If you were alive in 1977 and owned a record player, there is a roughly 100% chance you had a copy of Let's Get Small. It wasn't just a comedy album. It was a cultural meteor. Before Steve Martin became the "Father of the Bride" or the guy solving murders in a building with Martin Short, he was something much weirder. He was a guy with an arrow through his head playing the banjo.
Honestly, the Steve Martin Let's Get Small album is a strange artifact. It’s a live recording from The Boarding House in San Francisco. If you listen to it today, you might think, "Wait, why are these people laughing so hard at a man saying 'Excuse Me'?" But that's the thing. You had to be there—or at least, you have to understand what comedy looked like before Steve decided to break it into a million little pieces.
What Was He Even Doing?
Comedy in the early 70s was mostly about "the joke." You had a setup, you had a punchline, and you had a point. Usually, that point was political or observational. George Carlin was out there dismantling the government, and Richard Pryor was baring his soul. Then comes Steve Martin. He’s wearing a three-piece white suit. He looks like a conservative insurance salesman from Ohio.
Then he starts making balloon animals.
The brilliance of the Steve Martin Let's Get Small album is that it is "anti-comedy." He wasn't trying to be witty; he was trying to be a "bad" comedian who thought he was a great one. He’d do a trick that didn't work and then wait for the applause that shouldn't come. It was meta before we really had a word for that.
The Tracks That Changed Everything
The album is only about 38 minutes long, but it’s packed. The title track, "Let's Get Small," is a 13-minute journey that basically pokes fun at the drug culture of the time.
"I like to get small. It’s a lot of fun. You get real small. You go to a party, someone says, 'Hey, are you small?' 'Yeah, I’m real small.'"
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In 1977, everyone was talking about getting "high." Steve just took the opposite direction. It was absurd. It was stupid. And it was incredibly smart.
Then there’s "Excuse Me."
It’s a tiny bit. It’s barely a joke. But it became a national catchphrase. People would walk into walls and say "Excuse me!" in that specific, faux-offended Martin tone. It’s hard to explain how a two-word phrase can go platinum, but it did.
Why the Banjo?
Most people don't realize Steve Martin is actually a world-class banjo player. On the album, he uses the instrument as a prop, but also as a genuine musical break. In tracks like "Ramblin' Man," he’s shredding. It added this weird layer of "Wait, this guy is actually talented at something real, so why is he wearing bunny ears?"
It kept the audience off-balance. You never knew if you were supposed to be impressed or if you were supposed to laugh at the fact that he was playing bluegrass in a comedy club.
The Stats (The Boring But Important Stuff)
If you look at the numbers, this album shouldn't have worked. Comedy albums were supposed to be niche.
- Release Date: September 1977.
- Peak Position: No. 10 on the Billboard Pop Albums Chart.
- Sales: It went Platinum. That's a million copies sold of a guy talking about "Grandmother's Song."
- The Big Win: It won the Grammy for Best Comedy Album in 1978.
He beat out some heavy hitters. He wasn't just a "wild and crazy guy" from SNL; he was a legitimate recording star. This album paved the way for the even bigger success of A Wild and Crazy Guy a year later, but Let's Get Small is where the DNA of his persona was truly captured.
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The San Francisco Connection
Recording at The Boarding House was a deliberate choice. San Francisco in the late 70s was the epicenter of "hip." If you could win over a room of cynical Californians with a bit about a "gasoline-powered turtleneck sweater," you could win over the world.
The audio quality of the original vinyl is surprisingly intimate. You can hear the glasses clinking. You can hear the genuine confusion in the crowd during the first few minutes before they "get" the joke.
Is It Still Funny?
Humor ages. That’s just a fact.
Some of the bits on the Steve Martin Let's Get Small album feel a little dated. The "Vegas" bit, where he parodies the over-the-top lounge singers of the era, relies on a cultural trope that isn't as prevalent today. But the energy is still there.
What’s fascinating is how much of modern comedy owes a debt to this record. Any comedian who uses "irony" or plays a character that is "confidently wrong" is doing a version of what Steve did here. He gave comedians permission to be silly without having to be "about" something.
Misconceptions About the "Getting Small" Bit
A lot of people think "getting small" was a direct reference to a specific drug.
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Actually, it was more of a parody of the way people talked about drugs. Steve has mentioned in various interviews over the years that he wasn't really a "drug guy" himself. He was a philosophy major. He was interested in the logic of the absurd. The bit works because it treats the impossible (literally shrinking) with the casualness of a Saturday night habit.
Actionable Steps for Comedy Nerds
If you haven't listened to the full album in one sitting, you're missing out on the pacing. It’s not a collection of sketches; it’s a performance.
- Listen for the "Visual" Gags: Even though it’s audio, you can hear the moments where he’s doing something physical. Notice how the crowd reacts to the silence.
- Compare to A Wild and Crazy Guy: Listen to this album first, then the 1978 follow-up. You can hear his confidence grow as he realizes he doesn't have to win the audience over anymore—they’re already on his side.
- Check out "Cruel Shoes": If you like the surrealism of the album, find his book of short stories from the same era. It’s the same brain, just on paper.
The Steve Martin Let's Get Small album remains a masterclass in how to be a "professional amateur." It’s weird, it’s loud, and it’s a little bit magical. If you want to understand why comedy shifted from the "Take my wife, please" era to the "Everything is a joke" era, this is the record you start with.
Don't just take my word for it. Put on some headphones, imagine you're in a smoky club in 1977, and try to get small. It’s worth the 38 minutes.
Next Steps for Your Collection:
Check out the 1977 Saturday Night Live performances from the same year to see the visual version of these bits, especially the "Excuse Me" monologue which features the iconic white suit in its prime.