All Hail Slade Ham! The comedian and former owner of Comedy, Texas (Beaumont) gives a professional and amateur comics a reality check: No one owes you anything.
I’ve spent most of my adult life telling jokes. I take what is in my head and I twist it around and let it settle into something that has a punch line. This is all I know. Am I rich? Not yet. Do I do pretty well? Yes. Very well actually. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, mainly because it’s all I really know. With that said, I can finally say that I’ve earned the right to speak from a place that is not “the bottom.”
I started doing comedy in Beaumont, TX but for all intents and purposes I’ve always considered myself a product of the Houston comedy scene. Now, because fate takes pride in throwing wicked curve balls, I have been somewhat recently reintegrated into the scene that gave me that first push away from the shore.
And it is a dead and dying place.
Any young comedian reading this can Google a list of “do’s and don’ts” posted on any number of blogs around the Internet. I don’t feel the need to rehash such obvious suggestions, but I do have a few things I want to pass along. This is one of those writings that probably has nothing of interest to those of you that don’t perform… and maybe nothing of interest to some of you that do. After all, I don’t know any more than anyone else.
I can only look at what has worked for me and the handful of successful people I have the privilege of working around. With that long winded intro out of the way, here’s my advice to the Houston scene… and if you’re part of the scene in another city, maybe some of this will apply to you as well.
“Just because you have the balls to get on the stage doesn’t mean you are guaranteed stage time. Anywhere. Ever.”
First off, not all of the blame for a deteriorating scene falls on the up-and-coming amateurs. Some of the responsibility for a positive scene falls on the pros. When I first started, there were a lot of guys that were integral in keeping me motivated. I knew that on Monday nights the things I did right or wrong were probably going to be noticed by the working guys that happened to be there. Well, they’re not there anymore.
I’m not saying that every headliner in Houston should be at every open mic, but as a comic that was helped a lot along the way I personally feel a little responsible for giving back. In my first year or two, there was nothing more inspiring than having a headliner come up and compliment a joke, or even critique one. It doesn’t mean we have to watch every comic or show up to every open mic. It just means that when we are there, we could take a few minutes out of our night to pass along all that knowledge we’ve been accumulating over the years. There’s some pride to be taken in seeing someone do well on the big stage somewhere down the line that you helped mold from their first few months on stage.
Now, to the amateurs. I don’t think I have ever seen a more arrogant bunch of “comedians” in my life. I’m using the word comedian very loosely, for lack of a better word. I’m not talking to everyone, but on the whole, this scene has nothing to be arrogant about.
I need to preface all of this by saying this: NO ONE OWES YOU ANYTHING. Let that sink in. Let it marinate for a minute. Just because you have the balls to get on the stage doesn’t mean you are guaranteed stage time. Anywhere. Ever.
I hear a lot of people complain that there is no reason to give 100 percent at the open mics because no one that matters watches. First off, that is changing. Dramatically. Second, if that’s your only incentive to get better, quit doing comedy. You’re apparently not doing it simply because you actually want to improve… Third, there is always someone watching.
You’d be surprised how many guys have gotten work because another comic saw them give 100 percent at a show where they thought no one was watching. Ask around. There are a few that know first hand that that can happen.
“Don’t be afraid to throw out a bit that has grown too old simply because you haven’t replaced it with something else. Just get rid of it. Some jokes are crutches.”
Here’s my next question. How much time do you dedicate to comedy each week? Most people keep a notebook with them during the week, scribbling down any ideas that hit them, and then try it out Monday nights at the Laff Stop. Good for you.
Now… how good do you expect to get if all you are giving to comedy is six minutes a week? Name one thing you can succeed at if you only do it for six minutes a week. You can’t name one. There are four really good clubs in Houston right now. There are stages available (not easy stages, but stages nonetheless) seven nights a week here. Chase them down. It starts to become very evident who goes up more than once a week when I watch the open mic. You can tell instantly. You will get out what you put in. I promise you that.
Where are the writing circles? Where’s the camaraderie? Where’s the drive? I haven’t seen much of it here in a while. Find five or six other guys who’s writing you respect and agree to watch each other each night. Write tags for each other, you’ll get plenty in return. Be objective with your material. Don’t be afraid to throw out a bit that has grown too old simply because you haven’t replaced it with something else. Just get rid of it. Some jokes are crutches.
Set goals. Sit down with your notebook and honestly, without bias, take a look at what you’re bringing to the stage. Just because you’ve been doing a joke for years is no reason to keep doing it. It’s taken friends of mine to point out that I’ve outgrown certain jokes. It’s hard to cut them from your set, but it makes you a better comedian.
Also, stop telling people you have 45 minutes of material. You’ve been doing comedy for two years. It’s impossible. It’s not 45 minutes of material unless you’ve done it as a cohesive set, repeatedly, and successfully. I can stand on stage and talk for seven hours, but that doesn’t mean I have seven hours of material.
The ability to be honest with where you actually stand will make you much better in the long run. There’s nothing wrong with admitting to just having a good solid ten… it’s what you’re supposed to have. The quicker that you realize that you only have ten, the quicker you can get to the thirty you want.
Ditch the unprofessional attitudes. Quit bitching. None of that is going to get you anywhere. I used to own a club, so this much I say from experience: There is a shortage of comedians qualified to play the main stages, especially in an opener or feature capacity, and especially in Houston.
You ever wonder why the same guys keep getting thrown bones? It’s because they are the only ones that club owners know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, can pull it off. They can’t gamble with their paying audiences. Stop trying to be dirty. Work clean. You’re an opener. Tough shit.
Headliners can be dirty. They’ve earned it. If you think it’s not fair, it isn’t. It’s how it works, whether you like it or not. If you want to work dirty, be content with that open mic stage. Sit back. Shut up. Listen to the headliners when they are talking.
“Learn from those ahead of you, and teach those behind you. Show some humility. Unless your calendar is full of paid gigs, you really have nothing to be cocky about.”
Sitting around talking “comedy theory” with other open mikers is blind. I’m never going to pick up quantum theory talking to someone that doesn’t understand it themselves. How is comedy any different? Learn from those that were successful before you. I love the opportunity to slip in and do feature dates with comedians that I respect. I learn as much listening to them as I do on the weeks I’m headlining.
In the end, the success of any comedy scene is up to you guys. Monday nights, or any other night, can be as incredible and productive as you choose to make it. You can sit around and blow smoke up each other’s asses and complain about how much what you do gets unnoticed, or you can throw yourself into it with complete and utter dedication, and start working together to create a powerful, respected place to do comedy.
Sit in the audience when other comics are onstage instead of hiding in the back room until it’s your turn to go up. You’d be much happier if you had 30 other guys watching you instead of a half full room. Start the trend, and see who else jumps on board. You’d be amazed at the difference it would make. Learn from those ahead of you, and teach those behind you. Show some humility. Unless your calendar is full of paid gigs, you really have nothing to be cocky about.
The only guaranteed way to be successful in this industry is to give it everything. If you’re one of those guys that have been doing this 10 years, or five years, or even three or four, and still don’t have more than ten minutes of material, obviously you are not doing something right. Fix it.
There’s nothing magical about it. The other side of that is that there has never been, nor will there ever be a two-year headliner. There aren’t even two-year features. Get on the road. Pick up the bullshit work. Take the stage time that no one else wants and in the end, you’ll get where you’re trying to be. In the meantime, cultivate your scene. This is all you have at the moment and it is dying a horrible death.
Visit Slade Ham at www.sladeham.com.
