It’s Just Comedy | Talent

INTERVIEW TERRELL “REALIFE” BLACK PHOTOGRAPH RONNIE WRIGHT

From the heart of “Money Earnin’” Mount Vernon to stages across the globe, Talent Harris has carved out a legendary lane in the world of stand-up comedy. With over three decades in the game, his name is synonymous with consistency, cultural impact, and an unmistakable stage presence that fuses authenticity, wit, and wisdom. Whether delivering punchlines that make you cry laughing or gems that leave you thinking, Talent’s signature phrase—“It’s just comedy”—has grown into more than a catchphrase; it’s a philosophy, a brand, and a bridge that connects people from all walks of life.

In this exclusive interview with VALIDATED, the comedy veteran takes us on a journey through his origins performing in neighborhood talent shows as a kid, his early TV debut at the legendary Apollo Theater, and the game-changing moment when Def Comedy Jam catapulted him—and a generation of urban comics—into international stardom. Talent speaks candidly about the evolution of comedy, the connection between stand-up and hip-hop, the importance of mentorship, and what it truly means to find your voice on stage. As sharp as ever, he offers real talk about longevity in the industry, ownership in the streaming era, and the mindset every young comedian needs to succeed. This isn’t just a conversation about laughs—it’s a masterclass from one of comedy’s most respected voices.

VALIDATED: Being from “Money Earnin’” Mount Vernon, New York, what’s your earliest memory of stand-up comedy?

TALENT: Following this joint as a little kid, trying to crack jokes. I came up in the projects—what we call the projects over here. In the middle of the complex, they used to have these little talent shows and stuff. I wasn’t nothing but 9, 10, maybe 11 years old, out there cracking jokes and singing—just trying to entertain the people.

As a young kid, you just want to make people smile.

Fast forward, my biggest memory is tied to the legendary comedian JB Smoove. The first time I ever got on stage, it was him who introduced me. So that right there—we got that moment in the bag. Who knew we’d go on to do great things.

Later on, that became a full-circle story. Shout out to JB Smoove, aka Jerry Brooks, who’s from the same projects as me. First dude to ever put me on stage.

VALIDATED: What initially drew you to comedy? I know you mentioned wanting to make people smile, but what was it specifically that made you want to get up on stage and perform?

TALENT: I mean, like I said, as a kid, I knew I was going to do it. The only thing I didn’t understand in my youth was that it could actually be a career path. As a kid looking at it, I interpreted it more like a hobby. I thought these were people who did something else for a living and just did comedy on the side. It seemed like a fun thing to do.

We got to hear them on records and later on, a little bit on TV. But I never looked at it as a real profession until I actually did it myself. That’s when it hit me: people really aspire to do this. This is a real career path.

That’s when I knew. But even as a kid, early on, I knew I was going to do it. I just thought it would be something I’d do later in life—as a hobby. But it turned out to be a way of life. It became the career.

VALIDATED: Who were some of the legendary comedians you studied?

TALENT: Richard Pryor, Redd Foxx, Moms Mabley, Carol Burnett, and Tim Conway. Later on, it would be Robin Williams and Damon Wayans.

Back when we were younger, comedy—as far as we could see—wasn’t really a young person’s game. Every comedian looked older, you know what I mean? So I figured that when I got older I’d do it too—as a hobby.

But when ’89 and the early ’90s rolled in, an undercurrent started brewing. It wasn’t on television much yet, but it was bubbling beneath the surface in cities like Detroit, Chicago, New York, Miami, Boston, D.C., and Philadelphia. A whole circuit of young comics was coming up. That’s why shows like Def Comedy Jam and ComicView felt so electrifying—the first time we saw the scene in abundance. Suddenly there were a bunch of cats out here—young cats—rocking hip-hop gear, hats to the back, talking like I talked, slinging the same slang. That moment opened the floodgates.

VALIDATED: Coming up during that era and being a part of it—I was actually going to bring up ComicView and Def Comedy Jam. How big of an impact do you think those platforms had on the culture? And as someone who was directly involved, what was that experience like for you?

TALENT: Oh, it had the biggest impact. ComicView and all those platforms definitely played a part in it collectively—but Def Comedy Jam, to me, was the ultimate catapult for us Black and urban comedians. Why? Because it was on HBO.

And HBO was international. People didn’t have BET in every country, so ComicView was limited to where BET was available. But HBO, being a subscription-based and international network, reached much farther. People in England, Europe, Asia—they had HBO. You could watch it overseas.

