What Marc Maron Means to Me

When I was 18, George Carlin passed away. It was one of those moments not so much shocking because of his health or age, but because of the regret that came with it. After picking up a copy of “It’s Bad For Ya” from a Best Buy, I was reminded of everything I loved about him. He transcended comedy and spoke wisdom through these scathing, increasingly cynical remarks. Even then, the lasting remark I had while listening was the belief that I missed my chance to sit in a room and hear him tell that joke. To have a story of watching someone of his stature with an audience who understood his appeal meant the world to me.

Of the dozens of celebrities I’ve been in the same room as, they all differ from Carlin. Whereas I could only cite his HBO specials, I could recall Conan O’Brien giving me a high-five, or seeing Jon Hamm on Doug Loves Movies from side stage. These events are ultimately minor, but they become formative memories, and there’s something cathartic about seeing people you admire doing what they do. They make them feel real and not just some fabrication designed especially for you. Even if I lack the ambition to see every artist who means something to me, there’s a handful that I love and MUST witness firsthand.

Few can compare to the levels of excitement I had around finally seeing Marc Maron. It felt like kismet that after 11 years of being a fan of WTF, he was finally playing at a nearby venue. The Carpenter Center had the added benefit of being at my campus. Even if I looked at the banner stating “This May Be the Last Time” and mistook his typical curmudgeon for a threat, it still felt like a sign. Enough episodes of his podcast alluded to him potentially retiring from stand-up that I needed to take the risk. Even if this wasn’t the end, it was potentially the last time he played at a venue that didn’t involve me trekking through the dreaded Los Angeles traffic and strategizing the parking maps for cheap fare.

But to understand my stubbornness in seeing him over other comedians I have been long time fans of (like Patton Oswalt for instance), I need to clarify a few things. I’m not necessarily one to spend hours in a comedy club, wading through average sets looking for the diamond in the rough. As much as it pains me, Maron is probably one of the few comedy shows I’ll put in the effort to see because of what he means to me. He’s more than just another funnyman. To me, he’s someone who has helped me through rough times and, in return, I’ve felt excited watching him graduate from “a podcaster recording out of his garage” up to where he was this past weekend, prominently starring in The Bad Guys (2022) and D.C.’s League of Superpets (2022). I may have not been there for his entire journey, but I was around for this recent third.

I was there back in 2011 when I decided to get into podcasts. A.V. Club’s Podmass reported on a lot of the big names of the time such as SModcast or Comedy Death Ray, pointing out how these alternative comedians were redefining media. Somewhere in the mix was WTF with Marc Maron. I had never heard of him before Podmass, and yet he quickly became an essential not only for the guests he would have on, but the way that it genuinely felt like there was a conversation going on every time I pressed play. For two days a week, he was there ready to check in with me.

As much as can be said for an entertainer and his fans, I felt personally connected to him in a way that few artists had up to that point. At the time I was 21, a bit aimless with a failing college career and an unfulfilling grocery store job. Depression was inevitable. Given that WTF’s original mission statement was talking about the madness of the world, I would click play and just enjoy Maron at a period that is very different from today. He was a seasoned comic, and yet he too seemed aimless, feeling like his emotions had gotten the best of him. This podcast was a last vestige of sorts to do mom-and-pop style interviews and find another avenue. The results were inspiring because in discussing his frustrations, he grew as a person. He became happier. Not only that, but it connected with an audience strongly enough that he’s revived his career, going from bit parts in films like Sleepwalk With Me (2012) to his own autobiographical show Maron and the short-loved G.L.O.W. 

It was the type of message that spoke to me at a time when I lacked focus. Whether it was him coming to terms with his past or making small movements forward, I felt encouraged by his story. If he could be transparent and open through his own means, then why not me? I had my own podcast for a few years called Nerd’s Eye View. We never got anywhere, but having that outlet is something I miss dearly. To me, Maron’s success was as much about his personal work ethic as it was about working through his own grief. He was allowed to be authentic and it paid off nicely. It’s maybe why I tend to admire people who are more transparent, if just because there tends to be wisdom in their highs and lows.

Going into The Carpenter Center, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The most that I knew was it was a stand-up event. It was a minor stop on a bigger tour where he was preparing himself for a taping next month. What would he even discuss and would it still resonate with me like it did all those years ago? I never stopped listening, and yet I was concerned that something would be off. Maybe it’s just cold feet, of finally seeing someone you admire and helped you process miserable times of your life, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to finally hear his voice come over the intercom and introduce his opener Lucas Short. Maybe I had changed too much with the pandemic taking me to some of my darkest corners, thrusting me into identity crises, and trying to find a reason to move forward as a better person.

Scene from Sword of Trust

Sure, some of the skepticism came from surveying the room. Despite a packed show, I saw too many senior citizens. Had this crowd gotten mixed up with the season shareholders? I try to hold onto the assurance that he’s 59 years old now, having worked since the 80s. Maybe they were around during his early, more manic days and followed him to this point. With that said, I was grateful to have been surrounded by a great array of spectators. Behind me was a man talking to someone about vinyl and seeing Wilco. In front of me were an 18-year-old and his mother. To my left was a 50-year-old Spanish-speaking woman who had the cutest reaction to every off-color remark. To the other was the more expected attendee, clapping loudly in approval at every joke he liked. For whatever I felt about the audience writ large, I was surrounded by the right people and a perfect cross-section of people who clearly loved Maron as much as I did.

