Consider this post an apology to Kyle Davis and every comic who has ever done a great job featuring for me in the past. Why? Because I have been remiss in telling you how much I appreciate following a comic who understands what that job entails!I headlined a big event last night with a feature that was flown in from LA ... and although he will remain nameless, he screwed me. If he had pulled this shit in a club, or with a booker actually present or in the days when I had more of a temper, he would have gotten his hacky ass reamed. Its been a long time since I left a gig as frustrated as I was last night.
For those of you not in the comedy world, let me explain what a feature comic is and what his job description should be. The feature comic goes on before the headliner, does about 20-30 minutes and his primary job is to leave the stage "hot" ... close strong, bring up the headliner and let the momentum of funny roll. That didn't happen last night. In fact, just the opposite ... and it frustrated the hell out of me. I've featured most of my career and, if I don't mind saying so, I'm pretty damn good at it. Why? Because I've had the job explained to me, I've been chewed out for running long and not closing strong. I get it. But I've been spoiled as a headliner to spend most of my time on the road with guys like Kyle who understand that it's about having a kick-ass show, not getting your personal jollies on stage.
I knew I was doomed last night when, right at the thirty minute mark, the feature got the biggest pop (laugh) of the night and then, instead of leaving the stage on a high, asked the crowd if they wanted to hear more. He then spent 15 minutes doing crowd work, telling a jokey-joke (which I had heard in the school yard when I was a teenager) and closed pitching his DVD and explaining that his mother dies of cancer and proceeds from the sale would go to the American Cancer Society. What a downer.
So how did the audience react when it was time to pass the baton to me? They were restless and bored. Half got up to go smoke or get a drink from the bar. A handful left. I walked up to a cold stage ... even worse than a cold stage. I was now going to have to work twice as hard to regain their attention. And I was going to have to follow forty-five minutes of hack!My personal definition of hack might be a little more strict than some. Let me give you my hack guidelines: If you have multiple jokes about penis size and race, you're a hack. If you tell a joke out of a book (say, about the a guy who went to the Super Bowl after his wife died), you're a hack. If you tell fart jokes, you're a hack. If you tell jokes about women's "time of the month," you're a hack. If, at any point in time in your set, you're talking about sitting on the toilet, you're a hack. Last night, I followed all of that.
But hack will get you laughs. It won't get you far, but it will get you laughs. I can handle hack. Be a hack ... I don't care. But don't run long! And, dear God, close with a joke. Get a laugh and get off!
I had to work my ass off last night. It was okay ... I've been there before. It took a while for them to settle, to start to listen again ... but eventually they did. Those who stuck with it had a good time. I won 'em back and closed fairly strong. Not my best show ... not by a long shot. But I had nothing to work with. I now understand why so many experienced, nationally touring headliners get so jaded. It's a pain in the ass when a selfish feature comic gets his laughs and then goes long and weak.
