Vic Romero met with Joe Ray Sandoval thirty minutes before I arrived at Rize Nightclub in Santa Fe, New Mexico to interview the nationally renowned Spoken Word artist, poet, and writer. Vic was nice enough to cover Sandoval’s childhood and young adult life up until he headed to Virginia for his Graduate Degree in creative writing. Here is a rundown on what the two of them covered:

While in Catholic school, Joe Ray thought of Santa Fe as a huge influence in the arts, worldwide. He thoroughly enjoyed the Pasatiempo and one day longed to be featured within its pages. At eighteen years old, Joe Ray fell into writing. Joe Ray started college at New Mexico State University with the intention of becoming an electrical engineer; that was before he started open poetry mics in his college-apartment’s living room. Eventually, Rock Island, a bar in Las Cruces, New Mexico, gave Joe Ray a back room as a place to have his open mics, and it was here where Spoken Word was born.

Joe Ray moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico, after finishing his bachelors at NMSU. Shortly after, a friend of his killed himself, and the reality of the situation fueled Joe Ray’s life of excess through the 90’s. Then, when Joe Ray was in his early twenties, everything changed.

DRM: Alright, Thanks again for meeting with me, Joe. I know Vic gotcha up until then, so, you got your MFA at George Mason.

JRS: Yeah.

DRM: What was that experience like? When you went into George Mason, what was your intent when you arrived? Was it to study writing? Creative Writing and Poetry?

JRS: Yeah.

DRM: That’s what you went in for. Did you have a Bachelor’s before that?

JRS: I got my Bachelor’s from New Mexico State.

DRM: Was your Bachelors in writing?

JRS: Creating Writing

DRM: Was there anyone at Mason that really influenced you, or put you on the track that you are on now? Or was it just –

JRS: I started on the track I’m on now in undergraduate. This guy named Joe Smozal; he turned me on to the whole Spoken Word scene. That’s what got me into the whole performance aspect of poetry. And then when I got – I wanted to get as far away from here as possible. I love Santa Fe and all, but… So I went to a top twenty writing school, studied with Kevin Forshay who was probably the biggest influence as far as the actual academics – part of the reason I went to George Mason –

DRM: Forshay was at Virginia?

JRS: Yeah, and C.K. Williams was the other guy, but I wanted to get a straight up, legitimate Masters Degree, so I went to a really hard, academic school, so that way, when I did what I liked to do, the performance aspect of it – there’s a big debate, whether there was room in poetry for the Spoken Word people, you know, “this is boring” and it kind of was – the writing was great, but the performance aspect had such a rush. A larger audience and it was so much more entertaining and the biggest influence were the people I was studying with and writing with, and uh, they were all decent, well known writers – they were all actually really good writers

DRM: So it was your fellow matriculates, they were the –

JRS: Well, yeah. They were the influence and we’d push each other to write, you know, it was crazy, we would go on tour, you know I worked for DC WritersCorps, and uh, with DC WritersCorps it was –

DRM: Was that during your time at George Mason?

JRS: Yeah, during that time – it was government funded, like AmeriCorps, but for writers. So we went in and taught writing to all these different communities, so there were twenty writers, three cities: San Francisco, Brooklyn, and DC, and I was the only Brown dude, so I we would see Latino kids, and Guatemalans, Dominicans, and working with those kids taught me a lot. Working with the other writers taught me a lot, and we were on tour, there were three of us. There was DJ Renegade, this big giant black dude, Jeff McDaniel was the crazy white guy and I was the Brown guy. And we got hired, so we would go up and down the coast and do performances –

D: And this was all the while you were going to school.

JRS: All while I was in school. And it was just great. And Virginia is such a white state, and it was something that I never experienced, it was the first time I ever saw a black dude speak Spanish – it was a living experience, and more than just graduate school, that was the vehicle to get out there and to learn all this stuff and to go do it.

DRM: And you said, using your words, you were the only “Brown” guy around – were you the only “Brown” guy in the whole program?

JRS: Oh yeah. In the program, in WritersCorps.

DRM: That’s crazy. We’re you received well? Did you experience much resistance from the others?

JRS: No. I was an enigma to them as much as they were to me. I mean, I was from New Mexico, which is the Wild Wild West on the East Coast, you know what I mean?

DRM: Absolutely. I’m from Minnesota; I hear the same shit there.

JRS: So they had no idea – but they were fascinated, I was fascinated. I remember the first time, there was this girl Carmen Johnson, she had dreads and I asked her point blank, ‘can I touch your hair?’ I mean, I didn’t know, you just didn’t know. Santa Fe was a much smaller town back then.

DRM: And how old were you when you were in WritersCorps at George Mason?

JRS: I started when I was 23, 24.

DRM: It sounds like you’re saying the experience of the program was the catalyst for you. The environment you were in.

JRS: Yeah, then Forshay, recommended me to the hilt, “we want you to come do this program” and like I said, I met all these different writers and we helped each other and we pushed each other. It was an awesome community. And it probably was one of the most fun times of my life. I was around people that were motivated to do something all the time.

D: You mentioned you were getting hired and that you were on the road. Can you explain that a bit? Were you just being – did you have to seek out these gigs?

JRS: They started coming to us. They heard about us.

DRM: How’d they hear about you?

JRS: We just got a lot of press. We were the group that went into the Martin Luther King Library and we were doing all this great work with kids.

DRM: So when you were touring on the East Coast, then, you were doing DC.

JRS: Atlanta

DRM: Manhattan, Brooklyn.

JRS: Yeah, we were all over New York.

DRM: And you were still in your writing program while this was going on?

JRS: Yeah.

DRM: That’s amazing to have that level of exposure while you’re still getting your degree.

JRS: Absolutely.

DRM: That’s nearly unheard of.

JRS: By the time I left George Mason, I had already; I was connected around the country. We’re not that big of a community, you know. Its growing and it’s still super strong. We just saw on HBO, they’re doing this “Brave New Voices” it’s this poetry slam, youth poetry slam that they do in San Francisco, actually they do different places too. I took a team from Santa Fe, because when I came back, I brought all this experience back with me, and the thought was leaving Santa Fe was always such a big important part for anyone that wanted to make it and be successful, because you had to get the fuck out of this town, otherwise you weren’t taken seriously. I can tell you right now that is false.

DRM: Really?

JRS: Yeah, it’s good, and you need to get out and go experience, but living here and doing your work here, isn’t a failure. I’ve done more stuff in Santa Fe, and Santa Fe has always managed to keep me here and has fed my art and my creativity and brought me opportunities that I might not have gotten had I lived in other cities. I don’t know what would happen. I can’t second guess. What if I had gone to Columbia instead of George Mason like my friend did? What if I had not left minor league baseball? It all could have led to different paths, there’s no point in second guessing, my point is that coming back here is just – I feel like I’m me here. So I brought all that experience working with city kids and I started workshops in Santa Fe, and have been doing it for years and years. These kids appreciate it because they can look at me and say, ‘hey, that guy looks like me,’ with the brown skin, and we all have the same experience because we grow up here. People would always ask me, “What’s your nationality?” “Where are you from?” And I always tell them “I’m New Mexican.” It’s very unique. Spanish, Native American, White folks forever, since we started as a state and the influence is great, all of us growing up together with all these different types of people. We have the Moors, the French traders… when I left Santa Fe, I was telling Vic that I was pretty hip on how the world worked.

DRM Do you think it helps, working with youths now, that they see you as someone who was here, left, and then came back?

JRS: Yes, because they can believe it.

DRM: Do you think that discourages them from leaving?

JRS: No. I tell them, take the situation to leave and then you can come back. You can do whatever is important to you. As long as you’re doing it, it doesn’t matter where you are. That’s up to you.

DRM: I think a lot of people have the mentality that you gotta get out of the town you grew up in otherwise you’re never going to experience anything.

JRS: But that happens.

DRM: So you encourage your kids to go.

JRS: Absolutely. I encourage everybody to go. Go see what else is out there. Coming back is not the bad thing, that’s where shit gets confused.

DRM: Right, it’s seen as failure.

JRS: Right, because they came back. Every time that I came back: Documentaries, then all the spoken word stuff, the movie and all that shit came out. The CDs came even before the documentary, because it was ripe. There were all kinds of talent here – all these kids that I was working with – and we just started doing shit. And it led to where I am now, and each project was bigger and better than the last. Which is scary now, you know, cause what’s next? How do I keep progressing? The movie we just made was four million dollars, but they stretched every penny – we had a wonderful cast.

DRM: An amazing cast.

JRS: The producers and the director are all well known. Victor Nunez is like an independent film hero.

DRM: He’s remarkable – Ulee’s Gold.

JRS: Exactly.

DRM: Well I find it interesting what you say about leaving and coming back.

JRS: Right. I mean, my girlfriend loves it here, she went to Miami, did her college, moved to New York, hated it, she’s happy right here, she doesn’t want to go anywhere else. And that’s cool with me. I’ve made my peace with this town. We’re cool. Me and this town are cool.

