Skankfest brings dark stand-up to the bright lights of Las Vegas
“I love this crowd!” Annie Lederman yelled, introducing Jamie Kennedy as she exited the Las Vegas stage after a crushing set. “You are disgusting pigs, and you know it!” Roaring applause, testosterone sweat and vape haze filled the air. Then, Kennedy came up to the stage to tell jokes about 2020’s attempted cancellation of Trader Joe’s over ethnic products. Sporting a leather crop top and a pre-ketamine glow, Lederman then rejoined the black-teed stand-up superfans populating Skankfest: Return to Vegas weekend earlier this month.
Los Angeles comedians joined the seventh 21-and-over convocation of dark comedians and listeners who adore them at Notoriety, a former third-floor multiplex of the Neonopolis center on downtown’s Fremont Street. The vibe: part South by Southwest festival, part comedy-club fun house. Six stages produced 14 hours of programming daily with the assist of 200 volunteers. The fest also included a a tattoo studio, an outdoor wrestling ring and nightly afterparties at the Peppermint Hippo strip club.
“Skankfest was like one of those rock star fantasy camps for comedians,” said stand-up Omid Singh. “We were surrounded by some of the best and darkest comics and the fans that love them.”
Singh hosted “Mafia Games” players Sara Weinshenk, Hormoz Rashidi, Jerron Horton and more as part of Kim Fest, an afternoon festival-within-a-festival from L.A. comedian Kim Congdon. Around the time that a guy sucked Congdon’s toes on her live game show dubbed “The Comedy Dating Show,” “Legion of Skanks” podcast guest Joe DeRosa disappeared with a trans woman behind the main Yo Kratom Theater stage —this sequence of events was a sign that Skankfest had begun.
New York comic Luis J. Gomez, Rebecca Trent of the Austin, Texas-based comedy club Creek and the Cave and Christine Evans of the New York comedy club the Stand founded Skankfest in 2016.
“I got an email from Luis,” Trent recalls, “that said, ‘We are doing a festival called Skankfest. That is all.’ Six weeks later, Christine and I delivered the first Skankfest with headliners Doug Stanhope, Sal Vulcano, Michael Che, Todd Glass, Big Jay Oakerson, Dave Smith, Rachel Feinstein, Ari Shaffir, Kurt Metzger, Tim Dillon, Sam Morril, Joe List, Mark Normand, Chris Distefano and Liza Treyger.” The lineup at the Creek and the Cave’s original New York location sold 300 tickets.
The festival’s success grew alongside “Legion of Skanks.” The podcast, advertised as the “most offensive podcast on Earth,” is co-hosted by Gomez, Oakerson and Smith on Gomez’s own Gas Digital Network. Beneath the dirty jokes and button-pushing is a belief that in comedy, free speech means no topic should be deemed inappropriate.
Skankfest built a reputation and a rabid fan base for its mystery “Secret Show” one-offs including Louis C.K. (for which the Brooklyn Bazaar issued a public apology), a reunion celebrating Comedy Central’s “Tough Crowd With Colin Quinn” and its “Naked Roast” battles (where no recording is allowed).
Four years of growth came with some challenges. Blogger Seth Simons decried the festival as a bastion of alt-right comedy to Slate and The New Republic in 2019 . The festival skipped 2020 and moved to Houston in 2021 after Trent’s shuttered Long Island City venue reopened in Austin, Texas, post-pandemic.
“We made some big improvements this year, including additional seating, sun coverage and better security,” Trent said. Pre-sale tickets were snapped up before lineups were announced; nearly 200 performers entertained 3,000 people over 134 shows.
The festival’s Backstage Bar & Billiards pre-party closed with surprise musical guest Sevendust. The next morning‘s official kickoff saw Congdon lead a fan-filled bus to a partner dispensary and back again. Elsewhere on opening day, Greg Fitzsimmons popped up in a film screening of “The Road Dog,” a dramatic slow burn starring a riveting Doug Stanhope and rivers of bad whiskey. Late night, the Comedy Store unveiled an admirable Original Room re-creation complete with jazzy piano. Comedian Taylor Bos hosted up top, tracing doing drugs in Hollywood to a stint in a mental institution. The range of personal politics ran the gamut.
The following day, “Stand-Up on the Spot” host Jeremiah Watkins riffed with Zac Amico and Yamaneika Saunders. Watkins, who has attended every Skankfest from Day 1, appreciated spotting return visitors who have become fans of the show he puts on.
“When people came to see ‘Stand-Up on the Spot’ a couple of days into the festival, it was a breath of fresh air,” Watkins said. “They had seen so many of their favorite comedians doing their material, so this was a nice departure from that. Even the comics enjoyed taking a break from their prepared sets.”
