What Would Beyoncé Do?! Read online

  People would come up to me afterwards and say, ‘Luisa, I love your show, but it does seem a bit weird you end on a Cher song, you can’t do that.’ Er yes I can. And I continued to end on a Cher song until the 35th person told me it didn’t make sense to end it on a Cher song. So time to go back to the drawing board for a finale.

  I was going over my show notes again; I couldn’t afford a director, like I said, so I just kept asking audiences for notes. I think this helped mould the show so all kinds of people would like it, it wasn’t just for girls and gays. People of all ages were seeing it and I was getting their feedback. I knew I was on to a good thing because I would have audiences come back again and again. In Brighton, the bar manager of the Caroline of Brunswick (my venue), a guy called Cliff, was a middle-aged white punk-rocker with blue dreads, and he watched every single preview of mine in Brighton. He said he hadn’t done that with any other act and that it was his favourite show. So I knew I was doing something right as I was appealing to more people than I thought I would.

  One comic saw the preview and said it was fine, but at the moment a three-star show: ‘Yeah, the ending is just really bad.’ Three stars? I wanted it to be five, it had to be five. I had worked so hard at it.

  I stayed up all night in my mum’s living room watching Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child music videos and trying to come up with some inspiration. ‘Cater 2 U’, no, nothing; ‘Crazy in Love’, no, that didn’t work, and then ‘Survivor’ came on. Bingo. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, what if . . . wait a minute . . . how about if I just . . . I practised my ending, crying on the floor to Adele, then whilst I am on the floor, literally and figuratively (still need to check with my editor on that one), slumped as if I have given up, what if, what if at this moment I say, ‘What, what, what would Beyoncé do?!’

  Then I reached up and pressed play on the ‘Survivor’ video, when Beyoncé starts by crawling on the sand. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I had it. My last line would be both the title and the punchline to the whole show. What Would Beyoncé Do?! I had goose bumps.

  Every now and then there are very rare moments in your life where you feel something magical is tangibly happening. You feel so excited and alive and in the moment, in this very moment, you are in the middle of experiencing magic.

  As I lay on the floor and howled, I was so excited, then called my mum to show her. She didn’t get it, she didn’t have to, I was over the moon. I really felt so excited and so proud and so pleased to be alive. I had figured it out, after 33 previews and endless rewrites, the finale to my solo show. I couldn’t wait to show people.

  There are two reviewers in Edinburgh that everybody cares about. Number one is Kate Copstick; she works for The Scotsman and every comedian wants a review from her, she can make or break you. The second is Steve Bennett from Chortle. A strong review from either of them guarantees you an audience and industry attention. Kate had previously advocated free fringe shows and Steve was the guy who said I was a Britain’s Got Talent reject. So my money was on trying to get Kate down.

  After emailing The Scotsman to no avail, I eventually wrote to her on Facebook. My message went like this.

  Hi Kate

  I hope you don’t mind me contacting you on here, I have been umming and ahhing whether or not to get in touch but I would love your advice!

  My name is Luisa, I am a comedian taking my debut solo show to the Edinburgh Fringe, I am a newcomer and I have performed in nine shows at the festival but this is my debut solo show.

  I haven’t got the finances or the backing to perform in the paid venues yet so I am doing my show for free. I am doing my own PR and have been working really hard at putting together the best show I can!

  I have been taking previews to venues up and down the country; I play weekends at the Stand and have been putting the show together since November.

  I know you are a big supporter of the free fringe, how could I get someone like yourself down to do a review? I would love you to come and see it, I love the free fringe, it enables people like myself the chance to perform and connect with a wide audience. My friend Lewis Schaffer speaks very highly of you, Lewis is an act I really admire. I would love it if you could give me your insight, could I email you a press release?

  I look forward to hearing what you think; once again apologies if Facebook is too intrusive, I hope you have had a wonderful Jubilee weekend.

  Best,

  Luisa xx

  She replied.

  Dear Luisa

  Well done you!! You are doing exactly the right thing. Send me the press release and I will put you on my wish list!

