Andy Kline Interview Continued...(Part 3)

You mentioned that you would like to be a staff writer for a show, if you had to pick a program that was on right now, what would it be and why?

Well, South Park, but they don't use writers. I think The Boondocks would be a great show to write for. It seems like you can get away with anything on that show, and crossing the line is encouraged. That gives you a lot of freedom as a writer. But beggars can't be choosers. I'd write for Blue Collar Comedy at this point.

What comedy set on audio tape or DVD can you sit down and watch over and over again? Any tape while growing up or any other time in your life that you just "wore out"? What about it resonated with you?

Chris Rock: Bring the Pain That was an instant classic. When it first aired, I taped it and practically watched it daily. I still watch it every now and then.

George Carlin: Jammin' in New York. It changed the way I think about comedy. Just a great mix of Carlin's observational stuff and his angry stuff. This was before I discovered Bill Hicks, who I also listen to constantly. I've always been drawn to guys who were both angry and smart.

I also watch Mr. Show regularly. It's the best sketch show of all time.

The one that really stood out when I was a kid was Eddie Murphy: Comedian (and later Raw). I don't think I related to it in any meaningful way. I just couldn't believe how talented he was.

Any jokes or moments you remember on stage in particular where you think back and say to yourself, "What was I thinking?"

Well, the stuff I was doing back in '94 is pretty embarrassing in retrospect. I mean, I felt way more mature than other people my age, yet there I was doing jokes about shitting. But being a comedian, I specialize in delusion. So I just rationalize that as a necessary part of my development. Other than that, nothing else stands out. I never went through a prop phase or anything.

If I'm saying "what was i thinking," it's moreso about a situation where I got my hopes up about an audition or contest despite knowing better.

Anything you would like to see more of or less of in the Baltimore/DC/NoVa comedy scene?

More paid gigs would be nice. That's obviously self serving, but I think it would help people's development. A lot of comics in the area lack experience hosting or stringing together tight feature sets. If the area had a couple more quality B rooms that embraced local comics, some of the newer guys could pick up valuable lessons without having to drive to Kentucky for $75. Right now as a new comic, you can do open-mic's and showcases, but there's a long line for the club work.

Beyond that, I wish the industry would pay more attention to DC. There's an occasional industry showcase at the DC Improv, but you can't get every funny person onto one of those shows. Our proximity to NYC winds up obscuring us a little bit. Places like Austin and Seattle are scouted, but DC gets lost in the shuffle sometimes.

I'd like to thank Andy Kline for taking the time to answer the questions I fielded for him. If you have a chance, check out his blog and website on the link to lefthand side of the page to read more of his thoughts and check out dates for upcoming shows.

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Andy Kline Interview (Part Two)...

I went back through your blog and find it way more interesting than the one I slap together. The stories and observations are pitch-perfect, however the last one you wrote was back in '08, am I missing where the "real" blog is somewhere else or do you just write when the inspiration hits? Have you ever been offered, other than 98 Rock's "Wrath of Kline", commentary slots for anything else?

I tend to blog only when I'm inspired. I used to blog more and I keep promising myself I'll pick up the pace again. That usually comes down to laziness. I have several blogs that are 75 percent done, then I lost interest. I keep threatening to randomly post five new blogs simultaneously, but I haven't done it yet. For a while, the Wrath of Kline sort of replaced my blog. But that's been over since last summer, so I have no excuse.

I got a lot of good feedback from the Wrath of Kline, and I've looked a little bit into recording and syndicating it myself, but I haven't received any clear answers on how to make that happen. I don't want to make it just another YouTube rant or podcast, but it might end up resurfacing in that form. I did talk to Mickey from 98 Rock's morning show about bringing it back there, but we haven't nailed anything down.

How did you like doing radio?

Radio was a lot of fun, but I'm definitely a second-fiddle kind of guy. I don't talk much and prefer only to open my mouth when I have something funny to say. So on the air, I'm quiet for several minutes, then I blurt out a punchline. That's not good when you're the guy who's supposed to carry the show, but with two other hosts in the room, it worked for me. Had I been asked to fill in and be the main host, I would have failed miserably. I can't even carry a conversation at the McDonald's drive-thru. If you can't order a sundae without dead air, you have no business hosting a radio show.

I did Irresponsible Radio every week for about eight months, and I felt like I was just beginning to come out of my shell when the show was canceled.

