By Nick A. Zaino III Globe correspondent, Updated February 22, 2024, 9:57 a.m.
Forty minutes before showtime at the Black Comedy Explosion, Jonathon Gates is working the tables at the Carver Den in Dorchester. He mingles with the crowd, brings champagne to a couple, and directs people to seats. Gates is a true host, making sure everyone is having a good time from the moment they step through the door until the last joke is told, and even later when the tables get swept aside to make room for dancing at the afterparty. It’s Valentine’s Day, and the room is sold out, so there’s plenty of work to do.
Just after 9 p.m., Gates takes the mic, wearing a yellow Red Sox jersey and powder blue cap. He lays down the ground rules — respect the performers, don’t talk, don’t go live on social media (you paid for this show, your followers didn’t). He also notes a Boston Globe photographer will be shooting the show. “If you’re with someone you ain’t supposed to be with,” he says, “you’re [screwed].”
Even in the middle of his set, Gates is still directing stragglers to open seats. He playfully jousts with a man and woman arriving late to sit directly next to him — there is no formal stage, so the couple is right in the middle of the action on the floor. Gates notices that the man is wearing a form-fitting white shirt. “My shirt’s tight because I’m fat,” he says. “His shirt’s tight for no reason. I can see his blood pressure.”
This has been Gates’s modus operandi since he officially kicked off the Black Comedy Explosion in February 2000 at the Comedy Connection in Faneuil Hall. Get close with the audience. Get in a few jabs. Put some young comics onstage and let them watch how the headliner works the audience.
