Performing On New Year's Eve
Show Note 4
New Year’s Eve shows are infamous in the comedy world, the stuff of comedy war stories old vets swap: the drunk hecklers who think they’re funnier than you, the chaotic energy of people more focused on partying than listening, the constant clinking of glasses, and the countdown interruptions. It’s a night built for celebration, but it’s not always conducive to comedy. Walking into last night’s New Year’s Eve show, I was aware of all this. And some of it was true to form.
The venue was a Bar & Grille—one of those massive rooms where the crowd feels like it’s playing hide-and-seek. There were about 50 people in total, but everyone was so spread out it felt like a third of that. After the host did about 15 minutes and the comedian before me went, it was my turn. The comedian before me is a really funny dude. He decided about 10 seconds into his time to start roasting a woman near the front and, well, they went back and forth across the duration of his entire set, which provided some funny moments and one or two tense ones. By the time I got to the mic, she and her whole table were in the process of heading out. She said they’d be right back but, I knew better. And I was right. It’s never fun to see people exit at the same time you’re starting. Suddenly, 10 seconds into my time, the room got a little more sparse and felt a lot bigger.
I had 15 minutes of material ready to go, but after that table left, I realized the usual approach wasn’t going to work. I ditched most of my set and spent the next 9 or 10 minutes trying my hand at crowd work. It was a gamble, but it paid some dividends. (If i can get around to it, perhaps I’ll share a clip from the crowd work I did here the website at some point.) There was a family of about 15-20 people celebrating New Year’s Eve together, and they became the focus of the show. They were lively, fun, and fully engaged, making it feel like a private party where six comedians just happened to show up. That was cool.
Even the kids in their group, around 7 or 8 years old, got involved. Between sets, we invited them up to tell a few jokes. I even threw one of the kids a joke, and he went up and nailed it. It was such a unique moment, the kind you’d never see in a typical comedy club. Ever! Who knows, maybe that’ll stick with those kids and they’ll be comedians one day. I loved that. The lights weren’t dim, the mood wasn’t dark—it was bright, welcoming, and a little chaotic, in the best way.
Watching my set back later, I realized my crowd work was just “okay.” It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. As most of us know, afterthoughts can be brutal. I kept thinking about all the funnier directions I could’ve taken or better responses I could’ve given. But that’s part of the process.
I learned so much from this experience and watching it back. First, crowd work doesn’t have to be cutting to be effective. It can be clean, fun, and kind. The more rapport you build with the audience, the more room you have to playfully roast them later. I also learned that sometimes you have to abandon the “set.” Last night wasn’t about delivering jokes—it was about creating a moment. And that’s how it should always be. When a couple of my punchlines were interrupted by audience members just being excited and having fun, I let it go and leaned into their energy. Sacrificing the punchline for the sake of the connection was the right move.
I also realized that not everyone in the audience wants to engage, and that’s okay. If someone doesn’t want to be part of the show, move on. Comedy isn’t about forcing anyone to participate; it’s about making the room feel good as a whole. The connection with the audience is always the main thing and whatever can be done to foster and nurture that is the right thing.
Every venue and every audience is different. Last night wasn’t a club show—it was a family-style New Year’s celebration. The energy was different, and the success of the night, for me, depended on my ability to adapt. It wasn’t about me or the material I had prepared. It was about the relationship I built with the audience in that moment. In fact, at the end of the night, I went and shook hands with the 40 or so people left. When I got to the big family, they were all so grateful that I had come over. The patriarch of the family shook my hand and gave a super sincere comment along the lines of “This was so fun. So cool that you all did this. Thank you.” And that made it worth it.
As far as New Year’s Eve shows, the word on the street is that they are mostly unpredictable, but that’s also what makes them memorable. Last night, I learned to embrace the chaos, let go of control, and have fun with it. And for a night that’s notorious for horror stories, overall and in my book, that felt like a win.