My Favorite Comedians: Louis C.K.

I began doing stand-up in Austin, Texas. I had a friend who worked for Chris Rock’s manager, Dave Becky, so I sent him a tape. He called to say that although it was obvious that I was still pretty “green”, he’d liked it, and that if I came to New York, I could go up at the comedy show he ran on Monday nights at Luna Lounge.

To me, a new comedian, it was like getting the thumbs-up from someone like Doc McGhee. Dave didn’t say he’d manage me — he had too many clients already, and they were much better comedians than I was — but he did say he’d help me out however he could. Being told I could perform at his club was a privilege that most comics dreamed of. So I loaded up the truck and drove to New York, high on my dreams.

Luna Lounge was on Ludlow Street, in the same neighborhood as CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City. It was really just a bar and a showroom with a few ratty old couches, and when shows went on, the lucky few who got there early enough sat on the couches, but everyone else had to sit on the floor. And there were LOTS of everyone else. Even though the comedy show, called “Eating It” (a comedy term for “bombing”), was on a Monday night, it was always jam-packed with an audience.

That’s because these comics were doing something new. They were saying stuff that people were hungry to hear. Luna Lounge was a world apart from the traditional comedy clubs, and perfect for young people living in NYC, who were always broke. There was no two-drink minimum like at the comedy clubs, no waiters or waitresses pressuring you to drop $20 in drinks, and — best of all — no rancid, retrograde Andrew Dice Clay-type humor typical of the ’80s and the comedy club scene.

At Luna Lounge, this was “alternative comedy”, supposedly a reaction to the kind of humor that had gone before. Just like “alternative” music was a reaction to classic rock, “alternative” comedy was supposedly more natural, intelligent, authentic, and experimental than “regular” stand-up comedy. “Alternative comedy” was the deconstruction of stand-up comedy.

Of course, there were people who said that the whole idea of “alternative” comedy was a crock of shit, merely a publicity ploy invented by Dave Becky to get the press and the public to pay attention to his stable of young clients. But whether or not “alternative” comedy existed, Dave’s show was one of the hottest things going on in New York.

It was an exciting time. Imagine coming from Texas to New York City and being able to perform on the same stage, and for the same audience, as Sarah Silverman, Zach Galafianakis, Dave Chappelle, Janeane Garofalo, David Cross, Marc Maron, and Louis C.K. I was in awe of the talent that surrounded me.

The first night I performed at Luna Lounge, a comedian named Rich Hall immediately followed me. I was starstruck, because Rich Hall was someone I had watched on TeeVee as a kid. He was in a comedy ensemble show called “Not Necessarily The News”, and he became famous for a segment called “Sniglets”. I remember watching Rich Hall across the room before I went onstage, my stomach turning over and over, thinking, “Oh my God, I’m about to perform in front of the Sniglets guy!” To me, he was a big star. When I finished, he patted me on the back and said “Good set.” Rich Hall spoke to me! Rich Hall gave me a compliment! I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

In the midst of this scene was Louis C.K. He was known as “the comic’s comic”. Everyone loved his comedy. Every comic wanted to be like him, in the sense of being able to be so natural and genuine onstage, so convincing, and at the same time, write such wickedly edgy, insanely funny material. The key to Louis C.K. was that he could say the most outrageous things because he seemed like such a regular, nice, honest guy that he earned your trust.

Louis C.K. was the opposite of those affected, exaggerated comedians like Robin Williams or Gilbert Gottfried or Jerry Lewis that irritated the rest of us comics with their fake attitudes, their dumb voices, and their obvious humor. To us, these comics were forced and artificial. The real art of comedy was in convincing the audience that this was really you, not a “crazy character”. To us, “crazy characters” were for dumb people who would laugh at anything. Comedy was the same as acting: it — or at least you — had to be believable.

I got to know Louis C.K. as a colleague over the years, in the clubs and at the occasional party. He was always the kind of guy you see onstage: an ordinary, likeable, down-to-earth guy. A nice guy, always ready to say something nice and supportive to younger, less experienced comics-- which isn’t how all comics are, by any means. Louis was the kind of person we all wanted to be onstage: totally stripped down to your bare essence, seemingly effortless, natural, real. The kind of person everyone instantly likes … and thus can say the most fucked-up things because he’s gained the audience’s permission to do it.

Louis C.K. would go on to write for Chris Rock and work with him on numerous projects, including directing Chris’s movie, “Pootie Tang”. He also made his own films and had his own HBO series, “Lucky Louie”.