Los Angeles Times, July 2004

NORTH AMERICAN TRAVEL JOURNALISTS ASSOCIATION 2005 AWARD OF EXCELLENCE

It was a blustery Saturday night when I visited one of those traditional North London pubs spruced up by its brewery owners to attract a wealthier crowd. The revamp had little effect on the bar's basement, where the old rough-around-the-edges feel -- low ceilings stained with nicotine and a cozy assortment of scuffed tables and row-seating -- remained; part of the laid-back charm that attracts regulars as well as those who think they're the first to discover this unusual performance venue.

The clientele this evening, mostly good-natured groups of young pleasure-seekers cradling pints of premium lager, generated dozens of loud conversations about work, football and university classes as a buzz of expectation grew. But despite the free-flowing alcoholic accompaniment -- an automatic impulse for many Londoners out on the town -- this crowd was less motivated by serious drinking than serious laughing, having each paid about $12 to watch two hours of live stand-up at one of the capital's oldest comedy clubs.
Founded in 1981 and barely altered since, Downstairs at the King's Head has become a legendary 120-seat venue where numerous British comedians of the past two decades have performed. It's one of more than 100 live comedy venues around London, each offering an unrivaled opportunity for visitors to tap into the comic psyche in a nation that juxtaposes an outwardly stuffy persona with a uniquely wacky sense of humor.

It's a sense of humor that not all overseas visitors may completely understand. Even a Brit like me, who's admittedly been living in Canada for several years, struggles to comprehend some of the more topical jokes told on London's comedy club stages. But most acts, perhaps subconsciously aware that their audiences are at least partly international, stick more to observational jokes with universal appeal. For many, chain clubs like Jongleurs and the Comedy Store are the city's most accessible outlets; they combine acts of a consistently high standard with passable food, good bars and easy-to-find locations. For the more adventurous, smaller operations like Downstairs at the Kings Head reflect the adrenalin-charged spirit of the scene's early days.

With clubs to suit all tastes, the city's comedy's scene has become a regular nightlife fixture for many, offering a rib-tickling evening out for Londoners and those savvy overseas visitors tired of the capital's regular been-there-done-that pubs. Prepared to be entertained, I traveled to London in April to sample the scene.

By 9:30 p.m., the audience downstairs, fired-up by more than an hour of cheerful imbibing, was growing impatient; the atmosphere gradually becoming less of a theater and more like a sacrificial night at the Coliseum, with the well-oiled crowd sitting hungrily just a few feet from the floor-level space that passed for a stage.

Silently thanking the comedy club gods for providing air conditioning in what would otherwise by now have been an uncomfortable sweat-fest, I supped on my second pint of lager and perused the list of upcoming shows. Up-and-coming comics are especially welcomed here, with at least a dozen performing their own five-minute sets every Thursday night. But Downstairs at the King's Head is more than  just a comedy venue. With a loyal band of local devotees keeping the place alive for more than two decades, the event list has a distinctly Bohemian feel, ranging from be-bop bands to poetry readings -- the polar opposite of tonight's event. Live  comedy is still the mainstay, though, and Saturday's cabaret nights have attained a near-legendary status.

Suddenly, with a flick of the lights and a burst of music, the cherub-faced master of ceremonies bounded on, kicking-off the show by picking on members of the audience in the front row. "Are you performing tonight, mate? No? Well take your feet off the stage then," began our host, setting the tone for an evening of crude, cruel and jaw-achingly hilarious comedy.

His machine-gun-like delivery nailed three more victims in as many minutes, including an Australian with his backpack that apparently contained everything he owned, an embarrassed bus driver who didn't seem to know his own name or just didn't want to play along, and a group of three who was introduced to the rest of the crowd as an exhausted ménage-à-trois out on the town for some much-needed R&R. The rollercoaster had begun and several audience members, especially those relieved at avoiding the host's verbal bullying, were already dissolving into snorts of uncontrollable laughter.

The next three comedians, which at some London clubs expands to six professional acts, ran the gamut of comedy club experiences: a relaxed stand-up who combined superb close-up card tricks with near-the-knuckle jokes about terminal diseases and deviant sex; a lovable Cockney geezer who complained about the wide-boy image he was forced into but nevertheless milked it for all it was worth; and a fast-paced guitar-playing comic who began his act with a disarming song about how everyone heads to the bar when a musical comedian comes on rather than watch the worst act on the bill.

