Jim Jefferies - Live Review

Jim Jefferies has earned himself a reputation for being fiercely offensive; an image the straight-talking Australian is happy to foster, playing up the alluring persona of a hard-drinking rock and roll comic trampling over society’s niceties.

Indeed, in the opening minutes of Alcoholocaust, his new show heading to Edinburgh next week and recorded for DVD release at London’s Lyric Theatre last night, the 33-year-old mimes sucking cock, brands all lesbians as humourless and launches a misogynistic tirade that doesn’t even attempt to hide behind a veil of irony. Later we get an off-colour, but admittedly funny, routine about Auschwitz, while on the language front, his cpm – cunts per minute – count is almost off the scale.

He performs the show in front of a logo comprising two back-to-back scripted Js, the flourishes of the letters forming what could be mistaken, aptly enough, for demonic rams’ horns behind his head. The hard-edged, uncomplicated foul-mouthed rants are, however, done with a sense of playfulness, and act as a way of establishing that this is a show without boundaries. And once this is understood, he reveals himself to be an evocative storyteller, showing that behind all the brutal bluster is a comic with heart.

He has a stab at being an intellectually provocative act, too – although his atheist outlook is all-too familiar on the circuit -– if not in God-fetished America where Jefferies now spends most of his time as he attempts to crack Hollywood. In a crowded field of non-believers, his arguments seem over-familiar, where his personal take on morality isn’t that far removed from Bill & Ted’s ‘Be excellent to each other’.

Yet his strength isn’t in such pseudo-thoughtful posturing, but in revealing his humanity. He mentions in passing that he suffers depression -– and there’s probably a future show in that – and confesses that too dependent on booze, vowing to quit after the Edinburgh Fringe, a tall order given that he can’t even stop for the 70 or so minutes he’s on stage. Then there’s his yarn about entertaining the troops in Iraq, in which he’s not afraid to appear stomach-churningly terrified by situations that the soldiers consider everyday.

His coup de grace, though, is his extended final routine. It’s a section that involves hookers, the seriously disabled and bodily excretions – yet still manages to be touchingly life-affirming. It’s a tale which Jefferies promises he hasn’t embellished in the slightest and concerns his childhood friend Dan, who is seriously disabled by muscular dystrophy. At 33, he’s way beyond his life expectancy and needs help with the simplest of tasks, so when he asked to be taken to a brothel to lose his virginity, the events are pretty much guaranteed to make an unforgettable tale.

And Jefferies tells it expertly, with no sense of exploitation or sentimentality, but the sort of matter-of-factness in which any story of a lads’ night out might be told. He draws out the humour of the extreme situation without ever going for cheap laughs, demonstrating a maturity and depth that the ‘offensive comic’ tag he’s saddled with could never hope to cover. He is offensive… but he’s so much more besides.

Frisky & Mannish - Live Review

Christmas just got a little bit camper, thanks to Frisky And Mannish.

Though still so fresh on the circuit they can take part in Hackney Empire’s new act final next month, this deliciously ballsy cabaret duo can already (nearly) fill a West End theatre on the strength of their name, thanks largely to their career-making Edinburgh run.

This festive extravaganza entwined their spirited and twisted musical numbers with guest stars popping round, evoking unfortunate echoes of Noel’s House Party. And while the result took some time to find its feet, the second half was as joyful a musical celebration of the extravagance of Christmas as you’ll find anywhere. Who needs the choir of King’s College Cambridge when you’ve a fey piano player and a bolshy diva?

The dynamic duo were not actually the hosts of their own party. That honour went to Des O’Connor, an act whose billing will forever be: ‘No, not that one’. O’Connor the younger is a great MC, flamboyant yet formal, with the RP intonation of Nicholas Parsons, but with self-awareness, and an affable ability to rouse a rabble when needed.

He’s also a mean ukulele player, although the ditties he sang had the air of smug tweeness of a dated intimate revue, right down to the predicable swerving away from rhyming ‘luck’ with the word everyone’s thinking of. It’s easy on the ears, but the turn never zinged (zung?) on any of the repeated occasions he trotted it out.

Even F&M struggled to demonstrate their usual upbeat verve in the early stages, choosing carols and earnest Christmassy ballads over the more exuberant pop hits they usually parody. Frisky has an amazing voice, with such great power and range, she can and does belt out snippets of pretty much any pop song from over the decades, but in the early stages the pair lacked the inventive twists and juxtapositions that made them such a hit at the Fringe. Swapping a few lyrics and even doing a fairly straight cover version of Destiny Child’s ultra-materialistic 8 Days Of Christmas, just because it was ridiculous enough in the first place, seemed an under-use of their talents.

