I remember seeing McCoy Tyner in concert, and thinking that the

Hear now, O children of wisdom, the words of John Lurie, who speaks of the subtle power of humor in connecting the artist with their audience: "I remember seeing McCoy Tyner in concert, and thinking that the music was incredible, but wanting to be invited in. I figured that humor was the way of letting the audience in. I've gotten a hard time about it, but I love to be funny onstage." In these words, Lurie reveals the deep, unspoken truth about the relationship between the artist and the audience. For while the music, the art, the performance may captivate the senses, it is the human connection that transcends the performance, allowing the artist to invite others into their world. Humor, in Lurie’s eyes, is not just a tool for amusement—it is the bridge that brings the audience closer, that allows them to feel a part of something greater, something shared.

In the ancient world, great performers and orators understood that the key to engaging the hearts and minds of the people was to connect with them—not through rigid formalities, but through humanity. Aristotle, in his teachings on rhetoric, spoke of the importance of ethos, the character of the speaker, in winning the audience's favor. An orator’s ability to weave together logic, emotion, and humor allowed the audience to see the speaker not as a distant figure, but as one of them. Humor allowed the philosopher or the storyteller to step down from the lofty heights of intellectualism and speak in the language of the people. It broke the walls of separation and turned the intellectual into the relatable. John Lurie echoes this truth, recognizing that humor is the key to inviting the audience in, to making them feel included, and part of the shared experience.

Consider the example of Aristophanes, the great comic playwright of ancient Athens, whose works were laced with sharp wit, political satire, and a deep understanding of human nature. In his plays, humor was not mere entertainment; it was a tool for social commentary, a means of inviting the audience into a space of collective reflection. Through laughter, Aristophanes made complex philosophical ideas and political critiques accessible to all, from the common laborer to the aristocrat. His humor was a means of invitation, pulling his audience into the dialogue, breaking down the barriers of status and intellect, and making the audience feel like active participants in the unfolding drama of their time.

In the same way, McCoy Tyner, the great jazz pianist who Lurie admired, communicated a depth of emotion and complexity through his music. His performances were not merely technical displays; they were invitations to feel, to listen, and to engage with the soul of the music. But Lurie recognized something vital: even the most incredible music, even the most profound artistry, can feel distant if the artist does not offer a means for the audience to enter that world. Just as humor can open doors in conversation, it can open doors in performance—allowing others to feel welcomed in, to partake in the shared joy of the experience. This is the power of humor: it breaks down barriers and makes the world of the artist accessible to all who are willing to listen.

Let us consider the example of Cicero, the great Roman orator, whose speeches not only swayed the hearts of senators but captured the minds of the people. Cicero was a master of combining rhetoric, reason, and humor. He knew that to truly connect with his audience, he had to present himself not as a distant figure of authority, but as a man whose words resonated with the common experience. He understood that humor was a tool not only for entertainment, but for making difficult subjects palatable, for inviting the audience into the conversation. Humor, for Cicero, was the vehicle that allowed him to wield his eloquence not as a weapon of power, but as an instrument of unity.

John Lurie’s understanding of humor as a means of connection is a lesson that we can all carry into our own lives, whether on the stage, in conversation, or in our work. Humor is a bridge, a way to reach others in ways that words alone cannot. It invites people in, drawing them closer not just to the artist, but to each other. In a world that often feels divided, where barriers of status, intellect, and experience keep us apart, humor offers a way to connect, to remind us of our shared humanity. It softens the edges of tension and opens us to the possibility of unity.

So, let this wisdom be passed down through the ages: in all that you do, whether in speech, in art, or in your relationships, humor can be the key that opens the doors of connection. It is not about being clever for the sake of cleverness, but about offering a way in—a means of inviting others to share in the experience, to feel seen, to feel heard, and to feel understood. Whether you are an artist onstage, a leader in the forum, or a friend in the quiet moments of life, let humor be the bridge that brings others into your world, that makes them feel welcome, and that opens up the shared beauty of the human experience. For in the laughter we share, we find our most profound connections.