Meads must: NOLA comic Saya Meads (photos by Nkechi Chibueze)
Setting the world on Saya
interview by Paul Oswell
Saya Meads is a name known to Joe Biden’s Secret Service detail. “He came to New Orleans instead of Obama one time and our school went to an event. I was something of a class clown and my teacher told me he’d given them my name. For real. I was 11.”
Childhood notoriety aside, the comedy clubs of Los Angeles also know the name. Saya Meads is freshly home from a show-packed trip, where she tore up the kinds of rooms that you want to be tearing up if you want to ascend to the rarified air of elite showbusiness performance. “It was a dream,” she says, her face lighting up. “I loved it. Every show felt like a huge show, and everything was damn near perfect. The people from the Comedy Store remembered me, which made me feel really good. I killed there and killed at The Laugh Factory and then I did the Hollywood Improv with Deray Davis and Deon Cole. It was just…a dream.”
We're talking over coffees in The Marigny. I’d like to state for future biographers that Saya Meads has a hilariously complicated coffee order, featuring varied creams, sprinkles, dustings and flavored pumps. That’s my contribution to the inevitable Wikipedia entry. Give me my Pulitzer. If you haven’t seen Saya Meads perform, do yourself a favor and hit a local comedy show - before you know it, she’ll likely be playing theaters and arenas. Meads delivers provocative, whip-smart material with a punchy, Gen-Z cynicsim and a stage presence that you’re either born with or you’re not. The L.A. successes shouldn’t be a surprise, but still, it seems like a big step forward.
“I definitely came back a new bitch,” she says. She catches herself. A pause. “Hmmm, I need to get some interview legs. Tell me if what I'm saying is too inappropriate.” While I laugh and think about that, I wonder how you build on trips like this, how you keep up the momentum? “Just never stop hitting the stage,” she says. “The stage is where I belong, and although not much has really changed, when I came back I thought, okay, now I'm tired of my material. I gotta flesh out my other stuff.”
So it’s just immediately back to the coal face, no basking in a job well done? “Comedy is a constant grind, and it ain't for the weak because it's a lot of “no”. Way more than “yes”. I mean, not so much for me <laughs>. I'm just messing around! It really is about perseverance. You question yourself all the time, what am I doing? Maybe I’ll go be a mailman!”
Hopefully, being the funniest mail deliverer in the city is a back-up plan that never has to be engaged. Saya has had representation for a while now, a serious advantage amid the clamor of comics that are trying to get noticed. How does that arrangement work? “Well, I send my manager my material and he tells me it’s trash. This is how our relationship goes. I grind, I pour blood, sweat, tears into it. I send it to him and he says it's garbage <laughs>. It’s a process.”
I wonder what the end game is. What kind of legacy does Saya Meads dream of? She doesn’t even hesitate. “So there's a Mexican belief that there are three deaths. The first one is when your body dies, the second one is when you hit the casket. And the third one is when they say your name for the last time, right? So. My goal is…immortality <laughs>.”
That seems doable, right? Simply just achieve Richard Pryor or Dave Chapelle, levels of fame? “I want fame. I want admiration. I want fans. I want money,” she says, with believable conviction. “However, one of the things that I'm very grateful for is that it seems like being a famous comedian is a different type of celebrity. It's not like pop stars, with people following you around. I feel like you'd still be able to go to the grocery store.”
OK, just worldwide and everlasting fame, but with a down-to-earth touch. Got it. “My goals are intangible,” she muses. “Not unreachable, but intangible. It's an abstract concept that I'm looking for, and that concept is…complete freedom. But I'm neurodivergent, so my thinking isn't always linear and my patterns aren't going to be linear.”
I ask if her neurodivergence made her funny as a kid as a kind of survival mechanism? “Yes, I was hilarious <laughs>! No, my teachers continuously remind me that I was hyperactive. I had no filter. I was more than mischievous, I was disruptive. I was a handful. I was a gremlin. A goblin. A goon.” These thesaurus-like vocal run-ons are part of Mead's charisma. She's eloquent, assured and incisive, linguistically deft with witty vocal jabs. I ask if she was undiagnosed at school? “Oh no. I was very diagnosed. They took one look at me and said, ‘Give that child all the medications!’ I guess I've just had a very strong personality since…well, since I could talk.”
We talk about New Orleans and if being a success on a bigger stage means having to leave the city at some point. “I might leave, but I would miss it too much. In Los Angeles, when people knew my name, it felt really good to be making an impression. But I really felt a loss of home because all my friends and family and all the comics from here were messaging me every day and I just felt so whole. You really can't trade New Orleans for anything.”
Do you think you can achieve a high level of success living in New Orleans though? Some people manage it. Kermit Ruffins springs to mind. “The entire world doesn't end where you grow up, so if I want to succeed, I'm going to have to leave. But it's one of those slow walks out, you know? I'm definitely going to wind up coming back because there ain't no place like home.”
