Anyway, here’s a fun chat with comedian Todd Barry. I’m not sure how to explain who Todd Barry is to you if you’ve never seen him before. He’s had a couple of small cameo parts in films (“Road Trip,” “Pootie Tang”), and seems to be on Conan’s show about once every couple of months (that means he’s really good and can always be trusted to get the laughs). However, I think among comedians and comedy fans, he’s recognized as one of the funniest people around. Low-key but sharp, sometimes absurd, sometimes silly, always hilarious.

One of the most interesting projects Todd worked on was a one-man show called “Icky.” I’ve not seen the show, but have read enough about it that I feel as though I have. The premise is based on a real-life event: after one of his shots on Conan, Todd was lurking in the alt.fan.conan-obrien newsgroup, and found a post where a girl described him as “icky.” Todd responded (under an alias) and defended himself. On his next Conan appearance a few months later, Todd read the post on the air and joked around about the newsgroup with Conan. That’s when the shit really hit the fan (or as close as fan-shit-hitting gets in the alt.fan-conan-obrien newsgroup). Anyway, Todd turned the whole experience into a one-man show, which was directed by Matt Besser of the Upright Citizens Brigade, and features original instrumental tracks from Yo La Tengo. How cool is that?

Visit Todd’s website and buy his CD, “Medium Energy.”

One more little note: for what it’s worth, a couple of comedians that know or have worked with Todd told me they were surprised he talked as much as he did. Apparently, he’s usually a really quiet guy. I’m like James Lipton, the way I get these jokers to open up.

Enjoy.
(Mul)Doomstone

TB: Hello?

Todd?

TB: Yeah.

It’s Ryan.

TB: Hey.

How are you?

TB: Ok.

You set for this?

TB: Yeah, I’m ready.

Cool. I appreciate you taking the time to do this. Ummm … when did you first start doing stand-up?

TB: Actually, November first was my fifteenth anniversary.

Just this past Friday?

TB: A couple days ago, yeah.

Where did you start?

TB: In Florida.

What part of Florida?

TB: South Florida. That was the first place I was, in North Miami.

What drew you to stand-up initially?

TB: Um, I don’t know. I had some friends that tried it down there, and I went to a couple of open mics, and I just kind of got this … this sick urge to try it instead of just watching it.

How did it go at the beginning?

TB: The first time, it actually went well, but that’s just because that’s the way it happened. But, you know … I’ve since bombed, one or two times.

How long did it take before you realized that it was something you actually wanted to dedicate a lot of time to?

TB: I don’t know. I was probably dedicating a lot of time to it without realizing I was dedicating a lot of time to it. I mean, I guess I realized subconsciously that this is what I should be doing before I realized it, consciously. Verbally, I don’t think I had committed to it, even though I was driving everywhere, every night, just trying to get on stage.

Where you the type of person that everyone would say to, “Hey, you should be a comedian”?

TB: Yeah, yeah. And I would always just say, “No.”

For what reason?

TB: I guess I just didn’t …. [pause]

Did you not think you could, or did it not seem like something you would want to do?

TB: I guess I just wanted to do other things, you know? I was in a band at the time, and I wanted to do that. I guess it took me some time to figure out that I was a better comedian than I was a drummer.

Did you have any success with the band?

TB: Yeah, yeah. We put an album out, and we were fairly popular in Florida, and I had a couple of other bands in college. But I was never terribly skilled.

What were your initial difficulties with stand-up? What was hardest about it for you?

TB: Ummm … hmmmm. I don’t know. I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be when I started. I had been on stage a little bit with bands, and I had had a few little stage experiences in college, but I wasn’t seasoned on stage by any stretch. But … I don’t know how to answer that question.

Did you ever have trouble being personal on stage, or did you ever feel like you were trying to make your material fit into what you thought a comedian should be doing, or …?

TB: Yeah, definitely. If I had it in me to go back and watch some old tapes, which I don’t think I could ever do, I know I was definitely more comic-y, if that makes sense. More stereotypical.

