Henry Koperski is often shot in the background, just out of focus. The co-writer and accompanist for two of the boldest and most exciting comedy specials of the year — Catherine Cohen’s The Twist …? She’s Gorgeous on Netflix and Matt Rogers’s Have You Heard of Christmas? on Showtime — has rarely taken center stage in the public’s mind. And yet, he arguably had one of the best track records in comedy out of anybody in 2022. Koperski’s writing and piano-playing were vital components of the cabaret-influenced scene that dominated mid- to late-2010s alt-comedy in New York. He helped develop Cohen’s special through shows at Alan Cumming’s Club Cumming, while Rogers’s was developed while he and Koperski were dating and living together. (If continuing to collaborate post-breakup seems intense, don’t worry: Rogers says the two now have a ‘“Cool’ by Gwen Stefani”–type relationship.)
So where can you find Koperski now that his career in musical comedy is talking off? In Los Angeles releasing solo experimental-jazz records under the name Henki Skidu. For Koperski, comedy is already in the rear view due to what he says is the industry’s disinterest in crediting him for his work “more than once.” On December 27, four days after he plays the final live show on Rogers’s Have You Heard of Christmas? tour, he’ll release Lucia, his solo album as Henki Skidu. The musician recently opened up about his choice to leave comedy, how it feels to have these specials out in the world, and what the value of playing as Henki Skidu is.
What does a typical collaboration with Matt on one song look like, from beginning to end?
We wrote the show while living together when we dated. He would say, “I have an idea for a big Barbra Streisand ballad.” I’d sit at the piano and go off the vibe he gave me, and he’d try things too. He’s amazing at spitting stuff out and seeing what sticks, which is how you discover really funny stuff. After we did that a bit, we’d take what felt good and construct a song around that.
You mentioned that he would come with, say, a Barbra Streisand ballad. How much do references play into the song?
It’s a starting point. It’s easier to come up with ideas when you’re in a framework. I don’t think anyone that watches this special will recognize any of the songs as a Barbra Streisand ballad. But one of them started out like that.
Which one?
The title song, “Have You Heard of Christmas?” That’s how I always thought of it. I wonder if he agrees. It’s like “People” or “Evergreen” — lush chords, but with a pop flavor that’s grand and sappy. The Mrs. Claus song is meant to be like Beyoncé’s “Best Thing I Never Had” — a tear-your-heart-out, emotional power ballad. “Rockefeller Center” started out with him wanting it to be a Taylor Swift pop thing, and then it turned into something weird.
Then there’s also your “Hottest Who in Whoville” song, which is Mariah Carey–inspired.
Yeah.
I’m curious about where you see those references sitting between parody and pastiche. Are you parodying the people you’re invoking?
It was never making fun of it. For the Mariah song, the chords were based off of “We Belong Together,” but we weren’t parodying “We Belong Together.” We just wanted a song that fit in that world. There’s nothing to make fun of — they’re just great chords and great rhythms and great melodies, so we’re just using that magic formula. And then Matt has a hilarious idea of this cringe character. They’re kind of separate.
The other special that you’re involved in this year is Catherine’s special. What does collaboration with her look like?
Catherine would have a journal full of poetry and thoughts, and she would give me a mood, except instead of saying “Mariah,” she’d be like, “Sparkly.” Then I’d play sparkly, and she would try stuff from her journal. All of Catherine’s songs, when we worked together, were very repetitive musical themes, so when we were performing live, if she wanted to suddenly go on a tangent, she could. They were more like a flavor that she could just live in and go crazy with, whereas Matt’s songs are very structured. With Catherine, it’s just vibes.
You’re collaborating with all of these different people, but there is a musical sensibility that I would pluck out as being like “the Henry Koperski sound.”
Whoa. Well, first of all, it’s awesome that you’re detecting a Henry Koperski sound in all of them.
How would you describe that sound?
I don’t know. My favorite music is classical and jazz, which none of these artists really do. I haven’t examined it. The Catherine World and the Matt World, everyone’s world feels so different.
I would situate your music within a modern cabaret, song-cycle-y sensibility — like a Kerrigan and Lowdermilk–type thing.
