The Iceberg that looked like Jesus

From his Live In London 2010 DVD

More Billy Connolly videos

Born in a poor tenement block, Connolly was abandoned by his mother, Mamie, at the age of three and brought up by his aunt, Mona, who used to beat him, and his father, William, who sexually abused him - a background explored in his 2001 biography Billy.

As a teenager, he joined the Clyde shipyards, where he served his apprenticeship as a welder. While working there, he bought a banjo for £2 10s after seeing blues singer Pete Seger on the TV, and started performing on Scotland's folk circuit as part of a band called the Humblebums, which counted Gerry Rafferty among its members.

While performing, Connolly noticed that audiences warmed to the banter between his songs, which built up his confidence. In 1970, the band split up and he started performing solo.

Also during his time at the shipyards, he met his first wife, Iris, with whom he had a son and a daughter.

His big break was on the Parkinson show in 1975, which made him a star and led to his first UK tour: The Big Wee Tour.

He spent many years on the road, the lifestyle taking its toll, and he became a heavy drinker, until he gave up alcohol in 1986.

His reputation grew and grew, and he eventually moved to California to try to break into the US, with varying degrees of success.

In 1989, he married Pamela Stephenson, who he met while recording a sketch for Not The Nine O'Clock News.

CV

Billy Connolly: Hammersmith Apollo September 2004
Live Review
Hammersmith Apollo

There’s no escaping the fact: at 61, Billy Connolly is officially old. There are comics with grandfathers younger than him; and not just a few, either.

He really needs glasses to read his notes; the material these days will more likely concern a medical procedure than the shameless exploits of a drunken night out; and if, at his age, the mind begins to wander, imagine what that means for Connolly’s, which was always nomadic at the best of times.

But age has not withered him, nor a dozen dodgy Hollywood projects damaged his instinctive, impressive abilities as a stand-up. When he’s in his natural habitat of the stage, he’s the maestro of British comedy - as inflamed, passionate and animated as he ever was.

It’s been a while since he played London, and he’s greeted like a conquering hero, a deafening cheer meeting his shambling entrance, and each early joke attracting appreciative, sustained applause. That laugher, not clapping, is the reflex response to comedy is unimportant: in these early moments, the 3,600 members of the Hammersmith Apollo’s standing-room-only audience just want to pay tribute. The genuine, instinctive laughs come later.

That he’s among friends lets him get away with anything during the course of his Too Old To Die Young show; whether that means material that’s in dubious moral taste or, dare I say it, even pedestrian.

When it comes to the former, he finds jokes in the plight of British hostage Ken Bigley – or at least his uncompromisingly honest response to the news coverage of it – proving that he can be as edgy, or downright offensive as any pretender to his crown.

Of course he’s forgiven for the lapse in taste: everyone loves Billy. And his seductively haphazard style plays no small part in that.

A Big Yin gig never runs to any particular order, more it’s a jamming session of his thoughts. He leaps back and forth through anecdotes, taking unscheduled detours Virgin Railways would be proud of, until, finally, remembering to return to tales you’d forgotten he had started. “Sometimes I forget what I’m saying,” he admits. “So I just keep talking until I remember.”

These off-the-cuff moments are as good as anything he’s prepared. When he spots a Motorhead T-shirt in the front row, he’s fired into a spontaneous riff on rock and roll, illustrated with personal memories and anecdotes and providing an occasional, running theme.

He guffaws at the way he fumbles his own stories – at one point doubling up with hilarity at an aside that suddenly occurs to him, but that he fails to get out through the laughter – and the audience instinctively joins in.  The fragmented style helps him out in other ways too: not every anecdote needs a punchline if you can simply flit on to another story when you get bored.

There are some enduring themes in all this: most notably his long-established railing against the beige people and his pet subject – the bunk of organised religion. He’s not so much a grumpy old man as an angry one, becoming infuriated at any number of frustrations. At one point he even has to remind himself: “Don’t get angry, you’re supposed to be a comedian.”

But of everything he tackles, his forte remains the bodily function. The comic who got famous for his talk of ‘jobbies’ can still create a real symphony of scatology, most notably with an outrageous, exaggerated riff about the fat-busting drug that hilariously lists its side effects as ‘unstoppable oily discharge’.