DRM: You guys fought it out and moved on.

JRS: Right. We duked it out and decided that we love each other. Don’t get me wrong, I mean if someone were to call me up and say, “Joe Ray we like your new project, we want you to be the staff writer for it, want you to write your own show, you need to move to L.A.” I’m not gonna say no.

DRM: [Laugh]. You’re like an amicable divorced couple. So this is leading into the movie, Spoken Word, which I saw the premier of and I was here the night of The Lensic, I thought it was great – I’ve seen it twice. As you know, I’m a writer and growing up in Minnesota, then Wisconsin, and even in Chicago, I did not have much exposure to Spoken Word at all, and when I moved back here is when I started hearing a lot of Spoken Word and to be honest, in my mind it was the “Chess Club” of literature, this small, compact group of drama dorks, then I saw the movie and I was blown away. I didn’t know who you were and I saw this facet of literature that I knew existed but I brushed off, shit on, spoke badly about, and to see it done so well, and beautifully, it really opened my mind up to it. And I’ve been helping Vic out with Spoken Word, in very small dosages, up at El Farol, and when you see something like this with people that are really good at it, and there are shitty writers too that do it, but my initial reaction was based on a lack of intelligence, and to see what people can bring to these events is wonderful. My long-winded point being, where you doing this before you knew it existed – you were doing Spoken Word at undergrad and suddenly were like, “Wow, there’s this group of people that are doing this,” or, were you introduced to it and realized that this was inside of you.

JRS: I was introduced to it. I was already writing at the time of course, but you have to remember something else too, oral tradition predates writing, and what I argued when I was in graduate school for my thesis, they wanted, you know, thirty writers, and I said, well, one of my ‘writers’ is stories that have no writers attached to it because these are stories passed on generation to generation. Even sitting around the dinner table in this culture was a huge important thing, dinner being three hours long, four hours long because youre sitting there telling stories, your sharing and laughing and it was an important time for the family, and I just took that to another level, and I shared it. The thing that I love about Spoken Word versus the written word is that when you write, you can write it, put your name on it, send it off and you don’t have to be accountable for it, but when you’re up there on stage, people can boo you, people can tell you you’re a fucking asshole, or a liar – there’s a physical relationship. Ethride Knight said when you speak, your voice vibrates and hits the bones in the ear and that’s how sound works and there is an actual physical connection that takes place. And that, when you put it that way, there is a connection between you and your audience. You’re accountable for what you say – and that’s the positive too, when you hear a crowd erupt because of what you’re saying or when they moan, you know they’re getting it and hearing every word, it’s an amazing feeling.

DRM: What about when you hear silence?

JRS: The respect of silence.

DRM: Having done standup, it almost sounds like it’s easier to get someone to laugh than it is to respect your poetry.

JRS: Well, for me, poetry is a lot of personal shit.

DRM: When you go up there… it’s not written? You’re going up there. I’ve seen so many people do Spoken Word with nothing in front of them. Do you find yourself improvising on your sets?

JRS: Yeah, you have to.

DRM: Gauging the crowd?

JRS: I’m from the older school. I started off writing with a pen and paper, and more times than not if you see me on stage I’ll have a stand and my work. I could memorize it I guess, maybe I’m just lazy. There’s something about reading it, the presentation… for me it’s about the in-between. The kids now, no way. You don’t have paper, you learn it and it this shit and that. For me it’s not imperative to not have paper. The performance is inflection and how you present the material and how you interact with the people. Just because it’s written down, doesn’t mean I can’t change shit in the middle. I’ll switch order and the way that I write, I can put pieces together in all kinds of different ways. It depends on the audience – if it’s a bunch of young people you can’t do some of the hardcore shit, and if it’s an older audience, you can be more appreciative.

DRM: And you do all of that on the fly?

JRS: I’ll decide. I want this here, put it together and prepare each one for a particular audience.

D: I like that, Nabokov wrote on note cards and he would move the cards around to tell his story, the story always having the same message, regardless of the order.

JRS: [laughs] Everybody has a different way of seeing things. There’s people that go onstage and hammer it home, and I’m like, hey, there’s little kids here, you can’t be ‘fuck, shit, fuck, shit.’ Don’t shit where you eat. It’s a fucking business. I would never shit on anyone just to be seen as punk rock or avant-garde. There is a time and place for it. Don’t get me wrong – when George Bush got elected the second time I was in DC reading and I went to town and boy did those fucking people love it. They were like, “Fuck Yes!”

DRM: Would you say a lot of your work is political?

JRS: It’s political, it’s functional, the fact that any minority, any disenfranchised group that writes or performs and puts their work out there, is political. You’re giving a voice to the voiceless. Even my girlfriend wanted to know some Chicano movies to watch, she’s researching roles, she’s getting a lot of Chicano roles, and you know what, there’s not a whole lot. We got Edward James Almost, ya know.

Joe Ray had to go move his car so a nameless woman could leave the club. The interview picks up after this – discussing Joe Ray’s critically acclaimed film named after the very performance literature he is so married to.

DRM: You co-wrote Spoken Word with William Conway, correct?

JRS: Yes.

DRM: Was Spoken Word your idea or his?

JRS: Here’s how this played out: Several years ago, Bill Conway’s kid graduated from high school, form Prep, that year Santa Fe Prep had asked me to give their commencement speech. So I did the commencement speech for his son’s class and that’s where we kind of first crossed paths. He started a film company here in town, Luminaria Films, and he talked to our friend Rob Wilder, he teaches at Prep, so they hooked us up, and so they asked me to go in for a meeting and I didn’t really know for what or why, so I walked in and I said, so I heard you guys are making movies, and I pitched my story, and I had some poems in my hand, and I pitched the story about this writer who lives in San Francisco, working with youth, he comes back, you know, we had to come up with a gimmick for why he came back, which was the dying father, because you know, what they wanted to do was make New Mexico stories. One of the biggest kicks I have had as an adult was reading with Joe Hayes from Taos, the story teller! He was just this great story teller and we all knew him and stuff, and it was kind of a big deal. I remember hearing his stories, and now we’re telling our stories – there’s a line in the movie that says, “We need to tell people about our history even as we’re making it.” Spoken Word is now a piece of New Mexico that can never be taken away. It is a documentation of this part of life, this frame in time, one of family dynamic, one of culture. I went to New York once to do a reading and it was in front of six hundred people, sold out venue in Spanish Harlem. They watched the movie and we did a Q&A after, and it was amazing how these people related to the movie, being from a completely different part of the country, all the Dominicans and Puerto Ricans, which was Spanish Harlem, but they related to the family dynamic, the father/son relationship, the brother/brother relationship and that’s what I took away as much as anything else even thought this story was told in a very specific place. It’s a universal story.

DRM: It resonates.

JRS: Exactly. It’s not just Latino culture. White folks in Ohio like it.

[Vic Romero interjects a helpful piece of relation]

VR: I think too, especially with the relationship where they get it, is when they tap into that whole old school idea of your dad never talks to you, it’s just “Get your shit done,” “Get your ass up” and the son says, “Dad I want to ask you something” and the dad says “Don’t be so fucking stupid.” I think a lot of us, sons of fathers, can relate to that.

JRS: Yeah.

DRM: It is all relative. Even though this story could be in any place, what I find fascinating is, as I watched it, I remember thinking, this is the well of this cultural information, and even though it could take place anywhere, I could not think of a better environment for this to come from – especially because it is so foreign to most people. This is silly as hell, but even with my wife, Denise, she’s from Illinois, and after she moved here, I swear to God, half of the people she knew didn’t even know it was a state. They thought she was moving to Mexico the country.

JRS: Same with people in Virginia. “You speak really good English,” I got that all the time. I’m like… are you kidding me, I live in fucking New Mexico. This is third grade shit! How do you not know this? Come on!

DRM: I know you got to get going, so I’ll move this right along. Do you still speak with Conway?

JRS: Oh yeah!

DRM: You guys are buddies?

JRS: He’s got other projects going on, but let me tell you one thing about Bill Conway and Karen Koch (she was the other producer). She worked on some of the best movies ever, like Dead Man with Johnny Depp, Drugstore Cowboy, and I will tell you that the people that worked on this movie were adamant about keeping it true and New Mexico and not dumbing it down, and not sugar coating it. I appreciate them so much for that, more than I can tell you. In fact, my dad became a consultant on the movie when it came to the funeral scene because they wanted to do it in English. They didn’t believe that they would do it in Spanish.

DRM: And where was that scene?

JRS: In Chimayo, across the street from the Santuario. You know, they just didn’t understand that they would do this in Spanish for real. So they kept it authentic, and that’s a huge testament to a group of producers that were willing to keep it authentic.

DRM: That’s great – not your typical Hollywood shit.

JRS: Right, not your typical Hollywood shit. They kept it New Mexico. I am honestly proud of how this came out. I’m proud to be a part of it. I’m proud to have worked with the people I worked with.

