The Pretender

Tribe 8's chief just doesn't belong.

by Molly Eichel

[ comedy/lgbtq ]

Lynn Breedlove, former leader of '90s dyke punk band Tribe 8, opens up a vein in Confessions of a Poser, his new show that pokes fun at having a foot in several different communities — none of which coalesce.

Lynn Breedlove: It's comedy. But the thing about me is I'm in-between, and that's what the show is about. I used to be a dyke; now I identify as a trans guy. But people who are dykes don't consider me a dyke, and people who are trans don't consider me trans, because I don't fit into the requirements and definitions. So I'm kind of challenging that.

My show is actually challenging formats, as well. It's not really standup because I use props and it's not really theater because I have too many punch lines.

CP: So that's how it differs from your previous One Freak Show? It's more theater?

LB: Yeah, it's less punch line, punch line, punch line. With the other one, I really worked hard to make every line have a laugh. This is a little deeper, but it's still funny because that's what I do. The feedback I've gotten is they like it better because it's not as snarky.

CP: What prompted you to put your heart on your sleeve?

LB: I was angrier when I first starting doing comedy. But over the years, I learned to open my heart and actually get more funny as I developed more compassion for my community.

But I was pissed at my community at first because we were judging each other all the time about how we're doing it wrong, we're doing it wrong, we're doing it wrong. Everyone around just feels really squashed, just censored and silent and ashamed all the time. And I was like, "God, why do we string all these letters together if we're not going to support each other and what we are and what we do?"

In this show, I actually worked through that annoyance to a point where I can come back around full circle and go, "You know what? Actually, it's because of the lesbians that trans people can be where we are today, and we have them to thank for all this stuff." It's part of a whole book that I'm about to put out on Manic D Press called One Freak Show. It's all about, let's bitch at each other and how much we hate each other, but at the end, it's all like we actually love each other.

CP: You also talk about Buddhism within the show. How did you become a Buddhist?

LB: Well, I live in San Francisco so that's what we do. A lot of Jewish Buddhists. I haven't taken a vow or whatever it is. I'm not going to meditate every day and not eat meat. But that's what the show is about — trying to be enlightened. I'm fucking trying!

Like, my dad taught me how to be a man, which is like, you gotta kill things and eat them, basically. But in Buddhism, it's like, no! No killing anything, you gotta move the worm to the side of the road and save it. How are you gonna incorporate these concepts of enlightenment, being a good person basically, with cultural standards of manhood? That's what the show's about.

CP: Why do you use props and make it more of a theatrical experience, as opposed to just straight standup?

LB: My work has always been 3-D. With Tribe 8, it was people jumping up onstage with blowup dolls and doing all kinds of skits. We had all these rubber dicks getting blowjobs. I like there to be a lot of visuals. It's not enough for me to just get up there and listen to my own voice for an hour. So my work has always been cabaret-like, or skit-like or sketch-like.

When I was a kid, I loved Bette Midler because she wouldn't just come onstage and stand in front of a microphone. She'd have, like, a production, man. She'd have mermaid suits and electric wheelchairs with palm trees on them. So that's kind of the idea.

CP: With the issues you deal with, people are generally afraid to make jokes. When did you decide it was OK to be funny?

LB: (Laughs) The day I was born. I've always approached these issues with humor and it's gotten me in trouble.

But it's also made the people who are pointing fingers look like they have a stick up their butt, because everyone wants to laugh. We're comedy-oriented — that's how we open our hearts. Like Margeret Cho is joke, joke, joke, but at the end, she's going to give you the moral of the story and your heart's going to be so open, she's just going to zoom right in there and go, "Yeah, right, Margaret. Wah!" People are more apt to open their mind and their hearts after they've had a laugh.

CP: You said you got in trouble. What happened?

LB: [In] the early days with Tribe 8, we were singing songs about how we didn't need the NEA and the Christian right because we censored each other. Getting up there with a rubber dick, getting a blowjob. The lesbians didn't like that: "No rubber dicks, all penetration is rape."

I was always like, "What? Come on! We're perverts. Come on!" They were like, "Well, that's not how we do it." And I was like, "Why not? This is funny." I think more queers kicked us out of their bars or called the cops on us and called us names than straight people. Straight people were like, "Yeah! You're fucking outrageous, that's hilarious. I've never seen anything like that before." And queers were like, "Oh! All these rules."

I think that generally people who are more repressed impose more rules on themselves in an attempt to try to get some street cred, to fit in.

CP: I figure most of your audience knows you from Tribe 8. Do you include music into your performances at all?

LB: I used to do a lot more music like when I first started out. In fact, the first show was called "Less Rock, More Hilarity" because my band would say "less talk, more rock" because I would try to do comedy in between songs.

But now I actually have bands in Europe that I play with, so I can get my yah yahs out. But mostly I just want to get up there and make people laugh. That's my favorite thing.

(molly.eichel@citypaper.net)

Confessions of a Poser | Sat., June 13, 9 p.m., $7, Tritone, 1508 South St., 215-545-0475, tritonebar.com