I guess it's been a little while since I last posted, but I've been super busy lately. I've done about 3-4 shows since the last post and now I'm averaging about one show a week or more. Not that I'm complaining. Just the opposite, in fact. I love it! I'm getting tons of good practice, first hand experience in the craft, and I'm meeting lots of cool people to boot. Some of the other comics I've met are really creative, insightful and endlessly interesting. (And some aren't, but that's true of any profession. Honestly, the Muncie scene seems 100 times less virulent and rancorous than some of the other places I've worked.) Plus it's always nice getting a chance to dish comedy with other comedy-nerds. That right there might be the best part of any after/pre-show.
I'm learning a hell of a lot right now, and pretty much every lesson is sink-or-swim. But I like it that way. There's just something about a good comedy crowd that makes it all worthwhile. Even if you bomb or have a mediocre set, there's still an inherent sense of community amongst the group that's so invigorating. Whether we succeed or fail as comics that night, we're all kinda striving towards the same end. I really dig how that kinda brings everyone together.
But speaking of sink-or-swim, I did want to touch briefly about something that's been on my mind. A couple of weeks back I performed at the infamous "Heckler Night" I described in the previous post. Remember all of those things I said in that entry...
Probably would have been a good idea if I'd put them into practice.
HUGE bomb that night. Eh, I never said I was an expert. Belive me, the last thing I want to assert in this blog is that I know anything about "the biz." The whole purpose of this is journal is mainly to analyze and interpret my own findings as a new comic based on the things I've seen and the things I've seen other comics do/write about.
I practiced a lot of retorts for Heckler Night, but when it came time to put them into practice I completely froze. Fear made me forget rule number one: Own the stage. Granted, a lot of people did poorly that night, and I was prepared for nothing less than rejection by the crowd. But even when you know for certain that you're walking into a bad show, it doesn't make the sting of failure any less sharp.
Just 'cause you know you're going to get punched in the face doesn't mean it's gonna hurt any less.
Not that I'm writing this to rant-and-rave about how terrible of an experience it was. Yeah, it was pretty damn terrifying, but endlessly educational. I figured out right there about my 3 biggest comedic faults:
1. I'm not great at interacting with the crowd.
2. I'm clueless as to what to do when a bit backfires.
3. Sometimes my set has too much set-up and not enough punchline.
I've heard more-or-less the same thing from the other comics after my sets, so I don't think it's too far-fetched. Given my personality it does seem to make sense. I'm introverted, I don't like to get in peoples' faces, and I don't really like to hurt anyone's feelings. So when people insult me, I try not to make a big deal out of it. What I'm learning, though, is that in comedy when people try to bring you down you have to make a deal of it. You have to be the asshole sometimes. If only to counter attacks from other assholes. Other than that, I've been getting some pretty good feedback. I'm not lacking so much for quality material as I am stage presence.
I can read from the script; I just can't shoot from the hip.
That's what I've taken from it so far, at least. I've only done a handful of shows, so I'm still too green to know much of anything yet. But the entire learning process is so intriguing and hanging out with other fans of satire is so rewarding that it makes the learning curve worth bending around.
All that being said, I'm still a little frightened by something. You see, I taped the show from that night, and I've had it on my Flip Cam for a couple of weeks now.
But I still haven't watched it.
I've tried a few times, but every time I get to my portion of the set I just have to shut it off and think about something else. It really sets me at unease. This show is probably the worst bomb I've ever had to endure, and I'm sure that the footage on this video has got to be hard to watch. It was hard enough to live through, but reliving it... whooo. Sends a right shiver through me.
I can't think of any other performance, either currently or during the just-out-of-college days, that went so terribly wrong. Every single bit fell flat. The audience was not just disengaged, but actively subversive. And I've never had so many Nerf arrows fired at me at one time. Seriously. That crowd made it rain foam-rubber. I even sustained a small bruise on my ass from where someone fired this giant Nerf bazooka at me while my back was turned. (No joke, this "arrow" was almost as big as my forearm.)
It was a hell of a fright. I had a 6-8 minute set prepared, and I think I jumped ship after maybe 3. In fact, I can pinpoint the worst heckle I got, and believe it or not, it wasn't getting dry-raped by a Nerf-missle.
I was setting up a bit on the repeal of DADT. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a HUGE supporter of LGBT rights, and I couldn't have been happier to see that horrible piece legislation finally disappear. For the bit, I had to go into a stereotypical "gay-voice" just to help illustrate how ridiculous the mindset of most DADT's supporters really was on the issue. Even though I tried to establish that I was on "team-tolerance" at the beginning of the bit, when I went into the voice someone instantly screamed: "Bigot!"
That... fucking... hurt.
I don't know. Maybe I didn't make it clear enough at the beginning that I was trying to lampoon intolerance, not support it. Maybe the guy who yelled it was just a douchebag looking for an easy opening. Maybe Heckler-Night was just NOT the right time to debut that joke. Maybe it's a combination of all those things, but it's probably the only comment I've received to this date that has really lingered with me.
I don't mind being called fat or nerdy or ugly or whatever generic, easy missive people may want to hurl at me. But being labeled as the very thing that I'm working against.... Man, I can't think of anything worse.
I'm trying not to dwell on it too much. You live and learn by your crash and burn, so it's just another lesson to take on. But still... it just makes me that much more horrified by what is on this tape.
But, nevertheless, I HAVE to watch it. I must. It's a harsh lesson, but it's probably the richest lesson I have on what I'm not currently achieving with my comedy. Plus, the longer it sits in the breast pocket of my jacket the larger of an "elephant-in-the-room" it becomes. It's going to be a hard watch, that's for certain, but I'm never going to progress in this business if I'm not willing to confront my mistakes head-on.
So, tonight, I'm going to pop a bag of Orville Redenbacher, clamp on my best pair of headphones, pull out my trusty red college rule notebook (a comic's best friend), and break this monstrosity apart. Sift through the wreckage and see if there are any survivors.
Some might say that you can only become your best after you've seen your worst. I guess you could say I'm lucky, in a way, given that most people's worst hasn't actually been captured in a m4v and can be easily pulled up at anytime.
Hopefully, I can learn from it. The best blessing out of all of this would be to have this be the worst bomb I ever endure. As bad as it was, it could always have gone worse. And if this is the worst it gets, I think I would still be pretty lucky compared to most comics.
Well... Here goes nothing!
(NOTE: Just to make it crystal clear, I will NOT be posting this video. EVER. I do kinda want to post a bomb one of these days just to highlight and analyze the whole experience of bombing, but this is not going to be that bomb. Given the circumstances it wouldn't be a good example. It was Heckler Night and people were specifically instructed to hate on the comics, so it's kind of a "tainted sample". I might try it for another bomb that strikes me as particularly interesting... or I may not. I haven't wholly decided yet. All I know is that this bomb is going to stay in the vault. Sorry folks.)
