But one thing they’ve been doing for about a decade (that we’ve stopped doing well) is having regular clubs, with the same people over and over, in different combinations, to build a scene. Blam! Blam! Blam!, the club rallied into laughter each month by host Matt Peters and shooshed into silence in the back by DeMorge Brown, is trying hard to get that energy going in the dark backstreets of K Town, and the monthly nights there can still be a highly uneven ride. But this Tuesday night, it bucked more than it dragged, and it was nice to see some familiar faces pull out great jokes seemingly sideways from how they normally do things.

Jim Hamilton, one of my recent faves, gets the Henny Youngman Interruptus award for doing a one-line joke and then leaving the stage. But many of the comedians this night were nearly as minimal, doing just a couple jokes, or using the night as an excuse to try out a new bit or three. Erik Charles Neilsen foamed at the mouth about wolves being introduced back into their natural habitats, Joe Wagner polled the audience for which girls had ever “fucked a fatty,” and Peters and Davey Johnson reprised their guerrilla sketch about a loud-breathing veteran of autoerotic  asphyxiation who, for reasons that seem logical at the time, forces the audience to sing Smashmouth, then gets naked and stumbles into people.

T’was all fine and good, though I found myself enjoying the comedians a bit more who oozed out into the room and went on an honest-to-goodness rant.  Mike Burns, who was a little “meh” last time I saw him, was in top form this night, spurred on by a cooing couple at the bar three feet away from the stage who would NOT TURN AROUND AND ACKNOWLEDGE HIS PRESENCE, no matter how many times he LOUDLY insulted the man’s hipster manhood or the woman’s purity, and despite the fact that Mike was recovering from being stabbed just the week before.  Stabbed! And they couldn’t be bothered. Last time he did a similar bit, it just seemed mean, but this time, we all knew the douches deserved it! And Burns’ wit was a bit more razor-sharp than last time, so we got over the uncomfortable-ness and came over to his side in about 30 seconds.

I liked Emily Maya Mills a lot, too. In TV and sketch comedy, she’s good at playing the straight man, so it’s fun to see her get all goofy with herself in a live setting, babbling about guys’ taints, hitting on audience members, and doing a crazy rap (which, of course, didn’t rhyme) about how if she smoked as much weed as a rapper, she’d just rap about things around her house and never be able to leave. I grew up in the eighties, so if there’s one thing I thought could never make me laugh, it’s white people doing faux raps. Kudos to Mills for figuring out a way to make something that’s normally obvious and corny (with rare but amazing exceptions) seem fresh and funny, and completely stamped with her own id.

Ron Lynch’s act wasn’t exactly a rant, but it wasn’t exactly a stand-up act, either, or at least not one in the conventional sense—one of the few “meta” performers at a night that usually has several, Lynch was a minor hit. He mumbled in and out of coherence like Boy George at a charity gig, using sound effects on the mike rather than telling jokes. At one point he even played various TV and radio themes into the mike from his phone (I think?) and did voiceovers for them. Very funny, even when he accused Justin Bieber of killing Joe Frazier.

Blam! Blam! Blam! goes out on a limb to try out new comedians as well, and my favorite stage stranger was Tia Ayers, an oddball even by the standards of Victoria Jackson or a young Mary Lynn Rajskub. Of course, nowadays the bar on weird is a lot higher, but Ayers warmed us up with stories of gremlins and penises, then proceeded to “play” her guitar by putting it in front of her and “blowing” into the head stock each time she plucked a string—a bit that could have been stupid but was carried just this side of corny into the realm where cuteness lies. She seems to be new to the game, and if so, she’s off to a good start.

And the good end of the night was brought to us by Brody Stevens. If you live in L.A. and love comedy, you know his name, and if not, you’ll recognize his bits in movies. But on paper, it’s hard to capture this guy’s magic. Stevens doesn’t tell jokes, he just gets on the mike and talks about his career, his movies, his baseball playing friends, and his 2000 warm-ups for Chelsea Lately—read the transcript, and it’d sound a bit like Kathy Griffin, but Stevens is a lot more fast-paced and never scripted. This night was a little darker than normal, because Stevens had just got kicked out of his house in the Valley, and was telling some real-life story about police and quitting Lexipro and a .357 magnum. Whoa! I felt guilty even committing these stories into my notes, they were so personal. But then again, he also razzed me good from my seat in the front, and you know he’s being tongue in cheek if he speaks in the next breath of driving up Normandie and crashing his car into Zankou Chicken! But some of the laughter was nervous—this was the kind of dangerous set that teeters on the edge, because you never know if the comedian is going to land back on the tightrope. And this is the reason I come to Peters and Brown’s nights. If you never attend Blam! Blam! Blam!, you’re going to miss a few resounding, rebounding miracles.

