State of the Art

The Black Comedy Explosion

by Nick A. Zaino III

Come eight o'clock on a Sunday the light rock the Comedy Connection usually pumps through the speakers before a show is replaced by smooth R&B. I'm one of about 30 white people in a packed house, and the only one taking notes as the crowd shuffle in and take their seats. A large black gentleman with a boyish smile sits down across from me and looks at my notes. "You doin' your homework?"

Caught off guard, I explain that I am writing about the show for the Boston Phoenix.

"I was gonna say, if you're sitting here doing your homework at a comedy show, you're cool as shit." The man then extends his hand to me and introduces himself as Jonathan Gates, the host and main architect of tonight's show -- the Black Comedy Explosion. Just as quickly as he appeared, Gates excuses himself to get ready for the show.

The Black Comedy Explosion started with a trial run in February, but the show has extended its Sunday-night residency through June and may run longer if interest continues. Gates created it to fill a void he saw in Boston's comedy scene. "There is no room for any black comics to mature and get a foothold in this city. Most of them have to leave and go down to New York, Washington, or Atlanta to really do well."

The stage empties and hip-hop music blares through the speakers. Gates comes on stage shouting, rapping, and dancing. A former bouncer at the Rolls Club in Mattapan Square, he got pulled into the show himself one night when the regular host for the Rolls' comedy night was sick. That led him to open-mike nights and, eventually, work as a touring comedian.

After the first comedian, Gates returns to the stage and asks for the house lights. He says there's a reporter in the house; I pray he's talking about someone from the Boston Globe. No such luck. He points to me and asks me to introduce myself. "What's your name?"

"Nick."

"Nick? Not tonight. Tonight your name is Jerome." Gates then explains how I'm to be initiated into the Black Comedy Explosion Family. I am to turn to the crowd, grab my crotch, and introduce myself to my new family by saying, "Hello. My name is Jerome, motherfuckers!"

I figure I can do my little bit, sit down, and it'll be over. So, arms crossed, I stand, turn to the crowd, and repeat my oath, saying "motherfucker" quickly, as if it were my last name. The crowd laughs hysterically, but Gates isn't satisfied. "Hold on, now. You said that in protest, with your arms crossed. Turn around, put your left foot forward, grab your crotch, and say, `Hello. My name is Jerome, motherfuckers.' "

I hesitate and still don't grab my crotch, but I figure I'm on the hook until I make a better effort, so this time, I give it more energy and speak more slowly. "Hello. My name is Jerome, motherfuckers!"

I've been made the icebreaker at the Black Comedy Explosion.

"It's called the Black Comedy Explosion," Gates explains, "but when I look out in the audience and I see 40 or 50 white people in there busting their guts with laughter, I say, `Okay, this is working.' Then I look to the left and there's the Cape Verdeans, and Puerto Ricans, you have your blacks and Haitians. So the mixture is there, and everyone's together."

The evening's last comic, A.G. White, has a style and feel that's perfect for the Black Comedy Explosion. He riffs on growing up in a poor black neighborhood and on race relations; he brings down the house with his Jamaican character. Except that A.G. is white. "He's just funny," Gates says. "He's from one of those white families that grew up in a black neighborhood and couldn't afford to move. That's where he got his black act from, because that's who he is."

When the comedy is over, Gates makes a wrap-up appearance. No matter who got slammed that evening, the point is to laugh together. "We're not black, we're not white, we're together."

The Black Comedy Explosion takes place every Sunday night at 8 at the Comedy Connection. Call 248-9700.