by Dynamo
With the help of my friends, I formulated a routine that enabled me to make tips without really asking for them. I’d have a card, which just said ‘Dynamo’ and my logo on the front. I’d also have a glass full of props like pens, coins and cards, which I’d use for my magic. At the end of my act I’d say something like, ‘Here’s your card, the ace of spades. I’m Dynamo, thank you very much’… I’d then flip my logo card over and on the back it said ‘Tips please’.
My boy Marcus would pick up the empty prop glass, and Johnny, who’s in there pretending he’s not with us, would rush over and throw a fiver in it. Before you know it, everyone else would start chucking in cash.
It was all about the turnover. I’d do ten minutes and hit them with the tips. Usually, by that point I would have created a crowd of at least fifty people. They wouldn’t all tip but it was nice to have a few quid in your pocket.
I started doing this at sixteen years old, sneaking into student gigs and the odd club night. As my name continued to grow, I went from earning just a bit of petrol money, to getting paid to turn up, plus petrol money, plus tips. Student nights especially were always great, because they were always up for a bit of fun and would part with what they could.
Because people wanted the ‘product’ I was delivering, I started looking at merchandising and branding – albeit in a very informal, low-budget way. I would burn CD-ROMs with five Windows Media clips of me doing magic and sell them for a pound after each performance. I’d also sell Dynamo stickers which people would collect and cover themselves in from head to toe. We killed it.
the street has always been my stage
We’d make a lot of money playing in Leeds, Bradford, Sheffield or Manchester and then drive home.
We’d get back to Nan’s, where I was living at the time, at three in the morning, or whenever the club shut. ‘Shush, Marcus, you’ll wake me Nan up,’ I’d whisper as we sat around Nan’s dinner table and shared all the tips. ‘One pound for Alex, one pound for Johnny, one pound for Marcus and two pound for me.’ Everyone agreed that was a fair way to divvy up the cash.
Whatever time we got home Nan would appear. ‘Oh, you’re back, boys. Who wants some bacon sandwiches?’ she’d ask. I think she worried about me and couldn’t sleep until I was home and safe. Nan did everything for me and tried to keep my feet on the ground. If I said I wanted to be a magician she’d say, ‘Yeah and I’ve heard ducks farting in deep water before.’
Nan fed me, she did my washing, and she paid the rent. I can’t even tell you what I spent all that money on. Stupid stuff that I couldn’t afford growing up: adidas trainers, Eckõ hoodies and New Era caps, rather than the non-branded cheap clothes from Woolies or hand-me-downs that I’d had as a child. ‘I’m gonna buy us all an Xbox each, then we can all play at the same time,’ I told the boys. We couldn’t have all just played on one together, of course. Stupid.
These were the days, though, before I had any formal business plan. In my mind, I loved magic and performing, and it happened to be a great way of making money to buy nice trainers, but I didn’t even consider I could make a career out of it. We were just living day-to-day on whatever money we had. It was just pocket money really but it was nice to feel like I was making my own way in the world.
With every booking I did, I quoted a low fee, so I was pretty much guaranteed to get three bookings off the back of it. I’d always set myself up for the next week on the night of the first gig. I wouldn’t charge people the earth so they’d book me, but then they’d tip me on top, and their friends would tip me, and before you know it you’ve covered your costs with a little extra. Occasionally, you would see the high rollers who want to show off to their friends. ‘Here you are mate, here’s fifty quid, good on ya,’ they’d say. But that rarely happened.
It’s funny but it felt like I had a lot more spending money, doing things the way I was back then, than I do now. I’m very comfortable financially now, of course, but because I had no outgoings the little bit of money I had went a long way.
Everywhere I went, my boys came with me. I wasn’t the leader of the group, but I was like the boss: a leader makes sure everyone knows to follow, but a boss makes sure everyone eats.
