The Experience of Live Stand Up
Anyone who reads my posts regularly knows that one of my favorite subjects to talk about is Comedy, specifically Stand-Up comedy. I got into watching and listening to it back when I 14. It was that "thing" I clung to which helped me navigate adolescence, beginning with the stand-up of George Carlin. However, it's only been recently that I've taken to going to live stand up shows in local theaters here in St. Louis.
As I said in my post about Dear Evan Hansen last week, St. Louis has a large number of gorgeous theaters in which one can attend live performances: The Fox, The Stifle, The Pageant, among others. In addition to live theater, many of the theaters (The Stifle in particular), play host to great stand-up talent. In the last couple of years that I've been attending these shows, as one might imagine, I've found there are a couple of difference between watching a comedy special or listening to an album.
Experiencing an Opening Act
When you watch a comedy special (unless it's a showcase like Kings of Comedy or Blue Collar Comedy Tour, just to name two), the only thing you're gonna get is the titular performer, and you'll get pretty much a full hour of their material.
At a live stand-up gig, however, at least in a theater, before you hear the headliner, you'll also get to see an opening act. This is a comic, sometimes a local comic, sometimes not, who the headliner sends out to warm up the crowd.
Now, sometimes, the opener catches a lot of crap from the crowd. Why? Because no one in the theater paid to see them. And people can get a little lippy if they've imbibed a couple of drinks. Thankfully though, few people who lack decorum enough to actually heckle a comic can afford to come to the theater (and if they do, they get the nosebleed seats). As for those who do, and can afford an orchestra seat, they've clearly never seen a comic work before.
Every comic, but those who often work as openers, are masters of dealing with hecklers. Many of them even prepare jokes, or "putdowns", in advance to use in case someone has the cojones to try and heckle them. And even if they don't—since to be a comic means talking for a living—they can usually think of something on the spot (sort of like that kid in high school no one bullied because they could think of the thing to hurt you right in the feels just by looking at you).
Whether heckled or not, nonetheless, is always hilarious, and they always have the chops needed to get the crowd going. Sometimes you might even walk away feeling kind of bad for them that they didn't even get mentioned on the marquee outside the theater.
A Possible Mix of Old and New
When the headlining comic does come out on stage, chances are strong, particularly if you're a big fan of the comic you're seeing, that what they perform won't be wholly new.
Most comics, particularly today, don't write out their material. Instead they go up on stage with an idea of what they want to talk about and perform until they find their jokes. They call it "writing on stage." In a way, it's a bit like verbal jazz, except instead of finding a kick-ass riff, they're searching for a punchline.
Now, of course, some contemporary comics do write out their jokes (Christopher Titus and Billy Gardell are two perfect examples), but even they have to go up on stage and learn how to perform it so, when they talk, the audience laughs. This makes the process of being a comic a genuine trial by fire. The only way to make new stuff is to entertain the possibility of failing in front of a lot of people (who paid to see you, at that).
So, when a comic tours, they're usually either fine-tuning an act of new material they're about to record for a special or they're slowly phasing out the old act and creating a new one. So don't be surprised if you end up hearing some jokes you've heard before, along with new stuff you've never heard before.
A Sense of Spontaneity
When you watch a special or listen to an album (you know, if you're too poor to afford visual and audio), what you're listening to is a long-practiced, well-polished hour-long set of material. This is something that, whoever the comic is, they've performed to near perfection. They know every emphasis, every pause, every segue, set-up, and punchline to the point that they can go on stage and kill, at least, 98% of the time.
But here's the thing. Unless the special, like many of George Carlin's later specials from the 90s and 2000s, is shot live, you're likely not seeing the end result of one performance. Instead, what you're seeing or hearing on a special or album, is typically the best pieces of two shows. (When you've been a fan of comedy for as long as I have, you learn a little about how things work.) When shooting a special, the comedian usually performs two shows and then combines the best parts of the two shows, while shaving off the bits that don't quite work.
When in a live theater, there's none of that.
Going back to my previous two points on hecklers and the old/new material ratio, you never quite know what it is that the comic is going to say. You never even know how long they'll perform. When Gabriel Iglesias came to St. Louis a year ago, he freely admitted to us that he was still working on his new act, so he frequently bounced off the crowd in order to start making jokes. In the end, he performed for 3 hours, two more than anyone expected. And because he was still doing that, he closed the show by doing a highlight reel of some of his best bits, and the crowd—including me—finished his jokes for him.
We didn't know that was coming. I'm certain Fluffy didn't know it was coming. But the experience of being there, of being a part of that moment, makes it to this day one of the best shows I've attended. And, it's for the possibility of more moments like that one that keep me going to each new show.