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
"You Suck!" (Or: The Mating Call of the North American Douchebag)
Another week, another show cancelled due to weather. Hell, I'm starting to think Mother Nature just doesn't like comedy. (Though I am the genius who decided to restart his stand-up career smack dab in the middle of Blizzard Season.)
But it looks like Jack Frost has finally decided to chill the fuck out (See what I did there? Wokka-wokka.) and let us have a show this Wednesday. I'm at Be Here Now in Muncie again, so if you can make it I'd love to see you there! Seriously, come if you can. I'm really gonna need the support this week.
You see... It's Heckler Night.
I'm still not 100% precisely what that's going to entail, but the long-and-short of it is this: The audience is free to "comment" on the show in progress. Every comic fights to reap laughs out of a crowd, but this is one of those few moments where the audience is allowed to fight back.
I have to admit, I'm probably more nervous about this show than I have been about all of the others. Be Here Now was a GREAT crowd the first time I went up, but this will only be my 2nd time in front of them. They still don't really know me too well and this time out they're actually encouraged to rip me apart.
Hell, it's only Monday and I'm already freaked out.
I can't say I know much about this subject, though. Even during my most awful shows I've never had to deal with an actual heckler. Most of the clubs I've been to have never really exhibited much hostility. (Tons of indifference and ennui, but never hostility.) I guess in this profession that makes me lucky. It hurts to be up onstage and simply not receive a response, but to actually receive a negative outcry is a whole other monster entirely.
Then again, I'm not so lucky.
Hecklers are something every comedian has to deal with and I have yet to have any formal training with them. From the night club comic to the ballroom packing all-star; the heckler just comes with the trade. Honestly, I'm quite surprised that in all the small, dim rooms full of drunken people that I've had to entertain the tempers haven't flared up yet. It's not the best environment to be bored, inebriated and buried in the dark.
"I've had it with this tubby, Luke Skywalker lookin' wannabe. GO CRAWL BACK IN THE TAUNTAUN CARCASS YOU CAME FROM! (I don't know why I made him a Star Wars nerd. Just running with it.)
Like I said in the last major post, it's intimidating to be judged by anyone. Even in a face-to-face situation. Let alone by a large group of people who you don't even know you.
But it's never impossible to conquer the heckler, no matter what they may say about you. One of my personal favorite comedians, Patton Oswalt, has a great track on Werewolves and Lollipops where his entire bit becomes 100 times more hilarious because he had a heckler there to throw him off queue.
Listen for yourself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDndsvjyIG4
(The heckler chimes in at around 4:03. Listen to the master at work.)
The best comics can integrate a heckler into their entire act and, not only win the audience back, but integrate an entirely new bit seamlessly into their set. When executed well, this can easily turn a potential show-killer into the funniest segment of the night.
Watch Zach Galifianakis do it. Another genius moment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qy9KvDtI5w
Based on all of the comics I've seen, I think the biggest lesson I've taken away is this: When confronted with a heckler, the best thing to do is to make them uncomfortable. The whole "goal" of the heckler is to make the performer uneasy and to throw him/her off their game. They aren't satisfied with the job you're doing and, hence, feel a sense of superiority to you. Granted, there are a million reasons that might posses a person to heckle, but I feel like that one theme is consistent.
Listen to this guy. I could make up better material then him. Hell, I think I will.
Ugh, I've had enough of this guy. Maybe if I tell him to he'll get off the stage.
I'm filled with Jagermeister and self-hatred. Why wouldn't I yell "pussy" in this crowded theater?!
They think, as an audience member, they have the upper hand. The key to dismantling them is to remind them that they do not.
Often, the worst thing you can do is to completely ignore them. It might be a good idea to just let a small thing slide, but usually the heckler is someone who is either being blatantly rude or actively trying to disengage you. If you don't confront the threat dead-on it shows as a sign of weakness. It makes the audience think that you aren't prepared and can't think well on your feet.
When you're on that stage, that's your time. If someone came up to you at a cafe and took the sandwich off your plate you'd be inclined and expected to get it back, right? (Well, you'd at least make the guy/gal pay for another sandwich. God only knows where this douche/bitch has been.)
The same thing applies onstage. These assholes are trying to steal your time and you've gotta take it back. You have to at least try or else you're very likely to lose the whole night. No matter how well-prepared your material may be, if you've lost the crowd to a heckler their laughs are going to him. Not you.
I have some comebacks prepared, but I've never had a chance to use any of them so I don't know how it's going to fly. That's the problem with heckler bits; you can't really try them out until the worst happens. I've read that often the best approach is simply not to try and "be funny." Rather, it's recommended to simply note things about the heckler themselves and point them out.
He/She wants to put you on the spot so, instead, put him/her on the spot.
Usually hecklers aren't presenting a "well thought-out retort." They're just pissed off or bored and yelling the first thing that comes into their heads. These people don't put any thought into their actions.
See what I mean:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZDtw1hEKfI
(NOTE: Buy/Rent this movie! The parts that Jamie Kennedy aren't in are absolutely spectacular.)
If you're in comedy or want to pursue comedy, chances are that you're a pretty witty person. People have probably complimented you on this, and if you've done some shows you've got a feel for how to convey that talent on the stage. Comics know better than to heckle, so you dont have to worry about them. (Well, most of them anyway: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXjk1IorcPg)
My point is: YOU are the wittiest person speaking at that time.
Period.
You have no reason to feel intimidated by a heckler. You're a comedian; he's a douchebag in the third row. You have the nuggets to get up on stage; he doesn't. If he did, he'd be following or preceding you on that stage. Even if it's your first time up, you still have 1000 times more chutzpah just to get on than that stupid a-hole.
Like with that Zach Galifianakis clip, sometimes all you have to do is make them the center of attention and they cripple themselves. They want attention so bad. Give it to them. See what happens.
I'm frightened by this new challenge, but equally enthusiastic to take it on. Maybe I'll do well, maybe I won't. All I can do is prepare some retorts, keep my emotions in check (not that I'd ever pull a Michael Richards or anything, but it never pays to be very genuinely angry onstage), and be ready to learn from whatever happens.
You can't always win. Sometimes crowds can just suck. (http://new.music.yahoo.com/sklar-brothers/tracks/st-louis-bomb--184436177) But I've had a good experience with this club and I'm not worried about anything like that. Even if the worst does happen, I'm already prepared to pick myself up, dust myself off, and learn from what happens.
That's all you can do when you have to take the hits.
"You suck!"
No, actually, I don't.
(NOTE: I'm going to record the show, so depending on wht happens, good or bad, I might post it here. Stay tuned. I'll let ya know.)
But it looks like Jack Frost has finally decided to chill the fuck out (See what I did there? Wokka-wokka.) and let us have a show this Wednesday. I'm at Be Here Now in Muncie again, so if you can make it I'd love to see you there! Seriously, come if you can. I'm really gonna need the support this week.
You see... It's Heckler Night.
