The Side That's Winning

By: Andy Kline

The first time I ever did stand-up comedy was back in 1994 at the age of 19. I did it basically as a hobby for about two years, then drifted away. In the spring of '98, I came back into it full force. I don't remember the exact date, but I think my first time ever on stage was the last Wednesday in March, '94 - about a month after Bill Hicks died, and about a week before Kurt Cobain did. The number one song in the country was "Wet Banana" by The Floaters, a loaf of bread cost -12 cents, and only the wealthy had knees.

To characterize DC comedy as a "scene" back then would be a disservice to the word. There was no scene. It was just a collection of comics doing a few open-mic's together. There was adequate stage time, but not much in the way of ambition or identity. The word most frequently used when discussing comedy wasn't hack, or original, or unicorns. It was crossover. Everybody was talking about crossing over.

There were a lot more black rooms in DC back then. If you were white and wanted to get on stage more than once or twice a week, you would have to venture out to Mr. Henry's in Adams Morgan, or one of the Comedy Connection rooms. You would have to risk getting booed or heckled. You would occasionally have utensils thrown in your general direction. Likewise, black comics looking for time would have to hit The Comedy Café on K Street, or Headliners in Bethesda. They would have to risk getting ostracized by the pervasive "Def Jam" label. But, we all tried to cross over. It was important to relate to unfamiliar crowds. It helped you grow. Sure, some people did it in a hacky way, but most of us had a fair amount of integrity.

old school comedy
photo courtesy of Flickr and timparkinson

Historically, that's what comedy has been – people crossing over. Just look at the way comedy is marketed. The majority of comedy bio's you read say, in essence, that this is someone who is different from you. From a different background than you. With a unique slant and fresh perspective on the world. If you believe what you read, there are literally thousands of unique slants and fresh perspectives out there, playing every out of the way Hysteri-Hut and Tickle Trap in the country. The message a comedy crowd is given is this: you won't agree with everything this comic says, but he'll show you what's funny about his point of view. Not that comedy audiences have ever fully embraced that message, but it's essentially what they're told.

But, comedy has been changing for the last few years. It's being splintered into all kinds of various genres. Somewhere, on any given night, you might find yourself at an alternative show called, "Grown Men Who Still Watch Cartoons." Or maybe an urban show called, "Somebody Say Ha." Possibly even an all-female extravaganza called, "The Drapes Match the Rug-Pulls." In every city that has a comedy scene, comedians are banding together in neatly packaged little groups: the black show, the not-like-the-other-blacks show, the redneck show, the Arab show, the alternative show, etc. In some ways, it's no different than developing a hook; the "GIT-R-DONE" it's okay to like, if you will. But in other ways, it's killing people's growth.

this set up killed at the Trekkie convention
photo courtesy of Flickr and Idea-Listic

The crowds at a genre show are agreeable. They don't challenge the comedian, and the comedian doesn't challenge them. And that's the dirty little secret: you don't have to be that funny anymore. They like you because of what you represent. If you're an alternative comic, you can get away with dropping transformers references and displaying fake creativity by talking about genies and robots and elves. The crowd is there to root for you. You're a cause more than a comic, and this is your pep rally. The same can be said for the black comic leaning on the white-guy-voice on urban night, or countless other examples. Genre shows advocate indulgence. And they stifle growth.

It's just like a national headliner who finally gets his own audience of devoted fans, then winds up catering to them completely. Listen to Sam Kinison's CD Leader of the Banned, if you need a reference. By the time it came out, he had reached a point in his career when he could just yell FAGGOT into the microphone and his crowds would cheer. His bits got lazy and the comedy suffered, yet he still destroyed (he did find his roots again on Live From Hell). Check out Dane Cook's Vicious Circle special. Not that he has ever been a good comic in my opinion, but that special lacked any creativity or imagination. It was a bunch of shared-experiences done with energy and an arched back. And his fans ate it up. Have you ever watched a Margaret Cho special and wondered what the hell everybody's laughing at?

Now, those comics had years of experience in comedy, and they still couldn't resist the temptation to indulge and cater to their crowds. But, what if you're a brand new comic who latches onto one of these scenes? You've just started comedy and you already have what is essentially your crowd. What happens when that crowd forgives your mistakes and laughs extra hard anyway? Well, what happens is a generation of thin-skinned comics who lack polish and development.

Bill Burr wrote a blog, roughly a month ago, about his early days in comedy. He mentioned that, once he found his voice, he deliberately went up in front of audiences that were hostile. That may have come as a revelation to some, but really, that's how everybody used to think. Things are so different now.

I've heard so many new comics write off a crowd because they were too old, or too rowdy, or too black. I've heard people bad-mouth crowds at A+ rooms, like the Improv, by snidely calling them "mainstream." It sounds to me like people are afraid to bomb, and they're sheltering themselves completely from that experience.

everyone can relate to nudity, am i right?
photo courtesy of Flickr and Arbron

I deliberately mentioned Bill Hicks and Kurt Cobain at the beginning of this blog because they were two artists who constantly challenged and confronted their crowds. So does Bill Burr. Part of what makes stand-up comedy great is that it gives performers the ability to take real risks and provoke their audience. I feel like that ability is being traded in for safety and support.

I don't think the current direction of comedy is all bad. There are obvious benefits, and, if approached the right way, having a receptive crowd can be a great thing. In fact, my biggest hope is that this trend will lead to an established underground comedy scene, similar to what you see in music. The current power structure in comedy doesn't represent or expose the right people most of the time, and other avenues are sorely needed. But, does anybody even use the word crossover anymore? Does that idea even cross people's minds?

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