After 11 years of waiting, the moment came with familiar applause. Without diving into his set, it didn’t take long to fully love what he was doing. The first half hour was topical events where he broke down how big the stage felt and how Long Beach was hidden between freeways. He spoke of the recent election and the subsequent rainstorm that came along with it. As much as this can be criticized as easy liberal talking points, I was genuinely having a good time. In a time when he talked of panic around potential fascism, here was a crowd of people ready to laugh, hoping that there was some way to fight this upsetting development. Given that he’s also Jewish, the rise in Anti-Semitism lead to more than a decent amount of commentary.

It's around here that things began to click. While WTF has gotten lost in the shuffle of podcasts I listen to every week, I was reminded that evening why Maron had never gone away. I needed him because he was a voice not unlike my own. He was neurotic, a bit too self-critical, and attempted to overcome his own dark view of the world. He is someone who could be called an optimist if they had to walk through the long dark tunnel first. As someone who struggled to get through the pandemic and still feel some sense of hope, having him able to walk up to the line of despair and laugh at it was cathartic. He found ways to look at death and find a mix of philosophy and Jewish humor. Things could be worse is generally how he saw things that night. A bit worn down and more bitter than usual – not unlike Carlin’s “Life is Worth Losing” special – he spent most of the remaining set diving into morbid corners, looking for light in all of them.

I am assuming that everyone will be able to hear these routines in the near future, presumably as they’re very polished. Even then, as a long time fan, I recognized another thing that made the night perfect. As much as this was a new perspective, it was also very familiar. A quarter of the material was recognizable, workshopped from WTF episodes where he riffed on current events until he found a clever punchline. I wouldn’t say this is a bad thing at all. In fact, even knowing about how his father has dementia or of Lynn Shelton’s passing, there was some authenticity and intimacy to the stage. It felt more real and honest to hear him talk about it before a crowd, self-consciously venting while finding the jokes. You won’t fully believe it, but even Lynn’s death features a few poignant laughs.

It’s here that I found myself most at peace with finally achieving this moment. I wanted to see Maron not necessarily because he was the funniest voice I’d ever heard, but to miss out on it would be like not visiting a friend. I regret not seeing Carlin because he made me eager to be an independent thinker. Maron was someone who taught me the value of opening up and not holding it all inside. For as much success as he’s had, there’s the reality that the past few years have beaten him down as well. It could be that he’s 59, but it could also be that the pandemic has left him more weary, trying to find a reason to keep moving forward and find that joy in life. Even if I didn’t know what to expect, knowing him meant I was like a friend curious to know if he’d talk about Lynn, to know that he was handling it just fine.

The first special of his I listened to

Which is why after ending that night I went to watch his “Too Real” special from 2017, which was his first collaboration with Shelton. Given how much joy you could see in their relationship in Sword of Trust (2019), there is something bittersweet about Maron in 2022. I’d argue it’s there in all of us and a perfect reason why his honesty is so vital now. When Lynn was around, he seemed to be at his most open and creative. While “Too Real” was more reflective of his relationship with his previous girlfriend, there was still that recognition of happiness and zippy attitude. He talked about vinyl and wearing goofy hats. He was much more diverse and hopeful in a way that I can’t imagine his new special will be. It’s a bittersweet reality to all of this.

Even then, watching “Too Real” I am made aware of the value of him being open and reflective of the moment. Because that was just after the 2016 American Presidential Election, he had a whole bunch of talking points that may sound stale now, but his passion for taking down ignorance and stupidity was a nice relief. There was something more innocent even in that, before that presidency got really bad. To see him at that time and know how he felt is something that I hope I could achieve in everything that I write. Not everything needs to be a check-in, but to have that connection to your audience means the world. I like to imagine that in being transparent, I am connecting with someone. If nothing else, I am creating perfect documentation for how I saw myself at any given time, which as I struggle to remember what’s meaningful is important.

It’s also humorous to have done this the weekend that Gallagher passed away and that episode made the rounds again. To remember when it was new and how much that rattled Maron is its own time capsule of a moment. Even as he’s nostalgic, it’s not out of bitterness but at the awe of what empire he’s built, how he moved from making cameos on his buddies' various podcasts to being a genuine character actor. He has had a tumultuous career and not one that’s always easy to love, but what I love is his willingness to accept it and reflect on ways to better himself. The whole trip with WTF has been about that atonement in a sense. It’s maybe why I love it even as I’m bored of the guest.

Maybe I could’ve seen Maron five or six times by now. Maybe I could’ve done so much more to have him included in my life. Even then, as I sat in that theater with my Boomer Lives shirt on that I bought 10 (!) years ago, I recognized the power of art, and how knowing someone can impact your life. This special may be morbid and full of humor that doesn’t reach everyone, but it speaks to people like me, who find reasons to laugh at pain. There’s catharsis in the breakthrough and I can only hope so long as I continue to struggle, I can take Maron’s advice and continue to just see the good in the worst possible times. So long as I’m open to the future, there’s little stopping me. I’m thankful that I now have a Maron story. It may not be one exclusive to me, but it does make me feel better to know that I’m not the only one who was laughing the whole time.