I'm still not 100% precisely what that's going to entail, but the long-and-short of it is this: The audience is free to "comment" on the show in progress. Every comic fights to reap laughs out of a crowd, but this is one of those few moments where the audience is allowed to fight back.
I have to admit, I'm probably more nervous about this show than I have been about all of the others. Be Here Now was a GREAT crowd the first time I went up, but this will only be my 2nd time in front of them. They still don't really know me too well and this time out they're actually encouraged to rip me apart.
Hell, it's only Monday and I'm already freaked out.
I can't say I know much about this subject, though. Even during my most awful shows I've never had to deal with an actual heckler. Most of the clubs I've been to have never really exhibited much hostility. (Tons of indifference and ennui, but never hostility.) I guess in this profession that makes me lucky. It hurts to be up onstage and simply not receive a response, but to actually receive a negative outcry is a whole other monster entirely.
Then again, I'm not so lucky.
Hecklers are something every comedian has to deal with and I have yet to have any formal training with them. From the night club comic to the ballroom packing all-star; the heckler just comes with the trade. Honestly, I'm quite surprised that in all the small, dim rooms full of drunken people that I've had to entertain the tempers haven't flared up yet. It's not the best environment to be bored, inebriated and buried in the dark.
"I've had it with this tubby, Luke Skywalker lookin' wannabe. GO CRAWL BACK IN THE TAUNTAUN CARCASS YOU CAME FROM! (I don't know why I made him a Star Wars nerd. Just running with it.)
Like I said in the last major post, it's intimidating to be judged by anyone. Even in a face-to-face situation. Let alone by a large group of people who you don't even know you.
But it's never impossible to conquer the heckler, no matter what they may say about you. One of my personal favorite comedians, Patton Oswalt, has a great track on Werewolves and Lollipops where his entire bit becomes 100 times more hilarious because he had a heckler there to throw him off queue.
Listen for yourself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDndsvjyIG4
(The heckler chimes in at around 4:03. Listen to the master at work.)
The best comics can integrate a heckler into their entire act and, not only win the audience back, but integrate an entirely new bit seamlessly into their set. When executed well, this can easily turn a potential show-killer into the funniest segment of the night.
Watch Zach Galifianakis do it. Another genius moment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qy9KvDtI5w
Based on all of the comics I've seen, I think the biggest lesson I've taken away is this: When confronted with a heckler, the best thing to do is to make them uncomfortable. The whole "goal" of the heckler is to make the performer uneasy and to throw him/her off their game. They aren't satisfied with the job you're doing and, hence, feel a sense of superiority to you. Granted, there are a million reasons that might posses a person to heckle, but I feel like that one theme is consistent.
Listen to this guy. I could make up better material then him. Hell, I think I will.
Ugh, I've had enough of this guy. Maybe if I tell him to he'll get off the stage.
I'm filled with Jagermeister and self-hatred. Why wouldn't I yell "pussy" in this crowded theater?!
They think, as an audience member, they have the upper hand. The key to dismantling them is to remind them that they do not.
Often, the worst thing you can do is to completely ignore them. It might be a good idea to just let a small thing slide, but usually the heckler is someone who is either being blatantly rude or actively trying to disengage you. If you don't confront the threat dead-on it shows as a sign of weakness. It makes the audience think that you aren't prepared and can't think well on your feet.
When you're on that stage, that's your time. If someone came up to you at a cafe and took the sandwich off your plate you'd be inclined and expected to get it back, right? (Well, you'd at least make the guy/gal pay for another sandwich. God only knows where this douche/bitch has been.)
The same thing applies onstage. These assholes are trying to steal your time and you've gotta take it back. You have to at least try or else you're very likely to lose the whole night. No matter how well-prepared your material may be, if you've lost the crowd to a heckler their laughs are going to him. Not you.
I have some comebacks prepared, but I've never had a chance to use any of them so I don't know how it's going to fly. That's the problem with heckler bits; you can't really try them out until the worst happens. I've read that often the best approach is simply not to try and "be funny." Rather, it's recommended to simply note things about the heckler themselves and point them out.
He/She wants to put you on the spot so, instead, put him/her on the spot.
Usually hecklers aren't presenting a "well thought-out retort." They're just pissed off or bored and yelling the first thing that comes into their heads. These people don't put any thought into their actions.
See what I mean:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZDtw1hEKfI
(NOTE: Buy/Rent this movie! The parts that Jamie Kennedy aren't in are absolutely spectacular.)
If you're in comedy or want to pursue comedy, chances are that you're a pretty witty person. People have probably complimented you on this, and if you've done some shows you've got a feel for how to convey that talent on the stage. Comics know better than to heckle, so you dont have to worry about them. (Well, most of them anyway: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXjk1IorcPg)
My point is: YOU are the wittiest person speaking at that time.
Period.
You have no reason to feel intimidated by a heckler. You're a comedian; he's a douchebag in the third row. You have the nuggets to get up on stage; he doesn't. If he did, he'd be following or preceding you on that stage. Even if it's your first time up, you still have 1000 times more chutzpah just to get on than that stupid a-hole.
Like with that Zach Galifianakis clip, sometimes all you have to do is make them the center of attention and they cripple themselves. They want attention so bad. Give it to them. See what happens.
I'm frightened by this new challenge, but equally enthusiastic to take it on. Maybe I'll do well, maybe I won't. All I can do is prepare some retorts, keep my emotions in check (not that I'd ever pull a Michael Richards or anything, but it never pays to be very genuinely angry onstage), and be ready to learn from whatever happens.
You can't always win. Sometimes crowds can just suck. (http://new.music.yahoo.com/sklar-brothers/tracks/st-louis-bomb--184436177) But I've had a good experience with this club and I'm not worried about anything like that. Even if the worst does happen, I'm already prepared to pick myself up, dust myself off, and learn from what happens.
That's all you can do when you have to take the hits.
"You suck!"
No, actually, I don't.
(NOTE: I'm going to record the show, so depending on wht happens, good or bad, I might post it here. Stay tuned. I'll let ya know.)
Saturday, January 22, 2011
One Little Victory
The title of this post taken from a very good Rush song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uo1_6E-zb2k). This was playing in my head for the rest of the night after my open mic @ Be Here Now in Muncie. (Great club, btw! Will DEFINITELY be performing there again soon.)
I was actually able to catch this performance on tape so, since it's one of my first, I figured I'd share it. I won't be doing this with every single performance obviously, but this one felt kinda special. It's only my 2nd performance since the "just-after-college" days, and I did pretty well DESPITE using some risky material. (In mingling with the crowd after the show I didn't meet a single person who had actuallyseen the news report I was discussing, so it could have gone much worse.)
Looking forward to the next show and "another chance to score." I'll keep ya posted.