DRM: What I loved was even the most detrimental of places in the movie were still so beautiful. The most depressed areas are so lovely.

JRS: Chimayo has been written up in the New York Times, several times as the heroin capital of the country, and you know part of the deal was we wanted to show the beauty and desperation that comes out of here, and there is a lot of both. There are things that belong. And you know, I thought my first movie was going to be this super hip, fast, bang, hip hop soundtrack, hot chicks and a lot of fucking, and ironically the opening scene, the beginning, Cruz is this rock star and when we first see him he’s banging these two chicks in a hotel room, you know what I mean, and then we anteed up. We had to find out, ‘what is this about?’ and it’s about the family dynamic. It’s about the relationships within families. And it’s a slow movie, and a lot of people didn’t realize how big a production this was, which goes back to the narrative of going home; whether you’re going back home to Ohio, or Minnesota or Iowa or wherever. And then being from New Mexico, I had so many people tell me how impressed they were with the quality – this is a real full-on movie, and there are so many that aren’t and again, this idea of how can that be in New Mexico? There’s Thor and Transformers and all this other shit, and I think [Martinez] is finally coming around, giving a little more love to it. My next project I want to do it in New Mexico, I want to film in New Mexico again.

DRM: How did Nunez get involved? Did you seek him out?

JRS: He and Karen were close, ultimately what got Sandoval and Blades and Victor Nunez involved is that they dug the script.

DRM: How was co-writing it with Conway? Easy?

JRS: Awesome. It’s essentially an auto, and we don’t say that, we say that it’s based on a true story, based on my poetry, but my poetry is all about me. I don’t know what else to write about!

[Vic, Joe Ray, and myself all laugh]

JRS: But the movie is not about me. It’s about families and relationships. It’s so much bigger than me. It’s so important to me that these stories come out. I’m happy that it’s out there and I’m happy that people went out and saw it. When we did it at the Lensic, that’s the most special show I’ve ever had because when I saw all these guys in the audience, and I heard crying and hollering in the audience, I get goose bumps thinking about it right now. I saw my name like that on screen… I started crying. This movie is about them.

DRM: That’s really cool, Joe. More humility than I was expecting.

JRS: It’s about all of us. What changed my life were the kids. We were working with this gang prevention program, and all this shit, and all these bangers, and I would see them selling crack in the junior high parking lot, you know, and there are a number of them that are dead. And when I was there, one of the kids got shot in a drive by, was killed, and one of my students was pregnant with his baby and their kids who should just be dealing with high school shit, and you know what man, instead of all these guys gunning up and going looking for revenge, we had a make-shift service in the Latin American Community Center, and all these kids got up and they read their pieces they wrote for this dude.

DRM: That’s incredible.

JRS: That’s what did it. That kind of power that art has and how much it can help young people… the fact that were even discussing cutting education and art programs is beyond me – we’re going the wrong fucking way, if you want to stop these problems and all the drug problems and alcohol – don’t forget, we live in Santa Fe and we’re in this weird oasis in the second poorest state in the nation, what goes on here doesn’t really go on anywhere else, but we don’t want to nurture the arts. We’re the second largest art market in the goddamn country; there should be no reason that any kid that wants to in the state of New Mexico should have access to the arts. I’ll tell you right now, if we allow this, all of these kids will go on to do bigger and better things. I’ve never told one of my students, you should be a poet, no, I tell them they need to express themselves in any way that is important to them, whether its music, making beats, art, drawing, freestyle, beat boxing, painting, I don’t give a fuck what it is that you choose, dance, theater, express yourself, create it for yourself. I tell these kids as soon as you put something on paper and as soon as you present it to the world, it’s out there, it’s now tangible. When you walk in all pissed off, fuck you! Fuck life! That doesn’t help, but when you express yourself in an honest way then people will listen to you and they have to pay attention and they can’t ignore you anymore. You’re not just telling people to fuck off, you’ve explained why you’re pissed off and you have a right to be pissed off.

DRM: One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when you’re in San Francisco, in the classroom, it’s very short, after you get the call announcing your father’s death, and you have to go back. And it really shows your connection to the kids. After the movie, I read that your first Poetry Allowed, 900 kids showed up? I forget the name of the place – I thought I would have remembered it, I should have written it down.

[Silence for a minute]

JRS: You know what, I did a – me and Rockwell did a performance, this Spoken Word performance. It was at Sweeney.

DRM: Yeah! Sweeney, that’s it!

JRS: Nine hundred grade school kids. I kid you not. And Julia Goldberg and all them showed up.

DRM: What was it like to show up and see nine hundred people in the audience?

JRS: IT WAS INSANE! INSANE! I’m thinking to myself, ‘holy shit.’ So I knew already what set I had to do. It was a bunch of schools, you know.

DRM: Did that throw you off?

JRS: Oh, yeah, I thought it was going to be in this classroom. It was nine hundred kids and it was awesome.

DRM: What was the event?

JRS: They just asked us to come so all these young people could see your performance and your art. I did Spoken Word, and what I did a long time ago, is I brought in a DJ, me and my DJ, he would throw down beats so that way, because when people think of poetry, its old white dudes with pipes, it’s boring.

DRM: They think of Walt Whitman.

JRS: Right, who was badass! He was a gangster when it comes down to it, he was all about fucking and hanging out and partying. He’s always writing about having a good ol’ time, this dude is gangster. And so, when I reintroduced the DJ aspect to it, people immediately changed their tastes, I mean, one of the first times when I brought it back, we dropped a Dr. Dre beat, and I’m busting out original Spoken Word over Dr. Dre beats. Like when I did the commencement speech, it was Nothin But a G Thang and shit like that, and I’m quoting [J. Christian Averte] and Robert Frost, because that’s how you – that’s the end road for me, that was how I reach these kids. I start with a simple story. You know, and when I was a kid, I was out there and I had a bb gun and we’d go out there and shoot shit, that’s what kids did was shoot things. One day I’m cruising around and I see this rabbit, and I was like, I’m gonna shoot that rabbit, I got a gun, so I shot this rabbit and I hit it and its back legs quit working and it was paddling like hell to get away from me, and I’m like, what do I do now:

I grabbed my gun
I pumped ten times and I pulled the trigger
I pumped ten times and I pulled the trigger
Pump ten times and I pulled the trigger
Pump ten times and I pulled the trigger
I pump ten times and I pulled the trigger
And it still wouldn’t die.

So I grabber a large rock and bashed its head in
Over, and over, and over until it no longer moves

My words won’t bring the rabbit back
And my words won’t let me forget

JRS: And then it becomes poetry. If you look up the word poetry, it is the maker of things. I argue that a good mechanic is a poet, or a plumber. There’s poetry in art, there’s poetry in theater, there’s poetry in music. All advertising is poetry, in the news – the blizzard of ’96. You’re using all these words and onomatopoeia. It’s all poetry. It’s everywhere. So why is it not a viable art form?

DRM: Coming from Joe Ray Sandoval, I want to know, is there a dichotomy between hip hop and poetry?

JRS: There is not at all.

DRM: So it’s the same?

JRS: It’s not the same. There are very poetic hip hop artists, but not all hip hop is poetry. Poetry is a forced language form and every word is important, there’s a lot of stupid shit out there, and it works for a mainstream audience, a larger audience. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have educated rhymes. People say Tupac was a poet and to some degree I think he was, and people say Bob Dylan is a poet, and there is a lot of it that is. Poetry is a high art form. If you listen to Emmerson and Therault, who came after Whitman, they see a poet as the lens between God and the People. But I don’t think about all that shit. I think of a poet as a vehicle for storytelling and for sharing the beauty of the world and the harshness of life. I’m proud to be a poet, and it’s not what you want to tell your Hispanic father, “Hey, Daddy I’m a poet.” It’s one step up from being a gay guy, you know what I mean?

[Vic interjects: “Hey!”]

JRS: No, you know, in the culture, you know?

Vic: No, you’re right.

DRM: Can you tell me about Chicanobuilt? I don’t even really know what it is.

JRS: It’s expressing modern Chicano culture through film, poetry, art, and clothing. We started making t-shirts just to celebrate more of Chicano culture. It’s saying we are Chicano built and we’re proud of it.

DRM: Where could someone that wanted to get these items, find them?

JRS: My Facebook page. Chicanobuilt Sandoval. I’m also opening Chicanobuilt.com again. I bought it – finally bought it back, and now I’m reopening it.

DRM: So this is something that means a lot to you?

JRS: Hell yeah. One thing you know about Chicano people and New Mexicans is that we’re a proud bunch of people, man. You’ll see 505 everywhere and guess what, we got Chicanobuilt now.

DRM: That leads into my last question: Being here for seven years, a Polish white guy from Minnesota, I’ve seen more Santa Fe Pride than any other city, and I’ve been all over this country. There’s so much pride here, and I wanted to ask you Joe, what’s the difference between Santa Fe Pride and Chicano Nationalism?