I remember going overseas and people would already know who I was. Def Comedy Jam was the first door that got knocked down for local comedians to become international. Nobody really knew you from ComicView—but they knew you from Def Comedy Jam. HBO was in places like England, so they started flying us out—England, Guam, the Netherlands, the islands—everywhere that had HBO, you know what I mean?

That exposure and recognition allowed us to step outside the country and perform on a global stage.

VALIDATED: So you all were basically like rock stars—almost like hip-hop artists in the comedy world.

TALENT: Ain’t no “kind of,” brother—it only got bigger.

If you look at it now, 30 years later, it’s wild. I always laugh and joke about it, but it’s a real thing: comedians are the new singers. In the urban community, it used to be the R&B singers. In white communities, it was the rock stars. But in our neighborhoods, in the hood, it was the R&B cats—Luther Vandross, Teddy Pendergrass, then later Usher. I mean, you saw Usher do the Super Bowl. Then it became Chris Brown, Trey Songz, Joe, Jagged Edge—all those groups. That’s what it was all about.

But fast forward 20 more years, and things have shifted. Music has morphed again, and now you don’t really hear love songs the way you used to. So a lot of us—including myself—still listen to the old stuff. We’re still bumping Tevin Campbell, Jon B, Dru Hill, all of that.

But comedy? Comedy stayed consistent. It kept growing, kept bubbling, and just got bigger and bigger. Now, when you talk about box office draw—we used to call it “Black comedy.” We don’t even say that anymore. Why? Because we are the box office draw.

Look at the top 10 comedians in the country—80 to 90% of them are Black. Maybe you’ve got a Bill Burr, maybe Amy Schumer, a couple others in that mix. But after that, you’ve got Kevin Hart, Mike Epps, Eddie Griffin, D.L. Hughley, Steve Harvey—all the big names.

We didn’t just make a lane—we took over. To me, you can cross out the word “Black” in “Black comedy.” Now, it’s just comedy.

VALIDATED: Yeah, it’s funny you mention that—I was just talking to someone about it the other day. Comedy really seems to be one of the few things that can cross cultural lines.

What’s interesting is that you’d think a white family and a Black family would have a lot of differences—and in some ways, they do—but there’s also a surprising amount of common ground. Laughter connects people, no matter where they come from.

TALENT: Oh yeah, that’s what we do.

VALIDATED: What do you find, you know, when you perform for these types of mixed audiences?

TALENT: Well, I try to talk real. I don’t sit down and try to write a joke per se, because I think when people try to write stuff out, it ends up being more sprinkled with—how do you say it?—your ethnic point of view.

Since my job is to talk to all ethnicities, I try to generalize things so it’s more balanced. It’s like food—you ever had food that’s unseasoned or over-seasoned? It’s the same concept. When you’re cooking, you don’t want to leave out the seasoning, but at the same time, you don’t want to overdo it with what you like. The people at your house might not like that much adobo or pepper or whatever.

So when you’re telling a story or discussing a topic, I find that if you generalize it—like you said, we have common ground—you can click into that common ground. You know what I’m saying?

I don’t have to go deep into my lingo just to connect with the Black folks and alienate everyone else in the audience—unless I want to on purpose. There’s a middle ground where I can say it, and the point gets across.

That’s how I tend to converse when I have a microphone. That’s why I don’t write a joke per se—because a joke usually takes on a single identity. But if you can talk—and I’m an orator by trade—if I can speak to people, why can’t everybody understand me?

We’re all speaking the same language. The only real barrier is if someone doesn’t speak English. I get it, they won’t understand. But if we do speak the same language, there shouldn’t be any real barriers. Yeah, we have differences, but that’s just culture. And those differences aren’t so vast that we’re not the same.

You know what I mean? Like, we’re both men, or we’re both women, we both have kids. I whoop my kids, you put yours in timeout—it ain’t that far off. It’s still under the same umbrella: punishment and trying to teach them to do better. I use the rod, you use the wall.

But if we look at history… we already know which method works better. That ass-whipping is number one, right? Number one in teaching kids. Everybody got an ass-whipping growing up. Nobody became a mass shooter. It’s those damn time-outs.

VALIDATED: Now, was that perspective something you always had as a comedian, or was it something you developed over time?

TALENT: Learned over time. Nobody’s going to start out that wise and that in tune.

We have this thing we say: you have to find yourself. We all think we know ourselves—or that we’ve already found ourselves—but the truth is, we really don’t. You truly have to find yourself.

Because when you start, yeah—you know it’s something you want to do—but you haven’t yet figured out how to tap into you to really do it. I know it sounds crazy. You think you know yourself—until you’re broadcasting.

