History of Za, Part IV
In his controversial comment on the other Betsy, J-Ice made the following statement about his conflicts regarding his handling of the problematic (but, as this very project has itself shown, not at all uncommon throughout Za's history to date) group dynamic during his senior year:
"What I'm even less proud of is how it didn't take me long to get over my justified anger and rejoice with the rest of the group once she was gone, for we flourished in a way we hadn't since 1991-1992. We were truly a Comedy Viking Army once again. Houses were packed. Student organizations started throwing money at us. I broke a good egg named Betsy, and Za made one hell of an omelette. It was a defining moment for me, and a bittersweet one."
Aside from his, to me, shocking remark about student organizations throwing money at the Za, which would draw a crowd long after nudity and sex had lost their appeal as far as I'm concerned, it gets to the heart of what I intended for this history, something that I imagine the current and future generations of Za could find useful long after we're out of the picture. It takes an incident, unimportant in itself, and shows us, in its complexity and, in this case, painful humanity, how it fits into the larger picture of what made Za what it is and hence, what would be over if the group were no longer to exist. I made a comment on the controversy that's come up around it on the original "Sense of Where you Za" post, as per Keith Faigin's suggestion to address questions about the history itself in the original post, so will just take Ice's lead and continue with a fairly classic historical perspective and ask: What were the most pivotal moments in Za history to date? And to celebrate this question's provenance, I'll start this off in the first comment with what I'm sure will be a factually inaccurate, but nonetheless morally accomplished combination of anecdote and personal memoir about something that happened just before we took the stage in the first Basement Tapes that I think was, in a way that's illustrative of the time in which it happened (the '91-'92 Za Ice refers to), a decisive moment in Za history.
"What I'm even less proud of is how it didn't take me long to get over my justified anger and rejoice with the rest of the group once she was gone, for we flourished in a way we hadn't since 1991-1992. We were truly a Comedy Viking Army once again. Houses were packed. Student organizations started throwing money at us. I broke a good egg named Betsy, and Za made one hell of an omelette. It was a defining moment for me, and a bittersweet one."
Aside from his, to me, shocking remark about student organizations throwing money at the Za, which would draw a crowd long after nudity and sex had lost their appeal as far as I'm concerned, it gets to the heart of what I intended for this history, something that I imagine the current and future generations of Za could find useful long after we're out of the picture. It takes an incident, unimportant in itself, and shows us, in its complexity and, in this case, painful humanity, how it fits into the larger picture of what made Za what it is and hence, what would be over if the group were no longer to exist. I made a comment on the controversy that's come up around it on the original "Sense of Where you Za" post, as per Keith Faigin's suggestion to address questions about the history itself in the original post, so will just take Ice's lead and continue with a fairly classic historical perspective and ask: What were the most pivotal moments in Za history to date? And to celebrate this question's provenance, I'll start this off in the first comment with what I'm sure will be a factually inaccurate, but nonetheless morally accomplished combination of anecdote and personal memoir about something that happened just before we took the stage in the first Basement Tapes that I think was, in a way that's illustrative of the time in which it happened (the '91-'92 Za Ice refers to), a decisive moment in Za history.
posted by Toby Miller at 11/21/2004 07:22:00 PM
10 Comments:
By the time '91-'92 rolled around, it seemed sure that Za was on firm footing as a group. The oft-repeated story of Dave Allen being the one who made Za a proper organization, one that had name recognition and a public profile on campus, perhaps not to the equal of the singing groups, but certainly one that could attract more than just the members’ friends, is certainly true. What’s less noted is that behind the façade, Za as an entity was still quite fragile – no set schedule for shows, little innovation creatively, persistent roster issues, not to mention the usual tech mishaps during shows. The comedy was there, the audiences were growing and the institution was fully functioning, but there seemed to be identity issues: for every two steps forward the group took, like taking myself and the Wrecking Ball, it would simultaneously take one step back, like taking Stan Shields (of course, every group makes mistakes with admissions, but the fact Stan was taken and Ragin’ Keith Faigin wasn’t makes it seem like a particularly serious blunder, one hard to reconcile with the group’s strengths and certainly worth Keith’s subsequent rage). Stand-up was still major part of the group’s repertoire and while there was definitely good material produced, it seemed to cut against the very idea of Za as a group endeavor (has it persisted, or have sketches pushed them out completely?) By Fall’91, though, Randy’s Viking leadership had brought us through the rough North Seas of Post-Dave Allen Za to a place where Chris, Keith and I were three seasoned and confident seniors, all basically on the same page comically and in terms of commitment to the group. With the selection of Za Mach II, as I’ll persist in calling them (JJ, J-Ice, Godmother and Scoop), and Ray in reserve, Za seemed as stable as I could remember since freshman year.
