Potential

By Kent on August 11, 2010

Doug Martsch being awesome

I think a lot about my potential as a comedian, mostly because it’s the only light at the end of the tunnel. Every shitty bar gig turns into a bonding experience among young comics who tacitly agree to believe that this, too, shall pass. Someday we’ll all be national headliners, and we can reminisce about the good old days on whatever replaces podcasts in the mid-2020s. My point is, the thing that keeps me going is the belief that I’ll keep getting better. But it’s not a guarantee.

The funny thing about potential is that everyone seems to think that they have a ton of it. It’s just this untapped powderkeg of latent ability that simply needs to be unearthed and put to use. But that can’t possibly be true for everyone. In fact, I’d venture that most people have very little potential at most things, which just shows how weird it is the everyone talks about reaching their potential as if it’s a good thing. In fact, there’s nothing more depressing.

These gross, bony fingers will bring pleasure to no guitar.

Michael Jordan is a basketball player who truly reached his potential, but so am I. Jordan was born to be the greatest, and I was born to play JV basketball at a tiny private school in the suburbs of Birmingham. I got the hint and bowed out as a 15 year old. At its best, reaching my potential has been quietly sad. At its worst, it’s been devastating. I really, really want to be able to solo on an electric guitar. But I can’t. My hands will not permit me to rock out with Doug Martsch in my bedroom. I have reached my musical potential.

I guess what I’m saying is, I hope I never reach my potential as a comedian. Or if I do, I do it right at the end like Oscar Wilde. At least then, I don’t have to hang around for the dénouement.

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Brother, Can You Spare an Opener?

By Kent on July 16, 2010

Boy, do I look like I'm having fun!

In Philadelphia I got very comfortable doing longer sets where I could stretch my act out and build a rapport with the crowd over time. For some reason, it felt better to build to a crescendo than to go out and kick the audience in the teeth from the first joke. In some embarrassing way, I felt like I was beyond the point where I really needed a strong opening joke. Pride goes before a fall.

As you can guess, this entry was written in the wake of a bad set. My early set last Saturday at Red Bar was a little rough for me. Honestly, one of the most frustrating sets that I’ve ever had. As much as I wanted to blame the crowd for my failure, I knew that the bad set was entirely my fault. I lost them on my first joke and didn’t get them back until my closer.

That’s the thing – I have a great closer. I have a couple, actually. I know how to build to a finish. But I don’t have a single great joke that truly gives the audience a full view of the type of show they’re about to get. And I need one, badly.

My friend Steve Gerben has an excellent opener. Check out this video.

This is a great opener for several reasons. First of all, it’s funny. But a lot of jokes are funny; this joke goes further. It sets the tone for the rest of Steve’s act. Just from watching this joke, you could guess that Steve is going to tell a series of jokes about awkward social interactions that usually involve some sort of huge embarrassment for him. Which is, in fact, exactly what Steve does. 1

Also, the joke quickly makes a joke out of someone’s first impression of Steve, a nice trick that cleverly mimics every audience’s initial perception. Lots of veteran comedians tell jokes about their looks. The theory is that you want to acknowledge your appearance so that the crowd a) sees you as self-aware and vulnerable and b) stops being distracted by trying to place which celebrity or movie character you look like. Hence, a lot of hacky jokes about how I look like _____ and _____ had an ugly baby. Honestly, I feel like most of these jokes are a little lazy. But Steve gets to comment on his appearance naturally through the context of a conversation he actually had, which makes it feel more honest and interesting.

Anyway, enough about Steve. My point is, I fought the law and the law won. I tried to forego the opener, and I fell on my face. So I need to find one.

It’s almost certainly not going to be a joke about my appearance. Aside from my misgivings about this type of joke, I am an exceedingly normal looking person. I am the epitome of the average white guy. I’m not handsome or ugly. I am not skinny enough or fat enough to make note of my size. In a science experiment about looks, I would be the sugar pill. My fiancee’s attraction to me is based on the placebo effect. 2

Instead, I need to find a joke that gives the audience a clue as to the tone and content of my jokes. I used to open with a joke about a Vitruvian Man tattoo, which was equal parts highbrow and dick joke. That worked for my very early act, but now I’ve gotten a lot more personal and autobiographical. I need a joke that represents that persona.