I would compare it to something like COVID. You thought you knew your partner, but people were breaking up left and right because they realized they weren’t actually compatible. When the world shut down and everything stopped, you had to truly be with that person. And then you realized: I don’t like this person. Without him going to work, and me coming home from work, just sitting here together—it’s not going to work. You know what I mean?

Comedy is the same thing. You have it in your head—you’ve got an idea of what you want to say and do. But once you get up there, it’s nerve-wracking. It’s a very anxiety-inducing job. You’re doing a lot at once, trying to find the thing that makes you feel comfortable. Over time, as you hit more stages, you get a little more confident. And you start to hold onto those things that make you feel grounded.

A perfect example is one of my own. I’m known for holding a Heineken—or just holding a beer—as part of my stage presence. That decision came from multiple factors. First, back to the nerves: once I realized how anxious I felt up there, I started noticing other comics too. I’d see that hand—the one not holding the mic—just dangling and doing all kinds of weird stuff. That was nervous energy.

I thought, Man, I don’t want to look like that. It doesn’t look professional. And more importantly, coming from the hood, you know the audience will eat you alive if they sense you’re nervous. If they think you’re shook, that’s attack mode. The wolves are waiting.

So I said, You know what? I’m going to put something in that hand. So I held a drink. At first, it was just to calm the nerves, keep the hand from doing anything awkward. But then I noticed something else: it looked cool. It felt familiar. It looked like us—like how we talk. Like holding court in the living room or at a backyard cookout, just vibing.

So I embraced it. I started with one reason, but it ended up working for a whole other one. That became part of building my persona—that cool dude talking to you, dropping jewels in a funny way. And it just grew from there. That was part of me finding who I was on stage.

VALIDATED: Speaking of that, I was going to ask you—where did you come up with your saying, ‘This is just comedy’?

TALENT: My first television appearance was at the Apollo Theater. And honestly, this story is my favorite because I’ll never forget it—it was so impactful. It was my first TV taping, and it was nerve-wracking. I go back to the nerves again. You’re already nervous no matter what stage it is, but this was the Apollo.

Do you understand the kind of bubble guts you’re dealing with? The turning of your stomach—like you feel like you might poop on yourself at any minute. It’s just overwhelming. The whole day was nerve-wracking.

So the order of the taping was: they were going to bring out this comedian named Derek Ellis, a friend of mine from Dallas, Texas. Derek was going to do a set. Then MC Lyte, who had her Ruffneck song out at the time, was going to come out and do two songs. After that, they’d bring out Townsend—that was the order.

I kept talking to myself all day, my nervous ass. I was like, “Don’t worry. At least they’re gonna be happy you’re going on after them. They’re gonna be in a good mood from rocking with Ruffneck.” That’s what I kept telling myself.

So we get there, and they bring Derek Ellis out. Man, the Apollo booed the shit out of Derek Ellis. When I tell you, bro—they booed him twice. They booed him the first time, and the producers had to come out and make an announcement like, “Listen, you can’t boo him. He’s a guest. He’s a performer. He’s not part of the amateur night. We’re paying him…” And then they gave him a second chance.

They brought him out again, and he messed up from the first line. They booed him again. So now I’m like, “Fuck. The audience is in a riled-up mood.” But I keep telling myself, “At least they’re gonna see MC Lyte, they’ll calm down, and you’ll be good.”

I’m standing behind this guy with a walkie-talkie, and I hear him say, “All right, we’re ready for MC Lyte.” And the guy responds, “She’s gonna need 15 more minutes. She’s not done in makeup. Throw the Talent guy out there.”

I’m like, “Fuck.”

So now I’m going right after the boos. I come out, nervous energy all over me, shaky voice and all, and I know I gotta say something upfront. I’m like the condor listening—feeling the crowd. I said, “I ain’t that last dude. I’m from New York. I don’t take none of it.” And then I said, “I’ve got just one rule: don’t take none of this personal—it’s just comedy.”

Then I added, “If I say you’re ugly, and you happen to feel that you are ugly, it’s just a coincidence.”

And they laughed at that. From there, I was off to the races. That set ended up getting a standing ovation.

But this is how scary the Apollo is—even after a standing ovation, I ran out the back door. Shout out to the R&B singer Joe—he was back there rehearsing with his dancers. He said, “Oh man, you killed it!”

And I did. I got a standing ovation, but I sat on that stoop for another two hours, bro—still shaking. I couldn’t even really process it. I was just trying to breathe.

That’s how the phrase was first introduced to the game. And once it aired on TV—you know how TV is—people take stuff and run with it. So after it aired, if I went to a comedy club or a spot, people would say, “You know, say it! Say the thing!”

