mostly david ephgrave

Like most people, I'm gradually easing into 2023, quietly hopeful of what it may bring. Admittedly, current world events don't create the most optimistic backdrop. Only today, the attention-seeking, Tribble-headed man-Muppet Boris Johnson disclosed a phone conversation with Putin early last year, in which old Vlads let slip that a UK missile strike "would only take a minute" (a statement I found less upsetting than Boris saying, "He called me on the blower" like the walking caricature he is). Optimism is a matter of perspective, really. Personally, my January's been a drudge, as it often is. I had a near-miss workwise when I was pencilled for a job that I ultimately didn't get, which was frustrating, though at least it broke the seal casting-wise. By this stage of my career, I've had enough pencils to fill a Ryman the size of Jupiter, but what can you do? It's better to be nearly wanted than not wanted at all (and the less said about my recen...

I'm grateful for the little light that came on today, metaphorically speaking*, while playing a few old songs on my acoustic. It was like a gap in my DNA was filled** to complete me. I felt comfortable despite being out of practice, and for once, I didn't question what I was doing; it just felt right. I had a brief moment of clarity that wasn't undercut by my mood or sense of self-worth. If I can tap into this, it might give me the impetus to start something new. It probably helps that I've been revisiting the songs from my 2018 standup show, 'David Ephgrave: My Part in His Downfall', by posting video clips of them on social media as a placeholder until I start my next project (whatever that is). In truth, it's hard to know where to begin with that. The combination of Mostly Comedy's closure after so much difficulty and my long, drawn-out route back to the Fringe has left me burnt out emotionally, creatively and financially, and I need a chance to regrou...

I'm struggling to motivate myself at the moment and don't know where to put my energy next. My enthusiasm for the projects I usually depend on for a sense of forward motion has vanished (ironically along with the projects themselves), partly because I'm tired of often being alone in the driving seat. Mostly Comedy's still closed due to the pandemic and looks unlikely to reopen before the Autumn, if that. I could do with booking more interviewees so we can resume the podcast, but I'm fast running out of ideas for good people to do it, and don't know why I invest so much time on something that makes so little money and wouldn't happen if I didn't put so much energy into it. I know Glyn enjoys doing it when we do it, but being honest, I don't think he'd miss it that much if we didn't either. And after so many years being the catalyst, I long for someone to match me and occasionally take the mantle when I'm not at my best. I feel like I'm...

Hearing back the interview I did for my friend Clary Saddler's podcast Mouth-Off in July last night proved how the timing of chance events can be fortuitous, as it gave me a little spark of certainty and gentle self-confidence I haven't felt for ages. powered by Sounder I know my self-perception is often skewed by my depressive mindset, after years of negative framing that makes me feel I'm not enough, either as a person or a creative entity. But listening to our conversation a good few months after recording it helped me hear my thoughts with fresh ears and gave me a renewed, if tentative, conviction in my own voice and that I may even be allowed to feel a little pride in my achievements, such as they are. (There's a fine line between having some self-belief and commissioning a giant statue of yourself to front a flotilla down the Thames though, so I'll tread lightly.) It helped that Clary went all out when it came to content, bolstering the interview with audio...

Having become something of a lazy musician of late, I decided to apply some energy into actually improving my skills by buying an electric drumkit so I can work on my drumming. I wouldn't say I'm a drummer so much as someone who can drum a bit, which is wholly in keeping with my 'Jack of all trades, master of none' approach to life and particularly music. My experience is mostly limited to having a quick go on someone else's kit during a rehearsal or a soundcheck. And while I've never sat down to practise, it's certainly something I've always wanted to do. When you're a musician without a lead instrument, like me, it's easy to rest on your laurels and stop improving. I'm the type of person who only stretches himself musically when a job requires it; when I'm working as an actor/musician, I frequently find myself in the role of lead guitarist, bassist or keyboard player, which gives me a reason to focus on that instrument. And whe...

