Comedian, writer, blogger, podcaster and writer of a weekly column in the metro since 2012. This is Richard Herring’s 11th solo showin 11 years. It lacks any particular theme unlike his earlier offerings on politics (Hitler’s Moustache), religion (Christ on a Bike), death (We’re all going to die) and love (What is love, Anyway?) Herring casts, rather than his customary breakneck speed in previous shows. He seems more comfortable with himself and his role “I’m not a failed rock star, I’m a failed comedian.”
This show is pulled together with ease, Herring’s experience as a performer glowing well throughout, looking backwards and forwards whilst wondering if his best is behind him or yet to come. There’s always a place for daftness and Herring seems to have found his. He’s now bouncing around using his sofa as a trampoline whilst pondering his own mortality. Seriously good fun ★★★★
The Gilded Balloon is 30 this year and it’s great to see it expand its offerings outside of the festival. Edinburgh’s burgeoning comedy seen has seen a host of new comedy night’sspringing up to complement The Stands stalwart presence. Most of these nights are pub-based, grass roots affairs, but this, at the Festival Theatres new space, The Studio is of a different ilk, welcoming professional circuit comics, rather than comedic bairns and journeymen.Tonight’s bash is ably compered by likable Lancashire lass and faux-ditsy Katie Mulgrew who prises for openings in the audience and unearths courting couples and tired lifers which provides great continuity throughout the show. It’s hard to tell if she contributed to Catherine and Rufus’ breakup or sealed their nuptials.
Opening act is affable Irishman and silver fox Michael Redmond. You might recognise those eyebrows as Father Teds dour Father Stone. Redmond’s stand up is top drawer and he doesn’t rely on his comedy CV to get the laughs, his Irish lilt and relaxed demeanour draws you in then he’ll hit you with the gag. He’s not afraid of heckles and woe betide you if you do as he’s wittier than you. You shall be crushed! Effortless set and the crowd lap up his deadpan style (apart from the Nippy Fip the heckler).
Glaswegian Scott Gibson follows with a typically bare knuckles set just before the watershed. He had me ending myself at his observations on the serious matters of:out of fashion sexual acts and what happened to which dog shite? Oh and switches inside your bum that make you do strange things. He doesn’t take any prisoners and some of the brutally delivered material made the women sitting next to me shift uncomfortably in her seat but, like the vast majority of the packed house. I loved him.
Our Mancunian headliner, Justin Moorhouse is familiar to many of us from his role as Young Kenny in Peter Kays Phoenix Nights.In the intervening 15 years he has made a name for himself on the stand-up circuitas well as appearing on Live at the Apollo and even Coronation Street! He even won Celebrity Mastermind (Specialist subject Les Dennis). Justin’sself-deprecating material is drawn from hisassumed role as a pessimistic bored husband and father who wishes things were different. Themes which many people can identify with and his solid material hits the spot although he seemed to wander his way through the last few minutes of his slot, perhaps trying out new material. We’ll let him off with that as he had us laughing the rest of the time.
A night of quality comedy such as this is rarer than white dog shite.
The Mumble loves the Wee Man, one of Weegielands radgest comedians, he puts the knife into places comedy daren’t go, twists it about a bit, pulls out the entrails & rolls it up into a big, fat doobie. On Wednesday’s, at the Glasgow Stand, he becomes the MC for the ever-variable, ever-funny rap-battles – which comes across a bit like Eminem on ketamine.
Each night, the four semi-finalists get five minutes to do their stuff, warming up the audience & evidently, themselves, for they are very much out of their comfort zone. After each pair have finished, they square-off against each other for two rounds of bullet-spitting hip-hop. The performances vary much in assurity & quality, feeling a bit like when your Uncle Jeff starts dancing at a wedding – but the awkwardness just adds to the comedy.
After the final, the Wee Man judges who the laurels of victory should go to on audience reaction, with tonight’s winner being Chris MacArthur-Boyd, the reigning champion no less, another wee lad who beat local comedy hero, Obie, to the podium. But really, the only winner is comedy, who manages to find warmth & hilarity humour in every crevice of society – even gangsta rap!
