Give It Up for Sam Campbell, the Maestro!

This week, we’re highlighting 24 talented writers and performers for Vulture’s annual list “The Comedians You Should and Will Know.” Our goal is to introduce a wider audience to the talent that has the comedy community and industry buzzing. (You can read more about our methodology at the link above.) We asked the comedians on the list to answer a series of questions about their work, performing, goals for the future, and more. Next up is Sam Campbell.

Tell us a story from your childhood that you think might explain why you ended up becoming a comedian.
I once cut a photo of an old man from the local newspaper and showed it to my parents. I told them that some people had come to our school and photographed our class, then used a computer to predict what we would look like when we were 50 years old. My mum was upset because the man looked pretty rough. It’s interesting because the technology I’d lied about now exists. There’s an app for nearly everything. Please no more questions about my childhood if that’s all right.

If you were immortalized as a cartoon character, what would your outfit be?
I would please like to be depicted wearing a safety harness.

P.S.: My friend Greg once confided in me that he hates it when a cartoon character is wearing an outfit with a pattern and while the character moves around, the pattern remains static. Do you know what I mean? Imagine, say, an animated fellow is wearing a plaid shirt and swaying side to side, the plaid doesn’t change. It’s almost as if his shirt is an opaque window in front of a plaid background. It’s called “perspective-incorrect texturing,” and it doesn’t bother me too much, though that’s not exactly what I said at the time. I had to be agreeable. You didn’t see how angry he was getting.

What’s your proudest moment/achievement of your comedy career so far?
There is a funny comedian called James Gill who runs a great night in London at a pub called the Tommyfield. He hosts the show, and once as I left the stage, he said to the crowd, “Give it up for Sam Campbell, the Maestro!” I got a real jolt from being called “the Maestro.” It did wonders for my confidence. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. I have done the gig a few times since and discovered he calls quite a lot of comedians “the Maestro.” He says it all the time about people. But you can’t discount something just because it’s short-lived! Buddy Holly only lived to be 22 years old when he died in that horrible plane crash, and he made a huge impact in the music world.

Which comedian’s career trajectory would you most like to follow?
The answer is simple: Shelley Berman.

Tell us everything about your worst show ever. (This can involve venue, audience, other acts on the lineup, anything!)
I’ve bombed more times than you’ve had hot dinners. Every time I go on and I am trying to showcase rather than to just goose around, I almost always die very badly. I have had some really awful and unforgivable ones lately. But, a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.

Sorry this is not a specific answer. If I try to access some of those memories in depth, I might get trapped and not be able to come back. A few of these questions have been a bit close to the bone, actually. I know full well what you are up to with this so-called survey. I am watching you.

What have you learned about your own joke-writing process that you didn’t know when you started?
My first performances were a bit out of the ordinary. I’d accompany groups of elderly widows on shopping trips to high-end department stores, and it was my duty to keep them entertained with clever remarks and gentle spoonerisms. I would steer clear of anything too bawdy for the longest time before I realized that that is exactly what they wanted! Now I do a lot of blue material about sex. My mouth has become filthy.

What’s the biggest financial hurdle you’ve encountered since becoming a comedian?
Yikes! I have agreed to some suspicious-ass percentiles and deals. Keeps me up at night and makes my throat seize up. I make a lot of mistakes in this area. I keep all of my money in the same plastic bag I use for old batteries and my swimming shorts. This question made me confront things I wasn’t ready to face. Cheers for that.

At the end of the movie 8 Mile, Eminem’s character, B-Rabbit, starts his final battle rap by dissing himself so the person he’s battling has nothing left to attack. How would you roast yourself so the other person would have nothing to say?
If I was in a rap battle, I would act sort of sheepish around my rival before the event. I’d take them aside and tell them I’d been going through a bit of a rough patch, and I’d ask if they wouldn’t mind taking it easy on me. I’d even go as far as to say that I’d been thinking of pulling out because I’d been feeling really self-conscious and wasn’t sure I was cut out for battling. On the night of the main event, my opponent would be on eggshells: He’s desperate not to say anything too untoward, he’s worried about me. I grab the microphone and spit the most insane, messed-up, deeply hateful, Hinchliffe-inspired, pure Tony, pure evil bars — dark but still clever rhymes about not only my opponent but their entire crew. During the rebuttal, I would deliberately yawn and look at my phone.

When it comes to your comedy opinions — about material, performing, audience, trends you want to kill/revive, the industry, etc. — what hill will you die on?
A lot of people give me a hard time for laughing at my own jokes onstage. I would like to address this once and for all. They are not my jokes. I stole them from various open-mic comedians and “Far Side” comic strips, and my laughter is always genuine.

What is the best comedy advice, and then the worst comedy advice, you’ve ever received?
Best: I have a long boozy lunch with Jimmy Carr whenever he’s not touring, and it is always an honor and a master class to listen to him muse on the craft. He recently said, “Be careful when you get to the top of the mountain. You might not be able to breathe the air.” That has stuck with me.

Worst: Johnny McAllister, who runs the comedy Lounge in Perth, Australia, used to always say to me, “Only do your gold!” It was a lot of pressure. If I was a promoter, I would say to each and every act, “You are golden. Go out there and see what happens when the light bounces off you.”
Thanks for interviewing me even though I’m not an American POWERHOUSE.