Zen and the Art of

Stand-Up Comedy
Photo by David Leyes
Zen and the Art of
Stand-Up Comedy

Jay Sankey

Routledge/Theatre Arts Books

New York London
Published in 1998 by
Routledge
Taylor & Francis Group
270 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016

Published in Great Britain by

Routledge
Taylor & Francis Group
2 Park Square
Milton Park, Abingdon
Oxon 0X14 4RN

Transferred to Digital Printing 2010

Copyright © 1998 by Routledge

Text Design: Debora Hilu

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized
in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording or in any information
storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

The cartoons “South African Piano” and “Objects in Mirror” are reprinted by
permission of Cracked Magazine.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data forthcoming

Sankey, jay, 1963–

Zen and the art of stand-up comedy /Jay Sankey.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-87830-073-2 (hb).—ISBN 0-87830-074-0 (pbk.)
1. Stand-up comedy. I. Title.
PN1969. C65S26 1998
792.7—dc21
97-45531
CIP
Publisher’s Note
The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this reprint but
points out that some imperfections in the original may be apparent.
Art is science in the flesh.
—Jean Cocteau

When I’m going, when I’m really going, I feel like a jockey must feel,
sitting on his horse, he’s got all that speed and power underneath
him and he knows, he just knows, when to let it go and how much.
—Paul Newman in The Hustler

At midnight I abruptly awakened. At first my mind was foggy.… Then

all at once I was struck as though by lightning, and the next instant
heaven and earth crumbled and disappeared. Instantaneously, like
surging waves, a tremendous delight welled up in me, a veritable
hurricane of delight, as I laughed loudly and wildly, “There’s no
reasoning here, no reasoning at all! Ha! Ha! Ha!” The empty sky split
in two, then opened its enormous mouth and began to laugh
uproariously, “Ha! Ha! Ha!”
—Koun Yamada
For Martina
 Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE: STAND-UP

Comedy and Laughter
What Is Stand-Up Comedy?
Why Be a Stand-Up Comic?
Stand-Up Comics
Life on the Road
Being a Female Stand-Up Comic
Amateur Nights
Your First Time Onstage

CHAPTER TWO: WRITING

Where Do You Get Your Ideas?
The Power of Ideas
Expressing vs. Communicating
Clever vs. Funny
Absurdist Humor
Street Jokes
Why Should an Audience Care?
Surprise, Credibility, Truth, and Exaggeration
Does Every Joke Have a Victim?
Ideas vs. Experiences
What Is a Joke?
 Be Specific (But Not Too Specific)
Gestures Replacing Words
Three: The Magic Number
Simple Is Better
Callbacks
Writing with Other People
Why Keep Writing
Joke Checklist

CHAPTER THREE: CHARACTER

What’s the Difference Between a Comic and an Actor?
Magnifying Glass or Telescope
Why Not Just Be Yourself?
Character-Driven Material
Clothing

CHAPTER FOUR: DELIVERY

should You Use Your Real Voice?
Experiment
Variety vs. a Uniform Style
Projection and Emotion
Swearing
Shock Comedy

CHAPTER FIVE: PERFORMANCE

The Tools of the Trade
Show and Tell
Memory
Taking the Stage
Strength vs. Aggression
Whatever Doesn’t Add, Detracts
 Breaking in New Material
Dealing with Nerves
Rehearsing
Props
Other Talents
Music

CHAPTER SIX: SET STRUCTURE

To Segue or Not To Segue
Your First Joke
Nearing the End of Your Set
Your Set
Great Sets

CHAPTER SEVEN: AUDIENCES

A Fish on the Line
Why Do Some Audiences Get Off the Bus?
Spritzing
Being An MC (Master of Ceremonies)
Hell Gigs
Surviving Hell Gigs
Hecklers
Bombing

CHAPTER EIGHT: PROFESSIONAL STAND-UP

Self Promotion
Promotional Events
You, Other Comics, and the Audience
Drugs, Alcohol, and Superstition
Burn-Out
Lulls in Your Creative Growth
 Being Professional

CHAPTER NINE: ZEN AND THE ART OF STAND-UP COMEDY

Water Is Stronger Than Rock
You Are Where You Are
Straining/Restraining vs. Zen

TWENTY TIPS

GLOSSARY
 Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Bill Brownstein, Andrew Clark, Humble Howard,

Daryl Jung, Shane MacDougall, Henry Mietkiewicz, Jim Slotek, and
Martin Waxman for all their help promoting my stand-up shows.
Thanks to David Leyes for the wonderful photographs, Ernie for
giving me a second home in Montreal, and Ross Rumberg for the
trustworthy travel arrangements. And thanks to Evan Adelman, Ed
Smeall, Ann May Sirois, Jeff Silverman, and especially Mark Breslin,
for the much appreciated support over the years. I would also like to
thank my friends Julie Campagna, Jason Maloney, David Peck, and
Tim Quinn for their kindness and patience, and my good friends and
fellow comics David Acer and Barbara North for their help preparing
the book. And an extra special thanks to my very dear family, Mom,
Dad, Christopher, Jennifer, Gretchen, and Yashin, each of whom I
continue to try to be grateful for. Finally, I would like to thank Bill
Germano, Nick Syrett, and everyone else at Routledge for their belief
in this book.
 Introduction
This book isn’t about being funny. Sure, if people laugh at something one
can say, “It’s funny,” and if people don’t laugh at something one can say, “It
isn’t funny.” But that isn’t saying a whole hell of a lot. So this isn’t a book
about being funny. Instead, it’s a book about the craft involved in the
performance of a particular kind of comedy, namely stand-up.
Not that I don’t have some views on being funny. I do. For instance, I do
not believe someone can be taught to be funny. Not from a book, not from
a thirty-two-week course. Either you’re funny or you aren’t. But if you are a
naturally funny person, I believe you can learn to be a stand-up comic.
That’s because, though stand-up is a kind of performance open to great art
and inspiration, it is primarily a skill with general goals and guidelines. Of
course, a young comic can walk on stage and ignore the principles many
veteran comics swear by. In fact, it’s often the daring and unconventional
performers who achieve the greatest success. But for every comic that
breaks the rules and succeeds, there are hundreds of comics who fall flat
on their faces, giving lame performances night after night.
So though I don’t believe “funny” can be taught, I do believe stand-up
can be taught to funny people. To be a stand-up comic is to be an actor, a
writer, and a director. The autonomy is wonderful, but it requires great
discipline because the comic must be able to not only recognize “the
funny” and write about “the funny,” but also act out and deliver “the funny.”
Essentially, it’s about developing a stand-up comic’s ear, body, and voice,
learning how to translate your own unique sense of humor to the stage,
and paying your dues by spending hundreds of hours standing on many
different stages in front of many different audiences.
There aren’t a great many books written about stand-up comedy, but
those I’ve seen often have pages and pages of jokes written by famous
stand-up comics. Laughing at great jokes by professionals can be fun, but
I’m not convinced it really teaches one much about stand-up comedy. It’s a
little like the old adage about giving people fish and only feeding them for
a day, rather than teaching them how to fish and feeding them for a
lifetime. Consequently, you won’t find a lot of jokes in this book. Instead,
this book will attempt to outline and discuss some of the guiding principles
and fundamental ideas behind the writing and performance of stand-up
comedy.
But there’s a hitch. Because stand-up is as much an art as it is a science, I
can’t say the principles and ideas I’m going to discuss are cold, hard facts.
Instead, they are thoughts, observations, and theories based on over
twenty years of experience performing for real people, in every situation
imaginable, all over the world.
Before letting you get to the first chapter, I would just like to say a few
words about the order of the book. Words like “character,” “material,” and
“delivery” are really just different ways of looking at the very same thing—
namely, the comic and his performance. Like the four blind men who
touched the elephant and arrived at four different descriptions of the
animal, I too have presented the craft of stand-up from a variety of
perspectives. They all describe the same thing: a public act of sharing,
between an individual and a group.
For all it’s apparent silliness, one person making many others laugh is no
laughing matter. Especially when you consider that, sometimes the closest
we can come to talking about the things that really matter to us is when we
make jokes about them … and laugh.
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 CHAPTER ONE

STAND-UP

Among the most remarkable features characterizing Zen,

we find these: spirituality, directness of expression,
disregard of conventionalism, and frequently an almost
wanton delight in going astray from respectability.
—D. T. Suzuki

COMEDY AND LAUGHTER

In response to a question like “What is funny?” comics often say,

“Funny is funny,” and, though that doesn’t say much, I would have to
agree. Whatever makes someone laugh is comedy, at least to them.
That’s what makes laughter such a subjective and fascinating
phenomenon. A person hears or sees something that strikes them as
funny, and their physical system suddenly convulses, the lungs
sending bursts of air out the throat, resulting in a variety of sounds,
all of which we refer to as “laughter.” Certainly laughter is a
mysterious, highly personal response to an amazing range of things,
but in my view, laughter is first and foremost a release of tension.
Something about what the person just saw or heard (or perhaps
merely thought) made him tense on an emotional or psychological
level, and then something in him “chose” to release or vent this
tension in the form of laughter, rather than tears or anger or some
other form.

POPE AT DISNEYLAND

On a more primary, perhaps even symbolic level I’d be tempted to

say that laughter is often the result of a sudden and surprising
witnessing of things either coming together or coming apart. The
magician puts a coin in his hand, then opens his hand to show that
the coin has somehow vanished, suddenly breaking with the crowd’s
presumptions, jarring their belief in what is “real.” And in response,
they laugh. The comic tells a joke challenging a convention or taboo,
creating tension in the crowd, and people laugh. And when the
clown steps on a banana peel and takes a truly frightening fall, again
we feel tension and release it in laughter. The magician, the comic,
and the clown all do things that create, on some level, tension inside
the audience—tension that, with the appropriate trigger, can be
artfully coaxed into laughter.

WHAT IS STAND-UP COMEDY?

If I’m going to have the guts (gall?) to write an entire book about
stand-up comedy, I figure I should at least give you a definition of
what exactly I think stand-up comedy is. Here goes … Stand-up
comedy is “a particular kind of performance, often given while
standing on a stage in front of a microphone, during which the
performer tells a scripted series of fictitious accounts in such a way
as to suggest that they are unscripted, in an attempt to make an
audience laugh.” I know, that’s quite a mouthful. Put in slightly
simpler terms, stand-up comedy is telling believable lies to make
people laugh.

WHY BE A STAND-UP COMIC?

Notice that the question isn’t “Why do stand-up comedy?” That’s

because to a lot of comics, stand-up isn’t merely something one
does. It’s something one is. In my case, stand-up has allowed me to
rewrite my entire life and, in a sense, live a second life.
 When I first began to develop my stand-up character, I was
convinced I was writing about someone other than myself. But then
one night onstage, it suddenly struck me that, though the facts of
many of the jokes I tell onstage are not, strictly speaking, true about
my life, the emotional themes and concerns behind my jokes are very
much about who I am, what I think, and how I feel. Like in the
movies, where “the names have been changed to protect the
innocent,” through stand-up I’ve been able to talk about my own
odd experience of this life without losing (too many) friends or being
locked up in an insane asylum. Thanks to the accepted “unreality” of
anything that happens onstage, and thanks to the idea of playing a
character, I’ve been able to both explore and express some of the
strange stuff at the core of who I am, and even get paid for it!
But trying to develop and hone, not just a unique comedic
perspective, but also the ability to communicate this perspective,
takes a lot of work. And it’s not really the kind of thing one can work
on for just a couple of hours a day. Instead, most comics come to
commit a part of themselves to it twenty-four hours a day, a part that
is almost always “awake,” listening to conversations, watching the
world around them, and taking note of the thoughts and feelings
going on inside themselves. This intensity is one of the things that
makes comics so interesting, this desire to truly say what they think.
In this suspicious and often “edited for television” world, the
challenging comments of the stand-up comic make him a type of
outspoken philosopher, an anarchist dreamer, even a kind of social
hero.

STAND-UP COMICS

Never trust someone with a microphone.

—Bobcat Goldthwait
In my experience, most comics are extremely sensitive, relatively
insecure, very insightful, highly intelligent people. Strong individuals
rather than group members, with a burning desire to share what they
think and feel (at least while onstage). Theirs is the perspective of the
Outsider, the observer, a perspective that undoubtedly has a truth to
it, but also one that is often unusually myopic. Many comics are
submersed in their own seeing. This results in many fascinating
imaginings and insights, but, like all things, they have their price.
Comics tend to feel strangely separated from society. The odd men
(and women) out. As if with them, the socialization didn’t quite take.

LIFE ON THE ROAD

Making your living fully, or even partly, as a stand-up comic almost

always involves travel, which usually means crappy little motels, strip
malls, fast food, and a great deal of time alone in taxis, hotel rooms,
and airports. Call me crazy, but I don’t mind the life style. It gives me
a great deal of time to write, work on my projects, go to the movies,
get to the gym. And, I admit, I like room service and coming back to
a magically tidied space. But there’s no question that the life style
can be lonely, depressing, and disorienting.
All that time on the road can also put a real strain on your
relations with family and friends, which is nothing short of tragic. But
many stand-ups feel what they do is closer to play than work, and in
this day and age, literally running your own business, not having
someone always looking over your shoulder, and only having to
perform an hour a night—well, such a life style isn’t going to cost
nothing. Anything worth having requires sacrifice.
Comedy can be an extremely rewarding, wonderfully free form of
expression, but there’s no question that very few people become
seasoned stand-ups without having to experience a lot of rough
nights. In fact, I remember hearing someone say, “Nobody chooses
to be a comic. It’s so difficult and, at times, so amazingly
unrewarding, that the only people who do it are people who don’t
merely want to do it, but for some reason,must .”

BEING A FEMALE STAND-UP COMIC

How the hell should I know what it’s like? I mean, I can’t honestly say
I know what it’s like to be a female comic. Sure, I’ve thought about it
a fair bit, and I’ve had some pretty involved conversations with
female comics, but I still can’t say I know exactly what it’s like. But I
do have some guesses.
 IT WAS QUIET, TOO QUIET.

My first guess is that I wouldn’t be surprised if audiences treat a

female comic differently from how they treat a male comic. Second,
considering that standing on a stage with a microphone in hand and
deliberately trying to make people laugh at commonly held beliefs is
an inherently powerful, perhaps even aggressive thing to do, and
considering that our society still (!) seems more comfortable
empowering men than women, I wouldn’t be surprised if being a
comic is a little morecomplicated for a woman than a man.
Despite the many, very funny, very gifted female comics on
television, I bet some audiences, on some level, still aren’t completely
comfortable with a woman, onstage, making fun of stuff. How female
comics deal with these differences, I do not know, but I do think it’s
interesting to note that, while onstage, many of the most successful
female comics seem to talk more about being human than being
female .

AMATEUR NIGHTS

Whether they’re called “Amateur Nights,” “Open Mike Nights,” or

“New Talent Nights,” they are all basically the same thing: a
performer’s nightmare. Between the unbelievably bad acts, the blasé
MCs, and the often cynical, doubting crowds, if you survive your time
as a neophyte comic on amateur nights, I assure you, as a
professional comic you will very seldom have to perform under such
truly horrible conditions again. But alas, as things stand now, 99
percent of stand-up comics begin their careers by performing for
weeks, months, or even years on these amateur shows.

JUST DO IT
How do you know if you can be a successful comic? There’s only one
way and that’s to try it. You think about it and talk about it and
dream about, but it’s really all crap until the night you finally take a
stage in front of a living, breathing crowd. So don’t feed yourself
lines like “I gotta write more jokes” or “I’ve gotta go sit in the
audience another twenty times.” You literally have no idea what
you’re talking about.How could you? You’ve never done it before!
My only advice to anyone interested in the idea of being a stand-
up comic is to call up a local comedy club, ask about their amateur
night, and get up on that stage. Then get off the stage, go home,
and think about the experience. Then, if you like, try it again. And
again. Only after you’ve tried it several times are you in any position
whatsoever to have an opinion about what it’s like to do stand-up
comedy.

UNREAL AUDIENCES
Just as no two comedy clubs are exactly the same, no two clubs run
their amateur nights in exactly the same fashion. They all have their
own approach and feel, largely dictated by management and also by
the mentality of the crowd. It’s a given that a healthy percentage of
the audience is made up of friends and families of the performers.
Such support should certainly be appreciated, but unfortunately it
also “skews the crowd,” in a sense tainting the purity of the crowd’s
response. Yeah, it’s great when your family all laugh at your stuff, but
when the party of sixteen people sitting in the front row refuses to
laugh at your jokes (waiting for their friend to take the stage) and
then they laugh uproariously and wildly applaud at everything their
friend says, well, it’s all just a little unreal. Not the ideal environment
to learn about what’s really funny.

SADISTIC ENVIRONMENTS
Sadder still is the fact that, instead of trying to create a friendly,
supportive environment in which young performers can learn, take
chances, and consequently grow, some clubs encourage a kind of
dog-eat-dog, Christians-at-the-Colosseum environment. In these
joints, audiences are coaxed to take sadistic pleasure in watching a
very frightened person break out in a cold sweat and run
whimpering from the stage. I think this is not only tragic, but
completely irresponsible crap. Sure, it may well appeal to some
people’s immature bloodlust, but with this approach, I think
everyone loses in the long run.
Getting onstage is scary. Individuals exposing themselves to that
extent deserve a certain amount of respect, at least as much as the
amateurs bring to it themselves. By encouraging the crowd to revel
in the discomfort and failure of the young performers, I believe
management is merely reinforcing the prehistoric idea that comedy
begins and ends with the put down. And of course, as a result, the
amateurs are that much more fearful and more hesistant when it
comes to taking the very kinds of risks that will yield better comics
and better shows. A truly sad state of affairs.

YOUR FIRST TIME ONSTAGE

Arrive early, at least forty-five minutes before show time, introduce

yourself to the MC, and find out what your position on the show is, in
other words, second, seventh, thirty-eighth. Also, find out the name
of the person who goes onstage just before you. Then go sit quietly
in a corner and keep your eyes and ears open. There is an awful lot
to learn, and the sooner you start the better. In fact, to really make
the most of your time onstage you may want to consider showing up
at the club a couple of hours early, just to walk up onstage, stand
behind that strange, daunting microphone, and spend a few minutes
looking out at the empty seats, trying to imagine they’re filled with
laughing people. Then get off the stage and wait as the minutes
crawl by until show time.
When the show starts, watch the other acts very carefully. Yes,
chances are some of them will be dreadful, but sometimes you can
learn as much about a craft from someone who does it poorly as you
can from someone who does it well. If nothing else, seeing really bad
acts can give you some ideas about what you shouldn’t do. When it’s
your turn to take the plunge, be sure to bring up a glass of water and
a set list with you, have a friend push the “Record” button on your
tape recorder, and walk onstage.
 YOUR FIRST TEN SETS
It’s a cruel fact of life that many amateurs do better their first and
second time onstage than they do their fourth or fifth. The reason is
quite simple. One of the keys to stand-up is to try to make
everything you say look spontaneous and unrehearsed. Well, as a
complete amateur, your performance is pretty close to unrehearsed
to begin with! After all, having only performed once or twice,
delivering your material so it looks fresh is going to be a piece of
cake. One of the real challenges of stand-up—something that truly
separates the men and women from the boys and girls—is the ability
to deliver a joke for the six-hundredth time and still make it look
fresh and dewey. That’s a challenge indeed.
Energy is also a large factor when it comes to a successful stand-
up set, and the first few times you take the stage chances are you’ll
be absolutely charged with energy. Granted, it’s often nervous
energy rather than the focused energy of a professional, but some
amateurs make this nervousness work for them, not against them.
However, by the fourth or fifth time onstage, as nervous as they
often still are, the energy has subsided a bit, and, since they lack all
the tools of a seasoned comic, their sets start to suffer. This can be
very confusing, especially if you did well your first or second time
onstage (and were starting to believe, like a lot of amateurs, that you
were ready for your own television special).

YOUR FIRST 100 SETS

Typically, amateur comics have a boldness about them, a boldness
that is essentially a reaction to their own inexperience and anxiety.
Despite their bravado, deep down, most amateurs are all too aware
of how little they know. Then as they learn, more often than not by
having their faces rubbed in their own inexperience, they slowly
become aware of just how difficult and complicated the craft of
stand-up comedy can be. After nervously jumping up and down on
the tightrope wire, they grow more humble as they begin to see just
how far they can, in fact, fall. As a result, even if the quality of your
sets suffer after your first few times onstage, in a little while you’ll
probably start to see an improvement, and by your twenty-fifth set,
you should have a better understanding of what it’s all about.
But be forewarned. You know how you thought you knew it all by
your fifth set, and then realized you knew nothing? Well, that same
dance tends to continue, not just for weeks or months, but years.
Just when you think you’ve got it down … splat! But by your one-
hundredth set, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve learned some things
that will actually take root, start to bloom, and stand you in good
stead set after set. But remember, it takes a long time. Usually, longer
than you think.
 CHAPTER TWO

WRITING

Ultimately, the success of a stand-up comic is often

determined by his material.
—Woody Allen

To write effective stand-up material, you need three primary skills.

First, the ability to develop the “comic ear,” to be able to hear (and
see) “the funny” in the things around you. Second, the determination
to write a large quantity of jokes, the more the better. Many
seasoned comics say you have to write a thousand jokes before you
start to really become proficient. And third, the ability to be able to
separate the good jokes from the bad. It’s like panning for gold—but
as a writer not only do you have to do all the panning, you also have
to write the river of material! It’s an awful lot of hard work, but many
have done it before you. So there’s no reason why you can’t do it
too. Just take it one joke at a time.

WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR IDEAS?

The best way to get a good idea is to get a lot of ideas.

—Roger von Oech
The question above is probably the one writers are asked more than
any other. My answer is: From everywhere. Every day each of us
moves through a world lush with possibilities. We are virtually
surrounded by possible sparks for inspiration. But it’s seeing them
that’s the hard part. What I try to do is force myself to think about
stand-up as much as possible. About being onstage, about delivering
my material. I also often ask myself, “What do people care about?”—
a question I believe to be one of the real keys to this craft.
Good ideas sometimes just come to you, but more often than not
they are the result of hard work. By “work” I mean putting energy
toward putting yourself in a fertile frame of mind and giving your
natural Muse the time, and the reason, to do its thing. Every
successful artist has his or her own way of wooing creativity. For
some, it’s getting up first thing in the morning with a hot cup of
coffee and a notepad, and just spending some time writing whatever
comes to mind. For others, it’s about always keeping a pad of paper
handy when they are exercising. And then there are those who prefer
to write material from deep within a hazy cloud of pricey
hallucinogens. Find what works for you. Remember, it’s not going to
“come to you,” at least not on a regular basis. You have to go to it.

THE POWER OF IDEAS

Writer’s block is for amateurs.

—Charles M. Schulz

Write down every joke idea you ever have. Seriously, every single
one. And don’t just keep them in several different drawers all over
the house (not to mention the glove compartment of your car). Go
through them on a regular basis, edit them down, polish them, and
even go so far as to file them, perhaps by subject, in a file system or
on computer disc. Treat them like they’re gold, because that’s exactly
what they are.
You see, unlike a comic, who is pretty much restricted to either a
live performance or a television taping, a good joke idea is raw
potential and can be used in an almost unlimited number of
contexts. Commercials, album covers, posters, cartoons, radio shows,
television sitcoms, plays. Ideas can freely flow from medium to
medium in a way very few performers can.
Lenny Bruce kept absolutely everything, and comics who saw him
perform a few years before his death say that, in his sets, they saw
ideas he’d been playing with for years that had by then become
much more sanded and polished. One of the really wonderful things
about writing all your ideas down, and keeping them in a safe place,
is that when you go over some of them several years later you’ll see
brand new ways of making them work onstage. If you’re funny,
there’s probably a decent idea behind most funny thoughts you will
ever have. It’s just a matter of finding the right context and the right
way of doing it.
So treat your ideas well. In fact, I believe ideas are not unlike
customers in a store. The better service they receive, the more likely
they are to return. Remember, your ideas are precious—literally, the
life blood of your craft.

THE STAND-UP EAR

With any luck (and a lot of hard work!) after performing on a few
dozen amateur nights and watching many professional stand-up
shows, you will begin to develop a “stand-up ear.” You’ll be talking
with a friend on the phone and suddenly you’ll hear yourself say
something that sounds like a joke. Or you’ll be sitting on the subway,
listening to two kids talk, and again you’ll hear something that
sounds like a joke. With a great deal of thought and practice, both
on and off stage, you will begin to hear, think, and even talk in a
“stand-up sensitive fashion.”

Remember, stand-up tends to focus on

1. simple ideas that can be

2. commonly understood, and
3. verbally expressed.

Subtle puns about nuclear chemistry, and party stunts that have to
be performed with the lights off, do not make for strong stand-up.

EXPRESSING VS. COMMUNICATING

To me, this is one of the most important distinctions in the entire

craft of stand-up comedy. When you take the stage, are you going to
be a true communicator, or merely an “expressor”? Almost anyone
can vent, blurt out thoughts and feelings, express themselves in one
communicate
form or another. But to is a whole other thing, because
to be a communicator you have to care, not just about speaking, but
also about being heard . That involves taking into account your
audience. Their expectations, their perspectives, everything. All of
which cannot help but influence material and your choice of subject,
vocabulary, and speed of delivery. To be a communicator is to desire
connection. Unlike the self-absorbed expressor, the communicator
not only wants his audience to understand what he is trying to say,
but he’s willing to work to make it happen.
 IF A TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST AND IT LANDSON A MIME…

CLEVER VS. FUNNY

If clever is a performer balancing a pie on a stick, funny is the pie

falling off and landing on the performer. I have seen some decidedly
unclever comics do very well in a comedy club, and I have seen some
very clever comics bomb again and again. That’s because, even
though most effective stand-up material has clever, witty moments, it
doesn’t mean people are going to think it’s funny.
The difference between wit that gets belly laughs and wit that gets
bored silence is not only a matter of the style the material is both
written and delivered in, but also a matter of the degree to which the
audience cares about the subject. An extremely clever comment
about quilting is simply not going to get as many laughs as a slightly
witty comment about fast food.
Now, some comics might say that, compared to jokes about
quilting, jokes abut fast food are “easy,” but I think this is a
misguided attitude. Trying to sharpen a knife with a wet stone is
certainly going to be “easier” than trying to sharpen it with a handful
of butterscotch pudding. That’s because, when it comes to
sharpening a knife, a wet stone suits the job. In much the same way,
when it comes to stand-up comedy, talking about stuff that people
care about also suits the job.

ABSURDIST HUMOR

Most of the time when you tell a joke, there’s something in the joke
to “get.” If people laugh at the joke, they got it, and if they don’t
laugh at the joke, they either didn’t get it or they got it … but didn’t
find it funny.
But with absurdist humor, a big part of the joke is that there isn’t
something to get . The comic reaches into his pocket, removes a
potato, loudly shouts, “This is a potato! It is beautiful!” and then
calmly puts it back in his pocket. There’s no typical pay-off—no click
moment when several pieces of information suddenly come
together. And it’s from the very lack of this kind of moment, an “it all
makes sense now” revelation, that absurdist humor derives much of
it’s tension-making potential. Absurdist humor thumbs its nose at
many of the socially accepted ideas of what humor itself is. So in a
sense, with absurdist humor, traditional humor itself is the victim.
As a result, doing absurdist comedy in a stand-up club can be a
real uphill battle. The crowd just isn’t prepared for it. Not that it can’t
be done; but if you are going to try it, be prepared for the crowd to
need a little time to get into it. I also don’t know how successful you
will be if you try to mix absurdist humor with more traditional set-
up/punchline material. After all, to an audience, what’s the difference
between a joke they don’t get and a joke where there is nothing to
get? Rather than mixing styles, I suspect you might have more
success with an entire set made up strictly of absurdist humor. After
the first few minutes, hopefully the audience will “get” that there is
nothing to “get” … and you’ll get some laughs. I realize it may sound
a little strange, thirty minutes of jokes where there is nothing really
to get, but keep in mind that Monty Python did almost nothing but
absurdist humor for years.

STREET JOKES

“There’s these three traveling salesman, and their car breaks

down near this farm. So they ask the farmer if…”
Almost everyone, at some time in their life, has heard a “street joke.”
These are jokes that pass through communities like wildfire, told
from person to person, and almost always sounding vaguely familiar.
That’s because many of them are based on the same handful of
situations, perspectives, and joke patterns. I think of street jokes as a
little like prefab housing. Everything is already made, you just have to
put it together. There are some people who are definitely better at
telling street jokes than others, but a street joke seldom requires the
teller to have much of a personality or perspective. He merely has to
be able to convey a few pieces of information, and then try not to
screw up the punchline. Most professional stand-ups avoid telling
street jokes because they consider them to be too easy, common,
and unoriginal, and I can’t say I disagree. However, I must admit,
when I’ve seen a comic tell a street joke in a club, the audience
almost always enjoys it.

WHY SHOULD AN AUDIENCE CARE?

If the audience doesn’t care about what you are talking about, they
will not laugh. It’s really that simple. No emotional investment, no
fuel for laughter. Fortunately, there are several ways, both indirect
and direct, to coax people to become truly involved with what you
are saying.

