anna matsen – NashvilleStandUp.com

June 1, 2009

John Oliver’s Twist on American Satire

Anna Matsen attended John Oliver‘s May 25th show at Zanies and sends in this review:

Somebody put the fear of Nashville in John Oliver — thankfully for comedy fans, he nonetheless braved the city. To test the audience, he opened with a Voldemort vs. Cheney joke in which the former Vice came off the worse. (Call me crazy, but that appraisal coming from Harry Potter’s grown up doppleganger — minus only the lightning scar — carries added authority.) When the crowd roared in response to this and a Catholic Church vs. Galileo joke, Oliver expressed relief and excitement over what was sure to be a fun night.

I don’t know whether his show was literally sold out, but but the crowd was sure packed in and excited. The vast majority of people there were no doubt already big fans of his because he is popularly recognized; therefore, concerns that the audience wouldn’t get his humor were ultimately unwarranted. However, it’s worth noting that Nashville is a more mixed town when it comes to political humor than many realize, particularly when it comes to jokes at America’s expense. Sure, there are folks here (as everywhere) with a distaste for political comedy, but even those who’d get up-in-arms in defense of blind patriotism would have been at a loss how to react to Oliver’s jokes. His satire wasn’t aimed at critiquing U.S. policies, but rather expressed his dumbfounded, ironic love of all that’s ridiculous in American culture … and if there’s anything true about U.S. mass culture, it’s that we’re a “more to love” body of people.

For instance, do you know which of the U.S. states is the “least obese”? Or that our nation has the most flamboyant (if not the most participatory) democracy? Did you know that Americans have the most names in the Guinness Book of World Records? John Oliver can answer all of these questions, and has several illustrative examples proving that Americans will do anything for a token of notoriety. He also talked that night, as he does on his recorded stand up special Terrifying Times, about certain gloriously frivolous products found in our malls — things (according to him) no other country would make or buy, like the oreo pizza and the inflatable grill.

But the set wasn’t dedicated solely to satirizing American culture — Oliver is a pro at candid self-effacement too. He described for us his first feeble time firing a gun and the young (hilarious) trauma which inspired him to pursue comedy rather than athletics. After chastising his own insufficient masculinity to properly “Wooooo!,” he actually tried competing yell-for-yell with the happily rowdy audience — an unwise, but greatly amusing move.

Toward the end of this gig Oliver received a gift from an audience member: the quite hefty Encyclopedia of Rock. He stayed on stage an extra ten minutes just flipping through the pages for entertaining bits, like the maracas on the “things you need to start a band” page. Inspired by this, I am right now issuing a challenge to every other city that John Oliver visits: I dare you to outdo Nashville, particularly with a thoughtful and creative gift of some sort, given toward the end of his act. Since he pokes fun at America for not just inventing but selling items like the inflatable grill, best of all would be a product of like-minded American ingenuity. (Perhaps the portable microwave I once saw advertised in a magazine … I presume for people who have so little free time that, to eat at all, they simply must nuke on-the-go.) We want him to keep laughing at/with us, after all, so that this witty Brit stays a permanent import.

Finally, on The Daily Show he’s always struck me as the most bubbly correspondent — someone who’s thrilled to tears every time he reports. Happily, both his stand up show and his podcast with Andy Zaltzman (The Bugle) embrace the same invigorating enthusiasm. John Oliver is a smart, irrepressibly fun comic who works well with a crowd, even when self-conscious because unknown somebodies hyped him full of worry over Nashvillains. And there’s always the bonus of the lovely accent. (If he recorded a CD of himself reciting binary code, I’d buy it … but I’d much prefer his comedy.) If he comes to your town, go to his show, laugh a lot, and bring a gift. I dare ya.

Anna Matsen — a word nerd, political junkie, amateur philosopher, sushi-lover, and Nashvillian — attends as many comedy gigs as she can afford. As a grad student of English at Belmont Unversity and an English tutor at The Learning Lab, she works daily to improve her writing skills, hoping to one day write something worth a book jacket. Visit Anna on Facebook.

May 25, 2009May 25, 2009

Mary Mack: Amble on the Absurd Side

Anna Matsen attended Mary Mack‘s May 18th album-release show at Zanies and sends in this review:

My title isn’t fair. Mary Mack‘s humor isn’t purely absurd, but I’m at a loss how precisely to describe it. The most remarkable description I can give of her performance is that it’s both rambling and compact. Her thoughts flow like a meandering steam — one which, magically, loops back to earlier points with ease — yet the jokes are quick, craftily worded, expertly timed, and (ironically, given my stream analogy) bone dry. To put it another way, many excellent one-liners could be plucked from her material (“I don’t have a wide range of emotion. I get panic attacks, but I’m just not that excited about ’em.”), but strung together these jokes become each other’s seamless context.

