Joe (TELL): Yeah, that's it rolling. Gotcha. So, yeah...well, yeah, thanks. I really do appreciate...I said, I am a big fan of your work. I came across it a year or so ago, and I showed Elena right away. I was like, This is my shit right here. I just really appreciate your sensibility, and I'm curious to dig in a little bit more, hear more about you. But I guess from jump, why don't you give me some background...where are you from, what’s your from-jump?

Comrade: From jump...I was born and raised in St. Cloud, Minnesota. Was there up through college, lived with my parents for a while after that, just bumming for a while, then moved down here. Moved to Crystal, another suburb of Minneapolis, in 2018 when I was 26. Born in 1992, August. Virgo, Year of the Monkey. That’s me.

Comrade: I don’t even know what you're...how old are you?

Joe (TELL): Me? ’83.

Comrade: You're 83 years old?

Joe (TELL): I wish I was 83 years old. I'm ready for my old-man era. But 1983.

Joe (TELL): So I'm 42.

Comrade: That's Snake maybe, I don't know.

Joe (TELL): I'm guessing, yeah, I'll roll with it. So, yeah...what was it like growing up in St. Cloud? I mean, I'm sure that's...

Comrade: Yeah. It was… I mean, on the poor side of middle class. I went to public school through sixth grade, then moved to a private school where it was pretty much the same. I learned that poor white people and rich white people are the same kind of racist.

Joe (TELL): Yeah, everybody is the same. What was that like for you? Because you’re mixed race, yeah?

Comrade: Yeah. My dad’s Black. He’s from Detroit, originally from Mississippi...born in Tennessee, then moved to Detroit when he was like six years old. Born in a shack in the Bible Belt, in the sad lands. And then my mom immigrated here from Singapore. She’s what they call Eurasian...Chinese, Malay, and a little Portuguese, I think.

Joe (TELL): Did you grow up with that cultural influence, or what was your experience?

Comrade: I mean, I grew up in St. Cloud. My mom and my grandmother also immigrated here, and they cooked most of my meals. It was me, my parents, my grandmother, and two older sisters.

Joe (TELL): So you're getting at the fact that Minnesota in general, but St. Cloud in particular, has a lot of racist undertones and overtones.

Comrade: Yeah, that’s why we lived there.

Joe (TELL): I had an experience one time we were on tour and we were in St. Cloud on tour. Walked into a venue and the guy handing out drink tickets had a massive Nazi tattoo. And I was like, that is on brand. I had already heard rumors about St. Cloud. But when you say racism comes in a lot of forms, what was your immediate experience? Was it active every day? Or was it just kind of in the water?

Comrade: Yeah. I stayed out of the water. I'm dry. I'm a very dry boy. No...it was immediate, and in a way that was normalized. Like, “Oh, I just don't talk to those people,” or, “Don't expect to get to know these people.” There were levels to it. My sister, who was lighter-skinned and passed more for Indian or Native...she was much lighter. Imagine yourself as a 12-year-old girl...that’s my sister at the time. People would be nicer to her or invite her to parties. She’s also just a cooler person. She would get invited to birthday parties I wasn’t invited to. And not just from white people...from other people of color too. Colorism...that’s the word.

Joe (TELL): I’m curious how that affects your work, because I feel like—

Comrade: Obviously I hate my sister.

Joe (TELL): No...like, because I think the thing that drew me to your work...and I assume this is connected...is that it didn’t feel like you were putting on any kind of face at all. You weren’t trying to mediate, or make it easier on anybody. You were just laying shit out. And yet you also have a sense of humor, and you’re quick in your own way...you’re slow and quick at the same time in this really unique flavor. It really drew me to you. So the question is: how does your background affect your work? How did your upbringing lead to the style of comedy you do?

Comrade: Yeah, that’s exactly correct. I think not having to put on someone else’s face...just my own. When you're a person of color, especially in a small town, you try to exert yourself as you are so people don’t assume or put you in a box. A lot of people say it takes a decade to find your voice in comedy. I think being a person of color in a land of people without color made me figure out my voice as soon as I spoke. As soon as people assumed I was something I wasn’t, I had to push my identity forward. Even if I don't think of myself as loud or abrasive, the loudest parts of me were exerted just to show I'm not loud and abrasive.

Joe (TELL): Very stubborn, yeah. When you went on stage, was that the impulse that drove you to pick up a microphone?

Comrade: A little anxiety, a little vanity, yeah.

Joe (TELL): I’m curious about that, because a lot of your act is about an aversion to people...or an aversion to the buzz of society...yet you’re putting yourself in the spotlight. That’s fascinating. How did you make sense of that? Was something driving you to go on stage, and something pushing you back? Or were you like, “No, I want to be on stage”?

