MS: When you read articles or reviews about yourself and/or your shows, is there certain information included, or descriptions of you that, in their triteness, cause your eyes to roll?

SB: [laughs] Well, you know, the kind of  ‘edgy,’ or, you know, ‘foul-mouthed.’ But I know they’re trying to be, like, verbose and exciting and take it to that big, big place, so it’s hard, you run out of adjectives, and sometimes you gotta fall back on clichés, so I can’t fault people. They’re writing reviews day-in and day-out, and, you know, a reviewer, like any artist, has a specific job to do, and sometimes they phone it in, too, so I don’t really fault anybody. And if it’s a good review and they get it…

I just don’t like mediocre reviews that are dismissive. I’d rather have somebody just go, ‘I fucking hate her, and she’s a bitch, and she pollutes the environment,’ because at least then they feel something. But when it’s just sort of like, ‘Sandra Bernhard did a small show…’ You know what I mean? Then I’m like, ‘Oh no, they didn’t like it at all. They really didn’t get it, and maybe I have lost my edge.’ But I generally just let it roll off my back and keep on truckin’.

MS: You came to L.A. in ’74, started performing stand-up at Ye Little Club where you met your mentors Paul Mooney [stand-up comedian and writer for Richard Pryor, In Living Color, and Chappelle’s Show] and comedienne/renaissance woman, Lotus Weinstock. How did they shape you personally and professionally? I heard a story about Paul Mooney telling you never to let the audience see you cry.

SB: Yes. [In Mooney voice] “Never let them see you crying, Bernhard. That’s what they want.” Paul Mooney was my cheerleader and of course is an incredible performer, and his advice to me was always, “Shed your skin like a snake. Every time you get up on stage, shed your skin.” The deeper you go into your psyche and emotions, the better you’re going to become as an artist, and I’ve really tried to keep that as my moniker all these years.