Simon Evans - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Mark Watson - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Andi Osho - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Abandoman - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Phil Nichol - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Sean Lock - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Andrew Lawrence - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Adam Hills - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Jack Dee - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Jo Brand - Live Review

Because it’s backed by uber-agent Addison Cresswell of Off The Kerb, the gala launching the Brighton Comedy Festival offers an embarrassment of riches, with about half the line-up more than capable of filling the city’s 2,000-seater Dome on the strength of their own name alone. So it’s a guaranteed full house, ensuring that the Sussex Beacon, the HIV charity benefiting from the show, have their coffers nicely swelled.

The phrases ‘charity benefit’ and ‘hosted by Jo Brand’ go together like ‘Liam Fox’ and ‘dodgy as hell’, and she was on jolly form in the MC’s role tonight. No surprise that her contributions largely comprise jibes at her husband’s expense and the repetition of a few sexist and sizist heckles that she’s been subject to over the years – but the tongue-in-cheek undertow to her apparently morose exterior becomes more apparent the more familiar her shtick becomes. Plus the on-off nature of compering means there’s no need for variety, just a familiar face between the acts and a confident banter to move things along. Both boxes firmly ticked here.

Opening was Adam Hills, who started with a response to an American’s criticism that there were few black faces in his Australian homeland, which seemed to take a defensive stance on a parochial argument few in Brighton might care about. But this effortlessly warm comedian quickly retired to more fertile ground with his tried-and-tested crowd work, with a karaoke-like skip through the decades, followed by a cheery salute to gay icons.

Mark Watson is the ultimate low-status stand-up, keen to give off almost no obvious signal that he knows what on earth he’s doing. But although he shuns alpha-male control for self-conscious, self-deprecating blether, his circuitous routines about being a new dad give rise to plenty of hearty laughs – giving lie to the impression of incompetence his expectation-lowering modesty might project.

Andi Osho is Watson’s polar opposite, with a lot more charisma, certainty and cool in her slick delivery, although the content is a bit more hit-and-miss, thanks to an outlook that tends to play things safe on topics such as wondering when it’s OK to first fart in front of a partner, or how a tricky poo is like going into labour. That said, she often has a witty way of putting things or a deft twist of phrase to inject a little fun into the proceedings, even if she’s not going anyplace new.

A musical blast to end the first half with Rob Broderick’s improv hip-hop outfit Abandoman, here backed with a drummer and rhythm section to provide more oomph. After their signature ‘what’s in your pocket?’ piece of quick-thinking chicanery, they were joined by recent album chart-topper Ed Sheeran, who put in a decent effort, but ultimately served to prove that making up these rhymes is harder than it looks, requiring nightly practice.

Phil Nichol opened the second half. Usually for such occasions he has an established set piece, stretching his T-shirt above his head and clumping around the stage like a backwards redneck. Not tonight, though, as he instead performed a newer routine in which he got to showcase his comedy accents, as well as his manic performance skills, before topping his set with the anti-PC song You Can’t Say That To Me. Chances are he didn’t leave a huge impact on the audience on such an illustrious bill, but he certainly did his job of entertaining.

New material, too, from Jack Dee, who’s likely to be hitting the road next year for his first tour in three years. Not that Mr Sunshine has lost any of his bite, sarcasm or relevancy since he’s been away, with this experienced old hand opening his set with the edgiest line of the night, about Steve Jobs’s death. Then his sneery, stinging disdain was unleashed at old people, new parents and twitterers to name but three vast groups. But his misery is, as always, our pleasure, and the next tour should be a doozy, if this is any indication.

Dee is a tough act to follow, but Simon Evans – possibly the only comedian with even greater reserves of supercilious contempt – was equal to the task. His ‘Englishman, Welshman and Pakistani’ set-up puts a room on edge, and he manipulates that discomfort with aplomb. It’s amazing what a knowing, arrogant demeanour can do to what’s essentially a pub joke, proving it really is the way you tell ’em. A few local references from this Hove-based act added to the fun of his deliciously patronising set.

From a comic who believes he’s top of the social tree back down to one who’s rummaging in the undergrowth, with the bitterly self-deprecating Andrew Lawrence. His angsty set leant a little heavy on the ginger jokes, but the scorn for humanity spawned from his own fetid existence creates a mean, Dickensian wit, full of rich, spiteful language.

