It is mandatory when writing a piece like this to refer to comedy as "the new rock 'n' roll", as if the phrase were coined yesterday and not as old as about half the performers (or so it seemed) that I saw performing last night. To be fair to these fresh-faced comics, referencing Twitter and Lady Gaga every five minutes, comedy is affording something of a rock 'n' roll lifestyle to the not much older men (and men they almost invariably are) who sit atop a mountain of money gleaned from DVD sales, endless TV appearances, bestselling books and sell-out touring mega-shows. Who wouldn't want a piece of that action - particularly as you don't need to go to the trouble of learning to play a guitar, bass or drums?
But it's not, of course, as easy as it looks and even the best comedy acts need time to trial material, find out what works and what doesn't work, cut away the deadwood ruthlessly and then polish, polish, polish what's left. In the month before The Edinburgh Festival, which has proved a stepping stone to success for such acts as Jeremy Hardy, Frank Skinner and Steve Coogan, Londoners can observe this process before their very eyes, with The Riverside Studios hosting gigs through to 29 July (including the heirs to those familar faces pictured above, the Cambridge Footlights of thirty years ago). Of course, not all comedy acts will try-out in London, but with nearly a thousand slated to perform in the Scottish capital come August, there's plenty to go round.
As you would expect in a genre that's pretty hit-and-miss even after the pruning and polishing, these shows are uneven. I saw some new talent with new material playing probably as big a venue as they will have played and, predictably, some of their stuff fell flat. But there was plenty that flew (and will soar with a bit more work). The audience buys into the preview nature of the shows - there was no heckling, generous applause and big laughs, alternating with well-meaning groans. After their use as guinea pigs, the audience were duly rewarded with the opportunity to speak to the performers after the shows, comedians who genuinely wanted to find out how their material was going over, knowing that Edinburgh is a kind of annual comedy Olympics these days in which they'll want to make personal bests.
Yes the genteel surroundings of the Riverside's Studio Two is a long way from the smoky South London pubs of the late 80s and early 90s, where I saw Jo Brand give hecklers a good working over, Paul Merton reduce audiences to helplessness, so convulsed with laughter were they and Matt Lucas go from 20 to 70 years of age as Sir Bernard Chumley. Everyone these days seems a little kinder, a little less combative and, onstage and off, a little more aware of the rewards of success. Comedy may or may not be the new rock 'n' roll but, with specialist channels broadcasting it 24/7, comedy is certainly a commodity and a commodity that's still riding a bull market.