To the chagrin of many class warriors, Connolly’s long since put his tenement days behind him – literally, as it happens, since a depiction of his slum housing now forms the backdrop to his set – and is now openly boastful of his many, big houses and unafraid to start anecdotes with: “So I was with Keith Richards…” What’s more, this detachment from lives more ordinary doesn’t matter one bit: the stories are still funny.

But at the two hours mark, the concentration does start to drop. And it doesn’t help that at this point he’s talking about the inanity of makeover programmes, as if we didn’t know.

That’s not the only bit that doesn’t shine: routines about the complexity of ordering Starbucks, pissing on urinal cakes, the difficulty of finding the 6ft 7in dialysis patient Osama Bin Laden, or what a man’s supposed to do with his redundant arm while lying in the spoons position all sound remarkably ordinary.

We could well do without these, not least because any show coming in at just under three interval-free hours is enough to try anyone’s patience, let alone buttocks.

There’s a brilliant 90-minute show in here (which, I suspect, may be what ends up as a DVD release), but as it stands, this evening is as long as Citizen Kane and Battleship Potemkin combined, and no one man’s that interesting – even if Billy Connolly comes close.

You know, these old blokes don’t half go on a bit…

Reviewed: September 28, 2004

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Flew over from Belfast to see Billy in Newcastle on the 19th. a great show to see. Had an absolute blast. Yes there were some bits and pieces that have been heard before but also a lot of new pieces. Its like seeing an older band, they do some of their old hits and some new bits. Not that uncommon. But he showed last night why he is Billy Connolly, and from the sound of the audience any one who says the show wasnt good is one hell of a liar. Great Show Billy.

Richard, January 2012

Saw him last Saturday at the Apollo and I have to say the gig was the worst I've seen in years (and I've seen dozens of stand-ups in the last year alone). The advertised 2.5 hours turned out to be nearer 1 hour 50, but in the end that was a blessing. He either didn't bother to prepare (why would you bother if you can sell out venues and live-off your former glory?) or he's losing his marbles because he re-used vast amounts of material, constantly went-off at tangents and he seemed incapable of coming-back to stories to finish them off. Some of his material deserved to rest in peace in the 1970s when it was written and simply isn't funny in 2010. The funniest thing was a one-liner about a hole in a flower pot. Sadly it was all very lame.

Malc, January 2010

He just finished his UK tour, but he skipped Ireland and not for the first time. It's a real slap in the face to all his fans in Ireland, a place he's always talked about with fondness before. He's played Australia, America, Canada, and the UK, surely a few dates over here wasn't going to harm him in any way?I just want to know if he's ever going to play here again or not, I don't want to waste my time checking his website to see he's changed his mind. Pissed-off Connolly Fan.

Robert Pidgeon, November 2007

Saw the Big Yin live once - almost wet myself with laughter. He has a knack of taking the normal everyday things in life and finding a funny side. This comedian is a must see, must hear, must meet guy. I will never look at Scotland again without a smile on my face.

Mark Jordan, October 2007

I can honestly say I've never laughed so hard. At several points the whole audience was gagging for air. Still on top form. I suspect many of those who trash him haven't even seen him live.

Charles Thomson, October 2007

Saw Billy at the Hammersmith Apollo, and he's far from lost it. I personally thought he was consistently brilliant for the full three hours. OK, so the Ken Bigley comments were a tad misjudged, but if some unknown comic said the same things in a students' union bar, no bugger would bat an eyelid. Connolly's delivery and material still exceeds much of the dross peddled by newer comedians.

Richard Bailey, October 2004

I suggest that is is the media who are seeking sensation and hence profit on the back of another countryman's desperate suffering. Billy's shows had already sold out completely before he even made those comments, so he was gaining nothing, simply voicing an opinion. If you're looking for the real cowards, turn to the media, not Billy Connolly.

Sandra, October 2004

Obviously he's a legend, but that dosen't mean he can't f**k up now and again. Silly old bugger, absolutley no need to mention the Thai bride...

Hamish, October 2004

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