Worthy headliner was Sean Lock, with a few uniquely oblique observations with the weary acceptance of a bloke who thinks he’s seen it all. There are some insightful lines on everything from Special Brew to swearing in tabloid newspapers... but his inventive piece de resistance, depicting Madonna as a terrifying sexual predator, is the stuff of nightmares. It’s very funny, but the image may haunt you long after the gig is over.

Lock, in common with many of these gala stars, aren’t performing elsewhere in the festival while Nichol and Hills were doubling up with their own shows round the corner. So this opener serves not so much a taster of things to come, but as a star-studded advert that, hopefully, will encourage the audience to book something more adventurous before the festival leaves town on the 22nd.

• Click here for the official festival website. Andrew Lawrence, Late Night Gimp Fight, Diane Spencer, Adam Hess and Iain Stirling are taking part in a Best Of Chortle Awards night on October 20 as part of the Brighton Comedy Festival. Click here for tickets.

Tommy Tiernan - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Seann Walsh - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Phil Nichol - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Alan Carr - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Neil Delamere - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Simon Evans - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Jason Cook - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Andi Osho - Live Review

As far as pulling power goes, you couldn’t have assembled a much more high-profile bill to launch the Brighton Comedy Festival than this, with the BBC’s favourite comedian Michael McIntyre headlining a night compered by Channel 4’s favourite one, Alan Carr. In such stellar company, fine acts such as Tommy Tiernan or Simon Evans are reduced to mere filler.

The big guns both know a media phenomenon when they spot one, too, with both getting laughs from mere mention of X-Factor’s Gamu. Carr is rather better on low culture, though, as he feels like a natural follower of such talent-show drama, even if only as a fuel for his arch sarcasm. His own failings are mocked with distain, too, even in something as relatively straightforward as describing drunken behaviour, the innate wir shine through.

There’s not much in the way of finely crafted material on show tonight nor as host was there much call for it. But Carr is proof positive that it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it, uniting the audience in his catty indiscretion.

McIntrye – greeted, as you might expect, with deafening applause – typically sought laughs in the everyday: spectacles, mouldy bread, Activia yoghurt. He sometimes falls foul of that familiar criticism that he’s saying the blindingly obvious without much spin: there’s surely no more comic mileage that can be wrung from personal injury lawyers adverts, while the disingenuity of those Windows 7 campaigns that suggest stealth internet browsing is for anything other than porn is so apparent it barely needs mentioning.

But when he articulates things that are universally true, but largely unobserved, that’s where he shines, bringing each topic to life with skilful and robust technique. Even though everyone is now so aware of his over-dramatic tics and tricks, they are almost self-parody, such delivery does sell this hard-to-execute observational comedy effectively.

Even so, McIntrye, like any comic, is still more interesting when talking from unique personal experience such as telling bedtime stories on CBeebies rather than seeking to push the buttons of widespread recognition, even though that’s his forte.

The evening started with another comic who trades on ‘relateablity’, local lad Seann Walsh. His persona is more of a shambles… a lazy, frequently drunk video gamer wrestling with the world. But everyone’s found themselves in similar embarrassing situations he so evocatively describes, and the result is a steadfastly enjoyable set. His impersonation of the murmur of voices in another room when you’re trying to sleep – a new addition to his set – is particularly strong.

Another much-tipped up-and-comer, Andi Osho, similarly sought laughs in the familiar. Even if her Nigerian family background gives it a slight spin, her childhood anecdotes about everything from tearfully coming off your bike to parents doling out an intimidating telling-off will resonate with most people. She’s sometimes guilty of playing things a little safe – especially when her a charming presence could be used to push slightly more interesting material – but as an enticing teaser to draw people to her assured debut solo show later in the festival, job done.

Phil Nichol’s 20-minute set is an irresistible tsunami of manic energy, rampaging across the stage as a demented hillbilly, T-shirt over his head and exposing a Grand Canyon of builder’s cleavage, before zipping into a cacophony of other accents, from the granite-hard Glaswegian to the sing-song threats of a Cockney geezer. Even though it’s well-practised, the routine never loses its element of unpredictable danger. While its intensity and ferocity mock-terrorises an intimate club, it isn’t diminished in a room the size of this 2,000-seat Dome. The song which concludes his set, You Can’t Say That To Me, is a tongue-in-cheek reactionary riposte to political correctness… but even liberal Brighton is won over by its force.

Follow that.

