“Boise has betrayed me,” I say to myself on a Sunday morning in March, looking out at a blanket of snow.
The past two days couldn’t have been sunnier or 70-er, and now, on the one day I’d planned to actually see some outdoor live music, I’m wading knee deep through a foot of powder. (I would later learn it was just over two inches, but I’m from the Caribbean, so my measurements are skewed.)
Being a not-famous, not-rich comedian of middling to average talent isn’t the most fun thing in the world. It’s for sure kinda fun — otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing it — but you’re never exactly the most important person in the room. Jokes are meaningless and affect no actual change; I’m at best a jester in streetwear and at worst an offensive, complete waste of the audience’s time.
The best part of any festival is the hang. Sure the shows matter, and I guess it can be fun to network if that’s your thing (you sociopath). But when it comes down to it, being a comedian at a music festival is all about the hang, because Lord knows it’s not about the performances. At least that’s the way I’ve operated the past few years of my very short career.
Moreover, music festivals never really get comedy right, and they shouldn’t have to — they’re MUSIC festivals. It always bothered me that they’d even try, because nothing’s funny at 11AM in a tent, much less someone aggressively to make you laugh. This is what made Boise’s Treefort Music Festival such a treat for me; I went in with no expectations and left with a new top five city.
I was staying with the comedy booker, Dylan Haas — a brilliant comedian and producer in his own right — at a beautiful family house in quiet, suburban North Boise. After texting me the unusual instructions to get into his house via a backdoor, I realized that I’d be a black man in suburban Boise essentially breaking into someone’s house… not a good look for my first day in town.
Luckily, another comedian playing the festival, Cliff Cash, was already there and let me in. I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news lately, or at any point in the last 300 years, but without Cliff that could’ve ended poorly.