Minneapolis improv comedy kings bow down to 'Harold'

"Chia Pets!"

The voice rang out above dozens of others as the near-sellout crowd at Huge Improv Theater scrambled to suggest something nostalgic.

Then members of an improv comedy team stepped up to relate anecdotes and associations the phrase brought to mind — like how the shoulder-pad fashion trend of the 1980s made every woman look like a linebacker.

Ten minutes later, the team and the audience were in the thick of three off-kilter narratives, following a quintet of musically inclined fur trappers; a father intent on watching bizarre VHS tapes with his son; and a quest for the secret of Rob Lowe's eternal youth. By the end of a half-hour, all of those seemingly unrelated stories managed to dovetail into something resembling a satisfying conclusion.

Welcome to the Harold. Or at least, one interpretation of the Harold. It's all part of Huge's "Harold Turns 50" celebration of what's arguably the most important cornerstone of long-form improv.

So what exactly is a Harold? Basically, it's a set of guidelines that help an improv team develop a scene. "The simplest explanation is just three story lines, each visited three times," said Huge co-founder Butch Roy.

You can pick out the familiar beats of the Harold in just about every TV sitcom.

"A group of performers will take an audience suggestion and build on that idea in ways that are unpredictable even to the performers," said Molly Chase, director of House of Whimsy, one of three teams that are performing at Huge every Saturday through the end of October. "There will likely be moments of poignancy and humor, and the whole room — audience and improvisers — are in it together.

"It's immediate, it has never happened before, and will never happen again."

The first Harold was performed in 1967 by the Committee, a San Francisco-based comedy group known for experimenting with narrative structures that employed improv games and exercises.

When the group decided that it needed a name for its creation, one member reportedly cracked that "Harold" would be nice. The handle stuck, to the slight chagrin of generations of performers who have had to explain its origin.

Committee member Del Close dedicated much of his career to honing and teaching the Harold. In the 1994 book "Truth in Comedy," generally regarded as the improviser's bible, he and co-authors Charna Halpern and Kim "Howard" Johnson explain that "the Harold is like the space shuttle, incorporating all of the developments and discoveries that have gone before it into one new, superior design."

Close's efforts as an instructor and co-founder of Chicago's iO Theater became the foundation for much of American comedy as we know it.

No local venue feels that influence more acutely than Huge Theater. With "Harold Turns 50," Minnesota's most visible improv venue is paying homage to its roots and giving some of the Twin Cities' top improvisers a chance to get back to the basics.

"There are a lot of improv structures, but there's something magic about the Harold, the way you start with an opening and it brings out a truth," said Drew Kersten, director of the Kempt team.

Kempt assistant director John Gebretatose agreed that it's all about capturing those truths. "It's people playing with confidence … making comment on real-life things. Like women's shoulder pads in the '80s and how they had to look like football players just to get through life. For me, that's what makes it successful: a through-line or a narrative commenting on society."

One of the reasons improv remains a hard sell for some audiences is that it's the ultimate "had to be there" entertainment. It's difficult to explain how the shoulder pad observation might snowball into a scene about Jennifer Aniston devouring the life force of her young fans, but for those watching the performers feed off one another's energy and make connections, the evolution is electrifying.

Those hazy connections are very much by design, Kersten said. "If the opening is about Diet Coke, you don't want to see three scenes about Diet Coke. You want them spread out as far as possible, so when they start to come back together it brings a bit more of that magic."

The laughs in a Harold show seldom come from a standard setup/punchline delivery. In fact, one of the first rules laid out in "Truth in Comedy" is "Don't go for the jokes." Instead, the comedy in a long-form show comes largely from watching relatable situations spiral into unexpected directions.

"The least successful Harolds are when we let our 'I know where this needs to go' take over and steer things instead of discovering all the way through," Roy said. "Because if we know where it needs to go, so does the audience."

The form's flexibility is obvious watching the three teams of five performers in the "Harold Turns 50" showcase.

On opening night, the House of Whimsy team produced a trio of focused, slice-of-life vignettes about crumbling relationships, disillusioned carnival workers and spiteful chess players. While the scenes frequently veered into weirdness, they remained grounded in a way that drew laughs of recognition from the crowd.

The Speficicity team, on the other hand, dove deeper into surreality right off the bat with a scene about two buddies literally riding each other's good vibes like a surfboard. That story line soon intertwined with two bird-watchers who misplaced a baby, and a home brewer crafting a hugely popular beer that smelled of cat urine, all of it building into a crescendo of absurdity that had the audience roaring for very different reasons.

As much reverence as the local improv community has for the Harold, the form represents something different in the Twin Cities than it does in improv hotbeds such as New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, where making it onto a high-profile Harold team can be a major career steppingstone. Many performers move to those cities for that reason.

"In Minnesota it's a strong part of the tradition, but at Huge Theater, Harold is only one of the forms that gets done," Kersten said.

While Close did some work with Minnesota comedy godfather Dudley Riggs and his Brave New Workshop, Huge encourages experimentation and focuses more on building strong teams of performers, regardless of form.

"Team first, format second: That's what differentiates us from the coasts," Gebretatose said. "We're better anyway," he added with a laugh.

Ira Brooker is a St. Paul-based freelance writer and editor.

NEW YORK — Garth Hudson, the Band’s virtuoso keyboardist and all-around musician who drew from a unique palette of sounds and styles to add a conversational touch to such rock standards as “Up on Cripple Creek,” ‘’The Weight'' and “Rag Mama Rag,” has died at age 87.