ML
I was actually able to catch this performance on tape so, since it's one of my first, I figured I'd share it. I won't be doing this with every single performance obviously, but this one felt kinda special. It's only my 2nd performance since the "just-after-college" days, and I did pretty well DESPITE using some risky material. (In mingling with the crowd after the show I didn't meet a single person who had actually
Looking forward to the next show and "another chance to score." I'll keep ya posted.
ML
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Excerpt from Patton Oswalt's "Zombie Spaceship Wasteland"
I'm currently delving into Patton Oswalt's new memoir and I found this segment to be exceptionally striking and insightful. Apparently the AV Club did as well, so here's a link to their article:
http://www.avclub.com/articles/excerpt-zombie-spaceship-wasteland-a-book,49622/
Or, if you're SUPER lazy, I've provided the complete text below.
Once I started doing stand-up comedy, I couldn’t get enough.
The idea of writing a book, becoming a journalist and then, hopefully, a novelist, couldn’t withstand my sudden ambition to craft a perfect dick joke. Five thousand words a day seemed silly when I could bring a room full of drunks together with fifteen perfectly chosen words.
I loved getting to hang out with comedians. After years of record store and movie theater retail, and then temping in offices, it seemed otherworldly that I was suddenly surrounded by a peer group that was clever, quick, and discerning.
I also loved the hacks. Mainly because they helped throw off the public perceptions of stand-up comedy. The average person’s view of stand-up comedy was degraded and dismissive. The stuff that was being broadcast on TV—endless brick-background cable shows and watered-down “urban” neon mini-auditoriums with a Lethal Weapon saxophone sting—was truly awful. People—especially dipshit pseudointellectuals who ate up one-man theater shows that were, essentially, reworked hack stand-up premises—avoided comedy clubs. Maybe they couldn’t stand the fact that comedy clubs simply announced what they were—booze-ups with jokes as lubricant.
Zombie Spaceship Wasteland: A It reminded me of how literati avoid genre fiction or film snobs sniff at big-budget Hollywood movies or exploitation trash. It was how a lot of musicians treated rap and hip-hop when they first appeared.
But avoiding the trash makes you miss truly astonishing moments of truth, genius, and invention. If you shut your mind to science fiction, you’re never going to read The Martian Chronicles or The Left Hand of Darkness. If you think murder mysteries are airport garbage, then you’re denying yourself The Horizontal Man or The Daughter of Time. If movies begin at Ozu and end at Roemer for you, then the subversive brilliance of Deathdream and Rat Pfink a Boo Boo will leave you in the dust. Die-hard rock-and-rollers will never discover Biz Markie’s The Biz Never Sleeps. Indie music hard-liners rarely venture into country music territory. Too bad—Dolly Parton’s Jolene and Waylon Jennings’s Honky Tonk Heroes are as essential as Last Splash and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
And it’s the same with stand-up. Yes, I sifted through a lot of garbage in the late eighties and early nineties. But there were always unexpected moments of transcendence and originality. And knowing they were hidden in strip malls made me feel like I was a member of one of the last mystery cults on Earth. Like when the Fat Doctor said, one night’s at Garvin’s, “I used to work on the suicide hotline but I got fired. People would call up and I kept seeing their point.” Then there was Mark Fineman, who said, half to himself, “I don’t need to curse to do comedy. But I need to curse to live.” Hell, Lord Carrett’s non sequitur “You know they won’t let you buy a gun if you’re crying?” inspired a Holly Golightly song.
http://www.avclub.com/articles/excerpt-zombie-spaceship-wasteland-a-book,49622/
Or, if you're SUPER lazy, I've provided the complete text below.
Once I started doing stand-up comedy, I couldn’t get enough.
The idea of writing a book, becoming a journalist and then, hopefully, a novelist, couldn’t withstand my sudden ambition to craft a perfect dick joke. Five thousand words a day seemed silly when I could bring a room full of drunks together with fifteen perfectly chosen words.
I loved getting to hang out with comedians. After years of record store and movie theater retail, and then temping in offices, it seemed otherworldly that I was suddenly surrounded by a peer group that was clever, quick, and discerning.
I also loved the hacks. Mainly because they helped throw off the public perceptions of stand-up comedy. The average person’s view of stand-up comedy was degraded and dismissive. The stuff that was being broadcast on TV—endless brick-background cable shows and watered-down “urban” neon mini-auditoriums with a Lethal Weapon saxophone sting—was truly awful. People—especially dipshit pseudointellectuals who ate up one-man theater shows that were, essentially, reworked hack stand-up premises—avoided comedy clubs. Maybe they couldn’t stand the fact that comedy clubs simply announced what they were—booze-ups with jokes as lubricant.
Zombie Spaceship Wasteland: A It reminded me of how literati avoid genre fiction or film snobs sniff at big-budget Hollywood movies or exploitation trash. It was how a lot of musicians treated rap and hip-hop when they first appeared.
But avoiding the trash makes you miss truly astonishing moments of truth, genius, and invention. If you shut your mind to science fiction, you’re never going to read The Martian Chronicles or The Left Hand of Darkness. If you think murder mysteries are airport garbage, then you’re denying yourself The Horizontal Man or The Daughter of Time. If movies begin at Ozu and end at Roemer for you, then the subversive brilliance of Deathdream and Rat Pfink a Boo Boo will leave you in the dust. Die-hard rock-and-rollers will never discover Biz Markie’s The Biz Never Sleeps. Indie music hard-liners rarely venture into country music territory. Too bad—Dolly Parton’s Jolene and Waylon Jennings’s Honky Tonk Heroes are as essential as Last Splash and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
And it’s the same with stand-up. Yes, I sifted through a lot of garbage in the late eighties and early nineties. But there were always unexpected moments of transcendence and originality. And knowing they were hidden in strip malls made me feel like I was a member of one of the last mystery cults on Earth. Like when the Fat Doctor said, one night’s at Garvin’s, “I used to work on the suicide hotline but I got fired. People would call up and I kept seeing their point.” Then there was Mark Fineman, who said, half to himself, “I don’t need to curse to do comedy. But I need to curse to live.” Hell, Lord Carrett’s non sequitur “You know they won’t let you buy a gun if you’re crying?” inspired a Holly Golightly song.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
How To Make Your Own Bulletproof Vest (Or: The One About Stage Fright)
Well, it looks like Round 2 has been post-poned for the moment. Mother Nature chose 1/11/11 to finally turn Winter into high gear, and a nice little snow storm halted travel plans for me as well as pretty much everyone else who was planning on attending the show. (No hard feelings, by the way, for those of you who had to cancel. Completely understandable. As much as I love comedy it's not worth wrapping your car around a telephone pole.)
But now I'm feeling a sudden sense of withdrawl. I worked for weeks on new material, mapped a routine out in my head, rehearsed it in front of the mirror, timed it with a stopwatch, and even tuned up a last minute bombshell that, I think, would have really gotten big laughs. You'd be surprised how much preparation and planning goes into a typical routine. Even a mediocre, clumsily performed set usually has lots of hours of practice behind it.