I've got to break through the fug of my current mindset to get my comedy-writing mojo back. My ideas pad (mostly full of bus times and general admin). It's hard to find the energy or will to write at the best of times when procrastination looms & lurks like a loom-lurker, without the current circumstances ramping my lethargy up a gear. It's not that my sense of humour's gone, though I now need dowsing rods to detect a joke. And even when I find one, my bastardly depressive mind kicks in to scupper it: "What's the point, David? No-one will pay you for this." When Glyn and I started renting an office six years ago , I'd get into the routine of going down there first-thing to work. But before long, I'd be swamped with admin of running a comedy club without the joy of something creatively worthwhile to offset it; at least when I was writing a show I had a place to run it - albeit a tiny one - though, in time it became another isolatio...

I'm still trying to fight the feeling my life's hit a stalemate. This year is my seventeenth since leaving drama school and, while I've dipped in and out of a variety of jobs in the interim, I feel stuck. In a way, things were simpler when I was jumping from actor/musician work to work as I was pretty much always employed with a sense of an upward trajectory to my career. Then in-between that I'd do the odd play at the small theatre in my hometown to keep my hand in on straight acting and stop me feeling like I'd stepped too far from my original plan. Admittedly, this wasn't without its setbacks. For much of this period, I was still feeling the brunt of my band's split - which was forced by my constant touring - and the sense of having made the wrong choices and taken the wrong route; this played on my mind daily and stunted my enjoyment of my work. My perception of this only really changed when I joined the writers' group The Comedy Project in 2005 ...

As I tentatively start to get my head around my creative plans for the year, there's a definite weariness attached to my long self-reliance and a longing for a time when someone else invests their energy and enthusiasm in what I'm doing, rather than having to generate that interest myself. It's ultimately boring to be the sole poster-campaign for yourself, not to mention dispiriting, while the energy and selective-deafness required is huge; being a self-employed performer requires endless patience and a fair amount of self-belief, particularly when pitted against the lack of financial security and the amount of work you put in for little tangible result. Being an actor and musician is one thing - and a marginally easier field to earn a living in - but when you throw self-producing Fringe comedian in to the mix, the amount of money you supposedly invest in what you do is insane compared with the money you get out. What I crave is a little outside belief; I know I'm c...

I kind of feel I've reached the limit of what I can do by myself creatively without someone else to believe in me. It might just be the gloom of the New Year without the impetus of something to sink my teeth into (cliché), or it may be a genuine reflection of where I'm at, but I'm just not feeling excited about what's ahead. I've worked so hard over the past four years, with my 2018 Edinburgh show 'David Ephgrave: My Part in His Downfall' ending up something I'm very proud of, and yet I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. Mostly Comedy has become something of a compulsion with me checking our emails and the ticket reports far too regularly, but despite the frequency I tinker with things to do with it, I've started to resent it. To be honest, it's been a love / hate relationship for years, but as it stands I've started to dread the shows as they've become an exercise in organisation I'm bored with in an atmosphere whe...

While I’m not often one for joining in with these things, I found myself succumbing to the lure of #FirstHeadshotDay / #OldHeadshotDay today on Twitter. Face (c)1981 David Ephgrave; photo (c) Mark Davis (2002) When I saw my first CV photo again, which was taken in 2002, it struck me just how young I look. I remember the shoot clearly, because getting your first headshot when you leave drama school is a very big moment. It was taken by MAD Photography’s Mark Davis in the studio in his house in Enfield. I think I shared the shoot with my actress friend Moya, though I may be misremembering it. I know I was nervous, probably more about keeping my hair intact than anything. The moment that sticks in my mind the most was when the photographer tried to get me to smile with my mouth open, which I don’t really do, and me feeling very uncomfortable and forced about it. “But you look like Stan Laurel when you don't", was his considered respo...