One of the few people who could is Irish powerhouse Tommy Tiernan, who brilliantly encapsulated the dramatic change in tone with the off-the-cuff comment that his set would be ‘like trying to read a book after being on a roller-coaster’. But Tiernan is intense, too, in thought as well as delivery. Here he mused on appropriate sexual behaviour for a man of his fortysomething years, the pointless mass of showbiz trivia occupying his brain and the pitfalls of taking a seven-year-old to a football match. A largely controversy and fury-free set for a man whose mouth often lands him in trouble, but none the less gripping for it. He’s a comic who knows his own mind… and, better yet, knows how to express it with fine comic eloquence.

After the interval, the magnificent Simon Evans deigned us with his aloof presence and precise, sardonic wit, dripping distain from every perfectly pronounced word. And what words… his haughty vocabulary perfectly emphasising such a perfectly smug, high-status position you’d think him worthy of leading the Conservative Party. An appearance on Mr McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and a well-received and long–overdue return to Edinburgh this summer seem to have given this circuit stalwart fresh impetus, and his sharp, acidic barbs remain a rich delight.

Neil Delamere has struggled to make the impact in the UK that he has in his native Ireland, where he’s a TV regular. Tonight he mined his national stereotype with entertaining tales of drunken misdeeds – whether his own or other people’s – which certainly stuck a chord. He starts off with a few one-liners; but the extended yarn is more his style, enlivened with a deft turn of phrase. The callback in his ‘swimming with dolphins’ tale is particularly nicely done. He perhaps lacks that killer edge to make him stand out on an A-list bill like tonight, but Delamare remains pleasurably witty.

Jason Cook also found it tricky to get the audience to explode in laughter at first, perhaps a side effect of his placement so late in a long bill. But the room was never less than engaged with his personal stories, told as if he was betraying marital confidence as he regaled us with details of how he and his wife are trying for a baby, often a lot less romantic than it sounds. But by the end of the set such droll and honest material had won the room over, and he, too, will have picked up a few more fans tonight.

It’ll all help shift tickets for the next couple of weeks of shows at the festival, a veritable ‘best of’ collection for the most acclaimed shows from Edinburgh, combined with some big-name tours and the odd local offering. Visit brightoncomedyfestival.com for all the details.

Simon Amstell - Live Review

Strange thing celebrity. As Simon Amstell walks on stage, he’s greeted by the shrieking ‘we love you’s of a dozen teenage girls, whose devotion doesn’t apparently extend to even the most fundamental research into the erstwhile Buzzcocks host’s sexual preferences.

Yet had this show been billed as an hour of existential angst and philosophical musings from a chronically lonely 29-year-old Jew with a predilection for young, skinny, vulnerable men, it probably wouldn’t have been scheduled for two nights in the 1,800-seater Brighton Dome.

Amstell does a fine job of squaring this circle, admirably refusing to pander to his TV fans, yet ensuring the mighty ideas contained in this ambitious show are both accessible and funny. It’s an unflinchingly honest, and unashamedly thoughtful hour-and-a-bit that brilliantly combines the confessional, the aspirational and the intellectual.

Like all the greats, Amstell mines his own neurosis for our pleasure. You might imagine his life is one whirl of showbiz parties in which he dazzles adoring acolytes with the quick wit that served him so well on Never Mind The Buzzcocks. But the picture he paints is of a painfully introspective young man, so prone to overanalysing everything that he can never live spontaneously in the moment. It means he misses out on the thrills of living, but even that provides him more to cogitate upon in this unbreakable circle of angst.

There’s a redemptive tale here of him breaking this pattern, conquering his shyness, and having some fun; but any uplifting moral is tempered by the fact you know he secretly likes the self-diagnosed status of ‘genius recluse’ that allows him to be semi-detached from the world, only able to shine in the artificial environment of a TV studio or stand-up show.

That sense of not fitting in is nicely exploited in the tales from his youth; of realising his grandmother’s praise was empty, and finding little fun in the suburban discos of Romford, yet returning week after week as that’s what social pressures demanded. It’s a situation that will be painfully familiar to so many.

Amstell is an astute observer, not of deeds or actions as a Michael Mcintyre might, but of emotions and motivations. He has the insight of an philosopher, but the wit of a panel-show host – and it proves a thoroughly satisfying cocktail.

