Gasping for Airtime - Jay Mohr [48]
Kurt stopped walking and looked at me for a moment. After a while I extended my hand and said, “I’m Jay. I work on the show.”
Kurt shook my hand and asked me what I did on the show. I told him I was a featured performer. “Do you do comedy?” he asked.
I explained to him that I did, but my primary job was to write for the cast and then try to work myself into some sketches. Sometimes, I continued, other people wrote parts for me in their sketches. Cobain nodded. “Wow,” he said, “so it’s kind of like being a songwriter.”
“Yeah, exactly,” I replied. He wished me luck and shook my hand again. He hesitated for a beat before he left. He looked like he would have traded places with me if he could have.
During my two years on SNL, the show had the greatest musical guests in its history. No one will ever convince me otherwise. My first year alone, we had Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Aretha Franklin, the Pretenders, Pearl Jam, Dwight Yoakam, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, Stone Temple Pilots, and James Taylor, who looked strangely like my dad. My second year, we added Eric Clapton, R.E.M., Bon Jovi, Dave Matthews Band, Hole, and Bonnie Raitt, who was the first fifty-year-old woman I have ever wanted to have sex with. There was seldom a dull moment. Green Day brought along these hard-edged groupies who had duct tape around their boots and smoked unfiltered Camels, while Nirvana’s were all hot tamales. Seal was easily the strangest performer. I had read that the two scars under his eyes were the result of some tribal ritual, but it turned out they were just pink lines from some skin condition that the makeup department covered with the thick eye shadow worn by football players.
As much as I enjoyed the small, semiprivate concerts, after a while I began to feel that the lyrics of the musical guests were describing my situation on the show. They sang what I was feeling, and their lyrics also seemed to be offering me an explanation for my problems. It was almost like being in high school and having music touch your life in that indelible way it does when you are a teenager.
Looking back, it began with my first week on the show with Nirvana singing “Rape Me.” Then Cypress Hill played “Insane in the Brain” the following week when my Christopher Walken “Psychic Friends Network” was unceremoniously dumped out of deference to Shannen Doherty’s concern for Sean Young’s feelings. The third week, Aerosmith was on the show doing “Sweet Emotion,” which was the first time I appeared on camera.
Five minutes before the Aerosmith show began, Jeff Goldblum, who was hosting, gathered the cast in the greenroom. The guy was like someone from another planet. I expected the tall, nerdy guy from The Big Chill, but his body was ripped like an NFL wide receiver and his demeanor was smooth as silk. As everyone scurried to get ready for the show, Goldblum began smoking a fake joint. He took a long toke and then passed it to me. I passed it to Farley. As the fake joint made its way around the room two, three, then four times, nobody said a word. Before Goldblum lit the fake joint, the place was buzzing. People were struggling to pull on their bald caps. My heart was thumping with anticipation. But now the room was completely mellow.
During the show, as I stood offstage in Walken makeup watching Aerosmith perform “Sweet Emotion,” I thought of my parents. They weren’t able to make the show on which “Psychic Friends Network” was originally scheduled to air, but they were in the house on that Saturday when it did and Aerosmith rocked the place. I wondered what it must feel like to watch your son perform on Saturday Night Live. All the failed classes, all the detentions, all the groundings flew out the window. I would make them proud. My life was perfect. Sweet emotions were flowing.
At the show’s after-party, I was sitting at a table with Mike Myers, who had helped me with my performance at rehearsal. The valuable trick he taught me was that if you are going to read the cue cards, which