JRS: Good question. Chicano, part of it is its place, but the part about Santa Fe Pride, more so, is its New Mexico Pride.

DRM: So it’s more New Mexico Pride than Santa Fe Pride?

JRS: That’s right, because Santa Fe is an enigma in this state; it’s like Austin in Texas.

DRM: Yeah, it’s funny. When I go to Albuquerque, a lot of the people there shit on Santa Fe.

JRS: Yeah, they hate Santa Fe. It’s arty-farty, and it’s gay, and its fancy restaurants. I play poker and a King Trey, King Three – it’s a Santa Fe waiter. Pair of Kings they call a Santa Fe couple; it’s all Santa Fe jokes. And a lot if it is ignorance and it’s unfortunate, that the rest of the state doesn’t embrace it. But you know, so many Hispanics are Republican; they’re Catholic, why do think we have so many goddamn kids? No birth control, no abortions, none of that shit. I’m forty one years old, I’ve never been married and I have no children – do you know how rare that is here?

DRM: So you’re saying that Chicano Nationalism is something that exists within the state of New Mexico and within the New Mexico Pride and that here they are not separate?

JRS: Absolutely. Being in New Mexico is a part of being Chicano and that’s part of being Spanish and there are all kinds of different schools. My grandmother is Spanish, Spain. Period. Which is not Chicano! Chicano is Mexican descent, natives, and I find it hard, that’s why I say New Mexico because we are all here. All that influence is here. I know so many Hispanics that dump on Mexicans, all the time. It sucks.

DRM: Real quick, and I’ll let you go. Are you working on anything right now – any upcoming projects?

[Vic: Ask him about his award. He’s getting nominated for some awards.]

DRM: Great. What’s that all about?

JRS: Spoken Word has four nominations for the Imagen Awards – it’s sort of like the Latin Image Awards.

DRM: Where’s that at?

JRS: In L.A. Beverly Hills Hilton – black tie event. We have four nominations.

DRM: That’s excellent. What’s it being nominated for?

JRS: Rubén [Blades] and Kuno [Becker] are being nominated for best actor, Miguel Sandoval is nominated for Best Supporting and Spoken Word got nominated for Best Picture.

D: Really? Nice! Congratulations! Good luck, Joe. It’s been really great speaking with you. I was coming in here expecting some slippery “cool guy” arrogant poet and you’ve been humble, educational and quite interesting. Thank you so much for your time and your words.

JRS: Hey, I’ve been a prick in my life. But I’m proud of who I am and I quit drinking’ a couple of years ago and now, I’m chill and mellow and just enjoying my life.

 

Last month, some friends and I headed late one evening down a long, seemingly empty street in Chicago’s old meat-packing district.  We drove down a line of what looked like old, abandoned warehouses until we came to the correct address.  We parked and looked around at not much of anything.  We were there for El Circo Cheapo, a monthly amateur circus and vaudeville show that routinely sells out a month or more in advance to those lucky enough to be in the know.  And this night we were among them.  We ascended a staircase with a handful of others and gave our names at another, wholly non-descript door upstairs before entering the theater, if theater is defined very loosely.  We were in a large room with cement walls.  A tight-rope was stretched from one corner to another.  From the ceiling a large rope was hung.  It was like stepping into a void or black hole and finding two unexpected objects seemingly placed there at random.  After everyone was seated, the ringmaster and emcee, Chicago-comic Cameron Esposito came out to warm the crowd up and introduce the first act.  From that moment onward a breath of life swept into the room and the wonderful action did not relent as we went from tight-rope walking to acrobatics, from magic to Chaplin-esque clowning to women on flying trapezes, all the while interspersed with Ms. Esposito’s witty dialogue and commentary.  She has a rascally but loveable presence, like if Wile E. Coyote had a night of ghostly visitations like Ebenezer Scrooge and emerged the next morning with the same penchant for mischief but a bigger smile.  If you haven’t been to El Circo Cheapo, look them up now.  It is among the most rewarding (and cheapest) nights you can have in this great city. 

This past week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Cameron Esposito about her tenure at El Circo Cheapo as well as her time as an improve comic in Boston and, now, as a stand-up here in Chicago.  She is currently prepping for an hour-long show, “Side-Mullet Nation”, in this year’s Just For Laughs festival (June 15^th, 8:30pm, Playground Theater).  It was a pleasure to have gotten some of her time amidst such a busy schedule.  In it she mentions how the circus artists are bleeding gracefully during their contortions; it is a good description of her brand of comedy. 

LBS:  Your first comedy cd, “Grab Them Aghast” (available on iTunes), was released a little over a year ago; do you currently have plans for a follow-up?  Also, is something tangible like that something that you still take a lot of pride in or something you have left behind you?  I can recall, as a writer, getting my first big publication and being fairly startled by how little something like that, something that all aspiring writers are after, ended up affecting me; how quickly it gave way to all the rest of day-to-day life.

 

 

CE:  Oh for sure.  The goal of that album was to have something tangible to put in people’s hands as they left a show and to throw some jokes at ears that weren’t at a live show.  And it’s done that.  But man,I didn’t think about how static a tangible product would remain… comics change from show to show, week to week, etc… and how unusual my slow, descriptive style might seem on tape.  That album’s gonna be a collector’s item in like five years, I’m sure of it.

 

LBS:  Seeing you on stage as ringmaster and emcee of El Circo Cheapo, I was very struck by the rapport you have with your audience.  It was the first time I really questioned whether or not Kermit the Frog is was the world’s best host.  Whether you were talking about successfully urinating through leggings or just teeing up the next act, people seemed to love you.  What are the main differences between your persona on-stage and your persona in what we call real life?

 

CE:  Well, thank you, first off.  I’m actually a pretty shy person, and a true introvert.  I love people and I want to chat and chat until I really don’t want to chat anymore and then I want to go home and research special effects nonsense on the internet or talk to myself in the shower.  The stage is so intimate for me.  It’s like one giant bedroom and we’re all in it.  Except that my parents come to shows sometimes, so maybe I’ll get back to work on that analogy.

 

LBS:  Outside of comedy, what are your favorite artistic forms as a spectator?  Or are there others that you yourself like to try your hands at? 

 

CE:  ACTION MOVIES!  Oh they are just such a pure art:  the drama, the athleticism, the explosions, the hot ladies… what’s not to love?  I’m just a sucker for hyperbole and overwrought tension.  And on a completely different note, I’m pretty into dance.  Cuz I can’t do that at all.  My bod is expressive, but it loves to just stand on its legs.  Watching someone really move, watching the circus gals really move for that matter, it’s a moment of insight into what a body can actually do if it isn’t just used as a joking slinging vessel.

 

LBS:  Do you still get lost in each El Circo Cheapo act even after seeing it over and over?  I can recall walking into that big, impersonal loft in the middle of nowhere and thinking it felt so empty and sparse and… normal.  It seemed impossible to me that the magic of people’s personal, oddball talents could fill that entire space and hypnotize a crowd but they absolutely did; it became another world entirely.  It’s such a hidden gem, a bit like the magic theater in Hesse’s “Steppenwolf.”

 

 CE:  There are some performers that I’m floored by every time.  Especially since they have let me try some of the circus equipment, and I want to state above all else: those performers are in pain.  It hurts.  They are probably bleeding, gracefully. 

 

LBS:  Do you think the hypnotic effect of the arts on the spectator mentioned above applies as well to the performer?  In my own attempts at standup, that was always the one part that was missing for me, I never have been able to become lost or caught up in my own performance on stage.  Do you ever feel like performing is an ecstatic act that you gain just as much from as the audience?

 

CE:  Oh heavens yes.  When it feels like that, like you are channeling things you have written beforehand but also responding to the room, the mood, the people in it, well that’s what it is all for.  For that feeling of speaking on behalf of the group and being lost in time.  Don’t tell any surly, drunken male comics I told you that.

 

LBS:  You run an all-female comedy class here in Chicago called Feminine Comique: what about this course do you think specifically lends itself to the feminine sense of humor and perspective? 

 

CE:  So I guess this brings us back to surly, drunken male comics.  Those dudes are my peers and my friends; I feel totally comfortable in the standup scene.  But I do think it is harder for women to begin a career in standup.  I think ladies spend less time watching standup, and see fewer successful female comics, so there isn’t as clear a starting point or goal for gals.  Blah.  What I mean is: the class isn’t about a feminine sense of humor, it’s about building ladies up so that they trust their own voice and everything that voice has to say about periods.

 

LBS:  Well put.  I think that these days, since the Bush administration maybe, comedy has made a heavy swing back toward the comedy of politics and away from the comedy of, say, pure joke-crafting.  Do you think that comedy is an important catalyst for social change or do you think that people should (as the aliens advised Woody Allen in “Stardust Memories”) just “tell funnier jokes?”  For instance, I like subversive comedy at times, but one could argue that the mere popularity of a show like “Will & Grace” did more for the acceptance of gays and lesbians than any so-called shocking jokes could ever accomplish.  Or that Louis Armstrong did more for African American social equality than Malcolm X.