  All best

  Cop

  I cried, I was so happy.

  Wednesday 1 August and I leave for Edinburgh. I packed and dragged my heavy suitcase halfway across London feeling sick, stressed and sweaty but so anxious to just get up there. I got to King’s Cross and sat on the train in my seat. I had treated myself to first class. I took a deep breath, ready to embark on an adventure, and checked my ticket.

  Fuck fuck fuck, my ticket was for 2 August. Fuck. In all my anxiety, I’d boarded the wrong fucking train on the wrong fucking day and I’m in first class and no way can I afford the standard fare, I can’t afford any fare right now, I’ve spent everything I have on this festival.

  Fuck. What do I do? There is no way I am dragging my suitcase halfway back across London, it’s taken me an hour to get here. I could move into standard and hide in a toilet. No. I prayed, and I prayed hard. I was going today! The inspector came round, stamped the ticket. Phew. See, I told you the universe was looking out for me.

  I arrived in Edinburgh, got to my room and dumped my stuff. Accommodation at the festival is ridiculous; a room that would normally cost £320 a month in rent would suddenly be going for £2,000 for the month of August. When you don’t have much cash but like your lifestyle nice, you get savvy very quickly. I couldn’t afford to pay £2k for a standard bedroom so instead I put up ads in Gumtree aimed at students, offering to pay their summer rent. Often university students would have to take out 12-month contracts for a place but they would want to go home for the summer, so this way, I offered to cover their whole summer rent, they were happy and I could live in a nice place for a not extortionate amount.

  I’d found a student house about 20 minutes’ walk from the Meadow Bar, and I was sharing with two other comics, Jason Patterson, my friend who took me out at Christmas. Jason is amazing; he is what I would describe as a true gentleman, in his attitude, his values, just the way he is. He is the kind of person I would hope to marry one day and wish nothing but the best of everything for him. And Marc Burrows. Marc taught me how to ask for money after shows in Edinburgh; I call him Marc ‘best bucket speech in the ‘burgh’ Burrows. He’s the biggest indie-kid raver softie you could ever hope to meet; he wears guy-liner and plays in a hard-core rock band but gives the sweetest hugs and always buys me caramel wafer bars. He is the Meat Loaf to my Cher.

  I was in Edinburgh a day early and the boys were yet to arrive. I dropped off my suitcase and went out to all the free venues to put up my posters. I loved the Meadow Bar. It felt so familiar and I had so many good memories of performing with Rachel here that I knew that this was where I wanted to have my debut solo show. Plus Zac the chef was still there. The team welcomed me back and remembered my veggie burger with a fried egg, no salsa, cheesy wedges instead of chips. As a congratulations on my debut show they added a ‘Luisa’ button to the till! So every day I would come in and get my special burger. Bet Beyoncé doesn’t have a burger with her name.

  I liked that, I liked that I got my own button on the till, I liked that I didn’t get thrown off the train for having the wrong ticket. I liked the way things were working out for me. But I was feeling exhausted. I didn’t want to worry about flyering for my first solo show so decided I would pay flyerers. I needed the best, most beautiful flyerers in town, I didn’t care about type-casting, I wanted gorgeous, bubbly, lovable flyerers, and I found them. The
se two girls were amazing, they knew the single ladies dance and everything! I gave them my flyers and the first day’s pay and went home to collapse.

  I woke up the following morning with a fever and couldn’t breathe. I went to the emergency doctor, who said I had developed a chest infection probably due to stress; she prescribed two days’ rest and antibiotics.

  It was opening night; I couldn’t afford a chest infection. I received a message from The Scotsman that Kate Copstick wanted to get into my show and could I reserve her a seat. I was heartbroken. Here I was finally having the chance to impress someone that could help me and I had two choices. Do the show and potentially kill myself or pull the first two shows and then go back stronger for the rest of the run. I pulled the first two shows.

  I opened on the Saturday. I was still disheartened over missing Copstick, who said she would come at a later date. As I walked up to the Meadow Bar, there was a queue forming outside the front door of the venue.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I asked. ‘What are you queuing for?’

