Has a stranger ever asked you a deeply personal question? How about in front of thousands of people, set to auto-tune and soulful piano?
Nearly two weeks ago, my friend Daniela and I made the impulsive, last-minute decision to see Morgan Jay. We were visiting Vancouver for a conference — Daniela fasting for Ramadan, both of us hoping to turn our brains off — it was exactly the kind of low-lift fun we were seeking on Saturday night.
If you don’t recognize Morgan Jay’s name, there’s still a good chance you’ve seen him on your ‘For You’ page. The L.A.-based comedian got his start in traditional stand-up, performing at open mics and interning at The Tonight Show. He rode the short-form video crowdwork trend to stardom, cornering the auto-tuned comedy market.
An average clip might portray Jay running at full speed through the audience, lambasting people for entering late or sitting in an empty seat to watch his own show with the crowd. All this while being heavily auto-tuned, accompanied by his pianist Tofer Medina and loyal cameraman Masih Nooristani.
Jay and his contemporaries, including Matt Rife, are arguably more well-known for their audience interactions than their planned routines. This is not inherently a bad thing, but it made me skeptical that Jay’s two-hour show could hold my attention. But we laughed the entire time.
Deeply irreverent and chronically online, Jay’s material cannot be termed “highbrow.” During the show, he delivered a serious reading of his explicit Harry Potter-themed poetry and hosted a 2,000-person game of “Smash or Pass” featuring pictures of aliens (when Jay showed Mark Zuckerberg, the sold-out Queen Elizabeth Theatre erupted with shouts of “Pass!”). The performance was almost entirely reliant on sexual humour, to the point where I believe a censored version of the show would contain almost no intelligible content.
The few moments where the show threatens to veer in a serious direction — discussing Jay’s immigrant mother, his political views, the untimely death of his father — it is immediately resolved by a deadpan turn-to-camera or fart joke. Perfectly designed for the brain-rotted Gen Z attention span, the punchline is never far enough away for discomfort.
I can see why some people don’t find Jay’s comedic stylings particularly compelling. In one sustained bit, he pulled a couple from the crowd and instructed the boyfriend on how best to seduce his partner through singing and gyrating. In another, he had random audience members sing extremely explicit, and arguably degrading, quotes.
It is interactions like this that prompt Jay’s team to display a waiver as the crowd files in. By being present for the show, you waive your right to your likeness and voice to be used in his content and promotional materials. While everyone seemed happy to participate (and presumably knew what they were getting into with this variety of entertainment), I wondered how many people woke up hungover, wishing they could scrub their performance from Jay’s SD card.
The atmosphere feels noticeably different from traditional stand-up, though. For much of the show, the house lights remain on, you’re permitted to pull out your phone to record at any time and audience participation is constantly encouraged. During crowdwork segments, Jay is often not visible from your seat, meaning you watch a good section of the show mediated through the camera. In some ways, it feels less like a comedy show and more like watching content being created in real time.
But paradoxically, at no point did I feel disconnected from Jay or the people around me. I didn’t see many phones out, either. He creates an environment that is participatory, relaxed and convivial. If you’ve ever been deeply sleep deprived, joking with a friend about something that isn’t really that funny, but laughing so hard your stomach hurts, that best approximates the feeling of a Morgan Jay show.