-Dan Collins

It’s too bad that comedians and musicians don’t cross-pollinate more, because in Moshe Kasher, I hear a bravado and indignant boy-man-ism reminiscent of the most insular shows at the Vermont House. He gets it. If you’re in a band, you should actually bring Kasher’s CD in the tour van with you this fall. It’s one hell of a road-trip album: the chronicle of an exasperated yet bemused Jew wandering from San Francisco to Los Angeles and burning his bridges along the way with short stops in Germany, the piss-soaked streets of Spain, and the homophobic auditoriums (“Naw, dawg!”) of Modesto.

Now Kasher isn’t exactly breaking the mold with his aggressive comedy style. Though there’s something in his cadence and outsider observations that evokes the now-sober ghost of Mitch Hedberg, Kasher’s forceful stride through life’s absurdity often swaggers a bit like the beefy comedy of Dane Cook—more jock than nerd. But while Cook’s alpha-male exasperation feels like a pick-up artist using a “neg” to insult us into respecting him, Kasher admonishes for worthier causes: berating bigots, ridiculing spam-bots and temporarily conquering the white-haired juggernaut of time itself.

And there’s also pussy. Kasher loves to explore the awkward rules of etiquette that arise when guys have a healthy sex life with strange young women they hardly know. And Kasher’s platonic love-affair with gay culture gets even more fabulous. “An Open Letter to Modesto, California,” though recorded as one of those in-studio David Sedaris soliloquies that fail so miserably even in Michael Showalter’s—or Sedaris’—hands, succeeds at giving a hilarious middle finger to homophobes. He’s being mean to a well-deserved monster, yes, but Kasher doesn’t resort to David Cross’s shrillness or Jello Biafra’s butthole puns. There’s no moment where the gravity of the situation slows down his delivery—it’s all go-go-go, whether you’re the grandson of a Nazi or just someone’s hairy forearm.

That’s not to say that the album is start-to-finish hilarious. There are some awkwardly unfunny moments, most surprisingly from a misguided intro piece about a will and a widow that not even artist Emily Heller’s voice could save. But even comedic geniuses such as Robert Klein have made the mistake of beginning a killer album with a retarded intro, and we’ll let it slide this one time. With such a creative and hilarious debut, it’s safe to say that most comedy careers you know will die before Moshe Kasher’s does.

—Dan Collins

Moshe Kasher’s Everyone You Know Is Going To Die, And Then You Will is available from Rooftop Comedy.

Neil Hamburger is officially America’s unofficial funnyman. He just released an album of country songs on Drag City and speaks now with Kevin Ferguson somewhere near Paso Robles.