INDIRECT INVOLVEMENT
If people pay for something, they are often already at least a little
emotionally involved. So, assuming there is a cover charge to watch
the show, people will care about it and want to get their money’s
worth. Also, if the audience has heard positive things about a
performer, either before the show or merely from the MC, they will
be more apt to have positive expectations, which are another form of
emotional involvement.
But there’s an old saying in advertising, “The very most an
advertising campaign can do is get people to try your product once.
After that, it’s all up to the product itself.” In much the same way,
paying for the show and hearing good things about you creates
emotional involvement on a relatively fleeting level. No matter how
much they paid or how much hype you have around you, the
moment you hit the stage … you are on your own. That’s when all the
indirect means of coaxing interest come to an end, and it’s time to
put up or shut up. You will succeed or fail strictly on the merits of the
Moment. That’s why it’s also essential to be able to coax interest, to
get the audience to care about your performance, in a variety of
ways that are both powerful and direct.
 DIRECT INVOLVEMENT
People will only emotionally invest in something they care about. So
if they are going to care about a standup performance, usually they
have to care about either what is being said or who is saying it. It’s
you or your material, ideally both. Getting crowds to care about you,
night after night, city after city, usually requires years of experience,
performing for thousands of different audiences. But fortunately,
getting people to care about your material is a fair bit easier. In fact,
if you want to have a pretty good idea of what people care about,
just open a newspaper … crime, drugs, violence, money, sports,
education, movie stars, fitness, etc. These are the things most people
care about. If you stick closely to them, you can’t go too far wrong.
Ideally, you want material that both you and the audience find
funny . If they don’t find it funny, they aren’t going to laugh. But if you
don’t find your material funny, you probably aren’t going to be able
to deliver with full commitment and conviction. And remember, the
more deeply both you and the audience care about a topic, the more
likely it will be to get a big laugh.
But as I’ve mentioned before, originality is an important ingredient
when it comes to success as a stand-up comic. Which is why the
thing you are ideally searching for is material that is not only funny
to you and funny to audiences but also fresh and original.

UNIVERSAL/TIMELESS VS. LOCAL/DATED

Oddly, the more personal something is, the more universal

it is as well. When we dig deeper to truthful experiences,
that’s the work that really touches people and connects us
all.
—Bill Watterson (creator of the cartoon strip
Calvin & Hobbes)
I bet there’s a local personality in your city or town that almost
everyone recognizes and knows a little about. Or something that
recently happened in your area of the world that everyone is familiar
with. Now, even though stuff that’s familiar to everyone is exactly the
kind of stuff that makes for good material, my advice to you is, if it’s
something or someone that only locals know about, don’t waste your
time writing about it.
When I first started performing on amateur nights, my goal was to
make my living as a stand-up comic. And because I knew that some
day, if I worked hard enough, I might get the chance to actually tour,
Everything I try onstage
I came up with this little guiding thought, “
must be able to play five years from now in Arizona .” To my mind,
writing a joke, editing it, trying it onstage, and then polishing it over
dozens of shows is hard enough as it is, without going to all the
trouble for a joke that only gets laughs in my home town!
This is also one of the reasons I don’t do topical humor, i.e., jokes
about recent events in the news. People care a lot about what this
president said or that football player did, but it gets tired and dated
very quickly, and I personally am not interested in such truly fleeting
information. I’d rather write material that is funny for reasons other
than its topicality.
But hey, each to his own. If you want to write about topical stuff,
go to it. Lord knows many comics do very well with it. However, I
would suggest that you seriously think twice about writing material
that will only get laughs in your home town. I know many comics
with wonderful bits that they’ve spent years developing that they can
only perform in one or two comedy clubs in the entire world. To me,
not only is that a little sad, but from a business and career
perspective, it’s not a very wise investment of one’s time.

SURPRISE, CREDIBILITY, TRUTH, AND EXAGGERATION

As with any art, craft, or skill, there are thousands of different
techniques and approaches, but certain general ideas can be
suggested to be of primary importance. With stand-up comedy, the
success of the material often comes down to four elements:

1. surprise
2. credibility
3. truth
4. exaggeration.

Note that these very same elements are also essential to the
creation of a successful stand-up comedy character.

SURPRISE

In other words, we’re back to our usual alternatives, do we

want suspense or surprise.
—Alfred Hitchcock

To me, surprise is one of the true keys, not just to keeping an

audience’s attention, but to comedy in general. It’s also one of the
primary distinctions between jokes that are merely witty and clever,
and jokes that are gut-busting funny. A clever observation is not a
joke. A witty turn of phrase is not a joke. A joke is more a matter of
sudden, often ironic, insight . Surprise is the wick, it’s the flashpoint,
the energy that gets the laugh “off the ground.”
Imagine a weightlifter. Before he can afford the luxury of worrying
about being able to hold the weight up above his head, he must first
… get it there. In fact, holding the weight up is relatively easy. Getting
it up there is the hard part. That’s why weightlifters put so much of
their strength behind that first lift, that initial thrust, because to get
the weight above their heads, strength is not enough. They also need
momentum. The power of the joke’s surprise often determines the
initial momentum of the audience’s laugh.

CREDIBILITY
Just as it’s essential for an audience to believe your character
onstage, it’s essential for them to believe your jokes. By “believe” I
don’t mean that they must think every joke you tell is about
something that really and truly happened. Audiences know that
comics, at the very least, exaggerate. But “suspending their disbelief”
is part of their role as an audience, and most audiences are more
than willing to go along with a credible fiction.
For a joke to be credible, it must be believable in two ways. It must
be believable in relation to thecharacter , and it must be believable in
relation to the world . If your character is a real lady’s man, telling a
joke about his involvement in an orgy is believable, it makes sense.
But if he says that, during the orgy, a talking llama appeared out of
nowhere and started taking orders for Chinese food, the joke is no
longer credible in relation to the world. The joke becomes an
obvious lie. An exception to this is if the character you play onstage
is himself deluded. In that case, even bizarre imaginings remain
credible, because they are taken to be part of the character’s own
deluded idea of the real world. So when writing a joke, keep in mind
that the audience must be able to believe that the joke suits your
stage character and the world, at least as that character sees it.

TRUTH

To believe that what is true for you, is true for all men. That
is genius.
—Henry David Thoreau
The truth, the way things really are. Though we all see the world in
different ways, there is still a great deal we see in common. It’s this
stuff we have in common that we tend to call the “truth.” Some
comics believe this is the only stuff comics should tell jokes about. I
find that a little restrictive. But there are few jokes stronger or more
dependable than jokes based on everyday truths. In fact, strictly
speaking, because “truth” is more often thought of as an idea of the
collective than a perception of the individual, any joke the majority of
an audience laughs at must certainly contain some truth—a
perception held in common.
For me, truth-based material can be divided into two categories,
informational and emotional. Informational material is a joke based
on a commonly known fact, for example, the fact that McDonald’s
restaurants have drive-thru windows. Emotional material is a joke
based on a commonly held feeling, such as, that it’s fun to eat food.
Jokes that refer to either informational or emotional truths are often
a very safe bet.
 REALISTIC CABBIE I.D.

However, one of the potential dangers of telling jokes based on

commonly held views is that, because the source of the subjects is
common, the jokes themselves may well seem common and
unoriginal. Take the fact that when a group of women are out for the
night they often seem to go to the bathroom in groups rather than
individually. This being a “truth,” audiences will often laugh at the
observation in the form of a joke, but it’s also a premise that has
been done to death . Hack. When it comes to truth-based material,
the trick is to try to tap into truths that haven’t been already
overworked.

EXAGGERATION
Oddly enough, along with truth, a degree of lying is also one of the
keys to comedy, namely exaggeration. Instead of saying he does his
laundry once a week, the comic says he does it sixteen times. The
absurdity, the obviousness of the lie, the bold fracturing of the truth
can often make a crowd laugh. But realize that exaggeration often
works best if it still somehow echoes the truth. If, when he says he
does his laundry sixteen times a week, the comic delivers the line in
such a way as to convey the sentiment “at least that’s what it feels
like,” it will probably get a bigger laugh, because many of us can
relate to the experience of dirty clothes always seeming to pile up.
But, as with everything, there are limits. If the comic says he does his
laundry 1,000 times a week, chances are it will not be funny, because
it has no credibility whatsoever. Effective comedy is more often about
stretching the truth than breaking it.

DOES EVERY JOKE HAVE A VICTIM?

Laughter is found at the debasement of your fellow Man.

—Plato

I’ve often thought that, if there’s no corpse, there’s usually no joke. If

in the joke there isn’t some individual, group, idea, presumption, or
convention being challenged (if not butchered outright), the chances
are very good it’s not much of a joke. Every joke needs to have a
butt. In fact, when writing material, it can often be very interesting to
ask yourself, “Is there a victim in this joke? And if so, what is it?”
Jokes with clearly defined victims (not unlike scripts with clearly
defined characters) are often more effective than jokes with unclear
victims. The victim can be almost anything. A political figure, a
nearby town, someone in the audience, a chain of fast-food
restaurants, even the comic himself. And sometimes the victim is
simply a popular belief. For instance, if you tell a joke about
something that many people think only they themselves have
noticed (like how clipped toenails tend to fly through the air like
boomerangs) the audience comes to realize that everyone
experiences this, and the victim of the joke is the presumption itself,
the belief that “only I experience this.”

IDEAS VS. EXPERIENCES

Just as there’s a difference between a crowd making an intellectual

investment (understanding) and an emotional investment (caring),
there is a difference between material that is idea driven, and
material that is experience driven.
Jokes about strange thoughts in your head are idea driven ,
requiring the audience to use their imaginations. But jokes about
your experience of going to the movies or attending a wedding are
experience driven , requiring the audience to refer to their own,
personal experience of the very same things.
Of course, many comics combine these two different approaches
to material, but I think it’s important, especially for a student of
comedy, to be aware of the different styles, and the different appeals
they make to a crowd. Incidentally, material that appeals to the
common experiences of the audience tends to get laughs more often
than material that asks something of the audience’s imaginations. I
personally think this is a rather sad commentary, but what can you
do? Not that I’m suggesting you shouldn’t bother to challenge
people’s imaginations (only doing jokes about how women love to
shop and how kids who work in fast-food restaurants always have
facial blemishes). But I do think it’s a good idea, before going in front
of yet another audience, at least to be aware of such tendencies.
 WHAT IS A JOKE?

Humor often makes light of heavy things (a joke about Jesus on the
Cross) or “makes heavy” of light things (getting extremely upset
about a missing shirt button), and this often involves at least some
exaggeration or distortion. But the vast majority of jokes seem to
involve, first, the communicating of a small amount of information
and, second, a final piece of information that yields a sudden shifting
of perception . The initially given small amount of information is what
comics call the “set-up,” and the final piece of information, the
“punchline.”

SET-UPS AND PUNCHLINES

Most jokes are made up of two parts: the set-up and the punchline .
Curiosity and surprise, tension and release. Some comics present
these pairings in a very simple, direct, and bold fashion, so that the
audience can almost guess exactly when the punchline is coming.
Other comics camouflage this underlying set-up/punchline structure,
both with their delivery and their writing, presenting their material in
a more subtle fashion. But make no mistake. This set-up/punchline
structure is behind 99 percent of the comedy you will ever see
getting laughs on a stand-up stage.
SET-UPS

A set-up is the information the comic gives to the crowd to

establish an initial subject, context, and perspective. I know, sounds
pretty abstract. Instead, imagine the comic taking a lovely colored
balloon out of his pocket and slowly blowing it up. This is exactly like
an effective set-up. Well-written set-ups do several things. They both
appeal to and engage the crowd, making people want to listen to
what you are talking about. They also make the audience curious,
piquing their interest and sparking their imaginations. And finally, a
good set-up also creates, on some level, a subtle (and sometimes not
so subtle) tension in the audience. All of which, again, is not unlike
the blowing up of a balloon. Here’s a set-up …

AGORAPHOBIC ANGORAPHOBIC

“Iknew a girl in Grade 5 who had a sixth finger on her right

hand …
PUNCHLINES
 A punchline is the final information the comic gives to the crowd; it
alters the meaning of already given information in a surprising
fashion. Again, pretty abstract. But if a good set-up is like the comic
blowing up a balloon, a good punchline is the pin the comic
suddenly produces to burst the balloon. Well-written punchlines are
not so much about engaging the crowd or appealing to curiosity.
Effective punchlines are more about surprise, irony, brevity, and
imagination. A punchline shouldn’t just tap the crowd on the
shoulder, it should be more like a shovel to the back of the head
(however gently wielded). Effective punchlines are often a single
sentence, as short as possible, that dramatically changes the
meaning, spirit, or direction of the joke, while giving any built-up
tension a sudden and completely unexpected opportunity for
release . Very much like the sudden bursting of a lovely balloon.
Here’s the punchline to the joke about the girl with a sixth-finger …

“…it looked pretty strange. But she was the school ‘scissors,
paper, rock’ champ.”
TAGS

I know I said jokes are usually made-up of two parts, and believe
me, I was telling the truth. But there’s a third part to many jokes,
especially jokes told by professional comics. This part is called the
“tag.” A tag is a brief funny line, said after the audience has laughed
at the punchline. It isn’t so much another punchline as it is additional
information in relation to the just-delivered punchline. Here’s a tag
to the sixth-finger joke …

Oh oh, here she comes now. Better put away your milk
“
money.”
CLICK MOMENTS
To me, this is pretty much the key to stand-up comedy . Effective
jokes tend to have at least one single, clear moment, usually at the
end of the punchline, where the listener experiences already given
information suddenly coming together in a surprising fashion, due to
one last piece of information. I think of this funny realization as a
“click moment,” a moment where all the information in the joke
suddenly “clicks” together. Generally speaking, the more suddenly
and clearly the comic communicates this last piece in the puzzle, the
more powerful the click moment and the louder the laugh. Like many
young comics, during my first couple of years I wrote many things
thought
that I were jokes, but as clever or witty or insightful as they
may have been, all too often they lacked a clearly defined click
moment .
Think of this moment as a surprising, sharp change in the direction
of the information the comic is giving to the audience. Up until this
moment, the comic is speaking in a very plain and straightforward
fashion. But with a click moment, the seemingly straight is suddenly
revealed to be in fact bent, an acute corner appearing in the flow of
information. And it is on this kind of clearly defined corner that a big
laugh is hung.

THE VERY LAST WORD THEORY

Not only should your punchlines consist of as few words as possible,
but ideally the complete idea of the punchline should not come into
full focusuntil the very last word of the joke. That’s one of the most
natural ways to maximize the surprise. Also, if the meaning of your
punchline becomes clear several words before the end of your
sentence, when delivering the joke you’re going to have to talk
through the laugh. This almost always diminishes the laugh and
should be avoided if at all possible. Preventing people from getting
the joke until the very last word of the punchline also dramatically
increases the odds of everyone in the audience getting the joke at
the exact same moment . This too will maximize the laugh.

THE RULE OF NON-REPETITION

Whenever I’m working on a new joke, I try to keep in mind an idea I
call the Rule of Non-Repetition. The rule is essentially this: Do not
use any key words in the set-up that you plan to use in the
punchline. In other words, don’t repeat yourself. For example:

“I got one of those cycling helmets / you know,/ big white

lump with the straps./ So of course I look like an idiot,
right?/ Have to admit though, it is pretty comfortable./ So
much so, I think I might get a bike to go with it.”
(Note that the slashes [/] appearing in the example indicate the
points where, when delivering the joke, I pause for a beat or two to
let the information register in the minds of the audience.)
When I first wrote this joke I considered using the words “bicycle
helmet” in the set-up, but because I wanted to use the word “bike” in
the punchline, I didn’t want to repeat the sound of the word . That’s
just the kind of thing that can dull the teeth of a punchline. So I
decided to use the word “cycling” instead, implying that I have a bike
throughout the set-up, saving the word “bike” for the punchline.

BE SPECIFIC (BUT NOT TOO SPECIFIC)

When I deliver my jokes, I sometimes imagine I’m painting

pictures in the minds of the audience.
—Steven Wright

When writing jokes, it’s a good idea to avoid vague generalizations.

Don’t just talk about “fruit” when you can talk about “an apple.”
Strong writing creates a single image for everyone in the crowd, each
person imagining a very similar thing. But when you say “fruit,”
people are either imagining several different kinds of fruit or they
aren’t really thinking of anything in particular, and both things can
significantly reduce their emotional investment in the joke. But when
you say “an apple,” everyone has a clear picture , and thus a feeling.
But you can take this too far. If instead of “an apple” you say, “one
of those red apples, with a slightly wilted stem and a couple of
bruises near the bottom,” chances are you have not only used far too
many words, but also, instead of encouraging people to imagine an
apple, by being overly specific you’ve probably frustrated some
people’s imaginations. Does the color and condition of the apple
really matter to the joke? Ideally, your writing should be a clear,
simple, and vivid invitation for people to imagine specific things and
situations, rather than generalities. But you should try to avoid
making your words so specific that they exclude too many people in
your audience. It comes down to the idea of encouraging their
imaginations, not limiting them.

IMMEDIATE VS. MEDIATED

I’ve seen shows where each of the comics had really strong sets, and
a great variety of material was presented, but the biggest laugh of
the night came from some comment made about a bald guy, or a
heavy woman, sitting in the front row. This shouldn’t come as a
surprise. Not so much because the joke fulfilled the commonly held
idea that comedy is about put-downs, but because the joke was
about something immediate , something right there, right then. Like a
prop gag, a joke about a person in the front row is about something
shared by all present, something truly in the Here and Now. But the
vast majority of the material stand-up comics write isn’t about the
Here and Now. Instead, it’s about their dogs, childhoods, and trips to
the bank. Mediated stuff that happened some other time, some
other place. But there are ways to write material about things that
happened at another place and time so that it expresses a more
immediate sensibility.

IT HAPPENED TO YOU
Instead of telling jokes about stuff that happened to your friends,
your neighbor, or even someone in the news, whenever possible
write the joke so it’sabout you . After all, you’re the one standing in
front of the audience, so you’re the one they are most likely to care
about. And remember, if they don’t care, they’re not going to laugh.
You are the audience’s primary connection between your jokes and
their interest, so do everything you can to make the jokes about you.

IT HAPPENED YESTERDAY
It’s much easier for the audience to care about something that
happened recently rather than six years ago. So just as you should
try to write your jokes about you, try to write your jokes about stuff
that “just happened.” Remember, your task as a comic is to make the
past live again, to speak of things that have already occurred, but
somehow bring them kicking and screaming back into The Moment.
That’s tough enough without talking about stuff that happened ten
years ago. Also, for the crowd to laugh at a joke, it must be real for
them , and for it to be real for them it must first be real for you. You
will have a much easier time making your jokes real for you if you’re
talking about stuff as if it happened just yesterday, the other day, or
even last week.

AVOID ASKING QUESTIONS

There are exceptions to every rule, but I believe it’s a good idea to
avoid writing jokes in the form of a question, like, “Have you ever
noticed how …?” or “Why is it whenever I go to the grocery store …?”
One or two in that vein are fine, and I’ve seen a number of comics do
quite well with a handful of quick, funny questions, usually lumped
together. But generally speaking I think questions should be avoided
because, though often rhetorical, they sound like they are asking the
crowd for something . And as I’ve already discussed, I think the comic
should avoid seeming like he wants anything from the crowd (except
perhaps that they listen to him). That way, the crowd feels free to
relax, be themselves, and laugh.

AVOID LISTS
For some reason, many young comics write jokes in the form of lists,
one set-up followed by a list of different punchlines:

“You know, folks, I figure there are only four different kinds
of people that work at a fast food place …”
Perhaps young comics have a tough time choosing between
punchlines, so they decide to use them all. Or perhaps they simply
have to work so darn hard to get the ideas they do, they can’t bear
not to use every one of them. I don’t know. But I do know that, with
the very rare exception, lists are to be avoided.
This is because when you begin to list stuff to a crowd, it
immediately undercuts the idea that you are spontaneously speaking
“off the top of your head.” All of a sudden you’re doing a routine,
and that can really turn off a crowd. Also, when they realize you are
doing a list, audiences no longer laugh at each punchline like it’s the
last thing you’re going to say on a topic . You have explicitly let them
know there’s more to come, and knowing this, they will wait for it,
holding back some of their laughter.
One way around this problem is to write a list in a more subtle
fashion, so that it respects the idea of keeping the crowd unaware
that there’s more to come. Instead of using the phrase, “I figure it’s
either … or …,” which signals to the crowd the fact that the joke has
several parts, you could say, “I figure it’s …” and say one of the
punchlines. Then, after the laugh, say, “Or …” and deliver the second
punchline. That way, they don’t see the second punchline coming.
Though there are ways of effectively working with a joke with
several punchlines, I believe it’s usually a much better idea to commit
to one, after experimenting with a few of your favorites. Perhaps you
can rewrite one or two of the other punchlines to work as tags, but
after that, I suggest you move on to another joke.

GESTURES REPLACING WORDS

The text is the actor’s greatest enemy.

—Sanford Meisner

So much of the craft of stand-up is about economizing and editing—

wringing the very most out of the very least. Of course, you should
support what you say with your face and hands, bringing your words
to life as much as possible. But sometimes, rather than merely
reflecting something you say, a gesture can replace a word or even
an entire sentence. For example, as part of a set-up you could say:

“I was walking down the street and I saw this sign for a
restaurant that read, ‘Rico’s Pizzeria’…”
But if you replace the five words, “for a restaurant that read” with
the simple gesture of moving your right hand through the air as if it’s
pointing out the words on the sign, you can then say the set-up as:

“I was walking down the street and I saw this sign [hand
gesture] ‘Rico’s Pizzeria’…”
 With one simple hand gesture, you’ve been able to drop five
words from your set-up. In stand-up, that’s a real communication
victory.

THREE: THE MAGIC NUMBER

In almost every medium, in almost every culture, the number three

seems to come up again and again. Three is fascinating because,
while suggesting a balance (one in the middle and one on either
side), it also suggests an instability, an “unfinishedness.” It’s a very
vital number. One of the reasons the number three appears in so
many jokes is because comedy is all about breaking patterns—but to
break a pattern, one must first establish a pattern . Something
happening once doesn’t establish a pattern, but for it to happen
suggests
twice, well that at least a pattern. And with the importance
of extreme economy in comedy, comics typically have something
happen only twice before breaking the suggested pattern with the
third idea.
Breaking your information, especially dense punchlines, into
groups of three is also a very effective way to communicate. For
example,

“It wasn’t easy growing up as an only child./ I had to play

lots of games by myself./ While other kids were playing
catch/ I was playing [1] throw,/ [2] walk,/ and [3] pickup.”
In performance, the three-beat rhythm of the punchline plays a
significant part in the joke’s success.

SIMPLE IS BETTER

Never use a long word where a short one will do.

—George Orwell

Unlike you, the audience hasn’t heard your jokes a thousand times.
Every single word is new to them, and there’s a good chance they’ve
been drinking. Also, when writing material it’s always a good idea to
keep in mind the fact that the people who make up the audiences in
a comedy club come from many different cultural, intellectual, and
educational backgrounds.
Consequently, effective and trustworthy stand-up material is often
simple and direct, without making too many intellectual or
informational demands. Your jokes shouldn’t require the audience to
be filled with college graduates or pop-culture information junkies.
However, writing material that has broad appeal and is expressed in
clear and simple terms is very different from writing material that is
dumb or uninspired. In fact, if you feel that you have to “talk down to
the crowd,” you are probably selling both yourself (and your
audience!) short.
Almost every comic I’ve ever talked with has at some time felt
disheartened by the apparent limitations of stand-up audiences. But
despite my own difficult experiences, I still firmly believe this:
Comedy club audiences consist of people with a wide range of life
experiences, as well as dreams and disappointments and fears. And I
too am a person with a wide range of life experiences, dreams,
disappointments, and fears. As different as we may all be, we still
have a great deal in common, and it is to the stuff we all have in
common, our experiences as well as our imaginings, that the most
successful stand-up material refers. Any limitations you perceive in
your audience are more often an expression of your own limitations
as a thinker and a communicator than anything else.
To me, the real challenge of writing stand-up is not to make my
stuff as “dumb” as possible (anyone can do that!) but to express the
abstract, imaginative, and unusual thoughts I have in terms that are
as simple and clear as possible. Keep in mind, the act of
simplification can be a sign of real intelligence and dedication. It’s far
easier to express strange and wonderful things in strange and
wonderful terms. The inspired, imaginative, and even eloquent use of
common, everyday language is a true challenge, worthy of any
wordsmith. The eloquent use of simple words rather than the simple
use of eloquent words. Speak your truth and speak it plainly. If a joke
absolutely requires the use of big words or academic jargon, I urge
you to consider dropping it. As someone once said, “If you have an
idea and you can’t write it down on a matchbook, it’s probably not
an important idea.”

EXCESS IS FUNNY
Comedy is often about excess. Extremes are not only shocking and
immensely engaging, they are also very clear. And stimulation and
clarity are essential to stand-up. So when describing a situation or
scenario, be as extreme as you can. Don’t say, “I couldn’t hear for
close to an hour” when you can say, “I couldn’t hear for over
an
hour.” Push the limits, stretch things to the breaking point.

EDITING

If it is possible to cut out a word, always cut it out.

—George Orwell

Aggressive editing is very important in joke writing in general, but

particularly so when it comes to punchlines. If you take a few
moments longer to blow up a balloon, no big deal. But every beat
that passes between the moment you begin to pull the pin out of
your pocket and the moment you actually burst the balloon is a beat
that takes that tiny bit more of the edge off of the surprise.
Though an audience will be more forgiving of unnecessary words
in a set-up than in a punchline, you still must be very strict on
yourself when writing a set-up, especially given audiences
expectations. To use the balloon analogy again, if you take a long
time to blow up a really big balloon, when you burst it people expect
a particularly loud bang. If, instead, the burst balloon mildly goes
“pop,” they’re going to be disappointed. So remember, the longer
the set-up, the stronger the punchline must be . In reference to a joke
with an overly long set-up, Will Rogers once said, “That porch is too
big for that house.”

CALLBACKS
I find these fascinating. Basically, a comic makes a “callback” when he
says a joke that makes reference to information contained in a
previous joke . Most of the time, he’s making a reference to one of his
own jokes, something he said earlier in his set, but occasionally a
comic will make a callback to a joke told by another comic earlier in
the evening. Unlike most jokes, which derive their humor by making
reference to experiences that the comic and the crowd share but that
occurred outside of their relationship to each other, callbacks make
reference to stuff that’s been shared since they met . This explains
why audiences often respond so positively to the experience of a
callback. By “calling back” a fact the audience has in their heads, a
fact that he himself gave them, the comic artfully completes a kind of
psychological loop. At the same time, the comic is also playfully
suggesting to the crowd, “Some of this stuff is scripted, folks!”
Incidently, you should keep in mind that the greater the amount of
time elapsing between a callback and the information you’re calling
back to, the greater the chance of people not remembering,
especially if they’ve been drinking. Personally, I try not to callback to
anything more than ten minutes later. An exception to this is if I’m
doing a repeated callback, referring back to a fact several times in a
set. In such a case, after you’ve done it two or three times, I think it’s
safe to let as much as thirty minutes go by and still make another
callback.

WRITING WITH OTHER PEOPLE

Start with, “I think it’s a masterpiece!” then tell me what you

think could be changed.
—Tim Robbins
One of the keys to comics writing well together, apart from liking
each other and respecting each other’s work, is for both comics to
have a clear idea of the other comic’s character and perspective . If
they don’t quite know where the other is coming from, they are
going to be forever suggesting stuff that simply doesn’t suit that
person’s character. Another good idea is for both comics to
encourage a very positive, supportive energy. Saying, “I don’t think
that’s funny” can often be the kiss of death for a young, creative
relationship.
Instead, you might want to try a numerical system. Suggest an
idea, and ask the other comic to tell you what he thinks a crowd’s
reaction to it might be, based on a scale from one to five. I think it’s
very important (not to mention humble) for both comics to
emphasize that they are only ever giving their personal “two cents,”
guesses really. The audience has the only vote that counts, and until
the bit is tried onstage, you just never know.
 PAVAROTTI AND FRIENDS

WHY KEEP WRITING?

Originality and the feeling of one’s dignity are achieved only

through work and struggle.
—Dostoyevsky

You have an hour of strong, tried-and-true material. Why write any

more jokes? Many comics get tired of doing the same material again
and again, and as they get tired, so do their performances. Having a
constant flow of new material, even just a few new jokes, can keep
things fresh and interesting, if only for you. Also, you may all of a
sudden start touring more, maybe even getting to some cities
several times a year, and that’s when it’s really important to have
some new material. The last thing you want is for people who
“enjoyed you so much the last time” to come out to see you again,
only to find that you’re doing all the same stuff. Club owners also get
tired of seeing the same material, and though, strictly speaking, they
aren’t really your audience, they are decision makers on whom you
want to make a good impression. A new joke they particularly like
can go a long way toward making you memorable. As you continue
to write, you’ll find you start creating different kinds of material. The
jokes comics write in their fourth years are often very different from
the jokes they write in their tenth years.

JOKES ARE VEHICLES

The practice of Zen is forgetting the self in the act of uniting

with something.
—Koun Yamada

A funny, well-written joke is a thing of beauty. A small wonder. But

even a great joke is not an end in itself. Instead, I believe a joke’s true
power lies in its use as a vehicle of expression for the comic, and as a
vehicle for connection with an audience. A fine joke, and the laughs it
yields, can also be an amazing vehicle of release and ultimately of
enlightenment. Jokes, after all, are vehicles for sharing.

JOKE CHECKLIST

1. Is the joke about something most people care about?

2. How do you feel about what you are saying?
3. Is the joke credible?
4. Is there a definite “click moment”?
5. Have you planned your emphases and pauses to highlight key
information?
6. Can you remove any words from the set-up or punchline?
7. Can you replace any words with a gesture?
8. Are you really bringing the joke to life with your face, hands, and
body?
 CHAPTER THREE

CHARACTER

Your stage character is the magic glue. It makes sense of all your
jokes, giving them a context to spring out of and a perspective to
what
reflect. If your material is the , then your delivery the how , your
timing the when , and your character thewho .
Your character also keeps you in touch with your material and with
your audience. To borrow a distinction from Marshall McLuhan, if
your jokes are the message, your character is the medium. Then
again, one could just as fairly say your character is the message, and
your jokes are the medium. I don’t mean to be confusing, it’s just
that, ideally, a comic’s character and his material should clearly
express each other . In a sense, character and material are really just
different ways of looking at the same thing. Namely, the comic’s
performance itself.