As well as the big ideas of love, paranoia and the self, Amstell touches briefly on the insular racism of his Jewish family, sexual hang-ups and the naivety of religion with the dry, mordant wit that runs through a show that’s well-structured and tightly written.

Forget the screaming girls, this is intelligent, grown-up comedy that’s as funny as it is perceptive.

Hans Teeuwen - Live Review

When Hans Teeuwen played the Greenwich Comedy Festival last month, he was drowned out by a chorus of boos from the half of the audience who clearly didn't know how to take him.

It's no surprise that the strange Dutchman is not for everyone, as he steadfastly refuses to play by the accepted rules of comedy. But in tearing up the conventions he has produced an act that is not only wonderfully, surprising unique – but also often hilariously silly. With the Brighton Comedy Festival crowd who had come specifically to see him, his absurd, twisted clowning went down a deserved storm.

As a performer, he throws everything into the mix. One minute he writhes around the floor, striking awkwardly contorted poses, as he tells us of the exploits of Dr Hemmington; the next he’s belting out a deliciously crude song with the passion and pace of a piano maestro, bashing so furiously at the keys it’s a surprise it comes out tuneful. Even his hand puppetry is infused with pathos and personality… and that’s without the advantage of any actual puppets, just his bare hands.

All these talents are put to hugely effective use to manipulate the audience, then mess with their expectations. Rare is the comic who uses set pieces, but can still leaves observers entirely unsure what’s going to happen next, but there’s a real frisson of unpredictability throughout his hour-long set.

Neither does the spritely Teeuwen rely on irresistibly maniacal performance alone. His writing flits between the sharp surrealism of his invented fairytales to the bite of evangelical atheism, childishly mocking belief and teasing the arbitrary tensions between faiths. If he did believe in God, he’d have made a great preacher – so it’s to comedy’s gain that he’s such a heathen.

Sometimes he willfully tests the audience’s patience with shaggy dog stories that are designed to annoy as much as amuse, but they make sense in the context of his perpetual mischief-making. He’s not as self-indulgent as he’s previously been in the department, though, and the yarns often build to extravagantly immoral ends – such as the unforgettably disturbing conversation with his mother.

Teeuwen’s in a world – and a class – of his own. Bloody weird but bloody funny, his affected madness is a distinctive delight.

Tommy Tiernan - Live Review

Since poot is a fancy word for fart, it is a perfect title for Tommy Tiernan’s show, which similarly blends the highbrow and the low. And a fart is always funny, an uncontrollable reflex that reminds us of our imperfect, slowly rotting bodies and puncturing all artifice of civility.

Or maybe he just chose the word as it sounds cute and mischievous.

Tiernan’s all for laughter in response to the big issues. This show covers death, religion and mental illness, piercing the taboos that surround them as he impishly exposes the sheer idiocy of situations we tend to pussyfoot around.

He’s received a psychiatric diagnosis himself. He has borderline personality disorder, tip-toeing a line between neurosis and psychosis. But it’s a place where he seems happy, just as he’s happy with the highs and lows of a comedian’s life, swinging from the adulation on stage to the depression of the hotel room.

The joy of the performance is palpable. He gallivants around the stage like a sprite, even briefly frolicking amid a sea of bubbles. He could stake a decent claim to being the most passionate stand-up on the circuit, allowing him to emphasise every phrase and gesture to maximum effect, without seeming forced or phoney. Whether he’s whispering to draw us in or leaping about in madness, like a modern-day Lord Of Misrule.

He clearly devours ideas. He has a philosophy on everything from the effectiveness of prisons to obscure Zimbabwean singers – yep, that hack old subject. But his favourite topic is devilment – he loves the idea of mischief, whether it’s God pranking Job or putting the fun into funeral. This latter practical joke was instigated by a friend who went properly mad. But what is normal anyway?, the lively Irishman asks, we are all various levels of unhinged.

That he takes nothing entirely seriously seems to come from an acute sense of mortality. It sounds sombre to mention it, but Tiernan can have you laughing at a relative’s dying breath or a careless comment directed at his elder brother, who had a cerebral palsy. The story he tells of a childhood family safari starts off seeming to have a point about this… but ends up in broad farce, enlivened by the sheer joy of the word ‘baboon’.

It might seem a lazy thing to say about an Irish comedian, but Tiernan is a rightful heir to Dave Allen, addressing every big issue with a refreshing irrelevance. Poot, poot!