Have you spoken with the ex-wife?
Only through attorneys. Not directly. There’s just a lot of reasons—legal reasons—that we can’t talk. And there’s really not much to go over; we were barely speaking during the last few years of the marriage anyway, what with my touring and her refusal to answer the phone when I called, so now it’s all down to the attorneys. And they speak to each other quite often.
Have you been dating?
No, I don’t have any time for that, honestly. I’m awful busy with the shows and things, and also nobody would be interested.
How is your daughter doing?
She’s not a happy person. She’s not a big fan of me and what I do. A lot of these people you think are your friends, they really don’t have your best interests at heart. I mean, she hasn’t been to one of my shows in many years, and that’s the least a person can do.
Do you plan on touring the Third World again?
I’ll go where I’m needed. I don’t know if I often am needed anymore. It seems like there a lot of problems in those places, so I would think that they would need me, but you never really know. We’re trying to get to England later this year but I wouldn’t qualify that as the Third World.
What about a USO tour?
Yes, if I was asked, but no one asked me, you know.
What kind of material would you use?
Something to cheer people up. I might have to drop some of my hate-type of jokes—the more negative, miserable sorts of things. Maybe some sexual jokes, because a lot of those guys would love some sort of sexual situation, being cooped up there with each other.
Did you vote in the primaries?
I wanted to vote by absentee ballot. But I had no money for a stamp. Unfortunately, I was unable to do that. But I try not to endorse anyone because it might hurt their candidacy.
Who would give you the best material if elected?
Oh, any of them because if you’re skilled, you can make a joke out of anything. I could make a joke out of Mr. Peanut if he were to win the presidency. And I wish Mr. Peanut would, because you could get some real good jokes out of a guy like Mr. Peanut! That would be funny, to have a peanut in the White House—you gotta admit!
Where do you think our country is headed, then?
Oh, it’s terrible! You can’t afford the fuel—that’s my problem. The fuel guy got in—what’s the president now? Bush? He’s tied in with those guys, Conoco and 76, Chevron and all those companies. So the prices—I can’t afford them! It’s a mess! I don’t know how you pay for your gas, but I’m having a lot of problems doing it myself.
What was appearing on Fox News like?
It’s very lonely, because they’re taping the show in New York and I’m in Los Angeles. It’s just a camera on you and one guy in a giant building, and you got this little thing jammed into your eardrum. It’s hard to hear anything, and there’s a five-second delay. It’s very confusing! I have new respect for those guys when I see them being interviewed. What a strange situation it is under the lights with that damned thing jammed into your ear—they have it jammed all the way in there, you know.
Do you get your news from Fox?
No, I don’t care for that. I don’t watch it. It just depresses me, you know. I’m driving—I don’t have time for that. You can’t set up a TV on your dashboard, and you certainly can’t get cable TV if you’re doing it that way, either.
Where do you get your news from?
I get it from old newspapers I find under bus seats. And sometimes people put papers out for recycling. Then you can grab a whole bundle of those things and get all kinds of news!
Is there a celebrity that’s getting picked on too much?
None of them are getting picked on too much—in fact, some are getting picked on too little! A lot of them are less than ideal—not exactly impressing anyone with the garbage that they’re cranking out. Horrible movies! These people all need to be thrown into a pit and stop disgusting us with their garbage movies and television shows and records. Have you heard this Nickelback? Have you heard of that? Oh my God! That is really bad—I cannot recommend that.
Is there anything you don’t like about your fan base?
It’s not big enough, and a lot of them are dopers. You try to have a conversation with them and there’s a lot of this weird dementia—they’re out of their minds on God knows what. You gotta watch out for that.
Who has a better fan base?
Carrot Top—he’s done real well with those stupid props. Stupid crap! But everybody’s there at the Carrot Top show, you know. He’s playing in Las Vegas year-round.
Somebody peed in your drink when you performed at Spaceland?
What happened was that some prick thought that would be funny to put urine in my drink. And of course it isn’t funny, but tell that to them! That’s the kind of stuff people think is real funny these days. I don’t! I didn’t end up drinking any—you can smell urine, you know. You can smell it a mile away. It’s not a good smell, either.
What do you admire most about Frank Sinatra, Jr.?
l love Frank Sinatra, Jr.—there’s just so much in that voice. They say that you hear a lifetime of pain in the voice of Frank Sinatra senior—well, you also hear a lifetime of pain in the voice of Frank Sinatra, Jr., but it’s a different type of pain. It’s very difficult being the son of a legend. People would say, ‘Well, the man has had everything handed to him,’ but in fact it’s quite the opposite. The man is subject to unfair comparisons. In fact, Frank Sinatra, Jr., is a fantastic, fantastic singer, but no one will listen to it strictly on his own merits. It’s always gonna be a comparison. And I tell you, if you and I were singers, no one would be comparing every word out of our mouths to Frank Sinatra.
Where are you right now?
Right now I am just outside of Paso Robles, which of course is a town we all know and love—here where James Dean was killed. In fact, this is where his body was taken after the car accident in 1955. I do a show there every so often at a pizza parlor on off nights. Not on the main nights. Hopefully the main nights we get bookings in more prestigious type of venues—your Spacelands, your Madison Square Gardens, that type of situation.
Where are you living right now?
I can’t say I’m living anywhere because when you’re doing 399 to 426 shows a year, are you really living anywhere? I’m living behind the wheel of this goddamned car, I can tell you that much! In terms of living in a regular home, I do have a storage locker in the L.A. area.
