Interview taken from HermAphrodite #10
It would be nice to
start this off with superlatives. To declare through a literary fanfare that there
is Only One Ross Noble. But I can’t do it. And not for the sake of an allergy
to hyperbole. For even the most cursory rummaging through the world’s Search
Engines will reveal that Ross Nobles are a numerous breed. Among the more high
profile of this extended family, one can find the curator of the Highland Folk
Museum, a UNAIDS Manager, the Treasurer of the (U.S.) National Association of
Cave Diving, a Sydney singer of the late ‘70’s, the founder of the Ross Noble Engraving
Co. (plaques, plates and signage excitement), and also the
unfortunate Noble Ross from ‘Macbeth’. A far more apt way for me to begin,
therefore, would be to proudly declare to you that there is Only One
Cramlington Comedian Called Ross Noble. In fact, I could easily get more
specific and tell you that there’s Only One Ross Noble Who Makes a Living
Discussing Luminous Monkeys, Homing Cauliflowers and Wishing Tramps. Or that
there’s Only One Ross Noble Who’s Managed to Make An Australian Piss Her Pants
Laughing. Or maybe that there’s Only One Ross Noble Who’s Ever Given Me A Lift
Home. I could even go out on a limb and hazard that there’s Only One Ross Noble
Who’s Met Jon Bon Jovi’s Daughter’s Music Teacher. (Well. Chances are…) All of
which is much nicer than just lazily introducing him as a Raja of
Improvisation. Or Geordie Eddie Izzard (in that he uses the everyday as a
frame-work around which to stretch his own peculiar world) or some such like.
Particularly when he prefers to think of himself as a ‘free-form jazz-monkey of
comedy’. Oh yeah, and he’s won awards and stuff. So it’s obviously not just me
that finds him funny…
As a part of his
two-month gad about Europe, (the Only) Ross Noble (To Take Excessive Delight in
Lobster Children) took it upon himself to visit the Bristol suburb of
Bedminster. In honour of this, I decided to visit it too. Alone. As I hold
insufficient blackmailing power over anyone down here which would encourage
them to break their prior engagements. All of which seemed to involve college,
work, running after a ball in (little blue?) shorts*,
birthday celebrations, or a mock moot (which is less ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and
more law-related than it first sounds). The best excuse was that offered by
Emily and Charlotte – the proposed evening of comedy delights clashed with
their scheduled flight to Las Vegas. Ah well. The audience as a whole was
befriended by the bouncy young comedy tyke onstage. And it’s not like I didn’t
talk to anyone all night…
After the show, I got to steal an hour or so
of Ross’ time. Join with him in admiring the dressing-room’s furry wallpaper.
Compliment his trombone impressions. That kind of thing… And after attempting
to direct him to both his hotel (even with a map in my bag I’m still best at just
finding my own house in this city) and to the gremlin-stocked toy-shop in
Notting Hill Gate (turn right down the road flanked by WHS and a Bureau de
Change, past the 2nd hand clothing stores, and it’s on your left),
we settle into some preliminary questions. Like ‘how are you not tired yet?’
Me – “In that this is a 40-date tour with 6 days off…”
Evidently
that’s not enough to wear him out.
Ross
– “Not really, no. I’ve been working at the same sort of pace – a gig every
night – for about a year now.”
Which
seems to stop him getting ill – the germs get no chance.
Ross
– “This is actually quite relaxing. Normally I’d have drives between like,
Bristol and Aberdeen to do, so I’d just be up and down the motorway
constantly.”
But
as it is, the tour schedule has been built with him in mind.
And
after he’s finished off the U.K. and Ireland tour, there are Paris dates before
he jets off to Singapore and Australia. But all material will be performed in
English. Gosh darn it. (I quite liked the idea of him knowing how to say things
like ‘police suspect Magic Pixies’ in a foreign language...)
Ross
– “Yeah, everyone says that; if I tell them I’m going to Paris they presume I’m
doing the Izzard thing of doing the whole gig in French. It’s hard enough doing
it in English.”
Me
– “So your French stretches to ‘papier mache’?”
Ross
– “Pretty much yeah. I was never any good at languages at school.”
I
talk with glee of the songs we sang about Orangina and finding the bank.
Ross
– “That all passed me by really.”
Shame.
And
at some point in the future, he would like to perform in places where they
don’t usually get comedians. I suggest a picnic comedy outing to Snowdon. This
is disregarded in the joyful outlying of his little-places plans.
Ross
– “At some point I’m going to go around villages that haven’t got theatres,
I’ll take a big marquee and play in tiny places. At some point when I’ve been
goin’ for a few years – you know that series Frankie Howerd did, ‘Frankie’s
On…’, where he’d be on a ship, or the Oxford Union. Or a gig for firemen. I’d
really like to do that. Doing gigs in abattoirs…”
Me
– “Well Simon Munnery’s travelling the country in a big silver ship, would you
want to do that?”