I have to admit though, even during the worst performances there's a certain catharsis (for me, at least) in just getting on stage and actually performing. Even when I'm bombing one of the things that gets me through it is simply the internal notion that says, "Hey, at least you got the chance to try." I guess that's why it's so frustrating to be, in essence, "cock-blocked" by Jack Frost. But hey, Mother Nature's plans are always going to take precedence over your own. So it goes.
So, in lieu of an actual performance I figured I'd blog about a topic that I've been contemplating for the last few weeks; something that every comedian has to deal with (especially in the beginning).
Stage Fright.
There isn't a single entertainer or public figure on the planet that hasn't had to deal with it. Hell, there isn't a single person on the planet who hasn't had to deal with it in one way or another. It's fucking scary having to stand in front of a group of your peers (whether they're friends, strangers or mixed company) and be the complete, absolute focal point of attention. There's always the looming threat of messing something up or saying the wrong thing or giving off the wrong vibe. And even if you do give a flawless, according-to-plan performance (which never actually happens, by the way), what's to say that the audience just plain won't like you? Who the hell are you to demand their attention? What makes you so great? Why should I care what you have to say?
It's a lot to think about when hundreds of eyes are staring in your direction.
But it doesn't mean you can't put on a good show. It's just one more little obstacle to overcome. In fact, it's possible to even use stage fright to your advantage. Take Mitch Hedberg. Here's an excerpt from his Wikipedia page:
"Because he suffered from stage fright, Hedberg often performed wearing sunglasses, with his head down, with his hair in his face or with his eyes closed in order to avoid eye contact with the audience. He would often stand upstage or perform with his back to the audience. He would also constantly move in one spot and, when holding the microphone in some skits, his nervousness would cause him to shake it uncontrollably."
Hedberg was a scared puppy onstage, and when you look over his material it really shows. But being so open and honest about his anxiety was one of the features that made the "character" of Hedberg so endearing. He was superb at using his very real fear as an instrument to get the audience on his side. It became a pivotal part of his comedic voice and a fundamental characteristic to his persona. People liked that Mitch was nervy. He was a meek and hilarious reflection of their own nerviness and insecurities.
Johnny Carson was another great example of grace under pressure. Some would argue that Johnny was actually at his most clever when he was trying to recover from a bad bit. YouTube some of his "misses" sometime and you'll see what I mean. Johnny had this uncanny ability to take a rotten, corny joke that would fall flat on it's face and, by flawlessly following through with the crowds reaction, twist it into something else entirely. More often than not, he would instantly win the crowd back in the process.
It takes a hell of a talent to take an audience from "Ugh" to "Haha" within the span of a second.
All it really equates to, though, is just having the ability to use your fear and your mistakes to your advantage. Blending your missteps into the Tango so that your dance-partner doesn't even notice or mind that you made them. It's not a "sin" to make a bad joke. In fact, it's almost guarenteed to happen. The only real "sin" is losing the audience as a result of it.
Like a lot of things in life, it's all about confidence. We all struggle with it. We all feel embarassed when we fuck up. Confidence is simply having the ability to wash over your fuck-ups rather than have your fuck-ups wash over you. In researching this post I found a great piece of advice floating around in the ether:
"Many people feel like guests in another person's home when they show up for a gig. An outsider, trying to connect with the "local natives" as the "stranger from afar".
This is a position of weakness and should be abandoned immediately.
Here's how I approach it: As soon as I am introduced, the stage is mine. The building is mine. The entire property is MINE until I relinquish the microphone. The seats that the audience is sitting in are mine. That means that when I step onto the stage the people in the audience are guests in MY house, are in MY space and are on MY time. I'm not the guest. They are. I am at home, in my element and it's my turn to talk..."
I'm not sure who wrote this, but he/she makes a damn good point: When you're onstage that's YOUR time. I often struggle with this in my comedy. When something falls flat, you can sometimes almost feel like you owe the audience some kind of apology. You know... for wasting their time. For not giving them the bang for their buck. For committing the heresy of telling a bad joke.
But you know what... that's what you're there to do. You can't control an audience's reaction or even their perception of you. All you can do is control your own reactions and give them the best damn show you're able to give. If you've done that much you have nothing to be ashamed of.
That's your time. Your 6 minutes. You aren't imposing on them, even if you do give a lousy set. The club gave you that time on stage. If they hadn't, you wouldn't be up there. Take your time and take it all. As soon as it's over you can give it right back, but when you're on stage you're the boss. If someone heckles you, you aren't imposing on them. They're not onstage. They're imposing on you.
I'm odd when it comes to stage fright, though. I think I feel it a little bit differently than most. With me, I don't usually get too nervous until I'm actually on the stage and I've felt my first joke fall flat.
Before the show: I'm usually okay. In fact, I'm often pretty psyched up.
During the show: As long as the audience is laughing I'm in my element. I feel great.
Once something misses: ...Uh oh... time to panic!
As long as I establish my flow and keep the audience in tune with my rhythm I usually don't feel too much fear. In fact, I'd say it feels pretty natural. I don't tend to lose it until I lose the audience. Right at that first sign of crickets do I feel that old, familiar fright; that painful little twinge that crawls up your spine and nestles into the back of your head.
"Shit! I'm losing them!"
For me, I feel like I need to continue working on my rebound. A perfect game is always a great achievement, but realistically, how many ball-players are going to bat 1.000 everytime they step up to the plate?
Zero.
A truly skilled ball-player can make up for a few balls and strikes by slamming a good, solid hit on the next pitch. These open mic crowds expect the comedy to be pretty dreadful, and they aren't going to crucify you if you make a mistake. In these kind of situations, the only person that can really psyche you out is yourself.
Flub a line? Big deal, move on.
Two in a row? Whatever. Jump onto another topic.
Somebody groan? Fuck that guy, it's not his time. It's yours.
I don't think anyone who has watched me bomb feels one-fourth as badly about my performance as I do. So why beat yourself up?
Seriously. Think about all the bad comedy you've ever seen. I mean the really awful shit. All the Carrot-Tops, Gallaghers, and Christian Comedians you've ever had to awkwardly sit through. (I'm kidding about the Christian Comedians. A few of them are actually quite insightful.) What was the worst possible thing that ever happened to you while watching their act? What happened to YOU as a result of their bad comedy?
Seriously mull it over in your head.
Have an answer yet? I think I know what it might be...
You were bored.
That's all. You yawned. You rolled your eyes. Even if you were "offended" by something a comic said, your worst reaction (if you're a sensible person) was probably nothing more than a facepalm and shake of your head.
The only "crime" in committing bad comedy is boring an audience. And you've probably bored people to death with your stories a million times in your life before you turned twelve. So who cares?
Yeah, it's nerve racking to be watched on a stage. Judged by dozens of eyes. Laying yourself on the altar of their criticisms. But when you think about it, what do you really have to lose.
Maybe your pride, but you knew you would have to sacrifice that anyway.
