It's a chilly Wednesday in September and outside of Grumpy's Bar, rookie comics smoke cigarettes after their sets at the downtown staple's notoriously icy open mic. "Grumpy's room can be brutal," one comic says, his voice a mixture of excitement and disappointment.
In the Twin Cities open mic scene, the two dozen or so rooms where comics go to get stage time, newcomers have to be gluttons for punishment because, inevitably, you're going to bomb. But the occasional highs outweigh the lows and tend to resonate deeply. "Once you do standup, it spoils you for everything else," veteran comedian Doug Stanhope told Philadelphia Weekly last year.
So when one young comic is asked why he keeps coming back to Grumpy's, his answer comes as no surprise, "This is great! Cold rooms can be good -- they make you a better comic." That's more or less the mantra of the Twin Cities open mic scene -- and it's an approach that works.
Because now, maybe more than ever, it's an exciting time to be a local comedian, and a lot of that has to do with open mics.
CONFIDENT AT THE TOP
Louis Lee is an affable guy who smiles politely more than he laughs and speaks with a subtle intensity born out of knowledge. He has owned Acme Comedy Co., Minneapolis' flagship standup club, for nearly 21 years. Lee says the booming Twin Cities scene isn't just because of the number and size of the open mics (Acme's is arguably the nation's largest), but also because of the quality.
"Normally, for a brand-new comic to start and to get ready to go on the road, it takes four or five years. Now, because of the amount of stage time available, they mature a lot faster," he says, adding that as the scene grows, it breeds inspiration and creativity. Unlike many other cities, Lee adds, local comics aren't told to stay loyal to one venue.
Cy Amundson, a former Acme regular who moved to L.A. in January, agrees with his old boss.
"The open mic scene anywhere else in the country is not as good as it is in the Twin Cities," he said.
And you'd be hard pressed to find a Minnesota comic who doesn't agree.
crowded at open mics
Dan Schlissel, owner of the Twin Cities-based comedy record label Stand Up! Records, says increased stage time hammers home three simple rules for growth: Write new material, get on stage and keep at it. With at least two or three rooms to choose from every night of the week, the local scene is firmly set up to accommodate that.
Chris Maddock started the Grumpy's open mic 10 years ago and he's been running it ever since. National acts such as Todd Glass and longtime Minnesotan Maria Bamford periodically make impromptu stops when on tour. Maddock, who makes up one-third of the popular Comedy Death Squad and tours regularly, says that although he tries to get as many beginners on the list as he can, his 20-slot list at Grumpy's consistently fills up across the board.
It's the same at Rick Bronson's House of Comedy in the Mall of America, where the list for Mike Brody's 12-slot night is made out two months in advance.
Ditto for Ken and Becky Reed, a married couple who own St. Paul's Joke Joint, where the list is filled until December and they offer a free workshop for greenhorn comics prior to the Wednesday open mic.
SUPPORT IN THE SCENE
It's Friday night and Comedy Corner Underground is packed. The club, in the basement of the Corner Bar on Minneapolis' West Bank, has become a sort of clubhouse for the supportive, tight-knit group of established and up-and-coming Twin Cities comics. Bob Edwards, the mastermind behind the room, is also spearheading the 10,000 Laughs Festival, the Twin Cities' first-ever standup fest, to be held in October.
CCU's shows are run like a nonprofit, with a rotating cast of popular comics -- such as Maddock, Bryan Miller, Andy Erikson, Tommy Ryman and Pat Susmilch -- taking turns at the helm. Miller, freshly back from a week of shows in Boston, explains that local comedians function like a group of friends, opting for camaraderie over cutthroat competitiveness.
"Ours is a particularly close-knit, supportive scene," he says. "We do comedian softball games, we did headliners vs. the new guys, we even have a Christmas party. It's a family-style atmosphere."
Jakey Emmert, a 24-year-old comic who recently won Acme's Funniest Person in the Twin Cities award, is fitting right in. As someone relatively new to the scene, he says that other comics have been nothing but helpful.
Mike Lester, an MC at Acme whose been doing comedy for three years, enjoyed a similar experience.
"It's not really a competition; we're all a family," he says. "You can get on stage every night of the week and other comics aren't shy to help you."
MORE LAUGHS, FEWER COASTS
In the green room at Comedy Corner Underground, a first-time performer is puking in a trash can while Pat Susmilch and Tommy Ryman are strategizing careers in comedy. Susmilch, who MCs on rotation with the other hosts at Acme, says he makes his living from standup.
"I do [make a living], but I also live with my dad, so it's a lot easier," he says. "I'm technically making a living ... if video games and frozen pizzas with your dad is living."
Ryman, 5 1/2 years into the game, just landed his first TV spot, a comedy showcase on the Nick Jr. version of "Nick at Nite" called "NickMom."
"I got my first TV credit from Minneapolis," he says. "[It was] from Acme, not going out to L.A. or New York. I go out to L.A. to showcase or do shows, but you don't have to move."
Ryman illustrates an important point. The old stepladder rules - get big, get touring big, get big enough to move to one of the coasts - no longer dictate the trajectory for an aspiring Minnesotan comic. Even Cy Amundson admits that if he could, he would try to split time between L.A. and Minnesota.
"Mary Mack goes out to L.A. a lot, but she has a house in Minneapolis," Ryman says. "Chad Daniels is a phenomenal comic that lives in Fergus Falls, Minn., and he tours and has a Comedy Central Presents. You're pretty much asked to move to L.A., like 'Oh, you'll get a writing job.' But you don't have to to have a successful career."
Chris Maddock offers a similar take. He has a comedy album under his belt (one that recently received high Twitter praise from Doug Stanhope) and he features regularly, working the road intermittently while continuing to live in Minnesota. Maddock -- whose son fusses over lunch as he talks -- explains that when the comics stay put, the scene stays strong. Call it the prevention of a comedic brain-drain.
And a little friendly competition never hurts, either.
"When I started out, the comics I looked up to had all been doing it for about five or six years, and then a lot of them went off and moved to New York or L.A.," he says. "But now it seems like the people who've been doing it between five and 10 years are just staying here, because I don't think you really have to move. No one's moving off, so it's a good group of people and we're all good friends. You end up unintentionally pushing each other to do new shit and get better."
