“That’s right, New Year’s Eve,” Chris Rock said. “I’m a little nervous. I haven’t done this in a while.” These were just about the first words he spoke all night, and this was definitely the last time he sounded hesitant.

Monday’s show was among the early dates on his new tour, and it was a big one: His job was to entertain a sold-out crowd in Madison Square Garden during the last hours of 2007. He had booked an impressive opening act, the soul singer Jill Scott, whose set nodded at hip-hop, jazz and opera, none of it a stretch for her. And before he took the stage, big screens displayed work by two mischievous African-American painters, Michael Ray Charles and Kehinde Wiley. All of this helped set a mellow, grown-up mood, especially since the arena was full of nattily (or at least neatly) dressed couples sipping Champagne from plastic flutes.

So what? People hadn’t just come to laugh. They had come to laugh harder than they had ever laughed in their lives. They had come to laugh until their eyes and bladders welled up, laugh until they were struggling to breathe, laugh until they were dry-heaving, then laugh some more. Mr. Rock + New Year’s Eve = beyond-high expectations.

But meeting his fans’ expectations doesn’t seem to be Mr. Rock’s first priority these days. And who can blame him? Over the past decade he has established himself as arguably America’s most beloved  and most quotable  stand-up comedian. His high, braying voice has come to seem like a cultural institution. And his corrosive, minimalist approach  no props, no physical comedy, no long stories, no impersonations  has turned seemingly innocuous phrases (“Want a cookie?”) into catchphrases.