GOING OUT BY STAYING INSIDE
Performers are re-creating the club experience virtually, but does it work?
From improv comedy to burlesque, performance art to piano bars, entertainers across Central Florida are experimenting with ways to re-create the nightclub experience while patrons stay isolated at home.
In many genres of entertainment, it’s not as simple as just recording a show. A human, interactive element is critical: Pianists need to take requests, improv comedians want audience suggestions, burlesque dancers rely on tips, a cheeky part of the experience.
So is it possible to duplicate the club vibe electronically?
Not exactly, fans and performers agree, but with the two hallmarks of entertainment — creativity on the part of the producers and imagination on the part of the audiences — it’s possible to evoke favorite haunts.
“While it’s not the same as attending a show downtown, I am glad they have a way to keep us connected to them during all of this,” said Orlando resident Darline Dondl, who has been watching recorded and live shows during the coronavirus shutdowns, including those by Orlando’s SAK Comedy Lab.
“It’s definitely a different experience,” agreed JamiLeigh Bartschi of Altamonte Springs, a fan of Jellyrolls piano bar at Walt Disney World. “But it’s still enjoyable.”
Bartschi and her husband, Mark, are Jellyrolls regulars who spend their anniversary there each year. They’ve been watching several of the club’s pianists, such as Scotty Kilwein, Rob Volpe and Jordan Micheal Peterson, online.
“There are so many people who are alone right now,” said Kilwein, who performs three times each week on Facebook. “If people are enjoying the show, I encourage them to share the livestream with someone who might be feeling lonely.”
Kilwein’s viewers use the livestream’s chat function to request favorite songs. That feature also provides audience suggestions for SAK’s improvisational comedy.
During a recent SAK show, viewers used the chat to type in “mud,” “tugboats” and “spatulas” when asked to pick the topic of a rap song. “Hot dogs” was chosen, leading to Emily Fontano rapping “Who’s that standing on the street? Do you want to get a little meat?”
“We are trying to play to our strengths while creating a format that is best suited for this new way of presenting the SAK brand,” said Fontano, the comedy troupe’s artistic director. “Our shows remain unscripted and live.”
During a different SAK performance, Rob Ward had viewers vote with emojis on whether mustaches are back in fashion. They had comments aplenty on the topic of student-teacher relationships — an ethical question posed as part of a play-along-at-home drinking game.
For Ward, the challenge is performing without the instant feedback — laughter — provided in a club.
“If the audience is laughing at something, you do more of that thing,” he said of an improv performer’s usual style. But performing online, he said, is like flying blind: “I have to operate purely on instinct, and trust that I’ve made choices the audiences likes.”
Pianists, who take cues from listeners who are cheering or singing along, have the same problem, according to Kilwein.
“As a performer, you really get inspired by an audience,” said Kilwein, whose online shows attract thousands of viewers.
Yet on the Internet, the give-and-take between performers and audiences doesn’t always create the same vibe. Dondl has watched online shows in which performers reacted to the audience in real-time — but she found it “a bit distracting.”
Performer Aj Prats discovered technology could be troublesome when he created the weekly “PeeVira’s SCAREavan SingAlong (Online Edition): Musical
M.D.” Hosted by Prats’ alter ego, “Fringy Mime Queen” Madame PeeVira, the Friday-night show combines karaoke, trivia and other games.
Peevira appears in clubs and fronts a highly visible show at the annual Orlando Fringe Festival in which she takes theatergoers on a van ride for fun and games. But Prats found that while he could create the expected bizarre atmosphere, the Zoom meeting technology made “a complete mess” of the sound quality when faced with multiple users singing at the same time.
The solution? Everyone sings in the karaoke segments with their connections muted, but unmute themselves for the trivia rounds.
“It was a bit challenging to adapt,” Prats said, “but I hope it was a good experience and somewhat of a ‘second best’ option to actually being in the van.”
At-home performances have other challenges. Kilwein gets optimal sound quality by recording from his phone, about eight feet away. But the distance means he can’t read the incoming requests. Wife Amanda serves as producer, using a white board “borrowed” from their children to log requests and comments in type big enough for Kilwein to see.
It can be hard to keep up; requests start streaming in the moment Kilwein starts broadcasting from his Winter Garden home.
Tipping is customary at piano bars, so if viewers give a gratuity through an online payment service, that also has to be monitored.
“If you send something to the Venmo, please let me know,” said pianist Rob Volpe, another Jellyrolls pianist, during a recent online show. “I feel so bad when I miss those.”
But the pianists agree that in the online world, the tipping isn’t expected.
“Nobody’s obligated, we’re just playing for fun,” Volpe said.
Lady Jaimz, who leads the Corsets and Cuties burlesque troupe, has seen her dancers receive online tips commensurate with a live performance, though that’s due to larger amounts coming from fewer people.
Her shows aren’t live, but compilations of recorded performances. Fans pay $10 to be sent the link to watch the video.
But the digital performances — while they might draw new viewers, such as those with social anxiety — also change the way shows are seen. Unlike in a theater, performers don’t have a captive audience.
“When it’s at home, you have to keep them interested and keep them online,” Lady Jaimz said.
Dondl said her audience etiquette has slipped: “I caught myself making popcorn during a show that was recorded, and I’m often picking up my phone during a show if I get an alert.”
And yet there can be positives — such as strengthening the connection between performer and audience members.
“Even though we’re separated, everything has become more personal,” said Bartschi, the Jellyrolls
fan. “We see the performers’ kids, their wives, their pets.”
Some aspects of a nightclub aren’t missed at all.
“People aren’t talking too loud at the table next to me or spilling drinks on me,” said Bartschi.
And a sense of community is still achieved: The “riders” in Madame PeeVira’s digital van clap for each other. In Kilwein’s comments, viewers from Biloxi to Buffalo are joined by music lovers from as far away as Japan as they strike up conversations about favorite songs and artists — just as it happens when tourists chat with fellow clubgoers.
“I’ve seen so many friendships develop” at Jellyrolls, said Kilwein, who has played close to 4,000 shows there during nearly 18 years. “The comments create a carbon copy of that atmosphere.”
Still, all agree there’s something missing from the online experience, something intangible described in different ways: It’s the
“buzz,” the “energy” or the “magic” that performers and audiences feel when sharing a room together.
“It’s not anything you’ll ever be able to get from virtual,” said Lady Jaimz.
“We are hesitant to try and re-create what we know is pretty impossible to pull off with the Zoom-style format,” said Fontana. “There is a disconnect that I’m trying to avoid.”
“There’s a little spark when we’re performing live, when the audience realizes what you’re about to do,” said Kilwein. “I miss that.”
That’s why people can’t wait to return to physical venues together.
“Naturally, I want to be at Jellyrolls in a room where I can hear the applause or the groans at a bad joke,” Kilwein said. “There’s really a lot missing when it’s digital.”