Why Comedy Clubs Matter

Thoughts on the closing of Carolines on Broadway

After 40 years of presenting the most famous and promising comedians on the planet, the legendary club, Carolines on Broadway is closing on Jan 1.

In a world with “too many <comedians> and not enough mics,” the loss of an iconic stage is always a blow to the comedy community as a whole. And Carolines will always be special to me because, in 2019, the club named me to their Breakout Artist Series. That recognition meant a lot to my career, but it’s not the main reason this iconic room holds a dear place in my heart.

Carolines matters to me personally because one Saturday in October 2004—even before I committed full-time to a comedy career—I went to see a friend’s show there. I was alone, so the hostess seated me with my buddy’s wife and her friends. Also at our table, a few seats down from me was a striking brunette who—at the moment I write this—is sleeping in the master bedroom of the cozy home we share with our 11-year-old daughter and 13-year-old son.

What Carolines means to me, professionally (l) and personally (r)

That’s right, though she swears she doesn’t remember meeting me that day, my wife Stacey and I began our relationship with a chance encounter in the Carolines showroom. Our loving marriage has endured 15 years and produced two cherished human beings. And it all started because Caroline Hirsch and her partner risked their money and reputations to create a space for people to gather, laugh, and—perhaps—make babies.

When people shit on capitalism, they probably aren’t thinking about a young woman who invested her savings and four subsequent decades of work into a place where—literally—millions of people have spent a small and sometimes consequential part of their lives. But that’s what Caroline did, and it resulted in more than just a successful business.

According to a 2018 Forbes article, the club sells about 8,500 tickets per month. That translates to over 100,000 butts in seats every year - butts that brought with them hearts and souls getting a break from the grind of their job, forgetting about the troubles at home, or simply elevating their day in the communion of laughter.

Comedy clubs obviously create lots of jobs for employees and opportunities for comedians to perform, grow, and earn a living. But the best ones understand their business is way more than providing yucks in order to sell mountains of cheese sticks and oceans of draft beer.

Like Carolines, clubs such as QED in Astoria, Zanies in Nashville, The Laughing Skull in Atlanta, the Hollywood Improv, and a bunch of others around the country understand that every comedy show is a unique combination of ephemeral variables. The inimitable blend of the day’s news cycle, the temperature in the room, the new material attempted by the host, and the respective mindsets of the two, 200, or 2,000 audience members has never existed before and will never be repeated.

Their management curate the space and performers with the goal of nurturing the shared, transcendent human experience that only live performing arts provide. At their core, they hold one thing in common: the belief that comedy, as a medium for human bonding, is sacred.

If we learned nothing else from quarantine, we know now that being together in person nourishes our well-being. But the spaces where we gather don’t happen by accident. They exist because someone with vision took a risk and worked like hell to put on great shows, night after night after night. Most of the time, these shows resulted in a fun evening of laughter. Other times, they spawned a brand new family.

Carolines’ closing is a huge drag but it reminds me to be grateful and present in the moment. All of this shit—our institutions, our comedy shows, our health, and today’s weather—are temporary. The fact that we are here at all is a tremendous privilege, which we should never forget.

So thank you, Caroline and your team, for creating a venue where laughs were shared and new lives began.

Carpe Diem