Last month, with the paint still drying on the mural above the doors, the Bushwick Comedy Club opened its doors.
Owners—Jad Sleiman, Brooks Tawil, and Kyle Gillis—could be seen busily hustling around the club before, during, and after the show in a way that felt vaguely significant. Instead of going to the movies to watch Saturday Night, you could instead spend $15 to watch a different group of ambitious New York comedians building the foundations of their own comedy institution right on Melrose Street, sponsored, like most aspirationally trendy things these days, by the Liquid Death brand.
For the last six months, the trio has been working to start Bushwick’s first and only BYOB comedy club with the idea of booking exclusively by video submissions, a notion that has already landed the club some early press coverage.
“It is meticulous. We watch every single tape to get to a point where we can make a fair judgment,” says Gillis about this screening process. It has resulted in the three men viewing over 1,000 submission tapes so far, they claim, “and then something has to have three yes votes from each of us to get them on the availability list,” says Gillis.
Gillis calls the club’s booking strategy “radical,” because it means that his crowds will never see a comedian do a set because the booker is a friend of his roommate or anything like that. In the Times, they make the case that the city’s comedy scene is suffering from an excess of “mediocrity” driven by this.
“For me, what I’m particularly looking for is engagement with the room that you’re in, and that the room is having a fun time,” says Tawil.
That means no zoom recordings, self-tapes in your apartment, or short movies. “There just has to be a sense of ‘I’m doing what I love, everything is coming out perfectly, this is my dojo,” he adds.
“We honestly don’t even care about video quality… if you’re undeniably funny, if you’re crushing, and especially if we can’t predict your jokes,” adds Sleiman, tenting his fingers to his chest.
“Listen, we’ve watched so much standup, and so if you have punchlines that I don’t see coming; if you have a unique perspective; if I’ve never seen someone like you on stage, I don’t give a shit what you filmed it on. You can send us a potato-ass clip, we’ll watch it,” he says.
“They can come here and film better clips here,” says Tawil. The stage, because it is intentionally lit from the bottom, and framed in such a way, is designed specifically for comedians to capture videos of themselves in front of an audience, in aim of getting booked at other clubs.
The trio of comedians offer themselves so completely in conversation, in a way that feels specific to seasoned comics, that interviewing them quickly became less about trying to pull quotes and more about trying to steady myself in conversation, keeping my feet grounded against a wave of seemingly endless quotes, riffs, anecdotes and asides.
When you enter the venue, you become immediately aware that it is trying to be a different type of comedy club. Instead of headshots and dark walls, there is a bright mural designed by comedian “Oddball” Matt Albano, depicting dinosaurs, taxis, and a robot against a pink and yellow background.
“This whole place was pretty much built by friends and other comedians. The art on the walls, the stage, the lights, a lot of it,” says Sleiman. “I think the scene sees this pace as serving the scene,” he adds.
Or if you’re a new comedian trying out one of their daily open mics, you can tape yourself and send it right back to BCC to be added to the availability list. “Even our bigger names are telling us that they want to come back just to get clips,” says Tawil.
“Tourists just want the ‘New York Comedy Experience,’” complains Gillis, “But regulars are bored with that, so we want to offer better access to what they actually want,” he promises. The club, so far, cycled through a handful of pop-up chefs, like Chaffed Kitchen, Rosebranch BBQ, and Jin Da Ma.
“We’re not looking to have the same eight guys on every show, we’re looking to showcase…the ones no other club is booking,” says Sleiman.
“And I think the audience feels the same way, because we are drawing locals, as opposed to tourists.” says Gillis, “There is a feeling that a comedian can come here and just do their job.”
Bushwick’s other major comedy club, Tiny Cupboard, along with the litany of nearby open mics, comedy shows and showcases threaded throughout Bushwick’s various dive bars and ambiguous event spaces have, in recent years, fostered a different kind of comedy scene, performing far away from the tourist crowd over in Manhattan.
“I really like the idea of our audience being a lot of regulars,” Sleiman says. “Our fans are comedy nerds.” He continues, “it’s like if you’re doing a club in the city, you have to try something to get their attention. I wanna tell comedians, ‘these are the fucking people you’ve been looking to perform in front of.’ Let it rip.”
The group appear excited to join the roster of today’s Bushwick nightlife.
“There is absolutely an element of pre-gaming here. Come, bring a drink, see a show for $15 and then go to Gold Sounds for some music, do some molly and go to Nowadays, that’s all right here,” says Sleiman.
“Best place to get in a fight is Bushwick Public House,” says Gillis.
Bushwick Comedy Club is located at 259 Melrose Street. Catch their schedule here.
All photos taken by Cait Flynn for Bushwick Daily.
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