Grandma’s Basement Comedy Club Eulogy #7
– by John Baglio
One of our favorite comedy clubs in Boston will be closing its doors in a few short days. As such, we’re having a few comedians write eulogies about their beloved, Grandma(‘s Basement Comedy Club.) This is the 7th…
Say what you will about any other local comedy venue, but Grandma’s was the heart of the Boston comedy scene. This was our place. Friends had Central Perk. Saved by the Bell had The Max. Cheers had Cheers. We had Grandma’s Basement.
We had good times. We had bad times. We had fun no matter what. But most importantly, we had each other (insert applause break here). To quote Mike Tyson, “I could sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating.”That quote doesn’t really apply here, I just wanted to say something to lighten the mood before I get all sentimental here.
I’m not good at this. I’m not that good at comedy, I’m not terrible either. I like to think that I’m fine. But I got a whole lot better thanks to this room. I’m sure I’m not the only person to say that.
Any Boston comedian who doesn’t credit Grandma’s with helping their comedy “career” is either a liar or Tom Dustin.
Having the luxury of being able to perform here on a weekly basis in front of a supportive blend of comedians and audience made you want to get better. People didn’t know there was a comedy show happening, and that was the real challenge, trying to make those people laugh. Because if you could make those people laugh, imagine what damage you’d cause in a room where people wanted to see comedy. Not that there weren’t actual crowds, there’s been plenty of nights where the place has been packed to the brim where it felt like we were doing comedy in an arena. Or maybe that was just PJ Brown’s laugh. Who knows.
I’ve been performing stand-up comedy for four and a half years. The first two years were garbage.
I was very green and very blue.
To give you an idea of where I was, my closer was a Tiger Woods joke where the punchline was just the word “pussyjuice.” Thats it. Pussyjuice. Bad I know. We all start out that way, at least most of us do, at least I hope most of us do, but then you mature and move on, the sooner the better. I didn’t mature until I started going to Grandma’s two years in 2011.
Early on, I was naive and didn’t realize how much value there is to open mics. They are the gyms of comedy. You got to hit the gym and exercise pretty frequently if you want to stay in your top comedy form. What stands out most in my memory was that I got there at 7 o’clock and only a few names were on the list. I was able take the 9th spot. If you showed at 7 this past year you were lucky to get a spot in the mid-20’s or 30’s. My first set at the Howard Johnson’s went well. I did mostly material I thought was “tried and true” and the one new joke I had about the Vancouver riots after the Stanley Cup did the best. That’s when I started to change. That’s when I started getting better. I realized I can come here with almost a fresh four minutes and see if anything sticks. That’s how I became a regular at Grandma’s Basement.
Grandma’s was the highlight of every week comedy wise. I’d work out my new ideas at open mics Sunday through Tuesday, polish ’em off a little more on Wednesday, and hopefully have a concise yet clever joke by the time I graced the slightly raised platform on Thursday. I thought if I did that long enough, hopefully I’d get invited back on a Friday or Saturday by Benny Bosh or Tom Dunlap.
Oh man, did I ever want to impress Benny and Tom. I wanted to impress e’rybody, but especially the two guys running the show.
I sought their approval moreso than any other booker in town because they were my peers in this crazy comedy game.
I don’t think I ever had a real conversation with either of them because I was too nervous and too eager to impress them, I wasn’t genuine around them or anybody until fairly recently. Late Thursday nights at Victoria’s Diner after the open mic were spent mostly in silence by me; I’d wait for a lull or a chance to chime in with an Al Pacino quote or a clever anecdote I had already rehearsed in my head. Ugh. This is my fifth time revising this and I hate myself. Things are going great.
I always wanted to be asked to host a Thursday. I never got to host any show at all there much to my dismay. I had been asked a few times this year, but it was always a night where I already had a show or couldn’t commit to spending the whole night there because of work or some other non-comedy obstactle standing in the way.
I held hosting the open mic in such high regard. That was like Variety’s “10 Comics to Watch” in Boston. Watching the likes of Jono Zalay, Shawn Donovan, Tim Vargulish, Sean Wilkinson, and more grab grab the reigns, it felt like you were deemed established and good enough to take on the daunting task of not only being wildly funny but also tasked with putting up with everyone’s bullshit. It’s something when written on paper doesn’t sound glamorous, but in my mind it seemed like making it. And still does.
