A far from sheepish sense of humour
Like a lot of Canadians he loves ice hockey. The long-suffering Vancouver Canucks are his team. They’ve lost three Stanley Cup finals in his lifetime, the last one in 2011, which have been occasions for great dismay. Every 15 years his people get to burn the city down, is how he puts it. He sees the similarities between ice hockey and hurling.
“I was actually in a cab in Dublin once,” he says, “and the big final was on (the All-Ireland) and I was talking to the cab driver about it and we were having a nice little back and forth. He was teasing me and I was teasing him, and I asked: ‘So what is hurling?’ and he said, ‘It’s kind of like your ice hockey, but we don’t wear any of the girlie pads,’ and I said, ‘We wouldn’t wear any pads either but we’re playing against North American men.’ You would have assumed that I had shot his dog from the look he gave me. ‘Come on. It’s the craic. What are you talking about?’ That was when I realised that the craic only is the craic when an Irish person says or does the funniest thing.”
Wool has been suspicious about the bluster of the Irish since before he first came to here to do stand-up in the late-1990s. His grandmother is from Coleraine, Co Derry. She was a war bride, and settled with her husband in Canada’s remote Northwest Territories after the Second World War.
“St Patrick’s Day is big in North America,” he says, “but even as a child I think I saw through that: ‘OK, it’s probably not going to be like that.’ My girlfriend — sadly, we’ve broken up — is Irish. I took her to North America on several occasions, and it was very embarrassing being with an actual Irish person in America during St Patrick’s Day because of their perceptions. Anytime she talked, the response was: ‘Oh, you must be a drunk, huh? You’re Irish — you’re a drunk. Get it?’
“Then she would tell them real stories about Ireland and say that not everyone drinks, that some Irish people don’t drink at all. The response would be: ‘Whatever, drunk. You’re just drunk — that’s why you think that’s true; because I’m Irish, too — from three generations ago.’ That American way of going, ‘I’m Irish-American.’ Why in your own personal identity would you ever feel the need to tell everybody you’re from the country you were born and raised in and the country your grandfather hated?”
Wool is one of the most distinctive comics on the comedy trail. He looks like a band member from Lynyrd Skynyrd — with his beard and long, brown hair, which he covers with a seafarer’s cap these days.
He talks with the kind of deep drawl that sits easily with his drinkin’ and druggin’ stories, although his comedy shtick goes far beyond tales from the tavern. He’s self-deprecating, as his Twitter byline suggests: “master of the double-chinned photograph“, and is comfortable unfurling intimate details about his personal life, including his brushes with venereal disease. He’s often at his best when talking light-heartedly about heavy subjects like politics and religion. Growing up, he was delivered into the Christian faith, but says if given a choice he would have gone for Hinduism, what with all its blue monkeys and a god with an elephant’s head. He reckons we’re too indulgent of people who follow organised religions. Can you imagine, he ponders, if gays were allowed to teach their children to kill the religious? “That’s not very peaceful or loving,” he concludes.
Aged 38, Wool took to live stand-up when he was 19 years old. “My grandfather had just died. My high school sweetheart had dumped me. I always knew I wanted to be a comedian so I decided I would go and try that and prove to myself I couldn’t do that either.
“The first time went really well. That’s all it takes — to get that first laugh on stage. It’s the best drug in the world. And seriously I’ve checked; I’ve done thorough investigation on this, and nothing is better than making a room full of people laugh. From where there was no joy, then there is joy.
“That’s where a lot of comics get in trouble with substances of all different descriptions. It’s not before the show; it’s after the show — chasing that immense feeling of super-ness when you’re on stage.”
* Glenn Wool performs at the Town Hall Theatre, 8pm, Saturday, Oct 26 and at the Radisson Blue, 8pm, Sunday, Oct 27, as part of the Bulmers Galway Comedy Festival.
If you like old-fashioned gags by one of the best comedians in the business, Lee Mack should not be missed at this year’s festival. “Have you tried disabling cookies?” he asks. “Well, I once bit the legs off a gingerbread man.”
For those of a more cerebral bent, the brilliantly droll Stewart Lee returns to Galway, as part of a limited number of Irish shows this year. His two gigs at the festival are mid-week, too, so they’ll provide perfect fodder to break up a slow week. There are several other impressive international names on the bill, including Phill Jupitus, Omid Djalili, Sean Lock, the Canadian pair Phil Nichol and Tony Law, and one of the hottest tickets in comedy at the moment — the Glaswegian Kevin Bridges.
Those flying the Irish flag include David O’Doherty, Andrew Maxwell, Neil Delamere, Jason Byrne, Maeve Higgins and the talented Aisling Bea.
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