There were a couple of flourishes, especially their take on Baby It’s Cold Outside, with Mannish utterly uninterested in Frisky’s drunken advances, but the fun only really took off after the interval.

Then they reprised a couple of the greatest hits from their School Of Pop Edinburgh show, such as the sexed-up, Girls-Aloud-style nursery rhymes and the Pussycat Dolls as a bawdy end-of-pier turn. Later, their Lily Allen/Noel Coward double act performed an enjoyable new version of Fairytale Of New York, while highlight of their set was surely a brilliantly inspired reimagining of The Holly And The Ivy as a realty-style showdown: Christmas’s Next Top Foliage.

As for guest stars, the lithe Kalki Hula Girl adopted the persona of a drunken party-crasher to add some value to her talent, while the Puppini Sisters, the swell Forties-style close harmony trio, brought sled-loads of festive spirit to their perfectly old-fashioned vocals, proving real crowd-pleasers.

Shooting Stars regular Angelos Epithemiou’s downbeat ‘anti-comedy’ certainly brought contrast to the slick high-production of the rest of the night; shuffling on in Primark anorak and clutching his precious plastic bag.

He admits he only has three jokes which he must carefully ration, so extends his set by carefully drawing out the microphone, failing to banter with the audiences and generally looking uncomfortable on stage, exhaling loudly into the microphone after almost every sentence, like an awkward newbie.

While playing ‘dare’ with the audience’s patience can backfire – especially the finale played out to Mud’s Seventies hit The Cat Crept In, which he admits ‘drags on a bit’ – he did manage to pull off the right balance between embarrassment and laughs tonight.

And his actual material turns out to be rather fine, from the gags he doesn’t quite understand, to the muddled rant about environmental Armageddon. Glimpses of the impressive range of voices at the command of Epithemiou’s creator Renton Skinner add to the enjoyment of this distinctive character.

But the weirdest, and most wonderful, guest turn on the night came from Bruce Airhead. It’s impossible to do justice to his act in print – explaining that he climbs inside a giant balloon can’t hope to do it justice – but it is absurdly brilliant, with an impressively surprising finale. And when he stood there, just his head poking out from above the latex globe, he looked like nothing less a human bauble… how festive.

It echoed the spirit of inventive, spangly, silliness, performed with powerful élan, that epitomises Frisky and Mannish at their best. This show might not have been wholly consistent in that, but after the onslaught of playful high jinks in the second half, no one could mistake the party spirit in the cold winter’s air.

Angelos Epithemiou - Live Review

Christmas just got a little bit camper, thanks to Frisky And Mannish.

Though still so fresh on the circuit they can take part in Hackney Empire’s new act final next month, this deliciously ballsy cabaret duo can already (nearly) fill a West End theatre on the strength of their name, thanks largely to their career-making Edinburgh run.

This festive extravaganza entwined their spirited and twisted musical numbers with guest stars popping round, evoking unfortunate echoes of Noel’s House Party. And while the result took some time to find its feet, the second half was as joyful a musical celebration of the extravagance of Christmas as you’ll find anywhere. Who needs the choir of King’s College Cambridge when you’ve a fey piano player and a bolshy diva?

The dynamic duo were not actually the hosts of their own party. That honour went to Des O’Connor, an act whose billing will forever be: ‘No, not that one’. O’Connor the younger is a great MC, flamboyant yet formal, with the RP intonation of Nicholas Parsons, but with self-awareness, and an affable ability to rouse a rabble when needed.

He’s also a mean ukulele player, although the ditties he sang had the air of smug tweeness of a dated intimate revue, right down to the predicable swerving away from rhyming ‘luck’ with the word everyone’s thinking of. It’s easy on the ears, but the turn never zinged (zung?) on any of the repeated occasions he trotted it out.

Even F&M struggled to demonstrate their usual upbeat verve in the early stages, choosing carols and earnest Christmassy ballads over the more exuberant pop hits they usually parody. Frisky has an amazing voice, with such great power and range, she can and does belt out snippets of pretty much any pop song from over the decades, but in the early stages the pair lacked the inventive twists and juxtapositions that made them such a hit at the Fringe. Swapping a few lyrics and even doing a fairly straight cover version of Destiny Child’s ultra-materialistic 8 Days Of Christmas, just because it was ridiculous enough in the first place, seemed an under-use of their talents.

There were a couple of flourishes, especially their take on Baby It’s Cold Outside, with Mannish utterly uninterested in Frisky’s drunken advances, but the fun only really took off after the interval.

