Merry Blowhole, Baby
Let's see . . .
What haven't I blogged about on this comedy site lately?
Could it be, um, actually doing comedy?
Alright, then.
I did a show Thursday night, I did.
It was a "Voice Choice" in the Village Voice to boot. (Not 'cause of me, though.)
And I was pretty good.
The show was an annual holiday variety extravaganza -- heavy on music -- with comedy, an old-time radio show (intensely well-observed and funny), heel-clicking, quote-quoting, moonshine-drinking (for real, like hillbillies do), and general reveling. Highlights (aside from me) included the bands, The Eggplants (they played recently in the UK, where, presumably, they were called The Aubergines) and Jesus H. Christ and the Hornsmen of the Apocalypse (sans hornsmen) -- terrific both.
Usually, I tell a story at Blowhole (formally "Blowhole Theater's Holiday Winterlude" or something like that) but -- just as I tend to confound expectations in stand-up venues with my ruminative, anecdotal style -- I decided, for some reason, that this night, with a story perhaps expected, I would do straight stand-up.
Actually, I had considered singing -- a song called "Cowboys to Girls" that I discovered on a "1968" collection I stumbled across online while looking for something by The Cowsills -- but the unsettledness of my life precluded the necessary preparation (preparation of course being unnecessary for stand-up). So, while strolling to Barbes -- a cute, little venue run by a former musician named Olivier who hates comedy -- I thought of some notions I thought would be ripe for on-stage exploration.
And thus came a promising new piece about the neglected romantic skill of perfecting one's message-leaving voice -- a necessity if one is to successfully follow up on drunken assignations. Also a consideration of society's anti-Darwinian bent (survival of the weakest), the apparent prevalence of bald people in folk music, and a reprise of my popular autumn improvisation from the King's Head in Crouch End about smokers being more desirable because of the laws of supply and demand; their self-destructive habit making them scarcer (they won't be around forever) and therefore more precious.
People liked it. I was praised by a more stand-uppy, "0-60", crisp and honed comic, who went on after me.
I felt comfortable. Women responded favorably to me for the rest of the night.
The world was good.
__________________________________
30 December, 2006 @ 15:45 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
What haven't I blogged about on this comedy site lately?
Could it be, um, actually doing comedy?
Alright, then.
I did a show Thursday night, I did.
It was a "Voice Choice" in the Village Voice to boot. (Not 'cause of me, though.)
And I was pretty good.
The show was an annual holiday variety extravaganza -- heavy on music -- with comedy, an old-time radio show (intensely well-observed and funny), heel-clicking, quote-quoting, moonshine-drinking (for real, like hillbillies do), and general reveling. Highlights (aside from me) included the bands, The Eggplants (they played recently in the UK, where, presumably, they were called The Aubergines) and Jesus H. Christ and the Hornsmen of the Apocalypse (sans hornsmen) -- terrific both.
Usually, I tell a story at Blowhole (formally "Blowhole Theater's Holiday Winterlude" or something like that) but -- just as I tend to confound expectations in stand-up venues with my ruminative, anecdotal style -- I decided, for some reason, that this night, with a story perhaps expected, I would do straight stand-up.
Actually, I had considered singing -- a song called "Cowboys to Girls" that I discovered on a "1968" collection I stumbled across online while looking for something by The Cowsills -- but the unsettledness of my life precluded the necessary preparation (preparation of course being unnecessary for stand-up). So, while strolling to Barbes -- a cute, little venue run by a former musician named Olivier who hates comedy -- I thought of some notions I thought would be ripe for on-stage exploration.
And thus came a promising new piece about the neglected romantic skill of perfecting one's message-leaving voice -- a necessity if one is to successfully follow up on drunken assignations. Also a consideration of society's anti-Darwinian bent (survival of the weakest), the apparent prevalence of bald people in folk music, and a reprise of my popular autumn improvisation from the King's Head in Crouch End about smokers being more desirable because of the laws of supply and demand; their self-destructive habit making them scarcer (they won't be around forever) and therefore more precious.
People liked it. I was praised by a more stand-uppy, "0-60", crisp and honed comic, who went on after me.
I felt comfortable. Women responded favorably to me for the rest of the night.
The world was good.
__________________________________
30 December, 2006 @ 15:45 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer
posted by Andrew J. Lederer at 10:53 AM
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