I think you more than live up to what you say in your bio, about not using stand-up as platform to move elsewhere, but do have other creative interests? Have people offered you roles for TV, film, webseries, etc..any of that interest you?

I'm actually sick of that bio. Not that I disagree with what it says, it just feels old to me. I need to rewrite it. But, the sentiment is still valid. What the bio is really saying is that I'm not doing stand up so I can host a game show or interview Nickelback on MTV. I just want to do stand up. That seems like a simple idea, but comedy is flooded with actors and opportunists just looking for another bit of exposure. They're not interested in the craft, and they're pretty ignorant to how it all works. Not that comedians shouldn't take commercials or TV roles; I'm just saying if you have no real interest in comedy, get out of the way. You're just taking up space and valuable stage time. I guess I'm a purist.

Beyond that, there's a real freak show aspect in stand up these days that I hate. I've said this before, but if Lobster Boy or The Bearded Lady were around today, their handlers wouldn't tell them to join the circus, they'd send them to open-mic night. Lobster Boy would have no interest in comedy, but he would get on TV in two years and eventually land a development deal so he could be an inspiration to us all.

Seriously, if Chang & Eng were around now, you can't tell me they wouldn't be juggling scalpels at some Funny Trap somewhere. After the show, they could sign your hat and t-shirt simultaneously. The shirt would say "Joined at the Hope."

I've never been offered any roles in film or TV, but that's okay because I'm a horrible actor. If I was to take a job like that, it would have to be a part I wrote for myself knowing my limitations. Of greater interest would be writing for a show or web series. I, along with a couple friends, have written a bunch of sketches, and I've written other things for people here and there, but nothing steady yet. But being a staff writer on a show would be a great job for me. I would love that.

Did hecklers throw you when you were first starting? Has handling them become just as routine as handling any other evriomental obstruction/obstacle, i.e. mic, set decoration, stage size...Did you write "comebacks" while lying in bed or was it a skill that just developed, or maybe it didn't have to...

They definitely threw me at first, but not so much anymore. I don't invite heckling or crowd work at all for that matter, but I'm pretty confident in my ability to handle it. It's just as routine as commenting on the mic or stage size, except you have to be funnier with hecklers than you do with bad set decoration. Also, most hecklers aren't yelling "you suck" or anything like that. They usually mean well, but just don't understand boundaries. They're drunk, and who doesn't love making fun of a loud drunk guy?

I think the initial instinct is to come up with the perfect funny line to shut the heckler down. At first, it's incredibly frustrating. You don't think of that line until about 3 in the morning after the show. Then, it becomes midnight. Then, you think of it just after you step off stage. Eventually, something funny will pop into your head in the moment. I've tried to sit and write lines for those moments, but they rarely work the way I want them to. To me, they wind up sounding detached, and the best heckler comebacks are completely in the moment. But, over the years, I have occasionally improvised things in the moment that wound up becoming stock comebacks. I don't like going to the stock stuff immediately, but It's good to have in a pinch.

Really, the "perfect line" thing isn't even how I do it anymore. These days, I wind up letting the heckler talk a little bit. Eventually, he'll say something that I can pounce on. I basically give him enough rope to hang himself. That takes another level of confidence. You have to really believe that, even though you don't have something funny right now, if you keep this conversation going, something funny will come out. Sometimes I can't think of anything and it gets awkward, but it's just as easy to make fun of the awkwardness as it is to make fun of the actual heckler. With a heckler, you have options. Comment on the heckler himself or comment on the environment created by the heckling.

Do you have a heckler moment that stands out for you?

If you ask me tomorrow, I'll probably have a different answer. But I had a good exchange with a woman at the DC Improv once. It's memorable because she got a big laugh (i.e. she won), and I came right back with a better line. It started after I mentioned something about Jews.

Her: I caught one. I got a jew.

Me: You caught one? Are you going to keep him or throw him back?

Her: ...

Me: You don't have a Jew. He's your friend. You don't own him.

Her: He's my husband, I do own him.

Me: Wow, he got a bitch.


Trust me, the timing was perfect.

You mentioned that stand-up has become an opportunity for actors and people looking to be seen and the comedy/craft take a backseat or are just thrown out the window, while your disdain is understandable, I've heard as much or even more disgust reserved (by other comics) for the long-time open-miker that just has never had it and never will get it, do you have more sympathy for the comic with good intentions?