Zoe Lyons - Live Review

Performing a home-town festival gig ahead of a full tour next year, Zoe Lyons finds herself in storytelling mode. Following some bubbly banter with the audience, she eases back into a small handful of extended anecdotes, reclaiming embarrassing incidents from her past in the name of comedy.

Although a lively and affable performer, Lyons’s default position is one of irritated negativity at this world full of idiots, yet she finds herself too awkward and middle-class to do anything more than mutter under her breath – or harrumph at a room full of strangers.

Her gripes will be familiar: she hates late-night infomercials, gets irritated at traffic jams with no apparent cause and is bewildered how a cheap tourist trinket can ever hope to capture the majesty of the world’s great natural monuments.

She’s entertainingly dismissive on her chosen topics, occasionally emerging with a gem of a line. But what is harder to discern is a unique attitude. Exactly what is a defining Zoe Lyons jokes or routine? Her stilted, over-deliberate posturing as she delivers the material adds to the impression this is a triumph of technique over inspiration.

The tone is mostly workmanlike, rather like an irascible newspaper columnist being wittily grumpy on cue. The monologue is fluid, the writing light and the topics universal, but it lacks distinction.

Even her personal stories can fall into the same trap. A trip to Amsterdam starts with her pondering whether she should sample the cultural delights of the Rijksmuseum before – surprise, surprise – she decides to get high. The ensuing anecdote unfolds engagingly, but doesn’t stand out. It’s also weakened by her treating an obviously exaggerated incident of hotel-room theft as true, which undermines the integrity of the rest of the story.

More dope-related shenanigans come with her teenage trip to Glastonbury, and her discovery of ‘magic’ fudge. Again, she proves herself a safe pair of hands: reliably smile-worthy, if not a stand-out.

But the tale that does set her apart – the one that could be the distinctive calling-card she needs – is a hilariously humiliating encounter on Brighton’s nudist beach. The scene is vividly, and amusingly set, her indignity is real, and there’s a very funny postscript about the annual naked bike ride through the city.

It’s a cracking story – which, crucially, feels like it could only have happened to her – and is entertainingly told, with several great gags emerging from the events. This is definitely the sort of hilarious personal yarn which, if she can repeat, will make her name.

Stewart Lee - Live Review

A few years ago it would have been hard to believe Stewart Lee would ever play an 1,8000-seat venue on the strength of his own name. But his ongoing artistic and, to an extent, popular renaissance means he can make a decent attempt at filling it. And no one seems more surprised than him.

For although his profile, buoyed by his recent BBC Two series, has risen to the point that Alistair McGowan ‘does’ him; Lee is still an acquired taste, a wilfully inaccessible comedian who demands his audience’s patience on the promise he will reward it generously. Though a couple of times here, he tests that to the very limit.

Mainstream popularity is anathema to him: that his favourite targets include Adrian Chiles and Russell Howard should tell you that. And no, he doesn’t respect any code of honour among comedians – 20-plus years of uncompromising stand-up and unblemished integrity have given him elder statesman status and the right mock his colleagues. His take on how comedy has evolved from the radical days of alternative comedy when he started to the bland observational sets on ‘that Roadshow’ and the nastiness of Mock The Week is understandably astute.

Vegetable Stew, though a fully-fledged tour complete with support from Simon Munnery, it is also a work in progress. Lee is road-tesing material for the next BBC series, and he unapologetically announces at the start of the show, this will comprise three 25-minute routines, just about the length of a telly episode. However he, understandably, fears his Chiles piece might fall foul of the Beeb’s new guidelines on making derogatory remarks about real people.

Ever the comedians’ comedian, Lee delights in telling us exactly what he is going to do, to a minute degree, laying bare all the tricks of stand-up. It simultaneously flatters his audience by suggesting they are too savvy to fall for cheap callbacks, musical distractions or well-rehearsed performance gimmicks, while also setting a challenge for himself to succeed without the devices that will elicit easy laughs, even to the extent of forewarning us of material to come, robbing it of the very element of surprise that jokes are supposed to rely on for their effect.

He replaces that element of surprise with the element of anticipation. Because we’ve been told what to expect, and are suddenly acutely aware of the conventions that most comics employ, the laughs come in unusual places – in the pregnant pause before he goes into a material we have been primed for, at the slow repetition of a phrase, or at lines that are clearly not funny, but are made so because of we all know a ‘real’ comedian would put a gag there. It becomes a cat-and-mouse game, in which everyone knows where the punchline is, but the fun is in dancing around it.