I had an appointment at the Royal Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital today - which is a subsidiary of the Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes Institute - to look into my ongoing vertigo (which is some kind of John Virgo / Alfred Hitchcock amalgam). It was good to finally have extensive tests to try to get to the bottom of something that affects me almost daily. I first experienced this level of extreme dizziness while working on Dreamboats & Petticoats in the West End, which literally hit me mere minutes from curtain up. All of a sudden, I felt like I was going to collapse, and had to be taken out of the show for fear I would faint mid-performance (which was all included in the price). My GP at the time suggested it may be labyrinthitis, but they never quite got to the bottom of it. The dizziness didn’t pass for weeks, which ultimately led to me leaving the cast of Dreamboats to recover, and ever since then, I’ve suffered long bouts of vertigo so often...

For most of the morning, I couldn’t fathom out why today's date seemed familiar. Then it came to me: I started drama school sixteen years ago to the day. That sounds and feels like a long time ago. If my training were a child, it could get married with its parents' consent. It could also do rude stuff. If I were using the same time-frame to chart the distance between my birthdate and the events that preceded it, The Beatles would have just released ‘Help!’, and Winston Churchill, his last breath. I could have worded that better. What I’m saying is, my first day as a full-time drama student is further in the past than it should be. I can remember walking into Hertfordshire Theatre School to meet my year for the first time clearly. As I climbed the rickety staircase from the students’ entrance to the Studio, I was fully aware that I was about to come face to face with the people I’d spend the next three years with. What I wasn’t prepared for ...

I’m starting to wonder if being pencilled for a commercial actually means anything. When you're pencilled, the production company want you to keep the shooting dates free in your diary; in other words, you’re down to the last few. It’s a step up from the alternative, which is not hearing anything, and assuming – but not knowing for sure – that you’re out of the running. I’ve been fortunate enough to get to this point a fair few times in the last couple of years, but have been unlucky enough to not get any further. In some senses, it’s a boost in confidence: I must be doing something right. Then again, maybe I’m not getting it quite right enough. I'm aware that's a stupid thing to say, knowing how fickle the world of commercial casting is. A lot of it is down to how you look – but it’s frustrating to get close so many times, without getting the money in the bank. The worst thing is you often don’t hear anything else after being pencilled. The filming dates ge...

Yesterday, I had my first casting for a few weeks.   Unfortunately, it didn’t go as well as I would have liked. This was due to a combination of not being on form (I have a rotten cold) and the job not being quite right for me. What pleased me most was I didn’t take this to heart. When you’re an actor, you don’t get a lot of outside affirmation. You have to keep yourself on an even keel when things don’t go well and keep your own standards in check. A director seldom tells you when you get something right, but will give you a raft of notes when you get it wrong. Or maybe that’s just me. The psychological scales are often tipped toward the negative. (Is that a clear analogy?) When I left the casting suite yesterday, I didn’t ruminate about the audition (other than keeping it in mind to write this). I knew I hadn’t got the job, but I didn’t let it get to me. It helped that I somewhere to be. Not only that, I came out to an answerphone message from my agent about anot...

I had my first casting in a while today, and I have to say, I quite enjoyed it. Auditions have been thin on the ground for the past few months. This wasn’t a bad thing when I was preparing for my Brighton show, as I had a lot to think about, but now that’s done, I could do with some more coming in. I could do with the money that would come with a job - and the great thing about getting an advert is it’s not a big commitment. It was nice to do a bit of acting today, even if it was only for the brief moment that I was in the casting suite. The script involved very little dialogue, plus the chance to play with some off-the-cuff comedy reactions, which was right up my street. I probably won’t get the job – it’s got to the point where I cease to believe I ever will – but I got a few laughs while I was there, and some positive feedback. I’ve been very unlucky with adverts of late. I’ve been penciled for so many jobs that I’ve lost count, and not got a single one of them. It’...