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A COMIC AND AN

ACTOR?

Stand-up comedy is a particular kind of popular theater. It’s very

similar to traditional acting in that there is a script, and the actor
must remember his lines and deliver them with conviction. But the
emotional range of a typical stand-up comedy show, both as
explored by the comic and experienced by the audience, is much
more limited than that of a traditional play. Plays often touch on
everything from love and fear to sorrow and vengeance. Standup is
almost strictly about getting laughs. Yes, a comic may well deal with
very significant, even profound issues, but in the end, no matter what
the comic’s personal aspirations, people go to a comedy club to
drink and to laugh—even though many of the best stand-ups are
quite good actors, delivering their material with inspired energy and
a strong sense of stagecraft.
Many of the differences between traditional theater and
contemporary stand-up lie, not merely in the performing style, but in
the very different performance situations . Theater audiences are
sober and sit in relative silence, while comedy club audiences drink,
smoke, order food, and sometimes even chat during shows. Theater
audiences often pay a fair bit more for a ticket than comedy-club
goers. And though comedy-club shows and plays are both usually
around two hours in length, at the theater one expects to see several
people performing together, while at clubs the audience expects to
see several people performing individually. These very different
working conditions cannot help but dramatically influence the craft
and attitudes of the actors themselves.
Another significant difference between stand-ups and traditional
as actors
actors is that people don’t really think of stand-ups . Though
stage actors certainly strive for a freshness and apparent spontaneity
in their performances, audiences are fully aware that there is a script
they must closely follow, often to the word. But stand-up comics, as
unspontaneous as they often truly are, are generally considered to
be much more spontaneous creatures than actors. In fact, it’s this
belief in the “extemporaneous sharing of stand-up comics” that is
one of stand-up’s most powerful myths.
Many professional comics alter their sets on a regular basis and
often make comments off the tops of their heads, but the great
majority of what comes out of their mouths is very tightly scripted
indeed. In reality, stand-up comics are nothing more than actors,
playing the part of stand-up comics
.

MAGNIFYING GLASS OR TELESCOPE?

Most comics are magnifying glasses, far fewer are telescopes. One of
the most popular styles of contemporary stand-up is that of
“observational humor.” The comic takes an everyday experience,
something most people can relate to (e.g., a joke about going to the
laundromat) and with his insight finds the humor in it. The comic is a
magnifying glass, looking closely at the things of our immediate lives
and telling us what he sees. But as popular and common as this
approach to stand-up is, it is still nonetheless only one approach.
Another style, adopted far less often than that of the magnifying
glass, is the telescope style. With this approach, the comic’s jokes are
based not on our collective experiences of this world, but on the
comic’s individual experiences of another world, namely his
imagination (e.g., a joke about being married to a kangaroo). These
comics share with their audiences descriptions of a place where their
audiences do not live (despite any parallels that may exist to their
own world), and in this way the comic acts like a telescope, bringing
a strange, faraway place into focus.
Of course, both approaches require craft and dedication, but I
believe that the magnifying glass approach is easier to sell to a North
American crowd than the telescope approach. As a magnifying glass,
the comic’s material deals directly with the audience’s own life
experiences, appealing to their own egocentric, self-absorbed
natures. The comic’s material also explores his own immediate life
experiences, so it is easier for him to deliver the material and bring it
to life.
 In contrast, the telescope approach requires the audience to use
their imaginations , rather than just their memories, as the comic
speaks of things they’ve never seen with their own eyes. This
approach also requires the comic himself to do more than simply
rely on his direct life experiences, demanding that he stretch his own
imagination to the fullest.
Both approaches have their beauty. As a magnifying glass, the
comic makes us more aware of the humor in the world around us.
And by almost magically revealing to us the extent to which our
personal experiences are in fact shared , he brings us closer together.
And as a telescope, the comic challenges our imaginations, asking us
to both think and feel about not how things are, but how they could
be .

WHY NOT JUST BE YOURSELF?

Characters are interesting if they passionately believe in

what they’re talking about.
—Martin Short

I’ve heard many experienced comics say to beginners “Just be

yourself.” Ultimately I believe this is pretty good advice, but I also
think telling that to a young performer is a lot like telling a young
driver, “Just don’t hit any of the other cars.” Not so much because it’s
obvious, but because it’s not particularly instructive or helpful. A
young performer may not be completely clear on who exactly he is .
Knowing who you are is no easy feat, let alone knowing how to bring
that to the stage.
By all means, try to focus on your own unique sense of humor
rather than on trying to deliver material that doesn’t suit the person
you really are. But being funny offstage and being funny onstage are
very, very different kinds of “funny.” The most successful comics tend
to play characters that are two things: real and exaggerated. It’s
almost a paradox, but not quite. Imagine, if you will, a pie cut into
eight pieces, and let’s say that each piece of the pie represents one
of the dominant characteristics of who you really are (anxious,
cerebral, shy, loud, etc.). Now, what successful stand-ups tend to do
is toconcentrate on one or two of the pieces of their pie, and then
exaggerate the degree to which these real characteristics dominate
their personality. That way, they get to draw energy from real-life
characteristics, but they also present a character who is inherently
theatrical and powerful onstage.
 INNER CHILD

Think of it this way. To “play a part” is really to “display a part.” A part

of who? Yourself. Many film actors say that they can only do justice
to a character in a movie if they feel they can strongly relate to the
role. Being able to relate to something is another way of saying that
there is a commonality between you and the thing you are relating
to.
 So be yourself onstage, but be your likable, vulnerable, unique,
engaging, interesting, powerful, and above all else FUNNY self.

LIKABILITY AND VULNERABILITY

Zen is to have the heart and soul of a little child.

—Takuan

There are many things to consider when it comes to your stage

character, but without a doubt the two most important qualities you
should strive to obtain are Likability and Vulnerability. If you can
achieve these two the majority of the times you take the stage, you
will be well on your way to being a successful stand-up comic. You
cannot overestimate their importance.
There’s an old show biz expression, “If they like you, you can do no
wrong. And if they don’t like you … good luck.” In my experience, this
is completely, almost frighteningly true. Nothing is more powerful
than the crowd’s liking you. They will give you more room for error,
more time before they get bored, and they will laugh harder when
you’re funny. Liking you, the audience is simply more receptive, more
patient, and more responsive. But if you’ve said or done something
to make the crowd take a disliking to you, especially early in your set
… good luck. It’s amazing how quickly a crowd can cool to a
performer.
How can you maximize likability? You can start by respecting your
audience and caring about what they think and feel. Crowds sense if
you care about them. And yes, sometimes the crowd likes it when a
comic “ruffles their hair” by pretending not to care about their
opinion, not unlike when lovers play at being tough with each other.
But if the crowd suspects you aren’t feigning your disregard, they will
turn on you.
 Another thing you can do to be likable is smile . I know it sounds
obvious, but go to a stand-up show and watch, just watch, how many
comics fail to smile a lot onstage. If you have to force a smile, forget
it. Crowds are also very sensitive to insincerity, so if you are actually
more comfortable frowning, frown. Then again, if you can’t sincerely
greet an audience of people who have paid to watch you with a
smile, you may want to consider another line of work.
Audiences tend to give respect and power to those performers
who, in turn, grant them respect and power. This is where
vulnerability comes in. Audiences need to believe they are having a
definite influence on the comic. That they aren’t just another crowd.
But for them to believe they can influence you, you must first seem
open to them—or even better you must in some way seem to be a
bit fragile
little . However subtle, an air of vulnerability brings with it a
sense of being both honest and sensitive, qualities that can greatly
enhance a performer’s image in the eyes of the audience. When a
performer meets an audience, it’s a little bit like a seduction.
Ultimately, he can only take a crowd where they are willing to go .

INTELLIGENCE

It’s the less intelligent comics that tend to try to come off as
very smart, and the more intelligent comics that tend to
play down their intellect.
—Woody Allen

If comedic wit isn’t literally the same thing as intelligence, it’s

certainly often a strong indication of intelligence. Perhaps it’s
because of this that audiences often expect a comic to be “smart” or
“clever” as well as funny. But as always, there are ways of displaying
your intelligence onstage that will work for you, and ways that will
work against you .
 Whenever considering a new approach or attitude to your
performance, always first ask yourself not “Will this be funny?” but
“Will this bring the audience and me closer?” The audience will
always tell you with their laughter or their silence what is and isn’t
funny, but developing trust with them is a much more subtle thing.
That’s what makes the display of intelligence onstage so intriguing.
Crowds will admire you if you can give them a flash of your smarts
without coming off as somehow superior to them. But if, for even an
instant, they suspect you think you are intellectually “above them,”
they will quickly cool to you, perhaps even become hostile. The
comic “pulling attitude” onstage is exactly the kind of thing that
creates
literally hecklers.
So by all means, cultivate an active intelligence in your work, but
try not to be too bold about it or take too much obvious pleasure
from it. Humility, even if it’s only apparent, will always serve you well
onstage. To my mind, I think it requires more real intelligence to
display your smarts in an indirect and imaginative fashion than in an
obvious, “Look how clever I am” fashion. It also tends to be much
more interesting to watch.

VITALITY

An ounce of behavior is worth a pound of words.

—Sanford Meisner

Stand-up is about energy. The energy you give to

the crowd, and the
energy you receive from the crowd. The meaning of the words you
speak are important, but they are also important as bearers of
energy. In this regard, your actionsonstage, how you stand and
move, are of even greater importance.
Not surprisingly, the more fully and richly your actions onstage
reflect a definite character, the more engaging, memorable, and
believable the character will be. People respond to the living,
especially to what speaks to them and their own lives. In fact, art
theorists often suggest that the more vital and alive a work of art is,
the more apt people are to respond to it. At all times your goal
should be to fill your character with real energy, ideally rendering
him or her “larger than life.”

NOVELTY
Unfortunately, the word “novelty” has a negative, belittling
association. When people refer to something as a novelty they
usually mean that it is somehow new or interesting, but also that it is
of little importance or consequence. I think that’s too bad. Perhaps
novelty merely for novelty’s sake, without any substance or insight, is
to be avoided. But if, among many other qualities, your stage
character also happens to be novel, all the better.
When it comes to your stage character (or almost anything for that
matter) you can approach things in one of four ways. You can do
something:

1. old in an old way

2. old in a new way
3. new in an old way
4. new in a new way.

Take singing a song, for example. You can sing an old song in an
old way. This may strike people as quite unoriginal and, frankly,
rather dull. Or you can sing an old song in a new way. It being an old
song, people will be able to relate to it, and perhaps even enjoy its
familiarity, but because of the new way you sing it, they will also find
it interesting and stimulating. Or you can sing a new song in an old
way. This combination will again have an aspect people can relate to,
namely the old way you sing it, but being a new song, it will also be
interesting. Or, finally, you can sing a new song in a new way. This
approach is both the most challenging and, from a communications
perspective, the most risky. With both a new song and a new way of
singing, people may well find it intriguing, but will also have nothing
familiar to hold on to. Often, if people find something too
challenging, they simply won’t bother trying to understand it. And
although what you do may be wonderful, perhaps even ingenious, if
people aren’t listening, you have failed to communicate.
It’s in an attempt to be novel that many comics search for a
“hook,” something about their look or character or perspective that
is both unique and commercial. But more often than not it is not
something that can be forced into existence. Instead, truly effective
hooks, with staying power and credibility, tend to naturally grow out
of a character and act developed over many years.

DISTINCTIVENESS VS. BROAD APPEAL

We live to survive our paradoxes.

—The Tragically Hip

This is the classic artist/marketing dilemma. Two diametrically

opposed views that are each so important and fundamental, they are
capable of pulling a comic apart at the seams. And however you
decide on this issue, it can’t help but have dramatic impact on
literally every aspect of your work. Your character, your delivery, your
material, everything.
Here’s the problem: The more unusual and atypical your approach
to stand-up, the more memorable and distinctive you will be. But …
the more distinctive you are, the more limitedyour appeal might well
be, the less accessible your act is, and the more doors will be closed
to you. For example, if you always went onstage nude, Lord knows
you would be remembered, but I suspect you would also be locked
up. Your only market would be nudist colonies. Distinctive, but of
limited appeal.
But if, in an attempt to go for the broadest appeal possible, you
take a very conventional and typical approach to stand-up, you
might end up as a completely unoriginal and utterly forgettable
performer. I’m sorry to say I have no idea what the solution to this
dilemma is, but I definitely think you should keep it in mind and try
to arrive at your own answers.

PERSPECTIVE
Simply put, a perspective is the way someone sees something . In this
case, the “someone” is your stage character, and the “something” is
the world around him or her. What’s your character’s take on
politics? Food? What’s his favorite movie? To arrive at the answers to
these relatively specific questions, you should probably first ask
broader questions. Is your character really smart or a little dumb? Is
he optimistic or pessimistic? Well spoken or crass? The more you
know about your character, the more fully he’ll come to life onstage,
even if you don’t actually make a point of relaying this information to
the audience through your jokes. Having a clearly defined idea of
exactly who your character is will go a long way toward the creation
of a consistent perspective. And consistency is essential if your
character is going to remain credible throughout your entire set.

FACTS AND FEELINGS

We should take care not to make the intellect our god; it

has, of course, powerful muscles, but no personality.
—Albert Einstein

One part of your character’s consistency is the factual

information
contained in your material. If you tell a joke about a woman you’ve
been dating for a few months, and then a minute later tell a joke
about not having had a girlfriend for years, you’re going to put the
crowd’s belief in jeopardy. Your jokes must fit together and reflect a
single reality.
But an even more important aspect of this idea of consistency is
that of your character’semotional responses to a range of subjects. If
he seems insecure and shy about women one moment, and then
casual and confident the next, this can subtly undermine your
character’s credibility. Being aware of the factual information you
give to an audience will be much easier to monitor than the
emotional information, but I believe it is the emotional world of your
character that will set the tone of your set far more than the details
of your jokes.

KEY WORDS AND CATCH PHRASES

“No respect!”
—Rodney Dangerfield

In two simple words, Dangerfield has a touchstone for his character.

A phrase both he and the crowd can focus on and, in a sense,
experience his comedy through . Whether or not you go so far as to
actually say a catch phrase onstage (a few words you say again and
again throughout your set), it’s a good idea to at least have a few key
words to focus on, especially just before going onstage when you
want to “get into character.” So think about some words that might
lie at the core of your character onstage, and perhaps even what you
want to be known for. Thinking of some comics I’ve seen, words like
intense, babbling, menacing, jovial, depressed, emotional—all come
to mind. Find the words that best reflect the idea and feeling of your
character, and then follow them like guiding lights in the fog.
 CHARACTER-DRIVEN MATERIAL

There are many jokes that almost anyone can tell and get a laugh
with. Usually, that’s because the jokes are: (1) simple, and (2) refer to
things that are common knowledge. Jokes like this are fine. In fact,
they are often the most trustworthy of jokes. But they are different
from character-driven material, material that virtually requires the
audience to view the performer in a specific light . For example,
Milton Berle became famous for wearing a dress onstage. It became
part of his stage character. In his day, if another comic wore a dress
onstage, the crowd either didn’t know what to make of it or they
thought that the comic was “doing Milton Berle’s bit.”
Once you get a clear idea of your stage character, so much of the
craft of stand-up is made that much easier. Ideally, your jokes, your
“look,” even your promotional material should be reflections of your
character and of your comedic perspective. And as your character
comes into focus for you, you’ll find yourself writing material
specifically for that character. Think of that character as a picture
frame and everything you do and say onstage as the picture. The
character defines, frames, and literally “makes sense” of your
material, especially in the minds of the audience.
Imagine if you will that during the first few minutes of your set, the
material you deliver lets the audience know how the world looks
through the eyes of your character. That’s why you should think of
the material you choose for your first few minutes as “defining.” After
that, the audience almost takes on that perspective, that sensibility,
and becomes more comfortable with that outlook on the world as
your set progresses.
On one hand this can be a little restrictive because, after doing five
minutes of jokes about how much you love kids, the audience may
not know how to respond if you then want to do a joke about using
children as slave labor in a butterscotch pudding factory. They’ve
become accustomed to seeing you in a certain light, and may resist
change. On the other hand, now that they’ve come to know your
character a little better, you can really start to explore, and have fun
with, that very character.

THE STEALABILITY TEST

Here’s a thought. “The degree to which other comics can use your
material, and still have good success with it, is the degree to which
your material is impersonal and unoriginal.” Think about that for a
moment. Certainly, almost every comic you will ever see will have
jokes that many other comics could do well with. In fact, that is often
the sign of a good joke. But, more often than not, the jokes a comic
becomes famous for are jokes that only he or she can get away with.
That’s because they are jokes that either really only suit his or her
stage character or because that stage character is particularly well-
suited to delivering those jokes. Many famous comics do bits that,
done by another comic, would come off as unnatural or even just
plain dumb. That’s one of the magical qualities of character-driven
comedy.

SIMPLE AND CLEAR

Don’t do anything unless something happens to make you

do it.
—Sanford Meisner

There’s an old story about a man going into a store to buy a ladle.
There were many to choose from, but in the end he narrowed it
down to three ladles. Two of them featured lovely, intricate patterns
on their handles and bowls, while the third ladle was completely
unadorned, almost plain. Then, when the man asked about the price
of the ladles, he was shocked to hear that the plain ladle was almost
double the price of the other two. But the salesman explained to
him, “You see, the unadorned ladle is of a much higher quality and
must be of absolutely perfect workmanship because, unlike the other
ones with intricate patterns, on the simple ladle there is no place to
hide the flaws.”
When developing your stage character—or working on any aspect
of stand-up, for that matter—it’s very easy to make things more
complicated than they need to be. It’s keeping things simple that’s
truly difficult. But we are all where we are at, no place else, and
beginners in almost all crafts and disciplines tend to overcomplicate
things. Between their young egos and vast ignorance, labored
complications act almost like a buffer, as they, being beginners, trip
and stumble and fall time and again. But if you read the writings of
acknowledged masters of many disciplines, the idea of simplicity
comes up more often than not.
Simple isn’t easy, and keeping things simple and clear is a very
different thing from keeping things stupid or superficial. It usually
takes great intelligence and a lot of hard work to simplify anything.
To cut out the extraneous, clear away the incidental. But if you keep
working at it, it can be done. Just keep asking yourself, why am I
doing this? Is it meaningful? Is it needed? What does it serve?
Remember, if in doubt, cut it out.

COMMITMENT

Put your heart, mind, intellect, and soul even to your

smallest acts. This is the secret to success.
—Swami Sivananda

As Shakespeare wrote, “half measures avail us nothing.” This is

particularly so in comedy. You will only succeed with your character
and material to the degree to which you commit to it. It’s really that
simple. Do what you do with less than all of you
, and that is exactly
what the audience will give back. Actually, the idea of commitment is
so important, I’ve often thought that it’s not so much what a
performer does onstage, or even how a performer does what he
does onstage, but how much of himself he puts into it . Go to a few
stand-up shows, see how the comics who really give their all almost
always do better than the comics who don’t. Material is very
important, make no mistake about it. But commitment is just as
important. Onstage, stay focused on your character. Don’t be
thinking about something else. And try not to worry or be afraid.
Fearlessly give of yourself, through your character, to the audience.
Commit. Be there for them, and more often than not, they will be
there for you.

CLOTHING

A few years ago, I was talking with an amateur comic just before he
went onstage, and he was telling me how he felt his clothes
effectively supported his character onstage. He then asked me what I
thought of his shoes, and I said, “If they notice your shoes, you aren’t
funny.” I still think there’s a lot of truth in what I rather ungently said,
especially when you consider that 95 percent of the crowd is only
ever going to see you from the waist up. But I also very much agree
with Canadian comic Ronnie Edwards, who once told me, “The
outside must reflect the inside.”
In the same way that intro music can set a tone or communicate a
subtle message, your clothes can tell the crowd a great deal. Steve
Martin used to always wear a white suit, and Sam Kinison often wore
a trench coat and an oversized beret. Now, for just a moment, try to
imagine Steve Martin in the overcoat or Kinison in the white suit. See
what I mean? Clothes really say a lot
. And, like it or not, your clothes
are going to express something, so it’s up to you to decide whether
they are going to work “with you” or “against you.”
As always, the answers to your questions concerning what to wear
onstage will be found by referring to your ideas about your stage
character. Who is he? What’s he like? What kinds of things does he
talk about onstage? Is he tidy? Unkempt? Casual? Sensual?
Sometimes, waiting to board a train or plane, I’ll make a point of
flipping through some fashion magazines, keeping my stage
character in mind, just to see if I come across some clothes that I’d
like to try onstage.

SHOES
As I’ve already mentioned, I think the shoes you wear are pretty
much a non-issue, given the audience’s sight lines, but they should
be very comfortable. I usually wear running shoes.

PANTS
Again, they should be comfortable, but they should also reflect your
character’s sensibilities. Baggy pants? Jeans? Expensive-looking dress
pants? If I’m only doing a short spot on a show I often wear blue
jeans, but if I’m headlining I tend to avoid blue jeans, going with
black jeans or casual dress pants.

SUITS AND TIES

I never wear a suit and tie onstage. Never. I don’t feel comfortable, I
get way too hot, and I don’t believe it suits my character. But a lot of
comics seem to think, “If I’m headlining, I better wear a tie,” which, to
my mind, is a bit silly. Fine if a tie goes with your character, but if it
really doesn’t go with your character I would avoid it. A nice suit and
tie can send signals of success and professionalism to certain crowds,
but it also has an air of “establishment” about it that can work
against you, particularly with younger crowds. Then again, perhaps
there’s something to be said for the old stand-up adage, “Dress like a
headliner, become a headliner.”

SHIRTS
This is the one piece of your wardrobe the crowd will be looking at
through your entire set, and I think it’s something you should spend
some time thinking about. With or without a collar? Sleeves rolled up
or down? And, of course, what color or pattern? Every detail sends
different messages to the crowd, particularly in our clothes-
conscious culture.
As a rule of thumb, I wear lighter-colored shirts at bar gigs and
“one-nighters” because they tend to have poor lighting and I want to
make sure my face and body really “pull the eyes” from across the
room. I want to be very watchable. In club gigs I always try to wear a
shirt that is a simple contrast to whatever wall is behind me. And if I
don’t know the room beforehand, I’ll often bring two shirts so I have
a choice. I tend to avoid shirts with really crazy, bright colors or
patterns, as well as shirts with pictures or large logos because I don’t
want them to pull focus from my face.

WOMEN’S CLOTHING
Having never worn traditional women’s clothing onstage, I don’t
have much to say on this subject, except, perhaps, if you are a man
and you want to wear a dress onstage, be prepared for the audience
to not be quite sure what to make of you (despite Milton Berle). And
if you are a woman, well, my heart goes out to you because, based
on my limited understanding, women have a more complicated time
dressing for the stage.
 You’d think it would never hurt to look your best, but I know
women comics who deliberately play down their attractiveness,
saying it can make women in the crowd jealous and distract men
from focusing on their minds rather than their physical selves. Then
again, I’ve had women comics tell me that if they wear clothing that
is too androgynous, people think they are lesbians, and (as silly as it
sounds) that too can be distracting. It’s interesting, but there does
seem to be a conspicuous lack of typically “beautiful” women making
it big in stand-up comedy. Maybe that’s because they get wooed
away to television and movies. I don’t know.

SUNGLASSES
These can look very interesting onstage. Mysterious, funky, sexy, lots
of things. But they also cover your eyes. Not only can this come off
looking guarded, but it also blocks one of your most powerful means
of staying connected with a crowd. Besides, wearing sunglasses in a
comedy club can look quite staged and unnatural. So if you want to
experiment with sunglasses, realize you do so at a great risk.

CLOTHING CHECKLIST
All in all, when it comes to the question of clothing, there are five
factors to take into account, each of which I believe is quite
important.
COMFORT

Do your clothes make you feel too hot? Too cool? Are they too
tight or too loose? Do you feel “right” in them, or do you feel
awkward? To be the best performer you can be, feeling comfortable
and relaxed is absolutely essential. Anything that limits that should
be questioned.
FUNCTION
 Do you have pockets for anything you may need? Do your clothes
make you stand out from the back wall of the stage, or do they make
your body blend in and vanish? Do your clothes wrinkle or show their
wear and tear too easily (not good for life on the road)? Also, where
is the gig? A meeting room in a fine hotel? A biker bar? Like a lot of
other comics, I often dress more casually, sometimes even a little bit
tougher, if I’m working a particularly gritty room. With your clothing,
as with all aspects of the craft of stand-up, always take your audience
into account.
CHARACTER

Are your clothes credible? Are they something your character

would wear? Looking at your clothes, do they reflect the handful of
words that best describe your character, or do your clothes look
forced and unnatural?
ATTRACTIVENESS

Do you look decidedly unattractive in your clothes? This is a

strange one; after all, stand-up is about ideas, feelings, imagination,
and acting, not looking good, right? Yes … but it can’t hurt if you also
happen to look your best. This is one issue I personally do not take
as seriously as some of the others. If I know certain clothes look
really good on me, but they don’t suit my character, I simply won’t
wear them. Instead, I’ll look for a compromise, something that looks
OK on me but is also the kind of thing my character might wear.
And speaking of looking good, I’ve heard more than a few comics
say, “The nicer you dress, the dirtier your material can be.” And again,
I suspect there’s some truth to this. I’ve often seen a crowd groan at
a comic wearing a jean jacket delivering slightly off-color stuff, and
then twenty minutes later freely laugh at a comic in a suit and tie
delivering much rougher material. Mind you, I can’t say being able to
get away with being as dirty as possible is one of my personal goals,
but this does, once again, attest to the power of clothing.
DISTINCTIVENESS

This is another tricky issue, one I definitely compromise on. I

remember reading a book by Richard Belzer in which he referred to
comics who deliberately dress bizarrely as “my-look-is-my-act”
comics. I’m still undecided on this issue. If what you’re wearing
comes across to the crowd as fake, forced, or “trying too hard,” it’s
probably not going to work. On the other hand, if it suits your
character (to walk onstage in a blood-soaked apron) and it also
happens to be something that makes you stand out and be
memorable to a crowd, well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?
 CHAPTER FOUR

DELIVERY

Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart
go together.
—Ruskin, The Two Paths

To put it simply, a comic’s delivery is how he says what he says. Not

just with his voice, but also with his face, hands, and body. And it’s
not just about what he says and does, but also about what he
doesn’t say or do. Does he start a particular sentence with his voice
slightly raised and then lower the timbre of his voice as he nears the
end of the sentence? Does he plant a large, pregnant pause just
before the last word? Does he say the line more like a question than
a statement? Does he whisper it? Shout it? Does his voice sound like
that of an educated, academic person or like someone more down-
to-earth?
As unique and personal as a comic’s jokes can be, a comic’s
delivery is more personal still. Delivery is also a very subtle thing,
much more difficult to analyze and discuss than the words that make
up a particular joke.

SHOULD YOU USE YOUR REAL VOICE?

Many comics insist that you should deliver your material in your own,
“real” speaking voice. But I must confess, I am often suspicious of
whatever I hear many comics stating as dogma. I do agree that you
will probably have more success with a voice that doesn’t sound like
you’re trying too hard, but I also can’t imagine, offstage, Sam Kinison
only ever shouted. Or that Bobcat Goldthwait always sounds so
bizarre. Or even that the “real” Steven Wright never gets even a little
bit animated when talking. Once again, there are no rules without
exceptions. And remember, it’s the exceptional comics who tend to
make it big. Then again, it’s the comics who refuse to acknowledge
certain fundamentals who bomb time and again.

EXPERIMENT

A few years ago I had a cold so bad (“How bad was it?”) that,
normally, I would not have performed a show. But for some reason or
other I decided to take a gig anyway. I probably needed the money.
When I crawled to the stage I felt so weak, feverish, and congested, it
was all I could do to stand up there and recite my jokes in a quiet,
monotonous voice. I had no energy to really “sell” the jokes, and
though I am usually a very physical, animated performer and I really
modulate my voice, on this occasion I was as still as a mannequin
and I delivered my material in a decidedly flat fashion.
Surprisingly, I did quite well. I didn’t kill, but I was fascinated by the
fact that so much of what I usually put into the delivery of my
material was missing, yet the crowd still enjoyed themselves. Perhaps
it says something about the strength of the material, perhaps it says
something about the efficacy of such a relaxed delivery. Who knows?
But it was a real reminder to me to continue to stay open to different
deliveries. Play with your voice, experiment. Deliver your material in a
variety of different tempos and pitches, putting emphases on
different words. It’s a great way to discover what works best for you,
while also learning about your capabilities.

VARIETY VS. A UNIFORM STYLE

The longer the set, the greater the chances of the audience getting
bored with a particular style of delivery. Not just the sound of the
comic’s voice, but also his tempo or rhythm. I’ve seen many comics
who do well in a ten-minute set have a very mediocre thirty-or forty-
minute set because the crowd grew tired of them. These comics lack
the range to hold a crowd’s attention, and developing a powerful
delivery can be an important part of holding people’s attention.
For example, let’s say a comic only ever whispered. Now, I think
this could make for a very engaging style … for about five minutes.
Although it would be unique and memorable. On the other hand, a
comic could develop a pleasing, simple speaking style that had a lot
of range to it, a voice that easily carried different emotions, from
anger to ecstasy, and one that a crowd could happily listen to for
over an hour. But two weeks later, which delivery would the crowd be
more likely to remember? I fear it would be the comic who only ever
whispered. So here again is that recurring question of something
unique and memorable versus something more natural and
accessible, but perhaps also more forgettable.
Whatever style you eventually adopt, when delivering your
material strive to stay interesting. Continue to fuel the crowd’s
curiousity. As always, the key is stimulation. The more stimulating
your delivery, the more it will engage the audience, and the more
they will really be there with you.