Hosted in the basement of Phoenix Bar, scene of many a drink-addled birthday celebration, the venue has undergone a revamp since my last visit. Think boudoir-kitsch complete withhipsters, guinness and cocktails, a smattering of ponces, perms and dynasty style ‘doos. It’s an intensely compact venue so if you like your personal space you will have to adapt. The close proximity of the crowd certainly makes it a good place for comic teeth-cutting and it’s good to see another venue hosting comedy nights outside the Fringe.
Tonight’s stand out was definitely Gus Lynburn who was a genuinely funny guy full of nervous energy and clearly with a head full of nonsense that he needs to let loose lest he might go a bit mental. His infectious enthusiasm got the crowd going and a mix of gags and adlibs got the biggest laughs of the night. He overran his timeslot but was urged to stay on and admirably adlibbed another few funny minutes.
He upstaged cocky headliner Liam Withnail, who let himself down with his frat-boy humour that assumed everyone at the gig was at a university fresher-week event. If you are going to come on stage boasting about being invited to foreign comedy festivals you better have the material to back up the swagger. He didn’t – more of a stagger I thought.
There are obviously different comedians every night and part of the fun of a stand-up show is you never know what you are going to get. There are also shows starting up on Wednesdays. The venue gets packed so if you want a seat – come early.
The Gilded Balloon swooped in on the high and mighty perch that is The Studio @ Festival Theatre bringing with it some of the best, belly-achingly funny, and not to mention, critically acclaimed acts. The Gilded Balloon hosts a couple of comedy shows per month in Edinburgh and Glasgow, and you’d be missing out if you don’t grab a ticket now, with the Edinburgh version held at Festival Theatre’s ‘Studio,’ a fantastic little venue that brings a comfortably warm environment to both act and audience member alike.
During Saturday nights’ showcase, we saw the comedic talents of Joel Dommet, Chris Forbes and the headlining act, and might I say the highlight of my night, Jarred Christmas. This fabulous night of tears and laughter was all held together by the fast-talking Katie Mulgrew, a nasal, quirky and engaging ‘teenager’ trapped in an adult’s body. Her presence was bright, but her material a bit dodgy, & I was relieved to see her spring into step, delivering two on the spot, (albeit far too late in her run) consecutive wisecracks in response to some of the audience’s answers, a roundhouse kick of resounding wit. This type of late served cleverness made me consider that perhaps she’s just work in progress, & I hope she ups her writing game soon so she’s not nudged off of the comedic highway by better talent.
On the surface, Joel Dommet seems to harness the power of a sprightly and more often lofty singer for a boy band. If it weren’t for fast-thinking, well formed jest and aphorism, I might like to probe his brain to see if there was more that he envisioned should accompany only a couple of his his double-shot jokes that didn’t land well on the humerus. His spouting off was a bit like sporadic artillery, but I must say, he aimed fairly well most of the time, and was agile enough to win the heart of his target audience. There were only a few missing bullseyes that lay in the shadow of his impressive feats of contemporary and imaginative storytelling. Joel is amusingly self-deprecating, and he was kind of right. He did look a bit like a French exchange student from the 90s, but forget about what he was wearing. Despite leaving a yearning to go deeper into the throws of his particular fondness of his mother’s lasagne, or his streak of absences from Uni, I wanted more to nail his mental game plan so I could better receive the full bite of precisely what he’s on about. Admittedly, quite often I was thoroughly impressed with his inventive wisecracks that he pulled out of thin air. Interacting with an audience can either work for you or against you, but in his case, this seemed to be the sweet spot of the show for Joel as he proved he can victoriously come up with a plethora of things that absolutely ticked me silly. He’s a well rounded comedian that deserves the opportunity to age and mature while on circuit.