Hudson was the eldest and last surviving member of the influential group that once backed Bob Dylan and helped deepen and reshape modern American music. His death was confirmed Tuesday on The Band’s social media accounts, which did not provide additional details. Hudson had been living in a nursing home in upstate New York.

A rustic figure with an expansive forehead and sprawling beard, Hudson was a classically trained performer and self-educated Greek chorus who spoke through piano, synthesizers, horns and his favored Lowrey organ. No matter the song, Hudson summoned just the right feeling or shading, whether the tipsy clavinet and wah-wah pedal on “Up on Cripple Creek,” the galloping piano on “Rag Mama Rag” or the melancholy saxophone on “It Makes No Difference.”

The only non-singer among five musicians celebrated for their camaraderie, texture and versatility, Hudson mostly loomed in the background, but he did have one showcase: “Chest Fever,” a Robbie Robertson composition for which he devised an introductory organ solo (“The Genetic Method”), an eclectic sampling of moods and melodies that segued into the song’s hard rock riff.

Robertson, the band’s guitarist and lead songwriter, died in 2023 after a long illness. Keyboardist-drummer Richard Manuel killed himself in 1986, bassist Rick Danko died in his sleep in 1999 and drummer Levon Helm died of cancer in 2012. The Band was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1994.

Formed in the early 1960s as a backing group for rocker Ronnie Hawkins, the Band was originally called The Hawks and featured the Arkansas-born Helm and four Canadians recruited by Helm and Hawkins: Hudson, Danko, Manuel and Robertson.

The Band mastered their craft through years of performing as unknowns — first behind Hawkins, then as Levon and the Hawks, then as the unsuspecting targets of outrage after hooking up with Dylan in the mid-1960s. All joined Dylan on his historic tours of 1965-66 (Helm departed midway), when he broke with his folk past and teamed with the Band for some of the most stirring and stormiest music of the time, enraging some old Dylan admirers but attracting many new ones. The group would rename itself the Band in part because so many people around Dylan simply referred to his backing musicians as “the band.”

By 1967, Dylan was in semi-seclusion, having allegedly broken his neck in a motorcycle accident, and he and the group settled in the artist community in Woodstock that two years later would become world famous thanks to the festival in nearby Bethel. With no album planned, they wrote and played spontaneously in an old pink house outside of town shared by Hudson, Danko and Manuel. Hudson was in charge of the tape machine as Dylan and The Band recorded more than 100 songs, for years available only as bootlegs, that became known as “The Basement Tapes.” Often cited as the foundation of “roots” music and “Americana,” the music varied from old folk, country and Appalachian songs to such new compositions as “Tears of Rage,” “I Shall Be Released” and “This Wheel’s on Fire.”

“There would be an informal discussion, before each recording,‘” Hudson told the online publication Something Else! in 2014. “There would be ideas floating around, and the telling of stories. And then we’d go back to the songs.

“We looked for words, phrases and situations that were worth writing about. I think that Bob Dylan showed us discipline, and ageless concern about the quality of his art.”

Dylan resurfaced in late 1967 with the austere “John Wesley Harding,” and the Band debuted soon after with “Music from Big Pink,” its down home sound so radically different from the jams and psychedelic tricks then in fashion that artists from The Beatles to Eric Clapton to the Grateful Dead would cite its influence. The Band followed in 1969 with a self-titled album that many still consider its best and has often been ranked among the greatest rock albums of all time.

Future records included “Stage Fright,” “Cahoots” and “Northern Lights/Southern Cross,” a 1975 album that brought Hudson special praise for his work on the keyboards. A year later, Robertson decided he had tired of live performances, and the Band staged the all-star concert and Martin Scorsese film, “The Last Waltz,” featuring Dylan, Clapton, Neil Young and many others. Tension between Robertson and Helm, who would allege the film unduly elevated Robertson over the others, led to a full breakup before the documentary’s release in 1978.

Hudson played briefly with the English band the Call; appeared with various latter incarnations of the Band, usually featuring Danko, Hudson and Helm; assisted on solo albums by Robertson and Danko; and joined Danko and Helm for a performance of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” at the Berlin Wall. Other session work included records by Van Morrison, Leonard Cohen and Emmylou Harris.

Hudson also organized his own projects, although his first solo effort, “The Sea to the North,” came out on the day of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. In 2005, he formed a 12-piece band called The Best!, with his wife on vocals. “Garth Hudson Presents: A Canadian Celebration of The Band” was a 2010 tribute featuring Neil Young, Bruce Cockburn and other Canadian musicians.

In recent years, Hudson struggled financially. He had sold his interest in the Band to Robertson and went bankrupt several times. He lost one home to foreclosure and saw many of his belongings put up for auction in 2013 when he fell behind on payments for storage. Hudson’s wife, the singer ‘’Sister'' Maud Hudson, died in 2022.

The son of musicians, Hudson was born in Windsor, Ontario in 1937 and received formal training at an early age. He was performing on stage and writing before he was even a teenager, although by his early 20s he had soured on classical music and was playing in a rock band, the Capers.

He was the last to join the Band and he worried that his parents would disapprove. The solution was to have Hawkins hire him as a “musical consultant” and pay him $10 extra a week.

“It was a job,” Hudson said of the Band in a 2002 interview with Maclean’s. ‘’Play a stadium, play a theater. My job was to provide arrangements with pads underneath, pads and fills behind good poets. Same poems every night.‘’