13 August 28 - september 3, 2025 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents means to an end toward ultimately becom- ing a stand-up comedian. “The lineups I’m usually part of are predominantly black and brown, or just a diverse lineup,” Lopez says. “That just rings true across my 10 years of doing comedy.” Working from the intersectional chal- lenge of being both a Latina comedian and a woman, Lopez says she’s used to creating her own avenues of success, and that the paths she’s carved out might be taken by younger generations. “In the last several months,” she says. “I’ve seen a lot more women doing stand- up.” But as more Latin comedy counterculture shows are held — and the audience for each increases — what happens if the clubs that re- jected them begin to call back and try to host them now? Some comedians are split. “As Spanish speakers, we have to create the scene first,” Castillo says. “If there’s a demand for that, then they’ll catch wind of it real quick. We’re working towards more diversity, right? So why wouldn’t we want to have that space and open it up for even more talent?” Silva wouldn’t be as forgiving to the clubs that his shows are rebelling against. “It’s not really an opportunity,” Silva says. “It’s an opportunity for the club. On top of that, the deals in the comedy clubs are bad. They’re charging for the place, they keep the whole bar and food, and some of them split the sales.” Silva broke down an example pretty simply. “You bring 100 people,” he says. “These 100 people, they need to consume at least two items minimum, plus you need to pay a down [payment] for the club. And then you need to pay a split at the end. You win noth- ing. You win nickels.” In his own way, Silva balances being the ultimate pessimist and optimist at the same time. You get the feeling, hearing him talk, that following the traditional co- median’s route of slowly working through the club circuit is out of the question for him. For now, and for the foreseeable fu- ture, he’s both a comic and a punk rock catalyst for change. He’d rather buck against the system than earn a few bucks at an institutional club, and so be it. He has a kindred spirit in Sifuentes, al- beit one much younger and less jaded. Their shared commitment to the resistance is palpable, though. Their respective monthly comedy shows, while beating from different pockets of North Texas — Silva at Mariscos La Reyna and Sifuentes at Top 10 Records — are steeled bases in the fight to make space for the city’s Latino co- medians. “I’m not invisible to my community in Dallas, but you could be invisible to people that have power,” Sifuentes says. “That’s what’s so cool about Top 10 Records, it’s us creating our own door, our own opportunity. I want to build it from the ground up, and no one can take it away from me.”