  ‘The Beyoncé show.’

  17.

  SHE WORKS HARD FOR THE MONEY

  It was amazing, they laughed in all the right places, they even cried in all the right places. The audience loved it, I had a full house and made over £100 in donations. The feedback was amazing, people were saying how honest and funny it was. I was worried that they might not get on board, but they totally did, and I was so relieved. I was very lucky and this is pretty much how every single show at the festival carried on.

  I developed pre-show rituals. Every night in my flat, I would play my favourite party songs, have a shower and do my make-up. I loved doing make-up and beginning the transformational process, from bedtime Luisa to showtime Luisa. I wore the same outfit every day, the gold top with the woolly trousers. Big gold hoop earrings, spray of perfume and a grey hoodie so I wouldn’t get cold walking to the venue.

  Every night there was a queue coming out of the venue. I felt so proud and excited; these people were here to see me. It was only a small room, approx. 60-seater, but the excitement of seeing people waiting outside felt like such a privilege. Plus nothing sells a show out like a queue outside the door.

  With free shows, you have to wait for the previous show to come out and then you have 15 minutes to clear the floor and get your audience in. My slot was 10.45 p.m., so by the time I got into the room, it would be really hot and sweaty from a day’s worth of shows. I would rearrange the chairs, clear the glasses and put my playlist on. Upbeat songs that would get the audience ready for a party. No Beyoncé songs though; they weren’t allowed to hear Beyoncé until the show started.

  My playlist is vital to the show. For me, it’s always about the pre-show jams. My last song before the show was Rudimental, ‘Feel the Love’. This song meant show time. My pre-pre-show song was ‘The Fighter’ by Gym Class Heroes.

  Here comes the fighter

  That’s what they’ll say to me, say to me, say to me; this one’s a fighter

  That’s what I was. A fighter, trying my best, fighting hard right now to make my dreams come true. I wanted the audience to come in and hear that song and on a subconscious level see that I was fighting. Maybe they didn’t think about it that deeply, but I did. I never started my show without those songs.

  The room was tiny and next to the toilets; there would be people sat on the floor right up to the stage. It was sweltering. Once ‘Feel the Love’ kicked in, I would ask an audience member to go on stage and say ‘Welcome to Luisa Omielan, What Would Beyoncé Do?!’ and I would come on stage.

  These pre-show rituals developed to become very much part of the show. One day early in the run, I was setting up the room in my hoodie as the audience were coming in, and as I asked an audience member to introduce me, I took the hoodie off to reveal my gold sparkly top and someone wolf-whistled. Of course. How obvious. Make taking off the hoodie part of the show. This is like clowning in Chicago: always know that you are interesting to watch. Make everything you do interesting.

  This mantra started becoming a vital part of the show. As soon as my audience were in the room, I knew they were watching me. So every action I did needed purpose. My audience member would introduce me, I would hit play on my radio, ‘Crazy in Love’ would kick in, I would strut to the tiny stage, unzip the hoodie and throw it into the crowd. It really got them going!

  Now the speech at the end of a free show is imperative. You have to nail it. My regular Edinburgh Festival flatmate Marc told me how to do it. So often audiences leave free shows and they don’t expect to pay anything. WRONG, it’s free to get in, it’s going to cost you to get out. This is how we change the game . . .

  Start with ‘Hi guys, now I think this show is just as good as any of the other shows you have paid to see at the festival.’ Say ‘I’ to personalise it and ‘other shows you have paid to see’ to get them to create a comparative in their head, so hopefully if they have paid £15 for another show, that gets them ready for what you are about to ask.

  ‘Now I think this show is worth at least a fiver.’ Set the expected donation. ‘If you haven’t got a fiver, two or three pounds would be lovely.’ Set the average. ‘And if you haven’t got that, keep it, you need it more than I do, thanks so much for coming.’ In other words, you tight bastard, how dare you take up a seat where someone would pay, look me in the eyes as you walk out, your tweeting of my show better be priceless.