I was impressed with Chris Forbes’ own personal brand of merriment-making, and was equally swooning after he muttered a bit of Gaelic and chopped it up and mixed it in with his other comedic ingredients. I quite like a man who is open and honest about his stranger pursuits. He shares and confides with his reception as though he were sitting in an old decorative wooden box with a priest, unleashing his sins and provoking a laugh that he really shouldn’t be able to coax out without paying a heavy fine of reciting Hail Mary at least two dozen times. The fact that he likes his dog because he’s the only one that will lick his balls for a biscuit and equally enjoys watching people slip on ice-covered pavements proves that he is a reigning immature king of a not-too-far-away kingdom we all know lovingly as Maledom. Intelligent, jaunty, and swelling with excellent ideas that you can only assume he received when sitting on the john at 3 am, this is a guy I would want to invite to my house so we can take his idea of video chopping and turn it into reality. Who wouldn’t want to combine the likes of Snow White and Scar face so we can ‘Say hello… to my little friends.”
“My birthday is the 10th of ‘F*cking Dave’.” Chimed shining star Jarred Christmas, as he suggested that we get more creative with the names of our more familiar calendar months. It’s a funny idea, made even funnier by his larger than life stage presence, and obnoxious antics that make his voice ten times funnier than anyone else’s I have ever heard. How can you say February ten times in a row and still make me laugh? How can you make me nearly piss myself when using the mic stand as a claw machine? I have no idea, but you’d have to see him in person just to hear the sound of his contorted and comical voice and enjoy his well timed, streamlined comical perfection. It was all spills of laughs and tummy aches as he never let us breathe in-between jokes. There was a perfect cadence and symmetry that graced his delivery, and he’s certainly hard not to love. One does not want to come up for air if they are enjoying themselves in the presence of Jarred. Here’s a comedian that has everything I like in a comedian. Charming, flamboyant geek peppered with pervy uncle looks, gracing Edinburgh with the privilege of hearing his captivating stories about why the orange properties in Monopoly are the best ones to buy, and then some. He sure delivers impressive and well constructed novels of material within a small window of reality-time-space.
Arriving to the smell of haggis & neaps, it was standing room only last night for a Burns supper themed night of comedy at the Edinburgh stand. Saying that, Scotia’s bard hardly got a mention, but each of the comics on offer mentioned him at least once. They were shepherded onto stage by rowdy MC, Susan Morrison, mastermind behind the last Fringe’s ‘Cabaret of Dangerous Ideas,’ who warmed the audience up with a crackling intensity. I really enjoyed her banter with an American couple – a playwright & an astrophysicist – which allowed her to tell the story of John Paul Jones’ humorous attempts to bomb Leith during the War of American independence. Comedy & history, & well told too.
The first comedian was 24-year-old Gareth Waugh, an astute, sexy & mature performer who is not as socially awkward as he portrays. His witty self confessionals took us from buying those hooded kids who stand outside off licenses booze to show he was cool, to buying his girlfriend lingerie with a morbid sense that everyone thinks he was buying them for himself. The lad has a youthful exuberance which he cuttingly projects through his material.
Keir McAllister
Next up was Keir McAllister, a very funny & very confident ‘Sue Perkins’ lookalike, whose idea of a Burns night was to celebrate the victims of chip pan fires. He also delved into pros-independence politics with a passion & brilliant patter that Robbie Burns would have been proud of, then Dundee’s shittest zoo in the world, before finishing his set with a story about coming & farting at the same time – what joy!
Headlining tonight was the Stand’s long-running antidote to a heavy weekend, the uplifting improvisational genius of Stu & Garry. Tonight, these two masters of snappy-minded comedy theatricals played the alphabet game – in which they dialogued through a scene, beginning each line with consecutive letters of the alphabet. The story was a ventriloquist at a children’s party, whose dummy was a crude, foul-mouthed northerner, begging for ‘gottle of methadrone’ & telling the kids it would be easy to bundle them into his van. The second story was a monk & a soul-sucking succubus, which was played out three times; once as normal, once as musical porn & once as panto. All this was really quite hilarious, especially when shouts of ‘shes behind you’ erupted in the panto-version – a moment of true festivity on one of Scotland’s most festive days.
The quirky warm-up comedian with an equally quirky name, Boothby Graffoe, eased the audience into the evening with amusing anecdotes and a hilarious account of his attempts to break into the world of screen writing.
