Asses In Seats

Comedic Poetry, Theatrical Beatbox

First, let me say thank you to our esteemed subscribers. Your contributions enable this work to continue. Become a subscriber today to support: “Creativity as Practice for Mental Health”

“In LA they are gangsters, in The Bay we are hustlers” 

Davy D. 

I was in front of Peet’s Coffee on Market Street at 3rd, in San Francisco. I had a stack of fliers for an upcoming show I was promoting, doing the most to put “asses in seats.” I approached two Muslim women in Burkas sitting outside. Without any shame, I said, “Hello,” and sat down at their table. I explained in a very friendly way who I was and about my performance that week. The entire pitch took 30 seconds and I got them to laugh. They nodded their heads when I gave them the flier. “I’ll see you there,” were my parting words.

Uncle Neuberg was watching me the whole time. We had walked down Market Street together. He was the only one who witnessed this act. He looked at me and said, “You're a pickup artist.” I didn’t know this phrase, but I liked that it ended with “artists.”

After that revelation, I started to be more aware of who I handed the fliers to. They were all people who seemed open to having a random interaction with a stranger like me. 

Another time, I was on BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit). I sat down next to a young woman and explained I was having a party that Friday at my house. I said she was invited. She wasn’t sure who I was, but she came to the party and even brought a friend. 

In being a pickup artist on the streets of the Bay Area, there was always the act of flirtation. Was I only approaching people who were open, or just attractive women?

Handing someone a flier seemed an act of flirtation. I was outgoing, without being aggressive or annoying. Harmless, but approaching someone with a purpose. To put their ass in my theatre seat.   

I went to visit my compadre DP at Evergreen College, in Olympia, Washington, early in our college lives. He was promoting me. The first step of setting up a college performance was to go to the college’s administration office and reserve a common space used by students. I would then set up my own mics, print 500 fliers in the campus computer room, and spend the rest of the day passing them out. I was a traveling producer of my own performance. However, DP and I would approach people together with a tagline to attract them: “Comedic Poetry, Theatrical Beatbox.” People always asked, “What’s theatrical beatbox?” DP would step aside and say, “Give ‘em a little taste.” So I would then beatbox for about 30 seconds—a sample of what was to come at the show. These shows were mostly open mics that I hosted and then performed a set of material after the others had finished. 

My favorite promotional stunt was at Yerba Buena Center’s Gardens in SF. I was participating in a Jewish Music Festival that night, and to promote my solo show, I dressed up as a sanitation worker. The outfit was so neon that is was like looking at the sun. Out there on the grass where people were sitting, I pretended to be the center’s trashman. I came on the mic and said—in a droning voice only parents or city workers use—“Make sure you recycle your bottles and cans.” Then, I looked right at the front row and said to the lady on the grass in front of me, “M’am, are those cans? M’am?” Without waiting for an answer, I broke into my beatbox routine, after which everyone on the grass got one of my red fliers. There was a group of artists there who said they were interested in going, so I offered them a group discount. Whatever it takes! 

In my early promotion work, I never assumed people would show up. I always had a fear I’d be playing to an empty room. I felt my success as a performer wasn’t just about being able to deliver onstage; it was about playing to a full theater, a sold-out show. I would invite people from TV and Radio. At this time, I was doing multiple one-man shows each year, and my style was merging from memorizing word for word, to doing a more loose adaptation of the material; more stand-up improv as opposed to a following script or reciting a poem. 

When I did a theater festival performance in New York, I remember asking the producer if I had the largest attendance for the group showcase. I felt competitive. I think I managed to get seven people to attend, not being based there, and thought this was pretty good. There was another performer who worked in the local press who got nine. 

When I look at this digital offering I’m presenting to you now, the audience is bigger than most of my performances, with an even bigger potential. The solicitation isn’t to come out and see my performance, it’s just to open your inbox at your leisure, read, and listen. 

My mom calls me after I’ve sent something out. She comments on the ones she likes. Recently, she asked me, “How do you get more subscribers?” I have been scratching my head over that one for the past six months since I started my weekly posts. Promotion is something I’ve been working on for my entire career. These days, “asses in seats” are metaphorical subscribers, and I’m still on the hustle, growing this new platform, my metaphorical stage. 

It all comes back to who is in the room. On this journey, my continuum, one step at a time.

J-dubs

Supporting Mad One is continuing a life’s work of making mental health humorous and accessible to those with similar struggles. This work continues weekly with your contributions.