  This speech hopefully stops the audience from just dropping their loose 20ps and 2ps into your bucket.

  I would also ask my audience to tweet about the show with the hashtag #WhatWouldBeyonceDo; I would then retweet their praise and compliments. I knew people wouldn’t remember how to spell Luisa Omielan, but they would know how to spell Beyoncé.

  I’d finish the show, wait at the door to collect the donations, say goodbye to the staff and go straight home. I didn’t care about getting drunk and partying this festival. I had no interest in getting wasted or having sex with another comedian. I just wanted to perform my show. I hadn’t come this far to fuck it all up. When I got home, I’d wash my glittery top in the sink, count my coins on the bed and then Twitter-search my hashtag.

  I loved seeing what people were saying.

  @luisaomielan’s show is life. Go see and it’s free. #WhatWouldBeyonceDo!!

  #WhatWouldBeyonceDo Best show I have seen of the fringe, do yourself a favour and get there early!

  OH MY GOD go and see @LuisaOmielan’s show, so funny I cried!

  Such a rollercoaster, I laughed, I cried, go see @luisaomielan. EPIC.

  Go and see #WhatWouldBeyonceDo?! IT’S THE BEST THING I HAVE SEEN!

  I retweeted all of them. Comics didn’t really do that at the time. I had to. It was the only way my audience was going to find me. If papers weren’t going to write about me and say it was worth seeing, I needed my audience to. Having a 25-year-old from Edinburgh tweet to her network of thousands that I was amazing was worth everything. If I RT’d all the comments, that meant in a Google search I would come up at the top. I needed social media; I needed my audience to know I existed.

  With paid shows and PRs, they organise industry to come for you and then afterwards might say, oh we had this journalist in yesterday, or we had blah blah from this production company. Because I was a one-man band and being a free show, I would have no idea who would be coming in and who was watching. In a way it made it easier as I couldn’t get stressed out by the anticipation, but at the same time I was hopeful that industry would find me.

  On the third day, a representative from a big agency came. They had heard about the show and were keen to work with me. I could have cried. I was beside myself that people were noticing. I started waking up and feeling really excited. Proud that audiences were loving it as much as they were.

  I was feeling good for the first time in ages, not just after the show, but during the day as well, and it was a real feeling, not because of the antidepressants, not because of the adrenaline, but bec
ause I had worked at something and I was seeing the fruits of my labour. It gave me self-esteem to have my work recognised and enjoyed. I liked it. It had nothing to do with a boy. Some people complain about Edinburgh, some comics hate it for the pressure, but I was having the Edinburgh of dreams. Getting up every day to perform a show I loved, having cash in my pocket afterwards and love from people who said it was their favourite show, eating my favourite meal and sleeping in a comfortable warm bed. That’s a pretty cool life.

  On my fifth night, my friend came and showed me a copy of The Scotsman. Kate Copstick had sent along a colleague, and here in black and white was a four-star review of my show. Lord did I dance. I was elated and proud and happy. To get four stars from The Scotsman is really prestigious. As I said, in Edinburgh it’s pretty much them and Chortle. Now Chortle have several reviewers, but nobody counts any of the reviews unless they are from Steve.

  ‘What did you get? Five stars? Who from? Jay. Oh, never mind.’

  ‘What did you get? Two stars? Who from? Steve. OUCH!’

  You knew if Chortle were coming in, you could hear it a mile off. If you didn’t hear it from other comics, then a PR would let you know pretty quickly. I didn’t have a PR, but thanks to my RT’ing and audience reviews, publications started getting in touch. I got my first five-star review from The Skinny. I was over the moon! I ran to the local printing shop, printed off 100 sheets of paper with ***** all over them and then sellotaped them over every single one of my posters.

  More and more people started coming to the show; they were queuing for like half an hour before it started. It was a free show, so people got in on a first come, first served basis. I wanted to keep it as fair as possible. I was turning people away and that felt ridiculous and amazing.