And then you realize what the people want. So I had to keep saying it. It became a signature. And I didn’t mind it—it was a great disclaimer, a great comedy opener. It was funny, it worked, and more importantly—it’s what the people wanted.

VALIDATED: Def Comedy Jam is such an iconic platform, especially with Russell Simmons behind it as the creator. So many legendary comedians got their start there. What was it like to be part of that moment in comedy history?

TALENT: Oh, it was amazing. Again, HBO was international—everybody wanted to be on Def Comedy Jam. Don’t get me wrong, we loved what ComicView did for us, exposure-wise. We loved what Apollodid for us—Apollo Comedy Hour, Uptown Comedy Club—all of those shows kept you visible on television. Your likeness was out there, and it did a lot for you.

But Def Comedy Jam was the one. At the time, it was international—and it was raw. That was rare. Even on ComicView, you couldn’t be as free verbally as you could on Def Comedy Jam. ComicView had to reel it in a little. You couldn’t go on there and just be raw however you wanted. Def Comedy Jam gave you that freedom. And not only that, it reached outside the country too. You could go to Canada and be the shit. You could go to England and be the shit. Any island—and be the shit. Because HBO was a subscription channel with international reach.

Anytime you got that call to tape, it was something special. And that’s what I loved about all those shows—Laugh-A-Palooza, whatever it was—taping time was like a beautiful family reunion of comedy comrades. That was the one time you’d see all your brothers and sisters in comedy, because normally you’d only see them if you traveled to their city.

So I’d see my Chicago folks like Corey Holcomb and DeRay Davis when I played Chicago. I’d see my D.C. cats like Joe Clair, Chris Thomas, and Fat Doctor when I was in the DMV. Marvin Dixon in Florida. Damon Williams in Chicago. You’d catch up with all these people as you moved around—or when you taped Def Comedy Jam, ComicView, Laugh-A-Palooza, whatever it was. When everyone came to town for that production week, and you’re all hanging out in one city—it was amazing, bro.

One time we taped ComicView during Mardi Gras—that was incredible. Another time we taped Def Comedy Jam All-Stars in L.A.—a couple times actually—that was crazy. And the original Def Comedy Jam in Times Square at the Academy Theater? That was iconic.

These reunions—whether you were in L.A. doing ComicView, Brooklyn doing Bad Boys of Comedy, whatever it was—it felt like a big comedy family reunion. You don’t get that feeling anymore. The last time we had anything close to that was a few years back when they did Def Comedy Jam 25 on Netflix. That was the last time we got that magic. It was stupendous. I wish they’d bring it back. I know they tried once, but I don’t think it lasted too long.

It did come back in different forms though—like Bad Boys of Comedy and Tommy T’s—same formula, different name. I even flipped the concept myself when I produced White Boyz in the Hood for Showtime. You can look that up—same formula. I hosted, DJ Cassidy was on the set (he’s rocking now with Pass the Mic), and we brought up these dope white comedians who could rock an urban crowd.

Not that dry, bland style we don’t really vibe with—but that in-your-face, make-you-bend-over-laughing type of comedy. You know what I mean?

VALIDATED: What advice would you give a young comedian who’s just starting out and trying to make a name for themselves?

TALENT: Well, I always tell young cats, you gotta stay on stage. It’s one of those things—you have to stay on stage. Comedy is… it’s kind of like roller skating or rollerblading. You know, it’s something you have to keep doing. If you stop, you lose traction. You know what I mean? You gotta keep at it. Get on as many stages a week as you can. That’s how you get tight. That’s how it becomes second nature. That’s how it becomes like the back of your hand—you just know it.

When I grab the mic, I’m not caught up or worried about what I do or don’t know. This is what I do. So it becomes second nature. But you gotta stay on stage. That’s my number one piece of advice to a new comedian, to someone thinking about doing comedy who hasn’t done it yet. No stage is the wrong stage when you’re just starting out. People always think it’s gotta be a comedy club or a certain kind of setting. But when we started, bro, we sought out any stage with a microphone. It didn’t have to be a comedy club. It could be an open mic. It could be a spot where a band was playing.

We’d go in, politely ask who’s in charge, and say, “Hey, we’re new comedians. Mind if we do some free comedy?” The band’s gotta take a break anyway—10 or 15 minutes. So while they’re on break, we’d grab the mic and try to tell some jokes. Some people said no. Some people said yes. Some had criteria—like, “Just don’t curse too much.” No problem. And that’s how we got our chops. Because we believed, and we were taught early on, that we had to stay on stage. So if there were only three comedy stages a week—say, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday—we weren’t just waiting on those. We were finding other stages in between. Like, “Oh, they got a poetry night? Cool—mind if I tell some jokes?” You just want to get in front of people, keep practicing, and keep working on your point of view, your bits, your jokes—whatever you want to call it.