 

CE:  Yes, the old sneaking of the agenda in through the back door vs. getting all Lewis Black on the people.  Both have a place.  The overt politics of the Daily Show, the culturally critical but subtle hilarity of French & Saunders (and if you don’t know French & Saunders, stop reading and acquaint yourself).  My comedy is purposefully subtle, but I also dig watching someone like local Chicago comic Drew Michael try and defend an overtly subversive position to the end.  Then again, I’m an asymmetrically haired lesbian circus ringmaster: my entire existence is subversive.

 

LBS:  Having come up in improv in Boston and then moved to stand-up here in Chicago, do you find yourself approaching comedy more as a writer or as a performer?  Do you wrestle with the wording of jokes like Jacob wrestling with God, come up with them on-the-spot on-stage or is your process somewhere in between?

 

CE:  Wording comes last for me.  First, I’ll pull my bike over and send myself a text message about some joke nugget I thought up while riding.  Next, try and remember what I meant when I sent that message.  Then, work it out on stage at an open mic.  Tweak the wording over the course of a few sets.  Done!

 

LBS:  What shows and projects do you have coming up that we should be especially looking out for?  How are you upcoming shows and projects advancing you as a comedic artist and where are you ultimately hoping to go in the comedy world?

 

CE:  I’m doing an hour long spot at this summer’s TBS Just for Laughs Festival in Chicago.  (SIDE MULLET NATION, Playground Theater, June 15, 830 PM)  I’m hoping to get a run of that show at a small theater in Chicago, sell that out like mad, get some sweet reviews, take it on the road, and end up at the White House in 2012.  Like just in the cabinet or something; I’m not reaching to be President or anything.  Yet.

 

LBS:  As a self-proclaimed “purveyor of fine jokes,” what advice would you have for we here at LBS who run something more akin to a comedy consignment shop (or to any other coming-up comedian for that matter) in terms of turning this thing of personal inspiration into anything approximating a livelihood?  And is there a joke of yours that is so old and worn out that you would like to hand it over to us for a few dollars of gas money?

 

CE:  Just do the work.  Remember, late at night, when you find yourself stricken with a bout of Restless Legs Syndrome and can’t watch Cabaret any more times that week for devil may care inspiration, that if you are putting your time into writing and telling jokes, there’s nothing more you can do.  And for gods’ (plural gods) sake: go to bed.

 

LBS:  Well thanks a thousand for your time.  We will have to chat again next year.  Here’s hoping the chairs in the Oval Office are more comfortable.

 

For more information on Cameron Esposito, check out her website at: www.cameronesposito.com

For more information on El Circo Cheapo, check out their website at: www.elcircocheapo.com

This afternoon I sat down at the Lowbrow Studios (over the phone) with stand-up comedian and actor Matt Peterson to discuss his likes, his dislikes, eating habits, dance influences and more importantly, his upcoming comedy show, The Least Latin Kings of Comedy premiering this Saturday, May 28th, at Rodey Hall – University of New Mexico.

Matt Peterson was born in California; outside the Bay area in a town called Pleasanton. He moved to Albuquerque in 1988. Matt took his first shot at comedy in 2006 at Laffs, a comedy club in ABQ that no longer exists, and it was this first night on stage, surrounded by friends and family, that he knew this was definitely something he was supposed to be doing and I, for one, am really glad he is. Oh yes… he will be famous.

LBS: So when did you know that this, doing comedy, doing stand-up was something you were going to pursue?

MP: There’s something about the whole thing, ya know. I think probably around my fourth or fifth open mic, I had some laughs, a lot of silence {ha}, the whole process, the whole idea that you tell this story that happened to you, you get up and talk to people, ya know, you go see the world and come back and report it to a bunch of drunks, I mean it’s pretty great.

LBS: {Laughter}

MP: I guess it’s like, I don’t know, sort of like a month or so, ya know, like it was something at the time that I thought I would continue to do. I didn’t know that I was going to make a career out of it at that point though, but I felt that if I could anticipate an open mic on a Sunday, it would be Wednesday and I’d already be excited for the show even if I thought it was going to go bad, but just to be out there.

LBS: So, when did you, and I’m just taking liberty here, but this is what you picture as far as a career goes?

MP: I think so, I love it. This would be… I mean there are different things I want to do, but definitely, I think I want comedy to be the catalyst for other things. I don’t see myself not getting on stage for the rest of my life and not being able to would be, be tragic to me. I’d love to – I’d love to be able to do this for the rest of my life.

LBS: As some of us know, you were recently in a movie.

MP: Yeah, yeah.

LBS: The Big Foot Election. Tell me a little bit about The Bigfoot Election.

MP: Yeah, its this awesome comedy that a buddy of mine, he’s a stand-up comedian, er, ex-standup comedian, his name is Marc Shuter, um, approached me with an idea, and a treatement or a spec script about two years ago and he wanted to shoot it that summer, and its this great comedy about these two characters, one of them is myself and the deputy, the main character played by Marc, wants to become sheriff of a small ski town in northern New Mexico so he puts on a bigfoot hoax and creates a plan to clean up all the mess that bigfoot is causing around town to show off his feat as the next sheriff.

LBS: And you play his best friend right?

MP: Yeah, I play this kind of lovable, dumb, hard-drinking buddy… not much of a stretch from my real life.

LBS: So, I was lucky enough to go the screening of that movie. Anything happen with it yet?

MP: It’s still getting out there in festivals, been turned down by some, but we’re still waiting on a lot, the festivals aren’t starting to the fall, so we’re just trying to push it. We’ve heard of some possible distribution going on right now, but just waiting right now, see what happenes. We’re having a big screening again in Albuquerque, July 29th actually, public event at The Guild if anyone wants to come check it out.

LBS: I heard that everyone on that movie worked pro bono, is that true? Everyone worked for free?

MP: Yeah, absolutely, 100% everybody, cast and crew, and we were all one in the same for the most part. When I wasn’t acting I was lighting or gripping. Everyone had their own role, everyone wore a bunch of different hats, it was really cool. We were like a family, we sat around and had dinner every night together, it was really fun.

LBS: You have a background in grip work right?

MP: Yeah, the last 5 or 6 years for gripping.

LBS: For those of us that don’t know, what’s grip work?

MP: Let’s see, what’s grip work –

LBS: Ya, when you’re gripping, when you’re not gripping your penis, what does that mean?

MP: Well, that’s most of the time. I’m a horrible gripper because I have to work with one hand. The other one is genuinely busy. It’s weird, I’m masturbating on set all the time, that can’t help me get a job either. Basically its rigs for lighting, helping the gaffers. But I do have a great anecdote about it: a key grip I worked for, for a long time from New Mexico, he’s been in the business for twenty years, his name is Mike Lamb, and hes a really great guy, we were doing a small commercial in Albuquerque for something, and I was on a ladder and this young associate is standing next to him and says, “So what exactly does a gripper do?” and Mike ashed his cigarette and looked down at her and said, “Well, we make shadows and carry heavy shit for a living.”

LBS: Before we get to your show this weekend, I wanted to ask you about, even when we all did stand up together, I never asked you, any of you, who are your major influences when it comes to comedy?

MP: I’ll probably say, it’s a long list, but I’d say –

LBS: Well, let’s start when you were younger. Did you see anyone in particular and say to yourself I want to do that, or did your influences come after you started?

MP: They came after. I mean, when I was a kid I remember watching Eddie Murphy’s Delirious, sneaking up to watch that, and uh, Eddie Murphy Raw. It was HBO back then, and it was such a huge event, ya know, I thought it was neat to see one guy in front of thousands of people makin’ em go nuts when it’s not a band, but I think I learned about more comics as I did it through open mics and other comics that I met and worked with. My top three of all time, though, not in any order would be, Bill Burr, Dave Chappelle and Louis C.K. All those guys are genius and hilarious and the way they think just blows me away.

LBS: Who do you hate? Who do you think is overrated?

MP: Nobody.

LBS: Okay.

MP: {laughs} I mean, I don’t know, probably a lot, I just don’t like the gimmicky hackey shit. I prefer to listen to someone tell me a story about what they did, suck you in to their stories. So I wouldn’t say I hate anyone, I just like a certain… I like all comedy. Anything that can get me to laugh. I lean more towards the personal story telling side.

LBS: Cerebral comedy?

MP: Yeah. Sorry.

LBS: No, it’s a fair answer. How do you think – I feel like, being a huge fan of Kauffman and Lenny Bruce and Bill Hicks, I feel that comedy is a lot more mainstream today, stand-up comedy seems to be a lot more popular –

MP: Right.

LBS: Why do you think that is? Because it’s just exponential growth, like with anything that happens this way, seemingly popular, or do you think people are funnier now?

