(CHEERING AND APPLAUSE)
Thank you very much.
Hello, I'm Stewart Lee. Welcome to this, Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle,
of which I, Stewart Lee, am the driver,
but I currently have nine points on my licence,
so I won't be taking any risks at junctions.
Tonight I'm gonna be talking about comedy.
Now, there's kind of a glib truism about comedy.
People say that stand-up comedy is the hardest job in the world.
And it is the hardest job in the world.
I used to live opposite a fire station,
and one day I got talking to one of the firemen
and he said to me, "What do you do for a living?"
I said, "Stand-up comedian."
And he said, "Wow, you must be very brave.
"I should imagine stand-up comedy is the hardest job in the world."
And I said to him, " It is, and I'm glad
"that you of all people appreciate that that is the case."
I said to him,
"I would rather go into a burning building full of asphyxiating smoke
"than to have to walk out in front of 120 people
"in a provincial arts centre,
"many of whom were already kindly disposed towards me
"because of my many amusing Radio 4 panel show appearances."
This bloke makes me sick.
Being a fireman IS the hardest job in the world.
Yeah. Porn doesn't watch itself.
(WOMAN MOANS, WHIP CRACKS, SHEEP BLEATS)
But it is the hardest job in the world, stand-up comedy.
It's also an art form, I would like to think.
Historically, stand-up comedy was one of the great American art forms,
one of the great indigenous American art forms of the 20th century,
along with jazz and comic books
and the senseless high school massacre.
(ONE PERSON APPLAUDS)
One person applauding that,
and of course, for a stand-up comedian,
the only thing worse than no-one clapping
is the sound of one person clapping alone.
It suggests that what you're doing has some artistic value,
but very little commercial future.
The Americans were the great stand-ups of the past.
Arguably they've been eclipsed now by the British stand-ups
and the Australians and New Zealanders,
but I still love going to see the American stand-ups.
I love the American stand-ups.
Cos what I like to see is someone come out
and say what the nationality of their mother was
and then what the nationality of their father was
and then combine those two things for comic effect,
often for as long as three, three-and-a-half minutes.
I like to see the American stand-ups come out and go...
(AMERICAN ACCENT) "Hey, my mom was Italian
"and my dad was from Lithuania,
"so when I see a chorizo sausage,
"I don't know whether to eat it or shove it up my ass."
(NORMAL ACCENT) Love to see American stand-ups.
Some go... (AMERICAN ACCENT) "Hey, my mom was French
"and my dad was from Spain,
"so when I see a baguette
"I don't know whether to eat it or shove it up my ass."
(NORMAL ACCENT) Love to see the American stand-ups.
(AMERICAN ACCENT) "Hey, my mom was Irish
"and my dad was from Jamaica,
"so when I see a plantain,
"I don't know whether to eat it or shove it up my ass."
(NORMAL ACCENT) Love to see American stand-ups. I love to see...
When they come over here, I like to see the packaged shows
of the American stand-ups, so I can see that five times in a night.
I like to go to the HBO Comedy Festival in Aspen or Las Vegas
and see it 500 times in a week.
But it's easy to stand here and make fun of the American stand-ups
simply because they're of no value.
But historically, American comics were the masters of the craft.
By the end of the 1980s, the glory days of American stand-up were over.
Even the incendiary Cracker Sauceribs,
formerly the voice of angry black America...
Fuck you, asshole. Mother...
...was now making family movies for Disney.
Pongo Poo Pig!
STEWART: Only one man kept the flame of
the great American art form of stand-up comedy burning.
And that man's name was Dyl Spinks.
DYL SPINKS: Mice, what are they? I mean, come on!
What are mice? What are mice?
I'll tell you what mice are. You wanna know what mice are?
They're fag rats.
Because what are mice, but rat faggots?
Mice. I mean, what are they? What are mice?
They're faggot rats.
Dyl Spinks... (CHUCKLES) ...more than a comedian.
Dyl Spinks was a prophet.
He was a preacher man.
DYL SPINKS: Because what are mice but rat faggots?
