Last Thursday, a friend invited me to see a gifted young English singer-songwriter named Robert Leslie. I agreed, but couldn't stay long. I already made plans with a recovering drug addict, sex addict, and flamboyant jester. Russell Brand is equal parts Shakespeare, Lenny Bruce, and scatological stripper. He also embodies the strange, destructive power of success.
Unlike the small, dingy café where Robert triumphed, Russell would perform to a packed theater that already screamed TRIUMPH – all by itself. The crowd was pregnant with expectations. After all, Brand has shown flashes of genius. Doing hilarious interviews, schooling dim-witted TV hosts, and satirizing some contrived Hugo Boss event. Few performers have his gift of improvisation, language, or wielding sexuality like a rapier. That made his chosen subject, The Messiah Complex, that much more intriguing. Would Jesus or Gandhi surrender to a sexual deviant in tight pants?
The crowd greeted Brand with a two minute ovation as he peacocked across the stage. Sadly, what followed were tiny rations of wit served on giant plates of libido and narcissism. Brand propositioned female fans, gyrated in places where punchlines should go, and hid behind his mastery of language. It was like a Greek orgy where only one invitation got delivered.
If he were a 20 year old upstart, this might have felt like seeing Radiohead after their first album came out. Average material that has yet to match its performer’s potential. But Russell Brand is 38. He already sells out theaters at $60-$200 per ticket. And his stage persona is rooted in fame. Without it, he’d seem as strange as Siegfried and Roy working construction, sharing a studio apartment, and taking their Bengal tigers for walks through the neighborhood – while wearing golden robes.
The last time I saw Chris Rock, he did 20 minutes of hit-or-miss material opening for Louis C.K. at Caroline’s Comedy Club. Why? Because he’s great. Like Louis and Bill Burr, Chris spends a year doing small clubs to chisel rough ideas into a masterpiece worth hefty ticket prices.
Russell Brand performed like a kid who can pass the test by cramming the night before. He is on the verge of depriving his audience and himself of his full potential. And the worst part is - he doesn’t know it.
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Delusion
From beautiful models to high school football stars to young entrepreneurs, success can intoxicate. It can make others believe you have powers well beyond your field. It opens doors that others don’t know exist. Success and fame are at their most sinister when you start to believe your own hype. It’s why Michael Jordan decided to quit basketball to play baseball. It’s why Sylvester Stallone decided to do comedy. And why Apple tried to be a social network.
Part of the problem is success is a magnet for yes-men. Truth becomes a scarce commodity when an ecosystem of dependents spawns around you. Everyone laughs at your jokes, inflates your ego, and builds false confidence that dulls self-awareness. Even when good advice seeps in, it must duel cockiness.