America's Funnyman

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" Comedian" : Neil Hamburger

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Uh, anyone going to see him at Madison Square Garden tonight? $30 bucks! Sheesh!

By THE NEW YORK TIMES
Published: December 1, 2006

NEIL HAMBURGER The biggest joke in Neil Hamburger’s career may be playing Madison Square Garden tonight. He is, after all, one of the world’s greatest bad comedians, having perfected a brilliantly awful persona of an old-school, C-list funny man — the kind with an ill-fitting tuxedo and an enormous, greasy comb-over — on a very bad night. His timing is terrible, he breaks into coughing fits, and the few punchlines that he doesn’t flub are simply tasteless. But this is the genius of Neil Hamburger, in reality a character played by Gregg Turkington, left, a veteran of the snarky underground culture of zines and weird rock bands like Zip Code Rapists and Faxed Head. Like Andy Kaufman before him, Neil Hamburger toys with an audience’s expectations (and patience), and indeed his act is a kind of rude commentary on stand-up comedy altogether. Since the early ’90s this entertainment has taken place on a very small scale, on albums released by indie labels like Drag City and in occasional performances at tiny clubs. But good comedy always finds an audience, and lately Neil Hamburger has been gaining a previously unthinkable exposure. He has been on ABC’s “Jimmy Kimmel Live” three times and, thanks to Jack Black, he has landed this gig opening for Tenacious D on its nationwide tour. He also has a bit part in the band’s new film, “Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny.” Delivering his signature line, “But thaaat’s my life!” to a half-empty club, he appears for all of about five seconds. But it is enough. (Tonight at 8, 212-465-6741, thegarden.com; $29.50 to $54.50.) BEN SISARIO

" Comedian" : Neil Hamburger

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The New York Times reviewing Neil Hamburger at Madison Square Garden 12/3/06:

Like Borat, the anticomedian Neil Hamburger, the evening's opening act, has a timely knack for baiting a crowd and confounding expectations. A hunched lounge lizard with a combover and a dour expression, he told outdated (and offensive) jokes about the Jackson Five and Jar Jar Binks with a painfully inept delivery. But he was too nasty and vain to be pitied. Soon the crowd erupted with roaring, nonstop boos. ''Oh, come on -- I have cancer,'' he protested.

The alter ego of the avant-garde musician Gregg Turkington, Neil Hamburger has striven to be America's least-funny funnyman since the early 90s. (On ''Great Phone Calls,'' a 1992 compilation of prank calls, he tries to persuade comedy club employees to dump their headliners and book him instead.) He ingeniously underscores the latent superiority complex of the paying customer. He denies people the right to laugh, earning their ire and disgust instead.

Recently Mr. Turkington has received some mainstream attention, appearing on ''Jimmy Kimmel Live'' and, very briefly, in ''The Pick of Destiny.'' But it is safe to assume some hecklers weren't in on the joke Friday night. When an elderly usher sat a couple, he warned, ''The show already started, but you're not missing anything with this guy -- yeesh.''

Mr. Turkington, nearly drowned out by jeers, threatened to tell 10 more jokes. But when the entire arena seemed to chant an unprintable insult, he finally called it quits. ''Good night,'' he said. ''I hate you all.'' It was probably the greatest night of his career.

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