Following my poor foray into music reviewing last week after the Paul Weller gig , I thought I might as well throw my hat into the ring and review comedy as well, starting with the Russell Howard, weirdly named Dingledodies gig I went to last night.
For me, comedy just tips it on my list of favourite things, so it may well be that I perform better at this task than the music reviewing.
Taking place at the plush Millennium Centre in Cardiff, it’s only by chance that I ended up with a ticket at all. Course mate Nick had spare tickets, and in this age of networks, there was a Facebook ‘shotgun’ race to determine who could go with him. I was shotgun number two. Get in.
Anyway, wandering dangerously off the point again… After last week’s successful outing with the camera beast, I thought I could try it again. I thought wrong. I was pretty disappointed when I was told that photography was prohibited. No doubt fellow coursemate Leni, was even more disappointed given how handsome she finds the fellow.
As the lights went down and the support act, Steve Hall , it soon became obvious that it was far too dark in the theatre to be disturbing everyone by messing about with my camera anyway and I soon forgot all about my incessant desire to capture everything and let the comedy wash over me. Not to make the evening a total journalistic loss, I decided I would then attempt to Twitter the event.
After a pleasing 20 minutes from Steve, the excitement began to build for the main act. I didn’t really know that much about Russell Howard, aside from the numerous times I’ve enjoyed him on Mock the Week so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. At this point, tense debate was arising between me, Nick and Leni over the comedy greats. Leni tried to explain The Mighty Boosh to the uninitiated (both me and Nick). Nick confessed he’d not seen much Ricky Gervais while I explained my love of Peep Show and Spaced .
And then suddenly before we knew it, it was time for Russell. Meandering through the surreal and back again, going off on tangents (very much like this blog), discussing belly laughs and snorting, a discussion on yawn rape and stalking old ladies later we were all very much rolling in the aisles. This was one of the best comedy shows I’d seen.
But the encore was yet to come. Strolling back on to the stage a mere moment after he’d disappeared, Russell fielded questions from the audience. I felt like I was back in a journalism lecture for a moment until one of the questions was “will you have my babies?” – as lovely as Peter Preston, Justin Lewis and Daniel Meadows undoubtedly are, nobody as yet, has asked this question. Perhaps it’s only a matter of time…
Ending the session with a toe-injury inducing bout of Mortal Kombat with his support act, Russell limped off to deal with the hoardes of screaming girls queueing up outside for his autograph. Luckily Leni wasn’t one of them.
All in all a brilliant night out.
Was my review at least marginally better than the music one?