The day the mayor of a major metropolitan city declares a holiday in honor of a rock band, it’s a safe bet that band has put on its share of spectacular shows.

Nick Hexum of 311 sings at Miami's Bayfront Park Amphitheater on Tuesday, Dec. 1, 2009. (Melissa Patterson / PBPulse.com)

View photos from Tuesday’s show in Miami

That day came in 2000 for 311 in the city of New Orleans. Nine years and a few hit albums later, the genre-bending quintet is still luring massive crowds with dynamic, unpretentious performances held in the spirit of unity and positivity.

An eager but easygoing 20-something crowd packed Miami’s 8,000-person Bayfront Amphitheater nearly to capacity Tuesday night. They got an earful of chart-topping favorites like “Down,” “Beautiful Disaster” and “Amber,” but also rarer tracks like “Jack-o-lantern’s Weather” and standouts from the band’s 2009 Uplifter album such as “Daisy Cutter”.

Alt-rock trio State Radio pounded out a 45-minute opening set tinged with traces of punk and even reggae influence.

Sporting nothing but a sparse set and wide, easy smiles, 311 still managed to keep its audience captivated. A solo by drummer Chad Sexton had heads involuntarily nodding, and the crowd erupted in hoots when the whole band joined in, pounding on drums and cymbals of every size and style. Encore and all, the set lasted the better part of two hours.

Almost two decades after the multi-platinum group’s humble beginnings in Omaha, Nebraska, 311 has kept up a steady touring schedule. Summer’s Unity tour melted into fall’s Uplifter tour, and after a three-month break, the band will celebrate its legendary 311 Day in Las Vegas on March 11, 2010.

It’s not just the economy that’s sagging, George Lopez says — even late-night television is in a slump. But the entertainment doldrums have nothing to do with failing banks and foreclosed homes.

With David Letterman mired in scandal and Jay Leno hobbled by his new 10 p.m. slot, late night is a format the comedian and TV star calls “a little bit down and very white.”

But starting tonight, the comic dubbed “America’s Mexican” promises to bring the fiesta. Read the full story

Left to right: Jim Breuer, Dave Chappelle, Guillermo Díaz star in ‘Half Baked’ (Courtesy myspace.com/jimbreuer)

Jim Breuer Event details: Ticket prices, directions When: Thursday, 8 p.m.; Friday, 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.; Saturday, 7 p.m. and 9:15 p.m.; Sunday, 7 p.m. Where: Palm Beach Improv, CityPlace, 550 S. Rosemary Ave., West Palm Beach. Info: (561) 833-1812, palmbeachimprov.com

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It’s the eyes. Those heavy lids, the deep bags, the glassy gaze — they’re the reason Jim Breuer may never totally escape Brian, the giggly, tie-dye-clad stoner he played a decade ago in the cult comedy Half Baked.

Not that he hasn’t been trying. In July, the comedian released a one-hour Comedy Central special frankly titled Let’s Clear the Air. He’ll be in West Palm Beach this weekend as part of his Family Man Tour — with all three children in tow.

His message, in case it hasn’t hit home yet, is this: Despite that naturally glazed expression, he is not high. With a wife, three girls under 11, and an ailing father down the road, he doesn’t have time to be.
Read the full story

Click on our event listing for more information.

Go ahead and try to typecast Joe Rogan, if you dare.

He’s a 20-year stand-up comedy veteran. A tae kwon do grand champion. A self-proclaimed pothead, and proud.

“Everything about this life is a psychedelic experience,” Rogan said by phone recently, and it’s difficult to imagine him as the same man who once challenged Wesley Snipes to a mixed-martial-arts beatdown.

You’re probably familiar with the Rogan who served up fly-and-maggot cocktails to contestants on “Fear Factor” — a hit show he readily admits he hosted for the money. But it’s his stand-up, like the new, curiously named Spike TV special “Talking Monkeys in Space”, that he puts his heart into.

Rogan will be stopping by West Palm Beach’s Improv club this weekend for four shows. He’s got some theories to share — let’s call them “unconventional” to be polite — on drug use, homosexuality, and of course, his hot topic du jour: the evolution of man.
Read the full story

For more information please click our event listing.

Go ahead and try to typify Joe Rogan, if you dare.

He’s a 20-year stand-up comedy veteran. A taekwondo grand champion. A self-proclaimed pothead, and proud.

“Everything about this life is a psychedelic experience,” Rogan says by phone recently, and it’s difficult to imagine him as the same man who once challenged Wesley Snipes to a mixed-martial-arts beatdown.

You’re probably familiar with the Rogan who served up fly-and-maggot cocktails to contestants on Fear Factor – a hit show he readily admits he hosted for the money. But it’s his stand-up, like the new, curiously named Spike TV special Talking Monkeys in Space, that he puts his heart into.

