Comedy Under Pressure
And not just 1 type of pressure . . .there was a LOT
About ten years into my comedy career, I was backstage in a theatre, waiting to go on in front of 1,500 people—my biggest crowd ever. It was also my first big convention gig. I’d been talking with a comic named Frank King about convention work, and he was also on this show. I was excited to finally meet him in person, and I knew that if all went well and my act hit big, he might like it and help me get into more convention work. I was feeling a little pressure.
Then in walks the other comedian on the show. He and I recognized
each other immediately—he was the high-energy emcee from four years earlier when I worked at his home club, and I bombed BIG. It was the same club where I had pulled out a fistful of comment cards, and they all said they hated me (see my article, A Handful Full of Really Bad Comment Cards) - I was sure this comic looked at me and thought I was a horrible comedian. He probably wondered why I was on this big show! The pressure ratcheted up a notch.
And finally, the other key player that night was the agent.
I’d never met him before, but I had the impression that he didn’t really want me on this show—that he had booked me as a favor to the comic friend who had recommended me (I will talk about him in a future article). I could just tell that I was not his first choice for a comedian. More PRESSURE.
Then I looked out at the 1,500 people and realized this was not my crowd:
mostly guys, mostly more than slightly inebriated, and mostly good ole boys. The show was also in a variety format, so while I was the first comic up, I was following some sort of dancing girl act. Yeah—1,500 drunk guys watching a dozen dancing girls, and then me. One of my first big convention shows seemed to have all the makings of my hardest bar gigs but with more people. The pressure just kept building. UGH.
While talking with Frank—you know, the guy I wanted to impress
with my clean humor so I could get more convention work—before the show, I said to him honestly, “Hey Frank, I took a look at the crowd, and I may have to say some jokes that aren’t ‘convention friendly’ to get through this. I hope you understand.” He looked at me, and without hesitating, said, “Me, too.” BIG RELIEF.
As it neared “go time,” my knees started shaking – this has only happened to me 3 times in my entire comedy career. Then, as they began announcing me, the agent—who I had thought didn’t like me—proved it by trying to sabotage my show. As my name was being called, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Women never do well at this event.” The next words I heard were, “Welcome, comedian Jan McInnis.”
I strolled out, with one comic thinking I stunk, one comic who
could possibly help me get into convention work, an agent who, in my opinion, had just tried to mess up my show, and 1,500 drunk guys in front of me. Oh, and I was following dancing girls! I can’t describe the pressure.
I went into my first joke and . . . BAM!
It hit big. The roar from 1,500 people was deafening. And exhilarating. From that first punchline, I had them, and I knew it. I kept at them with joke after joke, sticking to my clean material—never having to use any “not-convention-friendly” material. It was fun!
I walked offstage to huge, thunderous applause and even more relief. Whew!
The comic who had seen me bomb at the previous club went up next, and he struggled for the first few minutes. They weren’t buying his high-energy act at first, but then he got them going. To his credit, he came to me after his set and acknowledged that at one point, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to follow me. Frank, of course, did great, and the show was a hit.
Afterward, at the VIP party, it was flattering to walk
into the room and have heads turn and a path part for us as we walked through. People were really complimentary—all except that agent. When I asked if he might be interested in putting me on his roster, he said he’d think about it. He never did, and in fact the only other time I heard from him was when he told me that my first corporate tape was awful (see the article I mentioned). But I didn’t care. The audience loved it. The VIPs loved it. And Frank loved it. My convention comedy career was off and running, and I couldn’t be happier.
This story is a great example of what has happened to me throughout my comedy career. There have been tons of sticky, scary, and plain awful situations, as evidenced by the stories in this newsletter. But things have always worked out—usually to my advantage. Maybe not the way I had originally intended, but they did. My mom used to say, “Everything always works out,” and I truly believe it—at least for my comedy career.
Sometimes, you just have to stick with things long enough to see how all the pieces fit together.
Jan McInnis is a Keynote Speaker, Comedian, Comedy Writer, and Master of Ceremonies. She has written for Jay Leno’s Tonight Show monologue as well as many other people, places, and groups – radio, TV, syndicated cartoon strips, and even guests on the Jerry Springer show (her parents are proud). For 20+ years she’s traveled country as a keynote speaker and comedian sharing her unique and practical tips on what business leaders can learn from comedians (no, it’s not all about telling jokes). She can be reached at www.TheWorkLady.com, or Jan@TheWorkLady.com She’s also a GREAT Master of Ceremonies. Click here for her emcee site
Some of the stories in this newsletter are taken from Jan’s popular book:
Convention Comedian: Stories and Wisdom From Two Decades of Chicken Dinners and Comedy Clubs.