Pepper&Salt talks to Alex Kealy about his new Edinburgh Fringe hour – ‘The Fear’ – pretty much going through his incredibly compelling press release point by point in response to the intellectual dog-whistle that it presents. That being said, this is “a heart show, not a head show. But also a head show.”
What’s the elevator pitch for your show?
The elevator pitch for my show is that it’s called The Fear, and it is a show about fear and anxiety, my own relationship with that as a sort of more anxious than the average person, as many comedians are. I’m currently brewing some of that, I’ve done the reading but I’m still writing the essay.
How would you define ‘the Fear’?
In a way I’m more comfortable in some way on my own personal material, but I’m still digesting a few books that I’ve been consuming about the more political, intellectual elements of that. I suppose it’s the capacity to seize failure from defeat, the innate capacity to overconsume or need more, or not be happy and satisfied with what we’ve achieved, which is kind of a partly biological need in a calorie scarce world ; an inability to feel self-satisfied is an important evolutionary device, but it’s a terrible societal one. We have within ourselves the seeds of our own destruction because we’re programmed to not live in a world of abundance, and therefore we are not satisfied with our lot even if we should be.
Just generally speaking, why have you chosen the Hive as your venue?
I think there’s a there’s an implication in your question that I would gently push back in which is, what are you saying that the Hive is a grotty basement where dreams go to die? Where dreams go to thrive? One, I’m a big The Hive fan, delighted to be back. Two, every good venue in Edinburgh is a broiling, sweat pit ; if you’re in a room in Edinburgh which isn’t physically uncomfortable, congratulations you’ve chosen a show that isn’t sold out. But like all Edinburgh venues, it’s a charismatic dungeon and I love it in there. It’s got a real feeling of being in a cult of people that are excited. It’s underground, literally, it is under a bridge, and it’s a really atmospheric, lovely stage, good lighting, all the audience in front of you. I know that sounds like a mad thing but it’s not in the round or it’s not a 180 degree or large wings. If we talk about threat perception, I’m able to see the audience the whole time, which is ideal, so that’s good. So, I mean it’s like, it’s a brilliant room, I love that room.
What does a ‘UN administered power sharing agreement with the voices in your head’ look like?
That’s a quote from my sort of predictions about this show, and I suppose I’m saying with that, my aim wouldn’t be a full triumph over my capacity to overanalyse things, and therefore kind of anxiety. I wouldn’t be able to say, “I’m now going to become the person who lives most in the world, I’m going to be like the king of being a zen Buddha,” but instead, I think more just little less self-doubt, little less self-anxiety, trusting the communication that occurs in comedy, to trust that. A lot of the anxiety and overanalyses comes from worrying that people might misinterpret you and not have good faith towards you, and it’s actually just understanding that the capacity for communication, the capacity for mutual self-enjoyment.
How indicative would you say your press release is of the spiral that we can expect from this new hour?
The spiral? I’d love the show to take us on a spiral, that sounds very structurally elegant. How indicative? I would say, some of it is already correctly indicative, and some of it is a challenge that I deliberately shackled myself to force me to hit that writing brief. And I won’t say which is which. I can see where I’m going with some of it or at least there’ll be enough. I don’t think I won’t answer the exam question, I might go off topic a bit. But I think there’s a chance that it’ll be more, it’ll feel like a more personal show this year, but there will be inevitably political points but it might not really have a proper noun in that they don’t talk about moments, a person or a thing that’s currently happening, but just have more general points about how we work. Which is nice when you see stand-up that’s political like that because the downside of doing political stuff is if it’s like, “I’ve got this great bit about Gordon Brown,” but it’s like, “Tough, it’s dead that bit.” So it’s nice to create stuff that survives. Like the Bill Hicks stuff about George Bush isn’t lasting, but the Bill Hicks stuff about, “You’re in marketing, kill yourself,” like that whole routine has a longer shelf-life cause it’s a point about marketing needing to sell and corrupting art as a result.
I’ve got at least one joke – if Rishi Sunak calls the general election, which I’d love him to because he’ll lose and then we’ll start the process of Britain getting slightly less shit. But equally, one of the jokes will have to be cut if he does that, and that’s fine because I’ll write three more jokes as a result of the election being called. But it’ll be sad to say goodbye to my engagement analogy to Rishi Sunak.
Apart from your own, what shows would you recommend?