PROJECTION AND EMOTION

One of the many things that sets experienced comics apart from
beginners is the degree to which these seasoned comics magnify,
clarify, and commit to their material. When speaking to a friend on
the phone, we all try to be relatively clear and engaging. But, as
actors are fond of saying, “Onstage, everything must be larger.” In a
word, exaggerated.
With this in mind, even if you decide to use your “real” voice
onstage (hopefully after some experimentation!), it’s probably not a
good idea to deliver your jokes exactlyas you say everything else in
your day. For starters, depending on the mike, you may have to
project your voice a little more than usual in order for the people at
the back to hear you above the pinball machines. Also, while your
friends (people who know you very well) will be able to read the
subtle signs in your voice to determine how you feel about what
you’re saying, the 300 intoxicated strangers in front of the stage are
going to require you to convey your feelings in a clearer fashion. This
often involves exaggerating the pleasure or anger or whatever in the
sound of your voice—in other words, acting.
I fully realize that to you this may seem very obvious, but I’ve
watched many comics onstage who don’t seem particularly
interested in being clearly understood apart from the meaning of the
words they use. And yet, when it comes to stand-up, how you deliver
your words is at least as important as their meaning. So much so
that, if I wanted to communicate to an audience the idea that I am
angry, and I had to choose between saying, “I am angry” in a quiet,
flat, tone or shouting “Hampsters and horseshoes!” in a very loud,
furious, expressive voice, I would definitely deliver the latter.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?

The truth of a thing is the feel of it, not the think of it.
 —Stanley Kubrick

This is crucial. Are you happy about what you’re talking about? Sad?
Puzzled? Aroused? Unless you are clear about how you feel, how can
the crowd be? And if they are not clear about something, anything, it
can only lessen the degree to which they will respond to what you
are saying. This is especially so when you are saying something
provocative. For example, if you are talking about necrophilia (sex
with the very, very sleepy) many in the crowd will need to have a
sense of how you feel about what you’re saying before they’ll feel
comfortable to laugh—”Does he think necrophilia is fine and dandy?”
How you deliver your words can be a big help in conveying this.
Remember, just as comics tend to speak too quickly more often than
too slowly, comics also tend to underemphasize their feelings
onstage more often than over
emphasize. Don’t be afraid to show
how you feel! Remember, if the joke is the sail, your feelings are the
wind.
And even more generally, whenever you deliver your material, it
should be clear to the crowd that, however you happen to feel about
what you are saying, you always care strongly
about it, that what you
are talking about is important to you. This is crucial, because if you
don’t seem to care about what you are saying … why should the
audience? A crowd will only invest as much in your words as you do.
I’ve said it before (and I’m sure I’ll say it again) you only get as much
out of an experience as you’re willing to put intoit. This is especially
true onstage.

EVERY SENTENCE YOUR LAST

Considering that surprise

is such an important part of effective
comedy, one subtle means of maintaining this tension in a crowd,
this giddying sense of being off-balance, is to deliver each line as if
it’s your last (at least on that particular subject). Try to forget that you
have several more tags to the punchline.
This is effective in two ways.First, in thinking that the comic has no
more little quips or lines coming, that he is done for now, the crowd
will feel free to completely release whatever tension/laughter has
built up inside them, instead of holding a bit in for the next line. This
results in a bigger, louder laugh. And second, it sets up the audience
for a tiny surprise when you have yet another tag for the punchline.
This again, yields a bigger laugh. I don’t believe the crowd
consciously thinks about holding back laughter or about whether the
comic has another line coming, but I certainly do believe that some
is
form of unconscious regulating occurring. The content of the tag
offers explicit surprise, and the mere existence of the tag offers
implicit surprise. More surprise, more laughter.
If asked, many comedy-club goers would probably say they
believe that a fair bit of what comics say is in fact scripted, yet the
illusion most comics strive for is that it’s all just coming off the top of
their heads. Delivering your lines in an extemporaneous fashion, as if
each is the last, goes a long way toward supporting this fundamental
illusion.

STEPPING ON THE LAUGH

Sometimes, a steady, unbroken rhythm of joke, laugh, joke, laugh,

joke, laugh, can be very effective, but sometimes comics want to
break that rhythm—to give the crowd a chance to catch their breath,
to maximize modulation and variety, for stimulation’s sake, for a lot
of reasons. One of the ways to do this is to step on the laugh. Rather
than delivering a line and giving the crowd a chance to fully express
the laugh, you deliver a line, and then begin delivering the next line
before they’ve completely finished laughing at the previous one.
Their laughter has not been given full release, so the dregs of it are
still in their chests. This can be dangerous because they can grow
frustrated and even tired, but if it is done quickly, with a number of
short lines in a row, and then you deliver one last line on the subject,
it can often yield an applause break. Which, frankly, is always nice.

PAUSING AND EMPHASIZING

Logical pauses serve our brains, psychological pauses serve

our feelings.
—Stanislavski

I really enjoy pausing between jokes, between words, even between

syllables. During a pause, a comic can lose the crowd’s focus or
appear to be trying to think of a joke (never a good thing), but
pausing can be a wonderful way to create curiosity, give the crowd a
chance to catch their breath, and build tension that is then burst with
a funny line.
While psychological pauses create tension and heighten curiosity,
logical pauses, between both words and sentences, are more about
giving the audience the time required for key pieces of information
to register and “harden” in their minds.
As with everything, it’s a balance. If you pause too briefly between
jokes, you run the risk of frustrating laughter. And if you plant pauses
that seem too large and obvious, pauses that suggest “insert
laughter here,” you can come across as if you are asking for their
laughter, which again, can really put a crowd off. But make no
mistake, pauses are as important as words, just as the blank spaces
between the objects in a painting are as important as the objects
themselves. Pauses and words, they define each other. Add to those
two the idea of emphasis (words spoken with a sense of heightened
importance) and you have three
kinds of sound:

1. silence (pauses)
2. words
3. emphasized words.

Take the following short joke for example.

“I don’t have any kids.// I had a couple of the neighbor’s but

I gave them back.”
In the set-up the word “kids” is emphasized, and in the punchline
the word “neighbor’s” is emphasized. Note that the pause between
the set-up and the punchline is a two-beat pause. Unlike a single-
beat pause, pausing two beats gives the impression that you are
about to move onto another thought. Perhaps related, but not
directly connected to what you just said. The fact that the narrative
of the punchline turns out to be a direct continuation of the narrative
of the set-up adds to the overall surprise of the punchline.
Also note that Ido not suggest even a single-beat pause between
the emphasized word “neighbor’s” and the rest of the punchline. If
you don’t deliver this particular punchline in an uninterrupted
stream, the audience may well “get ahead” of you, and start laughing
before you get to the words “gave them back.” In that case, you’ll be
talking through the laugh, which can seriously diminish it. And finally,
I wouldn’t pronounce the words “gave them” as two separate words.
I’d just say “gave’em” as one word. Remember, the shorter the
punchline, the better.

REPETITION
Another way comics sometimes highlight or emphasize a key piece
of information is through repetition rather than pausing. Instead of
planting a pause after saying the line, theyrepeat
the line or perhaps
just the last few words of the line.

“When it comes to understanding math, I figure there’s only

three kinds of people in the world, three kinds …”
When you first try this it may feel a bit unnatural or forced, but if
you listen carefully to people talk, you’ll notice that they repeat
words and even entire sentences much more often than you might
imagine. Screenwriter David Mamet makes great use of this natural
tendency in his dialogue.

OMITTING WORDS

“Less is more.”
—Mies van der Rohe

During everyday conversation, not only do we repeat ourselves much

more than you might expect, but we also omit words. This common
habit of speech is of particular interest to stand-up comics, who are
forever looking for ways to make their jokes as short and as effective
as possible.
Obviously if the word conveys a key piece of information for a
joke, it can’t be omitted. But our language is full of small, almost
incidental words and phrases that a comic can leave out or quickly
pass over in his delivery. For example, in the set-up of a joke, instead
of saying,

“The other day I was walking down the street and I saw this
guy and I said to him, ‘Look …’”
Depending on your style of delivery, you may well be able to merely
say,

“Other day/walking down the street/saw this guy and I said,

‘Look …’”
Twenty words versus thirteen words. Seven words axed. That’s the
kind of editing stand-up is all about.

TIMING

how
If delivery is when.
a comic says a joke, timing is And if delivery
is difficult to discuss, timing is almost impossible. Timing is about
tempo, rhythm. Comics who have great timing are usually comics
who speak in a rhythm, a mixture of sounds and silence, that is not
only very listenable but also affecting. Their timing makes you want
to laugh. Something about their rhythm, either its steadiness or, at
times, its very unsteadiness, primes the listener to laugh. Like sexual
intercourse, it’s not just the establishing of certain rhythms that is
pleasing, but also the unexpected variations on these established
rhythms.
Great timing has a seductive, compelling quality. The Pied Piper
played and the rats followed. Just as “music hath charms to soothe
the savage breast,” great comedic timing hath charms to excite the
savage breast to laughter. I know I’m being a little vague, but like I
said, timing is a very mysterious thing. And make no mistake, timing
can dramatically affect your work. Some comics have great timing
and very mediocre material, but they do well because of their timing.
Other comics have mediocre timing but great material, so they do
well because of their material. Remember, it all comes down to
making the very most of your natural abilities.
 SWEARING

Individual expression is the beginning and end of all art.

—Proverbs in Prose

In the world of stand-up comedy, few issues have inspired more

heated discussions than that of swearing. Curse words. Profanity. You
know what the fuck I mean. To me, swear words can be a very
efficient and effective way of conveying an extreme degree of
emotion. I also use them a fair bit, in my language offstage. So in a
sense, when I swear onstage, I think there’s a degree of honesty to it
that I believe is important. And comedy is all about challenging
convention and provoking people. Also, in certain particularly gritty
venues (biker bars come to mind), I believe swearing can add a
certain credibility to one’s presence onstage.
On the other hand, and this is a very important point, if the only
reason people laugh at a particular joke is because of the shock of a
suddenly said curse word, if there’s no funny idea behind the joke,
then to my mind it’s, well … bullshit. Yes, I believe in the use of a
wellplaced swear word if it can goose the laugh of an already funny
joke, especially if it suits the subject of the joke or the tone of the
joke. But I personally do not believe in swearing if the joke is too
weak to stand on its own merit and requires a cheap shock technique
to get any kind of laugh whatsoever. It’s an unartful, band-aid
solution, a crutch to a joke that should either be rewritten or put out
of its misery.
Some people say, “Really good comics don’t have to swear to be
funny,” and while I think there is some truth to the idea behind this, I
think it is a relatively ignorant over-simplification. Yes, if people only
laugh when you are swearing, I would agree that you are a severely
limited comic, and there will be some situations where you will not
be able to do what you do—on a lot of television shows, for
example. But if, instead of having to swear to be funny, you choose
to use some swear words because you believe they best convey the
feeling and content of what you want to say, I believe it’s quite
another matter.
An even more important issue than “to swear or not to swear” is
the question, “If I’m going to swear, when should I swear, and why
should I swear?” For me, the question of swearing is really a question
of emphasis. Swearing has a socially perpetuated taboo around it. It
has a power, an energy to it. So when I swear, it is usually to
emphasize something. But you can’t emphasize everything. That
would be like a novel written entirely in capital letters. That would be
to waste the power of capital letters. But to every now and then put a
word in capitals, well, that can be very POWERFUL. A fine tool. No
better or worse than any other, especially if used intelligently.

SHOCK COMEDY

“Shock Comedy” is usually a negative label put on a certain comedic

style, a style in which the comic provokes the crowd in what some
say is an unimaginative, unintelligent, “easy” fashion. For example,
many people would consider a comic telling jokes about having sex
with young children to be shock comedy. But again, as with all
labeling, I believe this might well say more about the labeler than
about what he is labeling.
As with the use of swear words, I believe the use of shocking
subjects or a shocking style is not so much a matter of whether it’s
“good” or “bad,” “easy” or “hard,” as it is of whether it is done well or
not. And ultimately, of whether it is funny or not. If people laugh at it,
it is funny. If they do not, you will be hard pressed to make a living
with it, at least as a comic.
 FEELING THREATENED

One of the keys to surprising or shocking people in a way that results

in laughter is to try to challenge people without making them feel
threatened. This can be a real tightrope walk, because if you don’t
run the risk of threatening them, of really challenging their
prejudices, then you may well not create enough tension to generate
big, loud laughs. Also, if your comedy isn’t really challenging people,
presenting some fresh and sometimes shocking ideas to them, your
material may be derivitive, unoriginal pap. I sometimes think if every
joke a comic tells doesn’t run the risk of offending someone, then
maybe it doesn’t really express a unique perspective, a real value or
belief.

TASTE

Nothing is more personal than taste, and perhaps that is what

everything boils down to. Taste. Some stuff tastes “good” to some
folks and “bad” to others. For me, at this point in my life and
evolution, I would rather do a joke about farting than a joke founded
on a gender-based generalization, like “All men are like this” or “All
women are like this.” It’s just right now where my personal taste and
belief system are at. Every comic does what he does, usually what he
or she finds funny and/or thinks an audience is going to find funny.
All a comic can do is perform stuff he thinks people might enjoy and
people will either like it or they won’t.

PROVOCATIVE MATERIAL
People often assume that a comedy club is essentially a place where
performers make fun of stuff, and making fun of something is very
close to being disrespectful of it. This is why, no matter how much of
a disclaimer a comic may make, some crowds will not respond well
to jokes about religion, especially their religion. Thankfully, there are
definite exceptions to this rule, and some comics have in fact
become famous as a result of their religious material. But people’s
hesitancy to laugh at religious stuff is something you may want to
keep in mind, particularly when working a venue far, far away from a
“big, bad city.”
I don’t believe that when you make a joke about something you
are always being disrespectful of it. Sure, the chances are you are not
being reverential, but I don’t think it follows that therefore you must
be saying it’s full of shit. Comedy is just not that simple. But, as
someone very interested in being truly understood by an audience, I
do try to keep commonly held prejudices in mind.

DELIVERING RISKY JOKES

So you’ve written some stuff about cutting off the head of the
President of the United States with a butter knife and using it as a
hand puppet at a children’s birthday party. Or you’ve got a kooky ten
minutes combining elements of necrophilia, pedophilia, and the
Holocaust. How should you deliver it?
You may want to try saying it with an “I know this is a little much”
attitude. This can be a way of acknowledging the strangeness of the
material (so that the club manager doesn’t call the police) while at
the same time signaling to the crowd that you realize you are
probably pushing it when it comes to their trust but sure would
appreciate it if they stayed on the bus at least until the next stop. If
instead of subtly acknowledging the probable limits to the crowd’s
trust you just go ahead and talk about the blood-stained butter knife
like it’s a joke about bad airline food, the audience may well feel
obliged to let you know exactlyhow they feel, and, as the outraged
patrons rush the stage the club manager may lose confidence in your
abilities. Not a good thing.
But there’s an old saying in the theater, “Never take the begging
bowl onstage.” In other words, show no fear. Do not ask them for
their approval. Act as if everything’s fine. Keep in mind, there is a
very thin line indeed between seeming brave and confident and
seeming brash and inconsiderate, like you do not care about the
audience’s feelings. Onstage, you have the power you do because
the audience has given it to you. Act ungratefully or suggest you
don’t care about their feelings, and they will take that power back.
Quickly.

GROANS
Some comics like getting groans from a crowd; some comics don’t.
is
I myself prefer laughter, but a groan a reaction. And at least it’s not
a “Boo!” or a shout for a refund. Typically, a comic will get a groan
from a crowd not just for a bad pun or a corny joke but also for
doing provocative material. It’s as if the crowd doesn’t feel
comfortable enough to laugh, but they also don’t want the moment
to pass without giving some kind of response.

ESTABLISH TRUST FIRST

Trust—the audience’s belief in the performer—may well be the
most important thing that can exist between the comic and the
crowd. Belief and respect, not just in his ability to be funny but also
in his respect for them. In that sense, trust is truly a two-way street.
For this reason, if you’re going to deliver some risky material, jokes
you suspect the crowd may not be completely comfortable with, it’s
a good idea to do so later in your set.
I’ve seen many (usually less experienced) comics begin their
routines with risky material (often deliberately trying to be shocking)
and immediately lose the crowd. Unlike opening with an unoffensive
joke that isn’t funny, if you start with a potentially offensive joke and
it bombs, you may not be able to get the crowd back. So try to
establish some trust first. Some juries take three seconds to convene
and refuse to be overturned. Imagine inviting a woman out for
dinner and, on your way to the restaurant, you grab her behind.
Probably way too much, way too soon. Give both of you a little time
to get to know each other first.
 HAPPY

MANIC DEPRESSIVE
PARANOID
SCHlZOPHRENIC
MIDGET
IEPER
MARCEL MARCEAU
BOWLING BALL
CINDY CRAWFORD
STEVIE WONDER
 CHAPTER FIVE

PERFORMANCE

THE TOOLS OF THE TRADE

MICROPHONE AND STAND

The microphone or mike is a comic’s best friend. As important as it is

for people in the audience to be able to see you, it’s even more
important that they can hear you. That’s why, if you’re performing in
a bar with poor stage lighting, but there’s a decent sound system,
the show can often go fine. Generally, you should hold the mike two
to six inches away from your mouth, but you’ll have to hold it much
closer for many sound effects (pops, whistles, etc.).
You’ll also often have to hold the mike right up to your mouth
(sometimes called “eating” the mike) if you find yourself working with
a sound system dating back to the Big Band era. This is one of the
reasons real professionals watch the other comics on the show
before they themselves take the stage, to gauge the power of the
mike.
Some comics leave the mike in the stand so that both hands are
free to visually act out and emphasize a million and one details in
their jokes. Other comics prefer to prowl the stage with mike in hand.
Beginners should try both and see which feels most comfortable. As
always, experiment.
The ultimate goal of using a mike is for everyone in the audience
to be able to hear the subtleties of your voice without them having
to strain their ears, or you your voice. And though audiences are
more likely to associate confidence with a loud voice than a quiet
one, yelling can be fatal. Strive for a voice as clear and engaging as it
is powerful, but also a voice that is relaxed and effortless. Remember,
pronounced effort in any aspect of performance not only is often
distracting but also can send a signal of insecurity and lack of control
to the audience.

LIGHTS
There are two kinds of lights in the world of stand-up comedy: white
lights and red lights. White lights light the stage, red lights tell you
when it’s time to get the hell off the stage.
In comedy clubs, you will almost always have excellent stage
lighting, but outside of them, you just never know what you’ll be
working with. This is another reason to watch the comic on stage
before you. If you’re working a bar gig with mediocre lighting and
you see the comic moving in and out of a bright spot, take note of it,
and try to stay in the spot when you go up onstage. Unfortunately,
the better lit the stage, the hotter it’s going to be and the more you
may sweat. But again, take note of this before you go onstage—and
if necessary, have some paper napkins handy.
As for red lights, you’ll only find these in comedy clubs, usually
located near the back of the room. The red light is flicked on to let a
comic know when his time is up, and usually only the club manager
very
has the authority to turn it on. If you see the light come on, it’s a
good idea to wrap up your set as soon as possible. Trust me.

WRIST WATCH
 Time flies when you’re having fun.
—Unknown

My third or fourth time onstage I went over my alotted time by a few

minutes without even realizing it… and found out the hard way.
Suddenly, over the speakers came this loud booming voice, “This is
the voice of God! Get off the stage!” I hadn’t spotted the flashing red
light, and the guy in the sound booth had decided to have a little
fun. I ran off stage flustered and upset and the very next day bought
a wrist watch with a digital stop watch. And believe me, I’ve been a
time-sensitive comic ever since.
I’m forever being amazed by how many so-called professionals
offer “I didn’t have a watch” as an explanation for why they did
substantially more than their alotted time onstage. I figure, being
aware of the time is something you owe not just to the other comics
on the show but to the crowd as well. If your sleeves are up, you
shouldn’t have a problem secretly glancing at your watch from time
to time. But try not to get caught looking at your watch. It breaks the
magic spell of live performance, reminding the crowd that, as
engrossed as they are, time is still passing and they have lives and
commitments outside of the club.

GLASS OF WATER
I never go onstage without a glass of water. Apart from keeping your
whistle wet, taking a sip of water can be a wonderful stage device,
giving your audience a little more time to get a particularly subtle
joke or catch their breaths after a particularly funny one. Taking a
drink of water can also “plant” a nice pause between a set-up and
punchline, or serve as a segue into a bit about water pollution, soft
drinks, liquor, water beds, sore throats, etc. And if you happen to
have a set list sitting on the stool beside the water, taking a sip gives
you the perfect opportunity to take a quick glance.
 SET LIST
This is basically a paper napkin, a file card, or a slip of paper with a
list of your jokes written on it in the order that you plan to perform
them. Comics typically refer to the jokes with just one or two words
and write the list in simple block letters. Some comics glance over
the list just before going onstage, while other comics take the stage
with the list in hand, and then nonchalantly (that is, without
chalance) place the list on the stool along with their glass of water.
Apart from when you go for a sip of water, a good time to glance at
your set list is when your hands are acting something out and your
head is tilted down slightly as if to watch your hands. During such
moments, you can usually take a nice solid look at your list. But do
everything you can not to get caught looking at the list. That can
seriously undermine the important illusion of spontaneity.
A danger of set lists is that you can become dependent on them.
That can seriously inhibit your desire to improvise, not just material,
but even the order of your material. But the virtue of a set list is that
you can have definite control of the direction and rhythm of your set.
I also find that if you want to try out some new material and you
write it as part of your set list (let’s say jokes Number Five and
Number Seven), you tend to always deliver the new stuff whether the
crowd’s really with you or not. Without a set list, if the crowd is
mediocre many comics balk at breaking in the new stuff, which can
be a real loss.

STOOL
Without a stool or chair onstage, it can be pretty difficult to
effectively use a set list. I also don’t really like having to put my glass
of water down onto the stage or even on a nearby table. I like
everything handy. For these reasons, I always make sure there’s
something onstage. Some performers also like to actually sit on the
stool during part of their set. Being seated can limit the full use of
your body, but it can also come across to the crowd as very relaxed
and confident. Bill Cosby uses this technique to marvelous effect.

TAPE RECORDER
I believe taping your sets, especially during your first couple of years,
isabsolutely essential. If you’re serious about learning stand-up,
you’ll invest in a small tape recorder. While onstage, so much is
going on inside your head and heart that, when you get offstage,
don’t expect to remember any strong new line you might have
“riffed.” But if you tape your sets and religiously listen to them
despite the boredom of listening to the same jokes over and over,
you can learn a great deal about what you said and how you said it.
You can also learn a lot about the subtle differences between the
crowd’s reactions to different jokes. In fact, taping your sets is no less
than getting a second chance to learn from a single experience. And
if you listen to yourself (and the audience) with an ear that’s both
gentle and critical, you can get honest, valuable feedback in a way
unlike any other. On top of everything else, listening to yourself over
and over will also help a lot when it comes to memorizing the exact
wording of your jokes.
Another reason to own a tape recorder is to carry it around and
record joke ideas. In many ways, I think this is superior to simply
writing ideas down on a piece of paper. Think of it this way. Hearing
a spontaneous, naturally created joke pop out of your mouth in
conversation is like a fresh flower suddenly appearing out of thin air.
As comics, when we grab a pen and jot the joke down, it’s like we
pressed the vital flower in a book, flattening it, draining it of all the
subtle richness of that first intonation, and the rhythm of that first
utterance.
 If instead you reach for a tape recorder, you probably won’t be
able to record the joke in all the richness it had when you first said it,
but it will be closer than if you simply write it down. And then, when
you later have to transcribe the material from tape recorder to some
kind of written record, it’s a perfect opportunity to edit the joke,
which again can only serve to make you a better stand-up comic.

SHOW AND TELL

Don’t give a performance. Let the performance give you.

—Sanford Meisner

Another way of looking at the difference between traditional actors

and comics is that actors in a play try to show a story, while stand-up
comics try to tell a story. Actors demonstrate what they are thinking
and feeling, while most comics tend to describe their thoughts and
feelings.
This view of the stand-up comic as a “teller” is certainly the
traditional view, but there are many comics, some of the most
successful in fact, who strive to make their performances as much
about showing as they are about telling. These comics embody a
more theatrical approach to stand-up by not only using their faces,
hands, and bodies to flesh out their jokes, and by expressing a
greater range of emotions in their work, but also by occasionally
using props and music as well. The result is a style of stand-up that is
much more inherently engaging to watch than the traditional
“talking head” approach, especially to modern audiences weaned on
television.

MEMORY
When playing a game of pinball, you can gently shake the machine,
but if you jiggle if too hard and cause the machine to tilt the game
shuts down. I believe that when we laugh hard at something, it’s like
a momentary tilt to the human memory. Laughter, especially hard
sudden laughter, is a shock to the system, momentarily impairing
one’s attention span, even one’s memory. It’s for this reason that
magicians often do “the secret move” when an audience is laughing.
It also explains why people sometimes forget the punchline to a joke.
Another way to imagine this is to think of the human
consciousness as a bucket of water. When the person is listening to
someone, each word the other person says is like a tiny bead
dropped into the bucket, sending gentle ripples across the surface of
the water. A sudden, surprising, strong joke, however, is more like
dropping a large stone than a bead into the water, jarring the bucket
and creating much larger ripples.

TAKING THE STAGE

The MC has just said your name, the audience is applauding, you are
stepping onto the stage (and hopefully you have just checked your
watch to monitor your time!). There is a perfect moment to say your
first word, a sweet spot, sometime between the applause dying out
and a definite silence settling in. It can’t be described so much as felt,
but you’ll know when you hit it. If you speak too soon, you can seem
unrelaxed, overeager. Then again, if you speak too late you can seem
unsure or nervous.
Try to arrive onstage full of thoughts and feelings, focused on your
first joke, carrying yourself as if you have something you want to
share with the crowd. But beware giving the impression that, as you
speak your first sentences, you are “beginning” something. For your
character onstage to be perfectly credible, it is a better idea to try to
give the impression that you are simply continuing
something,
something that goes on offstage as much as it does onstage.

CONTINUING VS. BEGINNING

Don’t come onstage empty.

—Sanford Meisner

As you wait to take the stage, focus on your character. Try to imagine
how he might feel, and what he might be thinking about it, if he had
been invited to give a talk at a comedy club and was just about to
take the stage. Think (and feel) about your first joke in particular, and
desire
your desire to share in general. After all, on a certain level, the
to share is one of the few things all performers have in common.
Whatever else they are motivated by, if they have shown up for the
performance, they probably want to share something.
Also, as I’ve mentioned several times, the illusion of spontaneity is
very important to a stand-up performance, so when first taking the
stage and beginning to speak, you do not want to give the
impression of beginning a prewritten monologue. Strive instead to
give the impression that yes, you have begun to share your thoughts
and feelings with the audience, but the thoughts and feelings have
been with you all day. Try to take the stage with the attitude that
“there is something I’d like to tell you.” The goal is for people in the
audience to leave the club assuming that you are “always like that,”
and that who you are onstage is a continuation of who you are
offstage. Remember, art and illusion go hand in hand.

WHAT SHOULD I DO WITH MY HANDS?

This is a more common question than you might imagine. More
often than not, being unusually aware of your hands is an expression
of general discomfort and nervousness rather than a true
awkwardness about your hands. In time, not only will you stop being
conscious of your hands, but with a little practice your hands will
move in 101 ways to support visually whatever you’re talking about.
There’s no question that some people are more naturally
expressive with their hands than others, but either way you would do
well to experiment with your hands as much as possible. They are,
after all, communication tools capable of great sophistication, and
making the most of whatever tools you have is what excellent stand-
up is all about. Just watch Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, or even the
more physically subtle Dennis Miller. They all make marvelous use of
life.
their hands to bring their jokes, and their characters, to

GETTING THEM

Take to the stage as a bird to the air. It is your medium.

—Sanford Meisner

I have to admit that, for some reason, it wasn’t until my third or

fourth year as a stand-up comic that I started to realize just how
important it is, at the beginning of your set, to do whatever it takes
to “get” the crowd. Don’t get me wrong. Up until then, I had always
known that your first few jokes have to be strong, but I tended to put
more thought into keeping getting
a crowd rather than them.
But then, right after a particularly strong performance at a comedy
festival, it dawned on me that I hadn’t just walked on that stage with
a smile on my face. I had “taken” that stage. From the very first
moment of the set, I hadn’t just been completely focused on being
there, I had also somehow asserted my presence to the entire
audience. I know it sounds a little hocus pocus, but those are the
best words I can come up with to describe my experience.
And the way I went into my first joke … I had somehow started
speaking at the perfect time. A beat after the audience applause had
died down but just before any real silence had set in. I hit the sweet
spot, and rather than my first joke being an absolute beginning, it
felt more like a continuation of the energy of the applause. Of
course, at the time I wasn’t aware of any of this, but afterwards it
occurred to me that it had been a kind of watershed set for me. A
new beginning. So now, more than ever, as truly important as it is to
open a set with material that is strong, accessible, and has broad
appeal, I try also to focus on both the energy and the attitude
required to really GET a crowd, right off the bat.

KEEPING THEM

The only thing that keeps the audience in their seats is

wondering what’s going to happen next.
—David Mamet

Despite the fact that you’ve told the same jokes a hundred times, at
its best performing is much more a matter of creation
than re-
creation. Every time you take the stage, you must, in a sense, raise
the dead. The jokes, the funny faces, and the apparently off-the-top-
of-your-head quips you’ve done a zillion times are all well-worn
ghosts of the past. But tonight you must make them breathe and
dance again. To accomplish such a feat requires nothing less than an
investment of your life energy, and it is to that very investment that
an audience will respond most. That’s what keeps a crowd there, in
the palm of your hand. Vitality, life.
But we all get tired, even a little bored with our material. Every
performer you’ve ever seen has had nights where he just didn’t feel
like doing it. Not again, not tonight. So, he “phones in” his set,
merely goes through the motions, and if he’s a seasoned pro he’ll
probably get away with it. But it’s just not the same. The truly great
performers somehow find what it takes to, more often than not,
make a real emotional investment in their material, their schtick.

