Referred to as one of the best interviewers in the business “mainly by himself” Dave Hill took time out from his busy schedule of updating his twitter and downloading films of Dogs on skateboards to interview Fix founder Harry Deansway.

DH: Want some candy?

HD: No. I don’t want some candy.

DH: You are the editor of The Fix Magazine. Pretend I have no idea what The Fix is. What is The Fix?

HD: I have no idea what The Fix is. I have been running it for 5 years.

DH: How many hits do you get a day? Because it used to be a paper magazine right? Why did you stop doing that?

HD: To save money. (Pause) You haven’t thought about any these questions have you?

DH: Yeah I have. I’m asking you clear and coherent questions.
(Laughs) God, why are you such a fucking asshole? Now it’s a website, how have things changed since not being a magazine anymore?

HD: My only problem with this line of questioning is that I imagine most people reading this interview will be reading it on the very website you are asking me about. So it will be a bit patronising for me to explain what that is. Would you not agree?

DH Um…Um. How are you enjoying Edinburgh?

HD: Well, weirdly this year I am actually enjoying it.

DH: Really?

HD: Yeah because traditionally I hate it up here.

DH: Why?

HD: There are many reasons.

DH: Why, what are some of the reasons?

HD: It is a rip off to the acts.

DH: To the acts? I have made so much money though.

HD: It is in Scotland.

DH: Which is lovely.

HD: No it isn’t.

DH: Where do you think it should be, Blackpool?

HD: I think it should be in London where the majority of the comedy industry is.

DH: Do you think there is room?

HD: Why not?

DH: Where would you put it like in Hyde Park?

HD: There is about a million venues in London.

DH: Hampstead Heath?

HD: Stop repeating places you know in London at me.

DH: Yeah but it makes it sound like I am knowledgeable. Who is your favorite comedian, besides me?

HD: Favorite comedian…Alive?

DH: No, just ever.

HD: Andy Kauffman.

DH: Oh, he is great. Who is your favorite living comedian?

HD: Apart from you?

DH: Apart from me. You probably can’t say, as you have to remain slightly diplomatic.

HD: No, well I always like to see Tim Key live.

DH: Hmm and you are close personal friends so you know you would get in trouble if you didn’t mention him.

HD: I always look forward to seeing my close personal friend Tim Key live.

DH: I really like Tim he is great. I think he is brilliant; I am using the words people use over here. That’s the American equivalent for ‘Awesome’- ‘brilliant’. But it sounds better because it makes it sound like the person is intelligent. Like in America you could just shit your pants and that could be ‘Awesome’ like whoa, didn’t see that coming. It wouldn’t be brilliant unless it was really well thought out pant shitting.

HD: That is sort of what you do isn’t it?

DH: Yeah basically, my comedy. I would describe it as so lowbrow. Sinking so low that it becomes high again. It is like if you run far enough South you will come back around the edge of the Earth and you will be going North and that’s what I do. Now you as it turns out have been staying with me quite a bit during this Edinburgh.

HD: You have very kindly put me up.

DH: Yeah very sweet of me.

HD: I can’t help thinking there is some ulterior motive for that.

DH: I don’t know, I’m just a good guy and weirdly I kind of enjoy your company. What’s the best thing about staying with me? Apart from the fact that it is a gorgeous apartment at no cost.

HD: I like your continual moaning about that one good review that had one bad line in it. I enjoy that; I look forward to when that comes up.

DH: You make it sound like I had one good review. I have had many good reviews. Many great reviews but I believe you are referring to a good review that had one bad line in it.

HD: I like the fact you have brought that up pretty much every day since you read it.

DH: It was upsetting to me.

HD: It amuses me and I look forward to you bringing it up.

DH: Everyday.

HD: Yep.

DH: I’m going to have to clean the tub for when my brother comes.

HD: When is your brother coming?

DH: Wednesday at noon.

HD: Is he?

DH: Yes so you have to be long gone.

HD: Is that official?

DH: Yeah. So you have to be long gone.

HD: Okay so thanks for 2 days notice.

DH: Two days, that like fucking 48 hours notice. Jesus.

HD: Okay so your brother has to change his flight.

DH: I just have to make sure the place is clean before.

HD: Yep. Well we will do that tomorrow.

DH: And I want to include this in the interview so it is documented that we discuss this.

HD: Right.

DH: I did some cleaning when you were out earlier today. I did some dishes, cleaned up a lot of the semen off the ceiling. Speaking of semen. How have you enjoyed Edinburgh on a sexual level?

HD: Very much so.

DH: Would you care to elaborate?

HD: No.

DH: Okay.

HD: It would be unfair on the women involved.

DH: I am surprised. Isn’t it unfair on them when the actual sexual encounter has taken place? Isn’t it already unfair?

HD: Yes and I think that is enough for them isn’t it? To have to go through all that with me talking about it on the Internet as if it was a good thing for them.

DH: Have you secured the services of a lawyer at all?

HD: For what?

DH: Any charges that may be pressed against you.

HD: I have a lawyer anyway.

DH: Oh you do?

HD: Yes.

DH: What did you do before you did The Fix?

HD: I trained as a chef in a Michelin stared restaurant called The Frith Street restaurant in Soho.

DH: Weren’t you impressed with my working knowledge of London before?

HD: You know London better than me. Especially for clothes shops. I mostly know food shops, pubs and restaurants.

DH: I’m getting a call.

HD: If this was an interview with the Guardian would you even have your phone on?

DH: Nope. Not even going to answer it because I respect you and your publication. What are the other questions I have for you? Oh. What is your best dish that you can make?

HD: Really?

DH: What? This is heading somewhere.

HD: I will take your word for it. I like simple dishes like a chili con carne.

DH: Sounds easy to make.

HD: Yeah.

DH: Like you could make a bowl really quickly for two people sharing an apartment who is letting you share for free…you could probably whip it up really quickly with very little effort. Just a bit of gratitude. What are the ingredients for a chili con carne you could make? Some meat, some tomatoes sauce, some spices and cheese and a little gratitude and a little consideration? That’s all it would take to make it. A little sprinkling of gratitude. Probably have that for dinner tonight in the house.

HD: Yes, my problem is going shopping for the ingredients because you don’t live near a supermarket that has the high quality ingredients needed to make something like that.

DH: Sounds like you have got a walk ahead of you. Are there any grocery stores in this town?

HD: Yeah, but they are all far away from your flat. I mean we have got a newsagent or what you would call a ‘convenience store’ really near our flat that doesn’t even sell butter. Can you imagine a shop in New York that didn’t even sell butter?

DH: No, that’s crazy.

HD: How long do you think a shop like that would last?

DH: I think it would last 6-8 weeks. Roughly if I had to ball park it.

HD:  6-8 weeks. Seriously, I want a serious discussion about that. A convenience store that doesn’t sell butter.

DH: Well you got it right there; it’s not very convenient is it? Not if you want butter.Why haven’t you come to see my other show yet?

HD: I have seen it in London!

DH: It was different. It is like months later now, it’s progressed, it’s evolved, it’s matured. Um, where do you see The Fix in the future?

HD: Bankrupt. So lets wrap this up as this has become quite dull.

DH: How are you going to edit this down to all killer no filler? Like a seven part interview?

HD: I think this is going to be down to a paragraph. Basically you are doing a chat show up here aren’t you?

DH: Who, me the Dave Hill Explosion? I am doing Big In Japan. Two shows.

HD: Yeah.

DH: What about them?

DH: I have had offers from BBC1, BBC2, BBC3; BBC4

DH: What have you learned about me in that time that you were like ‘Oh wow, I already knew he was a great guy and now I have learned this other stuff’

HD: There is this undercurrent of neediness.

DH: Oh yeah.

HD: I thought you were more together to be honest. I thought you were more on top of things.

DH: Every comedian has got neediness.

HD: Yeah but I thought you were more on top of things.

DH: I am though.

