Tom Adams Can't Come
Live Review

If you were going to lay bets on the quickest walkout of the Fringe, you would have got very long odds indeed on Tom Adams. Yet this most mildest of mild-mannered comedian drove away one woman before his hour had even started: spooked by his gentle attempts to coax her to the front two rows with everyone else, she harrumphed something about not having paid a fiver to be treated like this and bolted for the door.

Had she remained, she would have discovered that Adams is such a delightful, gentle comedian that it’s impossible not to be charmed by him. Dressed in smart white shirt and black tie, his hair pomaded into a slick Fifites style, he looks like something out of a low-budget Mad Men, perched on his stool, guitar at the ready.

Adams specialises in what might be dubbed very low-energy musical whimsy, had David O’Doherty not already copyrighted the phrase. His delicate but witty tunes are no shallow spoofs, but full-on comic stories, whether they be about being kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity, a detective on the trail of the Meat Thief, or his stalker-like attention to his neighbour. The lyrics bristle with witty lines, and the downbeat melodies warm and satisfying.

Yet comic songs are not by any means all that the charming Adams can do. He proves himself an adept physical comedian in a stupidly repetitive scene involving ‘shoulder puppets’ that goes on far longer than you would think, yet never outstays its welcome; while an offbeat stand-up section about celebrity books is winningly kooky.

We even get a book of bonus gags to take away with us – but more importantly a feeling of having been thoroughly enchanted.