Hari Kondabolu
What was it like having a child during a global pandemic?
During his hilarious new stand-up special, Vacation Baby, Hari Kondabolu contemplates the perfect metaphor for that highly unusual, life-altering scenario. During the hour of new material, the New York-based comedian talks about his transformative COVID-era years, which were brightened by his transition into fatherhood. Along with jokes centered on the two impactful events, Kondabolu’s wonderfully-paced routine is full of his trademark social observations and keen political humor, as well as some well-timed jabs at San Diego and Tucker Carlson.
A day after Vacation Baby’s debut on YouTube, I spoke with the comedian — who returns to The Orange Peel on Wednesday, May 17 — about the special and his attempt to interact with fans throughout the premiere.
Hari Kondabalu: “Yeah, it was weird. I had my parents, my brother, one of my openers, and some friends over, and it was strange because I had to live chat the whole thing while it was on — which was kind of fun, but it also felt like, ‘Why am I having a viewing party if I’m not engaging with anybody?’ So, for the sake of appeasing the algorithm [laughs] I had to not enjoy myself.”
Taking a different approach to the release than his 2018 Netflix special, Warn Your Relatives, Kondabolu’s decision to offer Vacation Baby for free via YouTube was a new path that may have gone against his natural instincts.
“It’s a lot more democratic. If you want the people who will eventually like your stuff to find it, making it accessible is certainly the best way to do it. For me, it’s been some reprogramming in terms of how to view the industry. I’m really proud that I did it and that I did it myself. But I will say it’s harder. It’s a much harder beast when you’re really producing the thing too.”
In recent years, performers have had to continuously adjust to the ever-changing landscape of social media, or be left in the dust. Although TikTok and Twitter have presented new opportunities for building a fanbase, they have their caveats.
“That short form is kind of built for comedians. But for the kind of style of comedy I do, I don’t write well in sound bites. I like to talk and explain, and it’s kind of a pain in the butt. But even Twitter has kind of forced me to write in a way that is not my strength. And I’ve also often abandoned ideas because I got the dopamine hit of likes and retweets, and I forgot what the purpose of my life is. It’s not just for likes and retweets — it’s to take a small thought and expand on it publicly, verbally.”
It’s his ability to thoughtfully dissect an idea with sharp wit that makes Kondabolu so successful at what he does, but he’s also aware that he can’t fall into the trap of not adjusting to the new ways that fans engage with media. The internet has helped democratize the industry and weaken the old system of gatekeepers. As a result, comedians are having to keep up with the constantly-shifting ways to build a following.
“It’s not like what it was like before. I was innovative in 2005 because I actually took emails down [building a mailing list]. People thought I was wild for that. I remember getting made fun of for it. ‘Oh my God, you’re making this into such a business.’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, you wanna do this for a living, right?’”
For Kondabolu, there’s a desire not to become one of the stodgy “old dudes in the back of the room” who refuses to adapt, but he also values stand-up in its traditional long format. So, he’s refining his approach without sacrificing his principles.
“I think I’ve had to adjust a lot, and I think we all do to survive the way things are now. At the same time, I’m still a big fan of stand-up as a long-form art that is built for an hour. Even if you’re writing short stories, a lot of authors want to publish a book of short stories. And I still view releasing a special or an album in the same way.”
At the same time that seasoned stand ups are having to adjust shorter formats to reach an audience on social media, many TikTok comedy stars are now getting booked for longer format live shows that will test their abilities to hold peoples’ attention for more extended durations.
“It’s a different skill set. It’s because it’s about sustaining for an hour, being interesting for an hour, being able to have some coherence. It doesn’t need to be completely on theme or anything, but should have some sense of feeling like a show. There’s also things you’ve got to figure out. There’s the issue of “if I burn people out too quickly with too much laughter in the first 20 minutes.” You’ve got to pace yourself — which is weird because you’re like, ‘Don’t you want to kill them?’ Of course you do! But you also have to give people time to reset and to have lulls so they can focus on something different. There is an art form to stand-up, and it’s not the same as, ‘I have a clever thought and I’m putting it out and moving on.’ Shock value only works for so long. Without substance, it becomes hard to sustain.”
Substance has never been lacking from Kondabolu’s act. Most famously, in his 2017 documentary, The Problem with Apu, the second generation Indian-American called out The Simpsons for perpetuating racial stereotypes of Indians. Although he was a relatively unknown comedian at the time, taking on a behemoth, he came out on top. Hank Azaria, who had voiced Apu for decades, apologized and stepped away from the character that appears to now be retired from the series. Most recently, the legendary Simpsons voice actor filmed an hysterical promo for Vacation Baby.
He’s been able to grow a following and endure in the extremely tough comedy business while taking risks, but does harbor some growing concerns about the future of stand-up comedy in an age of dying attention spans. Comparing it to baseball, Kondabalu worries that younger generations who are being shaped by social media may perceive traditional stand-up as too slow and unexciting in comparison to the more instant rush of TikTok videos.
