Comedy and life advice from the great Bill Burr

Graham: In the couple of years after graduation, what did you do to get into the business?

Bill: Stand-up, it was always stand-up. I had a day job, I was living at home with my parents. I paid off all of my credit cards. I had an old truck, and I debated getting a new one, and I decided instead I just had to rip the power train out and put a new engine and transmission in. I remember this woman at work, she was all excited I was going to buy a new car and I told her that I just had the engine replaced, and she just made this face and goes like, “that was stupid.” I was embarrassed when she said it because she was beautiful, and if you are a true man and a beautiful woman says what you just did was stupid, you immediately want to undo it. I realized very quickly that what I did was not stupid. If you have a dream, one of the things other than the drive and the passion and the mental strength as life keeps slapping you down on the ground to not only get up but to get up and go even harder, one of the major things is you have to keep your expenses low. If an opportunity comes you can just get up and leave. I continued to work my day job for a year in Boston, and at that point I was making money as a comedian. And I was making more money than I had ever made, and I didn’t have a car payment. I paid off my student loans, I paid everything off. I just banked money because I knew I was moving to New York. I saved up 10 grand, I had never had more than 300$ in the bank. I was making 17, 18 grand a year and I was able to save about 10 grand of that.

(...)

Graham: As a final question, if you could give one piece of advice to a student at Georgetown who wants to go into comedy, what would it be?

Bill:I would just sit down, I would write five minutes of stuff that I think is funny, and I would sign up for an open mic, and when they call your name, go up on stage and see what happens. And then, don’t judge yourself, your first 15-20 shows it’s not about how it’s going, but it’s about do you have the nerve to go up there when they call your name. After you’ve done it 15-20 times, you can start to gauge things like “am I the person who just keeps the mic in the mic stand or do I take it out and walk around?” Just start the journey, and then once you become a comedian, be a positive force in the world of stand-up. Encourage other people, don’t steal jokes, don’t be an asshole … being a good person is a major part of it."

 
This 2016 interview with Bill Burr, here. Still packs a punch.

bombing: from heroes to zeros

There is something tragical about comedy. I can't speak for other comics when it comes to what compels them to make others laugh. To me, personally, it is at first a narcissistic thing. The whole my-life-might-be-shit-but-I'm-still-going-to-share-it-with-you kinda thing can be both poetic and selfish at once. But comedy is also and to me mostly, about bringing happiness. That's why stand-up - paraphrasing Doug Stanhope - works better in bad places. Think of some shitty town or city where people are essentially unhappy, and that's where comedy thrives.

Some say stand-up is one of the bravest things you can do. That might be a bit of a stretch. Bravery is making love to a morbidly obese woman with a moustache. To get up on that stage to be judged by others can be one of the most frightening, surely, but is "brave" really the adjective we're looking for?
I think most of us comedians act in narcissistic ways, by telling the world about the good and bad things that happen to us, about our views on everything.We want to belong but we're not quite up for it. Comedians are natural loners.

No matter how bad or frightening you think comedy is, I guarantee it gets worse. To begin doing it is the most difficult bit. But at the beginning you're so shit you don't really care that much. You keep thinking "fuck it, I'll eventually get better". And that is the main issue right there, when you start improving. Your confidence goes up, you're getting good laughs, then the unexpected comes: You bomb.

Yeah. Your material is better, you're sort of funny, and then suddenly you have one gig that's really,  really bad. I had one two months ago, and it is a hard thing to recover from. The worst part was that last time I gigged in that same place, my material killed and I felt, for the first time, like a comic. It was my first ever good gig.

This time it was the other way around. But somehow, I could tell, from the moment I walked into that room, that the whole atmosphere was wrong. The audience wasn't right for me and I was wrong for them. My material didn't suit this audience. My self-deprecating sexual jokes fell flat. My great ten minutes became the shittiest ten minute set in the history of comedy.

I couldn't get away, I didn't know what to do. I had ten minutes, that was all the jokes I had. So I just carried on even though my main desire was to abandon the stage and say, in a Eric Cartman voice, "Screw you guys, I'm going home!". Sadly, that could have been the wisest of choices. Those ten minutes became a long and very painful experience.

