Jay Davis: Godfather of Sunset Strip Comedy

In a city with hundreds of top-tier comedians and a few live-show producers, Jay Davis stands out.

For over twenty years, Davis curated live comedy on the Sunset Strip.

Growing up in the Sunshine State

Before moving to Los Angeles in 1988, Davis grew up in Delray Beach, Florida. A love of surfing overshadowed his desire to pay attention in school.

“I was never a good student,” said Davis. “I was always the kid watching the clock.”

He passed time by doodling in notebooks and tuning out his teachers’ instructions. Don Davis, Jay’s father, instilled a tireless work ethic in his son. When Jay was three years old, Don taught him the importance of a proper handshake.

“Don’t squeeze too hard, and don’t be a dead fish,” said Don. “Right in the middle. Always look at the man in the eyes, and never look away.”

As a teenager, Davis needed a job to finance his arcade habit. So at 14, he drove his moped illegally from Delray Beach to a Holiday Inn in Boca Raton, about seven miles from his home. There Davis met a middle-aged man who worked in food and beverage service.

“How old are you?” the hospitality manager asked Davis. “Because you got to be 15 to work here.”

“I’m 15,” answered Davis.

“You’re hired,” said the man.

Davis shook his hand.

About four weeks later, the manager who had hired Davis was fired for drinking on the job. The hotel owner loved Davis as did several of the regular customers. One patron, a wealthy, elderly lady often purchased gifts for Davis including IZOD sweaters and T-shirts.

Davis had natural customer service skills. He enjoyed working with the restaurant staff, including the young women who worked at the Tiki bar and flirted with him.

Moving to Los Angeles

Davis lacked a plan for his future. In late 1988, his older sister finished college and decided to attend the acclaimed American Academy of Dramatic Arts, then located in Pasadena. After finishing high school, Davis drove a van across country to live with his sister in LA.

The acting school reminded Davis of the movie Fame.

“Right away, I noticed all these hot girls,” recalled Davis upon seeing the academy. “I’m like, ‘Man, this looks like fun. I’ve never done this, but I think I could do acting.’”

Davis introduced himself to the head of the admissions department and mentioned that he would like to attend.

She told Davis: “School starts Monday. It’s Friday.”

“Yeah, well I want to come,” replied Davis.

She informed Davis that applicants must audition for the program and that the process had ended three months ago. Always the salesman, Davis lobbied to try out for the school on the spot. The admissions person laughed and suggested he perform a monologue that day.

He borrowed a monologue book from the office and for the next few hours scrambled to learn two scenes.

That afternoon, Davis returned to the school’s office. There, the admissions head asked him to perform to an empty chair. Davis nervously uttered a few words but quickly forgot his lines. He persisted and managed to finish the audition.

He told his sister he was the worst actor to try out for the school.

Later that afternoon, Davis received a call from the admissions department.

“You start Monday,” the woman said.

Shortly after commencing the program, Davis’s sister moved in with her boyfriend. Davis needed a roommate. He stapled a flyer to a school bulletin board advertising a room share for his one-bedroom apartment.

Soon he received a phone call from an aspiring actor from Tennessee. It was Johnny Knoxville. The future Jackass star roomed with Davis. One year later, they both quit the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and moved to Hollywood to pursue acting.

Now they could both audition without worrying about a school schedule. Knoxville landed a Budweiser commercial, and Davis booked a part on a Disney after-school special. Sporadic acting roles weren’t enough to pay his bills.

At 19 Davis worked as a bar back at the Roxbury on Sunset. He aggressively promoted the club and became a model employee. In the early 1990s, no club was more popular with Hollywood’s elite.

“Everybody was going there,” said Davis who connected with Prince and several other celebrities. “I just started getting to meet people and know them. And I was building my Rolodex.”

The pre-iPhone scene was exclusive, and Davis had a front-row seat.

“[The Roxbury] was like a celebrity in its own,” Davis remembered. “The only cameras were a few paparazzi out front.”

While working there, Davis met numerous celebrities including Keanu Reeves, and had a brief stint managing Reeves’s rock band.

“It really was just fun,” Davis said about his time with the group. “I never thought managing musicians was my purpose.”

Working at bars exposed Davis to the grim side of substance abuse. It also illuminated the benefits of sobriety.

