Jack McGee
There's a large group of comedians in the audience for opening night of Stop the Noise, which makes complete sense. Even if Baumann and his partner-in-crime Sachie Mikawa weren’t responsible for supporting and mentoring so much of the Wellington Comedy Scene (their company Monfu’s Soapbox series of “open-hearted-open-mics” have a lot to do with this), they’d still have shown up. Even if he wasn’t seemingly the nicest, kindest, gentlest man you’ve ever seen, they’d still have shown up. Even if his marketing hadn’t been exquisite, loaded with some of the most ecstatic pull quotes I’ve ever seen, they still would’ve shown up because Baumann is the kind of funny that makes you want to take notes. He embodies the remarkable intersection between heart and craft, vibrant joy built with pristine polish. The group of comedians in the audience spent the hour absolutely losing their shit. I’ve heard reports the laughter echoed all the way down the BATS stairwell.
Baumann is a self-confessed quiet person. He’s open about the fact that he’s complimented heavily by the presence of a mic, and his softly spoken delivery puts us quickly at ease. He moves effortlessly through different modes, from rapid-fire one-or-two-liners, to longer storytelling sections, to spoken word poetry, to a meditative-origami session, to the occasional dance break. The one thing that unifies them all however, is that in his gentle delivery we’re always on the edge of our seat, unsure whether this anecdote or joke is going to pivot into an absurdist punchline (“at the end of the day, it’s night time”), or a sincere observation (“life isn’t about finding yourself, it’s about be lost in the things you love”). He plays with rhythm beautifully, setting up a cliche and then diving out of it the second we’ve realised we were in one (regarding the queer community) “I don’t want to comment on a community I’m not a part of… So I won’t!”
There’s a cohesiveness to Baumann. Whereas other comedians will try to place themself as normal people, telling kitchen-sink stories in an endeavour to make the performer/audience dynamic less pronounced, Baumann is very open about the fact that his life is art. After making an impeccable dolphin sound, he’ll pause for a moment to tell us how long he spent working on it (over a decade) - there’s no illusion that this wasn’t sculpted with deliberate precision. Baumann’s comedy is by no means inaccessible to non-artists but his lack of desire to hide the realities of his professional life certainly endears him to creatives. One line, which out of most other mouths would feel patronising, overly earnest, and a little sickening, is touching said by Baumann - “You don’t have a home to go back to, but you have a life.”
There’s the danger, with these kinds of critically-adored, community-worshipped acts, that they become part of the wallpaper. It’s accepted that they’re exceptional, and no one feels the need to really push that - it’s far more exciting to be rooting for an underdog, or a surprise, than someone who’s been praised by The Guardian. I think we should be rooting for Trent Baumann. No ceiling is too high for him or Mikawa (who composed a gorgeous score for the set). A real highlight of the fest and our city, stop the noise and go see the show.