HD: Yeah but there is definitely an element of I am definitely not on top of this.
When I have seen you for 10/15 minutes in London you just seem to be on top of it and I respect that. Then spending an extended amount of time with you I realise that there are cracks to that.

DH: Yeah it is like standing too close to a Monet.

HD: Yeah, so that is what I have learnt about you.Wrap it up.

DH: I like your scarf. What is that? Like an ascot?

HD: if anyone was reading this then they will be like ‘WOW, he is a talented interviewer’.

DH: I am the greatest interviewer.

HD: There is no evidence of that in this interview.

The Dave Hill Explosion is at the Pleasance Courtyard, 11.00. Check Dave out on Twitter a medium that he excels in

Tim Key the star of last years Fringe sits down and chats to the star of this years Bo Burnham for an hour of self indulgence, deep comedy philosophy and back slapping, it’s also over 3000 words long . Editors note: Tim Key sub edited this piece, there are no end to his talents.

Harry Deansway: Shall I start with a serious question and you can maybe work…

Tim Key : …Um, I don’t know maybe start by wearing slightly more serious clothes

Bo Burnham: (Laughs out loud)

Harry: You can talk.

Tim: I can.

Harry: You look like you mugged some dead person in a charity shop or something.

Tim: Well it was in a charity shop.

Harry: Right.

Tim: And in fairness to you, the person who used to wear it is now dead.

Harry: As this is Bo’s first Edinburgh, what was your first Edinburgh?

Tim: Yep. 2001. So Bo would have been 11. I was in a sketch show called ‘Far Too Happy’. It was pretty good actually, a good sketch show.

Tim: Did you see it?

Harry: I was sleeping rough that year…

Tim: Were you?

Harry: …In Edinburgh that year, yep.

Tim:  (Ruminates on this for a second) Enjoying your first Edinburgh, Bo?

Bo: Oh yeah.

Harry: Had you heard of the festival at all, did you know anything about it?

Bo: Yeah, because I am a big fan of a lot of comics over here. It isn’t really known much in the United States and very few American comics come over. But I had known because I was a huge fan of like all these dudes like: Bill Bailey and Tim Minchin, Tim Vine and Hans Teeuwen and all these people. So I knew because I am a bit of a comedy nerd.

Harry: Bo became quite successful from recording something in his bedroom at the age of 17.

Bo: Didn’t we all?

Harry: I was going to say what were you doing in your bedroom age 17?

Bo: Make a joke.

Tim: Songs. A bit better than Bo I just didn’t think they were ready. I thought it was a bit arrogant to get them out there.

Harry: So you were doing the same thing…

Tim: Actually,I was in plays. I was doing theatre studies at A-Level so I was doing Midsummer’s Night Dream.

Bo: I was too. I have done it twice, who were you?

Tim: I was Bottom (Nick Bottom, weaver who plays Pyramus)

Bo: Of course you were.

Tim: I imagine you were probably Lysander (Beloved of Hermia) once and Puck (A.K.A Robin Goodfellow, servant to Oberon) the other time.

Bo: Holly Shit that was incredible! WOW. Oh my god dude, that was incredible.

Harry: Which one did he play first?

Tim: Well Lysander first of all – it was forced onto him owing to his looks. And then Puck – once he was in a position to call the shots himself.

Bo: Nope.

Tim: Dammit.

Bo: It was Puck when I was little in 7th grade when I was 12 and then Lysander when I was like 16.

Tim: Okay. Still no shame in guessing what the parts were that you played.

Harry: That was pretty good.

Bo: That was incredible.

Harry: Are you guys familiar with the ten thousand hour rule?

Bo: Yeah.

Tim: What is that?

Bo: Yeah, it is stupid.

Harry: You don’t agree with it?

Bo: No.

Tim: What is that?

Harry: If you want to master anything you need to put a minimum of ten thousand hours in.

Bo: How ridiculous is it to come to that conclusion specifically?

Tim: It is fucking horseshit is what it is.

Bo: I guarantee that guy didn’t spend ten thousand hours coming up with that. Know what I mean.

Harry: So you don’t agree with that?

Tim: There is probably something in it… No, it is horseshit of course it is.

Bo: That’s gauging every person as the same speed and ability as each other.

Tim: You have seen some guys who’ve put together a great show not long after starting out, surely Harold.

Harry: Yeah, but you can be doing it before you are actually, actively performing.

Bo: Just abstract and convolute it and you can make it win by anything. Like if you say “I was really practicing when I was talking to my friends” then you can find the ten thousand hours wherever you need to.

Tim: I did a… I taught English as a foreign language. This bloke would probably say it was part of my ten thousand hours.

Harry: Yeah. Well what were you like as a kid. Were you trying to entertain people then?

Tim: Yeah but I was hopeless then.

Harry: So that was a bit of practice wasn’t it?

Tim: Not all the time. Ten thousand hours though. What is that? How many hours is that?

Harry: Well the example is…I have read the book.

Tim: Oh for fuck’s sake Harold!  What have you put ten thousand hours into?

Harry: Not me, I not successful in what I do am I. Ten thousand hours into getting into debt. That’s what I have put in.

Bo: Well done.

Harry: Massively in debt. Ten thousand hours of being bad with money that’s what I have put my ten thousand hours into.

Bo: But that is kind of ridiculous. It is like saying ‘practice makes perfect’ but in a really specific, ridiculous way.

Harry: Okay so neither of you are in agreement with that theory.

Tim: And also I think you can keep doing it and doing it and doing it and ten thousand hours might arbitrarily be were you get really good. Another person about three thousand hours maybe is where they would get really good at it and if you look at where they are after seven thousand hours, they might have no understanding of how to do it anymore. It kind of goes in waves. You know it’s not always a clean arc of doing it more and more and more and getting better and better and better.

Harry: So do you think you have naturally got it and it is just working on it or?

Tim: Oh no. You definitely have to have a relationship between having some kind of ability and then a lot of hard work but it’s different for each person. That is what I have found. I have had to work really hard to make it work out.

Harry: Do you think there is an ideal age to be a stand up?

Bo: Not if it is self aware of what it is. Not at all. I think like 9 would be ridiculous but anywhere between 20 to whatever. You never say ‘what age is the perfect painter?’

Tim: That’s about 40. No. I think you are absolutely right. It is only athletics/ sport where it really matters. I could easily say that two of my favorite comedians who I really love watching/working today that one is 25 and one of whom is 55. It is very simple.

Harry: What about Bill Hicks. He started when hew as 16 in the clubs and by the time he had his peak he had bee doing it 10 years by really hitting his stride and became the Bill Hicks we all know.

Tim: A lot of people who are up here this year started very very young; Daniel Kitson started very young, Josie Long started very young. Maybe that is why they are so good at a young age still? But then it is possible to be very very good and started slightly later. Mark Watson is like 30 is he?

Harry: Yes.

Tim: Yes, 30 and he probably started doing stand up in earnest in his twenties.

Harry: So for the both of you what was the catalyst that started the ‘I want to entertain and do comedy’?

Tim: I think they are very different. By chance really, there is no plan to do this. I had a bit of luck just auditioning for something when I was at a loose end and that happened to be a thing with Mark Watson in it. It was a great show so if I auditioned for something that was absolute horseshit it would have been different. There were no plans to do that so after that there was a chance to work my way into it and then I felt like it was worth staying in it to see what happens for a bit. There was never really a powerful reason to stop.

Harry: Okay so there was never really a conscious thing of ‘ I want to be an entertainer’?

Tim: No. There was a vague thing. It is a very difficult thing to perceive it happening. Like thinking ‘I want to be a footballer’. How are you going to make money off entertaining?

Harry: OK and yourself?

Bo: Man that was boring. (Yawns).

Tim: I realized it was. I couldn’t work out what your face was doing.  I thought you were enthralled.

Bo: I think I always wanted to entertain; I am just a bad, bad person.

Tim: Do you think?

Bo: Yep.

Tim: Why?