In New York, you'll go to an open-mic and see the worst comic you've ever seen, then find out he's been doing comedy 12 years. The long-time open-micer is usually a sad story. It takes guts to quit comedy. As a comic, every time you talk to your family/friends, or every time you run into an old acquaintance, they ask you how the comedy thing is going. They talk you up to their friends. They say things like, "If you make it big, don't forget me." They ask if you have any jokes about them. Comedy is basically a means to get attention and quitting means you won't get that attention anymore (not to mention the immediate on stage attention). Your whole identity has become comedy, so getting out takes away your identity. Most comics are insecure, so they would rather bomb for a decade just to keep that charade going. They get used to the bombing. It stops affecting them. They get their high just from saying they're comedians. Taking the plunge out of comedy is more terrifying to them than taking the plunge into comedy.

I guess I have more sympathy for those guys. They're flawed to begin with, and the only thing comedy has done is deepen their flaws. But, they're probably never going to graduate beyond the open-mic's. If you're any good, you'll surpass them soon enough. The actors often have managers and agents who have enough pull to book them at clubs and festivals, taking up real spots on real shows. That's worse to me. But if I was still competing for open-mic spots, I'd probably say the opposite.

Patric O'Neil reminded me of the "Cringe Humor"/Tough Crowd group that has come out of New York. Some comics like O'Neil and Jim Norton seem to be able to do that sort of humor because it doesn't feel forced, it inexplicably comes from an honest place. But I'm sure they can't always get away with it. What goes through your mind when you see an open-mic comic using "shock" material? I'm not one for censorship but what advice might you have for someone just starting out that tells you that they have a "really good date-rape joke".

When I see a new comic going the shock route, I think he's looking for an identity before he has found his voice. It's something we all do, but while one guy does it with rape jokes, the next guy might do it by emulating Dave Attell or Demetri Martin. I did it by being over-the-top dirty. Most people outgrow that at some point, but you'll never be able to talk them out of it. It has to happen naturally. I would never tell a new comic he has to be clean or safe. But I would tell him to question his own motives and draw honest conclusions.

There's not a whole lot of rebellion in comedy these days, so if you have that rebellious streak, you don't have too many current role models. You might be flying blind a little bit. Before you have an act, the most rebellious thing you can do is to make a crowd feel uncomfortable, and that's where the cringe element comes in. It's a defense mechanism. It's "I'm such a badass, but I'm not funny yet. So I'll make it the crowd's fault. They're too conservative to laugh at the real shit. And by real shit, I mean ten minutes on pussy farts." You have a built in excuse for bombing. The same thing happens in alternative comedy, except replace pussy farts with unicorns.

Meanwhile, with Patrice especially, there's a ton of insight beyond the shock stuff. In fact, I don't find him very shocking at all. But for a new comic who's into Patrice, it's a lot harder to emulate insight than it is to emulate shock value. So they take what they can.

Your set destroyed at Jay Hastings' Roast. It seemed to come right into your wheel-house, is that when its almost too easy for you? What is your process for writing jokes in general?

I actually forgot to do what I felt was my best joke at Jay's roast, so like the whore comic I am, I've been trying to slip it into conversations ever since. Of course, slipping jokes into conversations is the type of thing people bashed Jay for during his roast. So, at the risk of being like Jay, here's the joke (only DC comics will get it):

I asked Jay why he wanted to move to Seattle. He said, "Well, it's always been my dream to get into the DC Comedy Fest."

Okay, maybe not the best joke, but my favorite. That joke wasn't even about Jay, but that's what I like about roasts. You get to bash everybody. That's definitely in my wheelhouse. Partly because my brother and I grew up insulting each other endlessly, but also, during my open-mic days at Wiseacres, the comics would bash each other relentlessly. If we followed one of our friends on the show, we would usually open our sets by hammering the previous guy. It became part of the routine...what am I going to say about the last guy. Every week was like a miniature roast.

It took a couple days for me to write anything for Jay's roast, but once I got over that hump, the jokes came pretty easily. In general, I have two basic processes for writing jokes. Usually, when I come up with a premise, I just bounce the idea around in my head for a few days or even weeks. I may or may not try working it out on stage. After a few weeks, the final bit just sort of emerges and it's done. Not a word written down. In fact, I don't have the final versions of most of my bits written down. If I ever fall down, hit my head and lose my memory, I'll be fucked.