How long did it take you to get away from that?

TB: I don’t know. Gosh. Only lately, like within the last few years, have I had people actually do an impression of me to me, which weirds me out to think of what they have picked up on, without ever realizing it myself.

Besides being more comic-y, was your style at all similar to what you do now?

TB: I don’t think it was completely different. It was probably more me trying to be Dennis Miller.

Were you, like, willfully obscure?

TB: No, I don’t know. I wasn’t that Dennis Miller. I was probably just trying to be Dennis Miller, but without the vocabulary to actually be Dennis Miller. I guess I was just less interesting than I am now, if I am interesting at all.

Did you do well in Florida, or did it take going somewhere else before things picked up?

TB: Yeah, I did. I mean, I guess I started during the comedy boom, so it was literally like, on Sunday you could decide you wanted to be a comic, and on Monday, you could be on stage. So, I mean, there were a lot of opportunities, there was a lot of work to be had if you were semi-skilled. They needed to put people in all of these clubs. So there were definitely a few gigs in Florida where I was ahead of myself.

A lot of comedians say the downside of the comedy boom was as much work as there was, there were a lot of comedians who probably had no business being comedians.

TB: Yeah, yeah. I mean, in Florida if there were sixty rooms, it just sort of … I mean, I don’t know that there were that many rooms, but guys used to come down and work seven weeks just in Florida.

Did you go on the road much yourself?

TB: I didn’t. I basically did comedy there for about a year, and then moved to New York. If I had it to do over again, I would have booked myself on the road for at least a year.

Do you feel you missed something by not going on the road?

TB: Well, New York is a hard place. I’m probably still showing the residual effects of showing myself too early. I mean, I’ve since done fairly well. But there’s a lot to be said about showing yourself too early. And now I say things to people starting out that other comedians told me and I didn’t want to believe. Like, I always seem to run into the guy that’s been doing it two months and tells you he has an hour. And it’s like, “You don’t have an hour.”

Was that ever a problem for you?

TB: I think I probably wasn’t as strong as I thought I was, but I never claimed I could do an hour and a half, because I just knew I couldn’t. It was more, like, when I was middling …

Before you were that strong?

TB: Yeah, where it wasn’t that I didn’t have thirty minutes, but that thirty minutes would be like every joke I had …

There’s no “Plan B.”

TB: Yeah, exactly. Are you a comic also?

Yeah, sometimes. Barely. I don’t really want to live out of my car.

TB: Right.

What is some of the best advice you ever received about doing comedy?

TB: I remember Louis C.K., who is a good friend of mine, after I had asked him some sort of question that was kind of network-y, something about what I should do, and he just said, “Todd, you’re funny. Just go on stage and be funny.” And that was some of the best advice I ever got, as simple as that is. People don’t understand that that’s really what it is. They’re looking for a magic phone number or something. And to a certain extent, I understand that, because comedy is treated so much as a stepping stone by a lot of people.

You never viewed it that way yourself?

TB: I never viewed it that way. I mean, I’ve always had scattered interests, but I never went on stage to get an agent or anything like that.

During the comedy boom, it seems like the comedy was more of the focus.

TB: Yeah, really … I mean, I seem to remember, in Florida anyway, just more talk about gigs and jokes, as opposed to deals and agents.

By contrast what was the worst advice you ever got?

TB: Oh, God. I remember, I don’t know if this is what you’re looking for, but I remember after a show once, just an audience member coming up to me and saying, “Did you ever think of livening up a little bit?” I was just like, “I don’t know. I mean, I just did the Letterman show, so …” And he says, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be talking, because I’ve never done comedy myself.” So I’m like, “Yeah. Maybe you should have had that conversation with yourself.”

When you were getting advice early on, did you just ignore it, or …?

