Funnyman Craig Quartermaine has been at it for more than a decade – making us laugh on stage, screen, and across the airwaves.
Craig's sharp, politically charged humour has taken him from the national finals of RAW Comedy to stages around the world, including the Edinburgh Fringe. Known for his blend of wit with biting social commentary, he’s also been seen on 'The Jim Jefferies Show', 'Black Comedy' and ABC’s 'Movin’ To The Country'. His stand-up cuts to the heart of race, identity and modern hypocrisy – all with a laugh.
Now, he's bringing the biggest and best show of his career, 'Historically Accurate', to the Kingston Butter Factory in Queensland. Craig will hit hard and dark topics, showing us that it's all just a part of who we are. Supporting Craig at the show is a stellar comedy line-up, including Jayde O’Brien and Cheymark Baeya Rehder.
As a seasoned comic, Craig has had his fair share of random gigs. Here, ahead of his Kingston Butter Factory gig, he lists the six best stories he's got from six random places he's done stand-up.
One
Boulia, QLD. Barman with BOM on his phone. So, being a comic in Australia, you get to play some ridiculously remote places. Boulia is the most far-western town in Queensland, to the point the next stop on the street signs is Alice Springs. I played a community centre there, but before killed some time at the local pub, where I met the local publican who did the best “locals mess with a tourist” move I can remember. As we hid in the aircon from the Queensland summer, something would happen where one of the two doors entering the bar at opposite ends would blow open when the other one was shut. The barman told me it meant a storm was coming because of the humidity build up. I was impressed, felt it was legit. Then he offered to bet me $20 it’ll rain by 2pm, sure enough the rain hit, spot on 2pm. I was stunned and paid up to a chorus of giggles from the bar staff. Turns out old mate checked BOM, and the doors blow open when the aircon is on. I got gotten.Two
Karijini National Park. Elders were clapping by the end. I played the Karijini Experience a few years ago at a festival in a National Park. My grandfather was/is from the Stolen Generation – so there was so much emotional baggage playing this particular gig in the centre of Western Australia, and before I went on, an Elder came up to me and said “you’re meant to be the funny man? Better not f... it up”. I have never been more stressed to impress, then I got up, got my first laugh and rolled on. After I came off stage, the same Elder came up to me pointed at me and said “you, lucky”.Three
Tallinn, Estonia. Played a club in Estonia while part of a double act in the former soviet-held country, it was quite different, but the gigs had been great, but this particular night the night club was packed. It had a great vibe but a procession of massive Russian men in leather jackets doing the security. Turns out they were also the sound and tech guys. Before we started the show they took the time to reinforce to us that under no circumstances should we be rough with the mic, bang them, twist them, spin, and under no circumstances, throw or drop them. . . So obviously, my life flashed before my eyes, as my co-star dropped the brand-new, expensive microphone mid-show to provoke four large, leather-clad men to stand up from behind the sound booth. I didn’t really perform the rest of the show as opposed to do my lines, and I counted down how we were going to escape. We finished, I packed up, my co-star was accosted by the room runners/sound tech/bouncers/possible soldiers of fortune asking why he had dropped their new microphone on purpose. What followed was a seven minute explanation about the intentions, velocity and dynamics of the performance that eventuated in the fall of the mic. My co-star was an intense, loud and thorough performer so much so that the once angry large Russian men had finally given up, and simply stopped the explanation with this line: “You British, you talk so much, if we were upset we would just beat you”. . . To which I said, “fair point”, I grabbed my co-star and we left promptly.Four
Abattoir, Edinburgh. The Edinburgh Fringe is brutal for performers but still amazing and character-building, flyering to get people to come to your show can be soul-destroying but also lucrative, as you ask random strangers to take a chance on you and your show. A great friend of mine, Che Burnley, had a show called 'Elvis Was Racist' and he was a magnetic, charming man who did very well flyering and getting people to come to his show. Unfortunately for him, this one year his show was in a repurposed abattoir. While gothic and cool-looking, it was an actual labyrinth where punters would get routinely lost. One day at 12pm, I went to see Che’s show and there was no crowd, which happens. As he packed up the projector he stopped and asked me, “do you want to see the show?”. I said yes, and the most fringe festival thing I could hope for happened. I was a one-man audience for my mate's show, and it was frickin' awesome. Five stars.Five
Cafe – midday, Brisbane City. You do silly things as part of a comedy festival. I did a pop-up comedy spot in a Brisbane café for my first Brisbane Comedy Festival, literally walked in, someone set up a mic and I started doing stand-up. Very akin to busking. . . But no one else knew there was meant to be any comedy. So I started on my feet but grabbed a milk crate for some elevation over the crowd, and somehow we had a proper comedy set punctuated by hisses of steam and EFTPOS pings, and actually got a round of applause by the end.Six
Barramundi Fishing Competition, NT. I had no idea how big this fishing competition was, my job was to be the entertainment after dinner and 350 people were exhausted, hungry and sun-stricken. There was no logical reason this show, in a massive hall next to the Alligator River in the NT, should work. But the comedy gods smiled on me when I arrived before the show. There was a two-hour overlap between the end of competition and the commencement of the show. In that time, everyone came back, to shower, eat and debrief from the events of the day. The thing is, I’m not particularly famous or recognisable, and my room where I was accommodated was located directly among all the other competitors with thin Gyprock walls. For two hours, I got to overhear absolutely everything that went on. I had all the gossip, I had all the background of all the teams, competitors, and every possible nuance you could imagine. This is like gold to comics. Being able to be so specific to the audience ensured I had one of the best gigs of my life.Craig Quartermaine plays Kingston Butter Factory (Queensland) 20 September.