Then they reprised a couple of the greatest hits from their School Of Pop Edinburgh show, such as the sexed-up, Girls-Aloud-style nursery rhymes and the Pussycat Dolls as a bawdy end-of-pier turn. Later, their Lily Allen/Noel Coward double act performed an enjoyable new version of Fairytale Of New York, while highlight of their set was surely a brilliantly inspired reimagining of The Holly And The Ivy as a realty-style showdown: Christmas’s Next Top Foliage.

As for guest stars, the lithe Kalki Hula Girl adopted the persona of a drunken party-crasher to add some value to her talent, while the Puppini Sisters, the swell Forties-style close harmony trio, brought sled-loads of festive spirit to their perfectly old-fashioned vocals, proving real crowd-pleasers.

Shooting Stars regular Angelos Epithemiou’s downbeat ‘anti-comedy’ certainly brought contrast to the slick high-production of the rest of the night; shuffling on in Primark anorak and clutching his precious plastic bag.

He admits he only has three jokes which he must carefully ration, so extends his set by carefully drawing out the microphone, failing to banter with the audiences and generally looking uncomfortable on stage, exhaling loudly into the microphone after almost every sentence, like an awkward newbie.

While playing ‘dare’ with the audience’s patience can backfire – especially the finale played out to Mud’s Seventies hit The Cat Crept In, which he admits ‘drags on a bit’ – he did manage to pull off the right balance between embarrassment and laughs tonight.

And his actual material turns out to be rather fine, from the gags he doesn’t quite understand, to the muddled rant about environmental Armageddon. Glimpses of the impressive range of voices at the command of Epithemiou’s creator Renton Skinner add to the enjoyment of this distinctive character.

But the weirdest, and most wonderful, guest turn on the night came from Bruce Airhead. It’s impossible to do justice to his act in print – explaining that he climbs inside a giant balloon can’t hope to do it justice – but it is absurdly brilliant, with an impressively surprising finale. And when he stood there, just his head poking out from above the latex globe, he looked like nothing less a human bauble… how festive.

It echoed the spirit of inventive, spangly, silliness, performed with powerful élan, that epitomises Frisky and Mannish at their best. This show might not have been wholly consistent in that, but after the onslaught of playful high jinks in the second half, no one could mistake the party spirit in the cold winter’s air.

Andy Parsons - Live Review

Is it any wonder Andy Parsons is doing so well? After all, his attitude perfectly matches that part of the British psyche which grumbles that everything’s rubbish, while secretly being proud of the under-achievement. After all, it takes the pressure of the rest of us to perform.

‘It’s a bit shit…’ is something of a catchphrase, repeated in his distinctive monotone rhythm about anything that doesn’t come up to scratch. Some of which are very easy comic pickings, so his mocking the anticipated opening ceremony of the London Olympics, Fathers4Justice or rail replacement bus services can feel like shooting fish in a barrel – and with a rocket-propelled grenade, too.

He’s certainly attuned to middle-class gripes, and acknowledges them as such. He may be well up on the news thanks to Mock The Week, but forget about war, climate change, globalisation – it’s snipes at traffic wardens, Trinny and Susannah and being left on hold that get the best reaction, even if it’s not always the best material.

He is sometimes more ambitious with his politics – such as believing Abdelbaset al-Megrahi’s conviction for the Lockerbie bombing was a monumental judicial stitch-up – which is cunningly slipped in behind some more innocuous material. But when the big global problems do arise, Parsons tends to come up with solutions that involve lying on the couch, again striking a chord with the audience, garnering the sort of appreciative ripples of applause more normally heard at the party conferences this time of year.

Yet even if his approach to the world is not always unique, his writing can be exquisite, and tonight, recording his first stand-up DVD, classic routines old and new get an airing. He has a fantastic joke about Peter Vardy’s faith schools that teach creationism, and sharp gags about everything from the Jordan-branded ironing cover to cervical cancer jabs. Reading the newspapers certainly pays off – and sometimes he doesn’t even have to try too hard to add jokes; the MPs’ expenses scandal was funny enough in itself, especially when he relates the fact in his distinctively sneery tone.

That delivery counts for a lot, with his peculiar pronunciation of a word like ‘pooh’ adding extra laughs from the gravitas his deadpans gives it. Likewise silly routines, such as his drunken prank call to Mr A Squirrel, pack an extra punch because he delivers it so straight-faced.