After a short interval, with our giggle boxes satisfyingly massaged, Omid Djalili confidently strode out on to the stage. Unsurprisingly, Iranian-British Omid Djalili is no stranger to Edinburgh. He’s been a fixture on the Festival circuit for the last 22 years. In that time he has won the Time Out Award and EMMA Award for Best Stand Up, and has been nominated for the South Bank Award. In his other career he won the Best Actor Award for his lead performance in ‘The Infidel’ at the Turin Film Festival. All very impressive!
In his new suit and boots, he took us through a flurry of cultural gags, ever so slightly leaning on the on the racial side, but being part Iranian himself, he somehow gets away with it! After an explosive punch line we witness him strutting around the stage, dancing to Bollywood music and swinging the microphone from his pelvis! This is no shy man! He stated he “doesn’t want to offend people” yet continued to mock people from Stratford Upon Avon about Shakespeare’s possible accent, Arabs, ‘Musselburghers’, Pakistanis, Americans and Nigerians! His talent for accents, even Northern Irish, however is remarkable and this aided his amusing observations and anecdotes.
Although he did touch on sensitive issues, he was not afraid to turn the joke on himself – over his short, fat and bald stature, which doesn’t get him as many film star roles as he’d like! He consoled himself however, with the fact that America is the one place where he doesn’t feel fat!
He took a further step onto ethical thin ice with his view that we should not exclude people with disabilities, as to do so is more discriminatory, than to mock them just like everyone else. This gag – by his own admission – divided audience opinion. Omid went on to demonstrate his warm demeanour and down-to-earth character. He won over the female audience members by claiming; ‘women are better than men… at finding things’!
The evening was rounded off by a round of questions posted by the “audience”, although having read about material of his prior tour shows, some of these question would appear to be a little scripted and self aggrandising. He made reference to his three Hollywood films, added in some name-dropping and even sang a selection of songs from the boyband Blue?… Not the strongest part of the set by a long chalk!
At the end there was a shameful plug of his new book – ‘Hopeful’ – which just happened to be on sale in the foyer. The stand-up, writer, actor and trumpet blower ended with the philosophical message that, ‘we should not look at people from our ivory towers because everyone struggles.’
There’s an air of anticipation and the welcoming smell of folks enjoying the culinary delights, as we arrive to a packed crowd. The host for the evening, Bruce Devlin, bounds on with the air of a tornado. Ripping into the audience with a razor sharp, caustic barrage, he picks out his prey and devours them, all the time dragging the crowd with him on his camp dissection of those unfortunate enough to have braved the front row. Scathing humour, close the bone and outrageously funny I can feel the second row around me collectively sinking back in terror There is no subject matter that he can’t find an instant comeback to as he works his way through the lives of those around them, prying them open to divulge their inner banalities, then leaving them thanking him for the pleasure. The guy is smart. Funny. And very, very quick.
Opening the show is Elaine Malcolmson. She saunters on with a slow languid gait and sets off on a monologue of anecdotes and one liners delivered with a dry, dead pan droll. Her humour is low key but high impact, as she muses on the joys of Ebola to the inner workings of farm foods, her confident, solid delivery is backed up by her deadly punchlines. Occasionally these can be pre-empted before the end but her unfazed, understated attitude carries her through, as she hits the nai lon the head with her offbeat observations.
After a quick break Garry Meikle arrives, a juggernaut of energy with a fast, upbeat style which oozes with authentic charm. There’s an honesty in his delivery, and an endearing vulnerability, as he delivers lines that we’ve all said or done and collectively cringe at the memory. His act feels like a personal snapshot into his own world, from school days and square sausage to dildos and his hatred of kids, he intimately divulges his word with fast banter and a natural, unforced comedy. Charismatic laddish humour with an warm hearted punch.
