Hello! I'm Lanessa...

I am a musician, writer, songstress, and comedian. I can also ride a unicycle, and my favorite question to be asked as an artist is: “so what is it you really do?”

In 2018, I wrote and premiered my one-woman musical comedy, “Nobody’s Really Helped Me” at California Institute of the Arts. I then put it up at the Hollywood Fringe Festival, where I sold-out multiple performances, was awarded The Best of the Broadwater, and nominated for the Larry Cornwall Award for Musical Excellence. I have also performed it at the Curious Comedy Theater in Portland. This show is full the angst being 22 and freshly out of art school creates. After seeing it, LA Music Critic said: “Long is a natural comedienne..” which works out well for me, because my favorite thing to do is to make people laugh and to make people feel.

Throughout the rest of 2018 I will be putting it up at the Free Edinburgh Fringe Festival in Scotland, and the United Solo Theater Festival - which is the world’s largest solo theater festival - in New York City.

I’ve also performed and toured my original music in Portland, Los Angeles, and England, and released my 5 track self-titled EP in 2016.

I got my BFA at the California Institute of the Arts, where I majored in music and minored in creative writing. I also study sketch comedy and improv at the Upright Citizens Brigade in Los Angeles. Oh! And, did I mention I can ride a unicycle?


Artist statement

I remember when I was a kid, driving in the car with my mom and saying something that made her laugh. And then I started laughing because she was laughing - that kind of laugh that hits you in the pit of your stomach, that you feel in your abs, where you feel you can’t gasp enough breath before indulging in another one. The kind of laugh that gives you wrinkles at the corners of your mouth and at the sides of your eyes from smiling. Sometimes there’s a kind of laughter where you don’t feel like crying, so you laugh instead. Or the kind of laugh that you do when there’s an uncomfortable silence, so you fill it with something comfortable. Sometimes there’s laughing, laughing that feels like swimming up to the surface to take a break from the pains that you’ll inevitably experience. Laughter is what connects us, and what brings us together. It is addictive and contagious and communal. We laugh in pitches we can’t speak in, and I think that’s because there aren’t words to convey joy or express happiness, or relieve us from pain, or to help us process hurting, in the way that laughter does.

In that car ride with my mom, I remember saying, “Mom, I love to make people laugh!”.

And it seems that, whenever I lack direction, I must come down to the purest sense of who I am and what I hope to give. And that is the hope that I will bring you joy. I want to bring you happiness, I want to give you the kind of relief that feels like flipping your pillow over to the cooler side on a hot night’s sleep. The kind of moment that feels like it does when you stay at the table at a restaurant for an extra minute after closing time. The kind of moment that feels like when you hug someone and let go, but they hold on for one more breath. I want to bring you moments of peace, of light, of laughter.

This show is a lot of me. Sometimes (all the time) it’s hard to want to use who we are to help other people think, feel, and laugh. But, I know myself best, and in anything I make, that is me, giving to you to do whatever you want with.

I hope to make you laugh, I hope to make you feel.