Bo: Just a bad thing.

Tim: What that you were born to be it?

Bo: No, because I wanted to be it.

Tim: From when?

Bo: Born to be it is a horrible area/phrase.

Tim: From when?

Bo: When I was little I would always put on shows.

Tim: Brilliant. See I never did that.

Bo: I would put on ‘Bo Shows’ that I would put on when I was like 3 years old. I would get my friends around and stand up, sing songs and tell jokes. So I have just been a horrible person since.

Tim: This is very different.

Harry: Is that true?

Bo: Yeah.

Harry: That’s the ten thousand hours.

Bo: But I wasn’t the class clown or anything. I was always the kid at the back of the class saying ‘fuck this’. I could sit here and be like really humble and say that I didn’t really want it. But I have always wanted this and it is kind of horrible…Yeah, yeah.

Harry: Did you used to record your stuff?

Bo: I recorded the stuff online and that actually wasn’t posted as ‘this is my big break’ as no one knew what You Tube was, I never knew what You Tube was. I actually had this plan to go to college and do open mic nights and stuff.

Tim: Is that right? That’s great.

Bo: Yeah, so I posted this thing not even thinking about it because nobody knew the Internet had this power and if that hadn’t have happened I would not even be here, obviously. But I wouldn’t even be doing music in my act, if I had an act. I kind of stumbled into music too and found out I would just write a little lyrically. I feel like I write jokes rhythmically so I kind of stumbled into that which is lucky.

Harry: You both use different contrasts of traditional stand up. You have got your poetry and you have your music so how did that come about for both of you.

Tim: They were kind of two different things really. The stand up, I just did it for a bit. Did a competition or two and just found it frustrating. I wasn’t that bad, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. I did one good gig as well. Very good.

Harry: You get the bug don’t you? As soon as you get the first laugh or the first big thing that’s it, your in. You are hooked in and never lose it right?

Tim: The thing is for me it’s slightly different from that as you can get a big laugh and still feel slightly uncomfortable.

Bo: Yeah, that makes more sense.

Tim: You can get a big laugh and feel nothing, as you are not in an inner orbit where everything is working. You can always get individual laughs even if you are having a bad gig, you can do a bit of material that is always going to work and people will laugh but it is more than that really. If you are having a good gig everything kind of works; things seem more pyrotechnical. Some unplanned might happen and the room gets a certain energy;  something occurs in the room where you think ‘this is a very nice gig now’. You are in control of making that but it isn’t quite as simple as that. Of course, if you go on and say something and no one laughs it is going to unsettle you. But there is something a little more magical about stand up than that.

Harry: What, is he being boring again?

Bo: It is a typhoon. No, I definitely agree that laughter is not like the end point. Especially in a place like this. If you are doing ten-minute sets around the country for drunken people then go for it. I like being in control because you can always reach out to an audience and grab them and shake them until they laugh but to get them to come to you is so much more difficult, the nuance. Like anyone ‘CrAzY’ can get in your face and make you uncomfortable until you laugh but you can tell when stand up is either like aggressive or magnetic, if that makes sense. I think the magnetic stuff is really cool where the audience has to go to the guy. Instead of the guy having to go and beg for the audience. I think that’s when a gig is going really well and I feel as if I don’t do that. When I don’t to that I pussy out…

Harry: Pander to the audience.

Bo: Pander like…I don’t know. Apologise in one-way or another. Not like literally apologising but compromising.

Harry: It is until you get in the position where you have your own audience who want to hear what you want to do.

Bo: But that’s not even great either. I have been very lucky to have an audience.

Tim: You have your audience here haven’t you. Have you seen his show?

Harry: No.

Tim: It is pretty amazing. There is a real anticipation before Bo comes on.

Bo: My fans are very young and some people that come along are in their 40’s. I don’t know. If I ever get successful, like theatres and screaming fans the challenge and the accomplishment is gone you know? I don’t know if that is a good thing. I mean, of course it is a good thing like it makes you fight extra hard to challenge yourself and not disappoint them. At the same time not to disappoint yourself by doing new things. I think having a big fan base is more artistically challenging. Going into a room where they have never heard you and rocking that room, you will never feel better. Rocking a room with people that love you to begin with, you do not feel that accomplished…unless you do new stuff.

Tim: That’s it but I don’t feel empty if I do the show and people like it. I don’t think I have a mode where I can rip a room apart by not sticking to what I do. I don’t have a PLAN B per se. I don’t think I have a bunch of stuff to do and think ‘Okay, they love that but maybe I should have been a bit more adventurous’.

Harry: Isn’t that the unplanned stuff though, when you are interacting with the audience? That always feels unplanned.

Tim: That is very unplanned. But I mean the other way around.

Bo: He doesn’t have a fall back to think that this will fucking kill.

Tim: My stuff goes best when it feels fresh and new and I have that feeling.

Bo: It’s not like feeling empty inside. It is like I think about how I could do it a bit better. I don’t feel great when I kill a show with all people that know me. Will I ever feel as good as that time when the new kid that no one ever heard of and they came in like ‘what the fuck?’ Expecting the worst and getting something.

Tim: That’s definitely true.

Bo: And people will be like ‘play that song’. I don’t know. I don’t think it can ever be as good from obscurity and that surprise is so exciting. Being in control is the most important part. The most exhilarating thing about being on stage. This month in particular, isn’t like rocking the show with applause breaks and laughs. It is like feeling in control and feeling like I could do anything. Feeling absolutely comfortable and feeling I have completely controlled the pace but at the same time it feeling completely organic. Like this is rolling well but I am not feeling like I am calculating it. Not counting in my head for beats or anything. Particularly in that room, I am in a small room they can see me, no matter where I wander on stage so like there are moments when I was like wondering around stage telling jokes, unaware of where the audience was. For the last ten minutes it has worked and that is really fun.

Tim: So what are your aims for this month Bo? Do these shows and fuck off or…?

(Laughing)

Bo: Yeah, Abso-fucking-lutley. I’m out of this place. I have never heard of any of you or your newspapers.

Harry: What do you do afterwards? Do you go back home or go to London?

Bo: I go back to Boston.

Harry: Cool.

Bo: It would be nice to do some stuff here but…

Harry: You are busy right?

Bo: Yeah, but people blow everything up though. Like I don’t sell many tickets in America. Millions of Internet hits mean nothing, they are false numbers and I will be the first one to admit that.

Harry: It is about opportunities though right. You both have good opportunities at the moment?

Bo: Yeah, yeah I am not complaining about it but people like to blow things up. People like to grab onto a gimmick. Like a 19 year old American from the Internet.

Tim: I guess what we both have is if we write a new show it is possible to find an audience that will watch it because they are interested in what we are doing.

Bo: Yeah.

Tim: Like my Edinburgh last year I had a very fun month because the people in the room were really interested in seeing me. So I had that and that is a very nice position to be in.

Bo: I told people that I would only come back here if I had something really cool or something really weird so I am not sure if I will be back next year because I am not going to rush back into it and capitalise on anything if I can’ have a decent run in.

Harry: Sort of what your doing Tim?

Tim: No, absolutely not. That is a very simple reading of the situation and a misreading.

Harry: I am only joking.

Bo: No, you are right.

Harry: That is how we are going to end it.

Tim: I will show you a tally of my finances to show you how much I make from this. It is fucking mind blowing!

Bo: Title this article ‘Three guys, two stupid blazers’.

Tim: Excuse me, this is not a blazer, it is a Safari Jacket.

Spending most of the year on tour either playing to a handfull of people or thousands supporting his showbiz pals Tenacious D, Neils life is never dull however it is very depressing. Harry Deansway talks show-biz with Americas funny man.

HD: Er hello is that Neil

NH: Yes, yes, yes it is

NH: How are you doin‘?

HD: I’m very well how are you?

NH: Never, never better, I have to say

HD: That’s good news

NH: Yeah, yeah.  So you’re calling from far away I take it?

