How to get over a bad gig

Luke McGibbon's tips on learning from a death without dwelling on it

The comedian Sarah Millican once coined the 11 o’clock rule, which basically advises that however good or bad a gig has been, you have to stop thinking about it at 11am the next day. It’s a great way to make a clean break and stop yourself from spiralling if things have gone terribly, or getting too cocky if the gig went well.

But when you’ve died a death on stage, what’s the best thing to do with those hours before 11am? Most of us head home, stop at a petrol station to purchase something closely resembling food, and feel a bit sorry for ourselves before jumping back on the horse another night. I think, with the right tools, we can harness the power of the bad gig to improve ourselves as performers.

About four years ago I had maybe one of the worst gigs I’ve ever had. When people picture a bad set they might imagine hecklers, rage, Cabbages chucked at the stage.

Of course, those who’ve been in the comedy game for a while know that what usually makes for a soul-crushing experience is quite the opposite: silence. Complete, deafening, apathetic, contemptuous silence. An audience that couldn’t even spare the energy for a charitable titter.

And just as you’re convincing yourself ‘it’s not me, it’s them! They’re just a tough crowd!’ the headliner emerges to rapturous applause, ear-splitting laughter and a crowd hanging on their every word.

I had a very long drive home, alone, driving around 8mph bathed in the purple neon light of a bus that was in front of me for a good portion of the journey (buses here are purple), making me keep pace.

Maybe it’s for the best that it kept me slowed down. I started off defensive – blaming the crowd at first then moving on to blaming myself. When this didn’t satisfy, I wondered whether stand-up comedy itself was to blame. I soon found that this was a question beyond my philosophical capabilities (and made no fucking sense at all) so instead I started thinking about my life. About past relationships, professional failures, the myriad ways I’d neglected others and myself.

At a certain point the well of ‘why I am a terrible comedian and awful person’ ran dry, and I reached a more reasonable conclusion: the problem was the relationship. The relationship between me and the crowd simply hadn’t taken off – we didn’t click. That’s all. It’s not that they were a terrible crowd or that I’m a shitty person. It just happened that, in that moment, we weren’t compatible. When I got out of the car I was ready to move on. The gig had been so bad I became a better person.

Most comedians are always looking for ways to get better, and really that only comes from writing more or performing more. But one of the other ways an act improves is by growing or changing as a person. It stands to reason that if stand-up is so often about sharing perspectives or revelling in our common human experiences, then reflecting on who you are as a person and having new perspectives can lead to different or new comedy.

I’d like to draw your attention now to something called reflective practice. It’s a process in health and social care work where you use your experiences to learn and improve your understanding of yourself and your work. It may seem a bit of a no-brainer: ‘Think about stuff after you do it!’ But in that kind of work it’s a really solid and reliable path towards growth when you ask the right questions.

American psychiatrist Irving Yalom described psychotherapy (a sector in which I work) as an alternating between ‘affect analysis’ and ‘affect expression’. In other words, you always encourage emotional expression but follow it with reflection on the emotions expressed. I wondered if perhaps something similar could be done with stand-up comedy, particularly in the vulnerable context of the post-bad-gig.

I think that the experience that I had talking to myself in the car for two hours could be replicated with others.

I’ve composed a list of questions here that I’ve included in a link at the bottom of this article. Some of them are technical and relate to you as a comedian. Some of the other questions are about you as a person, and how you felt.

I’d encourage you to use it next time you have a difficult gig. Obviously you don’t need to send me your answers - this is for you not me. But I’d encourage you to write them down somewhere. I think that helps make things more concrete.

I’d also love to hear your thoughts on this, what was useful, what could be improved and what sucks, so there’s feedback form here.

Reflective practice for comedians

THE SET

When possible, I encourage you to be as specific as possible, rather than just: ‘What went badly?’ ‘Everything.’

Think of different parts or aspects of your set, like types of material that landed differently, how you presented, or how the vibe in the room felt, or how you felt during it.

1. What was good about that set and why?

2. What was bad about that set and why?

3. How did you feel during the set?

4. What was your relationship like with the audience? What sort of connection was there, if any?

5. What did you think of them?

6. What do you think the audience thought of you

A) Within the first 30 seconds

B) By halfway through your set

C) By the time you left the stage?

YOU

Consider not just yourself, but what you think of yourself/others/the world.

7. How are you feeling (physically/emotionally)?