Ross
– “He turned up outside my house in that, before it was converted into a ship.
At one o’clock in the morning. In this huge van with a big frame on it.”
But
big silver ships are not the thing for Ross. Even if Simon does wear a flat-cap
to go with it.
Ross
– “Excellent!”
And
I was expecting some sort of tri-cornered hat.
Anyway.
Me
– “’The Scotsman’ said you’d been doing this since you were fifteen…”
Ross
– “Yup. A month before my 16th birthday was my first gig.”
Me
– “So always this? Always the comedy?”
Ross
– “Yeah.”
Me
– “So how did you get started?”
Ross
– “I went to do an Open Spot, and that was five minutes of material gone, and
then the audience were asked if they wanted to see me compere the next week,
and the audience went ‘yeah!’”
And
that was it.
And
as is only right for someone wishing to work in the magical world of entertainments,
Ross also used his teenage years to gain circus experience.
Ross
– “I used to hand out flyers on stilts.”
Me
– “To really tall people?”
Ross
– “I know, that was the problem. I had to just drop them and hope they landed
in their bags.”
Me
– “So has that skill stayed with you?”
I’d
liken it to riding a bike (as once you’ve learned you don’t forget), though I
am aware that there’s a big difference between sticks and circles.
Ross
– “Yes, I can still stilt-walk. Not this poncey stuff that people nowadays do
with their Ventura (?) stilts with platforms on; no proper bits of wood
strapped to their feet.”
Using
the power of his fingers, Ross attempts to demonstrate the art of
stilt-walking.
Ross
– “You have to go backwards and forwards all the time, you know, just to keep
that momentum goin’, otherwise you’ll fall over. It’s very hard to balance on
them.”
Yes.
They being big sticks and all. But if can do it, it’s a knack that can get you
into films (as well as the lucrative street-flyering industry).
In
the ‘Dark Crystal’ (which Ross has seen, thus proving his uniqueness &
Henson affections), the gelflings travel on gangly limbed creatures which can
travel at astonishing speed. (Which would be why they’re called something
clever like the Land Speeders.) I ask if he’s ever considered following the
film’s example and attaching stilts to his hands and feet. This provokes
giggles. And then a face of excitement.
Ross
– “That’d be great!”
Me
– “And you’d cover good ground. According to the fictional film…”
Which
we both love. Reminiscences are thusly traded.
Ross
– “I love it when they just smash that big block…”
Me
– “I love the way that Skeksis sounds like Fozzy Bear. Cos he is Fozzy Bear.”
(Frank
Oz, actually. Fozzy Bear is not real. And is not available for voice-over
parts.)
me
– “And there are elements of Yoda in there too.”
Naturally.
Ross
– “Yoda does sound like Miss Piggy.”
Bad
thing.
Me
– “You can’t take him seriously as a worldly wise guru if he sounds like Miss Piggy.
If any minute now he could karate chop a frog.”
Ross
(musingly) – “That’s true.”
Anyway.
Back to his stilt-powers. This was a part of his circus/fairground work
experience. Which involved his being, um, kind of ‘apprenticed’ by a clown.
Which would worry me. Clowns worry me.
Ross
– “They scare a lot of people. But I refused to wear the make-up.”
So
he never had the chance to freak himself out with a sudden mirror.
Ross
– “The guy that I used to work with, he used to wear the white make-up in the
morning, before he put the rest of the clown stuff on, and just walk around
with this white face. That was freaky.”
Me
– “But it hasn’t scarred you?”
Ross
– “No.”
And
he can watch ‘It’. Without flashbacks.
There
are other benefits to circus living too. Oh aye.
Ross
– “I can juggle flaming torches, knives, just about anything.”
Me
– “So if you had a tall enough venue, would you want to do that?”
Ross
– “I might do at some point.”
Not
enough stilts in stand-up. Or flaming torches. We need that kind of hidden-extra
abilities.
Ross
– “I’d quite like to do a show where all the acts on the bill have got to have
a secret talent, and right at the very end they all come on and do it.”
Me
– “Wouldn’t you just end up with a load of people who can all roll their tongue
in a weird way?”
Ross
– “No, it’d have to be like really really good. People who can fire walk.
Really amazing things that no-one knows they can do.”
And
you’d never guess from looking at them.
Me
– “That’s what I like about Graham Norton – you’d never get that sort of
information out of the Stand-Up Sit-Down people at the beginning of his shows
UNLESS you asked them a specific question.”
You
could know them for years and never be privy to the things they share with the
nation. I love that. Though it’s not the only reason I watch. Hypnotising
fashion excitement is another. And so it is with Graham’s black sparkly New
Years suit in mind that I am moved to ask…
Me
– “Have you ever thought: ‘shiny suit!’?”
Ross
just starts laughing.
Ross
– “Have you not read ANYTHING about me?”
Me
– “I know you don’t want spangly trousers.”
