by Phil Campbell
emphis drivers,
rednecks, redneck drivers, the flaws of audience members, girlfriends who
just can't give directions and guys who just can't take them, redneck cops,
how Mississippians and Arkansans are so much more dumb/rednecky than Memphians
are, penises, breasts, bad relationships, good sex, bad sex, any sex.
It doesn't take long to come up with a list of the most frequent subjects hit on by comedians performing in Memphis.
At times
the humor is better than the beer, but it's hard not to be cynical. Memphis
drives away stand-up comedy clubs as often as it does professional sports
teams. The Pharaohs and the Laugh Factory. The Mad Dogs and Sir Laffs-A-Lot.
The AA Chicks and the Comedy Zone. Easy come, easy go.
A better analogy might be the stand-up comedians themselves. It seems as though it's the hecklers out there who are getting the bulk of the laughs. Or maybe you could say that the life-span of a comedy club in Memphis is only slightly longer than the laughs we got out of such greats as Yakov Smirnoff, Andrew Dice Clay and Judy Tenuta.
Yet the comedy scene around here refuses to die. While Memphis has to wait a couple of years for the AAA Chicks, it has two new comedy clubs right now. One, the Loony Bin, at 2125 Madison Avenue in Overton Square, is filling the space once occupied by the Comedy Zone. Crumpy's Comedy Club is attempting to fill the black comedy market out at 2649 North Hollywood Boulevard, near James Road.
(And the Tunica casinos occasionally bring in big acts, such as Bill Cosby and Jay Leno at Sheraton Casino and Chris Rock at Sam's Town. There are also lesser-known comedy shows, such as a Def Comedy Jam night on June 8th at The Orpheum and a "Crucial Comedy Tour" on May 17th at the Cook Convention Center.)
Like other comedy clubs, the Loony Bin is in a constant state of change. Hosts are rotated on a daily basis. If owners Larry Marks and Jeff Jones like their brief acts, they might ask them to come back to perform.
Finding the right fit is an elusive task, but Marks and Jones aren't putting all their money on comedy. You don't have to buy a ticket if you stay in the spacious lobby, where there are dart boards, pool tables, and a bar, sans jokes. There's dancing after the headliners on most nights, a deejay when there isn't a live band. Marks says the Loony Bin is more than a comedy club -- it's a neighborhood bar, too. "The place is so big," Marks says. "We have ordinarily just done straight comedy formats. The license here goes 'til three, anyway. We thought we'd give it a shot. Nobody's tried this before."
You may have heard this one before, but the Loony Bin is trying with the rest of Overton Square to make a comeback. Once the place to go, Overton Square has been suffering since Beale Street took off in the late 1980s. Karl Schledwitz and his development company, Southland Capital, bought Overton Square two months ago. Schledwitz has hopes of adding parking spaces and a movie theatre to compete with a reinvigorated downtown entertainment district.
Much
farther to the north in Memphis, another comedy owner is hoping he has found
the right combination for success. Originally, Donald Crumpy and his six
hot-wings restaurants sponsored black comedians at the Comedy Zone in Midtown.
When that place closed, Crumpy looked around and still felt the itch for
the humor biz. "I said to my wife, `What are we gonna do now?'"
says Crumpy. "Memphis has no place for entertainment. You know, a place
where [adults] can sit down."
So, a couple months ago, Crumpy converted a former nightclub into a spacious room he claims can seat 600 people. He had an artist airbrush huge, detailed interior murals of the heads of eight famous black comedians, from Bill Cosby to Martin Lawrence, hired off-duty Memphis Police officers to guard the parking lot, and renovated the kitchen.
There are two ingredients in Crumpy's recipe for success: service and recruiting. "We're just trying to create good food and fun," he says. "And we're just trying to get the best talent out here." He's been trying to get Chris Rock, but that comedian's agents are demanding 80 percent of the door. Crumpy only wants to give 50 percent.
Though amiable, Crumpy isn't a natural in the business. Instead of starting each night with a high-powered host, he gets up himself and gives away a few Crumpy's T-shirts and coupons to his own hot-wings restaurants. The crowd doesn't really get into it; though they all seem to like him enough, you get the feeling they're just politely waiting for him to get off the stage.
For the comedy club owners, it's a question of money. Loony Bin owner Jones says it costs two to three times as much for a club to bring in a good comedian than it does a good band. That, he says, is what kills most clubs. For the patrons, it's all about shtick. People want someone who can come up with a whole new act, or at least not beat on the obvious topics (see above).
Find a balance between these two issues -- how much comedians want to get paid and how badly patrons want to see them -- and the businesses might stand a chance. It's an uphill battle, though. The comedians who have recently performed can't seem to resist opening one-liners about how small the crowds have been.