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From Lionel Richie to rock bottom: Barry Ferns returns to the Fringe with a life story stranger than fiction

James Macfarlane James Macfarlane
14 Jul 2025

James Macfarlane speaks to Barry Ferns about his next Fringe show.

I held a passport in my hand that had my picture on it – under the name Lionel Richie

Let’s start with the obvious: how exactly did you end up legally named Lionel Richie – and what made you keep it for seven years?

Ha – you know what, I ask myself that question on a weekly, if not daily basis. The whole story feels like some mad, Hunter S. Thompson, LSD-inspired dream. And yet, it’s my life.

The most basic answer is that, throughout my life, I’ve taken jokes way, way too far. That’s one of the reasons I’m a comedian – I’m always the one walking into a lamppost in the background. But every step of the way, it felt like the right thing to do… until I looked down and realised I was holding a passport with my picture under the name “Lionel Richie”.

This show weaves together bankruptcy, identity, homelessness, and stand-up. Why tell this story now?

It feels like the right time because those themes are everywhere right now. We’re in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and coming from a Dorset council estate without a safety net – and having the brass neck to think I could be a comedian – maybe I was just an early warning for what a lot of artists are now going through.

To survive as a comedian today, you often need two jobs and to house-share with seven people. Looking back, it’s wild what I went through – but I know plenty of comics who are in their own leaky lifeboats. I’ve been a comedian for decades. This show is a bit of a moment to take stock and go, “Wow. That was mental.”

There’s a wild honesty to the title, but also something very Fringe about it – surreal, funny, and oddly moving. Was that balance intentional from the start?

I think that comes naturally when the story’s true. When I look back at how young, hopeful Barry kept getting back up and trying to make it work – and kept losing everything in the process – there’s something very poignant there.

People might not have lived this specific story, but we’ve all thrown everything into something. And when it doesn’t work out, it hurts. That kid’s capacity to keep going was incredible. And in my case, the failure just happened to include a Grammy-winning pop star’s name on my bank card. Trying to live as an artist isn’t always pretty – but it’s often colourful and compelling. And it almost always sounds insane.

You’ve been performing at the Fringe since 2001. How has your relationship with it changed over time, and how does this show reflect that?

Your first time at the Fringe blows your mind. It’s like running away to the circus – a human circus, where the animals treat themselves badly. Every doorway is a stage, every café has a poet or trapeze artist sitting next to you. And of course, there’s the rain, the bagpipes, and the smell of trans fats in the air.

Over time, though, the magic can wear off. You start to take it for granted – even roll your eyes when someone says, “Oh no, another sword-swallowing Mexican accountant.” And once you factor in the financial pressure, it gets harder to enjoy it all.

That’s why I genuinely think there should be two Comedy Awards – one for people with a producer or agent, and one for the acts who are out there flyering, producing, and doing it all themselves. It’s night and day in terms of what you can give to your show.

You’ve played a huge role in developing other comics’ careers through Angel Comedy and The Bill Murray. How has that experience shaped how you view your own story?

Completely. I created Angel Comedy for the 15-year-old version of me – the one with no mentor, no idea how to become a comedian, and who made every mistake.

It didn’t need to be as hard as I made it. No one should go bankrupt or end up homeless for trying to be a comic. If you’ve got a couple of key people supporting you, it makes a world of difference. That’s why we give spots to new comedians every night at Angel. It’s so, so important, because those first few years are brutally hard.

And if you’re reading this – go check out the Angel Comedy Showcase at the Fringe. It’s all new comedians, they get 100% of the ticket money, and we cover the show costs. It’s often enough to help them pay for food and accommodation.

Starting the Comedians’ Choice Awards in 2012 was another big thing for me – it’s the only Edinburgh award voted on by comedians. It’s a way for comics to recognise and reward each other. That matters.

James Macfarlane

James Macfarlane

Broadway Baby's Comedy Editor and Scotland Editor. In a previous life James did the same thing for ScotsGay. But we poached him.

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