As I said in my post about Dear Evan Hansen last week, St. Louis has a large number of gorgeous theaters in which one can attend live performances: The Fox, The Stifle, The Pageant, among others. In addition to live theater, many of the theaters (The Stifle in particular), play host to great stand-up talent. In the last couple of years that I've been attending these shows, as one might imagine, I've found there are a couple of difference between watching a comedy special or listening to an album.
Experiencing an Opening Act
When you watch a comedy special (unless it's a showcase like Kings of Comedy or Blue Collar Comedy Tour, just to name two), the only thing you're gonna get is the titular performer, and you'll get pretty much a full hour of their material.
At a live stand-up gig, however, at least in a theater, before you hear the headliner, you'll also get to see an opening act. This is a comic, sometimes a local comic, sometimes not, who the headliner sends out to warm up the crowd.
Now, sometimes, the opener catches a lot of crap from the crowd. Why? Because no one in the theater paid to see them. And people can get a little lippy if they've imbibed a couple of drinks. Thankfully though, few people who lack decorum enough to actually heckle a comic can afford to come to the theater (and if they do, they get the nosebleed seats). As for those who do, and can afford an orchestra seat, they've clearly never seen a comic work before.
Every comic, but those who often work as openers, are masters of dealing with hecklers. Many of them even prepare jokes, or "putdowns", in advance to use in case someone has the cojones to try and heckle them. And even if they don't—since to be a comic means talking for a living—they can usually think of something on the spot (sort of like that kid in high school no one bullied because they could think of the thing to hurt you right in the feels just by looking at you).
Whether heckled or not, nonetheless, is always hilarious, and they always have the chops needed to get the crowd going. Sometimes you might even walk away feeling kind of bad for them that they didn't even get mentioned on the marquee outside the theater.
A Possible Mix of Old and New
When the headlining comic does come out on stage, chances are strong, particularly if you're a big fan of the comic you're seeing, that what they perform won't be wholly new.
Most comics, particularly today, don't write out their material. Instead they go up on stage with an idea of what they want to talk about and perform until they find their jokes. They call it "writing on stage." In a way, it's a bit like verbal jazz, except instead of finding a kick-ass riff, they're searching for a punchline.
Now, of course, some contemporary comics do write out their jokes (Christopher Titus and Billy Gardell are two perfect examples), but even they have to go up on stage and learn how to perform it so, when they talk, the audience laughs. This makes the process of being a comic a genuine trial by fire. The only way to make new stuff is to entertain the possibility of failing in front of a lot of people (who paid to see you, at that).
So, when a comic tours, they're usually either fine-tuning an act of new material they're about to record for a special or they're slowly phasing out the old act and creating a new one. So don't be surprised if you end up hearing some jokes you've heard before, along with new stuff you've never heard before.
A Sense of Spontaneity
When you watch a special or listen to an album (you know, if you're too poor to afford visual and audio), what you're listening to is a long-practiced, well-polished hour-long set of material. This is something that, whoever the comic is, they've performed to near perfection. They know every emphasis, every pause, every segue, set-up, and punchline to the point that they can go on stage and kill, at least, 98% of the time.
But here's the thing. Unless the special, like many of George Carlin's later specials from the 90s and 2000s, is shot live, you're likely not seeing the end result of one performance. Instead, what you're seeing or hearing on a special or album, is typically the best pieces of two shows. (When you've been a fan of comedy for as long as I have, you learn a little about how things work.) When shooting a special, the comedian usually performs two shows and then combines the best parts of the two shows, while shaving off the bits that don't quite work.
When in a live theater, there's none of that.
Going back to my previous two points on hecklers and the old/new material ratio, you never quite know what it is that the comic is going to say. You never even know how long they'll perform. When Gabriel Iglesias came to St. Louis a year ago, he freely admitted to us that he was still working on his new act, so he frequently bounced off the crowd in order to start making jokes. In the end, he performed for 3 hours, two more than anyone expected. And because he was still doing that, he closed the show by doing a highlight reel of some of his best bits, and the crowd—including me—finished his jokes for him.
We didn't know that was coming. I'm certain Fluffy didn't know it was coming. But the experience of being there, of being a part of that moment, makes it to this day one of the best shows I've attended. And, it's for the possibility of more moments like that one that keep me going to each new show.
If you're not a comedy fan, I feel bad for you. You're missing out on a great theatrical experience. You'll have an hour and a half (at least), of hilarious fun. It isn't like seeing a Broadway show or like seeing a band in concert. It's something unique unto itself. If you try it once, you'll definitely want to try it again.