Pauly Shore, who spent significant pandemic time in Vegas, similarly broke formats with a solo production. “Stick With the Dancing” featured eye-popping archival and heartfelt stories, shifting from Sam Kinison to being unprepared for MTV fame. “I had a good time despite some technical difficulties,” Shore said. “It was very emotional for me to go back in time, but I’m glad we did it there.”
Later, Texas resident Ron White materialized for Austin pal Brian Redban’s “Deathsquad” get-together. L.A.’s Jamar Neighbors followed, emerging bare-chested and sporting an orange-striped mohawk. The Compton native wandered the aisles, roasting the slumped tired yet smiling in their seats fans, taking his leave with the dedication, “This set goes out to all the kids we lost in Sandy Hook!”
Throughout Skankfest, a stand-up series dubbed “Los Angeles Raiders” bought out L.A.’s Brendan Schaub, Leonard Ouzts, Sam Tripoli and Tone Bell, who shared his experiences doing mushrooms in public for the first time at the opening night afterparty. “Legends” rooms stayed jam-packed to honor veteran names Eddie Pepitone, Tom Rhodes, Harland Williams and T.J. Miller.
“We did it, guys, we’re almost done!” Miller said Sunday to the standing-room throng. “If we can just make it to 3 a.m. tonight without pooing in our pants or ending a marriage, it’s a successful Skankfest! How many of you got tattoos, round of applause?”
Despite minor inconveniences (long lines and bottlenecks, much more seating still required), Skankfest excels at going with the flow. Adam Carolla canceled an anticipated Dr. Drew Pinsky reunion last-minute due to family issues. Shane Gillis called in sick. Whitney Cummings and Sarah Tollemache were advised not to fly during pregnancy. Other diverse options remained.
Pinsky, for example, sat down for “Legion of Skanks” with Roseanne Barr and Insane Clown Posse’s Violent J. He sang the national anthem before host and multi-hyphenate athlete Jason Ellis’ “Ellismania” took over the outdoor, in-the-round Ring stage. Contestants competed in sock fighting, fighting in blindfolds and shock collars and a fighting version of musical chairs. Congdon fought the sister of her ex-boyfriend Gomez; Tripoli dressed as a piñata, and fighters kicked candy out of him.
Schedules inevitably lapsed. But no one minded if the Theater pushed back 50 minutes so comics could cheer on the fights outside. Like comedy, sometimes the best live moments involve plans going off-rail without warning.
Stand-up is subjective. At Skankfest, it can be redemptive. Badge holders might not condone everything Miller, Barr or Pinsky has done, but all they asked was to be entertained without pandering. The same has held for Dennis Miller and Tim Allen, or Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, Kinison and others before. Controversy over content is nothing new, it’s just taken different names.
For now, Skankfest avoids major industry interference. Clickbait panels, slick dealmaking and fake award ceremonies aren’t welcome. Trent described the festival as “a weekend watching my closest friends and comedy heroes have an amazing time,” citing the role the “best fan base on the planet” played in keeping the atmosphere friendly and inclusive.
“They loved and respected comedians more than any other fan group in the world,” said Weinshenk, who hosted the “Raiders” finale in the Theater. “The lineups were better than any other comedy festival, and the attendees were actual fans of comedy. There was no censorship, and anything could happen.”
Solo strangers chatted easily, debating their heroes’ best bits and podcast moments. A polite, respectful self-policing pervaded. Spectators gently helped fellow spectators rein it in if needed.
“It was a beautiful symbiotic relationship,” Congdon said. “The fans loved us for who we were, and in turn, we felt comfortable being ourselves.”
“Skankfest fans are the nicest, most appreciative fans,” Pepitone said. “When I perform in L.A., it’s like, ‘Go f— yourself! Get outta my way!’” At Skankfest, entire rooms chanted “Eddie! Eddie!” most times he entered or left.
A rare Las Vegas rain worried Josh Adam Meyers and the “God Damn Comedy Jam” music finale. But clear midnight skies brought Tripoli to the Ring stage singing Nine Inch Nails’ “Head Like a Hole.” DeRosa serenaded his trans friend with “Time of My Life.” In the wee hours, all remaining Skankfest talent joined for “Bohemian Rhapsody,” singing en masse from “Is this the real life? / Is this just fantasy?” to “Nothing really matters to me / Any way the wind blows…”
As Pinsky left the Theater, audience questions about testicles and eczema followed him. “Has everybody had an interesting experience?” he asked in turn. The “Legion of Skanks” appearance worried him.
“It was a very odd experience,” Pinsky said. “Not that I wasn’t glad to be part of a historic moment — and those of you who got to see it were witnessing history — but I’m wondering what the fallout will be. I just want to say thank you for making me feel welcome at this Skankfest.”
The questions continued. “Would I do the national anthem again? Only if it’s for something less violent,” he finally decided. “Maybe a hockey game.”
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