I always recommend Stewart Laws as a sort of, former director of mine, I think he creates a show that you really buy into his world very quickly and has a particular way of speaking and constructing little jokes that start as these kind of snowflakes and densely flow into an avalanche of call-backs as the show goes. And then he’s also able to smuggle in – sort of in a way that Acaster’s done in previous shows – of making a show about an idea, or an emotion or feeling or some larger point, but only if you so care to look at that, and he’s not shoving it down your throat. You can kind of go, “Oh, that’s a show about grief,” or like, “Oh, that’s a show about a relationship.” He comes at it from an angle, and I think it’s very delicate and playful as a result. And his show is called Stuart Laws: This Guy Has To Be Joking At This Point, or just This Guy Has To Be Joking. [Stuart Laws: Stuart Laws Has To Be Joking] Which is a funny title.
Could you tell me a little about you podcast, Gig Pigs. How has that been going?
It’s where me and Ivo Graham take another comedian to go watch a music gig, and then we go talk about that gig afterwards and about the comedian’s relationship with live music more generally. We’ve had some really great guests on there – like James Acaster, Lou Sanders, Nish Kumar – and go see great bands, and it’s basically of a love letter to live music. So, if that sounds fun, and I think Ivo and I have good chemistry. There we go, that’s an exclusive, I think I have good chemistry with my best friend. Crazy.
People are like, “every podcast has been done,” and I’m like, “No it hasn’t, it just happens to be very administratively complicated. Not every idea has been done, just the ones that are convenient.” The extra thing of it’s a lot of work in the sense of trying to schedule evenings where we’re all free to go watch a band, but equally, live music is the one thing in the world that’s sort of, the one art that’s better than comedy. It’s been an excuse to watch like thirty gigs in the last year, and it’s been amazing, it’s just the best thing. So, I think that enthusiasm comes across in the podcast. I think we’ve only been negative about one band. I’m almost trying to be slightly critical each time to prove that there’s some element of the band that I can criticise, so that you know that my enthusiasm is real.
By Katerina Partolina Schwartz
Photo Credit: Matt Stronge
In Shakespeare, the role of the fool and the king are very distinct, with the idea that a fool can’t be a king and a king can’t be a fool. How do you think this applies to the modern context?
I think in comedy there are no kings. Because sometimes it looks like a comic could be , but it’s like, “They’re the smart person with all the answers and they’re going like ‘bang!’ and nailed them.” But there’s always a way in which they’re the fool and they’re trying to be the fool. I think in the end, it always should be that the joke rebounds on the performer in some way. If you’re a smarty pants onstage, it’s funnier if you’re tying yourself in knots and that there’s a joke. I would say that Nish is very good at this – Nish Kumar – has always got very well-thought-out political takes that are laser-guided, correct critiques of those that deserve it, but I think he’s always very good at being a silly billy, being someone who a joke rebounds on and finds ways that he’s low-status. Some audiences do, some audiences want a smarter person then to reflect their own opinions back, but I think that’s already selected, curated audience for an act: I think most audiences find it’s like it’s an ick a bit. And whether or not that’s a good thing, I just think it’s a thing in human nature that we didn’t pay to find out you’re better than us or smarter than us particularly, or we’re fine with it but you better fall over twice in a show, you better like fart accidentally, The role of comedians is just the joke should bounce back on you in some way.
Ideally the targets should deserve it, you can do jokes which are just like: person in power said this, they actually did that, here’s a way of detonating that in a funny, quick, concise way. Or like; this is a thing, you say that, but you know the joke’s around that and the character joke of you should be back at you. I think it’s important to centre jokes say about my own hypocrisies, that we’re all hypocritical and centre jokes. Not in a way that dissolves correctly critiquing bad things that we do in society, but I just mean like, we’re all flawed, and it’s tension reducing to see your own understandable flaws reflected back at you by stand up, as well. It’s not me bounding on stage being like “I murdered someone. See, look how courageous, now forgive me for it!” It’s knowing that those small negativities are part of the human experience. And having that in a funny way, reflected back is good. And I’d much rather see someone acknowledge their faults and a funny way, as a comedian then see, like someone perfectly have the right opinion. I had a joke in my last show about not having a Fairphone and a joke about people getting radicalised by long videos on YouTube and that’s terrible because I now know that I don’t have the attention span to become a fascist; I think that’s a funny joke, it’s just an unexpected direction to go. Just little things like that and trying to make sure, we’re not here to find out you’re a good person, it’s not called stand-up great person, it’s not called stand-up opinions.
Pepper & Salt 
Leave a comment