Comrade: Being on stage, I'm not part of society. I'm above them. I'm better than them. No...it's easier. One of my earliest memories...I moved in seventh grade to a new school. I was the only person of color. I remember walking in, sitting alone, feeling everyone stare at me, waiting until the teacher was like, “Everyone introduce yourself.” And I was just like, “Hi, I'm Comrade.” Between the time they saw me and the time I got to announce myself...10, 15 minutes of internal anxiety. That egocentrism of an 11-year-old. And I'm still there. I'm still immature with my sense of self.

Joe (TELL): Why put yourself in that situation again, say in a comedy club? Do you have that same feeling walking on stage?

Comrade: Yeah. It’s all fear from the time I walk into the venue. When I started doing open mics in St. Cloud...I got into a show early. I was hanging out in a dingy bar, drinking nothing. Some older white guy comes up and says, “Hey, you look like you want to fight someone.” And he points at a guy: “You should go fight him.” Like, no thanks. I do my set an hour or two later, and he comes up like, “Yeah, you're funny.”

Joe (TELL): Is any of that conscious for you? Like, “If I show myself this way, I can transform perception”? Or is it just—

Comrade: I don't know if I'm transforming anything. I can't save all the white men of the world. But maybe I can redirect them into a different box for three minutes.

Joe (TELL): It makes sense. So, your work...I’m curious to hear you describe it in your own words, even though I hate describing my own work. But I'll give you my perception, and I'm curious how much resonates: It seems like society pushes people to present like, “Living my best life,” whereas behind the scenes it's different. And your work removes the face entirely. Behind and in front feel like one experience. So how do you view the subject matter?

Comrade: Sadness can be equally banal. I’ve tried acai bowls...I didn’t like them. Too soupy. Just cold oatmeal. But describing my work in my own words...my work is describing my work in my own words. That's what it is. Trying to figure out what words people haven’t heard before, but have felt before. And yeah, I'm sad on stage because anything else would take effort I wouldn’t be willing to put in. If I had to be that happy, I could only do five minutes of comedy a month. This is the only way I can do comedy and not be exhausted all the time.

Joe (TELL): Why do comedy at all?

Comrade: Because I enjoy it. It’s funny. I do feel joy sometimes. Joy is part of my lived experience.

Joe (TELL): That picks up on one of the questions I have. One of the things interesting about your work is that you seem to find the darker stuff funny. Stuff most people try desperately to avoid. And I find joy in your work because you don't shy away from it. So do you actively find those things funny and go share them because they bring you joy?

Comrade: Yeah. You can’t avoid all the darkness and bleakness of the world. And if you think about it long enough, you'll think about it in a humorous way. It'll be ingrained in you. And sharing it...if other people laugh, it’s a shared struggle. If they don’t laugh, then I’m just sad alone, which helps me write better material anyway. I'm always swinging.

Joe (TELL): Do you think strategically about your career? Or are you like, “Whatever happens happens”?

Comrade: I'm sure I used to be. Whenever I check my bank account I think strategically for a day or two, then I get tired and take a nap. I'm okay with having nothing. I have resolutions and goals...most of them far enough out that I don’t have to put a deadline on them. I love to procrastinate. I didn’t do well in school.

Joe (TELL): Because you’re obviously really smart and observant...well, I shouldn't say “obviously,” but—

Comrade: I work very hard to make people think I'm smart.

Joe (TELL): To me, anybody who can observe reality without rounding all the edges off...that’s a form of intelligence. If not the highest form.

Comrade: I’ve never lived in the suburbs. That’s real street knowledge. Street smarts.

Joe (TELL): What I’m curious about is: if I take your work at face value, I wouldn’t assume you think far forward. It feels in-the-moment. But then there’s the reality of making a living...followers, clicks, shows. And that tension. Do you think about that tension actively?

Comrade: I don't think my work is more private than someone eating acai bowls. I would never eat on camera. That’s my line. Long-term goal: never eat on camera. Comedy has to be relevant to the current moment or else it expires. I have jokes about Wicked...is this article going to come out before the movie? Who knows. Jokes about TV shows no one watches anymore. It’s always a loss. Always feels like you're dropping something on the ground and hoping someone picks it up. One-liners get the most clicks. Longer bits don’t...but they make more revenue. I try not to let that direct what I want to make. I try to make what I want to make, or else I'll hate myself more than my art.

Joe (TELL): That didn’t answer your question at all.

Comrade: No, it didn’t.

Joe (TELL): It’s interesting, though. All the questions are just alley-oops for you to talk anyway. Speaking of jokes about TV shows no one watches, one of my favorite things you do is the Pokémon stuff. I've watched all of them a couple times. I love them. Like the episode where the trainer is trading the butterfly Pokémon...you point out how she's constantly devaluing it. I never would have thought of it that way, but once you point it out, it's so obvious. It's funny, but also reflective of the human experience. Are you a big Pokémon fan?

Comrade: I made that because I wanted more content during that phase. Pokémon is the number one brand in the world. It reaches the furthest. I grew up with the show. I watch every episode every year. I wanted to make weekly content without making a podcast. So this is me not wanting to make a podcast.