But the relentless pitch can be grating in a night as long as this. We’re in the theatre for two and three-quarter hours, including interval, and there’s very few people you’d want to listen to for so long. Energy levels definitely flag by the time we get to the climax – a paean to Britain delivered to the rousing, if manipulative, strains of Land Of Hope And Glory.

Much of the night has been padded out with audience badinage, which compared to the topical-inspired gag-writing, isn’t necessarily Parsons’ strongest suit. It’s amiable enough, and he can use it to segue into prepared material seamlessly – but he’s no Al Murray. As with a lot of such banter that you’ll hear in the clubs, there are a lot of dead ends and reluctance to reveal too much information to the man with the mic. But – with the aid of a camera pointing back at the crowd – Parsons does eventually find some unlikely costars in the stalls.

The good bits will probably edit down nicely for the DVD, but overextends the live performance by quite some margin, and probably affected the response to later jokes as fatigue set in.

Frisky & Mannish - Live Review

This could become as traditional part of Christmas as novelty socks or overcooked sprouts – but a lot more welcome – as, for the second year, Frisky and Mannish wrap their biting cabaret in tinsel and cover it in baubles for a joyous West End festive special.

The campness of the season and the clichés of Christmas pop are an irresistible combination for both these smart, vibrant performers, and their theatre full of devotees. And my, what an audience – already up for fun and stirred into action with a silly party game orchestrated from the stage, this is as far cry from the uninterested drunken office parties that dominate so many gigs at this time of year. The crowd were always happy to join in the playful mood, singing choruses on cue or booing mere mention of Simon Cowell, as if he were a pantomime villain.

They were rewarded handsomely, with F&M fostering a celebratory atmosphere with their new takes on old songs, courtesy of Frisky’s haughty attitude and powerful voice and Mannish’s snide asides and jaunty piano accompaniment. The dynamic is so well established that it can only take a well-timed pause or a slight change of emphasis for these original popbitches to expose a well-established hit to the ridicule it deserves.

A couple of festive tracks made a welcome return from last year’s show: their role-reversal take on Baby It’s Cold Outside in which Mannish can’t get a sozzled Frisky out of his flat fast enough; and a version of Fairytale Of New York featuring their surprisingly complementary Lily Allen and Noel Coward – surely the most unlikely festive pairing since Bing Crosby and David Bowie – which collapses in to a barrage of Tourettic swearing.

But the main thread of the show is to expose the lies and clichés of festive favourites from A Spaceman Came Travelling to Do They Know It’s Christmas. And after sensibly ditching the MC of last year so they can host their own shindig, they stamp their own personality over the night, while allowing their well-chosen band of guests to shine just (well, almost) as brightly.

Cheeky burlesque dancers Folly Mixtures added to the tongue-in-cheek showbiz glamour, while Abi Collins adopted the persona of a Russian diva, mixing a few cheesy old comedy lines with her hula-hoop routine, not one of the cabaret arts I particularly have much time for, but she stamped her personality on to it.

Abandoman – who triumphed over our hosts in the Hackney Empire new act final earlier this year – impressed with their improvised raps musical about two members of the audience: a musician called Andrew playing hookey from Chicago down the road, and Jessica, his love interest whose enjoyably overactive imagination fed jolly Rob Broderick’s witty ad-libbed lyrics. F&M joined them for the third act, allowing Lady Frisky to demonstrate an equally quick-witted and eloquent gift for improv – another string to their already over-endowed bow.

Hit of the night was surely The Boy With Tape On His Face, reinventing audience participation as, without saying a word, he encouraged reluctant volunteers to cast aside any reservations and take part in his charming clowning, free from any risk of humiliation. Clever use of music – most notably the soundtrack to Amélie – and expert mime skills make this a delightful set, as he patiently establishes one set piece after another, only to reveal an unexpected visual payoff to each. He could give street entertaining a good name.

Amid all the high jinks low-energy comic Miles Jupp might have seemed an incongruous choice, not least to himself. But the parade of rambunctious cabaret that preceded him was perfect counterpoint to his posh-boy persona; infinitely privileged but at an utter loss when it comes to coping with the real world. This shtick allows for both high-status comedy as he looks down on people in general – and Northerners in particular – as well as low-status stuff at his own ineffective faffing when out of his comfort zone, as he inevitably is. It was a more sedate – and slightly over-long – segment, but Jupp held the attention, and he has both wonderful lines and a beautiful way of saying apparently trivial ones. Somehow a casual phrase such as: ‘I toyed with the idea of a jacket’ is hilarious in his privileged brogue.

And after that an all-singing all-dancing finale involving several of the preceding acts ensured the night most definitely brought tidings of great joy. Frisky & Mannish certainly have the X(mas) Factor.

