Fellow alternative comedian John Dowie remembers a pioneer, on what would have been his 80th birthday

Tony Allen, the sharp-suited acerbic opinionated incisive much-loved and often much-dreaded ‘godfather of alternative comedy’, was born on this day, March 4, in 1945, probably wearing a hat and saying something critical about the birth process. Had he lived, he would have been 80 today, and I imagine he’d have even more to say about that.

I first met Tony in Edinburgh, on the street appropriately. He was complaining about the bad review his Alternative Cabaret show had received in that morning’s Scotsman, which surprised me. I’d have thought a bad review of Alternative Cabaret in The Scotsman would be seen as a plus. 

Our second meeting was in his flat in west London, where his own critical abilities were made very clear. I can’t remember what I’d said about my dislike of the label ‘alternative comedy’ and the people who used it, but I do remember Tony’s comment: ‘You’re a bit of a shit, aren’t you?’ Then his phone rang. Tony took the call as I sat wondering if it was time for this shit’s boot heels to be wandering. The call ended. Tony continued. ‘Obviously, we can’t leave it there…’

We then spent four hours together before taking the Tube into central London. Tony chose not to buy a ticket, preferring instead to vault over the barriers. All very well until we got to our station, which we couldn’t leave without buying a ticket. The tickets cost double what we would have paid had we bought them in the first place: my first glimpse of Tony’s anarchy in action.

Visits to Tony’s flat continued, now minus the faecal references, replaced instead with the company of like-minded friends and hours of aching laughter. In those pre-podcast days, there was no way for these hilarious encounters to be captured for posterity, luckily for posterity. ‘What we need is for Channel 4 to put some cameras in here and just let us do what we like,’ I once suggested, clearly having no idea what Channel 4 considered its broadcasting remit to be. Tony’s friend and collaborator Max Hadley suggested the title, Up All Night With Nutters. Tony elaborated: ‘Later tonight on Channel 4 we’ll be Up All Night With Nutters. But before that, Midnight With the Merely Mad.’

***

I wasn’t the only comedian to be subjected to Tony’s often incisive and always loud criticism of our skills. It happened to all of us, usually when we were doing it. Perhaps the finest example of this occurred in Edinburgh. American comedians had started coming to Scotland, many of them using the innovative technique of not telling any jokes, preferring instead to ask audiences who they were and what they did. As Tony said, he was in the middle of the front row and had plenty of time to work on his response.

‘Hallo, sir. What’s your name?’

‘Tony."

‘And what do you do, Tony?’

"I’m a comedian. What do you do?’

American comedy had its revenge, served by one of its finest proponents, Robin Williams, who was in London to perform at a charity event. He was trying out routines beforehand in a small London venue to an audience consisting of nothing except comedians, including Tony, who was racked with both flu and alcohol. One of Robin Williams’ routines inspired Tony to make a comment, which he did, at full volume with added slurring. Robin Williams looked straight at him and said, ‘Meanwhile, in the House of Lords the marijuana debate continues…'

Tony might have preferred to use London’s transport systems for free, but that philosophy did not apply to going to a gig. He came to see me countless times, and not once did he ask me for a ticket. The only way I knew he was in the audience was when his full-throated laugh would erupt from the darkness, almost always on its own, a laugh perfectly and eloquently described by the poet/musician John Hegley.

Before his death, friends of Tony organised a ‘woke wake’ in which people could express their admiration of him while he was still around to receive it. Predictably, Tony heckled the show and walked out, but not before John Hegley had sung his tribute to our friend.

‘With my own first stabs at cabaret/and seeking the applause/the big laugh of encouragement/dear Tony/it was yours.’

One of the last photographs ever taken of Tony graces this page. It was taken by Oliver Double, comedy historian and fellow performer. It is not a photograph of the sharp-suited, hat-wearing ‘Godfather of Alternative Comedy,’ a photograph of whom appears in every obituary published. This is a photograph of my friend Tony Allen: both feet planted firmly on the ground, a colourful past behind him, his gaze fixed on the future to which he is about to walk, with a bag slung across his shoulder just in case. 

March forth, Tony. March forth. 

• If you can’t celebrate a dead friend’s birthday by plugging your own book then what’s the point in being alive? is a philosophy I hope Tony might have approved. My book Before I Go can be bought here, and here only: https://tinyurl.com/2yw4bnsk

Oliver Double's picture of Tony Allen

Published: 4 Mar 2025