Taking this as my cue, I headed over to order a final round of drinks and found the master of ceremonies standing at the bar waiting for his next appearance. Halfway through a pint of beer, he was engaged in an animated conversation with someone who looked as though he could have been an off-duty comedian dropping by on his night-off. Laughing out loud, they graphically disproved the suggestion that comics -- especially British comics -- are a morose bunch off-stage.

Two twenty-something Canadian women were discussing the night's acts and British comedy in general as they stood at the bar. "This is the first time we've been here; we usually go to the Comedy Store [near Piccadilly Circus]," one of them told me. "I like it here: it's cheaper and the comedians are just as good. But they pick on the audience more, so I'm glad we didn't sit near the front." Her friend recalled a visit to one club where they arrived late and found only the front row available. The emcee spent the evening referring to them as unnaturally polite Canadians who were quietly sitting there knitting Maple Leaf cardigans for everyone in the audience. "I'll never sit at the front again -- it's painful," she said, flushing slightly at the memory.

Not openly regarded as a competition, the audience reaction nonetheless anointed the first comedian as the evening's best act. His combination of laid-back crowd control and open attempts to joke about sacred taboos had most quickly won the crowd. And his concerted attempts to pick-on one hapless audience member -- for offenses including his "boring" clothing and "matching" accounting job -- continued to draw laughter throughout. When the emcee rapidly wrapped-up the show with a few topical barbs about Tony Blair and George Bush's "special relationship" just after 11.30 p.m., the satisfied crowd stumbled happily into the rain, debating about the night's best jokes.
London's comedy club network began to grow soon after "alternative comedy" -- described as the humor equivalent of punk rock -- burst onto the scene in the late 1970s, challenging mainstream, suit-wearing comedians and their worn-out jokes with an edgy, often aggressive brand of confrontational humor. Cold-shouldered by traditional performance outlets, though, early alternative comedians struggled to find venues willing to showcase their talents.

The club that changed all that -- and still one of the most popular live comedy venues in London  -- is the Comedy Store. Established above a Soho strip bar in 1979, the Store imported its small, smoky-room format from the Sunset Strip, California venue of the same name,  creating the first London club for a new breed of stand-up comics.Early Comedy Store shows were more often  tense stand-off than well-received stand-up, as alcohol-fueled audiences hurled abuse -- and the occasional chair -- at unknown and sometimes bizarre comedians.

Breaking the bounds of what comedy was supposed to be, near-legendary acts of the period included a man dressed as a giant chicken who stood silently on stage for as long as he could before the enraged audience dragged him off. It seemed a long way from entertainment, but many of today's leading British comedians -- including Jennifer Saunders, Rik Mayall, Rowan Atkinson and Graham Norton -- cut their comic teeth on failed Comedy Store performances. Even Mike Myers and Robin Williams dropped by in the 1980s for occasional unannounced attempts at taming its wild audiences.

Although some comedians used their Comedy Store experience as a stepping stone to successful movie and TV careers -- with a network show at the BBC being the common aim for many -- some have never left the scene. London comedian Lee Hurst started out at the Store in the early 1990s, performing at several open-mike nights before slowly inching up the bill to regular performer status. While he eventually began appearing on TV panel shows, his dream had always been to open his own London comedy club as a performance venue for himself and his colleagues.

Lee Hurst's Backyard Comedy Club opened in September 1998, with a bar serving only bottled beer, a homemade stage and a noticeable lack of heating. Within a couple of years, an extra bar, restaurant and air conditioning were added to a venue where Hurst, known for his cheeky persona, still performs at least once a week. Now one of the leading stand-up stars of London's comedy circuit, he also still appears at the Comedy Store -- although he's now the headline act rather than a faltering also-ran, ripe for boozy hecklers.

This Comedy Store, residing a few hundred yards and several light years from its original seedy home, has similar comfortable facilities to Hurst's club. A purpose-built 400-seat air-conditioned venue near Piccadilly Circus, the new Store -- regarded by some as Britain's National Theatre of Comedy -- is a calmer affair, with acts that are more conventional than the early days but also much funnier.

My first trip to the Comedy Store was in the late-1980s, when myself and two friends -- 19-year-old aficionados of comedy at a time when others where more into music -- headed into London for a night of beer-fueled hilarity. At the time, London clubs were few and far between but the Comedy Store was already a mecca of enlightened humor. Sitting a few rows from the stage, I laughed so hard I almost rocked off my chair and my abiding memory of the night is the sound of my friends convulsing at least as uncontrollably.