Yeah, you’re totally right. I’ve never thought about this. I went to school for saxophone and moved to New York to be a saxophonist, and then that dream quickly died because that’s really hard. But I lived with all these music-theater girls, and I started playing piano for them because I grew up playing piano, and then soon I was playing piano for downtown cabarets. I’ve never realized how much of an influence all that had on me. I relearned to play piano doing all that Kerrigan and Lowdermilk and early Pasek and Paul stuff.
Like an Edges-type thing.
Yeah, I loved Edges and Dogfight. I thought they were brilliant.
Why is that style of music a good fit for comedians?
All those songs are story songs. They’re meant to start at an emotional place, explore, grow, and then land somewhere with an emotional impact on the audience. I love all musical comedy, but I’ve never gotten into the Adam Sandler style. I like it so that when you return to the chorus there’s a new perspective, so it gets funnier as the song goes along. The listener should never relax and say, I know what happens.
One thing that incidentally happened to you due to your performances with comedians is that you developed an onstage comedic persona. How would you describe the “Henry Koperski” onstage persona, and what was that development like?
My persona onstage is that I’m quiet and respectful and stay out of the way … I’m kind of subservient to whoever I’m playing for. That happened because all the people that I worked for are huge personalities, so it just came from thinking, I’m here to do my job of making the musical landscape, and that’s all I’m going to do. They’re the star, let them be the star.
There’s a moment in the special when Matt acknowledges your relationship. How does being called into the performance by comedians you’re working with change your relationship to the audience?
I always feel kind of sheepish, but not in a bad way. I’m not an actor. When the performer interacts with me, they’re performing as their onstage persona, and I don’t really know how to respond, so I just remain quiet and try to say as little as possible. It usually helps land their bit.
Given that the comedians you work with are often doing a pastiche of cabaret, you often end up as the pastiche of the man at the piano, playing for the woman who is lying down on the piano with a microphone. What’s it like to fall into that?
People don’t notice or care about the piano player, but when I was younger and would see that, I always loved the piano player. I was like, Wow, they’re doing a great job. They’re serving the show with their skill set, and that’s what they’re there to do. They’re not fazed by the antics of whoever they’re sharing the stage with. I always loved the bandleaders on late-night shows too, seeing how they’re devoted to the music because that’s what they’re there to do, and chaos just surrounds them.
What level of ownership do you feel emotionally over the personas that were developed through your music?
When I worked with these people, I was always just trying to be support, like a blast of energy underneath them so they could be their full selves: as hilarious, vulnerable, or whatever it is they’re trying to be. I do feel that I’ve helped develop personas for these people; I’ve learned that you can’t care about that, though. [Laughs.] That’s something you just have to know for yourself, because no one else cares, or wants you to care. That’s just something I get to enjoy for myself.
How do you let that go?
When the working relationship is good, you’re just happy that you have helped create something that an audience enjoys, and that’s enough. And when the working relationship is not good, that is something you just have to move on from.
When the relationship is not good, is it weird to watch the persona go do something else?
It’s actually healing to think, It’s evolved into something else. I wonder if it’s like raising kids, which I have not done. You raise a child and then they could move to a different country, and you just have to be like, Okay, I hope you carry the values that I instilled with you.
While in L.A., you’ve put out new music as Henki Skidu. Who is Henki Skidu?
Henki Skidu is this little alien that I drew one time when I was in a dark place. I drew this blue person sitting in a meditative pose, and then I wrote, “Things aren’t always okay, but I can find okayness within” on it. He’s this alter ego who’s so chill and free from this world, who floats in his own magic and nothingness.
Is this your primary project right now?
I am steering the car toward making this my primary project. I left musical comedy a few years ago, and these projects are finishing up. I’ve been doing regular music directing for regular, non-comedic musical artists. That has been healing because they have more respect for music and understand me more. I feel like I’m actually collaborating with people and not serving other people’s personas. That has helped me gain confidence and fueled the desire to do my own music and be my own artist.
When did you know you wanted to leave musical comedy?
2019 was when I first started to know. We touched on this before, but I wasn’t fully answering. Before COVID, I felt like the people that I was collaborating with were taking the things we made together, and then the things we made became successful, and then their teams diminished my part of it as much as possible. And it just hurt. It happened more than once. I put so much of my heart into these things and did a lot of work for free, thinking, Oh, I’m in these beautiful artistic collaborations, and we’re making people laugh. It turned sour, and I ended up moving out of New York City to upstate New York and Kingston to work a lot less and figure out: What do I want to do?