The second process is pretty much the opposite. Overwriting. I'll take a premise and basically write a five paragraph essay on it. I'll explore a few different angles and try to draw some kind of conclusion. After a few days on the shelf, I'll read it back. Usually as I read it, I'll notice openings for tangents and punchlines. I'll probably wind up using about a paragraph total for the bit, but the extra writing will open up a lot of doors. That process usually yields better bits, and yet I use it less frequently.

Part 3 coming tomorrow...

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Interview with Comedian Andy Kline (Part One)

The first time I saw Andy Kline perform was while I was taking the stage for the second time ever at Wise-Acres back in 2002. To give you a sense of where I was in the development of my craft, I wore a Hawaiian shirt because I thought it felt more like, "Hey I'm a comedian!". I had no idea what I was doing. Kline on the other hand, knows exactly what he's doing. My first impression of Kline was that I immediately envied his voice and attitude, everything was said with authority and most of it, if not all of it was honest. He is one of those comics that I really want to listen to when he takes the stage, a rare talent in the area, someone that writes jokes as well as he packages and delivers them.

You have been doing stand-up over ten years? When and where did you first start? What was the experience like?

I grew up in Leesburg, VA back when it was still considered a small town, and have lived in Northern Virginia most of my life. I moved to NYC for four years (2004 to 2008), but wound up getting sick of living there. Hence, my return to VA.

I really have two "start dates" with comedy. The first was March 1994. I did the Wednesday open-mic at the now-defunct Comedy Cafe on K street in DC (It became a Fast Eddie's...there was no public outcry). I had always been somewhat interested in comedy, and I felt like I was funny, but I was also incredibly shy. I was so shy, the mere act of calling the club to ask about the sign up process was painful. Despite the nerves, my first time on stage actually went okay. Not great, but I got a few laughs. My second time, I destroyed. Third time, I bombed horribly, but some of the comics laughed. From that point on, I became sort of a darling on the local open-mic scene. My act was incredibly dirty (this was before "Def Jam" was an insult), but crossed with a shy, deadpan delivery. Picture Steven Wright talking about bodily functions. Plus, I was 19 and looked 15. I stood out. Most of the comics who ran their own shows liked me and gave me spots. But, I quickly found out I was what I call "open-mic funny." I wasn't really "weekend funny," and had no idea how to get to that point. I treated comedy like a hobby for a couple years until all the local rooms started closing. Then, I drifted away from it for a while.

My second start date was spring 1998. I went to a new open-mic at Wiseacres on a Wednesday, did a set (the old bits), and met a few first-time comics. Over the next couple weeks, I met a few more comics who were just starting out. We all became close friends immediately. Probably nine of us. We hung out and talked comedy constantly - literally every available moment. And every person in that group had a ton of talent and potential. I was the only one with comedy experience, so I knew how rare it was for that much talent to just show up and start comedy at the same time. We would actually say things like, "This is like the Seattle music scene in the early 90's, but for comedy." Self importance is only silly in retrospect.

That whole summer was an awakening for me. It's when I really became a comedian. Thanks to my new clique, I quickly found my voice and learned how to articulate my opinions in a funny way. To this day, when I write a bit, I'm trying to impress those guys. I still feel like if you put us all in a room together right now, I'd be at my funniest. No group of comics I've hung out with since has had that kind of chemistry or affect on me.

I have a feeling I sort of know what you are getting at, could you elaborate on "open-mic funny" vs. "weekend funny"?

At an open-mic, you have a very short set and the crowd has probably seen a bunch of comics already. Since the crowd is already somewhat jaded, the context of your set is different. You can make fun of the previous comics. You can say something extremely shocking or dirty and get laughs because of how ridiculous it is. You can get away with rape and abortion jokes. You can also throw out a half-written premise that only has one punchline. It might get a huge laugh, but instead of finishing the bit, you can say, "Come back next week. I'll actually write that one," and get a laugh from that. You can take a prolonged look at your notes, then blurt out an absurd observation. The odd timing alone will bring laughs.

On weekend shows ("real" shows), the crowd probably isn't going to follow you into edgier/dirtier stuff unless you've earned their trust first (or you're famous). They also won't tolerate too many half-written bits before losing interest. They get restless if you thumb through your notes on stage. On the weekend, you need a polished act that flows together. Within that, you can take some liberties and go off on tangents, but the crowd has paid money to laugh, so they need to believe you can bring it. I've spoken to lots of people after paid shows who've said, "I can't believe that guy was looking at notes on stage," or "That guy seemed drunk. That's unprofessional." Obviously, a lot of those people are full of shit, but that's where they're coming from.

