Dead Rock Stars was the theme for the latest OK Club comedy night at the Boogaloo pub in Highgate. Organised and hosted by if.comeddie best newcomer Josie Long, this was the latest instalment of an event carved in the image of her stand-up routine; basking in the cosiness of shared jokes and esoterica, it can be as alienating as it can be welcoming.
Bar staff join in the fun by hand crafting badges at Long's behest. The comedian's wait patiently in a corner by the door, and often the loudest laughs emanate from there, either expressing an understanding of a joke that is otherwise lacking, or for moral support at misfired quips. The punters, who leave little standing space within the bars cramped walls, share banter with their favourites as they wait for them to take the stage.
The diminutive Arnab Chanda gets things moving, demonstrating a slick composure that must come with the American accent, which he uses to reel off polished joke after polished joke. A gag on Jack claiming the rabbit, the lantern, the hammer and other such suffixes at a name auction garners good laughs, and his attempts at crowd involvement sets the tone for the evening. When a female audience member responds to a question about her spy father by saying "If I told you I'd have to kill you", Chanda curtly responds by saying "No you wouldn't", showing that he has a naturally quick wit to string together his well-crafted set-pieces.
Joey Page's convoluted schtick on Michael Bolton getting fired from the local aquarium is whimsical enough, but such flights of fancy would work better in a more flowing stream-of-consciousness style. As it is, the story lives or dies by the punchline, and if you're not a fan of fish-based punnery-funnery, you might not be satisfied with the conclusion that Bolton is "skaiting on fin ice". If you are then Page offers a winning formula, and you will surely find the self-consciously smug puff on a pipe afterwards to be endearing.
Next up is Southend's finest comedy singer/songwriter, Pot Pourri. More audience banter permeates his performance, as he kindly asks the crowd to join the chorus by singing the words "a damn good slapping", before explaining that "this is a song about children". What follows is an acoustic-led ditty that sounds like Julie Birchill's documentary on 'Chav Culture', musically interpreted by Half-Man Half Biscuit via the body of Hurley from Lost.
Edward Aczel is a man that does not look like a comedian, but before long you realise that this is the very basis of his act. The only act to plunder the evening's theme, he reads from his hand a list of dead rock stars (including Sir Eric Clapton, citing that "I know he's not dead, but I have a theory") with a painstakingly slow drawl. Reminiscent somewhat of the late Andy Kaufman in that he has the courage to feed on the silence that he creates, Aczel bemuses as much as he amuses.
Beginning with a visual gag involving a bottle of still water, Luke Roberts then proceeds with a string of intelligent observations and some clever word play that demands your attention, lest you get left behind. Ready to squeeze laughs from each anecdote, he proved adept at the tacked-on ad-lib.
Ginger and Black are probably as colourful as they sound; the former a flame-haired, Guitar-strumming singer, the latter literally a black man. Together they are Ginger and Black, but also very funny. Their set is a fusion of folksy comedy songs, rapping and monologue. One song, cribbing from Eminem's Stan, regales their desperate correspondence in asking for jobs as television runners. Eri Jackson (that's 'Ginger') sings with a mock earnestness that juxtaposes beautifully with Daniel Taylor's (that's 'Black') physical humour.
The next act takes the corpse of Deadpan and mutilates it further, as American Morgan Murphy makes a surprise appearance. Some of her cultural references fall a little flat, with material on MySpace and Donald Rumsfeld failing to elicit the response it would in front of an American audience. As any good comic should, Murphy uses this as a platform for humour - "What about God? Do you get God over here?"
Headlining is Simon 'Simon from Never Mind The Buzzocks' Amstell. Having spent the evening watching and whooping in the corner with that ridiculous laugh of his, he goes to work and tries to generate a few of his own. His plans to test new material are swiftly scuppered when the mention of AIDS draws a homosexual slur from a vocal audience member. Amstell takes offence, and cuts him short with the abrupt retort "You add nothing".
This only incurs the wrath of said audience member and friends, who then ensue to intermittently heckle the Popworld protégé. Effectively this ruins it for everybody else as Amstell, in an attempt to disarm, keeps commenting on how badly his set is going when this simply isn't the case.
His performance of a song, 'Goldfish In The Sand', is of a silliness that is incongruent with the rest of his act. This notwithstanding, Amstell thrives on clever ideas and sharp irony, as well as his burgeoning celebrity status, to delve into topics that span age-old comedy fodder such as dating and television, as well as weightier issues such as ethics and, though somewhat reluctantly, homophobia.
The biggest flaw is that, as the headline act, he only performs for roughly twenty minutes just as the preceding comics did. This does little to sour the night however, which is not so much about individual talents as it is about creating a fertile atmosphere for humour to develop within.
Ultimately, you are either with the OK Club or you are not - those that are join in the fun at every opportunity, those that are not take exception to being told to be quiet and talk in the corridor by Long, or heckle Amstell with ill-conceived barbs. For a fiver, it's not such a bad choice to make.