You might be ashamed of producing bad art, but every artist has done that. Hemmingway wrote some shit. Picasso painted some shit. The Beatles have some shitty songs (Revolution 9, anyone?).
Never be ashamed of making shitty art. You'll be in good company.
Feeling stage-fright? Good. It means you're human. Which means you're sensitive. Which means you have the ability to connect to other people. Which means you have the potential to make them laugh.
The audience is all yours. All you have to do take them.
But now I'm feeling a sudden sense of withdrawl. I worked for weeks on new material, mapped a routine out in my head, rehearsed it in front of the mirror, timed it with a stopwatch, and even tuned up a last minute bombshell that, I think, would have really gotten big laughs. You'd be surprised how much preparation and planning goes into a typical routine. Even a mediocre, clumsily performed set usually has lots of hours of practice behind it.
I have to admit though, even during the worst performances there's a certain catharsis (for me, at least) in just getting on stage and actually performing. Even when I'm bombing one of the things that gets me through it is simply the internal notion that says, "Hey, at least you got the chance to try." I guess that's why it's so frustrating to be, in essence, "cock-blocked" by Jack Frost. But hey, Mother Nature's plans are always going to take precedence over your own. So it goes.
So, in lieu of an actual performance I figured I'd blog about a topic that I've been contemplating for the last few weeks; something that every comedian has to deal with (especially in the beginning).
Stage Fright.
There isn't a single entertainer or public figure on the planet that hasn't had to deal with it. Hell, there isn't a single person on the planet who hasn't had to deal with it in one way or another. It's fucking scary having to stand in front of a group of your peers (whether they're friends, strangers or mixed company) and be the complete, absolute focal point of attention. There's always the looming threat of messing something up or saying the wrong thing or giving off the wrong vibe. And even if you do give a flawless, according-to-plan performance (which never actually happens, by the way), what's to say that the audience just plain won't like you? Who the hell are you to demand their attention? What makes you so great? Why should I care what you have to say?
It's a lot to think about when hundreds of eyes are staring in your direction.
But it doesn't mean you can't put on a good show. It's just one more little obstacle to overcome. In fact, it's possible to even use stage fright to your advantage. Take Mitch Hedberg. Here's an excerpt from his Wikipedia page:
"Because he suffered from stage fright, Hedberg often performed wearing sunglasses, with his head down, with his hair in his face or with his eyes closed in order to avoid eye contact with the audience. He would often stand upstage or perform with his back to the audience. He would also constantly move in one spot and, when holding the microphone in some skits, his nervousness would cause him to shake it uncontrollably."
Hedberg was a scared puppy onstage, and when you look over his material it really shows. But being so open and honest about his anxiety was one of the features that made the "character" of Hedberg so endearing. He was superb at using his very real fear as an instrument to get the audience on his side. It became a pivotal part of his comedic voice and a fundamental characteristic to his persona. People liked that Mitch was nervy. He was a meek and hilarious reflection of their own nerviness and insecurities.
Johnny Carson was another great example of grace under pressure. Some would argue that Johnny was actually at his most clever when he was trying to recover from a bad bit. YouTube some of his "misses" sometime and you'll see what I mean. Johnny had this uncanny ability to take a rotten, corny joke that would fall flat on it's face and, by flawlessly following through with the crowds reaction, twist it into something else entirely. More often than not, he would instantly win the crowd back in the process.
It takes a hell of a talent to take an audience from "Ugh" to "Haha" within the span of a second.
All it really equates to, though, is just having the ability to use your fear and your mistakes to your advantage. Blending your missteps into the Tango so that your dance-partner doesn't even notice or mind that you made them. It's not a "sin" to make a bad joke. In fact, it's almost guarenteed to happen. The only real "sin" is losing the audience as a result of it.
Like a lot of things in life, it's all about confidence. We all struggle with it. We all feel embarassed when we fuck up. Confidence is simply having the ability to wash over your fuck-ups rather than have your fuck-ups wash over you. In researching this post I found a great piece of advice floating around in the ether:
"Many people feel like guests in another person's home when they show up for a gig. An outsider, trying to connect with the "local natives" as the "stranger from afar".
This is a position of weakness and should be abandoned immediately.
Here's how I approach it: As soon as I am introduced, the stage is mine. The building is mine. The entire property is MINE until I relinquish the microphone. The seats that the audience is sitting in are mine. That means that when I step onto the stage the people in the audience are guests in MY house, are in MY space and are on MY time. I'm not the guest. They are. I am at home, in my element and it's my turn to talk..."
I'm not sure who wrote this, but he/she makes a damn good point: When you're onstage that's YOUR time. I often struggle with this in my comedy. When something falls flat, you can sometimes almost feel like you owe the audience some kind of apology. You know... for wasting their time. For not giving them the bang for their buck. For committing the heresy of telling a bad joke.
But you know what... that's what you're there to do. You can't control an audience's reaction or even their perception of you. All you can do is control your own reactions and give them the best damn show you're able to give. If you've done that much you have nothing to be ashamed of.
That's your time. Your 6 minutes. You aren't imposing on them, even if you do give a lousy set. The club gave you that time on stage. If they hadn't, you wouldn't be up there. Take your time and take it all. As soon as it's over you can give it right back, but when you're on stage you're the boss. If someone heckles you, you aren't imposing on them. They're not onstage. They're imposing on you.
I'm odd when it comes to stage fright, though. I think I feel it a little bit differently than most. With me, I don't usually get too nervous until I'm actually on the stage and I've felt my first joke fall flat.
Before the show: I'm usually okay. In fact, I'm often pretty psyched up.
During the show: As long as the audience is laughing I'm in my element. I feel great.
Once something misses: ...Uh oh... time to panic!
As long as I establish my flow and keep the audience in tune with my rhythm I usually don't feel too much fear. In fact, I'd say it feels pretty natural. I don't tend to lose it until I lose the audience. Right at that first sign of crickets do I feel that old, familiar fright; that painful little twinge that crawls up your spine and nestles into the back of your head.
"Shit! I'm losing them!"
For me, I feel like I need to continue working on my rebound. A perfect game is always a great achievement, but realistically, how many ball-players are going to bat 1.000 everytime they step up to the plate?
Zero.
A truly skilled ball-player can make up for a few balls and strikes by slamming a good, solid hit on the next pitch. These open mic crowds expect the comedy to be pretty dreadful, and they aren't going to crucify you if you make a mistake. In these kind of situations, the only person that can really psyche you out is yourself.
Flub a line? Big deal, move on.
Two in a row? Whatever. Jump onto another topic.
Somebody groan? Fuck that guy, it's not his time. It's yours.
I don't think anyone who has watched me bomb feels one-fourth as badly about my performance as I do. So why beat yourself up?