HD: Yes, London, London Town

HD: Where am I calling you? Are you in Los Angeles?

NH: Right now well we’re just outside of Los Angeles.  We’re just outside it in a little town called Sewage Grove and, uh, we did a show out here last night in Sewage Grove and, uh, we’re driving to the next show which is uh, oh about 700 miles away
They’ve got a lot of work for us today, you know?

HD: That’s show business as they say.

NH: As they say

HD: So, um, where are you based?

NH: I have several sheets of cardboard in the back of the car and I usually sleep under those or on top of those.  Outside of, you know, what ever town I’m playing in

HD: Oh… um, so you don’t have like a… you’re always on the road are you?

NH: Last year we did 399 shows and we travelled 100 and 2,618 miles and uh performed for a total of 610 people so yes I do a lot of shows

HD: Wow so let’s start at the beginning, how did you get in to show business?

NH: Well I don’t know that I really have gotten in to it yet. I’m still a little bit ambivalent about this I’ll tell ya. This is no sort of business to get if to if you’re trying to make yourself proud. This business is truly degrading and demoralizing.

HD: Why do you keep doing it then?

NH: Well I have no choice do I?

HD: No, does it pay the bills?

NH: Well it’s not paying any bills because I am so far in debt due to a bad contract I signed with these pricks. 90% of my wage is garnished by these attorneys. I’m haemorrhaging financially.

HD: Wow. So its not been going very well but you’ve persevered at it, but you get gigs right? People book you?

NH: I get gigs every night of the week. I have too many of these shows the problem is of course with the pay being garnished I’m essentially doing these for no reason. It’s sort of like being in prison and being forced to make license plates but uh, you know, I’m gonna give it my all night after night anyway, I tell ya. I do shows, I do so many shows.

HD: So is it the big gigs that keep you going, you’ve supported tenacious D?

NH: Well I mean maybe yeah in a way, I mean they are sort of depressing too because of all the hatred and the booing.

HD: Fucking hell. How do you feel about your press? A lot of it describes you as not very good. I mean you don’t get many good reviews do you?

NH: I mean we do and we don’t. We do get some of those hatchet job sort of journalists and I think a lot of those guys they have mental problems or sometimes they’re on the payroll of competing comedians you know you’ve got Carrot Top and Dane Cook and some of these guys have a whole payroll, you know, paying journalists to say bad things about others, so that’s what you have there.

HD: But you don’t ever feel like a lot of promoters book you because they’re laughing at you as opposed to laughing with you?

NH: Boy that is… You have a bleak world view over there.  I thought the sun shone all the time over there and everyone was in a good mood and then you hit me with questions like that.

HD: I was researching it and a lot of the articles were saying ‘worst comedian ever’ - really harsh criticism you know…

NH: Oh you are… You are not a nice man, no I know what you mean you do get some of that….

HD: That’s not my opinion!

NH: …well no, it’s okay. I mean you’re just reading it. I know you’re not writing it. Not yet anyway.  I hope not. For God’s sake. Please be kind.

HD: What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you on tour then? Maybe even made you want to quit?

NH: Well, you know, I can’t say this is really so bad because in fact it was quite an interesting moment but I did a tour with Tenacious D and at Madison Square Gardens. Sold out crowds 17,000 – 18,000 people, they started chanting ‘Asshole’ during the set and it would not stop and so I’ll tell ya - you haven’t lived until you’ve stood on stage at Madison Square Gardens by yourself whilst the entire house is chanting ‘Asshole’ at you. Now, I would not say that was a bad thing, that was actually quite interesting, you know. A bad thing is you know, more, you show up at one of these Indian casinos and, uh, y’know the place is boarded up after you’ve driven 700 miles. That’s my idea of a bad thing. Or another time a guy urinated into a cup. I asked for a drink on to the stage and the guy handed me the drink, this is in New Orleans, and the drink is warm and I’m thinking ‘I didn’t order a hot buttered rum, why is this drink warm?’ and of course one sniff and you realise it’s this mans uh urine, which was no doubt infected with Hepatitis B.

HD: Oh my God. (laughs) Sorry, that’s really bleak.  I’m really sorry to hear about that.

NH: … you know, I’ve done shows with some of these horrible rock and roll bands too and, you know, there’s nothing worse than, uh, stepping off the stage and the next guys to step on it are the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and you know before you know it you’ve got an undiagnosed case of ear cancer, because the music is so horrific you know. So that’s another problem.

HD: You’re quite famous in your sets for sort of insulting people, am I correct there?

NH: Well, it’s not something that I would like to be doing but occasionally you do get a ‘sickie’, somebody with a mental illness  in the audience that insists on saying things. Occasionally, you do have to respond in kind but I would not say that is something that I’m proud of, its just something that does happen

HD: Are you familiar with The Fix magazine at all? The magazine that this interview’s for…

NH: Say this again I’m afraid the connection is a little bit distorted and you sound like you’re talking through a pillow

HD: Are you familiar with The Fix magazine that this interview’s for?

NH: Uh, no I’m not. I’ve heard that it is the place to be, magazine wise but you know I’ve not seen it here on the news stands …or in the recycling bins.

HD:  It hasn’t made it to the US yet but yeah…. we insult our readers and I was just wondering if maybe you had some insults  for our readers? Would that be possible at all?

NH: Well… I don’t know the readers yet y’know.

HD: So you’ve got no zingers for The Fix readership?

NH: How about ‘fuck you’, huh? Fuck you asshole. That’s your fucking zinger - go piss up a rope, you prick. No, I don’t’ have any because I need them to do something to me. Now, if one of your readership were to send me a shitty email I would have something shitty to say back to the prick. But uh… as it is righ now you know you’re just asking me to say horrible things to people I’ve never met and for all I know this is a big set up. Maybe the zingers should go to you, maybe I should be telling you to go fuck yourself because maybe the readership are all people who are handicapped, you know… and you’re trying to get me to say that I hope they go down a flight of stairs but I didn’t know that they were handicapped when I said that and it just makes me look bad this whole thing seems like an incredible set up you know what I’m saying?

HD: Okay Neil sorry….

NH: I mean what if your readership are sweet, sweet 12 year old girls, you know. Sweet little twelve year old girls that love cartoons and then you’ve got me saying go jam a candle up your ass while you finger fuck yourself and then the next thing I know I’m being done up in British court for saying these things to these sweet girls….Pre-teenage girls. Very sweet. Really in to strawberry short cake so I don’t think this is fair and I will not take part in it.

HD: Okay I’ll apologize if I’ve overstepped the line in any way

NH: Fair enough

HD: Well it’s really exciting that you’re coming over to the UK, thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to talk to us

NH: Same goes to you. Thank you for your gifts to the world in the form of writing because as you know so many people –their gift to the world is pissing in an alley, and you know for someone to do something different and try to communicate ideas to people – that’s a step up and I sure appreciate it

Neil Is in Edinburgh from the 16th to the 22nd http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/comedy/neil-hamburger and The Soho Theatre from the 23rd till the 28th http://sohotheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/24509224/events

My parents have a room which is rarely used in their house. It’s a posh room, used only when there are guests or at Christmas. My friend Chris called it a “Drag Queens Dressing Room” and I thought I’d just simply list what’s in it. Because it’s horrific. First up red and cream walls, adorned with old maps of Ireland and watercolours of plants. There is a 5 piece suite which is floral and dark green, plumped with hot pink cushions, a black and white cushion, brown cushions and gold, floral cushions. In the corner is a broken 4 foot tall lamp, whose bulbs bloom out of 12 tulip shaped sockets. My dad took it out of a skip. On the fireplace there is a marble egg, a picture of me looking like a peadophile in my graduation threads, a Toby jug and a small 10″ bust of Julius Caesar which my dad says ‘your grandfather took from Hitlers bunker.’ He was a chef in the Navy. Scattered around are pictures of family, including one of my Mum and Dad dressed up as a cowboy and a barmaid, taken in the 1980s. It looks like it was taken in the 1830s. Then there’s my dead Nan’s ornaments in a cabinet. Porcelain babies on their hands and knees above 17 wooden horses depicting the story of ‘The Horse Trying to get the Flea off its Back.’ The piece de resistance is the Christmas present to my dad from my 83 year old next door neighbour. It’s about the size of a wine bottle and is made of pink cardboard. It is shaped like a Disney turret whose bricks and windows have been drawn in Biro. At the top is a label which says ‘Brendan’s Christmas Bell Tower.’ Keeping the tower erect is a box. My dad opened it and found a large slab of Cathedral City Cheddar Cheese. A cheesy bell tower. I think I’ll end it there.