MP: I think its so accessible now. Before Comedy Central there was just HBO comedy, 80’s stuff, 90’s specials, and now with media sites, social media sites, the internet and youtube of course, it’s just everywhere and anywhere. I think if you see it enough, just like when a comic goes out and sees things happening in life, they push that into a ball and go try it out on stage and do it and write, there is so much comedy in film and television, I think people see it more and people think that they can do it so they go out there and try. Before it wasn’t out there. There was a club in town or late night stash, and now its just all over.

LBS: Sure.

MP: Think about it too, everyone puts a funny thing on the twitter – ha, I sound like an old man, “everyone’s on the twitter… everyone’s on that twitter shit.” Everyone can have a comment and on facebook you can put things… there’s a huge difference between being at a BBQ and making your friends laugh or making sarcastic remarks on your buddie’s post or whatever, than to actually go out there and do five minutes and keep people entertained. I don’t know, maybe it’s saturated, maybe its progression like you said, but it’s fun to do, it’s really really fun and when people try it, and they find their voice, you get hooked I think and I didn’t answer your question at all.

LBS: No, no you did. You’re doing great, Matt. Keep up the good work. So let’s switch gears and talk a little bit about our region. You know when I started Santa Fe Laughs here in Santa Fe, it was after Laffs had closed that January and there wasn’t any space to do stand-up.

MP: Yeah.

LBS: And that’s how I met you guys, you and Joe Quesada and John Cuellar and Sarah Kennedy who I was lucky enough to have perform once at the show, ah, and Rusty Rutherford and who do you think? Down in Albuquerque there seems to be a lot of talent down there and the cool thing is that you all are actually friends, you hang out together off the stage, which is kind of nice. So, right now, who do you think is the tops in ABQ.

MP: Some of my personal favorites are, pretty much everyone you said, Sarah Kennedy, Rusty Rutherford, John Cuellar, Roger Petersen, A.J. Martinez blows me away, Curt Fletcher, so… Im sure I’m leaving out tons of people. Sorry you guys. James Morrow I think is awesome. Andy Harms is a local in town, his stuff is really smart and awkward. It’s just this group of, we’re all friends first and then we all have to do this thing too, ya know, I would put most of them up against people we see on T.V. and this and that, I think theyre really, really funny.

LBS: The funny thing about A.J. is that he’s such an awesome performer, even if I’m not digging his jokes, he’ll deliver them in such a way that I’m entertained by his presence, he can deliver unfunny jokes in, well, a funny way.

MP: Yeah, yeah.

LBS: Another crazy thing to me is how young these kids are. I mean, James Morrow is what, 23, 24?

MP: 23, Sarah’s 25, Joe’s 25, Rusty is, I don’t know 27?

LBS: Yeah, they’re all in their middle to early twenties. It’s crazy to me. And you’re 44, right?

MP: Yes. Actually no, I’m 76.

LBS: Oh my god, you look fantastic.

MP: Thank you…. I think, when Laff’s closed, after that, ever since then, there have been a lot of these one nighters coming up, so it seems like right now there are a couple shows a week to go to, no matter who’s putting it on and a lot of us, that are performers, are also producers and bookers because we have to, we want to do it, so all we really need is a microphone, a light and somewhere to stand where people can get close to us. I mean, really, that’s what it comes down to, and we don’t have a club and we have a lot of talented people, performing and putting on shows. The other thing is, that I noticed in the last six months or so, a lot of people don’t know about it, if they don’t know a comic or if they’re a friend of a friend of a comic, and so that’s why doing this with you can hopefully bridge that gap and hopefully getting it out there in press release or in the paper, then they can see that we have some really talented people here in town and they should come out and experience it.

LBS: Yeah, that’s the crazy thing to me, I mean, specifically Albuquerque, if you remember in Santa Fe, there were not a lot of stellar people in town here, but they’re all so good in ABQ. It’s not like you have a couple aces there, some stragglers and those learning the ropes, they’re just all really fucking funny.

MP: Yeah. {Laughs} Yeah.

LBS: Speaking of Albuquerque, let’s talk about your upcoming show this weekend, man. What’s it called?

MP: The Least Latin Kings of Comedy.

LBS: How racist.

MP: Yeah, we were gonna go with the KKKings of Comedy but nobody liked that much.

LBS: The Martin Luther Kings of Comedy.

MP: {Laughs} That’ll be our next one.

LBS: So it’s this Saturday, right?

MP: It’s Saturday, May 28th at Rodey Theater on the UNM campus. Right next to Pope Joy Hall. It’s a really nice theater, big theater, doors open at seven, show’s at 8. Great line-up, great headliner, his name is Scotty Goff, he’s actually born and raised here, been doing comedy for twenty years, owned a comedy club in Tucson, tours all over the country, been doing it forever. He’s a really, really nice guy, but his comedy is great. I was lucky enough about a month and a half ago to open for him and he went up and did an hour and twenty minutes and I barely had time to breath.

LBS: Wow.

MP: Crazy energy and amazing crowd work.

LBS: That’s awesome… that’s a long time, man. That’s a lot of comedy.

MP: Yeah, I do comedy and I get bored watching other comics sometimes, even if they’re good or not, I just do and I couldn’t even sit down when Scotty was up, he’s that good.

LBS: Who else is performing?

MP: Also is, myself and Rusty Rutherford and Roger Peterson, not related to me, he’s actually doing his set as Rodney Dangerfield on Saturday. And you’re gonna see our opener is Sarah… the one and only Sarah Kennedy.

LBS: Yeah, she’s got a future, man, for sure.

MP: Oh yeah.

LBS: How much is the show?

MP: The show is $10 dollars for college students and military with an ID and $15 if not.

LBS: And this is your first big show that you’re producing?

MP: Yeah, actually Roger and myself are co-producing this one and it’s been quite an undertaking and a lot of fun, I learned quite a bit about it, so we want to get some more big ones.

LBS: Yeah, do you have anything in mind at the moment?

MP: After we finish this show we’re gonna sit down and figure out another date, hopefully the same size, but we don’t know exactly. Late June, early July. I don’t know. If this is successful we’ll have another one quick.

LBS: And, where can we see you, Matt, outside The Least Latin Kings of Comedy

MP: You can check my facebook page. I post all my shows there and I have a list of upcoming shows, I’ll be in, ah, I’ll be performing at an Army base outside of Tucson called Fort Huachuca on June 17th, and then a week later I’ll be at Pinetop, Arizona at a casino, The Honda Casino, performing there as well.

LBS: That’s excellent, man.

MP: And always shows around town, every week.

LBS: Well, I’m lucky enough not just to know you from seeing you on stage, but we actually got to spend some time together and be buddies, so, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve met in this state and you’re definitely one of the nicest people I know at all, I appreciate you taking the time to chat with me and I really hope everything turns out for you, you really deserve it.

MP: Oh yeah, man. No problem. I really appreciate you doing this and I love you too, and if we could make out over the phone I totally would.

LBS: I didn’t say I love you, Matt.

MP: Oh, dammit. Okay.

Matt Peterson and Roger Peterson Present: The Least Latin Kings of Comedy: Saturday, May 28th, 7pm at the Rodey Theater – University of New Mexico. 18+ – $10-$15

ANNOUNCEMENT:

Late last night, the Lowbrows were called in for an emergency meeting with the Paris Review. We were flown in to New York and were greeted with grace and professionalism at the St. Regis and were given pomegranate mojitos upon entry. After seventeen minutes of gathering our bearings, the interview began. We were asked, “As one of the most influential popular trends websites thriving today, what is the absolute worst female name?”

We answered immediately, in unison, “Pam.”

Keith: As we all know, contributor D.R. Monroe is a committed practitioner of Diamond Way Buddhism, and a respectful follower of Lama Ole Nydahl. With such an extraordinary resource at our disposal, we’ve decided to conduct an intellectual roundtable on some of the most inspiring and misunderstood aspects of this extremely pious ethos.

Adam: Yeah, like do monks have sex?

Dan: (sigh)

Adam & Keith: (silently wait for an answer, Adam eventually humps the air from his chair)

Dan: (exasperated) If they live in a monastery, they have no sex.

Keith: Wow, what if they don’t? Can they have sex?

Dan: Yes, like the Dalai Lama can have sex because he has no home,

Adam: (interrupting) The world calls that a “bum.”

Dan: (ignoring) But Boddhisatvas that live in Tibet temples cannot.

Keith: The Dalai Lama doesn’t live in a monastery?

Adam: I want to be a monk who isn’t religious and has lots of sex!

Dan: No, he doesn’t.

Keith: So he just lives in a hotel or something?

Adam: I think he goes back and forth between L.A. and Manhattan.

Keith: Oh right, I heard he does a verse on the new Beastie Boyz album.

Dan: He does, he created the Beastie Boyz out of lotus petals and some flour. He travels constantly… like the lama in my lineage has no “home.”

Keith: Okay, but do they pay taxes then?

Adam: Can the Dalai Lama 69?

Dan: I think he can, if he knows what that is. What kind of taxes?

Keith: Income?

Dan: I don’t think he has an income. He depends on “alms of kindness.”