TB: No. I mean, I wasn’t bullheaded about it. It just depended on what it was and who it was coming from. I mean, I’ve had bartenders and waiters and waitresses make a comment about a joke of mine, like pointing out some sort of logic error or something that I’ve never even thought about, and they’re right. It just depends. I remember one time I was at this club and it was sort of the type of club where they don’t really keep an eye on things, and there was someone in the audience with a camcorder, but like a camcorder from the seventies or something, with this big, giant light on it. And I said something to the manager, like “Hey, you can’t really allow people in here to record comedians.” And some lady heard me telling him, and she said something like, “Well, what do you care? They could be a producer or something. They could be from Letterman or HBO.” And I was like, “Well, first of all, I’ve done those things, and second of all, they wouldn’t have a camera with a big, giant light on it (laughs).” And it was just some horrible, fifty year old lady in leather pants.

It seems like you’ll hear people say sometimes, “You never know who might be in the audience.” But don’t you find that, most of the time, you do know?

TB: Pretty much. I mean, I’m sure it’s happened to someone. But generally you know, and generally someone coming up to you from the audience after the show, it’s generally a bad thing. I don’t mean like, “Hey, nice set.” I mean like someone coming up to you and saying, “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” I remember some guy coming up to me and saying, “Hey, let me get your information, because I’m working on this project.” And I’m like, “Yeah, I’ll give you my manager’s number. What’s the project?” And he says, “Don’t worry about it (laughs).” Like, oh, you can’t tell me? You can’t let me in on it?

He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

TB: Yeah, it’s top secret.

How do you think stand-up has changed since you began, if at all?

TB: Ummm … I don’t know. I mean … I guess there seems to be clubs opening up again, which is strange. I don’t know. I think it’s getting better. There seems to be more comedy for comedy’s sake. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had with people who say, “What do you want to do?” And I say, “Comedy. This is what I do.” And they say, “No, no. What do you want to do?” And I say, “Isn’t it kind of cool that I just do comedy? Isn’t it cool that I just tell jokes for a living?” There’s people that are just in awe of what you do, and then there are people who just think it’s garbage. And I think there are people who are just uncomfortable seeing someone have fun with their job.

Do you look at stand-up differently from when you started?

TB: Well, I’ve been doing a lot of road work, a lot for me, in the last couple of months, and I am really tired of my act. I just saw “Comedian” and was sort of in awe of how he just dropped his whole act. I mean, he has a little more freedom to do that. If he needs to go on stage and just bomb to get something developed, he can do that. I have a couple of rooms where I can do that, but I can’t just go around bombing all over New York City.

The crowd doesn’t necessarily erupt the moment you walk on stage.

TB: Right.

That was interesting to see in the movie, the way he would be introduced and the crowd just kind of doesn’t believe it, and then they see him and just explode.

TB: Right, and I’ve seen that happen first hand. Because that’s it, they don’t believe it. They don’t believe he should be there, in front of twenty people …

At two a.m. at Caroline’s.

TB: Right.

Did you have any other thoughts on the movie? I just saw it myself.

TB: Yeah, you wrote something about it, right?

Yeah, I did.

TB: Yeah, I liked it. I thought they may have presumed too much knowledge of certain things for people who are not comedians. Like Montreal. A comic understands what it is and its importance, but someone else may not know about it. But I liked it, it’s a good movie.

What do you like most and least about doing stand-up these days?

TB: These days, like where I’m at now?

Yeah.

TB: Well, it’s cool being a headliner. [Pause] I’d like to see some things change in the way comedy is presented.

In what way?

TB: I mean, if you go to see a play, you don’t see a bachelorette party show up with dick helmets on (laughs). You go see a band, you don’t see that. There’s just a silliness about it that really lowers everything. It makes it difficult to do something that doesn’t suck, or something a little bit different that might get a little different audience in there.

Why do you think that is, that comedy is never considered cool, for lack of a better term?