I've been back several times since, including a couple of visits to the new venue. These days, the Comedy Store never fails to deliver a good punch but I don't think anything could match that first night. By longevity and reputation, the Store has developed into a slick business, complete with shows every night and its own range of merchandising. It's joined in the professionalism stakes by a company that operates three branded venues in the capital, with 16 others throughout Britain, making it the world's largest comedy club chain.

Jongleurs Comedy Club opened its first London venue in the traditionally working-class area of Battersea in 1983 and now offers a popular formula of two hours of comedy, with up to four comedians, a food and drinks menu and a post-show disco.

A late-March Thursday-night visit to the trendy Battersea venue provided an indication of this highly entertaining set-up. In a large, windowless upstairs room teeming with long tables arranged on a scuffed hardwood floor, the venue's curved black-painted ceiling gave it the feel of an ancient, fire-damaged theater.

Behind the stage, the club's name -- wrought from torn strips of sheet metal -- created a distinctive backdrop, with a lone microphone stand set dead-centre and already under the spotlight. With $20 jugs of Kronenberg beer and $13-$16 bento boxes of crab cakes, chicken skewers and fire-roasted corn moving swiftly from the bar to the tables, an announcement came that the show would start in 30 minutes.
It began almost on time when a large, jovial master of ceremonies launched himself through the crowd and on to the stage from a door opposite. Deploying the standard attack strategy, he immediately set-upon those in the front row, moving effortlessly from a group of recruitment professionals still wearing their office ties to a table of South African visitors who looked decidedly perplexed for most of the evening.

Two hours of consistently good observational, satirical and even scatological humor ensued, performed by a self-deprecating northerner who didn't open his eyes for his entire set; a ribald Londoner who mercilessly lampooned a Princess Diana look-a-like in the front row and relied entirely on audience suggestions for his hilarious act; and a final, more conventional performer from New Zealand who talked entertainingly about the unexpected differences he had encountered since moving to Britain.

On the way home, I talked with my friend David -- who had joined me at that Comedy Store laugh-fest a decade before -- about the night's entertainment, and the near-the-knuckle humor that still draws the biggest laughs from most audiences. While Brits have a reputation for never discussing difficult issues, comedy has always been our best forum for broaching the most personal, offensive and taboo subjects -- the common, laugh-out-loud response an indication that jokes are a necessary outlet for an otherwise slightly uptight nation. Whatever the reason for the creative vibrancy of British comedy, there's an insatiable demand for public displays of humor here that is well-served by the kaleidoscope of comedy clubs across London and throughout the country.

If you go:
London's comedy clubs provide some of the best night-out entertainment available to locals and visitors. Performances at chain clubs, purpose-built venues and pub rooms are listed weekly in London's Time Out and Evening Standard. The website www.chortle.co.uk is also a great resource, providing both up-to-date gig listings, profiles of comedians and information on how to travel to venues.

Downstairs at the King's Head is located at 2 Crouch End Hill, a short walk from Finsbury Park Underground station (Piccadilly and Victoria lines). You can also take a W7 bus from the station towards Crouch End, which arrives at the pub in about five minutes. Admission is £6-£8 and performances are Wednesday to Saturday, plus occasional Tuesdays. Doors open at 8.00 p.m. For more information, call (020) 8340 1028 or visit www.downstairsatthekingshead.

The Comedy Store is located downstairs at 1A Oxendon Street, near Piccadilly Circus Underground station (Piccadilly line). Admission is £12-£15 and performances are every night from 8 p.m. For more information, call 0870 060 2340 or visit www.thecomedystore.co.uk.

Jongleurs Comedy Club is located in Bow, Battersea and Camden. Bow, at 221 Grove Road, is close to the Mile End Underground station (Central and District lines); Battersea, at 49 Lavender Gardens, is close to Clapham Junction mainline railway station (15 minutes from Waterloo); and Camden, at Middle Yard on Chalk Farm Road, is close to Camden Town Underground station (Northern line). Admission is £14-£16 and performances are held Friday and Saturday (plus Thursday at Battersea) from 8pm. For more information, call 0870 787 0707 or visit www.jongleurs.com.