Dave Gorman is Genius

Dave Gorman is Genius…

…and I am not. Genius, that is, unlike Nina who having submitted an array of ideas was invited down to appear in the programme. I was allowed to come too. What a brilliant thing. We’re both fans, Nina having got into Gorman’s books a few years ago, and brought me into the fold of his followers. Of all the gigs I go to, I think Gorman’s crowd are the friendliest, which is kudos to him if you go by the theory that the fans of a celebrity reflect upon the celebrity themselves, in the same way that kids are a reflection on their parents.

The filming was happening at the BBC in London. We found the audience gate, outside of which were a motly collection of men and women of various ages, naturally, we joined them, they were Geniuses. Through the security scan, we walked up to the iconic BBC building. I joked that I would ask for a look at the Blue Peter garden, but I felt privileged and a bit awed to see the fountain that Roy Castle danced around, and the large BBC mounted on the outside wall that is often shown on TV. Getting closer though, and certainly inside, the place felt like an old fashioned municipal building that was due to be sold off for redevelopment. I was still excited though, even when the green room was overcrowded and we had to sit on the floor behind a sofa.

I had anticipated that I would be left in the green room with the other hangers on, but I got to sit at the back of the studio. I watched the big cameras working in what seemed a narrow space, and listening to the men who were building the set bickering. They went at it until there was a hush. I wouldn’t have noticed, but Dave Gorman had appeared. Slender, early middle aged, a man in grey with no evidence of star quality. He began to talk politely to the Geniuses in the way of a university professor. Coherent and kind, radiating intelligence and also a kind of tiredness. I had seen him live a couple of times and it came to me that he might be about to have a bad time on set. It was a transitory feeling because we were ushered back for a cheap sandwich buffet and some warm coke (diet coke, not the coke that the stars have to take, allegedly).

I had a good front and centre seat for the show. It was a thrill watching the make-up people go around, and looking at the roughly made set be transformed by the orange lighting. The cameras were huge, and the blackout curtains tall. All of the production assistants were beautiful and outgoing and had celebrity style, they wore black. I’ve never fancied a career in the media, but I did begin to appreciate why someone might want to. The celebrity guests came on (there were two, but no more spoilers here) hugged Gorman, took their seats and then the show started.

Apart from the view being blocked by the cameras, it was like being at a gig. The show went on at a fast pace, keeping the energy high. Dave Gorman was the stage version of the man I had seen before, animated, enthusiastic and funny. I looked up at the screen showing the camera’s eye view. The motley audience were transformed. As though sprinkled with magic dust, they seemed so much more than themselves, perhaps more pure, as though distilled down and intensified. Nina did her bit towards the end. Just a small bit. Maybe it will make the cut. It doesn’t matter because it was a great day anyway.

Only a few of the links were re-shot. That was a bit boring, but one of the guests in particular kept people entertained by asking the Geniuses who hadn’t been involved to talk about their ideas. The come-down was sharp though, and with momentum lost, Gorman became grey Dave again. After the show, he remained kind, staying behind to chat to people, sign stuff and have his photo taken. Nina naughtily kept her prompt card signed by Gorman (she was supposed to hand it back). We went away giggly out into the warm London air to one of the most uncomfortable coach journeys ever.

It was worth it though. Dave Gorman’s show is going to be Genius.

Saturday 5.9.09

Nick and I had an evening out. In fact, it was a just the two of us kind of day, with a romantic morning that had me feeling contented all day, a slow domestic afternoon (with an anxious wobble when Nina's train was late so that we couldn't set off on time), a meal out, and a Dave Gorman stand-up show.

The show was in High Wycombe. I've taken to being willing to drive for an hour or two to gigs. I find it makes it something of an occasion, and there's a sense of control in not waiting for the unlikely event of the world making a visit to Coventry. In many ways, going to High Wycombe (a straight run down the motorway if 1 hour 30mins, car park £1.50 next to the theatre) is easier than going to Birmingham (20 miles of urban traffic, hard to find car-park, feeling of threat on leaving squalid venue). Nick and I had a good talk on the way down, about work stuff and potential college stuff. Mundane, maybe, but important and somehow too easily avoided in day to day life. We had hoped to get there early enough to have a nice meal out, but having set off late ended up at McDonalds. We are nothing if not predictable. High Wycombe is a surprisingly pretty down to earth market town with a picturesque parish church at centre. Seemingly it is populated in the early evening by teenagers laughing and shoving each-other good naturedly, playing football. Their voices echo up and down the paved main street and around the narrowing network of back-streets.

We got to the Wycombe Swan to find the crowd that had gathered for a Queen tribute show (it may have been the Ben Elton We Will Rock You show, I'm not sure). It was a crowd of women with permed hair and men in sports coats. The youth of the 1970's are in later middle age and look incongruously conservative considering they were about to celebrate the work of a flamboyant tights-wearing, gay, parsis Indian with perfect coloratura. Hmm, you may need to Wiki that. It was a bit of a wobble for us, but closer examination of the tickets showed we needed to be at the Town Hall around the corner. I will remark that it is quite something that a tribute act was attracting a crowd over three times the size than the one for Dave Gorman, but also say that Dave is in his ascendancy, and next year, if he wants, he may be playing the big, big venues.

One of the joys of the gig was that it was the kind of crowd where people were talking to each-other. We talked to a couple of men about the Queen gig they had ended up at too, and at the bar I had a lot of fun. I was served by a slightly terse bar manager. She handed me my two Bulmers. "You'll have to top your glass or finish the bottles here.", she said "You can't take the bottles with you." The man next to me grinned, teasing. "shame" he said. Yup. I swigged the two gluggs from each bottle. We laughed.