So I’m off to hunt for that great white whale, I’ll be back in a decade or so.

  1. Excepting, interestingly, the next joke on this video. It’s a funny deconstruction of The Wizard of Oz, but I’m sure Steve would agree that it’s more indicative of where he’s been as a comedian than where he’s going. ↩
  2. Ok, maybe there’s a joke in there somewhere. I still don’t think it’s an opener ↩

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Stop it.

By Kent on July 1, 2010

I got raped by AIDS, so I had to get an abortion. A BLACK abortion!

This is the tragedy of the new comedian. I see this guy all the time. He’s twenty years old, he grew up in the suburbs, and he hasn’t really figured out what makes him interesting yet. So instead of searching for anything original or sincere to talk about, he decides he’s going to shock everyone with his dangerous disregard for social norms! And then when he doesn’t get laughs, he can chalk it up to the audience for being uptight. “They just weren’t ready for my truth bomb about retarded people!”

The problem is, that’s not why people aren’t laughing. People aren’t laughing because the jokes this kid is telling are blatantly inauthentic. There’s no greater truth about society being unearthed, it’s just shock for shock’s sake. And that is some shit that I cannot abide.

I don’t object to anyone writing a joke about any of these topics, per se. In fact, I have a joke about abortion in my act right now. But it’s a joke that is grounded in truth about where I am as a person. I’m in a real relationship with a real person and we have real concerns about getting pregnant and having a kid. I’m not just spouting off about abortion because I know it riles people up.

This stuff also applies to ironic racism. Just more empty calories. I saw a comic, Bob Palos, sum it up nicely: being an ironic racist is like being an ironic pedophile. It doesn’t really make it any better that you’re winking the whole time.

I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re going to push an audience into an area of their minds that makes them uncomfortable, at least have something interesting to say when you get there. Don’t just namedrop the Holocaust and shrug.

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Being Annoying

By Kent on June 23, 2010

Ok, so it’s not like my comedy trajectory has really changed that much since moving to Chicago. I mean, how far along was I really? I was getting work twice a year at Helium (which I can still do) and I had the ability to go up to New York to do shows (which I barely ever did). Other than that, I was basically just doing open mics and the occasional showcase, which is what I’m doing in Chicago.

But the difference is, I’m no longer comfortable. I miss my friends, but in some ways they shielded me from the realization that I wasn’t really pushing myself as hard as I could. Now, as I sit in these bars, waiting ninety minutes for four, I feel unsettled. Like I’m just treading water when I should be aiming for shore.

So I’ve decided to start being annoying. I hate bugging people for spots, but I don’t know how else to get them. It’s not like I’m one of the guys anymore. I’m barely even a guy here. Being aloof seems to have worked for Zach Galifianakis, but it doesn’t work for me. I’m not blazingly original; I’m just trying to do a traditional form of comedy, better. So I gotta get in people’s faces until they book me.

Here’s my magic plan for how to get booked: I email bookers. And if they ignore me, I wait 3 weeks and email them again. If a club doesn’t list an email, I’m calling and asking for a manager. Or at least, I did that once. See, this is hard for me. I don’t even know why, it’s not really taxing at all. You write a nice, polite, three sentence email and you wait three weeks.

Anyway, if you run a show I’m probably going to bother you at some point. But if you run a show, you’re probably used to that.

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Doogie Horner Destroys on America’s Got Talent

By Kent on June 9, 2010

Last night my friend Doogie was a contestant on America’s Got Talent, a ridiculous,  lowbrow reality show that is basically an excuse for Americans to gawk at maniacs and novelty acts in stupid costumes. To those of us familiar with Doogie’s conceptual and cerebral sense of humor, this show seemed like the perfect mismatch.

But Doogie did something special last night. He fought the mob and won. He abandoned his planned material and berated the crowd until they had no choice but to concede that he deserved their attention and respect. And he did it in a way that was totally, undeniably Doogie.