CONNECTING

The practice of Zen is forgetting the self in the act of uniting

with something.
—Koun Yamada

Just as it’s essential to connect with your character and your material,
it’s important to connect with the audience. To really be there for
them. I once saw a magician before a show jumping up and down in
the washroom, saying out loud, “I love my audience! I love my
audience!” (Needless to say, it was a bit weird.) A more common
approach to the idea of connecting with an audience is to always be
sending “positive threads of energy” from your eyes out to every
corner of the club. Of course this is a physical metaphor for a
psychological or spiritual act, but such concepts can be an effective
way of gathering and focusing your energy. Another thought I often
keep in mind, something I once heard an actor say, is, “Always be
letting them know they are welcome in your theater.” To me, this
nicely sums up the core feeling of being connected with the
audience.
Comics often say, “Play to the back of the room,” the idea being
that if you make a strong effort to reach and involve the people at
the back of the room, you will probably connect with the people
closer to the stage as well. On a more physical level, to connect with
a crowd you should at the very least always be smoothly turning
your body from left to right, then back again. That way, though the
people to the extreme right and left of the stage won’t actually be
seeing your full face as often as the people directly in front of the
stage, you will at least be giving them a good look at it on a regular
basis.
ENERGY

You only get out of it what you put into it.

—Unknown

It’s a cliché (but that doesn’t make it any less true) that performing
for a good crowd is a lot like having good sex. It takes two. Your
energy and theirs. It’s all a matter of give and take. Real pros fill the
room with their energy, magically knitting the crowd together,
gathering them into their spell, moulding them, apparently
effortlessly, into a single, living unit. An Audience. But more often
than not, whether it is subtly asserted or dramatically declared, it all
begins with the power of the comic’s energy.
 NYMPHOMANIAC

Whether you see the performer as the wick and the crowd as the
dynamite, or the crowd as the wick and the performer as the
dynamite, invariably it is the performer that is expected to provide
the match. That first spark is up to you. So don’t wait for them to
come to you. Take your show to them. And keep in mind that, as with
most things, the Law of Diminishing Returns applies. If you give them
50 percent, you’ll often only get 20 percent or 30 percent in return.
So when you take the stage, try to give them all the energy you can.
More often than not, it’s worth it. Like I said, performing for a good
crowd is a lot like having good sex. And you even get paid for it!

SHOW YOUR NECK

Animals in the wild usually protect their necks, sensing that they are
risking their lives whenever they openly expose them. In fact, I’ve
read that when two animals meet in the forest for the first time (let’s
say two foxes that have never met before), they sometimes go
through a subtle, instinctive dance, taking turns showing more and
more of their necks before they fully relax in each other’s presence.
Remind you of something?
If you want an audience to trust you, to go along with you even as
you head into provocative areas, to in a sense show you their necks,
it’s a good idea to first show them yours. This is one of the reasons
you should try to cultivate a subtle sense of vulnerability in your
stage character. Let them see that you really don’t think you’re
perfect. Let them see that you can be hurt, and that you too have
your sensitive areas. But beware trying to show them too much of
your neck too soon. Even this takes time. Think twice about opening
your set with your saucy “fucking Dad in the sleeping bag” bit. Start
slowly, but keep in mind, if you want them to trust you, to show you
theirs, it’s a good idea to first show them yours.

HAVING FUN ONSTAGE

Just before I go onstage, I often ask one of the other comics, “Any
advice?” More often than not, they say, “Don’t bomb.” The next most
common reply is “Have fun.” They’re both good pieces of advice, but
I particularly like the second one. I’ve said it before; the crowd looks
to you to see how they should feel about what you are doing and
saying, and if you look like you’re having fun, they’re going to be
tempted to join in. God knows it’s not always easy to have fun
onstage, what with the rough crowds and your own emotional mood
swings, but if you can possibly have some fun while you’re up there,
or even at least look like you’re having fun, it will greatly enhance
your set. Remember, fun is contagious.

LEAVING THE STAGE

Cue the crowd that you are about to leave before you actually do.
Before they deliver their last joke, some comics say something like,
“Before I go, I’d just like to …,” or “Well, I should probably get going,
but before I do …” This way, I suspect some people in the crowd
think, “Oh, here comes the last joke, I better really pay attention.”
While others think, “Oh, too bad, he’s leaving so soon” and
emotionally prepare themselves to thank the comic for making them
laugh as much as he did.
This “thanking the comic” is a very important part of the
performer/audience dynamic. As a younger comic, I used to bolt
from the stage the moment I finished my last joke, probably out of
nervousness or doubt. But by doing so, I was stealing from both
myself and the audience. I wasn’t giving the audience a chance to
express their gratitude and I wasn’t giving myself a chance to receive
it. I also wasn’t giving the audience a chance to see me happily
receive their gratitude and gratefully acknowledge it.
If it sounds like a dance, that’s because a dance is exactly what it is.
Both sides, taking turns, showing signs of respect and empowering
each other. And practically speaking, by cueing the crowd to your
departure, you also cue the MC to get ready to retake the stage. And
if the MC is in the back of the club having a smoke (or out in the
alley selling heroin to preschoolers) it gives someone a chance to run
and get him.

STRENGTH VS. AGGRESSION

The artist is one who can do more, but doesn’t.

—Japanese expression

Some comics seem to be able to calmly take complete control of the

situation without even telling a single joke. Other comics hit the
stage like a lion, ripping laughs out of the crowd from the very start.
As always, there’s more than one way to skin a cat (though I wouldn’t
let the neighbors see you doing it). But generally speaking, good
comics have a relaxed air of strength about them.
Most pros are strong; far fewer are actually aggressive. The
difference is this: Strength suggests, while Aggression shows.
Strength silently states, while Aggression shouts. And there’s
something about shouting that betrays a need, even a fear. And fear
is the enemy, especially when it comes to performing. This is true if
for no other reason than that audiences will respond far more
favorably, far more often, to a show of strength than one of
aggression.
So by all means, do everything you can to cultivate a sense of
strength when you take the stage, but think twice about being
openly aggressive. I’ve certainly had moments when I’ve been very
aggressive onstage, but after the show, when I’ve really thought
about it, I’ve usually decided that there was unnecessary insecurity
behind it. Only in the last couple of years am I starting to appreciate
the power of restraint, of smiling rather than flexing.

CONVICTION

Leap, and the net will appear.

—Actor’s expression

The idea of conviction is at the core of how you carry yourself and
deliver your material onstage. Though it takes years to be a fine
stand-up comic, it’s essential that you eventually come to believe
that you are funny and have a right to be up on that stage, telling
jokes in front of all those people. Offstage, a little self-doubt will take
you far. But onstage, there’s no place for doubt.
But belief in yourself as a comic is not so much something you can
work on as it is something that slowly happens, almost without you
knowing it, over several years. Unlike bravado and vanity, which are
more often signs of insecurity, real belief in one’s self takes time and
yields a powerful sense of credible conviction onstage that bravado
and vanity can’t possibly duplicate.
Also, unlike real conviction, bravado betrays its true origins by
subtly asking the crowd for something when it says, “Aren’t I bold
and brash?” Experienced comics never seem to be “asking” the crowd
for anything. Not approval, not laugher, nothing. They seem to just
be speaking their minds, being who they are. Appearing relaxed and
confident, the crowd in turn relaxes, confident that the comic not
is
only is going to be funny, but funny. Consequently, the audience is
in the ideal state of mind to laugh and laugh freely.
As actors often say, “Don’t take the begging bowl onstage.”
Everyone in the audience paid to watch you stand up there onstage
with the mike and lights. You may well feel the pressure of their
expectations, but it is also a kind of power. Trust yourself not only to
deserve it, but also to know what to do with it. Relax. As much as you
really, really want them to laugh their asses off, try to seem to be
asking for nothing. While at the same time, strongly believing they
will laugh. Believing in it is very important.

CONTROL

The successful General chooses his own battlefield.

—Military expression

Stand-up comics are often control freaks. Why else would they be
drawn to a craft where they get to be everything from the writer and
director to the performer and promoter? On the other hand, there is
a great deal in a performance of stand-up comedy the comic can’t
predict, let alone control. The mood of the crowd, the quality of the
lights, the loud music from the dance club next door. As a stand-up
comic, you just never know what’s going to happen, and I suspect
that too is one of the things that attracts certain personalities to
stand-up.
Who knows, maybe a lot of comics are naturally controlling
people, with a longing to be out of control. I know I’m certainly like
that. But because there is so much we can’t control, I figure comics
should control whatever we can. The consistency and credibility of
our characters onstage, the clarity of our material, and even the
number of minutes we spend onstage (in relation to how long we’re
supposed to be onstage) are all things we can control. And thus, I
believe, we must .

REPETITION AND STIMULATION

To be said to have a “style,” a comic must in some sense repeat
himself. The way he delivers his jokes, the subjects he talks about, the
way he writes his material, something. So, strictly speaking, repetition
is not a bad thing. However, there’s a thin line between having a style
and being predictable. Always talking about drugs is one thing.
Always talking about the very same drug from the very same
perspective is another. Variety is essential. But so is a certain amount
of consistency, without which the audience won’t have a chance to
really get into the groove of what you’re doing. Also, without some
kind of consistency, you’re going to have a tough time building
credibility and gaining the trust of the crowd, both of which are
extremely important. Yet, without variety, you’re going to have a hard
time keeping the audience stimulated and attentive. It’s all about a
balance between repetition and stimulation. As always, a tightrope
walk.

EFFORT AND GRACE

If one really wishes to master an art, technical knowledge is

not enough. One has to transcend technique so that the art
 becomes an “artless art” growing out of the Unconscious.
—D. T. Suzuki

“They make it look so easy.” We’ve all heard this said of basketball
players, musicians, and, yes, even stand-up comics (though never
accountants) and it’s almost always a testament to years and years of
committed, disciplined practice. But it’s not like, when they started,
any of them knew exactly what it was going to take to get where
they are. If they did, I suspect more than a few of them wouldn’t have
had the courage to begin. Instead, I bet a lot of them simply
followed a dream, a spark, or an obvious aptitude … and hoped for
the best.
To become really good at almost anything worth being good at,
you have to work at it pretty much every day. And one of life’s little
ironies is that as you become good at something, it magically starts
to vanish, to become a part of you, so that you can barely distinguish
between it and you. When you start, you’re all thumbs. And then, as
you begin to get good at it, the thumbs vanish one-by-one. In the
end, once you’re truly proficient at it, you wake up one day and find
yourself with what appears to be your same old pair of hands: eight
fingers, two thumbs. But there’s no comparison between what they
can do now and what they could do then. This is why it’s often said
that “great art is the concealing of art,” leaving one with an amazing
effortlessness. Remember, it took Jim Carrey fifteen years to become
an “overnight success.” In the end, there seems to be only one way
to become excellent at something, and make it look so damn easy,
and that’s by working so damn hard.

WHATEVER DOESN’T ADD, DETRACTS

 The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary
so that the necessary may speak.
—Hans Hoffman

This applies to performing stand-up no less than it applies to writing

stand-up. As important as it is to use your hands, your face, even
your legs to bring your material to life, if an action doesn’t definitely
add something effective and relevant to the joke or the bit, it should
be mercilessly dropped, no matter how much you like it. If it doesn’t
“goose the laugh” or clarify a point or image, get rid of it. Stuff that
doesn’t add not only detracts, it often distracts as well. Just as when
you sometimes discover you can remove a sentence from a joke
without losing the laugh, if you can drop a hand gesture or a facial
expression without harming the joke, drop it. Don’t clutter up the
eyes of the audience with useless, unnecessary stuff!

READING ONSTAGE
Most of the time, comics try to achieve the illusion of talking off the
tops of their heads, sharing an unrehearsed series of ideas with the
crowd. But as always, there are exceptions. One of these is when the
performer reads something to the audience, usually a poem or a
story or something from a magazine or newspaper. Actually, you
won’t see this done very often, and for at least a couple of good
reasons.
One reason is that, after seeming to be “just talking” for fifteen or
twenty minutes, for you to then take a piece of paper out of your
pocket and start reading, you run a real risk of reminding the crowd
that it’s a show after all, which can undercut the crowd’s suspension
of disbelief. Another reason is that shifting the focus from the
audience watching and listening to you, to really just listening to you
read something, can break the general flow of your set. And,
considering that your eyes are among your most powerful
communication tools, used to both connect with the audience and
hold its attention, to do something that requires you to turn your
eyes away from the crowd to read, can be dangerous.
But still, many performers, including myself, do read stuff onstage.
I’ve even known comics who routinely take a sheet of paper up
onstage with them, and simply read off a dozen jokes without really
putting much energy into the performance or delivery. Their thinking
is that, rather than putting in the time and energy it takes to write,
memorize, rehearse, and really perform twelve new jokes onstage
(only to find out five of them “fly”) they just read the jokes to the
crowd, figuring that any joke that gets a good laugh when merely
being read will get a big laugh when actually performed.
I think there’s a lot of truth to this, but I also think it limits the kind
of joke the comic will eventually perform. Jokes that get laughs when
just being read out loud are clearly not dependent on stuff like facial
expressions, position in the set, or character in general, at least not
to any great extent. So though I think it can be a very efficient way to
arrive at a kind of knowledge, I still think it’s very limiting and
certainly doesn’t do much to help hone your performing skills.

BREAKING IN NEW MATERIAL

New material can be scary, but it can also be a great deal of fun.
Seasoned professionals often say that it’s the new stuff that keeps
them fresh onstage, perking up a whole set and almost forcing them
to be psychologically really there onstage. To me, a new joke is like a
newborn baby. Beautiful, but also sensitive and fragile. So I literally
“baby” new material by trying it out in front of a friendly, receptive
crowd whenever possible. I also try to avoid opening my set with
new material. My thinking is that, for the new stuff to get a real
chance, for you to get a valid read on how strong or weak it is, it’s
best if the crowd already believes you are funny before you try the
new stuff.
There are two reasons for this. First, if you’ve already proven you’re
funny, and then try new stuff that goes down like the Hindenburg,
you’ll probably be able to get the crowd back with tried-and-true
material. But if you open your set with new stuff that bombs, you
haven’t built up any trust with the crowd, and even when you go to
your stronger material it may be a bit of an uphill climb. Second,
expecting a new joke to carry the burden of opening your set is, to
my mind, not giving it a fair chance. Unless of course the new bit
must be used as an opener. I tend to try new material somewhere in
the middle of my set, sandwiched between more seasoned pieces.
That way, not only does the new stuff get a real chance to fly (being
delivered to a fully primed crowd), but if it doesn’t go over well, I can
quickly get the crowd back with the seasoned stuff that follows it.
I also don’t think there’s much point in doing too much new
material all at once, new joke after new joke. Here’s why. Let’s say the
first new joke goes over well—fine. But then, let’s say the second and
third new joke that immediately follow both die a horrible death.
Now, if you go into a fourth new joke, it’s got to carry the burden of
the two stinkers before it. Not a very nice thing to do to a brand new
baby joke. That’s why I try to never deliver more than two new jokes
in a row, before going back to some tried-and-true stuff.
It’s important to try out new material as often as possible,
especially during your first few years in the business. You could stick
to the same stuff show after show, and still learn a lot about timing
and stage presence, but after six or seven years onstage, very few
successful comics use any of the jokes they wrote in their first two
years. Those jokes simply aren’t strong enough, not compared to the
stuff they write as they get more experienced.
How many times should you tell a joke that continues to get a
poor or “soft” response? As always, this differs from comic to comic. I
know comics who, if they really like a joke, will continue to do the
joke no matter what the audience reaction, even if the joke bombs
half the time. This doesn’t make much sense to me. On the other
hand, neither does it make much sense to me only to try a new joke
once and, if it doesn’t fly, discard it. After investing the time it took to
write the joke and then perform it, such a demanding attitude can be
a real waste.
New jokes deserve a chance to “get their legs,” and this requires
the comic saying the joke onstage in front of a crowd at least a few
times. My own rule is sometimes two times, usually three, and
occasionally four. If I toss out a new bit to a piping hot crowd that’s
laughing hard at absolutely everything up to that point … and the
joke gets nothing, complete silence, I am very suspicious of it. But
maybe something was off with my delivery or I have to reword the
joke to make it a little clearer, so I’ll often try the joke once more. If I
try a new joke in front of a crowd and it gets a couple of chuckles, I’ll
be more apt to believe that the joke might eventually get its legs,
and I’ll be willing to try it three times before deciding whether to
keep it or chuck it. And if I really, really like a joke, if I’m convinced
it’s got great potential, I might try four times before deciding, after
four soft audience responses, to trash it. Remember, there are
millions of jokes out there waiting to be conceived, and stage time is
too precious to waste on weak material. It comes down to the
survival of the fittest. Or at least, the funniest.

DEALING WITH NERVES

If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads on, he must

close his eyes and walk in the dark.
—Saint John of the Cross
 EATING BEFORE THE SHOW
Very few comics say they like to eat a big meal just before they go
onstage. A lot of comics say they give their best performances on an
empty stomach. And many even go so far as to say they like to take
the stage directly following a triumphant bowel movement. For me, I
find eating a meal around an hour and a half before I take the stage
is just perfect. I don’t have a full stomach, but I still have some
energy to burn. On a night with two shows, I’ll either eat between
shows or eat a couple of hours before the first show and then maybe
grab a chocolate bar between shows.

SWEATING (AND YOU WILL)

Sweating onstage lets the crowd know you’re working hard

for them.
—Jerry Lewis

Whether because of nerves, the temperature of the room, or

something eaten for dinner, sooner or later we all sweat onstage.
And though I don’t completely disagree with Mr. Lewis, I also believe
that seeing a comic sweat can sometimes send the wrong message
to a crowd. That’s why I always have a handkerchief in my pocket
onstage. Not only because I happen to do a couple of quick little bits
with it, but also because if I start to sweat, I’d rather wipe my brow
with a clean hanky than a stained beer coaster. And if you’re wearing
a jacket, don’t hesitate to stop and take a moment to take it off. Not
only is it a completely natural thing to do, but it can send a real
message of being “casual and relaxed” to the crowd.
I read somewhere that one of the best ways to keep sweating to a
minimum is to drink a lot of water. Sounds a bit backwards, but I’ve
tried it and it seems to work (at least a little). I also read that,
apparently, hot liquids actually cool your system down better than
cold liquids. I admit I don’t feel much like a cup of tea or boiling
chicken fat just before hitting the stage, but I do try to make a point
of taking a glass of room temperature water, rather than cold, up
onstage with me. That way, too, no condensation forms on the glass
and leaves big, wet rings on my set list.
Also, if you’re sweating, you may simply be going too fast. Going
too fast is much more common than going too slowly. Between the
crowd’s alcohol intake, its different levels of intelligence, and the fact
that, unlike you, they haven’t heard your jokes a thousand times, it’s
almost impossible to go too slowly for most crowds, especially if you
go at a steady pace.

CABBIE ON A DATE

DOUBT CAN BE GOOD

Everyone gets nervous. In fact, one of humankind’s most common
fears is standing up in front of a group of people and talking. After
hundreds of sets, many comics lose a sense of nervousness, but
when just starting out the vast majority of performers are more than
a little nervous before every single show. Keep that in mind. You are
not alone in your nervousness, and it’s a natural part of the process.
In fact, being nervous before a set can be a very positive sign,
indicating that you care strongly about doing well and are unsure
about the outcome of your show. This caring, combined with humble
uncertainty, makes for the ideal fuel to become a much better comic.
Without this fuel, you actually may not go as far. That’s one of the
reasons I’m sometimes glad I’m not a more naturally funny person.
Seriously. Oh, I was born with my fair share of wit, but I’m nowhere
near as naturally funny as some comics I know. They’re just naturally
funny guys. Laughs come easy to them, so they don’t really have to
work at it. And as a result… some of them don’twork at it, and their
craft suffers for it. So take heart if you’re unsure of some of your
abilities and feel compelled to push yourself to succeed. In the long
run, there’s no substitute for hard work, caring strongly about what
you do, and a healthy dose of self-doubt. But note, there is an
important difference between a little stage anxiety and nervousness
that results from the suspicion that one is inadequately prepared. If
you haven’t rehearsed in days or written in weeks, your anxiety is a
warning: Get to work!

TONIGHT DOESN’T MATTER

Nervous energy can also be an excellent source of fuel onstage,
especially if you learn how to make it work for you rather than
against you. One way to avoid being completely debilitated by your
quaking nerves is to try to keep things in perspective. Everyone
bombs and has the occasional soft set. I try to think of the pains of a
poor set as birthing pains. We tend to get amazingly egocentric
when we bomb, thinking people care about our failure. They don’t
care, especially on amateur nights. No matter how poorly you did,
twenty minutes after you leave the stage people won’t remember
you or the fact that your new four-minute bit about Greek cattle
rustlers didn’t get a single laugh. Always remind yourself, “Tonight
doesn’t really matter. What matters is the performer I’m going to be
five years from now.” I still tell myself that.

TRY TO RELAX
It’s an axiom of many acting techniques that the human body cannot
relaxed.
be expressive to the best of its abilities unless it is So instead
of being tense due to nerves, the performer should ideally be relaxed
before taking the stage. But you may ask, “If the last three guys
onstage all died a horrible death, and I’m up next, how the hell am I
supposed to RELAX?” Well, plug your earphones into your tape
recorder (which you should have with you to tape your set!) and try
listening to some of your favorite music. Some comics have great
success with this. Or try finding a spot in the club, perhaps in a back
room far from the stage, where you can sit down and really relax. A
good rule of thumb for this is to try to find a position in which, if you
had to, you could fall asleep. Doing some gentle stetching exercises
can also be helpful, and be sure to slowly roll your shoulders several
times to loosen any anxiety built up in your neck and shoulders.

WARMING UP
Now is also a good time not only to relax, but also to get your
mouth and face loosened up. Repeating simple verbal warm-ups like,
“She sells seashells down by the seashore” and “How much wood
could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” are
perfect for this. And be sure to work the muscles in your face by
pulling a number of funny faces, one after the other. That should
help you loosen up your physical self.
 As for your mental self, there’s an improv game called “Uses” that I
often play just before going on. Basically, the game involves picking
up an object on hand (pencil, book of matches, etc.) and trying to
quickly come up with a series of different imaginary scenarios
involving the shape of the object. For example, I grab a pencil and
play-act that it’s a cigar, then a heroin needle, then a single unbroken
eyebrow across my forehead, then a rolling pin, etc. Don’t censor
yourself, go with whatever comes to mind. This can also be a fun
exercise to do with another comic, the two of you quickly passing the
object back and forth.

RUN THROUGH YOUR MATERIAL

Many comics try to relax by quickly running through their material
just before going onstage. I often do this myself, but I think you
should only run through it in your mind, or jot key words down on a
piece of paper, or at most, mumble some of it out loud. Never
find a
quiet spot in the club (in the green room, an empty hallway, etc.) and
actually “perform” your jokes, saying them out loud with real juice
behind them, just before going onstage. That’s what your dress
rehearsals are for. Other than those, save the real blood and guts for
the stage.

REHEARSING

I rehearse everywhere. In the shower, walking to the store, sitting on

the bus, in the laundromat. Sometimes I’ll just be running over some
new material in my mind. Other times I’ll be quietly saying the stuff
right out loud. Yeah, I’ve received more than a few suspicious glances
from strangers, but I figure I’m not bothering them, and my progress
is worth it. In fact, truth be told, I often think of my creative side as a
little baby. My little baby. And it needs food. And though I don’t have
any real children (yet), I imagine if I did I would do pretty much
anything to feed my baby. I try to do the same for my creative side. It
deserves no less.
But quietly rehearsing stuff while sitting in a restaurant is not the
same as rehearsing your material, at home, alone, in a silent room,
delivering your jokes at the volume you do onstage, as well as using
your body, your hands, and your face to support the material
effectively. When I first started I bought a mike and a mike stand and
practiced every day, for at least an hour, in front of a full-length
mirror. I’m not saying this approach is going to work for everyone,
but I do suggest you at least give it a try. Also, have a glass of water
handy, resting on a stool or chair, as well as a pad of paper and a
pen. This is not only so you can have a set list, but also because it’s
during full dress rehearsals that you’ll often come up with new tags
and bits of business. I know it’s a little boring, standing alone in a
room, going over the same material again and again, but sometimes
that’s what it takes to get yourself into a fertile state of mind, almost
lulling the conscious mind to relax its grip, allowing the unconscious
mind to subtly give up its comedic gold.
And be sure to have your watch handy. Though performing your
material for a live audience will dramatically affect the amount of
time it takes to deliver it, with practice you’ll be able to have a pretty
good idea of how many minutes of rehearsal equal how many
minutes onstage. More than many other crafts, stand-up is an
exacting art of seconds. Literally, I think you would be wise to always
be working toward a greater sensitivity to the passage of time.
By all means, rehearse individual jokes, but rehearsing material in
larger chunks, strings of five or six jokes at a time, can magically sand
off rough corners between jokes, as you discover smoother segues
and a more effective order. You may also want to consider taping the
occasional rehearsal. There’s no crowd reaction (unless your
bedroom is in a train station), but listening to yourself delivering
material in a completely silent room can be very educational.
Also, try your best to deliver your material not only at the same
volume you use in a club, but at the same speed as well. Some
comics have even gone so far as to set up a metronome, having it
tick as they rehearse, to aid them in maintaining a steady rhythm to
their delivery. And if you’re on really good terms with the manager of
your local comedy club, you might want to try to do some rehearsing
on an actual stage. Just arrive several hours before the show, ideally
even before the bar and wait staff show up, ask someone to flick on
the stage light, and spend some “private time” onstage. Remember,
your goal is nothing less than to feel as comfortable onstage as you
do sitting at home in your favorite chair.
Rehearsing on a regular basis will also greatly enhance your
memory. Every time you run through your set you are etching your
material that much more into your memory. And keep in mind, it’s
really only once you’ve got your material down cold, being able to
both remember your jokes and deliver them clearly, that you can
begin to rise to the much more exciting challenge of performing.
PROPS

It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not

stop.
—Confucius

A handkerchief, a book of matches, a water pistol. Just as music has a

unique power and value, so do props. But unlike music (especially
intro music, which I believe can be used with great subtlety), when
the comic uses a prop onstage, it tends to draw attention to itself.
Props, or as I think of them, “prop moments,” are interesting because
most comics spend most of their time talking about stuff, but during
a prop moment, it’s more about showing.
In other words, when a comic tells a joke he is usually sharing a
description of an event or an idea. He is sharing it in the Here and
Now, but more often than not, the event has already happened. But
by introducing a prop and doing something funny with it, the comic
moves from describing events to an immediate, vital, real-time
happening. No translation is required because the comic is not
sharing a personal experience with the audience. Instead, it is a
group experience. To me, this experience is the key to whatever
power prop moments possess.
In fact, moments involving props can sometimes get such a strong
audience reaction that comics who do something funny and
memorable with a particular prop often end their show with it. This
also makes some sense from the perspective of transitions. Moving
from jokes (descriptions) to a prop (a shared experience) heightens
back
the immediacy. To then, after a prop moment, go to jokes, back
to mere descriptions, requires the crowd to make yet another
during transitions
transition, which could be dangerous because it’s
that the comic runs the greatest risk of losing focus , both the
audience’s and his own.
In my own work I don’t have a lot of prop moments, but I do
sometimes enjoy throwing one in if only to keep the audience as
stimulated as possible. But I also believe prop moments have
dangers even apart from the risks of transitions. First, one of the
primary goals of traditional stand-up is to seem spontaneous and
unprepared. Suddenly pulling a jar of pickles out of your pocket
doesn’t look very spontaneous. As a result, such things run the risk of
weakening the crowd’s belief in the comic “speaking off the top of
his head.”
Also, if not done in a careful fashion, suddenly pulling a jar of
pickles out of your pocket can look to the audience like you are
asking for a response. It can come across as an artless (even
desperate) snatch at the crowd’s funny bone. An all-too-obvious cue
for laughter. And though such bold techniques may work wonders in
some situations, in other situations their very boldness will work
against the comic. We all know how restrictive it can feel to have
someone expect something from us, especially when we aren’t sure
we want to give it to them. And yet, despite the dangers of prop
moments, many very successful comics use the occasional prop, and
audiences do seem to appreciate it. Perhaps, handled artfully, the
very showiness of props works in favor of the comic. It is, after all,
called “show business.”

OTHER TALENTS

Do you do a great Clint Eastwood impression? A cool magic trick?

Can you juggle? Are you fluent in a dozen languages? Telling really
funny jokes in an artful, unique fashion isn’t easy, and it usually takes
years of practice and experience. But as you become comfortable
with the telling of jokes, you may want to experiment with the idea
of bringing other talents to the stage. Your act is you. It should be a
vital, growing thing, and you’ll be surprised with just how elastic it
can be. With a little faith (and an incredible amount of work) you can
incorporate almost anything into your stand-up set. But for it to truly
fit into your set, whatever you try will have to be at least one thing:
funny.
MAGIC TRICKS
I’ve been fiddling with magic tricks for years, and I have to admit, I’ve
tried to bring some of them to my stand-up set. But so far, I haven’t
had much success, and I think I know why When a performer plays a
guitar, or juggles some balls, or does an impression of a famous
person, nobody in the audience thinks, “How the hell did he do
that?” Oh sure, if the performer is very good, people are definitely
impressed, in awe of his ability, and might even think, “I could never
do that.” But, strictly speaking, they are notfooled by what he did.
But magic tricks done well do fool people. And because people
traditionally see a magic trick as a problem to be solved they are
quick to try to see past the trick and invest thought in trying to figure
it out. This can really screw up the comedic rhythm between the
audience and the comic. Unlike a punchline to a joke, which is often
a sudden bringing together of things, a sudden clarification, a magic
trick is often the opposite, a sudden, unsolvable mystery. And usually,
when people are truly puzzled, they don’t feel like laughing.
It’s a tricky marriage, mystery and laughter, especially if you’ve just
spent twenty minutes developing a comedic rapport and a rhythm
with a crowd. In fact, the only comics I’ve ever seen who use magic
effectively in their stand-up acts tend to make a big joke of the trick,
draining it of almost all its mystery. And I have to admit, having
fiddled with magic for as long as I have, I just don’t feel right about
reducing a good trick to the level of a whoopee cushion. I want to
keep the potential for creating wonder in an audience. So thus far I
haven’t had much success bringing magic tricks to my stand-up… but
I’m going to keep trying.

