Colm O'Regan: What a joy to replace existential angst with traditional angst
Colm O'Regan find his feet once more as he embarks on his first gig since lockdown. File image.
It was just one gig. But still, there’s a big difference between nothing and anything at all. There’s a lot of suspended animation in the Going Out And Doing Something industry at the moment. Everyone’s waiting for some foolah at a golf-do or the Carnivale De Killarney to bring the virus home and Typhoid Mary it around the village. Waiting for those in charge to realise that this is an Actual Industry, and not “something we do because we’re a bit, you know, that way inclined”.
The Theatre Royal in Waterford decided to say: "Feckit let’s see what we can do within the constraints", and put on some gigs in August and September. And they gave me one.
I approached it with trepidation. Is it irresponsible to be bringing people into a theatre? It’s one thing to shop for food, but it’s another thing to put your big beardy head on a poster and ask people indoors. But I was immediately reassured. When I arrived, I was guided two-metres-edly to the stage without going near the auditorium. From the stage, I could see how well-spaced the seats were reserved. Everyone would be seated in their group. A row between each group. The spacing, in fact, was familiar to me from many years of gigging at venues where the venue manager was expecting a lot of walk-up, but then of course there was that Big Funeral In The Town that probably put the kibosh on it.
For the soundcheck, the sound engineer handed me the mic in a sterilised bag and I attached it myself. A symbolic handover that will be repeated a lot in future. Written into the ceremony like altar servers handing over the cruets.
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I sequestered myself in the green room.
A green room! With tape around the door to show it was sanitised. Not because it was going to be associated with the scene of crimes against comedy. Or rather not only because of crimes against comedy. A toilet nearby that said ‘Act Only’ which could mean that it was solely for the artist’s use. But I chose to take as an instruction to only go in there if I was going to actually do something, not just for a think. But otherwise it was a green room much like all the others I’ve stewed in over the years. What a joy to replace the existential angst about whether I’ll gig again with the traditional angst of a green room. That time when I am alone with my jokes as they seem less and less funny to me. Telling the front-of-house staff that I don’t mind waiting a few minutes for the stragglers. Or like, forever. I don’t mind waiting forever. Honestly, it’s grand. I can hang on.
But I have to go on. For a moment I struggle to remember the name for what I’m feeling. It’s adrenaline. I stumble around in the backstage darkness and wait for the ‘Leigh Anois Go Curamach’ of the fire safety announcement. I announced myself and stepped out. I knew it was going to feel strange gigging in tangible, in-person 3D instead of Zoom. But the first strange feeling was that I wasn’t wearing any earphones. Imagine that. No buds wiring into me. The audience made a noise and I heard it immediately. No one wandered in carrying a hoover and then backed out. I’m fairly sure everyone was wearing trousers. And off I went. Talking my usual nonsense.
If I get one more gig this year, I’ll call it a tour.