Mice. I mean, what are they? What are mice? They're faggot rats.
Mice, what are they? I mean, come on.
What are mice? What are mice?
I'll tell you what mice are. You wanna know what mice are?
They're fag rats.
Lordy-lordy, the things Dyl Spinks said about mice 20 years ago...
(CHUCKLES) ...they still be relevant today...
(CHUCKLES)... even more so.
But America wasn't ready
for some of the things that Dyl Spinks had to say.
That's what mice are, bunch of faggot rats.
- (CROWD BOOS AND HECKLES) - MAN: Oh, you don't like that?
STEWART: Dyl was offered a prestigious slot
on the Lennerman talk show
on the understanding that he dropped
his controversial mouse bit.
But typically, Dyl would not allow himself to be silenced
by the Establishment.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to talk about...
mice!
Because what are mice but just fa...
STEWART LEE: And that's when the plug was finally pulled on Dyl Spinks.
Two days later, Dyl fell to his death here,
having been startled by a humble mouse.
DYL SPINKS: Mice, what are they? I mean, come on!
What are mice? What are mice?
I'll tell you what mice are. You wanna know what mice are?
They're fag rats.
It would be unreasonable of me at this point not to make you aware of
the fact that the reason that I am still a stand-up comedian today
is because of the influence of an American comic.
I've been a stand-up for 20 years.
Many times I've considered giving up.
It's very difficult.
But in 1997, I was in Norwich
and I went into a second-hand shop
where I found this album.
This is an American stand-up comedy album from the early '70s.
It's by a comic called Franklyn Ajaye,
and it's called I'm A Comedian, Seriously.
And I can honestly say
that this album has been a constant source of inspiration to me
and a great comfort in times of stress.
If you're near the front,
you can see it's still in its cellophane wrapper.
I've never opened it or listened to it.
I've never listened to it and I have no intention of ever doing so.
But it is a great source of comfort and inspiration to me nonetheless.
There's two things that I like about this album.
First of all, I like the cover.
It's called I'm A Comedian, Seriously,
and on the front there, you can see Franklyn Ajaye
and he's smiling, he's happy, isn't he?
But he's not gone mad, he's sort of just...
...reasonably content, isn't he?
Mildly... He's about as happy as you might be
if you'd invited some people round and...
...I don't know, you'd made them some mash
and one of them had said, "This mash is nice, Franklyn."
You go, " Yeah, I put a spring onion in it."
"Yeah, nice mash."
I'm A Comedian, Seriously. The back, very different image.
See that, a very serious face on the back.
Well, it's not overly serious. He's not suicidal.
He's just mildly sort of pensive, isn't he?
He looks about as serious on the back there
as you might look if, I don't know,
you'd invited some people round and...
...you'd made them some mash...
...and one of them had said,
"Are you sure you boiled these potatoes, Franklyn?"
"Nice mash."
"Are you sure you boiled these potatoes?"
The other thing I like about this is the sleeve notes,
which I genuinely think are brilliant,
and tell me as a stand-up and you as consumers of comedy
all you really need to know
to understand what it is you're seeing.
He writes, " I feel that the two pictures on this album..."
That's that one, remember, "Nice mash",
and, "Did you boil these potatoes?"
"I feel that the two pictures on this album convey accurately
"the contrasting mental processes of a comedian during a performance."
That's the two processes there.
So let's have a think about that, right?
Because you come out, you go, "Let's go and see the comedy.
"Ah-ha, that'll be funny." Right?
"Then we'll get some chips on the way home."
We're artists at work. This makes this clear.
There are at least two processes at work here.
He goes on, " All the material on this album is derived from
"events and situations which either happened to me
"or I observed first-hand.
"After thinking about these events,
"I found something in each one to laugh about.
"It would be hip if you'd join me."
Yeah, have a good old laugh at the archaic language,
but think about what he's saying, right?
You don't just come out as a stand-up and go,
"Oh, I saw a cat today. That was funny."
No, you have to take that material and process it
and apply an artistic process to it
and only then can that raw material become a comedy routine.
