by Alex Wells
Everyone serious about jokes knows Kyle Kinane. Sometimes he’s a disembodied voice on Comedy Central, sometimes he’s the host of a short-run cult-classic TV show, sometimes he’s an animated dog on drugs, but mostly he’s the funniest storyteller in stand-up comedy.
We talked to Kyle about life after the release of Dirt Nap, his most recent and basically perfect special exploring his relationship to a feral cat, the Fast and Furious franchise, therapy, masturbating in front of ghosts and moving back to the suburbs.
So Dirt Nap is wonderful, of course, I was wondering now that it has been out for a while how do you feel about it though? Do you get tired of your own jokes or go “Oh, I didn’t land that one the way I wanted to”?
—I think with storytelling, there’s always going to be a version you wanted but didn’t nail. For shorter jokes, the phrasing is more important and can be more mathematical. As far as getting tired of my own jokes, yes. They all have a shelf life because who wants to hear themselves say the same thing over and over again? Gotta change the menu when it’s the right time.
If I listen to the albums over time, a lot of what is in your comedy seems to be about looking at yourself grow or change personally, not stay the same—is that important to you?
—I think I read somewhere that Marc Maron saw that observational comedy can be done by anyone because we’re all observing the same things. That was his impetus to look inward for premises instead of outward. Nobody can talk about you the way you can talk about you. Also, the only subject I’m remotely informed enough on to talk about like an expert is myself.
Do you feel like the audience or the world of comedy has changed since you started? Do different things seem relevant or irrelevant?
—There’s a larger audience for comedy right now because of social media, sure. But there’s a much more temporary audience for disposable entertainment. So as much as there might be excitement for a particular performer or style of comedy, I think that excitement wanes much faster than in the past. Everyone’s 15 minutes of fame is down to 90 seconds now.
Is practicing new material easier or harder on tour? Are you afraid someone will grab a joke, tiktok it, and ruin it for the next audience?
—I like to give brand new stuff a pass at a local show first before proposing it to a paying audience. Plus you can tell if something has legs if it works in front of a more lax, apathetic local crowd as opposed to a paying crowd that’s there ready to laugh. I dont think people are posting other people’s jokes as much as it seems, unless it’s some sort of “comedian slits throat of heckler” TMZ type clickable bullshit.
You’ve had a few podcasts—I know No Accounting for Taste and the Boogie Monster—do those allow you to work with a different part of your brain than doing stand-up?
—To me, it seems like a low effort hack to build up a parasocial relationship with one’s fanbase. Like when porn stars do the adult conventions. It’s easy enough to hang out with your friends and press record, right? Except how many podcasts go unlistened? It’s like the great Pacific garbage patch of entertainment, just a galaxy of unheard comedy podcasts floating in the ether. Podcasts are out there, and I do them sometimes, but ultimately I think it’s just lip service to the digital consumers. If it helps to get people to the live show, that’s really all I care about.
What’s your favorite project that you’ve done? Is there anything you think is under-seen or under-appreciated?
—I’m always happy when the 2 Minutes 2 Late Night crew asks me to do something. I value how pure their desire is to make truly silly stuff at a high level of quality. I really wish the Grawlix had been given a better shot at Those Who Can’t. That show was so funny and those guys built it without really doing the showbiz song and dance. They managed to make a show that still reflected their sense of humor and it deserved a million more views than what it got.
I’m sure you’ve been approached about acting long-term in a series or film, have you ever thought about that seriously?
—I’ve done some acting and it’s been good and bad (myself or the experience or both). I like seeing the end product, but the process of making it isn’t my favorite. Standup spoiled me in that I get an instant result on whether or not what I’m doing is working.
The difference between living in LA and where you are now is a big part of Dirt Nap—do you feel more outside of the comedy scene being far away?
—I guess it depends on which scene. There are local scenes, regional scenes, national scenes, global scenes. The algorithm jockey/clip mechanic scene. The crowdwork comic scene. The festival scene. Legion of Skanks scene. Rogan scene. LGBTQ scene.
You’ve toured a lot—do you get to know these places or at least the audiences well? Do you go “Oh, Minnetonka again, I know how things’re going down here…”
—I just came back from South Florida. Self deprecating humor doesn’t work as well in front of warm weather beach crowds who love their bodies and have high self esteem.
Are there any comedians you like a lot right now that we should be on the lookout for?
—Aaron Scarbrough. Tory Ward. Joe Briggs. Sean Jordan. Shain Brendan. The best comedians out there right now are doing comedy for the live audience and not for the camera they have set up in the back. I watched the host of a show at a prominent NYC club ask every single audience member what they did for a living, all so they could get a useable clip with the club logo in the background. They completely disregarded the job of hosting (setting up the audience) to get fodder for the algo. The desire for “views” has corrupted a lot of new comics.
What advice would you give a comedian just starting out?
—Ask yourself if you love it enough that you’d do it for free forever, or if you’re just a rootless tourist participating in the new thing.
Image: Courtesy Kyle Kinane