By Katie Barry
Conan O’Brien is one jolly-ginger giant, and one of the funniest/tallest men I’ve ever loved. I’ve admired his quirky late-night show from Triumph the Insult Dog Comic to the masturbating bear, and with other like-minded folks, wept for his woes at NBC. On Friday I was in the vortex of it all, a hot swirling force of energy unlike anything I’ve been a part of yet — similar to Conan’s rockin’ drumset skills.
Team Coco was in New York for a week of special tapings of his TBS show at the Beacon. When my friend Moira texted if we wanted to go see Conan, I windmilled down the block repeating, “YES YES YES.” I had helium in my stomach and hearts in my eyes. Luckiest girl ever. I saw Conan once on 47th and Avenue of the Americas, this alabaster giant with red sprouts on his head, on my way to an internship. I pulled an all-nighter six years ago in college to get stand-by tickets, poised with my sister Kristy, Ohio friend Robin, and college buddy Wilfred as 4-5-6-7 in line for tickets. Deliriously tired, we wandered around midtown and the New York Library, waiting for callback time at 3:30 – only to be told, “Sorry, we only have three stand-by spots.”
This time, it was clockwork. We met in the morning in the line caterpillar-ing around the Big Apple Bank on 73rd and Broadway, finding our friends close to the front. Once inside, we handed over ticket stubs in exchange for real tickets and wristbands to the afternoon taping, then glued ourselves to the seating chart like elementary kids: fourth row! After a few squeals and sighs, we went about our days, convening at Emerald Inn for pre-show drinks. (The last time I was there it was for 12 White Russians and it ended blurry)
Louis C.K. was the celebrity guest, which I was highly anticipating. Most times when I see him he’s at Comedy Cellar down in the Village, working out new jokes on out-of-towners in some odd time slot on a Wednesday. Today would be him in his element, the grand stage with the backings/blessings of Team Coco and their president Conan.
I thought the exclamation point on my joy would be mirroring Conan’s classic rockstar jump as his band blares; red coiffure bouncing when he lands. But no. He blew me away. Credit him, credit his writers, credit the spell he put on a roaring audience that wouldn’t stop clapping- whatever it was, it’s a high I still haven’t come down from hours later.
His opening monologue was chuck full of Occupy Wall Street and Herman Cain jokes and ended with a couch-surfing bedbug he “hung out with in my apartment last night,” heading into commercial break. After the pause and band showcasing their chops, he rattled off more jokes before stopping and squinting into the crowd, saying “Whoa. Who is that? Is that Jon Stewart?” And it was, six rows back, the other comedic genius that makes my aorta thump out of my chest. Conan quips to Stewart, “Hey, don’t you have a show?” He darts out, and at the request of Conan asking for a stand-by to be brought in to fill the empty seat, Stephen Colbert pops up. The audience went bonkers, this inferno of fan insanity and mad love. Conan again repeated, “Don’t you have a show to do, too?” He sprinted out, and fans pieced back together pieces of their consciousness: no way. Colbert. Stewart.
Triumph the Insult Dog Comic did a scathing report from Wall Street, lambasting both brokers and hippies camped out. Things chugged right along with the booming Basic Cable Band charging the way, led by bandmaster Jimmy Vivino. When Louis C.K. was called out, the crowd went nuts again. He told stories on New York living, how he was near blowing his head off in a bathtub when depression/lack of work befell him. But Conan hired him on as a writer, the jolt he needed. And the rest is history… Louis C.K. has his own show now. The rest of his stories were based around being half-Mexican and racist people, along with a bit on people becoming technology-zombies and not absorbing what’s happening before their eyes. He also talked about the time he was driving parallel with George Bush’s motorcade, then decided to run into it.
I was sad to see his set ending — he’s so down-to-earth, approachable and highly funny. He’s that guy you get talking to in a bar while waiting for a friend, then when that friend is late you say, “No worries, I’m headed home” and stay talking to him.
The show concluded with a gay Jewish wedding between Conan’s costume designer and his boyfriend, officiated by the late-night host after he got a cheap license offline. I’ve always wanted to go to both a gay and Jewish wedding, so this was a strangely awesome surprise. The ceremony was sweet, the flower kids adorable, and the breaking of glass went smashingly well. Confetti was blasted everywhere, and they rode off on a big furry bull up the aisle and out the door, ushered by a “Ted Turner” look-alike. It was hilarious to watch all the alpha males in the first three rows cringe at the two newlyweds straddling the bull and kissing non-stop.
Hooray! Conan concluded the show by thanking New Yorkers for all their support, saying, “This place gave me my start.” (He moved out of his seven-bedroom apartment on 72nd and CPW last November, selling it for nearly $29.5 million) He blazed through the adoring crowd like a politician off his rails, accepting hugs, handshakes, and gratuitous gropes and grabs — his hands are as long as my torso. It was Moira’s boyfriend Matt’s birthday, and he got the best thing ever: Conan telling him, “Nice beard, dude!” Once the confetti had settled and the Conan hit the last notes, it was bye-bye til next time. Who knew he was also such a badass singer?
I’m still feeling that floating feeling of superbness. Everyone starts somewhere, doing what they love and hoping it catches fire, taking them someplace. I thought of some amazingly talented friends and how overjoyed I am at their comedic success of all sizes (Peppe Holmsten, Rod Cone, and the Stone Brothers in mind) and anyone who is hacking away at something so fervently with an exact goal in mind: genuine awesomeness. Good things MUST come to those who wait.
The last time I was at the Beacon Theatre was to experience The Hold Steady; they ended with their anthem and one everyone could get behind: “Stay Positive,” something Conan mastered and projects to his zany fan base. I left inspired, blown away dizzy, and doing rockstar jumps all the way up Broadway.
Below, check out The Hold Steady, singing “Stay Positive”:
