The first Tuesday of every month I compere a Story Night at Downstairs at the King’s Head, Crouch End. This is a brilliant little club, where everyone has performed – including Robin Williams, Eddie Izzard, and Bob Dylan. At the story night, I’ll usually tell a couple of new stories, and we’ll usually have a couple of singers or storytellers, then usually a big name comic or writer, who’ll do a longer tale of his own. Last year, we had Russell Brand and Stewart Lee, with whom I improvised a live story.
“Did you notice how the sound appears out of synch with the picture? It took me ages to learn how to do that. I spent many hours watching badly dubbed porn.”
Between 2000 and 2005, I did five sell-out one man comedy shows at the Edinburgh Festival. I organised a mass séance, and made the audience speak to dead relatives. I dragged audience members into a mad gameshow which recreated the spirit of a six year old’s party. 80 year old men danced to Hawaii-50-O. I was nominated for the Perrier Award.
“I’d like to collect all the other stars that other acts have thrown away, and give them to Andrew Clover for his talent and intelligence, his humour and his generosity, and for his willingness to take off his clothes in the cause of comedy.” ***** The Scotsman.
After 2004, I started playing the comedy circuit, doing a more conventional stand-up act: I talk about love, children, and proverbs; I usually act out my latest column; I do a surprising number of animal impressions. I've played the Comedy Store and Jongleurs and have performed all around Europe.
“the wild man of comedy, with a truly stunning range of skills, comes of age.” Time Out.
If you fancy booking me, call Rob Sandy at RBM: 0207 7630 77 33.
Or contact him at rob@rbmcomedy.com
A column about the Storynight
It’s February, the runt month. If February were a child in the playground, it’d be the one with the runny nose, who no one likes. But we must embrace February: the time for late tax returns, spring cleaning, and cleaning the Bogey Museum that’s hidden by the children’s beds - the unglamorous work, that no one notices.
This Tuesday, I shall be lurking in Crouch End, since I’m compering a storytelling night at the King’s Head. I always try out these columns, and then we have singers, assorted storytellers, then a “big name” guest. We don’t get many in. People associate storytelling with the wrong sort of festival - the sort where the only band is the Worzels, the only food is nut roast, and the entertainer is some berk in a jester’s hat, who plays a whistle, and then tells a long tale about how the moon fell in love with a mouse. But I love it.
Doing the Storynight is like picking the nose in the car: it’s probably something one shouldn’t do, but it’s quite pleasant, and there’re only a couple of people watching. What else would I be doing on the first Tuesday of every month? I’d probably be drinking cider, and arguing with my wife about where we’re spending half term. Let’s be honest, I’ll be turning up at the Storynight, long after it’s ceased running. To avoid a conversation about half term, I’d do naked street theatre.
The person I feel sorry for is Pete, the King’s Head promoter. Pete bought himself some new socks for Christmas; after his wife saw the accounts for the Storynight, she made Pete put those socks in the present drawer. We had Russell Brand a few months ago. He did a superb fifty minute set about the time he accidentally attended an orgy. We didn’t have many in. And I tell you, in this point in his career, Russell Brand can fill a room. You’ve really got to work to have him turn up, at your night, and still have him perform to twenty people, one of which was actually my mum.
But my mum loved it. At the end, she gave Russell a hug. She actually patted his buttocks. I expect to see my mum making lasagne. I don’t expect to see her groping androgynous comedy sex symbols, who are wearing leather trousers and smelling of lady’s juices. It was like watching Gordon Brown playing water polo; it was mixing two things you wouldn’t expect together. It’s not something I should have seen, but I’m glad I did. So whatever unappreciated work you’re doing this February, I hope it’s deviant, I hope you enjoy it. And of course you could pop down to the Storynight. I can’t promise you Russell Brand, but I’m pretty sure I can offer you my mum.
