Ben Kronberg at the Denver Improv
Shawn McHugh
“The human race is not a human race / We’re all just stalkers on MySpace,” sang comedian/songwriter Ben Kronberg during his two-night headlining stand at the Denver Improv on November 12 and 13. Kronberg’s embarrassingly accurate song contained several other astute observations about the popular website—most notably the paradox that a social networking site could host such antisocial behavior as, say, masturbating to his best friend’s girlfriend’s profile photos while listening to her music.
Kronberg’s back-to-back Improv sets last week were something of a homecoming for the Wrist Deep Productions comic, who recently relocated to Los Angeles in an attempt to further his career in standup. For a comedian notorious for a deliberately uncomfortable demeanor and elongated, awkward pauses between offbeat jokes and bizarre songs, Kronberg’s sets can be hit-or-miss. Consequently, when he’s firing on all cylinders, he’s one of the funniest comedians Denver has ever produced. When he isn’t, well, it can be excruciating, to say the least.
His time in big, bad L.A. may have done Kronberg some good. Last week’s performances went off without a hitch—or at least, they went as smoothly as they possibly could. Because even when at the top of his game, Kronberg is a master of alienating folks, especially those who might be expecting the straight-laced, “take my wife, please” type of yucks. But what else could you possibly expect from a flamboyantly weird comic who tells jokes about abortion, AIDS, race, gender, homosexuality, and just about every other hot-button issue in American culture? Sometimes people get offended.
And during Kronberg’s first night at the Improv, people got offended. At least one couple sitting near the stage settled their tab and left before the show was over. Apparently they heard one poop joke too many. “Were they a little uptight?” Ben asked audience after the slighted couple exited the building. Of course, the crowd just nodded.
But that’s sort of the point of Kronberg’s comedy: It’s not for everyone. And that’s something the comedian is comfortable with. “I like the indie vide of things,” Kronberg told The A.V. Club after the show. “I like the subversive, not-bookable-everywhere idea of comedy. Which is why it’s interesting that I ended up getting booked at the Improv.”
And his presence at the Improv was sociologically interesting, at least on the first night when the crowd was so eerily subdued. It seemed that neither the comedian nor the audience really knew what to expect—the latter seeming reticent about giving the benefit of the doubt to the comic, even after they laughed at a series of his jokes. Throughout his performance, the comic struggled to connect to a bulk of the spectators with the eccentric one-liners and standalone send-ups that are the cornerstones of his act.
Kronberg is a far cry from more accessible comedians, the kind who tend to humanize themselves through observational storytelling. After a rape joke here and a song about microwaving kittens there, Kronberg has definitely lost some folks. And during a particularly long bout of silence from the audience, the sense the uneasiness became palpable. In fact, by the show’s end, some people almost seemed relieved they survived it—which is no way to feel after a comedy show.
But when Kornberg is on, he’s on. And on the second night, not only was he on, the audience was on with him. And that made all the difference. The laughter was louder. The distasteful groans were more restrained. Those in attendance were more willing to sit back and let Kronberg do what he does best: turn repulsive subject matter into gut-rupturing punch lines.
It helped, of course, that more of his friends came out to see him on the second night. Kronberg is, after all, kind of a hometown hero in Denver comedy circles. He spent years helping build the city’s indie scene from scratch, playing an integral role as an original member of Wrist Deep. And just as Wrist Deep began picking up steam, he moved to California, where he appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live and the reality show Wipeout during his first year in the city.
While his accomplishments don’t really amount to superstardom, it was fascinating for Denverites to watch someone they’ve seen hundreds of times in the shithole down the street appear on national television. It was also more than enough to earn the admiration of locals who remember him as a mainstay at the Squire Lounge and Comedy Works.
Even with all of his quirks and calculating vulgarity, both of the Kronberg’s Improv sets inspired more genuine (if nervous) laughs than recoils in disgust. Either way, his act demanded a response—and that’s all any good indie comic really desires from an audience. And, whether good or bad, that’s exactly what Kronberg got. Now all he needs are some MySpace stalkers.
