Hughes ambition

Much as I hate to admit it, I’m old enough to remember seeing Sean Hughes in 1990, the year he won the Perrier Award. Hughes was the youngest recipient of the Perrier at the time and had the demeanour of a fresh-faced Johnny Rotten about him then, though without the sneer. 

Falling between the world weariness of a Jack Dee and the loquaciousness of a Dylan Moran, Hughes was an accessible thinking man’s standup, becoming one of TV’s post-alternative comedy darlings with Sean’s Show and Never Mind The Buzzcocks. In recent years, however, his live returns have seemed obtuse, prickly, and perhaps on the wrong side of the Johnny Rotten comparison. 

Though somewhat fuller of frame today, the 47 year old Irishman is still as fresh faced as he was twenty two years ago. The sprightly demeanour may be down to the fact that he has stopped drinking for over a year now. 

“I’ve plenty of energy, but saying that I could well have a heart attack three days in.” 

If he does over extend himself, it will be because Hughes is bringing two shows up to the Fringe for the full run: a scripted show about death (he recently lost his father) and a standup show allowing him to go more off-road with his audience. Thematically speaking, it is the passing of alcohol that is common to both shows. 

“I’m not evangelical about it. Not drinking is boring but it's just where I am in my life. I think I'm akin to a child on Christmas morning who has opened all of his presents. I have drunk all my drink in my life.” Hughes claims he was drinking a lot out of boredom but that he’s not as bored now. 

“It might be something to do with my dad’s death, but although I don’t wake up with a spring in my step I am grateful I am alive.” 

The world weariness that came over in his recent shows sounds like it has abated, albeit in the most endearingly negative way. A tempered joyousness, if you will. “There’s no doubt there has been a change in my material,” Hughes admits. He describes the show about his father as minimal on personal detail and essentially “very uplifting” where he talks about death “with a smile on my face." Meanwhile his standup hour includes routines about being a nine-year-old devotee of The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bay City Rollers.

 “I wanted a bionic arm so much that I went around at night self-harming. I ended up crashing my bike and cut my tooth open so that the nerve was open. They gave me a cap and said I should say the Six million Dollar Man gave it to me, but everybody at school called me Jaws – the character from James Bond.”

There’s no question Hughes has got the bit between his teeth this year. He’s enjoying talking about his material and he’s honest about the charms of some of his more recent work. “I have upped my game. The last few shows in Edinburgh have been lazy." 

“It might be my Catholic Irish upbringing, but there is something I do that tries to destroy everything. I like to diss the audience straight away, but that’s to be on a level playing field. I am saying ‘don’t love me just for the sake of it, let me earn your love.’”

Later, he returns to his upbringing to explain how he was able to win this love. “In Dublin all that was expected of me was to work in a supermarket. In London I found the club circuit almost as limiting. Edinburgh was a godsend, somewhere you could express yourself. I’m not saying my best gigs were here but I know that if there was no Edinburgh festival I wouldn't be doing comedy.”

Hughes is in a good position to be philosophical about how he does what he does, brushing aside reviving TV ambitions (“If they did Sean's Show again they'd probably ask ‘can we get Russell Kane to play you?’”) and the suggestion that he go viral (“Have you ever seen anything truly remarkable on the internet that doesn't involve cats?”). 

“Comedy is on a loop at the moment, it makes me wonder why we bothered with alternative comedy in the first place, with great comedians seemingly more worried about money than craft. But it's still an opportunity to say things that you can’t say in any other art form. I don’t mind if it is only to 300 people, rather than a five minute slot on TV. I’ve lowered my expectations and life becomes quite bearable after you do that.”