Keith: So he is a bum!

Adam: How come I have to be religious to not pay taxes?

Keith: So, if I gave him a Snickers as my “alm of kindness”, would he eat it?

Dan: Yes, he would.

Adam: This is all very confusing.

Keith: What if I offered him a big steak and potatoes, or a Big Mac, would he eat those things?

Daniel: Probably, I’m not sure if he’s a vegetarian or not.

Keith: Wow… sweet gig.

Daniel: Not every day or anything, he has to be ascetic.

Adam: “If I gave the Dalai Lama a snickers, would he eat it?”

Dan: Haha, of course.

Keith: It’s not “of course.”

Adam: I don’t think he can… I mean, I’m no expert, but…

Keith: Neither do I. What kind of a “holy man” can eat a Snickers?

Adam: If the Dalai Lama can eat a Snickers… well, count me out!

Dan: Sorry, I didn’t mean to patronize, but he definitely can. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not gonna go out and buy one.

Adam: He can’t, he has no money!

Dan: I read a book about this exact fact, that a lot of scholars in the 80s went through this phase where they thought bums became monks just to not be labeled “bums.” Because when you become a monk, you are freed from your wife and children and job with no repercussions and you are considered as a projection of goodness.

Adam: If I ever lose all my money, that’s the day I become religious!

Keith: It’s a good idea.

Dan: It’s actually pretty weird, because all these Asian bums were becoming Monks and they were shady folks and actually gave 100s of followers AIDS, and they were “banished” to Western Europe.

Adam: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dan eat a Snickers, now that I think about it.

Keith: The Dalai Lama is a “successful” bum.

Daniel: It’s a little more complicated than that.

Keith: Not really. He’s probably got a lot of money.

Daniel: He drives a BMW.

Keith: He only talks about math and science, or “the government”, just like any other bum I’ve ever met.

Dan: Very true, but you are accumulating some bad Karma here. The Dalai Lama will send you to hell.

Keith: Not if I offer him a Snickers.

Dan: Do it. He’ll take it, but he’ll be cautious like a squirrel.

Adam: He probably eats, like, one bite a day.

Dan: Are we finished here?

Keith: Yeah, I think that about covers it.

Adam: (humps the air)

The Lowbrows had the very special opportunity to sit down with former President George W. Bush to discuss his future plans as well as his views on the current condition of the United States. This is what he had to say…

LBS: Former President George W. Bush, may I call you G-Dubs, please?

GWB: I don’t see why not.

LBS: Excellent. Now, G-Dubs, have you heard of the atrocious acts being committed in Iraq at this very moment?

GWB: I don’t think so.

LBS: Allow us to explain. The Iraqi government is poisoning all of the stray dogs in the city. The poison causes extreme exhaustion and illness at which point they shoot them dead. There are reports of up to 300 dogs killed already.

GWB: Well… I think they’re better off, cause, you know… Heaven.

LBS: Pardon me?

GWB: You know. They’re better off in heaven than running around the streets of Iraq.

LBS: I’m sorry former President George W. Bush, I don’t follow.

GWB: All dogs go to heaven.

LBS: What?

GWB: I saw this documentary called “All Dogs Go to Heaven” and according to that, well, all dogs go to heaven.

LBS: I’m sorry, sir. Are you talking about the animated film, “All Dogs Go to Heaven?”

GWB: What’s an animated film?

I find it necessary to inform our readers that this was the end of the interview. Immediately after saying “What’s an animated film?” former President George W. Bush farted quietly but loud enough to be off-putting and was distracted by an ice cream truck he thought he heard outside.

The Lowbrow Sopisticates have 72 years of writing experience between the lot of them. Each one born in a different part of the country, each one bringing their own unique style to the world of writing. Here we have an on-going series of interviews; with the LBS themselves and some of them conducted with the influentially famous, with the LBS asking the questions. So without any further ado, ladies and gentlemen – d.r. monroe of the Lowbrow Sophisticates:

INTERVIEWER
Mr. Sophisticate, you were saying a while ago that you don’t like interviews.

d.r. monroe:
The reason I don’t like interviews is that I seem to react violently to personal questions. You chuckle, but seriously, the mere thought of personal questions sends me into a violent rage. Hence, the drinking. On the other hand, if you were to ask me questions about, lets say, writing in general or my colleagues here at LBS, you would receive an entirely different reaction; one not so rage-filled.

INTERVIEWER
How about yourself as a writer?

d.r. monroe:
What did I just fucking say!? I’ll answer this in this way: Look, Do I have anything new to say? I don’t think so. If it wasn’t me writing about what I write about it would be someone else doing it. Shakespeare, Hemingway, Childs, Grisham have all written about the same thing. So, “myself as a writer” is a moot point.

INTERVIEWER
But even if there seems nothing more to be said, isn’t perhaps the individuality of the writer important?

d.r. monroe:
Now that… that’s a good question. It’s well known that individuality is stupid. Just kidding. If you look at the individuality of a personality versus the individuality of a writing persona, you could be dealing with two fundamentally different entities. I know a couple of HUGE douche bags, they literally have the worst personalities I have ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with, however, they can write like the wind. So, as an individual per se, they blow ass, but as a writer? They blow less ass.

INTERVIEWER
And your contemporaries?

d.r. monroe:
I try not to focus on our contemporaries, and there are a handful of good ones. I think as a writer or a novelist who hasn’t ever sold one of his novels (in my case), I can only focus on myself. I must write for myself, no one else. If I’m wasting my time on what others are doing that’s time not spent on writing.  So I ask myself, “Is it worth poisoning them with homemade pastries?” and the answer is simple, yes.

INTERVIEWER
Is there any possible formula to follow in order to be a good novelist?

d.r. monroe:
Try to be better than yourself. Like I mentioned earlier about our contemporaries, why waste the time. Young Einstein knew that he could never surpass real Einstein, so he worked within a realm he was familiar with. We must do the same. I heard from the t.v. too that there is in fact a mathematical formula that reveals the secret to being a good novelist, but it was $19.99 and I don’t have any money.

INTERVIEWER
Do you mean the writer should be completely ruthless?

d.r. monroe:
He will be if he is a good writer. He has no peace until then. Ruthless, yes. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the “The Left Behind” series is worth any
number of old ladies.

INTERVIEWER
Then what would be the best environment for a writer?

d.r. monroe:
Art is not concerned with environment; it doesn’t care where it is. If you’re asking me personally, then of course I will become very, very angry, so I’ll assume you’re not. So the only environment the artist needs is whatever peace, whatever solitude, and whatever pleasure he can get at not too high a cost. My own experience has been that the tools I need for my trade are paper, tobacco, food, and a little whiskey. I also wouldn’t mind a hot tub filled with pink champagne to write in.

INTERVIEWER
Bourbon, you mean?

d.r. monroe:
Sure. I don’t care, as long as its got alcohol. Wet Hens? You bet. I once rang the gin out of a wet sock that was outside to finish a short story.

INTERVIEWER
Does the writer need economic freedom?

d.r. monroe:
No. The writer doesn’t need economic freedom. All he needs is a pencil and some paper. I’ve never known anything good in writing to come from having accepted any free gift of money, unless someone wants to publish my book for free, or even if they need a lot of money from me. Why? Wait… did someone say something to you? Do you want to publish my book?

INTERVIEWER
Can working for the movies hurt your own writing?

d.r. monroe:
No, not at all. If you’re a great writer, the venue you write in means nothing. Nothing. The Lowbrow Sophisticates have actually written 14 movies together.

INTERVIEWER
What technique do you use to arrive at your standard?

d.r. monroe:
As a young writer I can say this, the young writer would be a fool to follow a theory. Teach yourself by your own mistakes; people learn only by error. With that being said, I follow a very strict theory that I of course cannot haphazardly give away here. THAT would be foolish.

INTERVIEWER
Then would you deny the validity of technique?

d.r. monroe:
I can honestly say that I do not deny the validity of anything, technique included.  You make your own technique and that becomes yours, your own. You can’t copy technique, that is, a great Japanese chef cannot teach an apprentice his technique, he can just show him a way, his way, but the young apprentice will adapt his master’s to his own, its the only way. [ed. note: immediately following this seemingly profound statement, Dan farted very loudly].

INTERVIEWER
Can an artist use Christianity simply as a tool, as a carpenter would borrow a hammer?

d.r. monroe:
The carpenter we are speaking of never lacks that hammer. [Ed. Note: I feel compelled to mention that after Dan said this confidently, he looked at his compatriots (assuming I could not see him) and mouthed, "What the fuck is he talking about"]

INTERVIEWER
How much of your writing is based on personal experience?

d.r. monroe:
“How much” is not important. But, all of it, for me, is based on personal experience. That’s not a personal question is it?

INTERVIEWER
Some people say they can’t understand your guys’ writing, even after they read it two or three times. What approach would you suggest for them?

d.r. monroe:
Read it four, five or even eleven times.