At a real show, the crowd has expectations that you need to fulfill. At an open-mic, their lack of expectations are enough to get you a few big laughs. It's just a different set of buttons that you need to push.

That's really cool to hear you talk about a group of comics that supported each other, so often I think people assume and can make, stand-up a strictly solo endeavor. Sounds like a group that spawned confidence but with the necessary feedback?

The feedback was the key. We were brutally honest with each other. It wasn't the stereotypical support group mentality. You could go on stage and absolutely destroy, then have three people in the back telling you what you did wrong. We were rarely satisfied with just doing well. Of course, part of that was due to the lack of open-mic's. For a long time, Wiseacres was the only place to get a spot, and that was only once a week. Between sets, we had a week to micromanage every little aspect of our bits before returning to the stage. When Wednesday came around, the stage time was extremely valuable. We didn't have the luxury of saying, "I'm just going to phone it in tonight. I'm getting on three more times this week anyway." The people who did that; the ones who, a minute into a set, shrugged their shoulders and said, "I don't care...I'm just fucking around" - they remained mediocre.

Your experience in New York, beneficial? What did you get sick of?

I'm a better comic now than I was before I moved, but I don't think New York had much to do with it. I think it's just the natural growth that comes with time. You can get on stage a lot in NYC, but much of that stage time is in front of empty chairs or jaded comics. Unless you're passed at a few rooms that actually give you quality spots, you're not going to develop much. Either that or you'll develop a really narrow, specific persona that isn't broad enough to command a crowd for more than fifteen minutes. You have to get out of the city and stretch out a bit.

The real goal of moving to New York is to get noticed by the industry. I've always done well with crowds, and other comics generally like me a lot. But, the industry barely knows I exist. I've never drawn the attention of any noteworthy managers or agents. In that sense, New York was a total failure for me. Part of that was my fault. NYC is a city for hustlers and I'm no Rick Ross. I'm terrible at networking.

There's also a randomness in NYC that makes you want to claw your eyes out. Have you ever been in line at the bank for a half hour, then when you get to the front, the teller says, "actually, you need to be in that line," and points to a longer line? That's what it's like. You can work your ass off for months to make something happen only to have it completely fall apart in a day. There are tons of comics in NYC who have the same story. "I spent eight months trying to get in with that club...the guy really liked me...then one day, he stopped returning my calls. That was two years ago." You can get lucky and make good connections, but it's rarely a meritocracy. There's always someone higher than you who has half the talent. And nobody knows how it happened. Also, when a booker says, "You're funny, but we've already got funny white guys," you can't help but to feel like cattle. Things like that killed my motivation in New York.

As far as living there, I liked a couple things about the city, but I much prefer Virginia. I miss the pizza. I don't miss the piss.

Do you still feel like you're growing/evolving in your own comedy?

The growth is a lot more subtle now. In the early days, I could look at a tape of myself from a year ago and see obvious changes. Now, last years tape looks pretty much like this years. I used to be more self aware about my growth, especially as a performer. I would go onstage and intentionally try to sound angrier. The next week, I would say it more with a smile. Then, maybe slow it down or speed it up. From each one of those lessons, I could piece together elements of performance that worked better for me; things I would have never thought to try unless I forced them.

At this point, I don't think I've grown too much as a performer in a long time. I know what my strengths and weaknesses are and I play to them. I'm probably looser now, and more willing to improvise, but not in any obvious way. Any notable growth that takes place now is in my writing. I go through stretches where I try to get more ambitious and make larger points in my bits. Sometimes it works, often it fails. But that's where I push myself now.

As a writer, it's easy to test yourself. When you write a new bit, ask yourself if you could have written that bit a year ago. Be honest. When you're first starting out, the answer is probably no. As you gain experience, it's harder to draw the same conclusion. You have peaks and valleys, and you often plateau. Right now, I feel like I've plateaued a little bit. I haven't written anything in a while that makes me fell like I've taken a big step forward. But, I've been thinking a lot bigger lately, so it's only a matter of time before that seeps into my act. Early on, the stagnation can freak you out. After a while though, you realize it's just part of the growing pains and it'll pass. I don't think about it consciously anymore. Every now and then, I just realize I've grown a little.