What comedy great, living or dead, do you dream of sharing the stage with?
Oh you know, I’d like to perform with the popular ones—not because I like them. In fact, I don’t. But their popularity would rub off on me a little. Perhaps I wouldn’t be stuck in this quicksand of debt that I’m currently trying to swim out of—and getting deeper and deeper every moment!
Is it true that you have an autobiography in the works?
God! That sounds like one of these hatchet jobs. People will say you have syphilis if it will help them sell their paper. I never wrote any autobiography. I mean, I would, but nobody has offered to publish such a book. We got at least 12 albums, comics, DVDs—what’s that awful site where all freeloaders are, huh?
Youtube?
Youtube! We got a lot on there. What a nightmare that is, huh?
Whose idea was the Bonnie Prince Billy movie shorts?
Those were commercials. That was the record label who wanted to promote the album with a series of television advertisements, which did air in about 20 different markets on late night TV. You’d be amazed how inexpensive advertising is on late night TV, at like one or two in the morning. They bought a block of these ads in 20 markets nationwide and needed to produce some ads for the album, and so we got together and shot this stuff in Studio City over the course of a particularly memorable afternoon.
Particularly memorable?
Well, it was memorable in that we were able to shoot three fantastic, entertaining commercials without the aid of a script in a very very short period of time. While, you know, having a few tropical drinks, and a few laughs.
What was your impression of him?
He’s a great guy. I’ve worked with him before. We’ve done shows together—he was a guest on my TV show Poolside Chats with Neil Hamburger for a really great hour. What a talent in all fields! Whether it’s singing or acting or just telling jokes, the man is actually a comedian in his own right. If he ever gets tired of the song and the dance and all that, he can switch careers and be a joke teller.
How did you throw together a country album?
You always gotta do something new. I’ve done so many different records that they said ‘Let’s do something new!’ You might remember some of the great celebrity vocal albums that people love—people such as Telly Savalas or William Shatner. People really like an album by a celebrity or personality who they really enjoy. Whether or not that person is actually a great singer is beside the point, if you can come up with some songs that can suit their particular personality—as they did in my case. I know I’m no Pavarotti, but if you like Neil Hamburger—if you like the particular scenarios that take place in my life—here are a whole series of songs tied right into that.
So you wrote them?
They’re mostly original songs written for this project. There are only about two or three cover songs the rest were written and designed with Neil Hamburger in mind—to bring you the Neil Hamburger story in musical form.
How many units are you going to need to sell in order to abandon comedy?
Oh boy, I don’t know that I could ever sell enough to abandon it all together! If I could sell enough to buy myself out of debt and a bed or some sort of working vehicle because the ones I’m using are not so good… that would certainly pull me towards cutting down the bookings. I certainly would like to work less than I do, I’ll tell you. There aren’t a lot of people that work as much as I do.
Yeah, you’re all over the place.
And for so little, I might add.
What are some of your country music favorites?
Well, Frank Sinatra, Jr., did one country album called It’s Alright, and believe me it’s more than alright—it’s a real show stopper! I like the old Nashville guys. Merle Haggard wrote some great numbers that stand the test of time. Porter Wagoner was a man whose records we looked at very carefully to try to get the right sound—you don’t want to make it sound like these assholes on the radio today who are just totally horrible. We wanted the timeless quality that you get from a Porter Wagoner—those songs are written like a story, and you’re not distracted by all the terrible synthesizers and things that don’t belong on a real home-made country record. With our record we had a great pedal steel player—the best on the west coast! He came down and laid some pedal steel. We had Prairie Prince, who is one of the biggest drummers of all time. He played with everyone from John Fogerty to George Harrison, and of course he was in the band the Tubes for many years. The guy has a great sense of humor and he can really beat those drums. These guys are as good as Elvis’ band ever was, and they’re much easier to work with. A lot of Elvis’ band members—they had their issues, you know.
Any plans for future genres?
Yeah, I did a record actually—it was a punk rock album. It’s only four songs. I did it with the Hard-Ons—they’re from Australia. I was down there doing some shows, and these guys have been around for over 25 years—pretty well known worldwide. They invited me into the studio one afternoon. We knocked out a few songs. I’m not a punk rock singer by any stretch of the imagination—I would never claim to be. But again, you know, it’s a personality record. If you brought Leonard Nimoy in with the Hard-Ons they could make a good record, too. All he has to do is put on those Spock ears and you have yourself a hit record! And that was sort of the idea here. I don’t think I’m gonna be competing with the Sex Pistols or any of those type of groups, but I do think we came out with something really special out there in Sydney.
Anything else you haven’t done?
I’ll do anything, but I probably wouldn’t try the opera because my vocal range is limited. I’m a comedian, not a singer. But hey, if you ever hear the Telly Savalas record or The Brady Bunch Sings, or Uri Geller, who bends those spoons—he made an album that is just fantastic! An untrained vocalist! It’s all about making a record that matches the personality, and then you make something that people really want to hear.
Best piece of advice for somebody traveling on the road like you?
Don’t do it! That’s my advice.