MUSIC

Legend has it that a very famous comic was once at a Hollywood

party with many of the guests hovering around him, in awe of his
fame and in hopes of seeing him say or do something funny. But a
few minutes later, when a very famous musician showed up at the
party, many of the guests lost interest in the comic and began
circling the musician. Whether or not the story is true, I believe there
is truthin it. People love to laugh—it is a universally cherished
experience. But as much as laughter means to them, music seems to
mean even more. Flip through almost any newspaper, pick up any
magazine, you will find many more references to music than comedy,
especially in the North American culture.
Music has tremendous appeal and power, so much so that I am
amazed by how few comics use it in their acts. And I don’t mean
playing an instrument or having the sound guy at the back of the
room toss a cassette into the player and doing some physical
comedy to a prerecorded song. Very few comics I’ve met are even
interested in making the most of their own intro music—the song
playing as they walk onstage. To me, this is a real mistake.
Few things in the human experience are able to evoke such a
range of emotions, as quickly, and as dependably, as music. Granted,
many one-nighters and bar gigs either don’t have a decent sound
system or people on staff you can count on to hit the damn “play”
button when you ask them to. But 99 percent of the clubs you’re ever
going to perform in will.It’s there for you, so why not make the most
of it? Coming onstage to the right sound can set a tone for your act
before you’ve even opened your mouth.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched a tired-sounding
crowd come alive to the right song. In fact, I always travel with a
cassette tape with over a dozen different intro songs. That way, as
people file into the club, I can see whether the crowd is young, old,
working-class, or artsy, and choose my intro music accordingly.
Obviously I only use songs I like, but from such a collection, why not
walk on the stage to a song I think the crowd might enjoy too? As
always, it’s about finding stuff that not only you like, but they like
too.
 SOUTH AFRICAN PIANO

And don’t think you have to limit yourself to “songs.” There are so
many distinctive sounds in the world. Imagine coming onstage to the
sound of crashing cars, or submarine sounds, or barking dogs, or
whatever. Something that sets you apart and wakes up the crowd.
Experiment, but always keep your character and the tone of your
material in mind.
As for using music in your actual routine, once again the so-called
stand-up purists won’t be impressed, but in my experience,
audiences are usually thrilled. Remember, if you’re the headliner, the
crowd has probably already watched well over an hour of “guys
telling jokes.” Sure, you can go up there and tell more jokes too, and
if you profess to be a stand-up comic you should certainly tell some.
But if, along with telling funny jokes, you can use music in a way that
also makes them laugh, it can only work in your favor.
 CHAPTER SIX

SET STRUCTURE

God is in the details.

—Mies van der Rohe

Structuring a stand-up set is not unlike building a brick wall, with

each joke being one of the bricks. You must not only carefully choose
the bricks, but you must also carefully design the arrangement of the
bricks to create a strong, trustworthy wall. And just as it is more
challenging to come up with a design for a large wall than a small
wall, it’s more challenging to come up with a structure for a long set
than a short set.

TO SEGUE OR NOT TO SEGUE

A segue is the means by which a comic goes from one joke to

another—the thing that somehow connects two separate jokes. First,
let me say that segues are definitely not always required. Perhaps
many years ago, when stand-up was more akin to storytelling, the
transitions between the stories were very important. But modern
stand-up comics, with their short set-ups and even shorter punch-
lines, often jump from joke to joke with little or no noticeable segue.
It’s much more stream-of-consciousness, where things leap from
subject to subject, often without having any apparent connections.
Also, living in such a television-dominated society, with its unending
cycle of quick cuts and commercial breaks, audiences are completely
comfortable experiencing a barrage of seemingly unrelated
information “bits.”
But to my mind, just because people are comfortable with a series
of unconnected information, it doesn’t follow that they don’t enjoy a
presentation of connected information. In fact, I believe they enjoy it
even more, and that on some level people find the experience of
interrelated information more satisfying.
There are many, many ways of going from one joke to another
while keeping a sense of connection or continuity. And just as a chain
is only as strong as its weakest link, the more effective your segues,
the more effectively your string of jokes will hang together.

SUBJECT MATTER
Arranging and connecting your jokes by their subject matter is
probably the most obvious and most often employed means of
segueing. Essentially, if you’ve got nine different jokes about
raspberries, group them all together, usually with the last joke being
the strongest. An exception to this rule would be if one of the jokes
was a one-liner or a “throwaway,” in which case you may well want to
end your raspberry chunk with that. Going from joke to joke with the
primary connection being subject matter usually results in a stand-up
set made up of five or ten different subjects, depending on the
length of the set. (Incidentally, if you do in fact, have nine different
jokes about raspberries, get some professional help.)

EMOTIONAL THROUGHLINES
This is another common segue technique. Putting together five
jokes about stuff that turns you on or three jokes about stuff that
pisses you off or two jokes about stuff that makes you happy.
Lumping your jokes together based not so much on similar subject
matter, but on your character’s similar feelings
about the jokes.

MISTAKES

An actor doesn’t think, he does.

—Sanford Meisner

The comic stumbles on a word and, in response to the apparent

goof-up, goes into a joke. Or he drops the microphone, and then
makes a joke out of that. Segues that require you to apparently make
a “mistake” are particularly fun and challenging to perform. They can
add an air of freshness and spontaneity to your set while also
suggesting that you have a truly quick wit and can think on your feet.
Crowds tend to really like this stuff.

SITUATION
“Finding” a hair on your sleeve, commenting on a logo on someone’s
T-shirt in the audience, saying something funny about the curtain on
the back of the stage, or saying a joke about pretty much anything
that is “there and then.” Commenting on stuff like this in a humorous
fashion almost always plays well. In fact, assuming that it’s at least a
little bit funny, you’ll be surprised how well a crowd will respond to
something that’s obviously not part of your usual routine. I believe
audiences appreciate, consciously or unconsciously, the apparent risk
you’re taking. It’s just such stuff that makes you look like a real pro.

IT JUST OCCURRED TO YOU

This is sort of a non-segue segue, and is pretty much all in the
delivery. You’ve just finished a few minutes about some subject or
other, you take a sip of water, and then suddenly, as if it “just
occurred” to you, you quickly launch into a question or blurt out a
statement, which essentially is a set-up to yet another joke. But you
deliver it as if it’s truly right off the top of your head. Yes, in a sense,
everything you say onstage should seem unprepared, but in this
case, you say it with such suddenness , it seems even more
unplanned than usual.

YOUR FIRST JOKE

All things considered, this is probably the most important joke of

your set. Not only can it be very effective in setting a tone, but it can
also go a long way toward establishing your character. If the crowd
really enjoys your first joke, if they decide that you are, in fact, very
funny, you’ve established trust that will stand you in good stead
throughout your entire set. A successful first joke also relaxes both
you and the crowd, making for much better communication.
But if they do not find your first joke to be funny, you are now in a
position where you are going to have to make up for lost ground. So
you would be wise to choose your opening joke, as well as the
handful of jokes that follow it, very carefully. It’s often a good idea
for your opening joke to have unusually broad appeal. For instance,
the chances are you would be better off choosing a joke about
drinking beer than about fifteenth-century farming equipment.
Also, keep your first joke short. As much as long, involved set-ups
are to be generally avoided, this is particularly so with your opening
joke. Get to the laugh. After you take the stage, your goal should be
to get to that first laugh as soon as possible. Incidentally, it is
because of this idea of opening with a joke with broad appeal that
many a comic’s first joke will be about something in the news that
day. Other performers will make a point of always trying to open with
a joke about the city in which they’re performing or even about the
comedy club itself. But this is so commonly done, it can easily come
across as hackneyed and unoriginal.

STAY INTERESTING
Let’s say your first few jokes have done well. You’ve established a bit
of your perspective, as well as made the crowd laugh. They trust you,
they believe in you, they are listening to you, ready to laugh. But now
that you’ve got them, you must keep them. One of the ways to do
this is to stay consistently interesting. Think for a moment about
those two words—”consistently” and “interesting.” The first suggests
the idea of repetition and uniformity, the second of engagement and
stimulation. So at a very primary level, to keep a crowd’s attention a
comic’s performance must somehow have a uniformity about it as
well as be perpetually surprising. No simple feat.

VARY YOUR SUBJECTS

More often than not, the most engaging comics not only talk about
a wide variety of things but also talk about these things in a wide
variety of ways. They don’t just do forty minutes of one-liners or forty
minutes of impressions or forty minutes of jokes about quilting. They
talk about a lot of different things. That way, if a certain percentage
of the crowd isn’t into one subject, they’ll be interested in the next.
It’s also a good idea to present material that expresses a variety of
different rhythms and structures. If all your jokes are approximately
the same length, with approximately the same number of tags, it can
create an effective rhythm, but it also can grow tedious, especially in
longer sets.

EMOTIONAL RANGE
Just as it’s generally a good idea to cover a variety of subjects, it’s
also a good idea to explore a range of emotions. To keep people
truly interested, don’t just talk about things that make you mad—talk
about things that make you happy, sad, excited, curious, etc. Yes, you
may well want to focus on one or two emotions or emotional themes
(Dangerfield’s “I get no respect” or Kinison always screaming) to
leave the crowd with a definite impression of your character. But it is
also a very good idea to be able to cover a rich range of feelings in
that character. This ability will serve you particularly well in tough
gigs.

NEARING THE END OF YOUR SET

Now’s the time to really pick up the energy. Ideally, you want to end
with a bang, generate the kind of crowd reaction that the audience,
the management, and any agents in the crowd remember for a long
time. It’s not the time to try out new material. Instead, try to move
into bits with several punchlines and several tags. Pieces that, over
the months and years, have grown in size and power so that they
really go and go. That way, the crowd will experience a building
sensation. But keep in mind that you don’t want any long applause
breaks, not now. Instead, you want to keep the crowd’s (hopefully)
passionate response bottled-up so that, at the end of your set, they
really let it go for you.
Many comics tend to do their rougher stuff nearing the end of
their set. Watch some of your favorite comics; if they do some dirty
or graphic or powerfully provocative material, they will probably do it
closer to the end of their sets than the beginning. This is for several
reasons. First, if they try it near the beginnings of their sets, before
they’ve established a lot of trust with the audience, they run the risk
of offending the crowd and the crowd getting off the bus. But later
in their sets, after establishing themselves as talented, funny people,
comics run less of a risk of losing the audience over provocative
material.
More provocative material, if it plays, will often get a louder, more
powerful audience response. So, there’s another reason they keep
that stuff until near the end. Note that I say “near the end” instead of
at the end. I remember a young female comic in a comedy
competition and, not as her last joke, but as her second to last joke ,
she did this very graphic bit about oral sex. Funny, but definitely blue.
It got a very strong reaction, then she quickly closed her show with a
safer, cuter joke. I can’t remember whether she won the competition,
but I do recall she did very well and several people commented on
how clean her act was. She had done a very clever thing, not ending
with a dirty joke, which would leave the crowd with a last impression
of her as a blue comic, but putting it right near the end, to really
goose the audience’s final response.

YOUR LAST JOKE

Just as first impressions are very important, so are last impressions
.
And just as your first joke must establish you as a truly funny
individual, your last joke, ideally, should leave a very strong
impression in the minds of the audience that they were in the hands
of a real comedic talent. Like your first joke, your last joke must
be
very strong. Many comics try to close on jokes that they know will
get applause breaks. That way, when they then say “Good night,” the
applause simply builds from there.
It’s also a good idea to always have more than one “last joke”
ready. Several times I’ve seen a comic deliver their last joke, their
tried-and-true blockbuster closer, only to get a soft response. And
man, can it throw a comic. But you mustn’t let it get to you. As
always, the thing to do is to be prepared. Have another very strong
joke ready to go.
 But this can be a dangerous game, searching for that last big laugh
to close with. Sometimes it just doesn’t come, and while you’re up
there looking, time is ticking by, and you’ve probably done more
than your fair share of time, and at that point you’re just slowing the
whole show down. So always try to have more than one closer in
mind, but if it’s just not coming together, the most professional thing
you can do is to accept the situation for what it is, thank the crowd,
and get off the stage.

YOUR SET

SHORT SETS (OPENING SPOTS)

These spots are between five and ten minutes long, usually early in
the show. No matter how funny you are, there’s little or no chance of
tiring out the crowd, so you can go all out from the moment you hit
the stage. Don’t hold back or spend several minutes warming them
up. Hit them between the eyes with your first joke and try to take the
energy of the room upwards from there.

MEDIUM SETS (FEATURING OR MIDDLING)

These sets are usually between fifteen and thirty minutes long.
Variety and modulation are definitely important. If the crowd isn’t
with you, thirty minutes can feel like a long, long time. Also, if your
is
first fifteen or twenty minutes are very strong, there a chance of
tiring out a crowd. This is especially true if you try, from the moment
you take the stage, to go all out. Typically, even very strong comics
try to plan for at least a few minutes of slightly quieter laughter
during a thirty minute set. They plan for this during sections of their
sets where the material, though still strong, is not quite as powerful
as much of their other stuff. Obviously, you don’t want this lower
energy or “catch their breath” section to be at the very beginning or
at the very end of your set. Some comics plan for this break at the
halfway point, and other comics do it just before their last ten
minutes of killer material—a brief calm before the final storm.

LONG SETS (HEADLINING)

These sets are usually between forty minutes and an hour. The best
words of advice I can give is to quote an old stand-up saying, “If
short sets are a fifty-yard dash, head-lining is a marathon.” If you are
headlining a show, everything changes . First, since you are the last
person on the show, the comic whose name is on the marquee, the
crowd is going to grant you the most trust, give you the most room
to, in a sense, do what you want. They assume (not always rightly)
that you are the funniest comic on the show, so even if you start your
set slowly, they know “it’s coming.” In fact, I have seen a few
headliners really just kick around onstage for the first fifteen or
twenty minutes before getting into it. Not a lot of laughs, some
chuckles, chat with the crowd a bit, nothing much, and then start to
pick things up.
This can be a good way to let the crowd catch their breath and
cool off a bit if the opening acts have been very strong, and it can
also be a subtle way of letting the crowd see just how comfortable
and confident you are by not grabbing for laughs right off the top of
your set. However, I prefer to establish that I’m funny within a minute
or two of taking the stage, make them laugh hard for five or ten
minutes, and then back off and shift down. That way, I figure, rather
than the crowd having to take it on faith that I am funny, I have
proven it before I do any casual cruising onstage.
But make no mistake, forty-five minutes is a long, long time. Very
few comics can make a crowd laugh hard for that long. For a young
headliner, it is tempting to hit the stage and “burn’em up” from the
top and go, and go, and not let up, and go and … they get tired …
and you glance at your watch … and you’ve only done twenty-nine
minutes … and you’ve got at least sixteen minutes to go … and your
show crawls to a close with some chuckles and short laughs, but also
with a general sense of anticlimax. Avoid this by planning for periods
in your set where you push them and periods where you let them
breathe a bit. Plan your peaks and valleys.
When headlining, variety is more important than ever. Variety of
the subject matter of your material, variety of the rhythm and
structure of your jokes, and variety of the emotional range your
character explores. I know more than one comic whose onstage
character is really into the expression of one emotion in particular
(anger) and what is very entertaining and funny for five or ten
minutes becomes tedious and annoying after twenty. It’s ironic but
nonetheless true that the very characters that are so interesting and
successful during short sets sometimes fail during longer sets.
This also applies to theform of your individual jokes. I know of one
big-name comic in particular whose jokes are all pretty much the
same length, the same rhythm, and express the same perspective,
and while he will kill for fifteen or twenty minutes, after that the
crowd grows weary of the repetition. They start to be able to see the
jokes coming. It’s one of the classic frustrations of the craft that, in
attempting to develop a simple, unique, and memorable style, every
comic runs the risk of being too easily categorized or becoming
uninteresting after a short period of time. That’s why the real goal is
to create a character and a style that is interesting enough , and
somehow real enough , that it’s not only unique and marketable, but
also able to hold a crowd’s attention for longer than a four-minute
TV spot or an eight-minute comedy festival spot.
I also believe that with longer sets it’s a particularly good idea to
try to work the stage, moving around, staying interesting to watch. If
you’re only doing five or ten minutes, standing there like a post
telling jokes is fine. But to me, if you’re going to try to entertain a
crowd for close to an hour, one way you can remain consistently
interesting is to use your body and the stage as much as possible. I
don’t mean jump around like an idiot, I mean intelligently,
purposefully support your material with your hands, body, and your
use of the stage. Comics with experience as actors tend to do this
much more effectively than traditional comics. Headliners also
sometimes try to incorporate something extra into their shows
whether it’s the playing of a musical instrument, an improvisational
bit, or a dance number. As much as these kind of things are looked
down upon by traditional stand-ups and so-called purists, audiences
never fail to appreciate them.

GREAT SETS

When you do something, you should burn yourself

completely like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.
—Shunryn Suzuki

The crowd is laughing at your set-ups, exploding at your punchlines.

People are laughing so hard they’re wiping tears from their eyes. You
can hear some of them actually coughing and struggling for breath.
Some comics call it “killing,” some call it “being in the groove,” but
whatever you call it, you’re having a great time and absolutely
everything is coming together.
The details of this kind of experience vary, but most comics agree
that it feels like you can do no wrong. There’s a powerful cohesion to
your material, your character, your timing. In fact, the comic
experiences everything so seamlessly, there’s almost nothing for the
memory to hold on to, which perhaps is why some comics say they
don’t remember much about really hot or great sets, they just
remember having an exhilarating time.
 When I’ve had a great set, I come off the stage feeling lighter,
giddy, but also spent. Like I brought my raw ingredients onstage
(character, script, energy) and the crowd brought their raw
ingredients into the club (expectations, the need to laugh, life
experiences) and when we met and mixed the ingredients together,
something truly powerful happened.
Distinctions and divisions vanished; I had no obvious sense of
myself as “the performer” and of them as “the audience.” We were
one vital thing. I find this seamless union more than a little ironic,
considering that, as I’ve already mentioned earlier in the book, I think
breaking
that the primary spirit of a joke is division, contrast, a with
presumption and convention. Perhaps it’s through the sharing of
these stark breaks that the comic and crowd arrive at a heightened
sense of unity and sharedness.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

AUDIENCES

Art is myself; science is ourselves.

—Claude Bernard

Meeting an audience is always a little like a blind date. They don’t

know you, you don’t know them. Perhaps you’ve heard some good
things about each other, but that’s about it. When you take the
stage, it’s the very beginning of the relationship. Sometimes, the two
of you hit it off from the very start and it’s wonderful. Sometimes you
don’t quite understand each other and the date only goes so-so. And
sometimes … well, sometimes it ends in a fight. You just never know,
not for sure, until you’re actually onstage delivering your material.
There are a lot of different kinds of audiences. Small and quiet,
large and rowdy, uptight, mean spirited, you name it. And though
there are some general rules when it comes to relating to an
audience as a stand-up comic, to make the most of a situation,
professionals often approach various audiences and venues with
slightly different performance attitudes.

A FISH ON THE LINE

I’ve heard actors refer to their relationship to an audience like having
a big fish on the end of a fishing line. When fishing, the line runs
from the fishing rod, disappears into the water, and the fisherman
feels the pull of a strong fish, hooked on the end of the line,
swimming somewhere down below. If the fisherman fails to give out
enough line, the line may grow too taut and then suddenly snap,
with the fish getting away. But if the fisherman gives out too much
line, not only will the fish swim too far from him but the line may also
get snagged on something and break, once again freeing the fish.
The fish is like an audience, the fisherman like a performer, and the
line between them the connection. The performer is forever
encouraging and nurturing. If the performer is too controlling and
the connection becomes inflexible or brittle, it may well snap, and
the audience will be lost. And if the performer is too casual, failing to
assert himself and expend a concentrated energy, even an initially
“caught” audience may grow distant from him and eventually get
away. As with all things, success lies in a sensitive, responsive
balance.

LEAVE YOURSELF SOMEPLACE TO GO

The Law of Stimulation suggests that if a certain degree of
stimulation isn’t getting the desired response, you may well have to
use less more.
or In other words, some kind of change or shift is
needed. Parents talk about hesitating to reprimand a child harshly
because, the chances are, next time they’re going to have to be a
little harsher to make any kind of impression.
With stand-up, it’s often safer to shift your energy down
rather
than up, because that way you leave yourself “someplace to go.”
Before you can afford the luxury of trying not to lose a crowd, you
must first get them. This is why many young comics try to hit the
stage with guns blazing, giving their maximum energy. But … if it
doesn’t work, if the crowd remains unimpressed, the comic has no
place to go but to lessenhis energy. To an unimpressed crowd, this
can look a lot like defeat, and you can lose them. This is why,
whatever the situation or crowd, think twice before expending too
much energy too soon. Remember, if you start slowly, you can always
speed things up.

SMALL AUDIENCES
Fewer than fifty people in the audience. As a group, they often feel
self-conscious about their small size, and as individuals the people
often feel exposed and vulnerable. Some comics go onstage and act
like they’re working a room of 400 people. This is often a mistake.
With a small crowd, a comic is usually more successful if he delivers
his material in a more intimate, conversational fashion. More than
ever, make the crowd feel like a part of the show. But if you sense
they are quite intimidated by their small size and would really just
rather watch you do your thing, stick closely to your material rather
than chatting with the crowd. But keep in mind, if you’ve got some
jokes that, generally, only a handful of people really enjoy (as do we
all), you better hope to hell that handful is among the people in front
of you. Odds are they won’t be, so you may want to skip your more
esoteric stuff.

LARGE AUDIENCES
An audience of 200 or more. While small crowds are often like
puppies and need to be dealt with gently, large crowds are more like
big dogs. They like it when you play rough. Make sure to really
project your voice and body to the back of the room. And work the
whole room, not just the people straight in front of you. Keep
swinging your focus from one side of the room to the other,
connecting with everyone in the room. And remember, the more
energy you give to them, the more energy they will give back. Now is
also a particularly good time to try your edgier stuff, jokes that only a
third of most crowds enjoy, because with 300 people, at least 100
people will be laughing … hopefully.

HOT AUDIENCES
The three comics before you all killed. The crowd laughed hard and
long at everything, and you’re up next. As always, there are several
ways you can approach the stage. If you are doing a relatively short
period of time, you may want to go up there, hit them hard right off
the top, essentially “ride the wave” of what’s already been
established. On the other hand, let’s say you’re headlining, doing
forty minutes or so. That’s a long, long time to make a crowd laugh
like crazy, especially after they’ve already been laughing hard for a
solid hour. So you may want to go up there, establish trust with a
really strong first few minutes, and then immediately back off, giving
the crowd a chance to catch their breath, before then heating things
up again.

COLD AUDIENCES

Zen is simply a voice crying, “Wake up! Wake up!”

—Maha Sthavira Sangharakshita

Two comics have already been onstage, and the audience, though
large and apparently friendly, are not laughing much at anything. Has
someone tried to talk to the crowd rather than just do material? If
not, try it, and then slowly move into some material. If the act before
you was pretty quiet and low key, try the “wake-up call” approach,
going onstage and being loud and large right off the bat. Or if the
comic before you was fast and loud, but still didn’t get them, you
may have better success by taking the stage with a more low-key
approach, starting off casually and then slowly warming things up.
This is not unlike making a camp fire. Some bark and twigs, then
some sticks, then the small logs, and finally the big stuff.
The key with a cold, quiet crowd is to break the pattern of
whatever the other comics before you have done. Not just when it
comes to tempo or stage presence, but also with material. If the
other comics have been getting little from the crowd with blue
material, try starting with some squeaky clean stuff. “Calling the
situation” can also work when you find yourself in front of a cold
crowd. Try to get some laughs by calling attention to the fact that the
crowd is hard to please.
Then again, sometimes the best thing to do with a quiet crowd is
to take the stage and try to deliberately burn through your first ten
minutes of material in six minutes, trying to wear down the crowd’s
resistance and pull them into the show with a fast-paced rhythm.
Then as they perk up, gently slow it down to a more manageable
speed. Cold crowds are one of the reasons why it is often a good
idea to make a point of watching the act onstage before you, just to
get a read on the crowd.

JOKE-TO- JOKE AUDIENCES

Some crowds are neither hot nor cold; rather, they spend the whole
show judging each and every joke on its own, individual merits. They
don’t cool off, but neither do they ever seem to get caught up in the
show. This isn’t much fun for the comic. Sure, he’s not bombing, but
he senses the crowd will be with him on one joke, and then off the
bus on the next. Perhaps the best thing to do with a crowd like this is
not to push it, and just be grateful they get into some of the jokes.

TIMID AUDIENCES
Not only did the act that went up before you bomb, but he also took
it out on the crowd and took the time to individually insult everyone
in the first two rows. Now what? The crowd has probably lost a fair
bit of faith in the entire show, so the first thing you must do is
somehow reassure them. I think it’s unprofessional to make a
negative comment about another comic while onstage, but if some
jerk has just put the whole show in jeopardy, I think you owe it to the
crowd to try to patch things up, even if it seems you are being
slightly disrespectful of the other comic. So take the stage and right
off the bat try to let the crowd know things are going to be different.
Give some power and respect back to the audience.

WHY DO SOME AUDIENCES GET OFF THE BUS?

You had them for ten minutes, they were laughing at most of your
stuff, and then … they seemed to cool right off. What happened?
Well, barring a plague outbreak in the club, there’s a good chance
something you did damaged your credibility, you failed to meet an
expectation, or you somehow offended them—you challenged them
in a way they experienced as threatening or unpleasant.
Maybe you did a few bits that broke with everything you had done
up to that point, and they simply stopped believing you. Maybe you
had the MC give you an intro that gave the impression you were the
“Funniest Guy in the Universe,” and after your first few bits the crowd
decided you couldn’t live up to the hype. Or maybe you asked them
to stretch too far too soon; you hadn’t built up enough trust to safely
go into your “tap-dancing leper” bit.
So they got off the bus, without even politely ringing the bell at
their stop, leaving you to drive on alone. It’s ironic because one of
the reasons many people come to a comedy club is for the
experience of being challenged, of having their usual lines of defense
tested. But this has to be done in just the right way, usually in a
playful fashion, and only after they’ve really come to trust the
performer.

WHY DO SOME JOKES STOP GETTING LAUGHS?

You’ve been doing a certain joke for weeks, or even months, and all
of a sudden audiences just stop responding strongly to it. Why? Well
frankly, it could be any one of a number of reasons. Perhaps the joke
is more character driven than idea driven, requiring you to perform
the joke with an unusual amount of commitment for it to work.
Bored with the joke, you no longer have the emotional energy it
needs. Or maybe there was something subtle you weren’t aware of
that was always adding to the joke, and then one night, without
realizing it, you stopped doing it. A facial expression, emphasis on a
certain word, even the placement of the joke in your set. These can
all significantly affect the strength of a joke. Or maybe the joke
makes reference to information that finally became too obscure or
dated. After all, there was a time when everyone was telling jokes
about Julius Caesar.

SPRITZING

If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything and it

is open to everything.
—Shunryu Suzuki

“Spritzing” has to be one of the most magical words in the world of

stand-up comedy. Essentially it means “saying stuff that is at least
partially, and often fully, unprepared.” This is not the same as stuff
that, however casual it may appear, is actually a routine part of the
comic’s performance. Instead, to truly spritz is to actually talk off the
top of your head.
This is usually done when talking with people in the audience
about what they do for a living, if they’re married, how many kids
they have, etc. Some very wonderful comics are absolutely horrible
spritzers, but most seasoned comics are pretty good at it. Then there
are those comics who are master spritzers, seemingly able to
somehow find the funny in the twinkling of an eye, in almost
anything tossed their way. A little clever spritzing can go a long way
toward gaining the trust of a crowd, and many of the strongest sets
I’ve ever witnessed have involved at least a bit of spritzing. Few
things bind the comic and the crowd more closely than the funny
things they find together.That’s the power of spritzing.
But it does have its downsides, or at least its limitations. In the
moment, spritzing is king, but unlike strong material, lines and ideas
that have worked in a thousand different situations, very little stuff a
comic spritzes smoothly translates over into other shows or other
mediums like film and books. This is probably because, more than
any other aspect of stand-up comedy, spritzing is about the present
relationship between the particular comic and the particular
audience, on a particular night. Often, as wonderful as a line is, it will
never again get the reaction it did on that one night. Oh well, that’s
performance art for ya.