Seriously. Think about all the bad comedy you've ever seen. I mean the really awful shit. All the Carrot-Tops, Gallaghers, and Christian Comedians you've ever had to awkwardly sit through. (I'm kidding about the Christian Comedians. A few of them are actually quite insightful.) What was the worst possible thing that ever happened to you while watching their act? What happened to YOU as a result of their bad comedy?
Seriously mull it over in your head.
Have an answer yet? I think I know what it might be...
You were bored.
That's all. You yawned. You rolled your eyes. Even if you were "offended" by something a comic said, your worst reaction (if you're a sensible person) was probably nothing more than a facepalm and shake of your head.
The only "crime" in committing bad comedy is boring an audience. And you've probably bored people to death with your stories a million times in your life before you turned twelve. So who cares?
Yeah, it's nerve racking to be watched on a stage. Judged by dozens of eyes. Laying yourself on the altar of their criticisms. But when you think about it, what do you really have to lose.
Maybe your pride, but you knew you would have to sacrifice that anyway.
You might be ashamed of producing bad art, but every artist has done that. Hemmingway wrote some shit. Picasso painted some shit. The Beatles have some shitty songs (Revolution 9, anyone?).
Never be ashamed of making shitty art. You'll be in good company.
Feeling stage-fright? Good. It means you're human. Which means you're sensitive. Which means you have the ability to connect to other people. Which means you have the potential to make them laugh.
The audience is all yours. All you have to do take them.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Comedy 101 (or The Reeducation of Crash Thompson)
Hey all!
Funny story. I actually created this blog months ago (in fact, it may have even been years), but never got around to actually posting anything. I wasn't sure what kind of slant it should take. Hell, I didn't even know what to call it so I just named it after the song that was randomly playing on my iPhone at the time (a deep cut that I'm not even particularly fond of from Oleander's "Unwind".)
But now that I'm doing stage-comedy again I figured this might be a cool place to open-journal about my various experiences. Nothing much really. Just some light reflection and observation as I pursue the goal of being a comedian. I'll mostly be sticking to stand-up or Couch News related stuff, but I might slip in an op-ed piece here or there if something comes up in the comedy world.
Comedy is the name of the game, so that's what we're gonna stick to here.
So... where to begin.
How about that name change? WTF, right? Eh, it's no big deal, really. In working onstage in the past and using it on Couch News I found out something very disconcerting about my moniker.
It's freaking hard to say.
At least for club MC's and people unfamiliar with me. The 'sh' sound at the end of "Crash" just doesn't flow well into the nonfricative 's' and plosive 'p' of Sprong. Even in shooting Couch News I often found myself tripping up over saying my own damn name. It's probably unconvential enough that my first name is verb without having it literally crash phonetically into my last name.
I needed something that rolled off the tongue a little better. You know, something that doesn't sound like you accidentally sneezed in the middle of your sentence. (The first time I told my name to another comic that was his reaction. I had to repeat myself 3 times before he realized it was a name, not an allergic reaction.)
"Thompson" was my maternal grandpa's name. He was a kind, humble, quiet man and one of the few people close to sane in my family. I loved the way he carried himself, and he was always a bit of a role model for me. If I'm going to change my name (I mean, you know, again) it'd probably be best to stick with a family name. So it is.
So with a new name and new material I took on the stage again for the first time in years last month. I wanted to get back onstage for the same reason I always want to get back onstage... I missed it. I'm an entertainer at heart and if I'm not doing something creative for an audience, I get "the itch." I.E., the insatiable and everpresent need within my psyche for self-expression through a creative outlet. After the most recent episode of Couch News (the infamous "Lost Episode") I was burned out beyond belief. Everything went wrong with that one and the show itself was starting to spiral into something bigger than I could handle on my own. So, for the time being, I'm taking a much needed break from it.
Don't get the wrong idea, though. Couch News isn't dead. Just lying dormant while I continue to reevaluate what direction I want the show to take and how to more effectively fit it into my schedule. (Seriously, editing all the time was REALLY starting to turn me into a hermit. I mean, you know... moreso.)
The original purpose of the show was to have something to market and promote while I was doing stand-up, but I suppose I'd gotten too caught up in the fun of making the series. (Not to mention the time constraints of editing and shooting screwing with my ability to make the drive down to Indy.) I wanted to get back into something more conventional. Get back to being a real comedian. Hear and feel an audience's reaction as opposed to just talking into a camera. You just can't substitute that with anything. Once you've gotten one laugh out of a crowd, you're instantly addicted. It's an irreplaceable rush.
So on December 14th, I took to the stage again. I wanted to try some all new material. Something fresh. Something edgy. Something I'd never done before. This would be the first show where I wouldn't have to censor anything for any reason whatsoever. I decided to go crazy.
I've always admired Alt-Comedians such as Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman, Zach Galifianakis, Dave Attell, et al, and I really want to develop an unconventional voice like theirs. Not that I mind the more traditional styles of Jerry Seinfeld or Dana Gould, I just want to be something different. Stick out a little. George Carlin was famous for saying that the job of the comedian is to find the line with an audience and always be stepping over it.
So, for probably the first time, I really stepped over that line...
And bombed like Nagasaki.
At the time it was horrifying (as it always is), but it wasn't really a big deal. Comics bomb. Especially new ones. There's no getting around it. It's the labor pain of shaping your comedic voice. A comic who doesn't bomb is like a baby that doesn't cry. It doesn't exist. And when they're young they do it all the time.
It wasn't even the worst bomb I've ever had to endure (I'll save that for another post), but it went FAR worse than what I was expecting. I'm not going to sit here and analyze everything that I did wrong. Why do that to yourself? But I will elaborate on the biggest lesson learned (or better, reminded) from that experience:
You gotta win the audience FIRST.
I was a little too cocky walking up there. I fed them an act with jokes about abortion and Wilford Brimley raping dolphins (like I said, EDGY!) and somehow expected the entire audience to just jump right on board that train.
"Abortion? Porpoise molestation? Please sir, tell me more!"
It's not that the material was bad. I don't think so anyway. There was some damn clever bits in there, I'm certain of it. I think it was more that the audience didn't know me or trust me just yet.
When Carlin told an abortion joke, you practically expected it. You knew him and you trusted him to take you into that area. Or, for example, when Sarah Silverman talks about the Holocaust. You're shocked, but you trust her enough to know that she's going to deliver something extra big for making you endure the uncomfortable set-up. You trust them because they're professionals and they've had the time to set-up their tone and give you an idea of what's coming.
My abortion jokes led in at about 1:30 into my act, and up to that point I really hadn't won anyone over yet. A more perfect recipe for awkward silence I've yet to discover.
You don't always have to be feather-soft on your delivery, but you have to reassure the audience that you're clever and that your up there to make them laugh... not make them shriek. (No one shrieked, but a few exasperated 'oh my god's really put me in my place.)
You do have to step over the line, at least if you want to be a truly good and innovative humorist, but the implied portion of that little parable is that you have to convince the audience to go there with you. Otherwise you end up on the other side with nothing but crickets and the sound of you're own voice echoing off the walls. And believe me, the LAST place you want to wind up talking to yourself is onstage.