VALIDATED: Conversely, what is one piece of advice you would offer to your younger self, knowing what you know now?

TALENT: I would have listened to one of my managers early on. He was trying to give me a piece of advice. We used to roll in cliques—we had groups of comedians that hung together. It was real cliquish back in the day. A couple of years in, he said, “Hey man, I want to have a talk with you. Come down to the office. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way—I just want you to hear me out and really listen.”

His advice was, “Man, I think it’s time for you to separate yourself.” And I’m like, What?

He said, “Yeah, I know. Y’all are cool, you’re friends, you’re tight, you’re fine. But on some advancement-in-comedy, next-level type stuff—I think it’s time for you, in particular, to separate from them.”

At the time, we were in that real Chuck D, Public Enemy kind of space—extra conscious, super aware, watching everything, especially the white man. There was that whole “Byron Allen contest” kind of energy happening too. So I took his words like, I hear you, but these are my friends. I don’t see the relevance. I was young and green.

But as I started to grow, and as we all started going our separate ways naturally, I realized—Yo, this dude was right. I began to see people around me mimicking things I was doing—ideas, premises, whatever the case may be. It’s like when people say couples start to look alike. You’ve been together so long, she can finish your sentences and vice versa. You start to sound alike, think alike.

It was the same with comics who stuck together too long. I started noticing that. And over time, I didn’t even have to intentionally separate myself—it just started to happen. I began getting more phone calls. I was the standout in the group, so I started moving in different directions without the others. I got booked for projects, tours—I was moving without the crew.

And in hindsight, I finally understood what he was trying to tell me. At the time, I couldn’t see it. But if I could talk to my younger self, I’d say: “Hey man, listen to that Jewish man. That white Jewish man with the long hair who was trying to help you. Listen to Barry. Stop being so stubborn.” Yeah… I’d definitely do that.

VALIDATED: Earlier, you briefly mentioned that there are different types of comedians, which I think a lot of people—or the average person—might not fully realize. How would you describe those different types?

TALENT: You have physical comedians. You have what we call slapstick. You have what we call physical—meaning, really, you ever see these guys? They’re wild, all over the stage. You know what I mean?

You have thought-provokers. You have storytellers. You have one-liners, and you have snappers. And then you have people like myself who are more so called to do it. Like, we’re called to do it, so we don’t have any one particular style, so to speak. My on-the-spot improvisation, when needed, is impeccable—but it’s natural. When you’re coming from a natural core, it’s different than something you prepared, if that makes sense.

You can prepare something, sure. But here’s the thing about comedy—we do a lot of repetition to get a joke tight, right? So if you’re preparing something and you have to go through that repetition process to get it right, you can get stuck in the middle. I never wanted to be that guy. You have comedians who get stuck in their own monologue. They go up there and know exactly what they’re going to say from A to Z, and they’re not paying attention to the nuances going on around them in the room.

I always try to be one with my audience. I find that I’m better when I’m with them. Meaning, I don’t just walk into a building and jump on stage. If you say, “Hey, Talent, you’re headlining the show Friday,” and you give me a run-of-show that says I hit the stage at 9:30—but the show starts at 8:00—I’m not walking in at 9:30 just to hop on stage. I need to be there at 8:00 like everybody else. I need to take it all in—see what’s going on, what the people like, what they don’t like. Read the room, so to speak. But more than that, I try to become one with the room.

Because it’s one thing to just read a room—it’s another thing to become one with the room. That’s my thing. My secret sauce, if you will, is to become one with the room. So even though I’m the comedian, the orator, the guy with the mic, I’m coming from your point of view—miraculously. You’re sitting there like, “Oh word, word,” because everything I’m saying, you’re thinking. I figured out how to become one with you.

So even though I’ve got the mic, I’m not the guy talking down to the audience. I’m the guy representingthe audience. I’m a speaker. You know what I mean?

I have no problem being in the moment. If we’re in the middle of a show and a lady’s chair breaks and she falls, and y’all laughing—I’m laughing too. And then we’re going to talk about it together. “Oh, you see this shit? Look at her!” We all feel like we’re comrades in the experience. That’s my secret to it all.

But you have all these different variations. Dave Chappelle is a great storyteller. When he tells a story, the room gets absolutely quiet to hear every intricate detail. You know what I’m saying? Charlie Murphy—he was a storyteller too.