BEING AN MC (MASTER OF CEREMONIES)

Over the years, I haven’t done a lot of work as an MC, but I do know
that it’s a tough job. You are the first person to take the stage, the
first face the crowd sees, and it is up to you to warm them up, to
make them feel like they came on a good night, to acknowledge any
birthdays or celebrations that may be going on in the club, and,
finally, to prepare the minds of the audience to be receptive to
stand-up material. And you have to do all of this despite the fact that
many people are under the misconception that “the first guy is never
funny.” Sure, sometimes this is true, but in my experience, not only
are MCs usually pretty funny performers, they are often funnier than
the other acts on the show! But MCing is so tough, they seldom get
the full credit and recognition they deserve.
Another challenging aspect of being an MC is the fact that, unlike
the other performers who each get between twenty and forty-five
minutes of uninterrupted time to develop their character, deliver
their material, and establish a rhythm, MCs often only get short
blocks of time onstage, during which they also have to make
announcements and introduce the other acts. This is one of the
reasons why comics who do a lot of work MCing rarely cultivate an
off-beat or unusual stage character—they don’t have the time to
fully explore the character with the audience. Being the first comic to
hit the stage and, in a sense, set a tone for the entire show, it’s
absolutely essential that an MC’s character appeals to a very broad
demographic. This is why the vast majority of effective MCs strive to
come across as simply fun, friendly guys.
It’s a very difficult job, maybe too difficult. In my experience,
between talking to the crowd, spritzing, and giving attention to
birthday parties, many MCs either fail to deliver enough real stand-
up material to sufficiently prepare the minds of the audience for the
first comic (who often ends up having a slow start as a result) or MCs
do more than their fair share of time to compensate for all the time
they have to spend with the birthdays, etc. It’s a very hard job, and
my heart goes out to them, but I don’t think the answer is to steal
time from the other comics.

INTROS
An MC will usually ask the other comics on the show what they’d like
him to say about them. If I were you, I would give this some serious
thought. Unless you are a well-known comic, what the MC says
about you onstage will literally be the very first impression the crowd
will have of you. Before you take the stage, even before your music,
your introduction or “intro” will send a message, however, subtle, to
the crowd. Make it count.
My first advice is to keep it brief. The MC has enough on his mind
without trying to remember the names of your four different
television show appearances, your film cameo, and the title to your
one-man show. One or two credits is ample. Also, if you ask an MC to
list a lot of credits, this can really raise the expectations of the crowd,
expectations you may have a tough time living up to. Why put
yourself under that kind of pressure? So keep it brief. Once again,
less is more.
I also don’t put much stock in funny intros, even if one does nicely
set up your character: “Ladies and gentlemen, your next act used to
be a ‘boy toy’ on a Norwegian fishing boat.…” Many MCs don’t like
prewritten, jokey intros, so they will often say them in a sardonic,
glib, sarcastic, or even dismissive fashion, which can send a confusing
message to the crowd.
To my mind, the best intros communicate the message that the
comic about to take the stage is an experienced, funny person, well
worth watching. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything else,
I would much rather communicate to the audience myself during my
performance.

EXTROS
This is whatever the MC says about you after you’ve left the stage,
and the applause is just dying down. Most of the time he simply says,
“Keep it going for …,” or “Another round of applause for …,” but
sometimes, MCs say something a little more specific. Because I play a
somewhat eccentric character onstage, MCs often extro me with,
“That’s one strange guy,” or “Jay is available for children’s birthday
parties.” This is fun, but I’ve seen some MCs extro comics with
comments that were less than flattering and, frankly, unkind. To me,
this is completely unacceptable. If you’re ever the MC of a show,
despite whatever differences you may have with another comic, I
certainly hope you’ll remain professional. I personally don’t think
negative comments about another comic are ever
justified, no matter
how big a laugh they may get.

HELL GIGS

Bars, outdoor shows, lunchtime shows at colleges. All of these

situations have a real potential to get ugly. Generally, they will
require you to give out a lot of energy, to keep people’s attention by
maximizing your stage presence. Such a challenge can be a very
good thing, but as a result, these gigs are often not the best places
to break in new material. If you lose the crowd on a new, somewhat
soft bit, you might have a tough time getting them back. That’s why I
tend to see these gigs as a place to work out my performance
muscles, rather than my writing muscles.
And tough gigs are also a great place to work on your emotional
control, not letting your anxiety or doubt get the best of you. So
much about performing is about trusting yourself. Hell gigs can be a
fine place to work on that. And after you’ve worked a string of tough
gigs, you’ll find that it’s a real treat to perform in a comedy club, with
a good sound system, real stage lights, and a focused, enthusiastic
crowd. Incidentally, seasoned pros try their best not to assume an
audience will be difficult before they actually step onstage and begin
their sets. Even if the comics before you have had a tough time, try
to hope for the best for yourself or you may well limit your success
with a negative attitude. Remember, crowds are strange, fickle things.

TOUGH CROWD

BARS
You’re in a really noisy, smoke-filled bar. There’s no stage, not much
light, and you’re simply standing on the floor with a mike in your
hand. You asked for a mike stand, but you were told a bouncer broke
it last week, beating a guy to death. You have to shout into the mike,
almost eat the damn thing, to get any decent volume on your voice.
And still, nobody’s listening. They’re playing pool, watching a football
game on a big television screen (management warned that if they
tried to turn it off therewould be a riot), and a drunk guy sitting in
the front row is loudly singing to no one in particular. It’s a hell gig.
These crowds are often pretty drunk and boisterous, but also
usually quite friendly. The key is to be bold and take control from the
very beginning. Let the local funny guy have his say, and then get on
with the show. Doing some stuff with local references (to a nearby
town, say) can really endear you to this kind of crowd. And it’s often
a good idea to keep your material pretty simple. I don’t mean stupid
or crass, just don’t expect your wry, gently ironic stuff to kill.
Lighting is often pretty bad in bars, so don’t expect to get much
reaction from your “cross-eyed butcher” impression. Think ahead
and, if a bit really requires the crowd seeing a certain facial
expression to nail the joke, you may want to consider dropping it
from that night’s set. Use your voice more, your face less.

OUTDOOR SHOWS
This includes picnics, summer parties, or pretty well any situation
where you have to perform outdoors. First, these often happen
during the day, and as a general rule, it’s tougher to make people
laugh when the sun is up. Oh, you can do it, and sometimes you can
even do very well, but because most people work during the day and
their recreational time is at night, it seems that they are simply more
receptive to being entertained after the sun’s gone down.
Also, being outside, most of the sound systems you’ll come across
won’t be good enough to carry the subtleties of your voice to
everyone in attendance. So it’s a matter of performing to those
within earshot. If they can’t hear you, those interested will simply
move closer to the stage. And working outdoors, sometimes under a
hot sun, be prepared to sweat. Make sure you have a glass of water
and a handkerchief, or at least a neatly folded paper towel.

NOONERS
These are lunchtime or afternoon gigs held at colleges, universities,
and occasionally high schools. They can be a lot of fun, but they do
have a lot of things going against them. First, there is almost never a
cover charge to see the show. The school is paying, so the students
get in for free, and whatever people get for free they often don’t
think is worth much. As a result, the students often don’t exactly
exude respect for the performers and are apt to sit at a table, right in
front of the stage, playing cards or holding an algebra study group.
Second, the shows are usually held in the cafeteria. Students are
forever coming and going, and everyone is trying to wolf down some
food between classes. Not the best environment for intellectual
focus. And again, these shows are held during the day, so the “it’s
harder to make them laugh during the day” rule applies.
Another reason a nooner at a college is often much harder than a
night show at a college is because night shows tend to be held in the
student bar with everyone in a much better mood to relax and have
fun. Or they hold night shows at an on-campus theater, which can be
a real pleasure to work in. And night shows tend to have some kind
of cover charge, so the students are more apt to try to enjoy the
show and get their money’s worth.

SURVIVING HELL GIGS

Bars, outdoor shows, and colleges all have the potential to become
hell gigs. But as always, there are several things you can do to at
leasttry to make them go a little more smoothly.

GET MANAGEMENT INVOLVED

Try to minimize potential distractions before you take the stage. If
you’re working a bar, approach the manager with a positive attitude
and ask if they could maybe turn off the televisions or the lights over
the pool tables. Or if there isn’t much stage light to speak of, even
turn off a couple of the lights at the back of the room to give the
stage area a little more focus. Make these requests in a casual but
firm manner. Making these kind of requests also applies when
working in a college cafeteria.
 But don’t act like the success of the show hinges on management
adapting the situation to meet your needs. Instead, act as if, “We’re
going to have a fun show no matter what, but here are a few things
we can do to make it even better.”

TAKE CONTROL
This is very important, particularly in potentially difficult situations.
From the moment you take the stage, you must immediately
establish yourself as a powerful individual and capture the crowd’s
attention. Now’s the time to “play large,” really project, and own that
stage. You must be absolutely fearless. And don’t wait for them to
come to you. When you’re headlining at a comedy club you can take
your time. But a really tough gig can be like a street fight between
you and the crowd. Generally speaking, whoever swings first and
connects, wins. Take your show to them. Your character, your jokes,
your energy. All of it.

DON’T YELL
Try not to yell. This is tough not to do, especially if the sound system
is really bad. After all, even more important than being able to see
your face is for them to be able to hear you. But yelling or straining
your voice is only going to suggest to the crowd that you’re anxious
and not in control. Often, the best thing to do is to project your voice
to the best of your abilities without straining it, and then simply
accept the limitations of the sound system. In fact, some performers
deliberately speak more quietly in such situations in hopes that it will
force the crowd to quiet down so they can hear what the comic is
saying. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always work.

ADAPT YOUR MATERIAL

 Softeness triumphs over hardness. What is malleable is
always superior over that which is immovable. This is the
principle of controlling things by going along with them, of
mastery through adaptation.
—Lao Tzu

If you’re working a blue-collar bar, don’t open your set with your wry
“Kierkegaard in a Traffic Jam” bit. If you’re gigging outdoors for the
Society of Catholic Gardeners, don’t close your set with your “Papa
Beelzebub” chunk (no matter how life affirming you think it is!). And
when working colleges, keep in mind that they are, after all, college
kids. An awful lot of them are mostly interested in passing exams,
drinking beer, and getting laid. So make fun of algebra, talk about
partying, and close your set with your “Papa Beelzebub” chunk.

PLAY TO THE LISTENERS

Some people, at some gigs, are simply not
going to listen to you.
They’re too drunk, they’re having an important conversation with a
friend, they’re doing some last minute studying for an exam, they
don’t much like stand-up comedy, whatever. So hey, it isn’t your job
to force people to listen to you. Hell, strictly speaking, it isn’t even
your job to coax people to listen to you. Your job is to tell jokes and
make anyone who wants to listen to you … laugh. So play to the
people who are listening to you, and try to ignore the people who
are not. And as always, try not to take it personally. More often than
not, it’s not about you, it’s about them.

HECKLERS

Be nice, until it’s time not to be nice.

—Patrick Swayze in the movie Roadhouse
 DON’T ASK FOR HECKLERS
Whether at a comedy club or a bar gig, sometimes all it takes is one
guy with a bad attitude or a chip on his shoulder to ruin a show for
everyone. But why do some comics get a lot more hecklers than
others? I figure it’s because something about their onstage
characters attracts hecklers to them. Some comics seem a little
disrespectful of the crowd, other comics seem unsure of their own
abilities, and still other comics deliver material about sensitive
subjects in an overly cavalier fashion. Any and all of these things can
diminish the crowd’s primary respect for the performer, virtually
inviting hecklers. So while you develop ways of dealing with hecklers,
also put some thought toward not encouraging hecklers in the first
place.
However, you have a definite responsibility to everyone who paid
to listen to you, and if some loudmouth is undermining the quality of
the show, it’s up to you, the professional, to do something. Here then
are some suggestions, in order of severity, the idea being that you try
each one while dealing with a heckler, then go back to delivering
your material. But if the heckler persists, move on to the next
suggestion.

GIVE HIM SOME ATTENTION

Some guy at the back of the room just shouted something. You’re
not quite sure what he said, but you figure it probably wasn’t “You’re
an amazing comic!” So give him some attention. Find out what he
said, get his name, maybe even find out a bit about him. This often
does the trick, because hecklers usually just want a little attention.

LET HIM (OR HER) KNOW YOU HAVE A SHOW TO DO

He’s still shouting stuff. Gently comment that you’ve “got to get on
with the show.” A surprising amount of people who go to watch
stand-up comedy think that the comic wants them to shout things
out, to give the comic “something to deal with.” There are lots of
subtle and not so subtle ways of telling hecklers, “Thanks, but no
thanks.” But beware of hitting too hard, too soon. Nothing can turn
off a crowd faster than if you come across as a bully.
One show I did, a guy in the front row just kept talking and
wouldn’t shut up. I gave him some attention, then backed off. Then,
five minutes later, I gently zinged him a few times, then backed off
again. But he still kept talking. I admit, I let it undermine my
concentration, as well as get to me emotionally, and I finally let loose
with a string of hard-edged put-downs. Big mistake. The majority of
the crowd didn’t know the guy had been talking nonstop. I hadn’t
“cued them” to this fact, so I ended up looking like the big jerk.

SEND A JOKE HIS WAY

You’ve been patient, nice even, but enough is enough. Precious
minutes are ticking away, and if he’s not going to shut up you’re
going to have to assert yourself and give him a rap on the knuckles
by making him the butt of a quick, not too harsh, insult. But don’t
linger on it. It’s essential that, at this stage, you still give him a
chance to back down and save face. And remember, as you deal with
this guy, continue to inform the crowd; “I can’t believe it, he’s still
talking!” It’s crucial that they understand your motivation.

GET THE CROWD INVOLVED

As I said, if it’s someone in the front row and most of the crowd can’t
hear him, be sure to keep cuing the crowd to what’s going on. But
after a point, it’s also fair game tosubtly coax the audience to help
you deal with the heckler. You do not want to look like you need help
or are in the least flustered. As a stand-up comic you must look like
you are in complete control. If you ask the crowd, “By applause, how
many people here paid to listen to this guy shout incoherent stuff?”
the vast majority of the time the crowd will quickly support you.

SHUT HIM DOWN

It’s time “not to be nice.” Deliver a couple of your harshest, strongest
insults. Show no mercy. He had his chance, you gave him some
warnings and plenty of opportunity to save face. But as always, do
not deliver them with anger or too much passion. That can suggest a
lack of confidence to the crowd. I also find that the more clever or
imaginative the insults, the better. The cleverness acts as misdirection
from the true intent of the barb: to shut up the heckler, once and for
all.

BOMBING

Whoever thought silence could sound so loud? You’ve tried

everything. Slowed your delivery down, sped it up. You’ve tried
talking to people in the crowd, tried squeaky clean material, quickly
shifted to some rawer stuff … but absolutely nothing is working. The
silence just continues, getting more obvious and awkward every
moment. You’re exhausted, you feel like you’re moving around
onstage with large, heavy stones in your pockets. You can actually
feel the crowd’s boredom and frustration. They don’t think you’re
funny. Hell, at this point, you don’t think you’re funny. You are
bombing. But believe it or not, there are some things you can do,
attitudes and techniques that can definitely help.

DON’T LET THEM KNOW YOU’RE BOMBING

The crowd is always looking to you to see how they should feel
about what you are doing. It is absolutely essential that you keep this
in mind at all times. When a child falls on the ground and a parent is
nearby, the child often looks to the parent to get the parent’s take on
the event. If, instead of looking alarmed or frightened, the parent
smiles or seems unconcerned, the child will often get up without
bursting into tears. So if you’re bombing, as hard as it can be, try not
to let the crowd see your disappointment or anxiety. Even as you’re
saying, “Shit, shit, shit” inside, try not to get flustered. If you don’t let
the experience get to you, if you act like everything is going along
pretty much as planned, you’ll be surprised how smoothly a bad
show can go. I’m not saying this will fool them into thinking you are
incredibly funny, but it can make the difference between them
thinking “He was terrible” and “He was alright.” And at some hell
gigs, that can be a real achievement indeed.

CALL THE SITUATION

If you find yourself in the middle of a performance that is going very
poorly, don’t fight it! It’s going to happen. That’s what learning is all
about. So try not to let it unnerve you. That will only make you start
to sweat and do stuff that will signal your panic and desperation to
the crowd. In fact, when bombing, some comics have great success
with a technique that is the exact opposite of the “don’t let them
know you’re bombing” approach. Instead, these comics “call” the
situation, and admit to the crowd that the set isn’t going quite as
well as they had hoped it would, and often this diffuses some of the
tension in the room. Keep in mind that sometimes, when one finds
oneself feeling weak, admitting to it can be very self-empowering.
Calling the situation can also be very, very funny. I know comics
who have developed so much material about doing badly that they
often seem to deliberately start to bomb, just so that they can go
into their “I’m bombing” material. But this can be very dangerous.
Not only can it backfire on the performer with the crowd simply
agreeing, “Yeah, you do suck,” but it can also be a real creative trap.
You won’t always have the time to lose a crowd and then get them
back. Television spots, festival appearances, and many other
situations require that you do well, ideally very
well, in less than
seven minutes. Sometimes in less than five. So though I think it may
not be a bad idea to have some “I’m bombing” material, I think it
makes even more sense to continue to strive toward being able to
do well in every room imaginable.

BASE HITS VS. HOME RUNS

The less effort, the faster and more powerful you will be.
—Bruce Lee

Another way of dealing with bombing involves changing your

delivery. If you take the stage and start delivering material that
usually gets big laughs and it’s getting nothing, you may want to
immediately consider changing not only your delivery style but also
your degree of commitment. Try delivering the stuff a little less
“large”, tone it down a bit. Don’t get caught swinging your bat like
you’re trying for home runs. Instead, deliver like you’re trying for a
base hit, swinging the bat less broadly, less emphatically. Remember,
it’s never a good idea to give an audience the impression that you
are wanting, reaching, or asking for something.
And if that’s not working, if they still aren’t even chuckling, well
then, maybe back off on the delivery even more. I don’t mean drop
to your knees and start quietly mumbling your jokes, just try saying
them in an even more casual, conversational style. Try bunting a few
jokes, or even acting like you’re just fiddling with the bat, feeling its
weight, tapping it against your shoes. Standing onstage, just
loosening up.

ACCEPTANCE
 As soon as one cherishes the thought of winning the
contest or displaying one’s skill in technique, one’s
swordmanship is doomed.
—Takano Shigeyoshi

This isn’t so much a helpful technique as it is a liberating attitude. I

remember when I used to bomb on amateur nights. Some shows I
was so bad, and the crowd reaction was so harsh, I would feel it in
my stomach for days. I just wish I knew then what (I believe) I know
now. Simply that, you will be doing both yourself and the crowd a
big favor by accepting the following fact: Not everyone will always
love you. Wanting every crowd to enjoy your work is a fine motivator
for you to work hard on your craft, but I believe it is also absolutely
critical for you to be able to accept the present limitations of your
material and character, wherever you happen to be along the road of
your own personal growth.
For example, if at some point in your exploration of comedy, you
are only interested in doing material about your summer as a
librarian at a Bible camp, and you find yourself in front of a bar full of
drunk bikers, chances are you’re not going to have an amazing set.
Yeah, I personally like the idea of striving toward having a comedic
perspective, rich enough and broad enough that I can do well in any
room, no matter the age or cultural background. But I can’t honestly
arriving
say I’m there yet. In fact, I kind of like the idea of never quite
there, of always believing I’m on my way—maybe even getting closer
all the time, but not ever absolutely arriving. It’s an attitude that both
inspires me and gives me room to breathe.

EVERYBODY BOMBS

If they aren’t laughing, I find it hard to breathe.

—Brian Regan
I consider Brian Regan to be one of the funniest comics I’ve ever
seen, and yet I once saw him perform at a big comedy festival, in
front of a crowd filled with television executives, and he bombed. I
mean, really bombed. It was not pretty. And like I said, Brian Regan is
a phenomenal comic. So remember, everyone bombs. Everybody.
Sure, as you get more experienced you bomb less. But you still have
the occasional “soft set.” Many times since seeing Brian Regan bomb,
I’ve thought about the fifteen years he’s been in the business, and
about how important that show could have been for his career, and
about how deserving a comic he is, and it reminds me that
sometimes no matter how good you are or how hard you work,
things don’t always come together when you want them to. That’s
life, and one can either accept it or one can vainly fight against it. I
figure, when you bomb the best thing you can do is try not to take
the experience too personally. Remember, it’s not the end of the
world. Learn what you can from it, and then forget about it.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

PROFESSIONAL STAND-UP

SELF-PROMOTION

Inspired self-promotion can have a very positive effect, not

only on your career but also on your craft. After all, it’s a
simple fact of the business that the more time you spend
onstage, the better a comic you will become. And the more
effectively you promote yourself … the more opportunities
you’ll have to get onstage!

NEVER BELIEVE YOUR OWN PROMO

This is of paramount importance. Yes, your promo should be based
on the truth of your experience, comedic style, and achievements,
but it should also be presented in such a way as to appeal to other
people’s imaginations. I’m not saying make stuff up or even distort
the things you’ve really done. But I do think it’s definitely a good idea
to present the truth out yourself in as positive and engaging a light
as possible. Remember, it’s show business. I guess that’s why the
word “hype” often has a negative connotation to it, because in
powerful promotion materials there is often an element of theater or
drama that, taken too far, can become down-right manipulative and
deceitful.
 One of the dangers of exaggerating your abilities and
achievements is that you run a real risk of “overselling” yourself. Then
when it comes time to perform, you fail to meet the expectations you
yourself created! So by all means, appeal to the imaginations of
potential decision makers (agents, bookers, producers, festival
organizers, etc.), but try to think of your promotion as a kind of
performance on paper. Another, perhaps even greater danger of
taking your own hype too much to heart is that if you think you’re
“God’s Gift to Stand-Up,” you may well stop pushing yourself
creatively, which is nothing short ofartistic suicide. Just as when you
blame the crowd for a bad show, if you believe your own promo you
give your ego a chance to grow irresponsible and lazy.

A UNIQUE TYPE OF COMMUNICATION

Almost every aspect of the craft of stand-up involves the idea of
communication, the conveying of specific information to other
people. The area of self-promotion is no different. In fact, during
your entire career, no money will ever be better spent than the
money you spend on your promotional package. Imagine for a
moment walking into some office, and the receptionist has her feet
up and is on the phone with her boyfriend. Makes for a very bad first
impression of the business, doesn’t it? Your promo package your is
receptionist, and will sometimes be the very first impression
important decision makers will have of you. It’s no time to be
thoughtless or cheap.

AIDA
I spent a couple of years writing for advertising, and though I can’t
say it was a particularly pleasant experience, I did learn a lot about
persuasive communication. One of the most important things I
learned was the “AIDA Rule of Communication,” for Attention,
Interest, Desire, Action.
More often than not, when you are communicating with someone
you are doing so with a goal in mind. You would like the listener to
respond in a particular fashion, but to get someone, to respond to
what you’re communicating you first must get their attention. I
mean, if they aren’t listening, what’s the point? So whether you are
experimenting with your material, your character, or your promo,
your first mandate is to always get the attention of your audience.
But you not only want to get their attention, you also want to keep
it. To do this you must create interest. It’s one thing to get their
attention, but for your audience to even consider getting emotionally
involved in what you are communicating, they must be interested.
This is why, if you can, it is always a good idea to stay close to the
things that naturally interest people.
As for the desire part of the AIDA Rule, this refers to the link
between Interest and Action. Loosely speaking, “interest” is a
relatively intellectual investment, but for someone to go so far as to
act, they also must be involved emotionally. Along with interest, you
must also create a desire in the audience. One means of doing this is
to make the audience curious. If they are curious, they are not going
to be merely interested in what you are saying, but they will also
have a desire to hear what it is you are going to say. More than
anything else, it is that desire that will cause them to act—in other
words, to make a real effort to listen to you.
Applying these ideas to your marketing material, you ultimately
want to design a promotional package that:

1. gets people’sattention
2. createsinterestin your stand-up
3. causes them to desireto see or speak with you
4. causes them to actby calling and booking you for a show.
 YOUR PROMOTIONAL PACKAGE
When discussing character, I suggested that you try to write up a
short list of words that best describe your personality onstage, e.g.,
cerebral, sedate, etc. These words will also be very helpful when it
comes to putting together your promo package, because every
single piece of your package should reflect a similar style or tone,
ideally that of your character and comedic perspective. So when
trying to choose a color of paper, a typeface, or anything else, keep
your character’s key words in mind, and do your best to have your
choices reflect a similar sensibility. For example, if your character is
bookish and insightful, choose an academic-looking typeface. If your
character is a bit crazier and off-the-wall, choose a more eccentric
typeface. But beware the temptation to try to be funny in your
package. More often than not, it comes across as strained and
actually works against you.
LETTERHEAD

I suggest that whatever ink color you choose, stick with a high-
quality white paper. But try to have some fun with a custom-
designed letterhead. Just your name is fine, but you may want to
have a slogan or just the word “Comic” as well. Apart from my name,
I also have a little logo on my letterhead. It’s the same logo I have on
my stickers (and I also have a rubber stamp of it). I just like the idea
of having an image, other than my own face, that is repeated
throughout my promotional material, to tie it all together that much
more.
BIOGRAPHY (OR “BIO”)

This is often the first page of a package, listing your television,

radio, and festival credits. However, if you are quite new to the
business and don’t have any such credits, you can simply give some
background information on yourself—if not as an experienced comic,
at least as an interesting person. But as always, try to keep it as
original and engaging as possible.
This page should also have a paragraph giving a brief description
of the basic style and tone of your stand-up. Again, if you have a
short list of key descriptive words about your character, it will
certainly come in handy.
QUOTES FROM THE MEDIA

You don’t need dozens of these, four or five will do just fine,
reproduced in bold lettering on a single sheet of paper. And rather
than have them all say similar stuff, try to choose a small collection of
quotes from articles that express a variety of different views about
your work. A quote about your energy, one about your clever writing,
one about how experienced you are, etc.
NEWSPAPER ARTICLES

Ideally, these should be articles written solely about you, rather

than articles in which you are merely one of many comics mentioned.
But in cases like that, you may want to cut out the paragraph
pertaining to you, enlarge it on a photocopier, and then reproduce it,
with the title of the article and the writer’s name, on a single sheet of
paper. Incidentally, though colored paper can look nice in a promo
package, when it comes to copies of newspaper articles, I would stick
to white paper. It’s easiest to read, and sometimes agents and
bookers will want to make copies of articles from your package, and
black ink on white paper reproduces best.
PHOTOS

If you can afford it, have two or three different pictures. One for
comedy clubs, and another one or two for casting agents for
commercials and film work. In the comedy club photo, you should
look professional, friendly, interesting, and if at all possible, funny.
Stick to black and white, rather than color, if only because
newspapers want black and white. And again, the goal is to have a
photo that somehow stands out from the thousands of dull, boring,
typical photos you see on the walls of comedy clubs across the
country. Have some fun. How about a photo of you leaning up
against a police cruiser, being frisked by a huge cop? Or sitting in a
laundromat staring at the dryer? Or hitchhiking? Try to do something
memorable. Remember, in show business, the biggest risk is not
taking any risks.
As for your photos for casting agents, you have to be a little more
careful. Attractiveness is a real factor, and they look at a lot of small
details. Your eyes, teeth, hair, all play important parts. The best thing
to do is call a casting agent you’ve heard good things about, ask him
or her to suggest a photographer, and get some pictures done. Then
call the casting agent back and ask for five minutes of her time. Show
her the photos and ask for her honest opinion. Listen very, very
carefully, and take everything she says as the absolute gospel. She is,
after all, your “target market.”
POSTCARDS

This is one of my favorite pieces in my promo package. An

intriguing photo of me on one side, and plenty of room to write stuff
on the other. I send them to agents when I’m on the road (saying
“Hi”), which at the same time leaves the impression that I’m busy and
in demand. And if I’m doing a special show, I use my postcards as
invitations, with the time, date, and place of the show printed on
self-adhesive labels I stick to the postcards. Postcards aren’t cheap,
but if you buy them in a large quantity, they aren’t overly expensive.
And if, like me, you tend to move every year or two, I suggest you
don’t have your phone number or address printed on the cards. Just
your name and logo.
FOLDER
 As soon as you have more than a couple of pieces to your
package, you will need something to put it all in. I find that the
classic cardboard folder, plain on the outside, two large horizontal
pockets on the inside, is just fine. Mind you, it won’t hold your video,
but I just slip that, along with the folder, in a large, padded envelope.
MAILING LABELS

I have self-adhesive, two-by-three-inch labels with my letterhead

on them. I find they have a lot of different uses apart from putting
them on letters, envelopes, and packages. For example, I stick them
on my demo tapes and on the cover of the folder that holds all my
promo materials.
STICKERS

I also have small, self-adhesive stickers with my name and a small

logo printed on them. These too have a lot of uses. I stick them on
the backs of envelopes, the bottoms of letters, and on photos. Again,
it’s little details like this that can separate you from the pack, while
also giving the impression of quality and success: “If the guy’s got
money to spend on little stickers, he must be doing well.”
VIDEO

Again, less is more. Agents and producers rarely watch more than
a few minutes of a tape, which is why many comics use tapes five to
ten minutes long. Tapes of a TV appearance, dubbed from Beta to
VHS, are ideal, but even a high-quality videotaping of a strong club
set is better than nothing. However, if you can’t afford a high-quality
taping, I suggest you do not include a tape in your package. The last
thing you want is a tape that, instead of enhancing your image,
actually tarnishes it.
THANK-Y OU CARPS
 After a week at a club, or if a newspaper prints an article on me, or
pretty much whenever someone in the business has done something
nice for me, I always, always send a thank-you card. And it never fails
to amaze me how often I hear back from them that they seldom
receive such cards! They’re a strong marketing tool and leave a
lasting impression, yet very few comics seem to bother to make the
effort to send them. To me, this is not only ungrateful but also a real
self-promotion mistake.

PROMOTIONAL EVENTS

RADIO INTERVIEWS
These can be a lot of fun, whether done live in the studio or over the
phone. Typically, interviewers are looking for you to be funny on air,
so be prepared. One way to do this is to give the interviewer a short
list of questions he or she can ask that will “naturally” lead you into
some of your bits. Humorous poetry, songs, or other stuff you can
read off also tends to play well on radio. And be sure to have a list of
key points you want to make during the interview where you’re next
performing, the dates, times, the phone number people can call to
get tickets, etc.

