An Open Apology to Steve-O featuring a Proper Review of his Stand Up

As per the title, this is a sincere apology to Steve-O for my comments on twitter the other evening. My comments were made whilst I was drunk, demoralised and clearly not of sound mind. As such my comments were harsh and in some cases (the HIV thing), over the top.




Please accept my sincerest apology for any offence caused by my caustic tweeting.



As part of my apology I feel it only fair to offer those who may have been adversely affected by my rushed and mordant review of your stand up a more balanced and thoughtful review of your stand up gig.



First of all I have to say that the O2 ABC on Sauchiehall Street was an ideal choice, the bar was readily assessable and well stocked whilst not being too expensive as to prohibit excessive drinking.



That is the only good thing I can say about the gig as excessive drinking was required to make a sincere and concerted effort to stand and be subjected to the tripe emanating from the stage. The 1st stand up, the warm up act, was just desperate. Shouting things at the audience with no guile or craft is the mark of a novice and generally to be expected from the first chump out. In fairness to the 1st act as he died on his arse (possibly the worst death on a stage I have witnessed) he was hooked by the Wee Man.

The Wee Man

This, to my mind is where it started to go severally wrong. The Wee Man (http://theweeman.posterous.com/) is essentially a turbo charged Rab C Nesbitt, the voice of the people spat through a shite encrusted filter and whilst we’re all getting spattered with little bits of jobby we can thaw it because of the inherent underlying truth of it all. That worked 20 years ago when Gregor Fisher was traipsing about Govan in a string vest and nothing like it had been seen before. It fails to resonate now. The Wee Man, to his credit was more polished and professional but not particularly funny. His end rap was well done and constituted the high point of the show.



Rather sad really that this endeavour peaked so soon.



Before moving on to Steve-O I should provide some background. I can’t stand Jackass. Watching Johnny Knoxville and his cohorts do stupid things whilst trying to exude high school popularity is boring, dull and stupid. It is also indicative of the fact MTV will fund and subsequently screen anything and tell the more impressionable amongst us that it is cool. It isn’t. The prime offender for stupid and unwatchable behaviour was Steve-O. Routinely he’d be the one to seem to take things too far, that was his gig.



I remember watching the Jackass participation in a European Gumball Rally that had Steve-O terminally on a come down in the back of a car travelling at high speed. Surely the zenith of all television. All during this escapade Johnny Knoxville was at least watchable as a presenter, if not much else (as an addendum, he was good in Men in Black; not Oscar good but watchable good). It stuck in my mind that a guy got paid money to get fucked up on drugs and booze then slump in various positions only one on a come down could find even remotely comfortable in the back of various cars.



It is safe to say my opinion of him was not high prior to the gig, but I had an open mind and I thought, now he is a reformed character perhaps he is in a position to recant his tales of from what seems like a pretty intense and for the average guy, hard to fathom out time. Prior to the show I guessed that there must be more to Steve-O than meets the eye. I stowed my cynicism and endured the first two acts thanks to several pints of cider and some top notch chat from my best mate (even the sun shines on a dogs arse).



The audience was full of teenagers, skaters, folk much like myself and it was interspersed with people of every imaginable demographic, adorned with various garments and accessories all with the skull and two crutches for cross-bones that makes up the Jackass symbol. It is safe to say the fan quotient was high. After what seemed liked half an hour of waiting (I timed it, it was 27 minutes and 10 seconds; that’s how swept away with the ambience I got) Steve-O, to rapturous applause from the gathered teens, tweens, fans, and bams came on to the stage. If he’d been any smaller and thinner the microphone stand could have obscured his slight frame. There was chanting, “Steve-O, Steve-O” and he, in turn bowed and took his applause which was no doubt amplified by the shortcomings of the previous two acts.



Then he started. The first formulaic order of the day was to garner local support which he tried to do by parroting the Glaswegian pronunciation of Edinburgh correctly as “Edinbrrra”. Well done, 2/10. Once that formality was out the way and a joke-devoid monologue ensued someone heckled Steve-O due to the silence which was hanging over the crowd like acrid smoke. The bold Steve-O responded by instantly threatening any heckler with security setting the tone for the next 15 minutes of the gig I managed. A story of an intervention by Johnny Knoxville to prevent Steve-O from taking more drugs and booze was then embarked upon. And unto this story he injected what one could liberally describe as commitment but not humour nor the crowd interfaced verbal dexterity that one would expect from someone who has put themselves in the frame to be a stand up.



Taking a step back I think that perhaps Steve-O would recant his stories, addled with whatever he was flying on at the time to a group of sympathetic ears, who all laughed and may have given him the required push to take this on tour. But minus any kind of intoxicant and fuelled only by what is clearly a bottomless lust for attention of any kind Steve-O was left out on stage, nursing his uninteresting and rather half-arsed story in a city that is not kind to comedians. Many of the greats have died on their arse in Glasgow and on that stage at the O2 ABC Steve-O found to his peril, amidst the sympathy giggles and half hearted smiles of his fans that no amount of celebrity can save you from dying on your arse when you fail to be amusing or even strike a rapport with those who have paid to be there. Indeed even the bird with the Jackass hoody in front of me being perhaps the most sympathetic in the room and only managing a barely audible snigger to save his blushes was indicative of where the night was going.

X-Factor's Faye Bray

Prior to Steve-O taking the stage I had read his Twitter feed and he had posted a review of his gig (http://say.ly/wkIWrA) that Keith Harrison at the very reputable Express & Star had written. To put things into context the headline of the Express & Star whilst I write this is “Inmates ‘mesmerised’ by former X Factor contestant Faye Bray’s clothes” complete with a picture of what appears to be a Harpy ready to pounce. Coincidentally I’d never heard of Faye Bray prior to 3 minutes ago.



Anyway back to Steve-O. With this glowing review from a rag barely credible as the outer protective layer for a bag of chips and my mates assertion that the first two shambolic annoyances to take the stage were a ploy to make the bold Steve-O look better, I was optimistic, if not somewhat pissed off about the lack of respect shown to the audience by the ridiculous wait (27 minutes 10 seconds for the record), but Mr. Glover proceeded to erode that optimism over the course of 15 minutes to the point were I, in unison with my mate, proclaimed aloud “I’m done” (which was freaky but welcome), tanked our drinks and left.


I was left with a very bitter taste in my mouth and the need to eviscerate Steve-O via Twitter. But the best laid plans of men and mice and all that jive; I was just an out and out cunt to him on Twitter. But it was funny for us at the time which was welcome thanks to the comedy vacuum left by a man who has graduated from actually defecating in front of an audience to doing it verbally. As a positive The show was not falsely advertised as Steve-O was at least standing up; the ticket, very accurately, made no mention of comedy.


 
Occasionally you want to be surprised by people; you want to think there is more to the world than pessimism would allow for belief in; a hidden depth if you like, but Steve-O is the true personification of our age of exploratory markets. I have read that Steve-O has a shoe company called Sneaux Shoes and has even released a hip-hop album (Hard as a Rock). I see no hidden depth here, only the desperate clamour for attention of someone who brings nothing to the table but expects plenty in return.



Steve-O, I apologise for my comments, harsh and unwarranted as they were on Twitter, but you sir a a grade one cunt and I hope that find a niche in life keeps you happy, settled and most importantly out of my field of vision.



You may have trained to be a clown but the only hallmarks of a clown you retain is that you are sad, creepy, utterly unentertaining and your gargoylesque grill is enough to give small children nightmares for years.



I am unsure as to why I would ever have enjoyed the uninteresting ramblings of a man that posts pictures of himself with black eyes on his website. What a complete cunt. That can't spell eye.