We're artists at work, working with artistic processes.
So given that, given that we are artists working with artistic processes,
let's have a look and see from the track listing
what the first three subjects
that Franklyn Ajaye chose to apply this artistic process to are.
And they're Homosexuals,
Girls With Big Breasts and Dick Caught In Zipper.
Homosexuals, Girls With Big Breasts and Dick...
Caught In Zipper.
And remember, ladies and gentlemen, all the material on this album
is derived from events and situations...
...which either happened to Franklyn Ajaye
or which he observed at first hand.
And I was just wondering if Homosexuals, for example,
was that an event and situation which happened to Franklyn Ajaye
or was it something that he observed at first hand,
perhaps in a lay-by or a wood?
He goes on, "After thinking about these events,
"I found something in each one to laugh about."
And I'm interested in what exactly was the time lag there.
Did he see girls with big breasts and immediately find it funny?
Or did he squirrel it away in his mind...
...and only after thinking about it for an hour, a day, a week, a year -
maybe ten years -
did he realise how funny it would be to be or see girls with big breasts?
We don't know.
Comedy's not a science.
The comedian and writer Carol Burnett said
comedy equals time plus tragedy.
The comedian and theorist Franklyn Ajaye said
comedy equals time plus girls with big breasts.
Thus it would appear to follow that TR, tragedy,
is equal to GWBB, girls with big breasts,
and that either could be substituted for the other
in any given situation.
But is this really the case?
I clad myself in the garb of the symbolic figure of tragedy -
TR - and arrived at a situation
where paying customers were expecting to see a girl with big breasts -
GWBB.
Three... two... one!
To be or not to be - that is the question.
Whether it is nobler in the mind
to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous...
And...
Likewise, Dick Caught In Zipper.
Was Dick Caught In Zipper an event and situation
which happened to Franklyn Ajaye? Did his own penis, the foreskin,
or the part of the testicles, the scrotal sac,
did it become trapped in a zipper?
Did he find that funny immediately? Did he laugh at it immediately?
Or did he dwell on it over time,
think long and hard about how funny that would be?
Or was it something he observed at first hand?
Did the dick of the man in the urinal next to him
become caught in a zipper?
If so, did he look down at it and did he laugh immediately?
And if so, did that lead to problems?
Or, again, did he go away and think about it? I don't know.
I've not listened to the record, as I say. I never will.
I've no idea how it's dealt with. I'm not interested.
Um... But I have become mildly obsessed with Franklyn Ajaye.
I found a book that he's written.
A book about how to do stand-up comedy.
It's called Comic Insights - Notes Of AJazz Comedian.
And Franklyn Ajaye is known as the Jazz Comedian.
He's known as the Jazz Comedian in his own imagination.
And there's a little endorsement on the back of this book
from another comedian, called Keenan Ivory Wayans.
Now, I've not seen his work
but he's in the Scary Movie series of films,
so one imagines he'd be very good.
Keenan Ivory Wayans writes, " Franklyn Ajaye is the Miles Davis of comedy."
"The Miles Davis of comedy." Now...
...with the best will in the world, I don't know if it's possible
for there to be a Miles Davis of comedy.
Miles Davis had a 50-year career in jazz,
during which he outlived every major stylistic change.
He initiated many of them, from bebop and hard bop in the '50s
through to cool jazz and the modal jazz of the '60s.
And he invented jazz fusion.
At the time of his death, he was working with hip-hop artists.
And with the best will in the world,
I don't know if there's ever really been an artist
comparable to that in stand-up.
It's a very different thing.
And if you look at this - this is the, er...
the 50th anniversary edition of Miles Davis's best album,
Kind Of Blue.
I mean, the whole vibe is completely different.
I mean, the tracks on here, they're things like Flamenco Sketches,
which was Miles Davis's first attempt to work with Spanish guitar... transcription.
It's entirely different. There aren't tracks on here called
Homosexuals and Girls With Big Breasts. It's entirely different.
Although, weirdly,
this 50th-anniversary edition comes with extra tracks
and there is a studio out-take there called Dick Caught In Zipper...