This approach often sets off small packets of isolated laughs, but also can pay off handsomely when he decides to suddenly take a routine in a different direction. He sets standards so high that you feel a twinge of disappointment when he mentions such potentially hack subjects like Al Qaeda not being like the gentlemen terrorists of the IRA, but then finds a strong new line in it.

Elaborate extended routines are constructed around his crisp-loving grandfather, how Russell Howard delivers a kick in the teeth to the world’s poorest people every time he goes to work, and his encounter with David Cameron and his Etonian sense of entitlement when they were both students in Eighties Oxford.

This last routine is the one that doesn’t quite have the payoff it needs, although the effect may have been diminished because he pulled a similar trick in his last show, If You Prefer A Milder Comedian Please Ask For One. However it’s fairly certain that earlier version, based on a sustained, dark attack on Richard ‘The Hamster’ Hammond won’t be making it to primetime BBC Two, guidelines or no guidelines.

As Lee inevitably points out, there are periods when the show flags, leaving the audience to trust that it will be worth it in the end. And the jury is still be out on Lee’s attempts to introduce more music into his act – a wariness he references, but doesn’t wholly defuse.

But despite all the new acts who try to emulate him without grasping the real source of the humour, Lee’s shows are a unique experience, with a depth and thoughtfulness you almost certainly won’t find on ‘that Roadshow’.

Stephen Grant - Live Review

So this is The Show They Tried To Ban! Only now, after a two-year legal battle defending his human rights can Stephen Grant speak the truth about his nasty divorce and his evil ex-wife.

Or, to use the sort of forensic pedantry that Grant employs in his stand-up, the more accurate story is that in one of the scores of letters exchanged during their undeniably bitter divorce battle, his ex-wife’s solicitors – stupidly – demanded he not mention her on stage. His team rightly shot back with ‘We’ll promise no such thing.’ And the matter closed.

In the name of disclosure, I have to mention that I’m a friend of Grant’s ex-wife. It’s a strange position be in, to have someone you know so viciously trashed on stage. Someone like Les Dawson’s iconic mother-in-law was an obvious fiction – imagined as some Donald McGill postcard grotesque – but because modern stand-up is rooted in real experiences, Grant’s necessarily one-side tirade makes a vile nemesis from a genuine person, who he has already named in the world’s media.

Although the much-publicised and heavily vitriolic divorce story is what a lot of the audience came for, it’s a relatively short section of the show. The gags, as already published in the press, are quite old-fashioned: ‘When I finally got the house back, the only thing she left was a broomstick, which was odd, because I thought she might have needed it for transport’ – but the acrimony is genuine. As for the veracity of his version of events, who knows?

Although spite, anger and revenge can clearly be great artistic driving forces, this section is out of tune with Grant’s normal, affably upbeat, stage demeanour and the overall thrust of Facepalm are his own awkward moments and social embarrassments, such as his difficulties chatting up women. The title itself is a neologism to describe the act of putting your hand across your face from shame.

Social misdemeanours are common ground for comedians, of course, although he acknowledges he’s not completely inept at human interaction, so the scale of his behavioural pratfalls often aren’t huge. Anecdotes from his time as the house compere at Komedia, just down the road, and as the audience warm-up guy for shows such as Dale Winton’s In It To Win It, in which it’s the public who are the idiots, go down better.

He also tackles a few other well-covered topics, such as aging (he’s 37), Facebook and scrambled hotel porn, in which he errs on the side of the over-familiar, and are met with mixed results. However the latter topic does give rise to a nifty long-range callback that ties the two ends of the show together.

His core strength, though, is not in him trying this universal everyman material, but his unashamed geekiness. This former computer programmer has a great joke about binary, some tricksy audience banter about laws of physics, and some smartly constructed puns. Anything that needs analytic brainpower to come up with an obtuse approach, basically.

His long list of nationality adjectives that can be used as nouns (such as ‘going for a Chinese’) is an object lesson in how he can employ an intellectual exercise to get laughs. Though in a similar vein, his list of chess analogies is much limper.