Miles Jupp - Live Review

This could become as traditional part of Christmas as novelty socks or overcooked sprouts – but a lot more welcome – as, for the second year, Frisky and Mannish wrap their biting cabaret in tinsel and cover it in baubles for a joyous West End festive special.

The campness of the season and the clichés of Christmas pop are an irresistible combination for both these smart, vibrant performers, and their theatre full of devotees. And my, what an audience – already up for fun and stirred into action with a silly party game orchestrated from the stage, this is as far cry from the uninterested drunken office parties that dominate so many gigs at this time of year. The crowd were always happy to join in the playful mood, singing choruses on cue or booing mere mention of Simon Cowell, as if he were a pantomime villain.

They were rewarded handsomely, with F&M fostering a celebratory atmosphere with their new takes on old songs, courtesy of Frisky’s haughty attitude and powerful voice and Mannish’s snide asides and jaunty piano accompaniment. The dynamic is so well established that it can only take a well-timed pause or a slight change of emphasis for these original popbitches to expose a well-established hit to the ridicule it deserves.

A couple of festive tracks made a welcome return from last year’s show: their role-reversal take on Baby It’s Cold Outside in which Mannish can’t get a sozzled Frisky out of his flat fast enough; and a version of Fairytale Of New York featuring their surprisingly complementary Lily Allen and Noel Coward – surely the most unlikely festive pairing since Bing Crosby and David Bowie – which collapses in to a barrage of Tourettic swearing.

But the main thread of the show is to expose the lies and clichés of festive favourites from A Spaceman Came Travelling to Do They Know It’s Christmas. And after sensibly ditching the MC of last year so they can host their own shindig, they stamp their own personality over the night, while allowing their well-chosen band of guests to shine just (well, almost) as brightly.

Cheeky burlesque dancers Folly Mixtures added to the tongue-in-cheek showbiz glamour, while Abi Collins adopted the persona of a Russian diva, mixing a few cheesy old comedy lines with her hula-hoop routine, not one of the cabaret arts I particularly have much time for, but she stamped her personality on to it.

Abandoman – who triumphed over our hosts in the Hackney Empire new act final earlier this year – impressed with their improvised raps musical about two members of the audience: a musician called Andrew playing hookey from Chicago down the road, and Jessica, his love interest whose enjoyably overactive imagination fed jolly Rob Broderick’s witty ad-libbed lyrics. F&M joined them for the third act, allowing Lady Frisky to demonstrate an equally quick-witted and eloquent gift for improv – another string to their already over-endowed bow.

Hit of the night was surely The Boy With Tape On His Face, reinventing audience participation as, without saying a word, he encouraged reluctant volunteers to cast aside any reservations and take part in his charming clowning, free from any risk of humiliation. Clever use of music – most notably the soundtrack to Amélie – and expert mime skills make this a delightful set, as he patiently establishes one set piece after another, only to reveal an unexpected visual payoff to each. He could give street entertaining a good name.

Amid all the high jinks low-energy comic Miles Jupp might have seemed an incongruous choice, not least to himself. But the parade of rambunctious cabaret that preceded him was perfect counterpoint to his posh-boy persona; infinitely privileged but at an utter loss when it comes to coping with the real world. This shtick allows for both high-status comedy as he looks down on people in general – and Northerners in particular – as well as low-status stuff at his own ineffective faffing when out of his comfort zone, as he inevitably is. It was a more sedate – and slightly over-long – segment, but Jupp held the attention, and he has both wonderful lines and a beautiful way of saying apparently trivial ones. Somehow a casual phrase such as: ‘I toyed with the idea of a jacket’ is hilarious in his privileged brogue.

And after that an all-singing all-dancing finale involving several of the preceding acts ensured the night most definitely brought tidings of great joy. Frisky & Mannish certainly have the X(mas) Factor.

Abandoman - Live Review

This could become as traditional part of Christmas as novelty socks or overcooked sprouts – but a lot more welcome – as, for the second year, Frisky and Mannish wrap their biting cabaret in tinsel and cover it in baubles for a joyous West End festive special.

The campness of the season and the clichés of Christmas pop are an irresistible combination for both these smart, vibrant performers, and their theatre full of devotees. And my, what an audience – already up for fun and stirred into action with a silly party game orchestrated from the stage, this is as far cry from the uninterested drunken office parties that dominate so many gigs at this time of year. The crowd were always happy to join in the playful mood, singing choruses on cue or booing mere mention of Simon Cowell, as if he were a pantomime villain.