Check it out:

He is really blowing up on the Internet today, and he deserves every bit of attention he gets. Doogie is a fantastically funny guy; the major debate about him in Philly is whether he is one of the funniest comedians in town or simply the funniest. Not only that, but he is many different types of funny. His jokes are all dense, well-crafted explorations of bizarre conceptual situations, but Doogie also has the ability to go off the cuff and interact with the crowd to incredible effect (as seen above). He’s the guy that every scene needs, the comic who reminds everyone else of how much better they could become.

Anyway, you heard it here first: Doogie is doing comedy the way the comedy should be done, and he is gonna be big.

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Meet the New Boss

By Kent on June 1, 2010

After a long (and ongoing) transitional month, I feel that I can finally lay claim to being a resident of Chicago. I have taken a 3:15am Blue Line train to my apartment, I have logged 8 consecutive nights on an air mattress, and I have awkwardly inserted myself into the conversations of innumerable comedians. In short, I’m living the dream.

It’s a tough gig, starting over. Thank God I have my notebook, or else I would have nothing to pretend to read on a barstool for three hours in a row. Every time I try to talk with a comic, I place myself on the other end of that conversation, politely nodding while I wait to go talk to my actual friends. I miss Philadelphia, where the time in the Helium green room often outshone the time I had onstage.  Now that all I have is the stage time, those five minutes feel shorter and the preceding hours feel longer.

I shouldn’t complain. I already have gotten booked on a few showcases, which would never have happened if I were starting fresh. I know that this takes time. And I also know that comedians want to hang out with funny people. In Philly, I was excited to see a new comic who was good, and I can only assume that the guys in Chicago feel similarly.

I also feel, for the first time, like a true introvert. I don’t know when this happened, but sometime between college and now I stopped trying to be the funniest guy in the room. I think stand-up is a release valve for my ego, and I’m glad that I don’t need to commandeer parties anymore to get my fix of attention. On the other hand, my newfound shyness is not helping me make friends in town.

I guess the answer, as always, is to keep being funny and the rest will follow. I love comedy, but it isn’t any fun right now, and probably won’t be for a while. But hey, I don’t have a job or any prospects on the horizon, so comedy is what I got. To arms!

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Demetri Martin

By Kent on April 27, 2010

Demetri Martin’s act is not my favorite type of comedy.

This is a phrase that comedians use a lot, usually about someone who is too hacky to respect, but too nice to insult. It’s equal parts political and condescending, essentially a way to extricate oneself from a conversation about a bad comedian without being overtly mean.

So I want to be clear that this is not my intention to be condescending at all. I think Demetri Martin is an excellent joke writer, and he has been incredibly inventive in the ways that he builds a persona onstage. Martin has added to his act in ways that extend beyond gimmicks, where he is actually cultivating an entire mental space onstage that he draws the crowd into. Is it a little Wes Andersony? Yes. But he’s the only guy out there doing it.

So I have a lot of respect for Demetri Martin. But I still wouldn’t go to see one of his shows. His jokes are funny and precise and well structured, but they don’t have the element of emotional truth behind them that connects me to the comedians I love. And I’m not saying that this emotional core is “missing,” because I don’t think Martin ever intended for it to be there. His jokes are puzzles, and to him finding the most elegant solutions to those puzzles is cathartic enough. This is a guy who re-arranged all the words on a bottle of Rolling Rock into a poem, a guy who taught himself how to write left-handed just for the hell of it. He’s the Will Shortz of comedy, and who doesn’t like Will Shortz?

But there’s nothing emotionally satisfying about solving a crossword puzzle, beyond the simple appreciation of a job well done. Some people respond to that, but I don’t. I like a bit of heart. Louis CK, Bill Burr, Maria Bamford all appeal to me because at their core, they are three people trying their damnedest to just deal with themselves, to be good people, to get through life. It’s messy and often offensive, but it’s coming from a personal perspective that is undeniable.

