Barenaked Ladies co-founder Steven Page and Newski chat mental health boosts, hilarious jobs before music, and why bombing on stage is fun.
More on Steve: https://www.stevenpage.com/
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SNIPPIT:
Brett: I’ve seen your solo shows. I love your humor, I love that it’s more reserved and dry. I’m curious, do you like to write jokes or bits between songs? How much do you leave for improv, versus a teed-up story?
Steven: Well I never used to repeat a story. In the Barenaked Ladies days especially, that was a thing. We didn’t want to repeat anything that happened between songs. We wanted to leave it open to improv. Some of it was musical ideas that the guys would play as a basis to play an improvised song or rap. We’d say, “I did this thing today” and that would kind of morph into an improvised song.
I’ll still do that kind of thing. But when my third solo album came out in 2016, the first gig we had on that tour was a two week residency at the Cafe Carlyle in New York City. It’s a super fancy, Upper East Side place. It’s where Woody Allen plays every week. It’s a little, tiny, classic New York cabaret. Super expensive, way too expensive for my family to spend $120 plus dinner and drinks.
Brett: Yeah
Steven: The New York Times reviewed the show on the first night, which was horrifying to me. I’m thinking, “Wait until we have a few nights under our belt before you review us!” But their cabaret reviewer reviews like a theater reviewer does. They basically review your opening night. So the audience can decide whether they want to come to the show or not.
But what I realized with the cabaret audience is, they kind of expect to see the same show that was written about. So over the course of that I learned to develop kind of a “show.” Some of that meant having bits. They evolved into a few written bits that became part of the intro or the song itself, which I did use for some time.
But even with all of those, I’ve done them so many times now that the next time I’m on the road, they’ll see different bits written around them. But that was new for me! And kind of odd...but I grew to love doing it. You start to learn where the beats are, or the laughs, or surprises…
Brett: Exactly, exactly. And when you come up with a banter bit that’s solid gold, I feel the crowd the next night deserves to hear that! I think early on in an artist’s career there’s this shame about using something twice. It’s cheating, it’s a magic trick. The fact that Barenaked Ladies did that for so long, with such a strong rule of never repeating anything from the night before, it’s risky, but I can imagine how it honed your chops. Plus you probably came up with with some insane stuff that you would never come up with otherwise.
Steven: Well it also kept the wheel spinning in our brains. You play these songs how many times, and there’s a stereotype that’s true, especially when you're playing arenas and amphitheaters, bringing full production with you—it really truly looks exactly the same every night. It’s pretty easy to fall into that trap of feeling almost invisible in front of a huge crowd.
But there’s an element that “I have to be on top of every word he’s saying, every beat he’s saying, because I’ve never heard any of these before, and I have to respond, and I have to try to keep up, and make it just as funny or musically surprising” then you stay engaged in the show.
Brett: You avoid burnout, for sure. Now with improv, inevitably it involves bombing. Is there a moment where you’ve bombed miserably? Or did you have Ed to rescue you, or Creegan to play a bass solo?
Steven: The unspoken rule was you’re always there to catch the other guy. Part of my schtick was that I was a terrible rapper. So I would set myself up to bomb. Have a few great, surprising, hilarious lines, and then just run over into the next line, or fall apart, and that was part of the schtick.
But solo, I started to learn to love bombing. Or at least the appearance of bombing.
Brett: I love bombing too!
Steven: I love, A-if it’s bombing, they’re paying attention, and then it’s a challenge to dig yourself out. The digging back out is so much work, and it’s rewarding. I never feel like, “Oh, you’re an idiot, you bombed.” Part of the schtick I’ve developed is, even though sometimes I am bumbling and don’t know what I’m doing, if I can make people become attached to the part of me that is struggling to keep it all together, when I nail it, we’re all in it together.
Everyone in the room feels like it’s a triumph. It’s not about lowering their expectations, it’s about creating a relationship with the audience where they still don’t know if you’re going to pull it off. But you know you are.
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