The worst weeks were whenever the Red Sox were in town and we sadly couldn’t have any shows or mics. What separates Grandma’s from everywhere else in Boston is that it’s the only venue that made me slowly start to resent the Red Sox. We’ve lost countless nights over whatever was more important going on at Fenway. I was always content with the Sox not making the playoffs; it wasn’t the end of the world because that meant more Grandma’s.
But it was a real Catch-22 when we made our World Series run this year when I had to chose between rooting for baseball or for comedy. Sometimes I wish I did comedy in Jacksonville or Cleveland or Canada because there isn’t good sports teams to ruin your night of comedy. But then I remember how lucky I am to be in Boston. Grandma’s is where I started becoming friends with more and more comics. The more comedy you do, the less and less of actual people you spend you’re time with. You’re spending five nights a week with the same people who start off as strangers and slowly over time become your closest companions the more you learn about them on stage and off. Grandma’s was the place for that. You got to see 40-50 different people with different perspectives and different opinions.
Since I started going to Grandma’s, I have been in awe of what good comedians we have here in Boston.
We have some of the best talent in the country (in your face, Baltimore).
It’s always sad when there’s an exodus of comics leaving for greener pastures, but in the end it’s always for the best. Plus I’d think “there’s still that going away show at Grandma’s to look forward to” where a comedy show would turn into a night of reverie where you would feel this strange happiness-sadness hybrid knowing that one of our own is moving on.
I can’t fathom how much worse it’ll feel this Thursday for our final open mic. The gravity is starting to weigh in as Thursday fast approaches. I’m hurting now but it’s only going to get worse… It’s gunna really hurt one Thursday in January or February when I aimlessly drive to the HoJo’s only to remember its gone by the time I get to there.
I’ll remember all the good times, but I’ll also remember how much I took this room for granted. Grandma’s seemed like a rock. I couldn’t conceive of it going away, or maybe I didn’t want to. It was reliable. It was always there and now all of a sudden it won’t be. I can’t help but think of the missed opportunities. There were Thursday’s I missed not just because of those lousy World Champion Red Sox, but because I chose not to go, like an idiot. That’s right, there were those nights when I CHOSE not to go. Because it was too late or I hadn’t written anything worthwhile this week or whatever excuse I gave myself for not going. I should’ve just went and sat there and enjoyed The Temple or The Race War or whatever the flavor of the week was. I should’ve forced myself to rework an old bit.
Now I know how Oskar Schindler feels. Sorry everybody for
that analogy.
But on to better times. I can’t end this eulogy you regret reading without talking about my favorite memory of Grandma’s Basement. Was it the Human Monster Truck? Was it pointing out that you can’t spell “basement” without “semen”? Was it getting my first applause break? No, my favorite memory was Wes Hazard’s Mixtape Show this past September. Including the performers, there were maybe ten of us there. It was an intimate show featuring Wes, myself, Alingon Mitra, Barry Tattle, a poet, a magician, and a musician. I had one of my favorite sets of my life on this show. Three of the audience members worked at the Tasty Burger down the street so my tale of robbery and good fortune hit especially hard with them. It felt like their were 300 people there.
Not only did I take pride in doing well, I genuinely enjoyed watching these other artists showcase their crafts. Watching Steve Kradolfer work his magic (pun intended) brought out the kid in me. If you don’t know who he is, go to The Comedy Studio on a Tuesday when he’s there and be amazed and blown away. I’ve told Wes countless times how much I appreciated being on that show, and I’m glad there was a venue in Boston that allowed him to do it.
But while physically things may change, I know there’ll always be those sweet sweet memories.
I’ll remember how magical this place was. I’ll remember all the podcasts, homecoming shows, going away shows, birthday shows, festival shows, audition shows.
Out-of-towners came and flourished here alongside our cities’ brightest. I can’t think of anywhere else like that. Grandma’s took so many chances on comics and we all benefited from it. I had so much fun there because you could take risks and do something different without worrying if anyone cared.
The Human Monster Truck was born here much to your chagrin. Anthony Scibelli’s childhood “friend” Johnny was born here. I got to do a set in a diaper here last Halloween. I can’t think of anywhere else like that where I could have done that. Because there isn’t any place like that. There’s no place like Grandma’s. It’s a shame our benefit show couldn’t raise the $50,000 to save it.
Maybe someday we can recreate those magical nights elsewhere, but until then thanks for everything you’ve done for me Grandma’s Basement. I’m truly going to miss you. And to Benny, to Tom, to Gary, to John Paul, to Brandon, to the bartenders who never bothered to learn my name, and to all the comics over the years I shared this wonderful space with, thanks for everything.
