Kunt And The Gang
Live Review

Not for the faint hearted. If you walk into this show with expectations above pure filth, well you are, in Kunt’s words, a ‘mong’. The moniker ‘Kunt’ should really be enough to put off unsuspecting Fringe-goers.

This is 45 minutes of his greatest and most offensive hits. We’re dealing with songs that involve the advantages of putting your gran on a plane to Switzerland to Dignitas, using anal passages as vaginas and much more besides.

The venue was a hair’s breadth away from capacity (80 or so) and by the reactions, almost half of these were cult followers. For those who are new to Kunt’s brand of humour, the most concise way of describing him is as follows: If, around about 30 years ago John Shuttleworth had a one-night stand with some tart from Basildon with a viciously foul mouth, Kunt would be the result.

This is pop-infused, catchy but simplistic synths overlaid with lyrics that centre on a few key themes: his phallus, women’s sexual organs and his phallus interacting with women’s sexual organs.

This is exactly where the humour lies. The contrast between the kind of music your little teenage sister would dance to and the lyrics is, to put it bluntly, quite a shock. Nothing clever but, for the first 20 minutes at least, more than enough to make some well imbibed audience members snort out beer through their noses.

Unfortunately he peaked too early. The second half of the show didn’t stand a chance of maintaining the pure hilarity of the first. It would have worked better if he’d tinkered with the set list, spreading out the class within the weaker songs.

But overall, this was cracking work from Kunt, who has talent that should see him good for years to come.