Then you’ve got people like Redd Foxx who could zing you with one line. Rodney Dangerfield—zing you with one line. You’ve got physical comedians like a young Tommy Davidson, running, jumping, flipping across the stage. Damon Wayans—crazy, using the whole stage. J.B. Smoove—he uses the whole stage with physical antics.

And then you’ve got straight orator, funny, clever dudes that just sit there. Paul Mooney—he ain’t doing no running. Remember Paul Mooney? He sat there, two hands on the mic, on the stool. One of my favorites. He was an orator. Just talk.

VALIDATED: I was watching some of his work the other day, and since you brought up Paul Mooney, I really feel like he’s one of the greats. What stood out to me about Mooney—and I see a similar approach in Katt Williams—is how they both tackle real issues through comedy. It’s not watered down; Katt just delivers it from a different angle. Most comedians touch on real topics, but not with the same depth or boldness. Especially back in Mooney’s era—he was so raw and unfiltered.

TALENT: Paul Mooney—see, my thing with Paul Mooney is this: as great as he was, with all due respect, he never makes my top 10. And that’s because I have to factor in everything. To me, when you start talking top 10 or top five, it takes real thought. A lot of people just throw names out quickly, but it’s never that simple.

As great as Paul Mooney was, we can’t ignore that he was one-dimensional. You know what I mean? Like you said, he talked about what was going on—but really, it all boiled down to one topic: Black and white. Everything was about race. It stayed surface-level. There weren’t deeper layers or gears to shift into. It was one lane, and you either loved him or hated him. That was it.

It’s like Corey Holcomb—you know what I mean? Not a lot of gears. Corey’s gonna talk that talk, piss some women off, and that’s his lane. But then you have certain comedians who take you on a journey. One of the greatest storytellers of all time? Probably Bill Cosby. If you’re talking top five storytellers, you’ve gotta put Bill in there.

Then you’ve got guys who tell stories—but not really. Rodney Dangerfield, for example, would tell a story, but it was more about the zingers than a full narrative.

And then you’ve got comics who are incredible with characters—like Robin Williams and Jim Carrey. They ran character circles around everybody. They could do an entire hour and never be themselves once. That’s amazing when you think about it—being someone else that long, and the audience doesn’t even realize it until someone yells “cut” and they snap out of it. You’re like, “Oh, damn!”

It’s the same way with these Black actors from England. They crush these American roles, and we don’t even know they’re British until that one interview. They’re like, “Yeah, I took the role and…” and you’re like, “Yo, this dude was mean in that role!” You know what I’m saying?

So when you ask about the different types of comedy—that’s what you’ve got. There’s a ton of variation out there.

VALIDATED: And just as a quick sidebar—because most people don’t bring this up—you can tell you really pay attention. I was actually talking about this the other day. Have you noticed how so many Black actors we see in major roles now are coming from England? A lot of people assume they’re American, but they’re not.

It made me wonder: are they getting paid less or something? The actors, I mean. And if not, then why are casting directors pulling talent from the UK instead of here in the U.S.?

TALENT: Oh, well, everybody is a thing. You’re always saving money anytime you grab anything new. Your first time is when you come into the game—I get you at minimum wage, whatever that is. We call it “scale.” The word is scale in the business. But in the regular world, it’s minimum wage.

So, anybody new—this is why when we hit the recession, I had to learn this, because it didn’t make sense to me at first. When we hit the recession, there were a lot of guys—one of my guys close to me worked at Bank of America. He’d been there 30 years, something like that. And when he called, in my mind, they said they had to lay a lot of people off—recession, money’s messed up. In my head, you’re going to let all the new people go. These people ain’t going to bother him—he’s got the seniority, right?

It’s the other way around. They get rid of the seniority. Because they’re costing the company the most money—you’re higher paid, your benefit package, your 401(k)s, all that. When you lump all that together, you’re actually costing the company more. So I’d rather get rid of you guys and start over, because now all the people working for me are starting at minimum wage. I just cut a lot of expenses that way.

In my mind, he had to break that down to me and make me see that. I was like, “Ah, see, I was looking at it wrong.” So it’s the same thing in what we’re doing. When you bring all these new actors in, that’s exactly what they are—new. So I get to pay minimum wage again—scale, we call it—for a certain amount of time. I’m buying myself time. Because it’s just a matter of time—if this dude is nice and he pops—we get up to season four, Snowfall—I either gotta stop the story or start paying this kid.

You see the story start, right? Because I think there’s a bunch of them, but I think the guy from—what’s the show 50 Cent got now? I’m trying to think of it—he’s got so many of them. I’m talking about thatone.

VALIDATED: BMF? Raising Canaan?

TALENT: Oh, Raising Kanan! Isn’t that the main character? Isn’t he from England? Either Canada or England—they get them off. They all come from Canada or England.

