Inside the chaotic million-dollar life of Dave Hughes

Inside the chaotic million-dollar life of Dave Hughes

Dave Hughes is working without spending a dime inside a darkish, half-empty, membership on a Thursday night time.

“Who watches The Masked Singer? I’m on The Masked Singer … and even I don’t watch it,” he sighs into the microphone.

There’s a contact of Krusty The Clown jadedness.

It’s an open mic night time at a comedy bar in Sydney. None of the performers are getting paid – together with Hughesy. The patchy crowd is made up of {couples} on first dates, a household, and a gaggle of twenty-somethings who apparently met on a “how to make friends in a new city” web site.

They all snigger as Hughesy mocks the Channel 10 sport present on which he performs the a part of a panellist who has to guess which celebrities are singing beneath elaborate costumes that conceal their identities.

“It’s not an easy thing to do because you gotta work out who’s under the mask!” he says. “What big celebrity’s under there! And often, even when the mask comes off, you’ve still gotta work out who the f**k they are!”

The crowd loves the rant.

“It’s a great show. I’m happy to be there. Because I’m happy to be on television! Because TV’s great! Even if ya don’t watch it, it’s still great! Me and Osher Gunsberg – we’ll be there until they f**kin’ switch all the TVs off! We’ll be there forever! I just wanna continue to be recognised when I order a coffee at the f**kin’ cafe.”

The comic has been making greater than 1,000,000 bucks a yr for near twenty years – because of successful radio profession, TV gigs and relentless touring. He doesn’t have to be doing this tonight. He doesn’t have to work once more. Ever. But right here he’s, testing out materials.

“I’m a property owner,” he says, mentioning his “humble block of flats”.

The millennials within the crowd groan.

“I’ve worked hard! And I’m not on drugs!” he fires again.

“Before you start judging me, I’ve never even had cocaine. At the age of 51! (I’ve) Been in showbiz 25 years. Never had cocaine. Can anyone else say that? No, they can’t. Because everyone else in showbiz is on cocaine!”

He veers right into a joke a few distinguished newsreader taking the stimulant earlier than on-air bulletins.

“Don’t film that, don’t put that online!” he factors into the gang at a teen with a bizarre haircut. “I’ll lose some of my wealth!”

And then, his 10-minute slot is up. He disappears behind the black curtain. There are a number of extra comics scheduled to carry out however Hughesy is heading off. His alarm is about for 4.50am. In lower than eight hours, he must be within the studio to host the 2Day FM breakfast radio present – a gig he additionally mocked in tonight’s stand-up set for its common rankings.

He slips out the aspect of the membership. An Irish woman recognises him and he makes small speak till he staggers previous the entrance of the venue the place he’s greeted by extra followers.

“Well done mate, that was f**kin’ funny as,” a man says, as his mates be a part of within the reward.

Hughesy shakes arms.

“Good on ya mate. Appreciate that, thank you sir, enjoy ya night, thank you man,” he replies within the trademark Hughesy voice – strained and barely erratic.

There’s an everyday joke in his routine about how strangers on the road typically mistake him for a meth addict. The gag ensures laughs. Mainly as a result of it’s comprehensible why. The fact is, Dave Hughes is exhausted.

“I was absolutely f**ked before I came here tonight,” he says. “I was ruined.”

He has been flying as much as Sydney about 4 days per week since he took the 2Day FM breakfast gig three years in the past, dwelling in a rental condominium above the radio studio and surviving off salt and pepper tofu from the meals court docket downstairs.

“Honestly, I only realised a few days ago I don’t have a dishwasher,” he says.

His hair is gray and there’s a crease between his eyes that, in accordance with his spouse Holly (who’s again on the household dwelling in Melbourne with their three children), makes him appear like he has a “permanent frown”. Her suggestion of hair dye and Botox impressed an enraged string of jokes throughout tonight’s slot.

Hughesy makes his method into a close-by bar and orders a non-alcoholic beer. He hasn’t had booze since 1992 – again when he was dwelling in a share home and on the dole. Now, he has new vices. Like work. And, till just lately, vaping.

“I got accidentally addicted to vaping the night Albanese won. Someone gave me a vape that night,” he says. “From that moment, I was f**ked.”

He was vaping within the radio studio every morning and whereas filming The Masked Singer. On stage simply moments in the past, he revealed to the viewers he secretly hid contained in the disabled bathrooms to vape at his son’s basketball sport. His son dobbed on him to mum.

“She wanted me to go to f**king counselling! Over a vape! She said I was having a midlife crisis!” he informed the gang.

Sitting within the bar, he swigs his bottle of zero-alc and critiques his personal efficiency.

“What I did just then was loose,” he says of the comedy set. “It works. But I just need to … I just wanna be more disciplined. In concepts I do. There’s time. I still love it.”

During the set, he riffed in regards to the early exit and $24 million payout of former Qantas boss Alan Joyce. He’s not proud of the fabric. There wasn’t sufficient of a joke to it, he thinks.

“It’s really loose because in that room there’s – what? – 50 people?” he says. “It feels loose like you can just f*ck around. You want room to f*ck around. I just turn up there. It’s unannounced. I’m not gonna get paid tonight. I just rock up.”

He does open mic nights and drop-ins at small golf equipment about as soon as per week. Sometimes they provide him $50. It doesn’t come near the cash he makes on radio, which one trade exec estimates to be $2 million a yr. But nonetheless …

“I take it. I f**kin’ take it,” he says of the cash-in-hand.

Hughesy can’t say no to work. On prime of the radio gig and The Masked Singer, he excursions across the nation and performs at personal company conferences.

“Last week, on a Saturday, I flew to Darwin to do a corporate gig for builders,” he says. “There was 800 builders there. And I took a flight home at 2am. Jetstar. So, at 2am, I’m on a f**kin’ Jetstar flight from Darwin. And my wife thinks I’m f**kin’ insane. I got home at 6.30 on a Sunday morning.”

This weekend’s schedule is simply as chaotic. He’ll catch three flights, jetting between Sydney and Melbourne, to slot in his children’ sporting video games, a company gig, a comedy present on the Enmore Theatre and his daughter’s School Spectacular.

“I want as much family time as I can get, but I also wanna work as much as I can,” he says.

Is it a piece dependancy, a cash dependancy or a comedy dependancy?

“I think it’s a work addiction,” he says. “But it’s hard for me. Like, with corporate gigs, it’s hard for me to knock back. And I’ve tried to justify it with the money.”

Will he ever get to a degree the place he feels snug rejecting affords?

“I should man,” he groans, rubbing his face. “I don’t need the money.”

His three-year contract with 2Day is about to run out and he’s presently in talks with community bosses to resume the present he co-hosts with Erin Molan and Ed Kavalee, regardless of it being suffering from persistent tabloid headlines about lacklustre rankings. He scrunches his face as he thinks aloud in regards to the resolution he’s going through.

“They want me to sign again. Which is nice. They’re willing to stick at the show, which is good,” he says. “But the tricky part for me is, my wife’s not as enamoured with my lifestyle because we’re in Melbourne. So it’s tricky. I haven’t agreed yet. One fear in giving up radio is I’ll be a lazy c**t.”

He says Holly would shoot him if he signed one other three-year deal that retains him out of city 4 days per week. Then once more, she’s the one who just lately gifted him a e book in regards to the Okinawa life-style and tips on how to stay to 100.

“I read it in a day and it says: don’t retire,” he says. “You need a life purpose. And I found mine so … I’ll see ya three days a week.”

Dave Hughes performs at Sydney’s Enmore Theatre tonight

Source: www.news.com.au