Still a character, Hamburger relishes role
By Nick A. Zaino III, Globe Correspondent | May 13, 2005
The fact that hapless comedian Neil Hamburger is a fictional character has long been something of an open joke. Hamburger, who comes to Great Scott in Allston tomorrow with the band Pleaseeasaur, is the invention of Gregg Turkington, former head of the indie rock label Amarillo Records.
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For the lucky and the hip who've found their way to his releases over the past decade, the Hamburger character is either a brilliant satire of stand-up comedy or Turkington just goofing off, having the time of his life. Audiences may never know which, since Turkington refuses to break character -- unlike, say, Barry Humphries, who will talk about Dame Edna when he's not in costume.
Hamburger calls the stories that say he is actually Turkington ''yellow journalism," something he thought died with Sinclair Lewis.
''Hey, if there was a rumor going around that I was Paul McCartney, we'd get even more people coming out," he says by cellphone from the lobby of a Ramada Inn in New Jersey. ''Anything that brings these people in. Feel free to start any rumor you want."
Hamburger's latest CD, ''Great Moments at Di Presa's Pizza House With TV Comic Neil Hamburger," is odd even by the standard of his previous releases. ''Di Presa's" is supposedly an audio documentary of one of the few places in the country Hamburger was able to hold down a steady gig. Hamburger says the album was commissioned by Di Presa's to mark its 40th anniversary last year, but the place closed down before they could have the celebration.
''They were going to print these and sell them as a souvenir," he says. ''They even had one of the top clowns from the area."
The characters on the release include Rono Laird, the owner of Di Presa's, who complains that health inspectors should overlook the rat droppings and report that the food ''came in contact with love"; and Leroy Brothers, a white comedian who thinks he's black.
Most of the interviews aren't happy, and one even ends in tears as a woman declares that she hates her life.
''It's true to life, I think is the point," Hamburger says. ''You could give these people laughing gas and get them a little more happy, but it wouldn't be true."
Hamburger's act has always been a bit over the top. If Andy Kaufman's Tony Clifton had low self-esteem, he would be Neil Hamburger. Still, anyone who has spent time in clubs could believe a comic like Hamburger is out there on the circuit. His albums have no laugh track; instead you hear waitresses talking and dropping glasses in the middle of a routine. Most of the time, Hamburger's discouraged, half-swallowed laugh is preserved by a long silence, after a joke bombs.
''There's enough laughter and joy that comes through the tape," Hamburger says. ''We don't have to use this studio trickery."
The new characters on the album stretch a listener's suspension of disbelief to its breaking point. It's one thing to believe Hamburger could be a real comedian; it's quite another to place him in the thicket of losers and malcontents at Di Presa's. But even if the joke is spoiled somewhat, it's still an inspired bit of sketch comedy, which has been rare on comedy albums lately.