But then Kathy Kim left the group (and I believe there’s a photograph of the phone message machine in Faigin’s suite taken in the very moment that it was recording her telling us of her departure). While that in itself was a minor disruption, it planted a seed of something that the three seniors thought we had finally eradicated – the idea that Combo Za was a group that people left. It was a tough moment and as we ran down the history of Za membership for them, the gaps in it now seemed to loom a lot bigger than I at least would have liked. They all took it with equanimity (as became their trademark), but the question now was: if this isn’t immediately fun for them, if the new audience wasn’t immediately forthcoming, which one is going to conclude that the healthy, fun-loving folks over in the IM soccer league or the sexy babes in Cap & Bells really had their shit together and ditch us glasses-wearing Jews who just lost 25% of their returning members after one practice?
Flash forward a few months. The first shows were good, but not particularly memorable, if I recall. After making friends, but few converts at Skidmore, we decided to try out a lot of new skits, some purloined from other groups (Mosh, Performance Art, Oxygen Deprivation), some which still needed to be fine-tuned (Stetson Court, adapted by Keith and myself by taking a skit from a weedy British book called “Let’s Improvise” and completely perverting its original design to make it funny). But rather than try them out in front of a regular paying audience and risk them failing, which might really jeopardize the group’s audience (and, thus, its health), we decided for an invite-only audience in the Perry Goat Room with lots of production values. Thus the first Basement Tapes.
Preparation for the show was a blast as the group really came together around the idea of Sgt. Pepper-esque alter egos, in this case the pretentious performance group “Crowd-Drawing Nudity and Sex”. Keith and Chris’ program was a triumph (skit 3: “Soul Etchings”), Fagan’s poster was classic and loads of interesting filler seemed to appear overnight (JJ’s “Reading Moments”, my “Toby Moments”, Keith’s Dodd Valet story). We had lights, we had cameras, we had music, we had a freaking electric guitar for Chrissake. And we had cool nicknames, finally exorcising the ghost of Mandy Dawson’s afore-referenced “Maverick! It doesn’t matter, Maverick!” This was going to make the group.
But while we waited in the Perry library, the gamble we had taken with the invite-only stipulation wasn’t paying off; people weren’t showing up. It seemed the same as before; we were confident that we had the goods, but we just couldn’t get it to that next level where Za was something that people wanted to see not because it was something to do before Armstrong Late-Night, but because there was really something interesting, something compelling going on. Finally, just minutes before we were to go on, J-Ice looked out the window of the library and yelled out, “It’s the Morgan West Posse!!” And there they were, trouping through the snow en masse. Our collective spirits vaulted and we went on the have just what we had been lacking, a truly memorable show.
In retrospect, what makes that moment pivotal, I believe, is that it was the first real indication that all four freshman were going to be committed to the group and were going to command an audience of their own. Prior to then, only three people, Randy, Chris and, I believe, Dave Allen (correct me if I’m wrong, those who know) in the history of Za had ever even been in the group for four years, let alone worked with someone else for that long. With Za Mach II, we had four people who not only were going to stay in Za for all four years, but do it together, something which opened up whole new vistas of possibility for what Za could accomplish comically.
It can’t happen in a vacuum, though. The audience is what’s going to confirm for the participants that their commitments are worthy regardless of whether their efforts are. Here was a group of people who were going to stay with these four freshman, pace their accomplishments and impel them to whatever they capable of doing. It was the beginning of the Combo Zombies, people who followed us to shows at other campuses when we were lucky to even get ourselves there for previous off-campus shows. But most importantly, that was the moment when the four freshman of ’91-’92 became Za Mach II. From which all that followed, followed.
From what I’ve read, there are still problems with continuity, with retaining members, with creating an identity. They’ll always be there. But now Za has part of its unchanging history an unparalleled example of what Za could be, regardless of whether it is that or not. That yell from J-Ice was the first time I truly heard that possibility. Long may it live.
