Musicians, poets, comedians: Continuing in the Gypsy tradition, in 2008 and beyond

Most performing artists are, in essence, independent business owners. Yeah? So what? So are a lot of people.

The strange and harsh thing about performing artists being business owners, is that performers base their livelihoods on their creative capacities. Performing artists are expected to run their business, perfect their craft, and do everything else it takes to get by, all by themselves (at first). Some are lucky enough to have help from family, friends, or others they trust on the business and logistics sides. To say it's difficult to nurture both sides of a creative person's business obligations is a tremendous understatement.

Creative artists have to worry about at least all of the following:
- Inventory
- Distribution
- Advertising/Publicity
- Health Benefits
- Travel expenses/reimbursement
- Payroll
- Taxes (personal and business)
- Unions
- Scheduling
- Wardrobe

and that's just the beginning.

Some who are married and have kids have the additional issues of child care, possible spousal neglect, and a host of other things most of us don't have to worry about—especially when combined with all the other facets of our business and personal lives.

If you own a hardware store, you have to know about hardware before you open up shop, you need to keep up with advancements in the field, you need to have inventory of stuff people need, and you need to be open so people can get stuff from you. It's hard work, but it's steady, and you can count on making a decent living at it if you stay in the same place, and keep providing the stuff people need. Can you imagine how much harder it would be for a hardware store owner to pack his stuff up in an RV and take his "show" on the road? Many hardware store owners can open up shop on the web, and be everywhere at once.

Somehow or other, people who need hardware will find a store. Performing artists have to go to the audience. With the exception of a few hotels in Las Vegas, or performance venues in Nashville, TN, or Branson, MO, performers aren't stationary.There's only so much of an entertainer's act they can convey through a website. That leads us to inventory. If you never thought of songwriters, poets or comedians carrying inventory, try this on for size:

Imagine if a hardware store owner had to build the store, and make every tool, nail, and whatever else in the shop himself. It's not the same gig anymore, is it?

A performer must create himself or herself from the ground up. A comedian or composer of music must write their material. Their music, poetry or comedy (respectively) is their inventory. Most throw away 75 to 90% of their material before they find the "gold". If the hardware store owner threw away 75% of his inventory, do you think he'd survive?

Every two years, the great George Carlin repeated the same cycle of getting new material for an HBO special. (He did fourteen of them, which, in total, represent thirty one years of work.)

In the last fifteen or so years of his life, he'd write a whole show (90 minutes or more of material), take it on the road, work it really hard for two years, and then perform it live on HBO, thus adding it to the canon of recorded comedy, and to his record collection—that is, the collection of records he'd made so that we could enjoy it. After he put a special out on HBO, he'd take a short break, then go back on the road using the previous year's material, and slowly start putting in the new stuff, with the new material eventually becoming a majority of the show.

I saw George live twice. Both times were during the beginning of a cycle. He'd just begun to write some new stuff, and was about 18 to 20 months from an HBO special. During the early performances in a cycle, he would read some of the newest stuff from notes. That's how "hot off the presses" it was. How exciting! I got to see one of the great comic minds of our time create, or at least refine his inventory.

After comedians or composers/performers write material, they have to perform it hundreds of times till they can do it in their sleep. The ones who are somewhat established can "get by" financially while developing new material. The ones who are starting out don't have that cushion. They're working without a net, or with a day job.

Imagine a comedian submitting a business plan to a bank, as part of applying for a small business loan. That's funny enough. Imagine the comedian telling the bank that 75% to 90% of what they create is going to be "tossed", and not "sold".

If you know a bank who would loan money to a comic, please let me know which one it is.

Many entrepreneurs have exploited creative souls' desire to be heard–to have their message brought to the world. The creative souls often look at the short term expression rather than the long term opportunity. That's part of what keeps them going from gig to gig. Little Richard talked about the early days of his career (and some of the later days) as if he had been a slave. His contracts were bought and sold (from one record company to another) for pennies. His last name is Penniman, but..he really shouldn't go living it out that way. He's 76 years old, and shouldn't have to be working quite so hard as he is now.

He could only be sold/traded that way because he cost the record labels so little in the first place. It's not a wonder that the great Little Richard–to whom both Lennon and McCartney owed much of their careers–is scrounging around playing dinner theater venues.

Don't get me wrong! I'm happy to have seen him live. But he looked like he was in pain. He's old. And being Little Richard up on the stage, even for an hour, looks like some hard work. To have to do that at age 76? That can't be fun.

So, why does this horrible tradition of exploitation and "gypsy"-style wandering continue? Are musicians and performing artists stupid? Are they gluttons for punishment; maybe just so attention-starved that they'd rather be on the stage and make no money than be a quiet conformist, average member of polite society?

No, I don't think that's it. I think it's in the "DNA" of creative people. Musicians, actors, authors, comedians have a holy mission. Their mission is to change their audience–to move them the way nothing but a great work of art could.