Hipster comedian David Cross releases his latest comedy album Bigger and Blackerer as a double CD and DVD package this week. We caught up with the star of Arrested Development to chat about his origins as a stand up, Mr Show and the British genes that help him hold his drink.

Harry: I just wanted to talk about the early stage of your career, when you were at Catch A Rising Star, because I imagine it was different to if you were to start out now.

David Cross: That was the second beginning I had. I started when I was in Hight School in Atlanta. I didn’t get very much work, and nor should anybody in that first year unless they’re really good. I would just get spots here and there, open gigs doing a week here and there at various shit holes in the south. I did that for a bit and then stopped when I moved to Boston. That was really a much more creative, burgeoning comedy scene. It was much more established, and I found way more like-minded peers there, and we started out together. I don’t know about the UK, but they’re popular certainly in the States, Janine Garofalo, Louis CK, Marc Maron.

Harry: What year was it when you moved to Boston?

DC: It would have been… 83

Harry: And what was your early material like?

DC: At the very beginning when I was in Atlanta it was very absurdest and Andy Kaufman-esque. I did big characters and tried to make the audience uncomfortable. I was trying to become myself. It was jokier. It didn’t start getting into the personal commentary stuff until I’d been doing it at least 3 years. At least. Keep in mind I was 17/18 years old, just fucking around.

H: Was there an audience for the type of comedy you and your peers were doing?

DC: Yeah, they were at Catch A Rising Star in Cambridge. There were very distinct differences between the older, entrenched, establish Boston comics, and then the up-and-comers who emulated them and there were the weirder, esoteric comics and the people that emulated them. There were about half a dozen rooms just in the city that catered to the old school thing. There was certainly Catch a Rising Star and a handful of other places that encouraged what we now think of as alt-comedy. There weren’t that many.

H: Was there friction between the old school and new school?

DC: A little bit yeah. They considered us smug, pretentious and elitist, and they were right, we were smug and elitist.. They were definitely right though. We were cocky, but we had a reason to be. This is going to sound insanely grandiose, but we arguably changed comedy. Not just the handful of us, but that movement did. Not that we sat around saying “Hey, we’re changing comedy”, but we just did. We were proud of getting up there and offering something different to what everyone understood as stand up comedy; a guy with a skinny tie and a jacket with rolled up sleeves saying “You know what sucks about the DMV?”.

H: So how long did it take before you felt like people were getting it?

DC: A lot of things were concurrent, one was that almost at the same time a handful of people  became very popular,  Janine Garofalo being one of them and some people going on Saturday Night Live. It seemed that a bunch of things happened all within several months.

H: Was that after about two years of doing it?

DC: No, it would have been more than that. About 5. There was a show that I did in Boston, a sketch show that was very weird and that became quite popular. Then I got a job offer to moved out to LA to work on the Ben Stiller Show. People who had risen to a certain level in Boston were starting to move to New York and LA, writing for Letterman, that kind of thing. It seemed like it happened all at once, it was just all these things happened concurrently as media changed a bit. Stand up stopped being the sole province of the guy that tells jokes on the Johnny Carson show and all these weird shows started popping up.

H: How did you go from stand up to TV work?

DC: I would say the single biggest stepping stone was writing on the Ben Stiller Show, moving from Boston to LA, writing on the Stiller show, meeting those folks, working with them, meeting Bob Odenkirk and Bob and I being part of the alternative scene in LA.

H: Was Bob a stand up then?

DC: No, he came out of the Chicago scene which was much more sketch orientated, and he had a one man show. I remember I had a set at the old Improv in Santa Monica and I had arrived early or I was bumped back, whatever it was, I had an hour to kill and I saw that Bob had a show at this old theatre, the Up Front. So I stopped in and I was watching from the back, and I was like “Wow, this is really close to what I was doing in Boston with my show.” So I talked to him afterwards, (at this point we knew each other, we’d worked together on Stiller and had a lot of mutual friends, we’d hang out at parties and stuff) So I told him that it was similar to the stuff that I was doing, and I invited him to the Improv that night. So he came down, saw that it wasn’t just standard stand up, then one thing led to another and we ended up doing Mr Show.

H: How easy was it to get off the ground?

DC: It wasn’t difficult at all. It took a while, it took longer than I think other shows have to go through, but we were virtually unknown. We did our show live, that’s all we were thinking of doing.

H: Called Mr Show?

DC: We had a bunch of different names. The first time we did it it was called The Three Goofballs, another time we did it we called it the Grand National Champions… or Championships, then we called it something else, then we called it Mr Show and sort of settled on that. It wasn’t a permanent thing though, it was just something we did to satisfy our own creative needs, and then HBO and ABC came down. The community at that point was getting a big buzz out of it and whether it was Mr Show or someone else’s show, we’d all work on other people’s shows in this room at the back of a dying discotheque. We did it a couple of times, and then we did the Aspen Comedy Festival and had a terrible, terrible, awful show there. We weren’t awful, the audience was awful. They were really terrible.

H: Too rich?

DC: Entirely. Too rich, too tired, too German. Then HBO gave us a hundred dollars to make four shows, we did that. Then we had to wait half a year before we were told we could make six more shows, we did that then waited another half a year… it was one of those things. And that was the story of that. It’s in the Bible.

H: Did they meddle at all in that? It sort of felt like you were left alone to get on with it.

DC: No, they were great about that. They had good reason to be. They knew our strengths and our weaknesses and their strengths and their weaknesses. Their strengths aren’t writing comedy shows, their strengths are saying, “Well, we want to stand out from these other networks, so let’s do something that can’t be on regular TV. You’ve got our blessing, it’s on at midnight, don’t worry about it.” They did not meddle at all, they trusted us and it was a wise business choice on their part.

H: How have you got into the British psyche for this project (The Increasingly poor decisions of Todd Margaret)?

DC: Well, I haven’t, and I think that would be a mistake. I was watching Monty Python when I was 13 years old in Roswell Georgia, I didn’t get all of it, but I got enough of it. So if a 13 year old, southern American is going to get British humour, I think it would be a mistake to cater to it. Funny is funny, whether it’s from this side of the pond or that side. Also I found out it’s not a pond, it’s a fucking ocean. Plus I’m co-writing it with a British writer, in a production office in London, so I have enough people to say “Well, we wouldn’t say that, we wouldn’t do that, or we don’t know what that is.” But it doesn’t happen often.

H: Have you watched many of the golden era of British sit coms, Dads Army that sort of thing?

DC: No, I haven’t. I certainly have my favourites and things that I love, but I don’t think a lot of them are ‘classics’. I just saw my first Father Ted not too long ago, but as far as ‘Every Mothers…?’

H: ‘Some Mother’s Do ‘Ave ‘Em’?

DC: Yeah and…

H: ‘Only Fools and Horses’?

DC: Yeah, I haven’t watched  a lot of those. I have my current favourites from the past decade or so. I wouldn’t like that kind of thing, regardless of whether it was British or not.

H: Do you think you were always destined to be a comedian? Is there anything else you could have done?

DC: Yeah, I think if I’d have learned music I could have been a good musician or song writer. Or if I’d have concentrated on photography I could have been good at that. Or a wet nurse, I think I could have been a really good wet nurse. I could have been a guy who designs spoons if I’d have put my mind to it.