Inspired by successful bar managers, Davis had a revelation. “The sober ones were making all the money.”

He made a change and quit alcohol cold turkey, going eleven years without so much as a sip of beer.

He still longed to be a comedian. As a child, comedy had come naturally to him. He loved to entertain his family at holiday dinners with voices and impressions. This changed in adulthood. Davis tried too hard to be funny, often going overboard to win over crowds. He wanted to regain his relaxed childhood style.

“I didn’t realize it takes years of practice to get to that point,” Davis said about his early days in standup. “It takes a lot of time to get there.”

He dove in head first and learned on his own. To accelerate his ascent, Davis focused on his strengths as a host and promoter.

“It was a long, hard process, but I was a natural at promoting,” said Davis. “That was my strong suit.”

The Dublin’s Comedy Show

In late 1999, Davis and comedian Ahmed Ahmed approached the owners of an Irish-themed sports bar at 8420 Sunset Boulevard to pitch a weekly comedy night. They agreed.

The Dublin’s show began.

The venue granted Davis access to the entire second floor, which separated the comedy fans from those drinking and fraternizing downstairs. Upstairs at Dublin’s had the feel of an elegant, classic-style banquet hall — a stark contrast to the peanut-shell-covered ground floor. With the help of the staff, Davis organized tables and chairs upstairs and created a welcoming, comedy-friendly atmosphere.

This show drastically improved Davis’s mindset.

“It’s like the floodgates immediately opened up for me, and I was in my purpose,” said Davis, no longer feeling depressed about his future.

By emceeing the comedy nights, Davis could work on his material without worrying about impressing a booker. He figured that even if he sucked, he could bring up a seasoned comedian and the crowd would forget his set. He created his own stage and a legendary show in the process.

“I’ve always been good at hosting parties,” said Davis. “And I invited all the people anyway. So I never did a bringer room. I was the bringer.”

Without the burden of drawing a crowd, comedians clamored to perform at Dublin’s. However, one comic created an immediate buzz. Dave Chappelle performed at one of Dublin’s first shows. His set gave Dublin’s, and Davis, instant credibility.

“I give him all the credit for making me relevant in the comedy community.”

Years before starting the Dublin’s comedy show, Davis had managed Rande Gerber’s Whisky Bar at the Sunset Marquis hotel. Celebrities flocked to this 80-person tavern, including Chappelle. Depressed and uncertain about his future back then, Davis confided to Chappelle that he wanted to be a comedian.

“You got to get on stage, man,” replied Chappelle. “You just got to get on stage.”

Once Chappelle got word that Davis had created the Dublin’s show, he called him.

“I’m going to come down and do your show,” said Chappelle. “Call all your friends, tell them Dave Chappelle’s going to do 20 minutes this Tuesday.”

He showed up.

“And from that point on, it just made me relevant,” said Davis. And more than 400 eager guests regularly packed the second floor for Tuesday comedy nights.

During one show, a young comedian from Boston who learned of Chappelle’s appearance wanted a spot in the lineup.

“It was an amazing energy. It reminded me of a New York comedy club,” said the comedian.

He introduced himself to Davis and said he would love to be a part of the show. Davis said no at first, but after some lobbying, he acquiesced and allowed him to perform for seven minutes.

Shortly into his set, the comic won over the crowd and then blew the roof off the place. Right at the seven-minute mark, a buzzer went off inside the comedian’s pocket. Without finishing his last bit, the comic shouted, “Thank you, I’m Dane Cook.”

From that point forward, Cook became a regular at Dublin’s and developed a friendship with Davis.

“He was very hungry to build this show up. And I was hungry to build my career up,” said Cook on his initial interactions with Davis. “And I wanted to lock arms with anybody and everybody that was interested in one thing — getting better.”

They both got better.

Cook credits Davis’s Dublin’s show for helping him improve as a comic.

“That was really the turning point of where I wanted to become a writer/performer, as opposed to a performer, and then maybe a writer,” said Cook.

Each week, Davis promoted the Dublin’s show. He handed out flyers, called celebrities, sent texts — doing anything to get more butts in seats. And it worked.

Tuesday at Dublin’s was the most talked-about comedy show in Los Angeles. There was no cover charge. College students, actors, models, tourists — they all packed the place each week.