They were rewarded handsomely, with F&M fostering a celebratory atmosphere with their new takes on old songs, courtesy of Frisky’s haughty attitude and powerful voice and Mannish’s snide asides and jaunty piano accompaniment. The dynamic is so well established that it can only take a well-timed pause or a slight change of emphasis for these original popbitches to expose a well-established hit to the ridicule it deserves.

A couple of festive tracks made a welcome return from last year’s show: their role-reversal take on Baby It’s Cold Outside in which Mannish can’t get a sozzled Frisky out of his flat fast enough; and a version of Fairytale Of New York featuring their surprisingly complementary Lily Allen and Noel Coward – surely the most unlikely festive pairing since Bing Crosby and David Bowie – which collapses in to a barrage of Tourettic swearing.

But the main thread of the show is to expose the lies and clichés of festive favourites from A Spaceman Came Travelling to Do They Know It’s Christmas. And after sensibly ditching the MC of last year so they can host their own shindig, they stamp their own personality over the night, while allowing their well-chosen band of guests to shine just (well, almost) as brightly.

Cheeky burlesque dancers Folly Mixtures added to the tongue-in-cheek showbiz glamour, while Abi Collins adopted the persona of a Russian diva, mixing a few cheesy old comedy lines with her hula-hoop routine, not one of the cabaret arts I particularly have much time for, but she stamped her personality on to it.

Abandoman – who triumphed over our hosts in the Hackney Empire new act final earlier this year – impressed with their improvised raps musical about two members of the audience: a musician called Andrew playing hookey from Chicago down the road, and Jessica, his love interest whose enjoyably overactive imagination fed jolly Rob Broderick’s witty ad-libbed lyrics. F&M joined them for the third act, allowing Lady Frisky to demonstrate an equally quick-witted and eloquent gift for improv – another string to their already over-endowed bow.

Hit of the night was surely The Boy With Tape On His Face, reinventing audience participation as, without saying a word, he encouraged reluctant volunteers to cast aside any reservations and take part in his charming clowning, free from any risk of humiliation. Clever use of music – most notably the soundtrack to Amélie – and expert mime skills make this a delightful set, as he patiently establishes one set piece after another, only to reveal an unexpected visual payoff to each. He could give street entertaining a good name.

Amid all the high jinks low-energy comic Miles Jupp might have seemed an incongruous choice, not least to himself. But the parade of rambunctious cabaret that preceded him was perfect counterpoint to his posh-boy persona; infinitely privileged but at an utter loss when it comes to coping with the real world. This shtick allows for both high-status comedy as he looks down on people in general – and Northerners in particular – as well as low-status stuff at his own ineffective faffing when out of his comfort zone, as he inevitably is. It was a more sedate – and slightly over-long – segment, but Jupp held the attention, and he has both wonderful lines and a beautiful way of saying apparently trivial ones. Somehow a casual phrase such as: ‘I toyed with the idea of a jacket’ is hilarious in his privileged brogue.

And after that an all-singing all-dancing finale involving several of the preceding acts ensured the night most definitely brought tidings of great joy. Frisky & Mannish certainly have the X(mas) Factor.

Boy With Tape On His Face - Live Review

This could become as traditional part of Christmas as novelty socks or overcooked sprouts – but a lot more welcome – as, for the second year, Frisky and Mannish wrap their biting cabaret in tinsel and cover it in baubles for a joyous West End festive special.

The campness of the season and the clichés of Christmas pop are an irresistible combination for both these smart, vibrant performers, and their theatre full of devotees. And my, what an audience – already up for fun and stirred into action with a silly party game orchestrated from the stage, this is as far cry from the uninterested drunken office parties that dominate so many gigs at this time of year. The crowd were always happy to join in the playful mood, singing choruses on cue or booing mere mention of Simon Cowell, as if he were a pantomime villain.

They were rewarded handsomely, with F&M fostering a celebratory atmosphere with their new takes on old songs, courtesy of Frisky’s haughty attitude and powerful voice and Mannish’s snide asides and jaunty piano accompaniment. The dynamic is so well established that it can only take a well-timed pause or a slight change of emphasis for these original popbitches to expose a well-established hit to the ridicule it deserves.

A couple of festive tracks made a welcome return from last year’s show: their role-reversal take on Baby It’s Cold Outside in which Mannish can’t get a sozzled Frisky out of his flat fast enough; and a version of Fairytale Of New York featuring their surprisingly complementary Lily Allen and Noel Coward – surely the most unlikely festive pairing since Bing Crosby and David Bowie – which collapses in to a barrage of Tourettic swearing.

