When the Prophet Met Isy Suttie

So how did you get in to stand up? Tell us about your background. I was always into making people laugh, but I thought I wanted to be an actor. I had been writing songs since I was about twelve and I started going round open mic nights for songwriters. When everyone else was singing about how their girlfriend has left them and I was singing about cooking Jamie Oliver and a man married to a horse, I realised I should leave the music industry to its own dirtiness and venture into the land of comedy. On the journey, I did stumble onto the gay circuit for about three gigs, but after having most sizes of glass (and bra, it has to be said) chucked at me by an audience the gay equivalent of Club 18-30, I realised pretending to be a lesbian to save getting shot wasn’t quite worth it. So then I just started doing open spots round the clubs in London. Most comedians are very friendly and supportive and you learn quite fast.

What’s your average show like?

There isn’t really any such thing as you never know what’s going to happen (the other day someone was telling me that while they were on, one of the candles on the tables set a girl’s hair alight), but I do always have a plan of what I’m going to do, which is a mixture of songs and stand-up. That can always be abandoned, though, when a fat man sits on your head and shouts “I am a marrow. I am a marrow”.

How do you deal with hecklers?

There are really two types of heckler in my experience. The first type of heckler is I Am Pissed and You’re Not Funny. If they’re horrible or so drunk they don’t know if they’re speaking English or Nadsat, I try and find out their name and almost “talk them down” like you would a small, insolent child who’s trying to commit suicide by jumping from their Ikea tree house. All hecklers who voluntarily shout out want attention, so I think the trick is to stop and acknowledge them but make sure they know who’s in control (hopefully you), but don’t give them too much or they won’t shut up and your whole set will turn into a conversation between you and some fuckwit talking in a cockney accent who’s really a public schoolboy from Hampshire.
The second type is the Total Fucking Loon. These are like baby bulldogs who’ve been suddenly released from captivity, babbling awkwardly yet urgently like a child in show and tell, telling you how many tracksuits they’ve got and what kind of shells they found on the beach when they were four. These people should be treated with caution as they are liable to have one too many alcopops and try and get up on stage to “help you out”.

What’s more important for a comedian: artistic integrity or making people laugh?

In theory I fuse the two in a beautiful, balanced, karma sutra of harmony and know that Bill Hicks is smiling down murmuring, “You did good, kid”. In reality I try and write stuff I think is funny and that I hope is also interesting. There’s a general rule that you don’t nick anything and I do try and steer clear from stuff about periods, vibrators, “aren’t men shit” and so on. That said, I think if you find a new angle on something supposedly “trodden to death” you should work out if it’s enough of a new angle to justify doing it. It really pisses me off that whenever there are a lot of girls on, everyone says “Oh are you going to be talking about vibrators”. I did an all girl gig last night and they ran an article in the local paper that actually said “Men keep away”. In answer to the question, both. Equally. No. Maybe the latter. But don’t nick stuff, take your clothes off or change the words to pop songs.

What’s the best and the worst gig you’ve ever played?

The best gig I’ve ever played was XS Malarkey’s in Manchester. It’s such a friendly club and I would really recommend it to anyone who’s up that way.
The worst was probably Wirksworth, strangely – it was nothing to do with the gig itself but they just absolutely hated me from the beginning. I’d done gigs in London to two Bulgarians and a dog in some grotty back room of a pub but they’d still been fun; these guys were just silent and you could literally see steam coming out of their ears they were so angry. Then one guy at the back started shouting “Fuck off” and that kind of spread round the room until I did fuck off. Then my friend’s sister threw up all over the front tables when the next guy was on and that sort of cheered me up in a weird way. I was so glad my mum and dad hadn’t come as I think they would have yanked me off the stage and put me straight into “learning a proper trade”.
The weirdest was at Charlton Athletic Club to a hundred people, 70% of whom spoke no English and 50% of whom were children. I think we made up songs and I ended up marrying a man from Somalia in a mock wedding.

What are your plans for the future when it comes to comedy?

I’d love to carry on doing live work alongside radio and TV. I’m writing for a show called The Milk Run on Radio 1 which is a mix of music and sketches, and I’d like to eventually write a musical sitcom for TV. I’m also in a sketch group with some other comics and I’ll be up at Edinburgh Festival this year doing something.

If someone wanted to book you how would they get in touch?

They can email me at isobelsuttie@fsmail.net

Comics are a notorious bunch when it comes to late boozy evenings. What’s your funniest drinking story?

I went to a ball, and I was wearing a beautiful ballgown and high heels. I got rat arsed. On the way home I was sat on the bus next to my “date” who was wearing a tuxedo. I had changed from my high heels into my trainers (I’ve never been much of a lady) and the heels were in a bag next to him. I suddenly got that horrendous watery feeling in my mouth. I knew the land of vomit was imminent. “Pass me my shoe”, I croaked, and the gentleman obliged. I neatly filled it with sick, which was actually quite hard as they were pointy and there was a bit in the middle of the shoe with no sides. Then “Pass me the other”. I did the same, and handed them both back to him. He just sat there holding these two shoes full of sick. Then we got off the bus and he dropped one of the shoes. Sick went all over everyone on the bottom deck and we ran off into the dark night, giggling.

Got any decent cocktail recipes?

The last cocktail I made contained the following: rum, vodka, whisky, port, Coke and chocolate liquor, which sort shyly curdled at the bottom like the tequila worm. Surprisingly, no-one else would drink it so I drank the whole bowl, then went skinnydipping in the sea in minus freezing temperatures. So this cocktail has special powers. It’s called “Ahoy Regards”.

When was the last time you got so drunk you puked?

It was when I drunk “Ahoy Regards”. But I didn’t throw up in the sea. That would be stupid. Call me old fashioned, but I like a good solid Victorian toilet, preferably white, with “Armitage Shanks” or somesuch thing inscribed on the inside at the back, so there’s a bit of reading material.

Which is the best city to go out partying in and why?

Any city, as long as there are bars which don’t play commercial dance, and lots of port. Port is the way forward. London is actually quite bad to go out in because it takes so long to get home you start to sober up and remember the events of the night. No-one wants to do that til they wake up the next afternoon. If that bus hadn’t taken so long on the night of the ball, I would never have had to ruin a good pair of shoes.

Fancy joining the Cult of the Drunken Prophet?