Several performers grew their brand at Dublin’s. Loni Love, Steve Byrne, Dr. Ken Jeong, Alonzo Bodden and so many others honed their talents on the makeshift stage.

It got so hot that the Laugh Factory sent over security staff to spy on the show. The club’s owners went from driving Toyotas to Porsches. The famed Montreal Comedy Festival held auditions there.

Vince Vaughn, fresh off his Swingers fame, attended regularly. Dane Cook remembers a specific pep talk he received from the actor just before going on stage.

“He clicked into the Trent character from Swingers and he just did a full-on hype-man rant in my face as Trent, pumping me up,” remembered Cook.

In character, Vaughn told Cook, “You’re not just the jelly. You’re the peanut butter, baby. You’re the peanut butter and the jelly. You’re the whole sandwich.”

“He went off for like three minutes with this, as Trent. It was delightful,” said Cook. “I mean, honestly, it was one of many, many memorable nights [at Dublin’s].”

For five years, Davis and the country’s top comedic talent entertained guests every Tuesday night. Audience members often danced and enjoyed themselves hours afterwards.

Eventually the show became a victim of its own success. Enforcers from the City of West Hollywood levied fines against Dublin’s management for operating without a dance license and other bureaucratic code violations.

“It was like Footloose around there,” recalled Davis about West Hollywood’s involvement. “If you don’t have a dance license, then you can’t dance.”

The Dublin’s owners, whose business had become more lucrative from the show, paid the citations to keep the establishment open. Eventually that caught up with them, and the city revoked Dublin’s liquor license and shut the bar down.

However, Davis nor any of the Dublin’s staff knew about this. The show proceeded. More than 600 people filled the bar, making it likely the show’s largest crowd ever. Roseanne Barr was the last to perform.

The next day, Dublin’s on Sunset shut down forever.

“It was really sad because we had worked so hard to build something so incredible,” said Davis about the abrupt closure. “All of a sudden, this legendary night was just over.”

From Dublin’s to the Comedy Store

With the abrupt ending of the Dublin’s show, Davis scrambled to find a new home base. He produced comedy nights at the Ice House in Pasadena and the Improv on Melrose. But he found his next chapter about a quarter mile away from Dublin’s.

Pauly Shore grew so impressed with Davis’s Dublin’s show that he lobbied Davis to move it to the Comedy Store, a club his mother, Mitzi Shore, had owned and managed since the 1970s. Mitzi Shore, a legend in comedy circles, took a hands-on approach to booking and developing talent.

To perform at the Comedy Store, comedians had to audition for her personally. This included Davis, who was passed after his first try.

“One of the most memorable moments of my comedy career was when Mitzi held my hand and told me that I was going to be a paid regular at the Comedy Store,” remembered Davis, whose name is painted on the building.

Mitzi Shore liked Davis’s comedy but didn’t hold back her criticism. She encouraged him to learn from veteran comedians.

“She thought I was funny and felt that she could help me to develop and grow,” said Davis.

Part of that development included creating a new show for Davis at the Comedy Store’s main room. Rock Comedy was born.

Davis’s growing pains showed. He periodically bombed on stage. This caused rumblings from some disgruntled Comedy Store regulars and a backlash ensued.

Davis said, “People were like, ‘This guy hasn’t earned his stripes yet. Why is he on the main room stage?’ — which is understandable.”

“I can get their point now that I’ve been in the community longer,” explained Davis years later. “I can see why that wasn’t fair to them. They’ve been working hard at their craft and were much funnier than me, but they couldn’t put people in seats.”

Rock Comedy was a hit. Davis, again, booked the room with top-shelf comedians and promoted diligently. However, backstage gossip derailed the show.

His friend wanted Davis to produce the show but not perform. Davis wanted no part of that. Fortunately for Davis, he owned the copy rights to the name “Rock Comedy,” so a new iteration of the show required a different name. But Davis had no part in it.

Davis wanted to dive into comedy full time. He still split time managing the Whiskey Bar at the Sunset Marquis Hotel and ran shows at night. However, he never worked the road as a comic.

While at the Virgin Megastore with Dane Cook, Davis confided, “I’m thinking of quitting [my day job], but I’m scared.”

Cook replied, “If you quit your job, dude, tomorrow, I will bring you on the road with me.” But he quickly second-guessed his recommendation.