I'm vaguely curious at what point Za began receiving college council funding. A google search came up with a budget of $1500 for Za. I remember making the case to college council that Za should receive funding and being sternly rebuked. One of my best friends with the treasurer and he said there was no support for Za receiving funds since the acapella groups didn't receive funds. The next year when he was CC president, same thing. We scraped through on shoe string budgets for everything. When we discovered my senior year that selling tickets increased turnout, then we started to have some money to play with to buy props and the like.
So when did CC recognize Za as worthy of funding and why?
Randy or Chris your only reference for that...
This wasn't a pivotal moment, but I still feel some guilt lingering from the spring of 98. This was a semi-turbulent era, where the group was restive and poor Rich had to take on the mantle of leadership of the group. This was very stressful for him, and it coincided with a period when Emily was at Oxford and Doorboy was "taking some time off" from the group to do theater crap (no disrespect!) and I, as the next most senior member, failed to step up to help out as much as I probably should have. Of course I was trying to read Gravity's Rainbow and Ulysses simultaneously, but that's no excuse.
So I guess this is becoming the confessional? Perhaps we should call it the blogfessional.
Nothing profound to say, but I'll comment on funding- Za had always received CC funds. As Pasty introduced me to the paperwork, I assume it always had. I remember dealing with the restrictions- for example, CC money couldn't be spent on beer or food- but our response was to use ticket revenue for those things, and CC money for posters, copy cards, transportation to off campus shows, stipends to off-campus groups that we brought in, etc. CC also provided all of the PA gear, etc.
I'm also puzzled that tickets were (re)discovered- during Winch's senior year? Talk about reinventing the wheel- this does seem like a remarkable failure of institutional memory in an alarmingly short span.
Maybe this is bragging- but in my era, tickets were the only way to make sure that we wouldn't run out of seats in B-R...
Okay, I should clarify. During my time with the group, Za might have received a hundred dollars here or there from college council -- usually for something specific like posters. We also had people buy tickets whenever we performed in Brooks-Rogers (which was the only venue that charged us, I believe, I guess we did so for the downstage my freshman year, as well), but that made it one or two shows a year.
At some point college council pretty much stopped funding groups who charged for tickets like the acapella groups. The decision we more or less faced was: stop charging for shows or charge for more shows. Well, my senior year we charged for almost every show. It didn't matter whether it was Currier or Spencer or Brooks-Rogers, we were out in the mail room selling tickets. The great thing was selling tickets worked wonders. One dollar was not enough to prevent people from coming to the show and buying the ticket was a bigger commitment on the part of the buyer (and selling was good advertising ... who could resist the charming rogues propositioning them in the mailroom, then switching to ComboZa tickets -- the old bait and switch).
At any rate, I saw the current group received $1,500 from College Council and that is a lot of cheese. I think we charged for six shows or so my senior year. Currier pulled in $120; Brooks-Rogers $180; and Spencer $80 (roughly speaking). Not a bad profit for a bunch of lay abouts like us ($720). The only reason we got got to a $1,000 budget was the $500 we picked up from Hamilton College. Actually, we might have been paid for a few of the openings we did as well, but I can't remember. At any rate, being given $1,500 to spend by college council (which was about my personal annual budget in college) would have opened new horizons with regards to props and technical equipment. We felt pretty good about our Rubbermaid box of desklamps and extension cords that we used for lighting every show (giving us a nefariouslook from the lighting coming from beneath us).
So what changed after us? Did the College Council become looser with their rules?
Definitely an illusionist, but I only say that because Chris denies all involvement with herbaceous plants (hence, disqualifying druid). Chris struck me as more phantasm than fireball.
Let me remind you:
WARP! You're a bunch of cheese-eating dorks!
Toby, allow me to quote the esteemed Dirck Fuller: "Comedy doesn't get you laid." The statement is definitely not true (e.g., Jerry Seinfeld), but it says something about the status of the group on campus. Combo Za is only a couple of notches above WARP in the social hierarchy. The only difference is that we can get 120 people to pay a dollar to watch us amuse ourselves (in New York City, I hear it costs $20).
Can a comedy group be viking if they are in the pocket of the College Council? Just asking.
Having dough would have been nice.
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