Can you create something out of nothing?
A couple of years ago I wrote a blog post titled, I’m Learning How to Be a Headliner. Going on the road solo was a new experience for me, especially since now I was the main attraction. Acrobats are amazing, but when you go to the circus, there better be an elephant in the room (other than the fact that the clowns are all convicted pedophiles). I learned how to command a room and keep their attention for an hour. I learned how to maintain my health so I could perform ten times in a week without sounding like my voice was being strained through a raw-meat grinder. Every show was an opportunity to enrich myself in new experiences and develop skills that would support me, no matter what situation I encountered.
I’ve dealt with nasty hecklers who attempt to commandeer the show because no one gave them enough love as a child. I’ve performed for audiences of 5-10 people more times than I can count and I still had to fulfill my obligatory time. I’ve had shows cancel on me because people didn’t buy tickets. And that one...that one hurts more than everything else combined.
With 12 years of comedy under my belt, I’ve been in enough weird scenarios that I can figure out how to excel. Doesn't matter the circumstances, I know I can do the show. Convincing people to come see me from thousands of miles away? That’s a whole different bag of uncooked potatoes. And when it doesn’t happen, it leaves me feeling like a moldy old spud.
Often I’m booked at comedy clubs that have a built-in audience. Some fans that I’ve acquired from Roast Battle or AGT will be there to see me but typically they only make up about 10% of the crowd. Everyone else is there because they trust that the venue will bring in top-tier talent. If I can win them over, they walk away feeling like they discovered a new artist. Someone that they can tell their friends about. I love being the trendsetter who can hip everyone else to amazing entertainment.
Other times, it’s not as easy. I’m booked at a bar, performance space, or small theatre where it’s much more difficult to get patrons there on a whim. You rarely go to a music venue without knowing who is playing that night. That’s when it becomes my job to fill the room. I have great TV credits, a decent social media following, and I’m loved within my community. Does that make people buy tickets
FUCK NO. (repeat as many times as necessary)
I’d love to think that I’ll show up and the place will be packed. It’s rarely the case. This past Wednesday I was booked in Chattanooga, starting a 4-night run that also included New Orleans and Atlanta. My travel day from LA to Tennessee was littered with delays, mechanical issues, and very little sleep. I arrived five hours later than expected, right as the show was set to begin.
No one was there. Not a single person other than the owner of the bar and two of the comedians who were also on the show. I had agreed to a door deal so if no one buys tickets, I am about to lose my head and at least one foot. Hello, First Night of Tour, this is discouraging.
I was exhausted. I’d barely eaten, been re-routed through random cities, and had been in a middle seat for the last four hours between what I can only describe as “well-fed” humans. But I knew, I couldn’t let this be the show. Time to drop what little ego I have and sing for my supper.
I went out to the street. Downtown Chattanooga on a Wednesday at 10PM isn’t exactly Times Square. Hardly anyone was meandering about. Every few minutes a couple or small group would walk by and I knew that was my chance to hook them. Allow me to introduce myself.
“Hi friends, I’m Alex Hooper. I’m a comedian and I’ve been on TV but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m in this city for one night, and I’m about to perform. I promise you will enjoy yourself if you enter this bar and give me an hour of your time. If you don’t, I will personally refund your money after the show.”
Yup. I said that. And over the course of 45 minutes I convinced twenty people to purchase a ticket. I barked in the most humble and meaningful way that I could. I let go of all self-importance and spoke to these sidewalk shufflers, source to source. There were two gorgeous young women on their first tinder date. A group of four frat boys who stumbled over from the restaurant next door. The group I was most proud of recruiting were eight barely-legal colorful kids from Orlando who were attending a music festival that began the next day. I knew they loved bass and I also knew they were ideal for my fan base. Wordplay!
JJ’s Bohemia is a small bar, so having twenty patrons plus a few comics was all we needed for an amazing show. Everyone killed. From front to back, the show was a major success. For ninety minutes, the glorious sound of shared laughter permeated the room. Like I said, I know how to do that part.
When I finished my set, the whole room gave me a standing ovation. I stood outside to thank them all while showering them with stickers. Not a single person asked for their money back. It was an unbelievable win that filled me with elation. I was about to lose money and perform for no one. Instead I’m in the black and have added a bunch of dope people into my silly world. I’m going to remember that night, and I know they will too.
I’d love it if I didn’t have to tell this story. I could have shown up to JJ’s, sold out the show, crushed my set, and gone to sleep. But I’m not there yet in my career, especially when the universe is conspiring against me and breaking the computer inside of a 747 (yes, really.)
This night made me stronger in so many ways. It taught me that it’s worth it to ask for what you want. Never be afraid of doing the work to get butts into seats, even if it's five minutes before showtime.
Your fans are out there. Go find them. Fifty “No’s” are worth one “Yes.” Always. Next time, Chattanooga will sell out. I guarantee it.