Joe (TELL): Do you riff? Or write it out? Watch episodes and take notes?

Comrade: I watch every episode every year. Before an episode, I think about what I remember most, then rewatch and take notes. I watch once for the American dub, once with no sound to look at the animation, and then try to squeeze out whatever criticism I can.

Joe (TELL): Were you always able to pick up on subtext like that?

Comrade: No. Hindsight. I've gotten better. My whole thing is hindsight. I'm probably missing the subtext right now. And that's comedy. Next year I’ll be like, “I should've chosen the grape Waterloo.”

Joe (TELL): For the record, my two favorites are lime and black cherry. So you were safe.

Comrade: Smart...you have two favorites.

Joe (TELL): I'm curious about the comedy scene here. Do you consider yourself part of the community? What's it like doing comedy in Minneapolis?

Comrade: Right now it’s good. When I moved here, people were welcoming. I got onto shows quickly. There’s a hierarchy...like all art disciplines have...but most people are kind. If you show kindness, you get kindness back. If you show effort, people show effort back.

Joe (TELL): Are there good comics here?

Comrade: Yeah. A lot of very good comics. Minneapolis is known more for music, but we’re right under that. Touring comedians come here often and ask for local features. I think the city has 40 or 50 very good comedians...people who can be funny for 10 minutes.

Joe (TELL): That still seems like a lot. So if someone wanted to get into comedy as an audience member...what would they do? Acme?

Comrade: We hate Acme. Not for me. Sisyphus Brewing hosts a lot of shows...they have the best open mic in the city, Thursdays. You can see decent to good comedy for free most nights. It’s structured...three to five minutes each. I hate musicians, too.

Joe (TELL): You hate musicians?

Comrade: I hate musicians.

Comrade: Comedy: Sisyphus Brewing is great. House of Comedy at Mall of America. I host an open mic on Mondays at Bryant Lake Bowl...that’s my plug. Free show, we don’t get paid.

Joe (TELL): We’ll see our faces there. We live right by it. Community shifted after the pandemic. I moved here in 2018 and it was easier to get people to meet up. Now we’re older, it's harder. But it still exists. Still chill. No big drama. Do you see Minneapolis as viable for your long-term goals? A lot of people move to LA or NYC when they get serious.

Comrade: I don't know what “make it” means anymore. People would argue I'm doing good enough now. We’re the North Star state...that’s the best north. But it’s getting cold again and that always hurts. I’d move if I had a reason. But my family is here...parents, sisters, their kids. I don’t actually hate my sister...that’s the big lie. That’s the lie that obscures all the smaller lies. If I move, I'd move farther...out of the country. But you can make it here. Most things are online now.

Joe (TELL): I’m curious about the Midwest in general. Do you identify as a Midwesterner?

Comrade: Yeah. Love-hate. Love the summer, hate the winter. I do think of myself as Minnesotan...to the chagrin of people even more Minnesotan than me. People will ask me how long I’ve been here...I’m like, “Longer than you. I'm here to destroy you.” That used to be a joke I'd tell in St. Cloud. “How long have you lived here?” “My whole life. Why do you think I would choose to live here?”

Joe (TELL): Just wrapping...couple fluffier questions. If you were showing someone around Minnesota, where would you take them?

Comrade: Nice fluffy question...I don't go out much. If I wasn't here, I'd be home. I go to Bryant Lake Bowl. The KC is still all right. They don’t have guacamole anymore because of tariffs. Nowhere has guacamole. Have you seen guacamole recently? Avocado? They’re gone.

Joe (TELL): I see a rotten one on our counter right now.

Comrade: That's a sign of the times. I’d say come to an open mic. I beg people to be audience members. Be part of my failing industry.

Joe (TELL): What’s your house like?

Comrade: One bedroom. A lot of Pokémon memorabilia...some lifelong, some from eBay. I’ve kept it to make content someday. Laptop, PS5, video games. Went broke to get a PlayStation. The heater’s not working. Several scattered heaters and humidifiers. It’s cold and dry here. I need warmth and moisture. I need to go back to Tennessee or Mississippi. That’s where my skin is supposed to be. My parents come from tropical climates. I'm tropical.

Joe (TELL): When I go down to Mississippi, it takes me a day or two to adjust. I’m Nordic in a lot of ways...even though none of my people come from there.

Comrade: The beard, the hair. Seattle helped my skin...anywhere with moisture. My place is fine. TV, bed with one pillow. I don't need a duvet cover. Scattered clothes, depression nest. Legos. No Funko Pops...I’m anti-Funko Pop. Books...graphic novels, science-y books. Michael Pollan, Brian Greene. Jared Diamond.

Joe (TELL): Before we wrap totally...anything we didn’t talk about that you’re itching to talk about?

Comrade: Yeah...I’m itching because I need topical cream. I have eczema. Eczema awareness. We don’t have a month or a day, but some people are always itching. Yeah, thank you for having me.

Joe (TELL): Thank you so much. Real pleasure.