I suppose I had a certain sort of fame back then. ‘I’m the king of Bradford, man!’ said the arrogant voice inside my head. In reality, I was nothing; I was a local kid with a bit of local fame. But I was popular for the first time in my life, and that was an incredible feeling. I’d finished school, so all the people who’d had opinions about me and who had judged me didn’t matter anymore. The ones who were important were my friends and they stuck with me.
It was one of the most exciting times in my career. It was certainly when I was the most hungry. I’d get in at five in the morning and start preparing new ideas.
It was before I’d been tainted by any of the negatives that success can bring, and before I’d had many knock-backs. I felt like I was totally in control. I was, if I’m being honest, probably caught up in the idea of potentially being able to make money from my magic. As I got older, I realised that money can only buy you things that make you happy in the short term, but there’s a bigger picture too.
It wasn’t only at school and as a teenager that magic helped me. I’m not the biggest guy, so magic saved me at times. It got me out of scuffles, it’s distracted someone who was about to rob me. Magic would get me into a club even though the bouncers thought I wasn’t dressed right. It’s got me out of where I grew up in Delph Hill and taken me all the way around the world.
I let people come to me and with that, the money followed. If it had been the reverse and I was trying to win people’s attention because I wanted money, it would never have worked.
It wasn’t really that much of a conscious decision on my part; these are things I learnt along the way or have only come to realise now that I reflect on them. My initial hunger came from wanting to feel important and cool and popular, because I was bullied. I wasn’t the cool kid, I wasn’t popular, I didn’t have a dad and I guess I was a bit of a geek.
But it was being a geek that drove me to hone my skills almost to the point of obsession. That obsession has made me the magician that I am today. When I started to succeed, that’s when I began to find myself. People started to like me, and like my magic.
Despite the excitement of making money for the first time, it wasn’t my main motivation. Neither was it simply about chasing fame. It was about acceptance. That was where my hunger really came from. One of the most important things I’ve taken away from making my TV show Dynamo: Magician Impossible is that people not only respected my work, but also they accepted me. I didn’t pretend to be anything I wasn’t; I took the camera to my old estate, I featured my boys, I talked about being bullied. And people still accepted me. This was really the first time I not only felt that way, but, as cheesy as it sounds, I accepted myself. I let go of trying to be cool, I let go of hoping people would like me.
I approached Dynamo: Magician Impossible in exactly the same way as I have always approached my magic; I wanted people to accept me for who I was, and they have. Magic, like so many things in my life, was the key to that.
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CHAPTER 3
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MAGIC YOU CAN TOUCH
‘STEVEN, TIME TO get up. I need a hand please.’ My Nana Lynne’s broad Bradford accent boomed outside my bedroom door just as dawn was breaking. Blearily opening my eyes, I checked the alarm clock: 5.45 a.m. I could hear the dogs barking already from the kennels down the back of the garden. I groaned and went back to sleep.
If you’ve ever wondered what living with nineteen dogs is like, I can tell you: smelly, loud and hairy. When I asked my Nana Lynne if I could stay in America with her for a few months, I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.
She had moved to Memphis with her new husband, Martin, a few years before and set up her own dog-breeding business. A champion dog breeder, my Nana Lynne has nineteen award-winning Golden Retr
ievers. She travels across the US from state to state in her purpose-built Winnebago, doing all of the major dog shows. As I had decided to defer my place at college for a year, I thought it would be a good experience for me to hang out in America for a bit. Although I’d pictured Disneyland and supersized fast food, I got dog shows and Pedigree Chum.
Dog breeding is competitive, but rather than, say, Crufts, the dog shows my grandma competes in are more about demonstrating the standard of your dog breeding. So although there are obedience tests and obstacle courses, the focus is on the quality of the dogs themselves. And there is rather more at stake than a rosette, as winning ultimately means you can charge more money for your dogs. Whether you breed Chihuahuas or Bulldogs, the more competitions you win, the more your dogs are worth. My Nana’s dogs have won countless awards and have even been in television adverts for things like Pedigree Chum. They are amazing.
