Melbourne-based comedian Mr Simon Taylor shares an insight into ‘the story so far’ for a Philosophy Graduate and Rationalist forging a career in the performing arts.
How could such noise emanate from creatures so small? The chattering, screaming and squealing – it’s deafening. A cluster of kids, their hair washed, nails clipped and socks pulled high, are packed together by the drinking fountains – and they’re looking at something. A teacher beckons and the children hear her, just. Small bodies shuffle away, revealing a scrawny young boy with bright, wide eyes, wrapping up his very best Elvis impersonation.
“Drama was always a part of my life. It was good for me, it helped me assimilate,” Simon Taylor says, leaning back, smiling at the thought of his first ‘big break’.
How could such a stench come from boys so well dressed? A gale-force wind couldn’t cut through the body odour, cheap deodorant and phlegm hanging heavy in the air. It’s insufferable. A pack of boys, their hair slick with gel, faces spotted and scarred, and trousers dagging around their rears are huddled together – and they’re watching someone. The school bell sounds, and awkward bodies sniff, mumble and move away, exposing a newcomer with an unfamiliar face, landing the last sweeping glide of his perfect Michael Jackson moonwalk.
Taylor’s friend, Mr James Gallichio, says “Throughout school and afterwards, Simon’s always performing – always trying new things, always challenging himself. He likes to test the boundaries.”
“I’m a performer. I’m an entertainer. I’m just as much a comedian as a spoken word person. I’m just as much a musician as a writer, a poet, a magician,” Taylor says, explaining he is always searching for the best way to connect with people, to communicate. Perched atop a milk crate in a noisy Melbourne laneway-come-construction-site, Taylor swoops down and snatches the recorder, clutching the now-microphone so his voice may be heard above the clamour.
Three rookie comedians have driven to Anglesea, a coastal Victorian town, anticipating playing to an audience of between 700 and 800 adult scouts. Emerging on stage, the sun is setting on a crowd of no more than 70 people, strewn around a dirty campsite. The taste of too much bourbon is almost palpable. The scouts aren’t here to laugh. They’re here to heckle, taunt, boo and throw cans. Three performers experience ‘an epic death’.
“If you do a shit gig and still go, ‘Yeah, this is what I want to be doing,’ then you know this is the vocation for you,” Taylor muses, washing the reflection down with a gulp of water.
Taylor’s director, Mr Matthew Ziccone, says “He’s a perfectionist – his attention to detail, his discipline and his passion. He’s consumed by his craft. It’s beautiful and scary, all at the same time.”
The convention hall is awash in black and white, packed full of people scrambling to find their seats. Casting his eyes out over the crowd, gathered together for the 2012 Global Atheist Convention Gala Dinner, the night’s ‘court jester’ recognises many of the people he admires most – ‘good writers, good orators, good thinkers’.
“I like questioning everything. I think it does social good for people to be smart, to be critical thinkers,” Taylor reflects pensively.
Two artists sit down to sketch the next Flim Flam comic instalment – their contribution to the Rationalist Society of Australia. The pair are putting pen to paper to ‘make fun of things, in a jocular way’ about issues surrounding religion, tradition, and dogma, and ‘get people asking questions’.
“I’m constantly thinking, ‘How could that be a joke? How could I use this spoon as a magic trick?’ I’m always seeing the world through a prism of trying to create, so switching off is hard,” Taylor emphasises.
Lush red velvet curtains drape down onto the stage, and every wooden pew in the quirky cabaret club creaks under the weight of giddy guests. The Melbourne International Comedy Festival is in full-flight, and they’ve come out in their droves to see him. Dipping, kicking and dancing across stage to Peter Allen’s ‘I go to Rio’, Taylor’s final pirouette sees him land alongside the piano. Grinning cheekily to his former Philosophy lecturers spanning the front row, he grasps his well-worn textbook and launches head-on into the next segment of his solo performance.
“Comedy’s a good vehicle for trying to communicate what’s important to you. This is me, trying to break apart how people think, what people are about – trying to be academic about a human subject,” Taylor explains of his current show, ’10 Things I Know About You’. The hour-long monologue pulls apart philosophy, morality, love and language through song, dance, poetry, magic and comedy.
His forehead beaded with sweat, Taylor’s chest rises and falls heavily as he bows, accepting the audience’s hearty applause. The night’s performance has taken its toll, and his voice is raspy and strained as he whispers, ‘Thank you, thank you.’ Though exhausted, he smiles broadly. Savouring the moment, he is content.
“He’s extremely fastidious about his work. He’s always doing a performance, and then thinking about it, dissecting it. For him, it’s a business, as well as art. He strives for excellence, and I think he’ll go a long way,” Gallichio says.
“Writing and creating gives me wellbeing and clarity of mind – that drives me to perform,” Taylor says. “I fear complacency, and not making the most of life. I see some people do nothing, and that freaks me out.” Having toured ’10 Things I Know About You’ for the past year, Taylor flies to Los Angeles in May to focus on writing his upcoming show, ‘One-Man Debate’. The show will explore ideas and myths surrounding masculinity, and ‘what it really is’ to be a man.
“Simon occupies a really special space in Australian performance circles. Where there’s such attention to bravado – to athleticism and good looks, Simon stands apart. He fits this niche of the educated, insightful, feminist male – and that’s really cool,” Ziccone says.
“The core of everything I create and do is to find clarity in chaos, and I’m enjoying myself doing it,” Taylor concludes.