I’m watching an English program right now. I like this girl—she’s a good actress—but here’s the thing too, man: a lot of these cats are getting in because they’re coming to the table with something. That’s one thing I can tell you about a lot of them—they’re smart. They’re coming in acting, but they’ve also got something they’re bringing with them.

And as a nation, we’ve been watching all this production coming from overseas. Some of it is topping us. So we’re like, “Oh, that’s why they’re loading up.” You go to Tubi—you see everything. I watched Taken: The Series on Tubi. I ain’t gonna lie, it was good as a mug. They did a good job with it, you know what I mean?

Some of these comedians—I don’t even know if you want to call them comedians—but different types of them, like the social media comedians. They’ll get a movie or a series or something, and the next thing you know, you’re seeing it on TV or whatever.

VALIDATED: Have you ever considered doing a sitcom or something like a scripted show?

TALENT: Oh yeah, I mean, I’ve had pilot after pilot. I was on a holding deal with Viacom for years out in L.A.

But now we know it’s about ownership. So now we’re trying to write, produce, and shoot our own stuff. I’m in the middle of two documentaries right now—which are going to be both documentaries and books—but I’m in the thick of that. And that’s content we’re shooting and producing ourselves so that we have ownership of it. Then you can license it out how you see fit.

I could license it to Tubi for four years, or license it to Showtime for two years—whatever makes sense. That’s how you keep the money generating from the projects you create. Because it’s always going to find a home somewhere. We’ve got too many streaming platforms now.

VALIDATED: Are there any comedians you’re currently working with or mentoring?

TALENT: All the time. There’s a whole crop of comics I’m connected with—from Philly, Jersey, Boston, New York, the West Coast, even Detroit. One of my young gunners is out of Detroit. These are people who’ve shown real passion—you know what I mean?

When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, and your reputation precedes you, a lot of people want to talk to you. They’ll come under the guise of, “I just started comedy, can I talk to you about it?” But many of them don’t really want to talk seriously—they just want a reason to have a conversation.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to spot the ones who genuinely want this. The ones who are hungry, who are serious. Those are the ones I choose to mentor—the ones I can drop jewels on because I know they’ll actually apply them.

VALIDATED: At this point, can’t you tell just by looking at them, even before they talk?

TALENT: Yeah, you can tell. I’m already watching. One of the hazards of my job is that we’re very analytical. We walk into a room, and we’re analyzing everything—reading the energy, the body language. And nobody tells us to do that; it’s just in you. It becomes second nature.

So I can tell how you’re moving—whether you’re serious, bullshitting, or whatever the case may be. One dude got mad at me, a guy out of Jersey. I booked him three times for a show, and he hasn’t been on time once. So I told him, “You don’t have to worry about me calling anymore, bruh.”

Even though I understand opportunities like this don’t come around every day… they gon’ learn today.

VALIDATED: So which current comedians do you find hilarious?

TALENT: That’s a good question. I still find JB Smoove hilarious—I like him a lot. I love Wanda Sykes too. Yeah, Wanda Sykes is funny as hell. There’s just something about that genius-level intellect, you know what I mean?

I still like Cedric. I love D.L. Hughley. I’m one of those cats who really gravitates toward that kind of comedy. And then there are some people I wasn’t really paying attention to before, but I’ve watched their progress.

From day one, my day ones have been Earthquake and Joe Clair—those are my people. But as time went on, I started catching others. Donnell Rawlings, for example—he’s really stepped his game up a hundred times over. I love working with Donnell. We’ve known each other a long time, and when you see real growth in somebody, it hits different.

I was just watching the NBA All-Star interviews last night, and Draymond Green said something similar about Jaylen Brown from the Celtics. They were doing a segment where players give each other props, and Draymond surprised everybody. He went in on how he’d seen Jaylen put in the work. It was deep—Jaylen just stared at him like, “I didn’t expect that from you.” Draymond was like, “Nah, bro. I see you put the work in.” He gave him his flowers, and I respected that.

I’ve been in the game a long time—July will make 33 years in comedy. I’ve done even more time in entertainment overall, but in straight comedy—33 years. And over those years, we’ve lost a lot of greats, but the ones still here… you’ve seen their growth. You’ve seen them push through, evolve. You’ve probably even said the same thing about me.

Like, rest in peace to David Arnold. I watched his growth before he passed—God rest his soul. His creativity never stopped. He was a genius at what he did, and I’ve got nothing but respect for that. It’s guys like him that prove, over time, what consistency and talent can do.