FUND RAISERS AND BENEFIT SHOWS

“They’ll be lots of media there, and we’ll even feed you.” That’s what
they’ll tell you, time and again, when you’re booked for a fund raiser
or a “freebee.” And though they will give you dinner, don’t count on
there being much media. These shows generally go alright, but the
crowd certainly won’t be pumped or primed for the joke-to-joke
rhythm of stand-up. And usually the crowd will be made up of a lot
of older people, often quite conservative, so you should probably
keep your material pretty clean and accessible. Also, be sure to find
out the theme of the fund raiser or the group you’re raising money
for. The last thing you want to do is open your set with your kooky
“kidney failure” bit, only to later discover it was a fund raiser for
PWOKA (People With One Kidney Association).

COMEDY FESTIVALS
When putting together a set for a comedy festival, there are two
classic approaches, very much depending on your objectives. If you
want to get booked into other comedy clubs, you’ll probably want to
choose a group of jokes that express a single, concentrated character
and perspective. The goal, as always, will be to be memorable.
However, if your goal is to impress television people, you might
better go with a set that gives you a chance to show a varietyof
abilities, from tight writing to acting to pacing, etc. Of course, these
two approaches are not mutually exclusive, but like an advertisement
that tries to appeal to too many different target markets at once, if
you try to do too much in a six-minute festival set, there’s a real
chance of failing to leave a distinctive impression with anyone. And
just like when performing on television, at a festival you should
probably stick to tried-and-true material that you’ve been doing for
months, if not years. The odds are you’ll be nervous enough as it is
without having to worry about new material.

STAND-UP COMEDY IN THE AGE OF TELEVISION

There’s little doubt that the proliferation of stand-up comedy on
television has played a large part in the steady decline of attendance
at comedy clubs over the last ten years. But I also think that comedy
clubs have changed. I suspect that audiences once came to clubs
expecting that not only would conventions be challenged and
provocative perspectives be expressed, but also the performers
would do truly memorable things. In those days, they weren’t just
shows, but actual “happenings.” And yes, the days of relatively naive
audiences in awe of comics may well be gone, but I don’t think that
has to signal the end of the popularity of stand-up comedy. It may
simply mean we have to change.
I for one believe that “we shall overcome,” that we can woo people
away from their television sets, but only by performing stuff people
can’t see on television. It’s that simple. If people can sit on the couch
at home and watch any number of comics on television standing
behind a microphone telling one joke after another, I figure we have
to do something other than simply stand behind a microphone
telling jokes. Something more, something different. “Like what?” you
may ask. Good question.
We must make the most of the live performance situation. It’s an
indisputable fact that a live performance can be much more
engaging and powerful than a television show, but it’s up to us as
performers first, and comics second, to make our shows more
powerful and engaging than the tired, uninspired, unoriginal, stand-
up crap they can watch on television. We have to make every effort
to make our audience members feel involved in the show. This is
something the “watch me” medium of television has a more difficult
time doing.

PERFORMING ON TELEVISION
Leave your ego at home. A television appearance invariably involves
dozens of creative people, and they all want to feel like they’ve had a
say in the final product, so be prepared to have your feelings bruised.
Also, if you’re an unknown, be prepared to have relatively little
creative control. But thankfully, many of the people you will be
working with (though certainly not all) will have a much better idea
of what works on television than you do. So you do your job, and let
them do theirs!
 As for clothes, it’s always a good idea to bring a few different sets
of clothes and ask for opinions from the wardrobe people. And
during your set be sure to have a glass of water handy, especially for
your first few television appearances. The last thing you want is to
get a dry mouth due to nerves and not even be able to finish your
performance.
Not surprisingly, most television tapings will require you to work
squeaky clean. No swearing, and often not even any perverse subject
matter, like your recipe for fresh raccoon Jell—O (with that nutty,
furry taste!). And instead of doing five minutes on one subject, you
may want to cover a variety of subjects in your set. That way, if the
studio audience isn’t enjoying one subject, chances are they will be
interested in the next. And be sure to avoid jokes involving callbacks
to previous jokes. The final edited version of the show may not even
contain the joke you were calling back to!
When delivering their material, many pros make a point of
delivering their set-ups to the studio audience, and their punchlines
to the camera … Yes, the hundred people in the studio matter, but
not as much as the thousands of people watching at home. Those
are the people you really want to make laugh and leave with a strong
impression. But all things considered, the most important thing
about a television appearance is getting some strong footage for
your promo reel. The appearance itself may go to air once, maybe
even a few times, but your promo reel will eventually be seen by
dozens of important decision makers. This is why, instead of having a
buddy tape the show on his VCR, do absolutely everything you can
to get a broadcast quality tape of the show. It will make for a much
better transfer.
And finally, really watch your time. On television, every second
costs tens of thousands of dollars. If the director says you have four
and a half minutes, he doesn’t mean four minutes and forty-five
seconds. The show may even be running long by the time you get
on, and they may have to cut to a commercial before you’ve finished
your set. That’s why comics with a lot of television experience often
make sure they can end their set with any one of their last three
jokes, just in case.

YOU, OTHER COMICS, AND THE AUDIENCE

Despite the fact that most comics are lone wolves (maybe, in fact,
because of this), most comics want the respect of their peers.
Sometimes more than they want the respect of their audience. But
everything costs. Art making, the nurturing and exploring of one’s
own unique vision, can be very lonely work, but it can also be
immensely satisfying and self-empowering. I sometimes even think
the more power one gives to others, the less power one keeps for
oneself.
Put another way, the more value you put on other people’s
opinions, perhaps the less value you put on your own. That can be a
very dangerous thing, especially for an artist. So though I think we
can all definitely learn from each other, I also think it’s very important
not to put a great deal of importance on the views of other comics,
especially when you consider that all people can ever share with you
is their prejudices.
On the other hand, I believe that valuing the views of the audience
is absolutely essential. Like the tango, it takes two for a truly great
show, with both you and the crowd playing your parts to the best of
your abilities. You must trust each other and get a sense that you
really care about each other’s feelings. Only under such conditions
can a stand-up performance become a happening.

WHOSE ADVICE SHOULD YOU TAKE?

 Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the men of old;
seek what they sought.
—Basho

Listen first to yourself. Only you know what you’re after and what
feels right to you, and as scary as it can be to trust yourself and really
risk falling flat on your face, there is no other way, not if you want to
get to the unique stuff that really makes you who you are.
Listensecond to the audience. As their partner in the experience, I
believe the comic must also pay the utmost attention to the crowd’s
response. Not only will they tell you in no uncertain terms (laughter
or silence) what they enjoy and what they don’t, but they will also tell
you a great deal about many of the audiences you will encounter in
the future. After all, the reason a great show works is because the
performer is somehow exploring not just his own fears and fantasies,
but the audience’s as well. That’s why a successful stand-up
performance is more akin to group therapy than individual therapy,
with both the performer and the audience benefiting from the
intensity of the shared, cathartic experience.
And listen third to anyone who is where you want to be. Other
people will forever be offering you advice, especially when you first
get started. Comics will have advice on jokes, waiters and bartenders
will have advice on stage presence, agents will have advice on how
to promote yourself. There is never any shortage of people with
advice. But I figure the people to really listen to, perhaps the only
people you should pay any heed to, are the people who are living a
life you yourself would like to live. So you may want to think twice
before following the advice of a comic who still isn’t headlining, even
after ten years in the business. Unless of course you want to one day
be where he is—still not headlining, even after ten years in the
business!
 Just as some people say one of the keys to becoming wealthy is to
socialize with wealthy people, I believe you should search out those
individuals who are where you want to be and put a great deal of
stock in what they say. And I don’t just mean comics or even other
performers. I find I get a lot of inspiration listening to or reading
about almost any artist or thinker whose work I find to be powerful
and engaging. So instead of taking to heart the negative, self-
aggrandizing advice of some bitter local “pro” comic, or the advice of
some overly opinionated relative, only listen to those people whose
hearts and minds you truly respect and admire.

COMPETITION

The way of the sage is to act but not compete.

—Lao Tzu

Stand-up can be very competitive. Every night, several comics vying

for the adoration of one crowd. And though I believe a certain
amount of friendly competition between comics can be healthy, I
also try to keep the following in mind … Sometimes, when driving for
hours traveling from one town to another, I’ll find myself passing this
car or that truck. And then a little while later, if I have to pull into a
gas station to fill up, I’ll think of the cars I passed on the road and
how, now that I’ve pulled over, the chances are I’ll have to pass them
again. And for a moment, I feel a little frustrated. But when I really
think about it, I figure my sense of frustration or anxiety is based on
an illusion. On the road I’m traveling, I’ve covered the miles I’ve
covered, and nothing or no one can take that away from me.
 TROUBLE IN THE PLAYGROUND

DRUGS, ALCOHOL, AND SUPERSTITION

Many artists jump into the waters of their art wearing a life
preserver, and more often than not, it’s the life preserver
that drowns them.
—Henry Miller

Some comics like to drink booze, some like to smoke drugs, and
some like to always leave the TV on when they leave the hotel room
or always wear their lucky shirt onstage. Of course, each to his own,
do what you believe, but I try my best not to invest too much belief
in anything outside myself. Actually, I figure being a comic is very
much about being the most “me” I can be, and about investing as
much value in my own perspective as possible.
I believe absolutely everyone has a unique perspective, but very
few people are encouraged to explore it, let alone express it. More
often, people seem to be urged to empower ideas and institutions
outside themselves, which I think is really a subtle form of
superstition. To me, this is the danger of using drugs or alcohol or
food or whatever to excess. What’s “excess”? Well, I figure we all
answer that question for ourselves, but the moment you experience
your involvement with something as restrictive or inhibiting rather
than liberating, the chances are you’re using it to excess.
Another problem with looking for power in people and things
outside oneself is that it’s tough to really count on. And stuff like
dope and alcohol have a definite “best before” date on them. Sooner
or later, they tend to catch up with comics. Mind you, in some bar
gigs, taking a beer onstage with you can make you “one of the
crowd,” and that can be a good thing. But requiring something apart
from yourself and a microphone to be a funny performer makes you
less flexible, and in some contexts you’re going to pay the price.
The fact of the matter is, a good percentage of comics eat a lot of
crap and drink a lot of booze. The personality types, the life style,
always being around alcohol, the stress, the lonely nights. Living as a
stand-up comic can be a very real personal challenge. But the way I
see it, the sooner a comic learns to cope with being a comic without
resorting to things that run a definite risk of eventually blowing up in
his face, the better.

BURN-OUT
 One minute I’m the best album of the year, the next I’m the
worst thing that’s ever been created on earth. So if I want to
go on that roller-coaster ride, then I’m an idiot.
—Alanis Morissette

I’ve had many really rough nights, and after a few shows I care not to
even remember, I have seriously considered giving it up. But one of
the ideas that has given me the guts to stick with it is that every
show is not so much an end in itself, but ameans to something much
bigger and better. Namely, a funnier me. Perhaps without even
realizing it, the crowd has paid to come watch me … learn. Sure,
there’ve been nights, especially back when I was still on amateur
shows, when the crowd thought I was absolutely the worst comic
they had ever seen. They didn’t have to tell me, I could literally feel it,
and sometimes continued to feel it, in the pit of my stomach, for
days later. But I always tried to remind myself that, ultimately, I was
struggling my ways toward a more creative, more expressive me (as I
still am).
Then, when I got off amateur nights and started to get paid for
shows, I kept telling myself that, unlike the majority of colleges and
universities where the student has to pay to attend, I was getting
paid to learn. Yes, every night you find yourself onstage, you should
try to really be there for that crowd, but on an even more important
level, whether the show goes well or not, it is merely a means to a
greater end. Along the way, try not to take the potholes too much to
heart. If only because, in show business, there tend to be a lot of
potholes.
Rather than trying to get used to the extreme ups and downs of
the business, I suggest you try to adopt a more accepting, even
gently detached attitude, especially considering that, after years of
ups and downs, it’s not uncommon for a performer to feel burnt out.
That’s why, I personally try to look at it all a little more …
philosophically, I guess. I try not to take the downs or the ups too
seriously. Where I am is important, but so is where I’m going.

LULLS IN YOUR CREATIVE GROWTH

Having talked with many different kinds of artists, there seems to be

a consensus that the longer one practices a craft, the harder one has
to work to continue learning. As the years go by, the learning curve
tends to flatten a bit, with the individual apparently learning less with
each passing year than he did in the first few. One reason for this is
that, in those first several years, everything is brand new and you are
approaching everything with truly fresh eyes. You’re hungry and
there’s so very much to learn. Not that, after you’ve been practicing
an art for a decade or more, there’s not much left to learn. On the
contrary, more often than not, masters of a craft emphasize that one
never knows it all—or anywhere close to it. But after several years of
thought, practice, and study, many students of a particular craft find
that, where in the first few years they seemed to always be
automatically learning, now they have to push themselves to
continue to grow. Stand-up is no different.
Lulls in progress, both artistically and careerwise, can be
frustrating, puzzling, even depressing. But remember, it’s at times like
this that the hobbyists get out of the business, and the real, diehard
comics hang in. Do everything you can to try not to let it get to you.
I’ve had many of these lulls at different points in my growth, and one
of the things I keep asking myself is, “Am I funnier now than I was six
months or a year ago?” Usually the answer is “Yes.”
Keep taking the stage, keep trying new stuff, and even if you feel
like you aren’t learning much, it’s almost inevitable that you will be
getting funnier. And that’s what it’s all about. Yeah, agents, bookers,
and key decision makers have a real say when it comes to the
progress of your career, but you have most of the control when it
comes to your artistic growth. That’s all up to you. So, after four or
five years on the boards, with a solid forty-five minutes of material
under your belt, don’t let up, don’t stop pushing yourself.
But it isn’t easy. Typically, seasoned comics become unimpressed
with a certain degree of audience reaction and thirst for louder and
longer laughs. The audience reaction they would have sold their
souls for a few years earlier now leaves them feeling strangely
dissatisfied. And that can be a good thing, if they respond to this
feeling by pushing themselves harder to write and perform to the
very best of their expanding abilities. The pattern is often one of the
young comic having an unusually strong set. Then a year or so later,
this unusually strong set is now the comic’s usual set. Then some
time later, he has an even stronger set, and a year or two later that is
now the new standard for that comic. And so it goes. Be prepared for
both the mountains and valleys. Odds are, as you progress as a
stand-up comic, the valleys between the mountains will grow wider
and sometimes (groan!) even deeper. But have faith. Keep giving of
your heart and time to your craft, and with a little luck, another
mountain will be yours.

BEING PROFESSIONAL

What does it mean to be “professional”? Well, unlike an “amateur,” a

professional often makes money, perhaps even his entire living, from
what he does. But to my mind, that’s probably the least important
aspect of what it means to be professional. For me, professionalism is
more of an attitude, even a code of behavior. Stuff like personal
hygiene and punctuality I hope to hell I don’t even have to mention,
but there’s also a lot of other, more subtle stuff. However, being such
an individual thing, I’m certainly not about to suggest what being
professional should mean to you, but here’s at least a little bit about
what it means to me.

DO YOUR TIME ONSTAGE

If the manager of the club asks you to do twenty-five minutes, do
twenty-five minutes. Not eighteen, not thirty-four … twenty-five. It’s
that simple. If you’re having a tough time and you want, really want
to get the hell off the stage, but you’re supposed to do another ten
minutes … do another ten minutes. That’s how you learn. And how
you fulfill your commitments to other people. If you go short,
somebody else will probably have to make up your time, and that’s
simply not fair. It’s also not fair if you’re having a blast onstage and,
instead of the ten minutes you were asked to do, you do nineteen.
There’s a word for that—it’s called “stealing.” From the other comics,
and from the crowd.
Stand-up is a craft of seconds and minutes, not hours. Some
comics believe that a crowd can only laugh so hard for so long
before they get tired. I’m not sure if I completely believe this, but I
suspect there is at least some truth to it. So if you’re a stage hog and
stay onstage longer than your allotted time, strictly speaking, you’re
stealing from the other comics. And whether you’re bombing or
killing isn’t the point. Also, if you aren’t the headliner on the show,
not only are you stealing from him (he’s got a hard enough job as it
is, trust me) but also you’re stealing from the crowd who paid to see
the headliner. And when you go long or bail early you aren’t showing
respect to the manager who has booked you to perform for a certain
length of time.

TRY (TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITIES) TO MAKE THE AUDIENCE LAUGH
Yes, you want to explore that new “leprous insurance salesman”
character, break in those salamander jokes, maybe even try that new
marmalade bit, but you’re being paid to make people laugh tonight.
So as you try to grow, and you must, always try to make sure there’s
truly something in it for them. And yeah, some nights they may not
go for what you call your “smart stuff,” so try something else. I figure
you owe them that. To not always necessarily succeed, but to at least
try
always .

DON’T TELL JOKES ONLY YOU (OR OTHER COMICS) ENJOY

To my mind, playing to “the back of the room” or for your own
personal kicks can, once again, be summed up in one word: stealing.
The people in the audience paid you to entertain them, that’s the
deal. If you don’t like it, don’t accept the gig. Many’s the time I’ve
heard comics onstage saying, “That’s a joke I do for myself.” Imagine
a surgeon saying, “While I was stitching you up I put in a couple of
stitches in your armpit, you know, just for myself.” Or the club
manager not paying you your full fee, explaining, “It’s a little
something I do for myself.”

DON’T TELL JOKES AT THE EXPENSE OF THE STAFF OR OTHER COMICS

To me, this is inexcusable. Yeah, we all have our small grudges with
this comic or that bartender, and yeah it’s not much fun taking the
stage after another comic has just bombed for twenty minutes telling
one tampon joke after another. But if you have a problem with
someone, that’s between you and them. It’s like parents fighting in
front of the kids. I don’t think it’s fair to drag the crowd into it.
Now, I can think of one exception to this, but it’s very tricky. I
figure the people who come to see us perform are, on some level,
our guests. Their pleasure is our first priority. So just as when
someone has clearly been very rude or mean to a guest in my home,
I may feel obliged to say or do something. In the same way, if a
comic has clearly been very mean to someone in the crowd, perhaps,
just perhaps, it may not be completely out of order for me to say
something onstage or do what I can to make amends—if only for the
sake of the entire show.

IF THEY DON’T LAUGH, YOU AREN’T FUNNY

Yes, last night you killed. And you may well rock the house tomorrow
night. But tonight … well, they didn’t laugh much. So I figure, tonight
you weren’t funny. It’s not unlike that old question, “If a tree falls in
the forest and nobody’s there to hear it, does it really make a
sound?” To me, to be “funny” is to be found to be funny by another
person or persons. So if an audience doesn’t laugh, you aren’t funny,
at least to them. It’s not about being “too smart” or “too hip” for the
room. Have you ever heard a mechanic say he wasn’t able to solve a
problem with a car engine because he was “too clever”? If you’re so
damn clever or smart or whatever else you call it, prove it and reach
the crowd in front of you .
One of the ways I force myself to own up to certain hard truths,
particularly after a rough show, is by asking myself, “Can I think of a
comic, any comic, who could’ve done more with that crowd?” And if
the answer is “Yes” (and, considering comics like Robin Williams and
Jim Carrey, the answer is always “Yes”) then I am, once again, left
holding the responsibility bag.

IT’S NEVER THE CROWD’S FAULT

I can’t tell you how often I hear comics blame the audience for a bad
show. To me, that’s like a teacher blaming her students for an
unproductive class. We’re supposed to be the pros, we’re the ones
getting paid, we’re the ones who have done it hundreds if not
thousands of times. We write the stuff, we deliver the stuff, we do it
all. So I figure the buck should stop with us. Even when my ego
doesn’t like it, I always try to accept full responsibility for how my
part of the show goes. They paid to see me, I have the mike and the
lights, and they’re facing the stage. Under those conditions, I think I
should take full responsibility. Though I admit, sometimes it’s not
very easy or much fun.
Some comics will say this is taking things too far, that the audience
as a whole has a definite say in the dynamic of the show, and I would
agree. But I’m not suggesting you try to take full responsibility just
for the sake of the audience, but for your sake as well. My ego
(perhaps like yours) can be a very clever, sometimes slippery thing.
And I believe that the fewer “exits” I give it, the more I’m going to
push myself to become a better comic. Taking full responsibility for
the audience’s response to your set goes a long way toward blocking
those exits.

ALWAYS BE LEARNING

Learn something from every shot.

—Cliff Thornbird (world champion billiards player)

Push yourself. Don’t rest on your tried-and-true forty-five minutes or

your always charming character. The “greats” of almost any discipline
or profession tend to think of themselves as amateurs, as students,
forever trying to learn more about their area of interest or so-called
expertise.

PAY YOUR DUES

Nobody gets great overnight. Nobody. Hell, nobody gets even really
good in a few months. It takes years, accept it. Somebody once said
it takes five to seven years to get good, truly good at something, and
in my experience and that of a lot of people I’ve talked to, that’s the
truth. So don’t make it hard on yourself (and everyone around you)
by straining to be somewhere you are not. You are where you are.
Enjoy it for what it is.

BE TRUE TO YOURSELF
To me, this is the most important of all. I know that many of the
other aspects of being professional I’ve touched on emphasize the
importance of honoring your commitments and obligations to other
people. But what’s the point of being fair to other people if you
aren’t being fair to yourself? So if you find yourself not being able to
give others what you’ve agreed to give them, without also ripping off
yourself, then perhaps stand-up comedy isn’t for you. Or to put it
another way, if you can’t make a crowd laugh with the kind of
comedy you want to do, and the kind of comedy you feel they might
enjoy you don’t feel comfortable doing, stand-up comedy may not
be for you. For many comics, including myself, it’s a never-ending
struggle, sometimes quite fierce, between doing what you think the
crowds might enjoy and doing what you think you might enjoy. They
are seldom the exact same thing. That’s why the most successful
comics somehow find a way to be true to both themselves and their
audiences.
 CHAPTER NINE

ZEN and the ART of STAND-UP COMEDY

Flow with whatever may happen and let your mind be free.
Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing. This is
the ultimate.
—Chuange-Tzu

I’ve always been a pretty anal guy. Punctual, wicked tidy, very
controlled. But at times, that can be a frustrating, restrictive way to
be. I mean, just because I tend to do things a certain way, it doesn’t
mean I’m always going to like it, right? As controlling as I sometimes
am, for years now there’s been a part of me that yearns to be a little
more easygoing, better able to go with the spontaneous flow of
things. I suspect it’s this part of me that was first attracted to stand-
up, and to the philosophy of Zen.
I can’t claim to know a whole hell of a lot about Zen. In fact, from
what I’ve read, “knowing” and “Zen” don’t have much in common.
But I’ll tell you what the idea of Zen means to me, as a person, and as
a stand-up comic: Zen is about staying open to the unexpected, and
about the spontaneous nature of life itself. Zen is about flexibility
rather than rigidity. Zen is about doing, whatever you do, with as
much of you as possible. It’s about being “in the moment,” about
really being where you are. And most of all, Zen is about investing all
of you in what you do.
 WATER IS STRONGER THAN ROCK

When I first started reading about Zen, I was excited to see so many
parallels between some of the ideals of Zen and my own thoughts on
stand-up. When Zen philosophers talk about water being stronger
than rock due to water’s profound flexibility, I’m reminded of the
importance of staying loose on stage, and of not letting stuff like
loud pinball machines and waitresses dropping trays of beer get to
you. Instead of resisting or fighting such so-called intrusions,
disregard them. Or perhaps even better, incorporate
them into what
you are doing. Exclusion, perhaps of any kind, is a very dangerous
practice. Stay open, stay flexible. Make an ally of the Spontaneous
and Unexpected.

YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE

To rule Nature, you must first give into it.

—John Locke

When reading about Zen, I also find myself thinking a lot about
Acceptance, about trying not to make something into something it’s
not. Perhaps like yourself, I’ve many times found myself in an
unpleasant situation, a place I dearly didn’t want to be. But there I
was. And no amount of wishing or hoping or wanting or even
needing was going to change the fact that, at least for the time
being, that was where I was. A thing is what it is. A biker bar is a biker
bar is a biker bar.
So instead of putting thought and energy into wishing for this or
hoping for that, I now try to accept the situation for what it is, and
put my energy toward making the most of the situation. I know, it’s
not exactly a new idea. But I personally am still trying to find what it
takes to always do it.

FEAR IS THE ENEMY

Earlier in this book, I suggested that caring strongly about how your
set goes, combined with a little self-doubt, will serve you in good
stead. But that’s as a beginner. Starting out, doubt and concern will
push you to search and experiment with many important techniques.
But I believe there eventually comes a time, a time when you are
finally able to “snatch the pebble out of the teacher’s hand,” that you
must begin to, in a sense, go out into the world … alone. Beyond the
school walls, even beyond strongly caring about other people’s
opinions. Caring can be a great fuel, but it can also be a very real
trap, especially if it is fear in disguise. Especially when you consider
that the tightrope walker who thinks too much about falling often
does that very thing.

ZEN SKIER
 Much of what people teach, including many of the principles I
discuss in this book, are merely guides, suggested paths, all
ultimately leading away from where they begin. After all, that’s the
nature of a path: to take you someplace else. Many of the things one
learns before setting off on any journey will serve one in good stead
for a long time to come, but I believe that as a performing artist, one
of the things one eventually has to leave behind is fear of failure. I
myself am not there yet. I still fear failing, fear not “doing well.” But I
am getting less fearful all the time. And I think that’s a good thing, if
only because I believe any fear I may have stands between me and
The Moment. In a sense, between me and Me.

DON’T TRY (OR: JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THINGS

COULDN’T GET MORE CONFUSING)

Zen suggests that one of the symptoms of the fear of failure is the
idea of “trying,” of somehow pushing or influencing or willing oneself
to be something else. Instead of just being who you are where you
are, when you are, and how you are … you try. I still remember the
time it occurred to me that perhaps “trying is to doing, as training
wheels are to a bike.” I know, even to me it sounds pretty vague. I
mean, how the hell am I supposed to “try not to try”? I guess by
doing something else other than trying. Like what? I haven’t a clue.
But I do feel like I have a subtle sense of it. And sometimes, just for a
second, I swear I even catch a glimpse of it. And so, I continue to
think about it, and feel about, and yes, even write about it.

STRAINING/RESTRAINING VS. ZEN

First, I should point out that the above heading is, strictly speaking, a
contradiction. As I’ve already mentioned, Zen as I see it is very much
about inclusion, not exclusion. Put another way, about love, not fear.
So to suggest that Zen is “versus” anything is to imply a fixedness or
rigidity that I don’t believe Zen has. (But hey, I’m trying to make a
point, so cut me some goddamn slack!) Earlier in this book, I
discussed the danger of the crowd perceiving the comic as in any
way straining. His voice, his body movements, his temper, whatever.
Strain often comes across as a sign of fear and insecurity, both of
which can seriously compromise the comic’s image in the eyes of the
audience. I even went so far as to mention the virtues of being
restrained onstage, and how that can send to the crowd a clear
message of strength and confidence.
But now, to the ever-growing heap of different views, I would like
to suggest a third perspective, one very much related to the idea of
“not trying.” Imagine yourself onstage delivering your material, and
you’re not straining (unnaturally pushing yourself) and you’re also
not restraining (unnaturally holding yourself in). In such a scenario,
what then are you doing?
I’m not quite sure. I seem to have an easier time imagining strain,
and restrain, than the total lack of either. But perhaps you are simply
… being there, onstage, naturally offering to the audience whatever it
is you are, in that moment. No sense of division between how you
feel and what you do. No sense of division between your character
and your material. No sense of division between you and the
audience . I believe that too is Zen.
 Twenty Tips

1. Smile.
2. Leave the audience wanting more.
3. Be flexible.
4. Simple is better than complicated.
5. Stage time is precious, don’t waste it.
6. Play to the entire room.
7. Beware talking too quickly.
8. Remember, likable and vulnerable.
9. Commit fully to your material.
10. Variety is good.
11. Try to have fun onstage.
12. Always be professional.
13. Ask the audience for nothing.
14. Do your time, no more, no less.
15. Start strong, end strong.
16. Don’t just express, communicate!
17. Tape your sets.
18. Don’t wait for the audience to come to you. Go to them.
19. Keep writing.
20. Trust yourself.
The map is not the territory.
—Alfred Korzbybski
 Glossary

Angle: a comedic perspective on a subject, also “spin” or “take.”

Bit: a single joke on a subject.
Callback: a joke that makes reference to information contained in a
previous joke.
Character: the personality or role a comic plays onstage.
Chunk: a series of jokes on a subject.
Closer: the last joke of a comic’s set.
Conviction: doing something with great belief.
Commitment: investing a great deal of yourself in something.
Curiosity: interest in knowing more about something.
Extro: what the MC says about a comic after he leaves the stage.
Gig: an engagement, show.
Green room: a tiny room in a comedy club reserved for the comics.
Guest spot: a brief appearance on a show, often without pay.
Hack: one who tells common, unoriginal jokes.
Headliner: the last comic on the show.
Heckler: someone who disturbs the show, often by shouting insults
at the comic.
Hook: an aspect of a comic’s performance or character that sets it
apart from other comics.
Intro: what the MC says about a comic before he gets onstage, e.g.,
his television credits.
Joke: something one says or does to make people laugh, also “gag”.
Laughter: a release of tension in reaction to a surprise.
Material: jokes prepared before the show.
MC: Master of Ceremonies.
Opener: the first joke of a comic’s set.
Prop gag: a joke with a prop.
Punch: information that alters the meaning of already given
information in a surprising fashion.
Riff: unprepared comment.
Set-up: information that gives a joke an initial context and
perspective.
Sight gag: a nonverbal joke.
Schtick: a comic’s particular style.
Spritzing: spontaneously finding humor, often while talking to the
crowd.
Stage hog: a comic who stays onstage longer than he is supposed to.
Surprise: something that happens without warning.
Timing: the tempo and rhythm of a comic’s voice and actions.
Tag: a brief line said after the punchline.
Tension: a build-up of unreleased energy.
Zen: your guess is as good as mine.