TB: I don’t know how that all started. I guess because it’s just under the umbrella of being fun. I had someone walk on stage recently, within a half inch of me, this drunk lady in Alaska. And I got sort of mad, not nearly as mad as I could have, and people said, “Oh, she was just having fun.” And it’s like, to what end? I think the crowd is brought into it a little too much. I mean, I work the crowd a bit, pretty much every show, actually. But there’s a way to do it. And the whole acknowledging of people’s birthdays and shit, it just fucks everything up. It’s just like, “Hey, it’s playtime.” And then people like David Cross and Janeane Garofalo are playing these huge places, and I think it’s because there is an audience out there that wants something a little different. I mean, I meet people all the time that have never seen a comedian. And you never meet anyone who hasn’t seen a band, or a movie. But there are people who have never seen a comedian.

And it’s not just sheltered, un-cultured people. It’s people who think, “A comedy club? Nah, that’s not for me.” But with the right environment, and the right performer, they would love it.

TB: Right, absolutely. And they don’t know that, and to a certain extent, I understand why, when they have to go somewhere with some stupid name or see some dumb act.

Someone I know once said about most comedy they see, “I feel like I could have done that, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

TB: Well, he probably couldn’t do it.

No, you’re right. He couldn’t get up and perform, but I understand that sentiment, the disappointment with what they’re seeing. I mean, there are people who can comprehend a comedy beyond the most base level.

TB: Yeah, that’s true, but not to attack your friend …

It’s OK, he’s a dick (laughs).

TB: But, you could say that about anything. You know, most movies suck, most music sucks, everything sucks.

At the same time, though, what do you like about doing comedy?

TB: Oh, yeah. I mean, I like it, I like writing. I guess, right now, I’m just going through this thing where I feel like I don’t have enough new stuff. And I also feel like I’m writing this stuff that I can do in these rooms in New York that are sort of outside the comedy circuit … I don’t want to use the term alternative, but that’s how they’re sometimes labeled. But I feel like there, I can do stuff that may be smarter and more interesting, that I might not necessarily pull out on the road, and I find that frustrating.

How do you find the balance?

TB: I mean, I don’t mind doing things that are universal. I mean, if you go on Letterman …

It’s not going to be the most esoteric thing in the world.

TB: Right. And the goal really is to make the audience laugh, to bring them some joy, and to say otherwise would sound … what was your question?

How do you find the balance between something too weird and something that works in Anytown, U.S.A.?

TB: I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I’m wrong. Sometimes it’s just a matter of not wanting the club owner to see you have a bad set. I mean, there’s still a thing in my head that says, “I better do well here, otherwise, I can’t come back.” And I don’t pander or start juggling or some shit, but it’s just a little fear thing that I guess every comic has when it comes to trying new stuff. [Pause] I’m not sure I answered your question.

No, that’s fine. What is your process for doing new stuff? Do you generally just try things on stage, or do you write it out beforehand?

TB: I pretty much just write on stage. I used to write things out beforehand. But sometimes it backfires. Just today, I wrote some notes down on some stuff I want to do tomorrow at this club in New York, and I looked and what I wrote down and it just said, “Cleveland Magazine.” I was just like, “I don’t have a fucking clue what I was thinking about.” Luckily I walked by the magazine later and remembered what I wanted to say, but sometimes I am too cryptic even for myself. But I generally just work things out on stage, because you’re just going to say things up there differently than you would type them.

Do you usually have a set idea of where you’re going with it in your head?

TB: Sometimes, but some of my favorite sets, I mean, I’ve had sets where I didn’t do a single joke, or a single prepared joke. I don’t always get anything out of them that I can use again, but it’s fun. But usually I just spit it out there and it comes out in a way that you’ve never said it before and you’re closer to having it finished or whatever.

I’m always impressed when comedians with a unique voice are able to become headliners or have whatever success, but was it difficult with your style when you were just an MC?

TB: Oh, I still have difficulties. There are still things that I have difficulties with, as opposed to other comics.

Anything in particular?

TB: I think just because of my style, because I’m not jumping up and down, some people, like bookers and club owners, only see me as sort of a TV comic. And not that I don’t do well on TV, but that’s what they see and … [Pause] What was your question again? I’m sorry.

I was just thinking about comics with unique voices or whatever, and how they often seem to have trouble fitting in to a standard three-man show format, especially when they’re the MC.