Demetri Martin is much more reserved. I respect his choice, and I understand why he would want to guard his life from the masses. But watching his act, I don’t get a sense of how much I would like to hang out with him, or whether he would like me. I don’t even know if he’s happy, which for some reason matters a lot to me. His persona onstage is basically a really convincing imitation of a person.

Demetri Martin is a very smart and funny guy who requires that everything he works on is of a certain quality, and his effort shows. But his act is not my favorite type of comedy.

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Goals and Goalposts

By Kent on April 10, 2010

I’m leaving Philadelphia for Chicago in a month or so, and the impending relocation has made me reflect on my time in Philly, so pardon the nostalgic tone of the next couple of posts.

Since moving to Philadelphia, I’ve met or exceeded almost every comedy goal I’ve set for myself. And yet, I’m no happier or more satisfied now that I was in 2007, when I was crossing my fingers to make the Helium list once a month.

I think this is because the goalposts keep moving in my mind. As soon as I got a hosting spot at Helium, I wanted to feature. Now that I’m featuring at Helium, I’m annoyed that I can’t get into other clubs just as easily. The second I get a joke to work, I want to write the next one. I hope to God I can make a living from comedy, but I’m sure that even if I was touring theaters I’d be dissatisfied about not having a TV show or an HBO special or something.

This is why you have to love the process. The shitty, gritty get-up-every-night process of turning a thought into a joke, a joke into a bit, a bit into an act, an act into a career. This is one reason why all my friends are comedians. I love talking about a new joke, or a tweak to an old one, or how maybe I could thread these two ideas together into my piece on being a teacher.

I have little patience for people who don’t enjoy the process. These people are essentially stand-up tourists, just looking for comedy shortcuts. Shortcuts to what? The struggle is what makes this rewarding. The struggle is why I do comedy. The accomplishments are just signposts that I use to justify to myself (and my family) that I’m not a total waste of space. I got on TV once. Congratulations me. But this new bit I’ve been working on…

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Sell It

By Kent on March 31, 2010

Here’s a problem I didn’t expect to encounter when I started doing comedy: after coming up with a good idea for a joke, trying it onstage over and over, and tweaking the syntax until the bit is really starting to sing, I begin to abandon it. What is wrong with me? I take a joke right to the top of the mountain and then let it roll down the other side. Why am I doing this?

Because each joke I write feels like a game, and once I’ve beaten it I don’t like playing it as much anymore.  And herein lies the problem.  While I was working on the joke, crafting my premise and substituting out words, I was engaged, focused, in the moment on stage. And in the end, it was that combination of my improving material and my total presence in the moment that really sold the joke, that finally got it to the level I had been working towards for so long.

But then, right as I finally solve the puzzle, I shunt it off into my file of solid, bankable material. And when I dust it off two weeks later, it gets a totally acceptable response. But I didn’t work on a bit for two months so it could get acceptable results. I wrote that joke to kill, and it’s not killing. Why?

I’ve moved on to the next joke. My mind is elsewhere. I’m reciting the bit while I mentally debate how to segue into my newer, more exciting jokes. But I end up shortsheeting myself. I don’t focus on my great material, the audience doesn’t fully trust me, and then I lose them as I shuffle through my new stuff.

The trick of stand-up is to constantly reproduce a sense of novelty1 with each set. You have to sell your tightest, best joke just as hard as you do for your rough new jokes.

1 Novelty meaning newness, not silliness.

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The Second Chorus Problem

By Kent on March 25, 2010

I don’t like comedy songs.

To me, the fundamental problem with comedy songs is structural. Jokes are meant to be surprising, to constantly shift and develop into new areas. Great songs, however, are based on familiarity. The best pop songs all have that one great hook in the chorus that you just can’t wait to hear again. When that chorus contains a repeated joke, the humor turns to tedium and I check out.

This issue has been rattling around in my head for a while, and recently I got the perfect opportunity to expand on it. I performed in a contest for the Philly Improv Theater. Five comedians were given a constraint (puppet, impressions, topical) and given an hour to compose a 3 minute act. I got a guitar, so I wrote a song about how I hate funny songs. It’s called, naturally, The Second Chorus Problem.

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