“Next to the stage, please welcome Mike Lukas.”
As I make my way to the unattended microphone, a smattering of applause breaks out in the boozy showroom like maybe I just made an easy putt.
That’s because at this late juncture of the open mic evening – it’s two and a half hours and twenty-four comics into the show – it’s mostly just comedians left sitting in the audience.
They don’t clap loudly because they’re too busy thinking about their own sets to care much about mine.
I don’t blame them – I’m the same way.
On stage now, the first thing I notice is that the mic stand has been shortened so that the mic only comes up to my mid-section.
I stoop so my back is hunched and my face is even with the low mic.
“This is perfect,” I say. “Thanks.”
That gets a laugh from a few of the tired crowd.
And more importantly, that minor chuckle grabs the attention of the other comics and at the same time settles my nerves.
I spot a bald guy – like me – up front.
“Hey, another bald guy,” I say. Chuckle. “See you at the meetings.”
I get another laugh and I’m off and running.
Now it’s my job to earn even more of their hard won amusement by executing the comedy plan I created earlier that day.
My set list – it’s right next to me on the stool – says things like, “Bald Guy Stuff,” and “Shitty Garage Sale,” and “Celebrity/Celibate,” – which are some old and some new bits, among others, I plan on covering during this five minute set.
I have no idea how it’s going to go – and that’s both thrilling and nerve-wracking which has my anxiety reeling and my full attention.
It’s nuts – and vulnerable – to think you can make strangers laugh, and yet 30+ comics per mic give it a whirl.
A few get laughs, and the rest must bask in the awkward silence they’ve inspired.
Doing a comedy mic takes guts – a “jumping off the high dive” and a “getting in the cage with a starving tiger” type of courage that not everybody possesses. Or desires.
Back during my 24 year career as a joke slinger, I used to have that kind of total confidence in the face of staged “danger,” but I’m a bit rusty nowadays.
That’s because I’m fresh off a ten year comedy hiatus during which I did zero sets while helping to co-raise my two babies.
They’re teens now so they’re old enough to encourage me to pursue my comedy dreams once again.
“Good lord, Dad, get out of the house,” they beg. “Please go … anywhere.”
Getting back on the stage after a major break has made me appreciate certain aspects of doing comedy at the open mics.
Here are five of them:
1) Mics are like going to the gym.
It’s easy to forget that open mics aren’t like regular shows where you’re expected to entertain a paying crowd. So don’t treat them that way. Think of each mic as a comedy gym. Use it to work out your comedy muscles. You’re not there to impress anyone, or to get applause breaks, you’re there to get better. Sure, it’s nice to get laughs – especially with the new stuff – but it’s just as important that you work on whatever else will help you to improve as a pro, like your cadence, volume, and microphone techniques. That’s because…
2) It pays to have a plan.
When I see someone struggle at an open mic, it’s usually because they don’t have a solid plan from which to work. Know what specific skill you want to practice that evening. Know what new (and old) bits you want to work on during your five minute set. In fact, write those bits down into a set list that you keep on the stage stool while you’re performing. Don’t be afraid to refer to your list in order to keep your plan in play. One way to balance new and old material is to…
3) Serve a new material sandwich.
Your tested material is the bread; your new material is the meat. Since you have five minutes of time on stage, first give them a minute of your tried and true material to earn some initial laughs and trust. Then spend three minutes trying out your new material. After that you’ll close your set with a final minute of your proven bits. This “sandwich” technique allows you to work on new stuff while giving the crowd plenty to laugh about which leaves them in a great mood. And when it doesn’t go well, remember one important fact about comedy…
4) Silence is your friend.
Silence can be comedy gold or a comic’s worst nightmare. It can mean the audience is captivated and listening. Silence can build tension that a well-crafted punchline relieves. It can also tell a comedian when they’ve come up short because their plan for making strangers laugh was ineffective. Silence can feel awkward if you don’t understand how to use it to your advantage. Regardless, make friends with silence, and suddenly the open mics become less painful. That’s because eventually…
5) You get used to it.
Improving as a comedian is all about getting reps. The more times you get on stage and practice delivering your bits, the more comfortable you’ll get in that environment. Eventually, you’ll get used to it. What was once difficult will seem easier. Listen to the recordings of your mic sets enough times, and you’ll get used to using those as a tool. Show up to mics even when you’re not scheduled for a set, and you’ll get used to networking with your peers.
Thank you, that’s my time.
Mike Lukas
Comedian, Improviser, Coach
Author of the Funny Muscle Book Series
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