NEIL HAMBURGER WITH GUESTS ON SUN., APRIL 27, AT SPACELAND, 1717 SILVERLAKE BLVD., SILVERLAKE. 8:30 PM / $8 / 21+. CLUBSPACELAND.COM. NEIL HAMBURGER SINGS COUNTRY WINNERS OUT NOW ON DRAG CITY. UNOFFICIALLY VISIT NEIL HAMBURGER AT AMERICASFUNNYMAN.COM.

Comedy shows are weird.  Why does every cabaret/dinner theatre-type venue situate the seating perpendicular to the stage? No matter how you sit, you have to twist your neck. And smelling the food is strange too—it’s like watching a stand-up inside a Chili’s. All three openers had genuinely funny moments, but you feel awkward when they have to pitch the nachos before saying goodnight.  To the rescue was Doug Benson’s fantastically lengthy headlining performance. The evening was being recorded for a comedy album and also featured material referencing his new film Super High Me, so much of his material was restarted/repeated for editing purposes. Without his hyper-relaxed demeanor and large catalog of seriously fucking funny material, this could have gotten a little tedious, but the crowd seemed to be floating on non-stop giggles. Although it was billed as a ‘stoner comedy’ evening, topics ran the gamut of fast-food rage, medicinal usage and ultra-blue pick-up lines, to romance and politics. Except not really romance. Or politics. All-in-all Doug Benson’s skills pulled the evening through, and just about everybody in the packed and surprisingly mixed audience seemed more than amused.  I hope more comedians follow artists like The Comedians of Comedy (Patton Oswalt was a blogged-about no-show for tonight’s event) and book rock venues like the Troubadour or Spaceland—it just seems more natural.  Also, breaks between sets when urination and smoking are permitted are nice too. Although I suspect it truly was ‘business as usual’ for many patrons of both locations, and I wasn’t really aware that 420 Day was celebrated, between this show and the John Wiese/Sissy Spacek installation (earlier in the evening/down the street at Family Bookstore), it was a pretty good day to be high.

— Zac Bouvion

Neil Hamburger “Looking for Laughs”

Arrived late to a sparse crowd as Tom Green was just starting. Apparently there was a communication snafu between promoters and Tom because while he was billed on the website as TOM GREEN, he kept referring to himself as MC BONES. Maybe he thought the pseudonym would keep out the droves of fanboys from his MTV days. It’s kind of sad because apparently he didn’t need the pseudonym’s help–the room wasn’t even half full. But what his absent fans missed out on was their loss. His set was remarkably tolerable, fun even. Tom did a handful of minimal self-composed hip-hop tracks (some with vocals, some instrumental), all through a keyboard and sequencer that he manned the entire night. After Tom was Paul F. Tompkins. Paul has serious Mr. Show cred and a Comedy Central special, but he spent his entire set talking about his bit part in There Will Be Blood. Appropriate, I guess, since it was Oscar night; but who gives a shit? Then Neil went on stage, house music still blaring. He started his set by demanding someone shut off the “garbage music” on the PA system. He threw drinks at audience members regularly, shattering glasses into tiny shards. Topics discussed included: Domino’s Pizza, Academy Award nominee Heath Ledger, Elton John, and disgraced vocalist Britney Spears. For example: Why did God create Domino’s Pizza? As punishment for humanity’s complacency in letting the holocaust happen!

– Harry Kellerman