I Had a Magical Experience Watching Dave Chappelle Tour ‘The Closer’

Unless you live under a rock (in which case, I kind of envy you) you’ve likely read more than a few headlines about comedian Dave Chappelle’s recent Netflix special, The Closer. I will not be talking about those headlines, nor my opinions about The Closer, in this post. If you clicked on this wanting to read more heated arguing for or against the special, please know that this will not be that kind of article.

What I want to talk about instead is the experience I had watching Mr. Chappelle perform a slightly earlier version of this show at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas on Fourth of July weekend. That night was one I’ll remember forever, for reasons that I’ll describe shortly.

Now, you likely have your own opinions about The Closer and Chappelle. I’m not here to judge those opinions. Your beliefs about anything — comedians included — are your own.

However, my interaction with this show was extremely positive. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this experience until it was happening. Despite that, the drama around some of the special’s jokes has made it difficult for me to write about it.

This was a beautiful night for me, though, and I want to share the story with you.

Vegas, Baby

I was home alone one night, drinking wine and watching Chappelle’s Show. Watching the show gave me a thought: though I hadn’t seen anything about Chappelle filming a new special or touring, I decided to take a Google Search of faith and see if he would be performing in the near future. The pandemic restrictions had started to lift in some states, and arts and music events were slowly coming back to society. I wasn’t very hopeful that I’d find new tour dates for Chappelle but — to my surprise — I did.

In one month, he’d be playing the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Vegas. I texted my boyfriend a screenshot of the tour date and venue, and within the hour I’d purchased our tickets. Living in California, our drive to Vegas would be about five hours, but we were more than up for the trip.

On the day of the show, we lined up outside of the MGM with hundreds of other people attending the event. There was this electricity in the crowd all around us. You could feel how excited everyone was to be going to a live, in-person event again — and one performed by someone as famous as Dave Chappelle, nonetheless. Even though the lines going into the MGM were long, everyone around us seemed to be smiling and laughing. Strangers talked and joked with the people ahead and behind them in the queue; onlookers offered to take photos for those trying to get the venue background in their selfies.

Inside the arena, the rest of the crowd and I watched the opening musical and comedy acts. As the time for the main event crept closer, we waited with bated breath as the live band dropped into silence after each song. Was it now? Would we see Chappelle walk on stage after this song?

After what felt like an eternity, the familiar, even cadence of Chappelle’s voice came over the speaker system. I think he only said something to the effect of thanking his opening acts, but he could have read text out of a legal book and the crowd still would have reacted the same: they went absolutely nuts. Everyone was instantly applauding, screaming, and cheering. Everyone was happy — maybe happier than any of us had been since the start of COVID.

After a few more minutes, the band left the stage and the lights dimmed. The unmistakable figure of Dave Chappelle, dressed in a suit, stepped into the spotlight produced in the center of the arena. The crowd went crazy again.

I can’t remember if he addressed the crowd, or even if he spoke at all. What he did was so not what I expected, and so beautiful, that everything immediately before and after it is wiped from my memory: he sang.

Without any music, he started simply:

“When you were here before,

Couldn’t look you in the eye…”

The crowd joined in to sing the rest of Radiohead’s “Creep” in possibly the most moving and powerful display of social cooperation I’ll ever see. Not moving because we were singing for a great cause. Not powerful because we were participating in some important event. But immeasurably impactful because we were all together and, maybe for the first time since March of 2020, feeling hopeful again.

“But I’m a creep,

I’m a weirdo,

What the hell am I doin’ here?

I don’t belong here.”

When we hit the chorus, I cried. You can make fun of me. Hell, I made fun of me the second it happened. But I couldn’t help it. Before I could even think about trying to hold them back, the tears were running down my cheeks.

“What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.”

It was as if everyone in that stadium was collectively asking the universe how we had been able to make it through the past year and a half in one piece. How we could be around other people again after we had to fear one another for so long. How we could belong outside of our homes. How we could see live art again. What were we doing there? How did we make it through the pandemic?

You already know how the show went. It’s on Netflix.

I will never be able to dislike that special. For me, The Closer became something much more than the content of the show. It became an experience that healed and comforted me and many other people in the still-not-quite-over pandemic.

If I had gone to see a different performance, I bet I’d feel this way about that artist. But I didn’t. I went to a Chappelle show, and it soothed my soul.