Grin 'n Tonic - From Tomato Red to Stage Ready

Shooting For The Moon

Just over a year ago, we launched the first Grin 'n Tonic comedy, improv, and music evening in Linden, Joburg. It might sound ambitious, but we’re already halfway to legendary.

 "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars." 

Now, three editions later, spread over the past 14 months, I find myself reflecting on how trying something different led to discoveries and experiences I never saw coming. Sometimes, the most meaningful lessons and unexpected possibilities arrive disguised as amateur hour.

Our urban studio in Jozi is the perfect backdrop for creative fun and cosy gatherings. Bohemian textures meet flowing lines in a space that makes the ramshackle feel intentional. The small stage practically begs for attention, and if it could talk, it would say, "I've found my purpose.

Outside, the temporary Grin Bar offers minimalist charm, serving, of course, 'grin 'n tonics'. The finger food, on the other hand, was decadent and wildly over-the-top, putting a dent in the budget. But life's too short, some might say, for modest catering.

The concept for Grin 'n Tonic is simple: invite a warm audience, gather four to five stand-up comedians of varying experience, add a couple of talented improv troupes, insert a break where drinks and snacks flow, and end with live music. Pepper this with a clown act, a splash of cheesy magic, or some clever one-liners and spontaneous giggles, and you've got the spirit of the night. It's a variety show of sorts.

Our first edition in April 2024 sold out in a week (we capped it at 40 tickets), which left me both thrilled and slightly suspicious, and a little nervous. 

The First Edition – March 2024

Initiating this event brought some early lessons quickly. Even for an event this size, many small details need to fall into place. Transforming a space into something with intentional charm is a passion of mine, and thanks to my roots in theatre, I'm deeply aware of how much our physical environment shapes the experience. With amazing support from my partner Nicole, everything came together beautifully. I felt nervous, but ready. So did the audience.

"Welcome to Grin 'n Tonic! Let's make as much noise as we can to irritate the neighbours!"

The neighbours didn't mind. 

Being the host and MC was fun from the start. After engaging the audience with some silly merriment, the comedians took to the stage one by one. Some tested new material, others delivered crafted gems. All were hilarious, some brave and edgy. The improv was spontaneous and electric. Everything was filled with the kind of storytelling and presence that reminds you what sets humans and AI apart. Honestly, having more fun is wildly underrated.

After the break, my moment came, and as a nervous singer, I took to the stage with my multi-instrumentalist friend, Ben. We forgot the vocal sound check, my rookie mistake. When I began singing, it came out more like a shout than a song. The mic was cranked up way too loud!

I nervously delivered my one song, a rendition of Hallelujah. To me, it sounded terrible. I turned the colour of an overripe tomato.

It was my first solo vocal, public performance since high school. The discomfort was exquisite. But here's the thing about discomfort: it's often where the most valuable growth happens, especially when presented as public humiliation.

It turned out that nobody seemed to notice. Or care. People rarely do. Feeling embarrassed for taking a risk is such an ego-laden waste of time. And more often than not, people are rooting for your success. 

The musical finale was lovely, with Ben on sax and Les taking the room on a 20-minute instrumental guitar journey that left everyone gobsmacked in the best possible way. Sometimes, beautiful accidents are better than careful planning.

To my deep relief, Grin 'n Tonic delivered. Audiences described it as "raw," "unpolished," and "unfiltered," words I've adopted in our promo material since, as if that scrappy charm had always been the plan.

My favourite review still stands:

"It felt like I was in a hot New York underground jazz club."

That gem landed during a sweltering Johannesburg summer that first night, with everyone turning the studio into a colourful, inadvertent sauna. (We hadn't quite calculated the maximum human to airflow ratio.) The heat was biblical. But somehow, that just added to the charm of our determinedly gritty approach.

I love being the host and MC for Grin 'n Tonic. I permit myself to be playful, unrehearsed, and bold. I've tried a few small crowd experiments, like I often do in my group facilitation work, and people seemed to enjoy them. One always works like a charm: "Turn to the person next to you and greet them as if they're your best friend you haven't seen in 20 years. Go!"

 I also learned that if you lose a crowd, you've truly lost. I have serious respect for stand-up comedians who walk that tightrope every night. At the end of the evening, when the creative dust was settling, I asked: "Should we do this again?" The unanimous YES that came back told me we were onto something.

The Second Edition – November 2024

It sold out, eventually. I spent days imagining empty chairs and the slow, painful death of an idea. But people showed up, just a little later than before, eager for connection and something different. Once again, those who waited too long to buy tickets were left disappointed, a sad yet delightful problem to have.

The warm, fuzzy feeling from people arriving was evident. The comedians were great. The improv acts delivered yet again, but went way over time. And the music finale? It went completely off plan. We'd already run an hour over schedule, but somehow, it was the perfect ending for that night. Imperfection had become our signature.

One guy came up to me afterwards and said:

"I love how it seems like you're making up the acts as you go along."

Of course, I wasn't. But his comment captures the unpolished charm perfectly.

The night ended on a high. After the crowd thinned out, a few friends stayed behind, lingering with leftover wine, soft music, and the mist of shared experience.