As far as growth, do you still feel like you learn watching other "A" room comics? Or has the veil been revealed far too often and for too long? Anybody that comes through that you say to yourself, "I can't miss his/her set".

First off, it's just as important to know what you hate as it is to know what you like. Watching bad comedy can be as enlightening as watching your favorites. I still watch A room headliners with a critical eye. I mostly look at how they initially take the stage and how they introduce new topics. Segue's are often forgettable. Once you're into a bit, the crowd doesn't even remember how you got there. When a segue stands out, it's usually because it was clumsy. With the best comics, transitions are generally seamless, so you have to make a real effort to spot them. I look at little things like that.

I also check out the way comics use their voices and bodies. For example, a comic who moves around a lot will usually stop moving on the punchline. They'll lean forward slightly, too. Also, if you watch a show at an A club, you'll often notice that the feature talks louder than the host, and the headliner talks louder than the feature. The more polished you are, the more authority you have over the crowd. Not that headliners are shouting or anything, they just have a more commanding presence. I also love watching the top comedians handle hecklers. I'm particularly fascinated by that.

You should never take another comics jokes, but you can sometimes take a piece of their mannerisms or vocal rhythms. Just not in an obvious way. Right now, the must-see comics for me are Bill Burr, Marc Maron, and Louis CK (though it's hard to see him in a club these days). I wish I could see more of Dave Attell and Patrice O'Neal, but I never seem to catch them. Also, I never miss anything from Chris Rock or Dave Chappelle.

(Part 2 coming soon...)

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The Tyranny of the Majority

By: Jeff Maurer

Andy Kline recently wrote an excellent blog about “genre shows”— shows that play to a specific comedy niche. I recommend that you read the whole blog, but, basically, his point is this: genre shows hurt comedy because they allow comedians to hide from challenges.

Andy’s complaints about genre shows are dead on. Most genre shows are obnoxious. They’re first and foremost about reinforcing the audience’s identity. Moving merchandise is the second priority, and launching terrible movies is the third; providing good comedy is maybe seventh or eighth on the priorities list. And genre shows are only part of the problem—more and more these days, comedians are selling themselves as genre comedians. Think of some of the comedians who have gotten really big in recent years: one is the redneck guy, one is the frat guy, and one is the Mexican guy. The fact that you don’t need their names to know who I’m talking about just goes to show how much their identities overshadow their comedy.

But the self-segregation of comedy is only part of the story. Andy calls out genre shows, then discusses how comedians used to challenge themselves by “crossing over”—playing rooms that draw different types of audiences. He’d like to see more of that nowadays. That’s where he and I differ. I don’t like genre shows, but I’m also not eager to return to an era in which comedians are obsessed with crossing over.

[Hit the jump for more thoughtful deliberation! Do it!]

Here’s what I think of when I think of crossing over. A few years ago, I was emceeing in a Def Jam-type room. Please note: “Def Jam” is not a euphemism for “black.” “Def Jam” is a euphemism for “combative.” To explain this to non-comedians: black crowds are like white crowds; they come to a show to see comedy, and they give bonus points for comedy they find relatable. Def-Jam crowds, however, aren’t there for comedy at all: they’re there to judge the comedians. They use the first 30 seconds of your set to decide whether they love you or hate you, and they use the remainder of your set to either cheer you like a war hero or boo you mercilessly. I got booed all week.

After one particularly rough set, I brought up a guest act. I had met the guest act briefly before the show; he was a non-descript white guy from California wearing a baseball hat. But that wasn’t the comedian who came to the stage; the comedian I brought on stage was a strutting, swaggering jack-ass wearing a backwards baseball hat and speaking with what I call the “MTV accent.” His first joke was about how bad I was. His second and third jokes were about whitey. From there, he did some of the hackiest, dirtiest crowd-work I’ve ever seen, culminating with this line: “I’ll bet black women’s pussy taste like fried chicken!” He was a god—the crowd absolutely loved him. He had successfully crossed over.

In comedy, this man will judge you.

Now, I’m positive that Andy isn’t advocating this type of comedy when he encourages comedians to cross over. That story is an extreme example. And Andy isn’t encouraging comics to play different rooms so that they can pander to the audience; he’s encouraging comedians to challenge the audience. But I think an implicit part of Andy’s argument is that crossing over makes you a better comic because you’re forced to learn the tastes and preferences of different audiences—you learn to adjust. And that’s all fine, but I think that this also needs to be said: there have to be limits on how much a comedian changes him or herself to please the audience.