Rogan will be stopping by West Palm Beach’s Improv club this Friday and Saturday for a four-show special event. He’s got some theories to share – let’s call them “unconventional” to be polite – on drug use, homosexuality, and of course, his hot topic du jour: the evolution of man.

“No one’s saying there’s no God,” he asserts in his special. “All I’m saying is maybe God made a monkey that doesn’t like to think it’s a monkey and lies a lot.”

Not only are we talking monkeys, Rogan says, but “we’re attached to this huge rock that’s spinning around a gigantic nuclear explosion, and we’re literally flying through space, and we never even bring it up. We’re the weirdest animal ever.”

If it sounds a little far out, it is. Much of Rogan’s world seems filtered through a lens of wide-eyed wonder, as if the comedian hasn’t quite come down from his last mushroom trip.

Yet, despite his burgeoning druggie image – made infamous by a 10-minute radio rant about the hallucinogen DMT – Rogan has also managed to carve out a niche as a color commentator for the Ultimate Fighting Championship. The mixed-martial-arts organization is famous for cage matches that leave both opponents bloody and toothless.

And just when rough-and-tumble Rogan seemed destined to live life on the edge well into his 40s, enter his infant daughter. But instead of turning him tame, he says, raising the now-14-month-old has been like traveling to “the edge of reality.”

“I always describe having a baby as just like doing mushrooms,” Rogan says, “in that if you’ve never done it before, I can’t really describe it to you accurately. … There’s no way I could tell you how much you would love your child.”

There’s been another big change at the Rogan household. After railing for years against the uselessness of marriage, the comedian finally tied the knot this year with his long-time girlfriend.

“I had to,” Rogan, ever the romantic, confesses. “Not really had to, but you know, she made a baby. [It's] like, ‘God, all right, I’ll sign a silly legal contract.’ What she did was way more of a commitment.”

IF YOU GO:

Where: Palm Beach Improv Club, CityPlace, West Palm Beach
When: Thursday, June 11 at 8 p.m.; Friday, June 12 at 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.; Saturday, June 13 at 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.
How much: $21.30 to $26.63
For more information: Visit www.palmbeachimprov.com

The transition was so gradual, so insidious, that you probably never noticed it. An indignant huff here. A diva-like outburst there. But comedian Louis C.K.’s been watching.

It’s been on his mind for a while now—how this modern boom in technology, prosperity and comfort turned a generation of reasonable Americans into whiny little brats. After all, who else but a total ingrate groans when his cell phone’s signal takes too many milliseconds to rocket through space?

But C.K., who’s gearing up for a three-night gig at West Palm Beach’s Improv club this weekend, isn’t deluded about his own role among “the crappiest generation.”

“I’m terrible,” he said recently by phone from his Manhattan home. “I’m unbelievable. If I have a waitress who’s being rude to me, my voice is shaking. … I feel entitled to the greatest service borne unto man, and that’s just a ridiculous way to live your life.”

Since his ultra-viral rant on TV’s Conan O’Brien in October, which garnered several million hits on YouTube and other video sites, it seems everyone’s talking about this dark horse of American comedy. In March, Vanity Fair called him “the most awesome stand-up comic on the planet.”

But don’t call him a newbie. C.K., fresh out of his Hilarious tour, has been on the comedy scene since 1984. Along the way, he landed an Emmy for his writing on The Chris Rock Show and starred in his own short-lived sitcom, Lucky Louie. You catch him on the big screen this fall in the latest comedy from The Office mastermind Ricky Gervais, The Invention of Lying.

And while he can’t get your job back or restore your 401-K, C.K.’s black brand of humor does offer a glimmer of (twisted) hope for America’s future: Even if we are reduced to riding donkeys, at least we won’t be such colossal jerks anymore.

“I definitely think that hard times bring out the best in people,” C.K. said. “I think that prosperity and peace and happiness make people into pieces of s—.”

Why, then, in these troubling times, does the crappiest generation thrive? Apparently, it’s all a matter of perception.

“We’re doing fantastically,” countered C.K.

“We still have monster trucks running over brand new pickup trucks and competitive eating,” he said. “As long as there are TV shows on like I’m A Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here, no one’s going to feel sorry for Americans.”

He’s far from being a feel-good comic, but C.K.’s incisive satire will leave anyone willing to laugh at himself gasping for air. Fair warning, though: He’s been known to take “politically incorrect” to jaw-dropping lengths. In his aptly named 2007 Shameless special, C.K. calls his then-4-year-old daughter every unprintable name in the book, then confesses he’d like to kick her out a window.

But it’s not shock for shock’s sake. When asked to defend his material, C.K. offered up some surprisingly insightful logic.

