I guess my response is going to be more general. I routinely talk to the audience in my community group’s concerts. Because I’m a forced extrovert I hate doing it, but I’m told I’m funny and really good at it. The secret is: I prepare. I really do. I write down what I’m going to say, I memorize it. (I sometimes have cheat notes in the front of the music on my stand.) I practice it in the car.
The main reason I wanted to respond is to encourage you not to “tell jokes.” You want it to appear natural, more conversational than that, as if it’s an outgrowth of your personality. In turn, the audience interprets this as “it must be fun to be in that group.” (As if you’re wisecracking your way through every rehearsal. Wait, I do that… haha.) And it seems to be extemporaneous, specific, “custom” tailored to that day and time. The audience is (pretty easily) impressed by that. Only the ringers know that I try to say exactly the same thing every time, with the same delivery. (We generally give the same concert about three times.) I always tell the musicians, “Remember, this is not about what you think is happening. It’s about what the audience PERCEIVES is happening.) This applies even more to your spoken comments. I hate it and I think I suck at it, and fervently hope to never have to do it again. Everyone else loves it. Go figure.
I’ve sat at the computer and looked up jokes on the Internet just to figure out what to say at concerts! But then I repurpose them totally.
So, in other words, if you want to use this joke below, don’t just tell the joke. Do it more offhand, like you thought it up. Unless you’re a published writer or a professional comedian, there’s no shame in stealing such material. So, imagine, after your first piece, you welcome the audience and say, “This is going to be fun, we’ve never given a concert featuring a handbell choir and a barbershop chorus. It’s bound to be a … hum - dinger.” Then… WAIT FOR IT. Seriously, stand there and stare at them with a funny look on your face until they get it and laugh. Audiences vary in their response times, but they are easily trained. From then on, you’re set—you can do no wrong. Because once you have them… YOU HAVE THEM. You’d have to work really hard to screw it up after that. They know they better listen and think about what you’re saying, that it might not be what they expect, that it might be funny.
Think back on rehearsals, things that have happened at past concerts. Your own daily life (again, speaking for myself!) There’s plenty of material for humor.
At our last round of concerts, we were playing that Borodin Polovetsian Dance No. 1. I had mildly prepped this, referencing the musical “Kismet” but I wasn’t very specific. They had hauled in a busload of people from a retirement home, and after the extended musical introduction when the melody appeared, they unexpectedly all began to sing “Take my hand, I’m a stranger in paradise.” It was quite disconcerting. But it made me realize I had missed a huge opportunity by not setting that up. So I used it thereafter, I’d say “Put up your hand if you know the next piece listed in the program.” Very few hands went up. Then I said, “Well actually you DO know this piece, and when you figure it out, PLEASE DO NOT SING IT OUT LOUD. Really. Please. Don’t. It’s already happened once and I have enough trouble up here without trying to keep everyone in this whole room together.” There was a mild laugh then, but the biggest laugh we ever got in a concert was right during the music when that melody appeared.
The ideas will literally fall into your lap if you leave yourself open to that.
Chuck in St. Louis