But the main thread of the show is to expose the lies and clichés of festive favourites from A Spaceman Came Travelling to Do They Know It’s Christmas. And after sensibly ditching the MC of last year so they can host their own shindig, they stamp their own personality over the night, while allowing their well-chosen band of guests to shine just (well, almost) as brightly.

Cheeky burlesque dancers Folly Mixtures added to the tongue-in-cheek showbiz glamour, while Abi Collins adopted the persona of a Russian diva, mixing a few cheesy old comedy lines with her hula-hoop routine, not one of the cabaret arts I particularly have much time for, but she stamped her personality on to it.

Abandoman – who triumphed over our hosts in the Hackney Empire new act final earlier this year – impressed with their improvised raps musical about two members of the audience: a musician called Andrew playing hookey from Chicago down the road, and Jessica, his love interest whose enjoyably overactive imagination fed jolly Rob Broderick’s witty ad-libbed lyrics. F&M joined them for the third act, allowing Lady Frisky to demonstrate an equally quick-witted and eloquent gift for improv – another string to their already over-endowed bow.

Hit of the night was surely The Boy With Tape On His Face, reinventing audience participation as, without saying a word, he encouraged reluctant volunteers to cast aside any reservations and take part in his charming clowning, free from any risk of humiliation. Clever use of music – most notably the soundtrack to Amélie – and expert mime skills make this a delightful set, as he patiently establishes one set piece after another, only to reveal an unexpected visual payoff to each. He could give street entertaining a good name.

Amid all the high jinks low-energy comic Miles Jupp might have seemed an incongruous choice, not least to himself. But the parade of rambunctious cabaret that preceded him was perfect counterpoint to his posh-boy persona; infinitely privileged but at an utter loss when it comes to coping with the real world. This shtick allows for both high-status comedy as he looks down on people in general – and Northerners in particular – as well as low-status stuff at his own ineffective faffing when out of his comfort zone, as he inevitably is. It was a more sedate – and slightly over-long – segment, but Jupp held the attention, and he has both wonderful lines and a beautiful way of saying apparently trivial ones. Somehow a casual phrase such as: ‘I toyed with the idea of a jacket’ is hilarious in his privileged brogue.

And after that an all-singing all-dancing finale involving several of the preceding acts ensured the night most definitely brought tidings of great joy. Frisky & Mannish certainly have the X(mas) Factor.

Frank Skinner - Live Review

Well, this was certainly an odd gig. They said it was unplanned – a launch for the duo's Absolute Radio World Cup podcasts, that was itself being recorded as a podcast – but the oddest thing of all was the planned billing. The nominal stars, David Baddiel and Frank Skinner, actually ended up as the support act for a gig featuring Keane and James, two bands probably booked because they fitted the MOR rock demographic of Absolute rather than because they both sounded as if they were named after footballers.

Proceedings kicked off with Baddiel and Skinner doing what they have become best known for, just shooting the breeze and being rude on their trademark leather sofa. Hopefully by the time they get to the tournament – presumably the sofa is staying in the UK – they will be more match fit. Last night they seemed a little rusty and could not quite hit their stride. There were very funny at times, but they were often no funnier than your sharpest mates in the boozer on a good night, which perhaps is the ambience the duo strive for.

In fact at times they were in danger of being upstaged by Pub Landlord lookalike Paul, plucked from the audience to be their onstage note-taking secretary. Paul presented them with a pair of South African horns known as vuvuzelas and told some amusing anecdotes himself. He even muscled in on their career as saviours of the England football anthem, revealing that he had recorded a World Cup song too – entitled Cabanga, the Zulu word for Imagine – and promptly pulled a CD from his pocket.

The professionals did have their moments during an extended Q&A session though, taking the obligatory mickey out of Emile Heskey and John Terry. Fish-in-a-barrel comedy perhaps, but it was certainly illuminating to discover that a Facebook site called Ashley Cole is a Tosser (actually not Tosser, but Cunt, explained Baddiel, but the podcast mustn't be too offensive) has more members than the combined memberships of sites called I Hate Hitler and Ban Child Rapists.

Baddiel was intermittently inventive – suggesting that if there is a penalty shootout maybe David James could undo his corn-rows and block the goal with his afro – but Skinner, as ever, was more naturally comical and more sharp off-the-cuff, as anyone who has seen him on BBC2's Opinionated will know. But anyone who saw his last live tour will know that he is even better when working from a honed script. When this is edited down and the serious swearing is cut out, it'll certainly make a decent podcast, but I suspect there will be better ones over the next few weeks.