...on which, weirdly, John Coltrane is playing an alto.
Couple of people laughing at that, of course,
cos Coltrane's normal horn of choice
in the classic Miles Davis Quintet was the tenor.
Cannonball Adderley normally played the alto.
So, er...
little joke about jazz there.
So who's the Jazz Comedian now?
VOICEOVER: Welcome to Carnegie Hall.
Tonight, the Quintet will start with a new composition
that's called Security Guard In A College Girl's Dorm
Looking Through The Window And Jerking Off.
(QUINTET PLAYS)
The other problem is it's all very well for Franklyn Ajaye to say,
"We should write from experience."
Look at his life. It's amazing.
Homosexuals, Girls With Big Breasts, Dick Caught In Zipper.
Those don't sound like titles in a stand-up comedy set to me.
They sound like chapter headings for a Fellini DVD.
My life's not like that.
I'm a middle-aged married father of one.
My life's like a Jack Dee sitcom.
It's mundane, it's middle-aged
and it's exactly copied off Curb Your Enthusiasm.
To the point where you'd think someone would have been sued, really.
This is the kind of thing that happens to me now.
This is what my life is like.
I was in Worcester a couple of months ago.
I got caught overnight. I had to stay there against my will.
I went into the Travelodge, the Worcester Travelodge.
I said, " Have you got any rooms available here tonight
"in the Worcester Travelodge?"
And the Worcester Travelodge woman behind the counter
in the Worcester Travelodge said, "I don't know."
I said, " Hang on a minute. This is the Worcester Travelodge we're in now?"
She said, "Yes." I said, "You are the woman behind the counter
"in the Worcester Travelodge?" She said, "That's correct."
I said, " Yet you're unable to tell me if there are rooms available
"in this building, the sole purpose of which
"is the commercial letting of rooms?"
She said, "That's right." I said, "That's all you need to know for yourjob.
"In fact, any other information might be superfluous."
She said, "That's the case." She said, " I agree.
"But the whole thing's done by centralised bookings.
"You can only book a room by phoning up or through the internet."
And I was absolutely furious momentarily.
The sheer stupidity of a Travelodge
where you are unable to book rooms at the counter in the Travelodge.
I was incandescent with rage.
Then I thought for a minute, "Hang on. This is great.
"Because this is exactly the kind of thing
"a 40-year-old stand-up comedian should be writing material about."
I thought, yeah, I might come at it from a bit of an oblique angle.
You know, I might write a'70s-style comedy sketch
where a bloke goes into a shop that sells only apples
and says, " Have you got any apples available?"
They say, " I don't know. You'll have to ring the National Apple Office."
You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?
I hate the Travelodge.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian and I hate the Travelodge.
No-one wants to stay in the Travelodge by choice.
It's always a last resort.
No-one's thinking, "I'd love to stay in a room
"so blandly anonymous
"that it looks like the burial chamber
"of the king of an ancient civilisation
"which valued above all bland anonymity."
The blandly anonymous burial chamber
of a blandly anonymous king
of a blandly anonymous civilisation.
His grave goods to take to the other side
simply three individually wrapped biscuits, a sachet of shampoo
and a remote control.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian
and I hate the Travelodge!
It's come to that! I hate the Tra...
I set about trying to destroy the Travelodge.
I went into my Travelodge room
and I got the individually wrapped biscuits
and I chewed them up in my mouth until they were a paste,
like a wasp would do,
and then I gunged the paste into the electrical sockets
in the hope of inconveniencing someone at a later date.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian and I hate the Travelodge.
I went into the Travelodge and I took down all the signs that say,
"In the event of a fire, your nearest exit is here",
in the hope that future customers of the Travelodge
would die, therefore destroying their customer base.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian and I hate the Travelodge.
I hate the Tra...
It says, " Please don't waste towels because of ecological issues.
"Only put them in the bath if you've used them."
I didn't use them and I still put them in the bath
to try and waste their money to drive them out of business.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian and I hate the Travelodge.