Billy Joel said it better in his 1993 Commencement Address to the graduates of Berklee College of Music—my alma mater, than I've ever heard/read anyone else say it:

And I hope you don't make music for some vast, unseen audience or market or ratings share or even for something as tangible as money. For though it's crucial to make a living, that shouldn't be your inspiration or your aspiration. Do it for yourself, your highest self, for your own pride, joy, ego, gratification, expression, love, fulfillment, happiness—whatever you want to call it. Do it because it's what you have to do. And if you make this music for the human needs you have within yourself, then you do it for all humans who need the same things. Ultimately, you enrich humanity with the profound expression of these feelings.

Once an artist has done that, their job—as far as that night's audience is concerned—is done. Performers of all types are holy people, in that they actively seek out audiences in order to help the audience grow.

That may not be how it appears on the surface. Dustin Hoffman, during his appearance on Inside The Actors Studio recounts how Sir Laurence Olivier answered the question "Why do we [actors] do what we do?"...Olivier's answer consisted of going nose-to-nose with Dustin, and saying, practically chanting "look-at-me, look-at-me, look-at-me, look-at-me..".

Okay, so actors (and comedians and musicians, and authors) want an audience. Without an audience their art wouldn't be very meaningful (, and they couldn't get paid). If one of their trees was to fall in the forest and nobody was there to hear it, the tree would have made a sound, but the artist wouldn't care as much about the tree if there had been no one there to have heard it fall.

But creative people's desire is to change the world with their contributions to it. The contribution couldn't be anywhere near as significant if you, an audience member, saw it every night. If you saw the New York Philharmonic every night for 20 years, you'd start falling asleep during performances pretty regularly—unless you were in the orchestra.

To me it's sad and ironic that standup comedians don't laugh very often. It's a pretty big no-no to tell jokes to comedians. The last thing they want to hear while they're cleaning house is "Hey, I'll bet you've never heard this one..."–especially if it starts with "Two Jews walk into a bar". I once told Judy Gold a joke of my own, but I did so in the context of conversation. She found it funny. And I know she found it funny because she said "That's funny.". Had she not found it funny, she'd mostly likely have made a face and a sarcastic remark.

Comedians don't laugh as easily as the rest of us because their whole job is to make us laugh. To them, hearing a joke (even a really good joke) is not unlike "talking shop". Their "resistance", if you will, to having a really hearty laugh, is higher than that of most people. That's sad and ironic, isn't it? I've been around some great comedians while they were just having casual conversation. They would talk about everyday stuff (taking their kid to school, or whatever), be really funny in recounting a story, but neither participant in the conversation was laughing at the other's remarks. I, as the guest of one of the comics tried not to be rude, but I'm not immune to the laughter—yet.

Dick Cavett said of my favorite comedian of all time—Groucho Marx—that it was sad that Groucho didn't have a Groucho to make him laugh.

Sturgeon's Law correctly states that "ninety percent of everything is crap." The "hacks" are 90%—the comic, or writer, or whatever, whose work doesn't make him or her grow, and whose work clearly doesn't strive to change or challenge the audience. It's the standup equivalent of According to Jim, or of most Adam Sandler movies.

Good comedians talk with contempt about "hack premises"—bases (for jokes) that are so overdone, tired, and clearly don't come from the soul, but rather from formulaic repackaging of common, everyday things that'll make a certain type of audience laugh. When the really good and great comedians work hard at their craft by baring their souls to an audience, they generally talk about something unique to them. They hope that you or I, as audience members, will be able to relate, or at least take something away—something that'll stay with you after the liquor from the club will have worn off.

Much of Steven Wright's humor's a little bit "out there". But it comes from inside him. One of his signature jokes is about his rented apartment, and how the landlord allows pets. Steven said "I have a pony". The great Emo Philips has a joke about suicide, religion, and the differences that separate us. Everyone can take something away from that joke. Me? I took away that the minute differences in people's beliefs can create chasms so wide, that two people may only get to know each other to the extent that they know the other's beliefs are different from their own. As a result, they may never get to serious dialogue. I'm guilty of it myself, and Emo made me even more aware of it. He taught an important lesson, but framed it in a funny context.

Jodie Wasserman talks about being broke. That's not easy, going on stage and talking about being broke. She was doing it before the economy tanked! It's one thing to tell your best friend something like that. Jodie says that in her act, to hundreds of strangers a day. She bares her soul on the stage, and hopes we will grow from it. That's an artist at work.

George Carlin said in 1977 (in "A Place for My Stuff") "That's my job: thinking up goofy shit...; coming around every once in a while, telling you what it is...".

Artists can't stagnate. They can't stay in the same place all the time. Even the great David Brenner and George Wallace who have indefinite engagements at Vegas hotels don't see the same audiences every night.

I have a sense that most Vegas audiences see standup comedy as something to do between bouts of addictive gambling, or sessions at the hotel's tanning salon. That's disgusting. That comedy clubs serve alcohol is not wonderful either. But hey, that's commerce, not art. If selling drinks gives the comedians a venue, it's a compromise that comics are willing to live with.

The truly great comics come around to where we live, and take us with them for a little while. Enjoy the ride. Take a snapshot in your mind. Don't take for granted the effort it took the musician/comedian/poet to get to the club/venue at which you're seeing them. They're doing what they do to help us grow. Thank them for the "ride", and for the opportunity to grow, and wish them well as they move on to help another little piece of the world.