Des Clarke on growing up in the Gorbals and working class pride

And so I turned up at St Jude’s in Glasgow’s East End wondering why they were recording it in a live concert venue. I should have read the email attachment. There was Des Clarke, alongside three other professional and very talented Scottish comedians: Jay Lafferty, Raymond Mearns and Fern Brady.

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The format seemed simple enough: correctly identify a clutch of news items from the previous week and be all witty and observational about them. There was an audience of about 200 beginning to gather. This was a live comedy show and I’d stumbled into it haplessly.

It’s one thing trying to be all witty and urbane in print with your glazed and practiced aphorisms; quite another trying to get a laugh from a live audience with four of the country’s top comedians being sharp and quick on the draw.

Fortunately, they seemed to sense my fear and took pity on me by lobbing in a few easy numbers. The sense of achievement on departing a stage without having made a complete horse’s fundament of yourself can’t be over-stated.

I’m meeting Des Clarke again on the eighth floor of a chrome and glass office complex in Glasgow’s city centre. This is the media hub belonging to Global Radio, comprising Heart, Smooth and Capital, the three stations helping to usher in an independent broadcast revival in west central Scotland.

He’s one of perhaps only a handful of stand-up performers who have achieved equal recognition as a radio and television presenter, being blessed with both a mellifluous dialect and elfin features that seem to defy the ageing process. He currently presents Heart’s breakfast show with Jennifer Reoch, having presented its drive-time show for several years. BBC Scotland has just commissioned a new batch of Breaking the News.

In the Scottish comedy circuit, Clarke is admired for his work ethic as well as his talent and were it not for the 24/7 demand for his presentational abilities he’d have devoted more time to his stand-up career. But, as he puts it, he still “loves to get back on the tools”.

Des Clarke with Jennifer Reoch (Image: free)

“You can’t let it go,” he says. “If you did, you’d never go back to it. Stand up gave me all the skills to do everything else. You have to keep proving you still can. And yes, it’s quite exposing. Comedians tend to be either the class clown or – like me – introverted and shy.”

He grew up in the Gorbals, amidst the high-rises at Norfolk Court, long since demolished. He’s proud of his upbringing. “I loved my Gorbals childhood, people always talk them down and of course there were challenges, but my parents always ensured we’d have the best chance possible to make something of ourselves.”

We talk about his voice. It’s that rare thing: very obviously Glaswegian, but with all vowels and glottals intact. Not for the first time you reproach yourself for your own slovenly, side-of-the-mouth cadences.

“I think part of it was having parents with naturally Irish accents. I wasn’t allowed to get too slang. They would correct me when I did. It was all about that ethic of working-class parents who wanted their children to have a greater chance in life. This encompassed the way we spoke; being well-turned-out; having good manners and respecting your elders. It was an expression of working class pride.

“It’s brilliant seeing people like Kevin Bridges and Frankie Boyle performing to sell-outs all over the UK without having to alter anything of their selves.” We talk of how Billy Connolly while always being authentically working-class and Glaswegian, was also very well-spoken. Des Clarke describes him as our “Messi and Ronaldo”.

“He’s the best,” says Clarke. “For working-class children, seeing how Connolly could be the best in the world was such a massive inspiration and thrill.” Perhaps this is Billy Connolly’s greatest legacy to his city.

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Occasionally, we Glaswegians are prone to talking about our city in the superlative: the warmest; the hardest; the kindest. We tell ourselves our Glasgow humour is legendary and unsurpassed. It’s probably no funnier than Scouse or Geordie or those other places where it must offer a respite from hardship.

“But there is a rhythm to it, I think,” says Clarke. “It’s the way we hit certain words and sounds. There’s also an authenticity about the comedy here. Glasgow sniffs out bullshit very quickly. If you’re not being yourself on stage they’ll know. I’ve seen Glasgow crowds take affluent, middle-class English comics to their heart because they are who they say they are.”

He’s particularly proud of Breaking the News, of which there have been 250 episodes. It started after the first independence referendum when it seemed that Scotland was the most political country in the world. Yet, the more serious and intense we get about politics, the more we need our comedians to be on their game, mocking it all.

“I’m also delighted that it’s become such a great breeding ground for stand-ups and given them a platform. Whenever UK-wide programmes such as Mock the Week and Have I Got News for You talked about Scotland there was little Scottish representation or perspective. This was something which drove Breaking the News.”

It remains, along with View From the Terrace, one of the genuinely fresh, challenging and innovative ideas to emerge from BBC Scotland in the last decade. Comics are often a nation’s first line of defence against government arrogance and hubris. It should puncture political incompetence and foolishness.

In Scotland, though, as the SNP’s writ has insinuated itself into every area of public life it’s become noticeable that Scotland’s creators and entertainers and theatre owner impresarios have become all too aware of government funding being the difference between staying open and shutting. On Breaking the News, though, no one is spared.

“That’s important to us. We’re scrupulously fair in that everyone gets it. It’s holding them to account, but just as importantly, we’re doing so with humour, because – let’s face it – politics can be absurd. The show would lose something if we pulled our punches and the audience would sense it.”

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People talk about cancel culture like it’s a new thing. It’s not. It’s been around for decades. Lenny Bruce faced it all the time, Billy Connolly was followed everywhere by Pastor Jack Glass and the Catholic Church was outraged at his Crucifixion. Our role has always been to entertain but also to challenge. And to say what others can’t.

Perhaps we should grant our comics the indulgence to say what we can’t in our working lives; to hold those lines which we’re being told too often we shouldn’t cross.

“You don’t know where the line is until someone steps over it,” says Des Clarke. “But I don’t think anyone should be cancelled for daring to approach it.”