Perhaps listing the subjects of her comedy would help. She talks about the eccentricities of her life and family, yet isn’t an “observational” comic (at least, not of the “Say, have you ever noticed …?!” variety). Many of her stories relate to small town northern Wisconsin, yet Nashville laughed as hard at these as it did the rest of her jokes. Once or twice she flirted with political humor, but the affair was fleeting, sweet, and refreshingly undramatic. She opened with a recorder-accordion duet, featured a charming Father’s Day song on mandolin (which will be stuck in your head for a week after hearing it), and finale’d with a special tune on her imaginary musical saw.

The show I saw, her album release show at Zanies (Pinch Finger Girl is well-worth the ten bucks — I’ve already listened to it twice through and will be loaning it out to friends), was my first time experiencing her humor. It took a little time for the crowd to fully warm up, but overall the atmosphere was awe and giggles in honor of the captivatingly eccentric lady with the breathy, pinched voice. Even the waiters seemed more relaxed than usual, reacting to the comic with joyful snickers as they ran between tables. She had one especially clever audience interaction: Miss Mack sang a quick ditty about her hope that the enthusiastically drunk lady near the stage wasn’t a speech therapist. The woman was too busy laughing, along with the rest of the crowd, to speak up for the next ten minutes. (I very much wish I could remember the exact line.)

I do have a conspiracy theory about Mary Mack, and I hope those who’ve seen her act will back me up on this: she’s the long-lost lovechild of Maria Bamford and Steven Wright, secretly raised by down home erratics in the middle of nowhere (i.e. northern Wisconsin) in order to trigger the coping mechanism that generates professional-grade comedic skills.. It’s the only logical explanation.

Mary Mack’s website is MaryMackComedy.com.

April 30, 2009April 30, 2009

Jeffrey Ross and the Fun of Laughing at Ourselves

I was recently able to attend a Zanies gig involving Chad Riden, Lahna Turner, and Jeffrey Ross. Chad opened with a mix of his usual material (such as his accused “badass” driving skills and a drunken “Free Bird” evangelist impersonation) and improvised audience interaction about birthdays and the recent Nashville marathon. All in all, a good set.

The second opener, as mentioned above, was Lahna Turner, a comic I was seeing for the first time. Her humor was a mix of singing and spoken word, surprise and shock, and the crowd ate it up. She joked about sex, sexual racial stereotypes, and her obese husband (whom she neglected to mention is fellow-comedian Ralphie May). Her current pregnancy provided plenty of material, and was dealt with in such punctuated explicitness that men and women alike were doubled-over in laughter. She worked unusually well with the audience when they didn’t respond as vocally as she had hoped. From where I sat it was obvious the crowd loved her act, but occasionally she threw in a gibe about how she’d give us a moment to recognize her brilliant humor. There are comics I’ve seen give a similar reaction, seemingly out of self-consciousness or insecurity, and it dampens the humor that actually exists in the crowd; but her obvious (and well-justified) confidence in her comedy won her louder and louder peals of laughter every time. Two of her fun musical numbers were the “Long Schlong” song and “Kegel” (a memorable five-second, silent sing-along. … ;`D)

Jeffery Ross, that night’s headliner, is best known as a “roast master”; after seeing his act live, I must conclude that he is probably the friendliest roaster around — which is why his act works. Oh, he dishes out the witty taunts, but in a way that invites people to laugh at themselves, because his ridicule isn’t the least mean-spirited. His all-in-friendly-fun demeanor is likely why, over the course of the show, he shared the stage with eight other people — all of whom took their gibes in stride. It strikes me as a healthy compulsion when people voluntarily place themselves in the butt of a joke. It’s a sign that we can, on occasion, give up a few hangups (mainly, the hangup of taking ourselves too seriously).

The first to be invited up was a woman in a shiny, silver, so-so-short dress. She was teased/complimented for having a bouncy-when-she-laughed chest. He then suggested an audience roast. Two girls and three guys walked on stage eager to be teased. Probably the best zinger of the “roast” was his dubbing of a white boy in a white t-shirt with a chain necklace a few extra pounds “K-overfed.” An odd-faced fellow sitting alone at the corner of the stage was ridiculed at the beginning of the show and later brought up to play piano for several of Ross’s “poems.” (Is it just me, or is there always some awkward loner near the stage at Zanies shows? Maybe it’s even the same guy and I haven’t paid careful enough attention. … But I digress.) Although an obviously genuine audience member and not a plant, his comic timing playing the piano while Jeffrey Ross recited “love poetry” worked perfectly. The last person to share the stage was the first half of Evan and Jaron. To be honest, I was never a fan of their hit “Crazy For This Girl” (too much sap in that pop ballad for my taste), but it was still fun seeing Evan on stage. He plays piano well, sings well (duh), and good-naturedly took his share of teasing like everyone else.