TB: Yeah, I had trouble. But I’m actually fairly quick with the crowd, so I was actually an OK MC. I just didn’t like doing it that much. But a lot of these comics you see that are so great are not going to be amazing right out of the gate, which is something a lot of people don’t realize. I mean, there are a lot of generic, serviceable, hacks who can “get the job done,” but are they ever going to rise above that generic, white bread comedy? No. And it’s weird, because in the end, there is some sort of justice to that, on some level. And it’s weird for me, because I have an easier time getting on Conan than I do getting booked in some clubs, if you know what I’m talking about.

What was the worst gig you ever had?

TB: One of the worst ones was a friend of mine, a good friend of mine, for whatever reason, got me two of the worst, most painful gigs I’ve ever had (laughs). Just brutal, like curled up and disgusted afterwards. One was at this weird sort of golf club, where they played, like, virtual golf or something …

Like with the big video screen?

TB: Yeah, like you sort of whack the ball towards this giant screen. And they had, like, their own league or something (laughs). And I remember I got paid, like, seventy-five dollars. And they wanted me to be a plant or something, where the people wouldn’t know there was going to be a comedian, and this guy wrote a joke for me, where the punchline was that one of their friends, one of the members of the club, had died in an accident or something. And I was like, “You want me to tell them that one of their friends died?” And he’s like, “Yeah, no, it’ll work. Just do it.” So I go up there and do it, and of course they’re horrified. I think I then announced that he wrote the joke. I don’t remember all of the details, but I remember that it was just me performing in front of like, seven or eight people, and it was just awful.

Were you then or are you now the type of person that a bad show really bothers you?

TB: Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I get disgusted, you know?

What was the worst gig you ever had after you should have been doing a gig that bad?

TB: Yeah … well, I’ve told people, and not like I’m the elder statesman of comedy, but it never ends. I mean, you saw Seinfeld in “Comedian,” having to tell a table of people to shut up. I mean, one of the biggest comedians out there, in like a two hundred seat club, and they’re not going to listen to him. They paid their thirty bucks, their forty bucks or whatever, and they’re going to be disrespectful. So, I mean, on some level you never know what might happen, and it never ends. I did one gig that was this private, weird, lodge in Pennsylvania. And I get there and it’s just in this private, weird lodge off of the side of the road. And it was for a lot of money, and I had been assured that these guys weren’t assholes, that it was going to be good. And of course, it was just non-stop …

Chock full of assholes.

TB: Right. And it’s not like in a club where there might be some friends or whatever to hang out with. You’re alone, and you’re alone in this fucking lodge. And I was determined to stay up there and do my time and get the money. And it was just awful. And then I walk off stage, and this guy, this creepy ophthalmologist hands me his card and he’s kind of touching me (laughs), and he’s like, “Hey, let me buy you a drink.” And he keeps trying to hand me his card. And I was just like, “If I need glasses, I’ll probably just get them in New York, you know, where I live (laughs).” There are doctors all over there. And they put me up in this shitty hotel. And then the guy goes to pay me and he says, “Well, I guess a deal is a deal (laughs).” And I’m like, “Oh, that was my fault? This is my fault?” And I think I had already been on Letterman at that point.

I wanted to ask you about “Icky.” Were you a reader of that newsgroup prior to your appearance?

TB: Yeah. I was aware of its existence.

Did her comments really bother you, or did they just serve as a starting point for something you wanted to do?

TB: Ummm … well …

And I haven’t seen the show.

TB: You haven’t?

No. I’ve read so much about it, I feel like I’ve seen it.

TB: Right, right. Ummm … her comments sort of amused me, because it was so, I guess, almost over the top hateful. Not even hateful, but just so critical, it was almost like, “Did I ever go out with this women?” (laughs). But it was almost like the subsequent posts bothered me a lot more, where people just didn’t get it, like when I went back on the show and read what she wrote. And then she went and slammed me again, and I was just like, “I just went on Conan and made a joke about you, and you’re really upset about that?” When they didn’t get it, it frustrated me. When people really don’t get something, it really bothers me. I mean, there was one post where someone was just so fucking vicious towards me, it was just hateful. And I was just like, this is all coming from a show I did that is clearly not serious, you know?