And if we’re talking about women in the game—Adele Givens, Sherri Shepherd, Sommore—those women don’t stop at the monologue. I said it earlier: they don’t get stuck there. They keep creating, they keep evolving, and their work just keeps getting better and better. You know what I’m saying? I take my hat off to them.

So yeah, those are the people I find hilarious. All the names I just mentioned—they’re not just funny, they’re brilliant. Bruce Bruce, Arnez J—those cats are amazing.

VALIDATED: What’s the link between stand-up comedy and hip-hop, in your opinion?

TALENT: Identical, because like I said, now we are the box office dudes—we’re the example of comedy. This generation we’re watching do it right now was ushered in through a hip-hop format. So when you see your favorite comics today, you can see it in their swag—it’s highly influenced by hip-hop.

When you look at Chappelle—from his clothes to his swag and his demeanor—when you look at Kevin Hart, Mike Epps, even Katt Williams, you can’t tell me these guys aren’t formulated and structured out of hip-hop. They’re not coming up there emulating country, rock and roll, pop, or whatever. I mean, you might have a sex symbol like Bill Bellamy who represents R&B, but everybody else comes from that hip-hop element.

Even Bill—when he got famous, it was through Def Jam, the first time, and then with “Booty Call.” That’s the culture. “Booty call” is directly derived from the culture. That didn’t come from nowhere else. It wasn’t Indians talking about that. It wasn’t Native Americans, Asians, or white people. That phrase is a direct derivative of Black culture. “Booty call” became one of the biggest jokes.

Everybody on Def Jam had a signature joke that would catapult them. Look at Bernie Mac: “I ain’t scared of you motherfuckers.” Right? All of those historical moments you watched on Def Jam—you can’t tell me they didn’t come from hip-hop. Everyone’s coming out to a hip-hop beat. The dancers at the end of the show? Hip-hop. Kid Capri’s the mascot, the resident DJ—it was all formulated that way.

And like I said, the door was cracked open by several things, but it was kicked wide open during that Def Jam era. That changed everything. That’s what people wanted to see. I remember going to several places and people wanted that energy. You’d go somewhere and they’d say, “Oh, there’s a young audience—try not to cuss.” And you’d try not to, but the audience would get restless like, Come on, man—give us that shit. Give us that raw.

Nobody wants you holding back. You don’t go to a boxing match and say, “Hey man, hit him a little bit.”No—“I gotta knock this dude out before he knocks me out!” Who says, “Just hit him a little bit?” No. You’ve got to go for it.

VALIDATED: You talked earlier about being involved in some shows and mentioned documentaries too—what are you working on right now?

TALENT: Absolutely! Right now, I’m juggling a few exciting projects. I’m on several tours at the moment—including the NY Kings Comedy Tour and Talent’s NY Queens Tour, which are both doing really well and bringing that classic stand-up energy to new cities. On top of that, I’m also working on a stand-up documentary called “It’s Just Comedy” that dives deep into the culture, grind, and legacy of comedy—something that’s been a long time coming. And of course, I’m continuing to build on the “It’s Just Comedy” movement, which is more than just a slogan—it’s a whole brand and message I stand behind. So yeah, staying busy and loving every minute of it!

VALIDATED: Any last words for the people?

TALENT: Yeah, man. Let’s just do better, folks.

Sometimes we get these strides going, and we look real promising. We’re just doing better overall as a people. And then sometimes, we hit this stagnation phase—or start doing the judgment, point-the-finger thing. We come up with all of our opinions and start letting those opinions become facts. We have to be very careful.

An opinion is just that—an opinion. It’s not a fact. You can’t make it a fact just because you strongly feel a certain way about it. An opinion is still just an opinion.

You know, recently we’ve had a lot of folks go on podcasts, go live, mention each other, and go at each other. And here’s my thing: I don’t get into it, because if a person is somewhere speaking their truth—boom, so be it.

But there’s a difference between speaking your truth and just blasting someone to pieces. You know what I mean? And we all know what that looks like.

In the space of what we do, we can’t afford for comedy to go left. We are the healers. We are the last frontier of freedom of speech.

We’ve got to use it wisely. We’ve got to be careful. Don’t go out here and mess it all up for everybody else.

So on that note—let’s just do better. I know we can. We are the number one people.

VALIDATED: Where can fans connect with you on social media and show their support?

TALENT: You can find your boy, Talent, all over social media if you want.

On X (formerly Twitter), I’m at @ItsJustComedy.

On Facebook, it’s King Talent Harris.

On Instagram, follow me at @TalentDaComedian.

Holla at your boy!

And for bookings or anything like that, you can always email me at: Talent@ItsJustComedy.com.

Appreciate you.