With that in mind, how did it feel to return to these shows in 2022?
Part of it was fun, because these songs came right back to me — they were in my fingers, and I reconnected to the original joy of discovering these songs with artists I was collaborating with. That felt so good. But then there’s this other side where I didn’t feel as connected to it. I didn’t feel like I was discovering something new or creating something with someone. It felt like I was pressing play on iTunes.
This cabaret-comedy scene in the 2010s in New York City, mostly at Club Cumming, was such a microcosm of something. When Catherine’s special came out, we did a show at Club Cumming that week, and I hadn’t played there in three years, but I came back to celebrate the special, and there was no one I knew in the audience. It was so bizarre. When we developed that special at Club Cumming, the audience was filled with all these people that I knew. When I went back in 2022, it was all 21-year-old kids I’d never seen before. It was a very different vibe. Something had changed.
With Matt’s special, it’s Christmas, and the songs are about Christmas. They feel like they’ll be timeless; they’re not from a specific scene. It doesn’t feel like it’s changed.
I know you thought the network forgot to invite you to the premiere party for Matt’s special.
Yeah.
What does that bring up?
This project was feeling really good. Then as it got closer to release … I don’t know. I haven’t seen it yet because I haven’t received a screener. I received a cookie with Matt’s face on it in the mail, which was fun. I just felt out of the loop. It did bring those sad feelings back. The space itself has made it clear to me … It’s been a helpful voice to say, Keep going. You’re still searching for what you want to do. I loved writing musical comedy, and if someone wants to write a big check for me to write more musical comedy I will, but it’s no longer something that comes from my heart.
The way you describe working with comedians, and then the way that you describe working with the persona of Henki Skidu, are not completely separate. You’re channeling a persona in both. I was wondering if you could talk about how those are separate and different?
I haven’t performed live as Henki Skidu, but when I do, I want it to be as improvised as possible. I mostly want to feel out the space. The music should be intangible. It should be a different experience every time you listen to it. I worked on it completely alone — I produced it myself, I recorded it, I played all the instruments, so no one is taking it and locking it into something and then deciding who gets what ownership. With the personas I helped develop in comedy, it started out that way. The writing process is all about discovering things, and when you perform these songs, early on you discover things because of your relationship with the audience. Once it becomes commodified, then I guess that’s the difference.
What does commodification mean to you?
It’s kind of taking the magic and then being like, “Okay, freeze! Right there! This is what we sell. Repeat, repeat, repeat.”
How does working in the Henki Skidu genre feel different?
When I work with non-comedic musicians, there’s such a calm understanding that I have with them. That’s really nice. We all understand the feeling of spending four hours a day in our practice room in our 20s. There’s just more genuine respect and a real interest in co-creation.
With classical or jazz or experimental, which is what I’d call my music, it’s not about sounding good or tasteful. It’s about getting the vibrations that are coming from inside you outside of you. If you can remove your own judgment from music and just experience it, then that’s like my favorite way to listen to music. My favorite thing in the world is to go to Village Vanguard in the West Village, go to a jazz show, let the music absorb me, and watch these master musicians communicate with no words, just with vibrations. It’s so exciting and inspiring and drops me right into my body, and reminds me why I’ve always loved music and have made it my life.
Do you feel like your increased ownership of the music is going to change how live performance feels?
I do. I feel like I will perform better because of it. I feel like I will be able to be the most present I can be, which is what you want when you go to a show, whether it’s a concert or Broadway or a play. And I haven’t always felt that way performing as Henry Koperski. And that’s a waste of time for me and anyone listening.
Where do you want to see musical comedy go from here?
In all honesty — and this is with no negativity — I don’t care. I still work with a few people, but I’m not interested in it as much anymore. I still think it’s an amazing art form, and I will always love to see a great musical comedy show. Moving to L.A. was part of like moving away from that scene and that world, which changed on its own anyway. I don’t care about it. That has nothing to do with the people or anything.
Do you have anything else you want to say?
That creating musical comedy with people — the actual creation process — has been so exciting and fun and joyful. And I will always appreciate that.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
