Inside the chaotic million-dollar life of Dave Hughes
He’s worth millions and doesn’t need to work another day in his life. So why is Hughesy living in absolute chaos?
Dave Hughes is working for free inside a dark, half-empty, club on a Thursday night.
“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 touch of Krusty The Clown jadedness.
It’s an open mic night at a comedy bar in Sydney. None of the performers are getting paid – including Hughesy. The patchy crowd is made up of couples on first dates, a family, and a group of twenty-somethings who apparently met on a “how to make friends in a new city” website.
They all laugh as Hughesy mocks the Channel 10 game show on which he plays the 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 comedian has been making more than a million bucks a year for close to two decades – thanks to a hit radio career, TV gigs and relentless touring. He doesn’t need to be doing this tonight. He doesn’t need to work again. Ever. But here he is, testing out material.
“I’m a property owner,” he says, mentioning his “humble block of flats”.
The millennials in the crowd groan.
“I’ve worked hard! And I’m not on drugs!” he fires back.
“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 into a joke about a prominent newsreader taking the stimulant before on-air bulletins.
“Don’t film that, don’t put that online!” he points into the crowd at a teenager with a weird 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 few more comics scheduled to perform but Hughesy is heading off. His alarm is set for 4.50am. In less than eight hours, he has to be in the studio to host the 2Day FM breakfast radio show – a gig he also mocked in tonight’s stand-up set for its average ratings.
He slips out the side of the club. An Irish girl recognises him and he makes small talk until he staggers past the front of the venue where he’s greeted by more fans.
“Well done mate, that was f**kin’ funny as,” a guy says, as his friends join in the praise.
Hughesy shakes hands.
“Good on ya mate. Appreciate that, thank you sir, enjoy ya night, thank you man,” he replies in the trademark Hughesy voice – strained and slightly erratic.
There’s a regular joke in his routine about how strangers on the street often mistake him for a meth addict. The gag guarantees laughs. Mainly because it’s understandable why. The truth is, Dave Hughes is exhausted.
“I was absolutely f**ked before I came here tonight,” he says. “I was ruined.”
He has been flying up to Sydney about four days a week since he took the 2Day FM breakfast gig three years ago, living in a rental apartment above the radio studio and surviving off salt and pepper tofu from the food court downstairs.
“Honestly, I only realised a few days ago I don’t have a dishwasher,” he says.
His hair is grey and there’s a crease between his eyes that, according to his wife Holly (who’s back at the family home in Melbourne with their three kids), makes him look like he has a “permanent frown”. Her suggestion of hair dye and Botox inspired an enraged string of jokes during tonight’s slot.
Hughesy makes his way into a nearby bar and orders a non-alcoholic beer. He hasn’t had booze since 1992 – back when he was living in a share house and on the dole. Now, he has new vices. Like work. And, until recently, 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 in the radio studio each morning and while filming The Masked Singer. On stage just moments ago, he revealed to the audience he secretly hid inside the disabled toilets to vape at his son’s basketball game. 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 told the crowd.
Sitting in the bar, he swigs his bottle of zero-alc and critiques his own performance.
“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 about the early exit and $24 million payout of former Qantas boss Alan Joyce. He’s not happy with the material. There wasn’t enough 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 clubs about once a week. Sometimes they offer him $50. It doesn’t come close to the money he makes on radio, which one industry exec estimates to be $2 million a year. But still …
“I take it. I f**kin’ take it,” he says of the cash-in-hand.
Hughesy can’t say no to work. On top of the radio gig and The Masked Singer, he tours around the country and performs at private corporate 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 just as chaotic. He’ll catch three flights, jetting between Sydney and Melbourne, to fit in his kids’ sporting games, a corporate gig, a comedy show at 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 work addiction, a money addiction or a comedy addiction?
“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 point where he feels comfortable rejecting offers?
“I should, man,” he groans, rubbing his face. “I don’t need the money.”
His three-year contract with 2Day is about to expire and he’s currently in talks with network bosses to renew the show he co-hosts with Erin Molan and Ed Kavalee, despite it being plagued by persistent tabloid headlines about lacklustre ratings. He scrunches his face as he thinks aloud about the decision.
“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 will shoot him if he signs another three-year deal that keeps him out of town four days a week. Then again, she’s the one who recently gifted him a book about the Okinawa lifestyle and how to live 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