Early influences are often the ones that stick with comedians. Who did a young Saya Meads listen to? “I was just performing in the mirror,” she says, “Being fine at the age of six <laughs>. No, my favorite comedian, and some people say it's hacky, is Kevin Hart. I feel like he changed the game in a way that people don't recognize. He brought an aura of silliness to his humor. He’s relatable but so unique and it's something that I watch to this day and I laugh my ass off.”
New Orleans has a somewhat unusual comedy scene for a medium-size city. There’s no real comedy club, so most of the shows are bar shows. I wonder how that shapes things. “My favorite thing is that it feels like family,” she says, “Like, our eyes light up and we see each other and it’s a community where we can sit down and talk about each other's set. I also like how we give each other opportunities. In Los Angeles, it seems like people are hungry in a way that does not foster community. I don't feel we're stepping over each other in New Orleans.”
I suggest that maybe not having a comedy club works to our benefit up to a point. “Now that you mention it, I think it might, because it forces us to give each other work. In terms of local rooms, I love AllWays Lounge, I love Dragons Den and I love Sports Drink off Magazine. If I'm performing at these places, I'm getting it. The crowd is mine. Put the leash on <laughs>!”
I’m curious about the semi-regular showcase that Saya produces, ‘Négligée’, where comedians do sets in lingerie and underwear. "Négligée is a show promoting body positivity and getting out there and showing you ain't got nothing to hide. However, I also use it as an opportunity to wear all of the exorbitant amounts of (Rhainna’s underwear brand) Savage X Fenty that I bought over the pandemic. Use it in a show and it’s a tax write off!”
We’re finishing our drinks, sprinkles and all. What else is in Saya Meads’ immediate future? “I’ll soon be recording my special at the Atlanta Punchline. I would also love to do some comedic acting. I have an idea for a sitcom, based in New Orleans.” I tell her I was talking to a friend about this lately, about the fact that there's no real ‘New Orleans sitcom’. “You know what? You're right. And this city is too chaotic to not have one.” She gazes out of the window. “The amount of tomfoolery I see on these streets? It almost writes itself.”
See Saya Meads at Godless Constitution, a cabaret at AllWays Lounge on Sept 8th. Buy tickets here.
Follow Saya Meads on Instagram.
Micah McKee takes on The Beatles
More New Orleans culture
interview by Paul Oswell
Saya Meads is a name known to Joe Biden’s Secret Service detail. “He came to New Orleans instead of Obama one time and our school went to an event. I was something of a class clown and my teacher told me he’d given them my name. For real. I was 11.”
Childhood notoriety aside, the comedy clubs of Los Angeles also know the name. Saya Meads is freshly home from a show-packed trip, where she tore up the kinds of rooms that you want to be tearing up if you want to ascend to the rarified air of elite showbusiness performance. “It was a dream,” she says, her face lighting up. “I loved it. Every show felt like a huge show, and everything was damn near perfect. The people from the Comedy Store remembered me, which made me feel really good. I killed there and killed at The Laugh Factory and then I did the Hollywood Improv with Deray Davis and Deon Cole. It was just…a dream.”
We're talking over coffees in The Marigny. I’d like to state for future biographers that Saya Meads has a hilariously complicated coffee order, featuring varied creams, sprinkles, dustings and flavored pumps. That’s my contribution to the inevitable Wikipedia entry. Give me my Pulitzer. If you haven’t seen Saya Meads perform, do yourself a favor and hit a local comedy show - before you know it, she’ll likely be playing theaters and arenas. Meads delivers provocative, whip-smart material with a punchy, Gen-Z cynicsim and a stage presence that you’re either born with or you’re not. The L.A. successes shouldn’t be a surprise, but still, it seems like a big step forward.
“I definitely came back a new bitch,” she says. She catches herself. A pause. “Hmmm, I need to get some interview legs. Tell me if what I'm saying is too inappropriate.” While I laugh and think about that, I wonder how you build on trips like this, how you keep up the momentum? “Just never stop hitting the stage,” she says. “The stage is where I belong, and although not much has really changed, when I came back I thought, okay, now I'm tired of my material. I gotta flesh out my other stuff.”
So it’s just immediately back to the coal face, no basking in a job well done? “Comedy is a constant grind, and it ain't for the weak because it's a lot of “no”. Way more than “yes”. I mean, not so much for me <laughs>. I'm just messing around! It really is about perseverance. You question yourself all the time, what am I doing? Maybe I’ll go be a mailman!”