INTERVIEWER
You mentioned experience, observation, and imagination as being important for the writer. Would you include inspiration?

d.r. monroe:
I understand inspiration completely, but I don’t think you can separate inspiration from personal experience, so I would have to say that your question is a dumb one.

INTERVIEWER
As a writer you are said to be obsessed with violence.

d.r. monroe:
That’s like saying the jam maker is obsessed with his beets.  Violence is simply one of the jam maker’s tools. The writer can no more build with one tool than the jam maker can. Jam.

INTERVIEWER
Can you say how you started as a writer?

d.r. monroe:
I was living in Lacrosse, Wisconsin, doing whatever kind of work was necessary to earn a little money now and then. I met Abraham Daddy. We would walk about the city in the afternoon and talk to the homeless. In the evenings we would meet again and sit over a bottle or two while I talked and he listened. In the forenoon I would never see him. He was secluded, working. The next day we would repeat. I began to write my first book. At once I found that writing was exhilarating. I even forgot that I hadn’t seen Mr. Daddy for three weeks until he walked in my door, the first time he ever came to see me, and said, “What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” I told him I was writing a book. He said, “My God,” and walked out. That was the last time I saw him. I later learned that he had been shot by a man who thought he was the Sheriff of Nottingham, it was weird. That’s how I became a writer.

INTERVIEWER
What were the kinds of work you were doing to earn that “little money now and then”?

d.r. monroe:

(Nothing but silence and uncomfortably, he started giggling).

INTERVIEWER
Do you read your contemporaries?

d.r. monroe:
No, absolutely not. I haven’t read a book in over twelve years. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Shakespeare. I read Melville occasionally and, of the poets, Marlowe, Campion, Jonson, Herrick, Donne, Keats, and Shelley. I still read these guys of course, ‘cause they’re dead.

INTERVIEWER
And Freud?

d.r. monroe:
Freud? Of course, but I have yet to find another individual who has a closer understanding of the psyche as my mother does.

INTERVIEWER
Do you ever read mystery stories?

d.r. monroe:
Of course. A good mystery is like a good toe stubbing. It’s painful, annoying, and when you’re done, you hope you never do it again.

INTERVIEWER
What about your favorite characters?

d.r. monroe:
Zarathustra. Always Zarathustra.

INTERVIEWER
Alright, I appreciate your time and would like to ask one more question: Do you have any final thoughts? I don’t mean that Im going to kill you or anything, (sigh), ugh, is there anything you would like to end this interview on?

d.r. monroe:
The written word is dying. The number of people that read when they don’t absolutely have to is getting smaller by the day. Books, they don’t mean anything, not to anyone, not anymore.

After a rigorous 4 day literary tour in Montana, Adam Bradford Ross was gracious enough to let me ask him a few questions about his style and career. He had me meet him at a strip club before it opened, apparently he has a key. When I arrived he ushered me to a table in the back. He was barefoot and the place smelled of hot wings.

INTERVIEWER
It must be a great advantage for the writer to have a memory as good as yours. I don’t suppose
you have to do much note-taking?

ROSS
Well, a good memory doesn’t make the ideas any better, really. If someone had a skill, like, of always being able to recall their nightmares every night it would be a notable gift in a sense but would you really envy that person? That’s how I see my memory in relation to my writing. I have this inborn gift that everything I see is recorded inside my head for posterity… but I think that posterity will probably opt to flip on the television instead.

INTERVIEWER
Then you don’t spend much time prefiguring your work?

ROSS
Quite the contrary. I spend the vast majority of my time prefiguring my work. Probably, if I were honest with you, I would admit that I spend about 90% of my time prefiguring the work and 10% of my time in the actual writing. If I was really honest with you I’d admit it’s closer to 100%. That and internet gambling are the reason that I’ve only finished one story in my 29 years.

INTERVIEWER
Is the act of writing easy for you?

ROSS
That’s like asking the Dalai Lama if he finds it easy to dunk a basketball. He’d say “yes” but only because he’s never tried it.

INTERVIEWER
Then it’s rare that your work comes out right the first time?

ROSS
It’s rare that my work comes out. Period. So I don’t have to struggle with issues of “quality”.

INTERVIEWER
Does the fact that you’re dealing with humor slow down the production?

ROSS
Yes, absolutely, but only because I’m not funny.

INTERVIEWER
Do you envy those who write at high speed, as against your method of constant revision?

ROSS
Did you listen to my answers to your previous questions?

INTERVIEWER
(Nodding head absently) Yes, I’d have to agree. And what about your drawings, you have said that they often don’t come out the way you intended?

ROSS
Yes, this is true, and it’s a matter of execution not conception. I get an idea for a drawing and I go right to the table to start into it. Within an hour I’ve completely worn out the black [crayon] and am forced to switch to other colors that really aren’t appropriate for the idea at all. So, for instance, once I was drawing a picture for the New Yorker of the grim reaper taking my wife away moments after she asked me to take out the garbage bins. In my anger and inspiration I soon had worn through the entire black crayon and so the reaper’s sickle ended up pink.

INTERVIEWER
But the head of the New Yorker still published it.

ROSS
Yes, but that was incidental. It was breast cancer awareness month so it just made me look benevolent. I was on quite a tear with the ladies for a bit after that one, I might add.

INTERVIEWER
Can the New Yorker be effective in developing you as a writer?

ROSS
Meh.

INTERVIEWER
It’s strange that one of the main ingredients of humor—low comedy—has never been accepted for The New Yorker.

ROSS
Yes, this is true. They are all sophistication but no low brow. Someone should start a website that combines the two.

INTERVIEWER
In the long run did The New Yorker have much direct influence on your own work?

ROSS
Absolutely, they rejected scores of my stories.

INTERVIEWER
Henry James was a strong influence?

ROSS
Yes, no doubt, but I’m not sure to whom.

INTERVIEWER
But there were things to be learned from him?

ROSS
Oh yes, yes, certainly but at the moment I just haven’t the time. NBC’s fall lineup kicks off soon and besides, it’s autumn.

INTERVIEWER
How about Mark Twain? Pretty much everybody believes him to have been the major influence on American humorists.

ROSS
It will surprise you but I haven’t read a word of him yet. I’ll ask my son to read one of his books to me next week.

INTERVIEWER
Could we ask you why you’ve never attempted a long work?

ROSS
I haven’t put much thought into it, but if I have to give an off-the-cuff answer I’d say it’s because my short works are so awful.

INTERVIEWER
Perhaps the fact that you’re writing humor imposes a limit on the length of a work.

ROSS
That and a dearth of talent just about do the trick.

INTERVIEWER
Wasn’t Faulkner’s criterion whether or not the author dared to go out on a limb?

ROSS
Yes.

INTERVIEWER
Though you’ve never done a long serious work you have written stories—“Tomorrow is Wednesday” and “Showing Pink” in particular—in which the mood is far from humorous.

ROSS
(a hint of anger in his voice) You didn’t think those were funny?

INTERVIEWER
Some critics think that much of your work can be traced to the depicting of trivia as a basis for humor. In fact, there’s been some criticism—

ROSS
It’s made to seem as if this is some conscious decision on my part; my theory of comedy so to speak. It’s made to seem like I am trying to start a school of writing. None of this could be further from the truth. My comedy is rooted in trivia because I’m a trivial guy trying to write comedy.

INTERVIEWER
Would you care to define humor in terms of your own work?

ROSS
Humor, probably for me and certainly for my readers, is that which causes laughter and occurs in between the times spent reading my works.

INTERVIEWER
Does it bother you to talk about the stories on which you’re working? It bothers many writers, though it would seem that particularly the humorous story is polished through retelling.

ROSS
Humorous stories can be polished through telling and retelling. If the story is fairly humorous to begin with then perhaps two tellings is sufficient. I haven’t been so lucky. My first idea tends to be rather vague and so many, many retellings are required before some of the humor begins to creep in at last. I once had a the idea for a comedic story where I had to retell it so many times before I hit upon one joke that worked that I got layringitis and couldn’t talk for a week. During which time, it should be added, I forgot the story altogether. This is how I write my stories.

INTERVIEWER
You write them?

ROSS
In a sense though I have such a sense of repulsion for my finished works that I feel like there’s a remove there. Because they don’t end up like I had first pictured them (at all) it feels as though I weren’t really the writer after all. It would be more accurate to say of my stories that I ghost write them.

INTERVIEWER
How about the new crop of writers? Do you note any good humorists coming along with them?

ROSS
Child is quite good.

INTERVIEWER
Has the shift in the mood of the times had any effect on your own work?

ROSS
It hasn’t. I’ve always had a very post-9-11 mindset.

INTERVIEWER
No matter what the “mental climate,” though, you would continue writing?

ROSS
Yes, unless my mental climate was “brain cancer” then I think I would put down the pen… maybe take up singing.

INTERVIEWER
In your case there wouldn’t be much chance of this?

ROSS
Not true, it runs like wildfire through my mother’s side of the family.