Legendary comedian Mark Thomas has spent forty years behind the mic as part of his sprawling and impactful career which has also seen him dig into investigative journalism and campaign for causes like corporate accountability and human rights. Now, with his latest Fringe show – Mark Thomas: 40 in Stand-Up Years – he reflects on his four decades in comedy and grapples with the current state of politics.
Below, he reflects on key tracks and albums which are tied to core memories and stories throughout his life.
Cod Liver Oil and Orange Juice – Hamish Imlach
One festival I was emailed out of the blue, “This venue is not accessible for people with disabilities, so either do a gig at an accessible venue or come and perform in my living room.”
I went for the living room. I’d be a fool not to.
Anne Marie lived with her mum Nancy. She decked the place out with Fringe posters, laid on food and drink for everyone and the living room was packed with about 20 people and their carers. How could we not become friends? I started to stay with them whenever I was in Edinburgh. Nancy was something else. Brought up as an orphan by neighbours, in service at 14, working in a tobacco factory at 16 and married to a joiner at 17. She brought up a family before doing an Open University degree and Moray House becoming a social worker. I adored her. I used to creep into the house after doing a gig and if her light was on would tap on the door and would sit on her bed while she told me stories of her life.
Nancy was old when I met her and when she became ill Anne Marie made a playlist of songs she liked. Her favourite was Cod Liver Oil and Orange Juice, which she would sing along to. I stayed with Anne Marie the first Fringe after Nancy died. It was discombobulating and sad. We sat discussing her one day when completely unbidden Alexa suddenly started to play Cod Liver Oil and Orange Juice. It is the most joyous and beautiful haunting.
Morning Sun – Al Barry
A relative was unjustly jailed for protest. They got a slot on prison radio but the prison authorities were on the lookout for any song that might mention jail breaks or uprisings or generally rile up the populace. As is the way with authority, anything they had no knowledge or understanding of tended to be regarded with suspicion and therefore banned. However, Al Barry’s song snuck under the wire and was a popular choice. Morning Sun has a feeling of future freedom and yearns for a better tomorrow.
It near broke my heart to have a loved one’s life and care in the arbitrary hands of the state. I was told about this song on a phone call from prison and from that point played it every day they were away. It made me feel closer to them and I have it on every play list I make for touring.
No New Wave No Fun – Mclusky
Love this band. Love this song. It is a family favourite. I used to plonk the kids on my lap, grab their arms and air drum them to this song. We still go and see Mclusky live as a family. I get left at the edge of the mosh pit with my inhaler these days, but that is fine as I am in charge of ear plugs.
Lord Lucan is Missing – The Dodgems
Friends run the John Peel Arts Centre in Stowmarket and they took me to visit Sheila, John Peel’s widow. Shelia is a total delight, she gave me a guided tour, showing me where various bands had stayed, played and made Black Russian Cocktails whilst live on the BBC. With her was an archivist who was working on John’s record collection. He asked if I could remember any particular song John played and lead me into a barn, a huge air-conditioned barn with racks and racks of records kept in order. A vinyl version of the final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Lord Lucan Is Missing by the Dodgems was my song choice. It was deliberately obscure. A friend had recorded John’s show the night he played the Dodgems and it became a quirky hit amongst a group of us and we would often sing the chorus in each other’s faces, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
The archivist found it. And played it.
“Is it like you remember?”
“Not quite,” I replied.
“They rarely are”, he said.
Paradoxically I love this song because of the power of memory that music evokes. A time when we recorded radio shows, shared music, of being 16, drinking cider in parks, seeing as many live bands as we could and a series of improbable day-glo leopard print t shirts. Now the song extends its grip on my memory, it recalls John’s record collection, a barn, an archivist, Stowmarket, Shelia and other friends. And whenever I think of any individual part of this series of memories I will think of, “I don’t know.”
Christmas Album – Herb Alpert and Tijuana Brass
This is my favourite Christmas record. My dad finished work at 6.30pm regardless of Christmas and so on Christmas Eve he would return home, have his tea, then would play this album. He also hoovered the house… a yearly event. So my dad hoovering to the tunes of Herb Alpert and Tijuana Brass was a moment of total joy, the normal order of things has been upended and the party was starting. To this day I play this album every Christmas.
Mark Thomas: 40 in Stand-Up Years, The Stand Comedy Club, until 30 Aug, 6.05pm