Once a year, thousands of magicians descend upon a town in northern England to… erm… hang on…
What actually goes on there?
Card tricks I guess?
Lectures maybe.
I dunno.
They descend upon Blackpool to waste money and learn nothing.
It is, in many ways, ‘fun’.
It’s always fun to meet people you don’t see very often. Being a professional nobody, the fact that I’m on good terms with a few medium to big level somebodies is something I’m rather proud of. As I was explaining to a new friend I made this year, in school I was bullied a lot, often by people I didn’t know; I was weird, it was noticed. It got me into a mindset where I was used to people knowing who I was when I had no idea who they were. It made me paranoid but I got used to it. When I moved away from home I became anonymous for the first time ever, and then when I became a magician and started going to conferences I was suddenly surrounded by people whom¹ I recognised as celebrity figures but who¹ didn’t recognise me in return. This was a massive flip in worldviews and it might have made me uncomfortable were it not for the fact that it only seemed to last a year or two, by which time I accidentally garnered a small following of my own and suddenly once again there are total strangers who recognise me, but at least now they don’t throw things at me.
Somewhere down the line I ended up on good terms with a number of people whose names I won’t list but whom pretty much every magician in the UK would recognise, either because they are so prolific or because they have invented magic tricks loved by many. The reason I mention this and describe them in this way is to stress that they are not, with perhaps one exception, actually famous.
But famous magicians do go to Blackpool. Properly famous magicians, who have been on television and everything. I don’t know any of them².
The epicentre of Blackpool magic convention is a pub called the Ruskin where magicians have been conducting experiments into overcrowding for 66 years. On Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday night the entire convention load of 3500 human beings attempt to fit into a hotel bar with roughly 200 seats and 4 members of staff serving drinks³. This laboratory of social dynamics has given rise to a hierarchical system of notoriety. Magic is (to the surprise of many) a subset of show business, which is pretty much entirely navigated by getting on the radar of people with the power to offer you a platform.
This is a very controversial statement, despite the fact that we clearly see this played out on TV shows where people clamour for a two minute audition in front of Simon Cowell and sign ridiculous contracts in order to get a chance at fame. The controversy lies in the fact that fame probably seems like a shallow thing to strive for, and this notion of placing all your hope in the whims of a panel of celebrity judges sounds like a total abdication of responsibility in ones own future. This is however a concentrated televised version of how showbiz works.
In the real world of showbiz we hope that each gig will lead to a slightly more prestigious (or at the very least more lucrative) opportunity. From old folks homes to pubs, from restaurants to local theatre, from cabaret spots to corporate stands, from the Edinburgh Festival to the Apollo, each time we step out in front of an audience we hope that audience will lead to another, preferably one that pays better.
There’s no shame in it, we live in a capitalist society and there is no ethical acquisition under capitalism. Get paid.
But the loophole in the system is that while for the most part, getting onto the radar of your next venue is down to impressing them with your ability, it also relies upon the chance element of your next venue actually being there to see you in the first place. Good reviews can guide prospective clients to seek you out but there’s no denying the role chance has to play.
Chance is swayed however by the fact that if you have a five minute chat with someone who has already made it through this system, that person can point the system towards you and speed the whole process up. In fact the right gig can directly come from a chance encounter at an event like Blackpool.
The hierarchy is something like
- Has produced TV show
- Has own TV show
- Has been on TV show
- Has own theatre show
- Owns performance venue
- Prolific cabaret worker
- Magic publisher
- Proflic magic producer
- Has released a magic trick
- Has regular work
- Is trying to break into the industry
- Talented nobody (me⁴)
- Beginners and hobyists
I know people all the way up to level 3 but I choose not to leverage the fact due to my physical abnormalities and crippling social anxiety. Unfortunately I find it difficult to chat to many of them because they are busy trying to climb the ladder. Of course not being on the bottom of the ladder means there are lots of people in that last bracket to socialise with who want a piece of me and actually, with a few notable exceptions, they’re pretty cool.
Every year 3500 magicians descend on Blackpool to watch lectures, purchase magic tricks, watch shows, and show off to each other at various levels of inebriation. In truth however the only thing most of them want to know from the lecturers and performers is how to become them, and the tricks they buy and the strangers they impress are mostly stepping stones to achieve the same. Amongst them are the real heroes of Blackpool Magic convention: Stone cold amateurs, in it for the fun, artistry, and creative freedom that comes with a universally derided hobby.
You know who you are and I salute you all.
If you want to go to Blackpool magic convention I have 3 pieces of advice.
- Try not to buy anything. The best way to tell what’s worth having is to see what’s still around a year after its massive pre-release hype and first showing.
- Avoid the Ruskin, go to the pub across the road; the Sutcliffe. That’s where anybody who is nobody hangs out.
- When you step out of the winter gardens and turn to the right, across the road there is a small eatery at number 2 Cedar Square. Every year it has a different owner, every year it has a different name, every year I eat there, and every year I feel ill afterwards. It can’t possibly be the fault of the proprietors, but I think it’s cursed. It was built on an ancient burial ground or something. This kind of trailed off. Anyway, my third piece of advice is to go there, I always have an interesting time.
¹ The ability to correctly use the terms who and whom is a point of pride for me. Please never tell me if I get it wrong. It would destroy me.
² Well okay maybe I know a few, but I don’t like to name drop.
³ Math!
⁴ Perhaps there’s a tinge of ego in describing myself as talented, but look at how self deprecating the word “Nobody” looks.