Finally, Ross didn’t restrict himself to the audience when it came to poking fun; he also threw in a bit of self-effacing humor (particularly about being a New Jersey native). And his poem in honor of his cat was simply fun. It was a great night laughing both at and with a talented stand up act.

Visit Anna Matsen on Facebook.

April 22, 2009April 22, 2009

Demetri Martin: The Coin’s Other Side

Demetri Martin at TPAC April 16, 2009 — Demetri Martin at TPAC (April 16, 2009)

Really great comedians tell us things that everybody recognizes (or should recognize) but nobody says. They either spotlight our hypocrisy in controversial and taboo subjects (like Doug Stanhope) or they recalibrate our myopic mental lenses to provide a fuller perspective on everyday moments (like Demetri Martin). That’s why, despite the fact that their styles are polar opposites and subject matter never crosses, I say without irony that I enjoy and admire Doug Stanhope and Demetri Martin for the same reason: they both inspire a broader, deeper, fuller understanding of life, and they make me laugh damn hard while they do it.

The best comedians don’t feel like they have an “act.” They carefully and purposefully write and perform their material, to be sure, but it all grows authentically out of their own personality and wit, and that’s what impresses me. Original writing, a captivating stage presence, and the genius to handle an unpredictable crowd is a lot to expect of anyone, which is why a consumate entertainer is such amazing fun. I count Demetri among such multitasking talent (and that’s before counting his drawing and musical skills).

Demetri’s mind is tangential, detail-driven, crafty, and rapacious in all the best ways. His jokes are compact and rapid, they are joltingly and happily lacking in segues, and they are a delight to idiosyncractic, puzzle-loving minds. If his observations were to be described in two words, those words would be: subtly obvious. It is an unmatched joy to be startled by such unassuming genius.

Anyone familiar with his earlier shows knows the lightly askance view his humor employs. (To use an old quip of his: “A drunk driver is very dangerous. So is a drunk backseat driver if he’s persuasive. ‘Dude make a left.’ ‘Those are trees…’ ‘Trust me.’”) There’s also frequently an element of word nerd humor. (For example, another classic older joke: “Saying ‘I’m sorry’ is the same as saying ‘I apologize.’ … Except at a funeral.”) His deadpan delivery makes bits like these even more memorable. More importantly, however, popularizing this style of humor makes him walking, talking proof that intelligence is charming. Beyond the happiness that his bright observations bring, that cultural elevation may be what makes him most enjoyable and admirable. Smart = sexy, folks. Learn it, live it, and love it!

There’s something almost intimate in Demetri’s stage demeanor — a personality that is, at once, invitingly amiable and self-protectively private. For example, when pressed for personal information (as when a woman yelled out, “When was the last time you had sex?!” during his April 16th performance at TPAC), his facial reaction was downright bashful. He did, however, come back with: “That’s how I met your mother.” Once again, we see that the only sure-fire cure for momentary awkwardness is a solid “your mom” joke. Bravo, good man.

It wouldn’t be fair to call those yelling up at him hecklers since, in this case, he asked the audience to shout out questions. Most of the shouts were positive ones anyway, like: “Is your show coming back?” (it is) and “When will you host Saturday Night Live?” (no plans to yet, but he’d really like to). There was, however, one opportunistic woman who forgot whom the spotlight shone on, and who, therefore, dragged on an unwitty banter about local coffee shops. Now, I like cafes as much as the next nerd, but I’d rather have spent that time hearing more of Demetri’s new material (like “BFBs” … an acronym and a joke that I won’t spoil for you). And I suspect the crowd would have agreed with me.

I did have a question of my own to ask, but my infernally insistent “tact” kept me from asking it. (Momma taught me it’s rude to talk over others. … Confound that woman and her despicable lessons in politeness.) I wanted to know his favorite word. I wonder if he already has one, or if he would have had to come up with one on the spot. So much for lost opportunities.

Every segment of his show (the drawings, the keyboard playing, the traditional stand up, the Q&As, and the old-joke-request time) ended with stronger and stronger applause. After the show was “over,” he stayed to answer more questions. Nobody left the auditorium while he was on stage. It was fun hearing about him and his misadventures with a “Beat It” leather jacket.

The only snag in the show was that, once or twice, a joke was lost on the audience because Demetri ran through a word or two too fast. The “skunk farts” joke was one such case. So no, Demetri, if you’re reading this, that joke is not unfunny. You just need to enunciate a little more, ‘k?

Not everyone will get Demetri’s humor (no sense of humor is universal, after all), but plenty will delight in his view anew observations, and a few poor souls will drink in his words like the drunken fangirls we are. ;^D

Full disclosure: I’ve been a unabashed fangirl of Demetri’s for at least a year or two, so perhaps this “review” is biased. But how can you expect a nerd girl like myself to resist the allure of the dude who made If I? Honestly, HOW?! (If you haven’t seen If I, Demetri’s earliest one man show, and if you at all appreciate quirky, nerdy philosophy, do yourself a favor and hunt it down.)

