28/09/06
Deep Throat Complaint -
Categories: Back in 1997, on probably my 6th or 7th gig, I saw Martin Davis do a routine (apparently one of his stalwarts) where he interrogates the audience and asks them 'what does every stand-up comedian need?'. The comedy answer - that he anticipates - is 'legs'.
But if you were to pinpoint one physicality that was an absolute necessity (and legs shouldn't be it, after all, there are comedians in wheelchairs), my choice would probably be the throat. That's not to say you can't be funny without speaking, even on stage. And don't think I'm referring to 1920's mime acts who were the comedy whores of the day (trying to play up to movie producers who could save money with no audio track); it's perfectly reasonable to do contemporary stand-up silently - check Claire Hooper's ingenious "cut throat comedy" from this year's Fringe.
But for many comics, it's the one tool in the box that can be both their biggest weapon and then their biggest hurdle - sometimes in consecutive shows. My acting friends can't believe just how little comedians take care of their voices, especially when it's more than just a delivery tool; it's a sign of our authority, and the most immediate indication as to how confident we appear to be.
I agree with them. I marvel at - and am quite jealous of - the screeching and hollering turns who never seem to even sound remotely croaky. At the Edinburgh festival that's just gone, I made the most conserted effort ever to look after my voice, from diet, to keeping away from smoke, to wrapping up warm, to giving it a constant diet of lubicrants, vitamins, and medication. As well as drinking so much water that when I moved quickly my stomach sounded like a waterbed at a gang bang.
And yet it still let me down on a handful of occasions, where it had gone too hoarse or too quiet. The problem is down to my vocal technique, but I've tried to talk in a more reasoned, relaxed manner, which I can (I do a 4 hour radio show every week that hardly upsets it) and the problem is, that my material simply doesn't work with it. For my act to work, I need to strain and stress my voice and I need to do it in a manner that doesn't strain and stress my throat. Regrettably, the only solution so far has been 'do less gigs'.
The other solution, which I've always sidestepped, would be to undergo voice training. Yet for some reason part of me has always felt that it would emasculate me in some way; it would be like saying that I can't do something as simple as 'telling jokes' without medical assistance. But this morning things reached a head when my agent told me that she had bumped into a fairly senior executive comedy producer last night who was a massive fan of my act but found my voice was just too strained to be heard comfortably. The upshot was, "we'd love to use him for xxx but he really needs to sort his voice out."
That was pretty much the last straw. I'm fairly precious about my material and my style of comedy, but not my voice. I'd happily have a laryngectomy tomorrow if it allowed me to take my comedy career up another rung or two. So long as I can keep the delivery, why should I care how I sound? What writer really cares what pen they use?
So, plucking someone randomly from Google, I've booked myself in for an introductory lesson next Monday, with an ordaned Buddhist who specialises in the Alexander Technique. On our first session, she's told me we'll spend 50 minutes concentrating on 'breathing'. Already some of my fears have dissipated; I really feel like I can't lose. Even if it makes no difference, there's got to be some material in this.
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