H: Why do you do comedy? Is for entertainment? Is it to make a difference?

DC: (Laughing) No, it is not to make a difference.

H: So you don’t have a mission?

DC: No. Zero. None. If it’s a side product of it, great, but that’s not my goal. I’m not consciously setting out to do that. I guess the short answer is that I enjoy it. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t enjoy it. I try to do things that I enjoy and avoid things I don’t enjoy. I’ve been very lucky to be adept at the things that bring me enjoyment and equally inept at the things that don’t bring me enjoyment. Nobody wants to put a chainsaw in my hand say, ‘Go cut some trees down’.

H: You talk quite a lot in your comedy about drugs and alcohol. How did you get into all that?

DC: I never did it a lot until college. I think, like most kids, I was about 13 when I first got high. It was very strange, but made me feel grown up. I was very bored living in Atlanta. It was something to alleviate boredom. I didn’t do that well on strong pot and I didn’t do anything stronger until I was 19 in college. Then I did a lot of it. The first time I took acid I thought it was the greatest thing ever. I took it quite a bit. Not every day or every week, but it was a lot. There were a lot of trips.

H: What do you think was so appealing about it?

DC: Have you ever taken acid or mushrooms?

H: Mushrooms, but I’m not in control of my emotions…

DC: I like the challenge of it. I just like that you can’t experience it in any other way except for doing that thing. You can’t recreate it or replicate it any other way. I can’t verbalise it.

H: It gives you a different perspective on things, which is great for comedy.

DC: Sure, and you laugh a lot on it. You laugh so hard that you get a stomach ache the next day. That’s a good thing.

H: What period was the most prolific for drug taking?

DC: Probably between 1983 and 1993. I certainly continued to take them, but once I got busy with writing I didn’t have time to do them so much. But I’m a big drinker, I’ve always drank. I don’t know if it’s my British genes, but I have a very strong resiliency. I can hold my liquor. More than you would think to look at me.

H: I read in an interview that you’d said a lot of your Hollywood film work had made you quite wealthy and I just wondered how being in a position of wealth has affected your comedy and creativity. I think that the best comedy comes from the downtrodden.

DC: That’s the myth, I think when you’re hungrier you create more, you’re more prolific. When you are given an outlet and it becomes your job, you match that prolificness because you have to, you’ve been given this opportunity. It’s an interesting question, and I don’t know what the answer is really. I’d have to live in an alternative universe where I didn’t become successful and see if I still did comedy. Certainly a lot of the other things wouldn’t exist.

H: You can judge it based on the fact that you’re still popular for what you do.

DC: Yeah, I’ve just done stand up, just released a DVD, so I guess the answer is you can do both. Or at least I can.

H: From my perspective, if I got into that position I would become lazy.

DC: There are long stretches of laziness, but once you get a job, even if it’s something that’s not the greatest thing you’ve ever done, you still want to be professional and do the best you can. I’ve never stopped creating.

H: Do you see any positives in religion?

DC: If one needs religion to live a better life, that’s as big a positive as anything in this world. If there’s something that can make you lead a better life, then sure. I resent the implication that you have to have it in your life, but if it helps you be a moral and decent person, then fine. I never advocate for the eradication of religion. It’s an absurd thing to try and do. That’s the only positive I see. It’s a very broad thing to say, but at least we can all agree on that. There are a lot of people who are involved in sex slavery who honestly believe they are good people, but that’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is what we can all agree on; the right way to live your live. Outside of that it’s not good for anything. But I also don’t need a book to tell me what to do.

H: But there are people out there who do.

DC: Yeah, and if they need to be scared into to doing the right thing then so be it.

The Fix asked Tim Key to contribute something about his show. He sent this back about forty minutes later.

I was flattered to be asked to contribute something about my show (The Slutcracker) to this magazine (The Fix). I (Tim Key; pretty) immediately said to old Harry (the Editor; I’ve met him) that I’d be happy to contribute a poem to his venture (this magazine), the idea being it would give my show ‘the oxygen of publicity’ which would – with luck – contribute towards helping to publicise my show (The Slutcracker, 9.50pm, The Pleasance Courtyard). My exact words (to Harry) were: “Harry, I’m in”. The poem I chose (to send to Harry) is this one (as follows):

Poem #733.
“I’ve killed nine people”.

I believed him because he was sweating.

And because no one would ever think of saying nine.
And because I’d seen him kill a couple of ‘em with my own eyes.

I chose it because it’s not in my show (not good enough), but it also captures the essence of my show (the poems in my show are not good enough, either). I
suppose if it’s about anything (which it isn’t), it’s about feelings that I suppose we all get sometimes, or situations we all find familiar for one reason or another (it isn’t about anything).

This year’s show is an advancement on last time’s outing (The Slut In The Hut; 2007; scratchy). I have tried to reel in the drinking and have enlisted the help of a voice-coach in order that my speaking sounds much more as if it has been coached (as opposed to being natural/believable). In addition to the poems (most people dislike poems), there are other things which people who don’t like poems (it’s rare that you meet someone who likes poems) might prefer to poems (“poems” – ugh). So the show will have a miscellaneous element that will weave throughout. There may be music, or mind-reading, or an assault course, or porn. But the majority of it will be poems (poems are not so bad), because that’s how things have gone (rightly or wrongly) in my life (recently; Christ). Tim Key’s show (The Slutcracker, 9.50pm, The Pleasance Courtyard) is on daily (see prior brackets for details) at 9.50pm in ThePleasance Courtyard. Tim Key (the swarthy bastard who does the poems on Newswipe) is 32, and has a technician man (Fletch), whose responsibilities include blackouts, lighting, sound, and prompting.

The journey to Edinburgh can be a long, tiresome trek,  coming from London you can fly, drive or train it.  if you are really on a budget, you can coach it.  either way you will be travelling with fellow weary performers, who have just spent the previous six weeks writing and rehearsing and trying out their shows.  some may be eager to start, happy with their polished routine, others apprehensive at the thought of being exposed as plain old rubbish!  however there is a sense of camaraderie as everyone avoids the usual questions  like ”you ready?”, “how are your sales looking?” etc etc.   these are steered clear of as you never know who else sharing your mode of transport is also Edinburgh bound and in what capacity.  audience members, reviewers/gossip mongers, the pr fraternity…oh its all too much, cant quite relax, its a stressful nightmare.  so arriving in Edinburgh to your final destination, usually an expensive flat you have only ever seen in pictures on the net, is eagerly awaited.  if you are lucky, it’ll be a joy.  one year i arrived, laden with heavy bags, up 5 flights of stairs,i was ready to collapse.  i opened the door, having finally found the right key, dumped the bags in the hall and made straight for the lounge.  i couldn’t wait to take the weight off my feet.  as i entered the lounge, there on the mantle piece,above the fireplace, was a life size oil painting of a golliwog.  I was immediately transported back to 1977, s London..a nightmare had just begun again.  innocent as it was, i tried to find the funny…did so for one night and moved out the next.

“The journey to Edinburgh can be a long, tiresome trek,  coming from London you can fly, drive or train it.  if you are really on a budget, you can coach it.  either way you will be travelling with fellow weary performers, who have just spent the previous six weeks writing and rehearsing and trying out their shows.  some may be eager to start, happy with their polished routine, others apprehensive at the thought of being exposed as plain old rubbish!  however there is a sense of camaraderie as everyone avoids the usual questions  like ”you ready?”, “how are your sales looking?” etc etc.   these are steered clear of as you never know who else sharing your mode of transport is also Edinburgh bound and in what capacity.  audience members, reviewers/gossip mongers, the pr fraternity…oh its all too much, cant quite relax, its a stressful nightmare.  so arriving in Edinburgh to your final destination, usually an expensive flat you have only ever seen in pictures on the net, is eagerly awaited.  if you are lucky, it’ll be a joy.  one year i arrived, laden with heavy bags, up 5 flights of stairs,i was ready to collapse.  i opened the door, having finally found the right key, dumped the bags in the hall and made straight for the lounge.  i couldn’t wait to take the weight off my feet.  as i entered the lounge, there on the mantle piece,above the fireplace, was a life size oil painting of a golliwog.  I was immediately transported back to 1977, s London..a nightmare had just begun again.  innocent as it was, i tried to find the funny…did so for one night and moved out the next.”

