Sing, Laugh & Reminisce with Garrison Keillor at The Suffolk in Riverhead

For an evening of laughs, singing, and nostalgia, come down to see legendary radio host, author, and comedian Garrison Keillor at The Suffolk in Riverhead on August 2.

Keillor has entertained audiences in a multitude of mediums for decades. Recently, he’s become fond of being on the road, performing live in front of his longtime listeners. We spoke to Garrison Keillor about what attendees should expect from his show at The Suffolk.

Garrison Keillor Explains His Solo Show

You promise an evening of “stand up, storytelling, audience song and poetry” — what does that look and sound like, exactly?

Well, I walk out and there’s a modicum of applause, people are polite, people have come out of curiosity to see an almost 81-year-old, to see if he stands up. Most people my age have gone off to Arizona; I’m out working. I did a radio show, “A Prairie Home Companion,” for 40-some-odd years, which in broadcasting is an eternity. There are a lot of people who grew up on the show and come out of curiosity.

I come out and sing a capella, I say a few jokes, I’m an 81-year-old guy who walks out onstage and people are afraid he’s going to sing, so I do that right away.

I talk about my hometown in Minnesota, and I talk about how people celebrate the holidays. I talk about myself, I’m old enough to have seen most of the 20th century. Because my grandma lived on an old farm without electricity, I saw some of the 19th century. I may be the only person in the room who chopped the head off a chicken. I tell stories about the past. I avoid politics because people get enough of that. My point is that no matter how you may feel politically, we’re still one country. That’s my message, I try to deliver it humorously.

Radio is a different art form compared to performing live on stage — how do you approach it differently from the radio?

The radio show is a variety show, and I was the host. I wrote the show — I wrote fictitious commercials, and I did a monologue, about a 20-minute monologue about my hometown. But this solo show is, solo, so I want to do four or five rather different things and combine them in a way that feels improvisational … because it is.

I also do this emotional singing with the audience. We can go right from the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” to “Swing Low Sweet Chariot,” to “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” to The Beatles songs — these people know The Beatles, and they still remember the words. They’re surprised that they do still know them. People don’t sing together much, you know, they put earpieces in and listen to Spotify and they’re texting, but I’m taking them back to a time that they remember when life was different. It wasn’t simpler but it was different.

The basic principle of doing a solo show for 90 minutes, is you keep changing the subject — and keep moving, I like to go down into the audience. It gets their attention. You come off the stage, you’re right there — it’s a good evening.

This is your first time performing at The Suffolk — how familiar are you with Long Island?

I just go where the subway takes me. Because I live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Long Island is a mystery to me. What I know about Long Island is what I read in The New York Times, which is not much. What I did read is a warning to stay out of the water because sharks were coming in. That confirmed me of my lifelong avoidance of beaches. The idea of being taken down and eaten by a shark is not the way I want to wind up. I want to be known as a comedian, an author, not as a guy that was eaten by a shark. You know that would be in the second paragraph of my obituary.

What do you want spectators to walk away feeling, or remembering, after seeing you perform?

You gradually come to this point where you adore the audience, the moment you walk out on stage you are at their service, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them. People don’t get together in a room with other strangers often enough. I think one result of the pandemic was to accelerate the loneliness of life. When these people come together in this room, my job is to make them feel like part of something larger, and we do that by singing.

I just want them to feel much better than when they walked in. I want them to remember some lines and I want them to feel good. It’s very simple. If it’s only a distraction, that’s good enough.

After seeing your show, what else can fans look forward to from you in the future?

I’ve got a few books underway, slowly, slowly, slowly. I’m trying to write a musical. Next year, 2024, will be the 50th anniversary of “A Prairie Home Companion” and we’ll be doing 50th-anniversary shows, actually starting December at Town Hall in Manhattan. I’m looking forward to all of that. I’m at that age where disasters happen to people I know personally, so every day is a beautiful day. You live day to day.

Purchase tickets at thesuffolk.org.