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6 hours ago
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How did you get into comedy?
I feel like comedy got into me. At university, I hosted talent shows as part of the African and Caribbean society, and became popular on the university circuit. After that, someone said: “You’re a pretty funny host, you should try standup.” One of my first gigs was at Kojo’s Comedy Funhouse, performing these funny songs. But explaining those songs made people laugh even more. I didn’t even realise I was doing standup. It was never planned, but the moment I got a taste for it, it was just one gig after another. I never looked back.
Who did you admire when you were first starting out?
I remember watching Richard Blackwood. His shows would come on TV pretty late and if I caught my parents in a good mood, they would let me watch until the end. I used to love Bruce Forsyth. Ronnie Corbett was hilarious. I was a big fan of Laurel and Hardy, Charlie Chaplin. It was never a case of wanting to be them – but I guess that was me taking in their energy.
What’s your show, Let Me Land, about?
Growing up in my community, “let me land” means: let me finish or let me get to the point before you cut me off. The show is a reflection on my life, coming to this country as an asylum seeker and all the things that transpired off the back of that.
From the array of African dance styles to your own Strictly journey, dance is central to the show. How does rhythm intersect with your comedy?
I come from a country where we love dancing and entertainment. For many, it’s a form of escapism, but it’s also a deep part of our culture. It’s how you express yourself, whether at a wedding, a club, in church, it’s all the same. Growing up, I listened to all different types of music, but especially Congolese music, which is full of rhythm and naturally encourages the gyrating of the hips. It was always something I wanted to make a part of me. It’s almost impossible to separate myself from music, dance and culture, so I found a unique way to incorporate it into my storytelling.
When I got Strictly, I thought I was the best dancer in the world. I thought I was ready because I believed I could dance naturally. Then I discovered there was so much more to it than the dances I was used to. I learned that the hard way.
Do you have any preshow rituals?
I pray. A lot of the time I get confidence from knowing I can speak to God. I also do my little stretches before I come out. If you ever see me backstage, I’m moving my hips. Maybe I can hear the DJ but usually I am dancing to absolutely no music.
What’s been one of your all-time favourite gigs?
The O2 Arena was a significant moment for me, because it was a coming of age. I felt like I had arrived. I was the first black British comic to headline the biggest stage. It was a great moment for me to express myself, and really gave me confidence during a time when the black comedy circuit wasn’t getting a lot of big stage moments. So, for me, that always stays to my heart.
Any bugbears from the world of entertainment?
People expect you to be exactly what they see on stage. Most of the time, you’re just going about your day, out with friends or family, when someone catches you. With me, because they’ve seen me dancing on stage, it’s usually, “Give us a dance.” No, I’m not busking for you alone! People assume you’re always in a happy, jolly mood or ready to crack jokes. And then there’s that classic moment when you tell someone you’re a comedian, and they go, “Go on then, make me laugh.” Mate, if you’re a doctor, I’m not going to ask you to operate on me right there, am I?
Can you recall a gig that’s so bad it’s now funny?
It was at the old BBC building in White City, a corporate gig with a few other comics. I’d just come off a high from back-to-back shows; that feeling when everything’s working, no matter the audience. But something went wrong. I didn’t change my material or say anything different. The audience just stared at me. The loudest silence I’d ever heard. It just kept going. I remember thinking: Do I just push through to the end? I must have come on too cocky. I finished my set, said, “That’s my time,” and that got the biggest cheer of the whole performance. When you bomb that badly, you start wondering, why am I even doing this? I genuinely considered getting a nine-to-five … I thought about my old Tesco job and whether it was still available.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?
You can only be your best, authentic self. Your story is enough. The second-best piece of advice, at this stage in my life, is eat as many greens as possible.
What’s an important lesson you have learned from being a standup and presenter?
The audience wants you to win – especially when they’ve come to see you. Even if they’ve just come to see a comedy show where you’re one of the acts performing. Also, with standup, for me, definitely take a flannel on stage, because, like Lee Evans, I sweat a lot.
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Eddie Kadi: Let Me Land is on tour until 11 October