“I remember thinking to myself that he shouldn’t, and I hope he doesn’t listen to me,” said Cook.

But Davis did, and Cook honored his word.

Opening on the road for Cook allowed Davis to learn from one of the most famous comics on tour.

While still fairly green as a comedian, Davis quickly became a more polished performer.

“Jay’s got a real interesting kind of gritty side to him,” Cook recalled about his time on the road with Davis.

That grit motivated Davis to take on another challenge.

Upset with how things had shaken out at the Comedy Store, Davis decided to produce shows only on his own.

Life of the Party at Laugh Factory

In 2004, Davis accompanied Cook to Las Vegas. Laugh Factory owner Jamie Masada booked a high rollers comedy show at the Bellagio Hotel, where Cook was performing. That weekend, Davis and Masada played roulette, went to dinner and connected through their passion for comedy.

“He couldn’t have been nicer to me,” said Davis of Masada.

While in Las Vegas, Masada asked Davis to bring his show to the Laugh Factory. Without hesitation, Davis agreed.

In early 2005, Davis brought his Tuesday night Life of the Party show to the Laugh Factory, steps from the former Dublin’s bar. The Laugh Factory show marked a significant change for Davis. This venue had only one stage, and the club focused exclusively on comedy. Davis’s show took place at 10 pm every Tuesday.

It quickly became a hot commodity. Dane Cook’s popularity was at an apex, and several other comedy superstars performed there regularly.

Fans loved it, including Brendon Mulvihill, founder of Live Comedy LA, a Yelp-style website dedicated to publicizing the city’s top comedy shows.

Mulvihill recalls why Davis made such an impression on him.

“Dude was one of the hardest workers I know,” said Mulvihill. “I have a ton of respect for

him.”

At Davis’s Tuesday night Laugh Factory shows, Mulvihill discovered several of his favorite standups, including Jo Koy, Bret Ernst, and Sebastian Maniscalco.

Comics vied for stage time. Comedian Brian Scolaro always looked forward to his Tuesday night spots.

“I loved his Laugh Factory shows,” said Scolaro. “They were always packed to the gills with really nice, and also very beautiful, Hollywood people. And those two words don’t really go together in Hollywood, nice and beautiful.”

Scolaro once performed after Dave Chappelle, and he was able to do twenty minutes of his strongest material. That set gave Scolaro more name recognition in LA than any of his sitcom appearances had.

“Jay always delivers an explosive event,” said Scolaro. “He’s an excellent promoter.”

After a five-year run, Davis’s Laugh Factory show stagnated. Revenue dropped considerably too. Masada didn’t like that and changed the terms on his arrangement with Davis.

“He’s a shrewd businessman,” said Davis, who was making less money on his shows. “He’s very successful. But if you’re not crushing it, you’re going to notice it when you work for him.”

Seeking a change of atmosphere, Davis left the Laugh Factory.

Off to the Parlor on Melrose

A friend of Davis’s recently invested in a sports bar on Melrose Avenue called the Parlor and lobbied Davis to move his show there. After meeting the owners and touring the venue, Davis grew skeptical.

“I’m not sure this room would be good for comedy,” Davis told the Parlor owner.

To give a new show a chance at success, Davis had some stipulations. He wanted management to support the show. He sought creative control of the comedy night. And, lastly, he requested input on the construction of a new stage and sound system.

Davis didn’t expect the Parlor team to heed his requests. Their response shocked him. “We really want you,” the Parlor owner said to Davis.

Coincidentally, the owner’s father ran an upholstery business. His talents were put to good use as he fabricated a large, beautiful velvet curtain that separated the entertainment area from the rest of the bar.

“Without it, it wouldn’t have worked,” said Davis.

That motivated Davis to take his show to the Parlor. Not wanting to compete with Lakers’ games, Davis took over Monday nights. Unlike prior ventures, Davis ran this show all on his own.

“The Parlor was my baby. It became my stamp. I created it from nothing, all alone, the way I wanted to do it,” Davis remembered. “And it felt really rewarding”

Comedy’s biggest names followed Davis to his Parlor Show, from Amy Schumer to Chris Rock. Los Angeles crowds enjoyed top-notch standup without paying a cover charge.

