By Nate Sloan

I’ve come to realize that the more I bring human interaction into my writing, the more likely the end result will be epic disaster. Tim Minchin, the remarkably talented comedian/pianist who prefers live phone interviews to email Q&As, called me on a recent Sunday morning. I had some questions prepared, so I told him to sit tight while I set up a voice recorder. He overcame my interview style, which was characterized by excessive “ums,” profuse apologizing and the restatement of questions that yield obvious answers leading to even dumber questions that elicit obtuse ramblings; yet, I somehow extracted about 20 minutes worth of pleasant insights from Tim Minchin. I did it! Or so I thought.

Nevertheless, the road to failure has many detours. I unfortunately had rested my phone a little to close to the recording device. When I went to play back Minchin’s inspiring words for transcription, I found that the tape was filled with the inane pulsing electromagnetic interference you get when you set a hot cell phone next to a speaker. This wasn’t the occasional feedback buzz you can enjoy at a rock concert while you watch your favorite singer writhe; this was like everything grating about a Spencer’s gift store distilled into one unending stream of sound.
A performer of crushing talent, Minchin has racked up major comedy awards on three of seven continents. When he’s not playing the Sydney Opera House (I hear it’s big) or London’s Royal Albert Hall (I hear that one’s big, too), he can be seen all over television overseas. I got the impression that his level of celebrity fell somewhere in between that of Tom Cruise and Tom Arnold. The U.K.-based Aussie musical comedian is spending six nights a week for the next six weeks at the New World Stages here in our big city.

This extended pond-hop is more than just an opportunity to titillate remote clusters of New Yorkers—this is Tim Minchin’s close up with America. The end goal is simple: Either take the USA by storm—or go home. His manager and publicist have their work cut out for them, as Minchin is unequivocally the next big thing in comedy. By the end of this jaunt, I would expect that success equals nothing less than a publicity trifecta of a Conan/Letterman appearance, an NPR walk-on and a Times profile piece. Can he do it?

When I saw him at Ars Nova in November of 2007, the glow of fame was unmistakable. Granted, he wore a tuxedo coat and was standing under intense stage lights for most of the show, but you could tell this man would eventually command single-color bowls of Skittles on his performance riders. His hair is big and famousy, his humor is intelligent and accessible and he can put the rock in Sergei Rachmaninoff in a way the cultural zeitgeist hasn’t seen since Ben Folds.

Tim seems to be on a similar trajectory as Flight of The Conchords. Despite being from a similar region of the world, he has yet to meet Bret and Jemaine. FOTC was one year ahead of Tim on the international festival circuit and their paths never crossed. As with the Conchords, HBO has its eyes on Tim, too. Minchin has TV show ideas he wants to pitch, and he’s itching to flex his acting muscles.

Minchin’s live show is 90 minutes, no intermission—an amalgam of all of his best stuff, which is surprisingly split pretty evenly between stand up/storytelling and ivory tickling.

The thought of Tim using one of his talented fingers to dial my phone number still astounds me. It’s a pity not a single direct quote could be salvaged from our conversation. In retrospect, I probably could’ve put a little more distance between the phone and the recorder and things would’ve been fine. I could have even wrapped my cell in tinfoil. The best option yet: I could wrap my whole body with tinfoil and go play in a lightning storm.  I’m sorry you had to read a “color piece” instead of an interview.

Tim Minchin performs through April 12. New World Stages, 340 W. 50th St. (betw. 8th & 9th Aves.), 212-239-6200; Mon.-Thurs. 8; Fri. & Sat. 9, $35-$50.