“You can want to kick somebody (who you love) out the window,” C.K. says. “As a matter of fact, if you want to kick somebody out the window, it’s usually because you love them, and you’re struggling to do right by them, and be patient.”

In real life, C.K. appears every bit the doting father – even cutting this interview short so he wouldn’t be late in collecting his daughters from school.

Stephen Lynch at the Improv at CityPlace (Photo by Melissa Patterson)

Who: Stephen Lynch

Where: The Improv at Cityplace, West Palm Beach

When: May 7

Opener: No opener; just Lynch, a couple of stools and a big white backdrop for occasional video intermissions. He was later joined on stage by comedian buddies David Josefsberg (of The Wedding Singer) and Rod Cone.

Lissette and Nathan Wolfzorn, Ft. Lauderdale

Times seen him: 1

Favorite Song: She Gotta Smile

Their review: Lissette Wolfzorn preferred Lynch’s live show, complete with two fellow comics and a smattering of video clips, to the ultra-viral performance videos she’d seen circulated on the Internet. “I laughed a lot more seeing him live than I would’ve seeing it on YouTube,” she said. “He threw some new things in there.”

Stacy Waner and Sarah Gatta of Port St. Lucie

Times seen him: 3

Favorite Song: Craig

Their review: “He is outstanding, he is thoughtful, he’s articulate, and we absolutely love him and go to all of his shows,” said Stacy Waner. And he ain’t bad-lookin’ either, added Sarah Gatta.

Roger Michaud, Lake Worth

Times seen him: 1

Favorite Song: Fishin’ Hole

Roger’s review: Roger Michaud liked the way Lynch “flowed stories into the songs,” often chatting with fellow comics for a while before moving fluidly into new material. “He’s somebody I could come back and see, definitely,” said Michaud.

Our wrap-up: Anyone in search of witty diatribe or biting social commentary probably left the Improv early Thursday night. So did anyone with a weak stomach or a strong conscience.

Yet comedian Stephen Lynch still managed to cram about 500 howling, groaning fans into the intimate CityPlace venue in West Palm Beach, and he did so for one important reason: 37-year-old Lynch is a master of playing to his strengths, even if some of those strengths are unapologetically juvenile.

Take the title track from his explosive debut album, A Little Bit Special. This is a song about a mentally handicapped boyhood friend with lot of strange habits, who eventually renders the singer “special” with a large rock. But the audience of sharply dressed, cocktail-sipping 20-and 30-somethings knew every word of the sweet-sounding refrain.

Stephen Lynch is the kind of comedian you that makes you roar with laughter, then softly mutter, “I’m going to straight to Hell.” Luckily, with his knack for selling out shows worldwide, you’ll have plenty of company.

That’s not to say Lynch relies solely on middle-school humor. “Dear Diary” is series of tongue-in-cheek journal entries narrated by seemingly carefree protagonists just before tragedy befalls them, and it drips with irony. Thursday, he took aim at figures as diverse as Anne Frank and pop singer Rihanna (“I feel a hit coming on”).

“You know what they say: Tragedy plus time equals comedy,” Lynch told the crowd in defense of a Christopher Reeve jab.

He’s deep into a cross-country tour to promote his first album in four years, “3 Balloons,” and he packed plenty of new material into a two-hour set. The new track “America,” a sarcastic 70s-rock tribute to its namesake, delighted the crowd with its deadpan refrain: “Oh, this is a song for America … and if you don’t like her, — you.”

With the help of co-comics David Josefsberg and Rod Cone, Lynch was able to weave in a lot of silly, drunken banter into an otherwise-musical act. Most of this was met with polite chuckles from the fiercely loyal audience, except for an impromptu Bernie Madoff impression — Lynch pressing his face against a pair of invisible cell bars — which sent the crowd into a brief frenzy.

What continues to save him through the occasional bombed joke or trite pop-culture reference is a voice that sounds even more golden in person. In the span of a few notes, the comic can morph from angelic, whispering choirboy to wailing rock ‘n’ roll warrior and back again.

It’s a skill the Tony Award-nominated Lynch no doubt perfected during his time in the 2006 Broadway adaption of The Wedding Singer.

Lynch is a self-proclaimed “musician trapped in the body of a comedian,” according to his Web site — and it shows. It was sometimes difficult to tell Thursday exactly what the crowd was roaring and whistling for: the jokes in his songs or the singing itself.

Set list
Waiting
Fishin’ Hole
Dear Diary 1
Special
3 Balloons
She Gotta Smile
Dear Diary 2
Medieval Bush
I Lost My Favorite Jergens Spot Blues
A History Lesson
Dear Diary: Rihanna
Hallelujah
Craig
America
Sidekick