The OK club at the Boogaloo, 312 Archway road, London N6
Doors 19:00
Acts take the stage 20:00
Admission £5
First published 20 December 2006
Bar staff join in the fun by hand crafting badges at Long's behest. The comedian's wait patiently in a corner by the door, and often the loudest laughs emanate from there, either expressing an understanding of a joke that is otherwise lacking, or for moral support at misfired quips. The punters, who leave little standing space within the bars cramped walls, share banter with their favourites as they wait for them to take the stage.
The diminutive Arnab Chanda gets things moving, demonstrating a slick composure that must come with the American accent, which he uses to reel off polished joke after polished joke. A gag on Jack claiming the rabbit, the lantern, the hammer and other such suffixes at a name auction garners good laughs, and his attempts at crowd involvement sets the tone for the evening. When a female audience member responds to a question about her spy father by saying "If I told you I'd have to kill you", Chanda curtly responds by saying "No you wouldn't", showing that he has a naturally quick wit to string together his well-crafted set-pieces.
Joey Page's convoluted schtick on Michael Bolton getting fired from the local aquarium is whimsical enough, but such flights of fancy would work better in a more flowing stream-of-consciousness style. As it is, the story lives or dies by the punchline, and if you're not a fan of fish-based punnery-funnery, you might not be satisfied with the conclusion that Bolton is "skaiting on fin ice". If you are then Page offers a winning formula, and you will surely find the self-consciously smug puff on a pipe afterwards to be endearing.
Next up is Southend's finest comedy singer/songwriter, Pot Pourri. More audience banter permeates his performance, as he kindly asks the crowd to join the chorus by singing the words "a damn good slapping", before explaining that "this is a song about children". What follows is an acoustic-led ditty that sounds like Julie Birchill's documentary on 'Chav Culture', musically interpreted by Half-Man Half Biscuit via the body of Hurley from Lost.
Edward Aczel is a man that does not look like a comedian, but before long you realise that this is the very basis of his act. The only act to plunder the evening's theme, he reads from his hand a list of dead rock stars (including Sir Eric Clapton, citing that "I know he's not dead, but I have a theory") with a painstakingly slow drawl. Reminiscent somewhat of the late Andy Kaufman in that he has the courage to feed on the silence that he creates, Aczel bemuses as much as he amuses.
Beginning with a visual gag involving a bottle of still water, Luke Roberts then proceeds with a string of intelligent observations and some clever word play that demands your attention, lest you get left behind. Ready to squeeze laughs from each anecdote, he proved adept at the tacked-on ad-lib.
Ginger and Black are probably as colourful as they sound; the former a flame-haired, Guitar-strumming singer, the latter literally a black man. Together they are Ginger and Black, but also very funny. Their set is a fusion of folksy comedy songs, rapping and monologue. One song, cribbing from Eminem's Stan, regales their desperate correspondence in asking for jobs as television runners. Eri Jackson (that's 'Ginger') sings with a mock earnestness that juxtaposes beautifully with Daniel Taylor's (that's 'Black') physical humour.
The next act takes the corpse of Deadpan and mutilates it further, as American Morgan Murphy makes a surprise appearance. Some of her cultural references fall a little flat, with material on MySpace and Donald Rumsfeld failing to elicit the response it would in front of an American audience. As any good comic should, Murphy uses this as a platform for humour - "What about God? Do you get God over here?"
Headlining is Simon 'Simon from Never Mind The Buzzocks' Amstell. Having spent the evening watching and whooping in the corner with that ridiculous laugh of his, he goes to work and tries to generate a few of his own. His plans to test new material are swiftly scuppered when the mention of AIDS draws a homosexual slur from a vocal audience member. Amstell takes offence, and cuts him short with the abrupt retort "You add nothing".
This only incurs the wrath of said audience member and friends, who then ensue to intermittently heckle the Popworld protégé. Effectively this ruins it for everybody else as Amstell, in an attempt to disarm, keeps commenting on how badly his set is going when this simply isn't the case.
His performance of a song, 'Goldfish In The Sand', is of a silliness that is incongruent with the rest of his act. This notwithstanding, Amstell thrives on clever ideas and sharp irony, as well as his burgeoning celebrity status, to delve into topics that span age-old comedy fodder such as dating and television, as well as weightier issues such as ethics and, though somewhat reluctantly, homophobia.
The biggest flaw is that, as the headline act, he only performs for roughly twenty minutes just as the preceding comics did. This does little to sour the night however, which is not so much about individual talents as it is about creating a fertile atmosphere for humour to develop within.
Ultimately, you are either with the OK Club or you are not - those that are join in the fun at every opportunity, those that are not take exception to being told to be quiet and talk in the corridor by Long, or heckle Amstell with ill-conceived barbs. For a fiver, it's not such a bad choice to make.
The OK club at the Boogaloo, 312 Archway road, London N6
Doors 19:00
Acts take the stage 20:00
Admission £5
First published 20 December 2006
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