Five Bands, One Comedian, and a Whole Lot of Cans

Jerry Farber Lights Up Thanksgiving Eve

By Monica Jones

There are certain people in this world who don’t just walk into a room — they slide in like a spark on dry tinder and suddenly everyone’s ten degrees warmer. Jerry Farber is one of those people. If you’ve ever seen him onstage, in a coffee shop, in a Kroger aisle, or in the middle of a heartfelt ramble that somehow ends in a joke about socks, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. The man radiates humor like it’s oxygen, but underneath all that mischief is a heart that beats like a drumline for anybody who needs a hand.

Which is exactly why he’s rolling into Columbus this Wednesday night to kick off Turkey Jam — The Bottom and The Wicked Hen’s Thanksgiving-Eve throwdown featuring five bands, a canned food drive for Feeding the Valley, and one 88-year-old comedic hurricane who still refuses to charge a “fee” because, in his words, “I’m not gonna charge a peak for it.” (He meant “penny,” but listen — we don’t correct Farberisms. We cherish them.)

Turkey Jam has grown into this rowdy, laughter-filled, music-stacked night where our community comes together to loosen its shoulders, raise its glass (or water, if you’re like me lately), and give back to folks who need it most. It’s the exact kind of night Jerry loves. “I’m just blessed to even be asked,” he told me. “If anyone thinks my presence could make a difference, that’s the blessing.”

And if that doesn’t melt you a little, you’re made of granite.

Jerry’s heart for service runs deep — decades deep. Long before he was the legendary Southern comic who pretty much every musician over 40 has a story about, he served on the board of Peachtree Pine, Atlanta’s largest homeless shelter at the time. “We had 800 humans sleeping, eating, showering there,” he said. “And I didn’t realize until then how blessed my life was compared to so many who were less fortunate.”

He leaned into that work with the same sincerity he leans into a punchline. And once he tuned into that world, he never tuned back out. “Even some of the homeless were helping the other homeless,” he said. “You start noticing how many had dogs. One guy I know adopted three dogs from the street. People would help him out. Everybody’s doing what they can.”

That, right there — that quiet recognition of shared humanity — is what grounds Jerry’s comedy and his life. It’s why he says yes to events like Turkey Jam without a second thought. “If I could do more, I would. I try to do the meaningful thing, to offer, to give.” And even at nearly 88 years old, he swore he’s still trying to mature. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him that ship sailed, sank, and was raised again as a museum piece.)

He’ll be here Tuesday through Thursday — because of course he’s stretching Thanksgiving into a three-day tour — and he’ll be crawling into the holiday with a pocketful of jokes, a little Social Security money tucked aside to donate, and the same humble appreciation he’s carried for decades. “It sounds a little self-serving,” he said. “But it’s not.”

And it really isn’t. Jerry doesn’t posture. He just gives.

Wednesday night, he’ll be helping us kick things off before The Active Ingredients, Kindred Spirits, AJ & The Zig Zags, Lucky Jones & The Black Cats, and Me Shaped Hole take the stage. That’s five bands, two venues, one giant community heart, and a whole lot of noise — the best kind.

Tickets help support Feeding the Valley, and the event will be accepting canned and pantry items at the door. Bring a can. Bring a bag. Bring a whole case if you’re feeling rowdy. Every little bit helps, and this time of year, that help really matters.

Jerry said he’s even getting his friend Connie to put together a pack of canned goods. The man can’t show up empty-handed. That’s who he is. And when I told him I’d use his words to help spread the word, he just sighed and said, “That feels better.”

Before we hung up, he got emotional — talking about life, loss, shortness of time, the way everything hits a little harder as the years stack up. “I was teary-eyed,” he said. “I wasn’t bawling. But it just… hits you. How short the passage is.”

I told him not to depress me. He laughed, called me “darling,” and promised to see me soon.

And honestly? I can’t wait.

Come out Wednesday night. Bring your cans. Bring your crew. Bring your loudest self and your biggest heart. Let’s jam, let’s laugh, and let’s do a little good while we’re at it.

And if you want to skip the line and lock in your spot early, grab your tickets in advance at our very own site: GetLocalTix.com.