The night concluded with my friend Nicole (who also attended the show) and I raving about our favorite lines, our favorite comics, and why stand up is so much fun … exactly how the night should have ended. I can’t wait for my next opportunity.

Visit Anna Matsen on Facebook.

April 20, 2009April 22, 2009

Doug Stanhope’s Core-Shaking Comedy Comes to Nashville

Doug Stanhope in Louisville, KY (March 14, 2009)

Humor may be the most personal sense we have, and it’s no good trying to reason with someone over why a joke is funny or it isn’t. Comedy is something you simply “get” or you don’t. Despite this fact, I will now attempt to explain why my favorite comics are funny: because I spend their entire shows giggling and gasping, and then, as I drive home, I wonder why the hell I’m not a more authentic/inquisitive/brave person.

Foul-mouthed, counter-culture, shake’n’wake ’em comics (“em” being the snoozing masses … myself, lamentably, included) beflutter my tender heart when they get me not thinking so much as rethinking about life. I’m a know-it-all nerd, ya see, and it is a rare and ecstatic delight to be substantially surprised. Do that, and I couldn’t care less how “offensive” you are. In fact, the more offensive, the better! What truly offends my moral sensibilities is mediocrity masquerading as genius. If I were someone to walk out of a show in a self-righteous huff (which I’m not, because that’s childish), it would be because the material was idiotic or boring, not because the artist was being politically uncorrect.

Wait, this post was supposed to be about Doug Stanhope, not me. Focus, woman. Focus!

All of the above applies to Stanhope, who played at Nashville’s Exit/In on April 10th. As arguably the most offensive living comic, he’ll make you wheeze with laughter while screaming, “Holy hell, he’s right. … I’m an idiot and a jerk for not recognizing this before!” His riffing on pretty much every topic was brilliant, but my favorite moment was actually the confessional-like ending. He seemed a zen master exasperated by the fact that, no matter how hard he shakes people, he can’t wake the world from its stupor or its stupidity. Or perhaps he’s a “seer” with shit-vision goggles who, after pointing out that said “shit” is everywhere, is aghast that people continue contentedly living in it. He strikes me as someone whose driving idealism battles daily with his compulsive realism, whose passions are stretched on a rack between what the world should be and what it is.

Then again, maybe I’m presuming too much. I’m certainly being far too abstract to give you a real idea what his humor is like. One thing I can say without doubt is that the slight gravel in Stanhope’s voice is satsifyingly gutteral. That isn’t something everyone can pull off, but I like his voice a bit sandy.

The show was opened by Nashville’s own Chad Riden (“America’s Favorite Comedian Of All Time”), and The Mattoid, an avante-garde band whose music I genuinely enjoyed. Both of the opening acts would have been more exciting with a more enthused crowd, as most people were there purely for Stanhope, but were certainly fun.

The headliner began his act denouncing the “that guys” of the world, including one who imposed himself on him while he tried reviewing his notes before the show (and who later acted like a moronic jackass yelling up to the stage). He then ranted on issues of religion, sex, politics, sex in movies, and so on. There were also a few folks he chastised for holding up video cameras. Now, I’d brought my camera, and would have used it if the batteries hadn’t been dead, but ONLY to take pictures (without flash), NOT video. I would never violate an artist’s right to have control over how and when their own material makes its public debut.

My favorite part, as mentioned above, was the more personal revelation at the end about why he rants. He’s resigned himself to a spirit of futility, even though he keeps treading the hamster wheel, so to speak, by continuing his act, but I’d still like to think his ranting is for a purpose. Sure, the whole world is still terribly messed up, but for people to change things they do have to know what’s wrong and they do need to maintain motivation for working towards what’s right. That’s the other thing that truly great satire does (at least, for me personally). The awareness and motivation to combat the insanity is also why I love The Daily Show so much. The perspective and the humor that satire brings are BOTH incalcuably important. Apathy is the greatest fuel to the fire of the world’s insanity. Or perhaps South Park provides a more apt comparison with Stanhope’s show, since both (in their ironic little heart of hearts) are driven by moral outrage. Still, this self-professed “lover of losers” (by which he affectionately means “his fans”) has an acerbic allure all his own.

In short, I like people who can rock my world without a musical backdrop for their words (although rock’n’roll is fun too). The bottom line is that Stanhope is a funny dude (as long as you’re not easily offended) and that I’m a complete idiot for attending his show with a dud of a camera. It did turn out to be a battery problem, thankfully, rather than a camera problem. But I wanted a picture, dammit! *mad-at-self grumbles* … Guess I’ll just have to catch Stanhope again whenever he returns to Nashville.

Visit Anna Matsen on Facebook.