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Jeffrey Ross strikes me as the type of guy who wakes up at 2pm, peeks out his tour bus, mutters, “Damn, we’re in Chicago already ” then goes about his usual routine: making a good living by mercilessly ripping on people. When I saw him last year at Zanies, he looked disheveled, eyes bloodshot, a disgusting neck beard outlining his chin, basically in the sort of physical state someone would be if their wife just left them. And yet, the whole charade actually enhanced Ross’ insult-ridden set, as if saying, “Yeah, I’m a pathetic schmuck, but if I’m totally owning your ass, then what does that make you?” Currently serving as the New York Friar’s Club “Roastmaster General,” Ross can be frequently seen roasting the pants off of whoever’s the man or woman of honor (usually some loser like Chevy Chase), and while those shows put his biting sarcasm front and center, they don’t show just how sharp and quick Ross is with a live audience. Sure, the dude’s crude, disrespectful and crass—but in an intelligent sort of way. (Andy Seifert)

October 14-15 at Zanies, 1548 N. Wells, (312)337-4027.

RECOMMENDED

Personally, I find David Cross the actor to be more consistently funny than David Cross the stand-up, who can tend to meander in vitriolic tangents with few jokes. His tenure on the now-defunct (but beloved) “Arrested Development” spurred the classic Tobias Funke character, a flamboyant actor/psychological analyst and therapist (a self-proclaimed “analrapist”) who’s oblivious to his own homosexuality. And his work with Bob Odenkirk on “Mr. Show” represents the closest America came to emulating a Monty Python-esque sketch show—full of delightful non-sequitirs and ludicrous characters. That said, when he gets all riled up, Cross’s stand-up rountine can be infectiously crude and crass, as he possesses the uncanny ability to chew out those who deserve a tongue-lashing, like his analysis of post-grunge acts Staind and Creed: “I would rather hear the death rattle of my only child than listen to that fuckin’ shit.” That is a spot-on critique. (Andy Seifert)

October 4 at Congress Theater, 2135 N. Milwaukee, (312)458-9668. $37.50.

RECOMMENDED

A stand-up stud in indie circles (an automatic distinction once Sub Pop releases one of your performances), Patton Oswalt—along with his “Comedians of Comedy” cohorts Zach Galifianakis and Brian Posehn—represents the best in nerdy, heavy-set comics. Oswalt has the gift of being able to rip on the absurdity of Middle America (his critique of the KFC Famous bowl has become a classic take on America’s total lack of dignity), but still knows how to rip himself a new one. One of Oswalt’s best bits recalls a lavish Hollywood party where he’s tempted by a glorious display of food that none of the thin celebrities are eating, when who should emerge but actor Brian Dennehy, who embraces Oswalt as he grabs a plate full of food, telling him “Character actors, who gives a fuck if we’re fat?” Credit Oswalt for finding a lead role in a film without having to shave off calories. He currently stars as the biggest New York Giants fan in the world in the critically acclaimed indie film “Big Fan.” (Andy Seifert)

October 2 at Congress Theater, 2135 N. Milwaukee, (312)458-9668. $29.50 – $32.50

RECOMMENDED

It doesn’t seem all that long ago, but with a new decade fast approaching, the nineties are beginning to hold that same goofy, nostalgic appeal that was once reserved for remembering all of the eighties’ most embarrassing trends. And what says “pure nineties!” better than the phrase “booty call,” allegedly coined early in the decade by comedian Bill Bellamy and subsequently used by stand-ups everywhere, from Chris Rock to Bob Hope (assumedly). Bellamy has since cultivated a fairly respectable career, leading to a long list of credits, including Conan O’Brien, Last Comic Standing (where he’s hosted), and Def Comedy Jam, but, like Jim Gaffigan and Hot Pockets, he’ll likely always be defined for his classic “Booty Call” Showtime special, in which a fresh-faced, overly energetic Bellamy described the essential steps of the booty call: the browsing through the rolodex, the prodding of the completely suspecting suitor and the celebration of having coaxed “the booty” from her apartment (“my booty on the way!”). So tasteless, so stupid, and yet, so timeless. (Andy Seifert)

Sept 10 at Zanies, 1548 N. Wells, (312)337-4027.

RECOMMENDED

Unassuming, low-key and sharply intelligent, comedian Ted Alexandro is the perfect embodiment of the comedian who relies not on persona, theatrics or profanity-laced shouting matches, but on pure, unadulterated content. The New York comic possesses a sort of Ray Romano “common man” likability while riffing on good old-fashioned everyday observances, like his observance that the crucifix from most churches display Jesus with stone-hard abs: “That’s what you want from a savior. You want him to be in shape. Have you seen Buddha? Sloppy. A few crunches, Buddha, just clean it up. The Last Supper should not last forever, big fella.” Without any showy tactics or attention-grabbing gimmicks, Alexandro may never become a household name (unless there’s an “Everybody Loves Alexandro” CBS series on the horizon), but regardless—he’s as polished a stand-up as the best of them. (Andy Seifert)

August 28 and 29 at Lakeshore Theater, 3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492. $15.

