grant manages to give his new book and TV series (if they ever happen) the quiet desolation I crave. No more wacky “Doug Dwarf” boner hijinks please, Rob.
I also made a Dave Lister jacket.
We don’t mean to brag, but Mark and I met Pliny.
His beak was like that when we got there.
This was at the British Stand-Up Comedy Archive at the University of Kent.
I felt like a very special boy.
Ben Moor is a lovely, talented, warm-hearted person. Don’t take my word for it. He’s famously this.
A few days before my first proper show in 15 years, I asked Ben by email if he had any tips. He wrote back:
Breathe deeply before going on – do you have a mantra? – mine is borrowed from [American football coach] Marv Levy who used to say to his players “Where else would you rather be, than right here, right now.” It’s the last thing I say to myself before going on stage and it settles me nicely.
Also, if you think you’re talking too slowly, you’re probably talking at the right pace.
Have fun out there!
Love and peace,
Ben x
Dembina: So I was walking down the road, as the comedians say…
Me: Which road?
Dembina: The Holloway Road. It joins up with the A1.
Me: Glad I asked.
Dembina: Good heckle.
*
Dembina: What’s it called? Jewish Playboy?
Me: Playmensch.
Dembina: Nah, not…
Me: Playgoy?
Dembina: That’s it. You can have 50p for that one, not a pound.
*
The spirit of the Tunnel Club is alive in Edinburgh.
Spümcø‘s video for “Fuck Her Gently” by Tenacious D isn’t on YouTube, presumably because of rudeness or Satanism or both.
Or maybe the hard fuckers at YouTube don’t agree with the song’s message.
Honestly, back in 2002 this played all day long on Kerrang! and MTV. Listen to Grandpa. Platform capitalism is stupid.
So here it is. Justice for KG.
