Call yourself a comic? Only if you've beaten the gong

Jonny Barrett has some words for open mic acts

The open mic circuit is mostly a cuddly affair. Having attended countless nights at pretty much every established and cowboy- promoted venue around London I’ve found the audiences are kind and patient things who chuckle in the right places and always clap at the end of your set.

We all know why, it’s because the audience consists mainly of the 19 other acts (and the odd girlfriend) waiting for their turn to go onstage and wanting the same love back. In that sense, it’s comedy kindergarten – an absolute necessity to complete, but absolutely not a filter for talent.

There are enough Correspondent articles debating the various nuances of the open mic circuit, most clamouring for the romantic days when apparently all you’d see are the stars of tomorrow in a packed house where the beer tasted like rainbows, cost tuppence and everyone just laughed and laughed... others realise that the circuit ain’t perfect, never has been, and on the whole they are seeking to improve and protect it from exploitation by Faginesque chancers.

What’s unarguable is the fact that every comic understands that it’s a completely necessary part of the journey: you must do your time, you must hone your craft, there are no shortcuts and above all else you should count yourself lucky to be up on that stage.

My increasing issue with the open mic circuit isn’t about the boom in volume – that’s a natural consequence of popularity – it’s the lack of reality. Open mic has become too safe and too disconnected from the very world it’s trying to prepare would-be comedians for.

It’s forgotten that comedy is an instinctively dangerous art form, the entire premise is confrontational, that as a stand-up, you are facing the audience with nothing but a microphone, they’re looking back at you expecting to be entertained – there’s no soundtrack, no back-up dancers and the audience don’t owe you a thing - what’s safe about that?

Promoters and MCs (hard-working, dedicated and crucial as they are) set the tone of their nights and right now the level of moddycoddling would make a CBeebies presenter cringe. Of course I understand that an element of safety is no bad thing, especially at the early stages, but a safe environment should be there to foster creativity and experimentation, not provide a sterile hug-a-thon for five bland minutes with a nice little clap at the end for whoever shows up. It patronises the performers and bores the audience, so of course it’s no surprise that open mic audiences are generally dwindling away, the standard is dreadful.

The consequences for the performing community are also clear. For every comic who’s worked hard to leave the open mic circuit, there are hundreds of disillusioned and frankly dreadful half-arsed bores attempting the same, brimming with cotton wool confidence earned off rigorously counted hours of poor material at cuddly open mic nights. These are the people clogging up a set list waiting for the chance to underwhelm an audience at a venue near you... who wins there?

There is an exception, which I’ll offer as part of the solution. Ladies and gentlemen - King Gong.

There’s something beautifully gladiatorial about King Gong at the Comedy Store that makes it an absolute must-watch for anyone interested in the art of crowd management. Love it or hate it, King Gong occupies a unique position on the London circuit and to my mind should be a rite of passage for all aspiring comics, becoming the de facto birthing canal for you to leave the comedy womb and go out into the world.

Speak to comics and you’ll find that it’s revered and feared in equal measure. Many dismiss it as a total lottery, with an audience demanding instant gratification or burying you in a booey grave. Others, like me, believe that for the most part it’s one of the most honest crowds you’ll find – willing to listen, wanting to be entertained, but lacking endless patience and being very forthcoming when you’re not funny.

The night itself tends to reflect the quality of the circuit as a whole – you’ll see roughly 30 acts, ten of whom deservedly don’t make it past one minute, four or five that make it to the full five and the rest blurring into a mediocre Haze of mid-set also-rans. When it comes to the final, one or two performers deserve to be there and the winner (usually) wouldn’t look too out of place in a paid line-up.

For an aspiring comic, King Gong represents the chance to play at a sell-out Comedy Store, that’s 500 people, it’s a beautiful thing and it deserves respect – it’s a heck of an opportunity.

This audience feels and reacts to your material like nothing else on the circuit and when you get it right, you’re rewarded with that all encompassing sound you’ve dreamed of causing. So what always astonishes me is hearing the ‘gonged’ comics blaming the crowd when it goes badly. I heard one beaten contestant in January (gonged after 1 minute 43 seconds) exclaim to his many nodding friends that the audience ‘didn’t understand my comedy’ adding ‘it always goes down well on the circuit.’

For me any gonging should serve as a thinking point for an act, but if those thoughts are to blame the audience, the best advice I can give you is to forget gigs and focus your efforts on finding 10,000 likeminded mates to attend your trailblazing shows – it’s your only path to a good career.

King Gong is undoubtedly a tough gig that won’t suit everyone – but for my money, it’s the best. Any experience gained there can only serve to improve an act, precisely because the show is focussed on entertaining the audience and not being another supportive meeting of Comedians Anonymous.

Yes it can be brutal, yes it hurts to get gonged but should we feel sorry for you? Of course not, it sounds harsh but why should we? This isn’t self-help, the audience paid to be entertained, their expectations were realistic and if you’re not funnier on stage than the thought of you being gonged off it, you’ll find out pretty fast - welcome to stand-up.

So if you’re looking to progress and get some honest feedback, pack your A-Game and get this night under your belt. At the very least you’ll learn something about your craft and who knows, if you battle through it, perform your best and blow the crowd away, you might even walk away with a glittery baseball cap – the ultimate open mic honour.