Eh. You live and learn by your crash and burn. So it goes.
It's good that I got it out of my system. I learned a lot about how to approach a new audience, and thankfully no one was so exasperated as to 'boo' or heckle. Overall, I came out okay. Hopefully it makes a better comic out of me.
I'm going back onstage on the 11th (same time, same place. If you're in Indy come see me!), and I think I'm going to try a bit of a different approach. I'm doing what every comic does and I'm building on the stuff that works. I did get a few laughs last night, and that makes it all the worth while. Hopefully next Tuesday, I'll get some more.
Hope to see ya there!
Funny story. I actually created this blog months ago (in fact, it may have even been years), but never got around to actually posting anything. I wasn't sure what kind of slant it should take. Hell, I didn't even know what to call it so I just named it after the song that was randomly playing on my iPhone at the time (a deep cut that I'm not even particularly fond of from Oleander's "Unwind".)
But now that I'm doing stage-comedy again I figured this might be a cool place to open-journal about my various experiences. Nothing much really. Just some light reflection and observation as I pursue the goal of being a comedian. I'll mostly be sticking to stand-up or Couch News related stuff, but I might slip in an op-ed piece here or there if something comes up in the comedy world.
Comedy is the name of the game, so that's what we're gonna stick to here.
So... where to begin.
How about that name change? WTF, right? Eh, it's no big deal, really. In working onstage in the past and using it on Couch News I found out something very disconcerting about my moniker.
It's freaking hard to say.
At least for club MC's and people unfamiliar with me. The 'sh' sound at the end of "Crash" just doesn't flow well into the nonfricative 's' and plosive 'p' of Sprong. Even in shooting Couch News I often found myself tripping up over saying my own damn name. It's probably unconvential enough that my first name is verb without having it literally crash phonetically into my last name.
I needed something that rolled off the tongue a little better. You know, something that doesn't sound like you accidentally sneezed in the middle of your sentence. (The first time I told my name to another comic that was his reaction. I had to repeat myself 3 times before he realized it was a name, not an allergic reaction.)
"Thompson" was my maternal grandpa's name. He was a kind, humble, quiet man and one of the few people close to sane in my family. I loved the way he carried himself, and he was always a bit of a role model for me. If I'm going to change my name (I mean, you know, again) it'd probably be best to stick with a family name. So it is.
So with a new name and new material I took on the stage again for the first time in years last month. I wanted to get back onstage for the same reason I always want to get back onstage... I missed it. I'm an entertainer at heart and if I'm not doing something creative for an audience, I get "the itch." I.E., the insatiable and everpresent need within my psyche for self-expression through a creative outlet. After the most recent episode of Couch News (the infamous "Lost Episode") I was burned out beyond belief. Everything went wrong with that one and the show itself was starting to spiral into something bigger than I could handle on my own. So, for the time being, I'm taking a much needed break from it.
Don't get the wrong idea, though. Couch News isn't dead. Just lying dormant while I continue to reevaluate what direction I want the show to take and how to more effectively fit it into my schedule. (Seriously, editing all the time was REALLY starting to turn me into a hermit. I mean, you know... moreso.)
The original purpose of the show was to have something to market and promote while I was doing stand-up, but I suppose I'd gotten too caught up in the fun of making the series. (Not to mention the time constraints of editing and shooting screwing with my ability to make the drive down to Indy.) I wanted to get back into something more conventional. Get back to being a real comedian. Hear and feel an audience's reaction as opposed to just talking into a camera. You just can't substitute that with anything. Once you've gotten one laugh out of a crowd, you're instantly addicted. It's an irreplaceable rush.
So on December 14th, I took to the stage again. I wanted to try some all new material. Something fresh. Something edgy. Something I'd never done before. This would be the first show where I wouldn't have to censor anything for any reason whatsoever. I decided to go crazy.
I've always admired Alt-Comedians such as Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman, Zach Galifianakis, Dave Attell, et al, and I really want to develop an unconventional voice like theirs. Not that I mind the more traditional styles of Jerry Seinfeld or Dana Gould, I just want to be something different. Stick out a little. George Carlin was famous for saying that the job of the comedian is to find the line with an audience and always be stepping over it.
So, for probably the first time, I really stepped over that line...
And bombed like Nagasaki.
At the time it was horrifying (as it always is), but it wasn't really a big deal. Comics bomb. Especially new ones. There's no getting around it. It's the labor pain of shaping your comedic voice. A comic who doesn't bomb is like a baby that doesn't cry. It doesn't exist. And when they're young they do it all the time.
It wasn't even the worst bomb I've ever had to endure (I'll save that for another post), but it went FAR worse than what I was expecting. I'm not going to sit here and analyze everything that I did wrong. Why do that to yourself? But I will elaborate on the biggest lesson learned (or better, reminded) from that experience:
You gotta win the audience FIRST.
I was a little too cocky walking up there. I fed them an act with jokes about abortion and Wilford Brimley raping dolphins (like I said, EDGY!) and somehow expected the entire audience to just jump right on board that train.
"Abortion? Porpoise molestation? Please sir, tell me more!"
It's not that the material was bad. I don't think so anyway. There was some damn clever bits in there, I'm certain of it. I think it was more that the audience didn't know me or trust me just yet.
When Carlin told an abortion joke, you practically expected it. You knew him and you trusted him to take you into that area. Or, for example, when Sarah Silverman talks about the Holocaust. You're shocked, but you trust her enough to know that she's going to deliver something extra big for making you endure the uncomfortable set-up. You trust them because they're professionals and they've had the time to set-up their tone and give you an idea of what's coming.
My abortion jokes led in at about 1:30 into my act, and up to that point I really hadn't won anyone over yet. A more perfect recipe for awkward silence I've yet to discover.
You don't always have to be feather-soft on your delivery, but you have to reassure the audience that you're clever and that your up there to make them laugh... not make them shriek. (No one shrieked, but a few exasperated 'oh my god's really put me in my place.)
You do have to step over the line, at least if you want to be a truly good and innovative humorist, but the implied portion of that little parable is that you have to convince the audience to go there with you. Otherwise you end up on the other side with nothing but crickets and the sound of you're own voice echoing off the walls. And believe me, the LAST place you want to wind up talking to yourself is onstage.
Eh. You live and learn by your crash and burn. So it goes.
It's good that I got it out of my system. I learned a lot about how to approach a new audience, and thankfully no one was so exasperated as to 'boo' or heckle. Overall, I came out okay. Hopefully it makes a better comic out of me.
I'm going back onstage on the 11th (same time, same place. If you're in Indy come see me!), and I think I'm going to try a bit of a different approach. I'm doing what every comic does and I'm building on the stuff that works. I did get a few laughs last night, and that makes it all the worth while. Hopefully next Tuesday, I'll get some more.
Hope to see ya there!
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