I went into the Travelodge room and I threw the television out the window
but I forgot to pull the plug out
and it bounced back and hit me in the face.
I'm a 40-year-old stand-up comedian and I hate the Travelodge.
And there's another glib truism about stand-up.
People say the best stand-up comedians die young.
But they don't.
It's just that some of them are fortunate enough to die
before they write their "I Hate The Travelodge" routine.
I wish I was dead.
I wish that I was dead.
- Good afternoon. - Afternoon, sir.
May I have one bag of these lovely red apples, please?
- That depends, sir. - On what?
On whether I have any apples in stock, sir.
But there are literally dozens of apples here.
Why, I can see them with my very own two eyes.
That just may be, sir, but I'm afraid you'll have to call Head Office
to find out if I've got any to sell.
- Head Office? - Yes, sir.
- The National Apple Office, sir. - What? This is ridiculous!
You can't expect me to just look and see if I've got any apples, sir.
My job is to sell apples, not to know if I've got any apples to sell, sir.
- Oh, good heavens, man! - That's the number, sir.
Oh, very well.
Hello? Is that the National Apples Office?
- Yes, I'm calling from... - Kevin's Apple Shop.
...Kevin's Apple Shop.
I wondered if you could tell me if you had any apples in stock there.
There are? Thank you.
There! A bag of apples, please.
- Certainly, sir. What type, sir? - What?
I've got Baldwin,
Blenheim, Braeburn, Bramley, Cameo, Cortland, Cox's,
Cripps, Egremont, Elstar, Empire, Gala, Macoun, Pippin,
Pink Pearl, Red Delicious, Ribston, Roxbury, Rome, Granny Smiths, Gravenstein
and the ever-popular Golden Delicious, sir.
Oh, for God's sake! I don't care!
- I just want some apples! - You have to choose a variety, sir.
I can't just give you any old apples. More than me shop's worth, sir.
All right! All right!
I'll have six Golden Delicious apples, then.
- Six Golden Delicious, I say. - Sorry, sir.
- What? - You can't expect me to know
if I've got any Golden Delicious in stock, sir.
This is ludicrous! Does that mean I have to...
BOTH: Call the National Apples Office again.
Very well.
Hello? Is that the National Apples Office?
Yes, I'm calling from...
BOTH: Kevin's Apple Shop.
I wanted to know if you had any...
BOTH: Golden Delicious...
...apples in stock there.
No? Oh.
Oh, dear. Ask them what I do have in stock, sir.
Very well... Which varieties do you have in stock there?
Yes.
Baldwin, Blenheim, Braeburn, Bramley, Cameo, Cortland, Cox's and Cripps.
Egremont, Elstar, Empire and Gala, Honeycrisp, Jonagold, and Macoun.
Pippin, Pink Pearl, Red Delicious, Ribston, Roxbury and Rome,
Granny Smiths and Gravenstein.
Thank you.
Every single type of apple except Golden Delicious, then.
Oh, that is an unfortunate coincidence, sir.
What other type of apple would you like?
- Do you take me for a fool, sir? - Don't know what you're driving at.
I'll say which type of apple I want.
Then there'll be some other problem
and I'll have to call the National Apples Office again
and repeat the whole absurd palaver!
- Not at all, sir. - Honestly?
On me dear mum's grave, sir.
All right, I'll have six Granny Smiths.
You certainly can have, sir. Here you are, sir.
Six lovely Granny Smith apples, sir.
- Might I have them in a bag? - Beg your pardon?
A bag! Might I have my apples in a bag?
- Sorry, sir? - A paper bag.
- A paper bag, sir? - Yes, a paper bag,
like one of those over there!
You can't expect me to know if I've got any paper bags, sir.
I'm afraid you'll have to call the National Paper Bag Office, sir.
(GROANS)
(TROMBONIST PLAYS DESCENDING SCALE)
(LAUGHS MANIACALLY)
(SMASH!)
(CRASH!)
(SCREAMS)
(SMASH!)
(SCREAMS)
(SOBS)
Ohh!