Chris Sievy AKA Frank Sidebottom has very sadly passed away today. Frank Sidebottom was the 1st cover Star of the Fix magazine and therefore is a very important figure in the Fix’s history. He was a fantastic entertainer, unique the very definition of a one off. He will be sorely missed. In tribute to Chris/ Frank we reprint the 1st ever Fix feature.

I have spent the best part of five hours on a National Express coach travelling to Manchester. The on-board chemical loo leaks a toxic sludge of bleach and human effluent every time we navigate a corner. Thankfully, a gentleman clutching a bottle of Famous Grouse is propped up against the toilet door, asleep, and his torso separates the rest of us from the slime, if not the smell.

Dismounting, I am struck by the irony of travelling so far and in such discomfort just to sit on another coach. At least the next journey will be in the picturesque town of Timperely and not on Britain’s degenerate motorway system. And – the clincher as far as I’m concerned - it will be hosted by Frank Sidebottom.

Frank first came to the nation’s attention in the 1980s on a 12-inch record given away with ‘The Biz’, a computer game for the ZX Spectrum programmed by Frank’s creator, Chris Sievey. His musical offerings were rapturously received - the nasal twang of a thirty-five year old puppet-faced man living at home with his mum striking a chord with many ZX Spectrum users.

If you were being kind, you could describe Frank’s style as ‘naïve’. Every song - mostly cover versions - consisted of just three chords, exhibiting a refreshingly scant regard for musical protocol (for example, how the original song actually sounded). As a matter of course, each number would be sung in an adenoidal whine and end with the refrain ‘You know it is…it really is’ or a variation thereof. (e.g. ‘Oh baby, baby it’s a wild world…You know it is…it REA-LLY IIIIS.; ‘I am a material girl…You know I am…I REA-LLY AAAAM.’ etc.)

Numerous musical releases followed and in 1985 Frank even had a stab at a Christmas No 1 with “Oh Blimey it’s Christmas’. His budget Argos Casio keyboard was beefed up for a succession of UK tours with the Oh Blimey Big Band in which Marc Radcliffe and Jon Ronson both made regular appearances.
By the late 1980s Sidebottom’s prodigious talents had earned him his own television show. These were his glory days, but he wasn’t satisfied. Frank chose to abandon the band’s simplistic sound for lush arrangements. Fans were confused and frightened by the music’s newly acquired professionalism and attendances tailed off at his shows. Worse still, more aggressively populist puppets like Ed The Duck and Roland Rat began to grab greater TV ratings. Frank quietly disappeared.

Fifteen years on, there are hints of a revival. A mosaic interpretation of Frank has gone up in the National Portrait Gallery and - the reason for my visit - he’s giving guided tours of Timperely, the place he has always called home.

As I approach the tour bus I can seem him – half-man, half marionette - gesticulating wildly to a massed crowd of fans. His papier mache skull has now been upgraded to a smoother, fibre-glass finish, but he is still instantly recognisable: a pair of beaming blue eyes framed by a side parting of jet black hair, pasted to a perfectly spherical head.

Frank bleats some rudimentary safety advice through the tiny hole in his mouth as he ushers us onto the bus, distributing an intricate felt-tip pen drawn map of Timperley to each passenger. First port of call is Timperley’s lowest point: a canal side gravel car park. ‘Careful of your ears popping’, warns Frank as we descend.

Next stop is Timperley Zoo, where two bored donkeys stand side by side with some ducks, or ‘swans’, as Frank would have them. It feels rather odd to be led through a town by a puppet-man shouting at you through a PA system. More so when he tells you that your bus is taxiing for take-off. Some of the adults on the bus laugh at this, and Frank appears as offended as it is possible for a man with only one facial expression to look.  The driver puts the coach into an inappropriately high gear and we lurch forward, pressed into our seats as the bus accelerates from 20 mph to 30 mph. The children on the bus giggle excitedly and I realise I’ve not stopped smiling since the tour began.

I contemplate what is so captivating about Frank. Beyond his obvious comedic talents there is something refreshingly straightforward about him. His joyful flights of fancy are the antithesis of the cynical, mechanically rehearsed delivery of comics like Jimmy Carr. He says nothing controversial or distasteful, refusing even to divulge the details of a Coronation Street actor’s affair as we pass his house in Timperley: ‘Go to a library and read through all of the News of the Worlds from the last fifteen years’, Frank suggests. ‘It’s in one of them.’

By now the five hour National Express journey has started to catch up with me. All I’ve had to eat all day are some Hula Hoops and a packet of Wine Gums. I feel a bit dizzy and the trip seems to be taking on the qualities of a mental dream. We are no longer on the tour bus but in a pet shop. In amongst the cages, tanks and Tony Blair dog chews I spy Frank. A large parrot is perched on his shoulder. Feeling groggy and slightly hypnotised by Frank’s eyes, I become obsessed with what he might look like without his mask. I speculate that a hard enough blow would puncture Frank’s head and expose his true visage – a hideous Darth Vadar-esque deformed face, perhaps. Or maybe even a human version of his papier-mache head, but the size of a tennis ball.  
Thankfully the urge to violently attack the man I have come to interview subsides and I am able to listen patiently as Frank launches into a monologue about how to keep animals/ his mum alive. The pet shop has now been packed with bemused Sidebottom fans for twenty minutes. Nobody has bought any animals and it seems the owner’s patience is exhausted. We are asked to leave.

Outside, Frank is greeted with an almost religious fervour by locals. People bib him on their horns as they drive past. One man comes out of his house, shakes Frank’s hand, and tells him how much he’s looking forward to his Labour Club gig that evening.

The tour having juddered to a surreal conclusion, I follow Frank to a junk-filled car for our interview. I have to sit on my knees in the front of the car, shouting to him over my seat. Crammed uncomfortably on the back seat, Frank looks as though he has been kidnapped by a lonely painter and decorator. He tries to salvage some dignity from the situation by pretending the car belongs to him:

FRANK I thought we’d do it in my car. You don’t get any sound through the windows do you?
Right, what did you want to ask me?

FIXHow’s the tour been going?

FS What, the bus tour? Very good actually (shakes keys in dictaphone)…if I do that you won’t be able to hear anything will you? I’ll hand my car keys to somebody else (hands keys over to friend). It’s not your car; you’re looking after my keys…Er, what was the question again?

FIX What made you start doing the tour?

FS Right, well mainly because it’s quite a walk to the chippy, so I thought, if I incorporate a tour then I get a free ride there and back, and I don’t have to walk. So it’s been successful from that point of view. Also there’s a lot of little known facts about Timperley, that…er…I don’t even know. So I’ve not included any of them. But the rest just makes it slightly interesting…and the main thing is it gets me out of the house and from under my mum’s feet, y’know?

FIX So you still live with your mum?

FS Yeah… (Frank arches his back defensively). Why…have you moved out?

FIX Nope. I’m exactly the same.

FS (Happier) Well there you go then. You get the best of both worlds and a free ride to the chippy.

FIX What’s the worst argument you’ve had with your mum?

FS The worst argument? I think when she found out I’d been trying to flush bits of the lawnmower down the toilet. I tried that, and they wouldn’t go. So I put them under my bed, and they went rusty, and they made a stain on the carpet of a lawnmower in rust shape. That’s how they did the Turin Shroud, you know. They got Jesus when he was rusty, or something, and that’s how his picture is on the carpet. It’s photosynthesis between my bed, my mum, toilet water and a lawnmower. But, I was only using the bits of lawnmower to try and repair my robot.