It is weird. I read the group myself because I am a fan of the show, but a lot of it just verges on total idol worship.

TB: Oh, yeah.

And people took it so personally, whereas it should have been the funniest thing ever for the group. I mean, it is the funniest thing ever for that group. It’s the only thing funny about the group.

TB: I mean, there’s an old joke I do in my act about Michael Bolton, and if he wrote a song afterwards called “I Hate Todd Barry,” I would fucking pay to see that. I’d be excited. But she’s since seen the show and I’ve talked to her and she’s been very complimentary. But I mean, I’ve been accosted on the street about that show. Not physically, but …

About “Icky”?

TB: Well, I think it was more because I posted a few times anonymously, or under a pseudonym. And it’s just like, c’mon, it’s the fucking internet.

Yeah, isn’t that the whole point?

TB: Yeah.

What type of reaction did the show get otherwise, from people unfamiliar with how it evolved?

TB: The show went over pretty well. It was interesting because there were people who would get sort of fired up about the show. And they would have never thought about going into a newsgroup before, and they’d go in there and post this sort of long defense of me. And people would look them up and see that they had never posted before and just assume that it was me. And they would just post, “Hi, Todd.” Have you seen her husband’s website?

No. Oh, wait, is that the whole chronology of the thing?

TB: Yeah.

Yeah, I have seen that. It’s almost too much.

TB: Yeah. It’s a lot.

Did you have the thought beforehand that you’d like to try more of a one-man show type of thing?

TB: Yeah, I did, and I liked doing it. The stressful part was just sort of promoting it, and having to shove postcards in people’s faces. But it’s much more flattering to do a show like that when it’s full than when you do a comedy club and it’s full because they let ninety people in for free and faxed the hotel and gave them ten-for-one coupons or whatever. I mean, I guess I do get people who come to see me, but I just don’t know the amount of people. So it’s really satisfying, and it’s in a theater so there’s no food being served, or …

No checks being dropped.

TB: Right.

Do you have plans to continue performing it or doing another show?

TB: Well, I’ve never really done a full run of it. It’s always been, like, three Tuesdays, and then another three Tuesdays, so there’s one theater where I might do a more proper run, like every night for a few weeks.

What was your first TV experience ever as a comedian?

TB: You know, I think, it was either one of two things. There was this show they did in Canada, and I don’t know if they still do it, where you go up there for three hundred bucks and they put you up in Buffalo, and you film twenty minutes and they bleep you, but they use like this huge sound effect that went, “Boi-yoi-yoi-yiiiing!” (laughs). And I don’t remember how I did, but it was in front of like a hundred people and they would sweeten it with this like, Budokan crowd noise …

So it sounds like “Kiss Alive II.”

TB: Yeah, exactly. Then there was this other show called “The Spotlight Café,” and I think I did that afterwards. And for whatever reason comics would just bomb left and right on that show. And I remember what I did was, I salvaged, like, the good two minutes I had on that show with the five good minutes from the Canadian thing, and just had this seven minute tape of me on two different TV shows, doing well. But my first national show was Conan.

How did that come about?

TB: Ummm, I guess they needed someone last minute, and Louis C.K. was working there and he recommended me, and they called and said, “Do you want to do our show tomorrow?”

Wow. Is it better to go on with short notice?

TB: Oh, yeah. Last time I did Letterman I found out that morning.

Wow.

TB: Yeah, at like 11:30 that morning. But yeah, it’s better, because then you don’t have to spread out the worry. I mean, it depends. If I feel like I have the material, it’s great. But if I feel like I have to dig and poke around for some new material, I’d probably want a few more days.

Well, I think that’s all I have for you, Todd.

TB: Alright, man.

I really appreciate you taking the time to do this.

TB: Yeah, and let me know when this is out. Hey, can you plug my CD?