Dog shows are a serious business and they take a lot of preparation. We’d wake up early in the morning, feed and water Nana Lynne’s nineteen Golden Retrievers, take them for long walks, groom them and train them for the shows. After our own breakfast, we’d jump in the Winnebago and roll to wherever the dog show was that day. One way or another, I was constantly covered in dog hair. Before then, I’d never been the biggest animal lover but after that I can appreciate why people are so attached to them. They’re such loving, loyal creatures.
While it might have been hairy and hard work, the experience would unwittingly yet profoundly change my approach to magic. Once again magic seemed to find me… When I wasn’t running around with dogs, or chilling with my grandparents, I was, as ever, obsessively working on my magic. Back home, I’d been getting those bookings most weekends. I was securing by financially and, slowly, my name was starting to gain some momentum, if only in local magic circles. But magic never seemed like a realistic career. I had no idea that I could make it a full-time job; as far as I was concerned, I was having a year in the US then I’d return home, go to college, and get a ‘real’ job. As it turned out, I never went back to college.
Following each dog show there would be an ‘after-party’ of sorts. It might not have been Jay-Z’s idea of VIP, but among the tea and sandwiches, it turned out that people were always up for checking out the magic that a little English kid had to offer. The word among the dog circles spread and I performed in tents after the dog shows. I even visited the infamous Magic Castle in LA, an exclusive magic members club, where I saw lots of jobbing magicians who appeared to be making a decent living. It helped to make me see the possibility that a career in magic might not be such a daft idea. If all these guys could do it, maybe I had a shot.
WHEN I FIRST went to the US, Nana and Martin were living in Virginia. After a couple of weeks, we moved to Memphis where there were more opportunities for dog breeders. I can’t say that I got to see loads of the city. I didn’t know any kids my own age and Nana Lynne wasn’t about to go out raving all night with me. But from what I did get to see, Memphis was a great city. It’s down in the South, in Tennessee, so it’s all slow talking, soul food and sweaty summers. It also has an incredible musical heritage. Everyone from Elvis to Johnny Cash and Justin Timberlake grew up in the city, and to this day you can always find a bar or club, day or night, pumping out live music.
A lot of magicians played in the city too. Being in Memphis was really the first time that I saw other people do magic. Over the years, I’d watched Gramps, but I didn’t go out and watch magic. I’d read practical magic books, but I had very little knowledge of the history of the art. It didn’t seem relevant to the type of magic that I was interested in. One day, Grandpa got us tickets to see David Copperfield film a TV special. Copperfield is renowned for his extravagant sets and I remember being blown away not only by the scale and spectacle, but also by his incredibly compelling stage persona. It was amazing. On a whole different level.
I bought the DVD box set at the end of the night, which was a compilation of Copperfield’s greatest moments. It showed me how vast his career was and how far he took magic. This is the guy who has made the Statue of Liberty disappear, who levitated over the Grand Canyon, and who walked through the middle of the Great Wall of China, not to mention sawing Claudia Schiffer in half. I had huge respect for David Copperfield, but for me, a working-class kid from Bradford, his world of magic seemed so far from mine. I didn’t want a glamorous assistant and a suit; I wanted to do close-up magic wearing my trainers and cap. But who would be interested in that?
While I was in Memphis, I heard that Daryl the Magician was coming to town. Daryl is a legend and an absolute genius. He was the World Champion Card Magician at FISM (Fédération Internationale des Sociétés Magiques), which is like the Olympics of magic. He has won every magic award that’s ever been created, and he continues to work as a creative magic consultant. He made his money from owning the company that makes and distributes 90 per cent of fancy-dress costumes in America. He was already rich, so for him magic was never about the money: it was his passion.
A friend of mine who was part of the Memphis Magic Ring had invited Daryl to talk at a magic night he had just started up. He rang me excitedly to tell me the news. ‘The problem is, Steven, it’s at a nightclub, so it’s for twenty-one-year-olds and over. I don’t think you have much hope for passing for eighteen, let alone twenty-one.’