RECOMMENDED

It’s not easy being British, or so says John Oliver, the “Daily Show”’s senior English correspondent, who grew up in Liverpool but has crafted his act around the tortures of being an Englishman in America. Poor John Oliver can’t walk into a history museum without feeling a deep, eternal guilt within five seconds for the centuries of brutal domination that his country exerted, his only consolation that “one day all this shame will be yours, my American friends, for you have taken the baton of imperialism from us and you are running with it quite impressively.” If it’s not guilt, it’s the opposite: the indignation that Americans don’t adequately recognize that his country was the scourge of the world, that some would consider the British Empire’s innovative torture and murder methods to be less tyrannical than Obama’s three-percent tax hike. Oliver’s smart, biting wit and clever satire don’t go wasted—with nearly a decade of stand-up work (and television) under his belt, Oliver’s just as much a charismatic performer as a goofy satirist. (Andy Seifert)

August 22 at Lakeshore Theater, 3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492. $20.

RECOMMENDED

One of the few actually entertaining comedians to come out of season one of the classic “Last Comic Standing,” New Jersey quipster Rich Vos has carved a niche out of acting like a doofus under the guise of that Colin Quinn-esque pseudo-tough guy attitude. Sure, self-deprecation is a common theme in a Rich Vos routine (“I stink” seems to be one of his most beloved phrases), but Vos mostly basks in buffoonery through his rampant mispronunciation of words—“Guanamo Bay” instead of “Guantanamo Bay,” “wookapedia” instead of “Wikipedia” and “paux fas” instead of “faux pas.” Dude’s even mispronounced his own name (“Rick Vos”). As an easy target for unrelenting ridicule, Vos has comfortably fit into the role of whipping boy in the “Tough Guy” posse (including Quinn, Jim Norton, Patrice O’Neal and company), but he pulls it off—his stupidity is endearing, and his simplistic comedy comes across as lovable rather than intellectually incompetent. (Andy Seifert)

August 14-15 at Lakeshore Theater, 3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492. $20.

RECOMMENDED

If you’ve ever watched an “SNL” show during this current “death rattle” phase, you’ve probably at some point thought, “What I wouldn’t give for some bizarre Tracy Morgan skit right now, just to get the blood moving in my brain again.” His absence from the current “SNL” cast reveals exactly what’s missing—a loud, large, self-centered party animal with absurd characters and boisterous tangents. (Kenan Thompson isn’t cutting it, and Andy Samberg could stand to gain 150 pounds). Morgan’s also the most interesting component of the relatively funny “30 Rock” sitcom, solely because he plays a character who’s ostensibly himself—“Tracy Jordan,” an unpredictable, boorish movie star that at one point tries to stab Conan O’ Brien. Given the fact that’s his real life ego has seemingly conducted a couple of interviews while drunk (on the “Late Show with David Letterman,” he claimed his ankle bracelet from a recent DUI arrest is “in the Smithsonian now”), there’s really no indication as to what erratic form of Tracy Morgan you’re going to see on any given night. And that’s just pure comedy. (Andy Seifert)

August 15 at The Venue at Horseshoe Hammond Casino, 777 Casino Center Drive, Hammond, (866)711-7463.

RECOMMENDED

This may not be the analogy she was looking for, but Maria Bamford has effortlessly become the Dana Carvey of this decade. Nah, she doesn’t have a killer George H. W. Bush impersonation, but like the self-proclaimed “Master of Disguise,” she has in her comedic arsenal a myriad of characters, each with eccentric characteristics and distinct tones of voice, whether it be her mentally off and mumbling father, her superficial mother, or her arch enemy from high school, who says of her successful comedy career, “It’s just like in high school: you’re not funny, you’re just weird.” The former “Comedian of Comedy” star has crafted her routine with nonsensical ramblings and a self-deprecating biography, but it’s her incredible vocal work that truly sets her apart from her contemporaries. Oh, and she may not have a take on George H. W. Bush, but her impersonation of George W. Bush—as possessing the vocal attributes and motor skills of her pug dog—is pretty amusing. (Andy Seifert)

August 7-8 at Lakeshore Theater, 3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492. $20.

Amanda Blake Davis, Beth Melewski, Andy St. Clair, Christina Anthony, Timothy Edward Mason and Tom Flanigan/Photo: Bob Knuth

RECOMMENDED

Second City revues rarely diverge from format.  The rhythms are bright and confident, and comedic actors with darker, more unusual inclinations typically have a steeper learning curve adjusting to the form while retaining some bite.

For audiences, the setup provides a baseline consistency.  It has also served many a Second City alumus very, very well—banging out the same show every night, they leave here with TV-ready experience and polish.

Ultimately, the quality of any revue is contingent on how well its writer-performers mesh—their comedic philosophy, their personalities—and the cast occupying the Second City’s e.t.c. stage is among the best in recent years.  The same cannot be said of their current show, directed by Matt Hovde. Read the rest of this entry »