FIX Do you collect robots?

FSI don’t collect ‘em. I make ‘em. Well, I make It. I’ve got one I’m working on at the moment. It’s called Robottom. That’s a light-hearted joke name between ‘a robot’ and my last name. But that’s the only thing that’s light-hearted about it. The rest of the robotics is deadly serious. I’ve been working on it now for 21 years, and when it’s finished, I will show the world. But it’s not quite finished yet.

FIX How long do you think it will be before it’s finished?  

FS(Bored) I dunno, they take a long time don’t they? Building them does, anyway.

FIX What about artificial intelligence? Has it got that?

FS (Slightly annoyed) Aye, I’m doing a robot, I told you. But it’s just taking longer than I thought, that’s all. If you’re going to get it right…I’ve got the name, did I tell you the name?

FIX Yes. You used to work for ‘Oink!’ comics didn’t you?

FS I used to write for the comic and do my own page with felt-tip pens. If you leave the tops of felt-tip pens they dry up. That’s a tip for if you’re thinking of going into writing comic things: keep the tops on your felt-tip pens.

FIX You’ve just started to make a comeback haven’t you? What have you been doing for the last few years?

FS Well, it’s not so much a comeback, it’s just that my mum said ‘you can pack that in’. When she found out I was in showbusiness she went up the wall and across the ceiling. She said ‘Go and get yourself a proper job’, right? So I got myself a proper job…well, when I say proper job…a high-falutin’ job. Have you heard of a company called Hot Animation?

FIXEr…

FS They made Bob the Builder and the Pingu, right? So I was in this high falutin’ job then looking after…I was in charge…yeah, you can quote me on this: I was in charge, well, when I say in charge, I was equal with Ronnie- sort of 50-90 in his favour. Yeah, I was in charge, with Ronnie, of the car park. While I was in charge of the car park I happened to write an award winning episode of Pingu. And you can quote me in green biro.

FIX What was it like working with Pingu?

FS It’s just plasticine. I’ve not spoilt it for you have I?

FIX Yeah, you have. I thought it was a real penguin.

FS It is a real penguin. It was an honour to work with him, but I found him a real pain in his trailer, asking for things like ‘Can this Coca Cola be a bit more colder, please?’. And I would go and run it under the cold tap and put ice-cubes round it…Oh no, not good enough for Pingu!

FIX Has he been to Timperley?

FS (Getting very angry) HE’S A PIECE OF PLASTICINE! You stupid man. Anyone knows that, unless you’re about that big (points at floor), everybody knows it’s plasticine. You see that picture on the front of the box? That is not me. That’s like a cross between an action man and a garden gnome and you move it. That’s how it’s done. Do you not watch ‘The Making Of.’..anything…Disney, Spielberg, Paul McCartney’s Frog Song? IT’S ALL THE SAME! It’s just moving things: sometimes drawings, sometimes models, sometimes things that I don’t even know- computers. That’s how they do it. That’s what I’ve been doing here really, in Timperley…moving things around…In fact, I may set up a removal company because I am very good at moving things. Anyway, I’m going to be moving along now to Timperley Labour Club to set up my projector ‘cos I’m doing some slides tonight…’How To Buy Pets’. Christmas is coming. Don’t just buy a dog for a day- don’t throw it away on Boxing Day. Keep it for…well, until at least January 8th.

FIX Before you go, is there any reason why Little Frank doesn’t appear in the tour? Artistic differences maybe?

FS (Getting angry again) It’s because he can’t stand up on his own because he’s made of cardboard. And the head is heavy. There’s no support for the cardboard body. It just falls on the floor. AND IF HE THINKS I’M PICKING HIM UP EVERY FIVE MINUTES JUST TO STEAL MY LIMELIGHT…he’s got another thing coming. He can come out and do five minutes at the concert, and that’s his lot…A song if he’s lucky.

FIX Well thanks very much Frank…

FS Anytime you’re in the area…AND I ALWAYS AM!

IN MEMORY OF FRANK SIDEBOTTOM 1956 -2010

www.franksword.com and www.myspace.com/franksidebottom

Words by Alan Scab

American: The Bill Hicks Story is released in cinemas this week. Entertaining, informative and fucking hilarious Nick Helm talks us through the most exciting project Bill Hicks has been involved in since his death.

In all honesty I was never really into Bill Hicks that much. I was always more of a Lee Evans fan. My appreciation for him has certainly grown over the years, but it began so low that its increase barely registered.

Over the years I’ve read books about him and watched his old cable specials, I even bought a couple of his DVD’s, and although I have grown to appreciate him and respect what he achieved in his short life as a comedian, I wouldn’t say I was ever enthusiastic to the point of being a fan.
I think the primary blame for my lack of interest was an old school friend I had that absolutely bloody loved drugs. He used to make me watch Bill Hicks routines to back up his arguments in their favour. Not only did it put me off Bill Hicks, but it put me off my friend and many of his interests.
It wasn’t until a few years ago when I was starting out as a stand up myself that I rediscovered him. I was working in an office and I managed to find many of his gigs on bootleg and I listened to them on constant rotation on my iPod to get me through the daily grind of tedious data entry. It was then that I began to really form an appreciation for him as a performer as I heard his routines honed from gig to gig until they became the routines that have become his calling card from the afterlife.

Recently I was lucky enough to see a press screening of the new documentary American: The Bill Hicks Story by film-makers Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas.

The film consists of a series of revealing talking head interviews conducted with the Hicks’ family and contemporaries, charting his career, his battles with substance abuse and censorship and ultimately his untimely death.

In avoiding conjecture and hearsay, Harlock and Thomas have created an intimate and moving portrayal of one of the most influential comedians of the late 20th Century. It’s easy to say that this documentary, along with a proposed Hollywood Biopic starring Russell Crowe, signals a resurgence of interest in Hicks’ work, but the reality is that since his death he has only grown in popularity, his presence being felt on both sides of the Atlantic from Doug Stanhope to the current London Open Mic Circuit acts - proving his influence is still very much alive and strong.

The film uses an animation process that takes thousands of pre-existing photos, and new ones, and combines them using CGI to create a moving scrapbook of Hicks’ life and career. As we hear about Hicks’ life from then points of view of those that knew him best, the process makes sure that even though Hicks was unavailable to comment on the story of his own life, he is still very much the focus of the piece and although the films visual style takes a while to settle down at first, it soon merges with the spoken word gelling the film together as a whole.

The real treats within the film are the archive footage of his early performances, meticulously pieced together from hundreds of hours of video tape loaned out by the Hicks Estate. The footage shows rare clips from the very beginning of Hicks’ career, before his political leanings took centre stage, and reveal that had Hicks wanted to go down the path of crowd pleasing observational comedian he would have done it with ease and great skill.
Although later famous for his abrasive attitude and frustrated anger at 1990’s American society, it is possible to let the eclipse the fact that Hicks was also incredibly funny.

It’s easy to forget when watching him on video at home or on Youtube that this stuff works much better in the intimate setting of a comedy club. However like the early concert films of Richard Prior or Eddie Murphy or the forthcoming release of Louis CK’s new film ‘Hilarious’, seeing Hicks’ material on the big screen with a live audience filled with fans of the man and the genre, brings the material to life again.

It’s absolutely essential that this film be seen in a cinema with an audience. Stand Up has been downgraded over the years to something that can be caught on late night cable TV or diluted to an inoffensive string of glaringly obvious observations. Which is perhaps the biggest testament to the film. In seeing Hicks in context, with an audience, it shows him to be still undeniably relevant to today’s audiences.
If you already know Hicks’ work then this film is a must, painting a sympathetic and detailed history of a true American artist and revealing the human being beneath the routines. If you are unfamiliar with the man, which according to the film makers is about three quarters of all their audiences, it’s an essential film as it serves as, if not the definitive telling of the Bill Hicks legend, certainly a close contender.

AMERICAN: THE BILL HICKS STORY is out in cinemas Friday May 14th