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Back Back Back Again! - Fringe Veterans

27 Jul 2026

Comedy Editor James Macfarlane speaks to Stephen K Amos, Tom Stade and Phil Nichol about their legendary Fringe status, advice to first time performers and their own definition of success.

the joy of a first Fringe show lies precisely in not knowing what you're doing.

What do you understand about the Fringe now that you couldn’t have understood in your debut year?

Stephen K Amos: The sheer scale and size of the Fringe can be overwhelming, so it’s very important to know how to navigate it. Simple steps. From the amount of walking you will do every day to eating sensibly to maintain your energy. Avoiding unnecessary late nights, where talking in loud venues will affect your voice. Keep focused on why you are there: the show. Nothing beats word of mouth. Finally, be prepared for each and every season… the highs and the lows… all in one day!

Tom Stade: What I understand about the Fringe is that it doesn’t just expose your material – it exposes you. Your habits, insecurities and resilience. It shows you who you are when you’re exhausted, humbled, slightly dehydrated, and still expected to be brilliant at a spot you booked with Darrell Martin at 9:40pm in some basement gig you can’t even find… it isn’t just a festival. It’s a goddamn mirror.

Phil Nichol: Oh my Lord, so much has changed since my debut with Corky and the Juice Pigs in 1990.

Take marketing, for example. We didn't even have posters. Some acts did, but we arrived from Canada wide-eyed and completely green. So we grabbed a sheet of A4 paper, drew a poster ourselves, took it to a print shop, and made 50 copies. Then we plastered them around the original Gilded Balloon on the Cowgate.

The whole thing cost us £5.

That was our entire marketing budget.

Little did I know that, by 2026, I'd be spending upwards of £5,000. Back then, I couldn't have imagined a world in which a Fringe show needed that kind of budget just to get noticed. Twenty-five-year-old Phil's little Canadian mind would have been completely blown if he'd known then what I know now.

What’s the biggest mistake you see performers make in their debut year?

SKA: Falling into the trap of comparing yourself to how others are doing, chasing reviews and becoming obsessed with numbers. It should be all about you and how your show can be better. It’s not a competition and it’s certainly not a race. Just do you.

TS: There are so many, so this is a tough question because your debut Edinburgh Festival is so exciting. It always feels like the start or the end of a journey. I remember walking in feeling like every gig was career-defining – like industry people were in every room taking notes. I also obsessed too much over posters, branding, social media, star ratings… I mean definitely do all those things – they’re part of the festival, but then let them go because the only thing you should worry about is walking onstage, being present and making people laugh. No review will save a bad act, and no bad review can stop a good one from growing. Your career will be longer than this festival.

PN: Personally, I think far too much emphasis is placed on getting attention, winning awards, or using the Fringe as a career springboard. As artists, we should be concentrating on the show itself.

A debut should be a labour of love – a place where all your brilliant ideas collide in a messy, funny, ambitious first hour. It's an arrival show, not a departure show. You should be introducing yourself to the world, not trying to prove you’re the next big thing.

The trouble is that so much industry pressure now surrounds a debut. Agents, reviewers, awards, social media, marketing budgets – all of it can make young comedians feel as though every performance carries enormous consequences. It becomes much harder to enjoy the experience, take risks, and discover who you are on stage.

And that's a shame, because the joy of a first Fringe show lies precisely in not knowing what you're doing.

What keeps bringing you back after all this time?

SKA: It is undoubtedly a hotbed of creativity. To be in amongst the energy and buzz of the city is truly intoxicating. It is the one time of the year where you can get a chance to run, test, hone and perfect an hour show every day for a month. That is a luxury.

TS: I’m a performer and I just love to perform and what better place to do it, obviously, than the world’s largest arts festival… that is just such a no-brainer… and side note – I also see it as a world-class arts gymnasium… a place where I can make some mistakes, correct them, and then 30 days later I’m ready to go on tour.

PN: Like many performers, the Edinburgh Fringe becomes an annual stop, and I'm no exception. I just can't get enough.

It's the perfect place to dump all the ideas you've had over the course of the year and see what survives in front of an audience. It feels like a creative reckoning. What have you got?

It’s all about art. Everywhere you turn there's comedy, theatre, dance, music, and more art than any one person could possibly consume. The whole city is slightly mental with creativity. The atmosphere is inspiring and exhausting in equal measure.

I’ll spend the month running from venue to venue, talking about shows, watching shows, thinking about shows, and somehow trying to perform my own show in the middle of it all.

I just can’t get enough. Cue Depeche Mode.

What does success at the Fringe mean to you now?

SKA: First and foremost, it’s a job. To come away with a solid show, up your performance game and have people come and see it – job done. If producers, TV execs and reviewers also get to see the show, and any potential offers come in, that’s all a bonus. Nothing is guaranteed. For me, as long as I have a show that I’m happy with and can then take out on tour all over the world… major box ticked.

TS: Now? I feel success is a bit quieter for me. Success to me is walking off stage knowing the joke I wrote hit. Walking off stage knowing I didn’t phone it in and knowing I connected with a room full of strangers and, for an hour, I had them laughing their asses off and, if I had to be a little wokey woke… maybe I had them feeling less alone… but that last one might be a stretch because at my age I’m not trying to prove I’m funny anymore – I know I’m funny… see you there.

PN: I've been incredibly lucky in my Edinburgh experience. There have been extraordinary highs and heart-aching lows, and I've learned something from all of them.

I think once you've reached the pinnacle of the Edinburgh Comedy Award, your perspective changes. The goalposts move. Awards stop being the thing you're chasing and the focus shifts elsewhere. These days, I'm working for my shows, for the audiences, and for the personal growth that comes from trying to create something worthwhile. And, of course, I'm still desperately trying to stay relevant. Haha.

But seriously, my enjoyment of this year's Fringe will be measured by my connection with the audience. It sounds corny, but it's true. If the show works, if people come along, and if they spend an hour laughing, then I've done my job.

That brings me more satisfaction than any award ever could. Great show = success.

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