Daryl Wright
written by Annabelle Quezada
Maybe the audience had very high standards that night or perhaps the opening acts were not as funny as they were “supposed to be.” The host recited what seemed like a well-rehearsed monologue, eliciting only some nervous chuckles. The first act bounced all over the stage gaining only sporadic laughter. All in all, on this particular night, the Hollywood Improv comedy club was clearly missing the comedy in the club. The second act, LA-based Daryl Wright approached the stage and right away asked what the audiences’ problem was. After that opening line he served a much-needed ice-breaking, not to mention triumphant, performance to the once uptight room. Putting the relief back into comic relief.
“I think me and people connect most of the time, even if they don’t like what I’m saying. They can deal with the fact that I’m speaking from my heart. Honesty can always touch you. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way... but it would be disrespectful for me to get onstage and lie to people and just say something I think they’re gonna like... No, I will speak from my heart and we’ll see... whatever,” explains the DC- raised Wright, “That’s why I think the laughter I get might be more genuine.”
Until he gained stepsiblings, Wright was the only child of his single mother until the age of 7. He describes growing up, being raised by everyone, including a stepfather that was a drunk: “So I guess that’s why I’m a comic.” In reality though, he is a comic by chance.
Wright was never the class clown, has a fear of public speaking due to a speech impediment, and doesn’t even consider himself funny. “I was at a bar in San Antonio talking shit... This guy at the end of the bar saw me and asked me if I was a comic. I said no. He asked if I wanted to be. I thought was a pick up line. I thought he was hitting on me, so I told him, ‘No, thank you, I don’t swing that way, chief.’ He responded, ‘No, I own the comedy club here in San Antonio, I think you ought to give it a try...’”
So Wright gave the Friday night open mic a shot. He remembers three cholos being in the front row that night and performing so badly that they began insulting him, “I started talking shit back, something about one of them having a Virgin Mary tattoo that was crooked and pregnant. They got pissed off and chased me outta the bar, and I was so mad that I thought, ‘Screw this!’ But, I went back the next week, not cause I wanted to be funny, but because I was stubborn and I wanted to prove a point. Those same dudes were there and this time I kinda made them chuckle. I didn’t make them laugh, I made them chuckle, [which was pretty good] considering they almost wanted to kill me the week before.”
Although he fell into comedy by chance, he developed a genuine love for the game. “Once I started,” says Wright, “I loved it and found out, hey, I’m pretty good at this. The only thing I have been really able to do well, other than sell dope and, shit. But, this is legal! So, I started studying how to be a good comic.”
After leaving his hometown, Washington D.C., Wright made the move to Texas. When asked why, his answer is the equivalence of
a “Duh!” as he as-a-matter-of-factly responds, “Because it’s safer!” I should have minded his earlier joke warning a Los Angeles audience: “DC’s gotta bad habit of shooting people just because. ‘Cause the sun is out, ‘cause it’s a nice day ... At least you guys have rules! Don’t wear red, I can do that. Don’t wear blue, I can do that. Don’t be Mexican, I can do that...” Although prior to his Los Angeles move, he paid his dues to the New York comedy scene.
“That’s the workout place,” says Wright. “I think that every comic has to go to New York. It lets you know whether you wanna be a comic or whether you’re lying to yourself.” But while he recognizes New York’s importance, his reason for leaving it for Los Angeles seems simple enough. “Because I didn’t have 20 years to wait in line to wait for a stage that had a good club. That’s the big thing about NY – you gotta pay your dues! I’m not paying my dues to somebody that sucks. Fuck you. So I moved to LA because I figured LA is about money. If you’re funny enough, they don’t give a damn if you’ve been on stage three times or twenty. If somebody thinks that they can make money offa you they’ll pick you up.”
Wright confesses though, that his stay in Los Angeles hasn’t exactly been a breeze. “Everything. From my color, because my comedy isn’t urban. So that makes it difficult for people in this industry to find an audience for me. That’s been a big obstacle. [Even] being funny has been an obstacle! I got an email today where I got turned down for a TV job because the guy said I was too funny to be on the show. It was hilarious! I never heard of somebody being too funny for something. Everybody tries to dissect what I do and try to get a formula for it, but there’s no formula for it. I don’t even understand why people laugh at me sometimes, so for people on the outside to try and dissect it. They should just enjoy it and, you know, understand that it happens, and there are some things that you can’t explain.”
Onstage, Wright reveals upside of his appearance, preaching that “Ugliness has its benefits. Ugliness is freedom. It’s not like I’m gonna talk myself outta some ass I wasn’t gonna get in the first place.” Back at our lonely table, where he speaks frankly, he continues, “[There’s] the young quirky dude, [there’s] the fat dude, [there’s] the old cranky dude... They know exactly where to put them. Me? It’s like, ‘What the fuck can we package him as?’ The bucktooth, ex-con who curses a lot and makes people laugh?”
So if he’s not an urban comic or a dirty comic, what kind of comic is he? “I’m a people’s comic,” says Wright. “People that like to laugh like me! A lot! So that’s it. And I think that if you generalize yourself to a certain crowd it limits you as far as your comedy. You can put a special comic anywhere and they’ll make people laugh. Old people, young people, north, south, west, east...”
Wright takes his job seriously. At the core of his stand-up career are strong values and an admirable work ethic. “I’m hard core because this ain’t a game to me. I came into comedy with the same rules I had when I was selling dope. This is serious. There are certain rules in the dope game, there’s certain rules in comedy. Don’t steal a nigga’s shit. Like when I first started comedy, I was blessed to be around good older comics to kinda mentor me. A guy named Kernel Rodriguez, clean comic told me if I can work clean I could always work.” Regarding people that cheat at working he believes, “That’s some bitch nigga shit to do that. Work! This is a job just like any other job. Comics are lucky enough to get paid just to talk shit. My father worked two jobs. His father worked in the coal mines... And you mean to tell me you cant work at talking shit, I mean... really? That’s all you do is stand on a stage for the most part and talk shit.”
Wright speaks warmly and sincerely about his loyalty to his audiences, “Dammit, I’ll make ya’ll fuckin’ laugh! I think it’s disrespectful to not try. I hold myself to the standard of if every time I get on stage there isn’t something special then there’s no need to get up there. It is also disrespectful to think that the crowd is stupid. People aren’t dumb. I think there’s a lot of comics that think people are stupid. That’s why you see lotta comics come and go. You can be the best thing in the world for 4 years big deal... but when you’re doing this for years and years like Carlin or however long Bill Burr or Louis CK have, that means your special. If you’re someone that’s packaged for two or three years with a YouTube video that hit, that’s cute. Make your motherfucking money, get out, and go somewhere.”
He’s stumbled upon a career he’s good at. When asked what his long term goals are, he remarks: “I’m chasing ghosts. I wanna be the best. So, I’m chasing people that aren’t even living. I wanna be mentioned in the same connotation that people refer to people that are legends. Not saying I want to be a legend, but when it’s all said and done, I want people to look at me like ‘Wow, seeing that guy on stage was special. It wasn’t just funny, it was special.’ So that’s the expectation that I hold to myself.” I maintain there’s got to be something special about him if he could turn a stiff crowd into a room bursting with laughter.
Annabelle Quezada is a writer from California.
For more on Daryl, visit myspace.com/therealdarylwright.