I'm not sure how much to say about Dave Gorman's set. It was a very enjoyable evening, made more so because he caught my eye at the end of the first joke, I was hooked, so shallow am I. The first half was warm, sweet conventional stand-up with some unusual topics. I felt that some gags were very much in the linguistic style of Frank Skinner. No rude stuff though, I could happily have taken a kid of twelve. There's a delightful playfulness to him (although for me, the laughing at your own jokes in order to make the audience laugh was a bit overplayed). The second half utilised Gorman's well practiced stage methodology. He was incredibly slick, it seemed to me that it was a tough thing to do, and he made it look easy. At the end of it all, I think that Dave Gorman is a storyteller who can turn a commonplace happening into lightness and warmth. He's also strangely attractive on stage, and I understand better the reasons for his having a devoted following. Nina's the real fan in the family, and she would have loved it. By way of compensation, I've booked for her to see him at Warwick in March. That's the way I roll.

Sunday 8.3.09

Quiet Sundays are the best. Nick and I had a bit of a heart to heart which cleared the air, and a companionable lunch.

I spent the afternoon watching the DVD of Dave Gorman's America Unchained. This seems to be a diary of a car breaking down and the search for petrol. I'm amazed the man can put himself through these adventures, they mostly seem miserable and quite lonely. I was browsing his fans, they seem to think he's a wacky, hip, matey guy. I can't see him that way, and looking at his replies, neither does he. I liked the way the programme has been filmed though. It has a photographic quality to it, especially the second half (camera person was swapped half way through). Now I'm thinking about it, it comes to me that most of the filming was done at sunrise and sunset (the times when the car wasn't moving), after all, how much road can you film? Perhaps this is what gives the appeal, all those pink skies.

After watching it, I was taken by a fit of guilt. The thing is presumably his livelihood, and there it all is in segments on Youtube. I e-mailed him to let him know, but as Nina pointed out, Dave will, surely have people who check Youtube for him to get things taken down.

I had two simultaneous conversations on Facebook today. That's never happened to me before, it was like being at a party, but without the crisps. I'm not very good at making a go of that kind of conversation though, I fear offending people, and I'm ashamed of my poor spelling.

Rich and I had a nice chat. He has got his scholarship for his MA so will probably go to China. I'm so proud of him. We agreed to go to the Edinburgh festival too, and maybe we will.

Wednedsay 4.3.09

Nina was home sick today, so we spent it together comparing music and YouTube clips. I did a bit of domestic stuff quite ineffectively then went to the supermarket. I bought some sweet treats for Nick's birthday tomorrow, a good bottle of wine, and I a card I'm pleased with. It felt good putting it all together in a gift bag and hiding it away to bring out triumphant tomorrow.

Andrew Collins has published the photo I sent him on his blog, complete with picture credit. I got a little buzz seeing it. My life has evidently got very small indeed.

The evening's big thing was going to a book reading in Birmingham by Dave Gorman. Nina was uncomfortable but she had looked forward to it for a long time, having been a fan since she was 13 - a long time if you're 18. We sat on the train beside a man who was looking at the NATO website on his laptop. Opposite him, a woman of about 30 was talking loudly into her mobile. It was a work conversation detailing some employees she wanted to fire, the difficulties of deploying chefs when they had family commitments, and her being aggrieved that Colin was taking one of her top people without asking. In her hands was a poorly looked after Radleigh briefcase. Nina whispered that I used to be just like that. I had been thinking the same thing. Just before we got into the station, the four of us got into a good humoured conversation started because Nina disclosed that she was too scared to learn to drive, recounting a go-cart pileup aged eight. NATO man laughed, and the woman said that she had been frightened too, but is fine now and is an Opps Manager. It was a nice moment among strangers on a train.

Waterstones in Birmingham used to be a bank and has retained its fine old painted plasterwork, brass stair-rails, and gilding. It is quite church-like, in a comfortable way, and lent the reading a sense of occasion.

Our expectations of Dave Gorman were high, but different. Nina I think had thought of him as a jack-the-lad and had felt a personal connection with him that she thought would be reinforced by meeting him. I had expected an intelligent, self absorbed man with determined views. Nina started the evening a little rattled as her friend had said the as far as he knew, Gorman was an 'arrogant prick'. We agreed we wold be open minded and make a decision as to whether we wanted to get tickets for his stand-up tour based on how it went tonight.

As it turned out, Dave gave a proficient if fast reading, enlivened a little by the fact that his Mum was in the audience. He allowed lots of time for questions and answered them politician style with rehearsed responses he counted on being able to include. I had the feeling that he wasn't giving much of himself, and didn't want to. There was some openness when he talked warmly about America being a good place and about us having the wrong idea about it. The last question was about his views on the work of his former housemate and writing partner, Danny Wallace. It struck me forcefully that he replied that he was thought of as a "bad man" because he was no longer in touch with Danny and had not read his books or seen his film. He protested too much that they had just been colleagues and that seven years was a long time. It all felt raw and painful, even though it was an answer that he had obviously used before and that I had seen written down on line before.

The queue to get the books signed was long, but Dave signed Nina's sellotaped and tea stained copies cheerfully. I wondered around, conscious that Dave's voice projected cheerful bonhomie that was just a little off key. Glancing across, his smile was present in wrinkled cheeks and smooth lips, but not reaching the eyes.

Nina said she wasn't sure what she thought of him and wanted time to think. She admitted to a little disappointment. I had found him engaging, but probably for all the wrong reasons, will I buy the stand-up tickets? Oh, I expect so. I sent a message to Dave on Twitter to say thanks and that he made it look effortless which, technically, he did.