Even fast-paced, effects-heavy summer blockbusters can’t keep people from picking up their phones, so where does that leave the basic act of standing before a crowd and telling stories? It’s always been difficult to get up on a stage and attempt to engage with an audience. The ability to captivate that crowd for an extended period of time with nothing more than an amplified voice is true talent that’s only become more impressive in this age of perpetual distraction. I attempted to ease his concerns about declining attention spans by mentioning the strong turnouts at local comedy shows, to which he humorously assured me:
“I think this thinking is my ‘end of the world’ thinking. So don’t worry about it. You’re probably right. I’m just thinking, ‘Worst case scenario, though, I’ve made a mistake in my life.’ That’s where I’m going.”
In order to tighten up the material prior to recording Vacation Baby, Kondabolu had to spend time back on the road and away from his son for the first time.
“I basically hadn’t performed in two years, and the next thing I knew, it’s four straight months of touring — not straight but pretty aggressively — in order to get the hour right; to make it feel like, OK, this is something that’s ready to be recorded and I can do this material justice.’ That was intense. It was aggressive. So, that was hard because it was being away from him for an extended period. And then now, I’ve been touring kind of as smartly as I can, trying to do more weekdays, trying to be home on weekends. It’s harder. And I think any parent knows, whatever your profession is, it’s just harder when you have a kid. And it’s not to say it’s not worth it, because it absolutely is.”
He went on to stress a heightened appreciation for the kind of time management skills he disregarded as “boring” when in school.
“Even as an artist, those kinds of skills that seem so basic to student life, they’re so crucial. I wish I was better at it. I wish I was better at time management. Like, honestly, it just makes me a better artist because it means I’m more focused and I’m getting more work done.”
Vacation Baby was taped at the Brooklyn venue The Bell House, which has become a comedy institution over the past decade or so, initially as the home for the Eugene Mirman Comedy Festival.
“I wanted to do something in Brooklyn. The thing is about the pandemic, in part, and I was in Brooklyn for a good chunk of that. The other place I was in is San Diego, and that wasn’t gonna happen.”
The coastal city, where his son was actually born, is a frequent punchline in his act, with the comedian jokingly referring to San Diego as an “intellectual and cultural void.”
Following the quick San Diego diss, he added that the Brooklyn venue, one of several in the area that he loves, just felt like the best fit in terms of its aesthetic and his own familiarity and comfort level performing there.
As he approaches a return to Asheville, Kondabolu has no shortage of love for our little city.
“Every time I’ve performed in Asheville, I’ve had such a blast. The audiences are patient, they’re smart, and they are willing to take a risk with you. It’s like this dream thing. And in some ways, it’s kind of what a best show in Brooklyn feels like. But New York is spoiled, right? New Yorkers have seen everything. New Yorkers have experienced when a famous person pops in. They’re jaded. And so, you know, Asheville’s a great city. People love it. I’m assuming there’s still a feeling of, ‘I’m glad someone came here.’ That’s so cool.”
Having spent a fair amount of time living in both cities, I can confirm that there’s a lot of truth in that. It took leaving Brooklyn for me to really appreciate how spoiled we really were there. Living somewhere that doesn’t have a dozen comedy stars performing on any given night makes it special when someone of Kondabolu’s talent comes to town.
“As a performer, you feel welcomed. There’s something about that, where the touring performer feels special again. That is really wonderful, and I feel that in Asheville. I think that’s another reason why I love touring as much as I hate touring, because I hate being away from my family, my kid. But the actual thrill of being on stage with people who have waited for you to come back is pretty incredible.”
The Orange Peel, where the comedian has performed several times, shares some of the credit for Kondabolu’s warm feelings towards Asheville.
“I’m doing a run of shows in North Carolina and South Carolina. Certainly, Asheville is one of the jewels of that. And I love The Orange Peel. Like, I performed there last time [and it was] one of the best shows of that year. I remember I did The Orange Peel and 40 Watt in Athens [Ga.] back to back. It was, in terms of back to back shows, two of the best shows of all time. The vibes of both cities, the legendary concert venues…it was great.
And the folks at The Orange Peel were so wonderful to me. I cannot even explain. I had a joke in my Netflix special [Warn Your Relatives] where I make fun of Asheville, and it’s about kombucha. When I walked into the green room, I opened the refrigerator and it was full of kombucha — like, just dumped with kombucha. And it was the fact that they did enough work to know who I was and what they could do for me…it was just incredibly sweet. I don’t even like kombucha, so that was the downside of it. I just remember feeling like this is a venue that I think I’m gonna play in Asheville for a really long time.”
On that note, if anyone at The Orange Peel is reading this, I implore you to use “Amber” by 311 as his entrance music.
IF YOU GO
Who: Hari Kondabolu + Carmen Lagala
When: Wednesday, Nov. 17, 8 p.m.
Where: The Orange Peel, 101 Biltmore Ave., theorangepeel.net
Tickets: $25
(Photo by Rob Holysz)