We had a blast performing at our “non-traditional comedy venue” last Saturday night, the Higher Ground in Burlington, VT. Great crowds for both the early and late show. The staff was personable and professional. The management was top-flight. And the comedians (us) were treated like rock stars… or at least like folks stars– veggie plate, nachos, soda pop and spring water! The only thing missing was a bowl of M & M’s with the brown ones picked out. (Which is in our next contract rider, we assure you!)

Why go on about such seemingly insignificant things? Because it points up just how blasé the mainstream comedy clubs are about the talent they have in on a regular basis. The Higher Ground people do comedy once a month. They’ve invited such acts as Kevin Meaney and Todd Barry to amuse the citizens of Northern Vermont and the surrounding area, so they’re serious about comedy. When they’re not booking comics, their bread and butter is nationally touring folk, rock, reggae and other musical acts. Perhaps that’s why they treat comics a notch or two better than the vast majority of comedy clubs do. To their minds, there’s no difference between a nationally touring comedian and a nationally touring musical act with major label support.

How many times have you heard a comic say, “Dude, I wanna get out of the clubs.” What’s that all about? (The default explanation is, “the crowds.” But it’s not the crowds at all. The crowds are pretty much uniformly good if the product offered is “Professional Standup Comedy.”) The real reason is most likely the treatment received by the acts, from the moment they walk through the door until the moment they head for the aiport. It’s the attitude of the owners and managers of the venue with regard to “the talent.” We should be sick and tired of “nice treatment.” Instead, sadly, it stands out.

The Higher Ground package was exemplary– A three- or four-page Word doc listing media contacts within a 50-mile radius, electronic ticketing, four-star website with details (and links to online ticketing), in-house promotion, top-flight sound and light. And, of course, broccoli, Diet Coke and spring water in a room with comfortable seating, high above the showroom. In the new era, we don’t think it’s a stretch to say that every comedy club in America could be/should be doing exactly this.

ON THE WAY TO HIGHER GROUND…

Just inside the Vermont border, we encountered the above establishment and laughed for another half-mile or so down the road. Not because it’s so intrinsically funny, but because it reminded us of our fantasy restaurant that we plan on opening when we hit the lottery: H. J. Wooleysocks (“The Tasty, Toasty Brew and Burgery!”). Isn’t that exqisitely horrible? We thought so. We would open it not to vend fine food and drink to an appreciative population, but as a parody of all those wretched restos with the cutesy names and the fake ambience that hearkens back to… to what, exactly? We’re not sure. But they have lengthy, made-up names and the use capitals far too much and somebody has a handlebar mustache. And they concoct precious words like “Foodrinkery” and “HotDoggery!”

It would essentially be a giant piece of performance art… with disability insurance premiums. And to make it all the more incongrouous, we’d open it on a beach… and have a roaring fireplace. See if anyone else recognizes the absurdity of it all. (And there’d be comedy. And lots of broccoli, and maybe some of those snap peas. And grapes.)