Ross – “I don’t want
spangly trousers, shiny suits, any of it...”
me – “But Graham’s got some good shiny suits…”
Ross
– “Yeah but he’s allowed.”
Me
– “So you don’t want to be able to sit there and go ‘SHINY POOF?’”
Ross
– “Er, no.”
Which
was the answer I was expecting.
Ross – “It’s not really for me. I just hate that
whole Light Entertainment Thing of not being popular unless you’re smart.”
Me
– “Oh but if you got a clothing allowance…”
(Or
is that just a girl’s way of thinking?)
Ross
– “I’d spend it on shoes.”
(Now
that is just a girl’s way of thinking.)
Me
– “Which are then wasted on most of the seated crowd…”
So.
Apart from his footwear – which at such conversational promptings has Ross
ferreting through his bag for a different pair of trainers – Ross’ main
concession to onstage visual excitement seems to be his hair. Which seems to
change length and colour every six months. I’ve only been privy to the YELLOW!
RED! and newly BLACK! phase, but I’m assured it has previously lent him the
look of a ‘Hispanic gas station Elvis’. At the moment, meanwhile, particularly
with the fringe, it reminds me of a Lego figure whose hair you could take off
and put on the other way round without undue silliness. Or maybe one of The
Who.
Me
– “You look like you should be a singer in the 60’s.”
Ross
– “That’s what I’m going for.”
Me
– “Starting fights on Brighton Beach…”
That
not withstanding, this hairdo is easy maintenance compared to previous styles.
Ross
– “I’m keeping it black for a while. This is how it’s staying. All that bleach
was not good for me hair.”
Plus
this way he doesn’t suffer ‘roots paranoia’.
Ross
– “And you’ve gotta move on, you can’t stick with one thing too long.”
Me
– “So there could be a future of you with turquoise at the tips?”
Ross
– “At some point. Maybe. But at the moment I just have to leave it alone, it’s
just so fucked up.”
Me
– “You could just do the side-burns…”
Ross
– “Yeah, I’ll just burn the side of me face…”
Ah,
but even if disfigured in a horrible bleach-accident, he still has the world of
prosthetic masks at his disposal…
During
the set, talk had turned to such disguise-aids, of the type worn in ‘Mission
Impossible’ to abet impersonation and to make for a frankly alarming scene
climax in which faces can be peeled off to reveal arch-
nemesises
(nemesii?) cackling beneath. Ross worries about the cleaning ladies in the
‘Mission Impossible’ headquarters continually coming across what seem to be
actual human heads strewn around the place. And the what-ifs of a cat becoming
stuck inside one such mask. Which got me thinking. (Hey, I only had bar staff
to talk to in the interval.) If it really is an endemic problem, surely the
regularly infiltrated organisation would do a lot more affectionate pinching of
cheeks as a precautionary testing measure. Maybe have the heating up
uncomfortably high. And would also set up provisos for discarded-mask-uses.
Me
– “They should have a recycling bin for the masks.”
Cos
they can’t be cheap. It’d help if you could make them ‘in house’.
Ross
– “Yeah!”
And
there’s always the possibility of creating disconcerting art for the building’s
lobby out of a cluster of rubbery faces.
Ross
– “I’ll put that in tomorrow night.”
Me
– “You can pay me money…”
Ross
– “That ‘Mission Impossible’ thing is still very much in its early stages. In
that so far it stretches to landing on a cat’s head.”
Oh
but there’s always things that could happen after that…
Me
– “You know how in cartoons you only ever see the bad guy’s arm in a big chair,
and he’s got a cat next to him? Well the [masked] cat could have a cat.”
Ross
– “That’s true.”
Me
– “But the cat wouldn’t know it [the masked cat] was a cat because it had a
human face.”
Ross
– “Oh yeah.”
Me
– “And maybe some sort of prosthetic arm.”
Ross
– “D’you mind if I just write this down?”
Hee-hee.
Ross
– “Can I have that, seriously, I’ll use that tomorrow night…”
This
tickles me far further than an evil-cat-mastermind future ever could. (Though
if the arch-villain was a cat in a mask that would explain the deep-rooted
Dangermouse enmity…)
Me
– “Ah, if only I had the urge to stand onstage and do that sort of thing…”
Ross
– “Why don’t you?”
Me
– “I’d like to have a job that’s a bit less… [instable? hard? likely to involve
crowds?] Jerry Seinfeld said that the most scary thing for most Americans is
public speaking, and the second most scary thing is them dying, so they’re more
scared of speaking at their own funeral than actually being there. Which is
kind of something I go with.”
Though
it’d probably be quite good for me. (Fear facing ‘n’ all that.) Anyway. Subject
changed. Ross realises that my story has quashed a germinating joke of his own.
Ross
– “I’d heard that the second thing was public speaking, and the first thing was
spiders, so the scariest thing would be speaking to a load of spiders. Oh well.
That’s that one fucked then.”
You
heard it here last folks.
>>> Part 2
Last revised: 26/07/01