I felt proud and surprised. Surprised because internal doubt had been whispering its usual refrains leading up to the event until the tickets began selling. It's okay to doubt. But at some point, you have to transmute that contraction into a creative risk. Eventually, you have to trust and go with it.

The Third Edition – June 2025

The third edition took place exactly a week ago. Unlike the first event, it was winter and bitterly cold outside. Joburg winter evenings can be brutal. So I dusted off a beautiful, old cast iron stove and placed it outside the studio, cranking it up until it was a blazing furnace. The fireside feeling was the perfect touch.

By now, I'd learned a few more things about hosting and about the curious politics of stand-up comedy line-ups. One comic insisted on having a warm-up act to soften the crowd. Another was adamant that warming up the crowd was the comic's job. A third just wanted to know where the snacks were.

It all reached a peak with a half-joking, half-serious outburst from one of the comedians, commenting on the demands of the particularly insistent one:

"Don't let a f*!king comedian run your life!"

I took his advice, but still reassured the other comic that I’d warm up the audience as best I could. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with my suggestions of star jumps and stretching…

Still, I hope I did justice to the generosity, talent, and bravery of all the performers who took to that little stage, each one bringing their own kind of magic.

While I’ve improved in the craft of hosting the event and have a better understanding of how to set up and host a comedian line-up now, I’m still learning and honing the skill. I’m comfortable on a stage, but the MC role has its own unique flavour, blending entertainment and facilitation in a way that demands a particular kind of presence and preparedness.

Each show teaches me more, and with every edition, the energy has grown. For the third edition of Grin 'n Tonic, we pulled off another full-house, with brilliant comedy acts, playful improv, a live band, and an audience that was lively, generous, and ready for a good time. 

The momentum for Grin 'n Tonic is building, but what I didn't expect was how it would ripple into something entirely new for me. 

An Unexpected Turn

A month before the third show, something unexpected happened.

Because I'd survived that awkward, amplified moment singing at the first Grin 'n Tonic, my voice became a kind of hook in the creative waters. And something bit.

Through a thread of connections traced back to that first sweaty evening, I was invited to sing in a newly formed Goema band called Akkeltjie, a name that means modulation, regulation, a sneeze, and a blessing.

Goema (or Ghoema) is a style of South African music rooted in Cape Town's Cape Malay and Coloured communities. It fuses African rhythms, slave songs, and Dutch folk traditions, driven by the rolling, syncopated beat of the Goema drum.

The band is made up of Mo, a walking Goema encyclopaedia, musician, thinker, and tradition bearer, plus two familiar faces: Les, a multi-award-winning composer with thousands of arrangements to his name, and Ben, a masterful multi-instrumentalist and producer. Both had performed at that first Grin 'n Tonic event, bringing the story full circle.

And Colin? He sings Goema songs. In Afrikaans, nogal. Who knew?

My voice worked for the genre, and things just…clicked. I spent three weeks rehearsing five Goema ‘moppies’ with the band, watching, listening, and learning from seasoned musicians working their magic. They helped me discover new textures and nuances in my voice. I am loving it!

Singing had always been a quiet dream, mostly lived out in showers and around fireside circles. As a kid, I sang in boys' choirs and high school musicals (I was the lead in Godspell in my final year). I was a bit of an anomaly at school: a passionate rugby player with a love for harmonies. Rugger-bugger meets choir boy is perhaps an unusual combo, but I like to think it made me well-balanced. 

More recently, I trained briefly with a retired Venetian opera singer, until she fired me for missing two lessons (which I still paid for). Merciless, maybe, but she gave me exactly what I needed…better technique, a boost in confidence, and just enough self-belief to hush the doubt.

I reminded myself: You can sing. You love singing. Now do it.

That led to the opportunity to sing at the first Grin 'n Tonic, a red-like-a-tomato moment.

Which led to the band. Which leads to…who knows? (We’ve just been booked for our first paid gig! More on that adventure soon.)

It felt magical being on stage for the third Grin 'n Tonic, singing with world-class musicians to a room full of friendly, smiling faces. I'd waited my whole life for this fantastic opportunity, and I'm still pinching myself.

I'm proud. I'm grateful. And I think I've found the tonic in my grin.

Looking Forward

Grin 'n Tonic has become an experiment in saying yes to creative discomfort, to risk, to rough edges and unexpected roles. Sometimes you have no idea what you're setting in motion when you try something new on a sweltering summer night in a bohemian studio.

But that's where the magic lives: in the space between planning and chaos, between expertise and enthusiasm, between who you were and who you might become, if you're willing to turn tomato red in front of strangers. Most of the time, people are on your side and want you to succeed. And if you fail, good people are always forgiving.

Curating a creative community of friends, strangers, and good-hearted people through the arts is deeply satisfying. As the digital world becomes more advanced and distracting, with AI and technology evolving at unprecedented rates, the opportunity to slow down and immerse ourselves in the intimacy of shared physical space becomes not just meaningful, but essential. Its value will only continue to grow.

The fourth edition of Grin 'n Tonic is already in the pipeline for spring 2025. Come join us - I’ll save a Grin 'n Tonic for you.

By Colin Skelton