How Kathy Griffin Got Her Comedy Voice Back

Kathy Griffin found her voice.

Recently, a new implant in her left vocal cord fixed the high-pitched whisper that had hampered her speech for four years.

“It’s a fucking miracle,” Griffin says.

Her original voice also returns in a broader sense.

“Honey, the last few years have been tough,” says the Grammy-winning comedian, actor, producer, best-selling author and activist, “this Trump thing, cancer, divorce.”

The 2017 “Trump thing” (holding a severed Trump mask covered in ketchup) involved a government investigation, being placed on the national no-fly list and being barred from traveling to performances. Griffin’s mother died in March 2020, and a pill addiction led to Griffin’s suicide attempt in June.

After six years away from the stage, Griffin returns with new, hard-wearing material for her extended “My Life on the PTSD-List” tour, which comes to the Wiltern Theatre on Wednesday, September 18. The tour’s name references her Emmy-winning television series, as well as her ongoing challenges, including staying sober, ignoring death threats, coming to terms with lost CNN contracts and engaging in therapy for complex PTSD.

Griffin’s comedy remains story-driven. Her shows are filled with repeat die-hard fans and tailored to local needs, including personal roasts of the audience in each city. She hasn’t had a support act in 25 years, and Griffin still stays on stage for more than two hours.

Some of her stories take on a more serious tone these days. For example, “the story about how I really seriously tried to take my own life, wrote a note, the whole thing, and ended up in a 5150 psych hold at Cedars.”

But for Griffin, the Guinness World Record holder for comedy specials, stars sell. “And top it off with a funny story about going home to Paris (Hilton),” she says. “A funny story about going to Mexico with Sia, where it all went wrong.”

At her home in Malibu, California, a week after making a surprise guest appearance on the already mind-blowing “Barbies” series at her local theater, Dynasty Typewriter in Hayworth, Los Angeles, starring alongside Rosie O’Donnell, Aparna Nancherli and Anjelah Johnson-Reyes, Griffin’s recovery advice is to yell at the TV while watching politics, know your worth and learn how to fight inequality in the long run.

“I never thought in my life that this little lady from Forest Park, Illinois, would be living in Malibu, looking out at the ocean and running away from Mel Gibson,” Griffin says.

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

What was the voice repair process like and how was the recovery process?

I was getting shots every six months where I had to go under general anesthesia and they injected me with a collagen-like substance that thickened my left vocal cord. The right one was moving, and the left one was dead. Once again, my mortal enemies — middle-aged white heterosexual men — these f— are letting me walk around show business with a voice like that (squeals)!

I could cry thinking about it. It was so awful for almost four years. Finally, the singer Sia, one of my best friends, is like, “Oh, no, no. There’s a surgeon named Dr. Anca Barbu.” Sia’s vocal coach is a woman named Amy Chapman. And Amy works for Barbu. I know I’m a mean bitch, but I just have a hard time believing that, “Oh, well, this old white guy cured this star. And this one made Ozzy (Osbourne) sing again. And this one brought this singer back to life. And blah, blah, blah.” I could have gotten that the day after my cancer surgery!

When they took out half of my left lung, they hurt me so badly that they destroyed my left vocal cord forever. I still have the hole now, which is a tear above the vocal cord. You can still see the scar. I had the surgery just five weeks ago, and then I had to rest for two weeks, which was hell. But it changed everything. It makes you feel better. Now I like to scream at the TV screen. Last night, at that very emotional Harris/Walz rally, I could scream at the screen like any other good, solid Democrat.

My house isn’t on the beach, but it does overlook the water. And that’s very comforting to me. When I came back from lung cancer surgery or when I had to be quiet, just looking at the water was a big deal. I never thought in my day that this little lady from Forest Park, Illinois, would be living in Malibu, looking at the ocean, and running away in fear from Mel Gibson.

Your material on “My Life” aboutN The has post-traumatic stress disorder–List” the tour was not political. Has that changed since the failed assassination attempt on Trump and Vice President Kamala Harris entered the presidential race?

I’m not mentioning Trump on the new show. Honestly, I’m not afraid to do that. I did a whole tour about the incident and made a documentary called “Kathy Griffin: A Hell of a Story.” You can watch it for free on Amazon because no one, I mean no one, would distribute it because I’m a toxic terrorist who’s on the no-fly list.

