“For me, not staying busy is like when you see a sad lion or some kind of medicated large cat behind bars at a zoo — it just doesn’t suit me,” says comedian Tommy Tiernan. “As long as the touring is endless, I’m happy.”
Tiernan, the Irish comedian you may know as the quiet and reserved Gerry on the Netflix hit Derry Girls, is taking his new stand-up show, Tommy Tiernan: Tommedian, on the road to theaters in 13 cities across North America. (See all of his tour dates here.) If you’ve never seen Tiernan’s act, just know that his real-life persona is miles away from the mild Derry Girls dad you’re accustomed to: “A friend of mine said I have the comedian’s version of Tourette’s,” he laughs.
As he prepared to make his way through North America in a “proper tour bus,” Tiernan spoke with Entrepreneur about the business of being funny, his recent audience with the Pope and the push/pull of staying in control — but not too much control — when he takes the stage. “Sometimes I’ve got my head between my hands, and I am going, ‘Oh, my God, why did you say that?!'”
Between European and North American dates, this is a pretty big tour. Is it exciting or exhausting just thinking about it?
I know it’s the only thing that keeps Bob Dylan alive — just seeing another 45 dates rolled out in front of him. I have a similar disposition in that it pleases me greatly to see a long list of dates. And I’m always jealous — irrespective of the damage done to people’s domestic situations — when I see people with longer tours. A comedian is a cultural outlaw, and he is protected by the road. He doesn’t take anything seriously. Whatever the people in a town hold dear or demand respect for, he kind of undermines it. When you’re on the road, you’re protected by the camaraderie of other comedians, and then you’re somewhere else the following night. If you stay in one place show after show, you’re more easily found and shot.
Your character on Derry Girls is so gentle and understated. Was it hard to not be able to turn yourself loose?
I loved it. And in hindsight, I yearned for it. That’s a safe space. You can’t get into trouble when you’re contractually obliged to say what you’ve been told to say. That was a delight.
How do you go about writing a new stand-up show? Do you start with a theme?
For me, it’s not about writing a show. At first, you get up on stage with enough ideas to last 40 minutes. And I always think that if the same people came to the show each night, you’d realize you’re a boring husband. Your wife has heard all the stories. Oh my God, here we go again. Oh really? You’re going to tell that stupid story? So it’s about talking and talking and talking and talking until it gets firm, but then there’s always the possibility of another phrase coming in. There are moments where you just go out on a limb, and you try something, and if it works, you build on that the next night. So my shows don’t get written; they develop.
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What have you learned about the business side of comedy over the years?
I’ve learned that if you pay too much attention to money, it’ll destroy you. And if you don’t pay enough attention to money, it’ll destroy you. So you have to find a balance. You should always follow the fun but also have an awareness if you’re not being paid properly. There’s no virtue in accepting that. But if that starts to dominate your life, then how do you follow the fun? It’s very useful to know people who know different things than you. There are people who love working with money and doing deals. It’s good to have access to one or two of them in your career. You need a team to watch that part so you can stay focused on the fun and give the audience the attention and respect they deserve. Money is a restless energy — people want to pay you. What you do with that energy is your business. You have to respect the fact that your audience has given you their money and attention.
You were among the 105 comedians Pope Francis invited to the Vatican. What was that like?
It was very moving when he came into the room. He walks slowly with a cane. It was very emotional. Afterward, we went into St. Peter’s Basilica. And you’re looking at 800 years of European suffering in the form of statues and artwork. Everybody in the Basilica is suffering; even the horses are in agony. And everyone is asking God to help. The European and South American comedians, I think, felt the gravitas of the moment. We totally got the Pope as an important representative of something. The Americans? I think to them he was someone that they’d seen on TV. There was no surrender to a hierarchy. It was more like, “I’m actually on TV more than you are!” So there was that kind of energy coming from some of the Americans. But that’s nobody’s fault. We’re all the products of our culture. I could see some of the older Italian comedians saying to themselves, “Do they not understand who the man in the white dress is?”
So, was Conan trying to do a bit with him or something?
No names! No names! No names! But one of them was called Jimmy. I’ll say that much.