Funnily, though, the twosome were more imaginative when they strayed from the soccer agenda. Maybe they have been asked whether they think England will win the World Cup too many times to be spontaneous, or maybe they just take the subject too seriously to be funny about it, but there were more laughs to be had when they drifted onto the topic of female film stars’ facial hair and Frank's flights of fancy let rip.

After a rousing first half finale of Three Lions with Ian Broudie and a string quartet, the post-break section turned into the aforementioned rock gig, with B&S briefly returning to fill time during set changes. ‘It feels like a charity gig except that everyone is getting paid,’ observed Skinner. With Absolute logos peppering the stage it also felt a bit like a corporate gig. Or one of those private shows where Rod Stewart entertains the Sultan of Brunei and his chums, so I suspect B&S are being paid very handsomely for the link-up. Who would have thought talking rubbish about sport and Kate Winslet’s bum-fluff could be so lucrative?

And just for the record, Frank is trying to be optimistic about England lifting the trophy but under the surface is rather more realistic. Or as he put it in the way only he could, a bit like when he used to try to believe that Elton John and Kiki Dee were an item, but in his heart of hearts knew the truth.

• Click here for details of Baddiel & Skinner's World Cup podcasts

David Baddiel - Live Review

Well, this was certainly an odd gig. They said it was unplanned – a launch for the duo's Absolute Radio World Cup podcasts, that was itself being recorded as a podcast – but the oddest thing of all was the planned billing. The nominal stars, David Baddiel and Frank Skinner, actually ended up as the support act for a gig featuring Keane and James, two bands probably booked because they fitted the MOR rock demographic of Absolute rather than because they both sounded as if they were named after footballers.

Proceedings kicked off with Baddiel and Skinner doing what they have become best known for, just shooting the breeze and being rude on their trademark leather sofa. Hopefully by the time they get to the tournament – presumably the sofa is staying in the UK – they will be more match fit. Last night they seemed a little rusty and could not quite hit their stride. There were very funny at times, but they were often no funnier than your sharpest mates in the boozer on a good night, which perhaps is the ambience the duo strive for.

In fact at times they were in danger of being upstaged by Pub Landlord lookalike Paul, plucked from the audience to be their onstage note-taking secretary. Paul presented them with a pair of South African horns known as vuvuzelas and told some amusing anecdotes himself. He even muscled in on their career as saviours of the England football anthem, revealing that he had recorded a World Cup song too – entitled Cabanga, the Zulu word for Imagine – and promptly pulled a CD from his pocket.

The professionals did have their moments during an extended Q&A session though, taking the obligatory mickey out of Emile Heskey and John Terry. Fish-in-a-barrel comedy perhaps, but it was certainly illuminating to discover that a Facebook site called Ashley Cole is a Tosser (actually not Tosser, but Cunt, explained Baddiel, but the podcast mustn't be too offensive) has more members than the combined memberships of sites called I Hate Hitler and Ban Child Rapists.

Baddiel was intermittently inventive – suggesting that if there is a penalty shootout maybe David James could undo his corn-rows and block the goal with his afro – but Skinner, as ever, was more naturally comical and more sharp off-the-cuff, as anyone who has seen him on BBC2's Opinionated will know. But anyone who saw his last live tour will know that he is even better when working from a honed script. When this is edited down and the serious swearing is cut out, it'll certainly make a decent podcast, but I suspect there will be better ones over the next few weeks.

Funnily, though, the twosome were more imaginative when they strayed from the soccer agenda. Maybe they have been asked whether they think England will win the World Cup too many times to be spontaneous, or maybe they just take the subject too seriously to be funny about it, but there were more laughs to be had when they drifted onto the topic of female film stars’ facial hair and Frank's flights of fancy let rip.

After a rousing first half finale of Three Lions with Ian Broudie and a string quartet, the post-break section turned into the aforementioned rock gig, with B&S briefly returning to fill time during set changes. ‘It feels like a charity gig except that everyone is getting paid,’ observed Skinner. With Absolute logos peppering the stage it also felt a bit like a corporate gig. Or one of those private shows where Rod Stewart entertains the Sultan of Brunei and his chums, so I suspect B&S are being paid very handsomely for the link-up. Who would have thought talking rubbish about sport and Kate Winslet’s bum-fluff could be so lucrative?

And just for the record, Frank is trying to be optimistic about England lifting the trophy but under the surface is rather more realistic. Or as he put it in the way only he could, a bit like when he used to try to believe that Elton John and Kiki Dee were an item, but in his heart of hearts knew the truth.

• Click here for details of Baddiel & Skinner's World Cup podcasts