Hopefully, being the funniest mail deliverer in the city is a back-up plan that never has to be engaged. Saya has had representation for a while now, a serious advantage amid the clamor of comics that are trying to get noticed. How does that arrangement work? “Well, I send my manager my material and he tells me it’s trash. This is how our relationship goes. I grind, I pour blood, sweat, tears into it. I send it to him and he says it's garbage <laughs>. It’s a process.”
I wonder what the end game is. What kind of legacy does Saya Meads dream of? She doesn’t even hesitate. “So there's a Mexican belief that there are three deaths. The first one is when your body dies, the second one is when you hit the casket. And the third one is when they say your name for the last time, right? So. My goal is…immortality <laughs>.”
That seems doable, right? Simply just achieve Richard Pryor or Dave Chapelle, levels of fame? “I want fame. I want admiration. I want fans. I want money,” she says, with believable conviction. “However, one of the things that I'm very grateful for is that it seems like being a famous comedian is a different type of celebrity. It's not like pop stars, with people following you around. I feel like you'd still be able to go to the grocery store.”
OK, just worldwide and everlasting fame, but with a down-to-earth touch. Got it. “My goals are intangible,” she muses. “Not unreachable, but intangible. It's an abstract concept that I'm looking for, and that concept is…complete freedom. But I'm neurodivergent, so my thinking isn't always linear and my patterns aren't going to be linear.”
I ask if her neurodivergence made her funny as a kid as a kind of survival mechanism? “Yes, I was hilarious <laughs>! No, my teachers continuously remind me that I was hyperactive. I had no filter. I was more than mischievous, I was disruptive. I was a handful. I was a gremlin. A goblin. A goon.” These thesaurus-like vocal run-ons are part of Mead's charisma. She's eloquent, assured and incisive, linguistically deft with witty vocal jabs. I ask if she was undiagnosed at school? “Oh no. I was very diagnosed. They took one look at me and said, ‘Give that child all the medications!’ I guess I've just had a very strong personality since…well, since I could talk.”
We talk about New Orleans and if being a success on a bigger stage means having to leave the city at some point. “I might leave, but I would miss it too much. In Los Angeles, when people knew my name, it felt really good to be making an impression. But I really felt a loss of home because all my friends and family and all the comics from here were messaging me every day and I just felt so whole. You really can't trade New Orleans for anything.”
Do you think you can achieve a high level of success living in New Orleans though? Some people manage it. Kermit Ruffins springs to mind. “The entire world doesn't end where you grow up, so if I want to succeed, I'm going to have to leave. But it's one of those slow walks out, you know? I'm definitely going to wind up coming back because there ain't no place like home.”
Early influences are often the ones that stick with comedians. Who did a young Saya Meads listen to? “I was just performing in the mirror,” she says, “Being fine at the age of six <laughs>. No, my favorite comedian, and some people say it's hacky, is Kevin Hart. I feel like he changed the game in a way that people don't recognize. He brought an aura of silliness to his humor. He’s relatable but so unique and it's something that I watch to this day and I laugh my ass off.”
New Orleans has a somewhat unusual comedy scene for a medium-size city. There’s no real comedy club, so most of the shows are bar shows. I wonder how that shapes things. “My favorite thing is that it feels like family,” she says, “Like, our eyes light up and we see each other and it’s a community where we can sit down and talk about each other's set. I also like how we give each other opportunities. In Los Angeles, it seems like people are hungry in a way that does not foster community. I don't feel we're stepping over each other in New Orleans.”
I suggest that maybe not having a comedy club works to our benefit up to a point. “Now that you mention it, I think it might, because it forces us to give each other work. In terms of local rooms, I love AllWays Lounge, I love Dragons Den and I love Sports Drink off Magazine. If I'm performing at these places, I'm getting it. The crowd is mine. Put the leash on <laughs>!”
I’m curious about the semi-regular showcase that Saya produces, ‘Négligée’, where comedians do sets in lingerie and underwear. "Négligée is a show promoting body positivity and getting out there and showing you ain't got nothing to hide. However, I also use it as an opportunity to wear all of the exorbitant amounts of (Rhainna’s underwear brand) Savage X Fenty that I bought over the pandemic. Use it in a show and it’s a tax write off!”
We’re finishing our drinks, sprinkles and all. What else is in Saya Meads’ immediate future? “I’ll soon be recording my special at the Atlanta Punchline. I would also love to do some comedic acting. I have an idea for a sitcom, based in New Orleans.” I tell her I was talking to a friend about this lately, about the fact that there's no real ‘New Orleans sitcom’. “You know what? You're right. And this city is too chaotic to not have one.” She gazes out of the window. “The amount of tomfoolery I see on these streets? It almost writes itself.”
See Saya Meads at Godless Constitution, a cabaret at AllWays Lounge on Sept 8th. Buy tickets here.
Follow Saya Meads on Instagram.
Micah McKee takes on The Beatles
More New Orleans culture