Being a support act seems to be a rite of passage for some comedians; that first step before you take the plunge and go on tour yourself. It showcases you to a bigger audience, although there is always the danger, particularly if the comedian you are supporting is a major star, that you walk on stage to be met by general disappointment as the audience wonder where ‘him/her off the telly’ has gone to.
In 2016 I supported The Naked Magicians at the Trafalgar Studios for a month. It was one of the best jobs in stand up I ever had. The Naked Magicians (Christopher Wayne and Mike Tyler) were two of the loveliest guys I have ever met; and their show was brilliant, featuring jaw-dropping magic tricks, fun routines and top-notch production values. As an added bonus, I was gigging for them seven times a week, in central London, 30 minutes away from where I live, finished by 8:30, I could be home by 9! (This is unbelievably early for a stand up comedian). Their audience was primarily made up of women and gay men and was absolutely lush. In other words, I was having 7 fabulous gigs a week for a month. What’s not to like?
Currently I’m supporting Jen Brister on various legs of the national tour of her latest show, The Optimist. There’s definitely a lot less nudity and magic tricks, but it too has kept me busy. What comic doesn’t like someone phoning them up and offering them 19 gigs, travel and accommodation included? As any comic will confirm, we love a full diary even if, later on, we will invariably moan about how we can’t take any time off because we’ve no weekends free.
Asking to support a fellow comedian is also an endorsement; someone thinks you’re funny. I may tend to open my set on tour joking that I’m an added extra and that if the audience don’t find me funny, they can’t ask for their money back, but the truth is you don’t get asked to do support unless the comic in question thinks you’re good. As your average comedian is a heady mix of delusion, self-belief, neediness, bound up in debilitating insecurities, such an explicit endorsement is no bad thing.
They’ve also done the hard work for you; they are the ones who have built up an audience. In my case, the chances are high that if an audience has come to see one bolshy, middle-aged female comedian, they won’t mind watching another. In one fell swoop and without you doing anything, you are playing to the type of audience that suits you to the ground.
You also tend to be performing in venues which suit comedy. This may come as a surprise to non-comedians but a bane of a comedian’s life is playing unplayable rooms. All comics can tell horror stories; Jen once performed on an EasyJet flight (don’t ask); one of my own favourites is playing a charity benefit where the performance stage was at the bottom of a pit in the middle of the room; a room where people had been getting steadily drunk for the last 4 hours and where in one corner of the room people were playing ping pong beer bingo to the accompaniment of rather loud cheering from all and sundry. The mic lead was so short that you could not stand in the light (not to be recommended) and I realised I might have trouble gaining the audience’s attention, given they were happily ignoring the band that was on before me which included two young guys on electric guitars and another on drums. To make matters worse, the organiser chose to bring me on by reminding everyone through floods of tears for the best part of 10 minutes that we were here to raise money for her friend who was dying of cancer.
This is unlikely to happen on tour where you tend to be in bigger venues where they realise that for comedy to work, it helps to have decent sound, proper lighting, have the act walk on to music (preferably upbeat in nature), and have everyone in the audience face the right way and be close to each other and the stage.
There’s also a practical side to being the support act; it allows theatres to have an interval. Whereas in Europe one-person shows tend to be constructed so that an interval can easily be facilitated, in the UK, shows tend to be shorter – often they are written with Edinburgh in mind. As such their length, construction and overall arc does not allow for a 20 minute break half-way through it. A support act allows for more comedy to the £ and enables the theatre to have an interval and for the venue to accrue that very important increased bar spend.
On a more human level, the support act often doubles up as a traveling companion. Touring and traveling can be a lonely and frustrating business and it’s good to have someone you connect with and who understands comedy and knows you and the show inside out.
Another advantage I’ve found about being the support act is I don’t have to worry about admin – another bane of the comedian’s life. To the non-initiated, having to figure out how to buy train tickets in the UK that do not cost the price of a package deal for a family of 4 for a week to Turkey, is akin to something out of a Kafka novel. For the most part, all I have to do is turn up at the station; be handed my ticket and job done.
Shall I ever take the plunge and tour myself? The jury is currently out on that one. But I do know one thing: if I ever do, a great support act will be essential.
This was really interesting. As a comedy-goer I’m not sure we always think much about what goes into selecting a support act, how they enhance the experience overall and of course the role they play more broadly supporting the named comedian (though we get to see a bit of that from your Instagram!). They’re often just, in Ingrid’s words, the free olives before the steak you’ve paid for. Thanks for writing and sharing x
You’re welcome. Thanks for taking time to read my blog.