I was gutted that Daryl was going to be in Memphis and I couldn’t go and see him.
The next day, I had to get up super early. It was just after seven when Nana and I left her house and got in the car. She’d asked me to go with her to someone’s house to help them with their dogs. She would drop me off, I’d do some training with them, and she’d be back later to pick me up.
It turned out to be the house of the person who’d flown Daryl to Memphis for the lecture. My Nana Lynne had known all along; it was her special surprise to me because I hadn’t been able to go to the show.
‘All right, mate, how you doing?’ This was my cocky greeting when I saw Daryl sat at the breakfast table. I was a confident kid back then, I had no fear. When I told him that I too was a magician, Daryl grinned and invited me to sit down and have breakfast. I’ve been friends with him ever since. I don’t speak to him regularly, but whenever I do, I always get so much from our conversations.
Daryl taught me about the art of show business and how to show and tell without saying anything at all. Obviously his secrets are his trade, the same as my secrets are my trade. He taught me how to keep that mystery, whilst still being forthcoming. Daryl is one of those really clever people who never actually gives you anything or teaches you anything, but he’ll speak to you and explain things to you and look at you very meaningfully. You go away feeling like you’ve gained something, even if you don’t know exactly what it is. An hour in his company is enlightening and inspirational. He also taught me that magicians don’t have to be full of themselves. You can be cool and down to earth while still putting on a show. He told me he could see no reason why I wouldn’t be able to make it. ‘Just do what you’re doing and you’ll get there.’ It filled me with confidence to know that I was doing the right thing by being myself.
WHILE I WAS in Memphis, we had a trip to New Orleans that would further change my perspective on magic. My uncle was also visiting America at the time; he owns the biggest diving warehouse in the world and they make the best wetsuits. He was going to a diving conference in New Orleans, so my Nana Lynne and Martin and I drove there to meet up with him.
‘Stay close, Steven, and don’t look at anyone,’ Martin said, grabbing my arm as we crossed Bourbon Street. I was eighteen years old. This was the uncoolest thing ever. I tried to shake my granddad loose but he wasn’t having it.
New Orleans back in the nineties was quite scary. This was before Hurricane Katrina, before they tried to regenerate the city. For those into hip hop, this was the time of Soulja Slim, a young Lil Wayne and a fledgling Cash Money. It was also the murder capital of the USA; around the time I was th
ere, there were around 400 murders a year. Everywhere you went, there were crowds of people: tourists, blaggers, gangstas, bums and hustlers.
We walked down Bourbon Street and found my uncle with some colleagues enjoying a beer in one of the many bars that lined the street. ‘Someone was stabbed in here last night,’ his friend said casually, as everyone shrugged and ordered their drinks.
I was spooked; everyone was carrying on as if this were a normal occurrence. I realised pretty quickly that in New Orleans, violence was a way of life. All I heard was ‘Stand next to your granddad, Steven’; ‘Where are you going? Stay with us’; ‘I’ll come with you’. My family was very overcautious with me, making sure that I kept close to them all the time. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the toilet on my own – they’d wait outside the cubicle. It just seemed odd, and I felt slightly on edge because they were acting out of the ordinary.
Looking back now, I think it’s one of the most amazing places I’ve ever been to. New Orleans is a very magical, mystical city. Voodoo has been a part of New Orleans for over two centuries and there are a number of historical shops, museums and cemeteries. I want to go back there – I think it would be an interesting place to perform.
The most fascinating part of being in New Orleans, for me, was seeing street magicians do their thing. Everywhere you looked, people were hustling on the streets. This was the kind of magic Gramps had shown me, but it was out in the real world; this was the type of magic that made total sense to me. It brought magic directly into people’s lives, right there, in front of their eyes. It was magic you could touch.
I would see street magicians of all ages do incredible things with everyday objects; they’d perform close-up card magic, make flowers disappear and do the most incredible things with balloons. They were so quick. And they would make a killing from willing punters eager to place a bet on where a card or flower might end up next.