Then Burr takes a moment to think about this other Bill Burr; the happy Bill Burr that didn’t have to experience what the real Bill Burr did or express it the way the comedian Bill Burr does. “Well, I wouldn’t have met my wife, which is the greatest thing that ever happened to me,” he says slowly. “And I wouldn’t have my kids. And then also…I think I have a good understanding of pain, and I also have an understanding of what it’s like to be a kid. So when my kids are upset about something that seems little to me, I know that that’s their universe.”
Burr says something that sounds like a mantra: “I am very proud of the fact that my kids are not afraid of me.” Then he frets again about this interview being depressing and terrible and ruinous. I tell him I’d just interviewed another comedian and we primarily talked about their suicidal ideation, so comparatively, this was pretty low-key. Burr asks what suicidal ideation is, and I explain it’s when you’re thinking about killing yourself but not actually trying to. “Well, who doesn’t do that?” he says, and we both laugh and laugh.
A few days later, Burr calls. His family is in New York visiting while he’s stuck in town for rehearsals, and he’s in a much jollier mood. I wanted to hear about the weekend, but the ice cream and burger talk bends to a diatribe on the co-option of terms. “The word woke is yet another thing my people stole from Black people—and not only did we take it, we didn’t even have the decency to find out what the definition of it was before just taking it,” Burr says. “It initially meant, as far as my white understanding of it, was, Black person to Black person, ‘Keep your head on a swivel because you don’t know what these white people are going to do to us next.’” He’s annoyed that the phrase now signifies “far-left ideology.” Burr’s kids are not interested in the etymology session. “Play with us!” his son yells.
Before Burr obliges—he’s got toys to fix, he explains—I ask him: If his family is a way to let light into his life, is comedy a way to let the darkness out?
“I initially did it without realizing I needed to. I was really walled off, and it was kind of the only way I was really communicating with people,” Burr says. “Then when I started to get an act together and I started to have a random good set here or there, it made me feel really good about myself. But then if I would have a bad set, I would feel bad about myself. I was living and dying.”
Then a few years ago, Burr had an existential crisis. He had money. His family fulfilled him. “What the hell am I doing up here?” he asked himself.
Then he gave himself an answer. “Well, maybe you could do it for the crowd for once, instead of being so goddamn selfish,” Burr told himself. “Maybe somebody out there is having a bad time or their home life is coming unraveled or they don’t have a home. Maybe you could do it for them.” That brought the lightness to his standup. “I’m still talking about crazy stuff,” he says, “but it’s not coming from the desperate or angry place that it used to be.” (Though he does caveat this: “On any given night it can revert back to what I used to do it for.”)
