Hills’s first college attempt held his interest for “about 2 seconds” he says (which turns out in Hill-time to be about 3 years); the culture and scene didn’t suit him, but he found a “safe haven” in the theater department there. A change of scene was in order, which brought him to Texas State, a place that felt much more like a home.
Going into the transition, Hills didn’t even know if there would be a welcoming place for his comedic ambitions, but was determined to create one if not. As it happens, San Marcos had a tight little scene – which is still growing – but ultimately provided the stepping stone (both in proximity and progression) to Austin.
I teased beatboxing as part of Hills’s repertoire right out of the gate, but have left you hanging for more than a few beats at this point. Beatboxing can be inherently spontaneous, and that’s a narrative that threads directly through his comedy methodology. Hill admits he rarely writes, or records, his sets, often choosing a topic at an open mic barely in advance of hitting the stage. He’ll often grab an idea that happens to be in the fore of his mind, and decides, “I’m about to just go and try this out.”
It’s a tough trick to pull off, but for those that can do it, a conversational style quickly emerges that can be nearly impossible to fake. Risk isn’t always rewarded with these endeavors, as Hills recounts more than a couple of times that it backfired. “When I failed, it was because I was trying to do something new, instead of being myself,” he recounts of one such instance at FPIA, but even in the midst of potential disaster, called on his ability to spin into a rant to power through.