As many comedians have noted, comedy mixes styles and genres more than any other form of entertainment. Most comedy shows are advertised only as “comedy”—no other form of entertainment does this. You’ll never see a Cineplex marquee that just says “Movie!” No concert has ever featured four unnamed musical acts that turn out to be a metal band, a rap group, an opera singer, and a country jamboree. But this type of thing happens all the time in comedy. The range of tastes that comedians are expected to satisfy is already ridiculously broad.

It isn’t good for comedy when incredible breadth is a prerequisite for success. We had that atmosphere once, back in the 1980’s. Back then (and, obviously, I’m relying on the recollections of people who were actually there), there was only one way to make it: you got on The Tonight Show, and if Johnny waved you over to the couch after your set, you were in. Of course, The Tonight Show, even then, featured very broad humor; remember, it was the only game in town for the entire country at 11:30. So, basically, you either wrote jokes that appealed to everyone in the country—including 14-year-old boys, 60-year-old widows, soccer moms, drug addicts, and everyone in between—or you didn’t make it. Period. That’s unbelievably constrictive.

To be fair, that era produced some truly great comics. But it also produced a remarkable number of hacks. Remember all the guys in sweaters doing observational humor on Evening at the Improv—the comics Jerry Seinfeld made fun of on SNL’s Stand Up and Win sketch? Those were all guys who were trying to get on The Tonight Show. When comics try too hard to be all things to all people, comedy gets limited to the five topics to which everyone can relate: TV, work, dogs, relationships, and air travel. It’s pretty bleak.

What’s the deal with this thing? Do we really need this much Mountain Dew?

But the hacks don’t bother me as much as the true tragedy of the 1980s system: all the great comics who didn’t make it. The system back then put so much emphasis on breadth that there wasn’t much room left for comics with a great deal of appeal to a narrow segment of the audience. When I ask myself whether a lot of my favorite comedians—such as Paul F. Tompkins, Eddie Izzard, and Todd Barry—would have made it during the 1980s, the answer is probably “no.” They just aren’t broad enough. If the Balkanization of comedy is bad because it rewards jokes that aren’t funny, then the homogenization of comedy is bad because it punishes jokes that are funny.

That’s not only unfair to the comedians—it’s also unfair to the audience. Putting aside your opinion of Kat Williams for a minute, ask yourself: who was the Kat Williams of the 1980s? I don’t think there was one. Or, more accurately, there probably was one, but we never heard of him because he wasn’t broad enough to make it on The Tonight Show. There is obviously a market for Kat Williams’ humor; it just happens to be a deep, narrow market instead of a broad, shallow one.

The Maria Bamford of the 1980s.

Of course, Andy and I aren’t actually very far apart on this issue. I don’t think that Andy is arguing for homogenization; I think that he wants comics to challenge themselves, and he’s also reacting to the arrogant “I’m above the audience” attitude that some comics adopt. And I agree with both points. Comedians should challenge themselves—anyone can make their friends laugh, but comedians are supposed to be able to make strangers laugh. And a comedian should always go onstage with the goal of making the audience laugh; if you want to create high art, go write a symphony. Comedy is entertainment.

What I’m advocating is essentially a balance. Comedians should challenge themselves by trying to make different types of crowds laugh, but they should stay within the parameters of their actual personality and taste. And I’m okay with genre shows, but only if the comics use the opportunities those shows provide to produce quality comedy instead of pandering crap.

Andy ends his blog with a music analogy: Nirvana, he says, made great music because they weren’t afraid to challenge their audience. He’s right, but there’s more to the story. Nirvana became Nirvana because they didn’t care about cultivating broad appeal. Seattle in the late ‘80s was a second city without a lot of “industry” floating around (sound familiar?). There was no hope of making it, so there was also no point in making the type of music that was likely to get you a record deal. So they made the type of music that they liked, and it’s a good thing, too: Kurt Cobain probably wouldn’t have been any good at teasing his hair and playing virtuoso guitar solos. There was a segment of the population that was never going to like them, and they were fine with that. Which is something that comedians should always keep in mind: after all, during the best set of your life, 20 percent of the audience hated you. In comedy, you can’t please all the people all the time. So, fuck it: don’t try.

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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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