The Parlor’s management kept its word. They promoted the show regularly and behaved like genuine professionals. They paid Davis on time, every show. Regardless of the turnout, the management never complained about the crowd.

“They were the nicest people in the bar business,” Davis said about the Parlor’s management and staff. “I’ve never been treated with such respect.”

Success brought copycats. Eventually, other producers aimed to capitalize off the brand Davis built. This did not sit well with Davis, who aimed to maintain quality control.

“People would be like, ‘I went to see comedy at the Parlor, and it wasn’t that good,’” said Davis while discussing these one-off shows. “That’s why it was important that all comedy went through me.”

Returning to the Laugh Factory

Around this time, Davis rekindled his relationship with Jamie Masada and the Laugh Factory, even running occasional Saturday shows there. Davis had a revelation.

“Maybe I should be the booker at the Laugh factory,” said Davis, who contemplated a professional change. “Because I’m getting older, and it might be fun to book the whole thing.”

Masada quickly warmed to Davis’s idea. He groomed Davis in comedy club management, anointing him vice president of the company, and handing over to Davis the talent booking at the Laugh Factory locations in both Long Beach and Hollywood.

Davis and Masada influenced one another. Masada helped Davis improve his business acumen. Instead of routinely giving away free tickets, Davis learned to keep an eye on the bottom line. Comedy clubs cannot survive without profits. And interacting with Davis softened Masada. He credited Davis for making him less stubborn.

Viewing live comedy through a business lens altered Davis’s perspective.

“He taught me to be a stronger businessman,” said Davis on Masada’s mentorship. “I’m very grateful for the knowledge he gave me.”

On his return to the Laugh Factory, Davis had one mission — to put on the best shows possible. He did. Big-name comedians such as Ralphie May and Ken Jeong came back to the club. Crowds loved the shows. Lines around Sunset and Laurel grew longer.

The business model changed too. Davis no longer groomed new comedians. He went with established professionals who drew crowds. The Laugh Factory has just one stage. Davis wanted it to be the hardest stage to get on in the city.

“That was my view of how to make the Laugh Factory the best it can be,” said Davis on his aim to create laughter to the rafters at the club. “I went in there with that state of mind and some people got mad at me because I stopped booking average comics, or comics that I didn’t think were going to help pack the place. I wanted to make an energy there that was contagious.”

Davis knew what motivated the best comedians in the country to perform at his show.

“That energy is what these comics feed on,” said Davis. “They don’t really care about the little bit of money that they’re going to get from the club.”

This interaction with the audience fueled the comedians’ confidence. That’s why they did it. The Laugh Factory’s setup made the energy incredible. Davis explained, “It’s the best stage in Hollywood. When that place is full, and you’re crushing, it makes comedy easier.”

Davis built a platform where comedians could fine-tune material, and then use it in national specials where they could make millions.

But the party didn’t last.

Davis promoted a Saturday show that sold out quickly. Just before the show started, Davis got in a verbal back-and-forth with a new manager about Davis’s guest list.

Davis lost his cool. “I yelled at him and this is where I was wrong,” admitted Davis.

This exchange taught Davis a lasting lesson: don’t use anger in business.

“If you’re feeling angry, get a grip on it,” said Davis after the incident.

Davis decided to leave the Laugh Factory.

A Wednesday evening would be Davis’s final Laugh Factory show. He told nobody. While feeling emotional and under-appreciated, Davis had a welcome surprise. A Laugh Factory photographer who normally shot photos of the star comedians asked Davis a question.

“Can I get a picture of you on the stairs tonight?” she inquired of Davis, who obliged happily.

The photographer captured a beautiful image of Davis smiling proudly.

He said to her: “What you don’t know is this is my last night inside the Laugh Factory, and you captured it, and I didn’t even have to ask you to do it. You just naturally did it.”

An Uncertain Future

Two weeks after Davis left the Laugh Factory, the country was stricken by a global pandemic that halted live comedy. What the post-COVID comedy landscape will look like is still uncertain.

But when it returns, Jay Davis will help spread laughter.

“The one thing that laughter does, it gets you away from the political climate,” said Davis. “No matter your politics, skin color, race, religion, gender, we should all be able to sit in a room together and laugh.”

Article by Matt Balaker, a comic, writer, and author of Greg Giraldo: A Comedian’s Story. Follow @mattybgame.