This unevenness in quality, from gags to more muted observations, creates a sense that, although playing to maybe 500 people, Facepalm is still a work in progress, an idea reinforced by the notes he occasionally glances at. Within the bloated 90 minutes there’s a leaner, more effective show wanting to get out. Maybe the good jokes should seek a divorce from the rest of them…

Stephen Grant - Live Review

Can’t decide what to see at the Brighton Comedy Festival? Well these teaser shows are designed to help you choose… or, more likely, act as a substitute for those audience won’t risk an hour on an unknown.

>You’d certainly have to be very keen on opening act Al Pitcher to see his show, as it started straight after his set here in the venue next door. Is he so good you would abandon your current ticket for more of his mellow musings? Probably not.

>This chatty Kiwi is easy to like, but doesn’t have a ‘must-see’ buzz about him. He’s a nice fellow, and so relaxed it feels as if he could have just wandered up out of the audience and started a conversation. Such is his low-key presentation, that a few minutes after mentioning he now lives in Stockholm, a voice pipes up: ‘How did you end up there?’ Not so much a heckle as a man confusing this for a chat at the bar. Easy mistake to make.

>Indeed, parts of the set don’t seem to be vigorously thought through, and are just meandering observations, occasionally interrupted with the rhetorical self-aware comment: ‘That didn’t go that well, did it?’

>It’s quite charming, and certainly provides a relaxed ambience for his more storytelling-like segments, such as his tale of sharing a sleeper train carriage with an exhibitionist passenger. And, behind the laid-back affability, there are some strong observational routines, including his impression of emerging from the 24-hour flight back home, or on the Australian system of measurement. Yet the comedy is knowingly undersold, which reduces its impact from belly-laughs to mildly enjoyable.

>Seann Walsh was on this very stage at the star-studded opening gala last week, holding his own alongside the likes of Michael McIntyre – not bad for someone so comparatively new.

Again, he proved that he had the ‘I do that!’ factor; with rich laughs of recognition from his appealing material. Stupidly banging your head, bitchy ‘people watching’, drunkenly trying to talk your way into a nightclub… they’re all things most people have done, beautifully expressed by this ragged everyman. Aptly enough, Brighton boy Walsh felt at home in this big venue, making full use of the vast stage, the only act not to be rooted to the microphone.

>Compere Stephen Grant is a local, too, and he certainly used that fact to bond with the audience at the start of the second half, telling them of his support for Brighton & Hove Albion and taking civic pride in the city’s reputation for gay-friendliness, drug-taking and messing with census-takers. Earlier he had used the MC skills he’s forged over the years at Komedia, a couple of streets away, for some slick banter with the front rows… there can’t be many jobs or character types he hasn’t encountered before, and he has instant recall of all the gags.

>Last time Chortle saw Paul Chowdhry it was in front of a small, very difficult audience for his late-night solo show in Edinburgh, and he struggled. Tonight, in front of maybe 1,200 people, his unapologetic and self-proclaimed ‘sexist, racist and homophobic’ material found a better reception.

>Well, except for one woman who boldly stood up and confidently and declared: ‘I have a question…’ in a tone of self-righteousness you’ve never heard the likes of. And promptly wished she hadn’t, as Chowdhry, who seems to attract difficult audiences, roundly destroyed her. Given a second chance to ask, she got laughed out of town by the rest of the audience after getting as far as ‘Name five comedians…’

>It’s more-than likely she took offence at something Chowdhry said. His comedy is of a strong flavour, and he doesn’t attempt to make explicit any irony behind it. Quality-wise it’s a mixed bag, with a few cheesy or predictable lines alongside the more teasingly provocative material – and his take on the inventive swearing employed by people who have English as a second language is reliably funny. But he certainly comes to life with a bigger crowd, where he can prod heavily at the liberal triggers.

>Stewart Francis is always a joy, with his dry-but-silly one-liners, the sort you’ll want to quote for weeks to come but couldn’t hope to remember. He deserved a better response that he got tonight – because he deserves nothing less that rapturous applause – but the deft wordplay drew plenty of chuckles.

>There were a few newer gags among Francis’s robustly tried-and-tested repertoire and he, too, can occasionally employ the odd offensive idea, but since it’s set in the context of his relentlessly ridiculous set, the intention is clearly not hateful. No one could surely take umbrage? Step forward Ms Self-Righteous, who attempted to interrupt again, but was groaned down by the other 1,199 people in the room. Ah, these sparks of unpredictability that make stand-up so alive as an artform…

>

• The Brighton Comedy Festival continues until October 23. Vist the official website for full listings