In the end, the only thing that will help any comic overcome bombing is experience, because it is never going to stop. Even my favourites Bill Hicks, Louis CK or Bill Burr have bombed badly. Some of those performances have become the stuff of legend and even been edited as albums - as with Hicks' Flying Saucer Tour - or Youtube sensations - like Bill Burr's Philadelphia rant.

Bombing is bad, but it happens. You don't always have to run away from a rabid midget, but from time to time, you might do. Shit happens.
It's all bombing is, a minor incident.
So don't stop.
Keep bombing.
Bomb better next time - it means you haven't given up yet.

"I started late. I don't want to die with a good idea. I want to get it out."

"I remind myself it really isn’t work. My dad was a laborer who got up at 5:30 each morning and worked for 50 years in all weathers for, by showbiz standards, petty cash. I remind myself of that every time I feel a bit hard done by. Winston Churchill said if you find a job you love, you’ll never work again. And that’s what it feels like. I used to be a lazy person, unambitious, a slacker, but now I’m a workaholic, because of the privileged position I’ve found myself in.

Fame is an upshot of what I do. If you're a successful comedian or actor, then you're a famous one. But it’s a by-product. It’s not the driving force. The making of it is the fun for me—not the money or the awards. It’s the process that I love, and the most exciting part is the creative thought. I’ve never done anything for a million pounds that I wouldn’t have done for free. Likewise, the awards are a thrill, but deep down I know it's only the opinions of a few people; it doesn't matter whether you win or lose. What matters is the work. You tried your hardest and you're proud of it. That's the important thing."

Do your thing and now, because fear never goes away

I've always wanted to be a comedian. But where does the funny come from? Stand-up has been called 'the toughest job in the world' but that's bullshit.

The fact that it took me eight long years to get the balls to take my jokes on stage is testimony only to my past cowardice.

My first ever 'gig' was at the King Gong, the monthly gong show at the Comedy Store, in Manchester. I must have been to the toilet more times than I can count. If you thought 'pissing yourself with fear' was just a figure of speech, well, it isn't.

The number of thoughts going through my head was countless. I had my material, my cowboy hat and was ready to rock. Except I wasn't. As much as people love to romanticize it, losing your virginity often isn't such a pretty thing. I sucked, big time. I wasn't terrible but I was very, very far from where I wanted to be.

The important thing here is, it doesn't matter how shit you are going to be at first - you have to start somewhere. I have a few funny friends with such great comedy brains who I think would be great comedians but some have no appeal to go onstage. Maybe they'll turn out to be great comedy writers. Maybe they will never take that step. Who knows?

Others simply can't get past the fear, as I couldn't for eight years. The thing no one tells you is, the fear never goes away. You never really overcome it. I always go back to the prison scene from Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises for inspiration. In that scene, Bruce Wayne constantly fails to escape and can't quite understand why. Until the Blind Prisoner, ironically, makes him see:

Blind Prisoner

You do not fear death. You think this makes you strong. It makes you weak.

Bruce Wayne
Why?

Blind Prisoner
How can you move faster than possible, fight longer than possible without the most powerful impulse of the spirit: the fear of death.

Bruce Wayne
I do fear death. I fear dying in here, while my city burns, and there's no one there to save it.

Blind Prisoner
Then make the climb.

Bruce Wayne
How?

Blind Prisoner
As the child did. Without the rope. Then fear will find you again.

The absence of fear isn't courage, it's stupidity. True courage comes from understanding your fears and acting despite them. If people didn't fear death, how many of us would choose not to live?

When I'm onstage, the fear is there with me.

I still remember the exact moment when I decided to do stand-up comedy. I woke up on the morning of my 27th birthday, and something was missing.

In spite of everything, I wasn't happy. I had realized something I hadn't thought about before. I was three years from being thirty. Thirteen away from forty. I had come to terms with the thought that, sooner rather than later, I was going to die - and I hadn't done any of the things I dreamed of.

Most of my favourite comedians had started quite young. Hell, Bill Hicks started doing stand-up when he was fourteen. I had some catching up to do.

I was afraid, and that fear of dying without having lived on my terms was the catalyst for everything that came after that.

I haven't even reached twelve comedy gigs yet. In fact, not counting the gong shows, I've probably managed a total of about eight. It doesn't matter though.

The fact that I've started something is the most important thing for me.

Fear isn't the obstacle, it's the fuel.

Now make the climb. Without the rope. Then fear will find you again.