A change of pace again as Lloyd Langford bumbles onto stage, an air of the country boy straight out of the Welsh valleys, he meanders in a slow patchwork of topics that bring a unique point of view to what would seem to be unexpected subject matter. I’ll never think of Edinburgh zoo the same again! He takes us through the self discovery of our own nature, confronted with endless all you can eat buffets, to the surreal landscapes of Dubai. His comedy is dry and yet philosophical and he had the audience literately spellbound. It felt a real privilege to see a comedian of this calibre up close in such a small venue. You can almost hear his inner mind working as he finds obscurity in the banal and weaves it into a surreal soup.
To end, the gear changes again, and Garry Little lurches up. A foreboding character, he’s a big guy with a strong presence. He effortlessly switches from Glasgow psycho to lovable gentle giant in the blink of an eye as he weaves, what are quite tender stories, into his hard man guise. His skit on the etiquettes of dog walking is genius, one of the funniest tales I’ve ever heard and has left a lasting image of him, with his wee dogs hanging on the ends of their leads, burned on my retina. He is a worthy headliner, and constant, raucous laughter abounded right through his set.
A brilliant night. Usually in a cabaret night of this ilk there is some weaker comedians carried by the stronger acts but this line up was diverse, unique and constantly entertaining. Strongly recommend for a night out.
Hotly anticipating the savoury, comedic indulgence that is Dylan Moran at his best, a rare offering on a charcuterie of satirical cured meats, blue edgy cheeses and pickled anecdotes soaked in witty liqueur, he did indeed deliver performance, as an indulgent finer taste amongst a platter of this evening’s already exquisite culinary offerings. Bubbles fly forth from the eager audience, bursting from their pints of lager, in synchronous unison to the fervency arising from the midst of this epic, underground cavern. And the catalyst for both was the anticipation of this evening’s witty energy and lyrical tongues, gulped down with tasty, Thursday evening beverage. A joy indeed.
The compere to carbonate our satirical bubbles was Scott Agnew, who within the first few seconds gained approval from his audience by clever improvisation and sharp, original material. This young and dynamic man punctuates improv with clever topical references covering Kate Bush, pirate politics, and perhaps unsavoury imagery of a cream covered Susan Boyle jumping from a Scottish snack … oh, how the bubbles in our head stopped popping right there. He introduces our first act, Suzi Ruffell, who at 27 is extremely gifted with hilarious dialogue, fast paced delivery and expressively comical dilemmas. Her act is professionally delivered, punctuated with witty observations and a hilariously insightful, feminine edge. My only meagre fault would be her timing – perhaps she could allow her audience few sweet seconds to linger on her razor sharp wit before heading at full speed into the next.
Eddie Cassidy
This unassuming Glaswegian immediately entertains with hilarious, articulate observations which he fuses with sadistic dry Scottish humour. His topics are dark and funny but his manner is endearing, and with this great combination he pulls this off with confidence and wit, fully deserving of the Scottish Comedian of the Year 2012 title.
Dylan Moran
Yes and here he is, effortlessly owning the stage. A slavering Irish accent smashing it within seconds. Unassuming, charming and fun as he embraces the room with his relaxed but understated humble presence. He is trying out some new material to gift our ears, most all of which run with effortless comedic poetry and charismatic, bullet-delivered wit, a razor sharp shave over the dry observational stubble of dreary reality. ‘Death is a little island off Ibiza’ to 25 year olds’ as he laments at his ever approaching old age with a twinkle in his eye, whilst his charismatic wit oozes through his sexy Irish smile he swiftly knocks the ‘hipster’ style as ‘Craft beers, beards with things living in them and hot yoga?!’ And of course, tastefully rounding-up his show with a controversial discussion on what snack should you chose to enjoy each war with.
Mark Maier
A difficult act to follow indeed, but Mr Maire is unfazed and doesn’t disappoint. He rounds up a fantastic evening with light-hearted, side-splitting gags on Scottish idiosyncrasies, London audiences and some light-hearted digs at a few unsuspecting audience members. He pulls it off with sublime comedic genius, possibly worthy of some of the biggest laughs of the superbly sweet evening. The night was an overwhelming riot on humour, provocative, risqué and hilariously absorbing, very worthy of a Saturday evening out.
Mumble Comedy 