Having recently played at comedy festivals in Australia, Amsterdam, Edinburgh and our own Carlsberg Comedy Carnival, Reginald D. Hunter is somewhat of a festival expert. But as is the way, it’s the bad festival experiences that have glued themselves to Hunter’s memory.

“I remember every moment of every bad gig, and not just of the gig, but the entire day. I remember what I had for breakfast, what I was wearing – people ask you do you remember what you were doing when Kennedy was shot, well it’s like that. The worst was a gig in Germany about seven years ago. There were a lot of black Americans in the audience and a few groups were late, and got really loud and obnoxious, disrupting everyone. So I said some things I shouldn’t have, you know, things not to be repeated.”
Oh go on.
“Well, okay then. I felt they were intimidating the other people so I said, ‘You can’t complain that white people don’t welcome you and then go off and segregate yourselves like this.’ And they did not like that. One woman turned around and started screaming at me, she was so mad. She was all, ‘Oh you’re standing up for the rights of the white man! What’s your e-mail address, I bet you get a lot of hate mail from a lot of black people!’ So I said, ‘Yeah, I do get a lot of hate mail from black people. And I’ve never seen so many misspelled words in my life.’ I got booed off stage and when I left I had to be escorted back to my hotel in a guarded van, people were yelling things and throwing things. It was like your worst nightmare of what a gig could be, but it was real.”
This isn’t the first time that Hunter has landed himself in hot water over references to race on stage. His determination to reclaim the word “nigga” has led him to use the term in nearly all of the titles of his stand-up shows, including Pride and Prejudice… and Niggas, and this year’s Trophy Nigga.
The poster for the former show was banned on the London Underground, leading Hunter to accuse the corporation of censorship. However, having a black woman accuse him of disrespecting his race must have hit closer to home. I ask Hunter how her comments made him feel, and what he learned from the experience.
“I learned… what did I learn…” he muses seriously, taking time to contemplate. “I suppose I learned that even if I‘m angry, even if I’m drunk and offended and people are being rude, even then… I can still be fucking funny.”
Audiences clearly agree, flocking to his show at the Edinburgh Comedy Festival, which he hails as “the best festival ever.” He’s also looking forward to making his Electric Picnic debut, though he claims he feels “misled”. “You say ‘picnic’ to an American, and we get very aroused at the whole notion of breaking bread, but I’ve been told that’s not the main focus of this weekend, so I’m feeling left both hungry and frustrated. Not a good combination.”
I get the impression that Electric Picnic is expected to make up for being such a cook-out-tease, and Hunter is very specific in his requirements for a good festival. “You want options, you want music, you want sketch groups, comedy, theatre, drinking places that stay open late – this can’t be underrated. It’s a festival, let’s be festive.”
Ever the discerning gentleman, our festival afficionado has also noticed a very distinctive ingredient that helps gets the festivities going full-throttle.
“Now this may be purely coincidence, but I’ve noticed that all of the better festivals have a consistent and steady flow of good drugs. And by ‘good drugs’ I don’t mean cancer-curing,” he stresses. “I mean of high quality and in plentiful supply.”
Not that he would partake, of course.
“No, of course this is purely from an observer’s perspective. But making a purely scientific and objecive observation, it seems to help the overall atmosphere.”
Does Hunter find that his audience find him funnier with a bit of chemical enhancement? “I haven’t done the adequate level of research on that, but I can assure you that junior comic scientists are working on that right now in a Batcave somewhere, and will keep you updated on any further developments.”
Let’s hope the Batcave has some guest bedrooms, because it seems Hunter is earning a bit of a reputation with festival hospitality staff.
“Well, one proprietor in Edinburgh let us know that we were no longer welcome in their establishment after staying there last year.”
On what he did to be so unceremoniously refused accomodation, Hunter remains coy. Did he trash the place, rock ‘n’ roll style?
“Well, ‘trashed’ is a strong word, I would be disinclined to describe it as such. But you know the way people call their spaces living rooms’? Well, we lived. A lot.”
The “we” Hunter refers to is his posse of friends and family, who accompany him on his travels. “I have my peeps, and if I’m going to be somewhere for more than a few days, then I bring them along. I need to be around people who keep me chilled and loose and relaxed, so I go on stage loose and relaxed.”
Travelling around with an entourage sounds decidely diva-esque to me, but Hunter is adamant that his modest rider disproves this assumption.
“I don’t think I’m particularly demanding. I like to have some ice water before I go on. And then obviously because I’m drinking water, I like being near a toilet. And I don’t get mad if the stage isn’t too far away, I think most performers appreciate if it’s close. And if it’s not a smoking dressing-room, somewhere where my posse can go smoke. And I like having a couple of take-aways nearby, a Chinese, and a Thai restaurant, and a chipper, and maybe a pizza place…”
That’s a lot of food. Is that to build up his energy to do a good gig or in case there’s the need to comfort eat after a bad one?
Hunter gets serious, almost whispering. “Can I confide in you?”
Why do I suddenly feel like a priest in a confessional box? Go ahead, my child, no-one can judge you, only God. And me. And the several thousand people reading.
“Well some of the people in my group, I am ashamed to say, smoke marijuana. They smoke a lot. Like a lot. You just can’t stop them. And when they do, they get cravings for burgers, Chinese food… oh, and Thai food, definitely Thai food. And maybe some hummus sandwiches. Oh, and pitta bread, gotta get me some pitta bread… I mean, get them some pitta bread.”
Jesus, let’s wrap this up quick before he incriminates himself further. At the very least, it sounds like Hunter’s experiences of the festival circuit have been… stimulating.
“It’s been an exciting ride,” he agrees. “A lot of action, adventure, some swashbuckling. Oh yes,” he says in a sinister tone. “I have buckled some swashes in my time.”
And smoked some things he shouldn’t have, I’m guessing. But you know, whatever he’s on, I kind of want some myself.