If anyone witnessed me buying flip-flops and a baseball cap in Poundland this morning: THEY WERE FOR A CASTING. It may surprise you to learn I have neither item in my wardrobe. Then again, it may not. I’m not a flip-flop-and-baseball-cap kind of person. It isn’t a look I can pull off, without resembling a cross between a William Hague-style photo opportunity and a cry for help: little difference there then. I wasn’t sure where to buy them from, as they're not really in my remit. I didn’t want to pay a lot when I’d only wear them once. The only time I’d pull out this tasteless head-and-footwear combo again would be if I got a recall, which wasn’t definite. My initial attempts to find them weren’t fruitful: a quick Google of ‘cheap flip flops Hitchin’ brought up a pair in Shoe Zone for £14.99, which was more than I was willing to spend – and ‘flops’ kept being unhelpfully corrected to ‘floss’ by the search bar on Wilko's website. While internet shopping is invalua...

I’d like to live in a world where my bag isn’t just big enough to fit the things I need to carry in it, provided I don’t want to take anything out at any point. It’s the ultimate status-lowerer. It’s intensely frustrating. Filling it is akin to a game of Tetris; there’s a very specific method to take, and Lord help you, should you attempt to deviate from it. As soon as I’ve slid my laptop in (I say ‘slid’; it’s more of a fifteen-stage force), there’s scarcely room for anything else. I then squeeze in my umbrella, knowing there’ll be no hope of extricating it quickly in the case of a sudden downpour. It would be easier getting it out if it was encased in concrete. (I exaggerate for borderline comedic effect). The simple answer to my problem would be to buy a new one. This relies on me having the funds to do it. I bought this one in a state of emergency and haven’t yet had the requisite cash to replace it. Such is the life of a professional actor / comedian / pauper. ...

Today I experienced a whole new audition-waiting-room paranoia: "Does my newspaper smell too much?" I was okay when I was sat in the corridor. Out there, there was more space. It must have had a better oxygen throughflow (which was surprising, as the casting suite is in the basement of a disused factory-cum-warehouse. Not a factory cum warehouse. That would be horrific). Reading it there didn't make me self-conscious. It was only when I moved into the next tier of waiting - the room immediately outside the studio - that the overly inky odour of my Guardian became apparent.  It didn't help that I was seated in extreme proximity to two other actors. There was scarcely room to read a broadsheet. For a fleeting moment, I wished I'd bought the Mail, before remembering I'm not a narrow-minded, BBC-and-all-other-humanity-hating sexist / racist. Sorry Mum. (She’s none of those things, but she reads it.)...

Going for castings at the moment feels a little bit like pissing into the wind. The process of doing them I really enjoy. I feel most comfortable in front of a camera, doing something small, naturalistic and throwaway. Most of the stuff I go up for is quirky or comedic, which suits me. Yet I’m not getting any jobs. It’s beyond disheartening. The frustrating thing is a lot of them seem to go well. I often make the casting director laugh, usually for the right reasons. I’ve been penciled for jobs so many times I can’t look a stationery shop in the face (which is good as they don’t tend to have them). It doesn’t make any difference. No pencilling turns to pen. It’s hard to keep upbeat about it and not let it affect your performance. It's starting to feel like an endless unbreakable cycle. I’m bored of it. I just need one job to break the seal. I keep reminding myself that I’ve got them in the past. I also keep getting close. It’s n...

When you work in theatre, the Front of House staff sometimes like to keep you in your place.   I have a lot of examples seared into my memory. They're my personal Vietnam, without the flashbacks. Take, for instance, the time I was on tour with Buddy Holly and the Cricketers, playing a venue in deepest, darkest Ireland, and one of the ushers came up to me in the green room mid-interval, jabbed a finger in my chest and said, 'Well, I couldn't hear you '. She seemed to labour under the misapprehension that, as well as playing Buddy, I was also in charge of the sound mix, and had given myself insufficient level as some kind of personal affront. The dressing down wasn't over yet. With her accusatory digit still extended, she proceeded to go around the rest of the room.  First the bassist. 'I could hear you.'  Then the rhythm guitarist. 'I could hear you.'  Then the sax player. 'I could hear you.'  Then the drummer. 'I could ...