The Puterbaugh Sisters
written by Ashlee Robison
The Puterbaugh sisters were born in the wrong decade. “I’m not so good at the click, click technology,” says Tiffany Puterbaugh. They hate technology. They wished they owned a gramophone, aspire to be silent movie actresses, and their comedy routine resembles a vaudeville act more than a stand-up set. They perform sketch scenes, spontaneously break into song, use props, and often dress in drag and wear moustaches during their performances. They don’t know how to create a MySpace page or post videos on YouTube. “We’re confused about most things that have happened since the 1960’s,” Tiffany adds.
The sisters were born and raised in Ohio, and they are sisters in real-life. They are sisters the same way that Tia and Tamara and Wilson Phillips are, they like to tell their audiences. They are two years apart. Their last name is pronounced with a short “u” sound, the way putty is pronounced in silly putty. They would also appreciate it if you took them to Denny’s for a Moon over My Hammy breakfast extravaganza. “God decided that we should do comedy and bestowed the Puterbaugh name onto us,” Danielle says.
The Puterbaugh Sisters act is ridiculous, high energy, and over-the-top. They mesh music and comedy together, improvise some, act some, and dance some. They are equally comfortable doing an impression of an Alzheimer’s patient giving a blowjob as they are acting out a 1940’s detective scene. They say their humor either goes over really well, or they get blank stares and coughs. The first time I saw them perform was on a late Tuesday night at the Chicago Underground Comedy Show on the northside of the city. The audience loved it. They ran on stage wearing matching catering uniforms of black pants, white blouses, and black ties, performed four minutes of material, and promptly stripped off their server outfits to reveal sequined butterfly tops and black skirts beneath. They reminded me of the worst kind of washed up showgirls performing two streets off the Vegas strip. They performed a song called “Gnome Cock,” which was a mixture of actual singing and rapping. The song details the plight of women who take men home from the bar scene only to discover that their one-night-stand is not well endowed.
The sisters have been performing as long as they can remember. In their earliest performances they wore their grandmother’s wigs before a mirror with the tape recorder rolling. They earned their sea legs staging comedy shows for their family, acting in school plays, and dressing up as brothers Hanz, Bronze, and Chanz with their cousin at a local strip mall called the French Market.
While performing last spring at the Chicago Underground Comedy Show they were noticed by a casting director from Los Angeles. They sang “Gnome Cock” for him, and he booked them a flight to LA to audition for a reality show created by Mark Burnett. The show was called Jingles. It was simultaneously hosted and judged by Gene Simmons. It pitted hundreds of serious jingle writers against each other for the chance to compose jingles for television commercials. The Puterbaugh sisters were part of the handful of comedians asked to audition. “The whole experience was bizarre and cheesy,” says Danielle. “Gene Simmons walked in the first day,” Tiffany adds, “And said in a low voice, ‘Alright guys, now, nothing is going to get you here, not your song, not your costumes, not your jingles. If you’re not serious jingle writers, there’s the door.’”
The sisters dressed in drag, wore mustaches, and sang “Gnome Cock” for Gene Simmons. Their song left him speechless, and they consider that moment the best part of the entire experience. “We silenced Gene Simmons, a man who based his entire career off his tongue,” says Danielle. Jingles was put on hold indefinitely by CBS, but if it ever does make it on the air, the sisters hope to be a part of the reject reel. Until that time comes, they’ve turned the experience into a sketch scene featuring a Hollywood producer and a jingle writer from Minnesota.
The Puterbaughs were the first comedy act to perform at the Double Door in Chicago. The venue is known for its indie rock scene and is frequented by the most hard core hipsters in the city. “The thing about comedy is you get drunk, a lot,” Danielle says. There wasn’t a host for the evening, and they ran on stage between sets of a popular band. This was the occasion they bombed the hardest. “We, of course, made fun of hipsters,” says Tiffany, “Because we make fun of everyone, including ourselves, and there were no laughs, no smiles. People were confused, and then a drunken man got on stage and stole the mike from us. We tried to drown him out, but we gave up.” “We got drunk after that set,” says Danielle. “We did get drunk,” adds Tiffany.
The Puterbaugh sisters fly solo at times, but people find it confusing when they are separated and performing comedy. “We are separate people,” says Danielle, “Sometimes that concept is difficult to understand.” However, I can see how it might be confusing when only one half of the duo shows up for an act. They live together, they rarely fight, and they find the same things funny. They are the most unusual kind of siblings; they’re best friends. They often reiterate each other and repeat the last few words of the other’s sentence before starting their own. When they’re on stage they know each other well enough to understand what the other is going to do before they act. They have the energy and chemistry that improv troupes work years to perfect, and they’ve been lucky enough to inherit it through good genetics.
They agree that being women in the comedy scene presents it own set of challenges. Women are definitely the minority in comedy, but the sisters don’t think it is more difficult than being a man, just different. “If I were a man I’d be a surfer bro,” says Tiffany. “I’d be a musician because I’m attracted to guys in bands,” adds Danielle. There is a separate set of material that women can work with, and the Puterbaugh sisters pull it off amazingly well. “The only place I feel uncomfortable performing is at the douchebag bars, usually up in Wrigleyville,” continues Danielle. “I’d feel uncomfortable working in a bank, but that’s more in a ‘I hate my life’ type if way,” says Tiffany.
The sisters moved to Chicago a year ago with the goal of pursuing comedy. Since then they have produced their own show at the Playground Theatre, performed at Chicago Sketchfest twice, and continue to co-host a variety show every Sunday night called “Entertaining Julia!” They are a staple on the Chicago comedy circuit and deliver the goods an average of three nights a week. The sisters can be found at well-known comedy venues, along with the occasional nursing home, fund raiser, and homeless shelter. Their goal is to bring laughs to as many people as possible, and until that happens they’re gonna, “Keep this tiger rolling,” as they say. “Chicago is an awesome city to pursue comedy in because everyone is so supportive. The best people I’ve met in my life have been through doing comedy in this city,” says Tiffany.
Stand-up comedy has been swept into the ever-changing media phenomenon that delivers news and entertainment in five-minute bite size pieces. It’s not unusual now for a comedian to get noticed because of a few YouTube videos they made in their bathroom with a $200 camera and a couple of finger puppets. “We’re two of the most technology-illiterate girls,” says Tiffany. “But I don’t think the Internet can replace live shows,” says Danielle. “They can’t transmit the energy in an audience.” The sisters vow to keep doing what they do best because, at least in this lifetime, they can still make a living at it if they’re good enough. “Technology connects you in a weird fake world where you ask people to be friends on MySpace,” says Danielle. “But we’re talking right now, and we’re friends on lifespace. Yes, we’re friends in lifespace. Jot that one down.”
For more on the Puterbaugh Sisters,
visit MySpace.com/puterbaughsisters.
Ashlee Robison is a writer from Chicago. Photos by Constance K. and Elizabeth McQuern.