Reggie Watts is "just bullshitting"
Several effects pedals, a "full vocal range," and zero gameplan
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Funny musicians occupy a strange sort of netherworld between two art forms. Some, like Zach Galifianakis or Stephen Lynch, line up squarely as comedians even if they never fully inhabit that role. Others, like Tenacious D and Flight Of The Conchords, are able to pass as actual musicians even though they run the risk of being dismissed as mere novelty. But in the case of Reggie Watts, what he does can’t really be defined by either discipline: Armed with only his impressive, multi-octave voice and a table of effects pedals, Watts creates whirlwind, improvised pieces that are neither wholly comedic nor musical, but funny, engaging, and liable to bring the house down. Besides, there's nothing particularly funny about debating one's place in the artistic community, so these aren't the sorts of questions that keep the New York-based "comedic performer" (his self-description of choice) up at night. He's far too busy performing at both music and comedy venues, touring fringe arts festivals, and collaborating with political pranksters like The Yes Men to sweat the distinction. Decider caught up with Watts to talk about how he found his way from music to whatever it is he does now, what he's planning (or rather, not planning) to bring to his Fusebox performance next week, and how it felt to be turned into a candle.
Decider: You have a show-stealing cameo in The Yes Men Fix The World where you play a dying Exxon janitor who donates his body to the corporation for a fuel called "Vivoleum.” The Yes Men pose as Exxon executives, and then they distribute little candle figurines of you made from your hair to create the scent of burning people. Was it weird having a little candle effigy of yourself?
Reggie Watts: [Laughs.] It was really strange, man. They do stuff really quick, just by the seat of their pants, and it always works out really, really, really well. It was weird. I was critiquing myself when I saw it. I thought I could have been more extreme.
D: Your bio makes the claim that you're one of six Americans in possession of a "full vocal range.” Is that true?
RW: A couple years ago, I was doing a piece called "Disinformation,” and my web guy at the time wrote up this thing that didn't really make any sense. It's not exactly that it's not true, but it just doesn't mean anything. I need to change the language, because that comes up once in a while, and it's always like, "Uh..." [Laughs.]
D: But you are a trained musician.
RW: That is true. I've been studying music since I was 5. From age 5 to 16, I studied classical piano and violin. I played in an orchestra.
D: What made you decide to move to comedy?
RW: I was always kind of a class clown growing up. I would organize these cheesy things where I would arrange these dumb songs on the playground and sing ’em to my friends. When I moved to Seattle, I kind of receded into music, and that's where I focused mainly. I'd occasionally goof off and do funny things on the mic, and that started to increase toward the end of my stay there. At a certain point, I was like, “I'm in my 30s now. That's beyond the prime of pop music.” I was thinking, "What could be next?" It occurred to me that I really enjoyed making people laugh. I was able to start performing in New York a lot. In a weird way, that's what I was always doing ever since I was a kid, so it was kind of just a continuation of that. I didn't really see it as too different. I had to find my footing, but for the most part it was fairly natural.
D: What do you have planned for Fusebox?
RW: I don't know. I never do. I just kind of make sure I have the right tools. I have my effects pedals and I try to create an hour-long show. I just kind of hope that good things come into my head. It's just me up there, you know? I'm just bullshitting.
D: Have you studied improv in a more traditional setting?
RW: I've tried, but it scared the shit out of me. It's too weird. That's the sort of performing that I find really uncomfortable.
D: Most people would find getting up onstage with no script by themselves to be way more intimidating than doing it with a group.
RW: [Laughs.] That's what happens when you grow up an only child.
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