Emma McAlpine spends a thoroughly enjoyable half hour chatting to one of the most inspiring and affable comedians in the business.
As a former goalkeeper for Southend, a holiday camp entertainer, a TV presenter, an actor and first and foremost, a stand-up comedian; Terry Alderton has had more jobs than Rod Stewart. His comedy career has been equally varied. Since winning a Perrier nomination in 1999, he's hit rock bottom and built himself back up again; reinventing his act from a light-hearted observational gig to something wonderfully extraordinary and genre-defying. I caught up with him ahead of his London tour date to find out his thoughts on Danny Dyer, depression and where those inner voices came from...
I've just been in hysterics watching your Danny Dire sketches.
Thing was he started it – I was taking the mickey out of him at a tacky polo auction a couple of years back and I also went too far with another celebrity so I was replaced with Bobby Davro! Then I had to interview Danny at the V Festival the year after and he was saying on camera how funny it was that I'd been replaced by Davro and then he just walked off. I was at home that night watching The Real Football Factories and I thought this is my chance to reply; so I asked my bosses at Virgin if we could try something and we shot some stuff and it just caught like wildfire.
So, before a burning desire to impersonate Danny Dyer where did you start your comedy career, is it true you were in an entertainment competition with Chesney Hawkes?
Yeah I went for an audition for a TV talent show on Sky called Star Search, got into the heats and won the semis with Chesney Hawkes. Then I finally won the whole thing, hosted by Keith Chegwin!
And that was stand-up you were doing?
Yeah - it was terrible, I was doing impressions of people I sounded nothing like! I then worked in a holiday camp and they didn't understand me. Everyone kept calling me alternative which I clearly wasn't – I was doing Frank Spencer impressions! Then a friend encouraged me to go back into stand up and everyone was calling me mainstream, which I was. Eventually I leaned to do my own thing and found my feet in performance and then I was rocking the place.
What made you want to move away from conventional comedy?
The year of the Perrier nomination, I couldn't do anything wrong and then I got all these offers for the Royal Variety Show and the lottery and went on the list of every producer. I was being carried shoulder high but inside I thought I wanted to be doing what Peter Sellers did. I remember talking to Jo Sergeant, a big BBC producer and asking her when I was going to hit the big time. She said: "You're on BBC1 on Saturday night" but that wasn't what I wanted.
I'd hit rock bottom really. I got to the point where I'd stopped doing comedy and was really depressed. My wife said you should go back to stand-up and I thought well if I do that everyone will say "Look who's back" and she said "Do you really think everyone's sitting in dressing rooms talking about you?" There's a fine line between depression and arrogance. It's difficult though when you're the product you're selling. It's not like I'm selling windows or something, I'm selling me. It's self-destructive.
It seems to be quite common for comedy and depression to go hand in hand...
I think it's because we think all the time and when you keep thinking you build your own conspiracies. You're constantly trying to find gags in things and you take it too far. I took my mind to some horrible places because I was so depressed. But when you come out the other side you're a lot stronger for it. On stage I'm fearless because I've been to the worst place. Not being disrespectful to the audience and saying 'I don't care if you laugh or not' but I don't have time to wait anymore – come along with it and we'll go somewhere or don't come with it and watch someone else.
Anyway to answer your original question about my act, I was at a gig in Manchester Comedy Store and these two girls were in the front row and one turns to the other and says: (does perfect Manc accent) "look at 'is shoes" and I was wearing a pair of boots from the lottery and I thought "yeah look at my shoes". It was a great metaphor for my life and I knew I had to change what I was doing. I used to do a routine about being misunderstood in America where I talk to two voices and it always got a big laugh. So one night on stage I tried turning my back on the audience and talking to the voices and the comedian Ben Norris said: "what was that? It's brilliant, you've got to use it!" Then I spent a year and a half dying dreadfully with it and trying to work it out before I nailed it.
It can be quite creepy listening to you doing those inner voices. Do you ever find yourself pottering around on your own using them?
Well I do talk to myself! This is going to freak you out even more but when I was a child I had an imaginary friend...
That explains where your routine came from!
Yeah, I clearly have mental problems! I watch myself back doing the routine and it's like two completely different human beings. It must be some sort of split-personality thing. I couldn't shut the voices up in my head - they were really going at me so it was a relief to think "I'm going to take you on stage with me". Some people say I go too far but the people I want to play to - they don't want you to hold back; that's what they go and see stand-up comedy for.
Terry Alderton will be performing his last London tour date at the Bloomsbury Theatre on Friday the 21st May at 8pm.
Photo credit: Adam Hodge
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