But I really, really hope I get a special episode of this stuff. I think it’s ageism and sexism. These guys who get special episodes don’t know what it’s like to play Carnegie. I don’t want to sound braggart, but I think I should get a special episode. It’s kind of scary that there are still so many heterosexual executives my age or older who are secret Trump supporters and own everything. What people don’t know, and I’m not afraid to say it, even though it gets me in trouble, is that five old white guys, most of whom are Trump supporters, control every piece of media that we consume.

I don’t think people understand that nothing has changed. It’s still a boys’ club, especially when it comes to stand-up. I’m just shocked because that was a conversation that Joan Rivers and I had up until she died. She said she talked to Phyllis Diller about it, and I’m sure Phyllis talked to Totie Fields about it, and she talked to Moms Mabley about it. It still is.

“I really, really hope I get something special with this stuff,” Griffin says of her latest tour. “I think it’s ageism and sexism. These guys who get something special don’t know what it’s like to play Carnegie. I don’t want to sound like a braggart, but I think I should get something special.”

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

But the benefit of having your own theatre tour is that your demographic and audience can still come directly to you. You have the opportunity to be much more intimate and revealing with them, you can go anywhere, talk to them about anything. There’s no machine or anyone else in the way.

If I was 63, if I had to go back and play clubs, I would retire. Yeah, that’s heaven. And I purposely do a long show because I’m so used to doing specials. I’ve done 21 specials, which is definitely something no guy, living or dead, at any level has ever done. And I have a Grammy for best comedy special. I’m one of only four women to this day in the history of the Grammys. I keep thinking that eventually they’re going to have to get a little better. But when you’re 63, it’s a whole other level. Ageism almost replaces sexism. So yes, women definitely have more opportunities, but how many women over 60 are really at that level? Four?

I’ve asked countless straight friends of mine, “Okay, it’s guys’ weekend. You and your buddies want to go to a comedy, but you don’t want to go to a club. You want to see someone with a name. Would it ever occur to you, you and your buddy, to go see me, Chelsea, Sarah Silverman, Wanda?” And every single one of them said, “Honestly, Kath, no. We want to see Chappelle, Rock, Mulaney.” It’s like, “Oh, it didn’t even occur to me to think about a girl.” I don’t know how to fight that. So I keep saying it, even though my agents and managers hate it when I say it.

How did you manage to make the kinds of connections and create the kinds of opportunities that are driving such a big change?

When I got blacklisted, I thought, “Okay, how do I make friends at 57?” And then I thought about the salons I went to. Two women taught me how to make friends: Sue Mengers, the first female, really powerful agent, and my dear friend Gloria Vanderbilt.

Mengers said you have to cast them. So I put an introvert next to an extrovert. I separate the couples. I have someone like Meredith Lynch, who is just starting out in stand-up but is also an expert in private equity. Some people stuck with me, like the beautiful Aubrey Plaza, who brought me a casserole two days after the Trump case. Not all of them dumped me, but a lot of them did. These lounges just became a way for me to talk to people and listen to people. Something magical happens when you put your phone down and just share a meal. We joke around a lot, but we talk about important s—.

There’s something about that environment. People become sensitive. They talk about things they wouldn’t talk about at a cocktail party with 30 people hanging around. I used to do two a year, and now I try to do one a month. The first one I had was for a guest of honor named Sidney Poitier. I had two for Dylan Mulvaney. I had two for E. Jean Carroll, because everyone wants to meet Jean. I usually try to pick a guest of honor who is usually a woman who has been through the fire in some way, shape, or form.

“I do my shows for the people who buy tickets. And so far, literally every time, I’ve gotten a standing ovation,” Griffin says. “I know a lot of it is because of the cancer, but I don’t care. I’ll take it!”

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

The new tour and new material is a culmination and healing for you, as well as a fresh start in both your professional and personal life. Are there any new goals you have set for yourself once the tour is over?

When this tour’s over, I’ll be back on the breadline, baby. I don’t have a single goddamn offer. I’m a grinder. I’ve been that way my whole life. I’ve never been the type to say no. I f—ing say that when I open an envelope.

But the truth is, I’ve been doing this for so long that I have a lot of repeat customers. I’m very lucky in that regard, because my fans know that every time I do it, I’m going to give them a new s—. Just in those first 40 cities, I did shows that were two hours and 30, 40 minutes long.

I’m not going to skimp on these tickets. These tickets aren’t cheap. I’m afraid people will think I’m not able to do it health-wise anymore. And I’m not, especially since the implant. So I’m still there.

I do my show for the people who buy tickets. And so far, literally every show I’ve gotten a standing ovation, by the way. I know a lot of it’s because of the cancer, but I don’t care. I’ll take it!