Wherefore Art Thy Comedian?

Montreal, Canada, 1991. The Centaur Theatre. The set is all black. Only a microphone and a stand are on stage. A man walks on, also all in black; black jacket, black polo neck, black trousers, black shoes and long, almost-mullety black hair. He stands on stage and talks for an hour about moths, religion, advertising, the Kennedy assassination, auto-fellatio and mass-marketed popular music. The man is Bill Hicks. The event is the annual Just for Laughs Comedy Festival, now the largest comedy festival in the world. That hour of his Relentless show proves to be one of the most iconic, passionate and engaging hours of stand-up comedy ever performed. It’s the comedic equivalent of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock. It was the pinnacle for a career tragically cut short by pancreatic cancer. But does anyone remember it? Would anyone consider that gig a milestone in cultural history? Almost certainly not. Why? Because it’s just comedy. Comedy can’t be serious or important. It’s just one fucking joke after another.


How To Forget Like Daniel Kitson: Analog.Ue Reviewed

As my concentration began to wane, I opened the ‘Voice Record’ application on my iPad. The app, skeuomorphed to resemble a 1950s recording desk complete with volume meter and Edward R. Murrow-style stainless-steel microphone, listened to the lecture for me so I could consult it later at my own convenience. Another discrete outsourcing of my mental faculties to the touch-screen nymphet, another day closer to the inevitable apocalypse, designed in California, assembled in China.

By Yohann Koshy